More photos from the photographic island of Ibiza.

A picture of Dalt Vila from across the harbor.

We had sangria a couple of times. We went into a restaurant, le Tomate acutally, and it was owned by French people, with French music on the radio and waiters who spoke French. Two girls were sitting there with a pitcher of White Sangria and a plate of mixed tapas so we ordered a pitcher ourselves. It was very good. Unfortunately, we ordered steak instead of the tapas. The meat was cut very strangely butchered and difficult to eat and I had to cut off pieces here and there around fat and, I guess, sinew (whatever holds meat together), and then Maurice tells me that Spain is known for that. I wish he had remembered before we ordered. The sangria made up for it.

Maurice’s daughter took us to a fun place on the beach where we had sangria made with champagne, new to me. Also very good.

We had paella too because Spain….

A look at the restaurant itself. I felt like I was in Mexico, which I used to dearly love and, to add to the magic, there was a jazzy rendition of Bessa Me Mucho playing as we walked in, my favorite Mexican song.

Another day we went inland and ate at a funky little place which the owner had made into an art gallery full of work by his favorite artists from Chile.

We went into a little church there and, instead of wax candles to light in front of saints or Mary or Jesus, there was this covered collection of battery operated candles and, if you put in enough money, a little light would come on for the amount of time you wanted. No cheating here and they didn’t have to keep up a supply of candles either.

A view of the coast with little fishing shacks down below.

Orange juice on a terrace in the sun the day we left.

Good bye sunshine and blue water. We arrived back to Paris with gray skies and heavy traffic and metros. It was a nice break.

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Well, we are back home from Ibiza and now it all seems like a dream. Maurice’s daughter has an apartment in Dalt Vila, the old part of Eivissa, the main city in Ibiza (an island off the coast of Spain) where we were lucky enough to stay. She arrived a couple of days before we left and showed us a few of her favorite places. I have all sorts of photos and will be making two posts with them.

As you might expect, the Greeks and Romans were here and evidence of their time here was evident.

We arrived on a Sunday afternoon and everything was closed. Many places started opening a few days later as Easter crowds were expected. We found this little pastry shop. I thought the poster showed Salvidor Dali but it turned out to be the owner of the shop who indeed did sport a fun mustache.

Just one example of the many photos I took of doors and windows-my addiction.

Maurice and I drove up the western coast a bit and found a tiny village with this pristine church. Most every building seemed to be painted white.

The old village where we stayed, is on the top of a hill and, therefore, we did a lot of climbing. From where we parked the car to the apartment where we stayed were 86 steps-a good work out. Most of the apartments or houses there had wonderful little patios with a view of the harbor down below.

I especially loved the way these curtains were tied.

This house was for sale and looked old and in need of work, but I sure did like the front garden.

The main square in Dalt Vila had this Greek Temple like covered market every morning.

I was sitting outside at a cafe and saw this shadow. The sun was shining on some clothes lines with clothes pins and I thought it looked like a sheet of music.


We head back to Paris this afternoon so I won’t be posting my usual blog post. We had a good time but, as often happens in April, it was a bit chilly. I wore my coat every day. Here is a photo of some excellent, really thick hot chocolate we had while here. My, it was good.



I am in Ibiza, an island off of the coast of Spain, for a few days and will post more photos when I return.



Heading back to Paris after a week at the beach. I will have something to post on Friday.


The beautiful mosaic mural in the train station at the La Rochelle where we take the train back to Paris.


We arrived back in Paris on Saturday and it is so nice to be home. I downloaded some photos from my camera instead of those from my Iphone so thought I would post some of those until I get out into Paris again.

This was the view from our bedroom window after a fresh snow. We were in Champagny en Vanoise in the French Alps, about a four hour train ride from Paris.

A closeup of a blue spruce with snow and ice on it.

Church in Haut le Champagny, north of us. They got a lot more snow being at a high elevation.

The little cemetery behind the church.

Danger of getting covered by snow falling from the roofs.

One day we took a bus to Courchevel, a very upscale resort as you can see by this lady in her fur coat. In fact, the property in Courchevel is sixth in the world in cost. There were upscale shops there, such as Louis Vuitton and the like. It was rather like Vale in Colorado.

The view from the gondola taking us down to our village.

As you know, I didn’t have the best time skiing. I think I needed some easier runs. We were there with some French people. One evening I could feel cold air coming in from the french doors and I closed the curtains. What a reaction I got. They wanted them opened even though you could see anything but a few lights. One person said it was a cultural difference. I seem to remember reading a book years ago about how a French person was amazed that curtains were closed at night as she walked along a street one night in America. In any case, someone even said that Americans close the curtains because we are puritanical. I had a fit. While I am puritanical in some ways, such as at a doctor’s office or getting an x-ray when you aren’t given a gown, closing the curtains had nothing to do with that. Every morning they would have croissants without plates getting crumbs all over the place. I have to say, a week was too long and it will be a long time before I share a vacation with anyone else, no matter who, unless I can go to my own separate apartment or hotel room. I don’t think I will be going skiing again either. We had a couple of bad experiences as you can probably tell. I’ll end it there.


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