The flight from San Francisco to Paris was wonderful. The food was fine, the service on United was as good as ever, and the pilot told me, as he boarded, that he had had a wonderful night's sleep so would not need any on this flight. That was music to my ears. I had expected this journey to be as interminable as they have been in the past, but this one was different for a reason I cannot say.

The flight took the same amount of time, of course, but I guess the melatonin I used really did the trick. I can remember waking up, sort of, and seeing some of the movie that was playing on the small screen in front of me, but other than that when I woke up for good we were in Paris. So, I had my answer after all after all. Drugs. Well, not drugs really, but a naturally occurring substance that we produce less of as we, dare I use that word, age.

I got off the plane and went through French customs (what a breeze that is - the Feds should take lessons from these people) and then went into the terminal to find Eleanor. Her flight on Air France arrived one hour before mine did, giving her plenty of time to get from her terminal to mine. She was not immediately visible and I began to look for her. I asked at the information desk to see if her flight had landed (it had) and asked about the difficulty of getting from one terminal to another and was told it was a snap. As I began my search for Eleanor in earnest I muttered about not needing to take separate flights now that the boys are well into adulthood. Then I saw her, dressed to the nines again and ready to take France by storm. We hugged and kissed hello and were ready to begin anew our French adventure.

As usual, we decided to stay at the Hotel la Bourdonnais and before I left California I e-mailed the hotel with our travel arrangements and asked that the shuttle meet us at the airport for the trip to the hotel. This does not cost very much and it is so much more convenient that either the metro (which is an ordeal with lots of luggage) or the Air France bus and much cheaper than a taxi. It deposited us right in front of the door of Hotel La Bourdonnais and out we got, straight into the arms of an extremely competent and helpful staff.

We went up to our room, which has been beautifully renovated, and then called one of our favorite restaurants, Le Maupertu, to see if it was open. It was closed Saturdays and Sundays, as it turned out, so we decided to go to a nearby bistro we have been to a few times before as it is lively, the food is good, and it is a nice place to people watch. It was really a lot of fun and just the ticket after being cooped on a plane for so many hours. After walking around the Eiffel Tower and the Parc du Champs de Mars, the Ecole Militaire, the Hotel des Invalides, we went to dinner.

It was a mad house, smoky and crowed, as the people living in the area were out in force on a crisp but delightful Sunday night. It is always a bit of a shock when we get back to France to see not only the number of people of smoking but the number of cigarettes they smoke during the course of a meal. Two things are fascinating about this. The first is the seemingly endless conversation that transpires between a man and a woman for the hours they are at a table and the endless number of smokes that accompanies it. Talk, smoke, crush out the stub, light up again and so the cycle repeats itself for as long as they are there, and this goes on table after table.

We have becomes spoiled in the US with the anti-smoking campaign and the lack of smoke in public areas, such as restaurants. Being able to eat without clouds of smoke wafting across room is a real luxury we have come to take for granted. It not only adds pleasure to our meals, but reduces the cost of constantly having one's clothes cleaned to get rid of the secondhand smoke. But this is their country and they are free to do as they like with their lives and if we choose to come here we must accommodate ourselves to this way of life, and it is a small price to pay. Yet, walking into this restaurant was liking driving into a tulle fog in the central valley of California, it was so dense. But in we went because the charm of the rude waiters (for which the place is justly famous), the fun the customers were having, and the good food, were irresistible.

As it turns out we sat next to an American couple of had found the place the night before. They were from Orange County, not too far from where Eleanor's brother and his family live. They ordered one of the things for which this establishment is noted - a huge tray of sea food (sea snails, oysters, mussels, crab, and so many other things it is hard to describe. I know not its name but suffice it to say it could feed an army. Eleanor and I settled for salmon as it is always cooked very well there and I did not want mussels that night

They were an attractive couple, trim and well groomed and had so much on their platter that they decided to share it with us. I told you they were nice. The sea snails were terrific and took a special metal pick to eat. There were the regular kind of snails that were also good. Eleanor had the sea snails but not the other and thought I had lost my marbles when I ate one. I must say that after having some escargot de Bourgogne one day at the home of my doctor's mother (a wonderful French woman married to a terrific American who she had met during the war) I prefer them in garlic butter but these were very good nonetheless. The evening was a very nice introduction to Paris and we left the restaurant knowing that we had chosen just the right place for our first meal.

PART II -- OFF TO DEN HAAG

One of the other things I had done from California was to have the concierge at the Hotel la Bourdonnais make me train reservations so Eleanor and I could take the train to see our wonderful friends in Den Haag, John and Liesbette Wiley. As I explained in last year's journal, John met my family in Yosemite before the War and he remained close to us all ever since and we now make this our first stop when we come to Europe. As usual, the staff did a great job, and the tickets were waiting for us when we got to the Gare du Nord. While I was picking them up I also bought our tickets for the trip to Bordeaux where we would get our car for the drive to Le Bugue and the beginning of our stay there.

Monday morning, March 20, we took the metro to the station, got on the train and off we went north to the Netherlands. John insists that we use the proper name for the country, the Netherlands, as he reminds us that to say Holland is incorrect as it is the name for one of that nation's provinces, and he wants us to be sure we use the proper terminology. He is American and his wife of Dutch birth and chides of John for being more strict than any Dutch citizen about this nomenclature.

When we got to the station in the Haag, we called John and he insisted that we come straight away so we could have tea. We did and when we arrived we saw the same wonderful man, acting many years younger than he is, and Liesbette. She looked terrific and is remarkably better than she had when we left the year before. Then she had her legs wrapped because of some circulatory problems (she had a stroke three years ago that has left her physically impaired) and Eleanor and I were worried about her when we left for home. However, this time she was walking with John's help remarkably well, was still very mentally alert, and able to keep up with John as he wove his wonderful yarns about his past life. She lets him get away with very little, and the by-play was and is wonderful to watch .

After tea John drove us to our hotel where we had a shower, changed clothes, and then laid down for what was to be a short nap. We were aroused about an hour by the incessant ringing of the telephone. It was John, in the lobby waiting for us to appear. "Hop to it, chaps," he said. He had dinner cooking and he could not be away too long. His voice is as strong as it ever was, and sounds just as I remember it (and him) when I was a young boy in my parents' home listening to many of the same stories is still weaves - helping to start Sugar Bowl ski resort, his notorious friend, Hanis Schroll, and so many other ones too numerous to count.

We got in the car and shot across the city (well, "shot" is a bit strong for the way 87 year olds drive) and to the house. We had some of that wonderful Dutch gin and then dinner - salmon, veggies, potatoes and then a dessert he purchased at the local pastry shop. John is indeed quite a cook. We talked all the while about the old times that those two had before Liesbette's stroke altered their lives so drastically. But as Liesbette was fading fast we decided to call it an evening and took a taxi back to the hotel.

It was simply wonderful to see them again, their youth and vitality despite their age, John's unfailing devotion to and care of his wife, and Liesbette's spirit. Those two things (John's devotion and Liesbette's spirit) have been the engine behind her comeback this year, and it is a testament to how two people can pull together to accomplish a very difficult task. It is a lesson to many of us who have a tendency to give up when the going gets tough. These two have never quit and never will.

After spending a quiet morning John picked us up again and took us back to the house where we had a very simple lunch after another shot or two of that wonderful Dutch gin (whose name I cannot spell). As we ate, both of them told us we should go by tram to Delft so we could see this terrific city. Then that evening we would meet them at a French restaurant there, have dinner after which John would drive us back to the hotel.

It sounded like a good plan to us and so we walked to the tram stop through the village in which they live (and buying several nice things for Eleanor - they are very nice). He has a really good life there. The neighbors know them as do the merchants, Liesbette gets wonderful care from an exceedingly attractive visiting nurse, has her physical therapy, and John plays tennis three or four times a week. But off we went to Delft where we walked around for about 3 hours, got some Delft china, and then tried to find the restaurant where we were to meet John and Liesbette for dinner.

It is always surprises me that even in small towns such as Delft I can get lost. I like to think it is because the streets are never at right angles, that a right, right, right will never bring you back to where you started but miles away, and so forth. But if truth be told I have absolutely no sense of direction and can get lost in a shower stall. Thus it was in Delft and it took some very tolerant Delftians to put us on the right track. We finally made it, after taking over 30 minutes to do what taken any ordinary person about 10. But what a sight greeted us. John and Liesbette were already there, waiting for us and we began what would prove to be a very good dinner. After it was over, we got Liesbette into the car, no mean feat as the cobblestones makes it hard for anyone to walk, let along someone who is being led, hand in hand, by someone else. But John was always there, encouraging her in his very gentle and supportive way.

Off we went to the hotel, and I must say that it was quite a ride - about 40 miles an hour on the Dutch highway between Delft and Den Haag. I wondered at any minute if we would not be rear ended by some car or truck as we were going so much slower than the other vehicles. Not the right lane to be in? Not to worry, just change. Someone beside us gesturing in a not altogether friendly way, just give them a good natured salute. And, can't find the right entrance to the hotel, well then anyone will have to do even if the on-coming headlights are ever so slightly blinding. It was a hilarious drive, made even better by our safe arrival at the hotel. And he did all this with his usual verve and enthusiasm, traits of someone much younger, someone, he might say, in his 60s!! We bid them good night and off they went, accompanied by our little prayer for their safe arrival home.

The next morning we went to John's house for one final time before heading to the train station for the trip back to Paris. We had some coffee, little nibblies to eat, and then it was time to go. John called a taxi for us and we were off. We felt much better about leaving this time, only because John's health continues to be vibrant and Liesbette is so much better. Other than that we always hate to leave these two as they are so sweet and so full of life and so "with it" is all the important ways - mind, spirit, and love. But we had to go, promising to return when we could and a promise to call them when we got to the house we had rented near Le Bugue. The return back to Paris took the same amount of time, but it was a bit melancholy as it always is leaving our good friends. We are very fond of them, indeed.

PART III -- BACK IN PARIS -- FOR A DAY

We got back into the city about 4:30 in the afternoon and then set off in the metro for the hotel. We got there, got our baggage we had left there and went to the room before going out for a walk. As usual, we went around the Eiffel Tower and the Parc du Champs du Mar to see the people who were there, walking with their families and dogs. It is always full of life and a wonderful place to people watch, one of favorite activities. We then went in the opposite direction, to the Esplanade des Invalides as there are always a great many young people playing various games and, on windy days, flying kites. It is a spectacular part of the city. Then it was back to the hotel to get ready for dinner at Le Maupertu. As usual, it was good and we left feeling that we had eaten very well, indeed.

We did not have much time in Paris Thursday before we left for Bordeaux so we could not waste a minute. I wanted to find a beret to take the place of the one I had lost when visiting Matt and Andrew not too long before we left on the trip. I was very fond of this particular one as I had had it throughout the trip to France last year and its loss really made me mad. I knew I would not be content until I found one to take its place.

We took the metro to the center of town and then walked to Printemps department store. It turned out to be a dry hole as they had put away anything that had to do with winter in order to get ready for the clothes for, you guessed it, printemps. This meant that there were no hats of interest, so we had to walk down Boulevard Haussmann to its main competitor, Galeries Lafayette. I asked for what I wanted in my best French and the young man took us to what he had to offer. I saw instantly what I wanted, a Super Basque impermeable in pure laine and in the essential marine bleu. The size 60 was perfect. I bought it instantly, but not before looking in the mirror to see exactly how terrific I looked. Eleanor has yet to understand this love of hats I have always had and which I have bequeathed to both boys. I thought I looked smashing although Eleanor had other thoughts. The most important stop of our Paris sojourn was completed successfully

From this point on we just did what we like to do most in Paris, just walk. It was a spectacular day and after several hours walking back through the Tuileries and around the Place du Carrousel, the Isle Saint Louis, along the river, past the National Assembly and its simply terrific boutique, down to the Hotel des Invalides, and, finally, to the hotel. It was a terrific day, one of our best yet in this most beautiful city on the planet, and when we arrived at the hotel to get our luggage we headed to the Gare Montparnasse and the TGV to Bordeaux. We had walked a great deal that morning and it would be good to sit on the train as it took us south.

PART IV -- BORDEAUX

The trip was uneventful, which is something you want with a train going as fast as the TGV does, and when we arrived in Bordeaux we got the taxi and went to the Majestic Hotel, another very fine establishment that has undergone some major renovations in the last several years. The staff is very good and helpful and we checked in, went to the room, and then out to dinner at the same place we went to last year, the one where the waiter took such a shinning to my niece when she was there with us in February 1999 the night before leaving for home. I guess we are creatures of habit, as when we find someplace we like we keep going back. The Brasserie Le Noailles was a good choice, again, as the place was doing a brisk business and we could sit back and be entertained. It was time for bed after a good meal of salmon and even better wine, and so we headed back to the hotel.

The next morning I wanted to go to BLS to introduce myself to the people there. We have been corresponding for so long by e-mail that I thought as long as we did not have to rush out the city we would have the time to find the offices of the school and say hello. I am happy we did.

The school is very close to the hotel, an easy walk really, and when we found them and went in we were greeted by some very young and enthusiastic young women, and in particular Sylvie Nardon, who is as nice in person as she is in her correspondence. We chatted for a few minutes, Eleanor got to see that this was really going to happen (my going to school) after all, and it became more firmly planted in my mind that I would be without her for 6 weeks, a somewhat sobering thought as we have never been apart for that long in the 33 years we have been married. We bid our good-byes, went to the Majestic to get the bags, and then it is was off to the Budget agency to collect the car we had rented for the trip. When everything was signed, we put our stuff into the little Ford Focus we got, we were off, headed east to Le Bugue and the house we rented in Limeuil.

PART V -- INDUSTRIAL FASTENERS

Industrial fasteners used to be called nuts and bolts, but under whatever name they go, they must be made very well in France. They are the things that keep French cars together under the strain that French drivers put them. I had almost forgotten about what the driving in France is like since I got home, but my drive out of Bordeaux to Le Bugue reminded me again of what I had to look forward to.

What stress a French car's chassis and motor must endure over its lifetime, as the former is propelled forward and the latter strains under the stress of a heavy foot and a light regard for safety. The whine of the smaller four cylinder engines is extraordinary as they are rev'd up ready for the road. When I hear them I expect the next sound to be that of an exploding engine that had been pressed to one revolution too many - with pistons and rods going everywhere and the driver sitting there is his now useless piece of junk wondering what went wrong. The fact that this rarely happens is the marvel of French engineering and the payback for all the time and resources that Renault and Peugeot have poured into their participation in Formula I - a car that can withstand the rigors of French drivers.

As we drove east from Bordeaux all the excitement returned about what this next phase of the trip would bring. The drive was by now getting routine and we chatted about our agenda for our stay in the Dordogne. But we had to get there, and the first few times we were passed -- on blind corners, when the cars coming at us seemed far to close for anyone to over take and pass us without being hit head-on, and in the middle of villages that has all pedestrians fearing for their lives --. made me aware that I should keep my mind on the business at hand. We have seen a sign that says "are you ready to risk the life of a child to gain a 20 second advantage?" It is a wonderful sign to which all French people, in more rationale moments would answer in the negative. But behind the wheel, their answer is far less clear.

And all this while drivers were busy using both their hands to emphasize a point in conversation or lighting a cigarette. It is wonderful to watch people whose cars are barely adhering to the ground while going around a corner at truly stunning speeds using their hands to talk to their friends besides them. This drive convinced me of two things. The first was that I was truly back in France. The second is that no ground in France is beautiful if you are lying there looking up at it. Thus, caution would have to prevail on this and all of the other drives we would be making as the trip progressed.

PART VI -- IN THE DORDOGNE AGAIN

We got to Le Bugue safely, of course and went to Simply Perigord to pick up the keys. The office was in the process of moving offices and all the drudgery that entails, so they did not have time to shoot the breeze. But it was nice to see them again and to drive to the house they had prepared for us. It was terrific, with a beautiful view on the fields below and over the confluence of the Vezere and Dordogne rivers and the their two bridges that stand so elegantly at right angles to one another. How nice it is to be back here again in the Dordogne and I feel that I am home again.

The house has been renovated beautifully by an English couple who now live in Singapore. It has a very nice downstairs living room that is just off a spacious kitchen where we take our meals, a dining room, an upstairs sitting area, one bedroom and master bath, and, on the 3rd floor, another bedroom and bath. It has central heat, a CD player and some jazz my father would have loved, and, if one were daft enough to use it, a television. It also has some stunning views of the countryside and onto the town of Limeuil, which has been awarded the distinction of being "one of the most beautiful villages in France." They are exquisite and we wake to them each day. It is also nice to have Simply Perigord around to ask questions and take care of small (or large) details that might come up.

This is a rural area and, as I commented in last year's journal, rural France gives a whole new meaning to the name "rural." There is NO noise at all; in fact, the silence is deafening. The only things we hear are the birds singing -- no traffic, no trains, no planes. Nothing. No sounds to intrude unless we talk or turn on the CD. Then there are The Colors -- the extraordinary variety of greens of the fields, trees, and other vegetation that go on for as far as the eye can see that are juxtaposed to the earth that has by this time been tilled and readied for the spring's planting, thus exposing the deepest brown imaginable. They snap to life in the morning, and give them up in the evening only with the greatest reluctance, as though they know the value they add to peoples' lives while the sun is out. As I said, I feel at home at long last.

Our first trip the next day (Saturday) was to drive to Sarlat to make a deposit in the bank and to get the credit card I had ordered the January before. Everything at the bank went very nicely until I found out that the manager had neglected to get the secret code I would need to use the card. Oops. They are remarkably friendly there, however, and after some discussion one of the people said he would call Bordeaux Tuesday morning for it. As that was to be my main access to cash, I asked that he do his best. He assured me he would, but said this was an extraordinary thing for the bank as it always sends its customers' PIN number to their home address for security reasons. I knew then I was in trouble because anything that is out of the ordinary or which requires a bit of flexibility in procedures means delays, and delays there were. The code was not there the next week, the week after or by the time we left for Provence. Thus, I withdrew the cash I had deposited and now live in fear of loosing it and asked that the PIN number be sent to the home of the family with whom I will be staying in Bordeaux. This seemed to be much the preferred solution as it fit within the bank's manual. Oh, well. It is partially my fault as I should have remembered I needed such a number and asked for it to be sent to my home in California.

We were then off to the market. The Saturday market is Sarlat is as we remember it, full of the most wonderful things imaginable. It must be ever more spectacular in the late spring and summer months when the produce and other things are harvested and brought to town. The variety is impressive, though, for this time of year, and one can begin to understand the importance that freshness and quality have for the French and their approach to gastronomy.

After an hour or so in the market we just walked through the town again as it is one of our favorites. We then drove to Domme, La Roque-Gageac, and Beynac on the way back to Le Bugue and the house. Going to these villages put me in a state reverie as they are so beautiful. It is hard to describe what they do to me. Yet, there was also the imperative to be careful as there is far more activity on the roads now than there was when we were here last. Yet, it is fun to see the people (mainly French) out and about on the roads, although I dislike trailers whether they are here on the roads or in the US.

Sunday was another touring day for us, although it began in a rather lazy fashion as the trip so far was beginning to catch up on us and we did not want to get too tired. We had called Frank and Denise Liller and planned to see them that afternoon for tea, but before we did we decided to drive to Belves and then to Monpazier to visit the souffleur de verre we like so much. He does beautiful work and Eleanor and I wanted to get some additional glass fruit he makes and a couple of other things.

We found him open and very busy, but he remembered us and came over when he had a minute. We got what we wanted and then ordered some additional pieces and some wine glasses and a carafe he would have to make. He told us to back in a week, which we promised to do. The things would be wrapped and ready to go. He is a talented man and it was good to do business with him as I knew everything would be done well.

When we left we decided to drive back by way of Issigeac as there is a very god antique store we wanted to visit. We found it on the map and got there with a few minutes to spare before closing. We took a brief tour and found some things that would have to wait for another visit to look at closely. We wondered why the place was closing because it seemed to us there was an hour to go before closing, but we left as much because we had to get to the Lillers by 4 p.m. as because the woman wanted to close and get on with her life.

I realized that by the time we left we would have a hard time getting to the Lillers' home on time so we stopped to phone. It was then we understood why the store was closing - France had gone on daylight savings time (a week ahead of the US) and we had not known about it. We were already late and would be even later as we were in Bergerac and had to drive all the way to Le Bugue, a good hour away. The trip was made even more interesting by the hundreds of motorcycles we saw. They were going west as we went east, and they were swerving in and out of traffic passing cars ahead of them and making all other drivers stay alert so they would not hit and be hit by them. There was some sort of jamboree in Le Bugue that day that drew cyclists from all over the area. Some were even riding Harley Hogs, the ones that make the most distinctive sound in the world. Nothing like an Electraglide in its full-throated sound pounding down the highway.

We survived the trip and got to the Lillers in time for tea and some good conversation. They are good friends from last year and we have corresponded several times this year. They are really very charming people who live just below the house we rented last year. Denise was very helpful to us and extended their hand in friendship, which we gladly embraced. It was wonderful to see them again and to be able to pick up where we left off. We had tea, went over old times, and just had a great deal of fun. When their son, Bernard, called Denise had me answer pretending to be the proprietor of a small cafe. I had to let him in on the joke as I feared he would hang up. They chatted with him for a moment and then asked him to call back so we could finish our visit. The time flew and even though we did not want to, it was time to go and head back to our place. We knew we would see them several other times during the two weeks we would be there and promised to have them to tea in the near future.

We then began what was to be a marathon driving extravaganza around the Dordogne. I won't take a great deal of your time describing what we saw and where we went, as much of this can be found in last year's journal. Suffice it to say that during the two weeks we were there we drove over 100 miles a day and saw some wonderful things. We saw many of the same places we did before, and they all had the same sense of wonderment they held the first time we saw them. Some of them were new, and drew us in and captured our souls. The one major sight we did not get to was Rocamadour, but as we were there several times last year we thought that if we did not have time we could forego this truly exceptional place.

Suffice it to ask can there be anything more beautiful village than Brantome. Well, Saint-Jean-de Cole comes a close second. My what blissful places they are, and we remember what tranquility (and what a precious resource that is!) they brought to our lives. Urval was this simply extraordinary place that Denise and Frank Liller told us to visit, and what unvaryingly good taste and advice they have and give. Saint-Genies, Saint-Avit-Senieur, and, very close to us, Cadouin, which has somehow escaped us last year, were so wonderful that we stopped choosing the places we liked the most - except for the exquisite Brantome and Saint-Jean-de Cole and La Roque-Gageac and Monpazier, and...

The drives were so wonderful that it is hard to describe. What I need to comment on again is the fact that it is virtually impossible to get lost because of the quality of the French highway system and its method of signage. Both are simply first rate. Unlike any road in California, there are no pot holes to run over thus shortening the life of one's car. The roads are really terrific and makes it easy to get around. So, too, does the fact that there are endless ways to get to where you want to go. It is truly amazing. Thus, one can be confronted by endless variety of roads one can take to get to the same destination. France is dotted by little villages that are all connected to one another by little ribbons of concrete. It is this endless grid that makes it so easy to get around. And at each intersection are the signs telling you what road to take as well as the little highway markers, placed every kilometer apart, that informs you of what road you are on.

Like so much else in life, adventures are a curious admixture between sights seen and the people you meet along the way, and it was no less so this time. We went back to the Maison de la Presse to see the owner we met last year. She and her husband have been having a hard struggle with the store but had the time to take us to meet her two horses and mules. She is delightful and we hope that her plans for her future come to pass. She deserves some good breaks. We went back to have our laundry done at the Laundromat in Les Eyzies-de-Tayac and Mme. Lacoste not only recognized us but did our laundry again. She was as delightful as ever. But, of course, the highlight of our return to this simply exquisite part of the world was seeing the Lillers again and having so many laughs and talks with them. The Dordogne would not be the same without them.

PART VII -- TIME TO LEAVE FOR PROVENCE

Two weeks seemed like such a long time when we were planning this trip. But it turned out to be so short. We did so many things, did so much to keep the French economy humming, that after just 14 days it seemed to be cruel to be jerked away from it because of a schedule. But a schedule there was and we had to meet it. Thus, the last days we did our laundry at the house, took the big stuff to Mme. Lacoste to do, and got all the other things ready to depart. The Lillers had been to the house for tea and liked our digs a great deal, and we said we would drop by for a visit before heading to our next stop in Provence. Certainly, the next two weeks could be no better than the previous two had been. We had set a very high standard for both the house in which we would be staying and the country we would be seeing.