This last weekend we finally visited Allen’s French family in the north. We stayed with Allen’s aunt and uncle (his mom’s sister and brother-in-law), who are also Allen’s godmother and Stephanie’s godfather. Charles and Jacqueline live in Maubeuge, which is in Pas de Calais, close to the Belgian border.

Jacqueline is a wonderful cook, and she served us spaghetti bolognaise (homemade sauce, of course!); a tagine of dates, apricots, almonds and lamb with couscous; a spicy Moroccan soup; a crab, avocado, and tomato salad; and many other delicious plates. Each time, it was a typical French meal with a starter, main dish, sometimes cheese, dessert, and then coffee. The French certainly know how to live.

We were very impressed as well with Charles and Jacqueline’s impressive garden, from which we ate lettuce, radish, and strawberries. They also had several fruit trees: pear, apple, and cherry, plus red currant bushes. We hope to grow a small garden when we get back to the States, so we’re keeping their garden in our minds as inspiration. (However, I did admit our failed gardening attempt in the Arlington Community Gardens, where Cate, Allen, and I went back several times to weed and clear our plot, with so much time in between that that’s all we managed to ever do.)

We spent most of the weekend just chatting, and I got to hear stories about Allen and Stephanie when they were young.

On Saturday night, we headed out to the movies to see Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis. Les Ch’tis are the inhabitants of the north of France, particularly Nord Pas de Calais, and they have a distinctive regional dialect that blends the French of today and the Picard dialect of years past. Charles gave us a briefing on different phrases so we wouldn’t be totally lost during the movie. (And still, it was hard to follow, but we got a lot more having had our little lesson. I’d say I was around 85-90%, which is pretty good for any French movie I watch.) The premise of the movie is that a man from the south gets sent to work in the north as punishment - and he really sees it as such, dreading the cold, the strange people, and the overall inhospitable atmosphere. But he turns out to love it…but his wife doesn’t believe him, so there’s a hilarious juxtaposition between the stereotypes of the north and the actuality, which culminates in…ah, go watch the movie! At the beginning, an old man tells him scary tales of the north, and say in a menacing voice, “Le noooooooord…” Charles got a real kick out of that. And apparently, some US film studio has bought the rights, so we’ll see a remake in the US in a few years. Allen and I were trying to guess what regions and people would star - sunny California and hilly West Virginia perhaps?

We had a great time with Charles and Jacqueline, and I was very glad we were able to get up there before the year was out. Maybe next time we visit, we’ll visit the sky-diving school near their house; this time we sat on the porch and watched parachutist after parachutist. Or maybe we’ll just watch again.

Just as Allen and I are Schmanz, our close friends Brandi and Steven are Gosap. And Team Gosap is off on an international adventure of their own: five weeks in Guadalajara, Mexico. The stated purpose* is to attend a language school to improve their Spanish, but the trip will be so much more. Steven (the Go- half) is returning to the homeland. Will he glory in his indigineous roots or feel uprooted? Brandi (formerly of -sap fame) will be vying for the title of Miss Blondest Mexico. She’s a real contender.

We’ll be following Border Crossings, their new blog, very closely during the next five weeks and suggest you do the same!

*Gosap, remember this? “State your purpose!” at the Cheesecake Factory in Arlington. “I’m here to eat!”

I could reminisce for hours on the memorable places of my life. Last week, Allen and I revisited one of those places - the path through the Pyrenees known as the Sentier Cathare. We hiked from Quillan to Foix in five days, hoofing over 100 km (66.5 miles). We barely shut up the entire time, either. And along the way, I took a few pictures, which you can find here. I’ll follow up with a narrative as I’m able to catch up.

As usual, I’ll try to distract you from the lack of actual writing on my blog with fancy! shiny! pictures! You can see all our pictures from Montpellier (with a running commentary, of course) here. In the next few days, I’ll be trying to get up some stories from our Montpellier reunion 2008! But fortunately for me, Elizabeth is coming up for her last visit to Paris while we’re still here, so her arrival on Tuesday may mean that I need to venture back into the great outdoors, instead of putting my feet up and blogging. Isn’t life an adventure!

Apparently, I had the foresight to book first class tickets from Paris to Montpellier and then the good sense to forget all about it. So when Allen and I arrived at car number three and found it was a first-class car, we were very excited. “Just a little early anniversary present,” I joked.

Three hours into the trip, the TGV has finally slowed, and we’re pulling into the train station in Nimes. Somehow “I’ve been here before” is almost a physical reaction. My skin is tingling with anticipation of the heightening of that feeling in Montpellier. We’re twenty minutes away.

It didn’t seem to make sense to travel very much in the fall, when I was settling in to Paris, and Allen and I were adjusting to inhabiting a shared space again (and a small one at that) after two months apart. And then I found work, and we had visitors, and I flew back to the States in December, then Allen did in January, and there was dreary February, and then half the people we know came to Paris seemingly at once. Now with five weeks left in France and fifteen minutes left on a train, I’m asking myself why we waited so long.

I’ve been back to Montpellier since studying here, in 2003 with my mother and my friend Sara. But this time will be so different. Last time my friend Adam was studying abroad in Montpellier with the William & Mary program (I like to think I had a hand in it), and he was living in our building. So we stayed two floors down from my old apartment. This time, we’re farther removed, staying in a chambre d’hotes. But this time is a reunion, with Allen and I meeting Debbie and Elizabeth. We’re about a fifth of our study abroad group right there. (And it’s worth noting that by luck - or a predictable sequence of events, depending on how you view it - we’re two pairs that lived together that year. Allen and Debbie were in the same dorm hall at Boutonnet, while Elizabeth and I shared a charmed apartment on rue Eugene Lisbonne.)

As the trip drew closer, and our discussions and plans more frequent, I started to notice the ways in which that year had been different for all of us. Our daydreams about the trip were revealing. Debbie was prepared to spend every day at the beach, as was Elizabeth. Allen and I hadn’t even given a thought to taking the bus to Palavas and the Mediterranean. Allen expressed an interest in visiting our old campus. I was entirely focused on listing all the places I hoped to eat.

I came to Montpellier when I was 19, and I’ve turned 27 this week. It will be different (and I would want it to be different). And yet - we’re pulling into the station now, and I can see the familiar orange and green tiles. I’m scanning the crowd for Debbie and Elizabeth; we haven’t planned to meet, but I somehow know they’ll be there. And it will all be just exactly the same.

Days of walking in the French mountains: 5

Distance travelled: 107 km/66.5 miles

Total hours of walking: approximately 35

Pictures taken: 315 (Montpellier and hiking)

Blisters formed: 10+ (combined four feet)

Hours of sleep we’re about to get tonight: A LOT

Look forward to further posts with pictures about our trip to Montpellier (3 days) and hiking through the midi-Pyrenees (5 days).

Unbelievably enough, we only have 30 days left in France!

In the spirit of the unphotographed doony, I bring you two pictures taken in Grenoble (La Tronche, actually) in the sunny month of May. And I ask you this:

What’s wrong with this picture?

And this one?

Weird Tour of Grenoble, if you ask me.

I stepped off the train in Grenoble, took in the mountains in every direction and the warmth of the sun, and I was ready to stay.

“You know how every time you visit Paris, you say you kind of wish you lived there? I’m feeling that way about Grenoble with these mountains!” I said to Elizabeth when she arrived at the station. Then we were off, to actually explore the town so I could further solidify my feeling of being happy to be somewhere smaller and warmer than Paris.

We had to stop periodically for me to take photos, starting at the dandelion fountain (which would be entirely unsuitable for me to have pushed Jenna in). (Grenoble had several lovely fountains though.)

Some form of cement was invented in Grenoble, and in the excitement, all the buildings were plastered with it, erasing original facades and eschewing past architectural standards. Still, the washes of color on the cemented buildings hold their own charm.

We lunched at a creperie, with bowls of cider to wash our crepes down. Then we walked right out of Grenoble to La Tronche, where Elizabeth lives with a host family.

We’d have more time to savor the view later; the three of us almost immediately headed out in search of other views on a hike up to La Bastille, the fortifications above Grenoble.

I’d say we found them. After our descent from the Bastille, we ate a basic but tasty dinner (including a vinaigre de noix in our salad dressing, which Allen and I ran out and bought for use at home). And we may have played some cards. (Did you guess that?)

On Saturday, we walked into town to catch the bus to Le Sappey for more hiking! We ran a few errands - vin de noix (an aperitif made from wine and walnuts, a bottle of which will be crossing international borders with me soon), sunscreen, lunch provisions - and caught the incredibly affordable regional bus in front of the museum. Steps off of the bus in our destination, this was our view.

Unfortunately, I was feeling under the weather (Allen jinxed my good health a few weeks before, resulting in strep and then a sore throat/head cold), and I’m going to use that as the excuse for my very slow walking and my stopping every 20 yards. (I might be being generous with myself.) Fortunately, there were plenty of sights to enjoy during our frequent rests. It’s possible that I even stopped to breath under the ruse of taking a picture.

So we stopped and walked and stopped and picked the path back up.

After we finished our loop above the villages (some of them seemed to be just a cluster of houses), we had an ice cream in Le Sappey. Elizabeth opted for chartreuse ice cream, flavored by a liquor that is named after the mountains we were in. (I’d follow suit the next day, when I realized the ice cream wasn’t as strong as the liquor. I think my fear was legitimate; at Berthillon, the liquor-flavored ice cream is every bit as strong as the liquor in it. Ask Alan and Dave!)

We had hours to spare before we caught the bus back down the mountain, so we wandered a bit before settling down in the lush grass. The bright sun pierced through my poor translucent eyelids; I covered my eyes. We spent a pleasant hour thus, with occasional appreciative glances at the scenery.

The bus came with a minor scare in the form of engine troubles and sticky braking mechanisms. Elizabeth pointed out the distance to La Tronche. We’d walked farther in a day before. But the bus came through, and we rolled into Grenoble just before supper time, which we spent sipping vin de noix and eating gratin dauphinois in Elizabeth’s backyard.

We knew we’d have to leave on Sunday, but that didn’t mean we were going to waste an entire day of sunshine fretting about it. We were in town around noon, and we chose a likely restaurant with outdoor seating. Elizabeth and I availed ourselves of the 17 euro menu, indulging in a kir chataigne as aperitif. (A kir is a very French thing to order, and if you do, you’ll have a nice cool glass of white wine with creme cassis in it. But in this case, we had a chestnut-flavored liquor or syrup, which I found really delicious.) Our menu started with an appetizer of goat cheese and sun dried tomato on a cassis-studded bread with a light salad. We both enjoyed a basic steak of some unmemorable sort. Meanwhile, Allen munched on andouille sausage with thick French fries.

And then there was dessert. When we’d ordered, Elizabeth attempted to order the walnut tart, but they were out. So we both ordered the only other option - the doony avec glace au chocolat et au tiramisu. I’m basically okay with anything including chocolate ice cream and tiramisu, so I didn’t worry too much that I didn’t know what a doony was. When our doonies arrived, I had a good laugh though. (I’m still laughing.) On the plate, sitting atop artful drizzles of chocolate and caramel, was a donut with chocolate frosting, with a small scoop of ice cream nestled in the donut hole. Doony indeed. I only wish I’d taken a picture before biting into that donut with a spoon.

After I ate a donut with utensils, we wandered around town, scoping out the local parks (Jardin des Plantes and others) for a spot to sit. We opted for a shady area with a miniature train circling it. We munched on local strawberries we’d bought at the market that morning.

After a while we decided to walk a bit more, and the heat inspired an ice cream stop. I had chartreuse, and Allen had walnut, both very Grenoble. We made our way to the Italian section of town, across the river, as we licked our ice creams before they melted in the sun.

Elizabeth led us halfway up the climb to the Bastille from town, a cobbled path that afforded more views over the city.

Then Elizabeth remembered the chapel in the Musee Dauphinois, so we ducked inside to take a look. The chapel was closed for a concert, so we wandered through the cloister and found ourselves outside on the terraces.

Once again, the grass became our lounge, and the music from the concert wafted into the tranquil terrace of the former convent. Elizabeth started with the visible evidence of an idea, rustled around in the grass, and came up with a four-leafed clover.

Too soon, someone came around to say the museum was closing, and we slung our bags on our shoulders and marched back down to town. We sat at a cafe with a bar Elizabeth likes and sipped cold drinks in the sun. I took these pictures of Allen and Elizabeth, just living the life of leisure that is French cafe culture.

They looked so cool that I was deluded into thinking Allen should take a picture of me, too, so I could put all three of them together somewhere and be really glad that Elizabeth’s badass side had rubbed off on us.

Obviously, my vision will go unrealized. Still, as we finished our drinks and later as we headed to the train station, I felt an intense satisfaction from our day in the sun and our hikes in the open air of the mountains around Grenoble. What luck would the four-leaf clover bring us that we hadn’t already enjoyed all weekend?

This weekend, April 4-6, we visited Chateau Courtomer again with Mimi and Jack. They rented a bigger car so we didn’t have to mess with the train, and we all piled in on Friday after work. About 15 people came up from Paris for the weekend, mostly the same ones that were there for New Year’s, and we (or at least I) figured it was a chance to redeem the social awkwardness of that weekend. And I did speak more French this weekend (I think), though I was once again fairly useless in the kitchen.

But speaking of the kitchen, what meals we had! This group thinks nothing of spending several hours in the kitchen to concoct fabulous lunches and dinners. On Friday night we had two lasagnas, one meat and one vegetarian, along with salad and cheese. Saturday lunch was a hearty boeuf  bourgignon ladled over potatoes. There was cheese again, and so much wine, and banana bread to finish, which the French liked though they weren’t sure if it was snack or dessert.

Saturday dinner, knowing it had some excellent contenders for best meal of the weekend, went all out with piles of couscous, a vegetable stew to heap on top, and merguez and chicken. There was a cold quinoa salad with sliced radishes that I really enjoyed. For dessert, there was a perfectly white panna cotta with a rich red coulis of assorted berries.

Finally, for lunch on Sunday there was pasta with salmon (described as “un simple pate au saumon” but which was really quite good and nicer than we’d have made for ourselves for a Sunday lunch). There were also two quiches, more quinoa salad, and plenty of crusty bread. And always several bottles of wine.

Other than eat – which I must admit takes up the majority of the time, and which is also probably the most pleasant time as everyone sits around the table together talking for hours – we did very little. Allen took a long nap on Saturday afternoon, and though I intended to do some work, instead I spent most of that time playing with Michael and Katharine. Saturday after dinner Allen and I did some of the dishes and then came back into the dining room to watch a game of tarot cards, which we found to be similar to Spades (though a little more complicated). Sunday we rose late (not unlike Saturday) and were surprised (very) that the forecast of snow turned out true! It continued to snow through lunch and at least an hour of our ride home. Watching the French countryside through the thick flurries of snow was a beautiful sight.

Altogether, we had a very satisfying weekend; we practiced our French a bit, ate like kings (felicitations et merci aux chef cuisiniers!), really rested and relaxed, and experienced  an idyllic snowfall.

The most exciting part of our year in France is coming soon: a visit to the South! Paris is nice, but I absolutely long for the South of France; now that I’m in the country, it’s just beyond my reach. I loved everything about Montpellier – the pleasantly mild weather, the pale yellow buildings that made the city sunny even in the (rare) rain, the fountains all of moss, the Occitan street signs, the cobbles and pedestrian thoroughfares, the slower way of living. The way I feel about Montpellier is the meaning of yearning for me.

Still, it’s more than just Montpellier. It’s the South! It’s the Mediterranean! It’s Montpellier, and it’s the mountains. And we’re going back.

This week I’ve been planning our trip back down to Montpellier and then to the Sentier Cathare. From Friday, May 23 to Monday, May 26 (Memorial Day weekend), we’ll be in Montpellier with Elizabeth. I expect a drink at O’Carolan’s in the Place du Petit Scel (our former home), a dinner at the Creperie de la Comedie (for which I may starve myself all day), a visit to the Esplanade and reminiscences near Jenna’s fountain, and a wide grin on my face all weekend.

On Monday, when we leave Montpellier, life gets even better. Instead of returning right away to Paris, we’re heading through Carcassonne to Quillan to hike the Sentier Cathare. This is the ancient (13th century) trail of the Cathars, leading from castle to castle. Sometimes I think I love the city, but the way I feel about the mountainside of the Midi-Pyrenees must be what heaven feels like. Of course, I’m conveniently forgetting the pain of hiking right now. I’ll remember soon enough. From Quillan, we’ll hike through Puivert (castle) to Espezel. The next day (our third wedding anniversary) will take us high into the mountains to Comus. Then we’ll descend and ascend again, in a short but grueling day, to Montsegur. (We won’t even sit down when we arrive at the hostel there because the ruined fortress of Montsegur will await us on the hill. We’ll climb the hill with refreshed tourists, feeling altogether like we’ve been given a great reward for our efforts to arrive at Montsegur. Then we’ll sit in the fortress and soak in the history.) After Montsegur, we’ll hike to Roquefixade, where we’ll take a detour after checking in to the hostel, to ensure that we see the ruined castle of Roquefixade itself. (I’ll flashback to Rebecca climbing on to the very top of the ruins and navigating it as if on a balance beam.) From Roquefixade the path itself becomes less interesting on the way to Foix, where we’ll board a train back to Paris.

Ah, le Sud! Le Midi! Montpellier et les Pyrenees! Vous me manquez!