Pour les Filles - Hommes Français / For the Girls - French Men

No doubt, there is something quite distinctively unique about French Men. 

Having spent the last few months making my own quietly personal records of these distinguishing characteristics, I feel it is time to share my photographic observations with my female readers, who (probably) will find these images more interesting than their male counterparts. 

I have no judgement to pass, just one brief comment.  

They don't make them like this in Australia.

P.S. I shall be permanently re-locating to France later this year...........

P.P.S. To redress the balance, Folie Monsieur proposes a French Women post in the near future. Watch this space.

Toutes les Dernières Nouvelles - all the latest news

In response to an avalanche of complaints about arty pontification - okay, one complaint truth be told, and you know who you are, Jessica! - and requests for more detail of a 'personal' nature (Jessica again), here is the latest low down on life in the Languedoc.

Kirsty Jean came to visit. A delightful house guest who came close to threatening Sarah's Eat Your Body Weight in Brie world heavy weight title, but fell short on a technicality (she prefers goat's cheese). Our break-neck jaunt around the beauty spots of the Herault took in Séte, Pézenas, Montpellier and, of course, Marseillan, with Pézenas the clear winner for K-J, who had to be restrained from putting down an immediate deposit on an atelier and setting up an on-the-spot textile/ceramics workshop.  Several kilos of impulse purchases having been advance shipped back to Oz, K-J left us for Geneva and the next leg of her Demi Monde tour. Still sadly missed - hurry back Kirsty! 

Next to arrive was the irreplaceable Holly accompanied by Lola, the world's sweetest dog, who impressed my parents beyond belief as she spent six days in our company and DID NOT BARK ONCE. After exhaustive house hunting around the region, we recovered with a memorable session at the feet-eating Fish Spa of Pézenas.  Holly staggered back to Paris loaded up with many purple varietals of daisies from the garden, an art deco mirror and a floor length black fur coat from the fabulous Sunday brocante at Marseillan Plage, plus a greatly enhanced capacity for imbibing vast quantities of Picpoul de Pinet, our local - and very delicious - white wine. Due back in the latter weeks of May to replenish her daisy and Picpoul stocks, we just can't wait to see her again!

The Big Day of the Arrival of Folie Monsieur almost didn't happen as, not only did he have visa problems in Brisbane, once in France he then missed his train South from Paris! He did make it in the end, thanks to friendly French staff at the Gare de Lyon, and we were happily reunited after three months.  At the house, the swimming pool and the guitar (from the brocante!) were warmly received, the vagaries of the French language have been welcomed and the Sarah/Kirsty cheese challenge greeted with serious gusto.  Our trip to Morocco served to emphasise the ease with which exotic and far flung places can be reached from a European base, and, of course, the joy of encountering amazing cultures and expanding travel experiences - something we are both looking forward to embracing in the future!  It took Folie M. a few days to adjust to the pace and surroundings of his potential new home, but the two hour lunch ritual and the long, long sunlit, wine drenched evenings have quickly found a place in his heart.  We continue to explore our surroundings, checking out as many villages, towns, ports and beaches as we can to make sure our final choice is the right choice. 

Our latest house guests, played by The Lovely Katy and Folie M.’s Dad Lee, coincidentally staying at the same time, provided us with endless fun in the sun, cold wine and warm conversation, hilarious bicyle rides though the vineyards and a specially requested visit to Marseillan's  celebrated Chocolatée, made famous by this very blog -or at least I like to think so!  It's all starting to feel very much like home....

المغرب بالنسبة لي - L'impression Marocain

Dust and donkeys. 
Mint tea and the sound of the muezzin. 
Mopeds and market stalls. 
 Stray cats and street traders. 
The smell of woodsmoke, cumin and cigarettes.  Snake charmers and slipper sellers. Fragrant young girls, arms linked, weaving their way through fetid alleyways.
 
Tagine and couscous on every menu. 
Ornate fretwork and fabulous mosaics. 
Carpets, kilims, ottomans and kaftan in colours as rich as the spices lining the stalls in the souk. 
Medieval streetscapes, so convoluted maps can not record their detail. 
Mud huts as dwellings - windowless - yet with satellite dishes clustered on the roof. 
Djellaba, loose fitting and cool, in fine, soft cotton, worn by everyone, perfect for the environment. 

The thick heat of the market place soothed away by the reviving shelter of the Riad. 
A suffocating coach ride then the sea air of Essaouira, taking in the serenity of a seaside city and the sense of calm order in the celebrated Medina - a far cry from the madness of Marrakech.
Sweet, sticky pastries made with pistachio and almond, sesame and caramel, eaten with strong, black coffee.
Smoking a hookah after dinner, reclining on large silk cushions, watching the world go by through ornate wrought iron screens.

Sampling Moroccan wine, unavailable in the fine restaurants on the djemaa el fna, found only by following a local guide through the contorted cobbled streets.

Morocco is perhaps the closest thing to a time machine I'll ever find, a sensory roller-coaster ride through the middle ages to the twenty-first century and back again.  A photo opportunity lurks behind every door and inside every shop, on every bus ride and down any street, the saturated colours and sinuous shapes producing evocative results.  The sounds and smells are trickier to capture, but impossible to forget.  Best of all, for me, is knowing this kingdom of contrasts is a ferry trip or quick flight away and all my memories can be refreshed in a mere hour or two. We'll be back....

Folie Monsieur et le départ pour le Maroc

Speculation has been rife on the streets of Marseillan - Folie Monsieur has arrived, and what will he think of the sleepy port side town I have come to call home?  How will he feel about the lack of surf, the absence of utes and the total disregard around these parts for double garages and colorbond fences? Will endless vineyards make a good substitute for miles of uninterrupted beach and will a case of Heineken for ten bucks go some way to make up for petrol at AUD$2.30 per litre?
All shall be revealled shortly...

One secret weapon-of-mass-persuasion I have up my sleeve is the proximity of this location to some of the most interesting locations available to the intrepid traveller, all for the price of a discount train ticket.  Thus, we are off to Marrakech on Sunday - the kingdom of mint tea, flying carpets, snake charmers and the djemaa el fnaa. A short drive and a quick transfer on the endlessly frustrating, yet unbeatably cheap, Ryan Air, sees one transported from the land of baguettes and boules to the principality of myth, legend and the 'assembly of the dead'.  We are very much looking forward to our trip, latest disruptions notwithstanding.  There is no country I know that assails the sensibilities and seduces the senses quite so instantaneously as Morocco.  From the minute one steps off the boat or plane, the smells, sounds, heat, feel and taste of the place seizes one by the throat and simply does not let go - not until, at least, a good haggle and an agreed transaction has taken place. 

Some of my best (and worst) memories originate from this North African jewel, and I am exhilarated to return.  One of the best things about this trip is that I know it can easily be one of many, a visit as easy to make as a trip from Broadbeach to Coffs Harbour but an exotic and fabulous location far from either of those places, and one which reminds us that the world is a large and complicated place filled with alternative lifestyles, all equally as viable as the other. 

Pas le Mariage Royal mais la Parade de Pâques - not the Royal Wedding but the Easter Parade

Well, dear readers, this is a quickie, born out of several pressing reasons (1) on line time is rather short at the moment due to lots of people chatting - possibly - about the Caspar the Friendly Ghost bridal veil sported by K Middleton for the Event (2) strange goings on in Marrakech (3) the Barca v. Real Madrid second leg. 
Hence, something a little different.  And brief.

My adopted town of Marseillan hosted a rather large and spectacular Easter Parade, held, rather obviously, on Easter Sunday.  Said Easter Parade featured, curiously, polar bears and father christmas, and, less questionably, dwarfs hatching out of eggs and Jonah the Whale swallowing fully clad nubile females. Well, it was Easter and this is a land rich in legend and, er, swans/dwarves/whales???  Holly, my parents and I watched this with much appreciation and a couple of pression.

I should point out that Marseillan is the town responsible for the unsurpassable vermouth Noilly Prat, yes, that's where it is made, so every Martini conoisseur out there will be raising a glass to the sign appearing in the background of several photos - the parade is passing by the factory that makes the perfect martini possible - worldwide!  So, I hope you enjoy this easter parade as much as Holly, Folie M, maman, et papa did, and for those of us not accustomed to such effusive revelry, how lovely to see history , tradition, religion and fun rolled into one sunny, bizarre, music filled day. 

On a final note, how memorable for me to spend such a special day with close and special people in my life, my dear parents and close friend, Holly.

À la recherche du bon café - in search of a good cup of coffee




Latte Australian Style

  Before I even start, apologies to the long suffering Holly who has endured too many rants on this subject and is, without doubt, heartily sick of the whole thing.....

Okay.  I love it here. It is everything I hoped for,  and often more.  Apart from one thing.
The coffee is dreadful.  

I know that, at this point, my French readers (yes, there are, um,  several!) will snort in disgust and immediately delete this blog, or simply shrug and ignore (ça m’est égal).  However, this issue is not something I can ignore, and, for the first time, Folie Madame is having a tantrum. 

Cappuccino Australian Style

There is a certain time in the morning when a cup of coffee is just exactly what is needed. That wonderful aroma, followed by a delicious sip to relish the robust flavours of the bean, the staying power of the crema, the silkiness of the milk.  There could be a sprinkling of chocolate on top of a bouncy cappuccino or a hidden kick delivered by a finely crafted flat white.  A latte goes terribly well with a friande or toastie.  Maybe it's just an espresso and biscotte.  Delicious! 

Not for me, however, as I am living in the land of coffee indifference. It's true. The famous French discretionary palette does not apply itself to coffee.  It seems that pretty much any old thing will do, so long as it is black, served in a cup the size of a thimble, able to be drunk sitting at a café de la chaussée (pavement café), and - most importantly - chatting with friends. Apparently, the French view coffee as a subsidiary to a good seat in a café and its taste is immaterial (je m'en fous).  Coffee with milk is for children at breakfast time.  Wine is to be worshipped. Food is to be savoured. Fashion is to be respected.  Literature is to be admired.  Coffee is a means to an end.

Now, I enjoy a chat with friends in a café as much as the next person, but I don't see why it shouldn't be accompanied by a rocking cup of joe.  And I don't see why one of the most sophisticated cultures in the world wouldn't enjoy that, too.  Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe Starbucks missed something when they opened in Australia, then closed most of their outlets, due to their underestimation of the sophistication of the Australian coffee palatte.  Maybe France would enjoy a fabulous flat white or luscious long black? Maybe I'm barking up the wrong coffee bush.  What do you think, French readers? Do you care naught for my concerns or do you think the time is ripe for a lunatic fringe to introduce to French café society a crazy cup of coffee crafted entirely on taste?  For me, one thing is certain.  Australia should be very proud of its coffee cognoscenti.

Chocolatée - Gay Chocolate Shop Opens in Marseillan!

Shock waves are rippling through the sleepy seaside port of Marseillan, as it finds itself suddenly, possibly, potentially, definitely, maybe Chic....

Spotted late last week, a large and extremely flamboyant chandelier being unloaded from a white van, under the supervision of two fragrant and very well groomed men, accompanied by their fragrant and very well groomed French bulldog.  Said chandelier was then wheeled towards a recently purchased premesis under the throes of opening up for business. 

Having  studiously peered through the darkened windows on more than one occasion, I could see velvet ottomans and mirrored cabinets smouldering at me through the gloomy interior. Clearly some sort of retail outlet was being fitted out, but what could it be?

Not long after, a sign painter began plying his trade on the fascia above this mystery shop.  Gradually, the words "Chocolatée" started to appear. Chocolate!  I was intrigued!  I was interested!  I was hanging around hoping for free samples. 
A day or so later, of the two fragrant gentlemen in charge of the Salon, one was seen walking their eccentric, kerbside rolling, kerchief sporting bulldog along the quayside whilst the other selected to indulge in a carafe of rosé and a spot of afternoon reading in one of our many waterfront cafés - clearly in no rush to open their chocolate shop / salon du thé.

This would never do!  I was keen for the chocolate shop to open! 
Tourists would be keen to drink the thé! 
Marseillan was keen welcome fresh, pink faces to the community! 

I checked at the boules park. I enquired at the Clés du Soleil, real estate agency. I pestered Sylvie at Cap'tifs Coiffeuse. I asked at Le Sporting coffee bar.  Finally, I discovered they knew what was going down in Marseillan at the street wise Spar.  Chocolateé would be opening Wednesday. Watch this space......