When It's Friday, and Theres No School in Paradise

I exaggerate: I had two hours of english.
I managed to drag my altiste friend through Old Nice despite her chronic fear of muggers (it's a sunny day, at 10am, I'm not the crazy one I assure you!) where we fell upon an adorable little market. We allowed ourselves the indulgence of a hugely over priced basket of strawberries, and other more reasonably ticketed fruit for a picnic on the beach.
On our way down to the pebbled shore, I, who am distantly but surely related to crows, was mesmerized by a jewellery display. I had been oogling for a minute or two before I realized that the guy running the bicycle stand was speaking to me in a misshapen french. Poor thing, I told him I spoke english, and he was so relived to find a fellow Anglo-Saxon that he started recounting the hardships of a vendor in a tourist town come january. He hadn't had a sale in 4 days, and was willing to give me a deal on his handcrafted wares (6 euros a peice, 2 for 10 euros) three for 10 euros.
Inspired by the sunshine, and perhaps egged on by the perplexed and horrified look on my friends face, I told him Id be back in a bit. The friend and I went for another "stroll of the marketplace", just an excuse to get her to pass by the bakery with me to grab him a mini pizza.
We came back to his stand, and picked out our eclectic and unique accessories, and were chatting in english, complimenting his work, when a flock of young tourists came by, and heard us gushing.
His smile was priceless as he was swarmed, and we discreetly slipped the grocery bag on his bike handle and were off, me beaming at the break in his bad luck streak and on a doing-little-things-for-strangers high, the friend shaking her head and deeming me very, very bizarre.
I've been treated of bizarre a few times since I've been here, and honestly if doing things like stopping to call the numbers on runaway dogs collars is bizarre, then I am absolutely, positutly, bizarre!
One way or another, one passageway after another, we wound our way to the beach, and sat, and basked in the 16 degrees and sun.
I realized, sitting with my hair down that I was surrounded by three kinds of people:
the brazen tourists, speaking loudly, shouting after children in their own languages, making themselves at home and bringing great joy to the souvenir merchants.
old folks, who have worked all their lives, raised their families and are now spending the rest of their well earned lives soaking up the sun and love of grandchildren
But look, they're both on vacation in reality, and make up the vast majority of the population of the beach! What do they have that the workers on lunch break don't?
In fact, the ones who have their priorities straight, the ones who have something right, are the
mothers, sitting on the rocks despite sore backs, and drained expressions, and playing with little ones, who drag strollers up and down bumpy shorelines to find a sandy spot for their munchkins to plop down in. They are the ones taking time out of their busy lives, to breathe, and to remind themselves that there is life beyond ones priorities... In fact, I think they're the ones who have realized that to live and be fully alive is a priority.
These are my daydreams, as the turquoise waves crash on the shores with an absent minded vigour, and a metronomic pulse...

(the extents of) My Italian!

What does one do on a trip to Florence when the friend you're travelling with has a fever of 103? Learn her native language of course! In preparation for my tour of Italy with Nina, Suzanna and Juliette, in 16 days, I have decided to learn as much Italian as possible, so that there will be less touristy oopsie daisies. So far, we have covered the very basics: numbers and because it's Italy, and upon some research in my archives, it can be deducted that FOOD is also essential in Italy. How to structure basic sentences should follow at some point next week.

NUMBERS

1 Uno

2 Due
3 Tre
4 Quattro
5 Cinque
6 Sei
7 Sette
8 Otto
9 Nove
10 Dieci

11- Undici

12- Dodici

13- Tredici

14- Quattordici

15- Quindici

16- Sedici

17- Diciasette 

18- Diciotto

19- Dicianove

20- Venti....

30- Trenta

40- Quarenta

50- Cinquanta

60- Sesanta

70- Settanta

80- Ottanta

90- Novanta

100- Cento

1000- Mille 

FOOD

Pasta- pasta (never plural)

• Tagliatelle (with egg, like spaghetti, but flat and large) 
• Gnocchi (round, potato based, gooey)
• Spaghetti (yum, long round thin)
• Penne (cylinder, cut diagonally)
• Tortellini (round, stuffed, served in broth) 
• Ravioli (square, stuffed)

     with pasta...

• Pesto (paes-toh); pesto
• Matricciana (mah-trree-tcha-nah); 
• Carbonara (karr-boh-nah-rah); 
• Alle Vongole (ahlay-vohn-goh-leh); mussels
• Ragu (rrah-goo); meat with tomato sauce
• Al Salmone (ahl-sahl-moe-nae); with salmon
• Aglio olio e peperoncini (aeh-lee-oh owh-lee-oh eh pé-pé-rrohn-chee-nee); oil, garlic and gentle hot pepper

Gelato (plural is Gelati)

• Stracella (stra-cha-tella); chocolate bits, creme
• Crema; eggs
• Cioccolato (tcho-ko-la-toh); chocolate
• Vaniglia (vah-neelya); vanilla
• Fragola; strawberry
• Pistacchio (pea-stack-eeyo); pistachio
• Panna (pah-nah); whipped creme
• Fior di latte (Fiehor-dee-latteh); creme au lait
• Amarena (ah-mah-reh-nah); white with pink, bitter berry
• Caffé (kaffeah); coffee
• Menta (men-tah); mint
• Frutti di bosco (frooty-dee-boh-sko); wildberries
• Limono (lee-moh-neh); lemon

Carne- Meat

• Mucca (moo-ka); cow
• Maiale (mah-yah-leh); pork
• Vitello (Vee-tehllo); calve
• Coniglio (kon-eelioh); rabbit
• Anatra (ah-nah-trah); duck
• Pesce (peh-chae); fish
• Osso buco (oh-soh-boo-ko); tender meat on the bone

Bibite (bee-bee-teh)- drinks

- Acqua (ah-kwah); water  

     Naturale (nah-too-rah-lay)     Frizzante (free-tsanteh) 

• Succhi di frutta (soo-ki-dee-froo-tah); fruit juice 
• Vino (vee-noh); wine
• Birra (bee-rrah); beer
• Latte (lah-tay); milk

Frutta (froo-tah); fruits

• Mela (meh-lah); apple
• Pera (perra); pear
• Arancio (ah-rran-choe); orange
• Mandarino (mahn-dah-ree-noh); mandarin
• Ananas (ah-nah-nahs); pineapple
• Fragola (frrah-goh-lah); strawberry
• Lampone (lam-poh-nay); raspberry
• Anguria (ahn-goo-rri-ah); watermelon
• Pesca (pesz-kah); peach
• Albicocca (ahl-bee-koah-kah); apricot
• Pompelmo (pohm-pel-moh); grapefruit
• Uva (oo-vah); grapes
• Cigliege (chee-leeay-jeh); cherry
• Melone (meh-loe-neh); melon

Verdura (verr-doo-rah); vegetables

• Spinaci (spee-nah-chee); spinach 
• Incalata (In-sah-lah-tah); salad
• Pomodoro (poh-moh-doah-row); tomato
• Patate (pah-tah-teh); potatoes
• Mais (mice); corn
• Fagiolini (fudge-eeo-lee-nee); string beans
• Fagioli (fudge-oh-lee); beans

Wheats/ grain type things

• Pane (pah-ne); bread
• Pizza (Pitza); pizza
• Riso (rree-zzo); rice
• Lenticchie (len-tee-keeay); lentil

Formaggo (forr-madge-oh); cheese

• Mozzarella (motz-ah-rreh-lah) 
• Caprino (kap-rree-noh); goat cheese
• Gorgonzola (gohr-goan-tzo-lah); moldy cheese
• Formaggo grana (forr-madge-oh grrah-nah); parmesan on pasta

Dolce (dohl-chay); Desert

• Torta (torr-tah); cake
• Crostata (kroh-stah-tah); tarte de confiture
• Creme caramel (crehmeh carramel); flan caramel
• Panna cotta (pah-nah coh-ta); white desert thing
• Profitterol (proh-fite-errole); crust with chocolate filling
• Cioccolato (tcho-ko-lah-toh); chocolate
• Cioccolato bianco (tcho-ko-lah-toh bee-ahn-ko); white chocolate
• Meringata (meh-rreen-gah-tah); meringue pie?
• Tiramisu (tee-rah-mee-soo); coffee flavor

The trip was really special, despite staying at home more often than was intended, since home, has two rescued dogs, and olive orchard, and the most fascinating couple I've ever met: they just returned from 12 years in India working with the untouchables, he's a world class tai chi instructor (I had a lesson!!!) and she's headed for three years in China to perfect her ancient chinese in order to study traditional chinese medicine. Also note, they are both vegan. 

     In the end, the plan for the afternoon with the ladies will consist of lunch at a little restaurant hidden over the main bridge, then off to the Offices to scurry through the art. We'll stop by an artisans gelato shop on our way to the cathedral to see Dantes golden doors, and then to a different restaurant in a back alley for supper before running to see the Pizi palace.

     All this, will be done in one afternoon.

... I hope :)

I had a lovely trip, and hope that my favourite ballerina gets better soon <3

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

*O*

From now until Wednsday

I am off to Isola 2000, then to Florence! My season of endless travels begin!

"Skiing" (I don't ski, or any form of winter sport since my first experience was rather traumatic), then off to do tai Chi and formulate a plan on how to see Florence in one day. Ouf!

It is unlikely that you'll hear back from me before Thursday, however, I will write about my grand adventures.

WIth the luck my class has, it should be interesting:

The week before vacation, our flutist got in not one, but TWO tram addicidents, the opera singer (luckily only) got tapped by a car, our altiste had a messy break up with her boyfriend. Stop. Fast forward to this week, after the plague of bad luck had meandered and spent a few weeks with someone else; French teacher breaks two ribs, three out of 10 of us are sick, and Math teacher took a nasty spill down the stairs and will only be back to school on the 27th because she broke her ankle. So grave was last Friday I don't dare include it in the list, but our english teacher lost her mom to cancer... We wrote her a huge bristol board card, and I made her a heart box, but nothing changes when one day you're saying I love you, and the next you're having to say goodbye.

I can't complain, or insinuate my luck is bad, no need to taunt the Fates. I realize that I am hugely lucky, and look forward to sharing with you all the things I'm looking forward to! 

Sidenote- I'm on an Amélie Poulain kick... If anyone is in the mood for piano atmosphere, it's excellent!

Virtue: Appreciation. Otherwise, you can have it all and nothing at all, or at least not until it's gone.

much love! 

Bisous,

xoxoxooxox

*O*

My hike/Lycée/Christmas holiday

My village <3

This is my 'waiting-for-spanish-class' view.

Frohe Weihnachten from my German grandparents.

One thought per day keeps the time thief away!

Honey! I'm hooome!
Miss me? :)
Since my last post: Paris, Germany, weekend at Evas!
Pictures corresponding will be added tomorrow night, because I still have 2 acts to finish reading of Molières' "l'école des femmes" to read before dawn.
Also since my last post, application has been sent to Pearsons.
Virtue of the moment: Patience
Lots of write ups about my voyages to come, along with a synthesis of how the rest of my saturdays were spent, but for now, my pillow is calling :)
xoxoxoxoxoxo
*O*

Saturday number 21

To start, Hello to my readers from the Philippines, Denmark and Russia! I’m really touched to see you’re checking in on me! I'm back in Antibes with Mémère and Pépères for the weekend :D

Admittedly, I slack, and neglect this blog, but this week, I honestly haven’t had a moment to write, and I fear that this blog is going to boil down to a weekly summary. There will be the occasional doses of poetry, and rants. 

Let’s start with a haiku:

Dear Canada Post

I hate you, corrupted, you

Christmas gift thieves

The 8kg package that I spent a small fortune to send home, and to fill with gifts, chosen to remind the people I love that I’m not there, but I’ll always be here, was ‘delivered’ this week. The only things that arrived, albeit in disgusting condition (I spent three school nights to wrap everything individually and meticulously), were soaps and under five gifts. I’m disgusted, and dissuade you all from sending things by mail unless completely necessary. I’m sure there are legal issues with bashing an organization, so I will leave you all with the question, who would steal the ties a 16 year old girl spent two days picking out for her brothers? Books and clothes for little cousins? Though I am convinced there is good (note, the rest of the blog), some people are sick. Enough on that note, because too much incredible has happened this week to stagnate on that topic. 

When I look back, at the end of this year, at the end of my studies, at my retirement, I have a chilling feeling that I will have distinct memories of this week.

My world has been slightly overturned since the conseil de classe on Wednesday. The day before, I went to a job interview for a nanny position, and turns out, I started the next afternoon. Between that, and the first day of having to go pick up keys to my classroom on Friday, there are no more huge gaps in my schedule. 

These things, of course, though hugely exciting, aren’t by any means life changing. 

Neither are having the highest average of my class in french, second highest average in my class, the highest commendation possible, and excellent marks in my vocals. Though flattering to be praised for my work as a delegate and with my prépas was flattering, that didn’t pave a fork in the road for me. There are three paths that I can choose to follow from here, each leading in opposite directions, fulfilling different facets of my potential, and none of them meeting in the middle. The choice to leave, to come here wasn’t a deciding factor in who I will be in this life, but it was the first step towards choosing who I will be.

The staff panel working with me has invited me to stay, to finish my studies in France. 

My application for Pearsons College is almost ready to be sent off. 

Or, I could go home, and actually have a high school diploma. 

This translates to my future as

The risky road that winds around a cliff bend, overlooking the ocean. The 50/50 path, the one who is naturally and physically beyond my control. If all goes well in operatic training, around the blind corner, there could be a spectacular view, if things in turn, go spectacularly, my life could be what every little girl dreams about. If I’m not careful, and things go less than impressively, I may be running headlong into a drop off, and drown in the music industry. I ignore which is the better, and which the worse, but it’s even more likely that a storm makes the going too dangerous, and without a visa or two year commitment for lodging, and the road is closed. Heads, I could be an opera diva. Tails I could be another unexploited potential, another ‘what a shame’ who had the makings to be somebody. This is my ethereal, hell bound walk, paved by gold stars or cold streets. 

On the flip side, I could choose to walk a stable path, with harsh scenery, and no fluctuation in luxury, since there will be none, and know that every exhausting step I’d take would leave an imprint. I could be a teacher, and blaze a trail for countless third world children, a delegate beckoning for others to follow and to lead, a journalist opening eyes and learning lessons the hard way. My life would always be modest, I wouldn’t have evenings in big theaters, or keep company of orchestras, but I would never feel guilty when I saw a SOS children's villages commercial. I would have the rare, and unmeasurable gift of discovering people and places as they are, and would learn far more than I would teach. Each moon would rise on me too emotionally attached, but more deeply rooted in fulfillment. This is my organic trek to find heaven on earth. 

But then again, all roads lead home.

I’ve grown up too fast, and looking back, it pains me to realize how early that trail was prominent in me, this feeling being enforced by the fact that I already have perspective on my childhood: I’ve outgrown it. That doesn’t make me better than or better off than anyone my age, it just means that I’m limited by that exact number. 

A high school GPA, an awards night, a school play, a Christmas with family, a prom, an acceptance letter. 

How ordinary. How exceptionally extraordinary. 

And since after all, home is where the heart is....

Saturday number 22

If all my saturdays are destined to be like this one, there is no living for anything other than the weekend.

My brother said he would take me running, and it only took a few minutes to realize that either the trail was for hiking, not running, or my cardio has failed miserably since I’ve left home. The minutes that had elapsed before I admitted defeat and started walking were so few that I’m lead to (hope) believe it was both. 

He was very patient with me, and didn’t make fun of me for marveling when we finally made our way out of the brush and onto the mountain chain trail. It reminded me of Cape Breton, only with parasol pines, and little villas freckling the hills. For a moment, I was immobilized, and moved, and craved hearing an eagle cry. I felt so far from home. A good friend wrote to me once, and asked that I have an unconquerable faith in my dreams, but that I never fly so fast that my guardian angel couldn’t keep up. 

I had a lonely moment, and conveniently, had a trail to run it off. He’s much faster than I am, but he walked with me when I stopped, and waited for me to catch up. Sometimes words don’t make it better, and sometimes cold is a sage healer.

Mountain air ripping through your lungs, feeling a tense wind tearing through your hair, coasting from the waist up and feeling your heart beat in your heels it chilling. It took hail to warm my heart. 

On the 27th of november 2010, it started snowing in Nice. 

Global warming, yes I’m sure, say what you will, but someone was out to remind me that home is where the heart is. No eagle graced the sky, the shriek was mine, but in glee. You don’t have to see to know someone is there, just as I didn’t need to see the snow, that melted on foreign soil so quickly one could doubt it’s existence. I know he was here. 

We hurried home, and brought in wood, found Christmas decorations, spent an hour trying to find that one box that goes missing every year. We went to a Christmas fair, and took our time examining local art, and I walked the stands, thinking of Grammy with each angel, of my Mom inevitably at each stand, Nana when I came across a pig in a manger set, Pépé at the honey stand, Parrain would love that apron for summer barb-qs, that necklace would look so pretty on Nanny. Nothing makes a person more homesick than wishing you could be there to give the people you love a reason to smile. 

I was less jolly walking out as I was walking in until we opened the door and snowman material snowflakes started cascading from the sky. Silly me. 

We bought a christmas tree on the way home, even though they usually just use a fake one, we came home and tried to find a christmas CD, squabbled over what goes on first, the ornaments or the garlands, and ended up all smiling in the salon, imagining the fires and roasted hazelnuts to come.  

Changing plans at the mast minute are always a massive pain, and in less than 12 hours, I’ll be halfway down town to meet up with my friends, assuming everyone got the same message, and everyone is on time. And assuming busses are working in my particular case. 

To end a splendid day, I saw from start to finish for the very first time, Little Women. Is there anyone who can get up and stretch, feeling four sets of emotions swelling in their chest, and not feel peaceful? Reflective on one’s own life, the time we have to change it, and the things that are so much closer than they seem. 

A thank you goes out to Louisa May Alcott for reminding me of the standards I have set for myself. Do I dare hope for a tomorrow as good as today?

I do believe I do.

xoxoxooxxoxxoxooxo

*O*