I arranged-quite a while ago-a trip with a friend to the area of England called Kent known as the garden of England. It happened to fall two days before Maurice and I were going to move to a new apartment which made it a little stressful but it all worked out in the end and I’m so glad I went. Mary and I met via the AOL Paris forum which used to be really active. We connected right away and have met two other times in England and once in the States. Maurice went once with me but when he found out that we stop at every charity shop to look around and never pass up a boot sale (flea market) he declined to join us the next time.

Because of a strike going on I arrived a little later than I wanted to at Gare du Nord to take the Eurostar to England, to Ashford,in fact. near where Mary and I would be staying. I didn’t madly rush up the escalator and run to the front of the security line but I should have as I discovered that, unlike the TGV, they won’t let you board four minutes before the train leaves. I arrived with three minutes before. I couldn’t believe it. They booked me on the next train which went to a new station called Ebbsfleet which isn’t anywhere near Ashford. I tried to reach Mary to tell here but she didn’t answer her cell phone. The people at the Paris end of the Eurostar couldn’t tell me if I could take a train from Ebbsfleet back to Ashford or not. I never could find the manager on the train to ask him so I took a chance and got off at Ebbsfleet instead of going on to London. There was a train back to Ashford but by this time Maurice had received a call from Mary who told me to go to Dover where, luckily, the train I was on was also going. Mary and I couldn’t talk to each other with our cell phones but Maurice could call each of us so he got to be the middle man.
Finally we connected, two hours late. After stopping for groceries we arrived at our rental for the week, a rather rustic place once a gun emplacement overlooking the white cliffs of Dover. We spent our first evening on the lawn drinking vodka gimlets looking at the view.

The view from a window where we spent a lot of our time. It was a misty morning when I took this photo so you can’t really see how great the view was. On a clear day you could see France across the channel. Imagine being on duty there in WWII watching for airplanes to come over from France to drop bombs. How scary that must have been.

A WWII map with helmets on the frame to decorate the wall over the fireplace.

The owner had two old wooden deck chairs from some cruise boat-a fun way to decorate I thought.

You can’t see where we stayed but it’s behind the trees at the top of the cliff. I read in the visitor’s book at our place that the 400 foot drop freaked out some people. One man wrote that he had brought his 95 year old grandfather along who loved to sit outside with binoculars watching the ships and ferries go back and forth. They teathered his wheelchair to something so he wouldn’t accidentally end up going over the cliff. People with young children aren’t allowed to stay here for obvious reasons. I guess there are no plans to put up some sort of fencing.

One day after a rain we arrived there to find a great rainbow across the sky. It’s the first time I’ve actually seen the end of one-it plunged right into the ocean.

A few more photos of the brocante I visited near Pere Lachase.

Lots of silverware to be seen.

There was an interesting booth selling beautiful items from Japan and China. This was a set of instruments used by a surgeon. How’d you like to see that spread out if you were a patient? It was centuries old.

A lovely set of cups and saucers made by a French company whose name I can’t remember at the moment. My friend said I should go to the company where they make them not to far from Paris and buy seconds for a smaller price.

Aren’t these cute? It’s hard to find a full set but I decided against it. I did buy some cute glasses for serving after dinner drinks. They didn’t cost much so if I break one I won’t be sick.

There was a brocante near the Pere Lachaise cemetery so a friend and I took a look after a good Thai meal in a nearby cafe. The brocante was a really good one with lots of variety and reasonable prices.

I liked these froggy planters but I really don’t have a place to put them-plus, I will be moving soon. Do I really want two more things to pack?

A stuffed bear waiting for someone to love him.

I loved these leather books. They look so rich. There was even one in French on Churchill.

There are almost always picture frames for sale. I find it hard to buy a frame and then find something that will fit inside.

I love dogs. I think I would have one if I didn’t live on the fourth floor of a building with no elevator or have to walk it at least twice a day. I guess I’m just getting too old and cranky. They almost always make me smile though. Parisians sure do love their dogs.

Someone loved this dog enough to put it on the tomb.

I’ve seen dogs do this but never a cat. He or she just sat on the sidewalk in front of a store probably looking at the owner. Everyone just had to step around him. I was hoping no one would step on his tail.

These three dogs were tied up in front of a post office. I wondered if they all belonged to one person. Surely three dog owners wouldn’t be in the post office at the same time and I’m not sure if three dogs would sit together in a friendly way if they didn’t live together.

This man was carrying his African Gray Parrot around in a small little container with the door open. When we expressed interest he brought the parrot out to show us and let the parrot give my friend a “kiss” which looks like it is biting but was actually a little squeeze. The man said the parrot could talk but I never heard a word.

Almost any time I’m up in Montmartre, I make a quick visit to the small St Vincent’s Cemetery. It’s petite, quiet and full of ambiance.

Don’t let your dog run around there.

You see lots of weeping goddesses in French cemeteries.

I’ve probably taken a photo of this before but I like seeing it through the broken glass.

A gentleman is buried here.

Isn’t that a great title? It’s a new book (The Little Bookroom) that is out by Kim Horton Levesque. In it she “profiles more than fifty of the city’s best spas, salons and boutiques”. The book lists treatments to fit every taste and budget, not only French but Thai, Chinese and Indian therapies. It’s a great guide if you have no idea where to start but want to sample the best that Paris has to offer.