Our French Integration – Two Years on

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What that really means is two years in our house in Southwest France; we officially arrived in November 2022.  Upon reflection, it has actually been four years since we embarked on the rather ambitious plan to RV through the US and Canada, then sell up and move to France.  This of course required copious amounts of planning and navigating a plethora of unforeseen circumstances, but here we are now, finally settled in.  

Many echo the sentiment that it takes around two years to get situated here and I concur; navigating the initial long-stay visa to even get into France, the fantastical amounts of paperwork to get into the healthcare system (where documents are lost or mangled on a regular basis), and then applying for a first year-long stay visa (more mounds of paperwork and much of it is done by snail mail).   And that’s not all!! For me, since, unlike my husband who is also British and can follow the Brexit rules, I had to obtain a driver’s license since I would not be allowed to drive after the first year in France on my US license.  Since I was not from a “reciprocal state,” I had to embark on what turned out to be a rather expensive two-year journey of getting bounced around the system, studying and exams – and to both of our relief – I am now able to drive throughout the EU and UK!  So some US citizens can exchange their license which means they really don’t know the rules – so the good thing that came out of this was I actually know how to stay out of trouble on the roads.  

We also had the added challenge of finding a house and were very lucky to snatch up a lovely, affordable country home with a converted barn (gite). All of this required extensive networking, language challenges, and we were grateful that we had the helping hand of British bilingual agents, and to our delight a lovely country neighborhood with a mix of French, Dutch and British citizens.  It really does take a village to get established, and after literally years of being on the move or dealing with the French systems and culture, and with our home improvements winding down, we are finally starting to feel settled. 

A beautiful spring day

The French are making it a bit more challenging to retire here; if you are under 65 when you apply for your 10 year Visa (this happens after you have been a resident for five years), you are required to test for intermediate French which is no small feat.  Many early retirees have been blind-sided by this and are scrambling to qualify for the test.  We fortunately dodged that bullet (currently being 65 or older and our ten-year visa is still a few years out), but are looking to get a tutor regardless as we love the language and want to be able to better navigate the systems here.  Thankfully the French can be very forgiving if they know you are making an effort.  

Many would view our life as living in this bucolic fantasyland – partly because when most people think of France they think of Paris, Bordeaux or the Med.  There is a fascinating term connected to this called “Paris Syndrome,” described as experiencing a sense of extreme disappointment exhibited by some individuals when visiting Paris, who feel that the city was not what they had expected.

The syndrome is characterized by symptoms such as acute delusional states, hallucinations, feelings of persecution (perceptions of being a victim of prejudice, aggression, hostility from others), derealization, depersonalization, anxiety, as well as psychosomatic manifestations such as dizziness, tachycardia, sweating most notably, but also others, such as vomiting.  

Paris Syndrome

This afflicts primarily Asian, especially the Japanese populations, and in my opinion has to do not only with managing expectations and aspects of the fantasy world known as Paris, but about life in general not living up to expectations.  

France is one of the most touristed destinations in the world; verdant vineyards, rows of heavenly lavender, medieval villages, stunning chateaus and some of the best food in the world and…Paris of course!  What’s not to like about this “utopia.”

Recently a retired couple was featured on CNN about their terrible experiences when moving to the Nice area; referring to the vegetable racks full of limp celery and other such fake news that the local blogs lit up with the affection of “move back to the U.S.” 

While it’s not all wine and roses, especially with the drastically inefficient government systems when it comes to visas, getting into the healthcare system (which once accomplished introduces you to some of the best medical communities in the world), getting a driver’s licenses (that may warrant finding a therapist to recover) and navigating the dual taxation systems…once you have overcome these sometimes mind-numbing challenges, the smiling faces of those fields of sunflowers take on a whole new perspective. 

As for limp celery I almost feel that the French should sue this couple for defamation!  We live in an area of green rolling hills, vineyards, fertile fields and are front and center on how hard the farmers work here.  Contrary to what some people think, most of the French are not lazy – they just take their time.  Granted, they don’t fire anyone due to union protections, but even their colleagues work around their less-than-competent cohorts (who in my opinion should be fired by any standards based on my occasional encounters) to provide in many cases superior customer service. There is a national pride here, and unless you’re rifling around someone’s garbage I have never seen limp produce in any market anywhere – oh except for the “ugly vegetable bin” where leftover produce is sold for virtually nothing. 

They are an entitled bunch in that the government workers typically work a 30 hour week and retire early but that’s due to the social programs that have been instilled for decades.  The French people will never go bankrupt due to credit card debt or medical issues; we were issued a debit card – not a credit card and if you make a big purchase you can’t afford right away, you set up installment payments.  

They also love to talk, sucking up the airwaves with whatever gossip or issues that require a well thought-out review.   They take their time at the “marche” checkout as the store isn’t just for shopping, they block the isles in chattering clutches, having a good catch up on whatever is going on in their lives.   

Yet, they can be very forgiving of our poor French and appreciate the effort.  And will take the opportunity to practice their English – sometimes to our disappointment.  

But it’s not all about the picture-perfect lavender fields in Provence or the striped umbrellas in Nice.  

Here are some observations I’ve made in my last few years as an immigrant that definitely keeps the reality of France in check: 

The roads are in great shape and they always seem to be improving them – yet the government buildings in general are pretty run down from an aesthetic perspective; they are typically boxy-like stone buildings in desperate need of pressure washing and while efforts were initially made for landscaping most of them are overgrown with weeds. It’s similar in many of the strip malls depending on where you go. The medical buildings are very similar depending on the practice and can be very utilitarian.  My stereotypes were definitely realigned after my first year here.  This is so different from the US where public areas typically boast formal gardens and well-kept buildings. 

While some of this may not appeal to my aesthetic ideals, I find that garbage isn’t a thing – you rarely see any garbage on the side of any roads or strewn about the villages.  Derelict vehicles and furniture dumping that is so common in Portland is not a thing here; you get a serious fine here if you get caught.  We do see some of it (rarely) tucked away where the authorities don’t venture but it is the exception rather than the rule.  

On the flip side of that, the town centers are where you find the classic medieval structures and cobblestoned streets with quaint shops and lovely bistros.  This falls into the idea of maintaining the essence of classical French ambiance. As we have discovered, if you decide to put a structure on your property, especially if it is anywhere near a tourist area, you need permission and it must be in keeping with the surrounding aesthetic.  

During the tourist season, brace yourself for this one, many of the French retreat to McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Burger King!  Primarily to get away from the tourists at the over crowded bistros. We have been in these fast-food establishments and they keep quite busy, especially for families who don’t want to be bothered by the crowds. The menu is similar to the US except the ingredients are local and definitely taste less processed. There are no swirly soft-scoop ice cream cones though, but they use that same ice cream for their sundaes so I can still get my fix regardless.

The French are perfectionists when it comes to their culinary reputation, and their castles, gardens, boulangerie, chocolateries are the some of the most exceptional in the world. And that is true for the area that we live in; our local chocolatier has the best hot chocolate (chocolat chaud) that rivals what you would find in Paris. Add some Chantilly Crème and you immerse yourself into a heavenly delight. 

Yet, in the countryside they don’t care much for Parisians and their designer clothes and perfectly coiffed hair.  Out here, while we don’t dress like slobs, it’s much more relaxed and we can go into the local village with sweatshirts and tights (they usually wear jeans or tasteful slacks) and actually fit in.  If we’re going to “town” – meaning with a larger population like Bergerac, then we dress up a bit more that usually includes a scarf. The fashion is understated and in some cases tastefully chic. 

Now, getting down to the nitty, gritty issues that can easily miff Americans and Brits (and even some of the French): 

EDF, the electrical company here at times just shuts down the electrical to your house.  Sometimes they will give you a notice, but rarely do they follow the actual schedule.  When they are working on something in the vicinity we experience the occasional surge that has been know to blow out some of our electronics – despite having an electrician installing heavy duty protectors.  Yet we have fiber optic running to our house and we are rather remote!  We have good wi-fi and with our VPN having been enjoying all the US and UK streaming services😍

They do the same thing with the water – you will get a warning and thinking you have a half hour before they shut it down – boom!  You have no water.   We make a point to keep gallons handy in the cellar…just in case.

If you decide to rent a car here, you will experience the manic drivers – especially if there is a black Audi involved.  The countryside is not really policed so many will tear by you at 20-30 KPH over the speed limit, cross a white line on a curve, or if they can’t maneuver around you they will be right on your bum thinking you are going to go faster = not.  They violate most of the Code de la Route (of which I’m rather an expert in now); it’s as though they go through the pain of passing the tests and then are possessed by some evil spirit.  

The two hour lunches are a bother when you forget that – oh yeah, the local hardware store (brico) or pharmacy is closed because the French feeding time is from 12-2:00. In the larger towns (think Bordeaux or Toulouse), it’s not so much of an issue but you still have to rush around before noon if you are going to one of the shops that religiously adheres by this rule.  And after lunch the restaurants close down – usually by 3:00 and don’t open back up until 7:00.  This is true except for the fast food chains such as McDonalds, KFC, Burger King etc.   So don’t expect to grab an early dinner unless you want to get some “grab and go” from the local supermarket.

And don’t expect anything to be open on Sunday – you may find a boulangerie open in the morning (as you can imagine baguettes and a fantastic array of breads are on ritualistic display -we’ve seen locals come out with armfuls), but when we moved here we were quite shocked to find even the big box supermarkets closed down for the day!  

Getting over-the-counter meds requires a trip to the pharmacy:  Je voudrais de l’ibuprofen s’il vous plaît – and you can only get one packet at a time of about 10. The same goes for the cold medications or anything that is viewed as a drug.  So no bottles of 30-90 count ibuprofen from Safeway like back in the states. 

It is so counter-intuitive to our life in the U.S.  

We will be off to Paris again soon and I will blog about some of the less-touristed sites we will be visiting…and more on the quirks of being a Francophile! 

The Renault we bought in November 2022 that has since motored us through France, Italy, Belgium and the UK – that I can now drive!  

September 13 – 20, 2024 Masai Mara to the Swahili Coast, Kenya

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After navigating the quirky Tanzanian/Kenyan border crossing, we boarded our short flight, more like a hop, to the Masai Mara – our last stop on the safari circuit.  We landed on the remote Mara Ol Kiombo airstrip (unpaved and in a swirl of dust) and were greeted by our guides from the Mara Expedition Camp, Julius and his apprentice Diana.  The Great Plains Conservation land cruiser was outfitted such that it beckoned a bygone era with the wood detailing and leather accessories.  

I had been pining over Great Plains Conservation for years, drifting into a sort of dream state, imagining the golden age of exploration complete with campaign furniture and vast plains teaming with game as far as the eye could see.  Founded by National Geographic photographers Derek and Beverly Joubert, they own a string of lodges stretching from Kenya to the Okavango Delta.  They fund anti-poaching units and private concessions; not only do you get an exclusive experience, but you also enjoy the privacy of the concessions which is like eating at a rugged Michelin Star restaurant – with the added satisfaction of knowing the money you are spending is helping to protect fragile wildlife corridors.  

As we drove across the plains, the views emerged into what I had imagined; you don’t think there is game anywhere because the horizon seems unreachable.  We stopped off for a bush tea break under the shade of a fig tree, stretching our legs and adjusting our senses to the calm. 

When we arrived at the Mara Expedition Camp it felt as though we had walked through a portal in time: Huge black and white animal prints adorned the walls that surrounded a collection of african furniture and artifacts –  leather, teak, including massive moroccan lamps harking back to the colonial days, all on display in a flourish of understated class.  There are only six tents in all, with the main lodge and dining area set in a snug grove of acacia trees. 

Our tent was a short yet meandering walk from the main area.  It was set on a polished wood platform, complete with a campaign desk, a leather journal, USB plugs and our own wi-fi; technology being present but obscured by the furniture design.  Trunks and rugs adorned the terrace and tent allowing one to go about in barefoot bliss. The bathroom, shower and dressing area were outfitted with polished brass fittings including such details as animal faces carved into the brass plugs.  We had a lovely teak table and director chairs on the terrace and even the zipper pulls were fitted with colorful Masai beading.  

The area was absent the normal invasion of flies (including the dreaded tetse) and it was off-season for the mosquitoes.  The breeze carried the woody scent of acacia through the tent and it felt good to be able to breathe so deeply; I felt a sense of tranquility I hadn’t felt in days, the only rush being a band of baboons that went  hurtling past the tent.  

This was bohemian living – African style.  

Bob unfortunately had taken ill with a balance issue he had been battling for several months.  The bush flights were bumpy and in some cases we had to make multiple stops to drop passengers off at different airstrips.  Add to that the immense amount of off-road jolting for the last several days, caused his condition to reach a tipping point.  On the bright side he had an outstanding venue in which to recuperate and would hopefully get out on safari the next day.  

After lunch, I was happy to lounge around the main area as Bob got a massage; other guests must have been out as I had the whole area to myself🥰

I took time walking around the grounds which was safe during the day. There was an electric fence around the perimeter to keep the elephants and giraffe at bay, otherwise the trees would have been stripped and who knows what other damage could occur.  Predators were still allowed to roam freely though, and after dark lions have killed game near the dining tent…while the guests were having dinner.  A rare occurrence but still gives you a sort of unnerving pause just the same. 

After a nap, we enjoyed a lovely dinner with the lodge fire blazing nearby and the kerosene lanterns dotted everywhere.  The service and food were superb, and I found the meals in Africa to be meat (or vegan options), vegetables and rice with woody undertones of African spices and a simple portion of desert.  There was a group of Americans at the larger table and the night lit up with laughter.  

We were escorted to our room which was being attended by David, a tall elegant gentleman with an easy manner and ready smile.  He became one of our favorite staff.   After a restful night’s sleep without much activity, except for calls of distant hyenas, we woke to David-the-favorite bringing us coffee and biscuits.  It really was a heinous privilege! 

Bob wasn’t up to the challenge of a morning safari, so I wound up setting out solo with the two guides, greeting the sunrise across the Masai Mara as huge as an African smile.  I was now embarking on an impossible reality; until now I only held inadequate ideas of what to expect. As the sun rose, we passed a scattering of backlit topi and gazelles, traversed brackish gullies, one that I thought we would be stuck in for sure, and then spotted several other land cruisers in the distance.  Julius spied the group with his binoculars.

…cheetah. 

If the lion is the king, then the cheetah must be the supreme diety of the savannah; worshipped without shame above all the other felines.  

We arrived with only a few other vehicles, which was just as fortunate as her presence. There she stood, her head just above the grass, then like an apparition she glided through the grass, pacing the way angels pace themselves so as not to disturb us mere mortals, the sun positioned at such an angle her spots shone like solar flares across her fur.  

The savannah is always a mesmerizing experience, but add a cheetah to the mix and you could easily become her prey. Like Medusa, you stare into her eyes and become transfixed as though you wished for a privileged death at the threshold of such a magnificent creature.  

Hello gorgeous

Julius watched her trajectory and slid the rover past the others towards a fallen acacia, though I was a bit concerned that we were moving away from her.  We arrived with only two other vehicles, he whispered “if we are lucky, she will climb on top.” We watched for several minutes as she strolled through the tide of grass and then, as if mama Africa had handed her a script, mounted the tree, stretching and looking about; it was as though we did not exist.  She took her place upon the tree, like a goddess on a throne: I could almost see her taking a paw and positioning the sun just right, and saying “see, who really is the most beautiful of them all.”

It was at that moment I could have exited this earth with little complaint. 

I would have been happy with a clear view of her on a small clutch of rocks and had not remotely expected a travel brochure moment.  I couldn’t believe my eyes, transfixed, if not paralyzed by this moment in time.  Then she decided she was done with us mere mortals, leapt off the tree and sauntered through the grass before becoming a glint in the sun.  

A seminal moment on safari

At this point Julius said we need to go as we were apparently somewhat off-road at that point and the rangers would be by.  As we drove away the other vehicles followed her and within a few minutes, alas, the rangers showed up and dispersed the other vehicles; crowding her too much could prevent her from pursuing game and frankly, after such a magnificent display why not just leave it there???

Julius and his intuition became the highlight of my safari experience.  I relaxed into my seat and watched the game go about their morning business as we made our way to a convenient breakfast spot, overlooking the savannah and in grand African style, and of course with more food than I could possibly eat.  

Sure, we have now seen just about every animal at this point, but it’s their placement in different parts of the continent that make it so special.  Just being in the Masai Mara, in the high plateau of thin, undisturbed air, brings a clarity and freedom as opposed to the more condensed, touristed areas.  There are so many places that go unexplored, absent vehicles and disturbances, you can refresh your weary mind and commune with the animals; they don’t suffer the human constructs of existential crisis’ and it’s as though you are given permission to just blend in with the rhythm of the land. 

After lunch and a short nap I decided to go out on the afternoon drive; Bob was content to relax at the lodge.  We were mostly on our own, which isn’t so difficult to do; you may see a vehicle kick up dust in the distance, and as the heat and wind builds up and then recedes the grass feels alive once again.  The lions we met on the way were still sleeping it off and the antelope were content for the moment; they do not fear the day – that is the only time we can even walk around the camp without being escorted by a Masai Warrior, so we can relate.  

I know how he feels

During our afternoon jaunt, we ventured past a hyena hide, basically a nest in the low bush and you could see where the dirt had been smoothed out from use.  And then we happened upon herds of elephants, with adolescents in tow. 

Elephants – always

Due to the density of the wildebeest in the Serengeti, there were a fair amount of carcasses but in the Masai Mara we didn’t run into as much, but you still see the occasional bones, and wonder how many generations they have been sitting there. 

Julius had been informed that there had been a leopard sighting and if there was any event that dulled my experience it was the fifteen some-odd vehicles crammed around a grove of acacias to catch a glimpse.  When we arrived there were a few vehicles that were shamelessly crushing their way into the trees for a better view.  Julius said the leopard was asleep and would probably leave once the vehicles were gone.  I told him Hakuna Matata – this is not how I wanted to experience the local wildlife.  We abandoned the love-fest and headed up to a knoll where we stopped and settled in for a sundowner; this would be my last afternoon safari and I celebrated the day with a nice spot of whiskey.  

Below us was the leopard-grove, hiding the cluster of vehicles, and I was content to watch the sun draw down into a beautiful evening.  The gazelles were kicking up dust as they clustered together for the evening.  I asked Julius if they did that for safety reasons and he said yes, the herds will start coming together at dusk for the “night is dark and full of terrors.” 

Sundowner on the Masai Mara

The leopard-grove-love-fest vehicles had dispersed, and we ventured back down to see if we could catch a glimpse of the feline in question, but it was too dark and Julius suspected that he had moved on.  We headed back to the lodge as the plains drew her curtains and we arrived to the glow of lanterns marking the pathways and a welcoming campfire.  

During the night I heard the occasional hyena, but otherwise dreamt about legacies of bones and filaments of grass disturbed only by the passing of a cheetah.  

In the morning we set out for the Mara Concession; Bob remained absent and bid me an adventurous morning.  As the sun rose, I could see giraffes patterned in miniature against the dawn.  We drove through some pretty rough roads reminiscent of the Ngorongoro Crater, but soon came to the gate:  Only private vehicles were allowed and a limit of five at that.  

Within the concession was a Masai village that had been purposefully set-aside for the local tribe as indeed, they had lived for generations on the Mara.  I’m sure Karen Blixen and Denys Finch-Hatton would have been thrilled to know that there were those who carried on their vision of preservation; hold-outs against the hubris of greed that has left Nairobi in the state it is currently in.  

The roads then changed dramatically – they were dirt but well-groomed and I settled in as we passed through rolling hills and watering holes teeming with Cape Buffalo and then we broke over the crest onto a vast, flat plain.  Here there were herds of Hartebeest that I had not seen since South Africa, and for a while the concession seemed devoid of game with a scattering of lone trees.  

Cape Buffalo

Julius said we were heading for the Mara River, yes, the same one that feeds the Serengeti.  As we neared, you could see the groves of trees hugging the banks and then large herds of giraffe and antelope emerged; it was as though we were heading into an unexplored wildlife corridor.  

The Mara Concession

We ventured to the precipice of the river; the area struck me as the perfect camping spot and if it wasn’t protected, I could well imagine it would have been overrun by now.  The guides set up the bush breakfast and we sat on the escarpment with a clear view of hippos, crocodiles and a herd of timid zebras on the other side.

This is what happens when you get my age

The swifts and the colorful bee eaters were swimming on the skin of the river, diving into their muddy nests, while the eagles became grounded in the trees.  It was a veritable quandary of wildlife; Julius said this was his favorite spot and I would concur; it is a place where the likes of John Muir would set foot, not so much to find the truth but to return to it. 

The zebra eventually dared one another to dodge the sleeping slug-of-a-hippo for a drink in the river. It’s a stressful affair because even if the hippos don’t scare you off, the insidious crocodiles may be in striking distance.  This went on for a good half-hour with only two of the zebras wandering to the shore and successfully satiating themselves.  

A typical day on the Mara River

We packed up (I was somewhat reluctant but vowed to commit to this place in memory) and headed out for the plains where we found lions mating in the shade of a bush and further on a large male guarding the remains of a zebra.  I had only seen wildebeest kills and the hide of the zebra created a contrast against the muted tones of the lion.  He had had his fill and was panting heavily, and I suspect would be in for a very long nap.  An observant hyena noted this, and within a blink of an eye, retrieved a leg and high-tailed it to a safe spot.  

A not so petit dejeuner

As the temperature rose I could actually see the mirage of heat coming off the grass, yet it really didn’t feel too intense. 

And…more elephants

As we headed back, we skirted the Masai village, women in their colorful robes looking like facets of beads strung across the neck of a tree, swaying with the wind.  

This would be my last safari drive and I was grateful to have ended it at the Mara Expedition Camp.  It was everything I had imagined, if not more; it could have easily stayed a few more days.

Once back at the camp, Bob said the staff had found a nest of Bush Babies (tiny nocturnal primates), we stopped by one of the thick acacia trees and up in the branches one was slung over a limb, awake and staring at us with those huge eyes. Since they are nocturnal so it was a real treat. Then he pointed out the baby Bush Baby – I melted on the spot.  I wish I could take one home!!

When we reached the tent I decided to lay down for a while; the flame of this experience finally burned down and I wound up convalescing in the tent; my body raging against the altitude and my inability to consume anymore.  Unfortunately it was our anniversary and I was out of commission – it was almost as if the build up and let down of such overpowering experiences had depleted all my resources. Fortunately, even though Chem Chem had the date wrong, we at least had a once-in-a-lifetime celebration in the bush.  

We were set to leave the next day: I managed some toast for breakfast and then the staff danced in with our anniversary cake that almost reduced me to tears (see the camp reel below). I had to tear myself away from this place, the atmosphere had put me in a dream-like trance despite my ailments.  

On our way to the airstrip Julius got word that two cheetah brothers had been sighted; considering that Bob had not been on safari during our stay in the Masai Mara, this was a real treat.  We arrived with only a few other vehicles nearby and there they sat, under a large tree, observing a herd of gazelles – or trying to if they could just stay awake. 

Our safari ends in feline splendor

I’ve noted that lions will look at you but cheetahs look past or through you – as if you don’t exist, as if humans are so inferior we aren’t worth the bother.  It is somehow fitting for the haute couture of the savannah. 

Thank you Mama Africa for such an exemplary farewell, your children have delighted us beyond measure and I will think often of your treasures.  The safari couldn’t have been scripted any better, except that I wish I could have enjoyed your embrace a bit longer.

Mara Expedition Camp Reel

Julius and Diana waited until our flight took off, it was a larger plane with only one stop in Amboseli.  We soon arrived at the funky Diani Beach airport in the pouring rain, yet I felt like I could stand there and let it wash me clean.  We were now south of Mombasa, on the Swahili Coast and back at sea level.  At the private resort of Kinondo Kwetu we found a thatched roof paradise reminiscent of Hawaii, void of the summer crowds with only the antics of monkeys.  I felt like I was floating to and fro with the surf, bathed in the perfect temperature ranging between 70-80 degrees.  

https://www.kinondo-kwetu.com/

We were well away from Diani Beach itself, with its cluster of large resorts reminiscent of Honolulu.  Kinondo is very secluded, I felt as though we were in our own bubble, virtually undisturbed, unencumbered, in the drift, and I was starting to feel like my old self. We stayed grounded for the most part, lounging around the pools and cabanas, save for our meals that were always served at a different venue in the resort. 

Funky cabana-style lunch venue in an old boat

Besides the thieving black faced monkeys there was a family of beautiful Colobus monkeys that came through the resort, oddly disinterested in our food our belongings and were a joy to watch.

Colobus monkey

We ventured out for short shopping and snorkeling trips and were very content just to return to the resort where we could meander freely into the evening without the threat of being eaten, and at times collecting impressive shells on the beach that had washed upon virtually untouched shores. 

Snorkeling in the Indian Ocean

On our last evening the staff set up a private table by the pool; they troubled themselves to bring the food from the kitchen to this unexpected, and final, venue. Lanterns lit the path and the pool surround, and we found ourselves dining in tropical splendor – the only sound being the surf and the wind in the palms.  We don’t know why we were chosen for this particular experience but we lingered in the moment; it’s as though our anniversary dinner was transported from the Masai Mara to Diani Beach🥰

Who would ever want to leave such a place and would you ever grow bored??

I’m going to really miss this place

Though we weren’t heading back to a career or workplace, we knew the transition of reality would still be difficult after such phenomenal experiences, and that we may never venture to this level of travel-euphoria again.  The price of privacy can be unobtainable for many, and we have been blessed to be able to indulge in such a fashion🙏

The next day we landed back at the Fairview, we decided to have one last dinner by the pool before our flight home; but our venue was short-lived when the heavens opened up and Nairobi gave us a monsoonal deluge, a sort of equatorial send-off sending everyone rushing for the cover of the bar:  It was as if Africa was washing away the dust of our experience, preparing us for the stage of our journey.  

In Conclusion 

Africa in an untouched state is a formidable land, with roots that run deep into the human psyche…if you open your heart wide enough to let her in. When we left it was like a dear friend who had passed on; you navigated the headwinds together and the precious trinkets you’ve gathered have taken on a soul of their own.  We surround ourselves with souvenirs until they too become bones on some distant plain.  

There are no straight lines on the savannah, no matter how much you can try, Mama Africa will not allow it.  She will wash out your roads, feed you a buffet of dust, and displace your sweat to the clouds. You cannot tame her elephants or zebras and her guardians will disperse you if you misbehave where her children are concerned.  

I have reflected several times on the curious behavior of the eagle that had landed on the lawn when I was visiting the Blixen museum.  It wandered about, like a protectorate of sorts.  If Karen Blixen had a spirit-animal I do wonder if it would be an eagle, untethered, flying to great heights, drifting above the fray, while civilization forced the land creatures into an unnatural migration from the Ngong to the plains.  But not the birds, as their song softens the blow of civilization to counter-balance its progress. Eagles, like the two lovers who soared across the Great Rift Valley, float in the elusive animal-ether of which the Baroness was a part.  Silence will speak, said the animal spirit…if you just take a moment to listen.

September 9-12 Serengeti, Tanzania Africa

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Just the name sets the imagination on fire:  Songs have been written about it, countless documentaries have been created, especially coverage of the “Greatest Show on Earth” – referring to the Great Migration. We had planned the timing of our safari in hopes of seeing herds of wildebeests make the harrowing crossing of the Mara river.  It’s never predictable as they follow the rain and last year the migration didn’t happen until October.  People come from all over the world and drive up from central Serengeti and camp out for days, sometimes to no avail.  

Wildebeest are “dumb” – this is the conclusion of every guide you meet.  It takes just one to start the stampede for the river, and even when they arrive they might not find it suitable, at the particular moment, to cross and will mill around for days. 

Not long after flying from the Ngorongoro Highlands, we were eying herds of elephants, zebras and wildebeests as we descended over the Mara River and the legendary landscapes of the Serengeti.  

Our first encounter with the migration came in the form of a non-landing event at the Kogatende airstrip; I was wondering why our landing was so incredibly bumpy and if that was just normal – we jolted up and down a few times and then suddenly were airborne again, then I peered out the side window and saw a herd of wildebeest right below us, so close it was as if we were skimming their manes.  The cabin filled with varying degrees of expletives bordering on screams of terror. 

As it turns out, wildlife on the runway is not uncommon this time of year, and the bush pilots have become very skilled at “buzzing them off.”  We were successful on the third try and landed in a suitable manner on the small airstrip.  While this introduction was not a famous river crossing, it set us up for the next few days of adventure. 

The Serengeti – is known in Swahili as the endless plain spanning a massive area of Tanzania. While I wouldn’t compare this portion of the Serengeti to the vast plains of the Masai Mara, especially in the Mara River region, you definitely feel you have finally arrived in the wilds of Africa, the one you’ve always held in your imagination.

Several land rovers (always land cruisers really but I just call them land rovers for consistency) were parked ready to whisk excited safari goers to their lodges.  We met with yet another Emanuel, a younger, strapping Tanzanian who would be our driver for the next few days.

We collected our luggage which was wheeled around the dirt parking area until it was miraculously matched up with the respective owners.  Upon using the facilities there was of course, no toilet paper. With all the money that comes through this area you would think there would be some that would help support the accompanying infrastructure but as I’ve discovered as we’ve traveled through East Africa, that the facilities are surprisingly third world.  It does make you wonder.  But being the seasoned traveler that I am, I always carry tissue with me and also helped a few stranded travelers along the way.  

We settled in, again to our delight, we had our own private 4×4 and driver and headed into the grasslands.  It was hot, which is so typical of high plateau plains, while you freeze in the mornings.  Much to our relief, it started to rain and we stayed pretty much dry but it was so refreshing and the perfume coming off the grass was potent.  We saw wildebeests and antelope as we entered some beautiful grassy knolls also called kopjes, with massive granite outcroppings and rebellious fig trees (a favorite of leopards) growing from the crevices.  It was quite other-worldly and apparently a good place for felines to hole up for the afternoon; alas we didn’t see any. 

We bumped our way to the lodge, and as we were coming through a rather contentious gully, Emanuel pointed and said lion. My eyes overshot where he was indicating as I thought it would be further away, but then I realized, with a fleeting sense of shock that this young male was a few feet to the left of us sitting on a ridge; if he felt like it he could have leapt right into our vehicle. But it was the afternoon and he certainly wasn’t bothered with lifting a paw.

We then crested with a view into one of the valleys and there sat our accommodation; it could have been vintage Africa with the way the clutch of canvas tents lay across the landscape.

The Serengeti Safari lodge is a mobile camp so it is very understated and is real tenting vs. stationary glamping tents being built on top of stone and or wood. Nomad, the tour company who owns this and Entamanu, packs up every four months to follow the migration, which must be quite the feat.  There are about six tents plus the staff quarters in all that makes for a more intimate setting and they’ve furnished the main lounge and dining area with comfy, rustic furniture and this is also the charging station area as electricity to the rooms is limited – no hair dryers for the more fashion-minded.

Upon arrival, we were fed a simple buffet (because it is necessary to be overfed everywhere you go), and settled into the lounge area to get our briefing on the bucket showers, meal times, charging stations and most importantly:  Safety – there is nothing between us and the wildlife that would include not just antelope, felines, hyenas, but elephants and buffalo.  At dawn and dusk we were escorted by Masai staff with spears and flashlights.  Our tent was close to the main area so we didn’t have far to go.  The code to get their attention after dark is to wave the flashlight in the tent entrance and they will come and retrieve you.  You have to admire all of these staff as they are up most of the night and/or early in the morning for coffee runs, wake up calls and escorting you around with the potential of lethal wildlife in the vicinity.

We got to our tent and unpacked (this is when the 15kg limit comes in handy as you don’t have much and there is laundry service at every lodge). Though very rustic, there are bathrooms complete with a dressing area, chemical toilet and an innovative bucket shower that is filled with hot water when you wish to wash off the dust of the day.  While not as luxurious as the others places we stayed so far, it was definitely a bump up from our usual tent camping along the Metolius River in central Oregon.  

We also had a small covered veranda with table and chairs where you can relax and watch the game roam around the valley.  

As it had already been a very long day, I decided to take a nap, enveloped in solitude, and Bob wandered to the main tent lounge to catch up on journaling and charge up his devices.  The main area reminds me a bit of bedouin tent-style but with nice sofas, chairs, furniture and rugs and in the afternoon into the evening, a stylish pop-up bar.

The dining area had one long table for groups and other tables scattered on the perimeter beautifully lit up at night with kerosene lanterns.  

It was a quiet afternoon as everyone else was out tracking the great migration and we wanted to save our energy for the next two days.  After feeling a bit refreshed, I spent time with the binoculars on the front “porch” with a cup of tea and tracked some zebras and baboons in the distance. I was not seeking any bragging rights, just taking some time to breath in the atmosphere. I also downloaded my photos from the Ngorongoro with hopes of doing some journaling but the next thing we knew it was getting dark (in equatorial Tanzania it gets dark around 7:00), and the houseboy came around with the lamps. 

During happy hour the thunder began to roll in and sheet lightning lit up the savannah, it was at that moment I was swallowed whole by the Serengeti.

At dinner we ran into the American couple who had been staying an Entamanu and had some nice conversation over drinks.  The lovely pop-up bar was set up with a with just about every mixer you could think of.  It felt like a whiskey evening with the rolling thunder and the general rustic ambiance.  They built a fire in the pit nearby for anyone who wished to spin their tales from the day but most of us seemed content to lounge around the sofas and talk.  The rest of the guests were British which is not surprising.  Emanuel dropped in to brief us on our expectations for the next morning; we could very well be camped out by the Mara River for most of the day depending on the mood of the wildebeests.

Considering how open our circumstances were I did not feel unsafe – I think the lights and fire with the staff on the perimeter makes for a very enjoyable, casual experience.  

The rain passed us by and we were escorted to our tents to take in the night sounds and we were not disappointed:  During the night we heard a chorus of hyena and lion then later on we tried to decipher the noise outside and realized the wildebeests were grazing along the perimeter of our tent. The tearing and snorting of their feeding was novel as you don’t really experience that effect when you are driving about, but it went on for quite a while.

We woke around 6:00 with coffee delivered – this service turned out to be one of our favorite experiences.  We could also even order tea to be brought at anytime.  We bundled up and met Emanuel outside the main tent just as the sun was starting to rise.  Typically I wore my safari hat due to the intensity of the equatorial sun, a T-shirt, a zip up, scarf, safari vest, trousers and hikers.  All this was a perfect combination of tans and greens to blend in and the vest is great for a photographer like me.  I love having pockets handy!  We looked the part, not because we simply wanted to be fashionistas, but to blend in and also to be able to peel off layers which usually happened around 11:00.  And if you happened to be behind another vehicle the dust could get pretty thick.  And you always have to be prepared for every adventure, especially when you really go off-road, sometimes through muddy gullies to get to a sighting. 

As we went through the ever-fascinating kopjes, I vowed to photograph them in infrared before we left.  We encountered a family of ostriches with some charming chicks of which, we were informed, very few would survive – poor babies.  

Soon we came upon a pride of two mama lions and five male cubs around a wildebeest kill (wildebeest are so ubiquitous they could be called “the chicken of the savannah”).   Emanuel knew this pride well and you could tell that he adored them.  There were two other rovers nearby but there was plenty of breathing space for everyone.  

We pulled close to the kill and soon the mama lion was further into the guts and once she opened up the stomach the stench wafted our way!  I’m sure it was like caviar to her but…dang.  The smell would drift off and on as one of the cubs joined the feast.  The others were larking around and it looked like they had already had some breakfast and it was time to burn off some energy. 

Lion kill with five cubs

We could see the vultures circling nearby and mama lion eventually hauled off the carcass to a safer place.  The other mama lion stood watch over the breakfast table. 

The air was clear and the lighting was superb – I mean seriously.

Lioness in all her glory

Emanuel said it was time for us to go and see if we could catch some of the migration as the herds had been moving towards the river the last day or two.  This is probably the hardest thing for the guides; he warned us again that we could wind up spending most of the day by the river waiting for them to cross – if they cross at all – and you needed to be at the right crossing as there are around ten of them spread up and down the river. He said last year the rains didn’t come until October, so all the tourists who came in September didn’t get to see much.  We kept our fingers crossed (excuse the pun!). 

As we headed towards the river we started to see increasingly larger herds, they were somewhat restless, then they started to go into single file.  The sheer scale of the migration reminds me of what it must have been like in the great plains of America when they were thick with buffalo – what a sight to behold.  

Then the thundering began as they started running, primarily in a ragged single file and en masse.  Emanuel was trying to lower the windshield but the mechanism had gotten stuck, he was starting to get stressed “they’re running for the river!!” Bob helped him loosen the latch and we literally sprinted, ignoring the rough terrain, towards the river.  As we approached another rover was making its way down the opposite side. “They’re crossing!!!”  Emanuel jockeyed into his favorite position, taking pride in beating the other tour operators to such an excellent viewpoint.  

We watched as hundreds waded, leapt and tumbled into the river making their distinct grunting noises, almost like they were honking in varying octaves, powering through the river and making a mad scramble up the embankment. The remaining herd was kicking up dust as they raced through the acacia groves and we could see their hooves pounding through the trees.  It had become a stampede and we were front and center, watching what we considered to be miraculously good luck, to the Great Migration.  

We were well within fifteen minutes of our wow moment when we figured it would slow down as many times it’s only a small herd that passes through and the guides call it a day…but they just kept coming. Then we saw two crocodiles making their way towards the cacophony.  Emanuel said they probably wouldn’t attack as they have been feeding heavily for the last month.  And…they just sat there, looking menacing just above the waterline, and did nothing.  After about an hour the migration was still in full swing, taking different routes or doubling up and snaking around us. By this time other tour operators were attempting to crowd us but we were conveniently on a ledge.

Emanuel said this is the longest crossing he had seen all season as it had recently rained heavily in the southern Serengeti.  Then we saw a herd of zebra make the trek alongside the wildebeest.  

It only takes one wildebeest to start the stampede – like sheep they just mindlessly follow along.  Members of the herd literally hurl themselves into the water in a frantic bid to get to the other side without being mauled by a crocodile.  It boggles the mind to think the nearly 2 million wildebeest make this trek all through the year to find better feeding grounds.  

We humans also migrate to see the migration😂. Interesting that we are so fascinated by animal behaviors. 

The Great Migration – Mara River, Serengeti

We were two hours in when the stampede started to ebb; just watching the spectacle worked up an appetite:  It was nearly 10:00 and we were ready for a celebratory bush breakfast!!!  

We trundled off to a grassy knoll, not far from a grove of acacia trees, with a view down to the river.  And wow, did the lodge deliver: Emanuel pulled out a table, chairs, linens, coffee, a full-on breakfast fit for a crowd.  We sat, our senses flourishing in concert with our surroundings.  I love eating in the bush and I don’t require anything too fancy; just the idea of being in the wilds of Africa, connecting with a sense of nature akin to camping.  But this wasn’t Oregon, it was the glorious Serengeti.  

Elevenses on the Serengeti

I really hadn’t known what to expect, and were surprisingly taken in by the terrain that ran along the Mara River.  And I was trying to process that we actually witnessed what we had dreamed about forever:   The Great Migration. How freakin fortunate we were.  #pinchmenow 

I breathed in a moment of bliss, wanting to exhale a scream of joy but that would have probably not been a good idea.  It was quiet, save for the sound of birds and breeze and no sign of humanity for miles.  

This is around the time the layers come off as the sun begins to warm things up.  We packed up and Emanuel proceeded to take us up and down the river to see what else we could see.  It was around this time, with the heat kicking up that I had my first encounter with a tsetse fly:  They look like a cross between a honey bee and a fly and I let out a yelp as one of them dug into my arm.  Bob didn’t seem to be attracting them for some reason, and now I understood the use of the cowhide and tail fly swatter as I spent a good portion of my time swishing it around my person.  

While I was warding off pests, Emanuel took us upriver to a crocodile haven.  Upon closer inspection we observed an array of around ten wildebeest carcasses floating, in a sort of random surrealism, in the water.  This, apparently, was a crocodile “pantry” where they stash their kills and let the water tenderize the carcasses: It makes it easier to eat them that way.🐊

After contemplating this rather gruesome, yet fascinating bistro, we then headed out to flatter terrain to see if we could see some cheetahs as unlike the other cats, daytime is when the cheetahs are on the prowl for dinner.  We encountered the of elephants, hippos, giraffe, and some lovely bird life but alas no cheetah today.  It was getting hot, stirring up the flies so we headed back to the lodge.  

Life along the Mara River

We decided not to do the afternoon drive as we had had our fill for the day and it was nice just to relax after such an exciting morning, and by the time we got back it was already early afternoon.

Others began returning to the camp and had not seen the crossing; they were apparently too far down the river and weren’t aware of the stampede up river until it was too late. Hopefully they would catch it the next day.  

As we had to get up at 4:30 to get to the sunrise hot air balloon ride, we made it an early night.  It proved to be a noisy one as the wildebeests were restless and calling to one another for several hours from different locations in the camp😫. Bob wanted to go out and shoo them away but…on second thought…a bad idea as the background noise also included hyenas. Hyenas don’t suffocate their prey first like the other predators, they just start tearing and eating with little regard for the victim.  

The morning proved to be unsurprisingly cold, with Emanuel wrapped in a gator and accompanying beanie with a puffy jacket, looking like he was ready to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Our vehicle was open air, though hot water bottles and blankets were provided (they make good use of hot water bottles on safari!).  It was still dark when we arrived at the launch site, with a few balloons being spread out.  We could hear a lion nearby and Emanuel assured us it was across the river – it sounded pretty dang close.

We were offered tea or coffee and as the light improved we were given our briefing; there were sixteen of us in one balloon and we had to enter it much like you would store your wine.  I’m glad I did this now and not into my 70’s as maneuvering could become a bit challenging.  Soon the balloon righted itself and we started dragging slowly across the grass, then very slowly we began to launch.  I love feeling like a bird, I had this sensation when I went paragliding once and for a while you are part of the kingdom of birds.  

The sun rose over the Mara River, and as we floated we scattered herds of wildebeests and zebras.  Then an elephant turned and charged us, ears flapping, looking at us as though we were some predator descending from the sky.

Keep your distance!

Before we knew it we were landing, bracing ourselves for impact.  We bounded around about three times before skidding to a stop but not before clods of dirt sprayed the basket.  We managed to extricate ourselves, dusting off clods of dirt and stood warming ourselves in the morning sun. 

Hot Air Ballon Ride – Serengeti

We then attended an elaborate breakfast that harked back to the days of British Colonialism, with some champagne and a loo with a view – of elephants!  

After we finished feasting, Emanuel arrived to take us out for the rest of the morning safari where we saw the birth of an impala – very rare indeed!  We paused for a good half-hour watching the fawn emerge and then mama licking and encouraging it to get up. It certainly doesn’t take long and you are at once in awe and then worried that in such a vulnerable state that a nearby predator will…you know…I can’t go there🙏

Witnessing the birth of an impala

Emanuel received info that a leopard had been spotted not far away so we were off again to find the most elusive of African felines. When we arrived there was a camera crew near a tree and a surprising absence of other vehicles – I guess they didn’t get the memo. We could barely see her in the underbrush then boom! She darted up a fig tree but then decided it wasn’t an appropriate venue to drape on. She then climbed back down and disappeared into the bush. This last a total of about ten minutes, though I suppose it was better than nothing at all. Except for the camera crew we were not allowed to venture any closer anyway so we soon aborted and went to the camp for lunch. Emanuel said we could come back in the afternoon as she might be on the rocks with her cubs: I’m in for that!!

Leopard sighting!

After lunch there wasn’t much time until the next safari drive so I charged up my devices and did some downloading. I wound up going solo – Bob decided not to go as he was fatigued and wanted to catch up on journaling.  This was my opportunity to do some infrared shots and I had Emanuel drive me around the kopje’s and spent some time contemplating the game as we made our way back to the leopard sighting.

When we arrived, it turned out to be rather busy including the same film crew; apparently the word had gotten out as there were several other vehicles in attendance.  This time the leopard had migrated to the rocks with her cubs.  We were a ways away so I switched between the binoculars and my camera for better viewing.  We spent a good half hour in their presence; everyone was quiet and respectful and we enjoyed some ginger honey beer (a local soft drink) as the sun dipped into the horizon, setting the sky on fire.  We stayed until the light got so low we could not longer see them. What a brilliant sundowner on my final night in the Serengeti…in the company of leopards.

Leopard with cubs – Serengeti

We got back before it was completely dark and I imbibed in a whiskey at my favorite pop-up bar, and relaxed on the couch reflecting on yet another astounding day.  In the distance the animals stirred and Bob and I enjoyed dinner by the lantern light with the campfire blazing nearby.  They had a bucket shower ready for me when I got back from dinner that I was so grateful for as I had doused myself in suntan lotion and bug spray and had picked up some stray dust.  My mind was consumed by the blur of the last two days and fatigue was rapidly setting in.  I didn’t have to dream about the calls of the wild during the night as they were real with the lions and hyena strolling restlessly around the camp perimeter. This had caused the wildebeest to scatter though when we woke in the morning we found one had peed on the table on our veranda🙄 #bushcamping

We bid farewell to the lodge; the always-attentive staff gathered outside the main tent and sang for us as Emanuel set off for the airstrip. When we arrived he stayed until he knew were were actually on the plane: The planes are either early or late, and sometimes don’t arrive at all so the lodge ensures the guests actually board and the plane takes off. This time we would land and disembark before we made it to the Kenyan border as we needed to go through passport control before boarding yet another flight for the Masai Mara.

As we ascended into the heavens, the Mara River snaked below us and for me this would be the most intense part of our safari; from below and above, the void was filled with life, as pure as thunder and as untouchable as lightning.

September 7-9, 2024 Ngorongoro Tanzania, Africa

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After a lovely farewell from the staff at Chem Chem we made our way back to the entrance of the gate keeping our eyes peeled for any unexpected wildlife sightings; we did see more impala and as I write this I am sure they a paying little or no attention to the comings and goings of these strange humans.  When I leave a place I reflect on the silence brought about by our absence and the freedom that comes with that thought.  

We were met at the gate of the concession by our guides, Emanuel and Logi, from the Entamanu Safari Lodge.  Emanuel was an older gentleman having been a guide in this area for over 30 years and in my view it felt as if he was more of a wise sage accompanying us on our journey.  Logi was his apprentice whom he had known for a long time and was set to take over from Emanuel when he retired – which he hoped was soon; Bob and I could sympathize with his desires. The guides and drivers work very long hours and seem to spend most of their time on rough roads; they must adapt to this sort of thing that would make the rest of us go somewhat insane.  Yet they are always excited about the wildlife and showing us their treasures, especially the hidden ones.  

We spent most of the drive on a nicely paved highway that apparently takes you all the way to Egypt which was an interesting thought.  We then veered through more Masai land herding their cows and goats that for me was an interesting comparative study to the Native Americans who also managed to thrive in a place that seemed rather devoid of any lush accompaniments, but that consideration alone discriminates against a people who live in relative satisfaction with their lives – so who is really the more privileged?  As I sat in the comfort of the land rover, rolling by in relative ease, internalizing, much like I did in Nairobi, especially as we drove by the interminable Kibera slums (over 2 million people), at how much of the world does not experience my immunity to that way of life. 

Emanuel insisted that Entamanu wasn’t Chem Chem and Bob and I had no issue since we weren’t subscribers to Architectural Digest and had expectations of something a bit more rustic.  Emanuel said there are other “fancy people” lodges in the vicinity but not at the elevation of this one.  We didn’t come to Africa to be pampered, you can get that at any resort along the Mediterranean, though we did start growing accustomed to the outstanding service levels we were to meet along our trek.  

After a few hours we started climbing into the highlands with its deep red soil and lush vegetation.  The air reminded me of the Pacific Northwest for some reason though the landscape was set in a more jungle-like atmosphere much like Hawaii.  The elevation and positioning near the equator creates a rich elixir for the senses with a fascination of vines and thick undergrowth.  We passed through one of the local towns with its usual madness of tuk tuks, motorcycles and donkeys.  It’s a fusion of the new and the old, with the old ways being somewhat more practical when modern civilization fails you.  Though one does wonder how the art of carrying the sofa on the back of a motorcycle is cultivated.  

Soon we arrived at the gate to the crater.  The Ngorongoro Crater is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the largest unbroken caldera in the world.  The road that leads to the crater is not paved and the larger potholes are filled only every few months to no avail…as if by design; it was very busy so we had a lot of bumps, curves, exhaust, dust and what appeared to be near misses with other vehicles, but that was only true in the over-civilized imagination.  

I discovered that there are two classifications of dust on the safari circuit: Civilized dust that occurs on structured roads that is mixed with exhaust and sets your sinuses on fire and the uncivilized kind that blows through you as you rough-road through a savannah, seeping into your cells so you can become one with the earth, a visit back to a forgotten self. The latter is the kind of “dust” I hope to visit in my dreams. 

After what seemed like an eternity, (an exaggeration on about 45 minutes) we came across an orderly battlement of vehicles worthy of an outdoor cinema; this was a front row seat into the caldera from the viewpoint of a bird.  Like the Grand Canyon, you momentarily forget all your senses as you peer through the gates of heaven trying to reconcile that such a magnificent vista really exists.  Here Mama Africa cupped her hands and cried tears of joy as she gave birth, flooding the plains with a deluge of creation.  

We moved further up to our lunch venue near facilities (many times there are attendants who come and clean after the “flush” with a hose, because the water pressure may be in question) that apparently is a common meeting ground for tour groups.  I have found that many of the general tourist-area toilets (very true for the bush airports) are wanting for some reason – considering the volume of visitors.  The lodge facilities are typically great if not outstanding.  

We settled on stumps and fold-out chairs, mostly to avoid the ants at the picnic tables, and ate what had been given us from Chem Chem, sharing much of it with our guides as we were at this point already being overfed; such is the tradition in Africa.  

Unfortunately, Emanuel’s sandwich was torn from his hand by a passing eagle😫 On the bright side it could have been a seagull or a crow, but he was afforded a more prestigious grab.

We then meandered through the equatorial jungle that broke into highland grasslands, passing through more Masai country with their bomas, and as we gained elevation we could see the distant plains of the Serengeti and its earthly haze.  We turned off to the road leading to the Entamanu Lodge – the highest one in the Ngorongoro Highlands and in its own unique location on the rim; this location also affords you access to the crater floor before just about everyone else. 

https://www.nomad-tanzania.com/camps/northern-tanzania/ngorongoro-crater/entamanu

We arrived and after our briefing, decided to go on a walk around the highlands to stretch our legs.  We were accompanied by a ranger complete with a rifle and a Masai with a spear and a walking stick that I decided to use on the downhill slope.  It was a beautiful and clear day through forest and grasslands, there were elephant and antelope sightings though we didn’t encounter any, but we were graced by the giraffes who poked their heads above the acacia trees; referred to fondly by the Masai as “bush towers.”  We learned about the trees and medicinal properties of many of the plants.  We encountered the ubiquitous cattle drive, with the soothing tinkling of bells and momentarily became herders ourselves.  We managed to get about an hour of elevation cardio in before we went to our room and freshened up for dinner.  

We had our sundowner with others in the lodge, set near a lovely fire. We ran into Americans who would be staying at the Serengeti Safari Lodge so we would have a somewhat shared experience moving forward.  

At this height, It doesn’t take long for it to get cold and windy and after a nice supper we were escorted to our room (a practice we would find at every lodge) with a nice gas fireplace – that was truly welcome!  Our room had a bit of a Scandinavian vibe to it; very understated with cow skins and rugs so you could settle in for an evening, protected against the elements. 

During the night, the wind rattled things a bit and we were awoken at 5:00 with a tray of superb coffee that was placed in a kiosk built into the wall – much like a stationary dumbwaiter, so we can easily retrieve it without too much disturbance, and also letting the cold in.  We huddled in bed until the fire got us warm enough to get dressed.  As we stepped outside, bundled in almost every layer we had thought to bring, the wind mixed with the fog made for a very atmospheric, almost jack-the-ripper start to the day. We were escorted to the land rover, complete with blankets and hot water bottles.  We retraced our way to the entrance that lead to the crater floor; we wound down this portion of the road that has been, thankfully, repaved into cobblestone.  The mist started to lift and the sun eventually parted, revealing the treasures below.  

At the threshold of the cauldron, a rhino was spotted in the distance but it was too far for my camera lense, but we watched as he sauntered across the grasslands in solitude.  There were currently very few other vehicles in the vicinity.  

Our first stop was a fresh lion kill which at the time was a very novel event for us.  We were glad we were early birds because in about an hour nearly 20 other vehicles started to pile up for a look, even though only five vehicles are technically allowed at a time.  Many had up to six people packed in trying to get selfies; and fortunately for us being early gave us the best vantage point and the lions would be fast asleep by the time many of the other sightseers arrived. 

The morning meal with the lion family was a sight to behold, giving us Africa in all her savage glory; blood soaked faces and mama licking her cub clean.  The tearing of the flesh and breaking of bones is an auditory and elemental experience. 

We also had a chance to study two magnificent male lions before they too passed out for a day-long siesta.  Emanuel called one of them “Mufasa” and they were certainly stunning specimens (I sometimes wonder if he isn’t also referring to himself!).  There had been two kills as the remains of a wildebeest were not far away, on the other side of the road.  When you observe the family, even though their bellies appear horrendously full, they keep eating as they sometimes don’t know when their next meal will be. 

Mufasa

There was a troupe of hyenas and circling vultures nearby, but they hadn’t ventured too far as the two male lions were not far away, and I guess that was more than the scavengers could bear for now.  

As we were by a lake, we saw plenty of bird life including flamingos.  The area was rife with hippos who would move occasionally but were otherwise content to be enormous slugs along the shoreline.  

We managed to squeeze past the increasing number of vehicles, some that were blocking our progress, and at the point were happy to be extricated from the fray, and proceeded through the vast ecosystem seeing some stunning bird life – the Crowned Crane topped the list and proliferated everywhere it seemed. 

Gray Crowned Crane

We saw Ostrich couples and studied the vultures that looked very similar to condors. Many people think they are ugly, but like the hyena, they are very unique and necessary to the savannah.  I find them quite fascinating.  

We then moved onto more hippos including the rare experience of a mating couple  🫣. We then stopped for breakfast, which is basically an area reserved for tourists with decent bathrooms.  It was set overlooking a lake with an accompanying marsh with elephants, more birds and of course hippos; we witnessed two sparring which was a treat and of course you don’t venture too close to that sort of spectacle (one gentleman was getting too close and the guides started to freak out). 

As we ate and chased away the neon blue starlings on the hunt for breakfast bits… but this time the eagles were absent and we managed a meal in relative peace. The sun was breaking through the cloud layer making for ethereal backdrops with the game seemingly small against the dramatic escarpment. We even encountered a small wildebeest migration crossing the road; a prelude to what we hoped we would experience in the Serengeti.  The crater is an astounding area within its own microcosm, protected so the inhabitants can live out their daily lives in relative peace (save for us tourists but rangers can come and break up the “party” if the drivers get too aggressive).

We stopped off on a knoll overlooking the grasslands, a gentle wind ushered in a peaceful vista, filling my lungs to capacity.  I can imagine at night, even when the predators are restless, the peace here is palpable and it’s when the cauldron truly comes to life.  When one thinks of a cauldron it usually means fire, but here, this is a cauldron of life.  

We made our way back to the rim and ended the day with a highland bush walk, again with a ranger and a Masai guide that took us through a herd of giraffes who poked their heads above the canopy – they stopped and watched as we walked past.  We headed for our sundowner spot, all set up with an open bar and a lovely view, across the landscapes of the Ngorongoro – the sky becoming a picturesque magenta. 

We then began to hear the chants as dancers from the local Masai village filed in, in all their respective glory; it was certainly one of the highlights of the day.  

As the dancing faded we could once again hear the cow bells from the nearby herds, a background symphony that earned this area its name:  Ngorongoro echoes the tune of cow bells, as demonstrated by a song rolling off the tongue of our Masai guide.  There is no end to the charm of this place.  

The next morning our guides took us back down the road-from-hell and it seemed like even more tourists were winding their way back up.  After about 45 minutes we reached the gate and the accompanying mayhem.  It certainly makes for great people watching. I’m torn by the need for tourism to fund the people of Tanzania, and the abuses that accompany this sort of progress.  

Back on smooth roads again we were driven to the Manyara airstrip for our next stop, the Serengeti and the Great Migration. The strip is small and we were flying in a cessna so it was going to be cozy to say the least.  We bid Emanuel and Logi a fond farewell – we felt so blessed to have had a private vehicle with two excellent guides; they did an incredible job of showing us the sights and skirting any potential hoards.   We soon squeezed our way into the cabin. The she-captain tells you to fasten your seat belts but the gentleman across from us couldn’t get his belt to work so he tied it around his waist #thisisafrica.  As we ascended, the crater opened up below us, giving us a parting panorama as the massive cauldron and its inhabitants slid into the distance.  

The Ngorongoro

September 2-7, 2024 Nairobi to Lake Manyara Africa

Posted on Posted in Africa, The French LifeTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

We checked our bags in Toulouse thinking we would see them in Amsterdam as we were staying overnight to visit a friend – but KLM, being as efficient as they are, checked them through to Nairobi.  I was hoping for my toothbrush and comb then I realized as we walked through the airport it was as though the universe had beat back time to 1993 when my only possessions were my camera and a few pieces of clothing.  Outside of feeling hungover even though I haven’t had anything to drink, sore shoulders and a questionable knee, I could be back in the Amazon – feeling more weighed down by the humidity than my luggage.  

When I watch movies about the western frontier, I’m thinking those folks haven’t had a change of clothing or a good wash up in a long time.  It’s always good to keep things in perspective. 

The small glimpse of Amsterdam I witnessed in the fading light was an impressive collection of architecture with contemporary structures competing with one another. The bicycle culture races by with many of them piled up on or near the racks, holding after dinner conversations I suppose, until the next rider appears to disrupt the party.  

The next morning we caught up with one of our friends who had moved to Holland from the states and we had a long breakfast discussing our respective immigration challenges and reminiscing about the good old times.  It was so lovely to catch up on a walk around the canals.  We then embarked on our 8 hour flight to Nairobi that all-in-all turned out to be uneventful.  And…the anticipated ground crew strike had been averted for now so we held out hope that our luggage would follow us unhindered to Nairobi.  

When we arrived later in the evening, we were met with red carpet service by two charming Kenyan gals from the travel agent, who got us through our visa processing and customs in an obscenely short amount of time.  We were then whisked away to the Fairview Hotel, a lovely British Colonial-style resort hotel, shrouded in security to the extent they x-rayed our bags before entering the hotel.  This we figured was to prevent any terrorist attacks on the hotels – the same thing goes for the malls.  

Though it’s always tiring going on long-haul flights we at least didn’t have to grapple with jet-lag. 

The next day we visited the Blixen Museum, the former home of Baroness Karen Blixen, the author of Out of Africa; her influence cuts an impressive swath through this area known as the Karen District. She introduced coffee to Kenya and on her plantation grew Arabica beans.  I knew she grew coffee but did not know that she grew that brand.  I will have a new appreciation when I go shopping for coffee from now on!  

The tour was much more comprehensive than the last time I was there 34 years ago.  We were given a thorough history and tour; as we walked the path between the kitchen and the main house the scent of jasmine wove its way through our senses – much like her writing.  

Once in the house we entered her study where her typewriter, the cuckoo clock, the gramophone Denys Finch-Hatton had given her and also a large collection of his books donated by his family; a fitting addition to the house considering their equal obsession with literature. 

In the room was also a french screen with many different pictures that served as a foil for her stories; she would have a guest pick one of the scenes and she would spin a tale, entertaining them for hours in front of the fireplace.  

The house is not large, not like the one in the movie, and it is decorated with animal skins and other African artifacts including her lovely paintings; she had quite the talent it turns out.  The largest room was the dining room, laid out as if she was expecting us for dinner.  

We then walked across the vast lawn to the path that led to the coffee mill; on the way an eagle landed, a rather impressive specimen that had no reason to visit as there was nothing of interest in the lawn itself.  He sat for a few minutes, cocking his head like they do while watching us.  He walked around for a few minutes and did not leave, even as we entered the forest.  It was quite intriguing to encounter one of the Eagles of the Ngong that the baroness speaks so fondly of in her writings.

Her tale ends in devastating sadness as the plantation went bust and shortly before she had to leave to go back to Denmark, Denys was killed in a plane crash.  In her autobiography it was conveyed that she and Denys had ended their relationship as being the wild thing that he was, and though they had been soulmates for years, he still would not commit to her.  She considered herself “dead” to him then and in the end, his untimely demise was the last cruel hand that fate dealt her as he was now dead to her.

Their story took us over to the Ngong Hills where, after driving the chaos of Nairobi and washer board roads, we came to an obscure field edged by a hedgerow with a phone number on corrugated metal on where to call for entry. 

We were met by Damares who let us into Denys’s gravesite; equally manicured and appropriately surrounded by wild bush.  Damares is the great grand daughter of Kamante, Karen’s houseboy.  Karen and Denys would “escape” to this place that was once a grassy knoll in the hills with a view of the plains.  Back then it was a day-long trek to get to the site and back in the 1920’s it was pretty easy to get lost up there.  In this place they would cocoon, as lovers do, and it was during their romance that he said he wanted to be buried there.  Karen had the same idea but it never came to fruition.  Denys was killed when he crashed his Gypsy Moth and it burst into flames, Karen, his friends and colleagues took his coffin via oxcart all the way up to this spot.  When he was buried it was only marked with four stones.  Later, his family erected the obelisk, and on his epitaph a quote of the rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.  

Spending time with Damares – the great granddaughter of Kamante

The rocks were then replaced with rounded, sculptured stones.  Others were also near the site, but were a bit overgrown now and Damares said those were probably placed there so that Karen could be buried next to Denys.  

In the 1920’s the Ngong Hills were home to big game including lions.  Shortly after Karen left, a lion and lioness visited Denys’s grave – as fantastical as it sounds, as we thought it was just something manufactured by Hollywood for the movie, Damares assured us the story was true as it was Kamante, who visit from time to time, who had witnessed them.  

We took in the atmosphere of the grave and its surroundings, imagining the grassy knoll and the view of the grave Karen could see from her house.  

Their story was one of the great romances to come out of that era and it is as magical as the writing the earned Karen Blixen, aka Isak Denisen her stature as one of the foremost story tellers of the 20th century. 

It seems odd that someone as legendary as Denys Finch-Hatton, who even has a bridge named after him at Eton, is buried in a rarely visited grave in the Ngong Hills – or maybe not – this is where he spent the most precious moments with the loves of his life: Karen and the wilds of Africa.

After winding our way back through the Ngong Hills and on down to the main streets of Nairobi we turned off into a secluded resort area. We ended the day with a lovely meal of “wet” chicken cooked in earthy spices, green mashed potatoes (green because they use pumpkin leaf) and kale.  Our Kikuyu guide had given us an outstanding day roaming around the influences and history of an enigmatic storyteller.  

The following day we wanted to get some shopping in as we would not have a chance on the safari circuit.  Our guide from the Fairview, Bernard, took us to the Kobe Tough (Kobe means turtle in Swahili…to be interpreted as these women having a touch shell), a bead shop that was developed to employ impoverished women. We were greeted with song and impressed with this whole enterprise to help women of lesser means find employment.  I think my favorite purchase on this safari is the Masai Apple Watch band that has now become a conversation piece. It’s a lovely beaded piece that I hope will last for a very long time.  

We packed up our purchases and left them with the front desk of the Fairview so we could collect them before our final flight home.

The next day we flew into Arusha, getting through the visa process with relative ease; it pays to have the forms filled out and your cash ready.

We were escorted to the lovely Arusha coffee lodge where we overnighted and headed out the next morning to our first stop on the safari circuit.

After an uneventful two hour drive from Arusha to Lake Manyara, we arrived at the stunning Chem Chem lodge where we were greeted by the staff with those huge African smiles including three magnificent Masai Warriors – a vision that reduced me to tears. Chem Chem is a private concession in the Tarangire and Manyara Lake reserve areas that provides an upscale safari experience while funding the preservation of the local wildlife corridor.  

It’s a tent lodge though is a permanent installation set upon stone and boardwalks that lead you to the main area.  It’s ranked as one of the top African lodges and looks like a feature out of Architectural Digest.  It’s very spread out, in elegant repose, with the main area overlooking a watering hole, or oasis as the palm trees make for a tropical effect, and you can sit and watch the wildlife come and go; they call it “bush tv.”   The area is thick with baboons, monkeys and impala; they peak out from under the boardwalk at you, completely indifferent to your presence.  

The area is hot and dry, yet the humidity is low making it comfortable.  Inside our tent we had all the comforts of home including a shower in the room and one right outside (walled off in stone), where you can wash up “in the wild” though the monkeys really take no notice.  And we had a full coffee station with an espresso machine!! There is glamping and then there is Chem Chem.  

After freshening up, Nenga, our driver, soon whisked us out on safari where we were blessed with elephants galore and Bob was able to take a ride in the “safari seat” up close and personal to a curious pachyderm. 

Close but not too close!

A herd then made their way to the local watering hole complete with a hide where we could watch in relative safety:  Nenga was really excited as this event is a hit or miss. 

He then got a call that a pride of lions had been spotted and we soon found them laying across the road, finishing off a day’s nap and getting ready for their evening haunts. 

Not much going on here but still…anything could happen

We had our first “sundowner”  – basically drinks in the bush watching the sunset against the super exotic baobab trees with giraffes wandering by making the evening quite mesmerizing.  Suffice it to say, we immediately went into sensory overload. 

Our first African sunset

We got back for dinner as the light grew dim and were escorted to a private setting with a backdrop of lanterns recessed into a massive termite hill, the table was lovingly strewn with orchid petals; they somehow knew our anniversary was coming up and had set aside a lovely dinner with champagne!  

Happy and exhausted we settled into tent, shrouded in mosquito netting and fell asleep to the night sounds of the bush. 

During the night we were woken abruptly by the shrieking of baboons and monkeys.  This racket went on for a good hour and half and while we found it disconcerting, it did occur to us that there must have been a predator nearby.  The unbroken rule at all safari camps is no one goes out after dark without an escort and this first night confirmed why that was.  Soon we could hear the lion in the distance as he walked his territory.  

After a fitful night sleep we awoke to impala grazing right outside our tent, and then soon a herd of zebra wandered by.  I sat and let my mind go until we were beckoned to our morning jaunt.

We stretched our legs on a bush walk with Nenga alongside a Masai Warrior, discovering different aspects of the fauna and the Masai way of life.  The walk ended in a bush breakfast that could not be equaled:  Set under a baobab tree on a huge live-edge table was our feast, elegant and seemingly spare compared to the table we were being served on.  There were staff who had prepared breakfast over an open fire including a steaming hot water pot where they prepared coffee at the table.  Even the toilet facilities were crafted in a thatched hut, rustic yet practical with running water  – it was hard to believe we were in the middle of a game park.  

After recovering from this culinary event, we retreated to our landrover, and ventured to one of the local villages where we met a Masai chief and his four wives.  We learned more about the structure of the Masai village and culture, and challenges the chief faced with running this sizeable operation, most conflicts related to animals, property rights and marriages.  

His main residence was small but well structured out of timber, mud, dung and urine that also doubled as an insect repellent.  The spare rooms were segregated with the wife-of-the-moment in one room and the children residing in the other.  After much discussion, the chief wanted to bless us for our long marriage and though we felt it was more of a touristy gesture, we obliged though were certainly out of sorts being white people in this setting.  

Back at the lodge we had lunch in one of the towers that gave us a lovely view of the lake and where we could watch the game come and go and relax for a few moments. #bushtv 

We rested for just a little while until we headed out on the afternoon safari where we found a pride of lions tucked into the high grass; it’s a bit disconcerting if you think of Masai walking around minding their business and then you run into a pride – they are so difficult to see and many are in sleeping under the bushes.  Nenga’s sharp eyes somehow sussed them out and we spent the remainder of the drive watching as they started to wake, literally watching the papa lion fade into the sunset.  

This ended our first stop on the Tanzanian circuit, we were set to go to the Ngorogoro Crater in the morning. I’ve included some of my infrared work while I was out and about; I was especially taken with the baobab trees❤️

Masai Warrior on bush walk
Baobab Tree
Masai Village

Spring 2024 Wales to Versailles

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, French, Jardin, Lotetgaronne, maison de campagne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It is a spring morning in Southwest France.  The moon rises in the west, in a half-lidded sleep disturbed by the awakenings of dawn, the sun then simultaneously awakes in the east as if to say “it is my turn now, and the birds concur.”

This was my first birthday in France; I realized my last two birthdays were spent in Hawaii and Venice.  As that sentiment rolled around my consciousness I feared I was becoming a snob. Yet, fifty years ago I was a country bumpkin oblivious to either one of those venues and my exposure to French culture came in the form of words like “Bon Marche” and a concoction called “french dressing”  that was best reserved for “french fries.”  

After struggling with these conflicting perspectives, I was soon abandoned to the day and the few chores I needed to accomplish before heading out for my birthday lunch.   

As it turned out it was actually a surprise lunch as I was greeted by our neighbors and smattering of American friends we had collected over the last year.  I am really starting to feel more at home, especially now that we have gotten our Carte de Sejours (residency cards).  Though I do wonder if the French have an installation on Mars; so much of the paperwork is copious – bordering on the obscene and many of their systems are still manual instead of online – it really does make you wonder.  Now that we have completed our paperwork we can actually have a celebratory bonfire to get rid of the backup materials that certainly came in handy but are taking up way to much space.  

Otherwise we have been busy in the garden, coping with (and dodging) the torrential rains that per everyone we talk to, are quite unprecedented, and those few days of sunshine and perfect temperatures only makes one yearn for more of the same. 

We had much to do before heading for the UK, as we are planning to spend time with Bob’s sister and brother-in-law in Malvern, and then vacation on a barge, boating our way through the canals of Northern Wales for four days.  

We managed to get the potager planted and some of our privet hedges in before taking off as it would soon be too dry for planting.  With our new 3200 liter underground water tank we can set the sprinkler on a timer and the tank replenishes itself when it rains so we really aren’t wasting any water while we are away.  

The drive from Doudrac to Rouen was a grueling 10 hours as we had some unexpected diversions; we were rightly exhausted once we arrived at the hotel.  The next day we had the adventure of taking our car on the “LeShuttle” through the channel tunnel to England.  It is quite a feat of engineering!

When we disembarked we were driving on the left side of the road which as it turned out, Bob navigated rather nicely.  His British muscle memory kicked in though I still felt dyslexic as being on the opposite side is very unnatural for me.  We got to Malvern late in the afternoon; it was interesting being back in an English-speaking country though I had to catch myself so I wasn’t expressing French greetings!  

After getting settled in at Bruce and Kathryn’s place,  we headed to Boots that is like an American CVS pharmacy where we can get over-the-counter meds that aren’t easily accessible in France, such as saline eye drops in a bottle (the French have these little vials they use that is really an eye wash), Deet insect spray – simple things like that. Basically it was easier purchasing these items instead of performing pantomimes at the French pharmacy.

We then had a great evening at the Rotary where Bruce is president and enjoyed a tasty meal on a stellar golf course; this gave us a chance to dress up for a change.  

We had nice weather in Malvern and besides going for walks, we also rearranged our luggage for the four day barge cruise on the canals in Wales.  It’s only a two hour drive from Malvern, and after long days in the car from France to the UK it was a welcome relief. 

Wales is one of the wettest spots in England and as you drive through the countryside, the hills are of a lush green, partitioned by hedgerows, with the sheep and the Tudor-style homes; you do realize why this area is so special.  England is more dense than France, due to the physics of size but the English oaks and chestnuts seem more grand, I think because of their “wingspan.”  Many sit apart from their brethren, dominating the fields with their massive limbs, occasionally accompanied by willows and birches.

One can argue that the Dordogne is equally lush, though I think the Perigordian stone, that bleached stone that you see on the signature structures in the south of France, has a bit of a Mediterranean flair.  And the French farmlands are vast by comparison, with dryer and warmer summers.  It’s the summer thunderstorms that keep the area green – though violent they certainly help to maintain a balance to the farming community.

As we drove through canopies of trees, it felt more like a primordial jungle that had been fashioned by a hungry dinosaur instead of modern-day commerce.  

We arrived at the Blackwater Meadow Marina, the beginning of our trek along the Llangollen Canal.  We unpacked our cars sans the luggage bags (like the RV there is only so much space) and set off down the canal.  The weather was lovely, warm and in the 60’s, and we hoped it would hold for the majority of the trip.  

As we embarked we were greeted by some swans and ducks and we kept seeing the goslings – they were so darling!  We otherwise floated quietly through the farmlands. 

Bob and Bruce managed the till and we went up the river for a few hours and stopped as it was already getting late; we moored up for the night in a beautiful location overlooking rolling meadows and a dairy farm.  

We were able to get out and stretch our legs along the towpath; back in the day the barges were towed by horses so these are well-tread paths along the entire length of the canals.  

We settled in for a nice cottage pie and awoke the next morning to several cows staring at us!  

After breakfast we headed out and were greeted by two locks that took about ten minutes to fill and are manually opened and closed.  

We spent a relaxing few hours moored off in a wooded area for our tea which consisted of scones, jam and…clotted cream – one of my favorite British delicacies.  After that indulgence I took off for a nice trek along the towpath; the weather was perfect, it was not crowded and I was able to do some “tree-bathing.”  Soon I stumbled up on the England/Wales border with an English translation of Welsh on the signs.  Then came the tunnel where the barges pass through on their way to and from the famous Pontcysylite Aqueduct.  

I greeted our barge on my trek back and we made our way to the tunnel that turned out to be a bit of an adventure as there is no system such as a green light telling you when you can go, and we wound up having another barge reverse back out of the tunnel as we made our way through.  It takes about ten minutes and there are apparently bats🦇

Bruce ran the length of the tunnel with his cell phone to navigate our passage😉

We soon passed over the Chirk Acqueduct and then across the Pontcysylite Aqueduct that is a World Heritage Site and an astounding feat of engineering.  It can also be dangerous as the entry (gap) to the boats don’t provide any protection from falling off into the meadow far below – eeek!  

We decided to moor up in nearby Trevor.  As it was a beautiful day, Kathryn and I went for a hike under the aqueduct; it’s a very manageable trek along the river where you can sit and take in the woods and the spectacular arches of the aqueduct. 

We decided to spend the night in this area and as we sat down for dinner, alas, the rain came. 

We were socked in for the night and then into the following day. We decided to make a slow and steady journey back and as it was raining pretty hard at times so we were limited in our adventure options.   It turned out to be a bit miserable for the guys as they had to remain outside to steer the barge.  

By mid-afternoon the rain let up a bit and we moored up at the Lion’s Quay, an upscale resort and made reservations for a proper sit-down dinner.  I went for a walk up to the golf course and experienced a sort of Watership Down as there were rabbits popping out of the hedgerows…everywhere! I got a decent walk in and then we had coffee at the resort then soon we were off to drinks and a nice dinner.  

As we were near a busy street we boated downstream a bit more to a quiet area so we could have a peaceful night’s sleep.  

Our adventure through the canals of Wales

The next day we headed at a slow pace back to the Marina, so far the weather was holding up. We disembarked and returned to Malvern and were back by early evening. All in all it was a very relaxing time and we got some much needed rest that has been seemingly impossible when we are at home.  

We spent a few days at Bruce and Kathryn’s, including hikes through the Malvern Hills which was spectacular.  

Hiking through the Malvern Hills

We then headed to Basingstoke and onto the Winchester to visit more of the family before landing in Dorset on the last leg of our trip in England.

Sadly we learned we lost Bob’s favorite Aunt Brenda Montgomery, a powerhouse in the Canadian medical community; we thankfully had a chance to visit on our RV trip in Nova Scotia. ❤️‍🩹

On our way back to France we visited Bob’s Uncle and then overnighted in Dorset at the Coppelridge – an ode to a place we stayed when we first met 30 years ago.

30 years on at the Coppelridge – we had more hair back then!

We stopped in for lunch with the incomparable and renowned British Explorer Colonel John Blashford-Snell and his lovely wife Judith whom we had traveled with to Guyana and Nepal.

https://www.johnblashfordsnell.org.uk

This break also included a stroll through the quintessential charm of Shaftesbury, known for its meandering streets, thatched-roof cottages and lovely views of Dorset.

The famous Gold Hill in Shaftesbury

After some interminable stop and go traffic through south London, we finally made our way to the channel tunnel where we experienced further delays.  At this point we were looking forward to getting home but we had one last stop:

The Palace of Versailles.

The massive scale with the accompanying level of artistry is nothing short of astonishing.  The landscape and architecture is, as is always the way with the French, the celebration of the art form; meticulously crafted and restored everywhere you look.  The grounds, canals and waterworks go on forever; even after a one hour bike ride and 23k steps 😫you still can’t take it all in.  While you can’t call it “restrained” by any means, it differs in other palaces such as Lindorf in Germany which borders on the grotesque with all of its overbearing embellishments.  

And the queen’s hamlet (a bit like a hobbit village but inspired by the colombage architecture of Normandy), is just another example of lavish spending by the royals of the day so you can imagine why the hungry and weary decided to revolt and take Mademoiselle’s head.  

Versailles was created as an idea – a fantastical playground cordoned off from reality.  It just kept growing over the centuries until it became the phenomenal sprawl that it is today.  

When the baroque music plays throughout the garden you can easily envisage the royals and entourage in all of their finery.

What I liked the most: 

Overlooking the canals and gardens, it creates a soothing balm to wander around and it wasn’t too terribly crowded.

The Hall of Mirrors

The Queen’s Hamlet

Breezeways with pink marble and black and white tile of the Grand Trianon.  We got lost wandering through the gardens and stumbled up on an incredible foundation, recently restored and not on any map or brochure.  It’s quite an astounding thing!  

Lastly, the signature French architecture with the dark gray and gold embellishments (just the best).

The weather gods were kind to us as well.  We had a spit of rain during our bike ride, but the skies cleared a bit and we had good weather whilst strolling through the Grand Trianon.  When we got back to the canal (Petite Venice) we scored a seat at the restaurant just as the thunder cracked and shortly after we were seated the skies let loose in monsoonal splendor.  We watched as several other tourists came hurtling in for lunch – some of them pretty dang wet.  

By the time we finished eating, the skies had cleared and we made the way to the main palace for our 4:30 time slot. 

Note – the Chinese tourists are back in full bore; due to their restrictions even post-Covid we were spared the swarms during our RV trip. We were especially thankful as the national parks were crowded even without too many foreign tourists. Sadly, overcrowding at any popular tourist destinations is becoming a real issue everywhere.

Trekking through Versailles

We got home late the next day to an overgrown garden that would keep us busy for quite a while – though we were glad to be back in our La Maison.  

We are looking forward to summer and are excited that the Tour de France is coming through our area – we plan to watch the tour pass through on July 11🥰

Now for a French moment:

While we were in the UK, Bob’s sister gave us a lovely book full of whimsical illustrations by an Englishmen who lives in the Southwest France.  What a delight to read such relatable expressions!

Humor during the pandemic😆

March 2024 Our Dream Maison a Year Later

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, French, Jardin, Lotetgaronne, Maison, maison de campagne, Photography, The French Life, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Was it really a year ago that we collected the keys and took possession of a decade-old dream of moving to France?  Sure, the expectation was to be excited beyond belief, yet we found that our elation had been replaced with relief, excitement with anticipation; our foray into the French delivery system (as in goods), as I would soon learn, begged the same treatment as an entire chapter out of a Peter Mayle novel.  It’s difficult to invoke the anticipated glassy-eyed euphoria since we had nothing to sleep on 😁 and soon learned our bed had gone MIA, though we did have our washer, dryer, freezer and TV delivered as promised, so were far better than anyone on the Gaza Strip.  And…having an established address cures so many of the French administration requirements for “proof of residency,” as we now have utility bills to prove we are in fact residents.  So there👈

We did manage to get our bed, a manic adventure that warranted more than a good night’s sleep. While we were living the spare life, we had plenty to do before our container arrived, including curating furniture to replace what we had divested back in Oregon. We ventured to brocantes and online shops to find pieces that would fit the theme of our new digs.  I also managed to get the paint color matched up, again much to my relief, but then to my dismay discovered the lack of coverage (as in watery thin) and ridiculous price for 3 liters of paint could only be made up by wine, cheese and copious amounts of baguettes.  Sure, I could find some cheap and cheerful color knock-offs, but they wouldn’t match the color that the majority of the interior was painted in. And it was a nice warm cream color that enhanced the amber and gold light that blessed our mornings and evenings that make Southwest France so appealing.  You have to make concessions every once in a while. 

Master bedroom before and after

Dining room before and after

Terrace before and after

Even though it’s been a year we are still finding a home for some of items, especially our artwork.

Bob’s birthday lands in January and we opted to go to the lovely L’Atelier, that was once a Michelin star restaurant, and still provides the same level of service and outstanding food presentation; in fact they were ranked #1 by National Geographic for food lovers exploring the culinary delights of France. This, mind you, is a few minutes from our house in the charming bastide of Issigeac. Being that it was chilly, and a Sunday, I decided it was best to make reservations as the French tend to flutter into the local restaurants after Sunday church services and al fresco was not on the menu.  We scored a lovely table next to the cavernous dining room fireplace.  And as predicted, we were soon surrounded by what appeared to be some rather well-off Brits and French floating in for a long “repas” or meal.

L’ Atelier on a summer day

Much to my surprise they had the black squid-ink pasta; I had tried to obtain this delicacy in Venice, but it wasn’t on the menu of the restaurant that was recommended to us.  The meal was your standard two hour French affair with the added bonus of the artistic flair and mouth-watering delights that the French are famous for.  In America, in a small town of this nature I would be lucky to find a Denny’s!  We have visited our fair share of “greasy spoons”, though tragically I do miss the Denny’s grand slam breakfast with the hash browns and American bacon. We have to settle for the British variety of bacon which isn’t exactly the same, but not all is lost as we have been able to obtain Bisquick for an occasional pancake feast.  

After enduring the torrential rains of last fall, January saw a dip in temperatures, but unlike our friends in Portland, Oregon who had sub-freezing temperatures, with trees collapsing on their homes and their pipes bursting, we had our heat pumps and wood stove to keep us cozy.  

We welcomed a thick layer of frost that enveloped the surrounding fields like a dusting of snow, making for a dreamy albeit bracing experience upon exiting the house.  When the sun burst through, it disrupted the vision causing temporary blindness, with its threat of rainbows and warmth, it otherwise was a tease and never really warmed up for the entire day.  This only lasted for about a week and then we went to the other extreme with temperatures cresting 60 degrees; confusing the bees – though the butterflies apparently couldn’t be bothered; I don’t know that bees are dumber than butterflies but they were having some challenges to say the least. 

The weather finally leveled out to more normal temperatures for February, thankfully without the flooding we had in the fall. Everyone says spring has come a month early; the rosemary is blooming giving the bees something to feast on and the mock cherry trees are  even budding, providing some healthy competition to the daffodils.    

We are now falling into a bit of routine with our weekly trips to the Saturday Market in Villereal.  Villereal is small (a whopping 1200 residents) but is a bustling community that supports the surrounding population and is rather crowded during the tourist season.  We aren’t near any really large cities, both Bergerac and Villeneuve-sur-lot are 22 – 27,000 inhabitants respectively, and are only a half hour away through the valley, interrupted only by the occasional commune or bastide.  They have everything we need including most of the French big box chains and charming medieval city centers where you can grab a cuppa and watch the world go by.  We are over two hours from Bordeaux and further southeast lies Toulouse. Toulouse is one of the largest cities in France and is another couple of hours away; it’s not quite on the scale as Seattle but it sure has the population density feel to it.  It has a good airport and we tend towards flying out of there so we aren’t stuck with the Ryan air cheap-seats out of Bergerac which is fine if you’re going to Paris but not anyplace much further.  They both have Ikea and just about everything you could possibly need including better options for Asian faire. 

Suffice it to say we are a respectable distance from any major centers and Villereal, with our doctors, nail and hair salons only ten minutes down the road.  Heck I would drive that far in Portland for many of my appointments anyway!  Here we glide through the backroads of countryside, vineyards, orchards, and rustic farms to our appointments. There’s also a smattering of horse stables nearby and we have on occasion have had to slow down to let riders and trotters (with carriages) pass.   It takes a bit getting used to and adds to the local charm.  

Our upgrades on the house continue – though not the major renovations like we did in 2023; we had guttering installed on the south side of the house to mitigate the problems with flooding in the cellar (not to be confused with some magical wine cave as it houses the boiler, washer and freezer), we will be able to capture more water and also pump the overflow away from the house into the nearby field. The rest of the house had guttering except for this side for some reason.  

I completed the painting and the floor treatment in the upstairs hallway; my aging body is glad this is now completed and in recovery. The hallway had been bit of a train wreck for a while with unpacked boxes and “stuff” that was placed there to be attended to “another day.”  It appeared the floors hadn’t been touched in decades and some stain and wax gave them a lovely rustic patina. We now have a gallery wall to include some of my photography and art collections and books. I love using picture ledges as they give you more freedom on appointing art without copious amounts of wall-banging. These walls are thankfully drywall, but much of the house is stone so one must use discretion.

Upstairs hallway updates

The wall leading to the office is what I have deemed a “memory wall” (in progress) so we can reflect upon our loved-ones, living and passed on, as go about dealing with the copious amounts of paperwork required to maintain our existence in France.

In the meantime, Bob has been turning over the garden plot with manure and compost so we can get some planting done this year.  Our water tank is in the ground and operational; we are certainly not lacking water right now with unprecedented rain systems hitting us, but we could wind up with a summer drought at which time we’ll be thankful for the water buts and tanks.  We have an additional tank (but) installed on the northwest side of the house to water the “acid garden” which will include the blueberries that we will be planting in the next month.  Otherwise, we are still navigating the mud-scape but will be planting grass soon and look forward to the pool area being landscaped later this year.  

We are also invited to a feast sponsored by the commune (Doudrac) where we were introduced as new residents – we are the only Americans in this vicinity so are a bit of a novelty; it seems everywhere we go when they find out we’re Americans they seem so pleased; I took my ankle boots to the cordonnier (shoe repair shop) in Eymet which is a British enclave not too far from us – when he looked at my boots he said they were very good and I mentioned they are American and that I’m American – he thought it was the coolest thing!  I can only assume it’s due to the popularity of American items in France and also our efforts during the war.  We are always very welcomed pretty much everywhere we go.  We are now able to hold down some albeit stilted conversations in French when we visit the market or the pharmacy which is rather exciting.  

We are looking forward to spring and getting our vegetable plot going, known in France as a potager. Bob is also designing a flower garden that will include gladiolus, dhalias and an array of wild flowers.

In May are planning a trip to the UK, specifically Wales, to enjoy a barge trip through the Welsh countryside and catching up with relatives.  More to come on our spring exploits!

…Now for a French moment:

French farmers block the streets of Paris in protest of too many restrictions and too many exports of foreign produce. This mayhem extended all the way to our area including spewing manure on McDonalds, supermarket chains and government buildings 💩

Farewell 2023 – Welcome 2024!

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, France, French, Lotetgaronne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It never ceases to amaze us that it’s been over two years since we embarked on an ambitious plan to retire, travel through the US and Canada, then move to France. I remember sitting in our lovely backyard back in Portland during the summer of 2021, the pandemic was still with us as we worked on the early stages of our transition; setting up yard sales to divest our belongings and planning our travel route for the following year. All that work culminated in 2022 being an extraordinary year as we motored to far flung places (when you think of the Yukon, even the name itself provokes images of a vast, untouched wilderness)  finally landing in France in November (yes, that too is far flung!)  – a foray into a different kind of unknown.

Enjoying fire and ice in the Yukon, celebrating the sale of our house in Portland, right before the market started to slide – of course! 

Now, as we close out 2023, I find myself reflecting on how manic the last few years have been: Retiring…supposedly, just no longer working at a career! Downsizing, Rving across US and Canada, downsizing (again) and packing for international shipping, selling our house, then…selling our RV post walkabout, pulling our Visas while on the road, and then landing in France with a bunch of luggage with our minds set on finding that dream home in the countryside.

December 31, 2022 Recapping an Extraordinary Year 

We hit the deck running and luckily, within a month, we scored a lovely french colombage cottage (as it really is humble with those classic stone walls and timbers) and…then came the waiting game. 

Welcome to 2023:  Let the games begin.  After securing our dream home, we were still wading through the banking challenges (the US FACTA regulations that really create problems for American expats) and trying to line up appliances for the house while navigating the language challenges, and not yet having a French bank account or credit card.  March 1st marked the signing of our home and we gathered our keys, but we did not rush to the house in a fit of euphoria as we had to make a visit to the French Government to apply for our Carte Vitales (healthcare), which at the time we were told would take only a few weeks…after nearly weekly calls Bob finally received his in June, mine finally arrived in November!  

We had scheduled our first European road trip to Venice in April, but of course our container of belongings had been delayed by three weeks – so to add to our drama we had to unload everything from the moving truck to the house and gite the day before we were set to take off for vacation.  Completely exhausted from this ordeal, I virtually passed out at the hotel on the first night of our trip.  I had managed to twist my knee a few weeks earlier, and while we were out touring I came down with a cold, but somehow managed to enjoy the sights of Venice, albeit I would have preferred to have been in better shape.  

April 26 – May 7th Venice by way of the French Riviera 

My cold got worse, and when we finally got back I was able to crash and burn, though it was hard to ignore the hundreds of boxes and the general carnage…argh.  I eventually got some rest and started to feel better, and it was actually quite exciting to dig through the mountains of supposedly downsized possessions to find the stuff that actually did bring me 🤩 

Upon reflection, if we had received our container as scheduled, it would have been super nice to have gotten somewhat settled before road trip…but that somehow has not been our Karma since arriving; many of those mission critical action items came through at the last minute much like the epic climax of a B-rated movie.  

Come late May, the pool was installed, during a torrent of spring rain – of course. It’s a lovely addition to our lifestyle that we have used throughout the summer, but we are in dire need of landscaping as we have these sort of steampunk tractor-track sculptures embedded in much of our lawn, and a rather large plot of thick mud that soon became reminiscent of Death Valley as the summer heat settled in for a long hello.  

This heady weather beckoned our relatives from the UK and we suspect that will become a common occurrence in the coming years.  

With so much to do, and with our solar, air conditioning and other improvements on the way we thankfully stayed put for the summer, venturing out on the rare occasion to visit cool castles (chateaus) and explore the neighboring villages and bastides that ooze with charm.  

Despite our challenges, when we have been out and about on our bikes, or walks or generally driving, we marvel at the surrounding beauty; the quietude, the stars, the well-cultivated farmland and vineyards set among soft rolling hills.  When people talk about a quiet place in the countryside, we certainly nailed it.  The universe has rewarded us generously for our efforts.  

In the fall we took a break and motored up to Normandy – an emotional and fulfilling respite from our challenges.  

November 11, 2023 Veteran’s Day – a Special Tribute

We came back with the air conditioning, solar, water tank, water softener all in the final stages of completion; we were prepared for a Zombie invasion, or more down to earth, for climate change as the weather systems, so we are told by long-term residents, has caused the summers to get hotter and as we have experienced through most of November and into December, torrentially wet; it has not been this wet in this region of France for over ten years and we felt like we have been back in the Pacific Northwest.  This unprecedented moisture caused the local rivers to overflow and in some cases we were cut off from the access roads into town.  I felt bad for those who had structures, especially mills (moulins) as they were suffering the most being built virtually on top of some of these minor rivers that were bursting over the roads.  

The end of our garden turned into a bit of a marsh and our cellar, which resides in a concave below the house, got some minor flooding that we had to pump out – again we were told this has never happened.  So hopefully we will be rewarded with our foresight of the coming challenges by preparing for floods, droughts and heatwaves.

The rain finally subsided and I envied those gorgeous hilltop bastides; like any war zone, those lofty structures remain somewhat immune to the insanity unfolding below.  A beautiful sort of insanity.  

Approaching the holidays, we decided to attend a class hosted by one of our French friends on the art of making Foie Gras.  This included dismembering a duck and removing the rather impressive liver this particular delicacy is known for.  

Duck fat and Foie Gras

It was a long two day adventure and we sat at her lovely farmhouse table in what can really only be described as the quintessential French kitchen with a fireplace and room for a small army.  There was a group of about ten of us enjoying duck soup (literally yes – the remnants of our efforts!), and some nice Sauterne.  

As the year closes out, we are relieved to have gotten through most of the heavy lifting with our French paperwork..and our major home improvements done. Though we have our work cut out for us next year with the landscaping challenges, we can do a lot of that at our leisure.  Fortunately, our lovely neighbor who installed our underground water tank (for the garden) has access to a supply of topsoil, so come spring we can get the lawn back into shape and I’ll be able to work on my potager that I’m really excited about. 

And thankfully, and much to our elation, we had our appointment with the prefecture in Agen (think of it as a state capitol) to complete our processing to receive our Carte de Sejour, it is a fitting closure to the year and a welcome sigh of relief.  

For Christmas we decided to stay local with a few days in Carcassonne – an astounding medieval fortress (also referred to as a fortified city) that is a UNESCO World Heritage site.  It is the largest walled city in Europe. 

On the way, we stopped by Toulouse to check out their Christmas Festival which was buzzing with activity and charm. 

Christmas Fete in Toulouse

Yet, it was nothing compared to what met us when we arrived at our hotel in Carcassonne on Christmas Eve:  We had a view of the fortress that became increasingly dramatic as the sun set. 

 It’s like experiencing time travel – magnificent

We ventured out to the town festivals and were met with an astounding array of Christmas Villages throughout the city; I felt as though I was walking through a wizardry of light, the surrounding vibe matching the festive ambience. Many areas were constructed as amusement parks for the kids.  This is the night that the French come out in force to celebrate what is known as Bonne Fete (good festival) coupled with Joyeux Noel (Merry Christmas).  We huddled with the masses, feeling much like the kids who played in eye-wide wonder everywhere we went.  

Christmas Eve in Carcassonne

After logging in copious amounts of steps and being thoroughly amused, we freshened up for dinner that we were told included a lovely jazz trio.  When the band struck up we were serenaded with classic crooner type jazz in English!  The music drifted into the dining area and as is much of the case in France, dinner is usually later in the evening and an affair that lingers for hours.  

After dinner we sat in the lounge drinking our cafe cremes, in a setting similar to a good old 1920’s jazz club (not an exact replica but as close as you’re going to get these days😉). 

On Christmas Day we went to the stately medieval fortress itself, admission is free except for the actual ramparts that were closed for Christmas.  Despite that we were blessed with very few tourists; like Mont St. Michel, Carcassonne is usually packed with tourists.  This made for some fun roaming around pretty much undisturbed.  

We were so enamored we went back the next day and did the tour of the ramparts – while there were a fair amount of tourists I wouldn’t say that it was crowded and we were delighted at the fantastical history of this sprawling fortress.  

An added bonus is that the weather was startlingly clear and we got some good cardio hiking up to the cite. We could see the Pyrenees in the distance, their peaks glinting with snow and ice.

A stroll the the medieval fortress of Carcassonne

We stopped by Toulouse on the way back to check out the famous Victor Hugo market that is seen on just about every travel show on the area.  Toulouse turned out to be jammed with people, and with the weather being as it was, we skirted the crowds and dropped into a fantastic find-of-a-restaurant that sported dim sum and dumplings.  This was definitely going to be a new haunt being a classic Chinese diner with black vinegar sauces that shot me straight into orbit!

The Victor Hugo Market in Toulouse

We meandered our way home, always grateful when we crest the hillsides and slide into the Dordogne Valley, traveling through the backroads and the welcoming solitude. Sometimes you need to experience the madness of civilization to further appreciate the serenity of a rural homestead. With a long sigh, we are can now settle into the New Year, puttering away at our remaining projects at our leisure. 

In a few months, I will be able to enjoy a leisurely cup of tea in the garden, breathing in the blossoming air, bathed by the sun. At noon the church bells of our local commune will ring in the distance, giving us pause from our tasks.  All will be quiet except for the sound of nature at its best; the only interruption being the occasional passing of a tractor or a thunderous announcement from the French Airforce out on maneuvers. If those are the only fleeting interruptions on a typical day in the French countryside, then I have surely found my slice of heaven on earth.  😌 

Happy New Year to one and all and may you have a peaceful and prosperous 2024!

Now for a French Moment…

An entire village of chocolate #willywonka

December 1, 2023 – Our First Year in France

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, French, Lotetgaronne, maison de campagne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

November 17th marked our first official year in France! The same day, ironically, I received the receipt for my Carte de Sejour – meaning my long term residency visa is being processed❤️  On the other hand, while Bob got enrolled in the healthcare system by early summer, I only recently received my paperwork to finalize my Carte Vitale. For some folks it goes quickly, for others it can take over a year or more which apparently appears to be the case with me.  We also received the renewal for our car insurance, realizing that yeah, it really was a year ago when we landed in France and managed to get our lovely Renault within a few weeks.  Within another month we had found our dream home. Yes, we know time slips away while you are busy doing life things, but this last year seems to have gone by really really fast.  

Looking back, one of the biggest challenges, aside from dealing with the legendary French administration and language barriers, was the lack of predictability; we had been on the move since the beginning of 2022, not knowing where we were going to eventually wind up, except that it would be somewhere in the Dordogne.  We were confronted with a constant stream of challenges; for Americans it can be daunting as you aren’t prepared for the banking and driving license issues – there’s some mention of these issues in the “playbook” but those are mostly relegated to Facebook groups that can be fraught with misinformation.  Many times we felt like we were in a B-rated movie where everything came through, frantically, at the last minute – I mean everything like – you can’t close on your house until the money is transferred but you can easily miss the deadline due to the banks taking days and days to get you your money😅

Granted, our experience is not exactly “A Year in Provence,”  but there are definitely certain sentiments that echo that ideal and make it all worth it:  The lovely countryside (I would argue the area we live in is equally as stunning as Provence, but not as touristed or otherwise known by Americans), the ancient beaux villages, incomparable cheese, wine and spirits and frankly, we have found the French to be quite lovely people. Due to the lassez faire culture, we have been forced to wind down and adapt, into an alien “whatever” or “it’s France” 🤷‍♀️way of thinking which is a far cry from the American New-York-minute mentality.

It takes time. 

One of the other challenges was finding contractors who could help us with the upgrades to our La Maison.  The stories you read in all the books are true, with the Facebook pages recounting stories of paying money to contractors and then they no-show for months or simply disappear altogether.  

We lucked out on a great British firm based in France for our general home improvements to include:  Solar panels, partitioning off the gite (the reconverted barn) so we can have a home gym and “woman cave.”  We added a water softener as the water is so hard here, we have been chipping calcification residue off our small appliances; we have a black kitchen sink – this does not bode well with the current water situation.  And thankfully we had split air conditioning installed so we can endure increasingly hotter summers; people who have been here for 20-30 years have never seen this region of France get so hot – it would rarely breach 90 degrees.  

We also added an underground water tank and an extra water “but” to capture rain for the garden areas; climate change brought us an unseasonably warm fall – into the upper 80’s well into October – that was then followed by unprecedented rains and flooding in the north.  

Our pool that is still awaiting a retaining wall thankfully did not become a mud bath.  The rain was so biblical, the surrounding unfinished trenches started to fill up at an alarming rate causing the mud wall on the north side to collapse into the trench itself, thus making matters worse. Fortunately our fabulous pool installers foresaw this calamity and had installed a drainage system so the overflow runs down the lower part of the property.  It creates a bit of a marsh and the frogs are in paradise.  

Yet, there is so much mud that Bob went to the local dechetterie to get compost (yes they have free wood compost in these places).  That way we can walk around the property without gaining inches of height – just cleaning your boots of the wet clay becomes a Herculean task.  We are looking forward to next year when the landscaping will be complete!!  

And…then there were the stink bugs.  What we didn’t know is that this invasive species loves to propagate amongst the sunflowers.  While we were enjoying la la land, they were happily proliferating amongst the acres and acres of flowers that besides providing necessary oil, are also a major tourist attraction.  In September, when the flowers had been harvested, we were flooded by hoards of escapees that set up house in every crevice they could find.  We reinforced the window screens with tape and created a Tupperware “piscine” where they were offered free swimming lessons. 

Add to that, it was well into the 60’s until mid-November, which is unprecedented like every other weather event it seems.  This has confused some of the flowers and insects who should have been in hibernation by now.  We found ourselves actually looking forward to a cold, dry fall and winter so we could get some reprieve as even the mosquitoes were still active!  Granted it’s annoying, but it was nothing compared to some of the insects we encountered in Canada and the Southern U.S. 

We decided to take a break from our “endless” transitioning with a trip to Normandy by way of a few UNESCO sites. You can read up on the Normandy experience in my previous blog:

November 11, 2023 Veteran’s Day – a Special Tribute

Our first stop was the rather impressive Chateau de Chambord – we have been to many of the castles scattered around our region, yet they are more like fortifications perching atop cliffs; grand in scale where you imagine dragons knocking around in secret underground caverns.  Chateau Chambord is a unique filigree of architecture – a lovely revelation in curiosity; grandiose but not too gaudy.  The massive oil paintings, some with royalty portrayed as sultans, remind us that this is a place worthy of kings. Otherwise the scale was spared in favor of a more intricate nature – at sea level. Here, as I wandered up the double helix staircases and through the paneled rooms, I felt surrounded by epitome of french refinement.  

I originally mistook some of the spires for Russian, then when I thumbed through the book at the gift shop it suddenly hit me, of course, the architecture was inspired by grand east-Indian palaces, or what are referred to as mahals, as in the Taj Mahal.  This created a rather evocative playground; what child-like imagination was let loose to invent the mazes of rooms and double helix staircases much to the delight of the likes of Marie Antoinette. The original architect is unknown, the records were destroyed, yet the inspiration for this fantastical edifice has been traced back to Leonardo DaVinci; such intrigue!  This ah-ha moment, like any DaVinci puzzle, makes the experience even more provocative.  

A visual snapshot of Chateau de Chambord

The chateau is a bit off the beaten tourist track and was used during the war to house some of the great works of art from the Louvre such as the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo.  An exhibit is dedicated to the courageous Rose Valland (think of the movie “Monuments Men”), who risked her life to save over 60,000 pieces of priceless art.  

Well, Chateau de Chambord turned out to be an unexpected delight, it’s a helluva place that I wouldn’t mind poking around a bit more on a jaunt to, maybe Paris.  The joy of living in Europe; I get to be a kid again.  

The rain set in for the rest of the day and we were looking forward to tucking into a cozy room for the evening. We had booked a lovely hotel – it was more like a manor with those obscenely high ceilings you see in chateaus and posey Parisian apartments. Considering it was a reasonably priced accommodation we were well impressed.  A simple dinner with a gin and tonic next to the fire topped off our evening.

After we completed our pilgrimage to Normandy to visit the stirring memorials, we headed for the legendary Mont St. Michel.  As we toodled through the countryside I went into a zen-like state – I always take pleasure in this, and imagine if fortune provides, a convertible sports car on a summer day wouldn’t be out of the question; France shamelessly warrants this level of indulgence.

Then, from a misty distance, like you experience as you approach a large snow-capped mountain on a misty morning, Mont St. Michel slowly begins to reveal itself.  It is more of a science-fiction fantasy experience as it appears as though it’s a disembodied citadel that’s floating above the surrounding delta.  

We had snagged a hotel with a view and luckily, walking distance along the boardwalk to city.  That was you can get an assortment of angles and include some roving sheep to add to the perfect backdrop.  

We walked around much of the perimeter, watching groups of bare-footed tourists in what appeared to be arranged tours, wading through the mud; we weren’t so inclined to take part in that once-in-a-lifetime experience so stuck to the sandy bits.  We arrived at the village complete with tourists shops and yes, even more shops and even more tourists.  We hiked all the way to the top to explore the gravity-defying abbey and the surrounding bay – I felt like a seagull, sailing along an endless swirl of sand and sea, the curvature carved from the unrelenting shift of the ocean.  

Then it began to rain, actually it was more like a deluge. We picked our way down the stone steps that soon turned into water falls.  We stopped off for a welcome chocolat chaud, and thankfully, the storm subsided and sun burst through as if to say – “I was only joking.” 😎  Being from the Pacific Northwest, we had brought our Gore-Tex that got a workout that afternoon.  

After hiking six or so miles, we rested up and then went down for dinner at the hotel; unless you were staying at the village in St. Michel there were few options this time of year.  We entertained ourselves watching a Korean tour group navigate their way through a french meal.  

The following day, we made our way down the Atlantic coast to La Rochelle and through the Bordeaux region. We arrived at our La Maison to find our solar panels completely installed and functioning along with a battery backup that added to the array of electronics being added to our “garage.”  We are gradually divesting ourselves from the grid which will drastically reduce our electrical bills and we will also be less of a burden to the grid.  Not to mention that we are also reducing our carbon footprint.

It was starting to feel more like autumn as the temperature finally started to recede along with the bugs.  Thanksgiving was right around the corner and I had ordered Libby’s pumpkin off the “MyAmericanMarket” site so we could have a taste of home during the feast.  Our guests included a mix of American, French, English, Irish and a New Zealander.  

It was great to break out the good silverware and china to celebrate.  What we didn’t anticipate was the size of the turkey that we ordered from a butcher (boucherie) that came in at a whopping 23 pounds.  We were barely able to get it on the barbecue! We gathered around the charcuterie board that consisted of various forms of Foie Gras, hams and of course cheese.  I had gotten a reasonably priced 1990 Sauternes, a lovely golden yellow dessert wine that enhanced the glow of the season; it was a hit and wound up being consumed before the evening was done.  

Around 4:00 as we were indulging in Bob’s famous cheesecake and a traditional American Pumpkin Pie when the power went down.  This drama was caused by one of the farmers running his tractor into a power pole in his field.  The catastrophe occured just down the road from us so we could witness the carnage first hand.  

As the light was fading, and though the candles were blazing around the house, we were running out of light sources and ideas on how to preserve the leftovers.  We bid farewell to our guests and sealed up the remainder of our rather large feast, and transported it to the back terrace where it would stay adequately chilled overnight.  This is a time we were thankful for the chilly season and yes – our new wood stove saved us from freezing …so much to be thankful for despite the setback🙏

While the estimate was that the power was supposed to be back on by 10:00 p.m. (sure…), our neighbor advised us that EDF had packed up for the night and would be back the next morning, basically stranding our neighborhood 🫣

I was rather shocked; in America the power companies are on 24/7.  

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

The power finally came back on at 1:00ish the next day; we hailed its arrival reminding ourselves how dependent we are on electricity, that we had done our fair share of roughing it so not all is lost, and thankful all our frozen food hadn’t melted. Our neighbor assured us that this was an exceptional accident and otherwise the grid is pretty stable.

With our visas being processed to include the requisite appointment for fingerprinting and signature, we decided it would be prudent to stay local for Christmas this year.  We have planned to spend the holiday in the fortress city of Carcassone…more to come on that adventure as we approach 2024! 

Now…for a French moment:

Yes, they celebrate Halloween in France!

Getting our Steampunk vibe on!

November 11, 2023 Veteran’s Day – a Special Tribute

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I’ve decided to dedicate a post to Veteran’s Day as our autumn trip to Normandy certainly made for an appropriate segue.  In France and Great Britain, November 11th is heralded as Armistice Day including a moment of silence at 11:00 a.m. followed by ceremonies across the country to commemorate those who fell during WW I and II.

We motored by way of Tours to Bayeaux which is a lovely town with a stunning cathedral not far from the beaches of Normandy; we had a superb lunch in the town center, spending time pondering how much of this village was ravaged during the war.  Thankfully, the cathedral had managed to survive, but we saw old buildings fused to new construction; you can always tell the difference despite the surprisingly authentic materials used here for new builds. 

Bayeux Cathedral
Canals in Bayeux

Driving through the Norman countryside we encountered classic French farms with cows, sheep and plowed fields; lovely hedgerows where so many skirmishes were staged during the war now housed birds and hedgehogs going about their daily business.  The architecture of Normandy is tall and rather boxy with roofs made of slate.  There is a distinct absence of the channel terracotta roofing tiles and pigeonniers so common to the south of France.  Though Colombage homes (the architecture of our house) are popular in this area we didn’t see much which was surprising; I suspect they are further north.

All around us there was peace and calm, much like Pearl Harbor and Gettysburg so you have to summon the ghosts to get clarity on the carnage; the pain, the sacrifice…the horror.  

Upon reflection, in 2022 and into 2023, we have visited many significant war memorials ranging from Pearl Harbor, Gettysburg, Arlington Cemetery, the Washington DC War Memorials and now Normandy, France.  Oh…and let’s not forget Window Rock, AZ, home of the Navajo Code Talker Memorial; they were a significant force in winning the war in the Pacific.  

Having made these efforts to explore such significant history, we have now truly internalized and echo the sentiment that “Freedom is not Free.” 

Navajo Code Talker Memorial
Joint Base Pearl Harbor – Hickham
April 27 – The Sea Remembers its Own
Lest we forget #pearlharbor #navajocodetalkers

Upon our arrival to the seaside, we found that Omaha beach and the surrounding cities are atypical coastal towns that, aside from the architecture, reminds me a lot of the Oregon coast with children playing on the beach like they would anywhere else. I enjoyed a mostly solitary stroll along the boardwalk, enjoying the sea breezes, the sway of the ocean and pondering the newer-build oceanfront villas. 

The American Cemetery turned out to be pretty busy, and I was surprised at how many families along with their school-age children were there; it turns out they were on school holiday – one of the many that French children enjoy!  Being off-season it was both surprising and comforting to see so many people from different nationalities attending.  It was endearing watching the French families educating their children on the history of this place and pointing to the signs to be quiet and reverent; France was after all front and center during the war. 

The Fallen
The Wall of the Missing

The solidarity here is palpable as you overlook the sea of crosses that seem as though they were placed just yesterday; pristine white as if they are lovingly polished on a daily basis. As we were later in the day we witnessed the lowering and folding of the flags, followed by taps which – as always – causes you to internalize the grief of the profound sacrifices made during D-Day and the ensuing months.  As my father was a WWII vet (the Pacific) I always have to fight the tears.  

Taps

Most of the cemetery is roped off, but you are allowed a smaller section to wander through the maze of tombstones, reflecting on these warriors, some who couldn’t even be identified; we asked ourselves – were they obliterated by a bomb?  Argh.  Though it would have proven too burdensome to ship so many remains back to America, over the decades most of these soldiers will be forgotten, yet, their legacy will remain for generations to come.  

American Cemetery – Normandy Beach

The next day proved to be sunny and milder, but windy as we ventured to Gold Beach where the British and Canadian forces teamed up as part of Operation Overlord.   They had constructed the “Mulberry B Artificial Harbor”  just offshore that included “floating bridges” for the transport of vehicles and materials needed for the incursion.  The remnants of the harbor are still visible during low tide. This operation was an astounding achievement of engenuity that is difficult to wrap your head around.  And when you think that they didn’t have the resources that are available today, you can only marvel at the genius on display.  It turned out to be a massive success, but not without a horrendous loss of life.  

https://www.dday-overlord.com/en/media-library/photos/gold-beach/mulberry-b

We wandered around the beach peeking into the rusted remains of the bridges then headed to the village for a chocolat chaud.

It should be noted that all along this region of Normandy there are American, French, British and Canadian flags flown in solidarity; it gave me more comfort than the hot chocolate! 

Sculptures at Gold Beach

Remnants of the Mulberries

Our next stop was the Bayeux Commonwealth Cemetery – equally, if not more heartbreaking, than the American one because you are not overwhelmed by the scale but by the intimacy. Due to the proximity to England I’m sure the British families wanted the bodies of their fallen to come home for a proper burial, but for those who remained the cemetery has proven to be a touching memorial that perhaps the families felt would give their beloved relatives an enduring legacy. 

The memorial feels more like an English garden with roses still blooming around the headstones; they show the regiment with its accompanying symbol pain-stakingly carved into it followed by…this is the crippler…the name and age of the deceased.  We saw several that were 19 or 20 years-old, some headstones fused to one another as they had died together.  In addition to the British and Canadian graves, we saw Polish, Jewish, Arabic and one section dedicated to German soldiers.  Like the American Cemetery, there were those that could not be identified. 

Many of them had June 6th inscribed on them, then you would see post D-Day dates that stagger through August 1944; you really get a sense of the incursion beyond the initial launch of Operation Overlord.  

Bayeux Commonwealth Cemetery

Subconsciously we knew that the majority that died were so young, but this memorial made it visceral.

As it is a Commonwealth Memorial I suspect it isn’t as frequented as the American Cemetery, but I encourage anyone who takes the time to come to this region of France to spend some time here as it’s in Bayeux. There is a lot to process here – it is a profound experience that you will not soon forget.

Thankfully we have “Saving Private Ryan” and the “Band of Brothers” along with a long stream of war movies to help us get a real sense of what it must have been like.  

On a more recent note, I was curious as to why there was a fair amount of indictment against the movie “Lone Survivor” about Marcus Luttrell and the failed Seal Team mission in Afghanistan to hunt down a notorious Taliban leader; it seemed as though some viewers could not suspend their disbelief at the validity of the story and that it was just a Hollywood propaganda movie. I once had the privilege of working for an ex-Navy Seal who had been in covert ops (can’t imagine what his duty was!).  Despite his level of intensity, I found I could have very grounded conversations with him.  I had asked him about the movie and the response from IMDB, he smirked and let me know yes – it’s all true; most people cannot imagine that anyone would make that level of sacrifice.  He also went on about how he couldn’t understand why so many incredibly fit recruits dropped out of Seal training; about how others who may not appear resilient but are incredibly so.  What is the secret sauce?

I wish I knew the answer to his question, but I do know that those that have gone through extreme levels of adversity, as I have found in much of the refugee communities I have dealt with, have cultivated a level of resiliency and humility that is lacking in so many western societies today.  

With all our modernization and freedoms, we have become complacent in so many ways, and perhaps we need better immersion into the adverse aspects of life to build the resiliency and humility of future generations.  Especially after witnessing French parents actively teaching their children the significance of the seemingly endless sea of crosses that fanned out before them; that the beaches of Normandy weren’t always about bucolic summer breezes and building castles in the sand. 

All the memorials we have visited were a sobering experience: If it weren’t for these brave souls making the ultimate sacrifice, I wouldn’t be enjoying the privileges I do now; the memorials are truly inspiring and should not be left to a mere documentary on Netflix.

They leave you with a profound sense that war is truly hell, but sadly we never really seem to learn the lesson. #neverforget 

September 2023 – Our First Summer in France

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Avoir à l’été

Where did the summer go?  We celebrated the 4th of July on the 8th😂. Granted it seems like eons ago but it is part of summer yes? It was hot but we still had a good turn out.  Some of the food was a bit of a novelty to some of our non-American friends but we had fun all the same.

4th (8th) of July Celebration

We kept hearing the stories of the horrific heat waves last year – the temperatures nearing 110 degrees Fahrenheit for weeks.  This year, while we have had some hot periods in the 90’s, we experienced a contradiction of cool weather during July, literally digging out our fleeces and being relegated to indoor projects as we navigated several days of passing showers.  

But never fear, we also had the Tour de France that we were able to watch live on Peacock!!! In the U.S. we would have had to record it and watch it in the evenings.  

The cool weather soon broke and we were blessed with glorious days in the 70’s – sometimes breaching the 80’s that made for some pleasant bike rides through the countryside.  We ventured one day, albeit windy, to Issigeac (about 20km from our house and yet another “beaux village.”) We wound up lunching near the medieval church, leaving our bikes in the shade and security of its ancient entrance – they seemed quite content there actually.  

Bob’s brother and sister-in-law came for a short visit on their way to meet up with their kids just outside of Paris.  We spent a nice day catching up and thankfully the weather was sunny and pleasant; I had been worried it might be too hot and we didn’t have the air conditioning installed yet; those projects were moved to September due to supply chain issues (no surprise there really), so we are praying that we didn’t get hit with too much extreme heat between now and then.  We have also been on the hunt for landscaping help with the pool area as it is reminiscent of Death Valley with the clay starting to crack from the summer heat.  At least the pool surround is graveled and we typically do our laps in the late afternoon heat; we haven’t yet figured out the “lounging” bit but suspect we’ll get there at some point.  

Now that he have entered the dog days of summer, the sunflowers have begun to hang their heads as if in a state of despair, their beautiful petals shriveled beyond repair.   I didn’t record this event as it was too much to bear.

Many of the shops close down for most of August – some with door signage indicating their return sometime in September. This doesn’t apply to the heavily touristed spots that brace themselves for the onslaught of vacationers from the north; the French, Dutch and English swarm this area with their campers, tents (yes – lots of camp sites – many hosted by chateaus) and of course vacation rentals. 

We ventured to a few brocantes, at this juncture to get some ideas of what we can eventually collect for the garden as they have lovely old urns and vases on display.  

The Brocante in Monflanquin #beauxvillage

The summer festivals are now in full swing and we have been either hosting dinners or being invited to an evening soirée here and there. We have been “collecting” the occasional American(s) we meet by chance or through our network.  Interestingly, there is a prevailing theme of “isolation” when engaging them.  Granted, there are plenty of British in the area, but they tend to self-segregate so it’s not the same bonding experience as being with a fellow American, as what one of my friends said “especially west coast Americans!” We also gravitate towards the familiar as a form of comfort.

One evening we attended a Spanish-themed festival hosted by our local commune of Doudrac.  The commune is a pleasant walk from our house and we were also meeting some of our English-speaking neighbors there and we naturally segregated to our own English-speaking table.  This event was complete with huge plates of paella, bread (of course), sangria and bottles of wine. There was a stage set with a band so we were tucked in for an interesting experience, surrounded by our French neighbors who must have come for miles – I think there were around 100 people attending the festival – the essence of the local farming community. It was a gorgeous night and the constellations were on full display.

The band began to strike up their tunes, they played some English ballads, but most were in French and then they switched to some hybrid-Franco American-country western tunes at which time the dance area became flooded with line dancers!  Well this really got the party going, and the two-man band started to get pretty loud, but just as they were entering the peak of one of their songs, the power went out and we all sat in absolute darkness, until the phones started illuminating the picnic tables and the conversations became animated.  Luckily the power came back on at which time the lead singer decided to take the sound up a few notches, his opening gambit was so loud we almost fell over in our seats.  I even saw people at the neighboring tables jump at his unexpected tsunami-level voice.  Unfortunately,  a few of us got such a case of the giggles we had tears streaming down our faces and were hoping we weren’t embarrassing ourselves.  

All in all it was a lovely evening and we walked home around midnight in the absolute darkness of the countryside, the band fading as we paused and marveled at the starry sky, then crashed for the evening.  

Now that some interesting movies have come out, we decided it was time to experience a French cinema; we have gone to the theater twice now, as they host screenings in their original English format with French subtitles (VOST = version original with subtitles).  This works out great for us and we caught the new Indiana Jones movie as well as Oppenheimer.  As far as the concession stands go, the popcorn here isn’t buttered but still tastes fine with just salt, and they carry many of the American chocolate bars, licorice etc. if you are in the mood for a bit of nostalgia.  

One of my new American friends invited me to an outdoor ballet.  It was a Spanish-them production staged by one of France’s premier choreographers, set at the stunning Chateau de Biron.  Overlooking that valley, as so many here are, this stately structure houses art and performances throughout much of the year.  The open air theater is especially lovely as you are graced by red sunsets that sweep across the valley that gradually fades into a starry sky, with only the dim lights of the area communes reminding us that it’s not altogether primitive despite your surroundings suggesting such.  

As the stars emerged, the dancers swayed to Ravel’s Bolero, crowned by the Big Dipper that dominated the night sky. It was surprisingly cold and windy, eventually requiring three layers!  This was apparently due to the elevation and trajectory of the weather inherent to the chateau…it was reminiscent of being on the Oregon coast in the middle of summer. We endured the cold, refraining from pronouncing too many expletives and in wonderment of how the women wearing open-toed shoes were faring.  All in all it was a lovely experience and only a fifteen minute drive from our house so we are eager to attend more events.  

Chateau de Biron (note not my image – I don’t own a drone)

As the heat of August began to reign over the region we were once again slammed with some pretty spectacular thunderstorms, mostly in the middle of the night, unfortunately leaving us somewhat sleep deprived; one storm cut the power and I got another trial-by-fire experience getting our electricity back up; turns out only a few houses in the area were affected and fortunately the process turned out to be pretty simple…after I finished torturing the polite operator with my Franglish  she transferred me to someone who had suitable enough English and could help me reboot our “Linky” system.  I am now triumphant in the knowledge I can get our systems back online averting an impending disaster like soupy ice cream.  

During the August weather chaos the skies cleared up enough for us to witness the Perseid Meteor shower; we emerged at 2:00 a.m. and made our way  to the poolside where we had the best view from our loungers.  While we sat in awe of the Milky Way watching the meteors streak by, we heard some rather aggressive rustling in the nearby hedge. Bob went to investigate with his flashlight and whatever it was certainly wasn’t going to be deterred.  It started to freak me out, though if it was a wild boar it would have been louder. Then I saw the shadow of something coming towards me, I flashed my light on it and it turned around in a bit of scurrying waddle back to the shrubbery – we were being investigated by a hedgehog!  I guess he had satisfied his curiosity and remained quite during the rest of the light show – we wound up counting up to 35 meteors in all before retiring to the security of the house. 

Upon reflection, during July into August of last year during our RV trip, we were traveling from Michigan to Chicago then onto Canada, Niagara and then the Maritimes.  By mid-August we were heading  down the Eastern Seaboard to the Gulf including Louisiana – which this year was being hit by a horrific heat wave.  While the heat was not intense last year, it was incredibly humid, and we were relieved when we found our way back into the beloved high desert of New Mexico with its arid dark skies and turquoise dreams.  We had been so fortunate with the weather and glad to have seen what we have; it would have been almost impossible to have done it this year with the wildfires and heat waves that have been pounding North America.

We had also by this time also scheduled our Visa appointment in San Francisco.  

I will take a pause here to talk about the devastating fires in Maui as not only have I had the opportunity to spend some fabulous vacations there (including infrared photography work), my father also wrote about the famous banyan tree in Lahaina in his letters to my grandmother while he was stationed in the islands during WWII.  He also spoke of its immense nature during our conversations when we talked about the islands and my visits there, and other adventures with his Navy buddies such as finding a road through the sugar cane fields that led to a “secret beach.”  He witnessed much of wild Hawaii before tourists began invading this place that truly defines paradise.  Being immersed in all its purity off-set much of the trauma he experienced during the War in the Pacific.  I pray for the people of Maui as it was a human and cultural loss that in a sense will never be completely restored; too much history has turned to ashes.  

Infrared Image of the Famous Banyan Tree in Lahaina, Hawaii

Magnificent

Thankfully, we are now winding down much of the “integration drama” we have been navigating since our arrival; I have finally gotten enrolled into the French healthcare system, though my number is in my maiden name (which is a thing I continue to encounter here).   We got inexpensive “top-up” insurance that gives us 100% coverage as we are covered up to 70%  for the next five years and need to pay for the remaining 30%.  In comparison to the US, it’s inexpensive here and we are shocked at how low the prescription costs are.  So we are now covered from the medical side which is a welcome relief!

We have completed our Visa appointment in Bordeaux to wrap up the renewal and receive our Carte de Sejour (extending our long-stay Visa).  We are now beginning to feel more “native.”  My next challenge is to get my driver’s license which is no small feat even if you speak French.  It will be a champagne-popping event when I pass my final exam.  

Navigating the French Systems

We spent our anniversary at the same restaurant we dined at when we were here nearly two years ago on our reconnaissance trip; the Michelin star La Belle Etoile in the ever-stunning La Roque Gageac.  When I think back to that time, winding down our careers and then traveling across US and Canada, it’s been quite an epic adventure.  I am glad for the experience, but am equally content to be stationary in our lovely home, putting down the roots of gratitude in the fertile soil of Beausejour.  

The ever-stunning La Rogue-Gageac

I have kept this image from outside the restaurant from our first trip on my iPad as wallpaper; as a visualization and reminder of a dream that has now come to fruition.  Reflecting back on the journey, it really has been a heck of a thing.  

Sunrise on the Dordogne

All of this is fitting closure as our first summer winds down, the fields around us are now plowed and tidied up, sparing us the view of depressed sunflowers, and readying the soil for the coming year. 

Post-decapitation of the sunflower fields

Stay tuned as the next few months bring the upgrades to our property, including air conditioning, solar and our rainwater tank. 

The greenhouse is coming together and I will be attempting a “winter garden.”

Our fellow Americans, Sarah and Brian Addley, helping with the greenhouse.

We will also be off on an autumn trip to explore the fall colors of France and visit the legendary beaches of Normandy.   

And now for a French moment 

View from the dechetterie (aka: garbage and recycling center in our commune)

May 8 – July 4th Part Trois of our French integration con’t

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We arrived home from our walkabout through Italy to a warehouse of boxes stored in the gite and busied ourselves unveiling an old life and melding it into the new one.  While I had ideas of where to put things, it mostly fell into place organically as proportions and ideas are malleable and it was fun to play around with different concepts.  

Arghhhh
Now that’s much better!

Then spring brought the thunderstorms consisting windy vortexes, lightning and occasional hail; one time a small river developed  at the end of our property that soon dissipated into the neighbor’s farm.  It was good to know where our property would potentially flood — thankfully that would be at the end of the property where it slopes into the neighboring field.  

Pretty…but there is lightning in those clouds

Then suddenly it felt as though summer had  arrived with the weather warming to near 80 degrees (25 c).  Like Oregon, the mornings are cool, waking up to occasional mist covering the fields and valleys, barely muffling the birds who for now, wake us up gently with their morning ritual.  

We have spent time with our new neighbors who live walking distance from us; a good walk though as there are acres between us and them.  It has been invigorating getting to know these new friends and neighbors in this rather fantastical “hood.”

This included attending a Mad Hatter Party that included a lot of sugar (really good muffins and cake), and trying our hand at archery.  Though I don’t have a day job I wouldn’t quit it to pursue a career as an archer.  

We had the opportunity to visit a friend from Portland who was hiking the Camino de Santiago that was commencing in France then meandering into Spain. She was passing through Armignanc (home to the lovely, ancient brandy) and as she was within driving distance, we decided to take a trip down her way to catch up.  She and her colleague had already done 500 of the 1000 miles of the trip!  After a short but pleasant visit we bid farewell, leaving them with protein bars and electrolyte gels that they gratefully needed when they were caught short without an evening meal.  

Bob’s sister and brother-in-law were set to arrive at the end of June, so we got busy again unpacking, sorting, painting, decorating – trying to make the gite habitable and figuring out where to put all our “stuff.”  

When we needed a break, the terrace became an extension of our living room where we could flop in the Adirondack chairs (we brought with us!) with our tea and listen to the sounds of nature, and if the wind picked up, our favorite chimes blessed us with their soothing tune. 

The mornings are particularly lovely.  

Summer mornings on the terrace

Thankfully, Bob got his “CPAM” and is now enrolled in the French healthcare system.  I, on the other hand, keep getting requests for information including a new copy of my passport since the one they have is unreadable.  It’s not really clear why they made so many copies of it and how it got so mangled,  but I bite my tongue and send what they need to complete my file.  All of this is done manually and by snail mail.  As they say on Mandalore “this is the way.” 

During all this I acquired a lovely e-bike in anticipation of cycling the quiet backroads of our hood.  I’m looking forward to getting back into cycling shape and taking some packed lunches to the chateaus in the area.  

Then the pool arrived.  This brought out our French neighbors from across the road and we had a chance to do some fractured-french-bonding as they speak no English.  It’s quite something watching the pool land in our yard without taking out the power lines.  Within a week they were to dig the hole and fit the pool.  Well…this will be interesting to say the least.  

A few days later, the “piscine” workers arrived with a digger, and unfortunately it rained for the three days they were excavating the area.  I use the term excavate because there were decades of construction and roofing materials (tiles) from the gite that they had to dig through. Through the thunder, lightning and at some times torrential rain, the pool was installed.  They did manage to level out where the garden was to go but the rains were followed by high, dry temperatures turning the mud into cement.  We will compost heavily and when the rains return (and we will probably have some passing showers over the summer) we will be able to cultivate the garden for next year. 

How it’s done in France

Otherwise we will be patient and figure out how to deal with the rather large display of tire tracks that have been sculpted into the lawn. 

While all this hustling was happening, in a blink of an eye the sunflowers burst into bloom!  We are surrounded on three sides and feel as though we are being spied on as their smiling personas keep a steady and unrelenting vigil over the fields.   

Happy faces!!

Bob’s sister Kathryn, and her husband Bruce arrived just as the weather was warming up.   In fact, the weather swung to the other end of the extreme bringing in a high pressure system of heat that eclipsed 90 degrees then fell back into the 70’s when they left!  Thankfully they were not rained out and we had a lovely time cruising the countryside and spending an afternoon in Bergerac.  Otherwise they decided to hang out with us and work on projects for which we are eternally thankful!!

We bid them a fond farewell, looking forward to another visit when they can do some actual lounging around the pool. 

The next day a pool technician arrived to treat the water and get the filter working.  The piscine was now ready for use!  While the landscape is graveled in a rough and ready sort of way (we have to wait a year to do any credible landscaping as the surrounding earth needs to settle), we can still get some serious laps in.  

Then, on a beautiful day with the temperatures in the 70’s we set out on a bike ride through the quiet back roads of Beausejour, cycling by fields of barley, beans and sunflowers, surrounded by the ubiquitous French stone farmhouses and crumbling structures smothered in vines that once held the bounty of a former era,  making one feel like you were in a different time and place.  I felt as though I was gliding along a slipstream; traveling through the ether of ancient lands and unerring traditions, disturbed only by the occasional modern mechanizations of a passing voiture (car).  Not since I lived in Northeastern Washington State as a kid have I been surrounded by this level of beauty and solitude.  I am now a thief of time, the flower-sentinels standing ready to defend those rarified moments as I recapture what was once lost to me.  

Lots of sunflowers
Castillones and its cool tower

And what did we do when we came back from the bike ride??? 

And if you’re too busy to get to the boulangerie in time, well never fear!

The French baguette – a national treasure

April 26 – May 7th Venice by way of the French Riviera 

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Our container finally arrived – two weeks late and a day before our vacation to Venice by way of the French Riviera (Cote d’Azure).  

The driver showed up an hour early!  The rest of the team arrived soon after.  

Though we had permission from the mayor (Marie) to block the road, we didn’t take into consideration the school bus so needed to do some maneuvering. Fortunately none of the farm tractors came our way so they must have gotten the message.  

The French movers were a delight and they managed to correct my pronunciation as I directed them where the boxes needed to go.  It was great practice!  The gite is now a storage unit while the house has become a healthy repository of boxes we will be madly sorting through when we get back. 

We realized we couldn’t get much of the furniture up the spiral staircase – but voila! The ladder had arrived and Bob, and with the assistance of our courageous peeps, were able to haul some of the pieces through the window of the pigeonnier.

You have to do what you have to do!

All went well, and we were pretty depleted by the end of the day; after taking a break and offering whiskey and pizza to the team our last mission was to find the feet to the sofa – I really wanted to flop on my dear friend in front of the TV.  Luckily, we found the “tool box” the movers had left –  thank god!!!  We both sighed a collective ahh as Bob leaned back in his recliner and I sunk into the sofa.  OMG – is this for real? 

I poured myself a healthy dose of Suntori Toki Whiskey that I found in Perigueux (my favorite, yes!!!), and zoned out – bliss.  

Thankfully the movers got our dresser through the downstairs master bedroom window as it wouldn’t fit through the door – and then they assembled our bed😴.  I love this bedroom set and you don’t find this style much here in France.  It was amazing sleeping in our own bed and the mattress was a slice of heaven; the mattresses here are hard and I think it has caused me more aches and pains than I normally have (aging doesn’t help of course) 

The next morning we managed to get a few things unboxed, and the house tidied and in some semblance of order before we left for vacation.  

In a way I wish I was still there going through our stuff, yet with all our transition challenges and prepping for the arrival of our container I’m glad for the break; we will be away from our chores and distractions and we truly needed a respite from the transition fatigue. We are coming to the tail-end of chaos and heck, it isn’t like our stuff is going anywhere!!

Fortunately we had packed most of our travel luggage for vacation prior to the container arriving so we had to just throw a few items at the last minute and then toodled off to Perpignan near the Mediterranean coast.  And…it was also my birthday!!  My sister-in-law called from the UK and later my brother and sister-in-law in Seattle the following morning – such is our life overseas.  

We didn’t do any real touring in Perpignan as we were too tired but we got a good look at Carcassonne and the “King’s Landing” cathedral ……we will be back as it’s only a few hours away and deserves closer inspection.  

On our way to Nice we meandered along the Med and stopped in La Ciotat just north of Marseilles, and had a fabulous meal on the beach; I wound up having a hamburger and fries as I hadn’t had one forever and it was really good.  It felt like “homey” food. The weather was in the 60’s which was perfect for just relaxing.  

We got to our hotel in Nice with a view of the ocean. 

Palm trees are always a good idea

After getting settled in we went for a stroll along the promenade to the huge shopping center that boasts most of the major designers and smattering of unique and familiar shops.  I made a stop to the Body Shop and got myself some eau de cologne and bubble bath – it was time for some self care! 

The landscape here reminds me a lot of California but the water is definitely bluer – hence the name Cote d’Azure.  I can see why it would be a hotspot.  

We were several miles from the center of Old Nice, so we caught an Uber (yes they operate here!) and headed to the downtown hotspots, the first stop was the flower market that did not disappoint.

Flowers galore….

There is also a smattering of unique shops with a conscious restraint from the kitsch – minimal casinos (there is a Hard Rock Cafe)  and the tacky souvenir stores are kept to a minimum.  The architecture is spectacular with beautiful fronts along the Promenade de Anglais, a mix of Parisian, art nouveau and the historic blue and white striped umbrellas on the beach.  

Nice at its quintessential best – right before the hoards arrive

We hiked up to the gardens and cemetery for a view of the city and listened to the noon bells as they permeated the air.  

The crowds were pretty thick and it was even high season, but we managed to squeeze in a nice lunch and finish promenading along the waterfront.  

We loved Nice but like other popular destinations, it definitely gets crowded.  The area around our hotel, which is more off the beaten track, was much quieter.

We headed out the next day to Verona, we had already dodged Cannes as the film festival was in full swing and was-to-be-avoided and headed towards Monaco – the land of the mega-rich.  The landscape became dramatic, I mean up there with Zion and the Columbia Gorge.  We passed by Menton and its “King’s Landing” cathedral overlooking the Med, stopped to pay our dues at the interminable toll stations and motored through to Italy and yes, another language.  My mind thought it was going to explode as France was now my “new familiar.”  It seemed odd to think of it that way!  

Rest stop in Italy – supersized wine!!

The landscape was no less dramatic but this time there were green houses hanging from precipices and of course vineyards scaling impossible escarpments. We switched the radio to the Italian stations with their lively commentary.  Then we passed a sign for the 45th parallel; we were miles away but on the same line as Oregon wine country. 

We soon found ourselves in an agricultural area much like where we now live, with the  Alps poking out from the North.  There were rolling hills of vast fields with their churches enthroned atop the occasional villages and…then there were castles.  I guess it wouldn’t be Europe without castles!  

We passed by ruins – barns entwined by vegetation, in the middle of a perfectly manicured fields of barley. Besides the few RV’s we passed we suspected we were on a road not normally touristed, and like our adventure in the RV it was lovely to get the backroads perspective of this part of the country. 

We arrived at the Crown Plaza in Verona, and set out the next day to navigate the old streets known for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  We were once again blessed with good parking karma as we found an obscure garage near the center😍

The arena, akin to the coliseum in Rome, with its ruinous facade just as equally captivating, was also a popular venue for famous operas and singers; sadly Peter Gabriel was to perform on the 20th of May!  We vowed to come back to experience either a concert or opera.  

Just a few tourists….

The city, like so many others, is the usual retail mecca of big box stores. We pushed our way through the throngs of foreigners like us and found a quiet corner with a fabulous view of a nearby cathedral.  The coffee in France and Italy is so good it will be difficult to go back to Starbucks – not that there is much in the offing in this area of Europe anyway☕️

Why I can never go back to Starbucks

We passed over the Ponte Pietra that was first constructed in 100 BCE and hiked up to Castel San Pietro.  After taking in the sights and sounds, and also working up an appetite, we decided to grab lunch on the way back down at Re Teodorico with its incredible views of classical ancient terraces and structures that define Italy like no other country, such as the spires of cypresses that offset the homes and villas.  

Poor resolution of a great view gave the image a painterly affect!

On our way back we wondered if was even worth trying to find “Juliette’s Balcony,” made famous by Shakespeare’s play.  It’s not really something that existed except in someone’s imagination and was built specifically to tease up more tourism.  As we approached the site, we were met with wall to wall bodies lined up to get their chance to view the “famous” balcony –  we both decided to pass on the opportunity.  I don’t typically need bragging rites on where I’ve visited anyway; I prefer to journal my experiences and share them with those who are interested. 

The next day, on our way out of Verona we stopped by Soave (yes, you guessed it, the famous wine region)  with its castle and vineyards; we picked up some wine for drinking in France since you mostly get only French wine in the shops 🧐.  We stopped in for a simple lunch and then headed for our next stop – staying at a villa complete with a vineyard and not far from Venice.

Soave, Italy

Bob had been recovering from a sinus infection that I apparently had acquired and I was feeling pretty wicked by the time we reached the villa – Castello de Roncade; I was concerned I would have trouble visiting Venice which has always been on my bucket list.  Luckily, after a good night’s sleep I was feeling better and we set out to navigate one of the most popular venues in Europe. 

I was a baroness for a fleeting moment

Our private garden

A rain front was coming through and we had planned a dinner at the upscale Danieli Terrazza Restaurant and had to figure out how to get dressed for a formal dinner after touring Venice in the rain🫣, but not to be daunted we carried an extra bag of clothes (wrinkle free!).  

The weather certainly didn’t seem to deter of the tourists too much, and we pushed our way through the narrow alleys and crowded bridges, the chaos supplanted by a vast array of umbrellas.  

When we finally arrived at the famous Piazza San Marco, the crowds had appeared to thin out so we took a time out for some tea that turned out to be 15 Euros a cup!!!   I guess because you can sit and enjoy the view while listening to the live band play popular movie themes.  

After I cleaned up in the hotel bathroom (a rather posh one as well) we had a lovely dinner; we were a bit disappointed that it was raining as we had hoped to sit on the terrace and watch the world go by – but no complaints, we enjoyed a fabulous meal that topped off our culinary experiences in Italy.  

We took a “water bus” back to the Pizzale Roma where the parking structure is.  Note that it is pretty simple to drive into Venice, park your car and walk into the city.  Or you can catch one of the many water buses or taxis at the dock.  The water bus takes longer but is much less expensive than taking the cool looking taxis that zoom along the canal – like those in James Bond movies. 

The water bus proved to be a revelation as we were able to see the city at night which is quite something.  You could spend days wandering around, experiencing the many hidden gems that Venice has to offer.  

The next day proved to be clear and we set out to do some shopping and also had booked a tour of the basilica and the doge’s palace.  

As we wanted to do a gondola ride (really, as touristy as it sounds it’s a great way to get a different perspective on Venice) and snagged one just off one of the canals.  They were being scooped up fast so we were glad to get one and opted for a longer ride through the back “alleys” then onto the grand canal. 

The idea of Venice is simply mesmerizing when you think of it being an ancient trading hub, and how the buildings were constructed around the concept of water.  There is a conglomeration of cultures here, a melding of Roman, middle eastern and african cultures, like an exotic spice that can’t be categorized so easily.  Venice’s cultural influences are as intricate as the filigreed facades and walkways that terminate at the water’s edge.  

Our gondolier told us that up until the bridges were built, the only way Venetians could reach their homes were by boat.  Floating by the houses we saw doors to what could only be a “water garage” – many had decayed at the bottom; there was probably no reason to replace them at this point.  

After we departed from our excursion, we headed to our tour of the basilica.  St. Mark’s Basilica is as incredible on the interior as it is on the exterior with gold mosaics reflecting a warming glow in a heavenly manner – as I suspect was intended.  The terracing of different levels is something out of a dream and to imagine the engineers who masterminded all this centuries ago is simply mind boggling.  This could have been just another European cathedral; after a while one looks much the same as the others.  But no, this is in a class all by itself; a fitting reflection of what makes Venice so unique.  

As we wound through the different levels we came to the bronze horses that were no less mystifying when you consider their scale and age.  

We finished the tour at the doge’s palace which proved to be exceptionally ornate, but not as fascinating as the basilica.  

Now that we were done with our tour, we decided to visit La Commedia where authentic Venetian masks are made…and of course picked one up.  You have to be careful as there are plenty of shops who will gladly sell you cheap knockoffs made in China.  The one we purchased is made out of paper mache with a lovely crown of feathers.  I also managed to grab a Murano glass bead necklace and bracelet.  These purchases weren’t overly expensive and came with certificates of authenticity and will be welcome reminders of the beauty and uniqueness of Venice. 

We finished the night at a restaurant recommended by Stanley Tucci’s – Searching for Italy called Osteria AI 4 Feri Stoti tucked away by one of the canals; a lovely setting to round out the day.  We had the ubiquitous Aperol Spritzer which is quite good; mixed with prosecco and sparkling water it makes for a lovely warm weather cocktail.  It is quite popular here and seeing so many folks drinking it we thought we would give it a try. We of course wound up buying a bottle of Aperol.  

The next morning we bid farewell to our stately villa and its lovely grounds, and headed out to Milan – the final stop on our tour.  

You can view our tour of Venice here:

Visual Tour of Venice

On the way to Milan we decided to visit Padua for lunch.  While not a city many would consider visiting, it turned out to have some pretty impressive cathedrals and canals.  The weather was lovely and we stopped for lunch with a fantastic view and then headed for our hotel in Milan.

Padua and really cool looking cathedrals we were able to stare at during lunch

There is a certain level of madness that comes with Italian cities such as Milan; we drove through the maze of cars and too many scooters and motorcycles until we reached the cathedral or Metropolitan Cathedral-Basilica of the Nativity of Saint Mary.  Yet another impressive structure but we decided not to enter as we hadn’t thought through booking ahead.  

Stunning cathedral with really long name in Milan

We strolled through the famous Galleria Victtorio Emanuele II, the super elegant shopping center with stores out of my price range; Gucci, Chanel what have you, they are there as installations as well as being stores. 

Coolest shopping center in the universe

Being a fashion capital Milan cannot be outdone along with tour buses galore with many visiting from Korea or Japan, their passengers dressed vogue-style. After wading through the crowds,  we shuffled off to a quiet bistro for lunch – out of the noise and constant stream of cigarettes and vaping which wasn’t doing my sinuses any favors. I was starting to feel pretty ragged and wound up spending the rest of the afternoon napping at the hotel.  

We headed out the next day for the first stage of our trip back to France via Mont Blanc and its famous tunnel that connects Italy to France. The alps and their chalets were post-card perfect, complete with alpine meadows.  The arid, clear air was a welcome relief and the landscape stimulating.  You can view the video here:

Visual tour of Mont Blanc

Arrivederci Italy!! Until next time.  

Mar 1 – April 25 2023 Beausejour – Part Two of our French Integration

Posted on Posted in Dordogne, Expatriation, France, France, French, Maison, Photography, The French Life, TravelTagged , , , Leave a comment

It’s early March and the weather is cold…as in biting cold, but it is clear with a layer of frost dusting the nearby fields.  I take a moment to survey my surroundings, but my revelry is suddenly interrupted as I find myself running frantically out to the road to flag down the Darty (appliance store)  delivery truck.  They are here to deliver our new washer, dryer, freezer and small appliances;  apparently our home is a bit difficult to find even when they have the address plugged into the GPS…seems I don’t have to worry too much about being stalked in this part of the world.  I have now learned, through trial and error, to add the GPS coordinates in addition to the address in the delivery instructions, otherwise I get somewhat frantic calls in French from the drivers who apologize for their poor English (while I apologize… tres desole…sorry for my poor French). I also went as far as putting a sign on the front door to leave the packages in our absence (in French of course) –  unlike the delivery methods used in America where the UPS or Amazon truck shows up and delivers your items on the front porch sans your presence, France seems to have a love for a vast variety of delivery services who require signatures upon arrival. This limits my options of being out and about as they don’t always commit to a time or day, and if they do, they don’t always abide by that commitment (we had been warned about the “French way of doing things” and they are living up to their reputation).  So this “hack” of leaving a sign turned out to be the biz, and serves as permission to just leave any packages on the terrace (assuming they can find the place).  The one company that has demonstrated reliability is Ikea, who definitely gives you a date and a window which works out well assuming they can even find our house. I also keep the GPS coordinates handy to text the drivers back once we politely conclude at the end of the conversation we can’t understand one another:  Je text les coordonnées GPS etc. 

Ahh…but we have finally arrived to Beauséjour – meaning “beautiful stay” and the road sign even confirms that we are indeed in a special part of the world.  On the day we were scheduled to sign off on the house we did a “walk through” with our realtor and the previous owner.   We learned some interesting stories about the history:   For insurance purposes we had stated the structures were built in the early 1800’s as there weren’t any official records going back before the 1900’s.  Urban legend has it that the fleur-de-lis and shield carved on both sides of the rather large fireplace was placed there during the stay of King Francois the 1st back in the early 1500’s – if this is true (since the symbols depict royalty) that would indicate that the house was built in the 15th century and around 400 hundred years old! 

Though we are not even close to being a grand chateau (technically meaning castle) by any means, in rural France a pigeonnier is a sign of wealth along with the scalloping accents on the side of the house.

Pigeons!
Subtle scalloping on the side of the house

We were also advised that the surrounding farmland used to belong to this particular maison; so while the house itself has similar proportions to our home in Portland, due to the pigeonnier and the accompanying symbology, it used to belong to wealthy landowners.  

The ancient Colombage timbers that sustain the structures have since been reinforced without losing any of the original character and are treated for termites. We have also found our recent furniture purchases from the “Brocantes” (antique market furniture and so much fun to shop at those!) to be a bit wobbly as the floors aren’t exactly level in some places. Add to that the flaws that come from our “new purchases” and we find ourselves retrofitting to give our surfaces a bit of stability.  The china cabinet is a great size as most we’ve seen have been quite large. The rustic workbenches are popular and this one was actually refinished and is a perfect addition to our entryway!

French Country!

I am now also being indoctrinated to the idea of radiators and how this whole system works. The boiler is down the “cellar” along with a large community of spider webs.  It is here we have also deposited the extra freezer and washer; we are on a septic system (known as a fosse here), and the washer was built to drain from the cellar to the septic.  Yes we do have to walk around the side of the house but we are, after all, in the country in a several-hundred-year-old maison so you have to make some concessions.  We will eventually be upgrading to solar and split air conditioning units in anticipation of the long warm summers – with climate change we are told the temperatures are on the rise and will also reduce our personal drag on the grid.

We have a little under an acre of land and Bob was chomping at the bit for a rider mower, also known as a “tandeuse.” Yes, we are back to the gardening frenzy we’re so fond of and we have plenty of work to do.  Unfortunately, our gardening tools are in the shipping container that isn’t scheduled to arrive until mid April, so off we go to “Jardiland” (jardin is garden in French so do the math) to pick up a few odds and ends to tide us over.  Bob managed to snag a nice mower that was soon delivered and he disappeared into the ether of gardening bliss, trolling the property from the lofty heights of his new toy while cursing the interminable dandelions.  

I have been busy painting and kitting out our new utility room; there isn’t much in the way of storage in the main house so I took one of the bedrooms (there are four and just the two of us – much like our house in Portland) and am designing a laundry/pantry/general storage room.  I soon discovered (as many have here), that paint is quite expensive for whatever reason and the mat colors aren’t up to much when it comes to coverage.  So while we are eating on the cheap because the markets and general cost-of-living are just so insanely good here, we get dinged in other departments.  

The dryer we bought does not require venting (it collects the condensation in a plastic basin that you discard down the drain) so you can plug it in anywhere – a clever euro design. We also ordered IKEA units to complete the storage area; you can always joke about IKEA but the storage units we ordered are of good quality.  And an extra refrigerator because the one we have is pretty dang small. 

Voila!  A few more touch ups and additions and we will be in laundry and storage domestic bliss.  I love getting new appliances as the ones we divested prior to leaving Portland were getting a bit worn anyway.  

As spring is starting to roll in, we have experienced some pretty epic thunderstorms – I mean thunder, lightning, wrath-of-god type stuff – thankfully the shutters are really effective for keeping the rain at bay; I mean it gets really horizontal and blows a gale.  But France, like so much of the rest of the world, really needs rain and we are glad for it when it arrives.  The trees are starting to leaf out and we are seeing blossoms in the garden.  And bees, we are surrounded by them and they are starting to inhabit the mason bee houses we bought. When we are not outside listening to the music of nature we are enjoying our new hi-speed fiber connection; it’s amazing that they have run these systems out into the rural communities.  We are starting to feel more grounded and can crash on our (temporary) sofa and watch our favorite shows after a long day working on the property = spoiled.  

We are on the 45th parallel so we see many of the same plants as you find in Portland.  Our garden is large and the prior owners were British and planted a cornucopia of plants that are unfortunately being invaded by weeds; luckily we are retired, but even with that notion the tasks ahead of us seem a bit overwhelming. 

When we take a break around noon, with our tea on the terrace, the birds and bees are performing their orchestral obligations and we can hear the bells toll from the nearby church of our local commune.  It is times like these that we look out of our property into the vast farmlands and says yes – Beauséjour!! 

View from the kitchen window

In rural France we are oblivious to the rioting in Paris sparked by new legislation to the raise in pension age to 64…we are so far removed and frankly had enough conflict in Portland a few years back.  Experiencing this level of peace and quiet is like developing new senses.  

Of course, it’s not all bliss; as we are now officially grounded with a permanent address, we are now receiving  mail at our new place.  I have a mail forwarding service in the States and we had to have a few packets of important tax docs sent to us.  The La Poste lady (very cheery as well) shows up one day with one of our packets and asks for 9 euros.  We are a bit mystified, and we come to find out that “registered” mail, or what they perceive as “registered mail” is subject to additional fees.  So we had to dig up 9 euros in change and if you don’t have exact change she will take what you have, then leave what is owed in your mailbox.  Fortunately this hasn’t happened with any other mail🙄

Then…our French HSBC banking cards finally arrived (after five months!) and we had to drive to Bordeaux to gather them only to find out that we didn’t have the correct PIN codes.  Long story, but they have PIN codes for online purchases, for your app and for your credit card and you can’t change them.  Our sister-in-law in Seattle took time out of her busy day to convey the information we needed…while I was told all the information would be sent to Bordeaux, they sent the PIN codes to the address in Seattle. C’est la vie accompanied by a shrug – it’s France.  This is the contrasting nature of the place we live in. So now we have two bank accounts which is not a bad thing considering the state of the banking business overall – due to the dual taxation and reporting laws, some Americans have difficulty getting a single account set up when they arrive here.  And though we had our BNP Paribas cards we didn’t get our checkbook for another month and that wasn’t until we checked in and found out they hadn’t gotten around to “processing it yet.”

We are also still grappling with getting into the healthcare system; they must have misplaced Bob’s birth certificate (during the appointment we specifically handed it to them of which they made a copy) yet like our banking process, they are requesting it once again – via snail mail.  Considering the delicate nature of a birth certificate we are opting to drive to the office in Perigueux to  (once again) present both the original and translated version so they can process the file…sigh.  They did confirm they received the document but then I received a letter stating they needed information for my file that I already gave them – as they say in Mandalorian “it is the way.” The hotline did confirm I do have a number and we are finishing up the processing on Bob’s number. Soon we will have a “Carte de Vitale,” and will be in the French healthcare system!

But….of course…there’s more!  I have been scheduled for my Visa appointment to get my official Carte de Sejour (official long stay Visa card), but Bob hasn’t received his yet.  Fortunately they have an English-language help line – even with that the French bureaucracy is not for the faint of heart. Bon courage – we will get through all of this in the next few months.  

In France the 80/20 rule is definitely in full swing:  Americans relocating here should not come with lofty expectations on when things are due to arrive or be processed – this is true 80% of the time. We are surprised when something arrives when scheduled such as Ikea, or when our Orange hi-speed internet was installed and has been working like a charm – the exception rather than the rule!  No American entitlements here!  

Quirks aside, what I do find impressive is being able to recycle everything here; just down the road we have a garbage and recycling center that we visit a few times a week to drop off standard stuff.  For batteries, light bulbs, ink cartridges etc. we take those when we go shopping at one of the bigger cities (Bergerac or Villeneuve-sur-Lot) and they have them in the shopping centers.  For bigger drop offs we go to the local “dechetterie” and deposit cardboard (for all the new stuff we have been acquiring), yard waste etc.  The French love bureaucracy and it spills over into their love for the environment; it’s incredibly impressive. 

I continue to do painting to freshen up areas of the house so when the furniture arrives we won’t have to move it for a while. The upstairs floors were gasping for some TLC and I stained and waxed one of the bedrooms so again – when the furniture eventually arrives it can have a stationary home. They came out beautiful!

Our container has finally arrived!!!! As always seems to be our luck it will be unloaded the day before we leave for our vacation so it will be “a dump and run.” This will be a story for another day as we are off to Venice by way of the (Cote d’Azure) French Riviera😍🍝🍷 for a much needed break from our “transition challenges.”  Stay turned for updates on our European road trip!

Feb 2023 – Ode to Prats du Perigord, Bonjour Nouvelle Maison 

Posted on Posted in Expatriation, France, France, French, Maison, Photography, TravelTagged , , , , 1 Comment

Every morning at 7 a.m. the church bells ring down in the village of Prats du Perigord, the echoes are permeable as the sky is clear and frost grips the land, remaining polar until the sun rises to loosen the ribbons of sleep.  Then formations emerge through the orange and blue, awaking the kaleidoscope of day.  

It’s February but It feels more like spring, more like what March would feel like in my former city of Portland, Oregon.  There is no rain in sight for the coming days.   The garden (jardin) centers are coming alive and the locals are even threatening to cut the grass.  It is still technically winter but no one has apparently informed the inhabitants of Southwest France; except for those who still had their Christmas decorations up until the end of January.  

Here we remain unconcerned about the protests in Paris, the insistence that raising the retirement age to 64 is certainly the end of civilization as we know it, and many of the French insist they will be too old to enjoy their golden years.  France has the lowest retirement age in all of Europe, and they enjoy some of the best systems such as their healthcare, but it certainly doesn’t come for free.  Paris has been in a gridlock for weeks now as the unions take to the streets and halt services such as le metro (Mon dieu!!).

One of the highlights of our continuing integration is that we finally figured out how to use the car wash – this was accomplished by spying on the local population:  Unlike the system in the US where you pay and then drive through, here, you drive up to the wash itself, make sure you are secure against “bump ” that triggers the green light, exit your car and the pay at the kiosk.  We were wondering why people were lounging around the waiting area while their car was being washed.  The system is rather clever as the mechanism runs back and forth over your car while it remains stationary.  No more fun of driving through!  We now have a clean car💖

We decided it was time for another side trip to visit the local sites – this time we ventured to the medevial city of Belvès, spending the afternoon wandering around and then settling in for a cup of coffee.  Much is still closed up and we are wait in great anticipation when the cafe and shop owners start to open up and their wares spill out into the streets.  

Meandering the ancient streets of Belvès

As we forge new relationships, we found ourselves spending a post-Valentines Day brunch at our friend’s lovely country house (once again),  indulging in her local dishes, learning the French way of dining and surveying the garden with ideas for the impending spring.   

We continue our daily french language studies complemented by a weekly visit to Monpazier (which we discovered was part of the set of Ridley Scott’s “The Last Duel” and is now a set for a french film) for a more interactive lesson.  We have cultivated some new acquaintances and are becoming a local at a cafe that sports a fair amount of American retro art deco-like posters that makes me feel right at home. 

Authentic Movie Set in Monpazier
Dirt and All!

We hadn’t ventured much into the fast food arena here and then much to my horror: Krispy Kreme and Popeye’s announced they will be opening up their fast food joints here in France.  I was never a fan of Kristy Kreme, and well the patisseries are to die for here😍 so do the math!  Yet, McDonald’s is seriously popular in France, especially with the youth.  Upon further research they source all their food locally, it’s organic and they are highly regulated by the EU meaning sans the preservatives, hormones etc….so a bit better than the overprocessed American version.  But still!  But we got curious and had to check it out and the food tastes much less processed than in the states; even the salads are something you would find in a nice bistro.  While they do drive-through, the french are fond of their two hour lunch and you will find them lounging at the local McDonalds while they are being served their food in recyclable containers – even the french fries come in a signature McDonald’s plastic molded cup! 

The Royal Collection!

Another hurdle we finally overcame was the opening of our French bank account at BNP Paribas.  It was a welcome relief as all the French government systems require this and setting up our house for the electrical, heating etc. requires an account as well.  While this came as a welcome relief we still hadn’t seen our bank cards for a couple of weeks.   I called our agent’s office and got her assistant who spoke a little english but managed to navigate me through the phone app to get a message to her.   Alas, this is France and our agent profusely apologized saying the drugs from her dental appointment caused her to somehow lose her memory.  We were running low on Euros and don’t like using our American credit cards as we get dinged with the current conversion depending on the strength of the dollar.  We can however do direct transfers from our bank to certain retailers, more so at point-of-sale rather than online so we have been able to maneuver around our current handicap – at least for now. 

As we were in Bergerac it was the perfect day to meander the historic town center, accompanied by Cyrano himself.  We will be spending more time here with friends, shopping, enjoying cafe chats and long walks along the river.  

Colombage Architecture
Cyrano!

Our cards finally arrived in a few days and I was able to go on a bit of a shopping spree as we had furniture we needed delivered to the new digs.  

March 1st marked the closing of our house followed by the appointment with the local office to enroll in the French Healthcare system.  Once we get their version of a social security number (not to be confused with the American version), which is used specifically for healthcare, we will be issued our Carte Vitale and be able to finally set up an appointment with a general practitioner.  This will get us into the network of specialists we are eager to connect with.  

We will miss the hikes through the woods and green spaces of Prats du Perigord, surrounded by working farms, the horses, donkey, dogs and goose (just one!). Our initial immersion into France has been as equally lovely as it has been frustrating; the difference is the latter is temporary while the former will be an enduring experience for the rest of our lives.   

The weather turned cold again, with heavy frost and even a dusting of snow but nothing compared to what the west coast of the United States was enduring.  Reflecting on our situation this time last year, I realized we could have been stuck in Portland or in Santa Rosa as we wouldn’t have been able to get through to the Alabama Hills in California with our RV.  Back in the 70’s I remember one storm that blasted through Southern California and for the first time you could see the mountains – we had a small respite from the horrific Los Angeles smog of that era.  

The day of our signing finally arrived and we powered through it at the Notaire in Villereal with no incident and were handed our keys.  Voila!  We owned a house in France! 

Yet we couldn’t go play at the house as we had an hour drive for our healthcare appointment, and we had to finish packing up and cleaning up the gite. That took up Thursday and Friday and then we finally arrived for good on Saturday morning; it was early and crispy cold, but here, the landscape sweeps you along its sensual curves to deposit you at its doorstep, ignoring your protests.  The sun was also very accomodating; it decided there would be no contest as it emerged to celebrate this glorious day. 

After years of dreaming, copious amounts of planning, being in a constant state of (and many times exhausting) transition for a year….we had finally arrived.  More to come on our homeowner experience.  

After managing some delivery faux pas (like a bed), we settled in for our first night and even managed to get the Wi-Fi going, averting a potential disaster🙄

I awoke early on Sunday, and as I walked down the hallway I could hear the crowing of a rooster, the national symbol of France. 

A Glorious Sunrise to Greet Our New Life

French Integration – Part One cont’d

Posted on Posted in Dordogne, Expatriation, France, France, Photography, The French Life, TravelTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

It’s amazing to think we have only been in France for a little over two months!  It started off with such a whirlwind of activity in our attempts to get ramped up quickly – driven partly by mitigating expenses related to car and gite rentals.  We had literally been all over the place in 2022; our RV trip through US and Canada including a break in Hawaii, then onto France, then onto the UK for holidays.  Though it has been a profoundly great adventure, we are looking forward to a more stationary lifestyle in 2023😍

The exciting news is we signed the sales agreement for our house!  We are hoping to take possession by the end of February or beginning of March.  The shipper has also informed us that our household goods are scheduled to be delivered at the beginning of April.  We are excited about the prospect of getting settled in🏡

In the meantime we are catching up with new friends, taking long walks, working on our french lessons including the rather involved process of getting a license, and of course further exploring our new surroundings. 

On Bob’s birthday we attended the truffle festival or “Truffle Fete”  in Sarlat.  The majority of attendees were sporting a glass of wine and partaking in the “street food” where local chefs whipped together culinary delights using the famed black truffle found in the Perigord region.  It was a cold but clear day – the French are hardy people and endured long lines and outdoor dining to enjoy this rather indulgent event.  It is a great social gathering for the area, evidenced by the groups of friends huddled around the wine barrels. 

This exploration resulted in a weekend of culinary experimentation that included fabulous omelets and linguini with white cream sauce and shaved truffle.  We of course acquired a “Truffle Shaver” that is also great for shaving hard cheeses and chocolate.  

Truffles Galore!!

I also did the very French thing of driving to the local boulangerie in St. Pompon (a small lovely village not far from us) to acquire a banquette for dinner as we wanted a fresh one (of course!!). Much of rural France shuts down on Sundays – even the major stores are only open until around noon.  Many of the smaller stores are closed on Monday as well so you have to plan accordingly.  As it was Sunday, I needed to get to the boulangerie before noon.  St. Pompon was virtuallydevoid of people when I arrived; I think the only activity is Sunday services but even that seems pretty thin.  

The French keep their Christmas lights up for the first few weeks of January and when we found ourselves driving back in the dark, we were delighted by the light festivals we encountered; the local villages take pride in the festival accomplishments!

Later in the week we ventured off to Villeneuve sur Lot  to take advantage of the bi-annual sales in France.  Here they hold them twice a year to move inventory that is marked down but not allowed to go below the price they purchased it for.  It’s not like they don’t have sales, but this is when they really blow through their inventory. 

Our realtor had referred us over to some great bilingual contacts at local appliance and furniture stores in Villeneuve sur Lot who would allow us to buy now and then ship when we get into the house.  

Since we couldn’t bring our American appliances and of course, the larger ones were out of the question, we bought a good quality washer and dryer, a small “cabinet” or upright freezer with pull out drawers!!!!! I really hated sorting through our chest freezer back in Portland…. We also bought an air fryer, food processor, LG Smart TV (a really nice one to enhance our viewing experience!) and a temporary platform bed and mattress to transfer to the gite when our stuff arrives from the US.  With the new (yet seriously old) house we are doing a much needed reboot of everything that should last us for quite a while. 

On our way back to the gite,  we drove through torrential rain that turned to slush and then to snow.  We got home just in time as the snow was just starting to stick to the back roads.  We lit the fire and watched the snow come down in an ethereal waltz.  We woke the next morning to bright blue skies and several inches of snow.  We saw the local farmers plowing the backroads as they are not managed by the transportation division who were focusing on the main roads.  

We took a delightful walk with the snow lighting up the already arresting landscape.  

We have been keeping moderately busy.  I’m still processing my surroundings; there are days when it’s clear and beautiful and I walk along the insanely quiet country trails and roads – only occasionally interrupted by a passing car.  The area is mostly deciduous, but there are copses of large beautiful pine trees, reminiscent of cedar with their draping bows.  The smell of pine permeates the air as I stroll by – reminding me of the Pacific Northwest.  

Anywhere we drive there are chateaus and farms; even on days of inclement weather, especially when the fog clings to the lowlands, we are surrounded by an other-worldly mural. It seems more like a time warp as we meander through the ancient communes, some so small they don’t even have a boulangerie!  

When we pass by crumbling buildings and walls, we often wonder how old they are and did they house farm animals?  Have these same pastures been tended for centuries?  

Then we take an alternative backroad and find ourselves approaching a thriving metropolis of grand buildings, cathedrals and cobblestone streets that beg to be explored.  Then a chateau emerges in all its glory.  

We took an afternoon to explore one such structure – Castelnaud – a huge castle harking back to the 12th century. 

We had floated by it when canoeing down the Dordogne in 2020; it is constructed at a towering height, emerging from the cliff itself.  It is a true medieval marvel complete with a museum displaying armor, weapons and the “vogue” fashion of the day.  With its sigils buffeting the wind, and the towers overlooking the breathtaking Dordogne valley, you are taken back to a time of chevaliers (knights in shining armor) and princesses.  

Spot the Chevalier!!

One of the things I love about retiring, besides the freedom, is being able to sleep in.  We are both early birds but the idea of not being on a compressed time schedule and rushing to catch the bus or light rail, and then enduring a long day at work – which then required an additional hour commute – is a blessing I embrace with gratitude daily.  

Upon reflection, when we were in the RV, we were always on the go; we could sleep in but typically had to pack up in a few hours and head out to our next destination.  Now it seems we are spending more time “putzing” around, working on our house plans, studying and attending french lessons and other items necessary for our French integration.  

It is not without its challenges as we work to enroll ourselves into the national healthcare system and work on our driving licenses, and being otherwise impatient to get into our news digs.  And we finally connected with a local bank in Bergerac; BNP Paribas who is opening up accounts for us (we were referred through an American contact we met through our network). We are still waiting, yes waiting for months, for HSBC to open our account; they hadn’t processed our paperwork from October, resulting in us having to resend the information.  We have been told that was all they needed and will let us know when it’s done being processed; they will then send the documents to the branch in Bordeaux.  Sigh.

You hear many Americans lamenting about finding a bank who will take them; the FACTA rules are such that reporting can be a burden that many reps at French banks do not want to take on.  

To further occupy our time,we have also been spending time in local cities that are not far from us to get a feel of the place; the bistros, shopping areas and green spaces that run along the many rivers.  We visited “Mr. Bricolage” which is actually the French version of Home Depot!  It’s fascinating walking through the tool sections and seeing name brands such as Stanley, Black and Decker and Ryobi, then discovering the eccentricities of how the French do things such as lots of vinyl material for making your own window blinds.  We will need to make our own fly screens here as the windows open inward so you can reach the shutters to block the light on hot days.  Our new house has some blinds installed already so we can be less reliant on the external shutters if needed; but while the French don’t mind flies in their house, we are not so accommodating!  

We hope to be in our house within the next 4-5 weeks – stay tuned!  

December 31, 2022 Recapping an Extraordinary Year 

Posted on Posted in #rvlife, France, National Parks, Photography, The French Life, TravelTagged , , , , , 1 Comment

It has been a year since I officially retired from the workforce.  After 48 years it came as a welcome relief.  Yet, there were several challenges ahead that included selling off furniture and appliances we did not need for our relocation to France, and prepping the house for sale.  We had lived in St. John’s for 22 years in our lovingly renovated 1923 Craftsman Bungalow.  Anyone who has gone through this transition can understand the emotional ups and downs associated with relinquishing the nostalgia of time spent in a place you have dedicated so much of your life to.  

We then set out for what would be a 27,000 mile long journey through the US and Canada, all of which is chronicled on my blog.  

I have compiled a slideshow highlighting our travels:  We are often asked “what was your favorite place?”  It’s not something that can be answered easily – the national parks, monuments and sites we visited were all incomparable; they are unique unto themselves and I urge everyone to travel to as much of North America as they can.  You will realize the conundrum of that question when you see where we have been! 

One of our more significant stays was on Oahu where I was able to trace my father’s WWII legacy from the Royal Hawaiian on Waikiki Beach to Pearl Harbor:  I dedicated a special write up on my blog for those interested!  

Part of the challenge also included selling our house – we managed to close while we were on the road in Canada, signing the final papers in Fairbanks, AK right before the market started to cool down; we counted our blessings on the timing!  

At the end of September, after months of being on the road we were able to take a breather upon our return to Portland.   We had a bit of a fretful wait while waiting for our French long-stay Visas. Fortunately, we had given ourselves enough time for the French to do their processing which allowed us enough elbow room to wind down our life in the U.S.; visiting friends, family and familiar haunts…and bidding our final farewells.  

We landed in France mid-November and got ourselves settled in a gite, traversed the Dordogne until we landed on a lovely Colombage house in Lot et Garonne (about two hours from Bordeaux).  We then set out to spend the holidays with family in the UK where we celebrated and English-style Christmas with family and spent time hiking through Malvern with its beautiful priory and countryside. 

The Priory – Darwin’s daughter is buried here

We also visited famous sites such as Stratford on Avon, the home of William Shakespeare and its amazing holiday lights. 

Stratford upon Avon

Finally, on New Year’s Eve, we motored around the English countryside in Kathryn’s Mini. We ended 2022 with a traditional cream tea followed by fish and chips – wrapping up the year in an authentically British manner!

A Very British New Years🇬🇧🎆

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year and wonderful 2023!!

December 2 – December 25 Joyeux Noel from across the Pond!!

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Heading into the holiday season, we were invited to a lovely Christmas brunch by a couple Bob had met on Facebook; Cathrine is French and married to an Australian – Aiden.  We arrived at their lovely country estate north of Bergerac complete with a gate and additional parking.  It turned out to be a bit of soirée including Brits and an American couple.  Once we had our hors d’oeuvres of Foie Gras (homemade we were informed), we settled around a long table in a traditional farmhouse kitchen sporting a cavernous fireplace with a large leg of ham curing nearby to complete the effect.  Catherine had set the table with a holiday flair, including two hot plates at each end.  These “hot plates” turned out to be “raclettes” – a traditional dish from Switzerland that not only had a hot plate for grilling or warming, but a subterranean feature with small trays to add slices of cheese for melting.  Once the cheese melted – the tray is removed and the cheese oozes onto your plate a bit like a modified fondue; over bread, potatoes or whatever your heart desires.  This turned out to be an enjoyable interactive experience!  A bit like playing with your food along with great conversations. 

We bonded with Sarah and Brian (recent transplants from Los Angeles), Basil and Gil (pronounced Jill) Irish and Australian, and then two Dutch expats. 

Catherine then topped off the meal with a clever dessert of meringue covered ice cream.  

Aiden showed me around their pool area as we were collecting ideas and advice on putting a pool in our new home. 

Catherine had also offered up her services in case we needed to be bailed out of a bind; she speaks six languages!  She had been the CEO of a local textiles company and is quite the fireball.  

It turned out to be quite the lovely introduction to a new network that Bob and I were really excited about. 

A few days later we ventured to Eymet (known as a sort of British enclave) to the Saturday market.  It had gotten near freezing and I don’t know how the vendors managed to stay warm.  Eymet doesn’t just have the charming market, it also has several stores that cater to the local British population.  We picked up “back bacon” and other British goodies to add to our pantry – Bob was in his element.  We also ran into Gil which was a welcome treat as she pointed us to the British shop and butcher.  

We warmed ourselves in a local cafe with our “deux cafe au lait, sil vous plait” that are smaller portions and more flavorful than anything you can find at Starbucks.  

Classic architecture around Eymet including a wine cave

We headed back to the car (now driving our lovely Hybrid and learning how to use the eco-mode) with our bounty.  

Now that we were in a “waiting period” for until we could take possession of our house, we filled our days with daily hikes around the hood though during the days the hunters were out we proceeded with caution; they are allowed to hunt from roughly September to February on Sundays and Wednesdays. We would see them trundling down the road in their bright orange vests and also gathered out and about with their hunting dogs.  We have seen deer, they are smaller than their American brethren, and apparently wild boar is big on the menu as well as rabbit and pheasant. 

We’ve heard the shots not far from our hiking trails and it’s especially important to maintain situational awareness after lunch when they’ve had a “few” and sometimes don’t always follow the boundary rules.  When I’ve heard shots not far away I usually hoof it back to the gite.  

Hunting is also referred to as the “chasse” and they have signs posted for areas along the country roads where you can park.  There is a real problem with the increase of wild boar in this area of France and the government even comes in to reduce their numbers.  For those interested in doing game hunting, they even have special tours!  

Part of the charm of our everyday existence includes being greeted by the owners’ dogs, especially the lovely German Sheperd.  Sometimes they all show up along with the waddling goose that apparently doesn’t like to be left out of all the excitement. As we approach the gite, we joke in anticipation of our greeting committee.  

The greeting committee, a light dusting of snow, a gorgeous bird house and a Dordogne sunrise

Some mornings we hear the horses…and the donkey and even they come occasionally to greet us, especially, it seems, when the weather is sunny.  

Life in the French countryside has proven to be insanely quiet, bordering on dull if it weren’t for the surrounding beauty of the woods and countryside. This transition is proving to be somewhat of a challenge as our muscle memory is used to so much overstimulation, exacerbated by constantly being on the move, it is now at a tug-of-war; trying to reconcile unaccustomed sensory that despairs to be overloaded. 

I remind myself that this is what I had dreamed of and recount the reasons of why I am grateful for having arrived at this moment.  Things will be less tedious once we are in the new house and getting ourselves established.  

Now that we were upon the holiday season we decided to attend the Sarlat Joyeux Fete, or Christmas Festival.  The weather had dipped into the 20’s and 30’s so while the festival was gorgeous it was a bit cold.  We discovered none of the restaurants open until 7:00 – a unwritten code we finally realized which, as we remind ourselves, is appropriately European.  We finally got settled and warmed up in La Petit Bistro with pasta and duck served with a flourish of truffle and followed by a simple gateau of apple with chantilly cream and a warming glass of Armagnac – one of the most ancient and healthy aperitifs in the world.  As upscale as this sounds, it’s standard fare here and reasonably priced.  

A festive but cold Sarlat

It was a dark and clear night and the roads back to the gite were virtually deserted – we saw four cars in total on our thirty minute commute. We also discovered a very clever act of engineering in our car; the high beams come on automatically then dim when a car passes or we enter a village.  The European cars all have automatic dimming on their vehicles in general so you are not blinded by the obscene level of headlight we have experienced in US. We keep marveling at the ingenuity of this feature every time we go out after dark.  

One clear evening we stepped outside and could see the Milky Way in all its glory; the advantage of living in rural France where you have a smattering of hamlets and the larger towns are far enough away to afford you the spectacle of dark skies.  

To further occupy our time we do a fair amount of walking and working out, reading, watching TV, practicing our French and making occasional trips to the nearby villages to run errands or explore.  Fortunately Eymet has a comprehensive book store that is like a mini “Powells” where we found a bounty of used English-language books to our liking.  

We then received our forty page escrow papers….in French and thank god for Google translate!  We were able to review the docs in English and return with any questions.  So far so good. In France they do what is called a “diagnostic.”  This is essentially the same as the home inspection in the US.  It is very comprehensive and even includes the contractors they had used for termite control (as you can imagine this is an issue with these century old homes in Europe).  We can continue to use the same services.  The property taxes are obscenely low – typically less than one thousand dollars per year and the utilities are pretty reasonable.  All in all the place is in good shape with the renovations performed as recently as 2017 with a ten year guarantee.  

The only concern we have is what is called “clay swelling.”  With climate change the clay dries out during droughts and creates structural issues on homes.  While we are in an area that is vulnerable to this issue, there haven’t been any yet that have directly affected our property. The homeowners insurance now treats this as a natural disaster and there is government funding to those structures that have been severely impacted.  Otherwise we are not vulnerable to forest fires, earthquakes or floods.  

We then took advantage of the current exchange rate and got our cash funds converted to Euros so we can transfer needed funds when it comes time to sign the papers in January.  We use “Wise” to transfer our funds and it has worked great – especially since HSBC is taking interminably long to get our French bank account open.  

We finished our Christmas shopping in Sarlat, stopping by the local cafe for a warmers – and well….all the chantilly crème was irresistible.

Christmas shopping in Sarlat followed by sugar shock

On 21 December we headed to Toulouse to fly to the UK.  The Toulouse airport is second only to CDG which is great for us as we can catch flights to anywhere in Europe for cheap from there. After what seemed like several delays and train changes we made it to the UK where we will be spending the holidays in the charming Malvern Hills area.

Grogu along for the ride!

Kathryn had the house decorated sans the tree: They had delayed purchasing the Christmas Tree until we arrived so we set out the next day to the local tree lot. The trees here are incredibly lush and similar to the Norfolk Pines in the U.S.  We reminisced about earlier Christmas Tree expeditions while they were visiting in the US – though Oliver is much bigger now!  

Messing around at the Christmas tree lot

We decorated the tree with National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation playing in the background.  It was lovely to unpack Christmas decorations that we had sent them over the years.  

Christening the tree🤶

During the week we strolled to the stores to pick up some necessities, gave the dog (Ferguson) good long walks and got ourselves settled in.  I assisted Kathryn with the Christmas dinner shopping; though the store was crowded the checkout was rather quick!  Later as we sat around the dinner table we caught up on our adventures, reverting to our familiar humorous anecdotes.

On Christmas Eve Bob and I strolled through downtown Malvern with its shops residing in old English storefronts; as the day was partly cloudy we enjoyed the accompanying views across the valley.  I helped Kathryn with the Christmas dinner prep and also mulled some wine while we spent the remainder of the day watching Christmas movies in their lovely conservatory being warmed by the fire.  

Christmas with the Family❤️

Happy Holidays!!!

November 12 – December 2 Our French Immigration: Part One – France by way of Seattle 

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We arrived in Seattle and landed at the funky downtown Kimpton Hotel. It was a good location as we were walking distance to Pike’s Market and the Piers.  The hotel sports military style paintings ranging from Jimmy Hendricks to Kelsey Grammar and free wine tasting for happy hour.

Strange Bedfellows at the Kimpton

So much had changed since I last visited the waterfront; the viaduct was no longer and much of the area has been modernized, but the smell and feel of the area is eternal; the play of smoked salmon on my senses and the elixir of big sky, the bay, the stir of oceanic breezes that are unmistakably Seattle.  

We spent Sunday afternoon on the Seattle Waterfront catching up with my brother and sister-in-law, Duane and MaryJo, and browsing through some of my childhood haunts such as “Ye Old Curiosity Shop” down at the pier. 

Checking out old childhood haunts with the family

We then had lunch at the Edgewater where we were married back in 1996! We scored a table with a view; the sun shot diamonds across the bay with Mt. Rainier’s unmistakable silhouette in the background.  

The same fireplace we did photo shoots at during the wedding reception

The following day, which was our final full day in the U.S., was spent visiting with the Leingangs who treated us to lunch at the Athenian. We then traced the “Sleepless in Seattle” nostalgia as we wandered through the Pike’s Place Market.  We were blessed to have fantastic weather and views of the Olympics across the bay.  

Ahh the memories

Back at the hotel, we packed up our bags (too many, but we were relocating after all!) and headed for the Crowne Plaza at SeaTac, performing one final sort of our “stuff.” This was followed by a trip to Redmond for a farewell dinner with Duane and MaryJo; a wonderful home cooked meal of pork stew and cornbread to send us off.  We bid our final farewells, which would be our last in the U.S. with the understanding they would come and visit us in France.  

It was all so very bittersweet.  

We drove back through downtown Seattle with its iconic skyline, lit up like a constellation against the night sky – the Space Needle refusing to be overshadowed by the unrelenting progress.  

It has been a great way to end our residency in the States; I was born in Seattle and would be departing to another life from there.

The next morning we headed for the airport, where our plane was unfortunately delayed but it didn’t really matter; we had a direct flight to Paris and plenty of time to get to Orleans for our first night stay. 

The flight was delightful as we had upgraded to Delta Comfort and it wasn’t too full.  When we landed, we breezed through passport control to get our Visas stamped and voila!  We are now feet down in our new country.  

We picked up our luggage (lots of bags so that was an experience by itself), but did not need to stop in customs which was rather odd, and the airport wasn’t crowded at all.  As we waited for our luggage, we swapped out our SIM cards which got us immediately onto the French cell “Orange” network, then proceeded to Avis which was across the street (all so simple!!).  We took off for Orleans, just south of Paris.  As it turned out the navigation in the Peugeot we rented was tragically incompetent and had us meandering through the back streets of Paris instead of taking their “freeways.”  After an hour of sheer frustration we popped up Google Maps and we were soon on our way; glad to be out of the Parisian gridlock where it seemed the traffic signs were simply a suggestion.

Orleans is the home of Joan of Arc sporting a large statue in a rather posh square.  It had been raining and the street lights reflected a painterly glow against the historically crafted buildings. This area is the hub of Orleans and was pristine with an upscale flair to it.  Much to my surprise, they were setting up for Christmas and lovely displays in the works.  I had thought they didn’t start any Christmas activities until a few weeks before.

Cool architecture and art in Orleans

As we were tired, we settled in for a simple meal of stew and then registered our visas online that as is customary. The French system wasn’t entirely clear but we powered through it; we are now officially residents – not yet permanent but that’s our eventual goal.  We soon found ourselves fast asleep around 9:00. 

The next morning we strolled around the gorgeous avenues but were anxious to get to our BNB in the Dordogne; it would be a seven hour drive. After a few hours on the road we stopped off in Limoges (yes – home of the famous ceramics) where we started seeing all the culinary delights such as truffles and Foie Gras courtesy of the verdant Dordogne Valley. When we reached the valley, the roads began to unfold into the dreamlike landscape with stone farmhouses and the occasional chateau – the countryside we had been pining for.  

We stopped by the supermarket (Carrefour) in Sarlat to pick up necessary items; it’s difficult not to linger as grocery shopping in France is a whole new experience! But  had been a long day and we at least had some necessities for the BNB (called a “gite” in France). 

We reached our gite, just outside the small hamlet of Prats du Perigord, and were greeted by the lovely Aurelia who spoke little English so we reverted to our very practiced sign language. The gite was a converted tobacco barn; much like the last one we stayed in last September. It had all the amenities we could hope for plus two bedrooms – one we would be using for storage that would also double as our “kitchen pantry” for the goods we had shipped from the US via special carrier. 

I had been working with realtors for several weeks prior to our arrival and we had our first viewing on Friday – the next day!  The house we visited was lovely; a classic French Country home complete with a pool in the peaceful countryside – the problem was that it needed way too much work as the owners had “let it go” and the roof was in desperate need of repair.  Repairing roofs in France is not cheap and no small feat; these are tiled roofs specific to the region – you can’t just slap on the usual roofing materials you see in the U.S.  Some of the quotes we had seen were upwards to 60,000 euros.  

We departed the viewing and went to the Leclerc Hypermarket – think of it as one of the larger Fred Meyer’s but with better food options😍 Including two long mind-boggling refrigerator rows dedicated to yogurt.  The wine and alcohol section takes up a good fifth of the area (of course!). Many of the options are organic and the vegetable section is a display of commercial and locally grown produce. 

We found the “Demi-lait” which is their version of half and half – organic and creamy – just lovely.  

The baking area was an array of fresh baguettes (the basis of the French diet) and an incredible display of artfully crafted tarts and donuts – or as they say in New Orleans “beignets.” They even had a boutique tea section that had Lapsang Souchong which is difficult to find in the markets in the U.S.  

What a delight it all was!

But when we tried to check out we got an earful from the cashier that thankfully a bilingual customer clarified that we weren’t allowed to take our small rolling cart through the checkout area;  ah ha!! So no one will steal them I guess, but this area was pretty middle class and we hadn’t seen any homeless at all.  They also have a clever system where you have to put euros in to “rent” a large shopping cart – when you return it it gives you the euros back.  

The French are very conservative if not downright chic even when running simple errands.  It was a lot like Japan; no sweat pants or sportswear – usually jeans and a jacket and in many cases well matched leggings and sweaters.  And a lovely scarf.  

After that experience we decided to torture ourselves further – we then decided to venture out to a home goods store which was a hodge-podge of crafts mixed in with furniture and decorating.  We found some Christmas paper hoping to ship items back home if we can ever find boxes and figure out the postal system here.  

We then stumbled into “Boulanger” that was next door (curiosity kills the cat) that turned out to be an appliance store with a lovely KitchenAid Artisan Mixer on a Black Friday sale – bingo!  This was our first new edition for our forever-home; and a handy appliance for making bread in the meantime.

We headed back through La Roque Gageac (where the homes are built into the cliffs) which was practically shuttered as it was the end of the tourist season, but it was achingly lovely just the same.  We are looking forward to hikes and picnicking in this area come spring and summer!  

We survived our drive back to the BNB, having had some experiences with the manic French drivers who are thankfully not too much in abundance on the otherwise quiet country roads.

Thankfully Saturday was a break day and we headed to the Sarlat Saturday Market where we indulged in some Foie Gras, picked up vegetables and duck (duck is like chicken in France, lower fat and healthier!).  We had coffee at a bar near the historic center where they were playing American rock music.  Whatever the French say about Americans, our influence is everywhere – much like the French influence in America.  

The Saturday Market in Sarlat

We spent Sunday getting organized and exploring the neighborhood.  We heard the church bells go off as we meandered around the village. We were still adjusting to the dark and the quiet; something we rarely experienced even when we were traveling in our RV.  

We spent most of the following week motoring for hours all over the Dordogne looking for houses.  Though we marveled at the countryside we were getting understandably exhausted.  On Thursday morning (Thanksgiving Day) we visited a home that based on the photos we weren’t entirely set on.  It was a bit further south in the Lot et Garonne but still part of the Dordogne Valley. 

When we arrived we were completely taken with the architecture which is known as “Colombage.”  It had an English Tudor feel to it but with whitewash throughout.  These are known as “timber homes” with a unique style; very light and airy. The house is a few miles outside the “Beaux Village” of Villereal known for its Saturday Market that has been around for centuries.  This area also boasts some of the largest assortment of stunning villages and is a half hour to Bergerac which is a main hub for getting major appliances, furniture, groceries et.al and has a small airport for local flights.  Just far enough away to not be disturbed by any city hub-bub.  

Our New Home!!!!!

We are also just southeast of Bordeaux as an alternate flying route and we will look forward to exploring🍷

More info on the region for those wanting to know:

https://www.francethisway.com/regions/lot-et-garonne.php

The main house has 4 bedrooms and two bathrooms, one with a tub (yeah!), the huge dining room/lounge also called a “Sejour.” The kitchen is new but we will need to retrofit into our own style. There is a cellar that holds the oil heating (hoping to change that as well but it’s pretty prevalent wherever you go).

The property encompasses nearly an acre surrounded by farmland that rotates sunflowers and wheat…I try to imagine sitting on the terrace overlooking fields of sunflowers.  The country road is quiet and dark – except for the occasional truck and mad driver.  We would need to install a pool which is well within our budget.  

The veranda is east facing so we get the morning sun and the afternoon shade as we anticipate it getting hot in the summertime which is standard for this region.

Happy Hour will never be the same – ahhhh

The gite is a beautifully converted barn – what an added and stunning bonus.  We left with a lot to think about.  

We had planned to roast a duck for Thanksgiving (our first away from the states), but wound up in the Sarlat Renault dealership, buying a lovely Renault Captur Hybrid and didn’t get back home until late.  We went with a new build that was sitting on a lot not far away as the used models weren’t much cheaper, and the other dealers weren’t as accommodating.  We scored as I had been pining for one with gold accents and voila!  It magically appeared. 

Renault Captur Hybrid – what a cutie

The purchasing process involved a go-between interpreter/sales agent as the primary agent, the charming Enzo, didn’t speak much English. Adam, our interpreter liked practicing his English so we were extremely lucky. This went back and forth for two hours until we finally got the papers signed and agreed on a delivery date.  Our next step was to get the funds transferred from the US to the Renault bank via international transfer.  This became rather involved as Bank of America required two factor identity and we had just switched our phones over to France. Bob popped his Verizon SIM back into his phone so we could muddle through the process. 

On our way home we discussed the house and asked to see it again on Friday.  

For dinner we settled on a simple salad and FaceTime with Duane and MaryJo.  We were visibly exhausted but happy to connect with relatives on such an important holiday.  

On Friday we ventured back to the prospective house and after further viewing, photographing and discussion we decided this really was the place for us.  All the boxes checked off and most everything fell into place on our wish list (not everything like a water well for example, but we can manage around that and add a pool).  Luckily, the Mairie was in (the local mayor) and we reviewed our plans with them by way of our French-speaking realtor.  He confirmed no problem on the pool and additional solar panels as well as a carport – we were ready to rock.  We made the offer that afternoon and it was accepted and signed over the weekend.  We got such a deal on it as the owner had bought another property and needed the proceeds to move.  We had the added benefit that homes in this region outside the heavily touristed areas can sit on the market for months even during a hot real estate market.

The process will take a while as we need clearance from the local agricultural committee that they don’t wish to buy the property; we are located in farming territory and it’s highly regulated.  Then we go through the usual French process using a “notaire,” much like an escrow agent that may got a bit speedier as we are paying cash.  The realtor let us know that we could actually obtain possession of the house by the end of January which would be a delight.  

What a week it had been!! We purchased a car and a home, all meeting and or exceeding our expectations😍

On Saturday, we did some more reconnaissance of the area not far from our forever-home, including the lovely Saturday Market in Villereal where we sat and had coffee – watching the world go by.  There are no drive-through Starbucks or the like here; you basically sit down for a chat and respite at the cafes.  On a sunny day people just bundle up as the preference is to sit outdoors.  When the sun is out it becomes pleasantly warm.

We will soon be regulars – note our new french shopping basket

The next challenge was getting our funds moved into Euros. On Monday and we had the accounts prepped and by Thursday Morgan Stanley had our funds in an international account ready for conversion to Euros at our signal. In the meantime we will keep an eye out for the fluctuating dollar to work in our favor.

For the car purchase we wound up using an international transfer service known as WISE, but it takes a few days for the transfers to push through and they sometimes ask for more backup info. The money arrived in time to the Renault dealership for us to pick up our new baby on Friday.  Whew!!

Additionally, once we get our French HSBC checkbook and cards (we have been waiting for six weeks) then we will eventually shut down B of A as it’s too much of a hassle managing funds overseas; they do not allow international phone numbers for two-factor ID which makes navigating their systems that much more difficult. 

In the meantime we can set up direct debits through WISE to pay for incidentals through euros so we can manage the exchange rate as the dollar possibly weakens.  

Sigh…we now had time to check out the area around our gite by way of the “groomed” trails sporting old farmhouses and châteaus.  Such a different pace and environment from our haunts in Portland.  

Prats du Perigord – just down the hill from us

On a sunny day on Friday December 1 we collected our new wheels, headed to Bergerac to drop off the rental and kicked around the city for a few hours; celebrating our good fortune at finding our new forever home as well.  

Proud New Owners!

In the meantime, our other challenges included the switch from Amazon US to France.  We finally got it transferred but we were required to buy the French Prime membership and then let our US membership expire.  Somehow this messed up the app on our phones and it started to show up as Amazon India (it’s these quirky things that you spend your time troubleshooting). After deleting and reinstalling the app we were back in the French app – which does not have English as an option😂. Even the translation options choke on some of the pages.  Then we get on and off French speaking US programming on our Prime Video.

But we concluded that it’s a great way to get to learn your French – when your forced to do shopping in a foreign language!

Then to add to this goat rodeo, I kept getting notifications from Amazon that our shipments had been delayed or aborted.  It turns out they use La Poste (which would make sense as that is the primary French postal service) but we were mystified that our goods were sitting literally five miles away and they couldn’t seem to find the gite. 

Then miraculously… Mon Dieu!!! Amazon showed up with all of our goods at once; I suspect they delay and consolidate shipments in remote areas to economize on trips.  It was like Christmas (but not really but just as exciting) as we opened the boxes and retrieved items we couldn’t find locally – things like calcium supplements, psyllium powder, meat thermometer and a new blender that was cheaper on Amazon than at the local appliance stores🤷‍♀️

Alas, after all this international intrigue, we were now entering the “dead zone” going from a frantic pace to “what do we do today” 😒

Well…there is still plenty to do: Make new friends (in progress), work out, hike, do our French lessons, make healthy meals with our new appliances, go on day trips to cool-looking villages, explore the local markets, figure out how the Captur works using a French car manual — things like that.  Oh yeah, and I have to go to battle at La Poste to navigate their overseas shipping system – I needed to fill out an online customs form apparently – assuming you can find it which I eventually did and then you need to visit the post office and see if you got it right or if they throw you another curve.

Suffice it to say, even though we have made exceptional progress on our goals thus far, navigating some of the quirks in France can be understandably exhausting – as we were warned!

For those familiar with my past know that I’ve had a difficult life and I think it prepared me to meet these challenges; turning adversity to my advantage – if I can survive what I have then I can get through these current challenges. I am equally grateful that I am getting established in a new dream life – more than I could have ever hoped for.

Likewise, I’m thankful for the downtime – it’s been a particularly busy year that we will close out with family in the UK🇬🇧

October 1 – November 12 Portland, Oregon…The Long Goodbye 

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A long post for a long goodbye.  After living in Portland, Oregon since 1994 we bid our final farewell.  Despite the scars of recent years, this city has an enduring charm; it is a lovely place to behold and the Oregon landscapes are unparalleled.  

We started off the next leg of our transition by putting BigB into storage, feeling fortunate to land Debbie and Mike’s beautiful home again with a separate apartment downstairs; they were away on vacation so the timing was perfect and we got to take care of their gorgeous kitties.  We spent the first weekend divesting BigB of all our “stuff” as we had a buyer looking at her on Monday.  That turned out to be more than we bargained for; we wound up with several boxes packed up in our friend’s garage.  To top off this challenge, we needed to pull items we would need for interim time in France; what we called the “transition box.”  We had to think through our situation; after we buy a house in France it will take about three months for our things to be shipped over; we can’t store our container in France as it’s expensive and they will also charge us duty.  So we are taking a few necessities with us; fortunately we have no appliances to worry about and can buy all new when we get there.  While we’ll be living rather minimalistic for a while, we can start getting things done around the new property. 

After we purged and did the final cleaning on BigB, we drove her down to Dundee where we met a pleasant woman by the name of Robin who fell in love with the rig.  She had her “RV Guy” inspect her and she came through with flying colors.  Robin wrote us a check for a down payment and will collect BigB towards the end of October when she is back from Costa Rica.  

We were elated to have found a good home for the RV, especially to someone who had plenty of experience RVing and who would take good care of her. 

We headed back and finished sorting through all our “stuff” as we needed to clear out the garage before our friends got back from vacation; we were essentially blocking their cars!  Fortunately the weather was warm and the seasonal rains hadn’t yet arrived. 

After we went through the laborious process of sifting through our things, we took the boxes back to the rig for storage.  Fortunately the RV storage facility is close to Chipman (our international shippers).

While all this was happening our Long Term French Visa’s arrived – quicker than we had figured and we breathed a sigh of relief!  We had in the back of our minds that with the French bureaucracy being what it is, that we may have slipped up somewhere.  Now we had to wrap our heads around the idea that this was for real!!! 

I visited my dear friend Rolia from Liberia who had a lovely African style birthday party!  She is a local celebrity who is known as the “Dancing Lady” and is seen frequently at Blazer games and performances with her African Children’s Dance Troupe. 

My friend Rolia still has the moves!

We then had a lovely dinner with my Chinese friend Lin and her family who I also went on a subsequent hike with later in the week. We were also treated to a fabulous curry dinner with dear friends Jim and KC, Terrence and Ashlee and her parents in Lake Oswego – it’s been a bit of moveable feast!

Between all the grazing, Bob and I continued to wrap up our final doctor visits and prescriptions to hold us over until we roll over into the French healthcare system; this included getting the latest Covid booster and flu shot.  We apply for our Carte de Sejour post arrival and we should have our medical cards in about three months. This allows us to roll into the French healthcare system – we still need to get top off insurance for the 30% they won’t cover until we are Permanente residents, but even with that it is generally cheaper than the U.S. with better medical coverage.

We also had to take BigB in for repairs in Sandy, Oregon and decided to visit Timberline Lodge up on Mt. Hood since it was on the way.  It was busier than we thought and there were plenty of hikers on the mountain; we even saw a few with heavy backpacks ready to do some overnight camping on the Pacific Crest Trail.  The temperature was insanely perfect, but tragically Mt. Hood was mostly devoid of snow; we usually come up to Timberline for snowshoeing and it was a revelatory experience to see all the exposed hiking trails. For those not in the know, the exterior of Timberline Lodge was featured in the movie “The Shining” with Jack Nicholson; that gives you an idea of how much snow piles up around the Lodge.  It is stunning when they’ve had a fresh coating of powder and the weather clears – it truly defines a winter wonderland.  

On our way back we took the route through Hood River and down the Columbia Gorge.  We stopped at Multnomah Falls for coffee and to take in the scenery. Because we have lived here since 1994 we had never bothered to pick up any souvenirs; well we got magnets at Mt. Hood and one for the falls to complete our collection!  

Multnomah Falls

The last piece of heavy lifting was completing the setup of our French HSBC Account that required a visit to Seattle on October 14 to sign off on the paperwork.  It’s not that simple to just go to France and open up an account; the US international tax laws are such that the French banks don’t want to do any reporting on these bothersome American tax requirements. We had heard that other Americans had set their accounts up in the U.S. with HSBC (who don’t have an issue with the tax reporting).  Once we power through this one last challenge, we will be able to seamlessly draw our funds from the US to France which is important as we need to buy a car right away and put down earnest money on a house.

I had to collect paperwork from my brother as we are using his address for residency purposes, so logistically it turned out to be a lot of running around as he lives in Redmond.  We then completed our paperwork in downtown Seattle that turned out to be a pretty seamless process. Thank God!  But now we wait for several weeks – argh. 

After completing the paperwork, we booked into our hotel and relaxed; this was the last piece of the elaborate puzzle that was our transition to France.  I had also gotten news from Chipman – our international shipper – that they had found my misplaced luggage we had instructed them to set aside for us when we returned to Portland.  

We had a lovely dinner with my bother and sister-in-law and visited their new kittens that were – of course – adorable.  MaryJo (my sister-in-law) made a great statement:  “It  has taken a village to get you guys to France.” What a perfect way to describe this whole adventure! 

Upon returning to Portland, we departed our friend’s house and relocated to an Airbnb in St. John’s – our old hood.  The rent was cheaper than other areas, and we we were in walking distance to town including a theater and restaurants.  

We busied ourselves with further purging and organizing on what we needed to consume from the RV and pack for one final drop off to Chipman.  When Robin returned from Costa Rica we dropped BigB off; it was a misty farewell as we pondered the epic journey she had taken us on.   

We spent an afternoon visiting friends Kevin and Chris out by Camas, Washington and got in some kayaking- the water levels were amazingly low😩

We then paid a final visit to the St. John’s Farmer’s Market before they closed down for the season. I always loved the flowers and collected them weekly during the spring, summer and then glorious dahlias in the fall.

St. Johns Farmers Market

Back to the final housekeeping; we set about getting our marriage and birth certificates translated to French in anticipation of them requiring these documents for various reasons as we established ourselves as permanent residents. We also got our international driver’s licenses that are good for a year once we arrive; we will need to have our official French licenses before they expire.

We then found the equivalent of Carmax in France so we will be able to get a slightly used Renault Captur Hybrid SUV not long after we arrive (thank god as the car rental fees are steep).  We decided on this model to keep the gas prices down and as they are manufactured locally keeping the cost of ownership low.  They are pretty vehicles.  

We purchased  an Amazon Firestick and a VPN (NORD VPN) so we can continue to watch our favorite streaming channels; the VPN will give us a U.S. IP address.  This VPN works better with the Amazon Firestick and we have been using it with no problems so far.  We won’t retire our ROKU but it will be require the VPN to be installed on the router so we will wait until we get settled in our new home.  

I also got a SIM card for France that covers Europe and even texting to the U.S.  – it’s through the French Orange network in France and we simply need to swap cards when we land in Paris and we’re off to the races with a new number.  

We filled our time catching up with friends and also visited one of our favorite haunts:  The Portland Japanese Gardens.  I used to be a photo member there and it was nice to just bide my time without any distractions; walking around in a zen-like trance, enjoying all the beauty these gardens have to offer; it has been hailed as the most authentic Japanese garden outside of Japan.  We stopped in the Umami Cafe for tea pairings and some Miso.  The Roasted Green Tea (Hojicha) is absolutely to die for and the best I’ve had since we were in Japan.  Though I order it off Amazon, it never seems to taste like the type I had in Kyoto.  

We then headed off to the coast and were welcomed with a beautiful day. We browsed though Astoria and then onto Cannon Beach – one of my favorite coastal towns with galleries and an array of shops complete with a walk along the famous Haystack Rock.   

Fall arrived with a bang including a washed-out Halloween; we had planned to walk around the neighborhood and enjoy the kitsch and kids trick-or treating, but found ourselves huddling into our dry abode instead.

Witches in Astoria!
Cannon Beach

One afternoon I walked to the St. John’s bridge during a break in the weather; there wasn’t a soul to be had in Cathedral Park – it was as if this moment was set aside especially for me. I was given the space to contemplate the passage of time and all I had endured up to this moment.  This time I felt an epic balance as the flaming maples protested the graying horizon and I felt at peace – it was a resolute peace. I took in the view of the cascading portal and the massive pylons that many times descended into the fog of the unknown.  This is a place I have immortalized on film – before photography was tsunamied by the digital era.  

Cathedral Park, St. Johns Bridge

Then came the grand idea of tattoos – I have wanted one for years and now was my chance.  Then Bob decided he wanted one too. 

I settled on Ganesh, with the Aum symbol in a Mandala. The image was poetically rendered on the back of my arm that will supposedly be less prone to wrinkles.  I have a fondness for elephants having logged over 160 miles on these lovely pachyderms through India and Nepal.  Ganesh symbolizes the removal of obstacles and I have carried him with me throughout my journeys.  For me, this move to France is a chance to reboot spiritually; I am no longer constrained by anyone else’s idea of what or who I should be.  There has already been a lot of unraveling from my cult conditioning and surrounding myself in a beautiful countryside and immersing myself in a rural culture that celebrates life as art will be – I hope – a transcending experience. 

Then the fall storms arrived with a bang, whipping the trees to and fro, scratching the surface with a desire to break in – it’s gotten pretty loud.  It reminds me of Wuthering Heights though I don’t know what restless spirit such as Cathy would want to be bothering with me.  I’ve been bothered enough already!  

And then the inevitable happened and the power went out; the place we are staying is all electric including the induction stove so we were pretty much stranded with our devices running out of battery.  Since the power wasn’t set to be back on four or five hours we decided to hit the local pub for some grub.  The cider flights turned out to be pretty big! 

The power eventually came back on and the weather cleared the next day so we headed to the coast with our friend Rolia.  We visited the Bronze Gallery in Cannon Beach not realizing that they had sold actual bronzes of Rolia in the past; asI mentioned earlier, she is a bit of local celebrity and is known as the “PDX Dancing Lady,”  – artists including myself have been enamored with her beauty. 

Sista Rolia!

I bought a couple of stunning pendants from Robert Rogers – they reminded me of Bill Worrell’s work and when I mentioned this to him he said he was a good friend of Bill’s up until he passed on.  Robert was apparently showing his pieces at the Worrell Gallery in Santa Fe but I somehow missed those – I’m grateful I made the connection here in Oregon.  Serendipity – what a small world!!  

Robert Rogers Bronze Pendant

We then chowed down on seafood and topped of the day with ice cream.  It turned out to be a fabulous day all around.  

As we headed into our final week, we explored local sites such as the Lan Su Chinese gardens that was inspired by the famous Chinese Gardens in Suzhou; we had visited China back in 2005 and this ancient wonder is a site to behold; canals run through the city and it’s been called the “Venice of China.”

We were otherwise filling days with long walks, visiting friends, dealing with French real estate agents, catching up on movies at an actual theater, getting haircuts and pedicures.  Oh, and surviving three power outages in St. John’s. 

We spent a fair amount of time looking at French real estate in the Dordogne. I soon realized that the French system is pretty different from the American one; there is no one aggregate system such as MLS like we have here in the states.  As a result you need to dig around different sites and engage realtors so you have a fighting chance to get what you want.  

Thus far I have four agents and seven properties scheduled for viewing once we arrive.  It is going to be quite the adventure finding a dream home and it will be like Christmas when all of our goods finally arrive at their final destination!  

After what seemed liked forever, the day of our departure finally arrived; we loaded our bags and bid a bittersweet farewell to Oregon as we drove across the Interstate Bridge into Washington one last time.

We will spend our final days in the U.S. in Seattle visiting my brother and sister-in-law before boarding our flight to Paris on November 15th.

As I contemplate the intense sweep of change we have experienced throughout this year, and the commentary from our friends who admire our ambitious goals and travels, I reflect on a concept I learned in Japan:

Mono No Aware

Appreciate the moment, because the beauty experienced in it will never be the same. It will pass. It will end. And that is okay because as life changes, new beauty, perhaps of a different kind, will arrive. Every season the cherry blossoms die. But every year, they come back to, once again, coat the streets in their ethereal and incomparable demise.

September 21-30 Sonoma to Portland – wrapping up an Epic Journey

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We arrived in Santa Rosa, mooch-docking off our friend Peter who has been a west coast mainstay throughout this journey.  It was a busy time as we had deep cleaning to do on the rig, readying it for prospective buyers back in Portland.  The weather was hot but mellowed out after a few days. 

On a foggy Sunday morning we woke up before dawn (we haven’t done that since we retired 😜), and headed for Old World Vineyards Winery to partake in the annual harvest and crush.  It was cold! After being briefed on how to harvest grapes we headed out to the heart of the Russian River Valley to their vineyard next to the famous Gallo Estates.  We parked up in a lovely grove of Redwoods with another fifteen or so folks along with the extremely industrious LatinX workers, got our gloves and clippers and walked through an apple orchard into the vines.  

Vineyards in the fog

The size of the clusters were amazing.  Unfortunately, due to the recent storms that had pummeled us on Highway 1, some of the larger clusters inside the vines had molded.  I spent time surgically removing these offenders, and the smell of the rot was certainly pervasive – in a wine grape sort of way.  After a couple of hours the sun began to break, and the hills and forests began to open up.  Being Sunday, and that we were out in the vineyards, it was pretty peaceful.  

The LatinX were like machines, plowing through the vines with precision.  They ranged from young to middle-aged.  I can’t fathom them doing this all day; we witnessed them picking the crops, mostly strawberries as we motored up from Santa Cruz.  

Being at ground zero at these agricultural centers is seriously eye-opening.  It’s not something you witness on a regular tour and you gain such an appreciation for the horrendous amount of thought and work that brings food to our tables.  

At Old World Wines the process is organic and they age the wine in neutral barrels.  After finishing up and peeling off layers of clothing, we journeyed back to the winery for a great Mexican lunch; we had huge burritos!!  The weather had warmed into the high 60’s with a pleasant breeze and inviting sun.  We tasted a few vintages processed from the same vines we had just picked; we opted for the Rose’ and Merlot – so tasty and Bob can drink both!

After getting slightly buzzed from the tastings, they set up the containers so we could do some good old fashioned crushing!  Well, it was an interesting experience that was purely performative; the grapes were cold as we had picked the grapes after they had been sitting in fifty-degree weather most of the night.  But we crushed all the same so we can honestly say we did the heavy lifting of what goes into wine making🍷🍇

Crushing it in Sonoma!

After working since the crack of dawn for several hours; stooping, bending and twisting, we wound up flaking out for the rest of the afternoon.  I was fine with that as Monday was a big day and we need to prep emotionally for the upcoming French Visa Interview. 

On Monday we toodled down to San Francisco, passing over the Golden Gate Bridge that was emerging from the fog.  The bridge was symbolic in a way, as we passed from this stage of our life to another.  We arrived in plenty of time for our appointments with HSBC (for opening up a US and French Bank Account) and then off to the Visa Processing Center. 

After finishing a smooth transaction with the bank, we grabbed a quick snack and then headed for the Visa Center – it’s actually VFS Global; they act as a broker for the French Consulate.  We were crammed into a small room with other applicants, some ranging from Portugal to the Netherlands and awaited our turn.  The desks that the processing agents sat at were tiny with only room for one chair and Bob had no choice but to stand behind me.  We gave them more documentation than what was required partly because we had been given advice for the helpline and other blogs on what to expect.  I was glad for it as other folks hadn’t made photo copies of their passport pages or thought their travel insurance would cover the requirements (it doesn’t – you have to pay for the more expensive coverage such as Cigna for actual full health insurance) resulting in denial of their application at the get-go.  We breathed a sigh of relief as the agent took our fingerprints and photos and we were on our way. 

We had one last dinner with Peter that evening, packed up the RV and bid a fond farewell; he had been a much-needed stop for us as we approached the end of our trip. 

We set out for McKinleyville the next morning, past the now dry rolling hills that were a lush green the last time we passed through here.   

We decided to stop at, you guessed it, our favorite spot, the Founders Grove in the Redwoods National Forest, for tea.

Teatime at Founders Grove

This was Grogu’s third time in the Redwoods; for Shoeless and Bob Jr. it was the first.  Grogu has been with us on this entire journey, having lost Dave at the Grand Canyon😥 

We were lucky to find an RV leaving as we arrived and gladly slid into their slot. We stepped outside with our tea and soaked in the atmosphere; I fantasized of having a log cabin with a large porch nestled in this grove, where I would sit for hours, in a tranquil respite, listening to their stories. 

We had been there in late winter and early spring when it was cold and damp; it was now early fall, with sentimental shafts of light breaking through an emperious embrace.  The dry, temperate air filled my lungs; the forest perfume swelled around me that I longed to capture in a forever memory.  The drying needles softened our footfalls as we got lost in our revelry.  And we literally got turned around!  But you didn’t find us complaining as we meandered through the grove, swiveling our heads to and fro as we finally made our way back to the rig. 

Memories don’t define the Redwoods very well; I still find myself in awe as they emerge from the forest proper, an astonishing contrast to human frailty.  They are not defined simply by a singular grove, but by an ancient ecosystem that lies deep in the heart of us all. Here we become true-to-nature, if even for a fleeting moment in time.  I am glad they have been preserved for all to explore, and that they inspire the human race of their importance; that they will continue to endure for centuries to come. 

We can only hope.

The next day, we left the Widow White RV Park and headed for the coast.  I wouldn’t recommend this park, it is a bit rundown and you only pay in cash, but it sufficed for a quick overnight, and heck, it seems like we’ve run the gamut on this journey! 

We journeyed through the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, it was rainy and misty which only added to the atmosphere.  The weather finally broke, revealing stellar blue skies along Northern California and Southern Oregon Coast.  The wind wasn’t as fierce as it was in the spring and the temperature was certainly manageable. 

We hooked up at the Turtle Bay RV Resort at Gold Beach in the same spot we had in the spring.  We took a leisurely walk along the beach with its thundering surf, a stark contrast to what was hitting Florida. We felt so fortunate that the weather cooperated during our trip; we were concerned about hurricanes as we headed south, but August was void of any activity which was pretty unprecedented.  

Southern Oregon Coast

We watched in horror as Ian decimated south western Florida where some of my relatives live (who are now safe), but I can’t imagine what people will have to deal with in the aftermath as they pick up the pieces.  If we saw that sucker coming across our path, we would have aborted and avoided the Gulf Coast altogether on our way back to New Mexico.  

While we ogle at the treasures Mother Nature has blessed us with, she will equally remind us of her wrath – striking a balance we humans continue to disrupt.  

I slept hard, I suppose from the beach walk and ocean air. 

We took a morning stroll on the beach, it was calm and devoid of any people; only our tracks were apparent in the sand. 

When I looked back, I thought about our adventures, even with so much planning, we didn’t know what to expect, grateful that it turned out so well.  

We packed up and headed for Waldport; our last night in the rig🥲😘. Yeah, it’s an inanimate object, but she has taken us through such an incomparable epic adventure it will be hard saying goodbye.  

Misty Morning at Turtle Bay RV Park

We then headed up the coast via the 101 – one of my favorite haunts; the mist was thick and the coastal pines emerged like crooked wizards, bent and twisted, savaged by the merciless coastal winds.  The oceanic fog created a cataract over the mind’s eye, causing one to take the winding curves with caution.   

Then we approached Cape Perpetua – even the name evokes a sense of romanticism.  The immensity of this place isn’t truly captured with names such as “Devil’s Churn,” or “Cook’s Chasm.”  These conventions are an attempt to classify something that needs to be experienced first-hand; and one must get soaked to truly experience its wrath.  If Poseidon could spit fire he would have done so, content to have unburdened himself in the process of creation, then soaking his masterpiece with a thundering tidal wave.  

When not smothered by the approaching tide, Thors Well sits in obscurity until such a time as the tide breaches its edges before sliding into oblivion.  Get too close and you could become one with Davy Jones’ Locker.  The Well is an anomaly that requires a fair amount of patience and photographic skill to capture.  I have, back when I was a more serious photographer, spent time wrestling this beast through my lens; I did not come away particularly dry, but was victorious all the same.  

Thors Well – Cape Perpetua

We passed through Florence where I spent many summers with my extended family at nearby Mercer Lake.  I wanted one last A&W fix at the classic drive-in on the main drag and I was not disappointed.  After gorging ourselves one last time, we landed in Waldport at the KOA with a nice view of the bridge. 

View from the Waldport KOA

The fog came and went, but at least the rain dissipated and allowed us to get out for a walk.  Then we settled in for our final night in BigB.  

We woke to an elixir of coastal perfume mixed with dense forest; you breathe it in but you can’t get enough – if it was a drug I would be an addict!  This sensory combination I have not yet experienced anywhere else and will be missed. 

We had traveled 27,318 miles since February 20th, through snow, heat, frost heaves and flooding to witness some of the most stunning landscapes in North America.

It’s been a helluva ride!

September 14 – 20 From the Desert to the Sea

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We finished our stint in Arizona with an overnight in Lake Havasu overlooking the London Bridge.  We stayed at a hotel once again due to the heat.  Lake Havasu really does look like an oasis in the desert, populated mostly by retirees as we soon discovered. The water levels were quite good considering it was fed by the Colorado River which seems to be under constant threat due to drought.  The London Bridge is quite something when you think that it was reconstructed brick by brick at this location.  

The London Bridge

We woke up to a toasty 82 degrees and decided to get out for a walk early.  We strolled along the esplanade as the sun rose, passing a touching tribute to the queen and other gift shops and restaurants.  

The next morning we headed out to Barstow; there isn’t much in this area and the Mojave National Reserve had been flooded out by monsoons (much like Death Valley) so we couldn’t swing by there for a look-see. I did find a feature near Barstow called the Rainbow Basin with colorful rock formations that reminded me of the Artist Palette in Death Valley. We decided that would be a fun geological adventure to hike, but we soon discovered that that road had been flooded out as well🌊

We decided to pack it in and went to the hotel.  We had plenty to do with prepping BigB for sale, and other logistics related to our impending move to France.  

The next morning we embarked to Bakersfield where we would spend the night at the Orange Grove RV Park.  We stopped by a rest stop to clown around the Joshua Trees, and then drove through Tehachapi which was now brown, quite the contrast of the rolling green hills of our spring jaunt through this region.  

The Boys

Our stop over in Bakersfield this time was a bit different from our stay in the spring when we were surrounded by the heady scent of orange blossoms; there were now oranges on the trees, mostly green, and the temperature was a manageable 83 degrees.  

I sat amongst the orange trees until the sun faded, enveloped by the cooling breeze – there were no ponds here to reflect upon, only what I had brought with me as I pondered the last legs of our trip; the thunderstorms I was so fond of that came in multiples while in Sedona, were now behind me.   

The last strokes of the summer sun was now slipping past the fading fields, no longer in sway as we cross over from the solstice to the equinox of charitable memories.  In the aftermath of a desert glow, my pupils, thankfully, no longer felt fazed by the sun.  I watched the breeze as it ran its fingers through the trees, teasing the leaves as they turned to gold.  The idea of autumn was upon us.  

The next day we arrived at the California coast, specifically Morro Bay. I hadn’t seen my leggings and sweatshirts since we boondocked across the Columbia Icefields in  mid-June.  Thinking back on the early stage of this adventure it seems so long ago!  We were staying at a small RV Park, it was more like a space attached to an Airbnb that had a cabin and across from that full hookups for our rig.

It was rather cold and windy as we went for an evening walk on the beach; I can never inhale enough of the effervescent Pacific breeze.  We built a fire and roasted marshmallows then slumbered in the dark and quiet, only interrupted by the occasional calls of the nearby seals and then an owl.  

The next morning we strolled along the beach and then stopped in the cove  next to Morrow Rock where the sea otters 🦦 hung out.  We watched them for about an hour, ensconced in their rituals.  The rangers had set up scopes so we could see them closer.  One of them had a baby on her belly – they are the most charming sea creatures!!!  

Otter with Baby Through the Scope

We then turned our attention to the birders who were watching the Peregrine Falcons on the nearby Morro Rock – a beautifully stunning site.  

Morro Rock

We headed down the Embarcadero that had restaurants and shops dotted along the waterfront.  It was a perfectly sunny day, hovering in the low to mid-sixties that made for such a treat after months of intense heat and humidity.  We picked up a few souvenirs and then did some food shopping.  We wound up walking several miles!

After relaxing back at the rig, one of Bob’s ex-coworkers picked us and gave us a tour then we have a great seafood pub dinner on the bay.  It was a great end to a perfect day.  

View of the Bay

The next morning we headed out to Highway 1 to Big Sur and Carmel-By-The-Sea. 

What we didn’t realize was the storm system that had hit California a few days ago had spun around and we were getting hammered as we drove the curvaceous wonders of the coastal highway.  When we stopped at a viewpoint for tea, the rig was literally swaying due to the gusts. 

Highway 1 with the Boys

When we hit the road again we watched as a Class C in front of us was spraying water every which way as it hit the vehicle, the driver struggling to stay on the road; we could empathize with his plight.  

We made it to Carmel just in time for a respite from the storm.  We encountered some gusts and a few passing showers, but otherwise we were able to browse this charming city for a few hours.  The architecture was a cross between English Tudor with spanish influences. 

It was busy, and there were some boutique shops hugging the big box stores that looked rather meek; I guessed that Carmel has a city code on the type of facades that were allowed. Thankfully this helped with a more authentic ambience.  

In the afternoon, when we reached the KOA the rain had let up enough for us to get BigB set up, and we huddled for the evening as more storms were forecast.  As the night drew to a close, we slumbered under the passing showers churning up from the coast.  We woke to low clouds and then the blue sky opened up in all its glory. It was in the sixties and very comfortable, and the air smelled of eucalyptus and pine, courtesy of Mother Nature.

That afternoon we went to the beach, reading and watching surfers skate upon the waves. I observed the Pelicans diving for fish and the Curlews swirling in unison up, between and over the imperious waves.  It made for a relaxing afternoon, the arresting clouds with occasional sun breaks.  We were fortunate the storms were gone and we were able to laze in comfortable tempatures on a virtually empty beach. 

The Serenity of the Beach
Surfers!

When we returned, our side of the RV Park had emptied out and we sat in serenity by the fire with little wind, no bugs and other encumbrances we had so often encountered, especially in Canada and the east coast.  We didn’t know when we would experience another classic American campfire since the Oregon Coast was beginning to recede into fall, beckoning the rain and cooler temperatures.  

Relaxing at the Santa Cruz KOA

I roasted what would probably be my last marshmallows.  One became a casualty of the fire, but I was not be dissuaded as I still had half a bag. S’mores are one of my fond childhood memories that I recapture from time to time.  It can become quite the religion; weaponized with custom forged tongs for the very purpose of roasting the perfect marshmallow.  Part of the experience is to find the right convection in an open fire, and as is the case with all wild things, one must be patient.  

For those of us who revel in solitude, it was quite the treat to be on the California Coast lazing in the receding sun of the evening with only our low playing music, the surf and the organic sounds of wildlife.  

Bliss. 

We only have a few more nights in the rig, just overnight stops as we journey up the Oregon Coast.  It’s a nostalgic thing to think we have traveled over 26k since May 9.  So many of our experiences seem like an eternity ago.  And the thought we will be leaving America on our migration to France is now upon us, literally week’s away.  After years of dreaming and planning the stresses of this new and exciting reality are now taking hold.  

Our life is changing in concert with the seasons.  

September 8-13 Zion and Sedona

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While we were heading for Zion, Bob received news that the queen had died. Being British it was an emotional moment and we, like so many others, processed the information for days to come.  I posted a separate tribute on my blog to commemorate this legendary monarch.

We decided to travel through the back roads of Navajo land in northern Arizona, with the Vermillion Cliffs to the left, passing by Lake Powell, etched into the orange and peach sandstone, though you could tell the water levels were quite low.  The terrain into Zion was a prelude of what was to come; we passed through the Paria wilderness, home of the famous “Wave” where we sadly were not able to pick up a permit during the lottery.  As we reached the Grand Escalante Staircase a fierce thunderstorm was rolling in that gave us a good drench but not flooding. 

When we arrived at the east side of Zion, the landscape turned into pink and apricot ridges, complimented by haystacks sculpted by the elements; you could still see what looked like ancient lava flow. 

Heading towards the Zion East Tunnel

When we reached the entrance to the park, we were issued the tunnel pass as we were within the limits to pass through (check the Zion NPS site for requirements and instructions) – we waited while the kind and humorous Park Ranger arranged our passage.  We were the only vehicle going through at that time, I suppose it was later in the day.  

If we thought what we had seen so far was astounding, we were certainly in for a treat when we passed through the tunnel.  

Just Wow!!!

The effect is the same as witnessing places like the Grand Canyon and Yosemite for the first time; it’s sometimes hard to believe such marvels exist for real.

Zion on the way to Springdale

We got settled into the Holiday Inn Express in Springdale for the evening.  Later we watched the full moon rise over the peaks outside our window; everywhere we looked there were lovely views of Zion. 

The next day we took the shuttle from Springdale to the Visitor Center where we picked up the Zion Shuttle to different spots around the park where you can hike.  We decided to do the Narrows, which is world renowned and we were accompanied by a fair stream of foreign tourists.  We walked via a well-groomed path to the riverbed and started wading through the knee deep water. I took my hiking poles as you can’t see the rocks and it’s easy to lose your balance.  We zigzagged from one “shore” to the other.  We were wearing hiking boots that we weren’t worried about getting soaked – I was thankful for that!  We saw people in sliders and other types of shoes that would not give you the support needed; the current could be quite strong in spots and the rocks were precarious.  We meandered, albeit slowly, through this wetland of a enthralling slot canyon.  Since it is cooler due to the canyon being mostly in the shade and being in the water I certainly didn’t feel dehydrated.  In the end we did eight miles🥾

The Narrows

When we finished we took the shuttle back to the village, jumping off to marvel at the scenery and hopefully spot  a condor or two.  We decided to have a nice pub lunch at the visitor center – we had earned it!   When we got back to the hotel, we put our feet up until we could muster the energy to check out the downtown area and grab a gelato.  Zion isn’t really big and we didn’t take too much time, checking out the usual shops and a few galleries. The shuttle system is great and it’s really easy to get around. 

We left the next day, delighted that we were going back through the tunnel and we could do more touring as we left the park, backtracking through the Grand Escalante Stair Case and Lake Powell.  

Like those other stupendous places we have visited so far on our journey, Zion must be experienced; it is truly in a class all by itself.  

We made our way to Sedona, a bit worried about the flash flood warnings and we saw some dandies on our weather app radar; lo and behold we wound up behind a long line heading into Flagstaff, and after about a half hour we managed to get through the flooded part of Highway 89, slick with mud but fortunately we are a high profile vehicle.  It was a different story on the other side as the road was completely flooded out and would take hours to get cleared out- we saw the long line of folks stuck coming the other way.  These storms are not to be trifled with!  

It was pouring heavily as we came into Sedona and we got to our site to wait out the storm before heading to the market to pick up supplies.  

As we learned, the weather app can say it’s a clear day then boom…in an hour you hear the thunder and then the rain starts.  One just crept up on us as I am writing this – it’s getting closer and the thunder is starting to crack and I can hear the rain on the awning.  Oddly these storms in Sedona haven’t kicked up a lot of wind.  

View as we walked from the RV Park to downtown Sedona

The next day proved to be warm and dry and we decided to promenade downtown Sedona.  Many of the shopkeepers were commenting that it is now the slow season and were slashing prices.  There were a fair amount of tourists but not as packed as when we were there in the spring.  It was nice to have elbow room to explore where we liked, in no rush and dining al fresco watching the world go by.  

The following day we picked up a rental car so we could hike Devil’s Bridge.  It was warm and I was struggling a bit to get up the ridge as the sun was extremely intense and it probably would have been a good idea to have started earlier.   After drinking electrolytes and downing a protein bar, I sat in the shade on the ridge overlooking the canyon, glad I had made the effort.  

Hanging out at the Devil’s Bridge Trail

We stopped by Exposures Gallery on the way back so I could ogle the artwork that was way out of my budget range when I spotted a Worrell;  they are one of the main galleries  representing his work and usually have an entire room filled with his creations – all found was a single wall; he died recently and there had been a run on his work… I found one of his smaller wall sculptures relinquished by his daughter that was available for sale at a reasonable price!  

The sculpture is a bronze called “Greet the Sun”. The etching on the back affected me deeply in the same way the sculpture did.  Knowing how fleeting life is, and having endured so much, I told myself “I can do this, I can afford this.”  This piece spoke to me so strongly it was as if Worrell’s spirit itself said “this is meant for you.”  I never had a piece of art give me such a high; it literally brought tears to my eyes.

James, one of the Gallery employees, passionately explained to me every detail of the piece and how a remote cave painting provided the inspiration for his work: The shield depicting protection, the staff for defense, the patina animal skin symbol of a shaman, and the symbols of journey etched into his tunic.  

This piece, though small, will remind me of the expanse of the spiritual journey I am currently on.  

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing laundry which was fine; an aggressive storm cell came through; thunder, lightning-wrath-of-god type stuff that drove us indoors.  After it dissipated we motored through the drenched streets, the sweet smell of the after-storm and cooling temperatures was downright intoxicating.  We dined at the El Rincon Restaurante in the lovely Tlaquepaque Village. I had a Navajo Pizza which is like having a green chili enchilada spread over some seriously deep fried Fry Bread.  That and a flavorful margarita closed out our epic experience in Sedona. We spent a somewhat restless night being battered by more storms, thundering overhead as we huddled in the wake of the unrelenting tempests.  

As many who have visited know, Sedona is a New Age center due to the theory of vortexes that promote well-being.   I cannot speak to that, but the atmosphere in this rarified space is like no other; the scenery, the intensity of alpine skies – you feel like you are floating on the very thunderheads that form in the distance, highlighting the rustic red buttes, encircled by the blue-green vegas that are embedded into the fabric of Sedona itself.  Even the seemingly apocalyptic storms that pass through enhance the experience, insisting that balance must be maintained. The contrasting landscapes of Sedona tell the tales that while we populate this land, we cannot fully claim it; Mother Nature reminds us of her presence when she mercilessly washes all who stand in her way down the unforgiving arroyos and onto oblivion.  

September 8 – RIP Queen Elizabeth

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As many of you are aware my husband is British. We were driving through Utah on our way to Zion and Bob suddenly said “the Queen has died.” He gets feeds to his watch from the BBC and we sat and let this monumental moment sink it. It made for a sobering trip, disrupted only by the insane beauty of Zion as we approached the tunnel into the park. Queen Elizabeth was an icon of beauty, grace, and grit enduring until the end. I cannot fathom dedicating one’s life to that level of service: She guided Great Britain through its darkest hours until the bitter end.🇬🇧💂‍♀️

August 29 – September 7 The Navajo Nation by way of Texas

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We hadn’t really intended to do much in the way of sightseeing in Texas:  We have to pass through Texas to get to New Mexico and it was still hot and sticky. We stopped to stay at the KOA in Brookeland, and then at Lake Medina just outside of San Antonio – tragically the lake had dried up. Otherwise we had long days of driving in between a few free days that were primarily consumed with working on our Visa documentation, reading and doing swimming aerobics. 

The Visa process has required plenty of documentation including medical insurance, national background checks, letters from our bankers including French translations.  We are hoping we are ahead of the game before our appointment on September 26.

At Lake Medina we at least had a campground with a lovely smell of pine and curious herds of whitetail deer.  They are everywhere and while sometimes we peaked their curiosity, they mostly were “meh” at our wanderings around the camp. 

A campground full of deer

We headed out through the flat landscape to San Angelo where we were met by a monsoon and flooding.  We stopped at the Roadhouse Steakhouse for Tex Mex in as a last hoorah and waited out the worst of the storm.  I had a six ounce steak and Bob had a half slab of ribs which were humungous!  We’re in Texas after all!

We navigated streets that were thankfully, only partially flooded. We were getting alerts on our phones about the flash floods and it was really coming down in torrents – though we were thankful for no hail.  We spent the rest of the day huddled in the RV watching 80’s movies and reading.  The rain dissapated later in the evening and cooled things down.  

We left the next morning excited to get back to the high desert of New Mexico and out of the unrelenting humidity that had plagued us for the last month.  We stopped in Carlsbad and walked along the Pecos River though the sun was pretty intense so we headed out to the Coyote Flats RV park on the outside of town – it was primarily a parking lot outside of Carlsbad, but we were close to the laundry and showers.  

We were heading to Fort Sumner to check out the history of Billy the Kid and get a feel for the Navajo Long walk. But since Roswell was on the way we of course had to stop off and take another look; we had been there during our Southwest trip in the spring but didn’t spend much time there. We had some coffee and picked up some more alien kitsch while in the shops. It’s always worth a couple of hours. Grogu was excited; it was his second time here and there was a huge baby Yoda display in one of the shops….it was such an inclusive environment👽

Alien Vibes in Roswell

We arrived at Fort Sumner early in the afternoon after passing through endless plains with some cattle.  The elevation increased and the humidity dropped dramatically.  It was a Sunday so the Basque Redondo museum was closed, but the Billy the Kid Museum was open and had excellent artifacts and even a movie that the proprietors insisted was the most accurate history of “The Kid.”   We spent a fair amount of time poking around the museum and the drove to Lake Sumner State Park where we had partial hookups. 

Billy the Kid Museum

As it was Labor Day weekend the park was pretty busy, but not packed.  It’s pretty remote with Albuquerque several hours away.  Folks had their jet skis and boats out on the lake and there was a pervasive smell of  camp fires and barbecues – the former smelling like Pinyon incense.  We couldn’t believe our luck; we got a spot with a view of the lake so we set up the chairs in the shade of the rig and took in the evening, surrounded by mesquite, juniper, prickly pear and cholla.  

I realized we were in a “dark sky” region, so committed to getting up later in the evening to see what the cosmos was offering up.  The half moon faded and around 2:00 a.m. we were able to look at a blanket of stars and galaxies.  Many of the RVs were still lit up detracting from the darkness, but I committed to another evening of stargazing the following night.  

Dark Skies in New Mexico

We decided to take the nature hike around the lake the next morning before it got too hot and we definitely finished well before noon.  It was Labor Day and everyone in the park started to make a mass exodus home, something we are all too familiar with and now, for us, it’s just another day.  By late afternoon we were the only RV left in this particular campground (Pecos) situated not far from the camp host.  It became deathly quiet, almost eerie as the wind gusted and the lake grew silent.  

We spent most of the day working on our Visa’s related activities, huddled in the air conditioning – to escape the intense midday heat.  By late afternoon we spilled outside to the sound of the wind and the occasional incursion of human traffic heading out.  Otherwise there was a beautiful balance of a temperate climate and solitude that we have rarely experienced since leaving Western Canada.

This park was pretty large and was surprisingly now empty.  You won’t hear us complaining!  

As I contemplated my solitude, I tried to imagine what it was like for the Navajo as they were forced to walk hundreds of miles to a part of New Mexico that could not support their way of life.  Hundreds died – all part of the “Manifest Destiny” of white man staking the claim to these new lands at the expense of the Native Americans. 

Soon, the quarter moon rose over the horizon, a faint sentinel that transitioned into a blazing lantern, a prelude to the impending harvest full moon of September 10.  Even with its halfling presence, you can see where you are walking; the desert becomes a lunar scape as the stars emerge.  

At around 4:00 a.m. I rose around and went outside after the moon had sunk below the horizon.  I stood in the cooling breeze, gazing at billions of unhindered stars, trails of dust and galaxies, feeling somewhat dizzy and displaced as I tried to reconcile my place in the cosmos; my mind just can’t seem to grasp the context of such infinite surroundings.  I cherished this moment of undisputed solitude; we were off the beaten track, slumbering in the slipstream of New Mexico stardust – steeped in the magic that makes this land so enchanting. 

I later awoke to a blinding sunrise that sent shocks of orange light through the rig. 

Sunrise at Sumner Lake

We had a long drive so set out at a reasonable time, heading for Gallup. After a few hours we stopped in Albuquerque to get propane and check out the Old Town area.  It’s a charming tourist site with plenty of shops and restaurants set in traditional adobe style like those found in Sedona and Santa Fe. 

Old Town Albuquerque

As we approached Gallup, the late afternoon sun lit up nearby rock formations and decided to pull off and poke around the park.  This area is close to Monument Valley and peppered with the rounded haystacks common to the CanyonLands. 

The Boys in New Mexico

After amusing ourselves, we finished our day at the Holiday Inn next on the famous Route 66. 

The following day we went to Window Rock to visit the heart of the Navajo Nation.  We stopped at the museum that had an incredible display depicting the Treaty of 1968 and other artifacts related to the tragic Navajo Long Walk.  Then we wandered into the photographic display of – ironically – a Japanese American named Kenji Kawano who had been photographing the Navajo Code Talkers for decades.  Many of the pictures had a synopsis of their service in the Pacific, fighting in the same Pacific theater as my father.  It is an astounding display and how prophetic to think there was someone interested enough in their history to cover such a legacy over such a long span of time.   

Navajo Code Talkers Exhibit

We visited their museum’s accompanying zoo and botanical garden to learn more about the animals and plants that were part of the Navajo Dine culture.  

We then stopped by the Navajo Arts and Crafts Enterprise to browse through authentic Indian items; I picked up a gorgeously crafted bracelet and pendant;  they will always remind me of this beautiful people and landscape and I take comfort knowing that the money will get back to the artist.  

Finally, something that has been on my bucket list for years – the Window Rock Tribal Park and Veterans Memorial – the epicenter of the Navajo Nation. This is memorial is adjacent to the Navajo Nation Tribal Council and surrounding government entities. It was hot and quiet as we arrived around noon, but I ignored the sweat rolling down my face; considering what the Code Talkers and others, such as my father, went through in WWII. Window Rock itself is a sacred site, fenced off from those who decide they want to disrespect the sacred Indian rules and climb it – much the same as Shiprock. It’s a place everyone needs to visit – only 30 minutes from Gallup; to pay your respects and expand your horizons beyond the gob-smacking landscapes.

Navajo Code Talker Memorial
Window Rock Tribal Park

We had a farewell meal at the El Rancho Restaurant located in the historic hotel of the same name – my experience would not complete without some Hatch Green Chilis!!! The hotel sports celebrities such as John Wayne and Errol Flynn and a cast of thousands whom had filmed in the surrounding area and had been guests back in the hey day of Hollywood westerns – they really ham it up! But otherwise the hotel is steeped in local Indian and cinema history.

The Historic El Rancho Hotel

The next morning the sky blazed magenta as we gathered our things from the hotel and bugged out; we had our last 400 mile stint of the trip to get to Zion – meaning we wouldn’t be doing much more than 200 miles any given day until we were back in Portland. We had driven over 20,000 miles since the last time we had entered New Mexico in late March! Instead of snow and freezing winds 😅 the wildflowers were now in full bloom and the passing rains had stirred up the distinct scent of desert sagebrush.

We took the Arizona Indian 56 to the 160: These turned out to be spectacular backroads that lead us through Navajo ranches; we passed one gentleman herding his sheep – a tradition that dates back centuries. I felt as though I had been transported to a different time, something untouchable suddenly became tangible…the moment was surreal. We soon found ourselves back on the main road and onto Page, where we passed over Lake Powell bidding a fond farewell to the Navajo Nation as passed into Utah.

August 24 – 28 Florida and Louisiana…Oh Yes – The Big Easy

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We left Georgia and headed south to Florida.  I had discovered what they call tree canopies and we decided to take a drive off of Old Centerville Road that leads into Tallahassee – upon arrival we discovered it was unpaved so decided not to do the whole road.  Regardless, it was quite beautiful with huge oaks sporting the long bearded moss that we discovered while traveling through Georgia. 

We also passed more  blackwater swamps on the side of the road, some of them had huge denuded cypress stumps that looked like the Baobab Trees in South Africa.

As we had time we scheduled a desperately needed pedicure – thankfully the stars aligned and our feet now look glorious!  

We stopped by one of our friend’s house (an Adidas employee) to pick up some sportswear we had ordered.  We had to cut the visit short as Bob had tested positive for Covid as a result of our exposure in Charleston – he is fortunately asymptomatic, but we want to be prudent on where we are hanging out though in this region of the country they seem pretty cavalier about masking. 

We overnighted at a hotel that had a kitchen so all in all it turned out pretty well and we were able to keep to ourselves.  The next day we set out for the Gulf Shores KOA; it rained most of the day as we were getting the remnants of the tropical storm that had pounded Texas and New Mexico.  We were getting flood alerts but the rain wasn’t any worse than what he had experienced in Oregon and we got to our destination safely.  

We woke up to the thunder of the Blue Angels practicing nearby:  This is where they are stationed and there is a subculture that caters to their notoriety including street names and eateries.  

We spent the day exploring Pensacola; I was on the prowl for some pink flamingo kitsch and we discovered that this area was a bit of a Hawaiian spin-off with Tiki bars and paraphernalia – I found it quite amusing!  We lunched at the Shrimp Basket and I had my first Shrimp and Grits.  It was like polenta with a creole spin and it was quite good🍤

Shrimp and Grits!

Having satisfied our cravings we poked around a bit more – it’s off-season and I can imagine this place buzzing when the weather is a bit cooler.  The humidity makes me feel like I’m drunk, and I have been getting my exercise at the hotel gyms or resort swimming pools.  Otherwise any minor exertion outdoors leaves me drenched in sweat.  

Pensacola Vibe
The Beach

Per the local weather people this has been the least active August for weather events since 1982 – this has bode well for us as I was worried we would be driven north by storms but we are lucky, bearing only the occasional thunderstorms and humidity.  

We headed out the next day to New Orleans (NOLA)!  I was excited to visit the Angela King Gallery as I was looking into getting an original Anne Bachelier.  We left the Gulf Shores early to catch the gallery while it was still open as they closed at 5:00 on Saturday. We parked on the outskirts of the French Quarter and walked into town. When we arrived, and much to my disappointment, they had a sign on the door that they were closed until August 30th.  There was nothing listed on the website.  I emailed the owner about my discontent, though as it stood I would not be seeing the real paintings anytime soon.  We then walked down Bourbon Street and did not find much in the way of traditional jazz, but there were plenty of loud bands playing rock and roll and punk.  It was still quite busy considering this is the slowest month for New Orleans tourism, and there was a perpetual haze of pot smoke on this strip that was even worse than downtown Portland! This is definitely a spot for the marginally clothed party crowd.  

We were still hoping to catch an authentic jazz bar and after talking to a proprietor of one of the local shops she said we need to go down to Frenchman Street.  Upon further research we found that these were the clubs we were looking for and decided to save those for the next day, catching the bands as the city grew dark.  

We went into the shops around Jackson Square and perused the artists displaying their street crafts much like you see in Paris.  We promenaded for a while, marveling at some of the architecture and amusing ourselves at a voodoo shop though I couldn’t find much that actually inspired me.  We stopped by a small cafe to get some lunch; the poke with a Cajun twist was surprisingly good and Bob decided to try a beignet and became immediately addicted.  

Unfortunately the famous Cafe Du Monde had a huge line outside so we decided to try and catch it another time but we at least had a beignet fix😍

We finished meandering through the streets and as it had been a long day, we set out to the New Orleans KOA and relaxed for the rest of the evening.  

Artist rendition of what a fantasy New Orleans looks like

Bob decided to book a swamp tour on an air boat for the following afternoon and grab some lunch prior to the trip.  We stopped at the recommended restaurant next to the bayou and I had crawfish crepes that were fantastic.  What I love about Creole cuisine is that it’s spicy, but not obscenely so, and has a very definite taste; having had my fair share of West African food the spices were familiar.  Here we really got the Louisiana vibe, especially as the thunder rumbled nearby.  

We boarded the airboat piloted by Danny, a Louisiana native with a thick drawl.  It was one of the smaller vehicles that could go fast which beat the other overcrowded boats.  We skimmed past houses built over the bayou on stilts that were for rent then headed into the swamp with its lovely water lillies, egrets and herons.

Danny hit the accelerator and we torpedoed at warp speed through the wetlands.  When we slowed down, I noticed something coming through the water, skimming just above the surface; it was an alligator heading straight for the boat. In fact, everywhere we went they would come toward us, some would submerge as we got closure but otherwise they were pretty nonchalant. They ranged from 5 – 8 feet long and though not as big as the Cayman in Guyana, they could still do plenty of damage to a human.  

We stopped by one of the houses that was set on the bayou that had been devastated by Katrina then partially resurrected – the structure was now sound but there was still a fair amount of debris.  Here Danny showed us a massive “garden spider” that was black and yellow that freaked out the gals sitting behind us.  He then presented a baby alligator that if you hold it by the neck, it won’t bite you.  

Bob making friends with little dude

We went further down the bayou and Danny stopped looking for his “buddy.”  A large alligator appeared and he started feeding him marshmallows.  This beast had apparently been through a lot:  He had been injured by a boat and had a chunk taken out of his side by another alligator, yet he healed and was happily swirling around the boat while Danny continued to entice him with more marshmallows. 

Buddy

I almost prefer to call these ecosystems wetlands, rather than swamps, as the latter gives you a sense of something sinister and they are quite beautiful despite the idea there is wildlife in the water that can eat you. 

We headed back at warp speed until we got to the stilt homes and motored slowly back to the dock.  We then headed back to the French Quarter, parking on the outskirts hoping that no one would notice our RV; we had heard stories about break ins, though there were expensive cars in the vicinity so figured we would be fine.  

We walked through the neighborhoods and eventually stopped by Cafe Du Monde for the chicory roasted coffee and more beignets and more site seeing.  We then had a dinner at Muriel’s which is a stately restaurant built in the 1700’s by the French and eventually passed onto many different owners until it became the establishment it is today.  I had my first taste of Turtle Soup and then Drum Fish and it was all so very good.  It was starting to get dark so we headed out Frenchmen Street as the quarter started to ignite the gas lights.  It was Sunday night and the cruise ship crowds had apparently left.  It wasn’t crowded at all and some of the streets we strolled along were empty with the houses beautifully lit up with enticing court yards tucked behind wrought iron gates. 

The French-influenced iron work on the balconies and facades is what makes New Orleans architecture so distinctive and many have taken pride in keeping their homes restored.  It was humid, but not to the level of obscene, so I wasn’t on the verge of passing out.  We could hear the jazz drifting down the streets, riding along the vapors of Louisiana cuisine as we approached Frenchmen Street.  

The street itself is surprisingly cozy – meaning it isn’t a sprawl of clubs and eateries. Tucked into these smaller venues are the Spotted Cat which was pretty much standing room only, but is renowned for its hip NOLA jazz, and just down the street is Marigny’s that was belting out some fabulous more traditional jazz.  Marigny’s is also a cafe, and wasn’t crowded at all, which I found delightful but somewhat perplexing; perhaps due to it being Sunday and at the end of August.  Here we fulfilled our fantasy of live New Orleans jazz, sipping on whiskey at a table with plenty of elbow room.  

Bob diggin the local jazz on Frenchmen Street

After getting our jazz fix, we strolled through more quiet neighborhoods and onto Bourbon Street where the insanity spilled out in all its neon splendor (if that’s what you want to call it, though it didn’t quite fit the vision I had when I think of Bourbon Street). 

It was all a blur to me

Sadly New Orleans was a major hub of slave trading or in reality, human trafficking, even after slavery was abolished.  The Creole cuisine comes from the blending of French and West African cultures that becomes apparent as you immerse yourself in its delights.  Add to that the Venetian influence on Mardi Gras and you have yourself an intoxicating elixir that permeates throughout the cafes,  clubs, celebrations and architecture.  

But what brings the community together is the love of music, specifically jazz that evolved over the decades, creating a legendary hub for the Black community that has transcended into world-wide fame.  It was such a delight to partake in this indelible slice of Americana.  

The Big Easy

August 18 – 24 The Carolinas and Georgia

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We took a “rest day” at the Lake Gaston which comprised of no schedule, no crowds, no obligations with a view of the lake in a wooded campground. We were again fortunate with the weather as it was mild, with cool evenings and the humidity wasn’t noticeable. We did housekeeping such as cleaning the rig and doing the laundry, otherwise we worked on our French Visa, language lessons and read.  It was a perfect area to unwind.  When I say this it may come as a surprise, but we have been on the move for months with a few pit stops with friends…but that also seems to include touring.  Rarely do we sit and read like we used to do on our camping trips back when we were still employed.  No news is good news! 

Sunset at Lake Gaston, North Carolina

We had a long drive to Charleston, SC so bugged out early.  We were staying at the Riverview Holiday Inn, another opportunity to “hotel” it for a few days; we might as well use up those points! The weather was fine when we arrived late afternoon, and then a thunderstorm rolled in. We watched it while sitting at the bar on the top floor, from there we also had a wonderful view of the bay while catching up with our friend, Sohayla, who we put up for a few months in Portland while she was interning at Adidas. 

Post libation, we returned to the RV to finish packing up items for our stay.  We could hear the thunder getting closer, and then, before we knew it, it was right on top of us. The sky lit up and the atmosphere around us went seismic.  The thunder was the most deafening I had experienced.  We hustled back to the hotel just before mother heaven unleashed her fury.  The rain fell so hard we couldn’t see the parking lot from our room!  This drama went on for a few hours.  

After the storm dissipated we got a decent night’s sleep.  We picked up our rental car and headed out to the Saturday Farmer’s Market and toured local historic sites.  

I visited the Aiken-Rhett House – a historical house that was built in 1820 and later occupied Governor William Aiken, Jr who owned vast property and housed slaves to serve the household.   He owned 878 slaves who maintained his vast cotton and rice plantations.  The house itself is “preserved,” not “restored.”  The paint and wallpaper have deteriorated into 200 years-old peeling remnants including damage from Hurricane Hugo; this reveals an authentic record untouched by modernization.  The house itself is as grand as any plantation house you can imagine, yet in the outbuildings lie the kitchen, laundry and stables where the slaves were housed.  While it’s possible some slaves were treated humanely, African American history bears out the starvation of many slaves while their masters lived in opulence.  Some who defend slavery saying the “North was equally oppressive,” ignore the true plight of these slaves.  Even those who managed to survive were not free to exercise the inalienable rights as a human being.  

The tour focuses on the slave aspect with commentary from local African Americans highlighting their plight; many tours show the homes for “historical reference,” overlooking the legacies of those who made the everyday running of the household possible. On this day the heat and humidity was oppressive and the large rooms and verandas were designed to allow for a cross breeze that somewhat mitigated the warmth. In the kitchen, despite the heat, the fire in the large fireplace was kept burning to ensure any hot water for tea or cooking was immediately available to the Aiken family.  The kitchen, laundry and accompanying rooms were small and must have been horribly stifling. The death of one 7 year-old-girl from starvation is pointed out as an example.  

Aiken-Rhett House including the slave quarters housed in the kitchen and laundry

Here I witness the decaying remains of a forgotten existence while wiping the sweat from the back of my neck, even though I was barely exerting myself.  I imagine the servants preparing elaborate meals; wondering how many tried to extricate – or in this case no doubt – steal leftovers to keep from starving to death; and wondering if they were punished if caught.  

While the South argued that abolishing slavery would ruin their economy, they treated their animals better than their slaves.  The mansion is now peeling away the truth, revealing the rot of a bygone era; the lathe and plaster unable to stand up to the elements of change.  

We decided to hop over to Sullivan’s Island to browse around and grab a casual lunch while watching the vast array of scantily clad beach goers promenade the main drag, or hauling their chairs to the beach.  This rounded out a pretty casual day and we headed back hoping to dodge any storms looming on the horizon.  

The next day we magically dodged the thunderstorms that were pretty vocal through the night and arrived at the Cypress Gardens in Moncks Corner, just north of Charleston.  These gardens house a swamp complete with alligators.  While that sounds a bit creepy, it is really quite stunning.  We started our tour by dropping into the butterfly farm; it’s like being tickled when they fly around your head.  They had a swallowtail that had emerged from its cocoon and Monarch caterpillars feeding on Milkweed; we used to plant Milkweed in Portland to attract Monarchs.  It was quite the whimsical experience being surrounded by these flirtatious aeronauts.

Monarchs, caterpillars and a Swallowtail emerging from its cocoon

We moved onto the boat dock and set sail through the deadcalm of the swamp, surrounded by partially submerged trees, buzzed by dragon flies and the cicadas with their perpetual serenade.  After about ten minutes Bob noticed a small alligator eyeing us near the lily pads; he eventually went under.  We dodged the trees and followed the markers though it would have been difficult to get lost.  We would stop and float for a while to see if anything else would emerge from the depths, but mostly enjoyed the magical calm.  

The gardens are actually a cypress black water swamp that had been wiped out by hurricanes and floods but lovingly resurrected, and we were enchanted by the whole experience.  And it was only modestly crowded, which made for a lovely afternoon.  

We went back to Charleston and went shopping at the Historic Charleston Market where I picked up a Sweetgrass Basket; a basket weaving craft that was passed down from the African heritage of former slaves and are now collectible works of art.  It’s great to browse around this sector, while they have the big box stores they are peppered with boutique shops and galleries.  I thoroughly enjoyed the aesthetic of Charleston; not New England and not quite Florida – though you see an attempt at Flamingo kitsch. 

We passed bold Greek revival mansions with their huge verandas; verandas are definitely part of the culture – we’re not talking just porches, but expansive, inviting terraces where you can catch a cooling breeze in style.  

We ended the day with a final dinner and farewell with Sohayla, who was just as lovely as ever, not knowing if or when we would be seeing her again.  But that is the case with so many folks we have visited on this trip – we hope that some do make the effort to visit us in France.  

We headed out to Georgia the next morning, specifically Commerce, overnighting with Keri and Sean, more of Bob’s friends from Adidas.  It was a long drive and we arrived late afternoon and spent the evening catching up.  We had to leave abruptly the next morning as Sean had tested positive for Covid😥

We headed out to Athens, touring the architecture; more massive mansions built in the early 1800’s housing the elite of Georgia.  

Architecture in Athens, Georgia

We then took the back roads through Macon County and its tree-lined highways. We sadly came across a new type of road kill: Armadillos.  These I had not seen before.  

We overnighted at Southern Dreams Ranch –  a Harvest Host in Americus. We parked up near the stables with a backdrop of peaceful green fields.  We visited one frisky stallion who would run up and down his corral and whinny to the heavens.  Since we were essentially dry camping we were thankful for the cloud cover and soon the temperature dropped, and we found ourselves surrounded by a cooling breeze.  We feel fortunate on the weather front so far, and this is one of our last boondocking venues which is fine, since we are heading further south and will be glad for the air conditioning along the Gulf and once we pass back through New Mexico we will be dealing with the late summer heat of Arizona and California.  

It had rained off and on through the night, otherwise it had been dark and quiet into the morning and we got a restful night’s sleep. We woke to an idyllic view of the fields and the whinnies coming from the nearby corral.  We were not in a rush as we didn’t have far to go to get to Tallahassee. We caught up on our reading and journaling, glad to be drifting if only for a morning.  

A dreamy landscape in Georgia

Taking the backroads through Georgia and the Carolinas gave us yet another slice of Americana:  It is a misty world, with impassable jungles skirting the highways, the trees suffocated by voracious vines, then fields appear, pushing against the unrelenting forests of southern pine, the air thick with perpetual dew.  Some of the houses and estates are quite impressive; less Greek revival but still sprawling all the same.  

We continued our lazy morning then headed out to Tallahassee through through the peach orchards of Macon County.  

August 13- 16 Pennsylvania and Washington D.C.

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After leaving the bustle of Jersey City, we spent the afternoon with one of Bob’s school chums, Julian and his wife Mary Ellen in Lancaster.  The heat had broken, and we were experiencing more tolerable temps, with a cooling breeze coming from the woods and river surrounding their property.  They even have a well with a bunker – you have to wonder if this wasn’t built in the fifties due to the threat of nuclear war back then.  Again, retired friends with the same idea as us – to transition to the “quiet life.”  I’ll take the well, but am intrigued by the bunker.  

Julian, Mary Ellen and Bob

After bidding farewell, we journeyed through the lush, green landscapes of Amish Country, kept verdant by passing thunderstorms.  We meandered through Gettysburg, thinking about the age of some of the buildings and then pushed our way through the more heavily touristed parts of town; it’s all very nice now, but what was it like back in the day?  

We were staying at the Gettysburg KOA set in the deep woods, with lovely, level sites.  We could have stayed here for a few days if time had allowed, and if we had been better informed of its tranquil and wooded nature.  Here families play and enjoy all the amenities that upscale camping has to offer.  I pause to think about the horrors that no doubt prevailed during the Civil War in these very woods.  We are not far from the major battle sites, and as we all know too well, wars don’t always favor boundaries.  

It was in the high 50’s early in the morning, a temperature we haven’t seen in quite a while and there was a slight hint of fall in the air. It was promising to be a beautiful day.  

We decided to take the auto tour of the battlefields; it’s a $10.00 app you can download and is quite useful.  We drove past fields of August corn, cannons serving as totems, showing us the way through what looked like, on the surface, simply Pennsylvania farmland. 

The August Corn of Gettysburg

Underneath this innocuous landscape, on a beautiful summer day, lie the relics of liberation, soaked in blood of thousands, their names forgotten, their memories buried in unmarked graves. The north wanted to liberate the black slaves and the south wouldn’t have it; so noble men took up the cause and made the ultimate sacrifice.  

Fields and cemetery at Gettysburg

So many dedicated souls maintain the sites so we can ponder our history and hopefully take in the significance of the sacrifices that were made here.  Gettysburg…a sobering segue to the memorials that awaited us in D.C.  

Demonstrations on how weapons were used back in the day
Never Forget

The cicadas bid us farewell, humbling us as we left Gettysburg; the voices of the visitors in the fields remained low out of respect, and eventually faded as we made our way down the road.  

We headed to D.C., excited about our stay at the Holiday Inn in Ballston.   After months in the RV with unpredictable sites and technology, we will be able to spread our wings a bit and had plenty of parking for the rig. As funny as it may seem to some, we have come to appreciate these little luxuries that we used to take for granted.  As a Hilton member we have wracked up enough points from all that expensive diesel we’ve consumed that we are now getting free hotel stays😍

The Washington subway was close to the hotel with our first stop at Arlington National Cemetery. It’s sobering going from one memorial to another.   As we wandered through endless grave sites, we saw a Navy burial going on in the background: The area was blocked off from the public, but saw the casket being pulled by a carriage, accompanied by the full regalia of Navy personnel. Then followed taps and the firing of the guns. The experience was as overwhelming as the cemetery itself.

The endless rows of grave stones at Arlington

Bob was feeling a bit under the weather so I went to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and stumbled upon the changing of the guard. I don’t know how they manage to endure the heat or cold:  But they do.  

Arlington National Cemetery – the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

We walked across the mighty Potomac. Fortunately there had been rain and it was cloudy, though the humidity was a bit high but at least it wasn’t hot. We dropped off at a cafe for a respite.

We visited the inspiring Lincoln and WWII Memorials – the latter showing reliefs of the places my father had been during the war in the Pacific.  The scale of Washington D.C. is mind boggling.

WW II Memorial

By this time we had done 15,000 steps and decided to head back to the comfy confines of our hotel room. Thankfully the metro is super easy to navigate. 

The following day we went back to the Mall and visited the Botanical Gardens as our first stop. I loved the misty and warm tropical garden; it was such a soothing experience.

The Botanical Gardens

We then took a tour of the Capital that gave us a great perspective of the seat of our nation. The capital and the surrounding structures are just so impressive – it reminds me of Rome, which would make sense since that architecture inspired most of the Mall. 

The Capital and Rotunda

I then visited the U.S. Navy Memorial that is set across from the National Archives; I came here to pay homage and in a sense it gave me final closure now that all of my father’s letters, photos, artifacts and now his trombone are in the US Navy Fleet Band archives❤️🎼 While not at the same scale as the other sites, it is just as lovingly sculpted as the more popular memorials. Thank you dad, and all the other Navy personnel for your service and sacrifice 🙏⚓️

U.S. Navy Memorial

We then met Julian and Mary Ellen who decided to come to D.C. for the afternoon and headed out to the Natural History Museum.  While the dinosaur action was cool, the mineral and gemstone displays were off the charts; seriously impressive and mesmerizing.  It doesn’t help that I can’t resist bling in general.  It took us a few hours to get through that exhibit, and we stopped for coffee before they took off back to Lancaster with mutual commitments to meet up in France.

Bob and I realized it was getting late so we headed to the National Museum of the American Indian and were blown away by the Preston Singletary – Raven and the Box of Daylight exhibit.  This artist is Tlingit (First Nations) and from the Teslin area of the Yukon.  We had visited the Tlingit Cultural Center while in the area – it was an eye-opening cultural connection.  We had timed our visit just right; when we were just wrapping up our tour the museum announced it was closing!  It was a superb ending to another busy day.  

My experience over the last few days has given me pause: 

Freedom is not free – seeing this engraved in bold lettering at the Korean Memorial should be echoed from Gettysburg throughout the stately sentinels that line the Mall.  Freedom is not free… should be the signature text on every monument and museum as a reminder of centuries of sacrifice that has been made to maintain our liberty.  We live in a great nation that has overcome monumental obstacles to maintain our liberties that we all to easily take for granted.

August 6 – 12 Maine, Massachusetts and New York

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We arrived in the lovely port city of Camden, ME.  I had been here years ago and spent only a few hours and it wasn’t enough.  I vowed to spent more time in this enchanting town and my wish came true! We dry-camped at the State Park and the weather was surprisingly nice;  we were bracing ourselves for a heatwave, but it turned out to be perfect, barely hitting 80 degrees and the humidity was keeping in check.  A thunderstorm rolled through that evening, pushing out the inversion that had been invading the coastline.  

The next day took the rig downtown and discovered that the parking spaces were not very accomodating for RVs – anywhere!  We wound up parking next to a church on Free St and Elm; there was a opportune curve on the street that accommodated us perfectly and we were within a respectable walking distance from town. 

We decided to breakfast at a spot that overlooked the harbor, marveling at the Clipper ships as they embarked on their morning excursions.  We wandered through the shops and happened upon a few galleries. The Small Wonder Gallery on the waterfront had some lovely nautical watercolors and prints that we added to our collection.  The Once at Tree shop had some fantastic woodworking, and other expertly curated pieces of art, and I was able to pick up a piece for one of my relatives.  These we had shipped to a friend since BigB can only take on so much.  I had visited this shop years ago and wondered if it was still there, and much to my delight it was. 

Camden, Maine

Camden is the essence of a New England setting complete with a fishing village and harbor. There were no vacancies anywhere and it’s understandable as to why.  There aren’t so many shops that you feel completely depleted by the afternoon.  In fact we found we had time on our hands so went back to the campsite and took a hike along the shoreline trail.  It doesn’t take you to a beach, but you can hike down to the rocks and boulders.  We sat down in the temperate afternoon breeze, gazing out to the Clipper ships in the distance, their sails shimmering in the sun.  A mist started to roll in, and I sat and meditated, listening to the incoming tide breaching the rocks, the salt air expanded my lungs and mind.  

A serene moment on the shore

We hiked back to the camp and had a nice fire and I broke out the s’mores once again; a guilty pleasure warranted under such circumstances.  The park grew dark and quiet and we slept like babies, bathed by the woods.  I love our occasional stops in campsite vs. RV parks – the latter being more like glorified parking lots in most cases. 

Our campsite at Camden State Park – yeah that is a neon palm tree!

Camden turned out to be everything I had hoped it would be and more; we couldn’t have asked for a more consummate visit – all the elements came together in perfect harmony.

We headed to Boston, bracing ourselves for the impending heat wave – we watched the thermometer rise to 100 degrees as the area was being blistered by record-breaking heat.   Thank god for air conditioning!  We were staying at the KOA in Middleboro, just outside of Boston, and were lucky to get a site in partial-shade.  

We opted to get a rental car to make it easier to get around Boston.  We landed on the waterfront and decided to do the Boston Tea Party Tour that turned out to be quite impressive including a replica of the actual ship used during the rebellion. I even threw tea overboard!  It’s fabulous to be able to experience our country’s history as we travel around the U.S. 

How liberating

We drove through Boston, checking out Fenway Park and later met up with some former co-workers of Bob’s for a nice meal. It turned out to be a pretty productive day despite the heat🥵

We headed out the next morning to visit with a friend, Janice Swanson, whom I hadn’t seen in 28 years and was vacationing on Sagamore Beach.  On the way we stopped by Plymouth as Bob is from…Plymouth, England and it was great checking out the Mayflower II and Plymouth Rock.  It was brutally hot and humidity pushing the temperature above 100 degree mark and I was glad to move on.  It really makes you feel like a slug – a really shriveled slug.

Plymouth Rock

We arrived at Janice’s charming beach retreat in Sagamore near Cape Cod. It was such a joy to see her and I was also greeted by another long time colleague, Mary Beth.  I worked with these gals back in the 80’s, when we were twenty-something’s during the software boom in Southern California.  It was a special time back in the day when Ashton-Tate was the fastest growing personal computer database company in the world; Boomers remember those days!  We were the top dogs along with Lotus and WordPerfect; later put out of their misery by – yep you got it – Microsoft.  We had front seats to a revolutionary time alongside the likes of Apple.  

We couldn’t have asked for a better setting!

We had parted ways but in the early 90’s I caught up with Janice in London on my way to Nepal; we hadn’t seen each other since; now 28 years later.  

We ate lunch and walked along a quintessential New England beachfront – it was hot but manageable with a cooling sea breeze and the surf bathing our feet. It was too bad we couldn’t have spent more time together but our schedules didn’t sync as much as we would have liked.  Still, it made for a great memory and we will always have a special bond.  

We don’t think about aging really until it catches up with you, and to see one another so many years on, it cultivates a certain level of gratefulness and respect that we have all struggled along through the years, making our transitions with as much grace as possible.  We joked about the shoulder pads from the 80’s and kicking our smoking habit.  Seeing some of her kids now grown added to the marvel.  

We bid a fond farewell, along with a Cape Cod bag and some napkins that I will cherish, and headed to Barnstable to the Cape Cod Brewery Harvest Host where we parked up for the night in their parking area.  They had a beer garden and we sat for a while, talking with a nice couple as the predicted thunderstorms rolled in, breaking the feverish heat that had been plaguing New England for days.  

We headed down through Rhode Island and Connecticut, pulling up to a lovely rest stop built from stone. The weather was perfect and we had tea in the shade.  We headed out for New York, bracing ourselves for the traffic.  Our stop is the Liberty Harbor RV Park in Jersey City right across the bay.  

I had been to New York a few years back as a contributor to a Rolling Stone Magazine article on the Children of Scientology (refer back to my about section on my website for further info), but hadn’t had a chance to check out all the sites. 

The next morning we took the Liberty Harbor ferry that dropped us off walking distance from the World Trade Center.  The WTC had created its own weather with cloud formations swooning around the top.  We had decided to take the Big Bus Tour to get around and headed for the Empire State Building. 

The mighty World Trade Center making its own weather!

We got off at Times Square amidst all the calamity and found a bite to eat.  We were now in the epicenter of the New York City vibe.  The New York crowds are a good precursor to those wanting to travel to Japan or China; there the crowds are so thick you don’t bother apologizing and just worm your way through the fray.  The tour of the Empire State Building is wonderfully impressive, displaying a full history of its construction along with the movies and a digital display of King Kong peeking through the windows which was really cool.  They really ham it up as part of the tour.  

We arrived at the observation tower and while crowded, it wasn’t that bad.  We got a fabo 360 view of the city, albeit from a terrifying height.  Art Deco permeates every aspect of the building and it’s too bad that this style has been left to the likes of history and nostalgia; a relic of a time and place where class and style were paramount.  I actually pine for those days – much like a character from “Midnight in Paris.”  Bob and I marveled at the detailing that culminates into this enduring icon.  

We left by way of the requisite gift shop and headed for the Chrysler Building.  Even though the heat wave had broken it was still warm and muggy.  When we got to the entrance we were told it was closed due to Covid🤬 We were certainly dismayed as this was a bucket list item. We could only marvel at the structure from afar.  We decided to take a break at Grand Central Station where we sat in awe at the ceiling depicting celestials and gods.  We had gelato and sorbet with iced lattes at the Italian cafe; there is a reason why you can’t find a Starbucks in Italy – like pizza, the Italians know when their craft is superior.  

Grand Central Station in all its glory

We headed back to the Wall Street District to check out the bull, only to discover there was a long line of tourists wanting to take pictures.  We did sneak in a selfie from the side and then called it a day. We took the ferry back to Liberty Harbor, fascinated by this form of commute that so many coming from New Jersey endure every day.  The river is teaming with yachts, ferries and jet skies; it’s a form of commerce I have not been that close to and immerses you into another aspect of the New York culture.  And the view is unbeatable as you pull away from the dock.  The landscape of New York is truly in a class all by itself, setting itself apart from the rest of the world, a maddening melting pot, teaming with diversity. 

I am now at an all time record on steps! 

We spent the evening winding down and washing off the mugginess of the day. We headed out the next morning to take the ferry back over and the find out way to Battery Park where we take another ferry to the Statue of Liberty.  It was a perfect morning in the 70’s and the humidity had dropped dramatically. We were really in for a treat.  When we docked we walked along the beautiful waterfront esplanade on and equally beautiful morning.  When we arrived at the Battery Park terminal we were greeted with the hordes of tourists such as ourselves waiting to board the ferry.  I had gotten the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty tickets packaged into our Big Bus Tour which came in handy and proved to be less of a hassle.  

We squirmed our way to the top deck for the best view and of course most everyone else had the same idea.  But we managed so the lovely lady as we cruised into the port of Liberty Island.  What an impressive site she is!!!!  We wandered around the base and then went to the museum where we were blown away by the digital displays of her initial conception and construction.  What an unbelievable feat and why the French are such great allies; it only reinforces my affinity for the French culture.  

The ultimate symbol of liberty – thank you France!

By the time we got something to eat, and when you factor in the long lines and general logistics it was already early afternoon.  We decided to not disembark on Ellis Island and go straight back to lower Manhattan to catch the Big Bus to Central Park.

The Boys!
Ellis Island
A view from the bay

We got off near 5th Avenue and walked by Radio City Music Hall and the famous Rockefeller Center where instead of a skating rink, it is now a roller skating rink for the summer. We then walked with the masses of shoppers along 5th Avenue where all the major players, Gucci, Ferragamo, Henry Winston, Dior etc. were all staking their claim; it reminded us a bit of Honolulu; while all the stores are along the main drag near Waikiki, in New York they are bigger and bolder as if saying “here I am,” and then the next one is saying “uh, uh, sister, Here I AM.”  

We walked through Central Park East, but didn’t get as immersed as we would have liked.  It would be nice to come back in the fall when the leaves are turning and spend some serious time in the park.  We got some soft scoop ice cream and decided for the sake of time to take the subway as the afternoon had pretty much slipped through our fingers; it’s cheap, and a visit to New York isn’t complete without a stint on the legendary New York Subway.  

We got off near the WTC; I get really choked up at the memorial.  I have pictures from my last visit so no need for any further representation here – it’s a must do, and when I look at the waterfalls cascading down the abyss I can only think of the tears that have been shed for all of those who have been lost from not only the horrific events of September 11, but for those who continue to defend our liberties. 

This day was a day about the importance of liberty and freedom. New York represents so many things; art, theater, architecture, hope – but the most enduring aspect of New York, at its very essence, is liberty.  The city displays this proudly, in an unsurpassing manner I have not felt anywhere else.  I forgive your maddening pace that I can only take in doses, because at your core, you are the apple that I desire a bigger bite of🗽

July 24 – August 5 The Maritimes: New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia 

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We arrived in New Brunswick, thus making our final transition into Canada.   We stayed at the Sussex, KOA which was part of a complex that included a drive-in theater that was showing Thor – Love and Thunder later that evening. The pool wasn’t crowded which was unusual, so we decided to go for a swim and I got in a half hour of intense swimming!    

After the sun set, we sat on the picnic table for a clear view of the screen, turned on the radio to the specified channel to get audio, and watched the movie from the convenience of our RV spot – how fun was that!

We set out the next day to Fundy National Park along the bay of the same namesake, and onto Hopewell Rocks. We wound up doing a coastal hike thinking it would take us right up to the shoreline but it didn’t – otherwise, we got a long hike through the woods which wasn’t so bad.  We ended up in Herring Cove just as a thunderstorm blew up the bay. Fortunately, we didn’t get the full brunt of it, but the winds were blowing up pretty hard and we worry about the rig when they threaten fifty-mile-an-hour winds.  Fortunately we escaped its wrath.

We headed out to the famous Hopewell Rocks thinking it would be a bit like Bandon, Oregon, where you just park up and walk along the beach to really cool rock formations.  As it turned out we had to pay to get in and it’s like a production line; we hiked for about fifteen minutes down a well-trod trail, followed by several flights of stairs that lead us down to sea level. 

The formations are mesmerizing and at low tide tourists pile in to walk around the beautifully sculpted “flower pots.” We wandered around the rocks, trying to dodge the other tourists, both greedy and patient to get shots that weren’t diluted with the selfie-obsessed.  The formations are quite captivating with swirling carpets of seaweed covering their base, sheathed in a deep teal green that I had not seen before.  

Flower Pot
…..and
…more flower pots

Much like Bandon, I felt like I was in a surrealistic painting where landscapes are exaggerated into impossible shapes, but they somehow make sense.  The Bay of Fundy is home to the highest tides in the world; when the tide comes in at an astounding fifty feet, you can only gain access by boat – when the tide is out it becomes a wonderland with tidepools, cool formations and several caves for the curious to explore.  Many of the rocks looked as though they could have been an inspiration for the faces at Easter Island.  

Cool Caves
Seaweed of a different kind

We ended the day in Alma at a nice restaurant that only had seating outside.  It was blowing pretty hard and then the horizontal rain came – we thankfully got moved under the porch when other diners finished, though it was getting rather chilly. Then as fast as the storm came, it ceased, and the clouds started to break up.  We ended the day with the best sunset on our trip so far.

What a way to end another perfect day

I had done nearly 20,000 steps and almost 8 miles, so was pretty exhausted, but we got a real feel for New Brunswick and its magic. 

I slept hard that night and we managed to rest up the next day as we headed to Prince Edward Island, passing over the Confederation Bridge that spans an impressive eight miles.  It is a heck of a thing.  We have now entered the breadbasket of the region; fields of corn, wheat and potatoes spread across the afternoon horizon, kissed by the sea and sun.  The region is known for its potatoes that are rich in minerals due to the iron content of the soil. Here the weather remained in the 70’s which is considered hot by the local residents 🥵 Nothing looked dried out as it would be in Portland by now.  The well-manicured lawns and flowers hugged the highway looking as though we were in a springtime paradise vs. mid-summer. 

Confederation Bridge – it’s really long

We explored P.E.I the next day, visiting the famous Anne of Green Gables farm.  Her legacy permeates the island with stores, chocolates and inn’s named after her that seems like a contradiction to her ideology.  The farm is well-kept with working gardens and a path through the woods takes you into a childhood playground filled with ferns and streams.  Being as touristed as it is, you don’t get too much privacy and I wondered how many modern-day children actually get the chance to roam the woods freely as I did; to sit in contemplation of a babbling brook, feeling free, yet interconnected in those secret places where a child’s imagination weaves a web of delight, embracing the creatures of the forest.  In our overcrowded society it seems more like an exception where soon, we will need to pay a premium to enjoy. I bought her book at the giftshop, suspecting I will find it wonderfully relatable.  

Anne of Green Gables

As we drove along the coast, we stumbled upon a stately and curvaceous hotel known as Dalvay by the Sea.  It is prestigious enough to have warranted a visit by William and Kate during one of their tours.  The wrap-around porch with a view of the sea makes you want to sit, chat and read for the afternoon.  We decided to have lunch in their dining room; I had a lobster roll for a substantially lower cost than the one I had at Bar Harbor! The warm breeze and being surrounded by quietude in a white linen setting made for a memorable lunch.  It was a far cry from the bustling restaurants and RV dinners we’ve been having for quite a while now.  

Dalvay by the Sea

We eventually detached ourselves from our revelry and finished exploring the coastline, stopping at the picture-perfect Covehead Harbour Lighthouse that sits upon the dunes.  

Covehead Harbour Lighthouse

On our back to our campsite, we parked up in Charlottetown that has a Victorian quarter complete with a towering basilica.  The town has lovely restored buildings, and though the street with the shops and eateries isn’t very long, the local coffee bistro does a mean latte.  This topped off another lovely day in the Maritimes.  

Charlottetown, P.E.I

We headed out the next morning to Nova Scotia passing over the Confederation Bridge once more – this time they charged us a toll that was a hefty $50.00 Canadian which is $40.00 U.S.  I suppose they need to justify the building and maintenance of this monumental piece of infrastructure. 

We skirted the coastline of New Brunswick, passing through yet more picture-perfect coastal settings on our way to Caribou, Nova Scotia. We stumbled upon a lavender farm that I didn’t want to leave; I expressed this desire to the owners who acknowledged their place in Nirvana.  In addition to the lavender fields, they had a farm house surrounded by vegetable berms, flower beds and planter boxes. The scene was then topped off with a pond and large gazebo. My mind was bursting with imaginings of what we could do to replicate these ideas in France.  We completed our tour at the gift shop, immediately greeted by a long sigh of lavender that echoed its scent back to the RV, where we stuffed sachets behind our pillows and spritzed the room spray to enlighten our space.  

Nirvana

Driving through the Maritimes we have passed a beautiful array of bird life including bald eagles, ospreys and the elegant Blue Heron.  They are in abundance here and reminds me of our home in Portland, Oregon where we lived not far from the Sauvie Island Nature Reserve.  

We overnighted at Harbour Light Campground that had its own private beach.  We took a stroll and watched the fishing boats come in.  We dined on salmon and enjoyed the ocean breeze that kept the rig at a perfect sleeping temperature.  

We headed out to Cape Breton, driving along its dramatic shoreline.  Our next destination was the Waves End RV park that boasted spacious spots that came right up to the shoreline.  We had an ocean view interrupted by one class A but I could still see the surf, feel the breeze, smell the rarified air. Unfortunately, we arrived just as a storm system came in and pummeled us off and on for a couple of hours.  This warranted spaghetti in the Instapot.  I really don’t mind the occasional storms, just so long as no one gets injured. Since the winds were blowing a bit of a gale, we cozied up for the evening with a short break to walk along the seaside.  We watched the sun go down though we were confused as to the direction of the sun since we didn’t think we were facing west.  We actually were but we are used to seeing the sun set from the west coast😂

We ventured out the next day to hike the Skyline Trail along the famous Cabot Trail System of Cape Breton.  The Canadians are so well organized:  They always have ample parking and special spaces for RVs.  The trail was well-groomed and while busy, I found some solitude amongst the boreal forest boasting fragrant balsam fir while Bob took a separate loop. They reserved part of the park for the balsam seedlings to grow, it was fenced in to keep out the deer and moose who view these delicate shoots as a delicacy.

I kept pace with the cooling breeze, strolling along my private preserve set amongst the balsam and wild things where I always feel at peace; the trees are my temples, the sky is my heaven, the flowers and ferns my altar – dancing in the wind as wild things do.  Overhead, the gulls transform into winged angels, having made peace with the tempests, gliding amongst the towering cathedrals of cumulus that become one with the sun.  

Eventually arriving at the boardwalk you have a view over the vast seascape. The planked walk cascades below for a distance with lookouts and benches where you can contemplate the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the surrounding cape.  You do quite a few steps on the way back up😅

Skyline Trail, Cape Breton

We drove along the rugged coastline on our way to Cheticamp; Bob was excited to visit The Doryman pub and grill where they played live Irish music. When we arrived the place was packed; what we didn’t realize was this happened to be Joe Macmaster’s debut gig for his new CD; all we knew was there was a fiddler playing on Saturday afternoon, not realizing we chanced upon a world renown musician!  Some of the crowd, comprised mostly of retirees, would get up from their chairs and do Irish dancing.  It was quite fun. 

After having too much fun, and logging yet another 19,000 steps, we came back to spend the late afternoon catching a shower, reading and journaling. But the Cape wasn’t through with us yet.  As a glow began to permeate BigB, we wandered down to the bluff for yet another Maritime sunset, rivaling those of our beloved Pacific Coast.  

Waves End

We headed out to Halifax the next morning to visit Bob’s Aunty Brenda and Cousin Steven.  At 87, Brenda was now in a retirement home and we stopped in for dinner and then spent the evening chatting.  It had been twenty years since we’d seen her!  She was doing well, made us tea and gave us a tour of her lovely facility. We can only hope we can spend our twilight years in such a place.

We were staying at the KOA in Upper Sackville just outside of Halifax. It was a decent KOA though it was more geared for families with plenty of activities for the kids.  We soon discovered it was a holiday weekend and not everyone observed the quiet time.  We were also sandwiched between two highways so there was a fair amount of road noise.  I would only recommend this place if you have kids; it’s not a place you go to get “away from it all.”

Steven came by and picked us up the next morning and we drove into Halifax.  We had coffee and chatted for a while.  He dropped us off at the waterfront which was pretty crowded.

Modern-day Halifax contrasted by a classic Nova Scotia fishing village

We explored the shops and harbor and then Steven came to pick us again. We were thankful for being chauffeured around!  He took us to his house and then back to the KOA.  Thankfully it was a bit quieter that evening.  The weather was cool and we decided to have a campfire and I broke out the S’mores. All in all it ended pretty well.  

Bob and Steven at his house in Halifax

Halifax has changed dramatically from the last time we’d been there, with more big box stores squeezed into the tourist area.  The weather during our entire time in the Maritimes had been perfect; yes we’ve had some rain but, we haven’t been plagued with the heat and humidity like we had in Maine. 

We headed to Annapolis by way of Peggy’s Cove that sports a lighthouse set amongst some serious rock.  Again, it was crowded as it is understandably a popular place, though we didn’t stay too long as we had a long drive. 

The rugged shore and village at Peggy’s Cove

It rained most of the time we were on the road and luckily it was a travel day.  We arrived at the Lake Breeze Campground in some pretty thick fog.  We had a view of the lake and it was so quiet that we thought something had happened to humanity – perhaps a zombie invasion and no one thought to let us know.  They advertised “quiet,” and they weren’t kidding.  After the sparse traffic died down, the only noise we heard were the loons who haunted the lake, much like Nessie.  Yes, Nessie – Canadians have such a lovely sense of humor. 

Swimmer being chased by Nessie😱

We spent the day in Annapolis Royal, once a fort and major shipping hub.  We then went to the “tidal city” of Bear River, exploring the art communities; there are some very talented folks in this neck of the woods.  It has a “retreat” atmosphere, where one can contemplate and create amongst the verdant landscape.  This part of Nova Scotia can only be described as moderately busy; the highways and towns simply aren’t hectic like they are in the mainland U.S. – partly due to the low population density in Canada.  

We spent our last night by the fire, next to the lake, no bugs and yes….quiet.  What road noise there is dies down quickly, leaving us in the stillness, and we can drift without any further human incursions for the evening.  

It doesn’t get any better than this!!!

The next day we boarded the Fundy Rose, and ferried our way cross the Bay of Fundy to St. John’s, New Brunswick and our final overnight in Canada.  We sat in a lovely lounge entertained by a fiddler, watching the world go by.  The fog set in but we enjoyed our jaunt all the same.  The name Fundy Rose came from an African-Canadian woman from the 1800’s by the name of Rose Fortune, who trail blazed her way through history as a shrewd business woman and entrepreneur. We did notice a large black community in and around Halifax, even in the camp sites which in the U.S. is pretty rare. It’s lovely to see Canada embrace and celebrate their diversity.

The boys enjoying the ferry ride

Mon Dieu!!! We realized we had gone from one extreme of the U.S. to the other!  Google maps gave us perspective on how far we had come on this leg of our journey. So far we have logged over 20,000 miles since the 20th of February! 

From Anchorage to the farthest tip of Nova Scotia

Au revoir Canada🇨🇦 🦌🦬🦫🦅🦞🌲🏔🌅you will be missed; your incomparable landscapes and your hospitality will always be in my thoughts, hopefully I’ll be back to visit again one day❤️

I’ve been collecting these lovely cards by a local illustrator

July 12 – 23 Vermont, New Hampshire and Baa-Ha-Ba, Maine

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After bidding farewell to Vanessa and Paul, we stopped by Canadian Tire to get a Bug Zapper Racket that was convenient when we were visiting Les and Monique: The mosquitoes were out in force in this part of Canada and we were anticipating using it tonight.  As we passed into Quebec, I thought I was in France all over again: The road and business signs (except for Subway and McDonalds) and even the cashiers all sported French as the primary language.  Bob and I spent time interpreting the signs as part of our French lessons!

We made it through the border without having to sacrifice any of our groceries. Once in Vermont we landed at Prouty Beach Campground and RV Park.  It was warm but not obscenely so and we went for a walk along the lake.  Now that we had decent wi-fi and cell coverage we spent a few hours devouring Stage 16 of the Tour de France and wondering how the riders were managing through the horrific heat wave plaguing Portugal, Spain, France and the UK.  Our relatives in England were managing ok with the heat but they certainly weren’t used to it.  We are definitely going to be retrofitting whatever house we get in France with air conditioning (usually the ductless units) in anticipation of the increasing temperatures.

The next day we decided to walk to Newport which is less than a mile away. We left late morning, it was in the 70’s and a bit muggy. We meandered through the streets, visited a large gothic Catholic Cathedral, took in the architecture of traditional New England homes that in our estimation must have housed a few generations of families based on their size. 

Impressive Catholic Church overlooking Newport

We then strolled along the waterfront replete with a fake swan along one of the canals that eventually changed its position when we left the next morning. By that time it was noon, and we were starting to feel that suffocating humidity that we hadn’t experienced in a long time.  We have been to the Amazon and Cambodia, and in those places the humidity is nearly 100% and in some cases nearly 100 degrees, but we’re not getting any younger! We were both sweating profusely and went into the supermarket to stick our heads into the freezers and grab some necessities – like wine….

We walked back to the RV and were fortunately getting some decent shade with the help of our awning that extended over the picnic table and a breeze started to kick up.  Bob announced that we had walked five miles with some decent uphill stints; that may explain why the back of my neck had created its own water feature🥵.  I broke out my special fan that you add water to that converts to a mister; I set it up on the table next to me and was quite comfortable. We had lunch and basically took a siesta until the hottest part of the afternoon subsided.  This is great practice for our transition to Europe where the shops close down in the afternoons anyway.

Our air conditioning unit is loud and we decided to save that for the evening when we catch up on the Tour de France and a movie. By that time the temperature had dropped to a reasonable level and we opened the windows for the remainder of the night.  

The next day we passed through New Hampshire on our way to Maine.  This area is stunning in the fall (as we experienced years before) as you imagine a carpet of blazing orange and red with the quintessential church spires erupting from the landscape.  We drove through Lancaster with its charming, traditional architecture.  We soon got more Moose caution signs – we hadn’t banked on that on the east coast and I have been educated yet again.

We settled into our spot at the KOA outside of Bar Harbor and set out for said location the next day.  

On our way to the harbor, we stopped by Acadia National Park; we had been there before during “leaf peeping” season and decided to drop into the visitor center, once again leveraging our National Parks Pass and collecting a magnet for the board.  Though it was a short hike, there was some rather steep uphill, it was nearly noon and really hot and muggy.  I felt like I was in a hot yoga session.  We headed out to the Bar Harbor (Baa Haa Baa), to cool off and grab a bite to eat; I had an overpriced but tasty Lobster Roll and lots of iced tea.  We bummed around the shops and visited the harbor itself.  It was super busy as its a tourist hot spot but fun all the same. 

Ships docked in Bar Harbor

We had parked the rig in the shade near an athletic field not far from the designated RV Parking.  Unfortunately all the designated RV parking spots were taken and the dirt lot next to it was virtually empty. We still paid for a ticket to avoid getting fined.  It all worked out great in the end as we scored a spot in the shade😍

On our way back to the KOA, we stopped by an extension of the bay to have our tea as we love picking interesting spots as part of the RV trippin experience. The idea was to sit at a shady picnic table at a rest stop that overlooked the bay, watch the bird life and contemplate our bucolic surroundings – well, the mosquitoes had a different agenda….so we wound up bagging that idea! 

After 13,000 steps in the heat, crowds and humidity, I opted for a shower and to spend the rest of the evening in the air conditioning, recouping from the day. 

The next day we headed down the coast of Maine via Highway 1.

Along the way we spotted a large blue building that was part of a larger blueberry attraction; Maine is apparently the blueberry capital of the world. We of course had to check it out and though they have a smorgasbord of blueberry products, oddly there were no fresh blueberries.  

Blueberry Land – they take their blueberries seriously

Moving on, we diverted to Jonesport to get closer to the sea. We found a camping area filled with RVs and sorta crashed it; the camp host asked us what we were doing and we responded that we were just taking pictures – she was cool with that and indicated that the camp was full anyway. Then the other camp host came by  and asked us if everything was ok and we inquired about having our tea in this really great spot; he extended his New England hospitality to us so we sat next to the bay and had our tea amongst the seagulls and salty air – sans the mosquitoes! We caught the interest of some of the nearby RV inhabitants and wound having a great conversation with some of the locals about our travels. The gals were playing a game under a pop up and the guys were under a nearby awning. When Bob asked the boys what they were up to they said they were going to visit the “Sardine Museum” – as if to say they weren’t up to anything. When we bid our farewell to these lovely New Englanders we passed by the Sardine Museum – such a beast does exist in Jonesport, Maine🎣🛖

The bay at Jonesport, Maine

We went through the backroads and ended back up on Highway 1 on our way to Houlton which is next to the Canadian border.  It was rural Maine with farms of barley, corn and other assorted crops.  As its now late-July, the sun is beginning to tilt in such a way that the fields and forests give off that summer smell of dry grass and pine needles that beckons the eventual transition to fall. We stopped at the Million Dollar Scenic View Byway that boasts a massive lake called “Grand Lake” with a view of New Brunswick just on the other side.  Granted there weren’t any other RV’s coming this way, let alone much traffic as this must be one of the roads less travelled despite its scenic byway designation (it could be one of the hotspots in the fall though). Yet here we were enveloped in an unexpected peace, surrounded by the quietude and shimmering of lakes and fields where the long shadows journey into the evening twilight. I suddenly felt encapsulated for a moment in the rarified presence of mid-summer, away from the incursions of civilization and shielded from the heat plaguing the rest of the Eastern Seaboard. Even the occasional farm seemed to be caught up in the ether of nature’s siesta.

The unexpected revelation of Grand Lake at the Million Dollar View viewpoint.

We stopped off to get groceries and I looked for the legendary wild Maine blueberries and oddly the store only had raspberries and blackberries.  I had become pretty perplexed by the whole blueberry business.  Yet….they had Washington Rainier Cherries!! I of course pounced on a bag like a hungry fox.

One of the stately buildings in Houlton, Maine

We ended the day at the Houlton KOA who had kindly reserved a cooked lobster for moi. 

The perfect specimen ready for devouring – and yes, Rainier Cherries

Bob, not being a shellfish, person opted for steak and we dined on surf and turf as the evening began to cool enough for a campfire.

We spent the evening by the fire catching up on decent wi-fi and cell coverage in anticipation of our next leg into Canada where we know we will get a Verizon throttling as we have before📶= not. And the wi-fi is always spotty at RV parks no matter where you go.

Weaponized for any potential invasion

July 11 – July 19 Niagara Falls and trippin through Ontario

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Meet Shoeless (the White Sox Mascot)! Gifted to us by Bob’s friend Christina while we were in Chicago. The dashboard is getting a bit crowded with our growing family👨‍👩‍👦‍👦

Welcome Shoeless!

We left Chicago, driving through Indiana and Michigan into Ontario.  It turned out to be a long day with over 400 miles.  We stopped off at a Starbucks in the early evening and I saw a salon next door and luckily they were open with only one hairdresser in attendance and totally void of customers.  I just needed a quick trim and we struck up a conversation; I was curious as to where she was originally from due to her coloring and accent; she challenged me to guess and I said “Ethiopia.”  Her jaw dropped and she said I was the first person in twenty-five years that had guessed correctly. She is actually from Eritrea which is in the same region.  We had a great conversation about Africa and I got a much needed trim.  She loved my hair and I’ve heard this before; other hairdressers say the younger generation likes to die their hair my platinum gray color.  It’s nice to have low maintenance hair that is admired 😃.

We finally crossed the border into Ontario. I had downloaded the ArriveCanada app so I could easily update the border crossing info and present the electronic pass.  

This part of Canada reminded me of the Midwest with the rolling fields of corn, wheat and crops.  We passed through the border at Sarnia to Sun Retreats at Ipperwash.  This unfortunately turned out poorly as they advertised the standard, lovely RV sites with full hooks up with a concrete slab that you paid full price for and we found ourselves in the “rustic” campground with 15 amp electric with a filthy pit toilet surrounded by tractors, boats and abandoned equipment. Even the other facilities such as the showers hadn’t been cleaned in weeks and there was no hot water.  It was really a mobile home park with semi-permanent residents – there were no real RV sites for the transient crowd; they passed off the electrical in the camp as a full site which it is not.  It was a bait and switch and we let the owners and the corporation know. Do not stay at Sun Retreats as they will scam you!  We were glad to pack up early and head out. 

As we crossed over the Rainbow Bridge on the Canada side, we could see Niagara Falls on the right side. 

Niagara Falls from the Rainbow Bridge

When we arrived at the falls, we weren’t prepared for the Disneyland-like-carnival atmosphere complete with a dinosaur park that had a spewing volcano, and every circus ride imaginable.  Avoiding the mayhem, we decided to take the boat cruise that takes you right up to the falls: 

They hand you a rain poncho as you board – once you arrive at Horseshoe Falls, you can scream as loud as you want as you don’t just get misted, you are pressure-washed and any commentary or sounds of protest are drowned out by the sound of thousands of gallons of water gushing all around you.  It’s a great adrenaline rush with limited peril and to a certain extent the poncho is simply a suggestion; it did keep my camera dry at least. It was a sunny day so we grabbed a bite to eat and air dried our Niagara-saturated bodies at the cafe conveniently located at the exit of the boat launch.  It was so much fun!!!

Niagara Falls before being doused
Horseshoe Falls post dousing

We spent the evening at the Branches of the Niagara Campground which was at the opposite end of our experience at Sun Retreats; it was pristine and well-kept. We spent the evening getting dried out and cleaned up and then headed out the next morning back to see the falls from the U.S. side; it was structured more like a standard state park with overlooks and gift shops – otherwise it was the opposite of the Canadian circus which in a way is pretty surprising.  The views from the Canadian side are certainly much better.  

Rainbow at Niagara Falls from the New York side

We lucked out on a rainbow that stretched across the river as we watched the boats go into the falls, it was a lovely morning and good for getting our steps in while catching the thunder of this iconic spectacle.  It’s a lovely walk through the woods and park and is relatively quiet as most of the crowds don’t seem to linger at the wooded park benches.  

Tourists on their way through the ”mist”

We bid farewell to the thunder and mist and passed back into Canada at the other side of the Rainbow Bridge and on to Silent Lake where we were meeting up with Bob’s cousin Les and his wife Dominique:  They are both muscians – Les plays the flute and Dominique the violin; she is also French-Canadian.  

It rained most of the day and we arrived in pretty muddy conditions at the Provincial Park with a 15 amp plug we finally found after scouring the campsite; it was several yards away which was unusual – luckily our cord was long enough to reach it.  Les was kind enough to pick us up and we headed to their cabin in the woods.  The rain actually added to the porous, wooded atmosphere as they lit a fire in their cozy living room as we chatted over a super delicious Thai meal.  Dominique spent part of her childhood in Thailand and certainly nailed the quisine!  

Les took us back to the park and we woke up the next morning to a cloudless sky with the sun dappling the forest accompanied by the music of woodland birds and creatures.  We set out to canoe with Les and Dominique on Silent Lake and lucky for us the weather was perfect.  The lake does not allow any motorized vehicles and wasn’t crowded at all, hence the name.  We paddled across the main body and into an inlet that led to another part of the lake. 

Dominique and Les

We soon spotted a loon with chicks and then suddenly a large male appeared not far from our canoe, jolting us to attention with his loud, legendary call.  Then he disappeared under the water; I did not know that loons could hold their breath for about fifteen minutes!  We kept searching and saw him surface several yards away.

Lillies and loons

We passed lilly pads that hugged the marshes and partially submerged islands that invited exploration.  We docked on an esplanade of boulders, spread out a picnic, breathing in the beauty and around us; the modern world was at a standstill for a time. The lake wasn’t too cold so we all went for a swim; I can’t remember the last time I went swimming in a lake, I usually stick to oceans and pools.  There is something primal in this remote setting as if you are floating back in time in an undisturbed, restorative and soothing wilderness. We need more of this in our over-mechanized lives and to have this area preserved and left to its natural cycles feels miraculous. I felt like a kid again, dipped in the cooling waters of nostalgia, stretching my tendons past the dancing waterskippers and iridescent dragonflies. 

Taking a dip in Silent Lake

We paddled a while longer through more marshes, water lillies watching our progress, and then headed back to the launch area.  We stopped at one of the islands on the way and were able to dock the canoes in the island shallows and go for another swim.  

We ended the day back at their cabin; Bob made a curry and we polished off the strawberry rhubarb crisp Dominique had made.  One of their friends had invited us for a sunset cruise on his boat at the neighboring Paudas Lake.  It’s a huge lake and most of the shoreline is populated by homes.  We saw several loons and it was lovely hearing the haunting echo of their calls across the lake.  The sun slid behind some clouds but still backlit the sky with a lovely fuscia pink, complemented by an unexpected rainbow across the far horizon.  It was the end of a perfect summer day. 

The next morning, we joined Dominique and Les for breakfast and bid farewell, grateful for their hospitality and encouraging them to come and visit us in France.  Dominique’s sister lives in Paris so we are optimistic we will catch up in the future. On our way out, we stopped at the National Petroglyphs Park dating back to 900 A.D. and lovingly preserved by a structure that keeps the carvings from deteriorating further.  The First Nations mythology is so similar to the American Indians and even the impressions carved into the granite have the same structure. It has been a blessing to be able to study the history of so many different North American indigenous tribes.

After several days of having too much fun, as dumb as it sounds, Bob and I found ourselves rather tired and committed to spend the afternoon relaxing, reading and journaling the rest of the day. 

We have been so busy touring and visiting in the last few weeks, that sometimes we haven’t take enough time to simply sit still, giving ourselves time for reflection, enjoying the warmth of summer that goes by too fast. Life feels less compressed here in Canada, it’s not simply because we are retired, it just feels more mellow.  

We overnighted at a basic RV park next to a pond that had a resident toad who liked to croak repeatedly through the night – that being said I did manage to get some sleep and we spent the morning reading and working out, then gathered ourselves and pushed our tiny home towards Perth, where thankfully, we had pedicures scheduled as my toenails were taking on a patina of wildness that wasn’t particularly appealing.

We arrived at Paul and Vanessa’s, who, like the last two places we had mooch-docked, were in a rural setting that Bob and I dreamed of, with a resident deer known as Doris. After a nice dinner on the lake, and then catching up, we retired to the RV; later in the night I could hear the distant call of a loon drifting through the silence.

Doris and an apple

The next day we went to Merrickville which is one of Paul and Vanessa’s BNB’s that housed an entire collection of Beatlemania and has a Bohemian vibe to it.  Bob and Paul spent time reminiscing about their time as DJ’s including vintage recordings that Paul had lovingly preserved.  We then went to a vintage car show and found one that matched Paul’s shirt! 

Fashionista Paul!

It was a hot 90 degree day that ended with beer-butt chicken that felt off the bone; if you haven’t had beer-butt chicken google it – you can’t go wrong. We sat on the porch and enjoyed the cooling temperatures, then headed off for a good night’s sleep. We woke up to showers and then it started to pour so we took advantage of our temporary incarceration; journaling, editing, reading, backing up photos and watching bad TV. We had closed our vents but as we were parked under a pine tree Bob had to do roof duty to free the needles that got trapped when securing the rig. I imagined us pulling away and taking some branches with us.

Every time we enter Canada our Verizon service gets throttled. My US apps such as Peacock, Starz etc. don’t work over wifi as they recognize the IP address, but luckily we were able to do some minor streaming on Peacock(NBC) through our 4G LTE and catch the last half-hour of the Tour de France before the Verizon police text me and tank my speed into low data mode oblivion. I’m not sure why the app works this way but I’ll take it!

The sun burst through the morning morning as we prepared to leave for Vermont. We had a great time with Vanessa and Paul and always appreciate the great Canadian hospitality – we hope we will see them again soon!

Vanessa and Paul

July 2 – 10 Wisconsin…Michigan…Chi-Town!

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We stopped over at Schwittay Farm; they are a dairy farm that makes cheese for Belgioioso which I’ve purchased and seen in Oregon.  It’s a pretty popular brand.  We were given those cute little cheese samples, and also purchased some brats, beef steaks, more cheese and eggs.  It was great to get it directly from the source. 

As we were dry camping on a dairy farm we found ourselves parked not far from the manure pit that posed many problems; the odor was too intense, it was difficult to breathe and there were flies.  We were by the barn that housed around one hundred head of dairy cows so we moved to the other side to get some relief.  It did help.

Outside of that experience we walked along the backroads of rural Wisconsin and returned to see a newborn calf and observe how the milking process was done. As usual it was Latino workers managing the cows and the process – always some of the hardest working people I know.  

There was one cow who was pregnant and overdue and they were having a fair amount of issues with her.  She looked so uncomfortable. She would complain into the night and we wound up not getting much sleep until, we believe, they moved her out of the pen.  I hope she gives birth soon and recovers.  

There were lovely Jersey cows, originally imported from England that would gave us big-eyed stares.   

Newborn calf and lovely Jersey

We now have a new appreciation of the work that goes into making the fantastic cheese we consume!

We left Wisconsin the next day and drove into Michigan, on our way to Marquette on the Upper Peninsula (UP). 

We were supposed to meet up with my brother and sister-in-law for the 4th of July but my brother came down with Covid😥  He’s fine but we sure miss meeting up with them.  We camped out at Rippling River Resort outside of Marquette.  The spot we got was closer to an actual campsite than an RV resort, we only had electrical, but that was fine as it was rustic and there was no need to use a generator which was perfect.  We were backed up to a meadow with daisies, the weather was beautiful and the perfect conditions for a barbecue and campfire.  

Relaxing at Rippling River

Rain was expected for the 4th of July and as predicted it arrived so we had a pretty lazy day in the rig and decided to take a cab into town and catch an early showing of Elvis – it appears half the town decided to do so as well😂

We got back to the campsite and went out for a walk but then it started pouring rain and we snuggled inside BigB and watched the Bridges of Madison County and then an episode of Obi-Wan.  Due to the weather it turned out to be the quietest 4th of July we ever had!  

The rain let up the next morning and we were able to go out for a nice long hike that skirted the campsite.  We read and then barbecued a steak dinner (the meat we had bought at Schwittay Farms).  This is probably the most we’ve stayed stationary in one place for a while.  

We headed for Sleeping Bear Dunes and overnighted at the Indigo Bluffs RV Park.  It’s a large RV park but the spaces are large, off the road and shaded.  We spent the evening by the fire and headed to the dunes the following day. 

We hiked up a couple of sets of large dunes and then realized it was several miles to actually get to the beach so we decided to do the scenic drive.  The mythology behind the Sleeping Bear is rather heartbreaking:

We stopped by some of the overlooks and watched people trying to hike up the side of the overlook – we decided to pass on that one!

Sleeping Bear Overlook

We headed out to visit our friends from Washington who had moved to the countryside outside of Traverse City. 

Their stunning log and pine lodge rests on several acres next to a small river.  This is the kind of place we dream of retiring to and hope we will find a similar setting in France.  We spent hours catching up on our adventures and got our first home cooked meal in a long time (we’re not counting the RV barbecues!).

This also gave us a chance to fix the step on the rig; it’s been impossible to find an RV repair place that will help us as they are overbooked, so Bob is doing it himself with the help of our friends.  And it worked – our step is now trouble free!

We had a great time catching up, eating and drinking as friends do, then bid farewell with the promise they will catch up with us in France.  

We set out early as we had a 350 mile journey the next day to a KOA outside of Chicago.  

We arrived to beautiful weather, not really humid and in the 70’s.  We were told it was the best weather so far this year!  The next day we parked up at the Crystal Lake train station not too far outside the KOA and went into Chicago.  We wound up in walking distance of everything and took in the sites at the Millenium Park including the “Bean.”  We had a nice lunch outside and then walked around Magnificent Mile.  As it was Sunday, and a spectacular day, it was understandably packed.  We certainly got our steps in🚶‍. 

The Bean

We went on a late afternoon architectural tour; given the Chicago is one of the great architectural cities it was a pleasant 1.5 boat tour along the canals. 

The river walk has been completely reconstructed and was beautiful with wrought iron fences and eateries.  

We met up with one of Bob’s collageagues from his Adidas days and ate and lovely Italian meal in a quite neighborhood in a relaxing outdoor setting.  It was a wonderful top off to a busy and fulfilling day, having emersed ourselves in one of America’s great cities 🏙 

June 26 – July 1 Is this Heaven? No, it’s Iowa… through the heart of the Midwest

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We drove through the backroads from Sundance, WY to get a feel of the land and landed in Deadwood staying at the Deadwood Mountain Grand where we meandered through a Vegas-style lobby to get to the hotel itself.  We weren’t prepared for the casino culture that eclipsed the history we were seeking in town.  We loved the series and the movie and while the historical buildings and signs were apparent, they seemed more like an attraction for the casino crowd – we’re not casino people so it doesn’t appeal to us.  In Skagway, AK, you had interpretive centers and the money invested into education and museums that were part of the main drag: You got a real feel of the Klondike Goldrush.  

We decided to have dinner at the historical Franklin Hotel which had that grand old hotel feel to it and even the bar had the velvet covered chairs – yet you are again, surrounded by loud slot machines, so instead of immersing in the old west we finished our drinks and went outside because the noise was getting obnoxious.  We were then met with motorcyclists with loud engines who decided to blare their radios to compete with the sound of the engines. It was deafening.  

As we wandered around town, to the historical sites where Wild Bill Hickock was shot and Seth Bullock had established his hardware store, we also noticed deep pockmarks in some of the cars; a testimony to the violent storms that pass through this region.  Ouch!

Deadwood, South Dakota

We visited the Mount Moriah Cemetery the next morning which was a great experience; based on the date on the headstones, the mortality rate was just so low and many of them dated back to the mid-1800’s.  Of course Will Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane were the highlights – Seth Bullock’s grave site is a 1.5 mile hike up a gravel road; I suppose to secure his legacy in Deadwood’s history.  It was getting hot and we needed to hit the road so declined that particular adventure.  

Legends of Deadwood

Passing through more vast grasslands, we decided to stop by the Badlands National Park. It was in the 90’s and we came up from the south end of the park that turned out to be over thirty miles of gravel road (oops!).  It would have been easier to come off the I-90 but you still would need to do the mileage to get around the high points of the park; we went from south to north.   This desolate, fascinating landscape sprawls on for quite a ways with several overlooks. 

Badlands National Park

We saw a herd of bison on the open range and it gave me a sense of how it was on these prairies prior to the post-Civil War migration.  There were “villages” of charming prairie dogs scurrying across the roads and poking their heads out of the mounds.  

Bison roaming the Badlands

Amongst the many fascinating features are the Yellow Mounds – an anomaly we hadn’t encountered through our travels in the Southwest.  

Yellow Mounds, Badlands National Park

I loved the landscape of the badlands; they reminded me of the Bisti Badlands of New Mexico with the same clay-like soil, but of course on a grander scale and not as bizarre. 

I became fascinated by the White River Overlook, maybe because it took me to another planet, even though most of the Badlands is like that.  

White River Overlook, Badlands National Park

Outside the Badlands Visitor Center

It turned out to be a lovely evening as we passed through the Buffalo Gap National Forest (forest is a relative term as it’s mostly grass). Sadly there were a fair amount of casualties on the I-90; deer, porcupine, raccoons, rabbits.  We spent the night at the Landmark Country Inn that was run by a lovely Mexican family.  Another Mexican family was staying there; it was great to see a diversity of people and ownership in this area.  

The following day we found ourselves traveling through the the Fort Pierre National Grasslands that was part of the Great Plains, though so much is now cow pasture and corn.  Vast, endless, preturbed by agriculture though much remains virgin, it’s too vast for us to consume. 

We stopped at the Akta Lakota Museum and Cultural Center in Chamberlain. It was so well put together and equally heartbreaking when you consider there is more land than we can possibly use,  yet we white people came and settled, pushing the Lakota, Sioux and accompanying tribes into finite reservations.  They had some of the artifacts from “Dances with Wolves” on display which was filmed in the area and goods for purchase made by local Indians – thankfully nothing from China was for sale.

Akta Lakota Museum

We ended the day at Sioux Falls KOA in the shade (thankfully) on a 90 degree day.  It was next to the interstate and a bit noisy, but otherwise well-kept. When I checked in I was directed to the shelter in case of a weather event.  We had seen the carnage with some granaries and barns that looked like they had been ripped open by a gargantuan can opener.  They apparently have had some very severe storms prior to us arriving.  I’ll take the hot weather over a nasty storm any day!  

What also drew my attention was that my father grew up on a farm north of Bismarck, ND, amongst the same grasslands of the Great Plains, and I got a sense of how it must have been before he joined the Navy and was deployed to the Pacific; quiet, vast, out of reach, still – until hammered by storms and plundered by dust.  It was even harsher for my grandparents who settled there, Russian Germans escaping persecution from the Czar, adjusting to this new, harsh environment.

We set out for Winterset the following day to see the covered bridges made famous by the “Bridges of Madison County.”  It was a very hot and windy day, and a long drive. We arrived at Covered Bridges Winery which is a Harvest Host site. We did some wine tasting; the local grapes are designed to withstand the harsh winters. I bought a nice bottle of Rose.  The wines are named after the bridges or characters from the movie, though it didn’t come across as over-commercialized.  Since it was so hot, and we didn’t want to be dry camping in the blazing sun, so we decided to see Winterset and the bridges.  I love those hot days when it starts to cool in the evening and the nostalgic smell of summer beckons. We walked along the quiet streets of Winterset, pride spilling onto the sidewalks, passing a smattering of quilt shops and peeking into the Northside Cafe; inside there was a jumble of movie props, apparently left for an undefined destiny. 

Winterset, Iowa

The city is shadowed by the Madison County Courthouse, that sits in stately residence, dominating the middle of town.   Winterset is also the birthplace of John Wayne and his history is proudly displayed in local museum. 

John Wayne Museum – saddle up partner!

The golden evening ended with a trip to the Covered Bridges Scenic Byway, including the famous Holliwell where the flies were tragically voracious if you ventured too far into the grass.

Holliwell Bridge, Madison County, Iowa

Otherwise these stops are a great way to picnic in the quiet amongst the cooling trees with the babbling undertows of passing rivers.  

A Beautiful Evening at Cedar Bridge

The sun set over the rolling hillsides and we parked up in the shade outside the winery with no one else around, the wind was now an inviting presence that flowed through our tiny rooms, humbling us to sleep.  

The following day we stayed at a shady and calm campsite on the edge of Monticello that wasn’t too far from the Field of Dreams site outside of Dyersville.  

It was seriously hot and humid and the wind seemed to provide litte relief. Fortunately the evening cooled off nicely allowing for a good night’s sleep. The next day was more palatable and the clouds were a respite from the blazing sun. This made for, in our estimation, a perfect day to visit the Field of Dreams.  

When we arrived it was just starting to get busy, but not overly so. 

Bob was glassy-eyed as we walked around the pitch, taking in the essence of the great American pastime.  It doesn’t take long to meander through the site that includes the field, house, gift shop, grounds and of course fields of corn.

What was even more lovely were fathers and coaches bringing their kids (yes girls included!), to the legendary pitch to practice. 

If you build it…

It makes you teary-eyed when you think with all the negativity in the world you can come to a special place like this – this enduring dream-like wonder that encompasses the heart of America, that on the surface seems so simple, but as you dig deeper you slip into a more profound sense that the fantasy here isn’t a mere fabrication – it truly delivers on its promise:

“They’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters.  The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.  People will come Ray.  The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.  America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers.  It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again.  But baseball has marked the time.  This field, this game: it’s part of our past, Ray.  It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again.”

James Earl Jones as Terrence Mann – Field of Dreams

Field of Dreams is about so much more than baseball – people who claim it’s the worst baseball film ever missed the entire essence of the movie, which is tragically their loss:  We dream, those dreams are crushed, we love, we lose, we get tangled in the past and cannot move forward.  Field of Dreams is a place that transcends all of that, it’s about resolution and the universal need for human connection.  The power of the storytelling hits you on a subconscious level and leaves you in a state of wonder: With baseball as its foil, you can stand on the pitch of nostalgia and allow yourself to dream across generations. 

It is timeless and just as relevant today as it was 33 years ago. 

Iowa itself touched me in a way that I had not expected, I felt as though I had stumbled upon a forgotten America, a place buried in my early childhood.  It was windy but we were not ravaged by the storms that had torn apart the livelihood of too many farmers.  Our eyes could stretch only so far into the horizon across the fledgling stalks of corn, interrupted by the tireless farms and stainless silos.  It was forever green, sliced and curved like carved fruit, lovingly pressed into the hills and fields.  The grass was the sea that rolled onto a beach of eternal sunshine.  The golden sunset and echoes of crickets welcomed the calm, distilling the absence of the unrelenting buffeting.  Constellations swirl and drop their seedlings; we dream while fireflies dance in the tall grass on a cool summer’s evening.

Is this heaven?  No, it’s Iowa.

June 22 – 26 Montana and Wyoming

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We arrived in Montana and the lovely but packed Glacier West KOA.  We had cancelled our Xanterra Redbus Tour for Going to the Sun Road (GTTSR) as we received notification that the road was still not open and unlikely it would be until July, and very possibly not until after the 4th….it would be like going to an Adele concert with no Adele. Since we weren’t going to the GTTSR, I blew off needing a reservation from Recreation.gov…had I read the fine print or committed further critical thinking to the matter I would have found out it doesn’t matter whether the Going to the Sun Road is open – you need to be registered to get into the park:  This is in addition to the Park Entrance Fee (we have the National Park Pass so no issue for us).

When we arrived we were stopped by the GTTSR Road Rangers saying we needed a reservation for the not open GTTSR. We said we just wanted to go to Apgar and kayak Lake McDonald as the road wasn’t open – that didn’t matter – we either needed a tour operator or the Recreation.gov GTTSR reservation.  She directed us to Glacier Outfitters, we had to turn around and drive for about fifteen minutes to find a cell signal. Luckily Glacier Outfitters were very accommodating and got us a digital reservation to go kayaking on Lake McDonald. What also added to my confusion is the other boat tour operator – Glacier Boat Tours – that is listed on the National Parks site, doesn’t take reservations and when I called them they said they would take walk-ins. The NPS for Glacier keeps changing the web site so it’s a good idea just to get the GTTSR reservation if you can.  

When we got back to the entrance I flashed the reservation that they didn’t even read.  And I suppose if we didn’t have our RV we could have driven the GTTSR after our kayaking trip if it had been open.  So word to the wise – get online when the tickets are first available because they will probably be gone in a day or so: You have to nail down a date.  Otherwise book a tour or lodging within the park. And go mid-July through August.  It will be packed but this is the way of things now.  

It has to be difficult for these outfitters as they are now limited on the amount of walk-ins and they had a fair amount of kayaks available when we finally made it through. 

Dead calm on Lake McDonald with a view of the peaks

Sadly, this was the second time we tried to do the GTTSR, last time we didn’t see much due to wildfires.  You can’t have everything – but we got a nice two-hour kayak in and watched a deer roam around the village.  We also stopped off at a local kiosk and bought huckleberries and Rainier cherries – summer has officially arrived and the day was saved! 

A young buck just hanging out at the lake

We bid farewell to Glacier, traveling through the alpine forests of the Flathead National Forest, stopping for tea at a lake north of Seeley.  We could have easily dry camped there – the entire area was pristine with only a few people, and the summer air was so inviting.  Seeley itself was a charming town with a lovely outpost that did decent lattes.  

Soon the Bitterroot Mountains appeared in the distance, framing the open ranges filled with yellow and purple wildflowers.  The rolling hills were vast and verdant with the occasional century-old collapsed barn to add to the quintessential rustic views. 

We passed over the Continental Divide, strewn with massive granite boulders that spiraled onto the vast plains and plateaus, winding our way through the open ranges then settling in Bear Mountain Campground outside of Bozeman. It was too close to the interstate that seemed noisier than others we had overnighted, and the trains were interminable.  Regardless, it was a beautiful evening and we stretched our legs along the backroads that overlooked the farmlands. This region is prone to passing thunderstorms and can get pretty windy as we soon found out as the thunder rumbled overhead. 

Bozeman farmlands

We headed for Greybull, Wyoming the next day.  We crossed the Big Blackfoot River of a “River Runs Through It” fame, where you can imagine yourself lazing along the riverside chewing on a piece of grass – yeah like the song.

As we were skirting east of the Yellowstone National Park (closed due to flooding but we had already, thankfully, done Yellowstone) we crossed the said river a few times; it was swollen and violent, taking down the fragile “tree islands” that were probably stable during a normal season. The endless ranches of the Crow Indian territory disappeared into the snow capped peaks of the Custer and Teton ranges in the distance: I try to imagine what it was like before white man came here, when the buffalos roamed free and the Indians lived on the plains.

We settled for the evening at the quiet Greybull KOA, skirting yet more thunderstorms.  Otherwise, all you could hear was the wind and the cooing of pigeons and I got a good night’s sleep. It is a nicely kept KOA that I would recommend.  

The next morning we explored the Red Gulch Dinosaur Tracksite outside of Shell, WY.  

The Bighorn Basin is home to some of the most astounding fossil discoveries in the country.  We sure had fun looking for 167 million-year-old tracks and I was able to collect (legally) some broken bits of fossilized ammolite, some with insect indentations on them. 

Jurassic tracks!
The boys were having a blast tracking dino’s!

This area used to be part of the “Sundance Sea,” and the tracks became fossilized from the dinosaur sinking its feet in mud on the shoreline.  I can understand how one can become obsessed with archeology and doing these digs! 

Red Gulch, Wyoming dinosaur country

The Red Gulch itself reminded me of the Painted Desert in Arizona – the whole area was quite a revelation:  We had no idea how stunning the Bighorn Scenic Byway was – it unfolded like a mini Grand Canyon!  As we drove down into the canyon there were signs depicting the year of a particular archeological stratus; the lowest was the “pre-Cambrian” period dating back 2.5 billion years.  As we gained elevation we saw different signs until we got to Triassic and then Jurassic periods.  Then a steep climb revealed a granite gulch and river thundering down its harrowing precipices.   

Bighorn Basin, what an unexpected pleasure!

We eventually found ourselves at 9000 feet passing over Granite Pass.  The alpine meadows had moose, elk and deer meandering about, oblivious to our presence.  I didn’t think there were moose in Wyoming, but like the buffalo in Canada I’m getting quite the education.  

Once back to a suitable elevation, we were now in quintessential cowboy country; watching them saddle up in the fields, a cowboy was herding the cattle into the ranch.  From the rolling red and green plateaus mounds appeared bearing no logic in their unique presence. 

The wind picked up, which seems to be a thing here in Wyoming, settling in Sundance on a clear evening at the Mountainview Campground not far from the Devil’s Tower.  They have great Wi-Fi and we were backed up against the mountains.

We had huckleberry pancakes for breakfast and headed to Devils Tower. When we arrived at the visitor center we were turned away as there was no RV parking spaces left – there was only room for about five rigs: Per the park ranger, no tows are allowed and any cars who stole RV spots were being kicked out. We turned around and drove about a mile down the road and turned off onto a gravel road, that, as it turned out, was the trailhead for the Joyner trail. It had a perfectly clear view of the tower – our “misfortune” turned into one of those situations where we made out like bandits.

The view from Joyner Trail

We hiked down the Joyner trail taking in the killer views with virtually no one else around, passing by the prayer bundles tied to the trees – placed by the local Indian tribe and thank god this area has been protected. We went down the gulch and ran into deer, listening to the echo of blackbirds against the still meadows. The temperature and blue sky allowed for lingering and letting your thoughts wander like a wildflower; the impossible tower looming in the background – one of America’s great geological and cultural treasures.

Looping around the still of alpine meadows

The trail eventually connected with the Redbed Trail and its beautiful red rock, then back to the crowded visitor center. All in all it was around three miles on a balmy Sunday.

Scenery along the Redbed Trail

We left the visitor center and took the road back down to the trailhead.

Alien spotting at the Devils Tower Visitor Center

We watched as RVs came up and then back down as there was no space. Some turned off to the Joyner Trailhead, others simply aborted altogether. If you want to do the Devils Tower in an RV then it’s a bit of crapshoot – if you are in the LTV you’ll be allowed if there is room – otherwise take an incredible hike around the tower = unforgettable. We stopped off to indulge in some well-earned ice cream on the way out and headed on down the road to South Dakota.

BigB and the Devils Tower – how cool is that

June 13 – 20 Jasper and Banff, Canada

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We left Dawson Creek and the lovely Northern Lights RV park (I highly recommend them) and overnighted at a Harvest Host – a farm outside of Grande Prairie run by a friendly German couple.  It gave us a sense of what we would be looking for in France but on a smaller scale.   They showed us around the farm as their boy and two dogs frolicked in the fields – it was such a bucolic evening.

Harvest Host – Grand Prairie

We headed through more agricultural areas on our way to Hinton – just outside of Jasper National Park.  We went through a few rain storms but could see the Canadian Rockies emerge as we approached the RV Park (Jasper KOA).  Then the thunderstorms let loose – mon deiu!! – thunder and lightning that went on for a few hours.  

We were a bit worried about the weather but it cleared up nicely for a hike in Maligne Canyon – and due to the rain it was pretty muddy!  The canyon and waterfall were accompanied by the heady smell of balsam, otherwise the weather gods were being kind to us this day.  We stopped at the top of the trail for a cuppa where there was a convenient visitor center and restaurant.

Dirty paws and limbo dancing on the trail
Maligne Canyon, Jasper, Alberta

After doffing our muddy clothes we headed to Jasper and finally found some indigenous art that we had difficulty finding elsewhere – not sure why this was so difficult but this is Canada and not the U.S. So I got my fix and glad that proceeds were going back to the First Nations artist.  

On the way back the sky cleared up enough for us to see the peaks.  One looked as though Yosemite’s El Capitan had been put on a pedestal – there were these unusual half dome clefts instead of peaks.   That was just a teaser for what was to come. 

The next day we headed out to the Icefields Parkway.  The weather was inclement; while we could see much of the dramatic landscape the tops of many of the mountains were clouded over.  

We swung by the Athabasca Waterfall which was in high drama with all the torrential storms that had been pushing down the valley.  We hoped we wouldn’t experience what had been happening in Yellowstone as the weather apps had been posting flood warnings.  

The sky cleared and we stopped to have a traditional English “cream tea.”   I made the scones from a mix that morning and we had a jar of clotted cream along with strawberry jam.  We enjoyed the view while indulging in these delicacies.  These stops are part of planned experiences that make these journey even more memorable.  

After our posey respite, we soon we spotted our first icefields, solidified to rock faces while hanging precipitously off the sheer cliffs.  We counted three glaciers – massive in scale, somehow defying gravity.  

We soon stopped at the Columbia Ice Fields Visitor Center where you can conveniently boondock your RV – they have an entire parking lot right across from the Ice Fields and we settled in for the rest of the day; I had a view of the Athabasca Glacier from my window!

We decided to hike up to the glacier, navigating what we called the “Hillary Step” from Everest fame.  It was a steep, snow covered embankment that was part of the trail; we had witnessed a few people tumble, taking others down with them, as they slid down the slope – we were determined not to suffer the same fate.  I took my poles with me for good measure and was thankful for their support.  When we got closer to the”toe” of the glacier we realized we couldn’t actually hike onto it without a guide due to crevasses.  We were a bit disappointed, though weren’t really interested in the tour as it seems everything is becoming so over-touristed; we settled for a close up view and a good workout. They had educational posts along the route marking the years the glacier had receded; the advantage of walking from the visitor parking lot as everyone who drove to the trailhead never stopped to read the history.  

The rain began falling hard (thank your North Face, Columbia and Adidas for such great gear!) and we headed back.   Later in the evening the sky cleared and I could see low clouds rolling across the icefields which gave the atmosphere a sense of the mystical.  

Evening view from behind the rig

With the tours done for the day the glacier seemed lonely; we slide across her skin, the wind betrays her inhospitable existence, phantasms of mist cloak her slopes like a silkscreen.  And still she recedes, shrinking into the vaulted mountains and their impenetrable secrets.  Despite her slow death, she will outlive us all.

We woke to blinding sunlight and a chilly thirty-one degrees as the Columbia Icefield burst forth in all of its glory and we were excited for the next leg of the journey to Banff.  

Athabasca Glacier and Columbia Icefields

Back on the Icefields Parkway we were soon met with unsurpassed beauty, it was as though the mountain spirits had used a cleaver instead of a palette knife; vertical columns were scarred with horizontal serrations, sharp and turbulent with contradicting themes, ice flows clung to massive buttresses while escarpments wept along this indefatigable geography – all this chaos somehow sculpted into a magnificent panorama.  

Reality set back in as we approached Lake Louise….the road to Moraine Lake was blocked as the parking was full. We arrived at Lake Louise with the same message but ignored it and voila!  They were letting in RVs.  Even though it wasn’t even the high season yet the waterfront was pretty crowded and if we thought it was bad now, it would be getting worse as the season advanced.  Trying to get a picture amongst the usual selfie madness was a bit of a challenge as people muscle into your shot. This unfortunately is true everywhere that is popular in the world now.  While this rendition gives a sense of calm and beauty – it is not – except for maybe at dawn. 

Lake Louise Pano

I found myself taking iPhone Panos as I hadn’t brought along my wide angle lens for my Nikon – silly me!  

We found a shuttle that would take us to Moraine Lake and decided to pay the $25.00 per head – we most likely wouldn’t be back to this region and the day was still young and the weather was cooperating.  They weren’t kidding about the parking lot, it was small and RVs were not allowed.  

We decided to hike up the “rock pile” that wasn’t overly crowded as it was fifteen minutes up a vertical cliff with some pretty large steps – a good hike to get your “stairs” in for the day.  Moraine Lake was beautiful, and we had seen similar landscape at Muncho Lake further up north (see reference earlier in the blog).  The glacial powder seeps into the water giving it that effervescent blue.  

Moraine Lake Pano

By this time we were getting tired – can you get exhausted by so much beauty or was it the disruption of somewhat unruly crowds that impinged on my fantasy of serenity in this incomparable landscape.  I think it was a combination of the two. 

We set up camp at the Tunnel Mountain Village II site and crashed for the evening.  The timing was good as it began to rain and that lulled me to sleep. Tunnel Mountain Village II isn’t a place you really spend the day unless you are up by Tunnel Mountain Road – the Canadians have these spots figured out as they are more private and surrounded by trees with insane backdrops – otherwise you are basically parked on a paved road, opposite and parallel to other RVs.  Some spots have fire pits but it’s not the same experience as camping in the deep woods.  But they have free shuttle transportation, large shower and bathroom facilities.  And the views are astounding. 

We ventured into Banff the next day (they have a free shuttle into town and it only cost a Canadian Toonie to get back) and walked along a lovely path that runs next to the Bow River just on the edge of town. The river was also very swollen with the path partially flooded.

Bow River, Banff

We browsed in what seemed like an endless stream of stores, so many of them with the same stuff with some galleries and big box chains thrown in.  But the day was beautiful and the backdrops were breathtaking.  We dove into a restaurant for some local Indian curry; there is a large population of East Indians here and the food was so good, the place was quiet and we were the only white people dining which is a good sign that you are getting an authentic experience.  We decided to leave the crowds behind and head back to the camp, hugged by sunshine and encased by sheer peaks.  

We spent our final day in the Canadian Rockies at Fairmont Hotsprings, a perfect ending to our six week walk-about through Canada and Alaska. The resort is a civilized respite set amongst the wild, the RV sites are well manicured surrounded by rivers, forests and of course mountains. We snagged a spot on the far side and there were no RVs next to us and the park wasn’t full. Here we had a perfect fusion of the outback and structure lingering in the quietude, shaded by the fragrant incense of lilacs and pine.

The ”secret pools” along the creek at Fairmont Springs

Besides the hotsprings pool that is part of the resort there is a “secret” natural hotsprings down by the creek that you can hike into – at your own risk – as there are signs warning of bears and landslides, though the hike wasn’t that difficult.

What an amazing journey it has been, words and pictures cannot even begin to reflect what you experience here – we will not soon forget the avalanche of beauty and geological wonders that permeate every facet of the Canadian Rockies

June 10 -12 The Alaska Highway Expanse

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On our way to Watson Lake the terrain leveled out into rolling hills with vast expanses of boreal forest.  The sunny delights of fair weather we had enjoyed for so many weeks ended as we rolled into passing rainstorms; it did help to clean off the layers of bug caracasses we had diligently collected and the rig looked a bit more cleansed for a change.  

We passed convoys of RVs thankful we were going the other direction it was starting to get pretty busy up north.  

We overnighted at the Downtown RV Park that we had stayed at on our way up to Alaska (this is the place with the “sign post” park).  It’s a parking lot but has good laundry and shower facilities and the Scottish proprietor was a pleasant albeit a bit stressed out fellow; this was prime time for him and he was working long days.  It had rained most of the day and let up enough for us to take a walk around Wye Lake that was right across from the RV park.  It’s nature trail and we spotted two beavers swimming through the lake. We noticed as we moved south, the sun was now setting at 10:30ish and the nights were a tad darker.

It rained overnight and didn’t let up as we pulled out and headed for Liard Hotsprings.  We entered British Columbia once again and bid our final farewell to the Yukon – reflecting on what an amazing experience it has been.  As we drove we saw ponds threatening to creep onto the road; the rivers were raging, showing signs of flooding as trees had become partially submerged.  The rain and late melt from the mountains was creating problems up and down the Alcan – we hoped we wouldn’t get caught in the middle of it and have to wait somewhere for the floods to recede.  We pulled off to a site called “Whirlpool Canyon” where the swollen Liard River clashed with contradicting tides; it was certainly unfriendly and the rain wasn’t putting a damper on the mosquitoes.  A couple who also stopped by said they would come down here every year and had never seen it so turbulent.  

We have been experiencing climate change all around us and have had too many vacations disrupted due to wildfires; we are glad we are doing this trip now – who knows what it will be like with more crowds and challenging weather systems in the near future. 

Beyond the “watch for caribou signs,” we saw new signs for bison with digital warnings that we were entering a crash corridor.  There were certainly a lot of spore on the highway and then we spotted a bison grazing on the side of the road.  I didn’t realize that bison were a thing in British Columbia and it turns out they were nearly wiped out due to the early trading in bison hide. Canada has the Woods and the Plains Bison and have been trying to conserve the species. It is great to see them roaming free and we did eventually see a small herd of them – those and the occasional black bear.

Canadian Bison!

We reached Liard Hotsprings Lodge that appeared to just now realize that it was almost summer and that they might want to clean up the lodge?  The RV park was operational enough with electricity and water, but the laundry and bathrooms were out of order and besides the log lodge itself, it looked like the additional rooms were containers shipped from a research facility in the arctic.

We waited for the showers to pass and as the blue skies opened up we walked over to the Liard Hot Springs located in the Provincial Park across the street.  Passing through the campsite that was surrounded by a Jurassic Park style electric fence (bison, bear, elk and moose all wander around this vicinity ready to wreak havoc on the human population), we went through the gate onto a long boardwalk that passed through a lightly wooded marsh. The hot springs were located in a lovely wooded setting, much like a grotto, surrounded by ferns that reveled in the perpetual steam.  There were bathrooms, changing rooms and cubbies for your stuff.  Fortunately it wasn’t too crowded and the smell of sulphur wasn’t too bad. We welcomed the heat as we lowered ourselves into the shallow, crystal-clear water. In some areas the temperature was scalding hot and I was instructed to stir up the colder water from the bottom.  

Liard Hotsprings

We wallowed in the healing waters for about an hour and decided to head back as another wave of thunderclouds had inched their way in our direction.  We got back to the rig just as the sky unleashed its burden.  Not much later the blue skies opened up once again.  

We headed out early as we had a long drive to Pink Mountain.  It wasn’t long until we saw the peaks of the Northern Canadian Rockies.  The boys enjoyed a bit of moose spotting.

We drove by Muncho Lake and its unreal larimar-blue waters that were disturbingly close to the edge of the road.  I can’t image how long we would have been stuck if the lake had flooded the road.  

We were hit by some heavy thunderstorms, the theatrics complete with thunder, lightning and hail.  When the storms dissipated the vast valleys lit up with mist as if the landscape had slid back into the steaming jungles dinosaur age.  It was a rare and breathtaking site to behold. 

Mist rising from the vast expanse after a thunderstorm

Further up the road we saw the warning signs for Bighorn Sheep and they weren’t kidding.  Other RVs were flashing us from the opposite direction as the sheep were here and there in small herds and weren’t easily spooked.  It was pretty cool to watch them as if we barely existed. 

Bighorn Sheep!

The land eventually leveled out into terraces and we hit an impasse on the road with vehicles blocking the shoulders on both sides.  The semi truck in front of us was struggling to get by.  We were too busy trying to navigate the obstacle course that I didn’t see the large black bear at 1:00 about to saunter right in front of BigB.  I gasped – OMG!  The bear must have had enough sense to stop in time as there was no visible “thud” as we rolled by.  What I found odd is that he had a piece of garbage in his mouth.  Canada has more garbage stations along the road than people have common sense and you barely see any debris, it’s absolutely pristine; it occurred to me that one of those wankers across the road was probably feeding this poor fellow and he was crossing the highway for more…..

We arrived at Pink Mountain and camped amongst the pines – ending a rather dramatic day in peace.  

After passing through the agricultural section of British Columbia, flat and beautiful, we arrived at Dawson Creek – Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway. Now onto Jasper!

June 5 – 8 The Yukon to Skagway along the Klondike Highway

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After leaving Tok (the Tok RV Park is great and we were nestled amongst the pines) We made it across the border but not before spotting a juvenile caribou on the side of the road.  He was freaked and froze in front of us before sprinting off to find his mother.

Little dude!

The RV traffic had picked up dramatically and we kept seeing the same caravan of three RV rentals being driven by Germans.  We seem to encounter a fair amount of Dutch and Germans. 

The frost heaves started not long after we left Tok – we were anticipating them this time. The “perma” in perma frost isn’t so permanent as the pavement gives way as the ground softens.  There are times on the Alaska Highway that you would expect the oxygen masks to fall if you were on an airplane.  Being in a higher profile vehicle only exacerbates the rumpy-bumpy ride.  

The wildflowers were in bloom and we even drove through a “pollen storm” – like a dust storm but it was orange-yellow pollen coming off the deciduous trees; the road was layered in it.  

We were curious to see how much had changed since we went through this area two weeks ago.  The Yukon Discovery Lodge was busy though they ran a generator all night as they had no other source of power.  Such is life in this part of the world.  

We left the next morning as the sun was rising over the nearby ridges.  Fog emerged from the valley and we had a clear view of the Kluane Range that had been socked in on our way up.  We witnessed massive icefields running vertically from the sides of peaks – amazing stuff.

We passed marshes and ponds with migratory birds including Trumpeter Swans;  one pond had two swans surrounded by ducks as if they were gathered to admire their magnificence. Unfortunately there wasn’t room to stop and enjoy the scene.  

We swung by Pickhandle Lake as the mist rose and the loons were making their way across the water.  

Pickhandle Lake and the Kluane Range

We then settled at Lakeview Campground for breakfast; the forest was rich with the scent of pine mixed with the heady essence of spring.  

As we made our way back down to Destruction Bay, we rounded corners with endless the endless mountain range welcoming us with open arms.  The bay was still partially frozen, quiet and still save for the distant cry of what sounded like a fox.  

Destruction Bay

After a peaceful overnight at the Caribou RV Park south of Whitehorse we headed to Skagway, AK via Highway #2 – known as the famous Klondike Highway that leads to the Inside Passage.  We essentially drove from the Yukon, through a spit of British Columbia and back into Alaska – all 100 miles from Whitehorse.  

As we headed west the terrain turned into granite outcroppings, more steep cliffs with cascading waterfalls, surrounded by partially frozen ponds.  Granite islands emerged from the waterways, covered in lichen with a smattering of boreal pine creating a very unique ecosystem.   The temperature dropped to the 40’s as we crossed from Canada back into the U.S.  It was an extraordinary site as we headed down the steep slopes into the bay.  

Along the Klondike Highway

The weather cleared as we parked up in Skagway at the Pullen Creek RV Park; there were four cruise ships up from Glacier Bay in the dock carrying some 12,000 people.  We encountered many of the ice-cream-consuming tourists as we explored Skagway; which turned out to be quite the destination with the Klondike Gold Rush mystique permeating the town, its old buildings giving off an aura of the Wild West.  The Gold Rush was brutal – when you consider that the prospectors had to endure such a savage environment in the hopes of striking it rich.  The museums along with the active, retro train station gave us a good feel of what it must have been like. 

They had an obscene amount of jewelry stores – I suppose because the whole idea is this is where gold is mined?  We did find a few nice art galleries amongst the interminable kitsch and discovered these gems (I go ape for art!).  The mother of the artist was there and said in the original painting of the Laughton Glacier her daughter painted in one of her boots that she had lost during a hike!

Whimsical Watercolors of the Inside Passage

Skagway reminded me a bit of Sisters, Oregon with the traditional facades and galleries and in the summer it is also teaming with tourists.

It’s now 6:00 a.m. and there is a loud hooting of a train then several crash-bangs!  The train has pulled into the harbor to greet the three cruise ships that had arrived – the fourth must be on its way. Either this is normal or they are making up with a post-Covid frenzy. Skagway must make a killing on tourism during this short window.  Come October the bay will start freezing over and the 300 some odd residents of Skagway will be encased in snow and ice until May.  I don’t know how they manage!  

We departed on a stellar warm day and headed out to Carcross, but were diverted several times to take in the scenery. 

Spirit Lake
Islands in the Lakes

We even spotted a pair of brown bears munching on dandelions on the side of the road.  

Brown Bear – ignoring us

Carcross is a charming town – the name is derived from Caribou Crossing.  The town was built to promote the indigenous tribes with lovely totems and buildings painted in the Tagish First Nations tradition.  The center was designed to represent local artists, but sadly there were only a few shops open.  Otherwise it is a lovely stop along the Klondike Highway.  

Carcross – Tagish First Nations

May 31 – June 3 Anchorage and Prince William Sound, Alaska

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We landed in Anchorage during a rare heat wave; in Alaska that means temperatures into the high 70’s and it has been going on for days.  They usually don’t have weather like this until July and it’s very unusual for streaks like this to go on for days.  Well – it certainly worked out great for us.  After taking care of some personal business in Anchorage and picking up a rental car we headed to Whittier to kayak on Prince William Sound.  

The scenery was once again quintessential Alaska as we meandered along the Turnagain Arm with the sun reflecting from the dramatic peaks, creating an off-world metallic sheen along the water.  One pond we went by had mesmerizing ice sculptures partially submerged in glacial blue water  – the sun intensifying the ice into a sort of crystallized topaz.

We were scheduled to go through the Whittier Tunnel also known as the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel.  It stretches for 2.5 miles and is a one-way system, hence the set schedules to come and go.  So it’s important to plan your trip if you have an appointment for kayaking or a cruise.

As it turned out our kayak trip was cancelled due to high winds, so we decided to flex and when we arrived in Whittier we booked one of the four hour Prince William Cruises, and since we had time on our hands we decided to hike the Portage Pass Trail.  

It turned out to be pretty steep – more like level three to four in some places and some pretty long stretches of slushy snow.  But the view of the Portage Glacier was worth the effort.  

The view from Portage Pass Trail

After a thigh busting hike we boarded the cruise and headed towards Blackstone Bay.

On the way we saw Stellar Sea Lions (we have these in Oregon as well), a raft of sea otters and then some lone ones floating on their backs happily watching us go by.   There was healthy amount of bird  life and waterfalls everywhere, some seriously raging down the sides of the cliffs; it reminded me of the movie Avatar for some reason.  It was certainly windy and even on such a warm day that wind got cold and I wound up huddling a good portion of the time in the back where I was safe from the constant pummeling, coming out in intervals, bracing myself to take in the views. 

We finally slowed down near Blackstone Glacier; we got a quarter of a mile from the glacier which is a good but safe distance.  The crew were fishing out some of the bigger chunks of ice as it apparently gets caught in some of the motors of the boat.  

Flocks of gulls were perched on icebergs, taking flight in our wake. 

The wind calmed down once we started drifting through the ice, looking in awe at the waterfalls to the right of the glacier, and listening to the roar of a gargantuan spilling of its melt into the water.  

I had photographed an arch that a minute later calved into the bay, sending shock waves that dispersed the debris field of ice.  I was only able to catch the tail end of the event as I wasn’t quick enough to the draw.  

The arch before it collapsed
The arch after it collapsed

We moved onto the next tidewater glacier known as Tebenkof.  You could hear the shifting and cracking of cavernous ice, waiting for it to calve but alas, it was not our luck for this next one to give us a show.  

After standing out for quite a while I started to get really cold and finally wandered back for a hot chocolate inside the boat.  We stopped by the nesting area of the black legged kittiwakes; waterfall after waterfall – bucolic.  

We headed back through the tunnel and as we emerged the sun was intensifying the sheen across the water; it never really sets here in the traditional sense- I’ve been up at 2 or 3:00 a.m. and it feels more like early dawn.  It has been an adjustment to go to sleep at 10:00 p.m. and it’s still broad daylight out.  

We stopped at a touristy spot as Bob wanted to do some gold panning and managed to collect a few impressive flakes!  

As our trip came to a close, I had the opportunity to catch up with my dear friend Janet; we’ve known each other for forty years and still manage to stay in touch.  You know it’s a special relationship when you see each other after a lapse of so many years and the connections reignites immediately and you want to spend endless hours catching up.  We never have enough time so I planted the seed to visit us in France and I suspect this will happen – we can easily fly to anywhere her and her husband decide to visit in Europe.  Some places and people are simply meant to be and this is one of them. She was the closure to a stellar visit to the incomparable State of Alaska.  

We left Anchorage on our way to Tok only to be met with yet another unfathomable site –  the 27 mile long Matanuska Glacier.  Surrounded by the vast green egress of a new spring lies a massive glacier casually visible from the side of the road.  Upon investigation, this masterpiece emerges from the frozen vice of the jagged range belonging to the Chugach National Forest; on the other side of the range lies Prince William Sound.  Investigating the icey interior of this range with my zoom lens reminds me of the likes of Yukon Cornelius.  On the outer rim it is a balmy 70 degrees yet the interior reveals a permanent housing of ice, flanked by jealous mountains. I’m not quite clear how the geography works but to say it is simply a curiosity seems inadequate.  

Matanuska Glacier

Alaska sets itself apart as an imperious, untamed world…. truly the greatest of all the wildernesses the United States has to offer.  Untamed – a concept I can can certainly relate to.

May 30 – Denali, AK

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We sighted a black bear not long after we crossed the border into Alaska.  We were glad to get our unlimited Verizon service back, but had to switch our brains back to miles vs kilometers and US cash.  

After a nice stay in Tok we headed for Fairbanks.  The weather was fantastic and we were optimistic that we would be seeing Mt. Denali in all its glory: The weather is such that the mountain is visible only around 40% of the time so we would be one of the lucky few. 

We kept passing sweeping, endless mountain ranges, pressing themselves against bountiful skies.  

We stayed at the Wedgewood Resort in Fairbanks to give ourselves a scheduled break from the confines of BigB. They had a beautiful wildlife preserve adjacent to the resort – it’s a nice stroll through the boreal forest to a small lake where you maybe run into another person; it was a place of solitude with a chance for tree bathing.  

We arrived at the Denali RV Park and Motel and headed out to the National Park the next morning to go for a hike along the Savage River.  We stopped briefly at the visitor center on the way; we saw a moose and were warned about said moose by a ranger as she had a calf and had been getting aggressive.  Otherwise we navigated moose spoor that was prolific pretty much everywhere we went including the RV park.  

Savage River in Denali National Park

On our hike along the river we had the luck to spot Dall Sheep; one large male was sitting there along the ridge like a sphinx with a full set of curved horns on full display.  They were too far away for a photograph – even a high powered professional lens would have found the subject challenging to shoot.  We settled for what we could see through the binoculars and watched as several more came over the ridge. 

The hike along the river was exhilarating and there was still snow to navigate even though the weather was now in the sixties with barely a cloud in the sky.  The hike skirts the edge of the river and through portions of tundra with the Alaska range providing a dramatic backdrop.  I stopped on one of the upper trails to take it all in even though I really couldn’t; these dimensional spaces and experiences fill up too many senses – I settle for contemplating their existence and the associated memories.  

A gentle cooling breeze while the river raged on

You can take the bus through the park but due to landslides the trip is truncated – we opted for the drive to and from the trailhead instead – you can’t go any further into the park from Savage River without getting a ticket at the bus depot near the visitor center. We were happy with our sojourn as it was and were able to spot wildlife on our way back to the visitor center.

The wind blew heavily during the night and we woke without a cloud in the sky; this meant we were in luck to see the mountain itself.  We headed for the Denali South Viewpoint and about an hour into the drive we turned a corner and there it was – unmistakable, stately, towering above the vast tundra, subverting the surrounding peaks – the most majestic of the North American peaks. 

Mt Denali in all its glory

We were blessed to drive past the range and different variations of the mountain.  We arrived at Denali South Viewpoint and discovered many tourists had the same idea – though it wasn’t overly crowded.  The view was unbeatable and a short hike revealed an even better picture-perfect view.  Through the telescopes we could view the peak and the massive glacier running through the range.  

The boys were super happy they could see the mountain – no Jedi tricks here

The smell of spring permeated the surrounding forest, the warm breeze enveloped us and the view was beyond the imagination. 

Denali South Viewpoint

May 25 – Yukon Territory

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We arrived at Watson Lake, the official switch-over to the Yukon Territory.  The Watson Lake RV Park is in a parking lot and was good for an overnight; it was quite crowded as the large caravans of RVs we had been warned about were starting to hit the road.  The showers were warm and clean and included in the price.  You get an hour of Wi-Fi but at least there was Verizon!  Verizon only allows 0.5 gb a day in Canada so it can get used up pretty fast before the data slows down considerably.  

We stopped by the famous “Sign Post Park” and found a few gems from Oregon.  

Watson Lake Signpost Park

We headed North along the Alaska Highway 1 which wasn’t too much different than the Stewart Cassiar but with a bit more traffic and there was some gravel along the way.  Otherwise the scenery was fantastic and we saw a bear and a caribou.

We played around trying to match the videos we were taking with the music we had playing on the stereo.  We had some success – adding music to the landscape brought tears to my eyes – it puts you in a place of awe.  

We reached the Yukon Motel and RV Park in Teslin which again was a bit of a parking lot, though it wasn’t crowded and had decent wi-fi just so long as you got close to the lodge itself.   They also had showers and bathrooms.  

We hiked around the marine park and hammed it up with the local wildlife.  

When I opened the skylight to the rig, I saw large muddy paw marks and realized that it wasn’t a squirrel that was fooling around on the roof at midnight when we were boondocking at the Clements Lake Recreation area; the Fisher Cat had come back and apparently partied for a while on top of our rig, muddying up the roof and solar panels. He then slid down the back (thankfully not scratching anything) onto our cargo carrier.  Bob cleaned up the mud and we can only guess this feline was marking its territory somehow.  

As it was Saturday night we decided to eat at the local restaurant – I had Yukon Elk sausage with perogies – quite the diverse combo and it was really good.  

We headed out to Whitehorse that we knew was more of a hub as it is also the capital.  The Caribou RV park turned out to be great; they had private bathrooms and showers and you got a voucher for Wi-Fi for the day.  Downtown Whitehorse was a bit of a ghost town as it was Sunday and also a holiday weekend for the Canadians so a lot of the shops were closed up.  

As we were there for a few days we decided to hike the Miles Canyon trail along the Yukon River.  We were told there were otter sightings but we didn’t see them – darn! They classify the hike as moderate but there were some seriously steep sections of the hill and one part that went straight up and you had to climb over large rocks to get up!  Thankfully I survived without incident as loose gravel is not my friend.  

Lower Canyon Trail

We stumbled upon Canyon City, that is an abandoned village in the woods that harks back to the gold rush days – the history of people coming to this wilderness in hopes of striking it rich are fascinating.  This part of the Yukon has been reclaimed by the wilderness – as unforgiving as the gold rush itself. 

Yukon River

We stopped by downtown Whitehorse again on our way out and one of the galleries was open so I took a gander and found a few cards but not a lot of First Nations artwork.  Mammoth fossils have apparently been found in this area and they had jewelry and figurines made from their bones which was interesting though I couldn’t find a piece that I had to have though.  

Polar Bear Reverie – Nathalie Parenteau

Our next stop was Destruction Bay through the Kluane mountain range.  We ran into inclement weather but we were heading into some more spectacular scenery.  The clouds clung to the mountain tops but the ice and snow fields were apparent along our drive.   The Kluane boasts several massive glaciers that are only accessible via plane – hence all the advertisements for air tours. 

We saw moose and elk along the road and though it had more traffic than Stewart Cassiar it still wasn’t overly busy.  

Not the best view – but still….

We reached Kluane Lake that was still frozen and stretched for miles – we saw our first caution sign for bighorn so kept an eye out but didn’t see any.  When we reached Destruction Bay Lodge there was only one other RV there.  The other RVs we saw along the way were boondocked in the day use pull outs.  The proprietor wasn’t there but had a sign on the office door that the 30 amp was working, but no water due to frozen pipes (similar to the Red Goat Lodge) and no available dump station and just go ahead and park up and then leave cash in an envelope.  Glad we decided to get cash in Vancouver!  We were thankful we had carried enough water to hold us over to the next RV Park near Beaver Creek.  The funny thing is we have great cell coverage – there is a gas station and a few homes but otherwise we haven’t seen much in the way of civilization.  

Canada has turned out to be full of contradictions for sure.  

Permafrost Parking – Destruction Bay

“In Destruction Bay it’s raining hard.  It’s a place where civilization shouldn’t be, had been blown from the face of the earth in decades past, but somehow remains, where nature keeps pushing its boundaries with unforgiving ice and wind that only abates for a few months in the summer.  The sun breaks through, a passing wave at the sky and mountains though it does less to warm than it does to illuminate.  The clouds clutch at the blue and then descend into gray, unable to completely smother the majesty of the Kluane snow fields and endless glaciers. The days grow long, the sun resting near midnight then awake again at dawn.  Casting shadows but little warmth as if the tilt of the earth is an annoyance to be toyed with.”

After a leisurely morning watching the sun spray across the mist between the splendor of the endless peaks, we headed north.  The road got pretty rough with some nasty swells and frost heaves then it dissipated as we approached the Lake Creek Campground where we stopped for tea.  It was devoid of campers and the smell of boreal pine was intense.  The creek flowed quietly along with the accompanying woodpeckers and ravens in chorus throughout the forest.  

Tea time at Lake Creek

It’s a bit of a haul to get from anywhere to these campgrounds and we wondered who actually comes here.  Unlike in the U.S. where there are substantial towns within a few hours of most campgrounds.  We were in no rush to get to Koidern just south of Beaver Creek.  I was glad for these shorter stops as spending all day on a potentially rough road didn’t seem too inviting.  

The frost heaves continued along with spots of simply gravel; when people talk about this stretch of road it actually starts above Destruction Bay and you will occasionally get a respite but not for long.  We traveled at a leisurely pace to keep the rig from being bunged up too much.  

We arrived at Discovery Yukon Lodge outside of Koidern; they had just switched on the water so we were lucky there and had full hookups.  The permafrost this time of year has made the water supplies a bit of a touch and go.  They didn’t have Wi-Fi in the lodge as advertised claiming they had no phone service (there was no cell service) and I had to pay in cash even though there was clearly a credit card machine on the counter.  I’m not sure how they function the rest of the year or if they wind up paying for a line via satellite during the high season.

We decided to stretch our legs and hiked along a game trail then to the river and got a good few miles in.  We ran across abandoned moose skulls – not sure why they were just deposited there but kinda cool just the same. The lodge has a bunch on its roof and quite a collection of taxidermy in the office.  

These are kinda heavy

The upside to traveling this time of year is the drama of the landscape that wouldn’t be the same without the snow.  

The Yukon evokes images of vast forests and tundras filled with caribou and wandering moose.  A place romanticized more by the gold rush than by its beauty that threatens to swallow you whole.  And on this trip we only scratched the surface.  

Pickax Lake

May 20 – Stewart Cassiar Highway, BC

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After leaving Telkwa we headed for Highway 37, the Stewart Cassiar Highway.  We had more dramatic landscape for quite a while on the 16 before we turned onto Highway 37.  After a few hours the landscape started to unfold into a winter-spring melt, leaving thick snow on the mountain tops like a Dairy Queen soft swirl.  I felt like we were sliding along a tongue into great gaping jaws; the mountains erupt from around sea level, jutting straight up into jagged peaks that conversely cascade to the lush green valley floor.  The weather actually started to warm into the 60’s.  Soon, we spotted moose-poop-spore and the road signs were now showing symbols of moose and bear but not deer.  I suspect there are still deer but they certainly weren’t kidding on the bear. We spotted our first one off the side of the road in a small meadow munching on something and giving us an annoying look. We saw the next one a ways down the road, running across the highway into an oncoming vehicle – it made it to the other side safely.  We slowed down and saw it tucked amongst the trees.  The last one we saw just off the side of the road and we managed to get a shot.

Still no moose though! 

The roads were in good condition and there wasn’t much traffic.  Our plan was to head towards Stewart on Highway 37a that turned out to be insanely spectacular.  We passed multiple avalanche warnings with other signs that warned of planned explosions, an unnatural betrayal of the natural order.  Thankfully the threat of avalanches was over, but it was obvious where it could be problematic.  There were still signs of early spring snow on the sides of the highway, but otherwise the countryside was dry save for the numerous waterfalls cascading down the cliffs.  The roads were actually in good condition considering the brutal weather conditions they endure; we ran into a few frost heaves but nothing that slowed us down much.  

Then we turned a corner and were met with a glacier that spilled into a partially frozen lake.  We paused to contemplate the glacial blue melt against the slate and snow, the only sound being the wind, the only movement being the ice flows across the lake.  We didn’t realize that this was Bear Glacier. We were simply impressed with stumbling upon this stately feature along the road.  

As with the glacier, you can always expect the unexpected; due to the unusually cold spring the Kinaskan and Meziadin Provincial Parks closed and cancelled my reservations due to snow (though we couldn’t find any in the forecast) and wouldn’t open again until the 20th, then the RV Park in Stewart cancelled as well and closed permanently. Seriously, snow…..again!!!!  I scrambled for other accommodations and no one was answering their phones in either Stewart or Hyder.  I found a recreation site near Clements Lake and decided to take our chances and boondock there.  

When we arrived the road into the recreation area was covered in a couple of feet of slushy snow, something that BigB simply could not navigate so we wound up boondocking near the entrance amongst the pines, they had cleared out that area but for some reason not the road into the recreation area.  

Thankfully we are self-contained and set up house for the evening, along with another RV similar to our size.  Not long after we settled in we felt something rocking the RV; well the bear spray was in one of the bays so I handed Bob the pepper spray in case it was a curious bear.  He didn’t see anything but the neighbor in the RV parked behind us said a “Fisher Cat” had been walking all over our cargo rack!  We never saw it but found out it is like a large mongoose.  

Then we had a run of folks trying to find a place to camp or boondock and they saw us, looked at the road to Clements Lake and turned around.  One almost got stuck trying to drive through the snow and we were wondering if we needed to help bail them out.  The problem is none of the Provincial Parks in the area are open.  We were warned about the remoteness, but didn’t bank on everything in the area cancelling on us. 

About midnight I was awakened by a misdirected squirrel who had landed on our roof, chirping and confused.  It eventually quieted down. 

Like the Grand Canyon and Monument Valley, despite the weather challenges we had, you certainly can’t beat the scenery.  

The next morning the sun broke through and we drove back to Bear Glacier for coffee and breakfast.  Like the Canyonlands Needles Outlook in Utah, there was no one around and we drank coffee in blissful solitude, watching the morning sun break over the ridge to illuminate the blue sky and surrounding cliffs. The gulls glided across the icefields that fed into the lake, celebrating the glorious morning.  The water falls tumbled down the precipices, feeding the lake below, converging its tears into a glacial translucence welcomed by the riverock, a pristine race easily witnessed through a magnificent wilderness lens. 

After this meditation, we spotted beaver further up the road and of course more bears.  

Breakfast Bear Glacier

Alas, still no moose….

Be warned that we had no cell service and even after driving back to Highway 37 we thought we would have encountered a cell tower but, hence no luck.  

We swung by the Kinaskan Provincial Park that was supposed to be closed but we found it open.  We stopped for tea and pondered whether to stay in one of the lovely spots but we really needed to get in touch with our realtor as our house is in the process of being sold.  

We arrived at Iskut thinking there would be a cell tower, still no luck.  We arrived at the Red Goat lodge and RV park and managed to get some wi-fi and hookups.  None of the major carriers can be bothered with cell service on the Stewart Cassiar Highway.  In a way it’s fitting, it forces you to embrace the remoteness we used to experience camping years ago.  If you want to be off-the-grid where the wild things are – this is your ticket!  

We set up camp across from the partially frozen Eddontenajon Lake.  The weather was nice and since there were so many sites available (until we pack of RVs showed up) we decided to be naughty and hijacked one of the camping spots that overlooked the lake to build a fire (they were 15 amp which is why we didn’t choose it in the first place); we essentially spread across two camping spots.  

We ended the day with our version of “Fire and Ice.”

Sheer bliss!!

After a cold night (down to 28 degrees) we headed out to Watson Lake in the Yukon Territory – this would take us through the remainder of the Stewart Cassiar Highway.  We drove for several non-descript miles until Dease Lake.  The traffic is scarce and there isn’t much along this stretch of highway; you really are in the wild.  No cell, no gas stations or towns for miles; not the best place to break down.  

We passed our first “caution – caribou” signs and then suddenly we saw a moose in a marsh along with swans, loons, geese, duck and other birds whose origin I wasn’t sure of.  

Our first moose!

We started to meander once again through spectacular mountain ranges with never-ending frozen lakes.  

Then, as you can expect the unexpected with wildlife, a caribou appeared on the side of the road – I only had a second to catch a poor quality iPhone image before it disappeared further into the forest.  

Poor image but still – we saw a caribou!

We continued our trek through this remote wilderness, barely seeing any other cars, disconnected from society wondering if this road ever got much busier; you drive through it and there are some campgrounds and the occasional towns where the population can’t be more than fifty people.

After nearly 180 miles and around four hours of driving we passed approximately 15 cars and 4 motorcycles.  

If you want to disappear into the wild, then the Stewart Cassiar Highway is a must-do.  

Stewart Cassiar Highway – where the wild things are!

May 18 – Fraser Valley, BC, Canada

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We headed back to Vancouver via the ferry and were greeted with a hump whale sighting on the way over!  Nice to get a freebie along the way.  Once we hit the mainland we made our way up to the Cayoosh Campground in Lillooet.  The GPS took us on the Transcanada Highway 1 instead of 99.  While it was cloudy and rainy, we were greeted with towering peaks that jutted straight up six-thousand feet, they loomed behind breaks in the clouds, making their presence somewhat foreboding vs. the usually breathtaking reaction we have to such dramatic landscapes.  We wound through the Fraser Valley where the churning, muddy river cut through gorges that felt more like fjords; thousands of feet of sheer drops into the river below. 

We eventually  came through the rolling hills to Lillooet through a town called Lytton that had been completely gutted by wildfires.  It was looked like a scene from a holocaust; apparently sixty-five structures were consumed within one hour. With much dismay, we saw a fair amount of forest fire damage on our way through. This is one of the reasons we decided to come in the spring, as the fire seasons start earlier and earlier – as we experienced in Oregon over the last few years.  We are thankful we did New Mexico when we did – now the places we visited are being ravaged. 

We settled into a nice barbecue and campfire as we had sunny weather.  

We walked into town and had breakfast.  It’s a sleepy town but this is why we don’t mind going a bit off track; we get to experience parts of the country that may not be deemed as popular.  Somehow people subsist in these remote areas; you certainly can’t beat the scenery. 

Next we headed to the 100 Mile House.  There are various towns with the names such as 100 Mile House, 150 Mile House. These designations hark back to the Cariboo Gold Rush (we see the spelling “Cariboo” instead of “Caribou” for the most part).

Besides the leaping deer sign warnings we saw our moose first sign, and also our first frost heave sign (little pyramids warning you of their presence).  Then we saw the deer and moose combo sign.  I kept my eyes peeled for moose but only saw deer. 

We settled in for the night at the Big Country RV Park.  They hadn’t been busy in a while and said things were now really starting to pick up.  We parked next to some friendly Canadians amongst the aspens (lots of aspens and rolling hills in this region).  The showers there we great and really hot – yes!  The weather remained clear and we went on a lovely hike in the morning around the rolling pastures.  

That afternoon we arrived at the Sintich RV park after surviving a heck of a squall; rain and wind that lashed us to the point we almost pulled over.  The park was soaked with huge puddles that we hoped we wouldn’t have to park in.  They were covid-obsessed here; the first time masks have been required outside the Navajo nation.  The bathrooms and showers were closed; it was a bit much after having experienced better service in Canada so far.  The Wi-Fi was decent once we activated the Winegard booster, otherwise another RV park could have been a bit nicer; it was mostly long-term inhabitants surrounded by permanent mobile homes.  

We were told this weather is unusual as it’s usually dry, but they have been having a cold spring – oh joy!  But it beats wildfires.  

We stocked up on supplies in Prince George as we were warned things would start getting more sparse and expensive.  We even got haircuts!  We are now looking a bit more civilized.  

I had purchased a beautiful card in Victoria that I scanned and enlarged and is now on our well.  It fits the decor beautifully, is Native American, but is also tragic as it’s about women that have gone missing.  In a sense besides being enamored with the art, the deeper meaning behind it makes it that more profound.  

After a beautiful and uneventful drive up Highway 16 we stopped at the Fort Telkwa RV park that sits along the river. We were greeted by snow capped mountains on our way in – we are assuming this is our first taste of the landscapes we will be experiencing along the Stewart Cassiar Highway that we will be hitting today!  

The views from Fort Telkwa RV Park

May 13 – Vancouver Island, B.C. Canada

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After ten days back on the mainland we are embarking on the first leg of our five month trip through Canada to Alaska!  

But first we feverishly finished up the prep on our home of twenty-two years and put it on the market on May 10; it sold in two days well over the asking price!  The rise in interest rates certainly hasn’t entirely dampened buyer’s appetites. 

BigB is now our home for the next five months until we move to France.

We stopped over in Seattle on our way to Canada to have dinner with my brother and sister-in-law whom we had just spent two weeks in Hawaii – and who just happen to live in Redmond – feast or famine!  

The next day we arrived in Vancouver B.C. – I didn’t realize that I had to fill out the government required ArriveCAN COVID-19 verification info for presentation at the border; I had been more concerned with what we could bring across the border,  I hadn’t checked the requirements for COVID-19 until the last minute! Thankfully the Canadians are not only lovely people, but extremely organized and I was able to complete the requirement online a few hours before arrival.  

After overnighting in Vancouver we headed for the Tsawwassen Ferry for our trip to Victoria.  I had booked the ferry tickets a week before-hand as you can’t expect to just show up and get on.  The boys were super excited, especially Bob Jr (our new minion!) as this was his first trip.  The trip over was a lovely sojourn through the surrounding islands. It was 1.5 hours but it went quickly.  

After getting settled in at the Fort Victoria RV Park, we spent the following day drifting around Victoria which is a lovely city; there is definitely an English tea culture here, that, and the English sweets that were in proliferation, really excited Bob.  

We stopped by Chinatown and Fan Tan Alley, enchanting remnants of the Chinese culture that helped build the city, then made our way through downtown to the Empress Hotel and waterfront.

Fan Tan Alley
Victoria

 We discovered these darling water taxis, and though we would have loved to have taken a harbor tour it didn’t fit into our schedule.  Victoria is one of those historic and infinitely walkable cities.  As the day was cold we were glad to drop into the occasional cozy coffee shop for a pick-me-up.  

The real treat was the Butchart Gardens that we had planned for the next day as the weather was expected to be good – and it certainly lived up to the hype!  We spent four delirious hours touring a riot of tulips, rhododendrons, azaleas, cherry blossoms and the rare and amazing blue poppy. 

The rare blue poppy – found here and in Tibet.

There was also a species of tulip I had never seen – it looked more like a peony.

Peony or Tulip?

All of this blooming magnificence on unapologetic display; it was sheer luck that we had planned our trip to this utopia when the Canadian spring was in full swing.

By far, my favorite was the not-of-this-earth “Sunken Garden.”  It had been an old quarry that slowly morphed from an oasis of imagination.  It was difficult for me to catch my breath.  We left with our love of gardening ignited, pining for the day we would be settled in France and sinking our fingers and minds into the rich soil of the Dordogne Valley.  

The Sunken Garden of Fantastical Dreams
Garbage Couture

April 27 – The Sea Remembers its Own

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This post is about a journey that started over 80 years ago that ferried my father from a remote farm in North Dakota to the tropical paradise island of Oahu as a U.S. Navy Pacific Fleet Band Member, Musician 2nd class. Having been deprived of his connection throughout most of my childhood, I have been like a stubborn orphan seeking a familial connection denied me, and through his letters I have joined him on his journey through the tumult of World War II.  I never flinched at the intergenerational trauma because, as a cult survivor, I have developed an unusual taste for the uncomfortable. 

Covid had put a damper on our trip to Hawaii that had originally been planned for 2020, this change of plan allowed me more time to explore what has turned out to be a legacy that has found its final resting place at Pearl Harbor. 

I have spent years, off and on, pulling together his letters, pictures, ancient negatives and periphenalia.  I recently contacted members of the US Navy Pacific Fleet Band to find a suitable home for these precious artifacts that laid dormant in a closet after his death in 1996.  I had the pleasure of connecting with the vibrant and dynamic Lt. Luslaida Barbosa, the Navy Pacific Fleet Bandmaster: She has an impressive resume – she is not only one of the few female US Navy Bandmasters, she is also a woman of color (Puerto Rican) and the only one who moved up the ranks while raising children.  I’m honored to know her and make the aquaintance of such a trailblazer.  

She met us briefly at the Arizona Memorial Visitor Center, but as we were boarding the ferry to the memorial our conversation was cut short.  So I asked to meet up with her again the following week. She has also been assisting me with finding a home for my father’s trombone that he played during the war – it is now destined for the Naval School of Music in Little Creek, Virginia. 

She also advised me there was a memorial ceremony at the USS Utah site for a musician from the Enterprise – Lt. Barbosa thought it was related to us – it was simply a fantastical coincidence amongst so many it seems.  

The USS Arizona Memorial

On the ferry, I was accommpanied by boat-load of strangers who were oblivious to my father’s history, feeling a lack of intimacy that I had hoped for as we were shuffled around the memorial for the short time allowed.  The Arizona Memorial isn’t simply a place of rememberance, but an underwater cemetery of the most profound kind; you come here to pay your respects to all those who died a ghastly death as it was sunk with precision by the Japanese on December 7, 1941.  When I contemplate this gargantuan, rusting tomb emitting its black tears, I hope those surrounding me also consider all that happened that day and how a slight turn of events could have changed the course of history for the U.S.  When I look up, the Mighty Mo stands guard in the distance, a sentinel, proud, defiant – unchallenged.  She is all that remains of battleship row – her brethren either submerged or eventually scrapped.  The power of the symbology becomes apparent:  Testimonies to the beginning and the end of one of the most devastating wars in history. #neverforget #neversurrender 

The Mighty Mo

I left with my mental notes to contemplate the wreckage and what my father would have witnessed as the USS Enterprise steamed into the harbor the day after the attack; the sky black with smoke, the massive hulks of mangled ships, the bodies of the unrecovered, flames – layers of carnage that would be forever fused in his mind. If the Enterprise has been moored in the harbor on December 7th, I probably wouldn’t be alive – writing this blog. 

Ten days later, after a lovely respite on the North Shore, my husband and I returned to Honolulu and spent our final day back at Pearl Harbor; our first stop was the USS Missouri – the Mighty Mo.

The scale and power of this battleship gave me perspective on what my father would have experienced during his service on the USS W. Virginia.  The guns must have been as deafening as the emotional toll on its inhabitants.

I’m always in awe at how mankind can accomplish such feats of engineering.  

There is a dent on the side of the Mo where a Kamakaze (aka Divine Wind) clipped the ship with its wing – and miraculously a ship photographer captured the exact moment of the crash.  It was a failed attempt but a fitting scar; these pilots gave their lives by the thousands.  My father wrote of them attacking the USS West Virginia. They did massive damage to the pacific fleet and were a force to be reckoned with.  

The slow unveiling of my father’s history is like the maze of a great battleship, you can easily get lost in the corridors, trip, bang your head on the low ceilings, bump into the narrow passage ways.  You pass the fortified and impregnable bulk heads thinking there is no way out, then you stumble across the engine room, the crew quarters and the mess hall.  You contemplate the inception of massive turrets that hold the outer world at bay. Then you some how find your way out of the darkness into the museum level and the #neverforget history of the ship itself.

When you emerge, back on deck, you face the Arizona Memorial, the three immortal gun turrets saluting all those who perished and praising the grit of all those who survived.  

I’m now standing still in the spot where the Japanese surrendered on September 2nd, 1945 that ended the war.  I welled up a bit as my father was so close to being at that very spot:  It would have been his final performance for the Navy. He decided to return home instead; he had survived too many conflicts and whatever twists of fate, while so many of his comrades perished – the toll of war left him devoid of any further adventure. I wonder in hindsight if he wished he had been part of such a significant, historical event.  

After our mesmerizing tour of the Mighty Mo, we went to the Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam to meet up with Lt. Barbosa at the Pacific Fleet Band base. It turned out Bob could not join me, as he did not have his passport and is a dual citizen.  It was such a disappointment but you don’t argue with the Navy. 

She took me through the building that had been housing the fleet bands since the 1940’s.  I imagined my father walked these halls at some point.  There are no longer bands assigned to ships so this is now the hub that holds all their offices, where they rehearse for events; I met so many of the young band members in their fatigues – their respectability was refreshing and their fascination with my father’s history utterly endearing. 

Lt. Barbosa kindly drove me back to the visitor center to meet back up with Bob. Bidding my farewell, I realized I had done the right thing to cement my father’s legacy for future generations. So many I talk to, do not know what to do with their old letters and artifacts from wars gone past:   All I did was contact and see who could help me – the result has been beyond what I could have ever anticipated.  

We visited the WW II Aviation Museum, rode in a simulator, observed the relics of planes and bullet holes, and wandered through the hangers made familiar by Hollywood movies – but what happened here was far from Hollywood.

The Pearl Harbor Memorial not-so-gently reminds us of what we must never forget.  People visit in droves and I hope they internalize the sacrifices and suffering that too many endured for our freedoms.  These are not trite words, the Greatest Generation was born of tragedy and resiliency.  It’s ok to exceed your comfort zone as they did.

I have felt both empowered and desolate – not like those who lost loved ones to the war – but to a memory I never had the chance to fully understand.  I understand better now.  Having had no scattering of ashes, I instead decided to have a burial at sea, submerging his memory into the harbor itself where his time capsule rests like a pearl, in peace amongst the ghosts of his comrades.  The glass of the capsule will remain but the cap will eventually rust – the sand will drift and the photo will deteriorate.  It may surface someday as beach glass – beach glass of a special kind that maybe will transfer its magic to an aspiring sailor or musician.  Or if it surfaces intact there is a message there for anyone who will listen.  

As the spirit world has suggested, perhaps it’s as much closure for him as it is for me.  

RIP W.A Bender – you have now come full circle; the glass did not shatter, like the delicate resiliency of a human life, but it will meet its fate, as all things do, as the seal turns to rust.  Ashes and dust have no place here and disappear with the wind, but the sea, in its mighty wisdom….will always remember its own. 

April 26 Birthday Hawaiian Style

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Today is my birthday and we are heading back to Honolulu after ten fabulous days on the North Shore of Oahu.  I can’t think of a better way to spend it than here on this beautiful island with family. 

We had a “High Surf Advisory” Sunday and here that means one thing – surfing!  We headed out to a lovely lagoon next to Shark’s Cove located just up from the “Pipeline.” 

The tide was seriously surging and it turned out to be a beautiful day; the rain decided to hold off while we spent hours snorkeling, soaking up the vibes and watching the mesmerizing surf.

The fish action was great and they acted as if we didn’t exist – I was literally swimming through large pools of them.

To top off our stay, we dined at Haleiwa Joe’s overlooking the harbor; nothing beats an authentic Mai Tai, tropical breezes and good company. It seems that cocktail mixers like to be more creative though I prefer to stick with the standards indigenous to the Island’s to include Pina Colada’s and the infamous Volcano.  

We bid farewell to my brother and sister-in-law, the local turtles who kept us thoroughly entertained, and headed back to Honolulu by way of Kaneohe.

My father had been stationed at the Kaneohe Air Base after the bombing of Pearl Harbor for a short while before he was redeployed to the mainland. The scenery was astounding – lush with valleys of jungles and skyrocketing escarpments that screamed tropical exotic. It’s no wonder so many movies are filmed here. I can imagine that during my father’s day it must have been utterly unspoiled.

We decided to drop into Kualoa Ranch where they filmed Jurassic Park. We skipped the tour but enjoyed the kitsch all the same.

Note the sunglasses

As it was my birthday we needed to top off the day with an authentic Pina Colada and we really scored at the “Lava Tube” in Honolulu where they serve them in pineapples!

My Pina Colada fix!

What a great a way to top of a memorable birthday with some Hawaiian flare!

April 22 North Shore Vibe

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Every morning the alarm goes off which is actually a cacophony of birds, set to a backdrop of a swaying surf that complements your morning coffee.  No need to keep track of time here. 

Our humble cottage is tucked onto a public beach virtually devoid of human activity. This place is a bit of a dead-end as further up the road is the wildlife sanctuary and there are no resorts along this drive; there are private residences only, some that need updating and others that have been lavished on by their owners, but no McMansions – mostly plantation style abodes.  The indigenous inhabitants are the lovely Green Sea Turtles who come to forage the kelp near the shore; you easily become ensconced by the feeding habits of turtles as they float effortlessly with the tides. Sometimes they travel alone, but mostly they come in a group of three or four accompanied by the vast schools of colorful fish swimming along the coral reefs.  Occasional crabs sidewind out of your way.  

It’s truly a fusion of sea, sand and zen.  

The weather has been good but we are occasionally driven in by the wind and rain but if that is to be our greatest challenge here, and should I complain then I have grown as soft as a tropical breeze.

The North Shore itself throws a bohemian vibe along with an ocean of surfers coming to challenge some of the greatest wave action in the world.  It’s off season but they don’t care – the swells are large enough to entertain this ambitious crowd.

Cars are jammed into every available space along the highway as you approach the beach of the renowned Bonsai Pipeline, and even those who just wish to swim worm their way into spots that defy physics. 

Nearby Haleiwa is the small-town surfer hub and is also a fun tourist destination – there is enough island kitsch, with an undertow of surfer dude culture, to keep the curious shopper entertained.  Some of the stores, it appears, did not survive the pandemic and have shuttered, but with the tourist crowd virtually bursting at the seams again you can only hope there will be a revival.  

Further east is the lovely Waimea Valley where you find some fantastic botanic specimens that, upon further inspection, prove to be real. Exotic flowers are an essential ingredient to the elixir of paradise and these luscious babies make you want to stop and linger with a Mai Tai in hand to enhance the experience.  But at the gardens you can only observe and settle for a respite of coconut ice cream.

Ginger
Jade Vine
Hibiscus

Waimea Falls

The valley itself is a stronghold of ancient Hawaiian heritage and like the Arizona Memorial, one comes here to pay their respects, strolling through the winding paths of massive, twisting, ficus trees that guard the ancient burial sites.  

Most tourists come to swim at the waterfall, missing the side paths that take you into the jungle, where the flora and quietude gives pause to the outside world.  The music here is delivered by exotic birds that refuse to reveal themselves even though you try and talk them down from their perch.  

Despite the crowds, these shores remain static as if to push those that it can’t accommodate back to Waikiki. If not for the private residences, this area would have been overrun by resorts and who knows what the fate of the turtle might have been. 

Afternoon tea in paradise

It’s like a dirty little secret since it’s public the beach isn’t easily accessible, so the turtles remain virtually undisturbed except for the occasional, curious snorkeler that they pay little heed to; drifting free, the envy of those who can only leave footprints that are soon wiped away but the evening tide.

April 15 E Ala E – A Hawaiian Rebirth

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After making it back home to Portland, Oregon we had to hit the deck running as we needed to pack up the house for our eventual move to France and…we were leaving for Hawaii to join family in Oahu on the 14th; this trip had been cancelled two years prior due to Covid, and since then I had spent time scanning my father’s WWII letters from his service in the Pacific.  This will turn out to be a seminal experience as we will be meeting with the Pacific Fleet Band Master as part of our tour of the Arizona Memorial.  My father served as a Musician 2nd Class (eventually 1st Class) in the Navy aboard the Enterprise and W. Virginia and his letters ranging from Pearl Harbor to the surrender at Tokyo Bay captured a rare glimpse into the life of a musician during the war.  

When we arrived back in Portland it of course decided to snow!  The movers were coming the next day and we prayed the weather would clear, not just with the packing and moving, but making it to the airport for our flight. 

I’ve had far worse stressors in my life, but still, it was a lot and we both started to blow out some brain cells with all the details.  

Thankfully, we made it to the plane without incident, worn and a bit shattered from the last few days, convinced we forgot to bring necessary items only to find them shoved here and there in our luggage.  

Upon arrival I took a deep breath instead of a sigh of relief; I wanted to inhale the islands themselves.  We were greeted by the trade winds scented with plumeria as we explored the legendary Royal Hawaiian Resort, then we soaked our feet in the tropical blue surf of Waikiki Beach. Much has changed since my father sunbathed in front of this princess-pink landmark; it sits there defiant amongst the modern high rises – its place in history never to be questioned. And shopping mall laden Honolulu is no longer the quaint meandering village it was back in the 1940’s as described in his letters – more to come on this later after we meet with the US Navy Pacific Fleet Bandmaster on the 20th at Pearl Harbor; this subject deserves a special place in my blog.  

We dined at the Mai Tai Bar and I had the Vic’s 44 cocktail – a throwback to the Trader Vic’s Tiki Lounge that was founded back before the war.  I still have my father’s certificate.  Trader Vic’s is now all over the world except here in Honolulu which really escapes me as to why that is. The “International Market” is mostly box stores with a few galleries thrown in.

Give me some authentic Hawaiian crafts please!!!

After passing out from a long day we woke up at 4:00 a.m. —— just couldn’t get back to sleep. 

We decided to attend the Hiuwai Morning Ritual on the Royal Hawaiian Beachfront that started at 5:45 a.m. 

We were met by Kehaulani Kam, the Director of Cultural Services for the Marriott team in Hawaii, who introduced us to a traditional Hawaiian sunrise ritual that involved chants and baptizing ourselves in the ocean.  We weren’t prepared to swim but I decided to chuck formalities and go in mostly clothed.  This ritual involves the concept of rebirthing through the healing waters of Waikiki – which means “spouting fresh waters.”  The waters from the interior meld with the ocean creating an alchemy worshipped by the Hawaiians.  

What a great way to start our adventure as we are essentially going through a rebirth on this new chapter in our lives.  

Bob and I came out soaked and refreshed by the experience, glad to have immersed ourselves in this lovely tradition.  Kehaulani had explained the importance of their ancestors and carrying on these traditions – to never allow their heritage to disappear.  I let her know about my father’s legacy including the vintage photographs of Waikiki and sunbathing in front of the Royal Hawaiian and she was excited to know more. 

W.A Bender in front of the Royal Hawaiian – 1940
Waikiki Beach before and after – from in front of the Royal Hawaiian

As it turns out, I made this unexpected connection during this rebirthing ritual, resulting in my father’s legacy being introduced as part of the Royal Hawaiian historical collection that is destined for the display case in the lower lobby of the hotel!!!!!  

She was so excited to see what I had and to read his letters from his time in the Navy.  This is an ongoing development that I will continue to blog about – and I can’t wrap my head around the significance of what has emerged since our arrival. 

Despite the swarm of people and the overwhelming commercialism surrounding the resorts, when my feet touch these sands, I feel that I am cocooned in a special place and time – even though I share it, I cannot adequately interpret what the spirits are playing at.  I am grateful that I have been swept onto these shores, to convey this oceanic history and solidify my father’s legacy, that like this hotel, has withstood the test of time. 

E Ala E in Hawaiian means “Awaken

April 9 Oregon Coast

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We headed back to Santa Rosa to mooch-dock and visit our friend Peter; the weather was glorious and dry and we shared some fabulous dinners together.  

Bob had purchased a couple of bicycles from him to be packed and shipped back to Portland and it turned out the boxes were bigger than anticipated – along with the costs, so we shipped one back and have managed to wedge the other one into the RV.  Fortunately it’s just for a few nights.  

Managing the physics

We made a pit stop on our way to the Oregon Coast at the Founder’s Grove in the Redwood National Forest. What a great tea time we had – it was so rejuvenating revisiting this place and tree bathing amongst these magnificent giants once again. #spoiled.

We finally arrived at the Turtle Rock RV Resort in Gold Beach and its stunning coastline – it was a long day of driving and being buffeted by the wind so instead of fixing dinner we dove into the local Mexican restaurant for a margarita and some nice chow.  Heck, it was Friday night! 

I enjoyed the chorus of frogs that lulled me to sleep.  The weather was clear but really windy in the morning and we struggled a bit with our beach walk (literally getting a sand facial) and decided to pack up for less windy climes. 

Our next destination was Heceta Beach RV Resort outside of Florence, Oregon.  This area has special meaning to me as generations of my family and friends have met up at nearby Mercer Lake over the 4th of July; many have passed on and it is time to bid a final farewell to this unspoiled paradise.  The resort had held out for so long but recently sold to a developer – it will not be the same.

Such is the sad passing of things.  

We stopped and strolled through our regular haunts in old-town Florence and picked up a few tokens – thankful for the beautiful weather; a fitting farewell.  

Reflecting back on the last seven weeks I cannot choose a favorite place because they are all so magnificent in their own distinct way. While we had a challenges with the weather, and the added stresses inherent to being in an RV during freezing weather, I have to confess that the beauty of snowfall made up for it. And we had all the gear to manage any conditions mother nature threw at us.

I’ve pulled together some impromptu highlights that made this trip even more memorable:

❤️Dim Sum in Chinatown, San Francisco

❤️Sunset Happy Hour at White Sands National Park 

❤️Elevenses at Mirror Lake in the shadow of Half Dome, Yosemite National Park 

❤️Barbecuing amongst the orange blossoms outside Bakersfield 

❤️Snow in the Grand Canyon 

❤️Impromptu balcony lunch at the Creekside Cafe in Sedona with a fabulous view of the surrounding buttes while they played “Stairway to Heaven” in the background – a perfect storm of pleasure 

❤️Meeting up with National Geographic photographer Nevada Wier in Santa Fe at the Obscura Gallery – I hope to join her on a photo tour someday

❤️Getting a tour of a traditional Navajo hogan at Canyon de Chelly 

❤️Enjoying a peaceful sunrise breakfast at the Needles Overlook in Canyonlands Rim Recreation area 

❤️The zen of Windwhistle Campground

❤️Watching the sunrise over Monument Valley after the snowfall 

❤️Tea time at the Founders Grove, Redwoods National Park 

❤️❤️The hospitality of the Navajo Nation….

I couldn’t have asked for a better overall experience and feel so blessed to have made the decision to embark on this adventure.

We arrive back in Portland after seven weeks on the road:  We are packing our house up for international shipping for our eventual relocation to France – and then we will sell in May.  

Our trip to Hawaii that was disrupted by the pandemic was rescheduled for April, so we will enjoy a couple of weeks being spoiled by tropical trade winds and hanging with my brother and sister-in-law on the North Shore of Oahu.  We will be visiting the Arizona Memorial in honor of my father’s memory who served on the Enterprise when Pearl Harbor was bombed and am hoping to catch up with the Pacific Navy Fleet Bandmaster to connect the past with the present.  It should prove to be an interesting blog considering his history during WWII.  

Next stop Honolulu!

European Christmas Markets and Farewell to 2024 

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We rang in the holidays with a Thanksgiving feast courtesy of our American friends in Bergerac; complete with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.  It was a gathering of American, British and French and proved to be a delightful afternoon immersed in the taste of nostalgia.

Though we had expected to stay put post-Africa, as it turned out, friends and family from the UK decided to take a trip to Bruges, Belgium to visit the famous Christmas Market.  We decided to make the two day trip to catch up and enjoy some libation with a commitment we would be staying pretty much put in France for 2025…hopefully.

We stayed at one of our favorite, classic hotels on the way; all done up in a festive manner with the impossibly high ceilings and the ambiance of a classic chateau; this helped us get into the Christmas spirit.  And thankfully, unlike last year, the weather wasn’t a contrast deluge of precipitation.

The next day we met up with the folks in Coquille near Calais for a nice meal. We then ventured the next morning into Belgium. Unfortunately, it was rather cold and windy which put a bit of damper (excuse the pun) on our visit, but found Bruges to be rather charming all the same.  And we managed some lovely Belgian Waffles (with the best chantilly cream!) and some chocolates (I mean we are in Belgium!).  

Not an American knock-off!!

Bruges is a place worthy of exploring outside of the holiday season and we hope to get back up there someday to meander the lovely streets, shops, restaurants and canals.  So much to see!!!

What goes up must come down and when Paris just happens to be on the way home…well it makes sense to do a “drive by” because one never tires of the City of Light.  

We stayed south of Paris (who wants to park in Paris😁) at the Holiday Inn Paris Velizy not far from Versailles and caught the T6 tram line (walking distance from the Holiday Inn) to the RER C train which was actually pretty seamless; we disembarked at Invalides and voila – you exit the underground next to the Seine and into Parisian glory that warms you on even the coldest and grayest of days.  

Cold but Beautiful

The Christmas Market is located in the Tuileries next to the Place de Concorde which is about a mile away.  It  was nice (seems most fitting for those with children), but there are so many distractions in Paris that you can easily get sidetracked for vast periods of time.  

Distractions in the form of Haute Couture

We arrived right after the opening of her majesty Notre Dame, but weren’t able to get tickets.  I guess we’ll have to go back (ha!); it was lovely seeing the spires from the river though.  

We then made our way up the Champs de Elysee to do some shopping (mostly window really), and happened upon a lovely cafe attached to L’Occitane (yep, the same one you are thinking of).  Here we indulged in a Parisian high art dessert…this is what has always impressed me about France – especially Paris; it’s as if they have to compete with those in the culinary theater to exceed all expectations.  So there!

Cafe at l’ Occitanie

After traversing a good 8 miles of eye candy, window shopping and taking in the festive sights of the Parisian streets all dressed up for the holidays – under the watchful eye of La Tour Effiel, we headed across the always astounding Pont Alexander III to the metro. 

We vowed to come back in the spring for several days – you just can’t do Paris justice on a drive by and we need more gawking time.  This despite this being our fifth time in the City of Light!!!

On our way back we realized our ignorance of how certain Paris Metro zones work; what we didn’t know was that the central Paris “metro” zones (1 and 2) don’t work on the outer zones (like the airport and Disneyland and well…also Versailles) so we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle at the final turnstile at the Viroflay Left Bank RER C line…so…Bob had to “jump the fence” to get a ticket so I could get out😬 We will be purchasing “point to point” tickets under these circumstances from now on.  

No matter where we have wound up in the world – we get where we need to go eventually.  

Next, we headed to Bordeaux, thankfully blessed with dry and partly sunny weather for which we were grateful.  

We found the Bordeaux Christmas market very appealing and close to the CCF/HSBC office where we closed down our account after two years of poor service and having to go to the branch in Bordeaux to take care of business (I could rant forever on this one).  It turned out to be a pretty seamless operation considering the complications we were subjected to, and they seemed glad to write off the Americans and their burdensome FACTA paperwork.  

I decided to partake in some fabulous (Vin Chaud) mulled wine (Bob can’t do oaked wine) that is not only mulled, but then placed on oak for an extra kick.  Leave it to the French!!  The weather was clear, and as night fell and the market lit up, we felt like we were in a fantasyland of sorts.  It wasn’t too busy as it was an off day and we walked along munching on roasted chestnuts and listening to traditional carols – that, by the way – are mostly of American origin.  

On our way out we stopped by the Bassins Lumieres – an astounding video exhibit (if you’ve been to the Van Gogh exhibit it’s a similar theme).  This exhibit is presented in the old WW II submarine base and the show is reflected from the water in the holding pens.  We saw many of the Dutch masters and then contemporary art set to music – it was an incredible experience.

I’ve included a reel of the Christmas Markets here for a short visual of our voyage. 

We’ve done a lot (again) this year that included the barge trip in Wales. And of course Africa which was a dream adventure that took a year of preparation.  

In light of the last three years of intense transition, we have vowed to take it easier in 2025 – like a gap year – and complete our pool project (fortunately the major work is finally completed after 1.5 years) and some of our more simple projects including do-it-yourself landscaping.  And some local travel to the coastal regions with the idea we will primarily stay “in-country.” And I need to finish the protracted process of getting my French Driver’s License which is no small feat. 

But heck, otherwise we will take some time with friends and family lounging around the pool – an alien concept up until now.  

The human condition seems to warrant the idea of reflecting especially as the year closes out, like the pools that surround us, mirroring the effects gone by and contemplating our place in the world.  

Despite our otherwise “dreamlike” lifestyle we are not immune to the laws of entropy and have suffered much loss over the last year.  It began last December when we got the news a dear friend in California passed suddenly from complications to surgery – the shock reverberated through the household for months as he was expected to join us for the Tour de France and was like a brother to Bob. Then Bob lost three aunts in the span of a few months and then the lovely Yvonne (Bob’s sister-in-law) lost her interminable battle with cancer the night before we left for Africa.  We turned around within a few days after returning and flew to the UK for her funeral.  

Then…soon after I received news that my Aunty Alice passed away quietly in the night at 99 years old.  This loss closed a final chapter in the Eugene, Oregon legacy that brought such fond memories, and made me feel like a child again. 

Finally, while all this was going on, my brother was diagnosed with dementia; this heartbreaking news from the States will warrant a trip back – the only time we will probably venture out of France in 2025. 

We mourn their passing and are grateful for the time we have spent in their presence.  

Auld Lang Syne will have a new meaning for us this year as we stare into the reflecting pool of life and continue to cultivate gratitude for the time we have left on this earth, and pray for better times for those who are less fortunate than us.