What else can I add?
The picture says it all.
The Police.
In Paris.
I love Johann.
Best. Husband. Ever.
Monthly Archives: July 2007
You Say It’s Your Birthday?
In fact, we weren’t saying it was Liz’s birthday. She was very specific. No gifts, no cake, no singing. No mentioning her age. Just cocktails by the pool, followed by an evening BBQ. She and Patrick even invited everyone to stay overnight, which meant I finally got that tour of the house I had been hoping for. Liz and Patrick are caretakers for a 13-bedroom estate that sits on 370 acres of land and features a pool, pond and manicured garden. It is really something to see.
Liz is the type of person who puts thought and effort into everything she does, and the fact that her resumé includes jobs at art galleries and art museums in the States clearly shows in the style with which she does them. Whether it’s funky martini-glass markers (so easy to lose track of which one is yours), beautiful napkins, a cool apron, elegant candlesticks or coffee cups shaped like tulips, a meal at her house is hip and fun from beginning to end. A regular person might make sure to have lots of ingredients on hand to make fun drinks for a party. Liz does this, then goes through her drink book, makes a list of all the drinks she can make with what she has, types it into the computer, and prints out a drinks menu on bright pink paper for her guests to peruse. See what I mean? Style.
After our poolside cocktail party, we enjoyed a light, fresh, summer meal of barbequed corn on the cob, fried green tomatoes, quiche lorraine, fougasse (a kind of flat bread) topped with chevre and thyme, green salad and sliced melon. Dessert was a round of grasshoppers, which, in case you were not a frequent patron of Wisconsin supper clubs in the late 70s, are chocolate and mint liqueurs blended with vanilla ice cream. Yummy.
After dinner, the music came on, the cocktails continued to flow and Liz and Patrick brought out the “dress-up” box. Full of fun wigs, hats and costumes, I wish I could tell you that it belonged solely to their three children, but its contents are actually for kids of all ages. Somehow, it’s just more fun drinking a cosmopolitan as a redhead with a black feather boa. Don’t ask me why.
The Tour de France
Yesterday, Johann took a day off of work. The Tour de France was passing through St. Paul les Durances, which just so happens to be where Johann’s mother lives, and we weren’t going to let this opportunity pass us by.
The athletes were expected around 2:30, but we had to get into town early, as all roads into the village were blocked to traffic starting at 11:30 a.m. And by that time, I should note, the temperature outside was already 92 degrees. We had a quick lunch at Johann’s mom’s house, then left at 12:45 to go stake out a good spot at the side of the road.
Why so early? We didn’t want to miss the advertising. Just like during the Superbowl, the advertising is half the fun at the Tour de France. Only instead of sitting in your easy chair enjoying the commercials, you’re standing by the side of the road being pelted by promotional giveaways thrown from vehicles going 45 mph. Not just any vehicles, though. There were vans decorated to look like six-packs of beer, an enormous bottle of water and a giant tire. Cars were topped with galloping horses, a kangaroo and a Tour rider sporting the jellow jersey.
We got a pretty good haul: Four keychains, a pen, a hat, a CD, a newspaper, a bag of candy, a bag of pretzels and a fan designed to look like slices of pizza (kudos to that marketing team – it made us all want pizza). I was a little afraid of what the bottled water people would throw at us (ouch) but it turned out that they had a tank of water and were lightly misting the crowd as they passed by, which was very refreshing, given that it was now about 102 degrees.
After the half-hour parade of corporate sponsorship, it was time to wait. A woman and her two daughters were sitting next to us in style, with a fold-out table, chairs and a little picnic. They went every year, she told us, and said that the first sign that the riders were getting close would be the helicopters. Sure enough, before too long we saw them. They were way, way up there, barely visible, but this didn’t stop Johann’s mom from yelling and waving her hat at them.
Then the leaders rode by, in tight formation and flanked by police in cars and on motorcycles. The rest followed a few minutes later. I even managed to get a picture of the yellow jersey, which was no easy task given how fast they go by and how slow my camera is. Zoooooom. It was all over in a flash.
We spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool, then Johann spent the evening on the internet to see if we had been on camera at all during the race. We weren’t, so the only evidence of our presence there is these pictures, and the ones at right, under “photos.” Enjoy!
Happy Bastille Day!
At first glance, Bastille Day can seem a little lame, especially when you compare it to our Fourth of July. There are no family gatherings, no parades (unless you are in Paris), no BBQs, no tri-color Jello-based desserts. Milwaukee’s Bastille Day celebration is way more festive than anything I’ve seen happening on actual French soil.
Even the event itself, when you read the details of the story, is a little underwhelming. The U.S. holiday celebrates the American people’s glorious victory in a war for freedom from the British crown’s financial oppression. Bastille Day celebrates the French people’s victory over their own money-grubbing monarchy. So, there, we’re pretty much even.
The actual storming of the Bastille, though? I’m sorry, I even have a problem with the term “storming.” A disgruntled mob showed up at the gates of the Bastille, elected two representatives to negotiate for them and the Bastille guards let them in. That’s not a “storm.” That’s a “pop-in.”
There’s just as much of a ruckus at our house when Johann’s relatives show up unannounced to find the gate closed and commence with the honking, shouting and doorbell-ringing until someone lets them in and provides them with drinks and snacks. Instead of drinks and snacks, though, the revolutionaries wanted guns and prisoners. Mostly guns, since, according to Wikipedia, there were only seven prisoners in there anyway: four counterfeiters, two madmen, and a young aristocrat who had displeased his father.
Okay, enough with the history lesson. This year, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that there were actually some activities organized for Bastille Day. We had dinner in the village at a restaurant with an outdoor terrace, then walked over to the Foyer Rural (municipal building) to watch Cadenet’s marching band play. Now considering that only 5,000 people live in our little village, just the fact that they have their own marching band is pretty impressive. The fact that it seemed like all 5,000 inhabitants had come out to see them made it even more so.
After that was the fireworks display. And again, for a little village like this, it was pretty darn good (the French words for “oooh” and “aaah” are the same as the English). Following that, the whole village walked into the center of town and partied down until 1:00 a.m. The bars around the square stayed open late just for the occasion, though it was hardly necessary, as a temporary bar had been set up near the stage. Tables and chairs had been set up to create a kind of club atmosphere, and there was a generous amount of space left open for the dance floor. The band did covers of classic 80s hits which went over like gangbusters with the crowd and made the two of us giggle to no end. (I ohnly wont to zee you laving in ze purple rain.)
So while it may not be what I was used to in terms of patriotic celebrations, it was a really, really fun evening and a pleasant surprise. Allons, enfants de la patrie!
Port Grimaud
Sure enough, there’s nothing like a free week in an amazing house on the French Riviera to make you forget all your troubles. Port Grimaud is near St. Tropez and is known as the Venice of France. This exclusive little port village is gated, and doesn’t even allow non-residents to drive through. But once inside, you can feast your eyes on the winding canals, picturesque little bridges and breathtakingly sublime sailboats.
We had a gorgeous three-bedroom house with the best terrace in town. In fact, tourists walking over the bridge near our terrace would gasp and get their cameras out at the sight of us having lunch in the sun or celebrating “champagne-o-clock” (that’s Adi-speak for six p.m.) with a bottle of bubbly and some pre-dinner snacks. We estimated that we were in about fifty tourist photos each day we were there.
It was a wonderful, relaxing week and in addition to getting all caught up on my lolling about, we took the ferry to St. Tropez and did some shopping, took several boat tours of the canals and treated ourselves to some spa treatments and the best Thai food either of us have had in Europe. It was heaven. More pics at right.
Lost In Provence 