Fall in Montpellier

This window represents autumn in Montpellier, with Pic St Loup in the center, and the aqueduct below it. The cadceus, bottom center, recognizes the medical school, the oldest in Europe

We Do Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. Non-religious, uniquely American, it’s a chance to be together with family and friends. Of course, it’s not recognized outside the States, so when traveling we have to work out our own celebration. The last time we were in France in November, our trip to Paris in 2015, we ended up at a fabulous wine festival on that special third Thursday. (Our blog about that event is here.) During our travels over the last few years we have managed to get invites from other ex-pats. This time, though, we (well, Paula) decided to host a dinner for some of our foreign friends. (And having Thanksgiving at our place seemed particularly appropriate, since we do, after all, live on Rue de la merci—Thank-you Street.)

Not quite dinner, actually. In our apartment we have only a table for four, clearly not large enough to seat our 10 guests, plus ourselves. Instead we had what we called an “Apéro Party.” Apéro is a reference to aperitif, a beverage (alcoholic, generally) drunk before a meal. It wasn’t intended to be a full meal, simply an introduction, a mere taste, of what a full-on Thanksgiving dinner would be.

Ah, la belle bete, er, bird in this case. Only 7-1/2 lbs; we didn't want to be eating turkey for another month!

In keeping with our own traditions over the years we made it a potluck, and asked each person to bring something. We found a turkey (not unknown in these parts; in fact, we learned that the French often have Turkey for Christmas dinner), spent days reading up on preparation and cooking, and rearranging the furniture to accommodate our guests. I had my trepidations, but Paula’s enthusiasm and commitment overcame them.

The big day came and we began to gather about 3 PM. It was a good mix. We had about half-a-dozen French guests, most of them long-time residents of Montpellier; a couple of Brits (excuse me: Gary from England, and John from Cornwall), Trisha from Ireland plus Debra, our new American friend. Things were a bit slow to get started, since nobody knew anybody else. But, as usual, once the food was served conversation started flowing.

Now, there was one thing: potlucks are not unknown in France, but not particularly common. I think of a classic French meal as something of an orchestral piece, with dishes specifically chosen to compliment—and occasionally contrast with—each other. But a potluck is more like free jazz, every one kinda doing their own thing. Assuming that everyone knew the drill, Paula suggested an appetizer, a vegetable, or dessert. Our guests did what they normally do when invited to dinner: they each brought a dessert or three (we ended up with 10!). So while dinner was a bit thin on variety: turkey, of course; mashed potatoes and gravy; Paula’s excellent cranberry sauce (a big hit, actually); and fruit salad, we had a very full dessert table. (And French desserts are amazingly good!)

 

The dessert table

Paula explained that a good Thanksgiving dinner included Family and Friends, Food, Football, and Fun. To everyone’s relief we skipped the Football part. Debra, another American ex-pat, did a great job of telling the Thanksgiving Day story, in French (a bit of a stretch for her, but well done!). Finally, after coffee and third desserts, it was time for Fun.

Paula had settled on Charades. She’s always liked the game, and besides, it is a French word. She spent the week or two before our Apéro Party thinking of topics. The group was a bit slow to warm up to the idea, but then we had a good time with it. The French speakers found it a bit bizarre, as all the titles were in English. But it is always fun to watch someone struggle to mime something. We had more than a few laughs!

Our Thanksgiving was very satisfying. Not only did we get to prepare and eat the turkey and trimmings, but we were able to share our meal and our ideas with our friends here in Montpellier. We hope that your Thanksgiving was equally satisfying!

Autumn Leaves

Fall is well and truly underway here in the South of France (like in all of the northern hemisphere). Living in California, though, with all our deciduous trees, we don’t really notice it much. Here, though, the trees have now turned yellow and are increasingly bare. The trees in the courtyard visible from our living room French doors have nearly all fallen. From our bedroom window we can see the trees at the convent with the belfry—our really really favorite view—have shifted from green to yellow to brown. Each morning, with great expectation, I check the leaf count. So far, though, they’re clinging tightly. I do hope they fall before we leave in two weeks

Of course, in the heart of the shopping district we don't find too many trees, but displays in the shop windows are showing signs of fall. We’re seeing coats and sweaters and big thick scarves, browns and rust and orange. And, signs proclaiming Black Friday! In fact, this year there is something new: Black Week! A whole week of sales! (Black Week does make me think the week after Thanksgiving could be a good time to celebrate African-American culture. The reality, though, is that it’s all about selling stuff.)

 

A small sample of Black Friday store fronts

I don’t think Europeans have any clue of why this Friday at the end of November is a special day for sales. (For that matter, I’m not sure many Americans do, either!) Of course, it fell to us, the experts on all things Thanksgiving, to explain. TG is really a four-day affair, extending from Thursday through the weekend to Sunday. This much is an easy concept: the French are very clued in to the four-day weekend. They even have a name for it: faire le pont, make the bridge; the bridge from Thursday to Saturday, so you are safely into the weekend!

Ah, a new thing: BLUE Friday! Now what's that about??

We went on to specify that in the States, after the family has gathered for dinner, told their tales, and had their fun, the next day is seen as the perfect day to… go shopping! Massive sales on that day push stores into “the black” (a reference to the accounting term, where red ink is used for expenses and black ink for income). And so Black Friday was born.

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Black Week, a Montpellier exclusive! (Maybe...)

While the Family-Friends-Food-Fun part of Thanksgiving has bypassed Europe completely, the commercial aspects of the start of the Christmas buying season seem to have taken firm root. How disappointing!

Ah, but what's this? "Black Friday is DONE!" The fine print says that responsible consumption can help prevent global warming. And at the very bottom: "Make Friday GREEN Again!)

"Our" belfry in the early morning. Now, when will that tree drop its leaves?!

Ah, time grows short; it's getting compressed. In less than two weeks we leave for Seville, Spain, where we will be spending Christmas. We'll return to Montpellier, though, in February. Our blog will, of course, continue!

We had a busy day...

The ancient walls of Aigues-Mortes

In our last blog we spoke of the opera we attended (the simulcast of AKHNATEN from the Met we saw in a theater in Montpellier). That was in the evening. We’re gonna back up in time a bit here and take a look at what we’d done earlier…

The opera came at the end of a long and eventful day. In addition to the evening performance at the Met, we’d been invited to a birthday party at noon. We’ve been attending language exchange events, intercambio, that are intended to bring people with differing language backgrounds together. Never mind that the French generally wind up talking to other French, and the Anglophones to other English speakers, these events are a great way to pick up some practical language skills, and to make new friends. And one of our new friends, John from Cornwall (and he is very clear he is from Cornwall specifically, not from the larger landmass known as Great Britain), put together a surprise party for Franҫoise, his new French girlfriend, and invited us.

We were happy to attend! Except, they live in Aigues-Mortes, a small ancient town about a twenty-minute drive away. And, we don’t have a car, and public transport is problematical (i.e., there’s very few buses and they don’t leave until after noon, for some reason). But Debra, our American ex-pat friend, had a solution: a rental car. She’s been here in Montpellier for the better part of a year and had discovered that the municipality of Montpellier, in addition to operating the tram system we love so much, also offers rental vehicles (cars, trucks, and bicycles). For this event she had reserved a car for the three of us.

The forecast was for rain, rain, and more rain. But on this day, while the streets were saturated from the storm that had passed during the night, the clouds were thinning. We had blue sky showing as we made our way out of the city and towards the swampy land around the mouth of the Rhone River, a famous region in France known as the Camargue.

It’s an area worthy of significant exploration, and Paula and I have spent many days there on past trips. But today we were just driving through, as a quick overview before heading to the party in nearby Aigues-Mortes. We caught a few glimpses of the famous black bulls, and saw the other iconic image of the Camargue, the white horses. The pink flamingos were harder to see, and, sadly, Debra missed them all together, as she was driving. But we’ll come back again, in the spring, when the weather is nicer and the days longer.

A tower in the walls seen from the marina

Aigues-Mortes is a sweet little town today, but was apparently a pretty miserable place to live when it was built in the 13^th Century. King Louis IX wanted a port on the Mediterranean, and in spite of the swamps (the name of the town derives from the old French for dead water), this was the spot. Louis used it as a jumping-off point for the Crusades he led (the Seventh and Eighth). What makes the town really worth seeing (apart from our friends having a party) are the walls, still well-preserved after all these centuries. (As we were walking around after the party, John was pointing out to Franҫoise and me the marks left by the masons on each stone, probably a signature showing who had cut which.)

Arriving at John's boat

Done with our quickie tour of the Camargue, the three of us arrived at the boat to mild sunshine and a dock full of people. And a very surprised Franҫoise! John had done an excellent job of keeping the surprise, no mean feat on a 30-foot catamaran.  He’d had some help from his boating neighbors, most of who were there. We sat around tiny tables set up on the dock of the marina, looking across the canal to the ancient walls, sipping sparkling wine and chatting in various languages (some of John’s neighbors are Dutch, and fluent in both French and English).

Another view of the walls from the marina, with the 13th century Tour (tower)
de Constance on the left

We had a fine time, and much of it, at least for Paula and me, was the familiar joy of gathering with fellow boaters on the dock. (Or the beach, or in someone’s cockpit!) It’s been 15 years since our boating days in Mexico, but it felt good to celebrate with boaters again!

Inside Notre-Dame des Sablons Church

A fountain in the main square

Inside the town the walls are never far...

Oh my, two blogs in one week! Time is getting compressed, as our date for departure draws near: we will be spending Christmas and New Year’s (and Kings Day, Jan 7!) in Seville, as we have done for the past two years. But we’ll be back in Montpellier in February, moving to a new part of town where we’ll stay through the Fall (and who knows, maybe longer). Meanwhile, we’re hosting a Thanksgiving Day event for our foreign friends. Stay tuned…

Old walls of Aigues-Mortes, with another view of Tour de Constance

We Go to the Opera

Akhnaten approaches his god, the sun (a promotional photo for the opera AKHNATEN)

We are not opera fans. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever been to an opera (well, excepting some Gilbert and Sullivan stuff). Yet, yesterday we went to the opera. And not just any opera, the Metropolitan Opera in New York City (the one in the USA). Well, we weren’t there physically, but we took advantage of the Met’s HD Live program, where performances from the Met are simultaneously telecast at theaters in some 70 countries around the world.

We saw AKHNATEN, by Philip Glass, the story of the ancient Egyptian pharaoh who established a monotheistic religion worshiping only his sun god. The story did not end well: Akhnaten died at an early age and the city he built was destroyed. His son, Tutankhamun, reverted to the old religion (and got a lot more press than his father).

The performance was remarkable for several reasons. The technology—and concept—of simultaneous telecast is amazing. The opera house in New York was packed, and while that audience was watching it live we were watching it on a huge screen in Montpellier, France. Our friend Karla was watching it in Oaxaca, Mexico, and friends of Debra, another ex-pat American sitting with us, were watching it in Salt Lake City, UT. Tens of thousands of people around the world were watching the exact same performance, at the exact same time.

But what I’m really having trouble getting my head around is the performance itself. It was stunning. Surreal, incomprehensible; as unimaginable as it was imaginative. I often saw no sense in the actions on the screen; all I could do was stare and let the powerful images flood through me. The costumes were overwhelming; Akhnaten’s robes were golden, and covered with tiny doll faces with jewels for eyes (?).

During an intermission interview the designer talks about Akhnaten's costume. (these are photos of the screen in the theater)

Every aspect of the performance aided the sense of unreality: the rhythmic and hypnotic music of Philip Glass; the slow, effortless movements of the performers; the voice of Akhnaten, sung by Anthony Roth Costanzo. He sings in a register (countertenor) I’ve never heard before, high but not falsetto, maybe something like a castrato (although there’s not so many of those around these days). His co-star, J'Nai Bridges, playing his wife Nefertiti, sang in a different, lower register, making for some interesting and mind-spinning duets.

And… juggling. Really? Every member of the chorus held a ball or three, and most scenes were punctuated with balls flying in the air. The juggling clubs were particularly effective in the battle scenes, where they doubled as, er, bows and arrows? (I'll note here that during the intermission it was pointed out that jugglers did appear on some Egyptian tombs.) The whole three hours flew by in a flood of emotion-stirring audible and visual imagery that made sense to me only in retrospect.

WTF...? I think these three, backstage for an interview during intermission, represent the priests, the military, and--the guy with the skull glued to his top hat--economic interests.

Each of the performers’ movements was calibrated and precise. Nothing happened quickly; everything flowed slowly, yet powerfully, like lava. Everything was in slow motion. The pinnacle for me was at the end of the second act: Akhnaten mounted the stairs of the temple to approach his god, glacial step by glacial step, to finally stand embraced and engulfed by the massive golden orb of the sun. We were not just speechless, but totally emptied.

One scene from the third act (there's a lot going on!)

Close up of the stage, also during the third act

The three of us left the theater in an altered state. It was as if in a dream we mounted the tram and rode back in the dark, under the rain. We rarely go to this part of town, and we almost never ride the tram at night, adding to the sense of unreality. I was happy for the clang of the iron gate of our apartment building behind us, and the familiarity of the trek up the four flights of stairs to our comforting apartment.

The next day, Sunday, we were curiously reluctant to let go of the sense of unreality we had achieved the night before. We just did not want to let go of that powerful, surreal, ethereal alternative we had been drawn into…

Click HERE to see a short video excerpt from the 3rd Act...

Try this link for a trailer of the televised opera ...

Akhnaten (Metropolitan Opera) Bande-annonce VF

Montpellier Ville

            The Streets of Montpellier

Montpellier is a medieval city. I know this, its part of the city’s heritage (patrimoine). But wandering the streets, with their modern, brightly-lit shops, cafés and restaurants overflowing with patrons, and, increasingly, the tattoo parlors and CBD shops, it’s easy to forget its medieval beginnings.

The photo on this poster shows that this is no new town. The narrow streets, the red tile roofs, the very layout of the city make clear its ancient origins. In the lower left is Sainte Anne’s (no longer a church, now a community center) whose tall steeple we often see rising above the surrounding buildings. We regularly pass through this area, but until I saw this poster I really didn’t get how long this city has been around!

My photo of a poster showing a fantastic aerial view of a neighborhood in Montpellier

Since seeing this poster I’ve been paying more attention to the streets of le vieille ville. Here’s some photos of streets we pass through every day…

Ok, so this one is just outside the the city center. That's the steeple of St. Anne's on the left. While Napoleon's Droits de l'homme guarantees freedom of religion in France, the impact of traditional Catholicism is still evident.

Yup, St. Anne's again, from within the city

Let's take a stroll through some of those narrow streets and see what we find...

This one is a real treat!

And here's a great shopping street

There is a some very quirky art in the streets of Montpellier. I don't know where these tiles come from or who puts them up, but it's fun to find them on the corners of buildings!

Ah. What else would you expect on Street of the Swan?

...and some funny little mosaics!

Some funny little characters on tiles...

My favorite, though, is at the top of our street, Rue de la Merci or Thank-you Street...

Because de rien—it’s nothing—is the perfect reply to "Thank you"!

             Morning Bells

Every morning we hear the bells. Oh, it’s not obnoxious. In fact, it’s pretty nice. Charming, even. We can see the belfry from our window, less than a hundred meters (ok, yards) away. We can’t actually see the bells—it’s an enclosed belfry—but we know they have to be in there!

Paula's watercolor of the belfry, seen from our bedroom

At first we thought maybe they rang at sunrise. Either that, or 8 AM. (Yes, sunrise at 8 AM in October!) It wasn’t until the time change (the Daylight Savings Time change which happens at the end of October here) that it became clear: every morning at 8 AM.  And then again at 7 PM.

These bells have a very distinctive pattern (making me wonder: do different churches have different patterns, so listeners will know which church to attend? Kinda like lighthouses, each with its own flash sequence?) First, a deep bell; then a smaller, higher bell just lays into it, with a steady stream of tintinnabulation (such a lovely word, and so few opportunities to use it!).

We occasionally hear the bells while lying in bed, although more often awaken after they’ve finished. (I do recall, once, hearing the bells after having lain awake in the darkness for some time; I remember the beginning, but not the end. It seems the reassurance of the bells allowed me, finally, to fall back asleep.)

Just this morning I was able to capture the sounds. Click the link…

Morning Bells

(And if that doesn't work, click here!)

Morning Bells

Our Month in France

            Van Gogh in an Abandoned Quarry
Last spring we visited a sound-and-light show in Les-Baux-de-Provence (about an hour east of here) called Carrières de Lumières, with images of Van Gogh paintings and Japanese art projected onto the walls of an old quarry. (I wrote about it in a previous blog here.) It was extraordinary, and we were very happy to re-visit it.

It was every bit as good the second time around… and this time I brought a better camera.

The projections on the multiple walls, and on the floor, where mesmerizing. Here’s a little video Paula and I put together including some of the music used in the show:

And if THAT doesn't work, click here!

And, a few still images from the exhibit...

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             The Gazette Cafe

After our first two weeks overcoming jet lag and getting settled into our new life we have begun to explore the many cultural opportunities available here in Montpellier, which is, after all, a college town. We’ve met people through cultural meet-ups, we’ve reconnected with friends we made when we were first here. Paula has started watercolor lessons taught by a wonderful young woman who has only recently arrived in Montpellier herself from the east of France (the Alsace region).

On previous visits to Montpellier we discovered the Gazette Cafe, a cafe and performance venue an easy walk from where we live. We’ve heard some good folk, jazz, and even blues there in the past. So we were ready to go last night when Paula found that Djamel Djenidi, an Algerian musician, would be playing with his orchestra, El Djamila.

Now, given France’s former colonies in North Africa—in Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco—an Algerian musician living in Montpellier is not unusual. What caught my attention was that he would be playing the music of Georges Brassens, very much a French musician. How would that play out, I thought: mixing Algerian / Arabic music with French folk? Certainly worth checking this one out!

We were met at the cafe by another American ex-pat, Debra. The three of us ordered a bottle of wine and prepared for some serious listening. The eight or so players on the stage started easy, with some popular French songs, some of which had been translated into Arabic. But it wasn’t until the break, half-way through, that things really got swinging.

Given Montpellier’s proximity to North Africa it is no surprise that there are a great many residents from France’s former colonies. Most of those in attendance that night had come expressly to listen to Mr. Djenidi, a well-known musician… and, they knew all the words! By the end of the evening most of the room was up, dancing and swirling to the compelling Arabic rhythms.

But there was still a surprise in store. Mr. Djenidi, announced he would play the most popular French song ever. We were waiting for... La Vie en Rose? Je ne Regrette Rien? Frère Jacques?

No, it was Autumn Leaves. What?

“But I miss you most of all my darling / When autumn leaves start to fall”. That’s not French! No, that’s the English version written by Johnny Mercer (who wrote an astonishing number of hit songs in the US, and sang a good number of them; his version of Autumn Leaves is here). But the song originated in Paris, written by Joseph Kosma, a Hungarian, with the title “Les feuilles mortes” (The Dead Leaves). The original French lyrics were written by Jacques Prévert, well-known poet and screenwriter. (A young Yves Montand does a fine job of singing it here.) While the lyrics of the two songs are quite different, they share the theme of a lost love, with the falling leaves of autumn a powerful metaphor.

Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,

Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi

Et le vent du nord les emporte

Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.

The dead leaves we gather with shovels

Along with our memories and regrets

And the north wind carries them

Into the cold night of oblivion

We walked home at midnight through the still boisterous streets of Montpellier (did I mention that it was a college town?), stunned, yet buzzing with the melodies, the spirit, and the adventure of the evening!

Le retour en France

For our last night on the Central Coast we were treated to a most spectacular sunset...

A sunset kiss by the Back Bay

             The Departure

Just a few months in California, and it was time to return to France. No worries, though; this would be our third long-stay adventure. We are very seasoned travelers. We started packing and getting ready a good two weeks in advance, so by departure time we were ready to go. Since our flight was leaving from San Francisco, about a four-hour drive from where we live, we picked up our one-way rental car the day before. With our flight leaving at 8PM we had plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and a careful departure.  These years of travel have taught us that good planning and taking the time to make proper arrangements allows us to stay calm, and enjoy every aspect of the journey.

So about 10:30 we were backing out of the driveway, our suitcases stowed in the trunk (Jeeze, cars in America sure have enormous trunks!). It was a relaxed, easy departure, no need to hurry. First we’d stop at a friend’s house where we would drop off what food we had left, and then it would be on the road to the airport.

At the end of our street Paula said, casually, “Do you have the passports?” Of course, I knew exactly where they were. Our passports were snuggled safely in the top drawer of our desk, in the office back in the house...

I did a quick U-turn, and we had a chance to rehearse our arrival, one year hence, digging through the backpacks to get the house keys, then remembering where we hid the office key. Yup, here’s the passports, right where I left them! Not too long after that we were back on the road, trying hard not to imagine what would have happened if Paula had not asked that simple question…

             The Trip

Arriving in San Francisco hours early was not a problem, as our Business Class flight came with entry to the United Polaris Lounge, voted the best Business lounge, period. Relaxed, softly-lit, quiet, comfy chairs, full bar (a bit too early for that, though!), full restaurant, and prepared foods laid out left, right, and center. Now I regretted stopping for lunch. But even though we were not hungry, we did visit the restaurant and order a meal because all of this was included in the price of our ticket (which we’d “paid” for with frequent flyer points). Eventually we took our seats on the plane, and were soon plied with more food and wine. Ouf! Travel can be so difficult.

 

Bar at the Polaris Lounge in SFO

It was a long flight. Even with the go-flat seats, and the bit of sleep we were able to eak out on the 11-hour flight, we were both groggy when we arrived in Zurich. Two more flights to go! We finally arrived in Toulouse, in the south-west of France, near midnight (local time). After a decent night in a hotel we were wandering around in the morning near the train station looking for breakfast and an ATM.

(It really is "the only way to fly!")

I realized I was having a real problem dealing with all people out and about in this moderate-sized city. A few months earlier, when we first arrived in California, we were overwhelmed by all the cars. Now, back in France, it was the pedestrians I found overwhelming. How ironic…

Eventually, though, we took our seats on the train, and watched the French countryside flash by as we headed east towards Montpellier, our home for the next few months.

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            The Arrival
It’s been a rough week. Jet lag took its toll; for the first few days we were sleeping at noon and waking at odd hours throughout the night. But it’s the weather that has been really disappointing. Before we left we watched the weather reports here in France: rain, rain, and more rain! Entire 10-day forecasts showing little but rain. As it’s turned out, we’ve actually seen very little rain. Lots of overcast, though, with just a bit of sun.

We arrived in the late afternoon, and by the time we were settled into our new apartment night had fallen. We headed out to explore our new neighborhood, which isn’t really all that new, since it’s only a block from where we lived the first time we came here three years ago. While it’s good to re-visit our old haunts, I do miss the thrill of discovering new streets and monuments. Still, the city is beautiful, especially at night.

Louis XIV on is horse in front of the Water Temple, Peyrou Park, Montpellier (another sunset!)

Montpellier's Arc de Triomphe with the spire of St. Anne's in the background, under a full moon

St Annes's, seen down a narrow street

This time around we are living on Rue de la Merci, literally, the street of thanks, or Thank-you Street. Or, as Paula likes to call it, the Street of Gratitude. (Gratitude is everything!)

 

The street where we live, Rue de la Merci (Thank-you Street!), with the Arc at the top

             The New Apartment

It’s always exciting to come into a new place. What surprises will we find, what great equipment/devices are in the kitchen; And what will be missing? Ah, induction stove top! Excellent. Nice oven, big refrigerator, adequate counter space. Oh, dull knives! Always, dull knives. I’ve taken to carrying a knife sharpener, because knives in rental kitchens are always dull. And sometimes, like these, not very good at all. So this time, since we’ll be here for a while, we bought a couple of knives. Good, solid, sharp knives. Check that one off…

Our tiny balcony overlooks a courtyard with huge trees, plus the characteristic red tile roofs

Since we’ll be here for a few months, and have a good kitchen, we’ll be needing some food. We’re already familiar with the markets and grocery stores in the area, but we found something this time around: home delivery! Instead of loading up our backpacks and struggling the mile or so back to the apartment, we can buy shopping carts-full of groceries and have them delivered! And this is all the more significant when our apartment is on the fourth floor with no elevator… (and “fourth floor” in Europe means up four flights of stairs! The ground floor is always “0”.) Well, we’ve been looking forward to getting back to Europe to increase our step count. Be careful what you wish for!

View out the bedroom window: the belfry with the bells that ring (and ring and ring...) every morning at 8; in the distance, the Water Temple at Peyrou

With some of our basics taken care of it's time to meet up with old and new friends, plan small day trips and practice our French with the many inter-cambio groups. And with the weather cooling off, it's time to make delicious soups and stay cozy in the rain.