Pinch me!

Allo!

Picture this, one happy camper on a two seater, chilled Lillet Blanc in hand, Gillian Welch singing The Revelator in the background and quiche Lorraine warming in the oven.

“Pinch me?” I said to Michael as he stoked the wood heater in our cottage in Mairy sur Marne.

Argh. I got a head of myself. I haven’t even spoken to you about Paris yet.

Paris was... superb. We stayed in the 18^th, close to the Cimetiere Montmatre where Edgar Degas is buried. We didn’t visit, but I sent them my regards through the ether. We did the usual traipsing of the city. The Louvre, Jardin du Luxembourg, Champs Elysee, Le Marais (felafel is still to die for (TDF)) and Musee d’Orsay. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say Ingres and his friends are all safe and well.

For me, Paris is a city I will keep coming back to. It’s not for everyone, but I find the mix of culture, history and joie de vivre, bracing and mesmerizing.

One story I will share with you took place at our local bar, La Fourmi. On our second visit to this tremendously trendy bar we found ourselves a table for two on a crowded Friday evening. As it turns out, our quiet couple of beers coincided with a local celebration. Bloc Party were had a gig locally that night and somehow this resulted in free Bingo at all of the coolest venues across town.

Our neighbour introduced himself and his companion to us. In French at first then practically flawless English (he had spent a year in Sydney) “My name is Jerry and this Sara”, she corrected him “MAGGIE!!” Laughter and bonding ensued.

Jerry and Maggie guided us throughout the evening, translating the Jason Schwartzman (in his I Heart Huckabees days) lookalike host and his Barbie-esque assistant as they animatedly called the bingo numbers and side competitions throughout the evening. It felt like we were foreigners who had stumbled backstage at a Eurovision song contest. Totally surreal.

Ok. Back to currents events.

We left Paris this morning and drove ourselves (in the most luxurious Citroen you’ve ever seen, two tier upgrade!) towards Reims. Our village is on the outskirts of Chalon en Champagne. At this point we don’t even know where we are located in the greater “Champagne” scheme of things (not a vine in sight) but that is not dampening our mood.

We are bunking for the week in a caretakers cottage come gite at Domaine du Chateau de Mairy. A bee-ute-ti-full Chateau complete with orchard, lake and chickens etc. It looks like it was quite run down before the current owners moved in, which only adds to its charm. It’s the kind of place that one can only dream of. White washed walls, vintage glass chandeliers, quasi-vintage eclectic furniture (my favourite) and a claw foot tub.

I just did some maths; I was a little concerned that we were splurging with this place. We’re not. It works out at AU$86, which is expensive as far as gites go in this area but compared to what we were paying in London and Paris (approx AU$115 for a miniscule hovel), a steal.

We don’t have many plans past this evening’s meal. Tomorrow morning we will visit the Chateau after breakfast in the gardens and use the internet to plan our week.

Missing you.

West Sunset.

We weren't looking forward to arriving in Los Angeles. After the devastating beauty of the forest, the mesmerising waves of open pasture and the striking cliff bordered beaches, the thought of tackling a busy metropolis did not appeal.

We forlornly made our way south along the coast from Arroyo Grande. Our first pit-stop was the adorable town of Solvang (sounds like something out of Twilight). It's basically a taste of Denmark in California. Windmills, a replica Little Mermaid, thatching and cutesy garden beds.

We browsed the Solvang Antique Center and lustily pointed out all the things we would buy if money was not an problem. Sadly money is a problem, so we disappointed the lovely sales staff by leaving only with an antique embroidered handkerchief $2.50.

We ditched the car on our first morning in LA and bravely joined the throng of locals and bewildered looking tourists on the cities bus service. The city has this weird thing going on where you think it's quite a small place. You try walking what looks like a small distance on a map and all of a sudden it feels like you've walked for days. Space time continuum? I bet David Tennant would have a witty explanation.

We are staying in a nifty part of town called Silverlake. When we first arrived I had one of those "Oh god, what sort of shitty neighbourhood have I got us into to?" moments. Turns out the harsh light of day does nothing for this place. Come dusk we saw it in a new (less sunny) light. Funky unsigned Pho restaurants, a Local restaurant rife with trendsetters and Latino food stands dotting the carparks in between. To us, much more appealing than the ritzy neighbourhoods of Beverly Hills or Hollywood.

We know we probably only saw a fraction of what LA has to offer. Rodeo Dr, Venice Beach, Santa Monica and Beverly Hills were as you'd expect. No wow from us. Entertaining, sun drenched and manicured. You might need more than two days to find the substance lurking underneath- we only caught a hint of potential.

Since arriving we have been desperate for Sunday to roll along, with it comes another epic flight. It's almost as if out trip won't actually start until we arrive in London. This last fortnight, only been a debrief. We start tomorrow (Sunday for us) with an early bus trip across town. No, not to the airport. To a British Pub, to watch Liverpool destroy Birmingham (or so we hope).

Now I must go, I have to work on my tan and I have a mani/pedi at three thirty.

Love.