World Traveller

I could waste this post pondering the fact that it has been almost three months since I have posted in this space (sad and shocking). I could (and have) shake my head ironically that those last few entries were full of lamentations describing how difficult it had been keeping up with this blog. Little did I know that I was about to drop off of the blogosphere all together. And, most uselessly, I could expound about how I will not let this happen again. Well, I will certainly try not to – because I have missed it.

However,  the question of where I have been deserves much more attention. In those three months I feel like I have flown to the ends of the earth and back. Twice. I just wish I could compile all of those frequent flyer miles. And then park myself on a beach. For a very long time.

First, I spent the week surrounding the Thanksgiving holiday in central/southern California with my extended family and friends. It had been a little over a year since my last visit to the land of fish tacos and 80ºF late-November days. The sun shined almost continuously.

I crammed as much visiting, laughter, Mexican food, Pacific sunsets and barbeque into those nine days as I possibly could. And then I cooked a turkey. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. My first Thanksgiving dinner as head chef was a huge personal achievement. Unfortunately it also marked the beginning of the (now ongoing) cold war with my bathroom scale.

I returned to Paris. I worked. I tried to restrict myself to salad. That was not possible. The temperature dropped and snow fell. As an aside from this (not-so-quick) summary – since when does Paris get this much snow? I was under the (false) impression that this city gets dusted with the white stuff once or twice a winter – just enough to look pretty. Apparently the snow gods are laughing it up at my shivering expense this season – but it does look amazing…

Last year I was too busy digging into my laboratory work to really explore the holiday festivities throughout the city. This year I was lucky enough to have a visitor (hi Elé!) who was happy to tromp around the multiple Alsatian Christmas markets around town and, most importantly, help me taste-test the vin chaud available at each event.

A very short, and mostly unproductive three weeks later, I hopped a plane to Germany for the Christmas holiday. I spent many days wrapped in blankets, drinking tea, reading my books in front of the fireplace (an ode to the addictive, wonderful cheesiness that is the Twilight saga deserves a post of its very own). Although I very easily could have stayed in my pajamas the entire time, we were adventurous and ventured out to see the original Christmas market in Nuremberg. I think the glüwein may beat the vin chaud (probably because it came in a seasonal souvenir mug).

I was, once again, reminded of how lucky I am to have the German in my life, as well as his incredibly kind, loving and generous family and friends. We all opened gifts on the holiday, lit fireworks for the New Year and ate and drank copiously the entire time. Meanwhile the snow kept falling. It was a bit like a fairy-tale. One that was exceedingly difficult to leave.

I flew back to Paris once again – to the hustle and bustle of work and a head full of New Years resolutions. It had finally settled in that 1 of my 3 years here had already passed. I still have so much to do and so little time. We dove headlong into the preparation for the upcoming 9-day visit to the laboratory in Cairo. Unlike my quick visit in October, this time around a large team from Paris traveled together. Not only did we spend time in the lab troubleshooting technical problems, preparing for new studies and catching up on the last two months of work, but we also presented the past three years of work to the scientific council responsible for the funding and maintenance of our research site. More than a bit stressful. Again, another post for another time, but I must mention how impressed and proud I am of my colleagues in Egypt. Although extremely challenging, it is an amazing experience, personally and professionally, to learn and work in such an environment.

Two weeks ago, I returned to Paris, this time prepared to stay a while. I have spent that time reorienting myself, doing laundry, re-prioritizing projects at work, sleeping and re-motivating after feeling like I have been running, non-stop since November. Slowly but surely I am again getting comfortable in my own skin. I am finally getting myself back on track both at work with my own projects and catching up with friends. In the time that I was bouncing back and forth like a pinball, they also gathered wonderful holiday stories to share, gifts to exchange and, in one amazing case, a beautiful new baby to visit and snuggle.

Of course I miss the German in Boston. And, I miss my family in California. But it is clear to me that Paris has become my home, at least for the time being. And, as we all know, there is no place like home.

Why I am currently writing this from a couch in San Sébastian, Spain is a story for tomorrow…

The Happiest Place on Earth (in France)

Last week was a long, eventful week. I finally received my titre de sejour, which will give me some peace of mind when I travel to the US in two weeks (yay!). I submitted a small manuscript on behalf of our team in Cairo for review and (hopefully) publication. Moreover, I did two long and elaborate make-or-break experiments for my primary project in the lab. The first consisted of a 13-hour day and the second of 18 hours. No kidding. By the time the weekend rolled around I was more than slightly delirious from exhaustion.

So, after conquering my week, where did I go? To Disneyland Paris, of course!

A quick aside: do championship sports players actually go to Disneyland after winning the Super Bowl, World Series, etc? Or is that just a gimmick whenever the game is broadcast on ABC – owned by Disney? I just have a hard time seeing it.

Well, it turned out to be perfect timing for me, as the possibility of this trip had been in negotiation for quite some time. It had been 15 years since my last trip to the Magic Kingdom, and I was looking forward to doing it alongside close friends and their kids.

Although the weather forecast had been dismal and we barely escaped a downpour and sudden hailstorm (thank goodness for the canvas awnings over the line for The Pirates of the Caribbean), most of the day was cold but relatively nice. And, due to the rainy outlook, the park was practically empty and most of the lines were extremely short – our longest wait was about 20 minutes for Autopia – pas mal (as the French would say).

The last time I went to Disneyland, I was 15 and traveling with our high school band (yes, I am that band kid – and I do have band camp stories). We were all teenagers, trying so hard to act grown up. For one day, as we walked through the gates of ‘The Happiest Place on Earth,’ we were all given a free pass to be kids and not be embarrassed about it.

This time around I was the adult I had wanted to be so badly back then. The ironic thing about growing up is that now I can just take pleasure in fun things and sharing them with good people, no matter what the appearance. And, as an almost 31-year old, I loved Disneyland all over again. And it was especially fun to have the kids around – to see the castles, Christmas decorations (already!), rides and ‘magic’ through their eyes.

It truly was a great way to end a complicated, yet victorious week. Next time I win something (maybe the lottery – it was a bit pricey), I am in!

Supermarket Secrets II

The first thing that guests want when they arrive in Paris is cheese. And then wine. Followed by more cheese and, if the fates are smiling, a steaming baguette from the boulangerie around the corner. The thought of going to a supermarket never enters one’s mind – too much time is spent following one’s nose from the fruit and veg stand to the poissonaires, and then back again to the fromagerie. Understandably so, as these things can all be exceptional here.

However, much can be said for one-stop-shopping and, mostly, what kinds of items I have discovered when wandering the aisles in a foreign country with an all-too-familiar rumble in my belly. Despite the multitudes of cheese taking center stage, what I have been astounded by in my dairy case has been the yogurt. The choices stretch, in well-stocked cases, as far as the eye can see. The flavors range from the achingly sweet chocolates to the piquant, unsweetened (or nature) varieties. Not to mention the goat and sheep’s milk options. Luckily I do not need to constantly choose. One of my favorite brands, La Laitiere (let’s ignore the giant Nestle on the box for now), sells four of their basic saveurs (citron, vanille, noix de coco and fraise) as a variety pack, containing two of each. Keeps my taste buds on their toes each morning.

My consistent favorite has been the coconut – not the cultured version of a virgin piña colada found in the US – but a slightly sweetened, dense and silky creamy confection flecked with shards of coconut. It is, for me, the perfect way to start my day. When quizzed, my recent houseguests were immediately able to put their fingers on the difference between the yogurts here and back home. It is the texture. There are no grainy lumps that I optimistically think I can ‘stir away’, or watery layer that has floated to the top, waiting to ruin my appetite upon opening. Perhaps this is related to fat content – I cannot recall seeing many (if any) fat-free dairy mishaps in the French markets. Rather each yogurt is thick and smooth, rich but not too heavy. Even better, many are sold in small glass jars, which are not only adorable, but work well as measuring cups for traditional recipes (I have made this and it is delicious) and make handy picnic wine glasses come summertime!

Back on the Wagon

I have been running and, for the first time in many weeks, I finally feel like I can slow down. In the last month I have been in Nice, Cairo and Paris. I have gone to two conferences, presented my data in front of a few hundred colleagues,  initiated a new collaboration and prepared a manuscript for submission (tomorrow, knock on wood) – not to mention everyday experiments. I have hosted my best friend(s) in my adopted city, completed four handmade holiday gifts, prepared for my trip home in a few weeks and valiantly fought some never-ending head cold. Most importantly, I have, 363 days after filing the initial paperwork, finally received my French resident permit. This is a true victory.

This does bring on another slew of domestic errands– French social security and additional health insurance applications. Yes, Americans out there, not all French health care is free. As well as the accumulation of laundry (truly staggering), the rest of those holiday gifts, a few key experiments and a pile of travel-related paperwork, my life is certainly not lacking for items to check off in the ‘to-do’ column. Ever.

What I have missed is this blog. It was fun to discover how fast blogging became part of my (almost) daily routine. It was exciting when friends commented (I love it – do it more!) and enlightening to see how much it changed my daily perspective. Rather than lost in my own head and increasingly frustrated at the foreignness around me, I was actively looking for photos, stories, new and tasty French snacks to share with all of you. I followed the marching band down the street of my new neighborhood rather than slink away from the crowds. Each post was aimed at highlighting the things I have come to enjoy about Paris and it became a positive feedback loop – the more interesting, fun topics for posts I used, the more I needed to look for to keep writing.

So, after my somewhat gloomy anniversary post, which found me homesick and having just said goodbye to my visitors, I need to brighten my days a bit and get back on the blogging wagon. Not only am I letting stories slide by, but also I could use to reignite that feedback loop. As the days are becoming progressively shorter, temperatures are dropping and that cold, cutting winter wind is starting to blow; I will have plenty of time in the upcoming weeks and months to record the stories I have been collecting and the new ones that come along. I have every reason to keep smiling with the memories of the Mediterranean, anticipation for the Pacific and my hot soup with melting goat cheese toasties to keep me warm.

Goat Cheese Toasties (for 2)

These are super simple and the perfect toppers for a dinner salad (a la salade chevre chaud, here in Paris), soup or a great snack. I only make two at a time to preserve some sense of self-control. There is no soup recipe; this time it came from a carton…

4 slices of sandwich bread (small squares of whole wheat)

slightly softened (spreadable) butter

goat cheese (in log form, preferably)

Pre-heat your oven to 200°C (around 400°F). Spread a thin layer of butter across each of 4 slices of bread. Slice the goat cheese into thin, even rounds and lay onto the bread. I tend to like to leave my corners uncovered because then I get just tasty buttered toast, but feel free to cut a few rounds in half to more fully cover each slice. Bake for about 10 minutes, until bread is toasted, cheese is bubbling and lightly browned. Be careful to not bite into the cheese right away – it is very hot!

Hindsight

(photo has nothing to do with this post, but is one of my favorites – taken my first week here)

Hindsight is 20/20, as they like to say. I am not sure if I agree. Much of my future, at least, can be predicted based on patterns of behavior and, most frankly, of denial.

I got on an airplane, one year ago today, leaving everyone and everything behind to try my luck in Paris. The reasons for doing so were many and varied – at the top of that list was the job itself, a three-year stint at one of the world’s most prestigious research institutes is nothing to dismiss out of hand, notwithstanding the superior location.

So, that was that. I arrived. I worked. I walked. I worked. I took photos. I worked some more. And, around April, the feeling of extended vacation (due to my location) ended and exhaustion and homesickness (due to an overloaded work schedule) started to sink in. I had to slow down – for my mental and physical health. I did and, in doing so, realized that a lot of the impetus for this move was not work. Or Paris. Or wanting to learn French. Or experiencing different cultures. I had gotten so good at selling my move to my friends, family and co-workers that I had taken no time to explore my true motivations.

I had been running away. Running away from seven years in graduate school. Running away from big decisions and lost relationships. After the chaotic ups and downs of Boston, I so desperately wanted to ‘start over’ that I had chosen the place farthest, literally and figuratively, from home to redefine who I was now. Who I wanted to be from here on out. Not surprisingly, but somewhat ironicly, who I am/was/will be (which, of course, had not changed, just had become slightly out of focus) is decidedly American and feeling not a little lost on foreign soil.

People do not change and I am no exception. I have created (and experienced) ebbs and flows in my new Parisian life. There are days in which I talk myself in and out of moving back home at least twenty times. I have learned to calm myself with good food, interesting people, fuzzy wool sweaters and patience. I have pushed myself to experience more of Paris (and less of lab) and have a New Year’s resolution already in place to get me out of the city and into the countryside one time per month in 2010. These things do not completely fill the constantly shifting void of homesickness (the World Series starting tonight, sad, Go Phillies!) but, hopefully, they will tide me over. The amazing blanquette de veau I had at the tiny bistrot a vins across the street last night will fill the rest.

One thing I did say from the very beginning of this adventure holds true: if there is a time in life to experience the world from a different angle, now is it. When else if  when not married, with no children and freshly free of a long, cumbersome period of graduate work? I have earned the adventure; I just need to focus on getting the most out of it. Every day.

Leftovers

I am a huge fan of leftovers, of the food variety. Mostly because I am a comfort food glutton and most (lasgane, stew, etc) get even better with time, after you have let their flavors marry. My quick trip to Nice was short on free time (and sleep), but left a resounding impact in my mind. The memories have ‘married’, I guess you could say, and I cannot wait to return.

I have no clever quips left, yet I have so many photos – evocative of the freshness of the food, history of the area and sound of the sea. I will leave a smattering of them here to entice all of you to join me!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before and After

As we were headed towards the conference center on our second day in Nice, I was, as usual, holding up our small group by taking photos of anything that struck my fancy. My colleagues had long since gotten used to walking ahead and having me catch up after I feebly attempted to capture the sense of the old city waking up each morning.
That day my attention and fancy had been grabbed by the delivery of four small crates of zucchini blossoms to a small bistro along our route. Dewey, extremely delicate and the topic of much discussion on the blogosphere that I had read recently, I snapped a photo, thought about how lucky the diners would be that evening and scurried along.

As it turns out, we returned ten hours later with empty stomachs and a strong curiosity about how the chef had transformed the produce of that morning. We arrived around 9pm and the place was bustling. After the complementary kir, we shared two orders of the beignets des courgettes. I tested everyone’s patience as I made our whole group wait a few extra moments as I snapped this photo of the finished product. From the farm to our plate – my own before and after culinary adventure.

The beignets were a bit heavy – maybe too much batter for the peppery, fragile blossoms. But paired with a homemade aioli, dry red wine and interesting conversation, they were the perfect beginning to my first Provençal meal. Luckily our hotel was downhill from there – I could roll all the way home.

The Marketplace

Yes. Nice is nice. In fact, it is beyond nice – it was stunningly beautiful. Our hotel faced the Mediterranean and, in order to get to the conference venue each morning, we had to walk though the twisting, turning narrow lanes of the old city which were full of small boulangeries and boucheries. However, we first had to pass through the main square where, each day, there is an open-air market.

The goods for sale changed on a daily basis. It became the highlight of my morning to see (and surreptitiously photograph) each day’s wares.  We figured, to be almost completely set up by 7:30am when we walked through each day, they must have started at 6. The merchants were kind, always smiling – even at me, the silly American taking endless photos and babbling about viruses. Or, maybe that was laughter.
On the Saturday we arrived, there were books. I have never wanted to read French more in my life.

Sunday was food – aromatic spices across the aisle from plump blueberries (and check out the ’shrooms on the table in the back!). It was enough to make my mouth water. Even after my coffee and croissant.

Monday featured a flea market…

…and there were flowers on Tuesday. I could smell the market before I came around the corner from the Quai des Etats-Unis. The heady perfume of gardenias and delicate beauty of blooming orchids confirmed that, for me, this city is paradise.

I decided then and there that I must return to Nice, preferably without work, but with the German in tow and stay at least one week. Just to know what is featured Wednesday through Friday. Scientific curiosity, really…

Because someone needs to quality control these sweets…

Hi. I’m researchingparis, and I’m addicted to the Internet

These past two weeks have been a whirlwind. Then I was reeling from the fire downstairs and completely intimidated by the days to come. First I traveled to Nice for a scientific meeting, and then to Cairo to update collaborators on a new project. I had one day in Paris between to repack and leave again.

Not only is it always good to sleep in my own bed (even though it is still a little smoky – Febreeze is only so effective), but I have become completely spoiled by my wifi (pronounced here as ‘wee-fee’, much better in my opinion). I have constant internet access from anywhere in my house. Most often I combine the comforts of bed with the ease of wifi. Neither the hotel in Nice (less understandable), nor that in Cairo (more understandable) came internet equipped. No hardline. No wifi. Nothing.

This situation forced me to confront the obvious – I have an addiction. To the internet. I was severed, cold-turkey, from my obsession without foreknowledge, having assumed that at least Nice would be well-equipped. At the conference I did not have much time to think about it, but each night I missed being able to say goodnight to loved ones across oceans, catching up with my blog reading, or updating my own blog!

It was not all bad. I re-read Jane Eyre and loved it (again). I am now almost done with Oliver Twist (the English-language bookstore in Paris was having a sale on classics). I finished several handmade Christmas gifts and started others. Mostly I slept. Whenever I could. I did notice that without email to check and Facebook to update, I enjoyed just relaxing.

No matter, I have fallen off the wagon. I’m hooked up again. Connected to the interwebs and back in action. It was about time. I was definitely getting twitchy.

It’s Getting Hot in Here

Yesterday, at this time, I had solid plans to spend my evening detailing the wonders of French yogurt. Taking not-so-surreptitious photos of the dairy extravaganza (i.e. aisle) had been the highlight of my day. I had conned two friends to be lookouts at the most luxurious Monoprix I have ever seen (the security detail at some of these supermarkets is impressive) and proceeded to confuse multiple customers who just shook their heads in my direction after hearing the loud American giggling in the cold case section. Yet, after a late night attending a work function, I decided to put off the post for one day. That way I’d have more light to take photos of the variety of yogurt I brought home to sample and more energy (and creativity) to put into the post – both of which I have been rather low on lately.

I did not count on the fleet of French firefighters who pounded on my door many, many, many times between 1:30 and 3am this morning. Apparently my new downstairs neighbor had some type of fire. No worries – nothing that required evacuation or in any way affected the structural integrity of the building as far as I could eek out with my piecemeal French. I am pretty sure that they even put everything out before they woke me. However, said apartment ventilates into my laundry area – a small enclave off of the living room – close to the front door and was spewing acrid fumes into my little place while I was ignorantly sleeping.

The very nice, not very bilingual and young (and attractive) pompiers came and went through my entire place, mostly focusing on the vents behind the washer. Multiple times I thought the walk=through was finished, that they had satisfied their curiosity that I, too, did not have a fire (and to the extent of my dirty laundry piles), but then they kept returning. I did not realize until this morning that they had been checking carbon monoxide levels. After being satisfied by their instrument readings and severely ordering me to keep all the windows open, I was finally allowed to return to bed. I tossed and turned. Everything smelled like campfire and I was sincerely freaked out – neither smoke detectors, nor carbon monoxide monitors are mandatory in France – what if I had slept through it all? Needless to say, I have not yet returned to my passion for coconut yogurt (although it is quite cooling).

So, email to landlord? Check. Request for a smoke detector? Check. New emergency plan put into place amongst the friends and loved ones? Check. Lots and lots and lots of Febreeze? Check, check and check. Return to the excitement over yogurt and stress about the cold I cannot seem to kick? Returning slowly but surely. Most likely tomorrow – the pictures are killer.

First, I need a really good night’s sleep. It has been a long day.

(Photo credit to freefoto.com – makes me want to try my hand at capturing flames, but from a safe distance)