The Presidential Election
There is a week to go until the run-off for French president, and there were canvassers out in the market yesterday morning. The campaign has been characterized as giving the electorate a choice between voting for mummy or daddy: Royal seems to say "Don't worry dear, we'll take care of you" and Sarkozy says "Everybody get in the car, it's time we got moving." (
The Globe & Mail contributed to this imagery by calling the fight for the support of Bayrou, the third candidate who didn't make it to the run-off, a heated custody battle.) Maybe it was just a coincidence, but I didn't need to see the pamphlets to know who was campaigning for whom.
A scowly UMP campaigner. I did ask for permission to take his picture. You can sure imagine him telling people to get out of the country (as Sarkozy suggested)
The Socialists were all smiles
Crêpes Suzette
The new crêpe pan was a not-unmitigated success. I did learn a couple of things: if you're trying a recipe for the first time, it takes longer than you think it will; if that recipe is written in French, then doubly so. Including the shopping for forgotten ingredients, it took most of the day to get a couple of plates of crêpes suzette on the table.
The other thing to remember is to keep a dictionary handy. Even though I went over the recipe with
mon professeur when he gave it to me, I still had to run to the bookshelf several times. You never know which will turn out to be the keyword:
préalablement sounds awfully important (but it just means beforehand).
The new pan in action
Last French Lesson
I had my last private French lesson yesterday. About half of a two-hour lesson is conversation and in our last lesson, my teacher and I got to talking about food - a very easy topic to get onto around here. I mentioned that I hadn't learned to make crêpes in all the time we've been in France, and he promised to give me his recipe.
For this last lesson he showed up for with a present: not only did he have his recipe for crêpe carefully copied out, but he presented me with a shiny new crêpe pan. He walked me through the recipe and added a couple of tips, and then demonstrated how to successfully flip a crêpe. I will have to try it out on Saturday. He's also a very good French teacher.
Budapest
Janet and I treated ourselves to a weekend in Budapest in celebration of Janet's recent birthday and our upcoming second anniversary. We splashed out a little on the hotel; but it turned out the hotel was also celebrating its birthday, so we got a special deal including some little extras.
The view from our roomThe first little gift was a bottle of Hungarian sparkling wine upon check-in, which came with a very nice presentation (below) and a bottle of Hungarian red that we took home. (Not to look a gift bottle in the cork, but the champagne was a tad on the sweet side. We've definitely become a little spoiled by France. It's hard not to criticize the wine, bread, pastries, and so on when we've become used to such tasty fresh bread or pleasant table wine in the most casual of restaurants.)
Happy Birthday to the Budapest HiltonOn Saturday we visited the
Hungarian National Gallery, a short walk away from our hotel on the Buda side of the river. Most interesting were paintings from the art nouveau period, which in this part of Europe is called the
secession style (an
example). From the museum we walked across the Chain Bridge to the Pest side and explored. The city is an interesting mix of grand European capital, and run-down communist backwater. There are elegant old buildings, historic statues and wide boulevards; but just as evident are filthy office blocks with chunks falling off, architecture that is utilitarian in the extreme, and everywhere a coating of graffiti. The bright paint on some buildings, sidewalk hoardings and construction cranes across the skyline attest to the rebirthing still in progress.
The parliament buildings, from the Chain Bridge
The following day we did some more exploring in Pest, making our way to the
Museum of Applied Arts. They had a
retrospective display that highlit periods of the museums history as well as some special exhibits.
We made sure to be back to the hotel in time for a nap because the final treat in our birthday package was a meal at one of the city's finer restaurants,
Gundel. We enjoyed a superb meal with classic continental service only slightly marred by the vapid and un-ignorable American woman at the next table.
On Monday we aimed for the Parliament buildings, but were frustrated by some unspecified event that pre-empted any tours. Instead we walked to the cathedral of Saint Sebastian, which at just over a hundred years old was rather new for a European monument, but was remarkable for displaying the saint's mummified right hand. We then strolled up the tree-lined main boulevard of Andrássy street, before taking the subway back to collect our bags and head for the airport.
More pictures of the weekend are
here.
A Marathon Passes Me By
The
Paris marathon took place yesterday. The course passed by a mere block away. I had thought to enter back in January but discovered it was already too late. As it turns out, it's just as well: I would probably not have (or should not have, given the CFA exam which now looms) dedicated the time to train adequately. And even if I had, the sleep deficit arising from the unforeseen events of Saturday morning would have affected performance.
I went up to the corner to see the runners, after my weekly visit to the market. It was past 1 p.m. at that point, so anyone still on the course had been running for over four hours (with almost 10 kms to go). There was still a steady stream - but obviously no Kenyans in this pack.
The American Hospital
[BH: there's nothing to worry about in what follows.] Saturday got off to an unpleasant start, then hit the skids. We were woken in that 0-to-60 fashion that, for a couple without children, only a hair-ball puking cat can effect. Janet discovered that not only was she having to mop up nauseating liquid, but she was doing so with a migraine. She went for the headache meds in the kitchen while I finished up. I heard a bang, and when there was no response to my enquiry, I went to see what was wrong. And discovered my wife collapsed in a tangled heap by the doorway, glasses on the floor beside her. They tell you about the anger, bargaining and denial of these moments; they inexplicably leave out the icy fear, panic and dumb horror. Janet had to be told where she was but recovered her senses rapidly. At the risk of collapsing any further suspense to the story, it was just a faint, brought on by low blood pressure and nausea (Emma submits, lest she be held responsible, that this is far from the first time, and more like the hundredth, that Janet has had to clean up a like mess).
There were some minor injuries. Janet had hit her head and shoulder on the doorway on the way down. That raised a goose egg on her skull and the shoulder is going to be painful for a few days. You now know that she's fine, but at that point I still didn't so I called her sister (who is a critical care nurse in the US) and tried to sound calm. The advice was that Janet was probably okay, but she should see a doctor anyway, and since we were already up we'd probably get more attention in an emergency room at 5:30 a.m. immediately following the incident than we would mid-afternoon the day after (part of getting good patient care turns out to be marketing).
We dressed shakily, found a taxi and presented ourselves at the emergency room of the
American Hospital. There Janet was quite speedily examined and obtained an IV drip, drugs for the headache, x-rays, CT scan, blood work (all normal), and a sling.
Our doctor was a Scot, but the rest of the staff were French. The nurse who provided the sling was concerned that it wasn't a very attractive material (despite being a blue that happened to match Janet's shirt nicely) and said a couple of times that Janet could simply use any scarf that she had at home instead, clearly assuming she has dozens.
You can almost see the bump over her ear
Janet's sister was spot on about how to get prompt attention - not that she foresaw the fashion advice. It must be said that the level of service may have been enhanced by the fact that it's a private hospital (ever the Canadian, I'm not willing to say that's clearly the case).
The doctor also arranged an immediate appointment with Janet's eye surgeon, in case there was some connection to her recent laser retinal surgery. That doctor was delayed so we had to wait nearby her office for an hour until she arrived at 11. Fortunately we were very near the Trocadero, so we found a café with a view of the Eiffel Tower (and rather poor pain au chocolat) in which to pass the time.
In by seven, home by noon - not a bad turnaround for an emergency room visit, given the Trocadero side trip. We took a moment to check on the kestrels before catching up on our missed sleep. I don't know why I didn't try it earlier, but I found I can take passable pictures through the binoculars.
This is the female, on the window ledge
where we're hoping she'll nest again
Domesticity
Yesterday evening, while I was chopping and simmering, the male kestrel showed up. He had a mouse in his talons and he wanted everyone to see it. I'm reasonably pleased with my spaghetti sauce, but nowhere near as proud as he was of that mouse.
This morning they were both around for a little while. He was shifting the dirt around on their window ledge while she watched from a railing. I must say, he doesn't seem to be much of a nest builder. Remember what happened last time guys, when we woke up one morning and the egg was on a roof two stories down. I'm not saying it's anybody's fault; just maybe you should try using some twigs and straw.
Easter Weekend
After our trip to La Rochelle last weekend, we spent this one at home (even though it's a long one, since Janet has today off). I went for a long run yesterday and remarked to myself, as I trotted along just across the river through Suresnes, that clearly there were still some signs of the Catholic roots of the country: here it was Easter Sunday morning and (except for about two hundred cyclists circling the Longchamps hippodrome as they do every Sunday) the streets were empty with everyone at church.
Then I approached the park on the Ile de Puteaux and was nearly bowled over by a wave of children and their parents, hundreds and hundreds of them. The park was having an easter fair, with people dressed up as chickens, donkey rides, and an Easter egg hunt (
chasse aux oeufs). So celebrating Easter yes, but perhaps not all as good Catholics.
The kestrels have been around for the last week, one or the other dropping into the courtyard for a visit every day or so. I think they are still considering last year's nesting site for use again this year, because that's where he or she will often be spotted. This morning was warm and sunny, and they were both around for a little while, chattering to each other, and engaging in some frisky hi-jinks.
Weekend in La Rochelle
Breakfast at a café by the vieux port
Janet and I spent the weekend on the Southwest coast of France, in the town of
La Rochelle. This is a bit of a summer tourist town, but it also has a great deal of history. It was a stronghold of the French protestants, the Hugenots, who at one point had a measure of independence from the French king but became beseiged here and eventually slaughtered. It was an important hub of trade with the new world, and an active port for the corsairs who harassed British shipping.
Along the city wall towards the Tour de la LanterneNowadays it is known mostly as a holiday and retirement destination, with a charming old town, dramatic medieval fortifications and some spectacular restaurants. Having strolled around the former (and been ambushed by an Easter parade), we went for dinner at one of the latter. There are
five restaurants run by the renowned Richard Coutanceau and his family. The patriarch's eponymous establishment overlooks the ocean - but we really had eyes mostly for the table. The meal was everything we expected, preceded by several
amuses bouches and accompanied by a superb wine recommended by the sommelier (we hadn't heard of the AOC Quincy before, but it's right beside Pouilly Fume, and clearly a case of number-two-tries-harder).
The next day we went to the son's place, Les Flots, for lunch. Another elegant establishment, in a more provincial way, with the added charm of dogs accompanying neighbouring diners.
After lunch we finished our tours of the towers and as it started to rain we went indoors to the
aquarium, which was as good as any I've seen. It had a huge shark tank with a grouper, sawfish and sea turtle as well as the sharks, and a rainforest exhibit in a greenhouse annex that had tanks of tropical river fish (like piranhas).
We took a late TGV home, which was unfortunately delayed by almost four hours, so it was nearly five a.m. before we got to bed. Poor Janet had to get up and go to work, but I confess I slept until noon.
My pictures of the weekend are on the web, at my picture site
here.
A scowly UMP campaigner. I did ask for permission to take his picture. You can sure imagine him telling people to get out of the country (as Sarkozy suggested)
The Socialists were all smiles
