Christmas in The Alps

We were able to make it out of Paris, despite the adverse weather conditions of last week. It was snowing pretty heavily the morning we left, but luckily we were taking the train and not driving. We arrived in Bourg Saint Maurice in the French Alps a little after 2pm. From the train station, we had to take a funicular up the mountain and then a shuttle bus to Les Arcs 1950. And I have to say, this place is pretty great, for what it is. And what it is, is a great big cruise ship in the sky with every convenience at your finger tips! We rented a condo in a little car free prefab village (think Main Street USA Disneyland, only french) with restaurants (again, think France, so replace Goofy's Burgers and Dogs with Pierre's Gooey Fonduey), ski shops, market, gaufre stand and sweet shoppe. It's ski in, ski out... no need to get in the car or shuttle bus or what have you, just slap on your skis and go! (I really believe now that the torture of getting your kids ready to ski and out the door is far beyond anything we were meant to endure as humans anyways, getting them onto transportation after that is just plain 'insupportable'! I mean, who came up with the term 'ski vacation', anyways? Haven't the jews suffered enough?) The kids are in ski school til noon, then we get them, have lunch (crepes, anyone?) and go out for a few more runs. And the best thing is, everyone is so exhausted by the end of the day, they pass out cold. We even got a little goyesha Charlie Brown Christmas tree for the room. I should also add, however, that we mistakenly used some chocolate ornaments to decorate it with (only the top branches) but when we came home from dinner one night, Chloe had helped herself to 4 of them. And didn't even knock the tree down. She's quite agile, the little bugger! Noa loved the ski school and really likes to go fast (surprise). She started doing this thing where she parallels her skis, bends at the knee, slaps both hands on her thighs and then jumps up. She says it makes her go faster. Lili wasn't too keen on ski school but she did a great job and warmed to the idea a little after the first 3 days. I skied some but I'm really a fair weather skier so today, as it was snowing, I bowed out. Ethan, the ski fanatic, decided to continue to ski and apparently held a huge yard sale right under one of the lifts, something worthy of a standing ovation, or a least a number of cheers from the chair above. Tonight we stood out in the cold for about an hour waiting for a torch lit ski descent and when they finally started coming down Noa says 'This isn't magical, this is boring!' Currently, the girls are trying to fall asleep so Santa can come. We'll spend Christmas day here and then back to Paris on Sunday. Happy Holidays! (This post was written on Christmas Eve, however, with the internet connection, we couldn't get it to download, hence, the time lag.)

So That Happened.

I am only able to write about this now, as it looks as if Lili has turned a corner. As you know, if you've been keeping up with the smelly blog, Lili got sick a little over a week ago. She has been home now for 10 days. Finally this afternoon, she seems to be a little better and the way I'm able to measure her progress is that she asked for some real food to eat... a tuna sandwich. I'll try to make the boring parts of this long story short and just get to the absolutely mortifying but definitely blog worthy part, asap. When Lili first got sick, way back when, we called SOS Medicin, who will come to your apartment and treat you at home. He prescribed a few things, that ultimately did nothing but I suppose there wasn't anything to treat really. She had a lot of stomach cramping and fatigue but not much else. After a few more days, she started complaining of a sore throat but said her stomach was feeling better. Even though her throat hurt she seemed to be in much better spirits and was even out of bed moving around the house. I decided to make an apt for her anyways with a doctor I had seen before to get a strep test because, she is constantly coming down with strep and this is usually accompanied by stomach pain. So, because she seemed to be feeling much better, I decide that we could just take the metro to the doctors office a few stops away. As we start going down the metro stairs, she sort of hunches over and says she is fine but has some gas (famous last words). We get to the platform and I can see she is slowly loosing color from her face and is getting increasingly uncomfortable. At this point, I think, what are my choices. I can take her back home but then we miss the doctor and we still have to walk back up the stairs, all the way to the apartment. If I can just get her on the train then all we have to do is walk the one block to the doctor's office and we can just take a cab home after that. I ask her a few times if she thinks she can get on the train. We miss the first one. The second one comes and she says she can get on, she'll be fine. We get to our stop and I have to help her off and lead her up the stairs. We get onto the street and start walking, she is looking increasingly pale and is leaning onto me more and more. Finally, she tells me she can't walk her stomach hurts too much, she says she doesn't know what's happening. We happen to be in front of a hotel, so I say do you have to go to the bathroom, there is a hotel right here and I can ask if we can use the bathroom. She says yes, she has to go. So we walk in and I say in my most polite french, excuse me, I don't mean to bother you but my daughter is sick and we are just on our way to the doctor's but she has to go to the bathroom, can she please use the toilet? Surprisingly (this is Paris, you know), he says, yes Madam, go ahead, it's downstairs. At this point Lili is moaning. I start to take her down the stairs and, horror of horrors, she starts to throw up. Just a little at first. On the stairs. Yes, of course, it's carpeted. The man at the front desk hears what's going on and pokes his head around the corner. "Putan!! Go down, go to the toilet, please, Madam!!" And I'm trying, really, I am but Lili won't move. She can't, she's in mid heave. And she throws up again. This time, though, it's not a little bit. "AAAWWW!! PUTAN!!!" Clearly, with a slap on the thigh accentuating the 'putaness' of it all. After that one, we got down the stairs where we had to find the hidden toilet door, which took, what seemed like a bloody eternity. Without getting too specific, Lili went in and dutifully used the facilities as she had originally intended. After that was done, how much did I not want to leave that bathroom? I mean really, to have to do the walk of shame up the soiled staircase, past the front desk and look at the man who was so nice in the beginning of our venture but who turned into a not very nice pissed off parisian. And I couldn't even blame him for being pissed. He was just trying to be nice and this is the thanks he gets? Granted, I'm sure he's not the one who has to do the clean up but no one wants that in their stairwell. We had to leave. So I gathered Lili up (who was feeling much better, by the way) and we climbed the stairs to the front desk. The man who let us in, wouldn't even look at me. So I apologized to his colleague, who responded with "Je vous en prie, madam" (essentially, 'you are very welcome') and we slunk out of there. When we got out I explained to Lili that it is perfectly acceptable to puke in the streets in Paris, people do it all the time. She said she didn't know she had to puke, just thought she had to go to the bathroom. OK, I won't bore you with the rest of the details of our doctors visit, then the visit to the lab and finally, the news that Lili does not have strep and she is actually feeling better today, which I believe is where I started this blog entry. Off to the Alps on Sunday, have a great holiday everyone!

Sick, soup, and tests!!

Hi. I am sick ;(. This is gonna be a super quick post, I was just getting super bored. Anyways, we are having these things in school called controls, they are horrible. We haven't had them in math or French or English yet 'cause so many people have been absent!! We have done practice ones though, let me tell you, they aren't a picnic! We have been having so much snow (by Paris standards) ; a blizzard last week!! Nothing else is going on here, just counting down the days 'til we go skiing (7!), and doing h.w. I have to go, dad just got back with some chicken noodle soup (yum...)!

Lili(an) Belle in PARIS!

PS: Have I already written about getting sick on the blog? I think I have, so this is the 2nd time I've gotten sick so far... UUGH! Bye !!!

Smells like Ikea

Yes, it smells like Ikea. You know what I'm talking about. It's not as nice as new car smell but it's close. As promised, here is the update on the kitchen. It’s fabulous! Having a real kitchen, like real human beings and not like college students, makes such a difference! I’ve posted some before and after photos so you can all see what I’m talking about. Isn’t it great! 100% Ikea. And the best thing about it is that I never even had to set foot in the Ikea store. I looked at the catalogue, tried to download the design feature but failed miserably. So I painstakingly used the cut and paste (I mean literally with scissors and glue, grid paper, you get the idea) model they had in the back of the catalogue to pick the cabinets and their correct sizes. I hired this polish guy, Stefan, gave him the item numbers and he went to Ikea to get everything. Then he brought them all back to the apartment, assembled and installed them in 2.5 days! There are a few minor issues but who cares! I have actual counter space and cabinets... imagine that! The biggest issue was that Stefan, who I thought was a charming eastern european with a funny accent turned out to be kind of psychotic. He refused to take any responsibility for any problems that occurred during the process. When the kitchen sink was leaking he said it couldn't possibly have been him. It was the dish washer, for sure, and he didn't touch that. Even though the kitchen was bone dry before he started work on it and I had certainly been using the dish washer. At some point, he must have cut his hand because he went down to get something from his truck and there was a bloody rag on the sink. When he came back up, his hand was all taped up with masking tape, smears of blood coming out the sides of it. Whenever I pointed something out that I didn't think was quite right he would look at me with this weird smile, like I was completely insane and life isn't perfect and I should try maybe to spend a winter in a Polish prison and then I would not be so concerned about the height of my stove or the flood under my sink. C'est normal. Non? Anyways, it's done, for now. We need to get some things for the walls and accessories for the counter. Oh, and we could use some new dishes that aren't all cracked (maybe I should send the old ones to the Polish holding cell block where they can appreciate them), perhaps some serving pieces. But the point is, I have a kitchen now and not a mini bar from the prison's isolation room.

It's the Cheese, of course!

I am now friends with my fromager. It's a total cliche, I know, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. We all like cheese but don't indulge on a regular basis. However, since our recent onslaught of visitors, I have had to make an unholy number of pilgrimages to the cheese shop in order to obtain the much desired and sought after "French" cheese! When I visit my cheese guy, I linger a bit too long to get a small french lesson in with my order. Might as well, lord knows the cheese costs enough! I think my cheese guy likes me too. I like him, not only because he holds the cheese but because I think he may be gay and I'm always looking for a new gay boyfriend. But, he may not be gay and that is perhaps why he likes me. Doesn't matter really, as long as he's willing to indulge my endless questions about firmness, texture, smell, taste and origin, it's all good. My last trip there, I decided to sample some butter. We've been here long enough that it was time to delve into something tastier than the supermarket brand. We're in France for crying out loud! Can you fault me for wanting to experience the sensuous world of farm fresh salted butter! On my way home I bought my new favorite food item, bread with dried fruit and nuts. Example: bread with almonds and apricots or raisins and hazelnuts. If there was a way to add more delicious carbs to a slice of bread, the French have figured it out and I have dutifully fallen in love with it. Honestly, one of the most beautiful things I have eaten here is a lightly toasted piece of fruited bread topped with the salted farm fresh butter. And if I'm feeling crazy, a dollop of black cherry jam. Really, just unreal. Fruited bread with goat cheese comes in at a close second. If you can, do it! Go now! Don't walk but run to your local farmer's market (or Whole Foods) and get some delicious bread, the more carbs the better, and some fresh butter with plenty of salt, get it home quickly and swiftly into the toaster, pop it out and watch the butter melt into the nooks and crannies of your toast (if you can wait that long) and then... enjoy!

Ode to Jellified Cranberry Meat

After Martha's departure (and I mean, the day after she left), we were greeted by our good old Madison friends, the McHughs! Erin and Lili got to spend some good quality time together and we all got to have a very special Thanksgiving together. It was mostly special for me because I didn't have to cook, just kidding! Wesleyan hosted an extremely nice dinner at a restaurant just outside of Paris, where we had a very lovely

thanksgiving style dinner. For starters, we were served a pumpkin soufle with sweet corn fritters. The main course was turkey breast stuffed with fois gras (as only the french would dare to do), lazily floating on some peppered gravy. There were also smashed sweet potatoes with some kind of sesame cookie topping. Most surprising is that there was actual cranberry sauce. Glaringly absent, however, was the can molded jellified cranberry meat that is apparently only available in the good ol' US of A. In it's place were cubes of jello with an indistinguishable flavor. Presumably it was supposed to be cranberry but I think the chef actually made it from scratch (and I don't mean adding water to some colored powdery stuff) with actual fruit, sugar and gelatin... huge mistake. You can only get that intense sweet flavor by mixing sugar with fake sugar, food coloring, food flavoring and ity-bity pieces of fruit that have been dehydrated and then rehydrated, just for some texture. And it has to be made with industrial size machines, canned and sold at a 300% mark up. I won't take it any other way! But the kids gobbled it up (no pun intended...OK, I'm lying, you caught me, but it's funny, right?). It was actually the only thing Noa ate. The desserts were great... a chocolate tart with pecans, a cheesecake tart and a pumpkin tart (those frenchies just love to tart things up, don't they?). And in true american fashion we were served a slice of all three! So I guess you could say the dinner was a success but I think I'm going to do my own version for New Years with my new Ikea kitchen that is being installed tomorrow (you heard it right and don't worry, I'll keep you all posted on that fiasco)! Anyways, we had all kinds of fun with the McHughs, I think the best day was when we trekked up to Montmartre, went to Sacre Coeur and on the little choo-choo tour of the area (yes, the red light district and Moulin Rouge is in the neighborhood but that's not what I meant by choo-choo... come on, we were with the kids for crying out loud!). I've attached a few photos of the McHugh children, Erin and Brendan and there is one there of Siobain in her natural habitat... Parisian cafe (notice the 'artists entrance' signage). That's all for now... until we meet again!