I love how the French say “beach.” Like “bitch.” “Do you want to go to the bitch?” “I love the bitch!”

 

I have researched the hell out of Lorient, and have found nothing touristy to do. I’d kill to go to Belle-Ile-En-Mer, but all the information about it is in French, and there are no English websites. I can’t even do a night tour in Paris next week, because my stupid hotel is outside the city. Do you know how frustrating it is to be in France, on a free trip, and not be able to do ANYTHING? The Loire Valley is midway between me and Paris. I don’t have a phone, I don’t know French, and I am essentially alone.

 

I became so desperate last night that I Googled “How can I make friends in Lorient?”

 

I didn’t find any. So I depleted my wine and beer stock, and got absolutely hammered. Alone. In my apartment. I wandered out onto my balcony and mooned the beach. I stumbled around my kitchen and ate the last of my lemon pies. And then I passed out, at 3 a.m. It would have been the perfect evening to sit on the beach with a bottle of wine and a lover, and instead I staggered around my apartment and sang loudly to MFM Pop radio.

 

I ventured to the beach yesterday, however. The French have no insecurities: I saw more saggy boobs and exposed ass than I ever want to see again in my life. Everybody was out with their friends and families, lounging around, soaking up the sun. I dipped my toes in the ocean, snapped some pictures, and laid in the sun for two hours. It was uncomfortably hot, and I didn’t bring a hat or water. Even my boobs were sweating. I tanned and read some trashy John Grisham until I felt nauseous and had to leave.

 

 

Today I will finish up some work, hit up the beach again, and perhaps even gather the nerve to order a real French meal. Something with three courses, a beer, and dessert.

 

Proof that I am actually in France

Proof that I am actually in France

 

 

The Other Queen – Philippa Gregory

 

Reading the first two-thirds of this book was the equivalent of having my eyes pecked out by vultures. I literally fell asleep at least three times, and the characters were so infuriating that I still do not know who the protagonist is. Bess is a greedy, heartless wench; George is a silly, naive man; and the Queen of Scots is the most vain, selfish, vile creature I have ever read about. Gregory thinks she would have made a great queen? She would have been too preoccupied with her wardrobe to pay attention to her duties.

 

The book is divided so that each chapter is from the perspective of either George, Bess or Mary. Basically, it takes forever to get anywhere in the story because first there must be THREE accounts of the SAME incident. Plus it never goes anywhere, the same crap keeps happening: Bess complains about money, George fawns over the Queen, and the Queen bats her pretty eyelashes. Gregory focuses on the Queen’s imprisonment, yet skips years over the most interesting part when the Queen is accused of plotting Queen Elizabeth’s murder.

 

I DID enjoy the book near the end…it became more lively and fast-paced (hence why I gave it three stars)… but I would have given up on reading this eons ago if the book hadn’t cost me $18 in Mexico. Unfortunately this is my first Gregory book, and I don’t know if I will read any others.

 

Bay of Spirits – Farley Mowat

 

This was my first book by Mowat, and goddamn he is amazing. The entire book discusses his travels in outport Newfoundland towns in the 50s (or 60s? I can’t remember). He bounces from coast to coast in his little schooner with his lady love, meeting new friends in some of those most sheltered, isolated towns in the province. A large chunk of the book takes place where I grew up.

 

I don’t particularly enjoy Newfoundland literature…I guess it’s hard to find intrigue in reading about a lifestyle I’m already very familiar with. But Mowat makes Newfoundland history enthralling. This is my parents’ Newfoundland, their childhoods, their lives of poverty trying to survive in small towns. There’s something so appealing about the simple way of life that I’d give my left breast to experience it. Or at least I could do with some of mom’s jig’s dinner. Mmmm.

 

Amazing read. Mowat is an asshole though… he discusses leaving his wife and children for another woman without any remorse whatsoever. In fact, he only mentions his wife halfway through the book, well after he meets his woman. Plus his behaviour in the last chapter just makes him a douchebag, but I won’t ruin it for you.  

And ain’t he just a handsome devil?

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