The Tic Toc Killer and Other Weird Heat Related Phenomena

 About ten days ago, I bought a grandfather clock. See picture above. It just kind of happened. It was the weekend of the  brocante i.e. the antiques fair weekend. I said to Michael and Clare of the Monflanquin shop on the square that I wanted a grandfather clock or  a dog. Well, Michael took me seriously. A few days later, he told me he had found not one but two grandfather clocks which would be delivered to him after restoration that week. 

I did not think that much about it. I did learn that grandfather clock prices decreased significantly over the last few years. Nobody wants that style of furniture. Nobody has room for such a big piece.  In the age of IKEA,  it makes perfect sense. 

When the clocks arrived, Michael showed me the first one prominently displayed in the shop. Meh, I thought. The clock looked absolutely blah. The second clock was locked in his storeroom. As soon as he got a chance, he opened the storeroom for me. It was love at first sight.

Michael and his assistant hand carried the clock from the square. No delivery charge involved. The clock looked lovely in my living room. Sadly, it only chimed for two days before it became audible that something was wrong. In comes the village clock repair expert to disassemble the clock. Boy, was this hard to watch! I told the clock repair expert who shall remain nameless that hopefully, he would repair  her by the end of the week because of my attachment. (This is what happens when you don't have a dog, by the way)  When asked the cause of the repair, he looked at me and said. "She's an old lady." I don't think he was talking about me.

About four hours later, a knock on the door surprised me. It was the clock repair expert who shall remain nameless.  Beaming, he announced the clock repaired. Wow, fastest service ever performed in France! Of course, I thanked him profusely.  She's been chiming like a snazzy old lady ever since.

The next week, the clock expert  reappeared at my door. He wanted to show me something on his phone, a photo of another grandfather clock, almost as pretty as mine with a painting and children.  "Oh, it's the sister of my clock, I exclaimed."  "Yes, wouldn't you like to buy it? Two clocks would look great in your living room.  Michael and I both think so." No way, I thought, but politely, I asked the price and added I would think about it.

When I related this story to Michael and Clare, their first reaction was "cheeky". (They are English)  I agreed. They deemed clock repair expert's behavior highly unusual. Is he that desperate for a sale? Is he interested in you? Is it the heat? I mentioned that each time he comes over, he calls his wife.  "The lady is so happy that I repaired her clock so quickly, I overheard him say."  Hmm, murmured Clare. He talks about a wife, but we never see her. Maybe this wife is fictitious"  "Hmm, murmured Michael. Maybe he is the Tic Toc Killer?" Oh, great. Am I meant to be his next victim as he gains my trust with a fictitious wife and beautiful grandfather clocks? Clearly, the heat was getting to us all, but the imagining was super fun. He has not been back since. It's 106  F.  today. I guess I am safe. 

The Wink

Apricot and Raspberry Confections

 My American friend and I attended an outdoor exercise class this morning. Most of the women including the instructor are from the UK.  The instructor called us "team" and led a no nonsense class At one point she asked us to run around the field. I don't run. I strongly believe that  running is risky and  am not sure any 70 year old  should engage in this particular kind of perilous activity. The instructor caught on right away. "Fast walking is fine too, she cried. 

During class, innocent picnic tables now repurposed for planking were transformed without consent into instruments of torture.  I did the best I could. My exercise class at the Elsie Stuhr Senior Center seems much more civilized. However, overall, I did enjoy the exercises and plan to return.

After class, my friend drove us to the nearby town of Villereal for a much deserved coffee and treat.  The pastries chez Rodo are as light as air.  That must translate into no calories. Ha. (Wink, Wink!)

I decided today would be a no driving day for me as yesterday I bravely drove to the Toyota dealer in Villeneuve-sur- Lot.  Honestly, French drivers who believe that tailgating and passing at ridiculously dangerous times and speeds take all the fun out of driving here. So why was I driving to another town for car service when Monflanquin has a perfectly decent garage here? Because the perfectly decent garage changed ownership and could not sort out why my indicator lights keep flashing.  The Toyota dealer offers me a diagnostic for 89 euros. In addition, they cover your steering wheel and seat with protective plastic and walk with you around the car to look for any pre -existing damage. Of course, a signature or two or three is needed to complete the paper work. The good news is that a couple of problems are detected. The bad news is that the repairs cost 440 euros and would entail my leaving the car there. And who would transport me back and forth? I decided to email my Monflanquin garage to ask if they could do the specific repairs. Of course, came back the reply and for half the amount. My appointment is tomorrow morning. Fingers crossed. 

I entitled this post "The Wink"  because I keep getting winks from mechanics instead of repairs. Could this be a French cultural difference  meaning "sorry, lady" that I know nothing about? 

This Village Got Rhythm

r

Thursday Night Market

 We arrived in France on Bastille Day.  Our friend Nigel picked us up at the Bergerac Airport in my car. We flew Ryan Air, an airline noted for cheap fares and baggage restrictions. We paid extra for permission to bring our carry on bags with us. Still we needed to be vigilant about weight. I was advised to chuck more in my personal item than in the carry on since the personal item would not get weighed. I did as advised. My shoulder started throbbing that evening from the ridiculous weight of my personal item. Luckily, the pain persisted for  only a good part of the week and then subsided. Stretching helped.  Are these budget airlines really worth it?

We got to our house in Monflanquin without a problem despite three dashboard indicator lights that Nigel claimed lit up on the way to the airport. Bizarre!  This meant going to the garage the next day. I assumed it would be a quick fix and decided not to worry about it. Besides,  I was in my little French village, my happy place I  also felt grateful that another friend provided us with a few starter groceries for a simple dinner.  The house felt welcoming and cozy.  At 11 P.M.,despite our great fatigue, we made it to the dazzling psychedelic fireworks overlooking the valley.  Back at the house, I fell quickly into bed. The next morning, we rose early to go hiking with the Tuesday hiking group. Not sure how we managed to do this. It felt a bit like sleep walking at first, but the green lush scenery cheered us on. The hike ended with coffee and goodies at Clara's house. Clara's place impressed us all  with its water lily garden a la Monet. 

The next few days were spent getting back into the rhythm of village life. As always, Thursday is my favorite day here because  of the lively open air market and all the socializing it entails.  It's a chance to reconnect with dear friends who live here year round and second home owners like myself who arrive for the summer.  As a bonus, in the summer,  we are treated to an evening market where we can buy dinner  from a variety of vendors and dance to local entertainment.  As you can see from the above picture, the night market is extremely popular.

The Magic and the Credit Card

 After our fabulous musical treat, we leave Oxford Street humming Evita. It is well past dinner time. We need to find something to eat.  Bill googles a place close by with vegetarian options.  Unfortunately, after 5:30 P.M. dinner is no longer served we are told. Very strange! More googling. Hmmm.  Nothing pops up. A woman closing up the next shop looks friendly. I ask about dinner options. She recommends moving on to China Town. I am still gazing at the baked goods in the window of the restaurant we left. I spot a unique pastry so appropriate for our week in London. 

Wimbledom in Pastry Form

It costs 12 pounds and will remain in the window.  We walk slowly looking for a dinner place; China Town feeling way too far for our  poor tired feet.  On the opposite side of the street sits an Asian Fusion eaterie. Once inside, the staff tells us that we need to order in ten minutes as the kitchen is closing for the night. I go for a pad thai and Bill a rice dish with asparagus. I also order a  refreshing cucumber mint lemonade.  The food arrives quickly. No need to rush we are told, but the place is clearing out. I fumble in my cluttered bag even though Bill will pay. Beyond exhausted, we leave and thank the server. We are maybe half way down the block, when our server catches up to us. "You dropped a credit card on the floor."  What an honest establishment!  Someone could have charged, well, what?  Five Burberry raincoats, three Liberty scarves, and an evening gown from Harrods.  Luckily, the server saved me from going through the aggravation of a lost credit card and feeling like an idiot. I didn't even have time to feel like an idiot!  The third miracle of the day! Truly extraordinary positive travel karma!

The Magic and the Music

 

Same day.  Evening time. We discuss going to the side of the Palladium Theatre in London  where the actress who plays Evita, Rachel Zegler, comes out onto the balcony singing “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina”  to delight  passerbys around 9 P.M. We will never make it, I think, as Bill is still napping peacefully after our stressful afternoon. Suddenly, his head pops up to announce, “Let’s go hear Evita.”  Honestly, my feet do not want to cooperate, but my head thinks, why not?

How to get there? Here we go again. As you may conjecture, London is a confusing place to navigate even for a GPS. We study Maps and off we pop. Amazingly, we experience no difficulty arriving at the theatre and are even early.  When Rachel Zegler steps out onto the balcony and begins to sing the beautiful melody of Evita, I tear up. Bill and I got here successfully, we are in fabulous London, and the magic of the moment and the  music hugs and reassures us that life is beautiful.

The Magic Begins

 We arrive in London exhausted and  crabby.  Since I am with Bill,  Mr. Public Transportation,  taking a taxi or an Uber to our hotel from the airport is out of the question.  After what seems like an eternity, we finally get to our hotel by train and tube with  significant help from several kind English people who must perceive us as old and tired.  Our room is not ready even though it is 4 P.M.  We are offered coffee or tea while we wait. I chose a cappuccino which could be the best one of my life. Not sure if it's the jet lag or reality that makes me think so.   Our room becomes available shortly. We gratefully collapse on the bed, even more grateful for the powerful air conditioning. We might never leave the room except we are starving. I find an Indian restaurant close by.  Tomorrow we are meeting a dear family friend for lunch. I put my head on my pillow and look forward to seeing him again.

Next day, back on public transportation which is starting to seem less charming and offers of help less forthcoming without our suitcases, we get to Kensington without too much trouble.  Waking through Kensington Gardens, we spot comfy looking sling back chairs calling our names.  We still have a couple of hours before we meet our friend, so why not sit down and relax?  The answer comes in the form of a woman with a security vest and a  clip board. If we want to sit in these chairs, we must pay four pounds per person per chair. What?????  Normally,  we would have vacated those chairs immediately, but we are still so travel weary, we actually agree. So out comes the credit card. For four pounds, we get to sit for an hour. Bill spends the time happily reading a book. I play a word game on my phone. The time passes quickly. We stroll through the park. According to our phones, the restaurant looks close by. It takes  us an hour to find it. i Our GPS is as lost as we are.  We enjoy lunch with our friend and decide to head back to our hotel.

Again, it looks like another easy walk from the train station.  Well, it isn't. Bill is getting so stressed out that he is walking way ahead of me. My feet are killing me, and I desperately need to lie down in my powerfully air conditioned hotel room.  In annoyance, I demand that Bill hold my hand to prevent him from stress walking ahead. A man in a pink shirt seems to be staring at us. What now? Does it cost  4 pounds to cross this street?  He approaches us quietly. "Excuse me. It is so rare to see couples like you (older couples) holding hands. It is really wonderful."  He sure picked the wrong moment to make that comment. "Actually, I say. I am ready to strangle him.  We have been married for 44 years." The man says that his wife wants to strangle him all the time too. He has been married almost as long as us.Then off he goes without even offering to help us find our way.

That encounter lightens our mood.  It seems both miraculous for its timing and irony. At last, we make it back to our powerfully air conditioned room.  Below is a picture of a special lady taken in Kensington Gardens. 

Queen Victoria

The Frick Museum and Other New York Pleasures

 I spent the day before the bridal shower (see last post) exploring the Upper East Side of Manhattan.  By the time I got to the city from my son Michael's house, I was ready for lunch. Lunch can be tricky in this  upscale part of the city.  Plenty of restaurants with white tablecloths abound, but not for me traveling solo and simply. Instead I focused on finding a deli and hopefully a pastrami sandwich.  Luckily one popped up in my Google search.  The restaurant took only cash which was fine. The narrow space it housed barely accommodates `parties of three. I got a seat immediately and ordered my pastrami sandwich on rye with coleslaw and a pickle.  The sandwich fell a bit short of my idea of a New York pastrami sandwich, but the deli atmosphere made up for it. The server kindly served me five glasses of water. I get really thirsty when traveling. Below is a picture of my pastrami sandwich.

pastrami on rye with a pickle

Bonus Photo: Pizza in Connecticut