Charmed by Verona

It's no wonder that Romeo & Juliet fell in love in Verona. It's easy to fall in love in Verona & easy to fall in love with Verona. It's funny how you can develop an impression about a place almost immediately. There's a feeling you get that colors your impression. For all of us (me and Mike & Maggie and Enser), we were charmed by Verona on first glance.

We drove - actually Mike drove the entire 6 hrs - from Cotignac to Verona & found our hotel without difficulty. We walked to dinner that night & discovered lively, bustling streets full of wonderful shops - some of the best I've seen. Pale stone-like colors & periwinkle blue shutters of France gave way to warm ocher & deep oranges with dark green shutters in Italy. The boulangeries are now pasta shops. Everyone is fashionably dressed. And there is a gelato shop every few feet. Like France, there is no shortage of cute sidewalk restaurants or cafes. We found one for dinner & had a lovely meal with good olive oil & excellent wine.


As we walked back to the hotel we glimpsed the edge of the Roman arena thru the narrow corridor of our street. The arena was lit against the night sky and we could not resist its pull. As we emerged from the little street we found ourselves in a large piazza that encircled the arena. Around the piazza were brightly colored buildings with restaurants glittering in the night. It was a mesmerizing sight and capped by the near full moon overhead. As we strolled around the piazza we found pieces of the set for the upcoming operas. They were stacked outside waiting to be lifted by crane into the arena. It was a magical start to our visit.

The next day was beautiful & I started it with a walk around the perimeter of the old city following the river's edge. Steeples & towers litter the skyline of Verona - giving it more charm. I walked by palazzos of red & cream stone, churches with towering white marble steeples, & river front homes with red geraniums spilling over balconies. Lovely.


We spent the day shopping. At each store I promised it would be my last purchase – and at each store I broke my promise! Many shopping bags later we met Maggie & Enser for lunch in a charming alleyway cafe. The shopping was so good that it was difficult to focus on history. Luckily you literally walk through history in Verona. We strolled under an ancient Roman arch, past an old fortress, Castelvecchio, with a moat and a three arch bridge across the river.
The bridge across the river and the towers of Castelvecchio were like walking back into an era of knights and damsels. All that walking and shopping left us with tired feet. And no trip to Verona would be complete without a visit to Juliet’s balcony.





Shakespeare's play is never far from your mind here. They have taken full advantage of its tourist potential. The first clue that you are near to Juliet’s balcony is the entrance corridor that is completely covered with love notes from all over the world. We were told that you can write a letter to Juliet requesting romantic advice and a cadre of volunteers answers the letters. The balcony, situated in a pretty little courtyard, is like a storybook. It looks just as you would expect – an image that is helped along by the movies filmed here. I had the chance to see Juliet’s balcony during my walk when I was the only one there.
When Mike & I returned I couldn't believe the crowds of people packed into this tiny space - all for a fictional character. Clearly, Juliet or, more likely, the idea of romance resonates with people of all ages and backgrounds. After a bus ride around the city it was time for a nap & preparing for the main event - Aida.


Aida and other operas are performed in the old Roman arena. The arena seats about 20,000. The general admissions seats are on the original marble stadium seats. Thankfully, we had reserved seats in cushioned chairs on the floor a few rows from the stage. The performance is open air & is immediately cancelled in the event of rain. If the performance starts before the rain hits there are no refunds. We held our breath & sent out good thoughts for a clear night (weather forecasts were iffy) & we got it. It was perfect- warm, a slight breeze, & dry.


It's hard to describe the thrill of walking into this first century arena. Our entrance was through thick, rich, red curtains and on a red carpet. It was moment I won't forget. Maggie & I were almost giddy with excitement. How fortunate we are to have the opportunity to be in Verona, Italy at a performance like this. We had fabulous seats, close enough to watch the conductor wave at the musicians and feel him stomp his feet during dramatic parts. The stage was set with huge props. The centerpiece was a large, gold pyramid that rotated for scene changes. Opera clearly transcends countries and we heard excited voices in languages from around the world as people milled about before the start. Everyone was dressed up for a special evening. And we weren't disappointed.


Neither Mike nor I are opera buffs and still we were moved by the music & grandeur of the production. The arena is the largest opera venue in the world & serious connoisseurs attend regularly. The costumes were elaborate & the cast numbered more than one hundred. When the full chorus sang they filled the arena with rich, deep sound. The soloists, too, with no microphones filled up the space with sound & emotion. You felt Aida's sadness & grief through her singing. Of course, the triumphal march was - triumphal.

As the performers sang their arias there was one particular audience member who would shout “bravo!” after a notable performance. He knew his stuff. At the end of the opera he summed up the experience with a shout heard throughout the arena – “Viva Verdi!”


One of the wonderful things about Italy is the close proximity to many wonderful towns. In this case, we were an hour train ride to Venice. Who could resist that? We journeyed over the next morning and spent part of the day wandering the streets of Venice and browsing shops, sipping coffee and tea, and nibbling on little sweets. All of us had been to Venice before – in the off season – and were taken by surprise by the crowds there on a beautiful Saturday in June. We weren’t thinking very clearly! But, still, Venice is captivating. The only disappointment was the prevalence of huge advertising billboards placed over many of the major attractions. We were horrified to see all sides (left, right, above and below) of the Bridge of Signs covered with huge adds. I can’t imagine the costs of maintaining all these beautiful buildings in such a difficult environment. The advertising income is probably a big help, but I couldn’t help but feel they’d taken it too far. It felt like part of the soul of Venice had been sold.
(left, right, above, and below) of the Bridge of Sighs covered with advertisements.


It's been great to share our experience in Verona and at the opera with Maggie and Enser. And our adventures didn't stop there. We left for Lake Como this morning but not before I got in one more beautiful walk around the city alongside the river. It is truly a lovely place. As I walked, there came a strong whiff of something sweet and somehow familiar in the air. I was under a row of magnolia trees with blooms open to the sun. The fragrance took me to Texas – home.


Before we left for Verona, we took a day trip thru the lavender fields just north of Cotignac. On our way we stopped at one of the better wineries in the area. Between us we bought a box of wine. Enser said he felt like Bacchus! It is almost peak time for lavender & the harvest starts in mid July. We had no idea what to expect & were thrilled with our first sight of a lavender field - row after row of mounded lavender plants. With the windows down, we could smell their fragrance as we drove. Purple alternated with the pale, straw color of wheat fields. One of our discoveries was amazing lavender ice cream in Riez – we will be back!
We spent so much time in the lavender shops in Valensole that we missed our window for lunch. It was a Monday & few places were open. We found a restaurant that agreed to serve us if we'd all eat their special - lasagna. “Yes” was the only answer. It turned out to be good & we enjoyed sitting outside on a lovely day. The unexpected surprise was that our waiter who also seemed to run the restaurant was wearing a Waldorf t-shirt!
Yes - Waldorf, MD. What are the odds? He said the shirt was not his and he had no idea were Waldorf was. He was surprised at our incredulous reactions but he was more than happy to pose for a photo with me and Maggie!

We finished our drive thru Moustiers, a lovely town wedged into the cliffs of the Verdon. There is a large bridge that spans the gorge & we stopped for one final photo - or so we thought. Just as we began to get back in the car to go home we heard all this racket- clanging & rattling. Mike said it sounded like a tiki bar. I looked over the bridge & thought I saw a peloton of cyclists headed our way. But no! It was a herd of sheep & goats, many with bells around their necks. There were a few people walking with them but they were being managed & herded by a small black & white sheep dog. We were transfixed - first by seeing sheep walking down a main road & second by this dog. He was one hardworking little guy! And his job got worse when the herd cleared the bridge & the sheep tried to wander up the hillside. He kept them in line!





Before I go and enjoy the amazing scenery of Lake Como, I offer one final reflection. We frequently hear remarks about our “vacation,” and I hear myself describe it as a “grand vacances” lacking any other term. But each time I pause. Somehow being in France doesn't feel like a vacation - but why not? After pondering it for awhile I think I've hit on it. We relocated our lives to France and don’t view ourselves as visitors or tourists. We live here. We make an effort to attend village events & meet people in the shops - hardware, bakery, ice cream, restaurants & vineyards. We want to be participants in life here. We're learning our favorite farmers at the markets & recognize the regulars at the various bars. It feels different from when we are tourists, seeing the sights, having an experience, buying souvenirs & returning home. We've done some of that since we’ve been here but we feel more like residents now than visitors. And that’s just the way we want it to be.

French Bread

2AM – That’s what time they said we needed to arrive to watch them baking French bread. Oh dear.

It started with Mike’s favorite bakery, Pascal. He loves their bread, particularly a rustic bread that we later found out was a special recipe of theirs that is only available at their boulangerie. During my morning walk, I noticed a door around the side of the building where, every so often, I would see a couple of men covered with flour busily working away. Well, I thought, how much fun would it be to watch them baking REAL French bread? My French instructor helped me write a few sentences to ask if we could watch sometime. I was ready! But, the bakery was closed for a week so we had to wait. Finally, Friday morning they were back. I struggled through my request in French and, thankfully, the owner spoke a few words of English. The short story was that in two weeks he was moving his baking operation to Carces and with our upcoming trip to Italy our only opportunity was that very night. Ok…we can work with that. So, what time should we arrive? 2AM. I knew it would be early but I really didn’t think it would be that early.

Mike and I decided it was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. We set the alarm for 1:30AM and trundled into the village, flashlight in hand. Maggie and Enser arrived earlier that day. We left them peacefully sleeping. When we arrived at the boulangerie, flour was already flying. Gilles (we found out his name as we were leaving) was heaving 50 pound bags of flour into an enormous mixer. He nodded to us and was pleasant but it was clear that he was there to work and time was of the essence. He moved at warp speed and never stopped even by the time we left at 5:30AM. He did not speak English and my lack of French vocabulary for baking meant that we primarily watched. Even with limited conversation, it was an experience!

After the flour went into the mixer, he followed that with buckets of water, blocks of yeast and a tower of salt (measured with an old balance scale). After it mixed, he weighed out a mound of dough into big bins with more handfuls of flour thrown here and there. As we found later in the process, each bin would make twenty loaves of bread and there were twenty bins. In the space of a few hours he transformed that pile of dough into more than 400 loaves of bread – baguettes, navette, ficelle, boules and campagne. He also had a few loaves of whole grain breads already rising when we arrived.





Each bin of dough was dumped (with more handfuls of flour) into a machine that puffed the dough and sliced it into twenty equal squares. He put each square onto a large, wooden board to rise. He hoisted these big boards around the bakery and they were clearly very heavy. Once that process was finished, a different machine was rolled out from a corner. Each square of dough was dropped into the machine which rolled it into a specific thickness. Long thin rolls or thicker, shorter roles dropped into a tray. He had large wood trays with long sheets of fabric ready for the dough. He laid the dough on the fabric and folder the fabric so that there was a layer of fabric between each roll of bread dough. There were several boards full of baguettes made this way. Ficelle loaves were thinner and shorter; campagne had ends rolled to a point by hand; navette was two small rolls joined together at the ends; and boules were round loaves. There were 400 in all.



The whole grain loaves were ready for the oven first. He laid them on a long conveyer belt that was on rollers so it could be rolled between the two sets of ovens. He slashed the tops of one type of bread and left them to rise.




By now it was 4AM and the owner, Pascal, arrived. He was in charge of pizza. He handrolled four large, square pans of dough (same as the dough used for the bread) and topped them with tomato sauce or carmelized onion, dotted with olives and anchovies.



In between the bread making process, Gilles laid out croissants (plain and chocolate in large and small sizes) to rise above the ovens. In this boulangerie, the croissants were pre-made and came in a bag. It appears that each boulangerie specializes. Another boulangerie in the village, Poulliard, does not make their bread on premise but they do make croissants and pastries from scratch. Nonetheless, as we found out later, these croissants were excellent. When they were ready, Gilles slid them into the hot ovens (almost 500F). It wasn’t long before the first fragrances of baked bread and croissants filled the tiny bakery space.

Finally, Gilles pulled out trays of another type of dough that he had apparently made before we arrived. Pascal explained that this bread was their specialty. It was a recipe unique to their boulangerie. Unlike the earlier process, this was an unformed lump of bread dough that he sliced, twisted and placed on the rolling conveyer. There was no measuring. Each loaf was different. This was the bread that is Mike’s favorite. They made two types - a plain and olive loaf. While all the other types of bread are sold by the piece, this bread is sold by weight. We watched as Gilles sliced it up and slid them into the oven. We stayed until they emerged, fresh, hot and browned. Wow.

Before we left to go back to bed, we learned that Pascal and Gilles are cousins. Pascal lives above the boulangerie with his wife and their baby daughter. She’s frequently in the boulangerie in her stroller sitting quietly as her mother sells the bread. As we were walking out, Pascal gave us a bag of warm croissants (plain and chocolate) and a loaf of Mike’s favorite bread – still warm from the oven. Heaven!



We were glad to have the opportunity to see this baking process and, I have to say, it’s not the romantic notion that I’d envisioned. It is very hard work - hoisting big bags, carrying heavy boards, and constantly rolling large equipment around a small space. They raced the clock with no time to spare so that the bread would be ready for early morning customers. They must make enough money to survive but they aren’t getting rich. A typical baguette sells for 1 euro. It’s a lot of work for $1.25. And, we’re very thankful that they go to all the trouble. Later this morning at our house, there were happy smiles around the breakfast table which was filled with fresh croissants and bread. We thank Pascal and Gilles for allowing two curious Americans to watch and learn even though we seemed to always stand in their way. We’ll be in tomorrow and the next day for their bread with this time with the knowledge of all that went into the making of it!

This Time: Flamingoes not Flamenco

We experienced several transitions recently: From flamenco dancers in Spain to flamingos in France, and from fist fights in Cotignac to bull fights in Chateaunard. I love the diversity of our activities. In the space of four days we saw World Cup soccer, Gregorian chants, bull fights and bike riding through the Camargue. More about each…


The day after the Gregorian chant concert, Mike and I went on a mini excursion to Arles and the surrounding areas. Arles is on the bank of the Rhone River and the home to several Roman ruins. We saw the Roman amphitheater (complete with a gladiator fight) and the ruins of the Roman theater. Arles was okay but not our favorite. We were, however, fortunate to meet one of my professional colleagues for dinner. Juhani works for the European Commission and we coordinate our research programs with each other. Juhani has a home in a town close to Arles. He and Teresa just happened to be there at the same time we were. It was a wonderful coincidence. Juhani and Teresa knew a restaurant in Arles that proved to be an event in and of itself.

Atelier de Jean-Luc Rabanel is a two-star Michelin restaurant. We had 15 – yes, 15 – courses over almost four hours! Oh my. None of us expected the event that unfolded in front of us. So, unfortunately we didn’t write down all of the courses. Here are a couple that were particularly memorable. We had a serving of turbot in a crème soup with small crustaceans, lamb chops with fresh peas and shitake mushrooms, and a single ravioli filled with ham in a artichoke soup. Then, there was the cheese course followed by five desserts. Did I mention there were five desserts? Mike and I spent the next day reliving each of the courses and debating our favorites. And, we got to meet one of the Rabanel family members. What a special treat! Thanks, Juhani and Teresa!

We also learned that Van Gogh spent time in Arles. In fact, this is where he became mentally unstable and cut off a portion of his ear. I had not spent much time thinking about Van Gogh, but during my early morning walk I discovered an open doorway that provided glimpses of bright flowers in a central courtyard. I wandered through taking photos and found a photograph of a Van Gogh painting of that very courtyard. The colors, the flowers and the design were still the same. Later, we realized that we had been walking past a yellow house by the arena that was also the subject of one of his paintings. We learned a little about Van Gogh after all!





Earlier that day we drove to Chateaunard, a small town between Arles and Avignon. They had a bullfight which was a big local event. In fact, we found the arena by following all the people with their coolers. Unlike the bullfights we learned about in Spain, these fighters don’t kill the bull. Colorful strings and tassels are tied between the bull’s horns and across his face. The bull, with his name listed on the stadium wall, enters the arena with much snorting and pawing – dust flying. At the appointed time, a group of 8-14 young men jump into the arena with the bull and begin to taunt him. The bull chases them around as they try to retrieve the strings and tassels from between his horns. The guys leap the walls with great vigor and energy….with a big, angry bull on their heels. It was very fun to watch until the thunderstorm hit and rained out the last couple of bulls. We have tons of photos so I'll put several at the end along with a short video that Mike captured. Most of the pictures are of Capitan. You could hear them shouting his name as he charged. In one of the shots you can see the string tied at the base of the bull's horns. That's what they are trying to retrieve using a metal claw. Better them than me!

The next day we visited the Camargue. The Camargue is a large delta between the Rhone and Petite Rhone rivers. The rivers form a triangular delta that is a large flat area filled with marshes and lakes (etangs). We rented bikes and took a leisurely bike ride along the dike that forms a barrier between the Mediterranean and the lakes in the delta. At first glance, it appears to be a non-descript landscape but on closer inspection the colors pop out. There are the green shrubs mixed with dry, purple-black ones interspersed with bright yellow green plants and fluffy grasses topped with tassels waving in the wind. It is a unique, beautiful environment that is home to a vast range of birdlife including pink flamingos.

For true birders, like my friend Paul Pisano (birder extraordinaire!), seeing flamingos is a rather pedestrian sighting. I mean, really, who hasn’t seen flamingoes in the zoo? And that’s exactly where these flamingos took me. Watching literally hundreds of flamingos feeding in their natural environment transported me to my childhood. I was a girl again, standing in front of the flamingo pond at the San Antonio zoo with my mother, dad and sister. We were at the zoo frequently the summer that my dad was in flight training for the Air Force in San Antonio. At each visit to the zoo, we stopped at the flamingo pond. It was one of my favorites. Now, here they were in the wild – beautiful in their light pink plumage with deep coral on the wings accentuated with black and walking that quirky but somehow graceful walk. (As a special note to my Mother and my sister, as I stood watching these lovely birds and thinking about being in San Antonio with our family, three F14fighters flew over in formation – thanks, Dad.)

The flamingos were everywhere! We saw them along all the shorelines and in large flocks quietly feeding. As we watched through binoculars, one of them took flight. What a magical sight! Its colors were vivid and his flight was graceful. I stood watching them with tears of memories in my eyes. I never expected that flamingos would be so much more than just tourist trip.



In addition to flamingos we also saw grey herons, little egrets and an assortment of gulls and other sea birds. The visit to the Camargue was completed with sightings of the white horses and black cattle which are trademarks of the Camargue. They both run in the semi-wild and have been managed by a local version of cowboys for centuries. We had a nice ride through the scenic routes munching on fresh apricots and cherries from the local market. Yum.

Before returning home, we made a sidetrip to see the Pont du Gard. It's a huge Roman aqueduct that's in countless publications about France. It's reputation is well deserved. While it was a rainy day and we didn't spend a lot of time on the bridge itself we learned a lot about Roman water management and the building of the aqueduct from the museum. I was glad that we made the effort to see it.

Finally, the last transition is about me and Mike. We’ve been in France for two months now, and the most frequently asked question that I hear is, “Are you and Mike doing okay?” That’s code for, “You haven’t killed each other yet?” The answers are, “yes” and “no.” We’re doing great. Not that we don’t have our moments! But, we’re enjoying the time we spend together. There’s always something to create conversation, and we have a lot of quiet time to spend at the house. I write and Mike is writing some, too. New situations have come up that require discussion and negotiation. Some have been challenging but, all in all, I think we’ve done a great job of managing everything, communicating, and adjusting as we go. And…there are ten months yet!

P.S. You may have heard about the torrential rains in southern France. There was a big storm in Cotignac and the surrounding areas the day we drove home. When we arrived, we opened the door and stepped into a puddle of water. The salon was flooded from a leaking roof. The floor, rugs and furniture were soaked. Thankfully, everyone has been very responsive. The housekeeper was here this afternoon dealing with soggy furniture and rugs. A roofer arrives this today, too. A neighboring village, Draguignan, had quite a lot of damage and several people were killed in the floods. Thousands are without electricity. By any measure, we got off okay - and there's more rain forecast tonight and tomorrow followed by lots of sun. Thank goodness!

Gregorian Chants

If reverence had a sound it would be a Gregorian chant. Mike and I went to a Gregorian chant concert tonight. Why, you may ask, would you go to a Gregorian chant concert? It’s a far cry from the Barbershop Quartet music you were raised with. What we’ve discovered is that the more we put ourselves in the way of life – whether it be watching a World Cup soccer match at a dive bar in Cotignac, or listening to Gregorian chants in an 11th Century abbey – the more enriched we feel.

The concert was at Abbey du Thoronet which we visited (and I wrote about) soon after our arrival in France. It is striking due to its simplicity. The monks who built it believed that ornamentation distracted from worship. The beauty of the abbey comes from the simplicity of its forms with the slightly pointed vaults ending in a half dome over the altar. For the concert, the lights were very dim with only the altar lit so that the old stones glowed with a soft ocher light.

The chanters – eight men – walked in singing. Of course, there were no microphones but their voices completely filled the space. They sang in unison and slowly separated into gentle harmonies. A couple of the chanters kept up a deep, constant drone. The sound seemed to resonate inside your body so that you were a part of the music. As they released a note, the sound floated through the chambers of the abbey with soft reverberation. It was lovely. The effect was powerful but humble and simple.

I can’t say that I’m ready to go back anytime soon. A little chanting goes a long way. But it was a special experience. As a friend of mine says, get out there and make a memory. Tonight, we did that.