Month: November 2012

Red dust on my shoes


…but not in my heart. Imprints burning with each step.

That’s it? Yes, that is it for today. No explanations or musings. I am taking a cue from my incredibly wise friend Suze and giving self-awareness a bit of a rest, most especially as I am still right in the midst of my visit to the States where there is much to absorb. Mainly a whole lot of love. 
So I hope that you enjoyed the last of these photographs from the Colorado Provençal with its varying shades of ochre, a million years crushed into dust to swipe across the palm of your hand. Time is feeling a bit like that for me these days, both with the length of a shadowy pull while the past ripples out behind me and as strikingly immediate as a pinprick without pain.
I will be back in Provence on Monday. Remi has a way of teasing me about being squirrel-like at times and true enough, I am busy gathering nuts of memories for the winter ahead. 

Palate cleanser

Oh my goodness. Most of us have had quite a bit to digest this week, haven’t we? Certainly in the States with our copious Thanksgiving feast (and yes, mine was absolutely the meal I have been dreaming of for five years, thank you, it really was) but also this rocket launch into the holiday season which effects so many of us, one that is nothing short of a doozy. Whew. So it might be fine timing to offer up a mini-post to help digest it all, a palate cleanser.
Nature does it best. I went to see “Life of Pi” (in 3-D no less) last night and I could tell from bits of stifled laughter that the very real animals featured in the opening credits were as unknown as the phenomenally created digitally-animated tiger featured in the rest of the movie. That made me pause a bit, most especially as there is so much exotic beauty all around us, even in small spaces.
I took these photos in the Colorado Provençal  and was somehow thinking of some of the design friends that read this blog while I did so (and the bark photos are precisely for the incredibly talented Francine Gardner of Intérieurs, I don’t know why). Lines, contrast, shape, color, form, texture and maybe even a hint of emotion (I know I am pushing it with that last one but if you were there you would have felt it too)–all that plants a seed to become something else, whether literal or figuratively. 
We keep growing–ain’t that grand? 
Wishing you some rest this weekend wherever you are. 

Good will hunting

Isn’t it something? 

That quiet stealth of liquid happiness rising through my veins…

…so quickly upon finding that smile, that irreplaceable smile as I am the very first to walk out of the International Arrivals gate, one of delight and relief.
My Mom rises up out of her chair in the waiting area and comes towards me with open arms.
I hold her so tight and kiss her on the side of her head.

I can feel the gentle pressure of appreciation as others around our little bubble look on.
It’s her. It’s my Mom. It always takes a few seconds more to realize she is actually there.

And that I am here. 
I will go through the same feelings being welcomed by her wonderful companion, Leonard and then with a whoop, my Sister, Robin a few hours later.
“Welcome Home,” the young man at passport control had said. But when he asked me the reason why I am in France, I blurted out, “Happiness!” because you see, I have two families and my honey is there.
But I know how much he wants me to enjoy this time, enough for both of us, so that is what I am doing.

I feel rich with gifts. And buoyed with a profound gratitude.

What a year it has been so far, what beauty I have seen. An appreciation of time waving over and within me. Just as it did as Remi and I strolled hand in hand through the village of Aurel.
So much to see and discover…

…and in such fine company too.
I feel it now as well, right this very instant as I sit outside–outside!–with my laptop delicately balanced on a wrought iron table on my Mom’s porch. I am looking out upon a riotous red tree laughing its last and grains from an overstocked bird feeder that are embedded in the earth at my feet. I can hear the reassuring hum of an airplane overhead, knowing others are making their way to their families, as well as the blender’s whir of Leonard preparing a battalion of pies in the kitchen. My fingertips are chilled, my coffee gone cold but I am deeply content in the midst of this everyday poetry.
 Perhaps it is the glow in my heart that is shedding extra light, making everything come into focus.
And yet I know that many of us have experienced incredible challenges so far in 2012 whether economical, physical or emotional and some have been dealt terrible losses. It is not an easy moment in history, is it? All I know is what I would wish so dearly, for those of us that have been holding an upside down horseshoe, would be to use both hands to force it the right back up, to keep the luck inside. 
This year, rather than to only celebrate Thanksgiving–and I will with a cornucopia of sheer delight–I am going to go good will hunting and invite all of you to join me, no matter where on this incredible planet you might be…just for a day, just for ten seconds or just for our lives, to remember that we are all loved and to try to keep our eyes open to not only all that is in front of us but the horizon beyond. 
Sending my Very Best from Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A.
There are many that are still homeless after the devastation of Hurricane Sandy and the rebuilding process will be long. For those of you that would like to donate or donate again:
Red Cross Hurricane Sandy Relief
Hurricane Sandy Relief Foundation

Time to hit the road

Isn’t it funny? I have a whole cache of posts prepared to pull you along while I laugh doubled over during my visit in the States but yet this evening, I am so filled with a bubbly excitement that I can’t put anything together, save a pile with my passport and ticket. Of course, certain tasty treats de la France have already been carefully packed in my bag along with myriad cadeaux. I have been roving to hold Remi randomly like a planet in rotation, sad that he is not coming with me, nor Ben. For I know that I am heading to the Land of the Loved. If you feel so inclined, send good thoughts to him please so as to keep him company and perhaps to yours truly who will soon be lifted up in flight above our quotidien and sending hope for a bit of peace, a bit of joy to all below…
Fingers crossed for safety, more soon from America…

Daydream for sale

I blushed. For within minutes of having met lovely Jennifer in person, she had tossed out, “You know what I love in your blog? That you and Remi are always pining after some house or another, imagining what it would be like to move to some place new.” Ooh, busted. She nailed it! The heat rose to my cheeks. We can’t help it. Remi and I are both nomads for different reasons–me from having moved around so much during my childhood, he for having travelled the world for most of his career. We are always open to the next possibility. Or at least willing to entertain it with a daydream or two. 
When we explore, we wander, often aimlessly travelling down this road or that, happy to be in each other’s company with our Golden, Ben, looking out the back window. Many a time have we come screeching to a halt to better take in a happy surprise. So it was with the house for sale roadside on the outskirts of Banon. 

Remi saw his plan immediately. “The garage could be transformed into a gallery with an atelier above and the rest of the house looks big enough that it could be…” “A B&B?” I interrupted (as I am too often to do). “Exactly.”
We were immediately taken by the traditional layout of the house, with its rooms sprouting off from a central stairway, as well as the deep porch off the side. Can’t you just see how lovely it could be? Oh, I would gleefully tear down those yellow plastic panels and build a tonnelle to be draped in wisteria and roses. Up would come the cement and down would be laid age-worn dalles de pierres in its stead. I would keep the lovely screen door, imagining its satisfying bang each time someone would head back into the kitchen to fetch another bottle of wine. 
The view of the surrounding mountains opens out with welcome arms and an absolutely massive garden slopes down in descending terraces from the porch. My heart goes out to that forgotten land, dotted with a few scraggly accidental trees and waist high weeds. What could it be? What must it have been?
We decided that we needed a closer look and poked around until we found a dirt path that stopped just below the property’s baseline. Apparently our zooming back and forth was worrisome to one of les voisines, whom Remi noticed peaking at us from behind a partially drawn curtain. Didn’t she know we were on a dream hunt? We were well-rewarded with our new perspective as the ruin of an ancient tower or pigeonnier took shape. What could we make of that? A nap house? With a star-gazing platform? And just look how close the house is to the village. We could have unlimited access to gooey goat cheese and spiky saucisson!

From down below, we could also appreciate fully how much larger the house was than what we initially thought, including two entire floors that hadn’t been visible from the road. Definitely enough room for a B&B. I also took a long gander at the filled in arch on the lower left hand corner of the facade. Open that puppy up, put in a pool that runs half-inside the structure, half out with an infinity drop–et voila, B&B de luxe! In winter, the towering pine would whistle woefully while the chimneys billowed fragrant smoke…Maybe there is space enough for a yoga studio? 
Yes, we spent a good thirty minutes, at least, entertaining this little fantasy. Not long enough for us to even call the number posted on the door but certainly plenty to restock the wishing well. Sometimes just the wondering is enough.
Sincerely hoping that you all have a wonderful weekend ahead, a calm one with plenty of time to let your imagination go…

…and to get you started hop on board, A “Train of Thought” by Chilly Gonzalez. 


And I nearly forgot! What kind of aspiring Frenchy would I be if I didn’t mention that this is the weekend when le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé! Ah ha! Not being particularly attached to the stuff (nor the headaches it has inspired in the past), I politely declined when my caviste offered a tasting of this year’s batch. Without missing a beat, he instead poured a Côte du Rhone Primeur, which is the same concept but made with the more full-bodied varietals that we have in our neck of the woods. It turns out that it has not been a great year for the Beaujolais as many of the vignobles were damaged during heavy hail storms. One winery lost 80% of its production. Happily, there is the rather tasty Primeur as well, which just might leave you dancing like the lovely apsaras…

The sun in my arms and the stars at my feet

A true Sunday. Sleeping in late then dipping carefully shredded Italian brioche into my coffee, listening to our friends that had stayed over after a joyful evening as they mused on this and that, their knowing to let me be until I am fully awake. Each paging through picture books with waving lapses of silence filled only with the ping-pong of Baroque. Meanwhile, beyond the window-pane the sun was arm-wrestling with the clouds. It won and was victorious. Out we wandered, working up an appetite for the omelette aux chanterelles that Chef Remi had promised. I took my camera along as the light was singing just to me, I felt that I had the sun in my arms and love in my heart. 

Hungry from looking, we stayed at table until 4 pm, lingering over the St. Marcellin and sweet clementines. After our friends said their goodbyes, it was time for une petite sieste, the kind filled with sleeping without sleeping, the best I know. But I could hear noises outside my window as I dozed and was finally drawn to see what could it be. While I was dreaming, workers from the city had been as busy as bees, stringing up, then testing the lights for the Christmas season. I smiled at the Milky Way just below my feet, as they winked little hellos while lighting up the dark. 

Tastes of the Luberon

It has been quite a week, hasn’t it? I just finished a long, restorative yoga class on My Yoga Online (a  phenomenal resource for expats or anyone that doesn’t have easy access to classes) and at the very end, my stomach finally released like a sigh. It had been clenched tightly for days and days. Now that it is nice and relaxed, all the better to tempt it with tasty things, don’t you agree? And so here is a lighter, off the cuff post to soothe the nerves. I’ll wait while you pour yourself a glass of something good, no rush.

In France, we call someone who loves fine food and wine gourmet. Think of that as being a foodie without the snobby connotations, Slow Food without the politics. Save that I think I have somehow gingerly tiptoed over that fine line into becoming…une gloutonne. Oops. 
I will travel far and wide anywhere in the world to taste and savour, the Luberon being no exception. And I will flat out admit it, one of the most important reasons why I so enjoy our cabanon rental is that it is located on a point that is equidistant to all of the edible treasures that the region can offer. Crucially, it is less than a ten minute drive to Banon, namesake of the fragrant goat cheese that is wrapped in the autumn leaves of a chestnut tree and aged just long enough (only around twenty days) until it melts on your plate into pungent perfection. And as the French Wikipedia graciously suggests, it is quite fine with a slice of country bread and a touch of fig jam.

Stepping out of la fromagerie and across a square that is mignon comme tout, is La Brindille Melchio, which while also offering some nice cheeses (including a very good fermier sec that I would recommend), is far more heralded for its yard long saucisson, la brindille. Of course, I was obligated to try several–the sacrifices that I make for you all–and was especially taken with the one that was stuffed with? Yes, you guessed correctly, goat cheese.

So much hunger mongering was enough to work up a thirst. Fortunately, there are several charming cafés in Banon to offer a little haven of peace, just unfortunately not the one that I chose, as I was surrounded by several young men sporting mirrored sunglasses and fauxhawks crying out over last nights game of le foot as if it were la fin du monde.

Better then to hop in the Range Rover and toodle up to Sault, for one reason above all–to partake of the magnificent deliciousness on offer at the pricey but worth it boutique of Yves and Virginie.

Not only did Ben make a friend, I do believe that he would have been willing to hang out in front of the shop all day long (I am sorry but not even in France do they let dogs inside of epiceries)! Are you trying to decide which of the tasty items on the sign board appeals to you most? I know I was and was disappointed not to have tried the fascinating ginger and olive confit. Two flavours that I adore but do they go together? I have no idea. Will I find out next time? Hopefully. Not to mention that we were a little too early for truffle season…
I will say that we were not disappointed in their products and Remi, who was over the moon to find andouillettes that were made the old-fashioned way, even brought several kilos worth back to Arles. Ah, lucky me. And as I have said before, if you don’t know that word, by all means, do not look it up…

While beef is hardly the speciality of the region, we were so surprised by the low prices at the butcher’s that we decided to launch into one of our rare–as in a few times a year–tastings. So, um, since we have already declared that yes, I like to eat, we splurged on a ginormous côte de boeuf worthy of Manhattan’s finest chop houses.
And even less attached to the region but lest you think we are meat-chomping hooligans, Remi also served up a teriyaki Norwegian salmon (this is Europe after all) grilled à la plancha that was out of this world. Trying to assuage our guilt? Our bellies? Perhaps.
And for dessert? Well, thankfully we are not terribly sucré because really, after all of that cheese, what room remains? But even I couldn’t resist this gateau aux pommes that was fresh out of the wood-fired oven at the bakery attached to Le Chapeau Rouge. We also ordered Saturday night pizzas there and thoroughly enjoyed listening to the happy banter of the locals gathered around tables in the middle of the store while we waited for our order to come out of the oven. My choice? La Simiane with Banon goat cheese and insanely good local lavender honey. You see? Glutton!

Well, as they say here “tel chien, tel maître”–yes, the dog resembles his owner. So I will leave you with this image of Ben, intent on Remi’s plate and drooling so much that he has created a little hammock for the leaves below his chin. 
Bon appétit et Bon Weekend!

Open the door


“I miss you too much,” my Mom said and yet her voice over the phone crackled bright with excitement. She, along with her companion Leonard and my Sister, Robin, had a surprise for me. They had pooled their money together to make it possible for me to visit for the fast approaching Thanksgiving holiday and my Sister’s birthday. There was no room for me to protest and why would I? To know that they were there to share with me what they could to bring me closer…as the realization sunk in, my eyes filled with tears. I looked down at my hands and they were trembling. 
Sharing is an incredible word, one of the most beautiful I know. 
Whether it is to share in a moment of joy or to share a burden…
…to share a life together…

…or to share a story. 
Sometimes it is just as simple as that.

I have an embarrassing confession. One that might surprise you. Initially, I really looked down my nose at the idea of blogging. I was a professional travel writer at the time and they just seemed…silly. Silly me. When my assignments dried up, it was Remi, my wonderful companion, who quietly and consistently encouraged me to reconsider my opinion. And so two years ago, I started writing Lost in Arles. And while I write and photograph for myself (and am nudged back in that direction whenever I stray), I quickly understood that being able to share my life here was really appealing. To know that it was going out and away but would also come back.
I still shout out the number every time a new member joins, as does Remi, who could not be more supportive in my efforts. My blog remains relatively small and so each person that signs on to read is especially precious to me. Often I joke about being the Little Engine that Could but I am certainly not alone. So, let me open the door on three blogs that you might not know of, for they are too wonderful not to share… 
Some of you might remember my previously mentioning Jennifer, whose wonderful blog Gustia (not to forget The Auntie Times), I consider to be one of the most under-rated on the blogosphere. Gustia, a food and lifestyle blog, has only 18 members and yet she prepares and photographs each post with all of the care as if it were going out to thousands. Take a look at her most recent effort (with its irresistible piglet photo) and you’ll see what I mean. I love that she opens up the exclusive realm of Monaco, where she lives for most of the year, in the least pretentious way possible and often with a point of view that is ever so slightly off-kilter. Similarly, while she is a vegetarian, she is the truest foodie that I know (she just made her own olive oil, as in literally, in her kitchen) and she will open your mind without any preachy nonsense. I recently had the good fortune of meeting Jennifer and can promise you that she embodies the wonderfulness that her blogs exude.

And while I haven’t met Nancy Kate, her hysterically funny blog, Bread is Pain, leaves me feeling as if I have, so pitch-perfect and immediate is her writing. She is also in the tiny zone, with about 30 members. Will you just trust me on this one, hop over, you won’t regret it and as she only puts out a few posts a month, you won’t be inundated either. So few writers can really nail the wacky intricate details of French life in a way that is capable of making you laugh until you hiccup without a trace of meanness. If anything, the joke is often on herself as in her recent post about the horrors of figuring out exactly how to properly give les bises. And if you aren’t immediately tempted by the title of “Congratulations! You’re having a cheese baby” or “Can bacon be a vegetable?”, then at least take a gander at her very first post to see why bread is indeed pain. To top if off, Nancy Kate, an American living with her French husband in Grenoble, is a girl after my own heart, who loves her food and wine, to the point that she will eat anything, including having tried brain…twice. Wow. Chapeau!
Loree may have a comparatively whopping 125 members (as I did not long ago at all), but I still feel that she is not on the radar as she should be for her writing is as warm as the sun on the island of Malta, where she lives and sends out her Stories and Scribbles as well as dreamy Snapshots of an Island. Her phrasing is gentle and yet as fragrant as the mysterious Smell of Violets that she so beautifully evoked recently in a gorgeous essay that brought back the memory of her Nanna Rose. There is something about what Loree does that is so simple and yet I can never quite put my finger on it, which always keeps me coming back. We all need a dose of goodness now and again.

Speaking of, I would like to say yet again how grateful I am for all of you. In recent emails and comments, many of you have reached out to share too. Things beautiful and painful. Thank you for your trust…as well as your respect concerning my previous post regarding today’s elections in the United States. While I have lost subscribers, they are relatively few and I was interested by all of the thoughts that were expressed. The irony that the only truly nasty comment came from a French person did not escape me either! Did it make me sad that so many of you applauded me for my “courage” to speak out? Yes, a bit, that our society is at that point but again, I just hope that all of my American friends will go out and vote! 

We all have much of importance to share and the future is right there in front of us. A new time, every day to make choices about who we are and where we want to go, no matter our age or where we live on this amazing planet. So, open the door and let the light in.
Today’s exceptionally lengthy post was my contribution to this month’s “By Invitation Only” series. The theme involved the concept of sharing and passing on the torch to under-appreciated blogs as a means of getting the gift-giving season started! The photos are my own, as always (so please no borrowing or Pinning), taken during my recent trips to the Luberon. More of that series to follow.
To discover the other participants of this International Blog Party, please click here. 

Have you read it?

“Have you read it?” Remi charged into the room after having read an article in Le Monde. This was quite a while back. “What?” I answered sleepily while looking over yet another design blog. “Romney’s platform, have you read it?” “Well, sure I know the key points…the talking points,” I stammered and felt an embarrassed blush rise on my cheeks. For the next five minutes, he went through the list in a rapid-fire French, leaving me grasping to catch up. Because a lot of it was new to me. 

You see, for me it was already a done deal that I would vote for Barack Obama for reasons that are personal to me, just as I had decided that I would not vote for Mitt Romney for reasons that are also. But I realized that it shouldn’t be that, a given. Not for something as critical to my home country and the world as this election. There is far, far too much at stake.
So, for my many American friends out there, I will ask, “Have you actually read the platforms?” Even if you have very strong feelings about the “other” candidate(s)? Even if you have already decided? If not and you are so inclined, here are links to the central candidates platforms:

Mitt Romney -Issues

Barack Obama -Issues

And don’t forget the Green Party candidate (who, I must say, hasn’t received one iota of press in France):
Jill Stein -Issues

I have thought for months, literally, about whether to write a post about the upcoming election. I know that I may lose readers simply by stating that I am voting for Barack Obama, despite the willingness to “agree to disagree” which I so very much appreciate. The journalist in me felt that, as an American living overseas who has had the good fortune to travel extensively, I had perspectives that might be of interest and that it was my duty as a transparent writer to share them. Well, I have finally decided that I am not going to go into polemics any more than that. We are divided enough already. There is a reason why the French say, “Never speak politics at the table!” We all have our opinions, for many of us they are strong ones, so I will scale this down to communicate the two things that truly matter to me: to simply encourage those of you that haven’t voted yet to be certain that your choice is a well-informed one and by all means, no matter what, please go out and vote next Tuesday! Your voice counts. Yes, even if you live in a state where the electoral votes have been “decided.” We are all responsible for the outcome of this election and the world is waiting with baited breath…
Friends, I have been as respectful here as possible and I hope that you will show me the same courtesy in the comments section. For my non-American friends, thank you for your patience and to everyone, I will be back to my regular Frenchified posts next week! 


Wishing you all a wonderful weekend ahead…


N.B. When I woke up this morning, I saw that this post had mysteriously disappeared! I have no idea what that is about but here it is again and my sincere apologies for the double notifications.