Monday walk

A break in the showers. Indeed, it's looking good out there in Paris land!

 

 

 

I go down to breakfast slowly and on the late side. Whereas at home, Henry and I are crunching away at 7:30, here in Paris, I'm oblivious to schedules, to routines, all of it. 

Big breakfast again. Even though I don't need it. 

Then in my room again. Definitely a slow start to the day. I don't leave the hotel until 11. 

But where to? Aren't I going to stop by any museum, in this city of great art?

I am not. There is no special exhibition that draws me. I considered going to one anyway, but felt some relief when I saw it was closed today. So, no museums this time. Think of it this way: how often do you go to museums in your home town? Maybe several times a year. Surely not every day! That's the way I feel about Paris. Sometimes I have an urge to revisit one, or I take in a special exhibition, but on most days, I treat Paris as if it were my home. I take care of Paris stuff. I visit parks, shops, bakeries sometimes (again, not every day). I'll pause to watch and listen. Maybe at a cafe, maybe for lunch. I take it in. 

So what direction for today? Well, I do want to check out Smith & Sons book shop, in part because Snowdrop wants a book from here, and she's not good enough in French for it to be French, and in part because I like the store and I like the route to get to it.

 

(friends cross paths, pause, kiss, dogs bark greetings) 

It's about a 40 minute walk. Smith's is at the far corner of the Jardin Tuileries, so yes, I have to cross the river to the Right Bank.

(On the Left: Musee d'Orsay, Eiffel Tower...)

(in the park: man pauses, sits down and studies a music score...)

 

 

Outside the park, I enter a rather touristy area. I come across a souvenir shop. With Eiffel Towers!  There you have it, Sparrow. I bought you one with sparkly stones. 6 Euro for a piece of junk, but hey, you are so worth it, my boy!

 

And now for the book shop. What? It's closed? Oh for Pete's sake! I was sure it would be open on a Monday. I look closely at the hours. Ah. It will open at 12:30. So in 45 minutes. I may as well hang out on the Right Bank until then. I don't want to repeat this particular hike at another time.

Oh, the Right Bank! I'm not completely opposed to walks there, but it is a different Paris for me. And this particular area -- between the gardens and the Opera -- has all the highest end designer shops.

Here's how bad it is -- in my entire one hour walk through it, I came across not a single small cafe to pause for a cup of tea. It's all high end stuff.

We all have items that we covet (except for Ed who covets nothing) and admire, stuff we can't afford, but it's usually stuff that's just a little out of reach. Not completely from a different planet. And I'm not one to put down other people's luxuries, but still, I have to wonder, who buys this stuff, and why?

Designers have to design. Yes, I understand. But with the expectation of a sale? In a shop? Along the Rue Saint-Honore? Well, who am I to judge. I just spent a lot of money on the adoption fees for another stray dog.

With my hour on the Right Bank, I decide to do a stroll by what are in fact incredibly beautiful places. Like the Place Vendome. And the Opera.

The first is lovely, but marred, I think, by all the black limos and the Ritz Hotel presence. Though I suppose Napoleon wouldn't have minded either one. There he stands, proudly looking on.

The old Opera is under renovation and it just adds to my grumblings about this side of the river. (In fairness, I like the eastern and northeastern arrondissements of Paris, also on the Right Bank, just fine. These central ones are just too commercial. Overwhelmingly so.

Back at Smith's I pick out a couple of books, enjoying the serenity of the store and its book loving customers.

And now I'm in a hurry to cross the Gardens again and head back to the Left Bank.

The thing is, if you cross the river right from the Gardens, you're going to wind up awfully close to Rue du Bac. This is the street where you'll find Cafe Varenne. I have been going to it for lunch (or dinner occasionally) on every visit to Paris for literally a quarter of a century. I am that bound to it. Yet this time, I waffled. I dont like doing things just because I have always done it that way. If Varenne wasn't going to be on my path, then I was actually prepared to (gulp!) skip it on this trip. And now here I am, on Rue du Bac, toward the tail end of the lunch hour. As if someone was shaking a finger at me, saying "Oh no you don't! Varenne is your sacred stone! I am going to place you there so that you wont be able to resist it!"

I eat lunch at Cafe Varenne.

(the tail end of the sacred lunch window at a very popular restaurant...)

And I am shocked, shocked to see for the first time a female waitress! How times have changed...

I order the fish soup and it is amazingly good. And yes, there stands a glass of wine, which I'd ordered, and then proceeded not to drink.

From there, it's just a hop skip to the department store again. Why go there? Well, much as I do not buy things for myself and especially for the house anymore, I am getting an IKEA loveseat that desperately needs  some color. It was on sale and came only in the color I would call "bland." Wouldn't it be nice to get a colorful pillow cover from France for a throw pillow? That would count as a very useful souvenir. And I find one I like. You don't have to say it -- I do know that the dogs will chew off those dandly things at the corners!

Here's the problem: it's an unconventional pillow size. Why buy a pillow cover that then wont fit any of my pillows? Madame asks me -- do you want the pillow with it? 

A pillow? In my one medium suitcase that already was pretty full and now has to have added books, clothes for kids, an Eiffel Tower, and lots of chocolate? Oh, but look madame, it is quite compressed out of the box! Well why not! 

I also purchase at this beautiful store a comb made of gold. 

Or it might as well be made of gold for the price they set on it. It's tiny and plastic and I need one just that size. So, a pillow and a tiny comb for me. I'm feeling very splurgy. Good thing I cut my trip short by two days.

I walk home the usual way, past my favorite shop where she makes lovely pieces of jewelry. Here's a pair of earings that tempted me! 

Would you say I have dogs on my mind? So long as you're asking (!) -- I'm getting good reports on Henry now, especially from his time with other dogs. Here's a photo they sent me today:

 

 

 

Finally, at 5, I open the door to my sweet room at the Baume. And on my computer, I find a message from Three Little Pitties Rescue -- the organization that finds homes for some of Houston's homeless dogs. They checked my references, they checked my standing in the community (!) and they approved me! No small thing -- they had rejected two applicants for her already, based on the FaceTime meeting alone! I don't know why I'm good in their eyes. Maybe the pooch said to them after the FaceTime -- this one. I want this one! She spoils her dogs! 

I go to dinner just around the corner from the hotel. The restaurant is called Setopa and it serves modern Korean food. This is a cuisine that is an almost complete blank for me. 

(2 grilled shrimp with a delicious sauce, a bowlful of vegetables that are just out of this world, rice with a crunchy topping and kimchi)

And yes, it is quite excellent. I'll go so far as to say it was the best Korean food I ever had, but of course, I've had very little Korean food in my life so don't go by that alone. Trust me though: if you're in Paris, you'd do well to consider eating here, even if you think that when in France, you should eat French foods. This place is memorable! [Make a reservation. Setopa is very popular with a younger crowd, looking very much like they're from the universities around here. I am sure I was the oldest in the room. The smiling dotty grandma, out partying for the night!]

with so much love...

living with change

If you have read the last handful of posts, you'll know that once I return home from France, I plan on making some adjustments to the way I do things. For one thing, I'm about to move again. From your perspective, this may appear huge. From mine? Well, I've lived with changing my home address all my life. Usually there was a potential benefit and not a small risk to a move (when I insisted I wanted to live in the city of Warsaw as a 3 year old rather than remaining in the countryside, when I moved to the US, temporarily, at age 7, when I moved back to Warsaw at age 13, when I impulsively accepted an au pair job in New York at 19, when I moved to Chicago for grad school at 21, when I moved in with my soon to be husband after just three dates, when he and I moved to Madison two years later, when we moved to Milwaukee as I chased a higher paying job, when we moved back to Madison when I realized that it was cutting too much into my time with the kids, when I moved out of our suburban home to live on my own in a smaller space after nearly 30 years of marriage, when I moved in with Ed, when I moved out of the farmhouse). Ed, on the other hand, sits on major decisions for a long time and sometimes he just can't move ahead with them at all. Talk about consequences! I've been warned all my life against making major changes quickly, because of possible negative unanticipated consequences, and here I am, watching Ed so often remain immobilized, refusing to acknowledge that there may be negative consequences if he doesn't in the end make a decision. 

In other words, life is full of unanticipated consequences. Most people fear the ones that come from acting quickly. I am much more afraid of the ones that come when you do not act fast enough. (That's true in terms of moving, but also with respect to health issues, kid care, you name it. "Wait and see" doesn't hold much water for me.)

I hadn't discussed my February plans with anyone really. I told my daughters and Ed about them and gave them a chance to react, but that was it. Why not toss these ideas around with my friends? Because I know what it looks like, and I know what they'll say. Protecting me from my own blunders. It's what friends do of course. And yet, no one knows my everyday as well as I do. My emotions, my movements, my reactions -- they're in my head. When I finally posted my impending move and dog plans, I got quite the feedback from some of my friends. Alarms sounded. And I listened to their concerns and I thanked them for thinking of me and I went ahead with my plans anyway.

I'm not a person who only wants affirmation. That one is sitting in the White House right now. He does things based on his gut feeling, with consequences to everyone on this planet. Big gut, little feeling. My world, by comparison, is a grain of sand lying at the bottom of a vast ocean. Whether I move and/or get another dog will impact me and the dog. That's it. Possibly also Ed who would have to listen to me sort out the issues that may arise. Maybe a few others who'll want to know. And if I ask for help, Ed'll be the one I'll turn to, only because he is less busy with daily life. My daughters and friends are all on a treadmill. I live in a small world these days.

I also know Henry with far greater detail than what I would include on Ocean. I have studied and watched this dog obsessively for the past three months. I know his every reaction, the drift of his eyes. I am not distracted by anything or anyone. When he is with me, my eyes are on him. And when he is not, my eyes are still on him: for instance, I see on the webcam that he really wants to go outside. He can't because of the weather right now. He's moping. At night, he'd rather be with me. I'm told he took apart his bed out of frustration. They moved him to a smaller room, which, I think will be better. He wont be isolated. He'll be near other dogs.

Nothing is predictable, but you really should act with the best information available to you at the moment that a decision must be made. I've done that. I'm ready to roll with it. I have the stamina, and the optimism this kind of step requires. And yes, I am perfectly comfortable with living with change. All my life I've accepted it as a very workable alternative to living with a fraught and tense status quo.

 

Good morning Paris! I am ready for a stay here that feels good and requires not much of me. First thing this morning? Well, I accomplish the change in my return that eluded me last night. I'm skipping a trip to the Champagne countryside and am returning a couple of days earlier than originally planned. I could have gone to Champagne just for an overnight, but right now,  I like the idea of just staying in Paris. For five nights instead of four. My room at the hotel is perfect for this period of transition. Paris, le Baume, they're all great for upping my levels of dopamine, serotonin and endorphins -- aka the happy hormones.

I go down to breakfast. At my favorite table. Yes, I consider this breakfast the bees knees. I added eggs again in case lunch proves to be of the light and unhealthy kind again.

Going up in the elevator, I notice that my face scar may be mistaken for a laugh line! Clever surgeon!

Confirmed in the bathroom mirror.

 

 

 

And then I sit back and make a list of all that I must consider. For Paris, for the days after my return, for Henry, for the move, for the new dog, for the grandkids. That last one is a tiny bit funny. I had asked the big two what they would like from Paris. (I dont need to ask the Chicago girls nor the youngest lad in Madison because the Chicago girls will like most anything (for a while anyway) and the youngest lad will likely ignore everything, so I'll take my chances with those three. But Snowdrop and Sparrow definitely had ideas. Sparrow tells me he really would like a small Eiffel Tower. For your room or for the Edge? -- I ask. For the Edge. But Sparrow, we have two there already. I know. It's the only toy I want. In addition, I would like some clothes and maybe something sweet. This is 100% Sparrow talking. And Snowdrop? Caramels. She wants their salted caramels. Skip the clothes, she likes her American oversized sweatshirts. And toys! -- she says. I explain the futility of that idea, given that she rarely plays with any of them, with the exception of the Danish mice and the American Girls dolls. Okay, then books! I'd gotten her some previously unknown to me British graphic novels from the big Parisian bookshop Smith's.. Maybe I'll go back there and hunt around some more.

And the list for things to do once I get home? Oh so long! Here's an important item: I want to get rid of more stuff from the Edge apartment. Each move should make me smaller, don't you think? If I haven't used an item at the Edge, shouldn't I toss it? I'll look through everything once again when I get back. 

 

I go out for a walk. 

Where to? Well, it's about to rain, so nothing too ambitious. I do the loop that I so often walk when here. To the Bon Marche department store and food halls, then back to the hotel via the Jardin Luxembourg.

I know by now every shop along the way. Every possible display that I may want to admire. Not to purchase anything, but to take in what's happening in Paris right now. 

I do have my camera and occasionally I do use it, but it's very haphazard. In iffy weather, picture taking takes the back seat. Though I have noticed that with this trip, I am paying attention to people with dogs and to older people (who at this time of the day are, in fact, the ones with dogs). Older people in France and in Italy have fascinated me for a while, but these days of course, I do it because they are me, or I am them, except dressed with much less flair and panache.

Eventually I pick up s few items of clothing for four kids. The fifth one gets a toy because thus far, I found nothing special for him. The winter sales are on, but as in the US, stores are pretty low on stock right now. And toys are on my list in any case.Three birthdays coming up in Spring. I address most of them.

I switch my attention to the Food Halls. This is where I pick up foods for me (chocolate and raspberries from Portugal because I am craving more fruit and I was curious if there is a taste difference) and for people who I think deserve a little reward back home -- Calissons, because they are the sweet from Provence and I was in Provence and I didn't buy them there thinking -- I can always get them in Paris (they're dainty little cakes made with melon, orange peel and crushed almonds). Other chocolate. Other sweets. Grownups get edibles. It's a safe bet and it doesn't contribute to the planet's trash buildup.

 

 

 

I spent enough on the kids that I find it to be worth my time to do the "tax free" forms (food doesn't count for this). While up there in the administrative heart of the department store, I pop into an office that deals with customer issues.  I have a shopping points card for the store (you get discounts) but the clerks can never find it in the system when I forget to bring the physical card with me (as I did today). I want to know if we can fix this. The absolutely lovely woman locates the mistake, with persistence of course -- it took a while -- and she issues me a new card and explaines that I alternate too much between French and English. Stick with one! (I must have once said that you spell my name C - A -M - I - C, using the French pronunciation of the letters, leading them to write it down as C -- A -- M -- E -- C.) While all this was taking place, we chat. Somehow, I managed to bring Henry into the conversation. She'd asked if I live in France and I said no, indeed, I'm returning home on Thursday in part because of my dog, because you see.... and I gave some details of his special needs. She is blunt - so why don't you bring him with you next time?

I'll just leave you with that sincere query! Can you imagine Henry in Paris? In a hotel? A restaurant? Doesn't it just make you chuckle?

I go down the escalator, again, noting the dogs, small ones, calm ones. It seems to me that they all tune out Paris to survive Paris.

 

 

 

(A pause to pick up lunch: I want to try a slice of this apple rhubarb cake at a local bakery...)

(I also see a bread stick labeled "sportif." I buy that as well. Let it not be said that I eat only rich and sweet foods in this country!)

A walk back through the wet Jardin Luxembourg. Beautiful as always.

 

 

 

 

 

I come back to a room full of flowers! Oh the staff at the Baume! They treat me as if truly I were in their circle of good friends.

 

Toward evening, I get a message from the Camp telling me that Henry is adjusting very well now. What a relief! And I also get a (planned) call from Sarah.

Sarah is the coordinator for pet adoptions from Houston Texas. She and I corresponded about a certain dog that caught my eye. (Barrelled me over is more accurate.) We talk about her. For a long while. She's interviewing me, I'm getting more info. This is followed by a FaceTime with Trina the foster parent and, too, with the dog herself! Oh technology! I can meet my new dog from my seat at the Baume! The Texas organization I'm working with is amazingly careful with the placement of their pooches. Given that this is my second adoption, I see what's involved and I understand what's at stake.

Dinner? At Marcello'. I believe I got the recommendation of this from my hotel's newsletter. I know I read somewhere that they may very well have the best pasta in all of Paris. I order one with clams and yes, it is exquisitely delicious. 

 

(they didn't have NA beer, but they had a moctail that mimicked a Spritz) 

 

The walk home is chilly and damp. And yet, I pass a couple sitting outside, deeply engrossed in a conversation (actually I can't tell their gender but they look so calm, so engaged in life...).

 

 

 I wish this for all of us -- that level of engagement, of concern...

with so much love... 

to Paris

I slept well. You know how when you are mega tired, it often takes longer to unwind and your sleep is then interrupted? I think in the last couple of days, I wound myself up so much that I went beyond tired. I was out by midnight and didn't wake up until after 8. Amazing. (Or, is it that I skipped my lunch coffee, only because there was no place or time for it? One can never be sure as to the causes and effects of these things.)

Looking outside a side window, I see it again -- that St Paul de Vance skyline. 

Looking toward the front big window, I can just catch a strip of the Mediterranean.

Breakfast -- simple but near perfect. (Missing: fresh fruit. An apple would have put it at 100% for me.)

I've met the two dashing gentlemen who seem to run the place. Or at least assist Ann who may well own the Villa and be their mother. I can't figure it out and I'm here for such a short time that I wont try. In any case, they were all lovely and sympathetic, not charging me for the missed night. They all remind me of the characters in the art in my room, which I'll show you because it's so appropriate for my stay -- the rain! The umbrellas!

And now to Paris. It is strange, I know, to be flying there. I always take the train. Why wouldn't I -- it's fast reliable comfortable and it bypasses the whole airport scene. But this time I went with the free for me flight (gotta use up those miles!). It's also a question of time. I'd have to backtrack to Marseille and change there. To arrive in Paris at a decent hour, I'd have to leave early. Too early. 

So I catch a ride to the airport. And then my flight to Paris.

In all these movements by cab, encounters with various French people along the way, you may wonder if anything has changed in their attitude toward Americans. My sample is so small right now that I hate to pass judgment, but I'll tell you this much: for me, it feels like things have changed. In my past visits here this year, people were eager to engage. To voice their opinion. To question American support for our current administration. This time I am met with avoidance and silence. Politeness supreme, but there is also that refusal to talk about it. As if doing so would be too painful, both from the economics of it and the emotional charge. To me, it feels like they've given up on trying to understand, because after the last escapades, there's nothing more to say. We know what's at play. Best not to put it into words. I'll let you know if perhaps I just stumbled on the wrong sample of people. Paris may be different. 

 

The flight is on time and easy. I take the train to the city and walk past the Jardin Luxembourg down to Le Baume.

And oh, am I glad to be at this hotel, in what I love to think of as "my room." 

I have gone through so many residential changes in these years, with more to come, and yet, here in Paris, Le Baume has been my home for more than twenty years. The stability, the feeling of familiarity and kindness of the staff, knowing every detail here and liking it all -- this is exactly what I need right now. I have no desire for adventure in Paris. I just want to take each day at a time and run with it as the mood dictates. I can do that here like nowhere else. I am immensely happy to be back.

Immediately I head out to the park. Why? Because Paris is sunny today. It may well be the only sunshine I'll get on my trip. I want its glow and uplifting brilliance. Too, in January and especially on the weekend, the park really does belong to Parisians. (Not exclusively -- there will always be visitors here, even in late January.) If I want to feel myself to be here, in this city, then walking the boulevards of le Jardin Luxembourg is the way to do it.

It is so crowded with seemingly content people that I have to smile. Even at the height of the tourist season, it's never this packed. Of course it's full of strolling people, wouldn't you go out on a warmer, sunny day, after a blast of winter? (Paris had snow last week. Today it's 48F/9C.) Not a single chair is empty. No problem, people find ways to relax and face the sun.)

 

 

 

 

  

 

I've skipped lunch again, deliberately this time. My hotel is next to a shop selling teas. I buy packets of hibiscus-red fruits, including strawberry. At le Baume, I pick up a warm almond croissant -- they put these out for you in the late afternoon. Delicious!

 

 

I unpack. Here for four nights (with a brief trip after to the country, to another familiar place, for a forest walk). Tonight, I'll do nothing unusual. (Perhaps all the time I'm here I'll do nothing unusual.) Indeed, I even go to the restaurant that I've adopted as the easiest and most comfortable meal for me -- at Seulement Sea. So yes, seafood once again. And then home. You have no idea how good it feels to be returning late in the evening to Le Baume.

Later still,  I sort through the puzzle of my return. Just to make things more complicated, I want to see if I can come back a day earlier. There are technical reasons for it. Of course, given the storms pushing through the US, everything for this coming week is booked solid. And still, I make the effort, giving up only late into the night. I write about this because I have long understood that in travel, nothing is set. You can move things around some of the time. And I always try, if it strikes me that a change may be for the best, though as tonight demonstrates, sometimes you just cannot do it. Still, I think you should try and not rest with something you think may not work as well as you had hoped.

 

with so much love... 

records set, explanations offered

So much to take in! Let it not be said that January of this year is a slow month for me. These days are setting records. Bitter cold temperatures (back home), wet skies (south of France), and chaos in my head. January 21st will be a day I wont quickly forget. In the thick of travel, running on absolutely no sleep, jumping from one country to the next, flying great distances and ending up in the wrong place, and in all this, I am putting in place life changes. I do this in moments when I have access to my phone or laptop -- while stuck in traffic in taxis (with a grumbling driver once he discovers I am from the US), swaying on airport buses, and while waiting to disembark a stranded in Marseille airplane, with email systems crashing, cancellations mounting, documents needing to be signed floating in the Internet universe and, like my plane, not landing where they should -- oh, I'd say I had my fill of craziness yesterday.

But I got through it. At dizzying speeds, I got through it and kept all details straight in my head. So no, I'm not fading yet at 72.

And now here I am, waking up to a not too awful looking morning in Marseille. (It's still raining in Nice.)

Marseille. It was a city I'd considered for many repeat trips a few years back. I liked it, I wanted to come back more than once. To a small bed and breakfast, where I made friends with the owner, Odile. (Her b&b has been closed for a while now. Who knows if she is still even there -- she was older.) The tumult of Marseille appealed to me. And then, in what seems to be my style in life, I cut the cord and came back no more. At some point, possibly coinciding with the time I moved to the farmhouse (so maybe a dozen plus years ago), visiting big cities was no longer very attractive to me. I missed nature. The quiet. [Paris is the one place I never abandoned, possibly because I stay in a hotel that is quiet (Le Baume) and it is next to nature (Jardin Luxembourg).]

And yet, here I am, in Marseille again.

Breakfast at the Sofitel is fine. Buffet style, with standout croissants. Fruits, yogurt, an egg, some cake piece. With milky coffee.

Maybe I should hit pause for a while (in my rapid fire decision making) and think about what I just put in place. I was telling one of my daughters a few days back that I've made most major decisions in my life very quickly and though some of them had consequences that were profound, and not always without issue, I've regretted none of them. It all worked out somehow. I've said this before -- I was born under an unlucky star (very sick, living away from my parents, in rather primitive conditions), but very quickly my luck changed. Medical emergencies never put me into a grave, for one thing! I was loved and loved right back. I saw places, did things and stayed afloat financially, despite turbulence and work crises. My grandma, my young families, my friends -- they have been my rocks, my anchors, joined by Ed. So on balance my speedy twists and turns served me well.

Henry was a speedy choice. I fell in love with my daughter's rescue dog and decided I could help a rescue as well. 

Henry turned out to be not an easy dog. In the important domains, he is magnificent. He loves his people deeply and completely.  ("His people" are those whom he has sniffed out approvingly.) His eyes are on me, his heart is big and only growing bigger. His loyalty is 110%. He is smart, routine driven, lap dog affectionate.

But, the word they use to describe many rescues -- "shy" -- isn't what you'd think it is. When you meet a shy person, you think -- they aren't effusive, loud. They don't seek out others. Rather, they need to be sought out. A shy rescue on the other hand, one who isn't comfortable with people he doesn't know, is a dog that has been traumatized and strangers scare him. Strangers scare Henry and the closer he gets to me, the more strangers scare him. His behavior at the Edge has not only not improved, it's gotten worse. The professional advice has been to remove the source of fear -- in his case, elevators, empty hallways that suddenly have people popping out of their apartments, sometimes right outside my door. I cannot do that at the Edge. And when he barks and pulls hard to sniff out these folks, they retreat in terror. It's a vicious cycle that is reinforced each time the elevator opens and there are people on the other side of the door. 

I dont want him (or me!) to have to deal with this. Henry needs to be elsewhere. His best place to learn to relax is not in an apartment building, with long corridors, opening doors, elevators. 

In a couple of weeks, I'll be moving out. To a house. Not Steffi's House -- that one isn't available yet. But there is an empty house waiting for renters just a few steps down from it. Call it the Suelo House (because that's the name of the street it's on). I can have it until Steffi's becomes available this summer.  

I arranged it all in transit yesterday --  a move-in date, a new lease, negotiated as to date and price, movers, help with packing, an ad to find subletters for the Edge (at a discount, so if you know anyone!) -- all of it. 

There's more: I'm getting a second dog. Whereas the move will surely have the benefits I seek, this decision raises some concern among at least some of my beloveds. Even my vet speculated about this: might things get worse? Henry could get jealous. The next rescue can have unanticipated problems. And she can learn from Henry to be on guard (rather than have him learn from her to be calm).

I understand the concerns and I admit that it carries some risk. Nonetheless, a better part of me is convinced that this will help my boy. I am selecting a rescue very very carefully. She must have a verified (through foster care) calmness and friendliness about her. She needs to be older than Henry -- past the feisty and challenging teen years (meaning past 2 in people years). And she can't be black because I like diversity and it's hard enough to photograph these two black dogs (Henry and Goose) anyway.

Henry just loves to play with dogs. Whatever reserve he has had with strangers, he has no shyness with pooches. He has impeccable manners with them and most importantly, they help relax him. At the training, where there are both dogs and strangers, he has no desire to bark and pull. At his Camp right now, I'm getting reports of continued shyness toward people, but complete abandon and joy when he is with his canine friends. I am convinced he will love his new sib.

I do have one in mind, again from Texas, coming up here in mid February. A day after my move! Things will be interesting then! (I have still to do a long interview with the caretakers of this new one, so there is a chance that my twenty questions about her wont yield a great result, but I think I'm solid here.)

Frankly, the biggest puzzler that I have is how to walk two dogs, given my age and given their size (the second one, while smaller than Henry, is still considered medium which, in dog parlance appears to mean nearly 50 pounds, so no petite fille there. But, the new house is close to the dog park and I think we'll spend a lot of time exercising there. 

So here I am in France, writing and thinking about dogs and moves and the details of each of those huge categories! Enough of that! Let's get back to my travels

 

I booked a train to Antibes for just before noon. Antibes is one of those posh Riviera communities and it is a preferable point of departure for my final destination, St Paul de Vance. Nice (the city where I was to fly to) is too big, too full of traffic. My Villa people said get off at Antibes, just before Nice.

Okay, but how is it looking out there in Marseille? Not bad, albeit the big rains are coming, spreading the length of the Mediterranean coast.

After breakfast, I do go out for a short stroll, even though my heart isn't in it. 

(so many sailboats along the coast here!) 

Marseille doesn't lend itself to that kind of inspection. It requires a lot of walking and the distances aren't short and the stuff you pass can get on the gritty side of things. The one thing it did for me today is bring back the past. Thoughts of how much has changed since I was here last in  2015. (It rained then as well, by the way.)

And then I got on my train for Antibes.

And finally, from there, I Uber over to the Villa St Maxime.

(my once encounter with the sea, from the car window: oh, that azure color!)

 

That was one long trip from Madison! 

(the Villa)

 

(view from the garden: the Mediterranean coast has beautiful mimosa bushes in full yellow bloom, from January until March)

 

I do walk over immediately to the Fondation Maeght. This is where you'll find one of the largest collections of 20th century Modern Art in Europe. Bonnard, Chagall, Giacometti, Kadinsky, Leger, Miro -- they're all here, in abundance. (MIro -- in great abundance, sculptures and paintings.)  Here's a link if you want more information. As usual, all you get from me are a couple of favorites. 

The museum was almost empty of course. I'm surprised they keep it open every single day in the winter. A few French people were studying a few pieces very carefully, otherwise it was just me.

Yes, there is a fabulous, enormous sculpture garden. 

What can I say -- there's a lot of wealth in this collection.

I should note that I a little bit enjoyed the moody weather. The drizzle. The dark forest with greens on branches, year round. 

A dog came to greet me. I think he belonged to the caretaker, but I don't really know. I thought about how a couple of years ago France introduced a mandatory subject into its school curriculum: kindness and respect for pets. France may love its coddled dogs, but they too have an "abandoned dogs" problem. The Guardian reports that there were 100 000 dogs dumped and left to fend for themselves in 2023. Perhaps the curriculum is a response to that? In the U.S. the problem is even larger though. In Texas alone, 560 000 dogs and cats entered shelters last year. There are few animal welfare laws and of course the climate allows them to survive. Too, there is the culture of "do what I want." That spills over to control over animals.

From there, I walk to the center of the medieval St Paul de Vance. 

 

 

 

My little hotel (or is it a bed and breakfast maybe? I'm the only guest today..), lovely as it is, has the flaw that it is just outside of town. Normally I would enjoy the hilly walk, but for about 500 meters, there is no sidewalk and the road is very narrow and it curves. Cars come at you and stepping to the side is nearly impossible. There is no side. A fatal flaw that I hope is not really a fatal flaw! If I published this, then I survived the second walk into town for dinner. But I am now glad I came today and not yesterday. It would not have been fun doing it after that long trip, in the rain, dead tired.

Too, I have mixed views of St Paul de Vance. The little hamlet has 50 art galleries, all with big pieces of high quality art. 

For me, they sort of destroy the character of the town. Medieval villages did not have high brow stuff for sale. They were dirty dark and dismal. Of course, that wouldn't draw anyone today and these hilltop villages survive on tourism, but having these extremely expensive shops throughout is a little odd, I think.

I did stop at the perfume store -- the Fragonard Boutique. Out of sentiment for the brand. I'd been to Grasse where their perfumes are made and I do love the scents here, in Provence. And I bought something! A diffuser for my new home! I have never used a diffuser and my daughter tells me you can't smell a thing with them, but that's good, because Ed claims he has issues with scents anyway. (I dont believe him, but I wont push this and when he comes for a visit, I'll hide the bottle.)

 

Dinner? Back to town...

 

 

 

... At Le Moulin de Saint Paul.  It calls itself a bistro (though in my view it does not look like a bistro!)...

 

 

... and it comes recommended by my Villa. It has a talented chef and I was happy as anything with my smoked trout on a veggie blini...

 

 

... my scallops, and my dessert of lavender creme brulee. There, I had a very Provencal meal. And yes, there's that glass of wine. They hand you a list of wines and beverages and I scan the pages, looking for zero alcohol choices and there are non. At least here they pour a reasonable amount. Delta Airlines fills their tumbler-sized glasses to the top.

 

Evening. I'm still signing documents and working out the details of the next month. But I also do feel (finally!) that I am away, in France. And it does feel good to be here again. 

Tomorrow, I go up north, to Paris.

with so much love...