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Vacation, all I ever wanted …

November 30, 2011 by Beth

The Griswolds have nothing on us. Our European vacation was not quite as catastrophe-filled as theirs, but hijinks still ensued. Here’s a slideshow of the best and the worst.

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Love letter to Lacoste

November 23, 2011 by Beth

Dear Lacoste,

It’s going to be hard to say goodbye. You’ve meant so much to me over the past 10 weeks. And although we’ve had our differences — I like to walk normally, and you like to try to break my ankles with your cobblestone streets at 60-degree angles; I like to sleep, and you like to let the clock tower chime three times every hour — we’ve gotten along splendidly overall.

I regret the time I cheated on you with Paris. I admit that I felt dirty in the City of Light. Yes, the week of having access to world-class shopping, restaurants, landmarks, artwork and entertainment was wonderful, but I thought about you the whole time.

You know I also cheated on you with Apt almost every weekend; L’Isle Sur La Sorgue on a number of Sundays; Fontaine de Vaucluse and Bonnieux four times; Avignon, Ménerbes and Lumières three times; Gordes, Ménerbes, Oppede le Vieux and Roussillon twice; Cavaillon, Carpentras, Coustellet, Saignon, Lourmarin, Nîmes, Aix-en-Provence, Marseilles, Milan and Turin once. But they meant nothing to me. I always came back to you.

You are like sleep-away camp for grown-ups. I enjoyed being a camp counselor and didn’t even mind being on call all day every day. I may never again have the opportunity to discuss a grade on a paper while scooping potato balls onto my plate at dinner. Or hear students coming back from the Café de France at 4 a.m. I love your isolation that enables and requires close connections with others who are also enjoying your charms.

You are intense. You are immersive. You are insulated. You required me to work closely with other professors on a variety of projects and field trips. I might not have had that chance otherwise. You required me to practice my stick-shift driving skills in rickety nine-passenger transit vans on narrow, winding roads. Never before have I had to fold in my mirror so that I could safely pass a La Poste vehicle on a dirt road built for one car. You required me to rethink my idea of space and material goods. I lived quite happily in a small centuries-old apartment with few personal items and no television.

You are not the sleepy, hilltop village everyone thinks you are. You are a locus for plenty of activity — much of it mental — that results in a life-changing experience.

While I have to say goodbye — I was actually cheating on Savannah with you — I want you to know that I won’t forget you. Thank you for everything.

Love,

Beth

Things I will miss about you:

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Standin’ in the doorway

November 14, 2011 by Beth

As my adventure in Lacoste comes to a close, I’ve been thinking about the future. I see this experience as a pathway to new ones — ones to be revealed later.

It’s probably why I’ve been obsessed with making photos of windows, doors and paths.

Here are some (potentially) postcard-worthy photos (finally).

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La pioggia in the Piedmont

November 8, 2011 by Beth

Getting out of Lacoste is a little bit of a challenge. To meet up with 36-hour Tina in Turin, Italy, this weekend, I had to fly in this from Marseille to Milan.

Only 18 seats on that puddle jumper.

A train or a car would have taken about seven hours, so I dealt with it.

And a weekend with my friend was worth it. (I should rename Tina as we spent a whole 60 hours together this visit.) It rained the entire time, but we still had fun (eating, mostly).

I also had fun watching a little Italian television in our sweet 1980s living room.

Yes, that's red velvet.

 

Here’s what I saw on Italian television:

  • A “Starsky and Hutch“-style overdubbed show from the ’80s (to match the couch)
  • An infomercial where a woman in sparkling white pumps demonstrated the cleaning power of a vacuum cleaner. Look! It sucks up cigarette butts from an ashtray! (Why couldn’t she just dump the ashtray’s contents into the trash?)
  • An infomercial for a water-purifying faucet that comes in a variety of festive colors, such as burnt plastic.
  • Three men dressed in drag seated at a desk reading something off clipboards.
  • News delivered by women wearing lingerie.
  • No fewer than four channels devoted solely to cars.
  • A close-up shot of a man using a pencil carved from a tree branch as a pointer to read through each headline in that day’s newspaper.
  • A participatory talk show featuring the host dressed in a George Washington get-up.
  • A “Welcome Back, Kotter“-style high school drama featuring a fat, pasty Johnny Depp wannabe and a kid with too many teeth in his mouth.
  • “C’è posta per Te” (loosely translated as “you’ve got mail”), a Maury/Sally Jesse/Montel type of reunion show.
  • What can only be described as the “Understanding Art Channel.”

All of the above employed the production quality/values from the ’80s and ’90s. It was like a time warp.

Outside the ’80s bubble, plenty was happening in Turin. One of the biggest things was the SilverSkiff, an annual regatta on the Po River. It’s why Tina was in Turin in the first place. Unfortunately, she and the other rowers made the pilgrimage for nothing: The organizers cancelled the race because of the effects of the torrential rain.

We still had a great time, though. Here are some photos (not postcard-perfect, as usual) from the weekend adventure.

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Halloween, American style

October 29, 2011 by Beth

Last year, Eddie and I made a big production out of Halloween. Three families got together to form the cast of the “Wizard of Oz.”

This year, I am sans family. Instead of being part of a big themed costume event, I wore brown, stuck a stick in the buttonhole of my sweater, and called myself a  — wait for it — Stick in the Mud.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t have the Halloween spirit or participate in a celebration.

The college I work for introduced the American concept of Halloween to the small medieval village in the South of France where the study-abroad program is located. If today’s turnout is any indication, the French folks in this area have really embraced the tradition. I think every French family within a 30 km radius came to celebrate with us.

Here’s a slideshow of photos from the event:

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It may not have been my usual Halloween, but it was unusually fun!

(And maybe now I can forgive the students for making me watch “Hocus Pocus” last night!)

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Mes observations des personnes françaises (et de la France)

October 23, 2011 by Beth

After posting my last update, I (not surprisingly) fell into a funk. All I wanted to do was read trashy fiction (Patricia Cornwell, I’m talking about you) and watch “Modern Family.”

Now I’m back.

Here are my top 10 observations about France:

1. French folks haven’t gotten the memo about cigarettes and cancer. Or, if they have, they don’t give a bleu, blanc, rouge crap. Even the mannequins smoke. (It gives new meaning to the sentence, “Check out his butt!”)

 

2. The French revere their produce in a way that Americans don’t. Even heirloom tomatoes, not conventionally pretty, earn places of distinction at weekly markets.

3. The French pay attention to details. Sure, people flock to the Eiffel Tower, but even a lowly door knocker can be a must-see. And then there is the variety and presentation of delightful treasures such as macarons.

4. Americans appreciate personal space. The French don’t. At all. They end up wearing each other like cheap suits. They don’t even give the Mona Lisa any room.

5. Sometimes the French don’t have a good grasp of English. At least they try. (And more French speak English in France than Americans speak French in America.)

6. Though images can often cross language barriers, sometimes they don’t. And some signs end up being unintentionally hilarious and/or weird. What do these signs mean?

It's OK to cross here with your large piece of lumber?

No coughing while wearing a Cleopatra costume? No feeling the bicep of a man made of tiles?

 

Don't let red people reach into your European Men's Carry-all?

7. France is pigeon heaven. They are portly and plentiful. One even roosts in the window above my bed, tapping on the glass occasionally to make sure I’m awake.

8. The French love dogs. They take them everywhere, and let them go everywhere.

9. There may be nothing better in this world than a warm crêpe from a street vendor.

10. Robert De Niro has a side job with a circus.

 

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Tribute to a remarkable woman

October 9, 2011 by Beth

So much has happened in the nearly two weeks since the marauding hornet attacked me. The most noteworthy event was not a happy one.

I had to write and deliver my first eulogy. How appropriate it is that it was for the woman who taught me the most about writing and copyediting.

My mentor Pamela Poetter passed away Oct. 1 after an eight-year battle with cancer. I flew back from Lacoste to attend the memorial. I worked with and for Pam for 20 years. Nothing could have stopped me from coming back to say goodbye.

I loved Pam, idolized her, and thought of her almost every day — especially when grading papers. It is because of her that I write comments such as “Are you sure?” and “Yes!” in the margins of student papers. (“Meh” is totally my own, though.)

It is because of her that I met Eddie. (And we all know how that ended up!)

It is because of her that I pursued my various degrees. She always supported me, told me I could do things I wasn’t sure I could, and gave me the confidence that continues to propel me forward.

I’ve never met anyone who had a more positive attitude. Pam never criticized harshly. She always found a way to speak kindly of everyone — even the ones I thought had no redeeming value.

Her struggle is over, but mine is just beginning: How do I live without her? I will try to remember the lessons she taught me, and find ways to write “Yes!” in the margins.

I miss you so much, Pam.

R.I.P.

 

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Things that go buzz in the night

September 27, 2011 by Beth

The fan gently hummed. The clock tower five feet from the headboard of my bed chimed the hour of four. I was tucked into crisp white sheets under a fluffy white duvet. I was about to slip back into slumber when I heard it.

Buzzzzz.

Too loud for a fly or a mosquito. This was a healthy, robust buzz. Powered by what I didn’t know, and wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

I turned on the light. Hovering four feet above me was a massive winged creature. Like a yellow jacket that sampled the “Alice in Wonderland” cake. I squelched a squeal. (It wouldn’t do to yell; it is a very small village, and a noise like that surely would have awakened my coworker next door, or the students in the apartments across the narrow street.)

I grabbed a sweater and whipped the sleeve at it, Indiana Jones style.

The beast dropped out of the air. And disappeared. Completely. Like Michael Myers after Dr. Loomis shoots him over the railing.

There was no way I could go back to bed without knowing where it was, dead or alive.

I got a book and waited.

After about 10 minutes, I heard the tell-tale buzz (Poe had nothing on this). The winged devil rose from the floor on my left, a foot from my head. I sprang to my sweater. It flew out of the bedroom into the living room.

For about 10 more minutes, the beast and I created a spectacle straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon. I finally trapped him in the folds of the sweater and flung him outside. He clung tenaciously to the fibers and demanded to come back in. I cursed (quietly) and shook harder. His creepy little legs at last released my cardigan.

Before I could close the window, he flew back inside.

At this point, I was really thankful no one could see in my windows. With renewed vigor (and while choking back a panicked gurgle), I sweater-snapped him again.

He stopped, dropped and rolled.

I pounced again with the sweater, gathered him up, tossed him out the window again, and shut it quickly.

I have no idea if he lived, but I know I didn’t go back to sleep.

Addendum:

After posting this account, I did some research (prompted by a comment on the post). I think I tangled with a European hornet, or Vespa crabro.

And perhaps I need to change the pronoun in the story to “she.”

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Flora of France

September 20, 2011 by Beth

Lavender season is almost over. Harvest season is just beginning. Who needs flowers when you can feast?

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Fauna of France

September 18, 2011 by Beth

Anyone can post postcard-perfect pictures. (And yes, I will too.) In the past two days, though, I’ve been more interested in capturing critters.

A puny French version of the late Trish the Chicken

Puny Trish has a friend.

A literal version of "pigeonholed"

 

From birds to beasties (the praying mantis, that is, not me)

There's a whelk on that there limestone! (Say that with a Southern accent, please.)

Flowers? No.

Snails!

Apparently, if you put them in saltwater, the snails leave their shells. Then you put them on salad. Um ... yum?

Un escargot grand

Un escargot grand avec des amis

Next post: flora of France

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