Our academic year is coming to a close, and I still haven't written about it! Time to remedy that.

So, both Josh and I taught English in the public school system, and both of us studied on the side. I enrolled in French classes at an institute run by L'Univérsité Paul Cezanne. It was a quick stroll across the street each morning to this old mansion from the 1600's.


Like most other buildings in Aix, the school is a weird mixture of "old and beautiful," "old and decrepit," "new and institutional-looking," and "new and still somewhat charming."

For example, I had phonetics class every Monday morning in what might have been an old bedroom or sitting room.


On one side of the room we have a gilt-framed mirror above a marble fireplace. On the other, a white board:


Check out the french doors to the left of the white board. They're everywhere here, and they usually have these cool latches:



Our first week here, I bought a copy of "Raison et Sentiment," the French translation of Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. It was a bit surreal reading a story set in the 18th century and then walking over to sit in a building to match.

All this Jane Austen-ness makes me think of my friend Amanda, although I can't quite remember why. The room next to the phonetics classroom is what I would design for her if she were moving back in time to the late 1700's:





The old mansions here are called hôtels particuliers, "individual hotels." The hôtels particuliers are usually arranged around a central courtyard, perfect for standing around enjoying the sunshine during one of the many pauses cafés, coffee breaks, in the school day. The courtyard of the institute has my favorite fountain in all of Aix:

I'll be a little sad next year to move down to the "Fac de Lettres," the liberal arts branch of the University housed in rather utilitarian looking buildings. Although I'm still not sure if I got in or not! Maybe I'll be back, day-dreamily staring at the old plaster mouldings of the institute's ceilings again next year. On va voir!

More Treasures from the Market

I'm supposed to be planning classes for tomorrow morning, and my eyelids are drooping. So, I will take this opportunity to make a bad decision and not do my work right now. Instead, I will show you this picture I took in the market today.
Quail eggs. Aren't they beautiful? Click on the picture so it opens in a new window and you can see them up close.

We've Got the Beet

This morning I traipsed down to the market to indulge my latest obsession: beets. I had read this New York Times article extolling their nutritional virtues when I found myself standing in front of a giant pile of cooked beets in the market one day. Their skins were drooping off, exposing deep ruby flesh that gleamed in the sun and looked strange heaped among the firm, self-sufficient peppers, onions, and potatoes. It seemed like some kind of health code violation to have a pile of cooked vegetables sitting out on the lid of a wooden crate.


As I pondered the beets, a little old lady came up at my elbow and softly asked the shopkeeper for "the usual." As she waited for her selected beet to be tied up in plastic, I asked her how she planned to prepare it. After a quick beet tutorial, she added, "They're very good. She makes them herself." I looked at the woman behind the stall. She looked like my mom. I figured it was inevitable, and bought one.

My love for my beet started as I began to cut it up. Have you ever tried cutting a fresh cooked beet? The knife slips through it. I tossed my little gem-like cubes of beet with canned corn and added a few chopped up slices of ham. A splash of mustard vinaigrette and I had a decent-looking salad. The next day the juice from the beets had turned the entire salad hot pink. It looked like something from the 1960's and tasted delicious. The cool sweetness of the beet and corn was scrumptious against the ham and the tang of the mustard dressing.

These babies are a little on the pricey side, so I don’t get them that often (actually, it’s more because I’m too lazy to wake up early to go to the market). It keeps them special, though. Today’s beet is going in with corn, mustard dressing, and fresh grated carrots. Mmmmmm. In fact, I was so excited about the beet before this one, I was moved to poetry:

A beet! A beet! A tasty treat!
Its flesh is cool, its flesh is sweet.
Its ruby juice: an artistic feat,
And nutrients keep you on your feet.
A beet! A beet! A tasty treat!

When my brother Dave was here, admiration for this jewel of a vegetable moved him to song:

We’ve got the beet,
We’ve got the beet,
We’ve got the beet, yeah,
We’ve got the beet!

You probably think we're crazy. I'm not going to argue with you. But I still recommend you try fresh beets as soon as you get a chance.

Old Buildings, New Buildings

Whew, finally some time to relax! (sortof.) The past month has been a whirlwind of craziness, grace à 30+hours spent driving around Europe with my family, followed by exams for my French program. It's that classic end-of-the-year paradox: piles of work, and suddenly the weather is so nice that nothing else seems to matter.

My 6:00 walk home from the bus stop after work is no longer in the dark, so I get a lot more time to look at things around Aix. A few days ago as I passed by the "Official Mac Reseller" I noticed that along with the high-tech apple decor, the building also sported arrow slits:

I think it might have been part of the old town wall, if not some other kind of medieval fortification.

Part of me loves being surrounded by medieval buildings, and another part of me is sick of places having a thousand years worth of dirt. No matter what we do to keep our apartment clean (which isn't much, I'll admit), I know that there's no real cure for the crumbly walls and pervasive feeling of "charm" (i.e., decrepitness). It's not as if it wouldn't pass safety inspections; I'm just getting sick of details like mismatched fixtures and slightly broken cabinet doors.

As my bus home from work wound through the medieval, castle-guarded town of Meyrargues yesterday, we passed a standard-issue modern building made all of glass and concrete nestled in among the violet-shuttered stone and stucco provençal houses. I actually held my breath for a second thinking about how beautiful it seemed to me. Something tells me I'm ready to spend some time in the States again.

Mon Frère, il est venu!

My brother David arrived last night just as I was dropping the rest of the baby asparagus into the sauté pan for dinner and mixing chèvre into the béchamel. I greeted him at the door and shoved a piece of the goat cheese into his mouth: "Welcome to France!" (It was really good goat cheese.)

I had gone to the daily farmer's market during a break in my classes to pick up ingredients for dinner, and it was such a beautiful market day here in Aix. The sky had lots of fluffy clouds rolling around, giving enticing shades and variation to the strong, clear Provençal light. The vegetables and fruits were gorgeous under red and yellow umbrellas. The stand where I bought the asparagus had three kinds: baby asparagus, which was a range between what you'd usually see in the US and skinny little asparagus twigs, regular French asparagus, which had the circumference of a dime, and huge goliath asparagus, the same height, but the diameter of a half dollar! Whoa! Wish I'd had my camera.

The trip to the market was just one more reminder that I love it here: the smells, colors, foods, and weather, the sunlight on the yellow stone buildings, the daily challenge of having no clue what people are saying to me as I try to accomplish the most mundane tasks. I'm excited to share it with a visitor!

Empanadas (see other blog)

So, I want to take a second to "announce" the launch of my other blog. . . the one that's not just for fun. After I worked on a Spanish grammar textbook for kids last year, the publisher asked me to keep a blog with content related to the book, hispanophone culture, and language learning in general. If you're a language-minded person, or interested in classical education, stop on by and throw in your two cents.

Au Revoir Pudding, Bonjour Vacherin

Yesterday Mr. Walker finally came to fix the small freezer compartment of our fridge. Hooray! I’ll taste ice again! I’ll be able to buy prepackaged frozen foods again! And best of all, vacherin! Pudding, adieu.

Vacherin was one of the desserts presented to us at Madame le Consul’s dinner for American language assistants back in October. I’ve been craving it ever since. A sort of tart made of meringue, whipped cream, and berry sorbet, it’s light and delicious and wonderful. I would say that of all the French foods I have lusted after, vacherin takes the cake. The list of things I’ve eaten because they were sortof like vacherin and I thought they might take the edge of the craving is a rather long one (raspberry sugar-water. frozen raspberries. a wilted and unhappy raspberry charlotte). I’ve seen a store-brand boxed version of my darling taunting me from the frozen foods case of the Spar mini-market on the corner, but since first it wouldn’t have fit in our very frosty freezer, and then we had a completely frosted-full freezer that would accept nothing, buying a giant frozen cake was out of the question. We considered getting one when we had company to help us eat it quickly, but Spar closes at eight. We usually tell guests to come at 7:30, but dinner takes a bit longer to get on the table. What would become of a vacherin in the 45 minutes between leaving the store freezer case and arriving on our table? I shudder to think.

But, today, we had a completely empty freezer, big enough to fit the boxed vacherins I’ve been eying. Spar had none in stock, but that’s alright: it was the day of our Carrefour pilgrimage. Carrefour is about 30 minutes away, and Josh was sure that a frozen dessert wouldn't make it back in one piece, but I decided it was worth a try. However, when I got to the vacherin section . . . empty. I think the cases had malfunctioned and their contents had been tossed.

I almost accepted defeat, but was saved by vacherin flavored drumstick cones. Sitting near raspberry-peach, mint-chocolate, and chocolate pistachio, they called to me and I answered. (Okay, I’m getting ridiculous here, but I’m still on a sugar high.) We opened the box on the way home and Josh was right. . . Carrefour was too far away. They were never going to make it. I had to eat two.

They were worth every wave of sugar-induced nausea I experienced afterward. The top was raspberry sorbet (so light it was almost frothy) swirled with whipped cream and topped with meringue pieces. Underneath that was the traditional vanilla ice cream in a chocolate-lined cone, but this time with a core of raspberry sauce.

I am SO glad to have our freezer working again. . . even if nothing makes it home to reside there.  Tant pis!

By the way, in the grocery store I had another Marilyn Monroe spotting.  This time she was on a purse.