lizgeorjon

I wait for the hotel shuttle. Wander through the great depths of Schiphol. Linger in the enormous queue for security. 🙄 My irritation level elevated quickly, thinking I’d have no time for a bite and a Heineken 😣 Then there’s that glorious moment when you’ve passed security and realize there are no further obstacles to conquer! Ahhh, the luxury of the EU. Et voila! Tournez à gauche et il y a le champagne bar. 🥂

I’d be lying if I said that my unexpected missed connection (sans one cute french husband) was an abhorrent nightmare. An inconvenience, yes. But not an abhorrence.

After what was a long trip in Buenos Aires, followed by an especially challenging week at home, followed by a long holiday weekend with friends, my slight overnight derailment in Amsterdam doubled as a long overdue mini-adventure for myself and my Envizage. Don’t get me wrong, I miss my husband dearly but somehow I think his business class flight home last night without me, without work, or any kids was mildly appreciated “at the end of the day”. 😉 My husband thinks there is no french equivalent for “at the end of the day”, but I think we all get the gist. I couldn’t help but embrace this derailment in the most positive of terms: by getting him securely home, finding my way to a quasi-Pulitzer Hotel site inspection, slash, coffee-shop pop-in à Amsterdam 😉 with a Toulouse flight home le prochain après-midi.

Given all my unexpected excitement, I mustn’t fail to mention the wee beautiful discovery that led to this derailment: Edinburgh with my illustrious husband. 😍 Aye! What a lovely little city that was! (yes insert Scottish accent there) 🇬🇧🇪🇺 They weren’t as hard to understand as I originally suspected, and the genuine jubilance emanated by the Scottish people was truly a delight! Alongside our wonderful french amis, we toured the museum, gardens and castle; ate haggis and drank scotch whiskey. We indulged a ghost fettish and joined the late night Day of the Double Dead tour 👻. And leave it to me, who found a delicious Mexican 🌮 called Wahaca which conveniently has shops in Manchester, Leeds and London! 😋. Sadly, we saw no sheep. As is usual for moi et mon amour de mari, the weather could not have been better. We relished in clear sea views and 27 degrees with cool breezes… practically unheard of in Edinburgh, so I’m told.

On departure day from Scotland, fortunately I packed our workout gear in my carry-on. Despite the Ibis Hotel facial/body/shampoo bubbles shower, j’etait prêt et frais… on my way home! Just one flight and an airport-baggage-plea standing between me and the Tisséo airport tram to home! Home to four french kids, tutors and mon mal de gorge!😷

It’s been a while since I got derailed on my own time. Without having to worry about french kids, someone’s boss or any real obligation to anyone else! Though I wouldn’t change anything in the world, it reminds of the good ol’ days and suddenly I urge for Positively 4th Street to blare on my B&Os.😎

Yesterday in Amsterdam was phenomenal. I’ve never seen it in 27 degree heat, bold sunshine, and with an American holiday buffering my normal sense of obligation. It felt nice. My ever-incredible husband unwaveringly appeased my suggestion to taxi into the Red Light District for just an hour of Dutch Asian noodles, before his miracle ‘last-seat’ flight home. Thanks to his amazing travel-agent wife 😇 life could go-on ‘as normal’ for him yesterday. I totally sacrificed! 1) a night in Amsterdam on my own in a hotel, versus 2) home with spin class, four kids, laundry, a tutor, and préparation de la repas. Pizza for dinner! 🍕

And even more unexpectedly now, I pack up for an impulsive tryst à Dubai! When Kirkie calls, we answer! 😍

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After what was a whirlwind week of family, logistics and friendly fun, I am now extremely content in wedded bliss. Da daa da daaa: I now pronounce me Liz Georjon. 😍

Our wedding was amazing, if I do say so myself. We had been running around like crazy the week leading up to it, but our day was filled with excitement, ease and nothing but smiles. We succeeded to bring the French and English together, enjoyed the moment with happy kids and truly relished in our ‘special day’. ☺️ Or a few special days really! 😉 The taco truck outside our Toulouse 5th Avenue flat the day after was absolute brilliance. 🌮 It was El Taco Fancyoso indeed.
The week after our wedding left us with still a few Americans in Toulouse and we finally were able to relax, take it eeeaaaaaasssyyy 🎶 and shop a little, tour a little and eat at our favourite restaurants. Although sadly my illustrious husband had to return to work. 😞

Given it was the birthday of my most favourite témoin and auntie… us gals decided to discover a very well-touted part of southern France that we’d not seen before. I’ve listened to countless stories about the beauty and charm of Aix-en-Provence. We should’ve gotten the hint from the moment our metro journey began that morning… how we failed to join each other until Matabiau Train Station was just silly. 🚇Though we managed to persevere and pop! 🍾 went the champagne.

Nous sommes arrivées à Aix-en-Provence and spent the rainy evening in our very comfortable hotel lounge where the martinis 🍸were dry and plentiful. 😬 there was a delicious dinner from a local couple’s charming Le 18 restaurant to follow. But that’s pretty much where all the charm ended. Oh sure there was also that one big fountain in the middle of town, in the roundabout. 😅

We awoke with hangovers 😵 and massages to remedy them, which really were quite lovely. In centre ville Yelp failed us terribly (three times over) to find anything decently non-French for lunch, lest we settled for canned tomato sauce gnocchi. Inundated by the constant swarm of flies, we sat in awe regarding the weird phenomenon of aix-tra short-legged dogs and the hipsters who walked them. There’s not a whole hell of a lot else to do in Aix unless you’re super aix-cited about Cezanne, or an art student. Un petit plus du vin 🍷while dodging flies was entertainment enough for us.

The next day we roamed aimlessly until our train ride home for husband-made tacos and me in a humex-fog. 🤒 Trying to find a bottle of wine for the train was a total aix-ercise of frustration. 🙄 Trying to find the fucking train station was a total fucking nightmare. 😣 How is it, this ‘charming’ little Provence ville has big yellow signs pointing to literally everything aix-cept the gare des trains?!! And since when do the French call bus stations gares also (bastards)! 😤 It was absolutely crazy. Our only shot in hell was a taxi to Marseille, but the taxi-drivers were non-aix-istent. €65 later 🚕 we waited in line to change our seats to the later train, and found a little peace in Gare Marseille Saint-Charles… without all the flies.

I felt a little bad for having suggested this charming fucking short-legged dog village, pour l’anniversaire de ma tante, especially when there ARE truly amazing parts of France we could have just as easily 😉 gone to. But thankfully it was only a two-hour delay and just me and AJ, who aix-traordinarily masks her inner-irritation so well. 🙃😘

We finally did make it home to my incredible husband that night for leftovers and cocktails. 😃❤️🇫🇷 That’s when he finally decided to reveal that he never thought Aix was really all that interesting. 🙄😜

What is it that turned me into a taxi sympathist?!! 🤔 I’d somehow forgotten my severe taxi blues from living in San Francisco. My beloved Nilmar is the only way I survived that taxi hell. Also buried deep was the memory of Rose Cab crazy with their $10 Santa Barbara Airport minimum and shitty red ‘beater’ cars. Somehow my years in Manhattan turned me into a taxi sympathist with the gypsy cabs, exorbitant black cars and seriously dysfunctional UBER. 😐

 

Whilst living in Bordeaux I felt true empathy for the taxis when they went on strike and even supportive as UBER threatened their French livelihood. How did I overlook that key phrase: ‘on strike’? 🏴 What the f*ck was I thinking?!! I suppose I didn’t pay Bordeaux taxi much attention since sleazy Jean-Luc tried to kiss me after taking my mother’s luggage up three grand flights of stairs. 😣

 

Not intentionally a shout-out to the brilliant job of my frenchman… but living in Toulouse pretty much never requires the thought of a taxi to enter one’s mind. Our public transportation system is divine, ridiculously clean, efficient and dirt cheap. 😉 Until those bastard taxi strikers decided to block all of it, and the roads. 😠

 

After a relaxing and cozy Easter avec quatre enfants in a beautiful French compagne labyrinth, we headed to Blagnac to greet our dear friend visiting from Zurich. It’s not as if the tram from just beside our flat is less convenient, but we wanted to greet my first visitor à Toulouse in person. 😊 We passed a lovely week together dans La Ville Rose. We ate cassoulet, drank champagne and wandered the winding Roman streets. We laughed with my frenchman, took the SNCF to Bordeaux 🍷 and relived unforgettable memories of our long history.

 

Come Friday, we were ready to kick off printemps with a little road trip to Costa Brava. Olé! The hometown of Salvadore Dali in Cadaqués is adorable. A perfect Catalan getaway, despite the rain. It is a beautiful small Spanish village which proudly displays their Catalan flags high. It must be amazing in summer! Perhaps we’ll find out because the amount we save in grey goose at the Gran Jonquera Outlet pretty much pays for the entire trip. 😉 Just before the Spain-France border is a big store where you can buy 1-liter bottles for €23, it’s un-f*ing-believable! 🍸Salut! Salud! And santé a la votre! 😲

 

Once home, we learned of a Toulousain taxi strike for the following morning 😠 which would block all the roads to Blagnac, and literally stop the airport tram and buses. I thought to myself “phew so lucky” since my frenchman had the day off work and could drive our Swiss Miss using all the backroads. Really, it was fairly calm and seemingly low-key. The next day was my turn to the airport for a highly anticipated cocktail lunch in Paris with an old friend. Definitely not to be missed!

 

But… the f*ing strike goes on. 🙄 I awoke promptly with all my Tisseo tools in hand and my frenchman on alert. It was suggested I depart at 8:00am and take metro to Compans and get on the airport bus. I did just that… except for my journey began at 8:17am. 😴 Naturally I arrived just 7 minutes after the airport bus and watched my Tisseo app slowly delay the arrival of the next one from 23 minutes to over 2 hours. 😣 With a few Americans in tow, and an adorable Swede… we raced back to the metro, changing lines and stations to get to the tram, yes: the same tram that begins just aside our flat! I realized I would never make my boarding time unless I jumped out at the closest stop and high-tailed it à pied. In the rain! ☔️

 

Tout est bien qui finit bien! I was last on my plane and the only thing those taxi drivers managed to strip from me was my really good-hair day! 😉 As seems to be the norm in France, the strike was quickly forgotten and our subsequent three trips to Paris were unaffected. Yet, it’s once again the taxis which irritate my memories.

 

We sadly and unexpectedly needed to be in Normandy, which requires some careful logistics for the trains, planes and automobiles it requires. With just a little over an hour to get from Orly to Gare St. Lazare in Paris, the plan was to taxi between and pick up a bottle of champagne for the train.🍾 Bonne idée… until we had the world’s least aggressive taxi driver, who, happened to drive like my dear grandmother. Love you Gram but you know what I mean: there’s no one ahead for a mile yet there’s a quick press on the pedal only to abruptly let go… in a constant yet random pattern which invokes a petit case of whiplash and car sickness. 🤕 As the clock struck the hour point and the driver fumbled with his little bullshit credit card contraption, it was time for American me to be a little abrupt! I tossed him my champagne money and poked my frenchman to get the hell out of his freaking Asian-car death trap, as he said under his breath, “you really made your asshole-American.” 🙄 Haha… that was nothin’! Needless to say, we had no time for champagne. 😐

 

Just a couple days later with quatre enfants in tow… we were back on the Parisian streets, but this time headed east for Disneyland Paris. It was sweet, except for the severe tonsil infection 🤒 which, conveniently on a French Sunday cost €130 in car services for a run to the pharmacy! 🤑 Disneyland Paris turned out to be quite fun, yet it was soon time to show the kids a little bit of Paris. So back to les rues we went! With our home-away-from-home Le Meurice as our base, we trotted off for the Louvre, Tuileries, La Seine and Tour Eiffel. We left our fate to the hands of Le Meurice thinking it should be no problem for them to find us a van-taxi large enough for our six in rush hour on a Tuesday. But we were mistaken!

 

Low and behold 😃 UBER to the rescue! Just a quick click on the app and 7-minutes later our Mercedes van arrived! With nothing more than a quick exchange of enchanté, fresh water bottles and a modest bank account withdrawal… we were off to Orly in no time.

 

C’est la vie! C’est mon nouveau UBER vie! 😉 or is it nouvelle?!! Sigh…

 

 

 

 

 

Just your typical Sunday with another short and easy flight home from an incredibly exotic, culturally rich and endearing country. Yes… living in France ❤️🇫🇷 really is as fabulous as it sounds! 😊 I hate to brag 😁 but something sunk in this week whilst I was away ‘on business’ in Istanbul. I was invited to participate in an event established to educate, promote and squash any fears about tourism in Turkey.

Third time must be a charm because I have an even stronger love for the country, and especially the people. Except 😏 my latest flight attendant.😆

I was one of maybe one hundred travel sellers from all over the world… except France. Unless you count me! 🤗 I’ve never been one to think my life is better than the next guy’s, and I still don’t. But I must admit that yes, my story really is extraordinary. Magnifique! I don’t quite have my ‘rap’ down yet, especially when it comes to my business: am I representing the American market or the French? And certainly I’m not the first person ever to move to another country. Yet after answering the standard three questions nearly thirty-seven times, I realized that fuck yeah this really IS an incredible charmed life we live! I’m not arrogant… I’m truly grateful.

1. Are you American… where are you from? “Umm… New York.”

2. Wow! Do you live IN the city!? “Well… yes. I mean… I did, on the upper east side 70s. But… now I live in France.”

3. Oh! What brought you to France!? Who are your clients then? “I fell in love with a frenchman so now we live together in Toulouse… and I work from home, so my clients are the same as always.”

Honestly I never solicit opportunities to spew my information at random and am genuinely humble. But those inevitable questions consistently lead to gasps and envy, and inevitably more questions about how I got to where I am and what I am doing. And cocktails… of course!😉 So, instead of trying to downplay it… I should own it, I earned it! I am an ethically driven woman who isn’t afraid to take risks, venture new places and market my experienced set of skills. As for love, that should be in the cards for toute le monde! 🌍❤️🌎 Though if I were too shy to dine out by myself or grab every opportunity and live it to its fullest… I would never have been in that pub in Roma.😍 So yes. I live in France with a job that is stabilized, with a man who is simply remarkable, and we can travel to over 50 fascinating destinations in three hours or less, for less than the cost of a round-trip to Vegas. 😎

I was amazed by how much Istanbul has improved itself since we were there just 15 months ago. The renovations at Sofia Hagia are nearly complete, about seven new fabulous hotels have opened and the Turkish Lira makes everything affordable. The airports have even become more secure yet more efficient. The generosity and kindness of Turks is infectious. Listening to genuine sadness and empathy for the refugees who’ve overrun their borders, and their heart and pride in the wake of terrorism… it’s really quite touching 😥 if not overwhelming. I was ambivalent as I handed over my coat and purse to walk through the new metal detector at the entrance of lthe Four Seasons, where we stayed our last trip. It also struck me as odd on a Saturday sun-filled 17 degree morning how few people were around in Sultanahmet. On a freezing cold rainy December day just two years ago, the queues were deep at all the must-see attractions. My blonde self was confused at first until I realized this is what the incredible people of this amazing country have to endure now, while the world cowers in fear of a Syrian encounter or a suicide bomber.😐 And Donald Trump.🙄 That is another high topic of distress for the international community.

I sat in roughly twenty 15-minute meetings learning about new Turkish destinations and revitalized existing ones. You could see an almost-deadened passion in each of their tear-welled eyes as they ask how our clients react now to their country, their homes. And it makes me feel angry. Seriously, don’t ever call me up and tell me you’re afraid. Perhaps I fibbed a little but I answered vehemently with what I strongly believe; that Turkey is no different than Paris… Turkey is no different than Bali. The assholes on the planet who avoid your country are avoiding everywhere they believe the Syrians to have taken-over. They’re avoiding all of Europe and the Arabic world choosing to cower in fear and teach their next generation a fear that hasn’t existed since the Cold War. And if they’re American, they’re probably voting for Donald Trump. 😤 They think they’re ‘safe’ in the SUV driving their paved streets from Applebee’s to the local basketball game… until some pissed off caucasian who got hold of a gun reminds the whole world of those frightening statistics. 😞

Maybe it won’t make any difference in this crazy world of ours… but I, for one, will travel to these places even MORE now. I will encourage my frenchman to enrich his children and travel with them as well. 😃 These ‘dangerous’ places we speak of are, as one amazing Turkish businessman put it last night, “where I take my own children to school. Where I get in my car and drive to work every day. Where we play at the park and care for my elderly parents.” Yet, out of no fault of his own… he worries for his livelihood now because the economy is seriously being affected by an outrageous and ignorant fear of travel to his country. It’s sickening. He doesn’t worry one bit about the next terrorist attack or if his daughter plays with a Syrian on the playground. Why should he? So why are people boycotting travel to such these incredible, culturally rich parts of the world? 🤔 Do you think people are going to stop traveling to Paris?!!

During my one free day which was spent working in my hotel, I dashed out to Istiklal Street to grab a quick bite. Staying in Galata really has its advantages! Within seconds I’m just a part of the people, walking the streets. Passing the kebab houses and small markets… wondering which of these delicious delis or restaurants to pop into. And then I spotted it. 😲 Shake Shack. Don’t judge me!!! 🍔 I’m an American living in France with a grueling diet looming this Monday.😁 Istanbul is still Istanbul. There is still ridiculous traffic. There are still loads of cats that randomly roam the streets. There is still Turkish delight everywhere you look and the whirling dervishes still whirl. The Bosphorus is as beautiful as ever and Katikoy is just as vibrant. But that gorgeous red flag still flies high 🇹🇷 everywhere you look.

Thank you AIDA for enriching me. Trust I will spread the word! 😘 Faites passer!

 

 

 

 

 
Settling back into Toulouse in the nouvelle année, I have a sense of excitement in my every move! 😁 Seems like all the kinks have been worked out (at least the ones we can control) and all that lies ahead is total happiness, dedicated hard work in our jobs and losing our extra ‘fat day’ kilograms. Oh yeah… I suppose I should work on my French a li’l bit. 😉

After an incredible Toulousain Noël complete with an American turkey and stuffing, we bid adieu à notre famille français, stuffed our suitcases and headed for Denver… Denver, ColoRADO! That’s right folks. After a mere 15 months it was time to ‘meet the family’ ! 😆 Equipped with his hand-scratched family tree de Liz, my Frenchman stole the hearts of everyone. Why am I not surprised? 😍 In the words of our Tata on day two in Boulder… Boulder, ColoRADO: “we love him, he’s a keeper!” ❤️ His very own Saint-Etienne sock monkey pretty much sealed the deal. 

We had so much fun goofing around with three rounds of family. We explored Boulder and its breweries, then wined at the stunning new Union Station. Of course we drank beaucoup champagne and even made a little trip to a dispensary! I conceded to my frenchman’s intent regardé of the Denver Nuggets Cheerleaders from a box suite 😆 at the NBA game. We took the light rail and wandered around downtown and Tattered Covers. Ma mère made tacos with real corn tortillas.🌮 We made an inaugural visit to Costco and cuisiner homemade crêpes! Maybe now it’s easy to understand the need to lose a few kilograms! 😋

My new all-time favourite game is a French game called Dixit. 🇫🇷 There are clever and obscure cards with incredible drawings which players have to invent phrases for. It’s brilliant… we brought it along and played a few times with everyone. With another ‘Fat Day’ behind us, new pajamas and superb memories, we forge forward into my 42nd year. I always thought age 42 would be ridiculously boring, given the extreme even-number. But I suppose 44 is worse… with the double-whammy Chinese death number 4 repeated! 😳

As cozy and wonderful as it was avec ma famille ☺️ I was happy to be home, in 2016, in my Midi-Pyrénées: La Ville Rose. The cat’s out of the bag now and the time has come to really own my life in France! I will get legal and find some french potential for Envizage! With my bagful of Arm & Hammer toothpaste, beaucoup corn tortillas and Excedrin… I’ve got the best of all worlds. But everyday gets more cozy in Toulouse! My illustrious frenchman is continually more lovable, the kids and I are on a routine kiss-kiss basis, friends are plentiful, interesting travels are imminent and our jobs are propitious! 😎 This is what I call “living the dream”, complete with the luxury of ignorant bliss in the circus election that has absorbed America.

I face more comfortable challenges now. Like how to get my lovely couch, dining table and chairs out of hawk from French customs. And how to speak French well enough to say a few vows. 😍 Oh… and how to smuggle in more corn tortillas once my 100… ummm… 93 in the freezer are gone!