French Bread Secrets

It’s true that many places in France have baguette vending machines. Baguettes are iconic in France, and a meal isn’t a meal without bread. 

The vital vending machine

This morning, after an hour-long hike before the temperatures rise too high, I stopped at the bakery and saw a woman filling the baguette machine. 

I knew I needed to peek inside to learn the secrets of the baguette vending machine and share it too. 

The young woman politely stepped back and let me snap a picture while juggling the bread and pastries I had already purchased. 

Et voilà! 

The inner workings

Baguettes lined up in a row waiting for customers to put their 1,20 in and have a baguette slide into their hands. 

@AmericanAirlines - You Broke a Mother's Heart Last Night

 I can't tell you how excited I have been for the past few weeks as I anticipated Spencer's visit to us in France.

Spencer visited us in 2018 before we moved to the South of France

He has never been here and my hope is that when he walks in the door he feels that same relief, the feeling of coming home, that I do when I visit my parents. 

He scheduled a week off work. That's not easy as an American. We don't get that many weeks. He paid for his own ticket, choosing a slightly more expensive flight so he could limit his airport time. He paid for a checked bag and an aisle seat. 

We planned to pick him up in Barcelona then to drive to Roses, Spain, a beach community on the Mediterranean to spend a night before returning to our home in the south of France. 

We filled out the required forms for him to enter Spain. He got to the airport in Columbus two hours early to check in and he waited for his flight to Philadelphia where he would board his 7:30 flight to Barcelona, arriving there around 9 on Sunday morning. Then he learned the plane from Columbus to Philadelphia was going to be late, then later. Finally, he realized he would miss his connection in Philadelphia. 

He went onto American Airlines chat hoping for help. He stood in line at the American Airlines desk hoping for help. Finally, the agent told him there was a solution. He could catch the Philadelphia flight Saturday evening. Wait in the airport overnight. Take a flight to Boston the next morning at 9 a.m. then wait in the Boston airport for 12 hours before flying to Barcelona and arriving there on Monday around noon. 

That sounded like hell. An extra 27 hours in the airport. 

He called me on FaceTime. I had been lying in bed texting with him as the clock ticked past midnight here. When he called, I scurried from the darkened bedroom to a room with light. His handsome but frustrated face looked at me from the screen. What should he do? 

Spencer and Tucker leaving Paris in 2018

I didn't think anyone deserved 27 extra hours in the airport when they had scheduled a 12-hour flight. He decided to cancel and go home. And that's when my heart broke, realizing I wouldn't be able to hug him, to chat with him as we sat on the beach, to introduce him to all the friends we have made here, to show him amazing castle ruins or take him on bike rides. 

I slept for a few hours then woke up, worried about him, his disappointment, my disappointment. I wondered if he could get a flight from Cincinnati. It has more international flights and is only 90 minutes away. 

I sent him a text, and even though it was the middle of the night for him, he got on chat with American Airlines. No, they told him, he had asked for a reimbursement so now they couldn't help him. 

No take backsies. 

I tried to convince him, via text, to use his charm, but he was pissed by then, and most of us would have been. 

Sunday morning, Earl and I went on a 20-km bike ride hoping it would help relieve some stress, but it only made me sadder.

 The airline should help him get to Barcelona. Why couldn't they arrange a flight for the same price he paid when we booked six weeks earlier? We weren't booking last minute because of our poor planning. It was their last-minute cancellation that caused us to need a last minute flight. 

So many companies could boost their image if they made some sensible choices by helping clients where they can. I'm not asking for a reimbursement of the hotel costs that we paid for rooms in Roses. I  only want my son here for a week, even fewer days now that the original flight was canceled. 

I just want to give him a hug. 

Finally Covid

 Two weeks ago, I started having cold symptoms -- scratchy throat and coughing overnight. I tested at home. Negative for Covid. I tested a few more times throughout the week and continued to be negative as my voice took on a deep throaty sound. 

While I lay about in bed, spring finally arrived here in the South of France. 

Some friends suspected it was allergies, others diagnosed me with a cold. 

On Wednesday, I was feeling bad enough that I told Earl he could go to a checkup doctor appointment without me. 

On Sunday we were scheduled to go to a ski resort with some friends. I decided to test one more time on Saturday. Surprise! I had Covid. I don't know at what point I went from cold or allergies to Covid, but I had tested negative throughout, until I didn't anymore.

Some people say those at home tests don't work, but when I tested for Covid, the line for positive appeared within seconds. There was no need to wait 10 or 15 minutes. I walked down to the pharmacy for an official test and they confirmed that I had Covid. In France, if you have a medical card (Carte Vitale), the test is free if you have symptoms or have been in contact with someone who had Covid. The pharmacy test result included a code that I could scan to the Covid app, and it would notify people who had come in contact with me. 

I cancelled our hotel reservations and isolated in our bedroom suite -- bedroom, office with terrace and bathroom. (It sounds more plush than it is, at least until the bathroom gets redone in June.) I didn't feel horrible: just a headache, fever and tired. For three days, I stayed upstairs, sleeping frequently, requesting a pitcher of water so I could refill at my leisure. Earl made me meals and ran to the store for things we needed. Until he tested positive on Tuesday. 

Then we figured we could just have a Covid house instead of a Covid suite of rooms. 

Once I was allowed to roam the house, I made a big pot of chicken noodle soup. 

After five days of resting, I tested negative in a home test. The next day I went to the pharmacy and they confirmed that I was negative. Friends, of course, were so helpful, going to the store to pick up groceries and offering lots of help while we were both sick. 

Now we're on day 8. Earl, who previously didn't believe the at-home tests worked, is continuing to test positive. The tests cost 1.95 euros per test at the grocery. Since Earl is still positive, but I feel I have a golden pass for a couple of months, I've gone out to meet with friends for coffee or walks, but I am getting a bit anxious to resume our busy social life. 

So far, none of our friends have said they caught it from us. That is one thing I worried about. 

Thank goodness for the vaccine which made my case of Covid so mild. I know people who still struggle with breathing difficulties two years after their initial case of Covid. 

The illness was worse than a cold but definitely not as bad as the flu, for me. But perhaps the healing process was helped by being forced to isolate so I had days to just rest so I could get better. 

Birthday Extraordinaire

Last week I celebrated a birthday. Not a milestone birthday, but everyone made it feel so special. 

Starting with my friends Claudine and Ray who couldn’t be with me but made a giant sign in the sand. 

I began the day with a run then showered and met friends at the cafe for coffee and viennoiseries (breakfast pastries) but since it was my birthday, I got a l’éclair au café. Normally that would be an after lunch or dinner pastry. 

Next, we were off to Narbonne Plage. No sit-down restaurants were open but we found a bar that served paninis and fries as we sat on a swinging seat and sipped our Aperol spritzes. 

Afterwards we headed down to the beach for a walk and some sand time. It was sparking and not too windy. I only put my feet in the water. 

Next we drove to Narbonne and walked around the old city. The square was full of people soaking up the sun.

 A Roman road rests in the middle of the square, about 8 feet lower than today’s plaza. 

This is a picture of the road from a previous trip to Narbonne.  

This road originally ran from the Mediterranean to Briancon in the Alps. 

Next we explored the cathedral in Narbonne which is always striking. 

No filter. That’s how blue the sky was. 

We got home in the evening in time to chat with all the kids and mom and dad back in the States. 

Some amazing gifts included an espresso maker, an olive tree for the terrace, some luxurious bath gels, a blooming hyacinth, a silk scarf and robe, a sparkly green plant, a bottle of champagne and the pleasure of spending time with my amazing friends. 

Just another birthday in France. . 

Winter Life in France

Winter life is different because fewer people are out and about. 

This has been a cold winter compared to last when it only got down to freezing 3 or 4 times. This year the temperature hovered around 0 Celsius for about two weeks when we awakened. But sometimes the temperature would soar to the 60s (midteens Celsius) under very blue skies. 

Frost still on the ground but the sun has reached the mountains.

I prefer a nice moderate temperature, like this morning it was 8 Celsius, about 46 Fahrenheit. Perfect for brisk walks or runs. 

We've  had a few foggy mornings too. 

We’ve been getting together with friends and taking care of necessary items, like this year’s visa, or titre de séjour. Ours is safely in hand for another year. After five years in France, we can apply for a 10-year card; I'll need to pass a French test and we'll have to show them five years of taxes, so fingers crossed that we succeed next year. They have an age limit, and over 65, visitors don't have to pass the language test. 

We've had a few outings. 

I explored Perpignan with a friend and we found a cozy alley filled with people drinking outdoors and listening to music. 

Aperol Spritz and Vermouth and soda

Then we went to a nearby restaurant for a scrumptious meal. 

Hope they don't run out of wine!

I had croquette beouf confit while my friend had La Ricaine -- fries, eggs, and bacon with gravy. A perfect Sunday brunch food. 

We sat at the bar in front of the chefs

We also took an outing to the beach, of course. Isn't there something about February that makes everyone want to go to the beach?

The sun was warm and the beach was inviting, but we weren't crazy enough to go in, although we saw some people going in wearing wet suits, and another guy inching into the water while wearing only a tiny speedo. 

Last week, my friend's mother died and we traveled to her funeral. It was my first French funeral. It was catholic, so that felt familiar, even though in French. 

The church was amazing. (I only took this picture after the congregation had filed out.) 

I wasn't sure about going to the burial, picturing a long procession of cars driving to some far away cemetery. But that's not how it happens here. Instead, everyone walked behind the hearse as it made its way through town, police stopping traffic, and we wound our way through the streets to the cemetery just outside of town.

It felt very intimate to walk behind the coffin and escort it to its final resting place. Prayers at the cemetery and then people filed past to say their final goodbye. Very touching.

The sun shone during the burial, but in the opposite direction, the sky turned dark and ominous. 

Grateful the rain held off during the service

Tonight we have friends coming for a simple dinner of tartiflette and salad.

Tomorrow we go to another friend's house for dinner. 

That's winter life in southwest France. Enjoying the sun during the day, enjoying the company of friends and eating hearty foods in the evening. 

Weather Wars

 In our hometown, in Columbus, Ohio, they're under a winter storm warning. Schools have been closed.

I checked with our sons and they are safely snuggled up with their girlfriends in their apartments with enough supply to wait out the storm, plus they're still working from home, so they don't have to go out to work. 

One son checked in with us. The freezing rain had turned to snow. "What's the weather like there?" he asked, probably feeling like the whole world was a winter wonderland. 

A swirl of clouds contrasting the blue sky

"You probably don't want to know," I said. But I sent him pictures anyway as we wandered along the Mediterranean at Banyuls-sur-Mer, sipping coffee at a beachside table, 

So picturesque

then walking to a marina. 

Finally we drove over some mountains to Coulliore and had lunch at a table with a view of the gorgeous water. 

Some scaffolding on the church as they do work. 

The sun heated the air into the 60s (16 C) and we felt quite comfortable in the sun. 

There’s something to be said for snuggling up in an apartment during a winter storm, but there’s a lot to be said for walking Ali g the Mediterranean in the sun, too. 

Update

The problem with not blogging for so long, is that there is way too much to blog about so then it's discouraging and I'll never be able to catch up! 

But, after Sillygirl asked in the comments a few times, I realized that there are some loyal readers who might worry what has happened to me, so I thought I could at least share some pictures with you.

First, we are safely back in France having dodged Covid around the world, well at least in the U.S., Ireland and France, so far. 

We returned a week ago and our friends have been so welcoming and supportive, like they missed us. I know we missed them. 

My first hike back in France, this horse posed with the sunrise between the mountains. 

Our trip to the States, three months long, was too much, but we enjoyed every minute we got to spend with our sons and my parents, plus time with our siblings and nieces and nephews. Then Covid got crazy and we just hunkered down over the holidays, only seeing Tucker, who had Covid the week before we got there, and Spencer and his girlfriend. Earl's sister and her kids and grandkids all had Covid over the holidays, canceling our plans to gather. We ended up skipping out on our flight from Columbus to Florida and renting a car instead to avoid Omicron, which seemed to infect everyone, even those of us triple vaxxed. We couldn't risk taking Covid back to my parents as Dad was preparing to have his pacemaker replaced (all went well). Also, we knew if we tested positive, we wouldn't be able to board the plane back home. After three months  of staying with other people, we were ready to get home. 
But, as always, there's the terrible pull in the pit of my stomach as I say goodbye to my sons or to my parents. Leaving our sons and my parents behind is the hardest part of living in France. When I say that, I hear the scene from Love Actually when Colin Forth tells his Portuguese housekeeper and love interest that dropping her off is the worst part of his day. I find myself reminiscing about the boys' childhoods, the quick patter of their feet on the wooden floors before diving onto our bed in the morning. I see their beautiful chubby cheeks and innocent eyes. 

They're both planning trips to visit us this year with significant others, so fingers crossed that it actually happens. 

Mom and Dad both had birthdays while we visited. They're doing great and staying healthy while avoiding Covid. It's tricky these days. Luckily, their favorite thing, golf, is outdoors. 

We left Florida on a Sunday. Our flights were scheduled Tampa, New York then Dublin. We were spending a few days with Grace and Jack since they hadn't gotten home for Christmas. Jack is still waiting on his visa from the Irish government and doesn't want to leave the country in case there's difficulty returning. Grace is working on her PhD in Archeology, focusing on cultural heritage, especially our area of France. How convenient!

Our Tampa to New York flight got delayed, which meant we wouldn't make our New York to Dublin flight. My knee-jerk reaction was to get to the airport as quickly as possible so we could take an alternative flight. I stayed online with Delta the entire hour and a half drive to the airport and we only got our new flights resolved as we were leaving our rental car. At the airport by 1:30, our flight wouldn't leave til 8:30. Now we were flying Tampa, Atlanta, Paris, Dublin. I know! I couldn't believe I couldn't leave any of our five suitcases in France while we were there. 

But we made it to Dublin the next day and quickly embraced Grace. We enjoyed four nights with her and Jack, making up for our missed Christmas together. 

Daughter/dad hugs. Of course we went for a walk on the beach in Dublin.
We're so lucky to get sun when we're there. 

The countryside is stunning in Ireland, even in January. 

This climb in Bray was a good workout and had beautiful views. 

On Friday we flew back to France and our friend Derrick met us at the airport in Toulouse. It's two hours from home, but flights to the closer airport had been cancelled. 

We arrived home just in time to make it to our visa appointment. 

Since we moved to France in 2018, we have had to renew our visa every year. This is our 5th year, which means next year, we can apply for a 10-year visa or carte de séjour as they're called in France. 

After receiving our visa, we celebrated by walking about La Cité in Carcassonne. As stunning as ever.

The sky and the outer walls of the chateau

And so we're back. We've been enjoying time with friends, drinking inexpensive wine and stocking up on scrumptious pastries, along with walks and runs in the countryside. It's not a bad life.

Book Review The Vanished Collection

As I read The Vanished Collection by Pauline Baer de Perignon, I couldn't help comparing the differences between a book written for a French audience versus a book written for an American audience. In France, the subtleties count. In the U.S., we want the mystery laid out and the answer hinted at throughout so we can feel that sense of accomplishment at the end. 

At the beginning, the conflict was unclear. The author's cousin had hinted that perhaps her great grandfather's painting had been confiscated by the Nazis. Confiscated seems too tame a word. Stolen, taken, ripped from his grasp. But the family thought he had sold his collection. They thought her great grandfather and grandmother voluntarily moved from their Paris apartment. They didn't even think about the Jewish roots of their family and the dangers the ancestors faced living in occupied Paris. Slowly, the author reveals the research she did and how she discovered her great grandfather's life during World War II. 

Having researched the topic of stolen art during World War II for my novel The Summer of France, 

I was already enthralled by the idea of looking back at undiscovered thefts by the Nazis and the effort it takes to try to redeem the crimes committed in the 1940s. This book was set within the past five years. I enjoyed The Vanished Collection and the peek into the French mind, where no one wanted to discuss the atrocities of the Nazis during the war, preferring not to remember that neighbor turned against neighbor. But the author needed to knock on each door and dredge up each memory to search for the truth of her great grandfather's life. 

You can find this book on Amazon in kindle or paperback

Living Under a Vaccine Passport

Tuesday morning, Earl and I drove to the city of Castelnaudary. 

Beautiful flowers fly above the streets

We parked in the lot across from the hospital, and I went in for my first French mammogram. But before I could enter the hospital, I needed to show my pass sanitaire. The pass sanitaire is a vaccine passport. If you haven't been vaccinated in France, forget visiting the hospital for yearly exams like mammograms or colonoscopies.  

Here in France, we are required to show a Pass Sanitaire. That is a QR code that proves we have been vaccinated if we want to eat in a restaurant, have coffee in a café, or enter the square to listen to live music. 

Cappuccino is available with the pass sanitaire

The rules began on August 9th and since then, surprisingly, cafes and restaurants have been busy with patrons who willingly pull out their phones and show their passes. France currently has a loophole that people can get tested every three days and show their negative tests. The Covid tests are free for French residents now, but in October, residents will have to start paying for them, 50 euros per test. That is in hopes of convincing people to get the vaccination instead of getting regularly tested. 

There are many French people who are upset about the requirement. There are even some restaurants and bars resisting. They don't ask to see the pass or they don't scan them. 

A music fete this summer where our pass sanitaire was screened before we could enter the square.

One cafe owner said "We hate to ask our friends for their pass." Then she hesitated and said, "But a coffee, that's not really a necessity, is it?" And that's the point. You don't have to go out for a coffee. You want to go out for a coffee or for a drink with friends. 

Here in France, we know what it is like to forego those pleasures. From October 30, 2020 through June 9, 2021, restaurants and bars were closed for dine in, whether outside or in. We didn't sit and drink with our friends. No music played in the town squares. We were lucky to wander through markets with our masks firmly in place to buy the necessities -- food only. Clothing and trinkets were not included in the markets. 

Now, it's our turn, the vaccinated, to go out on the town. To raise a glass and celebrate that we have survived the initial phase of a pandemic. 

A kir perhaps

In Esperaza, a town know for its free spirits, the Gendarmes patrol the market, reminding people to keep their masks up firmly over their mouth and nose. 

This picture truly captures Esperaza

Earl and I sat for a coffee one Sunday, listening to music nearby as two guys played the didgeridoos. The waiter came out to take an order of a nearby table. The woman sat smoking a cigarette. The waiter asked for her pass sanitaire. She said she didn't have it. He said he couldn't serve her. She protested, waving her cigarette in the air. No, he insisted and she reluctantly left the outdoor café. Her empty table was quickly snapped up by someone who was vaccinated. 

I heard a French official explain that for a year and a half, he and his daughters had been isolating to avoid the virus and to avoid spreading the virus. Now they have their vaccines. It is their turn to go out to restaurants and movies and music festivals. Those who aren't vaccinated can isolate, staying home to avoid getting Covid. 

Yay, For My Legs!

If you were ever to ask me, what part of your body would you want to change, I would, without hesitation, say my legs. My legs are short and I have strong calves and chunky thighs. I'm kind of used to them, it started happening around 5th grade as I hit puberty. I always envy those people with sculpted legs;when they put their legs together, there are three perfect triangles between their ankles and calves, calves and knees, and thighs. That's not and is never going to be me. But today, I'm feeling very thankful for the strength of my legs. So thank you legs, for not letting me down. 

Sunday morning, we took our friends' dogs for a walk and snapped a beautiful photo of the clouds in the mountains. Thanks, legs, for being strong. 

Then we rode our bike 12 miles to a market and had coffee and pastries with our friends Sue and Steve. Again, my legs came through, pedaling hard, even when we had to go up a steep bit to check on another friends' house.

Saturday, I ran 7 miles! It wasn't fast but I didn't stop to walk, just kept moving, my legs churning and churning, out 3.5 miles and back 3.5 miles. (That's 11.2 kilometers total). It's probably been over a year since I've had a string of good runs, so I have been determined to get back on track, following a training schedule. I can't tell you the last time I ran 7 miles, but I owe it all to those sturdy legs (well, the lungs and heart helped too). 

Legs still climbing

Just a few weeks ago we climbed Mount Bugarach, again I owe a huge thanks to my legs, partially my arms too on those very rocky parts. 

The next time you think to complain about how a body part looks or how you wish it looked a different way, just think about what an amazing job it does. 

Beach Birthday Celebrations

 Last week, my friend Sue had her first French birthday. This fell right before her first French wedding anniversary and her official Franciversary, the day she moved to France. 

We all wanted to celebrate so we took a day at the beach. 

The beach reminded me of my days in Corsica.

Our friends have a puppy, so we had to look for a beach where dogs were allowed. We ended up going to La Franqui and walking to a part of the beach where there weren't any "No Dog" signs. 

But first, we had lunch along the waterfront. 

A lake, or etang, stretched inland between the sand and the sea

Although it looks beautiful and had lots of birds in it, it was a little stinky.

Sue and I toasting her birthday. I had sangria. 

Earl and Steve in matching blues

After lunch, we began the long walk out across the sand. But the sand was soft and not too hot. We took the dog off the leash and he ran like a crazy hound into the etang trying to scare off the seagulls. We kept walking farther and farther down the beach trying to avoid the "No dog" signs. Finally, I suggested we just play dumb if anyone approached us about the dog. There were other dogs, so we set up our beach blanket and the dog rolled on it immediately, sprinkling it with sand.

The pup in the foreground. Earl striding into the Mediterranean

This was a pretty perfect beach. The sand was soft. The entrance into the Med was not precipitously steep as it had been at some beaches. We could walk a long way out without it getting too deep, as a matter of fact, a sandbar allowed us to stand in knee-deep water and let the waves break around us. 

Paddling around in the sea when it's a gorgeous blue is glorious. 

Afterward, we tried to rest on the beach, but the dog had other plans. 

He immediately began digging, covering our blanket with sand. We tried shaking it out a few times but he went right back to digging. 

Earl spread a towel away from the blanket to see if the dog was after us specifically or just the blanket. At one point, the pup was just pummeling me with sand and I had to go back in the sea to rinse off all the sand. I still found a bunch caked around my ears in the shower that night. 

Sue and Steve thought it was hilarious, until the dog turned his digging super powers on them. 

Digging to Australia.

Ice cream on the boardwalk

After rinsing off, we headed back to the boardwalk for beers and ice cream. Mine was a Mama Mia with salted caramel ice cream and sauce. The addition of the Haribo candies did nothing for me. 

This was a terrific beach and we'll definitely visit again. As September stretches in front of us, we know our beach adventures are coming to an end soon. 

Reveling in Revel

 My new-found weekend freedom led us to Revel on Saturday.

The center of town has a covered market and a bell tower on top.

If we'd known, they give tours from atop the bell tower on Saturday mornings. Next time!

Revel is about an hour and half away from us and we got a late start so didn't arrive until 11 a.m. If you've been to French markets, you know that the market will soon be closing down around noon or shortly after. It is a Bastide town, which means it was originally fortified by walls against marauders. 

The Medieval buildings in the background, the arcades or covered passageways behind the vendors.

Revel is a charming town with Medieval roots, as is obvious from the timbered buildings, including some that are being shored up at the front so they can be rebuilt at the back. It reminds me of Mirepoix, but the square and the historical center are more substantial than Mirepoix. 

The facades will remain

If you're looking for bras, socks or summer dresses, this is not the market for you. It's hard core food and from the region. And even though this is the first weekend after the Rentrée, when everyone goes back to school or work, it was crowded. Every seat was taken at every café as we walked around the outer part of the market -- twice. We decided we'd skip coffee and just eat lunch in awhile, so we wound around the inner part of the market.  

The beams that hold up the 14th century roof over the marketplace

More beams and plenty of tomatoes

Then Earl glanced across the way, saw some empty chairs and made a beeline for a plastic table. We sat, waiting a bit for coffee, but the view was nice and the people watching was excellent. 

Delicious coffee and relaxing

I'm amazed by the Medieval architecture, but I'm really drawn more
to the metal railings on the building on the left. 

This building is obviously not Medieval, but it is pretty 

After leaving the market with bananas (not locally grown) two lavender plants and some tomatoes, we walked back toward the car. Ahead, we saw a food truck with crepes. We walked toward it, wondering where we could eat. We're American enough to eat in the car, but we've been in France long enough not to. Plus, it's illegal to eat or drink as you are driving in France. 

Across from the crepe stand was a Mexican street food truck. Mexican food is not often found in France. 

The back side of the truck

We stood in line and ordered, similar to a Chipotles kind of plan, burrito or salad. What meat? Chicken for me. What fixings -- salad (lettuce), corn, rice, black beans, creme fraiche (sour cream-ish), then what sauce? Chipotle for me. The French aren't big fans of spicy food, so I thought the medium sauce would be ok. It was, but a bit spicier than I had anticipated.

Definitely street food

 We found a bench under a tree and ate our burritos. I do miss Mexican food. 

But, back in the States, I would miss Medieval villages like Revel.