Posted by Dorothy, August 1, 12:01 a.m.

I can't believe it, there's a wireless connection in this weird little hotel. The Chez Marius Hotel Cafe Bar is a hotspot. Who'd have thought? So here I am. I didn't really think it would work. I thought I'd just write up a post and paste it in my blog later. But then I thought, I'll give getting connected a try. Hey, couldn't hurt, and wow, it worked. I wonder whose account I'm tapping into? I can't believe the bartender who showed us up to our room has one. I never expected I'd be able to blog from here. So hi, everybody. If there's anyone out there. I'm on my old -- I mean my dad's old -- G3 iBook, which I've dropped, like, three times on the way to France alone. It's like the Energizer Bunny.

I'm not much of a gamer, but I did just find a free online game I can play later, AOTT - Age of the Throne, Role Playing in 17th Century Paris. I won't have anything else to do until I can figure out how to get out of here and get to Noreen, right? And maybe it'll help me get into the swing of French things.

I just emailed Noreen, too, just one line to tell her I'm in France and I'll let her know as soon as I figure out a plan.

Actually I'm amazed we even got this far.

Posted by Dorothy August 11 1:24 p.m.

I just checked and Noreen finally answered my email!

Hi. Sorry it's been so long, we've just been so busy. Went out to a bar called Cinema with Celine, she's this girl I met, her brother's Le Roc, you know, the lead singer of Les Coqs. They didn't even card us! Mais oui, parce-que c'est FRANCE, bien sur. I'm almost sure we saw Keanu Reeves there, but I couldn't tell for sure because he left right away after we got there. Went to see a Bono concert the night before that, didn't get in til 4. Write back soon. Bye.
Love, Noreen

Well, she's supposed to tell me if her parents can get me from here, or if she has any other ideas about getting me there, or what the best time for me to turn up is, and all that. She must have just forgotten. I mean it sounds like there's a lot going on there. And maybe the Internet connections are slow, and she's already answered my other email about all that stuff and I just haven't got it yet. I'm sure lots of things can go wrong when you try to e-mail someone across France.

I guess.

I've got to find a way.

I just heard a knock at the door. but I'm not going down. Because I can tell who it is, and I am not up for him. Aunt Rose just said, with a little too much delight in her voice, if you ask me, "Roman!" She said something else to him in French. I think I heard "almost" and also "prete," which is "ready." She must mean I'm almost ready to come down.

"Ah, bon, bon," I heard Roman say. He sounded genuinely happy, like maybe his face was wearing one of those smiles, not closed and stiff like he ended ujp yesterday. I'm not sure why because I honestly don't think he'd care that much whether I'm almost up or not, but whatever. As I went down I heard him say, "Le semaine prochaine, n'est-ce pas?" And that, at least, I understood. "Next week, right?" I have no idea what he and Aunt Rose get up to, to talk about. Maybe something about her preserves or Marius's weird ointments or something. Then I heard English.

"Tell Dorothea," okay, it is kind of cool the way he says it, Dorothea, with the "th" sounding almost like a "t." "I would like to show her something. There are some nice things in Chambre Louche."

"I'll be happy to," said Aunt Rose.

That seemed to be it. It's quiet down there now.

The days all run together here, you know? I'm kind of losing track of how long I've been here.

Posted by Dorothy, August 12 6:38 p.m.

I still can't believe I saw that stuff.

I mean, the road rash on my leg is sore for the first time in a while (although the scabs aren't cracking, thank God, that smelly ointment really helps), and I have a few choice bug bites and some other new scrapes, but still. I mean. Wow.

I think, I really think, there's only one or two other people in the whole world who have seen what I just saw. And one of them is weird Roman.

I shouldn't say that. Maybe he's not all that weird, not after all.

See, this morning I was trying to look up the train station at Brignoud in the phone book in the kitchen and not getting very far. I definitely don't feel like asking Roman about it again. Is it under the government pages? Or under CNF? Or under the name of the town? Or what? I still can't figure it out.

Aunt Rose was downstairs doing something in the cellar. It sounded like she was moving jars around, like the ones in the front were going to the back or vice versa. She made something last night while I was in bed. I either wasn't quite asleep yet or the smell woke me up, I'm not sure which, but it was absolutely eye-watering. This morning, though, it was gone, not a trace, not even a waft of it.

Roman just walked in the door while I was flipping through the phone book, and I jumped.

"Excuse me," he said. He looked pretty startled himself. "I'm sorry. Madame -- I mean your aunt -- she said I could just come in."

I looked at him. He was dressed up like he was going for some mountain-climbing trek. He had these thick hiking shoes and a full-to-bursting backpack that must have weighed him down -- like I said, he wasn't very big -- and an actual walking stick. He looked like Gandalf without the beard.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"What?"

"I thought your aunt told you? I was going to show you something?"

"Oh . . . oh, yeah. I just didn't realize . . . today . . . what is it, exactly?"

"It's a secret." He looked like he was trying to smile, but he didn't get very far. I think it's actually physically hard for him, I swear to God.

I really was not up to a long, annoying hike in those mountains. I would much rather have just stayed in the house with Truffle and Praline and tried to find a way to call the train station.

Roman looked like he was waiting for something. Pretty impatiently, too.

"Look," I said. "I'm not sure I really feel like . . ."

"Come on," he said shortly. "Bring an extra shirt."

"Yes, sir."

I'm not sure he got the irony.

Well, what else could I do? I didn't look like I was very busy with anything else. I figured I could look up the train station that night, maybe if Aunt Rose got busy concocting, like she always seems to. I ran upstairs and grabbed a shirt, pretty wrinkled, I think I had worn it for like two days before, from the hook in my armoire. Armoire, what a word for the thing holding all my ratty clothes. I've still been keeping my cool stuff --�my low-rise jeans, my dangly earrings, the new underwear -- for when I get to Cannes. Today I was wearing schleppy old army pants and running shoes and a black sweatshirt with the arms cut off. I didn't care.

Roman didn't say a word when I got back down. As usual. He just turned and went out the door and expected me to follow him. I tied the my spare shirt around my waist by the sleeves and headed out.