from France: looking out

What’s a day like here? Yes, I walk, there are misty rains and plates piled high with shellfish. The fields are covered with artichoke heads and cauliflower globes and every person that passes shouts out a greeting.

But what’s it like to be here in the midst of spring?

One day at a time. Take yesterday: I wake up in a b&b just outside the sizable town of Treguier. A bird is at the window and it is sort of fitting.





The inn (Kastell Dinec’h) is an old house, run by an older woman, with the help of her daughter and granddaughter. OK, maybe the little girl isn’t much help. She’s only two and in the morning, she runs up to me, jumps into my arms and demands a kiss. She’s their charm agent and you forgive her running footsteps upstairs, above your room.

After breakfast, Ed and I hike to Treguier...





...to catch a bus to Lannion, an even bigger regional town – the only one in this area that has a train station. Except I read the bus schedule incorrectly and so we don’t really have a bus to catch. A costly mistake which only a taxi can save. Sigh.

We are waiting at the station, with still a few minutes to spare. Good thing there is bakery across the street. Good thing there are plenty of apple croissants and raisin croissants – you know, for variety.

We catch the train to Plouaret, where we catch another train to Morlaix where we catch another train to Roscoff. All on time, no missed connections.

Roscoff by the sea. Yes, there are a half dozen hotels, but the coastline remains untarnished by us, the tourists. This isn’t a beach casino town. There are no tour buses either, though maybe it is early in the season? Roscoff looks like what it tries to be: the "pink onion" capital of the world.





We wander into an algae store. A new variety is discovered every week (the store clerk tells us)! I’m in. I buy algae soap, algae spread (great with toast or artichokes!), algae scrub. I walked on the stuff at low tide and now I plan to smear it on my body. How odd we are, the occasional tourists who can’t get enough of their place.

The main street of Roscoff has a number of eating spots and one or two souvenir stores. At some point in the summer there will be tourists here, but now, the streets are empty but for the occasional French family out for a brisk walk..





A footbridge runs into the ocean waters. At the end, there is a platform for passengers of the ferry that runs back and forth to the offshore island. Walking it at low tide feels windy, dangerous, spectacular! The gust runs between groups of rocks and blows at you so hard that you are certain you'll be thrown into the waters below.





It is amazing how high the water level is by evening! Rock islands, so visible in the late afternoon are gone. Someone turned the ocean faucet on and let it flow too long! It happens so quickly! One, two, three, all flooded.






We eat a cheap meal at a pricey eatery. I say without hesitation that it is always better in France to do this rather than eating the expensive selections in a moderate eatery.

Here, take a look at this seafood and seasonal asparagus amuse bouche:





Then comes the meal. I have eaten so much seafood the past days that I am beginning to feel the addiction. What, no snails for breakfast? But here, at dinner, the chef works inordinately hard to create masterpieces. Yes, he has his emblem – his Michelin rosette. Want to find him and the wonderful little hotel his wife presides over? Check Ask for an Ocean View (link in Ocean sidebar) in several weeks. It will be there.

My images of Brittany include a night walk under a brooding sky. Forget it. I’m spent. Tomorrow. Definitely then. Or the next day. Oh, I’ leaving then. That’s okay, I still have a Brittany post in me – about offshore islands and kind ferry captains. In the meanwhile, a glance out the window, just for balance.

from France: the whys and hows and wheres

The posts have been a tad shorter, the photos – less numerous. Why? Because I did not finish all my work for the semester before leaving and so I’ve had to take some waking hours each evening to attend to it.

And I said little about the trip basics. How is this a hike? And where is the bike?

Let me explain:

We chose to hike along the GR trail (no.34), which for the most part, hugs the northwest coast line. Most of the time it is a dirt path. Sometimes it crosses beaches and stones, still wet from the receding tide. Sometimes, when a stretch of coast is impassable, we pick up a country road for a while.

We are carrying packs and I’ve grown used to the weight of mine. It helps to have a light computer!



through fields of artichokes



close up


The weather was fantastic the first day, fine the second and at first drizzly, then downright pouring rain the third.

I would say that, therefore, this third day of hiking was the best. We were energized by the wetness of it all! The scenery was well served by the gray, wet skies. We encountered the occasional person picking the night’s supper, or a fisherman digging for bait, or a farmer tending to the artichoke fields, but otherwise, there were few people out and about.









Brittany weather is like that – rarely cold, rarely hot, often changeable. Flowers thrive on it. I see plenty of evidence of this.



yellow and blue


When the drizzle first started, we paused at an old inn in a village of a few houses and ordered hot fish soup and a shrimp salad. A simple place with exceptionally cheap prices. Such wonderful, nourishing food!



a village with an inn










We were so buoyed by it all that we set out to hike further. That’s when the rains came down. No jacket could keep the wetness out of my pack. But we did not give up. Hearty Polish peasant stock here! (Ed, lacking that, is starting to sniffle.)

We hiked until the evening and then turned inland toward an auberge for the night. No buses here, nothing. Ed thought it would be fun to hitch a ride, but I balked. I’m too old, too wet, too something! Besides, there were too few cars going our way. And so we walked and walked some more until we found a bar where we could call for a ride for the last several miles. The country auberge had dinner ready for us. Good and hot.




with mussels and mushrooms



with morrells and white asparagus


So ended our hike along this stretch of the Brittany coast. We’re taking a train and a series of buses to a different location now, still in Brittany, but even further west. We only have time for one day-hike tomorrow. After that, we’re heading south to pick up a couple of bikes in Avignon.

Okay? Explanations typically come before an ocean crossing, but this time, my work got a huge grip on my time. By tomorrow I should be done with it and I can truly exhale. Actually, I’ve done a fantastic amount of exhaling already. And hiking. And eating. I have seasalt on my skin and in my hair and Brittany flowers in my head. Powerful combination.

from France: beaches, families and crepes

Having myself lived in two countries where the political leadership has been, at numerous points, tremendously unpopular among those within and those outside the particular nation, I am sympathetic to the sizable minority who voted for the losing candidate in yesterday’s election in France. And even more sympathetic to those who felt the choice was less than perfect on all counts. Oh, politics.

For us, the day was only mildly touched by the presidential fever here (with nearly 85% of the French voting, you have to think that it was a feverish event). On the Brittany coast, all was calm, the tide was again low, the rocks and cliffs were dramatically positioned at every turn, the flowers were at their spring best.





We spent a while watching the occasional person try windskating on this beach. And the small, dads only, soccer game, with kids playing in the sand and moms chatting. And the two swimmers who thought nothing of the cold water. Scenes from nearly empty beaches are mesmerizing. Three photos for Ocean – of the tall firs protectively looking down on the cove below, of the biker who chose not to bike across, and of the solo walker.














At the local creperie -- one of only two places selling food here, Madame Louisette was taking a break from the kitchen duties. Monsieur Fernand was in back showing off how “award winning” crepes are made, granddaughters were helping out. A Sunday in Brittany.

from France: en Bretagne

It is late Sunday afternoon. Monsieur has yet to vote, but he made for me the most “perfect” (his words and he is correct) crepe, with acacia honey and lemon. I eat this as dessert, having downed 6 oysters that he just shucked for me (another 6 for Ed) .

We walked for a long long time. Internet connection has been spotty to say the least, but now, in this remote place on le Cote de Granit Rose, in the middle of nowhere, where Monsieur Fernand Bricout and Madame Louisette Bricout run a creperie, I am connected.

They are stunning people, but you wont see a photo today. Let me only post pics from yesterday. And then I have to move on. The path is long, the lodgings for tonight? Unlcear. Are there any nearby?

So, from yesterday:



low tide



rocks and castles



coming in for lunch



my lunch



towns and beaches



low-tide, close up



the youngest sailors, hauling in their boat

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.)