Luna de Miel, Day Ten

There's no discussing where we are eating for breakfast. Our bodies simply carry us there. American Husband is so happy with the B.I.A. revolution in Parisian breakfast eating that he agrees to walk around the Marais with me in "secret" hope that we can eat at the Marais location B.I.A. for lunch. Wife sees right through this naturally, but agrees, as she wants to walk around the Marais.

A visit to the Pantheon follows breakfast. Husband and wife debate whether 8 euro entrance fee will be worth it, but ultimately decide they've spent more money on more useless endeavours. 8 euros ends up being well worth it. It's actually a really cool attraction. We see Foucault's pendulum (as well as Sassy Cat's Egyptian cousin who serves as watch-cat) and the crypt which houses the remains of Voltaire, Rousseau, Dumas, Hugo and the Curies, to name a few, and as husband points out, many of Napolean's cronies.

Onto the Jardin Luxembourg. We learn that the Palais Luxembourg was built by the Medici that married the French king. It now serves as home to the useless French senate. Al Gore (our name for the internets) details just how ludicrous this governing body is. We decide to find our creperie and share one last crepe and coffee on our Paris visit.

Onto the Marais and lunch at B.I.A. Wife learns very quickly that husband didn't bother reading the lunch portion of the menu while at breakfast because he orders another hamburger. "Husband," says wife, "I thought you wanted to come here because you've been complaining about having to eat hamburgers all the time." Husband retorts, "I thought they'd have a chicken wrap or something." Because of his aforementioned limited French, husband mistakenly thought that "Breakfast in America" meant "Chipotle." Still, the fries are good, and husband's chocolate shake is even better. Perhaps the walk to the Marais was unnecessary, but husband and wife have now covered all of the arondissment that form the city center, and that's a lot to accomplish in four days (and makes us all the more impressed that we did almost as much in 2.5 days last April).

We walk back to the hotel with intention to ask reliable concierge for a bar that serves a lot of wines by the glass. Have to settle for bell-boy. This is a mistake. We make reservations at Le Coupe Chou, this really old restaurant that we went to on our last trip. He recommends two places near Le Coupe Chou.... a hotel (which has no bar) and a cafe (which isn't nearby and has only four non-descript (literally, there's no description beyond "Bordeaux") reds). Order a bottle of a slightly more descript burgundy as we have time to kill and it's pretty cheap. Strike one for bell-boy. As a note, I'm utterly dismayed at wine selections by the glass in Paris. I've honestly seen better selections by the glass at The Palm. This is France people! You are supposed to be snobs about this stuff. You've let an American girl from Wacko Texas out-wine-snob you! You should be ashamed. Wife's new plan is to open the Paris branch of Casellula in the middle of St. Germain de Pres. This might happen.

Getting back to the subject at hand - we eat a lovely meal at Le Coupe Chou with a nice 2001 Bordeaux (Chateau Clarke - by some Rothschild).

We arrive back at the hotel and spend our last moments savoring the lovely view from the balcony. We vow to return to this wonderful city soon. Wife vows to return speaking more French.

Luna de Miel, Day Nine

After two visits and many unsatisfying breakfasts in Paris, an American couple finally makes it to B.I.A., aka Breakfast in America, an American Diner in Paris. It's a restaurant that is owned by an American film industry ex-pat who, while filming a tv show in Paris found the one thing he really missed was a good 'ole American breakfast. American coffees, pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast.... you name it. Husband grins from ear to ear during the entire meal.

After breakfast, we accomplish another first... the Louvre. Don't even attempt automated ticket machines and instead opt to wait in physical line. Make a bee line for the Mona Lisa like most every other visitor to the museum. Wife is still unsure she actually saw the Mona Lisa, but she does know she saw a crowd of at least 6000 people flashing their cameras at what she believes was the Mona Lisa. Mona's behind bulletproof, fireproof, and God knows what else proof glass and is surrounded by a railing which means at best you can get within like 3 yards of her.

Both husband and wife are more impressed by the physical Louvre (former palace) itself than by the artwork. The detail on the walls and ceiling are just amazing and the place is just massive. We see the Coronation of Empress Josephine, which is much larger than wife expected. We see Louis the some number's coronation crown, which is less impressive than husband expected. We stumble upon the Venus de Milo as we are exiting the museum. The picture is telling of our experience generally at the museum.

We had back to the left bank for lunch - a crappy croque monsieur for wife (mozz cheese and wonder bread) and an "okay" hamburger for husband. We cross Pont Alexander III to the Boulevard Churchill and husband asks wife to take first picture in nine days - one of Winston Churchill. This is hardly shocking.

We've now seen several postal carriers and have determined that the concierge didn't mean the postal workers were on strike. Perhaps just Francois, the individual at the hotel responsible for mail, is on strike. The concierge did mention that this happens often, and it would just take a couple of days..... Glad we got that settled.

We view the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais, which guidebook amusingly points out, is only "Petit" when viewed against it's across the street neighbor. Onto the Champs Elysees. We visit Laudree for macaroons and coffee. Dark chocolate and caramel macaroons are real stand-outs. We see a very funny poster for The Hangover. We've seen French titles of films be very different than the American ones, but this one stood out, mostly because it's in English and still not the same name... I guess there is not French word for "hangover."

We reach the Arc du Triomphe and wonder for some minutes how you access it. There is no conceivable break in traffic around it, but we see people over there, and we know some of those people can't run fast. Husband discovers underground passageway. Walk back to hotel via the Pont d'Alma.. the would be "proposal" bridge (ruined by rain - it's a theme in our relationship).

Take cab to dinner. Cab driver reminds us that Americans are not welcome in Paris (thanks, pal). Dinner with John and Delphine (husband's cousin and his wife) at [], a family style restaurant with no menu. You sit down and the appetizers are all on the table to be shared family style. Main courses are literally in pots on the stove and you help yourself. Dessert bar same way. Food is great. Wife eats what she assumes to be blood sausage pate (her suspicions are confirmed the next day in an email - husband specifically requests to not be copied on that email, he likes the dark). Other standouts are a pork rouillete, duck, ratatouille with sundried tomatoes, soup de poisson, chocolate mousse and meringue. Our table includes another American ex-pat (husband's cousin is also an ex-pat) and her friend, who are traveling to New York in October. Husband decides they must be girlfriends as clearly same-sex people can't eat together in public and not be dating. John and Delphine explain that their son is convinced he's to be the next Ronaldo, and believes it with such conviction (his contract is in the mail), that he's simply stopped doing schoolwork. John has resorted to asking son's soccer coach to explain to him that he's not all that great and will likely not sign a 630 million euro contract in his lifetime.

John and Delphine recommend that we eat at this little place in St. Germain.... Chez Fernand. You've got to be kidding us! We went their two nights ago. They appropriately react with disbelief, but digital photo taken by wife confirms that we did in fact eat at a restaurant they randomly suggested.

New Schulten family treated to dinner by established Schulten family. We say our goodbyes and we hope to see them again soon!

Luna de Miel, Day Eight

Breakfast in Japanese tea room at hotel. Too many days of bacon and pommes terre for wife, especially now that it's 32 euro a piece. Wife vows never again, and hopes to find the infamous American breakfast joint she's heard so much about (more tomorrow).

Husband is definitely a right bank kind of guy. Wife is a left bank kind of girl. I suppose they meet on a bridge and work things out. Wife's attempt to buy stamps brings her to verge of tears. Automated machine again because postal employees keep directing her to the machine. Only can insert 17 coins (random number) at a time and husband has abandoned her outside and she doesn't have enough large coinage to complete her purchase. Worse is that people are cursing at her (at least in a language she doesn't understand) to hurry up with her transaction, and when she finally receives stamps, they are are weirdly long and horizontal and won't possibly fit on some of the post cards she's purchased. Epic fail. Wife vows to learn French before next visit.

Time for lunch. We find Le Coupe d'Or which is across the street from a sandwich shop the guide book mentioned, but it had no seating. Have an EXCELLENT croque monsieur and the husband has a hamburger. Definitely a nice lunch spot, though wife needs to lay of the french fries.

We walk along the Rue de Rivoli and cross a bridge to go back to the Rive Gauche. Surprise of surprises, husband wants to keep walking! This trip it appears husband will lead the death marches. Husband wants to see Notre Dame again, so we walk towards it. Stop for two cappuccinos and one bad shared crepe. Arrive at Notre Dame. As beautiful as ever and wife is moved to say that husband and wife should go back to mass.

Walk back to hotel leads to purchase of delicious macaroons at a bakery's whose name wife forgets (regrettably). We see a demonstration in the street. Chris, shockingly, wants to go see what it's about, but quickly abandons project when he realizes it's a parade for some African country's national day. Wife gives stamped postcards to concierge upon return to hotel only to be told that it will be delayed a couple days because there is a postal strike. Wife finds this odd as she just visited a post office three hours prior, but husband thinks maybe it's the postal carriers.

Dinner at Le Carre de Feuillants, a two-starred restaurant recommended by our concierge, which serves as nice meal to replace the one that husband missed during Monaco. It does not disappoint. Translation of menu necessary for both parties, lest both would have ordered the sweetbreads - neither bread, nor sweet husband never tires (his edit) of pointing out. The bread here is amazing, including grissini that is flavored with cumin. Both husband and wife order the mushroom appetizer which is incredible - trio of mushrooms includes thinly sliced and seared not sure of type mushroom, a mushroom rouillete that is shaped like a mushroom stem and is topped with the top of a portabello to make it look like a whole mushroom, and a mushroom cream. Veal with truffles (whole shavings on top... mmmmm.....) for wife and rack of lamb for husband. Wife wants cheese instead of dessert. True to tradition, though wife lingers over cheese waiting for husband's dessert to arrive.... dessert is not served until after cheese has left the table, so end result of lingering is a 30 minute wait for husband. C'est la vie. Dinner is complimented by a 2002 Echezeaux. We see bill come to diners next to us. Apparently the restaurant can charge your card in whatever currency you want. Couple next door asks for charge in Japanese Yen. Technology.... wow.

One final drink in hotel's famous bar and off to bed, prepared to visit Breakfast in America in only 10 or so hours.

Luna De Miel, Day Seven

Glory be and the saints be praised, the boy is back to normal. Taxi driver points out how sad it is that we are leaving Monaco on the one sunny day they've had in the past week. Automated ticket machine minor disaster - picture clearly indicates direction in which you insert your passport for scanning, and yet, you are supposed to insert in the opposite way. Non-existent security line still takes forever because Australian woman in front of us has clearly never flown on an airplane. Husband and wife are not chumps and again are first on board as they game chaotic system. A smelly, smelly man sits by wife on the plane. Only really bad when he lifts his arms - he tends to do that often though. He expresses to us how happy he is to have made this flight - wife feels like explaining that we are less happy. Arrive at CDG again and walk the obligatory mile to the RER. Efforts to use automated RER ticket machine rather than stand in scary line prove difficult as, once again, our cards don't work. Luckily we've been stockpiling coinage and we have 17 euros in change.

We arrive at the St. Michel station and walk to the hotel along the Seine. Arrive at the Hotel Pont Royal at 4:45pm and are told are room might not be ready. Express disbelief at this possibility - unless they tell us some rock band stayed there the night before... nope... not even then. Room ready and wife has a very SATC moment when she realizes that you can see the Eiffel Tower from our hotel room's little balcony.

We can also see the Musee d'Orsay and the Sacre Coeur (way in the distance).

We find our creperie from our last visit and enjoy chocolate (wife) and nutella (husband) crepes. We walk around St. Germain de Pres and have a drink at the Pub de St. Germain on this little alley way that we remembered from the last time. We hear Oye Como Va for the second time in as many days... could this be the honeymoon theme song? Back to hotel. Wife requests a restaurant where she can get good bouef bourgignon. Concierge reminds wife that it is a winter dish, so not too many good restaurants will have it, but he finds one: Chez Fernand. It's packed full of locals (first good sign). Wife orders only wine on wine list they are out of as is her nature, but second wine suffices. Husband orders delicious truffled goat cheese appetizer, wife orders goat tart. Wife thought goat tart would be served warm. Wife was wrong. Wife thinks tart tastes very good, but can't get over the cold goat part of it. Husband, though he took 6 years of French half a century ago, doesn't remember the word for goat (chevre), so he is utterly aghast when, after taking a bite, wife tells him what it is (she thought he knew). Husband and wife share boeuf bourgignon. Wife literally ladles the sauce like a soup - it's to die for. Wife is in Parisian heaven.

Luna de Miel, Day Six

Theme of the Day: McHappiness

Husband wakes up feeling mostly better. He asks if wife has ever had mono. Wife laughs and explains that, though she is not a medical professional, she can certainly rule out mononucleosis. Husband craves McNuggets. After braving Louis XV for wife the night before, wife cannot deny his request. McDonald's in Monaco has an ATM like machine where you can place your order without speaking to anyone. Both husband and wife question whether this service is available in American McDonald's as neither has patronized McD's in some time. Also, neither is sure, to this day, whether we paid for the food. Our cards simply had issues with automated payment machines in France this trip. This was the first of such instances. Either we didn't pay, or we're still paying for subsequent customer's meals. Unsure.

Husband isn't sure if McNuggets taste different in France, or if it's just been awhile since he's had one. We head out next for ice cream and to find the train station to head to Nice. Another card malfunction leads us to pay for train tickets with 13 euros worth of coins. Train ride cool as train tunnels, much like roads and highways, drilled into mountains here. It's a scenic ride to say the least.

Arrive in Nice. Husband clearly does not like Nice. He calls it gritty, which, on this trip is code for "not as clean as Monaco." Of course the only places on Earth cleaner than Monaco are Park Avenue and Epcot. Husband prefers Monaco to Nice for the same reasons he prefers new to old Yankee Stadium. "Charm," so to speak, is lost on him. He likes clean bathrooms and order. We your Vieux Ville (old town) and walk along the promenade to the Hotel Negresco where we share a drink. The hotel bar quickly turns into a retirement home social hour as the 6 or so scattered elderly regulars in the bar, the women being dressed to the nine's with matching lavender ensembles and eyeshadow, get up to dance to such standards as "Oye Como Va" performed by the world's cheesiest lounge singer at his keyboard/synthesizer. It's really priceless. We take the train back to Monaco. We want dinner at the hotel restaurant out by the pier, but the restaurant refuses to open our bottle of wine, so we think of the genius idea of simply ordering room service and eating on our balcony (not hard to get around the rules at this place, though I suppose you pay the premium for room service). After dinner we walk along the marina and admire all of the big boats. As we approach one of the largest ones, wife starts to fear that she might see a dead body thrown overboard by the burly Russians on board, and doesn't want to be a witness who meets a similar fate, so husband and wife turn back to hotel.

A couple Wikipedia articles later lead to a discussion of Prince Albert's seeming refusal to bear a legit heir and an interesting tidbit that there is one policeman for every 55 persons in Monaco. If it was possible, husband likes Monaco even more now. Wife longs to get to Paris.

Last night in Monaco and neither husband nor wife has step foot on a beach. C'est la vie.

Luna de Miel, Day Five

Wakeup. Husband tells me he doesn't want breakfast. This should have been the first sign. He ALWAYS wants breakfast. We travel up the hill to the old part of town to see the palace and the cathedral. Largely uneventful, but the view from the top of the rock where the palace sits is really breathtaking.

Chris wants Starbucks. We settle for a cafe with faded green leather barstools with German customers drinking Heineken at 10:30 in the morning. We walk to find the post office, outside of which, a wedding is about to take place in a nearby church. Getaway car, decorated with white lillies, is a vintage Alfa Romeo convertible. Slightly different than a yellow cab. Wife comments that the bride looks like a child. Husband says something about people in glass houses - wife largely ignores him.

We next visit the cathedral, which is lovely, and also unbeknownst to us, contains the remains of Grace Kelly. We decide to leave old town and make our way back down the hill. Happen upon changing of the guard at the palace, and husband and wife agree on general absurdity of Monagasque army. Husband has now been silent for almost thirty minutes. Wife senses and husband confirms illness. Lunch at the Dauphin Vert where a toothless woman with warts serves us a veggie burger and hamburger. She only speaks French, but the nice couple next to us translates. Couple on the other side both order whole stuffed fish, which arrive complete with fishy heads. Seems odd for lunch, especially at a casual cafe whose nickname is Fredy's, but c'est la vie. Onto casino area for purchase of tie for dinner. Hermes is closed and we have to go back to the non-glam mall. Blue tie in hand, we exit the mall and fortune smiles upon the weary and we find that there is a cab stand right outside the mall (taxis in Monaco are surprisingly hard to get). Husband is clearly MISERABLE at this point. He lays down in hotel room, while wife goes on search of medicine and some saltine crackers. No luck with English speakers at the pharmacy, but luckily there is a universal gesture to convey "nausea," and wife quickly exits with the proper medicine in hand. Off to grocery store next where wife learns that the French don't eat saltine crackers. Get the blandest looking crackers available, which happen to be gluten-free. These were the only non cheese or chocolate flavored crackers wife could find. Arrives back to hotel to find husband still breathing, if only that. Husband asks if sickness and health were mentioned in their vows. Wife says not explicitly. Husband vows to be better by Louis XV reservation that evening. Husband is clearly not better, but despite wife's assurances that she won't hate him, puts on his suit and his "I can breath without barfing face" and the happy couple heads to Louis XV. Gorgeous room, outstanding blanc de blancs. 2002 Charmes Chambertin. Husband insists on tasting menu. First course is a raw vegetable salad with this amazing green sauce - wife eats celery root and radishes, two vegetables she can normally do without. Uh oh, thinks wife. Second course is cold seafood. This isn't going to be pretty. Husband turns color of aforementioned green sauce. Wife suggests he take some air. Captain is consulted and suggests that he shorten the dinner, as, when he is ill, he prefers sleep to food. Rice with mushrooms (AMAZING) served and husband tries and fails to swallow more than one bite. Since sea bass was already fired, wife tells captain that it will be their last course. Wife has cheese course of an Irish cheddar, a comte and an Andalucian sheep's milk option.

Wife loves husband. She can't believe he did this for her. She thinks he's stupid for doing it, but can't express how much she appreciated the effort.

Luna de Miel, Day Four

We wake up at an unbelievably beautiful hotel in Piemonte. With unbelievably beautiful grounds and rooms, etc. Of course it's cloudy and smells like rain. God forbid the Schulten's be permitted to spend 5 minutes in the sun on their honeymoon. This hotel has a perfect spa with a deck that overlooks this:

Husband keeps commenting about the fact that we were assigned room 101. He keeps mentioning 1984 and Winston's betrayal of Julia. Wife perplexed why husband feels it necessary to repeatedly bring this up on honeymoon. We have breakfast in one of the sitting rooms, where they pass around bread with Nutella, which is produced in Piemonte (many hazlenuts are grown there, though they now have to import hazlenuts as not enough are grown locally to produce Nutella). Of course two massages in as many days seems a little ridiculous, and we have to get back to Monaco, so we just spend a few hours relaxing around the hotel and spa. Husband excitedly a heavily salted pool which allows a person to just float and not sink. He's amazed. We sadly leave Piemonte, trash the Google maps and follow the course back down the mountain. Twenty minutes into our drive down a winding mountain road (think Colorado, with fewer guard rails) it begins to POUR. Like cats and dogs POUR. By the grace of God, we make it back to Monaco safely, having made only two wrong direction choices in Monaco. We return the rental car and walk back to our hotel.

We get dressed up and head to the Bar Americain in the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo. It's cheese-tastic. There's a lounge singer who does a Louis Armstrong impression all night long, but the band bangs out the classics, and the crowd is fun to watch. We determine that it's some law in the Russian oligarchy that women must wash their hair in hydrogen peroxide. They must also wear ridiculously skanky outfits, even if they are 45. On the flip side, apparently white suits with white shoes are all the rage in Tokyo, and kimonos are not simply broken out for events like weddings - a night at le Casino is good enough. We eat all of this up, mind you, especially when Sachmo sings "Georgia on My Mind." We toast our own Mrs. Quinn, and bid adieu to the Bar Americain.

We eat dinner at a Napolitan restaurant. This meal would prove to be husband's undoing. More on that in day 5! After dinner we head into le Casino, which husband points out, is not just "a" casino, but is "the" Casino, and places where you gamble were likely not called "casinos" before this one. The salons are really beautiful. We have a couple of drinks as we walk around (you have to pay 10 euro to get in, which makes sense, considering the only other money we gave the house was in return for booze). We saw unlucky people at roulette, and some lucky people at black jack. Definitely a lot of characters, but noticeably missing were fanny backs, denim shorts, t-shirts and mullets (though that's not to say the haircuts were all normal). They definitely enforce a dress code here.

Luna de Miel, Day Three

6am: alarm
6:30am: 17 euro toast
7am: depart Monaco for Piemonte for day of wine touring, tall, windy climb up mountain in Monte Carlo and then long winding highway along coast of Italy through mountains which, though terrifying at times, is really breathtaking and a testament to human ingenuity. We see strange, seemingly purposeful, fires in and around several greenhouses built into the sides of the mountains. Curious what this is about.8:54am.... first sign of hatred of Google maps. Let me tell you all a little something about why Google maps and Europe don't mix. Europeans don't refer to road names - they simply have little signs indicating to which towns the roads lead. Google gives you street names. We spend upwards of an hour looking for SP9. We were actually on SP9 several times. When we finally committed to what we thought might be SP9, it was 12km before we received confirmation, via a little blue square sign on a rock on the side of the road, which when husband attempted to point out said sign to wife, wife questioned husband's sanity and posited that it might have been a mirage. Google maps also mentions several turns on our journey and several different roads we must take. In reality, SP9/SP102/SP52/SP429 and SP31 are all the same f***in road. But really, we aren't frustrated at all by this point.

11am.... arrive at the Relais San Maurizio in San Stefano Belbo, a full 30 minutes late to meet Giovanni, our driver from Cellar Tours, who unlike Giancarlo from Montalcino, looks like Herc from the Wire and speaks no English. Apologize profusely.

First winery, Gigi Rosso. British guide went on holiday to Italy after university and never left - she never even made it to France and Spain, the other two destinations she had planned. She teaches us the basics of Barolo (2 year wood, 1 bottle), Barolo Riserva (3 year wood, 2 bottle), Barbaresco (forget), Barbera, Dolcetto, and Arneis, a white wine produced in the Roero region. Barolo, Barolo Riserva and Barbaresco all made from Nebbiolo. Barolo can only be made from Nebbiolo grown in the Barolo area, and likewise, Barbaresco can only be made from Nebbiolo in the Barbaresco region. Tasting follows. Wife spills Barolo all over white table cloth. Husband tries to cover up with spitoon. Wife takes heat. We also taste vinegars that Gigi Rossa produces - an herbal one (just amazing), a red wine vinegar, and one made with Barolo - husband comments that he didn't know that vinegars could be so exciting! Sad we can't take vinegar home with us (no checked bags!!!), but take some bottles of Barolo back to enjoy on balcony of hotel room.

Lunch in town of Barolo. Restaurant recommended by Gigi Rosso is closed for a Danish private party, but the owner apologizes and sends us across the street, noting that the food is "ok" and is the second best around. We have sneaking suspicion, a family member must own the place across the street ;)

Second winery, Antichi Vietti. Vietti name will die as there are no sons to carry it on, but the winery will continue to use it, as the family has produced wine here for 5 generations. Vietti is credited as the creator of a single cru Barolo. The single cru Barolo and Barbaresco are still made the traditional way (entire aging process takes place in large oak barrels), but their blended Barolo and some barbarescos age for part of the time in French barrique. Tour guide, who is wife of one of the brother's who runs the winery, points out that their formula changes from year to year with respect to how the wines are aged. Wife asks and is answered that the grapes all age separately before being blended just a short time before bottling. They take wine making very very seriously here (as most of the producers we visit do). So much so, that they produced no wine in 2002, a notoriously bad year for Piemonte. They didn't even try to salvage something to put together as a blended Barolo. That's conviction.

The Vietti winery is literally built into the side of a mountain in the medieval city in which the 500 year old family home was built. Wooden beams from at least 1400s no longer serve as structural support to floors, but they built around them to show them off.

Tunnel in the house at some point connected to the castle on the hill, to provide the ruler of the town, safe escape from the castle. Husband is amazed at the historical aspects of this tour and immediately snaps out of coma induced by first tasting.

Tasting room is modern and nice. Family knows the Bastianich family well. Tour guide remembers Joe as a child, and Lidia and the mother are friends. Lidia visited the winery as part of her tv show. Husband and wife seem to have uncanny ability to convince those in the Italian wine business, that they know important people in the wine industry here, even though wife's knowledge of Lidia limited to PBS cooking show. Taste the phenomental '98 Barolo (Rocche) I think.

Cerretto is next. Banfi like production (600,000 of 1 million bottles are white), in James Bond villian like lair. Seriously, the place has sliding glass doors all over and a grape pod at the end, which we could envision blasting into space with a frozen Dr. Evil and Mr. Bigglesworth aboard. Facilities awesome, wine less than awesome.

Onto dinner and our final winery: Roagna

Try to strike up a conversation with Giovanni en route, so try and bring up soccer, but it turns out Giovanni is the only European who doesn't follow/like soccer. He likes motorcycles, which wife knows nothing about and the LA Raiders, which are long extinct. Dinner at Roagna. 28 year old Lucca runs the winery and is very passionate about his product. We eat grapes off the vine, tour his production facility and eat a meal he prepares in his own home. He stores 200,000 bottles and doesn't release them until he thinks they are ready to go (note that 200,000 is a huge number compared to the number of bottles he produces each year). He is building a facility which will house 800,000 bottles. He mentions he sells at Chambers Street Wines, which, as it is next door to Kitchenette, suggests there will be many Schulten outings to Tribeca on weekend mornings. Dinner is bufala mozzarella with cherry tomatoes, an herbed goat cheese with bresaola, tagliolini which his Nonna hand cut the day before (this is SKINNY pasta like spaghetti - the idea of hand cutting it with a knife is staggering). The pasta, it must be noted, is unreal. Main course is beef with arugula. Discuss NYC with our host. Try an herbal Barolo which husband likes but wife thinks tastes like medicine.

Bid adieu to Giovanni and hit the hay at the hotel. It was a long day :)

Luna de Miel, Day Two

Wake up to rain in Monaco. Such is life. Spend 17 Euro on toast and cereal. Take hotel shuttle to rainy Monte Carlo. Arrive at spa one hour early, fully intending to take advantage of the pools, saunas and steam rooms before our appointments. Clearly not how things are done in France. Husband swears that if one more person tells him that he's early for his appointment, they will wish they hadn't. No real locker room either. Spas clearly different here, but indoor pool area (mind you it's pouring) is very lovely. Masseuse for wife speaks only Italian and French. Perfect, she thinks, it'll be a nice quiet massage. Spend some more time post massages with the Russian oligarchs and the women whose lives they finance in the pool area, some lovely older people who do a rousing 10 minutes of water aerobics and half the population of Tokyo. As an aside, the stereotype is true - I honest to God saw pictures being taken of the terminal at CDG. The airport terminal people..... Walk around Monte Carlo a bit and lunch at the Cafe de Paris. Black card carrying man, with black card hair and black card blazer sits next to us with his cronies. Would be nice to be one of his cronies, comments husband. Have a mediocre red wine (the only one available by the glass, a provincial wine). I suggest looking for a tie for husband, as he's forgotten to pack one, and it's mandatory for our upcoming dinner on Saturday. Husband says the animal spirits are not with him. Visit "glam" mall anyways, which is not very glam. Europeans, like New Yorkers, favor outdoor shopping to malls it would appear. Pick up rental car and stock up on bottled water to avoid the 5 euro bottles at the hotel. See a Ferrari store. Wife assumes that, like the store in Manhattan, they sell hats and t-shirts. Wife is wrong. They sell Ferraris at the Ferrari store. Of course, two days into our stay in Monaco, I've seen more Ferraris, Aston Martins, Lamborghinis (sp?), Bentleys and Rolls Royces in the past two days than I've seen in the rest of my life combined. I'm not even exaggerating.

Dinner at Quai des Artistes, because wife insists on French food, and the only Italian place the lady at the front desk could "recommend" was a place at which she had never eaten. Champagne by the glass and a 2002 grand cru burgundy must scream "American" to these people, because along with our champagne, we are brought tortilla chips and Pace picante sauce. I mean it, it's Pace mild. Thankfully piping hot bread also arrives. Waiter takes husband's champagne before he's done, to the utter dismay of husband - his chi is totally thrown. Gnocchi for me, beautiful caprese salad (though not called) for husband. Wine arrives and is given to husband to taste, even though wife ordered it. Wife has no issue correcting waiter. Veal for wife, lamb for husband. AMAZING. Great meal! Dinner conversation centers around whether we'd prefer Isabel, our hypothetical daughter, to be a hooker or a gold digger. Gold digger wins the day. Two stolen cabs later (jerks), we arrive back to hotel for a night cap and bed.

Luna de Miel, Day One

We wake up to, of course, sunshine. God forbid it be sunny on either of our wedding days, but that's another story. Biden was in town for wedding day, Obama, as dial car driver explains, is in town for honeymoon departure day. Hence tons of traffic en route to JFK. God Bless Aunt Nette and Uncle Grumpy - we are in first class. Eat good, edible three course dinner. Even the wine was drinkable. Husband polished off wife's half eaten ice cream sundae and when wife fell asleep, put both empty ice cream bowls in front of wife, making her look like a pig. Watch the Hangover, which neither husband nor wife has seen. Wife started her viewing 10 minutes before husband, so not exactly watching it together, but it's close enough. Arrive at CDG only to learn that we are to disembark our international flight between two major airports via stairs. Are you kidding me? We also have to walk up two flights of stairs to get to customs, because.. well, this is France, and this is how things are done. Two miles of terminal walking later, we arrive at the Air France terminal a full two hours before departure time. By the grace of God, we don't have to speak to a human being in order to obtain boarding passes. Wife notices airport security officers in CDG carry automatic weapons, and is unsure whether to feel secure or terrified. Husband assures her that, this being France, the guns probably lack bullets. Husband and wife are A team of boarding chaotic Air France flights and are first on board. After quite expensive, though short, cab ride, we arrive at the Marriott and wife, famished, eats her first hamburger in years.

Though it wasn't critical, the meal helps wife slip into food coma and wife and husband fall asleep for little 6 hour nap. Upon waking, wife questions whether dinner is necessary or whether she can go back to sleep. Husband insists on dinner. Husband happily learns that many Italians live in Monaco, so many in fact, that most restaurants are... wait for it... Italian. Big smile from husband. After big dinner, wife has gained at least 2 pounds and it's only day one. On way back from resturant, husband and wife walk through a park and see a white duck by the fence. Approach very friendly duck and wife feeds him leftover crackers from flight that day. He eats them right out of her hand.

Wife names duck Jacques and promises to return to feed him. Husband sets alarm at hotel, which turns out to be very necessary, as both parties would have easily slept through it.