A Spring Trip to Anytown, USA

Reprinted from the Highlands Newspaper

Mum and Dad have a friend who has a cabin in a mountain town, and he invited us to use it for a week.  That’s right; he invited me too.  Now, it’s taboo for me to mention other mountain towns in the Highlands Newspaper, but I had so much fun that I just have to tell you about it. Let’s just say this cabin was in Anytown, USA.  By the way, if anyone wants to offer us a free stay in Highlands, I’ll be happy to write about that experience too.

First, our friend cautioned Mum not to let me roam outside at night because of the bears. After hearing that, Mum was vigilant about standing outside with me at all times of the day, and she was quick to cut short any attempts at wandering. No sooner would I pick up a good smell than I’d hear, “Banjo, come back here right this minute.”

 

Still, I enjoyed the cool, crisp mornings and the walks I went on with Mum and Dad.  New places and new smells put a spring in my step. Indoors I rotated between protecting Mum and Dad in the top floor master bedroom and warding off invaders by holding down my dog bed in the living room.

During the cool mornings and evenings, we hung out in front of the fireplace, but when it warmed up in the afternoons, the front porch rockers called to us. Mum and Dad and their friends would rock and read, and I’d lie around and attempt to wander off, but you know I couldn’t get far without hearing, “Banjo, where do you think you’re going?” We never did see any bears in Anytown, so I don’t know what all the fuss was about.

Besides not being able to wander freely as I do in our woods at home, what I really missed was Puddin’—well, mostly I missed Puddin’s food. I get to lick up any dabs of wet food the Princess leaves in her kitty dish, but she didn’t come on this trip, so no wet food for me.

I made up for that by sneaking into the garbage. I know, I know, that’s against the rules, but desperate times call for desperate measures. There was no lid on the tall kitchen garbage can, and I could easily dip my nose in.

 

When Mum and Dad came home to wet coffee grounds on the floor, they fussed and laughed and said, “Guess Banjo’s wishing we’d cook so there’d be something better in there.” They put a cookie sheet on top of the can to keep me out, which worked fine until they forgot to put it back.  I was on full alert for garbage opportunities and scored a few tasty tidbits that way.

When Dad started loading luggage into the car, I hopped right in without an invitation. I was more than ready for cat food and an extended exploration of our backyard.  I don’t typically stay outside too long, but I took my time inspecting my domain when we reached our house. Dad watched as I sniffed and meandered up and down and through the trees. My coat was yellow with pollen when I barked at the kitchen door to be let in.

After a few dabs of cat food, I settled down beneath Mum’s desk to dictate the tale of our trip to Anytown, USA. As a reminder, I’m available to tell the tale of a trip to Highlands, NC if only some kind person would offer me a cabin. And, of course, the Royal Parents must be invited too.

Lord Banjo lives in Georgia with his Mum, Kathy Manos Penn. Find similar stories in his book, “Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch,” available on Amazon. To contact him, please email inkpenn119@gmail.com. (If you received this blog via email, please do not hit reply--messages to that mailbox unfortunately go into a Black Hole.)

Lord Banjo's winter retreat

In January, Mum loaded up the Royal Red Carriage, otherwise known as her SUV, and we headed North. I couldn’t wait to romp in the frigid air

Luckily for us, my Aunt has a cottage in Black Mountain, NC and generously lets us use it. Mum and I consider it a perfect writer’s retreat and planned to spend a few days working on my second book. 

Mum likes the snug cottage with its gas fireplace, and I like being able to walk off leash in crisp, cold air. The first morning, with the temps in the teens, I was in heaven. Mum looked like an Arctic explorer in her red puffer coat with the hood, and I looked stunning in my black fur coat.

We took a brisk walk on the wooded paths before starting back to the cottage.  For a bit of a workout, Mum likes to jog on the last leg of our walks.  By the time she stopped and looked around for me, I had “dis-a-pyred.”  That’s a term that applies to us Great Pyrenees without a fence and off leash.  I don’t do it often, but I wasn’t ready to go inside yet so I “dis-a-pyred” that morning.

Mum spotted me cutting across a meadow towards a creek and called to me to come. Did I mention I wasn’t ready to go inside? As is my tendency, I ignored Mum’s invitation to come. I’m sure it was an invitation, not a command. Luckily for me, Mum’s pretty patient.  She chuckled and watched my wandering, and waited for me to return.

We spent most of the day inside writing, and then we took another walk.  The evening included red wine for Mum, food for me, and more writing in front of the fireplace.  Additional walks ensued on day two, and then Mum’s girlfriends arrived at the Hobbit House, as Mum calls it, to spend a few days with us.

The next day, the girls walked me and then walked to the Black Bear Tavern for breakfast before driving to downtown Black Mountain for a Fairy Hair appointment. The trio came back loaded down with purchases from a few shops plus sparkly silk strands woven through their hair.  There was talk of learning to do Fairy Hair with me as a guinea pig—or guinea dog. If I must endure sparkles, I demand they be royal purple. 

The girls spent the week shopping, dining out, taking walks with me, and showering me with attention as they lounged in front of the fireplace.  I thought it was a perfect week, and when I heard Mum’s girlfriends use words like “best-ever trip,” I knew they agreed. I’m sure I was the special ingredient that made the trip so wonderful.

The last morning, Mum took me for a long walk, and I caught her off guard when I decided to take a dip in the creek.  She seemed to think swimming in 20⁰ weather was inappropriate, but she laughed and dried me off, and before I knew it, we were on our way home. Need I say, “Life is good?"

Lord Banjo lives in Georgia with his Mum, Kathy Manos Penn. Find similar stories in his book, “Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch,” available on Amazon. Contact him at inkpenn119@gmail.com.

The Joy of Vacationing in the Mountains

I am pleased to announce that Bienvenue Press has chosen this blog to run as part of their "Front Porch" series.   This is the second time they've selected one of my submissions for their website, and I am tickled pink! Enjoy.

The Magic of Mirmande

Magical is the perfect description for the three days we spent in the village of Mirmande, France. My husband and I have vacationed three times in France: a bike and barge trip in Burgundy, a cycling tour of Normandy, and a river cruise in the South of France.  This summer, we capped off our river cruise with a stay in Mirmande to visit a high school friend who retired there with her husband.

We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect holiday. Our friends picked us up at the train station in Valence, took us to lunch in the countryside and then introduced us to Mirmande. We started with a tour of their home near the top of the hilltop village, accompanied by their dog Kirby, a.k.a., Kirbs of Provence.

After we oohed and aahed over the picturesque simplicity of their stone cottage and marveled at the view, we walked down the hill to L ‘Hotel de Mirmande to rest before dinner. The village is a vision from a fairytale. Named one of the most Beautiful Villages in France, it charms visitors with ramparts from the 5^th century, houses built with beautiful stone facades and winding alleys lined with stone. Add in the fact that the population numbers 525, and you’ll begin to get a feel for the tranquility we experienced.

We discovered its beauty is easier to appreciate when walking downhill, as the uphill climb to dinner in my friend’s garden was a challenge, making the chilled wine awaiting us a welcome treat.  We lingered over our four-course meal and several bottles of wine before wending our way down to our hotel, flashlights in hand.

Day two, we enjoyed warm croissants in the café as we watched the village come alive and chuckled at the antics of the kittens across the street. Next was a trip to the Renaissance palace and town of Grignan. Because I’m an author, my friend wanted to take me to this village made famous in the 17th century by the letters of Madame de Sévigné, a French writer. The village was a bit more lively but still peaceful. We returned to Mirmande for our afternoon siesta, a tradition in the heat of the summer, before walking to the Café Margot for another leisurely dinner.

Day three was billed as a “day in the life,” so we ate breakfast and then took a morning walk with our hosts, a trek they do most days. As we wandered, we were greeted with lilting Bonjours from shop owners and neighbors.

Lunchtime found us touring the pottery in nearby Cliousclat before dining al fresco at La Treille Muscate, where my husband ventured out and ate Toro—yes, bull.  Before napping that afternoon, my friend and I hit the shops in Mirmande.  I found a dainty bracelet at Le Passage to remind me of my visit, and at Au Gre Demes Envies—which means To my Liking in English—I picked up a dress to send to a friend. She’d admired my hostess’s dress in a Facebook photo, so we did international shopping via email.

Our last day in Mirmande, we experienced the friendly Saturday market and selected the ingredients for the midday meal.  Though we didn’t want to leave, we were soon ferried to our hotel in Valence in preparation for catching the early morning train to the Paris airport.  It wasn’t long before reality intruded on the magic of Mirmande, but thankfully, the memories still linger.

Yes! Another Vacation

I know, I know, I took a whole week’s vacation just last week. Now that I’ve worked three days in a row, don’t I deserve a few more days off?  Columbus Day is a bank holiday, so I’m adding two days to the upcoming three-day weekend and heading to St. Simons Island off the coast of Georgia, as I do most years.  Just like last year, I’m following a physically active boot camp week in Hilton Head with a more leisurely arts festival outing with my youngest sister.

 

This year, for the first time, my aunt is joining us.  We all three like to walk, so we’ll walk every morning before we start wandering the town and the festival. I don’t usually walk four miles, but my aunt does, so she’ll be sure to get me in gear even if I’m not bicycling or hitting the weight room.  And, I’m sure we’ll end up sitting outside with a Bloody Mary or Mimosa at least one morning after the requisite walk. If I can follow all that with an afternoon nap on the deck, I’ll be a happy girl.

 

We’re also big readers, so we’ll all have our Kindles at the ready, and I’ll bring along a few “real” books, purchased recently at a library sale. The weather forecast is calling for sunny days with highs in the low 80’s, so we’re in luck.  It’s not that we haven’t enjoyed the years with rain, but sunshine is always better.

 

We rent different condos and houses, always near the heart of St. Simons Village.  When it’s just the two of us, options are more limited, as there aren’t many rentals that are small enough and priced right for two. We never fail to walk by a set of condos directly across from the festival location and fantasize about staying there someday. This year, with three of us, we had a few more options, and lo and behold, one of those condos had just come on the rental market when my sister began her search. It’s perfect for three guests, so we snagged it.  I’ve been anticipating this trip ever since I saw the photos and read the description on VRBO: 

This isn't your ordinary 'condo'! The unique design of the exclusive 11 unit complex, of which this condo is only one of 3 on the top floors - affords both privacy and/or connection to the charm of the 'village' - whichever you desire. The large 3rd & 4th floor decks are the perfect spots to capture the ocean breeze, sunbathe, entertain, grill, and enjoy live music from the park or nearby venue - all, while having a birds-eye view of the lighthouse and activities at the ground level.

 

Ah yes. I’m ready to wake up each morning and sip a cup of coffee on the deck. Afternoons, I plan to spend several hours reclining and dozing in a lounge chair on the top deck, getting in a last bit of sun before fall is truly upon us. Then--seriously--no more vacation…that is until I take one more trip Christmas week.

Mais Oui! Learning French...Again

Oui, I did take a year of French in high school, but haven’t retained a bit of it.  That may be a slight exaggeration; I’m still able to translate the occasional word or two, but that’s it.   The Spanish I learned stayed with me much longer, probably because I began taking it in grammar school in NYC, continued through high school and took four quarters in college. Even with all those years of study, it’s been decades since I’ve been able to carry on a conversation in Spanish. 

The idea of learning French started with my husband discovering Duolingo and trying to learn the language via online study before our summer trip to Normandy.  He wanted me to do it with him, but I just never could find the time, and he wasn’t all that successful in his attempt.  So, we made our second trip to France with just enough French between us to get by. 

Our Normandy traveling companions have visited Paris quite a few times and even dream of owning an apartment there or at least renting one for a month some day.  That prompted the idea of taking an immersion course in French in--where else--France! We girls discussed finding a program in a picturesque town outside of Paris and spending 2-4 weeks studying the language and wandering the town. For some reason, that’s a much more appealing learning path to me than Duolingo.  On our first trip to France a few years back for a bike and barge trip through Burgundy, I read an article about a woman living in Dijon and taking French courses at the local University of Burgundy, so I immediately offered up Dijon as an option. 

Upon our return home, I Googled courses around France and found quite a few interesting options. I’ve gotten pretty fired up about doing this someday, if my partner in crime is still up for it. The University of Burgundy, for example, offers four 20 hour weeks of lessons.  The rest of the time you spend wandering Dijon and using your newly learned French in markets, restaurants and shops.  Sounded like a plan, until I discovered I could do the same in Provence at the University of Aix-Marseille III  or in Nice at the University of Nice (Riviera).  All these choices give me plenty to dream about, although our practical husbands suggested we could likely find something similar in Quebec.  Maybe, maybe not!

Meanwhile, I read an article in the WSJ by Gabriel Wyner, author of Fluent Forever: How to Learn Any Language Fast and Never Forget It. Amazon bills it as “The ultimate rapid language-learning guide!” His premise is that connecting new words to images, like thinking of an actual cat when you learn that cat is le chat in French, is the key to rapid and permanent learning. So yes, that might be a less expensive way to learn French, but wouldn’t learning French in France be much more fun and memorable? Here’s what I think:

Four week language course: $2400. Round trip flight to Paris: $1600. Food and Wine: $500++.  The experience of learning French in a French town: Priceless.

Cycling in Normandy #4 - Oh, the Food

Rick Steves says, “Normandy is known as the land of the four C’s: Calvados, Camembert, cider and crème,” and every one of our dinners included a few if not all of these specialties.  I’m beginning to think there is something to be said for the French custom of serving a cheese course between the entrée and dessert.  Unfortunately, you can’t stay trim eating a four-course meal nightly unless you also cycle daily.  

Our cycling in Normandy made us ravenous, and we easily rose to the challenge of eating four delicious courses, though we had a few fellow travelers who were more restrained.  I love lamb and veal, and I enjoyed both several times on this trip.  The seafood was another treat, especially the shellfish.  Two evenings I had huge platters of shellfish, once as an entrée and once as an appetizer.  Whelks were included in both platters, and I tried them for the first and last time. There’s just something not very appetizing about their rubbery texture and bland taste—not to mention hearing the “foot” pop out of the shell-- but I gave them my best shot. On Wikipedia, I found them compared to conch, which I’ve always liked, perhaps because I’ve eaten it fried or marinated and didn’t have to pull it out of the shell myself.

We visited Cara Meuh, a dairy farm whose specialty is caramel candy and sauces.  We watched a video on the process from the cow to the vats to the sales room and then had a tasting.  It was difficult to choose from chocolate, hazelnut or plain caramel, but we were up to that challenge too and chose a jar to carry home.  This colorful photo of the Cara Meuh vache et cyclists is one of my favorites.

I only wish we could have also carried home some of the cheeses and crème desserts.  Every picnic lunch and every dinner was an opportunity to try a selection of cheeses. Picture the server bringing around a platter of cheeses at dinner and asking you to select one or several to try--and then bringing out the dessert menu. Dessert might be a crepe with ice cream or a raspberry cream cheese parfait, but whatever it was, you could always count on it being delicious.

We cycled up a long gravel driveway one day to visit Vergers de Romilly, where Cidre, Pommeau, Calvados and apple juice are produced. There we had another tasting and purchased a bottle of Pommeau.  One evening, we were served Pommeau as an aperitif and Calvados to top off the meal. I sipped the Calvados and quickly decided it was too strong for my taste, but the Pommeau, made by mixing two thirds apple juice to one third Calvados, was more palatable. One of my travel buddies, who shall remain nameless, was challenged to shoot a glass of Calvados that same night, and she stood up and tossed it back. She’s up for most challenges, so it’s fortunate for her that no one challenged her to do every mile of the trip.

For me, the biggest challenge, beyond the headwinds and hills, was returning to the states and reminding my hungry self that I was no longer burning enough calories to eat four course dinners with cheese and dessert. Mon DIeu, I’ve made myself hungry all over again.  Perhaps planning another vacation to France will make me think of the countryside and cycling instead of crème and camembert. It’s certainly worth a try.  

Like Coming Home

I’ve been with Bank of America for too many years to count, and for many of those years, I’ve been traveling to Charlotte.  These days, I only get there a few times a year, but back in the day—mostly in the late 90s and early 2000s—I was there what seemed like every other week.  Back then, most of my Charlotte team mates worked in an office building right across from a Doubletree Hotel, so that’s where I typically stayed. The Doubletree is the only place I’ve ever stayed where the staff recognized me and knew my name.

The office I visit now is located a few miles up the road, and I try to stay at hotels within walking distance. When the more convenient hotels were booked up this week, I was happy to return to the Doubletree. Even though it had been over a year since my last stay, a server in the restaurant asked me where I’d been and how I was.  Something even more special occurred, as I returned to the hotel one evening.  I walked in, and a friendly gentleman behind the desk greeted me and asked how my day had been.  He looked strangely familiar.  Later when I went down to the restaurant for dinner, he came through a few times, and I kept thinking, “Could it be?”

“Could he be the same person who worked the front desk back when I was here so often?”  I stopped by the front desk and said, “I know this is a strange question, but did you work here in the early 2000s?”  Sure enough, he did!  And he felt as though I looked familiar too.  He reminded me that his hotel job had been his first job out of college and told me he’d gone on to work for a few banks in town, but like so many bankers, had been laid off and so returned to the hotel.  When I told him that I recalled how friendly he’d always been and how he’d say, “Good evening Miz Penn” when I walked in the door, he exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, you’re Miz Penn! I’ve got to have a hug.”  And then he surprised me even more when he said, “And you were always here with that tall blonde lady!”  Now, that’s a great example of “knowing your customer.” 

Indeed, I was very often there with a good friend and co-worker, and he always enthusiastically greeted us both.  When you consider I’m 5’3”, and Stephie’s 5’9”, I guess we did make quite an impression—the short brunette and the tall blonde.

I smiled all the way to my room and called and left "the tall blonde" a message about the encounter. Her email reply the next day let me know that the phone call brought back all kinds of memories and made her chuckle.  She had the same reaction I did--that it was hard to believe he remembered us after all these years. 

You know, I’m smiling even as I type this, and as inconvenient as the Doubletree is these days, I almost want to stay there next time I head to Charlotte. Somehow, it always seems like coming home.