Posts Tagged park

American memories with a French taste

Going to Southampton yesterday, after a long break from the cruise port city, we took a look around West Quay Shopping Centre and had a meal out, with dessert in a different place. As a big Trip Advisor user, I don’t really go to a restaurant any longer without researching it on the website. This time, the choice was for the Mexican one called La Baronia and the French patisserie named Boulangerie Victor Hugo. I am not going to talk about them here, but if you are interested you can read the reviews I will leave on Trip Advisor as soon as I get some of our photos on my laptop.
What I will say is that we had huge portions of mille feuille, so heavenly light and crumbly and flavoursome, while listening to French music (my fingers itch now for writing a review, which I will refrain as I am divagating enough already). Savouring the lovely piece of sweet pastry I remembered New Orleans, with a light-hearted nostalgia, wrapped in a summer evening glow.

It was not a Deep South evening which came into my mind, although I did take the night Vampire tour in the French Quarter and I found it quite fascinating. What came to mind was the mornings I would be off duty as an Au Pair and go for coffee (I used to have the vegetal, fake one) and French beignets (oh, the bliss!) in the big cafe placed opposite Saint Louis Cathedral. Called Café du Monde, it just made every morning I would spend in the beautiful Southern city something to look forward to.
All my memories of New Orleans are bright, fresh, joyful, and free of any of the tensions and loneliness which filled my American year.

I had the opportunity to visit the city in 2004, just before Katrina (lucky me!). My host father was originally from New Orleans and they had to attend a wedding there, so they took the opportunity of spending a whole week to visit family and friends. I would be off during the days (I think with just one exception) and would have to babysit only in the evenings, while the parents went out to meet people, attend wedding rehearsals and all the rest.
Maybe part of why I didn’t feel so lonely there (as this was one of my biggest challenges in the US) was because the host dad asked one of his friends to show me around one day. So the guy took me to a very local restaurant, not at all the fancy type, but with great local cuisine, I remember I had alligator sausages and chicken livers deep fried in an egg and batter blanket, then in the evening we went for drinks and the Vampire tour. Another day I went with the host family to the big zoo and I remember I was impressed.

Maybe I didn’t feel so lonely there because I could walk everywhere and just take the pulse of the place on foot.
What can I say, New Orleans was one of these cities with a vibe, I could feel its energy, which didn’t work for me in Cancun, where, despite going out every evening in clubs, where there was always somebody to talk to and where I even fell in a love a bit, I still felt agonisingly lonely. So it must be the feel of the place which grew inside me almost instantly, probably quite bohemian, vibrant, dark and sweet, fresh and light at the same time.

And look at me, the way I remember New Orleans is through eating mille feuille, hahaha, just like Proust wrote a whole novel and slipped inside the stream of memory while eating a madeleine, and I swear I did not try to copy him! Shamefully, I haven’t even read his works, which I feel dreadful about confessing right now, as I writer.

One thought makes me laugh right this instant: did I love New Orleans because it was the most European place I have visited in the US? Probably so.
What could be more European than Jackson Square, with the cathedral guarding one of its sides, and the river on the other? With all the shops aligned on the sides of the square, the big café opposite, and then the historical houses with their balconies on all the streets, all the little shops and pubs and restaurants, so different from the very American Williamsburg where I used to live for 9 month with my first host family?

What could be more European than a sightseeing river cruise? I do have to acknowledge the American flavour of this one activity, as I have been (if my memory doesn’t play tricks on me, mind you, I am growing older) on the Creole Queen Paddlewheeler, the one which appears in “Interview with the Vampire”, one of the best movies of the sort ever made, a truly romantic production, less commercial and more true to what romanticism is about. I took the afternoon cruise, cheaper, and not the jazz dinner which I would just LOOOOOVE to take nowadays if given the opportunity. Well, I was an Au Pair, pocket money of $120 (or less?) a week, so I couldn’t afford much back then.
Nevertheless, taking the old tram was a very affordable attraction and what could be more European than this? The ride along the old quarters, with the lovely houses, very Southern in style, an architecture I find beautiful, then off the tram and into the historical park, strolling down the big alley guarded by very old trees with the branches reaching towards the ground, is there any wonder at all I wasn’t feeling lonely, isolated, misplaced in such a well rooted, bohemian place?

One of the sweetest things which happened to me was the day I couldn’t get a lift from the host family back into our airport hotel, but had to catch a cab. It was no big deal, as whenever I went out with them I did not have to pay for anything, even if I was not on duty at the time. They did advise me about asking in the hotel reception about how much would a cab ride normally cost from the French Quarter, so I knew what to expect and also not to allow drivers to trick me on the cost.
When it was time to go back, I just went and asked a hotel porter to help me call a cab, which he did. The cab arrived, I got inside and told the guy I needed to go to the Double Tree Hotel, and he took me just around the corner. Well, apparently there was one of these in the French Quarter. Then I said this was not the one and I did not know of this one at all. The taxi driver was a local African American, a really nice guy, his voice sounded really embarrassed and he would not stop apologising. I calmed him down, told him it was an honest mistake, so there we were on the way to the airport hotel. I told him how much I knew the ride would cost, according to the hotel reception people, and he asked me nicely if I agreed for him not to turn on the meter machine any longer, as the first trip would anyway come from his own pocket. I was perfectly fine with it.

Some people might judge this as being naughty. I don’t. Before going to New Orleans, while trying to find out more about the city and its surroundings, I had learnt that there was still a lot of discrimination, that the African American population did not have the same opportunities and was still struggling in poverty. My driver was an African American, and a very pleasant and sweet person. I don’t see any problem with helping him on this occasion. You could see it as a tip.
When we arrived at my destination, he came out of the cab and opened the door for me and offered me a hand so I could get out more easily. Very chivalrous of him. Then he said, in the Southern chanted accent: “Thanks, hun, I really appreciate it”. I felt like I made a person happy for that day.

Ten years have passed since I was an Au Pair in the US. Some memories come back, with all their aromas and scents, and part of this is probably me trying to recover whatever I buried under the hardship of the whole experience.
Some weeks ago, I realised how much time has gone while hanging up my laundry to dry in the small back garden we have here. There was this summer T-shirt I have amazingly been wearing ever since and which still does its job quite well. A ten years old T-shirt. I will probably just keep it, this one will never end up in a charity shop or at the skip just because it somehow became a symbol of my American memories.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I have any of the photo CDs from the States with me here, in the UK. I would have loved to post some images, and I hate it that I could not find them. I might have to ask my mum to look through my very few things still left in my parents’ house, and hopefully the CDs are still there, somewhere.
The day I will find them I will post some photos. Harsh and sweet at the same time, my experience across the ocean meant my first step out of my comfort zone, out of my sweet lair back home, in Banat, a very small and unknown region in Central Europe.

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Disappointing, but still loved

Two days in Bucharest, then we took a very early train to Timisoara, my home city, the place where I had spent almost 20 years of my life. How I loved it and thought I would never, but never move away! Still, I first decided to move to Bucharest, after my first big step out of my planned life story, out of my comfort zone – spending one year as an Au Pair in the US, an experience which to this day seems somehow surreal to me. Then it was the UK, thousands of kilometres away and a life experience which I never really thought I would have, even considering my unrealistic dreams of being a volunteer working with children in Africa (I could never have afforded it, nor could I today, still).
Back in Romania the best option for traveling, other than to rent a car (which costs just as much as it would here, in the UK), is the train. Flights are too expensive. By train you also get to actually see the country, although it is a long journey from Bucharest to Timisoara, about 600 km in 8 hours. I would not really recommend a coach, as they take almost the same time and you don’t get much more comfort sitting on the same narrow chair. On the train, as not all the seats are taken, you can stretch your feet, put them up on the one in front of you or next to you, and even take a good nap if you are able to. Luckily I can always sleep in trains, and sometimes in the most difficult postures, like crouching on one seat with my head on the back or arm rest. I probably look very silly, but don’t quite care about it.
On this travel I did take advantage of the rain and slept for a good 3 hours. Unbelievable, but true: Romania turned for one summer into England and the other way around, at least weather wise. We had some very rainy days there, and although I am not very up to date with the news, according to Facebook it seems the rain recently caused some floods all over the country, including in the area where my parents live (close by, they are on higher ground) and in Cluj, where my partner is from.

A very rainy morning, but no loss, passing through the fields in the South, not much to see, the landscape gets exciting as you approach Drobeta, the city situated on the Danube river, on the Eastern end of the defile where it pierces the Carpathian mountains. While we were getting closer to this city, I woke up. I must have my inner clock set to wake me at about this point of the journey. Seeing the big river that defines Central Europe, its waters mirroring the greatness of the kaiserlich und koninglich  power of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, its flow mirrored in Strauss’ waltzes, is always a must. And not for the history it has seen, but for the natural beauty. In the area called Cazane all you can see is the mountains slopes covered by dense forest, the slightly wavy waters of the river, the viaducts built for the railway and roads, the Portile de Fier (Iron Gates) Dam, and the town of Orsova spread up the hill at the end of the defile. In its narrowest place, this crossing dug by water through the mountains measures 230 m in width (about 250 yards).

Our five days in Timisoara have been thoroughly planned, but the weather and some other factors made us change part of these plans. We haven’t managed to see my friend Liana Toma and her family, this amazing lady who is a house mum, a poet and an independent chef at the same time, and who keeps the loveliest of the loveliest cooking blog. It is in Romanian, but you can activate a translation function and trust me, it’s worth it. Once you have went on translation mode, however, your only worry would be keeping things in control and not diving completely into the culinary heaven it inspires.
Those of you who tasted my spinach and salmon roll, the biscuits I served on my good bye day at work with Allied Care in New Milton, or the almond rolled cookies I served on our Secret Santa day last year would be pleased to know the recipes are now available. This way, I’m trying to make up for my sins of forever postponing sharing them with you. Shame on me.

 

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What we managed to do is visit my cousin’s family in a typical village for Banat region, with big gardens and large backyards with lots of poultry and other such animals which don’t come as pets, but for consumption. On Sunday we got in my brother’s car and went on to have a barbecue afternoon, which lasted for some good 5 hours. 
I won’t bore you with all the family stories, although Anka, this cousin of mine, is quite amazing, a recent mum to two adopted brothers and a passionate biker, only about a week after we left she completed the Transalpine trip in Romania, riding her bike on the serpentines  high in the mountains of Fagaras. But what I will say is that visiting for the first time their old house in the countryside (the family used to live in the city until the grandparents passed away) I found a piece of my childhood there.
The scent of a typical traditional house in Banat was the sweet perfume of the day. If I were to describe it, I would say it’s the combined whiff of old wooden floors and furniture, of local dish
es and pork products smoked in the household, of homemade jams and compotes and drinks, and the gentle scent coming from the gardens and fields. It’s the flavour of calcimine inside accompanying the coolness of the walls in the summer and the engulfing warmth in the winter days. It’s the smell of hay, of straw, of vines and of vegetables. The smell of new cement and of old bricks.

It’s probably how I can best describe my home region at this time.

 

And this brings something else into mind. One lazy afternoon I took my foster brothers out in the back yard to lay down in the sun and play cards while catching a tan. They lasted for a bit out there with me, but I guess after half an hour they got bored and left me to it. As I was laying there in the blazing light, sweat all over me like a second, liquid skin, I could hear and see the world from the height of the grass blades. Some bees were buzzing around the tiny wild flowers, some pigeons were lazily cooing, chicken were walking around in their yard faintly cackling of boredom as well, sweet nothing to do on a summer afternoon in the Romanian countryside. The sun rays were sweeping over the roof of the house, framed by the trees’ green, the whole world seemed to purr softly, half asleep, and still so vibrant, pulsating alive through its every pore.

After all the delights of the countryside, which I deeply cherish, as being raised there, we did take two trips to Timisoara. This time I was slightly disappointed with the city I hold so dear. First, the most beautiful square in the city, Piata Unirii (Union Square) is dead for this summer. They have closed it all, replacing the old sewage and plumbing systems, which is a positive thing. However, the way they have done it, killing completely for the season a place which used to be the heart of the whole historical centre, full of restaurant and terraces, buzzing every evening with the sounds of the people sitting around with a drink or some sweet treat to enjoy, was probably not the best idea. It almost makes you wonder if there is any economic personal interest to bankrupt some local businesses.

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Our old pizzeria, Cora, located on one of the streets coming from Piata Unirii, by the most beautiful    and still functional synagogue in the city, is still there, still pretty and they still make great food. It’s a   shame, however, that while in Timisoara, if one wanted to find a fine restaurant with local cuisine they might face an uncomfortable challenge. Who goes to Timisoara to have pizza and pasta?
There are Casa Bunicii restaurants (Nana’s House), easy to find on Tripadvisor. On our first evening in the city we went to one and enjoyed a meal on the terrace, late at night. Still, I was slightly disappointed: while my pork chop and sauce were tasty, it came cold. I was so hungry I didn’t send it back. My partner’s skewers like in Bucovina, set on fire under our own eyes, for a deep pleasant chargrilled flavour, were just as good as the ones I tasted in the winter. The sour cherry liquor hit the spot as a dessert drink.

 

 

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Then we took the kids to the city, a trip which has become tradition. Going around in the Children’s Park, a place I used to visit a lot in my own childhood, well decorated and arranged, with lots of small rides, swings and slides and fancy objects, was very enjoyable. For years the park had been partly abandoned, in the way that there was no new investment, but recently they have renovated it all.
After the kids had a good play and climb and jump around, we went to have lunch just across the big Intercontinental Hotel, the first building with automatic sliding doors in the 70s, if I’m not mistaking (a story I know from my father). The restaurant Curtea Berarilor (Beer Brewer’s Court) had been recommended to us, and as we entered the inner yard it looked really nice. We had a sit and waited forever to be served, so we started to play a word game with the kids as we were all starving and bored to death. When the food came… my chicken wings were the blandest thing I have ever eaten, the soured cream and garlic sauce had no garlic in it. Not nice at all. We tried not to make a big thing out of it as it was a day for the kids to enjoy out in the city. The dessert we had at Cofetaria Trandafirul (The Rose Cake Shop), another place I used to go regularly to since a child, made up for the bad experience with the restaurant.

It could have been better. We could have enjoyed Timisoara more, if only Piata Unirii and the streets around it didn’t look like a war landscape, if only the restaurants were better, if only. But then my old city can still make it up to us next time when we go to visit.

I left Banat with the feeling that it is all still there, just as I knew it, content that everybody at home is doing well, my grandmothers are still in good health, and everything is as I used to know. On the other hand, it doesn’t seem to have more to discover for me, all as expected, nothing fresh and unexpected.
I still love my home region and would recommend people to visit it. When they are going to finish with renovating the streets and the square, it will be much better. As for restaurants, Tripadvisor should help. And if you haven’t been so used to how everything is around there, the risk of being bored dissipates as well. It’s a region full of history, and an inquisitive eye and mind would most certainly be happy to explore it.

(Foto 1: made by me. Fotos 2 and 3: Attila Vigh)

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