Recipe no°19: Eau de Provence

3 oz. pastis (anise-flavored French liqueur)
a small flagon of water, preferably local

Find yourself a lovely, sunny terrace table and order up your pastis. Mix to your pleasure with water, and sip over ice. Savor the tongue-numbing flavors...




It's 8 o'clock on a Friday night (or 20 hours, as we call it over here) and I'm unwinding at home, having sent the 'rental units off to Lyon on the train but a few short hours ago. I promptly blew off steam by purchasing a few Esprit shirts (stop! buying! stuff! now!), and now am waiting for C. to come over, enjoy some wine, and re-hash our respective last weeks. But she's taking too long to get here, so let the re-hashing begin without her...

As my "glimpses" proved popular with several readers last week, let's continue in the same format.

Glimpse #1: I arrive in Aix-en-Provence, after a long wind-thrashed layover in Valence (yes, I chose to wait for a late train out on the quai). Not five minutes have passed when my translation skills are requested again, this time to haggle with a parking-lot attendant who overcharged T. & W., and I'm supposed to argue with this man even though the couple in question lost their ticket. Hm. Luckily that one's put off 'til later, and I find out that W. managed to change his 500 euro bill in a tiny bank! We zoom off to Cassis, and I endure/enjoy a harrowing boat ride to visit the calanques, which are quite beautiful. (I don't feel like explaining; Google it, people!) A word to the wise: a warning of "mer agitée" translates roughly to : "You might be hanging on for dear life and wondering why anyone in their right mind would bring a child on this death trap".

A deceivingly calm port.

Glimpse #2: I ask my mother to pick me up an apricot croissant for breakfast.

I like my apricots sunny side up.

Glimpse #3: We visit the market in Arles, where I hope to recreate the idyllic picnic I experience there a few months ago, in the jardin d'été. Unfortunately, it literally rained on my parade and we were forced to make do under one of the arches of les arènes, the amazingly well-preserved arena where bullfights are still held. Not today, folks. We spilled tapenade on the steps and swigged wine out of a bottle; we carved up tomme de savoie and hard pepper sausage and laid it on damp slices of fougasse, the local bread. Not quite the déjeuner sur l'herbe I had hoped for, in fact more of a face-stuffing sur le concrete, but it did the trick.

A market image I will cherish.

My first, sunnier trip to Arles, where I was able to photograph the local gladiators.
Luckily this was not a "mise-à-mort" spectacle.

Glimpse #4: We traveled to Les-Baux-de-Provence, a small medieval village which reminded me of Le Mont St. Michel. It was still raining, and we got the full medieval mud-slopping experience as the rain shower became torrential. I ended up having to take my shoes off and walk down the cobblestones in several inches of water, and despite our copious rain gear we were quite soaked. It was totally worth it. For a better view of Les Baux, in the daylight, see my friend Rachel's photo, who seems to be currently leading a parallel life.

Soaked but loving it. The bright colors were helpful in a crowd, I found.

Glimpse #5: The sun finally graces us with its presence, and we head down to the Camargue, to see the "world-famous" white horses (apparently you learn about them in Austrian elementary schools), along with black bulls and pink flamingoes. As we're reading about where to stop, we come across these passages in the guide book ("The Rough Guide to Provence & the Côte d'Azur"):

"There's really no ideal time to visit the Camargue. If you have the sort of skin that attracts mosquitoes, then the months from March to November could be unbearable...you'll need serious chemical weaponry. Biting flies are also prevalent and...the other problem is the wind, which in autumn and winter can be strong enough to knock you off your bike. Conversely, in summer the weather can be so hot and humid that the slightest movement is an effort."

Well, most mosquitoes consider me filet mignon, and I left my H-bomb at home. I roll up the windows, and make the move to put on a life vest and lock my door as well after reading this:

"For drivers and cyclists the main thing to be wary of is taking your car or bike along the dykes. Maps and road signs show which routes are closed to vehicles and which are accessible only at low tide, but they don't warn you about the surface you'll be driving along. The other problem is theft from cars. There are well-organized gangs of thieves with a particular penchant for foreign licence plates."

Whew! thank God we rented in Lyon.

I'll enjoy that world-famousness from the car, thank you very much.

Glimpse #5: We visit a brocante, or an antiques/way-overpriced junk fair. There are many interesting images to share, but I'll stick to my favorites:

Corkscrews throughout the ages and various sundry objects.

This looks like something my dog Toofy would hang on her mantel, if she had one.

Ancient music boxes (I think) that cost over 100 euros each.

Cute or creepy? You decide.
There were plenty of terrifying hairless dolls, and
such nightmare-inducing marvels as a box full of
blue, lashed doll eyeballs. Only 1 euro each!

Translation: "Male thieves, female thieves, warning.
You risk making a huge! huge! investment in dental work and hospital bills (2 dead - 8 injured)"

Glimpse #6: We stop at a restaurant, and imagine my relief at seeing this posted on the door:



Glimpse #7: There are many fascinating sights along the road. Stopped at a light, I wonder...is that Batmobile rides to the left?




Glimpse #8: Tuckered out from our navigating and planning, T. and I take a little sieste.

FIN

Recipe no°18: Traveller's Choice

What would you like to drink? A beer? A glass of wine? Red or white? A panaché (beer mixed with lemonade)? A coffee? A double? Café au lait?* A pastis? Quick, le monsieur nous attend...

*My oh-so-cute mother actually thought this was called "Café olé"

My ambitions as amateur food and travel writer are put momentarily on hold, or perhaps they're conversely kicked into high gear as my mother, her new boyfriend (whom I'm meeting for the first time) and her two friends descend upon my little city of Grenoble, anticipating my help as travel agent, guide, translator, activity organizer, and cultural commentator. I wear these different jackets with pride, and even find it fun, but it can also be exhausting. Here are a few glimpses into the last few days...

Glimpse #1: I'm at work, waiting for my mother to call me from the Lyon airport, to assure me of their safe arrival. Instead, I receive a call from a French-accented woman from Air France, informing me that she "has my parents". After the initial shocks of wondering if a) they are incarcerated/still breathing/alive and well and b) if a man I've never met can be considered my "parent", she further informs me that all is well and that they've simply lost their luggage, can it be delivered tomorrow and to what address. NB: if this ever happens to you, thank your lucky stars: instead of hauling your heavy baggage through a foreign city, you will have it delivered to your doorstop by a burly airline employee. Pack underwear in your carry-on and you're covered on all fronts, literally.

Glimpse #2: As the visit progresses, a few of the things that merit commentary from her and her boyfriend (she having travelled several times but not often to Europe, he being for the first time in a foreign country, not to mention airplane!): the shape of the cars, the fancy Affligem beer glasses, the ridiculous gamme of Euro coins (8!), the lovely public transportation, the lack of sidewalks. They are worried they won't be able to get money (there's an ATM on practically every corner), are bothered by the late dinner-times (7:30 at the VERY earliest), but are easy-going and generous. I'm slightly embarrassed by the constant photo-snapping and loud American voices, but what can you do.

W. and Ric snapping away on the téléphérique.

Glimpse #3: We travel to Lyon to pick up my mother's friends T. & W., who live in Austria (an Austro-American couple), and I take them to lunch in a typical Lyon bouchon. I make a show of finding the one I knew, but really we could have eaten in any of 10 or more practically identical restaurants. We sat outside, and the waiter brought us several very long menus that I began to translate, to the best of my ability. I was doing fine, but there were too many choices, and I had to explain the concept of the French menu. I finally finish, breathless, and the waiter returns. "Ils parlent anglais? Vous voulez des cartes en anglais?" Well, yes, that would be nice. A bit too late though. Mother's BF loves the food, and mentions several times that he will try to find it again before they leave. How do I explain: all the restaurants in Lyon are good, and we weren't even in one of the better ones. C'est pas la peine. Plus, don't you want to try something new? My friend kindly points out his attempt to attach to something familiar, that he

knows he likes. My job becomes more complicated as I realize there's some psychology involved.

Glimpse #4: We arrive at T. & W.'s Grenoble hotel, only to discover that the welcome desk has closed il y a une heure. Someone lets us in the front door, and we call the number left in the lobby for late-comers. The man puts me on hold while he searches for their reservation, then comes back on the line.

"Are you à l'intérieur de l'hôtel ?"

"Oui..."

"Do you see a cabine téléphonique ?"

"Oui..."

"Inside the cabine, do you see a small safe?"

"Oui..."

"Next to the safe there is an envelope."

"Yes, I found it! There's T.'s name on it and the key inside."

I hung up, half expecting him to tell me that this envelope would self-destruct in 5 minutes.

Glimpse #5: W. has brought from Austria a lovely, grand 500 euro bill, in all its purple glory. He foresees no problems. He attempts to pay for some breakfast items at a low-cost grocery store, first thing in the morning, with this note. It does not fly. He asks me to accompany him to the bank to break the bill; the teller replies in a haughty tone that he will not break the bill, it is against the law (huh???). "C'est comme ça qu'on fait le blanchissage d'argent," he accuses ("That's how people launder money"). I ask him where we can break the bill, and he says ponderously, "NULLE PART." No where. After having a minor freak-out and calling France a third world country, W. lets it go the next day, and it becomes a joke. Merci à dieu. But still, pretty weird...

This morning, they left me for a few days to head off to Aix-en-Provence, and I cheerfully waved goodbye as they dropped me off on their way, along the quays of the Isère. "What will we do without you?" W. moaned as I hopped out of the rented Opel Zafira. Vous vous débrouillerez, I thought; you'll figure it out. And best of all, you'll be happy to see me when I get there on Friday.

The gang.

But first, I'm gonna go have a beer. BY MYSELF.