A Travellogue

This was written just after Christmastime, at the start of 2007, as I travelled from Boston to Marseille after spending a short week home.

Alright, let me preface my “travel thoughts” section with the somewhat-obvious point that I arrived safely and am now sitting in my room in Aix feeling very sleepy but wonderful after a nice long shower and tooth-brushing. God I love hygiene. Anyway, so there you have it. I am safe and sound and back in France. I’m sending you my travel thoughts, because they might be amusing…especially since I was extremely tired while writing most of them! I love you guys so much, and I miss you already!

Logan Airport

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How often do people sit alone in a seedy Boston airport diner called Houlihan’s? Well, pretty often . . . apparently. I’m definitely not the first. I’m not even the only one to be doing this right now. Go figure. Nothing like travel. You step off of national soil, and step onto an airplane with hundreds of other people from all over the world. Yes sir, there’s nothing like flying to open up the world . . . and make you realize how small and insignificant you actually are.

I get a real kick out of airports. You know the movie Love Actually? I love that movie. It’s true: arrivals gates are fun places to watch all sorts of people welcome their haggard loved ones. Still, arrival gates? Come on…they’re overrated. What about departure gates? I’ll bet you don’t have too many people crying broken-heartedly at arrival gates, do you? There’s always at least one at every departure gate (ahem…yes, I have done it before). I think it’s nice though. It lends a touch of tragedy, and if I’ve learned anything from Hollywood, it’s that tragedy sells. But you don’t just have tragedy at departure gates. You’ve got the whole range of emotions: love, sadness, hatred, anger, excitement…and (my personal favorite) panic.

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I just watched an old woman have her panic-moment of the year. Seriously. There she sits. After the third consecutive time that an airport door-alarm has sounded for high pitched 10 minute periods, her nerves are on edge. She sips her little plastic bottle a little faster…begging the question of what is in said bottle. But that’s not even the end of it. Oh no. If you have ever traveled, you know that the news station is constantly on in any airport and playing a continuous stream of depressing news (just to enhance your travel experience). So, there we’re sitting when the perfectly coiffed newscaster goes into a ten minute discussion of an uncommon rash of tornados that are “sweeping” across the country, inhibiting much travel. She didn’t stop there, though. Oh no. Then she told us about two missing airplanes that have been assumed lost. Apparently, this “freak occurrence” is “evidence that horrible accidents can always happen, despite all our best efforts.” I’m not going to lie. I laughed. I wonder how many beats that poor woman’s heart just skipped.

But it only makes departure gates even better. People leave countries in a strange state of mind. They are angry, sad, honeymoon-ing, you name it. And in the midst of it all, I am sitting at Houlihan’s nursing my strawberry smoothie (that tastes suspiciously like alcohol) and a tall glass of unsweetened iced tea. Can it be that I’m getting used to travel? Impossible. But I have transitioned. I am no longer the sobbing first-flight, ticket-clutching touch-of-tragedy girl that I was the first time I flew out of country. Oh no. This time I am the tea-sipping, computer-typing, bag-slinging cheerful person who gets waved through the security line without any pat-downs or feel-ups or wand-checks (…actually, without even going through the second check-point in the security line…) because most airport security people realized that such an incredibly white, happy New-Yorker who is named Abigail Adams is probably not the next terrorist to pop up in America’s Most Likely. Thank goodness some people are still logical. Gosh.

But really, you gotta love travel. Now I’m going to chug the rest of my tea (which I’ll regret later when I get a claustrophobic attack in the airplane bathroom cubby) and get in line to board my next plane. Catch you on the flip side!

Frankfurt Airport (or Frankport, as I like to think of it)…aka: the Flip Side

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I guess you could sort of call this the flip side. I’m waiting in another departure zone in Frankfurt. After about 11 hours, I have a slightly less rosy view of airports in general. Some places grow on you. Airports stomp on your spirit. Just kidding. Sort of.

I flew the whole way here next to a very sweet girl named Christiana. She’s a German law student who is practicing in Boston to be near her boyfriend…and she is beyond terrified of flying. Our first exchange involved us switching seats so that she wouldn’t have to look out the window. Then I proceeded to watch her put up a picture of her loved ones in front of her and pull out a well-worn stuffed animal of a British soldier which she held onto for dear life. (It ended up being some cutesy story about her boyfriend giving it to her for “protection”.) She was practically crying when we took off, so although my book and i-pod were calling, I decided they could wait and Christiana and I talked about lots of everything.

You know what’s amazing? It never fails what country or what language, but the names that are paged over the intercom in any airport are always impossibly to understand or pronounce. “Would Mister Stoner Von Mildersaday contact airport security?” “Would Michana Legivovichicala contact the terminal?” Seriously. And they must never recognize their butchered pronunciation, because the poor woman usually has to make the announcement at least 5 times. Thank God for modern convenience. Sigh.

I read a 200 page novel on the plane. Thus, consequently, I did not sleep. Right now it is about 10am in Germany and I feel like my teeth are growing some unknown new species of fungus, my face might just be able to oil a frying-pan after the in-flight meal that was served, my palms are blistered from carrying my carry-ons around and my inner eye-lids have turned into sand-paper. It sounds like I’m complaining, but I just want you to get a clear image of me right now. I just sat up and gave up trying to use my computer case as a pillow. I am sitting at departure gate E6 and a large group of Japanese tourists/businessmen (?) is playing an unbelievably animated card game behind the decorative palm trees. The pinstriped, buttoned-down man behind me is reading a book (in French) about Hinduism while the German news is going full force. The only words I can understand from the news real is “Bush”, so maybe it’s a good thing I can’t understand.

It’s actually not so bad. Once I finally got my second boarding pass (apparently my flight got delayed so that my lay-over is now for 6 hours instead of 2) and got through airport security, I slept for about an hour and a half on these little benches. And I found a rest-room (even if the girl in the stall next to me was puking her brains out), so that was nice. All in all, I’m fairly ready to arrive in France. Or even to just depart from Frankfurt.

Oh and I now have a German stamp in my passport. And I haven’t even had a beer. Not to mention I can’t find Frankfurters anywhere in the Frankfurt Airport. That seems a little contradictory, eh?

Home: 14 Rue de la Mule Noire

Well, after the 6 hour layover, in which I actually did sleep a little bit, I got onto the last flight back to Marseille (THANK GOD). I actually stepped onto that tiny little plane and my seat (17H) had a big sign taped to it that said “DO NOT OCCUPY” Soooo, that threw me for a little loop, but me and one other lady ended up getting bumped up to the front of the plane. Normally that would mean we were in first class, but since it was an eensy-weensy little baby plane, It basically just meant that they gave us water in a glass instead of plastic and we got offered tea multiple times instead of just once. It didn’t matter though, because I slept almost the entire way…well, for about an hour of the hour and a half flight. Once I got off the plane and collected my eggplant colored luggage, I changed my dollahs at the airport and took the first bus home.

I actually think that the walk from the bus station to my doorstep seemed like the longest part of the trip. My back might never be the same! But now I’m half unpacked and squeaky clean, so it was all worth it!

There you have it. Aren’t you glad you got to be a part of all of that?

Too Many

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You may have heard the old adage “Too many cooks spoil the batter“? (Batter, broth. . . you get the picture.) Well, I have just come to the distasteful (literally) realization that too many batters can also ruin a good cooking venture. Lets just say I got inspired to try to make my own Peach Butter (like Apple Butter, but with PEACHES!). Which led to my trying to make my own Peach Curd/Peach Curd Bars. Which lead to an excess of egg whites and an almost-attempted making of meringue cookies. All of which led to one VERY flopped attempt at Peach Butter. . . At least, I think it flopped. Let’s say I’m 98.4% sure that it wasn’t supposed to look OR taste the way it turned out.

Back up a little bit to my reason for frenetic evening cooking. . . I sat in a small non-air-conditioned room with 71 other potential jurors for just shy of 8 hours today. Needless to say, I hit my household like a whirling dervish when I finally got home. After mowing the lawn, weeding the gardens, showering, cleaning the bathroom, and eating a yogurt, I caught sight of the freshly rinsed peaches waiting patiently on my counter and impulsively decided it was time to put them to good use. Pinterest yielded oodles of delicious looking peachy ideas, but the most incredible sounding was for Peach Butter. Unfortunately I got a little side-tracked making other . . . experimental . . . things. Aaaaaand I’m pretty sure I wound up putting (and this is embarrassing to admit) a healthy heap of salt into the peach mixture instead of sugar. I don’t remember doing it. I could’ve sworn I didn’t, actually, but . . . my taste-buds indicate otherwise.

All this to say, another one of my favorite expressions has proven true today.

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So, with a pot full of nasty salty peach sauce and a dubious plate of shortbread in the oven, I decided to make something completely different that I knew would work. S’mores dip. Melt 1 cup of chocolate chips with 1 cup of mini marshmallows and 2 Tbsp of milk. Then put more mini mallows on top and stick it under the broiler for just a minute. BOOM.

My Newly Mustachioed Pint Glasses

I was over at a blog called Make it & Love it, when I stumbled upon Ashley’s glass-etching post! It looked worth a shot, and I immediately went to my friendly neighborhood thrift store for some workable pint glasses.

Four pint glasses later, I set about making the stencil . . . and settled on the idea of mustaches. Why? Well, because I couldn’t choose a specific word. Plus, mustaches are reasonably easy to draw!

The hardest part about this project was getting the paper on the glass without leaving air bubbles. . . I would choose traditional English pint glasses, which made this a lot harder. I think my next etching project will be something nice and flat!

Once the glasses each had a mustache-shape, all I had to do was apply Armour Etch (which I bought on Amazon, because it was cheaper than the craft store!) to the visible space!

This had to sit for 10 minutes. I might even go a little bit longer next time.

When the waiting was done, I rinsed off the goop, and PRESTO CHANGO, there was a mustache left on my cup!!!

Now, my final product is far from perfect. . . I might even dislike them a little bit because of the flaws I can see, but, still, I think they’re not too too shabby, all things considered. More food for thought with the next attempt, but here is a peak at my set of newly etched glasses!

AD/HD Scatterthoughts of Summer!

1.) I love crumbled goat cheese

. . . especially on salad with lightly oiled and sautéed sweet peppers. And Stop-n-Shop’s new balsamic vinaigrette salad dressing (found by the fresh spices in the produce section, in case you’re searching). YUM. Go eat it right now!!!

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2.) Sometimes (in case you didn’t notice) when I am bored/distracted/feeling my ADD, I google things. And then, sometimes, I lose faith in the intelligence of Humanity:

3.) Popsicles are one of the best summery treats of all time.

My new favorite are Yasso vanilla bean bars.

4.) I am GARDENING!!!

Hooray for trying to grow a green-thumb! Check out my plants!

6.) I throw a FANTASTIC impromptu tea-party.

7.) I picked berries on Wednesday, and I pretty much felt like Princess Aurora (from Sleeping Beauty), except for the whole dancing woodland creatures part.

Summer as a 3 yr. Old

I have a major obsession with my adorable niece. Her name is Isabelle. We all call her Bizz. One of my favorite things to do in the summertime is hang out with this delightful little 3 year old, and my first official week of summer has held a whole lot of Bizz, which means that summer is off to a great start!!!

Hanging with Bizz (and various other kids under the age of five) is pretty fantastic, and it also gives me a fun excuse to do a lot of things that your typical 26-year-old might not normally do on days off. Examples include, but are not limited to:

1) Draw with Sidewalk Chalk

This is a very under-rated pass-time. With just a few sticks of chalk, a plain bit of blacktop can be transformed pretty incredibly into a whole new world!

#2: Get in Touch With The Inner Kiddie Pool

Why do we ever stop playing in these? I mean, slip-n-slides might be hazardous (Ahem, at least according to Dane Cook), but the kiddie pool is nothing but a nice cold outdoor toe-dip on a hot day. . . what could be better?

#3: Make Jello Jigglers

Not for eating, for those of us over the age of 5 (aka those of us who have our adult-teeth to think about), but fun to play with regardless!

#4: Color!

#5: Be a Messy Eater

#6: Eat Obscene Amounts of Watermelon

#7: Let it All Hang Out. . .

#8: Share a little Platonic-yet-Public Display of Affection

And pretty much do any other wonderful things that strike your fancy! These are all pictures from the last few days of my life, and I feel so lucky that I get to see my summer through the eyes of a few under-the-age-of-three kiddos! Such fun!

I chuckled.

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Le Tholonet

There is a place of sheer beauty and complete glory that I wish everyone could see. It’s a hidden corner of nature in the south of France, a place called the Tholonet.

Some people have heard of Emile Zola, but many people haven’t heard of his father, François Zola, a man who was in charge of the construction of a dam. . . which is quite a sight to behold, not to mention it’s proximity to a legitimate Roman aqueduct.

The Tholonet is just five kilometers east of the small town of Aix-en-Provence, where I lived once upon a time. Easily accessible by bus, it’s an incredible thing. Just a tiny town, tucked away in the corner of the countryside; a tiny piece of glory, waiting for hikers to tip-toe in.

In the fall, there are scads of tiny little leaves of beautiful creamy and purply colors . . . they are everywhere and they’re all so lovely!

When you go around the curve in the pathway, there is a beautiful view of Barrage Zola . . . and it only gets more breathtaking as you get closer! The stunning mountain that so fascinated Paul Cezanne is layed out before you in such breathtaking beauty on this route. 55_503174707375_91_n

Walking along with the red rock and the blue sky, there is nothing quite so rich and rewarding as a stroll in the Tholonet!

If you are in the South of France . . . you should go!

Because Scotland Needed to Be Even Cooler…

This is what happens when you google “Scotland’s national animal”. . .

Oh Scotland, you were already on my bucket list. . . you don’t have to keep trying so hard.

Méchantes Ados : Teaching French Through Mean Girls

I have never been the biggest fan of Mean Girls.

(We’re talking the movie, as I don’t think anyone is actually a fan of mean people, regardless of gender.)

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It’s not that I disliked it, per se, but given my choices for high-school film satire, I prefer 10 Things I Hate About You, She’s The Man, Easy A, or even Clueless to Mean Girls. Recently, however, I’ve been shown the (somewhat dubious) light by a fervent group of persuasive students in my French Classes. After listening to them unanimously extol the virtues of this film, I subsequently decided to integrate it into my class as a year-end part of a unit on story-telling.

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Some of you (particularly if you are a teacher) might think that this is playing with fire. . . as Mean Girls is more than a little bit inappropriate.

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So, in order to navigate this, which I decided would be okay since all of my students had already seen the film in English AND because it got them excited about French Class even in late June, I made a permission slip for all students to get signed prior to showing the film. (Download a modify-able copy of it by clicking THIS, if you’d like!) I did this right at the beginning of my Comment Raconter Une Histoire unit, so that by the time students had an opportunity to learn/work with basic storytelling vocabulary, we could watch the film (en français, bien sur!). After showing the Canadian-French version of Mean Girls (Méchantes Ados), we rounded out the year with a final “story-telling” project; the making, and subsequent sharing of our very own “Burn Books”.

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I set it up a little differently, because I didn’t want any truly nasty things being written in my class… just juicy secrets, or as the French might say des secrets explosifs/croustillants! HERE is the link for my project prompt, if you’re interested in integrating this in your own French 2 class! With that set up, students began to engage in the process towards their final creation! As always is the case when I let my students be creative, I was ridiculously impressed with the outcome!