Travel tips #2: the return flight from Europe

[written on board DL0029 LHR –> ATL, 18 Feb. 2016]

The best and worst thing about the flight back from Europe is that it takes place in a permanent afternoon. You take off in the afternoon and somehow (i.e., flying west) it is still afternoon when you land. And yet, the return flight takes at least an hour longer because it goes against the jet stream. So the length of the flight is tiresome: I can’t deny it. It’s also not as neatly timed as the “overnight” flight to Europe that proceeds through departure, dinner, bedtime, and breakfast. Today I left Heathrow at 12:30 p.m. and will land in Atlanta at about 5:30 p.m. having flown for about 9 hours.  If you think that’s weird, on some Asian routes that cross the date line, it’s possible to arrive before you left!

I don’t have such a good system for managing the return flight but here are my best tips so far:
— Some people will tell you to try not to sleep at all. I’d say don’t sleep through the whole flight, but don’t worry about passing the time by taking a couple of naps, especially at the beginning of the flight when it’s early morning at your destination. I’m planning to stay awake through the last couple hours of this flight and the shuttle ride home, then go to bed at my usual time.
— 9 hours is 4 movies plus your naps, or 2 movies, naps, and a book. Bring a book. (I’m an English professor; did you think I wasn’t going to say “Bring a book”?) Get a non-U.S. newspaper from your departure point or from the flight attendant. It also makes a good souvenir.
— Don’t drink alcohol; do drink water. Some airlines offer it around regularly. Drink all they give you. Some will leave the water & soft drinks out for passengers to help themselves. Help yourself. I also drink a lot of coffee on these flights. The dry air gives me a slight headache but water, coffee, and Tylenol keep it at bay. 
— Eastbound beauty tips continue to apply. Moisturizer & lip balm till about an hour before landing, then clean face & do makeup. Brush your teeth whenever they start to feel unsavory. It’s refreshing and gives you something to do.
— Been thinking about this one since I wrote my last post, and I’ve decided: on long flights in general, wear comfortable shoes and then don’t take them off. Your feet will swell so it’s good to have shoes you can loosen, but I have had it happen that I’ve taken off my shoes & barely gotten them back on! 

All in all, the return flight is a tougher flying experience but an easier arrival experience. You’re coming home to a familiar environment and hopefully you can ease back into your regular life rather than hitting the ground running as we do on trips. 

Finally, to all you Fitbit wearers out there, sorry. You’re not getting your 10,000 steps today.

Francophile Turns Anglophile: Rage, Rage Against the Transatlantic Flight

The Francophile writes today from the opposite side of the Channel: Northampton University in the UK. I am here in my capacity as Director of International Programs to start the process of building study abroad, student exchange, and faculty exchange opportunities between NU students and MGA students. After leaving Atlanta at 8:00 EST last night, I arrived at Heathrow at 9:00 GMT this morning. Obviously I’m a little jet-lagged but trying to follow my own best advice: coffee up, power through, no naps! This trip is special for me as it’s the first time I’ve traveled on university business rather than leading students or going to a conference. I’m on my own–which is fine, solo travel doesn’t bother me*–and since I didn’t know exactly what awaited me at the destination, I wanted to arrive looking and feeling a little better than I sometimes do after crossing the Atlantic. During the last hour of the flight (which seems to last a week) I started thinking about making a list of tips & tricks for flying to Europe and avoiding the sensation of having crawled there on one’s face. Students sometimes ask me about the flight–how to avoid being scared/nervous/crippled by jet lag–so here are my best ideas based on very recent experience (i.e., I got off the plane only about 5 hours ago).

  • A 7- to 8-hour transatlantic flight has a rhythm to it almost like the flight attendants are following a script. You’ll be more comfortable if you know what’s coming:
    1. Boarding: take your seat, stow your carry-on(s), get out things you’re going to use so that you’re not constantly rooting around in your bag. If your flight isn’t full, claim two or three seats (if you can) to stretch out and sleep or at least avoid “manspreading” by your seatmates.**
    2. Snacks & drinks: as soon as the flight crosses the 10,000 foot threshhold, the flight attendants will give everybody hot towels to wipe their hands with (even though these are paper towels, not real ones, it’s pleasant), then serve a drink and a snack such as pretzels or peanuts. Alcoholic drinks are usually free of charge on international flights but I hew to the wisdom of avoiding alcohol when flying. It’s too dehydrating and the altitude may cause the alcohol to affect you differently.
    3. Meal service: This item is part 3 of the script but it actually requires you to take action before the day of your flight. Here goes: Order a specialty meal. I became a vegetarian in October so I ordered a vegetarian meal. The conventional wisdom seems to be true: the specialized meals are better than the standard ones. Equally important, they distribute the specialized meals first, so you never have to be the last person waiting to be served dinner as the meal cart starts waaaaaay at the other end of the plane. (If you’ve changed seats per #1 above, just make sure the flight attendant can find you to give you your meal.)
    4. Sleepy time: After dinner is cleared away, the flight attendants will turn down the cabin lights and everyone will (hopefully) settle in for a few hours’ sleep. Resist the urge to watch 3 movies in a row. If you can manage to sleep from the moment the lights go down to the moment they’re turned back on again for the morning snack, you’ll get 4-5 hours of rest and feel, frankly, a LOT sharper than I do right now. (I slept about 2.5 hours and I feel pleasant but not very smart.)
    5. Morning snack: About 90 minutes before landing, the lights come on and the attendants serve a snack/light breakfast along with coffee/tea/juice. You’re almost there!
  • To make the most of the experience outlined above:
    • Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. If you’re awake, you should be drinking some water. 8 ounces per hour is a good guideline that I’ve heard.
    • Use the earplugs and eye mask the airline (hopefully) provides, or bring your own. The sensory deprivation aids sleep.
    • Women and other wearers of cosmetics, watch some YouTube videos of “in-flight beauty routines” and create your own system. On this flight I took my make-up off once the plane was in the air, put on moisturizer, kept reapplying lip balm & hand cream, and then did fresh makeup before landing. (Michelle Phan does about 15 more steps than that.) The passport control staff can’t possibly care but it at least makes me feel better to know I’m not entering a foreign country looking like a smudgy greaseball.
    • Forget what time it is at home. No need to think about that unless you’re calling home. Reset your watch or phone to the time at your destination.
    • Corollary to the above: when the lights come on near the end of the flight, it’s morning whether you like it or not. Get ready to tough it out and…
    • NO NAPS. This rule is my most powerful anti-jet-lag trick. I didn’t sleep in the cab on the way here from Heathrow; I’m definitely not going to lie down this afternoon. If I go to bed around 8:00 tonight I will sleep like a rock and wake up on UK time tomorrow with very little trouble. 

So those are my best transatlantic flight survival tips. Tune in next time to learn more about Northampton U., my new friends/colleagues here, and maybe some Ways to Tell You’re In England.

*Except that I miss Daniel!
**If you are a man and you don’t know what “manspreading” is, hie thee to the nearest Google. Women will thank you.

Georgia on our minds

Monday night when we got home, I sat down and wrote out the day’s itinerary. I keep staring at it and wondering how these times can possibly be accurate and correct. On the left is Paris time; on the right is Georgia time:

04:00 on August 3 / 22:00 on August 2: Buses roll out from Cité Universitaire after a brisk hour spent collecting room keys, banging on the doors of some really sound sleepers, and in one case seeing a student just returning to his dorm room from the night out, 10 minutes before we were supposed to leave.

06:20 / 00:20: Flight leaves CDG for Frankfurt with all students and faculty on board, even that guy. We enjoy a Nutella-filled croissant and some coffee and try not to think about leaving Paris behind.

10:00 / 04:00: Flight leaves Frankfurt for ATL. Settle in for some sleep, watching lots of movies, or a combination of both. Daniel and I slept through our turn for the lunch service and had to ask for food after we woke up. Props to Lufthansa as always for very efficient and thorough service; God bless the flight attendant who was constantly circulating with cups of water and juice during the second half of the flight.

20:00 / 14:00: Arrive in ATL. Selected for a “random survey” by a customs officer to verify that we were not carrying any agricultural products. Fully a day later I’d realize we brought home 2 pounds of coffee that I forgot to declare on the form or mention to the officer. He did not see them in my suitcase, so I didn’t have to be hauled off to immigration jail or anything.

We got to our house around 6 p.m. (midnight Paris time, but by then, who’s counting?) and I managed to stay up till 8:30 and sleep till about 6 the next morning. My sleep cycle is not too messed up (I’ve been treating it with large quantities of espresso) but I can tell I’m jet-lagged because the mornings seem dark and the days seem long. That will pass and at least I don’t feel as tired and foggy as I sometimes have after an overseas trip.

But I do miss Paris an awful lot.

Last day in Paris for 2015

After a hectic final week that sadly included my having to miss this on Saturday evening, it was suddenly Sunday morning: the free day before departure that marks the end of the program. I realized I hadn’t been to Sacre-Coeur, my favorite place in Paris, the whole 5 weeks, so that was my destination. There’s no quick way to get to Montmartre from the 14th but I enjoyed the métro ride knowing it would be one of the last ones of the year. I walked up from Abbesses station and rode the funicular up the Butte since it wasn’t too crowded yet–when there are a lot of people in the funicular I tend to avoid it because it’s like a gerbil cage for pickpockets. One of the backhanded advantages of having some experience in Paris is learning what to avoid. Sacre-Coeur is full of street vendors and street scammers; I’ve never actually seen pickpockets in action but I’m sure they are there as well.

On Sunday there were people soliciting petition signatures, whom I walked past while practicing my Parisian Murder Face(TM). The string-bracelet guys were out in such force that I hesitated to walk up the curved path that leads to the side of the church because they were almost elbow-to-elbow across the walkway. But as I dove behind a large man with a backpack for cover, the string-bracelet crew took flight, running down the sidewalks and vanishing behind the bushes. In seconds there was no trace of them, just as two police officers came walking down from the opposite side. It was so creepy it was almost impressive. Later in the day I saw the same thing happen with some ball-and-cup players down the street: one minute they’re drawing a crowd, the next minute they’re invisible, and the minute after that the foot patrol turns up. Some people think travelers get too paranoid about pickpockets and street scammers; it’s definitely possible to make yourself crazy worrying about it but it’s also a real concern–and not too hard or inconvenient to avoid by being smart.

I was rewarded for my vigilance by not being pickpocketed, string-braceleted, or fleeced by the ball-and-cup guys, AND by getting to see the “8eme Traversée de Paris Estivale” (8th Summer Crossing of Paris) put on by a car club called “Vincennes en Anciennes.” I found out from one of the members (white Mercedes convertible) that during this event, they drive through Paris from Vincennes to Meudon. Normally they don’t make any stops, he said, but everyone decided they wanted to stop for pictures. So I obligingly took pictures. (Hee.) Click through!

Cars from Vincennes en Anciennes:

The cars’ sign for the event

A Shelby Cobra!

A Fiat Carry-On (I don’t know what this car is called, 
but it looks like it would fit in a carry-on suitcase)

AN ACTUAL VINTAGE CADILLAC.

Citroën 2CV

Lord Grantham’s car, probably

And a Mustang!
Sacre-Coeur was looking beautiful as always. I heard a French woman tell an Aussie tourist that Sacre-Coeur is “unrefined,” and maybe it is, but I love it.

The Tour Montparnasse (over on “our” side of town) from the Butte

The Traversée Estivale moving out
While at Sacre-Coeur I also saw the French-est of all French things I saw this summer. The union that represents the attendants that maintain these pay toilets at Sacre-Coeur is on strike, and they had a picket line set up in front of the toilets, whose door they blocked by pasting it over with flyers. There’s just something about a unionized pay-toilet-workers strike protest that reaches levels of Epic Frenchness for me. And I say that with genuine and deep love for France, the French, unions, and public protest (and grudging acceptance of pay toilets).

The good thing about a toilet strike is that it doesn’t take many people to make up a picket line.
In the afternoon I met up with Daniel for lunch. We idly wondered whether it’s possible to eat poutine in Paris, and Google led us to The Moose. It’s a dark, windowless, well air-conditioned sports bar of a kind I did not think existed in Paris. That atmosphere is not my favorite (not when there are café terraces to sit on!) but the staff were friendly and the food was good. Daniel approved of the poutine and I had a really good veggie burger. Major brownie points for making their own veggie burgers instead of buying the frozen ones. 
After lunch we moseyed down Boulevard St. Germain past some sort of summer market/festival celebrating France’s offshore territories, over to Chez Clement to drink coffee since Clement is the name of one of Daniel’s uncles: 

Then past the St. Michel fountain where we saw tap dancers under the awning at Gibert Jeune:

I was on a mission to get Daniel to at least see Notre Dame from the outside. He doesn’t care for cathedrals but I think a person should see Notre Dame while in Paris. So from Place St. Michel I tempted him toward the Amorino gelateria that is almost right across the quai (with apologies to Berthillon, we both love Amorino) and then we crossed over to Notre Dame: 

Finally we decided to head back to Cité U. I wanted a nap and Daniel was thinking about going to play poker at Le Cercle Clichy-Montmartre. He lost some money but at least got to do it in a beautiful atmosphere. I had un verre with Dr. Kirk to toast the end of a truly fantastic summer, then got a takeout pizza and ate it while packing my suitcase. Then off to bed for a few hours, falling asleep to the sound of the tram on Boulevard Jourdan one last time.

Last field trip of 2015: Musée du Quai Branly

For our final field trip of 2015 I took my class to the Musée du Quai Branly, “where cultures dialogue.” After a month of Renaissance art, Gothic architecture, white marble statues, and Le Nôtre gardens, it is good to be reminded that the rest of the world makes art too. We had a great discussion about this museum in class today; my students are getting really smart about noticing curatorial choices and how objects are presented. The Quai Branly does a good job contextualizing objects that are bound to be unfamiliar to most of its visitors. Along the way it also shows how universal certain objects and practices are. It’s a great museum.

A “soul boat” from a coming-of-age ritual practiced in Indonesia

Masks are everywhere in the Quai Branly.

This shield is from Papua New Guinea but looks like Beowulf could have carried it.

One of the figures in the “soul boat”

Wolf-headed figures representing an Aztec god

Aztec goddesses

Mexican folk art

An ancestral pole from British Columbia

Some of the figures on the pole

A protective statue from Gabon

The Quai Branly’s holdings that are not formally on display are shelved behind glass in the middle of the museum.

My standard joke is that these are my students–actually they are slit gongs from somewhere in Africa (I don’t remember which country).

These are actually my students. I’m going to miss them.
From the museum we walked to Rue Cler, which is a well-known market street that also contains several cafés and restaurants. Our original plan was to pick up food for a picnic and take it to the Eiffel Tower, but yesterday was chilly and windy and the museum was oddly cold. So we opted to eat indoors instead and wound up in a casual but well-decorated Italian restaurant where everyone inhaled large quantities of pizza and pasta. It was just the right thing after a long-ish walk on a windy day.
I walked back to the métro the long way after lunch: from Ecole Militaire métro stop where I dropped off my students, back past the Eiffel Tower, all the way to Alma-Marceau métro stop. It was a roundabout route but I got a few good photos out of it:

We finished up the day with a very convivial faculty dinner. After running out of wine at our last dinner, we may have overcompensated slightly & ended up with about 4 unopened bottles. But I merely wanted to make sure my colleagues drank my bottle of Vouvray Petillant, which they did very cheerfully. Success! It’s great to work with people that you actually want to have dinner with.

5 more sleeps till home. Some students have asked me if I’m eager to get back and I say I’m 50% eager, 50% sad to leave.

Mini blog: Weekend “de garde”

In the category of useful French vocabulary is the phrase “de garde” which means “on call.” So the pharmacie de garde is the one that’s open 24 hours. The maison medicale de garde is the after-hours clinic. And this weekend I am the assistant director de garde. I am free to flâner (that’s “roam around without a plan”) in Paris but I am checking messages and responding to student emergencies. Here’s what I’ve been up to this weekend other than work:

On Friday morning I came back over to Les Halles to pick up tickets for the Louvre for that night.

The crowded-Metro struggle is real.

At the Les Halles observation deck where you can see the construction project.

I checked out the Louvre courtyard to see where we’d need to enter with our prepaid tickets, because Vicki and Robert and the kids were coming and I didn’t want to make them wait and wander around aimlessly. From the courtyard I walked down through the Tuileries with, apparently, every tourist in Paris:

Someone told me once that when it’s hot in Paris, you go to a park and put your feet in a basin. I didn’t see anyone with their feet actually in the water, but many did have their shoes off.

Looking back toward the Louvre

The green chairs in parks are one of the things I get nostalgic for when I’m not here.

Sometimes it really does seem like translation is unnecessary. 
“Gee, Mildred, what do you think salade de fruits could possibly be?” 
“I dunno, Harold, we’d better skip it. It could be snails or something!”
At the Louvre with Daniel and Vicki’s clan I decided not to take pictures but just walk around and look. I did take one pic of the newly restored Winged Victory:
I love the placement of this statue at the top of the staircase so you can see it from far away. It’s an arresting focal point. A+ curatorial work, Musée du Louvre.
Daniel took a pic of us in front of the Mona Lisa, but if you want to see it, you’ll have to read his blog.
Oh, wait . . . 
The major weekend highlight was seeing the Alvin Ailey dance company at Théatre du Châtelet. They were incredible and the French audience LOVED them. Also, the theatre is gorgeous:

I had this hilarious folding seat on the end of a row. It was pretty comfortable but every time I stood up/sat down I had to do origami.

I am not Alice Jane Knight, obviously. She is my colleague who sold me her ticket.

Anna Pavlova appeared for the first time in Paris at Théatre du Châtelet in 1909. Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes also premiered there.
This morning (late) we went to the OTHER Breakfast in America (original/Left Bank version) for brunch and ended up next to a French couple with whom we (Daniel) struck up a conversation. I had to laugh because he grew up in Madagascar and she is Polish and yet like everyone in Paris they grumbled about the problems caused by immigration. In any case it was fun to meet some new people and have a traditional French arm-waving exchange about social issues. Americans are routinely taught not to discuss politics, religion, etc. with foreigners but we (Daniel) have jumped right in on many occasions and never been badly received. Honestly, it’s pleasant when compared to the placid “Where are you from? What do you do for a living? Nice weather we’re having” of American-style small talk!
This afternoon, the final stage of the Tour de France rides into Paris, so I am going with Vicki’s fam and possibly some students. Our heat wave from a few weeks ago has been replaced by fall-like weather: chilly and persistent drizzle. It should be an interesting afternoon–gotta admit it is nice to be wearing long sleeves and socks at the end of July.

Mini Blog: A day to flâner

Daniel and I took advantage of a day on call with no calls to flâner in the Marais and go shopping at Les Halles today. He is looking for some specific things (a suit; shorts with zipper pockets). I am looking for things that are nice to wear and bien soldé.  He was also looking for a cooked breakfast so we went, inevitably, to Breakfast in America. I was not in a hurry to go back–as I’ve said, I do not go to Paris to eat American food. But he was THRILLED.

(Granted, in this pic he looks more demented than thrilled.)
I’ve realized that BIA makes me very depaysée. Look around the restaurant, I’m in the U.S. Look out at the street, I’m in Paris. And I cannot figure out what language to speak. 
But the coffee was really good.

On our shopping round we discovered Uniqlo, a store I’d have been better off not knowing about. Something about Uniqlo ticks all my boxes. We also went into the Swatch store where they polished the crystal of his watch to take a scratch out for the princely sum of 0€. We went by the Musée Carnavalet and peeped into the garden; we passed by L’As du Fallafel before the line had started to form. (Unfortunately that was right after BIA, so no falafel for me today.) We tried on clothes and heard many iterations of “So, you are from Québec, right?”

More of the same at Les Halles, a mall that is very comprehensive but also kind of stuffy and airless because it’s underground. By midafternoon it was time to take a break for a drink and a snack so we passed through a small pedestrian market and fetched up at a café called Etienne Marcel. Outside it looks like a traditional café but the inside looks like late-series Mad Men with primary colors and molded plastic furniture. It was nice to relax in a quiet place with comfortable seats for a while!

Finally on our way out, I talked Daniel into stopping into St. Eustache, built in the 16th and 17th centuries and then restored in the early 19th after the Revolution:

Chapel of the Virgin

The altar

The organ has 8,000 pipes and is supposed to be the largest in France!
Here is what it sounds like.

The organ keyboard is right out where you can see it.

To cap off this excellent day we had dinner with Dr. Kirk and his wife Betsy at Rouge Pomme, which is becoming our go-to place for dinner/dessert/coffee/a drink. I always get a galette du sarrasin for dinner there but the Kirks both had tartines that looked amazing. Then we bought chocolates at Leonidas for dessert. Say what you want to about Paris but the food is hard to beat. So are the cathedrals and the shopping.
Tomorrow, Vicki and Robert and their kids come over from London. We are going to the Louvre tomorrow night. And on Saturday I am going to see Alvin Ailey at Théatre du Châtelet. It’s gonna be an excellent weekend!

Un regard ouvert sur la Grande Mosquée

On my first trip to France in 2004 (when I was a student rather than a professor on Study Abroad), we had a little cultural orientation at the beginning of our stay and we learned that Americans have un regard ouvert, which means “an open look.” Compared to other cultures we look other people in the eye more readily and we are quicker to presume or create relationships with others whereas the French are more private. We were told about this idea in the context of a warning: be careful about looking people in the eye on the street (it’s not done) and be ready for more formality and social distance than you are used to. So over lunch today I told my students about this idea. They readily understood and agreed that it was correct, but also said that they think un regard ouvert is good because it means you’re open to new people and situations, and you are willing to take an interest in others. From their perspective, I can’t disagree, and they carry their open eyes into our class and our field trips in a very positive way.

So today we took our American openness to the Grande Mosquée and then to its attached café for lunch. Dr. Yahgoobi brought her class to the mosque with us as well. Click through for the details and pictures, s’il vous plaît?

We had the same tour guide, Yemina, as last year. She is very friendly, obviously loves her faith and is a great ambassador for a religion that is not always regarded positively. She’s also patient with my imperfect skills as a translator, so I was happy to see her again!

The mosque was constructed between 1922 and 1926 from stone, marble, plaster, ceramic, and wood, with decorations in mosaic tile, stucco, and cedar of Lebanon. Most of the woodwork, several chandeliers, and some of the wall hangings were donated by imams and kings from other countries.

The horseshoe-shaped arches are typical of the “hispano-mauresque” style.

Stucco decorations–made of marble dust mixed with plaster. See the calligraphy inset?

Mosaic decoration–the dark brown tile above the mosaic has calligraphy that tells the story of the mosque in verse as well as representing some Koranic verses.

Yemina explained that helping construct a mosque is thought of as something like a donation and that it makes you a part of the mosque’s history. Since Islam does not practice iconography at all (no images of people or animals) the whole mosque is decorated only with geometric patterns and calligraphy. The garden contains beautiful rose bushes (still in bloom–I told Yemina that roses in Georgia finished blooming weeks ago), citrus trees, and fig trees as well as fountains and little basins.

The crescent represents the Muslim lunar calendar. The star represents the 5 pillars of Islam: the shahadah, prayer 5 times a day, giving to the poor, observing Ramadan, and the hajj.

A square minaret, typical of North African mosques.

The students were very attentive through the tour and asked some good questions. I got a little tangled up in what I thought I remembered about Islam (from my high school World Religions class in 1990, cough cough) and Yemina had to set me straight but it all worked out. I learned from Dr. Yaghoobi that “shahadah,” the name of the Muslim profession of faith (“There is no god but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet, may peace be upon him”) means “testimony.” When Yemina recited it in French she said “Je temoigne que . . . ” at the beginning: “I testify that . . . ”  Somehow the whole thing made a lot more sense to me after that.

We took pictures together:

Then we ate in the café. For unfamiliar food it’s good to have un regard ouvert. If we learned nothing else today we learned what couscous is, what a tagine is, and why mint tea is a good idea. One student ordered “pastilla” and was surprised, although not displeased, to receive a meat pie. This is what I love about study abroad: you learn something everywhere you go!
Mint tea, y’all.

From “What’s couscous?” to “Can we get more couscous?” in 1 hour or less.

Chow Italia, Part 2

It was late by the time we returned from Alberobello on Friday night, so Saturday we blew off a trip to the beach (probably a bad decision, in retrospect) in favor of relaxing, watching Italian TV (i.e. American TV dubbed in Italian, plus some baffling infomercials), and spending time with Karine and Antonio’s kittens. In Italian, “kittens” is “gattini.” Easy to remember because kittens are teeny!
This is Maurice Ravel.

This is Coco Chanel.
(also pictured: the nifty tile floors in the apartment)
In the afternoon I went with Karine to buy cheese and vegetables at some of the small shops in Corato. The whole weekend was a linguistic and cultural adventure and this may have been the highlight. The man who runs the cheese shop loves Karine so he dished out some fresh mozzarella knots for us to try as soon as we came in the door. Then he chatted with her while taking her order even though there was a line and some people were griping at him to hurry it along. Karine says she is not always accepted everywhere in Corato but obviously she is well beloved at the cheese shop and at the fruit-and-vegetable shop where she got guidance about her lemon trees. It was fun just to tag along even though I couldn’t understand everything or contribute much. Karine would just point at me and say “Famiglia!”
That night after serving as Antonio’s roadies (broken elevator, music gear up 6 flights of stairs: let’s try to forget that this ever happened) we went and got takeout pizza from a place called Pizza Teatro. It was jam-packed and boiling hot with a disorderly queue and one beleaguered waiter rushing back and forth with pizzas for the people eating at the tables outside the restaurant. Naturally, the pizza was delicious. I had a “Caprese” which was black olives, fresh tomatoes, and onion on a thin crust cooked in a brick oven. Worth the wait and the strange drama of ordering and paying there. Afterward I told Karine that it’s called Pizza Teatro because they could film a reality show in the restaurant.
It was very interesting being a native English speaker/second-language French speaker on this trip. Daniel and Karine have French as their first language and English as their second. Antonio is a native Italian speaker (of course) with English as his second language and no French. And Karine has learned to speak Italian incredibly well in only a year and a half. So when Daniel, Karine, and I or just Karine and I were together we would speak French because she doesn’t get to speak French very often. When the 4 of us were together we would speak English, and I would be the only one without (to my own ears) a melodious accent. But I learned a few words in Italian, such as “Molto bene!” which means “Very good.” Lots of things in Italy are molto bene.
Yesterday morning we went to the Adriatic coast for a photo op before heading to the airport. It was very crowded but so pretty!

Cousin love!

Look, I was there!
Soon it was time to take our flight back and our Italian adventure was over. Karine says we need to come for 2 weeks next time so we can travel around. Good idea or GREAT idea? In any case I am so grateful for the warm welcome we received there and the fun and relaxing time we had. Hooray, Italy!