I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. -Henry David Thoreau
Arc de Triomf, Barcelona
Blending in with the Amsterdam art scene
Moeraki Boulders, New Zealand
Akaka Falls State Park, Hawaii
...I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. -John 10:10 NIV
Australians really don't mess around with naming things. They call it like it is, even when it comes to their food labels. Or should I say especially when it comes to food? We went grocery shopping for lunch one afternoon and found tasty cheese, extra tasty cheese, and Australia's tastiest cheese. When faced with choices such as these, how is one to choose?
Tasty cheese... or extra tasty cheese?
Australia's tastiest cheese!
All the cheese we tasted was delicious, by the way. I think it was mostly aged (white) cheddar.
They also have strange taste in candy there. When I'm craving a sweet snack, the first thing I grab is my handy dandy bag of squirty crazy babies. Or my jelly babies. We thought it was hilarious, but then, we readily admit that our humor is a little twisted.
Ha! they eat babies in Australia!
Little black babies and Sambo
Of course, if the fruity babies aren't your favorite, you can always chow down on some chewy black babies. Mmmmmm.
They call coffee “Finnish plasma,” therefore, it must be in my blood. I remember being a little girl and staring in fascination at my dad’s morning mug, wondering when I’d be old enough to drink it. When my parents let me have my own cup of coffee, I was stubborn enough to forego milk and sugar and drink it black, just like my dad.
I became a barista just after turning 17, and I spent the next three years of life honing my coffee snobbery to a fine point. It helped having been raised in the Pacific Northwest, birthplace to Starbucks and all its caffeine competitors.My parents owned an independent coffee shop for awhile, and they sold beans from a micro-roaster in Boise, ID, whose personal mission was to make sure the quality of their coffee matched their quality of service. Dawson Taylorhas the best coffee I’ve ever tasted in this country. The end.
One thing I’ve discovered while exploring is that no matter the prevalence of coffee in a nation’s culture, it will probably never reach the to-go paper cup status it is in America. Everywhere else I’ve been, even if they don’t drink that much of it, it’s usually a sit-down affair.
ITALY
Haven’t spent that much time in Italy (yet), but espresso bars make my heart go pitter-pat. In the train station in Milan, men in pin-striped business suits stood around the espresso bar counters, ignoring their morning newspapers and the pigeons flapping overhead under the lofty ceiling, gesticulating and chattering and sipping delicately out of tiny white cups full of rich, dark deliciousness.
On the train, a man in an apron pushed a cappuccino cart up and down the narrow aisle, I tested my barista (pronounced bah-ree-sta, none of that short I business) lingo on him because I was desperate for a caffeine fix. It worked! However, should you find yourself attempting rail travel in Italy, go to the train station espresso bars. The coffee is much better.
NETHERLANDS
I love Holland. I spent a few days in Amsterdam and then wandered up north to visit a friend and spend several rather glorious days with her.In my experience, Dutch hospitality is “would you like something to drink?” upon moments of meeting. If it’s after11am, this means beer. If it’s still morning, it means cappuccino. Cappuccino is a rather loose term here, unlike Italian beverages of mostly espresso and milk foam, Dutch cappuccinos are more like an American latte. Served in a huge cup with plenty of raw sugar to stir in, they are one of the best reasons to go out in grey, drizzly mornings. Sometimes you even get a koekje.
Note: Dutch purveyors of delightful caffeinated beverages should not be confused with the more distinctive "coffee shops", distinguishable in passing by the delicate aroma of marijuana lingering oppressively in the air.
ENGLAND
I just drank tea. And beer and cider. : )
FRANCE
While I drank quite a lot of coffee in France, I suspect my hosts took pity on me and mostly just made it for me.The French have all the fancy liqueurs to put it, though. My favorite was served at the wedding I attended. At first, the waiters came around with their fancy little pots and tiny paper tubes of sugar. They caught on quickly though, and soon brought out the big one. I was seated at a table full of young adults, furthest from the kitchen, and we were seeking a solution to the wine we’d already consumed and we were getting ready to dance the night away. It was bitter, hot and pungent. It was perfect.
NEW ZEALAND
I don’t remember how much coffee the Kiwis consume, or what’s special about theirs, apart from my first morning in New Zealand. We were taken to a McDonalds Café for breakfast (who said anything about trying new things??) where there was plenty of American-style breakfast pastries and latte. Later on the trip, my friend Mel and I found a tiny walk-up coffee cart in a small town on the North Island called Bulls. It was just like an average American drive-thru coffee shop, but much tinier, and they sold apricot fudge. I think the coffee was pretty good. Honestly, I think by that point my caffeine withdrawals were just happy to be soothed (my professor kept trying to feed me instant coffee *le sigh*).
I’ve also tried the tiny cupfuls of Colombian coffee that are so rich and dark it’s like drinking syrup. I can’t wait to go to Finland to check out the coffee and sauna culture there… my dad, grandfather and uncle went to visit family there a couple of years ago.
And my dirty little secret… Dunkin’ Donuts French vanilla coffee with milk and sugar got me through my year of college in Boston. What can I say? It was only a dollar and change, and the store was open all night. I think happy though when I get to the baggage claim at Logan airport and I can smell it. Don't judge.
Cheers all, and have a cuppa. Of the good stuff.
Also, if you miss me, check out my other corner of the web in which I rant about being a nursing student. ;)
Nothing brings the world together like the World Cup.
OMG so shiny!
The World Cup draw was held today in Capetown, South Africa. Results:
Group A: South Africa, Mexico, Uruguay, France Group B: Argentina, Nigeria, South Korea, Greece Group C: England, USA, Algeria, Slovenia Group D: Germany, Australia, Serbia, Ghana Group E: Holland, Denmark, Japan, Cameroon Group F: Italy, Paraguay, New Zealand, Slovakia Group G: Brazil, Korea DPR, Ivory Coast, Portugal Group H: Spain, Switzerland, Honduras, Chile
I'm so excited. We're not in the Group of Death (G). I think Group A will be the most interesting to watch. While South Africa (who qualified by hosting) is possibly the weakest team in the tournament, historically the host team has never failed to advance to the second round. France is very controversial now, partly due to Henry's qualifying handball, and partly to their abysmal performance this past year. If they want it enough, they could easily go through. Mexico... I just hope they don't advance. The archnemesis of American soccer. Slovenia I don't know much about. In summary: never underestimate the host team, no matter how much you write them off outside of the Cup. Mexico, France and Slovenia depend on who wants it the most and who can use handballs and dirty hack behavior (*cough*Thierry Henry*cough*Rafa Marquez*cough*)to advance.
Q: What do you get when you cross a foodie with a nerd? A: My brother.
He's the one that write Acute Politics, which is updated less frequently these days, but now he's started a new blog wherein he divulges his delicious recipes for neo-gourmet food and beer. Go forth and fatten yourselves. Acute Cuisine.
November is here, and so gone are the days of Indian summer, replaced by cold, hard rain, wood fires and early dark.
It's time for comfort food. One of my favorites is stamppot, or Dutch mash pot. It's usually potatoes mixed with some other winter vegetable either cooked (carrots, onions, pumpkin, winter squash) or uncooked (endive, kale), and occasionally bacon or sausage.
The lovely Lark and I tried stamppot in Amsterdam in the middle of August last year. We bypassed all the restaurants lining the streets advertising fancy foreign cuisine in favor of a little Dutch restaurant. We had stamppot with endive, and a television was showing the Olympics above Lark's head. I was watching it and commenting on the action, so she twisted round to look, and was promptly told by the proprietor that she should be focusing on our conversation and not on the television. Haha.
It's easy to make and delicious. I don't cook with recipes very often, and I think the best part is just throwing whatever you happen to have on hand in the pot and mashing it all up together.
Tonight's version looks like this:
8 medium potatoes, cubed 1 very small pumpkin, cubed 2 large carrots, thickly sliced 1 onion, chopped Butter, salt, pepper
Peel and cut up vegetables. Put in pot, cover with water. Boil for 20-25 minutes, or until all vegetables are tender. Drain. Mash. Add butter, salt and pepper to taste. If you're using endive or other winter greens, add it after you've mashed the potatoes and stir.
Optionally, you can broil, grill or boil sausage, slice it up and serve it on the side. It's what the cool kids do.
See? It's pretty simple. Googling 'stamppot' will find you all sorts of recipes, some more complicated than others, but some like this one have some fun Dutch food trivia. So crank up the Dutch music, open up a Heineken*, and indulge yourself. :)
At a pub in Groningen, Nederlands August 2008
Hup Holland hup!
*Yes, I know Heineken is the Dutch equivalent of Bud Lite, but what can ya do? Sometimes you just don't have fancy imports on hand. And it still beats Bud by a mile.
While Britta and I were in France this summer, many things were offered to us flavored with sirop.
Water.
Beer.
Panaché (beer mixed with lemonade).
Pretty much anything liquid. Doesn't matter.
Lots of flavors, too. I liked blood orange the best. Strawberry was also good.
I came home and started wondering why we don't do that. After all, the water tastes much better after you drag it around for a few hours in the heat than it might without the sirop.
So, now I make ginger syrup. It's not the same, but it tastes fabulous in milk and is a great cocktail mixer. I got the recipe from an Asian food cookbook and it's super easy and keeps forever. It's just simple syrup with a kick, really.
1 cup water 1 cup sugar 2/3 cup roughly chopped, unpeeled fresh ginger
Put it all in a pot, stir, bring to a boil. Reduce heat and let simmer for 15-20 minutes or until slightly thickened.
I keep mine in a glass bottle in the fridge. It's delicious. I think I'm going to go have some right now.
Obviously France is full of deliciousness.
Please note that the escargot are wearing tiny hats.
You should recognize the signs. I get really intense. Maybe a little crazy. Very competitive. Passionate.
WORLD CUP QUALIFYING!
Today my USMNT Yanks beat El Salvador to stay on top of CONCACAF. This makes me very happy indeed. Better yet, my boy Clint Dempsey scored the first goal. :)
In honor of my good mood, our win, and the world's game, here's a pic from when I played soccer with French boys.
The bride's brother bringing a new meaning to "step-over"
They told me I was very good... "for a girl." Haha. In France, soccer is a boy's game, so that means a lot.
Very strongly considered not getting on the flight home. Then I almost missed the flight home, which actually turned out to not be my fault, but United's... but calling in to work from Paris wouldn't have been so bad. ;)
I'm editing my plethora of pictures. It'll take awhile.
I went to a wedding in the Loire Valley. The groom is an ex-footballer, and he has a friend who played Ligue 1 football (highest professional soccer division in France) for Caen. He transferred to AS Monaco during the summer, but when a heart murmur was discovered during a physical at his new club this week, he was forced into early retirement. Very sad.
European Adventure Travel Day 9 Paris to Rennes, France
I was woken around six am by crashing and banging in the street. I thought it was the garbage man, but in actuality it was the little grocery store across the road getting the morning bread delivery. Went back to sleep for an hour and a half and then got ready to hit the road for Rennes, where I could make a connection to take me out to the coast to see le Mont-Saint-Michel. Left L a note saying I'd be back before dark.
First adventure of the day: buying a Metro pass. At the station I entered, tickets are only available at the kiosk, not at the help desk. I asked the man at information for assistance because I couldn't read enough French to actually make the purchase, so he came grumpily around the barrier and pushed all the buttons to make the machine spit out the little slip of paper that matched the plethora of white bits littering the ground.
I got through the metro to the Paris Montparnasse station without further incident. Gare* Montparnasse is the Paris station that serves Brittany and the Atlantic coast all the way down to Spain. Upon arrival, I booked a ticket to Rennes, but as I've mentioned before, book early on French trains or you'll spend all day in the train station. With my EuRail pass, I only had to pay the reservation fee.
As I waited in the station, I began to notice an increased number of French soldiers milling about the platforms. They were eventually joined by the police, who cordoned off the platforms with yellow tape. A crowd quickly grew on our side of the tape, and in short order people were asking each other what was going on. They even asked me, but I just shrugged and said "sais pas**" and "aucune idée***" like everyone else (pardonnez-moi all you formal French-speakers... confusion promotes slangy tendencies).
*Train station ** Dunno *** No idea
All of a sudden, the bomb squad pushed their way through the crowd and disappeared near the tracks. All was quiet for about 10 minutes, and then there was the sound of an explosion, like a muffled gunshot. Soon afterward, the soldiers, the police and the bomb squad reappeared, removed the tape and went on their way. L told me later that it was probably a piece of abandoned luggage that the bomb squad blew up, but it was very exciting.
Uneventful train ride to Rennes, where I had to wait another couple of hours. After I bludgeoned my way through the language barrier, I obtained a ticket to Pontorson/Mont-Saint-Michel. Sometimes the French can understand my French, but sometimes they can't, but this is hardly a recent phenomenon. Mark Twain wrote in The Innocents Abroad:
"In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language."
I adore Mark Twain. I was, however, able to finally make myself understood. My trouble was not in buying the ticket, but in figuring out in which tiny little hamlet I should get off the train.
Gare de Rennes
Two hours to explore Rennes, the home of Stade Rennais Football Club of the top French soccer division Ligue 1. This is important because the club is the current home of American defender Carlos Bocanegra. And yes, he transferred to the club mere weeks before I was in the city. Shhh.
Wide, shady cobbled streets with big building and trees whose branches intertwine in a leafy strip. Not very many people about, except in the cafés. The Rennes canals are quiet and lined with arrangements of red, white and blue flowers.
Rennes canal
This café made me laugh. It just seems so... earnest.
(click)
Café le Peanut's
Bought deliciously greasy olive bread for lunch and got on the train to the coast.
While I'm posting, I would just like to mention that I watched Monday night's episode of The Bachelor. Not because I enjoy watching girls compete for affection in an arena as public as a national broadcasting network, but because the top three were taken to one of my favorite places in the world: Queenstown, New Zealand. One of the three fantasy dates was tandem bungy jumping at Kawarau Bridge Bungy, the oldest bungy site in the world. I would just like to state for the record that I jumped off that bridge. January 11, 2007 was the big day. It was raining, and I didn't need to be talked down off the ledge. I've also never experienced such a huge adrenaline rush.
Wheeeeeeee!
I would do it again in a heartbeat, but next time I'm going for the big one , and 134m compared to Kawarau Bridge's 43m.
I know everybody has been dying to know. Switzerland is famous for their chocolate, right? I couldn't possibly have satisfied my cravings with grocery store brands, right?
You're right.
Even though they sell really good chocolate in the grocery stores...
My last day in Switzerland, Joy's friend S took the two of us to Broc, home of the oldest chocolate factory in Switzerland, the Cailler-Nestlè Factory. Nestlè is made in many other factories around the world, but Cailler is unique to Broc. Nestlè and Cailler merged in 1929, but Cailler continued to make chocolate in the traditional way, using fresh Gruyère milk, unlike the Nestlè products that use milk powder. And yes, it is true that the Swiss keep the best for themselves. Wouldn't you? :)
The beautiful Saane Valley, with the Château de Gruyères on the hill
Getting to Broc was highly entertaining. We took S's car, and she argued with the GPS lady most of the way there. The drive was beautiful. We took the road around Lake Geneva, past the hills around the lake where every inch was vineyard, and out to the Savoy Alps. In the Saane Valley, it was warm and absolutely smelled like sunshine.
And then we came upon the chocolate factory. Please excuse the guardrail. Look at the cute little châteaux on the right!
That long white building is where Willy Wonka lives
It was so quiet that day that we thought the factory was closed, but happily, we were wrong. We got to take a tour, beginning in the movie theatre and watching a whimsical film about a girl in candyland, and then another in French about the making of chocolate. Then we went for a tour of the factory- looking at vintage advertisements for chocolate, tasting from great bags of roasted cacao beans, examining the machinery used in the process of creating edible art.
Who ate all the chocolate?
We finally arrived in the tasting room. It's a long room with a mirrored counter stretching from one end to the other, holding every kind of delicious, fresh Cailler chocolate imaginable. No limits. You could eat what you wanted. It's like a dream world.
You could eat AS MUCH AS YOU WANTED. For free!
Of course, after the tasting room was the gift shop (which is rumored to be full of people most of the time, but was empty for us, hooray!). I think I may have eaten too much chocolate at this point to be very tempted, but I did buy some to send home to my family. Joy bought many pounds of yummy-ness, but she only eats the kind without cacao.
For the record: WOW SWISS CHOCOLATE.
I'm sorry everyone, I'm officially a Euro-candy snob. We have much to learn.
This post is born of a combination of the self-portrait meme making the rounds and the entertainment I get from posting slightly-less-than-flattering pictures. They're funny.
J took this somewhere between Fribourg and Murten, probably. I think it's an appropriate expression for being deprived of my morning coffee.
I don't know her... she's a weirdy
Crazy eyes. Paused in the middle of scribbling something. On a train, which is my favorite method of transportation because the seats are usually comfy, you can stare out the windows, and the ability to jump on a train anytime, anywhere, satisfies my need for freedom and spontaneity. It appears that train even had a real table, not a silly little one that protrudes about six inches from the wall.
Sweet as.
Please direct your hilarity to the comments section. Thank you.
As you may or may not have noticed, soccer was my first love. My mother actually forced me to play when I was nine years old in September 1994, coincidentally just after the World Cup was held in the US. Since that summer, I reconciled myself to playing with boys and fell in love with the game. Of course, now that I've experienced all aspects of the game on multiple levels (and by "all" I mean playing, coaching, reffing, and watching it) I can be snobby and call it "football." I have stories about all the places I've experienced because of it, why I have so much passion for it, and how much the people I've met through it has changed my life. My sisters and I have even been on Brazilian television. No doubt eventually some of these stories will trickle out of me, but for one second I just have to be Super Excited.
Clint Dempsey is my favorite American player. I met him twice a couple of years ago; he's a really fantastic guy. He currently plays for Fulham FC in London as well as the US national team. Today, he scored the two goals that held Chelsea to a draw. Now, I'm not strictly a Fulham supporter--I follow the club for Dempsey--but I do love watching pretty football from any country. Anyway. Tying Chelsea is kind of a big deal. :) Up Fulham! Come on you Whites!
I can't think of any one thing more cosmopolitan and global than soccer. Therefore, sometimes I must natter on about it because it's one of those hard-to-explain passions that fills up my heart and it just spills over. It has something to do with the taste of sweat and grass, the intensity of living in the moment, and the way I made instant friends with a boy in a Dutch pub because I could name a few Nederlands footy stars. It has to do with my brother playing street soccer with urchins in Mexico, and with the drums in the stadium that never stop during a match. The whole world speaks this language. All you need is a ball.
I just want to take a second and look past all the commercialism, the busyness, the stress, fights and tears that often accompany holidays, and the bad weather that cancelled plans all over the nation.
Christmas is for family and friends. It's for traditions and memories. It's for fellowship and giving. Most of all, it's to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
This is a lyric from one of my favorite Christmas songs, I Celebrate The Day, as done by Relient K:
And so this Christmas I'll compare The things I've felt in prior years To what this midnight made so clear That you have come to meet me here
To look back And think that This baby would one day save me And the hope that That you give That you were born so I might really live
I'm a small-town girl in a big, exciting world, and there's so much I want to see. So far, I've made it to 14 countries and 46 states, but my heart is in the northwest USA. Traveling, cultures and languages are among my passions. Soccer is my favorite thing to do. I love coffee and meeting new people.
The quote is from Shakespeare's Coriolanus. It reminds me that life is bigger than my own little pocket of consciousness. All the inspiring quotes and perfect photographs in the world can never add up to our experiences and the memories we make, but here I try to recreate them anyway.
Tasty cheese... or extra tasty cheese? 
Australia's tastiest cheese!
Ha! they eat babies in Australia! 
Little black babies and Sambo
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