tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-324698802024-03-18T15:58:05.921-04:00An Accidental BlogAn author and a newspaper man move to FrancePaulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.comBlogger2048125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-46148245750091257372023-05-18T01:46:00.001-04:002023-05-18T01:52:39.497-04:00Cockadoodle Doo or Cocorico?<p> We stood in the middle of the road, having walked together 13 miles that day and Claudine grasped my forearm.</p><p>"Mais non! It doesn't make sense. It doesn't sound like that at all!" she insisted. </p><p>This passionate response from my French friend came after she asked me what we say in America for the sound a rooster makes. </p><p><img id="id_5116_7d77_638d_e7a5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AFGJ81r5D5TO2xd0JXawJNb9KZfCn-QHhe6XjQ9G91FzIqVLlUvJVFGeCPwsHziAPWWcFkMysDtzXrx10O8TNyn7bcGgoGDwyg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p>Maybe I didn't sell it to her, I think, and I make a crowing sound like "Cock a doodle doo!"</p><p>"Non, it's cocorico. It sounds just like a rooster!" she insisted. </p><p>"It sounds like a drink," I insisted. "I'll have a cocorico in Puerto rico."</p><p>We were both bent over laughing as we continued walking down the road, the sun shining on us after walking five and a half hours so far. We had started that morning in Figeac, France, in the Lot region. We'd left behind the more extreme mountain climbs in the Aude for rolling hills and homes built of bleached stone with carefully sculpted roof tiles. We planned to walk four days along one of the many trails that lead to El Camino de Santiago in Spain. In France, the routes are called Chemin de Saint Jacque de Compostelle </p><p><img id="id_5929_f3da_72d1_edf0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AFGJ81rcv7ypicPLqs_DZKV624BLjFD4FzTX-bul_9YLlwmDd_LLSwltOVBO1I5kp-GulT6zmvxNlbPNgJPl_J_kLaV50ZLYTA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p>On Tuesday we dropped the car in St. Cirq la Popie, our ending point, and we took the bus back to Figeac. We found a restaurant in Figeac, eating dinner at 8 p.m. When we opened the menu, we nearly fainted at the perfection. I had told Claudine on the bus that I hadn't eaten foie gras or duck since I'd been back in France. Then we searched for a restaurant that served foie gras. We ended up at La Puce a l'Oreille in Figeac. Starting with foie gras then moving on to magret de canard (duck). </p><p>"If we eat foie gras for dinner every night, we'll gain many kilos before we get home," Claudine pointed out before taking a bite of the starter and pausing for the sheer pleasure of it in her mouth. </p><p>If ever there was a meal fit for the word sublime, this was it. The setting, the service, the food. Surely we were ready for our hike the next day. </p><p><img id="id_5a64_8ff1_1b3f_f363" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AFGJ81q69VpeasgkJkIgMyp1G6yxTWpX1NzmWSP56VLM-t5gRhFm_XMUSo9vh3EtLs8iIpfsLkN-2yz6lQoRmmeJFEBWBKvzaQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p>The jovial host at the B&B saw us off after coffee and croissants. We stopped at a bakery for a baquette sandwich -- jambon sec, butter and lettuce. The bakery server cut the sandwich in two so we could share it later. And, voila, we were off. The trail would be 21 kilometers from the Figeac to Corn. </p><p>Corn is a strange name for a town, but in France, they don't call corn corn. They call it <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">maïs </span>with two syllables. A fairly steep climb took us out of Figeac, but the entire hike, 15 miles, we only climbed about 1400 feet, which we struggle up in 45 minutes leaving our town.</p><p><img id="id_7cc4_5535_232f_d525" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AFGJ81r-oYMFQQVNI4rHRpBNcZcp1S-5kY4iNIOI_nD4k48Rao5AIiUBacMjovcq8yHnunLf23e5f0BWJMaReoornsTRfMGq" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p>Hiking long distances in France is very different from the United States. We don't carry tents and sleeping bags. We don't pack our bags with beans and rice to eat over a fire. We walk from town to town and sleep in a gites or B and B. We have dinner in a restaurant or at the host's table. </p><p>After a few hours of hiking, we ventured through the village Faycelles and stopped to take pictures of the irises lining stone steps. At the top, we stopped for coffee and a panoramic view of the valley and river below. </p><p>Two hours later in Beduer, we walked into town to find that the only store near the trail had closed at 12:30. We couldn't buy drinks for lunch, but we had our water and our sandwich. Claudine had brought along two pain au chocolat from the day before, so we had those for dessert as we sat at a concrete table by the cathedral with a view of a nearby chateau. We chatted with hikers from Canada, from Nantes and Orleans France. Most of the hikers on this trail are from France. </p><p>During our six hour hike, Claudine had declared it "French speaking only" so that I could practice my French. Walking and following trail markers and trying to speak only French, it was a challenge. But by the end of the day, I wondered if I'd be able to speak English when I called Earl later. </p><p><img id="id_9d3d_c6ba_70bc_3018" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AFGJ81rLFxtiHR3YQ-XGAK1kHeweFMQrW_49xqXawRQnv8GkJaDM3S1jJKoKp5lfTtQKohOyem_IydMadli9oFQF3RzLCOKGhw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></p><p>We walked a few kilometers outside of Corn to our BnB, thinking we would never get there. Stopping to take pictures of a field of poppies. A climb up to the BnB and we were greeted by a giant white Great Pyrenees dog with deep woofs.</p><p>Finally, after 15 miles, 22 kilometers, we could take our shoes off our tired feet. Rinse the salt of sweat from our bodies and enjoy another great meal, this time of cucumber in creme fraiche for starters then couscous with lamb and carrots followed by gelato. </p><p><br></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-85652805376937083852023-01-17T10:36:00.005-05:002023-01-17T10:36:51.420-05:00Weather and Marriage<p> This morning I jauntily set off on my run. The weather app showed cloudy skies and nothing to worry about until high winds around 1 p.m. The temperature was 7 C, that's about 44 Fahrenheit. As I ran my 5K, I stopped and shot a picture of a rainbow. What luck!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxaVdqK3x8XThdCyBgcydCvKMx-L44od9dwFM-qzdaIGruadqXOgnSamC3Sk9FXW82H9VGn7rXboMuWbsrqeQm6DzOCibvXiKhiLWVQ-j-TryD6TNPDgeJDmY0J0-jvRwEWyC9lrjM60ZuqelP90aiQBgTTanxMC6LxH1rXAxCqJlNoAk/s4032/Rainbow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxaVdqK3x8XThdCyBgcydCvKMx-L44od9dwFM-qzdaIGruadqXOgnSamC3Sk9FXW82H9VGn7rXboMuWbsrqeQm6DzOCibvXiKhiLWVQ-j-TryD6TNPDgeJDmY0J0-jvRwEWyC9lrjM60ZuqelP90aiQBgTTanxMC6LxH1rXAxCqJlNoAk/w300-h400/Rainbow.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>When I turned back toward home, the rainbow wasn't visible and the wind began to pick up. Soon the rain joined it. A light misting at first, then it began to pour in earnest. I usually finish my runs with a walk to stretch, but the dire weather convinced me to keep running until the end as hail began to pelt the bill of my Nike cap. </p><p>I made it inside the kitchen, soaked and shivering. </p><p>"Well that was unexpected," I called to Earl as I walked in the house. </p><p>He came to the kitchen and held up my bath towel. "Need this?"</p><p>I pulled off my hat and my jacket, handing them to him. I untied my soaked shoes and peeled off my socks so I wouldn't leave wet footprints on the tile floor. </p><p>"Is that it?" Earl asked, gesturing to my shirt and my pants.</p><p>"Yeah, I'll hang my pants on the radiator upstairs," I told him. </p><p>He turned to strategically place my wet clothes on the radiator in the kitchen. </p><p>"No show today, folks!" he said to himself.</p><p>"You've seen this show plenty of times," I reminded him. </p><p>"Yeah, but it never gets old. That's why I bought season tickets."</p><p>Guess I'm pretty lucky after 32 years of marriage. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YhrhiR7ca-ir6bwqxA-eQyWjXiAyq4owoZha9cUExGbqk4hwKBiGpj_Jdc6j3NxXevO--sL9hpXfPOxrcgyVeTS7rjtc368qVUDwNGaCqodb0YVlfKrA0mnvO6qJUxbMEQBalY-APxgHwI_4KKe5akGLD-PQIjp9XDM8LQLqeYTlQLo/s4032/baseball%202022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YhrhiR7ca-ir6bwqxA-eQyWjXiAyq4owoZha9cUExGbqk4hwKBiGpj_Jdc6j3NxXevO--sL9hpXfPOxrcgyVeTS7rjtc368qVUDwNGaCqodb0YVlfKrA0mnvO6qJUxbMEQBalY-APxgHwI_4KKe5akGLD-PQIjp9XDM8LQLqeYTlQLo/w400-h300/baseball%202022.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-43780026005302005232022-07-05T10:42:00.005-04:002022-07-05T10:42:47.497-04:00The Opposite of Sun Worship<p> It gets hot in the south of France. Summer days can soar into the 90s or even 100 Fahrenheit; that's in the 30s Celsius. </p><p>And like most people in France, we don't have air conditioning. We get only a few moments of smugness as we consider that we aren't harming the environment, before the sweat wipes away that do-gooding feeling. </p><p>So how do we stay cool in the summer? It's about 75 degrees Fahrenheit (23 C) inside our thick- walled house, but that's only because we have learned how to keep it cool. </p><p>Usually, we throw open the shutters on our windows in the morning to embrace the sun, </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1024_c203_33b7_9f10" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/LIlMq-vyfeX3dga_ecQtbiK55W7hG5GZn9yth2FL5NctANJOwz7PjYHVQKTVrD8I_Kk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sun peaks over the mountains in the morning.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>but in summer, I prop the wooden shutters open like a tent rather than opening them fully. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9_a292_212d_589e" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/tDBH0PO09H2CP0-Xoktcwx9-8uRKyztCS6ONQFF0G7Qy6WW36SJdH_BCqgjBtHKisRc" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The muted light filters in and the air can circulate</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Sometimes I close the windows as well. At night, I do the opposite, I throw the shutters open, allowing the light from nearby street lights to fill the bedroom as the cool air filters through our lace curtains. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_94ad_9d08_689d_d95b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/rgTaKNLD_zsUQvoxj3OEvNqZK9u8iluBPLRfZf2IreSC7hsEaCSacv8w3ni1q4mgeb4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sun peeping through the guest bedroom window</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The most important thing is to protect the indoors from the strong sunshine. We also keep the fans running -- overhead fans in the bedrooms and office. Standing floor fans in the downstairs rooms. </p><p>Even with our shutter method, the upstairs is decidedly warmer than the downstairs by evening, but once the sun goes down, the shutters are opened and I place a fan in front of the window to suck in the cooler air. </p><p>At night, the temperature has been dropping down to 16 or 17 Celsius, in the 60s Fahrenheit. That gives the house a chance to cool off before the next day's heat assault. </p><p>Once you get used to it, it doesn't seem so hard to live without air conditioning. After all, we've already adapted to only run the dishwasher and the washing machine at night when the electricity prices are lower. <br /><br /></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-12112018357717328552022-07-03T13:45:00.002-04:002022-07-03T13:45:36.615-04:00A Moment in TimeFor the past six months, I’ve taken a picture on the last day of each month of the bridge and river on my way home from a walk or run. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_f262_a70e_e11d_90e0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/YFALnt6DHbtYMlYQaB3nyI3PGzwQyNiU1zLktTClxmE38fxDEh3lY0x_a9pxQTwnI1E=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunny January but the trees that aren't conifers are bare</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_5dcf_d2d3_f420_fa30" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/txMYK2UiiyGH2EjY7BIIM-uMkgI0DJLyRX0ZGVyafek7ZRwCIcGVhWqbiG3Um0yVOso=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February things began to sprout</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_2359_9e5_6cef_3054" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/n9V5y4vnQEKBBIdj1CYhFd2lhmkeBQCMDT7-Fvh4wtd2FuUI3BPAnZsxY__DxWBMgNY=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March and the mountains start to look green</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_1be8_3bc7_70b2_1876" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/QACV4RocMiMo5pH5jRbC9bMtohV4vaHmiJwTvDhdmD27fK_kMlto4W18zlug-2Ltizc=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April going out like a lion with rain</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="367" id="id_5d16_7b87_f816_7f77" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/2E9hw93dKZCL4OUMqCmtv6pjKT2FdXqA4942B5ZAjh_cW9PwyU2x6RddzY1ukjYm3jI=w400-h367" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In May the river was lined with flowers</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_17b7_3524_349_aaf6" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/UeL7j4ShU5w7_KUCRavlQCk8afuRyGPF8A2n9focqJcmrG_aP0R2pCopWfZkOKXVTmU=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a sad June picture, overcast and the water severely down,<br /> but some rain is predicted this week</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>This last picture is the view from the bridge, back toward where I usually shoot the picture. The road isn't really visible, but you can see the cemetery that borders the road. <br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_56ef_6e8b_975f_a4b7" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-hmYY2d271O8aTw6AvKt4-5g5B6Gf5SULdWt3iOh6jiQ22pE5CSSBBdye6tAYqsgXWY=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On July 2, I was walking across the bridge and caught this fisherman in action. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />I won't get to take pictures on the last day of the month for the next few months. We're headed back to the States to spend some time with Mom and Dad. Dad is freshly out of the hospital and we have no reason not to go help out, except that we may miss some parties, and even I'm not that selfish. </div><div>Hopefully, we'll get to enjoy the summer fêtes in France next year. </div><div>This year though, we'll get to enjoy August in Florida. <br /><br /></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-58809331150322441972022-06-16T03:48:00.001-04:002022-06-16T03:52:57.139-04:00French Bread SecretsIt’s true that many places in France have baguette vending machines. Baguettes are iconic in France, and a meal isn’t a meal without bread. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c60e_b9e_b230_ddc1" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/r1KnHHfDNR_qnTnpGTxgEvXIzJpQfSM6RvqhCC4SLoq7s-qX0slvFI_Lj_Us54beXKg" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The vital vending machine</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />This morning, after an hour-long hike before the temperatures rise too high, I stopped at the bakery and saw a woman filling the baguette machine. </div><div>I knew I needed to peek inside to learn the secrets of the baguette vending machine and share it too. </div><div>The young woman politely stepped back and let me snap a picture while juggling the bread and pastries I had already purchased. </div><div>Et voilà! </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9e3a_26f_7610_4007" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Q38ZLeZ9HGxuz91z_3zpaBhmiYS7Q3kY5DdpHkNnGv-G3bL3VFJgnh_1oYTRHw0mdq0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inner workings</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Baguettes lined up in a row waiting for customers to put their 1,20 in and have a baguette slide into their hands. </div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-90804012754544594062022-05-22T04:53:00.004-04:002022-05-22T04:53:45.797-04:00@AmericanAirlines - You Broke a Mother's Heart Last Night<p> I can't tell you how excited I have been for the past few weeks as I anticipated Spencer's visit to us in France.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PUoe5U8IowiUXKC5F8B3ysJtme7rojKfqY2ldSrqV85KPEFkYNMZCEkzV2zdLfGZwASFWsaEq9pzNYm-xbO_FyD4MEaDqb0ifYLfVmAt27Swvj91jsmYGXitGIEnyl40mbhiyQiVhmXpdQu8GcSfiC_o1PB6SPDTyfNiYs_d11ZliLc/s4032/IMG_6996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PUoe5U8IowiUXKC5F8B3ysJtme7rojKfqY2ldSrqV85KPEFkYNMZCEkzV2zdLfGZwASFWsaEq9pzNYm-xbO_FyD4MEaDqb0ifYLfVmAt27Swvj91jsmYGXitGIEnyl40mbhiyQiVhmXpdQu8GcSfiC_o1PB6SPDTyfNiYs_d11ZliLc/w400-h300/IMG_6996.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spencer visited us in 2018 before we moved to the South of France</td></tr></tbody></table><p>He has never been here and my hope is that when he walks in the door he feels that same relief, the feeling of coming home, that I do when I visit my parents. </p><p>He scheduled a week off work. That's not easy as an American. We don't get that many weeks. He paid for his own ticket, choosing a slightly more expensive flight so he could limit his airport time. He paid for a checked bag and an aisle seat. </p><p>We planned to pick him up in Barcelona then to drive to Roses, Spain, a beach community on the Mediterranean to spend a night before returning to our home in the south of France. </p><p>We filled out the required forms for him to enter Spain. He got to the airport in Columbus two hours early to check in and he waited for his flight to Philadelphia where he would board his 7:30 flight to Barcelona, arriving there around 9 on Sunday morning. Then he learned the plane from Columbus to Philadelphia was going to be late, then later. Finally, he realized he would miss his connection in Philadelphia. </p><p>He went onto American Airlines chat hoping for help. He stood in line at the American Airlines desk hoping for help. Finally, the agent told him there was a solution. He could catch the Philadelphia flight Saturday evening. Wait in the airport overnight. Take a flight to Boston the next morning at 9 a.m. then wait in the Boston airport for 12 hours before flying to Barcelona and arriving there on Monday around noon. </p><p>That sounded like hell. An extra 27 hours in the airport. </p><p>He called me on FaceTime. I had been lying in bed texting with him as the clock ticked past midnight here. When he called, I scurried from the darkened bedroom to a room with light. His handsome but frustrated face looked at me from the screen. What should he do? </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4ejwlXFHb3JaDjcCA_Y1QF7vkeWv-McfE1FfHrJKipmGwamPTI2IF2leH_5_dI9DyLa_qd5TVYLC1GcDTOXYbiuA4sAK8gZt2AblRN6EPNv_QHCdVmRjLIOBKJhE8_DnMIZGe9XuXLW6lmiUIO_nHmIKw2D_MzKR1YFep6wKtViruuI/s3088/IMG_7242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4ejwlXFHb3JaDjcCA_Y1QF7vkeWv-McfE1FfHrJKipmGwamPTI2IF2leH_5_dI9DyLa_qd5TVYLC1GcDTOXYbiuA4sAK8gZt2AblRN6EPNv_QHCdVmRjLIOBKJhE8_DnMIZGe9XuXLW6lmiUIO_nHmIKw2D_MzKR1YFep6wKtViruuI/s320/IMG_7242.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spencer and Tucker leaving Paris in 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I didn't think anyone deserved 27 extra hours in the airport when they had scheduled a 12-hour flight. He decided to cancel and go home. And that's when my heart broke, realizing I wouldn't be able to hug him, to chat with him as we sat on the beach, to introduce him to all the friends we have made here, to show him amazing castle ruins or take him on bike rides. </p><p>I slept for a few hours then woke up, worried about him, his disappointment, my disappointment. I wondered if he could get a flight from Cincinnati. It has more international flights and is only 90 minutes away. </p><p>I sent him a text, and even though it was the middle of the night for him, he got on chat with American Airlines. No, they told him, he had asked for a reimbursement so now they couldn't help him. </p><p>No take backsies. </p><p>I tried to convince him, via text, to use his charm, but he was pissed by then, and most of us would have been. </p><p>Sunday morning, Earl and I went on a 20-km bike ride hoping it would help relieve some stress, but it only made me sadder.</p><p> The airline should help him get to Barcelona. Why couldn't they arrange a flight for the same price he paid when we booked six weeks earlier? We weren't booking last minute because of our poor planning. It was their last-minute cancellation that caused us to need a last minute flight. </p><p>So many companies could boost their image if they made some sensible choices by helping clients where they can. I'm not asking for a reimbursement of the hotel costs that we paid for rooms in Roses. I only want my son here for a week, even fewer days now that the original flight was canceled. </p><p>I just want to give him a hug. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-53497856711316693692022-04-12T07:04:00.000-04:002022-04-12T07:04:36.211-04:00Finally Covid<p> Two weeks ago, I started having cold symptoms -- scratchy throat and coughing overnight. I tested at home. Negative for Covid. I tested a few more times throughout the week and continued to be negative as my voice took on a deep throaty sound. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_c4ec_84bb_af21_413e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/EJ0okCjmVPOaj2UsaMV0dr3HYo0LI60E7MVqj4sApn1FYz9Y-JVC7v79x5jYYJlFt1k=w300-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While I lay about in bed, spring finally arrived here in the South of France. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Some friends suspected it was allergies, others diagnosed me with a cold. </p><p>On Wednesday, I was feeling bad enough that I told Earl he could go to a checkup doctor appointment without me. </p><p>On Sunday we were scheduled to go to a ski resort with some friends. I decided to test one more time on Saturday. Surprise! I had Covid. I don't know at what point I went from cold or allergies to Covid, but I had tested negative throughout, until I didn't anymore.</p><p>Some people say those at home tests don't work, but when I tested for Covid, the line for positive appeared within seconds. There was no need to wait 10 or 15 minutes. I walked down to the pharmacy for an official test and they confirmed that I had Covid. In France, if you have a medical card (Carte Vitale), the test is free if you have symptoms or have been in contact with someone who had Covid. The pharmacy test result included a code that I could scan to the Covid app, and it would notify people who had come in contact with me. </p><p>I cancelled our hotel reservations and isolated in our bedroom suite -- bedroom, office with terrace and bathroom. (It sounds more plush than it is, at least until the bathroom gets redone in June.) I didn't feel horrible: just a headache, fever and tired. For three days, I stayed upstairs, sleeping frequently, requesting a pitcher of water so I could refill at my leisure. Earl made me meals and ran to the store for things we needed. Until he tested positive on Tuesday. </p><p>Then we figured we could just have a Covid house instead of a Covid suite of rooms. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="400" id="id_530_a4f8_7902_1528" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/FCq49V1VS4si-g_C8TuRc_1Vg_L7ZSqRSWw7LJ29Z296bGmwYGF_OMamy7l7ysBbT4s=w300-h400" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once I was allowed to roam the house, I made a big pot of chicken noodle soup. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>After five days of resting, I tested negative in a home test. The next day I went to the pharmacy and they confirmed that I was negative. Friends, of course, were so helpful, going to the store to pick up groceries and offering lots of help while we were both sick. </p><p>Now we're on day 8. Earl, who previously didn't believe the at-home tests worked, is continuing to test positive. The tests cost 1.95 euros per test at the grocery. Since Earl is still positive, but I feel I have a golden pass for a couple of months, I've gone out to meet with friends for coffee or walks, but I am getting a bit anxious to resume our busy social life. </p><p>So far, none of our friends have said they caught it from us. That is one thing I worried about. </p><p>Thank goodness for the vaccine which made my case of Covid so mild. I know people who still struggle with breathing difficulties two years after their initial case of Covid. </p><p>The illness was worse than a cold but definitely not as bad as the flu, for me. But perhaps the healing process was helped by being forced to isolate so I had days to just rest so I could get better. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-77019834260471300232022-03-02T02:20:00.001-05:002022-03-02T02:49:12.869-05:00Birthday Extraordinaire <div>Last week I celebrated a birthday. Not a milestone birthday, but everyone made it feel so special. </div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_f676_d68_e9b7_8ff" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/txzlw_6E2NZWjsylQyzFrbRus6zC_QXm5ayjVM72yNthJ76mvxSnu4sL3sA3QWDV_Kg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br>Starting with my friends Claudine and Ray who couldn’t be with me but made a giant sign in the sand. </div><div>I began the day with a run then showered and met friends at the cafe for coffee and viennoiseries (breakfast pastries) but since it was my birthday, I got a l’éclair au café. Normally that would be an after lunch or dinner pastry. </div><div>Next, we were off to Narbonne Plage. No sit-down restaurants were open but we found a bar that served paninis and fries as we sat on a swinging seat and sipped our Aperol spritzes. </div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_73fc_2d08_22a6_97a8" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/W2iBljOEP06BsqYlTj6HE3F-li9-AVTkF9i0_VmXVJn_iuMe1-UXbqHfy4w0x3GkNCI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Afterwards we headed down to the beach for a walk and some sand time. It was sparking and not too windy. I only put my feet in the water. </div><div><img id="id_94fb_71fc_2812_512f" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/YWvOYn4g_Za-3YY85N8N9-9beqLdrCh06ELAFoRT7xiq7o55qHSJzX7xwupr22uIdQo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>Next we drove to Narbonne and walked around the old city. The square was full of people soaking up the sun.</div><div><img id="id_c62a_150e_117b_9117" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/ultEDdLa9YOIGKp-8Gzlb_zmabO6OYKhPVoDEB59TbKeb6HCx_Pu8WxL-9hZOAaSxNc" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div> A Roman road rests in the middle of the square, about 8 feet lower than today’s plaza. <br><img id="id_f071_c91f_e61b_a22a" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/pEU8uylHCCJ36fw5DuWEkQSNu_cDydEKyy1u_A3YBcHhw0Pllcx6e4_lmaoh9yEW3qs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"></div><div>This is a picture of the road from a previous trip to Narbonne. </div><div>This road originally ran from the Mediterranean to Briancon in the Alps. </div><div>Next we explored the cathedral in Narbonne which is always striking. <br></div><div><img id="id_7aac_9236_c4d7_b886" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/nSIXIqEe_qAB_9rm2WMBnagpJyCLzDEvZ58_8bePMtzVbmg_qaC6Ei7VmWJiB-MbZc0" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>No filter. That’s how blue the sky was. </div><div><br></div><div>We got home in the evening in time to chat with all the kids and mom and dad back in the States. </div><div>Some amazing gifts included an espresso maker, an olive tree for the terrace, some luxurious bath gels, a blooming hyacinth, a silk scarf and robe, a sparkly green plant, a bottle of champagne and the pleasure of spending time with my amazing friends. </div><div>Just another birthday in France. . </div><div><br></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-53541095990468472362022-02-16T08:58:00.003-05:002022-02-16T08:58:25.006-05:00Winter Life in FranceWinter life is different because fewer people are out and about. <div>This has been a cold winter compared to last when it only got down to freezing 3 or 4 times. This year the temperature hovered around 0 Celsius for about two weeks when we awakened. But sometimes the temperature would soar to the 60s (midteens Celsius) under very blue skies. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_56b0_e9a_e946_a36a" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1646_ff94_dfdd_a3b6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/4e08yFCJvGO3n5GcGrBmGmN4g8UjWDT2voQKlQ7rbAI4njlaWXqNQkYRDlpwc0Ib1a8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frost still on the ground but the sun has reached the mountains.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I prefer a nice moderate temperature, like this morning it was 8 Celsius, about 46 Fahrenheit. Perfect for brisk walks or runs. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_ed49_1e9_8c3f_c7b0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1d10_2bbd_2e25_554d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/pyxCrmJqUQs3tcpJ7UmOcW4yhsXks9v6bT74LpN4GkctdnBwvrguWdDovBWeQdhKTRg" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've had a few foggy mornings too. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />We’ve been getting together with friends and taking care of necessary items, like this year’s visa, or titre de séjour. Ours is safely in hand for another year. After five years in France, we can apply for a 10-year card; I'll need to pass a French test and we'll have to show them five years of taxes, so fingers crossed that we succeed next year. They have an age limit, and over 65, visitors don't have to pass the language test. </div><div>We've had a few outings. </div><div>I explored Perpignan with a friend and we found a cozy alley filled with people drinking outdoors and listening to music. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_4196_894f_6b7d_7490" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8faa_b76b_5610_ab69" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/QsRB2DDMsmhPKRTat0trIYb3WesxXtNljnXOQEKuOUPkOzKUN5TrLQsY8SBwRynkaU8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aperol Spritz and Vermouth and soda</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Then we went to a nearby restaurant for a scrumptious meal. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_e062_a501_991a_4e12" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b22a_176a_aaad_b902" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/6m27W2fKOSUhq0sP0RfSXMenlQrJdoYzT4M9Z5w5Zc594Kst00ikDA6RUfgjWV2DiTs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hope they don't run out of wine!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />I had croquette beouf confit while my friend had La Ricaine -- fries, eggs, and bacon with gravy. A perfect Sunday brunch food. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_9602_5065_9e7a_a06d" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a085_c275_72cd_fbf9" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/fspJ_dk21SxHKE1oU8g6IMjO8XxzspqcjKpZCiTYNaxdEZIpe2r6Qrx76s-3Oa3Wtz8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We sat at the bar in front of the chefs</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We also took an outing to the beach, of course. Isn't there something about February that makes everyone want to go to the beach?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The sun was warm and the beach was inviting, but we weren't crazy enough to go in, although we saw some people going in wearing wet suits, and another guy inching into the water while wearing only a tiny speedo. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last week, my friend's mother died and we traveled to her funeral. It was my first French funeral. It was catholic, so that felt familiar, even though in French. <br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_2851_99c2_8241_2ba9" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_61b5_27d3_b7b0_8509" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Ig4Hq73_qTf8WXhmNYARASLeqQFnGE5C6AYQL4_xLM_rdoC4L5xPixi480NEDqhdrsU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The church was amazing. (I only took this picture after the congregation had filed out.) </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />I wasn't sure about going to the burial, picturing a long procession of cars driving to some far away cemetery. But that's not how it happens here. Instead, everyone walked behind the hearse as it made its way through town, police stopping traffic, and we wound our way through the streets to the cemetery just outside of town.</div><div>It felt very intimate to walk behind the coffin and escort it to its final resting place. Prayers at the cemetery and then people filed past to say their final goodbye. Very touching.<br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_c846_cf90_1c98_c8dc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_59d9_3b97_f33_a443" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/xyUHWz-GUwUVuwGjLP1m9OTwDoA5ycIZPNVGGtC0bqye2c6WVDHp1edELpsZ-AS0wzc" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sun shone during the burial, but in the opposite direction, the sky turned dark and ominous. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5f0d_2d1b_1dd5_1c50" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/JDNznb7ckwxkYnXQgw4YBATLen7WMFyAiYguzIcuzS6I63_Sd0_nGETLTg1lkImxNa0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grateful the rain held off during the service</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Tonight we have friends coming for a simple dinner of tartiflette and salad.</div><div>Tomorrow we go to another friend's house for dinner. </div><div>That's winter life in southwest France. Enjoying the sun during the day, enjoying the company of friends and eating hearty foods in the evening. <br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-4918401081843974072022-02-03T13:15:00.003-05:002022-02-03T13:15:25.302-05:00Weather Wars<p> In our hometown, in Columbus, Ohio, they're under a winter storm warning. Schools have been closed.</p><p>I checked with our sons and they are safely snuggled up with their girlfriends in their apartments with enough supply to wait out the storm, plus they're still working from home, so they don't have to go out to work. </p><p>One son checked in with us. The freezing rain had turned to snow. "What's the weather like there?" he asked, probably feeling like the whole world was a winter wonderland. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e929_e40b_4536_7713" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/serXABCDN-yBg_7sS1umMi-RQtmghf-rGxp_3-OyGXfHPtdLkKL9A5KlIEZ7dgAUcJg" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A swirl of clouds contrasting the blue sky</td></tr></tbody></table><p>"You probably don't want to know," I said. But I sent him pictures anyway as we wandered along the Mediterranean at Banyuls-sur-Mer, sipping coffee at a beachside table, </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d06f_551_95ae_ecb1" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/cYJcZqEWygIdiO8IzZrGw5rN0a5e97aKTZYPsxEIs4ZNAbhGJ5_CYYWSDj2SDl-WQPY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So picturesque</td></tr></tbody></table><p>then walking to a marina. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3f13_4431_1dcb_d05b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ePN1rsCX4aI94rqrgTzl9NWVK5SvXuBwUsufCEENnbX371aJW9fek1qpa95J1CdFk3M" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Finally we drove over some mountains to Coulliore and had lunch at a table with a view of the gorgeous water. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a58f_683_d138_9158" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/DpiA4JhFQ-WiTFlsZs2QqEFss7H6ilcO5k4snlVL_FnYNIN85dwDV0l4a5-4Knhvzn0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some scaffolding on the church as they do work. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>The sun heated the air into the 60s (16 C) and we felt quite comfortable in the sun. </p><p>There’s something to be said for snuggling up in an apartment during a winter storm, but there’s a lot to be said for walking Ali g the Mediterranean in the sun, too. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-36040486427362038902022-01-23T12:09:00.000-05:002022-01-23T12:09:48.639-05:00Update<div>The problem with not blogging for so long, is that there is way too much to blog about so then it's discouraging and I'll never be able to catch up! </div><div>But, after Sillygirl asked in the comments a few times, I realized that there are some loyal readers who might worry what has happened to me, so I thought I could at least share some pictures with you.</div><div>First, we are safely back in France having dodged Covid around the world, well at least in the U.S., Ireland and France, so far. </div><div>We returned a week ago and our friends have been so welcoming and supportive, like they missed us. I know we missed them. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_a118_9b83_ccf4_df45" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="240" id="id_8660_4bd5_7ada_a5f4" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/2mL-8JDqaZCA7a6xu0gdtiNSxk2QpgaZJY1mM2lScfrmFdkC57XTnVkvft1ca3mXqWI=w320-h240" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first hike back in France, this horse posed with the sunrise between the mountains. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Our trip to the States, three months long, was too much, but we enjoyed every minute we got to spend with our sons and my parents, plus time with our siblings and nieces and nephews. Then Covid got crazy and we just hunkered down over the holidays, only seeing Tucker, who had Covid the week before we got there, and Spencer and his girlfriend. Earl's sister and her kids and grandkids all had Covid over the holidays, canceling our plans to gather. We ended up skipping out on our flight from Columbus to Florida and renting a car instead to avoid Omicron, which seemed to infect everyone, even those of us triple vaxxed. We couldn't risk taking Covid back to my parents as Dad was preparing to have his pacemaker replaced (all went well). Also, we knew if we tested positive, we wouldn't be able to board the plane back home. After three months of staying with other people, we were ready to get home. <br />But, as always, there's the terrible pull in the pit of my stomach as I say goodbye to my sons or to my parents. Leaving our sons and my parents behind is the hardest part of living in France. When I say that, I hear the scene from <i>Love Actually</i> when Colin Forth tells his Portuguese housekeeper and love interest that dropping her off is the worst part of his day. I find myself reminiscing about the boys' childhoods, the quick patter of their feet on the wooden floors before diving onto our bed in the morning. I see their beautiful chubby cheeks and innocent eyes. <div>They're both planning trips to visit us this year with significant others, so fingers crossed that it actually happens. </div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_29a0_8f2c_7fa1_181d" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e825_6aa8_613a_63d3" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7JDVvhARWUQgOEtmv7tIdUB0_C8LVP7DBBie_JdaAlTQYbZ2HMt6YTlT3zzvZb5Ok0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad both had birthdays while we visited. They're doing great and staying healthy while avoiding Covid. It's tricky these days. Luckily, their favorite thing, golf, is outdoors. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />We left Florida on a Sunday. Our flights were scheduled Tampa, New York then Dublin. We were spending a few days with Grace and Jack since they hadn't gotten home for Christmas. Jack is still waiting on his visa from the Irish government and doesn't want to leave the country in case there's difficulty returning. Grace is working on her PhD in Archeology, focusing on cultural heritage, especially our area of France. How convenient!</div><div>Our Tampa to New York flight got delayed, which meant we wouldn't make our New York to Dublin flight. My knee-jerk reaction was to get to the airport as quickly as possible so we could take an alternative flight. I stayed online with Delta the entire hour and a half drive to the airport and we only got our new flights resolved as we were leaving our rental car. At the airport by 1:30, our flight wouldn't leave til 8:30. Now we were flying Tampa, Atlanta, Paris, Dublin. I know! I couldn't believe I couldn't leave any of our five suitcases in France while we were there. </div><div>But we made it to Dublin the next day and quickly embraced Grace. We enjoyed four nights with her and Jack, making up for our missed Christmas together. <br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_8e9b_4398_94e8_676e" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4631_f19a_1000_f917" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/zcwyE87lHkRPqAkKN3qCWlAGigSdRG_QrIAQvyyjmQA0E8qiKFsNG81Rc2UwgDcjC5w" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daughter/dad hugs. Of course we went for a walk on the beach in Dublin. <br />We're so lucky to get sun when we're there. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_945_eb76_c2aa_fe09" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/fuhip7sfNa8ucQV528y6pgFJLdkNyaHYbNQqt0GyIJWLKVtTbfHfLDWDQ2mrOeoCPt4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The countryside is stunning in Ireland, even in January. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_50ab_6796_7803_995a" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/u3y89fjhrOd0zR061jnq-ZSE6Z2hj_iFfi1GvPFJbqqOU7XsBnoaYLtFq8TCFCTFPuk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This climb in Bray was a good workout and had beautiful views. </td></tr></tbody></table><div>On Friday we flew back to France and our friend Derrick met us at the airport in Toulouse. It's two hours from home, but flights to the closer airport had been cancelled. </div><div>We arrived home just in time to make it to our visa appointment. </div><div>Since we moved to France in 2018, we have had to renew our visa every year. This is our 5th year, which means next year, we can apply for a 10-year visa or carte de séjour as they're called in France. </div><div>After receiving our visa, we celebrated by walking about La Cité in Carcassonne. As stunning as ever.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a24c_a91_823f_1af3" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/VNL4sj8ACF7K-fmSDves9WA2ObvdY3ahZ8fRgaksir2NV6APEYJuBYxd3dCXbbSqwAo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sky and the outer walls of the chateau</td></tr></tbody></table>And so we're back. We've been enjoying time with friends, drinking inexpensive wine and stocking up on scrumptious pastries, along with walks and runs in the countryside. It's not a bad life.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-3617005523551983392022-01-08T16:18:00.004-05:002022-01-08T16:18:44.852-05:00Book Review The Vanished Collection<p>As I read <i>The Vanished Collection</i> by Pauline Baer de Perignon, I couldn't help comparing the differences between a book written for a French audience versus a book written for an American audience. In France, the subtleties count. In the U.S., we want the mystery laid out and the answer hinted at throughout so we can feel that sense of accomplishment at the end. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RNOGvPXu9Ro/Ydn-omyBpFI/AAAAAAAAQ3k/9azfqvr_a-0zjcCh1p2FAvw0su6UYoYIgCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RNOGvPXu9Ro/Ydn-omyBpFI/AAAAAAAAQ3k/9azfqvr_a-0zjcCh1p2FAvw0su6UYoYIgCNcBGAsYHQ/w240-h320/image.png" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>At the beginning, the conflict was unclear. The author's cousin had hinted that perhaps her great grandfather's painting had been confiscated by the Nazis. Confiscated seems too tame a word. Stolen, taken, ripped from his grasp. But the family thought he had sold his collection. They thought her great grandfather and grandmother voluntarily moved from their Paris apartment. They didn't even think about the Jewish roots of their family and the dangers the ancestors faced living in occupied Paris. Slowly, the author reveals the research she did and how she discovered her great grandfather's life during World War II. </p><p>Having researched the topic of stolen art during World War II for my novel <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/SUMMER-FRANCE-Paulita-Kincer-ebook/dp/B009KE81FS/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3BLOYFD5TQ664&keywords=paulita+kincer&qid=1641676588&s=books&sprefix=paulita+kincer%2Cstripbooks%2C77&sr=1-1" target="_blank">The Summer of France</a></i>, </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqC5FEkrpLFhnMgZHoUFMC0IdwsFfBcvIymk864Zo_8esUSmjVy80TDcuiMJp7NzRnayJDGAC9uiAmXXJNw1ui5_rvNbJpL0BqtBg3ZKhzid2UWLRnJGRGDbrooqGVwBfWgAT6Pa7QAp7uG27UueEYqLFQQuI3SQrOor9mfCGxS8mKkC8=s972" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="648" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqC5FEkrpLFhnMgZHoUFMC0IdwsFfBcvIymk864Zo_8esUSmjVy80TDcuiMJp7NzRnayJDGAC9uiAmXXJNw1ui5_rvNbJpL0BqtBg3ZKhzid2UWLRnJGRGDbrooqGVwBfWgAT6Pa7QAp7uG27UueEYqLFQQuI3SQrOor9mfCGxS8mKkC8=w133-h200" width="133" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I was already enthralled by the idea of looking back at undiscovered thefts by the Nazis and the effort it takes to try to redeem the crimes committed in the 1940s. This book was set within the past five years. I enjoyed <i>The Vanished Collection </i>and the peek into the French mind, where no one wanted to discuss the atrocities of the Nazis during the war, preferring not to remember that neighbor turned against neighbor. But the author needed to knock on each door and dredge up each memory to search for the truth of her great grandfather's life. </p><p>You can find this book on Amazon in k<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vanished-Collection-Pauline-Baer-Perignon-ebook/dp/B09K6NCJBN/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=YFxF4&pf_rd_p=29505bbf-38bd-47ef-8224-a5dd0cda2bae&pf_rd_r=086XC5RV0KQB3D39RFP6&pd_rd_r=097fcd1b-7a1f-46d3-a381-ff67cfbb040b&pd_rd_wg=obgOB&ref_=pd_gw_ci_mcx_mr_hp_atf_m" target="_blank">indle</a> or p<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vanished-Collection-Pauline-Baer-Perignon/dp/1939931983/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">aperback</a></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-37710673350221168452021-09-17T10:50:00.005-04:002021-09-17T10:50:50.850-04:00Living Under a Vaccine Passport<p>Tuesday morning, Earl and I drove to the city of Castelnaudary. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_79c1_79b0_e2b_422d" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b543_ec31_c80c_36df" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/EVmZ74v63bIP4BHn_NTkAbBbv5ArdSxTZtBUB_5VoPuGUOZ8WLKUiK5JkLVkY2qDARs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful flowers fly above the streets</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We parked in the lot across from the hospital, and I went in for my first French mammogram. But before I could enter the hospital, I needed to show my pass sanitaire. The pass sanitaire is a vaccine passport. If you haven't been vaccinated in France, forget visiting the hospital for yearly exams like mammograms or colonoscopies. </p><p>Here in France, we are required to show a Pass Sanitaire. That is a QR code that proves we have been vaccinated if we want to eat in a restaurant, have coffee in a café, or enter the square to listen to live music. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_d72c_98f5_c313_fb15" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_307_ddf_6a84_fc8f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/poDHk0hxQaPeLTx3NLbQCQPtB6Ms51g-KcAW51mTPDXSRjv8VZKKSCC19M_XrZfllDw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cappuccino is available with the pass sanitaire</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The rules began on August 9th and since then, surprisingly, cafes and restaurants have been busy with patrons who willingly pull out their phones and show their passes. France currently has a loophole that people can get tested every three days and show their negative tests. The Covid tests are free for French residents now, but in October, residents will have to start paying for them, 50 euros per test. That is in hopes of convincing people to get the vaccination instead of getting regularly tested. </p><p>There are many French people who are upset about the requirement. There are even some restaurants and bars resisting. They don't ask to see the pass or they don't scan them. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_8985_fae6_b1b5_1fa5" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6772_7eb2_9224_2c62" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/4FjQtfbm37bFLIAbaPK8vpLkbHbtvJKSg3EXOqsizXj2hlNAJHGZDyu-FQKKb7u7A2o" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A music fete this summer where our pass sanitaire was screened before we could enter the square.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>One cafe owner said "We hate to ask our friends for their pass." Then she hesitated and said, "But a coffee, that's not really a necessity, is it?" And that's the point. You don't have to go out for a coffee. You <i>want</i> to go out for a coffee or for a drink with friends. </p><p>Here in France, we know what it is like to forego those pleasures. From October 30, 2020 through June 9, 2021, restaurants and bars were closed for dine in, whether outside or in. We didn't sit and drink with our friends. No music played in the town squares. We were lucky to wander through markets with our masks firmly in place to buy the necessities -- food only. Clothing and trinkets were not included in the markets. </p><p>Now, it's our turn, the vaccinated, to go out on the town. To raise a glass and celebrate that we have survived the initial phase of a pandemic. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_6ba2_1cd4_46f6_ce91" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3c5a_3d0c_c244_71f5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ZwAdx5p1jl12wlUdCyn6Axe0rwFyZnmUWMRgeUsswYfEbqQm2EmljvARkDFyVkoS3Fw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A kir perhaps</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In Esperaza, a town know for its free spirits, the Gendarmes patrol the market, reminding people to keep their masks up firmly over their mouth and nose. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_953e_7792_c0e5_4c94" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/a09_jKY_MOdRf51MJhit3pS7s0-qZ4KSL-joPHisCyVoEV5-hdpC_BLBjbLLB94q7XY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture truly captures Esperaza</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Earl and I sat for a coffee one Sunday, listening to music nearby as two guys played the didgeridoos. The waiter came out to take an order of a nearby table. The woman sat smoking a cigarette. The waiter asked for her pass sanitaire. She said she didn't have it. He said he couldn't serve her. She protested, waving her cigarette in the air. No, he insisted and she reluctantly left the outdoor café. Her empty table was quickly snapped up by someone who was vaccinated. </p><p>I heard a French official explain that for a year and a half, he and his daughters had been isolating to avoid the virus and to avoid spreading the virus. Now they have their vaccines. It is their turn to go out to restaurants and movies and music festivals. Those who aren't vaccinated can isolate, staying home to avoid getting Covid. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-18437861374255436832021-09-14T02:43:00.001-04:002021-09-14T02:43:00.244-04:00Yay, For My Legs!<p>If you were ever to ask me, what part of your body would you want to change, I would, without hesitation, say my legs. My legs are short and I have strong calves and chunky thighs. I'm kind of used to them, it started happening around 5th grade as I hit puberty. I always envy those people with sculpted legs;when they put their legs together, there are three perfect triangles between their ankles and calves, calves and knees, and thighs. That's not and is never going to be me. But today, I'm feeling very thankful for the strength of my legs. So thank you legs, for not letting me down. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e6V83DwYrUw/YT4uBvfZ_cI/AAAAAAAAQ0Q/TaSwCaHujowvIVrcq95y0gd6ZniyNileQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG-0914.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1301" data-original-width="2048" height="406" id="id_803c_4b27_5226_98d5" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e6V83DwYrUw/YT4uBvfZ_cI/AAAAAAAAQ0Q/TaSwCaHujowvIVrcq95y0gd6ZniyNileQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h406/IMG-0914.jpg" style="height: auto; width: 640px;" width="640" /></a></div><p>Sunday morning, we took our friends' dogs for a walk and snapped a beautiful photo of the clouds in the mountains. Thanks, legs, for being strong. </p><p>Then we rode our bike 12 miles to a market and had coffee and pastries with our friends Sue and Steve. Again, my legs came through, pedaling hard, even when we had to go up a steep bit to check on another friends' house.</p><p>Saturday, I ran 7 miles! It wasn't fast but I didn't stop to walk, just kept moving, my legs churning and churning, out 3.5 miles and back 3.5 miles. (That's 11.2 kilometers total). It's probably been over a year since I've had a string of good runs, so I have been determined to get back on track, following a training schedule. I can't tell you the last time I ran 7 miles, but I owe it all to those sturdy legs (well, the lungs and heart helped too). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fe55_b667_ed63_a771" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/x4IychfdCkj6t-ri47zRLpRIsYjqA0sbsI40CbfJ1zxKiXTIcX7YbEHOj4aVdLINSa0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Legs still climbing</td></tr></tbody></table>Just a few weeks ago we climbed Mount Bugarach, again I owe a huge thanks to my legs, partially my arms too on those very rocky parts. <p>The next time you think to complain about how a body part looks or how you wish it looked a different way, just think about what an amazing job it does. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-6505494926857057752021-09-12T13:04:00.009-04:002021-09-12T13:04:55.345-04:00Beach Birthday Celebrations<p> Last week, my friend Sue had her first French birthday. This fell right before her first French wedding anniversary and her official Franciversary, the day she moved to France. </p><p>We all wanted to celebrate so we took a day at the beach. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_a125_8c7_768c_c040" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/IyWhtT6RyJEpBSZQscvM_0I6oT_E8TeXeKKwHql2rJSslifPKxY0ZZzemayLt3gLW7s=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach reminded me of my days in Corsica.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our friends have a puppy, so we had to look for a beach where dogs were allowed. We ended up going to La Franqui and walking to a part of the beach where there weren't any "No Dog" signs. </p><p>But first, we had lunch along the waterfront. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8e4e_205f_71f9_8f31" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/JqZsp_t6A5muybBxHsJzI1qYk1pqTiQllm2zIQXPB7Zr9aZ0NM3XV3yx0FMUMGeWIVA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lake, or etang, stretched inland between the sand and the sea</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Although it looks beautiful and had lots of birds in it, it was a little stinky.<br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9efb_2e44_dedc_7d12" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/aUcIxoH-SNKHZpMbtOQ-HDLgMD6OcbbTlkB8lNBWJEnh-m7JONCO6EhXhjFCHhe1r9g" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sue and I toasting her birthday. I had sangria. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4c45_82a0_26bf_d6c0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/6NkL8-bAIpgErrAxuLyfgm7J43boB0NTbBkDYmVb7t0qG1RGGzqk8W_rDH6DEQVaxYo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earl and Steve in matching blues</td></tr></tbody></table>After lunch, we began the long walk out across the sand. But the sand was soft and not too hot. We took the dog off the leash and he ran like a crazy hound into the <i>etang</i> trying to scare off the seagulls. We kept walking farther and farther down the beach trying to avoid the "No dog" signs. Finally, I suggested we just play dumb if anyone approached us about the dog. There were other dogs, so we set up our beach blanket and the dog rolled on it immediately, sprinkling it with sand.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5554_4372_e3b8_83dd" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yKGTJk_9vgKHfSFibvwc9fvEJii3lTvhDo5TBrgnBki2w-ETiy2uLDczM0c45yXQe68" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pup in the foreground. Earl striding into the Mediterranean</td></tr></tbody></table><br />This was a pretty perfect beach. The sand was soft. The entrance into the Med was not precipitously steep as it had been at some beaches. We could walk a long way out without it getting too deep, as a matter of fact, a sandbar allowed us to stand in knee-deep water and let the waves break around us. <div>Paddling around in the sea when it's a gorgeous blue is glorious. </div><div>Afterward, we tried to rest on the beach, but the dog had other plans. </div><div>He immediately began digging, covering our blanket with sand. We tried shaking it out a few times but he went right back to digging. </div><div>Earl spread a towel away from the blanket to see if the dog was after us specifically or just the blanket. At one point, the pup was just pummeling me with sand and I had to go back in the sea to rinse off all the sand. I still found a bunch caked around my ears in the shower that night. </div><div>Sue and Steve thought it was hilarious, until the dog turned his digging super powers on them. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d7a0_23c4_7c42_5a21" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/AQh9GAaebv6rUdTTgg8AjLV9dP_iLakXCaloWcVtL04KPGr8GTFTjJPErvbGelyt7T0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Digging to Australia.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a921_62a1_4c9f_67b1" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/pRw1t5WHnAhGKX-kf_fzesaX9y2Iuy4A7ViyCUZJO_VdtenH-oZtYPKIEG5kmp0_ruw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ice cream on the boardwalk</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After rinsing off, we headed back to the boardwalk for beers and ice cream. Mine was a Mama Mia with salted caramel ice cream and sauce. The addition of the Haribo candies did nothing for me. </p><p>This was a terrific beach and we'll definitely visit again. As September stretches in front of us, we know our beach adventures are coming to an end soon. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-44733236817020424272021-09-06T04:22:00.002-04:002021-09-06T04:22:26.083-04:00Reveling in Revel<p> My new-found weekend freedom led us to Revel on Saturday.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_4423_4d10_bbb9_abbf" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_155b_3f65_808a_90a1" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/xoj2LzNzLlxCx5UaDSB-pUkry9tN45vmddNNVkD9Jfz6m2n9jHo2Fd0oCcarmTVhpDc" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The center of town has a covered market and a bell tower on top.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>If we'd known, they give tours from atop the bell tower on Saturday mornings. Next time!<br /></p><p>Revel is about an hour and half away from us and we got a late start so didn't arrive until 11 a.m. If you've been to French markets, you know that the market will soon be closing down around noon or shortly after. It is a Bastide town, which means it was originally fortified by walls against marauders. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_4668_3404_dda6_62d" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_df61_7cda_6d55_b23f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5EY0jeEm-Wm58LdkCjp2K7H8Wk7hx8gqdbOb5YtSWwtCcd5C0shzmNoXEovPg8pEqs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Medieval buildings in the background, the arcades or covered passageways behind the vendors.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Revel is a charming town with Medieval roots, as is obvious from the timbered buildings, including some that are being shored up at the front so they can be rebuilt at the back. It reminds me of Mirepoix, but the square and the historical center are more substantial than Mirepoix. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_c595_82ba_57e3_7fdc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9dd_81d2_df8c_247" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Ym78-oOPGEZzZFE8fT0GmWPEt8T7-F0h0WVhVAzgX0dlIp9XWfWrxjnLOx81H2kCKOI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The facades will remain</td></tr></tbody></table><p>If you're looking for bras, socks or summer dresses, this is not the market for you. It's hard core food and from the region. And even though this is the first weekend after the <i>Rentrée</i>, when everyone goes back to school or work, it was crowded. Every seat was taken at every café as we walked around the outer part of the market -- twice. We decided we'd skip coffee and just eat lunch in awhile, so we wound around the inner part of the market. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_bd11_30d6_1339_2213" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_36e4_ac3c_3a2b_fc68" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/aH-PT9VVx6CRWVkaLDoN7FEfdRGY-oSbIJbwRkNNq9DJEBNPy5vTWABltuV1jNL_DAA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beams that hold up the 14th century roof over the marketplace</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_686f_f098_c834_2b0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_416_ab9a_8655_bab4" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Ez0Vg0IGh9os_WKKLdT5a-BKWzLpB5CMwUKa2NUTZOItfFLIFQJ8iaFecOeukB14NVo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More beams and plenty of tomatoes</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Then Earl glanced across the way, saw some empty chairs and made a beeline for a plastic table. We sat, waiting a bit for coffee, but the view was nice and the people watching was excellent. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_89a5_6edb_774e_cd2d" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_255c_b9fc_e093_aa3" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/0WIk41noFYgh76XiOPIqraP8f72eV1I3RL_nGI-du8zgkR7lTN1HV_FFIcITzbNVAp8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delicious coffee and relaxing</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_9a54_7029_4af7_3535" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f44b_cfd_c00_2bc" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/97xJBrIUBt-M0qhuL5Jv1w3xag0YkOgdsk7W7owcQToZEWXI3g5jaEJF3qZBcvcIFZ0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm amazed by the Medieval architecture, but I'm really drawn more <br />to the metal railings on the building on the left. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_5bec_dbc4_5977_e66" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9482_b7df_a02f_24fa" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_z9VTg6Vvbk_EDLek7eW8-XouPW8NPOPM1A3nE7sQXbICh_d_agHnd0LtCwP5mszRiM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This building is obviously not Medieval, but it is pretty </td></tr></tbody></table><p>After leaving the market with bananas (not locally grown) two lavender plants and some tomatoes, we walked back toward the car. Ahead, we saw a food truck with crepes. We walked toward it, wondering where we could eat. We're American enough to eat in the car, but we've been in France long enough not to. Plus, it's illegal to eat or drink as you are driving in France. </p><p>Across from the crepe stand was a Mexican street food truck. Mexican food is not often found in France. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d743_8b44_34b7_cbe8" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/KmIAYFv6XPZYHN5wd2ptZqVbK1cKiI6SbWTYNwJ2cq7iSZTT7FDSulpF5D6wQBv2fQ0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back side of the truck</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We stood in line and ordered, similar to a Chipotles kind of plan, burrito or salad. What meat? Chicken for me. What fixings -- salad (lettuce), corn, rice, black beans, creme fraiche (sour cream-ish), then what sauce? Chipotle for me. The French aren't big fans of spicy food, so I thought the medium sauce would be ok. It was, but a bit spicier than I had anticipated.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d06a_9ff2_2883_4b41" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/LOchprXMHqyOIBUik7-Vgwi_lc86VCLUfnphs0V1UCyXsb7-LHUqVMLxUtd4E4IqBS8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely street food</td></tr></tbody></table><p> We found a bench under a tree and ate our burritos. I do miss Mexican food. </p><p>But, back in the States, I would miss Medieval villages like Revel. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-15757544601215427882021-09-03T15:20:00.001-04:002021-09-03T15:20:39.409-04:00The Dancing Fountains in Beziers<p>After a hectic summer, I have been playing catch up with work, trying to earn more money since I'm not able to teach university classes. Then recently, I learned that a new law in China would prevent teachers from outside China teaching students there. VIPKid is still offering classes to parents who bought packages, but the country suddenly called a moratorium to teaching for a week at the end of summer. I was free from my 12-3 teaching hours for nearly a week. I wasted no time in planning an outing, this time to Beziers. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_7431_61a_d636_85c6" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_fe29_26cd_3622_70d1" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/t3mU9ZOds4BAVJNhDTQP_iB5OnF5SY3Wk3_3dxS_0JEi6GuEuxwf1Srr8gMutASsIkQ" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lights and water were beautiful, like fireworks on the ground. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Earl and I have traveled to Beziers before. Here's a <a href="http://paulita-ponderings.blogspot.com/2017/05/so-many-towns-to-love.html" target="_blank">link</a> to a previous post when we considered moving there in 2015 as we visited towns and cities on our reconnaissance mission. But I was hesitant because the Catholic church and rioters killed 20,000 Cathars in Beziers during a crusade in 1209, known as the Albigensian Crusade. It just seemed like bad karma to move there. Bezier is beautiful though with a large swathe of park running through the middle of downtown and buildings in the Haussmann-style of Paris.</p><p>A Facebook post for people who live in Languedoc, the former name of our region of France, alerted me to a light and music show in Beziers. The musical fountain occurs at 10 p.m., so we needed to stay overnight. We convinced some friends to come along and traveled the two hours. First, a stop at the nearby beach Valras Plage. We had lunch in the square that faces the beach then spent some time in the cold Mediterranean (I don't think it ever warmed up this year) before dozing on the sand. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_8a3b_7693_2279_a231" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8933_b526_baf7_a28c" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/exgS_gcnfLm2itanBIsTuE3Ilc1pGnAP7oB4ODe6ygSd1NREKmnYrUbx9Ndf2-D8hCo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach was not very crowded just two days before La Rentree, the day the French return to work and school </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_2f43_3cfa_f608_7c0e" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_615_8ce0_d3e_b1f7" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/QkHlbYnySoPCl1m2BaYHJ4ocWQQRejJahEyF_NGwUOcLMVCm-s7oZ4sJYZOWQfte-u8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The park in Bezier was decorated with all kinds of colorful creatures.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_695f_cd5e_62dd_7404" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8eb_ea17_3cba_2980" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/kBp93qXwKi24sxGK4PiHQaRPWklRE3l6SHpiWVLc1zGMrzqb7wrlHi23EUJ-_z52k14" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us at the restaurant Pica-Pica</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_211d_57c4_e049_7095" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_92d1_7965_ce40_7f23" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/vzojj6ZlO09vn0qSdQKai1hLZxENZYCQXEfyRAFjku-ug8SmKezrl4NexFW9SV1qxmo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strange lay out of the deviled eggs with caviar and lobster included<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>At 10 p.m., the music started. The fountains and lights had been going for a while. I think just the lights and water spurts were magical. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" id="id_8e_ea1a_76eb_2b09" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LKAuWhNY6qU" width="320" youtube-src-id="LKAuWhNY6qU"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm not sure if the music added anything to it. Some of the songs included YMCA, Laissez-moi Danser, and Formidable. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Definitely worth watching.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_835d_12ce_6181_2fe7" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b9f1_19ff_99ec_7b9" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/SZm6c_GSyiVO8_6FjBNnUUPcIZYfPS3uIv7k-fmBj8LQZuPdieB1oILdrqcw0p-AkQ8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the illuminations in the park</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning, we had breakfast and wandered around the park, posing for a selfie in front of this Titan fountain. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_eac8_3261_e163_596a" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7238_cc4c_b535_91eb" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/4x49fZe_Nw_As6oelmpaIxgxfnDvMvAYK3DPltDkR2PcAuY7l1txzPoBQ-VSkobU5ns" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Sue and Steve</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_49df_44b2_300f_2ed4" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9bff_9065_280d_8e33" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/u_9uoYBGaDBbEtmFu3h6f10zomDs29TH9FN-yT7XYJ7sAD4kmPy7PEEV2M4tlQo2H3c" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This theater has topiary chess pieces in front of it. </td></tr></tbody></table><br />We stopped in Narbonne on the way home and had lunch at a restaurant along the Canal du Midi. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a71e_288b_acb6_2121" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/k691GDYQCyGRnaccpy6wWFKtNVKesVBMdTuJ6EkhmmQsZ67vaDMfm7lMpq5dfD2p6M8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cathedral in Narbonne and an amazing sky. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />Lovely relaxing days without any teaching.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-38737838385891502542021-08-30T03:21:00.001-04:002021-08-30T03:28:42.098-04:00Climb Every Mountain<p> There's a strange upside-down mountain in the Aude of France and today we climbed it. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_7f8a_6375_c70d_ef59" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7346_3f30_fbd1_6499" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/7CRoITGvXXDd7RcZdRKHA6QWmWN48kUy5iseaFy3myr4Mk325fS2t-8NI0B1eyRTYJ0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earl at the peak </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Pic de Bugarach is about 45 minutes away. It's lore is probably bigger than the mountain though. It's called upside down because the lower layers are younger than the higher ones. Some legends say there is a space ship inside the mountain. In 2012, as the Mayan predictions of the end of the world circulated, people gathered at Bugarach where they thought they would be safe from destruction because the aliens would take them to another planet. About 10,000 people gathered there on December 21, 2012. But the world didn’t end and they stayed on earth. </p><p>We had no such expectations as we started our hike today. Our friends Alain and Isa led the expedition. Alain had climbed Bugarach before. He’s French so typically underplayed how difficult it would be. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_b91c_ee48_4296_af91" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_149c_66b5_5c6c_5dce" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/qOrQlCCPkuFGecUVgdhjWMnFr0mBsRV14NFiwj4D7KwEHIr39gR_KW01sNw_kYB3OgI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When we started, all fresh and hopeful</td></tr></tbody></table><br><p>Alain said the first part was difficult but then it was easy. About an hour and a half, he said. Then when we arrived he said the first hour was difficult. Gulp! </p><p>The walk was uphill as you’d expect on a mountain. There were some tricky bits, but as we rounded a corner, the wind began to blow ferociously and I climbed with my hands up a rocky wall. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_fbff_89f8_2c17_2748" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a8c_e27d_a952_4084" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/i-ATOUBSMeZ6ajOAkkoGne5aGkUrbMU_aMrl_P7xqEuIkj6ndcxxLpmgK9ghPcSx-60" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isa and Earl looking like they're at the end of the world, maybe walking to Mordor</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_589e_a51e_25d9_b4da"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_cbda_d431_ee20_e11c" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/lQ2Eq4I_qLsjP71Npq4So31XC4GcXhYo7pgIe5uLhlvWPXxfodG3169cly8TuhODkPI" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The part that nearly did me in</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I felt like a kids’ picture of a stick person on the side of a mountain. I sat down halfway up and took off my hat then pulled on my sweater. Before I turned around and started up again. Holding onto the rocks as I climbed against the relentless wind. Half way up, I stopped and took off my hat so it didn't blow away. I also put on my jacket. As I turned around to start climbing again, a water bottle fell from my backpack but I wasn't about to scramble down to get it. I would retrieve it on the way back. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_cec5_37f5_3ce3_29ad"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e1d1_7f0b_1dd5_e260" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/LrhH_xfR32mBDuhA2AerCRg7_MMIaDutQB0Y0B3hgUKx_OQzWdvYDBfhUyAvZRnZ3PE" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking a bit bedraggled at the top of the mountain</td></tr></tbody></table><br><div>I have never felt a fear of heights while climbing before, but I think the wind added to my fear because it was so strong. <div>We enjoyed Isa's stories as we climbed and we made fun of a man behind us who was carrying his fluffy white dog while scrambling over rocks. We saw a few vultures.</div><div><br></div><div>At the peak, we ate our sandwiches and some trail mix before heading down again. </div><div><br><br><br></div><div>I had been dreading the downhill, wondering how I would get down that rock face. I anticipated sliding on my butt for much of the trek. <br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_7c51_fbfa_719d_b55d"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b9c_f30e_b76e_5502" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/2QcL41-GThT2iqYCkfN6BVNyB9fjl07g7w96kJJahOFlPlt2LoIEW04hAsWfAepZCn8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alain and Isa were not put off by the strong winds at the peak</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_a2b9_94b2_56c_657b"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c91_8b55_9be1_f762" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/6ScqSiNoogP7OkrF6ayOkDC4Cx35RBNn-BCDODK-5Pt3qmMYYO-6H6prDGsjIXmtwFs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A gap between ridges</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_b7b6_6447_297b_765"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1c84_5364_6ec1_7326" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/EG0lm5J0TCnW2vrPlF37Kom-0cFDq4I-qIz2x_Vc-36m7IfY6c5PjfXklp15e3_qqsw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High and rocky</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But the hike down was fairly quick and I was halfway down before Earl stopped to pick up my water bottle and I looked behind me. I was walking down the rock face, no problem. </p><p><br><img id="id_b632_8ec2_fc77_5012" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/CwKstyy_KHI8fWsTHQynvR3jcHwnkeIMES1nfcWWivGiKGom1CUbVtEeyW2WBb_MNFE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br><br><br><br></p></div></div>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-32459102715332933832021-08-26T07:48:00.003-04:002021-08-26T07:48:49.625-04:00Kirkus Review Mention<p> Searching for some news articles I had written, I googled myself and came across a <i>Kirkus Review</i> article that featured my book <i>Paris Runaway</i>. Not the initial review, which was flattering, but an article call "The Last Time They Saw Paris" by David Rapp in March 2018.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iE4sazCxptg/YSd9zIEm8sI/AAAAAAAAQzM/hY18nu_45L8gWTK3Oxdd721Ph58IGRcAACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/ParisRunaway%2BMetro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iE4sazCxptg/YSd9zIEm8sI/AAAAAAAAQzM/hY18nu_45L8gWTK3Oxdd721Ph58IGRcAACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/ParisRunaway%2BMetro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Hmmm. What could I have been doing in March 2018 that I didn't notice? Oh, I know. I moved to France and was trying to sort out my new life. </p><p>The article is very flattering. Here's the <a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/news-and-features/articles/last-time-they-saw-paris/" target="_blank">link</a> in case you want to take a look. </p><p>But I'll let you see the first two paragraphs here: </p><p></p><blockquote>The city of Paris has long captivated American writers. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and James Baldwin set key works there, and the City of Light’s rich history, gorgeous structures, and stunning artworks remain sources of fascination for authors in all genres. Here are a few eclectic works that Kirkus Indie has reviewed that take full advantage of the French capital’s many charms:</blockquote><p>Beginning with -- moi!</p><p></p><blockquote> Paulita Kincer’s <i>Paris Runaway</i> (2016), 50-year-old American Sadie Ford finds out that her 17-year-old daughter has gone to Paris with the intention of losing her virginity to a French foreign-exchange student named Luc Rollande, so she hops on a plane to stop her. Along the way, she meets Luc’s attractive father, with whom sparks soon fly. Kirkus’ reviewer calls this novel an “enjoyable romp,” noting that “through [Sadie’s] wanderings, readers get a first-rate tour of the city, complete with the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes that make it unique.”</blockquote><p>Oh la la! I can almost pretend I'm in the same league with Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Baldwin. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNvQny1GyC8/YSd-FWy1L6I/AAAAAAAAQzY/8XnXsz0Ind04nBlez5uAEVyyhuetYCbbgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2633/Kirkus%2Breview.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1194" data-original-width="2633" height="181" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xNvQny1GyC8/YSd-FWy1L6I/AAAAAAAAQzY/8XnXsz0Ind04nBlez5uAEVyyhuetYCbbgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h181/Kirkus%2Breview.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>I do think that Paris Runaway is a fun read with a lot of French scenery, wine and foods. If you haven't read it yet, here's the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Paris-Runaway-Paulita-Kincer-ebook/dp/B01H13CCAO/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=paris+runaway+paulita+kincer&qid=1629977864&sr=8-1" target="_blank">link</a> to Amazon.com and another <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Paris-Runaway-Paulita-Kincer-ebook/dp/B01H13CCAO/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=paris+runaway+paulita+kincer&qid=1629977945&sr=8-1" target="_blank">link</a> to the book on Amazon.co.uk.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fI2z6dUO7Eo/YSd-dLl61AI/AAAAAAAAQzg/9pQxKQgmaOMwD9uxkn8B_1d5bWwHmstdgCLcBGAsYHQ/s900/Paris%2BRunaway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fI2z6dUO7Eo/YSd-dLl61AI/AAAAAAAAQzg/9pQxKQgmaOMwD9uxkn8B_1d5bWwHmstdgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Paris%2BRunaway.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Here's the original Kirkus Review of Paris Runaway and the<a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/paulita-kincer/paris-runaway/" target="_blank"> link</a>. <br /> <p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Oe0s_xSb1Y8/YSd-_8yJ3NI/AAAAAAAAQzo/6VWGhdNMz-knwddvezopZyAiwqm6vQFbACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="449" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Oe0s_xSb1Y8/YSd-_8yJ3NI/AAAAAAAAQzo/6VWGhdNMz-knwddvezopZyAiwqm6vQFbACLcBGAsYHQ/w525-h640/image.png" width="525" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p></p><p></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-20883040001585454662021-08-24T05:46:00.006-04:002021-08-24T05:46:47.464-04:00Canoeing and Tipping in the Aude<p> Monday, we finally made it on a long awaited canoe trip. We have changed the date three times because of bad weather. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="300" id="id_a35c_433b_60b0_5b16" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Nlv2wtFYlGriWxqt9OCqPuReaJHX4J8TIfLzGkU6lLC86oCCkoQ-MrPUcf10iBGXXBw=w400-h300" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old bridge supports framed our back and forth movements down the river. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>We went with our friends Ray and Claudine who are into more extreme sports than we are, but they assured us this was a level 1 canoeing trip, just a calm ride down the Aude river in the south of France. </p><p>Earl and I have limited canoeing skills. We haven't gone canoeing very often, and certainly not in areas with rapids. We have been kayaking on a canal in the past few years and of course we floated on rafts down a river in Massachusetts several times, but that did not prepare us for the canoe trip. </p><p>The biggest problem was mostly the yelling between the two of us. That and getting stuck on rocks and having to get out on slippery rocks where the water is running fast to budge the canoe off the rocks. And one time, we did turn over completely with Earl going under the water because it was deep there. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4d34_fd3c_1e26_b4d8" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/TuC8x7ejDJBov6_hVpBEXSgoVfLD5nT8u2uHxQRsJNpJAEWBc8BJ0684MqStKGjNhsA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tipping over</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ef1a_e1d9_a684_4f03" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/qeeShhp4uNWIlx5U-ol_RdCPyEVI1LUuhH2IF9S9_iZpLBFD51xQTO-6zycXT5NfTN8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Although it looks like I'm leaning on the canoe to keep Earl from emerging, I wasn't.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The circus-type atmosphere did not prevent us from enjoying the beauty during the calm parts of the river. At one point we saw two blue herons take flight and crisscross above the river like a beautiful dance. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f89_69f_6108_32ec" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/axrXGqBxVME1d7bt1J8X7Fuj7XnyKgdnjfKXw3YCn-pzmVoFK9WZnJNhJfzBglQeAVc" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ray and Claudine would stop and wait for us. That's how they took so many pictures.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The water was low, so that might have been part of the problem as we got stuck on rocks. Earl and I were just too heavy and weighed down the canoe rather than skimming over the rocks. Surprisingly, there were a lot of important decisions to make as we paddled along the canoe, watching Ray and Claudine go before us. If they had a hard time or got stuck, we would try another route , but it wasn't usually better than the route they had taken. </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_89ce_463e_e9bb_5e30" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/29xc-GroDyLiOOiuWS3kqh4tW0ZNHiDcDl8LT46hL3zNS9Zl4zTOdYgjpro6K_xiMb4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ray and Claudine were much more in sync than we were. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>At one place, we pulled the canoes up on some rocks and looked at caves. My phone was tucked away in the waterproof container that stores important things on the back of the canoe, so I don't have pictures. But Claudine did take this picture of us before we climbed back in the canoe. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ccc6_240c_d2d2_c634" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/sZGGYXdvDWfmq5mvOviuTNhlHKGKJQxYbaDpWTeVdEFdV7ImGqvDKfafmOlZY8Q2hEw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p> It wasn't far from the caves to the end, so it should have all gone splendidly, but as Earl got in the canoe, I pushed it off the rocks and hopped in, I felt a pain in the back of my thigh just below my swimsuit. Had I sat on a burr from the hillside? Nope, a bee sting. What are the odds that I would sit on a bee in a canoe. Very rare. Luckily, the cold water helped ease the pain of the sting and I'm not allergic.</p><p>We provided our friends with a lot of laughs as we meandered down the river, getting stuck, turning over, getting stuck again, going down some whitewater backward at one point. But we agreed that we would try it again in the future when the water level got a bit higher. <br /><br />After canoeing, we stopped at a friend's restaurant in Couiza. Andy is an English chef who has worked on Russian yachts among other places. Last year he started a restaurant right before Covid hit. We had been there once before for English roast, which is a Sunday thing with meat and Yorkshire pudding and lots of roasted vegetables. But we aren't English so it was hard to judge. </p><p>Monday's meal assured us that dining at Andy's restaurant <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">À </span>Table, which means "to the table" or "come to the table" in French, is a great experience. It started with some amuse bouches, baba ganouches (like a humus from eggplant) and little potatoes with spices and a mayonnaise-type sauce to dip them in. We ordered the 19.95 Euro menu which included a starter, a main course and a dessert. But before the starter, first there was another amuse bouche of gazpacho. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5421_9f21_6201_6afb" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/CFM_3ACNi9HyoeswijgTlsB6coeyxprIHwJtPFC5gDftlSNxlX9ZYg6jv3bKNAPrins" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We weren't sure, so asked the server and she said we were supposed to drink it. <br />It had a kick to it with garlic, pepper and paprika added. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2e75_ea2a_c815_afaf" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/Lvall0V9Wvmfomo25QTnqWeJCdFTPg7vvbSjUtmJ4rCgrX-4BaVz2Ba-uFImw0BcZB8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">For my starter, I had a poached egg served over spinach and a basket made of parmesan cheese.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b09d_3091_beef_4fe0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/AKwy3BZIiBjKFSO02VBIu8KBwPi-nzW4wt7kHEitW59XPHrMF_HvonXV6erPyncHKIA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main dish for me was lamb plus gratin potatoes. I paid a 6 euro supplement for the lamb. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_dcbd_a3c6_f9fe_e91a" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/6wGMUWICabVV3vK7HBl-DeffXblaKEhi1FhGb0YUKJVa1TM_KDP4kp2nLajdwJerJHg" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And for dessert, a sticky toffee pudding with a side of ice cream. I hadn't eaten <br />sticky toffee pudding before going to Andy's restaurant, so I can't compare it, but <br />the first few bites taste like delicious brown sugar and butter. </td></tr></tbody></table><p> <br />We left Andy's restaurant very full but delighting in the delicious meal. </p><p>We might not be able to canoe very well, but we can eat a nice French lunch and return home for a nap with the best of them. <br /></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-85023292512807529972021-08-23T12:25:00.003-04:002021-08-23T12:25:33.234-04:00Run Aways in the South of France<p> Let's just pretend I haven't been gone for a month and a half, like friends who start a conversation after being absent from each other.</p><p>This morning on a run, I was headed out the cemetery road because it's flat and easy to run on. It follows the river, goes past an abbatoir, an organic food store and the water treatment plant -- that doesn't sound like a great place to run, but it does go past the cemetery and there are fields where sometimes hay is rolled up and sometimes horses munch on grass, and many glimpses of the surrounding mountains -- but mostly it's flat. </p><p>As I'm running, the postal lady passed me on her bicycle. She rides her bike to work then many times rides around town delivering mail on the post office bicycle. She always says "Bonjour" but this morning she held out her hand and said, "Faites attention..." But I didn't catch that last part. What was I supposed to be careful of? </p><p>"Merci," I called as I continued on my way and she in the other direction. It could be a snake on the road; a car accident; a wild boar; road work? </p><p>Soon enough, I came across the culprit, two horses running free on the road. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a651_260a_4ea1_eb19" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/L9u52xxxAEAa_ZN4gT9jONunmARpWThrkt3z3FXBGuk805qlu6ppSx27gLbt1OA1iqk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The runaways</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The horses, tossing their heads and neighing, had been spooked by a big truck going to the water treatment plant. They began to run up the road toward me. The pony is black and white with spots like an Appaloosa. The bigger horse, which Earl says looks like a quarter horse, has some white patches like a palomino. I've seen these horses on the road before. These aren't the first runaways we've seen either. Rather than expecting someone else to take care of it, I've seen French strangers clap their hands at horses to send them in the direction of home. But horses are big and I figured I should just stay out of it. </p><p>I stopped running so I wouldn't scare the horses. The smaller one is much more skittish, wanting to race past me. I didn't have much farther to go before I turned around on the 5K run. I saw that the horses had entered a field (Reminder to self that I must learn to say 'field' in French -- reminder to self, you already know that word - champ, as in Champs Elysees) but I couldn't think of the word as I ran this morning. </p><p>The fence had an opening and the two horses had entered the field and were placidly munching grass. A woman was entering the enclosure from the other end. "Are these your horses?" I asked her in French. She let me know they weren't and she had been saving this grass for her horses and she wasn't pleased the horses were taking it. </p><p>At least the horses were safe, I thought, as I continued toward home, my "run time" totally ruined by the horse incident. But I got to practice some French and horses don't go running down the road higgeldy piggeldy very often, so I might as well enjoy it. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-16650105622325696382021-07-09T06:03:00.003-04:002021-07-09T06:07:31.140-04:00Joys and Sorrows<p> This week has been full of joys and sorrows. This week alone could mimic a lifetime of ups and downs. </p><p>On Wednesday, we learned that Earl's older brother, Art, had died. We learned less than a week before that he was sick but they weren't sure what was going on. "You may want to come home," his wife Shelley texted Earl. Then he was out of the hospital. Then back in. Tuesday night they texted. They had a diagnosis - histoplasmosis, a fungal disease that comes from bird or bat droppings. At least they could treat him. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_25f2_50c1_f339_c436" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8nucNFCg49A/YOgRCJgpkJI/AAAAAAAAQwo/22H4x7OSkOQJyOQ_qcwLai1-Q6URPf_BwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_1184.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" id="id_53a9_6b9a_ae7b_eca9" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8nucNFCg49A/YOgRCJgpkJI/AAAAAAAAQwo/22H4x7OSkOQJyOQ_qcwLai1-Q6URPf_BwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_1184.jpg" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A family photo from 2006, Art giving his daughter Amy rabbit ears. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>The next morning, we got the call that he had died in the hospital that night. The fungus takes a toll on the heart and his had been weakened by a heart attack in his 40s. We were shocked to lose him and felt helpless, unable to hug his wife or daughter or son. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_6b2d_26e8_b05d_6e1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4dfe_15c2_110d_ba00" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/j4djfvVJC_SdiPogw7pRSgZjbPSo9jNo1A52pzycjGxlPvWyyhw92JPFfB5y30HhgjA" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Grace's wedding. Art is in the pink shirt. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Since I've known him, Art has been a fairly quiet, no-nonsense guy. He says it like it is. He had a lifelong love of Harley Davidson motorcycles and a core group of friends in the U.S. and Canada, which is where he met his wife. Earl has long admired his stoic brother for standing up for his principals. Art worked as an electrician and always did the job right, helping out friends and family when we needed it. He raised two amazing kids who both have advanced degrees. We're stunned that he's gone.</p><p><br /></p><p>Another sorrow, that pales in comparison, is the loss of our cat Louis. We last saw him Sunday morning. I was preparing to teach so I let him out the balcony doors. He does a kind of parcours to jump from the wall to the post, back to a lower wall and onto the sidewalk. He gets wet cat food every morning and evening, and never misses a meal, so I expected he would be in the garden whenever Earl ventured down and opened the door. Louis's an outdoor cat, but continues to spend a lot of time indoors, coming and going at will. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_5124_fe3c_413c_dbf0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_9c8_b7aa_42d_c5a" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/y8XX5wh9xcbveCoelqQg5R71kxLnC1GzAD-1kWiNFGMYd0I-Jp-dd0qTmvZkcqYA4Uw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louis came home with scratches on his nose one day. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>After I finished teaching, we got ready to go to the market in Esperaza, and I asked Earl if he'd fed Louis. He said no that Louis hadn't come back. That's not like Louis, so I started to worry. He always come back for food. </p><p>We had dinner with friends Sunday evening and after dinner we went walking around Quillan in search of Louis. We called and clucked. We showed pictures of Louis to French people who shrugged mostly. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_5d88_b6a2_b015_c9fb" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b916_d4b2_4de0_1e46" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/NB9sVLOndvoIKX4lg_HgYYbLcuyeIp0ucBbPghTEePV-FrtArBo2hWQ1GZIbYcg-pEU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louis on the perch that Earl created for him. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>I posted on Facebook in Quillan. I paid to have his picture shared on Pet Alert in our region of France. We put up posters around town. The baker's wife took down the poster in the window that warned people to wear masks and replaced it with the poster of missing Louis. </p><p>My friend Sue checked with the vets around town and farther. </p><p>Louis is neutered and chipped. If anyone finds him, they have our phone number. He isn't a rare breed, so I doubt anyone has stolen him. </p><p>Everyone has been incredibly helpful, telling us they might have seen Louis here or there. We always go in search of Louis. We looked in trash cans; we walked the train tracks. We call him when walking in the mountains far from home in hopes of finding him. </p><p>Last night, we were at a town festival when our friend Enzo said he'd seen a cat that looked just like Louis near another friend's house above town. We drove in the dark to the area and called for Louis. Earl walked up the hill; I walked down the hill. A cat came trotting around the corner toward me in the dark. His face was white with gray, just like Louis, but he was long-haired instead of short haired. He came to me and let me pet him. But he wasn't Louis. </p><p>People say don't give up hope. They tell me stories of cats that disappeared and came back a week later, a month later. </p><p>It seems silly to be so sad about a cat, but when it rains, I picture him somewhere outside afraid, maybe hurt, unable to come home. Because I'm sure if he could come home, he would. </p><p>Come home, Louis! </p><p>But this week has been full of joy as well. On Tuesday, we picked up Tucker and his friend Nathan at the Perpignan train station. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_423d_26d_8f0_c0d2" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/N3JPRn93qsIx-VsgxWmUej_oO51rFE-4iEKfroJ3ZbQAnFqWjmIYlJzCW4DjUDfmRkM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earl, Tucker and Nathan all wore white shirts on Tuesday. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>They've instantly become part of the Quillan social fabric, watching the semi-finals of the Euro soccer tournament, singing songs with the English and swimming in the pools of young Belgian women with vacation homes here. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_851_ca0_ab00_4a53" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uonDaKNKQO-80lVwDU_nPUoya3IpiMM5ooLrmrToHGMlvPRXiTGezSSq7B-OTOk5O8" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the Italy-Spain game at the Glacier. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>We aren't doing a lot of sightseeing, but as long as they're happy, we're happy. </p><p>Then yesterday Grace, Jack and three of their friends arrived, flying from Dublin to Carcassonne. We needed two cars to pick them all up, and luckily my friend Derrick volunteered to chauffeur some of them back to Quillan. It's so great to have Grace and Jack back in France. I hope it feels like home to them. </p><p>And for us we're thrilled to get to meet some of the friends they've made in Dublin this year during the year of grad school.</p><p>Last night our friends Lou and Steve bravely invited all 9 of us to their house for dinner. We made quite a train walking up there carrying wine, more wine, hamburgers and chicken to barbecue, pasta salad and cake. When you bring 9 people for dinner, you have to divide and conquer. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_23f9_4c51_bbc0_a79c" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/zUc13ZGERAUCxfXdQirLjRQVayBBdfP8cGZcocJHR436xVwrChggYggUzTnqBh0XmPo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our crew without Steve and Lou</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After a delicious dinner and much wine, we played a game called Hammerschlagen, which has become a tradition at Steve and Lou's house. It has to do with hitting a nail with one blow each turn and the first person plus the last person to drive their nails into the tree stump lose. It's definitely a dangerous game.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7dc6_e483_f789_89fb" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/QpcT0XAkT_SZMKXR_4IPgpC5xQdseivs-4Lj-mPVuJJvtL2Fcrt-3ULQWRO_9JfPATU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nathan, in a sweatshirt borrowed from our friend Kris, takes aim. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5b8_3321_dbed_ffe7" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/m20viaNRnHd8ciZwRMieXncWS9qpUesPMMYrNlFy0OgmmX0jjBTh9rqRvChscCOFltw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace takes aim as Tucker watches. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>After dinner, we wandered down to the town square for some music. We didn't stay long because Grace and her friends were tired from getting to the airport at 4 a.m., and then our friend Enzo said he might have seen Louis so we set off to search for him. </p><p>Somehow, we ended up with a picture on the town Facebook page anyway. </p><p>And Saturday, the Tour de France is ending in Quillan. We're all excited to see the caravan, the riders and enjoy the festivities. </p><p>My heart is filled with joy to have two of my kids in town, just getting to hang out with them. But I'm sad for Earl and Art's wife Shelley and his two kids. And, of course, we're sad not to have Louis here to share in the family time. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-28191386743359520932021-07-04T09:00:00.001-04:002021-07-04T09:00:00.230-04:00House Update<p> In less than a week, we will have nine people staying in our little house in the south of France. Yep, it's going to be close quarters, but we're trying to make sure everything is as comfortable as possible. The only guest from outside France we've had come to stay with us was Tucker who arrived in October 2019 when the house was still a construction area. And Grace and Jack who stayed for five months last year during Covid as we continued to work on the house. </p><p>Now, most of the rooms are not just livable, but comfortable. </p><p>The kitchen has been our favorite room since it was initially finished. We gather here with guests most of the time, the scene of much delicious food and camaraderie. One thing that changes in the kitchen is the artwork as it gets updated based on items we find in France or in the States. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_4e17_5d99_12da_55d1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5c02_d0c1_22b1_282c" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/luf9tUyL08qwXeTnwZOOxc1zw6PEDv53Sq_Vy_4t5p-BVcWZeo25nuRR8t9y0xr7LS4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our homey kitchen</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_6f6d_fa16_9066_b8ab" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_80ed_8cb_5139_d346" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/gPHVW4eQ28quklY6woWPCF1js-IMGLDLp3MrFFFBUYmA8a7vU_9TcRn6QnMy7sNrC5E" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the other corner, looking into the living room, with Louis Catorze featured in the center</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The living room is getting more comfortable with two leather couches, a bookshelf, and the television attached to the wall now. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_97de_42a9_7caa_28a7" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2c90_f933_360a_4006" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/gx_oZcDdlBJ-6nwTj-K_0BccRb0nhczG77CDwMyEHPx9w5--adfbtY-Kl5htUfAEFo4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from beyond the stair case. Louis again!</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_b0b7_6877_c2a9_dda" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d3bb_33c0_f454_bafe" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/6Z0_nb04zZG2ujp3rG5jITPlvGJE2GcLUaKN1QiotAgtGTk6FrgpXZxYuSK1Wx0HK6k" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our downstairs half bath, that's what we call a bathroom that has a toilet and sink, but no shower or bathtub, is completed. There's no getting around the electrical box in there, but it looks 100 percent better than it did now that it has shiny gray and white tiles on the floor, a corner sink and a niche for decorative items. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_be4b_9f3a_bd4f_5147" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3e1_c588_8e0f_71e4" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/2ipbWckBQoX6gGQCv_lYSl4Hyes19JENsalzRFUz-znooqoRag--uUEraNvbiH-zxys" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't put on too much weight to fit in this toilet!<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_f65b_7fbb_40fa_cb3b" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f144_5bc6_56a_c1b" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/hDTXfNk9jJaddci_hgaT2NsxRhYqZCRMcUwvRpSWbGQqqjwJM_BekI5rDtlGOL2QYyE" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tiny sink and the table with hand towels. The electrical box in the way. </td></tr></tbody></table><br />The bedrooms and guest bathroom have been finished for quite awhile, but they both were missing artwork. As we moved art around in the kitchen, we relegated some items to the upstairs bedrooms. We also found some French-type art in the Troc in Carcassonne. One painting reminded me of the book Madeline "In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines...”<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_f04d_7828_5847_e6d6" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6a5d_f6d6_ba96_3b36" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/QNC_Va_Qt2I4EvZZABEJuXyHaKBDLkrZG-poHvBZPucU-wA4ax3SRE2XCh5Tnp8OXnk" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The guest bedroom ready for our guests, now with artwork. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_86d3_b1e6_a438_5c99" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_11e2_a1f3_a0be_8051" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/HOCwY-gO2eOPRep6ToPDCKLSkvBLZWe36QRDzUnCNEBYF_PeFxmhYErKhcYbU_UqYj4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_33b1_2661_3abb_ba71" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The guest bathroom from the vantage point of the shower!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_8b6d_b899_d254_cd85" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_ad88_b000_8af1_db83" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yjWMLt519VKIUZp9WL4CTRfsESG99Gc8tG_pzbi2LgFuCKrZ_zxBA4y275ILTas-Z04" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking the opposite direction. That's not Louis rolled up by the shower, that's a rug. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_1ae5_fa1_f59c_a9d3" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_2c58_7ee5_99bf_afa2" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/rUs4PM8xkZpQHijI1zfGqMFEGCe4_faymrK2uiepBwt3eQigTm4GoYx_mTOl0Tm-dI0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our bedroom with French doors that lead to the office</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_9890_ae04_fdf7_bae9" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_36df_1fcc_5054_ea9c" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/f--ugyWR4HE0geOMFmrZVYbQgbqF2YcsKwZNC0Yd1Ow3vidVcx2XcagO3cKKi2bMSjs" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The office where I teach and the French doors that lead out to the terrace. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c2f4_e8ba_26f0_a082" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/rNZX1NjhdwHeOmWjywbkXr6fKXIjNRnUVYeXGiI_lctRdWLPozGJkcqLGQJ8WWc-utM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The terrace is perfect for breakfast for two. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>With the artwork hung in the bedrooms, Earl spent a few days cleaning the room at the end of the house that we call the cozy room. It ended up with a lot of the construction debris, myriad paint cans, tools, copper pipe, frames for dry wall and one unused radiator. He emptied it out and we plan to put a curtain over the fireplace so the things we're storing inside won't be so obvious. <br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_6b44_6c31_7077_4a4d" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_34ab_9999_5f0b_43ba" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/QdFMom48ihTD2ExYYz9VWBOhskIdmGqY9RG-hXNs_FBLykfk4clBoBQGiub9yxszfCM" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cozy room has a futon, but it also houses our washer, dryer and water heater. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>So two bedrooms and a futon, that's 2, 4, 6 places to sleep, a double mattress on the floor in the office, there's 8 and someone can sleep on the infinitely comfortable couch in the living room. </p><p>The stays only overlap by three nights as Tucker and a friend arrive July 6 and leave July 11. Grace, Jack and friends arrive July 8 and leave in shifts in the coming weeks. But they'll all be here for the Tour de France as it ends in Quillan on July 10. </p><p>I try not to picture people uncomfortable sleeping on mattresses on the floor, but instead think of us gathered in the garden around the table with raucous conversation as we introduce our kids and their friends to our life in France. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_9dd1_20e9_ad8d_a761" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5868_4c8_5372_3e84" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/OGlu8gmAUUzQZTU0hSMQv_SOKKRnD22f5PGHq9yeDRQ33ralmD8g22a9nIWkhBLE4Og" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The garden</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_bb97_6679_da75_cce0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f3c7_41b5_598b_c4c0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/DE4d4JQnnHq0k6K4u1XCGXB8RvN-YcxiWwcl7YekQhr9Kjy8bglZdsxyy90-meDa0oU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gladiolas are blooming in coral, orange, purple and white. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_2e46_3645_e747_97fd" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_96d5_dd48_e09c_5871" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/wG7vULxOdep6y5aXY5xbB-bWbbwCaTI4EoF73c1fm1IbyEv8hvDdlUIjQGexZJfTop0" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wisteria has begun its second bloom</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I must remember to breath and enjoy it all. <br /></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-28092280719859101802021-07-02T05:48:00.002-04:002021-07-02T05:48:33.053-04:00A Weekend in Spain<p> We journeyed to Roses, Spain along the Mediterranean for a three-day weekend. (That sounds so posh, doesn't it? Just running off to Spain for the weekend.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_837a_dc36_5be4_d7d0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/cQ71z8VslA5nIGif91IoPI7CilSnhIaKkKfN2_529zkThwjk6O816fX6EEb3tHHbE0I" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sunrise picture on my run</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The trip started as a comedy of errors. We planned to leave around 8:45 a.m. Derrick, Earl and I have all had our vaccinations so we didn't need a Covid test to get back into France after the weekend. Kris, who turned 36 on Friday, hadn't had his vaccinations yet, so he needed a test. However, when he got to the lab at 8 a.m., the lab wasn't starting Covid tests until 9:30. We settled in our garden (we live near the lab) for coffee and tea, and some birthday chocolates for Kris. He had been scheduled last minute to get his first Covid vaccine (which the British call a jab, and the French call a pique) between 9-9:30. Since the office is south of us, the schedule was perfect to get a Covid test then drive south for the vaccine and continue on to Spain. They considered driving down for the vaccine, then back to Quillan for the test. I contacted our always helpful doctor Cat Harrison and she said Kris could arrive later, so we didn't have to drive back and forth.</p><p>I went with Kris to get his Covid test. It's an awful birthday present and he dreaded it so much, but he only needed me to help him fill out his paperwork. Then we were off, stopping in Axat for his vaccine. He came out several minutes later with blood all over the arm of his shirt. None of us could figure out why he bled so much. </p><p>But we put it behind us and drove toward Spain. It's only two hours away from our home in Quillan. We skirted past the big Pyrenees mountains that still have a smidgen of snow on them and crossed into Spain. No one stopped us or asked to see our Covid vaccine proof. </p><p>Our first stop in Roses, along the Mediterranean, was for lunch. We had reservations for 1:30 and were a bit late once we parked and checked into the hotel. Derrick had surprised Kris with some old friends of his father's. Nicole and Dave used to have a place in Roses and Kris remembered vacations there with his father, who died this past year. So when we showed up for lunch, Dave and Nicole were waiting. </p><p>The lunch was a harbinger of the weekend to come, because most of it was spent sitting at a table eating. </p><p>My iPhone put together a video of my pictures, and you can see that food figures prominently. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" id="id_d033_cf24_b4a2_d382" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JJw8TUzJTtM" width="320" youtube-src-id="JJw8TUzJTtM"></iframe></div><br /><p>We probably spent six hours a day at meals - three hours at lunch, three hours at dinner. </p><p>I did have a swim in the sea, and even though it was the end of June, the water was cold and took my breath when I first dived in. </p><p>We had a brief swim in the pool as well. </p><p>And one of the highlights for me was an early morning run along the shorefront to the jetty and then I returned to the hotel along the beach. </p><p>On the Saturday of our visit, Spain allowed people to take off masks when they are outside. So that was nice, to be able to ramble along the streets without a mask. </p><p>Friends Jo and Matthew traveled to Spain on Saturday and we went to dinner with them that evening before returning to the hotel for some music and dancing. We loved watching the older ladies dancing by themselves or in pairs to the DJ's music. </p><p>We returned home via Cadaqués, which is a village along the Med that looks similar to Greek villages with whitewashed buildings and blue shutters. It's a very quaint place where we enjoyed another lunch, maybe only two hours. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_6987_4ee4_1ce8_91a2" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/bo9UzH0phFVcxkjPR2YutiJ-gUW6txO_wl8dq9q1LOx1U8WFRtjDIBiRnC173HBL7aw" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bougainvillea growing on the buildings was amazing. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Although officers were standing along the toll booths, they didn't stop our car and ask for our proof of vaccine. So Kris' covid test went unchecked. He was negative, anyway. <br />Having breathed in plenty of sea air, we returned to Quillan. <br /></p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-8873468792410548372021-06-24T06:02:00.001-04:002021-06-25T01:06:49.615-04:00Anniversary Outings<p> On Wednesday, Earl and I celebrated our 31st anniversary. "Celebrated" is a bit of an overblown statement. </p><p>The highlight of the day came in the afternoon, following a few hours of teaching. Jim and Theresa picked us up in their VW Golf with the snazzy red mirrors and we zoomed about 45 minutes south of here to Maury. Well, past Maury and the more heavily visited wineries there to MA, Mas Amiel, another winery, with a difference. </p><p>The winery has jugs, known as <i>dame Jeanne</i>, setting outside in the sun. I'd always thought the sun was bad for wine, but apparently this winery has different theories. We would be the judge of that!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_2610_288f_c455_5b81"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d65a_4c19_9977_1334" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/LgY5xt0z93JP3CeUrbnSvjfl5vmUxjv2hYUHNQJdaYQmNtgiP7_093D5A7h_nWw3P24" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dame Jeanne wine jugs sitting in the sun.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_827d_f7d2_71a6_ad3f"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_92de_cc08_d8de_310e" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/loMeo9hCGFbhTVrihd3ysdYMnIN0xc9AAx4DAJdRheb9qE0VAtbxjG_BSlnqB30T6ko" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vineyards and wine jugs and the hills beyond. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>We wandered in and looked around the showroom before walking up to the counter. Most tasting rooms have wine stewards who speak English, and this one did as well, although he got hung up a few times and we encouraged him to say it in French, thinking we would still understand. They usually ask what kind of wine we like. They serve the wine from weakest to strongest taste, so usually whites and rosés, first, followed by reds. Earl and I are red wine drinkers, but we have been won over by a few rosés lately. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_46e9_db81_77ff_904b"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_161c_cb4_9182_5b2d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Y3UhFJ750CSJxgOaxsYPE6qYpQE6h-t-Quin2kAeE4Q0x5gdnaD-Fo5VlsLcVv2fHaE" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post tasting. After each wine, we swish the water in our glass and pour it into the bowl. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>He started us with a mellow rosé. I've found that people frequently want a rosé in the summer, so knew we would buy a bottle for 8,90 euros. Then he moved onto fortified wines. Fortified wines are similar to port, they are mixed with other, stronger alcohol. The fortified white would work well as an aperitif. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_34f4_98e1_343_f453"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_36eb_6b62_5fa5_622d" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/Fp8z7480h-o6mbZrqen6Wb3x16zsKOz9qXGfgJ4zQfwDxqh9a_QmGGNWm8mMAIARgWY" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The four of us. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>The fortified red we tasted first, although it had Theresa's favorite label, purple and blue, did not win us over. A 2012 fortified wine was so smooth, but pricey. </p><p>Then we moved on to the oxidized wines, those that sit out in the sun. They were labeled for their age --20 years old, 30 years old, 69 from grapes grown in the late 60s. The 20 tasted good. The 30 tasted like raisins. But the 69, oh, the 69, tasted like heaven in my mouth. </p><p>The wine steward did a good job selling it, pointing out that it's like buying a good bottle of whiskey, you only drink a little and on special occasions. It lasts for years. </p><p>As we were checking out, the steward gave us a gift of a bottle of wine since it was our anniversary. I figured it was a throw-away bottle they kept to hand out free, but Jim found it on the list and pointed out it was a 30 euro bottle of wine. That might not be much to spend on wine in the States, but anything over 10 euros seems expensive when you live in the land of free flowing, inexpensive wine. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_6265_196f_53cc_8511"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_f1f1_6905_ed94_6e3f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/rJ1A0JZ4I6OrB6_r7AYcd3JXh9_ZRUSaJPt--mSecaqLFsne1_vfRSWnXgFJNylzqyo" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chairs outside the tasting room. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_e23f_9a30_8a63_b69e"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_7a2_3874_f14d_c23a" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/71NSJ0ptAWOQkMwAiqI_XaYf22g8zX9Hs5AaIKP51mhqUQrsnQS9gZwbnwExvQDufuU" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us outside the tasting room</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br>We drove home through the sunshine, admiring the mountains and the endless undulation of trees around us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="id_bf0c_3167_40a0_1497"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_b81f_897b_ad66_3233" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/A9bZdOL2G3CbflFrztDoJZtPJDBGp1__nzr84C7muuBV1FDlX1TRfO6S31Ny7zTawQ4" style="height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip=""></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lane leading up to the winery.</td></tr></tbody></table><p> We stopped to harass our friend Steve who we saw along the side of the road preparing for a time trial on his bicycle. It's fun to run into friends miles away from home. </p><p>Then we walked to a nearby restaurant for a simple meal with Jim and Theresa, sitting inside because the weather had taken a turn to the chilly. </p><p>Not a bad way to celebrate living in France and that day 31 years ago we pledged our love in front of our friends and family. </p>Paulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.com2