I could get used to this

How did the chicken cross the road

When in Rome...

Audio Update From Milano

To listen to the post:

1. Click on the little orange arrow where it says 'Play this audio post'.

2. In the pop-up dialog box click 'open'.

3. In the next box that says 'windows cannot open this file', where it says 'What Do You Want To Do' click the button next to 'Select the Program From A List'.

4. In the next pop-up window labeled 'Open with', Under the heading 'Recommended Programs' choose 'Windows Media Player' and click 'ok'. (It is an MP3 formatted file so if you use a different program for MP3's try that instead of 'Windows Media Player'.)

This should open 'Windows Media Player' and the clip should start automatically. Of course I'm running Windows XP and it may all look a bit different to you. Please give me feedback on this format ASAP, because if a majority of you cannot access it I will not use it again.

Love from Italy,

Missy

On the Road again...again

Well, Christmas shopping this year was relatively easy. I mean, how hard could it be to send gift cards and/or pre-wrapped internet purchases. A good solid couple of hours of web surfing and 'presto-chango' we have all our shopping done. Not how I like to do things really, since I love wrapping gifts and making a big production of things, but those urges will have to be put aside for a couple more years. This year we didn’t even get a tree, and that’s a first for me.

No tree this year because it would just add to the general chaos around the house as we are in the midst of packing and planning for the first of several trips. As many of you know, we will be spending the end of the year in Italy. We are driving, of course, because S likes driving, but mostly because it offers us the opportunity to stop when and where we want and to squeeze more stops into our whirlwind tour of Italy. We've made hotel reservations beginning Christmas Eve in Milan, then on to Venice, Florence, Rome, Naples and finally Pisa before heading home on January 2nd. We'll take lots of pictures and try to journal some stuff, but there may not be much time for that. We are armed with our ‘Atlas Routier Italie’ and also with several books from our ever growing collection of 'Lonely Planet' Travel books. We have obtained travel books for Italy, Rome, Florence, Tuscany & Umbria also the condensed pocket versions of Rome, Venice and Florence which provide us with street maps. We also purchased (Also from our friends at Lonely Planet) Fast Talk Italian, though Elian (French coach who speaks Italian) has told us that Spanish is quite passable in Italy, and after looking at the books I think she's right, it is quite similar.

We're quite excited about it and if you'd like a copy of our itinerary, e-mail me (no later than noon on the 23rd).

January 15th thru 18th we will be in Tunisia. It'll be my first experience in a Muslim country and the Lonely Planet Tunisia book has a lot of practical advice for travel in this country. We're hoping to get a good look at Carthage and a quick peak at the Sahara. More info on this trip later.

In February we're hitting Seville, Spain. Well, S has meetings nearby and we'll book-end his business travel with two weekends of exploration.

And then in May we will be back in Illinois for J's college graduation! I know! Our baby is graduating from college! We are so proud of her. She is so responsible and smart and beautiful and trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent...(I do get carried away don't I!) Soooo...mark your calendars, the date is May 14th. The best part is that J is planning to come back to France with us for the summer. This will give us at least two months of mother/daughter travel, well ‘father’ travel too, if he can squeeze some time off into his busy schedule.

Well, coming back to the immediate future, I think that S and I will go see ‘Ocean’s 12’ tonight. It’s playing in VO downtown and it’s been quite a while since we’ve been to see a movie. I wanted to see 'The Polar Express' and ‘The Incredibles’ (in France it was ‘The Invincibles’) but they only played in French. Looks like Amazon.com will be dropping those by the house instead.

Well as you can tell our year ahead is full of plans. So this is the part where I get to wish you all a happy and memorable Christmas/Hanukkah and a New Year full of plans and family and memory making adventures.

Love from France, and I'll catch you in 2005.

Missy

”Dude!” – who knew?

Today I submit this link as proof that Rich and J were way ahead of the game when they began to investigate the usage of the word. Honestly ‘dude’, they could teach this guy a couple of things.

The Thanksgiving Weekend - Part 2

S & I have gotten good enough at French so that stopping strangers for info is no longer the horror it once was. We're great at the tag team approach. It starts with outlining the problem and what needs to be asked. "How should I say that?" Followed by suggestions on vocab and proper conjugation, dialogue is then quickly composed and finally an unsuspecting stranger is targeted. One of our favorite parts is delivering the lines and then watching the other person struggle with our accent. On our 2nd day in Paris we had a list of things to do but were running low on the old 'gazole' so we needed to find a gas station that a) was open on Sunday and that b) sold diesel. Not an easy task in downtown Paris because gas stations are often nothing more than a couple of pumps plopped down on a sidewalk on some side street. Not easy to spot if you know what I mean. So anyway, as we walk to the Rodin Museum I see a man coming toward us and after a brief confab it is decided that I should ask him if he knows where a gas station is. "Pardon Monsieur, est-ce que vous pourrait m’aide? Est-ce que il y a une station-service près d’ici ?" I say, smiling at him as if he’s a small frightened animal that I might scare away. "Well, to tell truth I've seen one round but can't say for sure where, maybe try the next street over" he replies with a British accent and pointing in a distracted manner down the road. "Thanks, we'll try there" I mumble, moving away feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time.

So we had reserved a room at a château east of Paris. We made this reservation back in early October, and in early November I received a call from the owner saying that there had been a fire in the room (cigarette - bed - 'nough said) we had reserved and that she had no other rooms to offer us. She was sorry for the inconvenience but if we could wait 8 weeks we could stay in that room then. Well, no, we were going to Paris because S had a meeting in Blois on that Monday morning and Thanksgiving gave us a good excuse for a three day weekend before hand to spend some time in Paris. So we stayed, instead, at 'Le Clos Saint Nicolas' in Neauphle-le-Château, bout 30 minutes west of Paris. Le Clos is not so much a château as and old mansion. But it was wonderful just the same. The room was large and the bathroom was brand new, retrofitted into what may have been a closet or something. There was a humongous wardrobe in our room that I felt fairly certain would lead me eventually to Narnia if I chose to climb in and walk toward the back of it. The best part of this particular bed & breakfast was, well, the breakfast. Not that the food was that great, just yogurt, juice, toast, coffee and a good selection of homemade jams. (One of the jams was a delicious blend of apricot and honey and S had to stop me from slipping the jar into my purse) No, the great part was that breakfast was served in the conservatory. You know a real conservatory, like you read about in books, like in ‘Clue’, with glass walls and plants and stuff. It was wonderful to sit there in the warmth of a patio heater and be able to see outside. Of course outside it was foggy and drizzly and cold and basically all around yucky, but it was still nice to sit and look outside and eat in our own private little jungle. Our first night we had the best and most expensive dinner of our lives, and it was completely unplanned. We arrived into town after dark and were looking for a place to eat dinner - insert here, grousing, whining, walking, bickering, complaining, grumbling - and we found another mansion/hotel with a restaurant in it. S was in jeans, I was in sweats and when we stopped and peaked at the menu posted outside we were prepared to be rejected solely based on our lack of proper dinner attire. But no, they hardly looked at what we were wearing. They ushered us to a table where we practically had our own personal wait staff. Glasses were never allowed to get below ½ full. Every need was anticipated and the food was heavenly. The entrée was a lobster salad that was so incredibly good...the lobster was seasoned and so tender and just mouthwateringly perfect... The main course was beef with these tiny mushrooms (that I did not eat, sorry but ewww) with this sauce and these potatoes that were topped with this wonderful green vegetable mouse stuff. There were wines and fresh baked breads and dessert, (mine was crème brûle, or actually three different crème brûles; Vanilla, chocolate and ginger flavored crème brûle that was amazing.) coffee and then of course ‘l'addition’ which we’ll not discuss. It was a serendipitous find!

The weird thing is that when you tell people that you are going to or have been to Paris they inevitable say 'Oh really, did you go to/have you been to/you should go to ::insert name of their favorite site here::' Honestly most stuff is stuff that off course you've done, Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Champs Elysée, but some things are just like, 'I don't even know what you just said' or 'I've never heard of that, where is it and what is it'. My point being that there is so much to see in Paris depending on what your tastes are and how much money you want to spend that you would need months to explore it all. And forget about trying to get a 'cultural experience' in Paris because any tourist type stuff you do will be swarming with foreigners and almost everyone in the shops and restaurants speaks English... So where was I going with this... What we did in Paris on this weekend. First we went to Montmartre to the Basilique du Sacré Cœur or as I refer to it (now that I read the guide book about it) ‘the church that guilt built’. And I quote “The Sacred Heart Basilica perched at the very top of the Butte de Montmartre, was built from contributions pledged by Parisian Catholics as an act of contrition after the humiliating Franco-Prussian war of 1870-1...and if you want to know what was so humiliating about it I'll let you read all about it. Ok, ‘we went to Montmartre’ sounds like we just, you know, got in the car and drove right on over. Well it turned out to be a bit more difficult than that. See it's one thing to read a map and quite another to be faced with the actual roads. As we have covered many, many, many times, street signs in France are rare and to add insult to injury when you enter one of those lovely round-abouts with six or 8 streets feeding into/out of it all bets are off and you'd get much farther down the road asking a magic eight ball which road to take as looking at the map. So our method consisted of 10% looking at the map 45% watching for church spires and driving in their general direction and 45% just plain old heading uphill. Of course then you add into the mix trying to find a place to park as you drive while all the while not being sure how far of a walk it will be if you take that first available space. We got incredibly lucky that by the time we found a parking space (actually it was an area of sidewalk bordering some street work that got us just off the road so others could drive past...Hey, when in France...) we had a very short uphill walk. The church itself is, well, it’s a church, it’s big, it has a beautiful dome. The big draw though is the view and the gazillion stairs that you can climb up the front to get to it. (Insert here happy dance for finding great ‘parking space’ around the corner) You can climb up to the dome and they say that on a good clear day you can see up to thirty miles around. Of course as you might recall the aforementioned fog.. but S climbed to the dome and took a few photos anyway.

Then we went to Versailles, which S had already been to this summer while I was away and he had meetings in Paris, but I had not seen it and needed to check it off of my 'must see' list. The sheer size of the place is impressive; the scope of what was done there is mind boggling. Just the number of people that had to be employed... (or in servitude of some sort) ... to maintain the gardens is unbelievable, let alone household staff. (No wonder Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette were beheaded! Though, granted, they were just the latest occupants of the mansion, but the most out of control.) (I imagine ABC's Peter Jennings doing an 'It's Your Money' segment about the prodigious waste of tax dollars and leading the indignant and incited crowd to the château to demand redress or blood.) And let me just say that not one of Hollywood’s wealthiest stars has an entourage of 6000 people to house, I'd say Bill Gates might, but I don't think he has that many friends. I'm guessing that the household staff could have benefited from the use of roller blades (well except for the stairs) or walkie talkies. Some of the massive gardens were used as outdoor dining rooms and ball rooms to escape the summer time heat of the mansion. Then there's the number of fountains in the gardens, it would have required quite a sophisticated water pumping system to have them all going (none of them run in the winter for obvious reasons, but I think it makes for better pictures of the actual sculptures this way). If you pick a garden, any garden, off of the main canal you find that there are paths that lead you deeper and deeper into that section of garden. For landmarks there are fountains at central spots with other paths branching off in every other direction. You could literally get lost out there, though I imagine it would be a great place for paint ball or laser tag. Of course all the main flower beds were freshly planted for springtime shows so we'll have to go back when everything is blooming. The advantage of visiting these places in the fall/winter is, of course, that you don't have to wait in line or fight crowds or, in the case of Versailles, pay an entrance fee to visit the grounds. The downside is that you never get to see them at their best because that's when repairs are done and when the gardens are pretty bleak and also when none of the fountains are actually going. True to form an entire wing of the château was hidden behind scaffolding and tarps and on one end they are replacing and repainting the famous windows of the Orangerie.

Then there was our visit to Giverny which was a complete waste because the place was closed (so much for the guide book), Claude Monet's home and studio, the gardens, heck the whole darned town was closed it seemed. Which is sad since it took us 30 minutes out of Paris and then 30 minutes back, but on the other hand, it's another one of those places that I would love to see in the spring or summer anyway. We revisited the Rodin Museum because I just love it. We had lunch there on Sunday. The garden is nothing like Versailles but it's very peaceful and I love the sculptures and something about the setting is just very romantic. We walked along the Champs Elysée, actually S pulled a 'French' and parked on the sidewalk along the Champs Elysée and we walked up and down on Saturday night with all the Christmas lights and all the shoppers. It was cold and noisy and very exciting. I think it was at that point that we decided to retire there. We visited the Hôtel des Invalides, which houses Napoleon's Tomb, the Église des Soldats and the Musée d l’Armée. It was so much to see. The Army museum is vast and filled with several floors of nothing but weapons and uniforms and flags and maps. (La, I wish we'd gone in when you guys were here, Mark would have loved it) The best part of the Army museum though is the top floor which houses the 'Relief Map Museum'. A large room filled with giant table top relief maps. Huge maps of some of the major fortresses of France, with scale models of the towns and hills and people and churches. It is an amazing site. The room is dark and the maps are spotlighted and each tiny town is a perfect replica of what the original was like back in Napoleon's day.

There is so much more to tell, but I need to post this and get the pictures posted too. So I'll stop now. I'll just say that we found "The Real McCoy' again in Paris which is a tiny little grocery store that sells american products for about a 400% mark-up. It's worth it when you consider what it costs to ship stuff here. So we picked up a few comfort food type things that we didn't even know we'd missed. On Monday after S's meeting in Blois we stopped in Limouge on the way home, where I picked up a few pieces of porcelain at one of the many shops. A beautiful and delicate coffee service for 4. S insists that we must use it though, otherwise it will become just another thing tucked into a cupboard never to be seen again. And now, the pictures.

This is the view from our window at the bed and breakfast. Testament to the exterior yuckiness.

S in front of the Château de Versailles, this is only a small part of the giant palace, but I believe he's standing in front of the windows of the kings bed chamber.

This is the fountain of the Basin of Apollo in which Apollo's chariot is being pulled by rearing horses emerging from the water. It is halfway between the palace and the grand canal which you can see in the distance behind the fountain.

Another fountain in the gardens. Don't ask me which one this is or even where it is, I was pretty lost at this point, but I liked it.

Hey look, it's me! Looking out over where they are repairing the windows to the orangerie. Those green scrolly looking things on the ground are lawn, but if you look at the borders and edges, that is not lawn. That is actually perfectly manicured little hedges that stand about 4 or 5 inches tall. Isn't that wild?

This is a photo of part of the garden at the Rodin Museum, taken from the far end of the garden looking over the fountain and toward the museum building. It really is quite a peaceful place.

Sort of the same shot but more centered and in front of the trellis work.

This is the Basilique du Sacré Cœur at night. We went back that night so we could get this shot, and some others of the view.

This is the dome over Napoleon's tomb.

This is Napoleon's Tomb, centered below the dome and on the lower floor of the church. Napoleon's remains are in a series of 6 nested coffins like a Russian matryoshka doll. The coffins are made of tin, mahogany, two made of lead, ebony and the one we see is made of red porphyry (a stone) from Finland. His tomb is ringed by giant statues that glorify his wartime achievements and the walls of the hall around his tomb are adorned with 10 bas-relief sculptures that depict his civil achievements. It's hard to get a good idea of the size of the tomb, it is beyond massive. The man standing in the hall in the background of the picture sort of gives you an idea of the size. (Over compensating for something?)

The Eglise du Dôme, which houses Napoleon's tomb also houses the tombs of others. Including such famous French soldiers as Turenne, Bauban, Foch, Lyautey and some of Napoleon's close relations including his son - the king of Rome, and two of his brothers. Don't ask me whose tomb this was because I don't remember and I didn't write it down.

The Hôtel des Invalides at night. The dome and decorations were regilded in 1989, it took 12 kg (26.5 lbs.) of gold.

This is one of the relief maps in the museum. This is the relief map of Mt St. Michel which La and Mark and I visited last summer. If you walk around it you can see that there used to be stairs leading straight up into the walls in a few places. I don't recall seeing those last summer on the real thing.

Please, no ‘Howlers’…

See this space here. There is supposed to be a nice and really long "part 2" post in this spot. But while I was working on it tonight, I was forced to IM with Z, La, Ardo, Tris and J (I hate it when people twist your arm like that, don’t you?) :) . So, now there is no post and I'm sleepy and going to bed. Yes I believe in passing the blame around and sharing it with everyone. (Who says I don't share well with others?) Tomorrow I promise, I'm just finishing some photo editing and putting some links together. K?

The Thanksgiving Weekend - Part 1

S and I have decided, just screw Florida or Phoenix we’re retiring to Paris. We'll buy a tiny one or two room flat in an ancient building that’s precariously perched on the side of Montmartre. We’ll have the ‘Basilique du Sacre Cœur’ to our backs and all off Paris at our feet. We’ll have a tiny and slightly unstable little balcony just big enough for two chairs and a café table where we’ll eat our meals or just sit and goggle at the view. In the mornings we'll raise our breakfast cups of strong coffee in a good morning salute to the 'Tour Eiffel' in the far off distance to the west, at noon we'll raise our luncheon glass of wine to the glittering gold dome of Napoleon’s tomb and the Hôtel des Invalides and at dinner we'll toast all of Paris with a fine Bordeaux as it lies glittering and twinkling below us. I’ll learn to sketch and join the throng of would be artists out front of the basilica, where I too will accost foreign strangers and barter to sketch their portraits in front of the church. S can give guided tours of the 'Butte de Montmartre' and show foreigners the beauty of the hills’ cobbled streets, its windmills and vineyard…

Ah, but I’m starting in the middle of our story; Denis would have hated that…

Well, Thanksgiving dinner was a noisy and messy affair; and all of our guests arrived bearing gifts. Two beautiful bouquets of flowers were brought, and let me say that no one does flowers like the French, I have never in my life seen flower arranging raised to this sort of an art. Flowers in France are terribly important, there’s at least one flower shop in every village. Castanet alone has 5. Elian (French coach) and her man Daniel brought a case of wine (eight bottles) from his family’s vineyard and Elian made the pumpkin pie. Olivier (one of S’s colleagues) and his wife Nadine brought flowers and two bottles of wine of an older vintage that we are saving for a special occasion. Sandrine (the other of S’s colleagues) and Matthew brought flowers and a bottle white wine. Anne and Gilles (parents of the famous Carla) brought chocolates and a bottle of wine. Maggie (French coach) and Vincent brought Paula (Cute and single Irish friend - ::nudges Rich::) and as a group they brought chocolates and Oreo cookies. We probably went through 5 bottles of wine as a group and the rest is now a part of our expanding wine collection. The evening began with aperitifs, because the French must start every meal with before dinner drinks, it loosens them up for conversation. Then we had to explain what thanksgiving was about, why we celebrate it and, that since it’s not a Catholic holy day they don’t get to celebrate it. The children were adorable and incredibly well behaved. There was Maureen 10 ½, Charlotte 8 ½, Orian 2 ½, and of course Carla 3 ½. Now I’ve decided that our Michael Christopher is the perfect match for Orian. Michael see photo below.

The funniest thing about the evening was the complete inability of our french guests to grasp the concept of 'passing'. We sat at dinner where I first forced our guests to participate in the age old ritual of having each person tell one thing they were grateful for in the previous year. As you can imagine I got some pretty odd looks, but they did it. Then I explained that everyone should grab a dish of food, serve themselves and then pass it to the person on their right. Simple instructions, I thought, but a short time into the meal I still hadn't seen the mashed potatoes. I called down to Matthew at the far end of the table to pass the mashed potatoes and he grabs the bowl and walks it over to me. No, no, no, let me explain the concept again. The problem is, I think, that they are too polite to interrupt their neighbors conversations with so much as a nudge to ask them to pass anything. At one point I look over to Elian who is sitting next to me and see that she's just holding the bowl of cranberry sauce because there's no place to set it down. "Elian what you have to do is pass it in an aimless 'pass this down' fashion to the person next to you, then they'll pass it along until it's being passed around the table with no real goal and eventually someone else will find a place to set it down." So taking my advice she hands the red stuff to Daniel and says "Pass this down". He's so absorbed in conversation that he serves himself some and hands the bowl back to her. Doh! This is how it went all evening. If someone wanted something they'd get up and walk to where it was and serve themselves. I guess the bright side is that they have the concept of 'buffet' down.

The 'before' shot of the dinner table. We had to push all of the living room furniture to the walls and bring in a table from outside. The dinning room was just no where near big enough for this large of a table. We also had to buy 6 plastic Ikea folding chairs to accomodate everyone.

Mags and Vincent, or as he is affectionately referred to by his friends, ' booby'. Trust me the man plays a mean rugby game, nobody makes fun of that name, I mean, just look at him.

From right to left we have Elian, Daniel, Gilles, Nadine (holding the very tired Orian), Charlotte sitting in Olivier's lap (her dad) and Matthew. You can see the top of S's head and all the way to the left is the side of Sandrine's head.

Talk amongst yourselves. To be continued...

I'm working on it already!

INIGO: We're really in a terrible rush.

MIRACLE MAX: Don't rush me, sonny. You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles. You got money?

Quick Note

All you get for now is one photo. Great time had by all! Daniel's (on right) family owns a vineyard so he brought a case of wine, others brought more wine. There was tons of food (I have the aching back to prove it - from cooking all day) The kids were adorable and well behaved and the adults were too, well behaved that is. Dinner was at eight and coffee was served at 10:15, the party broke up around 11:10 with children running around in pajamas and the women dragging dishes into the kitchen. People offered to stay and help clean up but they all have work today so we shooed them out. S and I were up until 1:20 or so washing dishes. The rest of the clean up will have to wait just like the rest of the stories until we get back from Paris. We should be gone already but we slept in a bit. Ta for now and hope you all had a happy Turkey Day. That is all.

So it begins...

"Excuse me sir, but do you have a whole turkey?" said in my very bestest and most politest French.

"A whole turkey?! Bah! Phbt. That would weigh 15 or 20 kilos!" said in his snootiest French - but you can imagine it in a strong and derisive French accent.

Brightening at this response and mentally wringing my hands in anticipation I ask with a stupid grin on my face, "So do you have one?"

"No! You crazy American woman!" responds the butcher. Ok, he didn't actually say the last part but he was thinking it, it was in his eyes, I saw it.

On Saturday S dragged me to the grocery store to shop for turkeys. I had been putting it off. First, because I had seen them in the stores and was confident we could find one and second, I don't have the fridge space for a large bird or even two smaller ones. I figured we'd waltz into the market and pick one up on Wednesday night and be set. S however was beginning to panic, remembering last years near fruitless search for Thanksgiving dinner.

We found all the ingredients we needed for Thursday's feast, except for the turkey. We went to every giant grocery store in the area and we were now at our second to the last stop. We looked over what was available and decided to go ahead and purchase a turkey breast in case we crapped out in the great turkey gamble. (Which would go down in the annals of holiday lore as the year Missy got cocky and we had no turkey for the great Thanksgiving party.)

We purchased one giant turkey breast that weighs in at 8.3 lbs. Damn I would have loved to have had that turkey! Did consider buying the other breast and having 16+ pounds of meat instead of a 20 lb turkey, but it's the whole tradition thing, you really have to have a whole bird, don't you?

Well, last stop and we have over the time of one long morning and several 'hyper marches' found all the ingredients on our list except for the elusive turkey.

S drops me at the front door of the 'centre commercial' so I can run in and scope out the prospects without our having to circle for 30 minutes trying to park. I go in with fingers crossed and hike the quarter mile to the back of the store where the butcher shop is and take a number.

As I wait patiently (right) I peruse the wares and I see several whole 'creatures' ranging from small hens to rabbits to chickens to ducks. And then I see it, something slightly larger than a duck; is it a large chicken, a large duck? I wait and keep an eye on my prize. The woman ahead of me sensing the direction of my gaze decides that she too would like to go for the only whole turkey in the place and she asks the butcher some questions about it. (I think evil thoughts at her, but she ignores the waves of discontent crashing secretly over her.) The butcher lifts my bird out of the ice where it is waiting for me and they chat about it, discussing its faults and virtues. Then the butcher, sensing my murderous gaze (and some of the evil thoughts that accidentally splashed over on him), convinces the woman that a few turkey legs would better suit her purposes and moves her along down the counter after depositing my prey back into its icy bed.

After wrapping up the woman's turkey legs and sending her on her way, the butcher returns to me with a conciliatory look in his eyes but with a mocking grin on his lips. He was toying with me! If he knew me he would know that that is not wise, but he doesn't so I'll cut him some slack, and besides that, I'm too happy to generate too much more evil.

Well, weighing in at a whopping 12.7 lbs. our turkey is hardly a turkey it's more like an overgrown chicken, but what the heck, it's whole and it's the right shape.

So this morning I'm tricking my language coach, Elian, into coming over and helping me cook. We will cook in French. And that way I can get a jump on cooking potatoes and yams and can start on the raw veggie tray veggies. We'll also get the pie crusts made and be ready to get the turkeys done tomorrow.

Of course this morning I woke up with what I'll call a 'stress cold'. You know, stress lowers your immunity and leaves you wide open for germs. So I've maxed out on vitamin C and Echinacea and am moving on with my day.

Last night we brought in the table from outside and the bad news is that it will only accommodate 10 chairs. We will work out the logistics today and set the table. Final count is only 13 adults (don't tell anyone, the French are very superstitious about sitting at dinner with 13, will try to drag in another stranger for dinner or something.) and 4 small children.

I'll take photos and report next week. S and I are off for a four day weekend in Paris, first thing Friday morning, so I'll report all next week.

It's mom's birthday today so call her and wish her a happy one! She's ## today!

That is all.

Geez, I hate that!

As a blogger I enjoy not only writing but also reading. I have several internet friends who I have met, and keep in touch with, through blogging. There's nothing I enjoy more than sitting down each day and reading what Ky or Fletch or Fish or any other of my many fellow bloggers have to say.

But boy it just bugs me when they don't write every day! Don't they know I check and want something to read and amuse me!?

Grrrrr.....

C’est remarquable!

I don’t really know what type of glue they use for wallpaper around here, but I wish that that was what had been on every sheet of wallpaper I’ve ever tried to remove.

……

The wallpaper in my office is coming off of the wall. The good news (if you can call it that) is that it is coming un-glued from the floor and working its way up. The bad news is that there appears to be mold under the progressively de-sticking paper and it just so happens to be occurring on that one wall, the one wall that borders the bathroom of last years flooding issues, the one wall that is in line with the bizarre leak in the garage, and that same one wall that in the hallway has begun to show a lovely dark stain on that wallpaper. All together this evidence would appear to point to a leak in that wall or the roof above it; all together this evidence would seem to be cause for concern. Jumping right into the middle that conclusion we will find that if that indeed is the case, the problem is really bad because if something is leaking into that wall, it would require MAJOR construction to repair it, as that wall is solid brick and there is no easy way to get to the leak.

It is this issue in the main that has led me to the conclusion that the landlord must be called, this and a few other smaller issues. Like, first of all, the wallpaper in the dining room is also coming down but top to bottom and the whole top edge of this paper seems to have water stains on it. (roof leak?) Then also, there is the electrical issue with the outside light, when you turn on the light over the front door, after three or four minutes it trips all the breakers and pitch black darkness ensues not to mention that the computers also shut off I’m disconnected from the world (that can’t any of it be good.). And thirdly, but most important, I think, our lease is up in July of 2005 and we need to extend it until December 2006.

So there are some issues that need to be discussed with our landlord, our landlord to whom I have not spoken since the toilet debacle last December.

So with this aim, I spent an afternoon with Elian at ImpaQt practicing lines and words and role playing the conversation and also practicing my responses to any and all possible, eventual questions that might be posed. Even with all of this preparation, however, I dragged my feet about calling M. Babec. The man is probably in his mid 60’s, speaks absolutely NO English and communicating with him is always difficult. Add the fact that speaking by phone in French is difficult. It’s so much easier to speak face to face because you can ‘see’ what the person is saying. You can’t imagine the huge role that visual clues play in everyday communication.

So eventually I made the call. The first time I called there was no answer and I was forced to leave a message, I did a little happy dance in anticipation of just having the man show up at some point eliminating the need for any further phone discussion. Of course he didn’t come by or call back so I had to call again, this time reaching someone who said that he and the Mrs. were on vacation. I dance a smaller happy dance in hopes that he would receive the message and decide to just stop by. But no, he didn’t stop by or call back, so I was forced to call a third time, this time M. Babec, himself, answered the phone.

I explained who I was and began to launch into my spiel when I noticed that there was absolute silence on the phone, «Your tenant at 9 rue Delherm? In Castanet? M. Babec ? »

« Umm, yes ? »

« We have some small problems here that I wanted to discuss with you. »

After another long silence «Yes, tell me. »

I launch once again into a description of the problems and ask him if he could possibly come by the house so I could show him what I’m talking about. After another brief silence he hesitantly says that he can come tomorrow evening. I say that’s fine and we hang up.

At this point I’m just dreading the next evening, obviously he was having trouble making out what I was saying and now all sorts of scenarios are flashing through my head about the ordeal ahead.

The next evening at right around 7pm, the doorbell rings. Of course he would arrive before S gets home from work, drat the stinkin’ luck.

I open the front door to find M. Babec dressed in a very nice suite, per usual, and smiling pleasantly at me. We exchange greetings and as we do I notice that the man is sort of staring at me. Really sort of gaping at me, but I choose to ignore this. I’m self conscious enough as it is without wondering what on earth he’s staring at.

Since we are standing in the dark of the front door I figure this is as good a place as any to start the ‘tour’ and so I explain to him that we are unable to use the front door light and why. As I’m explaining this the man is still staring at me but in a puzzled sort of fashion. My speech tapers off into silence and I start to stare back. The cessation of speech seems to snap him back to what we’re talking about and he smiles winningly at me and acknowledges that he has understood what I said and puts forth his theory on the matter. He finishes by saying that he’ll get an electrician out to look at the light and in the same breath says “goodness isn’t your French much improved!”

I thank him and give my best self deprecating oh-shucks smile and move on to the dinning room where the paper is stained near the ceiling and starting to come down. I explain that it’s not much of a problem really except for the paper coming down and I thought he should know about it in case the stains indicate dampness and therefore leakage. I look over and the man is staring at me again. When he sees me looking at him he gives a small start and proceeds to explain why he doesn’t think this is an issue.

While he’s talking and giving excuses I proceed to take mental inventory, is my fly unzipped? Hmm, wearing sweat pants so that’s a non issue. Did I comb my hair? Casually reach up and pat hair and while my hand is up there near my head I go ahead and smoothly check my nose, with a swift wipe, for something dangling out of it. Check, check. Something big and green stuck between teeth? Slip tongue quickly over tooth surface and feel no anomalies. Hmm, all appears to be in order…

We move on to the hall and the office where I point out more wet spots and pealing wall paper. He’s staring again but seems to know that I know he’s staring and he quickly averts his eyes and launches into more excuses and possible reasons for the stains and dismisses them as nothing. He continues by saying that he’ll definitely have someone out to fix the pealing wallpaper but he’s sure there’s nothing to really worry about. (Yeah, right.)

We move into the garage where I’m prepared to show him the lake that forms next to the washing machine after almost every rain, but the lake is gone. I explain the problem anyway and he says that he’s been up on the roof to re-arrange some of the tiles and that there’s nothing more to be done. The roof will leak if it’s windy while it rains end of story. Ok, whatever.

I launch next into the need to extend the lease for an additional year and a half and this seems to really cause some open mouthed staring. When I stop talking he once again pulls himself together and begins a careful explanation of what the procedure for that should be. I repeat back to him what he’s said to be sure I understand, and he’s staring at me again.

He notices me noticing him staring and finally he just bursts out with it.

« Votre français est remarquable ! Votre amélioration est étonnante. »

“You’re French is remarkable! Your improvement is amazing”

Geez, now you’re embarrassing me! I say thank you, but he just can’t let it go, he goes on and on about the difference. He then launches into full-on conversation mode. His French picks up speed as he talks and pretty soon I’m barely getting the gist of what he’s saying. I ask him to please slow down and he starts to laugh. “Well” he says “I’m just so pleased to be able to speak with you.” He prepares to leave then, says he’ll call with info about workmen later in the week and encourages me to keep up the good work.

It’s after he leaves that I realize that it has been almost a year since I last saw him and that I hadn’t started my language lessons yet last December. I suppose in that sort of ‘before’ and ‘after’ type of view the change is pretty remarkable.

Busting my buttons with pride!

That is all.

I hate it when Marty’s right!

Thanks!! J&R sent a care package that has also now arrived. They sent Mayo (because you can never have too much mayo! sorry Emily) and Chocolate chips and other wonderful things. Including some deodorant for S, thanks especially for that he was starting to get a little ripe! (i.e. he was starting to smell French!)

So of course I had to bake chocolate chip cookies, you know I had too. I made a full batch of Nestle Tollhouse cookies, well I made enough dough for a full batch but probably only ¾ of the dough actually got baked. See, I did what anyone would do, I ate ¼ of the dough raw. Now I know that Marty told us that it would make us sick but it never did, so I, of course, ignored the little Marty voice in my head and ate the dough anyway. Well of course, you guessed it, sick as a dog for two days now. Whether the ordeal was worth it or not has yet to be determined, (though I've not been able to tolerate so much as the sight of the finished product let alone eat it) but all I can say now is that it matters not whether the toilet paper packaging says ‘extra doux’ or ‘avec aloe’ or any other such indication of softness, after a point it might all just as well be sandpaper cause that’s how it feels. I know, too much information, but I’m all about sharing. So chalk it up to another lesson learned…don’t tell Marty, ‘k. (by the way, I blame the 'French' eggs.)

That is all.

We Now Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

First of all, “Thanks Mom!” a care package has arrived from home with stuffing and cranberry sauce and a few other creature comforts. So, really thanks again mom you’re a peach. Did have a craving this morning for an ‘Orange Dream Machine’ with a protein boost from Jamba Juice and would absolutely kill for a half dozen ‘Carnitas Street Tacos’ from Rubio’s. I think that if you pack them together the cold of the smoothie might keep the tacos fresh? I’ll keep dreaming.

Speaking of Jamba Juice. While reading some fellow bloggers this morning I went to The Silly Con Valley Report which is a goofy site that tracks up and coming gizmos (sort of) near the middle of Mike’s page I saw this goofy entry (which I believe led me to have my Jamba Juice craving) for Blendie. It’s a small quick time video that you have just got to see. (Ky , are you thinking what I’m thinking?)

So plans for the Thanksgiving Bash are moving along nicely, latest count has us at possibly 18! Of course the logistic of this event are mind boggling. We will have to purchase 6 fold away chairs to avoid having people eat on the couch. The outdoor “picnic” table that was here when we moved in, will be dragged into the living room I think to accommodate most (but not all) of us. One small problem is that when we moved here I only brought half of my dishes and so I only have 12 place settings. Hate to go with paper for such an event but we may have to.

In other news…well in other old news anyway. When we arrived here and began to learn the highways, we noticed what looked like a bomb site on one side of the Rocade. Every time we went passed it, on the way to the airport or mall, I would wonder what had happened there. S eventually pieced together some info about some industrial accident that had happened years ago, we couldn’t figure why they hadn’t cleaned it up yet though. Well I found this story about the accident on the internet. And Paula says that cleanup has been slow due to the French versions of the EPA insuring the site is truly detoxified and clean.

Speaking of Paula, last Sunday after I took S to the airport (South Africa) Mags invited me to have lunch with her and Vincent at his mothers house. Since they were already there, Paula and I drove the one hour drive south to Salies du Salat, together. We had a fabulous lunch. Lunch was preceded by champagne and snacks (olives – yuck and sausage – double yuck), this portion of the meal being called the apéritif. Then lunch began with a salad of ‘lambs greens’ (I’d never heard of it or seen it before but it was yummy) and fois gras (Claudette makes her own Fois Gras and it was very good.) followed by a pork roast with roasted potatoes (The potatoes where supposedly for Paula because she doesn’t like veggies….hmm…and we had a heck of time making her share them), a zucchini casserole, bread and wine. Dessert was cheese and/or a dessert called a ‘Floating Cloud’. It was amazing! It was meringue floating in a custard sauce and drizzled with caramelized sugar. After eating to bursting we four women set of for Spain, Vincint chose not to join us, I think lunch with four jabbering women was more than he could take. We drove another hour south and we crossed the border into Spain. Don’t ask me the name of the little villages we went to because I can’t remember, I know one of them was Les but the others, who knows. It was freezing though. We were in the foothills of the Pyrenees and their had been snow in the mountains recently. We could see the snow above us and the breeze brought the smell of snow along with bone chilling cold. We were not really dressed for this weather. Luckily I'd brought along extra gear since Paula had only worn a wind breaker. We wandered around and found a cute little church that was undeniably old. When we entered it and looked around it looked like all the stone was about to come down on us at any moment. At least it was warm inside. There was a posting on the door announcing the recent death of a long time resident, a man who had been over a hundred years old. I didn’t read the sign but I think Paula said he’d been something like 113. Heck, he was probably baptized in the church when it was still relatively new. After leaving the church and wandering a bit more we found our way into a little Tapas bar for some refreshment. I was able to impress the ladies with my Spanish since my French is still so slow and halting (and often wrong). We had hot drinks and got on the road back, as Mags had seen a store in another little village near the border advertising Levis. Upon our return to Claudette's we were once again fed. Dinner included leftovers from lunch plus a homemade vegetable soup to sustain us on the drive home.

Claudette, Mags and Paula in front of the church.

Well folks that's all for now. I'm off to the airport to get S.

Go Vote!

Have you voted yet?
	...K...How about now? ...Now?
Well don't just sit there reading this crap...GO...Go VOTE!...Hang on, unless you're voting for the other guy, in which case, by all means, stay here and read. I'll try to fill as much time as possible with meaningless anecdotal drivel about my day...
Actually the dilemma for me is what to do until 2am when the east coast polls close and early estimates will start to come in. Hell, the polls in California won't close 'til 8 am! (That would be France time.) I better go put on an extra strength vat of coffee, it's going to be a long night! Real post coming soon I promise...In the meantime ...you know...

“Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.” Douglas Adams

I find myself awake at the ungodly hour of 3 am. As I sit here in front of ‘The Precious’ downing heartburn medication and wishing for sleep, I realize that for most of you it is still yesterday. Time is funny, the way that on any given day it can be two days at once in different places.

Yesterday, or rather today for you people, was a special day. It was Charlotte’s 40th birthday.

This event reminds me of the slipperiness of time and obviously how old we’ve all gotten. See it wasn’t all that long ago that four adults (our parents) hit upon a great idea to ease their summer woes. Two families, eight, yes count them, eight kids and a whole summer of ‘I’m bored’, ‘it’s hot’, ‘what are we going to do today’, ‘he hit me’, ‘no I didn’t’, ‘yes you did’, ‘nah uh’, ‘yes huh’, ‘I’m telling’…. stretching before them. You see the problem.

At some point, the two sets of parents decided to pool their resources and combine the group. This brilliant idea seems to have cut down on the boredom and doubled the fun for the 8 lovely children. I’m not sure when the first ‘San Diego’ summer was or even when the last one was or even how long these visits lasted. Like I said time is slippery. But those summers stand out in all of our memories as unique gifts given to us by our parents. When we get together these days and relive our memories of those summers, they seem to all blend together into one giant summer of fun and exploration, all one unending memory where the years don’t really matter as much as what we remember. Now keep in mind that there were eight of us and that eight different memories have over the years crafted the collective memory of those summers. Each of us taking away our own impressions and lessons, but over all those impressions seem to have been mostly positive.

Those were summers of learning to roller skate and bike riding, beach trips and (with Rich in the family) emergencies. Summers where we four older ones worked hard and in vain to ignore and separate ourselves from the four younger ones. Summers of trying to scare the holy crap out of each other jumping out from behind shrubs in the dark and damp nights. Summers before parents were afraid to let their kids play outside let alone play up and down the street in the night. Summers of overexcited kids sleeping on the back porch, pancake breakfasts that ended messily, skateboards being used in unorthodox ways leading to close encounters with garbage cans, roller-skating daredevilry that would have turned our parents hair even more grey had they known what we were up to, big scrapes followed by quiet and clandestine bandaging, rendered with whispered admonitions and swearing of silence (on pain of pain), but above all they were summers of unforgettable fun.

It brought us closer as a group and made the lessons of childhood a group lesson so we didn’t have to repeat many mistakes. (We basically let the two boys handle the dangerous lessons.) (Yeah there were only two boys in the group, holy cow; they must have an interesting perspective on those summers.)

Anyway, it’s through the glass of those summers that we watched ourselves and each other grow up. It’s through those times that our relationships were forged and that we became entangled, for good or ill, in each others lives. So to say happy 40th to Charlotte seems to bring out more memories than I can here relate. If you want to hear stories join us at family events where we drag out all those memories and pass them around like shiny beach pebbles polished over the years by all the hands that have handled them. We were a mostly happy group of kids and we seem to have grown into a mostly happy group of adults.

And now it seems that us four older ones have managed to separate ourselves from the younger four at last. We four older ones are now officially in our 40’s. One peep out of you other four though and I think we can still manage to come up with ways to torture you. So here’s to you Charles, I raise my glass (of Mylanta) in a toast to you, happy 40th honey. I miss you.

That is all.

Death , Taxes and Televisions?

In France we have to pay an annual tax for owning a television. No, really, seriously, we have to pay 116€ ($145) per year for the privilege of owning a television. Never mind that said television does not actually get any stations because that would require getting cable or satellite TV, this does not matter, that we have a TV is all that matters. We purchased a French TV so we could watch French DVD's on our French DVD player and so now we must pay the tax. (For those who do not know this, French DVD's, and Video Cassettes are formatted differently and will not work in American players. Then when you get a French player you will find that American TV's are not compatible, hence the purchase of a French TV... yet another 'language' barrier.) When we talked about getting the TV we were told of this and warned to pay cash so as to dodge the paperwork and thus the tax. However, even if you pay cash, they will not let you leave the store with your new TV until all the appropriate paperwork has been filled out completely so they can be sure to collect their annual tax. So I, grumblingly, write the darned check and pop it into the mail. Only to go out to my mailbox the next day, no really, the very next day, to find that I have received yet another tax bill from the French. This is a habitation tax. I am paying a tax for having a roof over my head. Yep, you bet. This is a bill for 269€ ($340) for the privilege of having a roof over my head. Aah the French, they're such funny little people.

In other news...You wouldn’t think that a group of people as large as...well, as large as all of Europe is, who do not get to vote in American elections, would get so worked up about them. The second anyone finds out I'm American these days the first question out of their lips is 'Have you voted?' followed quickly by 'You didn't vote for Bush did you?' I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone that the French detest the stupid, pea-brained hick, but I find it amusing how vocal they are about something they have no say in. And it's not just the French. There have been demonstrations, yes demonstrations, in Britain and Spain against 'W'. Dems Abroad must have gotten their hands on the mailing list of every American group in Europe because we have received e-mails (two of each as we belong to two different groups) offering blank ballots if ours did not arrive in time, also reminders of mail in deadlines to get the ballots to the states in time to be counted. This months AIT newsletter also had names and contact numbers for Dems Abroad members who could answer questions and provide ‘technical’ help. November 2nd (well late November 2nd into the 3rd - the time difference you see) will find all of Europe holding its collective breath and praying for America to do the right thing.

Fall has sort of arrived in the south of France. Here it is heralded by constant and unrelenting wind and rain and by a damp, clinging and bone aching chill in the air. Despite that, however, I am reminded of fall in San Diego. More specifically I’m reminded of how fall ‘looks’ in San Diego. After years in the Midwest where the colors announced the change of season, where trees heralded the change by changing their clothes, I find this monochromatic season change a bit disheartening. The trees don’t change their leaves to flaming colors in an end of the season natural fireworks display. No sign of individual leaves turning from green to yellow or red and then softly relinquishing their hold on their mother branch and quietly, gracefully falling to the ground a la 'Freddy The Leaf'. No instead the leaves seem to stubbornly remain green only to be buffeted by wind and rain and then after several weeks of inhospitable weather they tiredly cede control and allow the wind to bully them to the ground in dejected exhaustion. Somehow not quite the romance of a Midwest fall.

If you’ve read S’s Blog you know that S and I have crossed a line, we have started speaking to each other in French at home. Sad but true. Now I’m not saying we’re having deep and meaningful dialogue, but we can manage to discuss daily events (in past, present or future tenses) and even swear at each other a bit (all in fun). It’s a slippery slope this, since I now sometimes fumble for words in English, but it’s an important step. Now my daily speech is peppered with ‘d’accord’, ‘oui’ and ‘voila’ instead of ‘ok’ and ‘yeah’, even when I’m talking to myself.

S is in Hungary this week and then to South Africa the week after next. My plans for the week include language lessons, reading, more reading, walking and lots of time with the cute and precocious Miss Carla. I’m off for a girls night out with Mags and Paula tomorrow night to catch a movie and then some dinner. It’ll be a quiet night as they both have to work on Friday. And now I’m off to watch ‘Joe Versus the Volcano’ for the umpteenth time while I enjoy a dinner of tea and biscuits. That is all.

Voices in my head

There is a very serious and loud voice in my head arguing with a smaller voice. The smaller voice is arguing against changing our mind over whether to take a nap or not. I’m cheering the small voice and I think it’s winning the argument. Yeah, small voice! The loud voice is arguing even louder but not nearly as coherently or persuasively. So I think I get to nap.

Yeah, you figure it out, have the voices in your head ever made sense?.

So…before my brief nap, before I go and pick up the cute and precocious Miss Carla I wanted to share with you the following.

First there is this article about a ‘contest’ the French have won that no one else apparently knew they were participating in. Anyway, go France! And… way to go and…keep up the good work?

Second, arrived home from my language lesson this morning with a headache and here’s why! Who knew? I must have an ENORMOUS brain now! Or maybe just a big head…

And finally, in a surprise move, my friends at ImpQt have expressed a great interest in the American holiday of Thanksgiving. While watching the dinner scene at the beginning of Tom Hanks’ “Castaway” I began to salivate over the candied sweet potatoes that were being passed around. Well, then the film was paused at the passing of each and every other dish, so that I could describe it and expound on its virtues, until we were all hungry, salivating and homesick (well ok, only I was homesick) So in the spirit of Thanksgiving I was forced to invite 10 people over to celebrate Thanksgiving with us this year. (Hmmm, do you think it was all a huge charade on their part to get me to invite them?...) Send stuffing.

Love to all.

I Voted, Have You

One of the benefits of living abroad is that you get to vote ahead of everyone else via Absentee Ballot. (which they don’t count ) So I’ve done my civic duty and I urge you all to do the same. Too much is riding on this one and if the country should go straight down the crapper in the next four years it won’t be your fault, because at least you voted and were counted (maybe)…unless you vote for the Wrong guy, in which case all accusatory fingers will be pointed in your direction. Well, …’nough said.

Oh wait, there is one more benefit to living out of the country in an election year. I don’t have to deal with this like the poor slobs in Toledo. Those ads are something I DO NOT MISS!

Ok, then…

At one o’clock in the afternoon the indoor temp in my cute but solid-brick house, was still at a brisk 67°. This is still a bit chilly for me so I put on a sweater and lit some ‘mulled cider’ candles for the illusion of warmth and now it smells like Christmas in here. With nothing but rain in the forecast, and with forecasted highs in the 60’s for the rest of the week, I’ll take my cheer where I can get it.

First, or (since I’m down to the fourth paragraph already) fourth, apologies all around to all of my readers. The last few posts that featured photos were so large that it was taking 2 minutes or more to load the web page. What happened is that in the past I would resize the photos before posting them to keep the load time down. The last few times I forgot to do that and then on top of that I added some animated gifs. So to relieve the wait time (no, not going back and fixing the problem) I have limited the number of posts showing on the main page to 1, especially since this post alone has quite a few (resized) photos. If you want to see the previous posts go down to ‘Archives’ in the left hand column and click on ‘October 2004’, just be prepared for a substantial wait to fully load the page. (I think it’s worth the wait). I’ll keep it set up this way for a few weeks until I get a few more posts ‘under my belt’. If you experienced no such problems then lucky you, and ignore this paragraph. If you don’t know what on earth I’m yammering on about then lucky you, and ignore this paragraph.

Alright, finally to the meat of the post.

Since we moved in S has been chipping away little by little into the lawn (well the weed patch that passes for a lawn) and creating a garden. Well, there were 8, weed choked and summer bedraggled, rose bushes in a corner of the front yard when we arrived and it’s that area that S has reclaimed and expanded. At first we just removed two or three of the truly dead roses and replaced them with a couple of new ones. Then, last fall we planted a few tulips, hyacinths and daffodils in bunches between the roses. This summer we added some snapdragons and geraniums to the edges for summer color. And now we have truly cranked it up a few notches and have added about 50 crocuses, another 20 hyacinths, another 30 or so daffodils and about 50 more tulips. Plus S dug up the dirt along the fence and we planted 6 lavender shrubs there and some 20 crocus between each shrub. The neighbors just look at us and shake their heads. Pretty stupid thing to do on a rental property I suppose, but since we have to look at it for two more years it seems worth the effort. Spring around here is looking to be festive.

This weekend we did some more touring of the country side and we visited a village called St. Cirq La Popie. It is labeled one of the most beautiful villages in France. So of course we had to go. It lies about an hour north of us and just east of Cahors (famous for its regional wines). The town is supposedly crowded with artisan shops and restaurants, though it was pretty quiet when we were there this weekend due to it not being tourist season any more. I think it’s the best way to see the place though because you don’t have to park at the bottom of the hill and climb up and you do not have to fight crowds up and down the narrow lanes. The climb to the observation peak was touted as dangerous and at your own risk, but well worth the wonderful view of the valley and river below.

So without further ado the photos of the day.

This is a grape harvesting tractor dumping its haul of grapes into the trailer to take them to the winery

Look at all of those grapes!

Is that not just beautiful!

Just ripe for the picking.

Hard to see I know, but that is an actual beret on the head of that little old farmer. He's getting ready to hit the road and slow down all of that weekend traffic. The other man standing there is his son. The little old man very proudly told us that his son owns the vineyard now.

St. Cirq la Popie from the road, before crossing the river.

A lane in St. Cirq that leads to the church.

The church (of course) is having its interior renovated so we have no interior photos but this is a photo of the outside from the overlook point.

Looking down on the village as we descend from the overlook.

Yeah, yeah, look at that an actual picture of me, taken at the railing overlooking the valley. No my leg is not up on the railing because I was thinking of jumping.

And look there's S down another charming little lane.

On the way back we stopped in Cahors to wander a bit, not as beautiful as St. Cirq, but tons bigger. We saw this church garden and I just had to have a photo. Notice that the garden borders are actually woven wicker work. We noticed several planters and fences and gates that were woven like that. It was pretty cool.

Well folks that's all for now. Looks like the rain is starting up again.