It was time to visit my former roommate, Arielle, who now lives in Berkeley.
My friends Blake and Li-Wei drove up the night before, and surprised Arielle outside her house. She was shocked they were there, and they told her I couldn’t make it due to work (which was true). But the next morning I hopped on the nightclub-in-the-sky that is Virgin America and made my way to the Bay Area. The flight cost less than the tank of gas would have. Thank you, Richard Branson.
The first thing I saw when exiting the Berkeley BART Station was a cluster of people heading to yoga class. And that’s when I knew I could be happy living here. I suddenly had the urge to spend the day alternating between posing in downward facing dog, and eating handfuls of granola while running down the sidewalk in upscale athletic gear.
I got to Arielle’s place while she was out teaching a fitness class, and Blake and Li-Wei and I quickly devised a way to surprise her.
I was hiding under the covers on one side of her bed when she came back from class. Li-Wei was laying down next to me, and told Arielle to come and snuggle with her. She wouldn’t, as she was dirty from the gym. But Blake kept trying to get her on the bed. She kept protesting, until finally Blake threw her towards the bed and I burst up from the sheets and shouted “Arielle!” She screamed and cowered in quivering pile on the floor. I hope we didn’t scar her nerves too badly.
After Arielle’s poor little heart stopped shaking, we decided we’d spend the day in the redwood forest. But first, lunch.
Normally, I’m not a fan of Indian food, and curry in general, but I figured, when in Berkeley… we went to Vik’s Chaat Corner, a super-busy, spacious restaurant that offers Indian “street food.” Because I usually like anything with chickpeas, I had the Bhatura Cholle. Look at that puffy bread thing!
It was so good, and might have made an Indian food convert of me! Turns out I like curry when it doesn’t have much tumeric involved. Tumeric is the spice in curry that turns the food yellow, and gives what tastes to me a sort of bitter, sour taste. So the less yellow the food, the more I’ll probably like it.
Next up was a trip the redwoods forest. This delightful sign greeted us upon arrival.
Sadly, we never came across any newts to watch out for.
We took a brisk hike through the redwoods. These weren’t the gigantic, prehistoric Muir Glen trees, but rather impressive nonetheless. How can something that big not impress you? I think that if I lived in the Bay Area, I’d be hiking the redwood forests pretty often.
Also, I have a thing for moss. A nice mossy rock or branch is just the ticket. Ticket to what, I’m not sure.
I think it started when I played Magic: The Gathering, and this rather terrifying card became one of my favorites.
And yes, I just admitted to you that I played Magic: The Gathering. And I’m not even ashamed of it!
I am ashamed, however, by the photos taken during the night’s karaoke performance. Let’s just say there are photos of me rocking out to Green Day’s Basket Case that will never see the light of this blog.
We all hung out the next day, visited an organic food store, where I bought bags of dispense-bin granola and some interesting beans (pink and adzuki), and then Blake and Le-Wei and I drove back to LA.
I had a plan.
Two weeks jumping between The Netherlands and Belgium, then to France, where I would stay with a friend who lives in a tiny town on the west coast. I had gotten guidebooks from the library, was already checking out potential hostels and couchsurfing hosts. Then the snow hit.
It was apparently the worst snowstorm to hit Europe in decades. I looked at the photos from my computer– entire blocks of cities smothered in snow. Grounded flights. And even if I made it to Amsterdam on a flight, the halting of trains and buses meant I’d be stuck in a slushy city.
So I went home to Florida instead. Don’t get me wrong– I love traveling in winter. Cheaper rates, less tourists, a wonderful kind of solitude when walking alone through a foreign city. But I had two weeks free, and wanted to be someplace other than LA. After a nice week at sunny home with –
– alligators, I found that I could jump on a standby flight to Paris (I have a family member in the airline industry, and am able to jump on a flight, at discount prices, when available. But before you get all jealous, in these days of schedule cutbacks, it’s not that easy to get a seat). I left for a 6am flight on new year’s day, got the last available seat, and several hours later found myself in the middle of Paris. Sometimes it’s best not to have a plan.
I had frantically messaged my friend to make sure I could still stay with him, and it was all going to work out. But I had two hours until my train to the west coast, so I left the station to walk around Montparnasse. And of course the first thing I ran across was a neighborhood Farmers’ Market. Isn’t that just perfectly Parisian? The stalls were filled with vegetables, hard cheeses, rabbits. And ham. Or jambon, rather.
And looking at all the panini jambon et fromage, I decided that this trip would see through my mission to Eat As Much Ham As Possible.
After eating my feuille jambon and strolling around the neighborhood, I boarded my train to Santec via Morlaix.
But first, a word about the funny French rail system. Just because you’ve purchased a ticket does not mean you’ve purchased a seat. I learned this the hard way, after getting kicked out of the seat I picked by a tall French man, who was clutching his ticket, pointing at my seat number, and yammering on. Though I could understand him, I played the stupid American card. Sometimes it’s just easier, sigh.
Now, Santec is a tiny town on the west coast of France, in the area known as Brittany, where the people identify as Britons first and French second. My friend Yann picked me up from the train station, and to give you a sense of the scale of the town, his adorable 5 year old nephew, Noah, had tagged along to see the “visiting American.”
It’s a charming little seaside town, with lovely coastal strolls. Emphasis on the “coastal” part. We took a walk to an island called the Ile Carot. As we went further along the path, we rounded a bend and walked past a small house. Am old woman in the yard flagged us down and started chattering urgently with Yann. I couldn’t make out out much except for her asking if we were staying on the island for the night. Turns out that the tide was about to wash out our road back! Yann and I high-tailed it back down the path, running as fast as we could for fear of being stuck on the Ile Carot for the night! Which sounds like the beginning of a fanciful children’s tale. We got to the walkway and found that, indeed, it was already washed out!
And yes, I took that photo as I bolted across the beach. I had to capture the moment, right? One of these days a momentary pause like that will be the ruin of me. There was luckily another entry point on the side of the inlet, and we ran across it before the tide could take that as well.
We got back to Yann’s, and his mom had made us a delicious dinner of lamb, potatoes, and green flageolet beans. Flageolet beans are apparently known as the “caviar of beans” in French cooking. They’re creamy and keep their shape. I kind of can’t stop thinking about them. I’ll have to find some dried beans here in LA and post a recipe to my cooking blog.
That night, deciding I’d had enough of frigid coastal beaches for one trip, I looked into visiting another town on my way back to Paris. My guidebook suggested Rennes, a small medieval village/university town. So I signed onto my couchsurfing.org account and tried my last-minute luck*. A couple people wrote back, and I made arrangements to stay with a lovely girl named Melissa.
Rennes was charming, and definitely worth a day trip. Since I had about 9 hours before I was due to meet Melissa after her work ended, I spent the whole time walking from one end to the other. And eating as many croissants and pain au chocolats as I could along the way. I justified that all the walking would erase all the buttery calories, right? Right? But who has time to think of calories when you’re mind is entranced in the gorgeous village surroundings? Look at these half-timber buildings:
Like something from a medieval fairytale village.
Oh, and before all of this, I had found a Lidl store, a discount grocers that I shopped at often when I lived in Dublin. Now I’m sure it’s not the greatest quality stuff, probably similar to a Target grocery section, but when you’re abroad, well everything is better. I went a little overboard on my Lidl breakfast picnic.
But anyone who’s had Kinder brand Chocolate surely knows that it makes a perfectly acceptable part of any breakfast picnic.
Later that evening, I met up with Melissa and she took me to dinner at a creperie with four of her friends. I had the Bretton specialty– a Bretton galette. Ham, cheese, and egg folded into a special wheat crepe. Delicious!
Then, of course, a dessert crepe. I went with blueberry. It’s the simple things in life, right?
I spent the night in Melissa’s cute apartment, on her comfy couch, in the main village center. A building from the early 1900′s, which wowed me, until she said how a friend of hers lives in a nearby building from the 1600′s. My apartment in LA is from the 60′s and I considered that ancient.
The next morning, after a quick breakfast and farewells to my new friend (who is welcome in LA at any time!), it was a 2 hr train ride to Paris.
Now, Paris. I’ve been lucky enough to have traveled to Paris a couple of time before. I was all been there, done that. And then I got there and remembered that it IS Paris. And it IS magnificent.
I walked around Montmartre, the Latin Quarter, the Marais, Notre Dame, the Champs-Élysées. The big-ticket items. I traveled around on the metro and exited at random stations. I found the Centre Pompidou, with its colorful tubes giddily shooting up the exterior of the building, because I inexplicably remembered it from my high school french books. I stopped in grocery stores, because I love seeing the food that foreigners buy day-to-day.
I skipped all museums because I’ve done them before and they take too long. Who has time to stand in lines to stare at art when I can be standing in lines to buy FOOD? Oh, that pain au chocolate is only 2 euro? Why yes, I think I DO have some change in my pocket.
I did, though, make a special trip to the Shakespeare & Co bookstore, which has been featured in a bunch of films. The place is charming, and every corner, nook, and cranny is filled with books. Books on top of books, sandwiched between books. Wait, did someone say sandwich? Don’t mind if I do have another…
I want to live there.
I also want to live in a city that strings holiday lights over narrow cobblestone roads. Most of my European travel has been during the winter months, so I actually have no idea if it happens in the summer or not.
I got excited at seeing a billboard for a French singer that I like, Gregoire, in the metro station. I had been listening to his album on my ipod while on the train.
All my new French friends made fun of me when I said that I liked Gregoire. He’s apparently France’s version of cheesy radio pop. But I don’t care! “Toi plus moi, plus eux plus tous ceux qui le veulent!”
And also, chocolate.
My France adventure came to an abrupt end because a big snowstorm was approaching Atlanta and threatened to ground incoming flights. And the cold, snowy weather had returned to Europe, also threatening to ground flights in Paris. So hedging my bets and took my standby flight back to the States. It was either that or be stuck in Paris, which I know sounds lovely, but I unfortunately had to get back to LA. And, um, Paris is expensive.
Reflecting a few days later, what I missed most was the food. When visiting France, my advice would be to be frugal with accommodation and other expenses, but to splurge on the food. Because you’ll find yourself, a day later at home, hunched over a spread of Nutella and grocery store-bought croissants at 3:45am because you have jetlag and can’t fall alseep, and you’ll curse how tasteless the croissants are, wishing you were walking the streets of a French city, greedily nibbling at a buttery, flaky 1 euro croissant in your hands.
