tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63341832923037247242024-02-06T21:17:56.624-08:00à la mariaa little candle in the city of lightMariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-13017670436229164232011-05-01T12:53:00.000-07:002011-05-01T12:53:12.082-07:00"Berbers are the Scots of Morocco."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The Berbers are the Scots of Morocco. Or so a shop owner told me. According to him, they resemble the Scots because they wear plaid and drink "Berber whiskey" (mint tea). I'm not sure how well the comparison holds up. The Berbers are the indigenous peoples of Morocco and most of Northern Africa. I had the good luck to go to a Berber village two weekends ago when I was in Morocco.<br />
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We drove for hours to get out of Marrakech into the mountains. One thing that surprised be about the city was how green it was. The mountains that we drove through, on the other hand, looked more like what I had expected - packed dirt from red to brown held together by by scraggly shrubs and trees. <br />
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Our car dropped us off in Imlil, a small village in the Atlas Mountains, and we hiked up to the home where we were having lunch. As we climbed, the world opened up to us so we could see a rushing stream and the highest peak in North Africa, Jebel Toubkal, in the distance. For some reason, this place felt more ancient than most. If it were a person instead of a locale, it would be a gray-braid weraing woman with tanned skin, and a face and hands as deeply cut with wrinkles as the hills are by the river. She would be a weaver and a singer and a memory-keeper.<br />
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When we finally reached this Berber home we ate the most delicious Moroccan food I've ever had : a chicken tagine with potatoes, zucchini, and carrots, a couscous, tea, and oranges.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXilXt43Fe5YpAZd4ZzMOQ23MxZgbbAte8gs1z4uCS0MEP0BYin5UH8vijbLlZy6odlpXIhvixvMa4lpRNEOFtLSuF9V2MJDAQ8CjXT5qDT5-MOx6kGhTVZGsZRsuoQVmoi82O6AeM_v4/s1600/229228_1764288222323_1092630054_31610005_2875037_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXilXt43Fe5YpAZd4ZzMOQ23MxZgbbAte8gs1z4uCS0MEP0BYin5UH8vijbLlZy6odlpXIhvixvMa4lpRNEOFtLSuF9V2MJDAQ8CjXT5qDT5-MOx6kGhTVZGsZRsuoQVmoi82O6AeM_v4/s400/229228_1764288222323_1092630054_31610005_2875037_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
My friend Sasha said going there made her feel close to God. It made me feel close to the earth.<br />
Maybe it's the same thing.<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-91889093489098763672011-05-01T10:47:00.001-07:002011-05-01T10:47:27.398-07:00Au Jardin Majorelle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The Majorelle Garden in Marrakech is just what you'd hope for : exotic, lush, and full of color. Bevies of cacti, ponds full of water lilies, and forests of bamboo coexist among brightly painted doors, pots, and buildings. Originally created by the painter Jacques Majorelle, the gardens were later purchased by Yves Saint Laurent, whose partner still owns them today. According to their brochure, "[t]he originality of these places lies in the combination of a luxurious vegetation and architectural elements allying sobriety and traditional aesthetic Moroccan."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatMVbVmx7NbpxX5Kd1TUn0NOSMtYviVzSyD4El0lZDEg7j6d7H0wTs97OWU6-Uby23pplKjQZppuxgnmPD3_IPtIOnUCROrzFd46n42gSpPjkoMO4uQ4IywOWks0wApBQTiJ5gbWBHZM/s1600/IMG_3073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatMVbVmx7NbpxX5Kd1TUn0NOSMtYviVzSyD4El0lZDEg7j6d7H0wTs97OWU6-Uby23pplKjQZppuxgnmPD3_IPtIOnUCROrzFd46n42gSpPjkoMO4uQ4IywOWks0wApBQTiJ5gbWBHZM/s200/IMG_3073.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9U3rLRJNqIpvaLLA6wBff1pLNAfvni36dVuXSpUVU7QQE-IWEq79_MzOreuUWI157uYo8qVLOD3ZjfJpVQCCAtMgA3pzbbvZOxGQG2VaJCVPWxx6h3Pd9-BZ_Xm0cZhq0u3S8XZeGAc/s1600/IMG_3075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9U3rLRJNqIpvaLLA6wBff1pLNAfvni36dVuXSpUVU7QQE-IWEq79_MzOreuUWI157uYo8qVLOD3ZjfJpVQCCAtMgA3pzbbvZOxGQG2VaJCVPWxx6h3Pd9-BZ_Xm0cZhq0u3S8XZeGAc/s200/IMG_3075.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmZh2Xan069E2MaVY5TzeWnRN9ErLuanZUYLSCw9V7eJotjzkqbV-oNk1WcDjMecFRTAzRVpg3O1QITPtUVACUQR4kEaZ7qVM7_kEFjA69jjQ-AqqqkaeE8_XwJ4Z9u-0BLPZX9lLk8Y/s1600/IMG_3069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmZh2Xan069E2MaVY5TzeWnRN9ErLuanZUYLSCw9V7eJotjzkqbV-oNk1WcDjMecFRTAzRVpg3O1QITPtUVACUQR4kEaZ7qVM7_kEFjA69jjQ-AqqqkaeE8_XwJ4Z9u-0BLPZX9lLk8Y/s200/IMG_3069.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGObX0A27ulznUdE2hDxyMROz69jvy8Wg6Wcg0CsCCF3SbkY1I7vfHDpXZ3P4Z3T8PcU71q9iuwP9vXkJEKaTGVIJT0Yg75SX3i3oeZk1-scI99M9gfWI3xnSQI7uTBYCvtqNRO_xn6qA/s1600/227752_1764289862364_1092630054_31610016_7359451_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGObX0A27ulznUdE2hDxyMROz69jvy8Wg6Wcg0CsCCF3SbkY1I7vfHDpXZ3P4Z3T8PcU71q9iuwP9vXkJEKaTGVIJT0Yg75SX3i3oeZk1-scI99M9gfWI3xnSQI7uTBYCvtqNRO_xn6qA/s400/227752_1764289862364_1092630054_31610016_7359451_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wishing more of my life had that Yves Klein blue.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjvHicSImrUrI5bp2bUNZECHTykt-qEF2IJf4w2uEKjYXdSLrhCU6ffYTgYrccWBWE62d_JMnttWJv4-NnQ9McL_uTp4h4an-w960nGEQwQ1GzihM2Zl94ICHvBWighinNtOXSK8UDTY/s1600/12090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjvHicSImrUrI5bp2bUNZECHTykt-qEF2IJf4w2uEKjYXdSLrhCU6ffYTgYrccWBWE62d_JMnttWJv4-NnQ9McL_uTp4h4an-w960nGEQwQ1GzihM2Zl94ICHvBWighinNtOXSK8UDTY/s320/12090.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of YSL's "Love" posters on display in a gallery at the garden.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Love 2011,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-38956459502351001112011-05-01T10:47:00.000-07:002011-05-01T10:47:11.420-07:00Arriving in Marrakech<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I arrived in Marrakech and left it in at about the same time - about half past seven in the morning. At that time of day, there is something almost soft about the city. The light turns the earth colored buildings, which look orange at night, to pink. Some of the hustle and bustle has already started but in a quiet way, everyone going about their lives : getting to work, setting up shop, drinking coffee. It is not yet the rabid tourist feeding frenzy that it becomes later in the day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqiTLOa-I2QWRt5vcdnxuvcm7YRsq5H8oLPuVYzlTmy1QbbXMy4jWf0DhpJgz0SWZFHwAVt6wWK8GB38iU9VfVdmtH0eVD4ClyTGGdY6M0AOxCqNG8byJnBvFEdW5TgPfG0_qa8s2NwPc/s1600/minaret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqiTLOa-I2QWRt5vcdnxuvcm7YRsq5H8oLPuVYzlTmy1QbbXMy4jWf0DhpJgz0SWZFHwAVt6wWK8GB38iU9VfVdmtH0eVD4ClyTGGdY6M0AOxCqNG8byJnBvFEdW5TgPfG0_qa8s2NwPc/s320/minaret.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The boulevards are lined with palm trees and roses. Bougainvillea creeps over the buildings. The streets are already alive pale yellow taxis, cars, and bikes (bicycles, motorcycles, and their country cousin which I can only describe as a motorbike - that is to say a bicycle that has been souped up with an engine). In many places the flow of traffic is unclear, the motorists apparently making it up as they swerve around pedestrians.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CmtIriBoaprcRDu-5jV2-R5uc6kNDdA9iMD44Cb3XsHS-fqa3FLlWR7nqCqoaShamuBE1LogJaeo618lyys5xhxf3KGVwUEAfqa3qqxXLfy3LMta41djqSB2V_7sUu_uuDYIKvrTOGA/s1600/poi-photo-1290097506_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8CmtIriBoaprcRDu-5jV2-R5uc6kNDdA9iMD44Cb3XsHS-fqa3FLlWR7nqCqoaShamuBE1LogJaeo618lyys5xhxf3KGVwUEAfqa3qqxXLfy3LMta41djqSB2V_7sUu_uuDYIKvrTOGA/s320/poi-photo-1290097506_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
As the sun rises, so does the activity. The main square in the medina, the Jamaa el Fna, is a giant frying pan on which the city scrambles. There are juice stands fresh-squeezing oranges, grapefruits, and lemons into what can fairly be called ambrosia. Women ink henna onto tourists who stand still too long. Men charm snakes and make monkeys do back flips over their chained collars. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KmOtoW8WLV7zbMhIlf2v_czDDx3Pvgs1iD1aATo1n4iCwCDS9YiA7d_lzU8zUkd1RnZqk5jVrSUPLl2F1KACkdZn12fe13HsSuiDpPcc3NEoMnYoOiK_n2K7JOu2CTr_a941wmgA_lI/s1600/1332838966_aaa5e115a8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KmOtoW8WLV7zbMhIlf2v_czDDx3Pvgs1iD1aATo1n4iCwCDS9YiA7d_lzU8zUkd1RnZqk5jVrSUPLl2F1KACkdZn12fe13HsSuiDpPcc3NEoMnYoOiK_n2K7JOu2CTr_a941wmgA_lI/s320/1332838966_aaa5e115a8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
You can enter the souks from the main square. They are a beehive of activity. Every vendor sits outside his little alcove, calling out to passersby. Most of the time you see in one stall what you saw in the last and will see in the next. Chinese manufacturing has hit Morocco. Sometimes you will find shops that have the real deal - turquoise, coral, and lapis jewelry; ancient daggers; teapots, chests and chairs inlaid with stone and enamel. If the shop owner is named Hassan, you will escape with only enough money for your taxi back to your hotel.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-I6LMr9yP7c8vRKXxBE4XiW7k_m3H7mr8qD6Nq2Gc4OsbziBil11nNbmmLtmEQYERfTqFZcmwn7yYZD4VJ8Dc5q_-gzHOJ0W7LXBTmtB7Hs_4DpZEpPBpjQT3YgithJzJH1jq3LQ5rOs/s1600/224684_1764285342251_1092630054_31609985_1604937_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-I6LMr9yP7c8vRKXxBE4XiW7k_m3H7mr8qD6Nq2Gc4OsbziBil11nNbmmLtmEQYERfTqFZcmwn7yYZD4VJ8Dc5q_-gzHOJ0W7LXBTmtB7Hs_4DpZEpPBpjQT3YgithJzJH1jq3LQ5rOs/s320/224684_1764285342251_1092630054_31609985_1604937_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Roccin' in Morocco,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-63512884399044626582011-04-18T16:23:00.000-07:002011-04-18T16:23:08.057-07:00Granada<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GI9BavusE1cV5gqHi0-x6k1kLn5qTjYHrsOFdUDoUNFmINt4XgziikpyESiBXb74d3j3tyYREz-EuQj2W5C7wBkJplV6YqCMYI8iDaVKgROH4yQFjYQuqPZmTXdV-uy_RylBhHab-bQ/s1600/IMG_2988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GI9BavusE1cV5gqHi0-x6k1kLn5qTjYHrsOFdUDoUNFmINt4XgziikpyESiBXb74d3j3tyYREz-EuQj2W5C7wBkJplV6YqCMYI8iDaVKgROH4yQFjYQuqPZmTXdV-uy_RylBhHab-bQ/s400/IMG_2988.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I asked my cousin Kathryn, my architecture guru, what I should see in Andalusia, she recommended Granada and sent me this little limerick :</span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dale limosna mujer, </span><span style="font-size: small;">(Woman, give alms to the beggar,</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
que no hay en la vida nada, </span><span style="font-size: small;">for there is no pain in life</span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">como la pena de ser, </span><span style="font-size: small;">like the pain of being </span><span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
ciego en Granada </span><span style="font-size: small;">blind in Granada.)</span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Granada would in fact be a bad place to be blind for several reasons :</span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">1) It is a hilly city and there are a lot of uneven cobblestones and stairs. <br />
2) Fortune-telling gypsies who tell you you're beautiful and then want €10 would be able to sneak up on you. </span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">3) You wouldn't get to see the incredible beauty - both natural and man-made - of Granada.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMBs647ImCbNsHlPCnJ7fiobeixDLbybvl1Z94Q3Cg5yg4MFfdZZm98JiZuMrhhGGSIX-Xhm6zLC26L9UQMkeGA1jZYt5IxaGuP5nr98oeMPqZN1LSX4bpuGIaR-VjXBvuWZWfbe9AVE/s1600/IMG_3014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMBs647ImCbNsHlPCnJ7fiobeixDLbybvl1Z94Q3Cg5yg4MFfdZZm98JiZuMrhhGGSIX-Xhm6zLC26L9UQMkeGA1jZYt5IxaGuP5nr98oeMPqZN1LSX4bpuGIaR-VjXBvuWZWfbe9AVE/s400/IMG_3014.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sierra Nevada</td></tr>
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<div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had the good fortune to visit when the orange blossoms were in bloom, making the whole city smell divine. I had a delicious melón y jamón for lunch one day, which is one of my all time favorites. I watched the sun set over Alhambra and the city from a hill. I was charmed by the white washed buildings with tile roofs, dripping with wisteria. I got asked on four dates in a little over 24 hours (slightly above my usual average). </span><span style="font-size: small;">I liked Granada a lot, but all my plans went a little bit awry. This may or may not have been caused by a gypsy curse (see no. 2 above). The only truly devastating snafu had to do with my visit to Alhambra.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6iLRCvDIm_aUgGpQQDWQlzZXpt2TwzDySwAbMYiuuW0_OzXUPAB0ru4ItU_gPPRKfa8jO0EZHDrMysjQH5fDxqpmQB-W4d5a25tNtghEYEiV6yVKmmovz9aXXOrQH6JQNTuzzkGt8YHg/s1600/IMG_3004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6iLRCvDIm_aUgGpQQDWQlzZXpt2TwzDySwAbMYiuuW0_OzXUPAB0ru4ItU_gPPRKfa8jO0EZHDrMysjQH5fDxqpmQB-W4d5a25tNtghEYEiV6yVKmmovz9aXXOrQH6JQNTuzzkGt8YHg/s200/IMG_3004.JPG" width="200" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Ege6-HZwpNv6k8nWfy7WFPGZxkkbIsEojASgkRyW86EGFSp3BHk-H1YeRx-m0GyCCXgreiTYqlt7M5b1zWz3t9LOUbIzMZPEabKOdpIC1c-CdjT1MxRmVBRMOdgzmsm3V2B-QkEsddk/s1600/IMG_3049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Ege6-HZwpNv6k8nWfy7WFPGZxkkbIsEojASgkRyW86EGFSp3BHk-H1YeRx-m0GyCCXgreiTYqlt7M5b1zWz3t9LOUbIzMZPEabKOdpIC1c-CdjT1MxRmVBRMOdgzmsm3V2B-QkEsddk/s200/IMG_3049.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiv_eBpXeQzi0T1VpownZ2EbIl-dlQ7oPUAVubznoM5gY3hMnyxPjn3UU2w0r8OPTc1Q0Pio-ae8ZGM3m_1LvFYkkHKhklUKX18_TCV5ddgFLX7LhCfG8Qo2sHX3Rs7VzhBjoefk_kYA/s1600/IMG_2968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiv_eBpXeQzi0T1VpownZ2EbIl-dlQ7oPUAVubznoM5gY3hMnyxPjn3UU2w0r8OPTc1Q0Pio-ae8ZGM3m_1LvFYkkHKhklUKX18_TCV5ddgFLX7LhCfG8Qo2sHX3Rs7VzhBjoefk_kYA/s200/IMG_2968.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Alhambra, as you may know, is a world famous castle built by the Moorish Emirs of Granada around seven hundred years ago. It's a big deal and a very hot ticket. In order to get day-of tickets you have to show up at the crack of dawn. Once you're in the huge compound, there are lots of different buildings to see. The most famous of these buildings is the Nasrid Palace, for which you are given a specific entrance time on your ticket. </span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR52JSm9HXI1vdeo0UKo5fKpWFAebFz9eBle6iqrpjPLvP-FDPFniLGF-2W5XZq8PHtouF0jEyuDsrOyYKPosEfjps-C5AuYX6RkZbPjAJLtJjG3Tk1XkNWYaSuLAeCNTJvHotwpTRDS8/s1600/Nasrid+Palace+%2528Alhambra%2529+%25281%2529_lores.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR52JSm9HXI1vdeo0UKo5fKpWFAebFz9eBle6iqrpjPLvP-FDPFniLGF-2W5XZq8PHtouF0jEyuDsrOyYKPosEfjps-C5AuYX6RkZbPjAJLtJjG3Tk1XkNWYaSuLAeCNTJvHotwpTRDS8/s320/Nasrid+Palace+%2528Alhambra%2529+%25281%2529_lores.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjC2kJmrU3kbQ3vLcH02wyi-nTH3KRHjZC7tXHAH0MmhYumEy73hGw8_G3Am98-Vqq7-gcLbJtG6sCZmfFSKPjKARpbYcHK2ikURPc4rpZwObGyRwGBzW7AJ67Vrt3ABlbZoylPfeq75E/s1600/2111949637_1f8325242e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjC2kJmrU3kbQ3vLcH02wyi-nTH3KRHjZC7tXHAH0MmhYumEy73hGw8_G3Am98-Vqq7-gcLbJtG6sCZmfFSKPjKARpbYcHK2ikURPc4rpZwObGyRwGBzW7AJ67Vrt3ABlbZoylPfeq75E/s320/2111949637_1f8325242e.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKDAwIVTE9e6pIySZ3qEWgaS2WfS2rCM_n1hN06V3vqQgBmuR7JDpf4_ZeEE3Nh1A_ZzcxgumcuSE6DCrmjdPigfAc3MYTmkzatzWvdSoLLkxGWMBL3pO2DFts-S3BuvB12CQo8CqKXbs/s1600/ceramic-tiles-alhambra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKDAwIVTE9e6pIySZ3qEWgaS2WfS2rCM_n1hN06V3vqQgBmuR7JDpf4_ZeEE3Nh1A_ZzcxgumcuSE6DCrmjdPigfAc3MYTmkzatzWvdSoLLkxGWMBL3pO2DFts-S3BuvB12CQo8CqKXbs/s320/ceramic-tiles-alhambra.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I got to Alhambra well before my visit time and did the other buildings first so I could leave after the Nasrid Palace. Somewhere between the second to last thing I visited and the Nasrid Palace, however, my ticket fell out of my back pocket. It is impossible to get in anywhere without your ticket. I retraced my steps; I asked at the information desk if anyone had turned it in. No luck - gypsy curse. So after exhausting outrage, attempts at bribery, begging, and tears I had to leave without seeing it or miss my bus.</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDMWgLT8aKkUOvzWnvKQK7YfkFjoDSYLAaVtEKI6Hx2CmyPd4ur198YnAgVcvixO0ygXZSNR166lwTOFnzsR6snomtqnF1MOEbVLAQvIYjcIVw0cyCw2Tj4dKSAcKcKYJIgQlfyJT9Ag/s1600/IMG_3030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDMWgLT8aKkUOvzWnvKQK7YfkFjoDSYLAaVtEKI6Hx2CmyPd4ur198YnAgVcvixO0ygXZSNR166lwTOFnzsR6snomtqnF1MOEbVLAQvIYjcIVw0cyCw2Tj4dKSAcKcKYJIgQlfyJT9Ag/s320/IMG_3030.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaL3Alp255Wg1fl5GUEv1gukI1jRaHxhMykmpkV-HkLquWHpW7h9aTL5ay8FxZD1PSt-0BwyNZzO_YAg6XF8hwc3hhATtnR2nilrM1butgqk73CLnvuxH8j_ThZJ3SWG8q-sZXQZipS4c/s1600/IMG_3039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaL3Alp255Wg1fl5GUEv1gukI1jRaHxhMykmpkV-HkLquWHpW7h9aTL5ay8FxZD1PSt-0BwyNZzO_YAg6XF8hwc3hhATtnR2nilrM1butgqk73CLnvuxH8j_ThZJ3SWG8q-sZXQZipS4c/s320/IMG_3039.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2T3NWccECpAoSiU_oM7AevtcR0aI01uiTt8I36ms-RNr6PiU6rTYlmgRBz6Ow5eujmS5afRXcIVSLVuRW7Y9id0PJrQKCCcLcfldwpe9sDIs0EUI_Xb8CTS3DeVHzTzJ9vKR5on8le24/s1600/IMG_3012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2T3NWccECpAoSiU_oM7AevtcR0aI01uiTt8I36ms-RNr6PiU6rTYlmgRBz6Ow5eujmS5afRXcIVSLVuRW7Y9id0PJrQKCCcLcfldwpe9sDIs0EUI_Xb8CTS3DeVHzTzJ9vKR5on8le24/s320/IMG_3012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But now, I have a reason to go back, right?</span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maria</span></div></div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-37378771099510406722011-04-13T18:00:00.000-07:002011-04-13T18:03:10.107-07:00The City of Tiles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lisbon is decked out in tiles. Whole buildings are covered with their floral and geometric spiraling in navy, mustard, olive and terra cotta like the table cloth your grandmother spreads over her table on Sundays when your whole family goes to her house for dinner in the garden. The city has a slippery glisten as the sun hits the tiles.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIIlX_mPFXPbnpkSg9Ha6Xa-cXVVld0qYSLAnVWZipRi-GIIB9vAby9N6fQ-2ERk8aC784gIAcG3fYJW5yWCzXUwGaZpE5ObBw707y64W8II7m3csZM5aEqm3QkT_ZPBQAr0uJI3sWLs/s200/IMG_2880.JPG" width="200" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPTnA4NkJYok6nGbFQcOvF22lzRdjorOEF1WeZvsfW1rLYg2ILx6ZdocwcLJ_qKQBEQf9saOFOk1lf2cv_ek1njy2LH6RHOcHmQAVZgomikkR6aSvhiU2oahtue1Et8aJI6r32HFp1uc/s1600/IMG_2931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPTnA4NkJYok6nGbFQcOvF22lzRdjorOEF1WeZvsfW1rLYg2ILx6ZdocwcLJ_qKQBEQf9saOFOk1lf2cv_ek1njy2LH6RHOcHmQAVZgomikkR6aSvhiU2oahtue1Et8aJI6r32HFp1uc/s200/IMG_2931.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1h037B0Cd3ngrbw8HM0QBPqqgTpZQ8chKFX7VFSAXNaxpYBm1DB5J-YDIpqCfdVTFI1-fYr5pierinHPhVtUYAxz0VWWo5mg-lcjnJFo0oj1mQxtfI1NemWXuOFYAls_ctzRnI9gcjA/s1600/IMG_2934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1h037B0Cd3ngrbw8HM0QBPqqgTpZQ8chKFX7VFSAXNaxpYBm1DB5J-YDIpqCfdVTFI1-fYr5pierinHPhVtUYAxz0VWWo5mg-lcjnJFo0oj1mQxtfI1NemWXuOFYAls_ctzRnI9gcjA/s200/IMG_2934.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZrQcS7KtqUSdgzGkRaudZbH5-La0NvcxrSDQ506JJUCSmQhIr96tBMIKqtaU1f9Et9TVdO1GCRjGNqyy3_oSwSq8eSzu-TwHG6R_XDOA0BZS8wpA_h9AZ8jdUEquybBTcNQo64Tfnrw/s1600/IMG_2946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZrQcS7KtqUSdgzGkRaudZbH5-La0NvcxrSDQ506JJUCSmQhIr96tBMIKqtaU1f9Et9TVdO1GCRjGNqyy3_oSwSq8eSzu-TwHG6R_XDOA0BZS8wpA_h9AZ8jdUEquybBTcNQo64Tfnrw/s200/IMG_2946.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxhQ9zvUVG_ThybCi69fSnNiPAnpkXXXY0Cec34n5E-TTQktZWz9lJ_JUM6GPN8VIyjttjQjO1wKbhp90jr39ExBXgxsvTOxgMIxC8m9xh0jrmM27ETdhSkdUu-Ng7MFC1_1P0j6tPlI/s1600/IMG_2951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxhQ9zvUVG_ThybCi69fSnNiPAnpkXXXY0Cec34n5E-TTQktZWz9lJ_JUM6GPN8VIyjttjQjO1wKbhp90jr39ExBXgxsvTOxgMIxC8m9xh0jrmM27ETdhSkdUu-Ng7MFC1_1P0j6tPlI/s200/IMG_2951.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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In Portuguese, tile is "azulejo."<br />
Maria<br />
<span id="goog_1784514634"></span><span id="goog_1784514635"></span></div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-75213177450558737472011-04-13T04:15:00.000-07:002011-04-13T17:21:22.306-07:00Portuguese Kindness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At every turn in Portugal we were met with kindness, friendliness, and generosity. Here's one little story of it :</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">My last afternoon in Lisbon, I met a man named Sergio with only a few teeth. He’s always lived in Afalma, in Lisboa. We were sitting in the shade looking out over the water when a pinecone fell – thwack – onto the cobblestones between us. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">He spoke to me in Portuguese as he went to pick it up. I looked at him and at the pine tree, twisty and sinuous unlike the pencil straight pines I knew growing up. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">He brought his treasure next to me and with rough fingers began to pull apart the prickly cone, plucking brown stones from its womb. With a rock he cracked open one of the little stones, offering me the soft whiteness inside – a pine nut.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I sat beside a cone’s worth of nuts, he told me his name and asked me mine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Ah. Maria,” he said, “Maria.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Depending on the kindness of strangers,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maria</span></div></div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-48165564991244333262011-04-13T04:13:00.000-07:002011-04-13T17:21:55.808-07:00Fado<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">On our first night in Lisbon, we went to a tiny local restaurant. Devagar Devagarinho, for dinner and fado. We got there around nine and were worried that the fado would never begin. <br />
<br />
Around eleven, however, they turned out the lights except for a couple of red-scarf-covered lamps that threw the room into a dim pink glow. Two men with Portuguese guitars started strumming gently and sure-fingeredly. They looked around at the crowd, a mix of old and young locals, talked to each other, closed their eyes a little ; they never looked down. They knew the music better than they knew themselves.<br />
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The man who had stood behind the bar at the grill when we entered the restaurant came upstairs to sing for us. The guitar player sang. A short woman who also worked there took off her shoes and sang in a voice rough but breakable like the bark peeled off of an oak tree.<br />
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A group was there filming the real fado of Lisbon. They shot the woman out on the steep stone-paved street. Fado is important to Portugal - its name means "destiny" and it is their national music, part of the deep soul of the nation. It is like the sea : melancholy and beautiful, with all its drama coming from its swells, the great crashing wildness juxtaposed against the sweetly gentle lapping of the voice as it trips from soft to loud.<br />
<br />
A Portuguese guy who spoke a little English asked me if I knew enough Portugese to get the story. <br />
"No," I said, "What's it about?"<br />
"Longing," he replied.<br />
I told him, "I don't understand, but I understand."<br />
<br />
A wannabe fadista,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-3449167071196874132011-04-10T12:29:00.000-07:002011-04-10T12:59:09.495-07:00Lisbon | Lisboa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Dear Lisbon,<br />
<br />
This is the way I will always think of you, just the way we are right now. Me at the white-curtained window, leaning against the sill looking at you. At you, with your just after sunset haze of pink, orange, purple and blue over the river, with your bells tolling softly in the distance, with your roofs staring back at me and birds braiding the air with their evensong.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Maria<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCtv132Unm1Hc2419NUKC0Dfq9CRkrnrZUxI4MTc8Eimq1KOrFFDo8TOhuWzTpudwKIcYrzs2lo-Y3pwLv6r17fq7XT4Vc_i-dUO62CJAkbuM5XyryAEOZ2KZA_8YneFI0hWR5ISU51U/s1600/IMG_2930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCtv132Unm1Hc2419NUKC0Dfq9CRkrnrZUxI4MTc8Eimq1KOrFFDo8TOhuWzTpudwKIcYrzs2lo-Y3pwLv6r17fq7XT4Vc_i-dUO62CJAkbuM5XyryAEOZ2KZA_8YneFI0hWR5ISU51U/s400/IMG_2930.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-44335207995627984252011-04-08T02:50:00.000-07:002011-04-09T11:21:09.063-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I'm traveling for two weeks, so I may not post much. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">"We are all inventors, each sailing out on a voyage of discovery,<br />
guided each by a private chart, of which there is no duplicate.<br />
The world is all gates, all opportunities."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Emerson<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Arriverderci,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Maria</div></div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-41379693097324432902011-04-07T17:51:00.000-07:002011-04-07T17:51:29.831-07:00Words, words, words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Like learning French? Me too! Here are some wonderful new aquisitions of mine:<br />
<br />
un orfèvre : n. a goldsmith<br />
un requin : n. a shark (I can never remember this, for some reason)<br />
une flaque (d'eau; de boue) : n. a puddle (of water; of mud)<br />
foufou/fofolle : adj. scatterbrained ; n. scatterbrain<br />
chatouiller : v. to tickle (adj. form is chatouilleux/-uese) <br />
flou : adj. hazy, vague, blurred<br />
un tube : n. a success, a "hit"<br />
une serre : n. a greenhouse<br />
un clic-clac : n. a futon<br />
sournois(e) : adj. sly, underhanded, devious<br />
éternuer : v. to sneeze (I always mess this word up.) <br />
arobase : n. at sugn (@)<br />
<br />
A logomaniac,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-53027859933262841292011-04-05T16:07:00.000-07:002011-04-06T03:41:15.967-07:00Oh hey sweet thang!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Last weekend I had a couple of friends in town, which meant a weekend full of semi-touristy things. One thing they wanted to do, and rightly so, was eat French pastries. I ate more pastries this weekend than the rest of the year combined. (Not really.) Every pâtisserie has it's own unique creations, but some things remain the same. Here is a guide to the staples when it comes to little cakes, tarts, and cream puffs.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoL87sjMAk0jguI0F591WDkxWIYt56DtLgltZOV7j-DkklSrIJNhhw2EVliM_OGx5Kusnemgm_LjWokCWqDpLT1cDKRHoVRi3Tw_rixFuN7kQZqpqAcNSl03ksaZqT4ANqEOfFX8IWf0g/s1600/Mille-feuille_fran%25C3%25A7ais_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoL87sjMAk0jguI0F591WDkxWIYt56DtLgltZOV7j-DkklSrIJNhhw2EVliM_OGx5Kusnemgm_LjWokCWqDpLT1cDKRHoVRi3Tw_rixFuN7kQZqpqAcNSl03ksaZqT4ANqEOfFX8IWf0g/s320/Mille-feuille_fran%25C3%25A7ais_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Le Millefeuille<br />
A tripple-decker puff pastry and creme filling sandwich, topped with icing or powdered sugar. Sometimes you get a little strawberry thrown into the mix. The combination of height, crisp pastry, and soft cream makes this pastry extremely difficult to eat elegantly. Not first date food.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvB-alBztXqkB5YzLHrTMktcpUd5jLdIuzgnv5MGAmxzOA4qkrktA0haFnRWX3WyduvEKGmRVMtsMiamgQrUK-DkBh86mWbLxAdZdTK6f-WokRjagM6YepoySHJkjad_2UElu_gNqSp6Q/s1600/z_1273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvB-alBztXqkB5YzLHrTMktcpUd5jLdIuzgnv5MGAmxzOA4qkrktA0haFnRWX3WyduvEKGmRVMtsMiamgQrUK-DkBh86mWbLxAdZdTK6f-WokRjagM6YepoySHJkjad_2UElu_gNqSp6Q/s1600/z_1273.jpg" /></a></div>Le Paris-Brest<br />
Choux pastry puff filled with praline flavored cream filling. This pastry is round, like the bike wheels in the Paris-Brest bike race it commemorates.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii9SGaXyKsKdIhru_ECGLh8-wuWCuPdlnPt0tw9qqX3ZfCIvV3V4e7fDUdX1kusMD2WwlswAyPnQILFt0_sNiuI4iIoP0wkV2LATT_TxTQOV_NzniGHl88DTdE6VdnN_FfoVwV5V3SRLQ/s1600/OperaDalloyau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii9SGaXyKsKdIhru_ECGLh8-wuWCuPdlnPt0tw9qqX3ZfCIvV3V4e7fDUdX1kusMD2WwlswAyPnQILFt0_sNiuI4iIoP0wkV2LATT_TxTQOV_NzniGHl88DTdE6VdnN_FfoVwV5V3SRLQ/s320/OperaDalloyau.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>L'Opéra<br />
An opéra is a moist almond cake with chocolate and coffee filling/icing. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what's going on inside the opéra... <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWwQJCf-Y659rWc9CE9mN0DH88HepbH4kap_YarjDs_eDR1svZdi5jCJRejf61e-_hLwihXHPxkvPPG-og-hxUWJ-DUgGDJpHBZhmAW2NRpFRyf4sgrHeBbNRYx1JxDHIOLky1zyDuug/s1600/tarte-framboise02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcWwQJCf-Y659rWc9CE9mN0DH88HepbH4kap_YarjDs_eDR1svZdi5jCJRejf61e-_hLwihXHPxkvPPG-og-hxUWJ-DUgGDJpHBZhmAW2NRpFRyf4sgrHeBbNRYx1JxDHIOLky1zyDuug/s320/tarte-framboise02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>La Tartelette aux Framboises<br />
A tartelette is simply a mini tart. It comes in lots of different flavors, but raspberry is my favorite. A hard tart shell is filled with custard and topped with raspberries. Simple, but perfect. Tartelette au citron is PDG too - lemon filling with whipped meringue on top. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfTTZV6CHep8YRkaS7z7t6PnNLis46Qlac-cVs2GnsFF5xHCiyP6db0DLJ1k8tnS7qQ3H3E2n_MZL5yVPWwKGtQVzvBAWQ8sh-_Sn9oOp51beFdRKaCPWAd-ZRZd1B7UUH9x3OCKxxBUw/s1600/laduree_religieuse_rose_1b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfTTZV6CHep8YRkaS7z7t6PnNLis46Qlac-cVs2GnsFF5xHCiyP6db0DLJ1k8tnS7qQ3H3E2n_MZL5yVPWwKGtQVzvBAWQ8sh-_Sn9oOp51beFdRKaCPWAd-ZRZd1B7UUH9x3OCKxxBUw/s200/laduree_religieuse_rose_1b.jpg" width="177" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHD2oF1HVAuFimh6GGYrvI8qKIyRE1AczQZPmGyNZyNGFWyiUseFHUGtlFMymL2wNFSQnJ0lQLxJ03vOMQJgZK9Ccis_js-MkYACfDBvhexijdEjBk_D0AuNx6PMYGVpQys1GoG07nc8/s1600/%25C3%25A9clairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHD2oF1HVAuFimh6GGYrvI8qKIyRE1AczQZPmGyNZyNGFWyiUseFHUGtlFMymL2wNFSQnJ0lQLxJ03vOMQJgZK9Ccis_js-MkYACfDBvhexijdEjBk_D0AuNx6PMYGVpQys1GoG07nc8/s320/%25C3%25A9clairs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>L'Éclair ou La Religieuse<br />
The éclair and the religiese are the same except for their shape. Both are cream puffs covered in icing. The éclair is long and thin and the religieuse is two balls stacked on top of each other. The standard flavors are chocolate and coffee, however others exist, such as the violet-flavored religieuse and caramel, grand marnier, and pistachio eclairs pictured above. A divorcé is a religiuese that is half chocolate, half coffee. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaK1_tmAg5yCHbeUcGrjcfBqTVUrnzPAdZrl9LtKZ07y8GlRDzGFAKZ-nTvNFmo56jdg9cNYldW-7wLY6SLfImclMIWYAekyfDJn81ROAFRchhOQgrOEGLy7b2jXN0FWQSlrYZajFOFQ/s1600/flan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaK1_tmAg5yCHbeUcGrjcfBqTVUrnzPAdZrl9LtKZ07y8GlRDzGFAKZ-nTvNFmo56jdg9cNYldW-7wLY6SLfImclMIWYAekyfDJn81ROAFRchhOQgrOEGLy7b2jXN0FWQSlrYZajFOFQ/s320/flan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Le Flan<br />
This is not your Spanish flan. French flan is like custard pie, but firmer. The butter-yellow slices of it kind of look like cheese cake, though the texture is different. The taste is simple but delicious: eggy, not too sweet, and vanilla-y. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUpcNbEbCmcFdTSp758n-CPULtVKXK4836UOghIp-evWL5BRawYukNFe1FSiStoYE0dbIIXdR5F-mvtoyddaBK2vDL9NKl8KWizkvQ9lSoan_AFlheDE3o7bEyzNYWJqx5TkGRYuJ05Y/s1600/cochon-amande.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUpcNbEbCmcFdTSp758n-CPULtVKXK4836UOghIp-evWL5BRawYukNFe1FSiStoYE0dbIIXdR5F-mvtoyddaBK2vDL9NKl8KWizkvQ9lSoan_AFlheDE3o7bEyzNYWJqx5TkGRYuJ05Y/s320/cochon-amande.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Le Cochon<br />
Since the new year, I've seen these long patisseries dressed up as pigs all over Paris. I asked what they were once and was told that they are chocolate covered in pink marzipan. I kind of want to get one to keep as a pet.<br />
<br />
Sugar and spice,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-86827926494182006702011-04-03T13:13:00.000-07:002011-04-03T13:20:11.961-07:00Laissez les bons temps rouler!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Yesterday was the most beautiful day of 2011. It was sunny and warm and perfect.<br />
<br />
In celebration of that weather and in invitation of its continued presence in my life, here is a list I compiled with a friend on good places to while away an afternoon in Paris.<br />
<br />
<u>Camila and Maria's Afternoons Outside <i>Par Excellence</i></u> :<u> </u><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(in no particular order)</span><br />
<br />
La Fontaine des Amoureux in the jardin de Luxembourg.<br />
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Parc Monceau - no one minds if you sit on the grass.<br />
<br />
Parc des Buttes Chaumonts.<br />
<br />
Canal Saint-Martin.<br />
<br />
Place des Vosges.<br />
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The Right Bank. By that I mean the north bank of the river, especially between Pont de la Concorde and Pont Sully.<br />
<br />
Sacré Coeur and its little park.<br />
<br />
Parc Floral de Paris in the Bois de Vincennes.<br />
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Champs de Mars.<br />
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Square in front of the Centre Pompidou. Watch some street performers and people blowing enormous bubbles.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsHwMfjHnYB_utXe_S0476VgCPEvKXOOstc5Nbkkpv4_rbe_HC9VnK2X-dFJ9BLyvqGV4PKYhaNJg0Q0XP0IFkGS06G2t3Ncic6tdc2Kqms4Rh_4RAE2wPxay-TvmR5SvZDDOseBIBrw/s1600/maria+and+camila.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsHwMfjHnYB_utXe_S0476VgCPEvKXOOstc5Nbkkpv4_rbe_HC9VnK2X-dFJ9BLyvqGV4PKYhaNJg0Q0XP0IFkGS06G2t3Ncic6tdc2Kqms4Rh_4RAE2wPxay-TvmR5SvZDDOseBIBrw/s400/maria+and+camila.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Partners in crime : Camila & Maria</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Enjoy soaking in sun-drenched days and starlit nights outside!<br />
<br />
Making daisy chains,<br />
Maria and Camila<br />
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P.S. Yes, I know the title of this post only makes sense in Cajun French. Je m'en fiche! </div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-38759572858462741252011-03-31T16:58:00.000-07:002011-03-31T16:58:00.714-07:00Mont Saint-Michel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wDOHSNzl_Xpaj5AfX8GZsDfclCNUvA5YCdiHYR3eAuv4swZurlesTFU59D1b_FT1dLCcZ8c6DJRdAITb_Qg_Sx3FExwy7FHnOyvb9IBSV2Jyt8S1KFrRJA7p2LCrtWcvK51bnDtwsAw/s1600/IMG_2666_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wDOHSNzl_Xpaj5AfX8GZsDfclCNUvA5YCdiHYR3eAuv4swZurlesTFU59D1b_FT1dLCcZ8c6DJRdAITb_Qg_Sx3FExwy7FHnOyvb9IBSV2Jyt8S1KFrRJA7p2LCrtWcvK51bnDtwsAw/s400/IMG_2666_2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Before I went to Normandy for the weekend, my host mom told me that there are some places in Frances that are truly special and that Mont Saint-Michel is one of them. She was right. In the words of Guy de Maupassant : " l'abbaye escarpée, poussée là-bas, loin de terre, comme un manoir fantastique, stupéfiante comme un palais de rêve, invraisemblablement étrange et belle. "<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmID7LXYrCUHn5YOhpum05TUvr8BaV9M_M9nYNBmsXb0mC8lz3NLKpWtPnRaT4ZRzsdlWbwHaTpUzCxDQ92jsQzNUnX61ci-ljxpHkDvvUXVe8J4XKxdBrv3yodmtbf3DQtObezZ1oik/s1600/IMG_2662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmID7LXYrCUHn5YOhpum05TUvr8BaV9M_M9nYNBmsXb0mC8lz3NLKpWtPnRaT4ZRzsdlWbwHaTpUzCxDQ92jsQzNUnX61ci-ljxpHkDvvUXVe8J4XKxdBrv3yodmtbf3DQtObezZ1oik/s320/IMG_2662.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Mont Saint-Michel is an abbey town built on a stone island off the coast of Normandy. According to legend, in the 8th century the archangel Micheal appeared to St. Aubert, the bishop of the closest town, in a dream and told him to build a church on the island. To this day a functioning monastery crowns the mount.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YDL9VcXNKCKaIp-1_f781ugy9yRpRTSyW5BQOU2cdeSVCBgCiXyMtEvP8VHtBE02Bpmj4cmTxJLKuZoM-wU6Ei8D-jkN_fpE3KZ3Fl8J17mNHWlAEe3hxxV9EPaZq3PGW7RsXNF4Mm8/s1600/IMG_2715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YDL9VcXNKCKaIp-1_f781ugy9yRpRTSyW5BQOU2cdeSVCBgCiXyMtEvP8VHtBE02Bpmj4cmTxJLKuZoM-wU6Ei8D-jkN_fpE3KZ3Fl8J17mNHWlAEe3hxxV9EPaZq3PGW7RsXNF4Mm8/s200/IMG_2715.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMz2qcqsTSQw3Z0Y0qAk3XKVmrRAr1Gcz92mMzXMVZY2_pemUPawjSRXgrCOS0a7OsNuX7AGh2ke2a8EoHzfqzlSNUHLIOE924jgzAozbIUnKeQSs35LhItkON3O3s2-FRSoCvT1QusR4/s1600/IMG_2707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMz2qcqsTSQw3Z0Y0qAk3XKVmrRAr1Gcz92mMzXMVZY2_pemUPawjSRXgrCOS0a7OsNuX7AGh2ke2a8EoHzfqzlSNUHLIOE924jgzAozbIUnKeQSs35LhItkON3O3s2-FRSoCvT1QusR4/s200/IMG_2707.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">The monastery has a clean peacefulness about it. I sat in this rooftop garden and listened to the church bells.</span></div><br />
Mont Saint-Michel has the highest tides in continental Europe, and depending on the season, the water level can change up to 15 meters and the coastline can recede 15 kilometers. One can cross from the shore to Mont Saint-Michel during low tide, but only with the help of a guide because of the fast moving tides and quicksand. We were there during low tide, so the island was surrounded by a strange, lonesome but beautiful marsh.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-qCIi5u3B-9xzdeigdJe1DpF8odLRw4dLhgjrhZbyxYKUpbm04YmJjrj5iwsCzFfNmG0ksPdncDPRplT5kaLegJn-YI_AKtQ2PyCuRd_iyXYVvfUyip9U6yD67BF5-G262why-Z-CfY/s1600/IMG_2746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-qCIi5u3B-9xzdeigdJe1DpF8odLRw4dLhgjrhZbyxYKUpbm04YmJjrj5iwsCzFfNmG0ksPdncDPRplT5kaLegJn-YI_AKtQ2PyCuRd_iyXYVvfUyip9U6yD67BF5-G262why-Z-CfY/s400/IMG_2746.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BVWNMG61QpvsWy1skhwbgbYUsxBvabampW_pb3qFYEfb5fZNaV_li-kK0PQwYcGFjYmWLoJZ_AWE8XW7aOhXx_rPGrOvgGdOG4s1rXx5tod0FFbWR5YUkLD-6CLYebfKvBW1zduM6_o/s1600/IMG_2759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BVWNMG61QpvsWy1skhwbgbYUsxBvabampW_pb3qFYEfb5fZNaV_li-kK0PQwYcGFjYmWLoJZ_AWE8XW7aOhXx_rPGrOvgGdOG4s1rXx5tod0FFbWR5YUkLD-6CLYebfKvBW1zduM6_o/s400/IMG_2759.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehlWbbU6LWd3LrRbUMdaPXqTsO0aVLjuQK_2nHNCrbXwEq8S3gB07C4Hj7aERXvMnhDym4jDGQXp1r4nQOAwYxKnHUSMYS90UOmFXF9OhxU0nHiYwbpC0UGtQ1V9rGoi4wwhnhQQ-vWQ/s1600/IMG_2756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehlWbbU6LWd3LrRbUMdaPXqTsO0aVLjuQK_2nHNCrbXwEq8S3gB07C4Hj7aERXvMnhDym4jDGQXp1r4nQOAwYxKnHUSMYS90UOmFXF9OhxU0nHiYwbpC0UGtQ1V9rGoi4wwhnhQQ-vWQ/s400/IMG_2756.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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I know no man is an island, but if I were, I would be this one,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-1920675615614823192011-03-29T12:36:00.000-07:002011-03-29T12:36:57.044-07:00Traces of The War<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This weekend I went to Normandy with my program, and most of Saturday was devoted to World War II memorial sites. We visited the cemetery and memorial at Omaha Beach and Point du Hoc at Utah Beach. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ__IrbJ4T7pRo8bXSTElCb6mOx8QsgdhiALpNmQ7MQ0-Y8Tj8FiTIHwZw8pxMQR-wgtwhjsXUyUTKx6rx-_EL6IVT7TFjRjtldtXozwjd5MZbDs_UdiCQ16a9Lsbagf4NRgAwOIH7J8Q/s320/IMG_2598.JPG" width="240" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLj7wGGc5GxxpUnOrNnpUPgyOEPvgZFyQXe_xpeIlib42mdOzXqQMc_EP_n37fgjmMtwxlyc9NJTaCPU1NHKARiSCew8yeRnMJO0hePwwbUYbtZdOqGr0-w7EIltWdQFMoDAj9ShDLK0/s1600/IMG_2603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLj7wGGc5GxxpUnOrNnpUPgyOEPvgZFyQXe_xpeIlib42mdOzXqQMc_EP_n37fgjmMtwxlyc9NJTaCPU1NHKARiSCew8yeRnMJO0hePwwbUYbtZdOqGr0-w7EIltWdQFMoDAj9ShDLK0/s320/IMG_2603.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The memorial and cemetary at Omaha Beach.</span> </div><br />
In both places, I was struck by the natural beauty and the immense difficulty the troops of D-Day faced assailing those cold, steep cliffs. The visit provoked interesting reactions from my group, as we asked ourselves what purposes war memorials serve and how we feel about those purposes and about war itself.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Point du Hoc, Utah Beach.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craters left in the earth by American bombs.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3d1-Xop8sj0V7waztq3i5Az5hFpw5_nYuVxIkpq2o4ttLI42vW9uEuuIDiVHqvR1O8IiJGqUO09J1kj60XHzEqcpnqrCEmhcteJbfleZkJRvuIse5wFDwpbBxEtRRuG83B-_5TOQH0Ho/s1600/IMG_2610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3d1-Xop8sj0V7waztq3i5Az5hFpw5_nYuVxIkpq2o4ttLI42vW9uEuuIDiVHqvR1O8IiJGqUO09J1kj60XHzEqcpnqrCEmhcteJbfleZkJRvuIse5wFDwpbBxEtRRuG83B-_5TOQH0Ho/s200/IMG_2610.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDH4wpTU7zpQTbq9zu7f12w8bjy50fRT0SWq4urmmSmW5ogczTFaTCWAR_87drrf-rEmy5MT-h7p4KMXzXf9ybgzLIUtz9aRJGP_EpYHWtnK9yNm-po8suIJW-n63Pz0ZanruYpQWHcg/s1600/IMG_2613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDH4wpTU7zpQTbq9zu7f12w8bjy50fRT0SWq4urmmSmW5ogczTFaTCWAR_87drrf-rEmy5MT-h7p4KMXzXf9ybgzLIUtz9aRJGP_EpYHWtnK9yNm-po8suIJW-n63Pz0ZanruYpQWHcg/s200/IMG_2613.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
I ran into two girls I went to high school with (our graduating class had a little more than 50 girls) at Omaha Beach. The world fits inside a shoe box sometimes.<br />
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Peace,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-67546312977609232292011-03-25T16:11:00.000-07:002011-03-25T16:11:11.435-07:00Le Train Bleu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I dropped a friend off at the Gare de Lyon on Wednesday, and while we were waiting for his train we went up to the beautiful restaurant, Le Train Bleu, to have a drink. The restaurant has not changed since the train station was built for the Exhibition of 1900. The great hall is covered in Belle Epoque paintings; the banquettes are in rich dark wood and leather; gold leaf is used liberally. It's like stepping back into a more genteel time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWKp3vzz1Af2Ib8-PMCfPRLZzeIP5M6hx0jDw-gbmSGNFGSCRa5i_NsQvOllB0kkDzu4EBUfL-nnyE1QYimnYPjj2IdfCqmlzSmuSSQq3RCLQ1sffdIr5ACsXQs6IM-Ol1bpY5VsA53Y/s1600/IMG_2541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWKp3vzz1Af2Ib8-PMCfPRLZzeIP5M6hx0jDw-gbmSGNFGSCRa5i_NsQvOllB0kkDzu4EBUfL-nnyE1QYimnYPjj2IdfCqmlzSmuSSQq3RCLQ1sffdIr5ACsXQs6IM-Ol1bpY5VsA53Y/s400/IMG_2541.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_-NRjRLFPT9vmVUHKlg5aCS9b5ErPRYCcbnSUXubUv1aVD2H1Y-NxfnLvmbs9hEu756debvZcH11OpIjYN_VEsdRNYPXRupeOO3NkmFqx-VJGdA51pePCFN9GOhxw3YvnXnaz3njc18/s1600/IMG_2539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_-NRjRLFPT9vmVUHKlg5aCS9b5ErPRYCcbnSUXubUv1aVD2H1Y-NxfnLvmbs9hEu756debvZcH11OpIjYN_VEsdRNYPXRupeOO3NkmFqx-VJGdA51pePCFN9GOhxw3YvnXnaz3njc18/s400/IMG_2539.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sipping my limonade,<br />
Maria<br />
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P.S. Thanks for the rec, Mom!</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-33372680040321203232011-03-22T17:37:00.000-07:002011-03-22T17:37:24.093-07:00The Writing On the Wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Across the board, French graffiti artists perform on a much higher level than their American counterparts. One of my favorite hot spots of street art in Paris is near my university on the <i>Passage des Patriarches</i>. I once overheard a mother teaching her young daughter the names of colors with the help of the swirlingly colorful wall.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRotI6pkJojjrMrBxJgUl-tdoxNo1I_Q2SkLiU5zjNbDKUYLQz-8QzN3N1gf5j24Gt_25B4Uliicvqs4hnc4w31SR2gWMeXZ1TqlTbXBjBFnW89tf8ioba04i8dj1aHoFI50YZsVrWao/s1600/IMG_0951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRotI6pkJojjrMrBxJgUl-tdoxNo1I_Q2SkLiU5zjNbDKUYLQz-8QzN3N1gf5j24Gt_25B4Uliicvqs4hnc4w31SR2gWMeXZ1TqlTbXBjBFnW89tf8ioba04i8dj1aHoFI50YZsVrWao/s320/IMG_0951.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Street-smart(ish),<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-61432841880521826812011-03-20T18:24:00.000-07:002011-03-20T18:24:55.467-07:00Hello there springtime<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eTM6n2FFSquAUGNcDEkQfYfA6SJ_85mVUpfvDzeIMBoZLqdL2uY6XDBYjAVxRkvqOqoxMatgtBB-ialNioF6ffsTmmGxOS1-K5sOAjFbO97UwG_BeWXvjT6dFSB6XC_rntifJumTEfc/s1600/IMG_2462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eTM6n2FFSquAUGNcDEkQfYfA6SJ_85mVUpfvDzeIMBoZLqdL2uY6XDBYjAVxRkvqOqoxMatgtBB-ialNioF6ffsTmmGxOS1-K5sOAjFbO97UwG_BeWXvjT6dFSB6XC_rntifJumTEfc/s400/IMG_2462.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
It seemed appropriate, on the first official day of spring, to visit a chateau famous for its gardens : Malmaison. Malmaison was bought and renovated by Joséphine Bonaparte in 1799. It was where she finished her days after her divorce from Napoléon and where he in turn lived between his defeat at Waterloo and his exile. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The extensive grounds (three full parks plus grounds around the house) hold many exotic plants, but are most famous for their roses. Josephine had her favorite flower crossbred so that her gardens held roses that couldn't be found anywhere else in the world. The roses weren't in bloom this weekend, but there was quite enough splendor to be going on with.<br />
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The day consisted of the following simple pleasures:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cherry blossom trees reminded me of the D.C. version of home.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpkL6W3xt6Ng9tcQbPTuI1R4ud9Fy5nSO1Mdfz4qLX4Vn3svsPCYDXQ-d0UVHJznetl7iLt9tpA6V1x-kp5OGMxLMtYKM5kL1kVD94Id7LGe5X_CO9Uxf9iqf4oOBMFmL_LCf4mhpuxU/s1600/IMG_2477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpkL6W3xt6Ng9tcQbPTuI1R4ud9Fy5nSO1Mdfz4qLX4Vn3svsPCYDXQ-d0UVHJznetl7iLt9tpA6V1x-kp5OGMxLMtYKM5kL1kVD94Id7LGe5X_CO9Uxf9iqf4oOBMFmL_LCf4mhpuxU/s400/IMG_2477.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stole walnut shells.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzH_vRvl8UAu3TbeKTrickxrmZQlCS0kIoKkL-k3O1q_hcFgE6ax8ZwIcKPA-eTgND_K5Lnt2U9P1DsxcYmwfFd4QyKnVnUwmcpT2Qk3CA71GA-avVxdAZyETMwH9-cMADkXYgs8nSLys/s1600/IMG_2493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzH_vRvl8UAu3TbeKTrickxrmZQlCS0kIoKkL-k3O1q_hcFgE6ax8ZwIcKPA-eTgND_K5Lnt2U9P1DsxcYmwfFd4QyKnVnUwmcpT2Qk3CA71GA-avVxdAZyETMwH9-cMADkXYgs8nSLys/s400/IMG_2493.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Western redcedar is 150 years old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0mQ-KAeklavMLAjCJLdMDoHD_huFx14Yw3L5unACikZE0eBwadFAkG7f-8PKMFNlYsS-xL3pq0hwfjaGImaFFOQvJJCMQRTqBPdFY9UsX2BiInP3i5CT6gXyj9lTcR9Zia451td0HBM/s1600/IMG_2492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0mQ-KAeklavMLAjCJLdMDoHD_huFx14Yw3L5unACikZE0eBwadFAkG7f-8PKMFNlYsS-xL3pq0hwfjaGImaFFOQvJJCMQRTqBPdFY9UsX2BiInP3i5CT6gXyj9lTcR9Zia451td0HBM/s400/IMG_2492.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And you can sit inside its branches like it's a fort.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXm9pERsFdVSF8ueZIaF11n24W5CTNUw4MJVnPLulwggigpsb9kOjAY1IG_-2QT_6IN_kv15c9MjWKsCFyBO3v1KJSOGN8t7mXt_qLwR0av4gJrCqQKYoGiqwdf5fEWpvDF3oeEdEME_E/s1600/IMG_2519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXm9pERsFdVSF8ueZIaF11n24W5CTNUw4MJVnPLulwggigpsb9kOjAY1IG_-2QT_6IN_kv15c9MjWKsCFyBO3v1KJSOGN8t7mXt_qLwR0av4gJrCqQKYoGiqwdf5fEWpvDF3oeEdEME_E/s400/IMG_2519.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took off my shoes to walk barefoot on the grass.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUzIlOhBU380oS9Oee1TN4q3DHAPiA4YxjqMucwijRuPzlINwaOs2a-RBW8kwnX9GvoKXyKG8py7zZIugGS7Tmg0I_Y9oQ91B8jHAiYLHng2FSYyjK1sDOc6cz7dGfzkUPCIKtChBJJI/s1600/IMG_2512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUzIlOhBU380oS9Oee1TN4q3DHAPiA4YxjqMucwijRuPzlINwaOs2a-RBW8kwnX9GvoKXyKG8py7zZIugGS7Tmg0I_Y9oQ91B8jHAiYLHng2FSYyjK1sDOc6cz7dGfzkUPCIKtChBJJI/s400/IMG_2512.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridges.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
The town of Ruil-Malmaison, about fifteen minutes outside Paris by train, is also charming. I ate a wonderful millefuille in the town square as all the residents sunned themselves in the warm afternoon.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhJbONAK0SIm0UevQxHnRMuw6Tu4_3ItjOip75dSTutPkVp_APDjv4QoQ_EmgJxOBa3uyBHpQO2mmtDMx2TcoTu2CFGD7PHpiOlE4kCn4rBHfogHK1vCE_-oUA-bWIOBjovliCconBJA/s1600/IMG_2474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBhJbONAK0SIm0UevQxHnRMuw6Tu4_3ItjOip75dSTutPkVp_APDjv4QoQ_EmgJxOBa3uyBHpQO2mmtDMx2TcoTu2CFGD7PHpiOlE4kCn4rBHfogHK1vCE_-oUA-bWIOBjovliCconBJA/s400/IMG_2474.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole day smelled nice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Wishing you hyacinth-colored days,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-16893298253638150292011-03-17T11:07:00.000-07:002011-03-17T11:07:00.973-07:00An afternoon drive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This film, <i>C'était un rendez-vous</i>, was filmed in one take by attaching the camera to the front of a car. The route, as far as I can tell, would take about 25-30 minutes if you were making good time. Claude Lelouch does it in under 10. When you gotta be somewhere, you gotta be somewhere.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/COyab3YQS48?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
Vroom vroom baby,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-64179083644907229082011-03-14T13:25:00.000-07:002011-03-14T13:25:23.108-07:00Life lessons in art class<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This semester I am taking a class in drawing and painting for the first time since I was in middle school. I love the <i>atelier</i>; it's filled with the gray natural light of a Parisian afternoon and the harsh smell of paint. I'm learning a lot about art, but I've also found that I'm learning a lot about life and myself. If you'll forgive me for a moment of empurpled soul-bearing, here are some things I've learned :<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The hardest part is starting. When I sit down to that white page, I feel like I wouldn't know how to write my name with a crayon, much less paint a human being. Once I start, it gets easier.<br />
</li>
<li>There is no right or wrong way to paint a picture. Part of why the blank canvas is so intimidating is that I don't know what I'm doing. I've realized that I'm really uncomfortable with not knowing how to do something "right." In the world of academia, where there is often a right and wrong, at the very least in terms of methodology, it's nice to have an outlet where the point is just to <i>do</i>.<br />
</li>
<li>Don't force it. The more I try to draw what I think I see instead of what I do see, the less human my pictures look. When I relax and work in the moment, the results are usually more interesting.<br />
</li>
<li>Trust myself. "Don't be afraid to be audacious," said my teacher to me, "When you've decided where to put something, make deliberate brushstrokes. If it's not right, you can change it later."<br />
</li>
<li>Freedom scares me. When I look at that blank page and think "I could do anything," I freeze. This, maybe more than these other things, surprises me. I love the idea of freedom. I guess with time that infiniteness will scare me less, as will my own boundlessness. </li>
</ol><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JqPdPPX_aS5YMgVBjb5Q4_kZqvlj0SCxhkQKNgzGZ_t_bEh1VCaymrQouHRXHevZfGtVksLEjF9P3-CJLWNmxuEvEaHy_LuMPe7c8iSfEfZO43-imCsUNhSscaY7BH8X6xLndw9zZ9o/s1600/IMG_2459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JqPdPPX_aS5YMgVBjb5Q4_kZqvlj0SCxhkQKNgzGZ_t_bEh1VCaymrQouHRXHevZfGtVksLEjF9P3-CJLWNmxuEvEaHy_LuMPe7c8iSfEfZO43-imCsUNhSscaY7BH8X6xLndw9zZ9o/s400/IMG_2459.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I painted this!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Beginning, <br />
Maria </div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-34761882254554735402011-03-12T12:19:00.000-08:002011-03-12T12:19:14.612-08:00Chez Michou<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This week I saw the last gasps of a well known drag show cabaret, Michou. Why do I say we saw its "last gasps"? Because most of the drag queens and clientele are over fifty, at the very very least. One gentleman in the front has his picture in the dictionary under "grandfather." It's funny that I can't imagine my grandparent's generation setting foot in a drag show in the United States, but here in France they're the target audience!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgu88lNuw6fPFtTcPH9zCKSrtnWJ9l8TCJ53_VRg9oYUluRrLI2C1rDFQczATB8UtSxWIzKztK944A48sJoxyJESsIZrG8BwMLlMz22jP0QVMJ_KdMqzHkQj3KbCIeySZVfhDkwNLnqQ/s1600/168115-michou-637x0-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgu88lNuw6fPFtTcPH9zCKSrtnWJ9l8TCJ53_VRg9oYUluRrLI2C1rDFQczATB8UtSxWIzKztK944A48sJoxyJESsIZrG8BwMLlMz22jP0QVMJ_KdMqzHkQj3KbCIeySZVfhDkwNLnqQ/s320/168115-michou-637x0-2.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michou himself. He kissed my hand when we arrived at the club.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Chez Michou was next door to the hotel where a couple of friends of mine were staying in Montmartre, and too intrigued to not do it, we rang the bell outside and were let into a bygone world of dim, red lighting, mirror covered walls and glitter lipstick. It was campy, ridiculous and fun. Oh to have seen it in its heyday!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgu88lNuw6fPFtTcPH9zCKSrtnWJ9l8TCJ53_VRg9oYUluRrLI2C1rDFQczATB8UtSxWIzKztK944A48sJoxyJESsIZrG8BwMLlMz22jP0QVMJ_KdMqzHkQj3KbCIeySZVfhDkwNLnqQ/s1600/168115-michou-637x0-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdBUL03tmBJeOmR0X4ssshkdIgVAwh0PRPq6nMHuaECheWcVfUGa5rKDJXzWWOYPFRecTf4fNZwLipm21ZZEI7LrDbKihpqiJbsupDEmqg-3NKmYtnDFCThX-NRUc_S0OZZ6Z_E6kxnk/s1600/IMG_2344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdBUL03tmBJeOmR0X4ssshkdIgVAwh0PRPq6nMHuaECheWcVfUGa5rKDJXzWWOYPFRecTf4fNZwLipm21ZZEI7LrDbKihpqiJbsupDEmqg-3NKmYtnDFCThX-NRUc_S0OZZ6Z_E6kxnk/s320/IMG_2344.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0c1EmopCl-HQqrwFy6h5XY8g2LZ6e_ZYWhFzyQSpuC5qg1KA6INCVpiI08YyABhkzwYZ56NEvWLnNmeApHq1JBtZzEo-z0dQVXsZwCWZEjfIgKxizNOg9bg-GovFHtG-n9NBDp87TPOg/s1600/IMG_2352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0c1EmopCl-HQqrwFy6h5XY8g2LZ6e_ZYWhFzyQSpuC5qg1KA6INCVpiI08YyABhkzwYZ56NEvWLnNmeApHq1JBtZzEo-z0dQVXsZwCWZEjfIgKxizNOg9bg-GovFHtG-n9NBDp87TPOg/s320/IMG_2352.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFrVmXBf40ra_09acCcCeD3qewcynQkNASWLiXXCgPjmeMKsEBvjNGExvO17wnN1eejhV0wTotpBIDKWpTDli0S1ZAOo6oV2l1ZP4CE5g6agEMqFZdfQDa3e040hWpip3QjTsasDK6_w/s1600/IMG_2375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFrVmXBf40ra_09acCcCeD3qewcynQkNASWLiXXCgPjmeMKsEBvjNGExvO17wnN1eejhV0wTotpBIDKWpTDli0S1ZAOo6oV2l1ZP4CE5g6agEMqFZdfQDa3e040hWpip3QjTsasDK6_w/s320/IMG_2375.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWApaKOX68_vLsXiIJmFpcd4sJ5PvQRlVA4V6jZvNr0hto2xOLSbXfpr4KSdLjI8WdHjl0ghlOxNqGC97MzTDfeehTP32DUCFisHMfWftES0Iuv3dPnbBBVonlitxFX-6xdNAm_Df5lho/s1600/IMG_2377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWApaKOX68_vLsXiIJmFpcd4sJ5PvQRlVA4V6jZvNr0hto2xOLSbXfpr4KSdLjI8WdHjl0ghlOxNqGC97MzTDfeehTP32DUCFisHMfWftES0Iuv3dPnbBBVonlitxFX-6xdNAm_Df5lho/s320/IMG_2377.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoCTaGA7jdnEWlid9BN83ndKHqf4zXzTIuXEe4eDorc4_F1XVPRl07ICeReOdAGHasQQW2XuJ7_7y_qTbBX5GkvnCZMTlIE_IOnN4bPk14-lj5lfBUF0SgBOKcMMqgj8LK_WFq7hiOXw/s1600/IMG_2408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoCTaGA7jdnEWlid9BN83ndKHqf4zXzTIuXEe4eDorc4_F1XVPRl07ICeReOdAGHasQQW2XuJ7_7y_qTbBX5GkvnCZMTlIE_IOnN4bPk14-lj5lfBUF0SgBOKcMMqgj8LK_WFq7hiOXw/s320/IMG_2408.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Kz-CfetkTbT2gElgnBKCPtvD3ec1LYKXHHLZiFLkYgAIJGjIG1bwGZM92M4r1DDlPCUSvlffAmB7JUlxdZ0b18QNQKr3nQe3JjGfkwS09qta697fAZROMucGPh0_isq8AIm2uEacmwI/s1600/IMG_2417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Kz-CfetkTbT2gElgnBKCPtvD3ec1LYKXHHLZiFLkYgAIJGjIG1bwGZM92M4r1DDlPCUSvlffAmB7JUlxdZ0b18QNQKr3nQe3JjGfkwS09qta697fAZROMucGPh0_isq8AIm2uEacmwI/s320/IMG_2417.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozAzHtRGGSc6ZofvckX8-NjOVb0Vhv84KkQ9I2_jzb5qTpK0LIxs8R8wN4bLOFdrYwvlmP5W2WMgR3f2vDQcWPb6CU32rRCXkV5uRPvuDilcpuJCFzqB4bsCy24GyX4p97AJZ7iZTp3w/s1600/IMG_2435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozAzHtRGGSc6ZofvckX8-NjOVb0Vhv84KkQ9I2_jzb5qTpK0LIxs8R8wN4bLOFdrYwvlmP5W2WMgR3f2vDQcWPb6CU32rRCXkV5uRPvuDilcpuJCFzqB4bsCy24GyX4p97AJZ7iZTp3w/s320/IMG_2435.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Trying to figure out glitter lipstick,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-7542379586751319982011-03-08T03:56:00.000-08:002011-03-08T03:56:34.916-08:00Lennon Wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The Lennon Wall in Prague is a combination of an act of civil disobedience and a world wide arts and crafts project. It is visually overwhelming and ever-changing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_18efNoTydE-83CSb2xw2q2CrVSkQRbcD97LBlH1scilh5j3g5Zfssz-AzG1Fn0Thrks-9ULl1FYVnpqCOXDk7hoOC4x-1-P5t39oC2adU_aykNWFUfnDBEq5HxtgiRvhy9UWTSYslx8/s1600/IMG_2156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_18efNoTydE-83CSb2xw2q2CrVSkQRbcD97LBlH1scilh5j3g5Zfssz-AzG1Fn0Thrks-9ULl1FYVnpqCOXDk7hoOC4x-1-P5t39oC2adU_aykNWFUfnDBEq5HxtgiRvhy9UWTSYslx8/s200/IMG_2156.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>.<br />
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text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_514549456" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div style="text-align: center;">You may say I'm a dreamer,<br />
but I'm not the only one.<br />
I hope some day you'll join us,<br />
And the world will be as one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcGNZT-rw1mrmgQk5TDPzTKkLhZJ0zVxqjZkUMi0ITc056Js0zxW_6lfjKmm1WrJO38CR22tQ8-CwHlFSTRgPowDiFAdv026KeWKY8XzoLJgwPZPPIjDzroAl92BNjOxjTW6L1LQV25M/s1600/IMG_2170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZcGNZT-rw1mrmgQk5TDPzTKkLhZJ0zVxqjZkUMi0ITc056Js0zxW_6lfjKmm1WrJO38CR22tQ8-CwHlFSTRgPowDiFAdv026KeWKY8XzoLJgwPZPPIjDzroAl92BNjOxjTW6L1LQV25M/s640/IMG_2170.JPG" width="480" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zSixuZsndFbgSiiHR-qDWC_e5uIQcZFOaYWByCqZpBtn74v4nSLAZvnr3su95AkiPTnRqhgU7iZAAlqTYLRXpocWHKVvzE4FbLWHponwJqOeSegaLr31aainD0vsK5RI_ToOyNhX6AA/s1600/IMG_2178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zSixuZsndFbgSiiHR-qDWC_e5uIQcZFOaYWByCqZpBtn74v4nSLAZvnr3su95AkiPTnRqhgU7iZAAlqTYLRXpocWHKVvzE4FbLWHponwJqOeSegaLr31aainD0vsK5RI_ToOyNhX6AA/s400/IMG_2178.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Coo coo cachoo,</span></span> </div>Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-72597594175021167402011-03-07T16:13:00.000-08:002011-03-07T16:13:32.099-08:00Czech It Out<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I spent this weekend in the beautiful, strange city of Prague. Frankly, it's an enigmatic little city, which makes me think I'd need to spend a couple of months or maybe decades there to write even two paragraphs about it that are true.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mtdiiEr1azkWCuUaYdJkyzUKgTt18Aph0Ne4Y_a_vSMQRJAFU2Byzz9uhqUyGgIC8fByXNwt6Mrm1-3bXEQZZqIsoxLKeqD5hHPJnqS-Xi20I4FVwGlLVKg69fEFw8xLfiobzYJWgeQ/s1600/IMG_2242_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mtdiiEr1azkWCuUaYdJkyzUKgTt18Aph0Ne4Y_a_vSMQRJAFU2Byzz9uhqUyGgIC8fByXNwt6Mrm1-3bXEQZZqIsoxLKeqD5hHPJnqS-Xi20I4FVwGlLVKg69fEFw8xLfiobzYJWgeQ/s400/IMG_2242_2.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuB8qWxo6RYHBU6W1MQkuoFQEEmoCBX_mOxXVjxGWdpOQ1YbFvjr3hPdw1ykQ6qtP4kmuQIVobo7hb-bI65jLFCLPpCi-MZ_8tpBov3kri0kGY-LLtr804kt15kE4fkjnXRDjjaz6qsY/s1600/IMG_2141_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuB8qWxo6RYHBU6W1MQkuoFQEEmoCBX_mOxXVjxGWdpOQ1YbFvjr3hPdw1ykQ6qtP4kmuQIVobo7hb-bI65jLFCLPpCi-MZ_8tpBov3kri0kGY-LLtr804kt15kE4fkjnXRDjjaz6qsY/s400/IMG_2141_2.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziqnZ9fNzfiRHbZSpSM8Fq7D95YpQZXTP0qRnVaENPNUVku0TyTubkOFPw06C9EuXgIjVLHrlCoL83YDuEa5hWC2tvU4KGmM5yN3eyVBQVoECIPNr05U69rayGna2cSIrF_yBSmsXNP0/s1600/IMG_2136_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziqnZ9fNzfiRHbZSpSM8Fq7D95YpQZXTP0qRnVaENPNUVku0TyTubkOFPw06C9EuXgIjVLHrlCoL83YDuEa5hWC2tvU4KGmM5yN3eyVBQVoECIPNr05U69rayGna2cSIrF_yBSmsXNP0/s400/IMG_2136_2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The friend I was visiting described the Czech language in a way that made sense to me in terms of the city, too. Czech has repeatedly had its insides carved out and recrafted. The way my friend explained all this made me think of an empty house with a beautiful facade and a bare-bones interior.<br />
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On the surface there are these incredible buildings in browns, light blues, dusty salmon pinks, butter creams, beiges, mint greens and butternut squash yellows, topped with red tiled roofs and greenly oxidizing spires. The twisty streets, cobbled with small square stones, bear names I can't even sound out because all of the letters wear different sounds. In the touristy parts of town, shops selling bohemian crystal, Russian dolls, and marionettes are as insidious as dandelions and foreigners crowd the streets. The entire city looks like it could be an opera set, with romantically mysterious and menacing forest as its backdrop.<br />
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But none of this feels a part of the deeper identity of the city. It's like if you scratched the surface you would find a bizarrely hedonistic and seamy underbelly. I think that Prague is a city of secrets, a city that never sleeps. Real Prague has got to be the blurry outlines of what you see when you look at the following things out of the corner of your eye: Who exactly is making reservations three days early at a local watering hole so they can order an entire roast pig? Why are they selling pot chocolate at the absinthe museum? What does all that graffiti mean? What's really in those bread dumplings? At 2:30 on a Thursday night why is the tram full in equal parts of club goers and little old ladies?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecuO3COcMUtLHhhFQUUGXTBvqEcBVzKCRVlVbLts21KDqvymrb9EXKnfnHTeBKtZBPX0v6xfawSBhM8JgqFqcSZo362-q3UyM-LAa577Prrpb26ZmFHAPrOdNl2pUB2U_ow4GzTfTXPk/s1600/IMG_2318_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecuO3COcMUtLHhhFQUUGXTBvqEcBVzKCRVlVbLts21KDqvymrb9EXKnfnHTeBKtZBPX0v6xfawSBhM8JgqFqcSZo362-q3UyM-LAa577Prrpb26ZmFHAPrOdNl2pUB2U_ow4GzTfTXPk/s320/IMG_2318_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzSUVm3NgAH-7TdvWHEOxBYy2_g2_e4q9W6LtVJmuxoBayLc27w3xx4brPwUGPu3MfdlRq_7Fo8lDQT_TIwsXV5uH5QkAhdzCZOiFJI2a5mPj0JDz3IO9onkaafVixnCqsxeCHDDIOzI/s1600/IMG_2191_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhzSUVm3NgAH-7TdvWHEOxBYy2_g2_e4q9W6LtVJmuxoBayLc27w3xx4brPwUGPu3MfdlRq_7Fo8lDQT_TIwsXV5uH5QkAhdzCZOiFJI2a5mPj0JDz3IO9onkaafVixnCqsxeCHDDIOzI/s320/IMG_2191_2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Just going with it,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-15902498260034909502011-03-02T12:59:00.000-08:002011-03-02T16:20:21.579-08:00Good ol' olfactory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My day through smells:<br />
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This morning when I put on my gloves they smelled like the cinnamon I used to doctor my <i>vin chaud</i> last night.<br />
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Walking to the metro I passed a woman who smelled like my first French teacher, Madame.<br />
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Bread was baking at the boulangerie I went to for lunch - the kind that makes you sure the crust will melt in your mouth before you taste it.<br />
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Grass growing in the field by my house from which I can see les Invalides.<br />
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The metro. I won't describe that in detail.<br />
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A stolen squirt of a perfume with a red label from an <i>Artisan Parfumeur</i> display.<br />
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The pithy orange I peeled this afternoon. <br />
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A yellow-spraying flower called mimosa in French is my new favorite. I always stop to smell it at flower shops. It smells sweet.<br />
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The siren song of rotisserie chicken slowly turning in its heater on the sidewalk outside the <i>traiteur </i>called out to me at snack time.<br />
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Chlorine from the swimming pool. It smells the same in every language.<br />
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My apartment smells like my host mother's smooth cigarette smoke again, because she's back from vacation.<br />
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Now I smell like my lavender-honey soap and being tucked warmly into bed.<br />
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Hoping for lavender-honey scented dreams,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-4124227420264362942011-02-28T20:06:00.000-08:002011-02-28T20:06:40.716-08:00Salon d'Agriculture<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvpr1tnSuMPLO1MJhUWLq6Mh07Pch9qLCfRb5QodFJtpBskw33AFfIgiWAL0gQAhK76l2deBNVKqwEnf5Asa23Etv5f116s6UKylAleC6nD6K8HbBZMDB-V0gxZI-1QUERxxAAXa9EzA/s1600/sia2011+Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvpr1tnSuMPLO1MJhUWLq6Mh07Pch9qLCfRb5QodFJtpBskw33AFfIgiWAL0gQAhK76l2deBNVKqwEnf5Asa23Etv5f116s6UKylAleC6nD6K8HbBZMDB-V0gxZI-1QUERxxAAXa9EzA/s320/sia2011+Logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This weekend, I went to the biggest farm in the world. At least, my host family told me that's what it was. In fact, it's only the largest French agricultural convention, but I'll take what I can get. The entire exhibition complex/village of Porte de Versailles was jam packed with all kinds of livestock, regional products, and food from around the world.<br />
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The whole thing was vaguely disorienting. I felt like it was the lovechild of the Houston Rodeo and the Texas State Fair, except everyone was French and not all of the food came on a stick.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am<i> shocked</i> by my own ability to imitate this technicolor cow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Highlights included : pigs the size of ponies, a side of fried bananas with lunch, an unnecessary purchase of a jacket that smells like a farm, a kitty commune made of fish tanks, tshirts with horses on them, samples of Italian olives and a moon bounce shaped like a fruit basket.<br />
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I never knew there were that many kinds of sheep,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6334183292303724724.post-51216074931143781582011-02-26T16:19:00.000-08:002011-02-27T17:04:00.214-08:00BAM MAM!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The MAM is the Musée d'Art Moderne de la ville de Paris, and the MAM is awesome. Both the collection and the traveling exhibits were very cool.<br />
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There were lots of things I'd never seen or heard of before: An artist who makes images appear out of layer upon layer of gloppy, random-looking dollops of paint. An owl motif running through one exhibit. An installation that looked like a giant Popsicle-stick house made with rowing oars and bowling balls.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-j5MqLwXxz8NEh7aCHp0N0vGP1T280gCut6uPgEuuzxHooSCxRTOfbom8jX27A0qKpZKcxpKSB-T6fbkOd4B6gmu-ouAGVfV_9Um2EZcP5VflaZVtyEKdSo0NEvlaSGSKqyBC67ARss/s1600/g_MAMVP11Coindet01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-j5MqLwXxz8NEh7aCHp0N0vGP1T280gCut6uPgEuuzxHooSCxRTOfbom8jX27A0qKpZKcxpKSB-T6fbkOd4B6gmu-ouAGVfV_9Um2EZcP5VflaZVtyEKdSo0NEvlaSGSKqyBC67ARss/s320/g_MAMVP11Coindet01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delphine Coindet, <i>Cosmos</i> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>A dark room with a black box in which tiny pin holes light up like orbiting constellations. A whole section with works from a school called SMS (Shit Must Stop) that included, ironically, Paul Steiner's "Johns in Art Galeries," a series of index cards describing toilets that includes "small, but definitely has atmosphere. EAST HAMPTON"<br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xLEZ5sBBC5vmK2AMXljqN8eN1Ee5rCxleiBRkqFnd9Obze-mFsE2Nq5brd_wkzbAo2UveknYPWgIekzzmiiQA-DWur-fFpv6YaEreyIzlrhmLseuLxVmLERvgvUz-BIlV2gGX91e5P0/s1600/12046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xLEZ5sBBC5vmK2AMXljqN8eN1Ee5rCxleiBRkqFnd9Obze-mFsE2Nq5brd_wkzbAo2UveknYPWgIekzzmiiQA-DWur-fFpv6YaEreyIzlrhmLseuLxVmLERvgvUz-BIlV2gGX91e5P0/s320/12046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Steiner, Johns in Art Galeries</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(image taken from Washington University in St. Louis' Kemper Art Museum) </span> </div><br />
In the basement there is a very strange video installation by Turkish artist Inci Eviner. Tiny images of dogs, playing cards, cancan-ing legs, belly dancers, buildings, fires, stacks of people, people wearing gray jogging suits and blue plastic dog-cones, doing repetitive actions play over and over to music made of the sounds of whistling, the cheering of a crowd, dogs barking, clapping, and a guitar playing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijlGK3aLm9hCxolrFvYH5qnv3-iz1O8uUWVnXN9YrrRJQ1VQ5_E8oq4mcFibKrUGTLEhHkP5u9MiaWK7htV7iCXns4iTzoBGJ887cXkdgEfLHa75GRZ8qDruWPrYZKfTfrNpAr0ezsMew/s1600/1.exhibition-art-in-the-auditorium-inci-eviner-1bd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijlGK3aLm9hCxolrFvYH5qnv3-iz1O8uUWVnXN9YrrRJQ1VQ5_E8oq4mcFibKrUGTLEhHkP5u9MiaWK7htV7iCXns4iTzoBGJ887cXkdgEfLHa75GRZ8qDruWPrYZKfTfrNpAr0ezsMew/s640/1.exhibition-art-in-the-auditorium-inci-eviner-1bd.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inci Eviner, Broken Manifestos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Looking for a museum off the tourist-beaten path? Try this one.<br />
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Amusée par Art Moderne,<br />
Maria</div>Mariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15008880234995750480noreply@blogger.com0