Tongue-tied…

I’m not sure how to write about Barcelona. It is so extraordinary that I haven’t wanted to even try and express it in words. But it’s time. We have been here four days and we are set to depart tomorrow. 

We arrived in by plane and were welcomed by a rainbow as we rode the bus into town. Rolling our suitcases a few long blocks we arrived at Hostal Oliva, which ended up being the perfect homebase. Imagine being buzzed into marble entry and slowly ascending four floors in a tiny, old mahogany elevator, then greeted by a most friendly, smiling woman, who spoke English! After Paris’ aloofness. the warmth was welcome. Another room with another killer view…

We were hankering for some nature so we set out to walk to the beach. We wandered a bit through some gorgeous old stone and cobble streets, charming shops and tiny restaurants. Reminded me of Venice, a place to get lost around winding corners. 

It took quite quite a lot of walking to find the beach, but it was worth it. Wind, waves and sand were lovely after a day of travel, even though we arrived in the dark. It was much warmer than in Paris, sixty degrees, though the locals were freezing.  A taxi driver told us that it was unusually cold this winter and I just had to laugh as I left Massachusetts in a foot of snow.

Arriving at the harbor we were greeted by a large lobster sculpture. Susanna and I laughed, “We finally found the lobster!” (If you read my last blog, you will know it was the one thing we did not locate in the Palais Garnier game).

We stopped for Sangria to fortify our walk back our lodging where we were welcomed at the door with a friendly, “buenos noches” and handed our key. I was ready to put my feet up and my head down. I fell in love with Barcelona on day one.

How much is that kitty in the window…

Since we last met I was enjoying a French cabaret.  At the end of the evening, sometime after midnight, my favorite hat disappeared. It was a gift from my sister and every time I wear it I think of her. The staff helped me look for it with flashlights but I ended up having to leave without it and yes, I pouted about it. Today I did a little shopping and went to Uniqlo Paris and there was a hat with the same little eyeballs by the same designer! It made me very happy. I’ll try and keep better tabs on this one, Bonni, and still think of you!

On our walk to Palais Garnier for an immersive game inside the famous opera house, we stopped for two adorable kittens flirting with us from inside a closed restaurant. Well, let’s be honest, we started the flirting, they were just better at it. Little things like this make us miss home a bit, but only a little…

…because we are on our way to the opera/ballet house that was the inspiration for the Phantom of the Opera! We were able to run around and find clues to solve a mystery while marveling at the gorgeous design and the masterful Marc Chagall ceiling surrounding the chandelier. Susanna was much better at the game portion, I was too busy gawking at the incredible scenery. The only clue we did not find was a lobster, I mean, come on, look at this brilliance and tell me you could find a lobster in the “haystack!”

The Palais Garnier foyer

After more walking we are back at home base to pack up and have one more night in Paris. Tomorrow we are up at 5am to catch a flight to Barcelona! It’s always melancholy for me  to drive away from a place, wondering when, or if, I will ever come back and how to hold the memories intact and release what I didn’t accomplish. The Eiffel Tower sizzling every night outside our window will remind me to keep sparkling forward into Spain. 

I love Paris…when it sizzles, every night on the hour for 5 minutes.

Strolling the streets of Paris…

Stroll and stop. Our day was cafes, crepes, fondue and meandering on cobblestone streets. All of this ancient architecture brings out a mystical magic to our walking as we drop into cathedrals on a whim, where music soars inside domed ceilings, candles flicker against carved statues, and organs are wielded by a Phantom of the Opera.

And the pièce de résistance of today…a magical bookstore, Shakespeare and Company. There I was surrounded by my favorite things, cozy nooks, stone walls and history that inspires me to dream. I could have stayed all day. 

I was snapping a few photos to remember the moment when a very nice employee gently told me, “No photos please.” I felt a little guilty that I was so engrossed in my experience that I missed the signs that said no photos. But I am glad now that I have my contraband to remind me that the world of books, authors and the people that love them are my bliss.

We walked back to home base along the rushing, muddy Seine in more rain with time for a nap before a cabaret tonight at historic Lapin Agile.

The cabaret was iconic, a sing-along of sorts, in a gorgeous neighborhood, with nine throaty singers and musicians sharing traditional French songs and encouraging us to sing along. I knew only a few songs but the atmosphere was delicious which reminds me of a book I admired today…”Women Living Deliciously.” That is my gift of the moment. 

Je suis arrivez…

Our room with a view!

I fooled the customs agent with my peppy “bonjour” because he responded quickly in French and I stupidly froze in my jet-lagged state and smiled out a “pardon je suis American.” He laughed, shook his head good naturedly as he stamped my passport with a wave. 

I found the train to Paris eventually, bought a ticket from a machine and boarded a crowded, slow train, sitting backwards but going in the right direction. A win! Paris today is gray and rainy.

My daughter Susanna met me outside the train station and walked me to her air bnb to drop my luggage. With a change of shoes (my feet were tired of my boots), off we went to L’Orangerie to see Monets water lilies and walk through the Tuileries (public garden) in more rain. 

It was time for sustenance, lunch? dinner? who knows, with the time zones I’ve traveled. We wait in a line outside of Angelina’s, recommended by a friend that said, “Get the hot chocolate!” It is adorable inside with chandeliers, wall murals and the hot chocolate thick as pudding!

The evening we spend back “home” playing games and going to bed early after a hot bath. Vive la France! 

Through the one-way door…

“I like your boots!” There is no way the attendant could really see my boots under the steering wheel and dashboard, so I said, “I wonder that you can even see them.” His response, “Oh, I’m very observant,” and if words could contain a wink, his had a big, slow one. Welcome to the parking garage! 

I was a bit stressed about whether I would find a parking spot as the website kept warning about the limited spaces available, so I am relieved to be at the airport and through security with a wink.

I grew up watching Disney movies, one of my favorite being Lady and the Tramp. There was always one scene that scared 5 year old me, where the demure cocker spaniel was captured by the janky dog patrol and put in doggy jail. The cast of characters in the Pound was sweet, knarly and sad, their one dreaded fear was being taken through the One-Way Door– the double set of doors from which no canine returned. I felt a bit like that today in the long security line for my flight to Paris. All went so smoothly, but the colorful cast of characters around me were frustrated and complaining, kids were whining, their humans haggard- everyone dreading the One-Way Door. But all looked good for me, I just need a tan as these photos show. I am sickly pale and will welcome some color on this pasty white skin. 

Why don’t people wear dresses anymore? So far, I’m the only person I have seen in this busy airport in a dress and I’ve been here three hours. Not that I am in a fancy dress,  just a black plain drape, easy to wear and with my boots, quite fun.

The only other thing of note thus far on my Bon Voyage day – the women’s restroom smelled like cigarette smoke. That was the first time, in all the airport bathrooms I’ve appeared, that someone actually had the nerve to break the rules and cop a  smoke in the stall. 

I’m happy to be on my way. Jet Blue will fly me overnight and I hope to sleep well and wake up with some semblance of a brain to catch the train into Paris. It has begun, bring on more boot-lovers, not boot-lickers, we’ve had enough of that in the news.

Leaving on a jet plane…


The sun is brightly shining on my snow-dusted neighborhood. I am far from the LA fire zone –that sad, horrible catastrophe– and here I am flouncing off to Spain feeling extremely fortunate. Yes, flouncing, because that is what you do when you are privileged to bounce over the ocean on JetBlue to a new country filled with history and mystery. I want to record this flounce if for no one but my mom who is no longer able to travel and brings out her maps to follow me along on my trails.

So Mom, here I am, not headed to the airport yet, but nervously packing and unflouncing the wrinkles from the blazer you gave me for Christmas before I balance it in on the “to go” pile. Thank you for the Christmas lovelies and for wanting to follow along so that I can share with someone my absolutely wonder-filled life on the road to foreign lands. Come along and hold your breath around those cliffs that drop off to oblivion, and get ready to yell, “Slow down or stop this car and let me out!” Yes, now we can laugh about that drive from your cabin to Lake Tahoe, but it was not so funny when I was sixteen. This time I have my daughter in the passenger seat, we’ll see how she does with my Grace Kelly Hitchcock driving. Your view from the rear window can be safely contemplated from the comfort of your La-Z-Boy.

(My brother tuning up the Buva Cruiser, me, at 15 years old and my sister, the forebearer of the keys. Before long I’ll be testing my mother’s nerves on the curves in that tiny Toyota)