Journal Entry 38

October 12th, 2004

"Windmills and Roquefort"

 

I left off, freshly arrived in Vilnius, Lithuania. I spent several days in this wonderful city...visits to the huge daily market for fresh bread and vegetables and mushrooms and honeycomb, walks around the old town's twisted streets and ancient buildings, taking in concerts at the biannual 'Griezyne' folk music festival, and sampling the Lithuanian diet of beer and cepelinas (an artery clogging concoction which consists of a big chunk of seasoned minced meat, encased in a thick layer of potato dough, soaked and fried in oil, and served with a huge dollop of sour cream).

My last night in Vilnius, en route to an early bedtime (I was getting up at 5am to catch a bus), I fell in with some musicians from Belorussia who weren't going to bed until their vodka was finished. Graciously, I helped them. As a result, my next day--the early morning followed by a 24-hr bus journey across Poland and Germany--wasn't the highlight of my trip.

Nor did it get much better as I tried to hitchhike from Bremen, Germany to Groningen, Netherlands. Not only did I have poor luck getting rides, I got picked up by the German police for being where I wasn't supposed to. Oops.

In the end, I bit the bullet and took a train--the 2-hr ride cost more than a 48-hr train ride across China--welcome to Europe!

Since that day (13 September), I haven't been alone. My first stop was in Thesinge, Netherlands, to visit my friends Hans and Anja, who I met in Tibet 21 months ago. They live in a small village along a canal. I spent my time there being lazy, listening to music, talking and eating with my friends, and going for bicycle rides amid picturesque canals and fields and windmills.

Next stop: Montfoort, near Utrecht, also in the Netherlands, this time to visit Jon and Josie, friends I met in Indonesia 27 months ago. I joined them for a weekend sailing trip aboard a 23-metre boat from 1910, originally used for hauling sand and miscellany up and down the Dutch coast. The rest of the time with them, we drove around the countryside and saw windmills, a castle, a local fair, The Hague, and the beach (on a dreary cold rainy day).

I got a chance to try several uniquely-Dutch food specialties: stroopwafels (a little waffle sandwich filled with syrup and eaten alone or with a cup of coffee, slightly warmed), oliebollen (a lumpy doughnut-type thing that's fried and dusted--or rather engulfed--in powdered sugar after the dough has sat overnight), jenever (smooth Dutch gin, nursed in a bruin cafe...a pub with smoke-stained rafters and white-and-blue tiled walls and an ancient stove for winter heating), Grolsch beer, and haring (raw, skinned herring with onions--you hold it by the tail and lower it into your mouth...a bit slimy).

On 21 September, my mom arrived in Amsterdam, 28 months since I saw her. This was her first time out of the country. We walked around Amsterdam's canals and narrow streets and skinny houses. We visited a few small villages...amazingly picturesque with their leaning brick facades and flower-lined canals. And we sat in restaurants and cafes, chatting and staying out of the rain. Then we left Holland.

What I'll remember about the Netherlands is the stereotypical Dutch landscape--it actually IS windmills and charming farmhouses that still use reed-thatched roofs and cows and canals and brick buildings and flat green pastures. And revisiting old friends. And food. But I never met a Dutch person wearing wooden shoes.

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Next stop: Paris. My former visits to Europe have been relentless whistlestop adventures, but now I've settled down to relaxed, unambitious enjoyment. Long walks, a few stops such as the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, Rodin Museum, and the beautiful hilltop Sacre-Couer church which at sunset gets this wonderful pink glow. Even visited a huge weekend flea market and stopped in a restaurant with live chanson music (don't know how to describe this except very old-fashioned). And visits to fromageries (cheese shops with a dazzling array of...cheese), boulangeries (bakeries), and cafes with brilliant coffee, chocolate, and expressos.

After Paris, we picked up a rental car and hit the French countryside. We took in three regions of France. Our little tour began in the Burgundy region, south and east of Paris. Then east and south some more to Chamonix, in Savoie (the French Alps). And finally to Alsace, on the German border. We also spent a night each in Jura (near Switzerland) and Champagne.

First, some rough geographical descriptions:
* Burgundy: rolling hills, castles and old churches and abbeys, vineyards, villages with stone houses and creeping vines.
* Savoie: impossibly winding roads, towering snow-capped peaks, hilly pastures, chalets, and a cablecar ride up and across a glacier with amazing views of Mont Blanc.
* Alsace: more vineyards, houses that look German, canals, geraniums on every windowsill, more castles, and the Unterlinden museum (really nice old paintings).
* Jura: low mountains, pastures filled with cows and cowbells, and forests of trees with full autumn colours of gold, orange, and crimson.
* Champagne: vineyards packed with grape-pickers as harvest in just under way.

But now for the descriptions that count (not all are necessarily local specialties in the regions listed, though most are):

* Burgundy: anise-seed candy, boeuf bourguignon (rare beef simmered in red wine with mushrooms), fromage blanc (smooth cottage cheese served as dessert with sugar and blackcurrant sauce), kir (blackcurrant liqueur with chilled dry white wine), Epoisses cheese (soft, tastes like fresh cow), escargots de Bourgogne (snails served in the shell with butter, garlic, and parsley), and fresh blackberries that I found in some prickly bushes near a parking lot! And we toured a wine-cellar and tasted 16 Burgundian wines, creme de cassis (blackcurrant liqueur), and marc (the local paint thinner, I believe). My orientation went to hell after emerging from that cellar...imagine.

* Savoie: Saint-Marcellin cheese (very soft, a bit mild), raclette (raclette cheese cooked on a portable burner, then spread over uncooked, thinly-sliced ham and potatoes and pickles and new onions), petit four (Beaufort cheese melted over fluffy pastries), Morbier cheese (medium, with a dark streak running through the middle), local sausages embedded with nuts.

* Jura: saucisse de Morteau (local sausage with melted cheese sauce), tarte myrtille (a pie of sorts with berries), anis Portmelier (anise-flavoured aperitif, pre-meal drink), Mont d'Or cheese (quite soft, very tasty, made with unpasteurized milk, several people died in Switzerland a decade ago from bacterial poisoning, after eating the Swiss equivalent).

* Alsace: vin nouveau (literally 'new wine', made during harvest from grapes that only have fermented a few days, very sweet, low in alcohol, saw parents give it to their little children), pretzels, fois gras de canard (very expensive and smooth pate made with liver from force-fed geese), tarte a l'oignon (onion pie), tarte flambee nature (like a thin pizza crust with creme, onions, and garlic), Edelzwicker and Tokay Pinot Gris wines (local grape varieties).

In addition, I've had numerous types of bread (baguettes and croissants and lots of others whose names fail me) and wine (in France, usually identified by region, not grape variety) and fromage de tete (head cheese, literally a pate made from gelatin and parts inside an animal's head) and terrine (another mysterious meat-based concoction).

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Mom left. And now I'm staying in Paris with Dominique and Aline, who I met 17 months ago while trekking in the Himalayas. We haven't seen or done too much, aside from visiting the local market, chatting, and...you may have guessed...eating! Our first evening together, we prepared cailles au raisin flambees (little birds stuffed with pate and raisins and cognac, then stewed with grapes and figs and cognac, then flambeed with...cognac). They introduced me to several new cheeses: Roquefort (moldy and very strong, but tastes incredible!), Tomme (hard, average), Etorky (hard, from a goat), Comte (hard, nutty, very good), Camembert (smells horrid like old people's feet, tastes good, creamy), and Munster (another soft smelly cheese). Also fromage blanc (cottage cheese) covered with creme fraiche (fresh unpasteurized creme) and sugar. And beurre (fresh salted butter, good on everything). The other night we had a dinner party with tajine (North African chicken stew) and charlotte chocolate poire (chocolate mousse-pear upside-down cake). And last night, after taking in a Vivaldi performance at Saint-Chapelle, we had American apple pie (my first attempt, moderately successful).

In addition, I've discovered that Marmite seems to have a natural affinity to Comte cheese, so perhaps the English and French can use this to further their international relations.
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Two quotes are worth mentioning here:

"The French eat long and well. Relaxed lunches, three-hour dinners, and endless hours sitting in outdoor cafes are the norm. They have a legislated 35-hour workweek and a self-imposed 36-hour eat-week." (Rick Steves' France guidebook)

"It is impossible to govern a country that produces 370 types of cheese." (Charles de Gaulle, not exact words)

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It's been really great to spend the past several weeks with my mother, and old friends that I met while travelling.

The theme of my trip, if there was one, was to buy a tube of toothpaste in each country. I missed South Korea, and things have really gone to hell from there. Russia, yes, but none of the Baltic States. Sometimes I wonder if it's worth going on now.

I can honestly say that of all the countries I've visited to date, France would be my top choice for somewhere to live, if I were to do such a thing. I like people who care so much about quality of life, food, drink, and leisure.

No, I have not gained weight, though my form is perhaps not what it once was.

Soon, a slight change of pace is in order...strange things happen to arbitrary plans that change on a whim...I'm on my own again...

"If I ever acquire wisdom I suppose I shall be wise enough to know what to do with it." (W. Somerset Maugham, 'The Razor's Edge')

 

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