Visit to Valle Maira

 I have flower envy! Colorful flowers in every windowsill but it's too late to buy and plant geraniums :(

 Fog in Valle Maira.  We spent two days in this gorgeous mountain region, with our dear friends and restauranteurs, Flavia and Marco.

Flavia's house (just the bottom apartment).

Went to see cows. The kids not so interested.

Town of Chiappera.

 On the way home, we stopped by Decathalon, the huge sports store to buy a trampoline.

 The girls used the box to make boats.

Bossolasco - our town.

Bought the girls riding gear since we will be traipsing around stalls and pastures and maybe SOMEBODY will be interested in riding.  They see the outfits as a fashion statement for walking around town...

We have to paint the house because it's so moldy.  Bambina wants to paint her room THIS color.

Furry friends

The other night I was alone with Bambina. Petite and Hubbie were out for dinner. I heard a very loud scratching at the front door.  I tried to ignore it but it persisted.  Not a slight sound that I could pretend wasn't there, but a loud persistent scrambling, scratching.  Too small for a cat (please let it be a cat!) I knew it must be a rodent.

It was so loud I started yelling at it "go away!" hoping that might scare it off.  Bambina was oblivious to it and kept asking me who I was yelling at.

I vehemently hoped it wouldn't find a hole to crawl inside the house but I made an escape plan anyway. If it - whatever it was -came racing inside, Petite and I would hightail it out the back door, hop in the car and drive to where Hubbie and Petite were having dinner.  We wouldn't be able to make it upstairs without passing the front door.

I made this plan while texting Hubbie for help, half insisting he return immediately, while also realizing that would be pointless because what would he do? I was torn between panic and futility.

I am the designated bug killer (apologies to those naturalist out there), but I do NOT do rodents. When the kids (or Hubbie) see a spider or bug they call me in to take care of it .  After twenty years of living together, Hubbie has given up pretense of attempting to deal with it.

I have always been terrified of bugs.  Luckily my dad wasn't scared of anything.  He would eradicate any creepie crawlie with his bare hands.  That tiny -enormous to me - spider?  Who needs a pamper towel?  He would just squash it.

But once on my own, as an adult, I had to learn to take on the task myself.  In addition to learning how to fix a toilet and put chains on the car in snow, taking care of bugs was a matter of survival.  No way around it.

The first time I was forced to take this on was when my mom an I were on holiday in the Carribbean.  My brother and father were spending the week on a scuba dive boat and my mom and I holed up in a hotel. I say "holed up" because, despite any visions of lush palm trees and white sand that "Caribbean island" might conjure up, the reality was we were at a bug infested hotel on an arid plot of land with a tiny dirty pool, miles away from a beach.  I don't know if we chose the wrong island or the wrong hotel but it was a week of Roach Motel for us.  We spent the second half of the week trying to get a flight off the island.

We quickly learned to sleep with the lights, fan and radio on to deter the cockroaches (who became more brazen as the wek progressed).  That's where I learned to use a frying pan as a weapon. Each of us yielded a pan and we took turns keeping an eye out, scanning the room for movement.  It certainly made for a less than restful week of sleep.  By the time my brother and father returned from the dive boat (note: totally luxurious, not one bug, comfortable and heavenly, we had packed up and changed our tickets to catch a flight out that night.

Bugs creep me out but I feel empowered to fight them off. Rodents creep me out to no end. I spent many a sleepless night while we renovated the villa, Petite nestled in my arms, me wide awake keeping an ear open for the scurrying of tiny rodent feet.

So, tonight I heard the scratching again. I yelled for Hubbie who came running, verified that yes indeed there was a loud scratching noise, and promptly went into the back room to make a phone call.  I was frozen to the spot, listening to the scratching, too afraid to open the door and look out.  Soon, Petite and Bambina noticed that I was terrified.  I tried to blow it off but they quickly understood that I was on Rodent Watch.  Petite promptly gathered her pillow and blanket and announced that she would be sleeping in the car.  I assured her the house was rodent free (trying to assure myself but not feeling very confident).  

A few minutes later, Bambina came running inside, "Mama! I saw something run by! I saw two somethings!"  Oh great, now the rodents are running around the courtyard. At least, they're not inside the house!  I bravely looked into the foliage she was pointing to and saw two little furry forms. Too big to be rodents.  Kittens.  The girls have been wishing for kittens and here two have appeared in our courtyard.  Not rodents. Kittens.  Thank goodness.  They can eat the rodents.

Banking in France

We have hired my friend’s American babysitter to spend some time with the kiddos so we can get out. It is really hard to get the kids out, since they prefer playing “at home” to schlepping around outside.  With our time alone yesterday what so you think we did? Most folks visiting Paris would go to the Louvre or the Notre Dame or take a boat ride on the Seine.

We went to the bank.

We still have our French bank account, since Clay often works for French publishers. You can't get an apartment in France without a bank account and usually you can't get a bank account without a residential address in France.

One of those choice French conundrums.

So even though we pay an annual fee, we don't want to close our account.  However, changing the address on our account is a major deal that requires lots of paperwork and documents and meetings. Our ATM cards expired six months ago, and for the past ten years we have been required to pick the cards up at the bank.  So, we've been waiting for this trip to Paris to trek to our old bank and retrieve our ATM cards.

After waiting in line, the teller (who is very nice an that's another reason I want to stay with this particular branch) informs us they were sent to our old address.  The one we moved out of two years ago.  With the cards MIA, we need to give a new French address.  Which of course we don't have.  We could easily give a friends’ address, but we have to show proof of residency there.

Clay asks if our former bank contact is here Monsieur D.  Yes, he happens to be in his office right now.  So, we pop up (very unFrench - the French don't do pop ins.  This actually was a relief to me when we lived here because in Italy they are a matter of course and I feel I am constantly risking offending friends by not "popping in" every time we drive by. Also, when the kids were babies I dreaded the pop-in.   There was inevitably a knock on the door just as I was nursing a baby or had gotten one to sleep or had just secured myself a few Minutes of quiet.

Monsieur D. greeted us graciously and after an hour, we worked out the challenge of inputting our new contact info into the computer (and yes one should be able to easily do this remotely by login on but of course we have been unable to log on since our French mobile is no longer active. So basically it is impossible to edit our account without showing up in person - in Paris - and meeting with Monsieur D.

After many security codes and questions, birthdays, marriage dates and mothers maiden names our accounts were edited.  Monsieur explained that the USA has enforced a new law prohibiting French banks from advising American clients in any way. Some distortion of the privacy act I assume, but basically means that he wouldn't be able to help us with our account if we hadn’t stopped in for a chat.

Good lord!

Our account sorted, the conversation turned as it always does in Italy or France (or maybe just with Clay) to food.  Knowing that Madame D. is Vietnamese and adores cooking, Clay asked where Madame D. shops for her ingredients since he plans on filling the car before we head back to Italy.  This prompted an extensive three-way discussion with Madame D. on speakerphone with Monsieur D. and Clay, debating the spelling of Bahn Cun and the differences between Chinese and Vietnamese noodles.

I was getting worried about wrapping things up in time to take the metro back across town because I knew the sitter would have to leave for her real job (guiding tourists up the Eiffel Tower.)

Ingredient list in one hand and Monsieur D’s personal mobile number in the other, (only to be used for personal/ food related discussions not bank issues) we strolled out an hour and a half later.  We had thirty minutes to complete the rest of our errands: roast chicken and éclairs for the girls and baguette and fromage for Clay before hopping the metro home and racing back up our stinky stairwell (the sewage problem has not been rectified).

That's the difference between being a tourist and living somewhere.

 The metro without tantrums! What a difference!

 Ballet at the Palais Royale

 Clay's FAVORITE Udon restaurant. Papa/Petite date.  Petite actually ate the broth even though there were greens in it!

Ma petite Parisienne avec sa parapluie. 

 The famous store. Repetto, right next to our apt.  Bambina spent the week trying to talk me into buying her toe shoes.

 Scootering along the Seine.

 Canoeing at the Jardin D'Acclimation - one of the best parks ever.

 Bambina doing interpretative dance of the "New pjs and rain boots"

 Places des Vosges

 Walking along the Seine

Scootering - this purchase has SAVED me because now no one is complaining that they need to be carried!

Back in Paris for Petite's 8th Birthday

August 9 - Petite's 8th birthday!

Back in Paris!
We just arrived less than two hours ago after 9.5 hours from Switzerland.

We are staying in Bastille area - the 11eme -  courtesy of hubbie's friend who has graciously lent us his apartment for the week.  It's a fab apt, and at the same time I too easily remember how small everything is.  I found that darling until Petite turned 2 and Bambina was on the way.

It's a one bedroom loft.  The bed is a double bed.  One person can sleep on the sofa.
Since my kids slept on me till just last week we can do three in a bed easy.

One thing I notice is how busy everything here is compared to sleepy Sausalito and even slower Bossolasco.
Am I getting old or is it just being in this trendy nightlife area which was never my thing even when I was in my twenties?

I'm acutely aware of  the fact that I'm shlepping two young children around while people spill onto the streets from bars and cafes like in NYC.

A far cry from our quiet life in the 14eme, and practically dead life in the 15eme, where everything closes at 9pm.

So we arrive in the 11eme  and because it's August and all of the Parisians have left town,  we are able to park right in front of the building.  We search through our emails and find the code to the building.  Hubbie has been here once for a dinner.

We open the ancient gate and enter one of Paris' magical hidden gardens. I didn't realize before living here how many retreats and wonderful private passages are just beyond the doors on the street. 

Apparently there's a sewage problem right in front of the building.  We enter the second door which leads to a stone staircase that genuinely looks as if it has been here for centuries. No refab here.  The staircase looks and smells like the wine cellars I visited with hubbie.

Petite comments on this immediately, holding her nose and escaping out of the stairwell to the garden passage. Bambina, ever the the thespian, exclaims, "I can't breathe!" and they both cover their mouths and breathe like they're escaping a fire all the way up the four flights.

When we get to the top, Hubbie realizes he is holding the wrong key, which them leads to a mad search on our phones for the directions only to realize the key is actually to another studio in which our key was left. 

Hubbie and Petite race down the four flights, through the garden and back to the studio to retrieve the correct key.

Bambina, who didn't sleep a wink on the 9.5 hour drive, dramatically lies down on  our duffle bag and proclaims that she is "exhausted" before then remembering that she has to pee "so bad I'm going to go right here! "

My old Paris panic is back - half worried that neighbors will complain either about my American kids yelling or if that Bambina will lose it right there and how will I clean pee off the fourth floor landing?

I half contemplate holding her butt out the hall window so that she can pee.  Or racing her down to the garden to go.  There's already a sewage problem anyway.

Luckily Petite is now racing up the stairs, holding her nose with one hand and the key with the other.  We burst into the apt just in time to get Bambina on the toilet.

Petite immediately starts checking out our digs.  I  clock the number of precious breakables scattered around and command Bambina not to touch anything before I quickly sweep glass decanters, priceless sculptures and an unmounted glass framed photograph into a protected corner of the room.

The stairs which, would never pass code in the USA (but are similar to our uncoded ones in Sausalito) are an accident waiting to happen and it's less than ten minutes before Bambina takes a tumble down the ladder like staircase.

Soon, we corral the kids, toileted and watered (though Petite refuses to drink the bottled water in the apartment and Bambina insists it isn't cold enough for her tastes - where did these kids come from? Their mom (me!) is happy to drink water I hand filter from a lake on backpacking trips and they have an actual bottled water brand preference?) we tumble out onto rue Charronne and head for the main street to pick up some sushi (for us) and gelato (for the kiddos).  I'll figure out where we will all sleep later.

 Carrousel at Jardin Du Luxembourg - where Petite spent her entire babyhood.

Passage in the 11eme

 The hugest coffee I have ever seen outside Starbucks

Our stairwell - where the key was hidden and I contemplated peeing Bambina out the window. 

Jardin du Lux.  First time we've ever been there when BOTH girls are old enough to go on the zip line.

Welcome to Switzerland

We are spending the week visiting dear friends in Samedam, near St Moritz.  The weather is unusually rainy but we are having a great time so far!  Just arrived yesterday and today, Day 1 took a "hike" or a "walk" (depending on if you are asking Bambina or me) to a local Swiss restaurant.  I am in heaven: snow capped mountains, crystal clear rivers, colorful wildflowers, everyone hiking and biking. Bambina is less than thrilled and keeps explaining that her legs are too tired to walk. So today, on our "walk," I piggy backed her for the first half hour and luckily, our 10 year old friend Lily engaged Bambina in hopping, skipping and running the rest of the way (so much for tired legs).

 View from our guest apartment.

Cheese making traditional Swiss style.

 Bambina finally walked!

 Swiss lunch

 Play area at restaurant!

 Looking at goats.

 "I'm sooooo tired!" (Like the hiking outfit complete with party shoes?)

Week One at Villa Graziella

This first week at Graziella has been such a whirl wind of events that I'm doing a postcard series of the week. We moved from Villa San Lorenzo into our rental, Villa Graziella, in the sweet next door town of Bossolasco. We are on "the road" which means "traffic" is the occasional work truck driving by or neighborhood child biking by. Needless to say, life here is at a SLOWER pa

ce (you thought California was slow?)  The girls have reunited with their babysitter, B, who has been with Petite since she was 2 months old. Bambina still can't speak Italian, but seems to get along just fine.  B now has a baby of her own, Baby Kate, who serves as the perfect toy/playmate for my girls.  Really, I wonder who is babysitting whom?

My bathing beauties at the pool at Monforte.  Public pools here are pristine, with gorgeous cafe/pizzerias attached.  Petite's big thrill is to go buy her own popsicles (which cost the same as at supermarket).   Petite and I hung out at a similar pool when she was a baby.  Great way to meet other mamas and bimbas.

 Our first night at Graziella, we walked through town center to see the Festa di Formaggio (Cheese fest) - turned out to be a formal dinner right in the center of the town square.

 Front of Villa Graziella. It has been a family summer house that the owner hasn't used in years. Our dear friend/caretaker has spent HOURS cleaning the place.

 Postal delivery Italian style (in the town of Alba)

 Moving into to Graziella - this was our easiest move yet. We could drive right up to the window and load things in! (Compared to carrying things up 70 stairs in Sausalito).

 Mattress purchase made easy. Mattresses roll up here! We thought we would have to tie them to the top of the car!

 Shoe shopping with Clay.  Feel I have been on holiday since the girls are thrilled to stay with our babysitter!

 We signed the papers with our architect, Sabrina (a gem!) work on Villa dei Bracchi is about to begin!

 I visited Villa dei Bracchi for the first time today.  Yes, I had signed off on hubbie buying an entire villa without me even seeing it.

Lunch today at Trattoria del Bivio

 Hubbie accidentally left his precious live yeast in California. It is currently in the care of Maison Reve.  The yeast was his third child.  So we have to start the yeast anew - for pizza and bread making.  BioForno is the only place that sells the natural yeast hubbie uses, and apparently business is either very good or very slow because it is now open ONLY Thursdays 4-7pm.  Of course, we scheduled our day around it.

 Waiting in the car while hubbie procures yeast.

 View from winery Flavio Roddollo

 Alba

 Shopping for mattresses in Alba.

 Flavio Roddello Winery.

 Mondovi - shopping for Italian mobiles. After 10 years we finally have a phone plan!

 Noli, Liguria - one of my most favorite seaside locations. We take the girls there every summer. There's a night time carnival that they love to visit. I took Petite in the Fun House (for fun?) because she was begging to go. Didn't realize there were air blowers underneath - my skirt ended up around my neck and I flashed the entire Festa from the second floor balcony of the Fun House. That's enough fun for me.

Wine tasting with Flavio Roddello himself. I appreciate a glass of wine, but don't have the refined appreciation Hubbie does.  So for me, it's a lot of "blah blah grapes, blah blah terroire, blah blah fruit, nose, bouquet, barrels…"