It's Me, Sara Louise

It’s Me, Sara Louise

Hi! You might know me as C’est Moi, Sara Louise. Before that I was Sara in Le Petit Village. Now, It’s Me, Sara Louise. Hello again.

  • staycation {part.5}

    {saucisson sec}
    If there was a rule book for visiting Provence, I’m pretty sure that rule number one would be… get thee to a market (but in french like). And if you don’t believe me, ask Fodor’s. See, markets are a must-do. 
    So on the Monday that Mom & Co were here, that’s just what we did. 
    Monday is market day in Forcalquier (I happen to prefer the Apt market but Apt market day is Saturday and on Saturday we were busy in Avignon and Gordes. But Forcalquier is the first market I visited and where I bought my very first basket which made me feel like a proper French lady, that is until Fifty ate it). Because markets in Provence start early and end early, I got the ladies in the car by 8:00, and off we went.

    {fromage}
    On the way to Forcalquier something extraordinary happened, Mom & Co said that they preferred my driving to Gregory’s, it was sooooo much smoother. Well I wasn’t surprised what with his constant gear shifting all of the time as he’s careening around corners. It’s like… hello speedracer… you’re driving a VW minivan with the Golden Girls in the back. Stop with all of the shifting, ease off the clutch and take it down a notch. Feeling completely validated, I parked the minivan and off we went to explore all of the Provençal wares.
    {poisson}
    They oohed and aahed and shopped. I oohed and aahed at all of the American voices I was hearing. Let it be known that Summer 2012 was the summer of the American tourist in Provence. I’ve never heard so many accents that made me homesick before. Sure in Aix-en-Provence and the Côte d’Azur you’ll hear some, but not usually in Provence, Provence (that’s what I like to call my area… Provence, Provence), normally the only English I hear is English, English. But for whatever the reason the Americans are finally here… bienvenue and please come again (and give me a shout before you come next time so I can give you my American goody list).

    {more saucisson}

    Who says there is no customer service in France?

    Usually me, I know, but on this Monday in Provence,  one lone Frenchman dared to defy the stereotype going above and beyond in the customer service arena and coloring me shocked.

    Miss Vicki and JoDelle had discovered some Provençal pottery that they just had to have. While they were buying up the shop, I bid adieu and went on my way exploring all of the pretty soaps, fragrant spices, olives and tampenades. And I bought some saucisson sec to treat Gregory; one olive, an herb, and a bleu d’Auvergne. (Just so you know, the bleu d’Auvergne saucisson with a glass of red wine is practically a revelation, it’s that good.)

    A few minutes later, I heard someone shouting, “Madame! Madame!” I ignored it because whoever was shouting definitely couldn’t mean me because then I’m sure they would have been shouting, “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!” (Right?!) But when I felt a tug on my arm, I turned around to see the Frenchman from the pottery shop standing there. He was red in the face and huffing and puffing something fierce. He quickly explained that the two American women I had been with earlier were missing some of their pottery. When he had been wrapping up their packages, he had accidentally left out a couple of pieces and as soon as he realized, he ran out into the market to find them.

    Let me tell you something about Forcalquier Market, it is not small. It is the largest in the Alpes de Haute-Provence department and covers a large area in the center of town, weaving up and down different paths. This little Frenchman, taking off into the crowd, searching for Miss Vicki and JoDelle to return their missing pottery is astonishing, especially in France (no offence Frenchies but you know it’s true). Gold star for him.

    Want to know what else is astonishing? Me actually understanding every bit of his rapid fire French as he tried to catch his breath while frantically explaining what had happened. Now that’s astonishing.

    Gold star for me too.

    bisou
     

  • staycation {part.4}

    Oh Cassis, I love you so. 
    You’re quaint, charming, and just the right size. Plus you don’t attract all of that St.Tropez riff raff. 
    The next stop on Staycation 2012 was Cassis. It was possibly also everyone’s next stop because boy oh boy was it crowded, but that’s OK, Cassis is worth the hassle. 
    We were meeting Mr. & Mrs. London for lunch but had some time before we met them. The ladies wandered off to visit the port side shops while The Husband and I grabbed a table in the sun for an apéro. I called Mrs. London to see if they had arrived. She had and she was with my mother. Huh?
    My mother had been standing on the port having a look around when she spotted these wedges tottering about…
    {miss selfridge}
    That’s how one spots Mrs. London… by her footwear. 
    Reunited with Mr. & Mrs. London and the Golden Girls (as christened by Mr. London), we set off for lunch at my favorite spot in Cassis, Restaurant Le Bonaparte. Only, we got lost on the way. And I even had directions written down. Do you think The Husband cares about directions? Of course he doesn’t. But we followed him anyway as he weaved us deeper and deeper into the maze of the little streets behind the port, assuring us that he knew where he was going. He didn’t. 
    Eventually we made it, and taking up a large table outside, set about to do what we went there to do, eat seafood and drink the local crisp white wine. 
    Heaping plates of shrimp, mussels and scallops were placed in front of us to start followed by loup-de-mer (sea bass) and dourado. Oh so scrumptious. 
    The Husband and Mr. London were happy to be together again. At one point they even tried to separate their table from the group so they could have some alone time. Ridiculous. And there were underpants comparisons… whose pants were shinier? Well according to The Husband, Mr. London’s pants are sparkly, his are shiny. So glad we got that cleared up. 
    After lunch, a relaxing boat tour of the Calanques was in order. 
    For the record, bumping along the Mediterranean breathing in the gasoline fumes that are pouring out of the boat may not be the best way to digest your weight in seafood, but that didn’t stop Mrs. London from enjoying herself…

    {I think TopShop is that way}

    bisou

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  • un petit pause

    Today I’m taking a break from tales of my staycation to regale you with tidbits of recent life here in The LPV. Enjoy. 

    {CSI: Barbie}

    ++ Do you have any idea how creepy it is to find a Barbie that looks like it barely survived a zombie apocalypse right outside your front door? It’s effing creepy. Naturally, I had to photograph it and share it with all of you. 

    ++ Wednesday the 26th of September was my third anniversary of living in France. THREE YEARS. It totally snuck up on me and I didn’t even remember until the following Saturday but I didn’t think I could let it go unnoticed so voila… happy third franciversary to me (and if you happen to be interested, you can click here to read about my very first franciversary).

    ++ Then, a week after I had forgotten about my third franciversary, I forgot about my three year blogiversary. For the record, I don’t have a clue what has happened to my memory lately, but while I have a think, feel free to read my first blog post by clicking here. 
    ++ Gatz finally got his own place. That’s right. My husband’s thirty year old hetero life partner is moving out of his grandparent’s house and it his very own apartment. Awww… they grow up so fast. 
    ++ The weekend before my mother arrived for Staycation 2012, I was in Banon visiting the large bookstore, Le Bleuet. As I walked up to the entrance, I noticed a man sitting on the step outside with a beautiful golden retriever and I thought to myself, “hey, that dog looks awfully familiar“. I quickly scooted inside and began searching the faces in the crowded store when I spotted a curly red ponytail. That’s when I put two and two together… cute golden retriever + curly red hair = Lost in Arles. That’s right, I bumped into fellow expat Heather in Banon. It was rather surreal. 
    ++ During last week’s Clermont match against Stade Français (we’re talking rugby kids), Clermont’s Brock James made a drop goal with less than a minute left in the match to cinch the win and make it the 47th consecutive home win for Clermont. It was so glorious that I was barely phased last night when Clermont lost against Castres.

    ++ I’m still recovering from the horrific death of Opie on Sons of Anarchy. Oh my goodness it was brutal. When the scene was playing, I was curled up in a ball rocking back and forth, my heart beating out of my chest, whispering, “no, no, no” over and over again. Clearly I have become a tad too attached to a fictional outlaw biker gang.  
    ++ Here’s something you probably didn’t know about The Husband; he is a huge gossip, HUGE. It’s the main reason why he likes to play cards with the senior ladies at the local community center (besides the free cookies), he loves the gossip. And when he and Gatz get together, oh my heavens, forget about it! They practically turn into Miss. Clairee and Weezer, they gossip so. So last night, I decided to sit The Husband down in front of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, because even though he makes fun of me watching it, I knew that he would love it, because it’s basically just one big gossip fest. After we finished watching the third episode in a row, he turned to me with a big ol’ smile on his face and exclaimed, “Ooh I LOVE it!“

    Of course you do Miss Clairee, of course you do.

    bisou
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  • staycation {part.3}

    {Cobblestones strewn with rose petals in Gordes}

    We awoke in Avignon to a perfect bright blue and sunny sky. But in the south of France, that beautiful, blue sky usually comes with a price, and that price is, the mistral.

    Ever heard of it?

    Dictionary.com defines it as; a strong, cold northwesterly wind that blows through the Rhône valley and southern France into the Mediterranean.For something more descriptive, there’s this post I wrote about it after being blown over by it for the first time.

    Personally, I think Le Mistral wanted to show off for the tourists that weekend (I don’t know what was happening the weekend of the 14th of September, but Avignon was hopping) and show off it did.

    The wind was whipped into a frenzy as we walked bent over, bodies slanted forward to try and keep balance. A tour of Le Palais des Papes was the perfect place to take shelter.

    After touring the palace (two hours!), Eilo, Godmother, Miss Vicki and JoDelle were due to take the petit train tour of the city. It was noon and there was a train all set to go so they bought their tickets, took their seats and waited.

    And waited.

    And waited.

    The petit train finally left one hour later. I’m pretty sure the driver wanted to eat his lunch first. Lunch is very important in France. But it would have been nice if someone had said that to the large group of people waiting on the train. Customer service… Qu’est-ce que c’est?

    So that was Avignon… a feisty mistral, Le Palais des Papes, and a petit train tour. (Having been there done that, The Husband and I spent the time visiting Baby Cousin’s shop, window shopping, people watching and eating a kebab on a park bench. It was a good day.)

    {Mean Girl Gordes}

    Leaving Avignon, we headed east to Gordes.

    How do I even begin to explain Gordes…

    Gordes is flawless.

    Gordes is one of le plus beaux villages de France (the most beautiful villages in France). It’s simply stunning. Perched perfectly atop the Plateau de Vaucluse, it shines golden and lovely, and makes The LPV feel bad about itself. If Gordes was a girl, Gordes would be Regina George.

    And just like Regina George, Gordes might be beautiful on the outside, but it’s a capital B, little i t c h on the inside. To really explore Gordes you have to walk on ancient (re: unsafe) cobblestones at precarious angles. Up and down you go, praying that your ankle doesn’t snap, (for the record, I don’t think anyone ever snapped an ankle in The LPV), hoping that you don’t slip on a rose petal (they don’t roll out the red carpet in Gordes… they throw rose petals… whatever), grasping onto rock walls turned bannister for dear life and dodging tourists.

    But Gordes is beautiful, blah blah blah.  
    And I’m sure it has two Fendi purses, a silver Lexus, 
    and John Stamos probably said it was pretty.
    bisou

    P.S. The LPV is not obsessed with Gordes.
    P.P.S. Yesterday was Mean Girls Appreciation Day (get in loser, we’re going shopping)

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  • staycation {part. 2}

    {Le Palais des Papes}

    It happened on Rue de la République. There I was, innocently standing at the back of the rented Volkswagen Touran, when I opened the door and was assaulted by a suitcase. The minivan was so overstuffed that as soon as the door opened, a twenty pound carry-on hurled itself at me, hitting me on the shin before bouncing off down onto my foot. 
    There is only word to yell when being assaulted by a twenty pound carry-on and that word is; 
    aye a fuckenmuckennucken, and undoubtedly, you will get some odd stares if you yell aye a fuckenmuckennucken while standing on Rue de la République, but you won’t care, not one iota, because being assaulted by a twenty pound carry-on freaking hurts.  

    We had just collected Miss Vicki and JoDelle (and their impressive luggage) at the Avignon TGV station and headed into the walls of the city to check into our hotel and begin our twenty-four hours in one of my favorite places. After getting our visitors settled in for a rest, I decided a glass of Rosé was in order to help me nurse my injuries (I could have used a bucket of Rosé but that wouldn’t have been very becoming), so The Husband and me headed out à deux to Avitus, my go-to wine stop in the city.  

    Feeling refreshed by my glass of pain go bye bye juice, it was back to the hotel to get dressed for dinner. (Going out to dinner in the big city is always such a treat for me. My ‘going out clothes’ tend to scare Les Villagers, but when I’m in the city, I can let myself shine and that night in Avignon called for sparkly gold shoes on my tootsies). 

    Finding a restaurant for dinner had posed a bit of a challenge (I like planning these things waaaaay in advance… no doing things on the whim for Sara Louise, no no no, whims simply won’t do). I had planned on eating at Fou de Fafa (the restaurant where we had bid adieu to Bec), but when I called to book, they said that they would only have half of their kitchen staff in September and couldn’t handle a party of six (I was tempted to book two tables of three but decided not to because well, that would have been weird). So then I thought of La Cour d’Honneur, where we celebrated Aidan’s birthday, but since I prefer dining in their pretty fairylight lit courtyard and September evenings can be unpredictable, nixed that idea. 

    And then I had a stroke of genius… I would go back to the beginning, to the first place I dined in Avignon, the place where I met Honey Bee and Mrs. Cousin for the first time, the place where I began to fall in love with the city, the gorgeous Le Bain Marie. Yes, Le Bain Marie was the answer. 

    I love it when a plan comes together. 

    Only it didn’t .

    Le Bain Marie is charming and elegant, and a wee bit quiet in that candlelit hush hush conversation kind of way. 

    Would two Texans, my Irish mother, and Godmother from New Jersey be candlelit quiet on their first night of vacation together? I doubt it. (Can you just imagine the accents battling it out?!) 
    The charming and elegant Le Bain Marie had to be scratched but I vowed that I would return for one of those hush hush candlelit conversation kind of evenings soon. Two days before dinner, the reservation was cancelled and I was on the hunt again. 

    Then I found it; Restaurant Newground. It was perfect. The food was delicious (croustillant de fois gras poêle aux cheveux d’anges followed by médaillons de filet de lotte en nage d’érevisses), we were one of only three tables there (perfect for battling accents) and bonus, we were right around the corner from our hotel. This last bit was very important and I’ll tell you why…

    The Husband and I had a date. 

    London dwelling Sarah and her husband happened to be in Avignon for the night. Total coincidence, I know! So after we deposited our guests back safely to their beds, we skipped off to the Irish pub. 

    All settled in with our nightcaps, I asked Sarah how their night was, and did they go anyplace nice for dinner. 

    And do you know what she said? She looked at me, told me all about this amazing restaurant that she stumbled upon, that she just knew I would absolutely love…. oh, what was it called… Le Bain Marie! 

    Over two hundred restaurants in Avignon, 
    and she had to stumble into mine.
      
    bisou
    P.S. Up next: more Avignon, a howling mistral, and Gordes. 
    ,

  • staycation {part.1}

    {12th century church from my bedroom window}

    Staycation 2012 began on Wednesday, 12th September when my mother (aka Eilo) and Godmother arrived at the TGV station in Aix-en-Provence, followed a couple days later by their cohorts; the two Texan sisters, Miss Vicki and JoDelle.  

    You know what’s the best part about having Americans come to visit? All of the American goodness they bring, like; Mac & Cheese, Hidden Valley Ranch packets, and so many magazines that I’ll have to take a couchcation just to get through them all (including the People with naughty Prince Harry on the cover… Kate can have William… I only have eyes for Harry, that wee scamp).

    I jest. The best part of having Americans visit, is well, having Americans visit.

    When Americans (or anybody really) come to visit me and The LPV, there are certain things that I think are absolute must do’s and must sees.

    The first must see is of course Fifty. He has to be acquainted with any visitors as soon as possible. Sniffing and licking new arrivals is an absolute must in Fifty’s book. And even though he hasn’t seen his Grandma Eilo for two years (except on Skype), I’m happy to report that he recognized her right away and it took all of two seconds before he was on his back showing off his furry belly (Fifty would sell his soul for a belly rub).

    The next must do is eating. Traveling all of the way from Texas to The LPV is not for the lighthearted and the best way to restore one’s constitution is with some classic French Bistro fare prepared lovingly by moi. In this case, eggs on horseback (it’s just a fried egg on top of a hamburger with a butter and caper sauce… not a horse in sight), served with Petit Chablis for the white drinkers and a bottle of Haut-Médoc for the red.

    After a good night’s sleep (aided by all that Petit Chablis and Haut-Médoc), a tour of The LPV is in order.

    Visiting the house that’s been eaten by a tree is definitely a must-see in my book (that thing is right behind my house… C R E E P Y). And after climbing the steep path to the 12th Century church that’s tolling bell will ensure that you never, ever sleep past 7am (it’s The LPV’s alarm clock), you will build up quite an appetite just in time for the next must-do… Le Bar au Vin.

    And after a jet lagged evening spent sipping Champagne, nibbling on tapenades, fois gras, and ham infused with truffle oil (it’s like angels dancing on your tongue), while playing with the Sommelier’s toddler daughter and her cat, Balthazar (both live above le bar au vin), there is only one must-do left for the day… sleep.

    bisou
    P.S. Stay tuned for the next chapter: Avignon and the arrival of Miss Vicki, JoDelle, and their luggage. 

    ,

  • back in a flash

    {where Ami is}

    I’m a bad girl.

    I’ve been cheating on you.

    While I’ve been giving you this whole sob story about being knee deep in housework, and so exhausted I may need to check myself into a hospital à la Lindsay Lohan, all the while neglecting you and this blog, I’ve written a post for my friend Ami and her blog Fit With Flash.

    Quelle horreur!

    But before you paint a scarlet A on my chest, know that I have a good excuse and my adultery stems from a kind and generous place… Ami is on a real vacation, not a boring ol’ staycation like mine (that’s a lie, it wasn’t boring at all), an actual vacation to Mykonos, Greece, and she needed someone to fill in for her.

    How could I say no? The girl is vacationing in Mykonos for heavens sake! It was either guest post for her or let the jealousy of her vacation consume and possibly, eventually destroy me.

    So please forgive me, I beg of you.

    And be a doll would you, and pop over and read it. 
    I promise I’ll be good from now on. 
    No more cheating.

    bisou

  • we interrupt this regularly scheduled program

    {Tory Burch}
    Well that’s that. 
    I’m back home from the Aix TGV station where I’ve left my mother and Godmother on the 7:30am North to Paris where they’ll hop their flight to NYC. 
    The staycation is offically over. 
    I had great plans for today. Plans like beginning to tell you about what I’ve been up to these past couple of weeks, but honestly, that’s just not going to happen. My house has been turned upside down and needs to be put back together before I can even begin to think about forming proper sentences (much less sentences that can entertain the discerning readers of Sara in Le Petit Village… you’re a highfalutin lot). And I think I need to spend sometime detoxing after eating and drinking my way around Provence. 
    Knock Knock

    Who’s there?

    Gout.

    I’d really like to keep that door shut for a few more years. 
    Basically I’m just popping into say hi. I’m still alive. 
    Oh and that foxy purse above was bought from my shopbop winnings. I felt like showing it off. 
    Sometimes a girl has to get a little foxy.
    bisou
     

  • guestpost: ifs ands & Butts

    Bonjour mes amies!

    I have woken up this morning with two less visitors; my mother’s friends Miss Vicki and JoDelle have left Provence and headed North to Paris and have left my mother and Godmother here to keep me company for another week.

    As life begins to slow to a normal pace and my staycation comes to a close, I leave you with the final guest post straight from Germany. Please give a warm and friendly bienvenue to Alex…

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    Bonjour friends of Sara, or as we say right across the border here in Germany, Hallo (or Guten Tag if you want to get extra stereotypical). I’m Alex from ifs ands & Butts (this is supposedly ‘punny’ because my last name is Butts). Anyway, Sara and I go way back. Not childhood back, something stronger. Our roots lie in Texas and our loyalty with The University of, you see.

    But I’m not here to talk about that, I’m here to ramble about whatever other topic that pops into my head right now because Sara trusts me like that. How did I end up in Germany? Unlike Sara, I did not find love (yet?). Instead, I found a love for traveling and a tolerance for children that opened up doors to the former.


    1/ Interlaken, Switzerland 2/ Vernazza, Italy 3/ Oktoberfest, Munich, Germany 4/ London, England 5/ Paris, France 6/ Istanbul, Turkey 7/ Copenhagen, Denmark

    Anyway, as I am super scatter brained right now and can’t focus on one place or topic, I’m going to make up a travel game. It’s called

    Airport/plane story: because we all have one.
    Just last month, I flew back to Germany from Houston. Normally I have a direct flight, but this time the family booked it for me (can’t complain), so I flew British Airways with a stopover in London. Our flight was on time and we all boarded the plane and got settled. Shortly after, we were told there was a slight technical problem that would not keep us from flying, but we needed clearance from an engineering in London. Well, it was 9 pm Houston time, which was 3 am in London. Apparently there’s one dude with this clearance power and he was snoozing away so we sat on the runway for over 5 hours before homeboy got to work and cleared our aircraft. The flight attendants even said it was the most ridiculous excuse for a delay they’d ever heard.

    Bragging rights: What’s the coolest experience you had traveling?
    Hanggliding with Ed and Bernie in Interlaken, Switzerland, was certainly one of the most fun and unforgettable. I also should brag for a second on my randomly awesome Eurotrip timing. I accidentally landed in Barcelona on the day of the Spain World Cup game, accidentally ended up in Paris on the Tour de France completion and was accidentally in Copenhagen for the sommer solstice party.

    Count me out: if you had the opportunity to visit all but one continent, which would you skip out on?
    Here, I have to say Antartica because 1) I can barely handle German cold and 2) there’s just too much to see and culture to experience on the others.

    one favorite local cuisine you discovered traveling:
    Turkish food – I have a whole post on it if you care, but it’s basically meat and veggie and tons of oily goodness.

    two places you could visit over and over again:
    1) Munich, Germany – I do visit over and over again and am looking all too forward to Oktoberfest in a couple of weeks
    2) Copenhagen, Denmark – I only spent two nights there, but it was just so perfect (minus the prices). It also instilled this crazy must.go.everywhere.in.Scandinavia urge in me.

    three cities you still need to see before you die:
    1) New York City, because somehow I decided to skip traveling the US and head straight to Germany.
    2) Duba, Botswana, because I want to go on an African safari BAD.
    3) Shanghai, because traveling is all about feeling out of place and I think Asia would successfully accomplish that. I really want to visit a lot of Asia, so choosing is just my way of saying that.

    If you liked this game, grab this random button I made and play along. Be sure to share your link in the comments or email it to me or something. I’m not big enough to start all that link up business.

    If you want to come say hi, I’d like that a lot. The thing is, I love finding new blogs but lately it seems all my blog friends are already all interconnected, thus making finding new blogs a little more difficult. Ya know what I mean?
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    Danke Alex!
    Stay tuned for stories of my South of France staycation.
    À bientôt et gros bisous!

  • guest post: A Suitcase and Stilettos

    I am tired. Or as The Husband would say it; tirwed.

    I feel like we have traipsed all over the earth but we haven’t really, only a few stops here and there around the South of France. But nonetheless, I have been worn down by my mother and her friends. The Golden Girls have got me beat.

    Today I leave you with Megan and life in Norway. Take it away Megan…

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    Hi everyone!  I’m Megan from A Suitcase and Stilettos and I’m so excited Sara asked me over to blog for her readers for a day!  I just hope I can keep you half as entertained as she usually would.

    For those of you who have not stopped by my blog, I am an American living in Norway.  Scandinavian life was a major adjustment in some aspects, and a not so major adjustment in other aspects.  And while I hardly consider myself a foreigner anymore as I officially like sardines, I can still recall those days before I had adapted successfully to life in the north.

    Snackin’ on sardines.  I promise I smiled afterwards.

    Little adjustment?  Not having American football accessible.

     Mr. All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

    This would be a major adjustment, but I have found my “ways” of accessing the games.  The waking up at 2am to watch them is another story. 

    Big adjustment?  Finding smoked sheep heads just peacefully laying on the ground.  Now, granted, this was from a food festival.  But still…nothing about this is normal for an American city-girl.

    Little adjustment?  Hanging out near glaciers and their ‘run-off’ (my old Geology teachers would be so proud I remembered that term).  Really…it only took me about 5 seconds to get used to it and embrace it.

    Big adjustment?  Dang sheep.  Or are they goats?  I really have no idea.  But I do know that I never saw animals just hanging out in the middle of the roads in the US.  Unless they were on a suicide mission.

    Little adjustment?  The rain.  While it does impact you more than you know, you learn to live with it and don’t really think about it much anymore.  Although my rain boots (seen below) do have a hole in the bottom and I need to get that situation fixed…

    I actually think my dog hates the rain though.  Or just me for transforming him into the Gorten’s Fisherman.

    Big adjustment?  Trying to not say ‘This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!‘ every time we are on a road trip.  How can one seriously not be mesmerized by such a landscape??

    Thanks so much for having me Sara and I hope you’re enjoying your time away from this beloved blogosphere!  And thanks to all of you all for reading a little glimpse into my expat life here in Norway!  Be sure to stop by and say hi sometime!
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    Tusen takk Megan!
    (that’s thank you very much in Norwegian btw)
    I’m out.
    As Lil’ Wayne would say;
    Now gonna take a nap man, its nap time. 
    I’ll holla back at you at snack time.

    bisou