Music has a profound impact on a situation. Take for example my recent taxi trip from my hotel to the train station in Milan. It started as a fairly typical business trip morning - drag out of bed, pack up, make sure I don't forget the phone charger, get in the cab and panic until I don't miss my next mode of transport ...
But what happened instead was a glider ride through the city, floating through the roundabouts, mood altered by the crisp classical music the cabbie was playing a tad bit louder than politically correct. I don't know who it was ... I pretend Vivaldi or some other Italian Boroque artist I should be more informed about ... but with his fingers tapping out the piano on his knee and the warm wind in my face it was divine and I should have thanked him.
People were literally walking in step to the beat, the street lights changed on cue, and I suddenly realized how life's serendipity is so strong ... the peace I felt in my heart as I headed to the Italian City of Love - Verona was a part of my destiny.
Perhaps a glutinous move, but since I was in Milan and I had recently been looking at a bottle of Amarone that was a gift of a dear friend in Chicago, I decided that one extra day on the road wouldn't hurt anyone and booked the one hour train ride to Verona from Milan.
The destination was more so Valpolicella - the classic wine region in the foothills of the Alps north of town. Aside from their Classico and Superior varietals, they are most known for what I consider one of the three kings of wine - Amarone (others Barolo and Bordeaux).
It has a dear place in my heart, as it was really the first red wine that pulled me into the artform. It is made using a unique technique of letting the grapes dry before they are pressed and produces a warm, round, fruity red wine that will get you over any bad break up.
I spent my days in Verona wondering the winding streets lined with text book balconies full of succulents and vines, stopping to taste the local food and sit by the river to take it all in. I hiked up a mountain to view the top of town, and hired a driver to take me out into the hills of the wine region to visit a family on this wine farm and watch the sunset.
I liken a stay in the Luberon valley to ecstatic moments on repeat (for one, see side photo).
Last weekend, four girlfriends and I stayed in a stone cottage in the small town of Viens, East of Apt in the countryside of Provence (complete with a pool, vegetable garden, and view of distant lavender fields). The goal: local markets, sun, wine, dinner, repeat. Mission accomplished and then some!
The food market in the town of Lourmarin, noted as being the best in the area, was the destination Friday AM. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the stalls were full of French linens, shopping baskets, salamis, cheese, bread, fabrics, wonderfully fresh local fruits and vegetables.
We all gathered whatever we fancied (I did get that French market basket I had been pining for) and slowly wondered the town before settling in for a lovely lunch and a bottle of Rose.
The old towns in this area are all, for lack of a better word, quaint. With their faded pastel facades, worn shutters, and draping vines ... the French Provincial "look" is in raw form, and it is gorgeous.
After having a delicious lavender and honey ice cream, we set off on the winding drive through the grapevine covered hills back for the house to enjoy the sun by the pool and harvest the garden for dinner.
Eggplant, zucchini flowers, tomatoes, and fresh chard were all available and we took advantage of it! Angela made roasted eggplant stuffed with Toulouse sausage and fresh tomato sauce; I made tomato salad, fresh greens, and fried up the zucchini flowers. Of course, local reds from the Luberon valley were the perfect accompaniment. It was a feast!!
Saturday morning we set off in search of the local baker, known for some of the best croissants around. Boy, we weren't disappointed. The little shop still had a fire inside a large brick oven where all the breads were made. The chocolate filled croissant was amazing, and just the first of carbohydrate loaded day.
We carried on into the larger town of Apt, which has its weekly market on Saturday, and pushed through quickly to get some meat to grill for dinner. I just may have bought some adorable linen curtains for the living room.
For the second half of the day some of the girls decided to wash off some work week stress by the pool, while Pam and I went in search of the lavender fields up near the town of Gordes and the Senanque Abby.
The remaining afternoon couldn't have been scripted better, and there were moments of pure bliss that aren't often experienced in life. The drive was gorgeous, up and down the foot hills of the valley, crossing through small towns with patches of lavender fields between. Gordes is picture perfect, perched on the hill, and we stopped to browse art galleries and wine shops after our visit to the Abbey. The Senanque abbey is probably the most photographed site for lavender tourists and was stunning, both from above where you drive in and up close. It is an active religious site where monks live today and can be seen working in the lavender fields.
As if the day couldn't get any better, on our way back home we came across the town St. Saturnin d' Apt which was having a flea market!!! No choice, but to extend our day out a bit longer and wonder through this great fortune. If only ... if only I had endless cash and if only I had a means to transfer back massive quantities of furniture (i.e. old wood farm tables, wrought iron day beds), old wine making supplies, fabrics ... ugh, there were so many dreamy items here.
But alas, I had niether and was over-joyed just having the memory of being at the best French Provincial flea market, perched on a hill with a stunning view of the countryside. Ahhhh ... now for that glass of Rose.
A couple more hours in the sun, and we began our second evening feast. More goods from the garden, cheese, salami, olives, spicy anchovies and garlic, fig and goat cheese salad, and of course the steak on the grill (which required a lesson from the groundskeeper - "put sticks on grill, fire, voila").
Finally, our lazy Sunday, absorbing the last hours of sun and eating everything that remained in the fridge (that ham and cheese croissant was awesome!!). We begrudgedly packed our belongings and went on our way back towards Marseilles to catch our flight. The drive was nerve-racking. For quite some time you are perched on the edge of the mountains, with shear drop offs at your side and no line of sight around hairpin turns. Grip tight ... gulp. The ladies were quite silent (probably praying for their lives).
An exhilarating experience, that rewarded us with a picture-perfect field of sunflowers on the other side of the mountain (interesting fact: many artists, such as Vincent Van Gogh's sunflower paintings were inspired by the beauty of this region).
Though this post accounts most of our doings, the real joy of this trip was the time with the girls ... laughing, hugging, sharing the kitchen, and praising life's bounty ... bliss.
Recently I read an article about the five best markets in London ... the two clear winners are the notorious Borough market - foodie haven and clincher for my decision to move to London - and Broadway market - somewhat like a little Borough with a non-stop stream of eyebrow-raising hipster fashion just a walk up the canal from my place.
However, to my surprise the Ridley Road Market was also listed. Ridley Rd. in the Dalston neighbourhood northeast of the city is also within walking distance of my flat and I had yet to pay it a visit ... what fortune!
This market is quite different from the others. First, it is in the heart of an African neighbourhood, and the foods, flavours, and products exemplify that heritage. Also, it's visitors tend to be lower income than the Borough type, so there are some great deals to come by as well (was listed as some of the most affordable veg in the city!).
So, this Saturday (oh glorious Saturdays when there is nothing to do but explore!) I grabbed my shopping bag, camera, and hit the street to see what was to offer.
I didn't quite expect I would leave England for a few hours, transported somewhere with smells of spice, entrancing music, bright colours, never before seen vegetables, and questionable cuts of meat. It was amazing.
I'll admit, I was possiblycaught a few times with my jaw hanging open as I stared in awe at woman wrapping themselves in stunning ethnic fabrics or an elderly couple lifting cow hearts out of a tub to determine which one looked the tastiest for dinner.
There were rooms with intricate hair-braiding going on, butcher shelves lined with ram skulls, and the darling little turquoise parrot fish I discovered while snorkelling in Mexico on chilly display for consumption. Smells of incense, shea butter for you hair and skin, and freshly made grilled breads filled with cheese (OMG!) ... gold hoop earrings, lace curtains, and wool socks. Fresh strawberries, plantains and garden eggs (which I now know are a delicacy for lovers in Africa, and you make an eggplant like stew with them).
Nonetheless, the diversity of options here in London, and more specifically in East London never cease to amaze me. It's awesome to be able walk just a short distance in any direction and literally feel as if you touch the opposite ends of the world. Blessed.
Been trying to get a snap of this for weeks now. I will for certain get a better one, but for now its on the record.
This momentary flash - fur, fear, curiosity, hunger - provides such great exhilaration each day. And it is each day, like clock work, right within the view from my "office"...
So, I will leave this short - in the documentary sense only. I did indeed attend the Royal Ascot horse race this year (for last year's commentary see here).
It worked out this way ...
1) no, I am not interesting in going
2) It costs money and I went last year
3) no really, I am glad you guys are going, but it is just not my thing
4) well, I don't know, it just not as up-class as you think its going to be
5) Last year I had to get standing only for an hour train ride in my heels!
6) Holy cow, I look amazing in this dress
7) You MAKE reasons to where dresses like this
8) I need to buy this dress
9) hey, you guys still going to Ascot?
10) dang ... now I need to buy a hat.
Went ... bet ... lost ... saw more fake tan and platform pumps in one place than should be legal ... and of course, do not plan to go back.
P.S. there was an amazing Australian champion beauty flown over that was epic ... Black Caviar won the Queen's Jubilee race at Ascot 2012. I have my betting ticket against her to prove it.
Music has a profound impact on a situation. Take for example my recent taxi trip from my hotel to the train station in Milan. It started as a fairly typical business trip morning - drag out of bed, pack up, make sure I don't forget the phone charger, get in the cab and panic until I don't miss my next mode of transport ...
But what happened instead was a glider ride through the city, floating through the roundabouts, mood altered by the crisp classical music the cabbie was playing a tad bit louder than politically correct. I don't know who it was ... I pretend Vivaldi or some other Italian Boroque artist I should be more informed about ... but with his fingers tapping out the piano on his knee and the warm wind in my face it was divine and I should have thanked him.
It has a dear place in my heart, as it was really the first red wine that pulled me into the artform. It is made using a unique technique of letting the grapes dry before they are pressed and produces a warm, round, fruity red wine that will get you over any bad break up.
