Archives des Non classé

Finding Fitou

Fitou, France.

Finding Fitou

August 7th, 2020.

The first time I had a glass of Fitou was at a tapas bar in the 18th arrondissement in Paris. I had no idea what a Fitou was, but I liked red wine and I thought the name was cute. The owner of the bar quickly became a friend (hey Reda!), and Morade and I would go there often to eat patatas bravas, meatballs and roasted red pepper salad. I almost always washed it down with a glass of Fitou.

Over the years it became a running joke that Fitou was my favorite wine. On the rare occasions when I found a bottle at the grocery store I would buy it. And no matter how cheap it was (sometimes only 3 euros!), it was always delicious.

So when I found out that Morade’s grandma lived near the town called Fitou, where Fitou wine was made, I had trouble playing it cool. It’s like going to your best friend’s parents’ house for the first time. You finally get to see where this person you’ve known for years grew up. I was embarrassingly excited.

Morade and I decided to spend a whole Saturday wine tasting and exploring the region. (I was drinking, he was driving). We picked out a few “Domaines” to try out — Les Fenals, Champs des Soeurs and Mas de la Roque — all independent wine producers.

The first one we went to was Les Fenals. They have an absolutely gorgeous space, with a chateau and rolling vineyards surrounding it. I tried two of their classic Fitous – from 2017 and 2016 – one of their special cuvées (named after their youngest daughter Julie), and one “Vin de France” made 100% from Carignan grapes.

Some technical notes that I was not aware of before this stop:

-Fitou wine only comes in red

-Fitou is part of the Languedoc family, and is the oldest appelation in this category

-In order to be considered a Fitou it has to have at least two different types of grapes, called cépages in French

-One of those cépages must be a Carignan – a local grape that gives Fitou its signature, kind of fruity taste (I’m not a wine critic pls don’t @ me for this)

-It’s considered a “small” appellation, because there are only 30 wine producers that make it

Oh! And one incredibly important thing I forgot to mention!

Wine tastings in Fitou are FREE.

Tipsy post-wine tasting Anca was delighted to hear this. The unspoken rule is you need to buy something afterwards, even if it’s just one bottle. Not a problem, I decided we’d make a Fitou collection to give to friends we ran into over the summer.

Our second stop was Champs des Soeurs. and this one was a real coup de coeur for me. The owner, Laurent Maynadier, led the tasting himself. I did a bit of research on him before going, and found out he’s experimenting with putting some of his bottles in the Mediterranean to mature instead of a traditional cellar. That was, of course, the first thing I asked about.

He said he’s always trying to find creative new ways to exploit the land his grapes are grown on, to tell the full story of each wine. Because Fitou is located on rocky hills overlooking the sea, he felt there was an opportunity to take advantage of the Mediterranean in the maturing process.

Laurent’s family has been in the winemaking business for 13 generations. He and his wife Marie, an oenologist, are now involved in the entire process from A to Z.

We spent a lot of time with Laurent, who was just fascinating to listen to. He explained the strict rules imposed on winemakers in France. France has a sort of “wine council” that decides what can and can’t be done when it comes to winemaking, in order to give a wine a certain label. The council is meant to “preserve the reputation” of the land of wine, but like many other councils, it often serves as a roadblock to creativity.

For example, Laurent mentioned he’s developing an orange wine, which is made when white wine grapes are processed using red wine techniques. This gives the white wine a more tannic flavor, and a deeper color. It’s an ancient method of winemaking, but one that’s never been fully embraced by France’s wine lords.

Anyway, I must have tasted six different wines, both white and red. The white wines in the region are generally Corbières, and while I’m not normally a fan, I really liked this white called Les Pépettes – which only cost 5 euros. We also picked up a few Fitous, La Tina and Bel Amant.

Laurent also recommended we take a drive through the backcountry of Fitou, on the small winding roads that pass through the vineyards and hills.

I recommend this drive for anyone passing through the region:

Start in Fitou with a wine tasting or two, then drive (or have your designated driver drive) to Embres-et-Castelmaur, then look around to Vingrau and back to Fitou.

It takes a little under two hours, but there are plenty of spots to stop for a picnic overlooking the vineyards. We brought a bunch of cheese and bread, which was very much needed after all that wine I tasted.

Our final stop was in the center of the village, an unlikely surprise we discovered the day before when we came on a recon mission. It’s a small hole in the wall that’s easy to miss. During the Covid-19 lockdown, the team from the vineyard Mas de la Roque converted a garage into a tasting room, where they also sell local products and takeout dishes from their restaurant. That’s where we met Lou, who was so lovely we came back a second time!

My favorite wine from Mas de la Roque is called Le Paradoxe, a Fitou red that’s matured in white wine barrels. The result is earthy, kind of woody and pretty light (again don’t @ me I’m doing my best here). I went a bit overboard and bought six bottles, so if we cross paths this summer you might have a chance to taste it!

I hope this post puts Fitou on your wine map – please send photos if you end up visiting!

Love,

Anca and Morade

© Stopover

An ode to mom’s cooking

Marseille, France

An ode to mom's cooking in the belly of Marseille

August 1st, 2020

“Marseille c’est un joyeux bordel.” Marseille is a joyful mess.

Our friend Nathalie, who grew up in Marseille, is responsible for my favorite description of France’s second city. The Mediterranean metropolis is chaotic and crowded and full of life. And the Noailles neighborhood by the Vieux Port is a perfect microcosm of that energy.

Narrow streets pulse with a diverse mix of people both local and tourist, vendors advertise their wares in bustling outdoor markets, shop facades heave with stacks of handmade straw baskets. And then there’s the food.

Noailles has been called the “belly of Marseille” for the variety of cuisines you can find there. On Rue D’Aubagne, the main artery of the neighborhood, you can find a pizzeria next door to a Tunisian bakery that’s next door to a boutique grocery store that’s next door to an Ivorian restaurant, and so on.

This is where 27-year-old chef Ella Aflalo chose to open her first restaurant, Yima. After studying at the prestigious Paul Bocuse culinary school in Lyon, and working in several Michelin-starred kitchens across France, she decided to pivot towards a more down-to-earth “bistronomie,” using her training to dress up the Mediterranean dishes she grew up with.

The restaurant serves lunch from Thursday to Saturday. We arrived just after noon on a Friday and there were only 2-3 tables available, all outside. The July sun was scorching, and the waiter brought out two massive straw hats for a couple of women who were sitting directly in it.

We cooled off with some lemonade infused with orange blossom, and ordered three dishes to share, making sure to ask for recommendations first. Our waiter said that the roasted sweet potato was their flagship dish.

This food is not bland. It’s colorful and loud, but without being too over-the-top or inaccessible.

When it came out we could tell why. First off, it’s stunning, filled with different colors and textures — the deep orange potato topped with lush white cream, ochre-colored smoked harissa, pink pomegranate seeds, fresh greens and tangy sumac. And the flavors blend together beautifully, combining culinary traditions from all sides of the Mediterranean.

“I wasn’t expecting this dish to be such a hit,” Aflalo says. “But I feel like it’s a good representation of the idea of Yima as a restaurant. It brings together all the flavors of the Mediterranean into a colorful, lively dish.”

It’s the only dish that hasn’t been swapped from the menu since Yima opened in March 2019. Normally, Aflalo will change the menu every 4-6 weeks based on what fresh, seasonal produce is available. She says around 90 percent of the ingredients are organic, and nearly all are locally sourced.

We also ordered the zucchini flower beignets on a bed of zucchini-mint cream, topped with crispy capers and greens. And finally, the Challah toast with burrata, poutargue (salted and cured fish roe), fennel, zaatar and candied lemons. What struck me about all of these dishes was the creative blend of flavors.

This food is not bland. It’s colorful and loud, but without being too over-the-top or inaccessible.

Inside, like in many kitchens, Aflalo and her staff took part in a highly choreographed dance where organization is crucial to filling each order on time. But unlike many kitchens, Yima’s is exclusively run by women, a personal choice for Aflalo.

“Yima’s cuisine is inspired by mothers, so for me it makes sense to have women in our kitchen,” she says. “The restaurant world can be very masculine, so I made the choice to hire women of different backgrounds, often young women who are just starting their careers.”

Yima is her temple dedicated to the family traditions that shaped her as a chef, and also a vessel for transmitting the savoir-faire she’s picked up along the way. Stop by if you’re in Marseille – your taste buds will thank you.

Gastronomically yours, Anca and Morade

© Stopover

Collecting data, not debris – The CorseaCare Mission

Ajaccio, Corsica

Collecting data, not debris

July 27th, 2020.

It’s 8:30 in the morning, and I’m pushing a fire engine red trimaran kayak into the gulf of Ajaccio. There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the water is so still that our hulls are like a child’s fingers gliding across a perfectly frosted birthday cake.

As the CorSeaCare mission entered its second week, I volunteered to join the fifth leg of the trip. With almost no wind in our sails, we rely on our legs to pedal the dozen kilometers from the quiet Porticcio beach in Grosseto-Prugna to the crowded Trottel beach in Ajaccio’s city center.

My sailing buddy is Dylan Clamens, a 24-year-old masters student studying marine biology. It’s his first time sailing the trimaran by himself after spending the past week learning the ropes from more experienced members of the team. Sailing alongside us are two CorSeaCare veterans, Dorine and Simon. It’s Dorine’s 22nd birthday and she wants to spend it on the water.

Dylan tells me that on top of being a non-polluting mode of transportation, the trimarans are the identity of the CorSeaCare mission. They’re an icebreaker that helps open a dialogue with the public, as well as a literal vessel for conducting scientific research.

“This mission isn’t about collecting debris, we’re here primarily to collect data. And it’s this data that will help us fix problems in the Mediterranean at their source, to improve the way we function as a society,” Dylan says.

The mission of CorSeaCare, according to its creator Pierre-Ange Giudicelli, is simple: sharing a love for the Mediterranean Sea, and raising awareness of various problems it faces.

Every summer for the past five years, Pierre-Ange has gathered a team of student volunteers to sail around the island for a month collecting data and organizing public awareness campaigns along the way. This year there’s 8 of them, from different parts of France and one from Belgium, each with different backgrounds and interests.

That variety comes in handy when you consider the sheer breadth of projects the group undertakes. This year they’re collecting data on underwater noise pollution, invasive species and plastic pollution – both on the water’s surface and on land. They also organize workshops on the beach, where children can create figurines from plastic the group has collected from the sea.

“We ask them if they think it’s normal that this garbage ended up in the sea, and it becomes a sort of game where they get to give their opinion,” Pierre-Ange says. “Usually, they independently come to the conclusion that plastic pollution is a problem for the sea. Kids have an instinct.”

Back on the trimaran, Dylan demonstrates how the group conducts a pollution transect in open water. Using an app on his phone, he inputs the GPS coordinates of our starting point.

“We need to travel in a straight line for 20 minutes, and collect any plastic floating on the surface in between the two exterior hulls of the trimaran, which represents a distance of three meters (10 feet). After 20 minutes, I input the GPS coordinates of the end point and we categorize the debris.”

The suggestion that we do a transect came from Dorine on our sister boat, who noticed we were passing through a macroplastic accumulation zone.

Accumulation zones are patches of water where floating debris gathers, due to currents or wind or boat traffic. The concept of a seventh continent of floating waste is a communications shortcut to describe the worst of these accumulation zones, where huge concentrations of garbage obscure the water they’re floating in.

The accumulation zone we were sailing through looked nothing like the shocking images of the islands of waste you might have seen in the media. To be honest, I could hardly see the plastic they were talking about at all, which is part of the problem.

Macroplastic is a term to describe plastic that’s been broken down by salt water, into small pieces that are still visible with the naked eye.

“The only reason we can see them in the water right now is because there’s no wind,” Dylan says. “Focus on the small specks that are creating ripples on the surface.”

Some of the pieces were too small to even catch with our mesh net. So Dorine told us to just count the number of pieces that passed through the hulls. This data is precious to help researchers keep track of areas where plastic collects and what type of plastic is found in what area. By tracking the currents and wind patterns, scientists have a better idea of where this debris originated, which can then help policymakers craft preventive solutions.

The idea that scientific data is the basis of societal change is the bedrock of a new wave of environmental organizations. Mare Vivu has found a like-minded partner for this edition of CorSeaCare in a new group called Nacomed, eco-sailors that teach volunteers the ins and outs of sailing while using their marine mobility to conduct scientific research.

Our trimarans met up with their sailboat Yaka as it was lowering a massive net into the water to collect samples of microplastics. Called a Manta net for its resemblance to the filter feeding ray, the ultra-fine mesh catches microscopic bits of plastic that are invisible to the naked eye.

“Organizing scientific studies at sea is a long and complicated procedure for a lot of research centers, especially on a large scale like Corsica’s coastline,” says Nacomed’s head of scientific projects Pauline Panchairi. “Our advantage is our sailboat regularly navigates around the island, allowing us to take samples over a truly unprecedented distance and time.”

Their current study focuses on collecting and classifying microplastics by size and composition to try to determine their origin. Pauline says the data they’re collecting points to a large amount of microplastics that originated from what she calls “everyday life”.

“Scientific sampling shouldn’t be dissociated from the desire to find concrete solutions,” she says. “By identifying these microplastics we realize a lot of them originate from everyday objects, and there are already solutions to reducing and eliminating this kind of waste before it hits the sea.”

This data eventually makes it up to the people who are running the show, governments and policymakers who have the power to change rules and regulations. But that, Pauline says, is the long game.

In the short-term, the goal is to flood the shores with offshore data, to transmit the information they’ve collected through their research and to show the public that solutions exist on an individual level. This is the responsibility every seafaring and sea-loving person has, according to Nacomed.

If their hypothesis holds, they believe this chain of information will help stem the flow of plastic pollution at the source.

Anca and Morade

© Stopover

Three’s Company – Our first guest in the camper!

Le Lavandou, France

Three's Company - Our first guest in the camper!

July 21th, 2020.

Since we started planning this trip years ago, we’ve constantly pestered our friends about joining us on the road. One, because we like our friends and want to see them, and two, because we figured at some point we would be sick of each other and desperately need to see some fresh faces.

We didn’t expect our first guest to be so soon, but we were stoked when our buddy Antoine said he would come spend the second week of July scuba diving with us in the south of France. Morade and I met Antoine when we were both working for Reuters. He’s a strapping young video journalist (hey ladies) who was based in Colombia for a while. When Covid hit, he got stuck in France, and decided to take the opportunity to relocate to Paris.

Hosting a guest in our camper presented us with several new challenges.

First, we needed to make space in the back seat so Antoine could sit comfortably. This sounds like it should be easy, but we only have a half back seat in the pickup and it’s generally packed with all the extra stuff we can’t fit in the camper.

We ended up fixing a little space for him to sit with an extra pillow for his back. We also moved the passenger seat forward so Antoine and I were both equally cramped. Since we weren’t driving too far it wasn’t that big of an issue, but it wasn’t the most luxurious arrangement.

Antoine brought his tent to camp out next to our truck, so the second thing we needed to consider was finding a place to sleep where he could also pitch his tent.

Normally, we decide where to camp on a day-by-day basis. Depending on how much time we have to look for a spot and how late we start looking, we’ve slept in parking lots, on streets, at the entrance to hiking trails, on beaches and in the wilderness. In Europe, the app Park4Night has a good database of spots where wild car camping is tolerated.

In this case, we needed to find spots that were near our dive sites, not too close to a busy road, with soft enough ground to secure Antoine’s tent. The first night, we found what seemed like the ideal spot – it was on a flat, wide, dirt turnout off a low-traffic mountain road, with a panoramic view of the sea. Antoine pitched his tent between two shrubs not far from where we parked the car and we started making dinner, expecting to have a chill first night eating outside under the stars.

But before we sat down for dinner, massive gusts of wind started whipping across the mountain, jostling the camper and blowing anything that wasn’t weighed down off the table. Morade chased an empty plate across the road, and luckily managed to catch it before it rolled down the mountain. We lasted about 20 minutes (which was already 19 minutes too long if you ask me), before deciding to finish our meal inside.

Antoine’s been camping for years in different conditions, so he said he had no problem sleeping with the wind. Being close to the ground meant he was spared the worst of it, while we were rocked (more like thrashed) to sleep in our camper. The next morning a local cyclist told us this road is famous for its mistrals, powerful winds that blow from the mountain out to sea. He said the previous night they’d reached speeds of up to 70 km/h (43.5 mph).

With that in mind, we decided to try a second spot out the next night, on a route forestière in the mountains above Le Lavandou, where our next dive departed from. This time, the conditions could not have been more perfect. There was zero wind and almost no clouds, which gave us an unobstructed, dramatic view of the Hyères islands. We made grilled salmon with rice for dinner and were quite literally on top of the world.

Then, all of a sudden, this bright red moon started rising over the horizon. It looked so unreal that I asked Morade and Antoine “What’s that red thing over there?” These dorks spent nearly an hour taking photos of Suzie and the moon. The whole spectacle was ridiculous, with Antoine holding a headlamp at varying angles because we didn’t have a flash bulb. But the results weren’t terrible.

The final thing we noticed was that having an extra person with us meant having to transport an extra person’s stuff in the car. Our storage situation is already calculated to every last minute detail (thanks to neat freak Morade, and no thanks to Anca the slob), which meant while Antoine was with us we were generally throwing both his and our stuff haphazardly in the back. But hey, we made it work, and everyone had a good time!

To prove it, here are some photos of what we got up to when we weren’t camping.

Eagerly awaiting our next guests,

Anca and Morade

© Stopover

The War on Waste in the Mediterranean

Antibes, France

The War on Waste in the Mediterranean

July 18th, 2020.

Joko Peltier used to be an experienced spearfisher in the Mediterranean Sea. But over the years, he noticed he was more often confronted with debris from shore than marine life. So he decided to change tack.

“I don’t hunt fish anymore, I hunt garbage.”

He and his wife Vivi began combing the shoreline near their home in Antibes, France in 2016. That’s where they met Pascal Calmels and Laurent Lombard, fellow spearfishers-turned-trashfishers from the French Riviera. In July 2019 they all joined forces to create Opération Mer Propre, an NGO with a mission to clean the seas.

Twice a month they gather a group of volunteers to clean up different beaches on the Riviera.

Peltier says the way Opération Mer Propre approaches clean-up missions is similar to the way he used to approach hunting. First, they scout out a number of sites to see which of them needs to be cleaned the most.

“People don’t normally throw their garbage directly into the sea. It falls on the ground, then gets washed into rivers, which flow into the sea.”

On a Sunday morning this July, a small group of members gathered on the rocky beach at the mouth of the Brague river in Antibes. Normally, Peltier says there would be more of them, but Covid-19 restrictions limited their numbers to 20 — 10 on land, and 10 in the water.

Conditions weren’t ideal. The night before, southern winds agitated the sea, reducing the visibility to less than a meter (3 feet). As a result, teams of free divers were forced upriver, where they could see slightly clearer.

Despite a rough start, the mood was lighthearted. On top of their love for the sea, the members of Opération Mer Propre also seemed to share a fondness for Dad jokes.

Goofing around with another member, Peltier put a mesh bag over his head and yelled “Look I’ve caught some garbage already! It’s a human! The worst garbage of all!”

Once they got to work, their bags filled remarkably quickly. Lombard, a respected figure in the French diving community even before he took on the problem of pollution, pulled out a handful of golf balls.

“These take 400 years to break down,” he told me.

Twenty minutes later, he was straddling a bicycle from Nice’s bike sharing scheme, which he and another diver pulled from the riverbed. Two photographers eagerly snapped pictures.

Raising awareness of the Med’s garbage problem is a pillar of Opération Mer Propre’s mission. They do this primarily by sharing images of their “catch” on social media. In early June, the group made headlines around the world after Lombard posted a video showing dozens of surgical masks and latex gloves on the sea floor. They became the first NGO to sound the alarm on a new chapter in the Mediterranean pollution crisis.

“Before Covid-19 we never used to see masks or gloves in the water. Once France came out of lockdown, we saw an increase in the amount of garbage that was washing out to sea,” Lombard says.

Latex gloves are technically biodegradable, but they take up to 5 years to fully break down. Surgical masks are made of a common plastic polymer called polypropylene, which scientists say can take much longer to degrade.

The increase in single-use plastics during the Covid-19 pandemic has NGOs like Opération Mer Propre worried that society is losing ground in the fight against plastic pollution. If even a small part of the additional surgical masks and gloves were to finish in the sea, it could have wide-reaching consequences on biodiversity in the Mediterranean.

“Plastic waste gets fragmented, these fragments enter the food chain, and in the end we end up eating our own garbage,” Lombard says.

While researchers at France’s ocean science institute Ifremer say it’s largely a myth that humans end up eating microplastics through seafood, a recent study published in the journal Marine Pollution Bulletin found these microscopic plastic fragments in the digestive systems of 58% of sardines and 60% of anchovies analyzed in the western Mediterranean.

For now, Peltier hopes that Opération Mer Propre can make some headway on land, by opening the public’s eyes to what he calls “le monde invisible,” or the invisible world under the sea. The group’s latest project is transforming a small restaurant Peltier owns in Antibes into a garbage exhibition.

The walls feature artwork by Peltier and Lombard, which they made from debris collected in the Mediterranean — tribal masks made from plastic bottle caps, a barnacle-covered cell phone collection spanning 20 years, jars filled with cigarette butts, even a molecular model of the coronavirus made out of golf balls.

It’s a shrine to all the garbage that’s no longer sitting on the bottom of the sea thanks to their efforts.

“We want to rediscover the Mediterranean we knew 20-30 years ago,” Lombard says.

Anca and Morade

Non classé

Finding Fitou

Fitou, France.

Finding Fitou

August 7th, 2020.

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© Stopover

An ode to mom’s cooking

Marseille, France

An ode to mom's cooking in the belly of Marseille

August 1st, 2020

This food is not bland. It’s colorful and loud, but without being too over-the-top or inaccessible.

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© Stopover

Collecting data, not debris – The CorseaCare Mission

Ajaccio, Corsica

Collecting data, not debris

July 27th, 2020.

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© Stopover

Three’s Company – Our first guest in the camper!

Le Lavandou, France

Three's Company - Our first guest in the camper!

July 21th, 2020.

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© Stopover

The War on Waste in the Mediterranean

Antibes, France

The War on Waste in the Mediterranean

July 18th, 2020.

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© Stopover