Car, Cahors and on the road.

The frustrating thing about this typeface is that it is so small I can hardly read it. But we continue on.

I woke up on Wednesday with a full blown head cold which made the day kind of a waste. So we move on. I will report more on that at a later time perhaps.  Or not.

Thursday morning I woke up feeling equally as crappy but had to leave the flat and get to the Gare de Lyon Part Dieu to rent a car and drive out of town. This sounded like a great idea when I was in California but seemed less and less so as I sat in the train station waiting for the appointed hour to fetch my car.  Finally it was noon, the hour of car rental and so I made my way to the office and said yes to an upgrade and to minimal insurance.  Yes, it doubled the cost of the rental but hey, it was a bigger car, an automatic (which would be easier on my bad knee) and what the hell, it's a vacation after all.  The tricky part came when trying to figure out to get out of the car park and through the streets of Lyon and to the Highway.  French streets and traffic signals and rules of driving are a bit different than in the US but I managed to almost hit only one pedestrian and run only one traffic light before I got to the Autostrade. My phone helped, I was on my way.

A friend of mine, Vanessa, was working at a winery not far from Lyon and our plan was for me to pick her up and we would spend a day or two together, just cruising around in my car. However, from the inception of this plan to the day of my arrival Vanessa quit her job and I was now rescuing her and spiriting her away.  Fine with me.

So here we are now in the lovely town of Cahors for the evening, and we will be here for maybe two nights and then, who knows? It's a journey of the unknown at this point.
But a good journey. I am not sure what I would have done without a navigator, it would have required a different plan, that's for sure. The last time I drove in Europe I had Tom as a navigator and we never got lost, at least not for long. By myself, it's a different story. Having Vanessa along has made it much less daunting.

Which brings me to the topic of taking this vacation by myself, but it's late and I am tired so we will cover that topic tomorrow.

Thank you for reading along. This a photo of Cahors. More to follow.

Food and film and getting fatter.

Remember yesterday when I said I didn't really go out to good restaurants by myself?  Hmmm, well that was a bit specious, I'm afraid. Sometimes I go out to an actual restaurant and today was one of those times.

Lyon has a specific cuisine of which they are quite proud and a set of restaurants called "bouchons" that specialize in this Lyonaisse cooking and when faced with such a situation one must honor the city where one is currently staying.  A person wouldn't go to New Orleans and skip crawfish or po'boys, or go to San Francisco and not try sourdough bread (unless one was gluten free, of course) so coming to Lyon and ignoring their special cuisine would be insulting. Plus, it was 1:30 (13,30 in Lyon time) and I was hungry (J'ai faim!)  One of the most well known bouchons, Daniel et Denise, is two blocks from my flat, how could I resist?

I was met with eyes askance (American woman alone!) when I walked into the restaurant and was curtly seated in a so-so area that I actually didn't mind. When I was finally given a menu, I decided to have the lunch "formula" which was a choice of starter, a main and a dessert. Having done my homework, I ordered the Pate en Croute because they had won awards for this creation of organ meats minced and baked in pastry. Served as simply as possible, with a bit of fig jam on the side and a couple of bites of the salad standby, it was delicious. I think the waiter was relieved that I not only opted for the three course option but that I ordered something typical for the area. My second course was their famous fish quenelle in a Nantua sauce which is basically bechamel flavored with the crayfish tails used in the quenelle. It was like eating a cloud of delicate fish bathed in creamy lusciousness, so delicious. All entrees come with baked potato discs and a gratin of their version of mac and cheese (penne with cheese sauce served in a little gratin pan.) I did not need either of those side dishes and did little more than taste them.  Wine was had with this, of course, a lovely and unpretentious Cote du Rhone in a small bottle.

It was so good but there was punishment to come, the third course, dessert of the day, which was possibly the best chocolate mousse I have ever had, thick and incredibly rich, served with a classic Madeline cookie. It took me about a half hour to eat the mousse, but I managed to choke it down. I swooned silently with every bite. I cannot believe I ate it all but I wouldn't have missed a single morsel.

With the wine, the lunch was about 45 US dollars and it was worth every cent. I was seated at about 1:30 and did not leave the restaurant until about 3:30. Of course part of the reason I lingered so long was because I was so full I could not budge, I just sat sipping the end of my wine, hoping I would not belch too loudly as I exited the building. I waddled back to my flat and unbuttoned my jeans as soon as it was socially acceptable to do so, i.e. in the lift to my flat.

Seriously, nothing else to eat for me today.

At 5:00 (17,00h) I was able to rouse myself from my food coma and visit the Musee Miniature et Cinema, a small, quirky, incredible museum about movie sets, costumes, models, miniatures and other trivia about movie production. It was educational and totally enjoyable. Lots of costumes and models of things actually used in films, so fascinating.

A good day in old Lyon. As I told a friend, I am sure the regular part of Lyon has its dry, boring, seedy side but here, in the tourist area of Vieux Lyon, it is charming and easy, historical and eye-catching. I am, after all, a tourist, and this is working for me.

Old Roman ruins in my backyard.

Train ride for the vacant mind and voila! Lyon!

Finding your way through a French train station is not easy if you don't speak the language but thankfully there are little icons that could guide you or confuse you even more.  For example, a little picture of a train and an arrow could indicate that your train is that way or it could mean that if you go that way there might be a train, not your train necessarily, but some train. In a large train station there might be several halls, as they are called, that might have your train, but there is no guarantee of that, you must either trust that a train could be there or shake your head in resignation that all is lost.  Then go get a coffee and a croissant and wait for enlightenment.

Being paranoid of missing my train, I was at the Gare de Lyon about an hour early, which was fine because it gave me time to get that coffee and croissant in plenty of time for the enlightenment. The other thing about the train station, unlike an airport, is that there is no announcement about trains leaving the station. The French expect you to be grownup enough to get your ass on the train without being prompted.  At about 20 minutes before my train was to depart I was tired of sitting in the Waiting for Enlightenment section (having finished my coffee and croissant) and I wandered over to where I thought my train might be and it appeared that people were casually walking down the path to the train. "Well then" I thought so I did the same and after stumbling around a bit trying to find Voiture 3 (car 3) I foolishly asked a railroad person for clarification and of course they (there were three of them in one group) all shook their heads collectively and did that French lip purse thing until one pointed at the train car nearest me that clearly was marked Voiture 2 and said "Ici." Then he said it in English in case I didn't know was "ici" meant which of course I did but really? I even showed him my ticket which stated Voiture 3 but he was undeterred. So I got on car 2 and went upstairs as he pointed and he was correct, of course, my seat number was there, although nowhere did it EVER say 3. I was grateful for his help but puzzled at the mystery.

Sigh.

Train rides are so lovely, so soothing, your mind can just go away for a while. It was only a two hour ride, I could have stayed on that train for another two hours. For me there is always something about traveling in a foreign country that makes me want to change my life and nowhere does manifest itself more clearly than on a train ride through the countryside.  Don't ask me why, it just happens. Four hours is the perfect distance, so this was short by half. But here I am, in what is definitely a person's apartment unlike the flat in Paris which was so casually sterile. I think it will be a good city for two days, at least the part I saw today was new to me, old to France, there's an old section (in which I am staying) and a newer one just across the river which is just across a bridge from my flat. I found snacks and a couple of places open tonight (it seems Lyon takes a break on Mondays) if I decide my snacks are not cutting it for dinner.

Here is a photo from my 6th floor flat and my snacks, which could be my dinner.

The idiosyncratic French and free museums!

The French have these ideas, cultural no doubt, that always crack me up. For one thing, they do not like to make any more change than necessary. For example, if the total of your purchase is something like 10,30 and you give the cashier 15 euros, the cashier will always ask "Avez vous un euro?" (Do you have a euro?)  God forbid you buy something cheap and hand over a 20! Last night as I was gathering up my purchases, the couple in back of me bought a box of cookies that were less than two euros and they handed the guy a 20 and you would have thought the couple had tried to pay with small stones! The cashier shook his head and waved his hands around and pursed his lips the way only the French can do and said something in French that was probably "This is too much, I cannot make this kind of change for such a small purchase, no, no you must give me something smaller, this cannot happen." The customer was American (but of course) and simply stood  there with the 20 in his hand until the cashier finally took it and disgustingly made change, obviously ruining his entire day.

You feel like you have insulted their entire cultural heritage when something like that happens. I have gotten that look when I order a glass of wine because I point to the price of a large glass and say "un grand verre du vin blanc, s'il vous plat." Ah, no, what? A large glass? What, how can this be?  That's the look I get. Now, mind you that a large glass is probably 10 ounces, it's not like a bucket of wine, and the regular size is tiny. Maybe 4 ounces, hardly even worth drinking, it is a mere mouthful! But they bring me my wine and I think they secretly think I won't be able to finish it! Ha! And this is a culture that drinks wine with every meal.... go figure.

The French are very serious about queueing up, waiting in line is serious business and they would never push to the front of the line. Other cultures do not have this stoicism, of course, and will not so subtly inch up to the front of the queue, displacing the French along the way but getting away with it because the French will make the insulted face but will say or do nothing to stop the intrusion. Italians and Spanish are the best at this stealthy move. It takes an American to step in the way of the pushy person and block their forward progress. ( I have done it often, quietly but firmly and it always works.) Germans just pretend they don't know where the end of the line is and they simply walk past everyone to the front. This works for them because no European wants to bully a German, too much history there. But it is amusing to watch this cultural dance, makes waiting in line so much more fun.

On another note, many museums are free the first Sunday of the month, as are many national monuments so I visited a few today. I also finally made it to the 10th arrondisment and got to see the St Martin canal at work. A small boat was coming through and the locks had to work to drain water from one level and add water to the lock so the boat could continue on. It was a treat to see it all happen and it made me so happy that I found a little cafe with outdoor seating where I had an order of foie gras and a large vin blanc for lunch!

Tomorrow I leave Paris, taking the train to Lyon for three days. It's a city I know very little about so I am looking forward to a new experience.

"Bon nuit" I say as you are all waking up.

Paris: Demonstrations, degustation, precipitation, ambulation

There were four things on my agenda today: take the Metro to Place Concorde to see Champs Elysees, visit W. H. Smith bookstore, walk to the Les Halle's area to find a couple of kitchenware stores and finally go to the Canal St. Martin area, a neighborhood I have been wanting to visit.

While on the Metro an announcement was broadcast that there would be no stopping at the Concorde station because of the out-of-control demonstrations that have been taking place for the past couple of weeks. The train stopped at the next station, Madeline, and I got off and exited the station to an eerily quiet boulevard. Blue police vans were everywhere, cars were nowhere to be seen.  There was no access to Place Concorde but smoke could be seen floating high in the air; it was either tear gas or cars that had been torched. I walked to Rue Cambon and was able to get into the bookstore, usually a very busy spot on the weekend. It was almost empty and was as quiet as a library. From there I walked up Rue Rivoli, closed to traffic, most of the businesses closed, very unusual for a weekend day. In the Tuileries was a Christmas festival, very poorly  attended. It was clear the demonstrations were taking their toll on commerce and public gatherings.

Finding the first kitchen store, Dehilleran, was easy and it's an old, dusty place with hundreds of items, from tart molds to knives, cutting boards, rolling pins and amazing copper pans, heavy as bricks. I hung around for a bit, touching things, then ventured back outside where the rain had begun falling. I decided to find a Metro station that would take me to the Canal district but realized that I was hungry and fortuitously passed a cafe that seemed to be whispering my name.

There are few things better than sitting in a French cafe, at the window, watching the wind pick up and the rain fall down, eating a perfect ham and cheese omelet on a Saturday afternoon. The French know how to take three ingredients (four if you included butter) and create something that smells, looks and tastes wonderful: the cheese is melted, the ham is warm, the top of the omelet is just a bit golden from the butter and a little of that butter glistens on the plate. Served with a simple green salad dressed in the ubiquitous French salad dressing (oil, vinegar, spicy mustard) with a little basket of fresh baquette on the side, and a glass of the house white wine and life is good.

Some people come to France to eat in upscale restaurants. If I am traveling with someone I do the same. But by myself, going to a restaurant is too daunting to face alone so I favor the smaller cafes or bistros, the kind that have similar food, where you can get a Salade Chèvre Chaud or Steak and Frites or onion soup. Or the omelet of your choice.  There is no rush for you to leave the table, sitting and staring out the window is not just tolerated but almost required.

Because the day had become much colder, wetter, darker, I headed back to my warm flat, deciding to walk instead of finding the Metro station. Turns out that I wasn't far away from my neighborhood and it would have required a circuitous train route, so it was quicker to cross the Seine, pass by Notre  Dame and meander up Boulevard St. Michel, ducking under awnings when it began to rain seriously.

It is 6:00 now and because of my lunch, there will be no dinner. I am a one-meal-a-day sort of person here in Paris, mainly because I usually pop into a local bakery late morning and get a croissant, which fills me up for hours. Bad for me yes, but I am on vacation and I have tangerines in the early morning and cheese and apples or pears at dinner time, so I figure that sinfully buttery, flaky creation is balanced by the fruit and the lack of dinner. Or so I tell myself, and really, I have no shame when it comes to real French croissants. None.

Those 20,000 French steps ...

About killed me, I am paying for it today. Not just knees but thighs, calfs and hips. Fuck this getting old crap. It beats me up.

Sorry, just had to get that out there, at 9,700 steps today which will be 10,000 after the nightly stroll, this time to the corner and back and it's more a hobble than a stroll.

Before I go farther, I know that this font is really small but I cannot change it on this device I am using so put on those reading glasses and deal with it.  Please and I thank you. Basically, I can't change how the blog looks, so we will simply adjust to what we have instead of what I want. Which is, of course, what life is all about. "You can't always get what you want but if you try, sometimes you get what you need."

It's odd, but I gave this some thought today while on the Metro (instead of on my feet) and I can't figure out why I am less sure of myself now than I was 25 years ago traveling. You would think that having been to this city about 15 times in the past 25 - 30 years I would know it well enough to be strong and confident and decisive.  Yet I find myself second guessing everything! (Well, most everything, I am still sure that any bottle of wine I get in the local Mom-and-Pop market for 8 euros will be delicious and it always is!) But I took the Metro today and I had to seriously stop and think about the process, which is basically: know the end route, put the tiny ticket in the slot and go. That's it.

It all worked out fine but it brought on a world of confusion just thinking about the process. (Not old age confusion, mind you, just the confusion you get when wondering why something is what it is.)  Is it our lot to get more confused the older we get despite our years of wisdom or is it just my rambling mind experiencing this? When younger, it seemed we plowed through things with unsubstantiated confidence and things usually worked out well. Now, at this older point in life, I am at times 100 % sure of what to do and at other times, like today, conflicted.  Where's that store of knowledge and experience when I need it?

Last evening I walked to the Jardin des Plantes to see an exhibition of luminaries. It was about a 25 minute walk. Today I took the Metro for a totally different reason and when I exited the Metro station  (after an 8 minute ride) when I turned around, there was the entrance to the Jardin des Plantes! It made me laugh out loud.

All this is to say that everything we do, all the time, everyday, is nothing but one more fucking life lesson, whether it is in France or Rome or Pasadena or in the ghetto of our minds. When we stop learning, whether about ourselves or about the world, then that's the time to kick it over the goalpost of life and call it a day. There is no growth without change and there is no change without questioning everything.

So sayeth the small print oracle.
I am going to try and insert a photo here, the view from my flat. It is of Norte Dame but let's see if it shows up.

Another random day in Paris

The random days in Paris are often the best, which is true of a lot of life. Unplanned and unmoored means (sometimes) that there will be few expectations and thus little disappointment.  The distaff side of that is also true, of course, no expectation means little excitement which can have its own problematic outcome.

The flight into Paris yesterday was rather turbulent but since statistics show that planes don't normally crash because of turbulence I am less afraid of it than I was in the past. The plane was pretty full but because of my wileyness about airplane seating, I was able to snag three seats to myself and I had no guilt about not sharing them. I read two junky books, watched one movie, slept for about an hour and voila! In Pàris I was.

My flat is fine, smaller than it looked inline (isn't that always the case?) but it has a great view, which I will try to figure out how to share with you.

It had been years since I visited Musee D'Orsay and it had a couple of special exhibits so I spent a couple of hours there and had an excellent lunch in the cafe there and how much more boring can this be? Seriously, no one wants to read about my lunch, nor does anyone want to read about Special Exhxibits at a museum in France! What was I thinking? Sorry about that.

The thing about coming back to a place you have been to more than a dozen times is that you know it is going to be boring and repetitive at some point. One doesn't want that to happen to anything one loves but it can, and then you get divorced. A person gets pissed off at whatever got boring but the bottom line is that EVERYTHING and EVERYONE gets boring at some point and  to avoid divorce you need to spice things up a bit, change costumes or venues or try a new cuisine or something.

 I am not going to wear a French maid costume or anything but since I know this town pretty well, I am going to try and see new places here. I wish I could say I will overcome my fear of being buried alive and go visit the Catacombs but that will not happen. Today, instead of taking the Metro, I walked a lot, more than 20,000 steps (7 + miles ) and my knees feel it. It was a lovely day for walking, temp around 55, partly sunny and There I Go Again, launching into boredom!

It is close to 11:00 pm, time for a cookie and and another glass of supermarket Bordeaux. Hey, at less than $10.00 US dollars, it's good stuff! Snobby Californians denigrated Merlot for so long, not realizing that it is the backbone of Bordeaux wines and the cornerstone of my drinking habit at this moment.

Please excuse any strange spelling or punctuation. I am using a friend's iPad and it is so touchy and a bit idiosyncratic, like me and many I know. (Thanks, Margaret for the iPad loan.)  I will try and get photos on here, stay tuned.

Bonne nuit!