AirBnB

Rick and I have stayed at a minimum of 10 BnBs in six countries (Andorra, Canada, US, Germany, Amsterdam, and now Monaco.) We've been in the country, city and on a houseboat. All have been arranged thought AirBnB and all have been varying degrees of wonderful.

Each one is different unlike hotel chains.

I also love the program Bienvenue chez Nous on TF1 where four BnB owners visit each other's BnB and rate them for a prize. I know that a variation of this program is in other countries. Maybe it is French, but the ratings (usually called strategy by the recipients of anything other than a great mark) are much lower than I would give.

The contestants can be incredibly picky, looking for a stray hair or a little spot. We come in and pretend we are on the show, but we aren't that picky.

What is fun is to check out the ambiance, the art work, etc. I loved the little colored bottles above.

 The kitchen was equipped well, although cooking on our honeymoon part II wasn't part of the plan.

Real orchids in unusual vases flanked the bidet. I do miss have a bidet available in Argelès after years of having them in Geneva. The best place for one in our flat would be the kitchen or patio, and somehow, that lacks appeal.

The view out the window of the BnB in Monaco. We were met by our friendly owner who gave us a brief tour and her phone number if we needed anything. We didn't. Everything was complete.

Interesting stones and other art work graced the one bedroom flat on Princess Caroline Street.

We have learned to check certain things like wifi, parking (if we go by car) and we just added an elevator to our check list as we hiked up to the third floor, minor, minor, minor.

At the moment Rick and I don't have a next trip planned except to go back to the BnB in Andorra for a writing/hiking/golf week in the mountains.

How would I rate our Honeymoon Part II. 10 on 10 or A+.

We weren't invited

The photo of Prince Albert and Princess Charlotte was displayed in the Ferrari show room.

Rick stared at it for a minute. We'd just been looking at the palace on the hill. "Is that the prince and princess?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I saw the same photo in a real estate office and I thought it was the owners."

We are a bit disappointed. They haven't asked us up even for a cup of tea or to see the twins. After all we are the Baron and Baroness of Sealand with certificates to prove our royal status.

Ulysses

Ulysses was the legendary Greek King of Ithaca and appeared in Homer's Odysseus, which I read. I also read the Iliad by Homer. He was brilliant although it did take him ten years to find home after the Trojan War. Alfred Lord Tennyson picks up Ulysses' life story after he returns in another poem. I read this albeit (take that Rick and Julia) many decades ago.

What I did not and will never read beyond page 28 is James Joyce's Ulysses. Even as a compulsive reader, and as an English literature major, I cannot get through it after many tries. My tombstone, were I to have one, could read "She never finished Ulysess."

And every so often I'm reminded of this breach of my literary education, like today in Monaco when I came across a statue by Anna Chromy by the same name as my nemesis novel. It is a beautiful man, muscular and gold decorated.

Maybe my enjoyment today will make up for not reading Joyce's novel. Or not!

Boats to give my father an orgasm

I had Rick walk up to the boats in the harbor. "Inhale."

He did.

"That's the smell of money," I said. One of the yachts cost at least $200 million. What was fun were seeing the names.

Amadeus, was the name of my feisty Japanese chin not to mention a certain famous composer, a restaurant in Argeles, and "Rock me Amadeus", a German song by the late Falco.

I love the names. I really, really wished my father could have been here. It was his dream was to have a boat, so he built a 38-foot, sleeps six cabin cruiser in his back yard. For years he and my wonderful step mom took it up and down the New England coast. The boat was named Grand Slam to attract any other bridge players in port.

I believe my dad was probably happier with the Grand Slam than any of the owners of these multi-million dollar yachts.

The Grand Slam met a sad end in the blizzard of '78. Although moored, well off the waterfront, that storm came far enough off shore to pull the boat into the sea and smash it.

Nothing like a boat named Romance one's honeymoon.