If This is Tuesday...

Tuesday in the Loire Valley - HOT HOT HOT!  We all went to the Festival of Gardens at Chaumont Chateau, but Mom and I soon decided we weren't going to want to spend much time there.  We moved from shady spot to shady spot and checked out a few display gardens in between.  This garden show is not a typical show in the sense that we think of it.  There are very few beautiful floral displays; instead the individual gardens are expressions of the artist's understanding of the theme, which, this year, was Gardens of the Future.  Amidst the plantings are artists' creations that have a message or tell a story.  We did look at a few and took pictures of our favorites, except for the one that we really liked the best - the Valley of the Mists, where Mom was afraid to expose her camera to the mists.  This was a steep little valley with a stream running through it between rocky cascades and a still pond.  In a bog-like area, jets of mist rose periodically.  We were so hot that we stood for a few minutes in the mist to cool off.  We hated to leave that place.

These"flowers" are made out of wire.  The toadstool, too.

This tunnel of branches was meant to make you feel like an underground creature.  Along the way were windows into the earth, giant cocoons and grubs.

Chateau de Chaumont

This garden consisted of shiny glass balls on bamboo sticks.

After the garden show we went to a neighboring town for dinner.  On the way were several caves (wine cellars) where we (they) could stop and sample wines of the region.  The one we stopped at was hosted by a wonderfully jolly woman who believed in living in the moment and enjoying it.  After Mom and the aunties bought a bottle of wine, they asked her if she would uncork it for them, because they wanted to have a glass there at the cave.  She did so happily, but then urged us to go across the street to the side of the Loire to enjoy our wine.

Here, she said, take these chairs over there.  Why not?  It's much more pleasant and tranquil by the river. 

So we did.  Mom loved the whole idea - it was so Monet-esque, she said.  So I lay in the grass while Mom and the aunties enjoyed their wine and relaxed as the current flowed by.  Some canoers floated past, and shouted out, so Mom and the aunties raised a glass to them.  Mom thought it was the best part of the day.



 Patch and Madame Odile at the bar.

On the bank of the Loire River

After thanking Madame Odile for her hospitality, we went on to Amboise for dinner.  We chose an Italian restaurant and sat under the awnings outdoors.  Soon the sky darkened and the threat of rain became real.  Before we knew it, thunder and lightning could be noticed in the distance.  Mom was concerned that I might be afraid, but I was under the table and didn't bat an eyelash.  THEN - the bolt of lightning struck the awning assembly right above us!  The yellow flash was blinding and the thunderclap made our ears ring afterward.  Everyone jumped up with a look of fear on their faces.  The torrent of rain was blown in under the awning, and the waiters urged us inside.  We didn't argue.  Mom grabbed me up and headed for the doorway.  Everyone was quite stunned, a little shaky and grateful to be inside.  By the time dinner was over the rain had nearly stopped and the sky was beginning to clear.  Except for the close call, we were glad for the rain, which cleared the oppressive humidity of the day. 

AAROOO! The New Poussette's Here!

I interrupt my narrative of our trip to the Loire Valley to celebrate the arrival of the new poussette!  Mom went to the post office today to pick it up because the USPS notice had arrived that it had been delivered to the post office in France.  Well, can anything be easier than that?!  Wait...no...this is France.  The land of bureaucracy.

On the first trip to the post office, Mom was told that they couldn't search their computer files for it with the U.S. tracking number.  They needed the French tracking number.

"Do you know, Madame, there are 13,000 post offices in Paris?"

Mom asked if they could search for it under her name.  No.  They needed the French tracking number.  Mom couldn't remember if she had been given a French tracking number in the email so she went home to see.  Nope, only the US tracking number.  So she went back with her name, the US tracking number and the name of the internet vendor who sold it written on a piece of paper, and said she wasn't coming back without it.  Years ago when she had a problem with the telephone company who wouldn't reinstate the service because the owner of the apartment hadn't paid the bill, she refused to leave until they solved the problem, so she was prepared to do it again - wait it out until someone was willing to think outside the box.  This time she decided to try a different tactic - the helpless American.  When she gave the paper and explained the problem to a different employee, she asked if there was any way they could help her.  Again she was told that only with the French tracking number could she search for the package. Throwing herself on the mercy of a French postal worker, Mom said, What can one do?  The woman then said she would go look in the back, but couldn't promise anything.  As she was coming back, she noticed a box BEHIND HER COUNTER that had the same words on it as the piece of paper Mom had given her!  It had arrived two days ago.  Quelle surprise!  She let Mom take it even though the proper paperwork was missing; she asked Mom to sign a paper that she had made some notations on (the French tracking number).  What flexibility!  We hope her job wasn't jeopardized!

So Mom and my two aunts put it together and we took it for a test run.  I was really excited to be back in my poussette again and not be left at home.  It's just like the first one except that it's clean - it even has that new car smell.

French Tracking Number

U.S. Tracking Number

                        I'm so HAP-P-P-Y!

HOT DOG!

We're back from the Loire Valley!  We did so many things and saw so many things that I can't put it all in one post, so I'm going to write about each day separately.  It was SO PANTINGLY HOT there that the first two days were pretty rough going, but Mom made sure I stayed in the shade as much as possible and kept me hydrated.  But let me start at the beginning.

We took the TGV, France's high speed train, to St. Pierre des Corps, and I got to ride on the seat next to Mom the whole way.  I was very cool about it - you would have thought that I had been riding on trains all my life. I even had my own personal ticket.

We found out the French have a lot of little terms of endearment for their dogs.  The conductor asked how "le tou-tou" was doing today.  He also asked if I was a "pepere" (grandpa) or a "memere" (grandma).  Mom told him I was a "garcon" (boy).

It only took an hour to get to the town where we picked up the car and then came the hard part -  trying to get out of town.  Mom always says driving between towns is never hard because you just have to follow the lines on the map from dot to dot.  It's when you get into the dot that you're not sure where to go to get to where you want to be.  We drove to a town called Villandry with a magnificent chateau by the same name which is renowned for its formal gardens.  Before going to the chateau we needed to fortify ourselves with a good lunch and some wine from the region.  When I say "we," of course, you know who I mean.  I, again, got a fresh drink of water and got acquainted with a little Yorkie who was sitting on his Mom's purse.  Mom had frogs' legs again and the waiter asked, "Do you know what eez?"  Mom assured him she did, indeed, know "what eez" and, moreover, really liked zem.

Aunt Connie (left) and Auntie Sue (right)

The Yorkie was sitting under the table to the left.  His dad fell asleep after dinner.

After lunch we went to Villandry where it was beastly hot and Mom tried to keep me in the shade as much as possible.  After a brief walk through part of the gardens we cooled off with some water in the shade of a tree.

The next thing we did was to cool off the car and then drive to a little town called Mosnes where we stayed at the Chateau des Thomeaux.  Each room had a different name and a different decor.  Ours was called the Bombay room and it was very exotically decorated with outrageously bright colors and Indian furniture.  I was able to jump from chair to bed to bed to chair all the way across the room without touching the floor!

The thing we liked best about this room was that it was AIR-CONDITIONED!


NOTE:  BlogSpot is not very user-friendly, so the rather ragged  DogBlog that you see is not how it was originally created, and the more it's edited the worse it gets...

My French Haircut

My hair was getting longer and longer, and Mom couldn't decide whether or not to take me to a groomer in Paris.  She was a little concerned about the "look" I would get, but more concerned about how I would be treated and how I would feel when she left me at a strange place.  It was also a long way to go to the nearest groomer, and since the poussette is broken, getting there would be a challenge. She had trimmed around my eyes and toes, but my nails needed to be cut and my ears plucked, so she decided she'd at least check it out.  The young woman who did the grooming at "Au Paradis Canine" was very friendly and reassuring and gave Mom all the right answers to her questions, so Mom made an appointment for me.  On THE DAY, I started off on the leash and Mom carried my empty airline carrier; we did this for about four blocks until we came to the taxi stand on rue Soufflot.  Mom popped me into the carrier so she wouldn't have to discuss with the driver whether or not he would accept dogs in his taxi.  When we got there, she asked the driver to wait while she took me in and LEFT me with a stranger.  I didn't like it and scratched hard to get out of the kennel she put me in, but to no avail.  Three hours later, I had a French haircut.  Mom was satisfied with my new look, except that most of my mustache was gone.  Well, you can judge for yourself - do you like the before or after picture better?






BEFORE







                           AFTER

The trip home from the groomer wasn't quite as easy as the trip to the groomer.  Mom was glad to see that there was a taxi stand at the corner of the block the groomer was on, and there were four taxis sitting there.  However, upon a closer look, we saw that the taxis had no drivers.  Mom asked the driver of an occupied taxi about the missing drivers and he said They can't be far away, and drove off.  We waited and waited for a driver to return and when one did, he said he was out of service.  So Mom got a little upset and said, Isn't this a taxi stand?  Why are the taxis here and there are no drivers?  He shrugged his shoulders and told us to go to the Boulevard St. Germain where there are a lot of taxis.  (We were standing on the corner of rue Cardinale Lemoine and Bvd. St. Germain.)  So, we walked and walked (well, Mom did.  I was in the carrier.) until we got to another taxi stand, where there were several taxis lined up and the drivers where standing around chatting.  Mom asked if they were in service and they said No.  She would have to go farther up the block.  At this place there was a line of people waiting for taxis.  Finally, one of the out-of-service taxis drove up and picked up the first people in line.  Gradually, other taxis came from here and there and it was - finally - our turn.  We got home about an hour after we left the groomer - the taxi ride was about five minutes long.

BOL!  We're going on a little trip tomorrow and I get to go along, even without a poussette.  We're going to the Loire Valley to an annual garden show that is held at a chateau - Chateau Chaumont.  The Loire Valley is famous for its chateaux, and although Mom has visited most of them, her friends and I have not, so, in addition to the garden show, we'll be driving around and visiting a few chateaux. 

The garden show is quite spectacular (I've heard.  I'm sure I won't be able to get in.) and different from most.  The displays include features that incorporate the plants and flowers in with other materials that may be "found objects" or metal or mirrors, or man-made structures.  People (not dogs) can walk around and through them.  Sometimes you have to stand in a certain spot or look at a reflection to see a pattern created by the flowers.

We're taking a train from Paris to a town called Tours where we'll pick up a car.  I've never ridden on a real train before, so it's pretty exciting!  What makes it even more exciting is that it will be the TGV, France's high-speed train.  AND, the best thing of all is that I won't even have to be in a carrier.  Mom paid for my ticket and I can sit in the seat beside her!!  We'll post pictures in a few days of where we've been.

How the French Are Different

I've been here for two months now and I've observed a few things in my travels around the city with Mom.  The French do some things differently.  For example, a real biggie for me personally is that I can go into nearly all restaurants but almost no parks.

In a French restaurant, the service is never rushed.  The main course never comes before you're finished with the appetizer, and the waiter NEVER brings the check until you ask for it.  The entree is not the main course, it is the first course.  The main course is the plat.  The dessert is the same in both languages.

Cafe au lait is only ordered in the morning; after that, espresso is ordered, alone or after meals.  As things change, a few people are beginning to order cafe creme more and more.  (Probably the influence of Starbucks)

When you go into a bakery, grocery, clothing or shoe store, a litany of politesse is sung out:  Bonjour Madame...Merci, Madame...Au revoir, bonne journee!

The ushers at events are tipped, but the waiters at restaurants are not.  (It's included in the bill.)

The cashiers at the check-out stands in the grocery stores sit down.

French breakfast is all bread - cafe au lait, croissant and half a loaf of French bread with butter and jam.  Eggs are eaten for lunch or dinner and often on pizza.

Restaurants do not start serving dinner until 7:30 pm.

Most waiters are men and this is their full-time profession.

When dining, your table may be inches away from your neighbor's table, so you never feel like you're dining alone.

In a city with so many dogs, there are very few groomers.

Dogs can ride the subway and the trains, but not always in a taxi.

Most French cars have slightly dented front and rear ends because it's common to "nudge" your way into a parking place that is shorter than your car.

Parking on curbs, corners, and against the traffic is allowable; so is backing up the length of a one-way street, if necessary, to get to a parking place.

More About Rue Mouffetard

Rue Mouffetard, or le Mouffe, where we lost our friends in the crush of the crowd the night of the music festival, is one of the oldest streets in Paris.  An old Roman road dating back to the 7th century, it's a narrow, rough, cobblestone street that runs south downhill from Place Contrescarpe.

We live a few blocks to the west.  The buildings here are old and full of character, some of them dating back to the 12th century.  The metal signs above the buildings or the frescoes or mosaic work announce what can be purchased inside.  There are ethnic and regional restaurants of every sort with a lively market at the lower half.

The mosaics on the facade of this bakery, even though faded, are intricate and beautiful.






The market is said to date back to 1350 and its vitality sparked by eager, shouting vendors gives it a medieval flavor.  Up and down the street, boutiques mix with meat and fish markets, artisanal bread sellers and cheese shops.  Mom was disappointed to see that the shop that sold goat cheese no longer had its stuffed goat out in front.  Most buildings date back to the 17th century and some even to the 12th century.  This wood sculpture of an old oak tree is a centuries old landmark.











 Rue Pot de Fer, which intersects with rue Mouffetard, is a narrow street lined with restaurants on either side whose tables spill out into the street, leaving only enough room for pedestrians to slowly make their way through, trying to read the menus over the tops of the diners' heads.

 This was one of our favorite restaurants, even though I was seated at the edge of the room - one wrong move on my chair and I would have been on the sidewalk.