Page 127 of 135

France is broken

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

The past 28 or so hours in Paris have been… unusual. I am sitting in a dark hallway, because the lights in the hotel are on a timer and only stay on in the hall for about a minute. We’re having a problem with electricity. We’re not sure how it happened, but either my new travel adapter blew a fuse and caused a surge that burnt out M’s phone charger OR something in the hotel wiring keeps causing a fuse to blow in our room. The only electronic items we have our his iPhone 4, my borrowed iPhone 5c (left the six at home), an old French cell phone and my two year old MacBook Air.

I am sitting in the hall because I have blown a fuse for the second time and we’re trying to determine what works, what doesn’t and what caused the problem. We’re also too embarrassed to alert the front desk (just in case we did it). So I am on the floor in the hall. Funny part is, that being in the hall in the dark isn’t even the end of the story. I tried to move into a lit area of the hall and realized if I move even a fraction of an inch, everything falls out of the wall and I lose connection. And it’s not easy to get everything plugged in again.

I won’t mention the name of the hotel, because it is a decent place and I don’t want you to think it’s their fault. I don’t know whose fault it is. The toilet doesn’t flush very well. The coffee was fairly terrible but hey, it was reasonably priced in Paris and has wifi. M had some intestinal difficulties so all in all I think France is turning out more Third World than Djibouti last year.

So, we went to the catacombs last night. After 17+ hours in transit. I had a fancy blog entry planned but then I blew that fuse. Instead we used the power remaining in my laptop to charge our phones. And I was exhausted.

But the catacombs were amazing. I didn’t realize that the bones were so artfully and carefully arranged, nor that they were piled and labeled by the cemetery of origin. Saint Nicholas de Champs was one of the first heaps.

IMG_1160

We walked about two miles looking at bones. For dinner we visited our favorite shawarma place and had ourselves in bed by nine. I had a delightful night’s sleep, even despite my daughter accidentally texting me at 3 a.m. Paris time thinking she was texting her father. After all, we did switch phones.

Breakfast here at the hotel. Followed by a trip to some pharmacies looking for a medical device for migraines that is supposed to be available here in France, then a stop at an internet café while we waited for the mall at Les Halles to open. At Les Halles, we ended up taking the train from one side of the station to the mall because with construction we could not find the right door.

I wanted to go to FNAC for French military history books. Bought a memoir of one French soldier’s experience in Afghanistan. We finally made it to the sewers, which were a bit of a disappointment because M remembered them being more. But he was young the last time he visited. (I might be thankful they were a disappointment. I don’t share M’s passion for poop.) From there we went to the museum of the French Health Services (Service de Santé des Armées). That was so fun. Hopefully more on some of these individual events later.

IMG_1198

Then we visited some Muslim bookstores. And it made me want to increase my hijab accessories. And visiting the more multicultural sections of Paris makes me want an African dress.

The church above is Saint Denis. We went out there and the area had a very diverse feel and reminded me a lot of Marseille. There were many women covered. Churros for sale in front of the post office. We searched the area and found M his dream man purse but he’s too cheap and uncertain to buy it. Eventually, we decided to go for coffee and I found a cheap coffee house. It was 2.50 euros for a coffee cream. The server was a woman of color, the men beside us drank espresso and spoke arabic. The discarded wrappers from sugar packets littered the floor. Some men exited the tram outside and the server automatically placed their coffee on the counter. The whole area had the atmosphere of a street fair.

We walked a total of 11.25 miles so far today and we have dinner yet to go…

First flight down

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

 
We left Dulles on an Aeroflot flight for Moscow around 3 pm Monday. It’s now 2 am NY time, 9 am Tuesday Moscow time. Almost 5,000 miles crossed in 9 1/2 hours. 

I have issues with my ears so descent from 37,000 feet on a A330 can be very painful. I didn’t even notice that we had made it to the ground until the plane bounced that little jiggle it does. The fog was so thick I had no idea there was an airport out there.

I saw the sunrise over some gorgeous snow covered mountains. 

When we arrived at the transfer desk, we discovered our 10 am flight to Paris had been canceled due to fog. I slept about 90 minutes on the plane and will now have an additional 3 hours in the Moscow airport.

Activities in Paris tonight will probably be minimal.

The adventure begins: Russia 2015

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

  
If you don’t already know, my spring vacation is a jaunt to Paris, Moscow and Novoibirsk in Siberia. It came about, in part, because I follow PizzasInIzza on Instagram. The pizza looked so good I have to try it.

On Tuesday, my traveling companion M ran the website through Google translate so he could pick his pizza. We discovered the pizzeria is delivery only and verified it with some friends who can read Russian.

I contacted the folks at PizzasInIzza (via Instagram) and they apparently speak English (or at least more English than my pitiful Russian). Someone responded to me and invited us to see how they make pizza.

I packed a quick suitcase on Wednesday before my grandfather’s funeral.

I worked Friday and yesterday I had one of those “let’s have a nice family day” days that ends in everyone getting on everyone else’s nerves. Luckily we solved our differences with a hike to a rocky outlook over the Delaware River and soft ice cream.

This morning we headed to the train station and encountered no traffic, no wrong turns, even no issues parking. 

We bought some watermelon for my daughter and the green juice that got left at home… For me. A friend swears by it for his pre-flying ritual.

I write this now from Amtrak’s Northeast Regional train half way between Wilmington DE and Baltimore MD.

Next stop for me: Washington DC

An Ackerman Funeral

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

We buried my grandfather today. He would have celebrated his 91st birthday on May 24.

  
His death reminded me of many things, in part because he hadn’t spoken to me in 25 years.

I did something stupid when I was a girl, or I should say I said something disrespectful and he never forgave me. And it worked out okay, because I had my reasons for saying what I did. When I was in college, I approached him about the possibility of being civil to each other for my father’s sake but he rebuked my efforts. He flat out ignored everything I said.

I will not say he was a bad man. He was a decorated World War II veteran. He was a dedicated father to an adopted daughter with intellectual disabilities.

And he and I were once very close. We chewed a lot of Juicy Fruit together and listened to Jim Reeves cassettes. We watched the Dukes of Hazzard.

I gave my dad a pack of Juicy Fruit to slip in my grandfather’s pocket. My aunt did it. Dad couldn’t. I couldn’t. My dad asked my husband to be a pall bearer. These are all small gestures meant to heal larger rifts.

My dad told me I didn’t have to come, especially since we hadn’t talked, and the cemetary was an hour and a half away from the funeral home.

But I had never seen my grandmother’s grave. And my dad needed me. He needed all of his family.

  
You see, I know that people aren’t perfect. And I also know that my father is who he is because of his parents. Regardless of my relationship issues with my grandfather, I owe him for the gift he gave me — the wonderful man who raised me. 

And our feud is now over. Forever. And I can begin a new chapter of my life. 

My aunt, the one with disabilities, never attended a funeral before today. Not when her mom died in 1976. Not when her brother died in 2005. She chose to go to this one. 

I took a photo of her placing her rose on the casket.

  
I placed the last flower. Seemed appropriate.

Preparations for France and Russia

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

 
Sunday my vacation begins…

And do I ever need it.

Life has been hectic, and isn’t it always? Daughter spilled water on husband’s laptop and fried it. Husband drove through nasty pot hole and did $1400 worth of damage to the front end of the car.

I can’t find my sunglasses (prescription) and I just got a new crown that the insurance company is fighting. But hey, we’re surviving. 

Then my grandfather died Saturday night. He hasn’t spoken to me in 25 years, but it’s my father’s father and my father is one of the central people in my universe so seeing him struggle is hard.

He had considered not having a funeral, but now we’re having the traditional viewing, funeral and taking Grandpa to the cemetery. It’s going to be a long day, especially since the cemetary isn’t even in this state. 

It will be the first time I’ve ever seen the family plot, as my grandmother died when I was a baby.

And in the midst of this craziness, there’s the upcoming trip to France and Russia. So I’m thrilled to be traveling again, but part of me is simply desperate to escape. 

Traveling via the Food on my Plate

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

One of my newspaper bosses, my favorite newsroom personality ever, liked to bet on horses at the racetrack or play some cards in Vegas. He said he gave himself a budget, and since he didn’t smoke or go to the movies or play video games or have an expensive car, that this was his hobby.

I have a similar past-time that overwhelms me with guilt sometimes. I love to go out to eat. It’s my stress relief. I also love to cook, so you think I’d spend more on groceries and less on restaurants.

I’ve tried. I’ve cut the landline, canceled the Internet, lowered the thermostat, only bought meat on clearance and cat food when on sale. I can run a lean household. But I can’t resist the allure of a family meal in a fun restaurant.

Twice this week I was reminded why. A great meal is a lot like a mini-vacation. Without jet lag or clogged ears or piles of dirty laundry or traveler’s diarrhea.

And sometimes, you’re a mile away from home.

Like this penne with vodka sauce:

 

We all have that neighborhood restaurant we’ve been meaning to try. For me, it was George’s Pizzeria. I never really noticed it until my daughter moved from the elementary school to the intermediate school.  We finally checked it out and were impressed by the prices, the quality of the food, and the efficient but understated soft sell of the staff as they met our needs.

Once we left, I couldn’t stop thinking about trying their penne with vodka sauce. So, I returned this week after a long pre-Easter day in retail. 

You notice things the second time to visit a restaurant. I anticipated this and looked forward to discovering some nuances to this small, plain pizzeria. It was unexpectedly busy for the before-dinner hour. My daughter and I ordered drinks. We watched the hustle and bustle and customers came, some stayed and some picked up their food and left.

After a few minutes, a staff member ran to us. “Did anyone take your food order?”

No. He apologized so genuinely and honestly I didn’t mind because the atmosphere was like hanging out in someone’s kitchen. My daughter adores calimari. I ordered her an appetizer. I ordered my pasta, which is a $10 dish, asking if they could add chicken and broccoli.

It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time. The broccoli was fresh, not frozen. The chicken was real, not processed. (And they put so much in there I kept joking that I couldn’t find the noodles.) The sauce was smooth and no one ingredient overpowered. The texture was creamy but amazingly light.

My daughter devoured the calimari, despite the fact that it was the “hoops” kind and not the baby squid shape that she prefers. I enjoy calimari, but I still can’t bring myself to eat anything breaded in its original full-size form and shape.

My husband joined us late, so my daughter and I had dessert. I asked for coffee and they brought it in a New Orleans mug from the French coffee market. The Francophile in me was tickled.

 

When I went to pay the bill, they asked if I wanted more coffee. I declined as I do need to sleep eventually. They offered to prepare some “to go” since they had brewed me a fresh pot!

We were there two hours. I chatted with my family and enjoyed three courses. It was the most at ease I’d felt in a long time. It was the same feeling I get when my traveling companion and I find a special restaurant overseas. Like vacation.

I had a similar experience today. I finally visited Full of Crêpe in South Bethlehem. I had some delightful concoction of Brie, ham, and raspberry jam. Soooo good. 

 

It was like being in Paris. Except the staff was helpful. And crêpe was served in a restaurant not on the street. We shared a dessert crêpe.

 

The crêpes came in a fancy cardboard sleeve with perforations so you could eat in without having it flop all over. Each time you ate more, you tore down the sleeve. I couldn’t get the hang of it. I took the sleeve off and ate out of the tissue paper. Like Paris. Except I didn’t drip cheese all over myself. 

Time to Go for a Walk

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

After breaking my hand last winter in the midst of a multi-year gradual weight gain, I embarked on a fitness journey late June 2014. 

Some of the changes in my lifestyle (dedication to at-home weight training) stemmed from personal need– I had no strength in my right hand after my injury and favored the left side of my body. 

But some, like bike riding, came from the people in my life. Give a ten-year-old a bike and that child can run you into exhaustion. Two people heavily influenced my dedication to walking.

I work retail and walk about a mile an hour. I really don’t need any more steps. My friend Gayle walks all kinds of places and she has inspired me to use the car less. I have a goal in life to live somewhere that doesn’t require a car. My husband hopes that will be in an urban American environment and not some hut in a developing region in Africa.

The other inspiration for my walking efforts is my traveling companion, M. He is tall. I am short and have even shorter legs. His stride is way longer than mine so when we travel I have to work hard to keep up with him.

We leave for Russia in less than four weeks. More about that later.

Gayle has a walking blog and she posted this a couple weeks ago: National Walking Day. To celebrate, I decided to walk to do my morning errands. I clocked almost 2.5 miles and got the opportunity to reflect on how sadly “unwalkable” many areas are.

I live in a town attached to the city that happens to be the county seat. I walked a half mile down the main street that serves both municipalities. This street passes into a third municipality and intersects another main road in a commercial area. The sidewalk ends for about a block in front of a now empty factory (where I’m sure many employees had to use the bus). 

The sidewalk resumes under the major highway, but you have to cross the entrance ramp for said highway to reach the commercial plaza where I was headed. I needed to have my photo taken for my new drivers license.

There’s always that one guy who never uses his blinker and almost runs you over. Because there’s no light, only a yield.

But I made it.

 

That’s an insanely boring picture, I know. It was 30-something and the center/DMV had two minutes before it opened. 

 

 

I took my place in line. I was #3 for photos. Took about ten minutes.

  

I rewarded myself with an egg sandwich and bought the family a dozen bagels. 

 

The whole adventure took about an hour and fifteen minutes. 

Day Trip to Hershey

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I woke up yesterday frustrated by the freshly fallen snow that had ruined my plans to get out the bikes— daughter has a new bike, a grown-up bike, that she received for Christmas from her grandparents— and go for a long, first-ride-of-spring trip down the rail-to-trail path. 

I didn’t have to work, and that only happens rarely on the weekends, so I wanted to do something with my family. My daughter suggested watching a movie. I wanted something better than sitting on the couch. 

So, at noon yesterday, we hopped in the car and headed to Hershey. I last visited Hershey circa 1991. While I can technically say “I’ve been to Hershey before,” it has changed. It’s crazy amazing now. I think I stumbled upon the right age to take a child, since my daughter is ten-and-a-half and a full-fledged preteen know-it-all. Hershey reverted her to a spastic young ‘un full of wide-eyed awe. 

I had done a quick web search from my phone as we were walking to the car. I knew there were multiple attractions of multiple prices ranging from free to $14.95 per person. I also knew Hersheypark was not yet open for the season. Roller coasters would have to wait for another day (and a bigger budget). It’s a nice 90 minute drive from our home to Hershey. I also viewed this as a way to practice spontaneity. 

I’m very fortunate in a way. My mother is very frugal, knows how to budget, pays off her credit cards every month, and hides a little bit of cash somewhere for a rainy day. My father has a somewhat looser attitude towards money. He spends more generously than my mother, buys a lot of motorcycles and never balances his checkbook. I ended up a healthy blend of the two. I budget. I pay my credit cards every month. I also tend to spend when the occasion calls for it. Like on a good suit. Or, in this case, a family day trip.

We didn’t arrive at Hershey Chocolate World until 2 p.m. They close at 6 p.m. This meant we couldn’t do everything. (And honestly this kept the expense down AND the level of saying “no.”) We worked with the staff member at the ticket desk and booked the Trolley Works tour of Hershey ($14.95/adult; $10.95 child) and the Create-Your-Own-Chocolate-Bar ($14.95/person). 

To be honest, I insisted we do the Create-Your-Own-Chocolate-Bar. My husband and daughter seemed to pick the trolley. The other options were cheaper, the 4D mystery show and the Chocolate Tasting. My daughter originally suggested that, but the staff member pointed out that it was primarily a lecture with a lot of samples of dark chocolate from around the world. I was drooling, but chocolate school did not appeal to her. The staff member was very adapt at timing things so we could move from place to place without rushing but didn’t have too much free time.

I reminded my daughter that this is why she needed to be thankful that she didn’t have siblings because at these prices with more than one child I couldn’t afford to leave the house. 

  

I insisted we do the Chocolate Tour first. The Chocolate Tour is free, and though I don’t remember singing cows, it is the only part of Hershey Chocolate World that I remember existing from my other visit. The ride itself is like a Tilt-A-Whirl used as a transport device (without the spinning) that explains how Hershey makes chocolate. I thought my preteen would fine this lame. She adored it. We had to ride it twice. (I did make her wait until the end of the day for the second go.)

The trolley tour was an hour and fifteen minutes. I think the child lost interest after about 45. The history is extremely well done and the tour guides appropriately funny. Every time I started to get bored, they passed out chocolate samples. You eat a lot of free chocolate at Hershey.

  

The trolley tour chocolate samples started with Lancaster Caramels, what Milton Hershey made before chocolate, moved to Hershey Kisses, then flavored Hershey Kisses, then Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. When we disembarked, we received a full-sized Hershey Bar.

 

But, from a child’s perspective, I imagine the Create-Your-Own-Chocolate-Bar topped everything. They coded your name into your ticket, gave you a paper apron and hat, and sent you to some touch screens to select your options. First the chocolate innards: milk, white or dark chocolate. Then, up to three add-ins: crisped rice, toffee, pretzels, cookies, chocolate chips or butterscotch chips. Finally, whether or not you wanted sprinkles on top. From there, you went into the mini-factory. 

  

You scanned your ticket and pushed a button and your bar was placed on the production line. A screen displayed your name every time your bar reached that part of the process and you watched your bar receive its guts, its chocolate coating, everything. Eventually, it slid into a chute where a machine inserted it into a box and laser-printed your name on the side of the box. 

  

While it cooled and hardened, you designed the package. It was printed and a staff member boxed your bar in a Hershey tin and used your package as the outer sleeve. 

  

We ate a portion of our bars for breakfast today. We hope to make a summer trip to Hershey. 

Birthday Breakfast for the Imaginary

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

In my free time, I write fiction. My husband says it makes me an easier person with whom to live.

My writing focuses on a Parisian high fashion house inclined to supernatural events. The creative director is Étienne d’Amille and he’s been in my life for decades.

So, he’s my best ever imaginary friend.

He was born during the interwar era in France– March 14, 1959. Every year I try to mark his birthday in some way. When he turned 50, I took a group of my friends (the ones who “knew” him, i.e. read about him) out for dinner and margaritas.

Many of my celebrations are quiet meals at home, where we often discuss what we’d get him for a present or what he might be doing now. 

This year, I made steak au poivre.

For breakfast.

A day late.



I had intended a lovely dinner, perhaps even by candlelight, for this charming imaginary Frenchman whose memories I confuse as legitimately my own. Then I agreed to work for a colleague in the evening and my mom visited taking my daughter away. (She would have been extremely disappointed if we ate the steaks without her.) To further complicate matters, my husband and I used the early afternoon for other activities (or more accurately, one adult activity) that I’m sure Étienne would have also enjoyed.

This particular version of steak au poivre has its own “comedy of errors” moments but let me say, it might have been my best ever. After college, I became a vegetarian. This lasted eight years primarily for two reasons: 1. I don’t approve of modern factory farming and 2. I hate touching meat. Étienne, though, as a Frenchman and a divorcé, likes to cook so I got over my discomfort of dealing with meat “for him.”

Étienne’s Belated Steak Au Poivre

  • 4 small chuck tender steaks, angus beef (I got mine on markdown at Target)
  • black peppercorns
  • Himalayan pink salt
  • half a stick of butter, cut into four equal pieces of on tablespoon each
  • garlic powder (should be shallots but I didn’t have them. I often substitute fresh chives but didn’t have them either)
  • 1/2 cup brandy (I’m a liar. I didn’t have brandy. I had ginger brandy and spices rum, so I mixed them. It worked.)
  •  3/4 cup heavy cream (I’m lying again. I didn’t have cream, so I used half and half)

The process 

(I put photos on Instagram: angelackerman.)

With a heavy-bottomed skillet (mine, of course, is Le Creuset), smash peppercorns. I couldn’t find my grinder, which had my peppercorns in it. I did find a small container of peppercorns and salt that had exploded from the grinder at some point.

Next, pat steaks dry and smash them with a skillet too. Cooking can be great as a form of anger management. I bet Thug Kitchen would agree.

Sprinkle both sides of the steaks with salt and press the peppercorns into the meat. Cook them to desired doneness and place in a warm oven.

Now, the cream sauce.

Take half the butter and cook your shallots or chives or whatever. I added about two teaspoons garlic powder. When it’s appropriately incorporated pour in the alcohol. When that starts to bubble, add the cream and slowly bring it to a boil. Let it slowly thicken, then add remaining butter. When it melts and blends into the sauce and you just can’t take it anymore, smother those steaks and eat!



End of Winter Update

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

At least it better be the end of winter.

50 weeks ago today I broke my right hand. Approximately 47 weeks ago I left for Djibouti. Close to 9 months ago I began a fitness journey that would lead to 30 pounds lost, amazing muscle tone gain and a shocked primary care physician.

I suppose the summer of 2014 was a significant one in my personal history, and maybe, with luck and inspiration, 2015 will continue to be a transformative year.

But first I must survive the winter. The Northeastern Coast of the United States has experienced a brutal winter. I maintained a good attitude about it until last week. Now I’m ready to sell my house and move to Africa.

My friend counted four storms last week. They slayed me. I spent an hour a day shoveling various increments of winter slop. Thursday I shoveled snow for twenty minutes before work (around 6 a.m.) and my husband drove through the snow storm at lunch time to get me home. I shoveled for 45 minutes after work, about six inches of snow soaked with water run-off and caked with ice. Then, when I had the street half done, the plow came through.

The plow pushed a thick wall of ice onto the end of our parking pad so I shoveled that. Then I started working on the plow pile at the end of the alley. 

On Friday– after two snow days in a row– our local school district changed their two-hour delay to a closing. My back was sore at this point but I ignored it.

I had a 6 p.m. appointment in Washington D.C. for my interview to approve my global entry/known trusted traveler application. I walked out my front door and ended up crouched on the sidewalk in pain. 

So many recent displays of strength and endurance and I overdo it shoveling.

But I made it to D.C. and thanks to muscle relaxers and codeine, I made it to the Reagan Building and commiserated with my agent about our back pain. He perused my background and seemed puzzled not by my trip to Yemen or expired Algerian visa, but by the fact that I work retail.

I’ve been fingerprinted and have been approved.



After a delightful dinner of thai food and the delectable pastries of La Caprice for breakfast, my husband and I headed home. Not much can be done in D.C. with limited mobility.

But now, as my back slowly returns to normal (I’d say 90% today), I lament my pathetic fitbit numbers. Yesterday I walked a mile. That’s it all day. My lowest day ever. Friday and Saturday were about three miles. My weekly tally is 55,000 steps. I was over 100,000. 

I have a seven hour shift today so hopefully I don’t reinjure myself.

Finally, on another topic, still researching grad schools. I am interested in taking Arabic locally here in the Lehigh Valley. I also found a local university that offers a graduate certificate in women’s studies, an area in which I wish my portfolio was stronger. I have another school in mind for history, yet another for international relations (I’m considering an MSFS and/or conflict resolution), and also investigating Africana studies.

And on another note, I am a chapter away from finishing my third fiction manuscript.