The hills are alive with the sound of freezing

Well, after the 11 day trip to Italy, and having a weekend to decompress, this morning it was my week for chauffeuring the kids to the bus stop. Woke up to a brilliant orb of red, rising to greet me. “Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning?” Luckily I’m not a sailor, but I always shoulder that warning and keep a watchful weathered eye. There was a dusting of snow yesterday, and this morning there was no sign of snow, just the freezing temperature that accompanies it. Having lived in southern California for the last 20 years, my blood really has thinned down. I am not hating the cold weather as much as when I was young, but my fondness for the memory of it, has almost left me. After dropping off the carload of youngsters, I make my way back to the rented farmhouse.
Enroute back to the farmhouse I stop on the roadside part way down the hill from Soumensac, and get out to take a couple photographs. A few days ago I was talking with Caleigh’s friend Hannah’s parents, and one of the many things we spoke about was art. Specifically, in photography, when you think of a composition and framing a shot, it seems as though what you see in your minds eye rarely matches what you see in the picture afterwards. Well in my minds eye, I’ve always wanted to get a photograph of the hillside covered with vines leading up to the Church and abutting houses that is Soumensac. Kind of like the old village looking down with a cool sereneness, over the neatly organized rows of dormant vines. Well in my mind the church was larger, more of a dominant presence, and the vines were undulating in a more pasturey setting. I mean the photo is fine, just not the image I had in mind. Life is all about interpretation.

Half empty or half full

I think of the things I miss, and things I don’t. I think of the United States, and I miss her greatly. I’ll be back in 6 weeks, and back to work I go, to the building of dream homes. We left on December 16th and have been eating, drinking, and occasionally speaking French, we have been welcomed in a great country. There are funny similarities and odd differences between these two cousins. She watched mildly amused and optimistic as we grew, and she helped us on occasion, and we her. She has suffered the same growing pains, interestingly enough one in the same country of Vietnam. She has been misunderstood, just as we have by the communities around the world. Our greatest light has always been our beacon, her greatest gift to us. She is perceived as a people who dislike Americans, and are rude to our tourists, that is absolute balderdash, her people are the warmest giving people on the face of the planet. We walk into any store in France and say “Bon Jour” and have always been greeted with a smile. The second it comes out of our mouth, we are instantly pegged as outlanders, but outlanders trying, and I say it over and over, if you try they will open their arms to you, they will fall over each other to help in any way possible. It’s obvious why some of our administrations have painted them as anti-American, pushing an agenda, simple separation-ism politics. If your not for us you’re agin us mentality. The same thing we’ve done to Iran, we have friends that travel there every couple of years, they are greeted as gentle giants, as they loom over most Iranians. But there has never been an unkind word to them, and believe me they can spot an American in a crowd.
Yesterday it snowed, the day before it was 56 degrees out. When we drove from Antibes to Bordeaux it was like driving through small versions of Oklahoma, Wyoming, New Hampshire, then central California. It was bizarre, the similarities are funny. I think my biggest reservation will be coming back to American T.V., and the nightly news. The repetitive news cycle of tragedy based breaking news is horrible. It’s as though the National Enquirer was picking lead stories. Although to be truthful, I don’t watch a lot of French T.V., its worse than ours. I don’t have an answer, so I should shut the you know what up, but it is depressing to feel anxiety on coming back to the states because of the state of hate in our politics, and that’s something that everyone see‘s. If we can’t win, then you can’t win.

Technical Difficulties- sleep deprivation

I am working on a new lighter post, as some of you ingrates don't like me waning and waxing on about Shakesperian tragedy. I was at a loss of sleep, after 11 days driving through the Italian countryside. ( I will omit the comparison to Dante's Inferno for some of you lowbrows) But I appreiate your feedback, and will endevour to lighten up. Now if you'll excuse me I have some Foie Gras to nibble on.

Getting ready to head home, in France

Well we woke up in Paradise and aren’t really even awake yet, I thought I would read what I’ve written lately and also comment on Bellagio, Italy. The pervious narrative regarding Bellagio doesn’t really do it that much justice. Our view this morning is of a mountain range, a varied mountain range, that overlooks Lago del Coumo. Varied in the sense that on peak is snow capped and soft in appearance, another beside it is shardy and outcroppy, and the third beside it reminds me of Bald Mountain in Yosemite, Interesting as I don’t think I’ve ever noticed a collection of mountain tops so dissimilar? In looking across the lake at the small town clinging to the shore, I see a old world motif, I’m aware that these aren’t newly constructed, that they have evolved over hundreds and hundreds of years, I guess what strikes me is that they haven’t had all these new logo-istic type new Architecturally significant homes inserted willy nilly. Willy Nilly not being the name of an Architects firm, rather the Malibu-ification, where a perfectly good, maybe in need of modernizing, house is torn down and replaced with some monument to financial investment for the sake of art. There is a rhythm to the shoreline, houses that look related, of the same species even, not the look where random boxes and post modern or Mediterranean statements are yelling at each other. It is unspoiled in Bellagio, in the off-season. Well it was until we got here anyway. Well gotta wake up the sleeping beauties so we can go have our breakfast and wander down by the shoreline to catch a ferry.
Oh how I wish our Family and friends could be here. “Exit stage left even………”


We drive to the center of Bellagio and park our car behind the only other occupied car in town, he is also in the line for the ferry. Cindy goes to the ticket window and purchases the required tickets. The ferry arrives ten minutes later, and we don’t realize how lucky we are, as it could very easily have been us driving up to the parking area as the ferry pulls out and the next ferry would be two hours later, like I said, we are lucky. The ferry ride over the smooth lake takes 10 to 15 minutes, the view is spectacular, seeing the adjacent towns from the water level just reinforces how beautiful the place is. We depart the ferry and drive towards Como, we pull over in the next town and try to see if we can walk to the Villa del Balbianello in Lenno. It’s not open till later in the season, however around the corner we see the towns weekly market and we walk over to investigate. It reminds us a great deal of the small French town markets, every thing from small inexpensive tools, bargain rate clothes, fresh produce, hats, leather goods, music, etc. We don’t linger long and make our way back to the car and leave Lenno. We pass through the rest of the Lago del Coumo region and make our way to the Italian Autostrada and start the southerly trek to Genova. There aren’t any real frantic drivers along our trip to the French Border and three hours pass without incident. Once we arrive in France I have to decompress from my tense style of driving and relax. There is a real difference and I try to acclimate to the revised civilized traffic, it was stressful to calm down and recalibrate. As we head into Provence, we look forward to being back in Antibes.

I hardly even got to know you.

We left Venice in the morning accompanied by a thick marine layer, and headed west towards Milan, with our destination being Lake Como. The traffic was nonexistent and flowed nicely, no more repeat performances from the Flying Wallenda’s trick driving academy. We stopped for the required W.C. breaks every five minutes and decided to head towards the picturesque road that skirts the Lake at Como, to get there we had to traverse an industrial environs leading to paradise. After a half hour of nondescript back road driving we finally hit the lake road, it took fifteen minutes before we experienced one of the most beautiful spots on earth. We stopped at Bellagio and had a nice lunch, one young lady had gnocchi, and one had proscuitto pizza, I had spaghetti with clams, and Cindy had a healthy salad. While finishing our lunch we enquired about lodging in the area, what with everything being closed in the off season, and were referred to an incredible hotel/apartment setting. We were led to the lodging by a young lady that worked there, as we parked our car I commented on the lack of a view sarcastically. The picture above this posting is of our view from the terrace. Cindy and I later returned to the sleeping town of Bellagio and walked around the small town on the water. What an incredible town, almost completely closed, a step back in time. The towns and cities of Italy are in need of a little cleaning up and a bit of paint, plaster, trim, and such but none the less quite fetching. We finished our walk and returned to the lodging and I quickly grouped three posts together and posted them on the internet as a triple update on the blog from Florence. Tonight we return to the evening setting of Bellagio for dinner. I would be surprised if even cloaked in darkness, with street lights lighting the town, that Bellagio would not find a way of being more striking. Tomorrow we plan on taking a ferry across the lake and drive the northern route. If possible we may try to visit or see Villa Del Balbianello in Lenno, which was in the later Star Wars movie where the expecting mother of Luke and Princess Leya Character, Natalie Portman and the future Darth Vader are seen in that incredible Villa. We were also told to tour Cadenabbia, another of those pin up type cities. To get a good idea of how well off people here are, just imagine seeing an airplane with floats circling the lake to land, nice getaway commute eh? We have essentially been without internet connections for the last week, and updating the blog, and keeping in touch with family has been horrible. We heard of the 48 people that passed away in the Aquitaine due to hurricane force winds, and flooding from levees and dikes breaking. Even more horrible was an 8.8 scale earthquake in Chile. The weather in the Dordogne, where we are renting the farmhouse, has been horrible, so the good weather we’ve been blessed with really has been a bright spot. Well dinner was even better than lunch, I absolutely love Bellagio, it has a beauty that cannot be replicated, a natural beauty. I will return, maybe a little later in the spring, not in summer when its packed with the uber-wealthy, but when its warmer and deserted, and appreciates beauty lovers. I can’t, and don’t want to, imagine what it’s like here in high season. I know it’s expensive, but here it’s worth spending what’s required to enjoy heaven on earth. I just think it would be Hell with all the crowds. This is a place that spoils you with its beauty, you feel as though you are being let in on a secret. And to tell you the truth, you don’t mind sharing the secret, it’s that good. Tomorrow we will take the ferry across the lake and drive down the northern side to Como, and on to Antibes, France, our old friend, and it’s cousin Nice. Ah familiarity with a different kind of beauty, that of calm unhurried old world pizzazz.

The Italian Driving job II

We leave Florence, and I’ve got to add yet another true story of driving in Italy. This is a story that Caleigh will verify, I saw this happening and told her to turn around, she turned around and saw this. Here goes, in Italy the extreme left lane is for passing, the middle is for passing the large trucks that drive in the right lane, O.K., I see this Mercedes Mini van (class A 180) driving in the left lane, I’m in the center lane passing a column of big rigs. There is a guy in an Audi A3 wagon coming up from behind this Mercedes Class A, he parks on the Mercedes bumper at about 130 kph. The guy in the Mercedes is coming up on a lane of cars in the center, so he’s going to stay in the fast lane and make Audiboy wait until he’s cleared the deadwood in the center lane. Well Audiboy is indignant of having to subjugate himself to anyone so he starts to get closer and get in the extreme left of the passing lane. I’m watching this in my rearview and drivers side mirror, and chuckle. “Hey Caleigh, check out this joker in the Audi.” She replies “ the one behind the Mercedes?” “Yeah, where is he gonna go?” Caleigh looks around and gauges the options, “ he’s going to have to wait for the lane to clear.” then I go back to watching the traffic and hear Caleigh say, “ oh my god dad, check this out.” I look back and Audiboy has just started to pass the Class A guy in the same lane. The Mercedes guy has started to hug the right side of the fast lane, and Audiboy is making a move on the left side of the passing lane, I kid you not, he’s passing another car in the same lane at 135 kph as they pass me. I’m looking around trying to find a spot to dump into in case their bumpers lock and I’m pretty boxed in unless I downshift and jump in between two big rigs. Luckily they complete their idiotic maneuver and the guy in the Mercedes pulls over a couple lanes as his un amused wife is shrieking in his right ear, and Audiboy proceeds to his penis enlargement appointment. I’ve never seen someone pass another car in the same lane. We manage the rest of the drive without incident. Finally we arrive in Venice, Italy and drive over the first bridge to Trocherro Island Parking Structure, after making our way through the continual construction zone every parking structure has, we finally find a space in the almost vacant garage and unload our sartorial provisions and after loading me up walk from the outer parking Island to the residential island. We stop at the information area and Cindy purchases a small map of the islands, armed and dangerous we proceed, after fifteen minutes we have narrowed down the environs of where our hotel should be, now all we have to do is isolate it. We make more turns through the labyrinth that is Venice, a man walking nearby guesses we are tourists who may be lost, why he guessed that I’ll never know. I don’t think it had anything to do with me yelling at Cindy, “ Since when does south come after north?” well I would never say that, but he probably heard me thinking that. “ Where are you staying, and from which part of the United States are you from?” That obvious huh?, well long story short, he calls our hotel from his I-phone and gets directions from the owner, it happens to be a couple corners away, and leads us to the door. I think to this day this helpful guy was a plant from the tourist department, real nice helpful, English speaking guy. It would so make sense that they would have people positioned where it would do the most good. I’ve got to tell you that a little help at that point so turned our four hour drive state of mind, into a real start of an adventure feeling. So he leads the explorers to their hotel and we check in. The lady running the hotel with her son is marvelous, she was so graceful and nice it started our stay with a lot less stress than normal. We get to our room, not much of a view, just a canal down one street and another canal down another. After unpacking and having the young ladies shower we set off to that which is Venice, and only Venice. We go for a walk down alleys after alley, each corner brings another unworldly vista, we see age old buildings, with cracked plaster, chipped cornerstones and aged wood windows and doors at each turn. This place reeks of history and unfortunately sewage, age old sewage. We found over the course of three days that the odor was the worst at low tide. However at high tide, no pun intended, it was a crap shoot. The night before we left the streets were flooded by eight inches of high tideness, it may have been tied to the earthquake in Chile, or global warming, as the clerk mentioned to us? I wanted to get to a tower in order to get a birds eye view of Venice, so we looked it up on our map and made our way to the tower in San Marco Piazza, the view was priceless, we could see a lot of the old historic buildings, city squares, wider canals, and the ocean and Venice’s perimeter. We ate at this really fun sort of casual restaurant located on a bridge and have one of our better dinners in Italy. We explore the city and get comfortable with our bearings. I can’t say enough good about how wonderful Venice was, I am unfortunately writing this after a day in Bellagio, on Lake Como, and there is nowhere that compares to the beauty of Bellagio, other than maybe Schoodic Point in Maine at Arcadia National Park. Sorry, back to Venice, Caleigh and Hannah get out on occasion but we really aren’t familiar enough to give them free reign. There is an appreciation of the history and architectural beauty of the place, but they are thirteen and getting bored with being exiled with two fogies. I can’t really say that I blame them, as they are thinking, naturally so , that at their age they should be out partying with Lady Gaga and the girl that sings Tick-tock ( you ever listen to the vacuous lyrics to the song she sings?-Tick Tock, my opinion anyway- I prefer Lady Gaga as her voice has at least talent) I think that Venice would be great for Cindy and I to return to, Caleigh and Hannah did enjoy it but the list of fun things for thirteen year olds to do doesn’t include this waterlogged elder lady.

Florentine trifecta, 3 posts as we dont have internet

Morning in Florence, we awake and have our Lincoln Continental breakfast, and prepare for the day. We start at the Duomo tour, and are surprised to find that it incorporates the climbing of 432 steps through the structure of the building, a vertical catacomb that one can imagine time parading through it, in it’s dank narrow stairs climbing upward in elevation, but downward in feeling as you see close up the paintings on the upper dome depicting heaven , middle earth, and hell. Heaven is light and cloudy, with winged wonders flying about effortlessly, middle earth, or life as we know it is a proving ground for the afterlife, you are tested for your worthiness, your good deeds and your obedience to the scriptures, hell on the other hand is the large stick Christianhood has yielded over the sheep like followers. The graphically depicted hell contains such reassuring images as a flaming post stuck in your rectum or vagina depending on the manner of plumbing you possess. And for the children watching it depicts less offensive recreational activities. The stairs continue “upward” to the inner roof structure, which terminates at the top of the church dome, on a rotunda overlooking the city of Florence. Then we slowly climb down the interior of the church walls to the main level. Wow, incredible hike, felt like the hunchback of Notre Dame going to work. We then made our way to the Gallerie del Uffizi museum, and enjoyed the lack of a crowd. We must have seen twelve hundred paintings by Italian masters, mostly religious, but the portraits were fascinating. We finished the museum and made our way down the street to the Ponte Vecchio, the bridge that spans crap and nouveau wealth, all sorts of stuff that I can’t understand who buys, trinkets and brica crap. After that we made our way to the Piazza Signoria and people watched in the square of statues. We had a nice overpriced lunch at a outdoor restaurant. It was nice to sit down as we had covered an incredible amount of history and mileage. I think if I can get a chance to view some etchings by Piranesi tomorrow I will have more than accomplished seeing some of my favorite Italian masters. We finished our day by going to a real nice Italian restaurant, and shared a half bottle of Villa Antinori Toscana blend. Then home to the Hotel Accedemia for sleep and perchance a chance to dream of heaven, without the flaming posts.
Second full day in Italy, we get up and have our breakfast and coffee, and head out to the other side of old Florence to the Mucee Accedemia, we are followed by the usual 20-30 same mopeds which seem to lap whichever block we walk, that will give them the opportunity to constantly come toward us and push us from one side of the street too the other. I’m not sure but I thought I heard one say, “hey sorry I’m late today my dog wasn’t feeling well” as he joined the pack 20 minutes later then the rest. I was really impressed by Michelangelo’s David, it took him two years to carve, chisel, out of a spare block of marble, but what a testament to mans artistic talent. Awe inspiring, I wasn’t as impressed by the four thousand plus gold tempura shriney depictions of the crucifixion. I get it already, guilt inducing reminders of the bible story. Funny they are all gathered up in two or three museums, still having people pay to see them whether in the collection plates for the ancient corporate catholic organization, or the modern day Italian Museum fund.
Then we made our way to the Salvatore Ferragamo museum, located in his home corporate office, he having passed away in 1960. Interesting guy, born in Italy in 1898, moved to Boston, picked up the trade, moved to Hollywood during the start of the movie industry, gleamed a few wealthy clients and then moved back to Italy as he couldn’t find people talented enough to build his shoes in the states. Well you know the rest of the story after that. On the way back to our Piazza I noticed in the crowd, I kid you not, one of the beggars who usually drifts in and out of the mass of tourists. He was walking on the sidewalk, as normal as you or I, and he had hanging from his right arm, a partial crutch. I literally stopped in my tracks and turned around and watched him, both his feet were walking normally, they were parallel to each other, and no noticeable limp. “Well, I’ll be god-dammed” I said out loud. This man while “ at work” is hobbling around with his torso wretched and about a foot from the ground, his back is arched and he is only supported by the miraculous use of this half crutch, he ambles around with both his feet grotesquely pointed towards each other, with one hand sadly reaching out for what ever kindness this cruel cold world can pitifully give him from the warmth of their wonderful humanity. I am positive this person is one and the same, it made me sick to my stomach seeing this guy in his normal guise, sure I was happy that he wasn’t this sad lame soul, but I resented how seeing him in his act made me feel full of such pity, then feel duped. I started thinking of the other few beggars that had made an impression on me, the woman with the folded up newspaper, chanting “mi bambino, mi bambino “ then switching to “ mi baby, food for mi baby” when her fishing lines didn’t work, this was as we were enjoying our one splurge at a posh sidewalk café in one of the Piazzas, she stayed on station until I was so embarrassed by having the good fortune to be sitting in the lap of luxury, and ignoring her, that she finally left. Boy, didn’t that really add to the experience. I think that if these people put half as much effort into a normal job, they would excel and climb their way up to corporate ladder, with the cutthroat ability they display, without the least regard of other peoples feelings as they play on any angle they can use, they now remind me of Donald Trump without the ridiculous comb over.







It’s a great evolution ( or creation?, for the more Christian among us) watching the decision making process as it matures in front of your eyes. On our trip from France to Italy for ten days, we; consist of My wife, Cindy, My Daughter, Caleigh, her friend, Hannah, and myself. Firstly of the four I require the most in regards to maturing but with that aside, I’m thinking of the two thirteen year old girls. I have just returned from watching the decision making process at its most critical, that being the shopping, hunting, snipeing, that is; for young women’s fashions. Specifically for the purchase of a purse, while in Florence. Not an easy formula, as it includes the following givens and the following not givens, in no order or relevance; What to wear with it that they already own, how it will look, others perception of it, texture, function ability, aesthetics, and the other intangibles, color selection, what’s sheik, and blasé’ what others will think of it, what they can buy to accent it, price, how much will mom add in, what’s in fashion, not only now but in a year or so. Essentially its like graphing the sub nuclear particle reaction when hydro synthetic molecules are introduced in a vacuum, and the cyclic growth rate of the waste silica manganese solution that would naturally occur when the synthetic molecules are introduced. That simple. I liked the cheap black one, with the chrome button thingy.


Day Six, we have been isolated in the same car and hotel rooms for six days, they have left me alone in our room at the Hotel Alex in Venice. We had a wonderful dinner and returned to the room and they realized they needed ice cream or chocolate or something, the sensation is surreal, like the end of a bad dream. Alone at last, savoring each second like a glass of cool water with ice after a four day journey across the scorching desert. No more relentless noise for the sake of noise, no more talking as a means of getting oxygen. They have recharged my sanity just by the sacrifice of their leaving me alone for five minutes, euphoric, giddy at the thought of being able to not answer a question three times to ensure each of them isn’t slighted. Crap I hear footfalls on the stairs, is it them?, nope some other family trudging to their own solitary confinement. The feeling of me time, no having to listen to idle chatter, busy talk, thoughtless how do we keep our selves amused, while traveling through Italy, how do you keep us amused. I hear them crawling toward me like a mutinous crew, with their sabers drawn, blood in their nostrils, foam in their mouths. The key in the lock rattles like a thousand cutlasses, they are throwing rope over the yardarm, the noose spells my name in coils. They walk in like the third Reich in a blitzkrieg through the room. Oh they brought me ice cream, glad you’re back. The enzyme that eradicates the memory of individuality.