La feria et la fin.

~ After my travels in Spain, Portugal, and Morocco, I made it a priority to return to my home town of Nîmes one last time before leaving. I wanted to see the spirit of the city awaken and animate the streets for the week-long festival.

Le sable, la lumière...



My stay in Europe had to come to an end, finally. It really was another life, so much more than pictures, more than stories. It was:

~ windswept cities of empty Sunday streets

~ the familiar chime in the stations of hurrying trains

~ the silent romance of the Seine

~ the blue layers of the Mediterranean beneath the sky

~ hot wine cradled through Christmas markets

~ smiling faces of the friends made on buses, trains, and planes

~ Danish pastries along the gray canals of Kristianshavn

~ Japanese tourists illuminating the Christmas Eve monuments of London

~ snow falling on the Pyrenées, New Year's Eve

~ all-night dancing and the lighted streets of Pamplona

~ rosy country fields of central Portugal

~ the minty breath and cumin of the markets of Fès

~ the splayed heart of Paris that recedes with increasing elevation...

Wandering away from France.

~ Having worked SO hard at my schools, I decided that a month of travel before my return to the US was a great farewell to my time spent in Europe. I picked a direction first: West. This narrowed my possibilities to Spain and Portugal. Having friends in both countries, I decided that this was the time to head that way. And I threw in a trip to Morocco, to see a bit of Africa and to visit the home country of nearly half of my students.

Basque country...



An ancient bridge, clinging desperately from bank to bank, was one of the many sights that captivated me in the mountains not far from Pamplona. First impressions were: this isn't the Spain that I had imagined; it is too cold and rainy; I don't understand the basque language. These quickly gave way to awe and appreciation for all things basque: the people, the food, the plains that stretch out green until they touch the mountains.

Lisboa é muito boa...



I was thinking of including the beautiful view of the city of Lisbon that spreads out below, just to the left of the photo, but I didn't. You will just have to go there yourself to see what it is all about. I will say, however, that it was the most amazing view that I have ever had while sitting at a small table enjoying a coffee.

Gem of the Alentejo...



The streets of Evora wind haphazardly and lazily in their white and yellow splendor. They are beautifully well-preserved and maintained, which makes this city a great place to wander on foot. Far from the commotion of Lisbon, this small town in central Portugal has made my Top 3 List of small towns with charm in Europe.

Mon ami, good food, good price...



Ah, Morocco. Here, having dinner at the Place Jemaa al-Fnaa in Marrakech, I was able to get a small meal for a mere 40 cents. However, the people working at these makeshift "restaurants" that appear in the evening are nearly willing to sell an arm for your money. The tip: look for groups of local Moroccan people eating, then join them for the best non-tourist prices. Watch out for the famous "Marrakech Express" , another word for diarrhea, that most tourists get sooner or later if they spend enough time in Morocco. You don't want to get it, trust me.

C'est la vie.

~ When my family told me that they were crossing the globe to come visit me, my mind started working on must-see places to visit in France. Paris, ville-lumière, was, obviously, at the top of the list. However, a famous saying by Fréderic Mistral came to mind: " Qu'a vist Paris, se noun a vist Cassis, pou dire: n'ai rèn vist" (Who has visited Paris, if not Cassis, has visited nothing). SO, we went to Cassis, obviously.

Calanque d'en Vau...



The famous "calanques" of Cassis are more beautiful than any place on the Mediterranean that I have seen. The white cliffs that dart from the coastline into the blue of the sea are simply breathtaking. Hiking through the hills reveals secluded coves and smooth-pebbled beaches. Here, a view at lunchtime from above le calanque d'en vau. Yes, we drank wine after a hike, it was the French thing to do.

Snow and beaches.

~ I can't complain too much about winter in the south of France. For one, the sky was perfectly blue 6 out of every 7 days. Two, when the wind blows and you are wearing a scarf the two tail ends whip about dramatically instead of hanging limp and ridiculous most of the time. This alone justifies scarf-wearing.

Socks on ice...



Going to the least populated region in France, la Lozère, in the middle of winter, we found what we were expecting: snow, fields of it; and ice, captured in small frozen ponds. Here, Carina finds a graceful pose.

Not Mardi Gras, Carnaval...



Yes, the French have silly string as well. And it stings like the dickens when it hits you right in the face. Little French kids can be merciless, as I learned in class. Anyway, by the end of February we were tired of winter and decided to head for the Côte d'Azur, specifically to Nice for its famous Carnaval parades and fireworks. We also make a trek along the coast visiting the beaches and wading out into the warm winter surf.

Vrolyk Kerstfeest, Gladelig Jul, God Jul!

~ It all comes down to Merry Christmas, no matter which language you are speaking. Traveling in Northern Europe during the Christmas season was, above all, cold, but bright with the lights of December. The clamor of the Christmas markets and the smells that seeped out into the streets made me forget about not being home, but just for a while. Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Lund, and London, 4 cities in 4 countries.

Vin chaud et stupéfiants...



On the left we see Tristan, smiling (from the hot wine or other substances), then Pauline, glowing (a couple of cups of hot wine already finished), Jake (going to work on yet another cup) and finally, there I am (happy just to be there, AND happy to be drinking hot wine with friends while wandering the Christmas markets of Amsterdam).

Great Danes (not the dogs)...



Ah Denmark. I have to refute the rather celebrated claim that "Denmark is a prison." Sorry, Hamlet. The people that I encountered on the streets and in the cafés of Copenhagen were remarkably warm and helpful. There was no sense of desperate urgency or impatience in the streets, despite a rapidly-approaching December 25th. Regularly, after wandering the canals I would duck into quaint cafés such as Café Wilder and Bogcafeen, yes a book café. Also, I ate my fill regularly of herring and smorgasborg and indulged in Danish pastries. My preferred European capital after Paris, Copenhagen amazed me with all of the above. Its people welcomed me in from the cold, and there I found my grandmother's Danish features smiling at me from everywhere.

Fall a la française.

~ In the south of France you don't especially get the impression that it is indeed the Fall season. After spending several years in Eugene, I was accustomed to falling leaves that would cast cloud-sized shadows on the ground during their slow descent. People armed with rakes and black plastic bags were regularly seen curbside, as were leaf piles the size of haystacks. In Nîmes, however, it was the steady wash of blue sky that showed no movement, except for the scarf-whipping frenzy of "Le Mistral" (wind from the North) that barreled down the mouth of the Rhone. Most leaves lethargicaly clung on until a December wind scattered them through the streets of the Christmas markets. Bizarre!

Le Pont-du-Gard...



An aquaduct, a very old aquaduct, a Roman aquaduct. This may mean absolutely nothing to you, but it was the symbol of my department (like a state) in the south of France. I was waiting for the damn thing to light up, only to learn that they provide that spectacle exclusively during the summer months for tourists. I would have liked to have seen an illuminated 2,000 year-old Roman aquaduct, but I would not have traded it for this view, unencumbered by tourists blasting american hip-hop on the riverbank.

Avignon, cookies and beer...



Not the most spectacular photo ever taken, technically speaking, but charged with fantastic memories. You just can't beat a cookie break in the park. Add to that a 30cl can of Kronenbourg before noon, while people cast sidelong glances in your direction. But when you do all that with a friend, it is pretty much unforgettable. As was our packed cake-lunch. As was that first day hanging out with Carina, a Portuguese girl that became my best friend during my time over there.

It was not THE beginning, but it was A beginning.

~ Me voilà sur le "web"... voilà tout! Select photos from ten months in France and Europe on the way.