The Pressure of an Update

Would love to Blog but am driving all over France with La & Mark (Mark is navigator). Touring Paris, Normandy WWII sights, the Mont Saint-Michel, Carcassonne, Wine in Bordeaux, souvenir shopping and who knows what more. So just a quick update to let you know that we are fine and on the move and that I will try to put together a cohesive story of the events of the last week as soon as I can. Probably will have to wait till I arrive in Calif. and maybe even after some goofy wedding I have to attend.

P.S. to Ardo, have moved from not sleeping to actual nightmares. Thanks.

Updates…

Parking….and more.

My French driver’s license is supposed to be ready on June 9th. Two months from the date I dropped off the paperwork. Well, I have one small problem with that. I leave for the US on June 2nd. Since the French took my US drivers license to ‘exchange’ it for one of theirs I currently have no license except for a temporary that runs out on June 9th. This means that I cannot rent a car in SD or even drive one at all in the US. This is a problem.

So today I thought I’d go to the préfecture to see if by some miracle my license was ready. Of course it was not; in fact the young woman at the counter practically laughed at me and said that ‘foreign license’ exchange can take from two to six months. What? Nobody mentioned that before. I explained my problem to her and she kindly agreed to check it out for me. Let’s be clear, the French system is no where near the US modern DMV office, by this I mean that it is not by any means computerized. The whole system seems to rely on these stacks of file folders that are lying in piles everywhere. I’m sure there’s a system there somewhere, but it just doesn’t seem to be a very efficient one. The kind young woman behind the counter returned from her foray ‘in the back’ almost 20 minutes later (I’d begun to organize a search and rescue mission, she’d been gone so long) and assured me that I should be able to pick up my license on May 28th. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed shall we.

The story part of this event however, was not my adventures in French bureaucracy; the story was the 45 minutes it took me to park. I knew parking would be an issue, that’s always the first hurdle to overcome in downtown Toulouse. I have a routine down though; I begin by systematically checking every parking area within a one mile radius and then circle these areas, shark like, waiting for someone to leave. I must say that the French are very creative parkers and if you need to be somewhere, creativity of this sort is necessary, of course so is having a very small car. Though today for the first time ever I saw police writing tickets and I even saw a few cars sporting those lovely ‘boots’, not however any of the creative parkers, just legal parkers who’s meters had run out. Just circumnavigating the parking lots can be an adventure, mostly due to creative parkers that try squeeze in a space at the end of a row (among other places), yeah the end of the row commonly known as THE ROAD! After all the legal spaces are taken people park in a line down the middle of the aisles, then a second row of parallel parkers develops down the middle of the aisle and if two really small cars are parked next to each other and if you are really desperate, and you have a really small car too, you park next to them in the aisle essentially sandwiching a car in the middle that will not be able to leave until one of its neighbors leaves. This along with sidewalk parking and parking on the corners makes for terrific navigational fun.

What the search inevitably boils down to is following someone who appears to be walking to their car, just hanging back and driving in a slow manner reminiscent of Jaws stalking a swimmer, with the ‘Jaws’ theme playing in your head. Of course you do this for the length of half an aisle only to have the ‘swimmer’ cross over to another aisle that you have no hope of reaching in time to take their space. I got so used to not finding a space that I actually passed one by because I didn’t believe it could actually be a space. The little red Smart Car behind me snatched it up right away. I finally found a real parking place that, due to the aisle parkers, took me several back and forth contortions to back into. I backed into it because backing in, though fraught with difficulty, was preferable to the trouble it would later take me to back out of it.

After my prefecture visit I returned to my car and I was considerate enough to walk down the isle that my car was actually parked in so as not to frustrate the stalking ‘sharks’ of which there were many.

The funny thing is that as I drove home I drove down a road that had several open parking spaces, it was difficult to break the invisible magnetic like pull that those empty spaces exerted. Was sorely tempted to pull into one and park. It sure seemed a shame to pass them up.

The Visit

La and hubby arrive in two days. And while trying to calm her through her preparations I am in the midst of chaos here too. I have two suitcases in different stages of packing. Have to pack a small bag for the Paris portion of the visit (said bag will also double as the bag for the Barcelona/Madrid visit) and the large suitcase is being packed for the trip to the US. My twin and I, being the queens of list making, must be responsible for the felling a small section of forest just in pre-trip lists. So much to do! I think I actually have it worse as she is packing for a two week trip, I’m packing for two weekend trips, plus a three month trip, plus trying to stock the house for visitors, plus trying to stock the house for S’s bachelorhood. Yeah, you know I’m just loving all the hubbub.

Books

Of course through all the preparations I have still found time to read.

The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty is a book released only as an audio book and read by the author. I found it to be incredibly sad and at the same time funny. He tells the story of Smithy a 279 pound 43 year old who begins a journey of self discovery after the death of his parents. Finding his old Raleigh bicycle in their garage he embarks on a cross country journey of adventures so far fetched I thought at times it was Big Fish all over again. Still a good book to listen too while biking or walking.

The Wish List by Eoin Colfer – not a fourth Artemis Fowl book, but an altogether different story. Predictable in every way but a lovely story about redemption and forgiveness and with the decisions of heaven or hell hanging the balance. A story about what matters and the how the choices we make affect our lives. It’s a kids book to be sure but I liked it.

The Bitch In The House edited by Cathi Hanauer – This New York Times bestseller is now available in paperback. The cover blurb says it all “26 women tell the truth about sex, solitude, work, motherhood and marriage” Basically 26 essays by women at different stages of their lives, their relationships (or lack off), careers and sacrifices made to have it all. Some of the essays you’ll read and think “Yeah, that’s exactly it” some of them offer interesting alternative views that are in a way eye opening and sometimes sad. I read it in two days and really enjoyed most of it.

The Bastard On The Couch edited by Danial Jones (Cathi Hanauer’s husband) has just come out in hardcover and is the men’s response to ‘Bitch’. “27 men try really hard to explain their feelings about love, loss, fatherhood, and freedom” Interesting reading but I think the men may have missed the ‘honesty’ mark. Still some very interesting perspectives on how men see women and the whole ‘having it all’ myth. Some funny takes on the modern gender roles and the confusing signals men receive. Generally a good read.

Weather

The weather here has finally changed into ‘Sprummer’. It’s gone overnight from highs in the high 50’s to highs in the mid 70’s to low 80’s. I’m trying to expose my legs to some small doses of sunshine on a regular basis in hopes of moving from Albino to merely Blinding before I have to wear a dress for the wedding. I’m told that pantyhose are definitely ‘out’ by my sisters.

That is all from here for now. I’m off to lay a bead of RAID down around the doors and windows to discourage further infiltration of ants and spiders. They are just coming out of the woodwork (I mean brick work) with this warm weather.

What?

What are you looking at? Honestly that's what I want to say. I know I said that I'd stopped caring about looking French and sounding French etc. But why do they always stare at me. Do I have food on my face? Am I supposed to have more than one nose? What? It could be that I'm just self conscious from all of their other abuse, to the point of paranoia, but I don't think so. I keep catching people looking at me and I want to yell, STOP LOOKING AT ME! Except that they wouldn't understand anyway and I'd sound like the 6 year old version of me who used to yell that at my twin sister. Of course then I'd chase her until I'd 'tree' her on the top bunk and she'd freak out and start screaming at me and then mom would come in........What was I talking about?

Had lunch in the mall the other day and even the Great Dane at the next table was staring at me. Of course he was actually watching me eat my pizza with the saddest eyes of I’ve ever seen, watching the pizza go from the plate to my mouth, little dribbles of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth…, but still, he was staring.

Yes I think I’ve mentioned that the French take their dogs into restaurants, haven’t I. The dogs are very well behaved; they just lie under the tables and wait. Well except for the Great Dane the other day who was actually sitting ‘at’ the table.

I thought that I had eradicated all the spiders in the house but apparently they were only hibernating. The other morning there was a ‘hatching’ of spiders or something, because there were about 20 little tiny spiders spread across the ceiling of my bedroom. Trust me, not something you want to wake up to (right Emily?)(say it with me Eeeewwwww) I made S come in and remove them. Ok, ok, exterminate them. Since then I’ve killed 3 more of those big monster ones too. I hate spiders!

Of course they brought their cousins the ants too. I can’t figure where they’re coming from but I’ll find several dozen in a room, spray them with RAID! and won’t see another sign of them until a few days later I’ll find some in another room, spray them and then find more a few days after that. I can’t tell where they’re coming from, they’re not forming the usual line that you can backtrack to its origin, they’re just milling around in the center of the floor as if they were asking directions or they’re at a gallery opening sipping martinis or something.

I’m going to cut my Pepsi intake down from 4 cans a day to 2.

Well Said!

For your reading enjoyment.

The Price of Arrogance By Fareed Zakaria Newsweek International May 17 issue - America is ushering in a new responsibility era," says President Bush as part of his standard stump speech, "where each of us understands we're responsible for the decisions we make in life." When speaking about bad CEOs he's even clearer as to what it entails: "You're beginning to see the consequences of people making irresponsible decisions. They need to pay a price for their irresponsibility." "I take full responsibility," said Donald Rumsfeld in his congressional testimony last week. But what does this mean? Secretary Rumsfeld hastened to add that he did not plan to resign and was not going to ask anyone else who might have been "responsible" to resign. As far as I can tell, taking responsibility these days means nothing more than saying the magic words "I take responsibility." After the greatest terrorist attack against America, no one was asked to resign, and the White House didn't even want to launch a serious investigation into it. The 9/11 Commission was created after months of refusals because some of the victims' families pursued it aggressively and simply didn't give up. After the fiasco over Iraqi weapons of mass destruction, not one person was even reassigned. The only people who have been fired or cashiered in this administration are men like Gen. Eric Shinseki, Paul O'Neill and Larry Lindsey, who spoke inconvenient truths. Rumsfeld went on in his testimony to explain that "these terrible acts were perpetrated by a small number." That's correct, except the small number who are truly responsible are not the handful of uniformed personnel currently being charged for the prison abuse scandal. The events at Abu Ghraib are part of a larger breakdown in American policy over the past two years. And it has been perpetrated by a small number of people at the highest levels of government. Since 9/11, a handful of officials at the top of the Defense Department and the vice president's office have commandeered American foreign and defense policy. In the name of fighting terror they have systematically weakened the traditional restraints that have made this country respected around the world. Alliances, international institutions, norms and ethical conventions have all been deemed expensive indulgences at a time of crisis. Within weeks after September 11, senior officials at the Pentagon and the White House began the drive to maximize American freedom of action. They attacked specifically the Geneva Conventions, which govern behavior during wartime. Donald Rumsfeld explained that the conventions did not apply to today's "set of facts." He and his top aides have tried persistently to keep prisoners out of the reach of either American courts or international law, presumably so that they can be handled without those pettifogging rules as barriers. Rumsfeld initially fought both the uniformed military and Colin Powell, who urged that prisoners in Guantanamo be accorded rights under the conventions. Eventually he gave in on the matter but continued to suggest that the protocols were antiquated. Last week he said again that the Geneva Conventions did not "precisely apply" and were simply basic rules. The conventions are not exactly optional. They are the law of the land, signed by the president and ratified by Congress. Rumsfeld's concern—that Al Qaeda members do not wear uniforms and are thus "unlawful combatants"—is understandable, but that is a determination that a military court would have to make. In a war that could go on for decades, you cannot simply arrest and detain people indefinitely on the say-so of the secretary of Defense. The basic attitude taken by Rumsfeld, Cheney and their top aides has been "We're at war; all these niceties will have to wait." As a result, we have waged pre-emptive war unilaterally, spurned international cooperation, rejected United Nations participation, humiliated allies, discounted the need for local support in Iraq and incurred massive costs in blood and treasure. If the world is not to be trusted in these dangerous times, key agencies of the American government, like the State Department, are to be trusted even less. Congress is barely informed, even on issues on which its "advise and consent" are constitutionally mandated. Leave process aside: the results are plain. On almost every issue involving postwar Iraq—troop strength, international support, the credibility of exiles, de-Baathification, handling Ayatollah Ali Sistani—Washington's assumptions and policies have been wrong. By now most have been reversed, often too late to have much effect. This strange combination of arrogance and incompetence has not only destroyed the hopes for a new Iraq. It has had the much broader effect of turning the United States into an international outlaw in the eyes of much of the world. Whether he wins or loses in November, George W. Bush's legacy is now clear: the creation of a poisonous atmosphere of anti-Americanism around the globe. I'm sure he takes full responsibility. © 2004 Newsweek, Inc.

Important Info!

The Canon MP390

Hey All, This post is directed to all of you who call us via, you know, phone. The rest of you can ignore this post. We just got a great new print/scan/copy/FAX machine. We needed a FAX machine because we can only handle our 'overseas' banking via FAX. Once a month I had to run over to Office Depot or 'Stinky FAX Place' and pay what amounts to about $10 to send a FAX to the US. Sometimes this was a two or three times a month occurance. In time this new machine will more than pay for itself. Anyway, the new FAX is hooked to our phone and is SUPPOSED to automatically handle calls and FAX's. The deal is this, if you call our home number you will hear it ring twice (we won't), then you'll have a semi-short, semi-annoying FAX beep in your ear, then once the machine verifies that you are not indeed a FAX it will ring through to us. So PLEASE, when you hear the FAX beep DO NOT HANG UP! Hang in there and, if we are home, we will answer within a few rings after the beep. I ask offspring, siblings and parental units to please tell each other about this so we insure that everyone knows what's going on as some of you do not read this on a regular basis (shame on you!) If I read further into the stinkin' 190 page manual and find a fix for it I will certainly implement it, so far however, no better solution presents itself. If you find this too anoying, call our cell phone numbers. Love you! And thanks for your understanding with this phone issue.

5:15 A.M.

In the dream I’m standing in a cold, violent rain storm. I’m waist high in quickly running flood water. There is a Baptist women’s choir (don’t ask me) also standing waist high in the freezing flood water, in what used to be the front yard of this pale green and white colonial style house. As I look up at the house through the downpour I see that there are warm lights blazing in every window of the house. I look back at the women who are dressed in pale, pastel colored cotton, summer church dresses.

I think, ‘I think they’re standing in my flowers’.

The drenched women are clinging to each so as not to be swept away by the flood. They’re singing ‘Amazing Grace’ in loud, high quavery voices. Now whether their voices are high and quavery because they’re cold or because they’re old I don’t know. Some of them are only wailing loudly, arms stretched above their heads as if imploring the heavens.

A deep and sonorous TV announcer type voice is saying through the gale, from somewhere far off “…about a mild mannered neighbor who turns out to be more than he appears. But what…” But the voice is drowned out by the storm and I don’t hear any more.

At pressure on my right elbow I turn and look up and Denzel (Yes, Washington! I know!) is standing there in a dark suit, also dripping wet and shivering. He looks down at me and says ‘Come on, let’s get inside.’ He tightens his grip on my arm and forcefully guides me up the stairs to the house.

Half way up the stairs we hear a loud roaring sound. We turn in time to see a long white church bus come to a screeching halt in the driveway. (Or what used to be the driveway.) In large black block letters it says ‘VOLUNTEERS’ on the side. Inside another group of women in pale cotton dresses, stand up, swaying in the flood buffeted bus, and join the women outside in singing ‘Amazing Grace’.

‘An emergency volunteer choir?’ I shout up to Denzel over the noise of the storm.

‘Fake’ he shouts back, as we reach the absolutely dry porch and head toward what I know is an absolutely dry house.

Fake choir? Fake church bus? Fake rain? All questions I’m about to ask Denzel along with many others when…

I’m sitting up in bed. My bed, my dark bedroom. Straining in the dark to hear the sound that woke me. I thought I heard…what? The driveway intercom buzzer? Phone? Alarm clock? Waiting to hear it again. Nothing. Was the sound in my dream or real?

I hate it when that happens.

New Office

Missy's new office - it's a rough life, but someone has to live it.
'Nough said?

Accidental Tourists

Then: (January 26, 2004)...

S is supposed to get a company car. He ordered his car back in September after having been here in France since July, and was told to expect delivery of said vehicle in January. Meanwhile, MCo. is graciously paying for a rental vehicle for S until his new car comes in. The cost of this rental runs the company about €1200.00 per month or in the current value of the dollar about $1513.00 per month. This afternoon, mind you today is January 26th, S received an e-mail saying ‘Oh by the way, we never ordered your car.’ It seems that due to company layoffs S is to receive the new car belonging to someone who has recently been downsized. This person will be done using this car at the end of April, is that OK?! Who the heck is running this company? By the end of April the company will have shelled out 10 months of rental fees totaling €12,000.00 plus ($15,130.00). Isn’t entirely possible that for that price they could have bought a whole new car 10 months ago? Am I the only one that sees the lunacy?

Now:

Well, see the whole adventure started as a non-adventure. I mean, what we originally planned was to go up to Lyon and pick up S's new van. So on Saturday, we got up early and drove the 5± hours to Lyon. The deal was his van had been dropped off at a hotel near the Bron office where MCo. does a lot of business. The keys were to be left with the front desk. So, we simply go to the hotel, pick up the new van, drive to the airport in Lyon, drop off the rental and be on our way. Seems simple right? Well…Mice and Men and all that… We arrive in Lyon, find the hotel easily enough and see the van in the lot. The van is filthy and by the looks of the cottonwood debris all over, it’s been there for a few days. S goes into the hotel while I gather all the stuff up in the rental that will be transferred to the new van. After about 10 minutes of waiting I get this funny feeling that something has gone wrong. Sure enough, I see S come out of the hotel dialing his cell phone. The hotel clerk, whom I will call ‘Rodney’, cannot locate the envelope that contains, among other things, the keys to the van. S is trying to call someone at MCo. but there is no one in the Bron office on a Saturday and S doesn’t have anyone’s home number. S goes back inside and I accompany him. He informs ‘Rodney’ that he cannot raise anyone at the office and ‘Rodney’ informs S that he has been through everything and still can’t find anything with his name or MCo.’s name on it. “Can you call the person who worked at the desk during the day yesterday, and see if they know where the envelope might be?” I ask Rodney in as nice a way as I can, thinking that Rod is only the weekend clerk and that a ‘weekday regular’ may have taken possession of said envelope during, you know, the week. “Well, if there was something it would be here on the message board or locked in a drawer or they would leave me a note.” answers Rod a bit churlishly. “Yes, I understand, but is it possible they forgot to write a note or didn’t lock it up? Maybe you could call them to see if they know of someplace else it could be?” losing patience quickly now. “Well, if there was something, they would have left a note.” Says Rod, now just being obtuse and standing there with his hand on his skinny little hip and gesturing with the other to indicate the desk area. “Yes, but can you call this person, perhaps they forgot?” getting pissed now. S at this point jumps in and thanks Rodney for his help and guides me out of the hotel as I begin to say to Rod “The van is right out there so it seems that the key would be here somewhere.” “Well it is not here” answers Rod as the automatic doors close behind us. I’m pissed, this just another MCo. screw-up and even if it’s the hotel’s screw-up I will blame MCo. It seems logical that if the van is there the key must be there too. So either: a) That is not S’s van and the woman at MCo. failed to deliver it; b) That is the van and she forgot to drop the keys a the desk; OR c) The woman did what she said she would and the hotel has now lost the key. Either way we’re screwed as there will be no one in the MCo. office until Monday morning (around 9ish) and we have now driven 5± hours for no apparent reason. This is where S has the first of his terrific ideas. We’ve driven this far, we are a matter of an hour or two from a couple of European borders so let’s go do something. After careful examination of our handy dandy map, we decide to head to Switzerland. We’ll have lunch in Geneva and then shoot for dinner in Italy somewhere and then head home. Cheered a little by our plan we drive north east. (Side note: I must mention that any ‘Autoroute’ in Europe, well in every European country we have so far visited, is a toll road. If you want to have the convenience of highway driving you must pay for it and it’s not cheap. Due to this same principle, as we approach the Alps it becomes slightly more expensive because we are now also paying for tunnels. Very conveniently the toll roads go right through the Alps rather than driving around and up and down.) Upon crossing the border into Switzerland we were required to pay a 28€ highway tax. Apparently it’s an annual tax; they give you a sticker to place on your window that’s good for that calendar year. So we can come back anytime between now and 12/31 and not have to pay that again. The sticker says it’s only valid if it’s actually ‘stuck’ to your windshield, we however, refused to stick it on the rental; we decided to hang on to it and stick it in the van. We managed to get away with it, so now we’re sort of committed to returning to Switzerland before the end of the year, you know, just so we get our money’s worth out of the highway tax. Despite the cost and the drive though, the Alps were beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so huge and at the same time so surreal. It could’ve been a fake movie backdrop; script one bucolic mountain scene. The mountains were snow capped and purple-grey finishing down below with green hills and forests. Just for a few added touches of perfection the sides of the mountains were dotted with little terracotta colored villages. Villages built so high up on the sides of the mountains that they looked tiny and unreal. In the valleys were a few quickly running streams full of snow melt and more picturesque villages with sheep and cattle dotting the hillsides. I kept a sharp eye out for Heidi but no sightings. There were a few places where I wanted to hop out of the car and run over a green hilltop singing “The hills are alive….” But I just stayed in the car and sang instead. Maybe I’m getting a bit jaded or blasé, but Geneva looked like any other city to me. Well, there is the Rhone running through it and there were swans on the river; that was very pretty. We heard every language known to man spoken on the streets. The shops in the downtown area were very exclusive and way too expensive. But since this was just a quick day trip we didn’t really have time to visit any tourist or historical sites. Since we hadn’t planned on being there we hadn’t researched stuff to see and what’s worse we were not dressed appropriately. I was wearing a linen skirt and t-shirt and S was wearing slacks and a cotton shirt, we had brought coats, but it was damn chilly out there. We had lunch at a good little Chinese restaurant (That’s our goal you know, have Chinese food in every country we visit); we wandered the streets a bit and then got back on the road.

Swiss swan in Geneva

Swiss Alps on the road to Geneva

We initially headed south intending to cross back into France and then head into Italy for dinner, but it was at this point that S had his second terrific idea. Since the van would still have to be picked up at some point, and he was not thrilled about making the trip again next weekend, why not get a room at the hotel and stay the weekend. Maybe the Sunday hotel employee would have additional brain cells and be able to find the keys and if not he would call the Bron office first thing Monday to straighten things out. I must mention that we said ‘key’, but Renault cars now have credit card sized keys you slide into the centre console and push a start button to crank the engine. (Actually it doesn't really ‘crank’ since the same button also stops the engine. Kind of like a light switch. Wonder how that will work when the vehicle is a beater with 300 000 Kms. on it and you have to hold the brake, pump the accelerator and depress the clutch while grinding away at the starter...) We had described the ‘key’ to Rodney and told him that it would probably be in an envelope with Monsanto or SW in writing on it. I mention this key clarification and envelope since it eventually is used against us - why take the blame when it can be place on your customer - I do believe that's the Novotel hotel chain motto. I say this after a weekend of dealing with various hotel employees, because we became well known at the hotel. Word must have gotten around about the situation and the fact that we were staying there until Monday when we could find out who the key had been given to. Everyone knew Monsieur et Madame Walters. Oh and by the way, since this was an unplanned ‘vacation’ we had to make a pit stop at the hyper-marche for basics. You know toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo, conditioner, and hairbrush; oh, and clean under things. Never mind that we both have regular medication that we take and that we were now going to do without for at least 2 days. We’re just fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants type people. We arrived back at the hotel at 21h30 and ducked into the restaurant for a 'ne pas bon' meal. I couldn't finish my very oily omelet and S had cold asparagus with hollandaise sauce. The wine was a ‘not too bad’ Beaujolais. Luckily our waiter had a great sense of humor and enjoyed practicing his English while teasing me about not finishing my dinner and ordering dessert anyway. Crème brûle wasn't too bad but I’ve had much better. Next morning up at the crack of 7, eat a fast and rotten breakfast at the hotel. Say good morning to Rodney at the desk, who looks surprised and a bit worried (good) to see us still there. By 8 we're off to lunch on the Italian Riviera via the French Alps. In addition to our tolls for the Italian auto route we had to pay 28.80€ to cross from France into Italy via an 8 mile long tunnel. It was great. Nothing but beautiful countryside and scenery again. Mountains like none I’ve ever seen before. No one was on the road and we made it through Turin and Savona and into Noli by 1:30. The beautiful beach in Noli is lined with restaurant after restaurant after restaurant after….you get the point. We find a place to park and go into the nearest one. At the front door we’re met with the catch of the day on ice: Lobster, shrimp, clams and a variety of fish. As we go out onto the deck we pass a man making pizzas, hand thrown crusts and fresh ingredients all laid out on the counter. The balcony is 10 yards from the edge of the water where sunbathers have each staked out their own postage stamp sized square of sand. (Mind you these are serious sun worshippers as it’s quite breezy and the temps can’t be above 65°, colder when a cloud drifts over the sun) There was even a man lying in the sand wearing a business suite, apparently working on a face tan, or maybe just napping. We look at the menu and each order our own pizza. Mine was the Margherita with fresh tomato sauce and covered in thin medallions of mozzarella cheese. S had a pizza with 4 formaggi. This restaurant also provided us with a good opportunity to brush up on our Italian…wait, we don’t know any Italian, well except for ‘gracia’, ‘bon journo’, ‘ciao’ and ‘pizza’. Well enough to get by on I guess – after a few Italian beers, S, starts ending each word with ‘a’; Italian is so simple... After lunch we headed to Monaco, just for a quick drive through Monte Carlo. We took the coastal road through small villages and tunnels. (I swear we were in tunnels more than we were out, during that drive). This time of year the country side is gorgeous. Adorable little pastel colored villages with flowers blooming everywhere, especially wisteria. Wisteria was in full bloom over doorways and garden arches, covering fences, garden walls and balcony railings. But by far the most wonderful thing was the Mediterranean. I’ve never seen water that color. (Well, having grown up near the Pacific Ocean (sort of) you’d think that I wouldn’t say that but the Pacific is grey or sickly green most often, due to the pollutants being pumped into it on a regular basis.) The water of the Mediterranean is a clear and cheerful bright blue. A color that makes you think of white washed Greek houses with brightly painted shutters basking in warm sunshine. Water so blue, so bright, that it looks cool and soothing and seems to promise calm and smooth sailing; the boats with their white sails looking serene as they cut their way through the water on to peaceful ports. And on the horizon were the hazy outlines of distant Italian mountains. Our drive takes us on roads that hug the mountains, suspended above this wonderfully blue water; snaking and curving around the coastline. In contrast to all of that peace was Monte Carlo. Monte Carlo is a riot of activity; people, shops and traffic choking narrow roads that are towered over by high rise hotels and condos. The peaceful water was still out there but not seeming to affect the residents and guests of this active city. And this wasn’t even the tourist season. Being here during the busy summer with even more cars and people, would be downright claustrophobic.

View of from our table at Ristorant Vittoria in Noli.

Back to the hotel. Arriving back at the hotel around 9:30 pm we grab a quick burger at McD’s; not willing to face bad hotel restaurant food and needing just a quick meal so we can get to bed. After all tomorrow is another day. Well, tomorrow is the day we’ll solve the mystery of the missing keys and HEADS WILL ROLL, if I have any say in the matter. Up bright and early on Monday morning we get showered and dressed and go back to the McD’s down the street for breakfast. The hotel breakfast at 11€ each is definitely not worth it. For less than 11€ we both had egg McMuffins and some really good coffee. We’re trying to kill some time as no one will be in the office until at least 9:00 or later. The French are very casual about when they actually arrive at and begin work. Closing times however are strictly observed and you will be hard pressed to find anyone who works late. Anyway, at 9:30 we clear out of the hotel room and take things out to the rental. From there S calls Lydia at MCo. and explains the happenings of the weekend. She is truly apologetic that we had to ‘waste’ an entire weekend and make such a long drive to have this happen. She says she’ll get on the phone to the hotel right away and find out what happened as she did leave the keys there on TUESDAY when she dropped the van off. S hangs up with Lydia and we slowly stroll back into the main lobby of the hotel where we find one woman on the phone – presumably with Lydia – and two other people scurrying around. The woman on the phone is speaking irritatedly to Lydia and throwing things around on the counter. She eyes us as we come through the front doors and tones down her throwing. We stand near the counter watching the activity like two second grade tattle tales smugly watching the rest of the class catch hell. At last the woman on the phone goes into a back office and comes out a few moments later with a large brown envelope that says both MCo. and SW on it. She snippily says something to Lydia on the phone and hangs up, turns to us and in that same snippy tone says “I thought we were looking for a lost set of keys, I didn’t know that this is what you were asking for.” Oooohh!! Snappy retorts and comebacks start to whirl in my mind. I’m about to let loose a tirade when S takes my hand and says ‘C’est pas grave.’ Not a problem. NOT A PROBLEM! Taking deep breaths I stand there mutely glaring at ‘Irritated phone lady’ as another clerk checks us out. ‘Irritated phone lady’ is glaring at us from the other end of the desk where she is giving another guest directions to the mall and pretending to ignore us. The least they could do is give us one night free at the hotel since it was their screw up that kept us there. This I’d like to say along with several other things, but I don’t because S is keeping an eye on me to be sure I don’t misbehave. Well since Monday was pretty much shot as a workday for S, and since we did still have a 5 hour drive home ahead of us, we decide to drive south to Marseille for lunch and then head home. After dropping the rental off at the airport we headed south. I spent the drive reading the owners manual for the van and translating bits of it for S. The first problem we had was that the van has an automatic parking brake. So as soon as you park the van the parking brake is automatically set. In theory when you put it into gear and give it a little gas the brake automatically disengages. Of course this doesn’t work if you’re going in reverse and it took us five minutes of reading and translating to figure out how to manually disengage the brake. All gages and instrumentation are on a central console, including the radio information. Of course we couldn’t find the actual radio. We supposedly have a CD player in the van but couldn’t locate that either. I eventually found a remote control unit tucked into one of 5 ‘glove boxes’ in the front of the van. It controls the radio and CD changer. That was fun, but we couldn’t find the CD changer to put CD’s into. (Eventually located it in a rear wheel well two days later) The van has back up sensors which we figured out, cruise control which we still have not figured out and it even has sensors in the tires to tell you when they are low on air. The darned thing does everything but drive itself.

Renault Espace 2.2 l. diesel

Marseille is a huge city. It has to be the second largest city in France. It seemed even larger I suppose because the first glimpse we got of it was at the crest of a hill coming toward the coast. The entire city laid out before us in a giant bowl shaped valley. Terracotta tiled roofs spreading all the way to the edge of the water. The harbors alone are massive. Train yards, at least 3 cruise ships berthed nearby and in another area 5 giant ferries loading up to cross to Italy, Algeria, Corsica, Egypt and Turkey. Then there were the harbors filled with private sailing vessels of every size and description. We had lunch at a sidewalk restaurant near one of the small docks. I had an incredible lunch of this penne pasta with slices of grilled duck breast and this incredible creamy, black olive and red wine sauce that was to die for! It was so incredibly delicious I practically licked the bowl. I don’t know what S ate, heck I don’t think I heard anything he may have said during the meal, I was so enraptured with my little bowl of heaven. Dessert was a real let down, worst crème brûle I have ever had I had two bites and was done. But really nothing could over shadow that great lunch. After that we drove around the town, up and down hills and winding streets. S saw a church at the top of a tall hill and made a beeline for it. It was the Notre Dame de la Garde Basilica and it was gorgeous. The basilica dates back to 1214 and has a gigantic statue of the Blessed Mother carrying her Son who is blessing the city and its harbors, as well as all those who come to Marseilles. From the ramparts of the Basilica you can see all of Marseilles and the circling mountains. From there you can also see the many little islands in the harbor including the Château d’If. Yes folks the Château d’If! Significant to all of us Count of Monti Cristo fans. How cool is that! Well home again, home again. It was a long and boring drive back after that. We hit the main highway that led away from the coast and through land that seemed exceedingly flat after our mountain adventures. We got home Monday night tired and in desperate need of a change of clothes and considerably poorer from our 3 day unplanned vacation, but still in a way exhilarated from our adventures.

S from the ramparts of Notre Dame de la Garde with the port of Marseilles behind him.

Interior of Notre Dame de la Garde

That little island out in the middle of the bay is the Château d’If.