Sunday, January 27, 2013
Roger´s Log: Dump the First
Day 0
So Emily´s friend Jon loaned us an AlphaSmart Neo, which works like a keyboard with that happens to sport a tiny 5-line screen and a very, very robust buffer. You plug a USB cord in to any computer and it reads as a keyboard, which then literally types out everything you´ve typed. Like a stenographer for your fingers that you don´t have to pay.
... It´s probably more interesting to use then it is to read about, but it´s the guy making it all happen.
Day 1
So! If you arrive in Iceland at 6am (local. It´s on GMT -1) the tour bus company does not launch a special bus for you, you wait until 9am. So we´re having a nice long breakfast at the airport coffee shop. The bill was over a thousand ISK, which is not much, apparently. Everything so far has been extremely pleasant to us.
Emily has calculated our budget exactly, at least for Iceland. We don´t have a lot of spending money, but that´s because we´re going on all sorts of sweet tours.
---
Sweet tour number one: we went to Blue Lagoon, which is between the airport and the capitol proper. By all accounts, it´s one of the least nice natural mineral spa-spring-bath things that dot Iceland, but it was nonetheless a really nice way to get from the airport. We killed time in geothermal spring water that was first cooled in a geothermal power plant (read: making power). Best runoff ever.
We checked into our budget-but-clean hotel (Central Hotel) and napped - though only a little, starting the jetlag fight - then had an amazing grilled seafood dinner at The Seafood Grill (sjavargrillid.is).
Side note: The hotel offers a northern lights wake up call. You can set times you don´t want to be woken up, but forget that, it´s the majesty of nature.
Day 2
Today was a day to wander Reykjavik. We saw the Volcano Museum (more of a room, too expensive) and lots of shops. Lunch was food from ´Bonus´a dollar store here with a sort of derpy pig logo. I´ve decided to start eating anything labeled as Ámerican´when offered the choice. Our aurora borealis tour was canceled due to cloud cover. Tomorrow, then, is a full day of hiking, THEN a night excursion to see northern lights. Dinner was a sampler plate of traditional Icelandic fareÑ fish stew, brown bread, minke whale, lobster salad, and haggis.
American food: American pizza ' gummy candy ' I don´t know what about it is American, but it´s pizza shaped gummy stuff. Gross. I skipped the ´Cool American´Doritos... they´re just cool ranch.
Day 3
The Golden Circle! Stops included:
A Working Greenhouse - They grew tomatoes pollinated by bees. Amazing tomato soup.
Gullfoss - Falls that rival (maybe beat) Niagara.
Strokkur - A geyser on an 8 minute cycle
Fontana - A spa that was more public pool then hot spring, but they had bread they´d cooked in hot volcaninc spring water. It was like canned brown bread without the taste of can.
Thingvellir - One of the world´s oldest parliaments. A natural amphitheater where Christianity was officially adopted by the Icelandic chieftains.
The pictures are going to explain this day more clearly. Northern Lights trip is ON tonight, fingers crossed.
Day 4
So, no on the northern lights. We basically paid to stay up in the cold. Oh well, maybe we´ll come back next time the sunspot cycle is high. We got back to the hotel at about 1 in the morning, and the entire tourist area (maybe 8 square blocks) turns out to be the place to go to drink. A nice frat party outside our windows. The desk offered complimentary ear plugs so that was nice. We had a nice dinner that was way outside the budget, but it was delicious. Puffin appetizer, Emily had lamb, and I had a horse steak. I´m sure Emily will mention it, but one of our golden circle tour guides pointed out that the Icelandic horses that don´t make the breeding cut are the ones who are eaten. My dinner, therefore, was probably mean or ugly.
Day 5
To Paris, and then the beaches of Normandy. This will be mostly a travel day, as bus to airport->plane to Paris->train to the coast of France will be almost 14 hours.
Day 6
It was 16 hours. Snow in Paris, a rare thing, crammed our train full of at least two train´s worth of passengers. So the last leg was somewhat unpleasant, but entirely survivable. Our guesthouse is a very old converted house, and our host, Wil, speaks very good English. We spent the day today on a walking tour of Bayeaux. The town was mostly untouched by WWII, so there is much architecture stretching back to Norman times. We saw a memorial to foreign soldiers, the Bayeau Cathedral and a gallery that´s preserving the art of making lace. Awesome dinner followed. Local Bayeux (rich, french) cooking.
Day 7
We went to Paris to meet my friend Geraldine. Most of the day was travel and a bit of Parisian wandering. Geraldine took us to Tarroir Paris, a new restaurant opened by a three star chef to make his cooking more available to the non'three star set. Michelin stars are as big a deal as the movies make them out to be. We had mussels, pig´s feet, fois gras, and veal pate as appetizers, and black pudding, calf´s head, scallops, and skate for the main course (fun fact: entree means áppetizer´in french. A weird thing to get backwards). Amazing, amazing food.
Day 8
The palace at Versailles and more french cooking. The palace is so opulent it made me want to launch a revolution a little bit. As it is now, it´s a beautifully laid out museum of french history. Even the pictures will not do it justice. There are single paintings with more square footage then most condos. Then back to the east of Paris for another fantastic french meal with Gerri.
Day 9
Today was a (free!) walk in and around Notre Dame, and then a night train to Madrid.
At Notre Dame, we were approached four times with the same pickpocketing scam; someone would bend down, pretend to pick up a gold ring and ask you if it´s yours. I don´t have ubiquitous Internet to look up how this plays out, but it´s probably just a way to get into bumping range. It got both Emily and I pretty steamed... Emily even went to far as to try and warn off a couple mid'scam. No one there spoke English, though the partner of the con tried to block her way a little. Not fun, but certainly interesting. Really brought our guard back up.
Our night train had very expensive beds, so we went with reclining chairs. My first time on a non'bed night train seat. They recline pretty far, and I´m tired from all the stumping around, so we´ll see.
We´ve made a rule to shop in local groceries or stands for our lunch, which has thus far proven interesting, healthy, and cheap. Tonight we bought lunch and shopped for dinner since we´re on the night train, so dinner is baguette with cheese and tomato, some carrots and apple-rhubarb puree snack packs. Nom.
Day 10
Toledo. Kinda sick. Spain is nice, and much cheaper then other places we´ve been thus far.
Day 11
Yesterday´s most'of'a'day off cured our ills. We spent the day in Toledo, mostly in the Alazar Fortress and military museum. Emily and I tend to 100% museums, so it went slow. Excellent museum though. Lots of neat stuff. We then got a ´train´(a tram shaped like a train) tour of the major views of the city. Then some shopping and a tapas dinner.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Night train, sick day, Toledo
Night train: fifteen hours in reclining chairs. All in all not too bad save for the lady behind us who texted with the key tones on, had someone who called her every few hours, and elbowed Roger in the head on her way to the bathroom.
1/25
Beautiful sunrise with Spanish hills coming into view.
We arrived in Madrid at 9:30 and bought tickets for the next train to Toledo. The last day or so I'd been getting a bit stuffy in the nose and throat. That morning, definitely a cold. Out of the beautiful train station that was built in the 1920s and into the first hotel, Princess Galiana, we saw across the street. And, besides a vague smell of cigarettes from wet towels post shower, it's lovely and inexpensive.
Out for a quick breakfast where I had tea with honey from Granada that was the cat's meow, (Note: speaking Spanish <branching out from math Spanish!> with people is awesome. Sometimes, though, other people speak very very quickly) and then back for a siesta. Roger also feeling like he had a bit of a cold so we decided to stay in, sleep, and eat peanuts for dinner. Spanish TV.
1/26
Up at 10:00 the next day (today) feeling much better! We go to the train station to purchase tomorrow's night train to Lisbon (Lisboa) and then we hiked across a bridge and up a hill into Toledo. What a beautiful city on a hill - river running by it. Breakfast/lunch at a tapas bar - highlight some sort of red pepper salsa with cumin and chili.
Then to the Alcazar for some serious museuming.
Just two years ago they completed an addition in order to house an exposed archaeological site with layers from Roman, Moorish, and Christian eras. So. Cool. Photos to come (promise).
Overall, the Alcazar is an army museum. The additional cost for the audio tour is not worth it if you're down with reading signs. If you'd rather not read, then maybe it's for you. (Versailles' audio is worth it.) Personal highlights from the museum: a doo-hicky that tripled as a hammer, screwdriver, and ear pick; Napoleon's death mask; a page from a gunner's manual with algebraic equations; a pirate flag; giant cannons; a ram's head horse's armour; and, of course, the dig site.
In the street we saw a tiny cat hidey hole with a cat in it. Wanted to pet it. Didn't. Think it was a good decision.
Tiny train/ car tour inside and outside the city and then tapas and €0.70 beers. A bit of marzipan and then back for the night. Bed soon! Madrid tomorrow! (Looking forward to notes from the spreadsheet.)
Love to all. Buenas noches.
1/25
Beautiful sunrise with Spanish hills coming into view.
We arrived in Madrid at 9:30 and bought tickets for the next train to Toledo. The last day or so I'd been getting a bit stuffy in the nose and throat. That morning, definitely a cold. Out of the beautiful train station that was built in the 1920s and into the first hotel, Princess Galiana, we saw across the street. And, besides a vague smell of cigarettes from wet towels post shower, it's lovely and inexpensive.
Out for a quick breakfast where I had tea with honey from Granada that was the cat's meow, (Note: speaking Spanish <branching out from math Spanish!> with people is awesome. Sometimes, though, other people speak very very quickly) and then back for a siesta. Roger also feeling like he had a bit of a cold so we decided to stay in, sleep, and eat peanuts for dinner. Spanish TV.
1/26
Up at 10:00 the next day (today) feeling much better! We go to the train station to purchase tomorrow's night train to Lisbon (Lisboa) and then we hiked across a bridge and up a hill into Toledo. What a beautiful city on a hill - river running by it. Breakfast/lunch at a tapas bar - highlight some sort of red pepper salsa with cumin and chili.
Then to the Alcazar for some serious museuming.
Just two years ago they completed an addition in order to house an exposed archaeological site with layers from Roman, Moorish, and Christian eras. So. Cool. Photos to come (promise).
Overall, the Alcazar is an army museum. The additional cost for the audio tour is not worth it if you're down with reading signs. If you'd rather not read, then maybe it's for you. (Versailles' audio is worth it.) Personal highlights from the museum: a doo-hicky that tripled as a hammer, screwdriver, and ear pick; Napoleon's death mask; a page from a gunner's manual with algebraic equations; a pirate flag; giant cannons; a ram's head horse's armour; and, of course, the dig site.
In the street we saw a tiny cat hidey hole with a cat in it. Wanted to pet it. Didn't. Think it was a good decision.
Tiny train/ car tour inside and outside the city and then tapas and €0.70 beers. A bit of marzipan and then back for the night. Bed soon! Madrid tomorrow! (Looking forward to notes from the spreadsheet.)
Love to all. Buenas noches.
Paris, 1/24, and The Grift.
Another morning, more conversation and pastries. Commuted with Gerry and left our bags at her tea office. A walk down the Champs Elysées towards the Louvre and Notre Dame.
On our way to Notre Dame we saw two things of note 1) a man jumping off of a bridge. 2) a man with a grift. They were not one and the same man.
The first walked across the bridge in a red and chartreuse wetsuit. He swung a leg over the railing and walked along the outside of the rail until he judged himself to be about midpoint of the river. Then in he went.
Seconds later a police boat with similarly dressed men came careening down the Seine, pulling a sharp turn as another red and green man jumped in to 'save' the first. This scene was all made awesomer by the Mission Impossible music playing in my head and the police captain shouting at the men in the water.
Number 2. A few minutes later, as we strolled down the sidewalk, there was the sound of metal hitting sidewalk just behind us. We turned around and there was a man bending down, picking up a gold ring between thumb and forefinger. With a look of concern and questioning he said, "Excuse me, I believe you dropped this." Seeing the gold color I knew it wasn't ours - titanium rings unite!- and shook my head, but I thanked him all the same thinking how kind it was for him to say something. A few minutes later we saw the same man speaking with and standing quite close to a girl on a different bridge. So many people losing jewelry that day.
A visit to Notre Dame. There was a service going on during our visit. The sounds, smells and stained glass in churches always give me a sense of peace.
Walking back along the opposite bank a girl of about twenty stooped down as she approached us and offered a gold ring for us to look at. "It's yours?" Same open-faced inquiring expression, same offering gesture. Mental dawning of comprehension. We both said no with a much smaller degree of gratitude.
We crossed the street to take a sweet photo of Roger and a rhino sculpture in front of the Musee D'Orsay. Looking back across the street we watched the girl and another man pull the Same Grift on two different people. Crossing back in order to reach a bridge, we were approached by another grifter- same con. One would think you'd diversify or spread out. Roger and I were now both firmly saying "No." as he straightened up and began to extend a hand. A few minutes later an older, more preppily dressed man (the other folk were dressed as typical tourists in their 20s) half-heartedly attempted the same trick as we crossed a bridge and we blew on by.
We spent the next half an hour discussing what sort of vigilante justice or conning of the cons we would execute in another world on another day, if serious hurt were not an actual possibility.
Boo to them.
We wandered some side streets window shopping and picking up groceries for lunch and the night train.
Note to self: remember the shop with the black wire, paper and moving parts flying machines and colored eyeglass globes.
A goodbye and some tea and then training to a train to take us overnight, Paris to Madrid.
Au revoir, France. We will miss your bread and cheese and the friends who live there.
On our way to Notre Dame we saw two things of note 1) a man jumping off of a bridge. 2) a man with a grift. They were not one and the same man.
The first walked across the bridge in a red and chartreuse wetsuit. He swung a leg over the railing and walked along the outside of the rail until he judged himself to be about midpoint of the river. Then in he went.
Seconds later a police boat with similarly dressed men came careening down the Seine, pulling a sharp turn as another red and green man jumped in to 'save' the first. This scene was all made awesomer by the Mission Impossible music playing in my head and the police captain shouting at the men in the water.
Number 2. A few minutes later, as we strolled down the sidewalk, there was the sound of metal hitting sidewalk just behind us. We turned around and there was a man bending down, picking up a gold ring between thumb and forefinger. With a look of concern and questioning he said, "Excuse me, I believe you dropped this." Seeing the gold color I knew it wasn't ours - titanium rings unite!- and shook my head, but I thanked him all the same thinking how kind it was for him to say something. A few minutes later we saw the same man speaking with and standing quite close to a girl on a different bridge. So many people losing jewelry that day.
A visit to Notre Dame. There was a service going on during our visit. The sounds, smells and stained glass in churches always give me a sense of peace.
Walking back along the opposite bank a girl of about twenty stooped down as she approached us and offered a gold ring for us to look at. "It's yours?" Same open-faced inquiring expression, same offering gesture. Mental dawning of comprehension. We both said no with a much smaller degree of gratitude.
We crossed the street to take a sweet photo of Roger and a rhino sculpture in front of the Musee D'Orsay. Looking back across the street we watched the girl and another man pull the Same Grift on two different people. Crossing back in order to reach a bridge, we were approached by another grifter- same con. One would think you'd diversify or spread out. Roger and I were now both firmly saying "No." as he straightened up and began to extend a hand. A few minutes later an older, more preppily dressed man (the other folk were dressed as typical tourists in their 20s) half-heartedly attempted the same trick as we crossed a bridge and we blew on by.
We spent the next half an hour discussing what sort of vigilante justice or conning of the cons we would execute in another world on another day, if serious hurt were not an actual possibility.
Boo to them.
We wandered some side streets window shopping and picking up groceries for lunch and the night train.
Note to self: remember the shop with the black wire, paper and moving parts flying machines and colored eyeglass globes.
A goodbye and some tea and then training to a train to take us overnight, Paris to Madrid.
Au revoir, France. We will miss your bread and cheese and the friends who live there.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Paris! Days 1 and 2
1/22 We arrived in Paris mid-afternoon on another late train, this time by about an hour, BUT since we had seats I hardly noticed. (Start those expectations low and it's all icing on the way up.) We found our way to the Champs-Elysees where Roger's friend, Gerry, works. A bit of a walking tour with our bags and we were ready to go back to her stylish and comfortable apartment for a shower before dinner. Gerry is delightful. Several evenings and commutes of conversation left me knowing more about Franc,e Gerry, and her and Roger's school time in Germany yet, sadly, still unable to correctly pronounce 'Bayeux'.
Dinner. My God. I now have a personal understanding of what all the fuss is about regarding French food. We went to a restaurant called Terroir Parisien. It is apparently a side project for a three-star Michelin chef. Most, if not all, of the food is locally sourced.
*Vegetarian/ vegan/ duck rights public service announcement: You may not enjoy the following as much as your meat or duck liver-eating fellow citizens. Perhaps move on more quickly to Paris, the grift.
For the rest of you, get ready.
We met Gerry's friend, Ariane, at the restaurant. She is a co-chef and owner of another restaurant in Paris. (Alas, we didn't have an opportunity to try her fare while we were there: it is a lunch and Thursday evening place. Aimee and Mom: remind me and we'll make a reservation for when we're in Paris.)
The company of new friends and the conversation were both lively and the evening left me extremely satisfied and glowing in the soul - and stomach.
We began with a wine cocktail much like the St. Germaine cocktails from NYE. The table quickly decided that we would order four entrées, (appetizers - America, what the heck? Why change the meaning to main dish?) four main dishes, a bottle of red and a number of desserts all to share.
Entrées:
1) a shallow, wide bowl of clams and mussels in a cream sauce with a split bone displaying browned marrow. That sauce. Not heavy, not watery deserving of being soaked up with bread and finished, which we did.
2) pâté in a perimeter of fat and displayed like a goodly slice of bread the size of your palm. This was good, though too... something... For my taste (too compactly organ-y?), though it was still tasty on French baguette.
3) pig trotters. These did not look as I anticipated. Rather, it looked and felt on the tongue, like a sort of finely sliced and chopped ham with a bit of egg white mixed in - a bit jellied in texture. Also good on bread.
4) foie gras. This was served in a flaky, thin pie crust type shell smaller than said palm. It was tender, savory and wonderful. I own that in the past I have felt consternation about some methods used for creating liver for foie gras. I still don't intend to eat it often, only when I go to Paris. And when I do eat it in the future I am resolved to enjoy it completely.
Le Plat Principal:
1) black pudding (or blood pudding) perched in a sea of creamy whipped potatoes. Satisfying, hearty, not too heavy.
2) calf's head with vegetables. Despite the name, an entire calf's noggin was not brought to the table. Ariane explained that the meat parts are often all taken and flattened and then rolled up into what I imagined to look like a jelly roll before being sliced into rounds. The dish, overall, (spoonful of broth, veg, and meat) tasted like wholesome homemade soup. The only thing that gave me pause was a small piece of meat I ate that was, I believe, the tongue. Consciously seeing and identifying the surface as having taste buds before putting it in my mouth changed my frame of mind a bit and somehow made it less desirable for chewing and swallowing. I am unlikely to order tongue as a dish in its own right probably ever. Though I'd still try it. And it still tasted good.
3) scallops with a celery risotto. Tender, tasty.
4) skate. A tasty fish dish.
Dessert:
1) some sort of mushroom nougat ice cream dish. It was a little bigger than a film canister. A strong flavor but dried earthy mushroom is not my preferred taste for dessert.
2) French French toast. (Note: that is how it was translated on the menu. The direct translation from French means 'lost bread'.)
This, ladies and gentlemen, is not your mother's French toast. It is light, thick, crispy on both sides, slightly sweet in the bread, possessing a hint of brulee flavor. It is transcendental. Made from a fresh brioche and eggs, milk, a bit of sugar and a pan (I believe).
After a few minutes, despite our full stomaches, Ariane and I agreed we needed to order another for just the two of us. Words fall short. (There was a bit of ice cream on the side of the plate which never had a chance to shine with such a companion.)
A bit more walking to settle our meal and then back to Gerry's and bed.
1/23
Breakfast at Gerry's! She ran out to get fresh pastries- small sucrettes (Dunkin' Donuts' donut hole's more sophisticated older cousin), croissants, pan au chocolat, some sort of almond concoction- conversation and coffee.
We spent the day at Versailles. Opulence, canopy beds and giant paintings of rulers and war.
For some reason I was visualizing stepping off of the train and walking the 15 minutes to Versailles down a road splitting the great expanse of the grounds. Versailles is, unsurprisingly- but in my heart a little disappointingly-, a living modern city. Ah fantasy.
Back in Paris we walked for several hours, at one point finding cubes of different flavors of marshmallow. (Not on the ground. In a pastry shop.)
Then, dinner.
The second night we went to a restaurant called Le Cotte Roti. Waiter with a kind face and large smile.
This night, beef ravioli, egg, and duck liver seared for entrée. The seared foie gras was so delicate. Browned on just two surfaces. The remainder almost melted in one's mouth. Tres tres bonne.
For the main, pork shoulder and lentils; tender, tender but crispy lamb and a mushroon lasagna made by layering flat, thin, homemade pasta with mushrooms (too small or reduced or chopped to see) in a brown slightly salty/ savory/ delicious brown sauce. Tied for my favorite with the foie gras. I took smaller and smaller bites to savor the flavor; fish and chips the French way: a light fish with a crispy breading that looking like the consistency of the spines on a horse chestnut served with a tomatoey salsa.
For dessert a light meringue (think cubed meringue from a lemon meringue pie rather than baked crispy meringue) in a milky custard sauce with fiber optic spun sugar perched on top like a fascinator. Also some sort of caramel dish that did not make as much of an impression.
Home and to sleep and launder and pack for the last day and next train.
Dinner. My God. I now have a personal understanding of what all the fuss is about regarding French food. We went to a restaurant called Terroir Parisien. It is apparently a side project for a three-star Michelin chef. Most, if not all, of the food is locally sourced.
*Vegetarian/ vegan/ duck rights public service announcement: You may not enjoy the following as much as your meat or duck liver-eating fellow citizens. Perhaps move on more quickly to Paris, the grift.
For the rest of you, get ready.
We met Gerry's friend, Ariane, at the restaurant. She is a co-chef and owner of another restaurant in Paris. (Alas, we didn't have an opportunity to try her fare while we were there: it is a lunch and Thursday evening place. Aimee and Mom: remind me and we'll make a reservation for when we're in Paris.)
The company of new friends and the conversation were both lively and the evening left me extremely satisfied and glowing in the soul - and stomach.
We began with a wine cocktail much like the St. Germaine cocktails from NYE. The table quickly decided that we would order four entrées, (appetizers - America, what the heck? Why change the meaning to main dish?) four main dishes, a bottle of red and a number of desserts all to share.
Entrées:
1) a shallow, wide bowl of clams and mussels in a cream sauce with a split bone displaying browned marrow. That sauce. Not heavy, not watery deserving of being soaked up with bread and finished, which we did.
2) pâté in a perimeter of fat and displayed like a goodly slice of bread the size of your palm. This was good, though too... something... For my taste (too compactly organ-y?), though it was still tasty on French baguette.
3) pig trotters. These did not look as I anticipated. Rather, it looked and felt on the tongue, like a sort of finely sliced and chopped ham with a bit of egg white mixed in - a bit jellied in texture. Also good on bread.
4) foie gras. This was served in a flaky, thin pie crust type shell smaller than said palm. It was tender, savory and wonderful. I own that in the past I have felt consternation about some methods used for creating liver for foie gras. I still don't intend to eat it often, only when I go to Paris. And when I do eat it in the future I am resolved to enjoy it completely.
Le Plat Principal:
1) black pudding (or blood pudding) perched in a sea of creamy whipped potatoes. Satisfying, hearty, not too heavy.
2) calf's head with vegetables. Despite the name, an entire calf's noggin was not brought to the table. Ariane explained that the meat parts are often all taken and flattened and then rolled up into what I imagined to look like a jelly roll before being sliced into rounds. The dish, overall, (spoonful of broth, veg, and meat) tasted like wholesome homemade soup. The only thing that gave me pause was a small piece of meat I ate that was, I believe, the tongue. Consciously seeing and identifying the surface as having taste buds before putting it in my mouth changed my frame of mind a bit and somehow made it less desirable for chewing and swallowing. I am unlikely to order tongue as a dish in its own right probably ever. Though I'd still try it. And it still tasted good.
3) scallops with a celery risotto. Tender, tasty.
4) skate. A tasty fish dish.
Dessert:
1) some sort of mushroom nougat ice cream dish. It was a little bigger than a film canister. A strong flavor but dried earthy mushroom is not my preferred taste for dessert.
2) French French toast. (Note: that is how it was translated on the menu. The direct translation from French means 'lost bread'.)
This, ladies and gentlemen, is not your mother's French toast. It is light, thick, crispy on both sides, slightly sweet in the bread, possessing a hint of brulee flavor. It is transcendental. Made from a fresh brioche and eggs, milk, a bit of sugar and a pan (I believe).
After a few minutes, despite our full stomaches, Ariane and I agreed we needed to order another for just the two of us. Words fall short. (There was a bit of ice cream on the side of the plate which never had a chance to shine with such a companion.)
A bit more walking to settle our meal and then back to Gerry's and bed.
1/23
Breakfast at Gerry's! She ran out to get fresh pastries- small sucrettes (Dunkin' Donuts' donut hole's more sophisticated older cousin), croissants, pan au chocolat, some sort of almond concoction- conversation and coffee.
We spent the day at Versailles. Opulence, canopy beds and giant paintings of rulers and war.
For some reason I was visualizing stepping off of the train and walking the 15 minutes to Versailles down a road splitting the great expanse of the grounds. Versailles is, unsurprisingly- but in my heart a little disappointingly-, a living modern city. Ah fantasy.
Back in Paris we walked for several hours, at one point finding cubes of different flavors of marshmallow. (Not on the ground. In a pastry shop.)
Then, dinner.
The second night we went to a restaurant called Le Cotte Roti. Waiter with a kind face and large smile.
This night, beef ravioli, egg, and duck liver seared for entrée. The seared foie gras was so delicate. Browned on just two surfaces. The remainder almost melted in one's mouth. Tres tres bonne.
For the main, pork shoulder and lentils; tender, tender but crispy lamb and a mushroon lasagna made by layering flat, thin, homemade pasta with mushrooms (too small or reduced or chopped to see) in a brown slightly salty/ savory/ delicious brown sauce. Tied for my favorite with the foie gras. I took smaller and smaller bites to savor the flavor; fish and chips the French way: a light fish with a crispy breading that looking like the consistency of the spines on a horse chestnut served with a tomatoey salsa.
For dessert a light meringue (think cubed meringue from a lemon meringue pie rather than baked crispy meringue) in a milky custard sauce with fiber optic spun sugar perched on top like a fascinator. Also some sort of caramel dish that did not make as much of an impression.
Home and to sleep and launder and pack for the last day and next train.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Bayeux: 1/21 and 1/22 morning
Breakfast and discussion with Wil. Oh, French croissants, oh.
Among other things we discussed PCA's mission. He thought it was a great idea. We also discussed bears. It was a well-rounded conversation.
We had originally thought we would go to the beaches of Normandy and pay tribute to and learn more about the battle. However, group tours were booked up or canceled (and a private tour would cost €350) so we decided to explore Bayeux instead.
FYI: many many things are closed in France on Mondays. Plan ahead for this if you are distressed by winging it.
As we weren't too fussed, we walked out the door only to be greeted with a flower delivery from our Aimee and Tian Yu!!! It was such a special thing to have happen.
We started in the cathedral in town. Beautiful, beautiful. Also, interesting, they had a timeline of events - sacred and secular- of Europe from, I believe 0 to present day. Popes, wars, composers, scientists, periods when different beliefs formed (including Atheism). Really fascinating compilation.
<I am pleasantly surprised with how much I can suss out of French writing using some Spanish and cognate skills.>
We walked to the British Normandy cemetery. 19 year olds dying by the hundreds. This is one of many cemeteries for one battle in one war. On one sign it was noted that many men who died, unidentifiable and unable to be returned to loved ones were buried in small village graveyards throughout the French countryside and the local people tend their graves in rememberance.
The art of lace-making is kept alive in Bayeux and does NOT close on Mondays (hurray!!!) so we had the opportunity to watch several ladies at their work. Intricate, intricate, intricate. Photo of the set up to come.
Back for relaxation and then a dinner recommendation at a restauant where we were the only customers (still Monday and Bayeux is a quiet town to begin with).
Salad, red wine, fish dishes with wonderful sauce, creme brulee.
The next morning breakfast and conversation with Wil once again and the, he drove us to the station for our train back to Paris.
What a lovely place.
Among other things we discussed PCA's mission. He thought it was a great idea. We also discussed bears. It was a well-rounded conversation.
We had originally thought we would go to the beaches of Normandy and pay tribute to and learn more about the battle. However, group tours were booked up or canceled (and a private tour would cost €350) so we decided to explore Bayeux instead.
FYI: many many things are closed in France on Mondays. Plan ahead for this if you are distressed by winging it.
As we weren't too fussed, we walked out the door only to be greeted with a flower delivery from our Aimee and Tian Yu!!! It was such a special thing to have happen.
We started in the cathedral in town. Beautiful, beautiful. Also, interesting, they had a timeline of events - sacred and secular- of Europe from, I believe 0 to present day. Popes, wars, composers, scientists, periods when different beliefs formed (including Atheism). Really fascinating compilation.
<I am pleasantly surprised with how much I can suss out of French writing using some Spanish and cognate skills.>
We walked to the British Normandy cemetery. 19 year olds dying by the hundreds. This is one of many cemeteries for one battle in one war. On one sign it was noted that many men who died, unidentifiable and unable to be returned to loved ones were buried in small village graveyards throughout the French countryside and the local people tend their graves in rememberance.
The art of lace-making is kept alive in Bayeux and does NOT close on Mondays (hurray!!!) so we had the opportunity to watch several ladies at their work. Intricate, intricate, intricate. Photo of the set up to come.
Back for relaxation and then a dinner recommendation at a restauant where we were the only customers (still Monday and Bayeux is a quiet town to begin with).
Salad, red wine, fish dishes with wonderful sauce, creme brulee.
The next morning breakfast and conversation with Wil once again and the, he drove us to the station for our train back to Paris.
What a lovely place.
1/20. Sunday. Travel day. also, Digital journals are my jam.
Digital journals are, apparently, my jam. After trying to journal on paper the first few days I am realizing that I just don't keep up with it. But give me a 2" x 3" keyboard and I'm in heaven. Alors, there it is.
*Disclaimer and apology: I will be sprinkling limited- and likely incorrectly spelled- French throughout the France entries. Our host, Will, has been encouraging it. If it offends your language sensibilities gloss over it or pronounce and giggle at the inventive and new terms I will no doubt write.
**Paper journals are great for budgeting and drawing.
Travel Day 1:
3:50am. Wake up in Iceland
4:30. Catch the bus to the airport
7:40. Catch the plane to Paris
11:55. Announcement made in the airspace above Paris: there has been some snow in Paris this morning. I think to myself, that will be so picturesque for the train ride out to Bayeux- only avalable train scheduled at 4:10. No, Emily, it will not be picturesque. Why not? Welcome to the next part of the story.
12:35pm. Land and disembark.
1:10. Luggage in hand we go to information to see where we can validate our railpasses and buy our tickets to Bayeux. The line is short! It turns out it is also the wrong location. We are redirected.
1:25. We arrive at the correct ticket line. There are 30+ people in front of us in line. We wait in line for an hour and get out tickets. We are informed we must take a metro train to a stop, change, go and then walk between the metro and rail stations. Because of the snow, (there are maybe 4 inches of it) the roads are chaos. Traffic, no possibilities to take taxis or busses.
2:30. We, and two hundred of our soon to be very close friends, get on the first train. It's the only train that goes into Paris from the airport. It is also is the sole metro service for several other stops before it intersects another line. A lady has her forearm in my back. It is not possible to turn around. At each stop several people, who have no doubt but waiting for some time, turn their backs to the interior of the train, reach above the doors for leverage and crush the people inside ro make room for themselves.
3:05. One stop to go before the first transfer. The train stops for 20 minutes. Only knowing perhaps 50 words of we're unsure of what is going on.
3:25. Out of the train and scurrying to the next. It leaves in 8 minutes. Plenty of time! Unless you go to the wrong platform. Fun fact about certain Paris stations: if you go to the incorrect track you must go up and begin at the beginning.
3:32. We run to the platform 30 seconds before it arrives.
3:45. We arrive at another station. We now must ascertain which train signs are the signs we need to get out of the station, across a plaza, and to the rail going out of the city. We are now jogging with giant backpacks.
4:05. We make it to the station, it is delayed by 40 minutes. Nonetheless, we made it. A high five, a smooch, and a sandwich are in order. I use un petit peu of French when ordering. I give myself a second, interior high five.
4:50. The train has not yet arrived. We are standing in another solid mass od humanity. We think we are strategically placed for getting on the train when it comes so that we can snag seats with our unconfirmed tickets. We are wrong.
4:55. The mass of humanity surges forward. We think it's for another city, not ours so we dilly-dally staring at another screen. By the time we realize and move down the platform there are no seats anywhere. We squeeze into an entryway with 9 other people and our backpacks. We settle in for a ride that is scheduled to take 2 hours.
8:35. We arrive in Bayeux.
8:37. The kindness of the French sets in. We are in the station looking at a map of the town trying to figure out where our hotel is in relation to the station. A girl of 15 or 16 asks us a question in French. After a group effort of finding the hotel's road and a conversation in French, English and large hand gestures, she informs us that her father is coming to pick her up from the station and can give us a ride. Just what every parent wants, two weary, smelly backpackers following his daughter around. But after the first bit of incredulity and copious use of 'merci' on our part he seems relatively okay with it. They end. Up getting a bit lost and having to call someone for directions but in short order we are at our destination.
8:45. We meet Wil, our host at La Tour Louise Guesthouse. He is kind and understanding about out arrival so far outside the posted check-in window of 4-7. As it is late and nothing is open he makes up a tray for us and brings it to our room. Bon soir, after all.
8:55. We dig in to a meal of fruit, yogurt, baguette, brie, crisps, orange juice and sardines (My first sardines. NOT the same as the anchovies I was mistakenly anticipating. Minor drawback: they still have spines which have softened and often segment so that you can see a cross-section mid fish.).
9:30. We go to sleep feeling full, cared for, and content despite the day's travels.
*Disclaimer and apology: I will be sprinkling limited- and likely incorrectly spelled- French throughout the France entries. Our host, Will, has been encouraging it. If it offends your language sensibilities gloss over it or pronounce and giggle at the inventive and new terms I will no doubt write.
**Paper journals are great for budgeting and drawing.
Travel Day 1:
3:50am. Wake up in Iceland
4:30. Catch the bus to the airport
7:40. Catch the plane to Paris
11:55. Announcement made in the airspace above Paris: there has been some snow in Paris this morning. I think to myself, that will be so picturesque for the train ride out to Bayeux- only avalable train scheduled at 4:10. No, Emily, it will not be picturesque. Why not? Welcome to the next part of the story.
12:35pm. Land and disembark.
1:10. Luggage in hand we go to information to see where we can validate our railpasses and buy our tickets to Bayeux. The line is short! It turns out it is also the wrong location. We are redirected.
1:25. We arrive at the correct ticket line. There are 30+ people in front of us in line. We wait in line for an hour and get out tickets. We are informed we must take a metro train to a stop, change, go and then walk between the metro and rail stations. Because of the snow, (there are maybe 4 inches of it) the roads are chaos. Traffic, no possibilities to take taxis or busses.
2:30. We, and two hundred of our soon to be very close friends, get on the first train. It's the only train that goes into Paris from the airport. It is also is the sole metro service for several other stops before it intersects another line. A lady has her forearm in my back. It is not possible to turn around. At each stop several people, who have no doubt but waiting for some time, turn their backs to the interior of the train, reach above the doors for leverage and crush the people inside ro make room for themselves.
3:05. One stop to go before the first transfer. The train stops for 20 minutes. Only knowing perhaps 50 words of we're unsure of what is going on.
3:25. Out of the train and scurrying to the next. It leaves in 8 minutes. Plenty of time! Unless you go to the wrong platform. Fun fact about certain Paris stations: if you go to the incorrect track you must go up and begin at the beginning.
3:32. We run to the platform 30 seconds before it arrives.
3:45. We arrive at another station. We now must ascertain which train signs are the signs we need to get out of the station, across a plaza, and to the rail going out of the city. We are now jogging with giant backpacks.
4:05. We make it to the station, it is delayed by 40 minutes. Nonetheless, we made it. A high five, a smooch, and a sandwich are in order. I use un petit peu of French when ordering. I give myself a second, interior high five.
4:50. The train has not yet arrived. We are standing in another solid mass od humanity. We think we are strategically placed for getting on the train when it comes so that we can snag seats with our unconfirmed tickets. We are wrong.
4:55. The mass of humanity surges forward. We think it's for another city, not ours so we dilly-dally staring at another screen. By the time we realize and move down the platform there are no seats anywhere. We squeeze into an entryway with 9 other people and our backpacks. We settle in for a ride that is scheduled to take 2 hours.
8:35. We arrive in Bayeux.
8:37. The kindness of the French sets in. We are in the station looking at a map of the town trying to figure out where our hotel is in relation to the station. A girl of 15 or 16 asks us a question in French. After a group effort of finding the hotel's road and a conversation in French, English and large hand gestures, she informs us that her father is coming to pick her up from the station and can give us a ride. Just what every parent wants, two weary, smelly backpackers following his daughter around. But after the first bit of incredulity and copious use of 'merci' on our part he seems relatively okay with it. They end. Up getting a bit lost and having to call someone for directions but in short order we are at our destination.
8:45. We meet Wil, our host at La Tour Louise Guesthouse. He is kind and understanding about out arrival so far outside the posted check-in window of 4-7. As it is late and nothing is open he makes up a tray for us and brings it to our room. Bon soir, after all.
8:55. We dig in to a meal of fruit, yogurt, baguette, brie, crisps, orange juice and sardines (My first sardines. NOT the same as the anchovies I was mistakenly anticipating. Minor drawback: they still have spines which have softened and often segment so that you can see a cross-section mid fish.).
9:30. We go to sleep feeling full, cared for, and content despite the day's travels.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Last Day, Iceland: Puffin and an unfriendly horse
Last day in Iceland! After staying up 'til 3:00am after the tour we rose at 9:00 for breakfast and to take advantage of the hotel's in-house laundry service (we mis-heard 5000 ISK as 500 ISK -- a difference between $42 and $4.20. Whoops. Note to selves: repeat back all quoted prices before going for it).
After a walk around town we stopped at a ice cream/ creperie so that I could try a soft ice cream with black licorice sprinkles - apparently popular - but when I ordered it "with licorice" it came dipped in a black licorice shell that looked slightly evil (though maybe I felt that way because the gentleman serving me looked like a blond cross between Draco Malfoy and Joaquin Phoenix in Gladiator) and tasted delicious. A peanut butter crepe with a jelly face and peanut pupils for Roger and we were on our way to find an internet cafe with a hook-up for uploading photos from our camera. No surprise to you all we were unsuccessful. Another town another time. In the meantime Roger's tiny computer phone wil do.
Some hours later we went to dinner at a restaurant where we dined on smoked puffin, (not my favorite way to have puffin, I don't think, though my only current experience with it) lamb, and tenderloin of horse (remember folks, the Icelandic only eat mean horses so it's okay).
Early to bed for an early rise tomorrow and a farewell to friendly, delicious, beautiful, geothermal Iceland.
After a walk around town we stopped at a ice cream/ creperie so that I could try a soft ice cream with black licorice sprinkles - apparently popular - but when I ordered it "with licorice" it came dipped in a black licorice shell that looked slightly evil (though maybe I felt that way because the gentleman serving me looked like a blond cross between Draco Malfoy and Joaquin Phoenix in Gladiator) and tasted delicious. A peanut butter crepe with a jelly face and peanut pupils for Roger and we were on our way to find an internet cafe with a hook-up for uploading photos from our camera. No surprise to you all we were unsuccessful. Another town another time. In the meantime Roger's tiny computer phone wil do.
Some hours later we went to dinner at a restaurant where we dined on smoked puffin, (not my favorite way to have puffin, I don't think, though my only current experience with it) lamb, and tenderloin of horse (remember folks, the Icelandic only eat mean horses so it's okay).
Early to bed for an early rise tomorrow and a farewell to friendly, delicious, beautiful, geothermal Iceland.
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