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this weekend
{blossoming spring} Bonjour tout le monde! How are we today?
Our Friday morning started off with a bang. Gregory (aka The Husband… for some reason I’m in the mood to use his actual name today) took Fifty for his morning walk and they crossed paths with a German Shepherd also out for his morning walk, except sans owner. Well the German Shepherd must not have liked the look of Fifty or something because he lunged for him, and a Friday morning rumble ensued. Gregory was able to break it up after a couple of minutes but has a nice bite on the back of his thigh to show for it. Never a dull moment in The LPV. Even when it’s dull, it’s never dull, dull. You know what I mean?
It’s our wedding anniversary this weekend (three years on Sunday… my how time flies!) and we had been planning on going to Marseille for the weekend, but while we were twiddling our thumbs, our favorite hotel sold out. But that’s fine, plenty we can do around here…
Tonight we’re having an at home date night. We’re making sushi (and by sushi I mean California Rolls). I’ve never made sushi before, and Gregory hasn’t either and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a glorious disaster. Let me rephrase that… I’m pretty sure his side of the kitchen is going to be a glorious disaster. I’ll let you know.
Saturday night is France’s last match in this year’s Six Nations tournament. Normally, we’d make sure and watch it, but France’s new coach, Philippe Saint-André, has made such a mess of things, I can’t bare to see another catastrophe, so instead of continuing our anniversary celebrations by watching Scotland embarrass France, we’ll be going out to dinner instead. (Hey Philippe Saint-André… step into my office… you’re effing fired!)
And as for Sunday, our actual anniversary, which also happens to be St. Patrick’s Day, well I’m not sure yet. I’m taking suggestions if any of you have any ideas (please feel free to leave them in the comment section below).
Oh, and I almost forgot! My weekend will also include a trip to La Poste, I have to put a Le Petit Village t-shirt in the mail. Congratulations to Ashley, the winner of the giveaway!
So that’s what’s happening around these parts,what’s happening around yours?bisou
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roundup
++ Spring is breathing down our neck here in the warmest of sunny ways and I couldn’t be more delighted. Sunny, spring days mean the end to this, the most dull and boring time in The LPV (nothing is happening people, nothing at all, it’s very boring). It’s like everyone is hibernating, resting for BBQ season. Well not me, I’m preparing… preparing by buying these sparkly pink pumps.
{forever 21} ++ And with that declaration of spring’s imminent arrival, how the in the name of St. Patrick is it the middle of March already?! I feel like December was only yesterday and I was waiting for my mother to arrive for Christmas. Now the holidays are but a distant memory and La Petite’s birthday and my wedding anniversary are right around the corner.
++ With birthdays and anniversaries only a few days away, time is going to do that super speedy up thing, when one booked weekend flows into the next and we blink and it’s summer. Mark my words, with upcoming trips to Auvergne (to visit French Nana), Marseille (for a very important Rugby match), Dublin (for another very important rugby match and some family and friend fun time), and the Gypsy’s Pilgrimage in Les Saintes Maries de la Mer (my gypsy dreams are finally coming true), in a couple of months time, I’ll be back here going on and on about how I can’t believe it’s almost summer time. Because yeah, I’m that predictable.
++ To combat the incredible dullness that has been life in Le Petit Village lately, I’ve journeyed back in time to the late 90’s with Felicity marathons. For reasons unknown to me, I didn’t watch Felicity back in the day (there must have been something I liked more on at the same time), so I’m enjoying catching up on Felicity effing up her love life, episode after episode and basking in the pre-21st century nostalgia. Well I was anyway, until I let my curiosity get the better of me and I googled the series overview and found out about that time travel malarkey that happens in the end. WHAT IS THAT ALL ABOUT?! So now my Felicity marathons are on hiatus, but that’s OK, because I’m getting my Keri Russell fix via The Americans.
++ Speaking of Russia… my friend Gayle sent me an American care package for my birthday which included a Starbucks mug from Alaska to add to my collection. (If you’re wondering how I got from The Americans to this, it’s because The Americans is about Russians, and Russia is next to Alaska, and that’s how my brain works). I think my Alaska mug is my most random Starbucks mug yet, next to my Bucharest one anyway, and it’s kind of cool, because Alaska and Bucharest are two places that are so far apart, they end up being not that far apart. Get it? Please just go with me on this one.
++ Mrs. London’s mother’s precious cat, Salem, passed away last weekend and my heart is breaking for her. Saying goodbye to a friend (furry friends are no less friends than non-furry ones) is not an easy task. In an attempt to cheer her up, I’ve offered to send over Fifty or even The Husband as a distraction. But thinking about it now, I should send over one of the cats that hang out behind my house instead. (It’s where they like to wage their cat gang war. It’s like the Bloods and Crips back there.)
{Pick one Maggie} ++ Nothing to do with cats whatsoever, but did you know that I have a giveaway going on at the moment? Well I do and it’s awesome. Contest closes when the clock strikes midnight tonight, click here to enter.
bisou -
A Split Second In Dublin
{Trinity Campus} My trip to Dublin was a last minute surprise. One second I was unpacking and trying to recover from our weekend in Avignon, and the next, I was packing again and off to Nice Airport. And since it was such a surprise, and I was only there for a few days, I didn’t even tell my friends I was coming (bad Sara, I know). But it had been fourteen months since I had last visited, so I needed to soak up as much family time as possible. Because I was only there for a hot second, I didn’t really take any photos either, so please, try to forgive me and make do with this photo taken on the Trinity College campus forever and a day ago.And that last minute birthday surprise from The Husband was how I found myself arriving at my Auntie’s house on the afternoon of my birthday. Whenever I go back, it feels like going home. I don’t have a family home anymore. The house I grew up in New York was sold when I was 18, and the other house in Texas was sold almost ten years ago. My mother has a new house back in Texas now that I love, but it’s not my house, it’s her house. I’ve vacationed there, but I’ve never lived there. So the little house on Glenmaroon Road that my Aunt and Uncle have lived in for fifty years (50!!!) is kind of like home base.When I was a kid, I loved pulling up in front of it’s gate early in the morning (my flight from the U.S. always arrived early in the A.M.). I’d step out of my Uncle’s car as my Auntie would open the door. She’d stand there in her bathrobe, her arms hugging her body, protecting herself from the cold as she’d wave me inside. She’d hug me and usher me onto the couch in the living room in front of the turf fire. And then we’d go to the kitchen for my full Irish and pot of tea. She’d then insist that I go for a lie down (whether I wanted to or not) to get over my jet lag, and up the stairs I’d go to a bed warmed by an electric blanket. She still puts the electric blanket on for me even though a flight from France leaves me jet lag-free. It’s the little things, you know.So there I was on my birthday, blowing out my candles with my little monkeys (Nephew, Niece, and Little Niece). It was surreal, but comforting, and I forgot how much I missed their little faces and catching up on all of the latest elementary school gossip. And it was nice to see how far Niece has come in ballet. Only ten and on her toes already.
The next morning, I headed into town for a quick stop in Penneys (or Primark as it’s known in the UK… and fyi fellow French dwellers, one is coming our way soon too), and I was so overwhelmed by the huge selection, I got all flustered, almost hyperventilated, and didn’t buy anything. You know that scene in Moscow on the Hudson, when Robin William’s character has a freak out right there in the grocery store because there were just too many choices and he couldn’t deal. Well that was me in Penneys. It wasn’t pretty.I fled to Toddy’s for a Bloody Mary and a sit down with the Irish Independent to calm my frazzled nerves. And after lunch with one of my Uncles (fish & chips for him, club sandwich for me), I was all set. Living in The LPV has clearly destroyed my shopping prowess. I am not impressed. My faith needed to be restored, and what better place to restore faith, than church.
Nephew and Niece were making their Confirmation so on a Wednesday morning, we found ourselves squeezed into freezing cold church pews (somebody forgot to turn on the heating). See that one bit in the program below… that a losa, a losa… bit, yeah, well that’s Irish. As if dealing with French isn’t enough of a headache. Luckily, I had a stash of hidden gummy bears in my purse to keep me distracted.
But I tried not to fill up on the gummy bears too much, because we were going to lunch at the Unicorn to celebrate. The Unicorn is pretty much the best place for celebratory lunches. It’s swanky, but not too swanky in that ‘I don’t think I’m posh enough to be here‘ kind of way, and the food is perfection. Plus Sean didn’t order Chilean Red as he normally does (I hate, hate, hate Chilean Red) but went for a nice Tuscan one instead, so I was happy as Larry and pretty much set for the afternoon.
So that was basically my trip. I hung out with my little monkeys, had pints in the pub, drank wine and caught up on East Enders with my main homegirl Claire, and that was that. It was quick, but just what I needed, and pretty much the best birthday surprise this girl could ask for.
bisou
P.S. Don’t forget to enter my LPV t-shirt giveaway. Contest closes Thursday the 14th at midnight, Le Petit Village time. -
giveaway: your very own LPV t-shirt
Check out my t-shirt! Do you like it? This company, T Shirt Printing, contacted me and asked if I would like a Le Petit Village t-shirt and I was like, um… yeah I would. And then I was like, hey, how about you give me two, so I can give one to one of you guys, so now I’m giving away the shirt off my back! OK, not really the one off of my back, but the other one that looks just like it.
You have to excuse the photos, I had to take them myself and I suck at it. The Husband lacks the requisite patience to do it for me and while Fifty has the patience, he lacks the thumbs, so then I tried to do it with the PhotoBooth on my Mac, but duh, the photo is backwards so the t-shirt came out weird, like so…
{backward} Since I had PhotoBooth open, I let Fifty take one of himself. It came out cute. I should have just put the t-shirt on him and called it a day. Oh well, live and learn.
{poser} Now back to the task at hand.
I’m giving away this authentic Le Petit Village merchandise. It’s a ladies small, 90% cotton/ 10% Poly and super cute to boot (THANKS T SHIRT PRINTING). Enter below to win. Contest open to everyone, no matter where you live (I’m an equal opportunity shipper).
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The All New Le Petit Bar
It’s happened! Remember weeks ago when I told you that Le Petit Bar had been bought by Big Man, and in February it would be fully opened, not only for drinks, but for food too? Well it has and it is. It’s like a miracle of epic proportions.
That rock wall up there is Brother-in-Law’s handiwork. Before it was ugly and blah, but then Big Man asked Brother-in-Law and his B-team to fix it and make it prettier, and now it is. A rock wall is very Provençal you know (half of my living room is a rock wall). Plus, there are actual bottles of things to drink up there, with actual liquid in them. When The Parisian owned Le Petit Bar, that wasn’t always the case. Sure there might have been bottles stocked on the shelves, but they didn’t necessarily have anything in them. True story.
Besides the new rock bar, the kitchen has been updated as well, and Big Man’s wife is back there cooking food (unlike The Parisian, who at times could be found in the kitchen sprawled out on the counter, napping). I know it might be difficult to appreciate the enormity of this situation, but after being held hostage by The Parisian for over two years, having someone actually making food in that kitchen, is a very big deal. So on the Sunday after I returned from Dublin (a week after Avignon – just trying to give you a timeline of where we’re at), Big Man’s wife was making Moules Frites, and Brother-in-Law kindly hosted a birthday lunch for me (yes, we’re still talking about my birthday).
Brother-in-Law, Child Bride, La Petite, Angel, Honey Jr, and Honey’s Honey all joined The Husband and me for bowl after bowl of steaming mussels, and heaping plates of homemade french fries.
Because we can’t pass a day without something bizarre happening in The LPV (because that wouldn’t be any fun at all) this is what happened on this day of moules and frites… well Big Cheese (you may remember him from the Fête des Lumières disaster of 2011), who had been drinking in the bar, left briefly and returned with a necktie on over his t-shirt (as you do). He walked to the middle of the dining room, and proceeded to clap his hands loudly, while shouting, “Attention Mesdames et Messieurs, Attention Mesdames et Messieurs“, until we all stopped eating, and gave him our attention. He then congratulated Big Man and his wife on the opening of the bar and presented them with a jar of The Honey’s honey, as a gift. It was quite the hullaballoo I assure you.
But we didn’t let Big Cheese’s bizarre hullaballoo damper our day. It was too wonderful. We were in Le Petit Bar, eating and drinking, and Big Man didn’t run out of anything, or ask us how much our tab was, or kick us out because he was tired.
It was so good, we went back again twice last weekend. Twice. And it was opened both times.
bisou -
Avignon, The Last Bit
After the wasabi debacle, beer was needed to wash away all of that burning pain, so we headed to the pub and let the guys set up camp (setting up camp involves trying out three different tables before finally settling on ‘the table’). The Six Nations was kicking off that afternoon, first with Ireland vs. Wales and then, England vs. Scotland and we settled in for a long afternoon of rugby fun.
Two hours of rugby fun was plenty for Mrs. London and me, so after Ireland beat Wales (thanks for the birthday present guys), we popped around the corner to get our hair done for dinner.
We had dinner at Le Bain Marie. It was far too elegant and grown-up for The Husband and Mr. London, and I begged them to be on their best behavior (which amazingly they were for the most part)
And when we asked them to play nicely with each other (that means no stabbing each other with forks, no pulling out chairs or attempting atomic wedgies), that photo above is what happened (there were two couples at our table that night, just not the two you would think).
Dessert came and the waiter surprised me with Happy Birthday sparklers, which the two guys decided to fashion into love hearts. Well Mr. London’s looked like a heart, The Husband’s looked more like a strawberry, but A+ for effort, and the mini art project kept them busy and their mischievous little hands out of trouble (mental note: remember to bring activity packs for outings with The Husband and Mr. London; crayons, coloring books, toy cars…)
The next morning, we were on the road out of Avignon and bidding adieu to my birthday weekend. Since it was early, and why not, we popped by Gordes on the way home. We had some time to kill before the France vs. Italy match (oh what a disaster that was) and the Superbowl much later that night.
Mr. London was sure that the 49ers would win, but The Husband said it would be the Ravens (not because he’s a fan, or he knows anything about American football, but because the Ravens are the team that the kid from the Blind Side plays for and The Husband is a sucker for a happy ending) so naturally, all of the bickering back and forth, resulted in a bet. Whoever’s team lost, would have to give the other a pedicure. A pedicure! (I really don’t know what goes through their heads. I mean really, whatever happened to betting €20 or something).Well we all know how that bet turned out and I for one cannot wait for The Husband to have pretty, pedicured tootsies. And of course I will be documenting it for posterity (that really means for you guys).bisou -
Avignon, The Next Morning
I’m taking a break from the flu, to bring you this next installment of my birthday weekend in Avignon (Yes, I know it was four weeks ago, just go with it please. And if you missed part one, click here). Please excuse any typos, grammatical errors, and general lack of pizazz. I’m full of germs and the ickies.
I know I’ve shown you Le Palais des Papes before (like here, and here) but never have you seen it on http://www.sarainlepetitvillage.com quite like this before. Look, there’s nobody there! (OK, if you look closely, you’ll see one person headed inside the Palace, but ignore him/her). And I know I’ve never shown you this…
This is the Hotel de Ville (Hotel de Villes are not in fact, hotels, but instead, are city halls. It took me a long time of living in France to wrap my head around that one), and the reason I’ve never shown you this is because normally it’s so crowded that it’s basically impossible to photograph. Clearly the best way to tour Avignon is on a freaking, freezing, February morning. Fact.Saturday morning started with breakfast at the pub. They advertise a ‘Full Breakfast’. I’m not sure if that means it’s supposed to be a ‘Full English‘ or a ‘Full Irish‘. Either way, we didn’t care. It’s bacon, sausage and eggs which is basically unheard of in France so we happily ate it (Even if the sausage was more Merguez like than breakfast, and the salt in the bacon made us all puffy. It was still tasty).And the best way to work off all of that sodium is with some cardio…. shopping cardio. Luckily for us (us being Mrs. London and me, I have no idea what the other two got up to at this time and I don’t really want to) not only was Zara and H&M on the same street we were already on, but the winter sales were still in effect. Win and a win. (Actually there were lots of wins. Wins like the black velvet flats with the skulls on them, and the jewelled collar top from Zara I picked up, and the purple corduroy skinnies from H&M… it was a winning day).
Shopping finished, we met the boys for lunch at The Sushi Shop. They were giggly and giddy and generally up to no good. I swear, they’re like, twelve (and this reminds me that I forgot to tell you about their pillow fight in the hotel hallway the night before… see, they’re twelve). When the waitress asked for a name after taking our order, Mr. London quickly replied, “Bumder“.
She looked at him, making sure she got it right, “Bumder?“
“Oui, Bumder”, answered Mr. London and then spelled it out “B – U – M – D – E – R“.
“OK. Merci. Bumder” as she scribbled on her pad before walking away and The Husband and Mr. London erupted into fits of laughter. (If you watch The Inbetweeners then you’ll know why this is so funny, and if you don’t, I apologize. Or you could just watch this clip and be done with it.)As if the whole ‘Bumder’ thing wasn’t immature enough, Tweedledee and Tweedledum dared each other to eat a big ol’ dollop of wasabi, and that’s when this happened…
{Tweedledee} 
{Tweedledum} And that’s when Mrs. London and I erupted in fits of laughter, because our husbands are morons.bisou -
hmmm
{I don’t have anymore apples to give you!} I interrupt this regularly scheduled program of ‘my birthday weekend in Avignon’ to bring you these snippets of my life here lately in The LPV.
++ See that pretty brown guy up there? That’s my new buddy Aero, he belongs to my friend Martine (Martine is from Ireland and lives just around the corner from Le Petit Village. She likes Barry Tea and rugby so naturally, I like her). The other guy in the back there is Flurry. Flurry is fuzzy like a bunny and has a funny little moustache. They’re both precious and I can’t wait to introduce them to La Petite (I will not however be introducing them to Fifty. I’m pretty sure Fifty would have a canary of epic proportions.)
++ Last Sunday was pâté making day at Papa’s house. And unlike last time, we ate lunch before getting down to all of that gooey, gross business. Which was smart, because 1. it’s hard to have an appetite after pâté making and 2. I made Nutella Brownie Bites for dessert that were so scrumptious, they were like angel kisses from heaven dipped in chocolate and wrapped in love.
++ This conversation between Gatz and The Husband actually happened… Gatz asked; “All the girls are crazy about Ryan Gosling, I don’t understand.” To which The Husband replied; “Have you looked at him?” I love my husband.
++ And in another, ‘I can’t believe this actually happened‘ moment… Child Bride pointed to the picture of Channing Tatum on the cover of the Magic Mike DVD and said that Brother-in-Law’s body was almost exactly like that. The Husband and I are still laughing.
++ We’ve finally started watching Homeland (I know, I know, we’re way behind… so shhh your mouth… I don’t want to know ANYTHING). The funny thing is, one of my birthday presents from The Husband was the box set of My So-Called Life (except in France it’s called, Angela, 15 ans) and now I’m having one doozy of a time trying to convince The Husband that Angela and Carrie are indeed the same person.
++ Something amazing is happening! At this very moment, Girl Scout cookies are on their way to Le Petit Village… GIRL SCOUT COOKIES! My excuse for indulging was that I would introduce The Husband to the quintessential American goodness of the Girl Scout cookie, but now, I’m pretty sure I’m going to hoard them like Gollum and keep them all to myself (INSERT MANIACAL LAUGH HERE).
++ The Harlem Shake made the news here a few nights ago. Afterwards, The Husband stared at me for a couple of minutes basically asking me “why” as if by purely being American, I would somehow have the answer to this question. How would I know, I’m not Yoda.
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Avignon, The First Night
After our afternoon in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, we scurried down to Avignon and checked into the hotel (I always stay in the same hotel in Avignon… it’s a hop, skip, and a jump from a pub, on the same street as Zara and H&M, and only a few minutes walk from The Palais des Papes… in short, it’s pretty much the perfect location).Refreshed and raring to go, we met Baby Cousin and his girlfriend at the pub for pre-dinner drinks (normally I would refer to this as apéro, but being as we were in O’Neills Irish Pub, the term, ‘apéro’, doesn’t really go). For me, pre-dinner drinks means a une coupe de champagne, a cocktail like a mojito, or even a glass of wine. What it does not mean however, is shots. But apparently that’s what pre-dinner drinks means to Baby Cousin.When Mrs. London and I saw Baby Cousin ordering a second round, we hightailed it to the restaurant for dinner with The Husband and Mr. London right behind us. (Who orders shots at 8PM?! Now we know.)Dinner was at Restaurant Newground (the same place we ate with my mother and friends during staycation 2012) and it was sublime, even if the conversation wasn’t (silly, yes, sublime, no). Somehow we got started talking about colors, and what colors make other colors (as you do), and this what happened…Mr. London: Blue and yellow makes green.The Husband: Yes, and green and blue makes yellow.Mr. & Mrs. London + Me: Huh?The Husband: Green and blue makes yellow, it’s true. I’ll ask the waiter.(turning to the waiter) Doesn’t green and blue make yellow?The Waiter: YesMr. & Mrs. London + Me: Huh?{five minutes later}The Waiter: (to The Husband) Sorry sir I was wrong, green and blue does not make yellow.So glad we got that cleared up.bisou P.S. Stay tuned for the next 36 hours… -
A Princess in Châteauneuf-du-Pape
The Princess I’m referring to in the post title is me (obviously, but I’m guessing you knew that already). When The London’s arrived in The LPV before our trip to Châteauneuf-du-Pape and Avignon, Mrs. London presented me with a tiara for the weekend, because she knows that everyone should be treated like royalty on their birthday (she’s a clever one that Mrs. London). And that pretty much set the tone for my birthday weekend because I was spoiled rotten, like a princess should be.My fourth of February birthday festivities began before January was even over. Thursday the 31st to be exact when Mr. & Mrs. London arrived in The LPV in the afternoon. The Husband was still at work so we went for a long walk, watched Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon (a childhood favorite), and took it easy, because we all knew that we were in for a doozy of a weekend. And it was a doozy. A marvelous, dizzy of a doozy.We arrived in Châteauneuf-du-Pape on Friday just in time for lunch and not having any plans to eat anywhere in particular, we strolled through the village, stopped outside La Mère Germaine, looked at the menu, looked at each other, shrugged, and walked in. What a happy accident that was! The decor was a bit ‘1982 hotel’ but the service was impeccable and the food scrumptious, like bites of heaven on your fork.
After lunch we strolled through the village, looking out for signs that read ‘dégustation’. We hit the jackpot with the first one we found. Red, white and rosé, set out ready to be tasted…
And a table with loads of delicious nibbles in case you find yourself feeling peckish (wine sampling can do that to you). We sampled a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and did our best to act like proper grown-ups.
In the end we left with a few bottles of the 1895 and the Chateau Maucoil (they’re sitting on my wine rack staring at me!), and a couple of bottles of Rocher de La Garde Rosé that the owner through in for free (she must have known it was my birthday).
But even though we loved the dégustations (all of them), acting like a grown-up for more than a few minutes is tiring, and must be shaken off immediately.
{trespassing}
bisou
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It's Me, Sara Louise 