France 2023 - Perfect Hygge

My plan to get up early and go for a walk and swim is scuttled by a cozy duvet and inviting bed and we don't even wake up until 8:30. The weather forecast looks unstable for the next few days with plenty of rain and wind expected. But we didn't come at this time of the year for the weather; any sunshine we get will be a bonus.

After a leisurely breakfast and coffee we pile into the VW and drive to Uzes, a town about 20 kilometres east of here. It is a gorgeous little medieval town and today is market day so there are dozens of vendors in the main square selling food items.

Anna picks up a round of croissants from one of their favourite bakeries and we have a mid-morning snack in the shadow of architectural wonders. We learn about one of France's many interesting food laws - croissants made with pure butter (croissant au beurre) are always straight, while the lower quality ones made with margarine have the stereotypical curved shape. Care to guess which ones we eat?

We arrive at Comptoir Numero 7 just in time for our lunch reservation. Our server is a very young guy and what a pro he is. Perfectly groomed, clearly spoken, impeccable movements - it's impossible to think we could be anywhere else in the world right now besides France.

Our meal is incredible and we enjoy a slow, deliberate lunch. None of the other customers here are in a rush either. This is a real treat for Ana and I as we rarely go out for meals at home, and when we do it's simply nothing like this, as we can't get this quality of food and experience without spending a mortgage payment's worth of dinero at a fancy restaurant in Toronto.

After stopping to pick up six bottles of carefully chosen wine at the local wine shop, two platters of charcuterie from the butcher, and some groceries at the hypermarket, we return home and Ana and I embark on a solo walking tour of Vezenobres. We muscle ourselves up the steep streets, winding back and forth, through narrow passageways and shadowed paths until we reach the viewpoint at the top of the village, guarded jealously by a free range cat, part of a gang of felines who patrol the town and keep the villagers in check.

We take the long way down and pass by the bakery to pick up a fresh baguette then return to Chateau Olson where I take a lovely dip in the pool while Ana chills out in our room for a bit.

It is dark by the time we are into apero, this time around the coffee table in the primary living room, which is expansive and filled with custom furniture crafted from airplane aluminum. Anna's favourite spot is a curved desk which makes her appear either as a hotel concierge or as if she is sitting in a hot tub, depending on one's vantage point. There is also a Dr. Evil/Mork from Ork egg shaped chair with acoustics perfect for singing or humming to oneself. Michael's day perch is at the large aluminum table, on which is splayed out a rat's nest of video equipment, cameras, cords, converters, adapters, drones, and, strangely, tourist brochures.

But in this moment, we gather round the expansive wooden coffee table with our platters of charcuterie and drinks, while the weather outside gets progressively nastier, and soon the dark sky is alive with lightening flashes and strikes. The further into the night we delve, the stronger the light storm becomes. But what also strengthens is the perfect hygge - the now trendy Danish concept of coziness, something I learned about while living with my friends Martin and Marianne in Odense, Denmark nearly thirty years ago - and have never forgotten it.

Chill electronic music spills from the Sonos system and a hardwood fire rages in the fireplace, the heat circulating through the living room by the quiet fan. Nine votive candles flicker and burn on the table, creating shadows on charcuterie snacks and wine glasses. Indirect lighting casts a perfect orange yellow hue and backdrop to the intense bolts that erupt in the sky, visible to us from the deep windows cut into the stone. Our conversation flows easily and dances from topic to topic as we laugh and tell stories. Time passes gently. There is no rush and there is nowhere else we need to be right now. We are living in the present, our best lives, in the company of people we love. And the moment is not captured by photographs, because it simply couldn't be. It will live only in our memories.

France 2023 - Arcs, Art, Rugby, and Pho

I had set my alarm for 6:30am but somehow we wake up at 8:30 - so much for the early start I was hoping for.

For our last full day in Paris we decide to start by taking the metro to the Arc Du Triumph. As I am usually the poor sucker heading off to work Monday morning, I took great pleasure in watching the working folk all sour and flat faced sitting on the train seats on their way to work. Not that I relish in other peoples' misery, but I relish in the absence of my own personal misery, and nothing makes me appreciate my lack of misery more than seeing other people in misery. So make of that what you will.

The Arc was a lot bigger than I remember it. It's in the middle of a gigantic roundabout that doesn't seem to have the same roles as other roundabouts as it looked like a real free for all. We walked through an underground tunnel to the middle of the roundabout and encountered a huge line of tourists. We walked right up to the front of the line, up a few stairs, and there we were in front of the Arc. I have no idea what they were lining up for. Maybe they were just English.

After walking around the structure, taking a few pictures, and speculating on what the purpose of it may have been (we assumed a huge vanity project that probably bankrupted the country for generations as these colossal public works endeavours are prone to do), we started the long walk down the Champs Elysees, a rather famous street in Paris.

We pass a few more panty shops and some designer retail, then reach the Place de la Concorde which has been transformed into the Rugby World Cup event centre. Throughout our first day in Paris we noticed a bunch of people wearing leprechaun costumes, which seemed odd, but I figured it was just autumn fashion from the latest haute couture collections. Then the next day I kept seeing Afrikaners all wearing Springbok jerseys and finally the bells in my triceratops brain went off - rugby! Sadly, it is closed, but I have a feeling we missed a mighty big party last night.

We continue on our way and pass through a massive garden with a series of really cool public art pieces. Then, we reach the Louvre, but this time from the other side. It still has a tremendously long line, but we weren't planning on visiting today, so we head into the side streets and find a lunch place that has a bunch of local Parisians queued up so it seems like a good bet. And it is.

Here, we decide to split up. I am keen on visiting the Centre Pompidou, a huge modern art gallery, while Ana wants to check out some vintage shops (without me standing in front of the store, waiting, like a lost puppy). I take a meandering route and walk through the Palais Royale and find a large fountain circled by chairs. To continue my celebration of Monday I kick back in a chair, put my feet up on the stone fountain edge, and just look around. I listen to the French conversations happening around me. I watch the birds. I enjoy the sun and cool wind. I close my eyes and relax for a good long while, but eventually my back starts to moan and creak so I get up and get moving.

After a random walk up and down streets, passing by dozens of cafes I would like to stop at, I arrive at the Centre Pompidou and....it's closed due to a "social movement", which I take to be understatement for a good old fashioned French strike. I continue along my way and pull up the Wife Tracker 2000 app on my phone and find Ana digging through vintage clothes in a shop on the Rivoli. Shockingly, she has struck out and is empty handed, but not for lack of trying.

We walk back to the apartment and have a video session with Magnus and together submit his online application for residence near George Brown college in Toronto where he will be starting a program in January. After this and a short chill out session, we walk back down towards Bastille station and pick up some chocolate and biscuit gifts for my aunt and uncle (who we will be seeing tomorrow) then sit down at a Vietnamese restaurant for pho and noodles. Yumm.

And for our last night in Paris? We watch a movie in bed. After walking 43 kilometres since we arrived three days ago, we're ready for a night off.

France 2023: From Markets to Museums to Catacombs

There is nothing quite like walking a few steps to a bakery in the early morning to pick up fresh croissants and coffee and reaping the spoils of somebody else's fine baking, which all happened while I slept. I also pick up some muesli, milk, fruit, and marmalade from the grocery shop and Ana and I have a lovely breakfast together.

We walk to the Bastille market. What was yesterday a long, empty boulevard is today a metropolis of nutrition. Fresh food vendors lined up in perfect rows sell a bewildering array of items - fresh fruit and vegetables, seafood, prepared foods, fresh meat, cold cuts, a gazillion types of cheese, bread and pastries, then also some clothing, jewelry and household goods. People cram into the spaces between the rows and everyone is a buyer. As we slowly walk though the passages the smells are overwhelming. Spanish paella being cooked in an Olympian-sized wok. The tang of ripe cheese that nearly knocks me over. Fish odours from the flounder, sea bass, sardines, crab, squids, shucked oysters and sharks. One team of guys has a huge chicken roaster running with at least fifty birds at a time in rotation. There is the unmistakable smell of Thai chili and fish sauce coming from the green curry and spring rolls at one counter. Ladies at the creperie fold up remarkable packages full of Nutella, fruit, and jam, the smell of which is drawing a huge crowd. The wafting air from fresh cut flower stalls and lavender vendors tickle the nosebuds.

This is likely the most amazing market we have ever visited. Sure, some in Asia are larger, but the quality of the food here is simply unparalleled. And the damn thing didn't even exist yesterday! And it will be gone tomorrow.

From here, we walk, and find a café in front of the Hotel Sully where we stop for a coffee. We have a video chat with Magnus, who is in Kuala Lumper on a backpacking trip and has just booked a flight to Tokyo. We check in with Stella too, as she traveled with some friends to a northern cottage for the weekend. I realize with glee that this is the goal we have wanted to achieve since our children were born - having two independent, confident kids that spread their wings and explore the world...while we do the same. I feel a tear develop in my eye, then realize that it's actually from a bird that just pooped all over me. Ana wipes me up and we continue our walk.

As we approach central Paris there appears more and more retail shops. I don't recognize any of them but Ana knows them all. Half of them look to be panty stores, or I guess lingerie as it's known here. There're all sorts of panties on display in the windows, some that contain no fabric whatsoever and seem to be made of knitted fishing line.

"Do you need new panties?" I ask.

"No, I already have drawers full of them," Ana says.

"But those aren't the lingerie type, I presume?"

"You're dumb."

You'd think a sandwich shop right across from the Louvre would be dreadful, but in true testament to French quality, our meal is amazing. We walk to the Louvre entrance but you can barely see it for the thousand people in line. So we skip it and instead cross the river to the Museo D'Orsay and after a short wait are welcomed in. It's culturey as shit. We see paintings by Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, Cezanne and incredible sculptures by Rodin, including the Wall at the Gates of Hell that must have taken years and a lot of opium to complete. The entire building is an art piece - the structure, the walls, the ceiling, the floor. I love to visit galleries and museums when we travel but because Ana spends most of her conscious hours in an art gallery, she is generally less enthused, so she generally goes shopping while I'm arting it up. But today, she very much enjoyed it too.

We continue on to Saint Germain des Pres, yet another mile of designer fashion shops and find the Louis Vuitton store where Ana bought her original handbag so many years ago. We just finished paying it off.

Because we'd already walked halfway across the city we couldn't stop now so we keep on going and strut all the way down to the Catacombs of Paris, stopping only for a quick round of drinks at a theater café along the way. This is the one tourist attraction we both wanted to see so we had prepurchased tickets for a 6:15 time slot.

It was an experience. Imagine claustrophobic tunnels deep underground passing through the stacked up bones and skulls of millions of long dead Parisians with ominous Latin and French etchings in the stone column supports. My thoughts as I walked these tunnels? We will all end up a pile of bones, probably sooner than we'd like. So let's not waste any time.

The Latin Quarter is a 30 minute walk back towards home so we again shun the public transport options and leg it there until we find the perfect place for dinner - Le Cercle Luxembourg restaurant. Our meal is amazing - onion soup, fish of the day, pesto penne, crepe Suzette. The atmosphere is classy and the server is great. We linger for quite some time, people-watching through the window, talking, listening, taking it all in.

We decide to take the metro home, but first we stop at McDonalds to check two things: Ana wants to see if the coffee good and I want to confirm that a Big Mac is called a Royale, as I learned from Vincent in Pulp Fiction so many years ago. It was a yes on both counts.

After 17 kilometres of urban street walking, we finally reach reach the apartment and collapse.