I really should consider a get-away to the mountains with fresh cool air, pine trees, chilly lakes and streams, less than 10 people per square kilometre, and where the only Internet access is TCP/IP by Carrier Pigeon. Some place like Evian-les-Bains, France; Sweden; northern Quebec; or maybe Cicely, Alaska.

Cannes is a smallish city compared to Nice 35 Km away, but when the film festival and summer high season comes about, the place just swells with tourists that have a tendency to leave their brains at home. Oh hum.

Thankfully, I have a road trip to England to visit friends beginning of August. Hope it rains the whole time I’m there. Yes I’m tad odd.

Today though I’m making my first pot of chillie con carne of the season, in preparation for the Beaujolais Nouveau wine coming out on Thursday (always the 3rd Thursday of November) and its been a kind of tradition ever since I’ve lived in France. It should taste very good in about two days once the spice have diffused throughout the pot and should go very nice with the wine; nice contrast of tastes between savory chilli and the sweet fruity wine. Mmm.

So after three mild bouts of fever, chills, sweats, then normal for a few hours, I finally had the big one Thursday night. Went to bed early around 9h00 and had 5 hours of fever, then all of sudden 5 hours of the sweats. Had to change my bed clothes thrice and the bed sheets was soaked in sweat by the time I woke up. I felt very ragged. But the worst appeared to be over.

Being alone is often a bummer, but being alone and sick is even worse. You still have to cook for yourself, walk the dog, monitor your own condition. If there is ever a time when you need a companion or mother to help you, it has to be when you’re sick. I’ve had many illnesses since I was a baby that my mother nursed me through. And I think it is when you’re sick that you remember fondly the maternal care given to you, and how your mother’s embrace gave you warmth, energy, and much love.

Updated 2009-05-25: Appears my illness is the result of chickenpox (more), which I never had as a kid. What shit luck. Love to know where I got it from.

Along the route we walk is an old abandoned trolley line that climbs the hill to the old observatory tower and one time restaurant high above Cannes. Its rails hidden amongst the overgrowth of brush and weeds. Its a shame that the city hasn’t thought to convert the old line into a nature walk for hikers or mountain bikers. But then some segments of the trolley line have been reclaimed and blocked off by the residences it passes by. Oh well.

Shawna Coronado writes the Casual Gardner column and the Gardening Nude blog. I noticed this tweet from her last night and after reading the article, it inspired me to write about the memories of distant friends. I should know as mine are scattered the world over and I’m terrible about keeping in touch. But I still have the fond memories.

One distant old friend of mine from Bulgaria, Kathy L, I do keep in touch with by Skype. She was telling me last night about the awesome curry dinner she had recently. She even sent a photo, which just set my mouth to drooling (and you don’t want to drool over a keyboard; makes an awful mess). I do so love a good hot & spicy curry.

This Easter Sunday morning was very quiet, overcast grey, and a touch damp after the night’s rain. Me, all geared up for a morning 10Km run in warm-up pants, old tatty t-shirt, and wind breaker, is wearing sun glasses as I walk Baka along the quiet street.

One effect of wearing sun glasses on overcast days, is that colours like the bright green of budding leaves or pink blossoms of the Judas trees are just that more striking. And almost every where I looked I saw the pink blooms. This is an old pic of Judas tree in bloom as seen from the court yard of my building.

I just love April and May in Cannes.

I picked up Baka today from Jilly’s place and was given a lavish welcome as he licked my hands and face for about an hour. I think both of us appreciated the time apart, but it is also nice to be back with family. Something to be said about the unconditional affection and trust given by an animal.

I can’t say enough nice things about this first experience with Porter. My mother, Jovette, warned me that I’d love flying with Porter. It must be the first stress free flight I’ve had in many years of flying.

Porter flies from Toronto’s island airport, which was only 15 minutes from the down town core and in spitting distance from the skydome. The island airport is handy to people living and working down town and really removes all the hassle of driving out to Pearson International airport, thus avoiding potential traffic problems and all the fussing, queuing, and waiting associated with going to any major airport the world over.

I arrived at the ferry terminal, which is a free service to passengers. I had some trouble with my reservation while using the automated check-in terminals and the ground attendant, Danielle, was very kind and helpful in resolving the issue with my ticket. The ferry ride was so short, one wonders why they just don’t build a road or concourse bridge. Still I welcomed the brief pause and chatted with Danielle as she shuttle back to the island at the end of her shift with the front desk.

Having already been issued a boarding pass, proceeding to the lounge was a simple matter of weighing and tagging my check-in luggage and passing through security, which was simplicity itself; I still had to pop-out the laptop, remove metal objects from my person, and my coat, but there were so few noon-day travellers that it took no time at all.

The lounge offered complementary coffee, sodas, juices, and bottled water along with free cookies, nuts, and WiFi. The lounge was clean and tidy, with lots of space and comfy chairs, lots of power points near chairs, several cubicles with internet connected Mac workstations and extra plugs, also free it appeared.

I had a short 15 minute wait before the flight. Boarding the aircraft took all of 5 minutes, partly do to the few travellers, but also because the Bombardier Dash-8 Q400 aircraft only seats 70 passengers in total. It’s not like the typical overcrowded jets with their frustrated and tired travellers all fighting for storage space, arm rests, and comfortable exit row seats with some leg room. This aircraft appeared to have more leg room and comfortable seats than the average passenger jet. Departure was 5 minutes after the last person was seated; no long wait for tower clearance.

The Q400 is a turbo prop aircraft, yet is extremely quiet inside, maybe even quieter than your typical jet. Another nice thing about this flight and aircraft was that we flew much lower at 25 000 ft. vs 35 000 ft. of most commercial jet aircraft; this difference means there is actually a lot more interesting things to see outside the window on a clear day. Certainly handy for those who travel with children.

The flight attendants, Kathrina Celio and Joanne Perera were wonderful and because of the few passengers on this particular flight, had time to talk with me about the airline and listen to my cheery first impressions. They did say though that morning and evening flights tend to be a lot busier with almost full flights of people coming and going from one day meetings. The pair quickly served small sandwiches packs and choice of beverages from sodas, juices, beers, and wine were all free and included in the service. I myself had two small glasses of Canadian red wine served in a real glass, not plastic.

The hour and 15 minute flight to Montreal Trudeau (Dorval) passed by so quickly. The flight was so pleasant, that I wish it was just a bit longer, so that I might just sit and enjoy the moments of peace it afforded. Flying with Porter gave me the impression of train travel in Europe, simple, efficient, and comfortable. In many ways I wish I could fly with them between Canada and France. I’m sure Porter could out do the major international airlines for quality of service.

I found all the staff I talked to smiling, happy, and eager to help. Service was simple, efficient, and courteous. Once again, my thanks to Joanne, Kathrina, and Danielle for such a positive experience. It was much like how air travel used to be when I was a child travelling with my family.

I certainly will fly Porter again given the chance.

I write, looking at some of the last scenic photos taken around my family’s former holiday home, the one constant in my life that I called home through all my travels. My parents sold it about three years ago and I still grieve from it’s loss.

The Chalet in l’Estérel, Quebec is the foundation for many of my fondest memories. The home was constructed by my parents shortly after I was born. A year round family retreat: spring, summer, autumn, and my favourite – winter. It was beautiful and peaceful no matter the season or weather. It was home.

Winter at Xmas time was the highlight of my year, when there would be piles of snow all around, the smell of wood smoke from a large and warm hearth intermixed with those coming from a kitchen that demonstrated all the skill and love my mum could show. My brother and I would spend hours tobogganing down the hill immediately in front the house, often threatening to careen into the family car parked below. If it weren’t for the road and the house opposite us, we could have tobogganed all the way down to the frozen lake.

After passing the day outside in the snow, the pair of us would enter with our rosy cheeks, hang our wet clothes near the fire my dad had prepared, and warm ourselves. Later after our hot baths and in our pjs, David and I would play with our toy cars in front of the fire or watch my mum, Jovette, my dad, Peter, and my aunt, Mado, play scrabble or cribbage.

Often David and I would be awake very early, before our parents. We would sit in front on the huge bay window overlooking Lac Masson (near by Ste. Marguerite and surroundings), beside the heat vents, wrapped in wool blankets and play with our Lego collection and/or other toys.

Sometimes, he and I would take all the (old) sofa cushions, pillows, and wool blankets and make a snug little fort we could sit in. Mum would often have Pillsbury raspberry or blueberry turnover mix at hand, which I’d prepare for David and myself. My parents and aunt would rise and sit in the master bedroom having their breakfast of coffee and buttered raisin toast, watch the morning news, and talk. No rush to the day.

When we weren’t tobogganing or digging tunnels through frozen mounds of ploughed snow, we were out skiing, often in -20C weather: Yvan Coutu, Chantecler, Mont Gabriel (hotel), Grey Rocks, Mont Tremblant. My father started teaching me snow-plough turns when I was three on what seamed a gigantic slope at Yvan Coutu (long since closed and reduced to tooth picks). Later when I was older and more confident, he’d take me on my first T-bar and eventually my first chair lift. David and I loved to ski.

There would be walks to Hôtel L’Estérel only about two kilometres away, to collect the post. David and I would climb up and down some of the large rocks or boulders in summer as we made our way. Sometimes, when mum needed a break, Dad would take us for lunch in the hotel’s cafeteria: hot dogs, hamburgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, salt & vinegar French fries, comfort food that kids love. When we were older, we’d go to the hotel to play pool, pinball, and video games. Dad would watch mostly or read the paper, while David and I amused ourselves.

Early spring, typically around Easter, was just another chance to ski some more. On sunny occasions my mother would prepare a picnic on the roof of the house. With all the snow piled high from clearing the roof, one could easily climb up onto it. (David and I even tobogganed off it.) Mum would place a thick woolly rug down in the sun where my brother, myself, dad, mum, and my aunt who regularly stayed with us would all sit. We’d munch on bread, cheese, hot meat pie, and such. Just a simple lunch out in the cool spring air, despite the fact that there was still about a metre of snow on the ground, in April (or May even).

Summers were hot and humid. The forest around the Chalet lush and green; full of pine, spruce, birch, oak, ferns, and assorted flowers I never learned the names of. I’d sometimes wander in and explore, day dreaming of some adventure. There were some wild raspberry bushes on one side of the house I’d collect for mum. David and I would often attend summer camp and learn to swim in the cold fresh water lake. Outings to the Alpine Inn where locals could part take of the pool and restaurant. Mum and my aunt would lounge in the sun, while the pair of us would swim, learn to play pool and mini golf. In winter the Alpine Inn offered cross-country ski trails over their golf course and surrounding woods.

And then there were the thunderstorms; long torrential, loud, and dramatic, complete with regular power cuts. I remember the back patio door would often be open and we could hear the thrum of the rain fall on the trees, fallen leaves, patio, and roof. The occasional flash and clap of thunder were both blinding and deafening. As a child it used to scare me sometimes, but later I found it comforting. It was just part of the tradition that was l’Estérel.

The drive up the Autoroute des Laurentides from Montreal in the autumn would be a collage of yellows, oranges, and reds spread over the hills; the change of seasons in clear evidence and the promise of a winter once more. During and shortly after university, I’d drive up for a regular Judo tournament I’d attend in October and stay at the Chalet with my team mates.

Once again in winter, when I’d be with the family for Xmas, my parents would order cords of wood for the fireplace. It would be delivered and dumped in the snow at the base of the stairs. Each day for exercise in the morning, I’d run up and down in heavy snow boots for about 20 minutes, carrying a log in each hand to the wood pile by the patio in the back until there was no more pile at the base of the stairs.

Or if there was enough snow piled high on the roof, I’d climb up and spend about an hour each day until done, cleaning off the snow. How I’d sweat underneath my layers of clothing walking up and down the slope of the roof. What might be a chore for others, was fun exercise for me and way to enjoy the scenery around our holiday home. One could see all around the lake and homes decorated in coloured lights. I’d listen to the silence of the surrounding country side; beyond my breath that would form frost on my eye brows and hair.

So many memories. Now it belongs to another family, from Avignon, France I was told. I hope for their family it brings as many fond memories as it did for mine.

All that I have now are photos, several paintings, and The Grandfather Clock given to me by my parents, that ticks away time past and the distance memories.

Captain’s log, stardate 090125.81, … Smelly Feet … have sent Enterprise … to the outer edge … of the solar system … in order to test … the newly enriched … Habenero₃Pizza fuel cell, … which is to eventually replace … the Habenero₁Pizza cell, … in the hopes of stronger … methane warp fields. First Orifice Sprocket and … Chief Intestine Montgomery Rott … are coordinating bowel movements.

Captain, the H₃P fuel has been delivered and successfully consumed. However, probability of compatibility with our systems is estimated at 3. 1415926535 8979323846 2643383279 5028841971 6939937510 5820974944 5923078164 0628620899 8628034825 3421170679 8214808651 3282306647 0938446095 5058223172 5359408128 4811174502 8410270193 8521105559 6446229489 5493038196 4428810975 6659334461 2847564823 3786783165 2712019091 4564856692 3460348610 4543266482 1339360726 0249141273 7245870066 0631558817 4881520920 9628292540 9171536436 7892590360 0113305305 4882046652 1384146951 9415116094 3305727036 5759591953 0921861173 8193261179 3105118548 0744623799 6274956735 1885752724 8912279381 8301194912 9833673362 4406566430 8602139494 6395224737 1907021798 6094370277 0539217176 2931767523 8467481846 7669405132 0005681271 4526356082 7785771342 7577896091 7363717872 1468440901 2249534301 4654958537 1050792279 6892589235 4201995611 2129021960 8640344181 5981362977 4771309960 5187072113 4999999837 2978049951 0597317328 1609631859 5024459455 3469083026 4252230825 3344685035 2619311881 7101000313 7838752886 5875332083 8142061717 7669147303 5982534904 2875546873 1159562863 8823537875 9375195778 1857780532 1712268066 1300192787 6611195909 2164201989. . . to 1 against.

Thank you First Orifice. Hmm. Only that much? You sure of your figures?

Yes Sir. I checked them against Lt. Randy’s original figures and there was no discrepancy between our two curves.

Very well, you may proceed.

> some time later <

Mr. Rott to Capt'n Dirk!

Yes ... ... Rotty?

The H₃P appears to be combusting! Internal temperature is up by 15% and climbing. I’ve adjusted the environmental controls to compensate. There appear to be some impurities in the H₃P mix.

Sprocket! … Analysis … quick.

> click, rumble, gurgle, wiz, more gurgle <

Captain. There appears to have been lower grade hot peppers in the base pizza fuel. The net affect when combined with the H₃ enrichment would be that of H₄. The methane warp field is destabilising.

Aye Capt’n! I’ve had to open the anti-matter full injectors to full and vent the methane plasma to space! No buddy light a match.

Captain! Look!

What is it … now … Mr. Silhouette?

Clingons around Uranus!

Red Alert! All hands, brace for hardware interrupt!

• Match.Com
• Hot Or Not
• Lava Life
• Mingle2
• Friend Finder
• Adult Friend Finder (NSFW)

Or some of us might turn to random chatting through many of the instant messaging services like AIM, GTalk, ICQ, MSN, Skype, or Yahoo, which can be another way to meet friends and possibly that special someone. Or maybe using social networking and/or micro-blogging services like Facebook (ugh) and MySpace (double ugh), Identi.ca, Plurk, or Twitter.

However, for the real needy, desperate, looking for a Milla Jovovich (official fan site) look a like, or simply in need of a challenge, you can’t beat:

• ZombieHarmony – One of the Best Free Dating Sites for Zombies

Thanks to @tatty for thinking of me this Xmas.

For the most part it is done, though I still have to do the final cleaning and get the washer moved, once I get a plumber in to disconnect the water hose that I can’t do because the tap is frozen open, as is the flat’s mains (which has no knob to boot). Of course since it is August in France, everyone dicks off on vacation almost all at the same time, so trying to get someone around is like trying to drag an air-conditioning repair man by the toe nails away from the beach along the river Styx.

Today I hope to finally get my phone reinstalled in the new apartment, after a two week wait, and hopefully still have my ADSL service connected, since my number hasn’t changed nor did I cancel it. In the interim I’ve been using my GPRS cell phone modem for Internet access.

Just the end of last week I finally got, after four weeks waiting, a replacement Yokohama car tyre installed by a nation wide tyre specialist chain that is suppose to be a reseller of the brand! Thankfully I work from home and have had nothing really urgent requiring a vehicle, but I am amazed at how pitiful service in France can be. I could have taken a vacation in Japan and brought back a new tyre as extra luggage for the same price in less time.

Add to the fact the people in the north from France, England, Germany, etc. all seem to make there way to the Côte d’Azur to laze about in the sun, drink Côte de Provence rosé, and scratch at their navels.

Since moving in to the new place, I’ve not been sleeping well. Either the traffic noise is louder on the second floor; all the bleeding tourists need new mufflers for their cars, bikes, and scooters; or everyone lefts their brains at home before going on vacation. For example last night, as with many nights these past two weeks, someone came home that I finally spotted around 23h00 on a Harley Davidson that sounds like all the helicopters from Apocalypse Now during the Ride of the Valkyries.

Of course there are also the multitude of pizza delivery scooters buzzing back and forth; there have been what sounds like a Ferrari club doing time trials around the Gallia apartment complex; and then this morning at 4h20 it was a drag race complete with with squealing hand brake turns at each bend or corner. And they doubled back for good measure. All this was immediately followed by a hurling of shouts into the dead of night in what sounded like a mix of Arabic and accented French for about ten minutes.

R.O.U.S. aka Rodents of Unusual Size is a reference from the film The Princess Bride and these past couple of weeks, I’ve been wondering if the R.O.U.S. were suppose to be a metaphor for the French. After all that has happened lately, it’s a hard call.