Back in 2005, when my blog was created, Wandering Footsteps charted the travels and adventures of one Canadian girl.

Two footsteps.

In 2012, Wandering Footsteps became a blog of two, for I had teamed up with a wild, passionate, Petit-prince-loving Frenchman for an overland trip around the world.

Four footsteps.

And now, in 2018, Wandering Footsteps goes from two to three.  We are now a team of six footsteps!

Baby Nomad has arrived, folks!  And we are so excited to introduce him to you!

Here he is:

Phoenix Alexandre, about 20 hours old, and wearing his first ever outfit (a gift from my brother and sister-in-law).

A more recent shot, 2.5 weeks old, in the same outfit for comparison. I think he’s grown!

Phoenix Alexandre Caumette was born on January 25^th, 2018 at 8:12pm, 9 days before his due date (it’s fun to re-read my “when will baby arrive” musings in my last post, which, though written several weeks earlier, was only published on Phoenix’ due date).  Phoenix arrived as a bit of a surprise because, though I’d been having cramping since the middle of the previous night, it took me about 13 hours to actually clue into the fact that I was in labour… and, four hours later, he was born!

Phoenix came into this world calmly and alertly, and has been a healthy, active, well-fed boy ever since.  He weighed 7lbz 8oz and was 21” long at birth… and I expect he is much more than that now (this boy takes after his Papi Pierrot, who is the living incarnation of Obelix, Asterix’ gluttonous side-kick).

Bruno and I (as well as our families) are overjoyed, and cannot get enough of our little man!  We are so enjoying this special time getting to know him from the cozy comfort of our Antigonish winter rental home.

Eyes wide open, ready to see the world! 5 days old.

Grand-maman and Grumps are in love…!

Enjoying a (rare) meal at the table with Bruno, while Phoenix takes a nap on the table!

Bruno learning how to babywear.

That being said, Phoenix’ arrival has definitely re-sparked our desire to head out on the road.  Every day, we excitedly chat about our future travels as a family of three, and we tell Phoenix about all the places he will go and the adventures he will soon have.  We truly cannot wait to share our life of exploration with our baby boy.  Our journey was already so rich, but now it will be even richer.

Yes, Wandering Footsteps has a new permanent team member.

I expect the scope of Wandering Footsteps will likely change somewhat.  Not only are we going to see the world through a child’s eyes – which, as any lover of Le Petit Prince knows, is the best way to see it – but we are also bound to have many hiccups, challenges, hilarious and otherwise interesting moments as we navigate living in a bus and traveling the world with our new bundle of joy.  (I know the hiccups part will be true, as we already experienced the particular challenge of installing a car seat and baby bed in the bus, and Phoenix hadn’t even arrived yet!).

Bruno and I hope you will join us as we navigate the world as a family of six footsteps.  Our blog has a new star, and we couldn’t be more excited to share him with you!

Phoenix at two weeks old, wearing the same outfit my brother wore home from the hospital after his birth, 30 years ago.   Phoenix’ facial expression is his classic look.

It’s not just because I’m traveling again – after a two-month travel hiatus – that I’m so happy, nor is it simply because I’m in a new and exciting city.

I’m so happy because two of my best friends in the world are about to join me in Europe for a ten-day reunion!

Erin (middle) and Alex (right), two of my very best friends.

The three musketeer, exploring Europe together! :)

I met Alex and Erin almost a decade ago in Bangkok, Thailand.  We had all arrived mid-school-year to teach English at a private bilingual school in the city.  Though our time together in Thailand was brief, we took full advantage of school holidays to explore the region, creating lifelong memories along the way (one of my best ever was camping on a deserted island in the Philippines with Erin; I’ve also had a few epic trips with Alex since then, most notably to Egypt and Zimbabwe).

Alex now lives in Singapore and Erin in Washington, DC, so the only time the three of us have been together since Thailand was in 2012 for Erin’s wedding.  Here in Barcelona, all that was about to change.

Three Nights in Barcelona

Barcelona is the perfect backdrop to a girls’ trip.  The city is large, exciting and energizing.  The weather is mild and sunny.  Cafes and tapas bars line the streets – the perfect places to have long lunches.  Which is exactly what we did.  Over glasses of wine and mini tapas plates, we reconnected and filled one another in on each of our lives.  We looked like total locals with our late, lingering meals.

The Gothic Cathedral of Barcelona

Wacky Gaudi architecture.

Palm trees and balmy weather

Erin hadn’t been to Europe in about 14 years, so we did make sure to do a bit of sightseeing.  Most of it involved Antoni Gaudi.  We visited the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral that is perhaps the landmark of Barcelona.  Its construction began over 100 years ago, but, because of its magnitude (and other factors), the cathedral is still not finished.  It is hoped that the structure will be complete by 2026, exactly 100 years after Gaudi’s untimely death.

Our Air BnB was only a 7-minute walk from the Sagrada Familia, so we were lucky to catch a glimpse of its imposing exterior several times and in different light.  Though the interior was celestial, for me, the cathedral is all about its exterior facades and skyscraping arches.  I’m happy we got to soak up the grandiosity of the Sagrada Familia over the course of our three-night stay in Barcelona.

The infamous Sagarada Familia

We did an audio tour inside the Sagarada.

And saw cool things like this very celestial ceiling!

Because our accommodations were just down the road, we got to see the Sagarada Familia in all different types of lighting!

We also visited Gaudi’s Parc Guëll.  The park is massive, but we concentrated our guided visit on the inner Monumental Zone, where you can find a few preserved homes, Gaudi’s infamous mosaic salamander, and the old viaducts.  We were so lucky that it was warm and clear, and so we stayed long enough to sun ourselves, and to catch an epic view of the entire city, with the Mediterranean Sea in the background.

Admiring the panoramic of Barcelona from atop Parc Guëll.

The famous mosaic salamander at Parc Guëll.

The lovely viaducts.

Some of the funky Gaudi buildings inside the Monumental Zone.

With the rest of our time in Barcelona, we wandered fairly aimlessly around the city (talking, of course, all the while).  We went to Barceloneta, the area of town where locals congregate along the city beach.  It was pretty happening on this Saturday afternoon, with hawkers set up along the wharf and bands performing on the street.  We had an al fresco drink, Alex got a mini-massage, and we dipped our toes in the Mediterranean as we watched an incredible lightning show in the sky over the sea.

We also wandered around the alleys off Las Ramblas, in the Gothic area.  We stumbled upon the Catedral de Barcelona, a small farmer’s market selling cheese and wine and honey, and we feasted on the best churros y chocolate in town.

We ate really well throughout our trip, actually (thanks to Erin, who had done her research).  Our first evening we dined at La Yaya Amelia, where we had a tasty (and affordable) three-course meal.  Funnily, the restaurant was almost entirely empty at 8pm, but started to get packed as we left around 10pm.  Our final afternoon, we stumbled upon Arume Restaurante, a super popular and funky place famous for its paella.  Amazing food and ambiance.  I highly recommend both!

Churros y chocolate, with some more chocolate on the side (cuz why not?)

Tapas!!!

Arume, a delish restaurant.

Paella, and an amazing artichoke dish, at Arume.

A Night in Carcassonne

From Barcelona, we took the train to Carcassonne, France.  I had long wanted to visit this city, as it has a massive medieval Unesco World Heritage fortress on its hill.  On the day we arrived, we were shocked by the wind and plummeting temperatures, but we braved it and visited the fortress, anyway.

Actually, I didn’t plan the trip very well.  In the off-season, the castle and ramparts close by 5pm, and we were too late arriving to enjoy the recommended two-hour visit.  We were happy to know we could still walk around the outskirts of the ramparts, which allowed us to get sweeping views of the city.  The buildings sported the same red Roman tiles as the roofs in the south of France, but because of the dampness here, the red has gone a greenish grey.  I like that you can tell which region of France you’re in based on the color of the roofs!

View of Carcassonne from the fortress ramparts.

Lots of cafes inside the fortress, but not the weather for sitting outside!!!

Carcassonne’s picturesque fortress walls.

Happy to find out we could walk the perimeter of the ramparts!

Carcassonne’s Cité is full of kitsch tourist shops, which doesn’t make for the most authentic experience.  I think tourism has ruined what could have been a very charming village.  But what makes Carcassonne absolutely worth the visit is a view of the fortress walls at night.  The place looks like a Disney fairy tale castle and it’s hard to believe that, not only is this place real, but it’s 1000 years old.

Fairy tale castle, right?

Erin is the selfie queen.

Carcassonne at night – the highlight of our time there.

When in Carcassonne, one must try the regional dish of cassoulet, a white bean and meat stew.  Because it was Monday, the restaurant our Air BnB hosts had recommended was closed, but the girls still managed to try the dish at the only restaurant open in the “nouvelle cite” (for one should never try cassoulet in the fortress).  Then, because it was cold and our apartment was just so darn cute, we bought wine, cheese, charcuterie, and chocolate mousse, and headed home for a proper French girls’ night.  I’m so glad Air BnB exists, as we were able to find lovely private apartments at each destination, which maximized the time we could spend simply being together.

Cassoulet, Carcassone’s infamous dish.

And our nightcap at our lovely Air BnB. :)

Two Nights in Bordeaux

This city was high on Erin’s destination list, because she’s totally in love with Bordeaux wine.  Our first afternoon there, we simply wandered around the old town, which is mostly pedestrian streets and funky shops and brasseries.  Because it was still so cold, we had a hot beverage under the heat lamp overlooking a cathedral and a square.  It felt very French.

That evening, we visited L’école du Vin, where we could sample glasses or flights of wine from the Bordeaux area.  The staff was knowledgeable, the environment sophisticated, the glasses affordable, and the pours generous.  I loved it, and Erin was in absolute heaven.

Bordeaux’ Old Town.

We sat outside sipping on hot beverages with a view of this lovely cathedral.

Bordeaux’ classy pedestrian streets, lined with boutiques.

The next day, we decided to make her dream of visiting a real Bordeaux château come true.  We hopped on a local train to St. Emilion, one of the most famous wine-making regions of Bordeaux.  We had no plan and no idea what to expect, but the village was so charming that I didn’t even care if we didn’t visit a single château.  We ate crêpes by another cathedral overlooking another square, caught glimpses of the green-grey-tinged Roman tiled roofs, and wandered past endless rows of perfect grape vines.

St. Emilion, one of Bordeaux’ wine regions.

So.Darn.Charming!

Vineyards as far as the eye can see.

So.Darn.Charming!

We did eventually head to the tourist office, and they were very helpful in organizing a wine-tasting visit for us.  First we visited one of two domaines in the village proper that allow you to wander through their underground wine cellars for free.  It was a quick visit followed by an equally quick two-wine tasting.

Next, we visited Château Haut Sarpe, a smallish family vineyard.  The tour was in French (because we booked last-minute in the off-season) so I did quite a lot of translating, which allowed me to truly understand the entire process of wine-making from grape to bottle.  I found it absolutely fascinating, and would recommend a visit for any wine-lover or curious individual.  It made the tasting at the end all the more delicious and meaningful.  One day, I’d love to return to Haut Sarpe in September to help with the grape harvest for a few weeks – what a cool cultural experience that would be!

The Chateau we visited, Haut Sarpe.

Haut Sarpe not only makes great wine, but it’s a historic chateau with lots of pretty old buildings, including this wind mill.

Pretty stoked to have visited St. Emilion with my besties!

Four Nights in Agde

After getting to visit three new European destinations (yay!), I brought the girls home to Bruno’s neck of the woods.  I wanted Erin to meet Bruno and see our little home and village (Alex already had back in 2015), and it was also a way for us to save a bit of cash while winding down the tourism part of our trip and focusing on soaking each other up as much as possible (because who knows when the three of us will be together again?).

I took the girls to La Table d’Emilie, my favourite French restaurant in Marseillan, for a gourmet five-course meal.  They loved it all up.  I took them to Pézénas, the medieval fortified city full of talented artisans selling their wares (the shops are much more interesting here than in Carcassonne).  And I took them to the local spa, followed by an outdoor lunch of moules frites along the edge of the Herault River.

But mostly we cooked.  We talked.  We walked the beach.  We talked.  We sang.  We talked.  We laughed.  We talked.

Enjoying dessert after 4 previous courses at La Table d’Emilie.

La Table d’Emilie, in Marseillan. Fabulous restaurant.

Walking the beach (despite the wind) outside our home in Agde.

And we promised each other we would meet again soon.  This trip had been rejuvenating and illuminating for our souls, and we knew we needed to make one another a greater priority in our lives.

That’s the thing about long distance friendships.  Time makes you slowly forget, adapt.  You lose the urgency of being with that person.  But the moment you’re next to one another, you remember.  You pick up where you left off, you soak it all up, you fill your heart with that person, and you hold on to them that much more tightly because you don’t know when you’ll be able to do it again.

I’m sitting at my departure gate at the Barcelona International Airport.  Our girls’ trip has come full circle, as I’ve returned to the city where just ten days before I happily awaited Alex and Erin while contemplating the quirky architecture of Barcelona’s renowned Antoni Gaudi.  I’m tired – exhausted, actually – but I am happy.  So, so happy.  Over the past ten days I have discovered three new regions of Europe, which is always exciting for a traveler.  Better yet, I discovered these regions with friends.  There’s no better way to discover a place.

Saying goodbye (for now) at the Barcelona airport.

Most of the photos for this post are courtesy of my lovely talented friend, Erin Socia.  Thanks for letting me share, and for being our official trip photographer!!!

Being with Bruno’s family this past week brought me back to another recent family trip that I haven’t yet had a chance to blog about: our three-RV road trip to Nova Scotia, Canada!

An epic three-RV roadtrip!

After hitting it off in France and Morocco, Bruno’s brother, sister-in-law, and niece decided to make the trip to Canada this past July to visit my parents.  Once we caught word of their plans, we decided to get in on it (how could we not?!?).  In fact, joining our families was the reason we embarked on our cross-Canadian road trip!

By the time we arrived, Bruno’s family had already seen Niagara Falls, a bit of New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island.  We’d made it in time for their 9-day RV adventure through Nova Scotia.  Back in Morocco, Bruno and I had done an RV road trip with my parents, but this was our first time traveling as three vehicles.  Without a doubt, it was an unforgettable (if logistically challenging) experience!

Our itinerary for our 9-night RV road trip through Nova Scotia, Canada.

An unforgettable time with family!

Our primary destination was Nova Scotia’s famed Cape Breton Island, so for that reason we spent our first night just before the bridge to Cape Breton, in Havre Boucher.  There was something special about that first stop which had nothing to do with the campground itself, but more to do with the coming together of our three vehicles and the kick-off of this much-anticipated trip.  Everything was new to us all – the way we’d set our vehicles up in a campground to maximize common space, the excitement of sitting out on camping chairs and enjoying the afternoon, the rhythm of our rituals.

Bruno and I had arrived several hours before our families, so we prepared a huge welcome dinner.  Cooking for seven was quite the endeavour – and one that we never could have managed in Totoyaya – but in Big Blue we had ample space (indeed, later in our trip, we would be up to four people in Big Blue’s kitchen chopping and sautéing and baking away!).

Sitting around enjoying our camping chairs at our first campground, just after setting up camp.

Our first camping dinner, prepared by yours truly.

Four bodies cooking comfortably in Big Blue – what a feat!

Welcome to Cape Breton!

The following morning we made for Cape Breton and the little town of Baddeck.  Some of mom’s ancestors were from here, so she has memories of spending summers at the local beach.  Boy, had the town changed since she’d last been!  It’s now a hopping tourist town with ice cream and knick-knack shops, boat rides off the pier, and nightly ceilidhs.

A ceilidh is a traditional Scottish social gathering, a kitchen party of sorts, with Scottish music and dancing (and, traditionally, drinking!).  I love fiddle music and was dying to take part in one, so jumped at the first opportunity.  I’m so glad we did – the ceilidh ended up being one of my favourite parts of our entire road trip!  The two musicians, red-headed sisters from the other side of the island, were fantastic, and they duelled and talked and danced their way through a captivating fiddle and piano performance.  My dad and I even got up and learned a little Scottish square dance!  Cape Breton is most famous for its Gaelic roots, and here in Baddeck we first witnessed its cultural richness.

The following morning, on our way out of Baddeck, my parents opted to stop at the local cemetery to find my great-grandmother’s grave.  The afternoon before, mom had gone to the town’s historical society to enquire as to where she might have been buried and learned much more – the lady remembered Frieda and talked about how wonderful a music teacher she (and her son) had been.  She even gave mom an old black and white photo of Frieda, all dressed up in her Sunday best.  A very special encounter, and a sign that Baddeck was still the tight-knit community it had once been.

Ice-cream refuel in Baddeck.

The two wonderfully-talented sisters performing traditional Scottish jigs at a ceilidh.

Dad and I learned some Scottish square dancing.  You can tell he’s having fun!

Visiting my great-grandmother’s grave in Baddeck.

Most people come to Cape Breton to drive the Cabot Trail, a 300km scenic loop along the northern tip of the island.  We didn’t want to miss it, either – nor did we want to miss Cape Breton Highlands National Park, which encompasses a good section of the Cabot Trail.  And so we stopped, on Day 3, at the Broad Cove Campground on the eastern side of the park.  And it was just the type of campground Bruno and I like – spread out and surrounded by nature.

We decided to do exactly what people do when they camp in parks.  First we followed a nearby hiking trail to a spectacular viewpoint of the park (the views of boreal forest, rugged and mountainous coastline, and deep blue water are quintessential Cabot Trail views and we would spend the following day stopping and admiring as many of them as possible).  Then, we came back to the campground fora barbecue and bonfire.

Hiking up to a viewpoint in Cape Breton Highlands National Park.

Admiring the views along the Cabot Trail.

A quintessential camping experience: a barbecue/bonfire!

We held up the rear of the convoy along the Cabot Trail.

And we stopped A LOT to take in all the wonderful views!

Eating proved to be something we would do much of and probably my favourite ritual of our road trip (this is probably not surprising to those who know me).  In the evening, we always cooked up a feast that we would share on picnic tables between our RVs.  During the day, we would find scenic spots to pull over and picnic.  This is not an easy feat when you’re three large vehicles, but, thanks to Bruno’s experienced eye, we almost always managed a very lovely spot.  One of my favourite was on Day 4, near the NE side of the national park, at a picnic table right along a lovely pebble beach.

One of my favourite lunch picnic spots.

Another really lucky lunch picnic find.

Post-lunch digestion stroll.

There were a few small disappointments on Day 4, however.  Bruno’s family had opted to try whale watching that morning in Ingonish; they joined us at our lunchtime picnic having seen nothing more than seals.  I knew that whale watching in Cape Breton wasn’t nearly as sure of a bet as in Quebec’s St. Lawrence River (where Bruno and I had successfully whale-watched a few weeks earlier), but I still felt badly for our guests.

The other disappointment was the Cabot Trail’s infrastructure.  There was so much construction throughout the national park section of the trail that it was not fun to drive.  Much charm was lost because of the dust, noise and trucks, and the notoriously-dangerous road became treacherous.  It took us so long to drive through the park that we didn’t have time to hike the infamous Skyline Trail, and we only reached our campground in Cheticamp near nightfall.  At least the boys did have time for a dip in the ocean before another wonderful campground picnic!

Bruno’s family on a whale-watching trip.

Bruno wasn’t brave enough to join our other boys in the water. Too bad for him!

Day 5 was slightly disappointing as well, but in a funny and ironic sort of way.  On this day we drove from Cheticamp to the other side of the island, to Mira River Provincial Park near Louisbourg.  After another fantastic lunchtime picnic spot, we arrived at the provincial park late afternoon.  It was, yet again, the type of campground Bruno and I totally get down with, and I could have seen us spend a couple days there enjoying the nearby river and the nature peace of the place.  Instead, we chose to quickly park our vehicles and drive 40 minutes on into Louisbourg, after having heard that there was both the Tall Ships Festival and the kick-off of their annual crab fest.

Sometimes there are those moments in travel when your timing is just off.  We arrived into town just as the Tall Ships had finished their open-house visits for the day, and the Crab Fest wasn’t due to start for a couple hours.  Louisbourg, itself, was so dead that it was almost like a ghost town!  We couldn’t even find a restaurant to sit down in for a drink or a bite to eat.  Suddenly, Crab Fest didn’t look too enticing, and we opted to head back to the campground.  It was 9pm and dark as blazes by the time we’d cooked up our campground dinner that night.

The Tall Ships festival in Louisbourg. I actually think we caught those same tall ships a few weeks early along the St. Lawrence in Quebec!

I wouldn’t have minded spending the afternoon at this campground!

The following day reversed our mini slump, though.  We visited the Fortress of Louisbourg, and it was just as interesting as the Acadian Historical Village Bruno and I had fallen in love with a few weeks earlier.  The seven of us were there the entire day, and hadn’t even visited the entire fortress by the time the place closed.  We’d witnessed the firing of muskets and canons in the re-enactment of military pageantry, heard fife music, watched the children’s dance, listened to First Nations stories, seen a public punishment, dined on traditional 18^th century food at the restaurant, and learned oh-so-much about life in the fortress from the costumed staff stationed in each building.  Oh, how I love these living museums!

Learning a lot from the interpreters at the Fortress of Louisbourg.

The children’s dance was one of many re-enactments at the fortress that day.

The Fortress of Louisbourg was well-worth a full day’s visit.

Several months earlier, mom had reserved spots for our three RVs in campgrounds around Nova Scotia.  She opted to do this because Nova Scotia in summer is very, very popular!  Even then, campgrounds (especially in parks) were full for our August dates, and mom wasn’t able to plan our itinerary exactly as she’d have liked.  For Bruno and me, it was simply a very strange experience to have an itinerary, to have to arrive at a particular destination on a particular date, and to be staying in jam-packed campgrounds every night.  But we understood mom’s decision, as every campground we stayed in was fully-booked and never could have accepted our convoy without prior reservation.

We learned that the hard way after visiting the Fortress of Louisbourg.  This was the only night mom hadn’t reserved a campground.  There was no space anywhere within an hour of Louisbourg so she’d opted to give us a bit of flexibility.  In reality, this meant a two-hour drive after a day of sightseeing to get back to Havre Boucher, on the other side of the Cape Breton bridge, because it was the only campground that had space.  This was not Bruno’s idea of a good time, but when you travel with others (and when you’re not in charge of your plans), you have to compromise.  We arrived at the campground well after dark and all fell into bed that night, but at least we were closer to our destination for the following day – the Peggy’s Cove/Lunenberg area, well past Halifax.

This allowed us several hours of sightseeing in Halifax, a must-see spot when visiting Nova Scotia.  It just so happened that the infamous Busker Festival was on!  I have memories of going to this festival as a child, so it was really cool to return with Bruno and his family.  The buskers were talented and entertaining – and, to top it off, their performances took place right along the wharf downtown, so we were able to simultaneously see the best and most beautiful of Halifax!  That was definitely another highlight of our road trip.

The Buskers’ Festival in Halifax.

Enjoying the afternoon along Halifax’ wharf.

Earlier in the day, we’d had our first bout of rain, and it had been so heavy I wasn’t sure we’d be able to take advantage of Halifax at all.  As such, I booked us in for lunch at one of my favourite restaurants – Envie, a tiny vegan restaurant in Halifax.  Since we were showing our Canadian culture to Bruno’s family, I figured a vegan restaurant fit the bill – French people definitely don’t have vegan food!  Everyone was mightily impressed that you can eat so deliciously without animal products!

Thankfully the weather cleared up, and, after checking out the buskers, we had a lovely, very quaint drive to Indian Harbour.  We got lucky at our campground and were given three side-by-side spots (the only time this happened) with a stupendous view of the ocean and the sunset.  Nova Scotia is almost entirely surrounded by water, so it was nice to be able to spend some time contemplating its beauty.

Yummy vegan food! And cultural, too (because, let’s face it, French people don’t have vegan restaurants)

We got three side-by-side spots!

And with a view of the water!

The next morning, we all wandered over to nearby Peggy’s Cove, a picturesque fishing village that was so adorable I wanted to eat it up.  The weather was gorgeously warm and sunny and we were headed for a two-night stay at Graves Island Provincial Park (hallelujah, two nights in a campground!), so after another charming coastal drive, we parked our vehicles and headed straight for an afternoon at the beach.

Peggy’s Cove, so adorable.

We are pretty adorable too, right?

And an afternoon at the beach! (I ALMOST made it into the water, too!)

I’m glad we got to take advantage of the campground itself, as that was one thing we hadn’t really had time to do.  A nine-day road trip to Nova Scotia isn’t nearly enough, and we’d packed our itinerary so fully that what was missing was downtime at the campground to enjoy camping.  At least that night we got to have another barbecue and bonfire.

I’m also glad we got to take advantage of the weather, because the following day (our last) it poured like nobody’s business.  We tried to visit Lunenberg, another picturesque (and historically important) port town, but it was so rainy that we were mostly only able to take cover in shops and a restaurant.  That night, still rainy at the campground, we packed ourselves into my parents’ RV for dinner and cards.  Their RV is pretty big, but it can’t exactly accommodate seven!  Thank goodness the weather had cooperated with us until that point, because picnics outside are a whole lot more comfortable!

Hanging out in my parents’ RV.

It’s definitely more fun (and comfortable) to eat outdoors.

The following day, we dropped off the rental RV in Halifax and headed home to New Brunswick for a final few days together before Bruno’s family returned to France.  I am so happy they decided to visit us in Canada, and grateful Bruno and I were able to join them on their Nova Scotia RV trip.  Bruno and I love traveling solo – the pace is definitely more to our liking! – but it’s absolutely wonderful to share the road with friends and family.  It shakes things up and creates a store of lifelong memories.  Between our RV trip in Morocco with my parents, our niece Lucile’s visit to Kenya, meet-ups with overlanding friends in Turkey, Sudan, and Spain, and my friend Sahnah’s visit to Morocco, the store of overland adventures with loved ones is getting mighty big… but there’s always room for more!

Feel free to take that as a hint.

After hosting three volunteers via the working holiday online database, HelpX, I have several thoughts about the experience.  What follows is my take on what it’s like, and what it takes, to be a HelpX host.

The Good

I’ll admit it: the only reason Bruno and I became HelpX hosts is because we needed help with our bus conversion.  We were totally overwhelmed with the project and couldn’t afford the expense of hired help in the United States.  Quite honestly, Bruno wasn’t chuffed about sharing his home, his meals, his free-time with strangers.

After having hosted three volunteers, though, I can say (whether or not Bruno agrees is unclear) that the interpersonal and cultural exchange that transpired when we welcome strangers into our home was an unexpected positive of HelpX hosting.  I wasn’t expecting hosting to provide such a keyhole into American culture, nor for the people we’d host to be so varied, so quirky, so intriguing.  But it was, and they were.

Bruno and Will, our 1st HelpX volunteer. This photo is so cute!

Despite the fact that our three volunteers were all American, all male, and all young adults, we received a wonderfully diverse cross-section of American subculture.  We had one vagabond-minimalist-philosopher; one conspiracy-theorist-anarchist; and one brilliant-but-socially-inept architecture-artist-scientist.  I’ve already introduced you to the philosopher and the anarchist, but allow me to briefly describe our latest volunteer, A.J.

I reached out to A.J. on HelpX because he was a carpenter by trade.  Bruno and I had had enough of the inexperienced volunteers who struggled with our projects and whom Bruno had to closely supervise.  We needed an expert.  It just so happened that A.J. wanted to visit Baja California so it seemed we were meant to find one another.

A.J. is incredibly intelligent, at least in an intellectual sort of way.  His conversations always steer toward statistics and scientific evidence, and the topics that interest him are very cerebral.  Several nights during A.J.’s 11-day stay, I was up super late talking to him about all sorts of things.  The conversations were both enjoyable and thought-provoking.

Ryan, our 2nd volunteer, and the one who stayed with us the longest – 3.5 weeks!

Early on, I assumed A.J.’s choice to wander around the United States this past year or two and not to earn money was motivated either by a desire to travel or by self-imposed poverty.  Neither was really the case.  He had gone nomad because he’s looking for a partner to accomplish a project he’s been working on for a while but can’t get off the ground (an open-cell battery) and he does work-exchanges because he is, as he put it, really bad at earning money.  It was somewhat incongruous to hear that someone so intelligent wouldn’t be poor simply by choice, but this is what I mean about the eye-opening things you learn about the world as a HelpX host.

Of course, the best part of A.J. was that he was able to build us several pieces of furniture for our bus, like a table, a few doors, and a few cabinets.  Despite the added bonus of getting to know interesting and unique volunteers, the best part of being a HelpX host is getting help, of course!  The quality of help may not be consistent (we had one who barely met his minimum hours and one who put in way more time than requested but accomplished way less than hoped for) but at the very least there is the morale boost of knowing we’re not in this [crazy F$%@ing bus conversion!!!!] alone.

A.J., our expert carpenter and third volunteer.

The Bad

Throw strangers together in a confined space, and there is bound to be conflict and drama – isn’t that what all reality TV shows are centered-upon?

In my eyes, most of the bad of being a HelpX host comes down to the intangible sacrifices that one must make to accommodate others in one’s home.  Some things are small: having to wait for the bathroom to be free when my bladder is bursting (this only happened in Ensenada, as we had two bathrooms in our lovely Tucson rental!); having to be friendly and social when I’m, in fact, grumpy or tired; tiptoeing around the house every morning so as not to awaken our guests.  Some sacrifices were larger.  Sometimes, the volunteers’ actions or personality traits annoyed me.  Sometimes, I felt uncomfortable in my own house (which is a strange sensation).

Ultimately, the biggest drawback of being a HelpX host was sacrificing our privacy and personal space.  “Couples’ time” was non-existent.  Quiet evening time was shared.  Because none of our volunteers became wonderful friends, there came a point in time where Bruno and I wanted our space back more than we wanted them around, and in each case, we felt relief when our volunteer left.  (From the experiences of other hosts I’ve managed to find online, this is a totally normal reaction, so I’m not judging myself.)

The other bad side of being a HelpX host, at least for us, involved food.  Because part of our agreement was that I cook lunch and dinner, I was on full-time kitchen duty.  It felt like I was always either at the grocery store or in the kitchen, and I felt pressure to cook “real” food for every meal.  I couldn’t feel lazy one evening and just serve salad with bread and hummus, you know?

Our arrangement was also that breakfast was self-serve, and I left my cupboards of expensive organic ingredients out for the taking.  When our first volunteer made himself a $10 oatmeal out of hemp and sunflower seeds, it created a sore spot in me that never entirely healed.  I’m a bit controlling over my kitchen at the best of times, but thereafter it was even more difficult for me to give free access to our volunteers.

The Ugly

This is probably when the bad turns into the ugly.  It was over food that our relationship with A.J. broke down.  I don’t want to rehash the experience too much, but I also know that giving some vague context is necessary.  Here goes:

A.J. expressed early on that he had high caloric needs – we’d seen evidence of this the first night when, after arriving without notice at 9pm, he downed an entire box of cereal.  He put it to me more bluntly later, when he exclaimed that he was struggling with our “experiment in calorie restriction”.  So I began cooking more and offering him extra snacks, but when this still proved to be insufficient, we came up with a new game-plan: I would buy staple ingredients A.J. requested and he would cook his own meals.  I did, and he did, though I still welcomed him to join us at dinner because I felt happy to give him “extra” for the good work he was doing.

It wasn’t until A.J.’s departure that he expressed his distaste with our work-trade arrangement.  He felt he’d gotten the short end of the stick, massively.  He’d put in about 50 hours of work, which, in the U.S., at $10/hour, would be worth $500 – he felt he’d not received the equivalent of that amount in what we’d offered him in room and board, so he felt undervalued and demoralized.  I had had no idea A.J. felt this way, but since his departure last week, I’ve had plenty of time to analyze what went wrong.

What Went Wrong

Perhaps there were a few subtle elements that led A.J. to feel less than satisfied with our work-trade agreement.  I know that he wasn’t terribly pleased with the accommodation provided (I agree that our current rental is no Tucson Air BnB!).  I also know that he wasn’t at all taken by Ensenada city or the vibe of Mexico, generally (it was his first time leaving the United States).  The lack of appeal of our digs and environment may have made A.J. more negative about the work-exchange, generally.

I also know that he struggled with the  working conditions.  We didn’t have the tools, workshop or materials he was used to, and he wasn’t as adept as Bruno at making do with what we had.  We did purchase some of the tools he asked for, but at this late stage in the game, we didn’t want to make a large investment in tools that we would use for a single project.  Perhaps the work itself, then, wasn’t as pleasant for A.J. as he’d hoped.

But I think the crux of breakdown was the different understanding we have of HelpX.  Clearly, by A.J.’s purely mathematical calculation, he sees HelpX as a network for more money-oriented work-exchanges.  He even asked us for a small daily stipend in our initial email exchange.  Throughout his stay, A.J. calculated not only his calories, but our estimated expenses on him.  We, on the other hand, understand HelpX to be a platform for working holidays for volunteers seeking cultural experiences and cheap ways to travel.  If our understanding is correct, there are several intangible elements hosts offer to the exchange that cannot be calculated numerically.

I think the biggest contributor to the sour ending of our time with A.J., though, was the breakdown of communication.  I began to turn inward early on because of A.J.’s challenging way of communicating, and so after thinking I’d solved his food problem, I didn’t dare re-approach the issue.  Bruno stopped trying to communicate with A.J. entirely after consistently being told his English was unintelligible.  Apparently A.J., too, ceased communicating with us, except for negative, rude, and condescending remarks.  The slow breakdown of communication led to ill feelings that festered within us all, and by the time they exploded, it was too late.

What I’ve Learned

The unfortunate end to our most recent HelpX hosting experience has led me to do some significant soul-searching this past week.  I reached out to HelpX for a written manifesto of the organization and the role of hosts.  No reply.  I’ve googled others’ HelpX experiences.  I’ve found some, but the vast majority are written from the experience of the volunteer (see “Resources” at the end of this post).

And so, despite my father advising me not to blog about my negative HelpX experience, I decided to share.  At the very least this post will provide one account from a host’s perspective that can be useful to current or future hosts.  Perhaps I may even receive feedback from other current HelpX volunteers or hosts that will help me continue to make sense of my experience (I’d love that!).

I’ve learned that being a HelpX host shouldn’t be something you take lightly.  Even if you have experience hosting friends or family, hosting a volunteer is an entirely different experience.  In many ways, it’s a skill that requires refining.

After our first volunteer, I realized I couldn’t just accept any old friendly stranger.  I needed some sort of vetting system.  For my next two volunteers, that mainly involved a few more emails about my expectations and hopes and a few questions about their skills.  I now know that this screening is not sufficient.  I believe that, in choosing a volunteer, it’s important to speak with them on the phone or provide them with some sort of questionnaire.

What types of things are important to find out?  Well, food choices and preferences for a start.  But more than that, I think it’s important to understand what is motivating the volunteer to stay with you.  Is it because they’re really into your project?  They like helping people?  They want to learn new skills?  They want to live as cheaply as possible?  Travel cheaply?  Meet new people?  Understanding the prospective volunteer’s intentions can give a lot of insight into whether or not they will be a good fit.

Being a good fit is, I think, also very important (in fact, our slowest worker was still our most positive HelpX experience because he was the best overall fit).  You’re going to be working and living with the person pretty closely, so it’s a good idea to see if their personality and world view will jive with your own.  That’s not to say that you should only accept people who have, say, the same political views as you – that would be against the very idea of HelpX, in my opinion.  But people have different work styles, communication styles, and eating styles, and, for the placement to work most smoothly, styles should, at the very least, not clash.

I learned quickly that it’s essential for hosts to make our expectations clear from the get-go.  We should clarify what we expect from the volunteer (in terms of work and hours), and provide as many details as possible about the projects and what we will offer in terms of room and board.  We should encourage the potential volunteer to ask questions so that they don’t come with unreasonable expectations.

With A.J., I even re-iterated my expectations the morning after he arrived so that we were both on the same page.  I was hoping this would help us avoid misunderstandings, which clearly it didn’t.  I still think it’s a good idea to have a debriefing conversation at the start of the placement.  It’s probably a good idea to have one a few days in as well, to check in on how everyone is feeling.

Debriefing is a way of keeping the lines of communication open, which is probably the most important thing I’ve learned about being a host.  If I’m feeling annoyed or uncomfortable about the volunteer, there is a pretty good chance they are feeling the same way about us.  Ideally, a conversation can improve these feelings and lead to a more positive experience for both parties.  At the very least, if the conversation goes poorly (like our final debriefing with A.J.), you can learn something which might improve the experience with your next volunteer.

So, Would I Be a HelpX Host Again?

In some ways, I think Bruno and I were great hosts.  We provided extremely flexible hours for our volunteers and never pressured them to work more hours, even if they asked (which is a complaint I read time and again in volunteers’ online reviews).  We remembered that, even if our sole goal was to complete our bus, theirs was not.  We also cooked really tasty, healthy, high quality meals (even if A.J. didn’t appreciate them), provided the volunteers with access to a bicycle and as much freedom as they wanted to do their own thing.

But, if I’m being honest, we are not ideal HelpX hosts.  We’re not local to the places we hosted in so we provided no linguistic or cultural understanding of the place, and no inside connection to the community.  We were too busy with our bus conversion to spend time teaching skills (though Bruno was forced to do a bit of this anyway) or to socialize much.  (In our case particular, I don’t believe any of our volunteers were looking for this, but I’m just trying to be objective.)

Ultimately, we chose to be hosts because we needed help and couldn’t afford to pay for it.  I believe that a truly good HelpX host derives pleasure from hosting guests (be they family, friends, or perfect strangers).  They are happy to go the extra mile for volunteers, taking them sight-seeing, allowing them to integrate into family life, sharing long, loud meals.  Bruno and I, we were just average hosts.

So, would I be a HelpX host again?  I’m not sure.  I don’t think Bruno and I will need any more help with our bus conversion project, so I don’t think we’ll be in the position to host again anytime soon.

But more than that, I don’t think I realized the learning curve that was involved with the job.  I think I have a pretty good idea, now, of what it would take to have more successful experiences as a HelpX host – I just don’t think I’m interested in putting the time and effort into becoming one.

I’m more likely to try being a HelpX volunteer, I think.  The experiences I’ve read about online – and heard from a few traveling friends of mine – tickle me with the excitement of adventure, of cultural exchange, and of trying my hand at new projects and skills.

Yeah, I definitely think I’m more of a volunteer than a host.

Resources for Current or Prospective HelpX Hosts

http://www.helpx.net/host-tips.asp?network=3

https://wanderingfootsteps.com/the-americas/help-from-helpx/

https://wanderingfootsteps.com/the-americas/update-on-our-bus-conversion-pt-iv/

http://wherearemikeandshelby.blogspot.mx/2014/05/my-article-about-helpx-tips-for-helpx.html

A Few Tales from HelpX Volunteers

https://malaysia2adelaide.wordpress.com/2012/08/19/the-curious-case-of-the-helpx-host-from-hell-aka-my-first-helpx-experience-was-beyond-awful/

http://waysofwanderers.com/travel-workaway-helpx/

https://www.thebravedame.com/my-helpx-experience/

https://www.helpx.net/articles/dionnestory.asp

Times Square scintillates in the NYC night.

Check out those crowds!  How to get through…?

It’s neither of our first times in the Big Apple.  Because of friends and family that live here (and because New York is a great international transit hub), I’ve had the fortune of visiting countless times.  Bruno came twice in the 90s, as a bookend to his cross-country Viarail trip.  During those visits, Bruno – already no lover of cities but young and curious enough to explore anyway – checked out Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, Soho, and of course, Times Square.  If it weren’t for our desire to have him meet my aunt Louise, Bruno would have happily taken a pass on this trip to the supposed City of Dreams.

After taking a quick flight from Toronto (our first flight together ever, surprisingly!), Bruno and I emerged at Grand Central Station, a mere ten minute walk from Louise’s.  The building has the perfect name, for it is certainly grand in every sense of the term.  As soon as we stepped outside, we experienced that onslaught of senses that only cities can offer – horns honking, traffic whizzing by, the buzz of millions of voices, the faint scent of garbage and sewers.  The electric vibe sent an excited quiver through my own body, but Bruno already looked totally lost.

Grand Central Station, our starting point in Manhattan.

Here’s another view of Grand Central, with the Chrysler Building popping up behind.  You can always tell who the tourists in NYC are because we are all looking way, WAY up!

Thankfully, things looked up once we stepped into Louise’s apartment – literally up.  My aunt lives on the 44^th floor of a Manhattan condo and has an absolutely priceless view of the city.  Bruno was immediately mesmerized with the vista before him, and spent much of that first day trying to identify important buildings (you can see the Chrysler Building, Empire State building, and the new One World Trade Center from Louise’s 180 degree windows), observing the tiny vehicles and people below, and capturing the scene in photographs.

I didn’t expect Bruno to be so taken with this cityscape, but I was happy he appreciated the privileged staging ground from which we would explore the city.  City-hater or not, our home base was one most people can only dream of.

A jaw-dropping view of Manhattan from my aunt’s 44th floor condo. Not for those with acrophobia!!

A 180 degree view over Manhattan’s setting sun.

The City that Never Sleeps, from above.

Indeed, we maximized our use of this magnificent space throughout our visit.  In the mornings, the three of us breakfasted with the view, sharing the New York Times newspaper amongst ourselves.  We night-capped our evenings with a glass of red wine gazing sleepily down at the lights of the City That Never Sleeps.  And in between, we ventured all over Manhattan from Louise’s centrally-located home.

The first morning, Bruno and I headed south to Union Square.  Bruno hungrily snapped photos of all the eccentric people he spotted in the park – old white men working on their tans, vagabonds dry-shaving their legs, and homemade race car drivers.  It wasn’t with malice that he photographed these people, but rather with awe that no one around so much as lifted an eyebrow.  In New York, unordinary people are extraordinarily ordinary.

In nearby Washington Square, Bruno and I listened to street musicians before wandering past a movie set on the streets of Soho.  We dined on thin-crust New York pizza-by-the-slice with the busy lunch rush, checked out a few Soho art galleries, and shopped for exotic in fruit in Chinatown.  Bruno laughed that Chinatown could be a shock to his senses when we’d already been wandering around Manhattan all day; he speculated as to how people accessed their vehicles in the makeshift multi-tiered parking lots on every corner; and he popped into every sporting store he came across.  He seemed to be having fun.

Unordinary people are extraordinarily ordinary in NYC.

Washington Square.

Street musicians in Washington Square on a sunny fall day.

New York-style thin crust pizza-by-the-slice.

Stumbling upon a movie set in Soho.

Incredibly, Chinatown totally overwhelmed our senses, even though we’d already been wandering around Manhattan all day!

How do the people get their cars down from the “second floor”?  Must involve a lot of manoeuvering and rearranging!

The next morning, we headed north with Louise.  We stumbled upon a little street market, and, after Louise noted that she happens upon unexpected things in New York all the time, we feasted on street food.  Then we headed up to Museum Mile, where Louise showed us the incredible view of Central Park and the city skyline from the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  The sunny fall day was beckoning, so after getting a taste of all that the museum has to offer (which is a lot, by the way – too much, really, for a tourist on a tight schedule to grasp), Bruno asked to visit Central Park.

Louise and Bruno chowing down on street food.

I needed a bit of help with my tacos!

A view of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline from the roof of the Met. The beautiful building on the right is where John Lennon was staying when he was shot at the edge of the park.

The park, too, was too massive to comprehend, so we contended ourselves with a stroll past a large grass field (perfect for napping on, which Bruno did), a duck pond, and castle, until we reached the John Lennon memorial in Strawberry Fields, which Bruno especially wanted to see.  I wasn’t used to Bruno guiding our city visits.

Central Park, with a few skyscrapers behind.

You gotta have a pretzel in Central Park!!

Central Park is pretty romantic!

We emerged back onto the city streets near Times Square, and Bruno, my new city tour guide, decided we would walk through it.  Though we would occasionally take a bus, taxi, or subway in New York (which always makes for fascinating people-watching in the city where anything-goes), we generally preferred to walk.  Cities reveal themselves on foot, and New York is no exception – for, more than a list of sights to see, New York is about its people, its rhythm, its sheer sensory overload.  Times Square, with its giant television screens, beaming lights, bizarre buskers, and chaotic crowds, represents perhaps the epitome of all this, and I was surprised Bruno willingly placed himself in the belly of the beast.  What was happening to my silence-loving husband?

Waiting for the subway. Despite my expression, I actually do LOVE this mode of public transpot!

Heading into the belly of the beast, Times Square.

Did my globe-trotting Bruno perhaps find himself somehow at home in New York City?  I mean, in a way, the entire world is contained within the city.  Take, for example, the dinners we shared with Louise each night (all of which were fantastic and massively appreciated, by the way).  One night we stepped through a pointed door into a dimly-lit room decorated with Berber carpets and Arab flourishes and dined on tagines and spiced couscous.  We were immediately back in Morocco, where we’d spent three months last winter.  The following evening, we were treated to a six-course tasting menu at a fine Indian Restaurant (called Amma); with each course, we were transported back to our respective times in India.  The third evening, we tucked chopsticks into several family-style dishes of Chinese food, and we recalled our experiences learning to use these tools in Korea, Singapore, Thailand, and Japan.

Getting ready to dive into our Indian tasting menu at Amma restaurant in Midtown.

The main course, including a roti wrap, some fried okra, and a stuffed curried potato. Total yum!!

Enjoying our third evening of world cuisine at a Chinese restaurant!

Or, take our afternoon spent at the Nepali festival of Dashain in Queens with my friends Muna and Aya.  After taking a quick ride on the 7, reputedly the most multicultural of New York’s subway lines, we emerged on Bliss Street (great name!) and walked to a primary school in Woodside.  Women dressed in dazzlingly-coloured saris danced to tinny Nepali music.  We were given a welcome blessing, complete with red-rice tikka, by the leader of the festivity, and then we gorged ourselves on Nepali daal bhaat and perfumed chai while speeches were given in Hindi, Tibetan, and Nepali.  It was as though Bruno and I were physically in Nepal, together.

My friends Muna and Aya. We’re heading to a Nepali Dashain celebration in Queens.

Beautiful, strong women celebrating the victory of Good over Evil.

Muna getting a blessing, with red rice tikka.

My favourite part – daal bhaat!

I can wear a tikka in the subway without feeling a twinge of self-consciousness because, let’s face it, this is NY!

And if it wasn’t the multicultural aspect of New York that Bruno loved, perhaps, then, was he falling for the city because it afforded him new experiences, something that is difficult to come by for a man who has seemingly done it all?  Bruno may have climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, trekked through the jungles of Borneo, and sailed across the Atlantic, but he’s never been to a jazz club or to a Broadway musical!  Thanks to New York City – a truly, thanks to Louise – Bruno experienced both.

After our Moroccan dinner, Louise walked us to a nearby Jazz Club to watch a jazz vocalist and his trio reinterpret old standards in a style reminiscent of Frank Sinatra.  And after our Chinese food meal, Louise walked us along Broadway toward the Neil Simon Theater, home of the new production of Cats.  Not only was this Bruno’s first musical ever, but it had been my own first musical sixteen years prior, when I visited New York City for the first time.  That visit – which occurred exactly half my lifetime ago – was the only time I truly visited New York as a tourist.  Now, thanks to Bruno’s enthusiasm, I was getting to be a tourist in New York City again at last.

Jazz at Kitano.

Waiting in line with the crowds to get into the Broadway production of Cats. I can’t wait!!

We snuck this photo during the second act, heehee!

It is late at night and I am walking home via Times Square with Louise and Bruno.  We’ve just gotten out of the Neil Simon Theater, images of cats and colours and dances moves still on our minds.  Times Square is heaving with people and cars and lights and I have to push my way through the crowds.  Normally, in this situation I would worry about Bruno – the headache he surely must have, his longing for silence and tranquility and nature.

But tonight, I’m not that worried.  Bruno’s busy staring at dudes drumming on buckets and women painting their nipples the colours of the American flag.  He’s enjoying the brisk evening walk home, which offers us a different city perspective that we usually don’t experience.  He’s about as happy as he can be in a city.

Street performers warming up and trying to draw in the crowds. It’s almost midnight.

Does this photo need a caption?!? (Stop staring, Dad! Move along!)

Bruno had a blast taking night shots in Manhattan as we strolled home.

Our final day in New York City, Louise takes us along the Hudson River by boat to the Financial District, where we catch one final view of Manhattan, and even a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty.  The three of us wander past Wall Street, where my Uncle Gary had worked many years ago, and to Ground Zero.  Louise insists that we not leave New York without seeing what has come of the gaping holes the Twin Towers left when they tumbled, fifteen years ago.  Now, in their place are tasteful water fountains enclosed by the names of all those that were lost that day.

Nearby, the new One World Trade Tower reflects clouds on its glass windows, and the newer dove-shaped World Trade Center shopping mall sends a message of peace to New Yorkers.  We visit the 9/11 Memorial Museum and spend three hours reliving that day through the eyes of its victims and onlookers.  It’s a powerful and emotional experience, and one I wouldn’t likely have experienced had it not been for Louise’s encouragement, and Bruno’s uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

Taking a ferry ride to the southern tip of Manhattan. That’s Louise photographing a new building she finds funky.

It’s the Statue of Liberty!!

My uncle worked here many years ago.

The new Westfield World Trade Center Mall.

The new One World Trade Center Tower reflecting the clouds, that’s how tall it is!

That’s when it hits me, the reason Bruno sort of fell (in his own way) for New York City.  It was because of Louise.  My aunt had been a wonderful host – offering us apt insider tips on what to see and where to go; devising thoughtful plans for our afternoons and evenings; graciously offering us the rare comfort of her Manhattan condo; and displaying an even rarer generosity throughout our time in New York.

Later that night, when we boarded our flight to Paris, Bruno exhibited the typical headache and fatigue that comes with his city trips.  He was, indeed, ready to leave New York City.

But what I found surprising was that, as the airplane took off, he seemed genuinely saddened to go.  Of all the gifts Louise gave us during our time in New York, this was surely the most precious.

A mere thank you can’t even begin to describe our true feelings of gratitude, Louise.

Bruno is totally ROCKIN’ NYC, thanks to Louise!

It was the perfect culmination of a month that’s been filled with Canadian family and friends.

Thanksgiving dinner at the Sharples surrounded by family and friends.

Bruno and I have been so social this past month that I’ve found it harder than ever to keep myself to a regular blog schedule.  Even now, I’m scrambling to pack my bag and do a hundred last-minute things before I board an airplane tomorrow to New York City and then on to France.

But I couldn’t help myself from offering a quick shout-out (and a huge thank you!) to all those that made time to visit with Bruno and I and to host us in their homes and at their tables.

MONTREAL

Shout-Out to Cousin Jenn and Nico:  You opened up your home to us for as long as we wanted.  You introduced us to friends and contacts who may be able to help us down the line with our long-term vehicle and travel plans, and you offered your own help in whatever way we needed.  You gave us your parking spot next to your home and set us immediately at ease that we weren’t imposing, despite your incredibly hectic lives.

We were spoiled by Nico’s amazing cooking.  We loved getting to babysit little Zoëlle.  We enjoyed feeling like locals for a few days in your village along the St-Laurent at the edge of Montreal Island.  We are thankful for the time we all spent together, for your incredible generosity and rare community-minded spirits.  We love you and hope to be able to repay you in kind somewhere down the line.

Nico and Jenn prepping us dinner while we play with Zoelle.

Walking along the riverfront near Jenn and Nico’s home.

Zoelle is having a blast with Bruno!

Our home for a few days in September.

Shout-Out to Family Friends Jennifer, Nicole, and their Families: You let us partake in your Sunday tradition of family time and food.  You cooked an incredible healthy vegan feast for all eleven of us (yes, I count the five kids as adults here because they eat just as much as adults!).  I’m really glad I got to finally introduce Bruno to you all, to get to catch up with Nicole and family after a few years, and to get a glimpse into the tight-knit family life you all have in Montreal.  So happy for you all!

Catching up with long-time friends (and sisters) Jenn and Nicole.

A delicious homemade vegan dinner with Jenn, Nicole, and their families.

Shout-Out to School Friend Annie: We hadn’t seen one another in years and had more or less lost touch, but it was so good to spend a day in Montreal with you, doing what we do best – eating loads and talking non-stop.  Thank you for giving me such undivided attention, for showing me some of your favourite Montreal haunts – like the Korean restaurant, bubble tea place in China town, and waterfront – and for making me feel like no time had passed at all since we last saw one another.  Girl time was awesome, and I’m already looking forward to our next catch-up session – let’s not wait as long, though!

Korean food with my friend Annie.

Bubble tea with Annie!

TORONTO

Shout-Out to the Sharples Family: I don’t even know how to begin with you folks, really.  Bruno and I have rarely felt so welcome in a home.  What was supposed to be a five day visit has turned into a three week stay, and throughout our time you’ve been nothing short of amazing.  You helped us get through challenges, given great advice, and gave invaluable help on several occasions.  You left us your home for a week even after you’d moved, and you welcomed us into your new home even though – again – you’d just moved!

In between the work, we have had a blast with you all!  This was true in so many small moments throughout the day but especially around the table with a good glass of wine and a yummy meal.  We’ve loved sharing Stephanie and Amanda’s birthday party with you, Thanksgiving weekend, and so many wonderful moments in between.

We’ll forever be grateful for the comfortable home you created for us here.  It’s been so comfortable that it’s been hard to leave… We’re going to miss you guys oh-so much!

Enjoying a walk along the lakeshore with Lisa and David.

Having dinner at Stephanie and Amanda’s new place.

Celebrating the girls’ birthday!

Shout-Out to Brother Nathan, Ara, and the Dogs: You four are in the midst of a huge life upheaval and are starting busy and exciting academic projects in a new city.  Despite your demanding schedules, you’ve made time to hang out with Bruno and me and to host us on several occasions in your amazing Bed and Breakfast (!).  You’ve made us feel incredibly welcome and at home, even giving us spare keys and access to the kitchen to cook as we please.

We’ve really enjoyed sharing meals – and recipe ideas – with you and getting a glimpse into your new life together.  I’m so grateful Bruno and I got to spend so much time with my brother and his life partner – you are the cutest couple and I love my sister “in law”.  Equally thankful we got to spend Thanksgiving together as our new, bigger, family unit for the first time.  Hope to see you again really soon, but in the meantime, good luck with your new adventure!

Having dinner at Nathan and Ara’s.

Nathan, Ara, and the dogs in their new Toronto apartment.

Nathan doing a bit of happy-hour schoolwork on his balcony.

Shout-Out to Old Friend Gwen and Aaron: I was really excited to get to introduce Bruno to you both, and to get to reconnect with you after these past two years.  We would have loved to take you up on your offer to stay for dinner, the night, or to cat-sit for the week, but were grateful that we at least got to spend a few hours together.  We enjoyed getting to wander around your little town and hear your update face-to-face.  Can’t wait to catch up again somewhere in North America again!

Gwen and I meeting up after two years.

Going for a walk in Dundas.

Shout-Out to School Friend Erin and Family: It was great to finally meet your new son, Leo, and to introduce our Frenchmen to one another.  It was a quick visit, indeed, but it was great to touch base with you again after all these years.  I hope you will adjust to your new home and that your family will continue to flourish.  You are an adorable family and I’m so happy for you!

My friend Erin and I.

Leo checking out Totoyaya! :)

Shout-Out to Old Family Friends Dorothy and Jenn: Thank you for inviting Bruno and I to have Canadian-themed appies and drinks on the rooftop of your lovely home.  It had been an incredibly long time since we’d caught up, so it was great to see you both and to introduce Bruno to you.   Your view is priceless, so thank you for sharing it with us!  I’m so happy to hear things are going well for you and the whole family.

Catching up with long-time family friends Dorothy and Jennifer on Jenn’s rooftop.

What a view!

Shout-Out to School Friend Ashley: I’m so glad we happened to be in Toronto at the same time and were able to coordinate a brunch together.  I had a great girls’-time with you, getting to talk about “real stuff.”  You’re a great, thoughtful, and giving friend and I hope we’ll be able to meet up more often in more random places around the world.

I’m glad I got this one shot of you, Ash, but I totally forgot to do a selfie with you!

The night before last – Thanksgiving Sunday – I sat at a table with my husband, my parents, my brother and sister “in law”, and my wonderful family friends, the Sharples.  The following day I would see the fall colours of the changing leaves outside of Toronto, picnic, and walk along the lakeshore with my “new,” bigger, family – my parents and brother, but also my husband, sister “in law,” and my two niece and nephew dogs.  It was the first time this new family would be together.  Later that night – Thanksgiving Day itself – I’d sit at another long table with family and friends for another feast of food and friendship.

Playing charades before Thanksgiving dinner Part I.

The “new” family visiting the fall colours on Thanksgiving Day.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

My heart is so full right now.  It’s full of laughter, of fun, of kinship and community.  I have so much to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day – and it’s all because of my Canadian peeps.  Shout-out to you all!

The answer came from a post I wrote last summer as an ode to my summer in New Brunswick: a photo post!

As I see it, this summer happened in three phases: in the first phase, I was home with just my parents; in the second phase, Bruno joined us; and in the third phase, Nathan (and his dog, Shizuka) joined us all in one very cramped house on the beach!  This ode to summer, then, will be organized in three parts, with quick descriptions accompanying a whole lot of photos.

Phase One of Summer: Three’s Company

One of the things I love most about coming home to New Brunswick is getting to become a “daughter” to my two wonderfully loving parents.  What better way to slip into that well-worn role again than by celebrating my 32^nd birthday with them?  My mom has always tried (successfully) to make birthdays very special, and this one was no exception.  She decorated the house and served me a special breakfast with a few gifts.  Then we went for our first kayak of the summer with our neighbours and spent a wonderful afternoon on the beach with family and friends.  For dinner, mom and dad brought me to a delightful little restaurant near the border of Nova Scotia for a simple, healthy meal in a restored century home.  We came home for vegan gluten-free dessert to top off a wonderful day.

Birthday gifts on the beach! Thanks, Christine and Matante!

Birthday dinner at “Le Chat Bleu”.

Birthday cake!

It wasn’t by chance that we were eating gluten-free, vegan, refined sugar-free dessert.  As one of my “daughter” goals this summer, I created a 30-day Life Revolution plan for my father that included dietary changes, exercise, and more.  Dad humoured me at first, but eventually felt the positive effects of this lifestyle change enough that he participated in earnest, and even asked for an extra 30 days!  He lost almost 20 pounds over the course of the summer and felt more energized and generally better.  I’m very proud of his hard work and will power and hope he’ll continue to maintain these habits into the fall and winter.  (Yes, dad, I know you’re reading this!)

According to my mom, this is where you could find me most often this summer.

Daddy in the kitchen.

A before and mid-way shot of Dad’s weight loss. Pretty impressive, I’d say!

Summers in New Brunswick wouldn’t be complete without social time with family and friends.  Every year, there are lots of big meals with various groups of people.  But this summer, because of dad’s diet, they were slightly more health-oriented.  We even had a big vegan potluck at my cousin Katie’s house with both our families!

Dinner with Aunty Linda and Uncle Nev.

Dinner with our neighbours, Betsy and John.

Dinner for some of mom and dad’s friends.

Prepping the vegan feast!

Indeed, talking about Katie brings me to one of my personal highlights of the summer – getting to meet the new babies around.  Katie has a (now) seven month old son, Theo.  And our family friends and neighbors, Nicole and Natalie, each have new babies, too.  I could hold a baby all day long, and admittedly, I spent a lot of time on a lot of occasions doing just that.

Holding my cousin Katie’s new son, Theo!

Holding my childhood friend Nicole’s new baby girl, Arianne.

Holding my childhood friend Natalie’s baby boy, Jim. Ok, ok, I’m obsessed. A touch.

Another fun event that seems to have become somewhat of a tradition is a dinner/movie/sleepover with my mom, cousin Christine and Aunt Anne-Marie.  These nights are so much fun because they are full of women talk (something I don’t get most of the year), food, and wine.  I hope they continue being a summer tradition for years to come.

Mom trying on my aunt’s glasses at our girlie dinner out.  She looks fabulous in them!

Girls’ sleepovers aren’t complete without wine and late-night junk food!!

Of all the things that summers in New Brunswick represent, it is the simple family rituals that mean the most.  Gardening, spending afternoons on the beach, sharing meals in the sun room, having lobster feeds, doing yoga, going to the local market, walking on the beach, watching the sunset, sitting out back with a book… these are the family activities I revel in the most, and are the activities I was most excited to share with Bruno.

One of my favourite summer pastimes… gardening!

Lobster feeds, complete with lobster bibs. A total tradition.

Beach days!

We get gorgeous sunsets over the Atlantic Ocean.

A morning at the Shediac market with my Uncle Tim and Aunt Chris.

Phase Two of Summer: Bruno Meets the New Brunswickers

It’s taken Bruno four years to get to New Brunswick, at least partially because he wanted to arrive in style – with Totoyaya.  And he did, as our camper van arrived only a week after him on a ferry from Belgium.

Welcome Bruno!

I plan to speak more about Bruno’s time in New Brunswick in another post, mainly because there are several interest cultural and touristic experiences that are of interest to a reader of travel blogs.  What is more important to note in this post is how seamlessly Bruno integrated himself into our family rituals.  He came to the beach with us.

He gardened.

  He joined us for yoga classes.

Look at that tree pose!

He cooked (and ate) with us.

We will never make this recipe again, but that’s another story…

He chilled out back with a book.

He went for bike rides.

He kayaked.

He watched the hummingbirds that visit our bird feeder every summer.

These are all things I’ve been dying to have him do for four years.  I’ve wanted him to see my home, to spend more time with my parents, to meet my brother (more on that in phase three) and to meet all the important people that live out here who’ve been curious about this nomadic Tarzan who won my heart so many years ago.

It was amazing having Bruno in New Brunswick this August.  He partook in family reunions, open houses, social afternoons on the beach, game nights, and big family dinners.  He was around for the memorial party for a dear family friend we lost a few months ago and the funeral of a distant relative.  He was here for the movie nights and philosophical dinner conversations, for the long walks and the cooking, for the bonfires and the unseasonably cool weather.  It was a very (very!) social time for him, and sometimes his head was spinning and he couldn’t think in English for another moment, but everyone I love here finally got to meet him, and I’ll be forever grateful.

Some photos are simply priceless.

Getting to know the men of the family.

With other guests at Nancy’s memorial party.

B+B

Phase Three of Summer: A Full House

My brother, Nathan, has been living in Ecuador for the past five years, so the two weeks I get to see him most years are always very special.  Even more special this year was having him meet Bruno for the first time!

Nathan’s here!

Awwww, aren’t they cute? My brother and my hubby meeting!!!

My wonderful, precious brother.

Nathan joined the family of four with his dog, Shizuka, and fit effortlessly into the rituals we had going on – the walks, the cooking, the yoga, the beach bumming, the bonfires.

Family walk, despite the cold.

Getting rid in there in the kitchen. Thanks!

Yoga in a yurt!

Chillin’ with a view.

While Nathan was here we got to have a few very special family visits – we had several afternoons on the beach with mom’s side of the family (where he also got to meet his second cousin, Zoëlle), a lovely lunch out with our grandfather and his lady friend and a family reunion with dad’s side of the family (more on that in my next post).  We had a cousins-only night for sushi and philosophical discussion.  One particularly fun – and tasty – evening was celebrating the birthday of my cousin’s hubby, Mitch, with a private gourmet home chef who served us over a dozen hors d’oeuvres paired with wine.

On the beach with the extended family.

Going for lunch with Grampa and Leonie.

Mitch’s birthday party. Wish I had space for all the food photos…

Hanging out with Aunt Linda and Uncle Nev.

The dogs of the family meet.

Summer is over.  My brother has left for his new adventure as a PhD student in Toronto, and Bruno and I are getting ready to head out on our own adventure, too.  I’m scrambling to get this post live before I no longer have access to reliable wifi, so perhaps my words don’t seem as meaningful as my experience of my summer truly was.

So let me end by saying this: Thank you to everyone who took part in making memories with us this year.  Thank you to my parents for putting up with me for so long and for welcoming Bruno so openly into your home and hearts.  Even though Bruno and I are excited to see what life will hold for us in the coming months, it is with a heavy heart that I publish this blog entry, finish packing the car, and officially end my wonderful summer at home in New Brunswick.

We may not have properly factored in the amount of time we’d have to set aside for our work goals.  I can count the amount of touristy things I did in almost 3 months in France on a single hand.

First finger: I dragged Bruno to a Thai restaurant up the road that I’d been curious about for some time.  I’d noticed it was hosting a free Thai buffet to celebrate Songkran, the Thai New Year which infamously involves three full days of giant countrywide water fights.  We wandered over for a plateful of Thai food and were subjected to gloriously tinny Thai music while my face was festively smeared with clay.  Oh, the nostalgia of my days in Thailand!

Celebrating Songkran (Thai New Year) in the South of France!

One of the ways Thais celebrate their new year is by smearing wet clay onto one another’s faces.

Second finger (this one, at least was related to France):  We walked to the mouth of the nearby Hérault River for some afternoon crêpes.  Mine was topped with nutella, of course, while Bruno chose the traditional toppings of lemon and honey.

Digging into monster-sized crêpeson the edge of the Hérault River.

Third finger: I spent an afternoon walking around Sète, a harbour city about 40 minutes away that my parents had raved about after their visit in 2014.  Since Bruno was doing his truck driver’s license there, I piggybacked on a ride and visited the city’s alleys and canals while Bruno studied at the auto école.  The city did seem quite photogenic, with all the quintessential French cafés and flea markets, but truth be told, I was focused more on acquiring brochures and information for the tourism binder I was creating for future renters of our home than on my own tourism.

Even with a crap camera (my point-and-shoot), Sète is a photogenic city.

Sète is built around several canals, and there’s even a square island entirely surrounded by them. The vibe of the city is all about the water.

Our pitiful tourism record was due to more than just our lack of free time in France – it was also the fact that, in France (like in Canada), I don’t really want to wear my tourism hat.  I spend most of the year getting my fill of incredible places and experiences.  In France, it’s more about people.  Note the following people-oriented tourist experiences:

Fourth finger:  I went to Vinocap, a wine-tasting festival on the pier of Cap d’Agde.  We brought along Bruno’s wine connoisseur of a brother and sister-in-law, Patrice and Micheline, as well as their daughters, Romane and Lucile.

We purchased wine glasses on a string for 3 euros apiece that allow you samples from any of the 96 regional producers present.  I realized I have very little knowledge of wine, but it was nonetheless deliciously hedonistic to wander around with a glass around my neck sampling this red and that white.  The pours were quite generous, the producers always interested in chatting (about wine or other things – for example, the producer from St. Thibéry was quite happy to reminisce about the kindness of Bruno’s mom and her own mother and aunt), and the ambience very, well, jolly.  The best part of all, though, was getting to share the experience with family.  There were a lot of group giggles.

Vinocap wine-tasting event made better with family!

A 3 euro wine glass on a string buys you access to 96 regional producers.

Traditional regional dancing and a very jolly vibe.

Chatting with the viticulturist from St. Thibéry .

Fifth finger: I visited the weekly market in the center of historic Agde, something I’d done back in 2014 with my parents.  A week earlier, my mom had teased me over the phone that they would need to fly out to France so that we’d take advantage of sightseeing in the region.  She wasn’t wrong – the reason I ended up at the Agde market was because I was playing hostess to my friend Richard.

Richard and I met years ago while trekking in Nepal, in a hilarious moment of confusion on our first night in a lodge.  Our pace stepped into line for the better part of a week, and when he finished his trek to Everest Base Camp he stopped in on me in Kathmandu for a bit of revelry.  Several years later, I visited him in his hamlet home in the center of France, and a year after that, we met up for the day in London.  Richard has made quite a few appearances on this blog over the years.

We hadn’t seen each other in over 3 years, and here we were, in as close proximity as we’ve been since (Richard is the caretaker of the lovely Chateau Marconne in the north of France, a job he got on HelpX, in case anyone is curious).  Since Bruno and I were hyper-busy, he kindly agreed to hop on a train and visit for a few nights.

It was, as always, an amazing reunion.  We didn’t miss a beat, talking late into our first night, and for 13 non-stop hours the following day.  At least one of those hours occurred on a beach walk to Le Grau d’Agde and at a café in the square, but if you’re not paying the least bit of attention to your surroundings, can you really count this as a tourist visit?  The following day, after having broached every philosophical, moral, and esoteric topic possible, we were able to take a break from our tête-a-tête to cycle along l’Hérault River into Agde and to the market.

My friend Richard comes to town! :)

Cooking up a storm together.

Super happy to be able to introduce Bruno to Richard.

We briefly browsed the clothing and cheap Chinese goods section, then decided to find a table in the sun at a quintessentially French café.  We weren’t the only ones with that idea, as all the sun-kissed tables were full.  Richard spotted a lady sitting alone, looking sad and disinterestedly gazing into her phone.  He asked if we could sit with her, and she lit up.  For the next thirty minutes we chatted in French, learning that she was a tour guide who’d sent her troops into the market and was enjoying a few relaxing petits cafés.  She told us where to find the food market, hidden in a couple of back alleys near the place central, and then she was off.

This is one of the many things I love about Richard – his desire to connect with people, and the ease with which he draws them out.  Added bonus if we get to wander around a typically French food market as a result of the connection.

The café where we chatted up the French local.

Agde’s food market, which we were lucky to find!

Tourism… finally!

As Richard would remind me, the advantage of being in one place for an extended period of time is the ability to build community.  Community is something that Bruno cares not one iota for, and admittedly is something I tend to forget about for long stretches of time, until my sense of isolation makes me irritable and dissatisfied.  Within days of my arrival in France, I realized that my time here – besides being about our work goals – should be much more about reconnecting with the world and existing within a community than being a tourist.  I’m a tourist all year long, so when I finally find stillness, it’s about digging roots.  Even if those roots will inevitably get dug up.

This is why, instead of touring Carcassonne, I set about finding a yoga teacher and a zumba class the moment I arrived in town.  (I looked for a choir, too, but they didn’t want someone who would only be there for two months.)  These group activities help me feel grounded to a place and are things I deeply miss when I’m on the road.

This is why, instead of visiting Nîmes, we did things like go to Bruno’s god-son’s rock gig, where he drummed his heart out to an audience of familiar faces.   It’s why we drove halfway across France, not to visit la Camargue, but to visit the newborn twins of Bruno’s niece (who are absolutely the cutest things ever!  Congratulations to the Garnier family!)  And it’s why, instead of sampling Spanish tortillas in Barcelona, I organized so many big lunches at our home-on-the-beach.

The scene of Bruno’s godson’s gig, in the small village of Villeveyrac.

Benji and his band.

Welcome to the world Eden and Ava! (Just over three weeks old).

And we can’t forget my special friend, Leo! (Bruno is holding Ava and Patrice, Bruno’s brother and the grandfather of these kiddos, is holding Eden.)

The BIG happy family! (We couldn’t get Leo to open his eyes because he’s pretending to be a sleeping baby like his little brother and sister!  Too cute!)

In France, I haven’t had to build my own community (I’ll save that fun experience for another time) because there is already one firmly set in place – Bruno’s family and childhood friends.  Our time in France is, above all, a chance to connect with the special people in Bruno’s – and now, my – life.  Most of the year, we’re a community of two, but in France, that community is much, much larger.

Once or twice a week, every single week, I hosted a meal with Bruno’s family or friends.  It was definitely a lot of work and a challenging cultural experience to cook for French people (one you all know this food-obsessed blogger will write about in a separate post), but it was invaluable for Bruno and I to be able to host people who’ve spent so many years hosting him instead.

Family nachos.

Mixing up friends and family.

Pizza night for the nephews.

Just the friends.

Of course, we still enjoyed a few big meals in the homes of others.  There was Easter lunch at Annie and Pierrot’s, where I hid Easter eggs for the first time rather than finding them (I was totally jealous of the chocolate-faced kids); the 3^rd birthday party of the daughter of Bruno’s cousin, where the parents fed a long table of thirty people the biggest paella I’ve ever seen (being so close to the south of Spain, paella is very much a part of the food repertoire of this part of France); a grillade (French-style barbecue, where, instead of hot dogs and hamburgers, they cook merguez (spicy sausages) and other sophisticated cuts of meat) with a bunch of Bruno’s friends at one of their houses; and Annie’s birthday lunch at a seafood restaurant, where they de-shelled lobster and served it to us with pasta and creamy sauce (followed, I might add, by a lovely spa session with the women in the family).

In France, community is created over food, and we definitely felt the roots of our community deepen with every meal.

Easter egg hunt.

Easter lunch with the family.

That is one BIG paella!

Annie’s 80th birthday lunch with her hubby and three boys. Priceless.

Spa day with the girls of the family.

This photo was one of Annie’s birthday gifts. We’d taken it at Easter lunch. You can see her reaction. Best gift ever.

As our time in France passed, I found myself getting into a comfortable routine of work, socialize, relax, repeat.  Tomorrow became my motto when confronted with my list of things to see and places to visit.  In this way, the months have slipped through my fingers.  And now, they’re gone.

I didn’t mean for 87 days to go by without wearing my tourist hat.  But, in the end, here in France, people have taken the precedent over places.  And I’m ok with that.

In other words, she was the ideal travel partner.  And I took advantage.  Though our lives have taken place in different corners of the globe – she in North and South America, me in Asia and Africa – we’ve connected every few years for a trip.  Mauritania, Cambodia, Thailand, India.

And now, Morocco!

An oasis near the desert in southern Morocco.

La Plage Blanche.

Taking in the view long the southern Atlantic Coast of Morocco.

Part I: Backpacking in Marrakech

We met up in Marrakech, a city I’d visited five weeks earlier with my parents.  Unlike most travelers, I love returning to a place– I always have a different experience and gain a new perspective.

Marrakech didn’t disappoint.  With my parents, I’d visited sites like the Bahia Palace, the Saadian Tombs, and the Ben Youssef Medersa; we’d eaten at nice Moroccan restaurants; we’d watched the action on the Djemaa el Fna.

With Sahnah, well, we “did” almost nothing.  We wandered around a few alleys in the north section of the medina, where Sahnah oohed, aahhed, and snapped loads of photos.  We visited a souq or two, bought a thing or two.  And we sat at cafés for hours, sampling Moroccan dishes and keeping ourselves warm with glasses of mint tea.

An alley arch between our riad at the souqs and square of Marrakech.

Wandering around the alleys, snapping photos of beautiful things.

Spices for sale in the souq!

Sat at a café off the Djemaa el Fna watching the sunset.

Our second full day in Marrakech illustrates our rhythm perfectly: we took a slow breakfast in the courtyard of our dar (a small riad) then emerged into our alley and headed toward the souqs and square.  We passed one shop that had chameleons; Sahnah got excited and snapped photos.  That led to a one-hour chat with Aziz, the shop keeper, who was the most philosophical, insightful, and silly Moroccan I’ve met yet.

By this point it was 1:30pm, and we had a lunch date with two shop-keepers Sahnah had purchased spices and perfume from the day before.  We raced to the market to buy strawberries for dessert so as not to show up empty-handed.

For the next four hours, we chatted with Mohammed and Younes about everything – marriage, shop life, food and tea, medicinal herbs they sold, the different regions of Morocco and their languages, the process of purification before prayer, the king and his family, and views on women.  By the time we emerged from our new friends’ shop at dusk, we’d traveled less than a single kilometer from our dar all day.

Breakfast at our dar.

The chameleon that prompted a one-hour chat with Aziz the shopkeeper.

Mohammed and Younes, the shopkeepers we ate lunch.

Getting really excited over our tagine lunch!

Sahnah and I are both obsessed with food – especially of the cheap street variety – but we’d been so busy wandering down alleys, talking for hours, and hanging out with shop-keepers, that we hadn’t actually tried that much food yet.  That became the sole goal of our last evening.  I tried a sort of pita stuffed with a potato and cheese patty, harissa spice, vache qui rit cheese spread, mashed potato, and cumin.  Later, we wandered through the infamous food stalls of the Djemaa el Fna and sat ourselves down at a stall displaying an incredible variety of grilled vegetables and salads.  For fifty cents a plate, we feasted on grilled aubergine, grilled pepper, tomato salad, spinach salad, beetroot salad, and grilled chicken with harissa.  Not only was it delicious, but sitting on a bench in the middle of the smoke and crowds was an atmosphere just like we like it.

My potato pita snack!

The food stalls in the Djemaa el Fna are bustling every night of the year!

The stall we chose.

Fifty cents a plate!

Part II: A Homestay in Taroudant

After three nights in Marrakech, we took a 6-place grand taxi to Taroudant, my “hometown” in Morocco.  We were welcomed with open arms into the home of my Moroccan friend, Hafida (the one who taught me a lot of what I now know about Moroccan food).

Loads of visitors came to meet Hafida’s curious guests, and we became favorites among the neighborhood kids.  Sometimes, we did like the women, who would lie around on the sofas and watch TV after our big, long meals.  The TV, tablets, and phones were out a lot, and I was a bit shocked by this, but Sahnah confirmed that Hafida’s family’s usage was still far less than that of a typical American family.

Other times, we headed onto the street to play games with the kids, who were on school holiday.  I was subjected to loads of Moroccan games and songs, and, even though I couldn’t understand the language, I was able to grasp the concepts because the games were not that dissimilar to those I grew up playing.  Neighbors looked on from windows, intrigued, perhaps, that two adults would play with children.

Sahnah with Atika (left), Hafida (right) and Hafida’s mom.

Playing with the kids outside. The ones on the left and right are Hafida’s.

Cuddling with Titima, Hafida’s cute niece.

On my first evening, I asked to take a shower, and was directed to the forth storey of the home.  We’d hung out on the first and slept on the second, where I’d noticed a shower.  It turned out to not yet be connected.  The third storey, where the boys slept (as well as Hafida’s hundred year-old father-in-law, who had his meals brought to him in bed), was totally unfinished.  On the fourth floor, which was also unfinished, was the rooftop veranda and a hammam.

I was told that the house was being finished floor by floor, as money came in.  This may be common, since my other friend, Atika, had told me workers were currently finishing her family’s second floor with paint and mosaic tiles.

Anyway, in a bucket, I mixed hot water from one tap with cold water from another, then scooped the water over me and washed and scrubbed myself.  It was very enjoyable, and I was looking forward to doing it again the following evening.

But when Atika, came over, I learned that they have neither a hammam nor a shower in their family home, and must go to the public hammam once a week.  Nadia, Hafida’s sister, told me that she goes to her mom or sister’s home for her own once-a-week-wash.  I’d thought those public hammams were for the rare villagers or poor people that didn’t have running water at home; it seemed, in fact, that the lower middle class used them, too.  When Hafida talked about having done her hammam upstairs the previous Sunday with the family, I realized that bathing in Morocco is both a luxury and a rarity.  I certainly didn’t want to be that white girl who needed the hammam every day, so I refrained from hammaming it again.

Produce shopping in Taroundant’s medina with Atika and Hafida’s mom.

Playing chess on the tablet with Hafida’s eldest, Hicham.

Learning how to wrap our heads.

After two days and nights of eating and playing games and lying on sofas, it was time to go – we didn’t want to overstay our welcome.  However, everyone in the family seemed so genuinely sad to see us go – showing us with gifts and heartfelt hugs – that I wished we could have stayed longer.  But we had other plans.

Part III: Tenting it in Southern Morocco

In Sahnah’s backpack, she managed to fit a tent and sleeping bag so that she could camp along with Bruno, me and Totoyaya for eight nights.  Bruno and I wanted to head south, so the plan was that she’d follow us as far as she could and then travel back to Marrakech by bus on her final day.

Sahnah is my first friend to come and camp with Bruno and I – and only the second person since I’ve been with Bruno.  Though Bruno’s niece had the fortune to be visiting us in hot, animal-filled Kenya, Sahnah, ever easy-going, seemed quite happy just to meet Bruno and experience our lifestyle.

Sahnah getting settled in her tent for the first time.

Our campsite at Sidi Ifni.

Our bush campsite in the dunes behind La Plage Blanche.

Cooking dinner outside at our campsite.

Of course, Morocco isn’t the best sample of our regular lifestyle because, at this time of year, campsites are chock-a-block with retirees from Europe and their massive, generic camper vans (like the one my own parents rented for three weeks for their adventure around Morocco).  Bruno and I find it entirely unappealing to camp this way, but Sahnah took the retirement communities in stride.

We drove from Agadir down to Tiznit, where we shopped for fresh produce in the open-air market and ate ‘addis and khoobz at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.  The medina was filled with dust and cars, so after taking a hundred photos of a hundred different doors, we headed for the coast.  Wedged between two motorhomes at the campsite, the three of us escaped to the beach, where we pointed out colorful rocks to one another and observed the Moroccan families out for their Sunday afternoon at the beach.

We’re going on a road trip!!

Checking out the coastal views on our road trip south.

Buying produce in the market.

At Aglou beach, checking out rocks.

Further down the coastline, we admired rocky cliffs encircling the occasional cove or white sand beach.  We picnicked on one of those cliffs – Sahnah making some amazing salad dressings – and walked some more beaches.

In Sidi Ifni, we found a campsite we liked, along the corniche of the town’s beach, so we stayed a couple nights.  Above us, on the top of the cliff, perched the old Spanish city; Sahnah and I went to explore.  We wandered past a ghost-town of ocean-blue paint on whitewashed colonial buildings then stumbled upon the region’s bustling weekly souq.  We did yoga in the campsite, cycled to the town’s distant port, walked along the beach, and ate fish tagine.  With no sights per se, it was nice to slow down and show Sahnah the flow of our daily life.

One of many Cliffside picnics!

View of the beach where we camped from old Sidi Ifni town above.

Sidi Ifni’s weekly souq.

Going for a bike ride along the coast.

Next we headed to Fort Bou Jerif, the ruins of an old French protectorate fort in the middle of the hammada (rock desert).  I’d read that the campsite here would give people a taste of the desert – and it did, just not the type of desert Sahnah had in mind.  Still, we visited the fort, stumbled upon a nearby mini-oasis, and soaked up the solitude and silence.

Walking to Fort Bou Jerif.

Fort Bou Jerif, a French protectorate in the middle of the hammada.

Yoga poses at the mini-oasis.

The following morning, we headed off-road to La Plage Blanche, a 40km-long beach that was used in the time of the French Aeropostale as both a reference point and possible landing strip on the flight from Toulouse to Dakar.  The three of us squeezed up front and bumped along for an entire day on the 50km piste to the beach.  We could have taken the tarmac from Guelmine, I suppose, but we wanted to offer Sahnah an off-road experience.

We bush-camped high over the beach, behind giant sand dunes that gave Sahnah the taste of the desert she’d not gotten the day before.  It was gorgeous, but – as is the case in the desert – totally inhospitable.  It had been windy the last few days, but here it was awful.  We tried parking our vehicle so as to give us a breaker, but the sand started flying under the vehicle.  Bruno blocked the hole with plexi glass, cardboard boxes, and an umbrella.  Sahnah and I were only able to explore the dunes and beach with clothing layered from head-to-toe, headscarves, and sunglasses.  It was totally crazy, but the dunes were mesmerizing, even in a storm.

Fording a river during our 50km off-road drive to La Plage Blanche.

Amazing view, right? Too bad it’s cold enough to make me dress up like an Inuit!!

Our campsite, and our makeshift wind-blocker.  Sahnah’s tent is behind the car, for obvious wind-blocking reasons.

We dropped Sahnah off in Guelmine, the supposed gateway to the Western Sahara, a contested region that most maps invalidate with a dotted line between its northern border and southern Morocco.  In Guelmine, 50% of people are Saharawis, and you could see their long, loose pale blue robes with gold-embroidered borders everywhere.

These same Saharawis inhabit most of Mauritania, where Sahnah and I first traveled over a decade ago.  It was a fitting place, then, for us to bid her farewell.

It was awesome to reconnect with Sahnah after having not seen each other in almost 3 years (and not traveling together in four – wow, does time ever pass quickly!).  I loved getting to re-explore Marrakech, and to introduce her to my Moroccan friends and their family life.

I especially loved getting to share my daily life with Sahnah – a life that is difficult for most people that are dear to me to grasp.  After eight nights tenting it with us in southern Morocco, I think she gets it.

So… who’s next?

I’d wanted to try my first Moroccan meal.  But now that I was walking past cafés filled with men drinking mint tea, food stalls exhibiting animal carcasses, and hole-in-the wall restaurants with giant vats bubbling over charcoal stoves out front, I was having second thoughts.

Finally, my stomach won out over my fear.  I approached a few restaurants, looked inside their vats and platters, found one that looked like American baked beans, and sat down at an empty table.

My anxiety was a thing of the past; my curiosity at the food customs of a new country took over.  I watched others around me dig into their dishes with pieces of bread torn off of saucer-like loaves, then round off their meals with pots of sweet mint tea.  I did the same.  It was delicious.  And fun.  And it cost me $2.

Azemmour, the site of our first Moroccan meal.

Bruno standing in front of the first Moroccan restaurant we chose, where we were able to see inside the vats and tagines and choose our food by sight.

Oh yeah, I love eating food with my hands!

I couldn’t wait to visit another dive restaurant the following day in El Jadida.  This one, tucked in a narrow alley behind the souq, was even more grubby and local than the first; we were the only foreigners, and I the only woman.  On offer were five metal vats containing various stews.  Luckily, three of them were vegetarian – loobia (baked beans), ‘addis (green lentils), and hodra (vegetable stew).

More confident than the day before, I pointed at two stews, washed my hands, and dug into my meal with my khoobz (bread), tearing off one solid, crusty chunk at a time and dipping it, with my right hand, into my stew.  I automatically love any food that requires a utensil other than a fork or spoon.

The local restaurant in El Jadida, with the vats to the left and me washing my hands in the back. I’m the only woman.

‘Addis (lentil stew), hodra (vegetable stew) and khoobz (bread).

Khoobz, these saucer-shaped loaves of bread, are ubiquitous in Morocco, and cheap. They’re the staple food and often used as a utensil.

***

It was only weeks later, during our family reunion in Taroudant, that I got the second instalment of my Moroccan food education.  By this point, I’d tasted a variety of foods – briouat (Moroccan samosas), harira (a fragrant tomato soup containing chickpeas, lentils, rice, and vermicelli noodles), pastilla (mille-feuille pie), bessara (fava bean purée, called foul in many Arab countries); msammen (Moroccan crêpe), and beghrir (Moroccan pancake).

Mmmmm, msammen.

A very funky presentation of pastilla.

With the help of Hafida and Atika, our two Moroccan cooks, I began to deepen my understanding of their complex cuisine.  I was in charge of coordinating our daily menu with them, and each day Hafida would suggest Moroccan dishes.  Each suggestion was a tagine, one of Morocco’s two world-famous dishes (the other being couscous).  I remember thinking to myself that everyone was going to get really sick of such a repetitive menu.

What I slowly realized was that tagine wasn’t just a dish – it was a cooking method.  A tagine is an earthenware pot in which food is cooked.  It consists of two parts: a flat, circular base, and a cone-shaped cover.  Food is layered into the base – spices and onions at the bottom, followed by meat (if there is any), carrots and potatoes (which take longer to cook), and finally, fast-cooking vegetables like zucchini, tomatoes and peas.  The tagine is placed over medium-high heat (traditionally over charcoal, but now also on gas or electric stovetops), covered, and left to its own devices, except to add small quantities of water at frequent intervals.  This is the key of the tagine cooking method: food is cooked both from the heat below and the steam created by the water and kept in by the cone-shaped lid.

There are a plethora of different tagine dishes – chicken with olives and preserved lemon; lamb with prunes, almonds, and sesame seeds; kefta (beef meatballs) with a spicy red sauce; chicken with hard-boiled eggs; vegetables topped with chickpeas and caramelized onions; fish and carrots – so many, in fact, that we weren’t able to try all of Hafida’s meal selections in our two-week stay in Taroudant.

Tagines for sale on the side of the road.

Chicken tagine with boiled eggs, olives, and preserved lemon.

Bruno enjoying a vegetarian tagine.

A tagine of meat and peas.

Not only that, but since each chef uses a different spice mix to flavor the tagine – Hafida’s often used ginger, cumin, salt, and pepper, but some people use saffron, paprika, or coriander – you can try tagine kefta in twenty different places and never eat the same dish.

I really want a tagine in my camper van now.  Too bad they’re breakable.

***

I became friends with Hafida and Atika.  It was inevitable, really, what with my passion for world cuisine.  I watched them layer thin buttery pastry sheets over a spicy vegetable curry to make a vegetarian pastilla.  I asked about the spices that went into their harira.  I even helped stuff and fold briouat.

Learning how to make briouat with Hafida and Atika.

Vegetarian pastilla, yum!

When the family reunion was over, and I’d taken my parents on a tour of eastern Morocco in a rented camper van, I returned to Taroudant and called them.

“Please come to my house for dinner,” said Hafida without a second thought.  “And please come to my parents’ home for dinner, too,” said Atika.

What was meant – in my mind, at least – to be an evening with my two new Moroccan friends turned into thirty hours, a sleepover, and four meals.  What’s more, I was invited back the following week, with my friend, Sahnah, who would be in town from New York.  I knew Sahnah would love the opportunity to meet my friends, taste their food, and experience their family life, because that’s exactly what we’d done a decade before, on our first trip together, to Mauritania.

Hafida lives with her husband and three children in a 4-storey townhouse near Taroundant’s medina.  I’d met the family at our New Year’s Eve dance party; her youngest, Ihsan, was already quite attached to me.  Over the four nights I spent sleeping on cushioned benches placed along the perimeter of her second-floor salon, I got to meet Hafida’s mother, sister, and niece, as well as Atika’s sister, brother, parents, sister-in-law, and nieces.

Me with Hadifa, her mom, and two of her three children.

Spending some time with Atika and her lovely family.

Bite-size pastilla and beautiful briouat prepared by Atika and her sister when we went to their house for dinner.

It was wonderful to foster a friendship with Hafida and Atika that had begun as an uncomfortable employer-employee relationship.  Despite our inability to communicate complex ideas, I learned a lot about Hafida’s family and home life.  It was fascinating to experience firsthand their customs and routines.  A lot of them centered on food.

Breakfast is taken in two stages – a small bowl of plain porridge with ahwa (coffee) upon waking (this was perhaps just for the sake of Saaid, the husband, who left early for his bicycle repair shop), and later, an incredible feast that reminded me of Turkish breakfast.  A variety of spreads – butter, olive oil, jam, honey, and amlou, a divine southern Moroccan spread of almond butter, honey, and argan oil – are laid in miniature dishes in the center of the table.  Around then is fresh khoobz, of course, but also msammen (which I loved immediately), and beghrir (which, because of its spongy, bubbled texture, I didn’t love until I had it served with warmed butter and honey).  Olives and yogurt are available, as is lots of Moroccan tea, but fresh fruit, my own breakfast favorite, is served only for dessert after lunch and dinner.

Beghrir for breakfast! Under the white tagine-shaped bowls are the spreads.

And here are the spreads! The brown one in the back is amlou.

Because of the late breakfast, the timing of the other meals is very different from what I’m used to.  Lunch, the largest meal of the day, is served around 2pm; a light dinner is served anytime after nine.

To make it that long between meals, Moroccans eat an early-evening snack.  I had asked Hafida’s kids which meal they liked best, and it’s no surprise that snack-time was the unanimous favorite, for snacks consist almost entirely of sweet things.  There’s msammen or beghrir doused with honey; French croissants and pain au chocolat; gooey, dripping dates; and a variety of Moroccan pastries, or helwa. 

Bruno and I had definitely caught onto the helwa.  In even the smallest of Moroccan towns are patisseries, bakeries with massive windows displaying a variety of delicate pastries – displays that just beg you to create your own variety pack to-go.  We’d tried almond cookies, anise biscuits, frangipani briouat, honey and almond cigars, chebakia (deep-fried dough with sprinkled sesame seeds), and the lovely and much-loved crescent-moon-shaped cornes de gazelle.

Sugar definitely seems to be a Moroccan staple, as sweet things even find their way into savory meals.  Harira is always served with either dates or chebakia; dried fruits find their way into couscous, caramelized onions into tagine.  There’s even a dinner dish called sfaa that consists of either couscous or vermicelli noodles topped with raisins, crushed peanuts, powdered sugar, and cinnamon.

Tea and sweets for late-evening snack.

Bruno buying a mixed box of helwa.

Sfaa, vermicelli noodles with powdered sugar and cinnamon.

Dried fruit finding its way into a tagine.

And, the sweetest – and most-beloved – thing of all is Moroccan tea.

***

Moroccan tea is such a fascinating topic that I could probably write an entire blog post about it; a little interlude here will have to suffice.  Tea, in Morocco, is drunk as a relaxing, afternoon pastime amongst family and friends; as a way for unemployed men to while away seemingly-infinite hours watching the world go by at roadside cafés; and as a preamble to any important business transactions.

I’ve spent many hours watching people – mostly men, as women only drink tea at home – drink tea.  It is served in metal pots on metal trays with shot-sized glasses; the pots are generally stuffed full of fresh mint.  The man offering the tea will pour a drop into a glass and taste it before adding his desired amount of sugar to the pot.  He will fill a glass and dump it back into the pot, repeating this process a couple more times to melt and mix the sugar before filling all the glasses for his friends.

The key to this ritual is that the man will pour the tea, each time, from astounding heights.  The spouts of the teapots are long and thin so that the tea can be poured into such narrow glasses from distances of at least – and often more than – sixty centimeters.

Depending on who you talk to, this pouring technique serves to aerate the tea, to cool down the liquid, to look cool, or to create foam at the top of the beverage.  Whatever it is, it’s a lot harder than it looks.  I’ve been practicing the technique for three months, and from only thirty centimeters away I still create loads of spray with my wavering hand.

The ritual of pouring mint tea from great heights.

Bruno pouring mint tea. He can’t do it from a very big height.

I’m much better at it, right?

If you’re invited for tea by a Moroccan, it’s always a lengthy affair.  In Marrakech, I learned why.  Sahnah and I had befriended two shop workers after buying some spices and perfumes from them, and they invited us to lunch the following day.  Mohammed noticed my interest in all-things-cuisine and invited me to learn how to prepare tea.

“Sure,” I replied, omitting my inward retort that, at 31 years old, I already know how to prepare tea.  I was wrong.

Moroccans use gunpowder green loose-leaf tea from China.  They place a handful at the bottom of the metal pot, cover them with water, and set that to boil.  Then they dump that liquid in one of the tea glasses, add cold water to the pot, swish that around (to clean the leaves) and throw away the dirty water.  Next, they pour back the dense tea liquid from the tea glass into the pot, add a large handful of fresh mint – stalks and all – then fill the pot to the top with water and set on low heat.  The liquid is now simmered for at least ten minutes, and often seeped for several more.  Sugar is added before serving – and trust me, it’s needed to offset the bitterness.

During my tea observations over the past several months, I had been amazed by the amount of sugar Moroccans will add to their tea.  In Morocco, sugar cubes are giant rectangular prisms, and each prism must equal ten Western sugar cubes.  Most Moroccans add two sugar prisms to pots of tea that can serve three people.  That’s about seven cubes of sugar per tiny cup!

No wonder Moroccans have dubbed their tea “Moroccan whiskey.”

***

I’d read that couscous is the Moroccan equivalent of a Sunday roast – it’s the special weekly meal shared by the family.  I’d never been able to find couscous at a local restaurant because it was only prepared once a week (usually on Friday), and then, it was prepared in one giant batch that always included chicken.

I was perplexed that such a simple thing as couscous would be the special meal in a country that has beautifully-plated, more elaborate, seemingly finer foods.

Hafida and Atika helped me understand.  Preparing the couscous grains requires impeccable timing and strong hands.  First, the uncooked grains are placed in a large basket and massaged with oil.  They are then transferred in the top pot of a couscoussier, a Moroccan double-boiler.  In the bottom pot, the couscous vegetables are boiling away in a spiced tomato broth.  The couscous is steamed for a while, then dumped back into the basket, where it is lubricated with a bit of cool water and massaged by hand to remove any clumps.  (I tried this part and burned the crap out of my hands.  No joke, they were lobster-red.)  The process of steaming and massaging is done three times, requiring over an hour before the texture is perfect.

Couscous being steamed on a double-boiler.

Hafida showing me how to make couscous.

A cook at a random restaurant showing me how to fluff the couscous. One of the rare men I’ve seen prepare it.

Finally, the couscous is plated.  A huge pile of perfectly-cooked grains are dumped in the center of a large platter, and on top are piled the meat and a huge variety of vegetables, such as eggplant, pumpkin, carrot, turnip, zucchini, and cabbage.  There may also be dried fruit, caramelized onions, chickpeas or lima beans.  Broth is served in a bowl on the side and spooned to taste onto one’s portion of couscous.  During our family reunion, we served the couscous family-style onto our own plates and ate it with utensils; Moroccans, however, share it with their hands out of the common platter.

Hafida prepared us couscous in her home.  While she was cooking it, I learned that her 16-year old son, Hicham, knows how to prepare several tagine dishes.  I was impressed – I’d thought the kitchen in Morocco was reserved for women.  Later, when Sahnah and I shared a meal in Marrakech with our new shop worker friends, I found out that Mohammed had gone to the market to pick out all the seasonal produce needed for the tagines he would serve us at lunch.  Since he had to be at work all day, he had brought the ingredients, and his own spice mix, to a shop that would transform them into our meal.  It’s a cheap service that many vendors who can’t go home for lunch use.

Hafida and Atika plating couscous for a special meal during our family reunion.

Couscous during our big family reunion.

Ok, I get it. Couscous is pretty.

It appeared men in Morocco were adept in tagine preparation.  But rarely does a man attempt a couscous.  “No way,” said Hicham, his eyes big, when I asked him if he could make the Moroccan Sunday roast.  “That’s way too hard!”

It appeared couscous, at least, has remained a woman’s duty in Morocco.

***

Not everything about Moroccan food speaks to me.  The cuisine is too bread-, meat-, and sugar-heavy for me, and their street food isn’t as exciting, spicy, or healthy as what you can find in powerhouses like Thailand and India.

But I love the markets piled high with gorgeous, cheap, and supposedly-organic fresh produce.  I love the bean stews, the fresh herbs used on everything, the gooey, almost-burnt onions at the bottom of a tagine.  Despite the sugar, I love washing my meals down with a glass of mint tea.

Most of all, I love what food in Morocco stands for – hospitality, community, and celebration.  As I sat at Hafida’s low roundtable, gathered with her extended family around a platter of lovingly-plated couscous, I felt so welcome, so accepted.  Saaid said Bismillah (“in the name of Allah”), and we all dug our right hands into the platter.  Hafida’s mother nudged some pumpkin into my section of the food.  I scooped it up with my fingers, mashed it with some couscous into a ball in my palm, and popped it into my mouth, smiling inwardly.  That pumpkin – indeed that couscous – was a celebration of a new member in the Nasser family – me.

Enjoying couscous from a common bowl with Hafida’s family.