Vancouver Visit

I finally made it to Canada after 25 years of living in North America. I would've had a week in Montreal years ago, but I got called for a job interview a couple days before my flight and even though I got the job, I still harbor bitterness over that episode. Daryl and I chose to spend a few days in Vancouver because it was an easy flight from home, in the same time zone, and would be sufficiently interesting to give us the feeling that we were on vacation. The two hour flight provided some terrific views. This was a view of Mt. St. Helens. Before that, the snow capped cascades were clearly visible. Just before landing we had excellent views of the islands off Seattle and Vancouver.

This was our hotel - the Executive Hotel Vintage Park. We were near False Creek, close to the sea wall. The best feature of this pretty comfortable hotel was the daily wine tastings - free for guests. Every day they served wines from various British Columbia wineries.

The wines were pretty decent. I especially enjoyed the Cabernet Sauvignon. Sitting out on the terrace provided an enjoyable setting. In our four days in Vancouver we had outstanding weather. Warm, sunny, and comfortable enough for strolling through the various neighborhoods.

After sampling the wines on our first afternoon we strolled through the downtown area of Vancouver. There was a summer vibe in the air. Robson Square (below), outside the Vancouver Art Gallery was especially lively - with a large outdoor cafe, a tourist information booth, and a skating rink. People were sitting on the steps of the beautiful gallery building. Others just milled around. We continued our walk down to the waterfront. 

The building with the sails, vaguely reminiscent of Sydney's Opera House, is Canada Place. Cruise ship terminal, fancy hotel, convention center are all here in this glitzy building. We got our first good views of North Vancouver from here.

Most fascinating to us at the waterfront was watching seaplanes taking off and landing. This would be a pretty cool way to get to the islands.

I was amazed at how mellow this most touristic part of the city was. Again and again I was aware of how laid back this city is. Even in the peak of summer the city wasn't overrun with tourists. The locals also seemed relaxed and notably friendly. 

We did our research on restaurants before leaving home and number one on our list was VIJ's. Jamie Oliver claims it's the best restaurant in all of Canada. This Indian restaurant with a modern, avant garde menu, doesn't take reservations. It's always packed and typical wait time is an hour and a half. But they make the wait an experience too. We sat out on their attractive, atmospheric terrace with cold beer and they served us hot from the pan appetizers every so often. We struck up a conversation with a young couple who were sitting next to us. We learned from them that VIJ's wins all kinds of restaurant awards in Vancouver all the time. After our long, but enjoyable wait, we were seated inside the elegant restaurant. The menu was unlike anything we'd seen before. Daryl had some combination of vegetables and dumplings in a pomegranate curry. I had shitake mushrooms and other seasonal vegetables in a creamy sauce served with some sort of pilaf involving rice, almonds, and spices. We were totally transported to heaven. Clearly a lot of thought and creativity went into the flavors, textures, and variety. After the meal, as we sauntered across the Granville Street Bridge back to our hotel, we felt satisfied that  Day 1 had worked out so incredibly well.

We started Day 2 on Granville Island. We stumbled upon the Pacific Institute of Culinary Arts. We noticed their bakery was open and decided to have breakfast there. Turned out to be a most memorable breakfast. The coffee was strong and hot. I had an almond croissant which was so unbelievably light, flaky, and not too sweet. Daryl had a healthy scone studded with seeds and nuts and it was also superb.

We spent the morning wandering through picturesque Granville Island. Loved the views of downtown across False Creek. We truly felt far away from home poking into the shops and arts and crafts galleries displaying Canadian and Northwest native products. Out in the park the totem poles, conifers, and canada geese were further reminders that we were in Canada.

Most prominent on Granville Island is the produce market. Colorful, huge, and vibrant. All the fruit and vegetables in season available in vast quantities. Cherries, blueberries, and raspberries were at their peak. We bought a huge bag of each for our lunch. There were also numerous little restaurants and other specialty food stalls (cheeses, olives, breads, etc.) We sat outside beside the little harbor and ate our sweet, juicy cherries and blueberries. Fringing the water across from us were attractive restaurants and hotels.

We spent the afternoon walking along the seawall promenade in Stanley Park. We saw this iconic northwest "sculpture"just as we entered the park. It's called an Inukshuk and was used by the Inuits as a navigational tool. Entering the park you feel like you've entered the wilderness - in some sense. The park is so big and heavily forested with various pines. Along the promenade you look out to English Bay. Then as you go around Prospect Point you get a terrific view of the Lions Gate Bridge. Now you face the Burrard Inlet and the mountains and skyscrapers of North Vancouver look back at you.

Other highlights of Stanley Park were two lakes - Beaver Lake and the Lost Lagoon Lake.

See that hump in the middle? It's a Beaver lodge. Behind it we saw a beautiful great blue heron.

We started Day 3 in Gastown, where we had a so-so breakfast at a place called Brioche, which did not have any of its namesake. Sigh! The gas powered clock is this neighborhood's most famous sight. On the hour it releases steam and makes a steam engine type noise.

It was a perfect summer day and we decided to head out to North Vancouver.

The views from the ferry we took to get across Burrard Inlet were quite sensational. Vancouver has such an incredible setting that every photo you take of the city is going to look great. Cape Town is similar with its setting at the foot of dramatic mountains beside the sea.

In North Vancouver we stocked up on cherries and blueberries at the lovely London Quay Market, then took a bus to Capilano Suspension Bridge Park. We'd been on some pretty memorable suspension bridges in Costa Rica so this park didn't knock our socks off. It was incredibly crowded. Even though the scenery made us feel like we were in the wilderness, the crowds reminded us that the city was close. I have to say the place had a Disneyfied feel to it. Still, it was pretty remarkable to be immersed in a rainforest, trekking beside sheer cliffs, with views of mountain peaks, appearing above the lanky conifers.

After Capilano we hopped on a bus to Grouse Mountain. In the winter Vancouverites come out here for the day to ski or snowboard. In midsummer the main purpose of going up this mountain is to take in the views of downtown Vancouver. We got on a gondola, along with 90 others and were lifted 4000 feet up. Then we got on a chairlift to get to the actual summit of this mountain. Since it was a cloudless day we had great views of the city and the water around it. Downtown, across the Burrard Inlet was a bit hazy, but it all looked beautiful anyway. We were disappointed at the lack of hiking trails at the top. 

However, we did get to meet a local. I got to see grizzly bears at a sanctuary up in Grouse Mountain.

Before leaving the mountain we had a beer at a café. Sitting on the terrace we had an excellent view of Burrard Inlet and downtown.

For dinner that evening we had a decent wood fired pizza in Gastown. Back at the hotel we relaxed in the jacuzzi, which was on the terrace of the 9th floor. We could see the sails of boats in False Creek between gleaming skyscrapers. The water was a bit too hot for summer so a five minute soak was all we could handle. But it did cap off a pretty pleasant day.

I'll call this part one of the Vancouver trip. Part 2 should appear in the very near future.

Another School Year Over ...

It’s been well over a month since the school year ended and it’s about time I got my act together and wrote a reflection about the year. Hmmm, that word “reflection” sounds a bit pretentious, not to mention ambitious considering my lethargic state of mind. Now before you start passing judgement on what a lazy sod I am for taking such a godawfully long time to get around to jotting down a few lame words, let me assure you that I have been very occupied these last few weeks. But more on that in a different entry. Before the 2011/2012 year completely disappears into the nethersphere of my memory I want to capture what still lingers in my mind.

This past academic year undoubtedly ranks in the top 5 of all my teaching years. It was one of those years that reminded me why I chose this demanding and often thankless profession. 

My third grade students were all so sweet, so adorable, and so respectful. They loved me on the first day of school. Previous years’ kids and parents had raved about me and so these new kids entered my class with super high expectations. I found this a bit scary. I didn’t want to disappoint them, but at the same time I wanted to establish a disciplined environment right from the start. It all went well in the end. The kids were eager to please and receptive to my requirements.

A year like this one makes me feel immensely grateful to be in a career that brings such joy and satisfaction. Way back when I was a college student and worked at various dull summer jobs I knew I had to be in a profession that I found challenging, and that allowed me to be creative. Teaching at an elementary school satisfied those needs in the early years, but I needed more challenge. More stimulation. This led me to writing – novels, blogs, etc. But, I digress …

The last day of school is always a strange day for me. Usually, the weeks leading up to the last day are incredibly busy, leaving no time to prepare myself for the termination of relationships I had developed over a period of nine months. I find it weird to spend months nurturing a bond with kids and then to abruptly say goodbye to them. For the three summer months they are completely out of my life. Then a new school year begins and they move on, to new adults in their care. A brand new set of kids burrow into my heart and the old kids fade away. All of this feels so unnatural.

Anyway, it was certainly a terrific year. The last month of school was especially enjoyable. A third grade tradition at our school is to put on a play performance, a musical, for parents and other classes. This requires a lot of practice and rehearsals. The kids always enjoy doing this and it’s a fun way to bring the year to a close. This year’s kids exhibited far more enthusiasm than I ever remember. They eagerly learned their lines and very quickly perfected the dance moves. The kids with the lead roles worked really hard on their solo songs. Putting on a play like this that involves the whole class and a range of skills, is indeed a most enjoyable way to differentiate instruction. The kids with strong academic skills found great joy in challenging themselves to excel in different ways, like singing complex melodies in tune. Quieter kids who fade into the background during normal school days were taking leadership roles, offering valuable suggestions for improvement, and helping other kids hone their performances. It was a fantastic way to get the whole group working together, and taking pride in the finished product.

On the last day of school I asked the kids to write me a letter describing what makes them unique. I said, “In my new book I’d like to use one of you as a character. Tell me about yourself and give me reasons why I should use you. What makes you unique?”

Well, even though it was the last day of school, the kids got silent and wrote for close to an hour. 

I’m looking through these letters now and am utterly struck by how every single one of them is different. It was gratifying to see that they could all write, not just reasonably decent subject/verb/object sentences. But sentences with interesting content, providing the most salient details about them.

Here’s a sample:

I like to do drawings. When I grow up I want to be an artist.

What makes me special is that I can move my thumbs off the bones.

I enjoy reading, archery, and basketball. I like inventing new names for dives and basketball shots.

I am different from other people because I was born a month early. I had to stay in hospital for weeks. I would not eat, but it wasn’t that bad.

I love to swim. I want to be a lifeguard. I like surfboarding.

I like to go outside to write about nature and play “wet my fence”. I love helping my mom with chores, especially washing the bathrooms.

What makes me special is that I love school. I don’t play video games or anything like that like most kids. In my free time I like to read. I love writing and I think I am good at it.

I don’t like wearing pink and cute stuff. I usually play violent video games while girls brush their hair. I am an adventurous gal.

There are four things that make my name unusual.

My favorite team in the NFL is the Chicago Bulls. I was born in Chicago. I love swimming in the deep end.

One thing that makes me special is that I know how to be helpful.

When I grow up I want to be a golfer, singer, and dancer.

I love to travel to places. I love museums, and I have an interest in math.

I am special because I like to swim, I love animals, and I like to play hard songs on the piano.

What makes me special is that I was born in Switzerland. I can ride tandem with my dad on a surfboard.

I like to daydream while I am at school. When I grow up I want to be a scientist and study marine life.

I want to be an actress and a writer. I like making up stories for everything. I even make up stories for games.

I am unique because I love homework, absolutely, positively love math, and I love going to school. There isn’t a better place I could be at.

I can do a 360 on my bike and I can climb trees that are really high.

Away from the kids for over a month now, I smile as I think about their beauty and innocence. Is it human nature to remember the good stuff and forget the many challenges, annoyances, and irritations we, teachers, deal with daily?

Let's discuss our next book in Codilupo, Italy

Last spring Linda, a member of my book group, brought her Italian sister, Ann, to one of our meetings. Ann enjoyed herself so much that she offered to host a bookgroup meeting whenever we could all get over to her place in Italy. Ann lived and worked in Florence, but she had a weekend home out in the countryside, which she thought would be a fantastic venue. The idea had irresistable allure and we immediately gave it serious consideration, crazy as that might appear. And quite incredibly, a year later five members of our book group found ourselves at Ann’s spacious, medieval stone house in Codilupo.

After my oh so wonderful week in Paris, I got on a plane and flew across the Swiss Alps to Pisa.

From there I took a train to Prato, the big city near Ann’s tiny village of Codilupo. Ann and Linda were waiting for me at the train station with bright smiles. It was a warm, sunny spring day. The scenic drive along the steep, windy mountain road to Ann's place set the tone for a most enjoyable two day party. Jen, Chris, and Leslie, the three other book group members from Santa Barbara, drove in from Rome via the Chianti Valley bearing bottles of Brunello di Montalcino.

Ann pointed out the plaque on the garden wall in front of her sister, Gina's house when we arrived. Gina and Ann live on the same property, a few hundred meters from each other. The houses on this estate were built in the 13th century. 

This is the view from outside Gina's house. Codilupo is in the mountains outside of Florence. Even though this is Tuscany, the vegetation is subalpine. The mountain slopes are covered with deciduous trees, which were still mostly bare when we were there. A few blossoming fruit trees provided cheerful color to the pretty scenery.

So, don't look for lanky cypresses and ancient olive groves here.

This is Gina's house. The interior is every bit as charming as the exterior promises. Gina is an artist and everything, from the furniture, to the paint colors, to the home items, is carefully selected and arranged. Even the staircase leading to the upstairs rooms is a work of art. On our first night Gina prepared a sumptuous meal which we relished in her huge farmhouse kitchen.

Ann lights the fire in Gina's kitchen as dinner is being prepared. The hearth is enormous, creating an ambience of intimacy in the spacious farm style kitchen. As the sun disappears the temperature up here in the mountains plummets. We're sitting around a long, wooden table, grateful for the warmth from the fire as Leslie, Jen, and Chris gush about the Sistine Chapel and other great sights they'd just visited during their two days in Rome. 

Time to open up the Prosecco. Gina was busy adding the finishing touches to the fagiole. There was a traditional version, made with cured ham, and a vegetarian version for me. 

Gina went all out to make our first evening in Codilupo an evening to treasure. Beautiful flowers, Andrea Bocelli's haunting arias, candles ... Wow! We all felt quite special to receive this treatment.

A bowl of fagiole served up for me. This is a traditional Tuscan bean stew made with a selection of beans and thickened with farro. It is slow cooked for hours and seasoned with rosemary, thyme, and parsley. Gina past around a bottle of exquisite olive oil -thick, dark, fragrant -to drizzle over the dish before eating. Linda sawed through a humungous hunk of crusty Tuscan bread, which she past around. I cannot even begin to describe how flavorful, how utterly satisfying the fagiole was. An incredible meal prepared by a real Italian, who takes the art of cooking quite seriously. 

The cheese course consisted of several pecorinos, a Reggiano, and a soft cheese. We were a contended group as we munched through this feast and shared travel stories in a most remarkable setting. A rustic farmhouse kitchen with a crackling, robust fire, in the company of caring friends who would normally be chatting up a storm, laughing, and making merry. But alas, the long, adventurous drive from Rome on unfamiliar roads took its toll on Leslie, Jen, and Chris. So the mood was more subdued than would have been expected.

After our feast we headed out to Anne's place, another house filled with character and charm. The centuries old stone floor is uneven and the tiles are worn. The thick walls lean, though not in a scary way. Enormous wooden beams spread across the ceilings. This house felt incredibly solid, and safer than any modern house. Just walking through the halls and into the rooms was an experience. Despite its rustic looks, our stay here was pretty damn luxurious. We slept on comfortable beds in charming bedrooms. Period furniture and traditional linen reminded us that we were indeed in the Old World, thousands of miles from Santa Barbara, California. The fact that everything was so different to what is familiar to us made it all feel so utterly romantic, exotic, and exciting. One of those big differences was the plumbing. Upstairs, there was no hot water and low water pressure. So, we couldn't have hot showers. But there was a proper bathroom, with all the fine touches (potpourri, candles, fragrant soaps and lotions) and a proper toilet, so really, it was all pretty luxurious. We slept well, out here in the countryside, away from the disturbances of the city.

In the morning I looked out the window and saw a most uplifting sight. A light layer of mist blanketed the forest and the morning sun, filtering through, shed a magical light over the mountains. Despite the mist the air held the promise of another warm, sunny day.

The aroma of strong coffee wafted through the medieval house. Downstairs Ann had already got a roaring fire going. For breakfast we had strong cappuccinos, fresh squeezed orange juice with oranges from Sicily, and toast with Ann's homemade marmalade. This marmalade is a reason by itself to make that flight across the pond to visit Ann in Codilupo. Imagine the perfect marmalade - not sweet, not bitter, fruity with the right amount of tartness, and the texture somewhere between smooth and lumpy. Who could blame you if you just shoved spoonfuls straight into your mouth?

Somehow we got into a discussion about the Catholic church. Ann, who had long rejected the religion under which she was raised, wanted so badly to believe something good about the Catholic church. But each time she said something in its defense, we all pointed out quite forcefully that in fact, she was wrong. Ann is such a good hearted person, full of warmth and goodness. We didn't enjoy having to take an opposing position with her.

After breakfast everyone went for a hike on one of the many trails into the surrounding countryside. I felt a bit under the weather so I stayed indoors. I sat by the fire and read the New Yorker on my iPad.

Back from their walk, Jen and Linda are enjoying a glass of wine.

Lunch preparation in full swing. Linda is grilling zucchini using the method of Italian farmers. Ann is in the kitchen, preparing an omelette with the blossoms from these zucchini.

For lunch the two zucchini dishes were accompanied by cheeses, Tuscan bread, olives, and prosciutto.


After lunch I felt slightly better. Even though I had a slightly sore throat and my energy level felt low, I knew I had to get out into the beautiful sunshine. So I joined the gals on their second hike. The fresh mountain air, warm temperature, and stunning scenery made for thoroughly enjoyable hiking. We saw lots of wild primroses. Leslie joked that we were walking down the primrose path.

After a delightful day of relaxing, chatting, hiking, and absorbing the peace and beauty of the area, it was time for the big evening of gathering together to indulge in yet more exquisite food and a discussion of our book. We had selected Galileo's Daughter for obvious reasons ..




Linda and Ann did the smart thing of having dinner catered so that we would all be able to relax and enjoy the day. They knew someone in Prato who wouldn't let them down on the food front. We had ricotta filled ravioli in a tomato sauce accompanied by grilled vegetables.







It was all absolutely delicious. The ravioli were obviously freshly made. They were soft and light. The grilled vegetables were superbly seasoned and cooked to just the right texture.

Notice the wine. It's a Brunello di Montalcino, of course. A 2004 vintage. Leslie, Chris, and Jen bought a pair of bottles when they made a stop in Montalcino en route from Rome to Florence. After letting it breathe for an hour this complex, robust wine was like a trip to heaven. So there we were - in Ann's dining room, savoring the delights of gourmet Italian cuisine and the finest wine in the region. Ann's favorite Italian singer in the background enhanced the celebratory mood.

We resumed our earlier conversation about religion and the role of the Catholic Church.

For dessert the caterer made us an entire millefoglie. The French call this Mille-Feuille. In America we have some version of it that we call a Napolean. Flaky puff pastry interlayered with a rich, creamy custard. You know how you see something in a fancy schmancy bakery that looks sensational and you buy it even though it's absurdly priced? Then you take a bite and your heart sinks? I have tried mille-feuille so many times at so many different places. More often than not I've found them to be too dense or soggy or too sweet.
But this beauty that you see here absolutely exceeded my expectations. You should have seen the delight on everyone's faces. My goodness, it was to die for, and I really thought we were going to die. After second helpings we prayed for somebody to tie up our hands.

Our tummies were quite satisfied. It was time to get down to business. Ann lit a second fire closer to the sofas so that we could all get comfortable in the living room.

And there we are. We really did discuss the book. It was quite amazing to be sitting in a house that existed during Galileo's time. And he had spent many years right there in the Florence area. The book turned out to be a great one to discuss because of the many issues raised in it. The fate of unmarried, illegitimate women, the cruelties of the Catholic church, the conflicts that Galileo wrestled with, the incredible intellectual output from him, and so much more that had likely been destroyed, etc., etc. Linda acquired an Italian version and was excited to read it and compare it with the English version.

Our discussion of the book was energized by Ann's lemony homemade Limoncello, the tastiest in all of Tuscany.

This was certainly a unique book group meeting.
We knew it was going to be enjoyable. But it turned out to be an experience beyond anything we could have hoped for.

Paris in the Spring time - Part 2

A feature of this Paris trip, which made it particularly enjoyable, was getting together with friends.
The first set of friends we met up with were the Epsteins. We had lunch with David and Rona at an Italian restaurant on the very charming Rue Pot de Fer, a narrow, cobbled lane off Rue Mouffetard. This little street is lined with an assortment of modestly priced restaurants. Perfect weather allowed us to experience that quintessential Parisian experience of dining outdoors in a vibrant atmosphere. We had a terrific onion soup, followed by a mediocre pasta fetuccini. We caught up on all that had happened since we’d last seen them.

After lunch we strolled to the Luxembourg Gardens. Rona and I discussed my plans for writing a book on how to teach creative writing to kids. She was full of enthusiasm and encouragement for this project. At the pretty crowded  Luxembourg Gardens Rona took us to her favorite fountain which she explained was the Cyclops looking down on a pair of lovers. When we arrived at the fountain with its stunning sculpture she realized she had been mistaken. That giant was no Cyclops. We learned later that it was in fact the Medici Fountain and the sculpture we had been looking at was of the giant Polyphemus looking down at a pair of lovers. I’m always enriched after a visit with David and Rona, a couple we’ve known for a long time and who are very dear to us.

We had plans to spend an afternoon with a close friend of my very dear LA friend, Caroline. Caroline spent most of her childhood and college years in Paris. She and Jean Michel met at pharmacy school and remained good friends through the years. Unfortunately, Jean Michel had to be hospitalized for an ear complication the night before we were supposed to meet up. So that was all quite unfortunate.

We were, however, fortunate to spend a few hours with his daughter, Laureline. We had met her last summer when she came to California and stayed with Caroline for two months. Laureline is a pharmacy student and was in the middle of taking exams the week I was in Paris. She took a few hours off her busy schedule to visit with us. We had aperitifs at a café oozing with character in the Latin Quarter. This café, in a centuries old building, was on a quiet, narrow, cobbled lane off Blvd. Saint Michel. It was refreshing to talk to a young native Parisian, raised with values I respect, and who cares about making a positive contribution to the world.

I had the pleasure of entertaining Gilles and Cecile Darmois, the owners of our apartment. They had invited Daryl over to their place a couple times for a meal. He appreciated their hospitality and returned the favor by inviting them over for a meal at our place during my week in Paris. This couple had lived in various countries in the world, including the Middle East. They enjoyed international cuisine, especially spicy food. So Daryl and I though a vegetable biryani would be the perfect dish. We’d planned this before I’d left Santa Barbara so I brought along freshly roasted biryani spices acquired from my buddy, Premi.

Preparing a meal meant food shopping, something I hadn’t done much of since arriving in Paris. We ate out a lot, on the lively terraces of restaurants, due to the warm weather. Shopping at French farmer’s markets gives me enormous joy, so I embraced this opportunity. I had noticed that the Rue Cler and Rue Mouffetard markets weren’t yet in full swing. But the Port Royal market exhibited the typical French market scenario that I so adore. All your senses are indulged with the enormous variety of not just fruit and vegetables, but also cheeses, olives, breads, wine, and even a Lebanese food place featuring a huge selection of cuisine I’d never seen before. Because it was just the start of spring the produce selection was pretty limited. I was surprised to see that a lot of it came from North Africa. The vendors were really friendly, and happily spoke to me in English. I had the impression that they enjoyed the opportunity to practice their English. I found a reasonable selection of vegetables – green beans, potatoes, cauliflower, peas, and carrots. The spinach looked attractive so I bought a couple bunches for a soup to be served as the first course. I left the market satisfied with my acquisitions.

It took me a few hours in our tiny, and very limited kitchen to prepare the meal, but by 12:30 it was all ready to be served. Gilles and Cecile arrived exactly on time. They were a most entertaining couple with lots of stories about their experiences of living abroad. They loved meeting international travelers and now they run a bed and breakfast to nourish this pleasure. Entertaining Parisians in our little apartment definitely made me feel like a local briefly.

Of all the people we met and spent time with, the Maupou family was certainly the highlight. I hadn’t seen my friend, Venita, since the early ‘90’s so it was really special to see her again. We met her French husband, Alain, and their two delightful, beautiful children, Charles and Dilva, for the first time. Our common experiences of having Indian ancestry, growing up in apartheid South Africa, and living our adult lives as expatriates in the west have led to a bond between Venita and me. I have a lot of respect for her. She was not afraid to break with tradition and the pressures of the Indian community in Durban, South Africa. She followed her heart in her academic pursuits, studying languages with a passion that resulted in her being a truly international citizen, at home in just about any country in the world. But, apart from her impressive accomplishments, she’s just a great person to hang out with. She is full of joie de vivre and she is so thoughtful and considerate.

Venita and her family live in the 5th arrondisement, so it was a short walk from our place to theirs. Daryl and Alain got along really well too. The great chemistry between us all resulted in joyful shared moments. Venita and Alain totally indulged us. We had lunch at their place on Saturday. Venita prepared a delicious salad of marinated courgette, roasted pinenuts, and other vegetables. This was followed by an eye popping cheese plate that wiped out all my progress toward veganism.
We talked politics through most of the meal. The next day was the official start of the presidential campaign. Alain was actively involved in the campaign of one of the candidates – the centrist Francois Bayrou. The economy was a key issue. So was the muslim immigrant issue, especially as the Toulouse school killings had just occurred. After lunch Alain suggested taking us out for a drive into the countryside.

It was of course, a beautiful sunny day and a drive out of Paris was most pleasant. We went to see a Medieval Castle called Pierrefonds – an hour north of Paris. We past the oldest forest, the Compiegne, en route. The castle was restored by Napolean and looked quite stunning. Not far from it was a pretty lake that we walked around. The sun was low in the sky, a calm, peaceful time of day. Daryl and Alain were having an animated discussion about the possibility of intelligent life on another planet. Daryl told Alain about Stephen J. Gould’s books and this got the two of them on to more common topics of interest to them. Venita and I discussed our integration into our adopted countries.

After sunset we drove back into Paris and had dinner at an Indian place on Passage Brady in the 10th Arr. This narrow lane lined with cuisine from all parts of India buzzed with ambience. The food was pretty decent too. After dinner Alain took us for a drive around Paris. He grew up in this city and knew it well. We stopped along the canal and took in the party like atmosphere. Then Alain drove us down the Champ S’Elysee, past the famous, Michelin starred Fouquets where Venita was going to dine a week later. We cruised along Rue de Rivoli, along the Seine, past Opera Bastille, back along the Seine, admired the lit up Eiffel Tower, then down Blvd St Germain. They finally dropped us off at our doorstep around 1:00 AM.

We saw Venita and Alain again a few nights later at their apartment. Alain introduced us to Burgundy Marc, a mellow and rather potent nightcap. We talked about living in France and what the Nice area would be like for us if we moved there after retirement. We drifted to other topics like the state of education around the world and the upcoming French presidential elections and so on. Somehow the topic of champagne came up. A dismissive remark by Daryl about this drink, resulted in them extolling the virtues of expensive champagne. Nothing under 50 euros was worth drinking. Next thing we knew they invited us back to their place on our last evening for a “champagne dinner”.

The Saturday evening of that dinner, Daryl got a cold and felt he needed to stay at home and rest before the long flight home the next day. C’est dommage! That Saturday evening that I spent with Venita, Alain, Charles, and Dilva was one I'll never forget. Venita went to great trouble to make sure that everything about the meal was perfect. The placemats, candles, dinnerware, and pretty flowers were all carefully selected to create an ambience of spring’s arrival and of celebration. The champagne? Veuve Cliquot. Tres magnifique! And what a spread! Venita prepared a selection of spring vegetables, each in a unique way, from different regions of France. There were wild mushrooms, white asparagus inside puff pastry cases, endives, and incredibly flavorful potatoes called rattes du touquet. The bread was some unusual braided baguette. Then, as if all of this wasn’t lavish enough, the cheese course turned out to be a unique experience for me too. For the first time in my life I got to indulge in the prince of all cheeses – Mont d’Or. You do not serve other cheeses along with this beauty. Served warm, it is soft, velvety and delicate in flavor. Oh, how can I ever be a vegan? Please tell me the cows responsible for this cheese are well looked after! Mont d’Or is made from raw, unpasteurized milk, so it is definitely not available in the US. Charles made light, fluffy crepes for dessert. What a perfect meal. What a remarkably wonderful family.

Daryl and I are incredibly fortunate to know so many wonderful people all over the world. We feel so much a part of the international community because of this.

Paris in the Spring time - Part 1

Spring break for me has traditionally meant catching up on home and garden chores. I’ve never thought of this week off from teaching as actual vacation vacation time. But for the last three years circumstances propelled a break in tradition. Mexico City two years ago, South Africa last year, and this year Paris and Italy. Daryl spent winter quarter at the Institute Henri Pointcare (IHP) where he was involved in a special session in his field. After a nearly three month separation I’d be reuniting with him in Paris for the final week of his sabbatical. Italy got into the plans because my book group came up with this crazy idea to meet up at the home of one of our friends in the countryside outside Florence. We dutifully selected Galileo’s Daughter to discuss while in the part of the world where Galileo had come up with his invaluable contributions to our civilization.

I fully understood that this Paris trip was going to be different to my previous visits to Paris which were always in the summer when I was in full vacation mode, and expected total enjoyment in the city of lights (or is love?). This trip in late March meant finding pleasure in winter activities. I packed woolen base layers, warm sweaters, and my down jacket anticipating cold, grey, drizzly days.

I was looking forward to the brief experience of “living” like a local in Paris. Our apartment was at the border of the 5th and 13th arrondissements, on Rue Glacier, a great location to be based for a week (or three months as was Daryl’s luck). The universities and IHP were nearby. So was the Latin Quarter and my favorite street in Paris, Rue Mouffetard. Daryl and I had plans to get together with various sets of friends just about every day that week. We also had tickets to see Don Giovanni at Opera Bastille as well as for the Moscow Ballet Company’s “Swan Lake”. In my free time I’d go to a few art museums and I also had to make time to read Galileo’s Daughter for our book group meeting the following week in Italy.

But Paris had other plans for me. The weather turned out to be bizarrely warm – I mean summer warm - the entire time I was there. My clothes and shoes were entirely inappropriate. But, oh, I was in ecstasy. The streets buzzed with students and tourists, and the cafes were crowded and full of atmosphere. Spring time beauty – trees coming alive with green shoots and fragrant blossoms, golden daffodils, and pretty white narcissi added their spell. So, I ended up spending a lot of time out in the glorious sunshine, wandering through various neighborhoods, absorbing the charms of this fabulous city. It's fascinating to find yourself in 19th century broad Haussmann boulevards with their four storey buildings, then suddenly you're in medieval parts with cobbled, pedestrianized lanes and centuries old buildings. And all the time 21st century Paris hovers over you.

On my first day, after a lunch of soft, ripe Roquefort, a green salad, and crusty baguette washed down with bubbly Vouvray (a selection Daryl made after careful research), at our rather cute apartment, we took a leisurely walk around the left bank. We strolled down to Rue Mouffetard, and the first thing I saw was a Starbucks Café. Jesus, did that irritate me! But this atmospheric, cobbled street with its gourmet chocolate boutiques, boulangeries, fromageries, and wine stores quickly restored my euphoria.
We entered the Latin Quarter which was mellower than I’d ever seen it. From Blvd. St. Michell we  strolled along the Seine, then crossed the bridge to Notre Dames, and hopped over to the Ile St. Louis. I recalled my first time on this island, back in the early ‘90’s when I met a fantastic friend while dining alone at a restaurant. We walked past the overhyped Bertholli’s and debated whether to get a gelato. We decided to save our indulgence for a café stop. Minutes later we found the perfect cafe to rest our now weary feet. It was right near the bridge linking the Seine’s two islands.

I had a kir and Daryl had a rosé. The sultry evening, still bright (sunset was after 8:00), stunning views of the Seine and Notre Dames, and the satisfying feelings of the two us being together again after close to three months, made this moment one to treasure. The great cafés of Paris. A reason unto itself to be here.

Days later we had another beautiful café moment up near Sacre Couer. After climbing up steep streets to Sacre Couer and enjoying superb views of the city, we worked up quite a thirst. We walked down to Butte Montmarte, an area of cobbled lanes lined by ancient buildings and small cafes. We found the perfect café terrace for a drink, right across from the famous La Bonne Franquette, a restaurant frequented by the famous early 20th century artists. Daryl and I enjoyed a kir in this charming setting of old Paris.

On the topic of café moments I should definitely mention my delightful afternoon on Rue Mouffetard. It was the day before I left for Italy to meet up with my book group. I was only half way through Galileo’s Daughter , so I planned to do nothing but read the book that afternoon. The glorious weather made it obscene to be indoors in our apartment. So I did the civilized thing of sitting at an outdoor café on my favorite street in Paris reading my book, while nursing a rosé. Even though I was completely swept into the world of rennaissance Italy and Galileo’s dilemma of having to disagree with the Catholic Church, I was aware of the pleasant atmosphere on Rue Mouffetard. People were out and about, shopping at the various specialty stores. The street was colorful with the outdoor displays of merchandize. I was so glad for the excuse to participate in this atmosphere.


On the cultural front we had good and bad experiences. Don Giovanni, at the Opera Bastille, was a modern take on the story. We weren’t enthralled with this interpretation. The opera was set outside a tall office building in La Defense and the actors were dressed in contemporary clothes. Don Giovanni was portrayed as a homosexual, evident when he kissed Leoperello. We both thoroughly enjoyed the singing and acting, and in the end that is all that’s important to me. I also enjoyed the venue, a rather modern building on this sacred spot in this ancient city. From inside the views of Paris at dusk were terrific. I was surprised to see people dressed in casual clothes. Though it has to be said the French have a way of looking elegant even in scruffy jeans. I guess this “dress down” attitude is a reflection of Francois Mitterand’s goal of opera for the people, as opposed to the past when the main opera venue used to be the Opera Garnier, frequented only by the upper classes.

Swan Lake performed by the Moscow Ballet Company was a disappointment. The venue was a small theatre near the Galleries Lafayette. We got off the metro and found ourselves trapped in this gigantic department store. After going up and down sets of escalators we eventually found the street and shot over to the theatre. We found the performance ok, not great, but passable. However, the big disappointment was the absence of a live orchestra. We’d seen an outstanding performance  of Swan Lake by the St Petersburg Ballet Co. years ago in Santa Barbara. We’d also seen a superb Swan Lake in Oxford, England. So we had pretty high expectations, but, oh well, c’est la vie.


I ended up going to only one art museum, the Museé D’Orsay. Since I’d visited all the famous museums on previous trips, I had no real regrets there. We spent a blissful Sunday afternoon immersed in French Impressionism. It was especially enjoyable because we took Rick Steve's guided tour of the museum. (I have his very informative Paris guide in my kindle.) Not only do I love all the art at the D’Orsay, I also love the layout and the building itself. Daryl enjoyed the van Goghs. My favorite were the Degas paintings.


The most enjoyable aspect of my week in Paris was meeting up with friends who we rarely see.  I have so much to say about this that I’m going to do a whole separate blog about it.
Stay tuned for Part 2!

Thanksgiving Weekend 2011

One of the reasons I love going to the gym pool (apart from the endorphin boost) is the company of people who share my hatred for winter and the holiday season. In the Jacuzzi this morning – Black Friday – my companions grumbled about the pointlessness of Thanksgiving, the insanity of Black Friday, followed by the craziness of the next few weeks leading to Christmas. And like spoiled, entitled kids we whined about the absurdly pitch black darkness descending on us at 5:00 P.M. and the chilly nights, that required us to turn on our central heating. We’d just swum in a deliciously heated pool and were relaxing in the Jacuzzi under a cloudless sky. The air temperature was mild, almost spring-like. Yes, we can swim in an outdoor heated pool everyday, and yes, mild, sunny days are the norm here in the winter. We, Southern Californians, expect this, in the same way people in the tropics expect hot, humid weather.

Our Thanksgiving Day this year was low key in an appealing sort of way. Our friend, Olivia, came over midafternoon. We had martinis and played Scrabble. Later, we went over to our friends, Premi and Sri, for the big meal. I roasted brussels sprouts and butternut squash. Daryl made pumpkin pie. Olivia prepared greens in her Southern (but vegan) way. Premi made soya kebabs in a spicy, tomato sauce. A truly satisfying meal. The wine, a Syrah from Paso Robles was excellent – smooth, full bodied, and slightly fruity. Sri’s mom from India and a few other relatives joined us. After dinner we watched a video of Premi’s and Sri’s wedding, which was very well put together by Sri’s brother in law. It was as good as a nontraditionalist would want of a Thanksgiving. Mellow, pleasant, and a shared gratefulness for caring friends and warmth and shelter.

I can’t believe 2011 is almost over. Wow, sure feels like I’m on a high speed train. A third of the school year over already. This year I’ve had the easiest start to the school year ever. I have an adorable class of eight year olds. On the first day of school I asked them what they knew about me. I expected them to say, “You’re from Africa. You’re a writer.” That sort of thing. But what did they say? “You’re the best teacher. You’re smart. You’re funny.” I looked at them suspiciously, they had only just met me (!),but their faces were dead serious. Flattery was clearly an unknown concept to them. I knew right away I was going to love these kids.

In two weeks we’ll be boarding a plane to South Africa. Christmas holidays in the southern hemisphere is like a concentrated dosage of Prozac. Looking forward to seeing Mum who has had a tough year dealing with health issues. We’ll be landing on her birthday. It’ll be the first time since I left South Africa that I’ll be celebrating my mother’s birthday with her.

Normally I would be dreading the upcoming weeks – colder, shorter days, taking us into the depths of winter. But the anticipation of another tropical Christmas (we’ll be on the coast north of Durban) keeps me on a high.