A big MERCI

This post goes out to everyone for all the calls, cards, messages, gifts and sweet birthday gestures sent a couple weeks of go. I apologize if I was unable to receive your call or call you back, but I want to let you know you all helped to make my birthday feel extra special, especially since I'm not home to celebrate in your company.

This year's celebration was a bit of a deviation from the last four years, my first year away from Penn State. It was also the first time in about four years that I got to celebrate my bday with my family on the actual day, a very welcomed change. Just to give you all a picture, we did a bit of touring during the day and then had a huge birthday dinner at my host family's apartment. The room was decorated with balloons the kids had left messages on for each family member and the meal delicious and as always stuffing.

So thank you again. The cards were great and all the fun money will go to fun frenchy things, I promise. Gros bisous (big kisses) to everyone. I will have pictures up shortly of the birthday celebration and more importantly, all the beautiful sites we saw along our travels in France.

Note: I'm going to refrain from writing a post on the family visit here in France. Between talking to my parents and myself, I think you will all get a good idea of how awesome the vacation was. And I'd also just like to let the pictures speak for themselves. They can do it better, more beautifully and cetainly more concise than I.

Cheers!

Dinner Party Fan

     Ok, call me old or maybe a crappy 20-something year-old, but I must admit that one of my favorite things to do with friends is have dinner parties.  This all started with weekly dinner parties (Thursday, then Wednesday nights) with my chère Alli at Penn State. Slowly but surely though, the dinner parties increased to fiestas at Meg and Petra's, crêpe and mimosa weekend mornings and of course my annual Chanukah dinner (got to share the Jewish glory of latkas). So being here, I continue to faire la fete (party) with as many dinner parties as I can manage. 

Our past dinner party was in honor of our birthday boy Rene.  Here with his girlfriend Susie, a Canadian assistant, Rene is one of the warmest, coolest and most thoughtful people I've met out here.  Dying lately for some buffalo wings, one of his culinary favorites, Rene tried out "Buffalo Grill," a local chain restaurant in France to appease his barbecue hankering.  So, let me try to describe "Buffalo Grill" to you all. Adorned with Native American and cowboy paraphernalia, "Buffalo Grill" serves an array of meats in a family style restaurant decorated in a red and black motif. And overall, I now know what it must feel like to be an Australian going to "Outback" in the U.S. Seriously, this restaurant is ridiculous. Most of the pictures of 'indians and cowboys' are pictures of the French country sides, including cute cottage homes with cowboys mounted on horses photoshoped in. 

Nonetheless, Rene's "Buffalo Grill" visit was more than disappointing, so over dinner out one night we decided, why not try making some hot wings ourselves with a little dinner party. With some cooking advice from Mommy Myers and some hot ketchup we hit gold. I spiced up the ketchup with some more vinegary twang and chili sauce, chopped up some celery and made some homemade blue cheese dressing and voila a meal for the gods. Oh wait did I mention the glorious greek salad our demi-Greek, Alex made, including olives and dolmas!!!   

With a hankering for some milkshakes, Susie also whipped up some dark chocolate milkshakes along with the black forest cake she bought for Rene. And how could I forget the french fries, which were quite good as well with some apple cider vinegar, very boardwalk fries-style. And so, that was our little dinner party, which of course included some highly-intellectual conversation, hilarious stories from Alex, our king of accent-imitation and lots of guitar serenading from Ross, Rene and even a bit from myself. 

Cheers!

picture: 1) the meal, Ross, Alex, Susie, Rene 2)Me at "Buffalo Grill" with the Perrots in 2006

It's just a hop, skip and a jump away!

     Hello all. Again I must apologize for being lazy about these blog entries, but truth be told I've been traveling a lot on the weekends, leaving less time to catch up with writing. Luckily, I have kept the photo albums almost completely up to date, so please check those out. 

     With a little help from Uncle "french" Sam, I now have a little extra spending money. Man socialist governments rock. Well, at least governments with more socialistic programs rock.  And what have I done with this extra money you might ask? Well, I've been traveling basically as free as I want to within France. Ok, so now I feel like I'm bragging, but basically what I'm trying to get across is how lucky I've been. This whole experience is probably one of the best decisions I've made for myself. So enough gushing, let me catch you up on all the weekend fun I've been having. 

I've already noted my trip to the Alps, which was then followed by a weekend visit to Dijon, Montpellier and a past weekend in Paris.  Dijon, which is quite close by to me was a little adventure with my friend Morgane, who used to live out in that neck of the woods.  Basically Dijon to Morgane is like New York City to me and the fact that she took me along for another ride in her favorite city was great.  I got the chance to meet many of her friends and speak French the WHOLE weekend and truthfully, I met some great people out there who were extremely interesting. A quick sketch: there were French anarchists squatting in this old house, Noemi, a quirky little thing most reminiscent to Amélie Poulain, who often sports up to 10 layers of clothing at a time and many more who sweetly welcomed me with open arms. 

Next on my weekend adventures was Montpellier, what I like to refer to as the Miami of France, mostly because the city is adorned with palm trees.  That's right dad, big healthy palm trees. I've been wanting to go down there for awhile to visit my friend Allison, who I studied with in Besancon and finally I was able to do so.  Before this trip, I had only seen Nice in terms of the south of France, so I was really excited to discover more of the south.  It was great, very tranquil and a fabulous mix of Parisian architecture with classical roman ruins.  There are really some great Roman ruins throughout France, especially in the south since that's where the Roman capital was constructed. 

Last, but not least is gay Paris. With a long weekend due to Easter, I headed to Paris to meet up with a Penn State friend who was over there for her vacation.  Since I'll be back there shortly, visiting with my family, I was a bit worried that I'd be hitting a lot of tourist sites twice. Luckily my friend Sarah was more interested in feeling like a real Parisian rather than seeing all the sites. Instead, we went out freely and did a lot of people watching with Sarah's friend Cindy who was kindly putting us up.  Crashing in her king sized bed, the three of us were literally snug as a bug in a rug. Did I mention that Cindy and Sarah are both Jewish as well?Man it was great to be surrounded by some Jewish humor, feeling free to use Yiddish whenever I wanted. Cindy opened my eyes and heart to one of the Jewish sectors of the city, as well and man did we have the best falafel ever. Situated in the fourth arrondissement, this little nook of the city was great, good shops, great Jewish bakeries and even some awesome thrift stores. And just like Florence, a rabbi situated himself in a prime location next to a bustling falafel restaurant to entice boys to wrap tafilin. I don't know if it's just the food or the smells, but being in a Jewish neighborhood, no matter where, just feels like home for me. 

So folks, that's a quick catch up on all my weekend adventures. I think the pictures speak more than my ramblings. As for now, I await for my friend Allison to visit me this weekend and then the grand visit of mom, dad and Meg!! 

picture: little girl playing with duckies outside of le Louvre. Probably hit Eurodisney that day, as well. Quel chance!

     As you may have noticed from some new pictures I uploaded, I finally got myself over and into the heart of the Alpes. Two weeks ago, on a whim, I traveled to Chamonix to try skiing for the first time. Now while I'd like to think of myself as moderately athletic, I have to admit that when it comes to snow related sports, I'm less than gifted. In fact, I'm down right pathetic on any ski slope of any kind. I've tried snowboarding a couple of times and was quite content with my effort. But all in all as many of you might know, I don't exactly like activities that mix speed with high altitudes. Nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoy pushing myself to my physical limits every now and then, especially when I can do so in one of the most beautiful parts of the world.

     While I'm trying to teach myself not to have too many expectations of how certain cities or places should look before I visit, every now and then the places I see are dead on with the image I've conjured in my imagination. Overall, the Alps were exactly what I expected or have seen in various old movies, such as my beloved Hepburn favorite "Charade."

     So early Sunday morning, we headed out to rally the group and make our way to Chamonix, a three hour ride away from Besançon.  It took us a bit of time to get the group all together, but once on the road the view made up for any time lost. Truthfully, the Alps are breathtaking.  As we reached Lausanne, a view of the mountains appeared surrounded by a lake-side city. And while the sky was still a bit cloudy, by the time we got to the ski slopes the sky had cleared to a crystal blue. Honestly, I couldn't have asked for better weather.  

     Decked out in my friend's old ski attire, the group all gave me their words of wisdom to help me down the mountain.  I thought the altitude might be a bit much for me to handle, but the ride up the ski lift was absolutely amazing.  So one problem I found with learning to ski is that you get a lot of advice on how you should feel and move your body and you end up thinking maybe a bit too much.  While it's good to know some key aspects on how to move your body to stop and turn, it's also hard to think while trying to feel balanced and comfortable on a slippery slope.  It's also especially difficult to think about all the things you should be doing with your body to avoid falling by translating advice given to you in French. 

     Luckily, my friend Max and Antoine waited for me all the way down switching into English to give my brain a break while my body worked overtime.  A couple of times, Antoine teaching me how to control my speed and slow down had me hold on to his coat and follow him down keeping a certain distance. Unfortunately, at this point I wasn't learning quickly enough and ended up taking a tumble, bringing Antoine along with me and almost placing my ski uncomfortably up his bum.  No worries, no major injuries were endured. 

     All in all, the day was absolutely breath-taking, in more ways than one.  I ended up going down the slope twice before taking a break with the group and grabbing a beer at the chalet. While I never fully grasped the concept of switching directions, by the end of the day I could successfully slow myself down and steer myself gradually. What I will never understand though is how people dress fashionably for skiing, or any sport for that matter. This perplexes me especially considering by the end of the day every one of my baggy layers was soaked from sweat and did nothing for my female silhouette what so ever. Tant pis, who gives a crap! 

     And a week later, I can say I am quite proud of my beautiful blue and purple bruises. I show them off like proud battle wounds or shark bites (yes that was a "Jaws" reference). I would include a picture, but that might be a bit too risque for this blog.

     While I would like to say the whole day ended perfectly, I should recount as well that on my way home via train, ten minutes away from Montbéliard, I realized I left my keys in my coat pocket, which happened to still be at my friend's house, an hour away back in Besançon. Arriving in Montbéliard at 11pm, there was no way I could call my landlady or have my friend come to give me my keys. So, instead I crashed chez Susie and Rene (my Canadian friends) and opted to skip work Monday morning to recuperate. Oh what a life!

Enjoy the pictures! 

Waffles and fries and beer, oh my!

That's right folks after another six of weeks of teaching, France has granted me two weeks of vacation. I know your jealousy might be starting to really brew right about now, but don't be envious come out here and join the fun instead! While I didn't plan this vacation any earlier than the others, I had a really good idea of where I wanted to go and the means to do so.  After trying to swallow Barb's passing, I decided to do the only thing I knew I could to make her proud, live life to the fullest while drinking a good tasty beer and laughing as much as possible along the way with good genuine friends. So, Thursday morning I left for Belgium in my friend Max's little blue Peugeot, which I like to call Smirfette cheersing to Barb along the way. 

Packed with 3 maps (one of France, and 2 detailing the North and South of tiny Belgium separately) and some essential food items to keep us nourished along the way and our wallets happy, we left from Montbeliard with a rawly drawn line penciling our way up to Belgium through Epinal, Metz, Nancy and Luxembourg.  Getting out of the Franche-comte seemed to take forever, but stocked with music and all the time in the world, we slowly but surely made our way up through North-western France into Luxembourg, passing the Alsace and Lorraine regions along the way.  My immediate reaction of Northern France was the appearance of brick buildings. I haven't seen bricks in the longest time and it was so gratifying to see these friendly old burnt-red blocks adorning the buildings along the highway. 

Our first stop was Chimay, the little town where Chimay Triple Blue, Red and White are made. Famous for its monastery where the beer has been brewed for centuries, we stopped over to go find ourselves some monks. Within the tranquil monastery walls, we found no monks, but I did get a good sense of what a monastery is like. I admit, I had some pre-expectations that weren't fulfilled, but I was intent on admiring the simple calm essence of the monastery.  While we didn't get to see any of the beer making process, we did stop by the Chimay brasserie down the street, which is a bit more commercial, but provides all the products the monastery produces. We bought ourselves a chunk of cheese and a type of beer they only sell on tap there at the brasserie.  During our "degustation" we also started a friendly conversation with two Americans and a Brit on a beer tour of Belgium. 

We made it to Luxembourg by sunset and the tiny little commerce-centered city/country put us on a little chase, driving in circles trying to figure out how the hell to get out and into Belgium. Let's just say that as soon as we hit Luxembourg all logical signs seemed to disappear. Signs pointing to "other directions" would also be pointing to the airport and train station, which on the map were located in three distinctly different directions. I guess that's what happens in tiny little countries. 

Deciding to rest in southern Belgium, before making it up to Tournai, we started looking for a hotel. We must have crossed through Belgium, Luxembourg and France between 4-8 times to finally find a decently priced hotel. We passed about 5 I would say that were unjustifiably expensive. In horrible, distant locations these hotels/motels were priced between 70 and 90 euros most not even including an additionally priced 13 euro breakfast. With the advice of one concierge, we decided to head back to the French border to a Mister Bed to recharge for our continuing journey. Upon arrival, the price was right so we parked and unloaded, famished and ready to cook up some of the spaghetti we bought for the journey.

Max, a more than seasoned traveler, brought along his little gas cooker and a pot, however earlier in the day we realized we forgot to buy utensils. This didn't seem to cause much trouble while assembling sandwiches of comte and sausage, but cooking spaghetti is a different story. By nine the supermarket behind the hotel was closed and the reception had no helpful tools to pocket to help our endeavor.  Instead we improvised, using my toothbrush holder to stir the pasta to keep it from sticking. Plates were unnecessary, why not eat straight from the pot. The problem was what to eat the spaghetti with. While I had no problem recreating an image of my first time eating spaghetti as a baby, I was still tempted to try and rig up a way of eating this pasta without my hands. Famished, we had already started gorging ourselves on some more cheese and sausage, almost like the scene right out of "Two for the Road," and while the idea of eating the spaghetti with our toothbrushes could work, mixing the taste of mint and tomato sauce didn't seem too appetizing.

Suddenly a light bulb hit as a stared at the plastic hangers conveniently fixed to a rod above the bed. Sure plastic chop sticks could work. At the mention of the idea, Max was immediately breaking the hangers with a sarcastic "oops" to follow. Instead of breaking more than one so we each had two, one nicely bevelled plastic rod was all we needed to daintily scoop up some angel hair spaghetti into our salivating mouths. Mission complete, dinner a success followed by a desert of apples and clementines. 

The following day we made our way back into Belgium and up to Tournai, where we would sleep over at Max's friend's house. I have to admit, the Belgian countryside doesn't appeal to me as much as France's. I say this after seeing the view from both the highway and the country roads.  In Tournai, the whole brick scheme was taken a bit too far. The buildings were all brick one after the other, almost creating a factory like image, but this architecture motif definitely changed as we headed further North in our travels. From Tournai, each day we, me, Max, Virginie, Marie (Virginie's roomate) and Marie's boyfriend, Antoine would travel to a neighboring city. The great thing about tiny Belgium is that no city is really much more than two hours from the next.  

Our first trip was to Bruges, which is now being beautifully depicted in the film "In Bruges," which I have yet to see, but look forward to. We got our first taste of Belgian frites (fries) there, as well as our first beers in a proper Belgian brasserie.  The following day we made our way to the North Sea, a must have stop, since I was torn between going south to the beaches or up to Belgium for my vacation. While it was too cold to go for a dip, I did manage to fall on my touckas while walking back on the jetty towards shore. No worries, we caught a great sunset and the guitar I was shlepping had no damage, my wet slightly bruised bum was the only thing to suffer.  The way home was a chase for time, trying to find a supermarket before they all closed and getting a bit lost in the process. Not too much stress for me as I sort of zonked out in the back.

At the supermarket we stocked up on some pizza and various Belgian beers for a soiree chez Virginie and I also picked up my two souvenir glasses displaying the Grimbergen logo (a favorite beer of mine). Ok I know you're thinking, Lindsay don't buy souvenirs at a grocery store, but the price was right and that just doubled my pleasure!  Back at Virginie's we had a swimmingly fun evening of guitar playing, juggling and marker wars. 

Sunday morning, as promised, I made a large stack of "American" pancakes for my new Frenchy friends. While I did flip one onto the ground and the stack warming in the oven did get too crispy for my liking, the recipe turned out well and stomachs were quite full and taste buds happy in the end.  Best part was Virginie asking me if Americans ate this for breakfast every morning. Misinterpreting the question, I responded "oui", quickly correcting myself to include "oh no just on the weekends, but usually also with sausage or bacon and loads of butter and syrup." Our pancakes were adorned with Nutella and jelly and the last two were augmented with a touch of fleur d'orangeur, a great little extract usually used in galettes, that actually works really well with pancakes. Definitely bringing that melange home.  

After some of our fullness wore off, Max, Virginie et I headed out to tour Brussels. I really enjoyed Brussels and wish we could have stayed for the evening to faire la fete (party). We didn't really have an agenda, but still caught some main sites like the Manneken Pis featuring a little statue of a boy peeing. I think my favorite was coming across a little pub as we were searching for a good destination to taste a beer. The pub, Au Bon Vieux Temps (Of the good old times) led down a tiny narrow alley into a pub dating back to the 1600's. Inside it was dark, wood-paneled and smoky, with colored refracted light streaming through the stained-glassed windows. Quite adverse to smoke, initially Virginie wasn't too keen, but with a bit of peer pressure from Max and the awesome atmosphere, we all sat down for one more beer before leaving the city to head back to Tournai.

Our last Belgian stop was in Liege, a city I have to say I didn't love to much. It was a bit run down and a lot was under construction. We tried to hit some main sites, but weren't too impressed and after some sandwiches and a quick pick me up at a cafe, we headed out. I was very keen on stopping at a 12th century chateau in Bouillon, which we opted to pass on the way up due to lack of time and lack of clear sky. Unfortunately, with our faulty French map, which was a bit outdated, we missed our exit, tant pis.  After a bit more of faulty directions from our trusty map, we finally made it back to La France though, quite content with our simple, easy going, down to earth road trip. 

Please check out the slide show I posted, as well. I included a lot of captions to fill in some quirky details from each excursion.