Familiar food, please

I'm going to jump ahead in time here and tell you a story about Spain.

We had been in Europe almost three weeks by this time and had had a wide variety of gastronomic experiences. In Spain, this was mostly a search for the perfect paella, which is a dish mostly comprised of rice, saffron, and various meats: shellfish, chicken, and/or rabbit. The resort at which we stayed had a cooking demonstration at the beginning of our stay and served it. My mouth waters now as I remember it. It takes at least forty-five minutes to prepare properly and is well worth the wait.

We visited three other restaurants in the area and it just didn't compare to the paella served at the resort. I don't really remember what else we ate during our stay in Spain, except this one other day....

So one day we traveled up to Granada to see La Alhambra. It was a hot day and we were exhausted by the end of it. We decided to go for something familiar for dinner: Burger King! I can read Spanish pretty well and figured it would be a breeze to order. Besides, there are pictures on the menu board!

So we sauntered up to the counter, made our choices - in Spanish - and honestly, were quite pleased with ourselves.

While we waited for our order, I went in search of the condiment stand to find ketchup. No stand to be found anywhere!

Fast food in Spain is not as fast as fast food in the United States, so I sat down and perused my Spanish phrase book, looking for the Spanish word for ketchup. Not in the shopping section. Not in the restaurant section. Not in the miniature dictionary in the back, either.

So we started brainstorming. Daniel and I had read the Ralph Moody series of books and had often recalled the story of the wrangler who was trampled by a horse. A boy had found him and reported back to the ranch, "Completamente aplastada!" Completely squashed.

Okay. Tomato aplastada might do it.

Satisfied that we could communicate our need to the order taker, we went up to the counter to retrieve our food. The clerk slid the tray across the counter and said, "Ketchup?"

No wonder they revolted

After our transportation mishap, we arrived at Versailles in the very late afternoon. Fortunately, we had purchased the Paris Museum Pass, so didn't worry about paying so much for so little time.

We stopped at the information desk to inquire about what we could see in the hour and a half we had until closing. When asked which language guide pamphlet we would like, I responded, "English! I've been trying to speak French all day."

"Would you like to practice right now?"

What a dear man he was. The French have gained a reputation for being snooty, but I just didn't see it in anyone we met. He was willing to put up with my attempts to speak his language, but I very politely told him, "No, thank you. My brain is very tired." He chuckled, handed us our pamphlets, and off we went in search of the Hall of Mirrors, one of the most famous rooms in the world. This is where the treaty of Versailles was signed in 1918 at the close of World War I.

One could spend hours just in this hall. The paintings, the sculptures, the chandeliers, the window latches are all just breathtakingly beautiful.

Window latches? Yes! I've never seen such an ornate latch. And of course the view out the window is just as beautiful!

The gardens are extensive and would take hours to explore. I found myself wishing for a bicycle. You can see in the photo how far they stretch.

We got some stares as we tried to do a self-portrait in the mirror. You know how it is. One member of the family is usually the one behind the camera. I'm that person and Kevin was behind the video camera.

Beyond the Hall of Mirrors are various other chambers, salons, waiting rooms. libraries - all fixed with sumptuous furnishings and art. This photo is part of the Queen's Chamber - just the top of her bed!

The site began as Louis XIII’s hunting lodge before his son Louis XIV transformed and expanded it, moving the court and government of France to Versailles in 1682. (You can bet they weren't all too happy about that!) Each of the three French kings who lived there until the French Revolution added improvements to make it more beautiful.

The opulence is astounding. I found myself thinking more than once,"No wonder the French revolted!" Louis XIV built it as a symbol of royal absolutism. Unfortunately, the people disagreed. According to the Chateau de Versailles web site, "The château lost its standing as the official seat of power in 1789." Quite an understatement, I think.

The kings of France placed their treasures in possessions. I won't presume to know their spiritual status - let God be their Judge - but they definitely had earthly riches. So I find myself thinking about where my treasure lies. And I'm going to continue to do some soul searching to be sure they lie in heaven.

Dog Syndrome

A dog will sit and listen attentively to every word you speak. It will understand very few words, but will cock its head when it recognizes one. My dogs' vocabulary consist of: sit, stay, down, up, out, inside, off, breakfast, dinner, treat, walk, ride, mail, crawl to me, only on Friday, dance, pretty, come, and on the rug. And maybe a few others which I've forgotten.

Not very extensive.

Neither is my vocabulary outside the English language.

As we strolled the streets of Paris, we found that we heard a lot of languages: French, Dutch, German, and Italian mostly. But once in a while, our ears would catch English.

"Did you hear that?! English!"

We were thrilled to find a bookstore in Paris called Shakespeare and Company. A lovely young English woman runs the place. I believe her mother ran it before she did. It was so refreshing to hear my native tongue again and to chat with her about restaurant recommendations.



We began to refer to this phenomenon as Dog Syndrome and this would be our joke in every country in which we traveled. Communication with those who didn't speak English was the biggest challenge of our time in Europe. Read my other posts for some amusing stories of our experiences!

Sometimes in my relationship with the Lord, I find myself struggling to understand what He is saying to me. I have to listen intently to hear His voice speaking to me. Sometimes I find myself hearing what I want to hear and other times something I don't want to hear.

My prayer is that God would give me dog ears - to hang on every word of my Master.

Tracks

The funnest stories to tell seem to be the various mishaps of life. My current theme is our trip to Europe.

We settled into our Paris apartment which we had rented from the company that wasn't crooked and found various foods at neighboring bakeries, markets, and crepe stands. We purchased our Paris Museum Pass, which would give us free access to dozens of museums and unlimited use of the Metro. That takes a lot of stress out of travel! That is, if you know how to use the Metro.

Our first full day we had decided to go to Chateau de Versailles, the palatial home of Louis XIV-XVI, on the outskirts of Paris. We headed out in the early afternoon and found the train to our destination: the Versailles line. How easy is that?

The Paris Metro system runs under and over ground at various points. The city center portions are mostly underground. We watched as the train stopped at each station, comparing our pronunciation of the names with that of the automated announcements. We listened to the Parisians around us, drinking in the beautiful French language. Not that we could understand a lot, but we generally got the gist of the conversations.

The train gradually emptied out and stops got farther apart. It wasn't really too surprising that we didn't recognize stop names because the route map posted on the wall of the train didn't always list all of them.

The train stopped way out in the middle of a residential area and sat. We waited, watching the wasted minutes tick by and wondering how much time we'd end up having at Versailles.

We were seated upstairs to have a better view, but there was no route map upstairs. Kevin headed down to check and moments later popped his head in and announced, "We're on the wrong train!"

Groan.

We hurried off, lest the train take us farther from our intended destination. To head back in the other direction, one must disembark, take stairs underground, go under the tracks, and reemerge on the other platform. This we did. The only other person was an interesting heavyset black woman with a large shopping bag full of flowers. She spoke French and was on her cell phone, so we did not speak.

Another wasted ten minutes ticked by. The train sat. We sat.

Suddenly a uniformed French security officer approached us. Hey! Guess what! He spoke French! By this time I wished I had reviewed more, but at least I could say, "Parlez-vous Anglais?", which means, "Do you speak English?" Usually someone answered, "A little bit."

Not this time.

Pointing goes a long way when it comes to communication. We incorporated much into our mixed conversation of French and English.

The train continued to sit on the tracks. We determined that we needed to get back on the train ("cette train?") and change ("changement") at a station in the city center.

Hoo boy. We'd never get there in time.

But we did it. We went back downstairs, under the tracks, and to the other platform. And we got on the same train, which was about to reverse direction and go from whence it came. We never did understand why it didn't finish the route.

Oh, the French. And, as an Englishman in a hot tub would tell us later, "No one understands the French."

By the way, the two routes are both called Versailles, but one is "Versailles Rive Gauche". If you are ever in Paris, just take the train that says, "Vick" on the front. Then you will end up here:

"Have we been ripped off?"

After parting ways with French Woman with a Dog, we found a crepe stand open. We tried the crepe avec jambon et fromage (with ham and cheese). This became a frequent stop for us during our stay. They are delicious and really filling!


The day was starting out really chilly, but we braved it and sat as long as we could, watching the Parisians parade by us. We wandered around the George Pompidou Centre area, but found that lugging six suitcases was not fun, especially since my guys had to handle them all. (Neurosurgeon's orders!)

The time finally got close enough to noon to park ourselves in front of the outer apartment door. There we stood, surrounded by our bags and looking rather homeless. We'd been up for about 36 hours by this time!

A woman emerged from the apartment building and asked, "Are you waiting for someone?" In English!

"Yes, we are renting an apartment short-term."

"Oooooooh. There was a company renting short-term and it turned out they were crooks. I hope it wasn't my apartment they rented to you!"

Groan.

And with that, she strolled on down the street. And panic struck.

Had we been ripped off? What would we do? We have six bags, two sets of tired arms, and three pretty exhausted people. How could we find a hotel at this point? We were not in a touristy area, so no hotels were in sight. We'd have to get back on the Metro, go to a hotelish area, and start asking. And hotels are so much more expensive! Our deposit was lining somebody's pockets and we were out a few hundred dollars.

We stood there, dejected and worried. Our trip was off to a very bad start indeed.

About fifteen minutes passed and a young man emerged from the building.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

What? Is this the question of the day or something?

I repeated my answer, "Yes, we are renting an apartment short-term."

"Oh. Let me check for you."

Well, that sounded more positive.

He returned a few minutes later and asked, "Is your name ...?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. Come on in."

We were relieved, to say the least. I could not wait to get inside and set some sleep!

Two Italian Men

Traveling to a foreign country is a true adventure. Experiencing the culture up close and personally is only done by spending time with the people. Not the tourists who have cameras dangling from their necks, although they can be an adventure also, but the locals.

On our recent trip to Europe, we endeavored to stay in short-term rental apartments and B&B's when we could. This led to experiences we never would have had otherwise.

Let's start with Italy.


We rented an apartment (pictured above) in the Trestavere (tress TAH vare eh) neighborhood, far from the madding crowds who frequent the more touristy areas of Rome. It was on a side street, part of a maze that got us lost trying to find it on our first day. There were numerous small restaurants nearby, along with bakeries and small grocers.

Our first night required that we do some laundry, having already been travelling for 16 days. I was thrilled that there was a washing machine. A small one, but a washing machine nonetheless. The rental agency representative showed me how to use it upon our check in, while Kevin had chatted with another rep.That was the first mistake! I was fatigued and knew I probably wouldn't remember all the buttons and their purposes.

I proceeded to load it with a small load. Well, a small load for me, anyway. When I went to unload it, I discovered that the machine was still half filled with water. We fiddled with the buttons, all to no avail. The rental agency office opened at noon, so I emailed them to explain our problem, knowing that they would see it as soon as they opened....or maybe sooner.

In the morning, Kevin and Daniel went to the local grocer to buy bread, milk, etc for breakfast. Upon their return, there was a man waiting at the apartment door. Assuming he was there to repair the washing machine, we let him in.

The thing about traveling to a foreign country is that they often don't speak your language!

This was definitely true in our case.

I led him out to the balcony, where the offending machine resided in a closet. The man shook his head.

Oh.

The man started explaining - in Italian - what he wanted. He found the electric box on the kitchen wall and made motions of snipping wires. What?!

He wanted to turn off the electricity! He showed Kevin a bill with an outstanding balance.

We tried to explain that we did not own the apartment and were just renting it for a few days. This did not sink in.

The man motioned as if he were writing and said "Escrive?" At least, that's what I thought he said. Ah! Write it down! Maybe he can read English or we can read Italian better than we hear it!

I'd like to give credit to whom credit is due, but I don't remember who came up with the idea of using the Internet to translate. Brilliant! We went to the babelfish web site and merrily typed back and forth, both shaking our heads as we tried to understand each other. It became quite comical, but frustrating at the same time. I imagine he was truly baffled when the computer screen said we were renting from under the roman sun, not knowing it was the rental agency name!

The man was determined. The electricity must be turned off. We finally called the rental agency and explained our problem. The person who answered the phone told us something to the effect of calling back.

Were we supposed to call them back? Were they going to call us back?

As we were about to call them again, a knock came upon the door. We let yet another Italian man into our apartment. He began conversing with Italian Electric Man. After a few minutes, Italian Electric Man departed. I turned to Italian Man II and asked "Parla inglese?"

"Yes, I speak English."

Oh, hooray!

Apparently, the apartment owner had been away from Rome for several months and had not settled his bill. Italian Man II had convinced him to wait.

Italians are wonderful people. They help one another out whenever they can. You see, Italian Man II didn't even work for the rental agency. He was just a friend who lived in the area. The agency had asked him to come over and intervene, which he did willingly and happily.

I just love the Italian people.