Butter for dinner (I'm not kidding)

On to the coast - St. Malo. It's a beautiful walled city on the coast of Brittany, very popular with Parisiens for the weekend. There's no shortage of tourists here, but with beaches and castles, it's still nice. The walls of the city are like a giant medievil boardwalk, and you can scoot around with the beaches below you. Haven't gotten away from crepes or cider. Galettes to be more specific - hearty crepes made with buckwheat flour. Crepes and seafood are about the only thing you can eat in this town. It's famous for les huitres - oysters - which are harvested nearby. Sadly for me, it's not quite oyster season (months ending in R, don't forget) but people still eat them by the bucket load. The huitres plates - flat oysters are the real speciality, and aren't available until September. Oh well, it's still fresher than what I can get at home.

Which brings me to the butter. St. Malo has an artisanal butter maker in town - a shop that makes salted Breton butter the old fashioned way. Everyone in Brittany likes to remind you that Bretons are priveleged. Brittany only became part of France under certain agreements, mostly regarding taxes. Something about taxes and salt happened (I'm not sure what yet), or it has to do with the fact that fleur de sel also comes from Brittany - either way Bretons like their butter salted, which suits me just fine (as some of you know).

So, we set up a picnic on the city walls which look over the ocean, and had to pick up some of this butter. We got demi sel (half salted) and seaweed butter. Yep, butter with seaweed in it (photo left). They hack off a nice chunk for you and wrap it up. Also, we picked up a few local cheeses, fruit, cider, Sancerre, other goodies - for Toby's birthday. The food was great, but the butter, well, it was amazing. In fact, we basically forgot that it was butter and started pretending it was cheese. We probably ate two sticks of butter for dinner. When in Rome, I guess, but it was totally worth it. It was only a matter of time until I went for a purer version of croissant - which is, simply, butter. Next up - heart attack.

Dessert was also note-worthy - fraise de bois - the real wild strawberries. They're tiny, but wonderfully perfumed, like regular strawberries but better. Not a bad birthday cake if I do say so myself...

World's smallest sheep

Here’s the real essence of my job here – I’m hired to make all the mistakes that tourists make. So within 3 or 4 days, it’s up to me to try things and fail as much as possible. Mostly it involves me clutching a map and notebook, searching desparately for a street sign, which are not really plentiful around here. But then at least I can write that it takes 15 minutes to get to youth hostel, on an unmarked canal. That's the stuff that's really helpful, isn't it? How to get to the city center from the train station, or knowing if the metro system is at all useful for tourists.

Rennes has an Ecomusee - a museum dedicated to rural life in Bretagne. It's located somewhere out of town, of course, involving as many types of public transportation as possible. Somehow you end up walking on the side of a highway through hay fields, wondering if you've gone in the wrong direction completely. It wasn't bad once we got there- well, ok, it was partially closed. But they had ancient breeds of farm animals, including the smallest breed of sheep known. Everything is closing for summer vacation, a fabulous idea where French people take 3-4 weeks off in the summer.

Finished up Rennes, which didn't turn out to be too bad. The heat is much more managable, and though it's not easy covering a university town in summer when no one is there, I think the chapter will turn out fine.

Wiping the butter off the camera

Made it to Rennes, and back to work - questioning waitresses, hounding bartenders, running around. Rennes is a medium-sized city with serveral universities. It's an old town, Celtic then Roman, with medieval houses on the crooked streets. However, most of Rennes burned down in the 1700s - which they remind you often around here. A decent place to visit, but most likely tourists will stop here on their way to the rest of Brittany.

Found some excellent sweets here so far. One shop that makes 22 kinds of macarons (not macaroons, they're a light cookie sandwich pastry thing). And another chocolate shop that was pretty wonderful. The owner makes only chocolats with ganache inside (chocolate cream), which are labeled 1-30 on the top. She doesn't use any essential oils or extracts - all the flavors in the chocolats are real ingredients. And the combinations shouldn't even be legal they're so good. Dark chocolate with elder blossoms, chocolate with absinth (leaves of wormwood), chocolate with Espelette pepper (a basque thing) and bitter Corsican honey, chocolate with basil and lemon. She laughed at me when I asked if she had a specialty.

Toby thinks I have a pastry problem, which probably is true. This morning we got some lackluster pastries, so I went to two other patisseries to find something good. I had kouign-amman - a traditional Breton pastsry that's super buttery. Anyone have suggestions on cleaning butter off a camera?

We went on a tour of the Parliment building, which was built in the 1600s and somehow escaped the massive fire in the 1700s, only to be ravaged by fire in 1994 when striking fishermen accidentally launched a flare onto the roof. A lot of it was saved, including the Versailles era ceilings and paintings. The tapestries also survived, and were sent to Paris for repair after the fire, but then another fire in the Paris workshop destroyed them. It would almost be comic if the French didn't take these things so seriously.

I think we're in the only part of France that isn't having a massive heat wave. But I think Californians have it worse. Back to learning more vocabulary from the tv show "Qui veut gagner des millions?" Comment dit-on "final answer" en francais?

Tour de France

Last day in Paris, and it's the Tour de France. On the Champs-Elysees it was a zoo - people climbing trees to get a view of the race, standing on benches or on their own ladders they brought with them. They shut down the boulevard where the racers do a final few hours of laps around Paris. They good news is that you see can see them pass over a dozen times - which they do at high speeds. We got there towards the end when the pace had picked up and a group had broken loose from the peleton. But it's a zoo, as you can tell from my not particularly good photo of the race.

On other subjects, it's always slightly baffling when something lives up to the hype. How much Berthillon ice cream I can eat in a day, I'm not sure. But when it's this hot, it's hard to stop. You wait in line with hoards of tourists, wondering how on earth it could be worth an ice cream cone this expensive. But it's so darn good - pamplemousse (grapefruit) or fraise des bois (wild strawberry). Good gracious. Enough said.

Last night, we visited Palais de Tokyo, a contemporary art museum. There's a very hip and popular restaurant there which was a suprise to us, that was open very late. It also has a great view.

We've picked our way through several English language bookstores on the Left Bank, buying up these wonderful Penguin paperbacks - they're super thin, part of a set released in England but not in the States. Why these things don't exist for all travelers, I have no idea. It's exactly the right amount of reading. One or two is all I can fit in my bag anyway, aside from the 35 pounds of travel brochures.

I'm also working on my postcard collection - old postcards - as if I don't have enough paper. Here's what Italo Calvino has to say about it:

"Here's what Paris is: it is a giant reference work, a city which you can consult like an encyclopedia: whatever page you open gives you a complete list of information that is richer than that offered by any other city... In Paris you can always hope to find what you thought you had lost, your own past or someone else's. So yet another way to see this city: like a huge lost property office... now we are entering into the limitless Paris adored by collectors, this city which invites you to make collections of everything, because it accumulates and classifies and redistributes, where you can search as in an archaeological excavation. The collector's experience can still be an existential adventure, a search for the self through objects, an exploration of the world which is at the same time a realization of the self."

For the morning, wandered the Sunday market at rue Moffetard, picking up goodies here and there. I don't think there's anything more intimidating than ordering cheese at a french cheese counter, with 5 local Parisiens waiting in line behind you. Somehow we managed, and ended up with something very tasty. It's pretty wonderful to have all the shops you need on the same block - butcher, produce, wine, cheese, bread - each is a different spot. And they're always happy to tell you how to serve the wine, or about what quality meat you're ordering. Of course you stop for an espresso along the way too.

And the fruits of our labor, a picnic by the Seine, as it was getting dark. Fresh melon, colloummiers cheese and something else from Corisca, jambon, a Cotes du Rhone, baguettes and these insanely great raisin and walnut rolls they have all over France. It's like I didn't even have a deadline looming over my head...

On to Bretagne!

Le Grand Hotel

We're still wandering the streets of Paris, probably having one of the least tourist-y experiences possible. It's been nice just to see the neighborhoods and people, but avoid the crowds.

Two adventures yesterday. First we stopped by Fauchon, for the sole purpose of a croissant quailty check. Fauchon is an uber-expensive gourmet food market. When I was here with my grandmother (age 11), they had small café where you could order espresso and sit for a bit. They are decidedly less friendly these days, unless of course, you're a serious buyer. But the croissant was darn good. You can taste the difference in butter. And a chausson aux pommes (apple pastry) was almost better. We had lunch close by at Cojean, an business lunch crowd sandwich place, but really tasty (for those of you keeping notes).

The second aventure occurred at the Le Grand Hotel. We were on our way to brave the crowds at Galeries Lafayette, Au Printemps and other mega-stores (with Toby a reluctant participant), but I had on my list to go by Cafe de la Paix - the restaurant at the hotel. Built by Napoleon III in the 1800s, it's super luxe today. But when I was here at age 11, my grandmother and I had dinner there (my first taste of escargot). I wandered into the other room, where a huge reception was going on for the high fashion crowd. It was quite a sight, and my grandmother and I hung out for a bit. Eventually everyone disappeared into the other room. As we were leaving, a young man was complaining to us that his friend had his ticket, and he couldn't get into the fashion show going on. He noticed the guards had stopped paying attention and were playing cards. In two seconds flat, he snuck us into the Vivienne Westwood fashion show, in a stunning 1800s ballroom. At age 11, it was pure magic for me.

So, I wanted to head back, to make sure I didn't imagine the whole thing. Toby and I wandered around (trying to act like we belonged). It started to look familiar, but no ballroom. I asked a gentleman standing by, who smiled and said it was my lucky day - he was the manager and though it was closed, we could look. He lead us back, and switched on the lights. Pretty incredible.

The warm summer nights are wonderful, as people fill the streets. Toute à l'heure!

City of lights

I've been complaining to Toby that we need to find wifi access here in Paris, but we've had little luck. We spent the morning at the Centre Pompidou and as we're heading up to the upper floors, we look down and see this.

We're still taking it easy, I'm finally catching up on sleep. We hung out by the Seine last night, where Parisiens come to picnic and drink wine. Then we swung by Berthillon - the ice cream place on Ile de la Cité. I went there with my grandmother when I was 11, there's a picture of me ready to pounce on a sundae (how little has changed). Their chocolate ice cream could kill a person it's so rich. I almost couldn't finish, which is saying a lot for me (as some of you know...)

Summer when it sizzles

It's darn hot here. I'm not sure what 36 degrees equals in Farenheit, but it's really hot. We took it easy the first day, and wandered around the neighborhood at bit. We're in the 5th arrondisement, very close to Notre Dame and the river, which is wonderful in the evening. During the day, it's essentially a giant American playground - everywhere you turn is wall to wall tourists, as all the Parisiens have left town for vacation. We spent the afternoon in the Marais, a very cute and chic neighborhood with shops and galleries. It's a huge relief that I don't have to write anything up - no notes, no interviews, I wander around at will without a notebook glued to my hand. I can eat what I want, I can sit on a bench... so this is vacation.

Good croissant in the morning - at Kayser boulangerie. A little flour-y, but we sat down for an espresso at another cafe and the shopkeeper saw we had brought our own croissants. She immediately brought us one of her own for a taste test, and we, of course, told her hers was the best. I think tomorrow we'll do Fauchon, stay tuned...

Badgering surfers

Biarritz is definitely a resort town – even though you’re in Basque country, you feel like its California. It’s a tough time to come here since its so mobbed, this morning was not productive, as 4 hotels told me they’re booked solid and can’t show me a room. I came back in the afternoon, and most of them were much nicer, but losing half a day is not helpful. The beaches are wall to wall people, and the surfers are on top of each other where the waves are breaking.

This is the first place where I’ve met Americans – stalked Americans is more like it. Anytime I hear English I start pestering people to see where they’re staying and what they’ve done. It’s helpful to get their perspective – it’s a guide for tourists after all. The two youth hostels here have been the most helpful – even though it’s taken me an hour each way on the bus system, there are people there who speak almost every language. The one in Anglet is like an international surf camp. I met a nice guy from Norway – who didn’t believe me that I don’t have a phone number. Sometimes communicating across 3 languages just doesn’t quite work (like how I accidentally went on date with the guy who runs the skateboard shop in Lourdes, but that’s another story).

I’ve been subsisting on ice cream and seafood here, after the jambon and chocolate blitz of Bayonne. And baguettes – it’s hard to avoid the white bread. I think I’m also getting over the eating alone thing. At first it was a little awkward, when people ask “toute seule?” like I’m a freak for having no friends. Eating is serious business in France. People eat dinner after 8 or 9, and take hours to do so. It’s the mega-meal and a serious social occasion. But it’s easier now, I go through my notes and checklists, and eventually the guy at the bar feels bad for me and sends over a glass of champagne.

There is one part of the guide that’s going to be lacking – the surfing section. Nothing is harder to do than to get surfers to give up surf spots. And for good reason – the locals want to keep the best spots for themselves. I spoke with probably 15 people trying to find out some good breaks, and not one word. “Il faut pas le dire!” Looks like people are going to have to stick the main beaches.

My last night here is at this charming hotel, with a really nice family that runs it. They told me I’m too friendly to be a critic. I think I’ve been told everything thus far – I’m too young for this job, I’m too thin for this job. People that know I’m American before they speak with me always tell me I speak French very well – I guess the rep of Americans isn’t great. At this point I’d say I understand French, but I wouldn’t say I’m fluent. I keep butchering the gender of verbs – I get through an entire sentence and realize all the adjectives should have been feminine.

I had a victory dinner tonight – since this completes my time here in the Sud-Ouest. A glass of white wine, grilled prawns and grilled sardines, overlooking the ocean. Overall, the people have been the best part of this experience. Basque people are truly warm, a little prickly at first, but with a lust for life.

On to Paris now, and looking forward to some comany!

7 hotels in 7 days

So far, Bayonne has not played nice. My first night was not super-fun – the hotel room had no light bulbs and no toilet seat. The second night I checked into a chain hotel just outside of town. The third night, after trucking my stuff back into town, it turned out that the hotel where I had a reservation has some water damage. Since it’s a holiday weekend, there were no other hotel rooms to be had. I ended up taking a spare bedroom in her sister’s house in the suburbs.

This is all part of the 7/7 blitz – a different hotel each night for 7 days straight. The tough part is the 11ish-2ish time period, after you check out but before you can check in. I’ve taken a few long lunches to work and park my suitcase, or asked hotels to watch it for me, but it’s tough to work around.

Tonight, however, is the crowning glory of the trip. A free night in Hotel du Palais in Biarritz. It’s an old palace built by Napoleon III, and it’s stunningly perched right on the ocean. I think they were a little surprised to see me today – I wore my Audrey Hepburn sunglasses and black dress to make up for my age, but this hotel is about as stuffy as you can get. Very old money, very old world Europe. Super wealthy crowds. The most awkward part is not knowing who to tip – so many people helped me into the hotel and up to my room that I couldn’t figure out what to do – I don’t have a six piece Louis Vutton luggage set – but I guess I still need that much help.

The suite they gave me for the night is perhaps the most luxurious I’ve ever seen – why I would need 2 rooms and 2 bathrooms and a full terrace with a complete ocean view, I’m not sure. But I’m sure glad they did – I plan on taking 3 showers in the next 20 hours I have this room. Here’s the view from the terrace.

And you’re darn right I went straight for the pool when I got here…

Makilas

In Bayonne, I met the funniest character I've met so far. He owns a tiny workshop where he mqkes Makilas - traditional Basque walking sticks that also have a hidden knife inside. When he saw me writing in my notebook, he exclaimed "no publicity!" We got to talking and he explained why - he's become famous as one of the last few makers of Makilas. Everyone comes to see him and order one but it takes 1 year to finish one. He goes into the woods to select the branches, and then carves the pattern into it. It grows until he harvests it and then he takes several months to finish it. They're really beautiful - with brass and leather. But he doesn't want publicity - he wants to keep it simple. He showed me his real workshop, and we talked about americans and politics, and the famous people like Louis Vutton who have ordered makilas from him. He was so funny, and eventually let me take his picture. The conversation took over an hour!

Here's his photo, and sorry for the spêlling errors - darn these french keyboards.

Breaking into the chocolate museum

Bayonne is known for two things – chocolate and ham. And it’s everywhere here. The chocolate came from Spain when Jewish and other religious groups fled the Inquisition. I spent the afternoon sampling at all the chocolate houses here. On the right is photo of the “chocolat mousseux” at one shop – they whip it with a traditional wooden tool. It’s seriously decadent – it’s not all hard work I’m doing. But like a lot of stuff in France, one of the chocolate museums here was closed for no apparent reason for a week. I hunted down someone that new someone, and they called the guy who owns it. He came around and opened it up for me, to give me the quick tour. Good to know – if you press your face against the glass of a shop long enough, someone notices…

I had one of my best dinners here so far too – at this excellent restaurant. For the last two nights I’ve done nice restaurants, calling ahead to ask for a small tasting menu, if possible. It’s a bit strange actually, never knowing what you’ll be eating. As the 4th course rolls around, and server uses words that I don’t know to describe the food, I just trust that it’ll be something good, and hopefully I can figure it out (is it a beet? red seaweed? veal liver?) At the first place, the chef sat down with me after the meal – he was cold as ice and I tried to freak out about how badly I thought the interview was going. But most of these chefs just care about the food, and if some girl from an MTV tourist guide is there, they don’t really mind. At the second place, the meal was perfect – not overly complicated like a lot of the French food here. The photo on the left is langoustines - like big shrimp. Honestly, I’m hankering for simple food – grilled sardines here are awesome, nothing like the stuff in tins. And the jambon de Bayonne sandwich I made myself and ate in the square was one of the best parts of the day. Especially since Bastille Day meant everything in town was closed, which doesn’t make it easy to research anything.

Oh! And finally a great croissant. In that hotel outside of the town center, I found a boulangerie that had a perfect one –so buttery and flaky that when you touch it, the top flakes away completely. Bingo.

Pays Basque

So I've moved on to the Basque country. Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port is a small town in the foothills of the Pyrenees, where you find a strange mix of backpackers and old Basque men. It's the starting point for the Chemin de Saint-Jacques - an old pilgrims trail to Spain that people still use today. You hike from hamlet to hamlet, where there are houses that offer walkers beds for the night.

One of the funniest things here is the "internet cafe." There's only one in town, and it’s more of a bar/grocery, with one computer stuck in the back. Throughout the day, old Basque men, wearing their berets, come to drink wine and chat, which makes for a strange picture when backpackers are wandering in for the computer. All of them were laughing at me for using my laptop, but they’re very friendly, and speak Euskara – the Basque national language. It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard.

Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port is very picturesque, and very sleepy. Good cider too (on the left). I’m hoping this is the last medieval chateau I have to hike up to in 90 degree heat for a while though…

That’s all for now – and as they say here “Adio!”

Duck liver makes me cry

Tears of joy, I mean. Vegetarians, avert your eyes. In the name of good journalism, while in Pau I contacted two well-known restaurants there, to see if they would cut me some sort of deal (80 euro menus – not feasible).

The first restaurant was Chez Pierre. It’s a cozy space, with, strangely, a bar decorated in Scottish tartan. The chef came out to meet me, and he warned me right away that’s he’s old school. He hasn’t updated a thing in decades. He studied in Paris under the very best – like at the Georges 5, and then in the 70’s his father got sick and he returned to take over the family restaurant. I started talking to him about organic produce, and American attitudes, and he nodded and said “but I know every lamb I serve in this restaurant.” He concluded that there are two kinds of Americans in his experience – ones that want to travel abroad and eat the same food they always do, and then the gastronomes, which he thinks are some of the most knowledgeable in the world. His small kitchen has an unbelievable set of something like 40 copper pots and pans – so beautiful, they’ve been around for decades.

The dish that really got me was the entrée (before the main course). It was this amazing salad, with baby greens (maches), seared pleurotes (oyster mushrooms) and foie frais. The real deal – duck liver. According to one of the books I’m lugging through this region, foie gras frais is half-cooked foie gras, fresh, not the canned or preserved kind you can buy in the store. It’s so perishable that little makes it to the US. And after I couple bites I was so happy – the flavor was staggeringly good.

The second meal I had was the next day for lunch, and I’m not sure I was up to the task. I sat down to eat at 12:30 and I didn’t leave til 4. The food was wonderful – but by the third course (and third glass of wine), I was legitimately considering what would happen if I passed out in the restaurant. How people eat 5 course lunches, I have no idea. The cheese course was very good – the patron brought out the massive cheese table to cut me a few slices. They were all the exact same kind of cheese from 3 nearby valleys, made the same way, but tasted completely differently. He explained that it had to do with the grass and herbs the sheep ate – that was the only difference.

The overall lesson for the two day binge event (after which I am fasting) – is that if you eat the regional products in one meal – the whole experience is elevated. Cheese from the region, wine from the region – it’s the terroir the French are always talking about. It all compliments each other.

Now for bread and water….

We're in the NY Times

One of the other writer's for Frommer's this summer told me about this article. Consequently, it's good to find out that I may have gotten more (ahem) than the average salary for Frommer's (no comment, off the record). Check it out:

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/09/fashion/sundaystyles/09TRAVEL.html

Writing for people who use beer funnels

Far be it from me to complain while I'm in France, but this job is really hard. Getting to know a city in 3 days is grueling. My normal day begins at 8 and ends past midnight. Mornings are for shops and tourist sites, then from 12-2 everything closes besides restaurants, so I do those, then shops and such in the afternoon, restaurants again at dinner, and bars after that. I'm glad there's no picture of me, walking th 500 steps up to a chateau in 85 degree heat and carrying 20 pounds of brochures and pamplets I get at every place I visit. I'm having trouble fitting in all the writing, plus it's not cheap to eat in France. People think I'm a freak when all i order is an appetizer.

On top of it all, it's hard to get turned down all the time. Asking for free meals, free samples, free hotel rooms - I probably get 1 in 10 if I'm lucky. It's one thing to hang out in France and see the sites - it's another to badger every person who will talk to me about where they like to eat. And visiting a bar as a young American woman who has to talk to random people... not always fun. This has lead to a failed strike - there are 2 other writers like me in France right now, and one tried to get Frommer's to cough up more dough. It didn't work, but at least it was nice to commiserate with other people who understand.

Anyway, now that I've gotten that out of my system, here's the other hiccup. It's hard to write for an MTV audience - which doesn't like to do the things I do. I've made a real effort to include pizza places in the listings, and other backups that tourists need. But really I want to be writing "try the dish made with goose fat - it's great." Not gonna fly with the type of people who might buy this book.

Like today I stopped by Oliviers and Co - it's an olive oil company (you can find their stuff in the states). But they had 40 different olive oils there - all from different providers. The guy who ran the shop was really nice, and gave me a tasting tour around Europe. Each one was like a wine - totally different and seriously amazing. In case you didn't know, I like olive oil so much I would bathe in it if I could.

But when it comes to my audience - is that the type of thing I include? Chances are the frat boys of the world will go to different areas in France, not my cities, so i feel pretty safe including it. But you never know. I wouldn't come to France to go to a pub and eat "english food." But I do the research just to be safe.

On a side note - I found merveilles! My grandmother used to make them when i was little - they're fried dough with powdered sugar. We used to braid the dough for fun before we fried them. But I saw them at the farmer's market and I was so excited I talked about it for 5 minutes straight with the guy there, and then ate the whole bag.

Sorry to complain - there had to be one post like this. But here's a nice picture of eggs that makes me happy.

Duck guilt

So, the fact that there are over 300 hotels in Lourdes has left me pretty exhausted. My survey relied on word of mouth, and past guide books, but I saw so many crappy hotels there that I had to get out of town. I went to a small hamlet nearby called Saint-Pe-de-Bigorre, where there are a few chambres d'hotes. The owner of one farm was nice enough to pick me up, and we went to their family farm high on a hill above town. It's been in their family for generations, and they've since added a guesthouse.

They have a lovely place (I wish I could have stayed), with a gorgeous fig tree, barn, and house - where we had local wine and brioche. They have two young daughters who look after the animals with them - one of which was very excited I was from MTV, but very shy and probably a little disappointed when I showed up without cameras and not looking like Brittany Spears. They also have this adorable family of ducks that wanders around - with 6 baby ducks. I think she thought it was weird I couldn't stop talking about them.

Which brings me to the guilt. Here in the Southwest, there are two things people eat - foie gras and duck. I was at a restaurant where the said their vegetable soup was amazing - la garbure it's called - it was basically duck soup. And on my final day in Lourdes, I was cranky and decided to sit down to a full three course lunch at "le Magret." Magret is duck breast. It was seriously amazing - beautifully done, nice and simple. But all I could think about was those little baby ducks...

You should see how people react when I mention that they want to outlaw foie gras in California. Like they could think Americans are even crazier.

So, on to Pau. This is a much bigger city - and it going to be much harder to cover. It's actually a very nice place, lots of shops but not too many sites. I went to the farmers market this morning and tried as many things as I could. In fact, for this entire day I've been sustained by free samples. Like the old Frenchman who was selling produce from three wooden crates and gave me a fig when I told him how lovely they looked. He also started talking about how France will soon have a woman president, but then he used a few words I didn't know - which meant they were either slang for something really good, or slang for something really bad.

The eggs looked unbelievable - all i wanted to do take some with me. Same with the melons. The sad part is I never have time to pack a leisurely picnic lunch. Also there were cute bunnies there.... who are never going to be pets. But when I asked the woman what they were for, she answered "comme tu veux" - so she's open to either option.

People are much more connected to their food here. It's impossible to get service at the farmers market because people sit there talking about the quality of the meat for 10 minutes. And I really respect the relationships people have with the vendors they buy food from. They're friends, they know the farm or the source, and they respect quality.

If I'm going to eat little ducks, I'd rather do it that way.

Come all ye faithful

Lourdes, France. It's essentially the Catholic Las Vegas. Six million people come here each year to visit the Grotto - where Mary revealed herself to a peasant girl, Bernadette. Catholics make massive pilgrimages here from all over Europe, Asia, Africa, to pray and experience the healing powers of the spring waters. It's completely overwhelming.

The whole western part of town is filled with shops, all focused on the tourists. Bernadette figures, Virgin Mary key chains, Lourdes oven mitts, glow in the dark rosaries, Mary snow globes. The most common thing you find is liter-sized jugs for the holy water - people fill up dozens of them to take home. But huge numbers of sick and elderly people come here to bathe in the waters. The picture on the right is at the nightly procession to the Basilica - the whole audience on the left is made up of wheel chairs.

On one level, the experience is touching - seeing thousands of people from all continents sharing their faith and belief, seeking strength together. On another level, seeing the elderly and poor here, spending thousands of dollars, and all the tourist traps that are taking advantage - it's strangely disturbing. As i watched the procession, with its thousands of candles, it was overwhelming and uncomfortable. But as an outsider, I guess that makes sense. I also attended mass in the huge underground Basilica - the original was too small, so they built one underground that feels like a hockey stadium. Huge flood lights, video screens, and huge banners of Saints - hanging like star althletes.

I'll be glad to head out in a few days - though I've met people from all over the world since I've been here. It's also probably the weirdest place in France to watch the world cup match...

Oh well, allez les bleus!!

Talking my way into a Michelin one star

... or "Why I'm possibly getting scurvy." So, if you know me at all, weeks on end of eating cheese and bread is something that sounds wonderful to me. That is, until I actually had to do it.

Part of keeping my costs down involves asking for a lot of free stuff. A lot. And getting shot down quite a bit. But in Tarbes there's a restaurant with one Michelin star - the only rated restaurant in the whole department. I decided to swing by for lunch and do my usual song and dance - "I've already eaten, but I'm interested in your restaurant. Is it possible to taste a dish?" The good thing is that it usually works better than asking for a whole meal for free. The bad thing is people usually give you dessert. For every meal.

They were incredibly kind at the restaurant - and brought me their chocolate souffle with berries and other things - an insanely beautiful plate. And it was wonderful. But after the croissant for breakfast, by 5pm I realized I'd only eaten sugar and could barely function. That's the danger.

Everything here has jambon, cheese, craime fraiche, and foie gras - sometimes all in the same dish. It's gotten to the point that I can barely go to a farmer's marker without wanting to bury my head in the lettuces.

Don't get me started on the food in Lourdes...

Horse Love

So I'm staying in a space hotel! Well, kind of. Tarbes is a not particulary exciting town, but it has this gorgeous 4 star hotel that was nice enough to put me up. Very modern and sparse - see-through chairs and lots of white. It's the kind of hotel where you can't figure out how to turn on the shower, since the faucettes are so uber-designed. What this hotel is doing in Tarbes, I'm not sure (as other hotel owners have said to me), but I'm sure glad it is. The free wireless made me so happy I wanted to cry. As I settled in the wonderfully plush sheets, the BBC was airing a story on global warming, and for a second, I was in heaven.

So, I was running around today, trying not to stress completey, and i barely made it to a tour at a local horse farm. At least that's what I thought it was. On the tour itself, there were a bunch of words I kept missing, as my horse vocabulary in French just isn't that strong. There were some beautiful horses at this estate, and as we were touring, i couldn't figure out why the guide was so obsessed with breeding. We then went into a large barn, where a skiddish mare was standing. And then a large male horse was lead in, and well, um, the point was for them to get to know each other. My jaw dropped, and i looked in my dictionary. The name of the estate is Haras National. Haras. Stud farm.

Once I figured that out, it started making sense, like when we watched a vet do a pregnancy test on a horse. (If you don't know what it is, let's just say it involves an arm length plastic glove for the human, and the back end of the horse). Overall, it was a good lesson - use the dictionary earlier.

Later this evening, i stopped by one last hotel to write it up. As I did my schtick, the owner was not happy I was there. He starting guiding me towards the door, saying they were listed in Routade, and that was enough. I told I was just doing my job, and that Americans aren't that bad, anything to keep him talking. He started feeling bad, and eventually showed me a few rooms. We went through the bar, and he started telling me about the region, and before I knew it, he was pouring me an Amagnac, and telling me how to hold the glass to warm the liquer. It was actually pretty refreshing.

Trust me, though, they all don't go like that...

Magique!

That was the headline on the newspapers this morning, after the insane world cup win. People were running around the streets of Foix until 3pm, honking car horns and yelling. It didn't stop for 4 hours straight. I gave in and went back to the hotel watch the recap of the game. The photo on the right is how I watched it - with the view of the chateau in the background.

Now I'm onto to Tarbes, a middle-sized city further towards the Atlantic. So far I've been fortunate enough to run into very nice people. Like the other frenchmen in my train car that didn't think it was too weird when i asked if ratatouille had any meat products in it, and other bizarre questions. I've been told by a few Spaniards that I speak French very well, but I guess that's not really a compliment. Once people realize I'm not a French tourist, they assume I'm a Spanish tourist, which makes for a interesting conversation when I tell them I'm from California but don't speak Spanish. I haven't worn my American flag t-shirt yet though (wink, wink).

My days as a fact-checker are slowly coming back - that job never ceases to be useful skill-wise. It's all about getting information from people who either don't want to talk to you, or don't really know about things. The ground rules are: 1) always ask two people the same question. Even if you get first-hand information, confirm it with someone else. "Really, three courses with foie gras in every course?" 2) Repeat what everyone says and pause heavily. Not that I don't already do this since I'm speaking french, but once you repeat something, people tend to expand on it since they assume you're a bit out it. "Pretty good spanish food." pause "Good spanish food?" "Yep, good tapas and other things." 3) Ask the most specific question possible. People are really bad a giving good advice. It's hard to think of a good restaurant off the top of your head, since you don't really know what to think of. Instead, ask people where they had lunch, if they're a local. This usually works, unless you're dealing with British tourists (who eat the most bizarre things so far.)

Tomorrow I cover almost all of Tarbes, the experiment begins...