Detours

Detours always tempt me on the walk home. The walk home (uphill) seems shorter if I'm passing new things as I go. Plus, now that it's hot, I take as many detours through air-conditioned stores as I can, or I alter my path to stay in the shade as long as possible. I think this drives Josh nuts.

Today's detour turned into an errand, (buying handmade soaps at the market) and then led me past my favorite street musician. Here's a video I took of him playing by town hall and the library (and the dreaming cat store). You'll note at the end of the video he realizes I'm recording him. Today I made up for it and doubled the contents of his coffee can, so I think we're friends again.



By the way, on one of my recent side trips into air conditioning, I came across Marylin Monroe votive candles at this store, which also features her on a coffee table:

Our Apartment

I can't really type because I sliced open a finger on a can of haricots verts, but before I put my finger out of action, I made this collage of photos taken in our apartment. I don't know why it keeps uploading without the yellow. Maybe our apartment has been doing drugs while we've been at work.

Dogs, Babies, and Dreaming Cats

The weather here is BEEEE-yu-tee-ful and the sunlight on the ochre-colored buildings is gorgeous. Everyone is out enjoying the sunshine as usual. Lots of dogs and babies here in Aix. LOTS OF DOGS AND BABIES. On my walk down to town center the other day, I spent most of the time behind a man walking three little dogs. They were all about the same size and wagged their tails and bounced along together like some kind of circus act or cheerleading squad. On our way down toward the post office, we passed at least four or five toddlers in strollers--all of whom turned around to watch the dogs go by.

Here he goes. . .



And here's a better shot.



He's walking past a great little gift shop, Le Chat Rêveur, The Dreaming Cat. Yes, that's a goat in the window.



Le Chat Rêveur sells fun things like post cards and funny placemats and clocks and whiteboards, all with little comics and slogans that seem much funnier in French than they would in English. I always want to buy people presents there, but I can never pick just one thing to get.

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.