I spaced out and left my favorite black bikinis on the clothesline overnight (I can’t stand those g-string things, but that’s a story for another day). When I went out to the garden to retrieve them in the morning, they were lying in the wet grass… I picked them up, then made a sound something like “gak!”… and dropped them again. My favorite undies were peppered with tiny teeth holes, and covered with a weird snotty animal substance.
Now, this wasn’t as scary as negotiating with machete-wielding 14-year-olds in New Guinea, or being dragged by an 80 pound rickshaw driver through a Maoist demonstration on the border between India and Nepal… it wasn’t as exciting either, but these and the weasel experience did have something in common.
They all remind me of an important lesson of travel – that it’s good to be taken out of your comfort zone and given the freedom to be a dork. It takes so much effort to be cool… it’s a privilege to be out in the great unknown where you’re often unintentionally dorky… you can’t speak the language properly (I once requested a wakeup call in Spain by asking “Please attack me in the morning” – dork!). The first time we went to the grocery in France, we didn’t know we had to weigh our produce ourselves and bring our own shopping bags until we got to the checkout – dorks! Dick’s bag didn’t show up in New Guinea, so he had to tour around in borrowed grey sweatpants several sizes too small for him – dork!
On this subject, I found this in my meditation book today:
“When we first contemplate the adventures of the world’s great explorers, we are struck with a feeling of the mystery and drama of discovery. We might picture them venturing into uncharted waters or exploring strange, new lands, but we tend not to think about the countless daily hardships and inconveniences – the mosquitoes, the rain, the boredom, the bad food. Yet that is all part of the journey as well. In the same way, the countless irritations and difficulties that present themselves in the course of practice are part of the extraordinary exploration of the nature of our own lives. It is easy to get so caught up in the details of our experience that we may lose touch with the vast scope of the context in which we are working.”
Yup – in other words,it’s all part of the adventure. And it’s OK to be a little bored, too, or sick, because that’s real life… sometimes weasels eat your underpants.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Rainy Day Entertainment
Rain, rain went away... but not until after blessing us with three days of chill, drizzly weather - felt like Northern California! Of course, no place could be this lushly green without getting some serious rain, but we're glad it's over. Here's how we kept ourselves entertained:
As promised, we headed to the Snail Farm, which was charming as a snail farm can possibly be. Phillippe, the owner, couldn't have been more friendly and funny or more enthusiastic about his little gray charges. We learned so many interesting facts about snails, such as:
* Snail sex lasts six hours. Phillipe claims this is normal in France.
* Snails have thousands of tiny litle razor sharp tongues, so they can chew up practically anything - rocks, steel, plastic.
* Snail slime is so tough and thick that snails can literally walk on the edges of sharp knives without being cut.
* Snail slime is also used as a medicine - it's the main ingredient in a lung decongestant, and is being researched as a cancer cure - the slime seems to isolate the cancer cells and not allow them to grow.
P's snails are also a bit tastier than those from other parts of the world because he raises a medium size snail (as opposed to petit gris) that matures more quickly so it can be eaten while it's young and juicy. And because he raises his snails on natural food, you can be sure that you're not eating a snail that has grown up, say, in the Ukraine, eating Chernobyl-irradiated rocks. We truly enjoyed our afternoon, and it would have been perfect if only our crack photo staff had remembered to put a card in his camera... unforunately, no photos.
However, we do have photos of the Cidrerie where we went for a tour and tasting yesterday - another charming and beautiful place, where Cider and Calvados are made in the traditional way. The apples are all locally grown, some on the farm where the cidrerie is located, and some on adjoining farms. The apples are then pressed and held in stainless steel tanks for cider fermentation. To make Calvados (fire water!) they take the cider and perform alambic distillation, then ferment in oak barrels to create a smooth and award-winning Calva - perfect for a cold and rainy night.
But today, the sun is out - so off to market we go!
As promised, we headed to the Snail Farm, which was charming as a snail farm can possibly be. Phillippe, the owner, couldn't have been more friendly and funny or more enthusiastic about his little gray charges. We learned so many interesting facts about snails, such as:
* Snail sex lasts six hours. Phillipe claims this is normal in France.
* Snails have thousands of tiny litle razor sharp tongues, so they can chew up practically anything - rocks, steel, plastic.
* Snail slime is so tough and thick that snails can literally walk on the edges of sharp knives without being cut.
* Snail slime is also used as a medicine - it's the main ingredient in a lung decongestant, and is being researched as a cancer cure - the slime seems to isolate the cancer cells and not allow them to grow.
P's snails are also a bit tastier than those from other parts of the world because he raises a medium size snail (as opposed to petit gris) that matures more quickly so it can be eaten while it's young and juicy. And because he raises his snails on natural food, you can be sure that you're not eating a snail that has grown up, say, in the Ukraine, eating Chernobyl-irradiated rocks. We truly enjoyed our afternoon, and it would have been perfect if only our crack photo staff had remembered to put a card in his camera... unforunately, no photos.
However, we do have photos of the Cidrerie where we went for a tour and tasting yesterday - another charming and beautiful place, where Cider and Calvados are made in the traditional way. The apples are all locally grown, some on the farm where the cidrerie is located, and some on adjoining farms. The apples are then pressed and held in stainless steel tanks for cider fermentation. To make Calvados (fire water!) they take the cider and perform alambic distillation, then ferment in oak barrels to create a smooth and award-winning Calva - perfect for a cold and rainy night.
But today, the sun is out - so off to market we go!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Hommage a les Liberateurs
Yesterday was momentous for more than one reason - for the tennis fanatics among us, it was the day that Roger Federer won his rightful place in the pantheon of greats. We watched the match in a tiny little Tabac in Belleme, sipping a glass of vin rouge, rain drizzling down, everyone pounding on the bar at match point... and then the lovely sight of a beaming, benevolent Andre Agassi passing Fed the cup.
For the wider world, yesterday was the 65th anniversary of D Day and the Normandy landings; our elegant President was here to commemorate the occasion. There were signs everywhere for the celebration of "Hommage a les Liberateurs", which is heartwarming. It's nice to think that in some parts of the world, Americans are still thought of as heroes. The Obama family is certainly beloved in France - you can't pick up a magazine without finding an Obama photo spread.
Earlier in the week, we spent an idyllic day at the Chateau de Carrouges - just a few miles from here, northwest of Alencon. First we had a "picque-nicque" of fresh bread, charcuterie, cheese, cherries and madeleines... then a lazy walk through the gardens in the sun... then a tour of the Chateau in English with a very bright and perky French guide.
The story is that the Chateau was built for a "confidant" of the King back in the 14th Century. By the size and grandeur of the place, I'm guessing that "confidant" meant "knows where all the bodies are buried". The grand old place stayed in the confidant's family until they ran out of male heirs, and it was on to another family through an arranged marriage to the only surviving female heir. A portrait of the happy couple hangs in the banquet room - he's handsome in a devilish kind of way, and she looks like she bites the heads off chickens... a real estate deal, not a love match. Nice house, though.
Tennis in Gue de la Chaine has become a bit more dangerous than in the past - the collie dog belonging to Madame Souchet, from whom you have to pick up the tennis court key, has gotten older and crankier since our last visit. You get a definite adrenalin rush sprinting from Madame Souchet's from door to the garden gate with collie snapping at your bum - good warmup!
Expected to rain tomorrow, so we'll take advantage of that to make an outing to the snail farm - great weather for it... 'til then, au revoir.
For the wider world, yesterday was the 65th anniversary of D Day and the Normandy landings; our elegant President was here to commemorate the occasion. There were signs everywhere for the celebration of "Hommage a les Liberateurs", which is heartwarming. It's nice to think that in some parts of the world, Americans are still thought of as heroes. The Obama family is certainly beloved in France - you can't pick up a magazine without finding an Obama photo spread.
Earlier in the week, we spent an idyllic day at the Chateau de Carrouges - just a few miles from here, northwest of Alencon. First we had a "picque-nicque" of fresh bread, charcuterie, cheese, cherries and madeleines... then a lazy walk through the gardens in the sun... then a tour of the Chateau in English with a very bright and perky French guide.
The story is that the Chateau was built for a "confidant" of the King back in the 14th Century. By the size and grandeur of the place, I'm guessing that "confidant" meant "knows where all the bodies are buried". The grand old place stayed in the confidant's family until they ran out of male heirs, and it was on to another family through an arranged marriage to the only surviving female heir. A portrait of the happy couple hangs in the banquet room - he's handsome in a devilish kind of way, and she looks like she bites the heads off chickens... a real estate deal, not a love match. Nice house, though.
Tennis in Gue de la Chaine has become a bit more dangerous than in the past - the collie dog belonging to Madame Souchet, from whom you have to pick up the tennis court key, has gotten older and crankier since our last visit. You get a definite adrenalin rush sprinting from Madame Souchet's from door to the garden gate with collie snapping at your bum - good warmup!
Expected to rain tomorrow, so we'll take advantage of that to make an outing to the snail farm - great weather for it... 'til then, au revoir.
Friday, June 5, 2009
News from the Sleepy Countryside
I'm just getting over a jet lag cold, so I'm sitting outside our charming little cottage re-creating a scene from European films - the one where the frail and elderly person (that would be me) sits catatonically in the sun in the bountiful green garden of the sanitarium, surrounded by birdsong.
The birds here in Normandy are profuse and musical - I hear sounds that I've heard nowhere else, from the easily recognizable (the cuckoo - duh) to intricate melodies that never sound the same twice.... it's magical.
We were certainly busy today doing nothing - here's the rundown:
8:00 Roll over and decide that since the sun has been shining in the window since 6:00, it's time to get up. We always know what time it is, since the church bell in the village tolls every 15 minutes - such a reassuring sound. Make coffee, heat milk, warm croissants, cut melon, open yogurt. We suffered a minor crisis this week, as madame who runs the bakery in Gue de la Chaine is on vacation until Sunday -as a result of which we have to eat croissants and baguettes that were baked the day before, rather than walking down the street and getting them straight from the oven... the things we have to endure.
9:30 After lazy, leisurely breakfast, get dressed and take the car a couple of kilometers to Belleme, where it's market day! No one recognizes us yet, since we haven't been around long, but in the past we've been acknowledged by the townspeople after we've been in town a week or so... usually because we're the only people who ever use the town tennis courts. We buy a kilo of fresh spring peas, 4 of the smallest, sweetest, most delicious melons on earth (the lady at the market threw in an extra one for me because it had a blemish on the side) and pork tenderloin.
12:00 Shell peas. This has been one of my favorite tasks since childhood, but it's taking a little longer today since Dick has taken to photographing all our food - he can't resist because everything is so beautiful.
1:00 Soup for lunch, made with local sausage and veggies - of course, we have photos of that, too! Then a nap - it's been an exhausting day so far.
2:30 Depart for the Controle Technique in Mortagne to get M&J's car registered. Controle Technique is kind of a combo road test/smog test that one's car must pass each year. When we went to the CT office a couple of days ago, the gentleman at the desk told me that "we must make a rendezvouz". I thought "Well, he's really not my type, but this is France, after all, and if that's what I have to do to get the car registered..." Then realized that a rendez - vouz is an appointment. Whew! I made a rendez-vouz for today, and here we are. My potential date fills out a computer form, drives the car, looks under the hood - all the while Dick is pacing around the office muttering "this sucker better pass" - dreading the thought of having to go to the local garage and explain any needed repairs. But no worries - Monsieur returns, all smiles, with the appropriate stickers, handshakes all around. 65 Euros later, we're on the road again!
4:00 Check email and French Open Draw - I can hardly stand to look at that awful Robin Soderling's name. I can't believe he knocked Rafa out of the tournament -too upsetting, must have a drink.
5:00 Wine in the garden and back to the sanitarium scene. Sheep next door are bleating away - must be dinner time - and the white cattle out in the pasture look as lazy as I do. That's all for now... must rest.
The birds here in Normandy are profuse and musical - I hear sounds that I've heard nowhere else, from the easily recognizable (the cuckoo - duh) to intricate melodies that never sound the same twice.... it's magical.
We were certainly busy today doing nothing - here's the rundown:
8:00 Roll over and decide that since the sun has been shining in the window since 6:00, it's time to get up. We always know what time it is, since the church bell in the village tolls every 15 minutes - such a reassuring sound. Make coffee, heat milk, warm croissants, cut melon, open yogurt. We suffered a minor crisis this week, as madame who runs the bakery in Gue de la Chaine is on vacation until Sunday -as a result of which we have to eat croissants and baguettes that were baked the day before, rather than walking down the street and getting them straight from the oven... the things we have to endure.
9:30 After lazy, leisurely breakfast, get dressed and take the car a couple of kilometers to Belleme, where it's market day! No one recognizes us yet, since we haven't been around long, but in the past we've been acknowledged by the townspeople after we've been in town a week or so... usually because we're the only people who ever use the town tennis courts. We buy a kilo of fresh spring peas, 4 of the smallest, sweetest, most delicious melons on earth (the lady at the market threw in an extra one for me because it had a blemish on the side) and pork tenderloin.
12:00 Shell peas. This has been one of my favorite tasks since childhood, but it's taking a little longer today since Dick has taken to photographing all our food - he can't resist because everything is so beautiful.
1:00 Soup for lunch, made with local sausage and veggies - of course, we have photos of that, too! Then a nap - it's been an exhausting day so far.
2:30 Depart for the Controle Technique in Mortagne to get M&J's car registered. Controle Technique is kind of a combo road test/smog test that one's car must pass each year. When we went to the CT office a couple of days ago, the gentleman at the desk told me that "we must make a rendezvouz". I thought "Well, he's really not my type, but this is France, after all, and if that's what I have to do to get the car registered..." Then realized that a rendez - vouz is an appointment. Whew! I made a rendez-vouz for today, and here we are. My potential date fills out a computer form, drives the car, looks under the hood - all the while Dick is pacing around the office muttering "this sucker better pass" - dreading the thought of having to go to the local garage and explain any needed repairs. But no worries - Monsieur returns, all smiles, with the appropriate stickers, handshakes all around. 65 Euros later, we're on the road again!
4:00 Check email and French Open Draw - I can hardly stand to look at that awful Robin Soderling's name. I can't believe he knocked Rafa out of the tournament -too upsetting, must have a drink.
5:00 Wine in the garden and back to the sanitarium scene. Sheep next door are bleating away - must be dinner time - and the white cattle out in the pasture look as lazy as I do. That's all for now... must rest.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Roland Garros - Le Grand Slam du Monde
We’ve had some connection issues out here in the countryside, but we’re online again – hooray! So we can finally tell all our tennis-loving friends about our two amazing days at The French Open…
Five Ways to Know You’re at Roland Garros
1. The Red Clay. We’ve all seen it on TV, in Tennis Magazine, in countless photos… but nothing prepares you for the richness of the courts’ color, especially since many players this year are wearing vivid pink (vamos, Rafa!), turquoise and yellow, which look impossibly bright against the red-orange terre bateau.
2. The Fashion. During these early days of the tournament, many in the crowd are Parisians taking the day off for an outing to watch Le Tennis – or to watch other people watching them... Of course, the ladies are wearing skirts that either fit like a second skin or look like a kind of bubble, painfully high stilettos with teeny weeny pinchy toes (so practical for strolling the grounds) and exquisite accessories. The gentlemen? They’re decked out in those Italian suits that appear to be one or two sizes too small, with pastel silk shirts and perfect haircuts. For the rest of us – jeans and tee shirts, accessorized with a tres chic sweatshirt and baseball cap.
3. The Smoking. What could be more refreshing than a quick cigarette between sets? According to the fans at Roland Garros, nothing! Dick was sitting in the stands having a cigarette between sets at the Davydenko-Wawrinka singles match, and the gentleman in front of us kept turning around and squirming… I was mortified, thinking that he was going to ask Dick to put it out – but au contraire! He just wanted to bum a smoke…
4. The Food. I wasn’t expecting chili dogs and tortilla chips, but the cuisine served at Le Jardin Roland Garros exceeded all expectations: on Friday, we enjoyed salmon brochettes, vegetable mélange, rice and an arugula salad, accompanied by a nice glass of vin blanc, d’accord.
5. The Charm. Although it was incredibly crowded on both days (especially for those of us who only held outer court tickets) the mood was wonderfully festive. Clowns dressed like tennis players entertained us while we waited in lines, people from all over the world helped each other to stand up on chairs so we could collectively gawk at the big name players during warm-up, and the staff at every concession stand and boutique could not have been more perky – every transaction ended with a cheery “Merci, madame – bonne journee!”
In short, it was wonderful fun. And – oh, yeah – the tennis! We focused on doubles, because we could watch the best doubles players in the world, sitting as close as if we were at home – Bob Bryan and Lisel Huber (#1 male/female doubles players in the world), as well as Lisa Raymond, Rennae Stubbs, Daniela Hantuchova, Ai Sugiyama, Nestor/Zimanjic (seeded right behind the Bryans in this tournament) and a match between Cuevas/Horna and Knowles/Melzer that ended in a dive to the clay for the winning point – it was featured on French TV for days!
And everyone’s into it - you can’t pass a brasserie, bistro, café, tabac, or restaurant that doesn’t have tennis on TV. When we got to our hotel on Tuesday, there was even a board up in the lobby listing the day’s matches – and a betting pool where guests could make a wager on the winners. Everyone is talking tennis – and especially about the French players, of whom Parisians are so proud… our waiter the first night said, “Jo Willy – mon garcon!” No matter what the language, tennis is an international subculture that transcends - and makes us all, for a few shining days, compatriots.
Five Ways to Know You’re at Roland Garros
1. The Red Clay. We’ve all seen it on TV, in Tennis Magazine, in countless photos… but nothing prepares you for the richness of the courts’ color, especially since many players this year are wearing vivid pink (vamos, Rafa!), turquoise and yellow, which look impossibly bright against the red-orange terre bateau.
2. The Fashion. During these early days of the tournament, many in the crowd are Parisians taking the day off for an outing to watch Le Tennis – or to watch other people watching them... Of course, the ladies are wearing skirts that either fit like a second skin or look like a kind of bubble, painfully high stilettos with teeny weeny pinchy toes (so practical for strolling the grounds) and exquisite accessories. The gentlemen? They’re decked out in those Italian suits that appear to be one or two sizes too small, with pastel silk shirts and perfect haircuts. For the rest of us – jeans and tee shirts, accessorized with a tres chic sweatshirt and baseball cap.
3. The Smoking. What could be more refreshing than a quick cigarette between sets? According to the fans at Roland Garros, nothing! Dick was sitting in the stands having a cigarette between sets at the Davydenko-Wawrinka singles match, and the gentleman in front of us kept turning around and squirming… I was mortified, thinking that he was going to ask Dick to put it out – but au contraire! He just wanted to bum a smoke…
4. The Food. I wasn’t expecting chili dogs and tortilla chips, but the cuisine served at Le Jardin Roland Garros exceeded all expectations: on Friday, we enjoyed salmon brochettes, vegetable mélange, rice and an arugula salad, accompanied by a nice glass of vin blanc, d’accord.
5. The Charm. Although it was incredibly crowded on both days (especially for those of us who only held outer court tickets) the mood was wonderfully festive. Clowns dressed like tennis players entertained us while we waited in lines, people from all over the world helped each other to stand up on chairs so we could collectively gawk at the big name players during warm-up, and the staff at every concession stand and boutique could not have been more perky – every transaction ended with a cheery “Merci, madame – bonne journee!”
In short, it was wonderful fun. And – oh, yeah – the tennis! We focused on doubles, because we could watch the best doubles players in the world, sitting as close as if we were at home – Bob Bryan and Lisel Huber (#1 male/female doubles players in the world), as well as Lisa Raymond, Rennae Stubbs, Daniela Hantuchova, Ai Sugiyama, Nestor/Zimanjic (seeded right behind the Bryans in this tournament) and a match between Cuevas/Horna and Knowles/Melzer that ended in a dive to the clay for the winning point – it was featured on French TV for days!
And everyone’s into it - you can’t pass a brasserie, bistro, café, tabac, or restaurant that doesn’t have tennis on TV. When we got to our hotel on Tuesday, there was even a board up in the lobby listing the day’s matches – and a betting pool where guests could make a wager on the winners. Everyone is talking tennis – and especially about the French players, of whom Parisians are so proud… our waiter the first night said, “Jo Willy – mon garcon!” No matter what the language, tennis is an international subculture that transcends - and makes us all, for a few shining days, compatriots.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Where is home?
One thing that's been difficult to explain to various people that we've met along the way is where we actually live... Dick, of course, likes to say that we're homeless - I'd rather describe us as nomadic! If home is where our friends are, we have many homes... the Bay Area certainly feels like home, as we had several serendipitous meetings while we were there. When visiting Cafe Oliveto in the East Bay, we ran into my colleague Debby Kelly from Tilia, with her husband Patrick and new baby Emma... while shopping in Mill Valley, who should wait on us at Tyler Florence but an old friend from Muir Beach, Barbara Herwitz... and of course we saw many former friends and foes on the tennis courts... nowhere to hide! I think the truth is that in this modern world, home is wherever we are, as long as we have our cell phone and computer.
We finished our California visit with a grand stay at Margaret and John's in Fairfax - including fun tennis, truffle pasta, fine wines, and an excellent Memorial Weekend party on Sunday. John was kind enough to drive us all the way to the airport on Monday (early) morning, and we set off on our bon voyage to Paris. Whee!!!
Walked off our jet lag with a dose of beauty at the Musee D'Orsay today, and look forward to two days at the French Open.
We finished our California visit with a grand stay at Margaret and John's in Fairfax - including fun tennis, truffle pasta, fine wines, and an excellent Memorial Weekend party on Sunday. John was kind enough to drive us all the way to the airport on Monday (early) morning, and we set off on our bon voyage to Paris. Whee!!!
Walked off our jet lag with a dose of beauty at the Musee D'Orsay today, and look forward to two days at the French Open.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Hot Tubs and Peacock Feathers?
The cliche image of Marin County is that 70's idea of hot tubs and peacock feathers... and although I will admit to a bit of hot-tubbing in my day, the Marin County we know and love is so much more than that. We experienced the best of it this week with our friends Pam and Jerry. Waking up to the sunlight through the trees in Madrone Canyon, drinking coffee and watching the sun rise over the Bay, smelling the good warm redwood smells of the forest - that's the real thing.
We spent a day with Pam in West Marin at Pt. Reyes, which I'm guessing is one of the great small towns in this country. Lunch at Stellina to celebrate (belatedly) Pam's and Dick's birthdays - all locally grown ingredients and the freshest tastes on earth. Walking down the street, we noticed signs in the store windows to mourn the loss of one of Pt. Reyes' young men in Iraq - such a waste. He was obviously beloved in the town, but he'll never again shiver in the morning fog, then enjoy the slowly mounting warmth as the sun burns it away... never taste a briny Tomales Bay oyster, smell that beery, cheery smell when someone opens the door of the Western Saloon, or whiff the sharp tang of cheese in the making at Cowgirl Creamery. We're grateful for his sacrifice, and for the reminder that life is to be cherished.
We spent a day with Pam in West Marin at Pt. Reyes, which I'm guessing is one of the great small towns in this country. Lunch at Stellina to celebrate (belatedly) Pam's and Dick's birthdays - all locally grown ingredients and the freshest tastes on earth. Walking down the street, we noticed signs in the store windows to mourn the loss of one of Pt. Reyes' young men in Iraq - such a waste. He was obviously beloved in the town, but he'll never again shiver in the morning fog, then enjoy the slowly mounting warmth as the sun burns it away... never taste a briny Tomales Bay oyster, smell that beery, cheery smell when someone opens the door of the Western Saloon, or whiff the sharp tang of cheese in the making at Cowgirl Creamery. We're grateful for his sacrifice, and for the reminder that life is to be cherished.
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