Fiat lux

That last Sunday of October has to be the saddest day of the year. We change back the clock and suddenly we are plunged into long, dark evenings. And it gets worse by the day. Who switched off the light?

Plus, there is November: fading colors, barren trees, gray skies, lots of rain.

Novembers should be abolished by decree. We should go from October straight into the season of Christmas fairs and mulled wine, without this nuisance in between.

On the bright side, there are still so many things one can do in November: heaps of books to be read, photo courses to be tried, pancake brunches to be had with friends. Who has time to succumb to melancholic thoughts when there is enough French homework to keep one busy for a year? And of course there is salsa--great at any season, absolutely necessary in this one.

So let's create some light with frantic activity.

And plenty of red.

The old age of nostalgia

"Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imagined future, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love or a passion so strong that one felt altered forever and convinced that the smallest particle of the surrounding world was charged with a purpose of impossible grandeur; ah yes, and one would look up into the trees and be thrilled by the wind-loosened river of pale gold foliage cascading down and by the high melodious singing of countless birds; those moments, so many and so long ago, still come back, but briefly, the fireflies in the perfumed heat of a summer night"

Mark Strand

À la recherche des crepes perdus

It wasn't the pancakes that brought us to Lyon on a sunny October afternoon but, once there, we remembered excellent crepes we had in December, from street vendors somewhere in the old quarter of St. Jean. We thought it would be good to pay them a visit again, as it was just the right hour in the afternoon for some good mood substances. At a crucial junction, however, we chose right instead of left (never a good idea, if you ask me) and we ended up in a different part of the old town. Which, incidentally, had even better pancakes in store (if you believe in photographic evidence, take a look at the picture above this text).



After that mega dose of Nutella we continued the walk in high spirits, happy to amble without a plan or a goal (short on objectives, too). We ran into a brass band in the middle of a square.



Normally you pass by street musicians without stopping, barely registering their presence--even when that is Joshua Bell playing on a $3.5 million Stradivarius in a metro station. But these guys were hard to ignore as they were about a dozen, and played the loudest instruments that there are. Not only that, but they kept jumping, dancing and chasing unsuspecting spectators. They so obviously enjoyed themselves that you couldn't help wanting to share in on the joy.

The repertoire was ecclectic but one of the songs they performed particularly well was that old classic, "Quizas, quizas, quizas." I was so happy to be reminded of it as I like it very much. Of the countless versions that exist I chose the one by Nat King Cole because his performance is so mellow, and his accent very sweet. Here you go.