Morning Commute - Riviera Style

From the desk of Jase:

So a few weeks ago we had a large corporate event in Monte Carlo, which is one of the zones of Monaco. Monaco is a small principality on the Riviera coast and entirely surrounded by France, but treated (somewhat hilariously, I might add) as its own country. With an actual Prince, a Princess, and even a chic looking version of Bowser. Well, that's how I explain it to my kids at least once they find out the Prince who lives in the palace is a schlubby guy that looks more like a sitcom Dad than the square-jawed Disney stereotype. And like many other modern-day princes, this prince followed the classic fairytale plot of choosing among, courting and connecting (wink wink) with many dizzyingly pretty socialites who loved him "for who he is", taking his sweet time in the selection process, before his receding hairline reminded him firmly: "Dude, you had better lock this down right quick."

But back to the event. This particular incentive trip event featured a lot of distributor guests from all over Europe, so we local corporate staff who live in the area commuted to/from the venue each day. This meant that we had some late nights, a 45-minute drive home, and then an early morning wake-up call to get back there and fight the traffic in time for the business meetings. Not terribly convenient, but it saved some costs by having us all commute back and forth. And we were trying to save costs wherever possible. I even asked some Europeans to drink "still" water instead of "sparkling" during meals. Yes, it was that bad.

One particularly early morning, as I was driving from my house past Antibes, Villeneuve Loubet, around Nice, up into the hills, and then through the 1,600 meter tunnel into Monaco, I caught myself from thinking about how a cold Diet Mountain Dew would really help me survive this late-night-early-morning commute situation. And instead, like a ray of sunlight, I noticed the actual view of the sun coming up over the calm, beautiful azure Mediterranean. Instantly, I felt like--as the French might say--"le cretin."

Herein then are my hastily shot photos from my BlackBerry as I tried to remind myself that there are worse places to commute to than Monte Carlo. Places with snow. Or tractors. Or zombies--no, worse--Idahoans (shudder)!

Looking out the window as I descend the steep cliffs into Monaco.

Look at that scooter just passing us by! The nerve of some Vespas.

One of my favorite things about the calm Mediterranean is that you sometimes can't tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. This smooth and sometimes psychedelic effect can also be noted if someone were stupid enough to take 3 Benadryls to defend against a foreign pollen attack.  Not that I know anyone that lame (*tear from itchy eye*).

There are also buildings and people here on the Monegasque cliffs. But no goats. Unless they are outfitted with Louis Vuitton collars and matching underpants, then they are allowed but must first be registered with the gendarmes.

A regular old boring construction crane for those residents so poor that they can't have their villa pre-assembled and dropped in by helicopters. How mortifying.

The front of the famous Monte Carlo Casino and its less famous "Fountain of Belgian Tears." Dip your finger in and try it--definitely a little salty with a hint of beer. Very authentic.

A closer shot of the Monte Carlo Casino. Those are gardeners and not mirror worshippers (I hope). They did, however shoo me away when the car alarm sounded. The alarm goes off whenever a non-Bentley/Rolls/Ferrari/Lamborghini/Aston Martin tries to get within 50 meters of the front door.

Heading down the Princess boulevard, with cherry blossoms in bloom.

Here you can see some of the apartments and the cliffs behind them.

Arriving to the front door of the Monte Carlo Bay Resort, where the valets huddled up and drew straws to see who HAD to park the Nissan.

Side view of the Monte Carlo Bay Resort. Hoping to myself that wearing board shorts under this suit-and-tie combo was not just wishful thinking. (It was....or was it?)

The view from a hotel room balcony where a corporate visitor was staying. The air is a little hazy, but the view beats the typical Utah inversion weather patterns.

Final shot from the hotel balcony.

In summary, if I had stayed overnight at the hotel, I would have enjoyed some exhilarating views, peaceful sleep, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, flaky croissants and 2-egg omelets every morning for breakfast. Which is pretty much what I get at my house every morning anyway, minus the occasional crying fits and creating cereal box "walls" to separate problematic behavior. (Not to mention when the kids finally wake up and join in.)

But by driving, I was able to take in the full experience of this corporate assignment, and enjoy it for what it is: a job and not a vacation. But every job has its perks, and mine sometimes includes an amazing commute all the while listening to my French language CD's test me on phrases like: "I'll bet when you were much younger, you were quite beautiful", "Excuse me sir, but I think that front tooth is dead", and "Who taught you to drive?! An Italian?" You know, all the useful phrases. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to clock in.

'Cause You Had A Lousy Day

I haven’t posted in a while, and I noticed my lousy (heh heh) husband is taking over our blog (I secretly thought of it as MINE)!! I hope you have all enjoyed his musings the last little while. I haven’t had the best month so far; hence, the lack of blogging. At a nearby roundabout recently, I was in a minor car accident that wasn’t my fault, but it was still terribly inconvenient (French bureaucracy and all that), AND I also sprained my ankle really badly yesterday at the zoo. The first day of my kids’ Spring Break vacation, and I go and twist my ankle so badly that I can’t walk. I suppose I just feel picked on. You don't know how literally I mean that, but please read on. . .

One of the exciting things about having kids in school is that they start to pick up things from everyone they associate with. New words, new phrases, new skills and information since they are learning and absorbing so much. For example, neither Jason nor I remember teaching our twins the game of tic-tac-toe, but they learned it somewhere and love to play it during church. They also learned about dragon moray eels recently, including a somewhat disturbing story about a diver whose thumb was bitten off, and he surgically replaced his thumb with his big toe. We all got a good laugh out of "Big Toe Thumb Diver." Usually, these are good, interesting items and concepts that are being transferred to their cute little heads. And sometimes, these items are lice.

Yes, I am embarrassed to admit that the very worst thing that happened recently to the Pierce household is that last Wednesday I found a blood-sucking, parasitic, completely revolting large live LOUSE in my sweet, little blond 3-year-old daughter’s hair. In retrospect I wished I had remained calmer because Maisy saw the louse in the sink and started to get scared and cry. She said, “Mommy, what was that bug in my hair?” That day and a few days after were NOT good days for me. According to Jase, I immediately shifted into Defcon 1 Mode, and the entire family was on HIGH alert and allout war.

First of all I have to say that Maisy’s teacher is THE SCHOOL NURSE. She’s the one that’s supposed to find lice in kids’ hair, then call home and report it, right? So when there was a sign two weeks ago posted outside Maisy’s classroom saying, “NOTICE: We have lice at school,” I figured, well, at least Maisy’s teacher--a qualified medical professional and educator--will be checking these kids daily and she will know what to look for. I have since learned that head lice are extremely common in the south of France, and they are a year-round problem for all schools. My friend whose children go to the same international school told me her kids had three outbreaks within the last year alone. None of this information made me feel any better when I found the adult female in Maisy’s hair. I had never seen one before and wasn’t completely sure what I was looking at, but of course, I suspected the worst. After a little internet research, I was 100% sure it was a louse, and I even knew it was female since I could see eggs in her abdomen. Grody to the max!

This is just like the one I found in Maisy's hair!  Can you even imagine?

Of course after all my screaming, ranting, and just general FREAKING out (which instantly transmitted and heightened all the girls' emotions until nearly everyone was crying or "wigging out"), my very patient husband says to me, “I’ll go to the pharmacy and get the shampoo or whatever we need. You just start stripping the beds and CALM DOWN.” Not only did I strip the beds (and I have to include here that I had just washed all the linens in the house the weekend before), I also stripped the couch, the cushions, the chair covers, and washed every blanket in the house, whether we had used it recently or not. I even washed every coat and jacket in the house. I know I overreacted, but this was my very first experience with lice, and I was not taking any chances!

In addition to the laundry, I had to sterilize every brush and comb in the house. Even the Afro Pick.

Jason went straight to the pharmacy, asked in French about lice treatments, and was directed to an entire aisle of products. In typical overkill fashion, his question: "How much and how many products can I comfortably buy from a single pharmacy location before the pharmacist sends a Gendarme to follow me home?" The answer is 10 products, 4 fine-tooth combs, and 1 magnifying glass. Even though he claims to have received a look from the pharmacist indicating that: 'This crazy American probably lives underneath a bridge with all his ketchup-eating infected brood like an untalented, immobile gypsy camp of flea-bitten varmints', he eventually came home from the pharmacy with 80 Euros worth of stuff: combs, shampoos, sprays, and creams. All directions were in French, of course, but we think we figured out how to correctly use everything. The directions said to treat all members of the family on the same day, so after the twins came home from school, they got a treatment too. I found a few small bugs in Jocelyn’s hair and also a few nits (eggs), but nothing in Jenica’s. Every time I would find something in Jocelyn’s hair, she would rant, “OH, COME ON!!!” Needless to say I haven’t let the girls wear their hair down since.

Here is the buffet of products Jason bought at one pharmacy location.  There were plenty of "anti-poux" products, so he had a lot to choose from.

That night, I treated Jason’s hair and my own hair. Sure enough, Jason and I both had been infected too!!! Can you imagine anything more horrible? My infestation was worse. I didn’t find a single nit in Jason’s, just two tiny adults (or maybe they were nymphs), so fortunately we caught it very early. Maisy loves to come get in bed with me at 5 or 6 in the morning, and she loves to snuggle close to me. Obviously she transferred some of the lice to me maybe 5-7 days ago. I had nits as well as 2-3 small adults, but nothing like what I found in Maisy’s hair. I can’t help it. . .I keep checking and rechecking the kids’ hair. They are so sick of being combed out with the nit comb, but I just can’t stop trying to be thorough. I swear I am instantly at RED ALERT at the sight of any little flake or fuzzy in their hair.


Just to give you an idea of size if you have never had the good fortune to experience these critters first hand

As I was treating Jason, and carefully looking in his hair for nits, he said he felt a bit like a chimpanzee getting groomed (insert obligatory banana joke from Jase here). I should have laughed, but I’m sorry, there was just nothing funny about the situation. Maybe someday I will laugh, but right now, I am just a stressed-out mess.

It look three full days to complete the laundry. My little washer worked overtime, since I stayed up until all hours of the night finishing it all. When I finally was convinced Maisy was nit-free and took her to school, I told her teacher about the lice. I said to please check the other kids, because if she brought it home again I would surely have a nervous breakdown!

Believe it or not, this is day 2 of the laundry.  I had already completed at least 8 loads the day before

Six days later, I treated the whole family again with a spray and then a shampoo.

Here are the girls with their final treatment in their hair

I am happy to report we are clean!! Exhausted, but clean and lice free. Our emotions ran from revulsion to disgust to anger to shame to embarrassment to resolve to commitment to methodical purpose to compassion to paranoia to frustration and reconciliation, before settling down finally on revulsion. I still can't stop feeling a creepy-crawly sensation everytime I think about it. Thinking about it from a higher perspective, we had a good run. Out of all the countries that Jason has visited, even the fact that we lived in 3rd world countries during our missions, this is our first experience with it. But, like using rented shoes at a bowling alley, getting engaged, or signing up for a Costco membership, the first time is always the worst. Now we are prepared and vigilant to handle the situation. Plus, it's not like that pharmacist is going to think any LESS of us now.

Look at me!!  I'm lice free!!

Monaco - La Marche de Noel

From the desk of Jase:

Inspiration for writing projects can come from many sources. It's been said that an unexpected dismal & gloomy summer spent at the Villa Diodati in Switzerland in 1816 served as the basis for the classical horror stories Frankenstein and The Vampyre (not Bram Stoker's version). In my case, I have some Italian neighbors next door who have decided to throw a Spring party for their friends ce soir. This party also serves to educate all neighbors within a 400-meter radius of the important musical differences between Europop, Eurotrance, Euro-House, and Progressive House. Common elements appear to include an incessant, thumping bass as the backbeat, spiced up only with alternating high-hats, keyboard sequencers, and the all-important "hook girl."

This gives me the perfect reason to catch up on some blog posts. Before we moved to France, I could not have told you much about Monaco. I probably would have been lucky to point it out on a map. Yet this tiny, charming principality (completely within the borders of France, yet sovereign) has grown on us with each visit. We first visited it in November as we were "surveying" the area for incoming guests and noted the tunnels, windy roads, exotic sportscars (some easily worth more than our house), the port for "super" yachts, the Royal Palace, the Monte Carlo Casino, and the Oceanographic Museum founded by THE Jacques Cousteau. But besides riding the little tourist train around the city, it seemed like there wasn't much else for younger kids to see or do.

Then, returning in December for another afternoon drive, we unexpectedly arrived at the Christmas Market at the main port (Port Hercule). From the backseat: "Dad--what is THAT?", "We wanna get out!", "Rides!", etc. The enormous ferris wheel was the most visible draw.

Dear Parents: It doesn't really matter what we charge for this ride. You WILL pay it. Sincerely, The Grand Wheel

We immediately parked and went to go check it out. The entire Port Hercule had been converted into a Christmas Market, flanked by animatronic Nutcrackers, filled with Swiss chalet-type food and gift shacks, and offering ice skating, tobogganing, and other carnival rides. The girls had never put on their coats, mittens, scarves and hats faster in their lives than when they saw the 115-year-old traditional carousel with a full working calliope band using wooden sheet music.

"Fairies of the non-Sugarplum variety will NOT be tolerated!"

Even though it was cold, we checked out the giant Ferris Wheel with an incredible view of the harbor at the top. I had to take these pictures because of the unique background.

The kids were fascinated by the huge, animatronic snowglobes, complete with nature scenes and blowing "snow."

--"Can we go inside and pet the Christmas animals?"
--"No, there is a polar bear hidden under that drift."

We also loved seeing the scaled-down candy houses for the kids to visit. They were hesitant at first until I informed them that the resident witch was on a break to get some foie gras and spiced, hot wine. And that it would be at least 15 minutes before she came back to toss any naughty kids into her oven.

On the food shack side, they had your traditional cotton candy (called strangely "Barbapapa", which translates as Dad's beard--how does associating THAT term with candy not lead into some psychoanalysis discussion?), local fare like goose liver spread sandwiches, sausages, crepes, Belgian-style waffles, pasta, baguette sandwiches, and roasted chestnuts. We couldn't find caramel apples, but only candied apples called "Pomme d'Amour", or Apples of Love because they were brightly colored in the shade of...er....candy apple red. But if all that stuff wasn't cool enough, they also made fresh churros with Nutella dipping sauces, which was the hottest booth on the pier for kids and adults like.

But then, we found the booth that cemented the Monaco Christmas market forever as the Best Thing We Did In December 2010. The "Catch the Ducks" game. The premise of this carnival game is simple: Everyone pays the same price. You pick out 10 plastic ducks or 10 plastic swans with a hook from a moving series of neon waterfowl. Once you're done with all 10 (no time limit), you pick your prize. Easy as that. It takes about 3 minutes for the kids to play the game and then about 15 minutes for them to pick their prize (mostly dollar-store items, but they WON it, so it means more and therefore requires considerable deliberation).

In these pictures, Jenica and Jocelyn have already played and picked their prizes (in hand). But Maisy is just now getting a chance. I love her face in the second shot.

Clearly, this game was created for the under-7 crowd. At this point, any town festival or fair featuring a Catch the Ducks game is automatically considered worth checking out. Here is Maisy trying to decide on her prize--still pretty thrilled that she found a game she excels at as much as her older sisters.

Besides these attractions, there was a Bubble Machine float with an old-timey vehicle that looked like something straight out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, an all-Santa marching band, and plenty of people-watching. One of my personal faves there is that I was mistaken as Italian at least twice--the vendors started speaking to me in French; then, when they saw I didn't understand, they assumed I was Italian. It didn't hurt that I was wearing my most European-looking scarf. But for the record, I was not carrying a satchel (aka a "Man Purse"), so it's not like I had assimilated that much.

These days, all we have to do is mention the term "Monaco" and the kids jump into the car and buckle themselves. We will continue to explore and check out the Oceanographic Aquarium there or maybe other kid-friendly venues. But the Christmas Market of Monaco was one of our very favorite things in December 2010. It not only helped us feel a tad of the commercial holiday buzz, but also it was such a fun family activity that it was one of those first "we can probably make it living here" moments of pause. We plan on going again this December and every year that we can while enjoying this region. But don't expect us to order the goose liver quesadillas at the food shacks. There is still a line over which we cannot cross, no matter how much the Bubble Float jazzes us up.

Which Witch Is Which?

From the desk of Jase:

Trying to get a few of these halfway-finished blog articles posted, so please forgive the un-timeliness of the topic--our first Halloween in France. One thing we noticed quickly about the way this holiday is "celebrated" here is that, while the kids certainly appreciate the opportunity to dress in costumes (they do this already during Carnaval season), there was nothing else familiar. No jack o' lanterns, no hayrides, no apple-bobbing, no organized trick-or-treating (except at the kids' international school). We did take the time to search out a few costume stores, and here's what we could find as costume options for the girls.

The Pink Witch

The Pumpkin Witch

The Devilish ("Diabolique") Witch

The Green Glamour Witch

Well, you get the point. Lest you think that I'm only picking a selected sample of the costume store, here is the wide angle of the aisle, with at least 7 more variations on this style:

So even though we could find some children's costumes, it's not like the aisles of endless variety you can find in any given Target or Walmart (also not nearly as affordable). Not surprisingly, there were a TON of little girls dressed up as witches at the school on Halloween, mostly of the scary and non-glamorous variety. It was worse for the boy costumes--most of the kids wore masks, bandied about all kinds of fake weapons, fake blood, zombie make-up, etc. So even though there was a semblance of Halloween, I'm not sure that they "get it" as anything more than a Designated Scary Day. Where were the Buzz Lightyears, the Luke Skywalkers, the Fairy Princesses, the Tiggers, R2-D2s, and Spidermans? Probably killed by the questionable kid with the Scream mask is my guess.

As an adult that could (without admitting anything here) condone mutual dress-up behavior--not specific to any single holiday--I have no problem with sultry witch costumes. But as a parent of small children, I was slightly concerned to see at the school only kids dressed as witches, vampires, and other "scary" characters. Furthermore, as a capitalist, I see a huge missed opportunity for all the costume-makers who remain firmly in the cute, fuzzy, or fun categories.

In the end, Jenica and Jocelyn dressed as...witches and they fit right in. Maisy, being a nonsensical 3-year-old, went for the total cliche of "Princess with Magic Wand," which she had been wearing since about August 27th in preparation for this performance.

We told Maisy to tell everyone she was a "good witch" to blend in since her classmates might not understand why she turned down a chance to be the "Girl from The Grudge."

Even more tragically, we were unable to drown our holiday disappointment in Fun Sized Snickers swiped during the annual safety inspection of the trick-or-treat haul. But breaking off pieces of Toblerone with a fake knife worked perfectly fine. Now THAT stuff is diabolic.

Tardy Tooth Fairy

The twins have been losing quite a few teeth lately. Each of them has now lost a total of four, but only Jenica has lost one of her front teeth. Her remaining front tooth is very loose, and Jocelyn’s front teeth are loose as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if both girls are missing all of their front teeth by the time we come back to visit this summer.

This is Jenica just before she lost her right front tooth.  (I pulled it with a pair of tweezers!)

She was so glad to finally have it out

My little girl is growing up!

Unlike the US tooth fairy, the French tooth fairy keeps forgetting to leave them coins and take their teeth at night. Just the other day Jocelyn lost a tooth, and then she went to bed so excited about being able to show her new smile to her classmates in the morning.  She was hoping she would even receive a whole Euro coin! However, much to her great dismay, the tooth fairy forgot to come during the night! Jocelyn was so sad that she didn’t even want to go to school. I felt TERRIBLE (and a little mad at the tooth fairy)!! Daddy’s solution to Jocelyn’s teary-eyed disappointment was to call the tooth fairy immediately on his cell phone and then strongly remind her (again) that even though we moved to France, she shouldn’t forget about us! The tooth fairy was very apologetic, and she explained to Daddy that the heavy rain we had received the night before had slowed down her delicate fairy wings considerably and that she couldn’t quite finish her route before the sun came up. Luckily, she said she was able to come right away, so we closed the bedroom door, opened the window and shutters, had breakfast, and during that time, she brought Jocelyn a whole 2-Euro coin AND a 50 Euro-cent coin. Wow—the tooth fairy must have felt a little guilty or something. Jocelyn was thrilled.

Jocelyn's permanent teeth were already through the gum even before her baby teeth came out.

This is the sweetest most forgiving child in the world

By the way French children know to expect coins not from a “tooth fairy,” but from “La Petite Souris,” meaning “The Little Mouse.” However, since we are an American family, we let the tooth fairy know we still want her to honor her original arrangement with us. (My kids were a little freaked out by the idea of a mouse sneaking into their bedroom to take their teeth. Oddly enough, it doesn’t bother the French kids.)

The Art of French Kissing

I bet you were wondering when I was going to write a post about French kissing. Not THAT kind of French kissing, silly!! The kind that the typical French person customarily does many times a day with all friends and even acquaintances, the "bise" or when two people touch cheeks and kiss the air. This is usually done twice, as in “mhwa, mhwa,” but the lips never actually come in contact with anything. Or at least my lips never do when I "bise." (Jase's note: speak for yourself, Tiff...) Sometimes, I actually do get genuinely kissed (with lips) on each cheek, but almost never by another woman. It may have something to do with lipstick and courtesy.

In France at least, cheek kissing is a ritual or social gesture to indicate friendship, perform a greeting, say goodbye, to comfort someone, to show respect, or sometimes, just to be polite. I have noticed that when you are introduced to a complete stranger, no kissing is ever done: a polite handshake is the accepted norm. Although if you meet someone new through mutual friends, at lunch for example, you start with the handshake. Then, after spending a little time together, it is very common to kiss the new person as you depart. Being raised in America where kissing is reserved for either romance or MAYBE for your grandmother if you are feeling generous, this whole kissing thing is sometimes very confusing to me. The hardest part has been the question of when is it appropriate to switch over from the handshake greeting to the cozy cheek kiss after you have known someone a little while? Is it the second time you see them, the third, or after a month?  What if it's not a genuine French person, but a British expat living in France for some years? Do they still abide by the same kissing customs as the locals? Sometimes, I just have to look for social cues, such as “the lean in” to know whether or not the person is expecting to exchange a cheek kiss.

Jason and I still get teased by Jason's French co-workers by our overzealousness when it comes to this custom and especially in our efforts of trying not to offend anyone. When we first visited France to look for a place to live, we were introduced to our realtor through Jason’s boss, Dany Laroque. The realtor is named Chantal, and not that it matters, but she happens to be older, fairly frumpy, has very thick ankles, and has a mole on her chin sprouting hair—you get the idea. I guess we didn’t notice that Dany never kissed her when we greeted her, and he does not consider her a “friend” per se. But after spending an entire afternoon with her during our house-hunting experience, we said goodbye, and Jason, who is as friendly and polite a person as you could ever meet, kissed her on both cheeks. I didn’t want to come across as the frigid, unfriendly American, so I did the same. Dany said nothing, but when we got in the car, he couldn’t contain his laughter. In fact, he called his wife within minutes, and they both laughed and laughed about our faux pas. A few minutes later, when Dany’s daughter got in the car, and I met her for the first time, I was understandably a little gun shy about kissing strangers. I offered my hand for her to shake, and Dany commanded, “That’s my daughter. You need to kiss her or it will be very rude.” He was serious. Then he immediately told her about the fact that we had kissed Chantal, and then THEY laughed and laughed all over again. You can see why we were a little confused, right? Eight months later, they still all tease us about kissing the realtor Chantal.

Would you find it interesting to know that Jason gets kissed on each cheek every single day by his boss, not just when he arrives at work, but when he leaves as well? His other male and female colleagues kiss him every day too. They kiss me whenever I see them, but that isn’t very often. I asked Jason a while ago if he thinks all the kissing is strange, and he said he’s completely used to it, and that it would now seem strange not to greet his close colleagues with two kisses. (Better watch out all you XanGo employees that he will see this summer!) I actually think it’s sort of sweet when I see Jason’s boss kiss him. I am always reminded of the Godfather for some reason, especially when Dany is wearing one of his many power suits.

Kissing on the cheek in this way is obviously not unique to France. Cheek kissing is very common in Southern, Central and Eastern Europe, the Mediterranean, the Middle East and Latin America, even though each country of course has its variations on the theme. For example, it varies between 2 and 4 kisses in France (generally 2 in the Riviera), but 3 kisses in Belgium, although we're not sure if they favor starting on the left or right side. It is not as common in English-speaking Canada and the United States (as you all know), Asia and Northern Europe. I inform you of this information just in case you ever go to these places. I wouldn’t want you to have a “Chantal experience” in Sweden.

One last observation: French people are notorious for being late, and this certainly applies to my experiences at church here.  However, I have decided that the first meeting always starts 10 minutes late, not because people are late, but because that 's how long it takes to kiss everyone!

Bottom line: if you see us this summer and we start to "lean in" like we're trying to get all kissy on you, please don't be alarmed. It's only because we want to show our affection for you in our French-ified way. Either that or we're going to make you an offer that you can't refuse.

I just had to include this famous painting called "The Kiss" by Austrian artist Gustav Klimt.  Isn't it the coolest?  I'm sure you have all seen it before, but I would love to see the original some day in Vienna.

Mainly on the Plains of Ukraine

From the desk of Jase:

So a few people have asked me why I'm not commenting more on my various work trips since the relocation to Europe. Which people, you ask? Just...people (and also Canadians). You probably don't know them. Nevertheless, the point was taken and I thought I would offer to the Blog Readership some of my thoughts and musings from my most recent trip to Kiev, Ukraine.

This my first trip to the Ukraine, and I immediately could see why the Ukrainians fancy themselves closer to continental Europe than the former USSR republic states. The architecture was more decorative and less austere (i.e., nondescript Soviet gray), with many brightly-colored blue and gold-topped Russian Orthodox churches and some large Jewish synagogues.

I was only there for 3 full days, primarily meeting with lawyers, tax professionals, accountants, the warehouse staff in our Kiev office, and some Ukrainian citizens willing to help us fill a director role (it's mandated that we have a local director at first). So--not super exciting, and I can't easily explain to a tax specialist why I would like a picture with him for the blog audience.

But you always get little bits of culture if you are observant and if you prompt discussions about it in a respectful fashion.

Wrong Way: "Tell me--and please be specific--why you haven't left this frozen wasteland for a REAL country yet?"

Even More Wrong Way: "So are Ukrainians more predisposed genetically for goiters or can you just not afford iodized salt here?"

If you ask appropriate questions, however, I've found that most people LOVE to talk about their home countries, especially if you don't make any comparisons to other countries until you find out which countries THEY look down on, and then it's fair game (looking squarely at you, Uzbekistan). Here's a joke they shared:

An Ukrainian immigrant goes to the gov't office to apply for a driver's license.
He has to take an eye test. The clerk shows him a card with the letters:

C Z W I X N O S T A C Z

"Can you read this?" the clerk asks.
"Read it?" the Ukrainian replies, "I know the guy."

And in the evenings, we tried out some traditional Ukrainian fare. Here are some photos from a restaurant called Spotykach, that inevitably sounds better when written in Cyrillic or pronounced by a native Ukrainian.

The first thing you notice when arriving to the restaurant is a FREE appetizer! Awesome, right? Like a Bloomin' Onion or some hot wings? Almost awesome (much like Jessica Simpson has "almost" won the Nobel Prize). Actually, what they offer instead, is a winning combination of Salo (pork back fat) on toast and vodka with horseradish.

Fat on Toast - not just a great name for a band anymore.

My colleague declined to try the Salo on toast, but I had to give it a sample. First impression--yes indeedy, that's certainly pork back fat. Possibly high-quality fat, but definitely not of the low-fat variety. Also, it leaves a nice fatty sheen inside your entire mouth for at least 2 days afterward, as if you licked the inside of a Crisco tub. As a blog tip note, please DO NOT enter the term "back fat" into your search engine with the SafeSearch turned off. Some things can't be unseen, no matter how much Lysol you spray directly onto your eyeballs.

The ambience of the restaurant can only be described as: "Grandma's Parlor-esque".

No need to bring your own tea doilies here. They've got you covered.

We asked for a copy of the English menu, which I found utterly delightful both for its variety as well as its English translations. I have been a long admirer of the website http://www.engrish.com/, which allows contributors to submit almost-right translations they notice in their travels. Although the website features some amazing menus (http://www.engrish.com/category/menus/), this one at Spottykach was the best one I've seen in real life.

First, they educate you:

And then you are presented with many options, most of which create more questions for the guest.
 

Waiter, can I also request ketchup for the cold boiled tongue?

I'm thinking about the fish, but how crucial is it today? Oh, I see.

And what would you consider the best overall "snack" for vodka? Uh huh.

Vodka is a point of constant discussion for Russians (especially when you work for a beverage company). And they all have opinions and stories about it. I actually heard this one too.

Doctor to patient: "This medicine is for insomnia, this one is for nervous break-down, and also take this one for depression."Patient: "Thank you very much, Doctor, but do you have any other medicine besides vodka?"

What if I'm looking for a non-specific grouping of meat varieties? Do you offer, say, a random hodgepodge? Great.



Do I really want to ask what the term "spissated milk" is referring to, or whether this person "Mam" is supplying it?



In the end, after reviewing every single option on the menu, I went with pretty tame choices. Some caviar in crepes, some mystery meat & potato Russian dumplings with sour cream, and the never-fails-to-disappoint Beef Stroganoff.



Finally, on the way back to the hotel we walked by one of the big shopping centers in Kiev. A certain organic products store had this giant window treatment encouraging consumers to think Green.

I'm not the biggest proponent of the environmentalism movement, but for some reason, this consumer message has stayed with me.

Other notes from my trip:

1. Apparently jokes about Cherynobyl are still off-limits. The half-life on the radioactive Cesium there is 300 years, so I'll check for an update on this topic in about 175 years.

2. Fur coats don't just look fashionable in the Ukraine; they are a necessity. It's freakin' freezing there, and I even saw some river otters wearing scarves of fox pelts.

3. Probably related to #2, there are not any homeless people on the streets of Kiev.

4. There is a small black market for mushrooms, berries, or wild game (like the delicious five-legged deer) from highly contaminated areas near Chernobyl. Most people buy the items either on a dare to be "cuh-razy", because of suicidal tendencies and irresponsible behavior or to give to others (their boss, their mother-in-law, etc.).

5. February is not Black History month in the Ukraine.

6. Icefishing on the frozen Dnieper river that bisects Kiev--perfect for people who love fish and hemorrhoids, but hate warmth and the company of others.

7. I visited a Ukrainian art gallery for the artist Igor Gubsky (http://igorgubskiy.com/eng/biography), whose works resembled the Dutch Masters in color tones. Many less-than-flattering portraits of interesting individuals, some landscapes, and of course (the prerogative of any "artiste"), the tasteful nudes.

Hope this gives you a window into my mind as I travel to new places. I try to keep my camera nearby when something strikes my fancy and I always keep an open mind and an open stomach. And I have the pork fat breath to prove it.