More photos from the JK Rowling suite

As I opened its door for the first time, I was trying to take a photo of my hand opening it. So, while juggling my camera in one hand and my key card in the other, I inadvertently snapped this shot. I didn't realize the effect until later, when I was flipping through my photos. Apparently, the owl was hungry for some mail post. :-)

Seconds later, I took stock for the first time of the room - which is really a very large corner suite. It has three little towers, two of which contain these identical busts:

Except, as we all know, they're not really identical, and one of them is displayed backwards and under glass. However, I quite loved the non-special bust, too - and its stand full of old books. Speaking of books, there was another, larger bookshelf in our bedroom:

Here are some close-ups of the books (click to see larger images):

Take these two, for example: an 1863 edition of two Walter Scott stories, and an 1897 illustrated edition of an R. L. Stevenson novel:

Isn't it amazing that they leave them in the open, to be handled and read? There's nothing quite like that feeling of old, ear-marked pages in your hands to make you want to dive into a book.

Of course, the Harry Potter series couldn't miss from this suite. In fact, there were two different British editions, set on tables at each end of the living room:













Then there were the animal statuettes, gorgeously executed:

- The Scottish stag in the entrance hallway:

- And what I prefer to think of as ravens, standing and in flight. (Please do not inform me they're eagles, or hawks or some such. They're Ravenclaw ravens if I say so!):

The flying raven sits on the bedroom bookshelf. The standing one belongs on THE DESK, as can be seen in this video, at the 26th second:

Notice that some of the decor has changed since then, in particular, the lamp and the wall painting. However, the raven was there to watch over JK's writing, as it watched over mine, years later:

I hope it will bring good luck to this Ravenclaw writing apprentice!

As I write this...

I am sitting at the desk where history was made. A desk that, by rights, should be in a museum - only it isn't. This desk:

It belongs to this room:

The only room in the world that contains this bust:

Here's a close-up of it, with my hand on the glass - which is as close as I can get to the writing:

However, I can touch the desk. The very desk where, on Jan. 11, 2007, JK Rowling finished writing Harry Potter. (Honestly, they put Jane Austen's pen in a museum - shouldn't this desk be in one, too?) Not that I'm complaining. I am thrilled, giddy, and silly beyond words. I am touching HISTORY!

Making friends

Today I made two new friends.

This is The Pioneer Woman's Charlie's second cousin once removed:

"Charlie!" I called him. To which he responded that his name is Charles-René, and he would thank me to remember that it is impolite to drop a person's middle name as if it didn't matter.

And actually, it wasn't Charlie that we met first, but her:

Her name is Angelique-Jolie. She greeted us with an elegant twitch of her tail, and a 'come hither' look. Charlie - I mean, Charles-René - is very protective of her. He showed up 2 seconds later to check us out. After giving us a sniff and a tail wag, he decided we were OK, and allowed us to converse with her.

Angelique-Jolie loves crème fraîche, lace doilies and le clair de lune (which she says makes her look ten month younger and ten grams slimmer). She chose her human because he lives on Chemin Du Chat (literally, the Cat's Way). However, after meeting the other felines on the block, she is very distressed: they are disheveled, disreputable-looking, et pas du tout comme il faut. She has been forced to mingle with the canine society: Charles-René is alright, but Jean-Jacques is a real dog!

And actually, it was Jean-Jacques we encountered first (a cocker spaniel). The poor boy got stage fright when he saw us, just as he was going about his (big) business. He kept turning his bottom this way and that, trying to keep it out of our sight. We didn't take a photo with him, as we didn't want to cause him permanent constipation. He looked to be having enough trouble as it was (I empathize!).

And actually, it wasn't Jean-Jacques we encountered first, but Richelieu.

He goes by a single name. (Anything else would be superfluous!) He has a goatee and a tall wall from which he looks down on the world. He did not think our friendship would be advantageous to him in any way.

We believe he might change his mind if we introduced him to Angelique-Jolie. Although Charles-René may have something to say about it.

P.S. None of the above is true - except for meeting Richelieu, Jean-Jacques, Angelique-Jolie and Charles-René - or whatever their humans call them.

Writing in Provence: Part 1

Ever since I read Peter Mayle's books, Provence has had this double connotation for me - of great food and idyllic writing retreat. So when it came to choosing the location of our grand vacation - the place where I would hide away to write my book and my characters would spill on the laptop screen fully-fledged and fired-up - there was no question in my mind that it should be somewhere in Provence.

This proposal ran into some initial opposition from my beloved, but his protests were quickly squelched. (In fact, my recent cooking efforts have moved him to admit that I was right to insist on Provence. Of course I was right! I have a persistent tendency in that sense. Honestly, the world would chug along much more smoothly if everyone just listened to me! 😀)

However, while I was, as aforementioned, utterly and unquestionably right, I did run into some problems with my choice. Let me illustrate what I mean. Here is the view from my writing table:

Each morning, I sit outside on the terrasse with the sun smiling down on me and the birds singing and the bees buzzing (and also, alas, the wasps, the flies and assorted other bugs zipping around). I gaze upon the Luberon in the distance, and our pool in the smaller distance, and our olive trees and flowers nearby. I reach for my writing assistants, which I keep quite close at hand (coffee and eclairs).

And then I write my character being tortured in prison. She's endured endless interrogations. And no one believes that she's innocent!

I gaze upon the Luberon - and imagine a prison cell. Well... you see my dilemma. I've started listening to rock, which sort of helped.

Yesterday, I finally got her out of prison. She's had a brief respite with her friends, who are rather colorful members of a theater troupe. I found this part surprisingly easy to write, thanks to the many online parties I enjoyed on livejournal. But now, she's facing her nemesis and his henchman, armed only with her wits. We'll see how well my garden view cooperates with the writing of this chapter. :-)

Cooking in Provence: Part 1

(I am feeling ambitious, and therefore decided to label this Part 1. Hopefully, my blog will guilt me into coming up with more recipes).

So here it is, my work of art made of the freshest produce of Provence. Also, repeated and enhanced twice in a row, so you get the photos of the best versions. :-)

1. The Salad

 Ingredients: made of awesome! But more specifically, I used cucumbers, shaved carrots, fresh mint, tomatoes, radishes and sheep feta (sheep cheese is ubiquitous here!)

The base is made of two types of salad:

Churly
(aka Spiky the Hedgehog)

Curly

If you happen to know Spiky's real name, in either English, Latin or Marathi, do please let me know in the comments.

      

The dressing is really basic: freshly squeezed lemon juice, sea salt and - of course - the star of any Provencal salad: olive oil. It is slightly surreal to buy stuff in the supermarket and realize that it's made only a few km from our place. We bought this little bottle of amazingness:







But in case we run out (a real possibility), our landlord has generously gifted us with another container of liquid gold:

And if we're really in a bind, I suppose we can always press our own, from our olive tree orchard!







2. The Meat

Marinade ingredients:

- freshly chopped tarragon
- Dijon mustard
- olive oil (but of course!)
- lavender honey

Then GRILL!

It came out delish, but just in case we messed up, we also bought these ready-to-grill skewers. From left to right: chicken (2), duck and quail. (Yes, quail!)

3. The Sidedish:

 - Marinated grilled zucchini

Marinade ingredients:
- olive oil (you guessed it!)
- minced garlic
- lemon juice

It's so good, it should be illegal! Wait! Why should it be illegal? It should be compulsory!



The Overall Result: Add all of the above to your plate, grab a baguette and pour some wine! (on the latter subject, I will do a whole 'nother post!)

Bon Appetit!

Farmers Market in Provence

Hello, everyone. We're safe and sound in our little corner of Provence - still getting to know our surroundings, but already acclimatizing to the French way of life. (Try saying 'acclimatizing' 3 times fast!)

Btw, here's a look at our corner of Provence:

(repeat this image in all directions, then intersect the streets at tight angles or traffic circles - and you'll get a good idea of our village)

One of the acclimatizing rituals we looked forward the most? Shopping the farmers markets. Each town hosts one on a certain day of the week. You can see the full schedule here. Lots and lots of markets to choose from, right?

And yet, five years ago, during our whirlwind drive through the region, we managed to miss every single one of them. We mis-planned. We were out of sync. The Moon was in the house of Jupiter or something.

Well, you can imagine our excitement this time around. On Sunday, bright and early (ok, just bright) we drove to the farmers market in Coustellet. Our hearts were light and our pockets heavy with euro-coins. And boy, did we hit it out of the park! Coustellet, it turns out, is one of the biggest markets in the area. It's also an easy drive from our house.

I say easy.

What I mean is short - with a nice sprinkling of narrow roads, crazy crowds and French-style driving. For some reason, I thought it would be fun for me to drive that day.

Market day.

In France.

And so I did - and as soon as we hit the town, I pulled over and got out of the driver's seat. I thought it wise to let my husband, the wunder-parallel-parking-kid, finish the job. Share the joy and all.

Some onlookers may have sniggered.

But our rental car escaped unscathed, which was the whole point.

And then... we were off! First, we came across the ready-to-eat stalls. We bypassed most of them with a Gaelic shrug (being by now used to the sight of mouth-watering pastry), but we did take a minute to admire this one:

Yes, ladies and gents, that is the world's biggest paella! Table for 50, anyone?

A couple of minutes later, we hit the vegetable stalls, and things got going rather nicely:

Then we were in the fruit stalls, which (I regret to say) dazzled us so much, we totally forgot about the camera. But here's our haul, from which you should be able to extrapolate:

We have strawberries, sour cherries, and cherries (the latter are grown a stone's throw away from our house).

Let me say that again: we have sour cherries! Big, juicy, tart-as-you-can-stand'em, wonderlicious, tastamazing sour cherries! Which, back in the US, are about as easy to find as a good eclair.

(Also: please excuse my feet. They knew that I could see nothing on my phone screen in full sun, and took advantage of it.)

And here's our vegetable haul:

The cast, from left to right: round zucchini (aka courgettes rondes), mint, chives,  tarragon, radishes and basil.

All this bounty lit a great culinary ambition in my bosom. This, as anyone who knows me knows, is about as rare an event as finding a good eclair in US. But the Provence produce wove its magic - and out came a wonderful meal, low on calories and high on taste.

I think I'll leave that for another post, so I can do full justice to my work of art.

And now I'm off to enjoy my daily eclair!

Free!

Today is my last day with my (soon-to-be)-ex-employer.

Yesterday I spent a couple of hours taking care of last-second details such as cleaning files and the few emails I had kept around. And my desk.

I had already talked to many of my colleagues in the previous weeks, letting them know I will be leaving, and saying goodbye in person. So when I sent a global farewell email yesterday, I didn't expect any replies. But they came anyway - people telling me they'll miss me and wishing me good luck - and I was ever so pleased to read them!

Surprisingly, other than these emails, I didn't have any other emotional moment. I told my husband that I'm not sure whether I should feel melancholic or elated, but I felt neither. Perhaps that's because I have an exciting new job ahead of me, and many of my former colleagues will be my new colleagues in the new place! I do feel a bit like a bird in a flock that's migrating to better grounds!

But in the meantime, I am free! (which sounds better than unemployed). I have four months of complete freedom ahead of me - and I was trying to remember the last time I had so much - and came up with, 'before I started kindergarden.' Maybe. I assume. Except I suspect that back then, I still had to go to bed when told, and eat when told, and make my bed in the morning, and all that.

I will not make my bed one single time during this vacation! Except if I feel like it. Or if I have to (can't leave a mess behind us when we travel).

Which reminds me: I also need to clean the house. And the fridge.

Maybe not as free as I thought.

But close!

Move dat body!

I've been considering ways to lose about 10 lbs. Not that 10 is all I need to lose, but I like to set realistic goals. Losing 50 lbs would be slightly unrealistic at this point. (I've actually done it once, when I was younger and had lots of willpower. But now I'm older and, frankly, not that driven.)

Idea nr. 1: eat nothing for a week. It worked pretty well for about 3 hours, and then I needed to find another approach.

Idea nr. 2: sign up for Dancing With The Stars. That's still on the table, but I need to figure out how to become (semi)-famous first.

I stumbled on idea nr. 3 without meaning to. I read The Pioneer Woman's blog now and again. I happened to read a post in which she was talking about her Fitbit, and how it's motivated her to exercise.

"The Whatbit?" I said to my husband, who promptly informed me that lots of his colleagues use it at work, and that it really works. Before I had time to look for idea nr. 4, he done went online and ordered it.

So here it is, the little bugger:

It even looks cool, like an ultra-sleek watch, or a slightly funky bracelet. And it's UN-IG-NOR-ABLE.

Once you put it on and it starts tracking your every step (the little busybody!), and sets your daily goals, and merrily informs you how short you're falling of its expectations - well, you just keep walking to make it happy! The sneaky little rubber butthead!

Do you know where I parked my car today at the office? In the boondocks, that's where! Any farther and it would have fallen off the map (of the parking lot). Not that I didn't find space. I didn't even look for space! I had to keep my little watchdog content. So I walked a quarter of a mile from the car to the office. And then, of course, back! And then I got home and my husband, the Great Friend of the Little Sneakazoid, said, "Let's go walking so you can reach your daily goals."

MY daily goals, ha! I had no such goals, until the Energizer Band came into my life and set them for me. So I walked. And my back hurts. And I'm still 1000 steps short of my overlord's orders.

But do you know what I figured out? You can fool it. Just wave your hand around as if you're walking. But you don't need to walk. You can stay in bed and watch TV and wave your hand. I figure that tomorrow my arm will get a mighty workout.

Gotta keep the Fitbit happy!

Happy Birthday to my Mom!

Today is the feast day of Saints Elena and Constantin. Several people in my family have one of these names as a middle name.

But for my Mom this is a very special day: it is both her birthday and her name day (first name in this case).

I called her early this morning (at least, it was early for me) to wish her a very happy birthday. Of course, since my local time is 7 hours behind hers, whereas my brother lives only a couple hundred miles away from my parents, I am rarely the first one to call. In this case, not only had he called, but he had sent her a photo with my two nieces holding up signs that say, 'Happy Birthday, Grandma Lenuta!' (Lenuta is a nickname for Elena).

I ask you, how can I possibly compete with that?!

But I am going to try, anyway: my Mom is going to visit us in France for 10 days and partake of the pleasures of Provence and Paris. It will be our birthday gift to her. Not as splendid as the two little nieces, but we will do our best.

Écrivez-vous français?

While looking for a rental house in Provence, we did a lot of emailing back and forth with owners/agents. The house we set our hearts on turned out to have a very nice French agent who does not speak English (she says she's been studying it, but does not feel confident enough to use it with us).

So what were we to do? My French - alas! - is not one of the two human languages I speak interchangeably. :-) I know just about enough to be tongue-tied, b/c I can't recall the proper noun genders or verb declinations. Have you noticed that, too, about your foreign language skills? With me, it goes like this:

When I know precious little about a language, I just throw disjointed words out there and gesture a lot. That's how I express myself in Spanish. And Italian. Really, my hands are quite good at Romance languages.

When I know a lot - well, I know a lot. I can happily talk your ears off.

But it's the dangerous middle that gets me tongue-tied. I know just enough French to feel self-conscious about how much I don't know. Luckily, writing in French is easier than speaking, since you can look things up. But it's also harder, what with those pesky accents and cedillas which you can only type on an English keyboard if you know their ASCII codes and how to use them. Which I don't. And writing correctly is doubly important when you negotiate a contract in French.

Enter Google Translate!

Type your English text on one side, and out comes the French on the other. (Or the Spanish. Or the Latin. Or even the Marathi - whatever that is). The French is pretty weird - some vocabulary choices are clearly off! - but the noun genders and verb declinations are perfect! And so is the spelling.

If you fiddle with the English, you can sometimes force Google Translate to give you more colloquial French. Usually, you have to be explicit with the English pronouns (it has trouble with things like 'we told you this and sent you that' - you have to say 'we told you this and we sent you that'; it also has trouble with 'it'). When nothing else works, I put in my two cents (which is what my French is worth) and replace the output with what I believe is right. Typically, Google does 80% of the job, and I do the rest - and hope for the best.

And so, it was with great pride and joy that I read this in the French agent's last email: "PS: je ne sais pas comment vous faites pour traduire en français vos textes car le français est parfait."

Maybe I should try my hand at Marathi next!

Provence, revisited

In two short weeks, we're off to France for the summer! We are still pinching ourselves about it (well, I'm pinching my darling; he does not dare reciprocate).

When first I thought about taking time off between jobs so I could finally write my book, it all seemed like a wild dream. Then the dream inched closer to reality, once I actually had the job offer in hand and could negotiate the starting date. And then my husband popped up with, 'I want to take a leave of absence! That way, we can spend the whole summer together!'

Of course, it snowballed from there. Err... sandballed? We weren't going to spend the whole summer cooped up in our rental apartment. I needed a different kind of space to write - a room with a view! (my current choice of views being between the railway and an auto body shop). My plan was to alternate between writing in a coffee shop and writing in a bookstore. But once my husband joined the chorus, the plans jumped all the way over the pond and into Europe. What can I say? My husband dreams big!

So now we're going to spend most of the summer in a tiny village in Provence. We visited the area in 2009 and fell in love with the landscape.

And the food.

Our favorite restaurant? Le Bonheur Suit Son Cours, which - I unblushingly say - we helped put on the (American tourists') map: we created its first entry on tripadvisor. I'm thrilled to see that it has satisfied plenty of North-American palates ever since. Fingers crossed they still make that sinful blast of pure chocolate called the Mont Ventoux cake. Five years ago, I had a transcendental experience devouring it. Once in a lifetime, I thought, as I licked my spoon clean, and wondered if I'd get kicked out of the place for doing the same with my plate. But you know what? Twice in a lifetime is even better! (I just heard my scale groan. My scale is a very poor winner.)

By the way, did you know that π is called a transcendental number? Clearly, when mathematicians started naming things, they listened to their taste-buds.

Taste-bud pampering was the decisive factor in our vacation plans. My husband wanted us to spend the summer in Italy - but I reminded him that one of us cannot stand the taste of pasta nor pizza! And that said person will therefore keep complaining about the total lack of eclairs in Italy, and is he comfortable with his selfishness? In the end, it was the Mont Ventoux cake that decided the issue. :-)

So we're renting a house in the Luberon. It has a view. In fact, it has several views (none of which includes a railway or auto body shop). It is one hour away from the best chocolate cake in the universe. And five minutes from freshly baked croissants. In other words, it is perfect!

So if you're interested in hearing about our Provencal /gastronomical vacation, or how my book progresses, or (later on) our Anglo-Scottish trip, check back often. I intend to update this blog frequently with lots of photos and stories.

Pi-Pie for now!