Recipe n°20: Bittersweet Symphony, that's life

10 parts nostalgia
5 parts yearning
5 parts mal du pays
5 parts indecision
10 parts reality
a splash of eau de rose

Shake all ingredients in a tumbler, mixing thoroughly. Strain into a martini glass and sip slowly, savouring the bittersweet aftertaste of the nostalgia, letting the reality sink in slowly...


Two months later, I'm resurfacing.

In France for the summer, for the first time. It started earlier than it does in Boston, and it's light out until 10pm. There are palm trees in the street and I sleep with my (un-screened) windows wide open, letting the cool breeze (and the mosquitoes) tickle my feet.

After almost a year of fairly mundane daily life, interspersed with some amazing trips, restaurants, and visits, I found myself these last few months busier than I've been all year. Working for an abroad program is a unique job, as there are weeks when almost nothing happens and then at any time an issue can arise: a broken arm, a 1am phone call due to over-booked hotels, sudden tears brought on by the undermining stress of living in a foreign country. And while it's helped me learn to deal with these impromptu situations, the pressure of being constantly available is not so much to my liking, and I am doubting that "Study Abroad Program Director" will stay high on my list of desired job titles.

One thing I do not like about growing up: the constant paradox of wanting more responsibility, moving up in the world, but at the same time feeling a desire to go back to having no responsibility, and simply rely on others.

Why is it always that when you know you're leaving a place, and your days are numbered, that then and ONLY then do you start doing all the things you've been meaning to do for so long. By next Wednesday, I will have seen all my friends made this year to say goodbye, gone out dancing, made NEW friends, and basically have a brand new social life. Only to leave. I can't say I haven't taken advantage of France this year, I've seen and done a lot. But I've also watched many online episodes of Grey's Anatomy, which is time I'm sure could have been spent doing something more enriching, more cultural. The sadness of this activity is compounded by the fact that my housemate Katherine has gone, leaving me to make fun of Derek and Meredith all by my lonesome, i.e. TV is no longer a group activity. To be honest, I haven't watched a single GA without her, it wasn't worth it. I've started looking for more French movies and shows, of course NOW, now that I'm leaving.

And I've also decided that yes, of course I want to live in France! It's so much better here! The markets, the food! The tranquil lifestyle! The countryside! The language! It's so obvious!
Let's wait until my first cup of medium coffee at Espresso Royale or Gimme Coffee when I get home and see how I feel then.

In the meantime, seeking: attractive, funny Frenchman living in Boston who also owns a house in Dijon, and who wants to live between the US and France. Preferably rich enough to afford many first-class plane tickets. I'll be in Boston, starting over yet again, waiting for you.

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.