Month: April 2022

The Barbarians Have Landed in Sicily!

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If Italy is the boot, Sicily is the ball. Or the big rock Italia is about to trip over.

On the sixth day,

God accomplished his work

And, pleased with all the beauty

He had created,

He took the Earth in his hands

And kissed it.

There, where he put his lips,

That’s Sicily.

Renzo Barbera, Italian Businessman,

in typical Italian exuberance

When asked where we were headed next, we always said “Sicily” instead of Italy. Even in our total naiveté, we sensed the two weren’t fully interchangeable. Perhaps Sicily is supercharged Italy or Italia distilled.  And I say all these hyperbolic things while fully acknowledging we ran off late at night into the safe harbor of Cefalu and barely peeked out again.

Our first full day was Easter and we woke up to heavy rain, occasionally emphasized with lightning and unscored by thunder. I spent my day writing cozily, ignoring everyone else. Easter dinner was at a pizza place the front desk recommended, just 4 minutes away. The 30 minutes it took us to figure out how to navigate and park still counts as a success for us because it ended with no tickets and a bottle of delicious local wine.

We ate authentic Sicilian pizza to honor the Resurrection. Unfortunately, it turns out we are barbarians. Since then, I have learned that Italian pizza is served whole, not sliced. There, we cut our pizza into slices and dove in. Being Americans, we were the first group in the restaurant since it wasn’t even 8pm.  Then couples and groups drifted in, and as they got their pizzas, I realized everyone else ate theirs with forks and knives. Ah, well. Here’s the thing about traveling Americans: we’re loud, friendly, easy-going…and generally tip well, making sure that fellow countrymen get warm welcomes from waiters around the world no manner how terrible our manners.

Buenos Dias, Seville!

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Thank goodness I’m American, so I can pronounce this city’s name Suh-ville, instead of correctly like the rest of the world does, suh-VEE-ah.

It was one of those mornings we woke up with a few thousand steps already on our pedometers. It had been past midnight when, after a few false leads, we found the alley of our un-addressed B&B and collapsed as quickly as our host would let us. Seville was perfectly happy to let us sleep in, as Spain has the internal clock of an American teenager.

We kicked off our exploration with our first Segway tour—super fun mode of transportation to get an introduction to Old Town, the most important squares and parks, and the river paths. Seville was the perfect place to give the kids Euros and a key so everyone could go the direction they wanted. (You-know-who often headed straight back to the hotel.)  Piper and I loved the cute clothes and did some shopping. Kyla and Dwayne headed further out to parks and a museum. Dwayne and I got caught in a rooftop terrace during a storm, forcing us to order more drinks. We all went enjoyed an evening of flamenco and tapas, and a tour of the replica of Magellen’s ship, the first to circumnavigate the world.

  • Look, aqueducts! I love them here, I love them there, I love ancient Roman aqueducts everywhere!
  • The Spanish Square has a canal around it, perfect to make tourists pay to stand in line to do something we’re bad at to see less in more time than if we had just walked around. I, of course, was the one who begged to do it.
  • Kyla was a good sport.
  • Peekaboo courtyards in the hidden Jewish quarter. I think the very best thing Rick Steves does is provide a free audible tour of some European cities, downloadable to your phone. I didn’t do this until our last day, and I just wished I had done it on our first!
  • The Gold Tower on our right was not made of gold. Instead, Seville was the protected port upriver where valuable trading ships did business, and this was the central trading business office, basically.
  • Preparing for the hoards of people watching (and participating) in the many processions of Holy Week.
  • Kyla and Dwayne went off to explore more parks while Piper and I shopped.
  • They also made it to the Illusion Museum. Both Kyla and Dwayne came back whole.
  • Magellen’s ship (but not Magellen) did make it all the way around the world almost exactly 500 years ago.
  • My meta picture. We did another tour boat up and down the river later, so taking a picture of the ship from a boat. It is very, very small for such a journey, and bunks were wherever sailors fell asleep on the top deck. It was a good history lesson. Wes writes about it at https://weswrite.blogspot.com/2022/04/the-remodel-of-get-moms-help-with-this.html.
  • Every Spainish city has a Spanish Square, but our guide insisted, probably correctly, that Seville’s was the best. I loved the painted tiles…and canal.
  • The just-normal jamón on top of more meat. The ham is sliced very thinly and cured thoroughly. It looks like dry bacon, but it really does taste better than that!

Everyone said to eat the jamón (ham), which is hung in large hocks in restaurants that brag about the quality of their pig*.  There’s regular thinly sliced ham, and then there’s black ham from a free-range, acorn-eating, well-loved breed of pig that is either all black or has black toenails.  There’s a 3-fold difference in price, and to keep from being deported, you will have to agree that it tastes five times better. 

One of our favorite games is “Does Denise Like Beer Yet?” I never win this game.

Seville! We explored our hearts out and ate our fill, and still want to go back for more.

*I read that this was originally a way, after the christian-lower-case-c takeover of the formerly Muslim and Jewish-friendly town, to tell other groups they were not welcome, in both the establishment and the community.

Holy @#!*&: Semana Santa in Seville, Spain

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It wasn’t until we were on the plane out of Barcelona and I was chatting with an exchange student from the US that I realized we were going to be in Seville during Holy Week. Sure, you’ve lived through and possibly even participated in the week before Easter your entire life, haven’t you?

No, you have not!

In a casually Catholic country (55-70%), there is a quite Catholic state (80%), and the capital of that state is Seville, which, at least during Holy Week, must have a Catholic population of about 150%. If that seems mathematically impossible to you, then you may not be ready to read on. That’s fine; it’s not too early for the first glass of cava*.

Semana Santa is a celebration and remembrance of the last days of Jesus. I will do my best not to misrepresent a meaningful tradition with too much irreverance, partly because I want to be respectful and mostly because [inspite of the absurd noise, chaos, and crowds] I really enjoyed it.

Seville has one cathedral, the Catedral de Santa María de la Sede.** About 70 religious brotherhoods, basically individual church communities, walk from their church to the Cathedral and back again during their designated processional time during the week. The heart of the processional is the float that depicts some aspect of Good Friday or Mary, and it is carried for hours and hours and hours by men strong and lucky enough to be chosen to shoulder the burden. There might be a marching band (and I love the sounds of the drums reverberating against the narrow stone alleys, even at 1am), there may be little kids dressed as priests handing out candy and saint trading cards to the kids, but there are always penitentes. You know you are an American seeing a penitente for the first time because you start freaking out while trying to act normal:

This sign in a pastry shop (“borrowed” from the internet) sums it up:

The anonymity of the pointed capirote is meant to be pious, not intimidating, and the point of the point is to point towards heaven. These traditional Semana Santa caps evolved from the Inquisition era, if online research is to be believed, and everyone agrees that they are not related to the KKK in anyway. Anecdotally, it seems American travelers just have to keep reminding themselves that this is a meaningful religious tradition denoting repentence and humility, not a lynching squad. It was just a bit unfortunate that our first morning in Seville coincided with the procession of the brotherhood that wears white-on-white.

The crowds were massive, of course, but mostly concentrated around the procession, which was canceled one day because of the rain, making the city itself mourn. But it was impressive how alleys that are too narrow for cars managed the number of participants, the floats, the bands, and all the people watching.

  • Remember, there are a bunch of muscley, sweaty men carrying the “paso”, sometimes for several miles. We never got close enough to check but “they” say you just see dozens of feet peeking out from the platform’s bottom.
  • A paso exiting the Cathedral. The Cathedral is much bigger than this corner of it shows…and so are the crowds.
  • We’re far enough away that the Roman soldies almost look real on this paso.
  • This bridge, which usually would be for cars and buses, is wall to wall people. You can see the golden float on the left hand side, above the white boat.

Seville has been our favorite European experience thus far, and I’m not really sure if it’s because or inspite of Holy Week. Guess we’ll have to soujourn again someday to find out.

*If it were born in Champagne, France, it could be called champagne. Alas, it was born on the wrong side of the border and must be called cava.

**Seville really loves Mary, to the point it might be a bit of “Jesus, who? Oh! You mean Saint Mary’s son!”. Also, I am still on my search to find a non-white Jesus.

100 Points if You’ve Heard of “Alhambra”

Denise2 Comments
Alhambra, outside of Granada, Spain, is the Islamic palace complex behind us, from the last Islamic (“Moorish”) kingdom in western Europe.
Spain takes up most of the Iberian Peninsula. We were just in Barcelona, near France. Granada is two hours from Seville.

Oh, there are so many things I don’t know, and far more that I didn’t know that I didn’t know. Alhambra in Granada is certainly one of those, but what it really revealed is how little I know about Spanish history*.

The Alberian Pennisula has a dramatic history. Here’s 1700 years in 2 sentence:

1) The Roman Empire straddled the BC to AD shift before the Visigoths (who?) took over until Muslims conquered the area in about 700 AD, and not long after Christianity slowly bled (bled, ha) through from north to south.

2) Even history minors know that 1492 was a big deal; not only did Isabella & Ferdinand finance Columbus sailing the ocean blue, but they also expelled Muslims and Jews from the newly united Spain.

2a) A particularly slanted reporting worded it this way: In 1492, King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella I of Castille conquered the Nasrid Kingdom of Granada, finally freeing Spain from Muslim rule after nearly 800 years. Because it wanted to be a peaceful democracy?? Ha! Nope.**

Isn’t this the most beautiful shot? If you ignore the fall colors in this spring post, we could pretend I took it.

Now we can go to Alhambra, which is a palace/citadel/fortress dating from the 700s, though like all these types, it was built, added onto and evolved over centuries.

Dwayne and I explored some exterior Islamic construction in Egypt and Jordan, but didn’t get to study it until we were in the south of Spain. I already knew that since Islam doesn’t allow for depictions of people and animals, geometric shapes are mostly used. But I didn’t know what could actually look like in practice by a man, Mohammad V (shortest name I can give), with a huge amount of power and wealth and travel experience. What is notable about Alhambra is not just that is a wonderfully preserved, more-than-thousand-year-old Islamic palace in southern Spain; the crafting of the carved walls, doors, windows, archways is so finely delicate and detailed, it is known worldwide as a particular architectural achievement.

  • The wall starts with colored tiles, then around the doorway is colorful geometric inlays, while the regular walls are heavily carved.
  • The details are indiscernable from any distance, but the intricated patterns are still obvious.
  • Courtyards with reflecting pools are just about the most relaxing feature a Pacific Northwest home will never have.
  • Mohammad is said to have his first revelations in a cave, and the “cave-ness” of these intricate archways reflect that.
  • Keyhole-shaped doors and windows feature predominately.
  • Highly decorated walls and archways lead to an interesting feature…
  • …in the Alhambra where a very non-Islamic ceiling is still quite vibrant. This almost-certainly Christian art is contemporary to the building and seems to suggest that other religions were tolerated and perhaps this addition, maybe a gift, shows mutual honor. With that in mind…
  • …this fountain is credited as a gift from a Jewish group to the palace, perhaps with the same mutual regard.

Dwayne loves his architecture like I love the gardens, and he walked away with an appreciation for the site, but no inspiration to build that way. As beautiful and exotic as the palace was, it was so visually busy, even empty of furnishings, that my brain got tired. Fortunately, the gardens were spectacular and refreshing. My brain is already wondering where I can plant a star-shaped garden.

I don’t blame you if your brain is hurting after all that information smooshed into one post! Once I wrap up Spain, we can go relax in Sicily for a little while.

*I am very sheepish that I have a history minor. When allowed out in the world, it turns out I know very little.

**It will take more than 2 sentences to complete Spain’s history from the Spanish Empire, war, war, war, war, republic, war, war, republic 2, Franco, monarchy, to democracy and joining the EU. Hmm, well I left out some wars, but there it is in one sentence.

Adding This to the Family Annals

Denise1 Comment

April 12th was an important day for us. While in Seville, ironically, we completed our last mortgage payment on our house. We bought our beloved home in May 2003 for $383,000, with a mortgage of $303K. I love our city, our neighborhood, our house, and the property. It took us almost 19 years but it’s mine, mine, mine! Er, ours.

Pictures from the seller, before we bought it, 2002-2003.
About 5 years after we bought it.
The finishing touches on our Covid Project last summer. That front deck, with the surrounding blooms and sounds of the water fountains, is just about my favorite place in the world.

Come celebrate with us this summer!

Barcelona: Lessons Learned

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Lesson #1: Never go to an amusement park on an April Monday.

We thought a delightful way to spend our last day in Barcelona would be to go to Tibidabo, a fun place to say, and according to the press, enormously fun to do, with a roller coaster that weaves in and out on this hilltop park, thrill rides, fun rides, historic rides, family rides…you get the picture. Somehow we missed the caveat that only four rides are open on Monday and the coolest of those lame ones would be broken.

So we did the carousel.

The 5th amusement was a collection of turn-of-the-century automatons that were mostly creepy and/or racist.

The oddest thing? It shared the grounds with a beautiful cathedral.

Lesson #2: Always peek inside a European church/cathedral/basilica, especially if it is free and not inconvenient.

We’ve been chased by mosaics and frescos since Jordan, but there was something special about these. They were very Barcelona-on-the-sea focused and so colorful and hyperrealistic.

Lesson #3: Take Kyla and Piper (and Denise and Dwayne!) to art museums once in a while.

Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya is housed in the most amazing building, and even if most of its collection was everything but Renaissance, which is generally my preference over too much medieval religious same-same, it was tranquil and interesting. Piper and I went through the collections together, and I enjoyed her companionship immensely. Kyla loved delving into it herself, and we all met up for lunch in the great hall afterward.

Lesson #4: Take a cable car/gondola whenever you can.

The views from the top will be worth it. Keep the peace and purchase a return ticket as well. In exchange, your kids may happily walk another 30 minutes to get to the singular chocolate shop that they found on your phone. With enough chocolate in them, all sorts of other good things may happen. (Piper and I had a blast buying her more cute clothes in darling alley boutiques and walking back to the hotel, and Dwayne and Kyla explored the square a little more and taxied it back.)

Lesson #5: Stop what you were doing, even chasing down a singular chocolate shop, to watch street performers.

Kyla got chosen to be a volunteer for this. Dwayne did the same thing back in NYC six years ago.

Lesson #6: Stay at the Sensation Sagrada Familia.

It was the first place we stayed that did EVERYTHING right. Plenty of space, EVOO in the kitchen, soap/detergent aplenty, showers that kept the water in the shower*, the most helpful staff we’ve ever had in a hotel. We scratched our heads to come up with a way it could have been improved and came up with nada. We want to take this place and put it everywhere we go. Wes spent many happy hours when it was just better for everyone when he wasn’t up for adventuring.

Lesson #7: Write about Barcelona a few weeks after the fact so you don’t remember the quarrels, the blahs, the plans that just didn’t work out, or the terrible seafood paella. My memories are only good ones (except the paella) now!

*Egypt, Jordan, the EU, almost every place we’ve stayed does full showers that are half-enclosed. Some like leaving gaps between the too-few panels or where the panels meet the tub. We cannot fathom the reasoning, especially after wringing out so many towels after a short shower where I consciously try to keep water from splashing out.

Architect Antoni Gaudí: Great or Gaudy?

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Of the nine UNESCO sites in Barcelona, Antoni Gaudi designed seven of them. He is a Big Deal. Which is why I’ll pretend I knew all about him long before setting foot in Barcelona.

Gaudi (gow-rhymes-with-cow DEE) was an architect in the late 1800s until his weirdly anti-climatic tram death in 1926. By almost any standard, he was a Genius. After exploring three of his works, I’m mostly Team Gaudí and Dwayne is mostly not.

“Originality consists of returning to the origin,” said Gaudí, summarizing his deep desire to build the greatest reflection of nature he could design. Let’s see if I can show, not tell.

Casa Batlló

Kyla, Dwayne, and I toured this home designed for the Batlló family, where I crushed hard on the water-sky loveliness. It was airy and light and whimsical, and hardly a straight line to be found.

  • The upper floors of the exterior give off a “hippy sea dragon” vibe.
  • Another picture I did not take. This is the middle of the 3-room living room. The middle windows can lift fully, creating a glamorous balcony to wave to the bourgeoisie. I adore the stained glass and seashell swirl ceiling.
  • Those picture frames in the background? Digitial screens played “home videos” (actors in period costume) of the family entertaining, worshipping, and waving to the bourgeoisie in these main rooms.
  • I *love* this fireplace cozitarium, a place so inviting I had to create a new word.
  • Just a regular old staircase, Gaudi-style.
  • Think a central chimney, but for air circulation instead of smoke. The glass barriers, the ceramic rope gates, the increasingly blue tiles upward, all give the visitor the calm sensation of a smooth sea.
  • Fresh air is not the only point of this tower–lots of light “flects and reflects” into the entire house.
  • Nearly at the servants quarters, the usual drabbest of places was the lightest.
  • There were lovelier patios but the rooftop was a fun place to see how the chimneys became part of the motif.

Park Güel

I’m so glad we saw Batlló first. The park was crowded, inconvenient, expensive, and only amazing-ish. It was the first stop on a hop-on, hop-off tour bus and the excursion effectively murdered my children’s desire to see anything else that day. The park is famous for its serpentine bench that wraps around a very large terrace. Its display house (with an entry line that made me quickly walk in the opposite direction) demonstrated that melted-icing-over-a-sand-castle look that I associate with Gaudí exteriors.

  • The main entrance to “Park Guell”.
  • One of Gaudi’s fingerprints is the colorful tile mosaic on animal-like objects.
  • The sense of tall trees and clouds in the sky from pillars and weird ceilings is very Gaudi.
  • Here’s the smallest fraction of the serpentine bench, with some of the forementioned tile mosaics.
  • Am I the one tilting or is something odd about those pillars?
  • Crowded. Done and done.
  • The gingerbread, melted-icing look shows up on Sagrada Familia. And those lines! I really wanted to explore the house, and considered waiting for almost a second.

Sangrada Familia (Sacred Family)

This is the Cathedral that finally has a projected completion date of 2026, the one hundred year anniversary of Gaudí’s death. It is, if one may radically understate, atypical of a European cathedral with official minor basilica standing*.

  • Whoever managed to publish this shot somehow photoshopped or used clever angles to hide the cranes and construction.
  • I loved the “reversing” of the stained glass at night, making it beautiful for outsiders.
  • Yep, this cathedral has fruit on top. I believe one side of the massive structure focuses on harvest fruits (closest to the crucifiction side) and the other summer fruits on the entry, where the birth is depicted. I believe there is heaps of symbolism and clever nods to details that mostly escaped my notice.
  • Oh, dear, the nativity is a grandiose birdbath. I’m actually surprised metal spikes, disguised as halos, were not used.
  • A sea turtle holds up the entry pillar closest to the sea, and a giant tortoise is the basis for the pillar closer to the mountains.
  • The giant, enormous, oversized pillars branch out to hold up the ceiling and towers. Gaudi very much wanted you to feel you were in a forest dappled with sunlight.
  • The gorgeous stained glass practically sings.
  • The large airy inside of the cathedral lit up by these massive windows was my favorite part.
  • So much of this is not Gaudi, since he died long before much of this was constructed. The architect who did this Judas betrayal added a magic square, where each way adds up to 33, the age Jesus was at his death. Math puzzles on a church? Yes, please.
  • I am most intrigued by Pontius Pilate’s plight and meditation in these statues.
  • What Gaudi is particularly known for is his throwing out the good old-fashioned Roman arch (which Dwayne adores to the depth of his soul) and using parabolas instead. You get a parabola basically by holding both ends of a string and letting it hang down. Using strings and small weights to create the desired parabola, Gaudi designed his building …. UPSIDE DOWN. Can you see it now, sort of?

*This is a thing. There are 4 major basilicas in the world. They are all in Rome. Would you consider this more nepotism or self-aggrandizement?

Barcelona: Our introduction

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Family portrait in Barcelona, with Piper’s hat joining us.

Just an hour’s flight from Marseille put us in Barcelona, the heart of Catalonia. Catalonia would like you to know that Catalonia may look like it’s part of Spain, but it is Catalonia, the wealthiest and bestest independent not-Spain place ever. [Think Jefferson County in California if you need an analogy.] Barcelona is the capital of the region of Catalonia, and its call for independence seems to meet mostly with eye-rolling from the rest of Spain. But like any big city (at over 5 million people, it is 3.5 times bigger than Marseille), Barcelona has its own feel.

We all seek entertainment, albeit in different ways. Wes piled all (all!) the pillows on a swivel chair and spent, what I can assume, many happy hours spinning while Dwayne and I enjoyed exploring the city.

Even our local walking tour guide wonders how anyone makes money in the area. With a culture of up and about by 11am, soon followed by lunch and afternoon siesta, a reopening in the late afternoon, dinner at 21:00 or 22:00, bedtime at 2am…, well there was a shop right next to our hotel that Piper desperately wanted colored pencils from and it wasn’t until the last day that she finally caught them open.

But as a tourist, it was delightful. After first getting to our hotel, Dwayne and I explored as far as we could walk, using his delightful method of aiming for the greenest parts on google maps. That’s how we ended up miles from the hotel, on the top of an abandoned WWII battery, overlooking the city. We got back with enough time to get to our 7:30 dinner reservation for tapas, beating the dinner crowds by a few hours. Weird.

We started our first full day with a crack-of-day 10am walking tour, perfect for our 2.5 teenagers. The tour was my first introduction to Gaudí, and more importantly, fresh churros with chocolate dipping sauce.

We also explored the busy, busy market (dozens of independent food stalls under one roof) with the freshest foods displayed like a beauty pageant. Getting through this with our guide gave us the confidence to shop at a smaller market later.

I am always pleased to see gothic cathedrals, peekaboo art and city water fountains, and of course, ancient Roman aqueducts.

We ended at the city park, our first real bit of green in a city that must conserve water, and where dozens of pocket parks and playgrounds on each street are brown and sandy. Dwayne didn’t feel the magic that made him tingle at Longchamps, but I was delighted by fountains, falls, and, especially, dragons. Hola, Barcelona! We’re happy to be here.

Finishing France*

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[*If Marseille could just be pronounced the way it is in my head, I could title this “Goodbye, Mar-sigh”.]

Piper & Wes were jealous that the 3 of us took scooters on our city exploration. Legally, they couldn’t use them, but we found a mostly open square, rented two of them for 15 minutes, and gave them time to enjoy the power.

I have to give some attention to our youngers who did not do the same France that we did. Dwayne, Kyla, and I took a full day trip to Avignon+, explored many different parts of the city on foot and by scooter, seeing architecturally, historically, and multiculturally interesting things.

Piper and Wes did not. They would actually complain about having to leave their upstairs bedrooms to get to the better wifi downstairs in the tiny, 2-story apartment.

However, if I radically adjust my expectations and standards, and squint a little bit, I can almost see them getting some benefits from this trip.

It really started in Jordan, when the three of us did a full day in Petra, and Piper and Wes were having none of that. We left them some dinars and between themselves, it was decided Wes would do the ordering and Piper would hold on to the money. And so began a damn fine tradition.

By the time we got to France and were within walking distance of heaps of groceries, produce stands, bakeries, and oh yes, restaurants, Wes and Piper had a finely tuned system. They would have a full truce when left on their own, Piper would decide where to go, guide the grocery shopping and carry the money, and Wes would do all the people interactions, regardless of the language, including paying.

I just had to pretend I wasn’t worried about anything happening to Dwayne and me while we were so far away from them.

One of the sweet moments we had was visiting Cathedral de la Major. The kids joined me in lighting candles for two of my good friends, participating in my sadness.

And with that, we finally do say good-bye and pack up for Barcelona!

Foray into French Food

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Piper still likes to avoid getting her picture taken, but she is happy to be on the other side of the camera.

When I process our time in France through a food lens, I get the giggles.  I have been looking forward to eating my way through France and expanding my gourmet palette.  To get the kids in the mood, as soon as we checked into our Airbnb, we went in search of chocolate croissants.  It took us a few attempts to find an open patisserie, but Wes was in raptures over his almond-chocolate-goodness sweet, and the rest of us were well satisfied with a croissant in each hand, walking down to the picturesque port. 

Fortunately, Dwayne and I averaged about 15,000 steps a day in all our wanderings, so we ate with some indulgence.

But the cloudy afternoon quickly turned into a cool, rainy night, and after being turned away from a few très French restaurants because we didn’t have reservations, I spotted a warmly-lit restaurant with open tables and quickly herded us inside.  It turns out it was Chinese food. But I’m going to give it full credit for French flair. When our spring rolls arrived, we were shown how to roll them up in the provided lettuce leaf with one sprig of mint on the inside before dipping and eating. Ooh lala, it turned this typical appetizer into a gourmand delight. I’m sure the atmosphere and the usual giddiness of a new city added its own sweetness. Dessert was a flambe delight of a baked pear. Dinner #1 was a delicious, but not quite the French meal I was searching for.

Salute!

Dinner #2 was sans kids, who inexpensively and inexplicitly often prefer PB&J and chicken nuggets from the supermarket frozen section.  We had eyed a patio full of people sipping their afternoon aperitifs and so we returned for dinner.  It was a French restaurant, but French-Congolese. Delightful, but still not the Frenchy French-French exquisiteness I had been envisioning for my first Franco visit. 

Dinner #3. On our first exploration, Dwayne spotted a Brazilian churrascaria (a large selection of meat on spits) and the kids clamored for one night there.  It was an odd establishment that didn’t serve alcohol (read: no caipirinha for Dwayne) or pork. Infer the owner’s beliefs as you like. As Wes mentioned in his blog, I had the vegetarian option and ate all the beans/rice/sawdust/collard greens I could with sides of fried plantains.  If we haven’t made this classic poor man’s Brazilian dish for you before, please invite yourself over this summer so we can enjoy it together.  Sawdust (aka farofa) is surprisingly delicious.

Finally, Dinner #4, Dwayne and I were again without children and determined to find a restaurant that checked all the boxes for our penultimate night in France. We found a place open that did NOT have pizzeria in its name, and I quickly swung from vegetarian Brazilian to steak tartare, which is, if you were unsure, raw hamburger + raw egg + other things = Oh! So good! I couldn’t look at it while eating it but I would definitely order it again with whatever wine the good monsieur recommends. 

No matter how plain or fancy (or expensive!) the order it, it always seems to come with fries. I do not approve.

Piper and Wes had their hearts set on crepes daily. Crepes for breakfast, brunch, lunch, and tea. Against my will, they found a place in the touristy* port that served crepes with Nutella for Wes, and Nutella and strawberries for Pipes.  When we went to an off-Broadway creperie the next day that did not serve such crepes, there were tears and punishing silences. Finally, we just gave the youngers the key and some euros and left them alone for long afternoons and even an entire day, and they just went to the tourist creperie and came up with excuses for not doing their math. At some point, I just had to enjoy France and French food enough for both of them.

Tears and punishing silences. Not feeling the need to travel with children again. (Dwayne’s note: this is NOT posed!)

What I had my heart set on, à la Rick Steves, was going shop to shop to get cheese, a baguette, a bottle of wine, and a little something-something for dessert and picnic in some lovely square or park.  When we finally got to Avignon, Kyla and Dwayne indulged me as I ordered stinky cheeses (like angels’ feet!), a sweet nougat, and a strawberry something-something before finding a bakery for two fresh baguettes. A half bottle of white wine would have topped it off perfectly had I been able to find one, but water is a lovely accompaniment as well.  I finally got to have my little French picnic in a garden behind the walls of the Pope’s Palace in Avignon. Bon appétit, let’s eat!

A French picnic. A very French older gentleman complimented us on our fare, and it began a 20 minute conversation in the park.

On a final note, is this not a delightful produce shop? There were a few tiny ‘supermarkets’ on every street block, but only fruits that had won beauty contests got to be sold in this one. It was a sensory experience and the girls and I walked away with an armful of gorgeous and perfectly ripe fruit.

France wins Food!

*Commandment #11: thou shall not eat where only tourists tread.