“Lunch”

Often times (or maybe not so often), when one is pressed for time to eat everything one wishes to eat while in a foreign country, it is necessary to cast aside all preconceptions of what a meal should be, to be replaced with the limitless appetite of a child who naively believes one can never consume too much sugar.  Yesterday’s lunch was one such time.

As my travel companion and one of our friends from school eagerly devoured their kebabs, I insisted upon a lighter lunch in anticipation of my second and third lunch.  Ignoring the tempting, unhealthy call of my favorite beignet from the bakery near to the kebab stand, I settled instead for something slightly more wholesome: a slice of pissaladière with a marvelously unbalanced ratio favoring the delicious caramelized onions to crust.  Sadly, standing in the middle of the street eating a slice of pissaladière does not make for an ideal photo taking opportunity.  But imagine, a square slice of thin pizza, the sauce and cheese replaced with caramelized onions, a few anchovies, and an olive (or two if you’re lucky).  This is pissaladière.

This is not pissaladière.

In addition to being delicious, pissaladière also makes the perfect light salty “lunch” before two scoops of what some claim is the world’s best ice cream.  I can’t affirm if it is truly the world’s best but of the flavors I have tried from Fenocchio’s (coco, almond, pistachio, and cafe) the coco and pistachio were the best I have ever had.  Mind you, I’m not an especially avid ice cream eater, but I like to think I can appreciate a good ice cream when I taste it.  As I ate my two scoops of ice cream (one almond, the other pistachio), I wondered, how do the two other ice cream serving establishments within one minute walking distance stand up to this sort of competition? Here you have a wonderful establishment which does in fact serve pretty damn delicious ice cream.  So what would make one think one could ever stand a chance against a place such as this that serves a myriad of delicious flavors from the customary vanilla and chocolate to the not-so-customary riz au lait and tomato?  I’ll leave this question unanswered for it would require many more months of research and ice cream eating from numerous ice cream serving establishments, and I simply don’t have that kind of time.  I’ve got other countries to travel to.

This is ice cream.

Plus, I’ve got hot chocolate (chocolat chaud) to discuss.  After lowering my internal temperature with ice cream, I was prepared for a sugar coma inducing cup of hot chocolate.

I can confidently say that chocolat chaud is one of the things I really like a lot in this world.  I usually have difficulty naming favorite foods because all foods hold a special place in my heart and stomach.  But to put my love for chocolat chaud in words, it is on the same level of love as sunshine, peanut m&m’s, puppies, kittens, and listening to Bob Marley.  As avid consumer of chocolate, there is something fabulously naughty (and delicious) about drinking your chocolate.  Mind you, I speak not of Swiss Miss or of some sort of processed powder that’s supposed to resemble chocolate when added to hot water.  I speak of a beverage of a completely different nature.  I speak of what hot chocolate should be – so rich that it makes you almost uncomfortable.  So chocolaty that you suspect somebody must have melted an entire bar of chocolate into your cup when someone wasn’t looking in an attempt at assassination by chocolate.  So velvety smooth that it is as if you bought your tongue a new velvet sweater made of chocolate.  So delicious that you have to re-assess what your definition of delicious is.  This is chocolat chaud.

And this is the absence of chocolat chaud.

And so concluded yesterday’s lunch.  With a surprisingly non-churning stomach, brain function fuzzed by the large quantity of sugar coursing through my blood stream, and a deep sense of content that I had accomplished something terribly important.  That’s my kind of lunch.

French Class Discussions

Amid the numerous profound discussion/debates we engage in during french class, one of the most memorable topics for me has been that of the difference between tourists and voyagers.  In one of my brighter moments, I made this observation:

“Tourists see what they want to see.  Voyagers see things for what they are.”

As I sat basking in personal glory of this observation that I had voiced in mediocre french, I fell deeper into thought about the distinct difference between these two species of travelers.

Let us begin with tourists for these are usually the most conspicuous and universally recognizable.  When tourists travel, it is to affirm the image of a place.  To go through the guide book and check off the recommended list of sights to see and expensive activities to pay for.  To stay in the most convenient, safest, and comfortable hotel, the one place you should be at least when you’re traveling to a foreign country.  All too often, tourists frequent resorts, confining themselves to a gated, pretty, all-inclusive, free-drinks-all-day idea of whatever country they may be visiting (I am guilty of a past littered with resort vacations, however in my defense I was young and naive and had no other choice than to suffer through pina coladas all day long with my family).  The irony of resorts is that they effectively hide some of the poorest places, perpetuating the ignorance of the world that exists beyond the problems of there not being enough recliners by the pool and too much sugar in that strawberry daiquiri.  Tourists travel to say “oh yes, I’ve been there” but continue to be blindly ignorant to where they have actually been.  Souvenirs, in french, means memories.  Tourists bring back plastic souvenirs to display proudly on their shelves and fridge, minus the souvenirs. You can’t buy memories.  Tourism is a superficial business.  And thus, when tourists travel they only see the printed, glossy surface image of a place much like the ones in the guidebooks.  To “tour” is to color in your personal map by the number.  Mind you, this isn’t meant to be offensive but frankly, when most people speak of tourists it has a bit of a negative connotation and these are the reasons I find this to be true.

Voyagers may travel with a guidebook but they see it for what it is, merely a guide and not a strict schedule of things to be seen and done.  Rather, voyagers will read between the lines, breaking through the glossy surface the tourism industry works so hard to keep from being tarnished.

To voyage is to travel into uncharted lands on your personal map without preconceptions or expectations.  It is to appreciate a place for what it is: cuisine, architecture, government, economy, religion, language, people, and attitude.  And all of this is to be appreciated with an open mind.  Just because something is done differently somewhere else does not mean it is right or wrong.  It is just different.  To voyage is to connect with a culture on a personal level.  To learn the language (or at least attempt to).  To make new friends.  To make an effort to understand a different way of life rather than stubbornly resist it in order preserve your own special agenda. To voyage is to attempt to live life as the locals do. But also to allow yourself to explore as you like, rather than as the guidebook instructs.  To voyage is to gather souvenirs in the form of unforgettable meals, unforgettable friends, and unforgettable experiences.  To voyage is to color in your personal map of previously uncharted lands with the colors of culture, outside of the lines.

The fundamental difference between these two species of travelers is attitude.  There is nothing wrong with tourism (although it may have a negative connotation it does not make it “wrong”), just as there is nothing wrong with voyaging.  They merely represent two different attitudes.  It is up to the traveler to decide which attitude suites themselves best.  But, I think we could benefit from more voyagers, people who dare to see the world for the way it is.  And possibly even dare to accept, maybe even appreciate other ways of life.  People who dare to be surprised by what they might see when they aren’t looking.

Things I should have blogged about in the past few weeks but didn’t so I’m doing it now. Voilà.

What’s blogging consistently anyways?  Blogging is for people who actually have time…

Me, I’m busy living the Nice way, lazily, slowly, and carelessly.  Rough life, I know.  A “nice” way of living if I do say so myself.  Here, you never know what the night life entails until it begins.  Plans are more loosely made than your favorite pair of oversized sweatpants.  And a stroll through the old town usually ends up as rendez-vous with someone you know.  It’s fabulously carefree and  it’s been consistently astounding how things just seem to work out in the end.

Equally as astounding, is the sun.  There is always sun.  Well, except at night time obviously, but it’s an incredibly rare moment when the sun isn’t out during the day.  I haven’t seen a drop of rain in the past three and a half weeks that I’ve been here.  The temperature hasn’t dropped below 55, and is usually at a lovely 60 degrees.  For a weather-worn new englander, it’s like living in an alternate universe where beautiful, consistent weather actually exists.

There is no such thing as the best view in Nice because all the views are beautiful.

Everything is delicious. Pain bagnat. Socca. Pissaladière. Baguette. Croissants. Pain au Chocolate. Pain aux raisins. Chocolate chaud. Beignets. Crepes. Butter. Macarons. Roasted Chicken. Yogurt. Wine. Pizza. Fresh Pasta.  Gnocchi. Chocolate. Avocados.

I’ve meet the loveliest, kindest, friendliest people here than I ever have in my entire life. A personal theory of mine is that Sweden and Norwegia breed people like this (there is a large majority of Swedes and Norwegians at the international school I go to for classes).  Besides Northern Europeans, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Brazilian, Japanese, Chinese, Russian, Canadian, and American students.

Rue de france

Last weekend, I attended a crepe party.

My french has improved.  This is especially true after a couple of glasses of wine.

Cashiers at major supermarkets sit in chairs. This is smart.

People generally use their own grocery bags that they’ve bought or recycled rather than polluting the earth with a copious amount of plastic each time they go grocery shopping.  This is also smart.

From between 5 and 7 pm you can observe nearly the entire population of Nice carrying baguettes.

Order “un café” and you are ordering a shot of espresso.  I like it better this way.

Poop.  It’s everywhere.  Watch your step.

Watching disney movies in french has become my favorite method for improving my mastery of the french language.

My life has likely been shortened by one year from the amount of second hand smoke I’ve inhaled.  No regrets.

Copious amounts of fat and sugar.  Also, no regrets.

And these are all the things I’d like to say about Nice.  Stay tuned for another inconsistently blogged post.

Good Stuff (Nice, France)

wandering through the old town (la vieux nice)

dried fruit like you’ve never seen it before

Reality

So this is supposed to be the least stressful time of my life, or some nonsense like that.  Yet somehow, I’ve still managed to slack off in the writing department.  It’s not that there’s nothing to write about, oh, there’s plenty, it’s just that I’ve been just too darn busy roaming the streets of nice, making crepes, overdosing on sugar, ripping apart roasted chickens, watching movies in french, and eating porchetta.

When I imagined living in Nice, I pictured myself sitting outside a cafe, writing on my laptop, slowly savoring a coffee and croissant, watching all the handsome european men walk by, and letting the afternoon pass me by.  Thus far, I haven’t fullfilled this fantasy, but reality has turned out to be quite lovely despite the fact that a cup of coffee here is actually a shot of espresso, and thus barely enough to savor for more than a couple of sentences.  And contrary to my day dream, there aren’t nearly enough handsome european men passing my way.

Rather, my friend (with whom I am traveling) and I have been wandering along the streets of Nice, becoming acquainted with the streets and people inhabiting them much more quickly than I had expected.  We’ve been here for two weeks and we have a favorite fruit and vegetable shop, a favorite socca shop (socca is a regional specialty – a giant pancake made of chickpea flour with the loveliest crispy edges), and a favorite boulangerie/patisserie that we frequent nearly daily.  We’re slowly working our way through our list of things to eat; checking off crepes a la nutella, macarons, porchetta, socca, pain bagnat, pizza, croissants, cheese, baguette, roasted chicken, and madelines.

You could say it’s a pretty carefree lifestyle we lead, but it’s far more stressful than it seems.  Just the other day, we had to decide what we’d have for lunch.  It’s actually an excruciatingly difficult decision to make when your heart is torn between gnocchi and pain bagnat and your stomach doesn’t care what your heart wants because it’s so effing hungry.  We settled upon a grand pain bagnat each from our favorite boulangerie and were able to return to our regular state of contentedness.  And you don’t know what stress is until your friend is leaving you and you have 14 different food vendors/restaurants/cafes to try and only a few days within which to try them in.  Try prioritizing between roasted pork and steak frites.  Impossible.

Also impossible?  Not eating nutella when it is in your presence.