Joha

Joha is a Muslim folk hero- he is known as Mullah Nasrudin in India/Pakistan - Hoja or Khoja in Turkey - Joha in the Middle East and Goha in Egypt. We have learned about him through Tahir Shah's book In Arabian Nights, kindly lent by Alec and Briony and which we are thoroughly enjoying. We have each begun to poke around for other tales of this uniquely eastern wise fool.

Here is one I liked today:


"Friends," announced Joha, "I have discovered the cause of all problems!"

Everyone was attentive.

"It is people providing 'solutions' " proclaimed Joha.


In the desert by the way, we covered 85km in two and half days with our guide Hatar and cook Abdul. We told jokes and riddles and sang songs at the fire, walked in silence and in conversation, found seashells and fossils, baked bread in the sand, climbed up dunes and down them, learned about camel diets and never showered once. It was great.

Sahara

High Atlas Mountains

Walking through scripture landscapes, arid mountains cradling the lush green of the river valley.

Pomegranate= pomme graine= apple of seeds= the true fruit of Eden?

Breakfast in Assaka including hot bread in that blanket, cooked directly on the coals that morning.
Produce of the valley: almonds, olives, carrots, green beans, and some giant squash variety, much too large for this photo.
Evening in Assaka, tea on the 'terrace' to the soothing braying of donkeys
The whole walk was like this, perfect weather on scenery from another millenia.

Morocco

TANGIER

Outside our bedroom window in the morning:

Breakfast on the rooftop:

almond cake, latkes, homemade doughnuts, homemade apple sauce, pomegranate, couscous pudding, some kind of cottage cream cheese, creme caramel, fresh squeezed orange juice, coffee, mint tea

Exploring the palace gardens at the Kasbah museum

Where we found in abundance:

And looked over the wall to see the bay of Tangier:

On into the Medina (old city) where we saw, among many other things:

Out into the "Ville Nouvelle" and main town square full of new and not-so-new characters alike:

Continuing to wander the streets further afield, relishing moment after moment:

Paris wrap-up

Well, a lot of course happened in my last month in Paris, life got busier and I stopped writing. But here are some scattered images to give you a sketch of what was going down.

Way back before Matt arrived I went to get an extra key cut. This was the shop I chose to patronize. And would again if I only had reason. I had Matt come back with me later just to take pictures, none of which could really capture the depth of it. Just so many key parts and brick-a-brack.

After Matt arrived I was inspired to do more touristy things again, like go to the Rodin museum. Where we enjoyed watching live people as much as the sculptures:

While wiling away a few hours before dinner we meandered through the Christmas market on the Champs Elysees where we could peruse quintessential Frenchness condensed into stands displaying wares such as in this mountainous array of cheeses. The hot mulled wine hit just the spot though and we were surprised to find we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves amongst the usual kitsch.

Perhaps less evident but equally french to me, the Barbapapa stand, whose proprietor in this case reminded me somewhat of the Barbapapa family.

Then there was the chance encounter with Xiao Lin whom I had met in Taiwan in 2008 and happened to be performing in a show we went to see at the Theatre de Chaillot. I was thrilled to see her- she said it is like a Chinese saying about how two people meet on a circle and the circle is complete when they meet again.

Galettes and other good things

Here is a quick recipe I picked up from my flatmate. He comes from Bretagne (Britanny?) so perhaps the recipe does too, but I'm not sure. They are like the swedish oatmeal pancakes my aunt Andrea once introduced to me but you can taste also they're relationship to crepes.

• EGG one per person
• CREAM or creme fraiche, creme legere, I've found plain yogurt works well, I bet you could even do soymilk. enough to lighten the egg and not end up with an omelette
• OATS he used 'son d'avoine' which is somewhere in between oats and oat flour and looks a lot like wheat germ, I have used regular oats, uncooked (but not those hardcore steel-cut, which I don't think would work) or I'm sure any combination thereof. I think really however much you want, depending on the thickness of your (non)dairy
• optional SUGAR a dash if you feel like it but they're lovely without

Then that's it, beat the ingredients together, pour onto a hot skillet, and cook like pancakes!

I've been cutting and cooking an apple or a pear in the leftover ginger water from making tea and piling that on top. Highly recommended.

I successfully roasted chestnuts at home last week. This time I purchased rather than gathered so as not to poison myself. Very satisfying snack.

Tried chestnut cream/puree with nutella on a hot crepe one rainy day- that was divine.

The bakery around the corner makes the best millefeuilles/'napoleon' I think I've ever had. They forgo the sugar-coat topping and instead caramelize the pastry leaves. Um, yum.

Sorry no photos this round, this entry is for the imagination in your taste buds. And the recipe! Which you should all try and see what good variations we can gather.

Fete des Vendanges

In my experience it is always a good idea to wander out from one's abode on any given Parisian weekend. This past Sunday I meandered up to Montmartre where they were celebrating the Fete des Vendanges which is the Harvest Festival- I think especially referring to the grape harvest which then of course means wine:

I asked the man on the right in this photo about the water boiling contraption below but I'm not sure I could trust the answer he gave with a twinkling eyes about discovering how to boil water only to be informed later that humans had in fact figured this out long ago. And then he gave some anecdote about pulling the beast by the horns out of the water? I could tell no amount of further questioning would bring me to any logical understanding of the thing, so instead I took a photo and wished I still had 3euros for a cup of hot wine.

Apparently there are in fact vineyards in the city tucked up on the hillside of Sacre Coeur- urban farming anyone? And Montmarte is it's own republic with a drum band:

They joined up for one number with the accordionist at the Raclette stand- mmm melting cheese. So the festival consisted mostly of stands where various regions sold their goods- and these were mostly wines but along with the raclette there were several excellently rustic foods to be savored: potatoes and Mont d'Or cheese, Pondarin goat rounds, oysters, escargots, and this very impressive sausage stand where I have to say I thought fondly of Kyle.

As an aside here I am also including this article which a friend recently sent: Lost in Paris. A travel writer describes his experience attempting to rediscover this city he already knows and loves. And, with the exception of his purchase of a 200 euro umbrella, I find myself having many of the same reactions.

Nuit Blanche

This weekend the most important event was seeing my friend Carolyn who is here working forStella McCartney for Fashion Week. Our visit had nothing to do with that, but it's a wonderfully glamourous excuse to see each other.

On my way home, I biked home through the various events of Paris' "Nuit Blanche" which is an all-night city-wide celebration of modern art. More on that here.

But without too much explanation, I offer a few of the visions I saw on this curious night of all-out art.

"Black Cloud" by Carlos Amorales

they're made of paper, 30 000 in all

this installation I found stunning. a tangible reverence in the viewers

"Dance (All Night/Paris)" by Melanie Manchot

the film: dancers of all kinds each dancing 'to the beat of their own drummers'

the same courtyard that night where dancers and participants alike moved to the music being played on headsets distributed to the crowd. similar effect I think as a flash mob

"No Man is an Island II"

a film by Jesper Just

presented in a club called Le Divan du Monde in Montmartre.

You can see this short film 'suspended between drama and humor' reflecting on masculine solitude and identity here.

I watched it twice.

Birthday

A picnic with my classmates by the canal. Stunningly beautiful day. We shared food and songs in the grass by the boats. Nationalities represented: French, Italian, Portuguese, Bolivian, English-Iraqi, English-Irish, Canadian, Colombian.

Now, the great thing about celebrating with all these cultures, is I get to hear about all these other birthday traditions. For example my Bolivian friend tells me that once everyone has sung Happy Birthday, the birthday girl or boy has to "bite the cake" ("bite it, bite!" would be the chant translated). The key of course is to sneak in your bite before your friends get to do this:

A perhaps more elegant addition to the birthday festivities comes from my Greek classmate who sang me the greek birthday song- which is not at all like the one we know. Different tune and everything. But I love it- more like a wish or a blessing for one's life than a celebration of the single day:

May you live a long life

and grow old

with white hair.

May you grow wise

and wherever you are

spread the light of wisdom

that everyone may say, there

is a wise person.

A rough translation. I know everybody scoffs at the white hair bit, but it sounds like a lovely eventuality to me. I'd rather embrace aging on a day that marks it than fear or mock it. Certainly has the potential for a lifelong mindshifting.

Thank you all, family and friends old and new for sending me so much love and good wishes on my birthday. I am indeed a very lucky girl.

La Recolte

Making myself at home in the shared courtyard. Here is my journaling corner for the afternoon (access through the window):

And following the example of a little girl and her grandmother I said hello to here last week, today I went hunting for chestnuts. Here is my harvest:

Now, marrons glacees? or roasted? Though maybe I should first verify they're edible. As I look into it, I see horse chestnuts are in fact poisonous... thank you, thorough research.

Apartment Found

The apartment search was dizzying. This shot is from halfway down one of my visits. We all knew Paris likes to keep things small- cafe tables, portions, cars, roads, waistlines and kitchens- for those who remember my last one, among other things. But I still couldn't help but be shocked at the 9m sq 'chambre de bonne' (maid's room) I went to visit. Somehow in these 9m the owner had managed to fit a washing machine, fridge, dishwasher, sink, counter, bunk beds for 2, and a bathtub! These left so little room that even I, small though I may be, felt like I was crowding myself while standing alone. So the lovely little dream of living for the first time completely on my own in a cute little room in the attic of an old parisian building, overlooking rooftops- was not to be.

Instead I have found a lovely ground-floor apartment in the 17e arrondissement. Very close to my friends and not far from the Sacre Coeur. I share it with a young french actor who is absolutely darling. It still won't seem big to most of my American readers, but my bedroom is large enough to walk across and the kitchen has a table that seats 6.

Major selling points:

The building's private courtyard you walk through to come in (my window is on the left)

The typically french window (which I do continue to romanticize) in my bedroom. I have twice now been teased as Juliette.

The fabulous park 2 blocks away that has this, the most awesome carousel I've ever seen. Pigs, flying cars, real bicycles stuck on from who knows where and a perfectly too-big operator. I hope it runs all year.

Fashion's Night Out

Une vraie soiree. Apparently I arrived just in time for this Vogue event that takes place in NY, London, and Paris on the same night each year. The idea, as I've been made to understand is that the big Fashion Houses where normally those who can't afford are frowned on at the door, instead open their doors to the general public (well, by invitation only found in your september copy of Vogue magazine) and then they serve us lots of champagne on black trays while we wander around gazing at dresses we could never buy. The crowds on the sidewalk are crazy of course- everyone cramming at the doors to get a glimpse of the various famous people making appearances. Everyone in their best ensemble (the atrocities people get themselves in to in the name of fashion- my goodness). And then of course bouncers editing the entrance. But we had uproarious fun, thanks primarily to my very in-the-know hosts Aoife and Maria Jose who eyed their way in for us to two otherwise closed or over-crowded doors.

We walked away having tasted fine horsd'oeuvres, followed by a delicate fleurs-d'orangier macaron and a complimentary bottle of the first scent by Elie Saab whose dresses we oggled- truly things of beauty and elegance. I also accepted a free manicure at Chloe.

My nails are a lovely clementine today.

So nous voila, les filles, a la fete:

It might not look like I'm having fun, but I am- I just have my model face on.

Return to Paris

In my first week here I have often opted to walk to my various destinations, often leading to welcome detours where I found myself on a funny little hidden street or one I once knew very well (as along the canal St Martin above). Here I am surprised to feel like perhaps I never actually left. So little has changed, I might have last lived here only a month ago. And so I take a moment to wonder in what ways I have changed and cannot help but feel I have been myself forever.

Something new, apres tout. Locks- of love it would seem based on their sharpie inscriptions, along the Pont des Arts.

Painter in the 6th. I am waiting for a crepe as I steal this shot.

Follow the rules. On the Quay de la Seine.

La Seine

Lunch in Montreal

So, you know, on my way to Paris I just thought I might stop over and have lunch in Montreal. Why not? Fortunately my travel plans had accidentally obliged accordingly. Just as I was taking off I got a phone call from Itzel to tell me she would pick me up and we took it from there. So rather than a grueling 5 hr stint in the Montreal airport waiting for my transatlantic, I traipsed about a very sunny Montreal with Andrew and Itzel, meandering along the canal, having lunch at the market- life is short, eat dessert first- and so we did: pistachio, caramel burnt maple, and pear sorbet ice cream. Then a little jaunt to Kaira's preschool where she showed me toy microphones to inspire future stardom. We made squirting noises over an empty bottle of ketchup then spent a long and diligent time carefully cleaning up with a broom the invisible ketchup that had then of course splurted on the floor. Here we are running back down the 'mountain' outside to the car.

Only slightly nerve-wracking traffic on my way to make my connecting flight in a surprisingly forgiving amount of time (despite an emergency roadside pee break demanded from the carseat rider). And then, a quick jaunt across the pond...