Budapest

If you asked me to describe the city in two words, I would say: Freezing cold.

This is what I looked like pretty much the whole weekend, all bundled up!

I would advise anyone interested to head there during the summer. But when the opportunity came and I found a cheap flight for December, I didn’t want to give it up. The architecture alone is gorgeous. The city is an interesting range of old and new, with remnants of the Communist era, but also plenty of modernity.

In fact it’s actually two cities in one: Buda and Pest, separated by the Danube River.

Aside from all the oohing and aahing and sightseeing, also on the agenda was a trip to the Roman baths. It was so nice getting some spa treatment after all that shivering! But let’s just say Hungarian women have no hang-ups of being absolutely stark naked and letting it all show, regardless of sagging flesh. And that’s just about as descriptive as I am going to get.

Our last evening in the city we went to a performance of the Hungarian ballet. The show playing that night was Shakespeare’s "The Taming of the Shrew." It was beautiful. I feel bad admitting this, but I’m glad I saw the movie “Ten Things I Hate about You,” otherwise I would have been confused about what was going on.

Food-wise, Hungary is famous for its paprika, so for lunch I got a roasted stuffed pepper dish:

Okay so maybe it doesn’t look so appetizing but it tasted good!

There was also a bookstore chain there called Alexandra and I was so excited I took approximately five thousand pictures of it! Here’s just one.

A very special weekend

Normally my weekends are free and I can do as I please. But within the lines of my official au pairing contract lies a clause that I will look after the girls for a few weekends over the course of the year. Last weekend was one such weekend, when S and D left for an extended weekend getaway to Vienna.

So basically, I got to sample the life of a single parent for four days. Some highlights:

The good

• Reading books and telling stories before bed time, and getting kisses (bisous) good night
  
• A late breakfast on Saturday morning: a stack of maple syrup-topped pancakes, and fresh squeezed orange juice

The not-so-good (So this is the nitty-gritty, down-and-dirty of being a nanny…)

• Wrestling with a three-year-old at seven o’clock in the morning while simultaneously trying to take off her pajamas and get her dressed into clothes appropriate for school, while she is meanwhile screaming bloody murder...

It really wasn’t that bad. The only really trying moment was a three-person tantrum session at the end of a school day that took place over the course of dinner. That is, I was the only one in the house NOT crying, even though I really sort of wanted to. Not that I blame the kids for it in the slightest:

The oldest had had a long day of school, followed by a string of various extracurricular activities, not getting home until 8:30 in the evening, and then had to face a pile of homework given by a mean teacher with exacting demands. The middle one was upset by some gossip and girl politics that had developed at school that day. Yes, preadolescent girls can be pretty cruel to each other. I’ll admit I had forgotten such dramas of elementary school!

And the little one was upset because I had made lasagna for dinner that night. The recipe called for some red pepper flakes, which weren’t in the pantry, so I unknowingly substituted a pinch of ground jalapeno pepper, thinking it would have the same gustatory effect. Turns out, it was much spicier than I had anticipated, so I was hearing a chorus of “Ca pique! Ca pique!” (That’s spicy!)

And to top it all off, the lasagna itself was way overcooked because I got distracted and completely forgot about it after I placed it in the oven.

Thankfully that was the worst of it. Granted, I was bone-tired at the end of weekend and struck by how I was constantly and continually obligated to the well-being and happiness of three other people. It definitely made me re-evaluate exactly what the role of a parent demands. It gave me new respect and empathy for my own parents, like how many times they had to tell me to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Now it makes a lot more sense.

Strasbourg

The first weekend of December, me and some fellow au pairs decided to kick the holiday season off right with—what else?—a trip to the Christmas markets of Strasbourg!

The only hang-up was location: Strasbourg is a good four-hour car ride from Geneva. So it was that I groaned as my alarm clock went off and we departed in the pitch black darkness of morning, watching the sun rise through the mountains as we zipped along the highway.

Although we were staying in France, the quickest route took us through small pieces of Switzerland and Germany. I was really excited because it was going to be my first time on the AUTOBAHN. Actually, the only thing I had heard about it beforehand was of its lack of speed limit. I was envisioning a special sort of highway, straight and flat, with all the cars flying down it at maximum speeds. Well, as it turns out, “autobahn” refers to all the highways in Germany, and so it was basically just like any other European auto route.

There also was the Black Forest, of which we passed through the edges. From what I saw, it wasn't as the name suggests. No density of trees, no particular darkness--just regularly spaced woods, with light filtering regularly throughout. Despite all the adjustments of previous conceptions, I liked watching the little villages of Germany pass by the car window: a ring of relatively homogeneous red-roofed houses encircling a tall church steeple.

I never knew it before coming here, but Christmas markets in Europe are a pretty big deal. Almost every place has at least a little something (even the small town where I live held a market over a weekend in December). But Strasbourg proclaims itself to be the “capital of Christmas” and boasts to have the best Christmas market in the world.

I cannot personally affirm that, but I will say I was impressed with its size and grandeur. Sprinkled throughout the streets of the city, there are conglomerations of petite wooden market stalls of artisans and merchants selling their goods of Christmas paraphernalia, ornaments and gifts and such. Plus the stalls of food, which sort of reminded me of what it is like to go to a fair in the US; think greasy fast food and popcorn. But there was also hot spiced wine, churros (a sort of fried dough which I had never seen before), waffles, crepes, and roasted chestnuts for sale. There was even a huge tent devoted entirely to gourmandises, with assortments of cookies and cakes. I’ve never seen so much pain d’epice in my life.

Yet for lunch we decided that we should take full advantage of our location and sit ourselves down to a proper Alsatian meal, with all of the delicacies of the region: choucroute (aka sauerkraut) and saucisse. After walking and down the quaint streets of Strasbourg, we finally settled on a cozy little establishment with dark wood paneling, red-and-white checkered curtains at the windows, and haphazardly-posed pictures on the walls. The restaurant was absolutely chock full and buzzing of other like-minded tourists, taking a pause amongst the Christmas markets. I was enjoying the warmth of the place after being in the windblown streets, but from the moment that we were greeted overly-curtly by our waitress, I couldn’t ignore just how bad the service was. Granted that in Europe the bar of what constitutes good service at a restaurant is considerably lower than it is in the States, it was absolutely dreadful at this place. In fact our waitress was almost a caricature--a short, fat woman with a thick German accent, whose idea of hospitality was so skewed that it ventured into downright rudeness. Basically it was a language barrier, and she had absolutely zero patience for a single question on the menu. I had never done it before, but after spending a half hour trying to place an order, we decided enough was enough, and got up and left the place. Continuing down the street we found another restaurant which had considerably less ambiance, but at least the waiter there didn’t insult us and call us names, thinking we wouldn’t understand because it was in French. I ended up ordering spaetzel (buttery noodle clumps) and coq au vin with a creamy mushroom Riesling sauce. Definitely not what I would consider light, and the helpings were generous to boot, but delicious and hearty nonetheless.

Granted, being in the Alsace Lorraine region of France, right next to Germany, I could definitely see the geographical influence in the architecture; it is a nice blend of the two.

The city is very charming during the day, but it is also lovely at night. Draped across the streets are grand light displays, with further flourishes of light hanging up on the lampposts to illuminate all the main roads.

Before departing, we went to the town square to see the big sapin de Noel (Christmas tree) all lit up, and to listen to a chorus perform Christmas carols—it was a very multicultural spectacle, with songs from around the world, and definitely put me in the Christmas spirit.

As for the city of Strasbourg, its big claim to fame (when it isn’t December) is its “Notre Dame” cathedral. But then again that is also true for virtually any city in France you could name! Yet this one I thought had particularly interesting architecture: very Gothic, very dark.

Similar to a wishing well or fountain, the church’s money-making scheme was a grate where you could throw down a coin. Here’s the action shot of me making my wish:

All in all, a very nice day.

Thanksgiving, French style

Turkey is not a big thing in France, so for our Thanksgiving celebration we had to special order ours from the butcher shop in town.

The butcher offered to do all the roasting and preparation for us. At first I felt this was a betrayal of the home cooking tradition, until I considered the logistics. Almost all the home ovens (and basically kitchen appliances in general) installed in Europe are tiny when compared to their American counterparts. Meaning that it would have been a challenge to fit in a decent-sized turkey enough to feed twenty people. And in the end, I have to say it was a good idea leaving the cooking to an expert because the meat came out deliciously moist. No dried-out turkey for us.

The only thing was the stuffing, which the butcher unknowingly prepared as a compact French-style terrine loaf, which was then cut up in slices, as opposed to the loose American style that you spoon onto your plate. But being in France, I figured it was appropriate that our meal had a slight French spin to it, in company with the traditional American feast we prepared: mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, biscuits, cornbread, etc. I even made a cranberry sauce from reconstituted dried cranberries (My search for fresh or frozen cranberries was fruitless, pardon the pun, but they're impossible to find here.) And for dessert? I helped myself to the classic two slices, one of apple pie and one of pumpkin.














Here you can see the finished turkey, with the special stuffing on the side.

Paris, Paris...

It was my first visit to Paris, and of course I had to start somewhere, so I figured why not with all of the traditional tourist attractions?

Let’s see, there was the Arc de Triomphe (bigger than I had imagined), the Louvre (putting my meager art history education to use!), Notre Dame (imposing architecture on the outside, really dark on the inside, and gorgeous stained glass), a stroll down the Champs Elysees to lécher les vitrines, which is the funny French phrase for window shopping. The literal translation is “to lick the windows.”

Everything was great. But I do have some regrets, first and foremost with FASHION.

When I was packing my suitcase, I was aiming for practicality. Bad thinking. What I completely forgot that--hello! I was going to Paris!--A parisienne would never wear a windbreaker… sacre bleu! I felt when I was walking down the street it practically screamed, “I’m American!” Or that whenever I went into a shop, the salespeople automatically identified me, touriste. Okay, granted, I could have taken it off, but then I would have been cold and uncomfortable and…wind-bitten. So in some ways I embraced the fact that yes, I was indeed, a tourist. (Like when I awkwardly turned around in the middle of a street after realizing that I was heading in the wrong direction of where I wanted to go, I thought, “Oh well! It’s okay, I’m a tourist!”) And for example it was kind of fun to see the look of surprise on some people’s faces when they realized that contrary to my outsider appearance, my knowledge of the French language expands outside of the phrases found in guidebooks. At the big attractions, I didn’t particularly stick out in comparison to the camera-toting, polar-fleece-wearing, white-sneakered tourists. But in other parts of town I didn’t exactly want to look like an easy victim, so to try to make up for it I emphasized my scarf, tying it around my neck in the fanciest French manner I could muster.

I am happy to say that Paris was even better than I had expected it to be, because I have heard of a lot of people who come to the city with high hopes and end up leaving disappointed. But the city did offer me some SURPRISES; some good, some bad, and some in-between.

One was how many other tourists there are in the city. I knew there were going to be a lot, but not exactly that much. It’s kind of crazy, because the Louvre is overwhelming e-nor-mous. And yet with everyone else milling about, I felt quite claustrophobic. When I finally got to see the Mona Lisa face-to-face, it was like getting a glimpse of a Hollywood celebrity. The enormous crowds of jostling people were like paparazzi trying to steal a snapshot.

The highlight of my Parisian food experience? In fact, not with the quintessential baguette or croissant. Rather, it was found in my first bite ever of falafel in the quartier du Marais—warm pita bread with a slightly gooey interior, raw crunchy cut-up veggies, fried balls of falafel, and “special spicy sauce” (that’s what they actually called it!) on top.

The Eiffel Tower, too, at night was a little different than I had expected it. They’ve rigged it up with these multi-colored lights that blink and alternate in all sorts of ways—which gives it a kind of cheesy grandeur, different from the romantic emblem I always had in mind. Aside from that, well, the city is gorgeous in daylight. So at night, it becomes magical, with all the streets and sights illuminated and shimmering in the water of the Seine.

To get from Paris to Geneva I took le TGV, which stands for “Train a Grande Vitesse.” It was a bit of a disappointment because I was expecting what the name suggests: to achieve speeds of grand vitesse, and that was not the case. Nonetheless, it was agreeable to watch the French countryside pass by, despite the lack of whoosh or whizz involved.

A funny coincidence: I was sitting at a cozy café, writing my postcards to home, when all of a sudden I look up and who do I see but D (my host dad’s) 21-year old son from a previous marriage, who lives as a student in Paris. Given the city’s grand immensity, I’m pretty sure it was very statistically unlikely that our paths should accidentally cross. Because we had met only briefly before, he didn’t recognize me at first, and guessed that we had a class together, until I explained—oh yeah!—I’m the au pair. I guess it just goes to show, dare I say it? It’s a small world after all.

So I saw a lot of Paris. Yet there is so much more than I didn’t see. Which is exactly why I can’t wait to go again!














La Jaconde













Action shot: receiving my falafel (yes, I surreptitiously snapped a photo while reaching out to grab it from the guy)













Underbelly of the Eiffel Tower at night

[It was cloudy the whole time I was there, so all of my photos have a grayish tinge to them. C'est dommage.]

Luge d'Été

Coming back from glorious Paris, I figured why not experience the very best of what my home French region has to offer? Which, of course, would be MOUNTAINS.

And so it was that I experienced the French-style roller coaster known as luge d’été, or “summer sledding” (sans the snow). Two person per one seat, so I was with Ar the whole time. It was pretty much this: we mounted steeply to the top of a mountain, strapped into a sled-contraption attached to metal rails, and then descended downwards (with plenty of curves thrown in for good measure).

To be honest, I’m pretty sure most real roller coaster aficionados would proclaim it to be completely lame and pathetic, but for me (and Ar who was right beside me), it was quite the thrill. Maybe a bit too much so for Ar, as I, for one, love SPEEEEED, and it was also me who controlled the lever to slow down….which I didn’t do too much of, even when we were at the hairpin turns. The whole time Ar was squeaking, “Ali! Stop! Break!” while I pretended that I couldn’t hear. But no worries, she is hardly scarred for life, as afterwards I saw a look on her face of ravished contentment from all the adrenaline-filled excitement.















Climbing upwards (that would be Ar's pink-speckled hat in the foreground)

My Halloween in France

In previous years I was hardly grateful or appreciative of Halloween. It was something I took for granted. Although in France some of the traditions of the holiday are gaining popularity, it is all still very foreign to them in general. When I explained to the girls how every year as a kid I had gone from house to house in my neighborhood getting candy, dressed up in a costume, saying “Trick or treat!,” their eyes were wide-open in amazement. “Really?” When I talked to the their grandmother (a native Parisian, born and bred) about the concept of Halloween, she was disdainful; “trop commerciale,” she decried. If I was living in the US I would have agreed. But being abroad has made me nostalgic for the fun-hearted traditions and celebrations of good old Americana.

So we decided to throw our very own Halloween party. That is, we decorated the house and then the girls had all their friends over for an afternoon.

The preparations the day before were quite the affair: we baked spice cookies in the shape of pumpkins and witches’ hats, and to add something really special to all the other party décor of black and orange streamers and garlands and fake cobwebs…we carved a jack-o-lantern!

In fact, it was the very first time they had done it, so when we finally sawed around the top of the pumpkin and pulled off its hat, they were surprised to see all the guts that were inside. Ar’s reaction was “Déguelasse!” (That’s disgusting!) She retreated over to the next room, complaining that it smelled bad. Her disgust deepened a couple minutes later when she observed me scooping out the seeds with my bare hands. “How can you do that?” she cried; never mind that I had done it ever since I was little.

Luckily we found a book at the town library to use for ideas and inspiration, and that is where we also found our party menu. Here it is, in French, with English translations and explanations following down below. The explanations are important because otherwise it doesn’t sound too appetizing!

MENU des FRISSONS
Menu of Shivers

Entrées

Yeux de Chauves-Souris Variés
Varied bat eyes
(A mix of black and green olives)

Champignons du Bois des Sorcières
Mushrooms from Witches’ Woods
(Mushrooms)

Plats

Les Vers d’Égout
Worms from the Sewer
(Spaghetti with pesto sauce)

Boulettes de Crapaud au Jus de Vampire
Toad pellets with vampire juice
(Meatballs and tomato sauce)

Desserts

Bave Gelée de Limaces d’Égout
Frozen Slime of Sewer Slugs
(Vanilla ice cream)

Crottes de Chauve-souris Momifiées
Mummified bat droppings
(Chocolate fudge sauce)

Our pumpkin in progress