The power of electric bicycles.  I was excited.  Husband Bicycle Bob (BB), a hardcore macho cyclist, less so. Yet, we enjoyed our recent all-day excursion on these fun bicycles in the Luberon hills of France’s Provence.

Electric bicycling seems to be surging in popularity.  Baby boomers getting too old and out-of-shape for demanding pedaling?  More folks wanting a bicycle excursion without stress and sweat?   Serious cyclists who want to cover many miles, including some steep ascents where a power boost would be welcome?

Whatever the reasons, electric bicycles offer an enjoyable and easy alternative to conventional pedaling.  We rented these sturdy monsters for a day in the Provence town of Gordes with the company Sun-E-Bike which just started renting the bikes, valued at 1,300 euros each, at Easter.

Florian Machayekhi, who spoke English, gave us a briefing. You must pedal for the motor to be in operation, he explained.   There are three settings for different levels of motor power.  For steep hills, for example, you may wish to select the highest.  When going downhill, or in the flats, you can press a button to switch off the motor and pedal as with a regular bike.  Sun-E-Bikes have seven speeds.

We have done a lot of bicycling and did not intend to pedal with auxiliary power all the time.  However, these bikes are heavy, 25 kilos, therefore not quite like your bike back home.  I always shut the power off for downhills, and, lest being a real wimp, tried to keep it off in the flats. But, as this is Provence where the winds often blow, I was happy to press the power button to offset those nasty gusts produced by the Mistral.  And, I was no martyr in the hills, loving the easy and effortless climbs.  BB, of course, had to do it the hard way most of the time.  For the first time on cycle trips, I beat him to the top.  So, I cheated…it was still fun being first.

Florian had given us a map with a 40-kilometer itinerary through some Provence highlights: Fontaine de Vaucluse, Saumane de Vaucluse, Isle sur la Sorgue…  He suggested we have lunch at the latter where we could exchange the batteries.  The bike battery will last for 35 kilometers.  When we arrived at Les Terrasses du Bassin, the restaurant/battery exchange point, our batteries still registered full – all four battery lights still glowing.

We enjoyed lunch on the restaurant terrace where the river forms a large pool of crystal water popular with hungry ducks, but did not bother to get a new battery.  Almost a mistake.  Several hours later when we neared Gordes, the quintessential perched village and our destination, my bike was down to one battery light.  And, the last part was five kilometers all up hill.  I kept the motor setting on the lowest, thus using less power, and said a prayer that it would get me all the way back to the rental station.  I did not want to pedal that weighty bike up this killer ascent.  Luck was with me.  I made it back under battery power.

We cycled on May 8, a holiday in France, so the walkway through the forest to the scenic source of the Sorgue River at Fontaine de Vaucluse was crowded with strollers.  Riding became too risky, so we pushed the bikes up the path along the raging river.  Not easy, but the sounds and sights of the water below charging over rocks and boulders detracted from the effort.

Isle sur la Sorgue, known as the Venice of Provence, is a pleasant spot for a lunch break.  The Sorgue River splits into numerous streams flowing through the town not unlike Venetian canals.    Pedestrian bridges decorated with flower boxes and mossy waterwheels add to the picturesque ambience.

Between the towns on our itinerary we cycled past acres of vineyards, orchards, fields ablaze with wildflowers and weathered stone farm houses, all with the Luberon hills as a backdrop.

Pascal Hernoult welcomed us and the bikes back in Gordes.  The new electric bike venture is “encouraging,” he said.  “People return with big smiles.  They say it’s ‘formidable.’  They are not tired.”

Count me among those happy electric bicyclists.  Even BB admitted he was glad for the battery power to get back up that last long hill.

Watch the slideshow below for more photos.  Enjoy a tasty treat of the season: Hsin’s  Strawberry Cake.  See recipe in column at right.   Next blog post to focus on French health care — a first person account based on my upcoming knee replacement surgery.  Don’t miss it.  Click on “Email Subscription” at top of right column.

Sun-E-Bike has 200 electric bicycles for rent at three different sites in Provence: Gordes, Bonnieux and Lauris.  Cost for rental per day is 35 euros which includes a helmet and yellow safety vest.  Half-day rental (9 a.m. to 1 p.m. or 2:30 p.m. to 7 p.m): 22 euros.  Insurance: 2 euros per day.  A deposit of 200 euros or an ID card such as passport or driver’s license is required. Maps with suggested itineraries and battery exchange points are provided. Baby seats, baby trailers and panniers can be rented for an extra charge.

SuneE-Bike also offers bike rental for longer periods with hotel overnights and luggage transfer provided.  See the web site for details: www.sun-e-bike.com

It was the Marlborough Nelson pre-trip on our voyage to New Zealand last November to attend the convention of the Society of American Travel Writers.

The food and wine were over the top.   Dolphins and kayaks – another story.

“These are very sturdy kayaks.  No one has ever capsized on one of my trips,” our perky kayak guide assured us as we prepared to put the boats in the frigid Pacific.   Maladroit Bob and Leah had obviously not been on one of her trips.

We were the retards in the group of six  or so kayaks – always way behind the others.  He (Bob)  kept yelling  at me to switch the paddle to the other side, to dig the oar deeper into the water.   I must admit, I was not adept with the blasted paddles.   And, I was always a bit nervous as I feared we were holding the others back, so I constantly tried to paddle faster and faster which was exhausting  and left my arms throbbing.  The scenery, however, was stupendous.

We held our own until we had to round a point to get back to shore. The winds were strong, so strong we weren’t moving, even though we were paddling hard.  The guide explained how we could use the paddle as a sail – just hold it up and the wind would blow us forward.  Bob was screaming at me, “Paddle left,  Paddle left.”  As I switched to the left, a gust caught the paddle and over we went.

A rude  shock.  12 degrees C. ( 54 degrees F.)  water is none too pleasant, but I popped right up and out of the kayak.  Where was Bob?  I was concerned as he does not know how to swim.  Fortunately he popped up instantly too. Nonetheless  I panicked.  My camera, my precious new Canon Rebel?  It was in one of those waterproof bags strapped to the boat, but I was devastated, convinced  it had drowned.

How to get back in the kayak which had righted itself?  The guide, no doubt eating her words, arrived at the scene of disaster and told us to turn the kayak upside down to empty it of water.  I refused, certain this would spell death for my camera if in fact it had survived.  I told her to help Bob, and that I could swim to shore which  did not seem that far off.  She was adamant – no way should I swim.  So, she gave us instructions and somehow, but with great effort and none too gracefully, we managed to manipulate our soaked and freezing bodies into the boat.  Then, she instructed  us  to pump the water out.  We pumped and paddled, but we were trembling with cold and making little progress.  Finally another guide came and towed us to shore (farther away than I thought – good I did not swim).

I  could not stop shivering, but once on shore I ripped open the bag with the camera. Unbelievable.  It was OK.  Bob’s expensive sunglasses did vanish to the bottom of the sea.  My prescription sunglasses, which I had been wearing, managed to stay on my head.  Another miracle.

We had been toId to bring an extra set of clothing.  Certain that it would not be required, I only brought a pair of jeans  — better than nothing, but more was needed.  Others in the group lent us T-shirts and sweaters.  Nonetheless, we quivered from the cold for what seemed like ages… (This kayak catastrophe brought back memories of our failed attempt at dancing lessons.  There, too, we were the duds in the group.  We best stick to bicycling.)

Then there was the boat excursion to swim with dolphins.   The lovely creatures were sure to appear, we were told.  Those in the group who planned to plunge into the freezing water, this time about 14 degrees  C ( 57 degrees F.) , were given wet suits.  Bob, not a swimmer, passed on this adventure.

The boat trip was scenic, and eventually we spotted dolphins.  The playful creatures followed right alongside the boat, jumping and soaring out of the water at times. Watching them was thrilling.  Swimming with them would be even better.

The boat captain maneuvered the craft  to get ahead of the dolphins, then we were told to jump in.  As dolphins are said to be curious and like humans, they were supposed to come and join us in the water.  We were told to make noise, to sing, through the snorkel mouth piece. This would surely attract the dolphins.

Nine bodies swimming around in frigid waters emitting bizarre sounds.  It was comical.  The wet suit did help, but after awhile, the cold penetrated.   We swam and sang, but the dolphins did not show up, so one by one we’d get back on board.  This ritual was repeated four different times as the captain tried yet again and again to position the boat where he thought the dolphins would be. And, time after time, we plunged into the icy water for naught.

The dolphins were nearby.  Why didn’t they join us? According to one of the guides, they were probably mating, and sex was more exciting than a bunch of crazy humans.  Can’t say I blame them.

Not all was amiss on our excursion in the Marlborough and Nelson regions which are at the top of New Zealand’s South Island.  Marlborough is the country’s largest wine-growing region, especially known for sauvignon blanc.  We visited several beautiful wineries where we tasted and savored some excellent vintages.

We also enjoyed a delicious boat excursion to mussel beds   Lunch was on board – a feast of succulent greenshelled mussels, the best I’d ever tasted.

And, we had a delightful overnight stay at the Lochmara Lodge Wildlife Recovery Center.  The lodge is accessible only by boat.  Hiking trails lead up in the hills above the cluster of buildings, offering super views, as well as interesting outdoor art and sculptures en route.  www.lochmaralodge.co.nz

Watch the slide show below for more photos of New Zealand.  And, try the recipe for “Two Cheese Spinach and Mushroom Casserole” listed in the column at right.  It’s a winner – and easy to prepare.

If you would like to continue to read Tales and Travel posts, please click the “Subscribe” bottom in  the upper right corner. Comments are welcome. See “Leave a Reply” below.

We met Meg and Brendan years ago when we lived in Germany where we were members of the Porsche Club.   I had a Porsche 944 (considered by many not to be a real Porsche), but it was my baby, my pride and joy, which I drove for 17 happy years.  Brendan had both a Porsche 356 and 911.  He still has these, and a 1936 Ford.  Attendance at a Porsche event was a highlight of our visit.

Plus, a spectacular drive through the Mornington Peninsula, the Yarra Valley, a visit to an animal sanctuary, an aborigine art gallery and more.

During a visit downtown, I had the opportunity to talk to John McGaw, senior business development manager with Destination Melbourne.  “I’ve worked in the tourism and wine industry for years,” he said.  “I’ve lived in Syndey, Adelaide and now Melbourne.  I prefer Melbourne.  It’s such a friendly city.  Everything is easy here…We’re a shopping and dining capital.”    The city has 80 different kinds of ethnic restaurants, he pointed out.

According to John, Melbourne, a city of almost four million, was just voted “the world’s most livable city.”  “It’s as safe a city as you’ll find anywhere,” he boasted.   Tourism is important to the multi-cultural city, with China considered the largest future market, followed by India.  Then there’s Greece.  John said that Melbourne has the second largest population of Greeks after Greece.  “They’ve been coming here for 40 years.”  The city’s Greek Quarter, as well as Chinatown, is fun to visit.  For Vietnamese fare, there’s Victoria Street lined with noodle shops and grocery stores.

The downtown is lively, vibrant, with street entertainers, hucksters, and plenty to admire, including 50 shopping arcades, the oldest, the Black Arcade, dating to 1892.  John recommended we visit an old world Victorian tea shop whose window was filled with luscious pastries.   The place is so popular, we had to stand in line to wait for a seat.

Federation Square is an innovative mix of glass and steel structures with shops, cafes, restaurants, and bars — and the venue for some 2,000 events every year.  Docklands on Victoria Harbor offers more shopping and dining opportunities.  The Queen Victoria Market is food paradise.  Meg and Brendan shop there every Saturday, visiting favorite stands for fruits and veggies, as well as delis and bakeries.

Within just 90 minutes of the city center, stunning scenery awaits.  We made many photo stops on our drive through the Mornington Peninsula. The Yarra Valley, a wine growing region, is also picturesque with wineries where you can stop to taste fine chardonnays, pinot noirs and more.  Our drives took us though areas devastated by the Black Saturday bushfires of 2009 which ravaged southeastern Australia   —— past slope after slope of still barren trees.

Wildlife is a major attraction in Australia. Meg took time from her duties as ward councilor for a visit to friend  Neil Abbott, a jovial farmer with 100 acres where 70 – 80 kangaroos usually hang out.  As luck would have it, the beasts were missing the day we visited.  The day before there had been a major fire drill with helicopters hovering over the area.  The noise drove the kangaroos away, but we did spot one or two during a tour with Neil in his four-wheel drive vehicle  through the hilly terrain.   And, we learned about kangaroos.

“The aborigines used to eat them.  The dingoes (Australian wild dog) used to eat them.  But now they have no natural enemies,” Neil said.  So, they proliferate and become pests, destroying trees and fences.  They sharpen their claws on the tree bark.  “Their claws are longer than your finger,” he explained.   Some people shoot them, but this is an outrage.  “People are up in arms about those who shoot our national emblem,” he said.  He can no longer farm due to the kangaroo population on his land, but he won’t shoot the animals.

“The kangaroos are a wild animal.  They should be in the bush.  It’s cruel to have them in these areas where they are chased by dogs, where they ruin fences, and are a danger to cars and people… I believe there are a lot of accidents, people killed, veering to avoid hitting a kangaroo,” he said.

During our drive through his farm, Neil said he had a surprise for us.  He knew where a wombat lived and would take us there.  He got out and went ahead down a hill.  “Be quiet…he’s here,” he told us.  We crept behind, me with camera ready.  Voila, I focused on a furry brown head.  Wait, something seemed amiss. It did not move. It looked a bit suspicious.  No wonder.  It was a stuffed wombat Neil had buried under leaves – a joke he often plays on naïve visitors.

We saw more wildlife on a visit to the Healesville Sanctuary where demonstrations and lectures on the various critters are scheduled throughout the day.    The Koalas drew big crowds.

Colin McKinnon is another friend Meg took us to visit.  His Mia Mia Gallery features an amazing collection of beautiful aboriginal art.  The gallery is owned by aborigines, and the profits are returned to aborigine communities.  Colin, himself an aboriginal artist, explained the symbolism of many of the intricate and colorful works, and he generously gave me a print which now hangs in our living room, a treasured souvenir of our memorable visit to Melbourne.

More on the Mia Mia Gallery at www.miamiagallery.com

More on Melbourne at www.destinationmelbourne.com.au

More on the Healesville Sanctuary at www.zoo.org.au

For more views of Melbourne and surroundings, watch the following slideshow.  For a taste of  Greece, whose  influence is prominent in  Melbourne, try Meg’s Baklava, recipe in column at right.

There must be millions of homeless cats in France. How did this husky gray tomcat get so lucky?

The saga began last December when I decided to adopt Sam. Friends Marten and Jessica had been feeding him, but they have four other cats.  Sam was especially friendly and affectionate, however he was becoming a nuisance, fighting with their cats.  They needed to find a home for him.

I was in mourning at the loss of Buddy, my big black male cat, whom I had to have euthanized due to cancer.  Sam seemed to be the answer to cure my sorrow. He was a delight with people, loved to be petted, purred loudly. But, he quickly decided he must be king.  He made life hell for my two female cats.  This would not work.   I called friends, sent emails, put up posters.  I was determined to find him a home.  All to no avail.  Some friends, including cat experts, said the kindest thing would be to have him euthanized.  I could not bring myself to take this step.  Since he had been surviving as a street cat in Cereste for years, a town where kind souls do feed strays, I took him back to the village with great remorse and feelings of guilt.

Sam was born under a lucky star.  Along came Anne to the rescue. Shortly after his return to the streets, this kind English woman arrived to spend the winter in the apartment upstairs from Marten and Jessica. Anne and her friend Martine came to Cereste from Ireland with their dogs and horses.  They have been spending the winter training for a 500 kilometer charity ride on horseback across France to raise money for the Program for Assistance Dogs for Families of Children with Autism.  http://thewanderlywagons.blogspot.fr/

Anne took to Sam, who was hanging around and hungry.  He soon moved in with her and her canines: Fionn, a huge lab/Rottweiler cross, and Roxy, a lab/retriever mix.  Sam detests cats, but dogs are his pals.  All became friends, even sleeping together.  When Anne walked the dogs, Sam would follow.

But, Sam’s time was running out.  Anne would soon be starting her horse trek, then return home to Ireland where she has two cats – no hope for Sam there. Once again I started the search.  Friend David, a photographer with expert computer skills, made beautiful professional posters with Sam’s photo which I distributed to numerous vet offices and shops in the area.  Again no response.

I also told my friend Jude Reitman about my plight with Sam.    Jude is an award winning journalist and author – and devoted animal rescuer – who has been living part time in France.  www.judithreitman.com  She put me in touch with Amelia Tarzi, a lawyer born in Afghanistan who gave up law to work as an interpreter, the latter allowing her more time for her passion:  animal rescue.

Amelia has lived in the states and Switzerland, but is now at home in Paris.  However, she spends as much time as possible at an animal shelter in central France, DPA-Refuge de Thiernay, www.refuge-thiernay.com

I sent photos of Sam to Amelia who soon announced that she had found a home for the fortunate feline — but it was in Paris, some 610 kilometers away.  A friend of Amelia’s is a friend of Mme. Entremont,  wife of the noted musician Philippe Entremont.  She had just lost a cat.  The friend quickly put her in touch with animal rescuer  Amelia who sent photos of many cats needing homes to Mme. Entremont.  She zeroed in on Sam because he looked like the cat she had just lost.

How to get Sam to Paris?  Amelia said she would pick him up at the TGV train station in Aix en Provence en route back to Paris after a job in Nice.

Sam needed to be vaccinated, micro-chipped and tested for disease before departing for the City of Lights.  The first attempt to cage him for the trip to the vet failed. (See Anne’s blog at the above address for more on this fiasco.)  The next morning Anne succeeded, and I took Sam to  the vet where he was a prince, a surprise to all.  Then, husband Bob (a dog person and a saint to put up with my cat capers),  drove me and caged Sam to the train station, more than a hour away.  This normally very vocal cat was amazingly subdued during the journey.

Shortly after 1 p.m. Amelia met us in the train station café, and soon street cat Sam was on his way to a new life in high-class surroundings.  Released from his cage in the Paris apartment, he ran to hide behind a bookcase.  During the night he emerged and, according to Amelia, got the shock of his life when he walked across the keys of his esteemed owner’s piano.  He’s adjusting to life with the upper crust, and Mme. Entremont is “thrilled” with her pet rescued from Provence, says Amelia.

Jude Reitman has recently started a company, La Bedouine, specializing in skin care products handmade by Berber women in Essaouira, Morocco.  http://www.labedouine.com  She has moved back to her home in North Carolina where she is active in finding homes for abandoned dogs.

Istanbul 2012, home to 17 million and booming. I’d been to the city twice before, but long ago. The changes, the vibrant pulse of round the clock activity, choking traffic, five-star hotels and designer shops –all overwhelming.

My recent visit was with the Ski Club of International Journalists (SCIJ, www.scij.info). We were en route to our annual meeting, this year held on the slopes towering above the city of Erzurum in far eastern Turkey. Some 200 skiing journalists from 30 countries met to ski, race, party, and learn about this dynamic country from distinguished speakers.

Some of the facts:

• Fifty percent of the Turkish population of 75 million is under 30.

• There are more than 25 universities in Istanbul.

. • One million people visited Turkey last year – the country ranks 7th in the world in number of visitors.

• Turkey has been a model for the Arab Spring, a secular democracy with a Muslim population.

• In 1980, the country’s exports totaled $3 billion. Last year that figure was $130 billion.

• Turkey is the sixth largest economy in Europe, 16th largest in the world.

The  media are thriving with some 1,000 daily newspapers, 100 television channels and two billion Internet users.

• But, all is not rosy. Freedom of the press is a hot issue.  Between 50 and 100 journalists are said to be in jail for being critical of the government.

• 69 percent of the population wants Turkey to join the EU.

As one of our speakers said, “Turkey is the new kid in town.”

I arrived in Istanbul a day early and spent an afternoon at the Grand Bazaar, a shopper’s Mecca with hundreds of shops and stands offering gleaming gold jewelry, silver jewels, carpets, scarves, ceramics and more.  Before setting off to the mountains, the group  visited Istanbul’s star attractions: Hagia Sophia  Museum, the Blue Mosque and Topkapi Palace.  A Bosphorus  cruise is a must

On the Bosphorus.

for an Istanbul visit.  We were blessed with warm sunshine for our boat trip on this 30-kilometer stretch of water which connects the Black Sea and the Marmara Sea and separates Europe from Asia.

We savored excellent cuisine. Turkish  Meze, small plates served as appetizers, are different and delicious, often seasoned cold vegetables, such as eggplant, zucchini, peppers… as well as stuffed grape leaves, cheese and a yogurt-garlic sauce for dipping.   Kebabs of beef or lamb are a frequent main course.  Baklava is a favorite dessert.

Not only a fabulous dinner, but over-the-top entertainment,  was a highlight when we dined beneath the streets of Istanbul in an ancient cistern which was constructed in the 5^th century and is now used as a venue for special events.  A well-known Turkish clarinet player and his band played non-stop for more than an hour and a half – an incredible performance.  Then came the country’s famous belly dancer, Asena, whose sexy slithering  and amazing body movements were mind boggling.

For me, the best of Istanbul was the hamman or Turkish bath,  a soothing multi-step ritual which leaves you feeling ultra clean and relaxed.   For the bath, we visited the historic Hurrem Sultan that dates back to the 16^th century but was restored in the 1950s.  There are separate sections for men and women.

The surroundings are opulent – all white marble under a  domed ceiling pierced with tiny windows to let in light.  Each bather is assigned an attendant who first pours warm water over your naked body.  The water is scooped from a basin under bronze faucets into embossed bowls –very classy.    This goes on for some time, then you are led to a large room where bodies lie on towels in a circle under the grandiose ceiling.  The attendants whirl a large cloth bag though the air, then, starting at the top of the bag, squeeze it until soap suds come out the  open end at the bottom— mountains of white foam.  The bodies soon look like mummies buried under mounds of cotton candy.  The attendant  gently massages the suds into the body from head to toe.  It’s glorious.  This is followed by an entire body scrub down with a rough mitt to  remove dead skin.  Then, more pouring of water, all ending with relaxation in a chaise lounge and a glass of rose hip tea.  I liked it so much, I went for a repeat performance at our hotel in the mountains.  There the surroundings were not quite as posh, but the experience was equally as  heavenly.

For most of our group, the best part of the trip was no doubt the skiing – and theobligatory races (giant slalom and cross country). But, as I have a knee which is worn out  (replacement surgery scheduled for May), I spent almost no time on the slopes.  I had relaxing days at the hotel, and, in addition to the hamman, took advantage of the swimming pool.

Nation’s Night is a SCIJ tradition.  Participants bring delicacies from their countries to share with the others.  Airline restrictions make this more and more challenging, nonetheless the variety of food and drink offered is a tribute to the determination and innovation of these skiing journalists.  Foie Gras from France.  Raclette from Switzerland.  Pasta from Italy… and Thanksgiving turkey  for a meeting in Turkey from the US.

The turkey was the idea of the U.S. team captain, Risa Wyatt.  Customs regulations prevented bringing turkey from the U.S., but the hotel did a commendable job of roasting two large birds.  I made and brought cranberry chutney to serve with it.  The beverage:  Wild Turkey.   It was a sensation.

We even had one bird leftover which we served at the end of the cross-country race, along with the legendary Dutch pea soup,  the latter a popular tradition prepared every year, with much difficulty, on site by our colleagues from Holland.

Unfortunately the trip ended on a sad note for my  Irish friend and roommate Isabel who broke her arm on a bad fall the last afternoon.  She had to have surgery in the hospital in Erzurum. The Turkish organizers of our meet, the hospital staff and Turkish Airlines treated her like royalty.  But,  now that she’s back home in Belgium, she has learned that mistakes were made during the operation and it must be redone.

She’s depressed and says she won’t ski again.  Skiing has been my passion, and  I am worried that a new knee may not permit me to get back on the slopes.  I told Isabel we must both give it a try – maybe sticking to the gentle slopes.  Next year SCIJ will celebrate its 60^th anniversary in the Italian Dolomites – something not to miss.

For more on Turkey, see www.goturkey.com.  For more on the Ski Club of International Journalists, see www.scij.info.    See  “Poached Chicken Breasts with Arugula Pesto Sauce” for  a chicken recipe with a bit of green for St. Patrick’s Day.    Watch the slide show to follow.

Since moving here and living on a fixed income, we’ve been happy with local restaurants, most of which are reasonable.  But, since the dollar is faring better these days, and since it was Valentine’s Day, I wanted to try a Michelin one-star restaurant, La Petite Maison, in nearby Curcuron.  I called and learned they had a special multi-course menu for Valentine’s Day – 120 euros ($159) per person.  That did include wine and champagne, but nonetheless way beyond our budget.  On regular days they offer a three-course menu for 46 euros ($61) per person, excluding wine.

We decided to celebrate Valentine Day’s in a more economical fashion, but try La Petite Maison a few days later.  On February 14 we lunched at the restaurant at Lycée des Métiers Louis Martin Bret in the town of Manosque.  This is a professional school with a department where aspiring chefs and restaurant personnel are trained.  Several days per week at the school restaurant they offer lunches and dinner.  The menu is fixed – few choices—but good and reasonable.  The ambience is pleasing – fresh roses on the table, the young waiters and waitresses all looking spiffy in black jackets and pants, white shirts and baby-blue ties.  This time there were two choices offered for each course.  We chose the following.  Our average rating on a scale of 1 – 10 (10 is tops)  follows.

First course: Profiteroles à la mousse de foie gras sur roquette.  Three rounds of chou pastry, each filled with a different type of foie gras mousse, attractively arranged around a mound of arugula, with threads of spun sugar on top for added flair.  One was decorated with stripes of chocolate sauce. The others were accompanied by tiny mounds of chutneys. Yummy.  In my opinion, you can never go wrong with foie gras.  Rating: 8.5

Main course: Dos de cabillaud, semoule aux raisins, carrots fanes glacées.  A slice of cod with a piece of the fried skin as decoration, served with a semolina/raisin mixture and glazed carrots. Tasty, but unfortunately we found the fish overcooked, which is too often the case with fish. Rating: 5.25

Dessert:  Pêches flambêes sur glaces. Flambéd peaches served on ice cream.  It was fun watching our young waiters, Nicolas, 15,(left)  and Jimmy, 15, undertake the flaming procedure. They handled it like pros, and the result was delicious – the vanilla ice cream full of flavor and obviously homemade. Rating; 7.5

We began the meal with an ”apéro,”  a before dinner drink that is de rigeur in France.   We ordered the cocktail of the day, a concoction of rum, orange juice, coconut milk and sugar.  With the meal, we drank a half liter of open white wine.  After dessert, we each had a coffee.  Total tab for two: 40 euros ($53).

Two days later we went for broke and had lunch in Curcuron at the renowned La Petite Maison with our friends Gayle and Ralph.  We economized on the apéro – a pre-dinner drink at the village café next door.  For two glasses of champagne, a beer and a Pastis, the bill was 14 euros ($18.50)  La Petite Maison charges the same for one glass of champagne.

Two fixed menus were offered, at 46 and 68 euros each. We all selected the less expensive one. Beef was the main course. Bob is not big on beef, so he was permitted to substitute fish.

At this classy place, we were given an amuse-bouche ( appetizer )  a velouté de lentil et une tartine avec rillette de saumon.  A creamy lentil soup topped with a toasted wedge of bread spread with a salmon pâté.   Gayle thought it was outstanding.  I wasn’t that overwhelmed. Rating: 7.8

First course:  Céleri et pomme verte rémoulade rehaussé de dés de saumon fumé, oeuf au plat coulant.  A colorful combination of diced celery and green apple topped with tiny morsels of smoked salmon, all crowned with the yellow of an egg.   Definitely a work of art to admire, and it was good, but perhaps not as flavorful as it looked. Rating: 6.5

Main course;  Pièce de filet de boeuf d’origine européenne poêlée au poivre, pommes de terre fondantes.  Filet of beef ( European origin)  pan fried with pepper and served with interesting potatoes. (fondant means ‘‘melted,” but there was nothing melted about these potatoes.  Maybe this is just fancy restaurant vocabulary).  We were not asked how we wanted the beef cooked. It was served rare, a tad on the bloody side. This is the way French gourmets prepare beef.  I love beef, and this is just the way I like it, so I was happy.  Bob, who went for the fish substitute, was horrified at the bloody meat and very glad he chose monkfish served on a mousse of cauliflower.  Sharing the plate with the beef were sliced potatoes topping a tasty crumb melange which reminded Gayle of turkey stuffing. She noted that this dish would have been better with an added portion of vegetable – perhaps something green for color.  Rating: 7.4

Dessert:  Croustade aux pommes et figues aux parfums d’orient, glace à la rose. A crusty concoction of phyllo pastry filled with Oriental flavored apples and figs  next to a scoop of rose ice cream.  Bob is a dessert fan and this was his favorite.  I thought it was good, although I did not detect any Oriental flavors and the rose ice cream did not send me.  Rating: 7.75

With the dessert a plate of small pots of a lemony-creamy liquid surrounded by mini cakes was placed on the table for us to share.  A nice touch.

The restaurant is in an old house in the center of a charming village opposite a pond.  The dining room, all wood-paneled, is a bit on the bare side – no décor, just tables with white table cloths. Our waitress, all dressed in black, was pleasant – she even corrected my French.  That I appreciated.  Chef and owner, Eric Sapet, has impressive credentials in the world of cuisine.

We ordered the cheapest bottle of red wine on the menu: a 2007 Vin de Pays de Vaucluse, Domaine Hugues, Vendage des Chefs, 35 euros ($46).  Total cost per couple, about $144.

Moral of the story: Forget the stars and save your money. We all agreed that we’ve had better food at la Table du Bonheur (see previous blog, “Table of Happiness”) for much less money.

www.lyc-bret.ac-aix-marseille.fr

www.lapetitemaisondecurcuron

“Having a toothache is the worst pain,” says the dedicated dentist.  “You can’t sleep.  You can’t eat. You can only cry.”  Without dental care, decayed teeth can become infected.  Sepsis can set in and can lead to death, he explained.  ”It’s a common way of death here.”

Bloch, who had a practice in Fort Myers, Fla., for 19 years, as well as a part-time practice in Denmark, would spend two to three months a year as a volunteer “jungle dentist,” seeing as many as 60 – 70 patients per day.  “We used an upside down canoe as a dental chair,” he says.

He now lives at his magnificent resort, Tanah Merah (red earth), four kilometers outside of the Bali town of Ubud, but still practices jungle dentistry several months of the year.  He also gets patients from Ubud where he operates under the slogan “No Pain, No Pay.”

But these days most of his energies are directed to Tanah Merah, a secluded paradise in a luxuriant tropical setting.  Our stay there was the highlight of our recent six-week trip which took us on to Australia and New Zealand.

Bloch bought the land on a hillside above the Petanu River and began construction in 2000.  There are now 17 rooms, including some individual cottages and luxurious villas.  The latter have private plunge pools, some even with waterfalls.  We had a deluxe studio with a canopied bed, private terrace and enormous bathroom with a giant, gleaming copper bathtub.  We visited several other rooms and villas.  Bloch, who designed all the rooms himself, did not stint on the bathrooms – all lavish and spacious.  Fascinating art objects and paintings from his private collection add elegance to the guest rooms.

Collecting these treasures is the jovial Dane’s passion.  “I am constantly collecting.  It’s terrible. It’s a disease,” he says. Because of his work on Bali and his hobby of collecting, Bloch is well known on the island.  Owners of palaces who are in need of funds contact him when they have treasures to sell.  Museum directors also know he is interested in art objects.

He recently opened a museum at the resort, nine rooms, each behind heavy, elaborately carved wooden doors, and all underground in a temperature-controlled environment.  The contents –  priceless, amazing and unusual objects — include paintings, weavings, objects of gold, daggers, masks and carved furniture.

One room features a large collection of Chinese porcelain from the Yuan dynasty (1271 – 1368) all recovered from a shipwreck.  The star attraction in another room is gigantic tusks.  According to Bloch, the former president of Indochina, Suharto, wanted a set of tusks from a mammoth. He got them from Russia and sold them to Bloch after he lost his presidency and was in financial need.  The tusks have been tested and are said to be 28,000 years old.

The highlight of the Bali room is a 400-year-old Indonesian structure which he had reassembled.  From Europe, there’s his mother’s dining room recreated from furnishings from the family home in Denmark, complete with a lavish table setting.

“It’s fun.  It’s a beautiful atmosphere.  I like to sit here and read’’ he says of the museum.

He also likes to wander the grounds of his resort.  Steps lead up and down the verdant hillside with its colorful blossoms and lush foliage.  There’s an infinity

pool at the edge of a cliff with fabulous views of the surroundings.  Exotic birds live in cages around the area of the individual cottages.  Noisy frogs thrive in a spring-fed pond adjacent to one of the resort’s three restaurants.

A staff member told me Bloch likes to get up early and make the rounds of the bird cages, talking to his feathered friends. He might be accompanied by his dogs, three very friendly Rottweilers.

The resort complex is large so you rarely see other guests.  On most occasions I had the pool to myself. Even husband Bob, a non-swimmer who normally avoids pools, could not resist a dip in the inviting water. For a jungle experience, you can trek down to the river and swim in a pool under a waterfall.  Unfortunately I saved this for our last day when it rained, making the descent to the river too slippery.

The many stone statues of gods and spirits throughout Tanah Merah add to the almost mystical, enchanting ambience of this romantic resort.  Young Balinese women clad in vibrant sarongs place fresh offerings of flowers at the statues each morning.  I’m not a big fan of massages, but I indulged at Tanah Merah for the best massage of my life.  The breakfasts, the English version with eggs and meat, as well as fresh fruit and croissants, are the perfect way to start the day at the open restaurant Petanu, half way down the hillside amidst the jungle greenery.

The town of Ubud with shops, restaurants and a thriving market, is about a 15-minute drive from the resort.  Tanah Merah offers guests free shuttle service to town, but if the resort cars are not available, you can hop on the back of a staff member’s motorcycle for a fun trip.

Bloch likes to mingle with his guests and can communicate in numerous languages: Danish, English, French, German, Swedish, Swahili, Indonesian and Balinese.  He has lived in Singapore, and Africa where he opened a dental clinic in Nairobi.  He is divorced with two children and a grandchild who live in the U. S.   In addition to dentistry and collecting art works, he writes and is especially proud of his recently published book, “Mads Lange, The Bali Trader and Peacemaker,” the story of this Danish expatriate who lived in Bali in the 19^th century and was influential in the island’s history.

Before leaving, I decided to ask the jungle dentist about a dental problem and related headaches.  He invited me to his private villa at the resort where I lay on a couch on the porch with lots of pillows behind my head.  His houseboy held a surgical light above my mouth while the dentist took a look at my teeth and gave his advice which I’ve since heeded with good results.

Our deluxe studio at Tanah Merah in October was $100 per night, including breakfast.  For more on the resort, see   www.tanahmerahbali.com

Hungry for Tex Mex?  In the recipe column at far right, see “Enchilada Pie.”

Bali Ha’i *  may call you,
Any night, any day,
In your heart, you’ll hear it call you:
“Come away…Come away.”

Bali Ha’i will whisper
On the wind of the sea:
“Here am I, your special island!
Come to me, come to me!”

Your own special hopes,
Your own special dreams,
Bloom on the hillside
And shine in the streams.
If you try, you’ll find me
Where the sky meets the sea.
“Here am I your special island
Come to me, Come to me.”

My parents loved Broadway musicals.  They often played sound track records.  South Pacific was a favorite. My favorite song: “Bali Ha’i.” (*Bali Ha’i in the above song, according to Wikipedia, was not Bali, but based on the  island of Ambae, part of what was formerly known as New Hebrides, now Vanuatu.  Never mind, for me, it was Bali.)

I was mesmerized, both by the words and the melody of this song .  I knew I had to see this “special island” someday.

It took almost a lifetime, but I made it last October. The Indonesian island  was all I had hoped – and more.  A British friend, Jenny, recommended we stay in Ubud, a town in the hills, rather than at a popular tourist beach resort.  Thank you, Jenny.

In the book and movie, “Eat, Pray and Love,” Ubud was the focus of author Elizabeth Gilbert’s quest for spirituality and healing.  Tourism is the chief industry in Bali, and Ubud, the island’s artistic hub,  has seen a surge in visitors thanks to both the book and movie.

Our home (husband Bob was with me)  for six days was the Tanah Merah resort and gallery about a 20-minute drive outside of the funky town in a verdant, tropical setting.  I found the resort on the Web.  It was reasonable, beautiful, serene, fascinating – a bit of paradise.  The fascinating part was the Danish dentist, Peter Bloch, owner and creator of this magical place which has just 14 rooms, including many individual cottages, and an incredible art and artifact galley with Peter’s extensive collection.  For more about Peter and Tanah Merah, see my next blog post.

Our night arrival at the chaotic airport in Denpasar, the capital of Bali, was a horror story, (also more about that in a future blog on Travel Mishaps).  But all turned out well thanks to a friendly Australian airline steward, Peter, whom we met on our Qantas flight to Singapore.  He recommended a friend and driver in Bali, Wayan Sukada.  He sent Wayan an email and arranged for him to meet us at the airport and take us to Ubud – about an hour and a half drive through a crazy, congested city into the peaceful countryside.

Wayan became our guide and mentor.  He drove us on an excursion to temples and sites.  He recommended restaurants.  He invited us to a ceremony at his temple.  He taught us much about Bali and its religion.

There is a pervasive spirituality in Bali is that is both intriguing and soothing. Most Balinese are Hindu, but they practice a form of the religion somewhat different than Hinduism in India.  It governs their daily life.  Every town, no matter what the size, must have three temples, Wayan told us, each dedicated to one of the three elements: air, water and fire.  All homes have a main temple, and often an additional one in each room. Ceremonies are profuse – not just the usual ones for weddings, births and cremations, but celebrations for the rice harvest, in honor of animals, to bless machinery…During our brief  Ubud visit, Wayan attended three ceremonies.  He said he must give 10 percent of his earnings to the temple.

Statues of gods, goddesses and demons are everywhere, and often draped from the head down in sarongs. The latter is to protect the spirit inside the statue. The sarongs are in various colors, but each color has significance. White, for example, is for prosperity. Trees, which also have spirits, are also sometimes covered with sarongs. Offerings to the statues are made twice each day – tiny baskets made with coconut leaves and filled with blossoms.  Every morning we watched employees at Tanah Merah put fresh offerings of flowers at the base of the numerous statues on the property.

Besakih is the Mother Temple in Bali.  We passed hills of rice paddies and drove through poor villages, past numerous temples,  en route to the holy site, a huge complex of structures on seven levels.  Before visiting the site, we both had to “rent” sarongs to wear in respect at the temple.  A government guide led us through the complex, first up the steps on the left side, the negative side, then down on the right side, the positive side. At each level there are terraces, altars, statues, and ceremonies were underway at some.

Our excursion that day also included a stop at Klungkung Palace which was erected at the end of the 17^th century, but largely destroyed during the Dutch colonial conquest in 1908. Among the remaining portions is a lovely floating pavilion which was added in the 1940s.  While visiting the palace, we heard the beat of drums and commotion in the adjacent street.  It was a funeral procession, with groups of mourners following the wrapped body.  Wayan explained that the body would be interred first, then unearthed at a future date for a cremation ceremony during which the remains of many would be burned.

As we (especially Bicycle Bob) love cycling, we signed up for an all-day bike excursion.  Unfortunately the supposedly spectacular view of Mount Batur, near where the trip originated, was hidden by clouds; it rained most of the day, and Bob had a crash in the mud on a skinny route through a rice paddy.  But, it was an enlightening trip nonetheless. Our group stopped in a village where we toured a home — several rooms, virtually no furnishings, a temple in the yard, — all very basic and poor. Bali may be the home of numerous luxurious resorts, but life for the average citizen is at the other end of the spectrum.

While he (Bob) is passionate about bicycles, food and cooking are among my hobbies.  So, we also signed up for a Balinese cooking class at the Bambu Bali restaurant. It started out with a visit to the colorful market where our teacher explained some of the indigenous produce.   The dishes we prepared, seven different ones,  were all delicious, many on the hot and spicy side. We also received a souvenir cook booklet with recipes.  Unfortunately all seem to require ingredients which I’ll never find here.

Bicycles, food – and animals.  We love them, too, and  our visit to the Monkey Forest in Ubud was enchanting.  Thousands of monkeys: mothers with babies, teenagers wrestling with one another, couples diligently picking bugs off each other’s backs… All roaming freely in a vast tropical forest complete with temples, statues and a picturesque stream strewn with rocks.

The visit to an elephant sanctuary was somewhat disappointing.  Just to view the elephants, we had to pay $15; an elephant safari ride cost an extra $45. We passed on the costly ride, but one of the guides, who agreed the charge was ridiculous, offered us a brief ride as his boss was not around.  It was fun, and his commentary on the elephants was informative.

On our last night, Wayan took us to a ceremony to inaugurate a new temple in his village.  He was a member of the all male band: drums, bamboo flutes, hammers, cymbals, and a xylophone.  The sounds, lots of clinging and clanging, all sounded much the same.  The men in the band all wear white with a bandana around their heads.  The latter, Wayan explained, is to keep them focused on god and prayer.

Villagers arrived with enormous creations of fruit, flowers and food, all placed on an altar as offerings.  The women,  wearing their finest, sat together, while the men were off in another section – some gathered in an adjacent room smoking and gambling, according to Wayan.  Children, dogs and chickens wandered freely around the festive scene.

Even if it’s not Bali Ha’i, for me Bali is indeed a “special island.”

Bali is reasonable. Wayan charged us about $28 for the transportation from the airport to Ubud; about $36 for an all-day excursion. Our spacious room with full English breakfast at Tanah Merah was $100 per night. Cycling tour with bike rental, breakfast, lunch and van transportation to and from the start of the ride, about $36 per person.  Cooking class, about $22 per person, including eating the food you prepare.

www.tanahmerahbali.com

Email: wayan_sukada70@yahoo.com  (underscore between wayan and sukada)

For a fantastic soup, see recipe in column at right for Baked Garlic and Onion Cream Soup.  Watch the slideshow below.

Welcome to Singapore. For futuristic architectural magnificence, it’s tops.  Of course, there’s more.  Fascinating ethnic neighborhoods.  Beautiful botanic gardens.  Mega shopping.  Fun and interesting entertainment venues.  And, of course those pricey Singapore Slings at the legendary Raffles hotel bar.

 Husband Bob and I began a six-week odyssey which would take us to Bali, New Zealand and Australia in this awesome metropolis.

Dinner after arrival at the Maxwell Road Food Center near our hotel on the edge of Chinatown was a fun and tasty introduction to the city. This “hawker center” — there are many in Singapore — is  a big building packed with vendor stands, all selling different Asian specialties, and bustling with diners, all using chopsticks, seated at tables opposite the stands. Pigs’ organ soup.  Braised pigs’ trotters. Soup dumplings. Onion pancakes. Plus, desserts and strange drinks such as chestnut wheat grass and dragon fruit.  I chose a stand with Seafood Crispy Noodles for  3.20 Singapore dollars ($2.50) — a bargain.

Friends had raved about the Botanic Gardens, first stop on our city visit.  We mastered the subway, another marvel of modernity, to get close, then trekked, and trekked yet more once we arrived.  It’s enormous (150 acres).  Meandering paths lead up hills, around lakes and waterfalls, all lined with abundant  vegetation and colorful blossoms. The Rain Forest and Orchid sections were  my favorites.

These days Singapore’s star attraction is the new Marina Bay Sands, a gargantuan three-towered, five-star hotel complex with more than 2,500 rooms. On the rooftop there are viewing platforms and a glamorous, monstrous infinity pool, said to be the world’s largest. 

“This was all sea three years ago.  This is all reclaimed land and these buildings weren’t here three years ago,” explained the taxi driver on our ride to the sensational structure.

The $15.50 admission to the Sky Park viewing platform no longer includes a walk around the pool. Guests who obviously pay big bucks to lounge in these elegant surroundings on top of the city were probably complaining about groups of tourists parading around.  Now only one pool tour is scheduled each day at 2 p.m.  But the views of the sprawling city, its dramatic skyline, numerous construction sites and harbor, are worth the price.

Sentosa Island, a tram ride from the city center, has been developed as “Asia’s Favorite Playground” with all manner of attractions: Universal Studios (a Hollywood theme park), rides, interactive movies, a water show, a sandy beach and more.  We rode the elevated tram to the last stop, Underwater World Singapore, an oceanarium with an 83-meter long tunnel surrounded by water and all matter of sea life.  We watched divers feed sharks and rays, admired fish large and small, sea dragons, jelly fish and more. The show at the outdoor Dolphin Lagoon is a treat with adorable seals clapping, dancing, shaking hands, and  dolphins swimming in synchronization, then leaping out of the water, even gliding over to the edge of the pool so selected visitors could touch them.

After our sea adventure, we walked to the beach where we had lunch and watched as a young couple tried to master the Flying Trapeze. Harnessed and attached to a cable, they jumped off a platform and soared, bounced, and flew high above a mat.

My Singapore research recommended the  Night Safari,  an excursion through a jungle park on the edge of the city.  Instead of riding the tourist train into the darkness, we walked along paths in the tropical forest, spooky at times, but full of surprises.  Crazy, noisy birds; bats you could pet hanging from branches; otters frolicking in streams; lions; civets; even a beauty of a leopard who stared at us from behind a glass enclosure.  A fun finale is the Night Creation Show at an outdoor auditorium where handlers come on stage and entertain with various creatures – otters trained to recycle, raccoons, wolves etc.  For drama, a boa constrictor was said to have escaped. Staff ran up and down, rousing the audience.  The missing critter was discovered under the seat of someone in the audience where it had obviously been planted.   

Singapore’s Chinatown and Little India are packed with ethnic shops and eateries.  Chinatown features a lively night market with colorful lanterns decorating the streets.  Our best meal of the trip was at Da Nang in Chinatown where I went for the special, Chili Crab, a whole crab smothered in a gooey, red, spicy sauce.  It was very messy to eat, but delicious.  Bob ordered a scallop, shrimp and broccoli dish with fried rice.  Tab with two beers:  $105.   

Other highlights of our visit included a river cruise with interesting commentary on the city, and the obligatory Singapore Slings, the city’s legendary cocktail served at the Long Bar, a woodsy place with ceiling fans, in the Raffles Hotel. The colonial style hotel was built in 1887, its white façade and old world architecture standing out amidst the contemporary surroundings.  It is considered one of the world’s finest hotels.

The Long Bar was the favorite watering hole  of  Somerset Maugham and Ernest Hemingway. Today it’s a must for tourists who want to relive the colonial era,  soak in the ambience, and are willing to pay $60 for the privilege of sipping two of the sweet  pink drinks. You do get some peanuts at no extra cost. 

We loved our Singapore hotel, the Berjaya Singapore Hotel, with a friendly and helpful staff, convenient location.  www.berjayahotel.com  

For a taste of Malaysia, click on “Malaysian-Style Chicken Curry” under Recipes in right column. Photos follow. Click on photo to see full size.

 

Buddy was put to sleep on Oct 20, a peaceful, painless death.  He was 11 years old, and during those years he went through most of his nine lives.  He owes those years to several guardian angels who rescued him. 

Chris, an assistant to the military vet in Stuttgart, Germany, trapped Buddy’s mother with seven kittens (including Buddy).  They were feral, the mother having been abandoned by a military family who moved back to the states.  This is the fate of too many cats on military installations.  Chris rescued many starving felines.    Buddy and his brothers and sisters, about three months old, were wild, fearful and ferocious.  Chris’ mission was to tame them.  Wearing extra heavy gloves, she forced the kittens to eat out of her hand, thus becoming accustomed to human contact.  It took patience, dedication and time. 

Chris knew I had been considering getting another cat to be a companion to my cat Molly.   She felt Buddy was special.  She wanted him to have a good home.  She offered him to me when he was ‘ready” for adoption.  He quickly adapted to his new home, becoming affectionate and loving. I was smitten. 

Buddy’s second brush with death came just a few months after I got him.  We lived in a second floor apt, with a large balcony/terrace adjacent to a giant pine tree.  Molly would climb down the tree for outdoor excursions.  Buddy did the same, but shortly after his first foray, he did not return.  I searched the neighborhood, called, put up signs. 

After a lapse of several days, he tried to make his way back up the tree.  I was on the balcony and was overjoyed. But, he didn’t make it.  A hind leg was dangling from his body.  He fell back down and ran away.  We spotted him hiding in the backyard, but he wouldn’t let us near him.  It was as if he had become feral again.  We put a dish of food out and after several tries, managed to throw a blanket over him while he was eating.  His leg had been broken, probably caught in a fence, according to the vet. 

After that, Buddy became an indoor cat.  He had many endearing habits.  His favorite pose was lying on his back, his front paws curled up.  He loved to get on my lap and knead, cat fashion.  And, as a special sign of affection, he liked to chew my hair. He was also a glutton.  Buddy devoured all food.  He always hung around in the kitchen when I was cooking, and I often spoiled him with bits of meat or fish.  He especially loved licking the almost-empty containers of crème fraiche, yogurt, and the bowl after I had whipped cream. He’d end up with a white face. 

Buddy’s remarkable and miraculous rescue came many years after his second brush with death.  I took him to Sigrid Ruckaberle, the cat lady of Stuttgart, because we were preparing to go on a vacation.    Sigrid, like Chris, trapped and rescued many feral cats in military housing areas.  She had more than 20 cats herself, all rescues, but she also boarded cats.

I got out of the car in front of her house (about a 1 ½ hour drive from our home) and picked up Buddy’s cage.  He pushed the door open, bolted and sped like lightning up the street. The door had obviously not been fastened securely. My heart sank.  I knew I would never catch him, and he was so far from home.

Sigrid was also upset, but, she was confident she could catch him.  I could not go on vacation knowing that Buddy was wandering in the wilderness, so far away.  We canceled the trip, and every day, for 10 days, I drove back to Sigrid’sneighborhood, walked all around, calling Buddy.  I knew he would not come, but I thought if he heard my voice he would meow and I could at least locate him.  I asked all the neighbors time and time again if they had seen a back cat with a white mark on his chest.  They got sick of seeing me, and finally one neighbor got nasty and told me to stop coming on his property.  I gave up my search, but continued to be plagued by worry and sorrow. 

Sigrid, meanwhile, had been putting out food dishes in several neighborhood locations.  The food always disappeared, but any number of cats or wild creatures could have been eating it.  She also set cat traps.  She caught a hedgehog, but not Buddy. 

After six weeks, I had given up hope and set off on a short trip with a friend, still thinking too often about Buddy.  When I came home, husband Bob told me to sit down; he had some good news and bad news.  I was certain the bad news was that Buddy’s body had been found.

“The good news is that I have a cat outside in a cage.   The bad news is that I don’t know if it’s Buddy,” he said.  I raced to the cage.  It was my Buddy.  Sigrid, after all this time and tireless efforts, had caught my baby.  I was thrilled, overjoyed, and ecstatic. 

Yet, one more time Buddy escaped.  We had gone on a vacation and left a young neighbor in charge of feeding Buddy and Molly.  I told her she could let Molly out, but not Buddy.  When we came home after a week, no Buddy.  I quizzed her.  She said I had told her that Molly could go out so she left the balcony door open for her.   ???  How could she have not realized that Buddy would go out too? Again, I was frantic.  

I consulted Sigrid who assured me that he would not venture far. We put food out, it disappeared.  After about a week, we saw him.  But he always ran from us. Again, he reverted to his feral past. We monitored the food dish.  And, we used the blanket trick again.  While he was eating, we threw a blanket over him.  He was wild. He scratched and bit me.  But, once we got him in the apartment, he was his old self again. 

Some years later we moved to a rural area of southern France.  Here the neighborhood is safe with lots of territory for cats to roam.  Buddy was permitted outdoors.  He never ventured far, but obviously enjoyed his freedom.  He knew the sound of the car.  Whenever I returned home after an outing, he would be waiting for me at the edge of the driveway. 

Now he’s gone….no friendly cat to welcome me.  I miss you, Buddy. 

Buddy was the third male cat I have lost to cancer at the age of 11.  Molly lived to be 17 ½.  I have two young female cats I rescued as kittens from a shelter to replace Molly, but they are completely “sauvage” as the French say.  Real outdoor cats that only  appear to eat.   

As this is Christmas time, this story needs a happy ending.  Welcome Sam, a big, sturdy gray tomcat who has been living in the streets of nearby Cereste. Friends Martin and Jessica have been feeding him, but they already have four cats and now a new baby, a beautiful girl named Sam. They could not adopt another cat.  Sam (I named him), who is very affectionate and loves to be caressed, needed a home.  He’s my Christmas present.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL