There are times in this life journey, when other travelers cross my path, at the same junction. Students of nature, we recognized these "accidents of time"are not coincidental. This is a journal of fifty days of living on the roads of our own personal Europa. My fellow travelers are Diane, Deb, Micheal and Mister.
We do not have our dog companions, we didn't pack best behaviors at all times nor do we have our every day favorite spices and familiar food.
We have experienced the usual issues that Americans face in Europe. Some WC's are primitive, others are unattended and many are interesting. Mister just died when young schoolgirls and their female teacher walked through the area the urinals are placed. Most toliettes are unisex and either can go into the small closet where the toliet is, with urinals in the public area with hand washing sink. Going in- going out,drinking enough water, ordering the perfect coffee and pissing all seem impossible the first few days here. But it gets better, and we grow more comfortable as the days pass.
An ounce of dark rich expresso just doesn't have the same "ahhh" factor at the edge of dawn that a big mug of perfectly balanced java gives me.
Yet, we don't even notice the differences any longer. We do announce ourselves that we are Texans, on a walkabout, but we say it in a halting Italian, and Cotton Compress Spanish, Deb's lovely French and somehow my default communication language is AmericanSign Language!
It is hilarious to see and hear us on the street in action. I am delighted we try the languages, and practice how to ask for the check. Each of us shops independently of each other, and have managed to eat, find the WC, get laundry done, and even get directions.
Our interests are different, but parallel. We make certain Mister gets his photo opportunities.
We occasionally have a cheese emergency and we drink local wines in the back seat of van when our driver takes mountain roads.
An epic adventure as bourgeoisie pensioners this spring.
On the Provence part of our trip, the first week- we saw an old faded restaurant sign in Arles that stated Bourgeoisie Pensioners ate Breakfast there. Thus, it became our tag line.