In search of Mimosa

Mimosa is a fluffy yellow flower that blossoms in the winter season here along the southern part of France. It is used in the making of perfume and when you find enough of it, the sent is heavy in the air.

So for our Sunday drive, Bernard took us in search of Mimosa and we headed West-ish from Menton up and above Grasse.  Although the season of Mimosa is only just beginning, we found plenty of the bright yellow bushes to feast our eyes upon.

Along the way we also found a rural honey store where we stopped and made a purchase. Once on our way we stopped to pick some of the mimosa that was growing over the road..quickly and with stealth in case we were caught for trespassing.

The search for a perfect luncheon place ensued next but nothing we found had the combination of view, affordability and menu selection that the menfolk could agree on.

Finally, in one valley we found a local hotel that also boasted a restaurant where Bernard and Dennis could finally settle for our meal (mostly because the hour for lunch was late)

We were not disappointed. The service and care was superb and the meal was delightful. From the start to finish (the owner provided a round of drinks on the house as a treat) we sat for over three hours laughing, eating and drinking. I enjoyed my first roasted pheasant experience and had a taste of Dennis' mystery fish special which came filled in a pastry shell with a side of curry couscous. I may have eaten too much bread but it was so wonderful with this perfect chewy crust. I am ashamed to admit that when Bernard wasn't looking, I stuffed three extra rolls into my Michael Kors purse :)

I don't remember much about the ride home because it was A: dark and B: I was in a food induced coma.

Thank you Bernard for another enjoyable outing where we ate traditional French cuisine and drank in the scenery of this lovely country!

Things I've lost, Things I've gained

So here is a silly list I have compiled of the things I miss about the USA when I am in France: (in no particular order)

Free parking almost everywhere I need to go

Microwave popcorn

Chocolate chips

Roads that don't make me carsick when we drive 

My car

My king sized bed

Iced coffee (no, making it at home is NOT the same)

Privacy

My family and friends

Mint frozen yogurt from Publics

A bath tub

Screens on the windows

Air conditioning 

A bathroom and a kitchen I can actually fit in without bruising some part of my body

Speaking the language easily (but still not well)

A dishwasher

A garbage disposal

And on the flip side, this is my missing things about France list that I notice most when I'm stateside:

The views from everywhere you look

The pastry, bread and food available

The sea outside my window

Afternoon naps

The wine 

The cheese (its ridiculous how much is so readily available)

The frozen yogurt (only in the summer, down in Menton)

Anna (since she is here in France now)

Walking by the olive tree garden 

The Roman ruin next door

Walking along the sea with Dennis and Anna

Sunday drives into the mountains and eating out

Bernard cooking for us on Saturdays

The sounds of the sirens here (yes, I like them)

Waking up in the middle of the night to the moon shinning in our bedroom window

The quiet pace of our life here

The constant state of adventure (even going grocery shopping can be an adventure)

Memories of Home

While we were up visiting my family in RI for a week this past December I had some real fun times. Let me tell you about shopping at the Outlet Stores in Wrentham MA with my mom.

To understand this fully you need to know that even in non-holiday seasons, these outlet stores are traps. By traps I mean, you get trapped in traffic starting on the highway off ramp, then trapped in the parking lot, then trapped driving endlessly looking for a parking spot. Then you get trapped in lines with other humans.

But my mother and I both share a common problem. We have impossible feet. Without getting too detailed here, lets say that it is difficulty to find a shoe that fits, looks reasonably well and doesn't cause excruciating pain in several steps.  There are a limited few choices of shoe manufacturers and these outlet stores have several stores within that group. So brave the traps we did.

There was no traffic....we had no trouble finding a parking spot, things we looking good.  The weather was ridiculously cold and windy but we sally forth anyway.  After acquiring a map (naturally) we were able to concentrate on each desired target. The stores were crowded and hot but mostly we were doing well. Until we realized that no, I repeat NO shoes were fitting.

We reach yet another store on our list, packed with woman carrying shoe boxes, husbands carrying purses and children sitting on the benches texting their luckier friends who weren't stuck there.  I find four shoes I think may work, plop down on a bench, strip off my coat, gloves, sneakers and socks..begin to try on some shoes..EPIC FAIL. One pair looked good but felt too tight so I grab my purse and barefoot dash over to the place I found them to get another size. I dash back to my coat, sneakers and other shoe boxes. An ogre of a woman is standing near my things, looming. I proceed to pick up my boxes and sit back down.

"Can I have my sneakers?!" The ogre demands

"Um..I don't know where your sneakers are, I'm sorry" I reply

"You have them! The sales girl left them on this bench!" Ogre slim hits me as it stands a little too close this time.

"No, these are my boxes. They were sitting here where I left them" I explain

Then the ogre proceeds to grab, in its fat sweaty hands, the box at the top of my pile I am holding on my lap. And she walks off to another bench.

Flabbergasted, I simply watch the drama unfold.

She takes off her huge shoe, which had small village children stuck in the tread, pops open my box, discovers my black heels and gets up brandishing her foot ware, storms over to me.

Meanwhile, I notice a massive orange box marked SNEAKERS sitting on the shelf next to me.

The ogre has reached me by now. I reach for my sword but realize I forgot to wear it, thinking I would not need it here at the outlet stores.

"Looking for those?" I ask and point to the gargantuan orange box

 It grunted in reply and grabbing the box, storms off in the other direction.

UNBELIEVABLE

Store number three and I was done! I had enough of this adventure.

Needless to say, neither my mother nor I purchased anything that day, though we tried valiantly. Heading back out to the car I realized again how many silver grey Camrys there are in this world. Too many to be exact.  We could not find the car. Laughing hysterically, and freezing nearly to death, we walked endlessly with me holding the unlock button high above my head like a beacon, pressing the button over and over again in an effort to locate the car. We could hear it but couldn't find it. Where ever it was though, it was definitely unlocked! And I feel certain that the car saw us the entire time. Finally we found it, fell into it and immediately someone was waiting to park in our spot. Leaving the parking lot, the line of cars entering was barely moving and endless. We had just escaped!

Never ever a dull moment when my mom and I decide to do something.

Back to Reality?

I ask it as a question because how "real" can my life be right now? If you stop and think about it, I live in the SOUTH OF FRANCE next to a Roman ruin that was a tomb and that is over 2,000 years old. I walk by it every single day. There I am, walking my dog in the morning, the air is crisp, the local homeless man bids my good morning (I think), the butcher shop opens for the delivery of half a cow, the joggers jostle past me and sea gulls laugh over my head...and I pass a 2,000 year old Roman tomb. Not even close to my reality.

Or is the unreal becoming my real? The abnormal my normal? The impossible becoming...you get the idea.

Driving into Nice last night over a road Napoleon built, I got to thinking about how adaptive humans can be if they allow themselves. I add that because I often feel myself hanging on with both hands to the past, refusing to adapt to the present. Shame, Shame, Shame.  Life can change on you so fast. It feels like minutes ago I was living with Anna in a loft apartment along the Blackstone River, in my next breath I was in a room off my parents' kitchen sleeping on a futon with Anna making mouth noises in the dark of night, curled up on her ratty corduroy pillow next to me. And then I blinked my eyes and I was living in Florida with Dennis listening to the calls of Sand Hill Cranes and alligators barking across the swamp behind our condo. And here I am, living in a flat with my mother-in-law with views of the sea. The Mediterranean Sea.

My reality used to be wearing scrubs everyday, eating lunch in 15 minutes so I could nap in my car under the shady trees of an industrial complex off highway 1. I make a full meal now for lunch and we often sip wine and finish with dessert. I work at my laptop sitting in front of a window that opens to the mountain peak above Monaco. I wash my clothes in something the size of a dishwasher and I have to turn the water heater on hours before I plan on taking a shower because washing the lunch dishes used up all the hot water. I walk my dog along an olive tree garden that holds hundreds of years of memories and I understand nothing that the passing people say.

What will my next breath bring?

There is always a dark side

Life is full of lessons, isn't it? Dennis and I were walking back to our hotel on the last night of Paris when we passed a restaurant with an empty window seat.  A table for two with fresh flowers in a vase and the top of the Eiffel Tower visible from the window.

"Ohhh! Let's eat here babe. It's perfect" I said

"I don't know...maybe we should keep looking" Dennis replied

"But BABE! Look at how perfect it is, by the window...close to the hotel. I really want to eat here. Go in and make a reservation!" I pleaded. "If it looks scary when you go inside, just walk back out" I tell him as I shove him toward the door.

"But it looks weird" Dennis said over his shoulder as I shoved him toward the door.

A few moments later Dennis appears again through the door with a funny look on his face. We had reservations for the window table at 7:30 PM but Dennis looked like he had reservations of his own.

"What's wrong" I keep asking as we walk through the wet streets back toward our hotel.

"It was weird. The woman didn't speak French..she didn't understand me when I asked her for the reservation. She kept talking to me in military time."  Dennis explained.

I felt hopeful regardless. How bad could it be? After all, we are in Paris.

An hour later we walk back to the mystery restaurant and Dennis mood hasn't improved. When we arrive, we are the only customers.  As we are seated I am immediately aware of very loud music blaring from the TV on the wall.  There are balloons strung along the ceiling and at least 4 mechanical Santa dolls moving in time to the music. With each passing song, the music gets louder and faster.  The hostess and the server are standing behind the front area, riveted to the TV set. The special menu was several euros more now, in comparison to when we first walked by.

We came to recognize that we were in a Romanian restaurant, specializing in authentic Romanian food (or as Dennis put it, "Iron Curtain Food")  Writing about the food here would bring it back clearly into my mind and that is something I do not wish to do. Let me just say, the music's pace was pushing us along and we could not get out of that place fast enough. I felt a moral obligation to warn off any future customers so every time someone stopped in the window to read the special, I shook my head and gave them "Don't Do It!" eyes.

We walked to the metro and rode a train to Champs-Elysees to drink in the last moments of the Paris night. The huge sidewalks were full of people milling about, Christmas shopping villages selling gifts and roasted chestnuts. The lights hanging in the trees changed colors every few minutes and it was very cold.  We walked all the way to the Arc de Triomphe. Even though my feet felt like bloody stumps of pain, the beauty made it hard to notice. There simply was not enough time to fully absorb everything around me but even the brief taste we had was intoxicating.

We ended that night back at the Officer's Cafe with a beautiful salad that was topped with wonton wrapped, deep fried goats cheese. YUM.  After a whiskey or two...we both felt father away from Romania and sad to leave Paris.

The end always comes to soon

My final morning of possibilities in Paris started much the same. The weather was overcast and cold but I didn't feel it. With my snazzy new tourist hat on, I was warm and ready for my river boat shuttle.

We had both agreed that our feet needed some help so we bought tickets for the river shuttle and cruised down the Seine like the tourists we were. The entire boat was encased in glass so we were well protected from rain and wind. Starting from the Eiffel (yes I snapped 30 more pictures as we walked by her) the shuttle took us down river, stopping at Museum d'Orsay (where extensive lines had us continuing on our way) I wanted to see the art inside but didn't want to waste precious hours waiting in lines. Sadly, we will have to return for a view of the inside of this museum.

We walked down toward the Alexander III bridge, one of the most beautiful sites in Paris in my humble opinion. A gift from Russia to France, this bridge is difficult to photograph and really capture the grandeur and over-the-top artistry. Pointless to even try but valiantly I tried anyway to photograph it.

The sculptures, the gold work, the sheer size of this bridge is baffeling to the mind, even when you are standing on it, walking across it. Who sees bridges like this? And who gives bridges as a gift? Can't find that perfect gift for the special someone in your life? For the man who has everything, how about a bridge?

Really, who but the French give gifts of that magnitude. We didn't know what to do with the Statue of Liberty so we built her a whole island. This bridge, people who live here just cross it, every day. Cars and pedestrians alike. I walk slowly across, stopping every three seconds to snap another shot. Pointing to Dennis and waving my arms like a fool, "Look at that!, Look over there!" We just don't have anything like this at home.

We don't see structures that are living works of art like this. What Americans do with steak and shopping centers, fields of corn and the Grand Canyon, the French do with steel and stone. marble and granite. Bigger, more, greater.

Back on the river shuttle, we made our way to Notre Dame. The most massive and ornate church imaginable. Not particularly beautiful but darkly looming on the horizon. The clouds happened to be framing it exactly like a gothic novel would describe, mysterious and fear inspiring.

Almost daring us to enter, to walk across it's imagined holy floors. Inside we saw countless tombs of Paris' mighty religious men enshrined, almost completely obscuring the "god" they profess to adore and serve. Endless painting of suffering humans and a ever luminous Mary serene yet aloof, watching everything but never lifting her finger to help any of those begging for her mercy. She seems almost to smile at the penitent masses.  For a few euros you could buy a candle to light to any saint you wanted. To finish the whole scene, a nun was stationed at the exit with a cup full of coins, begging. Someone had been thoughtful enough to provide for her comfort with a folding chair.

Once breathing the free and un-hypocritical air outside again, we strolled across the street and found our way into gift shops and a bar were we warmed up with mulled wine. As it turned out, we were now in the Latin Quarter of town, with restaurants, shops and something happening on every corner and down every street. Movement and light everywhere.

We walked back through those streets, with the sun setting through the cloud streaked skies and made our way back down to the river once more. Up the other side toward the Louvre and onward to Madame Eiffel.  We disembarked at our place of origin and walked to our hotel, passing once more under the magical lights of Paris all around us.

Now... where would we have dinner on our last night in the City of Love?

Paris-Day 2

I've been traveling quite a bit lately and because of that it isn't uncommon for me to wake up and have no idea where I am. So day 2 of Paris I did just that.  Blinked a few times, waited for my head to clear from the muddled dreams and as the fog cleared I heard traffic far away and the hammering sounds of construction.  "Construction? Where am I?" I looked around the room and remembered....I am in Paris.  

Opening the window and stepping out into the brisk December morning, I drank in the sights and sounds, including the construction on the other side of our street where the Military Academy was. 

What to do with our brief, golden hours of daylight.  We head out to coffee.  Since we have been living in France long enough to understand the way things work, it wasn't difficult for us to find a cafe and order coffee and croissants. Paris isn't necessarily more expensive then any other city, its just as expensive. We drank our coffee and looked over our city maps while waiting for the croissants to come out of the oven. Well, we ran out of coffee before the oven could finish so, naturally, we needed more coffee.  Our bill for breakfast was as follows:

4 coffees

+

4 croissants

=

25 euros

or

$32.34

Needless to say, I wanted to dive out the window while Dennis was down in the bathroom.  Somehow, spending $32 on pastry and coffee seemed extravagant. Delightful but extravagant. 

After our breakfast debacle we walked toward Madame Eiffel to see how bad the crowds were at the tower elevators. And they were bad.  The tour buses parked on the side streets were a good indication. So we continued to the river where we discovered the boat shuttle that would bring you past 7 major sights and allow you to board and disembark all along the river, all day long. That was for tomorrow.

We continued across the river toward The Arc de Triomphe were we watched in fascination as eleven streets emptied out into the round about without direction or order. Complete chaos. I couldn't take my eyes away from the hornets nest of cars and buses, motorbikes and trucks swirling and vying for position around this massive monument that Napoleon commissioned in 1806 to pay tribute to his victories in battle. The foundation alone took 2 years to complete.  Sadly, the structure wasn't completed until 1836...not in time for the Emperor to see it for himself. However his remains were brought through the Arc before they were laid to rest in Invalides. You reach the Arc by passing through a tunnel under the crazy street above.  Walking around and through this beautiful 164 foot historical piece makes you feel tiny and brief.  For a fee, you can also walk up to the top and bask in the view.  It marks the beginning of the Champs-Elysees "the most beautiful street in the world".

From here we took the Metro and arrived at The Louvre were we spent several hours walking through vast rooms filled with artwork that boggles the mind. From Mona to Venus...there is seemingly no end to the painting, sculptures and artifacts. One of the most mind blowing pieces for me was the Egyptian artifact that was dated to the days of Moses. How is that even possible?

In all the guide books and all the blogs you read the advice to plan in advance what you want to see, otherwise you will get overwhelmed and tired.  We tried to do just that but once you are there, surrounded by so much history and beauty, its impossible to stop looking. When you sit down to eat a special meal, you eat and eat until you are ready to burst. That is what we did in the Louvre. We looked and looked and looked until we were so full mentally of art and beauty that I thought I was going to burst. Thankfully the museum closed at 6 PM and we were forced to get up from the art and history table.

Even the view outside was breathtaking with Madame Eiffel always watching us, like the moon following the car. No matter how many times I photograph her, its never enough. I always want to take just one more shot, from just one more angle. When I look back now, I wonder how I managed to walk through Paris at all without tripping as it seems as though I never stopped looking through my camera. Pinch me, I'm dreaming.