Lost in Provence

I think this was my favorite of this year's Staycation days. We went to Porquerolles, which is an island just off the coast of France, near Hyères. The island is small, just 7km by 3km, and is a protected nature reserve. There are no hotels on the island (though there are houses available to rent) and no cars are allowed. Visitors and inhabitants get around by bike or boat, which are available for rent everywhere on the port.

The only restaurants on the island are along the port, with the exception of one on the Plage d'Argent (silver beach). We had lunch there and both ordered the sea bass in creamy sorrel sauce with sautéed potatoes and onions. Yum! It went well with the fruity cocktail and cold white wine we had with it. We intended to stop back later for some ice cream, but once we got to the beach, we couldn't tear ourselves away again.

Of the three beaches on Porquerolles, it turns out that we chose the most crowded one (it was closer to the port). Plage d'Argent's geographical location on the island also means that the sea grass offshore washes up here, which we were told doesn't happen on the other beaches. If we had it to do over again, we'd bike to one of the farther ones and either eat lunch at a restaurant on the port or pack a picnic. But it was still beautiful there, with the water that magical blend of blues that makes it look as if the Mediterranean is full of sapphires and aquamarines instead of water, and the trees along the shore leaning toward it as if to get a better look.

We returned our bikes and took the six o'clock boat back to the mainland. Then we drove the two hours back home. It was a lot of travel for one day, but what a day! The sea, the sun, the ride on the boat... And we haven't been biking in years! If you're ever in the South of France, don't miss Porquerolles.

On Saturday we drove Johann's grandparents to visit an old friend of theirs. Jacqueline (Jackie) Talouarn and Marco (Johann's grandfather) knew each other during the war. She was married to Jean LeGalleu, who was the head of Marco's resistance group in Paris. Just one month after they were married, Jean LeGalleu was denounced by a fellow Frenchman and sentenced to five years in prison. He spent nearly three years in a prison in France before being sent to the concentration camp in Mauthausen, one of only two "Grade III camps, which meant they were intended to be the toughest camps for the 'Incorrigible Political Enemies of the Reich.' Unlike many other concentration camps, intended for all categories of prisoners, Mauthausen was mostly used for extermination through labor of the intelligentsia." There he was used as a medical guinea pig and injected with various serums as part of Nazi experiments. He spent one year in Mauthausen and was one of the few to go home again after the liberation, but his brutal treatment at the hands of the Nazis had broken him. When he returned to Paris, the flesh was falling off of his body and he had a grapefruit-sized hole above his hip. He never recovered his health. He died on Christmas day, two years after his release.

Jackie, in the meantime, had been arrested herself, two years after her husband was arrested. She had been hiding members of the resistance in her house and was sent to a French prison also. Her luck was bad. Just after D-Day, the Nazis cleared out the prison in France and Jackie was sent to the Ravensbruck concentration camp. The trip took four days, with the prisoners wedged into cattle cars. After arrival, the women were stripped and told to line up for a medical exam. An older woman in line with Jackie couldn't bring herself to disrobe and was sobbing. "Just do it, and don't let them see you cry," Jackie said. But the woman didn't listen and was brutally beaten.

After the medical exam, they were told to line up for showers. Even in prison back in Paris, word had gotten back about what the "showers" in the concentration camps were really for. Jackie thought she was going to die and has never felt such a sense of relief as she did that day when the water came on. Ravensbruck was notoriously brutal and exterminated 130,000 women between 1939 and 1945. Jackie is one of only 40,000 to survive it. When the American troops finally made their way into Germany and liberated her camp, it was May 5, 1945, nearly a year after D-Day. She was 24 years old. She weighed 81 pounds. She and her fellow prisoners had been digging a large hole, which they were all sure they would be shot and thrown into when they were finished with it.

Jackie didn't cry when she told us her story. In fact, her voice didn't betray much emotion, even when she took out her concentration camp uniform to show it to us. She has told the story many times, as she speaks at schools around France to help educate next generations about the horrors of racism and anti-semitism, in the hopes that such a thing will never happen again. What an inspiration it was to meet such a heroic woman.

 

I'm so far behind! Day four of our Staycation was last Tuesday, and while there's not a lot to report from it, we still really enjoyed ourselves. In the morning we went kayaking on the Durance, which was deliciously cool and refreshing in this hot August weather. We ate a simple lunch of tomato, basil and cucumber salad from the garden, then made a trip to the grocery store for that evening's provisions. We hosted a little family barbecue in honor of Momo and Elodie, Johann's cousins visiting from the Champagne region.

The dinner started with Champagne (of course) and a trayful of snacks, which we enjoyed out on our new(ish) terrace. Then we moved to the table, where we had a starter of salad with smoked salmon, followed by Liz's special recipe for apricot glazed chicken (a hit!), garden zucchini au gratin and taboulé with cucumber and tomato. Our guests brought a pear cake for dessert. This may not have been the most photogenic of our Staycation days, but it was a lovely time all the same. 

Day three of this August's Staycation found us in Châteauneuf du Pape. Sound familiar? It's more than just fancy wine, it's a whole REGION of fancy wine. We set the GPS for the general area and when we got close, we just drove in the direction of the prettiest castle around. I love doing this, driving somewhere without a specific plan or itinerary in mind. France has yet to disappoint, with lovely surprises no matter where we go.

And true to form, the castle we selected turned out to be a good choice. This particular château houses a wine-tasting bar and a fancy hotel and restaurant with a pool and terrace featuring spectacular views on all sides. We bought a beautiful red wine, which isn't hard to do in this region, and a gorgeous white. White Châteauneuf du Pape is hard to come by, and the bottle we tasted instantly became my new favorite white wine. Sadly (for you), they don't export this wine, so if you'd like to sample some of the divine Domaine Patrice Magni, you'll just have to come visit us.

Châteauneuf du Pape is a region known for its excessive beauty and the quality of its wine, which is achieved with the help of the rocky landscape. The grapevines grow amidst layers of quartz stones that cover the soil. The heat generated by the sunlight on these stones affects the taste of the grapes. "Châteauneuf du Pape" literally translates as "new castle of the Pope" and the history of wine and the Vatican has been intertwined for centuries (read more).

On our tasting route we passed a sign pointing in the direction of the Domaine du Vatican, which Johann assured me was not really associated with the Vatican in any way. Still, even for a non-believer like me, naming your wine "Domaine du Vatican" seemed a little... Blasphemous. At the very least, it smacked of trademark infringement. I was glad I didn't have to write their product brochures.

"The 2008 vintage of Christ's blood has spectacular topnotes of blackcurrant!" "Domaine du Vatican, it's sin-sational!" "Buy this wine. He will know if you don't. And you'll go directly to hell." "Free holy grail fridge magnet with every two-case purchase!" "Our wines are second to nun!" Actually, that brochure practically writes itself. Maybe I'll call and offer my services.

We wandered the village of Châteauneuf du Pape and learned that we had just missed the annual wine festival, which was due to start the following weekend. To be honest, though, having a wine festival in a village that is pretty much wall-to-wall wine tasting bars with a couple of cafés and bakeries thrown in seemed a little redundant. The whole place is a wine-tasting festival! Only the very laziest sort of customer would need the free wine-tasting bar moved ten feet forward for his convenience. I'm sorry. I'd love some free wine, but I just don't see how I can be expected to take those extra six steps to your bar. You're gonna have to put it out on the sidewalk for me.

You know, put that way, it does sound kind of tempting...

More pictures of our day in Châteauneuf du Pape are at right, under "Photos."

 

 

Day two of our staycation started with a bang. Literally. We were woken at 7.00 a.m. by a thunderstorm so loud and violent that I reverted to my six-year-old self, pulling the covers over my head and reminding myself again and again, "The thunder can't hurt you, the thunder can't hurt you." I have never in my life experienced such violent storms as I have since I moved here.

There was one bolt of lightning that lit up our room, even with the shutters closed, and whose impact could be felt throughout the whole house, making the windows shake in their frames. It was so close that we ran to the window to open the shutters and check for damages, expecting a smoking crater where our garden used to be. The garden was intact, though underwater. It was pouring sheets of rain, which, sadly, you can't really get the full effect of in these pictures, though you can see how soaked the property was. It knocked our power out all morning, and by the time it came back on, it was time to leave for lunch.

Lunch was in La Tour d'Aigues at the home of Johann's best friend's parents. Yannick and Laetitia were visiting from Lille and had very kindly invited us to join them, along with Yannick's mother and stepfather, for lunch. Lunch at their (Loulette and Guy's) house is always a treat. She's a wonderful cook and always goes the extra mile to make sure every detail is absolutely perfect. I don't think I've ever had cheese at their house that wasn't served on a bed of fresh grape leaves that she picked herself.

The menu included cold green vegetable soup, sliced white summer truffles (!) on fougasse (a rich, buttery pastry/bread), sliced melon, wild boar (which Guy had roasted on a spit), ratatouille, cheese and a light dessert of ice cream with thin almond cookies and homemade strawberry sauce. This was all served with Champagne and rosé, until after the meal, when Guy broke out his stock of homemade liqueurs, including one made with apricots we had given them.

He explained the process of making the liqueurs to us. The final step is to cut the mixture with water until its potency isn't lethal. "First you add some water and taste it. If it's still too strong, you add some more water. If it's still to strong, you add some more water. If it's still too strong, well, then you have to start again tomorrow, because by this time you'll need to go to bed." By now, the weather had cleared up considerably and it was sunny and warm. Laetitia and I lounged in chairs near the pool, making plans for a day at the spa later this week, while Johann and Yannick took a dip in the pool. All too soon, it was time for Yannick and Laetitia to leave, as they had a 5:20 train to catch back to Lille.

We then headed for Aix, with the intention of visiting the Musée Granet's Picasso exhibit. Unfortunately, though the museum was open until 7:00 p.m., they stopped selling tickets at 5:30, so we couldn't get in. So we shelved that plan and went to our favorite people-watching café on the Cours Mirabeau. There was lots of action, even for a summer night on Aix's busiest avenue. Along one side of the plane-tree-shaded street a market had been set up, selling lavender, honey, soaps, jewelry, clothing and artwork of all kinds, including a local photographer who sold prints of his pictures of the region. (Scott, those small prints pictured went for €40 each! You need to get over here.)

Then we went to a sushi restaurant whose dining room was fromerly a wine cellar but had been transformed with the help of lots of paper lanterns, cushy grey velvet pillows and candles. The final stop was the Renoir theater, to see Johnny Depp and Marion Cotillard in Public Enemies. Highly recommended.

Again, more pics of day two of our Staycation are at right under "Photos." 

It's that time of year again! You often hear that nobody works in August in Europe. That's because it's true. But instead of taking off one entire week, like last year, Johann is taking two four-day weekends in a row (I know. It's rough to be him, isn't it?). This time, we're using his vacation days to have a holiday in our own backyard, since we had so much fun doing it last year. And believe it or not, after nearly six years here, there's still so much we haven't seen or done!

This morning we got up early and got our chores out of the way. Johann watered the olive grove and ran some errands, while I did laundry and cleaned the house. With that done, we headed out to the garden to pick some fresh vegetables for ourselves and the friends we're having lunch with tomorrow. After feasting on a green salad with garden tomatoes, basil, sliced avocado and smoked turkey, we were off!

We stopped on our way to take some pictures of a nearby sunflower field and then headed to Ansouis to the Musée Extraodinaire (Extraordinary Museum). A collection of a man's lifetime spent recovering fossils, rare fish, coral, sea glass, pearls, driftwood and both harmless and deadly seashells filled every corner of the space, as did sea-themed artwork that was truly enchanting. Adorably quirky ceramic sea creatures of real and imagined natures covered every surface. For the €3.50 entrance fee, it was truly a bargain.

Then we stopped at Ansouis's famous l'Art Glacier. They make homemade ice cream and sorbet right on the premesis and in flavors you'd never expect. Try, for example, chili pepper, thyme, lavender, poppy, black pepper, garlic, rose, tomato, basil, violet and just about every flavor of fruit you can think of. Johann ordered the "Mandarin" sundae, pictured, which was a scoop of lychee, raspberry, mango and calamansi covered in whipped cream and topped with fresh fruit.

They've added something new to the menu that I believe is intended to entice our friend Ed to visit Provence again: "panier de chantilly." That's right. It's an enormous bowl filled with nothing but whipped cream. Avec chantilly, Ed, always "avec." I ordered three scoops and chose the chili pepper, black pepper and lavender. I like to mix things up a little. Also, Johann really wanted the giant sundae but couldn't bear the thought of passing up the opportunity to have a taste of the chili pepper, which is his favorite. We enjoyed our treats on the divine terrace overlooking the Luberon valley. If you are ever in Provence, it's a stop not to be missed. On our way out, Johann said, "I asked inside if many people order the chili pepper ice cream and they said 'no.' I told them if they ever stop making it that I'll come here and burn the place down."

"That seems totally reasonable to me," I replied.

Our next stop was La Tour d'Aigues, a picturesque Provençal village (are there any other kind?) that hosts a summer wine-tasting every year. For €2.50, you get a glass (which you get to keep) and the right to taste as much free wine as you like all night long. I can't believe this is the first time we've gone. The wine stands enclose the giant square in front of the castle and long tables with plenty of benches and chairs are set up underneath the shade of the plane trees. And lest you imagine that the French would let you drink on an empty stomach, there are also vendors selling mussels and fries, grilled kebabs and sausages, paella, daube (a rich beef stew made with red wine sauce) and sandwiches. There was also live music and dancing, which made being at the foot of the spot-lit castle even more magical than it already was.

Day one: Success. Stay tuned for day two! In the meantime, please check out the rest of today's pictures under "Photos," at right.

We learned a lot on our trip to the Champagne region. We got a complete tour of the Devaux facilities and saw Champagne being bottled right before our very eyes. Devaux is the fifth-largest Champagne maker in the world and produces bubbly for lots of big-name brands like Veuve Cliquot, Mumm and Jacquart. In fact, most of the bottles under these major labels are made at Devaux and the grapes that go into them are selected by Johann's cousin, Momo.

First point of interest: There's big money to be made in Champagne. A bottle of Champagne only costs its producer about three euros. But after you slap the brand name onto it and factor in the costs of marketing and distribution, a low-cost bottle will run you about €22. Devaux bottles Champagne under its own label, made from the six hectares of grapevines the company owns, and their prices range from €21.50 to €126. We fell in love with Devaux's "Ultra D," an extra brut that has no added sugar and is about as dry as something that's a liquid could possibly be.

Real Champagne, by definition, has to be produced in France's Champagne region, and only those produced here have the right to use the name "Champagne" on their bottles. That's not to say that fine bubblies aren't made in Italy and California, it just means they're not allowed to use the brand name of the region. Speaking of the region, as you can imagine, land here sells for a pretty penny. A piece of property 100 meters square is worth about a million euros. Unless, of course, you haven't purchased or inherited the right to grow grapes on it. Without that, you have yourself a field of wheat that's worth about €4,000. Beautiful as they were, looking at the wheat fields made me a little sad for their owners as we drove by. So close, and yet, so far.

So, let's say you're off to the store for a bottle of Champagne. What to buy? First, you can narrow your choices down by demi-sec, brut and extra brut. Demi-sec is, in my opinion, undrinkable. It's sickly sweet, and reminiscent of those cheap bottles of Asti Spumante we all drank in high school before we knew any better. The major labels don't dedicate much of their production to demi-sec, and when I asked Momo who drinks it, he said "old people." So unless you are a member of The Greatest Generation or a high schooler with prom right around the corner, skip the demi-sec. You want brut, unless you prefer your drinks very dry and have a little extra money to spend. Then splurge on the extra brut.

But now, how to tell whether it's a good bottle or not? We usually let the price guide us, don't we? Don't fall for that. Champagnes are made from a blend of different grapes, and generally speaking, the more chardonnay grapes in your bottle, the better quality it is. Of course, that's a matter of taste, and you can test where your affinities lie by buying a bottle that's made with 100% pinot gapes and one made with 100% chardonnay and comparing the two. As long as you have the bottle open, here's another way to gague its quality: bubbles. The smaller the bubbles are, the better the Champagne is. To get the best results, drink out of a proper Champagne glass, which comes to a point at the bottom of the glass and provides the best effect for the bubbles, not allowing your glass to go flat before you've finished it.

Finally, no Champagne tutorial would be complete without instructions on how to open the bottle. This is trickier than you might think. The number-one cause of eye injury in France is Champagne corks. (No kidding! I love this country.) After peeling back the foil and twisting off the wire holding the cork in, DO NOT TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THE CORK. The incredible pressure inside each bottle can (and frequently does) cause the cork to fly out without warning and cause considerable damage to anything in its path. (I'm not sure what the number-one cause of dining room chandelier breakage is in France, but I'd be willing to place a wager.) Then, and this is VERY IMPORTANT, tilt the bottle to one side and slowly twist the cork, pulling it out at as leisurely a pace as possible. Pulling the cork out quickly, or with the bottle straight up, will result in the characteristic Champagne geyser you see so often in the movies. And that's a waste of precious bubbly. 

Cheers!  

 

Bonjour from France's Champagne region! The trip started well, with first class seats on the TGV from Marseille to Dijon. The high-speed train moves too fast for photos of the countryside to look like anything but a blur (at least, with my camera), but the scenery included rolling hills of grapevines, fields of sunflowers and vast expanses of golden wheat. (Unfortunately, you'll have to take my word for it that it was beautiful, since I've run into some technical difficulties with the photos and can't get any more trip pictures uploaded. So these ten of Johann enjoying Champagne and one of his cousin Momo will have to suffice for now.)

We picked up our rental car at the train station in Dijon and proceeded on to our hotel in Essoyes, Renoir's hometown. The hotel had three stars and all the perks its web site had promised: king-size bed, Italian shower, heated pool, gourmet restaurant, stunning views of the village below. We were thrilled. We had dinner at the restaurant that night, complete with a bottle of Champagne (what else?) from a vineyard just two towns away. Dinner was so good that we decided to have lunch there the next day (again, with Champagne), after which we took a dip in the pool and then got ready for the wedding, which was being held at 4 p.m. A French wedding consists of five parts:

1. Legal ceremony in the village mayor's office.

2. Religious ceremony at the village church.

3. Vin d'honneur. Can you believe we have already been to two wedding-related events without being offered a drink? Me neither. The vin d'honneur is a pre-reception toast to the happy couple, usually held somewhere within walking distance of the church but usually not the reception hall. Small hors d'oeuvres and drinks are served. Here, naturally, the drinks served were of the bubbly variety and from the groom's own vineyard.

4. Reception, dinner and dancing.

5. Post-wedding Sunday brunch.

Unfortunately, however, I only made it to the first fifth of these events, finding myself incapacitated by food poisoning and spending the next twelve hours being violently ill back at the hotel room (we did not eat at the hotel restaurant again). Johann had a great time, though, and reported that the dinner was spectacular and the Champagne kept flowing all night long. He danced up a storm and ooh-ed and aah-ed with the rest of the wedding guests at the fireworks display put on in the couple's honor (I had a pretty good view of that from the hotel room window).

Once I was feeling better again, we had lost time to make up for. We did the Renoir walk in our village, trekking from site to site to see his studio, the various scenes he painted, the house in which his wife was born and his gravestone. The little village of Essoyes is impossibly picturesque, and you can see how the pastoral beauty would have been inspiring to the famous painter.

 

We also took a tour of the nearby lakes and hiked through the bird sanctuary, stopping to stroll around whichever little village caught our eye or to take pictures of the gorgeous countryside. And lucky for us, Johann's cousin Mohammed (Momo) works for Devaux, France's fifth largest producer of Champagne, and he gave us a free tour and tasting. Surprised you've never heard of Devaux? Don't be. They produce only a small number of bottles under their own label, but if you've ever had Veuve Cliquot, Mumm, Jacquart or any of the other big-name brands, more likely than not, the bottle you had was produced and bottled at Devaux and our cousin Momo was the one responsible for buying the grapes that went into your bubbly. We learned a lot and there's a complete tutorial on Champagne to follow after I get the photo problem sorted out.

Hello from Ireland, where the hills were green and rolling and the beer was brown and flowing! We spent ten glorious days there with our best friends from Chicago, Ed and Cindy, plus his parents and her parents. There were four nights in Dublin, two in Athlone and one each in Bunratty, Kilarney and Kinsale.

We saw a lot for just ten days. St. Patrick's, Dublinia, the Dublin Writers' Museum (guess whose idea that was!) the Guinness brewery, the Jameson distillery, the Cliffs of Moher, All Wee Cave, the beach on the Dingle penninsula, Bunratty Castle, the Bram Stoker tour, the Gravedigger's Pub, The Locke Distillery, Bunratty Castle, Fork Park, Trallee Rose Garden, Conmacnoise and The Burren. And I'm sure I'm forgetting something. 

So, as you can see, Ed kept us on a tight but fun-filled schedule. He's the alpha wolf of this travel pack and always plans where we'll go and what we'll see. And since he has yet to have a bad idea, we'd follow him anywhere. Clever Ed rented a mini-bus with a driver to take us all over the country, avoiding the need to have a designated driver and providing us the opportunity to watch the countryside roll by while drinking beer and playing cards. He tried to incorporate a penalty shot of whiskey into our Euchre game, but it turned out that alcohol just improved my and Cindy's card-playing abilities. Cindy, let's Irish-up our card games from now on.

We heard some traditional Irish music, though it was harder to find than we thought it would be. The first pub advertising authentic Irish music was playing The Eagles. The second, Billy Joel. I can't remember what the music was at the third pub, but it wasn't traditional or Irish, and at this point I would have given them credit if it had been U2. We drank pints in Dublin's oldest pub, Ireland's oldest pub and Ireland's smallest pub. We also drank pints in several pubs that I thought should be nominated for Ireland's hottest pub (the Irish clearly prefer an all-in-one pub/sauna experience), but I don't know if that's a category they track. All and all, before the first weekend was out, the trip had turned into such a pub crawl that Ed Sr. quipped, "So far, we've seen more pubs than sunshine!" Ed Jr. replied, "You sound shocked and disappointed. I'm neither."

Ed's mother, Bunny, tracked down some Irish relatives and we spent a day visiting with them (including the museum her cousin owns and runs!), even getting our whole group invited for tea, which featured homemade scones and an apple pie that Ed didn't stop raving about the whole rest of the trip. We then spent what probably seemed like a greater part of the afternoon than it actually was trying to track down a woman who is supposedly the best friend of one of Bunny's friends in the States. I say "supposedly" because she was reputed to work at the post office in a town that turned out not to have a post office when we got there. Also, her name was Joan Cunningham. Joanie Cunningham? "Who's your friend, mom, the Fonz?" Ed asked. We never found her. Must have been some of that famous blarney we kept hearing about.

Other notable stops included the stunning Bunratty Castle and the sublime Kilarney Lake, which is hands-down the most beautiful place I've ever been in my life. And naturally, we visited the Guinness brewery. The tour is very cleverly arranged, taking you up floor by floor, each one encircling the pint-glass shaped space in the center of the building. The tour ends with a glass-windowed bar on the top floor that features 360 degree views of Dublin, but knowing their customer base, the Guinness people don't make you wait until the seventh floor for a beer. There's a tasting room on the third floor, which is brilliant, because you can only absorb about three floors' worth of information about Guinness before wanting to drink one pretty badly.

Johann installed me at a table in the corner of the tasting room and went to get us some free samples. Then he went back for seconds, but this time on the far left side of the bar. "Are these different than the ones at the other end?" He asked the bartender. "No," she replied. "I better verify that," he said, helping himself to two more glasses. When those were gone, he tried his original source again, but got a strange look as he grabbed two more. I tell you, there's nothing worse than judgmental free-sample bartenders.

We took a tour of the Jameson distillery, too, which I highly recommend. Ed was one of the lucky few chosen to do a taste-test with Jameson vs. Scotch and American whiskey, after which he received a diploma certifying him as a graduate of the Jameson whiskey-tasting school. When we went back to the distillery the second weekend, we enjoyed an evening featuring a four-course dinner and traditional Irish music and dancing. Ed took the tour again. I think he has a master's degree in whiskey tasting now.

There's so much more to say about Ireland, but I'm already packing our suitcases again. We're going to a family wedding in France's Champagne region and will be back next week with more stories and photos. Slainte!

Greetings from the Côte d'Azur, where we spent a wonderful week with my parents. I'm afraid that I don't have a lot to report from this trip. We may have set a new world record for lolling about, but quite frankly, I'm feeling too lazy to submit our achievement to the Guinness book people. That sounds like an awful lot of work. I suppose it's only fitting that the world's laziest people would lack the ambition to claim the fame.

We stayed in the Mercure Thalassotherapie hotel, a gorgeous location on the port with an indoor and outdoor pool, spa, restaurant and private beach. We didn't do much sightseeing, but rather spent our time toes-up in the sea, lounging on the beach, lazing by the pool, lunching in the sun or taking walks along the port (inspiring some serious sailboat envy) to scout out potential restaurants at which to eat dinner. We also did a little shopping, which is always nice, and I even got treated to a massage and facial at the hotel's spa, spoiled thing that I am (my parents are so great).

Johann and I hosted a cocktail hour on our balcony overlooking the sea every night that featured Champagne, snacks and card games brought from home, including "The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Card Game," which my mother won easily, being a devotee of Fox News's nightly "terror" segment. She knows how to handle a vehicle that has come into contact with a downed power line, how to respond to an asthma attack and how to tell if a shark is going to attack you. She's your girl in any kind of emergency.

Johann was better at outdoorsy scenarios, like avalanches, driving through volcanic ash and avoiding being swept out to sea; while my father knew how to detect signs that your hotel room is bugged, how to deal with an angry mob throwing a molotov cocktail into your car and how to avoid offending your hosts when invited to dinner in Zambia, resurfacing my childhood suspicion that the engineer thing is a cover for his real life as an international spy. As for me, I got this one right (pictured, the answer is A) plus the ones about how to hotwire a car and how to take a straight punch to the face. I'm not sure what to make of that, but quite frankly, I'm feeling too relaxed to be very concerned about it. It's just a game, not a Rorschach test, right?

We also played Gin, and it's worth noting that playing Gin while drinking Champagne does funny things to you. When it was my mother's turn to deal, she said, "You know, it's hard to count to five four times in a row." We all laughed like crazy. But then we all admitted that she was dead right. When counting started to get difficult, we knew it was time to stop drinking and go out to dinner.

Anyway, it was wonderful and we all returned to Cadenet feeling fantastic. Well, fantastic aside from the fact that I have the sense that I'm detoxing from all the rich food and cocktails. My body is coming down from all the seafood in creamy sauces and Bandol rosé and it's crashing hard. I wonder if taking a bath in the organic bath salts the spa gave me will help. Mineral water? Tea? Advil? I think I'll call my mother. She'll know.