Hot Drinks

No one's got hot drinks nailed down like the Irish. Irish coffee, anyone? Or the ubiquitous cuppa (tea)? Well, for those of us who can't take caffeine there are even more choices. The one I remember from my student days in Wales is Horlicks - malted milk - which is now available in a light version. Horlicks is meant to be drunk in the evening, to promote "restful sleep." I bought a box as soon as I spotted it in the grocery store but the light version just isn't the same (read "sweet") as the original. The other malted drink is Ovaltine, probably not unfamiliar to those in the U.S. Ovaltine is marketed as a high energy pick-me-up, since the malt contains so many vitamins and minerals! Note that in Ireland Guinness is also in this category, a kind of liquid meal. In the morning before heading out on my grocery run I often drink a caffeine free coffee substitute similar to Postum or Inka, made of chicory, rye, barley, and maybe malt, called Solace. This one has the added ingredients of figs and acorns.

People who love "real" coffee will be dismayed in the UK to discover that at home, if you're offered a coffee, it is most likely of the instant variety. They won't add insult to injury though by offering you powdered fake cream. Even Nescafe with real milk isn't bad. Real coffee is available at the grocery store, of course, and several places downtown offer espresso, which I haven't sampled. (Note to self - ask Walt about the espresso!) The tea, however, is way better here; stronger, smoother, altogether more satisfying, which it would have to be considering that most people must drink 3 or 4 cups of it a day at least. It doesn't take long to get into the tea habit - why not have a cup with your toast for breakfast, and another around 11 a.m. to help you survive until lunch? And mid-afternoon? And late afternoon as well? Lipton must get the cheaper tea leaves for its less discriminating American customers (keeping in mind there are plenty of high quality tea devotees, such as my sister in law Linda). I found a decaf organic fair trade variety of English Breakfast tea from a company called Clipper that goes perfectly with our favorite tea bikkies: Hob Nobs and McVities digestives. So far I've managed to stop myself from buying these with the chocolate already on them, because I remember from 20 years ago that chocolate Hob Nobs are my downfall.

Traybakes and Crotchets

Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Bangor

Reed’s chocolate birthday cake turned out fine, quite beautiful in fact, even if the cake itself was a little drier than I would have liked. The dryness was canceled out by the huge amounts of buttercream frosting in between the layers. I split it into 4 layers so in the inside the frosting was pink, made by mixing strawberry jam with the butter and powdered sugar and milk. Outside, it was chocolate, made by mixing melted dark chocolate with butter and powdered sugar. I assembled the cake Saturday evening after a day of mostly hanging out at home – although I did take an hour and a half long walk late in the afternoon along the coast, my favorite time of day to be walking – and let it sit in the cupboard on one of Anna’s beautiful platters overnight.

Reed’s excitement level grew as time dragged by on Sunday, until the appointed hour of 3 pm arrived and a couple girls appeared, thankfully. Reed would have been VERY upset if no one had come on time. When they discovered there was indeed cake and ice cream to be had, they went and rounded up the rest of the children, so within a few minutes I was trying to pour drinks for 9 kids crowded into the summerhouse. Then we brought out the cake, lit the 7 candles, and everyone sang Happy Birthday to Reed and waited patiently while I cut cake and ice cream and Reed served everyone. It was a chilly and windy day, and Walt kept making noises about me making the kids be out there, but I found a heater in the summerhouse earlier in the day and made good use of it. Afterwards I explained to Walt that I kept the children outside for my own sanity, knowing that having them in the house would’ve turned me into a quivering wreck, trying to make sure chocolate cake crumbs and grenadine sodas didn’t get spilled onto the white dining chair cushions, not to mention all those pairs of muddy shoes, and the problem of getting everyone back outside to play when it was over. The group quite naturally started a game of tag in the back yard when the refreshments were gone, and soon they headed back up front to the street to kick the ball around. Reed was exhausted by the end of the day as usual, but all in all seemed pretty pleased with the turnout.

Monday I headed out on a major grocery gathering trip, inspired by watching Two Fat Ladies on the Foot Network the night before. They had made a lot of yummy looking party treats including something called Devils on Horseback, consisting of a piece of chicken liver stuffed inside a prune with a piece of bacon wrapped around it, which was then baked. As I had chicken liver in the fridge, I bought some prunes and some bacon, and tried it out for lunch yesterday. Walt and Reed didn’t care too much for them but I thought they were delicious, with the salty-sweet combination of the fruit and bacon. Of course, I love bacon; you could probably wrap a Styrofoam peanut in bacon and I’d pronounce it great. I also tried to find canned clams to make clam chowder, but was unable to locate any. I did see canned mussels, and restrained myself from buying them, since we know that there are mussels for the taking down on the beach at low tide. Walt and I had both seen people harvesting them but Walt actually talked to some people one day to find out for sure. Walt got a tide chart today, and learned from the Coast Guard office that paralytic shellfish poisoning is nonexistent during the winter, so we can safely plan our harvesting trip. By the time I came home on Monday morning with my pack full of chickpeas and black eyed peas and rice and bacon and milk and pickles and other things it must’ve weighed 35 pounds – it felt at least as heavy as my big pack when it’s full of clothes, shoes, and books.

This morning I went to the market to stock up on vegetables from the local farmer who sells there. It was a misty/rainy morning so I took the umbrella for the first time, and filled my pack with potatoes, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, and from another vendor, oranges and apples. Prices were low since the weather was so bad – so we’ll eat good veggies this week for relatively cheap. Tonight I’m doing a stir fry with carrots, broccoli, chicken, red peppers, and onions.

Monday afternoon we walked into town for our appointment at Northern Bank to open our account. Anna had said that they’re very strict about opening up accounts so it took a lot of legwork before this just to get to this point – but thankfully Anna did most of it, having worked at Northern Bank for a long time. The amount of time it took to take care of the rest of the process was an entire hour, with a pile of papers rivaling the paperwork for closing on a house, with somewhat fewer signatures required. Heather Brown was very friendly and helpful, though, giving us tips about nice villages to visit and good restaurants in which to eat, in case we ever get to do so. Afterwards we had a snack at Heatherlea – a sausage roll and a Cornish pasty – and then Walt headed off to run errands and Reed and I killed some time at the library looking at the reference book of world flags until it was time to get the bus to his violin lesson. I won’t go into detail about how THAT went, but it was all I could do to keep my eyes focused on the Harry Potter book I was reading. Fortunately Kerry is extremely patient and understanding, and she didn’t get visibly annoyed when Reed was flopping down on the couch complaining about being tired. Amazingly enough Reed and I managed to have a fun time with practice on Tuesday morning, and this morning went okay as well, as I keep reminding myself it’s not about being perfect, it’s about having fun… repeat…

You think you’re in an English speaking country until you see something completely different. Reed learned that the frog on his violin bow is here called the heel. He also learned the names of whole, half, and quarter notes at his lesson on Monday: whole notes are called “semibreves,” half notes are “minims,” and quarter notes are “crotchets.” Eighth notes are “quares” or “quaren” I think, if I’m reading her writing correctly. And at the train station snack bar, they had a special on any scone or “traybake” and cup of tea or coffee. It’s obvious what traybake means, but it’s a brand new word for me, and I even knew already that the stove burner is called a hob and that cheap wine is plonk.

We are glad to be missing out on most of the presidential election campaign rhetoric. I do have to make note of a hilarious comment in one of The Times’ commentary pieces the other day: “The next President of the United States will undoubtedly be more articulate than the current one (only Marcel Marceau could fail to meet that standard but he is (a) French, (b) dead and (c) thus not running for the Oval Office).” I note, for those who might be unfamiliar with Marceau, that he is a famous mime. But indeed, dead.

Moldy Cheese

Friday, November 9, 2007
Bangor

No kitchen in France with which we’re familiar has a potato masher or pancake flipper, and now, here in Ireland, we’re lacking a whisk and a full-size cookie sheet, although we are lucky enough to have two pancake flippers. If you want to turn a pancake in France, or lift chocolate chip cookies off the pan, you have to use a flat spatula that is about 1 ½ inches wide and about 6 inches long. Works great for crepes of course, since it is flexible, but for American style pancakes it’s a disaster.

I mention this because tonight I made crepes for dinner, filled with a garlicky white sauce and spinach and salmon. Lacking a whisk, I had to mush all the little bits of flour up with the back of a spoon, a really tedious process that at home would’ve made me cranky but here I didn’t mind, since I don’t have anything I need to do tonight anyway. The really lovely thing about crepes is that if you make a big enough batch, you can have crepes for dessert, too. Having found Nutella on sale at the store today made me feel quite festive, as there’s nothing quite so good as a warm crepe filled with oozing chocolate-hazelnut spread – unless it’s the same thing with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. We’ll do that the next time.

We spent the morning doing schoolwork with Reed, then went to the pool this afternoon. I visited the butcher for the first time afterwards, confirming that his products were indeed from local farmers. So I bought an entire free range chicken, to roast for dinner tomorrow night or Sunday noon. I also stocked up on dairy products at the store, not to mention the Buy One Get One Free jars of Nutella, so on the way home my backpack was really heavy. I kept telling myself I was earning the right to eat Nutella, lugging it all the way home on foot. Tomorrow I must bake Reed’s chocolate birthday cake, and since it will be my first try with UK measurements and ingredients and pans and an unfamiliar oven, I’ll get started on it early in the day, in case it completely goes wrong and I have to do it all over again.

The refrigeration posting spawned another question about whether or not I’m familiar with the idea of eating cheese with mold growing on the outside. Americans of course are sort of grossed out by this idea but the truth is, yes, not only do I know about mold-encased cheese, I eat it regularly over here. Many many varieties of French cheese, as they age, grow mold on the rind, which is essential to the flavor. And of course blue cheeses are riddled with yummy mold. We’ve noticed that when we eat lots of stinky French cheese we have fewer digestive upsets than we have at home – possibly a side effect of all those cultures? Anyway, at Les Fromentaux, as the goat cheese we made aged, in the fromagerie at a temperature of about 55 to 60 degrees, it grew a layer of bluish green mold that's quite tasty. Goat cheese can be eaten at any age, by the way – our favorite was the soft new stuff that was about 3 days old. Again, keep in mind, these are raw-milk cheeses, aged in an clean but not sterile environment conducive to the proper flora and fauna. (Google roquefort cheese and you'll probably find out about this - roquefort cheese being aged in certain caves for the proper mold development.) Renee-Jo always checked the smell of the curdled goat milk before using it for making cheese, because she can smell if it’s been contaminated or not with bad bacteria. I wouldn’t recommend letting your average block of Tillamook cheddar go moldy, and then eating it. Pasteurized commercial cheeses aren’t meant to grow mold, and when they do, it tastes really horrible. There is a lot of information out there these days about the benefits of raw milk. Of course there are risks, too, but I tend to believe the theories that there are so many people with allergies these days because our environment and our food has gotten too sterilized, rendering our immune systems hyper-sensitive. Renee-Jo and I talked about this subject in French, and although I couldn’t understand everything she said, I could tell she was very passionate about the subject, and believed completely in the health benefits of eating raw milk goat cheese.

Fridge Musings

Thursday, November 8, 2007
Bangor

More progress in the food department. I went to the outdoor market yesterday morning, held in the parking lot behind the big ASDA grocery store. Even if I hadn’t seen the Wal-Mart in small letters on someone’s ASDA grocery bag, I would have been able to tell: the staff is just too friendly, the prices are are “rolled back,” everything is cheap cheap cheap. The Devil’s prices, as Garry Trudeau once wrote in a Doonesbury cartoon. Anyway, the market started off looking pretty dismal, just the usual grocery store produce, cheap clothes, toilet paper and gadgets, etc., and then, I noticed a stand where the piles of vegetables weren’t in commercial waxed boxes. Then, I noticed the carrots still had the tops on them, and the leeks still had their little roots, and these roots were full of dirt. Voila! Locally grown! I bought a head of broccoli just to have the chance to confirm that this was indeed a local farm and told her I’d be back next week. I walked away thinking about all the things I can do with root vegetables this winter to keep our meals interesting but local.

Afterwards I stopped at Spice and got some Cashel Blue cheese from Ireland, and some black olives and sardines (not from here!) for the pizza I made last night. Thanks to our breadmaking experience at home and then in the Auvergne, I mixed up a batch of pizza crust without a recipe and it turned out really great; we topped them with olive oil, garlic, caramelized onions, sautéed mushrooms, fresh spinach, red peppers, black olives, sardines, and mozzarella – not all on the same pizza of course. We made a pissaladiere with the caramelized onions, olives, and sardines, and then mixed and matched the others, discovering that olive oil, fresh baby spinach, red pepper, and mozzarella is really really good. So that puts to rest the question of where we can get decent pizza. Since the main choices downtown are Pizza Hut and Dominos, we’ll stay home.

I’ve been doing some inquiring about refrigeration practices, since I’d noticed that the French use their refrigerators differently than Americans, ie less. Cheese, for instance, rarely goes into the fridge in France, ditto for eggs, jam, pickles, etc. And, sister in law Linda asked if I’d noticed whether or not eggs are refrigerated here or not; she had seen unrefrigerated eggs in Cozumel and learned that if they are unwashed they won’t spoil as fast as washed ones, which I had read somewhere too. So my prof, Kyri Claflin, has researched refrigeration practices in France as part of her dissertation, and also presented a paper on it at the Oxford Symposium in London this fall. Turns out that there is a BIG cultural difference between France and many other countries regarding the use of refrigeration and freezing, which stems back to the philosophical underpinnings of the market, and to French shopping habits. Before refrigeration was invented, the French shopped for their food – meat, dairy, produce - almost daily. Furthermore, the food markets were regulated in such a way as to insure fair prices and good food: each day, whatever a vendor had for sale had to ALL be on display, and at the end of the day, if anything was left it could NOT be held over to be sold the next day. This insured that the market was completely transparent: a customer could look around, see what was available, how much of it was available, and make his decision. If he came early to get the best selection, he paid higher prices; if he came later in the day, he paid less, and got the worst selection.

When refrigeration was invented, it was not embraced by the French, because it screwed with the transparency of the market. Storing something away was a way to deceive people about the food supply, even if it did offer the possibility of preventing unsold food from going to waste. And, people believed, in some cases quite rightly, that holding food at a low temperature changed its taste for the worse. (This is definitely true with things like tomatoes, strawberries, potatoes, berries, peaches, etc.) Eventually, after WWI, and after people learned how to use refrigeration and freezing technology properly, it became more common. As the French lifestyle has become more Americanized, their eating practices have become more Americanized, and there is a huge variety of frozen and pre-prepared refrigerated meals available now. The French people we know have both a small fridge and a small freezer. But in my observations, they use it much less than Americans and British do. The cheese, in France, usually stays in the cupboard on a covered cheese board. (Keep in mind the cheese is often made from unpasteurized milk, full of good bacteria that give the cheese its flavor. And, they eat a little cheese every day, so it doesn’t sit around for a real long time.) The eggs, in their carton, in the cupboard. The jam and other condiments, in the cupboard. Leftovers, in the cupboard, to be eaten promptly the next day. Pickles and olives, in the cupboard. Fruit and vegetables, in the cupboard, to be eaten within a day or two, before buying more. People really do tend to shop every day, or every other day, buying in small amounts what they will eat very shortly. None of this Costco style of stocking up. Small fridge, small kitchen, smaller electric bill, smaller waistline, fresher food… it’s a healthy cycle in many cases.

So there’s a lot to think about there. Americans are so conditioned to worrying about germs and bacteria they forget that there is a middle ground – and that not everything has to be in the fridge all the time.

Monday evening Reed and I headed out in the gathering darkness to catch the train and then the bus over to the Ballyholme neighborhood of Bangor, for Reed’s first violin lesson with Kerry McClure. We found the house with no problem, a cozy house like ours, just down Godfrey Avenue from Ballyholme Esplanade. Kerry is a young, slim, dark-haired and pretty teacher who is enthusiastic and nonchalant, and I could tell Reed warmed to her right away. She sat right down with him to start teaching him to read music with “Every Good Boy Deserves Football” for the line notes and “FACE” for the space notes. Then she gave him some homework to do, writing the names of the notes of the first song in the book, “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain.” I can tell that Reed will have fun having lessons with Kerry and that’s my goal for him this winter. Now if I can just keep my own attitude light, we’ll be all right. I had warned him he might not be able to understand her very well, since I had had such a hard time on the phone, but as he walked away from the house he said, “I could understand her just fine, Mama. I think I’m getting used to the accent now.”

Yesterday afternoon for a special outing Reed and I walked to Bangor Castle – really a big fancy house and home of city hall, on a hill above the downtown and set in a beautiful park – and visited the North Down museum, which taught us a lot about early Christian times in Ireland, the Vikings, and what Bangor looked like when it was a Victorian resort. I found myself explaining quite a lot of things that I realize I don’t have a lot of knowledge about, but I knew just enough to keep Reed pretty enthralled. He was enthusiastic and curious about seeing some artifacts that were from Viking times – and amazed that he was seeing something so old. The museum had really good models of what the town looked like in early Christian times when it was just a refectory, a granary, a cowbyre, and thatched huts for the monks, surrounded by a wall made of sticks. They had a life-sized model of one of those huts, giving one pause as to how precarious life must’ve been 1000 years ago. And it’s quite a lot of history to absorb at once: early Christians, Vikings, Ulster Scots, the Troubles...

Our neighbor June gave us some apples off her tree the other day, which Walt quickly turned into a delicious pie yesterday. It’s almost gone, thanks to Walt eating pie for dessert, midnight snack, breakfast, and lunch, but I finally am having my second piece for tea. He promises to make another one tomorrow – but I don’t know if June has anymore apples to spare.

Walt took the train into Belfast today for the first time, in search of decent athletic shoes so he can work out properly at the leisure center. Reed and I will probably venture into the city next week, if we get a really nice day.

Where to Shop, What to Eat

Monday, November 5, 2007
Bangor

Sunny this morning after a rainy night, with a stiff, fresh wind whipping all the trees around and flinging leaves skyward. There is always something new to notice on my walks along the path; the other morning when I went early the tide was very low, and on the beach were two people with big buckets and sacks gathering mussels. Today the tide was already up; there were several groups of older gentlemen on the trail looking dapper; they invariably all wish me a cheery “Morning!” A small sailboat was out in Ballyholme Bay, going so fast towards land I watched closely to make sure they weren’t going to crash and need HM’s (Her Majesty’s) coast guard assistance. Then I noticed the banner next to the small amphitheatre used by the Congregational Church. Originally the banner said “Christ Died For the Ungodly.” A little black paint carefully applied by some pranksters leaves it “Christ Died for the Ugly.” I shouldn’t have laughed when I saw it, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.

You don’t realize until you’re in a completely unfamiliar place trying to do everyday things, how much accumulated knowledge you have about your native ground. Or, until you’re on a very strict budget, how mindless you used to be about how much you pay for the basics at the various stores. Walt is keeping track of how much things cost at which place, so we’ll know better next time around. But for those of us who are thinking about the origins of the food we eat and how it was raised, trying to know what to buy and where to buy it in a completely new place is practically a half time job. At home I even know which brands of organic milk are better than others – here, I don’t even know if conventionally produced milk contains bovine growth hormone like it does in the States, or if conventional dairies here let their cows graze on grass or not. I don’t know what free range means when applied to eggs here, and am hopeful it means more than it does in the States. I don’t know if conventional beef is cornfed from start to finish and kept in confined areas, or grazed on pasture like it should be. I’ve posted a few questions regarding these issues to a listserv I belong to, and we’ll see if anyone helps me out. At the worst, I can start searching online for news stories and relevant web sites. At lunch today I found myself really missing the meals we ate on the farms in France, where not only did we know where the food had come from but had sometimes helped harvest it.

I bought some basics this morning at the two grocery stores upstairs in the little downtown mall: Cheerios, milk, cream, cheddar, plums, oranges, apple cider, bread, goat milk, canned salmon. The multigrain Cheerios were on sale and Reed is enjoying them and can fix his own breakfast with cold cereal, so although I never buy cold cereal at home, here, we’re caving in. But I’m happy to note that nothing contains high fructose corn syrup here, even sweetened cereal. Sugar, it says, right there on the label. The milk is from a company called Dale Farm, that I read on the internet does organic milk as well. This milk isn’t labeled organic, but it is processed in Belfast, so that, at least, seems local. The cheddar cheese is factory produced crap for our sandwiches, just like we buy from Tillamook at home. We’ll go to Spice for our artisan cheese later in the week, for a treat for the weekend. The bread is commercially baked multigrain with seeds and contains no corn syrup. The plums came from Britain, and the oranges came from Spain. The goat milk came from Britain, and the canned salmon, also on sale, is wild Alaskan sockeye. The apple juice came from Britain as well. This store is supposedly a cooperative, but there doesn’t seem to be much emphasis on organic items – I have a feeling the cooperative label has more to do with their business model than their environmental principles, although they do have a big sign proclaiming that their carbon footprint is lower than other supermarkets. So I’m just not sure what their priorities are.

I’m anxious to go to the market on Wednesday morning to find out what’s available there. If I’m lucky, there’ll be some direct sales from local farmers.

Prosperity in Bangor

Saturday, November 3, 2007
Bangor

I’m taking a break from my shopping run today in the interests of resting and stretching my legs, and to save some money. Last night we switched bedrooms since it turns out the master bedroom has a firmer mattress, and slept better because of it. We woke at 7 am as usual since Reed had his alarm set – why he wants to wake up with an alarm I don’t know – and Reed and I came down and had some breakfast while the sun came up. Then we made some chocolate chip cookies when I realized there was no reason not to, since I had all the ingredients and all day. Then I made some lentil and beef soup, which is now simmering on the stove for lunch. Reed and Walt got out the microscope that Michael showed them and got it set up to look at bugs, and I’m thinking that pretty soon I need to get showered and dressed and do the housecleaning, but not right this minute. I'm listening to BBC2 radio and enjoying it too much to stop. I hear serious news stories and keep thinking it's going to be a Monty Python sketch; this morning when the announcer introduced a panel that had to do with gynecological health issues I thought for sure it was going to be a comedy, but no! I don't think I realized until now how perfectly Michael Palin and the gang satired British society, how spot on they mimicked BBC announcers.

Yesterday afternoon we walked into town along the coastal path and went to the leisure center where I bought Reed and I some swim passes and Walt bought himself a membership, so he can use the exercise equipment, swim, and use the sauna and Jacuzzi as well. We enjoyed paddling around in the very comfortable shallow pool, and admired the communal locker room set up, where there are lots of little cubicles for changing in privacy, and enough lockers for all, which operate with magnets that are on plastic wristbands. You pay a pound to get your bracelet, which is then refunded to you when you return your bracelet at the end of the swim. The locker area is open to the pool so it is staffed at all times, and easy for families to stick together.

After our swim we went through the downtown again, discovering a little shop called Spice off on a side street that carries artisan cheeses (including Gubbeen!) and olives and also has a little café for lunch. We got some blue cheese from the Pecos mountains in Spain, and some of the Gubbeen cheese, which turned out to be very creamy and mild; I will enjoy learning how it’s made and hopefully helping, when we go to Gubbeen next April. Then we got a sausage roll at Heatherlea to help us make it home, and then stopped to get a few groceries at the cooperative store upstairs in the shopping center. Go figure, grocery stores upstairs in a mall. But it’s true, there are two of them up there, and on Friday late afternoon, they were both packed. I was thrilled to discover some ham and some fresh pasta and some chicken pies that had reached their sell by date and were marked very cheaply; we got them home and tucked them into the freezer. We walked along the marina to the coastal trail and then home at dusk, admiring the lights of Carrickfergus across the lough and also of the lighthouse at the point – perhaps the town nearby is called Whitehead, I need to double check that. Reed gathered a shirtful of shells on the beach – it’s not hard, it’s all shells – and carried them home, with stern warnings from us that all shells gathered must remain outside and that all shells gathered will stay in Ireland and will NOT go with us back to France next spring.

When we headed out yesterday Charlie and Harry’s dad Robert was working outside so we stopped and introduced ourselves to him, he seems very friendly. Reed said the neighbors who live in the other half of this house, who just got home after being gone for a week, aren’t very nice since they had told Reed and Charlie in no uncertain terms not to go in their yard – which we explained was totally understandable, since they must get tired of all the boys playing ball right in front of their house all the time. We’ll go over and introduce ourselves soon. The next neighbor over, Pam, is very nice, even if her little dog Susie is a nervous, growling little fluffball.

Yesterday morning for my walk I went on the coastal path in the other direction, towards Belfast, walking along next to the Carnalea golf course, and further towards Helen’s Bay. I thought about Walt's brother Dave and his love of golf and considered what a shame it is for us to be living so close to the golf course and not play at all! Where the path isn’t right next to the rocks or grass it is lined with blackberry brambles, mostly. I walked as far as the long sandy beach that looks like a good place for Reed to go and hang out on a sunny afternoon. There were so many seabirds, some new to me, besides cormorants and gulls I think perhaps I saw shags and guillemots and I know I saw oystercatchers (I looked them up in the book when I got home) in a big tide pool, having a bath. Some of the birds out in the water were talking to each other, a funny sort of low pitched drawn out hoot, that sounds sort of like people talking just far enough away that you can’t hear individual words. I see lots of older women and men walking their chubby dogs on the path; it’s obvious that these particular dogs have got a pretty fabulous deal in life. Walkies along the sea as well as too many table scraps…

Walt has been reading the paper and he talked to an old sailor (he used to work for Exxon he said, and gave Walt the latest dirt on the Valdez' Captain Hazelwood, who claims he wasn't drunk when the Valdez ran aground in Prince William Sound, but that when it happened he was so upset he ran right down and tossed back a couple of shots, and THAT'S why his blood alcohol content was so high) on the path the other day, and is learning about some of the important issues. Housing prices here have skyrocketed in the past couple years so affordable and subsidized housing is a very big deal. Indeed we were surprised at the high prices for really small homes, until we reminded ourselves that Bangor is an easy reach for commuting to Belfast, and that the economy here is prospering. Shops have help wanted signs in the windows, everything is tidy and clean, houses are getting renovated, the downtown is bustling all the time. Just imagine what it'll be like when all the tourists start coming again, after 30 years of staying away.

Shopping On Foot

Thursday, November 1, 2007
Bangor

The routine is slowly getting established: we wake around 7 am and get breakfast. Then Reed does some reading, writing, French, and music with me, after which I head out for the daily shopping run downtown. Then Reed and Walt do math, science, history, etc. Reed is still learning what is expected of him for this home school setup but despite a few hiccups he is relearning to play his violin after several months of no practice, seems to enjoy reading simple books, and did his handwriting practice without complaint today. He is still figuring out how to play nicely with the neighborhood boys, but he’s in a bit of trouble today for running into a neighbor’s garbage pail with the scooter Walt scrounged for him from a dumpster. It made a big crack in the side of it so later we’ll be going over for Reed to offer his apologies.

The shopping run is also my exercise. We aren’t using a car, and using the most direct route, it’s about a 15 minute brisk walk to the downtown from home. It’s a very pleasant walk, on a busy residential street. I love looking at the stuccoed houses painted grey or blue or yellow or white, with their colorful front doors, tiny front gardens, and tidy front steps. Going via the coastal pathway makes it more about ½ an hour. Each day one or both of us makes a trip into town; we’ve been checking out all the little shops to learn where we can buy good food at a reasonable price and learning which charity shops carry which types of things. We also go the library frequently to get school books for Reed. Yesterday afternoon, for instance, I took Reed with me on the train and then the bus to go to Newtownards, about 5 miles away, to go to the great little produce shop that Anna shops at. It is indeed a nice shop. BUT it costs the two of us $16 just to get there, which we just can’t afford. So this morning I looked around carefully in Bangor and found some more convenient and thus more affordable options. Plus, I found the Health Store where we can buy some organic things like lentils when we like.

Shopping without a car is a natural way to reduce consumption. How much can I carry? Not as much as I used to buy at home, that’s for sure. Do I really need to eat that much? Well, no, and besides, the refrigerator is quite small. The other natural way to reduce consumption is for food to be expensive, which it is for us since the dollar is doing so badly. Can we really afford to eat ice cream? Not really, at $4 dollars a scoop. We’ve been eating soup and sandwiches and pasta so far. I’m looking forward to doing some baking soon as well. There are statistics, I’m sure, on how much Europeans spend on their food compared to Americans, and when I find out the general trends I’ll talk about that more. One thing I know after spending time in the Auvergne with the Colins and with the Magnanis in Nice, is that fresh organic food is pretty labor intensive to produce, and they’re barely getting by, despite growing the best food I’ve ever had. I may not be able to afford the most local and organic food at the moment, but I will certainly not complain about the prices ever again and I will buy it whenever I can, willingly.

The scale of things is simply smaller everywhere in Europe. Tiny shops, small houses, small packages of food, miniature cars, narrow streets. I love it. I don’t miss SUVs and 3 car garages at all. Add to that our low consumption lifestyle – since we know we have to get everything back into our backpacks in 5 months – and our carbon footprint is shrinking rapidly. Here, I don’t feel as if I’m hogging more than my share of anything in the world.