A recent brunch/lunch with a friend yielded a great restaurant find. Located inside the elegant halls of Gallerie Vivienne, one of Paris’ oldest covered passages, A Priori Thé with its cheerful ambiance and good food is a delightful little tearoom that is the perfect venue for meeting up with friends or for a shopping break. From here, I was pleased to discover that it’s a close walk to all the retail temptations of the Opera quartier.
The tea room has been around for 25 years and is owned by American expatriate Peggy Hancock. They have a good selection of teas, and my personal favorite is their version of the Chai Tea. It comes with its own cute pot of honey that you mix into the tea where it blends delightfully with the cannelle flavor. A Priori Thé’s menu features mainly tartes and hearty salads made of organic vegetables. There are also daily specials that are really tasty and served in big portions. While the menu is confined to tartes they are very savory ones and filling enough for the most discerning palate. I really appreciated the effort to come up with creative combinations. On the day we came, they had a rather savory looking cheddar cheese tarte with onions which appeared to be a hit with the people, I saw several people enjoying this tarte. Not quite into onions, I picked the daily special of stuffed courgette with goat cheese on a bed of pesto laced pasta and it was delicious. Dessert was definitely a scrumptious affair. They serve red fruit crumble (again with organic fruits), an almond tarte and a double chocolate brownie that was absolutely heavenly. To assuage any guilt you might have for indulging in the rather sinful dessert concoctions, A Priori Thé helpfully serves demi portions of all their desserts. This way, you can really have your cake and eat it too!

Practical Details

A Priori The

35 Galerie Vivienne 75002

01 42 97 48 75

Metro Bourse/Palais Royal-Musee du Louvre

Le lutin est mon nouvel ami

Avant une lecture au théâtre des Bouffes du Nord, petit resto. Autant vous dire qu'un resto à La Chapelle, vu mon snobisme, c'est niet. Pour moi la Chapelle, c'est encore lié au Crack, et comme 2009 ne commence pas trop mal, j'aimerais éviter de terminer l'année tout de suite. C'était donc l'opportunité rêvée pour tester un restaurant ouvert il y a deux ans et dont je connais la femme du propriétaire (snob et prétentieuse la fille, c'est pas gagnée pour 2009...).

Arrivées avec les poules, c'était le jackpot: 1) parce que, vu la taille intimiste du lieu, presque tout était réservé et 2) parce qu'avec une arrivée entre 19h et 20h, le kir est offert (et en plus, il est bon!).

Le restaurant doit donc pouvoir contenir une quinzaine de couverts, et offre pourtant une intimité. J'ai eu beau parlé (comme à mon habitude) fort, la discussion se faisait avec mon accompagnatrice, pas avec tous les convives.

La décoration est charmante, dans le genre auberge de campagne (sans ironie aucune) sauf que vous êtes dans une petite rue fort agréable du quartier St Michel. Vu le nom, je ne savais pas si je devais m'attendre à me retrouver entourée de nains de jardins. Et j'ai compris que les lutins étaient la version raffinée du nain de jardin.

Pour en arriver à l'essentiel, c'était délicieux! Tout est fait maison et frais (un seul cuisinier) et cela fait une différence énorme. Le problème c'est qu'on s'y habitue. Après le délicieux potiron au velouté, comment vais-je pouvoir revenir à mes soupes Liebig???

Il n'y a aucun plat végétarien proposé, mais pour une chieuse comme moi, il suffit demander, et j'ai eu raison. Cela se fait couramment (selon les dires du serveur, après il me raconte ce qu'il veut...), et l'assiette regroupait l'ensemble des accompagnements proposés: une fondue de poireaux, des endives caramélisées (que j'ai adoré, moi à qui l'idée des endives chaudes donnent d'habitude des nausées), un gratin de pommes de terre, un risotto d'épeautre, et de la polenta (tellement tendre que je me suis demandée si c'était des oeufs brouillés). Un pur délice, ce qui fait que nous avons continué sur notre lancée et avons commandé un crumble pommes/fruits rouges, pas particulièrement une excellente idée pour finir en légéreté, mais très frais.

Moi qui m'étouffe d'habitude à l'idée 1) d'aller au restaurant, et 2) de payer plus de 15 euros, pour un dîner, j'ai payé plus du double, et avec joie en plus. Cela dit, pour adoucir la pilule, le restaurant prend les tickets restaurants sans limite aucune. J'ai donc encore une fois joué ma crevarde, mais le dîner valait amplement le coup, et de toute façon, il y a longtemps que j'ai perdu toute dignité!

Pour les infos:

Le lutin dans le jardin

Tel : 01-43-26-29-44

15 Gît du Clos

St Michel

Despite the not inconsiderable number of books at my disposal (one of the perks of what I do), I sometimes have a hard time finding a novel that that’s not too heavy but still has enough substance to sustain itself. There are times when I want to read something straightforwardly nice and believe me, this isn’t the most obvious thing to find. I lucked out when I chanced upon Nicholas Drayson’s A Guide to the Birds of East Africa. Contrary to its title, it’s a novel set in Nairobi Kenya and its actually the story of an unusual contest.
Rose Mbikwa has long led the Tuesday morning bird walk of the East African Ornithological Society. One faithful attendee of the walk is Mr. Malik who has long nursed a secret and love for the widowed Rose. Unfortunately he is much to shy to declare his feelings for the fetching Rose. As he attempts to figure out how to ask Rose to the annual Hunt Ball, an unexpected rival, in the shape of the much wealthier Harry Khan, arrives on the scene. And when Mr. Malik unwittingly blurts out his secret, a bet is set between the rivals. Whoever sees the most number of birds in the week, will ask Rose to the ball.
This is a good old fashioned romantic novel that’s at least three notches above the usual chick lit. Drayson writes his characters with great feeling and you can’t help but root for the hapless Malik, who very much resembles David against his rival. The author also ably infuses his book with the vivid color and sounds of Africa. He even manages without being preachy or heavy, to recount the different problems that beset Kenya. But this is not a doom and gloom sort of book, so there is much humor and joy to be found in the passages of the book. Its exactly what the doctor ordered!

I've always liked Neil Gaiman's work. I first discovered him through my sister's Sandman collection. He is a wonderfully imaginative writer and you can't help but get hooked in his universe. Later on, I read his fiction and my initial impression was confirmed. He is also a generous artist. I remember his first visit in Manila. It was like a demi-god coming to town. He was going to do a book signing and the bookstore where he was slated to appear was mobbed with people. My friend and I braved the huge crowd and queued for hours. But it was well worth it when I finally got to meet him. I couldn't say much unfortunately, I was too tongue-tied. After his first visit, he was asked to come back to be the judge of a local comic book design contest, and I hear that its become an almost yearly thing. I'm sure its still a thrill for budding comic book artists and writers to meet him and to spend some time with him. I was thus super excited when I heard that he was coming up with a new book. And when we finally did get it, I was thrilled with the premise of the story. I thought that it was a very Gaiman-like story.

The Graveyard Book is the story of a young boy who survives the assassination of his family by a talented murderer. He finds sanctuary at a graveyard where its denizens decide to adopt him. They name him Nobody (Bod for short) and he is given a guardian to ensure that he will be fed and educated properly as the only living boy in the graveyard. But this is only the beginning of his story.

This is vintage Gaiman. In some ways, it reminded me of Kipling’s Jungle Book which I loved when I was a kid. Like Jungle Book, Gaiman’s tale has all the necessary elements to take away the reader from the mundane –a smart and loveable hero, exciting plot twists and turns and huge heapings of humor. It is also wonderfully inventive and I wonder how Gaiman comes up with all his ideas. And if that weren’t enough, the book is illustrated by the very talented Dave McKean and his illustrations capture perfectly the spirit of the story. How nice to discover that this writer's talents just get better with age. I hope he doesn't make us wait too long for the next one.

I don't know about you, but I'm always a bit wary about books being turned into movies. Very often, the book is much better than the movie. That said, I can't help myself and I always end up watching these movies, out of an unfettered curiosity to see how the characters of these beloved tales will be fleshed out on screen. There seems to be a good number of these movies these days --Revolutionary Road, Ink Heart and the Reader are just three of the most recent ones. I'm especially looking forward to the last two as I loved the books.

Even before Hollywood's attentions, The Reader by Bernhard Schlink had long gathered much critical acclaim in its native Germany. Thank goodness for translations, as this is a fine book that deserves a very wide audience.

The story begins when 15 year old Michael Berg falls ill with hepatitis and is helped by the then 36 year old Hanna. After his recovery he returns to thank her and they embark on a passionate affair. Later on she disappears mysteriously from his life. He meets her again when he attends the trial of several women, including Hanna for war crimes during WWII.

In framing the story against the WWII and its aftermath, Schlink poses one of the most difficult questions –what would you do if the person you love is guilty of doing horrific things? There are no easy or definite answers to such a question and it is one that Michael grapples with all his life. And in posing this question, Schlink doesn’t limit the question to the crime to which Hanna is accused of and later incarcerated for. He poses this question to the generation that was present during the war. “Our parents had played a variety of roles in the Third Reich. Several among our fathers had been in the war, two or three of them as officers of the Wehrmacht and one as an officer of the Waffren SS. Some of them held positions as in the judiciary or the local government. We all condemned our parents even if the only charge we could bring was that after 1945 they had tolerated the perpetrators in their midst.” And if this is the case, what should the second generation (the children and their children) do with the knowledge of such crime? Do they stop loving the person? Or are they too condemned because they continue to love this same person?

These are not easy questions to answer and Schlink doesn’t provide easy answers neither for his character nor for us readers. What he has done instead, is to write his novel with great sensitivity and insight that allows for much reflection. The objective is not so much to assign guilt or blame to specific people but to make us understand that there are some crimes especially those born out of hatred and prejudice that transcend the specific perpetrators. And while there aren’t any answers, there is room for the possibility of redemption and even love. Still and all, the end of the novel left me feeling uneasy and I lay awake long after, praying that I never have to find myself faced with this question.

Génocide rwandais

Après un premier essai Dans le nu de la vie, où l'auteur raconte du point de vue des rescapés le génocide rwandais de 1994, Une saison de machettes se penche sur la version des tueurs.

Jean Hatzeld a ainsi rencontré une bande d'amis incarcérés dans une prison locale, et rapporte dans cet essai les entretiens. Très intelligemment, il intercale les récits de chapitres plus "scolaires" orientés à chaque fois sur un thème (le repentir...), afin que le lecteur non initié puisse avoir une meilleure compréhension (historique, etc.).

Comme tout génocide, celui-là a ses racines, mais pourtant aucune raison réelle ne ressort vraiment. Des faits déclencheurs, certes. Une saison de machettes se penche d'ailleurs moins sur les explications politiques ou historiques, que sur la nature humaine de ces tueurs, ce qui en fait un ouvrage d'autant plus passionnant, bien que beaucoup plus dur.

Si j'avais encore quelques espoirs sur la nature humaine, ce livre permet de s'en débarasser. Tellement intense en émotions, cet ouvrage ne peut se lire que quelques chapitres à la fois.

Bons chrétiens pour la plupart, bons voisins, bon pères de famille, ces homme ont brusquement pris leurs machettes un jour pour aller tuer leurs voisins et amis. Ce carnage a duré plusieurs mois. Aucun regret de leur part ne semble émerger quant à cette période si ce n'est pour eux-mêmes (et leur emprisonnement). Aucune résistance ni conscience collective ne semble avoir existées à l'époque parmi les Hutus. Comprendre le génocide rwandais grâce à cette bande d'amis serait réducteur, donc peut-être cela a-t-il existé. Il n'empêche que ces individus sont représentatifs de la nature humaine laissée à son libre arbitre, et que la maxime "l'homme est un loup pour l'homme" ne s'est jamais mieux illustrée.

In this global village we now find ourselves living in, modern interior design has come to reflect different cultures. Nowadays it is perfectly acceptable even desirable to incorporate foreign elements of design for one’s house. As far away as Asia may be in physical distance there is no shortage of home furnishing stores carrying vases, lamps, desks and collectible items. Recently I came across a poster for an Expo-Vente of what they called Asian Antiques and got really curious about the kind of wares they would have.
Appropriately enough, the exposition was in the 13th Arrondissement. So one gray afternoon, we found ourselves heading towards that direction. It is being held in this huge warehouse like space tastefully decked out in Asian décor. The better to showcase the wares I suppose. Most of their wares appear to have been sourced from Thailand and India with a smattering of select Chinese lacquered shelves. As such there was a good deal of Buddhas smiling their beatific smiles, big desks carved from teak and benches that could seat at least 12. What I particularly loved were the wooden lamps which were artfully displayed against the wall. They give off a cheerful welcoming light which is perfect for chasing away the winter gloom. What was funny was to find against one end of the hall, a tiny alcove crammed full of old paperbacks selling for 1 euro a piece.
The selection is perhaps not extensive as one could wish it could be, and the items included may not necessarily all be antiques but the exposition nonetheless gives you an idea of the kind of Asian furniture that could give your home just the right edge of the exotic.


The lamps I loved...

Practical details: Asian Antiques Exposition Vente from 23 Jan to 1 Feb at 31 rue Vergniaud 75013. It is open from 11 am to 7pm.

Tenesse Williams, bis

En grande inculte, j'ai découvert Amanda Sthers par Patrick Bruel et Mélanie Thierry par Raphaël (no comment, je suis déjà mortifiée; mais comme quoi on peut arriver à quelque chose de noble -le théâtre- par n'importe quel chemin).

Je me suis ensuite penchée sur leur carrière respective (en mauvaise langue que je suis pour me prouver que ces femmes n'étaient connues que pour leurs mecs). Et encore une fois, j'ai été punie pour ma méchanceté. Chicken Street d'Amanda Sthers m'a beaucoup touché, et a forcé mon respect pour cet écrivain très discrète. Ma place sur la photo (son premier roman) n'était pas à la hauteur de Chciken Street, mais restait fort décent. Ses livres suivants ont récoltés de plus ou moins bonnes critiques, ce qui fait que je ne me suis pas précipité pour les lire.

En revanche, et c'est là où ce fait le lien, sa pièce Le vieux juif blonde a été acclamée unanimement. Ce monologue a révélé Mélanie Thierry aux yeux de la famille du théâtre. Ayant raté la pièce, je me suis donc rabattue sur ses films, qui ne donnent malheureusement qu'une vision déformée de son potentiel, le cinéma pouvant permettre beaucoup de choses, notamment en terme de prise et de retouche.

Ayant entendu qu'elle jouait dans Baby Doll, je me suis précipitée. Une pièce au caractère sulfureux, un texte de Tenesse Williams, et enfin la possibilité de me faire une opinion sur Mlanie Thierry, c'était assez pour me convaincre. Et bien m'en prit.

La pièce est extrêment bien jouée et mise en scène. Les décors sont superbes. Le texte est une merveille, et tellement actuel que je me suis demandée s'il n'avait pas été retouché pour le moderniser. Encore une fois, je dois avouer que ma mesquinerie ne m'a pas donnée raison (résolution de l'année 2009, arrêter de médire et de juger avant de connaître): Mélanie Thierry est excellente dans son rôle, et mérite toutes les excellentes critiques que j'ai pu lire. Son partenaire est parfaitement à la hauteur, et on oublie que ces deux acteurs ne font que jouer. Quant au troisième personnage principal, Archie Lee, il est à la mesure de ces deux compagnons.

Baby Doll est pour la première fois présentée à Paris, et je ne saurais que trop la conseiller à ceux qui aiment Tenesse Williams, ou tout simplement le théâtre. La salle (le théâtre de l'atelier) est charmante, et de taille assez réduite, ce qui permet un bien contact avec la pièce que ne le permettent les grandes salles.

Tenesse Williams

En prévision de la pièce Baby-Doll au théâtre de l'atelier, j'ai voulu réviser mes classiques en regardant La Chatte sur un toit brûlant. Je ne connaissais Paul Newman que par la Couleur de l'Argent, et l'annonce de sa mort, et Elizabeth Taylor que comme une croqueuse d'hommes et de diamants. Quant à Tenesse Williams, inculte que je suis, je n'avais vu de pièces ou de films inspirés de ses pièces.

Honte à moi, car même si le film date de 1958, il n'a pas pris une ride. Les deux acteurs principaux sont très justes (et probablement au top de leur beauté, ce qui n'est jamais de trop), et la pièce décripte les sentiments humains de façon très exacte. Les pièces transformées en film peuvent parfois perdre de leur saveur, ce film ne donne pas ce sentiment (mais il est vrai que je n'ai pasvu la pièce jouée au théâtre).

Bref, que du bonheur en perspective à l'idée de voir une nouvelle pièce de Tenesse Williams, d'autant plus que les critiques sont excellentes.

Sunny days in Salvador

These gray rainy days where the sun plays hide and seek with the clouds make me dream of those sunny days in Salvador. Before arriving there,I’d heard a lot about Salvador being the jewel in the crown of Bahia but my first impression of the city didn’t bear this out. We arrived at night and unfortunately our cab got lost. Which isn’t so bad (when hasn’t this happened?) but he got lost in what seemed to be the seediest areas imaginable. We passed through little narrow streets filled with cracked dilapidated buildings and where there seemed to be an endless number of drunk people hanging out. There was an aura of menace around the whole place and this, I was certain was no UNESCO World Heritage site. Fortunately, our cab managed to find our hotel (a wonderful charming one located smack dab in the middle of the historic center) and a good night’s sleep restored much of our equilibrium.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the sun shining fiercely. Our walk outside finally showed us the Salvador that is the crown of Bahia. The Pelourinho or the Historic Centre consists of beautifully restored pastel colored houses that display magnificent 17th and 18th century architecture and numerous colonial churches. Most of the buildings now house museums that showcase the city’s African legacy. Salvador was once at the epicenter of the slave trade. From 1330 to 1850, at least 3.6 million African slaves were brought to work the sugar cane and coffee fields of Brazil. It is little wonder then that they managed to maintain most of their culture. It seems hard to believe now with the pretty façade and its relaxed atmosphere that the city was once the site of such widespread human misery.


One of the city’s must sees is easily the most impressively gold laden church in all of Brazil is the Igreja e Convento de Sao Francisco. As with most colonial churches, it has a most unassuming façade. But a step inside its cool courtyard immediately reveals what makes it so special. The walls all along the yard are beautiful hand painted with azulejos or Portuguese tiles dating back from the 18th century. And once inside the church itself, your eyes will be dazzled by the ostentatious display of wealth before you. Imagine if you will, an 80 kg silver chandelier that dangles over ornate wood carvings and gold plastered everywhere, over each and every arabesque form of the altar, nave and side chapels. Experts argue whether there is as much as 1 ton of gold in the church. Whatever the exact number, there is an awful lot of it. The African slaves who worked on the church and yet were forbidden to practice their own religion, revealed their misery through their work. Much of the carved cherubs lining the walls have distorted misery filled faces. Its disquieting to say the least.

Because a good part of Salvador is still under reconstruction, tourists are advised to stay within the historic centre. And it is advice well worth taking. I think much of Salvador’s charm lies in just soaking up its particular atmosphere and nowhere is this more evident than in the centre. Strolling around the narrow cobblestoned streets of Pelourinho and maybe taking a drink at any of the numerous cafes permits one to enjoy the carefree spirit of the people and to watch the always interesting parade of people going by. Music is ever present thanks to the musicians that can be found everywhere. And one can always watch the capoeira dancers in the Praca.


Some photos...

The Elevador Lacerda that divides the Cidade Baxia from the Cidade Alta

Convalescing requires being confined to one's bed, watching the world go by through the window. It is never the easiest period and requires material for distraction. It was for this reason that I picked up Mediterranean Summer by David Shalleck. I wanted some sort of escape and what better way than to read about the Cote D'Azur and the Italian Riviera?

Essentially the book distills David’s experience while working as a chef on board a luxury sailing yacht owned by one of Italy’s most prominent couples. In the book Il Dottore and La Signora as he calls them hire him to for the summer as they cruise their way from the French Cote D’Azur all the way to Italy’s Emerald Coast and then back again for the summer season ending Regatta Cup at St. Tropez. And lest you think these are regular folks who want regular meals, they are not. As instructed, David is to prepare three to four course lunches and dinners, taking care not to repeat a single dish for the entire duration of the vacation and using only the freshest local ingredients to make traditional cucina italiana. No mean feat. And let me tell you, as someone who can barely plan a week’s menu, I can fully understand David’s reservations about being able to fulfill the stringent requirements. But fulfill them he does and he passes with flying colors.

This is a book to get deliciously lost into. It is not merely a travelogue detailing the various places they visit, neither is it merely a book on food. It is that wonderful blend of travel and food, that captures with an accurate eye the essence of the places and people that he encountered. It helps enormously that David is a more than an able writer. He writes with genuine flair and even honesty. There is no disguising the fact that his sojourn was mostly work with barely enough time for rest or recreation but through his writing you get a sense of the real love that he has for his work. And if you love to read on food, this one is full of mouthwatering dishes that make you dream. As an added bonus, he includes recipes of the most memorable dishes at the end of his book.

I closed the book with a sigh, sad that I finished it too quickly. I went to bed dreaming of Positano and red tomatoes ripening in the sun.

Hollywood version Bollywood (et vice-versa)

Le bouche à oreille aidant, je me suis laissée convaincre (comme un grand nombre de gens, vu le tax d'occupation de la salle). Je suis donc allée voir Slumdog Millionaire de Danny Boyle. Je n'avais vu que Trainspotting que j'avais beaucoup aimé, mais était-ce le réalisateur ou le sujet qui m'avait enthousiasmé? Sachant que c'est aussi le réalisateur de la Plage (le navet retentissant avec Virginie Ledoyen et Leonardo DiCaprio), je ne peux pas dire que cela soit le nom de Danny Boyle qui m'a convaincu.

Slumdog Millionaire raconte donc l'épopée d'un garçon issu des bidonvilles indiens qui va gagner à Qui veut gagner des Millions (parce que oui, manifestement il existe une version indienne!). Le jeu n'est que prétexte pour raconter des tranches de vie de ce jeune garçon et ainsi peindre la vie d'une certaine partie de la société indienne. Très intelligement fait, chaque scène évoquée explique comment le personnage principal connaît les réponses aux questions. Moi qui aime avoir des liens, je suis servie.

Si les critiques (que j'ai lu) sont globalement positives, je ne peux pas dire que je comprenne l'engouement. Le film est fort sympathique, fort distrayant mais de là à en faire un film formidable, j'ai des réserves. Mais comme après tout, le but principal d'un film est de divertir, l'objectif est atteint. Et d'autant plus lorsqu'on a enfin l'opportunité de voir autre chose qu'un film américain ou français, histoire d'ouvrir un peu son horizon.

Pour un second son de cloche, c'est chez Philippe

Portrait du Che

Primé par le festival de Cannes (et avec un jury comprenant Natalie Portman et présidé par Sean Penn, on suit d'autant plus près les remises de prix) et encensé par la critique (même si la longueur en a manifestemet rebuté quelques uns), l'inculte que je suis est allée voir Che. Rebelle dans l'âme, mais pas révolutionnaire, Che Guevara n'a jamais été mon idole et je n'ai jamais eu de Tee-shirt à son effigie. En revanche son histoire et par conséquent celle de Cuba, ainsi que le contexte politique m'intéressait.

Che: l'argentin, première partie du film, présente la première moitié, c'est-à-dire celle de l'arrivée de Che Guevara au côté de Fidel Castro à Cuba jusqu'à la prise de la Havane.

Benitio del Toro est à la hauteur de sa récompense au festival de Cannes: en un mot, il est excellent. Le film en revanche est beaucoup moins percutant. Il n'y a rien à reprocher au scénario, ni à la réalisation, et on ne voit pas les deux heures passées; mais pour une novice c'est assez brumeux. Des épisodes probablement capitaux de la vie du Che sont exposés, mais la succession et le lien des événements sont assez difficiles à comprendre. Les raisons, les conséquences sont passés sous silence, probablement par manque de temps. Cela dit, une narration brute perd sensiblement de son intérêt....

D'autre part, je suis certe négative et ai tendance à voir le mal partout, mais j'ai des doutes sur le caractère présenté comme presque parfait du Che. Bon, aimant, (presque) non violent, honnête, intelligent, cet homme semble tout avoir pour lui (sauf la barbe, cela gâche véritablement son charme). De tels hommes doivet exister (et encore) mais pour réussir une révolution, cela me semble limité...

Je n'irai donc pas voir la deuxième partie, mais ne regrette absolument pas d'avoir vu la première.

A gem town

In a country as vast as Brazil, the possibility of traveling within its interiors is often governed by your determination to see beyond the usual. Ouro Preto located within the state of Minas Gerais doesn’t at first glance appear to be too far from Rio de Janeiro. It was only 900 miles away. Except that access was through either a three hour plane to Belo Horizonte, the capital of the State then another two hours by bus to the city, or a straight 8 hour bus ride from Rio. Since we had a few flight constraints, we choose the bus ride. And so a rattling 8 and a half hour bus ride later, we arrived in the early hours at Ouro Preto.


Vila Rica do Ouro Preto or Ouro Preto, as it is now known, is a pretty little town with steep cobblestoned paths that run up and down the mountains. There are no modern buildings in Ouro Preto. Instead it is a magically preserved colonial town with lovely pastel colored buildings dating back to its founding in the late 17th century. It is almost jarring to see cars running along its lanes as you almost expect mule laden carts to appear. It served as state capital for many years and its rich harvests of gold and precious stones meant that it served as a major world supplier at its height. Its prominence during the gold rush days also meant a flowering of the Baroque style of colonial architecture (or Baroque Mineiro Style). For a town of a relatively modest size, it boasts 23 churches, 13 of which are considered Baroque masterpieces. Perhaps the most well-known of these churches, and the one church you must see, is the Igreja de Sao Francisco. It is the masterpiece of Antonio Francisco Lisboa otherwise known as Alejandinho (or Little Cripple), Brazil’s foremost Baroque sculptor. The entire façade of Sao Francisco was carved by Alejandinho as well as those carved directly onto the ceiling of the church. It is especially wondrous to behold when you learn that Aleijadinho was crippled by a debilitating disease to the point that his assistants had to tie chisels to his hands in order for him to carry out his work. His carvings feature life like faces and there is a flow and delicacy in the work that belie the artist’s lack of formal education. It is truly impressive to behold.

To give you an idea of the soapstone facade carved by Aleijadinho

No less impressive but distinct from the Sao Francisco is the Igreja de Nossa Senhora de Pilar. Behind its unassuming stone façade is Brazil’s second richest church. They used over 1000 pounds of gold to decorate the altar and the nave to pay homage to the Madonna. Its one of the most eye-popping scenes I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. And yes, it is second only to the Brazil’s richest church located in Salvador de Bahia, but that’s another story altogether. Seeing the Nossa Senhora de Pilar gives one an idea of how rich in gold the town must have been and how truly deserving of the name Vila Rica.

And after you are done marveling at the churches, the thing to do is visit the different gem stores that abound in Ouro Preto. Again the number of stores is somewhat incongruous to the town’s size. There are over 40 gem and jewelry stores carrying all kinds of jewelry to satisfy even the most finicky purchaser. And there is no shortage of gems here. Amethyst, Rubies, Citrines, Quartzes, Aquamarines and yes, the elusive Imperial Topaz , which can only be found in Ouro Preto, are all on display and oh my, how they glittered and shined. A gem or two are certainly the perfect souvenirs to take back home.

Certainly one of the natural wonders of the world

New Year’s eve in the Philippines is a big deal. The usual ingredients normally include fireworks set off in the hours leading up to midnight (the better to scare away the bad spirits) and a big dinner. This year we certainly had the big dinner (thanks to the local churrascaria) but no fireworks. We had something even better. We visited the Falls of Iguacu.
The falls are located between Brazil and Argentina. As such you have a choice of exploring one or both sides. Fortunately a visit to the Brazilian side more than suffices as the falls has to be one of the most stunning places to visit in the world.

They are a tremendously impressive sight. It actually consists of 275 falls stretched along 2.7 kilometers of the Iguacu river. The largest of them is the Garganta de Diablo or Devil’s Throat. It is an impressive 82 meter high, 150 meter wide curtain of water falling off a height of 700 meters. The visit starts with a long constructed walkway along the canyon which gradually reveals the length and breadth of the falls. It ends with a constructed path right on the surface of the river, bringing you in very close proximity to the falls. With temperatures reaching over 30 degrees we happily welcomed the dousing we got with the spray of the waters and at such proximity we were enveloped by the cool mist that is generated by the falls. It is a multi-sensory experience eyes are dazzled by the spray of colors and the ears filled by the roaring of the waters. If one day you have the opportunity to travel to this part of the world, the Falls should be not be missed.

To give you an idea of the length of the Iguacu river..

The walkway which brings you almost to the edge of Garganta de Diablo

La Cidade Maravilhosa

It hardly seems possible that a mere day and a half ago we were enjoying the sunny shores of Ipanema. The cold and snow still on the ground makes me miss even more those sunny far away shores.

One of the first things to strike you upon arriving at the Cidade Maravilhosa (as Rio de Janeiro is often called) is its immense size. Spread out over an area of 1,182.3 square miles, it is the second largest city of Brazil. It was the capital of Brazil for over two centuries during Portuguese rule. Nowadays it is divided into Centro or downtown area where it has retained traces of its colonial past in its baroque churches and old estate houses, Zona Sul where its famous beaches are located, Zona Norte, mostly residential and the Zona Oeste where the football stadium is located.

Perhaps because it is a developing country, there is an incongruous disparity between the way the rich and the poor live. Favelas (those notorious shantytowns for which the city has unfortunately become synonymous with) dot the landscape, almost cheek to jowl with large mansions where the people live surrounded with bodyguards. A good number of these favelas lie on several hills that ring the city. And it is a very strange cosmic joke to realize that these favelas, whose lights twinkle prettily in the night enjoy incomparable views of the city while living in dire poverty.

Favelas notwithstanding, what really stands out about the city are its beaches. Rio is blessed with a long Atlantic coastline divided into several beaches, with Ipanema and Copacabana as the two most famous. Nowadays, Copacabana, with its backdrop of the Sugarloaf Mountain doesn’t enjoy quite the same reputation it had in the past though its coastline remains as beautiful as ever. Word to the wise, it is now mostly for tourists, old people and women of low repute as one would euphemistically call the not inconsiderable number of women hanging out in the street fronting the beach. No, if you want to pass for a carioca (as residents refer to themselves), it is better to go to Ipanema beach.

Here is Copacabana beach with the Sugarloaf in the background...

It is in Ipanema, along with LeBlon, the adjoining beach that locals stretch out and sun themselves. All along the beach are stalls where one can rent beach umbrellas and chairs for lounging about. It is wise to stick to the same person as he will also be the one to bring you drinks. And as you stretch out in the sand, there is no danger of being hungry or thirsty. There are a good number of vendors passing by selling the ubiquitous Globo biscuits (a white wafer like biscuit that comes in salty or sweet), the Mate tea, corn that has been boiled in water (delicious with butter and a pinch of salt), cheese which is roasted in front of you, and of course Caiprinha. One can even shop on the beach as there are an equal number of folks selling bikinis, pareos and all manner of beach cover-ups. From your comfortable spot in the sun, I guarantee you a great time just watching the people go by, the women in their teensy-weensy bikinis (a good motivation for getting in shape in the new year) and the men no less show-off in their version of Brazilian swimwear. But this is by no means a beach limited to couples or singles, there are a good number of families with their children cavorting about in the sand. And swimming Ipanema style is basically throwing yourself against the big waves that crash on the shore. In fact, the word Ipanema comes from the Indian word which means bad water, and its true that the current is very strong and has the tendency to carry you further into the water.

The islands just off Ipanema..

After enjoying Ipanema, our friend took charge of our day and thanks to him we discovered the lovely Prainha beach, a small and lovely beach far from the usual tourist track. At this beach there were only locals and since we hadn’t yet reached the height of summer, there was hardly anybody around. Except of course for several hardy surfers who were in their element. Sitting there with nothing to distract from the beauty of the place made me think that this was a country really blessed with incredible natural beauty.

It is hard to resist Rio’s charms. Maybe it is the infectious carioca spirit that makes everyone warm and easygoing, maybe it is the sunny blue skies that never fails to lift your spirit or the beautiful beaches that invite you to while away your day in the most pleasurable way imaginable. Whatever the reason, there is magic in the way Rio woos everyone.

Centro with its modern high rise buildings..

with traces of its colonial past..

A bird's eye view of the Lagoon..

And one of Rio's most enduring symbols, Christ the Redeemer on the Corcovado.

Pathos sur fond de superbes paysages

Australia est l'un des films de fin d'année hautement marketisés, auxqueles vous n'avez pu échapper. Une durée de 2h35, cela veut déjà tout dire.

La patte de Baz Luhrmann est hautement reconnaissable, et pour celui qui a vu Moulin Rouge (d'autant plus s'il a vu aussi Romé + Juliet), il y retrouvera la même veine.

L'histoire, tout le monde la connaît. L'histoire de l'aristocrate qui tombe amoureuse du bon sauvage sur fond de paysage exotique, c'est vieux comme le monde (Out of Africa, La leçon de piano). On ne va donc pas voir Australia pour ça. On y va donc un peu pour l'histoire (notamment sur la Génération Volée, vague souvenir de cours d'anglais universitaire), un peu pour Hugh Jackman (pas mal du tout en "sauvage", mais mettez le en smoking et enlevez lui la barbe, et il ne reste rien de son charme) et beaucoup pour les paysages.

J'ai toujours eu du mal avec Nicole Kidman, donc mon opinion sera assez peu objective, mais je n'ai pas été particulièrement été impressionnée par le jeu des acteurs, qui à mon sens manque un peu de subtilité. En revanche l'enfant qui joue le personnage de Nullah est excellent.

Que dire de plus sur ce film pour lequel tout le monde a déjà une opinion tranchée? Certes, c'est loin d'être un grand film (mais Moulin Rouge était loin d'en être un aussi!), mais visuellement c'est suuperbe et les films qui ont financièrement autant de moyens sont loin d'être légions alors profitions-en. On ne voir pas le temps passer, et on rit (quelques clichés -notamment romantiques- très drôles, même si je ne suis pas sure du tout qu'ils avaitn pour intention de faire rire), on pleure si l'on pleure devant n'importe quel navet, et pour le reste on admire la beauté des paysages.

Alors comme le dit si bien Philippe, ne boudons pas notre plaisir.

Association musicale

En regardant ce petit film de malfrats, je ne m'attendais pas à cette association d'esprit. Le film commence sur la musique de Be my baby de The Ronettes. J'ai dû vérifié que je ne m'étais pas trompée de Dvd, et que je n'avais pas mis Dirty Dancing (en haut de ma pile, film culte par excellence! Donc, si vous ne l'aviez pas encore compris, oui je suis une fille...).

C'est dans ces moments que j'aurais aimé être médecin (ou scientifique) pour connaître les mécanismes de la mémoire et mieux comprendre les phénomènes de "triggers" (ces mots, chansons, ou images qui vont venir immédiatement un souvenir ou une sensation).

Donc, non le film était bien Mean Streets, et oui il n'est pas exceptionnel, mais les prestations (toujours éblouissantes) de Robert de Niro et Harvey Keitel valent toujours le coup d'oeil.

Je suis probablement longue à la détente, mais plus le temps passe, plus je me rends compte de l'importance de la BO. Si certaines chansons sont inévitablement cultes et liées à un film (Pulp Fiction, Flashdance), certaines existent depuis fort longtemps mais me sont révélées par un film ("Le premier jour du reste de ta vie" , Perfect Day, Lou Reed).

J'ai des joies simples, mais ces connections entre film et musique (et découvertes) me procurent toujours beaucoup de bonheur.

Sujet épineux

On en a beaucoup parlé, et la quatrième de couverture donne le sourire, ce qui en ces temps moroses est fort agréable.

Dans Où on va papa, Jean-Louis Fournier écrit pour (et sur) ses deux fils handicapés.

Dans les premières pages l'auteur écrit:
"Que ceux qui n'ont jamais eu peur d'avoir un enfat anoral lève la main.
Personne n'a levé la main."
Moi j'aurais levé mes deux mains, bras, jambes, je me serais d'ailleurs levée et enfuie. Un enfant "normal" me terrorise déjà alors je n'ose même pas imaginer non pas un mais deux enfants handicapés.

Si le livre est touchant, on reste sur sa faim. Peut-être est-ce une erreur de présentation du livre: l'auteur n'a pas pour but de décrire sa vie avec ses enfants "différents", ni de pencher la balance dans un sens ou dans l'autre. L'écrivain semble juste lancer un grand cri d'amour à ses deux fils, ce qui est fort louable, mais ce qui pour le lecteur n'est pas forcément la bonne formule.

Cependant c'est drôle, c'est lisible très (trop?) facilement, pourquoi priver cet homme de ce geste si tendre?

On évite de l'offrir à une femme enceinte, en revanche, c'est un excellent cadeau à faire, afin de propager le message de tolérance et d'amour qu'il contient (tout en étant très lucide et réaliste!)

Philippe en fait également une bonne critique.

Bilan

Qui dit fin d'année, dit bilan. Comme un bilan sur moi-même serait bien trop déprimant, je préfère faire un bilan culturel (à l'exemple du blog Loisirs Les Bons Plans.

Liste non exhaustive due à ma mémoire de poisson rouge:

Un livre: "Mon traître"

Un film: "Le premier jour du reste de ta vie", suivi de près par "Quatres Minutes"

Un concert: "Tracy Chapman"

Un lieu: le sentier joignant St Palais et Royan, un bonheur pour courir, avec la mer à droite et le soleil au-dessus (et en plus, n'ayant pris qu'une semaine de vacances cette année, le choix fut restreint)

Un CD: Leonard Cohen, Cohen Live in Concert

Une chanson: La reprise de Hallelujah de Leonard Cohen par Jeff Buckley

Un DVD: vu mes faiblesses dvdtesques, impossible d'en choisir un, alors je dirais: "Adieu ma Concubine", La chambre du Fils, "Il était une fois en Amérique", Itinéraire d'un enfant gâté,et dans un autre genre "Nos jours heureux".

Un lieu nocturne: "la Bellevilloise" (là aussi mon choix fut restreint, chez moi étant mon repère préféré pour mes virées nocturnes)

Une exposition: "Demarchelier"

Un resto: "végétarien of course!"

Une incompréhension: "The Road"

Un spectacle: "Stomp"

Une série: je pourrais dire "Prison Break" pour l'acteur, mais je vais dire "Buffy" pour la nostalgie et Angels in America pour l'intérêt.

Un théâtre: "Le dieu du carnage"

Je vais arrêter là parce que cette sélection m'a déjà arraché le coeur, tant d'autres choses auraient dû être citées!

Vie Nocturne

Les dîners gargantuesques du 31 décembre m'ennuient, les mecs (et filles) bourrés m'exaspèrent, la joie (forcée) m'énerve, les cotillons qui se collent partout m'embêtent, et quand aux gens qui pensent que parce que c'est le 31, ils peuvent vous embrasser, c'est le pompon (bon cela dépend de la personne, mais en l'occurence, moi ce n'est jamais celle pour qui je pourrais faire une exception...), bref le réveillon de la St Sylvestre m'insupporte, et mon côté asocial ressort. J'avais donc prévu mes pâtes au fromage et ma pile de dvds quand on me proposa des concerts de musique tzigane. Et comme ma résolution 2009 est d'arrêter de détester les gens, j'ai décidé de commencer tout de suit à appliquer cette bonne résolution. Surtout quand la soirée commence à 20h, et que j'ai donc selon mes calculs la possibilité d'être avant minuit sous ma couette.

Evidemment les organisateurs étant généralement moins stressés de la vie que moi, la musique commenca à 21h30, ce qui nous laissa largement le temps de goûter le cocktail maison (prénommé Bête et Méchante, si ce n'est pas prédestiné!) et de discuter. Un premier groupe s'installe ensuite, un groupe de quelques six instruments à corde, pour des rythmes très entraînants. La musique tzigane semble s'inspirer de plusieurs sources (musiques juives, arabisantes, cosaques), ce qui est un bonheur à l'oreille et un bonheur à la vue quand on voit le talent des musiciens.

Un deuxième groupe se succéda, cette fois, uniquement des instruments à vent, tout à fait différent, mais tout aussi agréable. Et pour se dire qu'on est jeune (quoique), la soirée se finit sur la piste de danse avec un DJ misant chansons mythiques (Pulp Fiction & Co) avec des chansons d'inspiration russe, très original, et extrêment dansable!

Ambiance bon enfant, musique agréable, gens de tout âge et de tout profil, la "Belleviloise"va peut-être me réconcilier avec la vie nocturne....