French Folly

It is time to shop. Judy has one day left before flying back home. It is my job to support her. The hubbies aren't too happy with the plan, but c'est la vie! We explore, we wander, we listen to their endless complaining. But, we find 'le store'. We go in, the boys wail in distress. There is one solution... they flee to a cafe across the street for a coffee.

Judy hits pay dirt. Shoes, tops... no such luck for me. But as we prepare to go find our men, my eye lands on a skirt. Not a normal skirt but a long one with pieces of material hanging off of it. I try it on and.... I like it. Twirl around.. I really like it... The sixties live again. "0oh la la" exclaim the husband and wife shop owners. In my broken French, I explains my husband is across the street. Pas probleme. The owner runs out the door, across six lanes af busy traffic, enters the cafe calling for Roger. Jeffrey takes over. Jumps up, hauls Roger out of the washroom and then he is dragged outside the door so he can see me twirling around across the busy street on the sidewalk.

Not a happy Roger. Big thumbs down. The shop owners dips and doodles his way back to the shop shaking his head. I am amazed. He really doesn't like it??? But then those wise words pop into my brain, "What am I waiting for ... until I am 75 years old? No way, I bought it!

 

 

 

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Lingerie Shopping

 

Paris is intoxicating. Flowers bloom, sun shines, people kiss everywhere, and everyone drinks, eats and smokes at the sidewalk cafes. Youth invades my soul. So, my friend, Judy, and I decide to shop for lingerie - specifically bras. We find beautiful bras, lacy, elegant, cut to perfection. After a fitting, we proceed to try them ALL on. We just can't do it. Really, $140 for a bra? What else could we buy for that price... how much could we eat? We move on to a cheaper arrondissement and voila - we find Sympa ... where all the unsold clothes go. Judy finds a matching set of bras and panties for $4... Is Paris not wonderful?

 

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The Beach

 

I love the beach. I love just lying on the sand, staring over the ocean, and watching all the people walk past me. The best of Waikiki. During my tropical meditation, I started noticing women... the young women - Asian, Russian, American. Beautiful bodies, tiny bikinis...and then I had the startling revelation that I am never going to wear a bikini again, and, I am never going to have a body that is smooth, hard and curvy again. The question is, did I ever? What I had, was the belief that I could have that body if I really wanted it. Old age suddenly sat down beside me and slapped me into reality. I am no longer young and it is never going to get better. Damn. 

Route 1

 

Big Sur ... Simply one of the most magnificent car rides in the world. To quote Henry Miller: It was here at Big Sur that I first learned to say Amen.

Amen indeed!

 

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Untitled

 

I almost fell in love with Carmel. Sunset was gorgeous, the beach beautiful. The town is quaint and feels like money. At night, Carmel reminded me of an European town, quiet, people walking but, most importantly, there is very little ambient light. It is a treat to wander under the starlit sky among the shadows of the town in the darkness.

But then came morning and reality as we popped into a UPS/FedEx/Postoffice. The owner had retired from Silicon Valley and opened this business. And, business had been booming... he had eight employees. Then the crash of 2008 happened and over night his business died and never came back. He has only himself in the store now. The town is filled with art galleries. He used to ship eight huge piece a day, " Now nothing. "

"This used to be a real town for real people, now it's just for Texans who found oil on their property... uneducated, inarticulate, tacky taste... The town survives on them." There are people and towns really struggling in the US as a result of the 2008 downturn. No wonder there are fewer tourists on Vancouver Island. The Americans are keeping their money close.

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Palo Alto

We are on the road, leaving our six days in Palo Alto behind. Our friend was right, Palto Alto is the equivalent of 16th century Florence. It has changed and is changing the world. In the late sixties, I have some vague recollection of the demise of slide rules and the advent of calculators. OMG, we have come a long way, baby! We leave Palo Alto with a greater sense of the creative forces behind the past 35 years and with a more learned nod to the future. All this energy, creativity, wealth in one area are working on the next big thing.... Could it be anticipatory marketing? Amazon, or whoever, will just send you what they intuit you want, remember that coffee you couldn't be trusted to add your own cream to? Now, you really don't know what you need or want to buy... but they will....

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Palo Alto's Favourite Coffeeshop

Palto Alto, the town of future promise, is the home to the uber rich, the uber smart and the uber creative. For example, we are driving down the highway at 100 mph (that's miles, not kilometers) and are passed by the Google car... a self driving vehicle ... and we can't catch it! Money flows in the street and coffee flows in the funky sidewalk bars.... which brings us to Philz Coffee.

This is the hotspot, the epicentre of the cool and hip. The room is filled with conversation and digital devices. The line up for coffee stretches out the door. So what makes this place so special? It provides a totally narcissistic experience. Each order of coffee is made individually. No coffee urn here. No one shares the same coffee. Every choice is carefully explained to each customer. Then it is carefully prepared, cup by cup. The customer is not trusted to add their cream or sugar... they may screw the coffee up! If you don't like the amount of cream or sugar added or the flavour of the coffee, it is quickly removed and made all over again. I have to think that this whole experience is designed to make you feel special, like royalty... you are unique... Philz caters to a generation raised to feel that, yes, they are special, but interestingly cannot be trusted to even pour the right amount of cream into their very individualized special coffee.

 

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Truffle Salt

We are on a winter break... a break from our ongoing life of leisure. In fact, my new motto is 'idle forever'. R and I flew from Bellingham to San Francisco. Whenever I travel to the United States, I feel that I am going to the dark side... that the US is slightly less civilized. And, then, of course, I am inevitably forced to change my preconceived ideas. Our first stop, Bellingham, was my point of reckoning. We stumbled in to an olive oil tasting. Amazing, delectable, nuanced oils... ethusuastic, incredibly knowledgeable staff... I am going back in two weeks. And, then as as I am leaving, they insist I try a truffle salt. OMG, flavour burst in my mouth and I nearly sunk to my knees with pleasure. Damn those Americans.... they just get it so right sometimes!

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Tofino

Post Christmas joy is being at Tofino. Walking the beach. Watching the penguins gather on the chilly shore. No, not birds, but surfers… covered from head to toe in black neoprene, shouting for joy at a good wave. Gray sand, gray sky .... an atmosphere crackling with life.

Why I love Tofino:

It is at the end of the world. For me, there is nothing else beyond it. Time changes, there is only the present and my mind empties out. All questions, quandaries, judgments disappear. The dramatic ocean swallows them up.

There are no weather expectations and that is soooo relaxing. Rain, sun, clouds – it doesn’t matter. You simply revel in whatever nature serves up because it is always dramatic.

Tofino is my new corollary for life: try to stay rooted in the present and throw out preconceived expectations.

Shades of Christmas

An original poem by  Karynn Oxley and Loanne Anderson. God help us, performed in Qualicum Beach. We are ready (really) for spoken work performances!

It is that joyous time of year — ring a ding ding, ring a ding ding

And yet, for some in Qualicum, it is the blues they sing!

“Oh dear, the kids are so very far away

We could never reach them in one day

Our table craves a joyous feast

But it’s just us — and the turkey beast!”

“My goodness me — this is a first!

I hope our Christmas is not cursed.

Just the two of us — with no distraction?

No kids, no stress, no family action?”

“Whatever are we going to do? Engage in conversation?”

No worries! WE are here… to lead you to salvation!

Put up that Christmas tree with all the decorations you adore

And then be sure you run, real quick, and double lock the door.

No need to talk, or feel adrift

We suggest you buy that ‘special’ gift,

Yes! Gifts for two… to read and drink,

Shades of Gray, Champagne? What do you think?

So pop that cork under the Christmas tree

And, very soon, you will be free

To meet your youth of yesteryear

And, no, you do not need to fear….

The fountain of youth never looked so GOOD!

And, it’s right here in our neighbourhood.

So Merry Christmas to one and all

Get under that tree and have a ball!

Oops, I did it one more time

Wednesday, the last full day of our European odyssey dawned cloudy and wet. It was a perfect day to drag Roger around on one of his favorites activities... looking at shoes for me. But no, he discovers an even better activity...a day at the Sauna Van Egmond in Haarlem.

OMG, what an experience. The Shades of Gray (not that I EVER read THAT book) pales besides the delights offered at this SPA. Hot pools, cold pools and sensuous warm waters carcass your body. The steam bath is so thick with steam you have complete privacy. And, herbal aromas and sounds vary from room to room. Absolute relaxation... The jungle sauna, the Moroccan sauna, the infrared sauna, and the cold sauna delight your senses. And then, you can crawl into the sleeping room and do just that.. Sleep.

I felt that I had dropped into a Fellini movie. In the dinning room, the staff were clothed and the clients ate, lounged, enjoyed wine and beer in bathrobes and towels.

We stayed for seven hours! What a fabulous ending to fabulous trip


Wheels up!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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European Weight Loss Plan

We started the day in Brugges by searching for coffee about nine in the morning. People were already drinking wine at the sidewalk tables. By 11 am, we were In Ghent and stopped to have another coffee in the sunny town square. Champagne and beer were on everyone else's table. At four o'clock we had arrived in Brussels and sat at yet another sidewalk table and had a beer. Beer is flowing everywhere. There must be thousands of people drinking beer and sipping wine all around us.

This is how it has been for the past month in Europe. But we have seen no drunks, no attitude, no violence. And, we have seen very, very few heavy people. God knows there is enough food to tempt the strongest of souls. The pastries and chocolates are to die for. Fries are a staple. Bread and cheese? Can't go a block without them. So how do they do it? All I can say, is that it must be genetic, cause the fries, beer and wine diet just isn't working for me!


 

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Shop On

I know this will sound disrespectful and flippant, but really it isn't meant to be so. Touring shoe stores through Europe is way more fun than touring war memorials. Unexpectedly, we have visited many of the memorial and grave sites from WWI and WWII. I was deeply moved by the memorial at Vimy Ridge, the monument must be one of the most beautiful of the modern age. And kudos to the sculpture marking the Canadian site near Passiondale. Both are brilliant.

But as I have travelled and learned more about WWl and WWll and walked the poignant steps of our soldiers, I have become acutely aware of how historically recent these wars are. I feel a harbinger from the future... are we due for another one?

 

That's why touring shoe stores is such an attractive alternative. Styles change, who cares. Shoes are thrown away before they are old, who cares. Sometimes shoes are expensive, but, hey, they are not nearly as expensive as war.

 

 

 

 

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Lost in France

GPS is a marvel of technology. I know how fantastic this little device is because today ours stopped working... in the middle of God knows where.

"Enough of Lonely Planet," declared Roger with a flourish of his hand. "No, we are not going Arras." (Lonely Planet lists numerous hotels, restaurants in Arras.) He looks at the map and points to the small village of Bethune. "We are heading here." Okay, dear.

Hours later, we arrive in Bethune. We have gone up hills, made impossible corners, and changed highways to get here. Navigating this small town turns out to be a nightmare. A hotel? What's that? And then, the unthinkable happens. Our GPS goes blank....huh? Where are we? It's rush hour and there are no hotels or parking spots anywhere and we are on our own!

We travel up, down and all around the area and then... In the middle of friggin' nowhere, a Best Western appears. An expensive Best Western appears. Two rooms left... in the middle of nowhere!!! Damn the expense, we take a room. Now, pour the wine, dear.

 

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Karynn and Roger Dine

At this moment, hunting and snaring dinner would be easier than trying to choose a restaurant. The stress is becoming a source of marital discord... the right food, at the right location, and the right price.

Dinner in Amsterdam was easy. A table with a view was all that was required. People walking, biking or passing canal boats proved entertaining for hours! And, the price was reasonable. Prague was wonderful. We found some fabulous little restaurants that were fun, romantic and really well priced. Germany was a surprise... easy to order, good choices, good value.

But now, there is France. It is so complicated and expensive... and my expectations are so much higher. Rogers's are not. So, I drag him around one town after another. "I'll be happy with a hot dog," he wails. The French towns (from Strasbourg to Reims) have a lot of pizzas, pastas, and kebabs .... meals that are more reasonably priced. We have had them all. But finally, we had one of our best meals ... in the car, in the middle of a field of grapes being picked for champagne... stinky cheese, good bread, great sausage and a fine wine. What more could either of us want?

 

 

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A Day at the Bath

If you go to Baden Baden, you HAVE to go the baths - why else visit the place? Except to gamble at the famous casino, shop and promenade the ALichtentaler Allee.

After a day spent lounging the Baden Baden baths, Roger and I were totally blissed out. Of course, the day we visited the baths was the day of NO bathing suits and mixed sexes. I had pause to consider that at my grand age, was my body really something I want to share? But then Rogers's logic of "are you ever going to see them again?" won out. As well, I recalled the Morning Star's golf pro's famous words to me, "Get over yourself."

This was definitely a European spa experience. No fawning over the guests. Just get on with it and don't bother the staff. I thought the spa would be full of older folk, easing their aches and pains. But no, this was the no clothes spa and, damn it, the young women were gorgeous and preening. This town is full of people sixty and up but all the young ones were at the spa so I just had to pretend I was 35 again, always an interesting exercise. But it was so relaxing... no wet bathing suit to deal with. Two massages, four different steam rooms and about six mineral pools of different temperatures of water were ours to revel in under the roman domes... Four hours of bliss and then we were wrapped up like swaddling babies to lie in a special room for thirty minutes while our minds emptied out.

I think we are ready for naked aquafit at the Ravensong pool in Qualicum Beach. There would be no need to buy bathing suits, easy drying off and after the first five minutes no one would even notice each other's bodies.

Let's put Qualicum on the tourist map with aquafit au naturel!

 

 

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Fiata miata

It's the Indie 500, Roger style. We've been gearing down around river corners, revving up as we speed through hillsides of vineyards in our 2 cylinder, tiny Fiat ('fix it again tony'....no more). My goodness, it is just too much like Europe! I think I am on a movie set. All you bicyclists out there ... Head to the Mosel Valley. It is filled with bikers on their own path along the road. Interestingly, it reminds me of Qualicum Beach, BC... They are of a certain vintage. It must be September and the kids are back in school. And none of them wear helmets or wear North American bike gear... dress jackets, blouses, jeans, dress shoes are often de rigeur.

As we cruised into Beilstein, Roger turned to me and laughed, "I can take Jim* in this baby anytime."

*a note of homage to our friend and sometimes traveling companion, Jim Macdonald.

 

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Lost in a fog

Rick Steve's, you know, the PBS travel guru, is our new best friend. He has guided us successfully to Tier, Germany. Certainly I had never heard of the oldest town in Germany. He led us through the sunny warm streets of Amsterdam, Prague, Maastricht and now to Trier. And, we have learned amazing historical facts about all these places. He has told us what to see, where to sleep and where to eat. My God, sometimes I've asked Roger if Rick says its time to breath, sit down or visit the loo!

Today, we have a problem. A fog has settled over the valley. We can't even see the church steeple from our room. We were to start exploring the Mosel Valley, a windy drive filled with spectacular mountain top castles. Sadly, Rick has no words of guidance. We are on our own. There is only one thing do... Drink champagne with our breakfast and then rush over to the largest cathedral outside of Rome, drop to our knees and pray for clear skies .

 

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Seeing both sides now

 

Sittin' in the airport, watch dawn rise. Good bye Prague. It was fun getting to know you. Yesterday was interesting. We walked through cathedrals, castles and dungeons. We went up the funicular to see the Prague Effiel Tower (I thought it was a communist left over structure but no... It built two years after the original Effiel Tower in 1891!) But the big surprise was a music concert and fair we stumbled upon. Families, young adults all wondering around drinking huge beers, carrying emply wine glasses ready for instant fill up, pushing baby buggies, laughing and talking and listening to a variety of musicians. The food carts were amazing. Large potato pancakes, sausages to die for, pickled sweet papers, spicy horse radish. None of this was roped off in a beer garden, no checking IDs, no one behaving badly. Very civilized.

But the real lesson, for me, was the sculpture commemorating the fall of communism. A man, through a series of sculptures, loses parts of himself until he disappears... The result of the dehumanization of the totalitarian state. Being a student in the sixties, being on the edge of hippiness, flirting with new philosophies, it was de rigeur to embrace Russia and blame the USA for everything. I found my self looking backwards and remembering my father who had escaped the Bolsheviks just shaking his head and saying I would grow up. I have seen both sides now.

 

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Shoe shopping with Roger

Woke up this morning knowing that today was going to be different. We had agreed that I was going to check out the shoes in Prague. Yesterday we had shopped at the sausage maker, the baker and the cheese maker, so we had a great little breakfast in our apartment. "Let's just take the tram towards the end of the line first," suggests Roger. Okay, It's early, I'm enthusiastic... So off we go exploring.

And we find a very nice, clean neighborhood, free of tourists and filled with regular folk. No cinder block communist buildings here, they must be at the other end of town. Also, no shoe stores. Since we have to take tram to get downtown, we decide to get off at the castle quarter and walk down through castle courtyards and say hello to the gargoyles as we head towards the city center. No shoe stores here either.


Then we make snap decision to visit the Lobkowicz Palace. A quick stop..no, not so fast. Turns out to be an amazing collection and story of one prominent Czech family ranging from the 1300s up to the present. The Germans took all their lands and treasures and then the Russians took the rest. Today they have it all back. Looking at their family tree, I realize what a mongrel peasant I am.

We have now been walking for hours. We stumble down the hillside to find a fabulous pizza, but no shoes. We continue to walk... Over the remarkable Charles Bridge and along with hundreds of other tourists, we head into the city center. We are now shuffling, my god, we have been walking for hours and we ache. We desperately search to find the metro and to get back to our apartment and collapse into bed. After all, it's a jazz club this evening. I've given up the dream of ever shopping for shoes in Prague.

 

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