I’m back …

Two years after I first started this blog, I’m making a second attempt. Once again we're travelling but this time when I return to Canada, maybe, just maybe, I'll keep blogging.

We’re in France. We arrived on a strike day, which presented a few challenges and some delays, but eventually we made our way from Marseille airport to Avignon where we will stay for a little while. But let me back-track for a moment.

I’m a very compliant traveller: my leatherman tool, tweezers, scissors, liquids etc all go in my checked baggage. I don’t travel with aerosols, firearms or a surfboard (I saw the last two items posted as no-nos in a US airport recently). This trip my husband commented that given the multitude of cables in our carry-on – chargers for phones, computer, MP3, iPod, camera, kobo, kobo light – airport security concerns over tweezers seemed a little misplaced. Still, better safe than sorry, so if it’s something sharp, sprayable, spillable or flammable, it gets checked. I don’t surf or hunt.

Well, you can imagine our surprise when, after most people had boarded and were seated, some poor sod opened the overhead baggage and out fell a pair of hiking poles, pokey-end going right into the head of a lady seated below. The attendant, who continued to “entertain” us for the entire flight with her utter cluelessness, picked up the poles, commenting that she was very surprised hiking poles were allowed as carry on, and tucked them right back up into the same overhead compartment before sauntering off to get the lady an ice pack. A short time later my purse straps that were just barely showing from the under the seat in front of me, warranted special attention from her, because clearly they were a tripping hazard (to all those people trying to pass me sitting in the middle seat).  Thank goodness I didn’t have those tweezers with me. They would have been confiscated I`m sure.

Seven hours later we arrived, to a strike, but not a really bad one as some trains were running, so we were in luck.
 
Our first evening here, we headed out to the main outdoor plaza – chock-a-block full with restaurant patios and diners. Along with many others, we were sipping our drinks and pondering the menu while people-watching. The tiniest little dog, a cross between a shih tzu, yorkshire terrier, chihuahua and possibly a cricket, caught everyone’s attention with his antics. He pranced, he chased bits of paper, danced around people’s legs - and when he had everyone’s full attention, he dropped his haunches and pooped! Seriously, right there in the middle of the plaza, with probably a few hundred diners looking on, he'd trot along a few steps, then stop and poop again, and I swear he kept looking back, checking his audience's reaction. All of us, who just a few moments before had been totally enchanted by the happy puppy, suddenly didn’t know where to turn our gaze. He'd gone from being utterly charming to being "juvenile delinquent puppy".
 

Here are  pictures of the Pont d’Avignon (the Pont Saint Benezet); a view from the "dog plaza"; and, our feet on the Pont d’Avignon.