eurovac 09

Modena Times

2009-10-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

Today's plan was to visit Modena. One thing we had learned the previous day was that we had been pronouncing the word "Modena" incorrectly for as long as we could remember! We called it Mo-den-ya ..... the Italians call it Mo-den-ah ... almost like the word 'moderner'.

We were woken before first light by the sounds of vehicles and people in our Piazza. I took a picture from our window:

Friday is market day in Reggio Emilia and every inch of open space was being transformed into what looked like the Swap Meet. By the time we were ready to leave, the market was in full swing. Swarms of people were picking through what could only be described as cheap clothing. Purple, but cheap! I saw one stall produce a pile of what looked like composition books. They were gone in seconds! It must have been a back-to-school special.

We had to pass the Due Madonne dairy again on our way to the Autostrade, so we stopped to buy our Parmesan - nicely vacuum packed so as not to offend American Customs.As of this writing, we have opened it and can only say - yummy!

The GPS worked well and we were able to find a parking space on the perimeter of the Centro Storico of Modena - but only after we were reprimanded for parking in the wrong-colored spot. Someone emerged from a building and politely told us to find a blue space, since the one we were in was a 'private' red one. A likely story! I wondered whether the French license plate had anything to do with it?

To reach the center, we had to negotiate our way around a massive military academy which is the Italian equivalent of West Point - only a tad older.

Historical records of Modena date back to the 3rd century BC, and its university was founded in 1175. So we're talking OLD! Famous Modenesi include Luciano Pavarotti (1935-2007) and Enzo Ferrari (1898 – 1988) eponymous founder of the Ferrari motor company, which is headquartered nearby.

Yes - they even make the famous Ferrari Enzo in purple!

We walked the streets of old Modena, taking some pictures as we went:

Ilene had an article from Conde Nast magazine, in which it talked about Mario Batale's favorite store in the world - Giusti's. The article spoke of a mysterious, small alleyway, accessible only through the store, which contained four tables at which the top chefs of the world dine from time to time. We found the salumeria and were not disappointed.

It was a mouthwatering delight of food and wine - even though we didn't find the fabled alleyway.

Lunch was simple and right on the cobbled street opposite Giusti's. Afterwards, we strolled through the Botanical Gardens where we saw some very large ducks and almost used the bathroom!

After a few minutes searching, we found the correct button on the wall to open it, but were never able to locate a closing mechanism. So we passed. Later, we did find a tourist information center that had toilets with seats - but square ones. A first for me.

On the journey home, and in keeping with our "let's see how others really live" attitude, we stopped at what appeared to be a mall with a Super Wal-Mart - IPERCOOP.

Ilene had a hankering for those Lazzaroni Amaretti cookies and we suspected we could get them on the cheap here.

Plenty of alternatives, but no tins to be found. Still, it was an interesting walk through a large mall and we left thinking that, except for the amount of cheese and pasta they consume (and the purple fetish), Italians live a lot like us!

We arrived back in Reggio Emilia in plenty of time to get ready for our prearranged, evening visit to a balsamic vinegar farm. The Cavazzone family who owns the Hotel Posta in which we stayed, also owns a property about 15 miles out of town, which consists of the farm, a restaurant and a small inn.

Another American couple - lawyers from St. Louis - had just arrived at the hotel and were going on the same dinner tour as us. They had no car, so I offered to take them with us.

After climbing up a windy road (not again!) to 1,500ft and arriving at the farm, we were greeted by the Cavazzone matriarch and walked to the family residence where we met one of her sons who was going to be our guide. It was dusk as were given a family history, which included a whimsical story about this gazebo, from which the views were spectacular.

We then walked to the attic in which the balsamic is made and were treated to an hour-long lecture on how its made. Here it is in a (large) nutshell!

Balsamic vinegar (Italian: aceto balsamico) is a condiment originating from Italy. The original traditional product, made from a reduction of cooked grape juice and not a vinegar in the usual sense, has been made in Modena and Reggio Emilia since the Middle Ages. The name "Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena" or "Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Reggio Emilia" is protected by both the Denominazione di Origine Protetta and the European Union's Protected Designation of Origin.

Balsamic vinegar of Modena, an inexpensive modern imitation of the traditional product, is today widely available and much better known. This is the kind commonly used for salad dressing together with oil.

Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale

Only two consortia produce true traditional balsamic vinegar, Modena and Reggio Emilia. True balsamic vinegar is made from a reduction of syrup from sweet wine grapes, called "Mosto Cotto" in Italian, which is subsequently aged for a minimum of 12 years in a battery of seven barrels of successively smaller sizes. The casks are made of different woods like chestnut, acacia, cherry, oak, mulberry, ash, and, in the past, juniper. True balsamic vinegar is rich, glossy, deep brown in color and has a complex flavor that balances the natural sweet and sour elements of the cooked grape juice with hints of wood from the casks.

Reggio Emilia (Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Reggio Emilia) designates the different ages of their balsamic vinegar by label colour. A red label means the vinegar has been aged for at least 12 years, a silver label that the vinegar has aged for at least 18 years and a gold label that designates the vinegar has aged for 25 years or more.

Modena (Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena) uses a different system to indicate the age of their balsamic vinegars. A cream coloured cap means the vinegar has aged for at least 12 years and a golden cap bearing the designation "extravecchio" shows the vinegar has aged for 25 years or more.

"Condimento" balsamic vinegars may be labeled as condimento balsamico, salsa balsamica or salsa di mosto cotto. Condimento balsamic vinegar may be made in many ways and there are no official standards or labeling systems to designate them - so it is hard to know what you are getting and if the high price is worth it.

Traditional Balsamic vinegar is produced from the juice of just harvested white grapes (typically, trebbiano grapes) boiled down to approximately 30% of the original volume to create a concentrate or must, which is then fermented with a slow aging process which concentrates the flavours. The flavour intensifies over decades, with the vinegar being kept in wooden casks, becoming sweet, viscous and very concentrated. During this period, a proportion evaporates: it is said that this is the "angels' share," a term also used in the production of scotch whisky, wine, and other alcoholic beverages.

None of the product may be withdrawn until the end of the minimum aging period of 12 years. At the end of the aging period (12, 18, or 25 years) a small proportion is drawn from the smallest cask and each cask is then topped up with the contents of the preceding (next largest) cask. Freshly reduced cooked must is added to the largest cask and in every subsequent year the drawing and topping up process is repeated. This process where the product is distributed from the oldest cask and then refilled from the next oldest vintage cask is called solera or in perpetuum.

After our lecture, we got to sample each of the vinegars (red, silver, gold) from a spoon and then sat down to a great dinner after which we bought some (gold) balsamic to bring home. If there was one thing I'll remember from this evening, it's never to mix great balsamic with great olive oil.

Despite having driven back to our hotel on three separate occasions, we were again unable to negotiate the one-way system successfully - even with the lawyers from St. Louis in the back seat. At one point, we had to back up a very narrow, and somewhat winding, dead-end street. The lawyers were unable to agree on which way I should turn the wheel, resulting in:

Thank goodness for the "full insurance" that they offer in Europe. We slept well that night, knowing that tomorrow we would be done with driving in Europe and that family would be waiting for us in London.

Big Wheel Keep on Turning

2009-09-28T21:00:00.000-07:00

Today we had to get up early to drive to the Due Maddone Latteria (Dairy) to watch Parmigiano Regiano being produced. The milk arrives at the production facility at about 4:30am and the entire process of making around 10 x 100lb wheels of cheese is all over by 10:30am, except, of course, for the aging process!

It was one of the highlights of our vacation. Our tour guide was a member of the Consortium which regulates the production of Parmigiano Regiano across the 409 production centers. She is a cheesehead extraordinaire with an elevated sense of smell and great command of the English language.

When we arrived the production process was in full swing, with the various vats at various stages of the process. I hope this imagery will explain the process.

Heating the milk to separate the whey

An empty vat is very deep. One vat only makes two wheels.

200lb of cheese is dragged from the bottom of the vat

The piece is cut into 'twins'

The cheese is then put into a round form and more whey is pressed out of it. It's at this point also that most of the distinguishing marks are 'stenciled' into the sides of the wheel. The wheels are then taken to the brine room and sit in a bath of brine for about two days, constantly being turned.

From the brine room, they are moved to the aging room where they stay for 18, 24, 30 months or more.

Even in this room, the wheels need constant attention. They continue to seep small amounts of mold which needs to be removed and this is done by taking the wheel from the shelf and brushing its surface. During the aging process, the wheels are 'knocked' with small metal hammers.

An educated ear can tell whether the cheese is aging according to plan, or whether holes and cracks are developing inside the wheel.

There was a small retail outlet in the factory where we sampled the various aged cheeses and we were also treated to spoonfuls of hot ricotta - minutes after it was produced. We decided not to buy our cheese there - at least not until we had checked out retails outlets in Parma and Modena.

So we got back on the Autostrada and drove the 20 or so miles to Parma.We had no trouble finding the Centro Storico, but were challenged to find a parking space. Being in the middle of earthquake country, there aren't too many underground (or overground!) parking lots to be found. Once again, a policeman helped us find a parking spot - but not before he had pointed out that we traveling the wrong way down a one-way street!

We made a beeline for La Greppia - a Mario Batali recommended traditional restaurant.It was unfortunately closed for the day, so we decided to just walk and look in the hope we would stumble across another gem. The stores in Parma were a lot like the ones in Reggio Emilia - purple was everywhere! We also noticed that Italians like to tell you what kind of store you're looking at by adding the letters 'eria' to whatever the main offering of the store is.

I find it rather redundant. Why do you need to be told you're looking at a hat store when there's nothing in the window but hats?

Our final choice for lunch was Angiol d'Or - a nicely decorated place where our waiter happened to have spent three years running a Chicago restaurant. As we were ordering lunch, a well-heeled wedding party turned up and took over half the restaurant. A good sign, we thought. We were not disappointed. Apart from two delicious pasta dishes, here's what else we had (after my spritz, of course!):

An amuse bouche of aged ricotta - one with balsamic vinegar and one with olive oil

A craft beer from a brewery (G. Menebrea e Figli) founded in 1846. Yum!

Bavarian Cream dessert with Licorice Sauce

After lunch we took in more of the sights and sounds of Parma. Here are some of them:

The Palazzo

The Baptistry

A Church

Another Church

Old fashioned urinals

A Chat after Confession

War Memorial

On the journey home, we stopped at a mall on the outskirts of Parma and couldn't resist checking it out. Not much different than at home in terms of types of stores, but the one big difference was the predominance of alcoholic beverages and places they are sold. You can get beer and wine just about everywhere in Italy - gas stations, MacDonald's, from vending machines. I was also the only person wearing shorts in the mall and maybe even the entire county! It appears that shorts are reserved for soccer players and, no matter how hot or humid it may be, the most casual attire for a man is a pair of jeans. Anticipating the purchase of large quantities of cheese and balsamic, we did buy another suitcase'

Back in Reggio Emilia that evening, we finally found a good pizza restaurant - Condor, near the park, served a 4 foot calzone on a plate just as long! Ilene had artichoke topping and I had anchovies. A carafe of local white wine complemented the meal.

That night it didn't take long to be off in foodie dreamland .... with thoughts of a Balsamic Vinegar factory tour the next day. I dreaded to think what I weighed. I had already retired one pair of jeans several days earlier.

The Color Purple

2009-09-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

We were up early, neither of us looking forward to negotiating the horrendous roads that had brought us to this great little village. But we thought that if we left early enough, we would avoid the same tourist buses hurtling down into the village that we had encountered two days ago on our inward journey. We took a cab through the tunnel again, the driver graciously taking us into the parking lot and all the way to our Peugot.

The journey up the hill was as incident-free as the journey down was heart-pounding. There were still times when the drop-off was a little too steep, but we were soon on the Autostrada again and feeding the toll machines. By this time we were pros at the game, unconcerned as to which lane we chose at the toll booth. In a matter of seconds, Ilene could rustle together 3,80 euros from the pile of scrap metal that was in her purse. Exact change!

We reached Reggio Emilia and followed the "Centro Storico" signs, knowing that our hotel was in the center of the historic district. There were times when we even glimpsed signs pointing to our hotel - "Posta" and an arrow. But they seemed to disappear after a while. The GPS was having a fit - obviously oblivious to the one-way system in the town, it was trying to turn us back no matter which direction we took. I finally stopped next to two Municipal Polizei and I showed them the address of the hotel. It didn't take long for one of them to realize that we weren't making any progress talking, so he used the universal sign language which, when translated, reads: "I'm going to get in my car and go there. Just follow me." And he did. And we did. And in less than two minutes we were pulling into a tiny alley that led to the hotel parking lot - a courtyard inside the hotel!

The hotel structure dated back to the 15th century and was magnificently 'grand' - what you would expect of four-star European hotel. The porter took our bags to our room, parked our car and the front desk manager, in perfect English, welcomed us to the hotel and gave us a room key that weighed about two pounds!

We were sure it was to discourage guests from taking their room keys out of the hotel. So, each time we left, we handed in our key which was then ceremoniously hung above the pigeon hole behind the front desk that bore our room number - 108.

The room turned out to be a suite, with a separate living room, a reasonable shower and a view of the Piazza del Monte. I took this picture from our bedroom balcony soon after arrival.

It didn't take us long to get out of the hotel to explore the neighborhood - and, of course, it was past our lunchtime! The Piazza del Monte was flanked with some fascinating buildings which whetted our appetites for more of the same.

With all of this within fifty yards of our hotel, what else would be in store for us in the cities and towns of Emilia Romagna?

We left the Piazza through an archway which immediately brought us to our first "salumeria", laden with the regional delights that we had come here to experience.

Opposite the salumeria, we saw another store selling meat:

and momentarily felt queasy. But it didn't stop us finding a small cafe where we managed to communicate with the owner that all we wanted was a plate of meat (pig not horse) and cheese. He came up with the perfect 'off-menu' lunch:

including a drizzle of balsamic vinegar on the chunk of Parmesan, the mandatory spritz for me and a Coke light for Ilene. After lunch, we walked the shopping streets of the town and were amazed at the variety of haute couture clothes available and, naturally, the shoes, boots and leather handbags! One thing stood out above all else. PURPLE. Every store window was festooned with things purple. Obviously, the 'in' color. After a while, it became amusing and we couldn't stop ourselves saying "Michele would like that" - because of her penchant for all things purple.

Later that day, we took a long walk through the town's park and back into the square that housed an impressive fountain, the theater and yet another grand church.

People in small groups were everywhere. The men in their groups and the women separately in theirs. Everyone wanting to talk at once - not unlike a Karpf family reunion. Where the sound of voices was missing, the sound of music was prominent. Benches in the piazzas had music emanating from below them; even bathrooms were awash with Italian music.

We decided it was time for pizza and chose a place at random. Not good. We paid the bill and wandered some more, this time taking care to scrutinize the plates of people sitting outside and eating. One place looked promising and we weren't disappointed. We both ate pasta this time and were satisfied. One the way back to the hotel, I took this picture in 'our' piazza and we retired for the evening after our first day of 'real' Italy.

Vertigo in Vernazza

2009-09-28T20:04:00.000-07:00

The view to the west from our hotel room looked promising on our first morning in Monterosso - though it seemed to be quite dark for 7am - until I realized that we had a couple of thousand feet of mountain blocking the view of the rising sun in the east. The forecast was for 30 degree weather (celsius) and we were looking forward to a day of walking between the five towns.

Anders Celsius

We had become quite proficient at figuring out the temperature conversion from celsius to fahrenheit. Ilene knew that 15 was freezing, 20 was bearable, 30 was optimal and 40 was Palm Springs. I remembered that if you double the number, subtract 10% and add 32 - it would give you a pretty accurate reading. So 30 by my calculation was 86, so we were happy campers.

After a quick coffee, we set off down the 137 steps, eager to get a head start on the crowds that we thought would be trying to negotiate the same pathway that we had decided to attempt. The only thing in the Cinque Terre more plentiful than steps is the Rick Steves guidebook to Italy. No matter where we looked, someone was clutching one. People from diverse lands, unable to speak the others' language, stood on street corners conversing in Rick Steves talk, their books dog-eared on the Cinque Terre pages.

It was the section on Vernazza - his favorite town of the five - that mentioned a Tuesday morning market and thus led us to attempt the walk there. All indications led us to believe it was about a mile. No problem. We often walk the 4 miles to Dana Point harbor and back - including some steps and a severe incline.

Two hundred yards into the walk, we were already having to negotiate terrain that mountain goats would avoid like the plague.

Ilene's vertigo kicked in and she began to hug the rock rather than railing, as (mainly) Germans sped by us in droves, oblivious of the altitude or severity of the slope! It wasn't long before we reached a sort of toll both - a place where you had to turn in your ticket to continue the walk. What a stroke of luck! We didn't have tickets, so perhaps we would be turned back. Alas! It was unmanned, so we persevered onwards, thinking that Vernazza would magically appear at every turn. Strangely, we found ourselves on a rocky crag of an island, with no sign of Vernazza and no way off it other than by the path by which we just arrived. The decision was quick and forceful - we would go back.

As we headed precariously back to Monterosso, we warned those foolish enough to have follwed us in the first place, that they were going the wrong way. We were unanimously ignored.

Hell bent on making it to Vernazza, our next stop was the railway station, where we bought our tickets, found the correct platform (there were only 3!) and waited in the sun. Like everything in Italy, the train was late, but after it came we were into a tunnel and emerged at Vernazza station in about 4 minutes.

The station is as the top of the village, so we walked downhill to the harbor, passing by the Tuesday market which consisted of a few booths selling produce, cheap clothes and ..... wait for it ...... toilet paper!

I thought that someone had already read the blog and had stolen my Quilted Northern franchise idea. I was wrong. It was the same old sandpaper that we'd been using since Avignon.

The sinuous street to the harbor was quaint, and we understood why it was Rick Steves' favorite, especially when we reached the bottom and saw the flotilla of blue fishing boats bobbing gently in the sheltered harbor. But not before chowing down on a cold piece of foccacia with grilled onions. Delicioso!

We checked the boat schedule and within 30 minutes we were on our way to Riomaggiore, the southermost of the towns, with a roundtrip ticket back to Monterosso. The time spent on the water was exhilirating, made so by the spectacular views as we passed the towns of Corniglia and Manarola on the way there and back.

We didn't stay long in Riomaggiore, but did walk through a tunnel (with amazing mosaics on its walls) on the way to the Via dell'Amore - about which I wrote back in March in "Amore Eterno".

Not wanting to get involved in another potential vertigo situation, we were soon back on the boat and arrived back in Monterosso hankering for lunch.

The food at Ciak had been so delicious the night before, we decided to go again for lunch. Again, we enjoyed conversation with two Aussie couples - these ones from Queensland. When we mentioned that we'd dined the night before with a couple from Perth, the only response was "you poor bastards". We tried the same seafood pasta dish, sampled some really good local white wine and (I) topped it all off with caffe and limoncello.

Ilene bought the Ciak cookbook and had it personally signed by the chef, who we affectionally referred to as Popeye.

Back up the steps to the room where we changed and headed back down to the beach. We couldn't wait to get in the water which felt like a balmy 78-80 degrees.

Although the beaches are nothing but small stones that torture your bare feet, the sea bottom is sandy. After a couple of hours, like creatures of habit, we were back at the 'beach club' enjoying the same Spritzes and tapas that we had sampled the day before.

A quick nap and all the stairs later, we ended up at a restaurant perched on a cliff (not too close to the edge!) where we ate, drank and watched the sun go down on our final night in Cinque Terre.

5 Terre

2009-09-24T23:56:00.001-07:00

We had planned September 21st as travel day. We would say au revoir to Cannes and take a leisurely drive up the Riviera and round the corner into Italy. Final destination: the Cinque Terre. First, however, we would have to find a car in which to make the journey. So, we were on the road to Nice by 8:30am and easily found our way to the Hertz car return at Nice International Airport.

We checked in the Mercedes and, after a short period of "Sorreee, wee have no car for you", they came up with a Peugot crossover, reluctantly allowing me to take it out of the country. Bologna Airport could have been the mountains of Afghanistan for all they cared. The fact was that I was taking one of their precious cars to a foreign land - for which they would have to charge me basically double the normal rental rate! Ilene and I vowed that if we ever did this again, we would go for a stickshift driving refresher course in the US prior to departure.

We had no idea of the number of tunnels and bridges we were about to negotiate between Nice and Monterosso al Mare.

Our conservative estimate was 300; each one so neatly signed and named; each one showing its exact length in meters (or metres to be precise). The longest tunnel was 2,300 meters and the longest bridge was 1,350 meters - with about the same length of drop below it! The road itself was a 2-lane autoroute, great to drive on and laden with tolls.

Pretty soon we were hankering for lunch and decided to follow the signs to Monaco.

The view was spectacular as we negotiated hairpin bends, teetering over sheer cliffs to the Mediterranean below.

It was well worth the diversion and we left the Peugot in the Monte Carlo Casino parking lot to explore the sights. The first thing that we noticed was the cleanliness. We could have eaten lunch off the parking garage floor and the elevator to ground level was like something you'd expect to see in the Ritz. We walked around the Casino and took in some sights of the famed harbor.

Roof of the Centre des Congrès Auditorium de Monaco - "Hexa Grace" by Victor Vasarely

The Queen Mary II

The Casino

A snack and a limoncello outdoors at the Cafe de Paris was light, delightful and expensive - and we were soon back in the car and on the road again.

Within ten minutes we had crossed the Italian border and not long thereafter we were passing Genova (Genoa of Christopher Columbus fame) and many other smaller Italian industrial coastal towns.

After a quick stop at a freeway services area, we began the descent to Monterosso al Mare. What a nightmare! The road could barely accommodate two vehicles and my driver's side mirror was in constant danger of decapitation. The alternative was to topple over a 2,000 foot precipice.

Then we met our first tour bus! It came barreling round a corner, seemingly traveling faster uphill than we were traveling down. There was no way we were going to pass. Its driver took delight in stopping an inch (or a centimeter!) from us and then gesturing that we should back up. I had pulled to right side of the road when I first saw the bus, so now I was boxed in by garbage cans to my right and a row of parked motor scooters behind me. We could see the tour guide in the bus, describing the entire scenario to its occupants, who all appeared to be German and enjoying the goings-on. The incident ended with the driver leaving his bus and manhandling the scooters behind me, to create an area in which I could back up enough to let him through. Even then, the clearance was less than an inch.

Two more bus encounters later, we were in the town at sea level and I could finally take a breath! Little did we know that we could have avoided the buses had we taken the correct road. Monterosso has two sides to the village - the old and new - connected by a pedestrian tunnel which also accommodates local traffic and taxis.

Our hotel was on the old side and we found ourselves on the new! There was no way that we were going to drive back up that hill and down another, so we parked the car and hauled our luggage to an outdoor cafe where we had yet another snack and well-deserved drinks.

We then had a cab take us through the tunnel to our hotel, the Villa Steno.

The second picture (above) shows some of the 137 steps that lead from the street to the hotel. We climbed UP them four times in 24 hours! The hotel itself, however, was great. Spacious room, a toilet seat, a tight shower and a balcony overlooking the hotel's orchard and the village and sea below. We had to walk through the orchard to get to those steps - but it was great to see fruit like pomegranates which neither of us remember ever seen growing before. One particular lime stared at us like a gargoyle as we passed!

We couldn't wait to get down to the beach and it didn't take long for me to get my feet wet.

We discovered a small, open-air bar overlooking the beach and immediately made friends with the waitress from Los Angeles. The locals were drinking an odd-looking orange concoction which they called a "Spritz":

I couldn't resist trying one and loved it! Half Aperol and half Prosecco, it makes for a refreshing aperitif. Aperol is an Italian aperitif produced by the Campari company. Its ingredients are, among others, bitter orange, gentian, rhubarb, and cinchona. Although it looks, tastes, and smells much like Campari, Aperol has an alcohol content of 11% - a little less than half of its big brother. It was to be the first of many over the next few days.

That night we ate outdoors at Ciak's restaurant. We shared a bottle of Colli di Luni produced from the vermentino - a grape that I hadn't tasted before. A fabulous complement to the seafood we ate.

It wouldn't be the last time we ate there! The Cinque Terre were turning out to be as magical as we had imagined and the 137 steps back to our room were a breeze!

Cannes Cans

2009-09-24T20:54:00.000-07:00

The Hotel Renoir in Cannes won the award for best bathroom yet in France. Lots of countertop space to spread out our toiletries, a separate WC, radiant heating under the tiles and a tub/shower combo with excellent water pressure. The only downside: the Unquilted Southern. Nevertheless, it was a welcome break from toilets with no pedestals, no seats, entry fees and strange odors. The early morning view from our balcony boded well for the rest of the day.

The day was quickly warming as we walked through the old section of town, past the harbor and into the Palm Beach neighborhood where we ate a breakfast crepe and watched the people walk by - trying to determine who was a local. The man strolling with the cat on his shoulder definitely qualified! Americans seemed to be the only ones wearing baseball caps and Frenchmen in capri pants were plentiful!

We found one of those delightful pissoirs on the street, painted in typical Cannes colors - the sort that I talked about in "Oui Oui" last March. The photo of my standing beside it was as close as I got!

It was Sunday in Cannes and the famed shops on the rue Antibes were closed. We walked the entire street window shopping, making detours back and forth to the famed La Croisette, the beachfront boulevard on which the ritzy hotels are located. We sampled the bathrooms in Hotel Martinez and in the Majestic Barrière situated opposite the Palais des Festivals (home of the Cannes Film Festival) - both were excellently appointed.

It was nearing lunch time, so we began the process of choosing a beachfront bistro in which to eat. The choices were plentiful, so it didn't take long.

We were even joined for lunch by what looked like a dove. We realized that it was just another pesky pigeon when the waiter tried to swat it with a towel!

The beach was bustling with tourists and vendors dressed in colorful African garb, selling hats and sunglasses. After lunch, as we tried to walk off the pounds, we came across the ideal spot for Tom and Mindy's wedding:

There was even a new twist on a wedding limo. A stretch Smart car!

We went back to the hotel for our afternoon nap and found a great little bistro for late dinner and yet another bottle of rose and some limoncello, which appeared prominently on every drinks menu.

After a perfect slice of the French Riviera, we settled in for the night - hoping that in the morning, the Mercedes would still be in the same cramped parking space in which we had left it the previous evening!

Glorious Bastides

2009-09-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

For our last day en Provence, we were finally greeted by a bright, sunny morning. It was a chance to capture the Bastide in all its glory. Here it is:

We had numerous conversation during our stay as to exactly what a bastide is or was. It's a local name for a manor house in Provence, originally occupied by a wealthy farmer. It is larger and more elegant than the farmhouse (called a mas) and tends to be square or rectangular, with a tile roof, walls of fine stone sometimes covered with stucco or whitewashed, and often built in a square around a courtyard.

Since we did not partake of the truffle-fest the previous evening, the staff graciously offered us 'packed lunches' to take for the journey. It seemed a good idea for the train travelers and we accepted. The brown bags arrived as we were leaving and - yes - did contain truffles, but only as a garnish on the dessert course.

Tom posed for a final Europeeing picture and we were on our way at 11am, bound for the Gare TGV d'Avignon.

For once, the GPS estimate and the actual travel time matched, and we dropped off the New Yorkers - exchanging hugs and kisses with all except Mindy who made a beeline for the ticket machine and was never seen again! One circle around the parking lot and we were at the Europcar office again.

The check-in guy oohed and aahed at the minor damage, meticulously noting each and every scratch on the rental agreement. One euro in the machine got us a luggage trolley and we returned to the counter to exchange the Mercedes bus for what had hoped was a Mercedes A-Class or similar.

Alas, it was not to be! The rental car offices in France run a lot like the insurance companies in the US. The first answer is always no and then you have to fight for every concession thereafter. So it was when I presented my neatly printed confirmation to the girl at the desk. "Oh I am sorreee, but we have no automateeks available." That was it. Simple and short.

I politely began the argument that was to end almost two hours later at the Hertz counter. As the scenario progressed, I would leave the office and report the goings-on to Ilene who was guarding the luggage outside. Suffice it to say that she was somewhat louder in her protestations than I was. At one point, I returned to the office only to be greeted with "If Madame cannot be quiet, we will not be able to help you". Strange coming from an office full of people who were doing a fine job at not helping us at all!

After about 30 minutes of frustration, I checked with the Hertz, Sixt and Avis counters only to be told the same story. No cars available. Sorreeee. Back at Europcar, they managed to magically make a vehicle appear - a Dodge no less - on paper. "Eet is a larger car, but we will not charge you for the upgrade". What option did we have? We agreed to bite the bullet and go with the Dodge SUV. We were driven with our luggage to an off-property lot by another young Europcar employee whose command of English was the odd shrug of his shoulders every now and again.

The last vehicle in the lot was, in fact, a Dodge something - but it looked to have been beaten with sticks for a week and proudly displayed an orange caution sticker on the windscreen, entitled "ACCIDENT!". No thank you. We were driven back to the office, unloaded our luggage again and I rolled up my sleeves for another round with the Europcar staff. "Wee can reemove the sticker if it makes you feeel better", was about the best they could offer, arguing that it wasn't really an issue to have a beat-up car with an accident sticker on it. It would be fixed immediately after the dumb yankees drove it to Italy.

Back to Hertz, where they had magically made a car appear. A "prestige" car no less. It was a big Mercedes E Class.

Two problems. It would cost more than the national debt of France AND we would not be able to take it over the Italian border. Since it was the weekend, they couldn't really confirm anything else for us, but did say that we would be able to find a replacement in Nice - a non-prestige car that we could definitely take to Italy. After two hours we would have agreed to any terms, so we loaded up the Mercedes, cancelled the Accident! Dodge and set the GPS for the Hotel Renoir, Cannes.

About 20 euros in tolls later, and some threatening weather, we arrived in Cannes.

On the way we did get a glimpse of Mont Ste. Victoire. The weather was too bad for a photo from the car, so I'm including Cezanne's version of it.

We still had enough time to walk around the harbor area where the bistros were plentiful. Ilene had a fabulous plate of mussels (with frites!) and we shared a nice bottle of rose.

A good wireless internet signal (for 20 euros a day!) meant that we could check the weather. At last! There was sun in the picture for the following day. I fell asleep with thoughts of golden sand, big yachts and umbrellas shimmering in the sun....

Lourmarin Revisited

2009-09-23T07:13:00.000-07:00

The only thing less reliable than my wireless connection has been my laptop itself! There have been periods of up to two days when it just refused to work. It would boot up, show the Windows logo and promptly turn itself off. So I'm severely delinquent in posting to the blog. Today, in Reggio Emilia, I'll try and catch up - so get ready for a whirlwind tour of the Mediterranean coast.

We were all moving slowly on the morning after Peter's party, so the continuation of the dreadful weather was a welcome excuse to sleep in, have a late breakfast and head out for the Lourmarin market in the rain. The rain abated somewhat around lunchtime which (again!) was one of those "when will it end?" affairs. Mindy was given the job of restocking the communal loo with the largest roll of sandpaper we had seen on the trip.

After lunch, Ilene and I checked out the Chateau and some other sights around the village, while the others got in a little more shopping.

On the way home, we visited Lacoste, best known for its most notorious resident, the Marquis de Sade, who in the 18th century lived in the castle overlooking the village. Following a series of incidents involving local women and the police, the Marquis fled the country. The castle is now owned by fashion designer Pierre Cardin, who has partially restored it and holds cultural events there.

As we reached the parking lot to begin the ascent of the village it began again to thunder and lightning. The girls stayed in the bus while the guys made a swift ascent to the summit, catching a few great sights on the way.

That night, we had our farewell dinner at Le Fournil, a highly rated eatery in the village of Bonnieux.
Our plans to walk there were once again scuttled by the abysmal weather. The Chateaux du Claux, a recommendation from our sommelier at the Bastide, was particularly good!

Aix Marks the Spot

2009-09-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

We were amazed at the sight of the sun in Bonnieux as we ate a leisurely breakfast, over which we decided that Aix-en-Provence and its jeudi market would be our target for the day.

The drive took us over a narrow, windy road and through the villages of Lourmarin, Cadenet and Pertuis. Tom's bladder couldn't last the entire trip, so again he was Europeeing - close to a reservoir which is part of the Marseille canal system. The list of forbidden activities included "puiser de l'eau", which Tom ignored, claiming unfamiliarity with the language. No-one cared to argue with him.

The Aix market was pretty seedy. There were the same tourist-targeted stalls we found in Gordes and Saint-Rémy - just more of them. The same could not be said of the city's stores which were modern and trendy and captured everyone's attention.

Aix is a large (140,000+) university town, so the people in general appeared younger as they marched up and down the Cours Mirabeau, a plane tree-lined street in the city's center. At the end of the street is a magnificent fountain, with smaller, moss-encrusted ones at each street corner on the Cours.

It was at one of these smaller fountains that we met for lunch at 1:30pm. I had earlier managed to negotiate a table for 6 at the famed Les deuc Garcons bistro - the former hangout of Zola, Cezanne, Winston Churchill and Jean-Paul Belmondo.

Another 2 hour+ lunch ensued, with Dennis getting the cowboy-sized ribeye he had been yearning for. Here he is proudly displaying it (and burning his fingers to boot!).

Tom chose the fish special of the day - Marlu - which looked menacing on the plate.

I had a traditional fish soup. Dessert consisted of profiteroles and chocolate fondue. We left our waiter a handsome tip in the hope that he may use it on much-needed dentistry!

A quick stop in the village of Lourmarin landed us some pretty flowers and a couple of bottles of wine for the visit to chez Peter. There was no time for a siesta - just a quick change of clothes and we were on our way. It was around 7pm when we arrived at Maison Noel; Peter and Trish's home dead in the center of Lagnes and too close to the clock tower which, in the Napoleonic tradition, strikes the hour twice. We were told that this was customary in order for the field workers to always be aware of the time. If they didn't count the chimes correctly the first time, they would surely hear them during the second.

After some tapas, a nice boxed rose and introductions to three extra partygoers, we were given a tour of the maison with its metre-thick walls and splendid back garden - albeit under construction. The other attendees were all Brits living in Provence in Pater Mayle style. I had one of those "it's a small world" moments when I found that one of the attendees was a retired architect who had worked with my brother-in-law in Newcastle!

The dinner was a sit-down Paella fest, complete with a jeroboam (3L) of local red wine, which needed a hammer and chisel to get it opened.

Dessert was a Provencal version of strawberry shortcake which we had acquired earlier in a calissons shop in Aix. Delicieux!

The wine flowed freely as we were treated to Peter's French version of one of my favorite rugby songs. Here he is crying while reading (or singing?):

We toasted Tom and Mindy's engagement and, in fact, they were legally married by one of the guests claiming to be a ship's captain - which gave him the right to perform weddings. We all drank to that - and to everything else from global warming to dog food.

Trish's iPod provided an eclectic collection of French and Italian songs that resulted in spontaneous dancing - with only a few people falling on their derrieres!

The poor bus received its first scratches on the way back up the hill, thanks to a bonehead parking job by some Citroen owner and, I suppose, my lack of driving skills. We all slept well that night - our minds full of new friends and experiences that will stay with us for ever.

Les Parapluies de Saint-Rémy

2009-09-19T10:37:00.000-07:00

It rained all night long. Our sage green shutters were tightly closed, but I still felt every bolt of lightning and the subsequent rumble of its accompanying thunder. Van Gogh's impression of similar weather looked like this.

Over breakfast, we decided to ignore the torrential rain and to head directly for Saint-Rémy-de-Provence; to partake of its legendary mercredi market. Everyone scrambled for what little warm clothes we had brought with us and headed down the hill again. I took the 'bus' down the hill and Tom took it from there.

After hearing "oohs", "aaahs" and "oy veys" from the rear seats every time the bus strayed either too close to a precipice or too close to oncoming traffic, Tom was well prepared (as you can see) for the journey ahead:

Earlier in the day I had called an old friend from Toronto - Peter Michie - who, with his wife Trish, spends winters in Hope Town, Bahamas and summers in Lagnes, Provence - another perched village not far from Bonnieux.

We arranged to meet at 1pm at the Cafe des Arts in Saint-Rémy. In spite of the rogue GPS - which mysteriously wanted to turn us around from the moment we left Bonnieux - Tom navigated his way through magnificently tree-lined country lanes and into 'centre ville'. We parked on a somewhat flooded side street, which Tom and Bill used as a pissoir in the manner of the soccer fans from the previous day. This prompted a rash of jokes about "Euro-Peeing".

Umbrellas in hands, we went our separate ways to discover Saint-Rémy. Ilene and I found some fascinating sights among the interior streets of the town:

By the time we met up for lunch, the rain had abated to a mere sprinkle. Peter, Trish, their poodle Molly and Cheryl (a visiting friend from England) turned up at the cafe, where we had drinks and decided the place was too small for 9 of us. We were led by a parapluie -toting madame to an 'off-street' cafe that was completely empty!

After a short debate over whether an empty restaurant was worth the risk, we decided to try it and were not disappointed.

More food, more drink and more conversation ensued and we left some new-found friends with an 'au revoir' and a promise to visit their home for dinner the following evening. On the way back to the bus, Dennis was fascinated by a bar ("Le Lezard") whose choice of exterior paint colors perfectly matched his pack of Cohiba mini-cigars!

On our journey home, we stopped at Les Baux-de-Provence, spectacularly perched in the Alpilles mountains, set atop a rocky outcrop crowned with a ruined castle overlooking the plains to the south.

Its name refers to its site — in Provençal, a baou is a rocky spur. Another theory is that the village gives its name to the aluminium ore Bauxite which was first discovered there in 1821 by geologist Pierre Berthier.

We climbed the cobbled streets to the top of the town; visited an old graveyard; and the boys looked like mountain goats as they made their way to the castle summit.

It was late when we arrived back in Bonnieux and the restaurants in town were either fully booked or closed. So .... we headed back to the Bastide for dinner. Ilene and I passed on the normal gastronomic feast .... but Dennis loved his pigeon. Here he is showing off the p-bone steak!

He passed on the octopus. As usual, there were truffles everywhere. The wine was spectacular and we became friends for life with the sommelier who upgraded us to magnum-sized bottles!

Renoir summed up our day in his famous "Umbrellas" (Les Parapluies). .... and the forcecast still looks bleak.

Dreams of Quilted Northern

2009-09-16T22:35:00.000-07:00

Last night, I dreamed about big, soft, fluffy rolls of toilet paper ...

Ever since the Beaufort Hotel in London, every roll we have come into contact with has resembled Scotch Tape both in size and feel. A Quilted Northern franchise in the EU seems like the next best thing .....

Tuesday was a gloomy, somewhat chilly morning as we headed off to the Gordes market.

Gordes - another "perched' village - turned out to be a fascinatingly old town. Sinuous, steep and ancient alleyways offered visual delights at every turn. Here are just a few.

I had planned lunch at a bistro in L'Isle sur La Sorgue - about which I blogged over 6 months ago. As we entered the town, the rain was just beginning and - alas!- Le Bistrot de l'Industrie was closed!

We did some walking, found another place to eat, had Coca Cola in bottles and Mindy bought drapes.

The rain let up as we approached the Chateauneuf-du-Pape wine region and we visited one of the more prestigious caves - Chateau La Nerthe, where we enjoyed a free tasting and an interesting tour.

The caves dated back to the 1500s and included an enormous, stone blending vat - the size of 4 impressive large barrels shown below. The odd looking aperture (pictured) leads to the stone vat.

We were finding that traveling between these small towns was taking way longer than anyone (including the GPS) had estimated, so we had to curtail the winery visits before seeing the Gigondas and Vacqueyras regions.

A memorable moment on our return to La Bastide occurred when we spent 20 or so minutes in dead-stopped traffic on the A7 Toll Road. We happened to be next to a van full of what appeared to be Marseille soccer fans who, after publicly urinating by the side of the road, engaged Tom in some unintelligible banter until it was time to move on. What we learned, however, was that roadside urination was quite acceptable and a trick we would bring into play at a later date.

Dinner that night was another gastronomic quiz, with the main course of lamb chops accompanied by a strange, Chia Pet-looking side dish which Lynn made me photograph!

It was Dennis' turn to provide the alcohol at dinner and the sommelier (more about him tomorrow) suggested a magnum of a Cote de Luberon blend which turned out to be delightful.

We retired to the lounge for some after-dinner drinks and planned our next day. I've a feeling that everyone slept well that night.

The Shroud of Turin

2009-09-16T15:15:00.000-07:00

Today we experienced our first Mistral. That pesky wind that blows out of the north, races down the Rhone Valley and across the Luberon, rattling the shutters - which, by the way, we found closed after returning to our room after dinner last night - and picking up the bistro tablecloths as though they were leaves.

For us, the day began in Avignon which was a good 20 degrees cooler than the day before. We took a cab to the Gare TGV - leaving our bags at the hotel in case there wouldn't be enough room in the van/bus/suv that we were about to pick up at the Gare TGV. The Mistral was beginning to howl as we finally saw the Mercedes Viano and realized that we could all fit - even with a dozen suitcases.

Unfortunately, the snazzy Nuvi GPS which we carried from the US was still telling me that I was in Dana Point and smoke would come out of it as it attempted to calculate the route from 23965 Tasman Bay back to the Place de L'Horloge in Avignon to pick up our luggage. It never did find the satellites! Remembering the route that the cab had taken, we backtracked into Avignon - only making one right turn on red. When we arrived at the hotel, there was a mini traffic jam in the square - so Ilene had to do the last 50 yards on foot.

Someone sitting at a bistro enjoying their morning coffee tapped on my window and politely asked me to turn off the engine since the diesel fumes were choking her. Seconds later. the traffic began to move; we frantically loaded our luggage and we were off again to the Gare TGV.

When we arrived, our fellow travelers had already detrained and it didn't take long to load 6 people, 12 bags and be on way! The GPS gods smiled down from the satellites and Bonnieux appeared on the screen. 27 miles it said. But it was not to be. Ilene realized that she must have left her purse at the hotel, so our destination (for the 3rd time!) was Avignon. It turned out to be a fine afternoon.

In spite of the Mistral, we had a great lunch in a sheltered square and were amused by the goings-on of people at a makeshift traffic light and the price of a bottle of local wine.

We had a red and a rose and some Provencal lunch specials. Lunch for 6 including two bottles of wine was a mere 66 euros!

After lunch, the ladies went shopping and the guys took the tour of the Papal Palace. The overall size of the interior was breathtaking. So much bigger than I had expected. An hour after we left Avignon, we all realized what a "Perched Town" really was. One wrong-way street and one precarious U turn later, we arrived at the Bastide de Capelongue - seemingly the highest point in Bonnieux and a slice of heaven on earth.

Ilene and I lay on our terrace for a while, taking in the sun.

Little did we know that it was to be the last time we would feel its gentle rays for a while. In fact, 36 hours have gone by since then and we are still waiting. That night, we learned what 2-star Michelin 'moderne cuisine' was all about, as our senses were bombarded with about 10 courses of some of the oddest food any of us had seen - outside of the Far East, of course. The jury is still out.

The Cote de Luberon wines flowed as freely as the conversation until ...... wait for it ...... we heard the ominous noise of "SHUSH" from a nearby table - which happened to be the only other occupied table in the room. What followed can only be described as the effects of suppressed laughter and wine, culminating in a reference to the Shroud of Turin which caused Denis to have to leave the room on more than one occasion.

After a nightcap in the lounge, we all retired for the evening .... pooh-poohing the ominous weather forecast and expecting great things from Provence!

Crepes and Papes

2009-09-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday flew by! We were suitably impressed by the refurbished St. Pancras station. What we didn't know was that our train was headed for Euro Disney and we shared the platform with a thousand kids and their parents. Fortunately, we did not have to share our carriage with them.

Two cabs, two trains and we were in Avignon! The Place de L'Horloge was abuzz with people, eating and drinking until 1am. Ilene posed for a picture at the famous carousel:

en route to the Papal Palace. The palace was stunning - much larger in scale than I had expected. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, which made it even more spectacular.

We couldn't resist a quick crepe with - what else but jambon (ham) and Emmental cheese. The beer ("Desperado") was something one would expect to find in Tjuana - not Avignon. It tasted like a tequila-infused Corona - 2.5 caps rating.

One thing hasn't changed since the last time we were in France. The service was very laid back - a euphemism for slow and approaching on rude. We did manage to attract the waiter's attention long enough for him to put down his cigarette and deliver a "Monaco". A deliciously cold draft beer with a hint of framboise (raspberry) and Campari (4 caps rating!).

Later in the evening we walked further afield and did some window shopping. My nightcap was a Pelforth - a dark brew that disappointed and only rated 1 cap.

It might be the reason that I only slept for about an hour last night - or maybe it was the anticipation that in a few hours we meet up with Lynn and Dennis and the recently engaged Mindy and Tom. For those of you who haven't read the newspapers in the last 24 hours - Tom got down on one knee at the Eiffel Tower and popped the question!

Here's one last image. We turned a corner and saw this caricature of a Frenchman. He looked like he belonged on the quai in Marseille and I couldn't resist capturing his image!

Planes, Trains and Flying Automobiles

2009-09-12T12:21:00.000-07:00

We're finally on our way to Provence! As promised, I intend to share some of our adventures on this forum and had 10+ hours in the air to think of what. So, here's what I decided. I'll pick the top three things from each day and share them with you. Here goes ....

The highlight of the day was Harrod's Food Hall. Is isn't like we haven't been there before. I think this is our 4th visit together. This was, though, the first time we ate at the 5J Spanish Ham Bar. Ilene's suggestion to have a snack before dinner turned into a pigfest (no pun intended). Here are a few pictures of the array of hams, cheeses and delicious bread that we sampled.

In keeping with the "I never met a beer I didn't like theory", I couldn't resist sampling a Spanish beer:
Rating: 3.5 Caps (out of a possible 5).

I also couldn't resist sampling a licorice macaron at the Laduree outlet!

We were reprimanded by a security guard for taking photos inside the Laduree store. Apparently, you can take photos everywhere else in Harrods with the exception of the fine jewelry department.

And now .... "gobsmacked moment number one" occurred while we were walking off the effects the Spanish hamfest - in a ritzy Knightsbridge neighborhood. The pictures tell it all, but it was spellbinding to watch as the offending vehicle was picked up like a rag doll and eventually deposited on the flatbed.

It makes me wish I had packed a video camera! We're off to Haandi for Indian food in a few minutes. It's only 100 yards from the hotel door and looked very inviting when we passed it earlier today. I won't be having Chicken Korma or Paneer Saag - they came compliments of British Airways in-flight Club World service on the way over the pond:

It may not look too appetizing in the picture, but it was delicious!

Just pack it!

2009-08-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

A request came over my desk this week. "How about one more blog before we leave for vacation?". Better still: talk about things like what to pack, how to pack it and what to take on the various trains, planes and automobiles we'll be collectively utilizing.

I normally start my posts by finding topical images to use. I look first to my own paltry collection and then it's off to Google and flicker for the really good stuff. It was during this phase that I stumbled upon a website called "Holiday Golightly" - a nice twist on B.A.T.'s heroine, Holly.

Buried in the website was a section entitled "Wear-It-To-Travel Wednesday", where the writers select a celebrity airport photo, and discuss whether or not they could (or should) actually travel in the outfit. I found it so amusing that I'm plagiarizing the best pieces of it for your personal enjoyment. Let's get started!

Kate Winslet

Sure, it's been a while since "Titanic", but our hearts will go on. Ugh - we cannot be serious! That was horrible! But you know what's not horrible? Miss Kate Winslet's travel ensemble. Fashion commentary on Kate Winslet has run the gamut from "frumpy" to "fabulous". We're going with the latter here. She looks utterly fab. Fit and sassy and showing off her trim figure with skinny jeans and a fitted ivory jacket.

And did you see the SHOES? Purple! And probably suede! Loves them! The one thing we are not crazy about is that the purse appears to be a sickly shade of Easter pastel pink (insert shudder here). We are hoping that is just the flash of the camera. Bad possibly-pastel pink aside, this is what travel should look like. Chic-yet-casual, poised-yet-comfortable, famous-yet-approachable. We usually don't need to worry about that last one.

Grade: A. A- if the bag is actually Easter pastel pink.

Madonna

Madonna is an icon. Her career has spanned 3 decades, thus far, and her style is ever-changing. She's gone from the Material Girl phase to the Dominatrix phase to the Cowgirl phase to the Retro-70s phase. I am ready for whatever phase this is, to be finished:

If this is an attempt to slip through the airport, unnoticed, we can forgive her a little. A LITTLE. However, Madonna is one of the most monumentally recognizable people on the planet, and a slouchy hat and unflattering masculine sunglasses are not enough of a disguise. Everything else she is wearing seems to belong to her soon-to-be-ex husband, so there may be more of a story here. I think the story is...

Little Red Bag-ging Hood?
Goldilocks & the Three-Sizes-Too-Big Puffy Coat
Beauty & The Beastly Travel Ensemble

Um, those aren't real stories. She just looks bad, period.

Mary-Kate Olsen

Love the Olsen twins. LOVE them. Although hated "Full House", and couldn't understand how it stayed on the air so long. I have since followed the twins' rise to unbelievable pop-omnipotence, and fashion superstardom. Ashley, Mary-Kate, love them both. You have to appreciate a girl who is unafraid to wear an entire dress of feathers, which is precisely what Mary-Kate wore to the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute Gala. LOVE her. It's best to keep the attire a little less outrageous when traveling, and Miss Mary-Kate manages to keep things interesting, while looking perfectly comfortable at the same time. Annoyed, but comfortable. Who can blame her.

Here, I think MK is carrying my old bookbag from college, just a shinier, far more expensive version of it. I dig the stacked epaulets on the coat, and it looks like she is sporting those crazy leggings Lindsay Lohan has been trying so hard to resurrect (somewhat successfully, to our dismay). Meh, they're probably really comfortable for traveling. Classic aviator shades, to shield her from the paparazzi and their camera flashes, and casual, flat boots, in case she needs to outrun them as well.

Grade: A

Hilary Duff

Hilary Duff is on the cover of the current US Magazine/Style edition, sharing space with country star Taylor Swift, and Lauren Conrad, of no discernible talent. Methinks Hilary will undoubtedly be having words with her agent. In one of the interior photos of the magazine Ms. Duff was wearing a shirt that appeared to be soaking wet. I believe this ivory top is either of the same brand, or is also soaking wet. I can't tell.

At first glance, other than the soaking wet shirt, this travel ensemble looks to be quite decent. On second glance...

I love the boots, just not with leggings.
She looks like a pirate.
Hilary Duff: Closet Grandma.
The ratty pink afghan and orange purse? I confuse!

Isn't this an old photo? Her hair is back to blonde now. Seriously, how did she just get the shirt wet, but nothing else?

Charlize Theron

The perpetually impeccably-dressed Charlize! We could just look at photos of her all day long. She has fantastic style, and isn't afraid to push boundaries with fashion. She is also not afraid to push the boundaries of foot comfort, while airport-schlepping in these pointy-toe stilettos - bless her heart!

Other than the shoes, I would absolutely wear this while traveling: stretchy, cute skinny jeans, tunic-length top (although I would get chocolate on the white within 3 minutes of buckling my seatbelt), sassy military jacket, and fun carry-on bags. Smashing, I say.

On secong glance...

Ouch. The shoes. Just ouch.
Charlize is about as far from a Monster as you can get. Flawless.
I am troubled by the necklace - that looks as painful as the shoes.
I would prefer she just wear Oscar gowns everywhere.

Sandra Bullock

We love Miss Sandy Bullock. She's sharp, she's funny, and she dated Ryan Gosling for like a year. She is now happily married to Jesse James and his many tattoos, and the marriage seems to be agreeing with her. Now, we know celebrities hate the paparazzi, but don't you think they enjoy it just a little when they are candidly caught looking casually fabulous and effortlessly chic at the airport? Just a little?

If I were Sandy, I would be thinking:

OK, I do look fantastic. Have I lost weight? And the camera ADDS 10 pounds!
I thought I was going to have a bad hair day, but these elastic headbands just make that impossible.
That was very clever of me to match my boots to my assistant's purse, no?
If I take one more giant step forward, I can bust out a drop kick that will land this guy in traction.

Gisele Bunchen

Gisele Bunchen is arguably one of the most beautiful women in the world, and is said to be the highest paid model in the world. She has had numerous lucrative contracts and endorsements, and spent years stalking the runways for Victoria's Secret. She also managed to swipe Tom Brady away from the equally-exquisite Bridget Moynahan. My guess is, she did not do it while wearing this.

I have seen Gisele in interviews, and she seems like a truly nice person, and I know she has done a great deal of charity work, so we shouldn't be too harsh. But she is a supermodel, and with all the supermodel perks, come the higher supermodel standards. For mere mortals, this is a perfectly serviceable airport ensemble: great bag, cute t-shirt with jacket, comfy jeans, and even more comfy shoes. But for the perpetually exalted supermodel?

This look confuses me because...

I thought Gisele was glamourous and wore lingerie everywhere...
Aren't horizontal stripes were supposed to make you look larger?
I didn't realize Gisele was one of the Jonas Brothers.
...wait a minute...Elwood Blues was re-released from prison?

Kim Kardashian

We have been dragging our feet and lollygagging, in an effort NOT to keep up with the Kardashians, but it's no use. They're on E! every hour, on the hour, and cannot be avoided. And speaking of "avoided", what should always be avoided is the baseball cap/giant hoop earring combination. I used to wear this in the early 90s, and I'm pretty sure it didn't even look good then.

Much as it pains me to feature Ms. Kardashian in our little weekly travel fashion forum, as she is more of a celebutante than celebrity, she is photographed ad nauseum. And she is at an airport. And we are talking "travel ensembles" here.

My opinion on Kim Kardashian's Travel Ensemble is...

Who?
Meh. She looks pretty if she's going to a football game.
Is that a Louis Vuitton laptop bag? Where can I get that?
Any ensemble that doesn't include Paris-Hilton-As-Sidekick is fine with me.

Jennifer Hudson

That Jennifer Hudson was most definitely born under a lucky star with winning a role in the blockbuster hit "Dreamgirls", then winning an Oscar for that role, and NOW she gets to be in the "Sex & the City" movie? We're envious. Envious, but still...

Would we wear this to travel?

Shoes? Great. Shiny for fun, flat for function. Great.

Hairdo? Very cute. Spunky -curly, yet not curly-crazy.

And then there's the stuff in the middle.

Jennifer ...

You are spending too much time with Lindsay Lohan if you think leggings can substitute for pants.
This would actually be cute if the sweater were closer to knee-length.
My eyes are instantly drawn to what we might call "the very crux" of the problem.
Hey! Whatchya listening to? Is it Sanjaya? I'll bet it's Sanjaya.

Chloe Sevigny

First things first - where is Chloe's assistant? She is not even in the airport yet, and is still schlepping far too many bags all by herself. She has apparently also borrowed a "carry on" bag from our friend Sally's collection. (Ed. note: inside jokes are only fun for insiders: Sally was forced to use a shopping bag as her carry-on, due to EasyJet's ridiculous luggage weight restrictions, and the fact that she purchased 4 new pairs of shoes before the flight)

I want her to pull her hair into one of those chic buns/chignons I've seen her wear. This look is too messy, and I know she can pull off the chignon thing. I've seen her do "chic" before. I'm puzzled by the ribbed socks & pumps thing. Functional? Yessss - kind of. She knows she'll have to remove her shoes when going through the detector, and doesn't want to contract some sort of airport-floor foot fungus.

But why pumps?

She is clearly going for a comfy look here - slouchy sweater and jeans - and the pumps, unless they are Easy Spirit (please, God, no), do not appear to be comfortable. I love the scarf. Gorgeous colors, and matches the ribbed socks nicely... Oh, I just don't know. Chloe is known for her controversial/quirky fashion sense, and I've seen her look a lot worse.

Grade: B-

Oh, I was supposed to be talking about packing. Here's my number one tip. If you have to pack yourself - look good doing it!

Watt's the problem?

2009-08-09T08:13:00.000-07:00

Apart from the temperature of the beer in England, an American's worst fear when traveling in Europe is death by plug.

The problem has become less serious over the years as most European hotels offer en-suite hairdryers and the like. But the thought of having to pack a curling iron is still sending shivers through the Karpf girls.

The fact remains that, across the pond, the voltage is twice as high as here, mostly at 230 Volts. It's probably because nuclear power stations there are as common as 7-Elevens here. There was a time, however, when France and Italy used to be 220V and England 240 Volts. Now, in the spirit of the EU love-fest, they claim to be on an equal footing. But in the same way that the Brits haven't embraced the Euro, there are still a few extra volts coursing through the UK National Grid. With warnings like this one:

"Voltage tolerance of 230 V +10%/−6% (216.2 V to 253 V), widened to 230 V ±10% (207 V to 253 V) in 2008. The system supply voltage remains centered on 240 V. A 'shaver' socket (similar to Type C) is sometimes found in bathrooms that will provide low current to some other plug types. These almost always have a 110 V socket and a 240 V socket in the same unit, or a switch to select voltage, which are sometimes labelled as 115 V and 230 V. The G type socket usually has a on-off switch on the socket. 110 V centre point earthed transformers are often used for industrial portable tools. IEC 60309 plugs and connectors are used in industrial and construction locations as well as for outdoor use in domestic and other business premises. Plug types D and M still in preferred use for theatre and TV stage lighting applications due to lack of internal fuse."

you can understand why some Brits never go near the bathroom! Hence the bad teeth stereotype.

And if that's not enough to befuddle you, let's look at Hertz.

No, not the car rental company, but the frequency of alternating current (AC). In North America it's 60 Hertz (=cycles per second), while in Europe it's 50 Hertz. The difference is quite subtle and only important for appliances containing electric motors in which speed is critical. I always wondered whether a North American clock in Europe will show only 50 minutes passage of time between 12:00 noon and 1:00 pm? This difference is not so important for other motor appliances such as the fan of your hair dryer, but if you are familiar with your dryer (ladies!) it will not sound quite so high pitched as usual.

Hopefully you can now read that silly label on your appliance or adapter and know right away that it can go in your suitcase - provided, of course, that you have an adapter to convert the shape of the plug! Here are a couple of examples: Would you take this plug?

If you answered yes, you should shave your head (like Tom) before we leave! All the tell-tale safety signs ('Switching Adapter', 240V and 50HZ) are missing. Here's an example of a safe label.

Nowadays, all cellphone, PDA and laptop adapters are good for worldwide use. All you may need to take is this:

While I have your undivided attention - well, those of you who feel daring enough to maneuver an 8-passenger MBZ through the cobbled streets of Provence - you may want to consider getting an International Driving Permit.

Available from your local AAA office, they're a mere 15 bucks and don't require a plug of any kind!

Sappatronium

2009-08-02T07:32:00.000-07:00

I know, I know! It's been way too long since I sat and did this blog thing. The reason I give everyone is that I'm way too busy at work. Like a one-armed paperhanger, I'm trying to do way too much without anyone to help. But there's another, darker reason that I haven't shared with anyone ...... until now.

I'm actually way too busy managing my weight. From Tuesday to Saturday I watch the scale every morning as it proudly cries out that I've lost another pound.

On Monday morning, however, I always seem to be the same weight as I was the previous Monday. So what's the point of it all? Why am I so fixated on borrowing and lending the same five pounds week after week? Since vacations tend to be like extended weekends, I have done the math and it tells me that I'll be 47.25 pounds heavier when I board the plane to return to LAX on September 27th than I will be when I leave on September 11th. Will British Airways notice? Will there be a surcharge? Will the Air Marshal frisk me, suspecting potentially dangerous contraband strapped around my waist?

My objective, therefore, for the next (less than) six weeks is to shed that 47.25 pounds - so that I can return home weighing the same as when I left!

How, you might ask, is that possible? Well, I'm on the way to figuring it out. And it's all about science. The heaviest chemical element yet known to science is Governmentium. Governmentium has 1 neutron, 12 assistant neutrons, 75 deputy neutrons, and 224 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons. Since governmentium has no electrons, it is inert. However, it can be detected as it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact. A minute amount of governmentium causes one reaction to take over four days to complete when it would normally take less than a second. Governmentium has a normal half-life of three years; it does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact, governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause some morons to become neutrons forming isodopes.

Not so fast! I am close to unveiling an even heavier element. After several months of intense study in a less-than-strict laboratory setting, I have determined that a single atom derived from a combination of Japanese beer and tequila has an atomic mass of 335.

The isotopic combination of the two is singularly responsible for the five pounds that magically appears around my waist every Monday morning. But wait ..... it isn't any old Japanese beer or tequila! It must be a combination of Sapporo and Silver Patron tequila.

The beer to tequila ratio should be 3:1 by volume. With a little more research and some clinical trials under my belt (no pun intended!), my work should soon be ready for submission to the appropriate Nobel committee. It's name - Sappatronium - should make the Scrabble dictionary by 2011.

Flying the Friendly Skies

2009-05-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

We splurged a little on our September 11th, outbound flight to Heathrow - opting for top-of-the-line accommodations on British Airways. If you're going to be in an airplane for eleven hours during the period you'd normally be in bed, why not have a bed in the sky?

This got me thinking about flights I've taken over the years - on airlines and aircraft that no longer exist. These are a few of those memories.

In the early 70s, the Canadian dollar went a long way in the UK, so it wasn't uncommon to make whistle-stop visits from Montreal back home - just to buy a few shirts! Max Ward - a Canadian entrepreneur who had been in the air charter business since the early 60s, mainly in the Yukon and North West Territories - bought two Boeing 707s in 1970 and started running flights to Europe.

All the Wardair flights were on a charter basis until 1983 when it switched to a scheduled service. In 1989 the airline was sold and the name disappeared for ever.

The king of all long-haul, low-cost, no-frills air travel was undoubtedly (Sir) Freddie Laker. In 1977, he began the service from London Gatwick to JFK and quickly added other routes including flights to and from Toronto and Manchester - which I flew several times.

At $100 round trip and an open bar - it was too good of a deal to ignore! Laker Airways was a victim of the economic recession of the early eighties and went bankrupt in 1982. In 1981 Pan Am decided to drop its fare by 66% on transatlantic routes in direct competition to Laker's "Skytrain". After the dust settled, Sir Freddie sued British Airways, BCal, Pan Am, TWA, Lufthansa, Air France and other airlines for conspiracy to put his airline out of business by predatory pricing.

They settled out of court for $50m, which let Laker Airways pay its debts. British Airways reached a separate out-of-court agreement with Sir Freddie personally for £8m. Still, Laker Airways had an indelible impact on the airline industry as a whole and became an inspiration for others, including Richard Branson's Virgin Atlantic Airways.

People Express was founded in 1980 by several executives of Texas International Airlines. Based out of the infamous North Terminal at Newark, New Jersey (it felt more like a cattle market than a terminal), it provided service between New Jersey, New York and several other northeast states at the cheapest price possible.

To accomplish this feat, the carrier provide no frills and its labor force was non-union. It was the first and only airline I flew where you could buy a ticket sitting in your seat! It cost $19 or $29, depending upon the time and day. I flew the Buffalo to Newark (EWR) route many times in the early 80s and even flew the EWR to LAX route after they added a 747 jumbo jet to the fleet in 1984 - $99 each way.

One time on the Buffalo to Newark flight, I sat next to Hulk Hogan, resplendent in his sawn-off t-shirt and fingerless gloves.

I didn't have much room to move - the man was so big! Seemed like a nice guy, though. On September 15, 1986, People closed its doors.

One of my favorite trips was the "Pub Flight". In 1983, Continental Airlines had some DC-10s outfitted with complete pubs in the center of the aircraft for use by both first class and economy passengers.

The service began with great hoopla - with Ella Fitzgerald performing on the inaugural flight and Leroy Neiman recording it for posterity!

The secret was to strategically positioning oneself in an adjacent row in coach and than as soon as the seat belt sign went off to sprint to one of the pub seats which were like first class.

My early memories of John Wayne Airport (aka SNA, Santa Ana, Orange County) are from when it was a small building with a restaurant on top, no baggage carousels and no jet ways. Flying in the rear of the plane had its advantages in those days. In addition to being a smoker's heaven, the Boeing 727 had rear stairs (sometimes referred to as DB Cooper stairs) from which to make a quick exit.

PSA stewardesses wore miniskirts and had to watch out for cigarette burns on their legs as they walked up and down the aisle.

1986 was a year of dramatic change for us and for the airline industry. We moved to California and the industry underwent its largest consolidation in a single year. Nearly all the big names were involved - Northwest / Republic, TWA/ Ozark, Continental / Eastern / People Express, Delta / Western, Alaska / Jet America, and American / AirCal. The pack-rat that I am, I still have mileage club cards from most of the aforementioned!

A Tale of Construction

2009-04-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

Mindy said that Tom didn't really care where he went - as long as it included Versailles. So, Tom, this one's for you. A little slice of Versailles to whet your appetite.

Versailles was once the de facto capital of France when it was a kingdom. In 1682, Louis XIV (quatorze) moved there from Paris and established it as the centre of political power. Construction on the Palace of Versailles (or Château de Versailles as it's known in French) was begun 40 years earlier by his father (Louis XIII), but as a hunting lodge.

From the picture above (painted in 1668), you can see that Louis' idea of a hunting lodge was a tad more ornate than the log cabins one finds in the Appalachians!

Over the next 40 years, the palace was extensively upgraded and expanded, with each building phase taking place around the end of a war. Completion of the first phase (1664-1668) coincided with the end of a war against Spain - precipitated by Louis' incursion into the Netherlands which, at the time, was owned by Spain. Even though he didn't really win the war, he nevertheless altered the palace extensively to throw a monster after-party for 600 that he named Plaisirs de l’Île enchantée (Pleasure of the Enchanted Island).

Very Vegas-esque. The party lasted for over a week, with a different theme every day.

When the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (which ended the War of Devolution in 1669) was signed, the second building phase began and the château started to take on the appearance that it has today. The famed Hall of Mirrors was built:

This phase also saw the construction of the living quarters for the royal family, modestly referred to as the 'Appartement du roi".

His Bedroom

Her Bedroom

Like no apartment I've ever seen!

One more war (the Dutch War) and one more treaty (Treaty of Nijmegen, 1678) again put Louis in a building mood. This time, six years of construction led to the palace looking more or less like it does today. Here's an image that epitomizes Versailles ...

L'Orangerie

After his crushing defeat in the War of the League of Augsburg (1688-1697), he began the fourth and final construction phase. This time, he concentrated on the royal chapel - he was beginning to get a little pious in his old age.

Exterior

Interior

A lot of changes took place over the following decades, including a complete replanting of the gardens in the late 18th century. At that time, the English-style garden was all the rage and "les jardins français" were quite passé. Versailles has a colorful history from the French Revolution, to the reinstatement of the monarchy, to the Republics - but I'll leave that all that information for the docents to deliver in person.

Today it's an affluent Parisian suburb and home to over 85.000 people. Here's a map to show you where it is in relation to the center of Paris. The salmon colored blob is the city (commune) of Versailles.

You can buy your ticket (€20) online, but currently they are only taking bookings thru July 18th. An even better deal to consider is a combined RER train fare and château entrance ticket. These are sold at any SNCF (train) or Transilien (RER) station. Called forfait, the packet costs €21, including the round-trip train fare from Paris and a 1-day Passport. This is a great deal considering the cost of the Passport itself. The combined deal also allows you to avoid the long lines at the palace entrance.

That's enough - I'm beginning to feel a twinge of jealousy myself.

Les Choses Français

2009-04-12T17:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay! I promise to stay away from Italy for a while and instead whet your appetites with 'les choses français" ... things French. If this picture doesn't persuade us to head for the Riviera one day, nothing will!

Restaurant Z Plage, Hotel Martinez, Cannes

In Cannes, especially, the thing to do is eat on the beach. This is especially attractive to people like me who have never really seen the point of sunbathing and - before you cast aspersions on my ethnic heritage's inability to spend time in the sun without boiling like a lobster - much prefer keeping active while I'm tanning. I can't think of a better activity than summoning the waiter to bring more food and beverages to my chaise longue. [no ... that isn't a spelling mistake. The chaise lounge is yet another example of American folk etymology.

Let's head back north - to a little piece of Provence in Paris. This one is for the Paris crowd only, but I was hoping we would all visit it when Paris was on our itinerary, too.

Check out their nice website here. I have read several reviews that it is hands down the best lunch many have ever had. Set on a corner very close to the:

Place des Vosges

Chez Janou is very much like a neighborhood restaurant, with a homey, lived in feel, complete with mismatched tables and Toulouse-Lautrec posters on the walls. You can dine inside or out, but the inside ambiance looks attractive:

If you prefer an al fresco dining experience go for the small sidewalk terrace; it can not be faulted so long as the day isn't too hot. The Provençal-style, prix-fixe lunch menu will cost you about €14.

After lunch, if you feel like working off some of your meal, stroll over to the Place des Vosges and cross it, to the upper corner on your left, where you'll find la Maison de Victor Hugo, the one-time home of the Les Miserables novelist.

Maison Victor Hugo

A tour of the house (#6) is free and you'll see where this 19th-century novelist lived and wrote. Some thought him a genius, but Cocteau called him a madman, and rumor has it that in his old age, he was carving furniture with his teeth! The museum owns some of Hugo's furniture, as well as pieces that once belonged to Juliette Drouet, the mistress with whom he lived in exile on Guernsey, one of the Channel Islands. Of the furnishings, a chinoiserie salon stands out.

Worth the visit are Hugo's drawings, more than 450, illustrating scenes from his own works. Mementos of the great writer abound, including samples of his handwriting, his inkwell, and first editions of his works. A painting of Hugo's 1885 funeral procession at the Arc de Triomphe is on display, as are many portraits and souvenirs of his family.

After this artsy break, I'm sure you'll be ready for some chocolate to get you moving again for the evening ahead. I've prepared a small map to help you sniff out the best chocolatiers:

Gotta stop now. I'm getting too jealous.

Amore Eterno

2009-04-02T22:09:00.000-07:00

Over dinner with friends last week, we learned of the Via dell' Amore walkway in Cinque Terre which runs between the villages of Riomaggiore and Manarola. Like most of the trails in the Cinque Terre, you need to buy a ticket to walk it.

There are benches where you can sit and admire the view or just watch all the people wandering by. There's also a small restaurant along the way where you can get something to eat and drink.

In addition to a lot of graffiti, padlocks can be found on the fences, put there by loving couples to symbolize their eternal love.

A couple would hang a padlock after inscribing their name or initials on it and throw the key down into the sea so that their love is locked forever. I hadn't heard of this custom before, but a little research uncovered the fact that it's not just limited to Italy! The tradition is thought to have originated in China where "love padlocks" can be seen at several locations alongside the Great Wall and on many temples.

Here are a few of the places across the globe that have love padlocks adorning them.

Pécs, Hungary

In the 1980s, in the Hungarian city of Pécs, lovers began to clamp padlocks to a wrought-iron fence in a narrow street linking the mosque in the city's main square and the magnificent medieval cathedral, as a symbol of their commitment to one another.

It didn't take long, however, for the fence to be completely covered and no more padlocks could be added. Much to the chagrin of local authorities, locals and tourists began attaching them to fences and statues throughout the city centre. Notices discouraging the activity as vandalism went unheeded and plans are under way to add a new iron fence near to the original to provide a legal site for couples to attach their padlocks!

Puntan dos Amantes (Two Lovers' Point), Guam

The padlocks in this location are often adorned with the lovers' names and dates. Enterprising local vendors sell plastic bag tags that are cheaper and obviously easier to write on.

I imagine they're easier to remove, too!

Seoul, South Korea

Hundreds of locks are attached to a fence on the terrace of the North Seoul Tower in central Seoul. They represent the love of their owners, with the keys for the locks being thrown away as an assurance of the sweethearts’ vows to never separate.

Due to the danger posed by thrown keys, the tower operator has posted warning signs and provided a "key bin" for their disposal.

Montevideo, Uruguay

A fountain in Montevideo, on Avenida 18 de Julio a few blocks east of Plaza Independencia, is designated for love padlocks.

The English side of the plaque affixed to the front of the fountain reads, "The legend of this young fountain tells us that if a lock with the initials of two people in love is placed in it, they will return together to the fountain and their love will be forever locked."

Ponte Milvio, Roma

One of the padlocks in this location sums it up so well:

I've already started work on the one we'll be taking with us in September!

Tay-Zhay-Vay

2009-03-22T10:09:00.000-07:00

Since we'll all be in Avignon on several occasions, I thought that I'd share some more images of the city. Not the papal palace, bridge or historical stuff which I already covered, but the journey there and other points of interest. In addition, you may pick up some useful French words. Many people think the alphabet is the alphabet no matter where you are - except for the obvious differences in how the characters are written - Russian, Hebrew, Greek, Chinese and others. If you say "TGV" to a Frenchman, however, he may not understand what you're saying.

Why? Because he calls it the Tay-Zhay-Vay. Here's the entire alphabetic with its phonetic French equivalents.

A (ah), B (bay), C (say), D (day), E (eh), F (eff), G (zhay),
H (osh), I (ee), J (zhee), K (kah),
L (el), M (em), N (en), O (oh), P (pay),
Q* (kew), R* (air), S (ess),
T (tay), U* (ew), V (vay),
W (doo-bleh vay), X (eeks), Y (ee-grek), Z (zed)

Some French sounds don't exist in English. The R sound is produced in the back of your throat - easy for you girls, but tough for us guys who never had Bar/Bat Mitzvah training!! For U and Q, try saying "ee" but move your lips into position for "u." Listen to the pronunciation of the French alphabet on this video lesson:

Practice spelling your last name out loud using French letters. This skill is one of the most useful - especially when you try to check into your Paris hotel. Zawie and Wellner both contain the dreaded "W" - or as the French say "doo-bleh vay" (literally "two Vs").

For you New Yorkers, the trip to Avignon will start at the Gare de Lyon in Paris (Gare = Station), part of the SNCF = Société Nationale des Chemins de fer Français (French National Railway system). Chemin de fer (railway), literally translated. means "road of steel".

Gare de Lyon is a grand old station that has kept its character even with all the changes in railway technology. The TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse = High Speed Train) leaves from the same terminal as local trains.

You can buy your tickets online at the Rail Europe website here. You can't actually book your tickets more than 60 days in advance, but it's worthwhile to register and set up your account now, including the names of your 'entourage'. It will make buying your tickets easier when the time is right - plus you can get an idea of timetables and fares by picking a similar travel day of the week within the 60-day window.

After a 2hr and 40 minute journey at speeds in excess of 185mph, you'll arrive in Avignon at the TGV Station which is a modern architectural wonder, giving one the impression that it is an endless corridor.

This picture reminded me of the airport in Shanghai - except that the endless corridor there was certainly not an optical illusion!

If you pick an early enough train, we'll be able to have a leisurely lunch and do some sightseeing in Avignon before heading to Bonnieux - where the check-in time is listed at 4pm. Ilene and I will have stayed in "downtown" Avignon the previous night, having already made a reservation at the Hotel de l'Horloge (Horloge = Clock).

Downstairs from the hotel is a well-known and highly recommended bistro = "Lou Mistral" which sits on the Place de l'Horloge, home to many more bistros, some historical buildings and the famous carousel.

Place de L'Horloge

Carousel

Municipal Theatre

Banque de France

City Hall ("Hotel de Ville")

Wine Barrel Making Demonstration

In case you have forgotten already, here's another reminder on how to pronounce your names:

Zawie: zed, ah, doo-bleh vey, ee, eh [not the Canadian "eh"!]

Wellner: doo-bleh vey, eh, LLN, eh, air {the LLN is the same in English]

Maher: M, ah, osh, eh, air

Luckily, none of you have a Y in your surname - so you don't get to say "ee-grek" like me!

Bistro Feastro ....

2009-03-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

Nothing compares to a languid lunch in a Provencal Bistro! I found an article in a 2006 copy of Travel and Leisure, entitled "Great Bistros of Provence". Most of the text is attributable to Linda Dannenberg who wrote the article, but I've added some geographic and photographic material, so you'll get a feel for where these places are and what to expect.

I created a custom Google map (click here) that pinpoints these bistros in relation to Bonnieux.

Numero 75, Avignon

The former mansion of Jules Pernod, creator of the famous anisette liqueur that still bears his name, now houses one of Avignon's newest restaurants, Numéro 75.

Noted local chef Robert Brunel, whose eponymous establishment, Brunel, faces the Palais des Papes, decided to take over the Pernod property to offer diners a more casual, countrified dining experience. Set behind an iron gate, 75 feels like a secret garden, fragrant with mimosa, bougainvillea, and lemon.

"I wanted to create a bistro menu featuring simple Provençal cuisine and lots of salads," Brunel says, "dishes that are perfect for eating outdoors." He keeps his menus short, with only a handful of lunch and dinner choices. My alfresco meal on an evening in late spring—a silky foie-gras terrine studded with bits of poached artichoke hearts, followed by pan-roasted guinea hen paired with a tangy, tender lemon confit—was a delight.

Fois Gras Creme Brulee with Onion Confit

Salads, such as the combo of prosciutto, sun-dried tomato, and marinated eggplant, are popular with the after-theater crowd that fills the garden during Avignon's famous summer festival in July. Dinner for two $71; closed Sunday.

Le Bistro de France, Apt

For me, this is the quintessential town bistro. Its individual elements (formica tables, naugahyde banquettes) may not be particularly attractive, but those motley parts add up to a beguiling whole. The restaurant was spiffed up a couple of years back with a marbled trompe l'oeil façade, but it remains humble at heart.

According to owner-chef Jackie André, the Bistro de France is one of the oldest bistros in Provence, built where a bicycle shop and a café stood back in the twenties. The meals here are good the way the best home cooking is: fresh, unadorned, and generously served. There are black truffles in the winter, melons in the summer, and cèpe mushrooms in the fall.

Cèpe Mushrooms

With its seasonal specials and menu classics such as crespéou, a layered Provençal omelette with herbs, spinach, and zucchini, and old-fashioned blanquette de veau—the ultimate bistro comfort food—the Bistro de France always plays to a full house.

The crowd chez Jackie is a congenial mix of local businessmen, happy tourists who chose well, and real estate agents dragging along potential clients to show them a bit of local color. There is a daunting rush for tables after Apt's sprawling Saturday morning market, and disappointed shoppers are often turned away. Reserve! Lunch for two $60; closed Sunday and Monday.

Le Jardin du Quai, L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue

A lively group of antiques dealers surrounded me in the garden of Le Jardin du Quai last summer, and all of us were eager to try chef Daniel Hebet's lunchtime specials. In a century-old house across from the train station in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, a celebrated riverside town of antiquaires, Le Jardin du Quai is one of the best new restaurants in Provence.

Hebet, who drew rave notices as chef of the Hôtel La Mirande in Avignon, offers an unadorned but sophisticated market-based menu in an appropriate atmosphere of retro chic, complete with an old zinc bar and vintage bistro tables. On the afternoon I found myself seated under Hebet's vine-draped pergola, lunch started with a dish of grilled asparagus, shaved Parmesan, and fresh herbs.

Daniel Hebet, tableside

A tender, center-cut cod fillet on a bed of warm chickpeas flecked with orange zest was the main course; dessert was a luscious poached white peach in a cinnamon-spiked sugar syrup. The meal, enhanced by a golden Jean-Luc Colombo Les Figuières Côtes du Rhône, was unforgettable in its delicious understatement. Lunch for two $60; closed Tuesday and Wednesday.

La Charcuterie, Arles

On a narrow street opening onto the Place du Forum in the heart of old Arles, we found this former charcuterie, dating from 1942.

The Café Terrace on the Place du Forum, Arles, at Night c.1888 by Vincent van Gogh.

The tiny space is now a winsome bistro with a modest décor of red velvet banquettes and pig figurines. The enterprise is fueled by the passion of François Colcombet, originally from Lyon, and his Arlesian wife, Regouya.

Inspired by the tradition of the bouchons lyonnais—tiny bistros with hearty, sausage-based cuisine—François wanted to create a bistro des copains (bistro for friends), as he puts it. Regouya does all the cooking behind the original marble counter, in a space the size of a large sofa. The menu is a carnivore's dream, with main courses that feature Charolais beef, rack of lamb, and grilled duck breast. (For vegetarians stranded here, Regouya is happy to whip up a platter of grilled Mediterranean vegetables, along with a crisp and garlicky mixed green salad.) I made a meal one night of the charcuterie platter, called the assiette anglaise, a lavish spread of cold cuts and a warm saucisson de Lyon aux pistaches, a mild sausage with chopped pistachio nuts in the filling.

A dish this rich needs a dynamic red wine, and I splurged on two glasses of a 2000 Côte Rôtie. The pleasures of the inconspicuous Charcuterie have drawn many fans, among them the great foodie Jim Harrison, who chronicled his experience here in his memoir Off to the Side. Harrison might be amused to know that the Colcombets' chocolate Labrador retriever, Lanvin, has gnawed their copy of his book to shreds. Dinner for two $60; closed Sunday and Monday.

Le Bistro Du Paradou, Le Paradou

I had many happy lunches at Chez Quénin, once a humble neighborhood canteen, while working on a book in the early eighties. New owners Jean-Louis and Mireille Pons, from nearby Arles, took over the restaurant shortly thereafter, changing the name to the trendier-sounding Bistrot du Paradou and improving the cuisine, while maintaining the character—vintage-tiled floors, stone walls, timbered ceilings—of the old place.

Mireille, the daughter of an Arlesian baker, commands the open kitchen, while the personable Jean-Louis, with his wonderful Provençal accent (vin blanc becomes "veng blahng"), works the room. Just as in the days of Quénin, there is only a single four-course prix fixe at each meal. Tuesday, for example, might feature roasted farm-raised guinea hen, and Friday is the day for aioli, the traditional Provençal feast of steamed vegetables, salt cod, and local snails accompanied by the pungent garlic mayonnaise for which it is named.

The price includes a bottle of wine—red, white, or rosé. My most recent dinner started with grilled orange roughy fillets drizzled with olive oil and garnished with basil, followed by a main course of sliced leg of lamb served with a potato gratin. Dessert was Mireille's plump and flaky strawberry tart. "Our most faithful clients call us at the beginning of the week to find out the menus for the next five days," Jean-Louis says, "then plan their week accordingly." Dinner for two $105; closed Sunday and Monday.

I'll leave you with one last image. It's also in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue and comes well recommended. To me, L'Industrie is the epitome of the Provencal bistro!

The Five Lands

2009-03-17T21:02:00.000-07:00

The Cinque Terre are five coastal villages in the province of La Spezia in the Liguria region of Italy, joined by a walking trail that provides spectacular views of the rugged coastline and the villages themselves. In the summer months they are completely overrun by tourists - but we're arriving there on September 20th, so we should miss the big crush.

Instead of walking between the villages, you can take the frequent commuter trains (locally known as the "milk" trains because they used to deliver milk and mail to the villages from Genoa or La Spezia). You will ride along the cliffs, overlooking turquoise waters and olive trees. Tunnel after tunnel, the air cools and heats in the sun. Trains run very frequently.

Here's a little information about each village:

Monterosso al Mare

The village is divided into two distinct parts: the old village and the new village. The two areas are divided by a single tunnel that caters to pedestrians and the very few cars that are in the village. The beach at Monterosso (the only extensive sand beach in the Cinque Terre) runs along most of the coast line and is well used by tourists and locals. The village was briefly excluded from the Cinque Terre trail in 1948, but was re-introduced in mid-1949. This is because Italian officials thought the village was too large to be considered part of the historic trail.

I'm particularly looking forward to the anchovies there. Apparently, one has to discard all the stereotypes associated with these little fish. Here they are unsalty and delicious!

Vernazza

About a 90 minute hike away, Vernazza is the next village south and some say the most picturesque. There is no car traffic in Vernazza (which definitely adds to the village's charms) but there's a parking lot at the edge of village. The cobble stone main street runs from the railway station to the harbor, and is lined with colorful buildings that house small shops, cafes, and residences. It remains one of the truest "fishing villages" on the Italian Riviera.

This stretch of Italy's Riviera is the birthplace of pesto. Basil, which loves the temperate Ligurian climate, is ground with cheese (half Parmigiano cow cheese and half pecorino sheep cheese), garlic, olive oil, and pine nuts, and then poured over pasta.

Rick Steves recommends trying it on spaghetti, trenette, or trofie (made of flour with a bit of potato, designed specifically for pesto). You can even find pesto lasagna, always made with white sauce, never red. Small jars of fresh, refrigerated pesto are sold in the local grocery stores and gift shops.

Corniglia

Unlike the other villages of the Cinque Terre, Corniglia is not directly adjacent to the sea. Instead, it is on the top of a promontory about 300ft high, surrounded on three sides by vineyards and terraces and the fourth side descends steeply on the sea. To reach Corniglia, it is necessary to climb the Lardarina, a long brick flight of steps composed of 33 flights with 377 steps or take the train and then follow the road that leads to the village.

Sometimes a small bus runs up and down it.

The village stretches along the main road, Fieschi Road, and the houses have one side facing this road and the other facing the sea. Corniglia is characterized by narrow roads and a vantage point on the rock from which all other four Cinque Terre's villages, two on one side and two on the other, can be seen.

Manorola

Manarola is thought to be the oldest of the towns in the Cinque Terre, with the cornerstone of the church, San Lorenzo, dating from 1338. The local dialect is Manarolese, which is marginally different from the dialects in the nearby area. The name Manarola is probably a dialectical evolution of the Latin, "magna rota" ("large wheel") in reference to the mill wheel in the town.

Manarola's primary industries have traditionally been fishing and wine-making.

The local wine, called Sciacchetrà, is especially renowned. Sciacchetrà (pronounced "shack-eh-trà”) is an ancient and legendary wine made from naturally dried grapes. It is the quintessence of the Cinque Terre and is now almost as rare (outside of the area) as it is famous.

Riomaggiore

This southernmost village, dating from the early thirteenth century, is known for its historic character and its wine, produced by the village's vineyards. It has a small beach and a wharf framed by towering houses. Riomaggiore has one or two streets where people socialize, but most of the life at night can be found at the Bar Centrale.

The village is also famous for having numerous aquariums and zoos, all with native Italian animals and sealife in them.

As of this writing, it looks as though we'll be calling Cinque Terre 'home' on Spetember 20-22 - although we have yet to decide on a hotel. I'm told that an alternate mode of transport between the villages is by water ferry. I'll do a little more research and report back soon. I'm also hoping that the more I write about Italy, the higher the likelihood that some of you may decide to extend your trip to include it!

Michelin Stars in trouble ....

2009-03-11T20:36:00.000-07:00

In November, I wrote about the Fat Duck restaurant in the UK, including a video of its famous bacon and eggs ice cream being prepared table-side. The restaurant is known for its menu of unusual dishes including: "snail porridge", "sardine on toast sorbet", and "salmon poached with liquorice".

On February 27, 2009, the BBC reported that the owner, Heston Blumenthal, closed the restaurant indefinitely, after a number of customers reported feeling unwell along different times. By March 3, the source of the outbreak was still unclear but sabotage had been ruled out.

A spokesman for the restaurant said "All this leads us to believe that it [the health scare] has not come from the restaurant and we expect to be given the all clear." On March 6, it was reported that 40 people had stated they had felt unwell after eating at the restaurant. Boxing promoter Frank Warren said he was "very disappointed" with his treatment after becoming sick following his visit. He said "Everything was fabulous about the evening - the food, the setting, the service, it was unbelievably good but unfortunately, afterwards, all of us were ill". It was later announced on BBC News that it will reopen on Thursday, 12 March 2009.

Never trust a chef with a kitchen full of test tubes!

Au revoir Avignon; bonjour Bonnieux!

2009-02-28T06:59:00.000-08:00

Renting an apartment in Avignon (or anywhere else for that matter) has only one drawback - the inflexibility of the booking period. It appears that all such rentals are for 7-day minimums and must start and end on a Saturday. So planning the overall itinerary has to be done around this week in Provence and with the uncertain availability of all participants, it was proving to be an unnecessary complication. An adjustment was necessary!

It was under this premise that I stumbled across La Bastide de Capelongue - an intimate, 17-room countryside hotel. On grounds adorned with a tranquil fountain, lush gardens and a spectacular pool, it enjoys a romantic hillside setting that looks down onto the 16th and 17th-century stone houses of Bonnieux-en-Provence. The guest rooms look to be well appointed, laundry service is available, and it is home to the culinary genius of Edouard Loubet, the youngest chef in France with two Michelin stars. With no minimum stay requirements, it appears to be a prime candidate to replace the Avignon apartment.

I found several glowing reviews on the web: This summer we spent five glorious nights in Provence at La Bastide de Capelongue. The experience provided us with a top-notch hotel room, unique and elegant, with added benefits like dinners with wine and so much more. With the quality of the facilities and the courtesy of the staff, every effort was always made to welcome us.
-B. and R. Marks

La Bastide de Capelongue was, of all the places in the world I've visited, one of the most beautiful. Words, and even pictures, do not do it justice. The rooms are luxurious and very stylish, the gardens beautiful, the scenery unbelievable, and the food exquisite. The staff was extremely professional and courteous.
-R. Post van der Burg

My husband and I recently had the extraordinary pleasure of staying at La Bastide de Capelongue. What a feast for all the senses! Beautiful accommodation, fine wine and exquisite food all supported by professional and friendly staff. We have enjoyed many wonderful vacations all courtesy of Luxury Link but this Hotel has certainly offered the ultimate experience.
-J. & J. Vallance

Bonnieux itself is one of the most beautiful “perched” villages, set high up on the north side of the Luberon range. From it, one enjoys a wonderful panorama over the agricultural plain, the valley of the Calavon, the Vaucluse mountains and Mont Ventoux.

The streets are narrow, cobbled and, in places, quite steep - which you would expect from a town perched on a hill. Those among you who saw the movie: "A Good Year" will undoubtedly remember the scene where a movie was playing in the background - outdoors! A lot of the movie was filmed in Bonnieux - so put it on your Netflix list. With no movie theaters anywhere close, I got to thinking how the locals get to see movies?

In village shops all across the Luberon you can pick up a photocopied leaflet; black and white and patterned with film reel. It’s the program for a roaming cinema that travels to villages across the Luberon: Cinema La Strada. No squishy velvet seats with on-tap popcorn and surround sound - and no entrance fee! Just hard plastic seats in short rows lined up in front of a portable screen - often in the village hall, but sometimes outdoors. You can throw 5€ into a tin kitty and help yourself to tea and whatever else is there.

Friday is Market Day in Bonnieux and, from what I could find, it's a great one. Everything you would expect of a Provencal market is there - from tablecloths, baskets and spices, to sausages, fruit and curiosities. I'll make sure we're there on a Friday.

Here's the market schedule for the surrounding region. Lundi = Monday; figure the rest out for yourselves!

LUNDI : Cavaillon, Cadenet
MARDI : Gordes, Avignon, Lacoste, Aix en Provence, Vaison la Romaine
MERCREDI : Bonnieux ( petit marché), Sault, Arles, St Rémy de Provence

JEUDI : Roussillon, Isle sur Sorgue, Avignon, Aix en Provence
VENDREDI : Bonnieux, Lourmarin, Carpentras, Pertuis
SAMEDI : Oppède, Apt, Aix en Provence, Arles, St Rémy de Provence, Manosque
DIMANCHE : Isle sur Sorgue, Avignon

Bonnieux is also home to a bread museum, the Musée de la Boulangerie. Situated in a 17th-century house, the museum explains the history of bread, from Roman times through Medieval and the French Revolution. Explained is the entire sequence of bread making, from the agrarian civilizations and their farming equipment, through the milling to the distribution.

In the center of Bonnieux, there's restaurant called "Le Fournil" - French for "bakehouse". Frommer's review of it reads: "Charming and completely without pretension, this restaurant occupies the premises of a clean, dry, well-swept cave opening on a small-scale square graced with a 12th-century fountain. The inventive chefs, Guy Malbec and Jean-Christophe Lèche, have given recipes of long standing a new and livelier taste.

The menu varies with the season and the inspiration of the chefs but might include crispy-skinned supreme of stuffed guinea fowl with baby vegetables, a confit of fruit, and parsley sauce; a platter of roasted and grilled baby goat, featuring two cooking techniques on one platter, with a confit of lemon; and filet of monkfish with sweet garlic and served with a purée of potatoes and olive oil. The wine list contains 35 to 40 selections, mainly regional choices like Côtes du Rhône and Côte de Luberon." With main Courses reasonably priced from $16 to $27 and fixed price menus from $27 to $52, it made its way to the must visit list.

Shown above is the Tresor Cache ("Hidden Treasure") - another small inn (only 5 rooms) just north of Bonnieux with a worthwhile menu. It's also a beautiful setting! For you late deciders who may not be able to secure accommodation at La Bastide de Capelongue, it may be a viable alternative.

OK - It's official! There's no turning back. We're now proud owners of a 5-night package at Capelongue at a 50%+ discount on Luxury Link. We were the only bidders(as you can see below) so we got it at the starting price. There's another auction underway right now for the same deal.

Now we won't have to return the snazzy set of Rimowa luggage that we picked up at a store that was closing in Newport Beach. No more staring at the carousel wondering which bags are ours ......

Tales of the Faggot Family

2009-02-15T06:23:00.000-08:00

For some of you, winter has already outlived it welcome. Even in the arid deserts of California's Southland - where the seasons often pass by unnoticed - we've had more than our fair share of rain. One resident of Upstate New York recently summed it all up on his lawn:

But there are people in the Midlands of England who have the answer to this often miserable season. Direct from the BBC comes this quote: "The great British faggot is full of flavour and a great belly warmer at this time of year." And leading the faggot charge is the Doody family. Yes - Doody! Only in England .....

Several years back, the Doody family from Wolverhampton was crowned The Faggot Family in a national competition, and to kick off their reign they launched National Faggot Week. The Doodys were chosen to front the campaign after impressing judges at the Savoy Hotel in London. They displayed their fanaticism for the delicacy during quizzes, role-plays and mock commercials.

"The nation knows that the Cornish pasty, Yorkshire pudding, haggis and fish and chips are great British dishes, but all too often the faggot is left off that list," said Janet Doody. Her husband Fred added: "It's unfair because faggots were a British delicacy long before any of the others".

A faggot is a kind of meatball, made from pork leftovers and offal. The perfect faggot is traditionally made from the pig's heart, liver and fatty belly meat minced together, with herbs and breadcrumbs added for flavoring.

The mixture is shaped in the hand into balls, wrapped round with caul fat (the membrane from the pig's abdomen), and baked. Now what could be more appetizing than that? How about the fact that the primary producer of frozen faggots is "Mr. Brain"?. Or that they are traditionally served with mushy pea's (sic).

How could anything with the word "mushy" in it find its way onto a dinner plate? Undoubtedly for the same reason that the average Brit's drink of choice is "bitter"!

By the way, these Brains are no relation to the faggot Brains! And before I leave the world of peas, there's one other delightful item that I need to mention. Pease Pudding. There is even a nursery rhyme about it:

Now what could be the attraction of cold pudding that's 9 days old? And how did the second "e" find its way into the word? I'm sure the answer is somewhere in the da Vinci Code.

A traditional North East (Geordie) delight (usually available in butchers' shops), Mam used make it at home with split yellow peas, water and a little salt - boiled for about a week(!) with a leftover ham bone. What came out was similar in texture to hummus, and we spread it liberally on ham sandwiches - often using Stottie cake as the bread:

A stottie cake (or stotty) is a flat and round loaf, sometimes referred to as Oven Bottom Bread in other parts of the world. Stotties tend to be eaten split and filled. Common fillings include ham and pease pudding (my favorite), but also bacon, egg and sausage. The heavy texture of the bread gives it its name. To 'stott' is Geordie dialect meaning 'to bounce' - because if dropped it would (in theory) bounce. Newcastle is sometimes derisively referred to as "Stottie Toon (town)". In its small airport, Gregg's bakery hold pride of place and will serve just about anything in a stottie cake.

I can remember a fish and chip shop in Bishop Auckland that sold an item called a stottie dip. They would take half a stottie cake, dip it into a thin, meaty oxtail gravy and then proceed to wrap the whole soggy mess in a funnel of newspaper. Stottie au jus - yum, yum, good!

The earlier mention of a pint of bitter brought back memories of an old haunt in Toronto:

Which is an obvious segue into dessert.
- which, in turn, leaves me almost speechless. This delectable dessert is a steamed suet pudding containing currants and is usually served with custard. Once renamed "Spotted Richard" on a hospital menu in Gloucestershire, when management thought patients would be too embarrassed to ask for it, it was later re-instated on the menu as the Dick that it should be. A hospital official is quoted as saying, "It's not even as though people had to ask for it - they tick a box on a menu card to order their food." Only in England .....

Finally - and I do mean finally - I can't leave out my Granda's favorite candy. Black Bullets. These rock-hard lumps of sugar were singlehandedly responsible for keeping Geordie dentists in business.

Jesmona Black Bullets are a very traditional mint flavoured candy from the North East where the word "bullet" is a dialectic term for any boiled sweet (candy). Before the days of Nicorette, coal miners who weren't allowed to smoke on the job, found them to be a great substitute for fags (cigarettes). Which explains why Granda always had one in his pocket! The Jesmona brand is believed to take its name from the Jesmond area of Newcastle - the heartland of Black Bullet eating.

For those of you who were contemplating only joining us on the French leg of our trip, I fear that this venture into the regional gastronomy of England may be the deal breaker. I promise that all future posts will focus on considerably finer dining!

The Fjords of Provence

2009-02-07T06:53:00.000-08:00

Fjords? What fjords? If you're like me, you probably grew up thinking that fjords were the exclusive domain of the Norwegians.

I learned about fjords from reading "The Compact Encyclopedia". This splendid set of 6 volumes held a prominent place in the Graney household - so much so that, to this day, all four siblings can still recite the letters from their spines. A-CAN, CAN-ENG, ENG-HOR, HOR-NEW, NEW-SAL and SAL-ZYR. My own Wikipedia. And decades before Al Gore invented the internet.

And so it was from Volume III that I learned what a fjord is and that the coast of Norway stretches for almost 30,000 miles because of its incessant indentations into the fjords. But fjords in Provence? Not a mention.

A calanque (from the Corsican word calanca meaning "inlet") is a geologic formation that comprises a deep valley with steep sides, typically of limestone, and partly submerged in the sea - a Mediterranean fjord! The best known examples are found in the Massif des Calanques which extend for 12 miles along the coast between Marseille and Cassis, and are the ones that we should make a point of visiting.

The calanques have a unique ecosystem, as soil is almost non-existent there, and the limestone cliffs instead contain numerous cracks into which the roots of plants are anchored. In places where cliffs are less vertical, their vegetation is a classical Mediterranean maquis, consisting of evergreen shrubs such as sage, juniper and myrtle. With such an arid climate, the primary source of moisture comes from evaporation of the sea. This xericity (see Volume VI: SAL-ZYR!) associated with the salt spray, leads to the strangely adapted vegetation.

The Cosquer cave is an underwater grotto in the Calanque de Morgiou that was once inhabited during the Paleolithic age, when the sea level was much lower than today. Its walls are covered with paintings and engravings dating back to between 27,000 and 19,000 BC and depict many terrestrial animals such as bison, deer, and horses. Its entrance is over 100ft below the water line, so there's no chance of visiting it. I can hear Ilene's sigh of relief - two of her least favorite places to be are underwater and in caves!

As always, I like to plan these little day trips around places to sit and eat! This is no exception, since the port of Cassis is a vibrant and colorful fishing port with a famed restaurant - Nino - right on the jetty. The image below is from their extensive menu.

If we hang around long enough in the area, we could be treated to what I'm told are some of the world's spectacular sunsets. Hard to think that our own view of Catalina island could be topped!

Encore Provence

2009-01-31T06:43:00.000-08:00

On our flight to Florida last week, I finished reading Peter Mayle's delightful book, "A Year in Provence". On the journey home, I polished off his sequel, "Encore Provence".

In the book, Mayle talks about his return to Provence (after three years in East Hampton!) with tales of odd characters, adventures, and culinary treats - like where to find the best bouillabaisse in Marseilles and visits to eventful Sunday-morning markets. Don't read it unless you first read "A Year in Provence", since he makes reference to many of the characters and places from his first years there.

One thing the book did for me was to change my perspective on Marseille. I knew of its location, rich history, famed bouillabaisse and its port full of raucous sailors with a penchant for pastis.

I had also heard tales, directly and indirectly, of pickpockets and roving gangs of Saharan youths, with whom encounters could be dangerous in such a "swamp of depravity". Mayle's chapter on Marseille, however, didn't claim that it was now squeaky clean, but it did make me want to plan a day trip there.

An Australian columnist, Kevin Barry, summed it up well: "The notorious old city remains a swamp of depravity, as is only right and proper for one of Europe's greatest ports. Strut the main drag of La Canebière, idle around the waterfront, wander the lurid side streets and you'll find that no place does sordid quite as well as Marseilles." Mayle has a kinder and more eloquent perspective. "We looked around for gangs of camera thieves, sailors out of control on shore leave, dark-windowed cars carrying senior executives from the underworld, or indeed any sign of menace. There was none. The sun was warm, the cafes were full, the sidewalks busy in that slow-moving way you find in Mediterranean towns, where nobody seems in a hurry to go anywhere."

In 1792, at the height of the French Revolution, the city of Marseille sent 500 volunteers to Paris defend the revolutionary government. On their long march to the capital, they sung a spirited rallying call which later became known as La Marseillaise, now the national anthem of France.

So, I came up with a short list of things to see and do in Marseille, based on Mayle's recommendations and anecdotes. If I get positive feedback, then I'll add it to the calendar.

Made famous by Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo", the Chateau d'If is the French version of Alcatraz.

About a mile offshore in the Bay of Marseille, not only is it interesting in its own right, but it's a great excuse for a boat ride and a view of the city from the water.

Perched on top of a small hill and linked to the city center by a monumental set of stairs, Le Gare de Marseille Saint-Charles, is the main railway station of Marseille and home to a very large but subdued McDonald's.

It's the stairs - not the station - that are the attraction, but I'll leave them to your imagination for now.

An amazing group of buildings surround the chapel of La Vieille Charité, pictured below.

Once a 'beggars prison', the complex is now home to several museums and, according to Mayle, a must-see in Marseille.

Serious restauranteurs in Marseille will display the Chartre de la Bouillabaisse outside their establishments, which defines what's in 'real' bouillabaisse. A few miles down the coast, at Toulon, the recipe is different and includes potatoes - a sacrilege to the people of Marseille!

Pictured above, one of the most famous bouillabaisse restaurants is Chez Fonfon. Watch this short video and you'll definitely want to add it to the itinerary. Ilene can always order shrimp!

Note to Dennis: I bought some pastis in early January and have been practicing the fine art of sipping it with liberal helpings of water. I suggest you do the same. It would be a shame if I was the only one with 9 months of practice under my collar!

Haggises or Haggi?

2009-01-16T20:59:00.000-08:00

On January 25th, 1759, Robert Burns, the famous Scottish poet, was born in this cottage at Alloway, Scotland.

190 years later - on the same night - I was born in this grand country mansion which dates back to the mid 1600s:

Located near the city of Durham, the house served as a military hospital 1940-1945 and as a maternity home until 1952 - which is how I found my way there!

It would be almost two decades, however, before I realized that millions of people across the world were having a riotous time on my birthday, celebrating what is known as "Burns' Night". This is probably the most well-known portrait of Burns:

He died at the young age of 37 from complications after a tooth extraction. Since 1971 he has been immortalized on the £5 banknote of the Clydesdale bank (see my "Money, Money, Money" post from November):

The reverse of the note features a field mouse and wild rose - topics of two of his better-known poems. In his own words, Burns wrote his poems “Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect” - sometimes creating new words in an attempt to mirror the phonetics of his mother tongue. To most Americans, what he put on paper looks like gibberish. D.H. Lawrence wrote some dialect poems, except that his were set in North Yorkshire where the dialect is nothing like Scottish, but equally as hard to undersatand. The opening verse of “The Collier’s Wife” reads:

“Somebody's knockin' at th' door Mother,
come down an' see!
—I's think it's nobbut a beggar;
Say I'm busy.”

The word “nobbut” is a contraction of “nothing but” - a great example of a dialect word. From what I can find, dialect poetry in the US seems to be the limited to African Americans- some even claiming that rap is the new dialect poetry. Which gets me, in a very convoluted way, to the order of ceremonies at a Burns’ Supper.

A Burns' Supper (or Burns' Night) must always begins with a version of grace, known as the “Selkirk Grace” - supposedly because Burns delivered it once at a banquet held by a Scottish noble, The Earl of Selkirk. It reads:

“Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.”

Get the drift? The supper then starts with the soup course. Normally a Scottish soup such as Scotch Broth or Cock-a-Leekie is served. Here's a canned version:

The next part of the meal is the Entrance of the Haggis! Everyone stands as the main course is brought in. This is always a haggis on a large dish. It's brought in by the cook, generally while a piper plays bagpipes and leads the way to the host's table, where the haggis is laid down.

Then Burns' poem "Address To a Haggis" is recited - usually by a very animated Scot who has undoubtedly had too many tots of good Scotch whisky! During the poem, the haggis is ceremoniously cut:

Then it's served with tatties and neeps - mashed potatoes and turnip - in a very unappealing way:

If that doesn't look like a prison meal, then nothing does! Haggis doesn't always have to be that unappealing. Here's a dish from a well-known Edinburgh restaurant which has figured out a way to serve the same three ingredients with some caramelized onion gravy and - voila!

No matter how you dress it up, you can't hide the fact that it's a length of sheep's intestine stuffed with such delicacies as the animal's lungs, heart and liver. In a store window, haggis is probably one of the most unappealing things you'll ever see:

I find it quite delicious and will definitely try it if it's on the menu anywhere we go in London!

For the squeamish among you, there's always dessert. A Clootie Dumpling often follows the haggis. The "clootie" refers to the piece of cloth in which it's cooked. Lots of currants, suet, sultanas, suet and some suet for good measure:

And if that's still not appealing, there's usually a "Tipsy Laird" lurking somewhere - which is really just an English trifle with enough booze in it to put you over the limit if you aren't already there.

Finally - if you can still maintain an upright position at the table - there's always the traditional oatcakes and cheese while listening to the various speeches and toasts that follow.

Thank god I left England in 1973. Folklore says that for every Burns Supper that you attends 3 months are taken from your life. I'll be 60 next week, so do the math!

Funicular Fun

2009-01-10T09:19:00.000-08:00

The picture below is of our beautiful community as it swoops down to the Pacific Ocean. Since all beaches in California are public, there is a flight of 200+ steps that go from the large building at the top, down to the beach.

Oops! I should have said there used to be a flight of stairs. They are in the process of being replaced by a funicular railway, courtesy of the developer who is now selling $15 million building lots in what is the last undeveloped swatch of the California coastline between Los Angeles and San Diego.

Not too many people have experienced a funicular railway, but everyone has been somewhere where they wished there was one! My own experience is limited to one in Pittburgh and this amazing specimen in Industry Hills, California:

It carries golfers and their carts (up to 3 of them!) from the 9th green of the Dwight D Eisenhower Course and the 18th green of the Babe Didrikson Course up to a snack bar located in a replica of the Scottish Saint Andrews railway station. The golf resort is part of the Industry Hills Sheraton Resort.

So, I wondered if there would be an opportunity to ride one during our travels. London came up empty - due to it's flat terrain, I assume. The closest I found was at Legoland in Windsor. No thanks!

I was a little more successful in Paris:

Construction on the Montmartre funicular in Paris began in 1891.The original was water powered, using a system of large cisterns that were filled or emptied in order to move the cars. In 1935, the system was converted to electricity. In 1990-1991 it was completely rebuilt with new cars designed by the same guy who designed the TGV that will take us from Paris to Avignon.

Operated by the RATP - the organization responsible for all public transportation in Paris, including the Métro - it is the principal method of getting to the Sacré-Cœur basilica, which bears a striking resemblance to Saint Joseph's Oratory which we visited during our Montreal trip.

Pittsburgh is the funicular capital of the US, boasting 17 of them over the years, with two still operational - the Monongahela and the Duquesne. I rode one of them, but can't remember which.

That's almost as many as all the other states combined. Cincinnati with 5 is the only other city that has had more than one.

Los Angeles has a funicular with quite a history. First opened in 1901 in the downtown area of Bunker Hill, Angels Flight operated for 68 years with a clean safety record until its closure in 1969. In an amazing feat of recycling, all its components were removed from storage and Angels Flight was re-opened in 1996 about half a mile from its original home.

A fatal accident in 2001 led to its closure and it has remained closed since. The cars themselves, cleverly named Olivet and Sinai were given another facelift and sat in an LA railroad yard, eagerly waiting to get back to work:

It was due to re-open in late 2008 and the cars were even put back on the tracks in November. As of this writing, however, it remains closed.

During this research exercise, I came across some amazing examples of human ingenuity, so I'll leave you with some the images from around the globe. Not quite bucket list material, but close. I promise, though, to get back on topic soon!

Saltburn, England Budapest, Hungary Chongqing, China

Zurich, Switzerland

Lisbon, Portugal

Oui-Oui

2009-01-03T08:39:00.001-08:00

During a trip to San Diego yesterday, we sat for 2 hours in a bone-chilling cinema watching Slumdog Millionaire. It was well worth it.

One scene in particular involved a makeshift toilet in the slums of Mumbai and, while somewhat off-color but amusing, evoked memories of my childhood when our toilet used to be across the yard.

In the picture above, the ‘yard’ was a brick-enclosed open area to the rear of the terraced house. The lower small green door was for the toilet pan and the higher one was for the coal - a commodity that kept us alive. Periodically, a truck (or horse and cart) would dump a ton of coal onto the street. It was backbreaking work to shovel it through a small door so high up. In the North East of England, the toilet was affectionately called the “netty”- a corruption of the word necessity, I’m told.

Man has been designing and building public toilets for over 2,000 years. Many examples from the Roman Empire period – like the one above – can be found from Northern England all the way to Turkey. I sometimes wonder why our toilet across the yard wasn’t built this way. These ones certainly look just as comfortable and they have light!

Paris is famous for its street urinals. Until the 1990s, they were a common sight in the city, and in the 1930s more than 1,200 were in service. Parisians referred to them as vespasiennes, the name being derived from that of the Roman Emperor Vespasian, who, according to folk lore, imposed a tax on urine. The vespasiennes, renowned for their smell and lack of hygiene, were gradually replaced by “Sanisettes”.

Today, only one vespasienne (pictured above) remains in the city and it is still regularly used. The Sanisette (another example of a registered trademark becoming synonymous with the product) represents a quantum leap in hygiene and women’s liberation. Most are coin operated and are usually configured to open the door after a preset period (typically 15 minutes) to discourage vagrants and druggies.

After the user has finished using the toilet, he or she exits and the door closes again. A wash cycle then begins inside the toilet, and the toilet fixture itself is scrubbed and disinfected automatically. After about sixty seconds, the toilet is again ready for use. Way better than our Port-a-Johns!

The Seattle City Council installed self-cleaning, handicapped friendly, $125,000-apiece public restrooms last year and they were a miserable failure, attracting drug users and prostitutes. This picture says it all!

Though the word pissoir is obviously French, other countries in Europe have adopted it as the universal designator for a public urinal.

The Germans came up with the ‘little boy peeing’ image which can be seen on streets across Germany, Holland and Denmark.

You can find this delightful urinal in Bristol, England and it is Grade II listed – meaning it has been designated as a structure of cultural or historical significance and can’t be modified or demolished without special dispensation.

It was built at the Sun Foundry in Glasgow which closed in 1899, so that gives you some idea of how long it’s been serving the special needs of Bristolians. These old iron toilets were common in Victorian and Edwardian times, but were typically only for gentlemen. Some, however, did cater to the ladies and even had quaint warnings like this one:

Whenever possible, I always steered clear of public toilets in England. They were inevitably filthy and they cost money! The term “I really need to spend a penny” was a polite way of saying you needed to go to the loo. Some toilets, like this one, are well used:

It may seem a little sexist to have two doors for men and only one for women, but this establishment happens to be close to the Tottenham Hostspur football (soccer) stadium in London. I assume that they unlock those iron gates on game days.

In late 2007, Westminster City Council launched the UK's first ever text service to help people find their nearest loo using pioneering 'SatLav' technology. In a bold move to stop anybody ever being "caught short" again, the council harnessed the power of mobile phone technology and GPS to locate the nearest toilets to wherever they text from. It’s simple. If you’re in the city and nature calls, just text “toilet” to 80097 and you will be texted back the details of your nearest loo within a matter of seconds.

In typical British fashion, however, the example shown is somewhat enigmatic – why advertise the service on a toilet?

Last time we visited London, we saw one of these urinals near Covent Garden:

We were both amazed at the nonchalant fashion in which men would walk up and relieve themselves. Would something like this ever be accepted in the US? I can just imagine a couple of these being strategically placed in Rockefeller Plaza and appearing as the backdrop for a Today Show segment. No way, José! Not even if they were fitted with the modesty device you see below:

This picture was taken in Manchester where, I’m told, women have taken to using them. With the help of a product called “Pee-mates”, women in England and Australia are now standing up like men!

After all this talk, I now need to go to the bathroom, loo, toilet, can, john, bog, pissoir or whatever it’s called. On vacation, however, I’ll be sure to relieve myself in the comfort of my hotel bathroom.

More Favourites

2009-01-02T08:53:00.000-08:00

Gratinée de Coquilles St Jacques, Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée, Quiche Lorraine, Carpaccio de Boeuf. You don't have to speak French to understand what these are:

To us, they're an array of traditional French appetizers - but to the French they're entrées!

Here we ago again with another 'we say, they say'. I didn't think I'd be revisiting this topic so early in the new year, but a scene from Napoleon Dynamite started my brain whirring again:

If you got vest:vest:beater:beater:bangers:bangers (or any combination thereof) you're a pro. You probably recall my discussing Guy Fawkes' Night in an earlier post. I associate (non-edible) bangers with that event. I didn't like them one bit. The thought of carrying a small explosive device (that could take off a couple of fingers with ease) in one's pocket was ridiculous. It's the same nauseous feeling I get standing behind a cop at Starbuck's.

The proximity to a lethal weapon is what does it. They were also called crackers (an obvious derivative from firecracker) and there are several different US/UK cracker meanings. In deference to political correctness, however, I won't touch that one with a barge pole.

Here is one that may stump you:

Any combination of draughts:drafts:checkers:Chequers and you did very well. Chequers is a country house in Buckinghamshire, England, at the foot of the Chiltern Hills and is the country residence of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. A kind of Camp David but with a little more history - dating back to the 1100s. Before becoming Prime Minister in 2007, Gordon Brown promised that he would be the first Prime Minister since Andrew Bonar Law in 1923, to dispense with Chequers as a regular weekend retreat and instead use it for international summits and brainstorming sessions with civil servants. And yet, despite these predictions to the contrary, the Browns have reputedly fallen in love with Chequers and spend most weekends there. The house is reputed to be filled most weekends with friends, editors, sportsmen and actors.

Here's a great example of British overkill. If you said mailbox:mailbox:mailbox:mailbox you're ok in my book. If you said pillarbox:letterbox:postbox:mailbox, then you've watched far too many Masterpiece Theater episodes over the years. Sorry, Theatre. It isn't like the Brits had a big head start on a mail system - so why so may ways to describe a simple mailbox?

The picture of a young Queen Victoria appeared on the world's first adhesive postage stamp in 1840. It was only 7 years later that Americans were licking the backsides of Franklin and Washington. These stamps cost 5c and 10c each which seems like a lot of money back then. While I remember, S&H (Shipping and Handling) is called P&P (Postage and Packing) in the UK.

There is no end to this madness, so I'll put an end to it. For now ....

Taming the Screw

2009-01-01T10:05:00.000-08:00

I was looking for an interesting, not too over-the-top place in Paris to have some good wine, cheese and appetizers when I stumbled across Juveniles. Juveniles is a Parisian wine bar run by an ex-pat Englishman, Tim Johnston. He's been in Paris more than twenty years and is a passionate promoter of Rhône Valley wines, particularly individualist, quality minded producers.

It opened in March 1987, aiming to be a small, cozy wine bar with snacks like tapas and a range of interesting wines by the bottle and by the glass. There were two original owners, one of who now has his own wine bar (Willi’s) close by. It became an outlet for interesting wines that the owners would dig up from all over France, but it wasn’t long before they started sourcing from further afield. In the early 90s, it was the only place you could find Australian wine in all of Paris.

During Johnson’s trips to Australia, he developed a special bond with ex-pat Scot Dave Powell, the owner of Torbreck Vineyards in the Barossa valley. Many of the Torbreck wines have a lot in common with the Rhône Valley varietals, often called GSMs because of their Grenache, Mataro (Mourvèdre) and Shiraz blend. Dennis knows all about the legendary Torbrecks – including RunRig, The Factor, Les Amis and The Pict (I have a 2004 in my cellar). In 1999, Powell began making a wine exclusively for Juveniles, aptly name “Cuvée Juveniles”! In a break from the traditional Torbreck label design, Johnson’s daughter designed the label that you see below.

Anybody out there who finds themselves frustrated by the predictability of wine from time to time should consider opening a bottle of Cuvée Juveniles. Its qualities, I understand, will most likely remind you of why you fell in love with wine in the first place. Juveniles is perfectly suited to today's gastronomy and is sealed with a screwcap to ensure its consistency. A screwcap .... Yikes! I always associated – and still do – screwcaps with liter bottles or flagons of cheap plonk, made to be easily opened by some bum on the Bowery who happened to misplace his corkscrew.

No offense, of course, to Julio Gallo who died aged 83 in 2008. With his brother Ernest, his influence on the production and consumption of wine in the USA are unparalleled.

So where and when did the screwcap movement actually start Australia in 2000 New Zealand in 2001? In actual fact, neither. The real birth of this movement dates back over 40 years to when Peter Wall, Production Director of Yalumba (Australia’s oldest family-owned winery) contacted the French manufacturer, Le Bouchon Mecanique in a quest to eradicate cork taint in his wines and preserve their freshness!

By the 1980s, screwcaps were widely used in Switzerland and in just over 15 years the Swiss wine industry bottled 60 million of its bottles under screwcaps, however the consumer still associated this method with medium to low priced, litre bottles. Today, conservative estimates of wines bottled under screwcaps represent 85% and 45% in New Zealand and Australia respectively.

It was amazing to me to find that so much has been written and spoken on this topic – even an entire book written by a STELZER!, from which I borrowed today’s title. I found this clever quote from a well-known Aussie winemaker that sums it all up:

100 years the average age of the oak trees for our barrels
54 years the age of the Rayner Shiraz vines
44 years the combined years of experience of our winemakers
36 years the age of our Graveyard Shiraz vines
32 years 2004 was our 32nd vintage
20 years the time you would like a great red to age
12 years how long we’ve been making the Rayner Shiraz
2 years quietly aging in oak
6 months lying in the cellar
30 seconds to pull the cork
3 seconds to pour a corked wine down the sink

There’s also the ISI (International Screwcap Initiative) which began in New Zealand in 2002 but has since globalized! The first (non New World) signatory to the ISI is Chablis' Michel Laroche, who took on the role of the organization’s European rep. Laroche has been at the forefront of the move towards screwcaps in France: all his Domaine Laroche wines are now sealed this way, including (from 2004 onwards) his top wine, the Reserve de l'Obedience, which you can see below sells for about $100 a bottle.

So, we’ll find out for ourselves at Juveniles that one doesn’t have to drink a screwcap wine from a brown paper bag. Can’t wait to try …..

Favourites

2008-12-24T08:52:00.000-08:00

I often wonder when US English and UK English began to take diverse paths. Did John Carver waste away those 66 days on the Mayflower making a list of all the words that he disliked so much? “I just can’t wait to make landfall, so I can drop all those silly u’s that got me into trouble at school!”, he would tell the other Pilgrims. “We’ll land and name a harbor in honor of our hometown”. None of his fellow passengers knew he was secretly dropping the u’s in his mind's eye.

I like to think that’s where it all began – and haven’t really thought too much about it since. Over the last week, however, I’ve been compiling some of the language differences as they come to mind. Many of them you’ll know, some of them will be Greek to you. Let's start with a relatively easy example:

If you got braces:braces:suspenders:suspenders, then you're off and running! The English suspenders look a lot like a US garter belt, which some will argue is what they're called in England now. The plethora of US TV shows and the introduction of Budweiser to the UK has narrowed the language gap a lot. Remember - I left there in 1973, so many of my observations are from that era. Here's another that should bring a smile

As I kid, we used to sit in the stalls when we went to the pictures (movies). So if you got stalls:stalls:cubicles:cubicles you're definitely getting the hang of it. Front row aisle meant that you were first in line for the ice cream lady - where frozen delights from Walls and Lyons Maid could be found in abundance!

One of those most popular subjects for English language mocking is the motor car (automobile). Since it was unfortunately first popularized in the US, it isn't one of those areas that the Brits can blame the Yanks for bastardizing. So, I cringe when I hear words like bonnet, windscreen, petrol gauge, lorry and estate car.

If you didn't get boot:boot:trunk:trunk, then shame on you! It's like all the good words were taken, so they were reduced to picking some silly alternatives. Still on the automotive theme, here's one to think about:

The flat picture is a little flattering (pardon the pun), but I didn't want you to think all flats in the UK were slums. They were only slums if the Council built them! If you figured out the answer was flat:flat:puncture:puncture, good on you - I just hope the puncture wound didn't nauseate you too much. If it did, you can wipe up the vomit with a:

Brand names can be fun to study. Kleenex has become synonymous with facial tissues on both sides of the pond and has even made the Oxford English Dictionary. Others, like Tylenol, are almost there - but only in the US. Housewife says: "All this hoovering is giving me a headache". "Take two Paracetamol and lie down" .... would be the doctor's orders in the UK. And if you scrape your knee and go running to the UK medicine cabinet, look for the Elastoplast!

(Notice how I slipped the Hoover in there.) When you introduce slang into the equation, it becomes even harder to figure things out. Try this one on for size:

If you got this one without peeking, I'll be gobsmacked! The answer is joint:joint:stir:stir. On special occasions, Mam made a Sunday joint that looked like this one. Just as we call prison 'the joint' here in US, in the UK you're 'doing stir' if you're incarcerated. An even more colorful expression - 'doing porridge' - also describes the same sentence. Only a Ronnie Barker aficionado would have answered joint:joint:porridge:porridge. So don't feel like a dummy if you didn't get that one:

I still like it better than 'pacifier'. To me, there's just something cruel about that word. Now one you'll all get. I won't even need to write the answer:

OK, I'll leave you with a short list of some of my favo(u)rites. Hopefully, you've never seen these ones before:

thumbtack:drawing pin
quotation marks:inverted commas
busy signal:engaged tone
unlisted number:ex-directory
contact paper:sticky-backed plastic
bookie:turf accountant

Seriously, I used to talk like this - and sometimes still do! Perhaps in a couple of months, I'll revisit this topic. While writing, my brain has been flooded with other examples that I can't wait to share. Leave a comment if you want more of the same.