So long, farewell, auf viedersehn, adieu

View Intermission in a larger map

Tonight's our last night on this European journey and we're winding down. We drive Brussels-Frankfurt tomorrow, and fly home in the evening.

We visited a lot of places. Spoke a few languages. Ate good food. Met good people. Saw this part of the world from different perspectives. Learned how much we didn't know, how much we take for granted, how things are not always as they seem. And how to find toilets in unfamiliar places.

Eleven+ weeks on the European portion of the journey. More than 14 weeks if you count the western hemisphere piece. We'll miss this vagabond life, but are happy to be heading home. And Susan and I still talk to each other!

I hope to do some more processing over the next few weeks -- of pictures, thoughts, reactions, comparisons. So this blog will continue.

Outdoor culture in The Netherlands

We tend to think of outdoor cafes in Paris, but we've found them all over in our travels.  But none have been as ubiquitous and energetic as those we found in The Netherlands.  In Amsterdam, there are whole streets taken over by outdoor dining, with one restaurant's seating flowing into the next.  And the large squares are often filled with seating.  These scenes repeat every few blocks.  Leave one buzzing plaza, walk a couple of blocks, and come upon another, also buzzing.  This is true in tourist areas and neighborhoods.  Moving on to The Hague and Delft, we found this as well.

It finally occurred to me that taking a simple photo would not convey the energy, so I opted for the video approach to capture the bee-hive.  This one was in Delft, on a public holiday when all the stores were closed.   But you can still feel it.  It is on the sight of the old cow market.  I suspect the buzz was a little different then.

And they all served Belgian beer!

I'm falling for the blonds

We're back on the whirlwind of travel. Since the flamingos in the Camargue, we've been to Antibes (near Cannes, a few days ahead of the filmsters); Liguria in Italy, not far from Nice, up on the mountaintop where Susan's sister Julia and Dudu live, among the medieval villages perched on the sides of mountains; Dusseldorf, where Susan's brother Sam lives with his family, Amsterdam and environs, and now in Brussels. We've gone from the places where wine is served with all meals to where beer is served with all meals and at snacks. I'm by no means a beer maven. I like a beer once in awhile, but often find that a beer makes me tired, so over the years, I've avoided them except for accompanying pizza and Mexican food, and to be social.

I challenge anyone to be in Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany without falling in love with the beer. As with wine and cheeses, I find that I can't remember the names of the ones I like from sitting to sitting. In Provence, I got accustomed to ordering the Cotes du Rhone or Cotes du Luberon wines, but couldn't tell you from which vineyard or town. The cheeses in the markets were so numerous and I wanted to try so many that I couldn't remember the ones I liked.

Belgian beer is world famous. And I'm finding out why. Beer accompanies lunch, late afternoon apertif, and dinner. In my world of beer there has been lights and darks. And perhaps I'd order a Pilsner or Lager on occasion if I wanted to seem like I knew what I was doing.

One day, Susan ordered a Duvel beer. A blond Belgian beer. I had ordered something else -- perhaps something dark, I really don't remember. When I tasted her Duvel, I was in love. It was smooth. Not bitter. A deep rich taste. Gorgeous color. Great curves. (In Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany each beer is served in its own distinctive glass). Next time, it was me that ordered the Duvel. And since then I've tried the blonds on the menu. Each has been great. Each with its own taste, but as a family, these Belgian blonds have captured my heart.

Susan thinks we can find Duvel back home.  I hope so!

Movin on....

No more pastis on the porch. No more self-cooked dinners. On the road again. Susan had a poetic farewell to Ansouis on her blog, and it's hard to improve on the sentiments, so I won't try.

We spent a few days in Arles, at the apex of the Rhone River delta, gateway to the Camargue. Arles is a fine small city, filled with Roman antiquities and medieval streets. It was also full of photographers, as it often is. It is home to France's National School of Photography, and there happened to be the annual exhibition of nudes in six or seven venues. It was great wandering around so many photographers and people that appreciate photography. The other photo part of the trip was a visit to the Cathedral d'Images in Les Baux de Provence, a slide show/movie presentation inside an abandoned bauxite mine, with images projected onto the walls in the 12 meter high rooms.

We timed our visit to the Camargue to match the one sunny day, and had a delightful driving, strolling time investigating the sights and the birds. The flamingos were a special treat. A great meal, too, at a small auberge far from anywhere, with the small local clams their specialty.

In the meantime, we've made our way east, with a quick stop in the maritime village of Antibes (between Cannes and Nice), with it's yachts of the wealthy and the Picasso museum, finding our way to the top of the hill in Castelvittorio, where Susan's sister and sister in law live.  We thought we'd had our fill of medieval villages, but the Italian version were so much different than the French that we were once again spellbound...stay tuned for some pics of the villages and of the terraced rural living that has to be seen to be believed.

Presently in the Nice airport awaiting a quick flight to Dusseldorf to see Susan's brother and family, and then the northern European portion of the journey.

Jumbo artichokes and jumbo mountains

Five weeks has gone by quickly.  It's Tuesday, and we depart Ansouis on Thursday.  Which means we've had to be judicious when visiting the markets, casting aside all sorts of culinary temptations.  Last night was "everything that needs to be eaten jumble". Which tasted pretty good, but still, you can feel the constraint and the underlying message that we'll be leaving here soon.

It was pouring rain and chilly this morning, which meant that the Cucuron market wasn't hitting on all cylinders. Only a few stalls, and not many people. The rotisserie chicken and potatoes cooked in chicken fat seemed like a good easy choice. And there were a few ginormous artichokes. I'd stayed away from artichokes since the disappointment with the little purple ones early in our stay here, but I'd been wanting to try these artichokes that were the size of grapefruits.

Simple steaming (for only a half hour -- I was surprised how fast they cooked). Simple mustard vinaigrette for dip, and we had lunch. There were some tough outside leaves, but the artichoke was as it should be, and the hear was huge. Part of the stem was edible as well.

The highlight of the week was the climb of Mont Saint Victoire, the mountain that Cezanne was fascinated with. Upon our arrival in Provence five weeks ago, it was an imposing presence as we departed the TGV station in our rental car. We'd been wanting to climb it, and finally did so when B&A invited us along on one of their hiking journeys.

It's even more imposing up close.  From this view, it looks like any other mountain (albeit one that's pretty bare), but from the south, you can see that the mountain top stretches for kilometers behind that pointy summit.  The photo is taken near the start of our climb.  It was a hardy two hour climb, with fantastic views throughout.  I loved the view down the west spine, showing the flowing geology of the mountain. And we had great views of Mont Ventoux off the north side. And lest the food theme that began this post be lost, our simple picnic lunches were made even more splendid by the frequent wishes of "bon appetit!" from the other hikers at the chapel near the summit. Everyone that passed us, without fail, expressed this joyous greeting.

Pics from the day!

Of Churches and Lunch

France has lots of churches.  Like the rest of Europe.  And a lot of them are old.  Really old.  And in places that may have once been bustling, but are now on the top of lonely hilltops.  Or desolate forest glades.  Some of these are ruins.  Some are kept alive.  Presumably by the Church (with a capital C).  But it might be the government.  Not sure.  For old times sake? 

The thing is, though, that no one seems to actually GO to church.  They barely go to the churches in the lively cities, much less the ones in neglected ruin-towns.  We were here on Good Friday, but no one took off, and it seemed like every other day.  Ditto Easter, though we did hear some bells ring.  The signs on the doors of the various churches around here say that Sunday morning services rotate among the three or four village churches from Sunday to Sunday.  But all of these are good sized churches that are being kept going.  In the US, The Church is closing churches for this reason.  That doesn't seem to be going on here.  Supply and demand doesn't seem to make a difference.

In Italy, at least, we saw people praying in the churches.  Among the tourists, there's always be someone taking a few moments for themselves.  Not here.  Strictly tourist attractions as far as I can tell.

This morning (Sunday morning), we went to the grandaddy of all the outdoor markets in Provence at Isle sur la Sorgue.  Blocks and blocks of produce, clothing, nic nacs, soap, lavender, sausages, and the thing that makes this one special -- antiques.  It was pouring rain when we left the house at 10:00, but cleared by the time we got there at 11:00.  Spent a good hour wandering the stalls, thankful that we have no room in our luggage for anything of substance.  (That's me talking -- I'm not sure if Susan is thankful or not).  The place was thronged.  I can only imagine how busy it would be if it hadn't been pouring rain just an hour before.  Or in the height of tourist season.

Roundabouts 12:00 we started to feel a little hungry, so scouted out some lunch opportunities.  Which were plentiful.  Plentiful.  But they had to be.  Because Sunday lunch in Isle sur la Sorgue, as in any other bustling place in the south of France, is like a game of musical chairs.  You can't wait too long, or you won't have a place to sit.  Because everyone eats at the same time.  At noon, you can have a table, but some have already been reserved.  By 12:30, the pickings are slim, and you might be eating off the pizza truck.  Since lunch is a two+ hour affair, there are no second chances.  (Though, at the place we ended up, there did seem to be a small throng of people looking hungrily in our direction.  I didn't think anything of it until I realized they were waiting for our tables!.  Which I hadn't seen for so long I didn't know what to make of it.)  We settled in at about 12:15, just in time to snag an outdoor seat, under an umbrella, that wasn't behind a market vendor's truck or on an awkward tilt.  Perfect. 

Lunch was good.  Very good.  Three-course "menu" for 15 euros.  (The last time I was in France, there were Prix Fixe menus everywhere -- I haven't seen that phrase at all this time.)  Mussels gratinee to start, duck-leg confit for the main dish and isle flottant for dessert (floating islands of meringue in a vanilla flavored sauce).  With a shared 0.5 liter picher of rose.  No one was in a rush.  Not us.  Not the kitchen.  The waiter seemed a little flustered, but I'm not sure why, because the attitude of the French waiters seems to be "you'll get your food when you get your food", and "I'll take your order when I'm good and ready -- you're going to be here for a few hours anyway, what's your rush?"  And unless we're starving, we're generally fine with that.  The other night, we waited a half hour for our menu.  We think it was punishment for not ordering apertifs. 

It would be nice if they thought to bring the little basket of baguette out when you sat down, rather than waiting for the first course.  Take the edge off a little?  No one seems to have thought of that.  Maybe it's illegal.  Did you know that the government fixes the price of baguettes?

By the time we'd finished our first course, we noticed that the streets had emptied.  EVERYONE was eating lunch.  Shopping's done.  Lunch begins.  This happens regularly here, even on weekdays.  Businesses close at least from 12-2.  Some from 12-3, and the grocery store from 12-4.  Plan accordingly.  Do not get between the French and their lunch.  Interestingly, though, more and more stores are open "non-stop".  We noticed many such signs in Aix en Provence.  And the Hyper-U is open non-stop.  I wonder what those negotiations with their labor force looked like?  I'll enjoy the convenience of non-stop shopping, but if the idea catches on, something larger will be lost.

No one's in church on Sunday, but everyone's eating lunch.  I can't complain with that set of priorities. There was a lot of family together-time.  And friends enjoying each other's company.  Good wholesome activities.  Maybe if they served lunch at church? 

That lunch you see at the top?  Not today's -- I didn't take a single picture today.  But it was yesterday's lunch, so it fits the topic.  Beef brain salad.  It was worth trying.  And inexpensive.  Like any cold cut really.  Susan's choice was much better -- shrimp sprinkled with grapefruit juice and cilantro.  That was worth reverse-engineering.