At one minute past midnight on the third Thursday of each November, from little villages and towns like Romanèche-Thorins in Burgundy, over a million cases of Beaujolais Nouveau begin their journey through a sleeping France to Paris for immediate shipment to all parts of the world. Banners proclaim the good news: Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé ! “The New Beaujolais has arrived!” One of the most frivolous and animated rituals in the wine world has begun.
By the time it is over, more than 65 million bottles, nearly half of the region’s total annual production, will be distributed and drunk around the world. It has become a worldwide race to be the first to serve this new wine of the harvest. In doing so, it has been carried by motorcycle, balloon, truck, helicopter, and in the past by Concorde jet, elephant, runners and rickshaws (never by messenger pigeon though) to get it to its final destination. It is amazing to realize that just weeks before this wine was a cluster of grapes in a grower’s vineyard.
Half the fun is of course knowing that on the same night, in homes, cafes, restaurants, pubs, bars and bistros around the world the same celebration is taking place.
Well, maybe not as much celebrating going on the world over as in France, but you get the idea. In Toulouse almost the entire downtown is closed off to motor traffic and bars and restaurant, all over the vast network of narrow streets and ally-ways, open their doors for an all night drink-fest. Now if you think red wine can pack a wallop of a next day hangover, imagine the hangover from wine so new it practically tastes green. Yeah, boy let the party begin.
This year the event falls on November 17th and the drinking begins at midnight. I give you plenty of advance notice and invite you all down to participate, since I cannot drink, it will amuse me to taunt you the next day. It’s always all about me, isn’t it…
Friday, October 28, 2005
Sunday, October 23, 2005
I’m sure Dante outlined a circle for you…
“This is going to be a big boy” the doctor says, smiling sweetly as he puts away his tape measure.
I can’t think fast enough in French to retort ‘Hey, unless you’re giving birth to this baby, keep those types of happy comments to yourself buddy’. So instead I must satisfy myself with giving him my best ‘We are not amused’ glare. This only makes him chuckle and I mentally Google Dante’s Divine Comedy and search for just the circle of hell in which he will spend eternity…
It is becoming increasingly difficult to slide behind the wheel of my car comfortably, not to mention the contortions I must go through to get back out. The real bummer is that if I scoot the seat back just one notch I can get in and out much easier, but I cannot drive because my feet can’t reach the friggin pedals. God it sucks to be short.
As I was dressing the other morning I was thinking back to my first pregnancy 20++ years ago and remember how thankful I was not to be pregnant in the height of a desert summer. Mind I gave birth at the end of May and we had probably been enduring temps well into the 90’s and higher since mid April, but still it could have been so much worse. I could have had to endure the worst of the June – August heat in my ‘big as a house’ state.
Then I found myself once again grateful for the good timing of this pregnancy. As it is I find it hard to breathe now and cannot imagine enduring heat and high humidity at 8 and nine months pregnant while carrying around an alien that insists on kicking and growing up in to my diaphragm, making breathing freely an ever increasing treat.
However, as I was mulling these thoughts over the other morning and trying various contortions to reach my feet so I could put my socks on, I was struck by this thought, that in the past few winters I have become increasingly fond of wearing tights to keep warm in the cold outdoor breezes. The visual of what contortions it would take to accomplish that feat were frightening. I’ll just be cold thanks.
Finally, I leave you with this amusing visual:
S comes home at the end of the work day to find a disturbing trail of debris strewn across the floors of the house. A pencil, an unopened piece of mail, several paper towels, assorted bits of laundry (clean and dirty) and other odd mementos of a day spent tidying up the house. As he picks up each piece of flotsam and follows the trail he eventually comes upon me sitting on the bed watching the Gilmore Girls on DVD.
He holds up the armful of items and asks in a puzzled tone ‘what happened here?’
‘Stuff I dropped during the day and couldn’t bend far enough over to pick back up’ I say shrugging.
Yuck it up folks…
I can’t think fast enough in French to retort ‘Hey, unless you’re giving birth to this baby, keep those types of happy comments to yourself buddy’. So instead I must satisfy myself with giving him my best ‘We are not amused’ glare. This only makes him chuckle and I mentally Google Dante’s Divine Comedy and search for just the circle of hell in which he will spend eternity…
It is becoming increasingly difficult to slide behind the wheel of my car comfortably, not to mention the contortions I must go through to get back out. The real bummer is that if I scoot the seat back just one notch I can get in and out much easier, but I cannot drive because my feet can’t reach the friggin pedals. God it sucks to be short.
As I was dressing the other morning I was thinking back to my first pregnancy 20++ years ago and remember how thankful I was not to be pregnant in the height of a desert summer. Mind I gave birth at the end of May and we had probably been enduring temps well into the 90’s and higher since mid April, but still it could have been so much worse. I could have had to endure the worst of the June – August heat in my ‘big as a house’ state.
Then I found myself once again grateful for the good timing of this pregnancy. As it is I find it hard to breathe now and cannot imagine enduring heat and high humidity at 8 and nine months pregnant while carrying around an alien that insists on kicking and growing up in to my diaphragm, making breathing freely an ever increasing treat.
However, as I was mulling these thoughts over the other morning and trying various contortions to reach my feet so I could put my socks on, I was struck by this thought, that in the past few winters I have become increasingly fond of wearing tights to keep warm in the cold outdoor breezes. The visual of what contortions it would take to accomplish that feat were frightening. I’ll just be cold thanks.
Finally, I leave you with this amusing visual:
S comes home at the end of the work day to find a disturbing trail of debris strewn across the floors of the house. A pencil, an unopened piece of mail, several paper towels, assorted bits of laundry (clean and dirty) and other odd mementos of a day spent tidying up the house. As he picks up each piece of flotsam and follows the trail he eventually comes upon me sitting on the bed watching the Gilmore Girls on DVD.
He holds up the armful of items and asks in a puzzled tone ‘what happened here?’
‘Stuff I dropped during the day and couldn’t bend far enough over to pick back up’ I say shrugging.
Yuck it up folks…
Saturday, October 22, 2005
I take issue...
So my question is this. In The Da Vinci Code (which I love and have read 3 times) I find one glaring and rather insulting error. See, the book discusses the true nature of the Holy Grail and the fictitious group sworn to protect it, the Priory of Sion. As we read the book we find that the Sacred Feminine is a large part of what the Priory honors and protects. So my question is this, why is it that in the book the four Sénéchaux, including the Grand Master himself, are all men? Why are there no women privy to the great secret when the Priory claims to worship and protect the secrets of the true grail? Is Dan Brown implying that women can’t be trusted to keep a secret?
Just one of those random thoughts that woke me in the middle of the night…
Just one of those random thoughts that woke me in the middle of the night…
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Oh, yeah, now I remember!
Ok, ok, so we’re back in good old France. There were several ‘home sweet home’ moments upon our arrival, some less pleasant than others. Lets see it started with…
…Our arrival… when we found that once again the water heater/heater was no longer working. See, that means that after 15 hours of airports and flying there was no nice welcoming hot shower to enjoy and the temp inside the house was a balmy 64 degrees. We spent about half an hour trying to re-light the pilot to no avail and ended up just turning on the oven and burners to at least warm the kitchen and office. We wound up boiling water for quick baths, just to get the travel germs off of us.
Then of course was the inevitable refrigerator moment when I opened said fridge to find nothing, well nothing except some very chunky milk and cream and some tomatoes that had reverted back to a green color that seemed to be growing hair. Of course we arrived home on a SUNDAY which you know means that nothing was open to rectify the empty bad refrigerator problem. There was however a conveniently located and OPEN Shell gas station where we were able to purchase some emergency supplies i.e. bread and milk.
But of all the weird unpleasantness, the bug carcasses were probably the most bizarre. Apparently the spider spray that I use is very strong and lasts a good long time and the fact that no one was home for several weeks to sweep up the carcasses means that they were just piled up against the walls, in corners and hanging about the ceiling. Yeah, the house was one big bug tomb…I guess that that’s a bit of a grim description.
On the other hand, I had forgotten certain pleasant aspects of life in France. First of all I love how polite and courteous drivers are. No one is in such a big fat hurry that they’d just as soon run you off the road than give up one car length to let you in. I’d forgotten how cut throat California driving could be.
The pregnancy thing was an especially pleasant surprise to return to; where as in the US if you even look like you might be considering hinting that you might need special treatment or assistance due to your condition, people give you that ‘Hey you got yourself pregnant so deal with it’ look. In France people bend over backward for pregnant women, from special parking and grocery check out lines to some of the nicest most chivalrous men you’ve ever met.
I was in the grocery store on Monday trying to restock the house, when I found myself in the soda aisle looking for Pepsi – And let me say that if shelf real estate is any indicator of market share, Pepsi is floundering big time and even I can’t save them. In the pop aisle the Coke is stacked four shelves high and about a meter and a half wide, where as the Pepsi has two upper shelves and only the width of a six pack. (Well eight pack really; Pepsi in a desperate bid to get their product out there, is packaging their cans in eight packs, buy 6 get two free.) As I reach up for my pop, mind I don’t have to lift my arms higher than my shoulders, a man springs up next to me, lifts the pop off the shelf and deposits it into my cart with a smile. I have the same experience in the bottled water aisle, where I was trying to decide whether to buy the 6 pack of 1 liter bottles or the six pack of 1.5 liter bottles. Before I’d formulated a decision there was a nice man to ask if I needed help putting the bottles in my cart.
I can feel feminists all over the country flinching at this very moment, but I’ll tell you, it’s nice to see chivalry at its finest.
It’s good to be home for many other reasons too. Well this is enough for now, I have a pile of mail to get through and bills to pay and I must contact the insurance company about repairs to the house. The roof was fixed in our absence. (Yes imagine that, the landlord actually discovered that there was indeed a leak in our roof!) Now the repairs to paint, plaster and wallpaper must begin so we can began buying baby furniture and setting up the baby room. The initial repair estimate has come in at 5,200.00€, will have to look and see what our deductible is on that.
I also must get busy sweeping up bug bodies – eeewww.
…Our arrival… when we found that once again the water heater/heater was no longer working. See, that means that after 15 hours of airports and flying there was no nice welcoming hot shower to enjoy and the temp inside the house was a balmy 64 degrees. We spent about half an hour trying to re-light the pilot to no avail and ended up just turning on the oven and burners to at least warm the kitchen and office. We wound up boiling water for quick baths, just to get the travel germs off of us.
Then of course was the inevitable refrigerator moment when I opened said fridge to find nothing, well nothing except some very chunky milk and cream and some tomatoes that had reverted back to a green color that seemed to be growing hair. Of course we arrived home on a SUNDAY which you know means that nothing was open to rectify the empty bad refrigerator problem. There was however a conveniently located and OPEN Shell gas station where we were able to purchase some emergency supplies i.e. bread and milk.
But of all the weird unpleasantness, the bug carcasses were probably the most bizarre. Apparently the spider spray that I use is very strong and lasts a good long time and the fact that no one was home for several weeks to sweep up the carcasses means that they were just piled up against the walls, in corners and hanging about the ceiling. Yeah, the house was one big bug tomb…I guess that that’s a bit of a grim description.
On the other hand, I had forgotten certain pleasant aspects of life in France. First of all I love how polite and courteous drivers are. No one is in such a big fat hurry that they’d just as soon run you off the road than give up one car length to let you in. I’d forgotten how cut throat California driving could be.
The pregnancy thing was an especially pleasant surprise to return to; where as in the US if you even look like you might be considering hinting that you might need special treatment or assistance due to your condition, people give you that ‘Hey you got yourself pregnant so deal with it’ look. In France people bend over backward for pregnant women, from special parking and grocery check out lines to some of the nicest most chivalrous men you’ve ever met.
I was in the grocery store on Monday trying to restock the house, when I found myself in the soda aisle looking for Pepsi – And let me say that if shelf real estate is any indicator of market share, Pepsi is floundering big time and even I can’t save them. In the pop aisle the Coke is stacked four shelves high and about a meter and a half wide, where as the Pepsi has two upper shelves and only the width of a six pack. (Well eight pack really; Pepsi in a desperate bid to get their product out there, is packaging their cans in eight packs, buy 6 get two free.) As I reach up for my pop, mind I don’t have to lift my arms higher than my shoulders, a man springs up next to me, lifts the pop off the shelf and deposits it into my cart with a smile. I have the same experience in the bottled water aisle, where I was trying to decide whether to buy the 6 pack of 1 liter bottles or the six pack of 1.5 liter bottles. Before I’d formulated a decision there was a nice man to ask if I needed help putting the bottles in my cart.
I can feel feminists all over the country flinching at this very moment, but I’ll tell you, it’s nice to see chivalry at its finest.
It’s good to be home for many other reasons too. Well this is enough for now, I have a pile of mail to get through and bills to pay and I must contact the insurance company about repairs to the house. The roof was fixed in our absence. (Yes imagine that, the landlord actually discovered that there was indeed a leak in our roof!) Now the repairs to paint, plaster and wallpaper must begin so we can began buying baby furniture and setting up the baby room. The initial repair estimate has come in at 5,200.00€, will have to look and see what our deductible is on that.
I also must get busy sweeping up bug bodies – eeewww.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)