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December 2014

Milan to Paris to London

MilanParking
Parking, Milano style

At last, over-fed and impoverished, it was time to leave drizzly Parma for damp Milan to prepare for our separate departures. In Milan we spent a few hours checking out the neighbourhood, buying hats and gloves from a tiny shop we found in a side street. Found a pizzeria (Little Italy) that had been recommended by our Airbnb host, but the smell of deodorizing chemicals and the sneery attitude of the waiters quickly sent us packing.

Luckily we had stopped for a delicious Belgian beer and some rather nice MilanBresaolabresaola that tided us over until we found our zen at Ristorante Salernitano. We agonized over the staggeringly long and tempting menu while around us tables filled with locals. Risotto nero with lobster for my companion and some MilanMLBlackRisottoBeforefettucine alla lepre (hare) for me, followed by tagliata con rucola and a lovely green apple sorbet topped with calvados.

Too early the next morning we set off on our separate journeys. Mine took me through Milanese rush hour from Milano Centrale to Milano Porta Garibaldi by metro. No easy feat with baggage. Then back on TGV train service to Paris – this time first class, which was no different from standard class, except decidedly grubbier. Did not appear to have been vacuumed in near past. The seven-ish hour trip gave me plenty of time to reflect on the sad decline in passenger train services. Where once existed decent restaurant cars with proper meals served on tablecloths by waiters, now we get sad little kiosks selling disappointing variations on the baguette, inferior push-button coffees and a surplus of sweet drinks. An insult to the food traditions at either end of the Italy-France run.

Things no better in Paris. The train arrived at Gare de Lyon and from there I had to battle Parisian commuter traffic – by now having achieved the afternoon rush hour – finding my way with my heavy bags via the cryptically labelled RER services to the manic labyrinth that is Paris Nord and up mysterious escalators to Gare du Nord, a culinary wasteland if ever there was. And into the desolate and overcrowded Eurostar waiting area.

The trip made me abundantly grateful for the clean and well serviced station at St Pancras whence I had departed only days earlier.. I can’t honestly say which is worse: the European train services with their exhausting station transfers, multitude of stairs and dearth of decent food concessions, or the horrors of budget air travel – which are at least equipped for passengers with baggage – with all those nightmarishly early morning departures, grumpy and unhelpful airline staff and dehumanizing security checks. Staying put in London for a while.

Poets in Parma

Parma Tommasini StopWe spent five days in Parma, retracing some of my old steps and doing what we could to boost the economy: consuming ample Parmigiani fare and combing markets and shops for Christmas presents and bits of finery.  It was good to have a chance to refresh my memories – the kindness and courtesy of the people (an Italian Victoria?), the pastel buildings with their fine metal detailing, the microscopic lifts in the old marble-staired buildings – if you’re lucky enough to find one, the gleam of cobblestones after rain, the sulfuric stench of the water, the roar and bellow of Italian teenagers at lunchtime, and of course the wonder of the food. It’s no place for vegetarians, and would be challenging for the gluten or dairy intolerant, but omnivore heaven. Lots of dogs around too, in and out of shops and all over the market.
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This was my second stay at the comfortable and perfectly situated b&b La Pilotta which gave us an excellent view and handy access to the Christmas market, just setting up a day or so after our arrival. We also stumbled upon a market in Oltretorrente, the other side of the river, and had a good perusal, warmed by a little cioccolate calda.

ParmaLaPilottaXmasMarketParmaOltretorrenteMarketParmaCioccolateCaldo

Commerce not being our only mission here, we stopped in at Parma’s duomo, where our entrance coincided with some music from the organist, practicing for an evening concert which featured five choirs, a small orchestra and some popular soloists. The centrepiece was l’oratorio die Kindheit Jesu by Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach – which left the impressive 50 member choir standing around for far too long. And I’m afraid only affirmed in our minds the superior skills of JS Bach. Still. It was Christmas and it was music and the heavily accented rendition of Go Tell It On the Mountain will linger on as a cherished memory. The duomo’s nativity scene was charmingly random and featured, if I am not mistaken, a watermelon seller among the gathered figures.

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Moving out the doors of the duomo and across the piazza, the Battistero awed me now as it did on my last visit some years ago.

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Finally, on our final drizzly morning in Parma, I managed a warm reunion with one of my former classmates, Amy, who with her husband Corrado have just hit the Michelin guide for their fusion osteria in Suzzera, Mange Bere Uomo Donna. One to check out next time!

Poets in Paris

ParisPoemsDes4SaisonsSo finally the Iambic Cafe dusts itself off and drags itself to its weary feet, slightly jetlagged but coming round. Sunday’s arrival in London was enlivened by the rather leisurely delivery of my baggage, but after that it was clear sailing and I was greeted by faltering sunshine on the cobblestones.
ParisGargoyleOff to Paris on Tuesday, arriving by Eurostar in good time, and then an evening of bilingual readings at the Delaville Cafe, courtesy Ivy Writers Paris, comfortably accommodated and efficiently organized by expat poet Jennifer Stills. It featured Belgian poet Constance Chlore and Parisian Dominique Maurizi, as well as Saskatoon’s own Mari-Lou Rowley, shown here with Christmas tree..
ParisMariLouReading2 We passed a relaxing Wednesday afternoon wandering around the 18th arrondissement, mostly towards Montmartre, admiring the food in the windows, prowling its shops and pausing for a leisurely coffee. Hills and steps there are many, but the sun came out from time to time and warmed the way.
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Entertainingly, we passed a couple of goats gnawing on a grass fence we’d passed several times – and found we’d discovered a little pocket of urban agriculture, apparently lush in the summer but a bit bare now, with chickens pecking trackside near Porte de Clignancourt. ParisClignancourtGoats+Chickens

Our wanderings ended with a delightful dinner at the Bistrot Poulbot. Pour moi, saumon tartare, dorade , and (how could I not) a lovely confection involving lashings of my namesake Valrhona chocolate.

Teeth, nails, tongue, skin

Mark Schauss gave a couple of interesting talks. His research into nutrition and cognitive decline was comprehensive and detailed. One of his big messages was on the consistency he sees in research findings about the role of the two most heavily consumed excitotoxins (MSG and aspartame) in plaque development in Alzheimer’s. If you eat processed or packaged foods, both of these are hard to avoid since manufacturers play shell games with the naming. For MSG, see the comprehensive list from Truth In Labeling. For Aspartame, beware NutraSweet of course, as well as its new name, AminoSweet. He repeated an idea I’ve yet to see proven, that artificial sweeteners cause an insulin response similar to ingesting sugars, and lead as surely to insulin resistance and type 2 diabetes. I think there are lots of good reasons to stay away from them, but I await compelling evidence for this one. I do appreciate his main message thought, a plea for more attention paid to the gut microbiome: the more artificial the diet, the worse the gut, and a bad gut means poor communication along the gut-brain axis. Which means poor cognitive function. And, he added, exercise is the best thing you can do to keep the mind active.