Game Theory

I've talked about Ticket to Ride, a board game about trains around Europe. But that's just the tip of it. We're big into family game time, especially on cold, rainy winter weekends, and we especially love games that tie in thematically with our lives here.

Memoire de France is a memory-match game with special places around France, including many Paris spots we know and love -- one of which we can see from our window, and exactly half of which we can walk to in five minutes or less:

 

To read about more great French- and European-themed games, check out the post at A Year in Fromage.

Faster than a Bullet

It's a plane! It's a train! Actually, it is a train. And it's not really faster than a bullet. Or even a bullet train. But it is, in fact, very super. It's the train system throughout France, and Europe, and we've made good use of it, especially thanks to our "Carte Enfant +" which is a card we buy in Pippa's name for 70€. It lasts one year, can be re-purchased annually till she's 12, and means that up to four people who travel with her by train get a discount -- minimum 25% and often 50% -- on rides in France. There are other discount tickets available (frequent business traveler, retiree, large family, etc). The prices can be so low, they're shocking.

 

For example, our two hour train ride to Normandy costs me and the girls about 30€. They're not all this cheap, of course, but it's still a great way to travel -- and nearly always cheaper and faster than going by car. Just this summer alone, the girls and I trained to Normandy, Paris, Avignon, Cinque Terre Italy, Florence, night train back from Munich to Paris, Auxerre Burgundy, Joigny Burgundy, Paris, Bretagne, Paris, Aigle Switzerland, and one final trip back to Paris. Anthony flew or trained to meet us and travel with us for various parts of it, but had to work, so we often came through Paris for the weekends he couldn't join us. It was a confusing and utterly exhausting summer, to say the least.

 

 

All that train time means snacks at the train station, snacks on the train, card games, story time, snuggle time, sleep time, video games, and even the occasional (mild) motion sickness.

 

 

While most of our trips are on the high-speed TGV (in general running up to 320kmph or 200mph), our trip to Avignon is on the new Ouigo train. It's equally high-speed, is owned by the national train lines, but is being positioned as the People's Express/Southwest Airlines of French trains in terms of pricing. The downside of the Ouigo is that the "local" station is not actually in Paris but rather a half hour train ride outside of the city at Disneyland, and you have to wait on a long line to check in. It only runs to a few cities, but they are key ones down South. The upside is the price of the tickets: the trains are clean, fast, and comfortable, children cost 5€ each at all times, and my ticket costs 30€ -- for a 3-hour high speed train ride all the way across the country. My ticket would only have cost 10€ if I hadn't been picky about the time and day.

 

As we train around Europe, our girls recognize many of the names from one of our favorite board games. We call it "the Train Game," but its real name in English is "Ticket to Ride," and the French name is "Les Aventuriers du Rail" (Adventurers by Rail).

 

 

After all those train rides, we feel like we really need a vacation from our vacation. But exhausting and exhaustive as our summer travels are, we remain thrilled by how much better it is to travel by train than by plane. Even in 2nd class, we're traveling in style.

Stay Away

Our second summer, our second trip to our friends in Bretagne. By now, it feels not only like a little slice of heaven, but a familiar one. I realize it also feels familiar because it reminds me in so many ways of the annual summer trips to my sister's house in coastal Maine. There are the rocky beaches with great tide-pooling, the coastal walks and bike rides, the fantasy mansions on the cliffs (let's just say I wouldn't sniff at the house all trimmed in white at left in the photo below).

 

 

 

 

Even beyond the excellent bakery breads and lack of blueberry/maple products, there are differences, of course. The little tents at Dinard look pure French, for example. And the Atlantic's noticeably warmer here than in Maine, as long as one is lucky enough to be here during a warm August. Last year we were in Bretagne in early July, and the water was so cold I only swam once -- and then simply because my friend Beatrice told me that was the only way I'd earn the right to be invited back. Well, this year, we are there in August, so I am able to swim every day; I practically feel like a native Breton.

 

And then there's the view out to the medieval walled cite of St. Malo, which doesn't exactly bring Maine to mind.

 

Also, instead of lobster, we have moules (muscles). But not actually ones that we find ourselves.

 

 

This year, in addition to seeing our good friends, and the beautiful coast, we also see a fox, right there next to the beach.

 

 

By the way, if you think it looks like we have nothing but gorgeous sun, blue skies, and warm summer weather, it is my obligation to tell you that it rains miserably and constantly the entire time we are here. I have promised our friends that we will do our part to keep the masses away by playing up the stereotype of the Breton weather. Somehow, we all manage to enjoy it anyway.

Holy Crêpe!

On Feb 2, all over northern France, people are eating crêpes in order to celebrate Chandeleur or Candlemas, which marks the purification of the Virgin Mary and the final presentation of the baby Jesus. It also marks the start to the Lent season. And while we don't actually do anything for Lent (the only thing we give up ever year for Lent is giving things up for Lent), we are big believers in a holy day whose traditions revolve around eating crêpes. That is really the kind of religious tradition I can get behind, with 100% conviction. I guess that makes me egg-nostic (ugh).

Most of the Parisians will eat what I call "basic" crêpes -- the traditional street crêpe menu that almost never varies. For the meal, you can have what is actually called a galette, if you're being true to the Breton routes, or a crêpe salée (salty/savory), if you just want to distinguish from the sweet ones. A true galette is darker brown in color, with a nutty flavor, because of the buckwheat flour used in the batter. Galettes are usually filled with gruyère cheese, ham, and, if you order the "complète", also an egg. However, tradition dictates actually making the crêpe yourself on this day, flipping it in one hand and holding a coin in the other hand. If you manage to catch the crêpe, you'll get your wish -- and presumably have prosperity -- for the coming year.

For the dessert crêpes, the usual filling choices are simple sugar, sugar and lemon, jam (almost always apricot), caramel (on the menu if you're lucky), and the ubiquitous first choice of seemingly 99% of the population: nutella (the chocolate/hazelnut spread shown below in all its melting, oozy glory, before the folding process).

However, it must be remembered that we are from San Francisco. Therefore, we believe in innovation in our food -- such as pizzas topped with goat cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, barbecued chicken, blue cheese, caramelized onions, jalapeño, and/or feta (according to my cousin Kevin: pizza is either plain or with pepperoni, and everything else is just a San Francisco abomination). And so it follows that even though the classic French crêpes are tasty (they're classic for a reason), we still get sick of them and like our crêpes to have creative fillings. The more complicated, the better. The best crêpes we've had so far have been in Bretagne -- which makes sense, since they are originally a Breton food -- and also a great spot right by Versailles, where we had this lovely peach, salted caramel, peach ice cream, whipped cream crêpe.

 

I often walk past this crêperie, and though the url doesn't actually lead you to the restaurant's page or menu, I love the name and web address nonetheless. 

 

And while this is not specifically crêpe related, I feel like the name creposuk.com leads us directly to this café. Am I the only one juvenile enough to find this funny?

 

 

My friend Aurore, who hails from the Marseills area growls, "Those Bretons have taken over everything! In the south, it's not crêpes for La Chandeleur, it's bugne or oreillette," which are doughnuts. I guess that would have worked, too, and I could have titled this posting "Holy Doughnuts." It would be just as bad a pun, and just as delicious a tradition.

 

 

 

 

Your French Doppelgänger

Today, while walking along Parisian streets, I see my friend Kevin from San Francisco. Mysteriously, his wife Michelle and three children have been replaced by a different wife and children. Upon closer look, it is clear that Kevin is not living a double life but, rather, that I have encountered his doppelgänger, his evil twin, roaming the Latin Quarter eating street crêpes with his children (how dastardly!).

So I think of you frequently, my friends and family, but how can I miss you when I feel like I am still seeing your lovely faces? Check out my cousin Neal, and you can see why I do a double take when I walk by the portrait of Henri de Lorraine, duc de Guise (1549-1588), dit Le Balafré (a.k.a. "Scarface") painted by François Quesnel, hanging at the Musée Carnavalet. If, in a former life, Neal lived as a nobleman in 16th century France, then my poor cousin; the Duke was at one time considered likely to ascend the throne of France, until he was assassinated by King Henry III (who was, in turn, assassinated a year later). My God, how I would love to photoshop in a big ruffled collar over Neal's T-shirt.

 

 

Wait, wait a second. Quick lesson from my dad on how to (ab)use photoshop. Here it is...

 

 

In the metro, I am regularly greeted by a larger-than-life sized poster of singer Ben Mazué and feel like I've got my dear friend Rey right there with me.

 

  

Ben Mazue photo from:http://blogs.paris.fr/pousseleson/2011/09/14/ben-mazue-je-parlerai-quand-meme-un-peu-de-toi-ici/

 

One day while dining with my new very good friend Béatrice (whose country home I visited in Bretagne), it suddenly occurs to me that one of the reasons I must be so drawn to her is that she reminds so much of my old very good friend Trina, back in the Bay Area. In this case, it's not just how they look, but also so many other things about them: their family backgrounds, warmth, humor,  attitudes, professional interests and experiences, parenting styles (they've got 9 kids between them!). Really, it's uncanny, and once it hits me, I feel like I've known Béatrice for a decade. I expect that they'll meet someday. Will they see the similarities? 

 

 

 

My real mom (below left in red) and my French "mom" (that is, the mom of my friend Christine, who hosts us when we go to Normandy) are both retired teacher/school directors, and they remind me so much of each other in terms of demeanor and interests. I believe they will have a chance to meet this spring here in France, and that means I have half a year to improve and correct my grammar in both English and French.

 

 

 

And if you know my daughters, and know that they occasionally model, you can understand why I do a double take in Picard, when I see this face peering out at me from a cookbook.

 

 

In this case, her doppelgänger (left) got the modeling fee and the glory that should have been Gigi's (right). Bummer.

 

 

 

So when will I next see your smiling face, and where? Only your doppelgänger knows...

 

 

 

So Long, Dong Sarong

The sun is setting earlier, the leaves are starting to fall, and it is time to mourn not just the end of French bathing suit season, but -- perhaps -- the end of a French bathing suit itself.

Yes, it's another posting that discusses the European men's Speedo, which I recently named the Teeny-Weeny Monokini. However, in an epiphany that hit me like a bolt of lightning, I realized I should have titled it the Teeny Weeny MANokini, not MONokini. But are the days of the Banana Hammock, the Grape Smuggler, the Nantucket Nad Bucket, the Ballbushka, the Nugget-Hug-It, the Manberry Pudding Pack, the Daytona Dong Sarong, and the Saint-Tropez Truffle Duffle really over? (In case you're wondering where I got these names: The Internet truly does have everything and more.)

The Manokini's monopoly -- the Manokiniopoly? -- may indeed be over (except, of course, at all public pools, where it is still the only legal option, bien sûr). There are some distinct pros and cons of wearing the "new" American-style bathing suit:

Advantages:                                                             Disadvantages:                                                            
Comfortable when dry, like shorts                           Clings to legs when wet, so possibly less            
                                                                                              comfortable
Covers more surface area --                                    Upper thighs cannot get beautifully bronzed
                 less sunscreening, less sunburning
More room for patterns and designs                        Obvious when it's last year's pattern           
Leaves more to the imagination                               Can't display one's manhood in all its glory
Looks hip, like a California beach boy                      Looks sloppy, like a California beach bum

 

It's not just for the young, but also the young at heart:

 

All of these shots are, indeed, taken this summer on French beaches (Bretagne to be specific). But if you feel like hanging out on a beach in France with a man in an Ouch Pouch is the only way to really feel like you're in Europe, you're still in luck...for now. 

 

Will pants with the crotch down by the knees be next? Uh-oh....too late.