Adventures of Lulu and Phoebe in Paris

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2010-07-22T23:01:00.001-07:00

a quaff swims like a trash can

We Have NEW Blogs!

2008-12-04T20:10:00.001-08:00

Lulu and Phoebe are moving again. Check out their new blog. And leave some comments. Those girls have enormous egos!

First is Diary of 2 Black and White Dogs. Find it here.
http://diaryof2blackandwhitedogs.blogspot.com/

Next is the new home of our Gluten Free Dogs and People. Find it here:
http://glutenfreedogsandpeople.blogspot.com/

See you there!

Lulu and Phoebe Want You to Visit Their Latest Blog!

2008-09-27T22:01:00.001-07:00

Bonjour!

Lulu and Phoebe invite you to join them as they blog about the U.S. Presidential Election where they find the fun in politics! Of course, they hope that you will tell all your friends and non-friends too so that their big old blogger egos are fat and happy.

Don't worry. There will be more Adventures of L&P in Paris too.

So, visit them here: http://luluandphoebeelectioncoverage.blogspot.com/

Merci!

Do Lulu and Phoebe Remember Paris?

2008-03-04T18:03:00.000-08:00

Why yes. They do. Momo talks about Paris almost every day, reminding the young L&P of their adventures.

It doesn't hurt that she and Mr. Momo make fromage blanc frequently and share with L&P. That and a true croissant would make anyone swoon with happiness, and that would include our little L&P.

In order to get a true croissant, or a pain au chocolat, one of us must zip to France and bring some back. However, the last transatlantic croissant was more like a croissant-crush. A million flaky pieces. But no matter. L&P like small flakes of anything tasty.

Treats from Paris are a highlight. It is still hard to find decent pastry and cheeses here. It is also hard to bring them back on a flight that is about 14 hours too long. Chocolate does best, and poor little macaroons do not do well at all. If the croissant was a flaky mess, the macaroons were a gooey composite of what once was perfection. That was very sad. But the part that was most disturbing? Apparently crossing so many time lines confused the heck out them, cause by the time they got here, they were barely 15 hours old, but they tasted like they were six days old, even in their ooey-gooey state. Humm, perhaps they added too many time zones to their fresh-by date??? Oh well. You can't go wrong with a big box of treats from La Maison du Chocolat!

Since little P spent her young months in Paris, she has some of the French language imprinted on her tiny little itty bitty brain. She responds much more quickly to "assis" than she does to "sit", um, or sat. She knows "avec" rather than "with" and "merde" holds a special place in her heart. Not many dogs I know poop on command to "merde".

L would prefer Paris again because she has perfected the aloof stare and the peevish facial tic. I think she would do splendidly in Paris again. She mastered the attitude perfectly.

And food still remains high on the list of things all things Paris. Jambon is still a huge favorite of both L&P, and they don't seem to mind the Amercian Jambon (can I even say that?!) but I do detect a slight indication that they seem to know it is not Parisian ham. Or even better, Spanish ham. When we bake our favorite quiche, a reminder of the best of them we tasted in Paris, two little faces will be watching us carefully looking for their taste which comes when we are done. We are pleased to say that our quiche gets a big high ten from both L&P.

The only true way to know if they remember France is to take them there. If they begin to sniff the air like crazy dogs after we exit CDG, then you know they know they feel like they are home again. Or perhaps the men in green have yet to clean the merde de chien that day.....

Next up. The Monoprix. It deserves its very own post. Nous aimons le monoprix!

Road Trip part Duex: Off to Los Angeles

2007-08-29T11:33:00.001-07:00

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

2007-08-24T17:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-22T15:27:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-08-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-10T08:45:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-06T16:49:00.001-07:00

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

2007-07-27T09:53:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-23T13:18:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-07-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-07-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-12T10:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Vive Le Bread!

2007-07-10T04:02:00.000-07:00

If there was a way to stuff my suitcase with bread, I would leave all the smelly clothes here and just bring the bread. Sad to say, it would never make it even with all the careful handling by the airlines..... So, although there is fine bread at home, Momo is terribly sad to leave the bread behind. So are the L&P since they have learned to love the bread.

There are some things to learn about bread here that was perhaps just new to us. First, the French work to make the inside of their bread the tasty tasty part. The crust is important, but in a way that is supposed to protect that fantastic yummy inside.

When we first arrived we found bread that came in a variety of colors. Turns out that the pale bread is not stuff you take home and finish - it holds the stuff for baked sandwiches. That is why it looks so darn pale. Momo can tell you without a doubt that you don't want that bread. It is pretty much tasteless even with fillings and being baked. You can also buy bread with a variety of crust colors on purpose. Everyone has a preference. However, you can always count on the inside to always be tasty no matter what color you enjoy. All except that pale thing.

You do however, in Momo's opinion, want the nicely golden slightly crispy crust like the ones in the picture. Now that is a baguette. You can see people carrying those down the street all day long. Single ones, groups of baguettes and none stuffed in paper. One just buys the baguette and off you go. Momo has to hand it to them - with all the baguettes marching to and fro across the city each day and on the Metro, she has never seen one person take a bite. Now that takes willpower.

Then there are the artisan bread folks like at Lafayette Gourmet (like Eric Kayser - Momo thought that name was funny - Kayser/Kaiser is a bread, isn't it?) who sell all kinds of bread that pretty much look the same, but are supposed to be slightly different from one another. Momo thinks bread has gotten too complicated. A simple French baguette is what you need. Just rip the bread and enjoy. No butter, no oil needed.

In Chamonix, so close to Italy, the influences of Italy are apparent. The bread is crustier, crunchier and more thick with crust on the outside - still light on the inside, but with more body. That bread is very very tasty. Even Mr. Momo ate bread. L&P ate bread. None of us could help it. And in Chamonix, the bread came with butter unlike any other butter we have ever encountered. Sure it was European butter which is far more rich than American butter, but this was even better. They served enough with each bread basket to bake two cakes, but it just skated right onto the bread and soon was reduced to a tiny lump. Thank goodness for lots of good red wine, because that butter is so not low fat.

Even if you have access to the best bread makers this is one place to not miss out on the bread.

Momo is still very sad that the bread has to stay here. L&P are particularly sad that the croissants must stay here. Mr. Momo undoubtedly is relieved that the bread is staying here. Bread gets a 10 squared from all of us. Long live French bread!

L&P Discuss Pastries with Momo and Mr. Momo Beginning with Macaroons

2007-07-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

We have tried all kinds of pastries throughout Paris and after a while it seems like it would get monotonous. But it doesn't. L&P have helped share our adventures which explains their lack of waistline these days. Not ours, of course. We had no waists when we arrived.

First you have to understand that pastries are exactly like fashion is in Paris. They are edgy, yummy and usually made with excellent ingredients. You won't find anyone skimping on the buerre here. You may find less sugar in them, but that is on purpose. The big surprise is that pastries made with less sugar taste really great. You can taste everything else and your teeth don't hurt. I can't imagine dentists in this part of the world are getting rich.

First there is an abundance of pastry shops. Even the super market, or super marche will have a pastry section. In every shop there are colorful macaroons filling the cases with flavors like framboise, pistachio, cafe, chocolate, lemon, and other assortments. Some are so delicate that you can hardly feel them when you take a bite. They literally melt in your mouth. And if you are eating a pistachio macaroon, you will taste real pistachio. Same with raspberries. And the chocolate can make you swoon. No waxy taste to these chocolate treats.

Sometimes they offer little macaroons and then they also offer giant ones. Mr. Momo and Momo call those lunch-time macaroons because a whole one is an entire meal for a family of four. Some pastry shops make fancy macaroons filling them with custard and real live berries. You have to eat those right away, but that is hardly a chore.

People give one another boxes of macaroons as gifts. Many pastry shops have special boxes just for macaroons. Kind of like a box of chocolates, but with a whole lot less fat. Macaroons are flavored egg whites baked and then two cookies are put together with a filling and there you have a Parisian macaroon.

L&P love the macaroons and are especially partial to the raspberry ones, but in a pinch they will enjoy any other berry one. L&P rate Parisian macaroons a big 10. Momo and Mr. Momo love the macaroons too and will be sorry to leave them behind. That is why Momo is suffering through a French version of a baking book on making very fine macaroons so that we can pretend to duplicate them at home. Macaroons get a big 10+ from Momo and Mr. Momo.

Guess What Kids? Soldes! Yay Soldes!

2007-07-07T02:00:00.000-07:00

Soldes are state sponsored sales. We at home in the US called them names like Nordstrom's Half Yearly Sale. But here, they are a major event and everyone goes all out and it is a big big deal. It is intended to help the stores clear out year end merchandise and make way for new collections or that is the rhetoric at least. Did I mention it is state sponsored? Ah, a democratic country with a twist. At least people care enough to vote.

A few days prior to the soldes, giant yellow posters start adorning all the entrances of the department stores. New to me, it took a few tries before I translated the posters. Hum, sales. Ok. No big deal, a sale. Woohoo. Whoa. Not these state sponsored thingys! Before I knew it everything in sight that was a storefront was wrapped in signs, all kinds of signs screaming SOLDES! YAY SOLDES! The soldes are coming.

Still, I really didn't get it. I wandered around the day before the big soldes began because I was looking for something. Might as well have been more invisible than before and if I could find any merchandise, it was under heaps of plastic or other covers taped down securely as though it held state secrets - awaiting the soldes day. Apparently no one works past closing time because they had to prepare for the sale during business hours the day before the sale so if you were unlucky to have that day to shop in Paris, oh too bad for you. Mostly what you got were miles and miles of plastic garbage bags taped to tables with mystery stuff under it. And surprisingly, I thought it would just be crap they trucked in, like the junk stores we have at home - true leftovers from seasons long past - but when the stuff was unveiled, it was pretty much regular stock. Zowie. The good stuff. And if you took the soldes price it actually made up for the crappy exchange rate.

Soldes goes on from the end of June through the beginning of August and stores expand their hours by a whole half-hour each day. Even the Monoprix, which is a grocery/other discount (not really) type store, chimes in with expanded hours, oops, half-hour.

The sale is a good deal if you have patience. The first day has good pickings obviously, but here, they continue to march out merchandise so that on any day you might find good things. The store clerks though are bipolar as a collective. They will either be in very happy moods and look forward to seeing you and your purchases, or they will give you the "frown". The dour dour frown that makes you want to run back to your seat and sit with your hands folded so Sister Katrina doesn't knock your knuckles with a ruler. I know I have put merchandise down and walked away when that happens. It is honest to Pete scary.

I think tourists in Europe who are familiar with soldes days come from far and wide to participate. It is a virtual united nations in the stores these days. I guess buying clothes in Paris is a coveted thing. I stick to socks because that is what I can afford, and they take their socks very seriously here - socks are fashion items. So is men's underwear which is interesting because shoppers trip over one another to get to those undies. Undies are fashion statements in Paris even for men. The stores don't allow photographs to be taken in the buildings otherwise I would post some here - but just think of Picasso, a little Miro and a twist of Andy Warhol, and you have the idea. On undies. One cannot be in a bad mood perusing the men's socks and undies department. It is just too colorful.

Seriously, soldes is an interesting part of the culture here. If you want to make sure you are here when it happens plan your Paris vacation for the end of June. You and 3 million other tourists won't regret it.

L&P I am afraid care nothing for the soldes and they are too uninterested to participate in a rating. Momo too. She just enjoys knowing that the soldes prices are a level playing field to the almighty George-Bush-dollar-buys-not-much-compared-to-the-big-Euro. You can almost break even. Almost. But probably not when you spend a few hundred on socks. Yes, Virginia, I said socks. But just think of them as art for feet. And a piece of Paris culture.

On the Road with L&P

2007-07-05T10:17:00.001-07:00

L&P would like you to know that dogs are quite welcome at any rest stop along the French highways to stop in for a cafe express, or a sip of water, or a croissant. The croissant is what L&P order most of the time and they do enjoy them a little too much if you ask Momo.

There are many boring hours spent traveling on these roads, like the A6 and A40 on the way to Chamonix, that is until you come to, voila - a tunnel. No one builds bridges much around here. They like tunnels, lots of tunnels under the mountains. Tunnels seem to liven up the drive.

Again, I digress. We were talking about rest stops. Anyone who has driven through New York State, for instance, knows the boredom of the Thruway. Think Thruway with a twist. A novel twist if you ask Momo when she is in a good mood. In a bad mood, like, oh, say she has to pee, and all that is available is a pit stop with toilets that are - wait for it - holes in the ground - will make her pretty annoyed. It is 2007. Do you think they could afford the whole freaking toilet with the tolls the charge? On the A40 things were a little bit more rustic than the A6. On the A6 you could find real toilets, and very clean bathrooms. And you could find decent coffee. Not so much on the A40. Mostly very bad coffee, very bad drivers, and a confusing lack of toilet facilities for human beings. Especially in a country where a bidet is a given, how could you substitute a hole in the ground with a pretty porcelain rim and call that a toilet?

On the A6 L&P lounged in the nice restaurant with Momo and Mr. Momo while having express and croissants and salad (with jambon of course). L&P had their own chair and were masters at getting a good deal of lunch out of Momo. In fact, many visitors came up to L&P and wanted to know what kind of dogs they were. BTs are rare around here and many tried to tell us our Bulldogs Francais were too thin....

There was plenty of grass for L&P, and even gardens to make it more enjoyable to stop and have cafe. Almost no one took a cup to go. The French are quite civilized about sitting down and drinking coffee. But Momo did see lots of Coke (no Pepsi here) leaving the building. Momo also said that you won't find Pelegrino or Perrier for sale in the cooler on the New York State Thruway for sure. Nor the bottles of wine that were for sale. Or the Camembert cheese which Momo hoped that no one bought because it really smells.

So if you travel on highways in France, give the A6 a try. Skip the A40. Take a train. You will probably have a better bathroom on the train.

Now, a word about French drivers. Please please please, try to put your foot on the accelerator once in a while. It happens that the speed limit, which is mighty stingy to begin with, seems to be a guideline. And thus, why the "right" rule is necessary. Almost no one speeds. And almost no one was on a cell phone. A contrast to everyone in Paris who walks around with a cell phone glued to their head, everywhere, above ground and in the Metro underground which amazingly has a signal always.

Perhaps they are just used to driving that slow in anticipation of the "traffic" cameras that snap pictures of speeders. How do I know this? Why because there is a nice sign warning you each and every time how far up exactly the camera is that will snap your picture if you are going over the speed limit. Only once have we seen the camera go off, silly driver. There were plenty of signs warning where it was.

And one more word about drivers. Specifically parking. I publicly apologize to the Frenchman I insulted at one of the A40 rest stops who double parked his silly car which was towing a boxy little trailer -half next to our car, mostly keeping us blocked in. What was I thinking when I asked him to move his car? Silly Momo. He was taking a break and not to be bothered. What the heck. Half double parked was ok by him (he managed to park the trailer and left the car in the roadway blocking us).

And I ask this question out of curiosity. Why is it that almost a third of those families heading out on what looks like holiday, tow a trailer behind them? Not the kind you sleep in, but the kind that holds stuff. Some are homemade, others are not. But so many of them were towing trailers you just have to wonder if there needs to be a book published in France that teaches people how to pack for vacation? It looked like they were taking the entire household with them. Seriously. What a curious thing. Can anyone explain that one?

L&P rate the A40 rest stops a big 2 along with Momo who rates that route a big fat zip. However, everyone rates the A6 a big old 6 because the express was great, the croissants were fresh and the toilets were, well, toilets.

L&P Help Momo with Manners for Paris Visitors - Or How to Not Behave like an Idiot

2007-07-04T10:04:00.000-07:00

There are certain things that visitors need to keep in mind when they visit France v. let's say Utica or NYC. And let's talk about Paris in particular. L&P and Momo, and ok, Mr. Momo too have observed some important little manners that will help you while you visit Paris. Help you in ways that avoid making an ass of yourself.

First, the escalator rule. Just like the driving rule. Right, right and right. Stay to the right unless you are passing. In traffic, or on the escalator, or say, the stairs. It is a good rule to follow because there are always those who are speedier than you and want to pass. If you are taking up the whole escalator, or more than the right lane in traffic, you will get squeezed, stepped on and watch out for the umbrella in the tush. That is, after you've ignored the excuser moi and pardons. Just remember, the ones who are in the biggest hurry are usually the little elderly ladies with sharp umbrella sticks. I beg you, stay to the right.

On the road, seriously, stay to the right unless you are passing. And good luck finding a lane, because most of the time, there are no lane markings. Drivers make them up. So stay to the right. And guess what? In most traffic circles, of which there is at least one on every third Rue, or equal to or more than the number of McDo's in Paris, the incoming traffic (from the right of course) has the right-of-way. So, say you are moving around the circle at Place Concorde, or at L'Arc, both of which are huge with spider webbed roads emerging from them, ALL the traffic entering the circle has the right-of-way into the circle, so for peets sake, if you are in the darn circle already, do not, and I repeat, do not cut them off. They will run you over as sure as you can pee in your pants. Seriously. Traffic customs are embedded like the right to fume here. Consider yourself warned! Oh, by the way, traffic signals, on the other hand, are merely voluntary. Or so it seems.

As in escalators, mind the stairwells too -as in anywhere, but particularly the Metro. Right right right. Unless you are passing. You will get a foot in your heel at some point if you do not obey this unwritten rule.

Tipping, while not always done here because a 15% gratuity is always included in your check - is always good to do if you have had, say, service. Not necessarily good service, but service. The range for tipping is typically a couple of extra Euros to more than a couple of Euros. Lots of tourists are told tipping isn't necessary because the gratuity is already included, however, watch what happens if you go back for another round and you did in fact leave a tip. They will undoubtedly remember you, and you will have decent service. If you did not tip, oh well. Better to go somewhere else.

Do not even think of entering a store, or the lobby of your hotel, the newsstand, pretty much anywhere without issuing a heartfelt Bonjour/Bon soir Madame/Monsieur. It is just what people do here. And don't forget when you leave to say Merci-au revoir, even if all you did was walk in and walk out.

L&P, like many tourists in Paris walk a great deal. Typically on the sidewalk which they share with tons of other people, many of them Parisians. They beg of you, do not, please, grin and smile at everyone. Parisians will think that something is wrong with you. The custom and polite thing to do is to keep your face neutral, nod if you must, but do not grin for peets sake. Really. All you will get in return is the most dour frown in the universe. That kind of frown even scares L&P.

Don't ask for a cup of coffee. Argh. That will get you some awful dark colored drek to drink. And never never ask for coffee with your food. Cafe is a course all by its lonesome. Ask for an express, a cafe creme, or a double express, or read the menu.

While we are talking about food, here is a little tidbit about bread. It will be served to you, but it often comes without butter. Try to enjoy it without butter if you can. Most French eat their bread plain. And many places serve the bread in a basket or on a plate, but you will probably not have a bread plate. Just rip your bread into pieces and put it on the table next to your plate if you want, crumbs and all. In many restaurants that aren't too fancy, you will see people sopping up the au jus or whatever the sauce is with their bread.

While we are talking about eating, you will notice that whenever you are out to eat that everyone who is French, ok, mostly everyone, will finish every last bite of every course. Food is not to be wasted and you don't have to act like you eat like a bird. Even little tiny women who could get lifted in a good breeze eat like truck drivers here. L&P hate this rule the most because there is usually little left over for them. That is why Momo always orders them their very own croissant. Lucky duckies.

A word about personal space. Don't count on it. Get used to people in your face. They will bump you walking by, bop you with that pointy umbrella, knock you sideways with their suitcase sized purse or briefcase. Momo has the bruises to show for it. Particularly protecting the space for L&P, both Mr. Momo and Momo have some battle scars. And boy, those 3 inch heels can do some damage when they meet the top of your foot - like Momo's too-large feet!

And be prepared for lines everywhere and everyone taking their own sweet time once it is their turn. At the grocery for example. No one would think to get their money ready to pay before the cashier has finished ringing up all the items. Then it is time to hunt for your wallet, rearrange your purse, and dig for change in the black hole of the purse bottom. Oh, and here the customer bags their own stuff. Don't even think that the cashier will do it. They may hand you some bags if you have gotten in the line that gives bags (be careful - if you are not in the line that offers bags, you will not get one under any circumstance). So then after paying, counting their change, putting it away in each little compartment, putting down their purse, then and only then do they begin to bag their stuff. It isn't necessary to bag while the cashier is ringing. Only crazy Americans like us do that. So not only will there be no space between you and the next person in line, but it will take longer to check-out than to shop for the food no matter when you go. This is true of any line like place anywhere, like say La Poste - remember that blog? It just is the way it is. Bring an ipod, bring a book. Heck, bring a chair.

There you have it. Part A - manners to remember while in Paris. L&P have no rating for manners because, well, they have just one. Sit. Ok two. They can wave hello and good bye. Momo rates manners as a big old chore. No significant digit is available for that one.

And Then There was Chamonix

2007-07-02T09:12:00.001-07:00

Can anyone hear the Sound of Music soundtrack playing right now? Yeah, yeah, silly, but Chamonix is that charming. Our hotel was charming, the restaurants were charming, the town was charming. And everyone, including the tourists, were very very charming and nice. Momo didn't meet another crabby person, with the exception of herself. And that helped make it a very nice escape.

Chamonix did remind the Momo family of Vermont, but on serious steroids. Home of the first winter olympics, Chamonix still retains a lot of that kind of winter sports charm. People are still skiing because, well, it's a glacier and still has snow on it. Mont Blanc is very beautiful, large, and white. It almost air conditions the town, but not quite.

The best part of Chamonix for L&P was a dog stuff store where they reaped the benefits of being such good girls. They got lots of toys- good ones that won't break in five minutes, new winter jackets (where else?) and some very cool leashes for very big dogs. Not many small dogs there. About half of them were off leash and strutting around town with their humans. Dogs are really well liked there. L&P ate breakfast with Momo and Mr. Momo in the Hameau Albert restaurant - the fancy one. Even during dinner one can bring their well mannered four legged buddy with them.

Chamonix should not be missed if you can get there. Momo suggests a TGV train to Geneve (or as we call it, Geneva) and the smaller train to Chamonix. Even from Paris, the TGV train is a mere 3 hours and change. In a car it is about 5.5 long hours. Momo also recommends Le Hameau Albert 1er Hotel. You can walk everywhere once you are there.

This is a photo in the middle of town. A scenic view from anywhere. And here are L&P sharing breakfast in the restaurant.

The Momo and Mr. Momo as well as L&P rate Chamonix a big 10. They would live there if they could.

Momo Reports to you About Gondolas

2007-07-02T08:54:00.000-07:00

Normal people should not be giddy about getting in a metal box that is suspended by a wheel or two on a wire or two and travels up from about 4000ft to over 12,000ft in just a few minutes. No. They should not. But they are. All except the very very sane. And that would be Momo.

The tour group of elderly Asians ran into the gondola (almost 50 of them) like school children being called in for ice cream with jimmies. The gondola stood no chance of remaining dignified and still. It rocked like a cradle someone was kicking after no sleep with a colic laden baby. Momo was having many thoughts and none of them had to do with why she was compelled to go with Mr. Momo in a box of steel that high up.

It probably comes as a complete surprise to you that Momo is a big old chicken. Really. A big surprise. Ok, perhaps not a surprise. But seriously, here are a couple of pictures of this gondola thing. It takes you up over the tree tops while there is still life on the ground, to a mid point where you must exit and get on a new gondola and it changes direction and shoots you straight up over the glacier to the top of this rock.

And on the top of this rock is a lookout, a restaurant, and a gift shop and a cafeteria, a couple of camping potties and strangely, an elevator in the rock that takes one up what it terms as three floors (do you think Macy's might be on the 2nd floor?) to a platform lookout where Mr. Momo stitched the first picture together. He says it is breathtaking and frankly I believe him because there is absolutely no air at that height. Momo was praying for some oxygen to be pumped into the cafeteria, but alas, none.

It is an experience not to be missed if you are game and happen to be traveling through Chamonix one day. Just be sure to make a reservation, get there early anyway and bring your own portable oxygen.

And just for fun, there are those who like to walk on glaciers and apparently fall off mountains. They are in one of these photos. Just get out the magnifying glasses and you will see those silly silly people pretending they are very cool. By the way, while everyone in the valley was wearing tee shirts, a down jacket, mittens and wind gear are important up there.

Mr. Momo rates the gondola and glacier a big fat 10 again. Momo still is trying to breath so cut her some slack. At least she went. And L&P still could care less.

L&P like Chamonix Tres Bien

2007-07-02T05:24:00.000-07:00

L&P did enjoy their very very long car ride. Next time Momo says we must take the train. We did get to Switzerland, briefly, but not to Italy at least not that we knew of. Who can tell when the road signs welcome you everywhere in lots of languages, and none of them English . We were lucky we made it Chamonix. Directions are merely guidelines here. The drive was similar to central NY state, central valley in CA, and then suddenly, Vermont on steroids.

Our hotel was a a fine place. It is a family owned, called Le Hameau Albert 1er. L&P enjoyed the restaurant and the hotel grounds which were very pretty and green. Momo and Mr. Momo enjoyed the change of pace too. There was even room enough for everyone in the bed, though L&P were hogs as usual. The view from our windows was stunning too. All over Chamonix the view was stunning. This is a compilation panoramic stitched picture from Aiguille du Midi that Mr. Momo took.

The very next morning Momo and Mr. Momo were scheduled to ride the gondola up about 8000ft to Aiguille du Midi but Momo wasn't sure she was going to be able to do it. It is a big gondola as gondolas go, holding almost an entire tour group of elderly Chinese, and us. What Mr. Momo forgot to mention to Momo is that once you are gondola-esque you have a chance to chicken out half way up because you have to CHANGE gondolas. Momo was ready to walk back down, but alas, there was no way to go but up. Straight up. Momo peeked, but barely. Mostly Momo was trying to breath since the air was a little bit thin. At the top, Mr. Momo dropped Momo off in the cafeteria which is one measly floor under the restaurant with table clothes. Momo could not make it up one more flight of stairs at 12,ooo plus feet - one's feet move like they are nailed to the ground.

Just because it is good trivia, the restaurant at the top of Aiguille du Midi is the highest one on the planet. Momo thought the cafeteria one measly flight down was good enough. Thankfully, L&P were cozy and sleeping back in the hotel room, which if Momo was a wiser person, would be choosing to be there instead of up here.

L&P have nothing to say about the Mount Blanc except they were curious about the white stuff. Mr. Momo rates it a big giant 10 and Momo has memory block.

To the Alps We Go, But Not on the Metro

2007-06-27T09:28:00.001-07:00

Well, kids, L&P, Momo and Mr. Momo are off to the Alps for the weekend. L&P think they are going skiing. Momo has explained that skiing is done for the season and aside from that rentals for four feet are just too expensive. Times two.

So they will be content as long as we make it over to Italy and have some pasta and bread.

To pass the time, L&P wanted you to see a picture from a recent Metro ride. That is Dad with them, or as one person with a great sense of humor, said, Mr. Momo.

In this photo, L is wondering why Momo keeps getting the camera out and embarrassing her, and P is looking off into the sunset thinking she smells McDos French Fries.

Until next week when we will humor you with information about the Metro, Pastries, and the every so interesting shoe empire in Paris - take good care.

L&P rate riding in a car (tomorrow) a big improvement over the Metro, so, say a big 9. They have no concept of time, so I bet that rating will fall a bit after 4 hours of staring at each other stuck in seat belts.

Your Guide to Shopping According to Momo with A Snort from L&P

2007-06-26T06:33:00.001-07:00

L&P suggest you skip it. Shopping with the George-Bush-Thank-You-Euro-Dollar-Exchange will make you cry eventually. The Euro price sounds pretty good until you look at your actual bank transaction and then honestly, it is a sad sad moment.

However, if you must shop, here the some useful things to know that Momo sugggests you memorize.

1. Store hours are merely guidelines. If it says it is open until 9PM, well it might be. And it might not be. The store may close at 8:45PM say for no other reason than to just close. So don't go expecting to shop until 9PM. Opening hour is usually ok, but I would never get there on the dot of opening. You just may have to stand out in the rain for a little bit.

2. Employees of the store are not there for your benefit. They are there for their own benefit. Please don't confuse the two. While it is polite to greet them with a nice bonjour, don't expect that to be a segue into them waiting on you.

Unions, the ever popular manager of all things called work in France dictates the role of an employee and you, the shopper, are there to guess what that role might be. For example, there are stockers who are not to be confused with sales clerks who are not to be confused with cashiers, who are not to be confused with merchandise movers. What, you ask is the difference between a stock person and a merchandise mover? Ah, glad you asked. A stock person merely fetches stock from wherever stock might be. A merchandise mover is the one to move the items in one display to another. All day long.

So, lesson here. Listen up. Don't think you can go back to the same store and find the stuff you thought you should have gotten yesterday and expect to find it where you last left it. Uh uh. It will either be gone, disbursed among other things, or rearranged somewhere else. If you don't buy it the first time, forget it. Remember that scary Michael Douglas movie with Brittany Murphy doing that sing songy voice - "You'll never find it" ? Or whatever that line was I hear it every time, but I suspect I just rewrote it. And sadly, there is not a union job for helping you locate moved items.

That is, unless you happen upon them moving the stuff. Then, my suggestion is to just follow them. It works. I have done it successfully. It does not hurt to look pitiful either. They may let you pick through it, but that is rare.

3. Along the lines of retail employees, here is another tidbit. They do not care that the item is not your size (for proof, see my shoe posts). They want you to buy it so they will pester you with lines like: You buy it? You take? All done? My lunch time, you buy? No more sizes, you buy? Take? And my personal favorite, wrapping it up just because you handed it to them. Often there is a you-touched-it-you-buy-it unspoken rule. Be assertive. I have had salespeople look like I took their candy bar when I said non. When I purchased some fleece fabric to pretend it was a fleece blanket for L&P I asked for 2 (thinking yards) and apparently I got 2 meters. We have a big big blanket. As the cutter (that is her sole "job") was unfolding the bolt, I realized my error and stopped her at the point where I thought there was plenty. Non, non was her reply, Duex. I asked for duex and duex is what I was getting even though it wasn't cut yet. It's an awfully nice big blankie. And conversely, some don't care if you buy anything. It is not their job to sell anything to you.

4. When you say bonjour and parlez vous anglais and the clerk says oui, perhaps they do and perhaps they do not. It isn't like English is even a second language here so don't expect much. While I am sure many French speak English, those people are probably not working in the retail world - at least that is my experience. Better for you to learn some important French phrases first.

5. And speaking of phrases. Don't bother with "how much" which is what the books want you to know. Learn stuff like, where is (fill in the blank), or sizes, numbers past ten, gift, please wrap, for a man, for me. All those little things you take for granted when shopping make for giant roadblocks if you don't know the language. How much is usually right on the tag or a sign. They are good about marking merchandise clearly with prices.

5.5 And speaking of prices - you will be surprised to know that many items are the same price as they are in the US. For example, I purchased some Origins products that were marked with the identical price I pay at home. But ha ha ha. It was Euros, not dollars. So if you have moments like I do, you may actually think the price is fine. That is, until you realized you just paid about a 30% premium for the same stuff plus the bank's 3% international transaction fee. Many products are global now and are marked with similar prices here and in the US. But don't be fooled. Because of the Euro's strength and the dollar's weakness, you are gonna pay dearly. Better to take a bigger suitcase and bring that stuff than to pay for it here. For now.

6. Stores are closed on Sunday and some are closed on Saturday. If you don't buy food for Sunday before Sunday, you might go hungry. And if you want to do some other shopping, head to the tourist spots. Everyone around them breaks the rules, pays the fines, and counts on the tourist traffic to make up the difference. But in the regular neighborhoods you might as well stay in bed because there is literally nothing open. For many French, especially in retail or the service industry, Sunday is their only day off.

7. Some stores close for lunch. Watch out for that. You could easily be cooling your heels for two hours waiting for it to reopen. And most stores close around 7PM with the exception of one night, often Thursday where they are open later.

7.5 Not all stores are open M-S. Some are only open T-S. Some are closed Sunday and Tuesday. Check the hours, the days, and call just to be sure.

8. Security in stores is very very common. You will see a nicely dressed man in a suit positioned at each entrance and exit with a little walkie-talkie and the ever essential "secret service" bug in his ear. They look imposing. Say bonjour and be kind to them. They get ignored all day long. And they will often open the door for you. Again, like the men in green, another realm of employment in France. From time to time one might follow you around a smaller store. That has happened to me a few times, but your job is to ignore them if they do that. Pretend not to notice and don't steal anything either. It would be rude.

9. Don't always expect to get a shopping bag. In some stores there is a line for saving the planet and if you don't learn a little bit of French quite fast, you will find yourself shoving your purchases into your handbag. Bring one of those tiny fold up carry bags and stick it in your pocket or purse. It will come in handy.

10. Don't count on returning anything. Sometimes you can bring stuff back, but you will only get a store credit or have to exchange it, if you can do anything at all.

Shop in France, but be selective. L&P would like you to know that if you come here with your puppy, please bring lots of good toys. It is hard to find dog toys here and they are expensive. L&P rate shopping a big old 2 because frankly, they would rather be napping. Momo rates shopping day by day, and typically it ranges from a 5 to an 8.

Finding the Bottom of the Very Big Eiffel

2007-06-26T01:06:00.000-07:00

It took almost two months, but once we (ok, Momo) figured out that the Metro lingo of Tour Eiffel, was not tour the Eiffel, but Eiffel Tower, we finally made it to the base of the very big thing.

We have photographed it from all over the city, but never from underneath and so close. L&P were totally unimpressed, but honestly, they never looked up. They were focused on the continuous sidewalk buffet which is riveting almost all day long. Momo and Dad almost never look up either because they have to anticipate where to walk that is least laden with crap, of all kinds. Looking up has its advantages - say, watching for very large flying bird poop, or looking at giant metal sculptures.

The first photo is L&P on the wall of the quay by the Seine very close to the looming tower. Actually it just looms close, but it is still far away, about one pastry's worth of calories I would think.

Next is a photo that we took at night from Trocadero just because we could.

The Tour Eiffel is one of Momo's favorites because it just sits there. You can walk away, far away, and turn around and it is still there. Why that amuses Momo is any one's guess, but it does. At the base of the Eiffel there is a nice park that gave L&P a little time with green grass, but watch out for the extra poop, glass, and other odd things, oh like gum dropped from the top of the Tour by a certain teenager who shall remain nameless (you know who you are- wink wink!). Even with the hazardous stuff, the Eiffel beats the Champs Elysees anytime.

If you come to Paris, here is where you need to go to enjoy Tour Eiffel. First thing to do is to get on the Metro, line 9 to Issy and go right past FDR to Trocadero. walk up from the underground to the plaza and don't turn around yet and don't look left. Walk past the buildings into the center of the plaza and stop and slowly turn around.

Voila!

There you have your first breathtaking Eiffel moment that you will never forget. Of course you must ignore the hawkers selling junk and the other gawking tourists - seriously, ignore them. If you smile at the hawkers they will follow you everywhere. If it is a nice day and you are feeling ambitious, walk down to the fountains. Or not. We didn't our first time there. If you are in Paris for more than a couple of days, take your time. It is worth it to come back again and let the first images be alone in your head for a while. If you came during the day, be sure to come back after dark and vice-versa. On the hour at night, Tour Eiffel is a disco for about 10 minutes. They started that for the millennium and everyone likes it, except for Momo and other people who might be prone to, oh I don't know, seizures and migraines precipitated by giant flashing lights?

Again, L&P found the plaza to be magnificent because they could have a lunch break eating the leftover snacks strewn all over. There are giant openings in some of the stone work (yes, on purpose) and big enough to swallow a BT foot, so they had to maneuver around those carefully. They were adept at that right away. It was Momo who took a little more time not to panic about disappearing doggie toes. At Trocadero Dad took lots of L&P photos and so did the paparazzi. Do you think tourists have never seen dogs before?

The next place you must go are the bridges or ponts up and down the Seine and find your own favorite view of the Tour. There are many and it is worth a walk. Just take a Metro out to an area near a Pont on the far side of the Tour, like Pont Bir Hakeim on the number 6 I think and walk across the bridge and toward the Eiffel. It is a pretty walk and you can have at least two pastries for that effort. L&P did that walk and they had an ice cream cone. Neither of them are losing weight! They barely fit into the clothes they came with, the little piggies.

As you get closer cross the bridge back over to the tower across from the Trocadero plaza and you have arrived to view the Eiffel from underneath. The lines to get into the tower are hours long most times of the day. L&P are not fans of great heights (ok, Momo is not a fan of great heights) so skipping the ride up was ok with them. It was way more fun to have an ice cream. French ice cream is really custardy and very yummy.

One more place to go. Momo likes this place very much especially when there are few tourists there. It is a brasserie at the base of Pont Alma next to the Metro. If you sit just right you can view the Eiffel and the Seine. It is a nice spot to sit with your cafe and enjoy. They also make the best croque monsieur and have a very tasty fromage blanc with berries. Momo has been testing the croque monsieur all over Paris and she likes this one best. L&P like the jambon best.

Momo is sure there are other places to view Tour Eiffel, but after conferring with L&P these are still our favorites.

For our visits to the Eiffel, L&P say a big so what - for the trips to the grounds around the Eiffel, L&P rate it a big 10. Momo gives it a big 10 too. Not the ground, the places. And don't forget to get the croque monsieur.

In Honor of Migraines in Paris L&P Become Siamese Twins

2007-06-22T05:52:00.001-07:00

I tend to lurch about when I have a migraine. My right leg doesn't move in sync with the left. P and I look awfully similar lurching down the street in sync. I don't much talk about my migraines, but since this is Paris, I think the Paris migraine deserves a little post of its own.

These migraines are not new to me, but since we arrived in Paris it was weeks before a migraine showed up which is, well, novel. I was beginning to do Ommmm Paris and make plans to just stay right here. But now I know that the migraine can travel just as handily as we do. It just took the long slow boat probably because it had so much extra luggage.

Migraines tend to make me cranky and I think, creative. Cranky is easy to understand. Everything is pretty much skewed - things like letters, directions, patience, and my capability to shop with any common sense. Perhaps that is part of the creative process? Some would question the logic of that statement, like the person whose credit card I use. The creative part could be all in my head, but my brain does think differently when I am having a migraine. Think Lewis Carrol and poor little Alice down the rabbit hole. I would love to claim that kind of brilliance, but, alas, I think my creativity might be limited to odd color combinations and bad food. And interpreting photos in weird ways, thus the Siamese Twins joined at the Butt.

I find that I am more akin to my French fellow shoppers when I am like this. I can do cranky as well as they do. I do a very suave excusez-moi and pardon, and my best, the big exhaled sigh. On other non-migraine days I kind of whisper that stuff because I don't want anyone to hear my accent, which still sounds like Syracuse. French accent and Syracuse accent(upstate New York) - not a good match.

I have a fine medication that interrupts the migraine cycle but I still can get a dull throb which feels like your head is stuffed with not cotton, but cellophane. Crinkle sounds and all that can go on for hours. Creativity doesn't limit itself to just what I see. I think I can sing too which is horrifying for those around me. Believe me, sounds during a migraine are much closer than they appear in your brain.

In Paris, versus home ordinaire, the use of migraine is a novel way to examine this city of lights. For instance, the Eiffel Tower visually looks completely different right now. On a non-migraine day it is giant, looms large and is very impressive. During a migraine, in addition to those fine qualities, it also is a bit shiny, and can bend like a shape changer, depending on the light, and looms quite a bit too close for comfort.

And don't get me started on Le Louvre. I have experienced it mid-migraine and I can tell you that there are ghosts that are very very unhappily lingering in the tombs of that place. Once upon a time when it was a palace, not all days were happy days. Sometimes it is just the smell,um, like sewer, or zoo, or a shadow of light, or the funny looking stains on the ancient stone that brings out those ghosts. And no, not one of them looks like Casper.

And trust me, Mona Lisa (who thought up that name anyway?) looks astonishingly silly with or without a migraine. I would avoid Le Louvre during a migraine.

And it would be good if the fussy old French ladies would stay out of my way in the midst of a migraine. They do peevish like no one else on earth. I swear that they get to be that old because no one, not a disease, not another person would dare kill them for fear of reprisal. That is, until I show up with a migraine and an attitude to match and several inches of height, and let us not forget my feet-too-large. Watch out old peevish ones.

So, just for listening to this odd post, I rate your allegiance to all things L&P in Paris as a big 10. Now I shall find a very dark room and two joined-at-the-butt puppies who smell most wonderful during a migraine, to keep me company.

Men in Green

2007-06-22T01:59:00.001-07:00

For weeks now I have observed the street clean-up workers on a daily basis. They arrive in little green trucks with bright green jumpsuits, with brooms that resemble Halloween witches broomsticks - the bristles are bright green too. Their job as I have seen it is to flood the gutter and sweep all the litter and refuse in the raging water to the drains or if the stuff is large, into the garbage. Since the water only rages down the gutter, I wonder how the trash in the middle of the street knows to wiggle on over, because I have never seen them use the broom anywhere but in the flooding gutters?

There are mountains of litter on the street each day. First you have tons of cigarette butts - because with 12 out of 10 smokers chain smoking, and no public ashtrays, where else would you put a used butt? Hopefully not in the trash, if you can find one.

Next are the tons and tons of confetti-like Metro tickets. Many people seem to buy daily passes instead of the weekly one and dispose of them when they exit the Metro. The typical place to lighten the load from the weighty little ticket is at the top of the stairs just the tiniest little bit touching the street. Not on the stairs for the most part, and not in the Metro stations for the most part too. Those tickets get tossed on the street where they will see the underside of the green broom sometime that day. A street garbage container is always behind the Metro stairs, not at the top of the stairs, so you would have to, say, walk fifteen steps all together to toss it in the trash.

Also, lunch leaves some interesting litter around. Not just around the eateries, but all over. It is L&P's favorite time to go outside -after lunch. Morning time may see some croissant crumbs or bag or two from famous McDo's, but the after lunch sidewalk buffet is their favorite hour. There you can find sandwich leftovers, drinks, usually cold drinks. You won't find tons of paper cups like from Starbucks because the French are civilized about how they drink coffee and it is a serious business, at a cafe in real cups. And really there is very little food littered about. The French are serious about their food too, and do not waste a thing. If there is food litter, it accidentally fell to the ground.

And then there is all the rest of the stuff. I've seen a bit of clothing, rags, paper, maps, bolts, nails, a bra, lots of booze bottles, and miscellaneous trash. Each block is flooded from an individual spout, so the mountain of trash moving to the gutter is from just one street. Add all that together and the land fill must be enormous. There is little recycling in this area where we are, so everything is dumped together. There are trash poles on the street with guess what color plastic garbage bags hanging from them that are changed a few times a day? Can't miss those shamrock green plastic bags, like the brooms, trucks, and uniforms. But apparently many people do.

The street cleaning crew is something to see. Often at the end of the business day in our area of the city there are two crews outside, and sometimes I have counted more than a dozen green men. All men. I have never seen a woman in the green uniform. Shamrock green is just not flattering. I have watched them now for weeks, every day because L&P and I venture out about the time they show up. For the five minutes or so I get to watch, four of those minutes are spent with the green uniform guys either talking on their cell phones, looking at their cell phones, or talking to someone else who is watching their cell phone. Then maybe one man out of the entire group will take a broom and the cleaning begins. Then they all climb in their various trucks or leave by foot and off they go. But not just yet. The ones who are in the green trucks, once more, go through the cell phone routine before they start the truck. It isn't that they don't all do work. I just have not figured out what all of the work they do entails. In a city with unions galore dictating every task in most workplaces, it is a sure bet that each of the men in green have a responsibility, and the guy with the green broom is not gonna be the one to, say, drive the truck, or change the shamrock green garbage bags.

Rue Joubert is a dead end. I don't think the map indicates that by the amount of traffic we get that gets stuck at the end of our street. The green trucks always park at the end of the street in the middle so that anyone ignorant of the dead end fact cannot see the dead end. They merely see a truck parked in the middle of the street, which around here is not uncommon. So they pull up behind it. And wait. And wait patiently some more. Then others follow behind doing the same thing. Parisians for the most part are very patient at waiting.

The other evening the traffic became so dense I was sure it would take a day to clear out. And soon the green truck moved - didn't actually leave. Just moved a bit so now the car stuck behind him could see the barriers ending the street. Oops. L&P and I escaped because that just would not have been fun to watch as the entire line of cars tried to back out of the street. Rue Joubert is narrow. You almost cannot get two cars on the street side by side although everyone does try it. Just don't open your car door.

And lots of scooters use Rue Jourbert to get to the RER station under our apartment. They park on the sidewalk. Often they drive on the sidewalk too. That makes L&P nervous. Momo too. Some of them need to learn how to drive - maybe they think they are still driving hot wheels? L, totally out of character has reached her limits with those scooters because her new thing is to try to give them traffic tickets as they go by. How do I know this? Let's just say the peevish look on her face reminds me of Miss Marples (did I get that name right). Ah, well, you know what I mean. Think of your most constipated teacher in junior high school who shook her finger at you every day just for breathing. There. That is L with a naughty scooter driver blowing by her on the sidewalk.

So, the green cleaners have a big job to do everyday all day long. Street cleanup in Paris is big big business. Unlike what we are used to in many parts of the US, these trucks are small, and very very clean, spit polish clean every day. And in good repair. I have not seen one yet that doesn't look almost new and well, bright shiny green.

The men in green have seen me pick up L&P poop, and I hope they appreciate it. Somehow I don't think they care much. And by the way, if dog poop isn't sitting in the gutter where it floods, it might not get cleaned up by them. Sometimes they clean it up and other times they leave it. I am never sure why. But eventually the center of the street gets cleaned too though I have never observed it being done. Magic? Or very very big relatives of the mice we met at that very nice restaurant.

So for the men in green, Momo rates them a nice 7. Men in purple would be every so much more fetching, but the men in green with their coordinating accessories are very shiny. L&P have concurred and rate them a bit fat zip because they take all the good stuff away just in time for the early bird special buffet. L&P have yet to realize that the proper dinner hour in Paris begins at 8PM, silly girls.

The Right Way to Le Bon Marche or Face the Bird Patrol

2007-06-20T05:31:00.001-07:00

There are many kinds of poop in Paris. Plenty of dog poop. You can find it everywhere and it is prudent to step smartly or you will stink the rest of the day. Keeping watch above you, however, is definitely not in any instruction (ok, travel) book about Paris. Today, I learned the hard way that your feet aren't the only thing in peril.

Oh, and just for the record, Momo and Dad scoop the L&P poop.

The other kind of poop, which had not entered my thoughts, that is, until it landed on my head, my shirt, my new prada shoulder bag, and half my hand, comes from very very large birds. Exceptionally large birds. And frankly, smells just like, well, stinky poop. Perhaps that is why many older Parisians wear hats?

For today's adventure, I took the big M to Le Bon Marche. Even though I perused the website and read about the store in travel books and even heard it mentioned by friends who have lived here, (yes, you) everyone failed to mention that Le Bon Marche is a Neiman Marcus look-alike set in Paris. It is completely similar to the San Francisco Neiman's in decor and layout and stock. And don't we all know that shopping in Neimans is a bad idea if you are adorned with let's say, bird poop all over your black tee shirt and shoulder bag, even if it is prada? And probably your dark hair although a mirror might have confirmed that. It certainly smelled like that. I would like to add that whatever that giant bird ate should be banned from its diet in the future.

I was not going to turn around and go home after getting myself there. Especially since the adventure included getting lost, and then found again thanks to a nice tourist with a real map (no, I didn't have one - they make little sense anyway except to people with map type brains). The Metro was the easy part. It was which direction after stumbling out of the underground that foiled me. The only instructions on the website was which M to take, not which sortie to take. The Metro map clearly showed the store right there. Those map makers. I think they drink a lot of french wine while they draw those things. The Metro map was also not a big help. The Metro stop is designated with big white circle. You can't discern direction from a blob with no arrows. So of course I have a momentary mental brain scream, and start off in the opposite direction I should be trotting in, which is undoubtedly why the bird, on stupid tourist patrol, felt obligated to poop on me.

So I use the only tissue in my pocket to wipe three quarters of a cup of bird crap off my black shirt leaving lots of white tissue flecks and remnants so that I look crowd pleasing and smell good too. I didn't think it would matter because I assumed the store would be crowded with shoppers and no one would really notice me. I was about the only customer on the entire floor. And the next floor and the bottom one too. And I bet I was the only one there this entire day who was decorated with bird crap too.

Bon Marche for those interested, is a very diverse store. Unlike in the US where department stores have, well, department store merchandise, Bon Marche would like to appeal to both the couture and the artist that dwell within, so that is why you can find both couture and oil pants quite near one another. In the next building you can find everything epicure as well as books, toys and clothing for les enfant. You have to actually enter the epicure which translates to very nice grocery couture, if you will, in order to go down to the minus one floor to get some children's things. In the other building, if you are on the minus one floor, you may go through the underground to reach the other building. Tunnels tunnels everywhere. By the way, what we call the 1st floor is the zero floor here. Up one is the 1st floor. And down one is the minus one floor.

The lesson here is to watch both up and down as you stroll. You never really know where all the poop is going to be. And go in the right direction the first time. You probably would avoid getting pooped on by the bird patrol.

Momo rates Bon Marche a good 5 for the library like hush and the odd variety of merchandise. If they used a bit more air conditioning Momo might have bumped up the rating. L&P rate it a big fat 0 because they don't carry any stuff for les chiens.

Encore Presentation: Shoe Story Part Deux

2007-06-19T04:55:00.000-07:00

And yet another chapter from the shoe story. Clever girl that I am, I checked to see if the shoe store had a website. Well, ok, someone slightly smarter than me suggested a website. And voila. I managed to not only score the shoes, but score them from a completely French website without having to deal with the store personnel, because we know how well that went.

I got a note back, actually two identical notes like the sender was making an exclamation point. The shoes they are "exhausted" in the size I requested. Oops, tired shoes? Too tired for delivery? Apparently.

Next, I send in an order for the next size down (umm, willingly thinking I can shorten my toes?). I get a note back saying those shoes were "done and exhausted" but they did have one perky pair left in this other size that they are sure would be good for me, never mind that we are now two sizes smaller than at the start. Well, sure. Why not. I needed to send a note to confirm, and I sent it in English. My note went something like this: Before I order these, can you tell me what size this corresponds to in American shoe sizes? - thank you.

And here you go - this is the note I got back.

"Madame, We received your mall and we thank you. We record your ordering of the model COLLA, Noir, in size 41 and half. You by wishing good reception in the next days, Sincere greetings service of Mail order trading"

My very perky, very small shoes are on the way. Seems they understand English the same way I understand French. I should send them a link to Alta vista Babel Fish translation.

For major effort on their part to make sure I get a perky pair of shoes rather than the exhausted ones, I rate their website a 10+. For translating my English note, I must give them another 10 for creativity.

L&P Audition for the Role of Chess Pieces at Palais Royal

2007-06-19T03:28:00.000-07:00

Here are L&P doing their best imitation of chess pieces, pawns actually, in the Palais Royal courtyard. They were mighty impressed with the chess board and felt obligated to pose for quite some time so that everyone could get their fair share at the photo shoot.

Momo was kind and didn't get in the way of many of the paparazzi. However, she did shut down the photo shoot when another contender for the pawn role strolled into the picture. P was having none of that and wanted to go off to discuss role sharing with the new Fifi.

Instead, the whole photo shoot got rained out and Momo and Dad ran with L&P to the nearest hole to the M so that we could get home before we were soaked. Did Momo mention it rained again this weekend?

P rated the courtyard a big 10. She enjoyed the fact that the photo shoot was next to a sewer drain. L was stoic and would rate the Palais an 8 because truth be told, she enjoyed the sewer too. Momo saw her sniffing. Momo and Dad would just wish for the rain to stop for a bit.

L&P visit Monet's Giverny for the Green Green Grass

2007-06-18T07:19:00.000-07:00

For all those who are Monet fans, I am about to perhaps pee on your day so read on at your own risk. We thought we would give the countryside a try and drive out to Giverny to see the village and partake of the ambiance called Monet's house. We knew that the L&P would not be welcome in the "museum" but we figured we could get the thrill of being in the village and take in some gift shops and flowers.

But before we arrive in Giverny, let us have a moment to discuss the French Countryside. First and foremost, are there no zoning laws in France? How is it that along the route to Giverny even off the beaten track there are more McDo's than I can count in California? And while the McDo's in Paris are at least somewhat amusing with their funky and mixed architecture, how in the world did the cookie cutter McDo building get plopped into the French countryside right next to centuries old stone churches and farms? And it is just McDo's. You won't see a walmart anywhere, nor a Wendy's or Burger King. So who does Ronald McDonald know in Europe? The Pope? The Queen? Napoleon?

I digress. We arrive in Giverny to find that the signs are labeled so that where to park is quite clear if you read minds. You can park in the next town, or try the parking lot near Giverny, and walk walk walk, or you can drive through Giverny and run over all of the tourists who are meandering about looking for Giverny in the middle of the road. Finally one comes upon Giverny quite by accident. However, truth be told, the buses may have been a clue. We found a nice grassy patch to park and L&P having not seen grass in over a month were beside themselves with overfilled bladders waiting to mark every inch of the place.

We peed our way to the information center where Dad was supposed to get clear directions to every gift shop, but came out with some dopey map which made Giverny the size of Paris and Monet's house the size of the Louvre. Gotta love the map makers here.

So off we go, and the first thing we spy is this sign - the first picture. Goody for us. No Scotties or miniature Schnauzers allowed. So that is good news for Boston Terriers it would seem. Or not. And second, look carefully. Red Riding hood is not welcome in this village at all. I think that could be a problem since it is the countryside after all. Makes you wonder exactly where the big bad wolf is hanging out?

Apparently there are only two silhouettes for dogs utilized in France with a few different poses thrown in for variety. There is this one obviously. The other is Fifi the poodle. And with Fifi one can have the sign with leash or without leash. Oh and don't forget the line through the dog on the escalator in the middle of Le Louvre where there should not be a dog anyway. More variety: with leash, walking themselves (that is translated to leash in dogs mouth) or leash on the back with no one walking the dog, but the dog pretending that it is being walked? It did not have, however, a silhouette of a human carrying said Scottie/schnauzer or Fifi, did it? Makes you wonder what exactly is in Red's basket!

So we were limited to the roads as were most of the tourists. Each time we arranged the L&P for a photo some clown (or two or three hundred) would whip out the cameras and start shooting - as you know by now L&P are a tourist attraction- and by this time, Momo was being a bit of a mean Momo and would move just into the frame blocking them from capturing L&P. However, if they asked politely first, Momo would let them photograph L&P.

It was warm, there were lots of bugs which made P very excited. This is, after all, her first summer ever, so bugs have special appeal. L snorted a bunch, peevishly unhappy with walking on the road and not being able at all to access the splendid perfect for sniffing, green green grass around us.

While Momo took advantage of a gift shop, only one of two available without paying an entrance fee, Dad took L&P to the cafe patio for lunch. Lunch was an event. It was as though we entered a time warp on a different planet called, we have never seen dogs with clothes, planet. Everyone, and I mean everyone was pointing to L&P and giggling at their tee shirts and harnesses. And getting the cameras out. Finally one elderly couple at the next table twisted around and the woman asked in French first- why are the bulldog francais wearing those -as she simultaneously pointed to the sun and their tee shirts? Dad replied since Momo was busy rolling her eyes, that often they are cold and when we started out it was cold. Then she pointed to the sun again like that had some significance to dogs wearing tee shirts. Perhaps she was asking where their sun hats were? So the conversation went downhill from there. She appointed herself governor of the patio because she would say "Everyone want to know why dog wear jacket?" Sigh. Dad, kind man, replied, since the cold response didn't do it, that they like tee shirts. They always wear clothes (not true, but often). Again, "Everyone want to know why, they dog,no, hum?" Momo is now chewing her lunch very slowly so that she will not have to speak. Dad looks momentarily like he would like P to pee on the governor's shoes. So he shrugs, and says. They are American. Dogs wear clothes in America. That proceeded to make the governor shake her head and translate for her husband, who had smartly kept quiet the whole time.

While Dad finished up lunch Momo took L&P for a little stroll past Monet's house, now a musee, just to see if there were any places to snatch a peek at the gardens. The answer is no. And Momo would like to commend the jerk who supplies the web site pictures because it looks like the front of the house in the picture, full of gardens, is totally accessible to the street which is why we went there. Umm, no. That is apparently a photo of the house from the back. The street version is a pretty stone house with green shutters right up on the road and totally blocked by the hoards of tourists in line to get in.

Momo, L&P strolled past the line to lots of snickering at L&P. Or who knows, maybe at Momo. Momo gave each snickering tourist-person stink-eye on behalf of L&P just in case. At one point a large man loomed out of the line and in rapid French asked questions that Momo just could not follow. She apologized and asked if he spoke any English. At that, he waved his arm and pretty much missed slapping Momo by an inch and said something not so kind about English and turned away. I am assuming that was a "no". Further down the line as we strolled L&P's leash did a sharp twang and Momo almost lost her arm in the process. Apparently some fine fool tossed a half eaten hot dog at L&P. P being who she is did a 180 in midair (thus, the arm socket yank) and flew to meet the hot dog. L, knowing it was junk food, gave it the old peevish "are you kidding - I eat better stuff than that on the street in Paris - look. Fortunately Momo caught the action and pulled P midair away from the flying hot dog which landed with a thunk on the road. P was sad, but she quickly got over it. Momo's big question though, was, where the heck did a hot dog come from in Giverny?

So Momo never did get into Monet's house, nor the gift shop which was in the house - in Monet's studio. A sacred pause please. That fact deserves a moment of silence. Really.

L&P, turns out, did not care that the day was funny. They enjoyed a bit of green grass and loved riding in the car. They woke up just in time to snarl a bit at the scooters cutting through traffic back in Paris. L&P rate the grass in Giverny a big 10. Momo rates lunch in Giverny a big 2 because the Evian was chilled. Momo also rates the gift shop with many things Monet a big 1 because the labels all said the stuff was made in Mexico or China. Hello?

The Bridge, The Eiffel, The Night, and One Photo

2007-06-17T09:04:00.000-07:00

L&P took the Metro to Place Concorde with Momo and Dad for some night time photos of Eiffel and the Paris lights on the bridge, Pont Alexander lll. It is a bit of hike to this bridge over the Seine and L&P are not very fond of the dark streets. They bore it well though, unlike Momo who not only does not like the dark very much, but prefers to have her Metro trains stop exactly where she wants to visit, rather than miles and miles away. Oh all right, blocks and blocks away.

The problem with night time photography is that in order to get L&P framed in the photo along with the bridge and the Seine and the Eiffel, no one else can be nearby. Oh, like le tourists with cameras who move into the frame and start shooting their own photos of L&P. Do they think L&P took themselves to the bridge and attached their own leashes to the posts using their girl scout knot knowledge? If that were true, then where would they keep their Metro cards? Perhaps in their trusty smooshy jowl-pouches? They certainly weren't wearing fanny packs. And I can tell you their tee shirts have no pockets. Did le tourists think to look behind their own rear ends to notice us standing there working with the L&P to get them to smile a bit for the camera. Nope. So 90% of our photos are adorned with other picture-taker's ass-ends. If we were able to collect just a single euro for each unauthorized photo of the L&P we would pay for this trip and send them to Harvard.

I can offer you this one single photo that somewhat worked, after I cropped out blackberry man who was consumed with photographing them so much so that he left once and came back for an encore and a recitation about a photographer in the UK who photographs street dogs, whatever that means. So if anyone spots published photos of two little BTs looking a little peevish wearing Jasper & Lenore striped tee shirts overlooking the Seine, please do let us know. We would at least like the royalties for their college fund.

L&P rate the city of lights night time view from Pont Alexander a good 5. It might have been higher had le tourists brought them treats, say croissants. Momo rated it a 4 because her feet hurt and it was, well, pretty dark for a city of lights.

Of Mice and Michelin-Must-See-Restaurants

2007-06-15T06:14:00.000-07:00

What do you call it when you dine in a Michelin recommended restaurant and your dinner companions are mice? Oops? Or ooo la la oops?. Last night we walked around L'Opera to Boulavard des Capucines and found a very old, tres grand restaurant connected to a very grand old hotel.

L&P were not invited, and before you take offense, please know that they were wild little chiens all day long and could not be counted on to have any manners for such a dinner. However, that said, I don't think mice would have joined us if L&P were there. Later when we told them, they thought that was very funny indeed.

It was another of those 6 course dinners that sound fantastic and taste ok. I especially enjoyed the liverwurst and duck course which was hilariously called fois gras on the menu. I didn't fall off a turnip truck - I know the le difference between fois gras and liverwurst. Ha. (not even pate). Next course was lobster that obviously came from Maine two seasons back. It wasn't spoiled, just cooked to last for such a voyage. The lamb was pretty, but it was not lamb. We call it mutton. Close, looks the same, and even cooks up pretty much the same. But doesn't taste the same. However, the cheese course was fantastic and the desert very odd. It was a strawberry rhubarb compote and on the side in a shot glass filled with sugar was a stick. And on the stick was cotton candy. Just in case the mice started doing circus tricks and you wanted a concession treat for act two? I don't know. It just seemed odd. The compote thing was good, but at the bottom was pureed rhubarb. Just rhubarb. Kind of like pulling the stalk out of the ground and munching on it because the logic is pink=ripe. Wonder if the pastry chef actually ever tasted rhubarb? It needs assistance to taste like anything. Just pureed rhubarb is a shock and it was the last bite of the desert. Now that is one way to have your guests remember you, huh?

So the mice make an entrance at the next table over during our cheese course. Coincidence? I think not. The cheese was excellent and they must know that. The entire table of 6 jumped for their lives and the women now had their feet up on the table. And yes people, they did yell EEEEKKK. Out loud. English, French, all the same. EEEKKKK. But I have to say, EEEKKKK with a French accent is not as grating as EEEKKKK in English. Apparently the size of the mouse ranged from just a wee bit to the size of bugs bunny. Nonetheless, my feet found a perch off the floor too. Some ladies from China at another table close by spoke not English, French or EEEKKK because they just frowned at the jabbering and didn't move any of their feet.

Fortunately we were closing in on the end of our once forgettable, and now not so much forgettable, meal. Our waiter spoke perfect English for the two phrases he repeated each time. The first time, it was kind of sweet when he asked as he cleared our first course: "you like this?" Tres bon I answered thinking that would make him happy. Next he asked: "more bread you like?" And there you have his entire English vocabulary. Much like my French. If we had only one course I would have been fooled into thinking he spoke English. But after 6 courses, he repeated his phrases each time, in the same order and we knew that was the sum total of his English ability. He even asked if we wanted bread with our desert. Hey, if it works, use it, I guess.

The table of 6 cleared out to another location sans mice entertainment and we were left alone to fend for ourselves. Fortunately the mice were just as scared of us as we, ok, I was of them, so no repeat performances.

L&P thought the whole thing was just hilarious. Momo - frightened of wee bitty rodent. We rate our Michelin-must-see-restaurant a big 8 for entertainment, and a little bitty 4 for food. L&P said mutton was fine with them and would rate it a big fat 7.

Madam! The Feet - Too Large - L&P Say Mon Dieu !

2007-06-14T07:44:00.000-07:00

Really???? I didn't know that until you told me, the entire store, and pretty much the people on the street as well. HELLO. NOT. DEAF. Usually it is the Americans who speak loud and slow to the French as though they are deaf and stupid. Guess it was dumb American day.

Here is the story. Last week I wandered in to a shoe store near our itty bitty apartment because the sign said they had shoes up to two sizes bigger than my giant feet and I could use some shoes. That is, after two weeks of reading the sign and finally translating it. I had L&P with me and they were amazingly good girls. The saleswoman spoke no English, but could say "ok". I felt bad telling her that most of the shoes were "non ok" but she was still nice and cheerfully fetched more shoes in my size. I got three reasonable pairs of shoes and felt sure I had discovered a great store.

So I go back today in search of sandals and maybe some good shoes that I can actually walk around in. I am always perplexed at women who can wear heels and look happy walking around. I figured perhaps their shoes fit? Or they take some pretty good happy drugs. So I thought I would try it. The shoe shopping for heels, not the drugs, though after today I probably should have some of those too.

I learned the first time that you have to pick your selections from the window display outside because they have nothing but purses on display inside. Yes, odd, but heck, all shopping here is strange in some way. So I take my time, in the rain (did I mention it was raining - again?) picking out my choices. The saleswoman who was "assigned" to me came out of the store and dragged me in after I showed her my choices and the look on her face was a photo moment when she looked down at my feet. At least my pedicure was new. Her eyes popped out of her head like she had never seen big feet in Birkenstocks before. Lord knows -she works in a shoes store that sells up to size 15 women's shoes for peets sake. Mine are an 11.5 or 12, and while yes, that is canoe paddle material, it ain't as big as she ought to be used to in that store. My favorite saleswoman, alas, was "assigned" to someone else. (The manager, the only man in the shop, assigns someone to every customer as they arrive- when he isn't outside smoking).

Every shoe I pointed out was given the big "sigh" and a large "non - the feet - too large". I told her that they will fit if she gets the right size, and I am trying to say this in French because she knows only the phrase, "the feet -too large - those shoe no good" (pointing to my Birks). She repeated this with every shoe I picked out.

Once you point out your choices, you are taken upstairs - where I can only guess are the bigger shoes since I was directed up there before. Downstairs is reserved for smaller feet apparently. Thankfully there is a catalog upstairs and I could point to a picture of the shoe, checking the size range, and she would respond each time, "non non, the feet-too large". I would show her the size range printed in the catalog, and say oui, oui. We went on like this for everything. I found one great shoe, I loved this shoe but it was, wait for it........too big. Yes, indeed. Too big. She said "smaller one done". I asked if more will come in, and got "non, non, all done". Then she said "you take". I said maybe. She said, "you take". I said, uh, shrug? I pointed to another shoe and she said, "non non". I said oui, oui and showed her the numbers in the catalog.

She goes off to the stockroom, barely three feet away, swearing this time, like if I can't understand French, I can't hear her. Humm. What do you think the most popular phrases are in all the French phrase books? Oh yeah. Those. I actually thought it was pretty funny because she did keep coming out with shoes in my size though she was swearing like a sailor the entire time.

She did insist that one or two of them were very good. "Very good shoe". One was way too narrow and the other one, while nice, had my heel hanging off the end. That could hurt pretty quickly.

Then came the best part. She practically spit when she came back the last time to tell me "non, non" in my size. "American took all the shoe". I was getting the impression she thought all American women had big feet and it upset her very much that they took all the "shoe". I think the logic of this being a shoe store with big sizes might have escaped her - the rest of American women with regular size feet would not show up at her store.

So, the big decibel chatter continued and now we had 6 pairs of unusable shoes on the floor and she wanted me to pick one. Huh? Pick one what? Even the pair that was too big was now up for grabs because apparently she was done. I had taken up 20 minutes of her time, and she was pointing to her watch to tell me to hurry up and pick. She included a few extra impatient mumblings (again the phrase book comes in pretty darn handy).

I almost bought the shoes that were too large, but the back looked stupid with that large gap. I just couldn't do it. And the clincher was the way she huffed and puffed and talked more loudly as I was thinking. I have noticed that thinking about a potential purchase is not always allowed when you shop here. Just as I was on the fence and could have gone either way, she started in on the putting stuff away, and telling everyone loudly and slowly again, because Americans are deaf and stupid - "feet too large". All the way down to the first floor through the first floor and out the door. Meantime my feet got an audience from everyone there. And no one fainted. Alas, my big feet didn't traumatize anyone. She even wandered up to the cashier on the way out and told her "feet - too large", and then said several other things, some of which I could understand. Back at you lady. Sheesh. It's just feet. But their feelings were a bit hurt.

So there you go. Shoe shopping in France for amazons - not the best past time. Last time L&P and Momo rated it a pretty good 8. This time Momo rates it a big fat minus 10. And if L&P were there they would have voluntarily peed on her feet.

We Will Find You and Pee on Your Shoes

2007-06-13T12:20:00.000-07:00

Wandering about we encountered a seemingly lovely elderly French woman and her daughter/companion/keeper. They stopped to talk with us about L&P as many French people and tourists do. Typically most people smile and gush and reach to pet L&P and tell us what adorable chiens they are. And you've read the other posts about the stalkers and paparazzi.

So imagine our surprise when the senile old bat opened her mouth to say what ugly ugly dogs L&P were. Her logic was they were ugly, and therefore God, or whatever you may choose, made them sweet to compensate. A big Jon Stewart WHHHHAAAATTT here.

Do these faces look anything but adorable?

(BTW, they are sitting on the church steps across from our door, and with one of their people sisters, Anne ,who wandered to Paris from New Orleans to say hi to her old folks.)

Then the old bat continued to say she once last century or two back, had a poodle (undoubtedly Fifi) who was BEAUTIFUL, and she missed her so, the BEAUTIFUL and smart Fifi. And she continued.....she also had a BT - the ugly dog, but it was as sweet as could be.

So she smiled at us, looked lovingly at our "ugly" BTs and bid us au revoir.

Thankfully all L&P heard was blah blah blah blah blah.

Probably fortunately, L&P had already gone potty, because for sure Momo would have issued the almighty Potty command, and that senile old bitty would have been very very sorry when L&P peed on her talons, oops, I meant shoes.

Momo rates stupid people a big fat 0. L&P thought she smelled funny.

L&P and Momo's Discourse on the Curiosities of French Dining

2007-06-13T08:58:00.000-07:00

Food is taken seriously in France. Even L&P have noticed. Any mealtime is a special event. In order to do it correctly before you go to Paris, I recommend you practice rigorously. It takes stamina and fortitude. Not one restaurant meal that we have eaten has ended before a minimum 2. 5 hours. The better ones last for 3 hours or more. You have to be sure to wear clothes that allow you to fidget properly. Most tables and chairs are not made for comfort here, and certainly they are not constructed for any one who might be tall. However, I have noticed that the chairs and tables are perfect height for the L&P.

The reasoning behind the length of the meal is simple. Food is not just for eating- it is a perfect opportunity to not do anything else, like work. So even lunch is a three course plus coffee event. The entree is your appetizer, and then you have your main meal and then desert and then coffee. Never coffee and desert together. And each course never touches the next one. You will never be served your main meal with your entree still sitting on the table. And everyone eats desert. Obviously one of the finer points of being in France. The other finer point is the bread, but more on that in another post. Bread, like desert, deserves an entire post.

L&P's favorite meal is croissants at the Brasserie as you can see. They are sitting with little patience as they await the opportunity to dig in. A day without croissants is a day without a pound of butter. But alas, where else can you get these magnificent flaky pastries? We promise to indulge on behalf of all of you who are not here right now.

Here are some of the things we have encountered that have made impressions that are certain to last a lifetime. If you order fish, it will probably arrive with it's head still attached and looking at you. Yes, it is cooked, most of the time. One nice waiter at a nicer brasserie presented me with my plate filled with a fish just barely not swimming anymore and saw my face apparently. He quickly whisked it out of sight and did a bit of surgery so that it looked like a nice fish fillet. Fillet may be too strong a word here. More like fish and bones. Did I mention I have a thing about fish bones? Meaning that I'd rather eat the plate than touch a fish with bones still in it. I have yet to figure out whether serving the whole fish is just a custom or some one's idea of proving the fish is a fish or that they kitchen ran out of ideas of what to do with the stuff.

Most times, the dish that you thought you had ordered arrives as a surprise. It will have somewhat of relationship to what you thought you ordered. For example, I ordered something called penne with fresh spinach, ricotta, chicken and basil. Sounds great. In my little head I imagined I was getting a plate of penne mixed with ricotta basil and chicken. Yum. And when it arrived I recognized the penne. It had all of the items mentioned, but again, were they a bit too busy in the kitchen, or maybe someone forget how the recipe went, or better, they lost the directions for the recipe? On the bottom was a pile of freshly cooked naked penne with a little pasta water. On top was a dollop of what was supposed to be ricotta, and undoubtedly was, but looked like mascarpone, with a single half cherry tomato on top with three pieces of basil leaf and three lumps of chicken with skin that required the services of a knife and fork to eat. No seasoning either. One just has to go with the flow here, so I carved up the chicken, gave it a little salt and pepper, gave the basil a little tear and stirred it all together. But I do wonder what the original recipe really looked like.

The best part of meals here is something I hate in the United States. We call it strip dining (no-not what you are thinking). All the tables are lined up in a row and you sit practically inches from your neighbors. In the US, everyone pretends no one is next to them. Here, it is proper to bonjour your new neighbors and share a word or two and then get on to your meal. After, as though you had a meal together, everyone bids everyone else au revoir. You also get to intimately peruse what your neighbor has ordered. Today, my dining neighbors, a nice woman and her twenty-something daughter ordered all of their courses tartare. First came the salmon, then came something in a tin, a fish of some sort, and yes, raw. This was for the daughter. The waiter delivered ketchup, mustard and hot sauce so I thought the woman might have ordered a burger which is not something very common here. The waiter plopped down the pomme frite first and I was sure I was right. Wrong, so very very wrong. The plate that was put in front of her was a burger all right, but once again, something was not right in the kitchen. They forgot to cook it. Now, like many of you, I enjoy a burger nice and pink, but I cannot imagine eating the thing raw. And yes, it was on the menu that way. Apparently my brain skipped right over it, probably using the E Coli early warning system. But she ate it with gusto. And was still walking when she left. I do hope she is still well and walking a week from now.

I promise to devote a whole post to bread, and of course to the art of desert in Paris. I am happy to report it is alive, well, and full fat. L&P rate dining a big 10 in France. Momo would rate it if L&P bothered to ask, a very fine 9. The curiosity about losing those cooking instructions, and the whole-fishy thing just brings it down one little notch.

May I Have this Carrot without the French Fry Please?

2007-06-07T04:36:00.000-07:00

Today I spent 15E or about $18 at McDo's for lunch. That would be McDonalds here in France. Like Starbucks, you can find one on almost every commercial street. I just could not help it. I am kind of sick of street food and eating for one in a sit down place is a lonely long ordeal coupled with getting someone to wait on you - I have tried it. Women eating alone are left to ponder their aloneness. Ok, a woman with two dogs sitting on chairs is left alone to ponder their aloneness (not everyone enjoys the chiens).

So the reason I spent so much money on McD's is because I cannot speak as much food french as I thought, and the person taking my order was, well, working at McDonalds. I had enough lunch for me as well as L&P for at least a week. But not to waste anything, we all munched on french fries until no one, not even the dogs, would voluntarily eat any more.

Later we all fell into the saturated fat slumber and tossed and turned. At one point P woke up and walked all over L and me until she was satisfied that we both were still asleep and then settled once again.

Why, you ask, did we eat at McD's when there are so many other choices here in the land of good food? Because. Sometimes too much good food is too much. Croissants are gone by lunch time and here they do not make or sell croissant sandwiches or croissants stuffed with ham and cheese. Two kinds - plain and au chocolate. And don't ask for them after 11. You will get the look. And I bet you have never ventured into a McD's that has an open facade with glass cases full of hearty healthy carrots in vases before. Hundreds of them. So how bad could the food actually be? There isn't much salt on anything, unlike their twin in the US. And it does not smell greasy until you get it back somewhere, say, your itty bitty apt. and then be glad the windows open wide. Yes, I will not have to return there. I learned my lesson. And now at least P will pass over the french fries on the street.

At all of the brasseries with outside windows one can pick up a quick crepe (sometimes so quick, they are not cooked) or sandwich for lunch. One item that I noticed was a giant hot dog in a long roll, not a bun, with melted cheese. For those of you reading this who have not eaten (lunch, dinner, whatever) you may stop salivating. I can tell you now with certainty that they look more intriguing than they taste. First, they zap it in the microwave for you while you pay. And you know what happens to bread once it has been zapped. Yes indeed, bread-rock heaven. Break a tooth bread-rock. The hot dog is about 68 inches long and it tastes an awful lot like sausage. The cheese stinks to high heaven so I have no idea what kind it is, and it is tasteless. The bread, well, you know that story. The dogs, once again, troopers that they are, helped finish the hot dog. P chewed and chewed like she was evaluating the flavor. L just ate it all in one bite and I know because she has been farting hot dogs for two days now. It is stuck somewhere.

I was just trying to take a break from the ubiquitous salad composed of jambon (ham and more ham) cheese, hard boiled egg and lots of lettuce and maybe a tomato. Depending on where you get the salad you might find hidden in there a potato, some corn, a bit of bacon (with ham???) or nuts and sometimes a cucumber. There are very few salads that do not contain jambon. It is the first french food word I memorized because it was on so many menu items. Jambon is very very popular in Paris.

I do need to go in search of better food for lunch. It is a long time until dinner and lunch is very important. We eat dinner at 8:30 or 9PM (my daughters are laughing right now). Frankly, that seems rather civilized since we start drinking wine about 7:30PM. Food is a good idea sometime after that.

Dinner deserves its own post.

L&P would rate McDo's a fair 4 because the french fries were hot to start with. P rates the hotdog a 6 and L has nothing to say about it. And we all know why. Momo rates any salad with jambon in it a big fat 2. Mon dieu.

Postcards from the L&P to their Friends

2007-06-07T01:30:00.001-07:00

L&P sent a postcard to their friends at Jasper&Lenore. Here is the link.http://www.jasperandlenore.com/

Summit from the Chair: Part Two

2007-06-06T09:09:00.001-07:00

And it always ends like this.........

The Daily Dog Conversation Goes Like This....Part One

2007-06-06T09:02:00.000-07:00

From the "summit" chair, each day L&P engage in variations of the same conversation........

Encore Presentation: More from the Rue

2007-06-04T09:52:00.000-07:00

Since you asked- here it is. More from little itty bitty house on the Rue. Here is a picture of our living area complete with dining area and the sink in the downstairs water closet. A half sink. You are allowed to wash one hand at a time according to half-sink rules, or guidelines since we are in France. Yes indeed, the French enjoy guidelines, not rules. We have water closets fondly thought of elsewhere as bathrooms. The one upstairs does not have a sink. It seriously is like closing yourself in a closet. The downstairs water closet with the half sink also houses the water heater for the apartment so it stays sauna warm always which gives another meaning to multi-tasking.

We can close the door to the kitchen/dining/living area, all the size of our bedroom at home or about 14 x 16 total. We let L&P stay in this area when we go out and finally realized that they must think of it as a pretty large crate. It looks like a crate, feels like one, and is cozy like one. Voila - family crate. A new concept.

Every morning I open the big windows (no screens) which are like a french door, but a window. We all, I mean me, L&P lean on the back of sofa and take in the morning air, and I wait in anticipation of grabbing collars to keep them from hurling themselves out the window. They have yet to do that, but L has started to leap, and I hold her back. She is a good leaper so I have to be extra careful. I suspect given the distance she would just plop on the floor behind the sofa, but I am taking no chances. The window stays open for only a moment.

Did I mention that the room has a raised platform toward the window, like a mini stage? Ah, no? Well, it apparently was inconvenient when placing the sofa, which is a sofa bed, in the room, so they cut a wedge from the rear of the sofa to sit on the stage. So, no rearranging this room, which was my very first thought when we got here because it just cries for a little something. Oh darn.

L&P rate the crate a pretty good 7 on most days. Especially when the sun shines in and Momo moves their chair to catch the rays.

Why oh Why Did you do it Miss P?

2007-06-04T07:12:00.000-07:00

Little P has grown so much during our time here, that her front and back ends are so uncoordinated. One end moves independently from the other. She careens down the sidewalk with the gusto of a drunken idiot looking for gold. Today, we went for a walk to Galeries Lafayette, kind of a hoytie toytie (did I spell that even remotely right?) shopping place near us in Paris. Killing time while the itty bitty apt was cleaned (how long can it take to clean 500sf???). So right after we get into the very crowded store, right next to Chanel and Louis Vuitton, I feel a tug on the leash and holy crap, P is pooping on the marble floors.

I quickly give her the look, and a quiet no no, and she stops, but not before dropping two smelly giant turds- this from the end that moves independently from the front, which is now spinning around to see if the poops are snack-worthy... I hustle the poopy bag out of my pocket and I am down to using the cheap ones that don't open easily when you are in a hurry.......figures, so I kind of scoop down over her and the poop and try to scoop and pick her up at the same time and really try not leave any skid marks on marble....

So far they have not kicked us out and it is very very crowded and everyone is pouring around us because of course it is in the middle of one of the main aisles and lunch time.....so I pick her up but she's coupled to lulu and I almost hang L by her harness, so I have to unhook it, pick up the poop, close the bag, handle wiggle butt who is trying to lick me to death all at the same time, and meantime I am trying to be invisible. At least no one has fallen over us yet and the guards have not found us. I find the quickest exit and scram and hope they didn't get us on video. L&P thought that was great fun. What an adventure. So now we are back "home" and they are little angels, snoozing like it was all in a day's work.

Fortunately, even if they caught it on video, my face was facing the floor......I was successful going back to the store without getting tossed out, but I think I will leave L&P at home in the itty bitty apartment from now on when I shop there . Apparently they have no regard for couture though they wear cashmere.

Fifi or As We Know Them: L&P Visit Crypte & Notre-Dame & Le Louvre & Toy Store

2007-06-03T13:02:00.000-07:00

What a big, drag it out to death in the hot sun kind of day L&P had. We promised to walk their little fannies off and we did. They appreciated the frequent cafe stops and as usual, the bountiful sidewalk buffet.

First we hopped the M to Pont Neuf and hiked to St. Michaels and had some lunch at a sidewalk cafe where they took the order twice and lost the order three times. But they did bring L&P a very large bucket of water which they thought perhaps was a swimming pool. At least P did. L has a little more sense, but not much more. It was very warm in the sun. Yes, at last, some sun in Paris.

Voila, Fifi. No, not another dog. La chien is also a fifi. I cannot count the number of people who have called L&P - ooo la la, fifi. And here is the best part - fifi is for sure a poodle. On signs that prohibit dogs, the silhouette is a clipped poodle. So, L&P are now both bulldog Francais or Fifi the poodle. Take your pick.

L&P were very happy to find Pinceloup, the doggie stuff store. It is a very nice, small shop owned by a couple from Holland (I think) who have a small toy, real live Fifi. The store was charming and we purchased some exclusive to Pinceloup items, but no clothes. Every sweater or tee was made in the US. And they already looked pretty cool in their Jasper & Lenore b/w striped tees. Very Paris.

Next we wandered over to Notre-Dame so L&P could get a glimpse of the thing, and a good sniff, which was great fun for them. They also had a chance to visit the entrance to the Crypte where there are lots and lots of bones. Can you see how excited they were? We told them about the bones and they insisted no one would know they were chiens because they were wearing tee shirts. Could they not go on the tour, oh pretty please? Lots of "leave its" all around.

Notre-Dame is a wonderful piece of engineering, but as I've mentioned before, a bit creepy. L&P agreed and we left as quickly as we could lose the paparazzi who were stalking us again. As soon as L&P were ready for their Notre-Dame portraits, the cameras were whirring once again. Some small Italian children threw themselves into some of the photos and were asked to leave by the Spaniards. The Americans think L&P are French so they speak very loudly to us, and slowly and the use lots of gestures to help us understand. I cannot tell you how many hand signals they utilized unknowingly with their wild gestures, causing L&P to sit, stand, sit, down, stand and stay. No wonder L&P were exhausted.

We've begun to just smile and nod and do the salutations in French so that they tourists think we are from here (Who else would be carting around dogs in Paris? Not idiots from California certainly). And since the dogs don't speak a word of English, we can get away with it. Saves us from having to explain how you travel with dogs 55 times a day.

We took another M over to Rue Rivoli to venture to Le Louvre. Le Louvre was blocks and blocks from our stop because Dad chose the stop thinking another walk would be great fun. Rue Rivoli is a big big Rue apparently. At least L&P and Momo thought so. Finally, Le Louvre loomed large (which means it is off on the horizon somewhere not at all close). We got there only to discover that the only cool place was the passage to the court and the court was warm enough to fry an oeuf. L&P were unimpressed. They preferred the passage which smelled yet again like a zoo. What is it about that area?

It was time for another cafe stop and we found one in the shade and sat for another hour for coffee and water. It takes long time to do anything at a cafe. No one should go to a cafe or brasserie in Paris and be in a hurry. If you are, you won't like it. There were many tourists who sat and left before a waiter even ventured out to notice them because tourists often run out of patience. L&P enjoyed the stop because the sewer was wafting some of their favorite flavors - ou du pee and more ou de very old pee. With a little mix of zoo. I ask you, what is up with that part of Paris?

Finally, we visit the English book store that makes you cry when you check-out (not only are the books very full retail, but they are in Euros, so add in the George Bush tip for the EU from the US, and a book that costs 20E is now $26. And did I mention that a/c in Europe, and moreso in Paris is a guideline? Much like other things, traffic laws, health hazards like smoking, and tiny tiny toilet paper, a/c does not seem to be a priority. Maybe we will have some and maybe we won't. And we aren't telling! For example, you would think a museum like Le Louvre would utilize a/c to make sure the artwork is not subject to overheating. Oh heck, why bother. No one will notice. Or why a/c a store. We don't care if people shop here anyway. So sweat. Leave. We don't care. Our job is to be here from opening till we close. That is all. Thank you.

Thankfully the M is right there and we are deposited at the top of our street because we have started to learn to pay attention to the sorties. It is only every so often now that we walk half the city underground. Yes, indeed, you could spend days under there and never come up and still be looking for your Metro.

The minute we hit the door, L&P hit the water bowl and after that the couch. They were snoring inside 3 minutes. We had really messed up their nap schedule that day. However, before they slumbered, they asked Momo to rate the Cathedrale Notre-Dame a 6 because it smelled pretty darn good. The Crypte they wished to rate as a 3 because they were unable to get any of the bones. And Le Louvre they said should be a 5 because it was just a little bit over the top. And the bookstore does not even get a mention because it had not one thing for them. Pinceloup, the dog stuff store got a fabulous 9 because they scored some organic treats from Holland which were in a box that looked like a crayola crayon 64 set box (?). I swear. Fortunately, it didn't smell like crayons.

Cathedrale de Notre-Dame and the Doggie Stuff Store

2007-06-01T03:56:00.000-07:00

On ile de la cite, Paris's birthplace sits this monster. Built way back before 1160 and finished in the 14th century, and left to ruin in the 19th century when animals were housed there - it is once again a giant block of unbelievable stone. And inside, if you look, the stonework up to about 12 inches is stained with brown from les animals living there. Here are a couple of pictures. It is huge and the photos do it no justice really. L&P once again were holding down the fort because Momo and Dad went to Notre-Dame for a concert which was only just so. The inside of the cathedral is massive and shaped like a cross. A very big one. No offense intended but it was just a little bit gothic for Momo. Dad was having fun laughing at Momo because she was more amused by the brown stains and wondering which animal made which stain, than the fact that we were in such an historic piece of Paris. Not a surprise that L&P would not be invited in to visit. Can you imagine how much they would enjoy the smells? Momo and Dad skipped the 386 steps to reach where Hunchback Hugo rang the bells in the tower.

It is also across the street from the main Police and Courts of old Paris. While Momo and Dad had a bite to eat they watched several people being moved back and forth from court to jail led in handcuffs. It all was pretty civil. One even wished us a good evening as he passed our Brasserie table. Only in Paris.

The walk back to the Metro took us over the Seine, this time on the Left Bank which made Dad very happy. And there, walking down the Seine, Momo spied the telltale store-front of a doggie stuff shop worthy of a big fat Woo Hoo. And of course it was closed - none of the stores stay open in the evenings in Paris. But there it stood, doggie dummies adorned with little sweaters, leashes, collars. bowls, beds, and toys of distinction! Yes. Momo was pleased. L&P, Momo and Dad will trek there this weekend to see the wares. And show L&P Notre-Dame of course. L&P will rate this excursion later on once they have investigated the shop and smelled Notre-Dame for themselves.

Little House on the Rue

2007-05-31T06:25:00.000-07:00

I thought I would entertain you with more tidbits about the overpriced itty bitty apartment on Rue Joubert.

Thought you might like to see a picture of the bathroom. Why? Because there are some things about it that are fascinating. First, anyone who introduces a shower door/curtain concept to Europe will make a fortune. I have heard we are lucky to have this half glass thing in the shower, but it does not stop the floor from getting soaked. One day, in fact, I created a little tidal pool after washing my hair. When I opened my eyes there were L&P having a great time splashing in the waves up to their knees. I used our allotment of towels for the week to dry the floor. So now, though the tub is 12 feet long, I take a shower within three inches of the shower head to make sure I don't create another flood. And could someone send us a washcloth or two? They also seem to be missing in France. You will not find one anywhere. I have no explanation for that one.

Notice in the mirror reflection that there is an awful lot of clothes hanging on what we think is a towel warmer. That's because we live in The Little House on the Rue. There are no facilities to do laundry here nor is there a laundry nearby. Perhaps that is why the giant department stores have tons of underwear and socks? No one washes, they just replace them?

We can have our stuff sent out to the Pressing/Laundry and it costs a lot. For example- a men's shirt in the U.S. would cost a couple of bucks to clean and press. Here it is about 6E which is about $9 George Bush inflated dollars. Undies are pretty expensive too. Socks, not so much. So, I find myself doing laundry by hand almost everyday. Everytime I gather it all I think of the creek on Little House. Sigh.

And just to make it all the more fun, the service our hotel uses is not a French laundry. I just found that out yesterday when they came back with dress shirts yet again folded in paper instead of on hangers, including one newly felted cashmere sweater. Turns out that it is a Chinese laundry and the French desk staff are lacking in their Chinese speaking skills. So here we were thinking it was a language issue, trying to translate our simple dry clean instructions into French so they will be clearly understood never imagining...........

And last, but important, P has asked me to rate the bathroom on Rue Joubert a good old 9. She stands outside the shower every morning withher tongue hanging out - which I finally learned meant that she was catching the shower spray just for kicks. Now, that is a Boston Terrier.

La Poste by Any Other Name be Post Office

2007-05-29T02:42:00.000-07:00

Just when I was getting a little bit homesick, I made the journey to La Poste. And then I wasn't homesick anymore. First, they are rarely open. Sound familiar? Next, the line stretches out the door. Again, familiar. And third, many windows and few postal clerks. Makes you wonder if there is universal Postal training?

I was just buying postcard stamps. I am not sure what she gave me really. I asked if she spoke English (my polite Bonjour, Pardon, Parlez-vous Anglais?) and got a oui. Well good. That helps. But not really, because her sole mastery of English was nodding her head. Honest. Not a word. But the head nod. Perhaps she understood more than she could speak? After all, I showed her the postcards, said to the United States, and she handed me the ten stamps I asked for.

Meantime, Miss L&P are with me and we did not get tossed out which is very different than the US. I would have gotten a picture, but the place was depressingly similar to what we all know a Post Office looks like. And I didn't dare let go because although they were coupled together on the lead, P was engaging in some sort of crazy dog ritual with a very elderly person in line behind us. I am doing my best to keep her from knocking the woman over and poor L was just minding her own business which is hard to do when Tigger is attached to your coupler. Turns out when I looked at Grandma finally, she was egging P on like a champ with a little gleam in her eye. Poor P never had a chance. Like sticking a wad of used chewing gum on the ground 3 inches from the end of her leash. Spastic dog. Finally I gave the Grandma impersonator "the look" and P the short leash, and they both ceased misbehaving.

I really want to send some packages home, but I didn't dare press my luck this time. And then I get back to the itty bitty apt. and find out that the postage should be more than what she sold me. Zut. So if I sent you a postcard (and how would you know Zach and Zander?) sorry if it never gets there. Who knows. Maybe it was discount stamp sale day?

L&P had differing opinions about this experience. First, L requested that we never ever take directions from the pretty girl at the front desk again because that was a very long walk to get to La Poste which is two blocks away. We walked about 10 blocks to get there. Perhaps her grasp of left and right in English is not all that. And P requested Grandma's phone number. P rates the trip a nice big fat 8 because of very cool Grandma and the Yorkie she almost got to eat for snack. L would like to rate the trip a miserable 3 and requests that the coupler be destroyed by any means possible.

From the Roof of Printemps Before the Storms

2007-05-28T02:42:00.000-07:00

For almost three weeks now, Momo has found her way delicately through Printemps and Galeries Lafayette because it is simply very easy to enter these places and never be seen again. They are large, laid out without a hint of logic, and take up city blocks in multiple buildings with underground passages. So Momo had never been to the rooftop at Printemps until she and Dad wandered up together (of course bringing a compass and a map just in case). Turns out to be one of the coolest places to hang out within footsteps of our apartment . It has a little cafeteria inside and outside a tiny little bar with tiny little plastic tables. But all around the edge are benches facing a fantastic view of Paris. And of course, the rooftop discovery occurred in between rain and T-S which were unlike Momo and Dad had seen in many years - since Vermont. This is one photo of Le Madeleine and the Rue which we walk regularly to get to the square. Everything in Paris is close enough to walk to - seriously - even the Eiffel though it lurks far away. As long as you stop at cafes along the way for refreshments, it is easy to walk the day away. Even L&P agree as long as they get lots of treats and bottled Vittel eau. Dad is working on a panoramic photo from the rooftop stitching it together. C'est tres bien. We will return there often.

Meet Baby Fabio - on Holiday

2007-05-28T02:26:00.000-07:00

Momo and Dad took a walk before the thunder storms on Saturday to find lunch. L&P wished to nap at home because it was wet outside - everyone knows BTs are sensitive when it comes to getting their toes wet on purpose. Momo and Dad ended up tired and hungry at Laduree again. Though there were surges of stand-about tourists waiting for pastry, Momo and Dad quickly got a table in the tearoom. And so apparently did Baby Fabio, complete with Mrs. Robinson from Italy, both seemingly on holiday. Momo took a picture, pretending to take snapshot of Dad across the table but at the last second moved the camera to take a snap of Baby-Fabio-in-training. Mostly Fabio just sat and pouted. The pout is captured in le photo. Pouting and sipping his drink lasted an hour. His arrival stopped conversation and all heads turned when they first entered the tearoom, which in Paris, is quite unusual. Mostly it was the outfit, but the rest of him, if only you could see the pants, would have stopped traffic anywhere. Momo was most amused, because after all, this was Laduree, the tearoom where white gloves are never out of season. When Momo got back and told L&P about Baby Fabio, they demanded to see the photo. They suggested Momo rate lunch at Laduree, just for entertainment value, a very hearty 9.

L&P Take a Drive Through Paris

2007-05-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

L&P took Momo and Dad for a drive this morning in rush hour to get the tire repaired on the leased auto. They let Dad drive. It seems he drives way better in Paris than he does in San Francisco. His excuse: Paris makes sense. Huh???? L&P spent the time attached to seat belts in the rear seat but they could still stand up and look out the windows. They had many opportunities to let the large number of motor scooters know just what they thought of how they drive. Woof. If you have a scooter you may drive anywhere apparently- on the sidewalk, in the street, zigging between cars and my favorite: folding back someone's side-view mirror so the scooter can fit between the cars that are standing still, stuck in the traffic. It was a fun ride on the road next to the Seine and past the Eiffel Tower base (which looms large as do all these big things here). L&P spent most the ride alternately trying to one up each other woofing at passing scooters, or growling at bicycles that thought they were eco-scooters (wizard of oz anyone?)

Turns out, though Dad had an appointment at the Peugeot place, the repair was not necessary so we were there for five minutes. Sadly, we had hoped to take the above ground M back home, but now we would have to drive once again. L&P did not mind at all. As I write this, L&P are snoozing next to me and P is obviously dreaming of her encounter with les scooters because she is doing little dream woofs.

The parking garage is near our apartment, but it is underground of course. The entrance is actually a straight-line chute that sends you down 4-6 stories underground. It looks like a matchbox car chute and feels like one too. P gets so excited when we do this, the minute we are out of the car she commemorates the ride with a poop. That's a puppy for you. L then gives her the peevish stink eye for bad manners(one waits to poop until they are on the street). I can just imagine what that poop bag smells like at the end of a long hot day 6 stories under. But hey, mixed with piss odor in the stair well, doesn't matter. Did I mention the elevator is often not working?

So what does one do after an invigorating outing such as this? Why, trot over to Galeries Lafayette and have a nice cafe creme or cafe express. L&P rate the early morning drive through Paris as a 10 because frankly, they have driven with Dad in San Francisco.

Who Knew Getting Home on the Wrong M Could be so Entertaining...

2007-05-24T07:37:00.000-07:00

The Metro that took us back was a little out of the way, oh, by a mile or so. So we were walking again and the dinner break had done nothing for my aching feet. Finally approaching the bottom of Rue Joubert opposite our end where there is the old stone church I can see the end in sight. But wait. Before I see the end I see something way more interesting. And here we are almost 11:30PM and I spy a woman way way older than me on the corner with platinum blond hair – first clue - most French women are brunette– in a mini glitter skirt and four inch heels. All alone and cooling her heels, so to speak. And suddenly my stupid feet didn’t hurt at all. Hookers. Lots and lots of hookers on our little Rue Joubert. As far from the church end as you could get. Very glittery and festive. And it was a busy night. They certainly didn’t need to advertise. By the time we had passed them a minute later, one was strolling away with some guy and another was chatting up some other dude in a Smart car going the wrong way down the street (stupid guy in Smart car?). So for the last few blocks going home, my feet stopped hurting and I quit thinking about Le Louvre. Now that was fun. I discussed it with L&P and they said I needed to rate the M and the long walk home a good old 7 and to skip the rating on dinner until they had a chance to go back with us. Sorry, no pictures this time.........

Dinner at Le Louvre

2007-05-24T07:31:00.000-07:00

Here is a bigger picture of Le Louvre and the Pyramid (mon dieu) and on the left (the porch?) is where we ate. Dinner at Le Louvre was better than our dinner at Hediards which is much like Fauchon, a gourmet food shop. Dinner at Hediards was forgettable since it was two days ago and I don’t remember what I ate. I do know that the “French portions are smaller” rule is a myth. Not anywhere have we found that to be true. We are served enough food most times to serve a family of four. And just try to take the food to go. First your waiter gets a bit nervous and fidgets and asks: “To go?- how do you mean, to go?”. Then the kitchen gets a little nervous because they do not know how to pack it all up. The only time it worked is when we insisted and it was smooshed in tin foil and popped into a kitchen person's leftover department store shopping bag.

Anyway dinner at the Le Louvre was quite peachy. We each order an entrée because we are very hungry. The menu is entirely in French and we need little help, which means that our French is improving in the food area. Of course it is- ask me anything about food. Again, the entrees were gigantic. I had tomato/mozzarella and the Dad had green beans with mushrooms. His plate of green beans was the family sized portion but L&P were not joining us. I had, count them, two giant tomatoes (left whole) and three enourmous slices of mozza. And two basil leaves. That was strange. But dinner itself was much better. I ordered lamb, and I have never had lamb that tasted this good. The meats are very good here. And the serving was tiny which was nice. That is, until they plopped the plate of green beans down. Again, where’s the family when you need them? We did not stay for desert because again, 12 out of 10 people were lighting up and it was late. People were pouring out of the museum now because it was closing and they were looking for dinner and a smoke. Soon, our dining row was filling up and it was a good time to leave unless we wanted dinner companions. Too late to share the green beans though. But not too late to find a Metro.

L&P Send Momo and Dad to Le Louvre

2007-05-24T06:49:00.000-07:00

As we started out I figured that Dad knew where we were catching the M. Turns out we were not catching any M. We were walking. Did I say that my feet or more specifically my ankles were not happy? Ah, I thought I had. Out loud. Several times. Apparently not. So finally I asked which M we were catching and half way there Dad looks surprised and says that he thought I wanted to walk. Huh? Oh, sure. Momo. Wants to walk. Since we were already at Madeleine and almost to Place Vendome and across from the Tullieries and the long walk through it to the Le Louvre, I just sucked it up. And btw, how do 12 out of 10 people smoke? All the way there. No wait, 14 out of 10. Some were lighting up the next one(s) while the first one was still puffing vile smoke. And here we are, finally in the gardens. Big trees, paths, and wait. What’s that smell? Oh, flowers? Nooo. Trees? Noooo. Ah. Zoo. The garden path on the way to the Le Louvre smells like a zoo. But that’s crazy, because there is no zoo around there. So why, I ask? Ah, says dear old Dad. Yes, that’s the smell. So familiar. So lovely as it is and as much as my feet parts hurt, we hustle along to the Le Louvre which looks like it is right there. It looms large. And looms. And looms some more. Just how far away is that thing?! It looks like you should be there any second, but I swear the thing moves farther away each step you take toward it. And good thing we hustled. A very very small man in a suit was reeling in the large gate from the garden to the plaza in front of Le Louvre and if we had strolled slower we might have missed getting in that entrance.

So up the few steps to the plaza and there it is, still looming, but closer this time. And it is breathtaking, the giant U shaped beauty. You must start from one end and work your way to the other to take it all in. And wait. What the hell? Is that? A friggin glass pyramid? Yes, I knew about it, but I didn’t expect it to be so well, there. It actually stops your sweep as you gaze at the beautiful stone work, carvings and all that make up the Le Louvre. It stops you cold. Frowning I wanted to make it go away. But alas, it is stuck there. What a really stupid idea. It reminds me of a shopping mall. Oh. There is a shopping mall under it. Knew it. This is a picture of Le Louvre. It cannot do it justice, but here it is nonetheless.

It is 8:30PM and time for the French dinner hour. Fortunately for us, there is a restaurant called Marly’s Café sitting on the porch of one side of Le Louvre. Can you call something like that a porch? We were having dinner at Le Louvre. The view of Le Louvre was breathtaking. The stonework is art. The pyramid, an oversight. We promise to bring L&P to the plaza and take a picture of them at the Louvre. They will appreciate the fountain and all the stuff on the sidewalk buffet.

Starbucks in Paris? Mon Dieu - L&P Not Happy

2007-05-22T09:24:00.000-07:00

Starbucks by any other name is still the same old-old. There are a few around Paris and one a few steps from our door. We had vowed not to go the Starbucks routine while in Paris, but then we figured, perhaps they actually knew how to make coffee here unlike they do at home.

So in I went with L&P and was promptly tossed out. No dogs. What???? In France? Are you kidding me? It isn’t even in a free standing building, but attached to one of those passage way groups of shops with all the fronts opening to the passage, so if you enter Starbucks, it means your feet are barely out of the passageway. So we left (after ordering our drink they tell us that). Fortunately I had not paid for it yet. Apparently Starbucks thinks it is operating with the US health codes???

L&P can visit almost any restaurant, even Laduree, a stuffy white glove tearoom. So, sending Starbucks a big fat raspberry from the L&P adventures in Paris. L&P rate them a big fat 0. Thank goodness we have Pete’s Coffee &Tea at home and can continue to boycott them.

From the EIffel to the Opera we Hike

2007-05-20T04:42:00.001-07:00

As we started out on the Seine hike, Dad thought we should commemorate the moment with a photo of the L&P and the Seine with the Eiffel. For a treat, L&P would dance on the head of a pin. It is a very pretty walk, but again, laden with lots of tourists who apparently come from places where they do not have dogs. L&P patiently posed for several photos. If we charged for these photos these two could pay for our trip already. Or go to Harvard. At this magnificent bridge, Pont Alexandre III, with stone lions and all kinds of cool things with Seine and the Musee de la something in the background, a photographer was taking pictures of a wedding party, and other folks were doing the same - until they spotted L&P. Then the cameras turned and they were dazzled with flashbulbs and clicking shutters. Do you think there are few dogs in Europe? The bride looked a little peevish so we hurried away. We came to Place de la Concorde where the beginning of the tuileries are (the big giant garden). We walked through the giant gates and didn't get far before we were tossed out. Apparently the sign (which is not at the entrance, but on the side of the garden a block from the entrance) has a picture of a dog with a leash in its mouth. Umm - no dogs off leash? No dogs with a leash? No dog walking itself? I guess it means no dogs unless it's Toto in a basket. So we walked around the garden to Place Vendome, stopped for more treats and made it back to Rue Joubert, tired, dusty and hot, but happy. L&P rated the walk a 5 because we did not let them partake of the sidewalk buffet, neither the poop delights or the chewing gum nor the leftover bread. They did however, rate the brasserie stop at Place Vendome a big old 8 because they were able to snack, drink and nap all in the comfort of our laps. The Americans next to us were aghast that we let P rest her head on the table to nap while the waiter brought them some water and made sure to put our coffee away from her reach. I love the French.

And Onto the City Hike

2007-05-20T04:27:00.000-07:00

L&P were used to Metros so when we started walking, as soon as we came to a Metro Station, one or the other of them dove for the stairs thinking that this should be the one. Ha. That went on the entire distance and that made for a long long walk. L, of course, would stink eye her Momo and Dad often as we moved them past the Metro Stations. Like she knew what was in store. We began after lunch at Victor Hugo and made our way toward the Seine. We strolled though many lovely neighborhoods full of children and families and dog poop. I had been waiting to find dog poop, and well, there it was. P was in heaven. A very short leash for her. L was peevish as usual when she encounters bad manners. There were some great views. We would turn a corner and suddenly there would be the Eiffel standing tall. We passed many parks, narrow streets piled with bumper to bumper parked cars - which always makes me wonder how they get out of parking spaces - levitate? Or really strong bumpers? P needed a carry now and then because she would actually just stop. Momo wanted to stop many times. It was warm, it was humid, and it was apparent that Dad was only reckoning by French map standards, which translates to "somewhere that way". His French is also improving and soon I expect he will only talk to me in French. Mon dieu. Sure enough, he was correct and we soon found ourselves down by the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. We stopped for cafe at our favorite brassierie in that neighborhood and a snack. The puppies took the opportunity to nap in our laps. Staring at the monument, drinking cafe creme and express (that would be coffee with milk and an espresso) a gentleman from somewhere, not France, not US, came up to us with his camera - pointed to L&P and showed us his digital screen featuring none other than the L&P at Place Vendome a few days earlier. He was one of the photographers who took pictures of the girls when we set them up (see the earlier blog). Yikes. What a small world after all. He was so excited to see them again, and like any good tired BT, they opened one eye and gave him the stink eye-you be bothering my nap-stare. Taking the hint, he said good bye (or so we think) and then was off. Yes, L&P are pretty darn cute, but why do people take pictures of them? You'd think they had never seen a dog before? L&P rate the walk to the Brasserie by the Eiffel as a 7. They got a nice nap and a good snack and a good potty break.

Lunch Always Helps

2007-05-20T04:14:00.000-07:00

Post pet store we stopped on Victor Hugo for lunch at well, Victor Hugo Brasserie. Easy to remember. And not for the food. Here are the L&P with Dad enjoying some lunch. P was very tired by then (and we had only just begun). Being the puppy she is, napping with her head on the table is typical. Her sister thought that was pretty darn rude and here you can see her little peevish look. Often she has that look when her sister does puppy stuff. We so enjoy it.

Momo tried another Crouque Monsieur because she is obsessed with finding the perfect one. Truth be told, she does not even enjoy grilled cheese at home, so why she keeps ordering them is a mystery. Dad, who cannot not eat gluten, is making his way through a myriad of odd salads. So far, the strangest is the one with sausage, wine sauce, poached egg, greens, watercress, mushrooms, and then a bit of vinigrette. Odd indeed. Let me get the recipe.

It was a nice neighborhood, and not crowded with tourists. More fun to people watch. L&P did not rate it. They thought it should just be itself and not a number.

Nary a Puppy Supply Shop with Fun Stuff

2007-05-20T04:02:00.000-07:00

L&P walked their mighty little legs off yesterday. We began on the Metro in search of two dog shops that Momo cleverly found on the French Yellow Pages. If only she could read French, her enthusiasm might wane once she translated the text. The first shop, a two Metro ride away, was a dog Salon! Sigh. Next, another Metro ride from there, we located the second one which had a website and picture showing lots of clothes and things. Oh oh. Another "guideline" taken with a wide angle lens apparently because they shop was as small as my apt. kitchen. And yes, they had some clothes, but the kind you might find at Petsmart and for 18x the price. Toys? Non. Just a few things that should have been 1E but were many Euros more. Sigh. We needed toenail clippers for the L because they grow like weeds and I was so sure that there would be many Pet supply shops that I did not pack them. Oops. Good thing she is walking a bunch - nothing like concrete for a little filing. So after that disappointing experience we began our day hoping to make it more fun than how we started. And it was. L&P thought the pet store stuff was a big fat zero. But enjoyed the rest of the day as you will see.

Oh Internet Oh Internet - Where for art thou.......

2007-05-18T10:59:00.000-07:00

Not here. Apparently in France the Internet is like a guideline. Or a good thought. It might be here or it might not. And when they get around to restoring it is anyone's guess. This past round was almost two days. Momo sure was feeling it. Even the wireless French Telecom was not feeling very connected either. So alas, if the blog is not updated it is not because I have forgotten you dear readers (umm, I hope there are readers!). I will post each day that the internet is alive and kicking.

Dear Google - please wire Paris! Thanks. Momo.

Eating in the Rain

2007-05-18T10:53:00.000-07:00

After walking for miles certain to come upon the place that has fabulous breakfast, Momo and Dad found us a brasserie that was open on Ascention Day (I think that is what it is called) which means the owner was not at Church? As you can see in the pictures, L&P got cozy with their very own café au laits and basket of bread. The waiter gave L&P two thumbs up and said they were very cute. L&P shared Momo and Dad’s steak and pomme frite which were very very good. After that everyone was in a much finer mood even though it was really raining by then. Miles later everyone arrived home and L&P promptly took to the couch and napped away the tres bon lunch. L&P rate Dick’s Brasserie a big 10 for both yummy food and very appreciative wait staff. And L requested that we give her a little warning before we take a photo so she remembers to open her eyes.......she says she was busy breathing in the aroma of the cafe au lait!

L&P Walk to Place Vendome

2007-05-18T10:48:00.000-07:00

L&P celebrate another French holiday by taking Momo and Dad for a very long hike to Place Vendome which is where the Ritz and other boring shops are located. Here is a photo of L&P in front of the Ritz looking out across Place Vendome. They are searching for the breakfast place everyone talks about and calls the fabulous breakfast place. Apparently it hasn’t a name because we did not find anything that said breakfast. That made L&P unhappy. Of course as soon as Momo and Dad began with the photos so did a crowd as well. Bored to tears L&P could not figure out why all those people were snapping photos of them at Place Vendome. One woman, pictured here (and not Momo, lol) popped herself into the picture as though L&P were celebs on a stroll. Momo told her to scram just like any good handler would. In many languages, scram, means the same thing when said the way Momo said it. Vendome is reported to have many fine chocolatiers. We found only Godiva so we must have looked in the wrong place. L&P, having never experienced chocolate did not care, but Momo and Dad did. Did we mention is was raining? Did we mention that Momo and Dad left their raincoats in California? But L&P had theirs! Only they were stuck in Dad’s backpack and he said we all had to rough it. Geez. By the time we got home we were full of mud. Thanks Dad. L&P rate place Vendome an 8 because cute girls were swarming all over them.

Our Kitchen is Certainly Efficient - But Not Much Fun

2007-05-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of our apt. kitchen. To the right is a cooktop - or it looks like one. We haven't cooked anything on it because then there would be no place to keep our coffee. The coffee pot is normal as long as you don't put the grounds where the water should go (hello?). The right side cupboard is the refrigerator. Not fun when your back is sore. And the left side has one drawer with some silverware, and a tiny itty bitty dishwasher which does not hold a dinner plate, so therefore, we can never eat dinner here (kidding). The microwave gets the most use but it has a bit of a power issue, so things take a long time to heat up. It is kind of pretty though. But my most favorite part is the little thingy on the wall above the cooktop. It is a timer. There is no clock in here, no mirror downstairs, not even three forks, but there is a timer. Just in case you want a one minute egg or to bake a cake - oh wait - in what? no oven.

Oh wait. There is a clock. It is on the microwave. It took a week for us to realize that it was telling time in that weird way - you know, 1300 hours, 1400 hours. Still won't help me bake a cake. But there you have it. A tiny apt kitchen space. BTW, the bathroom upstairs? 5x the size of the kitchen. We will discuss that another day! L&P rate the kitchen as a 10. They can see their bag of food at all times. To them, that means hope smells pretty good.

L&P Mind the Store - Sort Of

2007-05-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

Momo and Dad left L&P in charge last night when they went to a city like 8:30 dinner. The rules were simple. Jammies, stay up till 10, no pay per view, and no long distance calls - and no take out deliveries. Do you think they listened? Ha. Not only did they take off the jammies, but there was the distinct odor of pizza lingering when we got back. Who thought to take the pizza box to the garbage? Would not be hard to order pizza in Paris. I wonder if it is a rule that there is to be at least one pizza shop per Rue? Hum.

It was our first dinner out and we very much enjoyed our Italian feast. Yes, Italian. Hey, it's not that far to Italy from here. But we have yet to have a French dinner. The food was just fantastic - full of white and black truffles. Great inexpensive wine- which is the rule here- and a good thing too. Almost 4 hours later we ambled home - a big ten minute walk- in a Paris drizzle- stuffed, tired and happy. Here is the question of the day. How come everyone says portions are smaller here? There was enough food to feed hour people - and we ate it all. I don't think walking will make those calories disappear. Oh well. One less pastry tomorrow.

BTW, as I blog this the church bells started peeling, only if I count correctly it is 3000 o'clock? Welcome to the new French President who was just sworn in?

L&P - cafe au lait and croissant with Momo

2007-05-15T06:33:00.000-07:00

L&P took Momo out for morning cafe au lait since she seemed to need some. We went to the usual corner hang out and the nice waiter whose name we still cannot pronounce gave L&P extra special scratches and brought Momo her cafe and our croissant which we shared. Too bad Momo didn't bring something for us to put our freezing cold butts on - we did not like that. It is cold in Paris today. For some reason every time Momo says Boston Terrier, the other person nods and says, ahhh Frenchie! And the famous begging gypsies were out in force today. Three came to our table and asked if we spoke English. First time, Momo said yes too quickly and had to be mean to make her go away. The next two times she shrugged and they made nasty faces and went away. L&P are sure she shrugged in English. She must learn to shrug in oh, how about, Yiddish? That might scare them. Anyway, here we are waiting for our croissant.

L&P visit L'Arc de Triomphe

2007-05-14T02:59:00.000-07:00

But not before taking the very crowded Sunday Metro and walking miles underground. And who placed the sortie directions down there? I cannot tell you how many miles we have walked only to come above ground I think in New York City sometimes. On the Champs Elysees, we hiked to see the L'Arc. L&P were not having much fun dodging the tourists who were here in abundance window shopping at some fabulous "French" stores like Disney, Virgin Megastore, and Tie Rack. Momo said bad words about that. L&P were annoyed with everyone who wanted to take a photo with the "French Bulldogs". Like they were rock stars. Some even followed us all the way on our walk. As you can see L'Arc was not nearly as interesting to L&P as were the young women who were following us joining L&P on the bench. In fact they took more pictures of them than we did, and were very disappointed when Tim finally made them understand that they were Boston Terriers and not Frenchies. The stalkers left. Between the Wizard of Oz weather and the strange strange crowds, we hiked back to our Metro stop and went home. But not before taking another underground tour of Paris seemingly to end up on the reverse side of the tracks (not at all). L&P rate L'Arc as a 3 out of 10. The pastry we bought got a 9 out of 10.

Oh So Very Tired

2007-05-14T02:46:00.000-07:00

L&P seem to need a day off after a big excursion. I think the Metro takes lots of BT fortitude - I know it does for Momo. Today Dad went to work for the first time since arriving. Momo and the L&P were on their own. After a big rest the three of us went out to potty and fetch a morning pain au chocolate. Since there is not a mirror to be found on our 1st floor, Momo forgot to look at her hair. L&P could care less - they were going out to the sidewalk buffet and Momo could be naked. She was not, just for your information. But today was significant. Two people asked for directions in French. One Momo answered with a oui and a pointed finger. Ha. She was asking for the Metro St. Lazar of which there are 86 entrances..... Hope she got the right one. Then someone asked Momo to answer a survery, to which L&P graciously licked her ankles sending her scurrying away. And someone came over to see the bon chien and tell L&P what nice Frenchies they are........Oui. Momo said Boston Terrier. She asked, Frenchie? Momo said, no, BT. So L&P are now honorary Frenchies when necessary. And the sidewalk buffet? Tres Bon!

And More from Rue Joubert

2007-05-13T03:23:00.000-07:00

This is the view out of our window. It is one corner at the head (or feet?) of Rue Joubert. The street is blocked to through traffic so it is very quiet. And around the corner are many stores of which L&P may not shop because they will spend too much. As will Momo. There are so many Metro stations around us. Almost directly under us is the RER. In Paris there is a huge underground maze of people movers in the form of trains. Just walking through Metro stations is a workout. Who needs a gym here? It is Sunday, and that means, unlike at home, everything is buttoned up tight. Very few stores are open anywhere and very few Brasseries. We were caught by surprise on your first day here which was last Sunday. Sad to say, our first meal in France was very bad pizza. We are making up for it though in pastry by the pound. And now that we know better, we loaded up on goodies for Sunday and have yet to get through the provisions and it is 8PM already. Anyone want a raspberry tart or an extra hunk of great cheese?

30 Rue Joubert

2007-05-12T10:55:00.000-07:00

Our apartment is pretty cool. Very tiny. The kitchen is about two feet long. Our bathrooms are bigger. No oven. But a small cooktop. We have two floors and our staircase is a very old wooden spiral. L&P spent the first day here practicing walking up and down so they could do it carefully because it is slippery and narrow.

We are on the end of a small tiny street with a church right at the T intersection (out our window).and a small grocery around the corner. Both Galleries Lafayette and Printemps are right outside practically and they have lots of goodies. Giant department stores with more things and even a very fine grocery, wine shops, cafes, and brasseries every few feet. And pastry shops all around. Larger than anything I have every encountered in California or New York. Makes Bloomingdales seem like a mom and pop shop

We Are Very Very Tired

2007-05-12T10:54:00.000-07:00

LP had a long long day and decided to stay in the next day and slumber while Momo and Dad walked and walked down Madeleine past the Madeleine Cathedral (church?). They brought us some tasty treats – bits of croissants and other goodies.

Eiffel Tower from Lulu and Phoebe's Boat

2007-05-12T10:50:00.000-07:00

Tim thought you might enjoy a picture of the Eiffel Tower at night. Up close and personal it is something.

Lulu and Phoebe on the Seine at Night

2007-05-12T10:45:00.000-07:00

Next, L&P take a bateau on the Seine later in the evening. Not only did they get to see many beautiful and old stone bridges, but they saw Notre Dame, and Eiffel Tower with all the lights on, and some of the most beautiful apartments in all of Paris, with a painted curved, vaulted ceiling and the most stunning artwork hanging on the walls, all from our bateau.

Lulu and Phoebe, Not Impressed with Eiffel Tower

2007-05-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

Next, L&P take the metro to see the Eiffel Tower in the daytime from across the Seine. It is pretty darn big. Lulu is a bit bored, but Phoebe, once again, is happy because other people dropped plenty of snacks to keep her going.

L&P spent plenty of time on both the RER and the Metro. They prefer the Metro. It is snappy speedy and they can go anywhere in a flash. They also enjoy it the most when others pay lots of attention to them.

Home For the Duration: 30 Rue Joubert 75009, Paris

2007-05-12T10:40:00.000-07:00

This is around the corner from our little apartment. It is the Paris Opera House. L&P are showing you the carriage entrance and are in fact wondering where their carriage is because they are very tired of walking by now. It is a breathtaking piece of architecture.

C'est Bulldog Francais

2007-05-12T10:35:00.000-07:00

Apparently Momo and Dad don’t know enough French to get our stroller when they get off the plane. So they carry us for miles through the strangest passageways to get our luggage and to take us to potty. Only we have to go through some line where everyone is waiting, but it goes quickly. That is, if everyone else would stop moving in front of us in line. We finally get to the front and no one even bothers to looks at L&P or ask for our papers. Momo and Dad get lost finding our luggage. Momo is trying to find the stroller and finally realizes that it is still at the gate where they plane landed. They bring it to her and our brand new pretty stroller is torn and looked like it got eaten by some machine. Oh oh. Not the words Momo used, but it means the same thing. Finally after walking in circles Momo and Dad find out how to get the car and we get to go outside to potty. WHERE? No grass? On the curb? You are kidding? Lulu was against this plan from the beginning and it took three days for her to relent. She almost held it for three days. Phoebe had a c’est la vie attitude. As long as she didn’t have to clean it up.

We Must Behave - We Must Behave

2007-05-12T10:34:00.000-07:00

Getting upgraded is pretty cool, but remember to never never get a middle seat, even in Business unless you are traveling with the person on the aisle. It can get pretty cozy when everyone stretches out for the sleepy time at night and you have to get up and go pee. Momo that is – I had to hold it for hours. No one asked L&P if they needed a potty.

The good news is that traveling in Business, under the seat means tucked up against the seat in front of you which is millions of feet away. Our Sturdibags fit sideways and they weren’t squished at all. The flight staff loved us and kept coming over to give us scratches so our bag tops were open most of the time. We slept just like everyone else.

That wasn’t so bad. Also, from the look on Momo’s face, we knew that if we made one peep, it would be bad news cause all those people were quite fussy about almost everything. Geez – we would have been happy with just the cheese and crackers.

Through Security We Go All by Ourselves.....

2007-05-12T10:31:00.000-07:00

If you want to know how good our TSA is doing just ask Momo. She has a lot to say about that. I know cause I had to listen to her. At least everything got through the security even though it seemed like we practically unpacked and undressed to get through it. Good thing the nice man on the other side likes dogs cause they made us go first and we would have kept going if the nice man had not picked us up and put us in a plastic bin on a rolly thing that scared Phoebe. But then Momo rescued us just as we reached the end and were going to smash to the floor. Phew.

Lines and More Lines

2007-05-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

There is a 50 pound per bag weight limit for international flights. It says so right on the airline website in big letters. Did you hear that all you people who repacked your bags at the international ticket check-in counters making the rest of us wait? L&P had a wonderful time smelling all the fine underwear and sox and shoes that came flying out of bags onto the floor as travelers repacked to meet the weight limits to avoid paying more money. And that is why we stood in line for more than an hour. But it was worth it. The nice lady who never even said hello to L&P let them upgrade from economy to business. Cool. L&P got to fly in the front of the plane where they give out nighty night socks and eye masks – the sox were nice to chew, but the eye masks were way to confusing and didn’t fit their little smooshed faces.

Back at Dulles. Oh My.

2007-05-12T10:22:00.000-07:00

Now here we are at Dulles which is an airport the size of a small city. Good thing Momo and Dad had our stroller. They didn’t put us in our bags until we had to go to the plane. It was hard having to hold going potty for so long. Next time I might request a depends for dogs in a petite size for me and extra large for Phoebe. I was wondering why they kept taking me out in the freezing cold rain to pee before we found the plane. Sigh.

Alien Dogs Cost Big Dollars at Residence Inn

2007-05-12T10:18:00.000-07:00

Now here we are in our hotel room near Dulles. See, we were smart to pack our food. Momo and Dad had to order bad food take out because for some reason there was not one restaurant anywhere near by (thank you travel agent person). They were very cranky. Not us. We were wondering where Momo and Dad would sleep since we claimed the big bed. Turns out we all had to share. Bummer. They snore. And the hotel charged more for us, than for Momo and Dad for the night! Mon Dieu.

First Flight on Jetblue to Dulles

2007-05-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

Here we are under the seat on Jetblue which is a very nice airline. Everyone is very friendly. And guess what? You know how they get all that great legroom? They shorten the seats to bench width pretty much. Momo’s rear kept slipping off. Perhaps if she hadn’t had her morning bagel for the past million years it would have fit better….. But we fit under the seat even with squishing our Sturdibags. Aside from the rather rocket like take off, we slept our way to the east coast. After all, no one bothered to feed L&P any
breakfast (and what was up with that?) and we did get up very early.

And How We Got There in Style!

2007-05-12T10:10:00.000-07:00

Here we are in our stroller condo using Sturdibags and Graco’s new car seat stroller minus the car seat. Fits our Sturdibags pretty well and L&P did not have to listen to Momo and Dad whine about carrying us through the monster airports.

Getting to Paris

2007-05-12T10:04:00.000-07:00

Lulu and Phoebe (L&P) demonstrate what it takes to get to Paris from California. First, pack every single toy and good chewie. Next, pack your finest tee shirts and sweaters and don’t forget the raincoats because it rains in Paris. Then, make sure you have gobs of your own food, some treats, and a few favorite blankies. If there is room left over, momo and dad can pack a few of their own things.