you do things you love...

I was just reading an article (in the Washington Post) about people living on Casey Key, Florida. It's right where Milton came in on the Gulf Coast and it's just a stone's throw where my good friend lives. It struck me how much people who live right on the ocean love that lifestyle. The sound of water. The beach, there for you, every single moment of your life. The sunsets, the wildlife, the vegetation. All of it. And now they're having these often life course-changing discussions. Is it worth it? And some will decide yes it is and some will say no it's not. And I thought how the way we live is often riddled with these micro and macro dilemmas. My frequent travels are draining -- financially and they can wreck my sleeping cycle for days on end. And, the last three trips I've come back sick. Some virus in April, Covid in June and now I seem to have pneumonia, which maybe wasn't from the trip itself, but maybe it was, and in any case, I'm sure it got exacerbated by the pace of my travels. Travels, a glass of wine -- now thought to be extremely hazardous to your health and yet I love my spritz before dinner!  And my Kouign Amann for breakfast in Brittany -- nothing healthy about that, and I can go on like this: decisions big and small, risks we take. 

Of course, it's always worth it until it's not. The beach life is worth it until that last final hurricane that wrecks your equilibrium (and your home), the lovely walks along the Brittany coast are certainly worth it, until you have to deal with that cough that leads you on Saturday morning after the return not to enjoy a leisurely moment, but to spend time, instead, in the Urgent Care of your clinic, because your lungs are acting up. The glass of wine -- still worth it, though my goodness, it's gone down to just that, because anything more and I know I am asking for trouble. 

At a certain point in life, you should take fewer risks, no? Ed probably would disagree. He'll sail into the ocean in his old age if a good opportunity presents itself (meaning the boat and crew and destination are to his liking). Some people in that article on Casey Key are staying, despite the ravages to their homes following two hurricanes this season. I'll keep on traveling as long as the savings last and my health isn't teetering on some brink of horrible destruction. The glass of wine? That stays for now. But I know for sure that lifestyle choices can change instantly. Stuff happens, you realize it's time to change.

For now, I'm hackin' away with a case of pneumonia. But feeling good and reasonably strong otherwise! Strong enough to walk over to the deal with the animals early on...

Strong enough to go from clinic to Tati's Cafe to pick up some cinnamon rolls for breakfast and then to have a lovely few moments with Ed...

Strong enough to bike over with him to the pharmacy to pick up my medicines.

And then to put in the next bulbs into the flower fields. But just twenty. I blame the rocky soil. Well, and my exhaustion!

Someday maybe I'll come up with a different calculus, but today, I'm sticking with my course of sail. Without a boat of course. That's Ed's domain. 

with love...

it's still about the weather

I can't help but feel a combination of marvel, confusion, pleasure and exasperation with the weather here in Wisconsin. It's still dry, sunny and warm. Today's high -- 79F/26C. Ed says it was cooler last week, but not by much. He watered the pots for me and I will continue to keep them going until... Tuesday! That is the predicted possible first frost day for us. No sense in doing anything after that.

I'm up early. We both are. I check on the animals, on the dried out garden. Wait, something is still blooming! Oh those gladioli murealis!

Breakfast? It was early and we had so much to catch up on that I completely neglected my camera, until we were well done with our morning meal. Here, you can still see the flowers I picked for the table -- nasturtium. Also still blooming outside.

Then I turn to the job of unpacking, laundry, grocery restocking. The normal "return stuff." Not too bad this time around. Ed's been trying harder not to slum it down in my absence and so the house is actually in good shape!

Emails to write, reviews to post.

And now for the garden: my box of bulbs arrived. I buy in quantities. I have nearly 325 to put in -- daffodils mostly, but, too, crocuses, tulips, allium, hyacinthoides (like bluebells only different), snowdrops, and a blue anemonie that I'm trying out for the first time.

This is my last gardening job for 2024 and it's a big one! But oh, the rewards, come spring!

I start off slowly.  Fifty in today. Seems plenty, frankly. Now I just have to keep up the pace and they'll be in by the end of next weekend.

It's time to pick up Snowdrop. Sparrow is under the weather, and her violin teacher is under the weather, so it's just the girl and just at the farmhouse. 

To her it always seems "forever since she was last here," and she buzzes with enthusiasm for the various games with Ed, for her book reading, for her predictable snacks.  

The day is in other ways unusual as well: I drive Snowdrop home and linger for a bit to catch up with her mom. By the time I get home toward dusk, I am significantly sleepy.

Still, I cook up a pot of chili. It'll be good to have something in the fridge for the next couple of days. And of course, after dinner, I can hardly keep my eyes open. Ed looks around for a movie to watch, but I tell him that it's impossible for me to stay awake through anything at all. Tomorrow. I'll return to all those lovely things tomorrow. Right now? Sleep of course!

leaving Paris

Paris. One last walk this morning. The rains pause for a few hours. Umbrella packed, everything packed and ready to go.

I come down to breakfast.

 

 

Then I go out. To walk the neighborhood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One last time.

 

Everything about the trip back is straightforward. Flight to Detroit -- on time. I watch three French movies, two quite beautiful (Brothers, and Like a Son). Detroit airport itself is chaotic, but I had quite the surprise at passport control: the agent checking me in said -- "you know you're partially approved for Global Entry." Well yes, I did the paperwork for it two years ago, but then I let it slide because there are no interviews anywhere near Madison for this. But, in Detroit, there sits an officer in the afternoons, right at the entry point and he will do an interview if you're partially approved. I thought my application had expired, but it hadn't. And so there you have it -- I got my speedy border entry permit today. It is possibly the least useful thing I own, as the entry lines in Detroit are rarely long, but still, as a frequent traveler, I have some pride at finally having completed this one step toward a smoother process. Long flights and layovers are tough. If you sprinkle the journey with little perks, you feel a heck of a lot better -- disproportionately to the service you receive! Us humans like to feel special!

Flight to Madison -- leaves on time, arrives on time. I do have a bit of a delay at my arrival, because I've been around enough people in planes trains and automobiles, museums, restaurants, buses, subways -- often masked, to be sure, but still, I test for Covid before meeting up with Ed. Thankfully I seem to have stayed clear of the coughs sneezes and snorts that are so much a part of fall and winter travel.

Home. I ask Ed for updates. Everything's quiet -- he tells me.

With so much love...

Paris and rain

It's all about the weather today. I track Milton because my friend lives in the storm's path in Florida, while Paris faces its own monsoon like rain storm today. All day, 100% chance rain. Of course, for me Paris rain is a non-event. There may be flooding here, but I wont see it. In the meantime my own home back in south-central Wisconsin is once again bone dry, having had only one rainy day in the last month. Or two.

Paris in the rain. If you dont have a check list of things to do and see here (and I am lucky, because whatever list I had has long been crossed off and torn up on my other days), you can find great pleasure in just watching the city wake up to a wet day. It's very beautiful.

 

I do see that the worst of the rain will hit us in the afternoon and so I decide to take a walk to the Jardins just as they open (at 7:45 in October). They're lovely then! Empty of tourists, of leisure seekers, and especially today, in the rain, they have only the occasional jogger and the commuter who cuts through to get to work. It's a great time to be meandering through this part of the city!

(Tower in rain clouds...)

(empty park)

(autumn chestnuts)

Breakfast, at the hotel.The usual. I'm back to croissants. Yay.

And now what? As you know, I've been tempted to have a do nothing day, a "linger in my hotel room" set of hours. But for whatever reasons, which I do not fully understand, Paris has been pulling at me on this trip. I cannot take anything about it for granted. For all the days I've spent here, I feel I haven't yet done enough. Or perhaps I've come to understand that there will come a time when traveling here wont be so easy, or even possible. So I go out, even on this wet day. In spurts. 

And I have to say, the rain may be beautiful on the initial saunter, but as you get wet, it can lose its charm. (This is when I think that maybe I should have splurged when I bought my Allbirds walking shoes. The ones I have are not waterproof. Not a bit.)

By noon I'm ready to pause. What could more appealing than a bowl of four-veggie soup with seeds sprinkled on top? Nothing. Nothing at all. (Sounds familiar? I stopped for it at No.13 on my walk from the train stop to my hotel on that tired first day in Paris.)

Rest, walk, walk, rest. By late afternoon I am ready for first of all, a solid cup of coffee (trying out the newly opened "Coffee Tree" around the corner...)

 

 

 

(delicious!)

 

... and, too, something unusual for me on these solo trips -- a social moment. It just so happens that friends from way back (and I mean waaaaay back, as I haven't seen them in lots of years -- they used to live in Madison but now are back in New York) are in Paris and somehow we connected and now here we are, meeting up for coffee/wine at Les Editeurs.

No, not outside! People, it's really raining here!

I cannot think of a better way to spend a few late afternoon hours in soggy, drenched Paris.

Dinner? You will be surprised to know that I choose pizza. Here, at this place: Agata.

Pizza hunting in Paris is not new to me. Typically I do it with a child in tow, but I have to say, I haven't struck gold yet and that's unusual, because Paris actually does have (I hear!) great pizza places. I try one that some have liked and it is good! You need a low key meal after days of great foods. I have my low key meal tonight.

And I should add: it's no longer raining in Paris. It is pouring! Impossible to walk anywhere without getting your shoes, socks, pants -- everything wet. And still -- I'm passing through Paris. A wet Paris, but I am just a visitor. I dont have to check my basement for flooding.

At Agata's I have my usual confusion: the menu is in Italian. What language is appropriate for an Italian restaurant in Paris? Not to say I am great at it, but the one thing you learn how to do is speak Italian over food choices. This is when it all falls apart for me as I put out sentences in languages that are not my own. I discuss pizzas with a mix of Italian words, but when asked how is it back in Wisconsin, I'm back to French. Is this all a signal that it's time for me to return home?

(Hidden under the Parma ham are the tomatoes, the cheeses, the mushrooms, the artichokes... fantastically Neapolitan.)

And now for the wet walk back. Through pouring rain.

In a total deluge...

To my dry slice of heaven -- the Baume Hotel.

Yes, I am so happy -- to be here, and too, to be going home to all my beloveds tomorrow.

with love...

from Brittany to Paris

The morning is mapped out for me: I have a train from Plouaret Tregor to Paris, leaving at 10:01. This is what you do when you dont know the habits and designs of a locality -- you play it safe. The better connection would have been from Lannion, taking the local to Plouaret Tregor and changing there to the rapid TGV to Paris. But the change time was short -- just a handful of minutes, so that any delay in the Lannion train would have caused me to miss my connection. So I played it safe and booked from Plouaret Tregor, booking a taxi to that more distant town. That added thirty Euro to the taxi tab, but again, I absolutely cannot afford to miss the connection to Paris. I did not know that the Lannion train is deliberately positioned to take people to the Paris-bound train. It shuttles a whole bunch of people to make that connection. I would have been fine going along with them. 

So I had this booked cab. It's normally a half hour ride to Plouaret Tregor (as opposed to 15 minutes to Lannion), but the cab driver, too, wanted to play it safe. There may be traffic. There's road construction. Could we please leave at 8:45? 

All this to say that I got up when it was still dark. That sounds a lot worse than it really is, since, as a reminder, the sun rises here at around 8:30 a.m. right now, but still, it felt like the middle of the night.

Showered and packed by 7:30. Hey, I have time for one last walk! And I want that walk. To the beach, to the sea, to breathe in that salty air one last time.

I'm becoming a pro at the steps! (I could try the road to the beach, but the steps are ... an adventure! At least for me they are...)

 

 

 

It's beautiful by the water's edge!

Not a soul in sight. Wait, is there someone in the water? Looks like it!

 

 

The boardwalk, on the other hand, is deserted, the shops, restaurants -- closed. I like the silence -- the absence of cars, of people. You can really take in the waves. And the song of the noisy European Robin.

Back at the hotel now -- breakfast. The usual. Good, but not Breton enough. It's the one flaw that I would ascribe to L'Agapa. And I really searched to supplement it. And still, I feel I missed out on a lot of Breton baked goods.

One last look outside....

I'm off.

My taxi driver is chatty. A really pleasant guy, with three young daughters at home. Curious about his passengers. Testing the waters of my political convictions ("so, you're going to have a new president soon?"). I dont need to tell you how most of the French feel about the future of our country. Particularly here, in Brittany. (In the south, around Sorede, Marine Le Pen's far right party has made greater strides.) Still, he is very amused that gender appears to be an issue in our presidential elections. ("Only in America do they still talk about this as something unusual!") 

We switch to more neutral topics. He asks if I like it here, I ask if he is from this region. Yes indeed! He says it with great pride. ("Life is so much less stressful! I drive a taxi, life is good.") In the summer, of course, he is busy. French vacationers in July and August, British and German in the shoulder seasons. I ask if he sees many Americans. He tells me -- yes, because there are now tour groups that come here for hiking. He is hired to transport their bags from one hotel to the next as they walk along the coast.

I had to laugh at that. I told him we had carried our packs ourselves. I suppose I said it with a note of boastfulness. I was, after all, already in my fifties. It's easy to see nothing but the glory in that feat, but of course, I have memories too of the endless search for an internet connection (for Ocean writing!), and, too, of the pouring rain on that last day, drenching us, our packs, our spirits. Kids these days have it so easy, what with their smart phones, Ubers, organized treks, dont you think?

Needless to say, we arrived at Plouaret Tregor way too early. It's a small station, with nothing going for it, so I take a brief stroll, suitcase and all.

And then the TGV comes and I settle into my amazingly comfy seat for the three hour ride to Paris.

(this too is Brittany)

 

(and this...)

 

 

(passing through Pays de la Loire at 300 km/hour, or 186mph)

Paris.

I surprise myself at how happy I am to be back at my hotel, this time in my very favorite room (I'm done with trying out others -- I like this one too much!). I missed the intimacy of a smaller place, with a known to me staff.

The view out onto the street, the Odeon Theater, just adds to my cup, which runneth over anyway.

Do I have a plan for this day? Are ideas popping into my head like on the day I arrived? No, and no. Tomorrow promises to be a very, very wet day. And the day after -- I return home. This afternoon is my best bet for a last long walk.

When in doubt, walk along the Seine.

On the way there, I pass a coffee shop -- I remember it from the days I was here with the young family. I could use a cup of good coffee and believe me, that is not always easy to find in Paris. Lots of cafes, lots of coffee, most of it just okay. I go inside this one (and yes, I appreciate the name!)..

It's tiny inside, but I am lucky to find a table. Oh! They have small cakes! Perfect. 

(a the table next to mine, rapid fire French...)

(superb coffee! some of the best I've ever had! and good cake, too...)

I found it sweet that both the server and the barista were quite friendly -- unusually so, for a big city cafe. They asked if I was a photographer, where was I from -- that kind of "small town" stuff. I think of Paris as a very polite city, and sometimes the shop keepers will ask about my French, but in general, cafes and restaurants work with too many people to take an interest in individual customers. Here, they took an interest.

Okay, to the river. I'll post a few photos. Today it's more about people than actual shop windows or Parisian sights (with a few exceptions!). Here we go:

(reminds me of Ed's hair when it gets to be long...)

(You have to be pretty in love and oblivious to the dangers of this world to sit right on the edge of the Seine...)

(a walk by the river does not mean that I focus just on the river...)

(so many intense conversations...)

(the wind has really picked up... I see storm clouds back there...)

(more conversations...)

(remember when you were a kid and you had to wait for the grownups to shut up already?)

(the pace is so much faster here than, say, in Brittany!)

And home. But not for long. It's getting close to dinner time.

Where to this evening? It's at a new place for me -- one that seems fitting for this trip, if you go by it's name: Oktobre. It's a fairly recent opening, and it's located in a space where other restaurants have had successful runs -- both ones that I had liked in years past. The chef of Oktobre used to be second in command at one of them (Kitchen Galerie Bis). This babe is totally his and I'm curious how a young mind might change the direction of a kitchen.

 

It's a small place with a very small menu.Two appetizers, four mains to choose from. But here's a super nice thing: one of the appetizers offers a sample of three completely different tastes (one based on carrots, another on beef, a third on mushrooms). And it is magnificent! I wont bother describing it in detail. What for... I only want to encourage you to try this place if ever you are lucky enough to be in Paris, and in this area, and in search of a good, innovative dinner. 

And then came the main course -- for me it was cuttlefish (and there were peppers, and beans, and chanterelle mushrooms, with a sublime sauce). Undoubtedly the best cuttlefish I have ever eaten anywhere. Not that I have eaten cuttlefish on any regular basis, but I have to say, this was just exquisite!

Now, I have to say, it may have been one of those dinners where I just ordered right. Perhaps other dishes were fine but not exquisite. I can't be the judge of that. But I am absolutely sure that if I am back in Paris, alone, I will eat here again. (The dessert was okay. Nice, but not memorable.)

It's a short walk back to my hotel. I pass so many crowded eateries, absolutely packed and indeed, spilling out onto the sidewalk, even though it's not really warm anymore. I wonder if older people, like my age people, also participate in this national mania of eating out late into the night... If I lived in Paris, would I have to push myself out the door more often, because that is what friends, family do? Or would I be the one person in the whole city who stays home on a comfy sofa and dozes off as the light fades? I do not know...

Tomorrow -- I'm finally aiming to do not much at all! We'll see how that goes!

with love...