And so it comes to an end…

I’ve finally arrived back in the US. What a month year it has been. I continue to find myself at a loss for words when others ask me how Cambodia was or even how France was. How does one summarize so many experiences into a little soundbite? How do you explain the ups and downs of life in Cambodia, the intensity of emotions there? How can you accurately describe the overwhelming beauty of Paris after a year sweating it out in Phnom Penh or the intoxicating fragrances of a summer Provençal market?

For me, it’s easier to think about these matters in terms of easily digestible lists. Lists of favorite memories, of things I’ll miss, of things I’m happy to leave behind.

So, with that in mind, here goes:

Favorite Memories of France/Spain:

• The flight into Paris and being unable to stop smiling the entire descent into Charles de Gaulle airport – and just generally being unable to stop smiling those first few days. I remember feeling so blissfully happy that I teared up a few times (yes, I know, I’m ridiculous).
• Walking down the little street where I stayed in Paris. There were bakeries, fromageries, charchuteries, fruit and veg stands, patisseries…

• Impulsively buying a bouquet of flowers from a woman in the street my first day in Paris – and then smelling them every time I walked into my room.
• That first sandwich in Paris. Oh. The. Deliciousness.
• Finding a Sephora so I could spritz on some Coco Chanel and apply some red lipstick immediately upon setting out on my adventures the first day in Paris.
• My first pain au chocolat.
• My first macaron.
• The hilarious guy in the Marché des Enfants Rouges, dancing and singing while he made galettes. Every time a piece of food fell out of the galette he was making, he just picked it up and ate it. (p.s. that’s him in the upper left corner of the picture below)
• How easy it was to take beautiful pictures. Everything was just begging to be photographed.
• Realizing how delicious cheese is. Never again will I buy sub-par cheese. NEVER!
• The random afternoon with Pascal and David. Who can argue with a private concert?
• Stumbling into unexpected, beautiful little alleys. It felt like I was stepping through the Looking Glass each time.
• The little dogs everywhere. Little dogs in the grocery stores, little dogs in restaurants, little dogs running wild in the park. Little dogs!! Especially liked following this little guy around Nice:

• Carousels!
• Street art in Marseille.

• Everything about Marie’s apartment in Marseille.
• The first night in Marseille – the random little jazz concert happening in a bar down an obscure alley, being taken around the town by Marie, her boyfriend and his friend. What a strange group we were…
• Getting lost in the labyrinth-like Le Panier district of Marseille. It’s the old part of the city and is a maze of winding, narrow roads only wide enough for pedestrians or a small scooter.

• Emailing pictures of the washing machine’s dials to Crystal to get her advice on how to use the stupid thing after I had (unsuccessfully) spent over an hour trying to figure it out on my own…and then realizing how simple it was.
• Swimming in the FREEZING water at the Calanques. The water was the most beautiful blue – completely clear yet still a deep blue…but it was still freezing. It took me AGESSSSS — and heaps of persuading by older French women (“Il faut aller!”) to work up the courage to dive in (I’m a pansy when it comes to plunging into cold water. I maintain I have more nerves in the skin on my stomach than normal people).

 

• My friendship with Céline – drinking tea together in the afternoon and sharing stories of our struggles to find a “home” in the world. She was so open and thoughtful and clearly spent a lot of time thinking about various issues, herself and her role in the world. I really admire her and am collecting memories of her to store in my little “inspirational people” box.
• The Audrey Hepburn chair in Saint-Paul-de-Vence:

• The farmers market in Nice. Ohhhh the beauttyyy!! Flower, nectarines, peaches, cherries, tomatoes, BEAUTIFUL bread, cheese, vendors yelling over each other to offer the lowest price…
• Going to a nice dinner by myself in Montpellier and ordering a glass of wine (that I couldn’t finish – weenie).
• The wine and food street festival – LOVEEDDDD ITTTTTT.

Sparkling roosééééééé

• Shopping in Montpellier. Everyone was SO kind and helpful! The woman I bought a dress from offered me suggestions on outfits to make with the dress, accessories to pair it with, etc. You truly feel valued and seen as a person, not just a credit card.
• Watching street performers in Montpellier and Avignon.
• Arriving in Ruth’s apartment in Barcelona and immediately feeling welcomed and at home.
• Dancing at a bonafide salsa club (wooohooo!!!).
• Staying at the club where Ruth worked til she got off at 6am, then immediately going to a boat party on the Mediterranean at 9:30am. Nothing like zombie-mode to keep you going.
• Dancing and swimming on said boat party.
• Zipping around Barcelona on motos with Ruth and her sister.
• Realizing friendships have transcended country boundaries.

You know you’re in Carrboro when…

As you are walking to the co-op, an old man stops while driving past you to tell you you’re wearing a “wonderful dress.”

I’m. Not. Leaving.

Sorry, visa regulators. You will have to find a loophole around this whole “3 month visa” thing because I’m just not leaving. It’s that simple. You understand how it is when you’ve found your home, right?

It’s my last night in France, and I have never been so sad to leave somewhere. Yes, I know, I should have been this sad to leave Cambodia.

…but I wasn’t.

My rambles here might be at least in part due to the street party I just went to where 5 euros bought you 3 tastes (degustations) of wine (and by “taste,” I’m talking a serious pour – not those skimpy little sips we’re accustomed to in the ol’ US of A). Rosé, brut rosé and muscat? Yes to all of those, thanks. OH! And there was a plate of tapas, too. Nomnomonomnomnomnom.

For proof:

Sparkling roosééééééé

This country just feels like home in a way nowhere else ever has. I feel bolder, more alive, more confident, ready to conquer the world. When I’m out alone here, like tonight or earlier this week when I went to a nice dinner alone, I don’t feel sheepish or awkward. On the contrary, I feel proud and strong.

I finally bought red lipstick today. A perfect red. Creamy, luxurious, smooth, bold. I feel like a femme fatale when I wear it. 

Peut-être c’est la dernière nuit pour ces vacances, mais ce n’est pas la dernière nuit.

Please leave your Fedoras at home.

Wearing a Fedora in the Côte d’Azur is like wearing the band’s t-shirt to their concert.

In short, unacceptable.

That being said, I’ll overlook it just this once since Nice is so beautiful.

I found New Orleans’ inspiration.

Marseille.

It’s a city on the coast of France, and, if memory serves me correctly, is the oldest city in France – and boy do you ever feel that age! The city is so different from Paris that it’s hard to remember it’s the same country. Whereas Paris is clean, chic, refined, romantic, Marseille is rough, dirty, flawed.

But it’s these quirks that make it so lovable. 

There is a lot of poverty in the city, and when you tell French folks from other areas you’re going to Marseille, they immediately caution you to watch your bag because of all the pickpockets. Apparently Marseille has cleaned up its act a bit since being selected as the Cultural Capital of Europe, but it still has a very distinctive vibe. The city feels worn, like it has seen some hard times – and it certainly has. In a very distinct difference from many other cities, there doesn’t seem to be a pure “majority” in terms of demographic or ethnicity. The city is 10% Jewish, 20% Muslim and a whole host of other percentages of religions/cultures. A walk through the city is like a journey through surrounding regions – Northern Africa, Greece, Israel, West Africa, Corsica, Spain, Italy…the list is endless. Yesterday morning, I took a tour of the markets. At one sprawling market of food and spices, I had the sense that I was back in Morocco, with the women wearing headscarves and all the honey and sesame pastries. Just minutes later, I was in a market of cheap clothes and knock-off goods and immediately was rushed back to the markets of Phnom Penh. A few blocks over from these exotics locales, you find yourself in the Vieux Port, where you are reminded you’re actually in Europe.

I’m staying with the most incredible woman here that I found through a great website called airbnb. Basically, people who have some extra space in their house or apartment (or maybe not! Sometimes they just sleep in their living room and give you their bedroom) rent out part of their apartment/house. It’s generally a much better deal than staying in a hotel and lends to a much richer travel experience, in my opinion at least. Marie has been phenomenal. When I first arrived from Avignon on the train, I hopped on the metro and walked to her apartment building (or at least what I thought was hers). Being the spaz I am, I forgot to write down her last name, which I needed to know so I could buzz her and be let in. So I tried to decide which last name went best with her first name and started buzzing random people. No one responded, but a curmudgeonly old woman did come out the door. I asked her if she knew Marie, to which she replied, “No,” with a scowl. During our conversation, or rather her attempts to determine whether this vagabond on her steps was a serial killer, I somehow managed to get my pack stuck in the door. Trying to pull yourself out of an old French door while simultaneously trying not to fall from the weight of the other two bags you’re carrying is a difficult feat, even more so when you are also attempting to prove your honor to a skeptical old woman. Fortunately, I sorted myself out (no thanks to the witchy old woman). I stood on the step for a few more minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Suddenly, a woman popped up next to me and asked if I was Katie. YAYY!! I was rescued by Marie! Apparently I was at the wrong building. 🙂

Walking into her apartment was like stepping into a dream. It smelled heavenly and reminded me of Mom’s house in the way that each room had its own distinctive smell – the bathroom smelled like Marie’s perfume (Clinique Aromatics), the bathroom like geranium and rose essential oil, the kitchen like nectarines and coffee. In fact, the smells of the flat are so distinctive that it’s the best way for me to tell which apartment is hers when I get mixed up in the hallway. My room is magnificent. It’s airy and feel spacious, due to the high ceiling. I even have a balcony!

 

My room: 

Living room:

Kitchen:

The View:

 

Probably way more detail than you ever wanted, but I am obsessed with this place.

Anyway, back to words… My first evening, Marie invited me to a gathering of Airbnb hosts. We took a scenic tour through the city that involved us being invited to take a picture with three women at a restaurant after Marie intentionally photobombed the one they were taking and arrived at a rather swanky restaurant where there were free appetizers and wine waiting for us. There was rose (of course) and all sorts of Provencal specialties, including: these little cups that contained some sort of yogurty-cheese (terrible description for something that tasted great!! maybe a very soft chevre?) with olive oil, sardines and roasted bell peppers; fries made of chick peas (panisses) (AMAZING!); smoked ham (jambon espagnol) and so many other tasty treats. It was amazing. After the meet ‘n’ greet, we met up with her boyfriend and his friend (maybe also an airbnb guest?) and set out to go to a classic Marseille bar – Bar de la Marine. On the way, we heard some jazz and popped into a tiny little bar to listen for a few songs. It was a perfect introduction to Marseille, and Marie was an incredible host. She is such a vivacious, fun woman, and I will be sad to move on from her. Each morning, she served me a cup of coffee (thank heavens French folks know how to make coffee at home even if they only drink espresso when they’re out) and helped me plan my day. Correction: she essentially told me what to do and where to go. For someone who is a bit tired of trying to sort these things out, it was exactly what I needed. Her advice was perfect and led me to all sorts of quirky little areas in the city. 

But, alas, tomorrow is a new day with a new train ride to a new city: Nice.

Bisous, mes cheris.

Really found home this time.

Never. Leaving. Marseille. Or. My. Beautiful. Room. Here.

Especially. Not. After. Two. Glasses. Of. Rose. And. A. Visit. To. A. Savonnerie.

Please. Visit.

The best people watching in the world.

I arrived in Avignon a few days ago. It’s a beautiful, quiet little town in southern France. Well, it’s normally quiet. Presently, it is host to a massive theater festival, so the streets are FILLED with tourists and people trying to draw you into their shows. No holds are barred when it comes to getting your attention. I’ve seen an alien reading a newspaper, a fake dead body and crime scene tape and people dressed in all sorts of costumes, heard singing, shouting and carols… It’s quite something to see. Honesty, I’ve had the most fun just wandering the streets and people watching. So much of my time here has been spent laughing audibly at the sights and people around me. A great feeling for sure 🙂

My last day in Paris was…something.  How to even begin to describe it… The woman with whom I was staying, Pascale, is an artist in every sense. Very creative, sees the world through a rather unique perspective, tends to isolate as she finds other people a bit exhausting and just stupid (to use her words). Overall, a colorful character. She arranged to have her boyfriend, David, a professional pianist, to put on a small concert for us in his apartment on my last afternoon. I met her at his place around 16h30 and was greeted by her in hushed whispers. I didn’t question why we were whispering – I just assumed it was something important to David’s creative process. I followed suit and kept quiet. 

After about 15 minutes, David came in. He was very professional about it, and I think had dressed up for the occasion (?). His hair was long-ish and wild in the classical pianist sort of way – the kind of hair that shakes and moves with intense playing. He stiffly greeted me, handed me a program and began to play. 

He played a selection including Bach, Stravinsky and Beethoven, and is a phenomenal musician. I don’t think I have ever seen a musician of his caliber. After the first song, he stood from the piano, bowed, left the room for a few minutes and then returned to play the next song. The whole concert was conducted with such formality that I didn’t quite know what to do with myself, being the spazz that I am.

Fortunately, after it was over, he returned to “normal,” or at least his level of normal which remains quite quirky (the guy is, after all, a professional classical pianist). Pascale and David had bought some INCREDIBLE desserts for us to have over tea after the concert, and Pascale and I waited on the terrace while David prepared the tea. Pretty soon, he came wheeling this little cart with a complete tea set – matching porcelain cups, saucers and tea pot. It was quite elaborate. 
We then set out for a walk after tea – what a sight we must have been! David with his wild musician hair and very eccentric outfit of a man purse, soft yellow bell-bottom-ish chinos, a plaid button up shirt, cologne he had applied before leaving for his “charming company” and oversized red linen jacket; Pascal with her flaming red hair and scowl; and me, with my general spazziness. We did attract quite a few stares, I must say.

After much bickering between Pascal and David about what to do for dinner, we decided to go to his apartment and have a light salad and bread. Imagine my surprise when David wheels out a full multi-course menu consisting of wine, olives and proscuitto for an appetizer, lamb, lentils, salad, bread and risotto for an entree, cheese for dessert and a little sliver of a cake to take with coffee. Some salad and bread – sheesh! It was overall a very enjoyable evening and entertaining company and certainly the best meal I had had while in France thus far.

Tomorrow, I head to Marseille for a few days. I’m growing SO weary of booking places to stay. So, if someone feels bored and wants to take over that job for me, PLEASE do 🙂

Bisous!

I’m sorry, macarons.

Apparently I have misjudged you all this time. You’re actually delightful. 

 

Crossing things off the French bucket list.

• Eat pain au chocolat and drink espresso.
• Have a dinner of five different cheeses, a baguette and red wine on a balcony while it’s still light at 9:30pm.
• Become a French citizen.

 

EEEKKKK!! Am so absurdly excited and happy. The

EEEKKKK!! Am so absurdly excited and happy. The bulk of my first day in Paris, I had to fight back tears of sheer excitement. I honestly cannot remember the last time I was this blissfully happy. Everything about this city makes me feel alive and rejuvenated. – the crowds of people sitting at cafes drinking wine with their lunch (a stereotype that is actually true), the lines of people winding through the sidewalks at patisseries, the FOOOOOOD, the random pop-up markets, the architecture…I haven’t felt this free in years. 

My first day was quintessentially French. I arrived, stopped at the first boulangerie I saw for lunch (a baguette with cured ham, lettuce, tomato, pesto) and then popped into a Sephora to put on some red lipstick and a squirt of Coco Chanel Mademoiselle. I then wandered the streets through some pop-up markets, was asked on a date by a random guy who approached me in the sidewalk (don’t worry – I said no), ate a crepe with ham and emmanetal for dinner at 9pm. 

As I was walking, I had this thought of wanting to forget all my future plans and just move here to work in a bakery. Nowhere has ever felt more like home or more healing. 

Oh, and I saw Audrey Hepburn graffiti yesterday. YESSSSS.