Productivity 2011

How productive evenings must have been prior to television.  Remember turning on the t.v., a 

small white dot that would gradually grow to be a black and white picture?  How about turning 

on the t.v. too early or too late and finding an American flag blowing in the wind?  I remember,

does this make me old or mature, or just wise?

Maybe I focus on my agenda to much, but lately I'm thinking about what a waste of time t.v. is

and wonder, what I'd accomplish without Criminal Minds, Bones or NCIS?  I think of the oil

paintings Aunt Alma did, the dresses Lillian would sew, the knitting Grandma Blanchard did

and the black trash bags of linens with lacework in my attic, tons of it from relatives.  They 

didn't have food processors, dryers, wrinkle free clothing, trash pickup, recycling, texting,

answering machines, internet and skype.  Why is it we have incorporated into our lifestyle so

many ways to save time and yet we seem to have less time?  What I mean by less time, is less

time being still, quiet and content with a task in silence.  When I don't have the radio on in my

car my mind is in my control, I am thinking and self paced.  I'm calm, I don't have this over 

stimulated ping pong feeling when the radio is on, the cell is ringing and I'm switching lanes.

I left the Nail Care Center two weeks ago, once again catching my newly polished toe on 

something and Helen, the owner, said to me, in a nice way, "why are 

you always in a hurry?"  That was an "ah ha" moment, or statement and I don't know why

just then it had an impact, it hadn't ever before when someone said the same thing.

So this summer, my goal is to slow down, keep t.v. to a minimum and take time to let the 

polish dry.

I'll be thinking of all that linen in the attic every now and again because there won't ever be

a generation like that again.  We've come to far, too fast, no turning back the clock on time.

The sad thing is we all are over stimulated, being calm and creative in the quiet is just 

getting harder and harder.

Room 84 or 44?

Our final night in Paris.  I confidently walk into the hotel to request our room key and say,
quatre vingt quatre,  44.  The man at the reception desk said "Nice try, that's 84 and you'd be
in the garden." Time to go back to the USA.

Barcelona Airport

The airport is Barcelona could be another country!  There are three terminals, I 

was in one, it was enormous with 70 gates.  The width of the terminal walkways

the distance of a two lane highway.  The shopping, in this terminal rivaled Braintree

Mall in Mass., the largest mall in New England.  I gazed at the departure signage, 

airlines I never heard of and destinations I had no idea where they were.

I arrived in Paris, as planned and Lauren was already in the room, asleep from 

her red eye.  A brief 3 nights here before we head home. We've got our walking

shoes on... exploring on foot.

Russell Crowe, where are you darling?

How could I not think of Russell Crowe in Gladiator as I gaze into the Amphitheatre, by the ocean in
Tarragona.  I just wanted to beam myself to 1 BC, to get a glimpse of the crowd, the stage, the dress of
that time.  All I'm sure of is sandals and togas.  I like sandals and yes togas, I went to college.  The amphitheatres were used for blood sports, like gladiator fights and fights with wild animals.  They were also used for athletics and other entertainment.  The backstage is underneath the arena.  The stands here are divided by social classes, inferior, middle and superior.  The amphitheatre was also used for public executions.  If we did that today, on Wall Street,  maybe these Bernie Madoff types would stop all this illegal trading.   The site is breath taking, I was spellbound by the workmanship that existed so long ago. The geology major always comes out and I take photos, close up of the rocks used in construction.  The chisel marks were obvious to me, I try to visualize the tools the romans used to make
the bricks square, on those hot summer days.
Most of my time here has been in Old Town, the original city, within a non descript city.  Old Town is amazing, narrow streets, courtyards of eating establishments, lots of umbrellas, pubs & patio chairs that
get lots of use.   We did encounter communication issues, like the prawn salad that arrived with no prawns and the chocolate ice cream that was green.  Then, when lost, I lost my logic and went to a bus stand where two women were waiting for a bus.  I showed them the map and inquired what direction.  One woman who had one tooth, bottom middle, and a wart that competed with her nose could only laugh, the other woman joined in, I left.  So Cathy has determined, in Italy the locals know some English, here they don't.
Back to the ice cream, the waiter poured what must have been a sister liquid to gasoline all over it.
More sites today, heading to the Barcelona area,  closer to the airport, in the likely event we have to walk to the airport tomorrow, as driving has been a huge issue.

"Oh, there's another one!" and "Is that the ocean?"

The drive was from Barcelona to the north shore of Barcelona.  We counted, post our final arrival at our destination, nine, pull over and ask for directions.  Yes it was frustrating, the signage was terrible and the maps we had worse.  The GPS was on "recalculating" and we were saying, there goes Big Ben, over and over.  How could this happen?  On our first of many trips north on N-15,  Cathy and I saw a woman, alone, on a roadside plastic chair.  We passed her and Cathy said, "I don't think that girl had a skirt on."  I said, " No, No, it was a short short mini shirt."  Next there is a girl, again, side of the road with just large fish net print
panty hose on,.. oh, wow.. and the our conversation was "Oh, there is another!", for miles, maybe over 40 women, barely dressed.
Moving on, we are still lost, driving, I'm navigating... and over the horizon I see what looks like an ocean and say "Is that the ocean?", we are going to a land locked location, how can this be?  Yes, we were nearly in France.  What should have been 2 hours was 4.
If there was a Best Buy I would have bought another Garmin, anything to save me!  No, I  didn't take any photos of the "girls", what is wrong with this culture?

Basque, Spain, Fatherland & Liberty

Basque, Spain is on the boarder of Spain and France, in the northwest corner, on the border of France
and Spain.  Of the 17 regions in Spain, Basque is one of the richest regions with ONE THIRD of the per capita GDP.  Basque, in 1959 wanted to be separate from Spain.  By the 1970's Basque Fatherland and Liberty Separatists started their violence.  The strategy was to carefully select murders and bomb inkey locations.  The psychological and symbolic effect was planned, the counter violence
provoked.  The 700 strong Basque terrorists targeted arms forces, assassinations happened.   They, after the attacks, would use France as a sanctuary base.  The goal, gain independence from the Basque County.
There are 800 know members, in prisons in France and Spain.  829 innocent people have been killed, thousands injured and dozens of kidnappings.  The Basque terrorists target national police.
I googled all this, as on my train ride, today, from Beziers France to Barcelona Spain, there were  border
issues.  The France police boarded in France, the stop before the border, in Spain, again the police boarded the train, a complete search, each of us had to present our passports.  The french woman next to me, Geraldine was kind enough to tell me what was going on.  I thought there was a stow-away!
The long and short, this issue isn't discussed or acknowledged in Spain.  This has been going on since the late 50's. Its a shhhhhh.
A sidebar here, on the France border the train needed a rail adjustment.  I don't know how this is done, but the train rail width changes at the border between France and Spain.  This goes way back to war times, the French didn't want trains on their rails, so they changed the width so the train wouldn't be compatible to the rail and not work.   So when the French trains switch countries, so must the width of
the train rails.  It must be an interesting and brilliant engineering task.
How could I not think of the IRA in England when I think of Basque, in Spain.  Please people, can there just be world peace!  Doesn't being mean take a whole lot more energy than being nice!
And so, as I am absorbing all of what the BBC is broadcasting, about Japan, about Lybia... there is never
any mention of conflict in Spain.  I am beginning to adore America more and more.  Really, if California ever decides to become independent and try to separate from the United States via violence, would that mean not exporting Napa wine?  That would be bazaar, uncivilized and honestly not worth the effort.   Hasn't California always been out there?  Do we really care, should we care, why bother?
Or Utah, now that would be interesting, how would I be a bra burner in Salt Lake City?  Let me count the ways, zero zero zero.
I didn't sleep on the train, nor worry about terror.  I watched the landscape, the fields upon fields of active or passed on vineyards and thought.... is it all about vin, and if it is, what's wrong with that?  I'm
thinking about my bucket list, what next, photography, in Africa... yes, that's it.

I need to put you in an envelope.

"I need to put YOU in an envelope, said Stephanine, an Administrator here at the Culinary School.  She
is German and French is her second language,  English her third.   She was referring to my two certificates, one in French, one in Culinary cooking.  I'm thinking, I so don't deserve the French certificate, it wasn't what I expected.  What do I mean by that?  I mean I was in cooking school, my classes focused on the vocabulary of a chef!   Want to know about Mouton/Lamb, Porc/Pig, Bouef/Beef or Veau/Veal?  How about all the parts of the animals?  Then there is 22 regions in France, each unique, each having a culinary speciality. I had to learn all the utensils in a kitchen, for culinary cooking and pastry. Quantite, Ingredients, Preparation... blanchur, braiser, griller, pocher and sauter.  Did you know the #1 person in the kitchen is
"Chef de Cuisine", directly below, second in command, the Sous-chef... from there the flow chart goes
lateral, each chef assigned to a specific task, like pastry, fish, beef, etc.  I asked, how do you get the chef
title?  I thought a degree, certificate, a few years just washing pots and pans.  No, its merely a title for the
person, who is #1 in the kitchen, viola, the chef!   I now consider myself a chef, of my home, and no flow chart below me, I do dishes, all the dishes.  So, I am thinking, no badge, pin, crown, I really really like
tiaras.   I vacuum wearing one, to Yo Yo Ma.
So if you want me to take you to a French dinner, I am your gal.  If you want me to tell you, in French how
to make a crepe, I'm your girl.  If you want to catch a train, a plane or rent a car,  you are so on your own!

Not so much...For the moment...Very Expensive

One of my French teachers is Eva.  I like her better than Stephan, we can pull her off her agenda.  This week Eva has been especially entertaining.
Not So Much... are the French overweight.   Eva indicated that with the introduction of American fast food, weight issues are beginning to surface.
For The Moment... bull fights remain.  My hand was up in a heartbeat, what!  I told her that Whole Foods took lobsters out of the stores as it was "uncivilized" to keep them/ the lobsters in tanks!  I googled Bull Fights and only in southern and southwestern France (and all of Spain) are they allowed.  It is permitted
under the clause "unbroken local tradition."  The fights are on cable and I've watch briefly the bull fights,
in amazement.  Six spears, each 2' are put into the back of the bull, to slow it down.  When it tires out it
can be killed with a knife to the back of the bulls neck.  You can even buy that very bull and take it home
to eat it.  I can't even imagine what the animal activists in the United States would do, chain themselves to the bull, the matador?
Very Expensive... are truffles, especially the white ones.  Back at my apartment I google "truffles" as
Emond, my culinary chef walks around with the vial of "truffle oil" like its a royal jewel.  What I learned
(and I just know your dying to know) is that truffles are fungi, an underground mushroom that lives close to roots of specific trees.  This is the really interesting part, they are found by Truffle Dogs who can detect the strong smell.  I can't help but wonder WHAT  does a truffle hunting dog look like?  If I had one, or if
I had to invent one, it would have pink accessories.   A tutu, pink, with ribbons that float in the wind as it
strolls, sniffing here and there and finally digging up fungi, oh I mean truffles.  Did I mention that the dog would look like?  It would be a bit larger than my two dear white multi poohs.  The very multi poohs that June's Wagging Tails has more than me!   My children would agree with me now that Chase would accomplish the fungi task and is mildly trainable.  Zoey on the other hand was
the runt of the litter and we are all convinced there was a lack of oxygen when she was born.  Oh, more points of interest, truffle oil is synthetic with olive oil, there are hundreds of species held in "high esteem"
and finally they are among the most expensive foods in the world, $250. to 450. a pound.

Eva was on a roll yesterday, off agenda I mean.  The tax rate in France is 19.6%  For restaurant dining
or necessary/vital foods (not wine and coffee) the tax is 5.6%  

On the topic of money, the dollar is $1.63 against the Euro, add the 19.6% tax and I'd need a half price
sale to make anything worth buying.   My daughter is meeting me in Paris for a long weekend, when
shopping I'll JUST SAY NO.

Fruits of Labor

It was an educational adventure last Friday when I joined the wine class and headed to a vineyard about
45 miles away, in Gabian.  Gabian is in the Languedoc, there are 22 regions in France, each unique.  Emmanuel Pageot and his wife Karen each have over 25 years of knowledge in the wine industry.  The countryside of vineyard is broken up into plots, rented or owned, some in poor
condition, some ideal.  Emananuel owns 11 different lots, none side-by-side but in the same few square
mile region, each a different variety of grape.  He owns and farms independently 7 hectares ( 1 hectare = 2.47 acres).

I was there to take pictures for the school's web-site although I did a fair share of labor in the afternoon with a hoe and burned the collected vine twigs.  Ash from the vines being burnt adds free potassium and carbon to the soil.  I was so exhausted at the days end I was tripping over my own feet.  When I relaxed at night in the bathtub I found a grape vine twig in my hair.  I don't like being this close to nature!

When I first arrived at the vineyard I walked miles, taking photos of Emmanuel's vineyard and anyone
that was in site.  I notice lots of shotgun shells discarded on the ground, I thought there must be ducks,
no lake in site, but the shells were ones that hold pellets, that is what duck hunters use, the pellets
fan out, this increases the chance of a hit.  I discovered that the farmers were hunting wild boar that
destroy the vineyards.  Long ago farmers intentionally bred pigs with boars for more animals to hunt and
made a mess of nature and these wild boar, ugly, terrifying "its" are out of control multiplying.

On to another pleasant bit of vineyard knowledge.
I asked Emanuele (nope, he didn't appear at all annoyed) why no irrigation.  I needed to grab my spiral notebook for this answer.  First there is enough rainfall.  Second, if you produce fine wines from small yields you must create an incentive for the roots to go down so you don't water from above.   In the fall and winter you cut the vine roots in each row with a heavy plow.  In the spring and summer you switch to a lighter plow to cut the superficial roots.  This way the deep down moisture isn't wicked to the surface.
In this area there is an extinct volcano, Cadables.  Volcanos throw out fresh material from within the Earth, this
helps renew the nutrients found in the soil, creating fertile soil.  Not unlike an iceberg, much more of a
volcano is below the surface.  If a volcano is extinct its unlikely to erupt again as there is no lava supply. Of course there are exceptions, my personal favorite, Fourpeaked Mt. in Alaska, it erupted in 2006 and the previous time was 8000 BC!  Think of Pompeii.
More, hold on, this is educational, we all like wine, don't we?
Emmanuel bought this particular plot with vines that were 35 years old.  I questioned why, thinking that young fruit trees are the most productive, doesn't this also apply to grape vines?  He told me that vines can live 50 years or more if you take care of them properly and don't expect much.  In addition, older vines produce grapes of higher concentration due to the smaller yield.   The highest yield is when the vines are between 8 and 10 years old.  Tiny buds were on the vines, each bud would be two clusters.
Finally, every row, in one year rotations, is left to rest, this helps build up the organic matter.  He sprays lavender on the vines, a natural bug repellent and it adds a hint of the flavor to the final product.
So next time, look into that glass of wine, take a smell and a taste and don't complain about the price
of wine, there is a whole lot of labor in the fruits of wine.

Romancing the Stone

I felt like Kathleen Turner yesterday, or Joan Wilder, in the movie Romancing the Stone.  Playing opposite Michael Douglas, roar.
But, I was going to Carcassonne in France and she was going to Carcassone in South America, regardless, yesterday I was Joan Wilder, a young, beautiful and successful author of.... ahhh romance novels.
I started off in my Renault Elf, a tiny (dahhh) red car.  The woman at Hertz, obvious to the fact I was
an American, waved me off and said she's been to the United States, Las Vegas.  If that is her only impression of what the United States is like, I should have had some sequin number on.
The City of Carcassonne was a good hour and a half drive.  As I am driving I'm thinking what could
be the worst thing that could happen to me today?  This is outside of the routine getting lost.  The first
thought was getting in an accident, the fast impatient drivers, the hundreds of round abouts.  The thought
of defending myself when someone hit me, that would be the challenge.  Heck, I wouldn't even know
it if someone was swearing at me in sentences if they laced it with a thick French accent.
I made it to Carcassonne without incident.
I thought of my son, his years of playing Legos and his Playmobile castle, he must visit here now,
darn, he's doing his thesis at Bates College.
Carcassone is an amazing, first a Roman fort and then a medieval city, with 53 towers!  All over the
countryside there are castles and abbeys.  What makes Carcassone especially unique is the fact it
was restored, perfectly.  During the life of this defensive structure, the castle was never taken. The
thin rectangular windows, for shoting arrows, holes in the flooring made it possible to shoot vertically
downwards.  Yes, even a drawbridge.  Just like the movies I thought, so very cool.  Within the walls
there was a city, a city for tourists.  Candy stores, maps, linens, crepes and toy stores.  Toy stores
loaded with costumes of knights and toys: swords, shields and princess type dresses.
In light of just not Libya, I couldn't help but think, back then there were waves of great invasions
where empires collapsed.  Don't we still have barbarian warriors today?  I think yes!
On the drive back I thought, everything has changed over the centuries and nothing has.  When I
think of European history,  a great deal of the fighting was religion based.  Today religion is still
an issue but in my opinion, the forefront is government, not governing with ethics.  Sadly, it is
what it is and I don't see the cycle ever changing.  Does anyone ever want to surrender when they
are convinced, without a doubt, they are right.  You grow up in this environment, and the apples don't
fall far from the trees, resistance is in the blood.
The return drive, I intentionally went on roads that took me through villages.  Although mostly
stucco homes, tight to the road with colorful shutters, people were out.  I thought there is comfort
in village/town living.  There seemed to be more of a calm, maybe I was feeling tradition, it felt
different.  Why?  I think Americans are programed to a faster beat.  Do we really smell the roses?
I pass by vineyards, rented or owned plots, and the French are tending to the vines just as
generations gone by did and generations to come will.

Good News and Bad News, on the basic level

First the bad news.  The charades act is beginning to fail me having been in France for a month now.
How do I know?   At the market I wanted honey for the herbal, calming tea.  Having forgot my
English/French dictionary, I was on stage once again, I can so easily be a bee.  Nope, it failed
me as the clerk gave me a can of bug spray.  I'm thinking I need a tutor and some Ridlin.

The good news.  In at the lobby (rustic would be a compliment) there are all the discarded,
left behind books from previous visitors.  I spotted, in English, Eat Pray and Love.  Honestly,
I am only on page 27 but am savoring each page.  The only book, previous to this, that totally
captivated me was The Bridges of Madison County.  Wow, want a fantasy to play the female
role opposite Clint Eastwood, roar!  Back to the book, its a must read.  Liz Gilbert is on a
self discovery mission.  The pain of divorce is minimized but the quote "If you really want to get to
know someone, you have to divorce him" sums it up.  Liz talks about the mighty healing powers
of time.  Having most likely, the slowest emotional recovery known, after my Father's death, I  best
describe the experience as a light dimmer, ever so slowly coming on.  One day you surprise
yourself belting out "All Right Now" with the Rolling Stones on, ultra loud, the car window
down and your hair "Blowing in the Wind".  She even moved out of her house, got an
apartment.  In the challenging transition, this was her sanatorium for recovery.  I so get that.
I already have my wings,  Liz is just reassuring me I'm normal.  Am I?  I hope not.

That is all the news for today, for which you should all be wearing green!

Happy St. Patricks Day.
Joan

"Respect the Food, don't break the cloth."

Chef Amond told me to respect the food and don't break the cloth.
Yes, I was agressive with the lobster, I live in New England, I eat lobster!
Oh, I get it, I'm in culinary cooking class, in France!  Wake up Joan.
So you must be careful and dainty when removing the shell, keeping all
the underlying seafood in perfect condition.  I wonder if French chefs
ever go onto be plastic surgeons, that would be an easy transition.

Tonight we made pastry puffs.  I Ke Ko (japanese) Alexandra
(Chinese) and I were selected to work together.  The communication is
a bit of a challenge as we try to figure out what each other is saying.  I
win, they have to speak in English.  But I wonder "am I winning to
lose" as I retreat to the "See Spot Run to Jane" sentences.  

Measuring in grams is interesting.  No measuring cups, you just use
the scale.  I'm excited, in my American mind I am dreaming of
pop-overs dancing in my head!  Not in skinny France, we had to
put the dough in a pastry sleeve and make QUARTER size puffs.
Who are they feeding in France, elfs?   Alex coaches me...press,
stop and curl.   No I never had one, I wanted a pop-over, nobody
knew what it was.

When I get back to Scituate I'm getting out my popover pan and
fulfilling the fantasy I missed tonight.

John Wayne Rides Again

Its a rainy weekend, no car, what to do on a Saturday night?  Tyler is right, I am part of the
lost generation when it comes to the internet.  I was out to prove him wrong.  As watching
Criminal Minds is painful, the computer is cycling in a "buffering" mode, a complete sentence
takes minutes.  Ah ha I thought I'll just google for a movie, this took far more time than an
hour as I am a magnet for getting in loops.  Finally, I find a French site for free videos and
get a selection of six, the first was with John Wayne!  When was the last time I watched
TV in black and white, 5?  No, I wasn't interested.  Back to start, this time I educated myself
and downloaded QuickTime, 3 hours later I was already into a book.  Evidently I need
to go back to my weekly Apple Store One - to - One sessions!

Hyper U

Hyper U is the local, large supermarket.  I noticed a few things we Americans
should adapt.  The first is the shopping carts.  They are all linked together with
chains, you put in One Euro coin and get a cart.  When you return the cart you
get your Euro back.  No shopping carts littering the parking lot.  Next, you
either get very very skimpy bags for your purchase or your charged for each
bag.  The French are never without their bags.  Charging creates an incentive.
Wait there is more.
Recycling centers aren't just at the land fill, they are in major areas, like right
by the Police Station downtown.
I notice that water isn't sold in any bottle less than a liter, individual water bottles
are not to be found.
Sliced bread is also hard to find, everyone carries around the long loafs, they
are even sticking out of backpacks often.
In a huge store like Hyper U (Costco/Walmart) there is a tiny section of a
limited variety of batteries.  I am assuming electricity is the energy of choice.
When I was out in the countryside yesterday, at a vineyard, I asked the owner/
wine instructor why it was the majority of French are slender and I have yet
to see a gym.  Emanuele said it was due to a number of reasons.  First they
eat small portions, the red wine helps the health and they eat vegetables.  He
said only when the vegetables are in season do they eat them.  Makes lots
of sense to me.

"You Speak Like Tarzan"

"You speak like Tarzan" said Stephan, our French teacher.  I almost left class I was laughing so hard.
French is challenging and he speaks so fast.  Example, he recites a series of phone numbers and we
all suppose to write them down!  Where does one number begin and end, its like one long French
run on sentence.

I've decided the only way I can keep my studies to a minimum and travel through Europe doing
what I want, and getting what I want, it only requires four elements.
1. Charades -Do anything to get your point across, I wiped out my ATM card and made the motions
of putting it in an ATM, it so worked.
2. Be Aerobic -Jump, lunge, point.  If it doesn't get the point across it counts for exercise.
3. Always use your hands.  Its great for tall, small, swim, sky, etc.  When I order a mussel pizza in
error (I am allergic to mussels) when it arrived I pretended to choke myself, the waiter understood
the bazaar acting American, took it away and gave me the menu again.
4. Use sound effects.  I needed to buy shaving cream for Tyler in Chamonix, the clerk showed
me razors, I made the correct foaming sound, using my hands to apply the invisable shaving
cream and viola.
Always Always overly thank anyone.

March, 9, 2011, I'm Hungry!

How can I not think of the steak house on Rt. 1 north of Boston, the one with the fake full size
cows out front.  I often read about the prime rib specials, you know the prime rib that cascades off your
plate, the mash potatoes with butter, enough for four.
It's not that way in France.  The portions are petite.  French cooking is labor intensive, the ratio
of chefs to restaurant clients is low, thus the entree prices high.  No short cuts.  The chefs work
12 to 18 hour days.  The detail work is amazing and amazingly time consuming.
I see few overweight French, I first off attributed it to the smoking.  I am now evolving to
the thought it is portion control and smoking.  The savory morning item with cafe, the lunch
laced with strong coffee and a petite dinner with fine vin.
I really don't think the oversized meatball grinder (sub) would fly in France, its easily two
meals for them and really they would rather have ham and cheese or yougurt!
I learned today that the southern half of France is a place for retirement, it is a slower pace.
Eva, my French teacher said it makes the life easier but the work harder.  Evidently, folks
from all over Europe retire to southern France, the more expensive real estate in the Canne,
Monte Carlo area.
Where I fail is the carrot.  You first boil them, then plunge in cold water to blanc, when ready.  The
carrot can then be skinned, via hand, gently.  My error, I am too aggressive with the carrot and the
little green tops are muscled off.... ooops.  Chef Emond only likes carrots with the presentation
tops. Like I said, French cooking is detail orientated.

Slower than Slow

To be French is to be relaxed.  Americans live to work, the French work to live.
It can be a challenge rapidly accomplishing your errands when stores are closed
for lunch, for hours!  It need not be exactly at noon, nor an hour.  An hour for
lunch, how could one relax?
So there isn't coffee to go, so you have to sit with this tiny cup of high test
coffee, one would think it would rev you up, get the tempo off and running,
nope, that doesn't happen.  And then the smoking with the coffee, that slows
it down.  No running skipping, no to do list.  The females on the news stations
don't even comb their hair, wisps here and there, what is that about.  I'm
sure Kelly Rippa is in cosmetics for at least an hour before the show, not
just her face either, polish those Jimmy Choe shoes!
I just don't know how the French with long workday breaks and calmness
can get to Friday and say "Phew, glad that week is over!"

The Last of the Mohicans

How could I not think of Indians in the wild, hunting animals in cooking
class this week.  We prepared and cooked pigeon and rabbit.
Yes folks, that does involve cutting the heads off, snipping off the pigeon
nails, removing the insides etc.  Just to put the French back in the civilized
column, the pigeons aren't from outside the Louve (I asked) they are farmed
and fed corn meal.  So when you sort the meat you throw the unusable bits
in a pot for stock....yuck.... the heads too, nothing is wasted.  The French
use every single part of the pig. At this time I should mention that
French eat horse and in Africa, giraffe.
You can't imagine how hard it is to make a rack of rabbit, a tiny rack.  How
about cutting carefully around the pigeon leg.  Labor intensive and not a
whole lot of meat in the end.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

First day of classes.

French was fine, the students are from around the world and the 

teacher is amazing as she can communicate with everyone.  

I've observed the french, rarely overweight and they eat so much

bread, cheese and pastry!  I figured it out, they smoke.  This lowers

the food cravings.  Thus far I haven't seen one gym, Fitness 24, 

Curves, anything.  So they smoke and have no endurance to exercise.

Maybe the government should focus on the dangers of smoking, 

once they conquer that they'll have to move on to fitness and diet.

It appears this is a vacation location from the cities, especially

Paris.  

Time for Rosetta Stone, a very good program I must add.

Joan

Cape d' Ange, France, Joan Adventures

Monday, February 28, 2011

The challenge with my traveling is always the extensive amount of luggage!  I told Tyler my goal is
to one day check a bag and board the aircraft with a paperback book!
The luggage coupled with my limited French charades and passing through Geneva was a bit
stressful, in a sweat, pulling two suitcases, a briefcase that is busting and wearing a backpack.
It was way to obvious I was an American.
All around me in the train station people are strolling, one man whistles, what is wrong with
these people, life can't be that relaxing I think, then again it could be a Sunday thing.
When there is six minutes to connect between trains in a town I can't even pronounce I seek
out personnel, written on my hand my train number, 6 digits!  Finally I arrive in what I
imagined would be a little quaint village, no its a city.  Someone has to stop publishing all
those vineyard, farm shots of France, the cities are taking over the countryside.  I've got the
Merci down, Tyler says I have deux (#2 or dah) down pat as well, two wines, two more wines, etc.
Cab to the culinary institute, I didn't even speak, just passed him a piece of paper with the
address of the school arriving 57 euros later.   Found my 400 sf apt., darling.  What is it with
electric heaters in each room?
The biggest challenge was finding an ATM today and food shopping.  Of course I ask to
reassure myself I am in the right direction... on the journey to the port, on foot I met a grandfather
with his grandson in a stroller.   We practiced french.  Then I met an older man, always
selecting the kind slow moving folk for my questions.  I think he wanted me to run away with
him, my intention was to find by then, overdue coffee and a muffin.   Finally, a cafe, but no coffee to go?
No time to sit and have coffee.  What no paper cups?  Off I go, noticing that the French aren't
eating and drinking as they stroll, no cell phones annoyingly ringing and really no horns  
blaring either.
It could be the feel of California weather, the lush plants, the palm trees swaying, you tell me.
I could learn to love France if not for the friends and family in the states that I love more.
Bon soir,
Joan