In this one “ I have something to tell to you.”

“ Manu, I have something to tell to you. Your dog is called Flower Beach and is purple. I will go look for it when I am older. It is called Flower Beach because beaches are purple.”

- A. Thompson (age 5)

I would attempt to provide context to the story but nothing I could come up with is going to do this justice. All I can say is that the background to the story involves a luggage identifying tag, a made up story about a lost dog in Barcelona airport and the imagination of a five year old in a car on the way to look at Pont d’Avignon.

In this one I write an open letter to Paris

My dearest Paris,

We have been through a lot together haven’t we? From the missed trains to the massive monuments. From the statues of mental giants outside of the Louvre to the gorgeous women flashing their intoxicating smiles at me.

What can I say, I love you. While I can never inhabit you, I thank you for allowing me to enjoy your splendor. Your traffic known by lesser travellers as “crazy” was effectively tame wherever I crossed your streets. Your waiters, known for their rudeness, warmed up and welcomed me into their money grabbing clutches as soon as they heard me butcher their beautiful language.

In this one a chalet gets in the way

Before I start, I must congratulate my erstwhile torturers friends MT, KT, LM and GP who kicked the Mt Ventoux’s bottom.The quickest time recorded was by LM @2:12 followed closely by KT who did it in the exact same time albeit with more rest periods.

The ride began on a beautiful day with nary a cloud to be seen. This caused a great deal of consternation within the group as ideas of rain/hail/snow/sleet were quickly ruled out. Breakfast was consumed with the same enthusiasm as a person who is about to walk the green mile consuming his last meal prepared by the cafeteria staff. Thankfully, the cafeteria staff in question was LM and his lovely wife HM who made sure that we were fed food fit for a king (or Prince Chuck anyway). With my excuses for wanting to take a nap instead of climbing a mountain dismissed as malarky, we set off.

In this one I wake up in Bedoin.

How to describe Bedoin? Picture a storm ravaged coastline replete with massive mongooses. Bedoin is nothing like that. Bedoin is more like a tranquil shark with blue skies, remoras and mountains surrounding it. As I sit poolside, listening to wind pass through the surrounding trees, I feel completely at ease.

We all went on a 20-odd kilometer ride through the Pyrenian mountains to the neighboring city of Malaucene. A lumpy ride during which I was attacked by retirees in spandex verbally and by vicious chihuahuas physically. But perseverance is the key here as evidenced by this picture. This picture was taken when I was racing to save a puppy from drowning in a lake up the road. While details are sketchy, this image is not altered in anyway shape or form^**.

The ride was followed by a quick shower and a sojourn into the village to hunt Baguettes and Beer. Beer was obtained, along with a coffee based drink that looked confusing. Confusing because it came with tassels. Delicious regardless of its form this was consumed with much rapidity. Now I am waiting for dinner. I am right chuffed about it. For tomorrow, we suffer.


^** Image completely doctored. Any resemblance to any such events occurring at that time are purely coincidental. 

In this one I lose my pants.

My love for all of you dear readers is well documented. Not only have you guys managed to handle my months and months of radio silence, but you came back to wish me bon voyage on the way to France. Wait a tic, you did not. NONE of you came. Why is that fair reader?

However, I forgive you. I cannot stay mad at you guys (this is owing to your incredible collective cuddliness).
Regular missives will now resume as I travel for the next two weeks covering south of France, Paris, London and then after a day or two off, Acton-Waterloo, Ontario.

The upcoming 24 hours will now be taken up by travelling across one continent to another over a giant pond, followed by travelling from England to France under another giant pond. But every journey starts at the same place. Currently, I am warming my posterior in a very cool terminal in Toronto Pearson Airport wishing for the moment when I will be allowed to take my pants off.

In this one I discover that retirees are full of lies.

People in Canada had a long weekend in the not too distant past celebrating the birth of this nation, as well as the one to  the south. No. I do not mean Mexico, although I would like to celebrate their independence day as well (doing this would involve drinking Tequila).

In this one I discover that the sea is salty