Day 1 - SkyLines from the French Lock-down:Time to Write

Bonjour enfin (Hello at last)

It has been a very long time and I kept saying, "I'll blog this week."   Well, at last I'm going to have

The village of Argeles-sur-Mer as seen from the coast path

enough time to do it.  Every single day.  It's the law.  No, not that I have to blog, but that I'll be at home all day, every day, except very limited outings.  For at least two weeks and very likely longer, we in France are obliged to stay home.   We can only go out for food, medicine, exercise, or to care for those who are vulnerable.  So, here we go.  I'm just going to chat with you from our village by the sea. 

 A new blog at last.

 Until today life had a way of keeping me so intrigued that I kept putting off writing for fun.  I mean, I love to write but I just hadn't been blogging to sharing joy and beauty for a long time.

 You know, I had excuses - there just wasn't a good topic, or a super photo to share.  And then there was Facebook, Instagram, Word with Friends... Right.  Sound familiar?  In other words I was being lazy, self-indulgent, and distracted.   

Oh sure, I had been working at my keyboard or scribbling in notebooks every day.  Yes, I finished my eighth book and it came out last September, so why wasn't I blogging as well?   Easy - I was falling in love with my Frenchman (I'll call him Y just to be a bit mysterious).  Bet you didn't see that one coming.  I sure didn't until I realized that I'd found that guy I'd been looking for: someone to join me in the adventure that is life.  

We spent a year getting to know each other.  Finally moved in together and are in love with the life we're building.  It's romantic, sporting, literary, and a gastronomic delight. We  work on the house, write, read, binge watch The Walking Dead, and do lots of people-watching from the many cafes in our village in the south of France.  

Both retired, we get to do the things we love. We've been skiing in the Pyrenees and Wind-Surfing on the Lagoons and the Med.  He might even convince me to go for a short hike... a very short hike.  One with wine and cheese at the end of it.  None of that "several days of pain stuff." 

And then... this nightmare started.  Not for us personally, but for the world as we know it.  It's all anyone is talking about.  You know, CV-19.  And today, the Lock-down began in earnest.  Well, we're home for the duration.  Suddenly I have plenty of time.  I realized I should get writing.  Not just working on book number 9 which I've been writing and am half-way through, but writing about life as it is unfolding.

I want to share the positives.  I want you to share with us.  As the world contracts to the size of our own homes, let's send messages of love to everyone.

I'm starting out with this very short shout-out to get started.  I want to share a yummy recipe with you. Tonight it's comfort food.  We're having a hearty veggie soup to start and we spent the afternoon making a casserole for dinner - well, Potatoes Dauphinoise. A French classic!  And my lovely Frenchman and I are expanding our repetoire of dishes every week.  Must be careful not to expand our waistlines at the same time!

Layering the sliced potatoes

This dish also goes by the name of Potatoes au Gratin.  Today we made it using Greek yogurt in place of Creme Fraîche and we used Garlic Flakes on each layer to make up for a lack of fresh garlic.  

Hopefully we'll get some the next time we dare to go shopping.  But strictly by the new rules.  One meter between us and a limited number of people allowed in the store and don't you dare forget to carry your official papers with you.  A fellow writer joked that it was time to watch Casablanca again...

The layers are mounting!

Tomorrow I'll tell you more about the lead in to this.  But I hear my partner calling me to the dinner table, so here's a share for the day.  I hope you'll share what you're doing with us too.  What are you cooking?  Listening to?  Binge watching?  Reading?  It's all good.    Must stop now and eat this amazing looking gratin!  

À Table! (Come and get it, in French!)

Here's the recipe we worked from: https://www.recipetineats.com/potatoes-au-gratin/

So, bon courage, mes amis.  We have each other, even if at a distance.  Let's share what's beautiful or interesting.  Be positive.  Tell us what you are doing, reading, thinking, or hoping.  It may get dark, but the dawn must come.  And we will be stronger for having gone through it together.  

A demain! (Until tomorrow)   Link to DAY 2

Zermatt, Switerland - Voyagez Avec Moi (Travel With Me)

Coucou! (hiya)  I have been travelling a bit during the last two years and suddenly I thought - hey, you should come with me!



So, this series will be about sharing the beauty and fun of the journeys I've taken.  So... Faites Vos Valises, mes amis!  (Pack your bags, my friends!)  And since I live in the sunniest, warmest part of France... why not go somewhere cold?


"Non!"  is what my French neighbors said when I told them I was going to snowy Switzerland just as spring arrived in our sunny village.  "Mais si!  Je veux faire du ski!" I replied meaning that I wanted to go skiing.  Well, they thought I was nuts. I'd just spent nearly every Saturday for the last three months skiing in the Pyrenees just two hours inland.  But when I explained that there was also a five day Festival of music, they understood a little better.  Actually, it poured in Perpignan the whole week I was gone, so I had to laugh!





It was November when I saw Jack Savoretti post that he'd been invited to perform at the 11th annual Zermatt Unplugged festival.  My first thought was, nice, but too far for  a concert. After all, I'm closer to Barcelona than Marseilles. But then I started thinking... Next thing I knew, I was planning!  And so, you and I jump on the train, then a plane from Barcelona, then another train out of Geneva, make a couple of changes, and Voila!  Zermatt.




The thing you notice right away is that it really is alpine!   And it's a good thing we are wearing our thermals and cold-weather gear, after all it's April... yeah, the high is going to be... maybe 6 degrees Celsius. And the low?  -13 tonight.  Well at least the skiing is going to be great!


Our hotel proprietor is the 1984 Giant Slalom Olympic Gold Medal champion, Max Julen.  He and his wife, Karin, are so friendly and have arranged a vegetarian meal for me in the hotel restaurant.  They also arrange for us to rent our skis from his brother's ski shop.  You and I have rooms under the eaves.  What a view!  We can see out over the village and down the river Visp.  And gee... that pointy mountain looks familiar!





Zermatt is beautiful.  The festival takes over the whole village for six days every April and 2018 was the 11th.  The streets are filled with happy people, wandering musicians, acoustic bands, and in the center of it all is the Taste Village.  Wearing our hi-tech concert/festival wristband chips, we can enter all the general venues.

Everywhere we go, there are casual musical performances, some on stages, others in clubs and bars, and many impromptu on the streets.  It is a whole village party!  Our wristbands are also programmed to let us into the big name concerts because we bought tickets.



Tonight, we're going to see... Brett Dennen but he is just one of the many acts performing.  We are treated to a ride in the train up to the ski lodge where we are fed a four course meal that begins with champagne and ends with dessert and coffee.

Then we move to the next room and in the intimate setting, if feels as if we are all friends hanging out and that Brett is the cool kid in our class who is singing just for us.  In fact he teases us and says we are only here because we couldn't get into the Nora Jones concert.  I pipe up, "No, we got free food!"  That gets a laugh from nearly everyone.

We stay out late afterwards and it's snowing, but nobody minds as we are all wrapped up just right for it. Besides, in the Taste Village, you and I buy a nice hot mug of "Glu Wein" (mulled wine, though if you'd rather you can always have hot chocolate, tea, or coffee!)  Around two in the morning we decide that we are heading to bed as we want to go sking in the morning.  We walk home smiling, the snow adding to the beauty and the magical quality of this picture-book village.

And ski, we do!  The whole day is spent on the slopes.  We ride up after breakfast on the same train that took us to see the concert last night but this time we have our skis and helmets.  The sun has come out and all that lovely new snow makes it a joy to be out there.  We have lunch at one of the numerous restaurants and, of course, there is a Swiss rock band playing Phil Collins music, as well as a lot of other songs we all recognize.

We wear ourselves out skiing throughout the afternoon and then, finally, we return to the village on the train.  The best part about it being a ski village is that a bus arrives every ten minutes to carry folks with skis to all the hotels.  It is the end of the school day and we also have a lot of children riding home with us.  They are obviously very used to doing this.  Showers, naps, and dinner revives us.  Time for tonight's concert, Jack Savoretti!

The two hour show seems much shorter and afterwards, there is a huge indoor nightclub for the concert goers that has such an elegant ambiance, I wish I'd worn something sparkly!  It's our last night in Zermatt, so we dance, wander, eat, and drink until three in the morning.  There will be plenty of time to sleep on the 4 hour train ride back to Geneva.

And now I'm all packed, just time for one more selfie to remind myself throughout the coming year,, my personal mantra:  "Pack light - never check bags."  It sure makes everything easier when you have to catch two planes, and six trains.  You are ready as well, being a super travel companion, so we check out of the hotel and wish we could take the view with us. Off we go!


Ce que c'est drole!  (How fun!)  I have loved having your company on this, my first visit to the Zermatt Unplugged Festival.  Shall we save up for next year's concerts and stay the whole week?  We look at each other and grin.  

As the signs everywhere here remind us, "Every year in April,"   Oh yes!  I am going to do my best to be here next year!  If I am very lucky, you will be with me then.

 Merci, mes amis, for your company.

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Where the Med Meets Collioure - Images et Réflexion Vers le Sud du France (French Reflections)

Bonjour, mes chers amis! (Hello, my dear friends!)

 My apologies for such a long absence.  I needed to wander without purpose to grieve the loss of my writing partner - my husband.  I kept saying I was okay.  Yeah.  I wasn't. And I'm not, but I'm working on it.  Every time I tried to continue with this blog, I fell at the first hurdle. I would open the photo file and it overwhelmed me.  Photography was such a part of the marriage and so was writing.

It took two years to finish my latest novel and then only because of the kind encouragement from readers and friends.  Thank you!  But I know my husband would want me to get on with new endeavors and I have continued to take photos during these two years of darkness in my soul.  And you know what?  It has helped light the way.  So, new camera in hand, I finally am ready.  It's time to share the beauty that surrounds me in the south of France.

 This new year of hope is well established now and with it I also feel renewed.  Besides, Tu m’as manqué! (I’ve missed you!)  Yes, the French say it in a strange way, literally, “You me has missed.”   Yeah, I know.  Sometimes you just have to nod and say, Hmmm.  Let's just call French either charming or quirky... or maybe both! Mais je l'adore! (But I love it.)

Instead of trying to understand French logic, come with me and share a sunny day some weeks ago when it was still warm and thoughts of winter had not even entered our reality.  Listen! The south of France is calling you to one of the prettiest places near me: Collioure.

I am not the only one to feel this way -  so have all the artists who have come here to paint.  It is filled with small galleries and shops.  You will see the easels set up in the cobbled streets and just to name drop, a few of the famous visitors include Matisse, Dufy, Picasso, Derain, Guaguin, and Dali.

This French fishing village is a renowned magnet for artists, writers, and visitors both now and in the past.  It is sometimes called "La Cité des Peintres" though there is no way this lovely little place could conceivably be thought of as a city!  At a stretch it is a town though most locals still refer to it as a village.


Once, its main income came from the anchovies.  Stroll along the promenade and you will see them darting about in the clear waters of the port.  What makes it such an amazing place to paint or photograph?  I believe it is partly due to that special Mediterranean light playing on the sea. The colors are vibrant; the reflections so deep.  The other part is the simple and bold architecture that is both practical and often accented with bright Catalan colors.  I promise I will bring you more of this special place later in the year.  For now, I will stop tapping the keyboard and let pictures be my words.

Thank you again.  You give me the strength and love to wish you the best for every day in the months that are left in this year.  Let's keep in touch.  This time I promise not to wander off!  And now, with you, I will meditate on the peace and sense of timelessness to be found here in this jewel on the Côte Rocheuse (the rocky coast).   Next time, I'm taking you with me to Zermatt, just Click Here.

Winter on the Canal de Perpignan - Images et Réflexion Vers le Sud du France (French Reflections)

Salut, mes amis!  Thank you for all your emails and posts. Your support is so appreciated. It's time once more to find beauty everywhere we look.  Sometimes, it's just right there, in a place you pass everyday.  I thought about that when I was in Perpignan last week and realized that it was just as wonderful as the Canal du Midi.  Let me share a few of my winter reflections on the Canal de  Perpignan.

     The canal cuts through the old center of the city and existed as long ago as the 12th century.  Today's canal dates from the 15th.  Here, you get a lovely view of Mount Canigou from the bridge that connects Place Arago with Place Gabriel Péri.  Is it any wonder that they chose this site for the office of Tourism for Perpignan?  It just says, "Photo Op" all over it.  But this is just a small part of the beauty of the canal.

     Turn around and look down Quai Vauban and you will see just what you'd expect in France, a series of cafes that spill out onto the sidewalk - in this case all the way to the canal's bank.  The

weather in the south of France lends itself to outdoor dining. It will take you about four minutes to walk along this boulevard and all along the way, you will be tempted by the scents and sights from the cafes, the pastries and baked goods of the patisseries, gelato ice cream stalls, waffles, Catalan nougat, and goodness knows what else! The city can be very fattening, but you also have plenty of opportunity to walk it off again.

     Later on this year, I will bring you photos of the canal when spring has burst into flower along the banks and as summer brings on the glory that draws the tourists from all over Europe.  But now, before all that begins, here are a few of my absolute favorite 'reflections' from the winter.

     Christmas in Perpignan was absolutely beautiful, but during the daytime, the lights are not obvious and sometimes it can be a bit grey.   Then, as the night draws in, it transforms into a fantasy land. These few shots taken during the festivities will give you some idea of what I mean.  The cafes recede and one of several Christmas Markets takes their place on Quai Vauban.

  This year, boat rides were added to the fun of the ferris wheel at the Castillet.  From the stalls of the markets, the scent of roasting chestnuts and mulled wine mingled with the frying of churros and candied popcorn.  The sidewalk along that side of the canal was a busy as any summer's day.  The only difference being the heavy coats and scarves people were wearing.
The annual ice skating rink was set up on the other side of the bridge, Pont Magenta, located near the wheel.  The lights and the water made for some very memorable images.

I will leave you with this one last reflection - of happy people boating on the Canal de Perpignan on Christmas Eve. We can imagine that next year, it will be you and I who enjoy the sights of the city as seen from the water.  Jusqu'à la prochaine fois mes chers amis!
(Until next time, my dear friends!)
We'll be in my favorite place, Collioure.  If you want to see it now, Click Here.

Your Very Own Canal Du Midi Moment - Images et Réflexion Vers le Sud du France (French Reflections)

Bonjour Again Dear Friends!

Single Click to Enlarge

Thank you for all your kind emails and words throughout the last series.  Yes, I am still writing, but it is taking a lot longer at the moment and I'm only halfway through a large manuscript.

So, instead of a slowly grinding out a new series of short stories here, I decided that for a while I will simply post some favorite photos and share a few reflections (both literally and figuratively) on the south of France with you.  The title of this series translates literally as "Images and Reflections Toward the South of France"  which sounds fine in French but seems bizarre in English so I will also call the series "French Reflections".  Such is the nature of personal translation!


 For those of you who complained that there were no photos of me in the last series - I include this one complete with heavy camera bag!

You can see how I hate smiling for the camera... is that pain in the eyes?  Very probably.  That wan smile tells you I'm thinking, "Just hurry up and take the shot!"  So with that request out of the way, onward to some photos that I like.

     I carry a camera most days out. (This explains why my purse has to be so big!)  One day, it was with me on a long drive in the Aude, a department adjacent to my own, the Pyrénées-Orientales.  The drive was heavenly and I was glad to have taken a picnic for it.

     Here is some beauty for the eyes and soul.  Come with me and share these few calm images of the Canal du Midi taken on an autumn's day in 2014.

     The little roads are quiet and rich with colors once the tourist season is over. It was a bright November day with only a scattering of high clouds to accentuate the blue skies.

      The mornings and evenings are usually cool at that time of the year, but the afternoons tend to warm up enough to enjoy sitting out in the sun,

     Best of all were the little villages along the way.  They were sleepy little hamlets, no supermarkets, no fast food, and no traffic.  The busiest scene I saw was two men on a bench watching the water flow by.  But they smiled with true feeling and said "Bonjour,"  when I got out of the car to snap the bridge in the distance.  I have never found the French to be aloof.  Everywhere I go, the people are friendly and kind.

      It makes me believe that to be a myth or maybe it just applies to tourists in Paris who don't speak any French?

     The canal meant seeing double vision.  First in plain view and then with everything along the banks creating new Monet-esque paintings on the water at every turn.  Very fun and satisfying for those who love taking photos.

    If I have time this summer, I hope to get back over to the Aude and see what it's like in the tourist season.  'Till we have more time to share a few reflections on the south of France, here is one last shot of a chateau along the Canal du Midi.  À la prochaine, mes amis! (Until next time, my friends!)  We'll visit Perpignan then, to see it now, Click here.

Nous Sommes Fous, le septième partie (the 7th & final part of the move to France)

Some people were sure we were crazy and often, in the midst of all the insanity of an international move, we agreed.  But at last our goal was just hours away.  All aboard – for the last stage of the road to a new life in the south of France...
                                                         (for those who missed the opening, part 1 can be read here)

     We awoke in the splendor of the art-deco room in the hotel Aletti Palace.

 Our pets had slept as well as we, stretched across the bottom of the wide bed, on the protective cover we had draped there before falling off the cliff of exhaustion into oblivious slumber.  There was the memory of the elegant room-service candlelit dinner we’d shared the night before that still made me sure I had dreamt it.  We rose, refreshed, invigorated, and filled with excitement.  Now, before breakfast arrived, it was time for a quick walk with the dog and cat.

     Outside, morning glowed on the stately buildings of Vichy.  The colors of autumn were illuminated by soft sunlight.  But this was a business walk and so we could not tarry.  Once attended to, it was straight back indoors.  Soon we had replenished our energy with scrambled eggs as well as the traditional French breakfast.  The juice, baguettes, croissants, with strong, hot coffee tasted like manna from heaven.

      There was no time to waste – the road was calling.  So with renewed determination to keep up with our fellow drivers, we rejoined the Auto-route.  This time, my husband joined in with the overtaking in a manic abandon.  I remarked to myself, as I gripped the map with some trepidation, that he was going to make a splendid French driver. 

     As we joined the A75, the clouds returned and shortly, a light rain.  Then, with numerous warnings from flashing information signs, the traffic slowed down.  The pace dropped to a crawl.  Every now and then, we came to a stop.    

     Men in reflective rain capes were shepherding us down a wiggly bit of road.  Below, a silver filament threaded the base of the hills.  It was the Tarn River.  In the misty valley, huge cranes swung gigantic loads of steel and we could see a line of tall towers covered in scaffolding.  On these, the busy workforce looked as small as ants.  We descended to the heart of the action.  Here, workers hurried along the roadside, and sometimes crossed it without so much as a by-your-leave look at us.  They knew we weren’t going anywhere fast that day.

     Through our closed windows, came the sound of creation on an epic scale.  Here, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, something huge was going on.  Just over a year later, we would see the inauguration on TV and realize that we had driven around the legs of what was to become the tallest bridge in the world, le Viaduc de Millau.  

     Once past the construction site, the traffic resumed its break-neck speed and then the road divided left and right as we arrived at the foot of France.  The majority of the traffic went left on the A750.  They were off to Marseilles and beyond where you will find Provence, Monte Carlo, Nice, and all the ritzy playgrounds of the well-heeled rich.  We stuck with the A75 to the right which curved down to Beziers.  It was well past noon by then.  We were hungry but a drive around the town offered us no central places to park.  With both our pets and the bags in the car, we didn’t want to leave them to explore.

     A few minutes later we were back on the motorway, now the A9, which has the lovely name of "La Catalane".  There we spied a rest-stop with a restaurant whose appearance reminded me of Pizza Hut.  It was a "Courtpaille" (Short Straw) a chain of restaurants famous for serving grilled foods.  The first one opened in 1961 and was in a round building with a peaked straw roof.  Though these days the roofs are tiled, the distinctive design remains the same and makes them easy to spot all over France.  Here, we were served a sumptuous mixed salad that was so French is was dotted with warm goat's cheese.  This is not a cheese that we care for, but we were so darned glad to be having our first really French meal, that we ate it all... well... I ate all of mine: my husband hid most of his cheese under the last of the lettuce leaves!

    Another hour and we flew past Narbonne.  The afternoon sun suddenly burst through the clouds and threw long pink beams of light across the vista.  Now the Med sparkled off to our left.  Ahead of us we saw what we had been longing for – the chain of the Albères Mountains, her arms open wide, beckoning us and bidding us a welcome home.  Just beyond Fitou and we cheered at the sign “department des Pyrénées Orientales.”  The fatigue just melted away.    

     Fast forward.   Perpignan flashed by.   Like a bee to a flower, my husband directed our car to the coastal town of Argelès-sur-Mer.   Suddenly we were parked just a few hundred meters from the sea and our pets felt the soft sand between their paws for the first time.   We rang the bell and our friends met us with hugs, tears, and large glasses of wine. 

 Our dog was pleased to meet their dogs.  (The cat not so much – he decided to stay in the car!)  Soon, we were enjoying dinner in their salon with the terrace doors open on a strangely balmy evening at the end of October.  Our host delighted us with her Cordon Bleu standard of three courses of simple, yet divine food.  To describe it as a salad, pasta, and a dessert gives no impression of how delightful the meal was.  I realized that our lives had just changed.

     The scent of pine trees wafted in from the open terrace doors, there was the murmuring sound of French conversations from those who walked along the beach path, and beyond that I could hear the gentle lap of the Mediterranean Sea on the shore…Welcome to France! 

We were home. 

And so the long journey was done and we began the next stage in our happy lives together.  Our dreams blossomed into an amazing reality.  My husband and I enjoyed every moment of our life together in France.  Although I had worked as a teacher, my other passion was writing poetry and telling stories.  He encouraged me to achieve my own dream of writing in a more serious way.

    Over a hundred articles later and two books in, I told him I should finally get started on a personal blog to share some of our adventures in a way that all of our readers, family members, and friends could enjoy more than the occasional email.  We outlined what those blogs would be like and the seeds for this story were sown.

But life was so much fun, that the writing was always only secondary to the enjoyment of the everyday.  After the fourth book was published, I wrote several drafts of this series, always meaning to put it online and never quite getting around to it.

     Mid-way through the last year, we were told that an aggressive cancer meant that he only had a very short time left.  We finished this series and outlined other books and series.  While we worked on this one, “Nous Sommes Fous” we reminisced about all the wonderful things we had seen and done with our life here in France.  It had been a time without regrets and one day as we sat editing these blog posts, he said to me, 

“So you see, not so crazy after all!”

Nous Sommes Fous - la sixième partie (the 6th part of the move to France)

We all have a strand of crazy, but how much do you have to have to want to retire to the south of France? 

(for those who missed the opening, part one can be read here)

Probably quite a lot....                    

     We were rocketing to Vichy from Paris in a rental car that was far too small for us, our

large husky dog, the grumpy cat, two good sized kennels, four suitcases, a guitar, and a laptop computer.  (This was in the days of 4 pound laptops, mind you.)  The rain had turned to snow for a brief interval  and a bit of minor roadwork slowed the pace of the traffic down for a while.  

     The CD of bluesy music was almost in sync with the soft rhythm of the windshield wipers as Peggy Lee crooned, “Here’s that rainy day.”  And it seemed appropriate since we were now cocooned in a quiet, ethereal world.  The song’s tinge of sorrow rolled off our happy hearts as easily as the rain was swept from the windshield.  We were on our way to the long anticipated retirement in the south of France and our hearts sang.

      The Auto-route was smooth, large, well sign-posted, and hummed along with traffic on a really large scale.  Even when the rain became heavy, we were still feeling sunny.  The road just went on and on and on.  Brightly lit signs admonished the totally mad French drivers around us that they should be going 110 kph instead of the normal 130.  The flashing reminders must have only added fuel to the fire of the daring ‘pilots’ (racing car drivers)  as they continued to overtake and pass us as an astounding speed.  Plumes of water marked their course as they vanished from sight.

     The next few rest stops were simply punctuation marks along that long ribbon of road.  At last the rain stopped and the clearing sky revealed that the day was waning.  We were getting tired and the hardest task was keeping ourselves awake.  The cool air from an open window helped a lot.    

     It was late that evening when, after over 300 miles of driving; we reached Vichy, our destination.  Here, we had reservations at a hotel that promised us luxury and the right to have our pets in the room.  Remembering the flea-pit we had stayed in the night before our flight, we were a bit skeptical yet hopeful.    

The town was a maze of one way roads and night had fallen.  In the dark, the city lights created a fairy tale scene.  The buildings were impressive.  Even in my sleepy state, the phrase, “La Belle Epoque” came to mind.  Art Deco surrounds on grand doors and wide windows seemed to be de rigueur (obligatory).  It was clear that as a Spa town, Vichy had been, or probably still was, a rich man’s playground.  But all we wanted was to crawl into bed.  The last of our reserves were finally depleted.

     I felt a little cranky, but did my best to read out the map directions to my equally tired spouse.  It was to no avail.  We saw many amazing hotels, but not ours.

     At least there were many people on the streets.  We stopped several times to ask if anyone knew where The Aletti Palace Hotel was.  Each time the answer began with “Oui.  Vous êtes près” (Yes. You are close).  Then instructions would follow.  There was a serious flaw in my understanding though and we never found it.  Later, I was to realize that every time a person said, “tout droit” (straight ahead) I had mis-heard them and only caught the word, “Droit” (right).  As a result, we drove in circles.

      Every bit of French I thought I knew slowly leaked out of my exhausted brain and we felt lost.  When, at last, we spied a lighted entry at the back of a particularly large and fancy hotel, I said, “I’ll ask if they have a map we can use.  In a place that grand, somebody must speak English.”  

    My husband stopped the car and out I got, staggering a bit.  Of course, it turned out to be the back entrance to the hotel.  “Bienvenue!  You are most Welcome.” said the smiling receptionist who came over to help me.  I think she could see how close I was to collapsing right then and there.    

     We had made it, in spite of my failing language skills!  Joyfully, I ran back to the car and my husband drove us around to the front where, lo and behold, a parking space waited for us.  We entered the lobby a few minutes later with our pets on leads.  Our husky had her tail furled high and her nose in the air.  The cat kept pace with his tail straight up and swaggered in as if he owned the place. 

 I was wondering if perhaps I had fallen asleep and was having an amazing dream.  The chandeliers cast golden light on the white marble floors.  Rich, red pillars held up the lofty ceiling.  Elegantly dressed people passed us on their way to dinner, simply nodding at us as they murmured, “Monsieur-Dame.”  Not only that - they actually smiled at our animals.  This had to be a fantasy brought on by jet lag.  A matching set of staircases embraced the lobby and beckoned us to ascend to heavenly slumber.  Yes, I really must be dreaming, I thought.   The place was, indeed, a palace.... Welcome to France.    

And so we were halfway there.  The next day we would strike out for the final stage of our long trek to reach the south of France...but would we get there or were we on an endless journey?   Find Out in Part 7 Right Here.

The Author regrets to Announce....

It is with a heavy heart, that I must inform our readers that my spouse has passed away.  His battle with cancer came to an end last week, peacefully and at home, as he wished.  We had finished writing the "Nous Sommes Fous" series The story of our move to France  and as soon as I can face it, I will post the last two parts of the story.  It was his wish that I continue to write, and I will honor that.  Thank you, dear friends and loyal readers, for the support you have given me during this difficult year. - SJR