Postoje svijetovi drugaciji od ovog (There exist worlds different to this one)

That's what the posters and billboards for one of the latest Croatian theatrical productions claim. And every time I see that phrase, it sort of captures my mind's eye and imagination. And I have to say, I agree with it. We don't have to be where we are at any particular moment - we can travel if we let our mind and heart take us places.

Every time I want to exit the place I'm at at the moment, I put some music on. Nothing can trasport me like music. If I feel like going to Austria, I simply put Mozart or Schubert on and I can visualise the ever snow-capped Alps, the winding streets of Vienna's "ring" and "gurtel", the gurgling Danube and Mur Rivers. If I feel like going to Italy, I put on Vivaldi or Paganini and I can see Venice's Canale Grande or Piaza San Marco, the Duomo in Florence, the Fontana di Trevi in Rome. If I feel like going to Spain, I listen to Paco de Lucia and am in the centre of Madrid at 11pm amid a teeming crowd of people the likes of I have never seen.

But at the moment, it seems that both my friend Davor and I are in a "we want to go to France and we want to go now" kind of mood. But then again, when aren't we??? Dreaming of coffee at La Cigale, sitting on a rock at Pointe du Rez, watching the waves at Quiberon, walking through the streets of Dinan, driving from Nantes to Paris listening to Radio Nostalgie, walking through the Luxemburg Gardens. These thoughts constantly go through our minds.

So while on my way to French today, to transport myself to France, at least a bit, I listened to the soundtrack of "Moulin Rouge". And it was bizaare how many of the songs, to me, captured a different aspect of our trip. So I thought I'd share a few of the tracks and the thoughts they provoke in me with you.

Nature Boy
Now, for some strange reason, this song reminds me of Pointe du Rez and Quiberon. I guess the title of the song provokes thoughts of nature in me. I also love the lyrics of the song. I can't be sure, but I get the feeling that Bowie based them on The Little Prince. Will have to look and see about that:

There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he

And then one day
A magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return"

I particularly love the last phrase: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return". I think that's all that the Almighty One, Mother Nature, expects of us - to love her and her love us in return. And I can tell ya, I sure love her Quiberon and Pointe du Rez.

Because we can
This song definitely reminds me of Davor and I entering Paris after having driven from the tranquil and charming Nantes and Chenonceau. It was quite a shock to our systems: the concrete, asphalt, smog, greyness of the city. That, and the complete and utter madness of it all, where the traffic was chock-a-block and we were in a race to get the rent-a-car back on time. So the rhythm and mayhem of this song take me back to that rather low point of our trip.

Sparkling Diamonds
This song conjures up memories of La Cigale - the glitziest, most glamorous cafe I've ever visited and probably ever will visit. This is the kind of place that in its heyday, being across the road to the opera, I imagine girls would get up on tables and start belting out arias, while men would drink champagne out of their shoes. And here were little ol' me and Davor, in this venerated place, having breakfast. I still can't believe it, simply incroyable...

One day I'll fly away
When I close my eyes and listen to this song, I see myself at the top of the Montparnasse Tower. Now, the Montparnasse Tower is one of the ugliest manmade monstrosities I have ever set eyes on. But the view from the top looking over all of Paris - the myriad of lights, the Eiffel Tower sparkling on the hour, the bateaux mouches slowly making their way over the Seine - was, in a word, breathtaking, something I'll never forget. And although this is a bit morbid, but if I were (God forbid!) ever to consider ending it all, I'd have to say that freefalling from the top through the city of lights would be the way to go.

Complainte de la Butte
Although we didn't fit it into our visit, this song brings Montmartre to mind, or should I say, old bohemian Montmartre - with its accordian playing street performers, its narrow, winding streets, where you can feel the melancholy of some of its former residents, like Satie, Edith Piaf, Van Gogh. I'm kinda glad we didn't go there, it's lost a lot of its old spirit and instead of being the centre of bohemia is now a shrine to tourist shops.

I'll leave you with my favourite song from the soundtrack, Nature Boy. Here's hoping Davor and I can listen to it in Pointe du Rez or some other nice place in France sometime soon...

Keep it light

I was talking to my mate Davor today. Nothing heavy, in fact, quite the opposite. We're meeting in the city tomorrow and we were discussing where and when to meet. Quite out of the blue, the words "keep it light" were uttered during the course of our conversation. And when I later stopped and thought about those three little words, it struck me that that's exactly what I have to do - keep it light, that is, my life. I've been in what some might call a broody existential mood lately, questioning the universe, life, love, death, self vs I and whatnot. So I thought I might make today's post, and my life, a bit "lighter" if you will. Here's a song my mate Ross and I have discussed in a couple of posts, a song I've been meaning to post in a while but other more urgent issues had precedence - Caramel by Suzanne Vega.

There are so many reasons that I just adore this song. First and foremost is the tres francais ambiance it exhudes. You can picture the dimly lit cafe somewhere on Paris'Left Bank, filled with the scent of cigarettes, red wine and perhaps creme brulee, French being talked in the background, Suzanne in a LBD in the foreground on a miniscule stage with nothing for company but a piano and her voice.

Which brings me to reason number two why I love this song so much - is there anything more French than comparing one's love of food with one's love for a lover? Nope. And that's sometimes how I feel about love - just like I feel about food. Should I give in or should I hold back? Should I take that one forbidden bite that is a moment of bliss on the lips but an eternity of pain on the heart? I have to say that, despite the drawbacks, I more often than not give in to temptation, unlike Ms. Vega. I mean, hey, life's too short, ain't it? Enjoy it (and the caramel!) while it lasts.

It won't do
to dream of caramel,
to think of cinnamon
and long for you.

It won't do
to stir a deep desire,
to fan a hidden fire
that can never burn true.

I know your name,
I know your skin,
I know the way
these things begin;

But I don't know
how I would live with myself,
what I'd forgive of myself
if you don't go.

So goodbye,
sweet appetite,
no single bite
could satisfy...

I know your name,
I know your skin,
I know the way
these things begin;

But I don't know
what I would give of myself,
how I would live with myself
if you don't go.

It won't do
to dream of caramel,
to think of cinnamon
and long
for you.

And here's the video clip, another reason why I love the song so much. It's precisely the kind of video clip that soppy romantic me would like to make - with "An Affair to Remember", "From Here to Eternity", "To Have and to Have Not" and all the rest of those timeless Hollywood films in the background. Just divine...

This is for that certain someone for whom it won't do to stir a deep desire, to fan a hidden fire that can never burn true...

Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner (Lord Byron)

My husband tells me quite often that I have too much time on my hands - too much time to think about silly things! One silly thing that I thought about recently was - which meal would I request on my death bed? There's sooo much good food out there, what would I like to be the last taste to transport me from this world to the next? And I would have to answer moules frites (or steamed mussels with chips) - followed by some cheese and, of course, some chocolate for desert! Nothing gets my taste buds going more than moules frites.

I'll never forget the first time I had them. It was about 4 or 5 years ago and the company I work for was going through a re-branding process. There was a whole plethora of things to re-brand, from office stationary to brochures to the web to shops to name tags. You name it, it had to be re-branded - and there was looooots. One of the items that I was responsible for re-branding was boxes. So we asked our purchasing department to put out a tender and together with them would choose the best bidder. We chose a bidder from Rovinj, a lovely picturesque town on the Istrian coast of Croatia. I was to go there with our advertising agency in order to overlook the printing process and approve the first print-outs. There were over a dozen boxes to be printed and each one had to be approved. Now, if you know what the printing process consists of, you would know that this was going to be a very long day and night. We ended up working from 12pm until 7 am the next day, without a wink of sleep and only a break for dinner. As it was my first time in town I asked the guys from the printing house to choose something for me for dinner. I was too bloody tired to choose anything anyway! Well, we went for a walk to a nearby konoba (the simple explanation for konoba would be restaurant but the proper meaning is much more complicated than that. Croatians even write songs about their favourite konoba, they're sacred places!) and they chose moules frites. Now, I'd never had shellfish before, was always a bit too chicken to try it out really, and the first thought that went through my head was "They don't expect me to eat this, do they???" They did, and I didn't want to be a bad guest by refusing. Let's just say that after that first timid taste I was hooked for life and never looked back.

Maybe my husband is right - maybe I do have too much time on my hands to think about silly things! But when I think of moues frites, it reminds of lots of lovely times I've had. Like when I had some with my dearest friend Maro in a lovely French restaurant in Sydney (I think the restaurant was called "Sel et Poivre" - correct me if I'm wrong Maro!) or when Ivan and I went to Paris a few years back and had some at a little brasserie just off Notre Dame (where the waiter was soooo horribly rude) or when Davor and I had some in Saint Malo (totally disappointed with the city but the moules frites knocked our socks off allright!) Think it was one of, if not the, best meal we had on our recent trip.

So requesting moules frites as my last supper is more than a final, worldly taste experience, rather, a remembrance of wonderful times had with lots of very special people.

If you feel like giving it a whirl at home, it ain't hard at all to make. And tastes absolutely scrumdidiliumpcious (in the words of Willy Wonka!)

Moules frites (serves 4 - depends on your appetite!)

2 kg mussels - cleaned, scrubbed, beards removed
50g butter
1 large onion - thinly sliced
1 clove garlic - thinly sliced
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 glasses white wine
Salt, pepper
A bit of chopped parsley

Melt the butter in a large, heavy bottomed pot with a tight fitting lid. Add the onion and garlic and fry until translucent. Add the wine, herbs, salt and pepper and bring to the boil. Add the mussels, put the lid on and "steam" for 5 - 7 minutes.

In the meantime, make the chips (if you don't feel like eating or making chips, bread's a good way to go too!).

Place the mussels and liquid in large bowls (discard any mussels that haven't opened), sprinkle over the parsley and serve with chips or bread on the side for dipping into the liquid.

Here are a couple of photos of Saint Malo. I say we were a bit disappointed with it but it was only because it was almost completely devoid of life (i.e., people!). Looking back, I wouldn't mind going there again, but maybe when the weather's a bit nicer and during the day when there's a bit more hustle and bustle...

Breakfast in bed

I have to say that I think that breakfasts in bed are highly overrated. Well, this is coming from a person who has never had a real proper breakfast in bed - you know, with a nice cuppa, some jam, butter and toast, a rose in a vase, all brought to you on a lovely tray by a special someone. The only breakfast I've ever had in bed was in hospital so I don't really delight at the idea at all!

But the best breakfast I've ever had in my life so far took place last Sunday, just before Davor and I left Bretagne for Paris. Just for me, Davor did a large U-y (that's u-turn to people not from Oz :) and took us to Nantes. Nantes is a lovely city (not that we saw much of it) but the reason he took me there was because of a brasserie called La Cigale. Many might be thinking that doing a 100 or so kilometre u-y is nuts but once you've seen La Cigale, you'll know that it is not such a nutty idea after all. Because as Jean-Louis Trintagnant put it, Brasserie La Cigale is "perhaps the most beautiful brasserie in the world". I would correct him and say IT IS the most beautiful brasserie in the world!

The brasserie was named after the fable "The Ant and the Grasshopper", as La Cigale means grasshopper in English. If you don't know the story, it goes like this:

In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An Ant walked by, grunting as he carried a plump kernel of corn.

"Where are you off to with that heavy thing?" asked the Grasshopper.

Without stopping, the Ant replied, "To our ant hill. This is the third kernel I've delivered today."

"Why not come and sing with me," said the Grasshopper, "instead of working so hard?"

"I am helping to store food for the winter," said the Ant, "and think you should do the same."

"Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; "we have plenty of food right now."

But the Ant went on its way and continued its work.

The weather soon turned cold. All the food lying in the field was covered with a thick white blanket of snow that even the grasshopper could not dig through. Soon the Grasshopper found itself dying of hunger.

He staggered to the ants' hill and saw them handing out corn from the stores they had collected in the summer.
Then the Grasshopper knew:

It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.

Neat story, a bit of a sign of the times, don't ya think...? The French say it was written by La Fontaine but it was originally written by Aesop...that's the French for ya...in any case, if there was ever a palace of pleasure for us lazy two-legged grasshoppers, La Cigale is it.

It was built on April 1st, 1895 in Art Nouveau style by the Nantes architect-ceramist Emile Libaudiere (you can tell the guy was a ceramist because the walls are full of a myriad of tiles, each one different and more colourful than the rest). The brasserie quickly became a haunt to the bourgeois of Nantes, who liked to rub shoulders with the pretty actresses and dancers of the nearby theatre, and was also a favourite brasserie of the French surrealists, notably Andre Breton. It was classed a National Monument in 1964 and was featured as the backdrop in a number of films. However, it fell into oblivion until 1982 when it was completely renovated and is now on every tourist map for visitors to Nantes. My pictures don't do it justice so watch out for Davor's ones when he uploads them on his site (http://www.cromagnon.blogerhr/). Here are a couple just to give you an idea of what I'm talking about:

Many will say when they read this that the breakfast we had was nothing special - copious, but not special - a croissant, a pain au chocolat, a brioche, some toast, 3 types of jams (including a creme de caramel au beurre sale and some organic apple jam), a glass of OJ and a chocolat chaud. But oooh, the chocolat chaud was made with Valrhona chocolate (my absolute favourite...I can still taste it now!) and the creme de caramel was to DIE FOR. It was all just magnifique. And eating breakfast in those kinds of surroundings was just surreal.

If you feel like trying some creme de caramel au beurre sale, it's dead easy to make, you just need a bit of patience (important when it comes to making caramel) and time. But believe me, it's time well spent. And when the house starts smelling of the most delicious caramel, let me know if you can stop at eating just one jar at a time...one lady commented to this recipe, "je ne veux pas savoir combien de calories il y a pour une cuillère" or I don't wanna know how many calories are in one spoon. I totally agree with her - I'd rather not know!!!

For one 250 ml jar:

240g sugar

80 ml water

100g salted or demi-salted butter

150 ml milk

Over a low heat, melt the sugar with the water. Add the butter once the sugar has melted. Boil until it turns a light brown/caramel colour. Take of the heat and add the cold milk. Stir the mixture until it becomes smooth. Bring to the boil again and cook for another 10 or so minutes until it becomes a honey consistency. Put into a jar and let cool.

If you want a creme de caramel au beurre sale au chocolat (or in other words, A TOTAL SUGAR BOMB!), add 100g of chocolate to the caramel after having added the milk.

Bon appetit and, like I've already said, enjoy a little something everyday,

The Knitting Songbird

PS Thanks again for brekkie Davor :)

A bon appetit il ne faut point de sauce (a good appetite doesn't need sauce)

Now, anyone who's a serious foodie knows that French cuisine is the greatest in the world. And who am I to disagree with them? But I'd never really experienced true French cuisine up to now. Yeah, I've been to Paris before and some of the food I had was truly exquisite (creme brulee in particular!). And I like to cook the occasional French specialty. But Paris and my kitchen ain't France. If you want to really experience the country, you gotta get out of the city and go to the sticks. And that's exactly what Davor and I did.

So after an exhausting day and night of travelling (we left Zagreb at 5am and arrived at our first hotel at 2 am the next day. It was almost as if we had travelled to Australia!), we hopped to it and went to Dinon, Bretagne. Dinon is a charming place, one of my favourites on our trip, and we had a lovely time there, walking around, taking photos, breathing in the atmosphere. But as the day went on, we began to get the munchies. So we went to the nearest restaurant that had a spare table (we had to go to at least three before we found an empty one!). Now, Bretagne is not only home to the most marvellous seafood in the world but also to crepes. So while Davor ordered a seafood salad, I ordered a crepe with, what else, but cheese. And man, was it good!

But the best part (for me anyway!) was dessert. You all know I have a very sweet tooth and love my chocolate. But there's a whole plethora of sweets that I love, and I would have to say that macarons are in the top 5 (my friend Davor will never understand why...). I felt like a schoolkid in a candy store when I saw that myriad of colours staring at me from the pattisserie - white, cream, brown, pink, purple, red, blue. How could I choose??? So I did the typical Mary thing and had a chocolate one and a raspberry one. Mmm, my mouth is watering at the thought of them...

Like I said, Dinon was one of my favourite places that we visited in Bretagne. Here are some snapshots to show you why. Hope you enjoy them:

The country of 246 varieties of cheese

Well, that's how Charles de Gaulle described France, but the number of cheeses has since then grown to over 1000, imagine that...but that's another story...and another post...

Believe it or not but next week I'll be, God willing, on my way to France. It still seems like a dream for me which will hopefully come true when I sit on the plane and land in the City of Lights. A dream because I constantly fantasise about France and all things French.

I've been thinking lately about how it all began, this obsession with France and French. Like most things in life, it sort of began, as we say in Croatian, bez veze or for very little reason at all. I was in Year 10, and I had to choose a subject to 'fill in' my curriculum. So I chose French. I think it was because I really liked the teacher. She had taught me English for a couple of years and was really quite hip for a 60-odd year old. She told the best anecdotes ever and had a knack for making English and any subject she taught seem alive (she was a director in a theatre at one stage and I'll never forget her anecdote about Shakespeare and "an union". Well, in old English, they used to say "an union" which, when you think about it, is more correct than "a union". But because this is not the case nowadays, the actors would constantly make the faux pas of saying "an onion". It's really quite easy to make Shakespeare accessible to a hormone-ridden teenager when you think about it :). It was a year after I had lost my dad and she was just the kind of teacher I needed - someone to inspire me and make me feel alive after feeling a bit dead for a while.

So, I studied French for a year and started to think about the HSC (Years 11 and 12). And I thought, well, I did pretty well at French this year, why not go for it? So I did. Then I started thinking about uni.

I knew I wanted to study music, that was the do all and end all for me, but in Australia you have to study 4 subjects during your first year, 3 in your next and 2 in your last for your Bachelor of Arts. Or at least some combination of that. So I thought about a double major in music and theatre studies, they seemed to complement eachother and I could work in opera or musicals. I also chose to study French and Russian in my first year. Well, I was a total and utter flop at theatre studies, had absolutely no talent whatsover for acting, was just horrible at it and was now at an odds as to what to do. I had a bit of a background in French, none at all in Russian, so I again went for the French. And that's how I completed a double major in Music and French.

Since then my fascination with France and all things French has grown from strength to strength. I've visited Paris 4 times now and started going to the Alliance Francaise 6 years ago for French lessons. And I recently discovered where this fascination may stem from. It might not be so 'bez veze' after all. You see, my father's side of the family, the Crnkovics, were Croatian nobility through marriage to the Frankopan family during the 17th century. At one stage, a member of the family, Ivan Crnkovic, moved to France under the name of Jean de Noir (Crn in Croatian means black or in French noir). Unfortunately, most of the family were killed during the French revolution and existing members fled to Italy under the guise of - wait for it - de Niro (could Robert be a long lost cousin???). One member returned to France when Napolean came to power but died in the Russian campaign. His wife then moved to Croatia.

I have to say that when I read this on Wikipedia, I was pretty bloody spooked. I had gone to Catholic schools all my life so I believed in eternal life - eternal heaven and eternal damnation. But suddenly I thought, could eternal life mean something else? Could eternal life mean something other than a place up in the clouds or a fire infested hole, rather, the soul passing from one generation to the next, from one family member to the next one? Why are we so drawn to the people, things, music, books, etc. that we are? Could these all be from the past lives we have led? We'll probably never have the answers to those questions but it sure does make for interesting thinking and pondering...

'Til next time take care,
The Knitting Songbird

PS I have to admit that thinking about eternal life and what it's all about has not shaken my faith in God and Jesus Christ. However, I have to admit, it does sadden me to see where Christianity has gone to since that humble Man from Nazareth, born in a stable, was on this earth among us. Many of us have since forgotten to "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." But I still have hope for humanity and think that we will all come to realise what is really important in this life, that l'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.