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 |  My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
PROMPT: Final farewell to London and Backpacker Buds Where has the time gone? Has it been a month already? I don't exactly want a do-over. All the fun and shenanigans will stay with me , but I want to continue creating them. This final day in London is bittersweet. Here's my clever segue, are you ready for it? Speaking of the passage of time, 2016 marks four-hundred years since Shakespeare's death. Shakespeare, The Bard of Avon, the writer known solely by his surname. He was ahead of his time. Now many entertainers and celebrities make their marks with one memorable moniker. He paved the way for the Chers, the Princes, the Madonnas, ( there are two of these, each distinctly different) and the Elvises, (or is it Elvisi?). Shakespeare was and is the bane of high school students 'round the world. His writing is mandatory study. How many English students struggle and grumble their way through 'Hamlet', or 'Romeo and Juliet'? Those that take the time to decipher his turn of phrase realize that he was quite the student himself of human behaviour. He understood love, sorrow, jealousy, pride, grief, lust, ambition, and his characters breathed as if alive. How fitting then that we backpackers exxplore Shakespeare's life today. We are feeling a mixed gamut of emotions with our imminent separation on our minds. Let's have fun, damn it! "Out, out damn spot, er, I mean damn melancholy!" So, we explore the places/homes of Shakespeare. He was born in Stratford-Upon-Avon, Warwickshire. I never knew that he only lived to the age of fifty-two, yet in his lifetime he wrote many plays and poems. Wandering through countryside that must be somewhat like it was in his time, was like a pilgrimage. At one time, he lived near the Avon River, he played/worked at a farm, he strolled through Anne Hathaway's garden. I discovered that his birth home was refurbished in the 18th century by a group spearheaded by writers including Charles Dickens. Now that is respect. Rambling in the fresh air, and reflecting on all things Shakespearean, works up an appetite. What a novel concept a Food Tour, a walking tour in search of delicacies in London's East End. To eat, or not to eat, that is the question. Whether 'tis agrumbling in the stomach... If I had been cinching in my waist with a belt, I'd be loosening it. If I owned baggy, elastic-closure sweat/jogging pants, I'd pull them on. If I prepared in advance and Googled binge-eating tips, or found stomach-stretching exercises, I'd be trying them now. Actually, I did have some conditioning of a sort. Growing up, my Dad was the cook of the family, and he liked to experiment. Long story short, my stomach has become impervious to spices, or anything. He must have anticipated this moment. Hopefully, 'Let's rumble' would not morph into something else. Giggling, I traipsed along with SB Musing  . I heard Witchy Woman  and Fivesixer  mention a 'gastronome Guide'. Yep, we both envisioned a 'gnome', or is the correct term 'little person'? We really howled when our Foodie Facilitator did indeed appear to lack stature. No matter, he knew his food stuff. Okay, we tittered again when we said out loud 'Spitalfields'. Actually, we snorted and 'spitaled'. I'm not sure, but I believe our Food Finder muttered a little something that sounded a bit like, "Get stuffed." I didn't think we needed his blessing, but so be it. Our fist bite was a bacon sandwich served to us at St. John Bread and Wine.Sally noticed me eyeing mine a bit suspiciously, so I shared that my British mom-in-law offers guests a boiled bacon sandwich all the time, and no one accepts. To her, all pork is bacon, and not the crispy meat strips served with breakie. This was followed by dessert, a bread pudding, yum. Strolling slowly and carefully, we next sampled artisan cheese. Not bad, not bad at all. Poppie's offered us fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. Kit  and I were trying to read the headlines and news bits. So far, so good. No belching, or blow-outs. I attempted some deep-breathing exercises and massaged my belly. I could do this. My favourites were just a short amble away. Curries, hurray! Oh, they were delish! Apondia  seemed to have tears in her eyes, and others complained of smoke escaping from their ears. Thanks again Dad for my stomach of steel. For some reason, my feet were a little reluctant to carry me to my bagel and my second dessert, a salted caramel tart. Hey, this a virtual stuffing sortie, so I couldn't possibly be packing on the pounds. Calories cannot cluster and collect just by association, can they? No matter, there was no skipping, samples, or feet. I was waddling. The food was weighing me down, but so was my farewell. I wonder what kind of a load limit my plane has in force? Ah, Shakespeare said it best, "parting is such sweet sorrow." This backpacking expedition through Europe has been fantastic! Ol' Will also wrote, "All the world's a stage, and all men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances." This blogging was so much fun, a great outlet for our imaginations. Alas, it must fade into the sunset. We certainly witnessed many of those beauties on our travels. Now, I'm not a blubberer, not usually anyway. I'm more of a blatherer. I'll talk and talk, trying to delay the inevitable. My big blog backpack and my heart are full, full of memories and laughter. My heart is also a little heavier, no it's not all the artery-clogging food. Bloggers are the bestest people. My journal is much fatter, and I'm toting a few less pens. If I may quote 'The Golden Girls', thank you for being my friend. SB Musing Kit Sally Fivesixer WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger  Apondia Jellyfish  💙 Carly: Joan Watson  and schnujo, sorry I don't know your 'suser' name. You guys are great!! Witchy Woman BRAVO! Thanks and Merci beaucoup! As the Brits say, I am chuffed to bits! I bid you all a fond adieu.... TARAH! CHEERIO! |
| It's official...I hate my tablet at this moment!!! I had my latest blog installment ready and it just disappeared!! Excuse me while I vent....???!!!##$$%%$@@???!! Now I must start anew,,sigh.. stupid technology I miss writing with pen and paper. Okay..PROMPT: Day 3 in London In my virtual reality, I am able to visit many venues sorta like time travel. There is no clock ticking off the valuable tourist minutes. I am free to go wherever I want. After my morning cuppa today, I hurried to the bus stop. I was foot loose and fancy free with no itinerary. I could really appreciate a hop on, hop off style of travel. There was alot of good-natured jostling amongst us for the upper deck of this two-tiered big bus. Look out London here we come. My mind reeled with all the possibilities open to me. For a time, I just bounced along the Ring Road and tried a royal wave or two. Something gigantic and glittery caught my eye and I soon hopped off my chariot, Yes, it was Madame Tussaud's wax museum! This place was awesome! Who knew wax figures could be so lifelike. I saw two fellow Canadians, Jim Carrey and Justin Bieber. No, really, I have never been a 'belieber." Now my family does appreciate the humour of "Liar,Liar" and "Pet Detective". Yeah, I confess I nonchalantly draped an arm around ol' Jim's shoulder for a shameless selfie. Be still my beating heart, mi corazon was in the house. WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger It was him!! Antonio Banderas as I live and breathe was there in the flesh, well, okay, it was waxy flesh, but still... damn, he looked so sexy and Spanish! A lovely smiling stranger snapped my pic nipping his delectable cheek, not the stranger's, Antonio's. Guess which cheek? Haha, there was even a wax replica of Grumpy Cat and Shrek. I must admit the various James Bonds looked pretty handsome, too. It was crowded with celebrities. I salute the wax wunderkids that create all of this. SB Musing snickered that wax candles are difficult to make. I cannot imagine burning/melting or otherwise mutilating Antonio. My next stop had to be at the London Eye, the rather noticeable ferris wheel near big Ben. OMG! It's gondolas or pods are fashioned from glass. and each of the thirty-two pods hold several people. What an ingenious concept! Swirl slowly in the air for thirty minutes and snap all the spectacular scenery shots you want. SB Musing and Sally were struck speechless, shocking, but true. When I noticed their silence, I also realized that they were clutching at a rail white-handed. Normally, I'm not a great fan of heights either, but this was bloody incredible, plus this is a virtual trek. Apondia and I could not resist strolling through Kew Gardens. They were so lush and lovely. Sparkling serenity amidst the city. Carnaby Street was a must see for me. It was noisy, colourful, and chaotic. I relaxed at a cafe and unabashedly stared at the sea of humanity. I indulged in a wee bit of browsing amongst the street stalls, boutiques, and shops. Without missing a beat, I visited Baker Street and the Sherlock Holme's museum. I am a devoted fan of murder mysteries and who-done-its. "The game is afoot." To finish my touring, I chose a Thames River cruise. I floated along in the unceasing current of a legendary waterway. This river has witnessed so much history. All of today's wanderings only served to re-invigorate me. I was more than ready to explore bars and pubs with a spirited group. No, I didn't anticipate that I would actually crawl. This was a new concept, a pub guide, a chaperone, a drink whisperer. He would be our fun facilitator lucky fellow. We quickly dubbed him Sir Creepy because he referred to us as 'crawlers.' He ushered or more accurately steered us to the first drinking establishment of the night, Piccadilly Institute. Um, that word establishment would become increasingly more difficult to pronounce. Not yet inebriated, yes that is posh-speak for drunk, we tittered at the silly name Piccadilly. And circus, what circus? We didn't see a big top billowing in the breeze, or corny clowns carousing. Our Guide pointed out that this was a famous meeting place of streets, so, it was an intersection? Anyway, our gang opted to sample the house speciality, a cocktail dubbed the Padded Cell. OMG! It was enormous and designed to satisfy six. Since we wanted to share our high spirits, we all grabbed straws to slurp and sip together. SB Musing Witchy Woman Sally Kit Fivesixer We also couldn't help noticing the bartender with bulging biceps and a British accent..... ah, it wasn't sultry Spanish, but we liked it. Teeheeing, we asked him plenty of questions. SB Musing attempted to stroke the bloke's bicep, but our sheepdog,ahem, I mean our herder, shooed us out the door in search of other pubs. Oh, the names of the pubs are quite interesting. They all blurred together. The Soho Bar blended into Ruby Blue. No sword play, but lots of dancing at The Round Table which seemed to have stools and a bar, no round tables in sight. There were no men clanking around in armour either. Arthur, Arthur, wherefore art thou? The Porcupine had no prickly people. Wait, Sir Creepy was sometimes impatient. We wanted to talk and hear life stories everywhere we wandered. I don't imagine we were easy to collect/steer/guide. We were easily distracted, but, come on, we were tourists, tourists in London. One pub name puzzled me, The Blind Pig. Did an irate wife choose the name in honour of her oblivious husband ? And where in the world did this name originate, The Slug and Lettuce? Where was that inspiration found? Oh, I know, maybe in a beer garden. The Moon Under Water seemed to be searching for a poetic moniker. We whooped and hollered our way through the night. We sauntered, strolled, skipped, slipped and stumbled, but lo and behold, we never ever crawled. Yes, we had fun. Sir Creepy was a peach of a guy. He must have toes of steel. I lost count of how many times someone stomped or tripped over them. Actually, he did seem to mutter to himself a lot. I thought it was Fivesixer and SB Musing picking up the local lingo. I heard, "Bloody hell!", and "bollocks!" Was Sir Creepy ordering another round of drinks? |
| PROMPT: LONDON Day 2 When I awoke this morning I noticed my pillows were missing, There was no cause for alarm, I'm certain some pillow-packing head rest-hoarding fort-building friends snatched them. Our cross country trek has set the tongues of hotel maids wagging.. You've heard of crop circles, now people are whispering about pillow temples. Places of late night, early morning drinking and dancing, serenading the writing Gods, tittering and talking., languishing and laughing.Huh, my pillows were sacrificed to a greater good. After a few bracing cuppas, I was caffeinated for today's adventures.Did you know that 'toad in a hole', and 'bangers' are edible? I cannot recall the last time I had toad and toast for breakfast. No sequined stilettos for me. This is the land of sensible sturdy walking shoes, brogues.I had to settle for tennis shoes. You never know what could happen, and we were visiting a royal residence , so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that I'd be invited to lob a few over the net. We travelled via coach, not the horse-pulling coach of her highness, out into the Berkshires. Everything seemed so green. I kept a wary eye on the driver because he was steering down the wrong side of the narrow road. Wow! Windsor Castle is immense. According to our guide, it's the largest and oldest inhabited castle in the world. Queen Elizabeth still uses it as a weekend retreat. I wonder if she is familiar with every nook and cranny of this thirteen acre site? SB Musing and I elbowed each other with the same thought. Imagine playing hide and seek here. Does the Queen wander and become lost? Does she carry emergency flares with her? I bet the staff appreciates modern technology such as GPS. I bet William the Conqueror never envisioned his fortification would still be standing. The mysterious stone circle, Stonehenge, is mystifying. What are large stone pieces doing in a clearing? How were they moved and erected? Were children of giants playing with blocks, or dominos? On a much smaller scale, the Inuit erect stone inukshuks. Surprisingly, the stones balance atop each other and remain together despite time and weather. Ah, our lunch stop in the "picture-postcard" village of Lacock was a refreshing layover. We drank in its 13th century aura.The George's Inn was indeed a traditional English pub with its uneven floors, open beamed ceiling, huge hearth, and cosy, casual atmosphere.Kit Fivesixer SB Musing Witchy Woman WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger Sally 💙 Carly: Joan Watson Apondia and I raised our mugs of ale in a salute. Some of the locals shook their heads and muttered, "Daft buggers." We nodded, smiled, and countered with, "Good day to you, kind sirs. Cheerio!" After a few rounds, we were all bosom buddies. We staggered back onto the Bath-bound bus. The rolling countryside gave us the wobbles.We pressed our foreheads to the windows to both prop ourselves up and snatch glimpses of scenery. Bath did appear to be a "handsome Georgian city". We stumbled over the cobblestoned streets exploring the Roman Baths. I'm familiar with pot holes back home in Canada, but rough roads like this are brutal. The Roman Baths are similar to a large public swimming pool, but with more statues and columns. A grim-faced guard scolded SB Musing and I as we stretched to dip our toes in the water. Our Guide did tell us that the thermal waters were thought to be restorative.Nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least the gang waited for us as we sat to re-shod ourselves. I wish we had natural hot springs where I live. This is a beautiful burg. My in-laws were born and raised here. Now I know they share this in common with Jane Austen. It's now much easier to picture my father-in-law as a boy herding sheep. My mother-in-law's family had a fish and chips shop. Her surname is Leakey, and I liked to tease her that it was a good thing her family did not have a shipping line. I can't imagine boarding a ship for a transatlantic voyage with the name 'Leakey' painted on it! Oh great and wonderful Witchy Woman , I love British humour! John Cleese epitomizes great comedy. 'Fawlty Towers' is a hilarious sitcom, and it was funny to see the name of this little hotel rearranged on their sign every episode. One 'new' name still makes me laugh, 'FARTY TOWELS'. So, two thumbs up for tonight's dinner theatre experience. Much of Basil's bumbling is based on his character. He is both pretentious and paranoid. As a hotelier, he is challenged by a Spanish waiter named Manuel who struggles with the English language. Sybil is the exasperated wife. Oh, I guffawed and giggled all right. Attempting to eat is fraught with difficulty and dangers. When I discovered the false teeth in my soup, I spit/sprayed poor SB Musing . Sybil pounded me on the back as I choked and gasped. Ah, great times. Both Basil and Manuel tried to wipe us down with napkins. I actually thought Manuel was going to gather up everything on our table as he bundled up the tablecloth. Earlier, Basil had ordered him to wait on our table, so Manuel did wait ON our table. That was unexpected. Blustery Basil also likes to fluff out the big white napkins and make a great scene of tucking them beneath chins, swiping mouths, and draping them in laps. Of course, while doing so eyeglasses are knocked off or askew, necklaces are entangled, purses are swept to the floor. I love London! It's a laugh a minute. Sally start shaking, my mouth is watering for your magic mixes. The night is still young. Big Ben and our backpackers never sleep. |
| PROMPT: Arrival in London, England Woohoo! Our brotherhood of backpackers has invaded England, and it was all so civilized; no bloodshed, no tears, and no capturing of flags. Well, there were a few tears. We did travel over The English Channel and its stinging salt water. We were a wee bit fatigued, and running on fumes. We did laugh until we cried. We did miss the continent, oh how European. We are realizing that the end to our memorable trek is in sight. Our' landing' involved reservations. The British anticipated our imminent arrival. This was no blitz attack. Ah, Great Britain, home to hilarious comedies, awesome writers, fantastic music, and masterful mysteries. A country that claims to be English-speaking. A country with a monarch, and a parliament. Not bad Witchy Woman , this Nadler Soho gets a nod of approval. This hotel bills itself as being an "oasis of calm"; we shall see. It does have undeniable location in the entertainment/theatre district. My backpack seems to like the ambiance. We waste no time today, we hit the street running. Well, okay, we weren't actually moving fast enough to ruffle our hair, but we were eager to explore. Our first tour took us through St. James' Park to Buckingham Palace, residence of Queen Elizabeth. No, I never caught a glimpse of Liz perhaps out walking her corgis, or reading in the garden, or waving from a balcony. Her Royal Highness didn't appear to greet me, or offer me a hot cuppa. Imagine tea and bickies/cookies with the matriarch/monarch. I bet she'd be a phenomenal conversationalist. There's no missing the Queen's Guards in their distinctive red tunics and bearskins,(hats). Do you suppose they practise balancing those huge furry hats on their heads? The red is very bright. Now I understand that old cry from their enemies, "The red coats are coming!" Red radiates bravado, confidence, an in-your-face colour. They serve more of a ceremonial role now. In theory and tradition , they guard the Queen, but in reality, there is a palace police force. Supposedly, their numbers at the front gate signify if the monarch is in residence or not. Four guards indicate her presence while two mean she is away. Westminster Abbey is impressive with its "gothic grandeur." In the College Garden are graves of famous writers such as Hardy and Dickens. At the Houses of Parliament on the Thames River, I immediately noticed Big Ben on the Elizabeth Tower. This symbolizes England. I learned it is the second-largest four-faced chiming clock in the world. Minneapolis City Hall boasts the largest. It is an engineering marvel that has withstood bombing blitzes during WW 2. In 2009, Big Ben celebrated its 150th anniversary. This sure beats the stamina of a Timex wrist watch! Maybe a certain clock should have had that slogan:'takes a lickin', and keeps on tickin'." We have all heard about British slang. SB Musing and I stifled giggles with this thought. So, do the Brits refer to a tall, reliable, punctual man as Big Ben?? Supper and it's fish and chips,oh, how very English. Even the name has an authentic Brit feel to it, Baileys. The food was delicious, and the malt vinegar was the best. I asked for peas with my meal, but not mushy peas. Peas are not a pretty vegetable, and even less so when mashed. Many moons ago, my hubby's maternal grandparents ran a fish and chip shop in Bath. We both wish we'd been able to visit it. I've been told there is a delicacy known as bubble and squeak, um, maybe I'll sample some while I'm here.This is a time when the English spoken differs from that at home. Chips in Canada and the States are known here as 'crisps'. Chips, fries. they are the same thing. I can't believe we are booked to see 'Kinky Boots'! I cannot lie, I am a fan of musical theatre. I regrettably missed the production when it was located in Toronto. I grew up listening to Cyndi Lauper music, and she is the composer/collaborator for this show. The mood at the theatre was one of high energy. The music was incredible and the orchestra was superb. Yes, it was fun and feisty. It was a hilarious production. Several times we had to be shushed and shooed back into our seats by smiling ushers. We couldn't help ourselves, we just had to dance in the aisles with our happy feet. Kit SB Musing Sally WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger 💙 Carly: Joan Watson and I swayed and stomped. We twisted and twerked. We were gob-smacked, yes, really, we were.Fivesixer had to be pulled to his reluctant feet. We weren't going to let him sit while there was great music to celebrate. One for all. and all for one... Some of us never dare to strut, or more accurately, hobble, in thigh-high stiletto boots. We understood the message of this feel-good show. As Lola, the cabaret performer/drag queen/shoe designer says, "Accept someone for who they are." We're loud and proud, aren't we? Our walking cast boots are 'klunky', not 'kinky', but we make them work for us. Maybe some red glitter could perk them up... Yes, this reminded me of Dorothy and 'The Wizard of Oz', 'cause we're not in Kansas anymore. Hmm, if we clicked our boot cast heels together would we be healed?? Ta Witchy Woman ! This has been an unforgettable first day in London. In those pleading words from Oliver Twist, "Please, sir, I want some more." |
| PROMPT: Arrival in London, England Woohoo! Our brotherhood of backpackers has invaded England, and it was all so civilized; no bloodshed, no tears, and no capturing of flags. Well, there were a few tears. We did travel over The English Channel and its stinging salt water. We were a wee bit fatigued, and running on fumes. We did laugh until we cried. We did miss the continent, oh how European. We are realizing that the end to our memorable trek is in sight. Our' landing' involved reservations. The British anticipated our imminent arrival. This was no blitz attack. Ah, Great Britain, home to hilarious comedies, awesome writers, fantastic music, and masterful mysteries. A country that claims to be English-speaking. A country with a monarch, and a parliament. Not bad Witchy Woman , this Nadler Soho gets a nod of approval. This hotel bills itself as being an "oasis of calm"; we shall see. It does have undeniable location in the entertainment/theatre district. My backpack seems to like the ambiance. We waste no time today, we hit the street running. Well, okay, we weren't actually moving fast enough to ruffle our hair, but we were eager to explore. Our first tour took us through St. James' Park to Buckingham Palace, residence of Queen Elizabeth. No, I never caught a glimpse of Liz perhaps out walking her corgis, or reading in the garden, or waving from a balcony. Her Royal Highness didn't appear to greet me, or offer me a hot cuppa. Imagine tea and bickies/cookies with the matriarch/monarch. I bet she'd be a phenomenal conversationalist. There's no missing the Queen's Guards in their distinctive red tunics and bearskins,(hats). Do you suppose they practise balancing those huge furry hats on their heads? The red is very bright. Now I understand that old cry from their enemies, "The red coats are coming!" Red radiates bravado, confidence, an in-your-face colour. They serve more of a ceremonial role now. In theory and tradition , they guard the Queen, but in reality, there is a palace police force. Supposedly, their numbers at the front gate signify if the monarch is in residence or not. Four guards indicate her presence while two mean she is away. Westminster Abbey is impressive with its "gothic grandeur." In the College Garden are graves of famous writers such as Hardy and Dickens. At the Houses of Parliament on the Thames River, I immediately noticed Big Ben on the Elizabeth Tower. This symbolizes England. I learned it is the second-largest four-faced chiming clock in the world. Minneapolis City Hall boasts the largest. It is an engineering marvel that has withstood bombing blitzes during WW 2. In 2009, Big Ben celebrated its 150th anniversary. This sure beats the stamina of a Timex wrist watch! Maybe a certain clock should have had that slogan:'takes a lickin', and keeps on tickin'." We have all heard about British slang. SB Musing and I stifled giggles with this thought. So, do the Brits refer to a tall, reliable, punctual man as Big Ben?? Supper and its fish and chips,oh, how very English. Even the name has an authentic Brit feel to it, Baileys. The food was delicious, and the malt vinegar was the best. I asked for peas with my meal, but not mushy peas. Peas are not a pretty vegetable, and even less so when mashed. Many moons ago, my hubby's maternal grandparents ran a fish and chip shop in Bath. We both wish we'd been able to visit it. I've been told there is a delicacy known as bubble and squeak, um, maybe I'll sample some while I'm here.This is a time when the English spoken differs from that at home. Chips in Canada and the States are known here as 'crisps'. Chips, fries. they are the same thing. I can't believe we are booked to see 'Kinky Boots'! I cannot lie, I am a fan of musical theatre. I regrettably missed the production when it was located in Toronto. I grew up listening to Cyndi Lauper music, and she is the composer/collaborator for this show. The mood at the theatre was one of high energy. The music was incredible and the orchestra was superb. Yes, it was fun and feisty. It was a hilarious production. Several times we had to be shushed and shooed back into our seats by smiling ushers. We couldn't help ourselves, we just had to dance in the aisles with our happy feet. Kit SB Musing Sally WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger 💙 Carly: Joan Watson and I swayed and stomped. We twisted and twerked. We were gob-smacked, yes, really, we were.Fivesixer had to be pulled to his reluctant feet. We weren't going to let him sit while there was great music to celebrate. One for all. and all for one... Some of us never dare to strut, or more accurately, hobble, in thigh-high stiletto boots. We understood the message of this feel-good show. As Lola, the cabaret performer/drag queen/shoe designer says, "Accept someone for who they are." We're loud and proud, aren't we? Our walking cast boots are 'klunky', not 'kinky', but we make them work for us. Maybe some red glitter could perk them up... Yes, this reminded me of Dorothy and 'The Wizard of Oz', 'cause we're not in Kansas anymore. Hmm, if we clicked our boot cast heels together would we be healed?? Ta Witchy Woman ! This has been an unforgettable first day in London. In those pleading words from Oliver Twist, "Please, sir, I want some more." |
| PROMPT: Day 26 and still backpacking through Europe... Today is vendredi, explore Montmartre, star in a horror film?... amuse myself this evening...! Bienvenue vendredi/Friday! I can't believe I am still in Paris.. sigh. Of course, I have more walking and strolling to do, up hill this time, so, technically, climbing, mountain climbing. Ah, Montmartre is a mountain, now known as Mountain of the Martyrs, but once referred to as Mount of Mars. Hmm, the landscape doesn't appear to be uninhabitable. What, another red light district? I do not linger here to gawk, perhaps I'm now jaded. In answer to your question Witchy Woman , I never forget my first, and Hamburg was my firstest, my premier red-light district. It tickled my fancy and caused me to blush, BUT Amsterdam had kickin' 80's music at the Cafe Bubbels, so, which is my favourite? Can they both be my favourite? Anyway, I climbed cobblestone streets with a teeming crowd. Montmartre is an artsy area with beaucoup de cafes, shops, night clubs, etc. Locals seem to strut about in heels and they never seem to perspire. What's their secret? The magnificent views were well worth the effort to reach Sacre Coeur Basilica. Huh, there are no real traces of the former gypsum mine. What a wonderful place to just relax on a terrace at a cafe, and people-watch! Damn, I forgot to wear my raspberry beret. So,Witchy Woman has voluntold us for a horror film?? Hmmm, je pense.... This is my homage to The Eagle's song 'Hotel California'.... It, as in my nightmare, begins with me carefully carrying a humongous gateau/cake for Witchy Woman into a grand ballroom. The fraises/strawberries look so tempting, and the sixty sizzling sparklers atop the cake are threatening to awake the smoke detector. We all sing 'Bonne Fete' to our birthday gal, and then we break out the congratulatory drinks. We wanted to toast so, there were "mirrors on the ceiling and pink champagne on ice." That's all that I remember clearly. Things got more than a little fuzzy, and not the warm and fuzzy stuff. Faces flashed and faded in those huge golden mirrors. I hear voices in the hallways. Wait, no, it is the corridors, and they are hissing in a haughty French accent, "We are the corridors." Oh,so, I heard voices down the corridors. I mumble, "Excusez-moi."They were garbled, I think. Then we were dancing? "How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget." Yeah, so, we were dancing.. The white wigs atop our tetes/ heads were weaving and bopping. The crystal chandeliers snagged them. Our faces were disguised with white powder, and it arced through the air. I struggled to breathe; the cutting corset was stabbing me with its steely claws. I could hear strains of that classic song, 'Hotel California'. Welcome to the Four Seasons Hotel George V...Who was singing? Sally and I were scrabbling up a slippery spiral staircase while silent skeletons tried to drag us back into the catacombs, or was it 'corridors'? SB Musing or someone with her dance moves and voice appeared to be a floating painting of Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'. Sometimes. her face seemed to divide and shift...ooh, Picasso-like. Kit was being chased by a bright yellow bicyclette tinkling its horn, over and over. Fivesixer seemed to be stumped and shadowed by a leering mime. His tough New Yorker, "beat it!". didn't seem to be working. Those creepy white hands never stopped. "Next thing I remember I was running for the door." Well, I thought I was running. It was all slow mo'. I was trying to ignore the singing, snippy corridors. I collapsed at the concierge's desk. He informed me, "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." HUH? Has he met SB Musing ? I battered at that fine gilded door, and finally broke free. "Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light." Like a mindless moth, I was fascinated. Surprise! Several of us were scaling the Eiffel Tower. I waved at BlueMoon Apondia was reading a french language guide up there.WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger 💙 Carly: Joan Watson All were grinning and waving. Where did the pink monster champagne bubbles come from? They were obnoxious trying to tickle our noses. Whoa! This is quite the backpacking trip! Whew! After my horror experience, I craved a good laugh. I found just the venue, a comedian, Olivier Giraud's version of ' How to Become a Parisian in One-Hour.' Really? Was this possible? He was hilarious! Yes, he mimicked the arrogance, the impatience, the rudeness, and the short-temperedness of Parisians. He covered how to think, dress, act, walk, and talk like the snobby locals. This was all in good fun. All my 'bonjours' have been returned. Au revoir, Paris, I shall miss you! You are a dazzler. |
| PROMPT: Paris above and below ground... Bienvenue jeudi au Paris! I can't believe I am still exploring Paris. This matin/morning, I soared amongst les nuages dans le ciel. Yes, I was so excited flying up in those fluffy white clouds in a helicopter/helicoptere. There may well have been turbulence, but I didn't notice, I was bouncing in my seat. My neck should be in the best shape of its life because I constantly swivelled it as I absorbed the spectacular scenery. As I shared a big grin with my copter companions, I felt their electric excitement, too. Rising into the air was like riding an elevator, whoosh. Even from the ciel bleu/ blue sky, Paris is pretty. Our flight of fancy took us to Maincy and the site of le Chateau Vaux--le-Vicomte, French for Viscount dale castle. I like the sound of chateau, it seems so posh. This was certainly a n extremely posh palace, no little place in the countryside. Huh, I discovered it was built on such a grand style, grand as in large and grand as in fancy because it could host the king on a state sleepover. Wow! It should be featured on that old show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous'. It is immense and beautiful. This was a first for me. I was greeted with champagne just when my head was still in the clouds. Let the euphoria continue. My impression of the interior was of gild and gold, height and grandeur. The ceilings were marvelous with painted murals. The rooms or salons were incredible, obviously no expense was spared. The chateau was erected to frame and showcase the gorgeous jardin/garden. It complimented the interior with its lushness and exact lines. The large reflecting pool was beautiful. Yep, this chateau was a castle. It had a bridge and a moat. The hoity-toity treatment continued with a luxury limo lounge. We returned to Paris with a chauffeur I named James. He wasn't a butler, so I could not refer to him as Jeeves. James just smiled and nodded a lot. He refused our autographs. Well, well Witchy Woman has booked us for some 'different' tours. For two days we've been blinded by the bright lights of this city seeing all things glittery and golden. Now we are to be introduced to the dark, le noir. We willingly walk to learn about spectres and ghosts that go bump in the night. I love this tour's descriptor: " stroll serpentine streets in search of spectres and spooks." OOHH, we'll experience Thriller, or a gothic novel. I never did spot a serpent, nope, no hissing, or fangs, or coils. I saw night fall, and cloak the narrow streets and alleys in darkness. I heard tales of reputed hauntings. SB Musing was shuffling like a zombie and groaning, but it might well have been because of her bum ankle. Fivesixer wheezed and whistled. His ankle apparently doesn't like cobblestoned streets and dampness. Sally reminded us of Jack the Ripper. I was entertained, but I felt no goose bumps or hair-raising. Maybe this was because I felt protected and prepared. In my poches/pockets, I kept a grip on a clove of garlic/ l'ail, and a few packets of salt/sel. I did not, however, have a stake or a wooden cross/ croix. I will admit that sometimes the guide and his lampe de poche/ flashlight seemed too far away in the doom, er, I mean gloom. Carrying gas lamps would've lent some authenticity to our trek. Where were the pitchforks? I must say I adored the animated movie 'Ratatouille', but the Rat Trap Store was gross and creepy. I'm not a rat fearing extermination, and I didn't like it. What's with the dead vermin bodies swinging in a window display? Is this a version of scalps to exterminators? Au revoir snake streets, and bon soir les Catacombes. What a city, underground tunnels several kilometres long, winding in a labyrinth. Up above , Paris has lumieres and l'amour, lights and love, but beneath its bustling avenues there is death and dankness. What a contrast! Sometimes stumbling and sometimes sloshing, we explored the tunnels. Due to humidity, water drips from the stone ceiling and pools on the floor in unavoidable puddles. We descended and later ascended via two narrow spiral staircases. Where were the Hunchback of Notre Dame and the Phantom of the Opera? Wasn't this their kind of setting? It was still a shock to see a wall, a seemingly unending wall of human remains piled together. The bones, or ossements were so bleak in this ossuary. Skulls stared blankly. Limbs languished in a tangle. A stark sign warned, "Stop. This is the land of the dead." Back in the 18th century, it was decided that the cemetieres/ cemeteries were over-crowded and possibly dangerous to the health of the living, so many bodies were exhumed and transplanted to the catacombs. Most remains came from the Cemetiere des Innocents, and a commemorative fountain now marks its former spot. Whew! Returning to the city street/ la rue, I gulped great lungfuls of air. Now I could guffaw, but climbing from the catacombs my party was more than a little insulted that we were patted down and searched, a French frisk. There was nothing romantic about it. Kit couldn't stifle a yelp.SB Musing offered to strip. We made no bones about our displeasure, but the bone guards just shrugged. Unbelievably, some tourists try to shoplift bones from the catacombs. What the...? Our group never even considered snagging a slightly used and musty ankle-bone or two. Yes, we limp, but Frankenstein we're not. Bonne nuit mes amis! I think I am bone tired for some reason.. |
| PROMPT: Paris above and below ground... Bienvenue jeudi au Paris! I can't believe I am still exploring Paris. This matin/morning, I soared amongst les nuages dans le ciel. Yes, I was so excited flying up in those fluffy white clouds in a helicopter/helicoptere. There may well have been turbulence, but I didn't notice, I was bouncing in my seat. My neck should be in the best shape of its life because I constantly swivelled it as I absorbed the spectacular scenery. As I shared a big grin with my copter companions, I felt their electric excitement, too. Rising into the air was like riding an elevator, whoosh. Even from the ciel bleu/ blue sky, Paris is pretty. Our flight of fancy took us to Maincy and the site of le Chateau Vaux--le-Vicomte, French for Viscount dale castle. I like the sound of chateau, it seems so posh. This was certainly a n extremely posh palace, no little place in the countryside. Huh, I discovered it was built on such a grand style, grand as in large and grand as in fancy because it could host the king on a state sleepover. Wow! It should be featured on that old show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous'. It is immense and beautiful. This was a first for me. I was greeted with champagne just when my head was still in the clouds. Let the euphoria continue. My impression of the interior was of gild and gold, height and grandeur. The ceilings were marvelous with painted murals. The rooms or salons were incredible, obviously no expense was spared. The chateau was erected to frame and showcase the gorgeous jardin/garden. It complimented the interior with its lushness and exact lines. The large reflecting pool was beautiful. yep, this chateau was a castle. It had a bridge and a moat. The hoity-toity treatment continued with a luxury limo lounge. We returned to Paris with a chauffeur I named James. He wasn't a butler, so I could not refer to him as Jeeves. James just smiled and nodded a lot. He refused our autographs. Well, well Witchy Woman has booked us for some'different' tours. For two days we've been blinded by the bright lights of this city seeing all things glittery and golden. Now we are to be introduced to the dark, le noir. We willingly walk to learn about spectres and ghosts that go bump in the night. I love this tour's descriptor: " stroll serpentine streets in search of spectres and spooks." OOHH, we'll experience Thriller or a gothic novel. I never did spot a serpent, nope, no hissing, or fangs, or coils. I saw night fall and cloak the narrow streets and alleys in darkness. I heard tales of reputed hauntings. SB Musing was shuffling like a zombie and groaning, but it might well have been because of her bum ankle. Fivesixer wheezed and whistled. His ankle apparently doesn't like cobblestoned streets and dampness. Sally reminded us of jack the Ripper. I was entertained, but I felt no goose bumps or hair-raising. Maybe this was because i felt protected and prepared. In my poches/pockets, I kept a grip on a clove of garlic/ l'ail, and a few packets of salt/sel. I did not, however, have a stake or a wooden cross/ croix. I will admit that sometimes the guide and his lampe de poche/ flashlight seemed too far away in the doom, er, I mean gloom. Carrying gas lamps would've lent some authenticity to our trek. Where were the pitchforks? I must say I adored the animated movie 'Ratatouille', but the Rat Trap Store was gross and creepy. I'm not a rat fearing extermination, and I didn't like it. What's with the dead vermin bodies swinging in a window display? Is this a version of scalps to exterminators? Au revoir snake streets, and bon soir les Catacombes. What a city, underground tunnels several kilometres long, winding in a labyrinth Up above , Paris has lumieres and l'amour, lights and love, but beneath its bustling avenues there is death and dankness. What a contrast! Sometimes stumbling and sometimes sloshing, we explored the tunnels. Due to humidity, water drips from the stone ceiling and pools on the floor in unavoidable puddles. We descended and later ascended via two narrow spiral staircases. Where were the hunchback of notre dame and the phantom of the opera? Wasn't this their kind of setting? It was still a shock to see a wall, a seemingly unending wall of human remains piled together. The bones, or ossements were so bleak in this ossuary. Skulls stared blankly. Limbs languished in a tangle. A stark sign warned, "Stop. This is the land of the dead." Back in the 18th century, it was decided that the cemetieres/ cemeteries were over-crowded and possibly dangerous to the health of the living, so many bodies were exhumed and transplanted to the catacombs. Most remains came from the Cemetiere des Innocents, and a commemorative fountain now marks its former spot. Whew! Returning to the city street/ la rue, I gulped great lungfuls of air. Now I could guffaw, but climbing from the catacombs my party was more than a little insulted that we were patted down and searched, a French frisk. There was nothing romantic about it. Kit couldn't stifle a yelp.SB Musing offered to strip. We made no bones about our displeasure, but the bone guards just shrugged. Unbelievably, some tourists try to shoplift bones from the catacombs. What the...? Our group never even considered snagging a slightly used and musty ankle-bone or two. Yes, we limp, but Frankenstein we're not. Bonne nuit mes amis! I think I am bone tired for some reason.. |
| PROMPT:Paris encore une fois Bonjour mes amis! Oh, this deluxe hotel is tres grand. Snuggling and comfort do not begin to cover the beds here. They are like billowy clouds, or plush pillows. I only had time for one single yawn before I jumped out of bed. Aujourd'hui is Mercredi, and that means another bicyclette tour. Encore une fois/ once again, cafe au lait comes to my rescue. Caffeine is the quicker-picker-upper. This establishment is too elegante/elegant for hurrying and scurrying, but I am forced to hustle to rendezvous with everyone at the train station. Apparently, our Guide, is also a hustler. We nicknamed him Victor Vite Feet because he constantly herded us with, "Vite, vite! Marchez, allons-y!"Basically, he wanted us to quicken our pace. No dilly-dallying, or dawdling. I was step, step, smile, :bonjour"...step, step, smile, "bonjour." Ah, a bicyclette and moi au Versailles. Il fait du soleil. Le ciel est bleu. Perfect weather for pedalling, sunny with a blue sky. La dernier fois/ the last time I cycled I met a lovely local by accident. France is too dignified a country for this. This time, I made sure my bicycle came equipped with a timbre, a bell. Le beep, le beep. Le ting, le ting. I also shouted, "Excusez-moi! Attention!" The bustling Versailles market was alive with bartering, bickering, and bellowing. It was colourful. It was alive. I opted to purchase a fresh/frais baguette, some fromage/cheese, a slab of jambon/ham, and a bouteille/bottle of vin blanc, or white wine. At one etal/stall, I spied a beautiful beret that I just had to have. It was pinky in couleur, but in my mind it was raspberry. Yep, I wore a raspberry beret; my homage to Prince. I enjoyed biking through the lush vert jardin/garden. Green is my favourite colour. The rainbow of fleurs/flowers were merveilleux. Our backpacker bike gang gratefully collapsed near the Grand canal. Wheels to meals, a self-catered picnic, dining al fresco. SB Musing {suser"kittee} Fivesixer Sally 💙 Carly: Joan Watson wieseblaize Apondia We combined our lunch purchases. Of course, there were canards/ ducks to share our bread with, real French fowl, "le quack, quack." I swear some of these sneaky beggars tried to swill some of our wine. After our perfect picnic, we toured the House of Mirrors, holy glitter! One word described this hall, opulent. Crystal chandeliers and 350 mirrors reflected and radiated sunlight. Gild and gold everywhere! Wow! The ceiling was incredible, too with its magnificent mural. The Eiffel Tower at night is magical. It was readily apparent how Paris earned its nickname, The City of Lights. Paris glimmered, glowed, shimmered, and sparkled. How appropriate that the French word for light is 'lumiere' since Paris pulsed with luminosity, 'luminessence'. Lumiere scintillement equals scintillating lights. C'est bon, more escape room games! Since Paris is a city of beauty and secrets, the gang chose to honour the bete noire, or black beast genre. Who doesn't appreciate a soir/night of mytery/mystere?We were locked in a room titled The Mystery Manor for one hour with puzzles, secret doors, and locks. Kit was so caught up in the spooky spirit of the game, she shrieked when she felt something crawl across her shoulder. It was a jaunty scarf, a wayward scarf worn because this is fashionable Paris. At one point, SB Musing was so deep in thought and therefore struck temporarily speechless, we believed she had escaped without us. What a relief that cherchez la femme wasn't permanent. We all learned some handy French: "ou-est?" is where is? "Pourquoi" is "why." "Oh, mon Dieu!" is the equivalent of OMG. "Combien?" is "how many?"" "Soixante" is Sixty which seems like a big number until that many minutes pass all too quickly. Aha!' is the same in any language. We laughed so much that some maquillage, or make-up melted. Oh, the moonlight meander back to the hotel was memorable. Most of us were serenading the stars. the etoiles. We were not inebriated, just a wee bit wobbly. Bonne nuit, Paree! |
| PROMPT: Paris, France Bonjour Paris! At last we meet, visage a visage. You are one grande dame. The 80s tunes from last night are still swirling in my sleep-deprived brain, and one seems to represent my expectations here, 'Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now'. I suspect mes amis are more than ready for some vavoom vivre. Oh my God Witchy Woman !!!! The Four Seasons Hotel George V is stunning and spectacular, there aren't enough superlatives, although SB Musing hits it on its elegant tete/head, 'swanky'. Oh wait, I have more descriptors: sumptuous, opulent, over the top. My battered backpack feels shabby and under-dressed. OOOHH LA LA! Paris is the perfect city to be strolling in; pretending to be cosmopolitan and chic. I am grateful that I did not pack any high heels because I probably would've attempted to strut in them like the femme fatales, and failed miserably. I am not a strutter, I am a stumbler, and that is far more acceptable in sneakers. I did try to saunter nonchalantly, tossing my hair over my shoulder, and trying to keep my head/chin up. Alas, my poor head was too busy swivelling allowing my unblinking eyes constant feedback. I am a tourist, I admit to ogling. I think Paris likes to be ogled, she has every reason to flaunt. The Louvre is world famous, a name easily recognized. Now I undersatnd its reputation. This museum itself is an artifact from the 12th century. It is truly magnifique! This is the best venue to wander and daydream. I roamed and drooled with the gang. Apondia 💙 Carly: Joan Watson WakeUpAndLive~NOV Word Monger Kit Fivesixer SB Musing Sally Oh we were tempted to caress many a stunning sculpture, but we controlled our impulses. No bare butt brushing. The seductive spell of this museum defied all real time. Our entire day dissipated like the fog on a sunny day. Reluctantly, we bid the awesome artwork au revoir. Witchy Woman arranged for us to revel in more luxury with Moulin Rouge. Gasp, we were ushered to balcony seating, oh how decadent. I fully expected to hear a woman in a bodice-enhancing gown and white wig shout, "Let them eat cake!" We giggled about referring to ourselves as Marie, or the Antoinettes for the evening. "Garcon. Autre vin, tout suit!" This VIP-backpacker lifestyle is to-die-for. Once again, we experienced fine dining; you know, linens, china, crystal, flickering candlelight, too many pieces of cutlery, unlimited champagne, delicious food, polite yet disdainful wait-staff.... Every one of my 'mercis' was met by a "bien sur." I pinched SB Musing who was quick to retaliate.Ah, that brought me back to earth. The champignon/mushroom stew was delish. I talked SB Musing into ordering it for an appetizer, and then I had a sample. Actually, we tasted what we all ordered, we shared. Yeah, you can't take the all-you-can-eat buffet out of us. The shared dessert nibbles were divine; caramel, chocolat, cerise. All food sounds wonderful in the French tongue. The lowly pickle is elevated to a 'cornichon'. I'm convinced the French could make a pickle pie palatable. We discovered that champagne bubbles really do tickle noses, and cause giggling. The dancers, the 'Doriss Girls', were fantastique. They were a vision in rouge/red of course, and feathers, finery, sequins, , and rhinestones. They shimmied and sparkled. Actually, the more champagne we sipped, the shinier the entertainers became.. Our return to the hotel saw us stepping along in our own chorus line; who can can can? We can can can. Vive le France! Bonne nuit. |
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