Tales of a Traveler: Tuiles au Gingembre

From my friend Heather's blog:

Tales of a Traveler: Tuiles au Gingembre: "My host mom made these the other week and they were delicious! You can add whatever flavorings you want, by substituting the..."

J'ai Dit Quoi de la Nourriture Francaise?

"The Real American Hot Dog"

...It worries me that the Wannabees are moving into street vendor territory. Hopefully this first will be the last I see....

Midterm Critique

We placed all of my paint studies and many of my sketches on the wall. After that, John whittled the selection down to my best works from the semester (pictured below, en masse):

Jacquet

Copy of a Poussin

 

Grace

Jackie

Annika

Arika

James (Alan's son)

Studies of one of Rembrandt's depictions of Abraham preparing to sacrifice Isaac

Painted barefoot. First oil/color landscape.

study

Copy

He said I "have a real feeling" for drawing, a "touch," a "gift." He likes how I've "loosened" up over the course of the semester, and asked if I like Rembrandt. This question made me quite happy. I love Rembrandt and have been thinking about his conceptions of light and dark relations, and how shadows create space/air, since the semester began. He essentially assigned extra work to me for the Venice trip (which begins in less than 48 hours!), by telling me I should plan to do a lot of drawing there - in addition to the 15-30 paintings we're all expected to do. I found all of this highly flattering and inspirational.

In relation to my paintings, he commented on my color harmonies, my lack of a "formula," and how I truly represent the subjects in my middle and later/latest studies. Annika is truly Annika, not just a picture of her. The same goes for the paintings of Jackie and Arika, and especially Grace. He talked about how the paintings of James and Grace are "wild," and how the brushstrokes are so immensely different from each other, but how it still "works." One brushstroke in one painting is completely different from the one that is next to it, which is different than the one next to it. By lack of a "formula" he meant that I approach each subject as I see it, and do not just work by habit. He said he sees a lot of "sustained work," and that my wall of pieces was "beautiful."

YAY.

He also recommended the female impressionist, Berthe Morisot, to me. Did anyone else not know there were female impressionists? Her work is brilliant.

Un Peu Plus

The French do not hug. They really, truly do the "mwah, mwah" thing, though. S'appelle la bise.

Everyone has an electric water kettle. Or, at least both of my hosts have had one.

It's traditional to just bash shoulders. Les piétons français do not move aside. Even if you are on a bike. On the other hand, the pigeons do move - but not until you're almost on top of them, so that they fly in your face. You mark yourself as foreign if you do not jaywalk.

There is a fair number of people here who have dreadlocks or oddly colored hair. Dreadlocks are more popular than color.

Organic food is much easier to find here, and much more popular. The same goes for homeopathic medicine. In every pharmacy there is an entire half devoted entirely to natural remedies. I believe this is mandated by law.

French fast food sucks, and is far from fast. It is common to wait for at least fifteen to twenty minutes at 'Quick'burger. I have never missed Arby's so much as now. Now, let it be known that street vendor food is different from fastfood; vendor food is much speedier and better. Fast food places are wannabe American or Canadian fry places - the names are almost always in English. Speedburger is another one. There are only three or four in the entire city of Aix as far as I've seen, so you can see how popular it is. I still hold that bad food is sacrilege in France. You feel dirty as soon as you walk into such place.

----For the record, I've only eaten at one once when I was desperate. I've simply stood in several lines with Jackie.

Restaurants frequently close between lunch and dinner. Dinner is usually served later in the evening. It's street vendor food or nothing between those times. Or Quickburger.

J'ai Malade

I have decided that becoming sick is my personal way of claiming a foreign country as my own. Or maybe it is the country's way of claiming me. In either case, I am now a little more French. A few months ago I would have been quite displeased about being at all Froggian (Puh French! Yeah, Spanish!), but now I don't think being a bit Provençalian is quite so bad. Besides, this newly acquired French-ness is still tempered by my Guatemalan experience with Montezuma ;)


P.S. - please vote in the new poll on the right side of the webpage!

Les Escargot

Warning: Melanie and Carol (and anyone else who might not like slimy things), don't look at the pictures below.

Snails are incredibly common here. If you walk in open grass, it's uncommon to not see at least five snail shells (habited or uninhabited). There are thousands of empty shells around the studio. They're usually white, but sometimes the larger ones have patterning and earthy colors. The smallest I've seen has been about a millimeter long/wide. I find all the shells fascinating. Apparently small children here do, too; last weekend, in Nimes, Heather and I heard some of them yelling "Escargot! Escargot! Escargot!" as they ran up and down a steep hill to show their guardian.

A few weeks ago, I was privileged in seeing The Biggest Escargot Ever:

That's the toe of my boot

Recette pour Gâteau

In case any of you were interestested in making the raisin-cake for yourself, the recipe is:

Les oeufs
La farine
Le beurre
Le sucre
Le fruit

Mix together approximately equal amounts of the first four ingrediants, then add whatever kind of fruit you prefer. Make sure to add some citrus and citrus zest, though, it's great. Bake until it's done. Agnes prefers this cake to be thin, and it took hers about half an hour. Basically, just customize until you like it!

Newness

Today I ate:

a piece of a heart-shaped raisin cake. Yogurt with strawberry jam. A bowl (yes, bowl) of earl grey tea. Orange juice that my new host, Agnes, had squeezed this same morning. Homemade bread was also available.

Butter cookies and an apple from the market. Some nutella.

A homemade tart of egg, gruyere, swiss chard, and carrot. A glass of wine. Fennel with lemon juice and olive oil that Agnes' friend had produced. A piece of the homemade bread. Salade that had been cut within the past two days, with walnuts that Agnes had just cracked. A piece of a raspberry tart that Guillomette's grandmother had sent.

Did I mention that everything Agnes cooks or buys is organic?

Wohoo, des Annonces

J'ai des annonces:

The adventures of yesterday occurred in Nimes and at the Pont du Gard. I shall blog about it more later.

Il y a des nouvelles photos a Facebook. There are about 230 spread out over the latest two albums, and they're already rotated! I have a couple more on my phone to upload later ('couple' in Steph's photo-dialect means around twenty).

I had my first extended conversation that was mostly in French on Friday evening. It was very rough and I had to look up almost as many words as when I do Greek homework, but this is exciting progress!

I move tomorrow! And I will be purchasing a bike. This new place is quite far away, but I believe it will be a significant improvement. Besides, a bike will be so useful for further exploration of la ville!
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On Friday night I went out with my friend Jackie. This was only the third time I've been to a French bar (or...any bar!), and only the second time during regular hours. We went first to the Wohoo, which is a bar that is near the Centre. It caters to foreign students. The Wohoo is where I went during the first week here for a free cheese and wine tasting. In the small underground part of the location, we each ordered a large, fruity cocktail. Jackie's had a sort of sour-apple taste (with strong alcohol flavoring). I had a 'Russian Institute': Champagne, peach-flavored whiskey, apple juice, Grenadine, and a few small ice cubes. They were served in tall, curvy glasses with two straws and two glow sticks each. I still haven't experienced even tipsiness, which is good - but I'd feel more comfortable if I had some idea of what 'my limit' is.

It turned out to be Karaoke night, so we watched as a very pretty French lady and her friend performed the first round. They were really quite awful, but it was fun. Later, a couple guys began singing Aqua's Barbie Girl. Jackie and I couldn't resist. We began singing along from our seats, to the point that the two men began holding the microphone to us for the "ah ah ahs." Then they gestured for us to get up, and we had a sort of shoulder-to-shoulder sing along. Turns out the guys were Swedish. It was pretty cool. After that, Jackie sang Blink182's All the Small Things. I helped with the chorus, but didn't know it well enough to do much more. Unfortunately, I couldn't convince her to sing Dragostea Din Tei (the original Romanian version of Numa Numa) with me. . . .

Apres, we headed to the Bar Sextius (Sextius was the Roman General who founded Aix). It was techno night, and most people were "gothed-out" in their garb and makeup. There were top hats, corsets, and masks. Jackie, in her usual black clothing and heavy black eye-makeup, was thrilled. Don't ask me what techno music has to do with these costumes. In any case, it was fun. I got home safely by about midnight.

Quick Nimes

Today I sat in a Roman temple (and walked in another), perched on the windy top ledge of an ancient arena, climbed the outside of an old tower fortress,and sprinted by the Pont du Gard.

Nourriture Indienne en France

I called Madame a "butterhead" last night.

Steph unlocks and opens the main door, starts to head out - "Au revoir, Madame, you're a butterhead." "Bonsoir."

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I went out to dinner last night for an early birthday celebration with my friends Heather, Nadia, and Jackie. We went to a cheap, authentic Indian restaurant. Note that there is a significant difference between a cheap restaurant at home and a cheap restaurant in Aix, where even a 'fast' food meal for a single person can cost 10€. The French don't do bad food in restaurants. It would be sacrilege.

My entire meal cost less than 16€, which is almost outrageously cheap here. Nevertheless, it was one of the best meals I've had since arriving in France. The atmosphere of the restaurant was gorgeous. The gentle and unoppressive but warm, hot colors and lighting; the rich decorative details; and the delicious, savory-sweet, and comfortingly ubiquitous smell of Indian cuisine were everywhere.... We sat in a corner of the restaurant, right next to the large picture window that looked out on the cold, rain-drenched street. Even with this bleak contrast, I was warm and happy in my wet clothing and hair. The wall behind us had a pattern of raised, carved flowers. The servers were polite and helpful, though we had no reservation. The table was set with stemmed wine and water glasses. There were golden elephants by the door.

I had a vegetable samosa as an entrée, with sauce. From the fresh-boiled taste of the potato contents, it was obvious that this samosa has not been a cheap, frozen blasphemy of a samosa. You could see hints of the cubes that the potatoes had been cut into for cooking and mashing. There were many fresh peas inside. The envelope was crispy, but not too greasy. Knowledge and love went into both the creation and the destruction of this lovely samosa. What a perfect circle of samosa-life.

For an aperitif I had my first-ever experience with a lassi. It was wonderful in its large, conical glass, while its cool-yellow color and its cool, yogurty-mango taste and smooth texture contrasted and complimented perfectly with the atmosphere of the room. It was deceptively light-tasting. I drank it with a straw.

My main dish consisted of aromatic riz, garlic naan, and a lentil dal. The rice was flavoured with cardamum and another spice whose name I couldn't quite remember. I mentioned to my friends that my Indian mother always seasons her rice with cardamum, but that she also uses cloves and cinnamon. This was my first taste of naan, too. The garlic was fresh and sharp. The bread itself was dense and soft. The creamy, yellow-green dal was tinted orange by the light. It had an obvious layering of spices. I mixed in the deep red, sweet-spicy sauce that I had used on the samosa. I believe it may have been tamarind. My friends shared equally in the rice and naan. Nadia and Heather had chicken tikka masala, and Jackie had a lamb and spinach concoction. It was all so good. So familiar.

I've missed Indian food.

Dit Quoi?

Dear Mme B----------,

I apologize. I meant to get this e-mail to you yesterday, but since then its content has required several major edits. I know you read my mother's last e-mail, which stated that after hearing of our meeting it would perhaps be best for me to stay with Madame G---- and to just work things out. Until yesterday, I was of that same opinion (I did not have the opportunity to say this during our meeting). As my mother said, I really do enjoy my roommate and appreciate eating vegetarian meals. I developed a list of problems and things that I believed needed to be improved.

Unfortunately, I no longer believe that these are issues that can be fixed. I have tried to explain, to understand, to compromise, and to adapt, but it has not helped. I would like to move forward with the process of changing hosts. Staying with Madame G---- has begun to deteriorate my physical and mental health, to the point that some of my
professors have noticed. I want to enjoy this time in France, so that in several decades I can look back on it fondly. I want to be able to speak well of France and the French after I return home. Let it be clear that I love my classes and the education I am receiving here; the teaching is just about tailor-made for my style of learning. I feel as if I have learned more here in half a semester than I have in two and a half years at my college in the States. Staying with Madame, though, is ruining my entire attitude to this experience. This is unacceptable, particularly as my parents are paying for me to live here. As Madame G---- has made it abundantly clear, her apartment is not my home. I am not a member of the 'family.' This leaves me in the position of 'tennant,' but Madame
does not treat me with the respect or privileges of someone who is paying to live here.

This is my greatest complaint against Madame G----. She consistently treats me with disrespect and a lack of common courtesy. Among other ways of showing this, she has made her disdain (or perhaps 'contempt' would be a better word) for the North American culture well known, and then continued on to tease me for being American. She has made noises of
disgust at me, and even rolled her eyes at me. It is not uncommon for her to scold me unkindly or for her to raise her voice at me. Sometimes she does this first thing in the morning. Again, I have tried to understand and to adapt, but it has not helped.

Madame G---- does not uphold her end of the contract (for even if it is not filed legally, Mme Boudellal, it is a document with certain agreements that she agreed to by signature). Our demi-pension plan states that we have paid for "continental breakfast every day," "Dinner six days per week," "One load of laundry per week (per student)," and "A complete room cleaning every week." Madame G---- has delayed our laundry being done
so many times that she owes me a total of two and a half extra loads at this moment. Laying aside the "complete" part of the room cleaning she is supposed to provide every week, she has gone multiple weeks without even vacuuming in our room. Madame refuses to provide us with continental breakfasts on the weekends if we wake up after nine o'clock, to the point that I once woke up eighteen minutes late and was not given breakfast. She
shows her displeasure if my roommate and I wake up to eat then go back to sleep. She has also just informed us that if we return to the apartment after 20:30 we forfeit our dinner, even if we have told her days in advance that we will be late. I could understand her not providing the dinner we have paid for if we returned at a truly late time of
evening, but 18:30 is not late. Many people eat dinner at that time. By saying we will be late, we are not asking her to to do any more work or to make any extra preparations. She could just leave food out for us and allow us eat it cold, but instead she has decided to
simply deny us.

Madame G---- has also complained that my roommate and I eat too much jelly for breakfasts. She said that she cannot buy one jar of jelly per week. I know from researching the products and brands she buys, however, that both my roommate and I save Madame money by being vegetarian and not eating meat. It is therefore absurd to complain that a single jar of jelly for a week of breakfasts is too much.

Madame G---- has made me late for classes twice, once by half an hour. She did this by breaking the normal pattern of the morning bathroom schedule without notice. I could not even brush my teeth. If she had forewarned me so that I could have woken up earlier it would have been different, but she did not. Again, I think this comes down to a basic lack of respect and courtesy.

Beside all of this there is the situation that occurred for winter break. She caused my family to spend 150 euros for my lodging and meals that she had already been paid to provide. She harrassed and guilted me into leaving by asking every single day if I knew what my plans were, even though I had already told her that I was waiting on an answer
from someone, and even after I had assured her that I would tell her as soon as I knew. She told us that she wanted to go see her family in Algeria, whom she had not visited for two years. After all this pressure my family and I finally capitulated, and said that I would leave. Unfortunately, the prices for travel skyrocketed the very next day, which
made if far too expensive for me to leave. When I told Madame G---- that I was staying in Aix, her eyes bugged out and she began exclaiming about how she was going to turn off the heat and electricity. She would not calm down until I said that I would rent an apartment from a friend for the week. I did not realize at that point that I was actually, by the paper agreement, allowed to stay in Madame's apartment even if she left.
Thinking about it later it made sense, though, because she had been paid for my meals and my lodging. In any case, she asked me to leave her apartment by 14:30 on the Saturday before break, and to not come back. I freely admit that on Wednesday I did stop by to pick up something of mine, but I had not realized she meant "don't come back" until my roommate retold me after break had ended what Madame G---- had said. On Wednesday Madame was sitting on the couch as usual. She told us after the break that she had gone to Paris, returned for a day, then gone to Rome. I find it highly doubtful that she truly did turn off the electricity and water, considering she returned during the middle of the week and they were on. You told me, Mme B---------, that you too had seen her during the
week, and that she had told you she "was here" (to use your exact words) because of me. Unfortunately, Madame G---- never told me that she would be in town at all, never checked on me, and - again - asked me not to return to her apartment. Thus, her explanation for being in Aix during break does not ring true. My parents and grandparents are furious about this omission of truth or lie, whichever it may be. I, too, am angry. My parents and I view this entire situation as a theft of the 150euros I was forced to
spend for lodging, six dinners, and breakfasts. If I had known I was permitted to stay in the apartment, I would have stayed there.

Thank you for your assistance in this matter,

Sincerely,

Stephanie Maniaci.

OFII, Metro, et la Nutella

Yesterday many of us went to Marseille for the OFII medical exams. They say that they are making sure we are generally healthy and do not have tuberculosis. Really, though, it is just a way for the French governmment to squeeze 55€ out of each long-sojourn visitor. Oh well. At least we each came away with a really cool X-ray of our chests. Actually, I've two now - Sloan didn't want hers. I know they could have just pricked us to do the test, and that I've had a vaccine for TB anyway, but I'm pretty psyched about my new "wall art." I teasingly asked Mme (in French!) if I could hang mine on the fridge ^_^

It's tres cool. My spine is relatively thick, my ribs are really thin, my lungs are large (and placed quite high!), and my heart is truly about the size of my fist. I suppose it's better to have thin ribs than a thin spine :)

Also had my first ever experience on a subway yesterday! Fun, but I prefer busses and trains, I think. It was strange to be so far underground. Ma copine Jackie says that in Montreal, where she is from, the metro cars are blue and "rounder." I summarized this as "prettier," but really 'not ugly' would have been more appropriate. The subway cars in Marseille are boxy and an ugly orange color. Man-made orange does not belong underground.

Today I went to Monoprix for groceries. I found a 1kg glass jar of Nutella for 4€59! Yesss.
I also purchased a cheap memory card reader, and it seems the internet signal is strong enough here that it is actually possible to upload photos. So, go to my facebook page to see a few (hundred) new photos!

Thought I'd take this opportunity to not read for class

Monte Carlo ou Les Gorges du Verdun?

Hmm...Monaco and Monte Carlo or Les Gorges du Verdun?

Les Leçons

Blog time! :D I am currently sitting on my bed, propped against the wall with my two pillows. The sheets are nice and clean. I just changed them yesterday from the pink set (who said Mme doesn't have a sense of humor?)

Today I had a crepe avec fromage (emmental) et gelato (cioccolato and stracciatella). We had another potluck tonight, too, but I left early. J'ai mal a la tete. Mais, ca va.

Thought I'd post a few  lines from some of our class readings that we (or I) have found inspirational or instructional.

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"It is the placement of the shadows and their harmonious rapport upon which depends the luminous effect of the whole."

"One must leave the paper the power to act by itself in order to give birth to the light."

"'Line is the means by which a man accounts for the effect of light on objects, but in nature there are no lines --in nature everything is continuous and whole.'"

"While he was talking, the strange old man touched every part of the painting . . . always to such effect that it seemed a new picture, but a picture steeped in light."

"[The quality without a name] is a subtle kind of freedom from inner contradictions."

"It is so filled with the will of its maker that there is no room for its own nature."

"A good picture, which is a faithful equivalent of the dream which has begotten it, should be brought into being like a world. Just as the creation, as we see it, is the result of several creations in which the preceding ones are always completed by the following, so a harmoniously conducted picture consists of a series of pictures superimposed on one another, each new layer conferring greater reality upon the dream, and raising it by one degree towards perfection."

"The meaning of a story has to be embodied in it, has to be made concrete in it. A story is a way to say something that can't be said in any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is. You tell a story because a statement would be inadequate. When anybody asks what a story is about, the only proper thing is to tell him to read the story. The meaning of fiction is not abstract meaning but experienced meaning. . .".

"In fiction two and two is always more than four."

"You ought to be able to discover something from your stories. If you don't, probably nobody else will."

"The old man sniffed. 'Good? . . . Yes and no. Your lady is assembled nicely enough, but she's not alive. You people think you've done it all once you've drawn a body correctly and put everything where it belongs, according to the laws of anatomy! You fill in your outline with flesh tones mixed in advance on your palette, carefully keeping one side darker than the other, and because you glance now and then at a naked woman standing on a table, you think you're copying nature--you call yourselves painters and suppose you've stolen God's secrets! . . . Brr! A man's not a great poet just because he knows a little grammar and doesn't violate usage!'"

"'It's not the mission of art to copy nature, but to express it! Remember, artists aren't just imitators, they're poets!'"

"'It's our task to seize the physiognomy, the spirit, the soul of our models, whether objects or living beings!'"

"'In Raphael's figures, Form is what it is in all of us: an intermediary for the communication of ideas and sensations, a vast poetry! Each figure is a world, a portrait whose model has appeared in a sublime vision. . .".

"The fact is that the difference between a good building and a bad building, between a good town and a bad town, is an objective matter. It is the difference betwen health and sickness, wholeness and dividedness, self-maintenance and self-destruction."

 "'The right art,' cried the Master, 'is purposeless, aimless! The more obstinantly you try to learn how to shoot the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you will succeed. . .. What stands in your way is a much too wilful will. You think what you do not do yourself does not happen.'"

"By letting go of yourself . . . that nothing more is left of you but a purposeless tension."

"The first law of art is sacrifice."

"'You know already that you should not grieve over bad shots; learn now not to rejoice over the good ones.'"

Some sketches

Va!

Functioning computer = go!

Initiation of process to switch hosts = go!

Des Observations

A few general observations about the French here in Aix-en-Provence, to help you fill in the backgrounds of your mental paintings.


They love exact change (or as close to it as possible), but hate small change even more than we do in the U.S. I've actually had vendors give me a cheaper price just to avoid small change, even if it was exact. The man from whom I generally buy les abricots secs and les épices has told me that le prix for my goods was €3.32, but when I handed him exact change he refused the two-cent coin.


They do not understand that hot food and plastic should not be mixed. At my favorite spot to get take-out café I have been handed a chocolat chaud (liquid this time) that was served in a plastic cup with a straw. Cheap expresso is regularly served in small plastic cups. Fortunately, the hot drinks here do not seem to be QUITE as hot as back home. Still hot enough to burn those sensitives like myself, but they are generally consumable within about five minutes. Quite a happy change.


Hand sanitation also seems to be an unknown concept. Vendors regularly touch money then the food they're preparing, then serve the food. All of this is generally done without gloves, too. I once had a vendor scratch her face then continue preparing my crêpe. Fortunately, she was using a spatula and not actually touching the food.


The men here are mostly quite ugly and primarily quite arrogant. They don't live up to the women here, who all present themselves so well that one has to wonder why they haven't abandoned French men as a whole. I've also met more personable women than men.


The toddlers are frequently quite wild and energetic. There is much fun to be had in watching them terrorize pigeons in the plazas and run around with branches in the parks, all while yelling. Though, they can be well behaved; even these wildlings understand when they ought to say 'thank you.' Perhaps this is a lesson some U.S. children could learn? ;) The parents also seem far less concerned that their children will be harmed than parents in the U.S. are. Young children frequently trail dozens of yards behind or in front of their guardians on the main streets, or run almost free in the plazas while their parents huddle and chat.


Salut!


I should have a usable computer and internet soon, so blog updates will be more frequent!


News from the regular academic world: My paper application has garnered me a video interview for the August Orientation staff at Denison. Not the June O, but really that's even better - leaves time for having a regular job or internship. Aug O would pay approximately $500, I believe, plus room and board. I would only have to leave for school about a week early. Of course, all of this means I still have to search for another job or internship!

Figs, Chocolat Chaud, et "Tart"

asked if I wanted a kilo, and I - thinking that because the vendor had suggested it in the way he had, it must be the normal amount - said yes. It turns out that a kilo of dates is...a gargantuan amount. I shared with all the Marchutz people, Mme, and Suzannne.

It was cold and raining earlier this week, and I had been out for a while. I decided to get a hot drink for the 1.5-ish mile walk back to the appartment. Chocolat chaud translates literally to 'hot chocolate,' but it turns out it's actually a hot pudding. Not what I expected, but it was delicious anyway. Chocolat with a coffee flavoring ^_^.

I've taken to having my dictionary with me at dinner times, because both Suzanne and I use it. One of the first nights I did this we tried to compliment Mme on the dessert by saying that it was the perfect mix of sweet and tart. She didn't understand "tart," so we wound up showing her the dictionary entry. From the entry she slowly sounded out: "PROH-STEE-TOOT." It turns out "tart" is a British slang word.



Au revoir!

Pas Skype

I forgot to state that until my laptop is again in functioning condition, I cannot use Skype.

Les Macarons

Have you ever heard of a macaron?

It is the most amazing type of little cookie. It is a round, brightly colored, small sandwich type of sweet that comes in a great variety of delicious flavors. Let's begin by describing the outside layers, for they are too good to be passed over in a single short sentence. 

The outside layer of a macaron has a sort of crust all around it. It is slightly crunchy and slightly crispy, but oh-so-delicate and light at the same time. Inside this astounding crust is a "foamy" (to quote Nadia. We were just raving about them to each other while sitting at the school computers), chewy, center - but it isn't sticky like you would expect. 

In between the outside layers is a filling of whatever flavor you have chosen. The flavor of the inside matches the color of the macaron you've chosen. Beige for café, pink for fraise, etc. 

I have now tried chocolat, café, and pistache.  

I tried the coffee flavored one first. It was good. The texture amazed me. Then I tried the pistachio, and thought that it was going to be my favorite. The chocolate, though, had a unique, fudge-like center. Tres bon.

Coucou, pas Beaucoup

Coucou,


Well, most of you already know that my computer is broken. There shall be fewer posts until this is taken care of.


I took a French bus for the first time last week. It gave me a new insight into the Knight's Bus in Harry Potter.


I am making a list of simple recipes to take home with me, and am determined to get a cookbook or two before leaving.We're not supposed to use Madame's kitchen, though, which is kind of annoying.


The café in France doesn't seem to be as caffeinated. Bummer. ::begins reminiscing about the good, rich, caffeine-saturated coffee of Guatemala that she would drink at least twice a day::


Trying to work out what's happening for winter break, which is later this month. My host wants to go on vacation, which she can't do if I stay at her appartment. Don't worry, Mom, I've given up on Morocco :p Thank goodness travel is so cheap in Europe!


FOUND BOOTS! Great quality, kid leather, black, like nothing I've seen in the U.S. Got them for about  €108 less than they should have been.

Crêpe

The Cézanne and Van Gogh class just ended, so I am now free until my two thirty (14:30 - gotta practice!) art session.


I'll be leaving in a few minutes to go to the daily Marché, to get some espresso, and to look for a dictionary, but now seemed a good time to make good on that promise about describing my crêpe experience.


It was zen-like, the way the vendor pushed the batter around the skillet. He used a thin wooden instrument that looked like a mix between a rake and a mallet. It seemed as if it were his own rock and sand garden, except that the product is physical and is sold.


I decided to try Nutella on mine, even though I've never liked it. This risk paid off - it was parfait. The heat made it into an extraordinary synthesis of creamy chocolate and hazelnut. Put this over an eggy, thin pancake, then fold it in half, in half, and in half again until you're left with a form that's between that of a burrito and a piece of pie. It was filling, messy, aromatic, and delicious. Definitely going to try it again another time.


Well, off to market! Yesterday I bought L'huile d'Olive, la miel, et les Herbes de Provence. Of course, I intend to share when I get home. 


I have a funny story about dates (the fruit) to tell you all  later. Tchao!


Last note: still no boots. I walked somewhere between eight and ten miles yesterday. This is getting painful.

1/2 Day of "Culture Shock"

Apparently this is my half day of "culture shock." I'm quite grumpy. I will put this to not sleeping well last night. So, no concerns, family, I'll be better tomorrow. I'll write about my amazing first-ever experience with crepe next internet session.

I am sick of:

NOT HAVING INTERNET

NOT BEING ABLE TO FIND BOOTS, WHILE MY SHOES DISINTEGRATE MORE EACH DAY

NOT BEING ALLOWED TO HAVE A DECENT SHOWER

THE LACK OF A BLOODY SHOWER CURTAIN

NOT BEING ALLOWED TO FLUSH THE TOILET OR USE THE SINK AT NIGHT

LOOKING LIKE A BUM (it's not really as bad as that..)

Bonnuit.

Notre Fête

Okay, so this will be a quick post. We're currently finishing off a Marchutz "potluck." It was awesome, so informal, even though our art professors and their wives were here. Many candles, I brought hazelnut chocolate, many people brought wine, we had brilliant cheese ($7 in the US, but it's "cheap" cheese here -hah!), an absolutely amazing French pastry/cake, and fruit salad that I could actually eat. More details on this adventure tomorrow probably. We accidentally started two fires, and I put the first one out. My friend Nadia is currently juggling clementines. Going in search of boots tomorrow. A demain!

Slower

Life is slower here. I half wish I could just move my entire family to Aix.

Deuxième

Okay, now I'm in the Centre's library. This is the first time I've been into the uptsairs portion. It's an open floor, basically an upstairs indoor porch or balcony without windows. you get up to it by a very narrow, incredibly steep spiral staircase. Not that I was measuring, but it felt like a single stair came up to about my knee. I'm currently trying to master a french keyboard. Can you believe it? The Q is where the A belongs, and vice versa. Outrageous. (BULLcrud, Kevin!)There are a ton of other improperly placed letters, too.

Really, though, I just switched it to English. Hah. Take that, French Keyboard. Now I only have to remember to doubly extend my left pinky when pressing the shift key.

I've finished my classes for the day, but should be doing homework. Especially considering part of it requires the library, which closes in the early evening. Caffeine will have to come first, though. It's astounding; despite sleeping between seven and eight hours every night, I'm still exhausted. I think I may have to try my first ever cappucino today. Apparently they're different here, but good. And they involve espresso. Loootttsss of espressssooo.

Madame replaced the jelly, so we had more for our 'continental breakfast' this morning! Raspberry. Even better than the fraise from before. Lunch was a portion of fromage pizza - thin crust, Italian style. We are near the border, after all. It was cheap, relatively tasty, and sufficiently filling. This may be on the menu more often.

We had pasta for dinner last night! I hadn't realized how much I had missed it. This pasta had REAL Roquefort in it, and we added Camembert. Real Roquefort is only made in a specific region of France, with milk from specific sheep that graze in certain pastures. The cheese can only be aged in certain caves because it requires a specific bacteria. Dinner tonight will be the leftovers cooked with some sort of vegetable. Madame has switched to an appetizer of pea soup ):P   I am missing the celery soup.

Classes this morning were French and more figure drawing with Melanie (in reverse order). Apparently this is Melanie's first modeling job. She's amazing, much better than any of the models we've had at school. She also looks exactly as one would picture a Frenchwoman, except she has pleasant facial expressions.

What a strange post, with random paragraphs about food.

A bientot!

D'Abord

I am currently sitting alone in the darkened Marchutz studio, with music from what I would guess to be the '20s or '30s playing. It is John's (one of our professor's) music. I can see fog gathering a ways away.

The studio sits on hill about a seven minute walk from Madame's apartment. This means we are approximately a forty-two minute walk from the Aix Centre, and very far outside the Ring Road. The Ring Road is the old border of the city. I believe it was knocked down in the 19th century. As is, the studio and our apartment are still beyond civilization. Okay, not quite. We are, however, far enough out to not be on the general map of the city, 

I finally walked to the Aix Center completely on my own today, and I did not have to use a map. Actually, I've never been Mapkeeper while here, so the fact that I got to the Centre on time, without getting lost, and without a map is actually quite a feat. The city lay layout fits expectations of Europe - it's got tons of tiny roads that look like alleys, and you can tell by the street order that it was not all built at once.

After my first class (Art history, Cezanne and Van Gogh), I went to the art store where an account had been set up for me. I picked up a large sketchbook for class, a red hard-bound Moleskine (!!) for outside of class sketching, two pencils (2b and 5b), and a pen. Met a fellow Marchutzian, who had been waiting for someone else. The someone else never turned up, so Nadia and I got lunch around the corner. Mine was absolutely delicious. How could it not be? Mozzarella, goat cheese, some other thing with a French name I didn't recognize, creamy gouda, and tomato on fresh French bread. Mm. Good thing I'm walking at least five miles a day!

We found another Marchutz classmate after that, and walked around the daily market while waiting for another person. Nadia bought lychees, and gave one to both Kyra and me to try. Interesting. Sticky juice, white-translucent flesh, smooth pit, paper-thin prickly skin, with a taste similar to watered white grape juice. We found a "Honey Man," who had each of us sample his product. So good that I actually bought some. My first unnecessary or not-food-to-be-eaten-immediately purchase. Walked around some more, found Sloan, had coffee/hot chocolate. I have pictures from the market that shall be posted on Facebook later. Went back to the art store, got a pencil sharpener, found the original person we had been waiting for and another person, started walking toward the studio. 

Worked from a FEMALE model! What a treat. At Denison they hired old males almost every time.

Well, time to head back to the apartment. Madame will be serving dinner at 7:30, as usual! :)