Gypsy in Wonderland

We are at the ticket counter at the Jardin du Cinq Sens (Garden of the Five Senses) at Yvoire. I stutter out a few words in french indicating that I would like to buy tickets. " Would you like to pay in Swiss Francs or Euros" replies the girl beind the counter, to our amazement, in English and with a smile. She informs us that there will be a brief introduction before we enter the garden.

There are other people scattered around the hall, also waiting to get the introduction. An older French woman, clearly the person in charge, sweeps into the room and calls for all those who want to listen to the intro in French. No response. "En Allemand", she asks, after a disbelieving pause. An old couple from Zurich raises their hands. "Alice will give you the English introduction" she gestures curtly towards the friendly girl who sold us the tickets.

All the people in the hall file towards Alice. The couple from Zurich follow suit. " We are ok with English" shrugs the old gentleman.

After a look that indicates that we were all a bunch of disgusting worms recently crawled out from beneath a rock, the French organiser departs, leaving us with Alice.

This is not the only surreal experience we have in Yvoire. The spooky feeling of having stumbled into Wonderland, or a set of one of Tim Burton's films persists throughout the trip.

The garden that we explore is a creation of the d'Yvoire family, a kitchen garden that has evolved into a work of art. We see the Venus flytrap, we smell curry and bubblegum alongwith roses and lavender. We sit quietly on a secret bench in the cloistered garden and watch people wander in and out.

Outside the garden, we wander along the walls of a medieval town. We see little gardens growing giant pumpkins and apples. We discover lanes that lead to a waterfront on the lake. We  see a medieval castle on one side, and a church tower covered in steel and gold (almost minaretlike) on the other. Almost as if from thin air, bags of bric a brac and souvenirs materialise in our hands.

A few hours later, at home, we survey the spoils of the afternoon.We are several francs poorer, ("but culturally richer", I insist).

The jury is still out on how soon we can repeat this magical experience.

(Yvoire has been voted one of the Most Beautiful Villages in France. We also enjoyed browsing at Equinoxe and Boutique Maxime)

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Death to the chick flick

It appears that Hollywood currently agrees on the type of cinema that women want. Beautiful and successful woman, managing a hectic career, maybe a child and a diet and exercise regimen that makes her eligible to be a runway model. Ruggedly handsome, male lead, great with children, successful, capable of putting relationships first, with body to die for in case he needs to take his shirt off. Both yearn for true love, and try to find it, unsuccessfully with supporting cast members, till the final few scenes where they decide they were made for each other. Throw in a few outrageous sexual gags and a designer product placement, and you have a box office winner.

Julie and Julia then is not a chick flick. One of its main characters is an unsuccessful writer living in a pokey apartment, working a dead end job as a receptionist, and the other is an uncoordinated, loud middle aged American preoccupied with French cooking. The men are hardly GQ material, one of them is a balding career diplomat, and the other a struggling writer with the Archeological Digest. To make matters worse, there is no scope for yearning and sexual tension. Both women are in committed relationships.

The film switches back and forth between the lives of Juila Child (who achieved iconic success in America with her book "Mastering the Art of French Cooking") and Julie Powell who stumbles upon writing success through a blog based on cooking her way through Julia's recipes. Through the film, the characters deal with issues of failure, frustration, finding their purpose in life and the struggle and heartbreak that goes alongwith. The search for true love is not their main preoccupation, but love, rather, is something that is always present and sometimes taken for granted, in the passionate pursuit of the ultimate end.

The film (courtesy the brilliant Nora Ephron) is quirkily and disarmingly funny, sweet and poignant and like one of Ms Child's desserts, holds a melting richness and depth of flavour. Meryl Streep as Julia Child is over the top yet outstanding (see Nora Ephron’s hilarious tribute to Streep at the AFI’s), Stanley Tucci portrayal as the romantic, humorous, indulgent Paul Child is heartwarming. Amy Adams is a tougher, street smart version of the Meg Ryan, her relationship with her boyfriend is a very real portrayal of a modern day relationship.

This then is not a chick flick, simply because its makers did not intend it to be one. It chooses to respect the modern filmgoer enough to trust that they would watch a film that is well written , has engaging characters and a good storyline. With more such screenwriting and less cynicism, we could then possibly look forward to a revival in good popular cinema.

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A Weekend in Venice- Wrapup

To wrap up, the highlights of the Venetian weekend …...

To Die For

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  The light in late summer. Slightly overcast, never too hot to walk or glide in an open air water vehicle
  
  
  
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  Dorsoduro – Funky, airy and very chic
  
  
  
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  San Marco piazza – simply stunning
  
  
  
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  Cioccolato Pepperincino. Chocolate goodness with a kick in the end
  
  
  
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  Venetian masks. Evocative of more dramatic times
  
  
  

Overrated

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  Murano glass – its very difficult to find something that is authentic yet with a modern take at the normal tourist haunts (for mandatory souvenirs try Frederica Glass near the station). A must see on Murano island is the church of Santa Maria e Donato, it has a beautiful aspect and some stunning sculpture both inside and outside.
  
  
  
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  Gondola rides – a bit cheesy and very expensive.
  
  
  
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  Cisalpino – definitely dated, needs the swiss touch. Also, very likely to not be on time.
  
  
  

I move on to planning the next great escape. Goodbye Venezia. Au Revoir.

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A Weekend in Venice - Day2

(This is the second of a three part series - Day 1 can be found on Chantal Gardner's blog http://www.onebigyodel.com)

What I really love about Italy is the sensory overload – every where you look there are sights that amaze, sounds that delight, tastes and smells that entice you . You need to be an energizer bunny on steroids to be able to take it all in.

Day two of Venice started out on a slower note however, with a quiet breakfast at a secluded (yes it is possible) café. We took to water taxi from Ferrovia to Accademia, where we ambled down the by lanes of Dorsoduro to the Peggy Guggenheim museum.

This is one of the quieter, classier parts of Venice. Small boutique stores and art galleries can be found all around. This is a great place to buy (if you can afford it) an original work of art or a souvenir that is not your run of the mill, murano/Chinese kitsch.

The Guggenheim museum itself was one of the more fun museum’s we’ve visited, simply because you never know what you are going to see next. From the quirky (Yoko Ono’s wishing tree in the courtyard) to the awesome (Giacommetti sculptures) to the inexplicable (Max Ernst), the place gives you a great introduction to the work of abstract and surreal art.

We walked down towards San Marco plaza from the museum, and began to get a true taste of how much of a tourist magnet Venice really is. Wading through the snap happy hordes however, allowed us a brief prelude from the sheer impact of of the cathedral as we approached the entrance of the square.

 As with the Sistine chapel in Rome, every cliché was true. Awe inspiring. Breath taking. Simply magnificent.

We sat at Florian’s in the square and watched the sights around us to a cup of choco café and the violinist playing in the background.

Beauty held us and a passionate energy bound us, along with thousands of others, as there was nowhere else to be but in the moment.

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Mars and Venus, Tiramisu and Fondant

So we are finishing brunch at this cafe on the weekend, after a bone crunchingly exhausting unpacking weekend. We just about have time for dessert before returning to the chaotic sea of cartons that is currently our home. We fleetingly contemplate experimenting with the house special (raspberry cheesecake in french), we decide on the tiramisu just as quickly.

The tiramisu appears and disappears in less than the time it takes to say "a flash". "God bless her" I say.

"Who?" P asks distractedly, scooping the last bit of cream off the plate

"The woman who invented tiramisu"

"What makes you think it was a woman?"

"It has to be a woman. Its creamy, sloppy, loaded with calories. Its not chocolate fondant, its comfort food"

"And chocolate fondant isn't?"

" Well it has to be more technical to achieve just the right amount of gooiness in the centre. Classic example of overengineering a cake. Has to be a man"

"It should be the other way around. By the women's lib definition of men at least.." P smirks.

He was right. This needed more research. I decided to google it.

I hit jackpot. Researcher Pietro Mascioni traces the dessert back to the 1960's, to a town in Tuscany called Treviso.

“Born recently, less than two decades ago, in the city of Treviso, is a dessert called Tiramesu which was made for the first time in a restaurant, Alle Beccherie, by a pastry chef called Loly Linguanotto.”

“The story is very credible,” said Mascioni, who traveled to Treviso to talk to the Campeols last fall. There, matriarch Alba Campeol told Mascioni that she got the idea for the dessert after the birth of one of her children. She was very weak in bed and her mother-in-law brought her a zabaglione, spiked with coffee to give her energy"

Hah. Point one proven. Now to prove point number two.

This proves to be more difficult however. Apparently fondant means different things to different people in the land of chocolate. However I persevere, and I come upon the following..

"The U.S.-based chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten claims to have invented molten chocolate cake in New York City in 1987. According to Vongerichten, he pulled a chocolate sponge cake from the oven before it was done and found that the center was still runny, but was warm and had both a good taste and a good texture."


Not overengineering but premature... i mean... jumping the gun. Another classic male trait.

Elementary really. I rest my case.

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