Adventures in the Aude, Or How I Spent My Christmas Vacation

As many of my friends know (and are tired of hearing about it I am sure), I am recovering from a nasty encounter with a patch of black ice, meaning that I am housebound nursing a sore but thankful body. No concussion and no broken bones, but lots of soft tissue damage = sofa bound. (ADDENDUM: Since starting this really long post I am somewhat better. But it’s below freezing outside so I am happy to stay sofa bound today). Anyway, I thought I’d take advantage of the downtime to reminisce about our recent adventures through the south of France.

We decided to visit the Languedoc because, as I mentioned in this post, when we thought that Doug was getting a job with UNESCO we envisioned having a second home in the south of France, somewhere where he could have his canoe and his workshop and where we could escape from Paris whenever we wanted. We looked around and the Languedoc seemed like the place! According to the internet there are still affordable properties there.  I had been there once, 10-11 years ago, and while it wasn’t my most memorable place immediately after returning from a trip that started in Nice and ended in Barcelona, memories of the Languedoc rose to the surface slowly, aging well, like a fine wine. I had always wanted to return and could just envision my little village abode there! It was as fated as Doug getting the job in Paris! We were SO sure that ALL of this was going to transpire that when he didn’t get the job, all of the bubbles were burst. No living in Paris! No home in the south of France. Boo HOO!

But in time we started thinking, hmmm. Maybe the job and the Paris apartment didn’t materialize, but the cute place in the south of France? MAYBE that could still be a (remote) possibility. So we decided to go snooting, as the husband likes to say, and planned a trip. We invited my mother-in-law to join us. Petunia (as she is known to her grandchildren and great grandchildren) is a world traveler and at 39 (give or take a few decades) pretty sprightly. RoadTRIP!

I did a lot of research on possible houses in the south of France locations before we left, checking out everything from voting records to amenities to distance to the sea (canoe, remember the canoe). So I had a list of villages to snoot, as well as places to just tourist. We stayed in the lovely village of Lagrasse, chosen for its central location, as well as its designation as one of the Beaux Villages de France. And it was really beaux.

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We rented an apartment from these lovely folks:
https://holidaysinlagrasse.com/
Guy and Claire did a fabulous job renovating the property.

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It was perfect, I highly recommend it. (Just be forewarned, if you stay over the Christmas holiday all restaurants in town will be closed. It was fine for us as we ventured out during the day and snacked on cheese, wine and other delicacies in the evening.  For us it all worked out perfectly!)

We wasted no time venturing out and about. Our first full day took us to the sea, Gruissan to be exact. We had a wonderful lunch in the village, fresh seafood and wonderful service at La Cranquette. 

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It was a lovely sunny day so we decided to walk off that delicious seafood along the med, popping over to Gruissan Plage. It was a nice sandy long beach, with houses that reminded me of old Ocean City (MD). I can imagine that it’s hopping in the summer. We enjoyed our stroll and Doug found some beautiful shells to take home as souvenirs of our day by the sea.

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The next day was Christmas Eve and we wanted to feel in the spirit. I had heard that there was a Christmas market in Carcasonne, home of the famous Chateau Comtal.

(Not my picture, but this is the best view). An enjoyable 45 minute ride later we luckily snagged a parking spot not far away from said market. It was sweet and charming and full of people enjoying the mild December weather, drinking mulled wine or, like us, taking advantage of the wonderful freshness of the oysters (and we of course had to have wine).

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We walked around Carcassonne town and worked up another appetite, so we went back to the main square and had a bite and more wine, because why not? Rose to match the sunshine.

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Fortified, we figured that we had to visit the castle while we were there, only to find that it was closing soon. But we were still able to wander around the outside, marveling at the view.

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Christmas Day! We knew that most places would be closed so the plan was to drive to Narbonne to the market to purchase goodies for our Christmas feast.  We were a little late getting on the road so when we got to the fabulous indoor market most of the vendors were packing up to (rightly) head home to enjoy their holiday. But we were able to snag some provisions including a wonderful roast chicken with potatoes and something called Bouchee a la reine, which is a delicious puff pastry, in this case filled with salmon in a cream sauce. SO GOOD! We also purchased the obligatory Bouche de Noel, and some assorted cheeses and charcuterie and salad fixings and of course a baguette.

All that shopping made us hungry, but we didn’t want to eat a big meal knowing the feast that awaited us, so we found a little café by the canal and sat outside and had an omelette and salad for 10e and pichets of rose and it was so so sweet.

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After our lunch we walked around Narbonne.  It’s a really charming town, I look forward to returning.

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We took the long way back to Lagrasse, checking out some villages along the way (see below) and had a lovely Christmas dinner.

The next day Petunia was a bit pooped, so Doug and I decided to venture out and about on our own while she chillaxed in the apartment. We had our GPS set to some towns along the canal du midi, as I thought that they might make a nice home base. We had already scoped out some of my other possibilities: Fabrezan, which was close to Lagrasse and looked good on paper, but was just a bit too dark for Doug’s taste. Then there was Saint-Laurent-de-la-Cabrerisse, also very close to Lagrasse and actually quite charming, with a nice little grocery store and a few restaurants. There was Doug’s favorite on paper, the funnily named Fontjoncouse. There was the super sweet Villerouges de Termines. But, as we were to discover about all the nice pretty little villages that I had painstakingly researched, EVERYTHING we might need was a 30-40 minute drive away. Call us spoiled Americans, but as Doug said, if I need a box of nails I don’t want to have to drive 30 minutes to get them. Hmmmmm something to ponder. Was my dream of finding my perfect place dashed already? No place had hit the spot so far and I was starting to get worried – but I was not ready to give up hope!

Undaunted by our lack of mutual WOW to that point we headed to some towns along the canal. First stop La Redorte, which was a nice town, but we just weren’t feeling it.  So we went on to Homps, which we really weren’t feeling. We didn’t get it at the time, but later we realized that we are Corbieres-ians (I made that up).  Lagrasse and environs (including all the way to the sea) are part of the region called Corbieres. From this site:

The Corbières is one of the wildest areas of France with one of the lowest population densities. It is picturesque with wine growing areas alternating with garigue and mountainous countryside. The name Corbières comes from “cor” a pre-Celtic word meaning “rock” and “berre” from the River Berre which runs through Durban. The eastern part of the Corbières with its Etangs, borders the Mediterranean Sea and is called the Corbières maritimes. It has its own distinctive climate and characteristic vegetation known as thermomediterranean vegetation.

OK, all we knew was that we always felt good when we saw this road sign,

and not because of the wine. We just somehow felt better there…

OK I digressed from the travelogue. As we were standing on a hilltop looking over a lake outside of Homps, me feeling like I would never find “our village”, I said “let’s just go to Bages”. I had visited Bages, a fishing village on one of the aforementioned Etangs in the Corbieres maritimes, and remembered liking it. And off we went, first stopping off at the giant Carrefour off the roundabout outside of Narbonne to stock up on…wine, and then 7 minutes later our eyes fell upon this:

Bages, just as I had remembered only better. There were flamingoes! It’s on a hill, but there were fishing boats lining the shore and I could see that Doug was intrigued. He took a video (that I can’t seem to upload unfortunately) and we stood there feeling happy, a feeling that only grew stronger as we made our way up and around the village. We just loved it, the charm, the sea, the fact that it’s a 7-minute drive to civilization (we are so American).

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We drove along the Etang to the next town, Peyriac de Mer, which is also very nice, but Bages had captured our hearts. The minute we got back to the apartment we popped open some wine (Corbieres AOC mais oui) and looked at some real estate listings in Bages. OK, not quite as dirt bargain cheap as some of the inland tiny villages, but not out of the question. YES!

The next day we took Petunia to see what we had started feeling was OUR town, and had a lovely lunch with a view

(those windows are the restaurant) We walked around some more envisioning our new house with its rooftop terrace view of this…ahhh.

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We took the long way back through the Corbieres, happy.

The next day was our last full day! We decided to go really far afield and drove south, towards the Pyrenees, destination Tautavel. Tautavel is a wine town in the foothills of the Pyrenees, best known for being the site where they discovered that oldest human remains in Europe, dubbed the Tautavel Man. I wish we had taken pictures of the scenery, but we were awestruck and Doug was hesitant to stop the Mercedes along the steep winding little roads. It was breathtaking, huge granite mountains in the distance, green fields and vineyards in the valleys. (Here is a picture of Tautavel, not mine).

We were really hungry when we finally made it to the town and were happy to find a gem of a restaurant called El Silex: Catalan no less! We had a wine from nearby Vingrau and delicious meal served up with Catalan hospitality by the owner/waiter/chef.

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Fortified, we popped over to Vingrau (again not my picture, but wanted to show the mountains)

and found the cave open (hate when that happens) and bought 3 bottles.

We decided to check out the area to the east, by the sea, to see if we liked the med further south (we were just south of Leucate). Short answer: we did not!!! Of course, when we headed towards “home” and saw THE sign we understood why. Corbieres-ians all the way.

We sadly said goodbye to our lovely Arch Apartment the next day. We had booked a hotel in Toulouse for our last night, the charming Albert 1er in the center of town. We dropped our beautiful car off at the airport only to discover that most transportation to the center of town was diverted due to the Gilets Jaunes (or Yellow Vests in English). That meant we had to take a tram and walk 20 minutes, including the resilient Petunia.  We showed her to her room for a well-deserved rest and ventured out to see what we could of Toulouse. We soon came across a group of said Gilets Jaunes, milling about as the protest was winding down. 

All seemed peaceful so I approached a woman and asked her in my not so great but passable French to explain to me why she was protesting. From what I could understand, for her it was economics, she lives outside of the city is having a harder time making ends meet and she sees Macron’s government as elitist.  I can’t claim to speak for anyone else and it’s not my country or my battle, but in human terms I couldn’t argue with anything she said.

We went back and fetched Petunia and showed her some sites, she had been in Toulouse with Doug’s dad, and she had many memories to share over a really nice dinner.

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It was a great way to end a fabulous trip.

We’ve spent many pleasant evenings since returning reminiscing about our trip over bottles of, what else, Corbiere wine. We decided that we can taste the terroir of our hopefully soon to be “home”. I hope that future entries chronicle my International house hunt in Bages. I hope you come along as I try to live my dreams…

A Real Rainbow over the Corbieres. A SIGN?!

Purse Panda in Paris Part One

I didn’t set off on my French adventure alone…I have a secret traveling companion. When I was packing for my trip my husband Doug said, “You need to take a creature with you” (no not him!!!), referring to a stuffed animal memento that would remind me of home. After some consideration I chose the travel ready Purse Panda.

This is Purse Panda chilling in my friend Jo’s Parisian apartment on our first night in Paris!

Purse Panda was a gift to Doug from his son Holden. We hadn’t been dating all that long when we took Holden to the National Zoo on what happened to be Father’s Day. I told Doug that Holden and I would be back and we found a gift shop where I told Holden that he could pick out a gift as a surprise for Doug. The 6-years-old-at-the-time Holden chose Purse Panda. I must say, it was a perfect choice!

So Purse Panda hopped into my Paris-bound suitcase and away we went, first as you know to Nice, where he checked out the French girls on the beach

and had a nice break by a fountain (Purse Panda loves French fountains, as you will see. I haven’t figured out why.)

Purse Panda loved the ice-cold Margarita’s we shared on Cinco de Mayo, in the old town

Purse Panda also enjoyed the trip up in the hills above Nice to the beautiful village of Vence, where Matisse designed a chapel. We hiked to the chapel but it was closed. Purse Panda enjoyed the views nonetheless.

He also admired this Matisse sculpture.

And of course this fountain.

As much as Purse Panda loved Nice,

Paris is his true passion. He is so happy to be here! He especially loves the Eiffel Tower,

most especially when it sparkles.

He also really enjoyed the Jardin du Luxembourg, resting his tired paws with my niece, checking out the crowds and of course, the fountain.

But what Purse Panda really AIMES the most about Paris is hanging out with and eating and drinking with the Parisian people. Purse Panda is quite the partier it turns out. He adored the gang at the Eurovision party, and the feeling was tres mutual (even though he did NOT understand the rules!)

Purse Panda enjoys meeting new friends and seeing dear familiar ones.

He loves nothing more than sitting in the sun, sharing some rose,

or looking out at the rooftops of Paris from a friend’s apartment.

He is grateful that I brought him along, and tomorrow he will be reunited with his rightful owner. He is looking forward to more Parisian adventures. Until then, au revoir from Purse Panda in Paris!

My Amazing Five Weeks in France, Partie Un

I’m here in Nice in my sweet apartment (here is my building, it really IS sweet, n’est ce pas?)

and my street:

I’m resting my brain after a long day of French classes yesterday. Today is a holiday here (more on that below) so I have the good fortune to have enjoyed a day off already! Because it is HARD to learn a language at my age my people. I mean REALLY learn it, enough so that you can have an easy conversation. It seems that I have forgotten everything. Imagine being 5 years old, THAT is what I felt like trying to express myself yesterday.

But I am getting ahead of myself! I arrived here in Nice after having spent the night in Paris with my dearest Canadian BFF Jo (I call her ma beatch, what can I say, THAT is how much Je l’aime, despite not being able to understand one f’ing word of her fluent yet foreign to me Québécois French), in her perfect apartment in the 9^th that I talked her into renting (yes I take complete credit) for her well-earned, totally deserved year in Paris. Everyone who decides to continue reading my blog after this post will get to know her very well in future posts, so I will get on with my ponderings about Nice and my school.

My apartment is a beautiful 10-15 minute walk

from Idiom: le spécialiste des cours pour adultes. AKA my school (in this awesome building!)

I love it. As I said above, it is HARD! But everyone is super nice (I will refrain from making any further nice/Nice jokes). AND I am the ONLY American in the school right now. Actually, only one of two English speakers (the other Anglaise is a beautiful elderly lady from Dundee, Scotland.) Everyone else is Swiss (predominately) and German.

I spent a grueling hour taking a French test so that they could make sure that I was in the correct class and was placed in a group (B2!!!) with said Swiss, said Scot, and a German, all female of varying ages and super, well, nice (sorry). As were the instructors (toutes les femmes et super sympa aussi). After the sessions ended they had a welcome party and everyone was invited for a traditional  Niçoise spread and flowing rosé. In the middle of the afternoon. Ahhhh, France! 😊

In between working HARD on my French I have just taken in all the wonder that is Nice. This is the 4^th time I’ve had the privilege to spend time here (blessed BE) and it still enchants. It’s so colorful, vibrant, alive…it feels happy. Nice is a feast for the senses, and I am beyond grateful, made-me-cry grateful, that I have this opportunity to indulge one more time. I walk around humbled, taking in the beauty. It really has taken my breath away at times, and brought me to tears.

I went running this morning, along the prommanade anglais.  I was so exhilarated to be here that I didn’t even hate running…

Then I wandered my way toward the Old Town, marching along with my people on the way. It was a manifestation in honor of 1 May. Workers of the World, Unite! I talked solidarity in my broke ass French with a few of my union brothers and sisters. They tolerated me. 🙂 I don’t care, I was uplifted!

I was pretty hungry and smack in the middle of bad pizza land but I stumbled across this gem of a place:

There weren’t many people there when I entered so I was worried, but it soon filled up and I was REALLY glad that I chose it. I had the special, ” Saint-pierre aux cèpes”,  which translates as John Dory (a white fish) in a creamy sauce. OMG, the fish was so fresh, and that sauce was SO delicious! Of course I had to have some rosé to accompany my meal. 20 euros total, including a chick pea salad and a small bite of Pissaliediere (kind of like pizza) to start, on the house. Amazing…

Fully sated I walked through the Old Town to the market, the Cours Saleya. It was bustling and full of flower stalls selling lily of the valley bouquets in honor of May Day.

I took the long way around

stopping to laugh at this seagull who was giving all the other birds a piece of his/her mind!

back to the seaside where I had a rest.

then I wandered back through the winding narrow streets of the Old Town toward my hood. I happened upon this beautiful park, and decided to sit again. It was such a beautiful sight, all the families and people out enjoying the day off!

I sat and thought about being here alone. I really hate dining by myself. I truly am an extrovert, I get energy from talking and being around other people. So that’s been a bit hard for me. I know my fellow solo woman warrior travelers, I know you are shaking your heads at me right now, saying but you’ve only been alone for 2 DAYS! HAHAHA! I’m sorry, I can’t help it, I need people! But I’ve also realized since I’ve been here that being somewhere alone also makes you so much more aware of your surroundings, and more attuned to the world around you. It’s been great hearing all the different languages as I walk the streets.  I smelled the most wonderful orange blossoms walking through that park. I’m looking around more. I’m seeing that it’s a good thing for me to shut my mouth and just be in the moment for a change. I’m changing.

(To prove my point, I overheard a man say: “ahhh, c’est belle, la fontaine” when I was walking away from here:  🙂

OF course that also means that I have lots of talking stored up, so I look forward to previously mentioned beatch joining me here on Thursday (haha look out Jo I am gonna talk your ear off!). If I behave myself and am capable of waking in time to make my 8AM vocabulary class, my last day of school will be Friday, and Jo and I will, weather permitting, have beaucoup de sun-filled Cote d’Azur adventures ahead of before returning to Paris for part deux of my journey. I hope you will come along!

Until then, I bid you all a fond adieu de Nice. A la prochaine, hons…

Five Weeks in France. O-M-G!

Here I sit, in my home in Baltimore, pondering how I have the great good fortune to be leaving in exactly one week for a five week adventure in France.  I really can’t believe it, still.

I’ll be immersed in French classes here for the first week,

(Nice IS Nice!)

followed by some Nice fun in the sun with my Canadian BFF Jo who is living in Paris for a YEAR! But don’t be a hater, I am sleeping on her couch a few nights. And she deserves it.

Then it’s off to Paris for the rest of the time.

I am so very grateful to my bosses and colleagues at the Center for Economic and Policy Research for allowing me this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (don’t worry I promise to  check my email to make sure we don’t miss any donations!!). I can also scout out office space for CEPR-Paris!

I am grateful for my dear friends in Paris. I look forward to many wine-filled evenings of laughter and love and light. And cheese, and croissants, and all the rest of the glorious food. And thanks to my Fitness guru Linda I hopefully will be able to indulge freely. She gave me some killer workouts to take along.  Montmarte Stairmaster class anyone?

But most of all, I am grateful to my husband Doug, for the patience, understanding and unconditional love that he has shown me in supporting my trip. I look forward to his visit to Paris! Dougie, you totally rock.  Je t’aime baby.

I also look forward to my dear friends and family who will be visiting while I’m there. Some are Paris virgins, and I look forward to showing them my town. Look out Paris, Baltimore will soon be in the MAISON!

I’m also planning on some side trips, one to Strasbourg to visit my friend Anne who lives there (train strike willing),

And (hopefully) to Berlin to see my sister! (Lufthansa willing)

I hope to use my time to reflect. I’m turning 60 in September (60 is the new 40 my lovelies), and I want to take a deep breath, and just be, in the city I love, a place that feeds my soul.

I plan to share some of my thoughts and adventures (and pictures!) here, if anyone is interested in coming along on my ride. You are most welcome.  Paris and I look forward to having you join us.

Bises mes chers… à bientôt !

Oui Audrey, Paris is Always a Good Idea…

So, yeah, I went to Paris, again. This time I really needed it. I needed to recharge my batteries, as trite as that sounds. I needed to be in my favorite place, that foreign city that feels like home to me, and I needed to have my soul soothed and I needed to be alone and to think and just to be. And Paris, being her fabulous beautiful difficult wonderful self, said ok, come on home baby, I am here, waiting for you.

And so I cashed in my remaining AA FF miles and I went, and was welcomed into my lovely little cocoon in the 11^th arr…thank you Denise for your positive review because it was just perfect. And cheap! I miss this view…

This trip was not a sightseeing mission. I went to one, count em one, museum…and I am not apologizing for it. And even then, I had issues. It was a fabulous exhibit at the Carnavalet (the Museum of the city of Paris, free) called (en francais) Roman d’un Garde-Robe: Le chic d’une Parisienne de la Belle Epoque aux années 30, which loosely translated means the novel of a wardrobe: one Parisian’s fashion from the 1900’s to the 30’s.  It contained the dresses, hats and accessories of a trend setting Parisian who helped launch 2 major French fashion houses, which of course appealed to my fashion loving side. So I enjoyed it very much from that aspect.

Some fashions in the exhibit, which was all in French, so I also practiced…

But, as I reflected later, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth after as I couldn’t help but wonder about all the workers who sewed those sequins and toiled to make those dresses and hats. I really wanted to see their pictures, and read their stories. I thought about them all afternoon. I guess you can take the girl outta CEPR, but you can’t take the CEPR outa the girl (See here to understand)

And so what did I do in Paris if I didn’t go sightseeing or museum hopping? I communed with my women. I was uplifted and inspired. I laughed and I listened and I was listened to. I am so very fortunate beyond words to have the deep good fortune to have so many good friends who have the deep good fortune to call Paris home, and how lucky I was to spend time with them, along with some fellow visitors who have also become my friends. I needed them and they came through, each and every one, French and American, Australian/New Zealander all Parisian by birth or by spirit. Un grand merci et beaucoup de bisous a Roniece, Nancy, Jane, Kathryn, Sue, Mez, Sylvia, Margarita et Axelle. I so enjoyed seeing you, and drinking with you and laughing out loud with you and breaking bread with you and walking and shopping and talking talking talking. Je vous embrasse. Toujours…

Some of my women…my Muriels…mes tres cheres…xoxo

I also wandered, I was lucky to have been spared the polar vortex freeze that has gripped the East coast of the US. Some rain (ah but Paris in the rain is still beautiful), so I was able to wander around and look at the known and not so known places that call to my soul. I spent a great afternoon in Montmarte…I always like to climb to Sacre Coeur and gaze out out upon “my” city and hold her in my hand. I was fortunate to have chosen the weekend of the Fete de Saint Jacques…only in France could you stumble upon a scallop festival.

A nice young man from India and I took turns taking one another’s pictures

I made my way through my adopted hoods, the 11^th and the 20^{th –} Republique, Oberkampf, Menilmontant. Belleville, Pere Lachaise, Gambetta – with no agenda, just taking it all in. I was green with envy at the markets, one literally right outside my front door. I sure love visiting Roniece in her lovely slice of heaven in the 5^th, as she calls it. It is nice, I like it, but it isn’t home. I gravitate to the quartiers listed above, not sure why, just feels like home to me, like me.

My Paris

My apartment building on Blvd Richard Lenoir

The markets!

Menilmontant, my favorite hood. Met A at Lou Pascalou, one of my favorite spots in Paris, and ended the night here. We spoke French all night. She is very patient…

I walked to Rue Sainte Marthe, in the 10th, on the  fringes of my hoods.

And back to Oberkampf, and a goodbye shot from the second floor of L’Estaminet

My moment of serendipity came as I was waiting for the metro after my lunch with Kathryn.

(This is the view from the Pont Mirabeau bridge. It makes me think of you K!)

Anyway, I was in the metro station waiting for the next train, looking at the metro map to pass the time, when an old man started talking to me in French and asking me if I knew who the Gallieni metro stop was named after. I said no, and he proceeded to tell me the story of Gallieni, how he was a general who “saved Paris from the Germans”. When I told him I didn’t know that, he asked me where I was from, and when I told him the US, well, his face lit up and he proceeded to regale me with tales of the Americans who rescued him during WWII. The train came and we sat together and I heard all about his trip to the US and about how much he loved Americans, he thinks we’re so friendly, with our “open faces”. He told me that his name was Jacques, that he was 84 (I think I got that right), As he got off the metro, he told me that he was happy to have met me. He shook my hand and told me that my French is very good. I smiled all the way down line 10.

All wasn’t fun and games as I also worked hard, very hard, to improve my French. Days and years of slogging through classes and reading silly French novels and listening to French on my IPod on the MARC train as the DC Suburbs pass by have left me with decent comprehension skills. But my verbal skills are sadly lacking, so I took a workshop at the Alliance and spent more relaxed evening at a bar at a Franglish event. I would definitely recommend it: For 12e you get a drink and an hour and a half of conversation with 5 native French speakers. It was tiring, but inspiring, and everyone there was super nice…tres sympa ! I am gonna master this language even if it takes me the rest of my life to do so.

And so, another January in Paris…feeling as always grateful that I am able to go back again, and again. And I will be back…Roniece, save me a seat at LPC. And tell Pierre (another dapper 80-something Frenchman who charmed me) that I said bonjour.

And in the meantime, I will spend time with my dear girlfriends on this side of the Atlantic. Candace, Liz, Tamara, Chris, Claudia, Elaine (and on the phone and on facebook, Maureen (my Boo2), and Jo, and Sara and Vickie and all of the rest of my dear Muriels, those great women all around the world, who lift me up every day)…and my mom, and Jordan. My family.

A new year, and a new life. Full of hope and joy and peace and remorse and melancholy, all at the same time.

C’est la vie, n’est ce pas ?

Le Béarn et Le Pays Basque…Better Late than Never (J’Espère!)

I am very late in writing this post. Computer issues (blank screen on my new laptop = 4 weeks working from a borrowed laptop, argh!). Work, lots of work…whew, I hope that all this work pays off in donations to CEPR. Family visits, summer, anyway, no time til now to write and reflect on our June vacation to the Basque country. Which is maybe a good thing, as things have settled down and shifted and the most important moments, the stand out highlights, have had time to float to the top of my memory.

So here they are, my random reflections in no particular order…it’s long (lots of pictures though!) I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have had reliving it:

We flew into Bilbao, Spain and spent the first night in San Sebastian. San Sebastian was a nice surprise. A revelation, I like some place that is NOT in France :).  We found San Sebastian to be a lovely town, big enough to be interesting and full of good restaurants and bars and beautiful, and small enough to take it all in.

The only downside was the language, I am spoiled by Jim’s fluent and my not-so-fluent-yet-somewhat-passing French.  We know the polite Spanish basics but found our lack of fluency frustrating when trying to navigate the tapas scene…because what a scene it is. We finally figured out how to belly up to the Tapas bars. So delicious, and cheap compared to pricier France. 

We loved the tapas so much that we came back to spend another (nicer weather-wise) day.

We also went to Hondaribbia, a smaller town across the bay from Hendaye, France. (This is Hendaye):

We took the ferry, which took about 10-15 minutes, max.

And then we were in Spain again:

Spain/France/Spain/France…or as they say around these parts, Basque Country…

Gora Euskadi Askatuta !

It was a great little fishing village with great little fish…

The take away? Jim wants to come back to this part of the world, and he gonna start learnin some Español

After our first night in Spain we headed to Monein, a small town in the Béarn region of France, at the foothills of the Pyrenees.

We went there in search of Jurançon. What is a Jurançon, you ask? Well, just about some of the most delicious, unique white wine on the planet. And really hard to find here in the US.

We spent our days driving through the vineyards,

visiting little touristed but charming villages like Abos

and Navarrenx

and Orloron Sainte-Marie. It was chilly and damp, but it didn’t dampen our spirits one bit…

We stayed in a wonderful bed and breakfast in Monein called Entre Vignobles et Vergers  (between vineyards and orchards). The proprietor had had an unfortunate accident and was in the hospital, so he left one of his tenants in charge, the intrepid Daniele, who didn’t speak a word of English and who took a liking to us, the “nice” Americans as we came to be known thanks to Daniele, who was born in Marseille and still had a wicked accent. Daniele took very good care of us, making us a wonderful breakfast with homemade jam every day and greeting us at cocktail hour with a bottle of  Jurançon in hand. She reminded me of my Aunt Val (except that Aunt Val would have been drinking a natty bo)

And thanks to Daniele we know everything about all of the casinos in France, including one in Pau, the largest town in the region and a very nice one at that.

Beautiful and friendly…and good food. We ate at a wonderful restaurant called Les Papilles Insolites, where we had a fabulous lunch

and were introduced to another great wine of the neighboring region, Madiran.

Oh so much wine, so little time.

So besides the wine…let me see, what else?  Oh yeah, we spent a memorable evening at the Fête de la Musique in the town of Jurançon, where we went looking for a village feast and found, well, bad food and a 6 euro (and not bad!) bottle of wine,

and a memorable evening listening to a quite good French rockabilly band…

followed by a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band…

well, you had to have been there to fully appreciate it.  Special!

We bid a fond farewell to Daniele and Jurançon (with a case in the car) and drove back into the Basque country. We stayed in a village called Ciboure, on the Atlantic coast, next to a somewhat bigger town called Saint Jean de Luz. And wouldn’t you know it, they too were having a fête, the Fête De La St Jean. Oh don’t you hate when that happens?

We spent a fun time partying Basque style.

After all that Fête-ing we took it easy. The weather finally turned and it was glorious. We walked and sat on the beach and walked along the coast into Ciboure and then to Saint Jean de Luz.

We ate bounty from the sea.

We drove into the Basque countryside, looking for another impossible to find wine, Irouléguy, wonderful inexpensive reds and whites.

We drove into Les Aldudes, heaven on earth.

We bought a bottle and some of the most heavenly cheese, a sheep’s cheese called Ossau-Iraty…oh my, in this part of the world they eat it with cherry confiture…more heaven.

We feasted.

Merci les moutons !!! xo

One evening found ourselves in the middle of a small village called Hasparren, for the cours des vaches. Or, in English, a sort of crazy spectacle that involves drunk people being chased around a ring by cows with horns. An acquired taste, I think…

On the other hand, we also spent an evening in a little more glitzy Biarritz,

dining on yet more bounty from the sea. This whole trip made me mourn the lack of fresh fish here, in BALTIMORE.,,in caps because we live by the sea and I don’t understand why we can’t have THIS:

And, now, I’m left with memories of yummy food and wine and nice friendly people, including a group of singers at a neighboring table in a restaurant in Ciboure, who spontaneously broke out into a lovely Basque folk song. After, I told them “Je veux être Basque !” And, it’s true.

I remember the beautiful scenery

and driving around and getting lost, and having a picnic with the wild horses

And driving through the mountains, listening to Manu Chao…

Merci, le Béarn et le pays Basque. Je t’aime, toujours.  On reviendra

Addendum: Forgot to mention that we got a bonus night in Brussels, courtesy of Brussels Air, who informed us when we arrived in Brussels from Bilboa that our scheduled flight to Dulles had already left…ok, when in Brussels you must drink beer, so we headed off to our favorite part of town

(an old picture from when we were there in 2010)

for some seafood and some Belgian brew…merci Brussels Air !

Pays Basque, Here We Come

So I was preparing our itinerary for our imminent trip to the Basque country and I thought I’d check in to this blog, my escape blog, where I post about my incredibly lucky travel-life. I am blessed, hallelujah.

So here’s the plan, I hope that you follow along and I really hope that my pictures are halfway as good as these.

We start in San Sebastian Spain

We are most excited for the pinxtos, or tapas…

After eating ourselves silly in Spain, it’s off to a little side trip to a little visited by my fellow countrymen and women part of France, the Béarn,

And the reason? See that town called  Jurançon? They make some of our favorite white wine in the whole wide world.

So we’re going to walk and hike and relax and drink wine and take in this view (Below is the actual view from our b and b)

And we’re going to explore the vicinity

As we make our way from  Jurançon to the coast, This is Basque country…

We will most definitely stop by Espelette, home of the infamous pepper

On our way to our seaside home for a week, Ciboure.

so lovely. Right next door to the equally lovely St Jean de Luz

Where we plan to eat lots of the sea’s bounty

and hopefully have some nice beach weather

And there will be a festival happening when we’re there. Don’t you hate when that happens?

And we may explore the vicinity. My landlord lives here:

And we may check out Bayonne

And Biarritz

And who knows? I return to where I started. Feeling blessed, and wishing I could take everyone I love along. xo

Where I Try to Talk Myself Out of Missing Paris…

I probably shouldn’t be writing this post because I’m in the middle of a big ole missing-Paris big time funk. Post-Paris Depression, or PPD as my merry band of fellow Paris addicts calls it. (how’s your PPD? Oh really bad this time, how bout you?) Even after I had to “sleep” in the basement of Charles de Gaulle, on THIS

next to some guy who snored louder than a jet-plane engine – yes, even after that recent nasty experience, I still yearn for my favorite city.  I got it real bad.

Big sigh. I miss it all, the cafes

and the markets

and the art

and the light

and the bridges

and the bars

and the food

and the wine

and my friends

(and me drinking wine with my friends)

and the lifestyle – the life. I know, I know, I’ve waxed (hopefully just a teeny tiny bit eloquently) about what made me fall in love with Paris in the previous pages of my blog. So what’s a Paris lovin girl to do when she’s not there? It’s SO hard. Especially in cold, gray Februrary. Oh I know it was cold and gray when I was in Paris, but, hello, I was in PARIS! It’s totally different! SIGH.

Hmmm, maybe I can think of the things I’m not that crazy about! Yeah, maybe that will work. Perhaps if I pretend that I am on my cozy little cot in CDG, it might all come back to me…

I’m thinking! zzzzzzz

OK, there was this one time when I was in a shop in the Marais, and I asked the salesclerk, in French: “Cette robe, c’est combien ?” POINTING to the article of clothing that was hanging on the wall. Now, I know that my French accent needs some work, but I’ve managed to make myself understood in similar situations just fine, merci. Of course that was before encountering THE rudest salesclerk in all of Paris, who turned to me and said in the snootiest voice I’ve ever heard: “I’m going to speak to you in English because I didn’t understand your French”. Whooooeee. I was floored, and too bad I didn’t think of the perfect comeback (which was suggested to me by a French woman, which made it even better): “Et je vais vous parler en français parce que je n’ai pas compris votre anglais ” (And I’m going to speak to you in French because I didn’t understand your English”)

Touché!  Hell yeah!

But, that is really the only in-your-face-rude experience I’ve ever had. Some coldness from time to time, but most of the time people have been warm and forgiving of my struggles with their beautiful language. AAAHH, focus sister, you’re supposed to be thinking of the negative. OK – it can be frustrating and tiring, navigating the language. I wonder if I’ll ever get to the point where I’m not frustrated because I can’t express myself in the language of my city. I wonder. And who knows?

What else? Hmm. OK, I admit to missing the take-out coffee. I HATE Starbucks and everything it stands for, but sometimes I DO want it to go. That can be frustrating, having to sit and sit when I want to GO.

And if I think about it, there’s something about the uniquely American habit of chatting it up with strangers that I might possibly miss if I lived in Paris. It’s taken me a while to learn that nuance. In America, you most likely wouldn’t smile and give a big good day to the clerk at the 7-11, and they most likely wouldn’t look up from their tabloid to wish you a good day, with feeling. I like that about France. I like it that you say bonjour or bonsoir when you enter a shop, and bonne journée or bonne soirée when you leave, whether you buy something or not. Even in rental apartment buildings, people ALWAYS greet you when they pass by, because you have a defined relationship. I’ve become accustomed to that, and in the true meaning of that word, become ac”customed”, and it’s a custom I really appreciate.

But I wonder if I’d miss the easy way that we Americans have with strangers? We can strike up a friendly conversation anywhere, with anyone, and not give it any mind. We can become your best friend in 10 minutes! I know that it’s different in France, that people definitely keep to themselves more. Someone once remarked to me that in general, we Americans make lots of friends very quickly and easily, but a lot of it is on the surface. Whereas the French, in general, only make friends with a few, but the friendships tend to be deeper, in a way. Hmmm. Lots to ponder on that one.

I think it might take me just a few more trips to Paris to figure it all out, if I’m lucky. Because try as I might to dissuade myself from feeling so, even with everything, I still miss it, my most favorite place in the world. Paris,

je t’aime, the good, and the mauvaise…

 

Why I Love France, Part 1: Burgundy is Beautiful

My plans for blogging every day were dashed, first by the lack of internet connection in our 16^th Century apartment in Beaune, and then in Paris, where I was thwarted by my non-working PC and an old Mac with a French keyboard. But I now think it was a sign from mon Dieu: Step away from the computer sister.  And I did and was blessed. I needed to breathe some. And to enjoy this:

And so, instead of a play by play record of our trip, my posts will be more reflections of my visit to my favorite place on the planet. Not that I’ve been everywhere on the planet.  But so far France and Paris have captured my heart and my soul. I breathe deeper when I’m there. And I sigh. A lot. Hopefully I can capture those feelings here, and hold onto them so that I remember the smells and sounds and tastes and feelings.

So here are my jet-lagged reflections, two weeks removed.

We arrived at CDG pretty early and set out for Burgundy in our spiffy little green-friendly Euro car.

Rut Row! We’re in France!
Our first stop was in Auxerre, a town in the Yonne, northern Burgundy. Very medieval.

Jim already happy at the thought that it’s not THAT Goddard…

We walked around the town and made our way to this imposing cathedral that was built between the 11^th and 12^th Centuries. Incredible to me. How did they do it?

After lunch, we got back in our car and made our way to Beaune, When I think of Burgundy, I think of quiet, and beautiful landscapes covered in vines (I also think of wine, but that will be a post all by itself). And lovely Beaune, where we spent the week in a building built before the Europeans invaded and conquered the good people of our land. It’s also full of medieval buildings and churches and windy little streets, like this one where we stayed:

But what really stays in my mind are the towns and villages surrounding Beaune. Where they grow the grapes that make the wine. Towns like Meursault.

And Volnay

And Pommard

And Savigny-les-Beaune

And my favorite Pernand-Vergelesses.

We walked in the vineyards at least once a day, sometimes twice (before and after lunch). It was SO quiet in those gentle hills. No noise. Just quiet. Breathe.

One day the sun actually came out (it rained quite a bit on our vacation, but never on our parade), and we decided to rent bikes and ride rather than walk through the vines. Such a wonderful day, riding the Route des Grand Crus.

All that activity made us hungry. And thirsty. But I will save the wine and food report for another day.

So much wine, so little time…

Reflections on Paris Octobers

To me, one of the most beautiful things about travel is the anticipation of the trip – the endless hours planning, making reservations, thinking about what to pack (yes, I even like that too.) And since I’ve been to France a few times :), I have the added pleasure of reminiscing about previous trips.

*Quick aside: people are always asking me how I can afford to go to Paris at least once every year. Believe me, we are not part of the 1% – I’ve never seen a non-profit worker or government employee on the Forbes 500. So we’re not rich – what we are is blessed to have solid decent paying jobs and I thank the goddess every day for my good fortune. That definitely helps. But in addition (as those of you who have been to Green Acres can attest) we also put all of our spare change in the travel jar, NOT into our house. We drive old cars that are totally paid for. I never buy anything that’s not on sale, and everything I buy I pay for with my airline credit card, earning me lots of frequent flier miles (we are also lucky that my husband gets miles through is job, which is how we’re going this time). We stay in apartments that are cheaper than hotels and which are equipped with kitchens and coffee makers. I’m happy to share our living large on a budget travel tips later, but that’s a start, and hopefully will inspire others who think that Paris is out of reach,

OK, back to my memories. The first time we went to Paris in October was 2008. Hmmm, what was going on then?

Yes, it was election time, So happy to be in France on the eve of the end of:

i

It was a hopeful time,  I continue to hope…

Way back in 2008 I was actually just tagging along with my husband, who had meetings with the European Space Agency in Toulouse. We figured we’d make it a joint vacation and stopped in Paris on the way.

I LOVE Paris in the fall. The markets are bursting with more varieties of mushrooms than you can count. The hordes of tourists have gone, leaving Parisians settling into the season. You can wear scarves and boots, yet it’s not too cold. And my husband can get his game on:

Me, I like this:

We stayed in Montmarte, on rue Lepic, a market street at the “bottom” of the hill.

It hasn’t changed much…

Of course we were also happy to visit our best Parisian friend Loic, who took us to the Buttes Chaumont (in the 19th, too far for most tourists. Go!) for the first time. What a beautiful place! And an amazing view.

My boys were on top of the world

We spent the rest of our days wandering through the parks, looking at art, and eating,  We took a cooking class at Cookin’ With Class, a great little cooking school in Montmarte. We took the market class, where we shopped for all of the ingredients together and went back to the kitchen and whipped up a starred meal. We also enjoyed some gamey delights at our favorite restaurant, Chez L’Ami Jean:

After a week of total indulgence, we hopped on a plane and flew (thanks NASA) to Toulouse. It was a nice town, some parts pretty.

But I really enjoyed getting out into the southern countryside. We went to this beautiful little town called Cordes-sur-Ciel. It’s a village on a hill, and it seems to float above the surrounding fields.

We also went to Albi. I loved Albi. there’s a great vibe there. And an abbey:

We spent 4 days in Toulouse and it was time to say goodbye to my husband, who had to put his rocket scientist hat back on. One of the perks of frequent flier mile flying: sometimes you can’t get the days you want. This trip it meant that I had to go back to Paris alone, for 3 days. You can see how that upset me.

Actually, this was a very big deal for me. I had never really traveled alone before, and certainly never to a country where I was struggling to learn the language. It felt indescribable. Here I was, a mother, a way grown woman – and I felt like a kid who rides a bike the first time without training wheels. I felt free and a little scared. It was a life-changing experience.

More on that in a bit, first I have to say hi to my French friend Anne, who invited me to her home in Lorraine (she has since moved back to her roots in beautiful Strasbourg). I felt so honored to be welcomed into her home (she was rightfully nervous that I would never find my way there since I took the train from Paris, but I managed ok :)). She prepared a wonderfully delicious lunch and I met 2 of her 3 beautiful children. I was a happy to have shared a bit of my culture while experiencing hers. I was grateful.

I was also determined to experience my alone time in Paris to the fullest. There is nothing like being in your favorite city with all of your senses open. One day, I bought a baguette with butter, ham and cheese. I wandered my way to the Tuilleries – my favorite garden – and sat and watched the people go by. There I was, sitting on my bench, enjoying my delicious sandwich, looking at the kids with their sailboats on one side, seeing the magnificent blue Paris sky and the Louvre on the other. And suddenly I burst into tears. I was overcome with so much emotion. It felt so powerful, that moment. I heard later that it’s a well-documented phenomena that some people cry when they are overwhelmed with a piece of art. I’m sure that was part of it – the scene before me was just so perfect, so beautiful, so representative of Paris. But I think, after having had some years to reflect, they were also tears  of joy, and of recognition of how far I had come. Of how much I had overcome to get to where I was, at that minute, looking at this little boy. Maybe a little sadness that it had taken me that long. But mostly, pure joy, and gratitude.

And that’s why I’ve gone back to Paris alone twice since then, and why I am so looking forward to going “home” again in a week. Paris gets under your skin. It feeds my soul like nowhere else I’ve ever been. When I get there, I know I’ll stand there on the sidewalk for just a moment, and close my eyes, and breathe.

Thanks for coming with me as I tripped down memory lane….. à la prochain, from Burgundy.