A Time to Kvell

Dune buggying in Peru

Mean streets on the Upper East Side

These are recent photos of my kids. Mariel is working in a slumburg of Lima, Peru for a year. Here you see her (always in control) driving the volunteers around a "desert oasis" some four hours from Lima. So far, she seems to be loving her experience there, noting that where she lives there's constant dirt everywhere. Like Pigpen, a cloud of it follows you around, and as soon as you step out of the shower, you're a dirt bag. She's learned how to play chess and to "fix" a broken refrigerator. She's perfecting her put-downs of creepy men on the street who try to engage her in conversation. She failed to learn this at Swarthmore.

That's Harry and Mark outside my apartment building, wearing Columbia blue. Harry spent the summer living with us, unable to find a job that didn't involve biking around the treacherous streets of Manhattan, delivering food. I nixed that idea and lived with the consequences. He's a lovely young man, but our apartment isn't that large, and he's used to his privacy and sloppy sprawl. Mark, who's in disguise, spent the summer road-tripping, doing odd jobs here and there (mostly in Maine) and training endlessly for the cross-country season. He dyed his hair black, because as a blond, his facial hair seemed non-existent. It's all shaved off now, but I do wonder what his next makeover will entail.

I didn't brag nearly enough. Next time.

Barcelona

La Familia Sagrada cathedral, Gaudi re-design

Man and creatures by Gaudi on Las Ramblas

Gaudi building on Las Ramblas

This was my second visit to Barcelona, and again, I didn't wake up early enough to go inside the Gaudi Cathedral. The outside frippery is one thing (an magical); the inside is supposed to be spectacular. The architect took a Gothic cathedral, removed the light-blocking arches and filled the building with light. You must arrive by 7 am or stand on a line that's in the sweltering sun, patiently waiting behind 200 people. The trouble is, who can wake up so early in a city where you don't eat dinner until 10 pm? Mea culpa. La proxima vez.

The old city in Barcelona is not to be missed. Sure, it's touristy, but it's amazing to walk around the snaking streets that are either blocked to traffic, or not. There are several stores where you can find good prices and Made in Spain goods if you have time to look. Just a few of the specialties include leather, ceramics, and espadrilles. If you want another thrill, I recommend going to the beach and having lunch as you body-watch. You will see every body-type imaginable, mostly Europeans with a penchant for small swimsuits regardless of age. You can also tattoo-watch as it seems everyone in Barcelona is inked. After you've had your fill, you can walk to the sea and get your toes wet, go in up to your knees or totally immerse yourself in the warm green water.

Old City or Ciutat Vela in "Catalan"

I'm saving the best photo for last. As Mariel and I were walking back from a day spent beaching, shopping and endlessly walking, we stumbled upon this specialty store as we were waiting to cross the street. NB: Crossing the street in Barcelona is risky business. When the light turns red for pedestrians, you MUST stop unless you're already in the crosswalk. I could not get the hang of it after navigating New York City streets. Back to cocktails. Unfortunately, we only saw the stock in the window because the store was already closed. I wanted to buy my husband, who thinks he's William Powell to my Myrna Loy, a shaker or two. My husband prefers stirred to shaken by the way. I agree.

And yes, that's Ms. Fatso in front of the window, heavily inflated with tapas, red wine, and other things that are a lot less fun.

Shaken, not stirred

PJ's Books of Note

Summer is over, astronomically speaking. I've already seen color in the Catskills, and I've worn pants and socks for 3 days.

I think I did a lot of reading this summer, but since I only record my thoughts here, I forget most of the titles. Here's a list that's most likely missing something.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, a very good historic novel about not-so-merry Olde England circa 1500-1536.

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett, in which American drug researchers get tangled in the Brazilian jungle and are faced with interesting moral quandaries.

Zeitoun by Dave Eggers tracing one New Orleans family's nightmarish journey through the post Katrina landscape. If you believe half of what Eggers writes, you will be outraged, embarrassed, sickened and have less fear about "Terror" than about ourselves.

And yes, I'm beginning my third attempt to read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. The first time I tried, it was a library book that I could no longer renew. For some reason, I only got to page 80 or so. I bought a paperback copy so I could spend years reading it if necessary. The second attempt was last winter when I had big plans to read it while snow fell on maples. Twenty-five pages was all I could do. Last week, I picked up the 900+ page tome once again and considered sawing it into 3 or 4 sections that were more portable. Marty discouraged this idea because I'd lose pages, and I don't even want to miss a word.

I'm pleased to tell you I'm on page 91. The book is dense but not difficult, and it's hilariously funny. Review to come soon, whatever that means.

Country French

Fleurs

Mariel and I flew through the night from NYC to Paris. I watched, jealously, as Mariel sat down and immediately went to sleep whereas I needed a little medical help to take a longish nap. Bleary-eyed, we arrived in Paris and took a bus to Gare du Nord where we meandered through the streets looking for a cafe where we could have lunch. We didn't have much time before we had to head back to the airport, but we wandered into a beautiful park outside a municipal building. On our way back to the bus, we did the obligatory stop at a cafe and for a much-needed libation. NB: a glass of red wine in Paris costs a lot less than a soft drink.

We arrived in Toulouse at 10:30 pm. Peter and Mecca picked us up at the airport and drove us to their house in the countryside. At this point, we were beyond exhaustion and happily fell into bed.

Over the next few days, we walked, talked, ate, drank, and tooled around the area. We went to a fair one evening where a traditionally-dressed dancing troupe from Gervais whirled around to the accompaniment of accordions, saxophone and guitar. We lunched one day in a quaint little village pictured in the collage below. You just don't get more French than this.

Photos by Mariel Feigen and Patricia Jempty

The photo of the swimming pool and long-distance view of the Pyrenees was taken at Chez Culbert-Ross. Mecca, who is an excellent cook, kept us well-fed with chicken and lamb during our relaxing stay. Peter, the host with the most, kept our glasses full and our minds humming with his encyclopedic knowledge.

Coming soon: Barcelona.