Eating Well

Today I leave Bernin by train from Grenoble to Paris to enjoy my last weekend with Lyndsay. As our hotel does not have Internet access, the next posting will be early next week. This is the entrance to Auberge Bernin, my friend's home, circa 1610, undergoing renovations to create a second floor of 3 apartments and a third floor loft apartment for herself and family.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping; besides the incredible choices of cheese and yogurts, the highlight was square ready-to-grill lamb kebabs – square onions, peppers, and meat.

No matter how busy the day is, there is always time for eating well. Today enjoy some simple recipes.

Salade Nicoise
10-15 small new potatoes, boiled and sliced in good-sized wedges on the diagonal
3 hard boiled eggs
1 giant tomato, carved up attractively
1 large can of tuna
and the secret ingredients are…
1 ½ pounds of green beans, steamed in the juices of a smoked chicken
½ cup of special vinaigrette

Using an oval plastic steamer that looks like the covered roasting pans of old, which comes with the microwave here, steam a whole purchased smoked chicken until it plumps and is hot. The juices in the bottom of the steamer are then used to boil the green beans and, if desired, the potatoes and eggs.

The vinaigrette is 1 part cider vinegar, 2 parts vegetable oil, 1 part olive oil, a spoonful of grainy mustard and a shot of Viandox – a beef seasoning akin to Bovil. It should be quite mustardy.

Mix the tuna and salad dressing. Then the beans, potatoes, tomatoes, and finally gently stirring in the hard-boiled egg slices.

Steamed Aubergine

Lovely appetizer served with a little lettuce and tomato on the side. The avocado was served filled with shrimp…
Skin an eggplant leaving the stem on. Cut lengthwise in to 4/5” long slices and place in the microwave steamer. Steam until tender 8-10 minutes from cold water. Cool completely. Put on a flat plate and serve marinated with whipped lemon, a little finely crushed garlic, and olive oil and salt.

Note: Aubergine is eggplant; auberge is guest house.

Brik - Lebanese
Cut a circular piece of phyllo dough 6-8 inches in diameter and oil lightly. Fill half lightly leaving one inch clearance at edges with scrambled egg, mashed potatoes, garlic, and other optional items. Fold over top, and gently fry until crispy.

Daily Life

With wifi setup, I am no longer pecking my way with a foreign keyboard. It had not occured to me that the French do not use our querky keyboard and it was humbling to hunt and peck.

Grenoble's a lovely place to live, but there's little in the way of sightseeing. Although there are six premiere ski areas accessible, they get very little snow in town. We are picking currants and making jams. As my friend's home is being converted to an Auberge, there are daily trips to their "Lowe's" and lots of routine errands. Our major activity has been relaxing in her pool. It's surprising how many homes have pools. We drove up to a charming old village up in the mountains, but it's only restaurant was closed.

Went into the center city for dinner and enjoyed a charming tiny Moroccan restaurant. Last night a friend invited us for dinner farther out in the country and prepared fairly atypical, basically vegetarian fare. Tuesday is women's day with discounts in the shops so we will be off to the center city again tonight.

Between the Internet, soda, and ATMs, the differences are becoming fewer. Even French clothing is being replaced by Indian cottons fashions. A nice custom is that one's garden is supposed to be private and if a neighboring home has windows they must be shaded at all times or have trees to block the view.

Boujour

Lost a few days there. Wrote off our last Thursday in London. Started with a delightful stroll through Kensington Gardens on our way to the Palace; however we didn't get to visit as the L11 entrance fee was enough to take the Princess to lunch. Got to watch an equistrian team practice their jumps. By the time we reached Westminister Abbey at 3:4r, it had closed. Decided to save The Globe for another time.

Left Friday at 6 am for a flight to Charles DeGaulle. Even on Air France, first class has lost it flair. The plane was so old, first class had the same three seats across configuration as coach, but with the middle seat blocked off. It would have helped to have brushed up on my French before trying to pick up my tickets for the train down to Lyon. It was so crowded that all the luggage area was filled and I was fortunate to get a fold down seat to sit with my bag between the cars. It was a tenuous ride as, each time I nodded off, my suitcase would start to tip and I worried that I would hit the young woman opposite me. later I was to learn that I had a reserved seat, but was probably saver staying with my luggage. Everything ran so late I arrived 45 minutes late and found no friend waiting. She thought the railroad might have been on strike or more seriously delayed. The phones did not take coins and the credit card I purchased resulted in an error message I couldn't translate. At the Police booth, the officer did not speak English and suggested that information was on a different level. So I sat and waited and an hour later, we were all reunited.

Rather than returning to my friend's home in Grenoble, however, we were invited to a party at AlliaDental for the reps of a dental supply firm. We all had champage waiting for people arrive to a big party for the installers of the equipment. It was a gala affair with an outdoor tent, one of those bulls folks ride against a countdown clock, a huge barbeque and unlimited champagne and German beer. Defintely memorable. Everyone got a small stuffed cow to take home.


Saturday and Sunday I awoke in this pictoresque suburb of Grenoble situated between mountain ranges to the sounds of a church across the street. Everywhere there are potted flowers. It is quiet and lovely. We walk to the boulangerie for bread and visit the farmer's market for produce. After picking baskets of currants for jam, I joined Dany in her shallow circular pool to chat and lounge. We really are not doing much, but with great elegance.

Going in a New Direction

Just two days ago Lyndsay got a response from a firm she had sent a resume to cold call. So today Lyndsay was off to a morning interview (perhaps I brought sunshine and some luck). Just couldn't do another museum while she was out, so totally enjoyed tea in the sunshine of the yard and some leisurely blogging. There is no way I would have remembered what I have done here if it weren't for this blog.

Two hours later her life is off in a new direction, with her first professional job at Rareform. None too soon, as her work visa expires in 8 days. She’ll be a junior graphic designer. The timing is also wonderful as we were able to spend these four full days together before she starts next Monday. Actually, we are scrambling to see whether we can meet up again at the end of my trip since my French friend is leaving to go sailing early.

Started late today, but visited a truly outstanding museum, the Imperial War Museum. Loads of school children were enjoying the incredible hands-on activities. We were like kids, going through a submarine and then visiting the Children in War exhibit. An entire Kent house was recreated from that period. The photographs, news reports and videos were heart wrenching describing the evacuation of nearly one million children. I was surprised to find a John Singer Sargent exhibit and a phenomenal painting, Gassed, depicting a mass of blinded soldiers in the foreground while regular troups played soccer in the distance. Having enjoyed his fine paintings of the wealthy in Boston, I had no idea of his WWI work. Three hours later we had only skimmed the surface of this tremendous resource.

After an iced mocha at Cafe Nero's, which beat Starbucks, we hung out at Foyle’s bookstore, the largest in England. Then we took some trains over to Canary Wharf, a newly developed commercial area and then, on out to Greenwich, a quaint town with an old schooner and three Tex-Mex restaurants. Two decker tables were a first for me - great food, but no a/c. The heat wave continues in the nineties with full sun daily. Another 11:30 evening. Sure isn't Vero. By now, there's a good chance I have been on the majority of rail lines in London.

Side Note: Read today that Serena hit an 145 mile per hour shot yesterday breaking the female record.

Things Done Differently

Behavior
Have seen almost no women wearing shorts (okay, one or two Americans, but even they seem to have gotten the message). As Lyndsay has pointed out, there is something different in the way Londoners carry themselves, from little kids up. Better posture, never sliding done on their butts and extending their legs in front of them, and generally being quiet in public.


No chubbies
Servings are small, albeit for the same price as a large serving at home. Large servings just do not exist. Coke bottles are the original size (12 oz). A near absence of McDonalds and the hamburger chains, however, PizzaHut and PizzaExpress are everywhere. Lots of alternative coffee chains.

Moving more and quicker
• I have timed the crosswalks: when the little man turns green you have exactly 10 seconds to cross at an intersection. It is scarcely enough time to cross if you are already standing and waiting there.
• Every crosswalk is marked on the street. First side "Look Right"; second median "Look Left."
• You climb stairs to the left and take the left elevator.

It is impossible to exaggerate the amount of stairs to be encountered to negotiate all the transit connections. Unfortunately, at many stations no handicapped access is available and you see folks on crutches negotiating the stairs. Actually a system is in place to entitle them to free taxi rides as an alternative to providing handicap access on public transportation. Unfortunately, the double-decker buses are on their way out so all buses can be handicap friendly.

Tourist Friendly
I stopped by the major train station to ask about getting to Heathrow with heavy luggage. The man asked when I would be coming through his station and told me to stop by and see him Friday morning and he would have someone help me down and up the stairs with my suitcase. Can't imagine New York marking all the intersections "Look left" and then "Look Right."

Free rides
When it is crowded or late or every Sunday evening, the toll stiles are opened and everyone is free to pass through which smooths the flow of traffic.

Random Idiosyncrasies
• No more WC's, only toilets
• Rooms are let not rented, hence letting and sales offices
• Stations have Way Outs, not exits
• Women wear knickers not underwear
• Everyone wears trousers, not pants; men wear pants, not boxers
• First floors are second floors; ground floors are first floors
• Beginning drivers of cars or motorcycles are identified by a large L for learner

Wimpleton Style 

On the Way to Wimbleton

A lovely breakfast eaten in Lyndsay's tiny yard, we were congratuating ourselves for an early start by 10 am. As Lyndsay's phone has not yet been turned in to lost and found, we returned to The Hummingbird Bakery to pick up a loaner phone and give her the opportunity to photo a mass of cakes and goodies. That was the last thing we accomplished until 6:40 pm.

We made the fatal mistake in London of taking a bus instead of the underground. There we were at the bus stop and it seemed to be quite close to the downtown. Of course, after a lengthy time, Lyndsay realized that we were going in the wrong direction. Construction seems to be going on everywhere concurrently, with two way streets reduced to one, open to the driver with the most guts. The bus driver rode his horn and I silently promised myself never to drive in this city (Lyndsay hasn't yet either). We had been advised to arrive at Wimbleton around 2 to have shorter lines, queues here, but had also planned a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum. By the time we got to the V&A, we needed and enjoyed a leisurely panini at our first sidewalk cafe. We limited ourselves to the fashion and photography exhibits where underwear through the ages was a stitch and ventilated stays, a major step forward for women. An a cappela group was singing What the World Needs Now bringing smiles to all in such an astere setting.

Was everyone off to Wimbleton? Realize that we began this adventure with sore feet and frazzled nerves. One pound seemed a good price for the chance to avoid the 15 minute walk from the station and to ride an open-topped two-decker bus. Then we saw the queue on the sidewalk to our left as we sailed by. Boy, was this a great investment as we assumed we were being taken to a more interior entrance. We wound up walking half way back to the station to get to the end of the queue. Debate, debate - should we stay or go. By now it was apparent that we would benefit from the reduction (L16 to L10 for arrivals after 5 pm (that's the price to stand, obviously). We asked how long to expect and decided that two hours was a reasonalbe investment for a once in a lifetime opportunity. That was 4:05. It was all extremely orderly. We were given numbered Queue Cards so no one could jump in and a Queuing Etiquette manual. You may bring in one bottle of wine or two pints of beer per person. You may bring camping gear to queue up one hour after the previous day's play but must have it stored by 9:30 in the morning.

Wow we made it to the bridge overpass in 1 and 1/2 hours and were congratualing ourselves again. When we reached the other side, the queue reached out endlessly in front of us. The guards kept encouraging us, "you're almost there." Stiff upper lip and all that stuff. At 6:40 we entered and it was all worth it.

There are two major "stadiums" and 17 smaller courts. We watched 4 different sets of players on the smaller courts, being able to watch from immediately next to the court line. The ball girls and boys were like trained soldiers running, bending and gesturing in unison - tennis ballet. It was extremely civil and orderly and almost totally quiet throughout the park with the exception of groans and applause. There was absolutely no advertising. The food court booths were generic; the alchohol choices were champagne, Pimms Lemonade, and un-named drafts. We eventually were able to find seats at a females match and after regrouping, decided to do one final queue for the standing roam heaven to watch Selena Williams and Angela Haines. She is a massive woman - not tall, but incredibly muscular and stocky. As she made her comeback, the roars from the audience made all our suffering worthwhile. And then, out of all the thousands there, we ran into Lyndsay's boyfriend who patrols the upper class section (hundred pound seats). We ended our perfect evening sharing conversations and Pimms at the outdoor cafe. Walking back to the station, the queue was already forming for the next day. Home by 11:45.

A note on security:
I have never seen a police officer on foot since arriving in London. Occasionally a few pass on bikes. While we were advised that solid containers could not be brought into the stadium, no mention was made of the need for security. When we entered, our bags were searched, but what is so different than in the US, is the absence of fear and the absence of propaganda about how our government is working to protect us.

Mother/Daughter Monday

Of course, the bakery surplus makes it home, too. We ate a balanced breakfast of crumpets and cheesecake and carrot cake.

Didn't get started with the tourist bit until noon, but had a grand day. The forecast is for 10 more days of heat in a country totally unprepared for it.

I took Lyndsay to see the Museum of London, a favorite of mine which was outstanding, but no longer had the WWII exhibit that had been so impressed Frank and I on an earlier trip.

After purchasing half-price tickets for an evening's performance, we went to the Thistle Hotel for high tea instead of dinner, then came home for a quick change and went back into London to see The Woman in Black, a real thriller. It had everyone screaming and jumping out of their seats. Truly an old-fashioned theater experience. During intermission, an attendant sells ice cream cups in the seating area.

If it weren't for the all the sugar, this trip should be a thinning experience.

6 Train Connections, 5 Museums, and 2 sore feet

The London map is totally deceptive. It appears that sites are clustered and that you could walk from one area to another. In fact, in a day of traveling, no two sites were ever accessible from one tube stop. After yesterday, my game plan was to sightsee and return to the house, relax, and probably go back out for another round. Lyndsay shattered that idea when she reported that our train line was closed for the day due to “ Closed for Planned Engineering Work.” As she had to leave immediately for work, I would have to leave immediately at 9 am with to accompany her so that she could lead me on the mile walk over a Vero Beach mountain to the nearest other station. That also meant no returning until we met at 6:30 at Travalgar Square. So began and exhilarating, if exhausting day of coordinating a tour book, map, and A-Z(zed) street index (invaluable). With all that unfortunately there was no room for a camera.

From London Bridge station I visited Southwick Cathedral and then the Operating Theater Museum in the Southwark district immortalized by Dickens for its poor indigents (it was the first Women’s Hospital located in the top level of a church; the equipment was deserted and left there in place). Hiked to the Museum of Textiles and Costumes. Then strolled along the Thames Bankside to the Tate Museum (not much on modern art, but the lobster on a telephone was memorable. Then across the beautiful footbridge built for the Millenium to the north bank and St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Went up to Liverpool Station and visited Spielfield’s Market (the vegetable, cheese and bread stands are unbelievable. The produce is all from South Africa.) Off to Tottenham Court Road and the British Museum where the Great Reading Room has been restored (for us librarians this was where Panizzi designed his indexing system). Of course, it’s better known for the Rosetta Stone and the Elgin marbles. By now total exhaustion has set in, with hours to go before meeting Lyndsay. Waited for a column to become free and stretched out to read for a while.

Still time for another museum and fair. Tubed down to Charing Cross for a fair at St. Martins in the Fields, the National Museum, and the high point of the day, soaking my feet in the Trafalgar Square fountains. Met Lyndsay who jumped in with me, then we watched an Indian dance performance. On the way to dinner we went in search of the homeless who had shifted their locations due to the heatwave. Lyndsay regularly feeds them with surplus bakery items. Today she left a shopping bag of goodies with a guy sitting in the tube station. Then we walked to a Lebanese restaurant for dinner.


Late and tired we returned to Ladywell where Lyndsay lives in the SE via a much-appreciated relocation coach. Even at 10:30 it was still in the nineties, so we stopped at the Ladywell pub two minutes too late to be served, but purchased two Becks for the road. Can you imagine being unable to legally drink in the pub after 10:30, but being able to legally drink on the street as we walked home!

Where's Lyndsay?

Customs was friendly and smooth. The bags were there and waiting. As no one manned the “Nothing to Declare” area, immediately I was in the train depot outside ready to get some cash, call Lyndsay and get a ticket. Having been warned in advance not to change much money, I pushed a $20 at the teller who said it wouldn’t be enough to get the one-way ticket to London. Two $20s got me to town with 5 pounds or $2.50 to spare. But it wasn’t quite that smooth…
20 pence got me Lyndsay on the first try, but only for one minute. No nice “Please deposit x pence more.” But the phone does display your debit allowance. Easy enough instructions: get a single on the Bedford line to London Bridge. My good fortune, a real human manned the ticket booth and I was off to track 4.

Lovely train, really quite, no thump, thump as our trains have. The conductor took my London Bridge stamped ticket and I being in somewhat of a fog did not think to ask whether London Victoria was shorthand for London Bridge and Victoria stations. At the last stop, I learn that I have gone to the wrong station. Now, Lyndsay’s plan was to meet me at the platform in London Bridge station and she was already running late because of the plane’s delayed arrival. She was expected at work at 10. I called her in total frustration. Did I mention that the “Mind the Gap” take on a whole greater meaning in London where a foot up or across is not unusual? I call her and learn that I must take a train and meet her at Waterloo. The train workers are incredibly sympathetic. Without taking my first ticket, a gentleman put me back on the same train to go back on stop and there cross to platform 10 for Waterloo. I disembark at Clapton Junction and discover that there is neither an elevator nor escalator. I get more change to call Lyndsay, but I am apparently out of range. You all know the adage, “when rape is inevitable…” I slung the laptop and purse around my neck old-lady style, and pull my 80 pounder to the left handle rail – no sooner did I take a step, by a train employee picked it up and carried it down and up to track 10. There is a God and he hovers over train stations knighting gallant men. There she was as I exited Waterloo. She gave me my weekly train pass and we were off to another train to Ladywell and home.


There's hardly a minute to drop everything and be back at the train station to accompany her to work across London in Notting Hill. As we are waiting at the station she realizes that her phone is missing. Back home – no phone. Tried calling it. Nada. Probably dropped on the last train. At train headquarters we are given some hope that on Monday it may be found. Meanwhile we have no way to link up.

Lyndsay’s two hours late. Everything is charming. A gigantic sidewalk antique fair stretches for block. Notting Hill is totally congested with tourists (all wearing the sneakers I was forbidden to pack). Unfortunately, I dragged the camera around but had left the memory card in my laptop, so no pictures. It’s the hottest day in London this year, sweltering. I am still in my travel clothes and by 3 pm I begin the final four train connections home. I catch a shower and quick nap and then take off to walk to the top of her neighborhood where a park overlooks the city. Lyndsay’s out at a party. So, time to blog. The final gotcha of the day is that my plug adapter won’t work in London – they use the giant kind. Fortunately I have Lyndsay’s computer and hopefully my camera batteries will last. It’s 8:30 here; thanks all for helping keep me awake and adjust to London time. I can’t take any more frustrations today.

Where's First Class?

The new 777 is Continental’s new flagship with enough room for first class that we all queued as if it were economy. As I entered the stewardess directed me that my seat would be on the right side and on the aisle. I took 1K but felt something was amiss. In first class, even the window seat is usually over a foot from the window and from its partner seat; frequently they swivel so groups can socialize over a small cocktail table. These were big, but bunched up in a gray drab cabin more reminiscent of Aeroflot. Soon someone arrived with a ticket for my seat and informed me that I should have been up front. Of course, this must be business-class. I walked forward and swept aside the curtain between the compartments only to discover myself in the galley. First class proven without a further doubt, I seated myself in the bulkhead seat.

The statutory preflight cocktail, champagne in a plastic tumbler, was offered and I eased myself in for a first class 2005 experience. The pilot announced that we would be holding at the gate for someone arriving on a connecting flight. One hour passed without any offer of additional beverages.

Frank had ached with envy over the fabulous dinner I was to enjoy; we discussed what kind of caviar that might be served. Perhaps now it would just be sprinkled on some of the tempting appetizers wheeled through the cabin. Instead, cashews, in china, not the little peanut baggie, were followed by a choice of “half a lobster” on lettuce or smoked chicken. The two morsels of lobster were tasty, not enough to make up for missing the Albertson’s Father’s Day special. The chicken consisted of two slices of cold cuts attractively garnished. Four main courses all would have beat the cafeteria, but I’ll pass on the recipe for any of them. The chicken entrée ran out almost immediately. My shrimp were tough but tasty. The cheeses and fruit were wonderful. And only in the USA, would dessert consist of cobbler with ice cream, or vanilla ice cream with toppings. Actually no one discussed the dinner, or anything else, as the movie started with the first course. Who needs conversation when you can enjoy a TV dinner with your favorite sitcom? An instructional movie and guide provide seat control training. The remote control when freed from its slot remains tethered with a wire; I thank the stewardess for subtly restoring it to its housing when I left my seat having slept on it all night. With three preset position options that could be modified with 12 customizing buttons, it was a true joystick of traveling comfort. Night was short. The flight only takes six hours and with losing 5 hours to the time difference, the cabin was awash with light by 1:30 am. The fruit reappeared for breakfast and it was soon time to tackle London.

Countdown

Made reservations on Monday to leave this coming Friday. For a Lucero this is lots of advance notice; try going to Egypt with two children on two days notice. The trip is complicated by having to pack for an additional three weeks in the Northeast. Leaving Tuesday for New York and a couple of days with my Dad before departing Neward; toying with Monday afternoon just to add to the panic level.