Remi’s story in National Geographic magazine!

Have you ever had a dream that took a long time to come true? Or maybe you are still on the path?
Today is a very big day, one that has been over three years in the making. 
I am so very excited to tell you that my love, Remi Benali, has his first story for National Geographic magazine in the April 2014 issue. Worldwide.

Remi has been a professional photographer for 25 years. He started as a sports photographer with the prestigious Gamma Agency and covered five Olympic Games. He changed paths to start shooting magazine stories and became interested in National Geographic magazine’s aesthetic and high-level quality during a three year stint as a foreign correspondent in New York City. Along the way, he was published in many of the world’s most prestigious magazines such as Life (his photograph of “Dolly the cloned sheep” was chosen as one of the “100 pictures of the century”), Time, Newsweek, Vanity Fair, the Sunday Times, Le Figaro Magazine, Paris-Match, Stern, Geo, El Mundo and La Repubblica. Often, he would receive the same feedback: “We love your work but tell me, why aren’t you working for National Geographic?”
He has voyaged to over 80 countries on five continents and became a specialist in tribes, traditions and UNESCO World Heritage sites. Starting in 1998, several of his stories were presented to the National Geographic Society in Washington D.C. – including his impressive work on “The Marble of the Taj Mahal” – and he had several near misses. But they were misses. It was disheartening. 
In 2005, we chose to leave Paris in order to make Arles, a small town in Provence, our home base. At the time, we were working extensively together as a writer-photographer team and were frequently on the road. But then the economic crisis hit in 2008 and the press took an enormous hit. Our travels slowly trickled to a halt. That same year, several incredible finds were made in Arles during archeological digs in the Rhône River.
One of the most impressive was the discovery of a 31 meter-long (just over 100 feet) intact boat from the Roman era. It took several years to acquire the financing to bring up such an impressive object. In 2011, the Musée départemental Arles antique was ready to take on the 8 million Euros project with the support of the region’s Conseil Général for the launch of Opération Arles-Rhône 3. 
Remi (seen in the white hard hat above), along with two underwater photographers, Lionel Roux and Teddy Seguin, was awarded a government contract to document the entire process. Opportunity was knocking. 
After having searched the world over, the story that he had been waiting for was found…in his own backyard. 
National Geographic said, “Yes.”
The boat, which was beautifully preserved due to being in a river as opposed to being exposed to harmful amoebas in the sea, was cut into ten sections underwater that were individually lifted up to the surface. Having been present at several of these occasions, I can tell you it was a nail-biting experience each time for all involved.
After having been brought up to the light of day, each section then needed to be treated. The renovation process was extensive, included being heated with non-radioactive gamma rays to solidify the structure of the wood. Each original iron nail was removed and replaced. Additionally, the thousands of objects that were found during the archeological dig – from giant statues to minuscule gold rings – were categorized and restored. Remi followed the entire process.
Within his contract was the possibility to photograph one of the museum’s masterpieces, which was also discovered in the Rhône in 2007.
This bust of Julius Caesar is believed to be the only one in existence that was carved during his lifetime. I was able to assist Remi on this photo shoot and it was absolutely thrilling to be literally nose to nose with such a masterpiece of Roman art. 
But that was nothing compared to the night at the very, very end of the three year-long process when he photographed the boat, now reassembled in a new wing especially built within the museum, for a panoramic shot that was a great technical challenge. For six and a half hours, we were in near darkness. Alone. I am happy to say that the resulting photograph is the opening gatefold of the article, especially as Remi had conceived the image even before the boat had been lifted out of the water. He made it happen. Wait until you see it…it is stunning.
On October 5th, 2013, the Roman boat of Opération Arles-Rhône 3 was presented to the public in an opening ceremony.
The crowds were impressive…
…everyone wanted to see and understand the boat which had already been labelled a “National Treasure” by the French government.
But where was Remi? Was he swanning about? Resting on his laurels?
Hardly. He spent the evening secured up on a perch above the crowd to shoot a long exposure photo that was also one of his specially conceived ideas. The masses swirling around the boat were eventually transformed into one blur of a wave that buoyed it back to life! That photo can now be seen on billboards throughout the region as it was used as the poster for the opening exhibition.
When the crowds left that evening – amidst a great thunderstorm that felt fitting somehow – we both had an awareness that the boat had been delivered to port and that the story was nearing its end. 
Remi then went through an extensive and incredibly thorough process in conjunction with his editor on the story. Photographs were selected, abandoned, questioned and every last fact was verified. Finally, the layout came together. The first time that I saw the pdf version of it with Remi’s name up top, I cried. I think that we both did, actually.
The day before yesterday, we had a Fedex delivery from Washington. The magazine, which has been so gracious throughout, sent us five copies of the April issue. It will be available in 170 countries in English plus in 60 countries in an additional 38 languages.  To hold it in our hands and know that 40 million readers all over the world will soon be seeing it feels slightly unreal.
Through hard work, tenacity, talent and vision, Remi made his dream of working for the National Geographic magazine come true.
Bravo, coeur. Je t’aime et je suis tellement fiere de toi…
Only one song can express how I feel today:
Turn it up and let’s pop open the champagne!
 Can’t wait a moment longer? You can see the story at National Geographic online by clicking here.

But please do go buy the magazine! I am going to be asking for photos of the different international versions from you soon…it should be reaching subscribers from March 20th or so and on newsstands by the end of the month.
To see five excellent videos (in English) about the lift-up process, please click here.
For mes lecteurs francophones, the story has already been published in three separate editions of the French version of National Geographic. To see more, please click here.
To discover more of Remi’s images for the Arles-Rhône 3 story, click here.
To learn more about his photography, please be so kind as to click below:
As always, all of the photos in this post were taken by me (and some even with my scrappy iphone) – trust me this is not the quality of National Geographic or Remi’s work… 🙂 

Thank you for your support and have a wonderful weekend everyone!

A discovery in Castillon du Gard

“Medieval village, first left.” We made the turn and snaked up the hill towards Castillon-du-Gard, emitting suffused sighs of wonder with each twist of the panorama. A discovery was in front of us, waiting.

Admittedly, they are increasingly rare for Remi and I. For his various photographic projects, we have criss-crossed la Provence and the eastern reaches of the neighboring Languedoc and wear our metallic merit badges proudly. We even know of secret villages and bijous that are hidden in plain sight.

But Castillon? Well, it was just a mark on the map that we passed on our way to the Pont du Gard and my beloved Uzès. As we had just left nearby St. Hilaire d’Ozilhan and were taking the long road home (aka driving in the opposite direction of where we needed to go), it was time to explore. The light was softening to  a whisper and as we pulled ourselves and the pups out of the car, we realized that we had the streets to ourselves, just as we prefer.

And what unusual streets they are, such perfect cut stone paths…rock against rock to echo…
…and lead us down the yellow brick road…

…into a forest where things haven’t changed actually, not since one thousand years.
And yet I felt slightly ill at ease, as if the old stones were holding their breath, waiting for us to leave them in peace. We did and let the light lie behind us.
Mystery is a fickle dancer. So, of course we were immediately tempted to go back by day…
…and discern with a wagging finger…had we been imagining things?
Solidly, yes. 

For there was something of the touch too much perfect…
…a stage set without blunder…

…as if the joke was on us.

What to make of this and these – those pictures that beg to be taken without posing?
A bit like a Frenchman captivated by an insouciant minx, we were slightly under its spell.

We visited a house for sale and returned, returned again; trying to imagine ourselves walking those streets…

…so different from the rowdy roll of Arles with no graffiti, no garbage, no wild cats to be seen. Could we? The answer is no. At least no for now.

But it was still a good discovery and like the mirage of the Pont du Gard shimmering in the distance, a kindly reminder not to assume but to stop and question. “Tu as toujours de préjugés,” Remi has been saying to me lately. And I believe that he is right. I think that after all of those years in New York, I try to decide what a situation is or could be in advance as a sort of survival tactic. It might have been smart then but it could be time to change now. Better to think twice then. Once with your head of course but always, always once with your heart as well.
PS. My friend DA Wolf at Daily Plate of Crazy recently wrote a thought-provoking piece on the definition of wisdom that I think that you might enjoy. You can find it: here.

The Big Book of the Arles market

While trying to describe my blog yesterday evening, I found myself at a loss for words and juggling the air with empty hands as if digging for an answer. “Is it about…Provence?” my interlocutor inquired helpfully but still I hesitated and finally coughed out, “Well, not really in a touristy kind of way.” And then there is today’s post. Pretentious goose.
But there is a reason. For while most of you know that I avoid covering our markets here in fear of the cliché plague, when my Mom was asked recently if she there was any particular subject that I should write on, she didn’t hesitate in requesting, “Food.” Who can blame her? She will take the plane just to see my smiling face and to sit at our table. And she is always, always right.
So, this morning, as the sun was shining brightly and I was feeling sprightly 😉 I decided to set aside what I had prepared to publish. Instead, I grabbed my wee Canon G12, hung it around my neck Cartier-Bresson style and blended into the crowds of Arles’ Saturday market, purportedly the largest in all of Provence.
For as long as anyone can remember, this particular experience has been about equal parts flanerie and the products one purchases to pile into le panier
Of course, all of the usual suspects can be found, such as mountains of  glistening olives…
…cheeses of every size shape and date…
…the freshest fruits of the season…
…and treats to make one’s teeth ache…
…such as tarte tatin
…or a rainbow variety of  spongy macarons.
The eggs, whose centers glow warmer than the sun, are bijous unto themselves.
It can be a lot to take in.
But I am always drawn to the surprises, such as this organic stand tended by Raitetsu Jinno who came to Provence a year and a half ago from Japan. 
His greens are all edible emeralds but my favorite is the Wasabina, which is indeed the leafy equivalent to its sushi condiment counterpart.
I sail past the pricey fish stands to head directly to the producer from nearby Sete. I love that he has razor-clams, bulots, palourdes, spiky sea-urchins and shrimp fresh off the boat from Madagascar…
…but most that his small oysters from Bouzigues are only 3.80€ the dozen! They are Remi’s weekend treat.

I tend to sample the ginger flavored felafel as I walk but today the line was simply too long. Most were waiting to snatch up freshly fried accras, balls of pureed salt cod and pinky-sized crisps of phyllo-wrapped goat cheese.

There are also puffs or oriental pastries…

…delights created by the North African community present in Arles…
…as well as spices from all around the world such as the mélange du Sorcier or “witches mix.” No, I didn’t buy it. Wait, what do you mean by asking such a question?
I admit that there are days when I am simply not up to face the crowds…
…the jostling and old ladies cutting in front of me in line, their caddies rolling over my toes.

No wonder so many stop to have a coffee with a furry friend…

…or taste a sample of local wines…
…ending up at the Bar du Marché, where if you order a bottle of the house wine for 10€, they will choose to look away if you pull out your market goodies to nibble on.

Once restored, the hunt continues.

I have learned the hard way that whatever amount of money I have on me, that is exactly what I will spend.

Best to get the necessities first…

…or they might not make it home at all.

But there are always plenty of options for when I don’t feel like cooking. My favorite stop (and what we will be eating tonight) is the Vietnamese stand for nems to wrap in lettuce and mint. I skip the pizza and the paella sellers but was tempted by this riz forestier, rice topped with peas, mushrooms and smoked porc.
And of course, there is always roast chicken. It is easy to know whose is the best – just look for the longest line! 

But what makes the Arles market so especially interesting is that less than half the vendors are dedicated to food.
The rest sell items that are either traditional to the region…
…steeped in Arles’ own unique heritage…
…or not. 

Without fail, I am drawn to two items – the mini-oliviers in their own clay pots…

…and lavender to transform any home into the essence of Provence. 
I know how very lucky I have been to have so much of muchness, another spring signifier (although Remi keeps reminding me that officially spring is a week away) well within reach. I know that I will miss being able to stroll there and back with such ease – even if I do draggle home under the weight of having bought far too much!
And so, while I really enjoyed myself, it was also an unusual feeling today, taking in this market, my market, like a tourist. I could see that some of my go-to vendors were looking at my snapping with raised eyebrows. “I have a blog, ” I would explain, with some slight embarrassment. “Oh, really,” they would enquire, “what is it about?”
Have a lovely rest of your weekend everyone.

Return to St. Hilaire d’Ozilhan, part two

Each year, the arrival of the Italians surprises me. The student groups, thirty strong, roam and conquer. Boisterous is the word that comes to mind. Physically and orally they take space, calling out to the dogs with arms thrown open wide like happy Pirandellos. For they are joyous in the up-bounce of Youth – that Spring signifier – and so different from the shuffling heads down ados, their French counterparts. 
The current look for the young men is a haircut that is a tragic accident between a mohawk and a flat-top. Their jeans are less baggy and they dance around, shadow-boxing in neon Nike high-tops. The ladies seem to be having a Sophia Loren moment with manes left long and curls thick. They walk forward, heads high, feet planted in hopelessly impractical shearling lined deck shoes. 
The Arena rings with the reverb of their jokes delivered, laughter lauded. Just a bunch of kids with the bounty of everything and the randomness of nihilism inside them, together. They wear it lightly. 
I’ll admit it, in the past they have annoyed me, these giant swarms that don’t part like the seas but move forward like a busy bee storm. Their past is our past and so Arles is taken acquis. But this year, I find myself sipping their energy through a split straw, knowing that in all likelihood I will be elsewhere when next year’s groups come to surprise someone else. And me? I will be wrapping the scarf of quiet around and around and around, while gazing softly at the old and new.

A note to my Australian readers and friends as you are quite numerous. Would you be so kind to take a spare moment to visit my friend Jeanne’s blog, Collage of Life? She is looking for a young man named Tom Healey and is calling for help on the internet. Merci! 

An almost at the crossroads

Today’s “almost” is hidden away in the French countryside in a corner of the Languedoc not terribly far from Arles and yet completely unknown to us.

So, you know the drill. We put the puppers in the car, rolled down the windows to let in fresh air and off we went. Upon arrival, we were both pleasantly surprised by the charming village and the outer appearance of the house we were to visit. It is pretty, isn’t it?

It has an imposing facade, one a bit of une femme d’un certain age posing to show off her best angle…

…and it looked positively huge…melting into the former barn (see the black line) that was in the process of being renovated into a separate, private property. 

After having met the real estate – who kindly offered that we bring Ben and Kipling along instead of leaving them in the back of the Range Rover and rushing through the visit – we entered into a very large walled in courtyard…with an ailing palm…

…and a mysterious tree that curved around the house protectively like a cupped hand. What a haven this could be! 
There are two options for entering the house, either by the main staircase…
…or by the charming side entrance. We chose the latter.
There is a pretty hall that could have made a nice space for me to work in…

…that leads onto a small guest room and bath that also looks out onto the garden. It could be sweet (Persian carpets, paint and books), save for the spider the size of an electric socket on the wall. He would have to go.
Upstairs is a series of rooms leading off of the main entry hall.  A dining room area…
…looks into the kitchen… *cough, cough*…
…and into a living area with a pretty fireplace…
…that has been bizarrely cut in two to form separate rooms. I would have torn down absolutely all of these walls to create one fantastic, light-filled living space. Amazing. I actually kind of liked the red tomettes but the ensemble (and certainly the wack stone flooring in the dining and kitchen) would look lovely with parquet. Take the far wall back to the stone, add a lime-wash to set, hang a chandelier and wow would it be pretty.

Beh, the two small bedrooms would need more…imagination…
…although Ben seemed to be enjoying himself (only in France would a dog be allowed off-leash during a home visit, right?).

The bathroom would also need a total do-over but all of this stuff is just cosmetic and look at the light!
Plus there is a really expansive…laundry room? Storage space? I have been told (a-hem) that I have a lot of clothes. So this could also be a great dressing…
…and there is also – for the deep of pockets and brave of will – the possibility to do a master suite in the attic. Somehow.

Most of the ground floor is taken up with the world’s biggest garage. Truly perplexing until Remi suggested that they probably used to park tractors in there. Needless to say, it would work for us.

So…there is work but there is also mega potential. It is a huge, practical house with a private garden (big enough to put in a bassin style pool if we someday had the money) and very reasonably priced.
“Uh, huh…” I hear you thinking. Because you are no fool by now, having figured out that I only post about the houses that are definite “no’s.” “What gives?” you might be asking (or with whatever is the current slang for such a question).
At one point during the tour, Kipling started whining (apparently even he found it surprising that dogs were allowed on real estate visits) so I took him outside. After getting comfy on one of the ancient stone benches in the garden, I did a little video.
See below:
Now, did you hear those cars that started rolling by at the end? You can’t tell in the video but they were really, really loud (and don’t judge me because you can’t hear it, judging isn’t attractive, just trust me). And no wonder, as there is nothing separating the house from the road. Nothing. And there is another smaller road on the left hand side as well, basically giving the property a road hug. Do you remember the train track house
Well, we asked around and even though it is in the country, this house is on one of the main transport routes of the area, so that means big-wheeler trucks pass too. Apparently, the local citizens have been petitioning to get a new road built that doesn’t cut through the heart of their otherwise charming village but to no avail. So, yes, for once I am not exaggerating. It is “a situation.” And folks, I am not moving out of the heart of Arles where the noise level is slowly driving me gaga minus the Lady to live in the middle of nowhere where the street traffic will finally finish the job. Even the real estate agent (and trust me, in these parts they are not exactly known as bastions of honesty) admitted, “Well, if you are looking for quiet, then this is not the house for you.” Et voooooillaaaa. Dude, is anyone not looking for quiet in the country?
The day was not wasted, however. We rewarded our very patient puppers with a stroll through the surrounding vineyards…

…where we were rewarded ourselves with technicolor harbingers of the everlasting Spring.
Which makes it time for a peppy Frenchy tune that I heard on the amazing fip radio today:
I responded to it because the chorus translates roughly to: “With time, everything will work out.”
And it will. 
We are getting closer. I can feel it.
Would you like some proof?
Click here to read the “news”…
Protected by CleanTalk Anti-Spam