I spent a lot of time in France irritated over the kitchen situations. We had nowhere to cook at Vauvenargues, unless you count a microwave, a mini-fridge, and a table as "a place to cook." (I, quite frankly, don't.) Our friends' options were almost equally limited. Most of the assistants who had apartments didn't have ovens, and there was always a bit of tension in the kitchen at Cezanne, where I cooked as often as I had the opportunity.
I joked about how I lived there as much as they did, and I feel like my presence may have occasionally be unwanted, but to go an extended period of time outside of the kitchen is not something I could or would do.
Since I've been back, I've made a handful of the recipes I mastered in France. Guacamole, mac-and-cheese, and scrambled eggs may not seem like traditional french cuisine, but it was like our ramen. We needed dinner, and it was what we were able to make from what we had in the fridge.
Cooking at Cezanne was always daunting. It was often a make-do situation in which a bottle filled with olive oil and covered in saran wrap was turned into the smashing half of a mortar and pestle, or a beer or wine bottle covered the same way became a rolling pin. There is no cuisinart, no electric mixer - making our delicious eggnog at Christmastime as physically taxing as it was tasty - and limited and mismatched knives, forks, and dishes. I don't think we were ever short on teaspoons. Don't really know how that happened.
So, I've now cooked in two fully-stocked kitchens in the States: my parents' and my brother's. It's a completely different ballgame. I have what I need in front of me, and yet I find myself using the makeshift methods I picked up in France. The guac I made for Easter lunch was done with a fork, spoon, and paring knife instead of the cuisinart, the sauce for mac-and-cheese was in a too-small pan because it was about the size of the pan I always cooked in at Cezanne.
I'm sure I'll grow out of these habits, return to taking my small appliances for granted, and fondly reminisce on the days when we had to live as a community and share four stove eyes, an oven in Celsius, and not enough hot water. But for now, I'm happy that I learned to cook the dishes I did, I hold dear the experiences in the Cezanne kitchen, and I am grateful that the place I came home to has a dishwasher.
Friday, May 06, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Can "Freminiscent" please be a word?
If it can, can it mean "Reminiscent of France"? Because that's what today has been.
I feel like I've adjusted fairly well to being back in the States: I drive my car instead of walking around the block, I eat too much food all the time, I speak with a more Southern dialect than I would've been caught dead using in Aix. But, sometimes, there are things that pop out and remind me that I did just spend an incredible seven months abroad.
I woke up and put on my Zara skirt and my sleeveless shirt that I've had for years that says "regarde-toi" on it in pretty script. That's fairly French. Then I went to eat lunch at Newk's with my parents, and since they have Orangina and since I'm in Orangina withdrawals, I had an Orangina, which reminded me very much of being at Newks. I think it would've reminded me more of France if it had been canned, but you can't have everything.
After I left Newk's, I went to run errands for Mom. I ran into the mother of one of my high school classmates, who asked me what I'd been up to, and I mentioned that I'd just gotten back from time abroad. (FRANCE!)
From there, I went to the mall to pick up a gift. As I was leaving, I decided to peruse the shoe department (who knows when you might need shoes), and a lady working looked at my shirt and then double-took at my shirt and said, "regarde-toi. C'est francais!" mostly to herself.
In a past life, I would have been incredibly self-conscious and smiled and moved on, but my French withdrawals might be worse than my Orangina withdrawals, so I asked her (in French) if she spoke French. Turns out, she IS French, from the banlieu (suburb) west of Paris, and she's moving back June 10th. I told her I'd been in Aix, and she said that it was a beautiful place. It's really nice to encounter people who speak French in Jackson, Mississippi.
All in all, it's been a Freminiscent day.
I feel like I've adjusted fairly well to being back in the States: I drive my car instead of walking around the block, I eat too much food all the time, I speak with a more Southern dialect than I would've been caught dead using in Aix. But, sometimes, there are things that pop out and remind me that I did just spend an incredible seven months abroad.
I woke up and put on my Zara skirt and my sleeveless shirt that I've had for years that says "regarde-toi" on it in pretty script. That's fairly French. Then I went to eat lunch at Newk's with my parents, and since they have Orangina and since I'm in Orangina withdrawals, I had an Orangina, which reminded me very much of being at Newks. I think it would've reminded me more of France if it had been canned, but you can't have everything.
After I left Newk's, I went to run errands for Mom. I ran into the mother of one of my high school classmates, who asked me what I'd been up to, and I mentioned that I'd just gotten back from time abroad. (FRANCE!)
From there, I went to the mall to pick up a gift. As I was leaving, I decided to peruse the shoe department (who knows when you might need shoes), and a lady working looked at my shirt and then double-took at my shirt and said, "regarde-toi. C'est francais!" mostly to herself.
In a past life, I would have been incredibly self-conscious and smiled and moved on, but my French withdrawals might be worse than my Orangina withdrawals, so I asked her (in French) if she spoke French. Turns out, she IS French, from the banlieu (suburb) west of Paris, and she's moving back June 10th. I told her I'd been in Aix, and she said that it was a beautiful place. It's really nice to encounter people who speak French in Jackson, Mississippi.
All in all, it's been a Freminiscent day.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Observations
After being back in the states for a couple of days, there are several things that stand out to me as "I didn't realize that this would be so shocking when I returned." Here are some of the major ones.
• Kroger is the biggest store ever. It doesn't seem to have anything in it that I need and couldn't get at Intermarché or Casino, but it's at least ten times their size and overbearingly whatever-the-opposite-of-claustrophobic is.
• Waiters and waitresses WILL NOT LEAVE YOU ALONE! They seat you. Come and take your drink order. Come back without drinks to make sure you're okay. Come back with your drinks. Come back three or four times to make sure your drinks are okay. Come back and take your order and explain the specials. Come back between taking orders and delivering orders to make sure everything is okay. Every time they come back requires stopping mid-sentence to acknowledge them and then having to find your train of thought again.
• Drinks have free refills! And ice! How bizarre.
• It's really difficult to get places on foot. We have so much space.
• Our wildlife is completely different. We don't have pigeons but we do have squirrels, menacing red wasps that send me into a panic, and mosquitoes the size of birds.
• It's humid. Aix is dry dry dry! 80 degrees and sopping is not nearly as comfortable as 85 and dry.
I'm sure there are some other ones that I have missed and will think of later, but those are the ones that I keep noticing.
On another note: It sure is nice to be in close physical proximity to the boyfriend, the friends, and the family. Skype is such a wonderful tool, but it cannot and does not replace the wonderful feeling of curling up on the couch by someone to watch tv or play Portal 2.
• Kroger is the biggest store ever. It doesn't seem to have anything in it that I need and couldn't get at Intermarché or Casino, but it's at least ten times their size and overbearingly whatever-the-opposite-of-claustrophobic is.
• Waiters and waitresses WILL NOT LEAVE YOU ALONE! They seat you. Come and take your drink order. Come back without drinks to make sure you're okay. Come back with your drinks. Come back three or four times to make sure your drinks are okay. Come back and take your order and explain the specials. Come back between taking orders and delivering orders to make sure everything is okay. Every time they come back requires stopping mid-sentence to acknowledge them and then having to find your train of thought again.
• Drinks have free refills! And ice! How bizarre.
• It's really difficult to get places on foot. We have so much space.
• Our wildlife is completely different. We don't have pigeons but we do have squirrels, menacing red wasps that send me into a panic, and mosquitoes the size of birds.
• It's humid. Aix is dry dry dry! 80 degrees and sopping is not nearly as comfortable as 85 and dry.
I'm sure there are some other ones that I have missed and will think of later, but those are the ones that I keep noticing.
On another note: It sure is nice to be in close physical proximity to the boyfriend, the friends, and the family. Skype is such a wonderful tool, but it cannot and does not replace the wonderful feeling of curling up on the couch by someone to watch tv or play Portal 2.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
On Travel, Separation, and Jet Lag
As I pulled out of the Gare Routiere (bus station) in Aix yesterday, a poem from a book that everyone knows popped into my head. "The road goes ever on and on / Down from the door where it began / Now far ahead the road has gone / and I must follow if I can / Pursuing it with eager feet / Until it joins some larger way / Where many paths and errands meet. / And whither then? I cannot say."
Tolkein had a lot to say about the merits of travel, and even more insight into the spirit of adventure. While I found his books rather tedious and hard to sift through, his stories epitomize the idea of adventure, and what I have just finished has been one great adventure.
Travel is "fatiguant," and time is a weird concept. I left Aix yesterday morning at 4:40 a.m., which was actually 11:40 p.m. according to where I am now. Twenty hours later in real time, but only fourteen hours later in stated time (4:40 to 6:40), through three security checks in three countries and four flight of varying lengths, I made it to the Jackson airport. My parents and my boyfriend were there to greet me with balloons and hugs (and to give me a hand with my seemingly infinite but actually very well packed luggage).
I am missing very dearly my friends in France. Chris's complaints about us not being there to cook him dinner make me smile (gotta push the bird out of the next sooner or later), and it's eerily comforting to know that Michelle is moving to Laos tomorrow, because whether or not I were still in Aix, she would soon not be there to adventure with me. Two months down the road, when everyone is gone, my feelings will be different, but for now, while I am not wishing I were still there, I am missing everyone very much.
As for Jet Lag: I woke up at 5:45 a.m., which is almost 1 p.m. (a time I've been known to sleep past) in Aix. It's not even 9 a.m. and I've been up for 3 hours. Something is amiss. I may take a nap, but if I do, someone's going to need to take responsibility for waking me up before 5:45 a.m. tomorrow, or I may never readjust.
I must follow if I can pursuing it with weary feet until it meets some larger way where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.
Tolkein had a lot to say about the merits of travel, and even more insight into the spirit of adventure. While I found his books rather tedious and hard to sift through, his stories epitomize the idea of adventure, and what I have just finished has been one great adventure.
Travel is "fatiguant," and time is a weird concept. I left Aix yesterday morning at 4:40 a.m., which was actually 11:40 p.m. according to where I am now. Twenty hours later in real time, but only fourteen hours later in stated time (4:40 to 6:40), through three security checks in three countries and four flight of varying lengths, I made it to the Jackson airport. My parents and my boyfriend were there to greet me with balloons and hugs (and to give me a hand with my seemingly infinite but actually very well packed luggage).
I am missing very dearly my friends in France. Chris's complaints about us not being there to cook him dinner make me smile (gotta push the bird out of the next sooner or later), and it's eerily comforting to know that Michelle is moving to Laos tomorrow, because whether or not I were still in Aix, she would soon not be there to adventure with me. Two months down the road, when everyone is gone, my feelings will be different, but for now, while I am not wishing I were still there, I am missing everyone very much.
As for Jet Lag: I woke up at 5:45 a.m., which is almost 1 p.m. (a time I've been known to sleep past) in Aix. It's not even 9 a.m. and I've been up for 3 hours. Something is amiss. I may take a nap, but if I do, someone's going to need to take responsibility for waking me up before 5:45 a.m. tomorrow, or I may never readjust.
I must follow if I can pursuing it with weary feet until it meets some larger way where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
On Parting + Some Entertaining Anecdotes
I don't tend to get particularly emotional at endings. I cry in movies and at pain, and sometimes I cry for no apparent reason in the middle of the woods, but I crying at endings has never really made sense to me. I don't think this makes me insensitive, but it does seem rather off-putting to a number of my friends.
Programs like the one we are in are unnatural in much the same way that Freshman dorms are. Whoever went, "Hey! Let's throw a bunch of people together for a fixed period of time so that they can get to know each other really well because they have a lot in common but then they have to leave to all corners of the earth," probably should've thought things through a bit first.
To all of you who seem concerned that I'm not emotional right now: Call me in three weeks, two months, or a year (or anytime; I like you guys a lot, and I'd love to chat!)
It still hasn't really set in that I've just forged very strong bonds with very cool people over a very short period of time. What has set in less than that is that almost immediately, we will split, travel to our respective corners, and suffer limited contact as a result of distance. It's hard to comprehend, but it's true. However, I trust that we will be in regular contact due to this really cool thing called "facebook," so I'm not too terribly afraid of "never seeing each other again," as a specific male roommate keeps threatening.
I leave to go home Monday at a ridiculously early hour of the morning (the bus leaves at 4:40 a.m.), so tomorrow is my last day in Provence. I hope to make the most of it, although I suspect I'll spend the majority trying to fit all of my things into my suitcase(s). We'll see how that goes.
____
I promised some anecdotes:
This will teach you to tempt fate. Last night, a group of us were having a glass of wine and taking some pictures (despite the abysmal weather) at Liz's house before going out to the Comté d'Aix for dinner (it's my favorite local restaurant). So, lately, Chris has been joking about ways to make Michelle (who is moving to Laos on Wednesday) and me stay in Aix. He slipped, "Maybe I could just break my leg or something and then you'd have to stay and nurse me." into our conversation while we were at Liz's. As we were walking down the stairs to go to the restaurant, something happened and he lost his footing, turned his ankle, and was rendered unable to do more than hobble down the street.
Eventually, Florence and I rushed to the pharmacy and bought a tube of "Biofreeze" cream to keep the swelling down, he and Michelle got a cab to the restaurant, and by the time we had finished dinner, the advil that Liz had given him immediately after the fall had kicked in enough for him to hobble home.
Liz, Florence, and I continued on to the restaurant, hoping to get there in time to get enough seats for everyone we thought was coming. About halfway between Liz's house and the Comté d'Aix, there was a "thunk," as Florence's bag dropped to the ground, shoulder strap broken beyond repair. We fairly quickly rigged the bag so that she could continue to carry it, began chatting about how bad things come in threes, and walked the rest of the way downtown.
If bad things come in threes, we may still be waiting for the last one. Or maybe something happened that can count. I'll keep my fingers crossed for the latter.
Today, we were sitting in my room as I began the first stages of packing. We were Chris, Liz, Lucy, Michelle and I. Several weeks ago, I bought a squeaky toy elephant for Lila, Meggie's puppy, and because I haven't gotten it together enough to take it to her, it's been sitting on my desk. So, first, Michelle threw the toy at Chris. Chris, after recovering from a poorly aimed throw, decided to hit a fungo with one of his crutches (bequeille, I think is the French word) perfectly arching the tiny elephant out my open window.
This in itself made us double over in laughter, and it took us several minutes of recovery time before I was able to grab my keys, pull out my flip flops, and go downstairs to recover the thing. I was still inside the gate when I saw a little old lady notice the toy, pick it up, give it a good squeak, look around somewhat skeptically, and walk away carrying the little elephant with her.
I shook my head, went back inside and died out laughing. Of all the things that could've happened, an old lady ended up with my elephant. I hope a puppy somewhere is happy.
Programs like the one we are in are unnatural in much the same way that Freshman dorms are. Whoever went, "Hey! Let's throw a bunch of people together for a fixed period of time so that they can get to know each other really well because they have a lot in common but then they have to leave to all corners of the earth," probably should've thought things through a bit first.
To all of you who seem concerned that I'm not emotional right now: Call me in three weeks, two months, or a year (or anytime; I like you guys a lot, and I'd love to chat!)
It still hasn't really set in that I've just forged very strong bonds with very cool people over a very short period of time. What has set in less than that is that almost immediately, we will split, travel to our respective corners, and suffer limited contact as a result of distance. It's hard to comprehend, but it's true. However, I trust that we will be in regular contact due to this really cool thing called "facebook," so I'm not too terribly afraid of "never seeing each other again," as a specific male roommate keeps threatening.
I leave to go home Monday at a ridiculously early hour of the morning (the bus leaves at 4:40 a.m.), so tomorrow is my last day in Provence. I hope to make the most of it, although I suspect I'll spend the majority trying to fit all of my things into my suitcase(s). We'll see how that goes.
____
I promised some anecdotes:
This will teach you to tempt fate. Last night, a group of us were having a glass of wine and taking some pictures (despite the abysmal weather) at Liz's house before going out to the Comté d'Aix for dinner (it's my favorite local restaurant). So, lately, Chris has been joking about ways to make Michelle (who is moving to Laos on Wednesday) and me stay in Aix. He slipped, "Maybe I could just break my leg or something and then you'd have to stay and nurse me." into our conversation while we were at Liz's. As we were walking down the stairs to go to the restaurant, something happened and he lost his footing, turned his ankle, and was rendered unable to do more than hobble down the street.
Eventually, Florence and I rushed to the pharmacy and bought a tube of "Biofreeze" cream to keep the swelling down, he and Michelle got a cab to the restaurant, and by the time we had finished dinner, the advil that Liz had given him immediately after the fall had kicked in enough for him to hobble home.
Liz, Florence, and I continued on to the restaurant, hoping to get there in time to get enough seats for everyone we thought was coming. About halfway between Liz's house and the Comté d'Aix, there was a "thunk," as Florence's bag dropped to the ground, shoulder strap broken beyond repair. We fairly quickly rigged the bag so that she could continue to carry it, began chatting about how bad things come in threes, and walked the rest of the way downtown.
If bad things come in threes, we may still be waiting for the last one. Or maybe something happened that can count. I'll keep my fingers crossed for the latter.
Today, we were sitting in my room as I began the first stages of packing. We were Chris, Liz, Lucy, Michelle and I. Several weeks ago, I bought a squeaky toy elephant for Lila, Meggie's puppy, and because I haven't gotten it together enough to take it to her, it's been sitting on my desk. So, first, Michelle threw the toy at Chris. Chris, after recovering from a poorly aimed throw, decided to hit a fungo with one of his crutches (bequeille, I think is the French word) perfectly arching the tiny elephant out my open window.
This in itself made us double over in laughter, and it took us several minutes of recovery time before I was able to grab my keys, pull out my flip flops, and go downstairs to recover the thing. I was still inside the gate when I saw a little old lady notice the toy, pick it up, give it a good squeak, look around somewhat skeptically, and walk away carrying the little elephant with her.
I shook my head, went back inside and died out laughing. Of all the things that could've happened, an old lady ended up with my elephant. I hope a puppy somewhere is happy.
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