Back

We have been back in the Bay Area for exactly 7 days. The difference is striking. Baguettes are close to $3 here, while they are 0.90 euro in France. Cars are big and shiny here, while they are small there. People are very straightforwardly nice here, while they are quirky nice there.

We have decided to go off cheese and wine for a while. The kids say they cannot bear eating the cheese here, when they still have the French cheese lingering on their palates. I thought I should give my liver a break. Tonight, I break down and pour myself a glass. Not bad I say, as the full moon rises over the East Bay and the night settles in. In France, I was afraid I would not think so, but in fact, it is very nice to be back in California. Charlie evidently thinks the same. His appetite is good, and his coat is thick and smooth. Good thing I bought weight control food for him at Costco.

All you need is love

This morning, we deposit our niece at the train station in Antibes. Two weeks together. I find her unchanged from the first time I saw her 16 years ago - the same sweet child. Normally full of life, she is not feeling well this morning, as she needs to face the real world tomorrow. 23 years older than she is, I feel the same heading back in two days. Life is not easy, but full of love.

As we look for train 6174 car 5, we run the full length of the station twice, only to find that she is in train 6074 car 5 after all. I thank my stars for having supplied me with the required exercise for the day.

It rains all day, and our roof leaks in several spots. For a grand house 50 years old, this is not too bad. We prepare for our departure in our own ways - I face the world with mucho laundry, mucho nap, and mucho wine. Others with mucho violin and mucho computing.

Tomorrow will be full of sun, according to the young lady at the supermarket cashier. I sure hope she is right.

Been there, Done that

Today was a been there done that kind of day. Tomorrow my niece leaves to Paris, and she wants to say she's been to Italy. So do my kids, and so do I. So we take the train to Monaco and connect to Ventimiglia, which is the first stop in Italy where the train of the Principality of Monaco deposits us. Fridays are market days. We descend on the Italian town, and head to Pasta Basta, which we learn is a restauraunt featured in Nice-Matin, and is also featured when you Google Ventimiglia. Anyhow, we ate 6 full plates of pasta, which were all good, and said "Basta" to the place, and strolled off to the market. This summer is very much Roman in fashion. Young and old are wearing Gladiator sandals with Roman tunics and Turkish pants. It feels a little like the '80s with Olivia Newton John and Travolta. The kids bargain in French, Italian, English and Mandarin (as the Chinese have penatrated Italy). I acquire a half kilo of Gorgonzola, which is much appreciated back home. Speaking of home, my mobile phone was destroyed upon the return of Julien from violin camp. It was found in the washing machine the morning after. I forgot to borrow my husband's, and my niece forgot hers as well. None of us remember our house phone number. When we finally return to Antibes, I call my husband's office number in San Francisco, then my sister's in Paris, leaving messages to please get in touch with us. My niece calls her friend in Paris to get our number in Biot as well. In an hour, we are transported home thanks to my sister-in-law and her boyfriend, showing off our Roman outfits and our cheese.

Tonight is rabbit, which turns out coming from Carrefour with the head attached. My sister-in-law turns green in the face, and I summon my husband (her brother) who gleefully attacks the head. I hear him call my name and wisely run the other way. As predicted, he comes with the head of the rabbit attached to a fork, with an entourage consisting of my youngest son and my sister-in-law's vegetarian boyfriend giggling like infants. They spend the next 30 minutes traumatizing all around them with the rabbit head before succumbing to the charm of Gorgonzola. I am convinced that the French are all savage Gaulois, like the Asterix and Obelix cartoon I have studied this summer.

As I wind down, my husband comments that I have spent the day doing things I don't like - riding crowded trains, eating heavy food, and shopping. But I love watching the children having fun doing all this. And so, I feel content tonight.

Anti-climax

My in-laws came and went. It was great fun having my parent-in-laws and my uncle and aunt-in-laws over for the week (or weekend for some). It's always a little bit of an anti-climax when guests leave. The send-off is bitter sweet, the meal preparation lulls for lunch, and the laundry needs to be done, but then there is the quiet again, and one has to face the real world.

Never mind that! There is a bottle of Chardonnay chilled for aperitifs. Two chickens are roasting side by side in the oven, one with miso/ginger and the other with Dijon mustard mayonnaise - an east meets west kind of dinner.

Tonight, we have a quiet household - three girls including my niece who is as sweet as pie, and our 11-year-old baby son. They too are anti-climaxing in their own little rooms, and at the same time gearing up for the next set of guests to arrive. Even Charlie looks a little melancholic. Maxime is vigilant - after giving a sorrowful hug good-bye to his great-uncle and aunt, he turns to me and says, "I am going to try my best to make a good impression on my cousins this weekend!" That's the spirit, I think, as we play a game of mille borne.

Gekko

I have to think hard to recount what I did for the world today. Oh yes, the bakery. As we head out to our local bakery, I find that there is a moat between my gate and the street above which is placed some steel panels. The domaine here has decided to bury the electric wires underground, despite the ongoing credit crisis and vacationing residents. We venture down our alley that looks somewhat like a safari trek, and get our daily 2 baguettes, 1 bannette and today an epi.

Major cleaning of the house ensues, after which, I do a few laps in the pool. Then, three of us venture out to Antibes to buy some essentials and to pick up my husband's uncle and aunt at 17:03. The steel panels have to be replaced for my little Citroen to cross the threshold. As the worker places the panels with the aid of a tractor, he indicates that I should turn right (leading to the main gate) instead of left leading to the back gate). I nod my thanks and immediately bump into a machine called the "Great Boom" which is being loaded onto a truck. 10 minutes after, we first gear onto the Sahara again, and then down to civilization. The TGV arrives right on time and the five of us now ride home in good humor. All this while, my husband is stuck in front of his PC and phone at home, and continues to do so until dinnertime. My in-laws talk about all the fun they are having in their well-deserved retirement, and I can only hope we can look forward to the same.

Dinner comes and the hunt for bread starts, until finally, I go to the kitchen and return with confirmation that THERE IS NO BREAD! But, we still have wine, which is the solution to ALL PROBLEMS in my dictionary.

As we wind down, we spot a few gekkos that are running up and down the walls, which reminds of my encounter last night. I recount the SPLAT on the floor and then the horror of meeting a gekko in the house. Julien says, oh that's why I heard you screaming last night. Why yes, who wouldn't? My aunt-in-law tells me she likes gekkos since they eat mosquitoes. I hope she is telling the truth, because I recall the gekko slithering under her bed.

Parlez vous francais?

There are many free events to entertain the public during the summer in the south of France. Last weekend, we find ourselves in Renoir's garden (where he actually painted) listening to a soprano singer attempting to find relationships between Bach and the Beatles. Parallels are drawn between Lina Lamont (think Singing in the Rain) and tonight's singer. I feel it best to stick to one's core competency after having heard her sing "Something". The setting is superb with ornamental tent lamps scattered around the grounds, and the bay of Cagnes-Sur-Mer below us. As night falls, the Big Dipper can be seen. We take an early navette (mini-bus)down to the municipal parking lot. The driver, like many French drivers, likes speed and acute angles when turning.

Last night, after dinner, we load into our faithful Citroen after extracting Charlie forcefully from the back seat. Destination Cap d'Ail, which neighbors Monaco. There is a "concert orchestre regional de Cannes" performing at the beachfront ampitheater. The flute and harp duo accompanied by the cool evening breeze is pleasant. My husband and children spot an oboeist who looks exactly like my father-in-law (who in fact used to play the oboe extremely well, I hear). Later on, after the intermission, the flutist and the harpist appear in the crowd dressed down in shorts and beach dress with babies in their arms. No wonder they seemed to have rapport in their performance.

This afternoon, the kids are packed off to explore Monaco again while my husband conducts business, leaving me in this big house alone with Charlie for the first time in a while. I wave them off as the gate closes, load the laundry machine with sheets, and pour myself a nice glass of chilled Savignon Blanc. One must not assume that I am a good-for-nothing lush, as already this morning, I have buzzed through the streets and into Carrefour and even to Darty (the Best Buy of France) to purchase food and printer ink cartridges. As I approach the roundabout (which is called a carrefour), I tell myself to take a deep breath and plunge in. It's rather like jumping ropes. You need the intent to be known to all around you, which is easily established by relinquishing you're right foot from the brakes and staring potential entrants down with a firm glare. Very much like having an expensive car that deters others from hitting it, it helps to have a banged up Citroen that tells the world that there is only upside from hereonwards.

Tomorrow, the first of a string of relatives arrive, starting with my favorite uncle & aunt-in-law. I am fortunate enough to actually love all the in-laws that have presented themselves to me over the years. Convenient also is the knowledge that their inter-relationships are NOT MY BUSINESS, and furthermore, when the air gets tense, JE NE PARLE PAS FRANCAIS!

Flip flops

They say "three times is a charm". Today I speed towards Carrefour, which makes it three consecutive days. I buy more "anti-rouille noir brilliant", and a cooked chicken for lunch which my daughter spills into the cart by mistake. Speaking of carts, here they have a smart system where you need to insert a 1 euro coin to unlock a shopping cart. To retrieve the coin, one has to return the cart to the proper cart place. Now, if only the cart drove straight, it would be ideal. ...which is the reason that my 7-year-old flip flops finally break. A young man drives over my right flip flop, ripping the thongs away. "Ah, excusez moi, desole, desole" he says while rushing away.

This afternoon, I pack all the kids and the dog into the car and go to the local vet for Charlie's follow-up visit. As we enter the office, the vet remarks that she sees that the whole family is in attendance. We all nod as one. Charlie's ear infection on the left has cured, but now he has a minor one in his right ear. So we get another tube of infection be-gone. "Say, does this work on humans as well?", I ask. She informs me that it has not been tested. "Ah, but I can try it on someone.", I say as my older son cringes. Every year that Julien has been in Biot, he has never failed to get an ear infection, so sure enough, he has brewed one, right before his scheduled stay at a violin camp somewhere in Provence. Luckily for him, he has some leftover medicine from the spring which he applies in haste.

Back at home, I continue painting the iron rails at the pool side, and realize I have developed tennis elbow of sorts. At times like this, it is convenient to be ambidextrous. The German Shepard nextdoor barks at me while I paint, despite the fact that she has seen me everyday for over a month. Charlie ignores her and explores the terrain. I visualize our new neighbor on the other side having a seizure. Her 15-months-old baby cannot sleep when the dog goes whoa whoa whoa! and the kids laugh in the pool. As I continue painting the rails, I hope she sees that it is indeed the other neighbor's dog that goes whoa whoa whoa...