:::THE NOVEL END TO A SPECTACULAR JOURNEY:::

If perhaps you are just now joining us here at the Follies, let me welcome you and steer you in the proper direction.
Jenny and Alyssa went on a little plane and some little boats and little trains and such to see some artful ideas and make some pretty pictures. Below, in REVERSE chronological order, is evidence of said trip to Italy, France and Spain this summer. Feel free to make comments by clicking on the "comments" at the end of any posting and vicariously experience a little Euro-action with the ladies. xoxo
















Sunrise over the Camargue in Southern France!









With a wee bit of travel delirium aboard the bus from Gatwick to Heathrow. Flying out of London was slightly painful, as we were oblivious to their new anti-terrorist "one bag" policy. Obviously, we were belonging to the evil sect of wrongdoing two-baggers! Actually we eacch had about 5 carry ons with all the camera gear and flea market fragiles, which had to be compacted into a towering "one bag." If only I had a photo of that Sanford and Son style madness, whoo! Sadly, they were no better in Marseilles and confiscated Jenny's turn of the century balance (scale) as it was...too old? heavy? dangerous?? weird? The surly and nasty security man promptly threw it in the trash after we walked away from a heated debate and barely got our flight!

Le HOTEL DOLPHIN

We were graced with an entirely pink room. Wow. Who needs the elephants?

An homage to Felix Gonzales-Torres by the seaside.

Figure It out: FIGUERES : out it figureS.

On the advisories of like-minded peoples, we detoured through this little dry and dusty townette just to see the Salvador Dali Museum. Set in the locale of his birth and death, I believe, the egg-lined castlesque walls outside and snaking line of panting tourists belied the ho hum dredge inside, to be frank. We had both heard much about this museum and naturally added it to the list without the most remote consideration for our indifference towards the man's work... I respect him thoroughly, don't get me wrong. And I dearly embrace his persona and life. In fact, as we sauntered through rooms of sketches and second rate pieces (the most famed paintings are not here, but in museums and private collections), we yearned simply for photographs and personal effects and videos of the self -proclaimed King of Surrealism. However, the Mae West room of her face was striking and the whole enterprise puts this little village forever on the map. Done and done.

Tryst in the Brambles, Anyone?

The biggest thrill/shock of the week: As we took a back side road from Girona to Figueres, we suddenly noticed some young ladies sitting in folding chairs on the shoulders. "Hookers!" I joked to Jenny...Uh, wait, they really DO look like hookers? As we whizzed by several more and noted that they had full portable set ups including: coolers, saucy outfits, umbrellas attached to the chairs and an endless supply of Come Hither glances at the ready. We turned the car around in stunning amazement and managed to grab a couple of snaps, to which we got a couple of frontal flashes, face covers and The Bird!! Suspicions confirmed! Country Lane Prostitution is alive and well in Southeast Spain, don't you believe anything diff'rnt, now.

Fantasmagoria

An unexpected and glorious bonus surprise. Upon leaving our ultimate seaworthy pilgrimage from Formentera, we travelled through Barcelona and were snapped back to our senses by some sweet local station that graced our ears with "Supernaut" by Black Sabbath. Ahhhh, metal has never felt so damn healing.... In any case, we ambled into Girona to check it out. Rumored to have once been a hotspot for boho wingnuts and les artistes and whatnot, it was in fact a GORGEOUS Roman mecca for collegiates and upscalers with endless darliing cafes and cobbling streets and bridges and trees.Trees! Imagine!..Uh, well, it's someplace to revisit with more room. Sadly, we were almost out of gas and racing around near dark to find a pillow to rest our greazy selves for the night. Lo and behold, we stumbled across yet another outdoor cinema event with a real honest-to-goodness 35mm projector (on wheels?!) showing "Paths of Glory" with a extra-steely Kirk Douglas gazing at our gaping faces across a hollow plaza in the dark. This was thanks to the unforgettable Museu del Cinema, a private collection representing the history of the moving images. Three gorgeous, pristine and interactive floors of steroscopes, magic lanterns, fantasmagorias, optical toys....Oh, I could rant on and on. A Must! Go now! Git!

suddenly, en route back to the mainland, we find our heroines *H*E*R*E*

Jellyfish Sadists! Ahhhhh!