tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73041845930620951272024-02-18T22:41:12.842-08:00Are we in Paris yet?Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.comBlogger414125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-81299390275554877582019-08-31T14:10:00.000-07:002019-08-31T14:10:02.893-07:00Down the Decades<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today marks exactly 10 years since we left California for our Parisian adventure. We had planned for and looked forward to that departure for many years and when we finally left the ground at SFO we looked at each other and laughed with the thrill of it all. I loved knowing I lived (at least part time) in Paris, loved the quotidian life, loved the streets, loved feeling the city was mine in a way that a short stay can’t make me feel.<br />
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Now it’s just under 5 years since that adventure came to an end, when we realized that we had done what we had wanted to do, lived in Paris, and it was enough. We missed our California home, our friends, our family, and not least, the weather. I think it’s possible that if Paris had California’s climate we might very well still be there.<br />
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What’s interesting to me is the change of attitude I’ve had with regard to Paris. Many years ago I asked a Berkeley friend who had lived some years in Paris why she didn’t visit there more often. Her reply was that it just wasn’t the same being a visitor after having lived there. At the time this made no sense; now it’s just how I feel. Lovely as it is to see friends, visit old haunts, etc. it’s not the same. <br />
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We’ve been back a couple of times and I don’t really see myself doing it again soon. Short visits don’t make me feel at home but on the other hand I no longer want to spend a longer time there. It’s taken me a long time to understand this, but I think Paris and I are no longer in a relationship. We’ve both changed.<br />
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There have been several stretches of time in the last 5 years that I swore I would no longer travel, it was too difficult, it took too long, it had become less and less pleasant. That feeling seems to last about 18 months before the bug bites again and we start saying “well, maybe...?” So although we aren’t going anywhere this year we’ve just reserved our flights to Italy for 2020, our big anniversary year. Our love affair with Paris seems to have ended, but there’s a strong flirtation going on with Venice.Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-81376178327876204872016-06-05T09:21:00.001-07:002016-06-07T01:06:09.038-07:00Sun? Sun!I have just been hit by the first ray of sun I've seen in a week. Sitting on the couch in the apartment I suddenly realized that the light coming in the window was the sun. Getting up off the couch was the next step. Despite the grim weather we've been averaging about four miles a day and this afternoon I finally felt the need to put my feet up for a while. <br />
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But we can't let this pass, who knows when the sun might be out again, so we dashed out for a walk as did everyone else in the area. Suddenly streets that had been echoingly empty were filled with strollers and finding an outdoor café table became a challenge. We finally played tourist and snagged a table at Deux Magots to watch people pass by. For the first time in a week I wore my sandals, wore no jacket and left the umbrella at home. Summer might really show her face.</div>
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Earlier in the day we had checked out the Seine to see what the water level was. Late Friday was when it was expected to peak and then begin to recede. It did in fact look about 8-12 inches lower, judging by the water marks on the tree trunks that had been submerged. The rising river had become THE tourist attraction of Paris, particularly as nearly all the museums near the river had closed to move threatened art from lower storage levels to safety on a higher floor. The Louvre and Orsay museums continue to be closed until Tuesday, but the Grand Palais had reopened after only a day so we walked over there to see "Carambolages", a cleverly curated exhibition of many different works in many media, all hung to lead thematically from one to the next, like a row of dominoes. Very interesting and well worth the visit, as the Michelin guide would say.</div>
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Dinner at the apartment for only the second time in a week. All this eating is getting old. In Sicily I had been suffering from a bit of indigestion and had had very little appetite, which helped my waistline. Here I'm eating as usual and the four or five miles of walking per day is only keeping it from growing back.</div>
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Postscript: woke up this morning to bright sun! Fingers crossed for the rest of the week, despite the forecast.<br />
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Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-68669295887186842602016-06-01T10:40:00.001-07:002016-06-02T01:45:18.774-07:00Washed AwaySo we headed for Paris, arriving on the rainiest day I've seen since Venice. What is it with the weather in Europe lately? In California climate change gives us drought. In Europe it gives us floods. Yes, really. Floods. The Seine in Paris has risen to the Zouave's feet. You probably don't have any idea what I'm talking about, but there is a statue of a colonial soldier called a Zouave on one of the bridges crossing the Seine in the center of Paris. Traditionally the height of the river is measured by how high on the Zouave the water reaches. His feet? Pretty high.<div><br></div><div>We crossed the river today and did a double take. All the riverside roads, i.e. the lower banks, where traffic runs along the Right Bank and where the Left Bank road has been replaced with pedestrian walks and cafés, and where in July the city installs a little "beach" called Paris Plage for Parisians who can't leave the city on vacation, all of this is underwater. The barges and sightseeing boats are floating way too high and the arches under the bridges are not high enough above the water level to permit boat transit. The underground Memorial to the Deportees at the point of the Ile de la Cité behind Notre Dame is closed because the crypt is inundated. This is serious.</div><div><br></div><div>Not far from Paris, we see on the news, traffic on a major national highway is stalled because of flooding and drivers have been taken to shelters for the night. Some towns are evacuating hospitals and prisons, not to mention private homes. Not the kind of thing you think about when going on vacation. </div><div><br></div><div>With luck, the next few days will be relatively dry. It didn't rain today. Yesterday we went out to find Gene a waterproof jacket, something he got away without in the rain in Venice but it's worse here. And today I bought a pair of sturdier shoes and an raincoat. Those sandals I brought won't cut it.</div><div><br></div><div>We've set up a number of dates with old friends, dinners, drinks, movies. We wander a bit saying things like "oh look, didn't that shop use to be a bar?" We can't seem to work up much enthusiasm for going to the hot new restaurants even if I knew what they were. It's quite nice sitting in a familiar café watching the world go by. </div><div><br></div><div>Speaking of the world, much less of it seems to be here. I've heard few American voices and the streets are much less crowded than a usual early June. There's a sort of blanket of quiet over the city, which may of course just be the cloud cover. People have said that business has been picking up after all the terrorist attacks but that the weather is keeping tourists away. I don't think it's just tourists. My very uninformed impression is that Parisians are staying home as well.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-37306575524585978542016-05-30T12:15:00.001-07:002016-05-30T12:15:47.273-07:00Getting Out of Dodge<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hyRwQpYy6ruWIF8Cb7LTD-HcMvYKvGji4jJ94KyKEdKyZwRZHoHhyV9Og7d8VwySQk3wgbvPnD2oPKxnQdqkxW8QalJ0FcsqwNuEdBnutJmrIVJoWCn91IvNQesLJHyqcS-T20Jog7c/s640/blogger-image-371169196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hyRwQpYy6ruWIF8Cb7LTD-HcMvYKvGji4jJ94KyKEdKyZwRZHoHhyV9Og7d8VwySQk3wgbvPnD2oPKxnQdqkxW8QalJ0FcsqwNuEdBnutJmrIVJoWCn91IvNQesLJHyqcS-T20Jog7c/s640/blogger-image-371169196.jpg"></a></div><br></div>OK, we are sitting in the Palermo airport waiting for our flight to Paris and I have to tell you our brief feeling of content in Piazza Armerina evaporated pretty quickly. In Agrigento we checked into the Villa Athena, the only hotel actually on the grounds of the Archeological Park of the Valley of the Temples. The Villa has rooms with views of the Temple of Concordia and we snagged one when we made the reservation. Well, sort of. The view was from the little terrace attached to the room but it was nice nonetheless, particularly since the line of temples on the crest of the hill was visible from the dining terrace and the swimming pool as well. You will get that it was a nice hotel.<div><br></div><div>We arrived, had lunch and in the late afternoon headed for the temples. Two of these are impressively virtually intact, another couple are just lines of standing columns. Coming close to them is an extraordinary feeling, trying to imagine a life that included them even more so. </div><div><br></div><div>The greatest of them is a collection of blocks that represent the Temple of Jupiter which stood about 90 feet tall, and the length and breadth of a football field. The upper part of the exterior walls were held up by male figures called Telemons, at least 25 feet high. One remains in the local museum and dwarfs anyone standing nearby. A walk along the length of the valley takes about three hours. It's hot and tiring but well worth it.</div><div><br></div><div>Getting back to the hotel I stepped out on our terrace and heard American voices from the tables below. I moved closer, past the blocking plantings, and saw my doctor from Berkeley not ten feet away. Smaller and smaller world. I decided not to ask her about my troublesome indigestion.</div><div><br></div><div>There must be tourists who do their in-depth research and spend days seeing the wonders of the Valley of the Temples. We are not among them. We thought of going back the next morning but didn't. Instead we drove out to see another less historic sight that several local people had recommended us not to miss, the Scala dei Turchi, Turkish Staircase. We managed to get lost on the way and found ourselves in Porto Empedocle, the hometown of Andrea Camilleri, author of the much loved Inspector Montalbano series of mystery novels. Italian TV ran this show for 12 seasons, the most popular in TV history. Although Camilleri changes the names of the towns, Porto Empedocle is meant to be Montalbano's Vigatà and bar owners all over town use Vigatà or Montalbano in their business names. It was this show playing for a time on US television that seduced us into coming to Sicily. Great art direction, not so much a reflection of reality we have learned.</div><div><br></div><div>When we finally got to the Scala dei Turchi we were underwhelmed once again. A white chalk cliff steps down to the sea. That's it. Maybe we had just reached the point where nothing would please us, like cranky children. </div><div><br></div><div>Yesterday morning we hit the road for Palermo where we would spend one night before this morning's flight. We had originally planned to spend a week before I upended the schedule to decamp for Paris. We can only say thank god. Palermo has some wonderful old churches, mostly rundown and crumbling away. Other than that, niente. True, we missed seeing some of the most important sights because the Palazzo Normanni closed at noon and we couldn't stop at Monreale to see the renowned mosaics on our way into town as we had been<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> warned by local people not, on any account, to leave our baggage in the car while visiting the Duomo. There are many people who love Palermo, who rave about its markets, its street life. It was a Sunday we spent there so the shops were closed and the traffic limited by a military parade. We had some forgettable food at a table</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> in the street at what looked like a popular place</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> in the Vucceria market, and later had a good meal at a trattoria.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">On the way to dinner we thought we would find a café to have a drink and watch the passeggiata, hundreds of people of all ages watching each other walk up and down the main streets off the Piazza Politeana, but apparently Palermitano culture doesn't permit sitting and watching. No cafés along the streets. At all. It appears you have to keep moving like a school of sharks until you go home for dinner.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'm sounding pretty grumpy, I know, but in fact I'm grateful we recognized our lack of connection with Sicily early enough to do something about it and I'm quite happy to be waiting for the flight to rainy Paris. You can't have everything.</span></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-37843794262506625902016-05-27T07:35:00.001-07:002016-05-27T10:39:42.462-07:00Mi dispiace, SicilyI owe Sicily an apology. We left Noto yesterday feeling we had made a mistake coming to Sicily. We hadn't much cared for Siracusa, we loved our hotel in Noto but didn't think much of the town, we visited Modica and based on that decided not to visit Ragusa. We found the landscape dull. We were on a "no" roll. We were wrong, at least in part.<br />
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Yesterday morning we left for an overnight visit to Piazza Armerina, a middling size town that is the closest point to the Villa Romana del Casale, an enormous Roman villa that had been covered by a landslide and forgotten for 700 years, leaving the spectacular and extensive mosaics protected and for the most part intact. We drove to Piazza Armerina through the countryside on the Catania-Palermo autostrada, a countryside completely different than that of the southeastern part of Sicily where we had been so far. Here we had green fields, enormous rolls of hay, hills that felt more like Tuscany. It was lovely. When we reached Piazza Armerina we checked into a B&B in the modern part of town, above a café, someplace we would typically not consider, but it was great. Modern, clean, well decorated, great shower, nice owner. Unlike the fancier places we had been staying I was forced to use my Italian. No one we met in Piazza Armerina spoke English. </div>
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The mosaics were extraordinary. It was blazing hot but with enough of a wind to make it not too uncomfortable and we kept on and on, through thousands of square feet of room floors, all covered in exquisite mosaic scenes. We've seen a lot of ancient remains over the years but these were special.</div>
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The guide at the Villa suggested a bar for us to have a light dinner and when we mentioned the name to the girl behind the bar at "our" café she told us it was her uncle's place. Once we got there I told the barman we had been sent by his niece. This was the beginning of a conversation with him, his wife, his son (who made the delicious arancini the bar was known for), various neighbors who dropped in to get their own arancini, the niece from the café, the niece's old high school teacher, who rushed back home to bring us some fresh cherries after I said the ones we had bought were no good, and a nurse from Lago Maggiore who was back home visiting the family and tossing back a few glasses of vino bianco. We discussed the lack of outdoor tables in the old part of Piazza Armerina, which led to a discussion about the venality of local politicians who were concerned only with lining their own pockets rather than improving local business conditions, which led to the differences between countries and their politicians, which led to travel and to work and to retirement and...</div>
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After a round of cheek kisses we found our way home and fell happily asleep. A good day in Sicily.</div>
Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-75505831728959542652016-05-24T07:19:00.001-07:002016-05-24T13:22:18.729-07:00Sicily<span style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I have grown to detest travel, by which I mean the transfer from one place to another. The shortest trip by air takes at least 2 hours longer than the actual flight and often much more. And don't get me started on connections. </span><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All of this is by way of saying getting from Venice to Siracusa Sicily was a long slog. A water taxi to the airport, a delayed flight to Rome, a delayed flight to Catania, a 30 minute taxi ride to Siracusa and a jerk of a hotel manager on arrival. Basta!</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The desk clerk though is a sweetie and a drink and a bite to eat helped immensely. The first morning we wandered out into Ortygia, the oldest and most charming part of the city, early enough to enjoy it before the tour groups arrived.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Later we are sitting on stone benches (thin cushions provided) in the ancient Greek theater waiting for a production of Sophocles Electra in Italian. Go figure. We weren't sure what to expect but it was incredible! Great acting and a full Greek choir in red robes. A truly super experience!</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Repeated wandering around Ortygia, a visit to the large and somewhat dilapidated archeological museum, and several reasonably good meals later, we were ready to leave, not enormously impressed so far with our Sicilian experience.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The next morning we walked around the corner to the car rental office where I asked jokingly whether they had an automatic shift vehicle. </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When I booked the car through AutoEurope I was told it was virtually impossible to get an automatic in Sicily and if we could they price would triple. So I borrowed a stick shift car from a friend and renewed my 30 year lapsed acquaintance with the standard gearshift. I felt reasonably secure with it and Gene had expressed a preference de for me to drive, so I was ready to bite the bullet, putting out of my mind winding roads, sheer drop offs and Sicilian drivers. Well, somewhat out of my mind. Or was it I that was out of my mind?</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I did a double take when the agent said that he was giving me an automatic shift for the same price. Apparently an American had rented it, turned it in the day before, and this Good Samaritan agent had assumed we would want it so he held it for us til the morning! I was overjoyed and relieved. It's pretty big and I can't figure out how to turn off the radio without also eliminating the GPS, but va bene.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've never used a GPS before and have little trust in it but Gene assures me it's working perfectly and the fact that he can't navigate his way to the grocery store will not be an issue. So far so good.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Our next stop was Noto, only 45 minutes away but I fell in love with the hotel when I found it online and decided it would be our base for driving around the area. The 7 Rooms Villadorata is part of one of the most important palazzos in town and has been done up beautifully by the woman who owns it. Our room is about 15 feet x 20 feet, 20 foot ceilings, two floor to ceiling French doors opening onto a balcony, cool tile floors, a great huge shower, breakfasts served on the roof terrace overlooking the countryside...need I go on? Need I ever leave the building?</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well maybe, but leaving it isn't all that satisfying. I have a confession to make. We aren't particularly enamored of Sicily. At all. Everyone we've ever talked to about it raved and we watched a lot of the Italian police series <i>Commissario Montalbano</i> and were seduced by the overhead shots of the landscape. Why would we expect to be....bored? But we are. Too many churches in Venice maybe.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Yesterday we bit the bullet and rearranged our trip, dropping a vineyard resort and a week in Palermo and getting out of Dodge. We're flying to Paris a week early, after a visit to the Valley of the Temples at Agrigento. How did we ever think a week in Palermo could beat an extra week in Paris? </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">N.B. You might notice the absence of photos on this post. For some reason my iPad is rebelling and I can't get it to show the photos I've been taking with the iPhone. The cloud is not cooperating. I'll figure it out and post photos somehow. Meanwhile, check my Instagram account: shellioreck.</span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-36521270793021904772016-05-18T00:28:00.001-07:002016-05-18T00:58:55.084-07:00Veniced Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmNQVuIUHTMBQAsy6sx29_G1YjnpZAWRe_NSos_Hu0KO5YSoHtYu5H4DjCPH4xtD_73a9Mk1Yl5Yqw6ThbaNQ8cWWheq5DB0wPwTVA6ynQlKjYQPpSJJxZnKnX0TyiGFV-B3m4LhC0Is/s640/blogger-image-545413767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmNQVuIUHTMBQAsy6sx29_G1YjnpZAWRe_NSos_Hu0KO5YSoHtYu5H4DjCPH4xtD_73a9Mk1Yl5Yqw6ThbaNQ8cWWheq5DB0wPwTVA6ynQlKjYQPpSJJxZnKnX0TyiGFV-B3m4LhC0Is/s640/blogger-image-545413767.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We are alone again, all our friends from Paris gone back a<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">nd the rain over for a few days. We haven't been doing much sightseeing as such, rather wandering around, stopping for coffee or a spritz, watching parents bringing their children home from school, chatting to friends they meet in the campo. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We who go everywhere in cars no longer have the experience of running into our neighbors in the street, of knowing what time the old lady across the way goes out to do her shopping, and of being part of the fabric of a neighborhood. Certainly privacy and the nuclear family experience have its advantages but we've lost something we may not even have known we had. In Venice it's definitely still here.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UNqon_eXTBfMkUfuP6MRKxOA7uIOxq4gyXSLS-sJlcQ8blpcKhg7_M6llegQAzD7YFc4WypgN2aQQde1bL9gy-5rfgdNqKgo_3rhdtaj-kNT-bNZDJfnxlXLfxrVi_h-bPXGG5LUxl4/s640/blogger-image--1836008240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UNqon_eXTBfMkUfuP6MRKxOA7uIOxq4gyXSLS-sJlcQ8blpcKhg7_M6llegQAzD7YFc4WypgN2aQQde1bL9gy-5rfgdNqKgo_3rhdtaj-kNT-bNZDJfnxlXLfxrVi_h-bPXGG5LUxl4/s640/blogger-image--1836008240.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We did drop into the Accademia for an hour to see some of the collection. There was no line for tickets and the galleries were nearly empty. When we had looked in on the weekend it was jammed, with dozens of people waiting to buy tickets. Lesson for the future, avoid Venice on the weekend if possible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-DAcv8jOVnYqvARkEFEnE2sXG1NGGruO-fGtc1vO-nTopd06BGRDSJWDseuMelXNto5hdfuk1yHOvM5546Kr-hjcZpzajCxepxfsN_d0rejl8vEo4-0W46Cv0P6pfX0S6g5esXzrMzq8/s640/blogger-image--1588649365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-DAcv8jOVnYqvARkEFEnE2sXG1NGGruO-fGtc1vO-nTopd06BGRDSJWDseuMelXNto5hdfuk1yHOvM5546Kr-hjcZpzajCxepxfsN_d0rejl8vEo4-0W46Cv0P6pfX0S6g5esXzrMzq8/s640/blogger-image--1588649365.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There is not much in the way of street performers, just one fellow who plays music on drinking glasses who moves from one tourist passage to another, but yesterday we heard some lovely music up ahead and found this fellow swinging on the top of the wellhead in Campo San Barnaba. He was very good.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fs44t5_ie7PQfPfFW0v3VBQhxhoRQ4KqYv_0HOP6igmMxTh608FXw4Vzy6DbVKQgZZ2U1J-hxjR6KZm92QMksaVtbrfM0z0O1L5-QHXDsGgMfaLhyphenhyphenaZzwYnVNaaRleLPz9tHlfyZ0aI/s640/blogger-image--1759387249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fs44t5_ie7PQfPfFW0v3VBQhxhoRQ4KqYv_0HOP6igmMxTh608FXw4Vzy6DbVKQgZZ2U1J-hxjR6KZm92QMksaVtbrfM0z0O1L5-QHXDsGgMfaLhyphenhyphenaZzwYnVNaaRleLPz9tHlfyZ0aI/s640/blogger-image--1759387249.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We found ourselves on the Zattere for lunch, with a wonderful view across to Giudecca and boats of all sizes going by. Someone had recommended <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Ristorante Riviera to us and there it was so we sat down under the umbrellas on the dock and had a delicious lunch of poached sous vide egg on tiny thin asparagus, two kinds of seafood pasta and pieces of grilled beef with vegetables. Do you realize how difficult it is to get vegetables in a Venetian restaurant?! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">We're ready to leave Venice and head to Sicily but we have another two days here. I think we'll take a boat out to Burano today and explore among the pastel painted houses and shops selling lace made in China.</font></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-63843110027331641182016-05-15T11:26:00.001-07:002016-05-15T11:26:36.609-07:00Living in Another Century<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJDgKnopFcd6UxjjV00xb3T1UTP3kpTHru0w7O2ro8sRLtILsXn9wDlDIeMOFbhEl4-O_t_CSzQn4MaMPg1JMhTPENpdTkdGJCut7M-MyKmQoOAzTM8oBne-u3TY_k4R4uJj7zbWQeXo/s640/blogger-image-634270356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJDgKnopFcd6UxjjV00xb3T1UTP3kpTHru0w7O2ro8sRLtILsXn9wDlDIeMOFbhEl4-O_t_CSzQn4MaMPg1JMhTPENpdTkdGJCut7M-MyKmQoOAzTM8oBne-u3TY_k4R4uJj7zbWQeXo/s640/blogger-image-634270356.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Saturday morning was bright and sunny and our moods matched. Gene and I set off to meet G and M to visit the Scuola San Rocco, a treasure house of Tintorettos virtually around the corner from the apartment. The Scuola is one of the religious confraternities established to honor a particular religious figure, e.g. the Virgin, one saint or another. These organizations are centuries old and are meant to do good works and honor their patron. Scuola San Rocco has always been a particularly rich scuola and hired Tintoretto, a member of the scuola, to paint the ceilings and walls. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJOb9BXAC7mN6xGt8-hz0-MHGee7_va5LQhKyKjZrXnAF4Yd_a8JbU8zE6pVtLMyHiyOh8HQTIISJ5ORYKLEVashmpZ2-u6lFYgnYGCIzrxkoZnbJ83AIP4CXtTxg6oa61ikggqIL6CE/s640/blogger-image-866138210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJOb9BXAC7mN6xGt8-hz0-MHGee7_va5LQhKyKjZrXnAF4Yd_a8JbU8zE6pVtLMyHiyOh8HQTIISJ5ORYKLEVashmpZ2-u6lFYgnYGCIzrxkoZnbJ83AIP4CXtTxg6oa61ikggqIL6CE/s640/blogger-image-866138210.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The lower level is quite impressive, but the upper hall is breathtaking. Virtually every inch is painted and painted beautifully, and whatever is not painted is carved or gilded. Particularly striking is the consistency of vision. It's rare to find a place like this done by the hand of the same master. I wish my photos could do it justice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEian-ZhZcPYndDvYio_9cEn_h3Eb6UgTDAmEAEgl8q3xPZhcusEmsY5v48g8hrR95AAqHFkc2eM2HaYBMuS0Ga0AdQXng28pWhqRnk761HQykO6VlbBzyPEgHuYxJs40jRvqk_Sf5XGxDk/s640/blogger-image-1556503569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEian-ZhZcPYndDvYio_9cEn_h3Eb6UgTDAmEAEgl8q3xPZhcusEmsY5v48g8hrR95AAqHFkc2eM2HaYBMuS0Ga0AdQXng28pWhqRnk761HQykO6VlbBzyPEgHuYxJs40jRvqk_Sf5XGxDk/s640/blogger-image-1556503569.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Later in the day a different vision of the heyday of Venice was opened up by a visit to Ca' Rezzonico, the museum of 17th century Venice. Built by one of the enormously rich and powerful Venetian families, it was allowed to deteriorate as so many of the palazzi were when the fortunes of the city and her ruling class declined at the beginning of the 18th century. Restored and opened to the public, it offers a glimpse of what it must have been like to be Venetian aristocracy. It was a little bit like too much rich cake covered with whipped cream. I couldn't manage to get to the third floor to see the painting museum.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqkLgutuo72JfQYxblTdtEgdr9gJm1lKV_r7IwIZL_aEYXmjMC9e6Wh9Y9CIRGhswlzJdhqzrSIwx4b-8pEo3MxN4Wy0Cdx8ddoCrmr-L6ecH_FdgNv6NzpfE0vw2ldYHo4_-hYDSx-4/s640/blogger-image--1458347131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqkLgutuo72JfQYxblTdtEgdr9gJm1lKV_r7IwIZL_aEYXmjMC9e6Wh9Y9CIRGhswlzJdhqzrSIwx4b-8pEo3MxN4Wy0Cdx8ddoCrmr-L6ecH_FdgNv6NzpfE0vw2ldYHo4_-hYDSx-4/s640/blogger-image--1458347131.jpg"></a></div><br></div>And the day spent in the past was not yet over. We joined the organization called Musica a Palazzo which puts on considerably edited operas in multiple rooms of a faded palazzo with an excellent small orchestra and three very very good singers. We followed Violetta, Alfredo and Giorgio from salon to salon to bedroom as they put on La Traviata. We were as close to them as if we were attending the same party and what a swell party it was.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3jb8-H-eiA9ctF1C6z1P0FgWvNdiGDIU93_RqEH4tD9Y71U9DE0m1l_7ShzRQvfxlYHBkqBOct9x4LCpJJSVd8QNIoeef7jU840K-tfMpQs4jT9cHX98mlno7QMeUYJhceg2eli9KfFw/s640/blogger-image-1761299829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3jb8-H-eiA9ctF1C6z1P0FgWvNdiGDIU93_RqEH4tD9Y71U9DE0m1l_7ShzRQvfxlYHBkqBOct9x4LCpJJSVd8QNIoeef7jU840K-tfMpQs4jT9cHX98mlno7QMeUYJhceg2eli9KfFw/s640/blogger-image-1761299829.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Happily the palazzo is very close to the Gritti Palace hotel, so obviously we had to all go have a very expensive but well worth it drink on the terrace as the sun set. We'll never be able to stay there but the budget will run to a glass of Prosecco and a fantasy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Exhausted yet? So were we but it was then that the skies opened and the lightning and thunder started. We dashed to the vaporetto station (thank god they cover them!) and got the next boat. The continuing dash through the twisting streets to the apartment left us breathless and soaking, but so what. It was Venice, both good and less so.</div><br></div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-42007719270802334342016-05-12T07:46:00.000-07:002016-05-15T02:44:25.873-07:00Trying to Keep Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImdmZVqKsQ75dyOWtHMJKAaPw7KGIkt5mAzDj5wAiFTNKE6eRWueA1Gz6qpNzBfUS5Lll9bSF_qkMfRHTuGGMGuM9oV3U8l_yLP-JlDT-ItvZm6HB7aJS_t8r29zz2ETHSh4LOPm9TuQ/s640/blogger-image--46359536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImdmZVqKsQ75dyOWtHMJKAaPw7KGIkt5mAzDj5wAiFTNKE6eRWueA1Gz6qpNzBfUS5Lll9bSF_qkMfRHTuGGMGuM9oV3U8l_yLP-JlDT-ItvZm6HB7aJS_t8r29zz2ETHSh4LOPm9TuQ/s640/blogger-image--46359536.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wednesday was a miserable day, raining hard all day. In all our visits to Venice I realize I haven't had rain, at least more than a slight drizzle, if that. This was what much of the winter must be like in this city on the Adriatic. No thanks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our friend S. from Paris arrived mid afternoon, just about the time my phone credit ran out so I couldn't text or call her to change our planned sunny caffè meeting place to an inside venue. Luckily there was only one direction she could go from the vaporetto. Va bene.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dinner that night was at what is probably the only restaurant in Venice that does not serve fish, La Bitta on Calle Largo San Barnaba. I asked the native Venetian woman who owns it why she come to focus on meats and poultry. "Because I hate fish!" she replied. "I can't even be in the same room with it!" She must have been a trial to her mother growing up in Venice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wyi7a0M77i0RPjRLDCLbN_mM1Uz-o8jmlXSnF1v3z5Qld1dDaHEhjHLAGG3qkvZwpS4aFiwjBb-up3PwK_RIu-wWxoniKmwACTBjq8gtXvZPf09iRP4kVVN4wyWFOJYNP487gSm-nOw/s640/blogger-image-1745060444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wyi7a0M77i0RPjRLDCLbN_mM1Uz-o8jmlXSnF1v3z5Qld1dDaHEhjHLAGG3qkvZwpS4aFiwjBb-up3PwK_RIu-wWxoniKmwACTBjq8gtXvZPf09iRP4kVVN4wyWFOJYNP487gSm-nOw/s640/blogger-image-1745060444.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The next morning we got on a train to Padua to visit the Scrovegni Chapel, entirely frescoed by Giotto at the beginning of the 14th century with the life of Christ, his mother Mary and his grandfather Joachim. One must make reservations in advance for a 20 minute window to view the chapel, preceded by a 15 minute stay in a stabilized antechamber to protect the condition of the 800 year old work, which, when you finally reach it, is extraordinary. Giotto is credited with the creation of Renaissance painting. In Dante's <i>Purgatorio</i> he is mentioned as having far surpassed Cimabue, the previously acknowledged genius of his time. This is more than worth the 30 minute train ride from Venice. I'm sorry not to have done it before.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Also very much worth seeing in Padua is the Basilica of Saint Anthony of Padua, one of the major pilgrimage sites of Europe. Quite spectacular but equally interesting because of the pilgrims themselves, groups from many Catholic countries coming to touch and kiss the tomb of the saint in its very elaborate chapel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPuEYOCYSl5IZ4uS8T0NTKFDKezj5QWEzx8Aemgk2UizFrr2d8iQ66Y8cr800dPSi7B1EHpdQtXoWaVq_1roap93a9aa-PaPGDeh0xltKdaKPXSU7dgLEGH-pVjWE4so1Dsrvf6goKP8/s640/blogger-image-323975953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPuEYOCYSl5IZ4uS8T0NTKFDKezj5QWEzx8Aemgk2UizFrr2d8iQ66Y8cr800dPSi7B1EHpdQtXoWaVq_1roap93a9aa-PaPGDeh0xltKdaKPXSU7dgLEGH-pVjWE4so1Dsrvf6goKP8/s640/blogger-image-323975953.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A return to Venice and dinner at what may be our favorite restaurant in Venice, Antiche Carampane. Hidden on a tiny street in San Polo, I only know one way to reach it and have to recreate my steps every time so as not to get lost in the alleys and canals. It was worth the trouble, as usual, with the freshest fish cooked the most appetizing ways. Moeche, delicious little soft shell crabs, were in season and incredible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Unfortunately we had to recreate our out-of-the-way route the next day because we had left an umbrella there the night before. This turned out to be reason to have a lunch of cicchetti standing at the bar at Bancogiro, between Rialto bridge and the fish market. Delicious and filling at E10 for 3 of us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk73yWgTlehvt41o86LQBrxudjjPYM1B31xn9mqsrC6KVNcpQU7TC_3KkcK9XBkA-iyeuME1UWtW4RqHTv_u8yjXM89fRFgcULD_G66vQLR0i8l0Y7AlcmEiOLxizrT9l5zBMSuxDQ1kw/s640/blogger-image-216841746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk73yWgTlehvt41o86LQBrxudjjPYM1B31xn9mqsrC6KVNcpQU7TC_3KkcK9XBkA-iyeuME1UWtW4RqHTv_u8yjXM89fRFgcULD_G66vQLR0i8l0Y7AlcmEiOLxizrT9l5zBMSuxDQ1kw/s640/blogger-image-216841746.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-cqJUWpgQv7EeLG18HlajXpTIT43QFsyVMfOU3E6b47yqJjDLcMT88ZnTEYM4EZtn077c5K-WGNwEwkCRzDm7AAo_AO6daGqlPBULqcDgPVBzeDGTjog5PLHXlPzzxf07pT9sLeEeiQ/s640/blogger-image-1731190265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-cqJUWpgQv7EeLG18HlajXpTIT43QFsyVMfOU3E6b47yqJjDLcMT88ZnTEYM4EZtn077c5K-WGNwEwkCRzDm7AAo_AO6daGqlPBULqcDgPVBzeDGTjog5PLHXlPzzxf07pT9sLeEeiQ/s640/blogger-image-1731190265.jpg"></a></div><br></div>We usually try to avoid Piazza San Marco at any cost. The crowds and souvenir crap make me very annoyed. But we were nearby at this point and Gene had seen some pictures of the elaborate marble flooring in the Basilica that he wanted to see so we went in, climbing only to the loggia level to see the mosaics as close as possible and the original horses that had been restored and moved into the museum. Pretty good view of the Piazza from up there too. Once every 30 years or so will do for me though.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A dash back to our neighborhood to meet G and M, friends from Paris who are spending a long weekend here, drinks at the apartment and dinner at our new favorite restaurant, Ai Artisti. The sauté of mussels and clams in a ginger spiked sauce may be the best thing I've eaten all year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And so to bed ( after a walk to help digest it all.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-28087619764676719942016-05-11T00:44:00.001-07:002016-05-11T00:44:20.461-07:00On and On<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmf6pt_c1UT28EuKQyGIeGS169V4LgFNplAzh1PTbwldIYbXJzP9Cd47krurTMp_KZ9gmtpf8dtobrhacJPdVwykxKc7c6Ubo2VjA3TSaDkCtavKgkD3E_V2MoeD_WEcJmlLMxuXPZ3o/s640/blogger-image-1924516828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmf6pt_c1UT28EuKQyGIeGS169V4LgFNplAzh1PTbwldIYbXJzP9Cd47krurTMp_KZ9gmtpf8dtobrhacJPdVwykxKc7c6Ubo2VjA3TSaDkCtavKgkD3E_V2MoeD_WEcJmlLMxuXPZ3o/s640/blogger-image-1924516828.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">No matter how much you see in Venice there's always more. Yesterday's destination was the Fondazioni Querini-Stampalia Museum and Library in the Castello sestiere or district, pretty much across town from our apartment. It's a palazzo that belonged to the Querini family for centuries and is now refurbished to give you an idea of what such a house might have been like when it was liven in. Enormous, elegant, full of art, including an important and lovely Bellini, a portion of it, including the garden, has been redesigned and built by the modern architect Carlo Scarpa. This too is wonderful. For some reason I'm not able to upload yesterday's photos but I'll keep trying.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But there's always more, as I said. On the way to the Q-S we stopped for a coffee and found ourselves in front of the church of Santa Maria Formosa, another place we'd never been before. We stepped inside for a peek and wound up buying the Chorus Pass which allows free entrance to over a dozen of the more interesting churches in Venice for a year. With this in hand we headed later to the church called I Gesuiti, the most Baroque church in Venice, but on the way we passed Santa Maria dei Miracoli, a tiny perfect little church of the 15th century in pink and white and pale green marble with a horde of little children released from school shouting and running in front of it. No respectful silence here! The Chorus Pass got us in to gaze at the portraits of Biblical and religious figures in the 50 individual coffered sections of the ceiling, along with some charming statues of St. Francis and Santa Chiara, to whom the church is dedicated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Okay, that makes two stops we hadn't planned but were excited to have stumbled upon. I Gesuiti is even farther away, just off the Fondamenta Nove, where you get the boats to the islands. After missing the turning a few times we arrived at a huge church with gigantic statues on the roof which were difficult to see because of the close quarters in Venice. No matter. The interior is where the real show is. Unlike most of the churches we've seen here, this one could be in Rome, with its tortured columns and marble draperies and faux marble painting all over the walls. Baroque to the nth degree.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And then the eternal question. How do we get home? The easier (not actually easy, just easier) way is to walk to the nearest vaporetto stop. The more adventurous (not to say cheaper) way is to walk all the way back. Hearty adventurers that we are, we set out, fortified by a coffee and a tramezzino, the ubiquitous triangular white bread sandwich sold in every cafe. Through the throngs in the center of town, over the Rialto bridge, where a stop for a Prosecco at Naranzaria keeps up the theme of fortification, through San Polo, past the church of I Frari, over a couple more bridges, under a few sotoportegos, streets that run like tunnels beneath buildings, and finally home. Thank goodness Gene is willing to give foot rubs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">A mediocre dinner in the neighborhood and so to bed, with thanks to Samuel Pepys. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-60507942768777100192016-05-09T02:16:00.001-07:002016-05-09T02:16:41.541-07:00On the Road Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpsWHbfIquGFabg1wMtmuY3G58ymk40i62s63t26QT_6FpPTh1_WuqLfswWVayep7mHhO4VnNpheO_7xJ-7t6PE4OJRMLEgGB-WLQeIN8dtYePYMHkTCub-9dnbOV7McsiyUCfR_UTMow/s640/blogger-image--469150482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpsWHbfIquGFabg1wMtmuY3G58ymk40i62s63t26QT_6FpPTh1_WuqLfswWVayep7mHhO4VnNpheO_7xJ-7t6PE4OJRMLEgGB-WLQeIN8dtYePYMHkTCub-9dnbOV7McsiyUCfR_UTMow/s640/blogger-image--469150482.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Well, in the air again anyway. Coincidently exactly two years since we were last in Venice we're back, this time for a couple of weeks. We are in an apartment with the view above, large, well located, convenient to pretty much anything, with one drawback that had never occurred to me: that pretty canal is sort of a major thoroughfare for motorized boat traffic and the bridge on the right leads to the huge Campo Santa Margherita, favorite hangout for the students of the Ca' Foscari University. Especially on Saturday night.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So, let's talk about jet lag. It's hell. I know some people say they simply get over it, wake at 8:00 in the morning and hit the sights. I think they're lying. I'm lying too, in bed, sleepless until the time my body thinks is night. In California.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One of the great advantages to staying in an apartment is you can have breakfast at noon (on your beautiful terrace. Did I mention the beautiful terrace?) and not venture out until afternoon and no one looks askance at you for being such a lazy twit. So that's what we did yesterday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I've never had an activity app on my phone on previous visits but I now have evidence that a stroll around the narrow streets and over the bridges in your path during a typical "where the hell are we?" outing in Venice will cover about four miles a day. With breaks for coffee, spritz, lunch, chats with darling old men standing in the doorway of 16th century palazzi, etc. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I've been using my Italian as much as I can, trying not to let the Venetians, who mostly speak better English than I do, divert the conversation to make it easier on their ear. I was particularly proud to understand a few sentences spoken to each other by people passing in the street. Of course I find myself going blank often enough when trying to remember a word, and yesterday I wound up in a conversation in French because that's what came out of my mouth in spite of myself. Well I assume it will get better.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since we are awake and fed and dressed I think we'll get moving before we remember it's the middle of the night in California. More later. A presto.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-10669059438634917562014-11-09T11:04:00.001-08:002014-11-09T12:09:17.708-08:00Wrapping UpSo it's been a while, and one of the dangers of not blogging regularly combined with a memory that isn't as razor-sharp as it used to be is that I'm having a bit of trouble recalling what we've been doing.<br />
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One major thing was my sister Susanne's visit, her first in five years. A bit of museuming, a lot of walking and a judicious amount of shopping filled her two weeks, along with a two-night visit to Bruges and a stop in Ghent.</div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Bruges, where we had last been in early September 2001, just before the 9/11 attacks, was much the same, charming, a bit Disneylandish, packed with tourists. We decided to go with the flow and take the canal ride, snap photos of the lovely architecture, eat the frites and admit that we were tourists just like the others. It was a lovely time and we were blessed with unusually sunny weather. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We had arranged the train ride back to give us a few hours in Ghent to visit the famous Van Eyck altarpiece in the cathedral of St. Bavo. If you've been paying attention to the recent spate of books and movies about the Monument Men, the US Army officers charged with finding and recovering European works of art looted by the Nazis during WWII, this altarpiece was one of the major works recovered from enormous caches of art in salt mines and castles in Germany. It's an extraordinary work of art and the presentation and audio explanation of the symbolism is one of the best I've ever encountered. Go.</span></div>
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Back in Paris we visited the new Frank Gehry designed museum, the Fondation Louis Vuitton, in the Bois de Boulogne. It's Gehry's latest "how does he do that?" structure and it's pretty stunning, at least from the outside. I found the interior confusing and jumbled, and the complex internal structure that supports the glass sail-like exterior sometimes feels too compressed. Gene went to see a concurrent exhibition on Frank Gehry at the Centre Pompidou and came back saying Gehry is more of a sculptor than an architect. Based on the LV museum I would agree. Oh and by the way, the collection is not a lot of purses, it will contain the contemporary art of Bernard Arnault, one of the richest men in France and the owner of LVMH.</div>
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We try to see an opera most years in Paris and this month Mozart's "L'enlevement du Serail" is being performed at the Palais Garnier, the gorgeous Belle Époque opera house of Phantom legend. Since the ticket prices are astronomical, we go a couple of hours early to wait in line to try to get one of the few discounted tickets that are returned or kept as comps until the last minute. This time we got in line at 5:30 behind 4 other people as indicated by a man at the entrance. There was no one else in the room. An hour later another man came over and told us that it was not the correct place to be and we had to go to another line in which there were already a number of people. This would have meant that there was no chance for any of us in the original line. You've heard, I'm sure, of the French Revolution. There was nearly another when the people who had been in front of us protested, loudly, about the unfairness. This went on for a good 30 minutes until someone came up with a compromise. Since everyone claimed they had been there first, we would alternate between lines, thus equalizing the risk of losing out. A solution worthy of French rational philosophy. We Americans along for the ride managed to get great seats at about a sixth the cost of a full price ticket!</div>
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Something I mean to do every time we are in Paris but often forget to schedule is a meal at Caviar Kaspia, a jewel-box of a restaurant on the second floor of the boutique specializing in caviar and smoked salmon. Our first visit over 20 years ago on a rainy afternoon has stayed with me as one of the archetypal events of our years here. We wanted Susanne to have the experience and so scheduled lunch there after a visit to the Perugino exhibition at the Musée Jacquemart Andre.</div>
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You can certainly break the bank here if you can't control your caviar cravings, but our usual meal is a first course of borscht or smoked salmon or trout followed by blinis with salmon eggs. Absolutely indulgent but financially sound. And delicious. The service is fit for the Tsars, the room could be in St. Petersburg and the experience is wonderful. Did I mention the icy cold flask of vodka that is the perfect accompaniment? </div>
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And since we aren't planning to be back in Paris for a while, other food cravings are being satisfied as well. Last night we indulged in confit de canard at Au Petit Sud Ouest, which specializes in all things duck and goose. We have reservations with friends later this week at Bofinger for a dose of choucroute garnie, and I even hope to fit in a felafel at L'As de Felafel in the Marais before our departure. Stomach memories to hoard up against Parisian longing.</div>
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I realized the other day that for some reason we hadn't been within view of the Eiffel Tower at the turn of any hour and so had missed the twinkling lights that play on the it for the first few minutes of each hour. Last night we happened to leave the restaurant just as the light show started. A perfect farewell.</div>
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Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-26259200275528845492014-10-22T13:52:00.001-07:002014-10-22T13:52:30.246-07:00Walking the Streets<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPjVB9IASCInVkrXapYGS0qeyymwNRe3EMC28Q9JsfGzkwGircmq6skOGzt9HcMbt1GrsDeivQ1BsXEa6w6HgcstlUHol3FPo8Xett-sQ0AA77mzDSXFIzDZOnN_RGSDIIYVkFEARJp0/s640/blogger-image-1655339859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPjVB9IASCInVkrXapYGS0qeyymwNRe3EMC28Q9JsfGzkwGircmq6skOGzt9HcMbt1GrsDeivQ1BsXEa6w6HgcstlUHol3FPo8Xett-sQ0AA77mzDSXFIzDZOnN_RGSDIIYVkFEARJp0/s640/blogger-image-1655339859.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There's been a strange end of summer feeling in Paris this week, warm weather and sun much of the time, interspersed with gray skies and sudden downpours. We went for a walk along the Berges de Seine, the quays that used to be a highway along the river and that have been turned into a pedestrian playground. The beach chairs remain but the seats are damp from the last rain shower.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDU_lu_H6n-_xspqPURC-_FsC3DXPyx4f2kYpEE43tdtEWS2olIBdiNs1SUPvs6NYMFfLNe96CDiDJFZt5neQf3IjgczD9sQaoKNt7Yb1lHNM5y0aCjAMMN3twcNfuAn7G6S1QhYnPTmE/s640/blogger-image-1279969007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDU_lu_H6n-_xspqPURC-_FsC3DXPyx4f2kYpEE43tdtEWS2olIBdiNs1SUPvs6NYMFfLNe96CDiDJFZt5neQf3IjgczD9sQaoKNt7Yb1lHNM5y0aCjAMMN3twcNfuAn7G6S1QhYnPTmE/s640/blogger-image-1279969007.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The river itself is still a highway however. Barges cruise along, most of them still carrying cargo, while others are living spaces for nomads who like to wake up somewhere different each morning. In today's world they take their cars with them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYYWEy5ZAXiV1KfAvJEsQBlO2xkGi03vNXAkOLQNY3x4y4W0DrNf1UQvtqNKJ8L8_0mjokinnqAMukIh3UU75LhpuZBGIShuvOyRQBfYXwVyUxutlE2BZAdYnqhnmxna97PsljMSQGjA/s640/blogger-image-909203741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYYWEy5ZAXiV1KfAvJEsQBlO2xkGi03vNXAkOLQNY3x4y4W0DrNf1UQvtqNKJ8L8_0mjokinnqAMukIh3UU75LhpuZBGIShuvOyRQBfYXwVyUxutlE2BZAdYnqhnmxna97PsljMSQGjA/s640/blogger-image-909203741.jpg"></a></div><br></div>The establishment of the Berges de Seine has inspired a lot of new eating places along the river. A few are still open until the end of the month and we were able to have a glass of wine and a snack virtually underneath the Pont Alexandre III. If you want to be even closer to this bridge, a fancy restaurant/club called Faust has been installed in the pillar of the bridge itself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3SXwKVAbMwEFPDiAneCQC216m5xkYfcEf0Ttf5pIBatHFEewK9J-giOrYFtkBTBtuPiGGtiYjwsbluRrPPOL6vMg0wyOKQcFwKcAqsJMuGKLcrPKKyhIPqwbRXjGB5yXGw9FLHNBVpE/s640/blogger-image-817541630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3SXwKVAbMwEFPDiAneCQC216m5xkYfcEf0Ttf5pIBatHFEewK9J-giOrYFtkBTBtuPiGGtiYjwsbluRrPPOL6vMg0wyOKQcFwKcAqsJMuGKLcrPKKyhIPqwbRXjGB5yXGw9FLHNBVpE/s640/blogger-image-817541630.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The weekend was a real throwback to summer. Temperatures reached 75F and the city hit the streets. Café terraces were jammed and the parks full of people on the lawns or stretched out on lounge chairs. October is very strange this year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h5ZTGTC0uF8itB29firsv6R7o3aVIy40bZasqxVeoxbYrxcdnBM7xA3LBgoZdkLqX3EH-cOx1NHl8Ff8INGNijzLlIakR-LKK9kDbkjs9ahtYtuIFk-OsgESB1qodS3q8iNz92VBbrc/s640/blogger-image-56111380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2h5ZTGTC0uF8itB29firsv6R7o3aVIy40bZasqxVeoxbYrxcdnBM7xA3LBgoZdkLqX3EH-cOx1NHl8Ff8INGNijzLlIakR-LKK9kDbkjs9ahtYtuIFk-OsgESB1qodS3q8iNz92VBbrc/s640/blogger-image-56111380.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypDkFdZtJwhY_MXmeqVWYYlRuB3D-JuAgulxXFDwlsTuzMwtOJd5pIEnyA_AszD9sc7JIzdudN9YEjIqrpXbCrD_3zcp47yHCEIb9mGwhJt6393i4QNi8_dirV-qePPx7BApmwiaVNlM/s640/blogger-image--756515649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypDkFdZtJwhY_MXmeqVWYYlRuB3D-JuAgulxXFDwlsTuzMwtOJd5pIEnyA_AszD9sc7JIzdudN9YEjIqrpXbCrD_3zcp47yHCEIb9mGwhJt6393i4QNi8_dirV-qePPx7BApmwiaVNlM/s640/blogger-image--756515649.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A walk on the Right Bank yesterday took us through the Passage Vero Dodat, one of the classic <i>passages</i> build for middle-class shoppers in the 19th century. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMy73h7kzKu-GKlfIzCAt7UoeP3WCspNt3RY2t26sXOBymek-bRVyz23FAUNUie3nUNABY4JwIXf7TvHHgZIzJKVYK3AomE9SgV8zGlQ6_twvFuAemHtKChtkmJMpf-LkfAGestVUR4cU/s640/blogger-image-2089214554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMy73h7kzKu-GKlfIzCAt7UoeP3WCspNt3RY2t26sXOBymek-bRVyz23FAUNUie3nUNABY4JwIXf7TvHHgZIzJKVYK3AomE9SgV8zGlQ6_twvFuAemHtKChtkmJMpf-LkfAGestVUR4cU/s640/blogger-image-2089214554.jpg"></a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Most of the shops are galleries and ateliers, and I never seem to be there when these shops are open. What was open was the major tenant, the shoemaker Christian Louboutin, he of the red soles. And just adjacent, a shoe repair shop, apparently specializing in these pricy pumps, which will replace your red soles as needed for a mere 96 euros a pop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He's now moved into the nail polish business apparently.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3X0N0C-uGSSvvTb7ExEwbs5XOT6_lwJ2DtOffxJ9CrMmtZMuhXOUJRATRFHSnmiWmxUtSOkziYVOVuwJs1Bng0uNnA-xqcLM0bVTOMPNHc-MPByTHhiJ92k7kRIbXqiwNfnpbBeNREKA/s640/blogger-image-1322457162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3X0N0C-uGSSvvTb7ExEwbs5XOT6_lwJ2DtOffxJ9CrMmtZMuhXOUJRATRFHSnmiWmxUtSOkziYVOVuwJs1Bng0uNnA-xqcLM0bVTOMPNHc-MPByTHhiJ92k7kRIbXqiwNfnpbBeNREKA/s640/blogger-image-1322457162.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONR61BIdnRvy1R4NYmnlEDfB92nlsFld1qyyxBO2r6XO2ieK_9hotdGVLSEx0ozNWHji76ak5QfTGtUYiYvjfEKFnkYWZy4KMBGTHmpxgEKii2lPYGOT8mooorpEve_Tnq4UlZjrmESs/s640/blogger-image-936675119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONR61BIdnRvy1R4NYmnlEDfB92nlsFld1qyyxBO2r6XO2ieK_9hotdGVLSEx0ozNWHji76ak5QfTGtUYiYvjfEKFnkYWZy4KMBGTHmpxgEKii2lPYGOT8mooorpEve_Tnq4UlZjrmESs/s640/blogger-image-936675119.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>We tried to drop in to the Louvre for a spare hour (how jaded does that sound?) but forgot it was Monday, the day many other museums including the Musée d'Orsay are closed. The line to get into the pyramid wound around it and we passed. After trying another entrance that was not much better we decided that just getting an espresso was the better part of valor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We've been holding off on going to most of the exhibitions around town at the moment since my sister arrives for a visit this week and we'll go with her. On the list is the scheduled-to-open-this-week Picasso museum and the new Frank Gehry designed Louis Vuitton museum in the Bois de Boulogne. This is apparently a soaring glass boat that has been getting a lot of press and I'm anxious to see. Report to follow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-55478185107368119592014-10-13T01:37:00.001-07:002014-10-13T01:37:15.822-07:00Rainy Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibf5IAEuYe9RWKa1_9kF97BRKwtNIhJyfaU9X3D0q4C8AChyphenhyphennIcUD6Db8cqkHTFuEHn91CAFbUI4Dg5pgKycE-hSUR2KR-5cV0gE0eZc1IX_EsqtlSlrQicJqphr5k9mVADj4Yqf7pFrU/s640/blogger-image--278671777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibf5IAEuYe9RWKa1_9kF97BRKwtNIhJyfaU9X3D0q4C8AChyphenhyphennIcUD6Db8cqkHTFuEHn91CAFbUI4Dg5pgKycE-hSUR2KR-5cV0gE0eZc1IX_EsqtlSlrQicJqphr5k9mVADj4Yqf7pFrU/s640/blogger-image--278671777.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A gray and rainy Sunday in Paris. Luckily we were invited to brunch at Alisa's new place in Saint Denis. Just outside Paris proper but still on the metro line, Saint Denis is a mixed bag. Around the corner from a temporary residence for undocumented African immigrant men is the Stade de France, the huge stadium that houses football games and rock concerts in one direction and a tiny street with big houses behind forbidding walls in the other direction. Alisa's family is in one of the houses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFQ-7SMqVlqPYTeSOecbTcTt1FEY0_WxFaOpv3qDjbLNIJ-4eypyQMB1rrOga9cx8p8iuLkmIkZjmpqvTpvC-PX58bKPZvAfwxissNZsiKsacjm0jeqyxxEWeC1GjR2_iL6ySox7DI5w/s640/blogger-image--694533365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFQ-7SMqVlqPYTeSOecbTcTt1FEY0_WxFaOpv3qDjbLNIJ-4eypyQMB1rrOga9cx8p8iuLkmIkZjmpqvTpvC-PX58bKPZvAfwxissNZsiKsacjm0jeqyxxEWeC1GjR2_iL6ySox7DI5w/s640/blogger-image--694533365.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Floor to ceiling glass walls, a garden, huge volumes, a mix of Danish and French antiques and decoration, and a long table ready for brunch. These are some of our favorite people and we don't get to see them, particularly the children, enough. A lovely way to spend a lazy Sunday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZ55XDTsj_8LtYVSvdrUhPxcDO3TFxfddD8gdYM4dIYNQG7_u7US3Yl2QnipiZ7YjCX-BXFUDdmOswTS_EK47OMUSJaTqDx8QB-40uNsWqKCwwAVlCehBsFCaZKf57EV9kEjQMGQ9yVE/s640/blogger-image-1679890888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZ55XDTsj_8LtYVSvdrUhPxcDO3TFxfddD8gdYM4dIYNQG7_u7US3Yl2QnipiZ7YjCX-BXFUDdmOswTS_EK47OMUSJaTqDx8QB-40uNsWqKCwwAVlCehBsFCaZKf57EV9kEjQMGQ9yVE/s640/blogger-image-1679890888.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A long metro ride back home and we got ready to have drinks at the temporary home of a friend from French classes back in Berkeley, along with another friend from that class, along with spouses and traveling companions. A large and comfortable apartment, champagne and getting acquainted, and we were off to dinner around the corner. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-fULrrJG-yPRJ1J1YMlnVDjgHWxscC8qBa7ZSJ-FGSdeidbVqpKpWU7v50op1JTym1VATt8gJjF4sQi1cntUFqqiP73sx-nPxxOy8iR5iczuZE63YjXTwTnURjHGL6SYHwOVVbgfUnY/s640/blogger-image--2040245046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-fULrrJG-yPRJ1J1YMlnVDjgHWxscC8qBa7ZSJ-FGSdeidbVqpKpWU7v50op1JTym1VATt8gJjF4sQi1cntUFqqiP73sx-nPxxOy8iR5iczuZE63YjXTwTnURjHGL6SYHwOVVbgfUnY/s640/blogger-image--2040245046.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">La Ferme Saint Simon has been there for years and years but we've never tried it. With two new young chefs, a husband from Argentina and a wife from Japan, the food is excellent and inventive, the wine list wide-ranging and not too pricey, the service warm if a bit disorganized, and the experience very pleasant. Dining<i> par hazard</i> in Paris with a group of folks from Berkeley...who would have thought it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We realized yesterday that we have exactly one more month here and there are things to do, other than our usual hanging around. Lots of museum expos, for one thing. This afternoon we go to the Musée Luxembourg, just up the street. Gotta get me some culture, you know. Bracketed by café sitting of course.</div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-74595438690047350022014-10-10T10:05:00.001-07:002014-10-10T10:05:19.221-07:00A Day's Worth of Looking and Eating<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKYXgyi09hanbmeh3T7ag1qAewxPJGorcJGy_d7sknC_6nXcKvVFpzLJ0l_7q2TPC1JFMKyEmBIkuFVhSRqsygJAcOrFB6zSeS1cFPzTGyDprg_LNYE-VUAQnkF_-AB_dt_FztzsjWYM/s640/blogger-image-953034188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKYXgyi09hanbmeh3T7ag1qAewxPJGorcJGy_d7sknC_6nXcKvVFpzLJ0l_7q2TPC1JFMKyEmBIkuFVhSRqsygJAcOrFB6zSeS1cFPzTGyDprg_LNYE-VUAQnkF_-AB_dt_FztzsjWYM/s640/blogger-image-953034188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVjpPrbhvJnUEFYGjWzYw2ZLYPxsx9Ec8UmOB9jKZyQN0voUaOFVS2NaKEZDWnM5R8Kx8ZEUUvuReA2gBuzw931X7GdMYIFhNslmGZLhi6tZZ0eT9IBADpUv0pYGbLSby1R1i0uKEKPc/s640/blogger-image-434414893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVjpPrbhvJnUEFYGjWzYw2ZLYPxsx9Ec8UmOB9jKZyQN0voUaOFVS2NaKEZDWnM5R8Kx8ZEUUvuReA2gBuzw931X7GdMYIFhNslmGZLhi6tZZ0eT9IBADpUv0pYGbLSby1R1i0uKEKPc/s640/blogger-image-434414893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCuy35rGEdjqK6iO2bxXzwFnQnhv2WvNYrfl9rE0J67acMTM4DaZepJD4jHMJekblbGI2cKvtwqCerUpDuKW08NCZ4QO38XhAijDwuoE02CCpdv7qE-kinQCkoBncBmW8_suWEfDc7Y0/s640/blogger-image--1728654248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCuy35rGEdjqK6iO2bxXzwFnQnhv2WvNYrfl9rE0J67acMTM4DaZepJD4jHMJekblbGI2cKvtwqCerUpDuKW08NCZ4QO38XhAijDwuoE02CCpdv7qE-kinQCkoBncBmW8_suWEfDc7Y0/s640/blogger-image--1728654248.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Delicate, aren't they, these ruffles? Hard to believe they're ceramic.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi4CZCUAiFopUPfnW4pL6BMZGBg_UfRJ3g5oztTezO1j0gO99lTo-sJnRa3i_FRFtRRZqzR3vrtksb1iK_yExVkX0cYW0CsxbT8SGTftr0d6nG2qqMS464q2Y8sveUInoR4vLMIopSxg/s640/blogger-image--929401197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi4CZCUAiFopUPfnW4pL6BMZGBg_UfRJ3g5oztTezO1j0gO99lTo-sJnRa3i_FRFtRRZqzR3vrtksb1iK_yExVkX0cYW0CsxbT8SGTftr0d6nG2qqMS464q2Y8sveUInoR4vLMIopSxg/s640/blogger-image--929401197.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As is this lovely undulating form. Just a couple of the photos I was obsessively taking at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs exhibition this week. The museum invited a number of important French interior designers to each select a piece from the collections of the museum and build a room around it.</div><br></div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKYXgyi09hanbmeh3T7ag1qAewxPJGorcJGy_d7sknC_6nXcKvVFpzLJ0l_7q2TPC1JFMKyEmBIkuFVhSRqsygJAcOrFB6zSeS1cFPzTGyDprg_LNYE-VUAQnkF_-AB_dt_FztzsjWYM/s640/blogger-image-953034188.jpg"></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Some of the spaces were wonderful, some merely odd, but virtually all were treated as if money were no object. Walls of marble or metal or layered glass or precious woods, floors of onyx, furniture representing the annual earnings of a bourgeois family. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBRGIQbwsUxduFTdftog1agfP5efoxrbwCmuZgfFWlN_GpCPLnFiIZzOMr_yuZACTTI9sdIL43XzsY-_V8DI-9s6wBT5_PgJrla_979iu5seDq_xvFkVeCMNtPOwp0lZOh3fdA-ps2WU/s640/blogger-image--131386463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBRGIQbwsUxduFTdftog1agfP5efoxrbwCmuZgfFWlN_GpCPLnFiIZzOMr_yuZACTTI9sdIL43XzsY-_V8DI-9s6wBT5_PgJrla_979iu5seDq_xvFkVeCMNtPOwp0lZOh3fdA-ps2WU/s640/blogger-image--131386463.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The lighting and art were spectacular. I wouldn't have lived in any of these rooms on a bet, but they were super to look at.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0w7NNiISVxpFGN2Y5wVKlThSusv2Dd03i8ta-jcQuup7Obm83hSCAZCc-2q3yzyhGtJOuxfDtS_DTDTHeT87D6SwbsdlBclXPW6uXRoZxw4usSp55f6hwVDNZ66IpDjLBEIZHkm05HU/s640/blogger-image-1382816176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0w7NNiISVxpFGN2Y5wVKlThSusv2Dd03i8ta-jcQuup7Obm83hSCAZCc-2q3yzyhGtJOuxfDtS_DTDTHeT87D6SwbsdlBclXPW6uXRoZxw4usSp55f6hwVDNZ66IpDjLBEIZHkm05HU/s640/blogger-image-1382816176.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We also made our usual pilgrimage to Merci, the "concept store" on the border between the Marais and the Bastille (can't get any hipper than that), where the designer of the month or season or whatever the designated time period is was a woman from Los Angeles who hand dyes fabric to make clothes. The large center space was filled with what looked like drying Victorian lingerie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvuRH6lRTIKqew22-9cvT452ISzI05hpScTI3nb9cJcVyo5SvhxfGtxWBxd55zea7MvtH8VfvobzwlZm85acY9e6IkxU_6ivSP2wd0KUk0l23A3Z6ZVcQCEy9EZ_hRpl4nGZ7IKP-FWA/s640/blogger-image-1329517370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvuRH6lRTIKqew22-9cvT452ISzI05hpScTI3nb9cJcVyo5SvhxfGtxWBxd55zea7MvtH8VfvobzwlZm85acY9e6IkxU_6ivSP2wd0KUk0l23A3Z6ZVcQCEy9EZ_hRpl4nGZ7IKP-FWA/s640/blogger-image-1329517370.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_bRmeExEP733vfGSzYyYxQarK2_tXKqE-HecsiCAgo8mAaR1AfWwyVkNZoViyUAe4_p5w28c8DGEWO0cQHQT_mq0Ww9n2PAidXrS2jsPYnXaUmjaYFyIcPxXstB7wmNCvniGREvUMpc/s640/blogger-image--763953509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_bRmeExEP733vfGSzYyYxQarK2_tXKqE-HecsiCAgo8mAaR1AfWwyVkNZoViyUAe4_p5w28c8DGEWO0cQHQT_mq0Ww9n2PAidXrS2jsPYnXaUmjaYFyIcPxXstB7wmNCvniGREvUMpc/s640/blogger-image--763953509.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But one of our primary reasons for going that morning was the breakfast. Some years ago we discovered that the absolute best things to have for breakfast in Paris were the oeufs a la coque at the bookstore café at Merci. Perfectly cooked and served with toast fingers made of delicious bread served with Normandy butter, fabulous. Add freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and a grand creme and heaven has been achieved.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1vpTDziEJOAWkK9gn4_2fp5gX5NcXT9NVhcS0dygIUDDUgHunXn5Qfu_ThilpZ3KP9-xmBRekp9ouCTKK0bPZHvffdJ2Gib3bRET0auZghnB6oCRMXeFYzwPJGIh-SA6ZZ4p_EqVyX0/s640/blogger-image-1299264253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1vpTDziEJOAWkK9gn4_2fp5gX5NcXT9NVhcS0dygIUDDUgHunXn5Qfu_ThilpZ3KP9-xmBRekp9ouCTKK0bPZHvffdJ2Gib3bRET0auZghnB6oCRMXeFYzwPJGIh-SA6ZZ4p_EqVyX0/s640/blogger-image-1299264253.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div>And then you can shop. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-38370584366433271392014-10-06T05:30:00.001-07:002014-10-06T05:30:30.053-07:00Fall<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sbmQc2Y_S93b05_ShDtIDJ18-DBAKyUz1OdOJ9YFuxCsu8nMuFD_Nd7qgABsKlQK5fJlnJ4zvsbiWYXhgUFAnZV9szWwfifnb99RKx-cFykmWDSwxnjyJw8LobTFZt0EW7i27RifpfI/s640/blogger-image--1385695537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sbmQc2Y_S93b05_ShDtIDJ18-DBAKyUz1OdOJ9YFuxCsu8nMuFD_Nd7qgABsKlQK5fJlnJ4zvsbiWYXhgUFAnZV9szWwfifnb99RKx-cFykmWDSwxnjyJw8LobTFZt0EW7i27RifpfI/s640/blogger-image--1385695537.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Well, you wake up one morning and suddenly you are in another season. I knew it was coming but I don't remember ever before noticing such a drastic shift between summer (extended, admittedly) and fall. We had been having a glorious Indian summer, absolutely T-shirt weather and bright sun on Saturday and on Sunday morning we were scrambling for the sweaters and scarves. Oh well, I guess it had to happen.<div><br></div><div>It's been busy, with our friend Lisa still here for a few days when we returned from Italy and Paulette arriving over the weekend with Donna from The Hague. Their first stop was the Porte de Vanves flea market on Saturday morning and we went along for the company.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilw0M0GEc3VX2NKIvCTuwXoVlaEig6eULxB5AYEElXj-wrz7GO8uiiFuO5XzLT47vYOI3LjHGyRIVbeDDlMZivzjn8xe3XR2Jhxgp-PJu745ySU7lUD57poroIo7yDAIf4cT7F7YQQ58Q/s640/blogger-image--1805268719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilw0M0GEc3VX2NKIvCTuwXoVlaEig6eULxB5AYEElXj-wrz7GO8uiiFuO5XzLT47vYOI3LjHGyRIVbeDDlMZivzjn8xe3XR2Jhxgp-PJu745ySU7lUD57poroIo7yDAIf4cT7F7YQQ58Q/s640/blogger-image--1805268719.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I think I've lost my taste for digging around on overladen tables of junk for my particular treasure, but Gene did find a small 19th century watercolor of a ruined church in Calvados. Quite nice. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Prices seemed way to high in general. These clock faces at 10 Euros? Puh-lees!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNdHxbm3l3B6Djkw3s9byejf0MGHN9-FiT5nMNL5e49CdwVatvI6WOnzRT2Yb_zFJzHDNT0odW9eFpOzsh5G_oHVY6NdBulgVVPpUaKkUEuNllp_mhs0PSrjGehhAnrVlB1xM8sqSweI/s640/blogger-image--1812336072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNdHxbm3l3B6Djkw3s9byejf0MGHN9-FiT5nMNL5e49CdwVatvI6WOnzRT2Yb_zFJzHDNT0odW9eFpOzsh5G_oHVY6NdBulgVVPpUaKkUEuNllp_mhs0PSrjGehhAnrVlB1xM8sqSweI/s640/blogger-image--1812336072.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sunday morning started with a demonstration at the Place de la Republique, in favor of allowing gay parents and would-be parents all the rights of straight ones. As of 2013 gay marriage and adoption became legal in France but some additional rights are still limited, among them the right to in vitro fertilization for lesbians. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUamu8GszhzwqDUlBwnVyJ_HUeIjrbWOLxrpYatmLhfmqfXFiE5ZSFk4sq2Dop6TKfMkSbHV3FvpjLUPebHCNrv8-1ssn7Z8-B-dRsySlsoo-j8GA6v6DZ9rx8_pqup7H1P1il4Q6DKA/s640/blogger-image-110503611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUamu8GszhzwqDUlBwnVyJ_HUeIjrbWOLxrpYatmLhfmqfXFiE5ZSFk4sq2Dop6TKfMkSbHV3FvpjLUPebHCNrv8-1ssn7Z8-B-dRsySlsoo-j8GA6v6DZ9rx8_pqup7H1P1il4Q6DKA/s640/blogger-image-110503611.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Having planned to meet our friends Liz and Marcos and their adorable toddler at the <i>manif</i>, we found them, listened to a few speeches, were interviewed for French radio (I have no idea if or when that might be heard) and went merrily off for brunch. A very French morning. What's a visit to Paris without a <i>manif</i>?</div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Next stop was meeting Paulette and Donna in the Marais for some shopping and a coffee at the newly opened Carreau du Temple, an old metal and glass marketplace that had fallen on hard times and was recently revamped by the city as a community center with theater, café, etc. Le Jules is a visually interesting café in a corner of the old building, and as it was, as I mentioned, suddenly quite cold we were happy to go indoors.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sunday afternoons in Paris are liveliest in the Marais, one of the only areas with stores open for business on Sunday. The center of the neighborhood is car-free on Sundays and the streets are typically thronged. Yesterday there were fewer stores than usual open, probably because it was the day after Nuit Blanche, the night the city puts on events all night long and many people never manage to get to bed. We were not among them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-78765905980489900702014-10-01T14:03:00.001-07:002014-10-01T14:03:02.545-07:00Settling Back In<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPYHbYlJQfSjikjE4ETmr4K8TfyovSwzulId6-ynwdjTQg4Ms1qtB8L67iM67_E4skONNtXIui6abXJLP3vXzwSnMexuC60anx1TRsTS9epBkTSxIHVIL61tW2Eqs8vzRZAxe_KpZW14/s640/blogger-image--898260441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPYHbYlJQfSjikjE4ETmr4K8TfyovSwzulId6-ynwdjTQg4Ms1qtB8L67iM67_E4skONNtXIui6abXJLP3vXzwSnMexuC60anx1TRsTS9epBkTSxIHVIL61tW2Eqs8vzRZAxe_KpZW14/s640/blogger-image--898260441.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The California state absentee ballots above may not be what you expect to see on a blog post from Paris, and they weren't what we expected to see in our mailbox when we returned from Italy late Saturday night, but there they were. We had completely forgotten that we had asked for absentee ballots to be sent here for the 2012 election and we had never rescinded that request. Voilà! We can vote in November after all.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So what have we been doing since we got back? Looking through my photo stream I notice way too many pictures of food. Our meals have been so pretty I haven't been able to resist the bad habit of shooting them before digging in. Here are a few:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A lovely sunny lunch in the Marais at Carette consisted of huge salads along with the people watching in the Place des Vosges.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLXBNnluA5IebcrFLLAuDDVuUyjX9C0NOJ_cHl0xzYthVjOk6JbWoqCPVUtH9Q9KYZY7B1Z1BQqLrIa1CU5JqxjQOtWY_T9zPdW7HQgCrFB9EXdx9Qd6BNXgMTAj64dsa4Rmq4M1Y3Kg/s640/blogger-image-2090342078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLXBNnluA5IebcrFLLAuDDVuUyjX9C0NOJ_cHl0xzYthVjOk6JbWoqCPVUtH9Q9KYZY7B1Z1BQqLrIa1CU5JqxjQOtWY_T9zPdW7HQgCrFB9EXdx9Qd6BNXgMTAj64dsa4Rmq4M1Y3Kg/s640/blogger-image-2090342078.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINgoZpB5BW5Rc_rjJk_8jP0QLH1Go1HLAwtzDnBS34Ufob0pSmWfUildRJOTA8bTxVcc7nCmwzlvbw8gLmDRERY06LoDui6wx5uDu5XpsNq5ubtAUPQ8jF_BrozdSebRt71R0vKdOPNM/s640/blogger-image--561952150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINgoZpB5BW5Rc_rjJk_8jP0QLH1Go1HLAwtzDnBS34Ufob0pSmWfUildRJOTA8bTxVcc7nCmwzlvbw8gLmDRERY06LoDui6wx5uDu5XpsNq5ubtAUPQ8jF_BrozdSebRt71R0vKdOPNM/s640/blogger-image--561952150.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At le Comptoir with Lisa on Sunday night, a special of pavé of veal and a bottle of delicious Brouilly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3joGKyWswcomkID9S4VrnfO6CXvNS00jokWxG_U6Vv72kLI9JgsabJWOWaoqbTwyifeszIe3A36hOHfuaZgKD-_3te8Eh48FpsfsxpV9xHDFCJMoiFODYt1r3nZCDQCmLNwp-A9eF9M/s640/blogger-image-305593923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3joGKyWswcomkID9S4VrnfO6CXvNS00jokWxG_U6Vv72kLI9JgsabJWOWaoqbTwyifeszIe3A36hOHfuaZgKD-_3te8Eh48FpsfsxpV9xHDFCJMoiFODYt1r3nZCDQCmLNwp-A9eF9M/s640/blogger-image-305593923.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9uWqRvJTGHzDwQk_SN6NAor2S7jJPwy6PQYY1rGtT0ysKT531g8EARctbmGHgCig-B1jO211xiEJ8tYDKk6Cslp2V9tO7geSTATfILM8F_xik8wFoKAwgNmJaecJJrxky_05kWR7BXQ/s640/blogger-image--1871058385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9uWqRvJTGHzDwQk_SN6NAor2S7jJPwy6PQYY1rGtT0ysKT531g8EARctbmGHgCig-B1jO211xiEJ8tYDKk6Cslp2V9tO7geSTATfILM8F_xik8wFoKAwgNmJaecJJrxky_05kWR7BXQ/s640/blogger-image--1871058385.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At Café Trama on rue du Cherche Midi Gene had the boeuf tartare he couldn't resist when he saw it on the next table.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0IF9czIUC3k0QvXWfoAKXIuEVxkzmbedIelvHl7wQbrxskQknRUzioP2Uhhfqq4ib-tZ-WGL_m9pTFlJ7p4xUH1CFrW3hfV8xtyuSJ7fJ4xz-LReKJ-d3o-SS9VxLFM_UDmu49-zd7A/s640/blogger-image-80343491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0IF9czIUC3k0QvXWfoAKXIuEVxkzmbedIelvHl7wQbrxskQknRUzioP2Uhhfqq4ib-tZ-WGL_m9pTFlJ7p4xUH1CFrW3hfV8xtyuSJ7fJ4xz-LReKJ-d3o-SS9VxLFM_UDmu49-zd7A/s640/blogger-image-80343491.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Lisa had a delicious octopus salad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfAV-JYfIl7ro3V-fwT9wcP5oeUaIGDZPpCrPrjdzgjg4HF-ahKdzHmp7IYQfoUE_Ixx0mPRMhYdTG0VjAyWxxd7cLAtgmQO9VljyXR741aklksJQ8pw7xtkvqCBTGIAM0S_wX5ZCNTF8/s640/blogger-image-114224269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfAV-JYfIl7ro3V-fwT9wcP5oeUaIGDZPpCrPrjdzgjg4HF-ahKdzHmp7IYQfoUE_Ixx0mPRMhYdTG0VjAyWxxd7cLAtgmQO9VljyXR741aklksJQ8pw7xtkvqCBTGIAM0S_wX5ZCNTF8/s640/blogger-image-114224269.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And I had a soupe de pistou.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVAt2BStRDFAayIBMwGrRvzLbWaUXBS8G6ALtYLe3UldJa9gcW-9EJ420xE5yAQtyyuAzgS23PZ4YOA4BeH_tcSlOw-3Rfjsp6waVe3aDYAbMQe-CQJfZgjtpQHUjvbe6djWSdndJ8Pc/s640/blogger-image--1729339700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVAt2BStRDFAayIBMwGrRvzLbWaUXBS8G6ALtYLe3UldJa9gcW-9EJ420xE5yAQtyyuAzgS23PZ4YOA4BeH_tcSlOw-3Rfjsp6waVe3aDYAbMQe-CQJfZgjtpQHUjvbe6djWSdndJ8Pc/s640/blogger-image--1729339700.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Moving from one meal to the next, we had wine and a couple of small plates at Frenchie Wine Bar as a farewell to Lisa who was flying home at an ungodly hour of the morning. This might be the prettiest burrata ever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuUoUZz-XjUfDCFMN5Q-Rvq6eUOYmjzuQcwla_Zjp5IK-WXYSQsl6amnxl7wV2isiZYFz5caN-LScQ1eiLBll_m7oHPk5_FA15s5mW0a6kvqA7DeJhTbMa3dCdJZyLHZHT5N6mOi5wJfM/s640/blogger-image-596097458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuUoUZz-XjUfDCFMN5Q-Rvq6eUOYmjzuQcwla_Zjp5IK-WXYSQsl6amnxl7wV2isiZYFz5caN-LScQ1eiLBll_m7oHPk5_FA15s5mW0a6kvqA7DeJhTbMa3dCdJZyLHZHT5N6mOi5wJfM/s640/blogger-image-596097458.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And I've never before seen a zucchini flower done like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknL-JX2P9dEBoX8f_XkQk4ZsUEnJMpjTkthX53PkRjshagGOXw7-o2rk9mJ71riIGLQWvn2I4FFi_DFhGoTh8i-q4z97kDQoH3DsLkBXLOnvCR4wVAAc_fAcY6856NSIU0mH-fdaSLm0/s640/blogger-image-1756037460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgknL-JX2P9dEBoX8f_XkQk4ZsUEnJMpjTkthX53PkRjshagGOXw7-o2rk9mJ71riIGLQWvn2I4FFi_DFhGoTh8i-q4z97kDQoH3DsLkBXLOnvCR4wVAAc_fAcY6856NSIU0mH-fdaSLm0/s640/blogger-image-1756037460.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Hard as it is to believe we do occasionally eat at home, where the fare is usually much simpler, a salad, some charcuterie and even occasionally an unadorned piece of fish. Nothing worthy of having its picture taken.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-19476692901836974552014-09-25T02:21:00.001-07:002014-09-25T02:21:17.172-07:00Italian Countryside Idylls<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMv7yIWVg-KXJPaRwqfECPb5tUCLXCe9m29b14iMsSJLddlGg4ZZ5JjP5dZumTS5pYdGxKol_N38ViiDbhs7MvK1CG558C2U5cq_TG5Tc1nzTXtSSDe7dV9rv0QHlPM22vqqnIAC6by4/s640/blogger-image--1636079154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMv7yIWVg-KXJPaRwqfECPb5tUCLXCe9m29b14iMsSJLddlGg4ZZ5JjP5dZumTS5pYdGxKol_N38ViiDbhs7MvK1CG558C2U5cq_TG5Tc1nzTXtSSDe7dV9rv0QHlPM22vqqnIAC6by4/s640/blogger-image--1636079154.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We've visited the Val d'Orcia several times and never tired of it, and this time we are staying smack in the middle of it, in a villa rented by friends who kindly invited us for the week. The villa is one and a half kilometers down a dirt road between Pienza and San Quirico d'Orcia and looks out on rolling hills crowned with other villas and farmhouses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cyJmOskIRF8IyjHEHlUcOXzvZAq9dystFuzfVhuTj_gpCSzWTgYosOi1xLD4ZXY1TT9kONmnkhNoGfVZXaWFVpvSzR0IrsanbE_xm5176B3rfAUzMYx2FULBZAJ3gNwM8eUP2aefC8s/s640/blogger-image-369324062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cyJmOskIRF8IyjHEHlUcOXzvZAq9dystFuzfVhuTj_gpCSzWTgYosOi1xLD4ZXY1TT9kONmnkhNoGfVZXaWFVpvSzR0IrsanbE_xm5176B3rfAUzMYx2FULBZAJ3gNwM8eUP2aefC8s/s640/blogger-image-369324062.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We've hung out at home and made excursions in the area. A couple of days ago we drove to Siena, which has the most extraordinary cathedral I've ever seen, a fantasia of different colored marble on the floors and walls and the instantly recognizable stripes of the exterior, which are repeated inside.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PTjnz9LPhc4Lps1fslD0cv4CKQiOu9HrI_KJrgJpHLkkc7LKqdau7BSM_QYbinnz6kZjQ78y6nK-DOmZV08Kc5suGH4AjZ-ZUn5i77qZ6Fx8ajACN7FwgCrYcFz300qQklJiqQmXWis/s640/blogger-image--1563301919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PTjnz9LPhc4Lps1fslD0cv4CKQiOu9HrI_KJrgJpHLkkc7LKqdau7BSM_QYbinnz6kZjQ78y6nK-DOmZV08Kc5suGH4AjZ-ZUn5i77qZ6Fx8ajACN7FwgCrYcFz300qQklJiqQmXWis/s640/blogger-image--1563301919.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG11bM5gDGKXhYTx5wqh1vKYQ_tPq9Fdd7yVs_d8L6YE-u-1C4bomVZTkfXYhHdt64Alp1QaI3LudjJ-1onPBGtsqn9lBcscR6Z_IO7Xy9dWnZte9rBZQ4_QLay30JO5jAoqkGG5W0C80/s640/blogger-image-782560760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG11bM5gDGKXhYTx5wqh1vKYQ_tPq9Fdd7yVs_d8L6YE-u-1C4bomVZTkfXYhHdt64Alp1QaI3LudjJ-1onPBGtsqn9lBcscR6Z_IO7Xy9dWnZte9rBZQ4_QLay30JO5jAoqkGG5W0C80/s640/blogger-image-782560760.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGRyuXsaJytIxR2ymnn9wLyFavcwcbp-JUsK_9ZJ2DmiDUYRF_Za23OdWuryQ7t3yD1PRTLhd2aEfeR_er9DKtGDQ3_6NvMedbG6S3AGtzXV_LUxOPp5MoW-M6jWGwXyZhlkGRkWD-UI/s640/blogger-image--2111165976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGRyuXsaJytIxR2ymnn9wLyFavcwcbp-JUsK_9ZJ2DmiDUYRF_Za23OdWuryQ7t3yD1PRTLhd2aEfeR_er9DKtGDQ3_6NvMedbG6S3AGtzXV_LUxOPp5MoW-M6jWGwXyZhlkGRkWD-UI/s640/blogger-image--2111165976.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVIKzOufKnIjk_cnnTYlXPj_4yg27kYi-f6vYqHm6uX2jckveqPZO2aBPiVSDJuMR61qwF74nkHhYv2Lt2f_MJLlb-5Qh2Z4PvkLr4EfeetDfYDv0cDSS1CnU_BDgGmh76_WmJCeE_-o/s640/blogger-image--1545192747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVIKzOufKnIjk_cnnTYlXPj_4yg27kYi-f6vYqHm6uX2jckveqPZO2aBPiVSDJuMR61qwF74nkHhYv2Lt2f_MJLlb-5Qh2Z4PvkLr4EfeetDfYDv0cDSS1CnU_BDgGmh76_WmJCeE_-o/s640/blogger-image--1545192747.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Driving at night is not a lot of fun, no lights, winding roads, wine-influenced drives. I've preferred the evenings when we all cooked at home, sipping and talking into the night. We've had a wide range of weather these last days, from heat enough to tan by the pool to shivering cold to winds that blew the outdoor umbrellas 100 yards across the fields. Yesterday we went into Pienza for lunch and a bit of a walk in the moderate rain. This morning is bright and sunny and feels like fall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQGFrLG8Sk_CgVU_5MAGn-w47UYOFLn8BCOAmWPTzaiwkzZfpgz6CaVx4cKP0nH5UhLD3EQdIrPTWKOztsR07LGTVQyEtR4XuG9i256hG2G-HV3145ciagmUOwbo7sZBMiWXvdiE-IwE/s640/blogger-image--1469683340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQGFrLG8Sk_CgVU_5MAGn-w47UYOFLn8BCOAmWPTzaiwkzZfpgz6CaVx4cKP0nH5UhLD3EQdIrPTWKOztsR07LGTVQyEtR4XuG9i256hG2G-HV3145ciagmUOwbo7sZBMiWXvdiE-IwE/s640/blogger-image--1469683340.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is the country and the country comes with animals. I don't begrudge the field mice their attempts to join us indoors, but our fellow guest who sleeps on the first floor of the villa is less sanguine. She prefers not to share her room with the critters and has moved to the bed in the loft. Height from the ground doesn't seem to deter the small scorpions who also live here, one of which was found crossing the floor of our hosts bedroom the other day. I've been shaking my shoes out before putting them on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We have another couple of days here before going back to Paris. There is a strike of airport workers scheduled on our travel day but theoretically it will be over before our scheduled flight. Theoretically.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31H_wHnLi86VJkV6_GsNDAQ01Nf5LzqVcQ1dZXeHBdV67Vj1cnc_APvGd5h9MOs-fOETzvt8P8vSE80qUpCxd9Nq7aRLffMMP-5UrjKm6bS61dmQcAHpGBLXQTU5x84CP4BVSOHo5WO8/s640/blogger-image-405587812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31H_wHnLi86VJkV6_GsNDAQ01Nf5LzqVcQ1dZXeHBdV67Vj1cnc_APvGd5h9MOs-fOETzvt8P8vSE80qUpCxd9Nq7aRLffMMP-5UrjKm6bS61dmQcAHpGBLXQTU5x84CP4BVSOHo5WO8/s640/blogger-image-405587812.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-14815483536474500872014-09-20T08:24:00.001-07:002014-09-20T08:27:58.141-07:00Does a Birthday Count if It's in Italy?<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrbq-wRWf2zVSESm0tI9HkjkEZqiKF8LooPDLgc-QzO9_JzOeEsLQO4rQPE8LtcLrd25a6i3IJ-FE5rcGYx0k1xOWMKFqciKx0mfflYJlO-Q0iYnAVkuUm7s_XZKB7B3a_Qh2T8cMZfM/s640/blogger-image-859629928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrbq-wRWf2zVSESm0tI9HkjkEZqiKF8LooPDLgc-QzO9_JzOeEsLQO4rQPE8LtcLrd25a6i3IJ-FE5rcGYx0k1xOWMKFqciKx0mfflYJlO-Q0iYnAVkuUm7s_XZKB7B3a_Qh2T8cMZfM/s640/blogger-image-859629928.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My birthday dinner on the terrace of a beautiful restaurant in Rome finished with this dessert, which I had not ordered. I imagine the hotel had told the restaurant when they made the reservation for us. It was a sweet gesture on everyone's part, except for the fact that we were charged for the dessert! Oh well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And how had the hotel known about my birthday? Well, apart from the fact I milked it in making the reservation and asking for a room with a view, they had ordered, at my darling husband's request, a huge bouquet of flowers for my room. And sent up a bottle of Prosecco from the management! How sweet was that?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEK3v8jFUQ3-zB7x3fs0GiMPjM74UNkf9hKtMSUoFE-5kjSH8zGHdfJsECGt-ZIkNeW6GHEEtH0U42V8XH7gGnKpImtSB5U-lwFa3p57x2X85pIQ-r3QtUfWAymyYXgQjGJ2Atc6Tf0o/s640/blogger-image-518502848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEK3v8jFUQ3-zB7x3fs0GiMPjM74UNkf9hKtMSUoFE-5kjSH8zGHdfJsECGt-ZIkNeW6GHEEtH0U42V8XH7gGnKpImtSB5U-lwFa3p57x2X85pIQ-r3QtUfWAymyYXgQjGJ2Atc6Tf0o/s640/blogger-image-518502848.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But the best thing about my birthday was the four hours we spent riding around Rome on the back of a Vespa, well yes, actually two Vespas since Gene came too. Just a few weeks ago I came across a reference online to ScooterRoma and I was hooked. Vintage Vespas? Sold! Valerio and Lorenzo turned up at our hotel at 10:00 and dropped us off at 2:00. I could have kept going all day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KW0Qf0NuAvFcxl4RxZIsfRoroW2Ik4EXYxmQVyJw0uWm9TzQjqZSDz02bLM7aFEWG863SqmVLOC3_5frNISXitxTEJTAG-3gOyvUyb_9PIznt0CKht4r7jZrgSWRau242_X0RjNUm6M/s640/blogger-image--1271114378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KW0Qf0NuAvFcxl4RxZIsfRoroW2Ik4EXYxmQVyJw0uWm9TzQjqZSDz02bLM7aFEWG863SqmVLOC3_5frNISXitxTEJTAG-3gOyvUyb_9PIznt0CKht4r7jZrgSWRau242_X0RjNUm6M/s640/blogger-image--1271114378.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qq_DEmhkfEGr_UEp8vNysg2zX86rn6eKMoz-6QzfyEijR3IttN_tHhrFVzAWhB0i4N4z-tvwA-Dz5iXn3pCaa6XjMzl2JQJyuRbueZeeVcxTaEFqCeh3BF2z8yq5koZKXxO-_XkBUfw/s640/blogger-image--816373741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qq_DEmhkfEGr_UEp8vNysg2zX86rn6eKMoz-6QzfyEijR3IttN_tHhrFVzAWhB0i4N4z-tvwA-Dz5iXn3pCaa6XjMzl2JQJyuRbueZeeVcxTaEFqCeh3BF2z8yq5koZKXxO-_XkBUfw/s640/blogger-image--816373741.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We've been to Rome many times before and never really loved it, but seeing it this way, along with the intelligent history and background we got from Valerio, a historian by training, was an experience not to be missed. Not only that, we had loved the recent Italian film The Great Beauty (La Grande Bellezza) with its views of a non- touristy Rome and locations we couldn't identify. When I signed up for the tour I mentioned this and we visited several of the sites. Too cool!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfXpWsJ2YiaqwzHKroul-RTOjQXafhSPkd3_DoPlYb-bmM3_Vih3Ark9sjBV40u8i5bo4xvkZNWuIkmA5x7c2BEUvZK_UeKZ488123zOstIASHYR3cJ4hwcxJktJQY_QoDQXYkpN7qXY/s640/blogger-image--671154611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfXpWsJ2YiaqwzHKroul-RTOjQXafhSPkd3_DoPlYb-bmM3_Vih3Ark9sjBV40u8i5bo4xvkZNWuIkmA5x7c2BEUvZK_UeKZ488123zOstIASHYR3cJ4hwcxJktJQY_QoDQXYkpN7qXY/s640/blogger-image--671154611.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Other than that, how was Rome? Frankly, still don't love it. But that was sure a great birthday!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-32649404970808576362014-09-14T07:25:00.001-07:002014-09-14T07:25:36.032-07:00Saint-Germain Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTPhEOwddmwNCKhOqF6Ce41W3yjBTKFM7P0hlYxuW9KOJAFOOn383XQkDRs_w7DitNZGkxfXhgaOBtKzBD57Zaya1IsOasqoMuB4Yt_Aoe-ouB82skMqZ-lfzMn9e5UqSiogHs80sGZM/s640/blogger-image-274425656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTPhEOwddmwNCKhOqF6Ce41W3yjBTKFM7P0hlYxuW9KOJAFOOn383XQkDRs_w7DitNZGkxfXhgaOBtKzBD57Zaya1IsOasqoMuB4Yt_Aoe-ouB82skMqZ-lfzMn9e5UqSiogHs80sGZM/s640/blogger-image-274425656.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Even the babies in St-Germain des Prés pay homage to the famous philosophers of the <i>quartier</i>. Dress your child in very expensive onesies so they too can grow up to be Simone de Beauvoir or Jean-Paul Sartre. It's been a long time since this was the center of the intelligentsia, although there are still a number of publishing houses nearby and a nice café, lined with book-filled walls, called Les Editeurs to commemorate them. More prevalent now and for the last few decades are upscale designer boutiques and wealthy tourists, Italians, Americans, Japanese, in search of clothes and housewares.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJL5zKe_qfOirWsJylwTOWXxnrlsOw1vHlZFpblPXglbsK_r99__y5UY4kOhXjkqShAhs92wofIYSZVeUh14Twa2_9krBENVgIbXVOGVXcq3f7jb2du3p5F08Fqh-N6-u_gnZfJOeEHT0/s640/blogger-image--392464388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJL5zKe_qfOirWsJylwTOWXxnrlsOw1vHlZFpblPXglbsK_r99__y5UY4kOhXjkqShAhs92wofIYSZVeUh14Twa2_9krBENVgIbXVOGVXcq3f7jb2du3p5F08Fqh-N6-u_gnZfJOeEHT0/s640/blogger-image--392464388.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There has been for many years a man who moves throught the streets of Saint-Germain selling newspapers, an odd way of making a living since there are several very well supplied news kiosks in the area. Nonetheless he's been here a long time and is a fixture, to the point that a couple of years ago someone painted his portrait, wearing his distinctive cap, on a billboard overlooking one of the intersections. There's a bit of graffiti on it but for the most part it remains untouched by vandals or advertising companies. Redundant, I know, but you know what I mean.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4geMYpJ3db9pqJI2U1sgYDU0ih75K_IQY_p0mmVC3LznBWbzuklF7eRCuGoe4wSy5Z8-jMXawaIpHE6vnNzPgXHsfyp2jgMznXrN7rH1n0UlqcUmmm8vM3iS8UedoEbeTsXaAtsMl5lI/s640/blogger-image--623399575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4geMYpJ3db9pqJI2U1sgYDU0ih75K_IQY_p0mmVC3LznBWbzuklF7eRCuGoe4wSy5Z8-jMXawaIpHE6vnNzPgXHsfyp2jgMznXrN7rH1n0UlqcUmmm8vM3iS8UedoEbeTsXaAtsMl5lI/s640/blogger-image--623399575.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A small street off the very busy intersection of rue de Buci, rue Dauphine and rue Mazarine has become the de facto parking for all two-wheeled transport in the area. Since it's a no car parking street, the city has taken the opportunity to fill it with Velib bikes, thus avoiding the need to eliminate car parking spaces on other streets to provide the public bikes. Motorbikes also seem to have colonized the same block. Very few unused spaces on a busy Saturday night; people are coming into the area, not leaving it. The bars, restaurants and streets are jam-packed in the lovely weather.</div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-14807495934953593002014-09-12T04:27:00.001-07:002014-09-12T04:27:45.733-07:00Nothing Doing, Doing Nothing<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOvAWXcJcJTbIQjUNpqsmhkc-lqooE6EqTJzaJFYdBrEmyBiGIXDP0WURpJWP5OfGdZvJ4cJQmwwFVIpsp5_KDNPUtxljFJuB09XhHzkJNyN9pnlzG3xphi18hOLyBIN6qGh2KDZJ42Y/s640/blogger-image-1752954989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOvAWXcJcJTbIQjUNpqsmhkc-lqooE6EqTJzaJFYdBrEmyBiGIXDP0WURpJWP5OfGdZvJ4cJQmwwFVIpsp5_KDNPUtxljFJuB09XhHzkJNyN9pnlzG3xphi18hOLyBIN6qGh2KDZJ42Y/s640/blogger-image-1752954989.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This morning was one of the mornings our local street market is operating so as soon as our jet lagged eyes opened we strolled up to Boulevard Raspail to buy some provisions. Along the way we came across this team of workers breaking for lunch. (Can you tell how late we slept?) you can also tell that this is not the old Paris; rather than a bottle of <i>rouge</i> they are drinking a can of soda.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJU3P5GEnFZR3XmulA2VrBv9vd1o9vnz5EJjbHI4D8zngo-PpvMSmW-F8J0vwtbq9Oio1ep4oCffSot9r6brylhKe5MD1LwrjdFx2fQDXCK1n0QZ7ocZGYOfAnayAYf2Qi1bsQtLVXvk/s640/blogger-image--180708060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJU3P5GEnFZR3XmulA2VrBv9vd1o9vnz5EJjbHI4D8zngo-PpvMSmW-F8J0vwtbq9Oio1ep4oCffSot9r6brylhKe5MD1LwrjdFx2fQDXCK1n0QZ7ocZGYOfAnayAYf2Qi1bsQtLVXvk/s640/blogger-image--180708060.jpg"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJU3P5GEnFZR3XmulA2VrBv9vd1o9vnz5EJjbHI4D8zngo-PpvMSmW-F8J0vwtbq9Oio1ep4oCffSot9r6brylhKe5MD1LwrjdFx2fQDXCK1n0QZ7ocZGYOfAnayAYf2Qi1bsQtLVXvk/s640/blogger-image--180708060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfONz2AtMggtn6BVglGYqYzDuZfVKuKMcj0F6Nb1eG7m5mdjb6p1wXLqo26Ec_fbBMNqbEcSEr23Fmvo6tRebuJNiMFo1HP1BjdYPspNlc-OCrsUiFANWs9ALav8eZ7yDIJV7mi98mjXA/s640/blogger-image--514513914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfONz2AtMggtn6BVglGYqYzDuZfVKuKMcj0F6Nb1eG7m5mdjb6p1wXLqo26Ec_fbBMNqbEcSEr23Fmvo6tRebuJNiMFo1HP1BjdYPspNlc-OCrsUiFANWs9ALav8eZ7yDIJV7mi98mjXA/s640/blogger-image--514513914.jpg"></a></div></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">No plans for the day, which feels good. Yesterday we went to the Champs Élysées to see an outdoor photo exhibit on World War I, a subject much in the air on this 100th anniversary. The exhibit was interesting more as a piece of propaganda than as history, concentrating quite a bit on photos of soldiers from all the French colonies of the time, apparently happy to be fighting in the trenches for their colonial masters, and providing patriotic text. There was a photo of the young Capitaine Charles de Gaulle, noting his five attempts to escape after having been taken prisoner by the Germans. Of Marechal Petain, the hero of Verdun, there was no mention. Apparently his collaboration in the next war outweighed the victories of the first.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_5zxXxDlbWdksrocde9rMiD7uj-tuBy57MGpngHYVesn_UeEwuUJainyjfu5ZBtEkKbVoSb53C1A2ql0qKZ7CFlhFwO9bGq_a815sIkMu99r3L-LwyuvyzfcW3m8oXtGMIVv3RtWbqU/s640/blogger-image-1492536285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_5zxXxDlbWdksrocde9rMiD7uj-tuBy57MGpngHYVesn_UeEwuUJainyjfu5ZBtEkKbVoSb53C1A2ql0qKZ7CFlhFwO9bGq_a815sIkMu99r3L-LwyuvyzfcW3m8oXtGMIVv3RtWbqU/s640/blogger-image-1492536285.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A stop for lunch at Rosa Bonheur de Seine, on a barge moored along the newly pedestrianized Berges de Seine, was pleasant and we met a young friend for coffee later in the pretty garden café at the center of the Petit Palais.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We had dinner with friends we hadn't seen in a while at one of our new favorite restaurants, Terroir Parisien in the 5th arrondissement, lingering until we were the last to leave. A walk home along the boulevard and so to bed. </div><br></div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-82612177919353925972014-09-10T03:03:00.001-07:002014-09-10T03:03:56.538-07:00Lafayette, We Are Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkr4rZWWgfBa2m5db-4Ln614Fpx-MJhqWDqBxbJ9R32d_N4Khhajnq14Ce5XrmHFVEy7MZ7RjuUsnTrT6_lh9Ifi3Cyr6YX7dRFMI4bRHQCj-Qw1gEuLLPyQVMq_IboS24KZZLhwZQ2cg/s640/blogger-image--1812410277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkr4rZWWgfBa2m5db-4Ln614Fpx-MJhqWDqBxbJ9R32d_N4Khhajnq14Ce5XrmHFVEy7MZ7RjuUsnTrT6_lh9Ifi3Cyr6YX7dRFMI4bRHQCj-Qw1gEuLLPyQVMq_IboS24KZZLhwZQ2cg/s640/blogger-image--1812410277.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One hundred years after the beginning of World War One, I'm adopting the motto of the Allied Expeditionary Force (that was us, the US, for the most part) to tell the French that we've arrived. I suspect they cared more back then.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">For those of you loyal readers who missed photos being posted during our last trip and who had to go all the way over to www.instagram.com/shellioreck to see what we were seeing, I think I may have fixed the problem. We'll see if it works, and if it's worth it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Back this time in our old apartment, the duplex garret in St-Germain des Près, we feel right at home. So much so that in looking around the kitchen we find the dishes we bought and even some two-year old canned goods we left. Our dear <i>patronne, </i>in true French style, never gets rid of anything.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our old nemesis, jet lag, is back with us and we're giving it its head, sleeping when we can. The weather is wonderful, which everyone keeps telling us is very lucky as the summer all over Europe was disappointingly cool and rainy. Keeping fingers crossed for it to go on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm sitting in our glassed-in kitchen, windows wide open, listening to the sound of the bells of the church of St-Germain des Près. Time to go explore before our next nap is due.</div>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-21168957482085324402014-06-23T06:28:00.001-07:002014-06-23T06:28:40.379-07:00Checking In to Check OutThe weather gods are doing their best to make us want to stay. The sky is perfectly blue, the air is soft and warm, there is light in the sky until past 10:00 P.M. and dining outdoors is practically mandatory. We have had drinks in the tiny garden of the apartment with two separate sets of guests and the birds continue to wake us in the morning.<br />
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On the other hand, June 21 was la Fête de la Musique, a countrywide celebration that goes on into the early morning. In the past we have wandered around the city listening to street bands in many areas and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. This year I couldn't walk too far, my twisted ankle having resolved into a fractured metatarsal, and we got as far as the church of St. Eustache, with its incredible organ. An organ concert was just the thing and we really liked it. <br />
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After a horrible dinner (Pied du Cochon, next to St. Eustache, used to have quite good onion soup despite its tourist bent. No more!) we went home only to discover a very very loud private concert in the courtyard next door, complete with lights and bands. It went on until about 3:00 Gene tells me. I zonked out about 1:30, noise and all. Sunday was perfect until we came home in the afternoon to discover a little girl's birthday party in the apartment upstairs. About a 9 on the Shriek-o-Meter. Luckily it didn't last as long as the concert had.<br />
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The most annoying thing that happened this week however was the decision by a number of the unions representing French air traffic controllers to declare a five day strike, beginning tomorrow, the day we were scheduled to fly to London to pick up our homeward bound United flight. We heard of the strike plans while we were in Normandy, called a journalist friend to confirm the online rumor, and immediately bought tickets on the Eurostar. We did not get, as you can imagine, a budget price buying at the last minute. Nevertheless if all goes well we should make our flight as scheduled.<br />
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We will be happy to get home, where we will spend the rest of the summer without budging from Berkeley before a return to Paris and to Italy in September. See you then.<br />
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Photos are at <a href="http://www.instagram.com/shellioreck">www.instagram.com/shellioreck</a>Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-27206120557481175622014-06-19T11:04:00.002-07:002014-06-19T11:04:55.342-07:00In the CountryI have always admitted my preference for cities over countryside, perhaps mentioning it too often. When I asked B. to recommend a place we might spend a few days out of Paris she asked if I were sure. I was. I had suddenly yearned for a drive on narrow roads, passing cows and sheep grazing in the fields and stopping to explore towns always called Saint-something or other-in-somewhere.<br />
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Not only that, two days before heading to the maison d'hôtes B. had raved about, we were invited to Sunday lunch at C.'s place in the country about an hour outside Paris, despite her concern that I might miss the smell of bitumen. It was super, a wonderful lunch in a huge garden with rosé to drink and lots of delicious food. And what better way to finish the afternoon than a visit to a local brocante and a walk in the nearby village. Except that on the walk I managed to turn my ankle, which proceeded to balloon up so that I hobbled to the train and had to take an expensive taxi ride back home from the station.<br />
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Making a long story a bit shorter, it improved enough over the next two days so I could wrap it in ice and navigate the car from Montparnasse station to a lovely house set in gorgeous gardens in a tiny village near Alençon, called, yes, Saint Denis-en-Sarthon. Just up the road from Saint Céneri-le Gérei, one of what the French call "Les Plus Belles Villages en France". Gene much preferred driving on the right side of the road on this trip, our marriage was not tested, and we had a lovely time. <br />
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Despite our best efforts and directions from everyone we asked, we were unable to find the Crypte Saint André in Mortagne-au-Perche, described to us by a road worker as <i>formidable</i>. We also spent quite a bit of time driving tiny roads trying to find the Chateau d'O, marked on a map of chateaux in the area, but apparently owned by someone who dislikes visitors. We finally came across it entirely by accident, hiding behind its high walls and locked entry gates. Very intriguing.<br />
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The Chateau de Médavy, also a bit shy, doesn't open for visits until "real" summer, which to the French means July and August. We did visit the Chateau de Sassy, home of a library of 30,000 books and visited in 1968 by Queen Elizabeth, who was given a horse from the Sassy stud farm as a parting gift. Her bedroom remains untouched since then. I presume it is dusted from time to time. It looked fine.<br />
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All in all, lovely trips to the country, despite the injured foot. This should do me for some time. Paris looked great when we got back.<br />
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Photos can be found at <a href="http://www.instagram.com/shellioreck">www.instagram.com/shellioreck</a><br />
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<br />Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7304184593062095127.post-9954473717320901102014-06-15T01:29:00.002-07:002014-06-15T01:29:59.280-07:00Burgers, Bagels and BeggingSeveral things have struck me as new to Paris since we were last here and none of them make me very happy. You may recall my posts several years ago about the influx of American food. Not so long ago it was difficult to find a hamburger, particularly a good one, in Paris. Granted, most American visitors aren't here in search of a great burger, but the occasional craving wasn't easily satisfied. <br />
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This visit it is hard to avoid the nearly ubiquitous burger joints. Places specializing in hamburgers are all over the place, particularly in the gentrifying <i>quartiers</i>. Traditional cafés have given way to Le Burger. There is a very successful place called Big Fernand around the corner from the apartment. And adding insult to injury, its next door neighbor is a fish and chips shop.<br />
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As an aside, I have also noticed that the more traditional<i> salade niçoise</i> has been replaced in many cases by the <i>salade César,</i> which for the French means romaine, Parmesan and always, always, chicken. Not an anchovy in sight.<br />
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As if the hamburger invasion was insufficient, the other every-other-storefront surprise is the bagel. Yes, the French have fallen in love with the bagel, or at least something round and called that. Having neither the desire nor the courage to try one, my evaluation is based only on the look of the pale, soft things in the window. I do recall several years ago being invited to a pot luck brunch here and asked to bring bagels. That required a several day search and I finally found them in the upscale Bon Marché food hall, in a plastic package. Plus ça change...<br />
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Amusing as all this may be, the really upsetting change is the proliferation of families, apparently immigrants of Central European appearance, spending days and nights on mattresses on the street. Most often it's a mother and one or two very small children, sometimes there is a man as well. I'm used to the young Rom women begging on the street and the haggard old men begging in cafés, but entire families living on the street on a mattress is more than startling. <br />
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<br />Shellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17216113290904322091noreply@blogger.com6