sponsored post: Madrid

I took this photo forever and a day ago and have no idea what it is of. Can any of you Madrileños help me out?

{I HEART MADRID. I HEART IT HARD}

Madrid, the capital of Spain, is a city known for its many museums, boutique shops and traditional plazas. The city, located in the center of the country, suits both those who want to experience the city's culture and those who come for its famed nightlife.

The city's main museums are the Prado Museum (one of my mother's and my favorites thanks to an unintentionally funny painting of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, the Virgin Mary, and some breast milk), the Reina Sofia Museum and the Thyssen Bornemisza Museum, which form the Golden Triangle of museums. The Prado is free after six in the afternoon. The three museums are located near the Atocha train station, where visitors can walk around the memorial built for the victims of the 11th of March terrorist attacks, and the Retiro Park.

The Retiro park is one of the city's main parks, together with the Madrid Rio park located near the Manzanares river and the Casa del Campo, where the Parque de Atracciones theme park and the zoo are located. The Retiro used to be a private park for the royalty. The park has several gardens and in the center there is a pond where visitors can rent boats. The park's Crystal Palace is a large domed glass mansion where art exhibitions take place. Visitors can walk around this large park, where narrow paths lead to forgotten statues and fountains, and spend an afternoon enjoying a sangria (mmm... sangria) in one of its terrazas.

The city's geographical and historical center is the Plaza de Sol, where the city symbol, a bear climbing up a madroño tree, is located. Next to this plaza is the touristy Plaza Mayor. Nearby streets, built during the Hapsburg dynasty, lead to the Royal Palace and the Almudena Cathedral.

The Royal Palace is a large building overlooking the Sabatini Gardens. The palace has 240 balconies and 870 windows, and there are tours around 50 of its 2,800 rooms. The rooms are decorated with antique furniture, art and frescoes, and the most visited rooms are the Throne Room, decorated with red velvet, and the Porcelain room, which holds a collection of china crockery. The gardens host many cultural events.

The nearby Almudena Cathedral is the city's main cathedral, where the Royal Wedding took place in 2004. Inside there are many decorated chapels, frescoes and a museum.

Next to the historic center is the Gran Vía street, an artery that connects Alcala street and Plaza de España. The street is filled with locals and tourists spending an afternoon shopping and taking the occasional pause to grab a bite in one of the many restaurants. A couple of blocks north is the Serrano street, known for its upscale boutiques.

The Plaza de España is a square where a statue of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza is located. The square is a popular meeting point with fountains and a small market selling handicrafts. A short walk away is the Templo de Debod, an Egyptian temple where many congregate to watch the sun set.

The city becomes alive after the sun sets. Centric plazas, including the Plaza de Santa Ana, are filled with terrazas where visitors will be able to join locals for a caña, a beer. The Huertas district, near the historic center, is known for its many bars, clubs and restaurants. Many bars and terrazas offer a range of tapas, local appetizers, that accompany a caña and a sangria. Typical tapas are the tortilla de patatas potato omelette, olives, bread drizzled in oil and covered by a slice of jamón and croquetas (mmm...tapas).
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P.S. Hey kids - don't forget I have a giveaway on. Enter to win here. Giddy up.

'My First Thanksgiving' by Fifty

Hi guys! It's me Fifty.

Today I'm going to tell you about my first Thanksgiving and since my mommy said it was OK, here I am.

It started off on Friday. Mommy and Daddy filled the car with so much stuff, I didn't think I'd fit too, but somehow me and my bed did and before I knew it, we had driven away from my house, through the forest (which always makes me feel a little sick) and then onto the motorway. I like the motorway, it's fun to watch everything swoosh by so fast, and see all of the different cars (and then bark at them when we're stuck in traffic).

I didn't know where we were when Daddy stopped the car. He took me for a walk and it looked different from Le Petit Village, the trees were weird. Then he walked me over to a gate where my Mommy was talking to some lady. I didn't know who she was at first but then I saw that it was my Tata who was at my house a couple of weeks ago. But my Tata was holding some furry white thing, and it was barking at me. Mommy told me it was my cousin Napoleon and I had to be nice.

The gate opened and Napoleon jumped out of Tata's arms and came over to me. We said hi and I knew would be great friends. Even though Napoleon is a lot smaller than me, we still played and ran all around. Oh the fun we had! He's definitely my buddy. I ate out of his bowl, he ate out of mine. It was awesome.

We played so much that we got really tired so we took a time out for a bit.

Then Mommy and Tata said we looked so cute together that they needed to give us cuddles. We weren't going to complain because you know, we're talking about cuddles, and cuddles are the best.

I think I must have fallen asleep (cuddles have that effect on me) because I don't remember much after that. But I do remember the next morning.

My daddy was left to watch us while Mommy and Tata went to the store (Tonton was running with his teammates, I wish he had taken me with him because I love to run, plus I could have helped to pull him if he got tired). Because my daddy was so busy flipping through all the TV channels, he didn't notice that Napoleon wanted to go outside, and so he went wee-wee right there on the floor (Napoleon, not my daddy) but then since Napoleon went wee-wee, I did too, and Daddy still didn't notice! But Mommy and Tata did as soon as they came in with all of the groceries. They weren't very happy with Daddy.

Napoleon and me spent the whole rest of the day playing. He has so many toys and he shared all of them! I'd chase him, and then he'd chase me, it was the best day ever. Meanwhile, Daddy and Tonton pretty much stayed on the couch while Mommy and Tata were in the kitchen. They looked busy because they never stopped moving, but whatever they were doing sure did make the kitchen smell good! 

Then it got dark and Mommy and Tata disappeared for a bit and when they came back, they looked really pretty. Then there was a knock on the door and it scared me so I barked. And then the door opened and this really, really tall guy was standing there, so I barked a lot because tall people scare the bejeezus out of me, and this guy was tall like a tree, but he moved. Big, tall, moving trees that talk are scary. 

Everyone sat down and ate (including that big, tall tree guy and I tried so hard to stop barking but it wasn't easy and sometimes a bark would slip out and Mommy would tell me that I was being rude and to stop). They sat there forever. I stayed under the table between Daddy and Tata, I figured that was my best chance at getting something from the table snuck to me (Tata looks like a softie). 

Eventually, they finally got up from the table, that big tall tree guy left, and Mommy, Daddy, Tata, and Tonton moved to the couch and watched a movie, but Napoleon and me watched them instead. 

I must have fallen asleep again because before I knew it, it was morning, and Daddy and Mommy were packing the car. I wanted to take Napoleon with me, and I think he wanted to come to Le Petit Village too because he was waiting at the car with me, but then Tata grabbed him and put him inside. It made me sad, and I hope to see him soon, but in the meantime, there is always Skype. 

And that was how I spent my first Thanksgiving. It was rufftastic! 

À Bientôt!

Fifty

{notecard giveaway}

Holiday Season 2012 is officially here, and to celebrate it (and to celebrate YOU too!), I'm giving away a set of three beautifully hand drawn (hand drawn by an actual Le Petit Villager no less) notecards depicting Le Petit Village scenery (the original LPV to be exact).

{each card is 4x6 and comes with a matching envelope}

For a chance to win authentic Le Petit Village merchandise, there is one mandatory entry and four additional optional entries if you are so inclined.

Mandatory Entry: you must be a member of Sara in Le Petit Village via GFC (see upper right corner box under 'Follow Along') and leave a comment to let me know that you are.

{PLEASE LEAVE A SEPARATE COMMENT FOR EACH ADDITIONAL, OPTIONAL ENTRY}

Optional 1 : Like Sara in Le Petit Village on Facebook
Optional 2: Like Fifty on Facebook
Optional 3: Follow me on Twitter
Optional 4: Tweet about the giveaway and be sure to include @SaraLouiseLPV in your tweet

{GIVEAWAY CLOSES MONDAY DECEMBER 3RD, MIDNIGHT LPV TIME ~ SUNDAY DECEMBER 2ND 6PM, EST}

Bonne chance!

bisou

Thanksgiving Schmanksgiving

{that there on the left is my Massasoit great-great grandfather}

The following conversation took place a couple of weeks ago:

Mr. London: "But I've never had a Thanksgiving"

Me: "That's because you're English"

Mr. London: "But I want one"

Well, since Mr. London lost to Clermont (insert evil laugh here) I thought that I should take pity on the poor lad and give him his first American Thanksgiving (only in France of course), but since he has extra training now due to that Clermont loss (again, evil laugh, actually, make this one maniacal) I'm bringing Thanksgiving to Mr. & Mrs. London and we'll be celebrating  the holiday in Toulon this year.

So tomorrow while you Americans are shopping your little hearts out on Black Friday, I'll be baking pies and then hitting the road (mini apples pies and a coconut custard pie to be precise). Thanksgiving will be celebrated on Saturday and I'm lucky enough to be spending it with family. I'm feeling mighty thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope all of you are feeling thankful too.

gobble gobble

bisou bisou

while you were hunting

Hunting season is well underway in The LPV. That means that most of the wives here have been abandoned by their husbands for a walk through the forest with a shotgun and a dog, while les sangliers (boar) run for their lives.

Papa's Wife is one of the hunting widows, so Sunday lunches have gone from seven of us around the table, to only three, which makes for much more quiet and cozy affairs. And since it's only the three of us, we pop in a DVD when lunch is over. On Sunday afternoons, we are now the 'No Hunters Allowed Movie Club'. It's just about the most perfect way to spend a chilly Fall afternoon if you ask me. (There are actually only two members in the club, Papa's Wife and me. The Husband tends to fall asleep on the couch.)

So far we've watched; Giant (one of my all time favorites), Crazy Stupid Love (why hello there Mr. Gosling), Horrible Bosses (or, Comment Tuer Son Boss? as it's known en français) and Steel Magnolias (Papa's Wife had never seen it... there were tears, oh so many tears).

These Sundays have been blissful, even if at times they've been compromised, like the time La Petite crashed. But of course we didn't mind that too much. I mean really, she's adorable, doesn't take up much room, and doesn't take more than her share of wine so she's an excellent lunch guest in my opinion. And sometimes she does ridiculously cute things...

We were having paella... La Petite reached for a mussel, opened the shell, pulled out the mussel, ate half of it, put the other half back in the shell and closed it. She then pushed an encroaching Ruby away while shouting, "No Ruby No" (but being The Husband's niece, it sounded much more like, "No Wuby No"), then she opened the shell back up, and ate the other half.

It really (weally) was one of the cutest things I've ever seen, so I didn't mind that she had crashed our cozy lunch and the 'No Hunters Allowed Movie Club' was on hiatus for the week. Didn't mind at all.

But I really (weally) did mind the time Papa returned home in time for lunch...

It was a minute past one, Claire Chazal had begun to deliver les nouvelles on the television in the background as we sat down to eat when we heard it... the sound of Papa's hunting jeep pulling up. The three of us looked at each other with surprised expressions. Papa's early return could only mean that he  had a successful morning (and we'd be eating boar for weeks on end).

The front door opened and in walked the Jack Russells, Milka and Leo, bells jingling on their collars, followed by a camouflaged Papa, and with them came a smell so awful it can't be described. All I can say is that they smelled ripe and not in a ripe peach kind of way, they smelled ripe, like in the most awful, rotten kind of way.

Milka and Leo ran around the table, and every time they got near me I'd gag a bit, push my lunch plate a bit farther away from me, and bury my nose in my glass of Bordeaux.

"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" Papa's Wife demanded.

It turns out Papa did have a successful morning, and while he was (I'm trying to think of a delicate way to put this) 'taking care of' the boar, Milka and Leo decided to roll all around in it. Like all around IN IT.

It was really not cute. Weally.

bisou
 

{shetlands, shelties, some other stuff, and a free book}

{my little pony}

++ When I was a little girl I had a Shetland pony named Rainy Day. Rainy Day was my best friend and there isn't a single day that goes by that I don't think about him, so you can only imagine the level of excitement I felt when we were driving through the forest between The LPV and the original LPV, and four Shetlands crossed the road directly in front of us, all in single file, and walked into the lavender field (seriously, it was like jump up and down, pee-pee pants exciting). Clearly Le Petit Village is a magical land sprinkled with fairy dust.

++ Brother-in-Law has decided to study the choreography of the Gangnam Style video. Apparently, he wants to get the moves down perfectly. Don't ask. I have no idea either.

++ I received a small bottle of an Anti-Aging Beauty elixir with my Jolie Box. In a hurry the other morning, but wanting to anti-age myself, I quickly rubbed some of the grape extract on my face. Why was it so sticky? Why was my face purple? Because you're supposed to drink it, not rub it all over your face you moron. Yeah, that was embarrassing.

++ Last Saturday, Mr. London and Toulon were playing against my beloved ASM Clermont. I asked him if he could say hi to my crush, Julien Pierre, for me. I felt like a 7th grader passing a note. Giggling was involved.

++ And it turned out to be the best rugby day ever (so basically the opposite of this day). We went to  Brother-in-Law's because it's the best place to watch sports. See Brother-in-Law doesn't have a big screen, no no no, that would be too basic for Brother-in-Law. Brother-in-Law has a projector, so a whole living room wall becomes the TV. When you watch rugby over there, it pretty much feels like you're on the pitch. Anyway, first Clermont won against Toulon (MUAH HA HA HA) in a crazy, down to the wire, nail biter of a match that led to the 50th consecutive home match win for Clermont (it was pandemonium and awesome, but not for Mr. London, sorry Mr. London) and then France beat the tar out of Australia. BEAT THE TAR OUT OF THEM.

++ La Petite is nineteen months old and beginning to babble. I only ever speak to her in English despite eye rolls from certain people telling me, "elle ne comprend pas". Well the eye rolls can stop because something wonderful has happened... La Petite is responding to me, not in English yet, but in French. BABY STEPS. I ask her a question in English and she answers, oui or no. I feel like Anne Sullivan.

++ If you're friends with Fifty on Facebook (if you're not, but want to be, you can add him here... he loves making new friends), you've probably seen that he's been receiving poochcards from all over Provence, from his Sheltie friend, Chula (who you may remember from this). Well besides traveling  about Provence and making Fifty jealous, Chula has written a book called Sniffing Around Provence, and has decided to give it away free to all of you! (Generous, well traveled, has written a book.... really, is there anything Chula Wula D'Augue can't do? Doubt it.) To download the ebook free, simply click here. C'est tout!

bisou

it was a graveyard smash

It's been years since I've dressed up for Halloween, seriously, years. It's been so long that I can't even remember my last Halloween costume (but I do remember being Madonna for like five years in a row when I was a kid... Madonna is the Halloween gift that keeps on giving). So this year when I found out that Brother-in-Law and Child Bride would be hosting a Halloween party (a whole three days before), I panicked a bit about the costume thing.

Sidebar: Child Bride kept referring to her party as, F Halloween (except F was the full four letter word ending in K) and not in French, in English. She'd say, "Oui, ce soir, F Halloween". It confused me as to why she didn't like Halloween but was throwing a party to celebrate it, until I realized that she had no idea what she was actually saying. You know that scene in The Princess Bride, where Inigo turns to Vizzini and says, "Inconceivable. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." Yeah, that's what it felt like. 

Plus, Child Bride forbid me to be Blair from Gossip Girl, she said it was cheating, which totally blows because; headband - check, pretty blouse - check, pencil skirt - check, fab shoes - check. How is that cheating?!  Whatevs. If I couldn't be Blair (which honestly is really only dressing like me pre-LPV, so I guess it is kind of cheating) I would at least be comfy. And that's when I had a stroke of genius... I would wear my jammies, put my hair in pigtails, and go as a sleepy toddler, or even better... La Petite. Sorted. 

I was super excited with my costume idea, it would be so easy, I would be so comfy, I wouldn't even have to change before bedtime, but then The Husband in a total Grinch that stole Halloween move, begged me to not wear my jammies, using the excuse that I would be cold. Whatevs. 

Well since I already bought the baby bottle, the pacifier, and the teddy bear, I was still going as a toddler. So I put on brightly colored clothes, threw the hair in pigtails, filled up the baby bottle with Rosé and I was ready to go.  

Mr. & Mrs. London got way more into it. They had stopped at a party shop in Toulon on the way to The LPV and bought Vampire costumes. I was well jell. 

The Husband decided to go as a rugby player which to be honest was a tad boring, until Mr. London wrapped his head in a bandage and put fake blood down the side (10 points for creativity Mr. London). 

Gatz was also supposed to go as a rugby player and he and The Husband would wear their matching Leinster jerseys and be twinkies (of course they would) but since his car had broken down, and he ended up at my house without his jersey that was kiboshed. And being the fuddy duddy that he is, he said he wasn't going to dress up at all, that is until The Husband and Mr. London tackled him to the ground, wrapped him in plastic sacs, and fastened him with tape, causing him to look like some hobo from outerspace or something. Mr. London then plopped his Vampire wig on him to complete the look. See... Space Hobo...

Except it would have been nice if they had at least let him take off his wool sweater before they wrapped him in plastic. The poor guy was sweating buckets by the end of the night. 

We arrived at Brother-in-Law's and the party was in full swing... Brother-in-Law was dressed as Rambo, Child Bride was that Gypsy from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Honey's Honey was a cop, and Honey Jr was wearing some creepy ass pig mask. 

Total blogger fail because I didn't take more photos. BUT, Mr. London did manage to capture this magical moment and this one too. And I promise you if you click over, you won't regret it, not one bit.

pinky swear

bisou

there and back again

{sugary sweetness}

I suppose I can blame Brother-in-Law.

After all, it was his fault that we ended up spending the night in Toulon when he told Mr. London that there was no rush in us bringing his car back (and I missed a night of desperately needed beauty sleep) and it was his Halloween party that was the reason The Londons were coming back to Le Petit Village with us (I'm not really complaining, I love all the high jinx, I swear, but heaven knows I'm getting a tad too old for it all).

So yes, I blame Brother-in-Law.

But thankfully, The Londons decided to come to Le Petit Village on Saturday morning, and not follow us home on Friday. I really needed a nap, a little time to run around like a headless chicken, and a good night sleep. Check, check, and check. And their timing couldn't have been more perfect, they arrived right before lunch with just enough time to zip down to Banon to my beloved bar au vin.

While we were there I spotted something odd... a 'girly' wine label. You see, France takes their wine pretty seriously and it's rare to find 'critter' and fancy fun labels on wine, so when I spotted the bottle of Pink Frog Sparkling Rosé I was intrigued. It looked so odd and foreign stocked next to the Chateau Blah Blah Blahs and the Domaine de la Blah, that of course I had to try it.

What a bad idea. It was like drinking fizzy, sweet, bubble gum. Now, if you happen to like fizzy, sweet, bubblegum, then by all means, have at it, but my teeth still hurt thinking about it (that being said, eighteen year old me would have LOVED the stuff).

Bellies full and sweet toothed, we drove home in a hurry... Mr. London and The Husband had a date with Brother-in-Law and a wild boar. They were going hunting for the afternoon, which meant that Mrs. London and I were free to curl up on the couch, watch The Inbetweeners (the English one, not the American... the American version freaks me out a bit) and play around on Pinterest... pretty much the perfect Saturday afternoon if you ask me.

And it was perfect, until the boys arrived home wet and muddy disrupting our tranquil space, shouting that they were hungry (Really, why are they always so loud and dirty and hungry all the time?) with Brother-in-Law in tow (shouldn't he have been at home preparing for his Halloween party?). And if that wasn't enough, Gatz called to say that his car was broken down and he needed a lift. So then The Husband and Brother-in-Law went to collect him but instead of bringing him home, they brought him back to ours which meant he was stuck with us, car-less.

With The Husband, Mr. London, Gatz, and Brother-in-Law camped out in my living room, Mrs. London's and my tranquil space had been well and truly compromised. But only for a couple of hours, because in a couple hours we would be putting our costumes on and going to Brother-in-Law's Halloween party, and that my dears, is coming up next...

(trust me, you won't want to miss it)

bisou

it happened again

{Stade Mayol}

"So RCT have a home game on Thursday..." 

That was the text I got from Mrs. London talking about All Saints Day (the 1st of November). All Saints day is a holiday here in France, and what better way to spend a day off than by watching Mr. London do his thing (RCT is Toulon by the way).

It should have been so easy... leave The LPV at 9a.m. for an 11a.m. arrival at Chez London, and then go for a nice long lunch before the 2:30p.m. kick off (Mrs. London and I are all about our long lunches).

Easy peasy pudding pie, right? Wrong. Not in The LPV. In The LPV it's called, S.N.A.F.U.

Our car wouldn't start. THE CAR WOULDN'T START!!! What kind of malarky is that?! We fiddled with it, and fiddled with it, but it just wouldn't turn over (fiddling is a very technical, mechanical term obviously).

By 10a.m. we gave up on the car, but not on our day. The Husband started trying to track down Papa and Brother-in-Law. Not so easy since they were both deep in the forest hunting wild boar (of course they were). But eventually Brother-in-Law's phone picked up the signal and we were saved, we could take his car for the day.

By 11:30, we were finally on our way and I kissed my long lunch with Mrs. London goodbye. It was OK though, we would go out for a nice dinner with Mr. & Mrs. London after the match before heading back to The LPV. After all, we had Brother-in-Law's car, we couldn't very well spend the night in Toulon. I had even left the overnight bag I had packed behind because of course we would be coming back that night. (This is what I like to call, foreshadowing.)

We pulled into Chez London at 1:30, dropped off Brother-in-Law's car, hopped in Mrs. London's shiny new car, and somehow made it into our seats at Stade Mayo with five minutes to spare. The fact that Mrs. London's shiny new car happens to also be teeny tiny helped finding a parking spot that much easier.

{The car might be teeny tiny, but The Husband isn't}

(In the interest of full disclosure, we kind of made our own parking spot, because 1. this is France and 2. we figured that due to that big sticker on the side of the car, we wouldn't get a ticket... when in doubt, use the sticker.)

It was a great match, Toulon beat Stade Français 24-19 (for some reason we only ever watch Toulon play Paris teams; Racing Metro twice and Stade Français twice, it's weird), and it was all over before 5p.m., which meant there was plenty of time to have a drink at the reception after (there is always a reception after), grab Mr. London and then go to dinner. All going smoothly, I'd be tucked in my bed back in The LPV by midnight. 

(RE: foreshadowing)

{free wine is the best wine}

When Mr. London arrived at the reception, Mrs. London and I made the mistake of letting him and The Husband out of our sight for a couple of minutes (this is never a good idea). We found them in a corner, plotting.

Mrs. London: We're going out to dinner and then they need to head off because they need to get back with the car.

Mr. London: No, we're going to So & So's house for drinks and pizza, they're spending the night with us, and then tomorrow we're going back to their house for the weekend.

Hold up. How did that happen? They had been left along for all of three minutes.

Apparently in that three minutes, Mr. London called Brother-in-Law and asked if we needed to bring the car back that night, Brother-in-Law said no, and that was all Mr. London needed to hear to twist The Husband's arm (Mr. London twists The Husband's arm quite a bit).

It all turned out fine in the end... I got to spend time with Mrs. London, go to a pizza party, and see a video of one of the players with his ear only hanging on by a thread. It was gross.

But next time I'll bring the overnight bag.

bisou

P.S. Coming up next... the weekend.  

sponsored post: Barcelona

{source}

Barcelona, the city of the unfinished Cathedral.

Barcelona is located in the northeastern region of Catalonia, in Spain. The city is mainly known for its architecture, its Gothic quarter and its many bars and restaurants offering traditional Catalonian food.

Many of the city's most visited buildings were built and designed by Gaudi. The Cathedral of the Sagrada Familia is the city's symbol, a large unfinished cathedral with several carved façades and towers. The cathedral is located near the sea and visitors can climb up one of the towers to enjoy views towards the city.

Parc Güell, designed by Gaudi, is located on a hill. Visitors are greeted by a colourful mosaic dragon and several fountains. There is a porch area with twisted columns and a large, tiled observation deck with views towards the city and the sea.

La Rambla is one of the city's main streets, stretching from the central Plaza de Catalunya to the Christopher Columbus statue by the sea. The wide street has many flower shops and street perfomers. Passeig de Gràcia is another main street, with many chic bars, restaurants and boutique stores. While walking along this street visitors will have the opportunity to see two of Gaudi's buildings, the Casa Batlló and the Pedrera, a building with a wavy façade which has a large rooftop terrace with views towards the center of the city.

The Paseo de Gracia is one of the centric main streets. Known for its chic restaurants and boutique shops, it is a popular sport for an afternoon stroll.

The Gothic Quarter attracts visitors interested in architecture, historic buildings and quirky cafés. Barcelona's cathedral is located in this quarter. The narrow cobbled streets lead to many artsy cafés and restaurants.

Montjüic is a castle set on the Montjüic hill, located in the city. During the afternoons the fountains in front of the palace light up and there is a show of dancing fountains. The castle has views towards the port area.

Camp Nou is the stadium of the Barcelona football team. Those interested in sports will be able to tour the stadium and its official museum. One of the tourist buses has a route that visits the Camp Nou and the Olympic Village dating from the 1992 Olympic Games.

The Montserrat mountains are located near the city. The jagged peaks are known for their views, and there is a sanctuary and an ancient monastery in the mountains.

The city has its own beach where visitors can relax, the Barceloneta Beach, which is decorated with sculptures. A short ride away from the city there are several kilometers of cleaner and less crowded beaches. Near the port visitors will find one of the city's largest malls, the Maremagnum. Apart from cafés, restaurants and shops, the mall has a large cinema complex and an aquarium.

Typical local cuisine includes the pa amb tomaquet, toasted bread drizzled with olive oil and fresh tomatoes, which is a usual  breakfast choice. Local restaurants serve regional dishes which are classified as mar i muntanya, meaning they are made with products that can be found in the mountains and in the sea.

Have you been to Barcelona? 

bisou

Cassis, I ain't mad at ya

{waiting for the runners}

(continuing on from this post...)

The mistral howled all through the night. Now, I'm well used to a howling mistral. My old house in the original LPV and the mistral used to go toe to toe quite a bit, but this Marseille mistral sounded particularly angry (we saw on the news later that it was the strongest mistral in like ten years or something). And when we woke up, it was still howling. (I just hoped for The Canadian and Honey Jr. that the wind would be at their back pushing them up the hills and they wouldn't be running directly into it, because that would suck.)

When The Husband returned to the hotel after delivering The Canadian to Honey Jr at the race starting point, I said to him, "Sarah and I want to stop at Starbucks on the way to Cassis." Then he said, "it's not really on the way." And so I said, "Sarah and I want to stop at Starbucks."

He got the point.

Starbucks cups and bagels in hand, we made our way from Marseille to Cassis. It was early, the race hadn't even started yet, but since we knew that Cassis would be an absolute nightmare what with about 15,000 runners descending upon it in a few hours, we thought it would best to go ahead and get there.

What would have been best would have been if we stayed in that nice warm hotel in Marseille and let The Canadian get a lift back with all of the other runners. Oh could've, would've, should've.

A little over 4km outside Cassis, we had to park the car and walk into the village. SAY WHAT NOW?! It was cold, the mistral was howling like it was growling, we needed to walk 4km (two and a half miles!!!), and I was dressed far from appropriate for a blustery walk. Well color me unhappy.

But knowing that unhappiness would not get me to Cassis any faster, I did my best to turn my frown upside down and told Sarah and The Husband that we should just think of it as a quirky adventure, and we'd all laugh about it later. Sure, that was fine and dandy until about halfway through the walk when my hands looked like they were frozen into red and white misshapened claws and I could no longer feel my face. It's hard to be all sunshine and rainbows like Pollyanna when your toes feel like little ice cubes attached to your feet.

I was dangerously close to flinging myself onto the ground and throwing a mammoth toddler tantrum. I even considered bribing the farmer on a tractor that I saw to drive me into the village. But then we turned a corner out of the dark forest lined road and felt the sunshine on our faces. The seaside village was only a few more minutes away. We had made it.

After walking our own freezing cold mini-marathon (one that we didn't sign up for), we made it into the village and met up with Honey's Honey. There she was, fresh, warm, hair perfectly coiffed unlike my tornado 'do, waiting for us at the bar. Honey's Honey did not walk 4km in the freezing cold mistral to get into Cassis because Honey Jr had given her a 'special car pass' from his marathon sponsor that allowed her to drive into the village. SAY WHAT NOW?!

Some of my thoughts that were running through my head at this point... 1. When we were having drinks with Honey Jr the night before, why hadn't he mentioned this 'special car pass'? 2. If there is only one 'special car pass' per team, couldn't we have followed Honey's Honey to Cassis, parked our car way the F out in the middle of nowhere and then hopped in her car and drove the 4km into the village? 3. There is no way in H E double hockey sticks that we're walking back to the car. 4. WHY WEREN'T WE TOLD ABOUT THE CAR PASS??? WHERE WAS MY CAR PASS???

C O L O R   M E   A N G R Y.

Only twenty minutes after we arrived, The Canadian did. He ran all the way from Marseille, and he almost beat us. We scooped him up, and had Honey's Honey drive us back to our car. She was shocked at how far we had walked.

Yeah, tell me about it.

bisou

down under

{LPV steps}

Whew! It feels like I'm here, there, and everywhere at the moment.

A weekend in Marseille and Cassis, then down to Toulon and back up to The LPV with Mr. & Mrs. London in tow (I'll be filling you in on all of that zany fun real soon). And now, I'm down under... well, figuratively. I'm guest posting over at Vanisha's Life in Australia today (click here to read it).

Pop over and say g'day!

bisou

mama marseille

"You like running? You should come back in October and run from Marseille to Cassis with Honey Jr."

This was The Husband talking to my friend Sarah's husband, The Canadian, back in July when they were visiting.

And you know what, The Canadian did. 

Last Saturday, we drove down to Marseille, checked into the super cool Mama Shelter hotel, and met Sarah and The Canadian on the Vieux-Port for bouillabaisse.

We settled into our booth, ordered a bottle of white wine from Cassis (it's mighty delicious with seafood) and poured over the menu... too many choices to choose from. Eventually Sarah and I both chose a creamy garlic seafood soup.

{eat me}

Oh my heavens... so delicious... so garlicky. But that was OK, The Husband ordered Le Grand Aïoli, which I'm pretty sure was the only thing on the menu that's more garlicky than garlic soup, so he couldn't judge.

Stuffed full of seafood and garlic, we waddled over to my favorite address in Marseille, 17 Rue de la République, where this happiness happened...

Don't I look happy? That's because I was. Starbucks is certainly not the best coffee in the world, but it is a little slice of home. That vanilla latte is like sunshine in a cup, and bonus... I picked up the Marseille Starbucks mug to add to my collection.

You know what else makes me happy? Wandering up to my second favorite spot in Marseille, Notre Dame de la Garde (OK, we didn't wander exactly... we took a taxi, it's was a little nippy out), and having Le Mistral throw us around.

NOTE TO SELF: do not hang out on top of the highest spot in Marseille when Le Mistral is in full effect because your friend may not always be there to grab you when you are almost blown over the side of a staircase. 

It might have been a tad perilous, but it sure was fun. I haven't laughed so hard in ages. Notice The Canadian's hair in that photo... it normally doesn't stand straight up like that.

Now if I wasn't already happy enough what with the Cassis wine, bouillabaisse, Starbucks, and insane wind blown laughter, we met up with Honey Jr and Honey's Honey at the Mama Shelter Bar...

{Mama's Bar & Restaurant}

Where I was able to order and actual martini... like in a martini glass, martini, with olives and everything (trust me, this is not an easy task in Provence, and if you don't believe me, read this). Plus the bar has a pink foosball table (they call it baby-foot in France) which unfortunately is for decorative purposes only which is about the dumbest thing ever.

Luckily, Mama Shelter's wall mounted Macs and cartoon masks meant we could take these photos which kind of made up for the whole not being able to play baby-foot on a pink foosball table...

{I'm Tweety Bird}

bisou

P.S. stay tuned for the marathon, more Starbucks, and an angry, angry mistral.