The Bunny Blogs

Obunnyrous.

2010-07-01T06:12:00.000-07:00

It may be cold, but you warm my heart.

2009-12-16T05:20:00.000-08:00

Il est revenu!

2009-11-12T07:02:00.001-08:00

(And all was right in the world again)

Au revoir Paris; hello Florence.

2009-11-10T19:10:00.000-08:00

Kentucky, that is.

Waking up in full-on travel mode, it was 6am when our duo tossed the key to Yannick, bid him adieu, and smartly hopped a taxi to CDG. 4 hours early with nary a bag to be checked, it wasn't long before they had cleared security and were swilling espresso in the Air France Club Lounge. Foo happily stuffed her pockets with all the edibles she could find—crackers, cheese, cookies, and a pain au chocolat for good measure.

One of the first to clamber on board the 767, Bob's initial disappointment in discovering the lack of individual seat back TVs was promptly offset when the boarding doors closed and he realized there was no one sitting in the seat next to him. This meant nine hours in the air relishing the extra space, enjoying the view of Greenland from the window, and NEVER having to worry about crawling over someone to go pee.

A turbulence-free flight and an easy trip through customs found our heroes heading to the Hilton in Florence, Kentucky for the night before heading home.

Kentucky as you may not know is a Commonwealth, not a State. Can you name another?

Fighting off jet lag, they strolled over to Rafferty's restaurant to find that the local dialect was almost as alien to their ears as French had recently been. "They actually say y'all in this fine burg!" whispered Foo to Bob.

So with a dinner of potato soup, a fillet of beef, and a slice of Kentucky Silk pie—our weary travellers called it a night. For tomorrow would bring one more flight, then home to Mama Foo.

Au revoir Paris—vous voir bientôt.

2009-11-10T05:11:00.000-08:00

Fighting off sinking into travel mode, Bob and Foo started the day with their usual routine—cafe at Le Nustrale. But that wish would be short-lived as Le Parisien headlines screamed something about an RER stike: the train line between downtown and the airport. Oh no!

Now fully gripped in travel mode, Bobbers tried to deduce if this was a one day event (tres typique en France) or an ongoing labor outage. Noting there was absolutely nothing he could do about it (and that a taxi was always an option, albeit an expensive one), they fully embraced their last day in Paris and hit the streets doing a circuit that took them up towards L'Opera. They found interesting passages to wander through, and spent the morning window gazing.

Grabbing a sandwich, they arched a circuitous route to Place Vendome, skirted Concorde and crossed the river to Invalides. Slugging down their afternoon cafe in the Babylone section of town they paused to call Mama Foo who reminded them to be in the moment, not in 'travel mode'—but to get home SOON! With this sage advice they went back Seine-side and dropped onto the lower quay before vectoring back to Les Halles to grab their dessert eclair, and prep for their pasta-in-a-bucket dinner.

A fitting final meal before heading home (depending on who you ask).

Dimanche aventures.

2009-11-08T18:32:00.000-08:00

After bidding bon voyage to Didier who was headed off on his own vacance, Foo and Bobbers did what they do best: hit the streets, looking for adventure. Today would find them roaming the entire length of Paris.

Starting with a window shop walk up Rue de Rivoli, they found all sorts of purchasable shirts to match Bob's recent tie acquisitions. Their morning goal was to hit the insanely crowded Bastille Market which, in addition to selling every sort of fish, meat, vegetable, and cheese to be found in France, was also a general flea market filled with assorted flotsam and jetsam. Foo was a tad spooked by some of the charcuterie stands which were too close in resemblance to her own kind. So Bob diverted her attention with a fun juggler who balanced a jar filled with water and goldfish on his head.

Then they headed for parts never seen before—La Defense. They grabbed the Metro #1 and rode it to the end of the line. There they enjoyed the ‘other’ famous arch in Paris—Arche de la Defense, the Arc de Triomphe's modern day counterpart mirrored many miles away down the Champs. La Defense is predominantly modern skyscrapers but there is no shortage of fantastic parks and public art.

Take the Metro back to town you say? HA! Bobbers could see the Arc (albeit, a speck on the horizon) and quickly calculated it as a doable walk. Foo knew it was going to be one of those days (then again, weren't they all...?). Not being in Paris proper any more, they had to pass through Neuilly sur Seine before reaching the Porte de Maillot to reenter the city. And what a trudge it was! And because it was Sunday, food options were quite slim...so our heroes (quite famished by now) had to slog all the way to the Champs before food options presented themselves.

A slice of pizza was enjoyed at an outside cafe, the solitude of the repast fractured only by a wheezing, twitching, slow to settle homeless guy who decided that sitting at the table next to Bob was just the place he wanted to be.

Given our duo were sufficiently watered and fed, a plan to see the Eiffel Tour at sunset was hatched. But first they strolled over to Pont Alma and enjoyed the huge outdoor photo exposition at the Quai Branly next to the river. Of note, the French have a huge sense of mixing the ancient with the modern; liberally sprinkling art everywhere in the city. Walk down the street and up pops a 15th century sculpture and hey, is that a giant thumb?

So they whiled away the sunset at the Trocedero fending off souvenir hawkers and watched the kids go round and round on the carousel. As the night came on, so did the lights of the Eiffel Tower. And while the view looked warm and inviting, it was actually quite cold, so they scampered back to their billet by the Louvre by way of the Metro.

Samedi promenade dans Paris.

2009-11-07T08:55:00.000-08:00

Who cared what Le Parisien said about Saturday's forecast. After tossing a crème, deux café, and a pain au raisin down her gullet, Foo declared "Let's go!"

Rive Gauche was the morning destination so our heroes moseyed on over to the Parc du Luxembourg to enjoy the crisp morning. All of Paris likes to stroll through the parks before shopping the main boulevards—and today was no different. The parks were filled with joggers, jump ropers, tennis players and children enjoying pony rides. There were Foo-friendly ponies but le lapin was too busy scampering all over the statuary to be coaxed onto a Shetland.

After leaving the Parc, they roamed the St. Germain area to find familiar spots and eateries, while enjoying the store windows, street art, and hidden alleys just begging to be explored. For le dejeuner they grabbed a grec baguette avec frites for a frugal 4.50€ and settled alongside the Seine quai to enjoy their gut bomb. Pigeons had their beady eyes on the baguette but Bob spared them the salty nastywich.

Amply recharged, they did a quick tour of Ile de la Cite (and for those of you keeping count, the gitane ring scam count is now up to six). Crossing the pont to Ile St. Louis, they espied a familiar street band. Twas much too cold for a famous Berthillion glace on the ile so they found their way back to Rive Droit to have a café with Fred before rounding out the afternoon in the broad Rue la Fayette area with its many Cinemas and Grand magasins.

Vendredi: retour à Paris

2009-11-06T19:07:00.000-08:00

“He that has a little tiny wit
With a hey-ho the wind and rain
Must make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day”
Fool’s speech, King Lear

For those wondering about the respite in updates, twas because the foul Winter weather of Normandy saddled our voyagers with chest rattling colds. After taking the train back to Paris, our soggy duo took Thursday off to rest.

Friday morning found Bob wishing he had better studied the chapter in his French book about bodily health as he ventured forth into the Pharmecie. "J’ai mal a nez, c’est bloquee. Avez vous quelque chose pour ovrir?" Somehow the pharmacist, between this and Bob's exemplary pantomime, deduced that he had a stuffy nose and sent him on his way with some pills and something sketchy to launch up his nostrils.

So off they went to the Palais Royale to breakfast on Foo-sized pain au raisin and whatever weird French drugs Bob had procured in the name of bodily health.

As this was the first day in four where the sun had made a visit, they decided to stroll along the Seine toward La Tour Eiffel and count the number of time les gitanes tried to scam them with their, "Did you drop this ring?" ruse. The count so far: three. "Geesh" Bob thought, "they must take me for an enfoire."

After making the tour of La Tour, Foo began to chant, "Fa-la-fel! Fa-la-fel!" That meant only one thing: a trip to the Falafel windows in the Jewish Marais on Rue de Rosiers. Naturally, they were as far away from the Marais as they could be.

Casting off the urge to hop the Metro (and because it was Bob-walk-til-you-drop in charge) they made a beeline for the Champs, ran straight up the Tuilaries, crossed Les Halles, and slipped into the Marais. Miraculously they found their vendor and were soon feasting on that pita wonder filled with cabbage, falafel, beets, and other assorted mystery toppings. That and a café, and the afternoon was whiled away blaming each other for poots and other gaseous indiscretions.

They passed a poster advertising "Lapins Cretins—La Grosse Adventure". Yes, after 12 days with Bobbers, La Grande Adventure had evolved into La Grosse Adventure for Foo. But knowing her for the fickle bunny she is, Bob knew she could be bought for a song. So he snatched up a mille feuille and proffered the treat in genuflection.

Once again he and Bunny were fast friends.

Mercredi à Caen.

2009-11-04T19:30:00.000-08:00

Wednesday dawned without a cloud to be seen from the fenetre of chambre 7. Unequipped with their foul weather gear, Bobbers and Foo trotted out for their morning crème. By first sip, the skies had opened up and the torrent began.

After a quick trip to the hotel to retrieve their rain impedimenta, Bob’s plan to walk the 4km back up to the Memorial Musee de Caen was dampened (pardon the pun) after Foo stated with a finality that was not to be messed with, "A la gare routiere Gunga Din!" So off they went in search of the bus to take them up the hill and to the museum.

They arrived just in time for the movie that showed the invasion, a moving split screen showing both the Allied and German preparations and the carnage that ensued.

It has been 65 years since those first brave souls perished, and now the lucky survivors are dropping away with their generation. One can only reflect as it was our parents who lived through the trying years of la Guerre Mondiale. It was a brutal time when many minds were lost both following and fighting Nazi fascism.

The Caen Memorial to Peace shows what it was like in all it’s horror, and follows time forward to the present day where an outdoor exhibit contains girders from the Twin Towers of NY.

After the somber morning our duo rode back down to town for a gallette, a crème, and an afternoon spent roaming the Chateau Ducal.

Bayeux.

2009-11-03T19:13:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night, and our travelers could tell by the ropes of rain thumping their window that the weather had turned. Thankfully by morning it was merely overcast so Logic Bob made an executive decision and declared, "Today: Bayeux!"

So off they shuffled to the Gare SCNF to buy a ticket aller-retour to Bayeux, the one Normandy city that was miraculously not bombed into a pile of rubble during the debarquement aux plages when the Allied forces decided it was time to get a toe hold in France and push the Germans back to their homeland. The station agent, having heard Bob's French took the extra step of writing the train's terminus city of Coutonce on Bob's ticket to help him find his way to the track. Feeling a bit like he was labeled "If found please send towards Coutonce"—Bob ambled off for le train.

A quick 15 minutes later they disembarked at the charming town of Bayeux. Low clouds gathered with a vicious wind out of the west as our heroes walked to the Tourist Office for a plan du ville. While inside, the first of many storms blew in. Angry wind and lashing rain spewed its contempt and a decision was made: the day would be best spent inside the Museum de la Bataille de Normandie.

Making their way to the museum, Foo and Bobbers whiled away the hours learning about the monumental effort and sacrifice that was D-Day (Jour-J, in France). The exhibits were stunning and it was everything Bob could do to keep Foo off the artillery. Steeped in history, they learned about the landing as the Allies made their fitful way off the beaches and into northern France. They learned about the massive logistics involved in moving over 1 million men and material to launch and sustain the push. In a word: phenomenal.

Did you know that an oil pipe was strung across the channel once Cherbourg had been taken to supply fuel to the tank battalions? Well neither did Foo.

After the museum things took a turn for the somber as Bob and Foo crossed over to the British Cemetery. Yet another storm blew in while they were walking the rows; many markers simply read, "A Soldier of the Second World War—Known Unto God." It was hard to tell if it was rain or tears that dripped from their faces as they stood there, taking it all in.

Tummies rumbled, so they trudged their soggy selves to town for a crepe complete, with another one of those sketchily cooked eggs that Foo deplores. A tour of the Catherdral Notre Dame followed, then an amble along the River Aure.

But the rain was relentless and they decided it was best that they head back to Caen to dry themselves off. Already thinking of a dinner of Indian food.

Lundi, à Caen.

2009-11-03T04:47:00.000-08:00

A travel day was in store for Foo and her trusty caretaker, but not before knocking back a few espressos with Fred at Le Nustrale. The freebie he tossed in before departure sent them on their jittery way.

An easy two metro swing found them at Gare St. Lazare with enough time to grab a baguette sandwich before climbing aboard train #3307: destination Cherbourg via Caen. They whiled away the 2-hour trip by reading and viewing the grand countryside, cloaked in large, ominous thunderheads as far as the eye could see.

Hopping off at Caen they walked to Hotel de la Fontaine; a cold wind underscoring that l'hiver had arrived and l'automne disappeared. A heavy downpour drove them into a cafe but it had run its course by the time Bobbers finished his espresso.

The hotel was nice and in centre ville which is predominately pedestrian streets. Dumping their bags, Foo shouted "Je desire une sable!" so it was cookie time.

After vectoring in their location, Bob decided to walk to the Memorial museum which was located on the outskirts of town beyond the Périphérique highway. Now mind you the chef d'hotel was quite kind, orienting Bob with a map—strongly advising he take Bus #2 to get to the Memorial. But in true Bob style he reasoned, "Looks like an easy walk, no need for the bus."

WRONG! 45 minutes later after traversing the hilly landscape in the freezing and driving wind, they arrived at the museum. This was only a recon trip, so Foo smartly pointed out where they could catch the #2 bus back into town. But Noooooooooooo...Bob said, "It's all downhill from here!" and forced a fit-to-be-tied Foo to hop all the way back to Caen. Bob was amazed at how well Foo seemed to have mastered the French language, even if those words can't be repeated here.

The bright spot on the return trip was that they passed what looked to be a promising restaurant to get some Spaghettis à la Bolognese for le diner later that night—a Foo favorite when looking to warm the tummy after a long day of walking adventures.

Dimanche l'apres midi.

2009-11-01T07:43:00.000-08:00

A day of averses had long been forecast, and indeed Sunday began with showers as predicted. After sampling a fine hotel petit déjeuner, our heroes suited up for what looked to be a wild and windy day.

Trooping to the Rue Rambuteau metro entrance, their umbrella provided little protection as its shape torqued in retaliation to the driving wind. Glad for the brief respite, they rode the metro to Gare St Lazare—the departure point for tomorrow's Caen adventure.

Overly proud, they successfully navigated the automatic ticketing machine all the way up until the point of paying when Foo discovered it only accepted chip-enabled credit cards. So inside they went, uncertain if a ticket booth would be open on Sunday. But open it was and, bonus: no line! Bobbers brilliantly ordered up his billets aller retour with only one linguistic hiccup. By the time this transaction was finished, so was the rain.

Up the Rue Hausmann toward the Arc d'Triomphe they headed, staying low to skirt the tourist area, they rounded Avenue Foch then down to Place Victor Hugo before vectoring to the Trocadero. Careful to avoid the 500 Senagalese hawkers offering Eiffel Tower key chains, postcards and other detritus, they enjoyed the classic Tour view from afar.

But hunger trumped beautiful views, with Foo harping on and on about déjeuner and pizza. Again skirting the madness of the Champs they ambled their way back towards the hotel via the #1 metro, making their exit at Concorde and walked up Rue de St. Honore in the driving rain.

Foo got her pizza, though she balked at the barely cooked egg in the middle of the pie.

Samedi adventure: Canal St Martin.

2009-10-31T11:06:00.000-07:00

Amply fortified courtesy of Cafe L'Epoque, le lapin et son ami set foot through Place des Victoires and compassed their way toward Place de la Republique. All well and good until they crossed over into Belleville; an international stew of crowded streets, kabob windows, and bon marches. The parks were filled with an assortment of homeless, drunks and unsavory smells.

Finding the large Bassin de la Villette, they roamed around before heading down the more picturesque canal St Martin. Amelie must have been busy as she was nowhere to be found skipping stones on the water.

Famished from a morning of tromping from arrondissement to arrondissement, Foo suggested a kabob and some frites, so they headed towards Les Halles to choose between several cheap and cheerful vendors. 3€ bought a tres bon repas of falafel and enough energy to head up St Honore towards the Arc.

Weary soles stopped in a quiet park for a quick rest and read, then across Place de Concorde, and into the Tuileries.

As the French are noted for their mélange of ancient and modern art, Foo was elated to find Halloween-inspired statues around the pond and the rather odd addition of cymbals attached to posts—akin to a gathering of Chinese rice-hatted men standing in a puddle. Every few seconds the 'ting' of a successful hit could be heard as people threw coins and pebbles at their target for good luck and audible confirmation of an accurate aim before plunking into the water.

Just the best thing ever.

First espresso; then adventure.

2009-10-30T18:12:00.000-07:00

Setting the alarm (an unusual move for Bobbers), he arrived promptly at his favorite café—Le Nustrale at 9am to meet his bank friends Judy and Mark Kammer. They sang songs of praise, a nod to the jet-fuel quality of Fred's cafe cremes. However, they did not tarry for they had a full day's worth of sightseeing planned.

After bidding Judy and Mark au revoir, Fred gave Bob un cadeux—2 glasses touting a Corsican concoction (Foo muttering her gratitude, "Merci Fred. Merci!"). Knocking back the last of his creme, Bob commenced to the Palias Royale for petit dejeuner, a favorite breakfast spot of Bob and Foo.

Grabbing a carnet of metro tickets, off they went to Château de Vincennes. Our furry duo explored the formidable chateau then spent hours in the Parc des Flores, a rather large park with the Bois de Vincennes (which is also quite large). In the Parc there was a spectacular Bonsai exhibit; trees that were perfectly Foo-sized.

Now we all know that Bobbers is a tireless walker so he decided to hoof it all the way back into centre ville. But not before making a mental note that the future Hebert pied-à-terre would be in Vincennes, a delightful suburb with easy access to town.

Following the marathon route, his stroll took him toward the Bastille and the Marais by way of the the Seine. He walked the quais, fending off ring scamming gypsies after a finger-wagging from Foo who scolded, "Don't you even think about it."

Crossing the Seine at Pont Neuf, he ambled into the Universitie district for a cafe before heading back to the hotel for journaling, picture editing and a nap before his Indian food dinner.

Undoubtedly Poulet Tikka Masala if history is any indicator.

Steak haché avec champignon pizza

2009-10-30T18:03:00.000-07:00

No one said it would be pretty.

(hunger has no shame)

Nous avons arrive.

2009-10-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Bonjour!

Bunny and Bobbers settled into their window seat on the 767 bound for CDG. After a Dijon-inspired chicken dinner (l'horreur!), they sat back and gritted out 2 bumpy hours over New England. Things settled down over Canada, and they actually got some sleep—a first for Bobbers.

Our motley foo arrived on time, breezed through customs and rode the crowded RER into Les Halles.

Greeted warmly by Didier at the hotel, Bunny and Bob found themselves comfortably ensconsed in room deus son quatre, tinier quarters than in the past, but a familiar layout just the same. A new addition was the tasty Madeleine that greeted them on arrival. Foo however spotted it first; a reminder to Bob regarding lapins and absconding desserts.

Preflight prep.

2009-10-28T12:38:00.001-07:00

Bunny passed the preflight hours in the Delta lounge knocking back Airbornes and tracking the weather.

Editors note: And in true Bobber's style—6 hours early.

Bon Vie Bistro Foo.

2009-10-28T05:05:00.000-07:00

One look at the menu and the decision was made:

"Je voudrais que le boeuf Stroganoff, s'il vous plaît!"

Bunny wondered why the waiter stared at her blankly then remembered she was in Ohio.

Awkward.

Bon mot: punctilious

2009-10-27T05:29:00.000-07:00

punctilious
\puhnk-TIL-ee-uhs\ , adjective:
Strictly attentive to the details of form in action or conduct; precise; exact in the smallest particulars.

Bunny bore witness to Bob's punctilious travel preparation; a multi-day affair involving checklists and his fashion staple: the green sweater.

First class: denied.

2009-10-26T18:37:00.000-07:00

It was a bumpy ride to Cincinnati in coach, but Bunny was mollified with the XM Grateful Dead channel during the road trip to Columbus.

Bob begins to sing:

"Dark star crashes, pouring its light into ashes..."

Sarah eagerly chimes in:

"Reason tatters, the forces tear loose from the axis"

This dream sequence brought to you by US Bank.

Jitter Bean Foo

2009-10-21T16:58:00.000-07:00

Well of course Foo looks fuzzy. Have you ever had a Jitter Bean latte?

Thank goodness her attention was easily diverted from the comfort of a BarcaLounger, the aid of a remote and reality TV.

Adventures in dust bunnies.

2009-10-17T07:58:00.000-07:00

Chinese chicken in Marina del Ray.

2009-10-16T04:51:00.000-07:00

Key lime Foo.

2009-10-15T04:02:00.000-07:00

"I'm stuffed. I couldn't possibly eat another bite."
"Hey, is that cheesecake?"

Far be it for Foo to turn down anything remotely masquerading as dessert.

Lunching with the ladies (and Bob).

2009-10-14T12:48:00.000-07:00

Absently brushing the tortilla chip dust from her cheek, Foo fervidly declared, "There is absolutely no better value on this green earth then the bottomless chips, salad and soup at Chili's."