Paris, the Apartment on Boulevard de Grenelle and Bella

By American standards the flat is the size of a postage stamp and furnished in a minimalist manner with a hot plate, a loveseat, a bed, and a table. I am living out of my suitcase on the floor because there is no closet space or any place else to put it. I can’t turn around in the shower and when seated on the toilet with the door closed, my knees touch the door. The absurdity is hilarious.

I have a leak by the shower that is seeping water from who knows where, all over the floor. This concerns me given my recent water leak at the condo, so I am mopping it up every few hours like a mad woman and have sent an email asking what to do. Of course I have to go down the street to do that, as there is no Internet access in the apartment. Needless to say I have not had a shower today for fear of flooding the downstairs flat.  Trust me, I am not complaining.

The area is lovely except for the trash on the streets.  Such a wonderful city but people just throw things on the ground and the trash bins are on every corner, sometimes two. And it is true, Parisians do not usually pick up after their dogs so there is poop on the streets. This behavior does provide the state with jobs for those that walk around picking it up all day.

It’s a dog paradise for scrounging. Bella lunges on the leash every time she smells food and is in constant pursuit of a scrap. Because she is always rewarded with the “find” it’s a habit not easily broken. She grabs whatever it is - bag and all - and swallows it before I can get it out of her mouth. Today she found a half eaten chocolate bar that I did manage to pry from her teeth before she devoured it. Discarded French chocolate, half-eaten - how is that possible?

Obviously Bella is walking me for the most part. She lunged at a cat today and almost jerked me off my feet. We tried the river route to St. Germaine’s but at the halfway point I decided I didn’t want to be jerked around anymore so we came home and took a nap. We have bonded however. I am allowing her off leash at the Champs de Mars but remain on constant alert to avoid her eating binges. Diarrhea in the flat would be a disaster!

To be in Paris for a time under any circumstance is indeed a gift and I am still amazed at this opportunity. I quite like Bella but feel sorry for any city dog that sits in an apartment in anticipation of a walk twice a day. Of course I am projecting what I think makes them happy, however I do know that dogs are extremely adaptable. Give them food, water, love and a routine they can count on and they are content to be no matter their surroundings. My dogs obviously have the option of going out to vast wilderness whenever they want and this is the life they know. I miss having them around me, but city life is not for them.

Cities are interesting, lonely places and easy for people to disappear in. I remember feeling this way while living in Manhattan’s Spanish Harlem for eight weeks in 2001. There is a feeling of autonomy combined with a vast emptiness in the massive sea of humanity. On the long-term I much prefer my quiet space in Homer to the glitz and glamour of city life, and traveling makes me appreciate it all the more. On the short-term give me Paris any day.

It is autumn and the looming Tour Eiffel is especially beautiful at night when the lights are blinking. I am grateful for the opportunity to spend time in Paris even in a manner I’m not accustomed to. Flexibility and tolerance remain the keys to experience.

And, DOGS? Well, they are my gurus. They possess the wonderful gift of connecting us no matter where we are. 

Tragedy Across the Water

It is with a broken heart that I post the tragedy that occurred at TBTB. The wonderful, sweet husky twins that were being fostered were shot and killed by a neighbor with a chicken coop. Romulus & Remus had no reason to know that chickens were bad and it cost them their young lives. Herein lies the tragedy.

I’m devastated and just want to fly home and hug my own dogs. But of course I can’t since Bella dog is relying on me for another week. I am sickened by the violence that has touched even my neighborhood in sleepy Homer, Alaska. There has to be another way.

Two glasses of vin blanc have numbed me. I’m still grieving but it is a dull ache, rather than a sharp pain in my chest. It is so hot in Paris, I am sitting in my underwear writing this and I’m still roasting. Bella and I just returned home from the island that separates the 15^th & 16^th arrondissement – a doggie paradise. Lunch was a toastie with goat cheese followed by the wine. I shared the food with my four-legged friend that I am so happy to have with me. The loss at TBTB would be unbearable without a dog next to me. She is a comfort and also a circus dog with many tricks that make me laugh.

I only wish this were a dream that I could wake up from. Unfortunately it was their path and I was just a stop in between. They brought joy and laughter to TBTB and I will miss their smiling faces at the door when I return home next week. RIP sweet puppies and know that you did nothing wrong. You have now found your forever home, but we will miss you. Your spirit remains deeply imbedded in everyone lucky enough to have known you.

However hurtful it may seem, everything is as it should be at this moment.

la Routine

It’s Friday, TGIF.  I left Homer one week ago and it seems like forever that I abandoned my comfort zone. Travel has a way of distorting the sense of time. I have finally settled into a routine here in Paris. It took awhile and there were times when all I really wanted to do was go home. It is an effort when all things are new and waiting to be discovered. Nothing is easy and even the simplest things like getting from Point A to Point B become a challenge. However perseverance is how one grows in body, mind and spirit. Overcoming obstacles in search of another way of doing, or another way of being – for better or worse, is a reward. Getting in the Paris groove took longer than I expected. Nevertheless, I am now there.

My routine begins between 4-5 AM when I make a cup of decaf Necafé, open the computer, write for a few hours and then read, write morning pages in my journal and decide on my day. The choices are unlimited so it must be something I feel like doing at the time. Bella of course is still asleep under the covers. That said, I take a shower and dress in my dog walking clothes - yoga pants, a sweatshirt and tennis shoes. At this, Bella is awake and ready to explore her outdoor world because she too has settled into my routine.

We usually walk to Champs de Mars for a morning view of the Tour de Eiffel and run for at least an hour. Back at the flat I toss her a few balls and she is ready for breakfast and a nap, in that order. I grab my Mac and head over to Starbucks to check in with my Homer life.

When I first arrived here I felt like “I’m in Paris, I have to be doing something” consequently running from one thing to another. That was exhausting especially with jetlag that drug on for a few days because of our daily afternoon naps. However, the pace has slowed considerably and I am comfortable to relax and really figure out what I want to see, not dictated by what I should see.

Today I took the Metro to the RER B train getting off at the Jardin Luxembourg. At the suggestion of my friend in Saignon I stopped at the Patissier and got lunch – jambon & fromage quiche and a chocolate caramel torté for dessert. I packed my large Cannon camera, a new book from the Village Voice, along with a street map and headed over to the metro station.

A short time later I was completely surrounded by a gorgeous garden, reclining in a lawn chair overlooking the fountain and the Luxembourg de Palais. Sixty-three acres of lush, gorgeous grass, flowers and trees sitting in the middle of the Left Bank separating St. Germain and the Latin Quarter. The sun was shining, the lunch was perfect and the book is laugh out loud funny.

I am now back home with Bella and our mission this afternoon is to find a Laundromat nearby before we head to the park for a romp. Afterwards I will take my book to the nearest Bistro that offers happy hour and order a Vin Blanc, reading until it is once again time to check-in with the Homer connection via the Internet.

Life is as it should be at the moment in Paris.

le Pergolése, Bon Appétit

A 3-Star Michelin Restaurant in Paris? There are only a handful of 3-star ratings in the world and I have been invited to one, le Pergolése near the 16^th Arrondissment on the right bank – look it up on the Internet. http://www.lepergolese.com/fr/home.html

Thank goodness I didn’t ditch the little black dress when switching suitcases. Although I was told that the black boots I was wearing with the dress, had to go. “But I like them and they are in style,” was my protest. So okay, the boots are trendy and this dining experience is NOT. I remind myself to shut-up and get in the taxi – with my boots on. Elegant? I’m not! But trendy? Oui!

We arrive a few minutes early for our 8:00 reservation. The décor of le Pergolése has a basic French traditional backdrop with intimate seating and rather bright lighting, at least by my standards. A bit stuffy really, but who’s complaining? I am escorted to my plush seat and pushed in to the table just as I lower down to sit. Apparently the waiter has done this before and the timing was right on. Otherwise, pushing while sitting at the same time could be a disaster.

A Kir Royal was ordered for starters – crème de cassis with Champagne, meant to enhance the appetite by stimulating the taste buds. I open the menu and see the plats du jour for this evening offers pigeon breasts, among other tasty delicacies such as Créme de sardines. In France it is common to order the plat de jour, normally the best bargain as it includes a choice of two, three or four courses for one price. However, the breast of pigeon was enough to have me immediately turn to the next page of the menu – Á la carte entrees.

The prices are exorbitant. Appetizers start at 34 euros, equating to $56.44. Sorry, I can’t help but do the math. I suggest to my friend, who incidentally is buying, that we share one. OMG, how tacky of me to even consider such a thing. I am to have my own whether I am that hungry or not. I can merely sample it and leave the rest. After another sip of the Kir Royale I had no choice but to reply: “I’m sorry but that seems like a wasteful approach when people all over the world are starving.”

No, he did not take me home.

Apparently sharing is not an option. Haute cuisine essentially means fresh, in season choices arranged artfully on a plate. Translation? Smaller portions. I resist asking if the fresh pigeons came from the Champs de Mars where people are feeding them French bread every morning when I walk Bella. She even chases them. Instead, I order the Langoustines appetizer.

Had I known placing the order would get the gorgeous Chef out of the kitchen and tableside, I would have done it sooner. Stephane Gaborieau was not only handsome but also extremely charming. And, the Langoustines? Well, they looked like art on a plate and the taste was outrageous. No worries about eating them all, I wanted to lick the plate!

Had I done so, he would have taken me home.

I consider myself a “foodie” - going out to dinner often to various restaurants and enjoying exceptional food with fine wine. Some would even call me a critic having co-owned a steak and seafood restaurant that boasted fine wine, fine food, & fine art. So, I am not exactly a novice at dining out. However, the Michelin stars are taken very seriously, and losing one can often drive a renowned Chef over the edge, sometimes even leading to suicide. So, needless to say a 3-Star dining experience is also taken very seriously. In many ways I feel a bit overwhelmed particularly since I don’t speak French trés bien and reading the menu is indeed a challenge.

Without further ado I will share the menu choices I selected. I am happy to say I ate the whole thing even though parts of it were unknown to me. Bottom line, I don’t have a clue what the hell I really ate, but it was delicious and beautiful!

Sorry no photos. If I can’t share an appetizer you know I can’t take a picture! And remember, the French language does not translate into English word for word; therein lies the confusion.

Kir Royale: Crème de Cassis with French Champagne. 18 euros

Appetizer: Langoustines en nage d’agrumes, farandole de jeunes légumes, envolée de feuilles parfumées.  Translated: lobsters swimming in a flavored citrus fruit sauce with baby vegetables and perfumed leaves. 34 euros

Entrée: Rouget rôti aux graines de cumin, cannelloni d’aubergines aux saveurs du midi, goutte de piquillos. Translated: Fresh mullet roasted with cumin seeds, cannelloni with eggplant, and topped with drips of piquillos.   36 euros

Cheese Tray: Le plateau de fromages affinés par notre fromager. Translated:  Assortment of fine cheeses. 18 euros

Dessert: Tarte chocolat, éclat d’olives noires, glace basilic aux pignons de pin torréfiés. Translated: chocolate tarte with black olives, basil and pine nuts.  18 euros

Plus, a magnum bottle of chilled wine. When asked my preference I said Sauvignon Blanc and was immediately corrected. In France you do not order wine by the grape name, but instead by the year and vineyard.  150 euros

After clearing away the plates, I heard the waiter ask if I would like a digestif, meaning Cognac or another choice of liqueur. The French reason that finishing a meal off with a liqueur is important for aiding the digestive process. Sounds good to me. But, before I could answer I heard: “Merci Beaucoup, but she’s had enough to drink.” I decided to let that one go. But I will try Absinthe before leaving France.

The tab was handled discreetly, obviously not for my eyes. I estimate the total amount including tip to be around 450 euros because I did the math. Translated: $747 (and that does not include the $150 taxi fare). Merde sainte!

This was no doubt an experience that cannot possibly be duplicated – at least any time soon. The life of the international dogsitter extraordinaire continues to be amazing.

Bon Appétit and Merci Beaucoup! 

A Surprise Visit

Our evening walk down Boulevard de Grenelle took us along the Seine for a look at the many houseboats, and past the Yacht club where scrumptious bread was lurking in the bushes for my four-legged friend to snag. The looming Tower is everywhere and has become my landmark. Getting lost in this neighborhood is not possible. After a couple hours we returned home, I fed Bella her evening meal, freshened up and was on my way out the door to grab dinner when there was a rap at the door?

I opened the door to find a French woman and a man on the other side, smiling at me. My first thought? Surely there are no soliciting Mormons HERE? My fear was that she was going to speak to me and I was not going to be able to reply except with the required Bonjour Madame. Instead I heard the man on my right ask if this was Tails-By-The-Bay, in English? At first it didn’t register, I was so confused then suddenly I realized it was my British friend, but wait - he’s not suppose to be here until lunchtime tomorrow? And who is the woman?

And so the story goes. . . he arrived in Paris a day early and had been walking around the Champs de Mars for a couple hours in search of a black & white Dalmatian and me. Finally, on the verge of giving up for the evening he convinced the French woman at the entrance of the complex to let him in the building. He is not only extremely charming, but speaks French fluently albeit with an English accent. Although he did have the street address he had no idea which apartment to find me. Apparently he identified where I might be by describing Bella. At that, the woman knew immediately it was the apartment next door to her, and invited him in.

And so it was - a late dinner at La Gauloise in the neighborhood.  A Kir for starters followed by French onion soup (no cheese), rich boeuf bourguignon, vin rouge, and a light lemon custard for dessert. The waiter informed me that I was now French after eating this delicious stew. Really? Can I expect to wake up speaking the language tomorrow? NOT!

A very confusing, yet delightful evening for this jetlagged American in Paris! And tomorrow night? Dinner at a Michelin 3-Star Restaurant in the heart of the City. Stay tuned.

Where Am I?

I woke up many times in the night confused, wandering “where am I?” And then contently remembering the apartment in Paris and falling straight back to sleep. The windows of the flat were left open and the mosquitoes were vicious taking more Alaskan blood than I had to give but, I was really too tired to care. I thought it was early when I had a shower and took Bella to the Champs de Mars for her morning walk. Since my computer and I Phone are not functioning in the apartment I have no idea what time it is. Only after seeing a clock on the square did I realize it was actually 9:30 AM.

What a beautiful morning with a bit of wind and lots of sunshine - not that different from Homer this time of year, just warmer. The runners were out in masses at the park so I decided to give it a go. However Bella prefers searching for scraps on the ground more than running with me. She adores French bread and can seek it out of unsuspecting places, like underneath a pile of leaves.

After a nice long run, a trip to Starbucks for Internet access and the Sunday outdoor market I returned to the flat intending to write. But the special mushrooms (that’s how they were described to me at 22.95 lb.) and the organic brown eggs from the market looked so appetizing I made a lovely omelet complete with bread, cheese AND a glass of vin rouge instead. It wasn’t long before the eyelids were heavy and dozing off was the obvious option until. . . OMG, 5:00 PM! Yikes, jetlag has hit. Bella didn’t mind a nap and she certainly doesn’t have the ten hours time difference to deal with.

Meeting Bella

I arrived at the flat on Boulevard de Grenelle punched in the door code and like magic, the door swung open. Climbing one flight of stairs and knocking on the door to the left, I heard the bark and knew I had found Bella. Just in time to meet Elena before her departure to Ethiopia.

Bella was thrilled because of course it was time for her evening stroll around the neighborhood and she was happy to show me the way in the 15^th Arrondissement – the Eiffel Tower, a concert in Champs de Mars, a rain shower, and shopping for a fresh baguette, camembert cheese, Bordeaux & chocolate for dinner! Plus, she crawled under the covers when it was time for bed (don’t tell Zippy). Wow! I can get used to this. Life is good in Paris and I only just got here.

Are we there yet?

While waiting in Amsterdam for the connection to De Gaulle I had a Caprese Panini with an ice-cold Heineken on draft in a café where everyone spoke English. I exchanged $440 dollars for 290 Euros, and was happy to see the Euro had fallen  @1.66.

I arrived in Paris, retrieved my bag from baggage claim and found the RER B line without a blip. Once again I thanked the Universe for allowing me the good sense to leave the monster bag at home. The ride into the city from the airport is about l.5 hours and can be done by taking the RER B train and changing to the Metro.  In the crowd the language was spoken so quickly that comprehension of any dialogue was impossible. I was content to be a voyeur in the sea of oblivion. There is a certain amount of freedom associated with being separate but still present, and not really minding it. The French language was music to my ears whether I understood it or not.

The train stopped directly across the street from the apartment. On the walk over I saw a bottle of wine at the Marché Franprix for 4.05 – conversion? $6.72. Not bad for a 2008 local Bordeaux. Camembert cheese is 2.94 = $4.88, and a fresh baguette from the neighborhood bakery is 1.05 or $1.74. Some things are cheaper in Paris. And the quality, well it’s amazing.

After returning from the South of France last April I was very excited over Camembert and immediately went to the local grocery in Homer to buy it.  Unfortunately the taste of what I bought was nothing like what I remembered in Aix-en-Provence. The French have the market on cheese and apparently the richness, creaminess, and texture cannot be duplicated. 

Day of Departure

It was a great find, the huge suitcase from Pick ‘N Pay for $2 – almost as tall as me with wheels to pull it around.  Sitting on a table in the bedroom for a whole week before the flight meant things just kept getting tossed into it that may or may not be needed.  My rationale was that if I bought something I could just toss something out to make room. After all 90% of everything packed was indeed thrift store treasures and the plan is to find more in Paris. It is all about recycling or as some call it “upcycling.” Whatever, it’s the search that drives me.

Finally after months of anticipation the morning for departure finally arrived. I zipped the suitcase smugly shut since I usually have to coerce the zipper on my old bag by sitting on it, and pushing and pulling until it finally acquiesces but the strain on the seams is severe. But not today, the upcycled suitcase closed easily with actual room to spare.

Ready to go I attempt to lift the case off the table, which proved to be easier said than done since it is in my studio surrounded by artwork in progress. After moving things around to make room on the floor for the massive bag containing everything imaginable, I gave it a serious pull and it fell off the table with a bang. I wrestle the case to a standing position and attempt to roll it forward to the staircase in the loft. OMG! This is obviously why it was only $2! What on earth was I thinking? This thing is almost as big as me and to drag it around the Paris airport searching for the RER train station, and then the metro #6 line would be difficult at best and certainly not a graceful sight.

A word flashed through my mind – SIMPLIFY. Of course, this is what I have been attempting to do in all areas of my life. I tend to make things much more complicated than they need be. It’s 8 AM and my ride for the airport will be around in an hour. In an instant I made a decision, grabbing by old bag off the shelf placing it beside the big one and quickly sorting out the basics I really need for Paris (and trust me, it’s not 6 pairs of shoes!). Seriously, I won’t miss anything I left behind and probably wouldn’t have worn most of it anyhow. After all I did splurge on the new skinny jeans before I left Homer. And really, what more does a girl need in Paris besides a white shirt, a few tees, a little black dress, a cashmere sweater and a leather jacket? 

Dogsitting in Paris

Tails-by-the Bay has gone international! I have a dogsitting gig in Paris for two weeks in September, and again for the better part of December. Now how you might ask, did I manage that? Well, it’s one of those networking deals – a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend thing. 

When people ask why I am going to Paris – do I really need a reason? – I tell them I am dogsitting and they are for the most part, flabbergasted. The Alaska Airlines attendant asked the question when I checked-in and was so amazed that she shouted to her coworker at the next desk – “she’s going to PARIS to dogsit!” 

Well okay it’s not a paid position. But it is a trade for an apartment on the Boulevard de Grenelle a stone’s throw from the Eiffel Tower. To explore and live like a Parisian with a dog to show me the way, can it get any better? Needless to say I am thrilled for the opportunity to hang-out with a black and white Dalmatian named Bella in the City of Light where we will become Tails-By-The-Seine for a time. 

Life continues to be amazing for the dogsitter extraordinaire!

The United Kingdom

So, the plane did arrive at JFK 30 minutes early but because of that we had to circle for twenty minutes before landing. The runway was a freeway so we sat until there was an available gate. I watched the minutes for my connection ticking away. The door finally opened at 7:15 but the line was slow to move. The London flight leaves at 7:30 – will I make it?

To make a long story short, I raced to Gate #12 only to find it had changed to #14 – running! Finally I arrive to find the seating area empty. The plane is now pushing back from the gate. I tried to talk the ticket agent into calling it back for me, but he wouldn’t even consider it. The flight was packed. However, he gave me meal tickets and told me to relax, I was rebooked on the next one only an hour later and they too are serving dinner. Ah, a breather from the rat race, and a snack.

I do believe everything happens for a reason, and was reminded of that again when I boarded my London flight for a seven-hour ride to Heathrow. Do I see two seats together, or across the aisle three seats? OMG, I can actually stretch out, sleep and be rested when I arrive in the UK? I am so grateful I missed the earlier flight. After a delicious dinner and wine I completed the required paperwork to clear customs. And then, I stretched out with a blanket and pillow and fell asleep until I heard the captain on the speaker saying we were landing in 30 minutes. 

International flights remind me of what continental flights used to be like – lots of leg room, good service, a delicious meal of baked chicken, spinach and carrots (N/C) served with complimentary wine. My head is in the clouds! Why should I come down when I like the view from here? Life is good in the Delta Sky!

I arrived at Heathrow alert and ready to get on with it. First I must clear customs and exchange dollars for pounds: $200 = £103. Yikes! I found the train to the tube and the Piccadilly line to Holloway Street where I met up with friends for a proper English breakfast – ham, sausage, eggs, baked beans, toast and black pudding (I passed on the later, Thank God). Did I mention the weather is spectacular - sunny and warm! And, the woman that rescues Papillon dogs - she had at least 10 but she doesn't adopt them out, she keeps them all! Sound familiar?

Spent the rest of the afternoon doing what you do in cities - walk. I explored the Camden Lock area, an eclectic outdoor shopping spot. How can you possibly be in London without thinking of the Beatles and the mod era? Everything around me reminds me of that time period. It’s been 30 years since I have been to here and things have changed a bit. The policemen are no longer referred to as “bobbies”; the sirens sound like the ones in NYC, and the beer is pretty darn cold. But, I’m happy to see they still drive on the other side of the road. Painted on the pavement at the crosswalks are reminders to: “look left” or “look right” whenever you are crossing. BTW, the last time I was in London it was also royal wedding time - Charles and Diane. Is there a pattern here?  I ended my first day with the traditional Fish n’ Chip dinner at the local pub – but peas? Bloody Hell! I don't remember that.

And tomorrow afternoon, I fly to Amsterdam.

Observations:

In London you can have green, orange, blue or purple hair and no one cares

Sirens like NYC, all the time and the same sound

Beer is cold not warm as expected

Peas are a staple with fish ‘n chips

The dollar sucks
Black pudding is made with pig’s blood, holy shit!

Hello & Goodbye Minneapolis (Maybe)

Leg 2 – Minneapolis to JFK

            We arrived safely on the ground but getting off the plane was another story. It took much longer than normal. The time on my I Phone said 2:30 PM. Yikes! The connecting flight to JFK leaves at 3. Rushing off the plane and stopping in front of the Delta monitor to get gate information for flight 3426, I find it is C 22. The good news is we landed in C concourse, no problem. Wrong! The sign for gates C 1-28 points to a Tram. Seriously? It is now 2:47. At last the train arrives, I jump on and eventually the doors close. First stop is C 1-21 that means it’s the second stop – not the first. The clock is ticking!

Breathe deeply, get centered and know that there are no worries.  “Everything is as it should be at this moment, everything that happens to me is for my benefit” – my mantra for remaining calm. I arrive at the gate with one minute to spare, they scan my ticket and I rush on board to find my seat waiting. Who needs to eat anyhow? 

We are ready to depart for JFK when we slow down and return to the gate for a mechanical malfunction. Another tight connection awaits me in New York. If this problem cannot be quickly fixed can I possibly get off the plane and wait for the next flight to Heathrow from here? I know there is one in a few hours. The pilot said if it’s not repaired within five minutes he will let me off.  Now that’s amazing that he agreed to my frantic request.

The problem is fixed within a matter of minutes and we are airborne for the Big Apple, with a tail wind putting us there approximately 30 minutes ahead of schedule. Whooooope! I don’t have to worry about making my connection. No Food Again – Blimey! Can I survive on peanuts and water until dinner on the International Flight? The 1-1/2 year old baby next to me is called Blake – my maiden name. Now that makes me smile. J

Observations:

Specific esthetics for flight attendants no longer exists. They come in all shapes, sizes and ages.

Here, There and Where? London, Amsterdam, Aix en Provence – and all places in between

Leg 1 – Homer to Minneapolis

And thus, the European 2011 adventure began. The 6 AM flight to Minneapolis meant driving to Anchorage the day before and dropping off my #2 beloved VW (Meems) at the dealership. For months now the electrical unpredictability of the car starting or not starting has resulted in a multitude of battery jumps from people near and far. It’s always a mystery when turning the key if she will fire up or not. Meems needs a mechanical expert to clean out wiring installed by a novice former owner in hopes of having a remote starter in Phoenix.  Really? Alaska, maybe? But, seriously - Arizona? Regardless, the issue needs to be resolved so that all the extras such as electric windows, seats, door locks and cruise control (not to mention a reliable ride) once again function, as they should.

The trip originated in Homer with the 220-mile drive north arriving in Alaska’s largest city around 4:00 PM - the onset of rush hour traffic. Two stops were necessary along the way – one to purchase an over done, dried out beef hot dog with mustard (two bites max, no bun), a diet coke and a $2.75 naval orange, apparently from the Garden of Eden at that price. This was just enough to ward off any hunger pangs that might otherwise cause an eating frenzy of all things junk, if the urge was not satisfied early on. The second stop was for more petrol – at $4.24/gallon, $30 should have done it. Realizing my calculations are based on the $3.79/gallon price from a few months back, obviously more was required.

In Anchorage I arrive at the dealership to find them waiting for me. Time to call my friend Judy to see if staying over at her place tonight was an option, but she is not answering. The courtesy van driver is knocking off work in a few minutes so a ride anywhere means right now. Fifteen minutes later Judy pulled into her driveway to find a large blue bag, a yellow backpack and yours truly on the porch. No problem, the guest room is ready. With a 6 AM departure flight the taxi to Anchorage International will be around 4:45 AM tomorrow morning with my internal alarm clock activating no later than 4:00.

The road trip to Anchorage provided insight into the days to come. Stepping out of my comfort zone will hopefully clear the winter cobwebs from my head, allowing space for renewed inspiration and creativity.  The journey will first take me to London where the English language will be welcomed and the signs are readable. The routing is a 5.5 hour flight to Minneapolis connecting to another Delta flight for 3 hours to JFK, a short stay there and then 7 more hours across the Atlantic. The arrival in the UK means clearing customs, changing money and following email directions to the Blue Piccadilly tube that will eventually lead me to Amy’s Holloway neighborhood (my friend from NYC currently living in London) and a bed for the night. Of course it will be early morning so a day exploring will probably override any idea of napping. The ability to sleep on a plane is definitely an advantage in minimizing otherwise serious jet lag.

Saturday evening we will go to Gatwick Airport for an Easy Jet flight to Amsterdam, follow more directions from the airport leading us to what looks like a lovely B&B located on the only working canal in the City, with a huge park across the street and a local pub next door. Both excitement and confusion will distract me for the next few weeks. The challenge to stretch myself into the void of the unknown is, in a strange way intoxicating.  I imagine myself growing in this process of discovery.  Let the mind be free to wander and explore the new, embracing all things fully with the sensory orifices of taste, touch, see, smell & hear.

Grabbing a USA Today newspaper for the flight, I read about the death of a childhood icon and my mother’s favorite movie star, Elizabeth Taylor – a life well lived, indeed. Reading about her I was struck with the similarities of my own approach to life - love hard and passionately, take life as it comes, do what you want, and don’t worry about what anyone else thinks in the process. Our major difference is that I’m not a famous star (really?), my eyes are blue not violet and I am not voluptuous.

I am writing this on our approach to Minneapolis where I will board the next flight of my journey. Stay tuned for the tales of Europe 2011 as told by a forever wanderlust. The only thing missing are five cocker spaniels and a hound dog named Zippy. To be continued. . .

Observations:

Boarding passes are no longer in envelopes with the written gate number

There is no gate information – you’re on your own to seek out the monitor

There is no baggage fee for my one checked bag

Security is easy – I wasn’t violated in any way

Snow on the ground in Minneapolis