France - Blog 6. The last 3 days.

France, Blog 6: The last three days

On Friday, blog 5, I related our full day of traveling, the Pierrefonds Castle, the Amiens canals, and the Amiens cathedral. Enough travel, we decided, and for the rest of the weekend we stayed at home. Saturday François took me on a “promenade.” For an hour we raced up and down the hills of his hometown, Le Raincy, making brief stops at the post office, the town hall (called Hotel de Ville), and the local Catholic church.

Hotel de Ville

Known as Église Notre-Dame du Raincy the church opened in 1923 as the first concrete church in France. It honors the French victory at the Battle of the Marne, where the French turned back the Germans in WWI. Its long panels of stained glass occupying almost the entirety of both side walls infuse the chamber with a dim kaleidoscope effect, like a fantasy night, perfect for feeling the presence of God.

Notre Dame du Le Raincy

Residential Le Raincy streets are narrow one-way lanes with cars snuggling in on both curbs and old houses huddling behind stone fences. There’s a sense of wariness, a danger hovering over everything with alarms and locks. It’s not the warzone feel I see in Latin American, South American, or African cities, with barbed wire and broken glass topping each border wall and guards with machine guns at every store’s door. Still, it’s palpable. A neighborhood that once held homogeneous French heritage is now invaded by African Muslims, Eastern Europeans, and Mideast Arabs. Crime is up as well as graffiti and trash. Cultural clashes are always difficult.

Paris night scene

In contrast, the town’s business streets offer two lane traffic, the bottom floor of the now commercialized buildings, once upon a time elegant homes, sport little boutique stores, florists, groceries, shoe repairs, and such. We passed a Fromager, a store that only sold cheese. Cute little restaurants with small round outdoor tables popped up along every block, including two French/Japanese sushi diners, one of which we chose as our dinner spot Monday evening. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Fromager. The store sells only cheese!

Saturday evening marked François and Jacqueline’s son’s 31st birthday, and we joined him, his girlfriend, his sister, and his parents for the celebration at a jazz club. Getting there was half the adventure, with a ride on the subway to the train station, from there to a downtown station, and finally an Uber for the last half-dozen kilometers. Most remarkable was the hour and a half wine and appetizer break we took at an incredible restaurant Le Train Bleu hidden in the Gare de Lyon train station François knew about. From the artistic Rococo art style murals on the ceilings, gold trimmed chandeliers, linen clothed 4-wine glass China settings, to black aproned waiters, the place was straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. We befriended a couple from New Orleans there, yes, really, and we made a date to get together with them when we return to the states.

Paris train station hidden restaurant.

Gwendolyn, the sister, spoke very well English, and she and I enjoyed discussing each other’s ways of life. A few months before, she had been talking on the phone outside a store when an immigrant grabbed her phone and purse and ran. Surprisingly, he was caught by bystanders and a nearby police person. He had several dozen stolen phones and wallets on his possession. The man was sent to jail for a month, his third time going to jail for the same crimes, and now is out stealing phones again. Gwendolyn says this is common in France, there’s no way to adequately punish criminals. No wonder there’s a cloud of fear about. Oh wait. He was also fined 1000 euros because he kicked Gwendolyn in the leg, injuring her. Since he couldn’t pay the fine, the government paid it. Weird system.

Gwen

The Jazz club, Chez Papa, was sensational, a small, crowded, dimly lit bistro whose dark walls held thousands of signatures and small messages from prior patrons. A three-piece live band played all evening, from before our arrival until after midnight. Like all French dinners, wine and champagne flowed freely, and food started serving after nine. I had snails for appetizer and huge shrimp called gambas for my main course. At one a.m. we stumbled onto the curb waiting for our Uber.

Appetizer at Chez Papa, established 1933

Sunday Isabelle and I took a morning promenade through town, picking up some pains au chocolat for breakfast and some appetizers to be served later. That later came at 1 p.m. when guests arrived for the afternoon. Five years ago, Isabelle and I took a several week cruise through French Polynesia (the Marquesas Islands, Tahiti, Bora Bora, etc.). There she befriended a French physician, also named Jacqueline like our hostess. Dr. Jacqueline and her husband of the time came to visit us in Biloxi, and we promised to return the favor when we visited France. She brought her handsome son and his gorgeous Malagasy girlfriend, and we settled down for wine, more champagne, aperitif hors d’oeuvres, and long conversations in French. You see them smiling in the photo, right? French people seem to smile nonstop. Maybe it’s the wine or they truly are a naturally jovial people. It’s very pleasant. Lunch ended at 7 p.m.

Happy French people

Monday began with another morning promenade with François, a three-mile jaunt. He showed me his pedometer which revealed he averaged over 18,000 steps a day. Fully retired, he collects and sells coins on the Internet for fun. The house is 18th century, totally reworked inside, decorated with souvenirs they collected on their trips to India and China. As we were walking, I received a frantic text from Isabelle. She had tried to check into her flight and discovered she’d been changed from the 3:50 p.m. flight we scheduled together to the 9:00 a.m. flight. Two hours online with Delta and I finally managed to get her back on my flight, but at a downgraded seat.

Downtown Paris at night

It rained off-and-on all day, and feeling a bit closed in, we decided to take an afternoon outing at the nearby Château et parc de Champs-Sur-Marne. Built in 1699 in neoclassical style, the chateau had a series of owners through the next two hundred plus years. Several kings visited there, including Louis XV who housed his mistress, Madame de Pompadour. Dignitaries such as Benjamin Franklin and authors Diderot, Voltaire, and d’Alembert were frequent guests. In 1935 it was gifted to the state and served as guesthouse and sometimes residence for visiting foreign statesmen and French dignitaries including Charles de Gaulle. I followed the audio guide on a tour of the fully period-restored four-story structure, with statues, chandeliers, admirable wall murals, and finely hand-carved pieces throughout. During our visit the furniture had been rearranged in preparation for a movie with Johnny Depp to be filmed there next week. Following the inside tour, we took a walk through the 85-acre gardens, a Versailles look to them, graced with elegant fountains, perfectly arranged paths lined with majestic trees and out to the fields where a couple of dozen horses grazed, roaming free. An idyllic setting of calm and beauty.

Chateau de Champs-Sur-Marne

French garden at the Chateau

Monday night we dined at the aforementioned French/Japanese sushi house. Jacqueline and François had large sushi plates while Isabelle and I opted for the steamed raviolis. The euro is so depressed right now (down over 15% for the year) that prices were cheap. When we saw the 3 scoop sundaes at 5.50 each, we couldn’t resist. Yum!!! I thought it was a French treat, but Isabelle says it’s typical Belgium.

Ice cream sundaes at a French Japanesse sushi house

And that brings us to Tuesday, the end of our trip. We packed and loaded into their car for the 30-minute drive to the airport. Charles De Gaulle airport is the busiest in Europe, with 70 million passengers going through its terminal every year. On our arrival, we discovered we’d both been downgraded from the premium select we’d paid for to economy, and not even sitting together. It took some fancy French talking on Isabelle’s part to finally get us side-by-side in comfort plus. Next came passport control with its hour line. Due to my Delta gold status, we were allowed to use the Air France lounge at CDG, and I’ll report it’s luxurious, with delicious food and, of course, a large selection of free wine and champagne.

CDG airport

Isabelle would like to return to France in May for her mother’s 90th birthday. I suppose I’m up for it. By then maybe I’ll be able to understand what they’re saying.

French Blog 5: Paris and environs

French Blog 5: Paris and environs

Paris, ah the city of lights. One can’t feel the pulse of any large city with a short visit, one usually dedicated to seeing the landmarks. Still, as this was my sixth stay, the only landmark I spotted was the spike of the Eiffel Tower from a patio apartment. Instead, the visit came as a one-day stop over at Isabelle’s friends.

Paris Street Scene

Those following my blog know that I met up with Isabelle this trip on September 11th in the Burgundy part of France, near where she was born. She’d been traveling the country for two weeks already, and I relaxed with her in the rural village of Pont du Vaux with her mother and brother. The last blog came after we left there and traveled to Aurignac, a small French village near the Pyrenees Mountains.

Aurinac Street Scene

On Tuesday, the 20th, the day before we left Aurignac, we took a day trip to Lourdes. Famous for being the site of an apparition of the Virgin Mary, the grotto is known as a place with miraculous healing water, a destination for those who are afflicted with physical or mental illness. The Internet has photos of dozens of canes and wheelchairs hanging on the grotto’s walls, a scene I thought I remembered from my visit in 1983. Most likely my memory is faulty, for the area is modernized and clean, from the huge 1900-era cathedral to the sanitized and plexiglass-protected one-foot waterfall. This cathedral is a bit smaller than some we’ve seen, but still spiritual and, like the whole site, inspirational for holy and peaceful countenance. One can fill up bottles from faucets dispensing holy water, siphoned from the close-by rapidly flowing Gave du Pau River. And, of course, there’s a street with scores of souvenir shops featuring Virgin Mary trinkets. Isabelle bought several and collected some of the holy water as well. I told her I wouldn’t drink any, afraid it might undo the surgery that made me Jewish.

Lourdes Souvenir Virgin Marys

Wednesday at 8:15 we left Aurignac, driving the hour north to Toulouse Airport to drop off the rental, grabbing an Uber to the train station, and settling in the TGV, the high-speed train, for the four-hour ride into Paris. I described French train rides in a previous blog and will repeat here how comfortable and practical they are. We made the 420-mile trip in four-hours, with a single quick stop at Bordeaux. Tickets run as little as $15 with discounts for seniors, but we went first class at about $60. Compare that to airplanes, what with the security rigamaroles and delays and crunched up space, not to mention climate change issues, and trains win the equation. Except that even at 160 mph they’re slower than planes. About the same distance from Gulfport to Atlanta takes only an hour of flying time. Here I had time to put together one of my YouTube videos, although not realizing that the train rumble showed up on the audio until after it was published.

Scene from the Train

In our home in Mississippi I’ll often find Isabelle relaxing on the back porch with cigarette and wine, jabbering away in French with her many longtime friends. This visit has been an opportunity to meet up with several of them. In Paris we stayed at the home of a friend she’s known since childhood, their families having been friends for three generations, named Chantal and her husband Jean Charles. In his late sixties, he still works daily in finance, yielding them a lovely top-floor apartment in the heart of Paris, including the patio with the aforementioned view. After settling in, Chantel took us on a walk past ritzy boutique stores with glittering showcase windows interspersed between sidewalk cafés. At the outside tables, well dressed skin-perfect Parisian women relaxed over Spritz across from narrow-black-tie wearing businessmen, smiling at each other in their opulent happiness.

Shopping in Paris

The neighborhood is awash with religion, ancient cathedrals peeking over twelve-foot stone walls and religious names assigned to each rue. We stopped in at one, a hidden chapel with glorious decorations (don’t they all?) where a choir sang lovely accompaniment to a congregation of nuns sporting black headdress. Chantel picked up a meal she called couscous, which had semolina accompanied by a collection of various meats, pork, lamb, steak, and chicken, as well as a vegetable medley of zucchini, squash, tomatoes, and onions. Served at 9 p.m. with both red and white wine, it’s a strikingly different culture to eat so late with these non-American foods.

A Paris Church

September brought cooler weather to northern France, with overcast skies Thursday morning. Down the narrow Parisian street, just wide enough for a single car, we crossed to a huge indoor shopping building named Le Bon Marche (The good deal). Celebrating its 170th anniversary, the four-story mall featured all the chic brand names, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Givenchy, Cartier, etc. The prices hardly matched the mall’s name promise. On the top floor as part of the celebration, there was a brightly colored labyrinth with peek holes and in-jokes. We bought food for lunch at a huge international market, bringing it back home to enjoy at Chantal’s.

We took an Uber to another set of Isabelle’s longtime friends, Jacqueline and François. The nicest and generous people imaginable, Jacqueline has an exotic look from her Portuguese heritage. Her husband is a retired world-traveling auditor, in prime shape in his low sixties. They live 15 miles northwest of Paris in a suburb called Le Raincy. Up until the Napoleonic wars, the area held a castle with indentured peasants working huge farmlands. Now it’s a cute suburban city, bustling with little black French cars swirling around the narrow streets and roundabouts. Jacqueline still lives in the house where she grew up, about one block from Isabelle’s childhood home. As we walked, the two women pointed out landmarks, here is where they went to school, here is where they went to church, here is the café where they would meet with friends after school. We had aperitif for dinner, pâté, smoked salmon, sausage, French bread, spreads, and wine.

Aperatif

François had been eagerly awaiting our arrival, a planner, he set out a schedule for Friday, every half hour noted where we’d be. By 8 a.m. we left to drive northwest, around the northern edge of Paris, took a wrong turn, and found ourselves behind 50 minutes on his schedule. Nevertheless, just after 10 a.m. we arrived at Pierrefonds, a fairy tale castle. This is the site used in many movies, including the British TV series, Merlin. Originally built in 1400 by Louis, Duke of Orléans, it served as a defensive fortress for two hundred years. In 1617 its owner chose the wrong side against Louis XIII, so Richelieu had it stormed and destroyed. Well, partially demolished, because it was SO big some of the towers and structures remained. There was enough left that Napoleon bought it for three thousand francs in 1810 and threw a few parties in its remaining halls.

Pierrefonds Castle

In 1861 full restoration began under the guidance of a series of architects, most notably Viollet-le-Duc. His active imagination added amazing flares, such as alligator rain spouts, gargoyles galore, and halls decorated with colorful animal symbols and light from bright stain glass windows. The structure is huge, a bargain at the 8-euro entry, still undergoing restoration, with a mile walk through magnificent hallways and decorated banquet rooms. The restored rooms have wood carvings, parquet floors, statues, and hand painted murals. I’d recommend this as a high point of anyone’s visit to France.

From Pierrefonds, we drove to the town of Amiens, having a prolonged lunch (is there any other kind?) at a cute little tavern with a brick fireplace, we welcomed its warmth. Our choices included Thai chicken, steak with fries, and whiting with saffron sauce. We had a four o’clock appointment to take a leisurely three-bench boat trip along the canals of Hortillonnages. In all my travels, I’ve never seen any place like this, miles and miles of bayous running between little islands of tiny houses and gardens right in the heart of town. The area used to be a large source of produce for Paris, now recreational where Parisian come to spend a day of so. Only accessible by small electric-motored boats, the little homesteads have neither electricity nor potable water, yet the hundred or so plots are all meticulously maintained.

Island in the Amies Canals

Up the hill from the waterways stands the largest cathedral in France. How large? Two Notre Dames of Paris could easily fit inside with room to spare. Built in the 13th century, Cathédral Notre-Dame d’Amiens has a long history, perhaps most famous for its relic, the head of John the Baptist. Its lovely interiors include chapels with religious paintings and statues, wood carved choir lofts featuring religious and secular scenes, incredible lofty ceilings, and intricate stone carvings throughout. Yet most impressive is the outside structure, High Gothic architecture with rows of saints, flamboyant rose-stained glass window, and a spire reaching towards heaven.

Notre Dame Cathedral at Amies

After an hour rest at a corner café, with hot chocolate and snacks, we drove an hour back towards La Raincy. We stopped in the town of Compiégne, famous for its museums, restaurants, and as the site of the signing of the armistice ending WWI in 1918 and the surrender of France to Germany in 1940. Another nearly two-hour meal ensued, before we were back on the road to arrive home at midnight.

Staturary in Pierreford Castle

Lorde’s Cathedral

Aurignac, a tiny French mountain village

Blog 4:  Aurignac

When one thinks of France, images of Paris come to mind. The Eiffel Tower. Notre Dame cathedral. Moulin Rouge. Wide avenues with hordes of tourists. Yet there’s another side of France. The population living in the vast rural lands lead a quieter life. Small country towns offer a special appeal, a restful charm of ancient customs with clean flower-scented air, no traffic, and friendly people.

Aurignac sits on the border of the Pyrénées mountains, close to Spain. Its origins can be traced back two millennium with discovery of a Roman bathhouse. Even much older, right outside Aurignac an 1860 anthropologist discovered a cave with prehistoric human remains. There’s a museum in town devoted to its history and artifacts. As Isabelle and I love museums, we had a very enjoyable time there.

View of the Pyrenees from our window

The city became a regional capital during the late Middle Ages and built a fortified castle and keep. The French King Henry IV felt Aurignac’s power posed too great a danger, so he ordered the structure destroyed. It survived when the town council wrote him back saying it had been done … when it wasn’t. Here’s a picture of the keep. It’s under reconstruction.  

The Castle Keep, original and reconstruction

We wandered through the remains of the keep and courtyard. The narrow winding staircase reminded me of the tower turrets seen in old medieval based movies. This photo shows a peek of the countryside through its three-foot thick wall. From the keep’s peak we had a stunning view of French countryside at its best.

Just down the top of the hill from the castle sat the magnificent Aurignac church, Église Saint Pierre aux Liens. Its four-hundred-year-old statues, saint glass, and huge religious paintings had survived intact through the French Revolution … perhaps by the same city council trick. Isabelle marveled at the intricate detailed decorations.

This morning we took a walk through the countryside. We strolled downhill past a large animal feed store, already doing business as the sun crept up. At the bottom of the hill, Isabelle befriended two ladies walking their dogs. They directed us to an amazing chapel, sitting up a small hill. A plaque told that it was built in 1664 as a shrine by a family because they’d been spared of the plague. During the French revolution the Revolutionary Council ordered it destroyed, but it wasn’t. Yes, the City Council used the same trick, just lying about it, and the structure remained.  

Down from the chapel, we followed the road past the cemetery. Isabelle was certain there’d be a path behind the castle, and, sure enough we found one, a 3-foot breadth hugging the edge of a hill. Inside, we could stand still and enjoy absolute silence.

As we continued, we passed cow pastures and huge fields of sunflowers. And then … we came to the hill. We two inhabitants of the lowlands had our hearts pounding when we reached the top. On we went. Just before the end of the path, we made friends with a man who was fertilizing his garden. He told Isabelle all about his family history, and a bit about the castle’s too.

Field of Sunflowers

We left our path right where Isabelle had predicted, the gate of the old ramparts. It has a history plaque, too. I’ve got to brag, she’s a great tour guide as well as translator.

Two buildings up from the old rampart gate, sits the 15th century hotel Isabelle found us. Our fourth-floor suite overlooked the mountains on the front view. That’s her in the open window. Out the side we watch the pigeons huddle on ancient tile roofs. From the hotel door, it’s an easy walk to the organic grocer, the 2-euro used-bookstore, or either of the two restaurants in town. The hotel owner provides an outdoor patio where neighbors come to drink and talk. Men play cards on Sunday morning. Isabelle befriends them all. The building has no elevators. We’ll definitely have stronger leg muscles after this trip.

I can’t write a blog about France and not devote at least one paragraph to food. The breakfast at this hotel includes your choices of meats and breads and fruit and cheese. We’re talking homemade warm pain au chocolat, buttery croissants, and baguette! It doesn’t come better than that on a cool mountain morning. We lunched at the restaurant across the street. Foodies it’s called. I’m not kidding. Foodies. After settling in for patio lunch under the grapevine canopies, we ordered the 3-course special for Isabelle and the steak and fries with sweet onion sauce for me. Hers started with a cucumber and tomato mayonnaise salad, followed by a sauced pork roast. Both her roast potatoes and my fries came out crisp, warm, and scrumptious, the meats even better. Two hours after seating, we shared the chocolate mousse for dessert. Isabelle wrote them a fine review.

Why are we in Aurignac? Isabelle has a childhood friend who lives in a beautiful renovated traditional farm in the country. Frederica has mellowed from the fast-paced youngster Isabelle knew to a wise and peaceful country-woman. Graying hair flows above her welcoming face.  Tonight, Isabelle and she sat next to each other on the edge of the patio watching the sun set over the mountains. They smoked, drank a little French wine, and occasionally gabbled in French. It’s their first meeting in over forty years, and they’ve settled down like old friends. As we walked back to our car, I enjoyed the milky way shining country bright.

Lyon - a large French City

France, Blog 3

A cold front brought two days of intermittent showers through our small French village, rain greatly appreciated by farmers and their livestock. Due to the summer’s drought, pastures were dry, hay at a premium, corn stalks brown, and animals sad. The rain brought immediate change, wildflowers popping, cows mooing with appreciation, and the air fresh and clear … although relief came too late for the corn stalks.

Through Thursday morning’s occasional sprinkle, we strolled along the main street of Pont de Vaux. I was searching for reference material for my blogs and videos, hopefully English version pamphlets. The town has a visitor’s center reminiscent of those one finds in towns in America, staffed by a young chubby young woman who regretted she hadn’t anything I wanted. They did have a variety of French material and local crafts. Isabelle bought a corkscrew attached to a sculptured horseshoe; I suppose a good luck piece for wine drinkers. The town hall had nothing, either, although there was a nice stone piece displaying the town seal. I wanted to head to the town library, only open for two hours twice a week, but time and commitments reached out.

We drove to the Bi1, the local grocery store. Bi1 = “Buy one.” Right? In French, it’s pronounced Bee-en, and they follow it with “venue” which together means welcome. I’ll put together a little video showing the great fresh products they offer, 40-feet displays each of fresh meat, fish, and cheeses. Isabelle picked out 40 euros worth of crustaceans for dinner.

Isabelle booked a fancy restaurant to lunch on our last day with Mémé. We traveled the 20 minutes on winding country roads to Tournus, an ancient town that reportedly has the most Michelin star restaurants in southern France. Like at most French restaurants, we had a menu option like Americans are used to only in Chinese restaurants, a set price that includes appetizer, main deal, and dessert. This one, Aux Terrasses, offered a set price of 40 euros, with 20 euros extra to have matching wines for each dish. The waiter asked if we wanted to choose from the menu or take the surprise. We all chose the surprise. For the next two hours we had dish after dish of delectable foods, none of which would be common back home. Mémé was delighted … well, we all were. And stuffed. We finished it all except for a few bites of the absolutely delicious stuffed squid. I created a YouTube video of the meal: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4t2hkNh6JiQ

Home for a nap, and hardly awake before Isabelle’s brother and wife arrived for dinner, another hour and a half gastronomical feast. Are we gaining weight? Do the French drink wine?

Friday, we said good-bye to Mémé and Pont de Vaux, driving our rented Peugeot on the interstate “autoroute” to Lyon, an hour-and-a-half easy stretch at 130 km/hr, about 78mph. The car responds so smoothly, without constant regard for the speedometer I could be going anywhere between 30 or 150 and not tell the difference, although we could never figure out how the cruise control or the radio volume worked. Isabelle had found us a AirBnB in a fancy neighborhood just across a pedestrian bridge from the old city, a cute little flat facing an enclosed patio in an 18th century building. Fully renovated, its 14-foot ceilings and recessed lighting gave it a European magazine look. One frustrating aspect of French homes is lack of electrical access. We’re used to American double plugs in each receptacle. French plates offer only one outlet, and only two plates per room. We take turns charging our phones.

Lyon was founded by the Romans in the first century B.C. There are plenty of their ruins to explore, including a magnificent amphitheater. Situated between two rivers, the city is dominated by a large mountain in the middle, topped by the basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourviére. Although neither the oldest nor the largest, it’s presence beckons visitors, either climbing the exhausting tall mountain, or, as we did, taking the cable car through the tunnel dug in the mountainside. Dedicated to the Virgin Mary, the church’s multiple chapels shimmer with the opulence of work by devoted sculptors and their gold gilded creations. There are dozens of churches in Lyon. At the base of the main square is Lyon’s St John Cathedral, built between 1180 and 1476 on top of a sixth century church, its intricate stone carvings and voluminous space draws the visitor back to days before modern technology polluted our world.

I mentioned above that Tournus had the most Michelin star restaurants in Southern France. Well, Lyon has the most Michelin restaurants of any town in all the world. It’s considered the world culinary capital. As we walked along the cobblestone streets of the old city, we passed scores of restaurants, each with colorfully accoutered tablecloths, patrons sitting sipping their wine and arguing politics in rapid loud singsong. Along one road, tourist stores shouldered side-by-side, each with specialty products. One is entirely devoted to sardines, another to lemons, a third to “The Little Prince” items (Lyon is the hometown of St Exupery the author of le petite prince). We toured a few of the museums, one about the history of puppets and another showing how Lyon had grown over the centuries.

We dined at “L’Auberge des Canuts,” a Bouchon Lyonnais, a restaurant that only offers cuisine specialties from Lyon. For a set price of 37 euros, we had appetizers, meal, and dessert. Isabelle chose a pork belly salad with poached egg, pike in a breaded envelope “Quenelle sauce nantua,” and chocolate mousse. I had the venison and duck fois gras paté, beef filet with morel mushroom sauce, and crème brûlée. Each main dish came with rice or potatoes and slices of carrot and zucchini. And wine of course. Isabelle complains that her pants aren’t as loose as they were back home.

We’re leaving early tomorrow for Aurignac, a small town an hour South-West of Toulouse

A view from the central square up to their Notre Dame Cathedral

A day in rural France

It'd been four years since I’d been in France. The journey was as smooth as I could have wished, and arrival comforting. We’re staying in Isabelle’s mother’s tiny hometown, Pont de Vaux, a safe place, no crime, wonderful weather, and flowers galore. There are a few things to get used to, such as “C” on the plumbing means hot. No one tips the server. Food, well, more on that later.

The inhabitants of this smalltown always smile. Everyone walking in the store is greeted with a cheerful Bonjour. Shoppers on the street stop to have long conversations. When conversations finish, Bonne Journée echoes out. Shop owners and customers know each other, and likely share a great-grandparent. It’s clean, safe, and friendly. The prices are good, the food is delicious, and the air is fresh (interestingly fragrant if you’re next to a cow farm.)

I’m a tag-along for my lovely translator, Isabelle. A translator helps a lot, although I did manage to order our breakfast quiches Tuesday morning. After three years of studying every day, I can read and can make simple negotiations, but I can’t follow conversations.

Long drives through the country are our specialty, speeding along narrow roads lined by towering trees. Isabelle tells me that these trees were planted by order of Napoleon to help hide and give shade to troop movement. The little Peugeot we rented gives a constant reminder of the speed limit in a bullseye above the steering wheel. Good thing, because the limit changes dramatically quite abruptly.

We take back roads, roaring past corn fields and cows in pasture. Suddenly, we’re upon a century-old village, streets so narrow that if there ever was another vehicle, there’d be congestion. We crawl through these places-out-of-time, marveling at the tile roofed orange plastered buildings with their lace curtained windows waving in the gentle breeze. Bright flowers thrive in every pot. Lazy cats stretch out on stone fence tops watching us pass by.

We’re lodged at Isabelle’s 89-year-old mother Mémé’s house. When she moved here fifteen years ago, the building was already thirty-five years old. Since then, it’s undergone little change, she lives by herself and keeps everything spotless. Even a flower petal from her many plants is promptly swept off the porch.

Mémé’s doing extremely well for her age. She’s up early, cleaning herself and the already spotless kitchen, and fixing her breakfast. Her little Peugeot takes her back and forth to the grocers, although I’ve not been willing to let her demonstrate her driving skills. In the evenings, she settles in front of the TV, complaining to the narrator about their politics. She talks to me in slow French, and sometimes we can communicate. Both of us being hard of hearing doesn’t make it any easier.

Isabelle and I settled into the upstairs room, one wall end-to-end shelves stuffed with books. The windows look out across the fields to distant, low ancient mountains, offering a refreshing breeze in the evenings. The room has only two plugs, European double cylinders, requiring a converter.

Tuesday morning, we drove out to Tournus. Perhaps the oldest town in the region, it’s prime attraction is the Abbey. I hope you’ll watch my YouTube video made of my filming there: https://youtu.be/GkZBgRYmiXY .  The town thrived under the governance of the Dukes of Burgundy, its situation on a river making it safe and wealthy.

On the way back to Mémé’s house, Isabelle brought me to the Carrefour (pronounced car-for, it means crossroads). A Whole Foods sort of place, it offers fresh meat and fish, walls of cans, and various attractive sundries, such as shoes, gardening, and toys. We brought home a seafood dinner. Spicy cod balls from the West Indies. Tiny brown shrimp from Normandy. Huge red shrimp from Brittany. Bulot (huge snails) from the northern coast.

Before dinner, we took Mémé on a long drive through the country. She was delighted to get out of the house and see so much territory. Dozens of little villages offered their speedbumps and waving passersby. Big farm trucks take up the whole road, requiring compromise to pass.

Dinner was, as expected, a gastronomical feast. Besides the seafood, we had slim green beans and fresh bread. There’s nothing better than fresh French bread, except maybe the pain au chocolat (croissant rolls laced inside with chocolate). Cheese squares and chocolate circles made up dessert.

Wednesday was market day. The circus of tents and vendor booths stretched down the main street for a dozen blocks, tailing off in the central courtyard. Chickens rotisseried before your eyes. A Nigerian offered three carts long of leather belts, purses, and moccasins. Residents lined up for their favorite cheeses from the fromager. Each shopper held a market basket, little treasures of all sorts carefully tucked inside. Although I didn’t film this one, I have a YouTube video of the French market from a few years ago. Here: https://youtu.be/iIa4DR4C9m8

After market, Isabelle, Mémé and I traveled the two miles to Isabelle’s brother’s house. Serge is a retired policeman, a jovial fellow with almost adequate English skills. His wife Danielle and her sister made six. We sat down for lunch just after noon. Danielle had set a fancy French table, two plates of stacked China, radiant silverware, and three types of glasses. Aperitif offered, Foie gras, red caviar, and rolled slices of French smoked trout. This course came with Monbazillac, a sweet wine. Mid-starters brought lovely fried eggplant slices, accompanied by more drinks. Serge had a fine Japanese whiskey. The main course brought green beans with mushrooms, chicken breast fillets in fresh cream and mushroom sauce, and freshly made half-inch noodles. This meal required a dry red, so the very rare 2008 Gevrey-chambertin rounded the table. For dessert, a fine raspberry Bienvenue cake, with my birthday number candles acc0mpanied by the smooth, sweet, rich, Monbazillac. Serge is nine months older than me and they’d saved the numbers from his cake. We finally got up from the table four hours after sitting down.

It's certainly the most relaxing vacation I’ve been on for a long time. I’m finding time to produce some creative writing, and that’s my passion. Thanks for following my blog.

Breast Cancer, Risk Factors, Diagnosis, and Treatment

The curves of femininity include lush lips, rounded hips, and, most notably, a woman’s breasts. Packed with milk ducts, the breasts serve to feed the newborn, yet style tends to supersede function. Deeply instilled in a woman’s self-image, it can be particularly devastating if breast cancer develops. On average, 1 in 8 women will develop breast cancer in their lifetime.

Breast Cancer Source and Frequency

Breasts are composed of three main types of tissue. Lobules are glands that produce milk. The milk is then carried through ducts to the nipple. Connective tissue that holds everything together. Most breast cancers begin in the ducts or lobules.

Although only about 1% of a woman’s body mass, the breast is the most common site for cancer in a woman (excluding skin). In 2016, the incidence of new breast cancer diagnosed in Mississippi was 121 per 100,000 population. In comparison, the next two most common, lung and colorectal, clocked in at 58 and 40, meaning breast cancer was more common than the next three types of cancer combined.

Breast Cancer Risk Factors

Multiple risk factors affect the likelihood of a woman developing breast cancer. It strikes women older than 55 twice as often as those who are younger. A family history, particularly a first degree relative such as a mother, sister, or daughter, having had breast cancer doubles the woman’s risk. Certain genes have been linked with cancer. Having had cancer in one breast greatly increases the chances of developing it in the other.

Other risk factors include women who’ve been exposed to large doses of radiation, such as those who’ve had treatment for other cancers. Female hormones increase the risks, so women who are obese, take hormonal supplements, began having periods at a young age, or continued having periods late into life, are all at increased risk. Having a child at a younger age and having breast fed statistically reduces the risk, while never having had a child increases that risk. Alcohol consumption has also been found to increase the risk of breast cancer.

Breast Cancer Detection

The key to treatment is early detection. Tumors found when less than a centimeter, about a third of an inch, have a 7% mortality. If treatment isn’t started before the tumor reaches 3 inches, mortality is about 60%. Thus, it’s important for a woman to do self-examination frequently, and keep regular appointments with her doctor.

The most important sign of breast cancer is a lump in the breast. Other signs include a change in the size or shape of the breast, notably dimpling, an inverted nipple, or skin changes such as redness or pitting. Not all lumps are cancer, in fact, most will be benign, such as cysts or scar tissue. If a lump is found, a doctor will likely order a mammogram and perhaps a needle biopsy.

The American Cancer Society makes the following recommendations:

• Women ages 40 to 44 should have the choice to start annual breast cancer screening with mammograms (x-rays of the breast) if they wish to do so.

• Women age 45 to 54 should get mammograms every year.

• Women 55 and older should switch to mammograms every 2 years, or can continue yearly screening.

• Screening should continue as long as a woman is in good health and is expected to live 10 more years or longer.

• All women should be familiar with the known benefits, limitations, and potential harms linked to breast cancer screening.

Breast Cancer Treatment

Once breast cancer has been found, the treatment will depend on how far it has advanced. Small self-contained lumps, so called cancer-in-situ, might be cured with simple surgical excision. Because breast cancer tends to spread through the lymphatic system, the surgeon may biopsy or remove some of the lymph nodes on the upper chest and into the armpit to have those checked for cancer.

Once the cancer has spread, two other modalities come into play: radiation and chemotherapy. Radiation might be localized to the chest to try to kill any stray cells missed with surgery or might be administered to other parts of the body where the cancer has metastasized. Chemotherapy involves taking poisons that kill multiplying cells, typical of cancers. In breast cancer, certain hormonal treatments have proven successful.

The Value of Screening

Breast cancer is one of the slower growing cancers, so that even though breast cancer is more common in women than lung cancer, more women die of the faster growing lung cancer, and die sooner. The most important factor in mortality is the size of the tumor on diagnosis, and whether it has spread. Improved screening tests and treatment options mean about 8 out of 10 women with breast cancer will survive at least 10 years after initial diagnosis.

To prevent the terrible consequences of breast cancer, all women should be diligent about self-examination and having scheduled mammograms. Keep a healthy weight, avoid excessive alcohol, and see your doctor for regular checkups.

Risk factors for Breast Cancer:

·      Age greater than 55

·      First degree family history (mother, sister, daughter)

·      Certain gene types

·      Prior breast cancer

·      Radiation exposure

·      Hormonal supplementation

·      Never having had a child, or having the first one late in life.

·      Early onset of periods and late onset of menopause

·      Obesity

·      High alcohol consumption

Osteoporosis Give Me a Break

Have you ever wondered why grandma keeps getting shorter? The answer is a bit scary. Osteoporosis is causing her backbones to break, collapsing them to lower her height. Everyone over fifty suffers from demineralization of their bones. Usually, we don’t find out how bad it’s gotten until it’s too late and we fracture our hip or back.

Throughout our life, our bodies constantly absorb and replace bone cells. With osteoporosis, new bone creation doesn’t keep up, weaking our bones. There are many factors in how this balance is maintained. In women, estrogens significantly affect the rate of bone loss, so after menopause osteoporosis accelerates. Family history, body size, and ethnicity also are factors, with bone loss greater in thin descendants of Caucasian and Asian ancestry.

Keeping Your Bones Healthy

Regular exercise strengths bone. The National Health Service recommends, “Adults aged 19 to 64 should undergo at least two and a half hours a week of moderate-intensity aerobic activity, such as cycling or fast walking. Weight-bearing and resistance exercises are particularly important for improving bone density and helping to prevent osteoporosis.”

Keeping your bones healthy is dependent on a healthy diet. Bone uptake requires calcium and vitamin D. Dairy products provide plenty of calcium, but those avoiding dairy can supply their needs with sardines, fortified orange juice, greens, and beans. Vitamin D can be obtained from exposure to sunshine, or in certain foods such as fish, egg, and fortified milk. Fluoride supplementation helps teeth, hips, and backbones, but may weaken wrist bones.

While some sources recommend liver as a source of vitamin D, nutritionists warn that the high content of vitamin A in liver can dissolve bones. Similarly, red meat proteins contain high amounts of sulfur amino acids which cause the body to dissolve calcium. Other foods that come with warnings include salt because its sodium competes with calcium for absorption, excess caffeine, which also interferes with calcium absorption, and alcohol and smoking, both of which cause demineralization.

Tests and Treatments for Osteoporosis

The most common test for osteoporosis is the bone mineral density, or BMD. There are simple fingertip tests for this, or more accurate radiographic exams. A dual-energy x-ray absorptiometry scan, known as DXA or DEXA, gives a T-score useful for predicting the risk of fractures. 

Medications can slow or even reverse osteoporosis. The most prescribed are the bisphosphonates, such as Fosamax. Some of these are available as weekly or monthly pills, while Reclast requires an annual IV infusion. Other drugs include Evista, which mimics estrogen’s beneficial effects on bone density in postmenopausal women. There are also several medications available that speed up bone regrowth.

Live Long and Prosper

The main keys to keeping your bones healthy are exercise, nutrition, and avoiding cigarettes and alcohol. This is a common and important issue because after age fifty half of all women and a quarter of all men will break a bone due to low bone density. Everyone should have their bone density checked, and if low, start treatment to prevent bone fractures.

Omicron

When COVID arrived in Mississippi in March of 2020, I was working as an Emergency Room Doctor at Memorial Hospital of Gulfport. I’d been there seventeen years, topping off forty-two as an E.R. doctor. 

As COVID hit, the E.R. staff developed protocols of isolation rooms for the patients and yellow protection gowns with masks and hoodies for the health care workers. Even so, several of our staff caught the virus, although I believe none died. Perhaps the administration decided it was too risky to keep a 67-year-old doctor exposed, so they retired me.

I landed in the MHG clinics, still seeing COVID patients, and when Delta roared, I staffed the drive-through clinics as well. For a year and a half this infection has waxed and waned, and I’ve been in the midst of treating it. As far as I know, I never caught the virus.

Now Omicron is our bugaboo. As it’s raced through our city, our health care providers have been succumbing. Since the new year, I’ve heard of at least four doctors and five nurse practitioners catching the virus. This meant I’ve had to work extra hours, and the last pay period I put in 72 hours at the walk-in clinics, mostly seeing COVID patients. 

This month the volume of patients increased so much, the administration considered reopening the drive-through lines. Two weeks ago, we were seeing 90 patients a day at the clinic I worked, and over 600 patients throughout the system. I am conscientious about wearing my mask, I’ve had my vaccines and booster, and thought I’d be safe.

However, Omicron is extremely contagious. Saturday night, the 15th, after working in one of the clinics that day, I had the most peculiar reaction. I’ve heard of COVID causing brain issues, mostly dizziness and foggy thoughts, but for me, I had weird delusions. Fortunately, my son talked me down and by the next morning that issue was resolved. 

Sunday morning, I developed typical COVID symptoms, runny nose, scratchy throat, headache, muscle aches, and chills. Some get nausea or diarrhea, although I didn’t. Mainly, I had fatigue. I slept most of the next two days. By Tuesday I was almost back to normal, still tiring easily, and by Friday I was back at work. I’ve noted sore throat and sinus congestion are the most common symptoms. Rapid heart rate is a common sign.

For most people, there’s no specific treatment. Antibiotics are totally ineffective. Tylenol seems to help a lot. Vitamins and zinc are probably useful for your health, but there’s no evidence they have any effect on COVID. There’s only one brand of monoclonal antibody that targets COVID, and it’s in such short supply we’re limiting it to those in most need, elderly, immunosuppressed, or multiple co-morbidities, such as diabetes or COPD. There’s a new pill, but it has so many side effects it’s probably a treatment of last resort. 

Most people feel lousy, like having the flu, but don’t look as bad as they feel. The newest CDC guidelines suggest isolation for only five to six days. The current rapid test we’re using is great when it comes back positive, but in my experience and several of the other clinicians, it has a very high false negative rate, like close to 50%. This means that half the time the test comes back negative, the person does have the virus. We have a new option on our forms that says “presumably positive” that I check off on these patients. For example, I had a family with a mother and three children, all with typical COVID symptoms of three-day duration, but only one of their tests came back positive. I’m certain they all had COVID. The send-off test, PCR, is much more accurate, although it takes anywhere from one to four days to return.

The Omicron virus seems to have peaked, and now on its downhill road. The clinics are seeing only half the number of patients of only two weeks ago. Today I saw only twenty patients in my nine-hour clinic shift, all but two with COVID. It’s still around, so, please, wear your mask.

A Year Older

As a youth I had plenty of time but no money. Once I went to medical school and then as an intern, I had neither time nor money. As I aged, my career was profitable, so I had money, but no time. Now in retirement I’m blessed with both time and money, with the hopes that my health holds out so I can enjoy them both.

I retired in June of last year. Well, one might call it retirement. The powers-that-be told me I was too old to be an E.R. physician any longer (not in those words of course). In retrospect, they were probably right. While I miss the excitement and therapeutic interventions of that environ, the twelve-hour shifts, all the new medicines and technologies, and the interventionist focus of the younger doctors forced an old dog into the boonies. Now I work two days a week at walk-in clinics, where my years of diagnostic acumen serve me well. It’s low pressure, plenty of time to sit and talk with my patients, a truly pleasurable end-of-career platform.

COVID’s been the big bug-a-boo.  Since retiring, I’ve worked in fourteen different regular walk-in clinics and COVID pop-up sites. At sixty-eight years old, I’m at higher risk of having severe outcome when I catch it, so I took the vaccine and boosters. As far as I know, I haven’t caught it yet, despite near constant exposure. Hey, I wear a mask! I certainly sympathize for those who have suffered from this plague, but personally COVID has been good for me, supplying employment and changing the focus of my travels from international to more local trips.

On my many local trips this year, I’ve been creating YouTube videos. One needs 1000 subscribers and 10,000 views a month to qualify as an influencer, and I’m at about 15% of those level, so I recognize, like my writing, this is just a hobby. But I love making these videos. This year I produced 16 movies, including travel shots from Colorado, Florida, Boston, Indiana, and Wyoming. If you’re interested, please check out and subscribe at Philip Levin's YouTube Videos. 

This year my writing hobby has focused on taking my Masters Course. A two-and-a-half-year program I’m taking online from Southern New Hampshire University, I’ll finish up in May. The thesis for the course is to write a novel, and mine, Underwater Gods, is a Young Adult mermaid fantasy. 18-year-old Michael builds a submarine and discovers the world of merfolk where he falls in love with a mermaid. Together they must save the world. Yeah, corny, but lots of fun. It won’t be out until the end of next year or 2023. I also finished the first draft of my autobiography, I Saved Lives, my 42 years as an E.R. doctor. Otherwise, my publications have included a few magazine articles here and there.

Although I have a website www.Doctors-Dreams.com where I offer my books for sale, most of my book sales come in face-to-face interactions at arts and crafts show. The spring sales were all cancelled because of COVID, but in the fall I had several successful months, overall selling 1200 books this year. This, with my YouTube travel videos, serves less as supplemental income, but rather as an excellent tax deduction.

For the holidays, I’ll travel to Denver to visit my grandkids, three-year-old Clark and the brand-new Amelia Rose. Their parents, Lauren and Galen, enjoy the big open spaces of Colorado, although a little less so this year with all the smoke from the California forest fires. Lauren has been searching for the right nursing job that still leaves time for childrearing. My middle child, Steven, and his mate, Emily, are stay-at-home millenniums, both doing computer jobs from their home in Durham. She’s a woodworking furniture maker for her hobby, while Steven is devoted to their Corky, Ester. Katie Rose, my oldest, and her husband, Don, are environmentalists in Durham, serving on committees and lobbying groups. These are such important roles, as climate change threatens to make Earth uninhabitable.

My two older brothers are toying with retirement. Michael, the world traveler, has been working from home in Hawaii during COVID. He developed programs and employs statistics for countries to analyze their censuses. Alan and his wife, Melisa, live in a Florida high-rise overlooking the beach, taking daily walks and relaxing in the coastal breezes. 

Isabelle, my French girlfriend, loves having free time to enjoy our home and our travels. We wake up laughing and continue in good humor through our travels together and the parties we host. Her older daughter, Claudia, married her love, Stewart, on Halloween. They’re living in central Mississippi and enjoying successful DINK lives (Double Income No Kids).  The younger girl, Charlotte, finished her first semester at Ringling School of Art and Design in Sarasota. She’s specializing in illustration and has agreed to illustrate one of my children’s books, so a new project for us both for 2022.

I’ve titled this letter “A Year Older” for basically that’s all the difference I’ve noticed. Yes, I’m older. I had a few minor pickleball injuries, a handful of unexpected expenses, and the birth of a new grandchild, but mostly there hasn’t been a lot of memorable events this year. I suppose that’s a good thing. I hope your 2021 has brought joy and peace to you as well.

With best wishes for the new year, Philip.

Wear a Mask

Now with the Delta variant ravaging our South Mississippi population, Memorial Hospital’s re-established drive-through Harrison County clinics are testing up to 500 patients a day for COVID. Most have symptoms. About a third are testing positive. This includes some who are fully vaccinated, but mostly those who have not taken the jabs.

Out of curiosity, I sometimes ask these patients why they didn’t get vaccinated, and get a slew of answers, some valid, most less so. “I’ve known a lot of people who took the vaccine and got sick.” “It doesn’t really prevent the infection.” “If I take the vaccine, I know I’ll have a bad reaction, while if I don’t get the jab, I may never get sick.”

I understand hesitancy. Yes, those with the vaccine still can get sick … just not nearly as sick. While the unvaccinated make up about 60% of our population, of those ill enough to require hospitalization, over 95% are from the unvaccinated. And while it’s true the unvaccinated might not catch the virus, this version is much more infectious than the alpha, so that even being in a room after someone with the virus has left may be enough to catch it.

Some respond to my queries by saying this vaccine is experimental. That’s inaccurate. It did receive emergency authorization, but that’s not the same thing as experimental. Before receiving approval by the FDA, the vaccines underwent vigorous testing and large clinical trials. They are emergency drugs for our emergency epidemic, but are not experimental.

Some tell me it’s not really a vaccine because it doesn’t prevent the disease. This also is inaccurate. A vaccine is a product that stimulates a person’s immune process. All of the currently approved COVID vaccines do just that, they stimulate a person’s immune system so that if they do come in contact with the virus, they will mount a more robust response, lessening the disease. No vaccine, let me repeat that, NO VACCINE is 100% effective. They’re not meant to be. They’re just supposed to help, and this one certainly does. 

Certain agencies now require vaccination. The City of New York and the State of California are requiring health care workers to show proof of vaccination or mandatory weekly testing. The U.S. Veterans Hospital system is going further, requiring vaccination in order to work in their hospital system. Many businesses, such as United Airlines, Cisco, Facebook, and Tyson foods are telling their employees to get vaccinated or lose their jobs.

Yet, many will still refuse to get the jab for the reasons mentioned above, or for other personal motivations. We can’t make them. We won’t make them. How then to stop this pandemic?

Easy. Just wear a mask. Whether one is vaccinated or not, wearing a mask whenever inside with other people will prevent the spread of the virus. Those plexiglass shields don’t do it. Being vaccinated doesn’t do it, as even vaccinated people can catch, carry, and spread the virus. Those with masks do not spread the virus and will decrease their chance of catching it. The CDC guidelines urge even fully vaccinated people living in hot spots to wear a mask while indoors.

Over the past fourteen months I’ve been working COVID testing centers, COVID vaccination facilities, and walk-in clinics with COVID patients. I’ve been face-to-face with thousands of people at work and in my personal life. I wear a mask. I haven’t gotten infected.

This week I played pickleball at an indoor facility with about forty other participants. I was the only one wearing a mask. When I go into any store, when I answer my doorbell at home, when I take a walk in the neighborhood and stop to talk to a neighbor, I wear my mask.

Protect yourself and others from COVID. It’s simple to do. Wear a mask.

The All-In-One App

·      Too Much Screen Time

Every week I get a report on my phone of my weekly “screen time.”  I’m always astonished.  Three hours a day?  That’s not possible, is it?  I mean, yeah, I use my phone for news updates, checking the weather, and keeping up with my calendar.  Every day I spend twenty minutes on Duolingo with my French lessons. Then there are the evenings I’m watching Netflix on my phone.  And, oh yeah, the videogames. 

On vacations I’m shooting photographs, using Yelp, and ordering rides from Uber.  When I’m curious about any number of things, or arguing with the French Girlfriend about facts, it’s Google time.  Youtube offers entertainment. I frequently check my bank balance.  Standing in line at the grocery store or for tickets somewhere, or perhaps waiting for the GF to get ready to go, I’ll open up Kindle.  Then there are times I’m rummaging through my Twitter feed, following friends on Facebook, or looking at the latest pics of my grandkids my daughter posted on Google photos.  And let’s not get into the Amazon shopping.   

I have 133 apps on my cellphone.  Sometimes finding the right one takes as long as the time I spend on it.  Wouldn’t it be great if they could be consolidated into one? 

·      Weixin

I’m bringing this up because I recently read about an app that the Chinese use that features an all-in-one site called Weixin (pronounced “way-shin”).  Initially set up in 2011 as a WhatsApp type service, it expanded to be a combination of Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, and eBay.  Heck, you can do anything you want there, from shopping, to calling a taxi, to sending flowers to loved ones (or in China, “red envelopes” stuffed with cash).  Within three years it had 300 million users and a net worth of over a hundred billion dollars! Now they’re up to 1.2 BILLION monthly users.  That’s over 15% of the total world’s population.  Makes me feel like I’m missing out, right?

A feature I found particularly appealing about Weixin is its personalization.  Some people only want the shopping aspects, others have interest in news and sports.  The app is designed for easy customization.  I suppose this app appealed particularly well to the Chinese culture, with their trust in authority and close-knit social systems.  It still works for other cultures, of course, but Americans may have more of a “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket” mentality.

Wouldn’t it be neat to have such an app on my own phone?  I could open this single app and let it handle all my life’s needs.  I imagine my screen time would go from three hours a day to … what?  Six? Ten? I can hear the French Girlfriend now, tugging on my sleeve.  “Fee-leep?  Fee-leep!  Pay attention to ME!”  Hmm.  Maybe not such a great idea after all.

·      The Fine Print

For those interested in downloading the app, it’s called WeChat in English for International users and Weixin in China.  However, the WeChat version doesn’t have the wallet hooked up to bank accounts that Weixin offers, so is much more limited.  You can download the app here: https://web.wechat.com.  For more perspective on the app, I recommend this blog by my fellow student, Ryan Shippy: https://ryanshippyblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/13/weixin-the-all-in-one-app/

I hope you enjoy my blogs.  If so, please subscribe here. If interested, my twitter address is @PhilipLLevin and you can follow with a sign up at the bottom of this page.

The Better To See You With, My Dear

In my childhood Little Red Riding Hood golden book, Little Red enters her grandma’s house to find the wolf dressed in grandma’s clothing, including nightgown, puffy nightcap, and, strangely, round-rim glasses. Little Red sees through the deception right away, noting grandma’s sudden development of big ears, big eyes, and, most dangerous, the big teeth.

Invention: Americans like to credit Benjamin Franklin with the invention of glasses, and it’s half true … that is, he created bifocals. However, as far back as the 1st century Romans used magnifying glasses, and the first wearable glasses date to 13th century Italy. These looked like the classic opera glasses, two round lenses with thin rims held by a rod in front of the eyes. It wasn’t until the 18th century that glasses came with “temples,” those legs that hook around the ear. However, their cost of production limited their availability to the nobility, thus social status symbols.

Availability: Nowadays, of course, everyone has glasses. Heck, I buy my reading glasses by the half dozen at Everything’s a Dollar. However, prescription lenses offer a more difficult acquisition path. The wearer must obtain a prescription from an optometrist, and then go into a frame shop, try on several, have the lenses cut to shape, and return to the store to receive them. This method requires transportation and money and proximity to a lens store.

Innovation: In 2010 a group of students at U of Penn decided to create an alternative pathway to obtaining prescription glasses. Riding the innovative wave of the Internet, they created Warby Parker, offering direct sales to consumers of their personally designed low-cost frames and eyeglasses. They provide information through their website and social media networking. For every pair of glasses they sell, they give away a pair, more than five million by 2019.

Ecommerce. What impressed me about this story is how social media has changed our world, offering opportunities for a niche company to reinvent a centuries-old product distribution change. Obviously, there are even greater success stories in ecommerce, such as Amazon and Google. Ecommerce has made a huge difference in everyone’s life. Heck, I remember when I had to go to a travel agent to buy an airline ticket. Had to do it! Now, click, click.

How they make it work. How did Warby Parker get so successful? They recognized they had to change the perception of people used to walking into stores to get glasses. With blogging and a free “Five-glasses-to-try-at-home” program, they invited wary customers into their lair. This reduced what dissonance consumers might have had for switching from their reliable and long-time used sources, both due to price and the convenience. Do customers care about the one-to-one give away to poor people? Yeah, I think that’s nice … the type of thing that a Whole Foods shopper would smile upon.

Why do I care? I don’t even WEAR prescription glasses. I’ve had a website www.Doctors-Dreams.com selling my books online for ten years. In that time, my website has sold thirty-five books, fewer than four a year. I blog, I tweet, I Linkin, and I Facebook. I’ve known people who have sold 60,000 copies of their e-books through Social Media. I’m at like, 100 copies. Maybe.

Social Media Class. I’m taking a Social Media course so I can be the next King of the Eyeglasses Guy. I don’t have my hopes very high. People need glasses. They don’t need books. Still. I love to tell stories, and one about a group of successful students creating a business is fun to study, even if it never leads me to more sales. If you want, please subscribe to my blog or follow me on Twitter. Both embedded links are on the sidebar to your right. https://twitter.com/PhilipLLevin

Empty Nest

This August we fly to Sarasota, Florida, to help Charlotte, the French Girlfriend’s daughter, move into her freshman dorm. I suppose all parents go through it … the last child going away to college. It’s a momentous day for all involved.

Charlotte came to live with us shortly after her mother and I founded a house together. Showing the effects of a broken home, a child once vibrant and vivacious now cowered from waitresses, unable to summon even enough voice to order. Eleven and chubby, she hid in her room, her computer her only friend.

Seven years in a loving home brought blossom to that soul. Full of energy, she and her friends now send peals of laughter deep into the night. Her grades have stabilized to near honor roll. She cooks and cleans after herself. She’s a joy to have around.

And now she’s going away to college.

Sarasota is the hometown of the Ringling brothers, real people who used the wealth from their successful circus to establish museums and an art school in their favorite city. The art school, Ringling College of Art and Design, is considered one of the very best in the nation. Their graduates have penned most of the animation and special effects you see in Disney films, and are sought after by other major artistic-related companies, advertising agencies, toy makers, etc.

Charlotte’s always been certain of her life calling. From the moment she could hold a crayon she was drawing. Notebooks crammed full of her sketches create stacks on her shelves and floor. Collections of markers and drawing tools bulge out of dozens of containers and lay scattered across her landscape.

Her mother tells me the story of the day her parents received a letter in the mail from her third-grade art teacher. “In my twenty years as a teacher, I’ve never before run into such a talented young one. I plead with you, please encourage her in pursuing her talents and her dreams.”

In March 2020, Coastcon held their annual comics show, filling the Biloxi Coliseum. People dressed in costumes roamed floors packed with game players. In one section, the vendors had tables. As an eleventh grader, Charlotte built a 3-D booth that became a landmark for the show. Visitors flocked to look at her drawings, all of which quickly sold out.  

Last summer, she took an eight-week online course from Ringling known as pre-college. Here she received valuable feedback from art professionals, her appetite for her career plans sharpening like the points on her Derwent’s pencils. She now had both her profession in target as well as the path to achieve it.

As her senior year began, we decided to hire her a private art instructor. The well-known local artist Frank Janca showed up at our door weekly, and we watched as Charlotte’s talents came into focus. An easel set up in the corner of the living room displayed her latest project, a portrait, a still life, or a dancer in motion.

Over the past few months, she’s set up a small online business she named Char-Ton. She’s earning money for college by selling her work and generating commissions. She promotes her work on Twitter and Instagram.

When she received her acceptance at Ringling, we threw a party. During spring break this April we flew with her to tour the school, an impressive campus of over a dozen buildings, each chock full of the most modern technical equipment. They replace all their computers every other year.

During my youth I knew I wanted to be a writer. My father told me, “Art is fine, but it’s hard to make a living at it.” I’ve offered Charlotte the same advice. She doesn’t care. Whether she makes a fortune or lives in poverty, she’ll pursue her dream. There’s every indication she’ll be successful. Yes. I know she’ll be successful. Talent and determination will find the way.

Reflections on Retirement

I graduated from medical school a few months shy of my twenty-fifth birthday, brash, naïve, and idealistic. Entering a family medicine residency, I discovered that the adrenaline rush of emergency medicine captivated my soul. During the three-year program I moonlighted every chance I got. On graduation I became a full-time E.R. doctor. 

For the next forty years I worked in Southern hospital emergency departments, nine years in Texas, thirteen in North Carolina, and seventeen here in Mississippi. From small two stretcher chambers to fifty bed medical centers, from rural bastions to major metropolis’ behemoths. I even worked in faraway vistas, from a leper colony in India, to a sub-Saharan clinic in Kenya, to an obstetrical clinic in the mountains of Peru. 

I loved being an E.R. doc. It seemed so … important! Every day, every hour, every patient, I impacted someone’s life. Reassured a worry. Cured a disease. Saved a life. I would leave each shift exhausted, and absolutely certain I had made the world a better place.

I provided care to anyone who came in the door, no matter how trivial their concerns or how desperately ill, whether they had a million dollars or nary a penny. I could treat anyone, no matter their native language, or even if they couldn’t speak. Best of all, with hospital-based resources, most of the time I could actually determine the cause of their medical problems and set them on the road to recovery.

Practically every shift I’d treat a patient with something unusual, either a presentation I hadn’t seen before or perhaps a unique disease. I spent hours perusing medical literature for information about my patients or often just out of curiosity. Every year I had scores of hours of continues medical education (CME) and yearly recertification tests. After all, medicine is an evolving field.

And then, in June of last year, I was retired from the emergency room. For years they’d been easing me out the door. First no night shifts. Thank you very much! Then no trauma. Next down to back-up medical side. Really, they were super-nice about it. But they made it clear it was time to retire, to make way for the younger crowd. And they were right.

Since then, I’ve been working two or three days a week in one of the many Memorial Hospital clinics. So far, I’ve been stationed in 13 different spots. Typically, these might involve a nine-hour shift with one or two patients an hour. It’s certainly an easier life than the 30-patient a day 12-hour emergency room shift. 

I’m enjoying my semi-retirement. Bright days of gardening. Quiet afternoons writing. Dinner with my French girlfriend. Time to go visit my grandchildren. And I’m still practicing medicine, still helping people heal. Another stage of life. A good one.

The Travel Bug

My mother loved to travel, her excursions taking her around the globe.  Wherever she landed, she collected friends, many inviting her to stay in their homes.  She reciprocated, and our house became a waystation for visitors from around the planet.  Colorful dress, assorted languages, and multi-cultural traditions paraded before my eyes, ears, and sensorium.  

 My father proffered invitations as well.  As a world-renowned geophysicist, president of their global organization and editor of their society’s magazine, scientists from places as exotic as India, Iran, and China often joined us for dinner. I sat spellbound by their wide-ranging topics, usually scientific from oceanography to geothermal, although politics and even religion were never off limits. 

 My parents belonged to an organization called Servas, an international hospitality agency that provided resting places for foreign visitors. Even with three children, my parents would make room for guests, host them to a meal and a bed, and provide them with gifts for their travels.  The callers ranged in status and age, with as many college students as retirees.  When I was old enough to drive, I’d take the visitors on a tour of the city, fascinated by their tales of amazing adventures. I remember one young Australian couple on a year-long walkabout. They described China’s Great Wall, the Giant’s Causeway of Ireland, and the Taj Mahal of India, sites I promised myself I’d see someday.

 My brother Michael inherited the family’s love of travel.  When I was an adolescent, he took me to a summer camp where only French was spoken.  Another summer, when we were teenagers, he drove me and my brother on an around-the-country-tour, putting in over two-thousand miles in six-weeks.  We visited twenty western states, including such highlights as the Grand Canyon, the San Diego zoo, and Mount Rushmore.  As an adult, he became the world’s expert on teaching foreign countries how to run their censuses, leading him to visit over a hundred countries, collecting souvenirs that made his house into an amazing cultural museum. 

 My first big trip came just after my internship, age 25.  On a four-week tour, I traveled the length and breadth of Israel, from the Golan Heights to Sharm-El-Sheikh, Tel Aviv to the Red Sea.  Lasting impressions included the centuries-old velvet and gold trimmed synagogues of Safed, the mystical dark tomb of Abraham, and the quiet stone pathways of old Jerusalem.  It cemented within me the joy of travel, of experiencing different cultures and learning the history and ways of other paths.

 Three years later I finished my residency and devoted the next year to working as an itinerant emergency room physician. Living cheaply, I stashed away $25,000.  Storing my possessions so I’d be expense free, I set off with my new wife on an 8-month honeymoon, covering 20 eastern U.S. states and 20 European countries.  We called ourselves “The Bourgeois Backpackers,” sometimes staying at homes of friends of my parents, or otherwise discovering lodging at a local Bed and Breakfast.  One of my favorites was a little apartment in Albufeira, the Mediterranean coast of Portugal.  High on the cliffs overlooking the beach, we feasted on steamed snails and fresh cantaloupe.

 For the past eight years, I’ve lived with the French Girlfriend, a devoted traveler herself.  Isabelle’s parents took her across western Europe, with yearly visits to Switzerland and Germany. She left her Paris home as a teenager, supporting herself as she traveled by taking work as an au pair, barmaid, or housekeeper.  She’d been in America over twenty years when we met in Biloxi. On our first conversation, we laughed to discover we each spoke five languages.  We’ve journeyed together ever since.  Hot air ballooning over the wine fields of Burgundy.  Buying a huge Tiki in Bora Bora.  Sharing a medical mission in Haiti.  Touring the Normandy cemetery where we reveled in our mutual appreciation of history. 

 I’ve been to nearly fifty countries during my travels, including safaris in Kenya, shipboard through the Galapagos Islands, and a boat tour on the Yangtze River.  I’ve seen all three of the sites mentioned by the Australian couple, and many, many more.  Yet I realize there’s so much more in the world to visit!  For example, the FG and I have a Mekong River tour scheduled for 2023.

 The travel bug doesn’t bite everyone.  Yet for those of us who love to explore, it can be a need that’s quenched only with the thrill of discovering a new place. Somewhere with amazing history. Spicy foods. Rhythmic music. Enchanting beauty. Incredible culture.

 Yet, there’s more to life than travel.  I have responsibilities: a job, friends, a Pekinese.  This week on the plane back from Puerto Rico, I leaned over and kissed Isabelle’s cheek. Nestling next to her ear, I murmured, “The best part of any trip is coming home.”

The Amulet - April 1st entry

Last year with COVID limiting travel and socializing, the French girlfriend and I bought an above ground pool. I’d been resistant to the idea, wondering if we’d use it enough to justify the costs and upkeep efforts. To my pleasant surprise, we certainly did! The summer warmth found us swimming every day, or when I worked, in the evening. I was the most buff I’d ever been!

As fall set in, the thin-walled pool, like the amphibian it was, mimicked the outside temperature, and by late September our swimming days were past. Our friends with their inground pools kept up their enjoyment for another month, with expectations to be back in the pool by mid-April. Recognizing the value of those extra months, we decided to replace our above grounder with the deep dug pit.

The beginning of last month, the first week of March, the excavators came with their amazing coke-machine size Toyota claw. Tearing down our fence and crushing our lawn, they took away the unwanted above-ground piece and began the deep dig with their steam shovel. The French Girlfriend and I watched from the porch, mint julips in hand.

This story actually isn’t about the pool, because two hours into the dig the excavation came to an abrupt stop. The hole digging supervisor guy called me down to the work site. Trouble. The machine had uncovered some rotten wooden boxes.

“What are those?” I asked.

“I’ve seen these before. Dollars to donuts it’s a Biloxi Indian burial site,” the pool-guy said. “You’re right off the river here,” and he pointed, as if I didn’t know we were right off the river. “The tribe often buried their dead near the banks, the ground being soft and easy to work, you see.”

“What now?”

He waved at the guy manning the shovel to back off. Turning to me, he said, “We notify the authorities.” He pointed right at my heart. “Don’t touch anything.”

Pulling out his phone, he punched in a number and raised the instrument to his ear. “Gus? Yeah, it’s me. Got another burial site.” He gave out my address.

Putting his phone away, he informed me, “They’ll be out tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, stay out of the pit.” He took a step away before turning back and glaring at me with what he must have thought was a serious look. “I’m telling you again. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

I ran to catch up to him as he strode away towards his truck. “Hey! What about my pool?”

He paused long enough to answer. “Usually, the government finishes up in a couple of months. Then the university guys come. If you’re lucky maybe by July. We’ll let you know.”

Five months? I went back to the porch and talked it over with the French girlfriend. We sipped our drinks a bit more, and after a refill … or two … decided we should go down and check out the skeletons. Of course.

Changing into our gardening shoes, we made our way down into the hole. We could make out four separate sets of bones in mud-filled caskets of deteriorated wood. The three adults and a child all had jewelry, the largest with a golden necklace adorned with a huge turquoise stone. I picked it up and placed it around my neck.

“What do you think?”

Clapping her hands, she said, “Eet ees magnifique!”

She reached forward and stroked the amulet. As she did this, a fog appeared, settling around us. I felt a momentary disorientation, and then the fog lifted.

The French girlfriend and I sat cross-legged on the shore of the Biloxi River, watching a group of native Americans frolicking in the water, fishing, and dancing. One young girl ran up to me, calling out in a native language. She pointed at my amulet and laughed.

The next thing I knew, we were back in the pit.

“Do you believe what just happened?” I asked the F.G.

She gave her little French trill of a laugh. “Ooh, Fee lipe. It ees only an A-preel Fool joke.”

And indeed it is.