Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage ~ Anais Nin
This quote is dear to me. There have been times when I’ve said it over and over in my head to push myself in making decisions. It’s kind of like a mantra, if you will. And it really makes sense if you think about it. If you have little or no courage your life will shrivel like fruit left to dry in the sun, but if you have some courage your life will expand in all directions. Living life to the fullest is kind of the point, isn’t it?
Last week was one of those weeks where I reflected heavily on courage. You see there is a presidential election coming this Sunday and last week the leader of the opposition was in Caracas to speak to the people. Now some of you are thinking, so what? That happens all of the time, all over the world. First let me preface by saying that I’m not a fan of politics, but unfortunately living here means I cannot escape it. It permeates everything. It’s like air; you simply cannot avoid breathing it in.
This particular election is important because for the first time in almost 15 years there is the possibility of a man becoming president, a man who has the foresight to see the huge potential of Venezuela, a man who wants to end the farce that is known as Chavez’s Social Revolution, a man who really, in all honesty, wants to end poverty and suffering of his people. Capriles is intelligent. He doesn’t want a communist country. He doesn’t want to give gifts in the form of hundreds of thousands of barrels of oil daily to countries such as Cuba. He wants Venezuela to produce its own food, he wants a safer country and he wants to do it all democratically, not by force, not by cheating, not by dividing Venezuelans down the middle, not by inducing fear, not by paying people to support him, not by murder or by kidnapping and, most importantly, not by denying millions of people their basic human rights.
Anyway, I digress. Let me get back on track. There was a march called The Heroic March in support of Capriles and Juan really wanted me to go with him, but the problem is/was I have a fear of large crowds. I get panicky about not finding an escape route, or being trampled on. Another legitimate concern I had was the possibility of violence. There are A LOT of guns in this city, so many that there are signs in almost every public space prohibiting them. There are also millions of people (Chavistas = Chavez supporters. It’s kind of a misnomer now that Chavez is dead, but the name has stuck) who don’t approve of the opposition and some who have absolutely no fear about committing violent acts, not just at election time, but pretty much all of the time. Ah Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this particular post, you’ll have to understand why I kind of failed to mention this part. Just know that we really do live in a safe part of the city and we’ll be moving soon. Caracas is one of the most violent cities in the world, making it the most violent in South America. In 2011 there was on average 53 murders per day, although I think this figure is low considering that many murders aren’t reported. So yea, I was scared.
The thing is this march, this election, and Capriles are history in the making! I’m living in a historic time. A time where both sides (some Chavistas and non-Chavistas alike) want change, want to live in a safe country, want food (food/product shortages of the basics such as flour, chicken, oil and toilet paper), want electricity (lots of power failures), want solid infrastructure, want and end to corruption. This march essentially would bring all of these people and ideas together for the common good of everyone. Did I really want to miss out on that? Did I want to miss out on the incredible energy and the immense amount of hope? No! So what did we do? We compromised. I’d go to the march and walk among the crowd and if I felt worried, claustrophobic or down right scared, we’d stop.
Of the 12 km we walked, I felt scared only twice. Once when we were walking down a narrow street and there were some Chavistas protesting on top of a building. My vivid imagination got the better of me (I was thinking of snipers) and we moved from the center of the crowd towards the wall. And the second was when the line of people entered into a tunnel. We rerouted ourselves up a hill and across a street.
This march was energizing. People were singing, laughing, and dancing. There wasn’t any violence and the times when the crowds encountered Chavistas, there were innocent displays of beckoning for them to join our side.
So what really came from the march? Approximately, 800 000 people joined together to make one of the largest political statements in Venezuelan history, violence free. What did I learn? I learned that a lot of people’s lives expanded that day because they had courage to fight for their cause. This isn’t even my country, let alone countrymen, and I can’t tell you or even describe the amount of pride I have, especially in a country where the election process is so rigged, where fraud is rampant, and fear is sky high. They have courage to believe in a man they know can make a positive difference to all Venezuelans despite the odds stacked up against him. If I hadn’t gone, I would never had the chance to participate in something so large! Have a look at the aerial view of the march.
As I write this I’m getting news snippets from Juan: another murder, a kidnapping, the government has closed the Colombian boarders so thousands of Venezuelans can’t return to their country to vote…..and on and on it goes. Nobody really knows what will happen this Sunday. I just hope that all Venezuelans will have to courage to face and deal with the result, for good or bad.
If you’d like further reading on the situation here in Venezuela, check out these blogs. Daniel Duquenal tells it like it is and Caracas Chronicles is really well versed on the subject of all things Caracas.
All great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: Freedom, Justice, Honor, Duty, Mercy, Hope, Smoothies.
Juan’s mom and I made a quick trip to the fruit and veggie market the other day and while we were meandering around we came up a fruit I didn’t recognize. This is pretty common for me. There are lots of tropical fruit that I have no idea what they are. It wasn’t the pear shape that interested me, nor the yellow color, it was the aroma. Now when I say aroma what I really mean is the drug like effect it had on my senses. No word of a lie, this fruit has an euphoric effect.
The new focus of my desire is called guayaba, or in English guava. I’ve tried it before in a jelly fruit candy. The smell isn’t the same, but I had a general idea of the taste. Anyway, for the rest of that morning we drove around with them in the car and all I kept thinking was, this could be bottled and sold as a natural anti-depressant. Well I guess eating them is easier than bottling and the nutritional value is outstanding!
I decided to make a batido (or a smoothie). I cut the fruit length wise and cut them into cubes, like I do with mangoes. This by the way, is the wrong way. Juan’s mom came into the kitchen and told me that I needed to peel the skin like a potato and then cut it into smaller pieces. I was just going to throw everything into the blender willy nilly, but this is also incorrect. After cutting the guava and placing it in the blender, you need to add a lot of water and blend on high.
The next step is to put the juice through a sieve and mash all the pulp out. This process also removes the seeds, which by the way are as hard as little pebbles.
I also decided to add some papaya. This is something I wish I liked more, but I can’t get over the smell. The color, on the other hand is something that I love! I put it in smoothies because it’s supposed to be SO good for you.
The last thing I put was an apple. I had no idea if this combination would work, but I thought, What the hell? It won’t be that bad.
And it wasn’t! Actually, it kind of tasted like a mild bubble gum. I think next time I’m going to add passion fruit to my guava juice. You know, there are a million different possibilities here!
Even the ant has his bite. ~ Turkish Proverb
Two fantastic things have happened this week. One, we finally bought a car (this is the miracle) and two, we finally made it to the Chacao food market before closing time. It normally closes before 2 on weekdays, but we went on a Saturday before noon. This was both good and bad.
I’ve written before (A Lesson in Patience) about the incredible difficulties of finding a car here in Caracas, so it was with great fortune that a friend of a friend of Juan’s sister was selling one. Did you get that? That’s the most trusted way of doing business here. If you know the person, or they come recommended, the chances of a smooth transaction are high.
I’ve also mentioned that gas here is, for all intents and purposes, free. Let me put it this way, a can of coke is more expensive than a TANK of gas. The subsidization of gas here is, for lack of a better word, strange. I know every country has their issues, but for a country that has millions upon millions of people living below the poverty line the best it can do is give away gasoline? Ahhhh, my brain goes in circles considering this here. I struggle to understand the why’s and how’s of it. I think I’ll leave it for another day.
Having a car is another piece of the puzzle falling into place. It’s funny, Juan and I have always tried to live in cities where we wouldn’t be car dependent. You know, live in a place where we could easily commute using great public transportation. Montreal, by the way, was the best to date offering city dwellers and tourists alike the metro (a subway), buses, and the Bixi (a bike rental service where you can rent by the hour or the season). Bixi = bike + taxi. It’s genius. Fortunately, and unfortunately, a car here means freedom!! We no longer have to borrow Juan’s mom’s car (I’m pretty sure she loves her renewed freedom) and there is no need to plan; we can just get up and go. The unfortunate part is that we’re adding to the already overly polluted city. I guess I feel somewhat better knowing that the car is only a few years old. The emissions are low, so it assuages my guilt.
We bought the car sight unseen (crazy prospect, isn’t it?), so once it was in our possession Juan wanted to test it on the highway. This was relatively easy seeing how there was a mass exodus out of the city for those wanting to celebrate carnival. I tested it as a passenger, checking the windows, air conditioner, the seats etc. I remarked that we will never, ever have to use the heater!! I giggle at this. Tee hee. Juan will be the principal driver here for two reasons: one, I’ll never drive in the city (it’d be suicide for me or manslaughter for someone else) and two, it’s a stick shift. I never learned to drive one. I’m kind of kicking myself for that, but I learned to drive on my first cross country Canada trip. The huge camper van we had was automatic. I’ll learn to drive it once we get to the island. It’ll be good fodder for a post.
Anyway, once we finally made it to Chacao (a neighborhood) we needed to find parking. Parking on the street in Chacao is safe, but Juan wanted to park in the market’s parking lot. Parking lots here could also be another blog post, needless to say, one needs patience. Seeing how I don’t have a lot of that, I left Juan to find his way while I went in search of some goodies.
Upon entering the market I made a mental note, not to ever go there on a Saturday again or at least come earlier in the morning. We had planned on the latter, but Juan’s test drive took us a bit further than we had anticipated and into a shady neighborhood, one I was anxious to get out of. No pictures were taken there. I digress. The market was loud and lively. This was due in part to a mini carnival parade (percussion section included) making it’s way through the stalls. I love markets. I could spend hours looking at every fruit, vegetable, herb, and knick-knack. Juan, not so much. So I used this opportunity (of not having him around for 10 minutes) to discover things he’d walk past.
Not having him around also allows me to practice my Spanish. I found a store that was just up my alley. It had teas, and natural products, and really kind people. I could tell immediately that they would be patient with me, so I asked a lot of questions, even about things I knew the answers to. I ended up buying some jasmine rice (which is hard to find here), some dried lavender and some pomegranate suckers. The best find/deal for me were the wooden spoons. I’m a tactile person. I love the way things feel. I have to touch things in order to know them better. These spoons are so smooth and the colors are so rich. I just stood there and rubbed all of them. You know, to feel which ones were the best. The prices were shamelessly low, so of course I had to buy them.
After wandering around for a bit, it was time for a little coffee. Again, the people were super friendly. While waiting for our order, Juan had me try a little bit of hot sauce that was sitting on the counter. I love hot sauce. So much so, that I think I must have been Mexican in another life. This hot sauce was nothing like I have ever tasted!! It was not just hot and spicy, the flavor was really complex. I mean layers of complexity. It was phenomenal. My mouth was so happy! Juan turns to me and says, so do you want to know what’s in the sauce? I look up to where the bottles were sitting and I could see an ant on the label. Strangely, I wasn’t disturbed my this. It was more fascination. I mean how could something like an ant taste so damn good?!
The formic acid, the same acid that stings you when it bites, is what gives it flavor. Of course there is also garlic, pepper and salt added, but it’s the acid that makes this salsa spectacular. I have a feeling the kind of ant has something to do with it as well. This particular salsa is made from ants from the Amazon. I’ve seen them and they’re huge! Once home, I told a friend about my new culinary discovery and she couldn’t wrap her head around eating bugs. I understand her squeamishness, but it has opened a new world for me. I can’t wait to use this as a marinade.
Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Something strange happens here on Sundays, people slow down. It’s like they take a deep breath before the start of a new week or perhaps they have no energy from the week that has passed and just decide to go with it and relax. This doesn’t mean they stay at home and don’t do anything, on the contrary. It appears that everyone heads outdoors to spend time with family and friends.
Two fantastic places to do this are Parque El Este and the Avila National Park. Both, conveniently enough, are located in the city. Because everyone has the same idea, there are some serious lines to get into and out of Parque El Este. It’s a super crowded place on the weekend. Every group imaginable is there from yoga, tai chi, some sword fighting group, I even saw a wellness group where people were laughing so hard it was contagious. There are, of course, the walkers, the joggers, and basketball, volleyball and baseball players along with kids in strollers. Everyone is trying to get the most of the fresh air and their one truly free day.
There are kiosks of toys for kids, people pressing fresh orange juice, or serving chicha ( a semi-thick rice drink, not to my liking), there are even canteens selling empanadas and taquenos (I’ll write more about those when I have pictures of the good stuff!).
Parque EL Este is not a zoo even though it has some crocs, lots of turtles, a couple of monkeys, a few otters, and the odd large iguana running around. I particularly like watching the monkeys, but I love watching other people react, or not, to animals, especially children. People connect to nature differently than how they connect with people. In some ways it gives me hope.
I’m all about stopping and smelling the roses. Seriously, I think Juan gets tired of me picking up random things like seeds, or fruit from a tree, or feeling the texture of bark on a tree.
Take the Hura Crepitan seed for example. It stopped me in my tracks. It’s a big, hard seed which, when whole, kind of looks like a small brown pumpkin. Juan told me that people here make jewelry, key chains, or even art with them.
The tree is also referred to as the Dolphin tree because when you turn one part of the seed a certain way it looks like a dolphin. I think I’m going to try and make something out of mine. By the way, the trunk has thorns like a rose. Crazy, right?
Anyway, I like details; I like that I can think about shapes, forms, the how and the why of things. It gets my mind working and it calms me down. Nature is awesome!
After visiting Parque El Este we headed over to the Avila National Park for a little hike. The Avila is the mountain range that dominates all of Caracas. It’s a large dark green curtain of a mountain. It’s beautiful.
The beginning of our hike was, you guessed it, crowded. People with dogs, bikes and kids crammed the entrance. A few minutes later we were in our own little world. We went off of the beaten track onto a small trail.
The silence was most welcoming. It was hard to believe that solitude could be had in such a noisy city. I love this mountain for this reason. The air was pure, so clean. Caracas, unfortunately has no real air quality control, so cars, buses, trucks and motorcycles pollute in such a careless way that it breaks my heart. Huge black clouds of exhaust are everywhere.
Whenever we walk around for any length of time my nose and throat burn. It’s that bad. So the Avila really is the lung of the city. All I can say is thank god trees turn carbon dioxide into oxygen! If not, we’d all be dead from poisoning.
Walking through the Avila provided me with a great experience to discover new Nature. I saw trees and leaves that I had never seen before.
It gave me a chance to unwind, be at peace and reconnect with the most basic of things: silence, light, shadows, chirping birds and the sound of water pushing its way through rocks.
All in all, it was a fantastic way to spend a Sunday. So if you ever find yourself in Caracas and need a break, head to the parks!
Taste every fruit of every tree in the garden at least once. It is an insult to creation not to experience it fully. Temperance is wickedness. ~ Stephen Fry
I really was an explorer the first time I was here. In fact, I still am. There is food that I have never heard of or seen, never mind tasted. Guanabana, is a good example of this. Guanabana, known in English as sour sop, is reportedly the super cancer fighter of fruit. Even the food that I’m well acquainted with tastes differently. It’s all about freshness. There is nothing as sweet as a mango from the tropics. When food has to travel 3000 miles, something surely will be lacking. Whether it be flavor, color or shelf life, the essentials are gone.
For three years I kept hold of memories of a fresh juice kiosk in a mall here. I longed for this place like an old friend. There would be times when I’d say to Juan, “Ah, remember the fruit juice place? Remember the variety? I wish we could just have a……” High on my list of priorities, we went a few days after I arrived. I found out that the place is called Chucha.
The third best part (the first being freshness, the second being variety) of batidos, as they’re called here, is that they’re super cheap. The average price for a glass and a half is around $2.50. Trust me, if I lived closer to the mall, I’d go everyday just to try one of each.
The shelves are lined with, you guessed it, fruit. You won’t find powdered protein or wheat germ on the menu, just good old fashion fruit. And that’s just the way I like it.
My choice that day was mango. It was absolutely divine!
There are shortages of certain kinds of food in this country, but fruit isn’t one of them. There seems to be an abundant supply.
Chucha’s also has a sandwich counter and a full menu including empandas, fish and criollo (the national dish made of shredded beef, black beans, plantains, rice and arepas). Stopping by Chucha’s is the highlight of my trip to the mall. It’s kind of like my reward for having to fight the traffic and, of course, going to the mall in the first place.
Well, it’s definitely my intention to try as much tropical fruit (and various other forms of food) while I’m here. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let you know what I discover.
I need the sea because it teaches me. ~ Pablo Neruda
It was early morning on January 1st and we were packing our bags to go to the beach. This was such a far cry last year when we were getting ready to fly out of Miami, hung-over. Well, I was hung-over; Juan, on the other hand, being the designated driver, still had his wits about him. I don’t think I slept for 3 hours that night/day. Alas, this is a new year. I was still wiped from my trip from hell, but knowing that the beach was a few sweet hours away I was up to the task.
Travel time is always taken into consideration here; there are no exceptions. It is expected that you will wait in some kind of line, whether it be in a store, a bank or traffic. If by some miracle there is no line, a million questions arise as to why, or as to how long it will last. This is what happened on our way out of town. It was smooth sailing. Our reasoning was that people were just getting home from celebrating New Year’s or they weren’t out of bed yet. Whatever it was, we appreciated the break. Knowing that all good things must come to an end, the break was short lived. A third of the way into a tunnel, the smooth traffic flow became a parking lot. The only reasonable explanation was an accident. This didn’t come as a surprise.
Traveling by car in Venezuela is an extreme sport; one in which knowing the rules are a must. The first time I was here I thought I was going to die 5 times over just from the airport to the condo. I’m not sure how to really describe it. A two lane road can quickly become 3 lanes for cars and 2 or 3 extra lanes for motorcycles. Include a few vendors dodging the traffic and you have a kind of organized chaos. Motorcycles, of course, have their own set of rules and an incredible sense of entitlement. By entitlement I mean, if a car does not make way for an approaching motorcycle, the driver will be sure to damage your car just as a way of showing his “right”. How does one know if a motorcycle is approaching? By the use of the horn, of course. The cacophony of noise is startling. The speed in which they pass between cars is mind boggling. I’m always in a state of awe, shock and horror.
Traffic here is a living, breathing organism. You can see the inhalations and the exhalations, the expansions and contractions. Maybe a better way of looking at it is by thinking of it as a colony of ants marching to its own beat. If something is in its way, the collective group makes way and when an ant misses a step or gets pushed to the side, accidents occur. That’s just what happened in the tunnel. The risks are high and the outcomes are never great. We slowly crept by the scene and, sure enough, motorcycle parts were everywhere and the victims were pushed along the wall waiting for the ambulances to arrive.
Driving along the coast reminded me of driving near Malibu along the Pacific Coast Highway. The view was spectacular and never ending. We were supposed to stay in a house of friend of a friend out in the country near Todasana. It was described to us as “rustic”. And rustic it was. Getting there proved to be a challenge because parts of the road had been washed out during some recent rain. After one look at the place we decided not to stay overnight. Instead, we’d to go to the beach and head to a friend’s condo after dinner.
People here take beaches for granted, much like Canadians take trees for granted. A so-so beach for a Venezuelan is a superb beach for me! I’ve been waiting all year to hit the beach. My desire to be in a teeny bikini, soaking up the sun and frolicking in the waves was granted. I was the only one within our group who went swimming. Why, because the waves were too high, and the wind a bit strong for my Venezuelan counterparts. I don’t think any sane Canadian would have let those become deterrents. Todasana is a mini paradise.
I connect to the ocean, the salty air, and the sound of crashing waves. Months of work and stress wash off of my skin. My senses sharpen, almost like a kaleidoscope coming into focus and I eventually become calm. I needed this to reflect on this past year, what I’ve learned and what I’ve gained. All I can say is that it was well deserved and definitely worth the wait!
A traveler without observation is a bird without wings. ~Moslih Eddin Saadi
Flying into Venezuela is something to behold. For some reason I forgot about its beauty. Either that, or the last time we flew here was at night, and, therefore, we couldn’t have seen anything. How do I describe the mountain ranges here? Ummm, it’s like a huge green piece of paper was crumpled up into a ball and then laid flat in order to have been made into a gigantic fan. Maybe it’s best to look at it like the folds of a long pleated skirt. The deep green is contrasted with the blue sky and turquoise sea. It’s breathtaking. The closer you get to Caracas “the skirt” becomes speckled with color. The color happens to be the barrios or slums. I had contradictory feelings when I saw that. It was beautiful and sad at the same time and then I thought of the contrasting monetary value of waterfront property.
Like most places in North America, waterfront property is worth millions (well at least in Vancouver), and here the poorest of people live precariously on the slopes with the most spectacular view. You will learn soon enough that Venezuela is all about contradiction. Now it would have been nice if I had actually taken a picture of this, but I forgot to whip my phone out. I know, how absent minded, but in my defense I had been traveling for over 24 hours and I was wiped.
Driving from the airport to Caracas was something that I prepared for. I knew I would be confronted with a view of one of the largest barrios in Caracas. As soon as you come out of the dark tunnel into the light all you can see are shelters constructed of tin, brick and painted in all colors imaginable. I have to be honest with you; the first time I saw this I cried. Having lived in Canada for most of my life and having traveled around Europe and North America I was accustomed to seeing homelessness, but I had never seen poverty on such a large scale. Again, this is contradictory because Venezuela is an oil rich country. One has to pause for thought. How can a country as “rich” as this have millions upon millions of people living under the lowest of poverty lines? I digress. Arriving on a Sunday helped ease me into Caracas. There wasn’t “much” traffic and traffic here means absolute chaos with a noise level that is incomparable to anything in Canada. So, all was well. We drove through a few neighborhoods and I was impressed with how much was familiar.
For some reason I didn’t feel as overwhelmed as I did the first time. I saw some obvious changes, like timers for stop lights. These things are fantastic! They allow drivers to know how time is left on the green light and how much time they need to wait on the red light. Now they aren’t everywhere, but they’re situated where they are most needed. I think other major cities in the world should adopt such a system. I think it cuts down on the stress.
One thing I noticed was the quality of the streets themselves. I think Montreal had prepared me for the worst. Anyone who has ever driven a car or ridden a bike in Montreal will know what I’m talking about. The infrastructure there is atrocious and is inexcusable. This, of course, is all due to years and years of blatant corruption. Sadly (or happily, depending on which side you look at), the infrastructure in a “developing country” is a whole lot better. Sure there are potholes, etc, but nothing like Montreal!
The heat! I forgot to mention how warm it has been. You would think I would have mentioned this first considering how much I complain about being cold. I went from –30 degrees to +30 in 24 hours. My body is adjusting well. It likes the non-tense position that it stays in for 6 months out of the year. My vitamin D levels have been topped up and I have some color in my face. It’s like a rebirth!!
Before I go, I need to talk about food. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? The freshness of food here is out of this world. We had red snapper for our New Year’s dinner and it was so good. I can’t emphasis this through words. I savored every last bite. The avocados look like they’ve been given some sort of growth hormone, but no; they just naturally grow to this size. The plantains are as sweet as sugar and last, but not least are the passion fruit or parchitas. Not only are they super cheap, but they have to be at least 4 times the size of what we import in Canada. I’ve been spoiled. Juan’s mom makes the best jugo de parchita (passion fruit juice) and I’ve had a glass of it every morning!
Remind me to tell you about the beach…….
Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. ~ Marcel Proust
Both my computer and I have been out of commission for this past week. Although it was inconvenient for most of the part, it gave me time to reflect on some of the things that I will truly miss about Montreal.
I’ve spent my entire life moving around from one city to another, from one country to another and if there’s one thing that I’ve learnt, it is that real genuine friends are few and far between. I’m not talking about acquaintances; I’m speaking of people that you connect to on a cellular level. I’ve had the great fortune to meet at least five such people here. Funnily enough, the common thread has been language.
When I came to Montreal I couldn’t speak French. Sure, I was taught some basic stuff in school, like how to conjugate a verb, but I never spoke it. For the first year here I struggled to learn. I took some classes and I worked in a store so I could really get into it. And on that journey I answered an ad to participate in a language exchange; French for English. I thought, “How perfect!”. My first partner benefited from this exchange. He spoke very well while I could barely put a sentence together. Um, let’s just say his resume got translated.
I thought that I’d approach my second attempt differently. Maybe I would feel more comfortable and, or, confident if the exchange was with a woman. I read her ad and thought it was perfect. She claimed her accent was terrible and that although she’d studied English in the past she really needed to practice. I thought, “Great, we’re on par. I suck and she could really use my help”.
When we finally met, I discovered that she lied!!!! She was practically bilingual and I came to the quick realization that I had a lot of work to do. I didn’t speak well. Our meetings were a comedy of errors. We always chose cafes where the cappuccino makers were too loud, the service was terrible or the hot chocolate didn’t meet our standards (our standards are high).
At one point we thought we could read aloud; you know, to help each other out with our pronunciation. Her accent, by the way, was not as terrible as she claimed (another lie). I chose Harry Potter because I read all the books in English and I thought I could follow the story better. This was a wise choice! I think she chose Truman Capote. Whoever it was, it was far too literary. So the following week she brought in a book of Candace Bushnell, of the “Sex and the City” fame. Every time she read “penis” out loud the cappuccino maker died down and poor Cécile was practically yelling penis to all the patrons. I, of course, laughed until I had tears streaming down my cheeks.
I guess she was a sucker for punishment because she came back the following week and that was the beginning of a remarkably funny, sarcastic, chocolate induced friendship. We’ll be celebrating our belated second anniversary next week.
Stay tuned for friend number two.
As our departure date comes into focus I’m finding a need/desire to do/eat the things I just never bothered to do before now. Perhaps it’s because I figure it’ll be a long time before I ever return to this part of Canada. I’ve lived in Quebec for 3 years now and my friend France was shocked, and or appalled, that I’ve never tried Sugar pie or a Beaver’s tail, although she tells me that Beaver tails aren’t really a French thing.
Anyway, France and her hubby invited us for Thanksgiving dinner last night. It’s strange because none of us really celebrate this holiday, but it was the perfect opportunity to have turkey with all the fixings, and, you guessed it, SUGAR PIE!!
How can I describe Sugar pie? It’s kind of like a cross between a butter tart and pecan pie without the raisins or nuts. France’s pie met three criteria: a golden pie crust, caramelized sugary goodness on top, and the sweet factor.
This pie lived up to the hype. It was delicious, but I have to say, once a year would be sufficient for me. Thanks France, for checking one thing off of my list.
Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions. ~ Dalai Lama
I have a pretty skewed vision of “Thanksgiving”. So I thought I would by-pass all of the “nostalgia” and get to my list of happy-thankfulness.
- Family (mine and his)
- Friends (the old and the new)
- Freedom (to choose what I want)
- Dandelions: to make wishes from
- Laughter & Humor (the sound of and the ability to laugh at myself and others)
- Good food (this bears repeating twice, as do other things on my list)
- Chocolate (this should be higher on the list, but it would make me look like an addict
Now in no particular order:
- Music (the unique soundtrack of my life)
- Stimulating conversation
- The beach & the sun (obviously)
- Art (I’m not picky, as long as it makes me think)
- The moon (cue all songs with moon in them, except for Moon River)
- My students (there are days when I learn more than they do)
- Sarcasm (Skippy, you’re one of my favorite sparring partners)
- Pumpkin spiced lattes
- Nature (including the creepy insects)
- Hot chocolate with cardamom (we’re talking real cocoa here)
- Great movies (future blog idea noted)
In all seriousness, I’m a very grateful person who is thankful for all that I have and for all those I get to share with.
What are you thankful for?