It's Me, Sara Louise

It’s Me, Sara Louise

Hi! You might know me as C’est Moi, Sara Louise. Before that I was Sara in Le Petit Village. Now, It’s Me, Sara Louise. Hello again.

  • down under

    {LPV steps}

    Whew! It feels like I’m here, there, and everywhere at the moment.

    A weekend in Marseille and Cassis, then down to Toulon and back up to The LPV with Mr. & Mrs. London in tow (I’ll be filling you in on all of that zany fun real soon). And now, I’m down under… well, figuratively. I’m guest posting over at Vanisha’s Life in Australia today (click here to read it).

    Pop over and say g’day!
    bisou

  • mama marseille

    “You like running? You should come back in October and run from Marseille to Cassis with Honey Jr.“
    This was The Husband talking to my friend Sarah’s husband, The Canadian, back in July when they were visiting.
    And you know what, The Canadian did. 
    Last Saturday, we drove down to Marseille, checked into the super cool Mama Shelter hotel, and met Sarah and The Canadian on the Vieux-Port for bouillabaisse.

    We settled into our booth, ordered a bottle of white wine from Cassis (it’s mighty delicious with seafood) and poured over the menu… too many choices to choose from. Eventually Sarah and I both chose a creamy garlic seafood soup.

    {eat me}
    Oh my heavens… so delicious… so garlicky. But that was OK, The Husband ordered Le Grand Aïoli, which I’m pretty sure was the only thing on the menu that’s more garlicky than garlic soup, so he couldn’t judge.

    Stuffed full of seafood and garlic, we waddled over to my favorite address in Marseille, 17 Rue de la République, where this happiness happened…

    Don’t I look happy? That’s because I was. Starbucks is certainly not the best coffee in the world, but it is a little slice of home. That vanilla latte is like sunshine in a cup, and bonus… I picked up the Marseille Starbucks mug to add to my collection.

    You know what else makes me happy? Wandering up to my second favorite spot in Marseille, Notre Dame de la Garde (OK, we didn’t wander exactly… we took a taxi, it’s was a little nippy out), and having Le Mistral throw us around.

    NOTE TO SELF: do not hang out on top of the highest spot in Marseille when Le Mistral is in full effect because your friend may not always be there to grab you when you are almost blown over the side of a staircase. 

    It might have been a tad perilous, but it sure was fun. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. Notice The Canadian’s hair in that photo… it normally doesn’t stand straight up like that.

    Now if I wasn’t already happy enough what with the Cassis wine, bouillabaisse, Starbucks, and insane wind blown laughter, we met up with Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey at the Mama Shelter Bar…

    {Mama’s Bar & Restaurant}

    Where I was able to order and actual martini… like in a martini glass, martini, with olives and everything (trust me, this is not an easy task in Provence, and if you don’t believe me, read this). Plus the bar has a pink foosball table (they call it baby-foot in France) which unfortunately is for decorative purposes only which is about the dumbest thing ever.

    Luckily, Mama Shelter’s wall mounted Macs and cartoon masks meant we could take these photos which kind of made up for the whole not being able to play baby-foot on a pink foosball table…

    {I’m Tweety Bird}

    bisou

    P.S. stay tuned for the marathon, more Starbucks, and an angry, angry mistral. 

    , , ,

  • Halloweenie

    {last year}

    Let’s talk Halloween.

    (It’s called Veille de la Toussaint here, doesn’t that sound incredibly romantic?)

    Halloween is another one of those holidays that leaves expat me feeling blah.

    France hasn’t fully jumped on the Halloween bandwagon yet. There are dashes of it here and there, but The Spirit of the Great Pumpkin definitely hasn’t swept anyone away yet. For example, trick-or-treating; they haven’t figured this one out at all and I don’t know why because it’s not like it’s difficult… on October 31st you let your little gremlins dress up as little goblins and you send them outside to go door to door begging for candy. C’est tout! It’s that simple.

    But here, they have it all wrong. Like two years ago, when they knocked on my door on the 28th, scaring the bejeezus out of Fifty (he wasn’t prepared, if it had been the 31st, he would have been prepared). And then this year, Papa’s Wife told us that the trick-or-treaters would be popping around last Friday… last Friday… the 26th! What in the name of Sabrina the Teenage Witch is that all about?!

    Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because nobody came a calling last Friday. Not one little pirate, princess or zombie. It’s all very sad. And it’s all so crazy because France is the absolute perfect country for Halloween since November 1st is a holiday here (La Toussaint or All Saints Day).  Can you imagine what kind of trouble we’d get into in the States on Halloween if we didn’t have school or work the next day?! Holy Moly it’d get quite messy I’m sure. So yeah, the French need to find their Hocus Pocus and jump on board.

    As for me… today I’ll dress Fifty in his Halloween t-shirt, we’ll watch It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, and I’ll tell him all about Ichabod Crane and the legend of Sleep Hollow. And maybe, just maybe, some little French gremlins dressed as goblins might come a knocking.

    Joyeuses fêtes d’Halloween!
    bisou

  • it's all happening

    {My Knight in Scuffed Nikes}

    ++ The Husband traveled 62 miles each way to get me a Starbucks. OK, kind of. He was at Marseille Airport with Brother-in-Law picking up a friend when he saw that the new Starbucks had finally opened up. (Remember when I spotted the sign during the summer and had a happy little freak out?)  He called and asked if I wanted him to pick me up something. My response was basically along the lines of, “Um, yeah, don’t bother coming home unless you have a vanilla latte, and you must do everything in your power to keep it warm, and spill free.” About an hour and a half later, my Knight in Scuffed Nikes arrived home with a lukewarm Starbucks cup and I couldn’t have been happier.

    ++ I got a phone call from someone letting me know a ‘gold expert’ was in the area and if we have any gold or jewellery in the house, this ‘gold expert’ would be more than happy to come by and appraise it for us. Oh, sure, come on over. Does anyone actually fall for this? I certainly hope not.

    ++ Dr. Seuss isn’t that big in France, which I think is more than a little sad, so when I came across The Cat in the Hat on Amazon written in both English and French, I just knew I had to buy it for La Petite. And I went ahead and threw ‘Poisson Un, Poisson Deux, Poisson Rouge, Poisson Bleu’, ‘Les Oeufs Verts au Jambon’, and ‘Horton Entend Un Zou’ in my basket for good measure. La Petite is going to be fully Seussed by the time I’m finished with her.

    ++ My GFC hovered at 666 for a bit, totally freaking me out. Not that I’m super superstitious or anything, but it’s still felt spooky and I didn’t like it one bit. So a big thank you to number 667. (And of course a big thank you to all of you. All of you make me very, very happy.)

    ++ I already have The Husband’s Christmas present bought and shipped to my mother’s house in Texas. I’m feeling quite chuffed with myself for being ahead of the Reindeer Games this year.

    ++ The Husband’s Xmas pressies were sent to my mother’s house because she is returning to The LPV for Christmas! (Fifty is beside himself with excitement). And not only is she bringing herself (the best Christmas gift ever), but she’s bringing Christmas jammies for the whole LPV Crew… even Gatz! We’re going to be quite the festive bunch this holiday season. And I’m sure I sound like a loon, talking about Christmas and festivities when it’s not even Halloween yet, but it is only 56 days people, and that’s not much time at all.

    Giddy-up let’s go

    bisou

    , , ,

  • Autumn Redux

    Since Autumn is in full swing here in Le Petit Village, I’d thought I’d share with you my classic tale of one of The LPV’s favorite Autumn activities; mushroom foraging. Except in this tale, I didn’t do the foraging, Papa did. I simply dealt with the aftermath (the grizzly, horrible, aftermath).
    Originally posted: 22 October 2009 

    ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

    {evil}
    Let me start by saying that this should have been a much happier post. A post about delectable wild mushrooms and the beautiful gourmet meal I would cook using them. But I’m just not that girl and that’s just not me.

    And I will also say that this incident, that will henceforth be known as ‘The Mushroom Incident‘ occurred over a week ago but I have had to let a little time pass before being able to write about it. Oh, and one last thing, please forgive me for any rambling that may follow, I’m still a little bit traumatized…

    It all started on a Sunday evening. We went to Papa’s house for a chat and drink (Provencal Rosé for me, Pastis for The Boyfriend). Papa had been very busy that day and he was quite chuffed with himself. Not only had he gone hunting and killed a wild boar (not with his bare hands – he’s not Super Papa) he had also done some mushroom foraging and had a large bucket of the biggest mushrooms I had ever seen. These things were like Alice In Wonderland mushrooms, you could picture little frogs relaxing underneath with a good book and a little martini.

    Seeing my excitement, Papa grabbed a bag and started stuffing mushrooms into it, all the while speaking rapidly in French giving me instructions for proper preparation and cooking with the Boyfriend translating over him. I nodded that I understood, smiled and said, “merci“.
    We headed home with the plan of having them for dinner the next night. The Boyfriend told me to leave them out, so I found a large bowl and left them on the counter. (Now this is my mistake, I should have covered them, they’re mushrooms not fruit.)

    The next day I was getting excited, I was trolling the internet and reading my cookbooks looking for the perfect accompaniments for Papa’s wild mushrooms. Then the Boyfriend called. He said that he was still thinking about the merguez sausage and couscous I had cooked the night before and if there was any leftover, that’s what he would like for dinner. He assured me that the mushrooms would be fine to cook the next night, Tuesday.

    Now if you have read my older post entitled, ‘Pizza Night‘, then you will know that Tuesday nights are Pizza Night in Le Petit Village and that very next Tuesday, my mushroom Tuesday turned out to be the night I learned about Pizza Tuesdays, so without expanding anymore, you know that I did not cook the mushrooms for dinner. However, a phone call to The Boyfriend’s Grandmere did take place where she advised The Boyfriend to partially cook the mushrooms that evening, refrigerate them, and then finish cooking them on the Wednesday.

    Fine, I’ll enjoy my pizza and partially cook the mushrooms.

    Then my Boyfriend’s kindness intervened. “You’re tired, don’t cook them. Just put them in the refrigerator and cook them early tomorrow, they’ll be ok.” (not a direct quote but you get the gist).
    Happily and tiredly I agreed. The bowl of mushrooms went into the fridge and up the spiral stairs to bed we went. (I should have listened to Grandmere.)

    The next day after my coffee it was time to do some mushroom cooking. And then it happened…
    Opening the fridge I was greeted by the most disgusting sight someone could see. Not just any someone, but someone who had spent the last two weeks cleaning cleaning cleaning her (previous Boyfriend bachelor pad) home to make it feel comfortable enough for a girl to live in. That comfort that I had only just begun to feel was now stripped off me like a warm duvet on a cold, rainy Monday morning…

    Little maggots! Yes. Little recently hatched maggots were slithering up the back of my refrigerator. Freaking out, I slammed the door and phoned The Boyfriend at work. “Maggots!” I screamed. “What?” he asked. Terrible time for language difficulties. I grabbed my translation dictionary, trying again, “asticot!” The response I got was typical of a man who is not really paying attention and also not there to have to deal with it. “Oh“.

    Oh, ok, my problem I guess then.

    I hung up the phone took some deep breaths and went to work. Grabbing black plastic sacks I emptied every bit of the fridge; two dozen eggs, sandwich meats, fruit, vegetables, chorizo, my cheese box, butter… everything! And of course the mushrooms. The mushrooms that I had once loved but had now turned against me. Damn Judas mushrooms. The black sacs went out to the bins. It was now extermination time. I got a spray bottle of disinfectant and let my inner Terminator possess me. I sprayed until the inside of the fridge was coated with pink chemicals but there was no way I was cleaning up their little carcasses. The Boyfriend could do that when he got home.

    Payback for the unsympathetic, “oh“.

    I closed the door, washed my hands, took a shower, and went to bed with a book until The Boyfriend got home. Oh, and I also did what every other ‘woman’ my age does. I called my mother and cried.

    To finish up my re-telling of ‘The Mushroom Incident’ this is what occurred when the Boyfriend got home; 1) Upon opening the fridge he asked, “where is all the food?“. Seriously??!! 2) He then put a glass of wine in my hand and ordered me to the couch (smart boy). 3) He disposed of the little carcasses and washed the fridge with bleach and boiling water (as instructed by the internet). 4) We went to Papa’s and ate some of that wild boar. It was delicious.

    So that’s it. It’s been eight days since and honestly, every time I open my fridge I squint at the back wall. All ok so far. And on the bright side, now I have a super duper clean fridge.
    ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

    I can’t believe this was three years ago this week. 
    How time flies.
    But I still don’t bring wild mushrooms home. 

    bisou
    ,

  • travel list challenge

    {source}

    I’m failing at being an expat. My fellow expat bloggers are constantly on the move, exploring as many of the different corners of their continents as they can. Not me. But I think I may know why; you see, even though I’m an American expat, I’m an EU citizen, plus I’m married to a Frenchman in France, so my time here in France and in Europe doesn’t have an expiration date. There’s nothing pushing me to explore and apathy has set in. I’m determined to change that.

    There’s been a travel list floating around for awhile now, I’ve seen it on Jenna’s and Betsy’s blogs so I thought I’d take a look in hopes of spurring my apathetic butt on.

    {I’m here too, I’m behind the camera}

    1. Alamo – San Antonio, Texas, USA
    2. Alhambra – Granada, Spain
    3. Andros Island – Bahamas
    4. Angel Falls – Venezuela
    5. Angkor Wat – Angkor, Cambodia
    6. Atlantic City Boardwalk – Atlantic City, New Jersey, USA
    7. Ayers Rock – Australia
    8. Big Ben – London, England
    9. Bora Bora – Polynesia

    10. British Museum – London, England

    11. Canals of Amsterdam – Amsterdam, Netherlands 
    12. Cathedral of Seville – Seville, Spain
    13. Cave of Crystals – Mexico
    14. Christ the Redeemer – Rio De Janeiro, Brazil
    15. Cinque Terre National Park – Italy

    {The Colosseum & St. Peter’s}
    16. Colosseum – Rome, Italy
    17. Crater Lake National Park – Oregon, USA
    18. Dead Sea – Israel/Jordan
    19. Death Valley National Park – California, USA
    20. Devil’s Tower – Wyoming, USA
    21. Dome of the Rock – Jerusalem, Israel

    22. Easter Island Statues – Polynesia
    23. Edinburgh Castle – Edinburgh, Scotland
    24. Eiffel Tower – Paris, France
    25. Empire State Building – New York City, New York, USA
    26. Forbidden City – Beijing, China
    27. French Quarter – New Orleans, Louisiana, USA
    28. Galapagos Islands – Ecuador
    29. Gateway Arch – St. Louis, Missouri, USA
    30. Gettysburg Battlefield – Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA
    31. Glacier Bay Basin – Alaska, USA
    32. Glacier National Park – Montana, USA
    33. Glowworm Cave – New Zealand
    34. Golden Gate Bridge – San Francisco, California, USA
    35. Grand Canal – Venice, Italy

    36. Grand Canyon – Arizona, USA
    37. Grand Mosque in Mecca – Saudi Arabia
    38. Great Barrier Reef – Queensland, Australia
    39. Great Mosque of Córdoba – Córdoba, Spain
    40. Great Wall of China – China
    41. Hagia Sophia – Istanbul, Turkey
    42. Hawaii Volcanoes National Park – Hawaii, USA
    43. Hollywood Boulevard – Hollywood, California, USA
    44. Iguazu Falls – Argentina and Brazil
    45. Kiyomizu-dera – Kyoto, Japan
    46. Kremlin – Moscow, Russia
    47. Lake Titicaca – Peru
    48. Las Ramblas – Barcelona, Spain
    49. Las Vegas Strip – Las Vegas, Nevada
    50. Leaning Tower of Pisa – Pisa, Italy

    {I can’t find any of my Eiffel, or Louvre photos, so this one of me in front of a carousel in Paris will just have to do}
    51. Louvre Museum – Paris, France
    52. Macchu Picchu – Peru
    53. Matterhorn – Switzerland
    54. Mayan Pyramids of Chichen Itza – Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico
    55. Metropolitan Museum of Art – New York City, New York, USA
    56. Mount Everest – Nepal
    57. Mount Fuji – Japan
    58. Mount Kilimanjaro – Tanzania
    59. Mount Rushmore – Keystone, South Dakota, USA
    60. Napa Valley – California, USA
    61. Ngorongoro Crater – Tanzania
    62. Niagara Falls – New York, USA
    63. Notre Dame Cathedral – Paris, France
    64. Pacific Rim National Park – British Columbia, Canada
    65. Pebble Beaches of Nice – Nice, France
    66. Petra – Jordan
    67. Petronas Twin Towers – Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
    68. Portland Head Lighthouse – Cape Elizabeth, Maine, USA
    69. Puerta Del Sol – Madrid, Spain
    70. Pyramids of Giza – Egypt
    71. Redwood National Park – California, USA
    72. Rock of Gibraltar – Gibraltar
    73. Rocky Mountain National Park – Colorado, USA 
    74. Ruins of Athens – Athens, Greece
    75. Ruins of Pompeii – Pompei, Italy
    76. Sagrada Famila – Barcelona, Spain
    77. Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) – Chicago, Illinois, USA
    78. Sedlec Ossuary – Czech Republic
    79. Sistine Chapel – Vatican City, Italy
    80. Smithsonian Institution – Washington, D.C., USA
    81. Space Needle – Seattle, Washington, USA
    82. St. Peter’s Basilica – Vatican City, Italy
    83. Statue of Liberty – New York City, New York, USA
    84. Stonehenge – Wiltshire County, England
    85. Sydney Opera House – Sydney, Australia
    86. Taj Mahal – Agra, India
    87. Temple of the Golden Pavilion – Kyoto, Japan
    88. Teotihuacan – Mexico
    89. Tian Tan Buddha – Hong Kong, China
    90. Times Square – New York City, New York, USA
    91. Varanasi – Uttar Pradesh, India
    92. Victoria Falls – Zimbabwe
    93. Wailing Wall – Jerusalem, Israel
    94. Walt Disney World Resort – Orlando, Florida Um, how come Disney World is here but not Disney Land? That’s a conspiracy if I ever saw one. 
    95. Washington Monument – Washington, D.C., USA
    96. White Cliffs of Dover – Dover, England
    97. White House – Washington, D.C., USA
    98. Winchester Cathedral – Hampshire, England
    99. Yosemite National Park – California, USA
    100. Zion National Park – Utah, USA

    So according to Saint Augustine, I’ve read 21 pages which is rather poor. I mean, you don’t even really get into a book until at least page forty or something. I barely have grasped the plot at this point. (oh, and in case you’re confused by the Saint Augustine reference, he’s the one who said that thing about the world is a book…)

    But I do know what I’d like my next five pages to be;

    Canals of Amsterdam – Amsterdam, Netherlands
    Cathedral of Seville – Seville, Spain
    Edinburgh Castle – Edinburgh, Scotland
    Leaning Tower of Pisa – Pisa, Italy
    Stonehenge – Wiltshire County, England

    And what about you? 
    What page are you on… 
    and where do you want your next page to take you?
    bisou
     

  • staycation {part.8}

    {Me + Aix sitting in a tree}

    When we weren’t touring the South of France in a minivan, this stuff happened:

    ++ Fifty got himself stuck out on out on the ledge. I came home from the market, and was surprised that Fifty wasn’t at the door waiting for me as he usually is. I peaked under the stairs and he wasn’t there either. Panic ripped through me as I ran up the stairs calling for him with Miss Vicki and JoDelle right behind me. The bedroom windows were opened and I prayed that when I looked out of them, I wouldn’t see a crippled Fifty, crumbled in a heap on the ancient stones below. I didn’t, but what I did see when I looked over to my right was Fifty, hanging out the bathroom window. I ran into the bathroom, and there he was, stuck. Half his body was on the outside of the small window ledge, and the other half on the inside. He was stuck. I grabbed him from the ledge and gave him cuddles, and then a spanking for scaring Mommy.

    ++ I’m not sure whose idea it was, (Miss Vicki, I might be looking at you) but somehow we convinced The Husband to read parts of Fifty Shades of Grey to us, out loud. Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “ooh, Christian Grey being read in a French accent, oh la la.” But I can assure you, it was far more funny than sexy (far, far more; like snort your Montrachet up your nose, funny). And yes, we made him start on page 115. I’m thinking I should make The Husband read snippets of the naughty tome for a vlog series.

    ++ Now about that Montrachet I snorted up my nose… it was heaven in a bottle. If you’ve never had the pleasure of enjoying Montrachet, I urge you to try it as soon as possible. As Alexander Dumas said, “It should be drunk, on one’s knees with hat in hand.” Yep, that’s about right.

    ++ And back to that vlog series… so what do you think, should we make The Husband recite Christian Grey?

    bisou
    ,

  • staycation {part.7}

    “Did you know Aix-en-Provence is known as the city of a thousand fountains?“

    This was me getting my tour guide on as we drove into Aix.

    “A thousand fountains, really?“

    This was The Husband doubting my superior tour guide knowledge. Now normally that would have bugged the bejeezus out of me, but due to The Husband’s accent, this is what he actually said;

    “A thousand fountains, weally?”

    Sometimes it’s weally hard not to laugh.

    And for the record, Aix is indeed known as the City of Fountains. I’m not sure if there are actually a thousand fountains there, but there are loads and loads of them. Every time you turn around, there’s another fountain.

    {it’s me – only younger and skinnier}
    My favorite fountain is Fontaine de la Rotonde, it’s the biggest and it’s the closest to Zara. (That’s me standing in front of it the first time I saw it three years ago… please ignore my hair, Le Mistral was styling it.)  

    We were on our way to Aix-en-Provence to check into our hotel before scooting down to Marseille for a quick tour of Notre Dame de la Garde.

    The Basilica, Notre Dame de la Garde, was consecrated in 1864 and is topped by a 27 foot copper and gold leaf statue of Madonna and child. Perched on the highest spot in Marseille, both the Neo-Byzantine architecture and the views from it are absolutely breathtaking and a must see if you are in the Marseille area. 
    Our Marseille mission accomplished, we drove back to Aix to spend Miss Vicki and JoDelle’s last twenty-four hours in Provence (they were headed up to Paris for a week, while my mother and Godmother would stay on for a bit in The LPV). And wanting to make it as memorable as possible, The Husband did everything he could to impress (personally I think he was angling to be adopted and shipped off to Texas along with all of that pottery they bought).
    First he mastered the most difficult parking job of all time in the world’s tiniest underground parking lot. (Seriously, if I had known the hotel’s parking garage was that tiny, I wouldn’t have reserved a spot there.) I wish I had taken a photo, but you have to trust me on this one… it was so small, that at one point, there was only about four inches space on each side of the minivan as he drove through. The actual parking job took more reversing and pulling forward to count and a plethora of patience. It was most impressive. 
    Conquering the world’s tiniest underground car park deserved a reward, and what better reward for The Husband than plate after plate of beef carpaccio at the French Olive Garden. Miss Vicki and JoDelle were certainly impressed by his eating skills. 
    And finally, the pièce de résistance, the most impressive, the highlight of any stay in The LPV… The Husband reenacts The Ramone show. 
    Well not entirely. He tells you he’s going to do it but then all he does is take off his shoe and wiggle his socked foot around while singing, Relax. But of course when The Husband sings it, he sings, ‘Welax’, which is much cuter anyway. 
    bisou
    , , , ,

  • staycation {part.6}

    {source}

    Some people think the name, Les-Baux-de-Provence, means the beautiful of Provence, and it’s very easy to understand why they would think that, Les Baux is indeed beautiful (FYI: Baux means rocky spur in the old Provençal dialect). Set atop the Alpille mountains, medieval Les-Baux-de-Provence is beautifully nestled deep into the hills.

    Like Gordes, Les Baux has also been named one of the plus beaux villages de France, and deservedly so. Les Baux has been perfectly preserved, and walking around there, one would think they had stepped back in time, if not for the numerous brightly colored tourist shops selling t-shirts and wooden swords for your inner Knight, which kind of makes you feel like you’re in a staged village like it’s, Provence; brought to you by The Walt Disney Company. But, it’s a real village with real people living there (aye yai yai… and I thought we had it bad during tourist season in The LPV).

    Interesting fact about Les Baux… in the 17th century, it was given to the Grimaldis of Monaco, and even though it is very much part of France, Prince Albert carries the title, Marquis des Baux. How very special for you Prince.
    And I’m just going to throw this out there, from now on, I may start referring to myself as Marquise de Le Petit Village, because, why not.

    Les Baux was the next stop on the Staycation 2012 tour after a quick stop in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence where I ate the most delicious meal of Taureau with chorizo mashed potatoes as part of the nationwide event,  Tous au Restaurant, toured the ancient city of Glanum…

    And then we popped into the Saint-Paul de Mausolée Asylum to visit some crazy guy named Vincent.

    And by Vincent, I mean Van Gogh.
    bisou
    , ,

  • guestpost: Jackie Travels

    Je te présente, Jackie from Jackie Travels.

    Jackie likes to travel. A lot. And she loves France, which is where I happen to live.

    In summary, I like Jackie, and I think you will too…
    ================================================================================

    {source}

    So, I’m obsessed with France. Straight up obsessed. I am therefore obsessed with how France-tastic Sara’s blog and life are, and I’m sure you’re all obsessed too. France was the first stamp on my passport, meaning it was the first place I ever saw that wasn’t home. I think that the first foreign place any of us visits is magical just for that reason, no matter where in the world it is. It’s the first time we get to see a place where the street signs are different and we can’t understand the accent of the person talking behind us on the bus. It’s the first contrast we have to home.

    But the fact that my first new place was France — and not just France, but Paris, of all places — gave my seventeen year old self the idea that the world outside my house was entirely glamorous, beautiful, and mysterious. Everything was exactly as I’d seen it in the movies and I was shocked that these famous places I’d only ever read about — the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees — I was shocked that these places actually existed in real life. As if, you know, someone had only invented them for the sake of making a movie set look good. Logical!

    Now that I am older and have traveled a bit more, I obviously know better. I know that the entire world outside of home isn’t like Paris. I’ve been to several places I love almost as much, a few places I really hate, many that I’ve found to be ridiculously beautiful and only one or two that I thought were pretty ugly, and I’ve also been back to France three times. These travels have convinced me that you won’t always get that magical feeling, and not every country will make you feel like the world is awesome and more glamorous than things should be in real life.But they have also reinforced my belief that France will do that. So far, France has kicked the ass of every other country I’ve been to.

    I studied in the French Riviera for a summer, and right before leaving for that trip my boyfriend dumped me. I was so sad. Embarrassingly sad. And then I went to France and frolicked around the beach and hopped from one art museum to the next and I felt wonderful — and that was right when Eat, Pray, Love came out and everyone was on a yay-for-traveling-as-a-way-to-cure-a-broken-heart-and-encourage-female-empowerment kick, before everyone randomly turned against Elizabeth Gilbert. For me, that’s what this trip to France was — something worthy of a book, not real life.

    My next trip to France was after the worst three days that anyone has ever spent in Vienna. Vienna kicked my ass. I literally stepped off the plane in Paris and started crying because I was so happy to get out of Austria, and I knew that no matter what happened in Paris, it would make me feel better. It felt like I was coming home, even though I’d only been to Paris once before. Since France was the first place I’d ever been, it still had that innocent, magical aura surrounding it — it was the place that had made me fall in love with traveling, and so naturally it was the place that could restore my faith in traveling whenever I began to doubt it.

    My next and most recent stop in France was in the Normandy region, where I stayed in a Pride and Prejudice-esque manor in the middle of nowhere. Well, actually, this would have been the middle of nowhere had it been anywhere else, but since it was in France, it was in the middle of a gorgeous, majestic countryside. I was staying with my boyfriend and his family, and they’d swapped houses with a French family like in that movie The Holiday. This French house was not only massive and beautiful, but it also came complete with a private apple orchard and silo (this family brewed their own cider), an ATV, horses (and their own private field), and a pond area. Oh, and the husband collected dinosaur bones and ancient Chinese funerary sculptures that he kept on a shelf in the living room. Of course. I was reminded of my summer spent recovering from a broken heart on the beaches of the French Riviera — how was it possible that any of this had actually taken place in real life?

    I’ve decided that these kinds of things only happen in the movies and in France, and this is why I’m obsessed with this country. France is as close to magic and as close to living in a movie as we’re going to get, guys. Currently I’m living and working in Chicago in the US, but I know that at some point down the line, I’m probably going to end up living in France. I think I almost required to do so if I’m this obsessed with it.And writing this post has unexpectedly inspired such France-withdrawal that I actually have a plane ticket search opened up in a different tab right now. Maybe I’ll end up there sooner than I thought?

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    Well Jackie, if you do end up back in France sooner than you thought, make sure it includes a visit to Le Petit Village. And all of you guys make sure to pop on over to Jackie Travels and visit her too.

    bisou