In a coffee shop earlier this week with a stack of books and a grande something-or-other (OK, grande-half-caff-soy-toffeenut-latte-extra-hot-no-whip) I thought it would be fun to get in touch with my inner bohemian and 'hang out' in a coffee shop for a while, which used to be one of my all time favorite sports.
I did some reading, verb conjugating (like normal people, right?), writing (including the genesis for this blog post, and this - and I see I have a vote! Thank you BKR!). I also noticed these coffee shops aren't as relaxing as I used to think - nor are they quiet. For six weeks since my return to Colorado, I have been doing my own coffee thing in my own kitchen, where I've been perfectly happy. I am also less likely to get looks as I mumble to myself in two languages now and sing along (out of tune) to either Lolliradio Italia or Radio Douce France. It's really a lot like Via di Sesame/Rue de Sesame/Sesame Street - senza/sans/minus Big Bird and Snuffleupagus. [If I decide to study Spanish or Chilean wines abroad next, God help anyone in my immediate circle who are probably fed up with me spouting out Italian or French like I have some kind of language Turrets.]
Coffee Note: I haven't had one of these latte things in almost a year - and now wondering how the hell I ever drank them. In fact, they used to be my addiction. Ironic, being I used to buy my houses with consideration of distance (preferably walking) to coffee shops. I think it's safe to say Io sono finito con/Je suis fini avec/I am finished with ... lattes - after a ten-year habit.
As I sipped my way-too-sweet latte my consciousness was virtually yanked from the book as La Vie en Rose played (loudly) over the coffee shop's (tinny) sound system. Hearing that song, at that moment was the icing on the cake of what had been freakishly serendipitous week. I sat and stared out at the mountains to put the pieces together in my mind (and then quickly on paper). Thusly:
1) At that very moment, I had just turned a page to start examining a short piece of writing extracted from Good Morning, Midnight by Jean Rhys. It was the part of the story where she found herself down-and-out in Paris and was reflecting on her situation, literally, in the mirror and getting no answers. As if on cue, La Vie En Rose, the same song "accordion guy" used to play outside my window in Florence between rounds of Mexican Hat Dance and Elvis medleys, had me somewhat entranced.
Hold me close and hold me fast
This is the spell you cast
This is la vie en rose
2) The night before I had watched La Vie en Rose, a brutal story of Edith Piaf's life, and was still haunted by it that morning. Honestly, had this been some piece of Hollywood fiction - and in English - I'd have turned it off. But out of respect for the agony, physical and otherwise, this woman endured in her life, I kept watching and focused harder on the language. It was like being sucker-punched in the gut again and again (different from the jabs Ms. Stone and I exchange), and so beautifully made; the movie actually let you feel peace when she died. I just wanted it to stop. (Sorry if I ruined the ending if you haven't seen the film.)
And when you speak...angels sing from above
Everyday words seem to turn into love songs
4) Monsieur Depardieu was discovered in my DVR the evening of a Tour de France-themed French wine dinner event at an adorable bistro, complete with a Rose' reception. Let me tell you I'm not a Rose' girl, but will admit the French have changed the way I look at - and appreciate - Rose' wines. I'll go as far as saying it's love. [I will also tell you that Chef Henri was not messing around with his Grillade de Magret de Canard Bigarrade (grilled duck breast served with a citrus sauce).]
Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ça me fait quelque chose.
Got it. This song is about looking at the world through the proverbial rose-colored glasses. (Or in the case of the first four wines at last week's dinner, Rose'-colored glasses.) But it is timeless, classic, and will now always remind me of this time in my life where things really do seem not so much rose-colored, but more freeing, colorful, and every day taking on more dimensions. Hell, I'm more blissfully, stupidly happy now than I've been all the other years of my life combined ... without the $20/week latte habit.
Off to play with more verbs, check in with Ms. Stone, and get ready for another tasting - you never know, maybe there will be a Rose' in the bunch!
Photo by David and Gavin Hoffman (http://www.davidandgavinhoffman.com/photos)
I did some reading, verb conjugating (like normal people, right?), writing (including the genesis for this blog post, and this - and I see I have a vote! Thank you BKR!). I also noticed these coffee shops aren't as relaxing as I used to think - nor are they quiet. For six weeks since my return to Colorado, I have been doing my own coffee thing in my own kitchen, where I've been perfectly happy. I am also less likely to get looks as I mumble to myself in two languages now and sing along (out of tune) to either Lolliradio Italia or Radio Douce France. It's really a lot like Via di Sesame/Rue de Sesame/Sesame Street - senza/sans/minus Big Bird and Snuffleupagus. [If I decide to study Spanish or Chilean wines abroad next, God help anyone in my immediate circle who are probably fed up with me spouting out Italian or French like I have some kind of language Turrets.]
Coffee Note: I haven't had one of these latte things in almost a year - and now wondering how the hell I ever drank them. In fact, they used to be my addiction. Ironic, being I used to buy my houses with consideration of distance (preferably walking) to coffee shops. I think it's safe to say Io sono finito con/Je suis fini avec/I am finished with ... lattes - after a ten-year habit.
As I sipped my way-too-sweet latte my consciousness was virtually yanked from the book as La Vie en Rose played (loudly) over the coffee shop's (tinny) sound system. Hearing that song, at that moment was the icing on the cake of what had been freakishly serendipitous week. I sat and stared out at the mountains to put the pieces together in my mind (and then quickly on paper). Thusly:
1) At that very moment, I had just turned a page to start examining a short piece of writing extracted from Good Morning, Midnight by Jean Rhys. It was the part of the story where she found herself down-and-out in Paris and was reflecting on her situation, literally, in the mirror and getting no answers. As if on cue, La Vie En Rose, the same song "accordion guy" used to play outside my window in Florence between rounds of Mexican Hat Dance and Elvis medleys, had me somewhat entranced.
Hold me close and hold me fast
This is the spell you cast
This is la vie en rose
2) The night before I had watched La Vie en Rose, a brutal story of Edith Piaf's life, and was still haunted by it that morning. Honestly, had this been some piece of Hollywood fiction - and in English - I'd have turned it off. But out of respect for the agony, physical and otherwise, this woman endured in her life, I kept watching and focused harder on the language. It was like being sucker-punched in the gut again and again (different from the jabs Ms. Stone and I exchange), and so beautifully made; the movie actually let you feel peace when she died. I just wanted it to stop. (Sorry if I ruined the ending if you haven't seen the film.)
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.
3) I had also found in my DVR The Last Metro, a French language cinema treat (and a very young Gerard Depardieu, circa 1980) that had been there for two years. Two years? Two years ... before the plans to go to Italy ... before the plans to study French wines followed. Before the obsession with studying these languages to death had entered my OCD orbit.Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.
And when you speak...angels sing from above
Everyday words seem to turn into love songs
4) Monsieur Depardieu was discovered in my DVR the evening of a Tour de France-themed French wine dinner event at an adorable bistro, complete with a Rose' reception. Let me tell you I'm not a Rose' girl, but will admit the French have changed the way I look at - and appreciate - Rose' wines. I'll go as far as saying it's love. [I will also tell you that Chef Henri was not messing around with his Grillade de Magret de Canard Bigarrade (grilled duck breast served with a citrus sauce).]
Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ça me fait quelque chose.
Got it. This song is about looking at the world through the proverbial rose-colored glasses. (Or in the case of the first four wines at last week's dinner, Rose'-colored glasses.) But it is timeless, classic, and will now always remind me of this time in my life where things really do seem not so much rose-colored, but more freeing, colorful, and every day taking on more dimensions. Hell, I'm more blissfully, stupidly happy now than I've been all the other years of my life combined ... without the $20/week latte habit.
Off to play with more verbs, check in with Ms. Stone, and get ready for another tasting - you never know, maybe there will be a Rose' in the bunch!
Photo by David and Gavin Hoffman (http://www.davidandgavinhoffman.com/photos)
Valerie, another enjoyable post!!! Your writing is very descriptive and fun to read :)
ReplyDeleteI wanted to share with you that I have become a "coffee snob" too (that's what my husband has named me) after having such good coffee in Italy. And what amazes me about Italy is that good coffee is everywhere!!! What is different when we make it here? I even use the same coffee as they do...it's gotta be the water!! But, I do have to say, that Peets does come closer than any other "chain" coffee shop! Do you have those in Colorado?
Thank you! I'm so glad you are enjoying. We don't have Peets around here (that I'm aware), but I do run into occasional locally roasted good stuff. It's to the point I would rather just make it at home (like most food these days) when possible because I play with mixing different beans, and am able to control the strength, grind size, etc. with my DeLonghi. True - I never had "bad coffee" in Italy - even at those rest stops along the Autostrade - how can you not LOVE Autogrill coffee at 6AM with some Nutella-filled pastry? (something else I don't eat in the US) My theory - just about everything tastes better in Italy...
ReplyDeleteNo longer addicted to lattes? Definitely a side effect from living overseas. The closest Starbucks is like over 100 miles away from me (they don't 'do' takeaway coffee in the South of France), but when I get to a city, Starbucks is usually my first stop.
ReplyDeleteHave you seen Hors de Prix? It's a French comedy with Audrey Tatou. It's cute, and fun, and easy to follow in French since it's a comedy
Thank you, Sara Louise - Nope - can't do the lattes anymore, but found a local place with a nice cappuccino today while I was out on a descaler mission for my beloved Delonghi. Funny how I wanted Starbuck's for so long, just a "to go" cup of something warm on my way to an early class the whole time I was in Italy and now? I've been there twice in the 6 weeks I've been home. I just saw Audrey Tatou in Amelie last week. I will check my Net Flix queue for your recommendation tout de suite!
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