Kersaint via Port Sall via Brest

No internet connection. Two weeks, no internet connection. No phone calls, no emails, no work, no schedule. Just crepes, Cidre and sunshine. Oh la la. France is beautiful and I got to drive a Twingo at 100 km/hr. Above is a picture of Anthony, asleep on the TGV from Paris Gare Montparnasse on the way to Brest (a 4 hour ride at 186 miles an hour) They (the Mulays) arrived earlier that day and were exhausted. It was a long trip and if we ever make it back here, we're going to fly directly to Brest, which not only has a train station, but apparently an airport as well. Duh. Glad we were on top of that minor detail - could have saved ourselves like 10 hours of traveling, grumble, grumble, grumble.

Anyway, Genevieve picked us up along with her friend Laurence, a nice woman whose job as a "nose" is to sniff fragrances in Paris and who happens to live in a castle during major holidays. This is a picture of the last remaining tower on their property in Kersaint, built in the 1100s. No one lives in this particular tower (of course) but I'm including some photos of their home, which was a converted farm stable located within on castle grounds. Geesh, some people have tough, tough lives. The other picture is of Eric walking in front of some of the homes on their property. The land has been in the family for generations, with the parents living in one building, the son and his family, and the daughter and her family in another. Their main residences are all in Paris but they travel out here, to this town, every holiday. Almost all of the homes around this town are owned by families who live elsewhere during the rest of the year...families who have been coming here for generations and know each other. It's remarkable. On Laurence's property they have a pigeonnière, a large cistern that holds hundreds of pigeonholes and was once also the house of a hermit who lived there in the 1800s. There's a building next door that is solely for baking bread, and the beams in the house are remnants from the castle with dragons carved back in the 12th century framing the master suite. The story of the castle includes a legend of a local prince who returned from the crusades to learn from his step-mother of his sister's improper and immodest behavior during his absence. He was so enraged, that he immediately pulled out his sword and cut off her head in the castle's main courtyard, without even asking for an explanation from his sister, with whom he had always been very close. As her body lay twitching on the ground, the brother realized that his step-mother had been trying to stir up trouble and had succeeded and the prince was so overcome with guilt, he renounced his thrown and gave his life to the church. He was made a saint for all the work he did for the poor. Of course, that didn't bring his sister back to life. Sucked to be her.

I see Paris, I see France...

Somewhere between LA and Paris I lost my new necklace that my mother gave me on my last birthday and I’m angry at myself even though I can't help a broken clasp. That's how I'll start out the journal of my trip. It's all uphill from here.

The trip over was quite comfortable; I had a whole row to myself and spread out to sleep after watching BLADES OF GLORY, which was cute, especially after a nice, big glass of wine. Did you know that US Airways - otherwise known as "the one airline I will forever more avoid" doesn’t serve free drinks on international flights anymore? I can't believe it, all that money and they can't fork out for a couple lousy drinks? Just confirms my suspicion that "duty free" booze doesn't necessarily mean "cheap" booze, because if it did, the "one airline I will forever more avoid" would be able to buy a girl a drink.
Anyway.
I met a nice woman who conversed with me partly in French, partly in English…and mostly in arm waving. I arrived in Paris at about 8am, and found my way from the airport on the RER to the Chalet les Halles stop and transferred to the metro without much problem. In the metro, I got stuck in the turnstile, which has these tiny plastic doors that open when you insert your ticket, but mine closed on my backpack and I was wedged like a turtle unable to move either forward or backwards. After muttering a loud “fuck” but before having time to do anything about my predicament, the door magically opened, releasing me. I felt like an idiot. Stupid, stupid American. Anyway, I got off at the right stop, had some trouble finding my hotel but the room was clean and quiet. Just fine pour moi. I was wide awake, and should have stayed that way but I was just exhausted and the thought of having to speak French was stressing me out (why, who the fuck knows.) So I took a nap, and didn’t wake up till 5 pm. To refresh myself, I took a shower in the toilet (oh, wait, it wasn’t in the toilet, just so close I could have used it as a stool) and then I walked down and took a peek at the Eiffel tower and it’s swarm of tourists (how did Tom ever propose to Kat in that mass human ant hill under the tower? He loves that schmit I guess. Anyway, I walked down the Champs d’elysee a little and poked my head into Adias, Roxy and Zara…sheesh, it was like being at home except “home” was costing me 1.80 dollars to the euro. I did walk by some couture shops where I thought, this is what they were thinking about when they came up with the term Haute Couture. Beautiful. Anyway, I never did eat dinner, couldn’t stand having to try to butcher the French language trying to order. So all in all, I haven’t eaten since last night. I have a feeling though that starting tomorrow, I’ll make up for all that by scarfing down tons of food over the next two weeks.
...Which indeed, is exactly what happened.