A most elusive beast...

It's Monday morning and I can't believe it.  I feel like a completely clueless dolt.  Really.  I do.  I missed it.  It was right here.  I saw it in a video someone posted to Flickr.  In fact, it was just down the street from where we live.  Just this past weekend, too. Ugh.  I feel terrible.  And Jude feels terrible for me.  She can feel the anguish I feel.  It may seem silly, but the fact I missed it is nearly unbearable.  I can't stop talking about it, either.

What is the it to which I refer?  The it is the Beast.  More fully said, the it is the Beast of Turin.

A year ago my friend Dave (Citizen Davide - if you must know) sent me a video of the recently restored Fiat S76 Record.  From that moment on I have plotted and planned and schemed and wondered how on earth I could see this in person.  I tried to see it when she ran at Goodwood in 2015, but we were mired deep in government processes in a (successful) attempt to buy healthcare insurance from the French state.  I wasn't sure when, if ever, I'd see her in person, the Beast.

The Beast stands higher than stout but fully grown men (like, for instance, me).  Even from a distance the car looks massive. The cockpit, such as it is, must be climbed into.   The motor dominates the front two thirds of the Beast.  The tail ends at a gorgeously sculpted wasp bodied point.

The cockpit has room for two seats.  Period photos show the steering on  what appears to be the English side of the Beast.  The right hand seat is still, of course, this being England and correct to the original and all that, for the driver.  It makes me wonder when Italy joined the rest of the Civilized World and put the steering apparatus on the Correct Side.  In any event, the second place must be there only to convey and transport one Terrified and Soon to be Rather Well Singed Occupant.  Looking at a promotional video for it's 2015 run at Goodwood confirms that the Terrified Second (in England) Seater will indeed be Well Singed if they're not careful.  It has been suggested that I add that the passenger could be deafened and well shaken, too.

The Beast has an enormous motor which was special built for just for land speed record setting.  This is not an aero-engine repurposed for terrestrial fun and games.  No, this is much more serious business.  It displaces over 28 litres (yes, you read that correctly - twenty eight glorious liters of Italian motor) and was claimed to put out 290 metric horsepower at 1900 revolutions per minute.

The motor is fitted with an overhead camshaft with sloping camshaft profiles.  The configuration allows changes to the timing from a starter cam profile position (to ease the motor start process) to an operational cam lobe profile. This is surprising as even modern engines rarely deploy variable valve duration timing mechanisms.  A hand lever in the cockpit moves the camshaft from one profile to another.

There are three spark plugs per cylinder.  Each were recently hand made by a man in Milan.  It's reported he hand rolls the mica, just like great grand-dad used to, as part of the manufacturing process.  In the interest of being Redundantly Repetitive, three handmade spark plugs are required per cylinder.  There are four cylinders to plug and spark.  I doubt the local autoparts store stocks a useful reserve of them.

The oil system is total loss.  That is, oil drips through the motor from the top to the bottom by gravity feed.  As the oil proceeds from top to bottom it lubricates the many important things that require lubrication.  Sitting in a garage the car has an oil catch pan under it to collect the leftovers and unspent oil.

The crank shaft runs on clam-shell journals.  I thought clam-shell journals were only found in modern engines and remember stories of crank and cam shafts running primarily on roller or on babbet poured bearings.  Interestingly, too, is the crankshaft.  It may be quite massive but it's also hollow.  It saves weight and, more importantly, allows top to bottom bound oil to reach places it needs to (such as the clam-shell bottom-end journals).

The gas tank delivers explosive essence under pressure.  The tank is hand pump pressurized through a line that links a pump to the tank from inside the cockpit.  If you're losing power, give the 'ol gas tank a few more PSI from the pump and away you go.

Two massive chains transfer those 290 horses from a transverse transmission output shaft to the rear drive shaft.  The chains whirl and swirl in open air for all the world to see.  Right next to the cockpit.  Right where fingers and arms might Dangle or Distend.

Speed runs took place around Europe, with the best places for high speed found in England.  One of the Beasts ran at Brooklands.  The steeply banked Brooklands was too bumpy at speed and, the story goes, speed record events were abandoned at that track.   The effort moved to a sandy beach.  Once there, the sand on the beach was not in good condition.  It was a little too soft and the Beast did not perform at it's full potential.  In 1913, running on a beach in Belgium it ran at 137mph, which, apparently, was insufficient to set a new record.

Hopefully this explains my being upset at not having seen the Beast for myself.  I am severely disappointed.

As I mull and ponder the Fates who failed to post alerting information to Retromobile's website a thought occurs to me.  I visited the Parc des Expositions a week ago Monday and uncovered a number of fun things on Move In Day One.  The show ended yesterday (Sunday).  Perhaps I should pay a visit on Move Out Day (Monday).

Entry to Building One is easier this time than it was one week ago.  No one stops to question me.  The building is a-buzz with crews destroying, removing, and cleaning up after the exhibits.  Cars are being trailered or driven from the venue.  Hoards of transporters sit outside awaiting their cargo bound for worldwide destinations.

I ask a security guard "Ou se trouve la bete de Turin?"  "Comment?" he asks.  I repeat the question.  He mumbles "Je sais pas.  C'est un bulot.  Voila.  C'est tout."

I ask one of the workmen.  He tells me he is just a driver of one of the transports and is only there to enjoy taking a few cell phone snaps of the Ferraris that are still here.

I ask an Englishmen in my best French and he just turns and walks away.

As I am photographing a bright red Porsche (red is entirely the wrong color for a Porsche) a couple of workmen ride by in an electric golf cart and one teases me by saying "elles sont interdit, les photos."  So I ask them.  "Comment?" comes the immediate return question.  "Ah.  Un moment.  Elle est deja parti, la bete."  "Merde!" I think.   Well, that's that, then, isn't it?

I've circumvented Building One inside and out and, well, I am dejected.  I really have missed, haven't I?

As I pass one of the huge open doors I spy a few pretty Ferraris.  The 512BB in black (black is entirely the wrong color for a Ferrari) is pretty enough and the Porsche backdrop adds a bit of humor.  A few last photos and then to home and hearth.

One last look around... and... hmmm... I'd better go check out these old cars near a long bank of doors...

My heart races before my mind can catch up.  I feel like a young child who's wish may be about to come true.  And.  Yes.  There she is.  Under tarps.  It has to be.  It simply has to be it.  The Beast.



As I contemplate my lack of authority to remove the tarps to get a better look, Stefan (the Beasts visual documentarian) asks if I'd like him to uncover her for me.  Would I?  Oh!  Would I!  My enthusiasm is impossible to hide.

During our conversation (thankfully in English) I learn a lot about the car that rests just there.  Two Beasts were built, then lost.  A chassis was known to exist in Australia.  It's condition was questionable.  An engine (marked on a side plate as Number Two) was found somewhere in Italy.  It was being used as a teaching aid in a Fiat building.  Restoration took twelve years.  The motor is running better than it did at Goodwood in 2015.  They've made a few small changes to the timing that allows it to burn a little cleaner.

A man who I'll call the President of the Association that runs the Retromobile event comes over and we shake hands and exchange a few words in French.  He is a man of obvious French style and grace.  Well spoken in English and elegant in French.

Duncan (the Beast's owner) arrives.  We shake hands and talk a brief moment.  They're off to Merry 'Ol this morning.  I doesn't sound like they're fire her up to drive to the trailer.  Oh well, push it shall be.

I follow the crew a short distance through Building One to the nearest large door and outside to find we're covered with dark rain laden skies.  A few last photos and it's time to liberate these kind folk.  Duncan tells me I don't sound French.  The Basque beret and long beard confuse him.  I say the beard is not French, though the beret most definitely is.  Confessing that I am American brings a the President of the Association to comment that "... c'est impressionante, la barbe."  They turn to push the Beast onto the canvas covered trailer.

I can't believe my good fortune.  I saw the Beast.  A rather minor (in the broader scheme of things) personal Disaster has been turned into Grace.

[My Flickr set of photographs of the 1911 Fiat S76 can be found here]

Happy New Year!

[Jude shared the following email with friends and family.  All I can say is the French really know how to throw a good party.  With a little help from the Germans, of course.  :-)  ]

I have to share with you the New Years Eve gastronomic extravaganza we enjoyed, and after which, during the early morning hours paid a wee price for!  

Chris and I had accepted the invitation of our French friends, Claude and Renate, for a New Year's Eve theater performance and a "light" dinner in their apartment afterwards. There would be eight of us in all, a nice size group to celebrate the ringing in of the New Year. Claude is 100% Parisien, born and raised in the neighborhood where he and Renate have their apartment. Renate was born in Germany, Berlin to be exact, and has dual citizenship. Claude is passionately French and Renate is passionately German. They have a wonderful blend of the French and the German cultures in their marriage. I mention this specifically because it lays the foundation of understanding of the festivities and meal we all enjoyed.

I was asked to prepare les gâteaux apéritif  for the starter course.   I had to do a bit of research as to what I was being asked to bring.   Figured that out and after stewing over recipes I decided to do my now standard take to the party dish.

Our day preparing for what we knew would be a late night included taking an afternoon nap.   We then put together the appetizers and added a little spit shine to our boots and for Chris some wax to his mustache.   7:20 pm we start our walk up the hill, about 10 blocks to Renate and Claude's apartment.    Chris is the family pack mule so he carried the platter of appetizers and well as a sack with two bottles of Champagne.

The evening started out at a small neighborhood theater where we saw an 8:30 pm extreme acrobatics performance. That performance was a bit over one hour in length. After that we walked back to Claude and Renate's apartment for our New Years Eve dinner.

At 10pm we started out with my aperitif, which was a thin slice of baguette, smoked duck breast, mascrapone,and a dollop of cherry confit (jam), served with champagne. There were 8 of us and we ate all 24 servings. While we were having the appetizers Claude lit the candles on their real Christmas tree. The candles are a German tradition, and so we enjoy the German culture while eating and drinking like French people. The tree also had an antique German tree stand, beautifully carved silver, and before we knew it Renate had the tree rotating and the tree stand was playing traditional German Christmas Carols. The tree stand was actually a giant music box, circa 1800s. After finishing the appetizers and the first round of Champagne we moved to the dinner table.

First course, fresh marinaded salmon, served in large thin slices. Then we were passed lemon wedges and literally a piece of white bread, dry toasted. The butter for the bread was the one with salt crystals in it. Boy oh boy. Can we taste fresh beautiful salmon? More Champagne! 

Well what do you know, it is now midnight and we toast the New Year bis everyone (kiss) and then we sat back down and moved on with the meal.  

Next up was the main plate which was a rustic large spicy sausage and boiled potatoes. The sausage was sliced in thickly and we passed the plate to serve ourselves. On top of the potatoes and sausage we put a very special sauce from the Jura region of France. For the Jura region, think mountains and German style sausages. The sauce was made with a very light milk, half cream and cheese, light but flavorful. Never had anything like it before. With this we had a light red wine also of the Jura region. Plus more Champagne, oh and an occasional glass of mineral water...yep with gaz. Burp, ahh now we are finished, but no! Now the plate of sausage and potatoes reappears and everyone has seconds!

Throughout the entire meal we are laughing and chatting in French. Whee! But we are not nearly finished with the meal. Nope, after the main plate we move onto the cheese and salad plates. Three types of cheese, a Blue, a Compte and a Brie. The salad was mache. More baguette and more wine and champagne. I am by now just drinking mineral water.  

The grand finale was the most beautiful art object of a cake. Here's where I had to break rank and eat a very tasty rice cake with chocolate and a sweet clementine. Chris described the cake, which was several layers, long rectangular shaped cake, layers of light whipped cream, red fruit combo jam type yumminess, chocolate mousse, then chocolate cake, then a light cookie type thin crust and on the bottom a slab of dark chocolate. Killer cake! Beautiful and Delicious!

Now it is 2:15 am and coffee must be served. I passed on that, just way to late for me. We left their house at 3:15 am, having arrived at 7:30 pm! We walked down the hill marveling at the incredible experience we had. 5 am was another story with us waking and both of us not feeling very good. Just way too much food, wine ,champagne, and chemicals I'm sure. We staggered out of bed at noon, and we will be recuperating today.

Happy New Year!

Windows to the mind...

[I rewrote sections of the following entry.  I felt my word choices and sentence structures failed to articulate what I wanted.  I must've been pretty angry when I wrote the first version]

Someone recently asked if we were going to go see the Christmas lights around the city.  Shortly after the question came up I was up at Paris' only True Opera House (le Garnier, merci, very very French) and couldn't help but be attracted by the bright twinkly lights seen just up the street.  Like many living things, I'm attracted by shiny objects.  Les Galeries Lafayette were well lit in commercial celebration of the season (in a glorious American-style consumer commercialism).

Our Season of Celebration is off to a good start.  Our Gouter and Singalong began the festivities.  We then went to lunch with our apartment owners (very French) in a fabulous art nouveau restaurant (oh so French that it nearly breaks one's heart at the beauty of it all).  Just last night we had our apartment neighbors (Irish) up for a small apero (leaning into the Parisian, we must say).

Later this week we'll be visiting our friends (very French) who's country home we visited earlier this year. This will be followed by spending New Years Eve reveling with yet more friends (three Germans, three French) by seeing a circus (German, apparently) that's situated just behind le parc George Brassens (Parisian).  Dinner and drinks are to be shared shortly thereafter (a very French thing to do on 31 Decembre).

We are only half way through our Fun and Festivities, and a pattern seems to be emerging.

Many of our conversations revolve around the present state of American politics.  More specifically, we are questioned as to our feelings about Americans actually and in the final end voting for The Donald.  We try to quickly turn the conversations around to ask them how they feel about the Republican Clowns Who Would Be King Of America.  To a person we've been told of (French) people's shock at America' anti-intellectualism.

And there it was.  The Correct Way of putting it.  It's true, isn't it?  It all seems to come down to America' anti-intellectualism.

A quick look reveals many areas that might illustrate the point.  Conservative christianity in America celebrates anti-intellectualism in many obvious ways.  Sports (football, basketball, NASCAR, etc) work to evoke emotional "feel good" responses at the cost of "over thinking it all".  Reality TV is anything but reality as many people would know it.  America's response to the crisis of man-made global climate change seems to be based on desire, not fact.  America's response to the gun violence crisis is anything but intellectual.  America's response to the refugee crisis is based, not on what is actually happening, but on what could happen if ____ [fill in the blank with unfounded fear].

All too often it seems to me that America is quick to give an emotional response which "feels right" and "expresses what we the people really feel" and are very slow to think things through based on fact and truth.

It's not surprising, to me, that American politics has become the politics of anti-intellectualism, too.  It's in this climate of emotional reactionism that someone like The Donald (and all the other howling Would-Be Kings of America) can thrive.  It "feels right" that America is under attack by poor Mexicans who cross the southern boarder to take jobs away from hard working legal citizens.  It "feels right" that Social Security will go bankrupt in just a few years if the politicians don't kill it.  It "feels right" that 1200 noble prize winning scientists are wrong about global climate change and that the two or three "scientists" who work for oil companies are correct.  It "feels right" that America is not to be granted health care because to do so would be just too damned socialist for us.  Etc.  Etc.  Etc.

Living overseas and talking with people who come from intellectual cultures (such as here in France, or in Germany, Italy, and parts of Spain) demands we have a well thought-out response to their questions.  They seem to know much more about the US than we know about Europe.  In short, they are well informed in ways Americans simply are not.  Someone recently suggested that's because America is the 900 pound gorilla stomping around on the world stage.

Honestly, this is what I've come to appreciate and love about Europe: We value intellectuals, intellectualism, intelligence, and rational frameworks of thought and philosophy.

I feel proud of our ability to get out while the getting out was good.  I feel a kinship with those who ask questions about how America can do what it's doing.  I feel as bewildered as our friends at how Americans behave.

From this perspective I feel Europeans can stand up to American Globalization.  They have a long history of making their voices heard, here. They have a long history of casting out the Would Be Conqueror.  I just hope they see America for what it is before it's too late.

Perhaps The Donald will play an important role in a much needed European awakening to what America really is.  Perhaps.

The entire album of Paris Holiday Lights can be seen here

Quel petit monde...

My beard enters it's 8th month of only slightly trimmed growth and I've taken to telling folks in our French/English conversation group that the bottom half of the beard is reminiscent of the SDF (Sans Domicile Fixe - or homeless people) and the mustache evokes the late dix-neuvieme siecle (late 19th century).  On days where I don't wish to stand out completely as someone who is SDF I wax the 'stache.  It's a little dandy-ish I suppose.  Still, it's an important distinction around these parts.  Or so it seems from the stares I sometimes get from passersby.


All this came up in conversation during our annual Winter Holidays Singalong et Gouter.  This is the time when we gather together in song and celebration of having spent pleasant times together.  This is the time when we bring in a few musician members of WICE who lead us in our merrymaking.  First it's a song in French.  Then it's a song in English.  Back and forth we go alternating languages.  All in a register none of us can really sing in and in such a high octave that more than a few of us complain rather loudly about not being able to sing.  I tend to croak like a grenouille.  Other people tend to just give up and hum along as best they can.

These things are wonderfully doused into submission after the Singalong by le Gouter.  People bring their favorite beverages and apero-like plates of yumminess.  All the croaking and humming is forgotten.  All the off-key and stratospheric octaves are forgiven.  Down goes the wine.  Munch go the many tasty goodies.  Jude's smoked canard dolloped with mascarpone on small bread rounds were a hit.  We were able to take home more nice memories and a completely empty gouter plate.

When the cupboards are bare we make our lists and plan our plans and head out to the markets.  Yesterday it was our turn to march through the vasty student strewn sidewalks with air heavily laden with cigarette smoke to make our way to Bio C'est Bon.  Yes, these young people are driving us nuts! with all their smoking.


Once safely inside the Smoke-Free Everything Bio market we set about doing our shopping.  It was nearly time for the dejeuner and many mothers were out picking up their children and stopping in at Bio C'est Bon Thank The Gods There's No Students Smoking Here! to pick up a few last minute items.

There was Good News, and not just with the lack of cigarette fumes.  One of the young ladies who works there was rather nicely dressed and Jude asked her why.  We learned she'd been promoted to store manager.  This after she'd been told in her recent review that she'd first have to work at several other stores before being considered for the position.  Well then, Minds Changed and a Minor Missed Opportunity was corrected.

As we set about our shopping a SDF brushed past on his way down a side aisle.  I grumbled about the shabbiness and wondered where his money came from.  The mothers who were there with their children looked a little askance, too.


A few minutes later out basket was filled to the brim and we were in line to talk with another employee while she scanned out items.  Jude and I speak in heavy accents and are constantly asked where we're from.  This time was no different and Jude shared the Important Details of our lives.  The checker seemed to know something about our Old Home Town, as did the SDF who happened to be next in line behind us.

Suddenly the SDF is talking with Jude and I can see his snaggle-toothed mouth form the worlds "Tektronix."  Er?  Wot's all this, then?  The next thing I know Jude is telling the man that I too used to work at Tektronix.

My mind was having difficulty keeping up with the context switch.  It really was.  I figured the SDF was just some shabby good for nothing drunkard in to do a Little Theft Exercise and to be on his way.  How utterly and completely wrong I was.  Words failed me.

Walking back up the street I told Jude about how judgemental I'd been and what a pleasant surprise it was to run into someone who'd worked at Tektronix in several capacities, in Beaverton, on the original campus, and just before the company transitioned from analog to digital.  I told my wife I really needed to reconsider how I view the world and how I "see" or not "see" people.


It's shocking, actually, to realize how deeply ingrained my American view of homeless and poor people is.  I've learned a little too well to view the poor as being in positions of their own creation and that people who put themselves into these positions are undeserving of anything. It's easy to point to the many conversations with Americans about how weird and strange people can look who shop at Walmart.  How we know when the state welfare check has arrived by the provisions piled high in a cart, filling it with junk foods.  Why can't they buy an apple instead of a frozen pizza?  Don't they know they're killing themselves by eating all that shit?  And, and, and, can't the poor see that all they need to do is just get off their lazy asses and go find a job!, forcryingoutloud.  Gawds! how we absolutely hate it when people are "taking advantage of the system" and the taxes we're paying that support their special/lazy/bankrupt "needs"!!  Yes, I'm embarrassed to admit that I still look at the poor and homeless with a judgemental uncaring America-bred-and-raised eye.

Up went went the fob.  Open went the door to our building.  In stepped Jude.  One last look down the street and... here he comes.  He's a small man.  Slightly hunched.  Very slender.  Ill-shaven.  Very much snaggle-toothed.  His clothes hang in the manner of someone you might not otherwise want to approach.  He was hauling two 4 litre bouteilles d'eau.

Monsieur.  Monsieur.  Regardez quelque chose d'interessant.  I pulled back the cuff of my jacket to show him the watch I wear.  It still has the two rubies on a small plaque on the side of the wrist band.  It was a 15 year anniversary gift.  In small silver bold lettering it says "Tektronix."

Having recovered my mind a little, we talked about some of the trigger mechanisms he'd worked on, all the tools he was familiar with, and the oscilloscope he'd brought back to France with him when he came home.  It was then that I remembered that here in France, in general, the poor and homeless are viewed not as being lazy and undeserving of state care and attention, but rather as the product of a system that has failed.  This is why we've seen the "deserving" (in American terms) having friendly conversations with the "undeserving" (again in American terms) who many times populate the benches and sidewalks in our quartier.


I had to admit that I really didn't know if this former Tektronix employee was poor or homeless and that my judgements of him were very likely false in every way imaginable.  I have no idea of the system failed him (from the French point of view) or if he is just an old retired guy who enjoys life as much as anyone else.

I told him in a sad tone of voice that une grande entreprise est venu vendre Tektronix.  C'est completement detruite maintenant.  C'est fini, en fait.  He understood that the formerly great  electronics test and measurement company had only recently (8 years ago) been destroyed and nearly disappeared by Corporate Takeover Greed that netted senior management hundreds and hundreds of millions of dollars.   Thank you Danaher, or whatever you call yourselves now.  You can kindly go to hell for what you stole and the company you destroyed.

As we wagged our heads at the woe that has befallen Tektronix we bid eachother une tres bonne journee and went our separate ways.

Equal opportunities for all...

I recently wrote about our three day visit with les vignerons independent.  Wine is good.  Wine is great.  Wine keeps the ship upright and sailing smoothly in the right direction.  But there's more to life than just wine.

Beer!

What's not to love?  More complex carbohydrates than wine.  This gives beer a sense of volume and complex taste.  It's sometimes brewed by drunken monks.  You know the ones.  Those who were chased out of France by the Revolutionaries during the 1789 King Removal.  While their religion was revolting to the Revolutionaries, the beer... well... it's really hard to fault them on their beer making abilities, no matter what country the drunken monks land in.

It's rather like Christmas every time I head over into the 14eme.  The kind Beer Gods and Goddesses seem to have something interesting to sample each and every time I go in.  This time is no different.  Belgiums.  Belgiums.  Belgiums as far as the eye can see.  That's where all the French Beer Making Religious Types escaped to shortly after the Bastille was torn down to make way for a vast roundabout (c.1789) with a pole called the July Column stuck in the middle (c.1840).

In the interests of Equal Opportunities for All, this week's segment could have been more properly titled What's In Mr. Caddy?

Who's Mr. Caddy, you might ask.  Well, he's our trusted friend and confident.  He's been with us for nearly four years and is by our side through thick and thin.  He's what we haul our groceries and purchased items in.  He's what I use to carry the empties back to the beer shoppe for a recycle refund.  He's what I use to bring another Month Of Happiness back.  Very French, Mr Caddy is.  He's required, actually.  Where Americans have cars to haul things in, the French have these little caddys.

So... what's in Mr. Caddy this week?  Well, let's have a look, shall we?

This trip saw me choosing a few triple and quadruple fermented brews.  I also selected a few porters and stouts.  These are nothing like the American beers that go by similar names.  The Belgium porters and stouts are Real Beers.  Nothing less than 7percent ETOH, and many times several degrees more than that.  Real Rocket Fuel, this stuff.  And their taste is fantastic.  I also selected a couple bruns (brown) and several Winter Warmers (lightly spiced beers).

I've become something of a Beer Snob.  While likely to be a little different that a Wine Snob, it's still Snobbery.  So I have to admit to it.  There.  I've done my Confession.  OK?  What form does my Snobbery take?  None of this "Brewing Since 1983" for me.  No siree, Babo.  I want the Real Thing.  The oldest brewer I'd found imported to Paris from Belgium dated from 10-something-or-other.  I thought that was really neat and crowed to my American friends at having found something old and tasty.  Old is good in my Beer Snobbery Book.  The oldest is the best.

As is my habit I asked if there was something new (to the shoppe) and tasty I needed to try.  The Beer Folk guided me to something called l'Abbaye d'Alune.  There were three types of brew on offer and I picked up several of each for a thorough sampling and tasting.

A short history of l'Abbaye is that it started as a Benedictine monastery and converted to the Cistercian order 400 years later.  It's anyones guess as to whether it was a bloodless take-over or not.  I guess what happened after that was rather wild and wooly at times.  This included the destruction of the original monastery by French Revolutionary Guards in 1794 and the Last Monk dying in 1850-something (may he RIP).

Fast forward to the present time and what we have is a bunch of lay folk who took the original three or four recipes for monks beer and restarted the fermentation processes.  All I needed to do was crack open the first bottle to know this was truly something special.  The second type I tried was better than the first.  The third type I tried nearly rose me up into the heavens.  Monks beer can do that, right?

Any guesses as to when those Drunken Monks first started brewing?  Looking at the bottles when I got home caused my jaw to drop.  We have a new winner.  Anno 657 it said.   Old is good, right?  In this case it's brilliant!  Or so me-thinks.  Golly these are old recipes.  They're nearly 1400 years in the perfecting.

Album of what was in Mr. Caddy is found here

Season of Visitations - a report abridged

Fall 2015 was the season to be filled with visitations.  Here's a brief run-down on who came through town and what we did together.

Visitation One - The wonderful Miz Kitty alerted us that friends of her's were coming over for a visit.  We shared contact information and when Dina and Bill showed up we were ready share with them a little of Our World.  They were to start off our Season of Visitations.

We were happy that le Cafe du Commerce was serving decent food, and we ate and drank our way through lunch all the while making new friends.  After catching up on the latest news from the Old Country, they wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.  So we went for a nice walk up the street and around the corner to the Champs de Mars.  Bill could take photos (he's a camera nut, too).  By the end Dina promised to send Jude a few Rincola cough drops as a thank you for our hospitality.

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Visitation Two - Daniel, Jude's son, and his partner were here for a 9 day visit.  It was a Whirl Wind visit to everything they could take in.  It was crazy nuts good.

We took the Cars Rouge (they're called something else now) to share an oversight of the city.  We visited the Musee Cluny, the Louvre, and went on a shopping trip through Little Sri Lanka while on our way to visit the Romanesque church that sits up on Montmartre.  We were in Chartres to see the labyrinth and the next day we were off to la porte de Vanves and the marche de puce before going to lunch in our favorite cafe up on rue du Commerce.

The trip was entirely too short.  It was good to see Dan and to get to know his partner better.  We'll be heading back to the States later next year.  Dan proposed marriage under the Eiffel Tower.  How romantic is that???

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Visitation Three - Back in the Old Country I have a photographer friend who asked if I'd like to participate in a group of Fellow Nutters.  From there I met many wonderful artists, any of whom remain friends to this day.  Well, they were on their way back to France and were interested in getting together.

Patrick and MaryJo had been visiting places around France and were spending the last of their vacation here in Paris.  So it was easy, we'd meet over lunch and talk about how things are from their perspective back home.  Before lunch we shared with them the beautiful Square Saint-Lambert.

In all we covered a lot of ground in our conversations, shared another wonderful meal, and enjoyed being with people of like mind and similar spirit.

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Visitation Four - In the Old Country I was hired several times by an engineering manager at various times in my career as a software engineer and program manager.  Creig Smith is a Prince of a Man and we share a surprisingly deep history of work and business travel together.  He took me to India, which led to my many year involvement with an engineering center in Bangalore.  He took me to Tokyo, which led to a several year involvement with an engineering center there, too.  He and I worked to develop, plan, and then execute several far-reaching software initiatives, one of which led to the direct contribution to the bottom line of $3billion over a 10 year period.

When Creig said he was coming to town for a business meeting, I knew I'd finally have a chance to thank him for all he did for me.

Back to the favored lunch spot we went.  All around town we visited.  Talk.  Talk.  Talk.  It was wonderful to catch up on old time and to remember we have more than a few deep relationships of meaning and value.

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Visitation Five - My brother and father were in Spain and Jude and I made arrangements to see them in Madrid while they were on their homeward leg of their journey.  I'd not seen my family in over a year, so this was a good and important trip to make.

To take in a museum we hadn't seen the first time we were in Madrid Jude and I showed up a day early.  But with this came the incredible adventure (previously recounted here) and with this, start of our visit under less than the Best of Circumstances.

Still, we were able to visit the surprisingly good naval history museum (near the Prado museum) and to visit the incredible Palace.  Everyone seemed to enjoy everything we took in.  It was an incredibly short two days, and we knew we were headed back into a War Zone.

Mystery Solved - For several weeks we received telephone calls telling us we had a package to pick up, but I could never write the telephone number down fast enough.  I never knew when a call would come in, either.  We had enough solicitors calling to keep things really mixed up.  I could never anticipate the weird "you have a package" call.

Just this week we received a ring on our entry door buzzer and it was our facture/postman.  He had a package for us.  I went down to collect it and he was apologetic about the lateness of the delivery.  He said "we've been trying to call you."

Ah ha!  You're the ones who've been bugging me.  This is great!  Well, what's in the package?  It was Jude's Rincola cough drops and a nicely framed photograph of Jude and I.  Dina had been as good as her word.  What a wonderful surprise!

Floating away in barrels of wine...

Ever onward.  In the interest of giving fear and hate the middle finger held high Jude and I made our way down to la porte de Versailles for the Vigneron Independant wine fair.

Last year over 1,100 vintners installed themselves in Building 3 for 5 days to offer samples of their wares and to try and sell us a few bottles of wine.  This year they changed buildings to Building 7 which is a much smaller space.  Only 600 vintners could fit into the show space.

Previously I had trouble finding wine growers who did not add sulfites to their wines.  Yes, many/most folks say chemicals are required to stabilize the wine and to keep their harvesting yields up.  But by chance I stumbled upon Chateau l'Escart (Bordeaux).  They, in turn, pointed me to Binner (Colmar) and another vineyard from the Loire.

Jude absolutely loves the different wines offered by Chateau l'Escart.  Their wines are bio-dynamically grown and their fields are tilled with the aid of heavy horses.  No steek'n dinosaur-juice guzzling tractors for these folks!  Even better, no sulfites are added to anything they cultivate and ferment.

We also found a wonderful vineyard in Colmar that offers bio white wines.  They don't even add yeast to their mix.  Everything is as nature intended from vine to crush through fermentation and into the bottle.  Their Rieslings and Gewurztraminers are finished dry, light, and they are very lovely, indeed.  Though they're perhaps just a wee bit out of our price range.

So it came as a surprise to find this year that there were to be 20 bio-dynamic vintners in attendance.  I wrote them all down and Jude and I started our Wine Trek the day the fair opened.  I was hoping for a Near Religious Experience.




Day One - None (the ninth hour)

First stop after gathering our free wine glasses at the entrance was, of course, Chateau l'Escart - yum!  It was great to see the man and woman again.  They remembered us from last year.  Such a lovely couple and they seemed to want to share a good conversation with us.  But damn! do they give Big Big Pours.  Our First Stop knocked us on our butts right quick.  It put to paid our "serious tasting" for the rest of the day.

We learned that the show the prior weekend in Lille was a bust.  Nobody from Brussels came to the event.  They were in lock-down over terrorist threats the entire weekend, so it didn't surprise us that not even free wine sampling could bust the Belgians loose from home and hearth.

The Day's Haul included enough cartons to make hauling home a chore without an aid of some kind.  Our Hunting and Gathering included some things Jude found from one of the bio-dynamic vintners on our list of Things To Try.  It was a Good Thing(tm) that we took le diable with us.  It made the Day's Haul easier to get safely home.




Day Two - Terce (the third hour)

I met our good friend Jacki at the exit to the Metro station across the street from the expo center.  He arrived by bicycle in 0 degree centigrade weather.  He wore no hat.  He sported no gloves.  He said he as comfortably warm.  The guy's An Animal! I tell you.

Before stepping into the vast Wine Tasting Space we set plans for our pre-dejuner adventure: Vin de plaisir.  These, I learned, are wines poured during an apero or desert, or during a fete.  They are typically white, sweet, and/or champagne/cremant avec les bulles.

I suggested that Jacki lead the way since he seemed to know where he was going, so off we went, stalking les vins de plaisir.

At one of the counters we talked with two physicists who have a friend who works at Lawerence Livermore in CA.  What started the conversation was the that they'd overheard that I was from the US and had lived in California.  It was a fun conversation and they proudly showed off T-shirts with a photo of their French Friend who lives in California.  I didn't understand the humor, but the pictured man had a clump of yard in the shape of a bow on his bald forehead.

I really enjoy going to the fair with Jacki as I learn something new and unexpected each time we go.  This time I learned about wines from Jurancon, and Monbazillac.  The Monbazillac we tried was a fabulous semillon cepage.  The wines from Jurancon were equally interesting and had a bit more bite to them.  Still, very nice, those.

Next, we stopped at a counter of a man who's vineyard had not been represented at the fair before now.  His vineyard was from the property sitting right next door to Chateau Yequim.  It was glorious stuff, but it gave me a headache.  It contained too much sulfite.  Every bio or bio-dynamic vintner I talked with said the same thing; sulfites can give some people headaches.  So Jude's not the only one in our house who can't drink just any bottle of cheap swill.  I don't care what US-based wine marketing propaganda wants me to believe (which say all this is "bunk").  For me, too, wine must be sulfite-free (or as nearly as possible).

In our wanderings, Jacki and I stumbled upon one of the vintners I'd noted as bio-dynamic.  These folks were from a small town just oustide Colmar and aren't too far from the Binner vineyard we liked so much last year (when we were flush with money and flush with wine).  We started with Francois Baur's normal Gewurztraminer and moved on to their tardive Gewurztraminers.  Oh.  My.  Gawd! those wines were tasty.

I was able to trot out my Story of Shame about where I believed the Alsace region was.  When I was a Young Man I tried a number of wines with labels written in German.  They were from the Alsace.  So I naturally thought all Alsatian wines came from Germany.  I am happy to report that my System of Belief and Understanding has been properly updated.  Proper Alsatian wines come from France.  So there!

The Day's Haul included biodynamic Rieslings, Gewurztraminers (incredible late harvest/tardive), amazing bio Monbazillac (semillon), and cremants d'Alsace.  Le diable stayed home this day, but Jude had the good insight to suggest I take our much smaller than le diable M. Caddy (our normal every day French-style shopping cart).  M. Caddy was filled to be brim with bottles of wine as I bid Jacki a bonne journee.




Day Three - Sext (the sixth hour)

Anyone remember those late night/early morning adverts on TV in California?  Sunday!  Sunday!  Sunday!  Yes that was us.  We had to return to the Vignerons Independent on SSSunday!!  Two more free wine glasses never hurt, right?

The cremant d'Alsace I'd brought home had been chilled, poured, enjoyed, and consumed.  It was deemed Champagne Diet Worthy as the taste and price were perfect.  Back to the Francois Baur bio-dynamic Colmar vintner's counter we went.  Trois cartons de cremant, s'il vous plait.

What's this?  Jude wants to taste some of their other wines, too?  Well, OK then.  Reds.  Whites.  Dry.  Sweet.  We tried them all.  She found she loves not only the wines I'd already purchased, but a few more these folks had on offer as well.  It gave me a chance to talk a little with the fine folks about this and that and nothing in general before loading up le diable.

Later, at one of the wine stands we tried they listed their Bordeaux as bio-dynamically grown.  But only the expensive bottles were labeled as such, so I asked about the two wines we were considering trying.  We were told non, those are regular wines, sulfites and all.  It seemed like they were being a bit misleading by proudly displaying their AB signs all over and not pointing out their non-organic products.  Fortunately they were the only people we found who did this.  Everyone else was quite clear about what was in or not in their products.

A little miffed from the mis-leading labeling experience we headed off back up the aisle to a bio-labeled Rhone valley offering I spied moments earlier.  Their cheap stuff (at 6.50Euro a bottle) turned out to be perfect as a table wine.  It's 100percent Syrah and it's eminently quaff-able.  OK.  How many do we want?

By this point le diable had become heavily laden.  Such are the spoils of Hunting and Gathering on a Sunday morning in Paris.  It took me a minute to sort out how to strap the teetering stack of cartons to Super Caddy.  Once secured we were on our way back to the apartment.


Conclusion - Vespers (le couche du soleil)

Next year I think we'll use the delivery service.  Yes, it'll likely cost us something, but it might save my back.  Cartons of wine can be rather heavy and I'm getting a little too old for this kind of heavy lifting.  Besides, we might be able to buy even more wine if someone else is going to do the hauling, right?

By Jude's calculations we now have around two hundred and ten days of Pure Drinking Enjoyment stored in our cave.  There are more varieties of wine than we ever hoped to find, all resting quietly while waiting for us to pull or pop their corks.

Yes.  The Near Religious Experience has been achieved.  Nirvana has been attained.  Life is good.  There's no need to hold the Middle Finger high.  We have better things to do.  The Middle Finger Of Fate is needed to help hold un verre de vin.