Fondant Roses for Easter

Last year on Easter, Mary and I went to the Roman games at the amphitheater in Nimes. I don’t know how many, if any, Christians were killed there, but it was an ironic way to spend the holiday that was my favorite for much of my life.

As a child, I loved Easter because we went to church, then over to Aunt Beryl’s for a whopper of an Easter egg hunt hosted by Uncle Paul. Their long, narrow back yard with a view of Dodger stadium, ran downhill in several terraces, making an adventure out of the hunt. All my family were happy on Easter, maybe because sugar and candy weren’t the main attractions as they are now. Our eggs were real, and turned into delicious deviled eggs after being found, another ironic twist.

Except for an Easter basket, the holiday was a no-present day. Christmas, by contrast, was stressful because of so many presents, most of which I didn’t like, or were just off the mark. Pretending to be enthusiastic takes its toll. Thanksgiving was nice, calm, but no egg hunting or new dresses were involved.

A new dress – that was a plus, definitely, for Easter. A new summery dress to wear to Sunday School and parties was a major big deal. It’s too bad that dressing up has become passé these days.

Flipping channels this evening, Judge Judy refused to listen to a young man who showed up in court wearing torn jeans. “Go get dressed,” she scolded him, “and don’t say a word.”


The idea I really wanted to share was Easter goodies. Shop windows in France were beautifully decorated with simple Easter themes except for the candy/pastry shops which went all out with glorious creations. It may have been the memory of these that inspired me to try my hand at using fondant for roses this week.

An amazing thing happened! When I told md (middle daughter) about my plan, she said that she had already started doing it for the first time ever, the day before! She was making fondant roses on cupcakes (I think) to give away for Easter presents. We shared tips and YouTube sites and then our own pictures. I am so happy with how they are coming out. I love the delicate texture and colors and the elegance.

Anyone receiving one can eat it (after a suitable interval for admiration) and it’s gone, poof. No knick-knack hanging around forever. A lovely token of love, given and received happily.

The only problem is being around all that sugar. I resisted tasting any of it for three days, but today I lost the battle. A lump of frosting in my tummy is unhappy. But the cookies are beautiful!

Fountains of Nimes

Take a stroll in Nimes eastward on the Quai de la Fontaine. You leave the old city, having stocked up on cheese, bread, fruit and delicacies at the enormous indoor farmer’s market, La Coupole des Halles. Overhanging trees shade the wide stream gurgling down the center of a wide boulevard, under bridges and over little waterfalls. Ducks enjoy the water and the handouts. There is peace in the air.

We’d been told to expect something pretty marvelous at the end of this road, but I, at least, was blown away by the impossibly ambitious Jardins de la Fontaine. An enormous series of pools of water cascade hither and thither over maybe two or three acres, surrounded by statues and an ancient shrine and grottos and porticos and you name it, it was there. Laid out with 18^th century exuberance, the Jardins de la Fontaine are filled with statuary and old trees, chestnuts and elms, lying in the arms of a high mountain. The water is the basis of Nimes’ water supply, and what a spectacular way to take it to town! (Do click on the link to see more!)

Atop the mountain is Tour Magne, Nimes’ oldest Roman ruin, from which you can see the world. It’s reached by hiking up and up beautiful gardened and statue-filled pathways. We didn’t get all the way up because going just part way was tiring enough on a hot day.

However, having started up on the east side, we came down on the west side where the Temple of Diana is! I put an exclamation point there because she deserves it. I mentioned in the last blog that the Maison Carre temple was a lot bigger than I’d expected, so I should not have been so surprised that Diana’s was, also.

Picture the Lincoln monument. And then enlarge it a few times. People become little dolls against the tall columns and walls. All societies have done this to prove how much more powerful gods are than humans. But humans built the temples, not gods. And we did a fantastic job! The temple was set up for a concert later in the day. I was happy to see it being used for a joyful occasion. Sorry the pictures don’t show much, but most of it is covered with vegetation, giving it an authentic antique look. I’d love to see it restored, though, or maybe have a copy of it built in true scale

Crocodile statues lurk in squares, around corners, and near restaurants in Nimes. "Why?" I asked one native. He shrugged and said, "Maybe there used to be crocodiles here." In later research I learned that the Roman legions which founded the town had been stationed in Egypt where there are, indeed, crocs. The Legions subdued Egypt, so brought the symbol back in the form of a crocodile chained to a palm tree. That symbol survives on the official coat of arms of the city, while the unchained crocs roam the streets.

The next day we were going to Aix en Provence. Because it was still a holiday in France we weren’t sure when the trains would be running, so we got to the station super early. That was OK because we had bought a large loaf of superb seedy bread at the Halles, some fruit, and already had goat cheese. We sawed off pieces of bread – lest that sound less than tasty, let me assure you that French bread of any kind always has a tough, chewy crust protecting its inner ambrosial heart. This particular loaf being filled with seeds of all kinds, had a rich, dark flavor, quite different from the normal “baguette”. Our leisurely breakfast in the station was an exquisite way to start the day and leave the Roman ruins of Nimes.

Romans and Us in Nimes

About 20 years ago, I wrote a novel (unpublished) about Roman times (196 AD) set mostly in France, which was then Gaul. Last year I started rewriting it (after all these years, you’d think I’d come up with a different subject), which meant re-researching and once more getting caught up in Roman history, architecture, art, social customs, and all that. How much easier it was to research with the Internet! I can’t tell you how often I had had to invent geography, food, metalworking, etc., in the early version because our university library didn’t have enough facts.

I soon knew that looking at present-day pictures of Lyon, LeHavre, and Paris did not teach me enough. Even after finishing the rewrite, I needed to check the actual layout of the countryside and what’s left of Roman settlements. A lot of time had passed, 1814 years, but the rivers, mountains, plains and ruins would still be recognizable.

That’s when I called Mary, hoping she’d want to go on a reunion trip and also go along with my ulterior motive of seeing the Roman sites around Lyon, Nimes, and Aix en Provence. She was enthusiastic, so that’s how the trip became a reality. I just realized she still hasn’t read my book. I’ll have to put it on a thumb drive and give it to her. My friend, Elaine, read it, edited it, and likes it, so even though 25 agents have said no, it might not be as bad as all that. And even if it’s never ever published, it was a great experience writing and researching it. Better than sitting around thinking that maybe one day I would. Enough about unpublished novels. On with the blog!

We rode the train to Nimes from Perpignan on the Saturday before Easter, arriving about 6:30 p.m. because our Railpasses didn’t work on the earlier trains. The hotel Concorde in the historic part of the city was short on glamour, but Ralf, the concierge, was pleasant. Right away, I messed up by paying for an extra night at the Corcorde when, actually, we needed to get to Aix en Provence on Monday. By the time I realized this, Ralf had gone and wouldn’t be back for a few days. I left a nice note in French hoping for a refund. It never came.

My first journal entry for Nimes says, “Nimes is nice.” That first evening we walked the narrow, winding streets following our map but still got lost several times. Is it correct to say you are “lost” when you don’t really know where you are going? By the time we came to a square with the right ambience and several open air restaurants, I was desperately hungry and thus irritably impatient. Mary was being so picky about agreeing on which one to eat at that I was [insert euphemism for “ready to strangle her"]. Finally, she bristled and demanded, “You choose.” I quickly selected the one on the left and was satisfied even if she wasn’t.

I loved my pizza and salad. She didn’t love whatever she had. But we both enjoyed the warm evening, and watching people stroll by, check the posted menu, and either come in or move on. Slowly, slowly, that calmed the troubled waters.

Since it was holiday time, families were out with young children, eating even later than we were. We started at about 8, ending at 10, while others were still just beginning their dinners. I especially loved watching the fathers playing enthusiastically with their young children. The children were well-behaved at the tables, presumably because staying out late and eating out were not unusual for them.

The next day, Easter, was for exploring Nimes. It more than met my expectations.

Nimes is great for Roman ruins, having then been an important regional city. The famous temple, Maison Caree (pictured) has been in continual use for one thing or another since it was built in AD 1 or so, being patched up year after year, but never left in ruins. It’s much larger than I thought it would be, and was so crowded we didn’t go in. It was, after all, a holiday weekend.

Nimes is also great for students. The narrow streets are hardly wide enough for two people walking abreast, so you quickly learn to plaster yourself against the walls to avoid being smashed by a student on a motorscooter whipping along the cobblestones. We were told that on regular days it’s not like that; the scooters have rules to obey, but this was a holiday and the police were busy elsewhere.

Where was that? By the large amphitheater setting for the Roman games to be held on Sunday. We realized that’s why we kept running into claques of people dressed like Romans. Nimes takes its heritage seriously.

Sunday morning, we bought tickets for the games, thrilled to be in a Roman coliseum that is much less ruined than most others in the world. Displays outside were fun, including shoes – the picture is of the spiked shoes made by a modern cordonnier and worn by Legionaires over the rocky Roman roads.

Inside, the picture shows Emperor Hadrian’s entry. The games included three captured Christians who had to fight an attacker, plead for their lives to the audience, and then let Hadrian decide. The first one reacted cowardly to his opponent, so we let him be killed. After that, I think the whole audience lost our appetite for brutality so we asked Hadrian to let the next two go free, and he did. They had been braver, and the red-painted wild-haired Celtic one, the favorite, actually subdued his attacker.

The weather, which up till that day had been mild, was hot. We sweltered on our stone seats, shading ourselves with whatever we had, which wasn’t much. It affected our regained good humor. By the end of the day, back at the hotel, we played double solitaire as an antidote to our crabbiness, and then slept well.