Food I have eaten

A quiche made of chèvre and chives

Mushrooms stuffed with feta, pistachios, and herbs

Springtime means tons of asparagus in the markets. I cooked these with lemon juice and olive oil, served over rice with fresh mint.

Couscous and vegetables with olives, cooked with spices I bought in Morocco.

An American-style restaurant called Bagel&U specializes in bagel sandwiches with NY names. This is the Greenwich, pronounced “green witch” by the server

The French love to make salads with cheese on toasts.

A beautiful artichoke appetizer from an expensive restaurant. Made even more delicious by the fact I didn’t have to pay! (part of a farewell dinner for my program)

Not as gourmet, but a major part of my university life: the coffee machine. 50 centimes buys you a dixie cup of coffee (strong and sugary). As a note, in France cappuccino means coffee with chocolate.

Another food I eat often but have no picture of is falafel. There are some amazing kebab places near my apartment that are open into the wee hours of the morning to provide faithful customers with greasy but satisfying meals. My favorite makes their nan bread fresh when you order, and the manager gives you mint tea while you wait. I get the falafel sans frites, with algerian sauce. Yummmm.

A brief interlude…

I apologize for dropping off the face of the earth for almost 2 months. My life was just so full I forgot to write. And then classes were over and life wasn’t nearly as full but by that point I had gotten out of the habit. Never fear, I have MANY photos stored up and ready to be published.

Some key events that have happened lately:

I discovered a lake, I watched BMX riders at FISE, I went to the Cannes Film festival, I’ve said farewell to most of the Americans (I may be the last of the species in Montpellier by June), I still have glitter in the shower after an especially crazy night out at La Villa Rouge (a fabulous gay-friendly club), I’ve met a new man.

Yesterday I swam in the Mediterranean. Today I bought a pair of electric blue heels from a store called Shoe Shoe (because that sounds better than Chaussure Chaussure and the French like to use random English in unexpected places). Now I’ve got the Rolling Stones on youtube and I’m about to bombard my blog with images of food. Here goes…

Storefronts, part 1

Where I do my laundry. It's pretty hip.

These are all over the place. Where I buy more minutes for my phone, postcards, and gum. Other people get their tobacco here (most people my age tend to roll it themselves)

THE place for books and school supplies. 4 stories tall and it smells like new paper.

I met my first French friends here on Quiz Night.

A store that idolizes American pop culture. They sell "sneakers and clothings". Good discounts on pre-sale tickets for boîtes de nuit (clubs)

A beautiful dance store that a certain sister would love. The window decorations are different every time I pass by.

Temptation. It's open late especially for those midnight cravings. Waffles, pizza, paninis, and crêpes.

European Fashion

More clothes out of my price range.

Rockin' the manscarf. Seriously, people dress like this. American men should take notes.

A good place for lunch à emporter (to-go). See the chalkboards? Just about every café has their menu handwritten out front.

Springtime

When it becomes a problem that you trust too easily and love too much, you need to move on.

Homemade yogurt, fresh strawberries, honey, and blue skies are ingredients for a beautiful morning.

Un demi-pêche (peach beer) isn’t half bad on its own, but tastes much better when accompanied by a board game and French and German friends.

The best way to know a city is to walk. Some days you notice the buildings, other days it’s the people, and sometimes it’s just the sun on your shoulders and the breeze and the spring flowers.

Lovely things: petals that fall off trees to make way for pale green leaves, when the wind blows mist from a fountain on your back, a baguette with a thick crunchy crust and an airy interior, when you feel the spring sun thawing out your bones on a warm afternoon, watching two dogs meet each other and start to play, chatting with friends in two languages and not quite realizing when you switch from one to the other.

Things that you miss: your sister, that very specific orange you can only find on California poppies, the smell of Mexican food cooking, his eyes and the way he touched you so softly

twilight blue is my favorite color

18h30 on a March evening, windows open to the sunset

I realize it’s been a while since my last post. This is the result of several factors:

1) I was traveling through Spain and Morocco with patchy internet connections

2) It took me a while to settle in when I got back

3) I’m getting to the point where I don’t have a camera with me at all times, because my life here doesn’t seem like a novelty anymore. It feels like home (more thoughts on this later).

4) My mind has been occupied by someone lately… ;)  <- I know the use of an emoticon is cheating, but this is my blog and not an English assignment, and I feel like a semicolon followed by a parenthesis adequately expresses my feelings.

5) Also I’ve just been lazy. Writers love to come up with excuses but it really mostly boils down to laziness.

This is what it looks like outside my window right about now. The cool evening air is drifting into my room. On the street, motors start, breaks screach, people laugh, and songs play from  rolled down windows of cars as they drive by. A family leaves my building. I hear “Mama, Papa” from the children, and deeper French accents from the parents (they’re too far away now to distinguish the words).

I think I’m in love with Montpellier. I love the old buildings, the sunlight, the wind. I love dancing in the neon night and going to the market with the fresh air of the morning. I love sitting on a park bench in Peyrou or l’Esplenade and eating a sandwich (chèvre, tomato, and lettuce on a baguette s’il vous plaît). I love the colorful tram system that is constantly under construction, the ever-changing shop windows with the latest clothes artfully displayed, the man who plays the accordion in la Place de la Comédie.

Do you know that feeling when you’re walking through a city and suddenly you realize, “I could live here”? Far away across the ocean from where I was born, in a country that is not my own, surrounded by strangers that don’t speak my language, I feel more at home than I have in a very long time.

But I can’t stay here. I’m going back to America in two months. Which makes me think, maybe Montpellier is more beautiful to me because my time here is so short. It’s like the sunset outside my window. If the sky looked that way all the time I’d get used to it. But since it’s so brief, I see it in all its radiance. I bask in the moment until the very last rays have retreated behind the rooftops.

Thoughts on travel in Spain

On the bus to Barcelona I watched a boy take pictures with his iphone, edit them, and then post them online and comment on them. He spent more time looking at the screen than out the window. I wonder…is he more or less connected with the world?

I feel like I should start a photo album called “People Taking Pictures”. You see some interesting facial expressions and odd postures.

Sunlight on bare shoulders is medicine in the winter.

I think I expected Mexican food in Spain. I know this is wrong, but I expected it. Now I know Spanish food is a very distant relative from Latin American food. It’s like how English food is not American food (though we share a love of all things fried). Here are some vegetarian options in Spain: tortilla (potato omelet), garlicky mushrooms, olives, fried potatoes with hot sauce, salty grilled green peppers, bread with tomato and olive oil spread, bread and cheese bocadillo (sandwich).

An overnight train seems like a good idea on paper. It is economical, practical, and even seems like it might be comfortable (hey–haven’t you always wished for a bed while traveling?). Here is the reality: a cramped car with 4 bunks shared with strangers. Being the tallest, you obviously will get assigned to a bottom bunk  so that it is impossible to sit up without hitting your head. There is a baby that cries whenever the train makes a stop. No one speaks English. You take off your jeans but sleep in the same clothes you wore all day. In the morning, you look like a rumpled mess. “But hey”, you tell yourself, “I’m young and it certainly makes for interesting stories!”

Hosteling with a suitcase is like wearing pearls and a cardigan to a drum circle. You stand out. I look at the dreadlocks sitting across from me on the couch, the woman in the kitchen eating an avocado with a knife and a mug of loose-leave tea, and the parade of enormous backpacks perched on the people that come and go in the reception. All I can think is “do you really require that many straps on your backpack?”

Every city looks more beautiful after a nap.

It’s been over a month

Today I heard the song “Free Fallin” and I realized all of the sudden that I am a tiny person very far from home on a very big planet. I waited to feel homesick, or scared, but the feeling never came. I guess I like being out here on my own.

A Food Update

Today I’m fighting off a bit of a cold (maybe due to the sudden chill outside), so I figured it would be a good time to update all the assorted food-related posts I’d been meaning to make.

First, a word on markets:

Herbs and spices

I have several options when it comes to groceries: I could go to a marché (outdoor farmer’s market held on certain days), one of the two halles (an indoor daily farmer’s market), a supermarché (smaller than American supermarkets, but the same idea), or I could pick and choose from many little stores specializing in fromage, pain, vin, etc. For a foodie like myself, each option is a little adventure. I love comparing the products to the choices we have back home. In most cases, France wins.

Olives, nuts, oils, and mushrooms at Marché des Arceaux

 

Appetizers from the marché: herbed olives, fava beans I cooked myself, and a steamed artichoke with butter

 

Tourte aux herbes, made with fresh eggs and greens from the marché. Pre-made pastry crust from Monoprix saves time but tastes delicious.

 

Tomatoes and squash baked with rosemary, thyme, and parmesan (thanks for sending the recipe, Mom!)

The one thing I truly miss from the States is Trader Joe’s, the love child of the God of Good Deals and the Goddess of Yummy Snack Foods. I will survive half a year without veggie & flaxseed tortilla chips and peach salsa, but it will be a struggle. Ok, I know I’m getting a bit dramatic here (I can envision the comments: “You’re in France! Stop complaining!”) but every now and then I do get a tiny craving for some of the food back home.

On another note, I have to dispel a stereotype we Americans have about the French. Contrary to popular belief, they do not always eat more healthfully than we do. The products may be different, but the nutritional value is about the same:

Soda is still carbonated sugar water

 

Do I spy French Cocoa Puffs?

Nutella. A beautiful thing...but to quote Rhoda from the Mary Tyler Moore Show, "I don't know why I should even bother to eat this. I should just apply it directly to my hips."

One last thing. I know it’s not exactly food, but I’ve been introduced to some interesting forms of alcohol here. There are endless variations on the classics: wine (especially vin chaud, a spiced hot red wine) and beer (Belgian beer I’ve found is infinitely superior to American), and of course cocktails that I can’t afford. But then there’s cidre (which I wrote about in my crêpes post), and now I have tasted the ancient drink of my Nordic ancestors: Mead. It’s a wine made out of honey (about 8-18% alcohol). A bit too sugary for my taste, but a unique experience nonetheless!

A bottle shared between friends is the best way to drink...especially when someone else buys the bottle!

 

Neige

The wind blew bitterly, the temperature dropped, I put on my mittens, and there was snow! On my way to the University the flakes caught in my lashes and melted on my face (it’s times like that when you suddenly realize your mascara might not be waterproof). The palm trees looked confused amidst all the grey and white.