Benelux or Bust

For my 2 week break we decided to rent a car and take a tour of Benelux. What? I never heard of this country... This is what Europeans call the three countries of Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg - since these guys had formed their own trade zone before even the EU formed. I hadn't realized how culturally similar these guys were. We started with Luxembourg - the city - not the country, no wait, they appear to be the same thing from the road signs. In fact, what little directions we were able to get had to be thrown out the window as the road into Luxembourg was closed and we had to go into Belgium to get there. Once again the European "direction" system leaves us lost and driving in ever shrinking circles towards the Royale Hotel and Liberation Square. Maybe we should have given up and parked, because soon we are bumping along cobbles, dodging tables and chairs, as pedestrians swirl around us reading menus at the outdoor cafes, looking in our car windows like we're some kind of goldfish. Do we panic? Well, a little. But there's a car parked over there, we're not in a total pedestrian area. Still, I feel like I've accidentally driven into a parade route. Finally, forward progress stops, I get out and ask waiters if they know where the Royale Hotel is in Liberation square. Nobody know, but I know we're close because this IS Liberation Square, dang it! Aha! "Royale Café." They'll know. And they do! Why of course it's just upstairs from the restaurant. How were we supposed to find that? Now we can slink down an alley to a parking garage and return on foot like ordinary people.

I think people visit Luxembourg (city?/nation?) just to add one more country to their travel resume. It is a beautiful, albeit small capital where we could sit at a table under the trees in Liberation Square and listen to the Luxembourg army brass band play lively tunes. Perhaps this is the whole Luxembourg army? We don't know. Luxembourg is pretty small. Maybe the best thing for a country this small is to have their army just consist of a welcoming brass band. "Thank you for invading! Try our beer!"



We'd feel a little guilty if all we saw of Luxembourg was the cute capital, so we drove the entire length and breadth of the country. It took half an hour. No, just kidding. There was more than that and we did visit a very nicely restored castle that had belonged to William of Orange and had been a seat of power when European countries and rulers were changing hands faster than a game of 3 card monty. In France one of the cute things is the signs when you enter a city and the sign when you exit a city. The exit sign has a big red slash through it and I can't help but think "No Rheims" (or whatever city) when I see one of them. In Luxembourg every one of these signs is a double sign - you are leaving one place AND entering the next. You are never nowhere in Luxembourg.

Our next stop was Amsterdam and Rotterdam and all the "dam" cities in between as there doesn't appear to be a choice of freeways in Holland. But one nice thing about these Benelux roads is that gas is cheaper and there are no tollbooths! Whoo Hoo!

Amsterdam is known for its red-light district, its legalized recreational substances, and its sublime museums (which is what we came for of course). Unfortunately, the flagship Reichmuseum is undergoing major renovations and only a fraction of the collection is on display, so we had to spend more time visiting the other, ahem, sights.



One thing that amused me was how the drug culture changed with legalization. Instead of some guy whispering "this is good stuff, man." You have actual information. In fact, information overload! On a display of psychedelic mushrooms, each species is accompanied by colorful charts and graphs sure to satisfy any stat-starved techno-weenie. Like at a wine shop, the clerks recommend personal favorites, seasonal specials, and even give tips on food pairing!

What if we tried, you know, our favorite activity while under the influence of some of Amsterdam's famous, um, you know... tulips? Well, we are not ones to shrink from new experiences! After spending some time at one of the "coffee shops", we came out, crossed the street, and then right in front of everyone we did it... We ordered the empanadas. They were absolutely heavenly! We hadn't tasted their like since José's in Palo Alto closed. But, are these really that good, or could it be the, ah, tulip influence? Like a lot of things in Amsterdam, it can be hard to get an accurate account of what happened afterwards.

We headed back south to Belgium. I had once dated a Belgian girl who spoke English, French, Dutch, and her native Flemish. Wow, I was impressed. I didn't know Flemish is to Dutch, in the words of our hostess in Antwerp, "like UK English is to US English." What? That similar? So that ex-girlfriend was inflating her resume! Heck, I should have told her I can speak American, British, Australian, and a smattering of Canadian eh?

Personally, I think the Belgians are quietly trying to take over the world one specialty at a time. They claim to have invented the french fry - doubtful, but they are so passionate about fries that everyone just said "Fine. You are so small and cute. Have the fry title, nobody cares!!" Well now that they've convinced everyone to let them have the french fry title, they've moved on... They now claim they have the best chocolate, waffles, craft beer, mussels, cell phone coverage, etc. etc. I read the #1 vendor of carpet in the world is not Iran, but... Belgium! I think their plan is working! The southern French-speaking Belgians are even called Walloons. How serious a threat can they be? I mean, if you shouted "Look out! It's a Walloon invasion!" people would laugh and look for something funny like a clown car. Well, laugh now monkey-boy, but we'll all soon be servants of the Walloons...



Our final stop was Strasbourg which is not in Benelux, but we wanted to visit while we were in the area. It's in France, but it's really different from the rest of France because it has frequently changed hands between France and Germany. It's kind of a best-of-both-cultures place. I can see why our French and German friends said it was worth a visit, but of course they wouldn't want to live there because the culture is so strange. Well to us both French and German cultures are foreign so this didn't bother us at all. We thoroughly enjoyed the blend. Sausage crepe? Why not? Tastes great with mustard. Mmmmm.

Let's give Thanks... for friends... for beaujolais...

In 1999 Dave and I were backpacking around the world and in November we were in Phuket Thailand. The fact that Thanksgiving was coming hadn't even occurred to me, because it was so sunny and gorgeous and I was completely focussed on getting my dive certification. But one day, about 4 days before Thanksgiving, we went into a little restaurant we frequented that was owned by an American Expat. He was in the heat of preparing his traditional Thanksgiving dinner for the restaurant, so he told us all about it. He told us about how he had to order the turkey to be imported, what vegetables he was planning on using instead of greenbeans, and then he brought out his "pumpkin." They don't have pumpkin in Thailand, so he had experimented with several kinds of squash and found one that tastes "just like pumpkin" when made into a pie. He wanted us to join him for Thanksgiving dinner, but my heart sank as we told him we had a flight to Bangkok the next day, and wouldn't be in town. As we left the restaurant I told Dave I really wished he hadn't told us all that. Now I'm going to be craving pumpkin pie until we get back home. Aargh!

Thanksgiving came and went in Bangkok and our search for a pumpkin pie to satiate my craving was unsuccessfull. We were next in Bali and each day when I went to a balinese meditation class I had signed up for, Dave went out on a hunt to find good eats, and in particular pumpkin pie. After 3 days, he greeted me after class looking like he was going to jump out of his skin. "I found pumpkin pie!!" he exclaimed. "Come on! THey warmed a piece up and are holding it for you!"

We rushed over there, and I had a bite. It was really lovely, but it wasn't the flavors I was craving. So, although I enjoyed it, and deeply appreciated Dave's efforts, the craving lingered until we returned in March of 2000 and I could make a homebaked pumpkin pie.

It surprised me then that the only thing I really missed about Thanksgiving was the pumpkin pie. It's a family holiday, right? Shouldn't I have missed family? Well yes, and I did. But we had just left home, so I wasn't feeling the sadness of being away from the people I loved on Thanksgiving. I talked to everyone that day, but didn't ache for home.

Because of that experience, I had expectations of how I would react to being away from home this Thanksgiving. The thing is that this time, I've been away from home for so long, all I could think about was being home in the comfort of a warm home with Dave and my families. I even considered a quick trip home so I could see everyone. But I refrained and we decided to spend this Thanksgiving with an American girlfriend of mine here in Lyon. She loves to cook and was dieing to make a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, and Dave and I love to eat and would love to share a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, so we thought this might be a really good match.

Early on Thanksgiving morning, Rita and I started our shopping and bought everything we needed. It was absolutely amazing the difference between shopping here on Thanksgiving and shopping at home. At home, if you have any sense at all, you don't end up at a grocery store on T-day. And if you do go, it has to be before 2pm, and be prepared to deal with hordes of crazy people frantic because they forgot something they desperately needed. Lines are out the door, people are screaming, pleading and barking. It just ain't pretty. But here, we had a liesurely morning meandering through the market, deciding on the menu as we went, and sampling all the products on special that day. What a great way to start a holiday. Then we settled down for a nice lunch and coffee. In the afternoon I had a dance class, so we decided she would pick up the turkey she had special ordered from a local boucherie and I would be back at her house at about 5pm.

When I got back to her place she told me that her boyfriend wasn't going to be able to make it until about 9 because of the darn train strike that was going on in France. So, we openned a bottle of wine and settled into an evening of liesurely cooking. I peeled and blended and shelled, while Rita, the expert cook that she is, calmly put together an amazing meal. She made a gorgous Turkey (more to follow!), mashed potatoes, yams, and greenbeans. Yummy!

Dave arrived at 7:15pm and we sat down to our only Frenchized portion of our Thanksgiving dinner, pate, 3 delicious cheeses, toasts, and some Beaujolais. Beaujolais? Here's Dave to tell you more about that....


Thanksgiving arrived in Lyon and through the wonders of pervasive American culture, all our friends and co-workers knew about Thanksgiving. They weren't going to do anything special themselves, they just wanted to know if we were going to be OK, because they understood this was an important family holiday.

Anyway, everyone here was more wrapped up in the Beaujolais Nouveau. Oh yeah... We had heard about this, but maybe something got lost in translation? This is when the first of the Beaujolais wine from the year hits the market. So, this is like super young red wine? Wouldn't the wine be better if it aged a bit? Well, apparently, we didn't misunderstand. Even the French admit it is silly, but they have races to get the wine to Paris or Japan, plus public spectacles and parties. Since we're right in the Beaujolais area, it's not so much a race as an excuse to have big parties and drink lots of wine. Signs in all the restaurants remind us that the beaujolais "has arrived!"



So, it was amid this wine quaffing backdrop that we humble Americans put together our plans for Thanksgiving. Personally I love Thanksgiving, if only because it has stubbornly resisted commercialization and (somewhat) acts as a bulwark against the monster marketing machine known as Christmas. Our British friends tell us "you guys are lucky you have Thanksgiving. We've been forced to listen to Christmas music in the malls since October!" Well, even if Thanksgiving is reduced to just a green flag for the Great Christmas Shopping Spree - at least WE were going to do something to celebrate.

The American club did have something planned for Thanksgiving, but like any organization that is entirely volunteers, the whole thing was mismanaged and we were told the event was full. So, instead we joined with our American friend Rita and her French boyfriend Olivier for a quiet Thanksgiving evening. Rita loves to cook and nothing was going to stop her from making turkey, stuffing, potatoes, and yams. And we could drink some of this Beaujolais Nouveau stuff at the same time! Monica and Rita picked up a bunch of bottles. "You can only get it at this time of year, so we seized our opportunity!"



The rest of their shopping went normally, except for the turkey. Rita tried to explain to Olivier just how plentiful turkey is in the US at Thanksgiving - that they even give them away free at the grocery stores when you spend a certain amount. Here turkey just isn't very popular, and unless you want pre-packaged sliced turkey you have to wait for Christmas or order it. So, Rita ordered a 16 pound bird from her butcher. She knew it was going to be expensive. Very expensive. She ordered it the day before Thanksgiving so it was also a rush delivery... Uh oh. Rita? How much did that 16-lb bird cost? Well, it was enough that she almost considered not having turkey for Thanksgiving. She sucked in her breath when she found out what it was going to cost. Ninety-nine euro ($150). Oh my god! Maybe we should just fill up on caviar and savor the turkey bit by bit.

Olivier got delayed by the train strike, so the three of us had cheese and pâté on toasts and opened up the Beaujolais Nouveau while we waited. Hey, this stuff isn't bad, it's actually quite quaffable. I read that it is sort of the wine equivalent of eating cookie dough. And, since it is made so quickly, it doesn't age well. Uh oh. I guess we'd better open more bottles! After a bottle or two, it's really quite delicious!

I think Monica will tell you about the delicious food we had - I'm sure you had plenty of good traditional favorites too - but it's all a drunken blur in my mind. No! I'm just kidding! We didn't drink THAT much. It was really a nice Thanksgiving and the two celebrations together made for a pleasant combination. I hope you had a great Thanksgiving too!

A final note on America... We were walking down the street when Monica exclaimed that there was a painting with the label "America" and it was a woman with naked breasts sticking straight out! Well, we are the "Land of the Free." Oh, and there was a man grabbing them! "Ah, That would be Home of the Brave!"

And Dimple Makes Three

Anyone who knows Monica could guess that living with her must be an adventure - she is always coming up with new ideas. So really, living in France has been two adventures - living in France, plus the regular adventure of living with Monica. On Monica's part, she knows that I am willing to go along with whatever new thing she has cooked up, so she can feel free to just start on something and tell me later.


(View from the Fourvière)

So it was no surprise to Monica that I didn't flip out when she calmly told me that, by the way, a stranger was going to be living with us for a while. She didn't know how long or what kind of criminal record this person had. In fact, she hadn't even met her.

Dave: "Her?" What's her name?
Monica: Bunny. Bunny Bedhopper. She's an adult film star who's desperate.
Dave: Really? Well, all right she can stay, but I get to keep my pillow and you two can't hog the covers!

All right her name isn't Bunny, it's not even Dimple, but we'll call her that for her privacy. She's Indian, 22-years old, and she wants to work in French-speaking West Africa. She came to Lyon to learn French after graduating from Virginia Tech and getting a position teaching English at a local university. She was staying with some girls, but her room had such a bad mold problem she couldn't breathe. So, she asked if she could move to the tiny room down the hall and initially they agreed, but then they had a change of heart and said she had to be out of the house by Saturday (3 days). Well, maybe something was left out of the story, but the result was Dimple didn't have a place to stay, was desperate, and a friend posted a message to the American club email list (on Friday). Monica saw that and immediately offered to help her out.

So, that explained the suitcases in the corner and the new products in the bathroom. Dimple actually turned out to be a model roommate. Every day she would fold up and put away the sofabed, clean up the bathroom, and generally made as little an impression on the living space as possible. She even offered to stock the refrigerator, we laughed and told her it was all hers since we eat out every night. Basically, we wanted her to have a base where she could make phone calls, have internet access, and be able to store her stuff without stress. Dimple for her part was very quiet and actually kind of depressed.


View of Fourvière from the Saône

As the weeks dragged on Monica observed that this depression was probably the major reason Dimple was not able to find a place. Like any depressed person, Dimple didn't notice all the people who wanted to help her and she didn't feel like asking for help. A "perfect" apartment came up, but she needed to fill out a long contract in French. Another teacher at the school offered to help her, but Dimple didn't want to take her up on it. Another place required a "guarantor" - someone French who basically co-signs the contract. There are several ways to get around this, some people ask their boss or friend to sign. We got around it by convincing our landlord we were financially sound. Dimple's parents could provide this kind of backing, but again, "I probably won't get it." In fact, Dimple sounded so much like Eeyore that Monica was thinking even if she had been French, she wouldn't be willing to be her guarantor.

In fact, what was up with her parents? Weren't they worried about her? It turns out they were frantic but Dimple didn't really tell them very much, perhaps to keep them from stressing. They learned that she was now living with some couple from America she didn't even know. Aaah! How alarming! What kind of bizarre, predatory people would snatch some girl up off the streets? "Relax," Dimple told them, "Monica is Indian." And incredibly that did the trick. Apparently India does not have weirdos or predators. Well, whatever, I guess I could bask in the grace of Monica's heritage as in the same instant I too was immediately accepted as a good person.

As we were leaving for a trip, Monica overheard Dimple on the phone chatting with a friend say "if I'm here at the end of November, this will have been the place I've lived the longest." Hmmm, maybe this would be a good time to remind Dimple WHY she was here - to look for someplace to live. Dimple took this in good grace and by the time we had returned, miracle of miracles, she had found a place. In fact, a great place, and she was really happy. She's living with 3 other girls who only speak French (which is exactly what she was hoping for). We found a note on the table explaining everything, that she'd be back to pick up the rest of her stuff and give back the keys, and that sort of thing. She also left us a sketch of the Fourvière which we hung on the wall. Another interesting episode in France.


View of Fourvière from our bedroom

More Parents + Annecy

When my dad and stepmom (T+T for short) visited us we were in the middle of a move, we didn't know the city well, and we weren't even sure we'd have a place for them to sleep. Now with Monica's parents arriving, we were in a place twice as big, we had a sofa bed and an air mattress, and we could sleepwalk through the metro, train stations, and buses. But we had a big challenge ahead of us... finding good spicy vegetarian food for Monica's mom. Not so hard you think, well, she also doesn't really want to eat salads for a meal, nor does she like a lot of cheese on her food nor pasta, nor eggs. We knew we could go to Indian or Chinese, but it is always mild. Plus, we wanted Monica's dad to be able to try some of the Lyonnais specialities from chefs we knew. The result was various restaurants had reservations placed with special requests to make something spicy and vegetarian next Tuesday, etc. And our preparation paid off! Both Monica's parents loved the food in Lyon. Phew!

Monica's parents also wanted to travel around and see something besides Lyon, but we just had the weekend to do that so we thought this would be a good chance to visit the nearby Alpine ville called Annecy. It's called "the Venice of the Alps" because of the beautiful canals through the downtown area. One reviewer said the 3 most beautiful cities in the world (in his opinion) are Prague, Bruges, and Annecy. But if that's true shouldn't Venice be called "the Annecy of the Mediterranean?" Well, Annecy is definitely up there being situated on a lake, surrounded by majestic alps, riddled with little canals, and garnished with swans and bushels of flowers. With all that, they can't really go wrong. As an unexpected bonus Sunday was the market day so the streets were filled with stands selling fruits & vegetables, cheeses, meat, clothes, children's toys... Hey! What kind of farmer's market is this? Monica and her mom didn't seem to mind as they started looking at purses, boots, shawls, jewelry... Monica's mom bought us a new bedspread. Certainly not something I expected.



Besides beauty, the other thing Annecy seems to be known for is paragliding. We saw swarms of them pinwheeling around the mountain peaks. Although Monica's parents are adventurous, they're not THAT adventurous. But WE picked up a brochure and price list from one of the adrenaline shops that line the quays in case we come back with friends our own age. Judging by how casually they let me go rock climbing (you pay your money - now go for it!) They probably just push you off a cliff and say "See you at the bottom!"



Shopping...



While we were there we went to a restaurant 15 minutes out of Annecy recommended by Laurent. It's a combination restaurant/dairy where you dine within cud-shot of the cows. Certainly not something you could do in the US. We had fondue and this dish called raclette - something I ordered because I had read about it and now found it on a menu. In the old days the hostess would take a wheel of cheese and grill the top of it, then rake (hence the name) the cheese onto your plate of bread/potatoes etc. These days the cheese comes sliced and you have a little shoe and oven to do it yourself. Talk about sinful and delicious! The alpine farm idea of portion size is also old-fashioned. We couldn't come close to finishing - we even ordered food for 3 and there were 4 of us.

One of the owners must be into taxidermy as they also had a two storey barn filled with creepy stuffed wildlife. As I snapped pictures, Monica asked "why are you taking pictures in here, when there are scenic vistas just outside?" "Because, every time I try to get a picture of the bunnies by my office, they dive into a bush. I have seen upwards of 15 bunnies (at one time!) bounding around the lawns of the industrial park. But I can never get close enough to make them look like more than a vague bunny shape on green. Finally I'll get a clean shot of one!" OK, this needs a little work in photoshop... but then maybe I can convince someone I shot this outside my office. Maybe? No?