Five Days in Barceloní/Barcelona/Barcelone

The View Down La Rambla

Barcelona is the geographic and cultural heart of Catalonia.  I didn’t know this though until arriving in Barcelona on the 24^th of November.  I certainly never realized how prevalent Catalan was in Northern Spain.  Catalan is the largest language on signs, waiters speak in Catalan, and schools are taught in Catalan.  In the past, Catalan was banned in schools and was supposed to be eradicated.  The Catalan cultural resurgence started in 1874 and has been gaining energy since then.  In 1979 Catalan became the co-official language with Spanish in Catalonia. 

The Spanish Arc de Triomf

Despite an apparent similarity to Spanish, Catalan is an entirely different language, not just a dialect.  The Catalan kingdom developed in the Middle Ages as the predominant part of the Crown of Aragon, with Catalan being the language spoken in southern France and northern Spain.  The power of Catalonia began to wane with the marriage of Isabella and Ferdinand and their focus on reconquering Andalusia.  I can only snatch snippets of Catalan conversations—the general meaning of discussions eludes me.  It was quite a shock to be suddenly immersed again in an incomprehensible language.  Fortunately, everyone also speaks Spanish. 

The compact city center of Barcelona gives the impression of a small university town where something is always happening.  The medieval city and La Rambla* are thronged with tourists and locals at all times of the day and night.  However, Barcelona has not been a small, contained town since its birth as a Roman garrison.  The population of Barcelona has been growing steadily since then, now the city has swelled to

The Mercado Off La Ramble

1,621,537 people and covers an area of 101.4 km².  My mother was shocked to discover that she was actually enjoying the sixth largest city in Europe. 

I love seeing how fashion changes with the borders.  In France, the clothes tend to be dark and somber; the jackets are usually black; and the scarf becomes the only splash of colour in the whole ensemble.  In Barcelona, the colours suddenly became vibrant and bright.  Black is still the predominant colour in a crowd, but suddenly the trend for women’s jackets have become colorful and whimsical.  Desigual, a Spanish brand, have been successfully been promoting their brocade, coloured jackets.  Their jackets have splashes of colour across the shoulders and bright colours woven through the hem. 

Desigual Jacket

Each design is art.  Each jacket is expensive though, so I would have though that few would buy them.  Nevertheless, everyone seems to be wearing these jackets.  I think that colorful clothes increase as one travels south.  However, everyone in Europe wears jeans, not the black pants that all the European dressing guides describe for tourists. 

The metro connects every part of Barcelona.  The trains are fast, relatively clean, and tourist friendly.  There are panels in the train the show the next stops and the route with bright lights.  We were staying near the Sagrada Familia, so we took the metro from our apartment into el centro each day.  Initially, the maze of passages that connect the different train lines were confusing and we got lost as we missed the correct signage indicating our train.  By the time we left however, we had become very familiar with our train route and the complex tunnels that connect the train lines.  I like to think that we were indistinguishable from the locals, except for our Keens, sensible clothes, and touristic map. 

Vegetable Coca From Orígens

Our quest for new food is perpetual.  Tapas, specialty Catalan food, Spanish cheese, and paella were on our culinary agenda for Barcelona.  Quite by accident, we found an amazing tapas restaurant a short walk off La Rambla.  Eating tapas is like ordering a whole dinner of appetizers, which is perfect for our family since we always want to taste each dish on the menu.  We ordered small peppers fried in salt and oil, which were just slightly spicy; fried small fish, shrimp in olive oil, tomato bread, and many other, artfully prepared delightful dishes.  Unfortunately, this is the one time no one brought a camera to dinner. 

Traditional Catalan Almond Cake

The next day we went to a Catalan restaurant called Orígens.  There, we learned about “Coca”—a thick, light bread garnished with either vegetables or meat.  We ordered one that was covered in peppers, onions, eggplant, and a tomato paste.  My mum ate a stuffed eggplant, while I drooled over a zucchini and codfish confection that I can’t describe.  Georgie feasted on wild mushroom and truffle soup.  Then, once we had sufficiently tasted each dish, we traded plates to sample everything. 

The menu was also amazing.  Each dish had a short summary on where in Spain it had originated, where the ingredients had been domesticated, and how they had come to Spain.  This meal ranks with some of the best food I have eaten this fall. 

Chocolate Stand in the Mercado

Three years ago we took an extensive holiday in Mexico and I noticed Spanish influences throughout the culture and country.  So, in Spain, I watched to see if there was cultural contamination the other direction.  Did the conquered influence the conquerors?  Apparently, they did.  A Catalan tradition is to have a small snack at about six o’clock—to tide them over until dinner at ten.  The traditional drink is hot chocolate (so thick it could be classed as pudding) with a variety of spices and very little sugar.  Chocolate, of course, comes from Mexico and South America.  Furthermore, spicy foods and peppers are a large component of traditional Spanish cuisine—also from Mexico. 

The Foyer of a Gaudi House

Gaudi is a late nineteenth century Spanish architect famous for his curved lines, whimsical Hansel and Gretel houses, and brightly coloured mosaics.  To some, Gaudi was a genius.  Or, as a guy told us on the bus, he was completely “loco”.  No matter his psychological state, he created brilliant avant garde architecture – 100 years ago – that still attracts tourists and artists alike.  He was also very religious and regarded his work on the Sagrada Familia to have the utmost importance.  Apparently, during the Popes 2010 visit to the Sagrada Familia, he proclaimed it a minor basilica and also canonized Gaudi.   

The Sagrada Familia

We were standing in the cavernous, airy nave of the Sagrada Familia.  Like a forest, the columns of basalt, marble, and granite rose to the vast ceiling.  The girth of the pillars was wider than most trees and their branching form supported many areas of the ceiling. The recently proclaimed basilica can hold up to 13,000 people, so the steady stream of tourists barely made an impression on the echoing space. 

Work on the Sagrada Familia began in 1882 and has a projected completion in 2026. This date continues to change as the giant project continues to run into funding issues.  The 2009 budget was 18 million€, funded entirely by tourist tickets and private donations.

Branching Columns in the Sagrada Familia

The revenue from the tourists must be copious, 12 € per person, so we can’t figure out why they would ever want to complete the church and lose this revenue.  I also can’t imagine the spacious church ever being filled in this modern secular era—the whole time we were inside only one person sat in the section reserved for prayer. 

We learned in an exposition that Gaudi was inspired by the natural world around him.  He tried to emulate the feeling of a forest and trees with the columns in the Sagrada Familia.  About halfway up the pillars there are jagged depressions that are intended to resemble pruning scars on a plane tree.  The capitals on the columns resemble foliage.  The geometrical forms of the towers are taken from the twinned form of pyrite crystals.  Gaudi looked for patterns, geometrical shapes, and structural forms in the natural world and he replicated them in his architecture.  Mostly, he invented the techniques used to replicate them, techniques which are still novel in modern architecture. 

Pruning Scars and Foliage

Usually churches are dark, but the Sagrada Familia is filled with light.  The windows that line the nave have a hyperbolic structure that magnify the light and create a space full of an airy sense of sacredness.  For Gaudi, architecture was not just about the meeting of math and art, but also was an intense study of how the world is organized.  This love and respect for nature is reflected and amplified in all of Gaudi’s creations—and Barcelona has many homes, museums, and parks showing off his work. 

It's Bigger Than It Looks

There is a street musician’s guild in Barcelona.  Consequently, musicians play in every square and melodies ricochet through the Barcelona’s historic quarter.  The maze like streets creates wonderful acoustics; usually you can hear the harpist or opera singer before you see them.  My dad and I also wanted to play some fiddle on the streets, but we were warned that we could be fined and put in jail if we were caught without a permit.  So we didn’t play. 

If we were not careful, we could have missed one of the oldest synagogues in Europe.  It was first built in the third century CE, but the records are not clear if it was used for religious purposes at that time.  The records first show irrefutable proof that the building was used as a synagogue in the thirteenth century, but the usage in the time between the two dates is lost.  The synagogue was used solidly until 1492, when the “Edict of Expulsion” was executed and all the Jews were forced to flee, die, or convert.  Later, it was used publicly as a dyeing shop, but was secretly used for prayer.  This lasted for 11 years before the owners and organizers were caught and killed.  Then the synagogue was forgotten about until after WWII.  A historian discovered its existence in some city records and began searching its whereabouts by recreating the route of a 13^th century tax collector that ended in the synagogue.

The Inscription Above the Synagogue Door

The synagogue was rediscovered in 1987.  The synagogue now appears to be a small innocuous basement room, but this is only because the street level has risen from nearly a millennium of accumulated dirt.  Through a complicated set of plot twists, a Jewish Association bought the building in 1995.  Now it is half museum and half synagogue, but no regular services are held there. It is sad to me that such a historically important building is only used for tourists. 

Our guide in the synagogue, Matan (from Israel originally), was wearing a T-shirt showing various musical instruments.  My mother, always looking for musical opportunities for us, queried if he was a musician.  It turned out that Matan plays percussion and drums and he was thrilled to discover that we played violin.  We arranged to meet later that day and jam together—two violins and percussion.  I was happy at the opportunity to play, but confused at how we would create music with no guitar, and thus no chord structure. 

The jam was fantastic.  Since there was no guitar, Matan set the groove and feel, and my father and I improvised a melody overtop.  I did my best to stay out of their way, while my dad composed spectacular melodies with complex syncopation.  I learned about rhythm and decided I need to practice.  A lot. 

* La Rambla is the walking street at the heart of touristy Barcelona.  It leads from Plaça Catalonia to the sea and borders the old city of Barcelona.  The street is lined with vendors, mimes, and pickpockets.  A quintessential Barcelonan experience, once you realize most of the people meandering along are locals. 

In the Mountains Again

Le Gite

My last post was written in a very different manner to my previous travel essays.  I wanted to try something new, but I don’t think my idea worked.  I wanted to write a story from the point of view of animals, as if in a fantasy novel.  I thought of the idea as I was falling asleep and the post wasn’t executed quite how I imagined.  I think perhaps I should stick to the voice I have spent the last several months developing—less interesting for me, but more pleasant for you. 

The Department of Ariège encompasses some of midi-Pyrenees.  The Ariège is entirely different from the Lot.  The Ariège is not a wine or foix gras area and seems poorer and more rural than the Lot.  However, the towns seemed to have an artistic, musical, and alternative edge to them that was absent in other places we had traveled in France.  There were hand-painted street signs, organic farm cooperatives, and evidence of community musicians.  

Beach Forest

We found the “Lasqueti Island” of France and Europe.  As some of you know, when we aren’t traveling around Europe, we split our time between the outskirts of Vancouver and a remote Gulf Island—Lasqueti.  Lasqueti is the hermit/artist/ community minded/environmentalist haven between Vancouver Island and the mainland.  Lasqueti is off the grid, reached from Vancouver by two ferries (one of which doesn’t take cars), and has an intensely functional community of about 400 permanent residences.  The demography of Lasqueti can be described by three main groups:  1) the old-timers who were the descendants of earlier pioneers, or who moved to Lasqueti before the 1960’s as loggers, 2) the back-to-the-landers of the 70’s and 80’s, and 3) a mix of other people who have trickled into the island community since then.  We fit in the third group—the people who became enchanted by Lasqueti culture and environment in the last 20 years or so and never want to leave.  Read what Lasquetions say about their island at http://lasqueti.ca/island-info/lasqueti-life. 

Vista on a Walk

In rural France, we found back-to-the-landers of the same generation and personality types as our friends on Lasqueti.  These are people who didn’t like political and social climate of the cities in their own countries or who wanted to renew their ties with the land. The Ariège, not considered prime real estate, was an area where hippies could buy land.  We met two sets of former hippies originally from Germany with whom we loved talking about politics and the trials of balancing city life and living off the land. 

The Cute End of Cows

Wolfgang owns 22 cows and produces organic cow cheese in the style of the Alps.  He doesn’t sell milk anymore because the taxation system makes it impossible for small farmers to compete with the large agribusinesses.  He doesn’t use solar panels because they are grossly expensive, but all the hot water he uses to make his cheese is solar heated.  Wolfgang also keeps bees and makes honey, and it was the best honey I have tasted since Greece. 

Two Ages of Cheese

Wolfgang’s farm is perched on the edge of the mountains up a long, convoluted road from the nearest village.  At each switchback we feared we had gone the wrong way, but the signs still led us upwards.  Wolfgang gave us a long tour of his farm and I found it fascinating.  I haven’t had much experience with organic animal farms.  We saw the cows come in from the fields and be stationed in the barn.  Then, my favourite part, we saw the cows get milked.  Apparently I have had a fascination with cows since I was a toddler and my dad thought it was very funny that I couldn’t wait to see the milking now.  The modern system is to attach four suction cups to the cow’s udders and the milk is taken right from the cow and is pumped directly into a vat for processing.

Playing Music with Doris

From the processing vat, the milk is pumped directly into the cheese room.  We didn’t learn the specific method of preparation, only that it was a traditional Alpine recipe from the area where Wolfgang learned to make cheese.  Then we saw the cellar where the cheese is aged.  It was like gaining secret access into a bank full of gold bars.  The shelves marched horizontally across the walls bearing their precious delicious burdens.  The cheeses were organized according to their age.  The young cheeses were pale and their edges exact as if defined with a ruler.  The older cheeses were richer yellow and the sides of the cheese were rounded.  We learned that the cheese is old and “alive” when the cylinder is no longer perfectly geometrical and the middle bulges slightly outwards.  The cheese room was beautiful.  

My First Attempt at the Tourte au Tatin

In appreciation of the tour, my father and I played fiddle for Wolfy and his wife, Doris. After two Irish fiddle tunes Doris even took out her accordion and we played traditional Bretagne, Ariège, and German folksongs.  We also shared my first attempt at the “Tourte au Tatin” recipe from Isabelle.  The upside-down pie tasted delicious, but I didn’t caramelize the sugar long enough.  “Gavia will have to try again,” said my Dad as he helped himself to a second piece. 

For more information on Wolfgang’s farm, see his website: http://le.pourteres.free.fr. 

On the day we left the Ariège, we detoured to visit Michael and Margaret (the owners of the gite where we were staying) in their secluded valley away from the busy life of the small villages.  A lovely one km walk through deciduous forest protects their valley from noisy neighbours and cars – not that there are that many around. 

Michael and Margret's

Michael and Margaret aim for self-sufficiency.  For most of the year, Michael and Margaret eat mainly from their garden and don’t need to venture into a supermarché.  When Michael first bought the property, he put in terraces on the sides of their steep mountain valley.  Now the terraces are filled with a bountiful vegetable and flower garden. They also have a solar panel array, but unlike us on in the rainy west coast, the sun provides sufficient electricity all year.  At worst in the middle of winter, they have sun on their panels from ten until three—five hours of direct sunlight!

The Entrance to Niaux

Sadly for me, after we said good-bye to Michael and Margaret, we began the slow process of leaving France.  Our plan was to drive to Perpignan, return the car, and catch the evening train into Barcelona.  Instead, we took a detour to the prehistoric cave of Niaux.  This presented an emotional quandary for me: do I face my claustrophobia or do I stay in the car?  I was torn; Niaux is known for the detail and quantity of its images, the art is said to rival Lascaux.  However, to access the chamber with the paintings, there is a 20-minute walk in a tunnel lit only by flashlights.  When the moment came to make my decision, adrenaline rushed through my veins and I panicked—before setting foot in the tunnel.  So I stayed and played violin in the cave’s cavernous entrance.  The acoustics were divine.  I enjoyed the solitude and the magic of music in a pre-historically sacred space, but I was disappointed to have succumbed to my fears. 

The Train Station in Barcelona

We missed our train to Barcelona in Perpignan and so we stayed the night in a surprisingly original “Comfort Inn” with an astronaut theme.  The receptionist had an inordinate fondness for Toronto (and Canada), so we were given a free breakfast.  On the whole, the French have been delightful, warm, helpful people and I was heartbroken to leave France.  I have also fallen in love with French cuisine and the French language.  I love the eccentricities of its grammar (perhaps I am mad)! 

One moment we were on a train in France, then we had crossed the border into Spain and the sounds of Catalan filled the air.  Our Italian SIM card on our cell phone even sent us a “Welcome to Spain” message.  Woe to me. 

Au Revoir au Lot and Bonjour à l’Ariège

The donkey watched morosely as the small black Renault pull out of the driveway.  “People never say good-bye to me,” he thought.  He bared his teeth and released a long donkey sigh.  Then the kitten snatched at his swishing tail and he focused his attention on stepping on the annoying grey feline. 

Boulette, the dog, whined and pawed at the gate wanting consolation from her friend the ass.  She hated it when members of her pack disappeared.  Boulette could also detect a faint odour of misery; both her family and the-ones-who-left had spent a long time hovering around the car and “barking” unintelligibly.  The donkey ignored the dog’s misery and continued to fix his baleful glare on the kitten. 

Our Home in the Pyrenees

Later that day when the sun had just passed its zenith, another cat noticed the same small car driving slowly on a small country road in the Department of Ariège.  This queenly cat had been sitting in the middle of her domain gazing about her for mice or birds to torment.  Unfortunately, the car had scared everything off, including the little bird she had been eyeing with focused intent.  She gravely considered marching up to the car and yowling her disproval, but in the end decided it was too much effort.  The sun was warm on her ears and that darting shadow may have been edible, or at the very least amusing. 

At sunset, a hawk was soaring upwards on a thermal over the Pyrenees surveying his terrain en route home.  The last rays of the sun were lending a warm glow to the snow-capped peaks.  The mountainsides were a rich mottled red and green; the brisk winter wind rattled the empty tree branches.  The hawk noticed the same black car parked outside an old stone house.  The house was dark and all was still, except for the figures emerging from the car.  They seemed to be carrying bags into the house, but the hawk didn’t really care.  They were too big to eat.  

Ancient Art, Modern Anxieties

When we started planning our trip to Southern France, visiting the prehistoric painted caves were my mother’s only requests.  Unfortunately, all the painted caves close on November third.  Luckily for us, Pech Merle, the cave with the best prehistoric art in the region, reopened for the Armistice Day long-weekend.  In our efforts to ensure ourselves of a tour, we were early for the first time in Lertzofsky history and arrived to an empty parking lot. 

Mammoth at Pech Merle

25,000 years ago artists and people on spirit quests wriggled through narrow chasms and subterranean passages.  They would have found themselves in magical interlocking chambers full of surreal shapes and unexplainable phenomenon.  To sanctify the space, they painted meaningful images from their lives and imagination.  At least, this is what leading archeologists have guessed.  All that is left of these moments are the paintings, some of which are highly abstract and figurative.  For instance, the bison-woman is either a woman or a bison, depending on the angle you tilt your head, as proclaimed by eminent French archeologist André Leroi-Gourhan. 

Detail from the Black Frieze

The prehistoric artists were truly artists as we define the word today.  In many images we saw, they used the natural curvature of the rock to define a mammoth’s trunk or the rough texture of the wall to give the impression of a bison’s pelt.  Another mammoth image appeared to pop out from the rock as the light shone at it from underneath.  These artists were also masters of implying form.  One artist painted a mammoth using only three lines.

Pech Merle is most famous for its spotted horse painting.  Two near life-sized horses stand back to back on an isolated rock face.  One’s head is defined by the edge of the rock and has a faded pike stenciled onto its back.  The two horses are surrounded by a multitude of hands—left by the artist as a signature? added by others? random symbolism lost in time?  These mysterious horses are filled-in with a plentitude 

Comparisons of Modern and Ancient Horse Phenotypes

 

of black dots that have had many theories since Pech Merle was discovered in 1922.  The most commonly accepted explanation of these special spotted horses was that they were mystical spiritual beings.  However, recent DNA analysis shows that spotted horses actually existed in this region during the Paleolithic.  So these paintings are a representation of actual spotted equine life 25,000 years ago. 

Lacave Formations

Here is the link to a New York Times article that explains the research in terms that you and I can understand.  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/08/science/spotted-horses-in-cave-art-werent-just-a-figment-dna-shows.html. 

Get Me Out of Here!

I discovered that I am claustrophobic—while walking through caves 150m below the surface of the earth.  We were taking a tour of the Lacave caves in the northern part of the Department of Lot.  To access this particular cave, you first need to take a train from the surface through a very small, extensive tunnel.  When we got out of the train, there were more small tunnels in front of us and no apparent guide.  Then, behind us, the train started driving back to the surface.  I think that the combination of small dark tunnels and no organization prompted my feelings of fear.  Then the guide found the group and we started the tour, me battling my feelings of panic the whole time. 

Perfectly Still Pools

Dripping Stalactites

Lacave is a series of 12 interlinking chambers connected by small passageways.  As we descended deeper into the cave system, the formations became more and more fantastical and eerie.  There were perfectly still pools that acted as mirrors to the ceilings above creating the impression of profound, infinite depths.  Tiny crystalized calcite flowers sparkled in the lamplight and looked like stars glittering on the ceiling.  My favorite formations were les draperies, draperies, wavy lines of stalactites that followed the curves and cracks of the ceiling.  They truly looked like careless folds of cloth. 

Defying all rules of gravity, some stalactites grew horizontally.  They had a weird branching form that resembled coral, tree branches, and something entirely alien.  For a structure that forms itself by dripping water, any formation that isn’t vertical should be impossible.  Speleologists (cave scientists) have no idea why, or how, the stalactites grow like this. 

Examples of Columns

There were examples of three different types stalactite/stalagmite columns.  In the first example, stalagmites and stalactites both grow towards each other and join to form a single pillar.  Second, stalagmites can grow to behemoth proportions and bond with the ceiling.  Some of the stalagmite pillars we saw had the girth of redwoods.  Thirdly, the pillars can form from the ceiling as stalactites.  Stalactites in general are finer and resemble gigantic icicles.  These formations grow three centimeters every century.  If you touch or break a stalactite or stalagmite in France, you can go to prison. 

While the cave was spectacular, I was thrilled when we arrived back at the surface.  I am happy that I voyaged into the entrails of the earth; now I have great memories.  But I am definitely happier to see the caves in my mind and in our pictures than in reality. 

Cervid and Mysterious Symbols in Lascaux II

Perhaps the most famous of the prehistoric painted caves is Lascaux.  Discovered in 1940 by four teenagers and their dog, Lascaux is unique in the quantity and quality of its art.  During the years after Lascaux was opened, 1,200 visitors per day flocked there to ogle the art.  The stampede of humans had two disastrous consequences for the paintings.  Mold and algae were introduced to the cave environment, soon prehistoric cave conservationists started noticing a green film growing on the images.  The other problem brought in with the tourists was called “The White Disease”.  The CO₂ expelled from people’s lungs caused increased precipitation of calcite on the images.  Conservationists noticed paintings fade as if from behind thick fog as the calcite crystals grew.  Because of these dangers to the 17,000 year-old paintings, Lascaux Cave was closed to the public in 1963. 

The Chamber of Bulls

In 1978 the idea for Lascaux II was born.  Only 50m of the original Lascaux Cave were replicated in Lascaux II, as this one small section contained 90% of the art found in the original.  The process to build the reproduction was long and complicated and must have cost millions of dollars.  First, a metal cage was molded into the exact contours of the cave, then concrete was poured over it to give the cave its dimensionality, and next artists recreated the texture and colour of the rocks.  Finally, a team of artists worked for many years to repaint the prehistoric art.  All the art in Lascaux II is painted using, as close as can be determined, the same techniques and pigments as were used 17,000 years ago.  Lascaux II was opened in 1983 as the exact replica of the original—with under 5mm of error. 

A Two Meter-Long Bull

I was expecting Lascaux to be a large system of “caves” covered with art similar in style to that found at Pech Merle.  I also thought that since we were in a human construct, the paintings would feel less special and that we would feel like we were in a museum.  I was completely wrong on every count. 

As we stepped into the “cave” the temperature dropped and it was like we had actually been transported beneath the earth.  Lascaux II is small; there are only three chambers.  Then I glanced upwards and my gaze was fixed to the ceiling for the rest of the tour.  The Bull’s Chamber is covered in vibrant images that almost seem prepared to jump of the rock.  There is a swirling mix of animals including giant aurochs, horses (no spots), deer with swirling ornate antlers, and a multitude of strange symbols that resembled hieroglyphics. 

Like the "Sistine Chapel"

As in Pech Merle, the 5-10 prehistoric artists of Lascaux used the contours of the rock to add personality and perspective to their paintings.  Horses march along in single file across a rocky plateau formed by a natural rock protrusion.  Antlers are only hinted at in textured rock striations.  Heads are given definition by shadow and light.  Unlike Pech Merle, the animals portrayed in Lascaux are comparatively realistic and detailed.  Some animals have painted in bodies and most resemble the animals as they would have seen them in reality.  In Pech Merle, the artist seemed to strive for a minimum of lines to capture the animals, while in Lascaux the artists used many more lines to create vibrant and alive images. 

No claustrophobia plagued me in Lascaux II.  Perhaps my subconscious recognized that we were not truly in a cave.  Or maybe, the magic of the paintings and history diverted my psyche enough so that I could enjoy to fantastic images of the “Sistine Chapel” of painted caves.  

Photos of Pech Merle and Lascaux courtesy of: 

http://www.dinosoria.com/hominides/pech-merle-4.jpg
http://www.dkiel.com/SouthofFrance/Dordogne/PechMerle/Cave35.jpg 

Pruvosta et al. 2011, PNAS

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/96/Lascaus%2C_Megaloceros.JPG

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1e/Lascaux_painting.jpg 

http://www.plazacmeteo.fr/img/lascaux.JPG 

http://www.live2times.com/imgupload/event/107395/080411160852/normal/lascaux-ii-ouvre-ses-portes-au-publiclascauxii-.jpg

Cooking with Isabelle

My Favorite Type of French Dessert

I was asked recently if I could cook.  The answer is, “kind of”.  I am good at following recipes (except in chemistry class), so usually my baking is edible and sometimes fantastic.  I can make some savoury food too, like pasta, and anything really easy.  My specialty is turning leftovers into a delicious lunch (which sometimes only involves putting the food in a container).  While this is useful when I am with my parents, it is not so good if I am trying to cook dinner solo. 

My delight with the food in Europe has been partly tied to my desire to recreate the new flavours.  However, my quest for new recipes has been mostly focused on desserts.  

Saint Someone Cheese--a Favorite

Isabelle, our hostess and a wonderful cook, kindly offered to give me a cooking lesson during our second week in Sauzet.  The item on the menu was “Tarte au Tatin” a traditional recipe from Southern France—an upside-down apple pie.  

I loved cooking with Isabelle.  She was so efficient that I felt a little bit useless; I peeled two apples in the time she peeled seven, but she never said a word about my ineptitude at using a peeler.  As Isabelle whirled around the kitchen, I furiously copied down the recipe, trying to capture the atmosphere of the kitchen as well as the ingredients.  The tart was a success; it was one of the most delicious pastries I have ever had a part in making.  Thank you Isabelle! 

The Uncooked Tarte au Tatin

As well as cooking, Isabelle and I swapped French/Canadian stereotypes.  My favourite of hers was that all Canadians eat pancakes for breakfast—every day.  My rejoinder was that Canadians believe all French cook with copious quantities of butter.  Isabelle said that Jura, where she was from (near the border of Switzerland), butter is the fat of choice.  Jura is the cow region of France, so they are big on dairy products.  However, the preferred fat in The Lot is either olive oil or goose fat.  Traditionally, it would be as strange for them to cook with butter as it would be for a vegan to do so. 

Finished!

Since Isabelle was such a good teacher, I requested another lesson.  I wanted to retry the “Gateaux de Noix” and figure out my errors.  It turns out that I made quite a few mistakes and missed some common French baking conventions. 

Error #1: when adding sugar to the egg yolks, beat them for about ten minutes until the yolks have turned colour. 

Error #2: there is no rule about mixing the dry vs. wet ingredient separately to avoid producing a dry cake; just add them together and then, to my mind, over-mix them.

Error #3: add a pinch of salt to the egg whites before beating them. 

Error #4: even though there is a large amount of butter in the recipe, grease the baking dish well. 

Error #5: take the finished cake out of the pan immediately. 

Gateaux de Noix

Error #6: it is necessary to speak French while making a French recipe. It also helps if you are dressed well. 

The cake I created with Isabelle was entirely different from my previous endeavour.  The proper “Gateaux de Noix” was light and fluffy.  It tasted slightly like banana bread, except more interesting.  If I can recreate this cake sans Isabelle, I will be thrilled. 

Don't Say Cheese, C'est Fromage

Barrels of Spices

Rural France has a rotating market system.  Each day there is a market somewhere, if you are willing to drive far enough.  In the towns closest to us (Cahors and Prayssac), there is a market Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday.  Generally, the food culture in France can be hard to access—except at these markets, where it is on glorious display.  The central square in Cahors is converted into a space where vegetable stands, meat vendors, cheese producers, fish stalls, spice traders, and tea traffickers all sell their wares.  Everyone is happy to discuss cèpe* recipes,

Still in the Land of Olives

the best chestnut varieties, and which of their “noix” aperitifs are the best.  My father even got a lecture on when it was appropriate to drink which liqueur: before or after dinner.  And don’t screw this up! 

I don’t like chèvre in Vancouver.  I have discovered however, that chèvre in Vancouver is as different from French chèvre as herring are to saber-toothed tigers.  There seems to be only one type of chèvre in Vancouver: a soft flavourless spreading cheese, sort of a goat cream cheese.  There are infinite chèvre variations here, shaped and aged in different ways.  The most common chèvre locally in Lot is called Rocamadour and is like the best Brie money can buy in Vancouver.  Except there is no thick layer of spongy mold and the flavour is complex and interesting.  My favorite is the soft creamy Rocamadour that has been aged 6 days.  However, there is also a version that has been aged 6 months.  It looks like a tiny shriveled disk and tastes like a very pungent Parmesan.  I love chèvre.

La Fromage!

My mother cooks dinner and I make dessert.  Since I am more interested in sugar, it is my role to find the regional pastries and to try to recreate them.  There are two specialty cakes of Lot, one is very hard to make and I was told by our friends at the tiny general store not to attempt it.  The other is the Gâteaux du Noix.  We got the recipe from Isabelle, our hostess, who in a past life was a chef.  The recipe asked for an unspecified type of “noix”, so I asked our friends for clarification.  I was met with a blank stare and the blunt response “you know, ‘noix’”.  It turns out that there is no generic term for nuts in France.  Each species has its own name and “noix” means walnuts.  This is not something I ever learned in school. 

Home Base

In the end, I burned the cake that had so much potential.  My family ate it and seemed to love it anyway ...  Next on my “to make list” is an upside-down apple tort type thing that seems to be a specialty of southern France.  We will see if this works better.  If it does, I think I will attempt the Gâteaux du Noix again—this time with some help from ma mère. 

*Edible Boletus mushroom, the same type as porcini.