Moving day

18 Place de la Daurade, Toulouse.

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m typing this from my little window desk nook.  That’s right MY window desk nook.  We gave ourselves one week to find an apartment…and we did it.  In fact, we took the first and only place we saw, because the price was right and it was AWESOME.  A spacious studio, 4 floors up (sans acensur) overlooking the Place de la Daurade, the Garonne river to our right and the entire span of Pont Neuf  outside our living room windows.  It’s quiet today, like all Sundays here, and it’s hard to imagine that just 2 days ago we had rented a truck, drove out to some French suburbs to get furniture (most importantly a bed for that night) and drove it back into the city centre and moved all our stuff up 4 flights of stairs. We understood the true meaning of pain when trying to park the truck in the “hyper-centre” of Toulouse during rush hour.  Stress was at an all time max-out.  Moving all our furniture and stuff up four flights of stairs seemed like a breeze after the whole truck ordeal.  But with everything put in its place (including our backpacks which are empty and in storage) I can shudder off the whole ordeal like a bad dream and think about what to make for dinner tonight. 

We went to the market along Strasbourg Blvd. and although the market is one of the most impressive ones I’ve been to, the highlight of my shopping trip was buying a piece of butter that was cut off of a large block from the cheese/dairy vendor.  A little salty and wrapped up in a piece of wax paper, just the way I like it.  Got some basics and toted it all the way home in a basket: cheese, fruit, vegetables, olives, sundried tomatoes, a baguette and a roast chicken.  Set on the kitchen counter by the window, it’s a still life of sorts.

Pont Neuf over the Garonne from our living room window.

The view from the kitchen window.

Prince Day in Monaco and Succulent city!!

From Nice, we decided to take the 1 euro intercity bus to a small medieval town called Eze Village and then hop another bus to Monaco.  Eze village was similar to some of the other medieval villages I'd been to, except it had an AMAZING cactus and succulent garden.  Entry was 5euro and the bonus was the best view from the entire village.

This picture doesn't do this garden justice, it was one of the coolest gardens I'd been to.  A swedish prince, in the 1920s shirked his swedish, princely duties and just hung out at this site until the mid 1950s.  Saw some fine specimens of cactus, agave, aloe and other such succulents. 

 

It was Prince Day in Monaco, which meant that the Monte Carlo casino was closed.  We went to the world class Museum of Oceanography instead (Prince Albert in the early 1900 was an avid and devoted oceanographer).  The museum is part of his legacy.  This is me, trying to figure out how to work the one-person submarine developed in the second half of the 18th century.  It's as fun as it looks.

And...some amazing aquariums in the basement.  The museum is large building tucked into the cliffs, right on the water.  It was impressive, both inside and out.

Some...swell pictures of Nice

This was the view from the terrace that our room opened out to.  The first night we arrived, there was a soccer game on.  We watched the sun go down, serenaded by soccer chants.  How romantic.

Sugared fruits (glacee).  Everything can be "glaced" - kumquats, oranges, plums, pears, chestnuts...you get the point.

We had half an hour to kill before catching our ride back to the hostel...no problem, we'll just sit by the beach and watch this insanely beautiful sunset.  Easy.

The view from the other end of the beach.

I felt like chicken that night...

When deciding on a city to live in, Lyon was the one that we had in mind the entire time.  The 3^rd largest city France and known for its gastronomy and film/cinema scene – it seemed like the perfect fit.  It was an exciting place that had all those things to offer, you couldn’t walk 3 steps on any given block without coming across a restaurant, a patisserie, butcher or specialty food shop.  The city was awash in “bouchons”, or rustic little restaurants that served all things pig and regional.  Although it was exciting and offered us all that was expected, we had to weigh some important factors.  Did we want to live in a large French city when we were planning on moving to Paris in the spring?  Would Toulouse feel too sleepy after 5 months time?  Big and exciting?  Charming and quaint?  We had to endure a few tense hours – keeping in mind this was the first MAJOR decision (aside from choosing where to eat every night) we had had to make since coming to France. What it all boiled down to was this: no matter where we live for the next 5 months, it was going to be hard and it was going to be wonderful.  I won’t say just yet – you just might have to check back in a weeks time to find out where we’ve ended up.  The apartment search is on!

One of the most special things we came across while here in Lyon was the Poulet de Bresse.  I had seen it on a food network show once and was hoping to get my hands on some of it while in France, the demand is so high in France that very few chickens make it out of the country.  The Bresse chicken was the first livestock granted an AOC designation.  You might be familiar with AOC (appellation d’origine controlee), which is a designation that ensures that certain agricultural products meet very exacting standards with reference to where and how these products are produced.  Most would recognize it on some wine labels, but I was first introduced to the concept when I worked at the cheese shop - yes, cheeses have AOC designations.  Leave it to the French to promote and exalt a chicken to such a degree.  We saw them at the butchers, where they’re always proudly displayed and sold with the heads (red comb and white feathers) and feet (grey blue in colour) on.  Check out these beauties:

We went to a restaurant that specialized in Bresse chicken to see what the hype was all about.  I ordered a poulet a l’Ain a la crème (chicken of the Ain region in cream) and P got the andouillette sausage, which was another specialty of the region, made of pig intestines and other delicious pig insides.

My chicken was presented as a leg/thigh piece resting on a shallow pool of cream, garnished with 3 little pomme dauphinoise and accompanied by a bubbling ceramic dish of potato gratin.   I never had bresse chicken before, but…it was perfect!  Good job France!  Yes, keep them regulated and make sure they always taste this way!  It’s hard to describe, after all it is chicken and I can only liken it to the most chickenest tasting chicken.  If you’ve ever had chicken, steamed/boiled whole, you will know that a free-range chicken, aside from the colour, tastes different from an industrially farmed chicken.  It is a bit “gamier”, that is to say it HAS flavour…which is something we don’t seem to ask from our grocery store, boneless-skinless chicken breast in trays of 2.  I don’t know how the chicken was prepared, but I got hits of a wine-y aroma, and it wasn’t the sauce.

My chicken was the star of the show – but P’s andouillette showed pretty well.  Served with frites, it was white in colour (all the way through) and seemed to be loosely held together in its casing, distinguishable pieces would fall out as he cut his fork through it.  It was very delicately seasoned and what came through was salt, and clean tasting organ meat.  Although, there are no winners and losers at a nice dinner, P and I always declare winners of each course.  My Poulet de Bresse was true to its reputation, but Paul made a surprise come back in the dessert round with the fromage blanc.  Who knew that just a little cup of fresh plain cheese, turned out into a bowl would beat my terrine of grapefruit and oranges served with a coulis cassis?  

Lyon has some great residential neighbourhoods...only they are waaay up some treacherous hills.  The City built up 2 funiculars for a touristy neighbourhood, but most people make the daily trek on these long stairways.

A getaway from my vacation...

Now I know I shouldn't complain, but it's been a bit of a grueling schedule, we've been on the move, skipping from city to city every 3-4 days since we've left home.  As a reward for picking a place to live, we've decided to treat ourselves to a luxurious 5-night stay in Nice.  Here, it's 18 degrees and sunny and with none of the wandering around random french neighbourhoods trying to imagine living there.  We're staying in a great hostel, recommended to us by a ridiculously good-looking couple we met in Prague, if it's good enough for the beautiful - it's good enough for me.  It's an old monastery/villa on the hill converted into a hostel.  The common area is inside a chapel - where they serve breakfast, dinner and drinks.  We got a private room on the top floor which opens onto a big terrace that looks out over Nice.  Sunsets on the french riviera look as good as they sound. 

For now, it's Nice.  Went out to a town called "Grasse" where they are said to put out 80% of all the fragrant essences that are used in perfumes.  We expected to be transported back into time where provincial towns people milled about in full skirts dumping skirt-loads of flowers into wooden vats, while adorable street urchin wove through the crowds chasing chickens with lavender fields in the visible distance.  Instead, we went to a perfumer's factory and joined a guided tour group that included a middle-aged Scandinavian man carrying around a large-sized terrier, I would have retained a lot more information had I not been so distracted by wondering what the dog thought of the tour.  

They still use the method of "enfleurage", developed in Grasse, extracting scents from delicate flowers by placing them on sheets of beef/pork fat.  Flowers are replaced onto the fat every day for up to 3 months until the fat is saturated with the essences.  Then it's all boiled off and separated before use in perfume.  We also learned about "Noses", who create the perfumes.  These people are highly trained professionals capable of identifying up to 2000 distinct smells.  Apparently, a few years back the director of Kenzo wanted to develop a scent that embodied "Strasbourg at Christmas", noses were said to have flocked the streets of Strasbourg that Christmas to try to create that scent.  

Promise to post pictures in the next few days.  Despite this "getaway" in Nice, we've been busy making daytrips  out to other cities on the Cote d'Azure during the day and staying up late in the chapel bar.  Tonight, I'm tucking in early.  

Back posts with pictures to come:

"Prince Day in Monaco/Succulents City!"

"I felt like having chicken that night"

Okay...maybe just one picture:

Aww...he likes castles so much (not in Nice, but in Carcassonne)

Some things I like about France...

Initially, one of the main factors for choosing a city to live in was its food scene.  I promptly crumpled that thought and tossed it out of my head.  EVERYWHERE in france is a good food scene.  France loves and cares about food - like I do, probably waay more than I do.  Here are some things I like about France:

Little violet drops.  As tasty as they are pretty.  Don't let this elegantly casual display fool you, did you really think that these candies splayed out there like this on their own?  I painstakingly sprinkled the violets just so on a brand new pillow in our hotel room.  Surfaces that didn't make the cut: a white towel, my hands and an unfolded napkin from our sandwiches the day before.

The bread.

Shellfish in baskets and oysters in boxes - don't care how the song goes, but these are a few of MY favorite things.

If you really want to know who I am, you really have to understand this:  there are fewer things in life that are more dramatic and special then long, perfect strips of candied orange peel dipped in dark chocolate.  "Orangette", like a whisper from an extinguished candle flame.  It was expensive, but if I hadn't, my heart would never forgive me. 

Toulouse; we're getting warmer...

So Toulouse beats out Bordeaux because: a) it's got a laid back student-town kind of charm and bustle; b) our french classes are right in the centre in an old converted church; and c) this city seems to love markets as much as I do.  I mean all sorts of markets.  On our way to the botanical gardens in Toulouse (yes, I wanted to see another botanical garden), we came upon a crazy antiques roadshow type flea market.  The contents at this market looked like it had been looted from old churches, castles and fancy peoples' homes.  We found out that this market takes place on one weekend each month; the stalls were full of fancy old furniture, french linens, silverware and chandeliers.  Can't wait to sink my ailing canadian funds into some great furniture here - pending an unfurnished apartment.

We also woke up to another market on the street surrounding the church outside our hotel.  This one was slightly less cool, and had stalls of a lot of cheap imported stuff.  I can stock up for those of you who want euro-style man skivvies at 2euros a piece.  And of course the food markets.  I'm unable to write about them.  It's an emotional and  stimulation overload.  Just recalling the sights and smells incapacitates my ability to linguistically organize the experience.  Will try and post pictures instead.

Love Toulouse.

     

Basilique St. Sernin - taken two steps outside of our hotel.

We had lunch outside at "de jardin chez nous" - each had a quiche and salad, as the other specials of the day were being crossed off the chalkboard.   Restaurants in Toulouse are all about lunch, and many of them close at four.  We sat next to some ladies visiting from Biarritz and had a nice chat with them.  Flustered at having french people pay attention to us, I panicked and ordered the pistache framboise...instead of the chocolate gateau I had in mind.

...but that wasn't so bad now was it?  In fact it was SO good!

Little swings in the park at the botanical garden.  They were like jellybean boat swings.  Whoever designed this was thinking about the children.

Bordeaux...

A lovely visit in Bordeaux.  A much bigger city than Rennes and with architecture reminiscent of Paris.  We stumbled upon a cute neighbourhood close to the centre that would be a dream to live in, but the campus for our language school was way the hell out in the suburbs of Bordeaux.  Upon first impressions, a suburb in France is just like a suburb in BC.  Minus points for the campus out in the suburbs, but we both felt that we could put up with the commute if we lived in the city centre - that is, if we didn't like the next cities on the list.  So, the search continues.  Meanwhile, I'm trying to cut down my duck and butter intake.  It's an uphill battle and one that I foresee losing.  What a way to go down, casting arms to the ground and surrendering oneself to duck and butter.

Not a mini bundt cake, but a canelé - a bordelaise specialty.  Custard batter is poured into little moulds and baked until the outside is caramelized and crusty.  Fancy canelé shops dot Bordeaux's streets, we bought this more affordable version at a market from a simple baker.

  
Well look-ey here, another botanical garden.  Not the season for many varieties, but the grounds are kept and beautiful nonetheless.

Taken on a footbridge at the other end of the garden, pretty carousels, like this one, are characteristically found in many large public parks and squares.  It's even sweeter up close with little kids yelling, "mom, look at me!" in french.

Just another monsieur on his way to work at city hall.  Haven't seen such a great shape on a man since Danny DeVito as "the Penguin"...but really, he who wears the Burberry scarf laughs last.

"'cause I'm saving all my love for you..."

France - I was saving all my love for France.

Not to be down on all the great places that we've been, but this is what it's all about and today reminded us of why we chose to be here.  We've been limping along with our French, but for the most part, people understand and respond to our needs.  Often they'll be so fooled by our calm, ultra cool french demeanor (you know how I like to talk with a cocked eyebrow whilst bobbling my head) that they'll respond in rapid (normal speed) french.  Only after looking at our saucer-wide eyeballs do they get that we parles pas francais.  This just makes me want to learn it all the more.  

So began our 3 week tour around France to find a place to live and study.  First stop: Rennes.  A small town in Brittany that no one ever speaks of, but we got a tip from someone that they loved their time here.  We quickly ruled it out - not because we didn't like it, au contraire (will they accept Wayne's World french?), it was really charming and lively...only too small .  We spent the early afternoon at what I call a "tree" park, but it was really a botanical garden showcasing all sorts of different plants and not just trees.  We wound our way through the old centre in the late afternoon, studying menus to look for a dinner spot.  It was a good food day, meaning that everything that I ate was delicious and delighted me.  

For dinner, we went to a small restaurant called "le Presse Puree".  Ordered food from a hand-written chalkboard and sat back with a glass of white wine from Nantes.  I had a brochette of alternating beef filet and duck breast on vegetables and a side of frites and P had a filet of "lieu" (a white fish) in a red butter sauce, mashed potatoes with pureed broccoli.  His was the winning dish, but mine was tasty all the same.  The restaurant was lovely and the food was nice so we took our time and stayed for coffee and dessert.  Our server was kind and helpful, and sent us off to Bordeaux with a restaurant recommendation (he's from there) and 2 caramels made with salted butter (special to the region).  But this is what it's all about right?  Taking our time because it's so nice to be exactly there - pleasant ambiance, good company, tasty food from an honest menu and service that comes from a kind and thoughtful place.  Even if I can't eat like this all the time, I want to always remember that eating and dining can, and should be so.

 

Old city centre of Rennes

Lunch at the tree park.  Sandwich of jambon de pays, cornichons and beurre.  It's one of those things where you just had to be there.

Roasted chestnuts sold out of the back of a train engine.  I would not have it any other way.  

P freshens up his glass at le Presse Puree

Le Presse Puree

34, Rue Vasselot

Rennes

02.99.79.48.10

Bruges (or as the Flems would say, "Brugge")

Must talk about the dinner at Poules Moules.

I don't have any pictures, so you'll just have to trust me when I say that it was the warmest feeling, skinniest restaurant (spread over 3 levels) I've ever dined at.   Determined to get some Moules Frites while in Belgium, we asked the guy at the front desk of our hostel for a good place to go - and he done served us good.

It was the best french fry I had had in my life, the curry sauce and the white wine sauce that the mussels came with made good friends with them too.  The mussels were perfect - plump, sweet and abundant.  Bonus points for the ones emerging with a thin piece of celery or onion clinging to it - like a Bond girl coming out of the water with the right bathing suit on.  P had a filet of beef, a side of frites with roquefort sauce - decent, but nothing to write home about.

At a hot chocolate/tea room in Bruges.  They bring you a giant bowl of steaming milk accompanied by a portion of chocolate chips to be stirred in...served in a little chocolate dish...also to be stirred in.  The whole affair was balanced out by a plate of biscuits and a selection of chocolates from the chocolatier downstairs.  Didn't grab a card or anything, but I (or P) can show you next time you go to Bruges with us.

An obligatory canal/bridge/old brick building shot of Bruges.  I was enthralled by an intense duck fight taking place.

Remember that surrealist poster you bought at the university poster fair?  When we all thought that surrealism was cool?  In my opinion, surrealism is NOT cool, but float THIS on your subconscious.

A proper belgian street waffle should be made of a yeasty dough (more bread-y than cake-y) with bits of sugar baked right in, then it must topped with a volume of whipped cream equal to that of the waffle.  We got this one with strawberries.

Poules Moules

Simon Stevinplein 9

Brugge, Belgium

050/34.61.19