from France: cliff hanger

Internet or no Internet? It's always a cliff-hanger here and today I tumbled into non-connectedness again.

Once again kind strangers stepped in to lend me their life line. But I wont abuse their generosity and so I'll be brief and photos wont appear until I again establish a connection.

Thankfully, I have Ed's calm shrug to remind me that Internet issues are still ever with us and they are to be solved or ignored. No room for fretting.

In the meantime, we are indeed hiking along the granite coast, albeit in the French way. Two hours into our stroll (let's call it as it is) we pause in front of the most tempting terrace, where families are eating great quantities of Brittany seafood. Wouldn't you pause? And after, wouldn't you take out some work papers for a slow review, right there at the table, sheltered from the coastal breezes?

Our goal was a mere two dozen kilometers, but I can't say we made it.

Still, the tides were low, the sun was out and the views were spectacular.

My one issue (apart from the Internet stuff) is Ed's constant longing to rent a sailboat to take us out on the Channel. I may have to say yes eventually. My last excuse (Jason wont like it if I get salt in my hair) seemed pretty thin.

More tomorrow. Unless both Internet and kind strangers will completely disappear. Very unlikely. People are beyond friendly here. Nothing could change that. Not even tomorrow's big deal election.

A bientot!

from France: the velo trip

My occasional traveling companion, Ed, has sometimes expressed a desire to bike across France. Maybe “desire” is a little strong. Maybe it’s more like a wee little interest. In any case, I have been aware of this and not at all indifferent to it. I tell him – pick your dates! And in the end, I don’t even wait for his decision here. I pick the dates and book the trip before he changes his mind.

I am very much up on biking. Of a reasonable type. Meaning, not across the whole of France. Let’s be real. I am not Tour de France material. I like flat rather than terribly hilly and I balk at the idea of carrying all my travel paraphernalia in a little sack strapped on a bike rack for several weeks.

As Ed and I discuss the possibilities and the dates draw closer, we strike a compromise. We’ll hike, then bike. The first week, we’ll firm up our leg muscles hiking along the coast of Brittany and the second week we’ll bravely bike across Provence. And if it rains, I get to stay indoors and play with my spiffy new computer (WHICH IS PICKING UP A WIRELESS SIGNAL ON THE FRENCH TRAIN, AS WE SPEAK!!).

I also insist that we skip the camping thing. I want a cozy room and a warm shower. And croissants every morning and wine in the evening.

Remarkably, Ed agrees and so here we are, making our way toward Brittany. And even more remarkably, I am traveling with a small pack filled with tres cool hiking pants and not much else.

God, what have I gotten myself into?

Half asleep from the long flight and the crazy last days of work. It’s barely noon, but I am already thinking of dinner. It’s the way my mind works.

Overheard (on train, in France):
Excuse me, may I use the outlet to recharge my phone for a few minutes? It’s Friday, I’m not likely to get many calls, but still…
Ah, the week-end is here.
Elections on Sunday…
A holiday on Tuesday. Wait, didn’t you just have a holiday here?
Yes, but that was last week.

I am in France.

Late in the afternoon we arrive at our chosen starting point – Trebeurden, on the coast of Brittany. Oh, but it’s splendid here. The view from the terrace window:





We walk down to the water – a stretch of sand along a sheltered bay. Not many people here at this time of the year. Just some school children, learning about sailing, having great fun kicking a soccer ball around, building sand sculptures, pulling in boats from an afternoon out on the Atlantic waters.





The wind is sharp, the coast is magnificent. Tomorrow Ed and I will hike along the craggy shoreline to the next village, then the next. But now, I’m focused on dinner. Lobster bits and sea bass pieces, chocolate tarts and frothy berry mousses – it’s what you would expect from a remote village dining spot in the far northwest corner of France

flying out

I look out my loft window Wednesday evening and I watch a plane come in for a (still distant) landing. People coming in, people leaving.





I’m thinking -- in a few hours that’ll be me, with only a carry-on back pack, heading overseas.

More later.

time to give back

You know how utterly idiotic it was to have Prominent Government Officials appear on American Idol last night (I need TV to help me write lectures) to thank y’all for participating in the Fight On Poverty by voting for your favorite AI performer? Yes, THAT was dumb (not the donation, but its link to voting).

I have a better idea. Forget American Idol voting. Do something REALLY useful. Click on to Asia’s blog and sponsor her ride for the American Lung Association. I know, a million people are on your back to donate to one cause or another. But Asia is one of the coolest writers around and she is offering her writing talents for your donation. Imagine, you could help fight lung disease and have her write something on your blog. Win Win.

(Asia, Ocean welcomes you. I have only once had a guest blogger a long long time ago and at the last minute he succumbed to inertia. Or fear, or something. Not to pressure you or anything.)

To give. So many of us do it in countless ways. And maybe it’s enough. And maybe you’re tired of being bugged about this. Still, it’s Asia and lungs, and chances are you haven’t given much thought to lungs. Chances are your idle moments are spent visualizing a plasma screen TV instead.

Forget the TV. Who needs all those entertainment devices anyway. Just scramble some eggs, bring out the laptop, catch up on blogs and news stories and then click to make a donation. In support of lungs, for God’s sake. So satisfying. So, well, HELPful.

oh dear…

You know you need help when, for the third day in a row, you are posting pics of random flowers and this time, you can’t even move beyond the dandelion.





Never fear, there is only one more day left of this madness and for that day (tomorrow), I may … well, if I told you, what incentive would you have to check back?

So, check back.

don’t

…even think you’ll get more than a hermit’s line here today. Despite the fantastic spring skies and, I’m sure, proliferating spring flora, I remain preoccupied with GETTING WORK DONE.

On my table – there are flowers on my table. Would like to see the insider’s (meaning a person who spent her day inside) view of the petals of spring? Here, stare at these:

a peachy day

Yes, really, peach blossoms, in Madison.




But who can even pay attention? Work. Work. Get it done. Finish it up. Work, damn it!

And this Thursday, finally, put a (temporary) stop to it, take a break. Fly away.

Where to? What for?

For the challenge of it. For the insights. For the people. And food.

Keep checking.

even the mall is beautiful

Outside Old Orchard mall; what's in a name...


Perhaps this is a stretch. But the day was so pretty, that there were almost as many people in parks and along the Chicago lakefront as in the malls.

I wasn’t shopping at the mall, not in the true sense of the word "shopping." I was attempting to find the one Pottery Barn store out there that would be compassionate enough to take back something of mine and, in so doing, save a few trees maybe.

I had purchased said item 18 months ago and never used it. I don’t want it. It is expensive (by my standards). It is useless to me. Yet it is still listed in the PBarn catalogue. Someone else may want it with the passion of a typical consumer convinced that only X item will do. But PBarn will not take the item back because..... it has sat in my closet for 18 months.

Why so long? I am a busy person and don’t get to the malls much! PBarn, loosen up already.

After a few hours of quasi-shopping, my Chicago host and I drove downtown just so we could chomp on the best burgers ever. Burgers and I -- now that is a rare encounter. Indeed, I eat burgers more rarely than I go to the mall. But my host eats burgers and so his word is more credible and he agreed. Just so you know, the best burger can be found here:



note Hop Haus


…and my selection, the French burger (with brie and moutarde and balsamic onions) looks like this:





Some people find cities claustrophobic. As if the buildings are closing in on them.




I was raised on cities, or at least in cities and all I can see is their splendidness (even as I so often need to leave them and wade in meadows).

I came back to Madison this evening. It doesn’t offer meadows, but it’s plenty green. Once April rolls into May.

south of the border

Such good food, here, south of where I live.

Borders are funny lines drawn (sometimes, but not always, with hostility) by neighboring entities. So the fact that something is south of the border should not make much difference (esp. foodwise), but it does. Step south of the line and you are completely elsewhere.

South.
In Illinois.
Chicago.
Funky trendy Lincoln Square

the unfortunate realities of spring, the sublime flavors of spring

spring realities




spring creations (sadly, not mine)

a week in review: new technology

Ten minutes clicking “put in shopping cart” and giving credit card information for the acquisition of the smallest notebook around (Sony).

Fifteen minutes finding out which cell phone services are compatible with European networks.

One hour talking to various reps of the two major ones (Cingular and T-Mobile) to figure out what I need to link the new notebook via the cell phone to the Internet, especially in Europe.

One hour getting wrong information while talking to various reps about the above.

Not knowing that I was getting incorrect information, fifteen minutes giving mailing and credit card information for the acquisition of a cell phone that would, according to some, link my notebook to the world.

One hour taking new notebook and new cell phone to chosen provider to link the two under the purchased plan.

One minute to find out that this was completely incorrect and that nothing of what I had purchased would link me to anything beyond a computer with music stored on it.

Two hours talking to rep from new computer company (Sony) only to find out that I managed to purchase THE ONLY SONY ON THE MARKET that has a card linking it to cell technology of one of the providers (Sprint) that does not use European cell technology and therefore, for international purposes, is worthless.

Three hours surfing the Net, looking for ways to acquire aircards that would link my particular computer with cell systems in Europe.

Three hours and fifteen minutes for the beyond wonderful (Cingular, now the new AT&T) salesman to figure out a way to circumvent all problems, including the ever stubborn and have it her own way Windows Vista, and to put me on the map of France, to say nothing of the world, footloose and free, with my new (Sony) notebook and my aircard, never to be bothered by the absence of Wi Fi anywhere ever again. (This is not a time to ask -- at what cost??)

To be continued, of this I am sure.

dinner

I had dinner with a friend tonight. We went to this place on State Street:





Good view, no? Is there a name for the phenomenon where two triangular structures align themselves in this way? Do you see it? -- a liquor store and the art center. How appropriate.

We were both hungry and the food is quite good here. We were curious about the portions and upon learning that "meat" means more than half a pound of meat, we decide to share.

We begin by also sharing a bottle of wine…





…then, in a moment of great independence, we each order a cup of soup. After this, we return to sharing: the steak dish, followed by a (shared) salad.

Would we like to see the dessert menu? No, not at all. We have no room for dessert. We have just finished a (shared) two course meal along with a (shared) salad.

What does this say about food portions in this town?

scenes from the (former) tobacco warehouse where I (currently) live: an evening in April

She stands on the balcony, sipping wine. He says things to her. She answers, with enthusiasm.





So why does he walk away? (She takes a sip, looks up and disappears.)

The day

Say what you will, everyone should have a birthday where 1. they’re healthy 2. and the weather is grand. It also helps if it’s a week-end.

How to begin? Easy.

A chocolate croissant, a latte, an NYT story about a depressed NY chef.





Then, the market. Madison’s own. Uncomfortably crowded at times, but still, it is The Market.

People say that at this stage, the market is too dominated by flower sales. What’s wrong with flower sales?









Besides, there's always music to love and adore. Right? What, you don't like bagpipes?





Next, a bike ride. I ask my biking pal Ed to think of a good loop, and he does. First we travel from Brooklyn to Albany. Because he knows I like New York. Then, onto local roads that remind me that this is… not New York.







Happy cows; rare to see this pastoral scene outside happy cow countries


Oh, and as it’s my birthday, I ask for an official photo.





A quick return to Madison. I am so ready for a Caribbean therapy session at Cameo (the Spa on the Square). You know, I should have guessed it would include a soak in a tub. But with changing lights? The name for this part of the spa treatment: chromotherapy. Really. (It felt like a nice long bath with lots of New Age music and rainforest sounds in the background.)





But the mud pack was grand and the essential oils of this and the other were fantastic.

With smooth and supple skin, I walk across the Square, where EVERY set of Capitol steps is occupied by women in white.







she's checking her rear, he's thinking -- can I stand being married?

Time for the movie, In the Land of Women. You have to know that I have been amused by Meg Ryan since her Sally, then Sleepless, then French Kiss roles. So this would be an acceptable step in the Meg run of films. Even though she is more credible in comedy confection than in a serious rendition of a mother-daughter struggle. Still, it’s nice to look at a big screen again.





And finally dinner. At Sardine. I truly think it deserves the crowds. There is something quite right about it. And, unlike the 297 restaurants in NY closed last week for health violations, to my knowledge, Sardine has no rats, roaches or mice droppings. It feels so fresh in there! Honestly.

birthdays

I call my occasional traveling companion, Ed.

It’s my birthday this Saturday!
I don’t do birthdays.
Yes, but I do birthdays and my family, who does birthdays oh so exceptionally well, is far away…
I wouldn’t know how to proceed.
I have it all figured out. I’ll send you the specs for the day.
Do I have to give you a present?
Birthdays, to me, are about doing stuff, not getting stuff. Still, if you feel so inspired…
I wont feel inspired. This is making me way too nervous.
It’s all in the mindset. Think: fun!

A birthday. On a week-end. With beautiful spring weather. I'm thinking: an early morning latte, a walk to the farmers market. A bike ride maybe. And then – the ultimate: a Caribbean wrap at a local spa. I’ve never done that. It seems very indulgent. Something you should maybe do only on a birthday.
Evening comes, a movie – of the Meg Ryan type – then dinner.

It used to be that I would cook dinner for a bunch of people on my birthday, but this has proven to be about the worst thing that I could put forth. Some people do not like big dinners. Other people do not like people at big dinners. Still others do not like to eat. Or cook. So it becomes a one way thing, where I am perennially the cook and people are either hating the food or each other or both. My dinner cooking days are in a sleep mode.

Ed’s line: every day is a special day.

Bullshit. Most every day is a work day or a chore day and quite likely a combination of the two.

A birthday. On a week-end. With beautiful spring weather. A day for guilt free leisure. So un-American. So me.

in the country

Late afternoon. The thermometer registers 70. I head out on my bike.

I have made my way through so much of the countryside just outside Madison and still, I am, each time, amazed how American it feels. And I mean this in an expansive way.

Three girls, sitting in the driveway, because it’s warm, school’s out, the week-end is here.




Three Hmong women, walking through a cornfield.





I ask them – are you looking to farm it? Yes, they say. They have heard this parcel may be available for the season. Do you want to grow things for the market? Oh no! We don’t know enough about farming. Just for home use.

Can you imagine the incredible determination behind this (potential) venture? Would you have it in you to take over a wetlands cornfield and make something of it for your family, just for the season?





A robin watches all this. He is unquestionably the marker of spring. Hey robin, do you simply observe, or can you tell me a thing or two about tomorrow?

fizzle

You take a balloon and you slowly let the air out. With a great sputter. And what you have left is a shrunken heap of rubber.

It sort of describes my day.

BUT. April is a month of change. Spring forward. Leap, bounce, alight.

So, give me a day. No more than that.

In the meanwhile, mind your eating habits and munch on some of these (as I did).

swear

Twenty years ago, I became an attorney. I stood in the courtroom of the Supreme Court of Wisconsin and I swore to be a decent lawyer. I think that’s what I swore to. I was preoccupied then, worrying that my two little ones (in the audience) would make it through the event. Their dad was keeping tabs on them. We survived.

Today, I attended a swearing-in ceremony in the courtroom of the Supreme Court of Wisconsin.





There is a tradition in this state. If you are a parent or a spouse of the soon-to-be attorney, you may choose to present her to the Court and swear to her good character.

I swore to my daughter’s good character as she took the attorney oath. (I deviated from the text. I swore, but additionally, I swore that her dad and sister would attest to her impeccable character as well. The Chief Justice looked at me and said (to paraphrase): that is surprising. The fact that her father would agree with you? Understandable. But that her sister would? Are you sure?)





Justice Butler spoke to the group of eighteen Wisconsin attorney wannabes. He talked of being a role model way back when judging a gumbo contest. He talked about loving food. I really warmed up to that. He and I chatted afterwards about our love of food.





At the close of the event, Chief Justice Abrahamson told my daughter that I was an okay mom. Wisconsin is that kind of a state. People say nice things about one another. Oh, but Chief Justice, do you have any idea of how wonderful my daughters are?

let it be(e)

The colors of spring: yellow, sprouting from the green – nice.

Bees love it.



For some reason, this side of the ocean does not.

And I am also blameworthy. Hating to stand out that much in the Old Neighborhood, I would pick on my patch of May yellow, eliminating at least 25% of the perceived menace.

Now, downtown, I walk past buildings with patches of the unnatural deep green that is the commercial lawn and I see no yellow. Until finally, I notice a little patch, clearly overlooked by the sprayers and pickers.

The bee is happy (or at least busy).

I need go to my neighborhood flower shop to find that springtime yellow again. And it is there.

The proprietor asks me if I would like to relieve her of a batch of lemon tulips that she could never sell because of their incredible swoop. She is always giving me free flowers. She is like that.

Another rejected batch of yellow. She and I admire their beauty and then she wraps them up for me to take home.

the buzz

If the most important thing in your life is the making of honey and you live in Wisconsin, then you were in luck today. The opportunities began to present themselves and the weather was on your side.





For me, the buzz reverberated to other sectors, including to that of technology as I discovered the very real availability of the cell modem. Imagine: an Internet connections in all places where a cell phone can pick up a signal! Even in Europe! And, sit down for this one -- in France! So that I need no longer check into small b&b’s and ask if the owners perhaps have heard of le Internet, and if so, would they like to share? Imagine!





But perhaps the biggest buzz came as I finally placed my signature onto 589 pages attesting to the fact that I agree to the terms of condo ownership. The best part of the closing transaction? Arguably, finding out that within half a block of the condo, a café is to open. And its hours are to be set at: 6a.m. ‘til midnight.

In my town, this is exciting news.