La Reserv—ation

20 07 2009

Boat travel in any breeze greater that 5 knots should be prohibited—worldwide.  If the vessel lists, I insist: NO PASSAGE.

While I enjoy licking up most things that end up on the floor, keeping time with seasick people is not a highlight.  At least not after the first two or three victims.

It took me a full day to get my sea-legs, and that was AFTER I left the ship. Remember, I have four of them.  You know how one year to a human is like seven years to a dog? Well, one day of motion sickness to a dog is like seven days to a human.

“Feel” that.

The only upside to the trip was the ending: A private car to La Reserve, jewel on the Cote D’Azur.

A warm, salt-water pool, long lunches on the palatial veranda, speed boats (too fast to sway) along the Mediterranean shore.

Doggy spa treatments at La Petite Chien: sugar scrub on the belly, acu-pressure to points north of the tail, ear massage.AHHHHH.  The buffing of toe nails; the fluffing of chin hairs.  Pellegrino or Evian?  I ask you.

The ferry floor is but a dim memory.  On to the beach a la Francaise.

Chow.

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Fairies and Ferrys

16 07 2009

There are ferries and there are fairies.  Large, rolling ships and tiny, twittering creatures.

 

So, it becomes clear when speaking about either that whomever is speaking, explains.

 

“Ferry,” said the Contessa, practicing her finest english.

 

I rise, bolt upright at the thought of something small and easily chased.  I look around. Nothing but a large, lumbering vessel pulling into port.  I sniff the air for traces of fairy dust. Niente.

 

The meaning then crystalizes.

 

God, I miss latin.  Ab origine.  Abusus non tollit usum.

 

Look it up.

 

Chow.








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