In The Time French People Sing Hello, A Kiwi Has Told A Whole Story.

So. If you haven’t been keeping up and you don’t know, I am staying in Antibes, in the south of France, in the old town, in an apartment all to my own. The apartment belongs to Anita’s mother’s sister-in-law. Or Anita’s father’s sister.

Anita, is the most beautiful, hard-working and driven Italian girl you’ll ever know. I met her when she started worked for Cafe Valentino. I was her trainer. I still remember sitting her and another young man (Bryn) down and taking them through the menu. “What’s capsicum?” “What’s bacon? “What’s…?” “What’s…?” she mused as Bryn became more and more impatient. The next day, Anita had memorised the entire menu! So, it was no wonder for any of us when she became the restaurant MANAGER so soon. Yes, my boss! But I trained her! My oh my how we joked. And shared pizzas. And talked boys. And ate tiramisu.

Now, I am spending my days with her parents and I love them as I do my own. They are so generous, loving and natural. Daddy Dazzi loves food just as I do, and mama Dazzi knows exactly what to say to make my heart glow.

I really don’t know how I am going to leave. I have fallen in love with Antibes.

(Pizza for entree and pizza for main.)

On my first evening here, Daddy Dazzi treated us to real French Bouillabaisse, a traditional Provençal fish stew originating from the port city of Marseille. The restaurant Daddy had chosen was by far, the most expensive I’ve ever been to. I felt like a queen and my tongue was on fire. I wish you could have tasted it too.


(Daddy’s thumb photography.)


Yesterday, I spent a whole day in Nice with mama. The weather was wonderful and so was she, as per usual. She held my hands, gave me kisses, and loving advice on relationships, marriage, children, and so forth. In between, she gave me a quick French lesson where she taught me to sing my words. She said: in the time a French person sings hello, a Kiwi has told a whole story. Which is so true because the French stretch their words almost as long as the Thai do, and true Kiwis speak without pause.



(Photos of me are low-quality because they’re taken by Mama Dazzi’s phone.)

(Behind the scenes food photography)

(Mama Dazzi working the cheese, olive tapenade and fresh basil like a pro.) This is lunch at Le Pin Parasol. If you find yourself in Antibes, this little brasserie is a definite must-go. It is not everyday you feel this much passion in the taste and presentation of a meal. Click HERE for more info.

Daddy Dazzi is preparing Lasagna for me tomorrow. Apparently, his is the best. You know, seeing as he’s a real Italian and all. Today over lunch, he discussed with his wife, the preparations for tomorrow. They spoke in Italian. They seemed to be arguing. Daddy switched to English: “I am the artist. I am not the worker,” he proclaimed to his wife. What he was referring to, was the shopping for tomorrow’s meal!

So, all I have done this week, has been to eat and eat and eat some more. Which is so bad because I am going to America in a few days and I really wanted to look good…Alas, I have no self control and these two are killing me.

Daddy Dazzi: a little pizza is good for the health. Yeah right. Also gelato, also crepe, also risotto. There is no stopping with Italians and food!

Get this: today, as we worked our way through lunch, Daddy asked his wife (much like my own father asks my mom sometimes) what they would be having for their next meal.

“The next meal?” I screamed.
“Yes the next meal.”
“Nothing for me!”
“What? That’s dangerous,” he warned.

Dangerous. Dangerous! Can you believe it? After eating all of this food! I have never laughed so hard before.

An Inside Look At A Belgian Supermarket

Guys, we have a winner! This Belgian supermarket is unreal. Mainly for two reasons. One, they have testers. But not just any old testers. Testers that are in every supermarket section, changed daily and refilled to keep full during all shopping hours. Yes, you read right. Amazing, isn’t it?! Second, and probably most important, they don’t use plastic bags. Instead, they have a unique trolley system to “bag” items at the cash register. You’ll see both as you scroll down under…

I found the exterior of the shopping centre quite strange. There are no signs of this place being a supermarket. Nil. Zero. Laura says they save on advertising etc this way.

Unlimited snickers! So dangerous!

Raw cashews.. nomnomnom can have these instead.
Cheese and olives! Oui!

Call me Captain Obvious but mandarin…
Grapes 
And cherry tomatoes in the fresh produce section.

These are to do with Belgian culture. I’m sure you’ve heard of Belgian fries (NOT French, Laura says), well, these are some of their hundreds of sauces! Including bucket-fulls of mayo! Erghk!

And here is Laura’s dad’s bottom kindly showing us the 0-plastic check-out system. So. The clerk takes the items from your trolley and puts them into another trolley. (I found this interesting as the clerk would be reaching and bending while customers just stood there -not necessarily a bad thing, just an observation.) After that’s done, the customer pushes the other trolley out of the supermarket where they’re then free to unload their groceries straight into their car, bicycle or personal bag.

So What Was Galicia Really Like?

During my short time In Galicia, I posted a lot of photos and vague descriptions but I didn’t really give you the low down. So. Here’s a list:

Loud 
Galician people speak very loudly. Or maybe, they are just loud in comparison to the Japanese. More often, I’d mistake a casual conversation for heated arguing. Actually, during my first three days, I developed a horrible migraine. At first, I put it down to jet lag or a change in environment but then I realised the real culprit. My ears were buzzing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that the Galician are hooligans. Rather, that they speak with much heart and emotion and sometimes our hearts are yellers.

Meaty
Of course due to their location, the Galician people consume a lot of seafood. But they also consume A LOT of meat. Chorizo, cured ham, steak, you name it. Luckily for me, the exception were Jose’s family. Everyday we ate fresh and organic fruits, vegetables, grains, nuts and seeds.


Tortilla and empanada mad
I guess these are the two most popular dishes here. A Spanish tortilla (not to be confused with the Mexican wrap) is like a potato omelette. It’s oily, carby and delicious. Empanadas are a pie pastry like dish usually filled with tuna, red pepper and onion but there are many variations. Anyways, these dishes are honestly everywhere. And people are always eating them.


Tomato overload
There’s a lot of tomatoes here. That’s basically it. And apparently, a lot gets wasted every year because if it was all put out into the market, the prices would drop to mere cents and the government wouldn’t be making any money off of them. So sad. What is this world we live in? (I know this is not confined to Spain and that food is a business everywhere).


Long days
I think I already mentioned this. Apparently this is very Spanish. Breakfast around 9. Lunch around 3/4 and dinner around 10. Can you believe it? No wonder I’ve been having migraines. One day, Jose called to book a table at a local restaurant for 9pm and was warned to leave by 11pm as that’s when another couple had booked it! Is that insane or insane?


Food rules all
Obvious by now. Before coming here, Jose had warned me that the Galicians live and breathe food. I hadn’t really understood this until now. You know the old adage; you eat to live not live to eat? Well here it’s the other way around. Perhaps the previous point on long days has something to do with this but also because the Spanish are such fantastic cooks! And, they have great produce: olive oil, seafood, tomatoes, legumes, to name a few. So food rules all.


Unpredictable
Mainly in two ways. One, with weather. Much like NZ, weather here is always changing. Four seasons in one day type of thing. Two, with plans. Again, at the opposite end of the spectrum to the Japanese, the Galician people hardly ever plan anything. This is because plans are always changing. You may aim to do one thing and end up doing the complete opposite. For instance, one day we planned to sightsee a historical town nearby but ended up going to a friends’ place after lunch and spending the entire evening swimming in her pool, listening to Galician bagpipes and eating peaches.

1 2 3 ziiiiip.
I played this “game” with the children. Unfortunately it didn’t work. Anyways, following up from the previous point, Galicians never give a direct answer.

How long does it take from here to…? Not far. 
Where does she live? Near.
Are we going to …. today? If you want?
Shall we go for a short walk while the empanada cooks? Shall we? 

These answers are often accompanied with a shrug. You don’t believe how much this annoyed me. In Japan, there is a direct answer for everything. When I mentioned my frustration to Jose, he burst out laughing. You know Anisa, he said: “in Galicia we have a saying that if you meet a Galician in the middle of a staircase and ask them if they’re going up or down they’ll say: do you want me to come up with you?”
Sugar overload
I don’t like writing this. I don’t want to be too judgemental. And maybe this is a problem everywhere but kids here consume A LOT of sugar and other junk foods. Actually, there are entire stores dedicated to Junk food. Seriously, all they sell are ice-cream, chocolate, candy, cookies and Cheetos. I am surprised the kids don’t have black teeth like my Japanese pre-school students. One day we went out for tapas and a huge bowl of candy was placed in the middle of the children’s table. Some of them ate more than 10! I couldn’t believe it. I hope I will be better able to control my future children’s sugar intake. Also Cheetos. Cheetos are everywhere! Even inside 1 year olds! :O
The good life.
Last but not least, Galician really know how to live. Everyone seems to be on holiday here. They are always eating tapas, relaxing on their boats, drinking at local cafes and talking with their family, neighbours, friends.


Goodbye rivers, goodbye springs
Goodbye, rivers, goodbye, springs,
Goodbye, trickling streams;
Goodbye, all I see before me:
Who knows when we’ll meet again?

Oh my home, my homeland,
Soil where I was raised,
Little garden that I cherish,
Fig trees I grew from seed.

Meadows, rivers, woodlands,
Pine groves bent by wind,
All the chirping little songbirds,
Home I cherish without end.

Mill nestled between the chestnuts,
Nights lit brightly by the moon,
Tremor of the little bells,
My parish chapel’s tune.

Blackberries from the wild vines
I picked to give my love,
Narrow trails between the corn-rows,
Goodbye, forever goodbye!
Goodbye, glory! Goodbye, gladness!

I leave the house where I was born,
Leave my village so familiar
For a world I’ve never seen.
I’m leaving friends for strangers,
Leaving prairies for the sea,
Leaving all that I love dearly…

Oh, if I didn’t have to leave!…
(part of a poem by Rosalia de Castero)

An Inside Look At A Spanish Supermarket

So different to both Japan and New Zealand. When travelling, I love to visit the local supermarket. It always becomes a highlight because it’s always so interesting.

Two entire rows + four row fronts (each side) just for cheese! Oh my!



This is a monkey fish. You choose your fish and the ladies (or gentlemen) prepare them for you. Of course, preprepared fish is also available.

Jose doing his thang.

Apart from this brand (which is refrigerated) the remaining milk here look like cleaning products because of the way they’re stored and packaged.


Meat, meat and more meat.

Look at the top right yellow label. 339 Euro for one leg! Now that’s some special meat.

Jose says these pigs eat acorns so even though they’re fat, they’re good fat. “Like me,” I said (hehe).
All of the tomatoes an Italian chef could wish for (also on other side).

In Japan, carrots are heavily sprayed making them big and perfect. Then, they’re individually wrapped in excess plastic. This is how fruit and vegetables should be! Ugly but delicious. 

I love these peaches! 0.98 Euro for a KG! Good or good?!


All of the legumes! Plus, olives, anchovies, pates and dried nuts and fruit (not pictured).

Look Japanese friends! “Japanese” food!

Introducing Jose to almond milk and other trendy health foods (hehe).

Pear Festival

A unique town:
Pontedeume serves as the gateway to the Fragas do Eume Natural Park, one of the last Atlantic forests remaining in Europe, whose origins lie in the Tertiary Age, with a dense covering of oaks, chestnut, laurel, strawberry trees and firs. It is also the home to an extensive range of fauna. The Romanesque-Baroque Monastery of Caaveiro in the heart of the forest offers excellent views over the area, giving visitors an idea of its grandiose nature.

The park area and the vicinity of Pontedeume play host to the pioneering project known as the Eume Cantina Network, with a series of typical restaurants offering local and regional dishes based on the strictest quality criteria, to the delight of visitors to the area.

Don’t miss:
The feirón, an attractive weekly market held every Saturday where it is possible to buy nearly everything, although the emphasis is on small stands selling local foodstuffs, and it is the ideal location to buy the local specialities known as costradas (pies made using puff pastry), or local pastries such as the proia mantecada (a flat, sweet butter cake), fritters, almond cakes or sponge cakes.

The Festa das Peras (Pear Festival) is held on the first Sunday in September in honour of the Virgin of As Virtudes and San Nicolás de Tolentino, where it is possible to enjoy the fruit prepared in a multitude of different ways. The festival is accompanied by the sound of bagpipes and drums, as well as sporting events that include climbing a greased pole over the water, fireworks and a large barbeque.

Words plagiarised from HERE.



Getting a too close closer look.

Climbed a wall with much difficulty to take better pics for you.
Creepy.com

Chuuu (kiss in Japanese).

Spot Sara and Jose.
Oops!


Ciao!


I keep on fallin’.

 

The Mystical Beauty Of Japanese Noren

And still,
I cannot
move past
noren*
without
stopping
to peer
through
in hope
of seeing
you.

*traditional Japanese fabric dividers, hung in doorways or in windows.

UPDATES

A lot of goodbye dinners and lunches are happening. Not long now! 1 or so weeks.

Top to bottom: the old couple returning my muffin tray with fresh lavender and rosemary, Yasu and I’s friendship going strong, dinner with Oz, Lifa and Aki, vegetarian lunch with Ashleigh sensei, and dinner with Fukuda sensei, Imai sensei and Imai Sensei’s daughter, Non at my favorite Indian place (had to go back even after saying goodbye). Anyways, Non! Non is eating chocolate naan (strange I know) with a smiley-faced chicken curry (even stranger). Too cute. I wanted to eat her. What a name!

An Unexpected Friend

“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.” ―John Joseph Powell

I was introduced to Yasu unexpectedly. One day, after living in Japan for over a year, I came home to a box of chocolates on my doorstep. A letter was attached to it. It read:

“Ms Anisa

I am Yasuko from upstairs.

When I was tired from moving work, you gave me a dessert. That was very delicious and thank you so much for that. I wanted to always talk with you.
But I will move on April 30 to next village.
The new address is Nishiawakura village.
If you don’t mind, could you hang out with me sometime?
I am really bad at English, but I hope we could be good friends.”

The dessert she was referring to was actually a blueberry smoothie that I made for my neighbors after seeing them gardening on a hot day.

When I finally met Yasu and asked her why she hadn’t introduced herself earlier she said that she had been too shy/scared. Can you believe it? One year of loneliness, living below my now best-friend.

Alas, we have done much since the letter: smoothie-bowls, food outings, yoga-classes, dinners with her family and yesterday, pottery class followed by a home-cooked Japanese dinner and my black-rice pudding for dessert. On the latter, her father told her mother he absolutely didn’t like it. He said this in Japanese but I understood regardless (hehe) but, no matter. It must have been an unusual taste though black rice and coconut milk is readily consumed in Asia. Yasu’s father reminded me of the many times my own father has made inappropriate comments in Persian thinking no one (but us) can understand him when they (the non-persian speakers) can easily read his facial expressions or sense his intent! Oops hehe.

Making Japanese Poop One Smoothie Bowl At A Time

Anisa sensei, English sensei by day, nutrition sensei by night, fighting (most-likely induced by over consumption of white rice) constipation (sorry) one green smoothie at a time. Different women, same bowel movements.

Nothing Beats Persian Food

Nothing. Nada. Nil.

In addition to all of the other food, I have been eating some LEGIT Persian food. And not any Persian food but Persian food made with love by my loving mama and talented sister. And, with local and organic ingredients. Oh my, how I wish you could taste it too!

From top to bottom: Persian breakfast featuring a wholemeal fruit and nut loaf from Vic’s Cafe, khoreshteh gheymeh bademjoon (a lentil, eggplant and beef dish) with saffron rice, salad, yoghurt and pickled vegetables. And last but best of all, ghormesabzi (a green stew made from beef, red kidney beans and a combination of herbs and vegetables). Yum to the freakin’ O.