Road Trip part Duex: Off to Los Angeles

Ah, the city of lost angels. Were it only so, the trip could be much more enchanting. However, to get to Los Angeles, you need to actually get in the car and drive on the "5". Famous 5. Known for its.....boredom and brownness. Yes, seriously, brownness. Look at the photo! When the thing you look forward to on your journey is reaching the bottom of the grapevine (the twisty giant hill before you reach LA) where there is one lone Starbucks and a new (not open yet) In-Out Burger, sadly, your trip is mighty boring. You can see from the pictures that L&P had the same attitude.

Driving south on the 5 is very different than driving north. North is boring too, but at least we found a Peets Coffee which is far superior to Starbucks any day. Do you think it is fair that on the entire interstate that two decent coffee places could be placed that far apart? Perhaps it is to keep up hope so that you actually continue to drive through from one end to the other without hurling your car into the brownness never to be seen again?

There is a special special place on the 5. It is called Coalinga and if anyone reads this and is from this place, I certainly apologize in advance and wish you godspeed in getting your nostrils clean some day. It is home to Harris Ranch and the fond pack of steer that will someday be dinner. Until then, they linger right off the 5 on a long stretch where the road curves just enough to allow for trucks to slow down and block the free flow of fast moving cars. Always. So there is no quick escape past this torture. What torture you ask? Ah. Well, even if your air circulation vent is closed on your vehicle it does not matter. It will even awaken a sleeping L&P, noses arising in the air before bodies even get up to figure out why there is suddenly 534 pounds of shit in our car. It is miles and miles of cattle standing in overdone, overheated, dry aired, foul, extra-excrement and piss. You can see the waves of it poofing into the atmosphere from the heat and volume. It burns your nostrils - permeates your pores and fills your car with the stench for miles after you finally burn past this. That is if you can. There has been only one time that we have been able fly past not impeded by the big trucks. And that one lone time the air was moving in a different direction so the stench was milder. If one can call rotting poop by the ton milder.

This time we stopped after the aforementioned death-smell hole to gas up and Momo was sure it was far enough past to be rid of the smell. Apparently not. And apparently the little tiny poop flies needed to gas up too because there were thousands of them all over the gas pumps. As soon as you opened your door in flew the flies by the handful. It took a long time to coax them all out of the car. P thought that they place was pretty fine because she had her nose in the air the entire time it took her to pee.

And by the way fellow dog people. Just because you are traveling with your dog on a road trip does not mean you are exempt from picking up the poop! Especially the pile that looked like the dog was 240 pounds! Momo could not believe her eyes, and she could see the pile from the highway almost. Even P, who is known to love the poop would not go near that one. It was taller than she.

Drivers in the Los Angeles area are special special. They live in an area of the world where make believe is premier, so they make believe drive too. Some of them think that reading while driving is fine. Others prefer to chat on the multiple chat devices one can own these days, all at once. And others think that dining while driving is perfectly acceptable too, although they forget the chauffeur and stain free clothing. Momo is not talking about the snacking that we all do on occasion while motoring, but plate, napkin, utensils while driving and mind you, while wearing white. That takes a certain amount of belief in the make believe, don't you think?

Some like to drive at what they think the speed limit ought to be. That can range from faster than a speeding bullet to foot not exactly on the accelerator, but letting idle tootle you down the road. What you rarely see in Los Angeles are drivers just driving. The Momo family has seen it all. Dressing, and um, undressing. Dining. Chatting on multiple mobile devices. Reading. Mapping. Changing wigs. Everyone can probably say they have seen someone applying make-up while driving, but I bet you can't say you have seen both men and women applying products on the face, and um, elsewhere. Tanner too. It is LA after all.

L&P would care to not rate the drive as you can see from their expressions. Lulu would rather eat my hat. Momo would prefer to spend the trip with an inhaler, goggles, and perhaps some aroma therapy devices as well as nose plugs. Mr. Momo would like to either wear an ipod or turn the zippy music up to ward off smells, boredom and the "are we there " whines from the back seat. And ok, the passenger seat.

Stay tuned. We have only just arrived.

All Things Music - The Metro, Part Trois

Momo thinks of the Metro often. Even L&P miss the Metro. In Paris, L&P, if they could only speak French, could buy their own cartes and enjoy the Metro sans carriers. Here they are allowed on the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit - imaginative name, huh?) but they must be in an enclosed carrier. Yes, they can have air holes, but the whole thing must be zipped up - no cute heads peaking out, and they are absolutely not allowed to buy their own tickets. Actually they have no need for tickets because they would be considered our carry on bag where in France they often had their own seats and could walk on the train on all four little Frito Feet.

Momo and Mr. Momo decided one day to take advantage of our very own Metro-BART and travel into San Francisco by train. We typically drive into San Francisco, and it can take 45 minutes or 35 hours just like other big cities. In Paris, one can travel from one end of the city to the other quite quickly by train. Here, we must drive to the BART which is about 40 minutes away and then must wait for the train, get on the train, and stop every few feet until we get into San Francisco. This happens about 45 minutes later. While that might not seem outrageous, consider that it only takes 10 more minutes to drive into the heart of San Francisco after driving to the BART. Of course we could have taken the CAL Train to the BART. CAL is like the RER - the same only different. CAL train runs pretty often , but not as often as the RER, and CAL goes through many different towns before it eventually reaches San Francisco. It also travels on the surface streets right through many intersections so it is a stop and go kind of thing. More often than anyone likes, there are accidents at these intersections. Drivers who are stupid and stop on the tracks at a red light though it tells you to not do that. Or even pedestrians who manage to think they too can beat the train. They mostly don't. The RER is much more sensible. It was built not as a total afterthought, but as a serious means of transporting people into Paris. Parisians area much more sensible than Californians it seems. All except when it comes to high heeled shoes.

In New York City, the subway is much more similar to the Paris Metro. At least people rely on it to get where they need to be and it seems to work most days. It is also Momo thinks, the most similar to Paris in dignity (oh please stop laughing) and architecture. There are some gorgeous subway stations in NYC as well as in Paris. However, here in CA, the train stations look like a granola bar Metro. All angles and trying to be hip and cool. At some of the stops it looks like they forgot to finish the station. The only way you know it is open is that the BART stops there and people get on and off. As far as the CAL train stations go, they are mostly quite frightening. They look like a long forgotten train depot, the ghost of Harry Potter past perhaps.

CAL train does have something that both NYC and Paris don't though. The Christmas Train! Yes indeed. At holiday time, or should I say extended early holiday time, which by our calculations should be next week, a flat bed CAL train will arrive at certain stations in the evening with Santa, helpers, elves, and and even Mrs. Claus. And music. Very jolly music. And free candy. The whole event is staged to advertise the commuter train service offered by CAL. Since most of the people who come to see the holiday event drive and plug up the local traffic so that it is at a standstill, Momo thinks the message gets lost. But the music is festive. And the candy is colorful. L&P merely think Santa is odd because he won't give them candy, and they don't appreciate festive holiday tunes.

L&P prefer the music in the Metro. In Paris. One of the best parts of the Metro in Paris is the music. That's right. The music. If you travel around on the Metro on any one day you can be treated to French Horn music, opera, violin, and assorted other odd things. Even groups. We came across a really great group of musicians who were playing assorted instruments and singing. I think they call those "bands". Seriously, it was a little ensemble. They were even hawking self produced CDs. I liked the harmony and wish we had bought one. We never did get a chance because although we stopped to listen, P decided it was her calling and started joining is both barking and humming it seemed. From the frowns we were getting it was time to leave. That girl thinks she is a star. L, was appropriately peeved.

Another time, in fact, many other times, we came across a very good violinist playing some lovely music. She was always friendly and nodded and never lost her place even though her violin bobbed with the nod. I think she enjoyed L&P strolling by. They were never as impressed with the violin because I think what they heard might have been a little too much for their radar ears. But Momo's all time favorite was the French horn player who played Ave Maria in a loop for weeks it seemed. Every single time we were in that station there would be the mournful horn singing out Ave Maria over and over. It was haunting. L&P were startled at first, but soon, after the 6th week got quite used to it. In fact, P can still hum a few notes.

Here is the thing that makes music so beautiful in the Paris Metro. Acoustics. The place is made to carry sound in that haunting quality way. You certainly won't find that anywhere else I suspect. There are layers and layers to the Metro. Some lines are stacked 3 deep and are already way underground. You could come up on the other side of the earth if they layered it any deeper. The music carries and carries. You could be miles away and still hear the haunting sounds following you. And because the chatter in the Metros in Paris, for all the people traveling underground, is really quite quiet, the music is extra special because it almost floats over everything else.

If Momo sounds a bit homesick, she is. There just is not anything like the Metro in Paris anywhere else. L&P agree and would like to become honorary carte orange holders. We all rate the music in the Metro a big 10.

The Pharmacy is Green

Once upon a time a girl had a headache. She went to the cupboard and it was bare. She went to the Super Marche and it had no aspirin. Where was that aspirin, you ask? Silly silly people. Everyone knows the aspirin is at the Green Pharmacy. No. Not green as in eco-friendly. Far from it. Green as in giant neon flashing green cross above the entrance to said Pharmacy. The pharmacy is green. See?

You cannot find paper products at the Green Pharmacy, nor laundry products, or candy, food, or other odd stuff we find at the drug store here in America. But you can find tampons (sorry). And you can find beauty hardware products v. beauty products per se. Like mirrors, many many magnified mirrors, some with fancy lights. Every Green Pharmacy has them and most of them display them in the windows. The significance of this eludes Momo, but one would have to conclude that people in France like magnified mirrors and most of them are sight impaired if one goes by the magnification numbers. 10x. Who wants to see their face magnified 10x? That would be frightening. Almost as bad as seeing your neighbors naked by accident. Mon Dieu.

In America by contrast, a Pharmacy is not neon green. They are a variety of boring colors, and most are just simple beige or gray. A neon green cross is so much more entertaining. Aspirin - the wonder drug. You can find that yourself on a shelf in the American pharmacy or even in a Super Marche in America. Even a petrol station. Americans need access to lots of aspirin apparently. Even though CDG airport did not have any aspirin, it is ok. Every other airport has more than enough aspirin for sale to make up for that short sightedness.

In France you cannot buy Naproxen in the Green Pharmacy without a prescription. Oh oh. Another thing to know before you leave America. Bring your Aleve with you! But buy Advil there. It is available at the Green Pharmacy, but you must ask for it by name and then they will retrieve it from a special locked file drawer in the back. Otherwise you will get some generic variant and we Americans are loath to do that.

The Green Pharmacy is open strange hours. Momo never did figure out those hours, but you can be sure that it was closed when she tried to go there. Fortunately, there is one Green Pharmacy open (sort of like on-call) later than the others. In America, a pharmacy can be open 24 hours a day. Many are open 7 days a week and more than 12 hours a day. In France you have to pre-plan your illness in order to coordinate trip to a pharmacy - so if you intend to get sick or get a headache, you must make sure it is during Pharmacy hours, never on Sunday, and often not a good plan to get a headache or sick on Monday when many Green Pharmacies are closed as well.

L&P were very lucky. The never needed the Green Pharmacy. When they needed a little medication their French Vet was able to dispense what they needed. In case you were wondering, they needed eye drops. Paris can be very dusty before the men in green do their cleaning - especially when you are 12 inches from the ground.

Did Momo also mention that most Green Pharmacies are no bigger than our itty bitty Paris apartment living area. That would be closet sized. American closet size, not European size, which are very very much smaller. And the clerks wear white coats. There must be a universal pharmacy rule that requires white coats. Dispensing aspirin in a white coat makes the French comfortable it seems, makes the aspirin quite genuine. Here in America, aspirin sits on a shelf for you to pick yourself, and it can come in many packages, from the plain to the ones that are attached to free items like a new comb. After all, after your headache is gone, you might want to comb your hair. Thoughtful. Sometimes in these stores that sell aspirin in America, you can get a deal where if you buy one bottle you can get one free. Golly. Everyone needs 3,856 aspirins just in case you live to be 123, or you are supplying the neighborhood with salicylic acid. At least in France you will get a reasonable amount- maybe 20 pills. Why waste the stuff. After all, each headache deserves its own trip to the neon Green Pharmacy. Except on Sunday, Monday or holidays. Save some from your 20 packet!

Sorry, but L&P have nothing to say about the Green Pharmacy, except it might be the only place in France where they did not venture (they were not invited it seems). Are all French Green Pharmacies not chien friendly? Momo and Mr. Momo thought the Green Pharmacy was an interesting experience, but they prefer being able to buy toilet paper or a greeting card at the same time as their aspirin. And maybe a package of gummie bears as well. So, neon Green Pharmacy, you rate a very neutral 5. Better than Monet's village, but not nearly as good as the Pastry shops!

Literal Translations Mon Dieu - Including These Croissants!

One never stops to think about the amount of literal translating we do everyday. From our very own personal perspectives to our various cultural perspectives, we translate all day long. Ennui. It can get you into really deep merde de chien.

For example, why in the world would you voluntarily pay the identical numeric amount for an item in either country, France or America? If one was smart they would pick up as much of those same numerically-priced items while in America because our Thank-You-George-Bush-Dollar (TYGBD) is so friggin weak against the Euro.

But if you had half a brain, then you would not buy those identically-numerically priced items in France because your pretty colored Euro is costing you big time if your bank account is in America.

What is Momo talking about? In France, Bon Marche sells Origins products and guess what? They are priced exactly the same as they are in America. Even the sticker looks the same which was strangely comforting to Momo after getting whopped on the head with merde d'oiseau. That is, until I got my package back to the little itty bitty apartment and realized that I paid a surcharge of at least $1.35 cents on each dollar the item cost when I paid in Euros. Oops. Too bad I hadn't thought that one through before leaving for France and brought another suitcase full of the stupid stuff you need when on extended travel.

Oh wait. I remember why not. We would have been charged for an extra suitcase by the airline, and guess what again? En effet! The same price whether you are in Paris, or America. Just your airline trying to be fair and perhaps streamline their convoluted data system. And just in case you thought that was odd, how about the fact that L&P's carry fare was identical when we paid for it in American and then again in Paris. But even when we brought this fact to their attention that it was not really the same price because of the TYGBD, they just shrugged. In Paris, of course. Shrugging practice is mandatory starting in preschool in France. In America they just give you the "stare" which is also compulsory in school beginning in adolescence. They say it is perfected by age 12. I also hear that the "shrug" is aged like fine wine and is perfected when the French are adults. Those who excell in "shrug" work in the service industry.

How about food? Really, how about some food? Momo is hungry. I think I will take my Williams Sonoma mail order, frozen, ready for the oven, made by a French pastry chef, costs more than an airline ticket to France, croissants out of the oven now. These are my last best hope for true literal translation of all good things croissant.

Mon dieu! Not good. They are enormous and a bit squishy in the wrong way as you can see in the photo. A true French croissant is small, somewhat tidy, and never too greasy. And never never too sweet. Here we are with another literal translation gone bad. A French pastry chef makes "French" croissants for largely an American audience who expects them to taste greasy, sweet, and be huge just in case their next meal is 45 hours away. Sigh. Chuck Williams, can you hear me? Merde. That should be literal enough. This too: non bon. Non.

Can someone from France send me a pain au chocolat? SVP? Seriously!

While we are on literal translations, let us review why L&P were constantly referred to as Bulldog Francais. Perhaps because literally there are few Boston Terriers in France? Or is it that a close approximation is sufficient? Hum. A theme is now humming through my head. Oddly, it is called the literal translation of the song Literally........

Moving on. We cannot have a chat about literal translation without talking about language. If you translate the French sentence literally without moving it about to make it grammatically correct in English you have a comedy. Like Momo's new moniker: Madam Feet. Or consider some of the Google searches to get to this blog. "Madam feet" is one of my new favorites. I also enjoy "dog senile" and "dog to dog conversation" which Momo knows something about. But you know that these are Google's literal translations of someone else's language searches. Just like when Alta Vista Babel Fish translation tool gives a translation of let's say, damn in English to French. It gives you the translation for a dam, like Hoover Dam. Very funny. So perhaps that is why my encounter with the shoe saleswoman in Paris was so memorable, not for the shoes, but for the conversation. I bet that is how she came up with "shoes done, or shoes exhausted". Still, it did make my day.

But then I learned a new lesson. The literal translation goes both ways in hilarity. A French friend sent an e-vite to a party and I replied with a translation (again, thank you Babel Fish!) from English to French. And apparently it was literal, because while I thought I sent a heartfelt acceptance note in French, apparently I sent a comical reply worthy of a Jon Stewart-Daily Show laugh. A great big belly laugh. Needless to say, I never did that again.

So my literal translation lesson is learned. I take literal- anythings with a big soft sponge. Oops, with grain de sel, which we all know is de poisson. Ok, ok. Done. Fait. Fini.

Luckily, L&P and all those who Woof (ha ha) can literally translate. They give literal a big 8 cause we know that all Woofs are individual. Momo rates literal translation a big fat zéro with an accent on the e which is now in English, a long a and not at all literal.

Seriously. Got fromage blanc covered. But I really need a real chocolate croissant!

Pretending That Déjeuner in America Can be French and Joyeux Anniversaire Miss L

So far the Momo family has been underwhelmed with being able to duplicate the food of France in our home in America. L&P are certainly disappointed in us. They were totally expecting the sidewalk buffet to continue, but unfortunately there are slim pickings in suburbia even if is masquerades as a metropolitan megalopolis call the Peninsula and Silly Valley (or as some call it, Silicon Valley). Yes, techies eat lots of junk food and drop it all over the place, however, no one walks outside anywhere here so the only sidewalk buffets would be found in the halls of Silly Valley companies, or their autos. Sorry, L&P!

So not only are they missing the daily fun with the sidewalk buffet, open 24 hours, but with their daily dose of fromage blanc and jambon. We have been jambon free since coming home and even Momo misses it. There isn't even anything to say about the baguettes and pastries including our very favorite croissants. We have tried everywhere to duplicate those, but it just is not going to happen. First, the flour itself, must be differently milled because even with the same ingredients the baguettes and baked goods taste nothing the same. In another post I already mentioned the football sized, heavy croissants that have everything except peanut butter in them. And the n there are those giant pastries with gizmo layers that could have been made by a five year old. French pastries are so delicately assembled that you imagine the pastry maker up all night putting together one concoction, whereas here, they could assembly line produce most pastries - with kindergarten children and the pastries would never fall apart. And one would feed an entire family of 10.

So we have gotten inventive. Searching for fromage blanc for example. Whole Foods stocks a couple of varieties and we should give them a big A for effort. However, the result is that they may as well just not bother. It isn't really French fromage blanc. It is their version of what an American might think of French Fromage blanc if the American were visiting France, and then imagined fromage blanc and then what might taste right to an American. If you reread that sentence, then you know what I mean. Totally idiotic.

One taste from American Fromage Blanc makers on both coasts, tell us that they didn't spend much time tasting the stuff in France. Their result is more like a ricotta or cream cheese. And that is so not French Fromage blanc in any form. Fromage blanc is smooth, custardy, has whey hanging around in the container when it is first opened, and is tangy but not tart. It is very similar to yogurt, yet not. The same only different.

So, Mr. Momo had the bright idea that we should make our own. Momo thought that meant getting a cow and when she mentioned it, L&P got delightfully excited. Another black and white pet. Yay for us. Well fortunately it only required us to order fromage starter from a cheese company, New England Cheese Company, who also had kindly included the directions for making the cheese along with a little side note from a gentleman who spent enough time in France to know that their recipe was going to be too dry so he included his own instruction. Voila! So off we went to purchase our organic gallon of whole milk and with our tiny package of starter we began the process of cheese making at the Momo family cheese factory.

Did you know that a whole gallon of milk makes a such a tiny amount of fromage blanc? We were worried that we would be stuck with mountains of the stuff. Fear not. The milk apparently leaves the room, the house even, and leaves us with a tiny jiggly slush that drains for just a bit and then you have fromage blanc. It is decidedly similar to our French tastings so we were very happy. There are some slight variations we are going to have to implement to help it be more similar, but we know how to do that. I know two piggies who are very pleased with their Momo's efforts. L&P love the fromage blanc. You can see the light in their eyes, the smile upon their little muzzles, perhaps dreaming of France when they have a bit of fromage blanc. Happy happy L&P. Happy happy Momo and Mr. Momo.

Let us talk a bit about jambon. In America, jambon is boring, salty, usually tasteless and decidedly not very creative. Until we visited France, the Momo family was not at all familiar with the 845 ways one little piggie could be prepared. But since we now know this we have been on the lookout for it. And guess what? We can only find 67 ways a piggie is prepared here. Up until the other day when Mr. Momo sent Momo an email with reference to a Piggie book called Pork & Sons by Stephan Reynard from rural France. Of course we have sent for this book tout de suite. And then this morning, Momo came across another reference called Charcuterie and French Pork Cookery by Jane Grigson. Another must for the jambon lover. Honestly, these books came our way without us looking for them, so someone is paying close attention to nudging our brains in the right direction. Now we will have good references for not only finding great jambon, but how to prepare good charcuterie should we wish! Absolutely, L&P will be delirious. Since it is L's birthday tomorrow, Momo will wrap up the book for her, in her honor so to speak.

Next we shall move onto the effort and education required to duplicate the art of French dinner eating. We thought we had it down pretty cold. But apparently since being back, we have slacked. We are now eating at the unheard of hour of 6PM or 7PM. We regularly skip the cheese course, and sometimes we forget the wine. This is unforgivable. We need a refresher course in good French eating. We must return to France to practice once again!

L&P are grateful for our supply of Fromage Blanc and hope that Momo will start learning more than 67 ways to prepare Jambon really soon now. Momo and Mr. Momo are too happy eating Fromage Blanc to worry about Jambon just yet.

Road Trip

In America, a road trip means something special. It means really special bad coffee or four hundred McDo's three minutes apart, or hours of fun watching RVs and trailers try to navigate their loads with underpowered autos, or my personal favorite, the ever changing speed limits. It means even in a very nice automobile, your rear end is guaranteed to hate you. But mostly it means putting up with the craziness of state speed limit laws.

Yes indeed, there is a federal speed limit, but don't tell the individual United State's that! After all, the sovereignty of the states would be at jeopardy if they all acquiesced to a cooperative speed limit on major highways. What fun would there be in that?

So for example let's talk about interstate route 5 which was our road trip from CA to Seattle. CA understands that central valley (no offense central valley people) is so very boring and that 70MPH on Interstate 5 is a nice little gift to make the countryside disappear faster. And everyone knows that speed limits in many places are simply guidelines. Just don't go too far over and you should be just fine. Unless of course, it is the end of the quarter, the month, or a bored highway patrol car is following you going 78 in a 70MPH zone.

Oregon, attached to CA in the north is like the pesky little sibling with an attitude. The speed limit on Interstate 5, on the same highway mind you that you were just zooming about in CA, drops to 65 which is how you can tell you have entered Oregon. Then it continues to drop to 55 then 50 as you approach a big city, like let's say Eugene which we all know is far larger than, oh, how about Weed, CA? Yes indeed, we would not want the city traffic to have to speed up on the highway since they might miss one of the three exits for Eugene. Seriously, Eugene is a very pretty city, but come on, really - do they actually need to go 50MPH to be sure to not miss an exit?

Then we pass through beautiful Portland, land of not ports, but bridges. Many many bridges. They looked and felt sound to me, but they sure are pretty high up there, and a bit curvy for bridges. Now, there a 50MPH speed limit makes some sense. Portland still goes by quickly if you are passing through, even at rush hour at 50MPH.

And then you drive into Washington where it feels like a nice day for a quick drive. Back to 70MPH for the most part, and even on long stretches of the 101 coastal highway, the speed limit is a generous 55 to 65MPH. Washington even has a "welcome to Washington" sign like they are glad to see you. Thank you Washington.

This is a photo of what the L&P do while being chauffeured in the auto on a long road trip. Thankfully they don't require many bathroom breaks. Momo and Mr. Momo need breaks more often, and L&P were happy to oblige. Mr. Momo can tell you that there is very little good coffee along that route. Actually no (real) cafe express and that is sad. With one exception. Somewhere along the road near Vancouver, WA there is an exit that will dump you into a parking lot, and voila! Peets. Anyone who loves coffee knows that Peets is fabulous and is a gift to those who are craving a cafe express, like Mr. Momo. In France along the very long and boring toll highways you can at least stop anywhere and ask for a cafe express and get one. Mostly tasty ones too. And not one McDo.

Does everyone who drives on road trips actually get up the morning of the first drive day and say, woohoo, a day filled with roadside McDo? Does no one want to stop at a place that sells not only good cafe express, but decent food? Someone ought to apply for a grant to study the drivers who frequent these roadside heart-attack shacks and measure the cholesterol of those on those highway routes v. those on the highways of France, for example. Just guess who might need some statins? There is a fortune to be had in someone's ability to pop up a million roadside good food and good cafe shacks next to America's super highways.

The Momo family gave up on stopping for food and bought supplies at the grocery to carry us through the trip. With one celiac, two BTs and one crabby Momo, it was to our advantage to have some good food with us. The only thing missing was an espresso maker. Does anyone make one for a car? I would buy it. Seriously.

The beauty of the Northwest gets a big old 10. Who can be in a bad mood with that view whizzing by? L&P rate the car ride a big fat 6. They would seriously have preferred that we stop at McDo's or at least had burgers. Route 5? Who knows. Maybe someday it will be a coastal highway and worth the asphalt it is paved with.

Going to America

Our time in France was limited and here it was the moment that had once seemed so far in the future. Time to venture back to California. While Momo was not going to miss the insistent rain, she would miss France very much. The croissants, the bread, pastries, cheese, the shoes, and even the big old Metro. L&P knew something was up when all the toys disappeared into suitcases.

Speaking of suitcases, it must be some sort of cosmic act of physics that makes the stuff larger than when it first got packed because it sure doesn't fit going the other way. We even tossed tons of stuff the fake French laundry had destroyed. But thankfully Mr. Momo was able to get every little thing in the suitcases, with the exception of his shaver charger cord which is still in France somewhere. We did manage to bring home the extra zip-lock bags. So what's a little shaver charger compared to zip lock bags I ask?

Once again, CDG airport seems to defy logic, in French or in English. And can anyone tell me if there is an airport on this globe that is not currently going through "renovation" which is code for "will get done three generations hence"?

First, we must return our rental car. Mr. Momo seems to have a brain that completely understands the madcap mapping system in France and he knew the way. Momo didn't even try because she was trying to avoid the migraine. L&P were of no help at all. They would have led us back to the croissants. The rental car place was not accessible in the direction we were going unless we made a u-turn which is signified by some strange sign that only Mr. Momo figured out. So we passed the place just once which is a good start. Upon returning the car we would get a van ride to the terminal and hopefully to the terminal from which our plane was leaving. Voila, to the right terminal.

The construction prohibited us from actually driving to the terminal, only to the end of it. If you can picture an airport of that size, you can imagine that our United Airlines would without a doubt be at the furthest point from where we were dropped off. Indeed. Oui. With luggage cart, a stroller filled with the L&P and two carry bags, off we go in search of our airline. Starting out with optimism, we enter the terminal and realize that CDG was really as bad as we had first encountered and our time in France learning about French directional signs was useless still. There were no signs. So we hiked and hiked until we came to the United Airlines counter. They have just a couple of flights so the lines were split between the two flights. The staff in France has a great deal of French character and it felt like we were still in France although many more people were speaking English. It was nice to hear, but we were beginning to miss France even then.

First you hand someone your passport and they check you off like when you go to a restaraunt with a reservation. Too bad they don't actually seat you and feed you. Then you go to another line and they actually take your information again and give you a boarding pass. Our luggage was just slightly over the limit but they were kind enough to not make us repack as they did the charming young woman in front of us who thought they meant repack right there at the counter like they do in America. Non. Not in civilized France. You must leave the area and repack and then come back so that others do not have to wait. Bags gone, we still had many lines to navigate through. But first, one last outside trip for the L&P before the real trip begins. And guess what? We arrived at the airport to blue sky and now it was...wait for it....oui! Raining. Just at the airport. Just for us.

To get to the gate you must first pass through several check points. So far L&P are happily strolling along, but at the first pass we must put them in their crates said the airport police. Why that was necessary is still a mystery because we were still very far from the gate. Here again, they check passports and tickets. It is easy to pass through though even if it is a narrow funnel because it so very hectic and busy, anyone could have passed by those two passport guys.
Next there is a moving sidewalk that makes the one in Denver and Chicago seem like small potatoes. This one is 140 miles long and goes downhill and uphill for no apparent reason other than to amuse and annoy those of us with strollers who don't want to dump the baby or the L&P in this case, on the sidewalk. Literally, the downhill and uphill were like miniature versions of the gondola affair in Chamonix. Two moving sidewalks in a tunnel. I would bet this was another Mitterrand wonder, this airport design.

At the end of this ridiculous thing is a circular corridor that brings you to the toll both, or in this case, passport control for France. They simply gaze at your passport for the 10th time and send you on the way to security for the gate. This line snaked very far but didn't take that long. That is unless you are behind a Brittney Spears doppelganger and her boy toy. She, having all kinds of trouble navigating with her very high heels and extra large purse which was truly bigger than her whole self. He, who is so busy holding her up by the tush, that by the time they get to the front of the line they are useless. Mr. Momo must tell them that it is their turn. Oh, they say, as the two windows open, and they split apart (how telling) each using one of the free windows, when most couples use one window together..........have to love the tourists.

Next we pass by the duty free shops and the three tables that make up the entire area's food section and move on to the security line. Which is pretty darn short. It is right in front of the gate and clearly set up just for the United Flights. They don't make us take off our shoes, but we must undress the L&P sans collars, leashes and anything useful to keep them secure. So here we are with fourteen of those plastic buckets filled with computer, phone, dog stuff, Mr. Momo's belt, keys, change, our bags, and yet we get to wear our shoes. How nice for us. We get through but it is five minutes before we have collected and redressed the L&P for travel and Mr. Momo has gotten his belt back on, which is very necessary to hold up the pants since he managed to lose the most weight in France. I cannot even imagine what someone must go through taking a baby on the plane this way.

The gates for United I do hope are on the list for upgrades in the renovation plan for the airport. For two flights that hold 8,567 people, the gate was designed to hold 16. We were standing shoulder to shoulder. Seriously. We were so close to the trash can, we offered to throw stuff out for people who came by to avoid the splatter landing on us. Meantime, L&P are still free on leash and having a great time playing with anyone who will pay attention to them.

In addition there is a tiny tiny refreshment window, if you can call it that. The line was 8,532 people long because that was the only place to get water or coffee prior to boarding the plane. We all know you have to buy the water after security in order to carry it on the plane, right? Wrong. Mr. Momo came back with a bottle of water with no cap. Apparently they keep the cap for good luck? Seriously, they keep the cap because you cannot take the water on the plane - security. What? Great. And you know it will be quite some time before they get around to bringing you drinks in the cattle car section. Did I mention that one of the airport upgrades ought to be air conditioning? Just a thought.

The flight to Washington was not bad at all considering how long it took and the time difference. L&P had a great time meeting and greeting fellow passengers, some who had no idea that they were neighbors to two adorable BTs. L&P were very quiet and well mannered. We were able to leave the top hatch open so they could sit up if they wanted but mostly they slept. At one point L needed a little TLC so Momo pulled her out with her blankie and she slept on Momo's lap for a while. The flight attendants were very talented in assessing that they were well behaved little pups and we had them under control, so they left us alone. Much appreciated. Of course in such tiny quarters it is important to make sure your neighbors are fine with dogs first. And they were. All of them quite nice and kind to the L&P. Total time for the dogs sans bathroom was almost 12 hours. Good good dogs.

The 2nd leg of the trip was the next day on Jet Blue. Again, the seats are just too short for anyone over 5' 8" tall. That is how they get that fabulous leg room. Make that seat bench short! Not to mention that there is absolutely no reason that the seats could not be an inch higher up than they are. The under seat room is pitiful with or without dog carrier. That flight, which will never be mentioned again after this post, was too long after 10 minutes. It is a bit sad when you get indifference with flight attendants regarding the cuteness of the L&P, but it is just plain awful when you get a flight attendant who actually does not like dogs, which we did. Again, we had the top open, but they are connected inside to a short lead to the bag, which means they cannot jump out of the bag because they are physically attached. In addition, L&P are trained to not do that unless one of us tells them to. I understand that not all dogs that travel are trained, but it would not take but a minute to talk to us and look over the dogs to get a good feeling for that. Sheesh. Anyway, the wicked witch of the west made us zip up the top keeping their heads back in the bag per her interpretation of the FAA rules (which are vague on purpose so the flight crew has discretion). Another flight attendant came back to whisper to us that she just reviewed the regs and told us that at least the bag could be up on the seat during the flight, but we should leave it closed, well, because. L&P took it way better than Momo. Even Mr. Momo got a little annoyed when we were landing and they insisted that P could not be under the middle seat. So we move her to the aisle- under the seat and then he comes along again and says the crate isn't far enough under! Yikes. We are literally landing at this point. Thankfully L&P did not care. So, Jet Blue? Please work on your manners. It could have been a pretty good flight because the pilots did a great job. And again, our seat neighbors loved the L&P. Made the end of the trip endless. Needless to say, L&P won't be flying on Jet Blue anymore, nor will Momo or Mr. Momo.

L&P enjoyed getting out of the crates, but they enjoyed it more once we hit the driveway. They whipped inside that front door like road runner. And within the first five minutes they had every single toy out of the toy box and had sniffed every corner of the house. If they had tails, they would have been wagging. I think those girls were happy to be home.

But I can tell you that the next day they were looking for the croissants. Sadly none were to be had. First, we got some from Whole Foods that were frozen and made in France. After baking them, L&P were indifferent, it was clear that made-in-France was more like, France, Iowa. Next we got some fresh baked ones at Whole Foods. Once single croissant was big enough to feed sixteen truckers. And doughy. Next, we went to the little 'French" patisserie nearby and realized that those croissants after our time in France were also wrong. Huge and topped with strange items like almonds, cheese and other things. And the pastries were huge and skyscraper like. Sadly, Momo realized that the true French pastry would not be found here. We will try the Williams Sonoma frozen croissants just once. After all, we can hope, can't we?

So here we are back in America. While the Momo family love their home, they would be happy to be back in France as would L&P. They are forever looking for the sidewalk buffet and sadly, old leaves and twigs are just not the same.

However, while we are still in California, we have taken a vote and have decided to continue the adventures of Lulu and Phoebe, only now it will be the Adventures of Lulu and Phoebe in Sunny California. After all, can you think of better place to lampoon than California?

Au Revior for the moment. We are going on a little break for a week, but we will be back with our first California adventure in another week. Can anyone say road trip?

L&P rate the hospitality of United Airlines (international) a big 9. It could be a 10 if the jet could peddle a little faster. They rate Jet Blue zip. But they did enjoy their Sturdibags once again, so a big thumbs up for Sturdibags at Sturdiproducts.com.

And We Shall Shop say L&P: Momo Get that Credit Card Out

Once upon a time, Momo had a dream. When she learned the Momo family would be going to France, she had numerous fantasies about French couture for the L&P. She dreamed of finding new and exciting toys and stuffies for the L&P. She imagined all the new collars and leads in beautiful French fabrics and ribbons for L&P.

Before even leaving for France, Momo tried very hard to look for stores in Paris that would carry these lovely things. Momo had lots of trouble, not only with the language and the French yellow pages, but with even asking French people where she might find such things. No one knew. And the logic of the French yellow pages was, well, French. If you know anything about French logic, it is not American, nor European. It is just French. The French understand it just fine. Nothing wrong with it, but often the French yellow pages were harder to decode than the literal translation of anything French.

So the task became part of the adventure. Momo must find the couture and the jouets for doggies. It was apparent it would have to wait until the Momo family arrived in Paris. It should be easy then because, well, the French love the dogs, do they not?

At our itty bitty apartment hotel, we asked the desk staff. They scratched their heads. Stores for dogs? La chien? Ooo la la. What an idea. They must peruse the French yellow pages. Good, Momo thought. They are French. They will understand the logic. Or so I was hoping.

Jouet for chien. Sadly, the results were not good. Toys r Us. What? Didn't we leave America? And wait. One more. The Disney store on Champ Elysees of all places. Again, (Jon Stewart moment) WHAT???? Ah, yes, it was the Jouet that was confusing. Toys. The French online yellow pages ignored chien and went with toys. Well, I guess that was odd logic, but logic nonetheless. Ignore one word and search for the other. Apparently the words in the search were a guideline. So very French.

Next we tried chien. Oh oh. Washing dogs and cats. Toilet stuff for dogs and cats. Dogs and cats. Services (not to be confused with stuff) for dogs, cats. Mon Dieu. Nothing. Not one Pets r Us.

Luckily, Galleries Lafayette had a small section for the pets. But what they had would make Target blush. A few toys, some really dumb collars and a few balls. They had bowls, but bowls were not our problem. Oh, and one type of tee shirt with some stupid logo on it for 40E. Yes, 40E which is about $50. Even Momo would not pay $50 for a dog tee. Momo is a little bit touched when it comes to L&P, but not that crazy. Even L&P thought that was stupid. They would rather have the equivalent in croissants, thank you. Can you imagine at .80 per, how many croissants they could eat for 40E? Piggies.

Then we accidentally found Pinceloup on a stroll to Notre Dame. There we were able to spend only 250E on two sets of matching collar/leads, a puppia look alike harness, and a couple of toys. And the collars buckle like the old fashioned stuff so they aren't going to be able to be used for everyday (you want the snap buckle for safety). Ah yes, Momo was desperate. However, L&P had a great time in the store, as you can see from the photo, and enjoyed visiting with Maude, her dog and her husband. Although a little air conditioning would be good. Stores just are not air conditioned much in France and this one, not at all, and such a hot day, even the L&P were sweating.

That should have sufficed, but we had no new couture, and those collars were not exactly the ones. Momo quickly went to the internet and ordered from Zoe's Collection so that at least when L&P arrived home, they would have some lovely collars awaiting them. Just plugging Zoe's Collection. If you need some very nice collars, that's the place to go.

By now, L&P were looking quite frayed without new collars or tee shirts. We looked and looked. We even made a few special trips on the Metro to a couple of places that sounded promising on the website from again, the French yellow pages, but it was in French, and Momo still cannot translate all that well. Turns out one place was a chien beauty parlor and they had three collars and some bows. Hello, Fifi? The next place was a shoe closet and they had a few toys that one gets in places like Petco, at home, that sell for an American dollar. One. American dollar. Here, they cost 10E. Or so the nice man said as he emerged from his residence to the dog store closet with his lunch napkin still tucked into this shirt. Oops.

Sadly, Momo was about to give up. Good thing we had packed a few toys and clothes. France was chilly and P began learning all about de-stuffing stuffies. Things were getting tense as the toy supply suddenly dwindled. Momo called upon her peeps from Woofboard.com, fellow BT buddies, and the ideas for homemade toys flew off the pages. But it wasn't they same. And L&P knew it. Ok, Momo knew it. L&P merely cared about the daily croissant bag. Frankly, Momo thought they might have been a little obsessed.

Fortunately there was a store at the end of the number 14 Metro, Momo's favorite Metro train, at Bercy Village called Animalis. Momo again did a bad job translating and assumed this was a boring dog supply store. That was correct, slightly. Only the supply was real dogs, cats, birds, and the assorted rat like creatures. Dilemma. In America, it is very bad karma to frequent a facility that sells the actual chien. Those poor dogs are typically from puppy mills and we do not want to encourage or support any business that does that. But here we were, 6000 miles from home and we have had no luck with the acquisition of toys. And the supplies were running low.

The first time Momo went to Bercy and found the store she could not bring herself to buy anything there. The second time she went, it was with freshly dyed hair, sunglasses and a costume that she would never ordinarily wear, not black. She quickly made her way into the store and secured a load of stuffies and other toys and paid for her purchase in cash, wracked with guilt, but knowing that L&P would benefit. Turns out, bad karma is bad karma. Should have just followed the rules. The toys lasted less than one day. P had honed her seam ripping skills and mercilessly de-stuffed all of the new toys within hours. The only thing remaining was, uh, Daffy Duck. Yes, Daffy Duck. Daffy even made it back to America.

Momo could say that the quality of those stuffies was lacking. But since being home, P has amassed a large looming pile of destroyed stuffies and well, it could be she just was beginning her spree in France. The second photo actually shows her serious remorse. Of course the remorse could simply be a demonstration of her unhappiness learning that she could not destuff them fully because they were removed from the toy box forever and on the way to the garbage. P seems to mean no harm, but apparently de-stuffing is just in her nature. Poor L. She will have to learn to keep her stuffies behind locked glass.

Camonix is another story. In Chamonix you will find a store called Cham Dog. While Cham Dog has the beauty parlor room, it also has a sizable section for dog jackets and toys and some very interesting collars and leads. The Momo family made good use of that store and many of those jouets have come home with us to America where they are still whole. That would include, and picked out by L&P, one large rubber chicken as in roasted chicken. One chicken like figure with a belt on it, and several little squeaky toys that amuse them for hours. Not one stuffie. Good thing too. I am not sure it would have survived. We also were able to get L&P new winter jackets just in case it would snow in CA in the bay area. They are made for the snow country in Chamonix, but they will suffice for here. After all, a California winter can be harsh-like if you have a hairless belly. That was a very enjoyable store and the dogs in Chamonix seemed very happy. They must like that store too.

So Momo spent an entire year's couture and toy budget in two stores in France on L&P. With the unfortunate George-Bush-Dollar against the Euro, Momo spent way too much dinero. But what they heck. When you see that rubber chicken being tossed about by a happy happy L&P, it is worth it.

Can you just picture the x-ray people at the airport looking at our bags? Never mind the baggage handler when they tossed the bag. A symphony of various squeaks. That should have been amusing, or quite scary.

L&P rate the two dog stuff stores a big 10. They got plenty of treats from the store clerks. Funny, they didn't mind that they weren't croissants. Momo rates the shops a little bitty 5 because they were too expensive. And the others don't even get a mention - well, they get a mention, but a bah humbug one. So, if you take your Fifi to Paris, bring the toys with you as well as your own couture. Of course, there are always the croissants.

Can We Get Some Paris Shoes for Momo?

Paris is home to more than 2 million pairs of feet including those of various tourists. Maybe even a little more since it is summer. And then again, maybe a little less since most of the French leave Paris in August and typically take their footwear with them. If you factor out the feet of most tourists you have some very interesting footwear to observe. Just on Rue Joubert and Rue Caumartin you can find hundreds of feet to watch every single day as this photo indicates. And at Place Vendome, L&P are watching out for feet, and since it is raining they are wishing they had shoes to wear.

It is easy to spend time looking at feet. First, you really must look down to deftly miss those steaming piles of poop, and while looking up is worth your while too since I can now attest to the giant bird poops from above, generally there are fewer of those than the four legged kind. Also, Momo must observe the lay of the land so to speak when waltzing around Paris with L&P since the sidewalk buffet contains things that ought not be ingested by human or animal.

Ah, I digress once again. Back to feet.

If you are looking toward the array of feet that pass you by you will certainly notice that many if not most, are dressed in some very very nice attire. I myself would not rate heels, especially in the 2.5 inch or more range as very nice attire because just watching them move makes my feet hurt, but they certainly are tres stylish and they are usually worn on oh so small feet. Dainty toes. Most of the higher heel feet are very small, let's say American size 6 or under. That would just about cover Momo's big toe. Laugh all you want, but re-read the post on Too Large Feet and then send Momo a sympathy comment please.

And the design of the heels are unusual too. Not just simple stilettos, but a variety of airborne structures that look like architectural students may have designed them. All works of art. It is a pity they have to be walked in.

Momo's favorite pastime is watching the women of Paris tear their Achilles tendons running down or up the steps of the underground to catch a Metro in some of those architectural wonders. It must take years of practice and patient tutoring when these women were young girls and toddlers to train them to actually hike in these shoes.

The trend that is big in the United States - wearing running shoes with high heel work attire for commuting - has surely not caught on in Paris. No sane Paris fashionista would be caught anywhere without her beautiful stylish heels. Perhaps that answers some of the questions about why Parisians, particularly women as Momo has noticed, are usually not smiling much. They have intense looks of concentration which could actually be silent screams as they move about the city. One has to wonder what the Parisian expression during that daily hike would be if everyone was clad in sensible walking footwear, say, like a sneaker. I get the sense that they would rather go barefoot rather than give up the angst. At least most of them have lovely French manicures under those shoes.

And on the other hand Momo has seen her share of Audrey Hepburn flats strolling about the city. These too, are worn by tiny feet and they look ever so charming. It was a lucky break that Momo found a pair of flats that have a similar look and were in her size, which as we all know by now, is too large. While they are charmingly comfortable, they lack that same adorable itty bitty French foot look. The tiny little slipper flat must be just a tiny minute big as it strolls down the Boulevard. It ruins the look to have the shoe, say, appear on both curbs of an intersection at the same time.

The styles of these little flats vary tremendously, but they have one thing in common with each other and one thing in common with the heels. Black. All of them black. Ok. Perhaps a touch of brown, or some other muted color, but you will always find black on the shoe somewhere. It is a rule I do believe. Although Momo has noted that the window displays in the requisite les chaussures des femmes, two to a Rue, will have shoes in red, blue and black and sometimes white in the window. No self respecting French woman will buy those to wear in Paris. One store even had expensive flats with cat whiskers and ears on the front. Momo bet Mr. Momo that the shoe only came in a size 5 or less. Could you picture that shoe in a size that Momo would need? Someone would call an exterminator. The whiskers alone would need extra structural support to stay up, let alone the size of the ears. Good thing French woman's feet are tiny or the designer of that shoe would be out of a job.

So if you go to Paris, be sure to either come barefoot with a nice French manicure and buy yourself some heels or flats in black please. Or better yet, find an online shoe store from within France, order your French shoes and wear them to France. You will fit right in. And if you feel like shopping in Paris and paying that ridiculous exchange rate, Galleries Lafayette has an entire floor for women's shoes. Yes, indeed, an entire department store floor. Filled with women's shoes.

L&P don't really care about shoes in Paris, but they certainly care about getting stepped on. For the art of stepping carefully, L&P rate the shoes in Paris a nice 9 - since once someone came a bit too close. Momo rates the shoe show in Paris an entertaining 8. It could have been a 10 if there were actually shoes for Momo to buy.

L&P Remark on Pastry - French Pastry Makes Them Très Heureux

We may have left Paris, but we sure aren't done talking about it.

Let us have a moment of silence for all the Pastries that are born each day in France. Each of them, an individual wonder. Creations that defy logic. After all, who in the world has the patience to create those miniature works of art? Just the skill to patiently prepare a single pastry alone would send most people screaming for a cake mix. Which by the way, are hard to find in France. No Betty Crocker there. And a good thing. The French take their pastry seriously. As seriously as wine and cheese I suspect.

L&P have preferences. The first favorite for them is the croissant which is not necessarily a pastry, as in, say Opera cake. Next they enjoy the macaroons, again a biscuit, not a pastry really. But given free choice day, L&P would pick a framboise tart. And so would Momo. Those can be spectacular. A wonderful shortcrust pastry filled with pastry creme and the freshest, fattest red raspberries you ever did see.

Drooling yet? No? Well, then.

How about a delicate petite chocolate layer concoction with sponge cake, a bit of liquor, creme again, chocolate, and the delicate thin thin thin bittersweet chocolate top. Opera cake. Drooling now? Then how about an eclair, made with the freshest pastry choux, not too chewy, not too sweet, filled with chocolate pastry creme, and topped with bittersweet chocolate, the kind you can run your finger through and come away with enough chocolate to make your swoon.

Yep, you are too drooling. As you can see there are pastries to fill any one's cravings.

The best part of the pastry world in Paris is that because you have to walk everywhere, you can have a pastry every couple of hours and never gain an ounce. And fortunately there are plenty of pastry shops to accommodate that effort. But get there quickly. It is hard to find anything worth eating after 2PM. You have to go early, buy plenty and keep moving until you have sampled a variety of shops. After all, no two are the same. Well, ok, if they are Au Bon Pain, they are, but don't go there for pastry - although their croissants are pretty good. Find the little shops. And don't forget the famous ones too like Laduree and Angelinas and so many others.

L&P and Momo find that pastry stands alone. Well, not exactly alone, because one pastry is lonely. It should have the company of a few more to round out the table (and your waistline says L who is missing hers - has anyone seen it?). Momo hasn't had a waist in several years so that is not an issue.

In France, one eats the pastry and then one goes somewhere else for cafe express. While in America and other places perhaps, one has pastry and coffee, not so in France although tourists try to do that. You should see the painful looks they get when they try. Mon dieu. Melting looks. Seriously, do not ask for coffee with your pastry. If you must, take it to go and it will get wrapped up in a cute little funnel box, or paper and then you can take it anywhere - even to a table with a cup of coffee. But just don't ask anyone French to serve you coffee with your pastry. That would be wrong. Kind of like asking where Champ Elsie is........

L&P and Momo have sampled almost all of those pastries starring in our photos, and more than once. After all, several times a day for almost three months is a lot of pastry. Très très bon. A lot of happy happy pastry moments.

Adieu Cher Paris But Stay Tuned!

Momo, Mr. Momo and L&P are off to America.

However, the adventure continues because L&P have way more stuff to tell you about their life in Paris. We will be off the air for a few days because it takes a few minutes to tele-port (ah, don't we wish) back home.

Instead we will all be stuffed in the cigar tube called airplane. Wish us luck. The ride home is longer because we ate so much while we were here........

L&P send big kisses to everyone - In Portugal, France, Sweden, Germany, Israel, Canada, Australia, Switzerland, Italy, the UK, Yugoslavia, Spain, Ireland, and the US and everyone else Momo has missed.

And Estonia! Bonjour Estonia!

Thanks for tuning in and stay tuned for more!

French Food By Any Other Name is Délicieux

There just isn’t enough space on this blog to talk about food in Paris. First, you should come here only if you are willing to suspend any disbelief about what is good for you and what is not. Low fat has not exactly made front page news here.

The good news though, is that you should be able to drink enough red wine and chocolate to counter any high fat consumables. Heck, French women don’t get fat, right? Unfortunately some food enterprises in France are becoming global and guess who is marching right in front? Ah, oui – you are such smart kids! McDo’s. Pizza Hut is right behind. But no Kentucky Fried Chicken that we have come across thank goodness. Ok, one, but we have not seen it, or smelled it, mon dieu! Even Starbucks is making inroads, but not enough to worry about. That said, the brasseries are the first to fall victim to the cost effectiveness of monopoly and the resulting sameness. Sure, go to the brasserie for great café in a real cup and the chance to sit among the 12 out of 10 smokers to watch what we call the French sport of people gazing. Where do you think Momo learned about all the fascinating shoes in Paris – ok, aside from watching for poop and nothing better to do on the Metro?

Again, I digress, such a bad habit.

The brasseries are becoming a corporate or franchise world, and that is fairly new. So hurry up and get here to experience brasseries before they are all owned by Café Richards. That is why you will find all the lunch material, the “hotdogs”, the croque monsieur, and the baguettes jambon all looking like clones. It took Momo a while to figure that one out. Could be the clues were the packets of sugar that all said Café Richards from one brasserie to the other. And unfortunately, Momo is not making it up – read the current issue of Timeout: Paris.

However, there is such excellent food to be found in France. First let us start with cheese. There are more cheeses here than Momo and Mr. Momo have seen in, well, forever. And we have seen lots of cheese. Cheeses here are bright – fresh, not so sanitized, and deliciously crafted. Cheese is its own food group. Never pass up the cheese course in your 22 course dinner. It is going to be worth it and is always better than the course with meat. Meat is not a strong point in French cuisine, we think. There are soft cheeses and not soft cheeses which should not be confused with hard cheeses. Remember the camembert? Ah, yes, it still smells like old gym socks, but it tastes unlike any you might have had in the US. Momo has no idea what the cheese names are but they are all worth a taste. L&P have sampled a huge variety of cheese and they also agree. Eat cheese.

Next, you can be sure that jambon is not only in every single dish that anyone cooks in France, but it is in every single think called sausage or smoked meats. And the variety is stunning actually for one little pig. Everywhere you go, the jambon is king. The myriad of cured meats is unbelievable. Bacon is not just bacon, but a meal. For example, in Laduree, that wonderful pastry tea room, I watched a person (yes, tourist) order a chicken (poulet) sandwich and was asked if he wanted bacon on it. Yes, yes, he exclaimed. So it comes to the table, and yes, there is bacon, the Canadian looking type bacon, and it is on the outside of the sandwich attached with a toothpick. Momo and Mr. Momo giggled, but you could clearly see that the poor guy was perplexed. To his credit, he ran with the program and ate his poulet/bacon sandwich the way it arrived. Sandwich first, bacon second. Ah, the French have a great sense of humor – in their own way, let us say.

Next let us talk about the produce. Hello, California? Are you listening? This stuff may not be organic, but it seems to have not seen any gene splicing. The raspberries are plump, raspberry colored and fantastic whether you buy them in the Monoprix or the Lafayette Gourmet. Same with most of the other produce. And the shelf life is very short. By the end of the day, little flies are eating the fruit and other produce in the stores. Shop early!

And a big shout-out hello to Fromage Blanc, the star of this blog's photo. That white stuff is the tastiest thing in the universe with some fresh produce. And no, no one can locate it in America. Please do tell if you can, because it will be sadly missed when we return. L&P will dance on the head of pin for a taste of Fromage Blanc. It is not quite cottage cheese, and not crème fraiche. It just is, well, Fromage Blanc.

Let us not leave out chocolate. I am sure artisans everywhere who make excellent chocolate will not mind when we say nothing compares to some of the chocolate you can find in France (and I am assuming in other parts of Europe). Everyone eats chocolate like it is another food group. A very smart thing. Momo agrees. L&P are not allowed chocolate, but they don’t seem to mind smelling it when we partake, which is, well, often.

It is important to talk about the art of the French meal because it is unique. It took Momo and Mr. Momo a little while to work up to this regimen. Dinner is at 8PM or later. If you eat before that hour you must be a child or not from France. And dinner can last for hours. Hours and hours. Our longest meal was four hours. That is halfway across to America on an airplane. That is one long meal. But the time passes quickly because the food is stunningly wonderful. There are some very fine restaurants in Paris. Not all of them are terribly expensive, but many are. But they are worth every little Euro.

Don’t forget to eat while you are here. It is about as important as visiting Tour Eiffel and L’Opera. And way more important than any old musee. But if the musee has a restaurant, then by all means, go. To the restaurant!

L&P are happy to tell you that food in Paris is a full time business for them. They rate eating here a big 10++++. So do Momo and Mr. Momo.

L&P Present - A Tale of Duex Metros

Since the Metro is fairly clean, almost litter free, L&P think the Metro trains are merely adequate transportation to the next sidewalk buffet. However, no one said anything about the Metro stations and the underground. In the underground there is plenty of trash. Not as much as on the street, and less than the amount you would find in a parking garage. But there is some trash. L&P however, have learned that even trash in the Metro underground is not so savory and they tend to walk right on by. There is a lesson to be learned here my friends - if L&P are willing to skip it, well, ok, if P is willing to skip it, it ain't good. Hurry on by.

This is L&P with Dad on the Metro on the way to somewhere in Paris. They have learned what the word "train" means and they make such delightful faces when we say it. Almost as though they would rather exert the effort to snort a hairball than get on that noisy thing again. But they do it willingly because, well, because they are carried onto the trains. Willingly is a loose term here.

Don't order that silly $10 metro map from anywhere before you go. They give them away for free here and are much easier to read - the print is bigger. Second, don't try to memorize it before you get here. It is impossible and seriously, the maps make sense only after you try using it and get lost once or twice (says Momo, not Mr. Momo - who never apparently gets lost). And you will need several because they wear out. Seriously, they disintegrate from staring at them.

Then there is the RER, pronounced AIR (cough cough) AIR. Never RER. Don't do it. No one will know what you are talking about. The AIR/AIR is just another get around town train, but is not to be confused with the Metro, but you can use the same ticket for both. And the bus too. But a bus and the trains (RER and Metro) don't look anything alike. Well. Except for the #14 Metro which looks like a big springy bus on rails. High speed rails too. I love the 14. It is a high speed (ok, not like the TGV high speed, but speedy nonetheless) and automagic. If you get on in the absolute front of the very first car there is a giant picture window to watch the tunnels as you speed along. I feel like I am 8 years old again. I always go to the front. And I push the kids out of the way if they hog the window. The longest distance of nonstop travel is between Gare Lyon and whichever is next, although the map never indicates this. It feels like five minutes and 20 miles of zoom, ups, downs, curves. Ok, ok. Digressing again.

Our itty bitty apartment is near Gare Saint Lazar station (pronounced Salazer - try looking that one up!), one of those giant undergrounds that connect like a hub to many Metro and some AIR/AIR lines. You can even get a bus to CDG airport there among many other city buses. It is a big hub. It is two blocks away but we can go underground almost out our door and never come up again until we are on the other side of Paris. Ta Da. Magic. And it takes less than 30 minutes. Metros are the way to go around here. But if you want to Metro your way through Paris, here are some things that you will need to know.

1. Plan on getting lost and not worrying. There are plenty of maps everywhere. If I can find my way back, honestly, anyone, including L&P could. I am a very very bad map person. And in the worst case? They say Paris is a walking city for a reason. Just, at all times, make sure your footwear is comfy. You may have to walk back, and you can. It will just take some time. Stop at the cafe. Eat something, have some express. And walk some more. You will get back. I promise. And heck, if you can't, call me. I will try to read the map for you. Of course, you could end up in Belgium, but they have good chocolate.

2. Do not buy the stupid "Paris tourist" Metro tickets. They cost more than regular tickets because they give you a silly plastic sleeve for the ticket which is no good anyway - the ticket needs to be naked to go through the turnstiles. I think they also give you discount coupons for shopping in places that already give tourists discounts. Redundancy is not uncommon here. But tickets in groups or just a weekly or monthly ticket for two zones. If you go further than that you are in Versailles anyway. A carte orange is a good ticket to get.

3. Practice the terms you will need to use to get the tickets mentioned above over and over until you have memorized them in French. Or face the wrath of the RAPT ticket/information employee. We have experienced the wrath. It is not pretty. When you say bonjour and parlez vous anglais?, it is likely that the person in the window with say oui, shrug, motion a little bit with their fingers or say non. Be prepared. If they say oui, test it out. Like ask how their family is or compliment them on their choice of toothpaste. If they look puzzled or answer correctly, you have, my friend, hit the jackpot. I would suggest you buy all of your tickets for your entire trip right then. If you get a stupid answer back, you know they do not speak English. And here begins the fun. Use French - ask for the number of Jours you want, say for example, duex jours, duex zones, duex people. And then be prepared to pretend you are on a game show and use all your fingers to count and point until you get what you need. The ticket people are adept at not being very helpful and as Mr. Momo has noted, on purpose they like to play with you like the cat plays with little bitty mice. Just be prepared as they say. Mr. Momo often comes back with two tickets for one zone for one day going to Sweden when he had asked for 2 zones, 2 days and 2 tickets.

4. And always be grateful for the times when you find someone helpful in the Metro stations. I once had the help of a very nice information person who took me to the ticket counter way below where we were, two giant escalators down. Where she had described to go was no where close to where we ended up. If I had followed her directions, between her poor English and my poor French, I would still be walking to NYC, underground from Paris.

5. There are fewer pick pockets than the printed material says there are. There is a greater police presence underground and therefore less crime. But you will still run into the drunks later on at night who get tossed out of the streets and into the Metro stations. They are pretty harmless, they just might smell a little bit and lurch a bit. But still, do be cautious. Don't fling your money around, and keep your purse in front of you and if you carry a pack, be aware that the more savvy nimble fingers can get those zippers open with nary a nudge. So don't put anything in your pack that you can't stand to lose.

6. Pay close attention to the signs. They will confound you for certain. For example, the number 14 goes only from St. Lazar to Bibliotheque and back again. However, the sign at St. Lazar offers you Olympiades and Bibliotheque for the number 14 making you think perhaps there are two trains. Not so. One train, and both stops are in the same direction, one after the other. Silly Metro map makers. They just wanted to keep you guessing.

7. And watch the arrows too. They often point in a direction and then double back or twist. Keep checking to make sure you are heading to the right train number or you will have a long walk back. And just for extra credit fun, sometimes the arrow tells you where to go and then disappears and you have to choose - left or right. That can be fun. You'd think it would be 50-50, but not here. More like 80-20, as in 80% of the time you will pick the wrong way. Remember, comfy comfy shoes!

8. Do not leave your ticket tucked in your purse, wallet or any other stupid place. You need it once the surge you are walking with pushes you to the turnstile. The French move though that thing like ballerinas. If you are from NYC, you shouldn't have any trouble, but if you are from, say, a tiny town with no subway, get used to keeping your ticket handy. Here you must be cautious and watch for the naughty thieves. Their best trick is to grab your bag as you get through the turnstile only to go in the opposite direction and leave you stranded.

9. Don't kill yourself getting to a train if you hear it or see it. Almost no one here ever runs to catch a train. They come very few minutes. Aside from the fact that over 50% of the women riding the metro wear stiletto heels- the French have lots of dignity. No one rushes anywhere. There is even a little digital readout above the platform that counts down the three minutes to the next train.

10. Talk quietly on the train. The French are pretty quiet people and often you can tell who are the tourists (aside from the white sneakers) by how loud they are. Conversations are actually not overheard. And on some cars, conversation is not possible because the train is too loud.

11. Don't bother with a stroller. There are stairs and more stairs everywhere and very few escalators. And many escalators act like stairs because they aren't running.

12. There are often musicians in the underground and some are very good. I think it is the acoustics. Violins can sound hauntingly wonderful or make you want to throw yourself on the 3rd rail.

13. Wear layers. It can get mighty toasty at times.

14. The train door don't open by themselves for the most part. You have to pop a lever or push a button. You will look very cool and un-touristy if you know that. If you just stand there waiting for the door to open, someone will invariably knock you over trying to get out.

15. Some of the operators running the trains are 12 years old. They like to go really really fast and lurch the train about on it's 300 year old rails. Think Harry Potter and that silly midnight bus ride.

Welcome to the underground where there is a whole other Paris.

L&P love the Metro so they rate the underground a big 8. The shortcoming is more about the lack of good pickings like the sidewalk buffet up above. For Momo and Mr. Momo, the Metro rates a good 7. It's those confusing sorties and idiotic methods of getting Metro tickets that keep the rating from being higher. But you cannot argue with the fact that you can be on the other side of Paris from where you are in less than 30 mostly hassle free minutes using the Metro. That is, if you can find your way back up to the top.