Curry rice with beef ravioli, mushrooms, tomatoes, potatoes, and a sunny side up egg.
For the last two weeks, I’ve been pursuing a feat I’ve never thought possible-–cooking. Until recently, my experience with food preparation reached only to frying sunny side-ups and boiling water –- and even then, the eggs still had . . . → Read More: Being my own chef
Tuesday was the first time I’ve ever given food to a homeless person on the street. . . . → Read More: An act of charity
As much as I would love to keep on my rose-tinted glasses, I can’t accept Paris as a whole without also accepting its truly ugly, tragic parts. . . . → Read More: Enough romance: Paris as a reality check
One of the first French sentences I learned was “Je suis journaliste.”
While the phrase may be useful to explain why I’m lugging camera equipment through Perpignan, I quickly learned there’s not much utility to it in everyday conversation.
After teaching us how to conjugate the verb and pronounce the words correctly, our French . . . → Read More: Je suis journaliste
A lost bag of tea forces an American to question her stereotypes of the French. . . . → Read More: Random acts of kindness
Church bells ring out over the terracotta rooftops of Perpignan and fall upon deaf ears. Pews remain mostly empty Sunday after Sunday and the many relics of France’s holy past remain untouched by French citizens. . . . → Read More: Secularism in France
I could not help but think of the “fireside chats” of the Great Depression as I walked through the modern France Bleu Roussillon (101.6 FM in Perpignan) radio station a couple of weeks ago. Radio host Virginie Saint-Clair gave us a tour of the station, which has a web site where people can listen to . . . → Read More: Truly social media
Learning a new language is not one of my strong suits. Communicating verbally is definitely not up my alley, which may be why I prefer to use the written word.
I seem to comprehend French better when I can read along. I can get the gist of the meaning when it is written. My . . . → Read More: Je voudrais that…
Making my way down the street I can feel the stares. Both men and women pass by me, inching closer to get a gander at the colorful design on my shoulder. I can feel their breath as they pass and hear faint French whispering, either praise, surprise or disapproval. . . . → Read More: (Un)tattooed Nation
Perpignan turns into a different place when hoards of tourists arrive in early July. . . . → Read More: The streets are alive–finally