Locallized Weirdness

America is different that Europe.  I recently read an article about things that are weird in the US that American may not realize are weird.  Some of these I thought were weird when I lived there, but now that I am living in Europe, yes, I have noticed almost all of these.  Particularly # 4, 10, and 18...

The Christmas Tree and the Bike

Christmas is once again approaching, and for us in the Netherlands, this means one thing:

How am I going to get that Christmas tree home?

There are plenty of lovely Christmas trees that are being sold this time of year.  In the market, in the grocery stores.  In stalls set up on the streets, fresh from local gardeners.  Some are in pots, others are freshly cut.  There are trees made of various forms of shruberry, pruned to cone shapes.  Some are even herbs, such as rosemary, with lights and ornaments hung from their delicate leaves, that can be recycled into food later.

Transporting these varieties home is always an adventure.  I, and many others who live here, don't just have a pick up truck to throw the tree in the back of.  Like everything else we do here, there is one two options for transportation - by bike, or by foot.

My first stop was to a local garden center.  They had lovely trees, all 5-6 feet high or larger.  The Dutch sellsman tried to convince me to buy one.  "I would love one," I said, "but I came here by bike and don't have a car."

"Not a problem," he said, and he began to explain to me how to balance the top of the tree over the handlebars while carrying the base of the tree one handed as I biked home.

I don't know about him - but I'm certainly not that coordinated.

Then there are the potted variety.  Last year, I bought a small potted tree (about 2 feet tall).  It survived until about April, when it decided to spontaneously die and loose all of its needles.  I decided then it was time for it to go in the trash, but there is something particular about the trash bins here.  There aren't communal dumpsters, rather, there are giant underground trash bins which you must access with a pass-card.  At the end of the year, how much your pass-card was used will determine how much you pay for trash that year.  The pass-card opens a small area which is big enough for one normal-ish trash bag.   

It's not big enough for a two foot dead Christmas tree, with pot, it turns out.

I don't have a saw so I couldn't cut the tree apart, so I decided to just shove the entire tree into this small opening.  A half hour later, I finally managed to get the tree into the container, while the container itself had thousands of dried up pine needles, a few dozen small branches, and some of my blood scattered around it.

Not a good idea.

So perhaps a better solution was to get a plant that I would know would survive longer than a couple of months, and wouldn't look weird in my apartment year-round.   One of those shaped ornamental shruberies seemed like a good idea.  I found a very nice one, and decided to just walk it home.  But then I picked it up, and realized that there was no way I could walk home (about a 30 minute walk) holding this massive pot with a tiny little shrubbery coming off the top.

I also played with the idea of getting a cut tree and somehow bungee-cording it to my bike.  The success of this method depended on a critical balance of coordination and skill, something I was sure I didn't have either of.

So finally, I came up with a solution.  I could make my own tree!  I bought several packs of tree-like garland.   These are much easier to carry than a whole tree!

Even still, the garland was quite large, and bungeeing it to my bike caused it to hang off considerably in both directions.  But I made it home without leaving a trail of garland behind me.

Garland - hanging on with bungee-cords, a bike lock, and sheer will!

Turning it into a tree was then quite a project, but an hour later, an old shoebox filled with a can of paint and old appliance manuals (for balance) came together with a mop handle and, of course, the garland itself, to make a lovely tree!

Merry Christmas, y'all!

Crazed Monks, a Mystery Garden, and a Strange Box

Perhaps the most famous of all temples in Japan is the Golden Pavilion.  It was originally built in the 1300s, but burned down recently (in the 1950s) by a novice monk.  But now it's rebuilt, covered in gold leaf, and attracts millions of tourists a year.

Reflecting gold in the pond

As I mentioned before, temples traditionally have a box for offerings near a large rope connected to a bell or gong.  

Nearby was the Ryoan-ji Temple, with a beautiful lake covered in lili pads.

Buddah in the garden.

The highlight of Ryoan-ji Temple is a rock garden, with large stones floating like islands in a sea of raked gravel.  

No matter what your vantage points, you can't see all the stones at once.  (I suppose there is a Zen lesson in this).  However, that doesn't stop the tourists and schoolchildren from trying to count them from various places along the temple walkways.  

A point to whoever can guess how many rocks float in the rock garden sea.

Inside, there are beautifully illustrated sliding screen doors.

The gardens outside are less rocky, and more mossy.

Again, I see a "stone family", this time with aprons.

Two tourists in kimonos.

Next, I walk into the Ninna-ji Temple.

This temple complex was much older, and used to serve as a home for the Imperial Family.  It was then converted into a temple in the 800s.  

In the back garden of the temple, a five-story pagoda peaks out from over the tree-tops.

Sunset over a pagoda.

On my way back to the hotel, I stopped by a 7-11 (yes, they have 7-11s in Japan!) to grab breakfast for the next day.  While there, the happy woman behind the counter brought out two boxes from behind the counter with holes in them.  She motioned and spoke quickly in Japanese about these two strange boxes.  I had no idea what she was saying.  So she mimed to me that I should stick my hand into one of the holes of these boxes.  Huh?  I very slowly put my hand into the box, wincing slightly, half expecting something to bite my hand or to coat my hand in slimy goo.  But I found only tiny slips of paper in the box.  I grabbed one, showed it to the smiling woman, and she gave me a free beer! 

Free Japanese mystery beer from a box!

Being Exotic in an Exotic Land

Japan is not like the United States, and even Europe.  99% of the people there look, well, Japanese.  I have a face that lets me look like a native in most places I've been to (I've been called Italian, Greek, Armenian, French, Turkish, and was even mistaken for a very pale Brazilian).  But there was no way I was to be mistaken for being Japanese.

But being different has its advantages.  One of my conference friends is from Iceland.  His blonde hair attracted crowds of school-age Japanese girls, who turned their heads to say hello, giggling "not" so shyly.  One even asked to be his facebook friend.

I'm different, but not "that" exotic.  I had no such crowd of Japanese school-age girls smiling at me while I traveled alone.  Or boys for that matter.  I guess some types of exotic are more exotic than others.

But as I was telling this story to a third friend, I turn around.  And I am telling the honest-to-goodness truth.  A young Japanese girl, about three years old, is staring at me, her jaw dropping open.

I guess someone out there thinks I'm exotic after all.  :-)

Sea Urchins and Home-made Tofu

Japan was a whole new world, food wise.  One difficulty I did not foresee was even identifying restaurants.  Most didn't have flashy neon signs in front.  There were some words in pretty Japanese characters, a low door to step through, and a quick prayer you didn't step into someone's house.  After a few days, we found the key - restaurants were marked with banners of cloth hanging in front of the door that you had to push aside to enter, and bars were marked with red lanterns.

You know things will get interesting when this is the menu that greets you:

Point to something, and hope for the best

No mom, there were no chimichangas on the menu.

One night we went to a sushi restaurant.  We sat on a table in the ground.  Nearby was the bar, where the sushi chefs wore colorful clothes and headbands.

 

I joined the old and new University of Texas students and postdocs.  Here we order an assortment of sushi.  I tried sea urchin for the first time.  Before I tried sea urchin, I knew the outcome would be bad.  Either:
1. I would like it, and then I would like one of the most expensive things on the menu, - or -
2. I wouldn't like it, and just paid for something disgusting.  

I'll have you guess which one actually happened.

I figured Japan would be the place to try it.  I couldn't bring myself to eat my second piece, so instead I traded it for a piece of eel sushi.  The good part of this story - eel is quite good.

Assorted sushi fun!

Working on chopstick skills.

Near the restaurant was a giant crab.  I take it that it's somewhat of a local landmark.

One of the most interesting food experiences was at the conference banquet.  A small paper crane greets us.

   

The meal started out with an amazingly arranged appetizer course.  Not only was it beautiful, but it was tasty!  Some sashimi is near the bottom, along with tofu, some balls of rice, and pickled something-or-other.

Starting the meal.

As part of the banquet, we were able to make our own tofu.  Here are the instructions:

I asked  myself these questions:
1. What is nigari?
2. What is ponzu?
3. What am I doing?

With the fire lit underneath.

But we figured it out, and ended up making our own tofu.  It ended up being quite interesting - at first it was stringy, and then it firmed up.  With the ponzu sauce, it was nice.

The next course was a clear soup with bamboo shoots.

My favorite course was an onion, covered in a soy sauce with beef.

Then we got sushi! 

Dessert was green tea, plain tofu yogurt and peaches.

And now, for a point:  What kind of sushi did I NOT see in Japan?
a. Salmon
b. Roe
c. Beef
d. Avocado
e. Albacore
f. Egg
g. Oyster
h. Wrapped in a banana leaf
i. Just a big ball of rice

The Dangers of French Dining

So last night, we went out to eat with one of my husband's French friends.  The French language found on menus was one of the first things I learned on coming to France, but last night was different.  We went to a very "French" restaurant, which had things on the menu which a.) were either hard to translate or b.) were fun things that the French eat but that Americans in general do not, ie andouillette or steak tartar.  (If you don't know what either of these are, I would recommend a google search on your part.)

Anyways, something that caught our eye - Ris de veau.  Veal with rice?  Bram's friend confirmed it - he thought it was some sort of risotto with veal and mushrooms.

So we ordered it.

It wasn't risotto.

See, in French, rice is spelled riz.  On the menu, what we ordered was ris.  I thought it was a typo.

It wasn't a typo.

Shortly afterwards, this is what was delivered to our table:

This is not risotto.  I did not know what this is.

My husband's friend looks at it and realizes his mistake.  He didn't know what it is, so googles it on his phone.  He then tells us he will tell us what it is after we eat it.

Uh uh.  I google it myself, but google translate does not help me.  So I start to eat.  But apparently, my stomach does not like the fact it doesn't know what it's eating.  It is decidedly NOT HAPPY. 

I look over at my husband's friend who is whispering to his girlfriend what it is.  He gestures at his ear.  Oh my gosh, I'm eating ear?  No, he assures me, I am not eating ear.

So finally I find out what it is - sweetbread, or rather, the gullet of a calf.  Knowledge did not make my stomach any happier.  The consistency was just too strange for me.  The waitress had a good laugh at our expense when she heard of our mistranslation, and told us that Americans normally don't order that.

Ha ha.

Ironically, if you go to Wikipedia, the entry for sweetbreads shows it on a bed of mushroom risotto:

Reverse Culture Shock - from France to Southern LA

Unless I were to go to India or Africa, I would be hard pressed to find two more different places than France and Southern California.  I suppose nothing makes you feel like you are finally beginning to feel at home somewhere than to visit your own country and have it feel totally alien.  (Given, California is like its own country).  Driving down the 405 highway during rush hour coming from LAX was a horrifying experience, and made me joyous that I wasn't the one driving.  My hotel was on a normal city street, one that happened to have 8 lanes of traffic and a speed limit of 55 miles per hour.  The fact that I didn't have a car seemed to perplex a lot of people (which actually would explain the brown haze I descended into as I landed at the airport), and there wasn't much within walking distance at all.  In fact, when I had to cross said 8 lanes of traffic, the cross/do not cross sign was so far away it looked like a little dot on the horizon.  I worried I wouldn't be able to make it across in the street in the allotted time I had.  So far to go!

So, I got to see only a small fraction of LA.  The beach wasn't that far away, but it seemed horribly out of reach, given that to walk there would probably take a few hours and I would have to cross half a dozen highways, and as far as I know, there is no public transportation where I was in LA.

(I hear there are metro systems in other parts of LA - good for it.   Let's hope that things like that continue to get funded and support through time.)

An Adventure Story - Told Through Food

French food is always somewhat of an adventure.  Here are some of the more exciting ones:

Trying to eat what I am used to - Mexican food.  Here is a "burrito", on a bed of linguine, covered in tomato sauce and speared with a sprig of rosemary.  Even looking at this picture makes my stomach hurt.

In Lyon, I tried some sausage.  It didn't look to appetizing, but it tasted good:

   

My husband on the other hand, ate Andouillette.   While it looks more appetizing, it's actually, *ahem*, tripe sausage.  

In the canteen I was greeted with this sign:

 

Did you catch it?  Read it again.. "Saute de kangourou".  That's right.  I tried kangaroo.  

 

Also, in the butcher in my ordinary grocery store, there are brains, horse meat, right next to skinnless rabbit, displayed complete with head and ears and with a view of his insides.  Picture not included here for obvious reasons.

But, if for no other reason but that my mom will know she will not starve to death when she comes to France, here are some winners:

Here  is my favorite: raclette - high quality melted cheese that you can pour over potatoes and meat.  Yum!  It doesn't get better than that.

In fact, melted cheese is quite popular here.  Here we are eating fondue (and drinking wine!):

 

And some more, of the chocolate variety, complete with fresh fruits and homemade marshmallows:

Nutella is also very big here.  Literally.  For just under 40 euro, you can get a 5 kg jar!  

 We've also tried out making homemade crepes!  Here I am working on my technique. 

And of course, the single best thing about living in France, the desserts!