leahlarkin

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Seasons greetings to friends and talesandtravel followers. We will celebrate quietly in our new home, an apartment in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin on France’s Cote d’Azur where it does not seem very Christmasy. That is OK. We do not miss freezing cold temps. However, a bit of snow on those trees would be a welcome holiday touch. At … Continue reading “HAPPY HOLIDAYS”

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA — A Christmas light spectacle viewed from our apartment — year round.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA — Stuttgart, once our home, has a wonderful Christmas market.

At this time of year we do miss German Christmases, the very best. We were fortunate to live and work in Germany for many years and relished the festive atmosphere during the entire Advent season with those captivating Christmas markets.

fullsizeoutput_d6b — Monaco Christmas market is lacking.

It seems Christmas markets have become popular the world over. Unfortunately we have found most are but pathetic imitations of those German markets with Gluhwein, the aromas of cinnamon and cloves and grilled sausages, glittering glass baubles, twinkling lights, tasteful décor, Christmas carols. There is a delightful spirit, a childlike wonder, that imbues German holiday markets.

fullsizeoutput_d77 — Tribute to New Orleans at Monaco Christmas market: Mississippi river boat.

Last week we decided to investigate the Christmas market in Monaco, just next door to Roquebrune-Cap-Martin. I had heard the theme was New Orleans. A Creole beauty who hailed from New Orleans, Princess Alice, was not the only American princess who made her mark in Monaco, I learned. Alice lived in Monaco in the late 19^thcentury and is credited with developing the principality as a cultural hotspot.

fullsizeoutput_d6d — New Orleans fish and chips? How about Jambalaya?

Interesting, and certainly upscale Monaco would have a sensational Christmas market… Sadly, it did not. There were a few stands selling gift items, some rides for kids, and food, lots of food, everything from Hungarian and Dutch specials to French favorites such as cassoulet and escargots. No Creole cuisine. Not much festive ambience. A skating rink did add a wintry touch. fullsizeoutput_d76

For another pre-holiday activity we joined the British Association of Menton, a city straddling the Italian border on the other side of our town, Roquebrune-Cap-Martin. Menton is known for lush gardens where exotic plants flourish thanks to its subtropical microclimate. The garden at Val Rahmeh which we toured is one of many tucked away on terraced hillsides above the Mediterranean.

A retired gardener led us through the shady lanes past fountains, ponds, dense foliage and colorful blossoms. He told us about Miss Maybud Campbell, a rich, eccentric English woman who was the last private owner. A woman after my heart– Maybud had 14 cats. The gardens are now owned by the French Museum of Natural History.

Since this was a British activity, we ended the tour with mulled wine, mince pies and Christmas carols. At last, genuine Christmas spirit.

I have been neglecting recipes. I will add one soon, and a post about finding sun on the beach in Egypt. Don’t miss out. If not a talesandtravel follower, sign up, upper right. Your email address is not shared. It is safe. Trust me.

fullsizeoutput_d9c — Merry Christmas to all!

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Au Revoir Reillanne

fullsizeoutput_9cd We will miss you. We already miss the silence, the tranquility of our former abode, the captivating view of Luberon hills from our balcony, the sometimes mysterious, ever-fascinating sky, friends and friendly village folk … Life on the Mediterranean coast, where we now live, is so different, but it has many pluses. More about those in a future post.

We were attracted to Reillanne because it is a genuine, old Provencal perched village. It has not been gussied up like those Luberon villages Peter Mayle made famous: — Bonnieux, Lourmarin, Menerbes. Reillanne can be rough around the edges, ruts in some streets, lanes, — especially the Impasse where we lived. Many places could definitely use a fresh coat of paint, No classy boutiques. No fancy restaurants. No locals nor visitors in designer attire. Jeans and tattoos and plenty of funky, folksy charm.

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Reillanne is ancient, with origins dating back to the 6^thcentury. In its early years it was a fortified village with a hilltop chateau and ramparts. The chateau is long gone, but vestiges of an 11^thcentury chapel remain. And, a new (1859) church, St. Denis , which is the town landmark and a favorite photo subject. I must have hundreds of St. Denis shots. Parts of houses in the vieux village (old village), a maze of skinny, serpentine alleys, date to the 11th century.

During the ’60s Reillanne was a hippy enclave. Joan Baez is said to have had a home in Reillanne – or at least vacationed there. Some residents of that era remain, geezers easily recognized by their hairstyles. Some of today’s younger residents are seeking the same alternative lifestyle that attracted their predecessors. They are joined by artists – painters, photographers, ceramicists – who have settled in Reillanne.

Reillanne’s Sunday morning market is a star attraction, and not just for locals. We went faithfully every week to buy from our favorite vendors, to meet friends and share a coffee or glass of wine after shopping.

We can’t look back. But, I can share these photos of some of my Reillanne favorite things.

E%8Tv3yWSGWd40AqzWp23g — Thanks to proprietor Antoine, Cafe du Cours brings a variety of music to Reillanne.

fleurs.2 — My roses. I will not miss all the work and watering but will miss those blossoms.

J2t03FZSRNiNZDwe8OwBog — My guardian angel, my savior, my confidant — neighbor Nicole. She gave advice, cared for the cats and plants and more when we traveled, was there when I needed her. She is a rare treasure, a true friend who will be dearly missed, as well as her adorable and feisty companion, Iros.

e6xdGHXdQPWx5X8qI++m2Q — Friends and extraordinary food — the outstanding cuisine of chef Maarten who recently moved his restaurant, La Pastorale, to Reillanne

ag9nhj+pQG+Pz3nEU6lufw — Welcome to the Chahinian family who will soon reside in our former home.

The quick sale of the house, finding a new home, then emptying a big house loaded with furniture and far too much stuff for a move to a partly furnished apartment, plus packing for the move, engulfed my life . No time nor energy for talesandtravel.com Life is returning to normal. I am happy to post again and hope to do so more regularly. Stay tuned. If not already a Tales and Travel follower, sign up, upper right. Your address is kept private and never shared.

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Alok and Ankita’s Wedding

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They tied the knot in Agra, India, in April. We were invited to the festivities. Indian weddings are legendary, days of interesting, lavish events. This was something not to miss.

Two years ago on a trip to northern India with a German tour group, I met Alok. (see previous posts, Intriguing India and more ) He was our guide – affable, knowledgable and fun. He speaks fluent German, as well as English in addition to his native Hindi. Among the many wedding guests were others from his tours.

We wanted to follow customs, so we sought the advice of friends who had lived and worked in India. They looked over the invitation, a large elaborate card in bright red with gold lettering. Four events. Four different days. Each, we learned, required special attire. I was lucky. My friend Sigrid, a very talented seamstress, had been invited to an Indian wedding in London several years ago. She made two gorgeous outfits, both of a golden fabric that had been purchased in India. Perfect. I could borrow them.

Bob was not so lucky. When we arrived in Delhi, we showed the invitation to the

fullsizeoutput_a7a — Try on at shop, very classy but he never wore the vest.

guide/driver who would take us to Agra. He agreed. Bob needed to go native and wear Indian clothing for the events. We were whisked off to a classy shop where the salesman, after checking the invitation, convinced us Bob needed at least two Indian outfits. He tried to sell us three, but we stopped at two.

To make sure that we committed no grave faux pas, at our hotel in Agra I asked a receptionist to come to our room and check out our wedding wardrobe. She looked over the invitation and announced that my golden outfits were OK, but would not do for the main event, the actual wedding. For that, a genuine sari was de rigeur. Bob’s newly purchased Indian garb would do, but his shoes would not. He needed Indian foot attire, a type of slipper.

Determined to do it right, we set off to the bazaar the next morning. Bob refused to go for the slippers, but he did acquiesce and purchase a type of loafer. I bought a sari, sapphire blue, but later leaned that I should have gone for a brighter color.

The salesman skillfully wrapped the sari, nothing but a long piece of cloth (saris are from five to nine yards long), around me. No way I could ever master this. “Just google it,” he advised.

MnsMZAR6T7SRKKUufsK6gQ — All decked out for the ring ceremony

Festivities kicked off with the ring ceremony. Swathed in golden cloth, and Bob in his dark green sherwani (?), Indian tunic and his new Indian loafers, we set off to a hotel where the event, attended by several hundred guests, was held. As they paraded in, we began to feel very uncomfortable. The men did not wear traditional Indian garb, just basic western street clothes. Most of the women, however, wore colorful saris with their arms festooned in tiers of sparkling bangles.

The groom arrived wearing a business suit, albeit a very smart, stylish one. Bob was not happy, feeling a bit ridiculous in his Indian costume. (I thought he looked cool). I also felt my golden garb was way over the top. So much for the advice of experts!

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As this was a Hindu wedding, no alcohol. There was an assortment of very tasty hors d’oeuvres. Folks mingled around and kept busy with cell phone cameras. There were plenty of photo ops for all, including several professional photographers.

After the bride arrived, bejewelled and clad in a glamorous sari, ceremonies got under way. There were numerous different rituals: certain ones for the groom, others for the bride, and lots more photo ops.

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We started to leave when the rituals ended — oops, not so soon. Guests were lining up in an adjacent room for a buffet. We joined in – delicious.

The following day Alok invited us and others from his tours to his home. We enjoyed chatting with the guests, mostly Germans, and savoring tasty delicacies, some prepared by Alok’s father. Alok had plenty of beer for his German friends.

That night a type of cocktail party and buffet hosted by the groom for his family and friends took place on the rooftop of a hotel/restaurant. Bob wore a sports coat, approved by the hotel receptionist. I ignored her advice and did not wear golden outfit number 2… fortunately. This was not a dressy affair. Not all Hindus are teetotalers, we learned. As this was Alok’s event, beer and Indian whiskey were available.

fullsizeoutput_a4d When it came time for the wedding, two days later, again I requested assistance from a hotel receptionist. No way could I google “sari” and conquer the wrap. Another helpful young woman came to the rescue and dressed me. Bob wore the luscious red tunic (sherwani). He rejected the gorgeous vest and matching pants, but the Indian loafers were on his feet.

The wedding began with the “barat,” a raucous parade from the groom’s house to the party venue.

We first joined others at his home where he was seated at a kitchen table being dressed by his mother and others. They sang as they worked. This time he was in full traditional attire, turban and all.

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The parade was incredible, dancing guests following a “band,” lots of horns and drums. Fireworks along the route added more noise. Traffic had to stop. The groom, seated high up in a horse-drawn carriage under a garland festooned canopy, brought up the rear.

fullsizeoutput_a55 All manner of stands offing a wide range of food ringed the huge, open venue space. The bride and groom sat on a stage at one end. A band played. In addition to numerous photographers, the momentous event was captured by drone cameras.

Guests lined up to offer best wishes to the pair, showering them with rose petals. This went on for several hours, but the real wedding ceremony, more Hindu rituals, took place much later and was attended mainly by close family.

We will long remember Alok and Ankita’s wedding, like no other. And, just in case we get invited to another Indian wedding, our wardrobe is ready.

A Word on Indian Weddings

In India, “When a baby girl is born, the family starts saving for her wedding,” said Sunil Kumar Nair, resident manager of the DoubleTree Hilton in Agra where we stayed. “The bride’s family pays for all. The boy gets everything,” he added.

Average cost: $50,000 to $60,000. That accounts for about 200 guests, but it is not uncommon to have many more, up to 2,000 guests with a corresponding price tag. During our stay, many weddings took place at the hotel, outdoors on the lawn in a football field – sized space.

jCWlpHPGRsiVU+X3%tRkew — Wedding venue at our hotel.

And, many weddings that week in April all over Agra, a popular wedding site with its iconic Taj Mahal considered a symbol of love.

Wedding dates are decided by the Hindu calendar. There are two main wedding seasons, we learned, September to February, and April/May. A priest consults the horoscopes of the couple, the positions of the planets and the stars, and fixes the date. Sunil said one year on February 2, a particularly auspicious day, there were 80,000 weddings in Delhi.

Alok and Ankita’s marriage was arranged, as are about 80 percent of marriages in India. It usually starts with a search in the Sunday Times of India: a full page of “Wanted Grooms” and another of “Wanted Brides.” The ads are divided into categories by caste. India has four main castes, and it is important to marry within one’s caste. Both Alok and Ankita are Brahmins.

When a probable match is found, background info, references etc. , are exchanged. If all looks good, the parents meet. If that goes well, the couple meets with the parents. Alok first met Ankita during a stop at a highway restaurant on one of his tours.

Sunil said traditions are changing, and more and more couples are marrying for love. Yet, the arranged system has its merits. According to one source, the divorce rate in India is the lowest in the world.

After the wedding, we toured spectacular Rajasthan. More in coming posts. Don’t miss out. If not already a Tales and Travel follower, sign up, upper right. Your address is kept private and never shared.

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Fires for the Fete de la Saint Jean.

Oops…so sorry. Previous post published too soon…while still in the making. Below is the real, finished product.

l5w2JUKAQyaLKjNCJ4sbcg The eve of the feast of St. John (June 23) is a time for fires, big bonfires, in parts of France. As the sun set, Reillanne, our town, honored the saint — a day early — but with fierce flames and more. LBROmh6SRPWoyF9MMbDfNw

The fire ritual, observed in many countries, was meant to honor the saint as well as repel witches and evil spirits. In France this Catholic festivity is reminiscent of Midsummer’s pagan rituals with dancing around the fire. es6srtONT8ynwIfyG8WEGA

Before the huge pile of branches went up in flames, school children entertained with song for Tambacounda, a Reillanne association which supports a school in Senegal. And, there was food, chicken mafe, an African speciality, and more music, sounds from Swing Manouche. A good time was had by all. Evil spirits have been driven from Reillanne.

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At last, time for a new recipe. The chicken mafe at the fete reminded me that I have a recipe for this West African favorite . I have not made it for years. Now is the time. Peanuts (or peanut butter) is a key ingredient. Different and delicious. Back up top you will see link to recipe.

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India’s Big Cats

Wow! There he was, lounging high up on the rocks. Magnificent. Gorgeous. Bhamsa, a 3-year-old male leopard. On a previous safari in Africa, then one in Sri Lanka, I had hopes of a leopard sighting. No luck. These cats are secretive, elusive.

PHOTO-2018-05-08-15-58-37 We were in the rugged countryside near Narlai, a rural village in Rajasthan, India. Just us, a guide and the jeep driver. First we bounced around the back country near our hotel, off roads, into fields, through bush, stopping frequently to scour the landscape. A few peacocks. Antelope. Errant cows. Nary a leopard. I was more than disappointed, certain this would be yet another failed mission.

Abruptly the driver turned around, backtracked through the village, on to a major road, racing like police on a chase. Hold on! A sharp turn onto a dirt track through rugged, barren terrain. The chase intensified.

As we approached a range of rocky slopes, the vehicle came to a speedy halt. “There, up there, a leopard.” Leopard? Where? I had a hard time finding him. Those spots and the beige coat blend in with the background. The guide gave me his binoculars. Yes. There he was. Awesome.

fullsizeoutput_9ea We watched Bhamsa, mesmerized. He stared at us. My Olympus lens was not long enough for photos, but the guide took many with his Canon Power Shot and sent them to me on Whats App.

As we marveled at our leopard, out of nowhere appeared a young man with masala tea (an Indian special with spices), sandwiches and cookies. Also awesome.

We learned that eight leopards make their home in this region which is not on the popular Rajasthan tourist trek. Each leopard has his own territory of about 14 kilometers.

fullsizeoutput_9e8 — Life expectancy for leopards is between 15-18 years. They weigh in between 70 -80 kilos, smaller than tigers which can weigh up to 200 kilos.

Bhamsa grew bored watching us, slowly stood up, stretched his long, lean beautiful body and moved on, jumping onto rocks out of our sight.

The excitement, the thrill of viewing wild beasts — be they gorillas, elephants, lions, leopards — in their natural habitat is like no other. I can’t get enough.

India rewarded us – not just with one leopard, but two tigers. We joined a group safari in Ranthambore National Park, a vast wildlife reserve in Rajasthan and home to 68 tigers. This time we were in a jeep with four others, some of whom had been on many tiger safaris and had interesting tales to tell.

On our morning trek we saw the imposing 10th century Ranthambore Fort up on a hillside, as well as the ubiquitous peacocks and antelope. Leopards also make their home in the park, but it is the tigers for which it is known.

After several boring hours, a tiger was spotted. That is, someone spotted a tiger. Again I failed to see it. This feline was sleeping in the brush, well camouflaged. All that was visible was the head. We drove around to another spot for a better view, soon followed by vehicle after vehicle. Word had spread fast.

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We, and at least 12 other vehicles filled with eager eyes, waited and waited. My patience was dwindling. I had seen enough of the tiger’s head. The guide knew best. The tiger would wake up.

It did. He sat up for awhile, taking in the conglomeration of vehicles, perhaps hoping we would disappear. No way. Not concerned, after a bit he headed in our direction, closer and closer. Even my Olympus could handle this. Ranthambore tigers are obviously accustomed to an audience.

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And, not far behind, another stunning tiger. They were brother and sister, 1½ year old cubs, we learned. They paraded by, the female following her brother, remarkably close to the safari jeeps.

Too close for comfort was the tiger which jumped in front of a resident at our lodging, Khem Villas, located in the wilderness on the edge of the park. The gentleman from London decided to take an early morning stroll (5 a.m.) and was standing by the pool when the tiger jumped from a wall. He froze. The tiger went her way. All was well. We later learned that a few days earlier another resident had spotted the tiger drinking at the pond on the property. I was not so lucky, but I was overwhelmed with the footage of the same tiger, a mother with two precious 2-month old cubs dutifully following behind, that had been captured by the hotel motion camera.

According to the staff, the tiger has left the park in search of new territory to protect her babies from a sex-hungry male. The latter are known to kill the cubs of a female if they want to mate. Khem Villas advises residents not to stray from the complex. Barriers are erected at night.

One of our vehicle mates, a young man from Mumbai, knew more about tigers than the guides. He had been all over India on tiger safaris. I was fascinated with the story of Machli,a famous Ranthambore tiger, “the most photographed tiger in the world” who died at the age of 20 in 2016. She had seven liters of cubs and is legendary for killing a huge crocodile. Google her. There are pictures of the crocodile kill, and her funeral.

Our fascinating 11-day tour of Rajasthan was organized by Wild Frontiers. www.wildfrontiers.co.uk

After returning from India about a month ago, we launched into house sale, a big project which has left me no time for blogging. We must downsize and hope to move close to the Med. I have missed blogging and have much more to tell about India, and Egypt, and where we may move. So stay tuned.

It will be sad to leave, but now is the time.

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