To the Alps We Go, But Not on the Metro

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 !

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

Encore Presentation: More from the Rue

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?

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

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

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.