Tongue in Cheek

Stepping back in Time: Tunisia

               

Last year around this time my family and I went to Tunisia. The colors still spring up in my mind's eye causing my cheeks to blush and my heart to race. While I was in Tunisia I went off the beaten path in hope to discover something mysterious and yet deeply authentic. I am certain you know what I mean, you know how it is when you go to some place new you want to discover something untouched unspoilt buy tourism, something that will stamp your experience with awe and wonder, like a personal postcard memory.

               

Tunisia did not disappoint me. Every corner was yet another vista for the imagination. The carpet ride was accessible simply by standing in one place with an open mind.

               

The aroma of mint tea seized me and carried me further and further into the souk.

                

               

               

               

Deeper I went into the souk, losing French husband and the kids in the crowd.

               

               

The last thing French Husband had said to me before I darted off was "...the last bus leaves at 6, please don't miss it!"

               

The stair way to heaven? I couldn't get enough of these tiles.

               

               

But I wanted to find that personal postcard moment and yet the time raced by holding me prisoner to my senses. It took me awhile to find my way out of the souk and then at 5:45 the postcard moment came to my attention.

               

A gate was open and I took it as a sign and entered. There were stairs that lead down to a courtyard. The lion carved in stone was sleeping. Curiosity stamped out any fear as I walked down to the courtyard.

               

A sleeping lion, his mane gentle curls. I found it beautiful. But he soon woke up in a voice behind me saying something that I couldn't understand. I turned around to see a guard looking at me and obviously asking me what I was doing in this courtyard. Though his face was not stern, so I knew he wasn't angry at me. I gestured with open arms and smiled hoping he would understand I found it beautiful and meant no harm.

He did.

He walked ahead of me motioning me to follow him. I knew it was nearly six (time to catch the bus,)but I didn't want to be rude, and hey I figured French Husband and the kids knew me well enough to know that I would be gathering memories and feeding my soul...so I followed him. We walked back up the stairs and then along the ledge of the building.

I was crazy taking this photo while balancing on the ledge. But I wanted proof that I wasn't just lost or something silly when I eventually hoped to meet up with my family.

               

Panoramic view from on top of this beautiful home. It was exactly what I was searching for- Standing on a ledge on top of an unknown house.

I thanked the guard and motioned that I had to leave. He motioned if I wanted go inside and take a tea...Oh I did, I would have loved mint tea, I would have loved even more to go inside to have seen the interior of the house...but time was holding me prisoner and I had to leave.

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Note: I did not take tea with the guard at the beautiful home with the sleeping lion. But I have taken tea many times in my memories as I re trace those steps. I am glad I entered that courtyard and had a near experience of going inside. Sometimes the fantasy is better than the reality.

p.s. I am talkin' tea here Dear Readers and nothing more...blush!

South of France

               

Subtle beauty, graceful exposure, with a pace that lends a lightness to your steps.

Since this summer August 30th, we have had (unless I have forgotten someone in the count,) 17 guests. Many people have said I should open up a B&B. In response to that I say, "If we opened a B&B it would be filled with our family and friends and we would go broke!"

Shannon arrived yesterday. After a journey that is only experienced in movies. Let me explain--First her plane, which arrived in Paris from the USA arrived late, and she missed her connecting flight. She had to wait three hours for the next connecting flight it was then canceled. Therefore she had to go to another terminal to retrieve her bags. They sent her to another airport by bus. When she got there the flight was canceled. She waited for the next flight that ended up having technical problems. Finally she caught the 5:00pm flight, arriving in Marseille after 6pm. Only to find a traffic jam that held us prisoners for two and half hours. Shannon arrived at our home 12 hours after the predicted arrival time. Red eyed, tired, hungry and with the biggest smile.

Shannon doesn't speak a word of French, and had never traveled overseas. The French call a first time experience that goes awry a "baptism." She had a full dunk baptism that is for sure!

After spending 12 hours waiting for her at the airport in Marseille I now know everything there is to know about it... Shannon was/is worth every second of that long wait!

Photo: Terre cuite statue in a fountain in Massauane.

Les Jardin de la Ballue

               

He sat at the far end of the garden like a statue. Perfectly still. I called out, "You don't fool me!" Though he didn't budge. I told him that two could play at this garden game of pretending to be statues, and I ran and hid, hoping he would come and find me.

               

The rectangular columns standing tall like the letter "I." They tossed their dots in the air, chanting out in unison to me, "Over here, come hide here!" I laughed as I ran past them, "You shouldn't have said anything, he heard you, I swear!"

               

Around the corner chairs played along. Hiding in the alcoves of an outdoor theater. There wasn't any standing room left for me. I applauded their genius in design and ran off to find another secret spot to be a statue.

               

The gigantic hedge gave view to the 17th century Chateau of Ballue. I gasped in surprise. How I wish I could hide in that place! But that would be cheating, and I never cheat at games! But imagine hiding in the linen closet? Or in the bathroom amongst the vintage perfume bottles? Or in the kitchen! Ah to dream, to pretend... to be sitting by the fire looking out onto this garden.

               

At the end of the alley, at the far corner of the Garden of Ballue, there is a hedge formed into the temple of Diana. Not a likely place for me to hide considering... you know, I am a vegetarian and Diana is into hunting... I thought it wasn't realistic to hang out in the temple with her given our differences.

               

Feeling like a blade o f grass amongst these over sized chess pieces didn't encourage me to stand still. Honestly I wanted French husband to find me, without having to look too hard.

               

If you look closely, okay with a magnifying glass, you can see French husband coming up the pathway. Darn it my plans were spoiled, the toparies curves didn't match mine anyway.

               

Through the labyrinth I walked calmly. I took my clothes off one piece at a time. Leaving a trail for French husband. A sockette here, a scarf there... Oh wasn't he go to be surprised to find me? In the center of the labyrinth marble white nude.

               

He barely recognized me!

Photos: Of our time spent at La Ballue Jardin. Spring must be glorious in this place. I'll have to go back to see the wisteria.

Dinard France

               

Dinard, France.

Large, fairytale-like mansions line the northern coast between Dinard and Saint Malo. A century old trail snugs tightly the coastline, which you can walk along for miles.

               

The English channel, the magnificent homes, the chic people strolling along, and at each bend fantastic photo opts. Dinard and Saint Malo are made in heaven.

               

The beaches in between invited play and reflection. When I closed my eyes I could imagine I was in Northern California in Westport. The sound of the waves and sea breeze felt the same. Like a home away from home.

               

I could see French husband's childhood, feel his path, see his dreams. When we go back to the home of those we love we see something invisible to the naked eye.

Photos: Dinard France.

Path: Le Sentier des Douaniers or also known as, La Promenade de Clair de Lune.

A Road Trip with a View

The view was spectacular driving across France. We never got lost, Chelsea drove like a champ and I didn't fall asleep! A miracle on all accounts.

I thought I would take photos along the way, from one coast to the other, from the Mediterranean to the English channel...but I forgot that if one leaves the south of France at 1pm and drives straight through to the northern coast of France, (it takes 12 hours,) part of that trip would be in the dark of the night.

Photos in the dark are pretty boring.  But photos in the car with three other people, with their heads in the way are worse! Why did I promise road trip photos today?

Plus the fact that taking photos on the go, of things flying by is a challenge. Maybe that is why I didn't fall asleep? Chelsea told me, "Mom, you must take the photo before you see it. " I tried to wrap my brain around that idea.

But gave up. Instead I imagined My Belle Mere's (Mother in law) desserts and her wonderful home. That is the real reason we drove across France... to see French husband's Mother.

French husband and his Mother.

Photos: of the long drive across France.

Road Trip in France

               

Last minute decisions are common in our family. We talk about something, forget about it, then bring it up again, change the subject, and then at the last minute make a dash for it...let's go!

As Chelsea is learning to drive, French husband thought it would be good for her to drive across France. Have you experienced driving on the French freeway with your child behind the wheel, while you sit in the backseat? Let me tell you it isn't a walk in the park.

French husband is notorious for "getting lost" add that to the front seat. And to be honest and fair and even... I fall asleep at the wheel.

What a happy trio we make!

As if fear wasn't fueling me already I glanced out the window and saw these two nuclear reactors.

More about our road trip tomorrow.

Note:  Sacha (our son) was in the car he had earphones on and was playing on the computer. I think he had the right idea. Ignorance is bliss!

Family History

My Grandmother left the Azores when she was fourteen. She traveled to America with her Aunt and Uncle, arriving at Ellis Island. Then she took a train to Wisconsin and worked as a servant in someone's home. Months later, when she had enough money, she ventured towards California to meet her older brothers who were already living there.

When I was in the Azores I went to the small port where my Grandparent's, one by one had left as young teenagers towards their big adventure.

I cannot imagine as a parent saying good bye to my fourteen year old daughter, nor son.  My Grandmother never saw her Mother again.

When I asked her what was that like, she said she had to do it, her future was calling her.

The main reason I went to Terceria was to know more about my family's history.  I went to the library, and by chance meet a man who was documenting Terceria's ancestors. Meeting him was a miracle that still gives me goosebumps.

This is the library that held some of my families documents dating back to the 16th century.

The man brought out this leather bound book, with its soft worn pages. He read to me the names of my family. I asked him if I could hold it, somehow just holding it I felt I was holding the hands of my past, that I was the link taking them to the future.

The path is long, the journey unending, the heart has no bounds if you let it go free.

Photos: Taken in the Azores 2003.

Lava Stone....Terceira, Azores

The Azores. Volcanic islands. My son Sacha standing on a road lined with lava stone.

Thank you for the gazillion wonderful responses! Many of you guessed pumice stone, or bed warmer, or fishing weight, or candle stick holder, maybe somewhere those answers are true. But my lava stone is a tool, and not a romantic one at that.

The Azores island of Terceira is a pearl of simple beauty.

Your creative guesses I especially liked, it isn't easy to add colorful interpretation to a lava stone. Dee thought it a tool to gaze stars, how I wish that were true. 

Patti had a similar idea: "What you do is hold it out at arms length, aligning the bottom edge with the horizon, when the sun can be clearly seen through the hole, it is officially time to start happy hour."

Lisa guessed it could be used to remove the cork from a wine bottle. My Uncle Frank needs to get some of them for his Port-a-gee diesel! Happy hour.

Pumice stone was the answer most of you gave, and I am sure many a pumice stone has been made from lava. MisBooshay and My Melange made me laugh with guessing it was the first Brillo pad. Mais non, it is not that.

The farms are in the center of the island, the homes are along the coastline. Each farm's property is lined with high lava stone walls or with....

Well manicured hedges. Dairy farming is the type of work my family did on the island and in California.

The century old  homes are made with lava stones.

Pink Pomegranate guessed the lava stone was a door weight, nope. Julie Holvick guessed that the lava stone was heated and place into the honeymoon bed to keep tootsies warm...Who's toes are cold during their honeymoon? Comtesse , Julie needs to go read your comment! Talk about hot potato!

Against a blue sky the white washed homes of the Azores stand proudly.

Pasture along the lava rock coastline of Terceira.

Natural lava swimming holes dot the coastline in Terceria.

Beachy had her entire Portuguese family guessing. Though the roads are made with lava and decorated charmingly, the lava stone I have is not a cobblestone.

There were many delicious romantic guesses that pleased me, but the two ( I couldn't decide and trust me it is tough to pick a winner out of 95 responses among friends!!) creative winners are:

Julie for claiming the lava stone an IMAGINATION SPARKER.

Ariane her response reads: "When the Solar System was forming, Mother Earth gave birth to her daughter, Luna. But has her daughter grew, it became time for Luna to go off on her own. So she separated from her mother. Every time lava flows from the Mother Earth, she mourns the separation from her daughter, and these lava rocks are her solidified tears."

Aren't those wonderful ideas!

Portuguese Sopas is one of the typical meals made in the Azores. Especially during the Holy Ghost Portuguese Fiesta.

My lava stone, I was told was used to skin the pigs and cattle when they were butchered. Stljoie guessed correctly with her response: "Well I'm going to guess it was used to scrape hides during the tanning process."

Thank you for playing along with the guessing game. I enjoyed the great humor, thoughtfulness and friendship that I read between the lines.

Thank you or as they say in Portuguese: Muito Obrigado!

Photos: Taken during my trip to the Azores.

French Cafe drinking in Blue

When visiting the south of France put your habits and attitudes in your back pocket.  Absorb that which is around you with open eyes.  Take an entire afternoon at a cafe with a glass of wine.  Let the sun take its time to move over your head.  A friend of mine comes to France to "do" the cafes.  Why not?  Sure there is plenty to see and do in France, more than enough to fill a lifetime!  Though the beauty of visiting France is you can see it by simply being at a cafe.

One difference between Americans and the French is that the French drink it in slowly.  They enjoy the moment of sitting at a cafe knowing it is good for the soul.  They know how to listen to the sound of the vines growing, and they don't seem to mind when the mistral combs their hair. 

Photo:  Soaking in the view at Cadiere d'Azur, from the vantage point of one of its cafe.

Breath in the blue until it soaks through you.  Coloring your days with a shade you never knew.

Photo: On the Route de Crete, Cassis.

There are hidden secrets waiting for you.  Perched villages and fishing villages have a table waiting right on the water with your name written on it.

Photo: Two fishing villages face each other on opposite sides of Cap Brun.

Fish soup,  grilled bread,  garlic,  roux and a glass of rose tempt you to stay all day.

Imagine this, check out this video my friend made... Piano playing on the Mediterranean.

Photo: One of my favorite places to have lunch Chez Bernard in Cap Brun, Toulon.

My friends, Rel and Diane did.  I met Rel through blogging.  He and his wife came to visit France.  They are pros at soaking it in.  We spent the day at this spot collecting sea glass and sipping wine.  The cafe (photos below and above,) are from our day sitting feasting on the scenery.

Photo: Taken at Cap Brun.  A ten minute walk off the beaten path.

Chez Bernard,  Cap Brun, Toulon.  If we were any closer to the water would would have been in it.

Photos:  Time spent soaking in the seaside in Cassis, Toulon and Nice.

Les Jardins d'Albertas

The garden of Albertas  is between Marseilles and Aix-en-Provence created in XVIII century.  The French garden is strongly influenced by the Italians.  It is permanently in bloom with naked statues.  Very colorful in gray tones.  Flowers could not be seen, well at least my eyes didn't notice any other flowers.  I was not disappointed.

It is rare to see a garden full of male statues.  Everywhere I looked they seem to peek out, and then quickly turned their heads in shyness.  Of course I looked and focused on each one of them.  I was not shy.  They stood very still.  Oh those Italians thank you for influencing the French!  I love their seductive powers.

The garden was created for the Marquis d'Albertas, where he had plans to construct his castle. Though due to the French revolution the castle never came to be.  The Marquis Jean-Baptiste d’Albertas was murdered in 1790.

Only the garden remains...

The statues wait unclothed.

We were invited to party held in this Eden like garden.  The tables were set up under a white tent. Look at all the flatware right side up.  Each person received an olive tree.  I found the symbol of peace soothing given the history of this place.

We went early so I could feast on the pleasure of taking photos.  The party started with drinks in front of the basin.

In front of the stone basin stood a long table with white linen. Bottles of vintage regional wines where served.

How I wish this were my garden.  Of course with the gardeners too.

Isn't this an amazing entrance gate?  Imagine driving under that crown in a coach,  lead by six white horses,  and a glass of champagne in hand.  I was happy as a lark walking underneath it. Thankfully those involved in the French revolution didn't destory the garden, nor its gate.

Rusty is gold to me.

I wanted to kiss him but he ran too fast!

The tent tops behind the hedge.  I felt royal and giddy, I love dress up parties.

France with its rich history and culture  gives a farm girl like me a place to live a fantasy.  How lucky I feel to see places like this and weave stories in my mind.  I wonder how the family felt after creating this garden,  realizing that they would not be able to build their castle,  having their lives stripped? The French revolution created different dreams.

Why is this man dressed?  Why is this man smirking at me?  Why is he telling me to stop acting like an American tourist! How dare he stand dressed in this garden! Viva la difference!

Les jardin d’Albertas.