This just may have been the coolest thing I saw over my Winter Holiday, which was the 6th or so course of Alex's Grandparent's 50th Wedding Anniversary dinner. Look closer...it's a map...of France...made of cheese... How freaking cool is that? Each cheese also happens to represent the region it originates from on the map. I thoroughly enjoyed consuming a considerable portion of "France", though even with 60+ hungry, cheese-loving Frenchman working on it, plenty remained at the end of the evening.
After my stay with Alex I traveled by sleeper train to Rome where I put my tourist shoes back on. I checked out the Coliseum among other various Roman ruins, made a whirlwind visit to the Vatican City free of charge early in the morning to see the Sistine Chapel, and even snuck into the Parthenon to observe Saturday night mass in a building built before Jesus was even born!
Arriving in Venice tired and cranky, I was a bit shocked to find that my hotel room had had a water pipe burst and was uninhabitable. Not exactly the news you want to hear at 4pm in Venice on New Years. They hotel manager was very apologetic and set up another room for a "bargain", but hey, it was better than St. Marco's Square for the night. Venice, despite its supreme beauty, didn't impress me greatly; being crowded with tourists and trendy little shops. The Peggy Guggenheim collection was fabulous though, and very worth a visit. The food was tasty however, and I tried a traditional Venetian soup with pasta and beans. It was quite good, as was the fish soup. It can't have been long ago when you couldn't have paid me to order a large bowl of soup heaped with mussels, clams, fish chucks, squid, octopus tentacles, shrimp, crayfish, and some unknown sea creature that the lady sitting at the table next to me pantomimed how to suck out of it's shell while laughing at my facial expressions.
Geneva was as posh and multicultural as one would expect. It was rather smaller than I thought, yet still quite industrial. I savored a traditional Swiss Fondue in Switzerland for lunch our day in Geneva and it was just as fabulous as hopped. Aside from an interesting hour or so at the Red Cross Museum there was actually relativity little to see there, but I contentedly sampled the best Macaroons I've ever tasted while gazing across the lake into the Alps. The lady in the Macaroon shop, upon realizing that I spoke both French and English, asked me the names of several of her flavors in English. It was fun, especially since I knew what they all were.
On the way to Paris an afternoon detour in Dijon seemed in order so we stopped to sample three kinds of traditional mustard straight from the tap. I found a cute little hole in the wall with one lunch option on the black board, which turned out to be Roast Duck with Green Olives next to a Tossed Green Salad. It was yummy! Next stop was the Fromagerie to assemble a formidable cheese plate for later sampling. The cheese monger was not welcoming in the least and after motioning not to touch his cheese he wrapped up the first wedge I'd selected and made as if I was to pay and leave. Not to be deterred from obtaining the rest of my cheese I began to speak to him in French and suddenly he was a little warmer. I must have ordered a tiny bit of at least seven cheeses and by the time he sliced off that last chuck of Comté he was chatting amicably with me and even walked me to the door. I think the real turning point in our relationship though was when I asked for his suggestion on a nice local goat cheese, and not only that, but the oldest and the strongest. Oh the snobby French, how they melt like a six-month old Brie when you know how to talk to 'em.
In Paris it was off the Musée d'Orsay first thing in the morning, which I've been eager to visit for years. It was just as worth the trip as I'd hoped and I cherished several hours in the presence of perhaps hundreds of painting by Monet, Pissarro, Cezanne, Manet, Van Gogh, and Renoir, just to name a very few. I do not think it will be the last time I darken the doors of Paris' old Train Station turned Impressionist Museum. In the evening I visited the Pantheon as the doors were closing with just enough time to pay my respects to Rousseau, Voltaire, Braille, Hugo, Dumas, and for me the most moving, the tomb of Marie Curie. I have admired Madam Curie as a woman and a scientist since I was a kid and it surprised me a little how emotional it was to stand next to her tomb in the crypt of the Greatest Men of France, the only women to have even been granted such an honor. Sunday morning I snuck into the Notre Dame as they were preparing for Sunday Mass while the sun was still rising over a sleepy Paris. It was the day of Epiphany, the day the Three Kings noticed the Star in the heavens, but more importantly for me, the day that the French traditionally eat piping hot galettes from the boulangerie. I more than happily partook in this traditional as I walked down the Seine for my first true visit to the Eiffel Tour. Unimpressed, I hopped on the metro and hurried for a quick visit to the Paris Picasso Museum before my train left. I just so happened to arrive for the last day of their exhibition of Picasso's Cubist Period; drawing works from around the world on loan for one of the most impressive art collections I've even seen. It was breath taking; I simply love Picasso. Then it was a quick jump back onto the train headed for home. A vacation from vacation much needed.
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