Cabbage Patched

I got four days in. Four glorious days of skiing in the Alps. I have no photos of us actually skiing but I have plenty of us "resting"!

 But I promise.... I've been on the hills. And having an absolute blast!

Things seem to be slowing down a little, however.

Wednesday, Thomas, the husband of my friend Vreni, took a digger. This guy is an excellent skier and fast....really fast. So when he fell, he fell hard. But he's also a relaxed skier so his injuries were minimal;  a big, fat bruise on his upper thigh and the same behind his knee. 

Later the same day I was following Roland (a friend of Thomas's) down a hill. One minute I was behind him, the next minute he was gone. Poof! Just like that. He was there and then he wasn't.  I skied to where I last saw him, peered down over the edge of the hill, and there he was... far below. Luckily not skewered on a rock, but struggling in a pile of snow nonetheless. As soon as I knew he was alright the laughter began. But as the day went on, we realized he wasn't okay and it looks like he's done some ligament damage to his knee. One down.

That night, Vreni began her ministrations. She ran to the grocery store (not the pharmacy) and returned with two heads of cabbage. She rolled them out flat and began applying them to the injuries. Yep, a cabbage patch. I'm watching all this, laughing, and looking up cabbage cures on the internet. Sure enough, cabbage is purported to have medicinal qualities that aid in the healing of swelling and bruising. I don't know if it works but  it's an excellent way to get men to remove their pants. 

Applying cabbage to a knee injury is a straight up process.

 Getting cabbage to adhere to a rear end is a little more problematic.

I was laughing too hard to get a clear photo of this last shot.

I shouldn't have laughed (when am I going to learn this?). Because yesterday after a LONG day of skiing, and getting battered by a couple of hills of hard snow, I returned home to nurse a nasty boot bruise and eventually a knee that has progressively stiffened and swelled. My knees suck...they always have... and I don't think I actually injured it. I think I just wore it out.

So last night I found myself rolling out cabbage and applying it to my bum knee and my bruised ankle. I woke up in the middle of the night in a bit of a sweat (because of the damned wool socks I had to wear to hold the cabbage), and I smelled like the first whiffs of vegetable soup. This morning I peeled the limp, green leaves from my various body parts, and voila, the ankle seemed as good as new. Not so for the knee however. Two down.

So now Roland and I are hanging around the house for the day. It's not bad. We've got a terrace with a couple of lounge chairs situated in full sun. We've got our books.  I have my computer. I've got this to look at.

And hopefully another cabbage patch tonight will allow me to get back on the slopes tomorrow. 

The Pants

I leave for Switzerland tomorrow for my yearly brush with death. As I was watching television report about the avalanche that annihilated a ski station in the alps last weekend, did I worry about the possibility of this happening in at my final destination? Did I think that perhaps I should be going a little earlier in the season so as to avoid all that heavy, spring snow?

Absolutely not.  All I kept thinking was, "oh my god, I wonder if my ski pants will fit?". Yep, not worried about dyin'...just worried about looking good when I do!

Every year I go to visit my friend Swiss friend, Vreni, at her house in the breathtaking, eastern Swiss Alp ski station, Arosa. We laugh, talk in a bizarre mixture of 2 languages, eat, drink, and kick a little ass on the slopes. Okay, she kicks, I nudge. And each year, I have to borrow or rent all my gear. Not just boots and skis but clothing as well.  I've gotten by, but I feel a little bad each year as I don her son's pants, her husbands socks and her gloves and goggles.  I've now collected my very own jacket, long underwear and socks so I'm getting there. But last year, I happened to be there at the end of the season when....yippee...sale season was going on, and I bought a pair of ski pants.

Now I must tell you the price for these pants. I have to tell you because it's shameful. Shameful that a stupid pair of pants should cost as much as my car! They were 589 Swiss francs. Which translates to $645. Did you throw up a little in your mouth? Of course,  I didn't pay that. I got them for 75% off. But, this is still double what I would normally pay...so...these things better fit! And if they don't, I'm not going! The Pants have been sitting in the corner for two weeks, labels still attached,  staring at me with their accusing, expensive, slim fitting eyes. And I've been afraid to try them on. Yes, I'm afraid of a pair of pants. Not an avalanche....A PAIR OF PANTS!

Tuesday I took the plunge with 3 days left to cancel my trip if The Pants and I didn't agree with each other. For 2 weeks we had danced around each other, looking each other up and down. And finally, it was I that backed down and with a prodigious, pessimistic sigh, I stepped out of my skirt for the battle.

Zip, clip, score! SCORE!

So just as the almond trees blossoms are busting out in all their springtime glory, I'm off to avalanche country. Me and my very best friend...The Pants.

   

 

Last Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer

I've been zigging and zagging around France these last couple of weeks and thought I'd share a few photos. All of these places I've been before, but each was so beautiful and a the trips were lovely way to end the summer travel season.

I went camping....yes camping. This is camping like I've never done before and I'll write more about it later. Suffice it to say that it wasn't the wild, private camping I'm used to, although we did have a tent! But take note of the roof of the house just over the hedge. Nope...no bear here! But the view of the Iles de Hyères made it well worth the lack of wildlife and privacy. And the sea was silky and warm.

The village of Cavalaire sur Mer is situated on the south side of the Presqu'îsle de St. Tropez and only 5 miles from the village of St. Tropez. Of course, a visit to the village is obligatory where we watched yacht after yacht, each larger and more glam than the other, make their way into port...to do whatever it is they do in St. Tropez. I guess to be gawked at...like I and these other poor sods were doing at the House of Chanel-St. Tropez.

A little touring in the Var region...which is absolutely beautiful by the way. So green and mountainous...not at all the terrain we have here near Aix en Provence.

We discovered the medieval village of Grimaud after following a few mountain roads that scared the bejeezuz out of me. For some reason I really like this photo.

This one not so much. Remind me not to wear that dress again! My hips look larger than the village of St. Tropez which you can see behind me from the ruins of Chateau Grimaud. Horizontal stripes...what was I thinking???

The camping trip was immediately followed by a quick trip to the Haute-Savoie region of France and a pop into Switzerland.

If you've never visited Yvoire, France which sits on the south end of Lac Lemond (Lake Geneva), put it on your list. It's enchanting.

As is the village of Annecy.

And now I'm settled back into the mansion in Aix en Provence and the month of visitors begins....starting tomorrow. There isn't much to do...except defrost my freezer. I'm doing this because my girls and I are going to NEED ice cubes....and because Keith, over at A Taste of Garlic, hasn't stopped razzing me about it's previous sorry state. Keith, we'll drink a cold one...or two... for you!

Let's get serious

My mom skyped me yesterday (skype now being a verb in the same way that google has now become a verb) and the first thing she said to me is, “Where have you been?”

“What do you mean where have I been? Since I got back from Switzerland a week and a half ago, I’ve been here, Mom.”

“No, I mean you’ve been silent”.

“I have not. I talked to you several times last week.”

“But you haven’t written your blog. It’s like you’ve dropped off the face of the earth.”

I smiled to myself because I thought it was funny that my mom looks forward to reading my blog when she can simply talk to me any time she wants. And I put forward a few lame excuses like “I’ve just been so busy”, or “it’s been so beautiful here I haven’t wanted to spend my days indoors”.

But in fact, I finally had to admit that in light of all the horrible things going on in the world today, the little details of my life seemed  just…so….little. Inane, trivial, trifling…insignificant ( I know I’ve got a thesaurus on this computer…I’m sure I can find more adjectives!). I’ve written pages in my head as well as in my pocket notebook that is with me at every moment. But the words have remained lodged in gray matter or between two laminated cardboard covers where I felt they belonged.

While in Switzerland I heard (tardily) the news from Japan. I read a little about it but we didn’t have a television and, of course, I couldn’t understand Swiss-German commentary on the radio or read the newspapers. And I happily went on with my pleasures.

When I returned, however, I began watching the news. Incessantly. French, American and British troops begin their strikes in Libya. The Japanese people, devastated from their losses after the earthquake and tsunami and the entire world in danger from the nuclear power plant disaster. Syrians being murdered in the street because of their basic human need for freedom. And I have continued to stare at the television like a rubber-necker at a traffic accident.

My first year here in France, I was blissfully unaware of the goings-on in the world. I had no television and, of course, I couldn’t read the newspapers. I slept like a baby….for the first time in years. I haven’t slept so well in recent weeks. Don’t get me wrong, I am not, by nature, a worrier  (I have my friend Mary to do that for me). I have been blessed with an innate sense of optimism that I’m eternally thankful for.  But I’m beginning to think that The News is a sort of insidious culprit that plots to steal my sense of well-being.

My youngest son is a news hound. He reads 5 or 6 newspapers daily. He is so much fun to talk to. He knows about everything…technology, music, world events, history, art…and has very strong and fascinating opinions.  I always find myself wishing I were as well informed as he is. I would be so much more…interesting.

But at the same time, he often appears stressed. Sometimes when we’re discussing a political point or an environmental issue, he seems as if he’s fallen into a hole…despondent and without hope. I have actually said to him, “honey, you really need to stop reading so many newspapers”.

The question is, how does one establish some sort of equilibrium? What is my responsibility as a citizen of the world and what is my responsibility to myself and my personal psyche?

Bombs will continue to be dropped, innocents will go on suffering,  and we will persist in degrading our environment, whether I know about it immediately or not.  On the other hand, if all the world keeps its eyes open (including me), freedom might possibly be gained by hundreds of thousands of hopefuls in the middle-east and elsewhere, we might persist in finding a way for the suffering to nourish and heal themselves, and if we pay attention…really pay attention…we could find a way to exist on this planet without insisting that we destroy it in the process.

I don’t know what the answer is but as of today, as an experiment, I’m going on a mini-greve. The TV is off this morning. It’s going to stay off. My new strike from the news is going to mean I probably won’t be able to participate in meaty conversations about the current status of nuclear reactor #4, the question of where Gaddafi really is, why some dumb-ass French minister referred to the situation in Libya as a “crusade” (please, monsieur, think about the connotations of the word crusade for the Arab world), or the fascinating life of Elizabeth Taylor. It’s not that I don’t care about these things (this excludes the fascinating life of Elizabeth Taylor). And it’s not that I don’t have more than a little guilt about trying to surround myself with pretty flowers and soaring cherubs.

But for now, it’s going to have to be this way. And I will get back to writing my blog. While talking to my mom about this, she reminded me that in a world of bad news, there’s nothing wrong with a little humor. A break from the constant barrage of negative information that pummels us moment by moment is not necessarily a negation of the trials in the lives of others.  Light moments are essential when the weight of the world is slowing our steps and threatening to stop us in our tracks.

So I guess I’ll just continue doing what I do. As small and unimportant as it may be. And screw The News for the next….few weeks. Of course, just this moment, my New York Times headlines update came up on my email...and what did I do? Okay...I'm working on it. It will be interesting to see how I sleep in the next few weeks.

And it would also be interesting to know how you balance the weight of the world with your need for personal peace. Tell me.

La vie est dure!

I've gotta say, this skiing-in-the-Swiss-Alps thing is really a pain. It involves all sorts of difficult daily routines beginning with an hour and a half of skiing and then...breakfast and champagne on the terrace.

Where I am continually subjected to this view.

After breakfast, there's a little of this on the other terrace

I MUST sleep here...if not, I have to stare at this scene.

After a little repose, it's back to the slopes.

We do ski. Really. Here is proof. These are my feet. In ski boots.

Of course, I'm sitting in a snowbank here and there are no skiis attached to my boots. But really...we do ski!

But not without a few breaks to rest our weary...well, whatever happens to be weary at the moment.

Like here

And here...okay, same place, different day.

And then, we need to nourish ourselves. A little extra-charged cafe and pastry...

Maybe a brief moment to take in a high protein snack..... and a bottle of wine...

Then of course, late afternoon schnapps...like I've never seen schapps!

After a hard day of skiing there are numerous local medicines to kill the pain.

And then after all this strenuous activity, it's back to the house to change out of those oh, so sweaty clothes...and read a little.

Like I said, this is all really a big pain!

Cheese Louise...I'm off to Switzerland!

Tomorrow I leave for Switzerland for a two week ski vacation in the Alps. Man I love saying that! I think I'll say it again. Tomorrow I leave for Switzerland for a two week ski vacation in the Alps!!! Actually, I had the opportunity to say the same thing last year around this time, and tomorrow I'll be returning to visit my friend Vreni.


I will probably only actually ski four or five days...lift tickets are pricey. And if this week's "Power Pilates" class was any indication of my current physical condition, I'm in for deep doo-doo on the slopes. But I have several books in my suitcase and I know a great hotel in Arosa with heated, outdoor seating and giant fur blankets to cover my inert body. Après-ski can be enjoyed with or without actually skiing!


In celebration of my expedition to Switzerland, I'm going to share a couple of simple cheese recipes. Fondue, raclette and other alpine cheese meals are specialties of the northern regions of France and, of course, Switzerland. We're well past heavy cheese season here in Aix en Provence but there are mountains of snow in Arosa and I'll get to enjoy mountain cheeses until my pants pop.


The first is so simple. In fact, it's not even a recipe at all. It's merely a way to serve a wonderful, stinky, soft, cow's milk cheese called Vacherin Mont d'Or. This cheese is sold in a round spruce box and the packaging is said to give it some of it's flavor. It has an edible crust which is what makes it look so wonderful after it has been baked. And don't be afraid of the white fur that may be growing on the top...ashes, mold, fur, whatever...these are good things when it comes to cheese here in France.

Baked Mont d'Or

Take the cheese out of the fridge at least an hour before cooking it but leave it in its box. Some say you should wrap the box in tinfoil to prevent leaking. I forgot to do this and had no trouble with drips.  Dig a little hole in or score the top rind and, if you'd like, poke a couple cloves of garlic down into the cheese. Pour about 1/4 Cup (50 ml) of white Savoie wine over the top of the cheese, and pop it in the oven at 425 F (220 C). Bake it for about 20 minutes.

Serve this right in the box. Spoon it over small boiled potatoes or with thinly sliced meats. Traditionally it's also eaten with little cornichons and tiny, pickled onions. You can also treat it as a fondue and dip chunks of nice, crusty bread directly into this box of melted wonderful.

The second recipe is for tartiflette. This delectable dish uses ripe, Reblochon cheese, which is another northern cheese made from the milk of 3 different breeds of cow.

Tartiflette

You need:
     1 ripe Reblochon cheese (buy the good stuff with the fermier green
        stamp on top.
     4 pounds of potatoes (2 kilos)
     1/2 pound (200 grams) chopped bacon or lardons
     2 chopped onions
     8 oz. cream (250 ml)
     1/4 Cup Savoie white wine (200 ml)
     salt and pepper

Slice the potatoes after boiling them until they're just firm. (I don't peel them) Place them in a greased gratin dish. Saute the bacon and onions in a bit of oil over medium heat until golden. Add the wine and let this simmer until the wine is evaporated. Add the cream and salt and pepper to taste.


Mix the onion and bacon mixture with the potatoes. Be gentle.


Scrape the crust of the cheese wheel lightly with a fork. Cut it horizontally into two pieces and then in half. Put the cheese on top of the potatoes, crusts up, and bake at 350 F (180 C) for 30 minutes.


  

At this point I'm going to apologize once again for my horrific food photos and my obvious carelessness. If anybody has food photography pointers, I'm listening. (yes...obviously...clean all cream off sides of baking dish before proceeding to bake, burn and otherwise make this dish look....dirty!)

My fellow Americans.... there is one, small, teeny, weeny catch with these recipes. These are unpasteurized cheeses and have been forbidden in the U.S. since 2004. I believe some exporters are making them with pasteurized milk but I've heard the flavor is nowhere near as creamy and delicious. Read more about this American tragedy here...and then write your congressman! Or come to France and pick up your own! If any one of you is aware of a distributer of real, French, unpasteurized soft cheeses in the U.S.,  I would sure like to know about it. 

Bon Appetit!

I found these recipes in the AAGP (Anglo-American Group of Provence) newsletter last year. The article was written by Jennifer Dugdale, a woman who gives culinary tours here in Provence...in English. Check out her website here.

The Hills Are Alive...

I’m going to Switzerland  today. I want to get a little skiing in before the snow melts off the Alps.

That was SO MUCH FUN TO SAY! How did I do? Perhaps I should say it like this….”My Blackberry showed a few free days this week, so I rearranged the rest of my schedule and now have some time blocked off and can work in my annual spring ski trip to the Alps”

Or maybe, “I’m frightfully tired of Cotes du Rhone and Camembert, it’s time for a little fondue and beer and men in tight ski pants.”

I’ll keep practicing.

The fact is, my Swiss friend Vreni invited me to stay with her for 10 days and do a little skiing or shopping or whatever strikes our fancy. I met Vreni in my language class last semester and in spite of a minor communication problem (namely, she speaks German, I speak English, we attempt French together and she’s way, way, way ahead of me), we seem to be kindred spirits. I’m excited for some “girl time”.