De-stressing amongst the Lavender Fields in Provence

 One of my favorite books is “A Year in Provence” by Peter Mayle. I read it in my early 20s and at the time, decided I would move to Provence at the age 35 and open up a little bistro from my home that overlooked my imaginary vineyard. As a back up plan, I would paint ceiling murals in homes (apparently, that trend only caught on in my dreams).

My 35th birthday has long come and gone, and I’m still working full time. My dream of a bistro has now evolved to opening a wine bar in my 50s (destination still unknown). In the meantime, I am continuing and quite enjoying my worldwide research on where their amazing wine bar will be.

But I still love Provence -- especially when the lavender is in bloom.

 My favorite part is rolling down the windows of the car and letting the smell waif in as you drive past the fields. It puts me immediately at ease and I forget all the pressures I have. For those few minutes, I am completely in the moment and at the disposal of those purple blooms.

Did someone say road trip?

One of perks of living in Switzerland is that Provence is no longer a once in a lifetime trip. It’s a 5 hour road trip, and sometimes driving 5 hours through the French countryside along really small and winding roads to meet two friends for a girls’ weekend is just what this adventurer’s soul needs.

The destination of this weekend: La Lauren Bed and Breakfast, which is located in the heart of France’s lavender area.

La Lauren is not your average bed and breakfast. It’s a 17th century farm house located right beside a field of lavender. The closest village is Ferrassières and the house is waaaay up a hill so your take in the whole Plateau de Sault. Basically, you get a spectacular view of the country and lavender fields in the distance.

Frankly, it’s magical.

I met my girlfriend and her sister there, and was blown away.

 Immediately, I decided I needed to come back and do weekend of intensive writing or hold a yoga/creative retreat at this house. But a part of me wanted to be selfish and not tell you about it so that I could have it all to myself. Really. This place was better than having champagne and chocolate cake for breakfast. It was decadent.

There’s not much to do in the area, but sometimes that’s the point of a girls’ weekend. We drank French wine, took photos with the lavender (warning….the fields are full of bees and they don’t like you hanging out there), ate amazing food and talked until sunrise.

Because that’s what girls do.

New word of the day: Persil

Here's what I love about my little village in Switzerland.  They know me.  They may not understand me and I may not understand them as we speak different languages, but they know me.  And what they know me as is: "the girl who speaks English."

This is very reminiscent of when I lived in Germany and my town called me the "das Canadian Madchen." But I'm trying to learn French and I test it out whenever I can with the shop owners in my area.

There are only four shops in my village which could also explain why they know me.  I have a bakery, grocery store, butcher and a little farther away is my favorite Italian Deli - Mauro Traiteur -- which sells cheese, olives, fresh pasta, wine and other delicious things.

As you can imagine, I go there a lot. It's like Whole Foods but better - as they don't judge me when I ask them to recommend a wine that is "not too expensive" and have saved me a couple times when I choose one that would not go with my meal. (thank goodness!)

Anyway, that's where I was today, and they happened to have something new.  Some sort of pie thing.

You know I have to have the "something new." So I ask in my horrible French: What is that?  They reply with some words I don't understand, so I kick into reporter mode, and still using my limited French, I start questioning the poor shop girl who has gotten stuck serving me.

Me:  What is inside?

Poor Shop Girl:  Chicken, cream, mushrooms, onions...

I'm thinking "good…those I eat."

And then she says, "...and persil."

Persil?  This word I do not know. Do I like persil?  Do I eat persil?  Because I don't eat red meat or pork, I'm highly suspicious of Swiss food as they have a million names for pork products and they love to put them in everything.  Everything. They also like to put dried meat in stuff. They are sneaky that way.

Me:  What is this persil?

She looks at me strange as if everyone should know persil.

So I continue...

Me: Is it a fromage? Viande? Legume? [cheese, meat, vegetable]

Poor Shop Girl: Percil…Percil is percil.

She shrugs and is still looking at me strange.  I'm running out of questions. If it's not cheese, vegetable or meat…what could it be?

Me: Is it a type of mushroom?

Poor Shop Girl: No…percil is percil.

She has given up on me and I've run out of questions.  Just as I'm thinking maybe I should just order the spinach ravioli, the owner of the shop rescues me. He tells her in French that I only speak English.  I try to look pathetic and smile. Her expression changes as she realizes I'm not crazy or stupid; I'm just not Swiss.

The owner also doesn't know how to describe "percil" so asks her to grab some from the kitchen.

She comes back with a handful of parsley.

Ohhhhh….percil is a herb. I will now add that to my list of questions to ask when baffled by the food.

Of course, I will never forget percil again. And I'm sure that shop girl hopes she never gets stuck serving me again (joke's on her as I'm there weekly.)

In case you are wondering, I did get a slice of the pie after all that  - and it was wonderful. You could actually taste the percil as it helped bring out the mushrooms.

So yes, I love my village and their patience with me. I promise to get better with my French.

PS I'm thinking my accent must be getting a little better as she didn't suspect I was foreign until I didn't know what percil was. Small gains.

Breakfast at Savini in Milan

 

One of the perks of living in Switzerland (besides all the delicious cheese and chocolate) is how close it is to other cool places – like Milan.  I learned this week that a train from Lausanne to Milan is only 3 hours - and you know what that means. Day trip!!!  

 

 

Catching the first train out in the morning (around 6:30 am), I was in Milan by 9:30 am and in time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at Savini. Savini is located in the Galleria which is one of my favorite buildings in the city. 

The restaurant Savini has been there since 1884.  It started as meeting place for celebrities and artists of the day, but now it’s filled with tourists like me visiting the Piazza del Duomo who want to relax with a good meal.

 

If you go, I will warn you that it’s not cheap.  My croissant and tea (and the complimentary box of biscuits they gave me) was $14 Euros.  While this would be a bargain in Switzerland, you can get really good food for fair prices at most places in Italy.

But at Savini you are paying for the experience of having breakfast in a super posh place.  Besides, their croissants are to die for.

I really didn’t have plans for Milan beside the whole “let’s go to Milan” plan, so spent my day wandering around and checking out the architecture. 

 

Naturally, I had to follow up my walk-about with pasta, which I did get a reasonable price.  My shrimp gnocchi, unusual appetizer (which was described as pine nuts and olives encased in a salty crust) and wine cost less than my breakfast.  And it was delicious. The best gnocchi I had ever had.  And that thing in the salty crust was fantastic.