Below are the 11 most recent journal entries recorded in patriciasteele's LiveJournal:

Sunday, February 25th, 2007
2:29 pm	Pertuis, France and the Vinniers await! Wednesday, September 6th Mom’s headache was finally gone. It was so hard to enjoy our holiday when pain plagued us! I slept in again. Keeping up with Mom was so tiring! When I finally got out of bed, I washed my hair and blessed Mom for helping me find my new hair dryer. I’d been traveling flat headed for too long! Oh, for Mom’s natural curls! We packed our bags to move on toward Aix, before walking downstairs for their promised petit dejuner. A friendly hostess nodded at our entrance and smiled, saying, “Bon Jour, madams” as she pointed to a small round table. It was already set and waiting for us. We wanted to order a café au lait. But almost immediately, a tray with two croissants, several pieces of day-old baguette bread and cups of thick, strong coffee was placed in front of us. The coffee resembled mud in texture and taste and was barely palatable, even drenched in milk. We guessed their strong suit wasn’t their petite dejeuners, but its ambiance and dollar glasses of wine would be remembered. By 10 a.m., we were traveling over more mountainous roads, sharp curves and narrow bridges. Large trucks had to back up to maneuver the bulk of their trailers around the bends. Many roads that wound through the villages’ were barely wide enough for our car, let alone a truck. We found most drivers polite and patient on the highways, a nice change from the city traffic back in Oregon. The roads to that point had been smooth and fresh, but as we headed toward the coast, they became bumpier. They smoothed out once again as we neared Avignon about 1:30. We had veered off the map that Bertrand marked for us. Our little detour was filled with vineyards and wineries. Oh! For wine tasting, but we feared getting too far off the main road. We did stop, however, at a large antique store. What lovely things! And another primitive toilet stall was sitting by the building, waiting for a squatter! We arrived in Pertuis at precisely 3:00 p.m., as planned. We called Uncle Sylvain to lead us to his house. It was wonderful to see the old gentleman again. My friend, Nancy, introduced me to him and his wife, Aunt Janine four years earlier and we’d corresponded steadily since that time. He was a man from the old world of gentlemen: gentle and loving with an innate deep-seated nationalism. He was so proud to be a Frenchman! They were both welcoming and we were warmed by it. Their beautiful house and yard sits on two acres with fruit trees, spacious lawn and a lovely, large patio. Outside the French doors of their stone two-story house was an enclosed, private-covered patio furnished with rattan furniture and pictures on the walls! It was a scene out of Better Homes & Gardens of Europe. Outside on the large patio, we were served afternoon snacks and a glass of red wine. Cheese, bread and green grapes never looked so good served outside and gave us the feeling of home! Isabelle, their oldest daughter and her little boy, Manuel, left soon after we arrived. We loved listening to them talk and the little boy spoke so fast, it sounded like the ricochet echo on a picket fence. Mom became very quiet and emotional as we sat on the wooden benches with my friends. Uncle Sylvain is a man who speaks to people as if they were the most valued friend and she listened to him with a quiet attentiveness before finally explaining her feelings to me quietly. “I can’t begin to describe how stunned I was to see how much Sylvain looks like my Daddy. The resemblance is shocking, especially his identical brown eyes that have faded with the years. He has the same hair, mustache, shape of face and same sense of humor. It’s astounding!! It almost brought tears because I felt like I was visiting with daddy. It was too wonderful!” Mom wiped at her eyes. A little later, we were shown to our own private bedrooms up an open stairway. Our own rooms! Aunt Janine prepared a meal of thickly sliced ham, macaroni and cheese, applesauce from their apple orchard, and red wine. She apologized for not cooking a better meal and explained that they’d just returned from a short holiday at their chalet in the French Alps. It was delicious. About 9:30, we climbed the beautiful stairway up to our bedrooms. The design and décor was cozy and each room had a huge wooden clothing armoire. Spacious windows opened to the front of the house overlooking the stone patio. It had been the warmest day so far, 80-85 degrees. We were told it cooled down at night, so we left the windows open. We hoped the slight breeze would float in through the white filmy curtains and rock us to sleep. The beds were luxurious and we felt like queens. Thursday, September 7th Mom said she slept until 4:45 a.m., then woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. She heard the grandfather clock strike 5 o’clock, and later…. 6 o’clock. She finally got up, prepared for the day and wrote notes on postcards. About 7 o’clock, she quietly descended the stairs, glanced out the front windows to see clouds and dribbling rain. Uncle Silvain greeted her & said he’d been up for hours, and Aunt Janine had been up since 6 o’clock! Mom was already sipping a steaming café au lait when I joined the group at 7:30. Aunt Janine had a large bouquet of Lavender in her hands, suspended above a wastebasket. She smiled at me and proceeded to briskly rub them between her hands. We watched tiny flowers fall into her trashcan as the scent of Lavender permeated the air around us. What a delightful aroma! I knew I’d plant them at home when I returned. Uncle Silvain called the train station for Sunday’s timetable from Marseilles to Rome, and found it would leave at 5:00 a.m. Alors! He told us we might spend the night in Ax en Provence with Aurore’s parents since Pertuis was over two hours from the Marseille train station. Aurore was a young girl who visited us when she spent the summer one year with Nancy in Portland. We knew her well but had never met her family. It was a very big favor to ask strangers! Aurore’s parents were friends of the Vinniers, and did not speak much English. Her mother spoke only a smattering of English, according to Nancy so we were very nervous. Uncle Sylvain said “No worries, Patricia, we will make it all well for you. It is a simple matter.” He called Bernadette, made the plans swiftly, hung up the phone and smiled. “Bon~” We were surprised and relieved, to say the least. He drove us into Pertuis so we could send postcards at the Poste. $10 worth! Sylvain drove his green Volvo up a steep hill, promising to show us some history. He was proud of his country’s heritage and the area was filled with more history than we could possibly see or remember. But, he was filled with energy and anxious to share it with us. We passed vineyards and he pointed to the vines, explaining that many wine regions have developed cuisines that are complementary to the local grapes. That integration was the pinnacle of good dining. Many French put wine on their table just as readily as bread and tend to have superior versions of all. He parked near a very old stone chateau with an attached church that still offered mass to the villagers. It was centuries old and owned by a Duke and his family, who was actually related to the original owner by several generations. Still under the same family’s ownership was very rare and pleased Uncle Sylvain so much! On the way back home, we stopped to buy bread per Aunt Janine’s request. “We French are so passionate about our bread that a bread museum exists in Bonnieux,” he told us. The patisserie’s window boasted tiers of golden loaves in a variety of shapes that made our mouths water. Then, he drove us to another ancient castle. “This stupid man saw Versailles and wanted to build a castle just like it. This one has started to fall apart, but still has the moat. It is very crazy. The chateau has an iron barred gate with sharp points on the bottom that still raises or lowers the draw bridge doorway over the moat.” He shuddered. Hearing the history from such a learned man and told with the soft French accent was endearing and informative. And we could feel his revulsion. We looked at it and agreed it looked like a movie set as we snapped pictures and stowed more rolls of film. During our absence, Aunt Janine had washed our clothes and hung them outside on the clothes line. She smiled and nodded each time we made eye contact, without speaking English. She sometimes spoke French and then grinned, since she knew we didn’t understand her any better than she understood us. She was quite delightful. Uncle Sylvain and Mom shared notes on many different issues when we returned home and waited for dinner time. We smelled a veal roast in an aromatic herbed tomato sauce from the kitchen. She served it with fluffy, white rice and it was tres bien! Very good. For dessert, she created molded semolina custard. We agreed we had not eaten so much or so often, since landing in London. At 1:30 in the afternoon, they close up their house to take a nap….. I thought! An hour later, Aunt Janine was ironing when Mom got up. She even ironed our handkerchiefs and my silk pajamas! We thanked her profusely. She smiled and nodded her head. Later, the four of us drove into town and I bought a Pertuis poster and more postcards. We’ll have enough to fill an album! We went to Veronique’s house, their other daughter, to meet her children after school. It was a very nice house; very private and two separate yards with glass doors on four sides of the house! Her teenage children, Benoit (13) and Cendrine (16) were well behaved, polite and had such clean rooms! Veronique is a nurse and wouldn’t get home until 9 p.m., so we brought the children back with us for dinner. Aunt Janine was soon cooking again and served tea and fruit cake at their 4 o’clock teatime. The tea was very welcomed although they didn’t usually drink tea because of the caffeine. Dinner was at 8 o’clock and the Quiche with Gruyere was superb. It was served with a green salad, red wine, crusty bread, two different cheeses and apple sauce. We had red wine with every meal and cloth napkins. The children entertained us through dinner, chattered in French so fast, that we couldn’t begin to keep up and listened to them giggle constantly. They showed unparalleled respect for their grandparents and we were very impressed. We helped with the dishes, in a big, cozy well-put-together kitchen! Ceramic tiles and a built-in oven was set into a huge fireplace. Copper-bottomed pots hung from hooks and the dishes fit into an antique Dutch side board that once belonged to Uncle Sylvain’s aunt, from Holland. I had been practicing my French, so when Uncle Sylvan came into the kitchen, I told him “J'aide avec les plats”. I am helping with the dishes. He looked at me standing there with arms at my sides and glanced at Mom and Aunt Janine at the sink and laughed at me. Straight faced, he responded: “Non, vous vous tenez toujours” No, you are standing still. He had a wonderful sense of humor and told me if I lived with them a year, he would have me speaking French like the French do! I wish I could have done so. We commented on the beautiful copper pots hanging along the kitchen wall. I pointed to them and Aunt Janine nodded and looked toward Uncle Sylvain. He smiled and explained that copper cookware was from Villedrieu, France and has been the center for copper cookware since the 12th century when returning crusaders passed through the town and introduced copper crafting they’d learned from the Saracens. It has about ten times the heat conductivity of stainless steel and two times that of aluminum. It heats faster and cooks more evenly and efficiently than other metals. He said the primary disadvantage is that it reacts negatively to acidic foods, so the inner surface in the pots is usually lined. We nearly melted with enjoyment when Uncle Sylvan began playing their grand piano in their living room after dinner. He was alone in there and I raced upstairs as quietly as possible to get my video camera. I was delighted to sneak around the corner and film him as he swayed above the keys and played classical music as if he was in a chamber orchestra. He was such a multi-talented man! He was a little shy when we walked into the room but agreed to play awhile longer before he snapped the top shut, turned around on the piano stool and got up with a mock bow toward us. We held our breath and I could see right through Mom’s thoughts ---‘he looks like daddy and plays the piano like mom….’ We clapped wildly and Aunt Janine smiled and nodded once again as another perfect day slid to a close. That night, we went upstairs and giggled like school children over the bidet in the bathroom. We decided to try it and quickly decided we would like one, please! The gigantic, bright moon hung suspended in the warm night. After last night, we decided to close the window because we found out the hard way that French mosquitoes were vicious, breeze or not! There were no screens on the windows, but it was so quiet and peaceful in the country! Friday, September 8th We have been gone from home two weeks today and Mom sure misses Dad. Me? I’m ready to roll. She said she was ready to go home, though I’m sure she will change her mind once we arrive in Italy! I reminded her about her dream to see the Mediterranean Sea and the canals of Venice! She just smiled and gave me an ‘Aunt Janine nod’. Up early the next morning, we enjoyed our personal café au laits and a dish of fresh applesauce while Uncle Sylvain entertained us with stories of their many exchange students. Prejudice is stupid to him and we heartily agreed. They were host parents to Nancy and Bertrand during their college years and have remained good friends ever since. That is how I met him, a patient, perfect gentleman who seemed to love everyone! We drove to the larger city of Aix En Provence with Uncle Sylvain at 10 a.m. to buy train tickets from Marseille to Rome for Sunday’s dawn departure. Thank goodness he arranged it for us. A French interpreter is perfect for a trip like ours! We had been so lucky in Beauvais and Pertuis but we managed to slip through our days on our own too. Since I have gypsy blood in my veins from Mom and both of my grandmothers, I knew it would never stop me from marching along. Maybe slow me down, but life was such a fabulous adventure, it would never stop me. There are circled turnabouts in and out of every town like our own Laurelhurst circle. They continue to confuse now just as they did the entire trip down through France! We were thrilled we had a driver. We went to a very old 13th century church and came home by 11:30. There seemed to be ancient churches dotting the landscape in all directions, many built before the 15th century. Once I told Uncle Sylvain I had explored a very old building and he asked me how old? Well, it was about 16th century. He scoffed. “That’s not old. 11th and 12th centuries are old.” Again, definitions shifted in my mind. Aunt Janine had lunch nearly ready at noon. We had large, red tomatoes stuffed with chunky ham, and a rice casserole filled with tomato and onions. We washed dishes and they rested while Mom and I walked into Pertuis, a short walk of about 1 ½ to 2 miles. We walked around the little town and marveled at the flowers, clean homes, streets and unique shop signs. We returned an hour later. I’d asked Uncle Sylvain to show Mom the little mountain village of La Verdiere where they lived on my previous visit. I’d fallen in love with the area and their home. And I wanted to share it all with Mom. An hour later, we were gazing up at the village on the mountain. And later, peeking at the house built on a hillside, so lovely from the outside. He had created a home from blueprints of a goat nursery, elongated with a round end where they’d built their bathroom. Oh! The house had an awesome view. The dining room could be reached from either a step down from the large kitchen or up steps from the outer arched-grilled gates. The weather was so kind to them in that area, that no solid doors were necessary and the view flowed in like an outdoor room invited inside. It was a pity Mom couldn’t go inside the house, but pictures and our words helped her ‘see’ the home place that day. He also drove us to the 11th century monastery, St. Julien la Montagne, where the monks were soldiers at that time. Veronique had shown it to me and Nancy in 1991 and I remembered it vividly. The little narrow streets were paved with stones and now only the very rich could afford to buy the little cottages with enclosed courtyards built so long ago. It was like a fairy tale and we were actually tramping through the pages. Near the center of the village, we climbed up to a high, raised platform and onto a large round dais. Arrows were painted on signs listing the mileage to various destinations and American cities were included. It was quite a setting and the view from atop that little area was amazing. We could see the Mediterranean miles away! Back home once again, Aunt Janine fixed hot tea with graham crackers filled with frosting just like Mom used to make for us! Mom used to cook French and didn’t realize it! She is really spoiling us. We had our tea out in the garden. It is so nice out there, clear and sunny --- balmy at 75-80 degrees. Aunt Janine watches American soap operas dubbed in French daily. It was so odd to hear Julie on Days of our Lives speaking French! When she settles into her chair in the living room, Uncle Sylvan disappears. He thinks television should only be used for news and tennis. She thinks otherwise and she’s hooked. We chatted until about 7 o’clock and ate leftovers. That made it nice for Aunt Janine. She was outdoing herself and we were feeling guilty. After a quick meal, we did dishes and watched the news, not understanding much at all. We did, however, see a news item about Bob Packwood, a senator from Oregon, who was fired for sexual harassment. All the way to France? We were surprised and embarrassed. The other news was comprised of bombs in Lyon. I am glad we weren’t going that direction! By 9 o’clock, the house closed up, but we weren’t sleepy, so Mom and I each read in self-absorbed silence until my eyes slipped closed. However, Mom still couldn’t sleep thinking about our trip to Italy. She was apprehensive about the thirteen hours on the train, money exchange, stories about thieves, etc. Uncle Sylvain said it was terrible and it only fed her fears! “You must be very careful and watch yourselves every moment!” he admonished us, quite seriously. Mom’s nervousness increased. But as a team, I knew I’d be able to fight anyone off with the Taekwon Do karate Steven taught me. Oh, and that also worried her. Saturday, September 9th Our last morning in Pertuis dawned as another cloudless, sunny day greeted us from our fairy-tale bedroom windows. Mom woke up at 6 o’clock to get her worrying out of the way and then prepared her good-byes. She re-packed her pink carry-all bag several times. By now, it was so full she doubled her little pillow and stowed it between the handles. It wouldn’t fit inside! A determined woman! We had Aunt Janine’s fresh applesauce again with café au lait and fresh croissants with jam. She served by rote, I think… bestowing the same little smile and nods at our English, when we all knew she had no idea what we were saying. Her eyes laughed and she tried not to look blank as she ate her own breakfast as we chattered with Uncle Sylvain. He would translate for her periodically, her eyes would liven up and she’d join in the laughter. We loaded everything into our little Renault and followed Uncle Sylvain and Aunt Janine over to Veronique’s to say good bye. Cendrine was in school, but Benoit and Manuel were there. When they saw their grandparents, they jumped up for double-cheek kisses. We were touched to see the respect and politeness of those children –it was absolutely amazing! Mom and I discussed the children in America and agreed most would go into shell shock with the French customs. We said our goodbyes to Veronique and the boys and received our own kisses, before leaving for Aix en Provence to return out little Renault. We passed tiny streets along the way and recognized the VIN signs since it translated into ‘WINE’. They drove us through the city, but we didn’t have time to explore all the wonders of Aix en Provence… The car rental company was only a 20-minute drive. Uncle Sylvain helped us return it, an easy transaction. Between Bertrand at the front and Uncle Sylvain at the back, we were spoiled rotten and the rental car experience was perfect. At 10:30 a.m., we recognized Aurore’s jaunty walk as her mother, Bernadette, and sister, Maude, trailed behind. After introductions, we bade a tearful goodbye to Uncle Sylvain and Aunt Janine, and moved our luggage to Bernadette’s car. We were so sad to see them go! But another adventure waited! Bernadette was a small woman with blond frizzed hair, the epitome of the French actresses we saw in the movies. Her bright smile and effusive welcome surprised and delighted us. She seemed thrilled for the chance to reciprocate the hospitality and friendship we’d shown her daughter, Aurore. She chatted as she drove into Aix, parked near the main square and guided us past several blocks of vendor stalls, similar to a combination flea market and farmer’s market. Aurore couldn’t stop grinning as she followed in her wake. One of the best things about food shopping in France, particularly in small stores and at farmer’s markets, is that the food looks as if it came from a farm, not a factory. Most chickens, for example, are sold with head and feet attached. It was so different from home, that we couldn’t stop staring! Mom bought a pair of rayon slacks and we each bought a pair of earrings. Bernadette bought some fancy pastry. I found a small, flat-backed wicker basket with dried flowers, but knew I’d never find space in my luggage, even though it certainly had my name on it. Aurore hadn’t changed much, her long flowing hair and big smile matched chestnut-colored eyes and her friendliness filled in all the spaces. At 16, her sister, Maude, was a darling girl with blond hair and lighter eyes. She tried to keep up with the conversation, but was not as fluent in English as Aurore. Bernadette was like a little doll and spoke English as well as Bertrand. I thought Nancy said she didn’t speak or understand English, but we found it was her husband, Claude, who spoke only French. Bernadette drove us to their beautiful country home, punched in a security code and iron gates opened. We entered into a lovely yard surrounded by a living barrier fence of oak trees and shrubs. The back property had a long tiled patio and a large swimming pool with tall shrubs and pine trees circling the back perimeter. It was quite a sight. Near the pool, a small table covered with a blue flowered cloth was filled with glasses, Aperitifs and four small dishes full of several types of olives. We were overcome with the lavish welcome. It amused us to watch Claude smile and nod just like Aunt Janine. He did not understand a word we spoke but enjoyed the party anyway. His eyes danced and his smile matched the excitement of those around him. Under the patio roof, was a large picnic table covered with a tablecloth and set up for a full meal. Ice-filled bowls, glasses, and fresh flowers added to the Provence ambiance. Laughter joined our elegant meal. Bernadette served fresh cantaloupe, white rice with huge scampi still in the shell, and it was all so festive! When Claude lifted the silver lid off the scampi, my eyes widened in trepidation. He laughed and pointed to them, inviting me to begin serving myself. I lifted the creature toward Mom for a picture, trying not to show my squeamishness. There was a bottle of red wine nearby and it would wash it down…. Then dessert! It was a layered flat torte filled with custard and nuts, then topped with powdered sugar. Bernadette gently removed a filament on top with the words, Castclnaud after Mom took another picture. As Bernadette served the special dessert and the girls cleared the dishes, Claude opened a large, chilled bottle of champagne. I told Mom I was going to ask them to adopt me.  As we folded our napkins to leave the table, Bernadette nodded to the girls in a shared conspiracy. They jumped up and ran into the house. She smiled at us, motioned us to sit still and the girls slipped out of the house with two wrapped packages. They handed one to each of us and stood nearby, motioning us to open… open…open. Gifts besides our meal and hospitality? I removed the light fabric and raffia ribbon, then shook my head to see the dried flowers from the market! How they bought it without us noticing I couldn’t imagine! Then, I looked over and saw Mom opening a sweet little box of French chocolates! Afterwards, with sincere pride, they led us for a walk around their woods pointing out their property lines. We could see hard work had achieved the beautiful surroundings, making the place more especially theirs. Afterwards, Bernadette and the girls drove us to their tiny village, Beaureveil (there was only a church and mayor’s building) while Claude and his son, Edwin, cleaned up the dishes! Then, we drove up into the hills to a famous mountain called Saint Victoire. There are several trails to the top but we only walked up several hundred feet. Mom took a picture of me pretending I’d just returned from a walk around the mountaintop. Bernadette explained it was the mountain used in many of Gauguin’s paintings. Later, Bernadette invited us to sit in their large kitchen, while she made Quiche and Tarte Tatin, an upside down carmelized apple tart. This classic of French Cuisine was first served at the Hotel Tatin in the Sologne area of France in the early part of the 19th century. She told us her German cousin was a chef and taught her to make it. Mom copied both recipes but they needed translating before we could prepare them at home! She used pate brisee, a rich, flaky dough for the quiche and pate sucree, a rich pastry for the tarte tatin. Mom and I couldn’t sit still and wanted to help, but they shooed us away. “You are guests,” they kept telling us ---- so we took pictures instead. Claude was busy toasting tiny round slices of bread, similar to large croutons while Bernadette made two different garlic spreads using a mortar and pestle. She explained it would be spread on the rounds and served in her fish consommé. She used to spend all day making the soup, but found canned was just as good, so that’s what she prepared! And we wouldn’t have known the difference, she assured us. Bernadette also made what she called ‘rouille’. It was a mayonnaise spiced with saffron, garlic and chilies. She explained that the rouille would be swirled into the consommé at the table. The children helped cook and serve, including their son, Edwin, aged 9. Their solid wood table in the dining room was covered with linen, candles and more flowers. So, about 8:15, we enjoyed our menu of fish soup with floating croutons, Quiche and the Apple Tarte Tatin. And more wine flowed from each end of the table. Bernadette translated for Claude as he smiled throughout the dinner. It was one of the best meals we had in France and seeing it prepared was too special for words. Although we’d eaten that fancy late lunch, we still managed to consume two bowls of that soup! Their large, airy home was modern and beautiful, and the security system very impressive! It also had a monitor by their front door, showing the entrance so they could see who was at their gate before they opened it! We were told his business was security and locks. He must sell a lot of those locks! We talked awhile, then bedtime closed in on us. They insisted we sleep in their master bedroom and they slept on a bed in Claude’s office. We argued to no avail. We were in bed by 10 o’clock after another very pleasurable day. We went to sleep with visions of Italy and not just a little apprehension for the day ahead. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007
3:29 pm	A new day and more adventures heading south! Monday, September 4th We got up about 8:15. Mom overslept, pretending to bow to my laziness, I think! As I dressed, Mom went downstairs to the complimentary bar to get us a wake-up beverage. We were told they had coffee, tea, chocolate and cookies. The coffee wasn’t very hot, but got our day started and I enjoyed it anyway since Mom waited on me. My headache was gone! We were in high spirits as we readied for our second day on the road. After rolling our luggage outside to the parking lot, our plastic card opened the gates and we proceeded down the long ramp to our car. We noticed only one other car in the lot as the gates snapped shut behind us. We piled everything in our tiny car, drove up the exit ramp, slipped our little coded card in the slot and nothing happened. We tried several more times before panic mode jumped out of the pause position. We sighed heavily, counted to ten and looked up at the high cement walls, impossible to scale for either of us. And we knew nobody could hear us if we screamed. But...we kept trying the damned card several times, urgently sliding and punching in the numbers. Then, we just prayed and screamed! And the gates swung open. I hit the gas and raced out of there and we didn’t look back! Then, we got lost leaving the city before finding the sign pointing south. We passed miles and miles of open country, saw bright red poppies in fields and yellow flowers filling open acres along the narrow highways. We drove through quaint villages with too many narrow cobblestone streets to count. It was so picturesque! We stopped in one village that was a larger than most, called St. Pourcain-s-Sioule. Their church, named Englaiside la Vigne, was currently a museum with ancient memories, as the flyer beside the font told their story. We walked through the depths of the building and enjoyed the quiet surroundings, marveling at the stony façade of the architecture. History as we knew it certainly took on a new meaning in Europe where old meant old! Later, we found a little grocery store and bought some fruit, bread and sandwich meat. We shared our picnic in the car and watched children run through an open park. Tall trees shaded the streets around us. In the same little village after our meal, we took a leisurely walk, each in our own little reverie. I took videos of little alcoves and shops as I lagged behind Mom on the cobblestone sidewalk. It was a very narrow and uneven walkway! When I swung the camera away from the flowering vines above a stone archway to film Mom, she was on the stones, picking herself up! I started toward her. Her knees were red and her nylons torn to the skin. Blood trickled down her shins. “I was just star gazing and tripped over the curb,” she said as she pulled her nylons away from each knee carefully. She rubbed her hands together to rid herself of tiny stones and ground rubbish. She’d caught herself with both hands before her face hit the sidewalk. “I’m ok. Don’t worry, I’m ok,” she kept repeating and shooing me away. So, I kept my camera filming on my way over to her. “Are you really ok?” “Just jarred, but not hurt.” She was laughing by then and wagging her finger at me when she saw the red light indicating my recorder was still running. She shook herself off, readjusted her fanny pack and took a deep breath. “Ok. Guess I’m ready for more now.” “No you’re not. Keep your eyes on the cobble stones, not the turrets, Mom.” Our laughter bubbled over once I was assured she was truly alright. She swabbed at her knees and hands again as she limped toward the car. Our leisurely walk was certainly over for that day. We drove on. A short time later, Mom saw a road sign inviting us to the “Chateau St. Nectaire. We followed the narrow road about ten miles up the side of a mountain. It was another quaint little village! The church was secluded and very beautiful, but we both needed a bathroom before we could enjoy it! Toilets were few and far between, but we found one. We got a little lost leaving there, again……… We drove onward, following our map south. Other cars on the road seemed to know we were tourists. It was odd that when a car in France wanted to pass, they would honk their horn and turn on their signal. Then, almost immediately, without any notice, they’d swerve right in front of us without a signal. Our little car may have sounded like a tin can, but she held the road nicely. Once we adapted to their strange customs, we were ready to play their game, but the first time it happened, I was reassured that the little car’s brakes were in good working order! On the outskirts of Le Puy en Velay, we descended over a high mountain to a breathtaking view of the valley below us. It literally snapped us to attention. It was an ancient fortress atop a tall rock, called the Fortress Fe’ordale and it was spectacular! We pulled over to the side of the mountain road immediately and lingered. We knew our memories could not hold the image, so our cameras twittered. Later, we found the exact view on a postcard! I stood on the edge of the car’s doorframe, as if it were an old running board. I wanted a clear view, not the tops of passing automobiles. The narrow lanes did not accommodate parked cars on the shoulder. We knew it was foolish, but we were prepared to play the dumb American. We drove down into the city and found a hotel advertised along the Blvd. St. Louie, named Brivas Hotel at Avenue Charles-Massot, Le Puy-en Velay. I repeated my French request for a room with two beds and a shower….and the man chuckled, shook his head and registered us for a room. “Sure, 310 francs please” he said, in very clear English. We laughed with him as he carried our bags upstairs. So, what if he spoke English? I spoke French! We were hungry again! We settled in, walked downtown intent on finding a small meal, and saw all the Patisseries were closed on Mondays! What? No croissants? No meat rolls in melt-in-your-mouth crusty bread? So we changed to Plan B and returned to the hotel dining room. The restaurant’s décor was a sea of white with a touch of pale pink. We saw white walls, white frothy curtains, white tablecloths and white upholstered chairs. It would be our first authentic French dinner ordered from a tall, very impressive menu. The waiter spoke some English and tried to translate the menu of French entrees, side dishes, desserts and beverages. We recognized chicken, lamb and ham but nothing else. He flirted outrageously with me. I enjoyed listening to his accent and the attention, of course. Mom just smiled. The menu had an English translation on the back that proudly boasted: One of the 19th centuries greatest chefs, Marie-Antoine Careme, streamlined dinners, which heretofore had been a jumble of dozens of dishes all served at the same time. He also introduced the concept of blending different flavors and textures in the same dish, a hallmark of today’s French cuisine. The second chef highlighted for us to read was someone named Georges-Auguste Escoffier. He picked up where Careme left off, simplifying French cuisine further and making it more tasteful and organized. For example, he introduced the concept of a single menu of dishes and beverages, which could be given to diners. After that, came the restaurant, a French invention of the 18th century that began to flourish during the reign of Napolean, after the French Revolution and emancipated cooks and servants from aristocratic households! After that introduction, the menu took on a new meaning and our stomachs yawned. The first course was a smooth rabbit pâté, with crispy bread rolls and fluffy butter on the side. We drank red wine with our entrée, Chicken coddled in White Wine. Mom smacked her lips as if chewing in fast mode as she “tasted” the wine. I mimicked her, as my brothers and I have always done, teasingly. She sniffed and told me she really doesn’t do such a thing. She closed her eyes to savor the taste of her wine again and daintily chewed her chicken. I grinned, like always, when she argued the issue and she ignored me. We skirted around something on our plates that Mom called “creepy, crawly” things. It was similar to gray rice with eyes! She asked the waiter and was told it was unshelled rice. She grimaced as he walked away and washed it down liberally with her wine. It cost 95 francs apiece for our food plus 24 francs for a bottle of wine! Did I mention we bought the entire bottle? We were living the high life, certainly, relishing the time and place. We toasted to the fact that we weren’t even half way through our holiday! But, then we were toasting to everything…… After the meal, a large serving table covered with various cheeses was rolled over to the table next to us. We studied the options. But, we wanted sweet desserts, not cheeses, we told the waitress. She nearly curtsied before rolling over a table of cakes and puddings for us to view. She couldn’t speak English, but was so cute and seemed to understand us anyway! Mom and I held the stem of our wine glasses as we looked at the delicacies. Mom pointed to the tart or maybe it was a creampuff…. with Crème Anglais, a custard sauce spooned over it. The Eclairs also caught her eye. We laughed, knowing we wanted to taste everything. Laughter and conversation filled the air as we slipped our spoons into the smooth, creamy dishes. The heady, soft atmosphere consumed our souls that night. Everyone treated us so special! Where were all the rude French men and women we’d been warned about? No country’s food holds a more exalted place in the consciousness of Americans than that of France. Indeed, the term we use for the ultimate experience in gastronomy-- Haute Cuisine --- is French! Not wanting the delicious evening to end, we strung it out systematically as long as possible without appearing boorish. But ….. Mom had developed a headache and assured me it was from the hot sun in the car without air conditioning. Did I mention we had no air conditioning? I secretly thought it was her dip on the sidewalk ~ And the wine chaser probably didn’t help! But our bathtub did… Tuesday, September 5th Mom got up early to write a letter to Dad. She wrote six pages sitting on the toilet, to avoid waking me! That day was my son, Frank’s, 21st birthday. We would toast to his special day ….. across the miles sometime later in the day, hopefully in Brigitte’s Florac. But first we would explore. Later, we found a little sidewalk café and ordered a $3 cup of coffee. As strong as it was, we could have diluted it to stretch into three cups. That would have brought it down to a dollar a cup. We sipped it like the Europeans outwardly, but inwardly we wished it was a café au lait on a Paris sidewalk café. Afterward, we walked nearly straight uphill on an uneven cobbled street to find a massive church we’d seen from the city below. Mom counted 98 steps and she assured me it would be well worth the walk. I was dragging already and wasn’t so sure. How did she do it?? On the way, we stopped at a linen shop. Mom made her first personal purchase: a beautiful fan with muted colors to hang above their fireplace between family pictures of her Mom and Dad and Grandmother. It was 159 francs and she loved it! She gravitated toward it immediately, knowing it would be perfect. We walked through another old church.......they were beginning to meld together, but still awesome. We continued upward and onward around the corner of the church. And we were overwhelmed. Many more stone steps led up to the next level with signs promising more ancient wonders. I stopped. Mom didn’t miss a beat, grabbed the handrail and hoisted herself onto the first step. There was no way I was going up those stone steps; My feet were throbbing. So, I lifted my video camera and filmed Mom as she lifted each foot, one step at a time, until she began to shrink in my view finder. I could see that she was talking to me and I started laughing. Suddenly, she twisted around and noticed I hadn’t budged from the base of the steps. She motioned quite indelicately with her hand to get my butt up there. My God! She never slowed down and I’m sixteen years younger than she is!! So, being the ever-dutiful daughter, I gritted my teeth, grabbed the damned hand rail and crawled after her. After we crested the top of the mountain, the tiny ancient shops and buildings were very interesting. We saw a woman sitting outside one of the shops with white threads on her lap weaving a delicate tablecloth. It looked like an ancient version of tatting. She nodded, inviting us closer to watch her fingers fly over the shuttle in her lap. “Now, the steps weren’t that bad, were they?” Mom asked me as we watched the woman create a work of art. I just looked at her. She punched me lightly and pulled me onward. By then, we needed to find a bathroom in the worst way and followed the walkway back down the stairs again. It was so soothing retracing our steps downward, even as we limped over those cobblestones. After glancing in every little alley, we finally found a primitive, VERY OLD LATRINE. It was along the pathway from the big church and hard to describe. Just inside the large wooden door, we saw ceramic tile covering the floor and half way up the walls on all sides. There was a white ceramic basin on the floor, with a large hole about eight inches wide and a constant flow of water running toward the center. On the front of this ‘toilet hole’ on each side, were metal footpads. So, I got in, prepared for a one-of-a-kind toilet memory, placed my feet on the outlined marks and squatted. Luckily, the door covered from floor to roof, so we had privacy, but at that point, we didn’t even care! We were hungry again, so we found a grocery and household market. I needed a hair dryer since our adaptors did not work in their receptacles. We searched up and down the aisles until we were frustrated, then found a saleswoman who couldn’t understand English. Mom and I shook our heads, trying to figure out what to do. Suddenly, I heard Mom make a blowing sound with her mouth, point to her hair, and wave her hand around her head. “Ah, les cheveux plus secs,” the woman said, shaking her head and laughing with us before leading us directly to the hair dryers! Mom could now speak French! Next, we needed gasoline, or as they say: petrol. We weren’t used to pumping gasoline, but I did it. The credit card slip listed liters and since all the information was in French, I handed it to Mom to calculate the amounts in American dollars as we drove away from the pumps. “What?” She was stammering. “This translates to $75 dollars?” And I thought she was going to faint. Was that $4.50 a gallon? We were unsure of liter calculations. We knew it was more than we paid at home in 1995. Now, I knew why there were so many tiny cars on their roads. We pointed the little car toward Brigitte’s romantic little village of Florac after lunch. We drove through many villages, viewed wonderful scenery, and marveled at the uniqueness that surrounded us. Once, while eating in one of those villages on a tree-lined street at a picnic table, we saw an empty van parked nearby. We discussed locking the car even though it was only eight feet from us. Then...an older couple approached us, got into the van, smiled broadly and said “Bon Appetit!” We laughed at our fears and smiled in response. We saw our first big lumber mill on our trip down the mountain. Their trees were spindly, so it must require a lot of trees to make much lumber! So, the answer to stone and brick houses came to pass. The drive took us by volcanic rock with several layers of stone, denoting many eruptions. We found it very interesting, but austere, and anxious to get by. We continued to wind our way down into the valley toward Florac. There were many hairpin curves and some crazy drivers passing trucks! Some cars tailgated us, trying to intimidate me into passing semi-trucks, but I held firm. They weren’t happy but we were safe. The roads were too narrow! It took us 30 minutes to get down the mountain into Florac, and we arrived just before 4 p.m. We drove slowly by several hotels, when Mom spied one with a little balcony. “We can have some wine on the little table and relax,” she said, “and it’s outside by that little creek.” We stopped instantly and parked. Mom went inside to register. The woman didn’t speak English, so Mom returned for me. My French worked and I preened. After we got settled, we tried to find the little patio, but the woman could not understand us. Mom could see it from our bedroom window and became frustrated when she realized it was a private patio that belonged next door! She suggested climbing over the window sill since it was deserted…… and I think she was serious! Second best, I recommended a glass of wine in the village. She was still grumbling about her little patio as we walked up and down the village street until we found a sweet little café with outside seating, called the Plomberie. And it was $1 a glass! And good! We set up my camera on a car parked near the table, set the timer and toasted Frank’s birthday. At a dollar a glass, we enjoyed the scenery and the afternoon while sipping wine to the day’s end, and toasting to him several times. We tried to read a sign, denoting Florac Lozere as L’une des portes des Gorges du Tarn niche au confluent du Tarn et du Tarnon au pied d’une imposante falaise ou culmine le rocher de Rochefort (1083 m). The closest we could translate with our little French dictionary was: One of the harbors of the Throats of Tarn nests to the confluence of the Tarn and Tarnon at the foot of an imposing cliff or peaks of the boulder of Rochefort (1083 m). It didn’t make much sense. We found another tall church along a shaded alleyway, but couldn’t get inside, so Mom took pictures of me sitting on the stone wall of the bridge leading to the entrance. Scented flowers draped fat blossoms over the sides of the bridge. It smelled like we were waltzing through a perfumery. Back in our room, we agreed that Brigitte’s Florac was the most beautiful little village we’d ever seen. Surrounded by high mountains, our hotel had a private canal behind it. Water rippled over rocky outcrops and whispered against the green grasses. The ducks sounded as if they were laughing when they quacked, reminding us of an AFLAC commercial. The main street was only one block long. Small shops lined the sidewalk on both sides of the street; the center of the street had a twelve-foot wide island with two long rows of very old trees lining its curb. Under the trees were small tables and a walkway down the middle! It was very unique and picturesque. It appeared that we were destined to eat our way through France. At a small sidewalk café, we ordered a café au lait for me and a cappuccino for Mom with a plate of le français fritplate (French fries) for $5.25 to share. It was our cheapest ‘meal’ yet and the best coffees. We watched people stroll by, listened to soft French spoken all around us, gorged on the potatoes and drank our coffee until bed time. The little village was still awake, but we were sleepy. The hotel was comfortable, but small. We didn’t need a fancy place… just a bed and bathtub That evening, even though we couldn’t get to Mom’s little patio, we leaned out the window. We looked down at the dark water and saw the stretched reflections of twinkling stars above us. The starlight slipped into the window and we had to pinch ourselves once again to believe we were driving jauntily down through France toward the sea. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, January 7th, 2007
11:28 am	Onto Beauvais and ending in Fontenbleu Castle! Friday, September 1st Reluctant to get out of bed again, but another adventure awaited! The French hostess checked us out of the hotel, only $500 American dollars for five days in Paris. She placed our bags in a safe place, knowing we weren’t leaving yet! We heard her say‘Au Revoir’ as we left for the Louve at last! We were inside the pyramid and riding down the long escalator before 10 a.m. Our eyes were agog. Beautiful statues, gigantic oil paintings and Napoleon's very ornate apartments... And, of course, Mona Lisa (I heard Dad singing, “Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa, men have made you….) And I smiled. It was so melodramatic staring into those eyes and trying to decipher that smile like hundreds before us. We walked around, ogling everything until the oil paintings started to resemble one another, except the impressionists. I found Renoir’s original painting of the Boat Party and swooned. They were magnificent. I asked Mom to take a video of me in front of the Renoir paintings. She hadn’t used my camera before and she filmed me lying mid-air on my side! I teased her and she assured me she didn’t want to do any more filming anyway as she plopped it back into my hands. And I promised her I would let her…. The Van Gogh room was odd. The paintings were lined up by date and appeared like a time warp: The first paintings were basic and simple, but by the time we got to the end of his life, they appeared dark and gruesome. The Iris oil stood out and maybe the one with the yellow flower……. but nothing else! All I could think of was him cutting off his own ear in the movie. Was it Kirk Douglas? I found an original of the Tissot hanging in my bathroom and Monet’s water lilies in my living room. They were awesome. Promising myself I wouldn’t sneer at my copies back home, my eyes and heart drank in their beauty. There were 35,000 artworks spread over 645,000 square feet of gallery space. Everything had a story to tell and there seemed to be hidden meanings in each object. Room after room enticed and we wanted to linger. However, time ran out. We were leaving Paris that day, so our pictures would have to suffice and we’d miss the rest. Mom sat for a picture in front of the bright window. I knew it would be dark but the picture spoke volumes anyway. No, we were not ready to leave Paris, but our calendar said otherwise. With Chloe’ and all our luggage back at our hotel, a taxi arrived for the three of us within minutes. Detour signs delayed us. The driver told us he’d heard it was a bomb threat or demonstrators, so who knows? Paris had a lot of bomb threats in those last few weeks, and two bombs had been found in the area. We boarded the 4:45 p.m. RER train to Beauvais, a small village about an hour outside Paris, Chloe’s home. Her father and sister met us at the station. Their reception warmed us. Chloe's sister, Astrid, quite shy and barely five feet tall, didn't speak much English. They told us Brigitte, a nurse, was working an all-night shift. Chloe’s laughter filled the car and any unsteady moments as we conversed with them, knowing our French was slim. We were offered Anisette and water while Bertrand showed us his Bonsai trees lined up on benches behind the house. As an agricultural scientist, he teaches agriculture at the university. His garden certainly echoed his green thumb. We oohed and aahed over everything and meant it~ Bertrand explained that he and Brigitte had purchased an old feed barn when the girls were small and it had been broken up into parcels, as we would define as condominiums, I think. It was one long building with five residences. The downstairs had been primitively finished and the upstairs had been a loft filled with seeds, hay and rotting everything. It was a good price, he said. He prided himself in the fact that he’d personally, with Brigitte’s assistance, renovated it into the warm home we saw before us. He told us the story quite humbly, proud and sincere. The family bedrooms were upstairs through an open stairwell built along the wall in the living room. Bertrand sheepishly told us he’d created the steps himself when he finished the 2nd floor of the building. Bertrand and Chloe guided us to their guest room on the main floor. A bathroom was just outside the door. Earlier that day, Brigitte had prepared a large Quiche Lorraine, so the girls added a green salad, poured some red wine, and prepared a cheese plate with fruit cake for dessert. It was excellent. We ate dinner at 11 o’clock! After our late dinner, exhausted and excited, Mom quietly shut our bedroom door after bidding everyone good night. As we prepared for bed, the household became quiet. When she tried to open it again to get to the bathroom, she couldn't get it open! I tried the doorknob and couldn't either. We tried everything to get that door open but it would not budge. Locked in! We knew everyone was abed and we weren’t sure what to do! Sighing and with hearts beating fast, I slipped out our glass French doors onto the patio and was elated to find the kitchen door unlocked. I tiptoed through the living room and tried the bedroom door from inside the house but it appeared solidly stuck. We were laughing so hard by then our stomachs hurt… as we struggled to keep quiet. We knew we didn’t want to go outside to get to the bathroom during the night so we commiserated with one another. What to do???! We agreed I had to wake Bertrand. After focusing on our plan, I crept upstairs, whispering his name on each step, sad at waking him, but definitely unavoidable. He groggily responded in a loud, urgent whisper before meeting us downstairs a few moments later ----- fully dressed. He apologized and shrugged the door open for us. “We have been having trouble with it,” he whispered. After finished up in the bathroom, we got into bed and I started laughing again as the image of me creeping up those stairs, whispering his name in the dark…… hit me again. What he must have assumed! With him alone upstairs and Brigitte at work…Oh my God! Poor Bertrand! We laughed into our pillows. What a day! Saturday, September 2nd Mom rose at 8 a.m. to a quiet household to a sunshine and part cloudy day and already 70 degrees. She shrugged into her clothes and made her bed. The woman was ready to roll. “Are you awake?” she whispered. I rolled over in bed and stared at her sleepily. “No.” Mom smiled and rolled her eyes. Then Chloe’ tapped on our door and called us to breakfast, so I huffed a little and got up, ignoring her friendly mumbling as she quietly shut our door. We enjoyed fresh fruit with crusty bread and home-made fruit jam. A king-sized ceramic cup was filled with half coffee-half milk and placed in front of us. Bertrand joined us but didn’t mention my whispered call in the night …… He spoke concise English, albeit slowly. He glanced at Chloe’ often… for confirmation that he’d used correct English or asked her in French for an English word or phrase. She’d nod quickly and laugh gently, seeing how proud he was of himself when he was understood. He took all of us to the Beauvais Farmer’s Market. He bought fruit and bread at the food stalls. He carried a brown, leather purse with a long strap. I looked around and saw most men had them. It was a strange concept as I could not imagine American men using one. Would they think it unmanly? He was so lighthearted with Chloe. We wondered how often she visited her family during her school year. She is tall like her dad and resembles him. They seemed to enjoy being with one another and their camaraderie was a joy to watch. It was quite interesting to see her six feet tall like her father and Astrid five feet tall like her mother. Each girl was like a clone of one parent! He bought her a bottle of perfume she couldn’t live without after she lured us into a chocolate shop. Astrid followed and the sisters chattered in French a few steps behind or ahead of us all that morning. We could tell their visit was special as well and we felt special just being part of their familial visit. We were anxious to meet Brigitte. Returning home, we ate lunch about 1:30 p.m. Brigitte had also dressed, baked, chilled, and sliced a whole salmon for luncheon! It was on a bed of lettuce in a beautiful ceramic platter surrounded by tomatoes. Bertrand picked lettuce from his plentiful garden and filled our plates. Each moment just got better and better. He explained that the huge church we’d just seen and taken pictures of, had been bombed during World War II and never been completely re-built. It was still active with church services every Sunday, nevertheless. Mom told us their back yard looked just like hers when she was a little girl. She said it was JUST LIKE ON BUENA VISTA: A garden filled with woods and a small stream at the back. She enjoyed the view from their chaise lounge and put up her feet in total bliss. Bertrand had a pet in the little stream behind his house, a big trout named Juliette. He fed it bread and Chloe followed suit, laughing at him as he tried to draw it near with his French sweet talk. Brigitte came home at 2:30 p.m. We were delighted to hear her speak clear English. Hugs and kisses all around welcomed her home and introduced us to a beautiful mini-person as she was so tiny! She flitted around like a little bird. She ate quickly as we prepared for a 45-minute road trip to the village of Etrepagn, her parent’s home. They were having a special ‘family reunion’ to say goodbye to one of their granddaughters who had joined a Catholic convent. Their order never allowed their nuns to see their family! It was too sad. I didn’t know her, but felt bereft. Brigitte told us during the drive that her mother and father were in ill health but lived on their own. She explained the history of her family, her hands swaying back and forth as she talked and her eyes smiled. She was a lovely woman, small and energetic who obviously adored her family. She had several brothers and sisters and worried about all of them individually. Like we all do…. Everyone spoke about visiting the home place for days on end, and they were anxious to share it with us. We suddenly turned into a long driveway lined with tall oaks and greenery so thick one could hide like Robin Hood must have hidden in Sherwood Forest. Chloe’ showed us the oaks she played inside as a child, where they camped outside in the summer as all the children scampered around the property. She told us they would hide from one another and scare each other witless. My...what a wonderful old mansion, named Sainte Martin! It’s been in their family for SEVEN generations! How wonderful to be able to recount your family history like that! They lived in the renovated coach house pictured above. The stable had been converted into seven apartments to enable all their children and 26 grandchildren to visit together at one time. Each family had their own private apartment! Annick and Michel Cremie’re, Saint Martin, Etrepagny, 27150 France were delightful and appeared so genteel! They welcomed us like family and showed us around their home with such enjoyment. She served a beautiful afternoon tea as we sat around their long, wooden table. It was filled with fruits, cheeses, bread and beautiful desserts along with tea and juices. A silver-stemmed compote held fresh croissants, nestled in a blue and white linen cloth. Beside it, a white ceramic tray trimmed in gold leaf held Brie, Camembert and two other types of cheese I didn’t recognize. There was a small glass vase with a tall sprig of fresh rosemary and fresh thyme lay beside the cheese. A small copper dish was filled with fresh basil. It was shown as art! Beside the cheese tray sat a very small silver-stemmed dish nearly 3” in diameter. It was filled with Fleur de sel (hand-harvested French sea salt). Across the table, threaded near the cheese tray, lay a bouquet of freshly cut lavender. Mom and I held our hands in our lap, unsure how to act in such a display of French delights and then we saw the cheese tray being passed our way! We hesitated….. Since Chloe painstakingly instructed us in the art of cutting cheeses so we would not embarrass ourselves, we had to put our brains in gear. I reached for the cheese cutter, glanced at Chloe questioningly and her eyes guided my hand to hold my cheese cutter at the right angle. Then, we shared a secret smile before eating our cheese! Mom and I enjoyed the banter as we ate a touch of everything. We asked Chloe what the delicious buttery puff pastry was, so light in our mouths. “Pate feuilletee,” she responded. Brigitte smiled and offered the basket again. We were told Michel had been a General in the French army under an American commander named Alexander. He and Annick met in Germany during World War II and were married during the occupation. Seven generations ago, her family lived on the property, under King Lewis Xlll's reign. Her ancestor was the King’s music director and an impressing framed certificate proved it. Michel gave us a loving tour of their home and the gardens while he related a bit of history. Once inside the grounds, we saw more trees, especially oaks, and breathtaking colorful flowers, a big tennis court and green space, covering six acres of land. We photographed the family (except Annick and Michel) on the stairway just inside the old stable, previously the big house. It was such fun being part of their gathering. I set my camera’s timer and ran for the steps and laughed when we got our pictures back: It showed everyone’s feet. It’s a good thing we made them sit for more than one picture. The young woman on her way to the convent was beautiful and had the sweetest smile. Her parents seemed to accept her decision but I wouldn’t have. I’m too selfish, I think. After returning home in the early evening, Bertrand drove Mom into town to pick up our reserved car at the car rental offices. She drove home in a little Renault. He said we’d get good gas mileage as Mom handed me the keys! That evening, Bertrand played the CD I gave them, entitled Cinema, my favorite instrumental of film soundtracks. As we listened to the soft music, he smoothed out a large map of France on a big square table and began marking our driving route for the start of our road trip to Aix the next morning. Brigitte leaned over his shoulder and pointed to Florac. She said it was a sleepy little village that was unique and lovingly preserved. “You must stop overnight.” It sounded perfect to us, and Bertrand marked it on the map with the yellow highlighter pen. She nodded, “Yes, you will like it very much.” Brigitte fixed everyone Sleepy Time Tea and we went to bed about 11 o’clock. We were so keyed up from such an emotional day that we still had trouble going to sleep. Our days had been full to the brim with the sights and sounds of France. It was almost too overwhelming! But the doorknob worked! Sunday, September 3rd The screaming alarm went off at 8 o’clock, and Mom said she had just fallen asleep…. Everything had been packed the night before so we didn’t have much to do except get up! Now, she wanted to sleep in and I was ready! We needed to get our act together…. We met everyone in the kitchen, enticed by the welcoming aroma of coffee and fresh bread being served in their cozy kitchen. A long, wooden table and benches butted up against a big window overlooking their large brick patio. The coffee was very strong. They diluted it with milk in the mornings and we did too! The croissants seemed to be their daily fare for breakfast with a little fruit and we kept filled up! We took pictures of everyone in their bathrobes as the sun crept above the woods behind the barn, then left in our little blue Renault amid lots of hugs and double-cheek kisses. What a wonderful family! Thankfully, Bertrand led us out of town with our heads full of directions and his map in Mom’s hands. We were headed for Fontainebleau. And we missed the turn off! We wandered around, lost over an hour and ended up on a country road somewhere on the road to Paris! Mom thought the signs were un-American! A large city’s name was listed on one road sign, and unless we knew if a village was on the same road to the city listed, we were lost. Map and sign illiteracy in France! As we sat there contemplating the stupid map, two bike riders rode toward us. We were on a road, it seemed, to nowhere so we were surprised and delighted they found us! After a quick glance at our map, they motioned us in the opposite direction, gave us a thumbs up and we drove off again. We saw them laughing in our rear view mirror. The little car handled nicely but sounded like a tin can. Shifting the manual shift was a little unnerving, especially when I found myself on an incline! I was scared spitless that the clutch would slip and I would roll into an irate Frenchman! Mom told me it was like falling off a bike, I just had to get back on again if that happened…. Well, I was glad I didn’t have to worry about it. The little car turned out to be a friend, stick shift or not! We finally arrived at Fontainebleau, some miles south of Paris, about 2 o’clock and I had a splitting headache that I tried to ignore. Unable to believe our good fortune, we parked directly across the boulevard from the palace. AND, what a palace!! It was by far the most beautiful so far. Did we say that at Versailles too? Those long-ago monarchs knew how to build a place and live high and mighty! The rooms were filled with delicate wood furniture, rich velvets, cubby holes everywhere, ornamental ceilings and more of Napoleon’s apartments. He must have had apartments all over France. I fell down several of the stairs leading up to the palace, more embarrassed than injured. It gave us another good laugh since I wasn’t hurt...but my headache hadn’t diminished. We cut our walk short through the gardens and chose to get started on the road south! We wound our way out of town, following the map…. Lost again! We finally gave up and asked directions. A man pointed his finger ‘that way’ and it took us another hour of frustration before finding the right road. There had been so many different roads from Beauvais to Fontainebleau that it’s a wonder we got there at all. Current Mood: jubilant (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 3rd, 2007
5:40 pm	Wednesday, August 30th Much quieter! Mom woke at 5:30 a.m. when a neighboring cottage flushed a toilet and couldn't get back to sleep. She read her book quietly so I could sleep since she knew 5:30 was the middle of the night for me! Later, on that peaceful morning, we enjoyed a Petite Dejuner, a small breakfast likened to a continental breakfast in America, in the hotel’s dining room. Hot, creamy chocolate and fresh warm croissants with a side plate of fruit were served and only cost $8. It was a typical French breakfast ---- well worth our pennies. It was so refreshing, dainty and served so French! All the other patrons and servers spoke quietly in a gentle sing-song sound. French phrases drifted over to us and we were pleased to understand a word here and there. We commented on the musical sound that permeated through the little room, so unlike American voices that seemed so loud and gauche in comparison. As planned, Chloe helped us buy a train ticket to Versailles. It was another sunny, warm day with just a few clouds. The 35-minute train ride stopped at a small park with benches, bike racks and bright flowers. At the end of the pathway, we followed the signs around tall swaying trees and saw the massive structure before us. Its grandeur stopped us and we stood still before walking up the wide, cobblestone boulevard toward the opulent palace. We saw a replica of Notre Dame at its heart. Dear God, what a place! We could barely wait to tour the castle. Grandiose and overwhelming, Versailles stood for everything pompous about France from our history books and we soon found the pages to be accurate! In 1661, Louis XIV took over a marsh west of Paris to build the best palace in the world. He added that Trianon as a pocket palace where he could hang out and be a family man. Louis XV built the Petit Trianon for Madame de Pompadour, and Louis XVI created Le Hameau, a little farm of half-timbered cottages, for Marie-Antoinette. The Revolution trashed them all, and then for two centuries, punctilious curators reassembled the treasures while savant gardeners snipped and seeded the grounds. At the palace’s entrance, a stairway swept up both sides of a massive foyer and led to the first banc of rooms. We noticed, as we walked deeper into the castle, the rooms changed from serf to royalty. At the beginning, they were rich, but starkly furnished with very plain walls, corridors and cornices. Then, mid-way through, beautiful oil paintings, wall hangings and carpets emerged before us. Then, the Hall of Mirrors led us into the depths that only the most special people had been allowed into: friends, relatives and royalty. Floor to ceiling mirrors with arched tops on both sides of a very wide hallway framed the golden-filigreed etched walls amid three rows of crystal chandeliers. That day, mirrors took on a new definition for us. King Louie really knew how to live, though it was Marie Antoinette that decorated, had the gardens designed and created the 232 acres. Gardens, fountains and statues surrounded the back of the palace and a huge watery pathway similar to the mall in Washington, DC stunned us. It spread before a huge fountain below 100 wide stone steps that seemed to lead into infinity. Beyond the formal gardens and fountains lie untouched countryside with a transformative magic. In that autumn, we were told the overgrown property of the former hunting grounds were bumpy with fallen horse chestnuts. (?) The formal gardens and vistas of Le Notre are well-known and punishing to the feet, but Versailles has the unknown bounty of a magical, carefully tended 17th century park, whose dimension and details exceed the reach of any map or our guidebook. We ate a substantial meat sandwich with a cup of soothing hot tea in a cafe in the palace basement before wandering around the gardens until our feet were numb. I couldn't force myself to walk down to the arena. Mom hadn’t slowed down much and she had an injured back! She took pity on me and we turned toward the train, and arrived at our Cardinal Lemoine Metro stop by 5:00 p.m. We again applauded our luck at having that stop at the end of our street near the hotel. We were so tired! We fell into bed to sleep; Mom rested only one hour, but I slept two. I felt much older than her 65, I think. Our feet stopped throbbing and burning, so we meandered down our street and through the shops. We bought grilled chicken, salad, wine and croissants. We still had a baguette from morning, so we slipped into the Portuguese Market to buy some Tipini beans. Another learning experience: Don’t drink too much liquid while away from our hotel! It costs 2 francs (50 cents) to use public bathrooms! And they are hard to find. Some toilets were built at the curb of the larger boulevard’s sidewalks. The outhouse-type toilet was domed and the curved doorway slid open at the drop of our coins. Automatic plastic seat covers slid over the seats when the door opened. A sign inside the toilet, we later understood, told us if we stayed in too long, the door would automatically open after ten minutes. Alors! It would not do to become constipated on a Parisian street! What a nasty surprise that could be! Back in our room, we ate our chicken and salad quickly and washed it down with our wine --- because we were going to the Eiffel Tower! We were determined to ride the elevator to the top. It didn't take long to get there since we knew the Metro route and the train was no longer under construction, so it was easy! We were mesmerized all over again and our $10 elevator ride to the top gave us a magnificent view! It was dusk when we arrived, but the lights were soon visible all around us. It was a clear, warm night and perfect! We took so many pictures, our bags were getting full of spent film, but we continued to snap some more. The elevator traversed to and fro every fifteen minutes, so when we were ready to leave, we positioned ourselves near the doors and discussed the magnificence of the view and the tower itself. As the elevator doors started to open, a wild clamor of oriental people moved en mass, nearly knocking Mom off her feet. We were stunned. However, I caught Mom’s eye, she jabbed back and glided deftly through the forest of elbows and onto the elevator car with me in tow. It was our first experience with that type of ‘tourist’ excitement and hoped it was our last! A short walk toward Metro and a little ride to our hotel, we arrived home by 10:30 p.m. We mentally thanked Chloe', since she saved us so much stress trying to get around Paris! I dropped into bed immediately but Mom read until 11:30 p.m. Her stamina continued to amaze me! Maybe I just needed more Wheaties…. Thursday, August 31st Mom showered and washed her hair before I got up. Chloe' arrived at 10 o’clock, we drank coffee at our special café and went shopping. I found a black, lacy French bra and panty set and Mom fell in love with a darling cookie tin full of cookies at Le Bon Marche’, but it was $25! She just couldn't do it, so we went to Woolworths and she bought some sox. Not so cute but quite practical since we were wearing holes in ours daily. Chloe’ proceeded to lead us to her favorite café for Crocque Monsieur sandwiches. She insisted we shouldn't leave Paris without tasting them. They were her mainstay and being at university with a tight budget, she told us she ate so many that she rarely cooked at home. Once biting into them, we agreed with her. They were very good. All around us, we saw people sitting, reading, writing or talking with a cup of coffee or wine in front of them. Some sat alone watching others walk by or kept to themselves without acknowledging anyone around them. Others flirted outrageously with passing girls and whistled or murmured something in French. We enjoyed just watching them ---- watch others as we enjoyed this carefree, slower way of life and the unreality that swamped us. Then, I was on a mission. Back at home on my wall, was a framed poster print of a waiter in front of a Parisian restaurant named Le Petit Zinc. I was determined to find it and have my picture taken before it. An elegant French restaurant; stained glass windows on each side of the door, linen-covered tables lining the sidewalk, with green potted plants and flowers surrounding it all. My print seemed full of the essence of Paris. And I had to find it! Chloe studied the map and we ran after her, trying to keep up as she led us along various streets, intent on our goal. She trotted us around blocks and blocks, her finger on the map --- leading steadfastly on. And she found it! I was so excited. Mom took pictures of me in my French sweatshirt, arms outstretched. And Chloe' was stunned. We weren’t going to sit at one of the quaint tables? All that walking just for a picture? Rolling her eyes, she left us to go study, shaking her head in defeat. We just laughed again, wondering at her serious nature and wondering if we were, indeed, nuts. Later, we found the majestic Opera House of Paris, that inspired the story of the Phantom of the Opera in 1911 by Gaston Leroux. It is surely one of the most imposing buildings in the French capital, and indeed the Place de l’Opera where it stands, aptly, as the hub of Paris. Seven great thoroughfares radiate from it, the busiest square in Paris. We were amazed by its splendor and not a little in awe at its daunting size. It is the largest theatre in the world and holds an audience of over 2,000 people. The imposing Grand Staircase led to the auditorium which took the form of a double horseshoe housing a landing in the middle. Of course, we each posed for a picture on the spot! Our flyer told us Napoleon III decided on the construction in 1858. A competition was opened on the 2nd of December 1860 and out of 171 architects, Charles Garnier’s project was adopted. It took 14 years to build and finished in 1875. The two wings (Pavillon des Abonnes and Pavillon de l’Empereur) enclose a theatrical perspective opening onto a magical world. We crossed the Hall and walked up Le Grand Escalier (main staircase) which extends toward Le Rotonde des Abonnes, sheltering Le Bassin de la Pythie (fount of Phthie). The auditorium (la sale) has the original ceiling covered with Chagall’s masterpiece, one of the most important in modern art. There were costumed mannequins depicting various plays and operas, all ostentatious and flamboyant. Many of the costumes were of different periods in history. We were overwhelmed! Phantom of the Opera. Aida. Figaro. Mid Summer Night’s Dream. Taming of the Shrew…..And more! The actual building has a portico façade adorned by statues symbolizing Drama, Song, Music, Poetry and Dance, designed by Charles Garnier and took fifteen years to complete and cost 47 million francs! The site covers 2 ¾ acres and when the massive footings were being excavated, a deep bed of water was discovered and required huge pilings to be driven below water level. It had to be drained, steam pumps worked for nearly a year, the flooring was laid and then the water was allowed to return to the form of an eerie subterranean lake. Of course, we knew the ‘lake’ played a significant part of the story of the Phantom. The Opera house contains seventeen floors, a vast maze of stairways, corridors, lifts, ladders and chutes all interconnected yet so complex that it was easy for any unwary person to get lost. And there are at least 2,500 doors! Much of the glory remains from Napoleon’s time and the beginning of the Third Republic; and in years since, its splendid productions have given the Opera an enduring fame. The inside has been immortalized in the foyer de danse paintings of Degas who particularly captured the Opera’s engaging little dancing girls. We couldn’t wait to see the rest of Paris. We consulted our map and started walking again------- toward Paris’s Hard Rock Café. “Our French francs aren’t feeling like play money anymore because the damn stuff keeps disappearing,” Mom mumbled as she watched me purchase some drop earrings and a memento pin. I grinned and pulled her along after me, on the run once again and said, “Mom, it’s not really money on vacation, remember?” That evening, the Louvre was on our agenda again. At 4:45 p.m., ready to descend into that gigantic glass pyramid, we espied the sign by the door showing a 6:00 p.m. closing that night. Rats! We were disappointed again, but since our steps were becoming sluggish and our feet were burning, we sighed and backtracked. Back at our Metro station about 5:30 p.m., we purchased Paninis. It is a grilled sandwich with ham, cheese and sliced tomato prepared in a special Panini Grill, similar to a waffle iron. The heavy lid presses it flat and grills it simultaneously. It was very good and cost only $3, so we ate a lot of them. We had to get dessert to accompany it, so we chose a very large dessert crepe filled with chocolate, bananas, and Grand Marnier. Well, we were sharing it……. We hurried back to the cottage, ferreted out our left-over bottle of wine and ate outside in the courtyard garden. And we ate it all. Scrumptious! We chatted with a man and woman from Seattle and later agreed how chunky American sounded compared to the softer French language. We called Chloe' at 6:30 but there was no answer, so we decided to explore outside our gates again. We became lost and wondered if we would ever find our way back to the cottage in the dark, but viola! We were astounded to find ourselves suddenly in front of our own Metro station. We had been walking in circles! I tried to find Le Studia Hotel, where Nancy and I stayed four years earlier. I knew it was near Sainte Germaine Blvd., so I studied the map again, we walked a few more miles, and still couldn’t find it! We gave up, looked for a train home, and found the Pantheon! So we just walked home. We were getting so good at traversing Paris --- walking in circles or not! We called Chloe' again, but still no answer. We were all leaving together the next day for her parent’s home in Beauvais. We packed our bags and went to bed early, but worries over Chloe' kept us awake. She knocked on our door with little tapping sounds just before 11 p.m. Mom jumped up to open the door and received a kiss on each cheek before hearing Chloe’ speak in hushed tones about her Spanish boyfriend. “I had a very bad day. Raphael called me. He will not be coming to see me. He promised me, but now he will not be here…. and I was crying. It is a sentimental affair and I know it is not interesting to cry, so I went to see a film with my friend.” She called her mother, Brigitte, and replayed the conversation in French. Timid smiles and dry eyes afterwards, she left about 11:30. We each swallowed a sleeping pill, trusting the butterflies would be kept at bay before heading into the unknown tomorrow afternoon if we could just fall to sleep! Current Mood: amused (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 6th, 2006
3:54 pm	We still miss the bathtub! Well, we moved out of the ‘big house’ away from our fancy room with the crocheted-bedcover, little round lace-covered table and desk. We left the fancy bathroom with the deep tub, portable shower AND hair dryer. Evicted! Our new ‘home’ was one of those sweet little cottages on the perimeter of the courtyard that we’d been curious about upon our arrival. We found it half the size of our suite and less cozy, but much quieter. We tried not to whine that we had no bathtub to soak our weary bones in each night --- just a shower. The booklet in the room explained it was originally a dormitory. The wallpaper was badly pieced together and it had a very small bathroom. It did have a nicer view. We were spoiled quickly! And we promised each other repeatedly we wouldn’t whine when our feet burned, throbbed and begged for a soaking. We found a patio table and chairs just outside our door. A treat! Wine and cheese snacks surrounded by bright flowers almost made up for no tub. And we were in Paris! Much ado about nothing! Small shops lined both sides of the street near our hotel. There was a farmer’s market with Portuguese food, fresh vegetables, fruits, nuts, flowers, bakery goods and so much more. The streets were made of cobblestone or bricks --- like Norway, and very narrow like Puerto Rico, all so wonderful and interesting! We loved it!! You cannot walk through the streets of Paris without being assaulted by history, even where little shops adorned the alleys. So, we tried not to blink for fear of missing a view or some history waiting for us. We started another day about 10:00 a.m. and stopped at our little Patisserie for coffee and croissants.  As we munched on those buttery croissants, we sighed because we had never found that kind of pastry in America! They were wonderful mouthwatering gems and we ate one daily, ignoring any diet! We knew, in Paris, we would walk everywhere except using the Metro train from point A to point B. The streets had their own fragrance, sunshine smells of green grass, blue sky and the soft French musical conversation we found ourselves already understanding in bits and pieces. That day, Chloe's friends Gaugh (Goff) and his mother, Judy, offered to lead us to D'Orsay Museum while Chloe' studied. They were friendly and informative as we walked a couple miles together on our way to the RER train station. We slipped through the Gardens of Natural History The huge glass-roofed greenhouse was closed that early in the day, but the beautiful gardens were magnificent! The museum was formally founded in 1793, during the French Revolution. Its origins lie, however, in the Jardin royal des plantes médicinales (Royal Medicinal Plant Garden) created by King Louis XIII in 1635, which was directed and run by the royal physicians. The royal proclamation of the boy-king Louis XV on 31 March 1718, however, removed the medical function, enabling the garden—which became known simply as the Jardin du Roi (King's Garden)—to focus on natural history then later became a rival to the University of Paris in scientific research.In 1907, it began a new phase of growth, opening facilities throughout France during the interwar years. The museum was filled with oil paintings, some very impressive, some not so impressive, but quite overwhelming, nonetheless. Our ‘guides’ left us to enjoy it by ourselves and we lingered to digest every wall with our eyes. We could have stayed much longer, but we were hungry again. Our walking definitely generated an appetite. We found a tidy restaurant and were shocked at the cost. $30 purchased two small pizzas, one fruit-filled crepe to split, and two cups of hot tea. Sticker shock! We found our play money dripping through our palms like water through a sieve but that’s vacation! Money isn’t money on vacation we told ourselves. Montmarte district is at the foot of a cathedral called Sacre Coeur, at the top of Paris. Gazing at Paris from its top step looked like tiny buildings tossed across the landscape like dice. We climbed slowly upward and walked into the cool interior of the Sacre-Coeur Basilica. It was very old and beautiful. We found the votive stand near the back and lit candles for Chrissy again and took more pictures. The nave was so remarkable it was difficult to leave it. And of course there was another gift shop to waltz through. Set on a hill 130 meters high, the area of Montmartre looks grandly out over all of Paris. The name "Montmartre" comes from "Mont des Martyrs" (the bishop St. Denis, the priest Rustique, and the archdeacon Eleuthère were all decapitated there around the year 250). In the 12th century, Benedictine monks built a monastery near Rue des Abesses. It later became the seat of a powerful abbey. The Montmartre area was the center of a lot of activity during the Paris Commune in 1871. Despite the resistance of the people of Montmartre, the area remained under Federal control from March 18 until May 23. The end of the 19th century saw Montmartre to be the center of artistic life in Paris and the model of a free, bohemian existence. Many artists, from Berlioz to Picasso, lived, worked, and played here. These creative spirits (and their café, the Lapin Agile) helped keep this area the city's intellectual and artistic center up until the first World War. When we left to explore the Montmarte square where painters sit below the basilica, to paint on their easel-laden canvases and sell their original paintings, we got turned around! We walked steadily downhill from the church on the wrong street and were at the bottom near a vineyard before we realized it, and IT WAS A LONG WAY DOWN! But, we were determined, so we walked all the way back up the "thousand" steps (at least!) Oh! But it was worth the aching legs when we found it. At the end of the day as our legs and feet were throbbing, we agreed every step was worth all the wonderful sights that assailed us from every direction. That evening, we felt our first bump in the road. Chloe' arrived at 7:30 p.m. to find us primed and ready for her to take us to the Eiffel Tower. She led us to the nearby Metro station, with map in hand. We’d barely sat down on our seats when a disembodied voice informed us (in French, of course) that due to construction we would have to transfer to a bus at the third stop because the train would terminate at that time. They repeated the message in English, but with the French accent we would never have understood it without Chloe’s translation! Well, Chloe’ was determined we were not going by bus, so she studied maps quietly for minutes on end. She would walk, stop and look at the map and head off in one direction, then pause to study it again. We walked a hundred miles to the next Metro stop before getting close to the tower. By then, she was quietly agitated because it was dark and nearly 9:30 already. She pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows and nodded her head for us to follow. We valiantly tried to keep up with her determinedly-long strides along silent, dark streets. Trying not to stumble over the slightly uneven sidewalks, we hurried after her. She was so focused! Then, we came around a corner and there it was! It was alive with lights from ground to sky and probably the most spectacular sight we had ever seen! It made our hair stand on end to think we were actually standing in front of it! We were drawn to it like a moth to flame and walked steadily toward it, hearts clicking. Oh, the grandeur of the lighted giant on that dark night sucked the oxygen right out of us. We hugged Chloe’ for bringing us and started toward the elevators to get a view from the top when she held up her hand. She acted like we were crazy. Her stress level only paralleled our excitement, so we gazed upward and left the grandness behind knowing we would return another day. We snapped pictures and walked a few more miles before Chloe found another Metro station to get us home again. She was afraid to ride the RER trains since she was unfamiliar with them. But, all was not lost! We stopped to take a wonderful picture of the Seine River with blue lights dancing through the trees as an excursion boat drifted by! The river, at night, was a sight to behold and the Parisian skyline sparkled around us. We felt an ageless comfort watching the water slide swiftly and quietly beside us. We finally limped home before midnight. We hated seeing Chloe’ traverse the streets so late, but surprisingly we felt safer on those dark Parisian streets than we did at home. Probably because we didn’t understand the language, so couldn’t read the newspapers and were too stupid to know any better. We slid into bed after warm showers. We sure miss the tub. Current Mood: giddy (Comment on this)
Friday, December 1st, 2006
7:43 am	Evicted, but not daunted.... Monday, August 28th Although, still dragging our butts, we were up and dressed by 8:30 a.m. We strolled around our little courtyard and smelled the flowers before walking toward Chloe's. We found a little patisserie shop to have coffee, a word we used loosely. Espresso! It was bitter and strong. After the first sip, I opened my blouse and glanced down to make sure hair hadn’t sprouted on my chest! Mom said, “As mother would say, this is stronger than stud horse pee!” I couldn’t argue with her! We laughed in the brew and sipped on. However, we ordered a latte and cappuccino from then on since steamed milk added creaminess and diluted the taste. The delectable bakery goods were another story and made us swoon. The chocolate croissants! We agreed, perhaps, it was the most delicious pastry we’d ever eaten. Oh my, they melted in our mouths with chocolate oozing out of them. We bought extra ----- of course, to share with Chloe’. We had weaker (thankfully) coffee at Chloe's while she helped us chart our day. She guided our choices before taking us to the Metro to help us buy a five-day train pass called an STP Orange. Our pictures were required for the ID cards, but the photo kiosk was one train stop after hers. We were sure we could manage something so simple, so we sent her home to study for her university classes and started our day with exuberant smiles. Well armed with our maps and her experienced instructions, we got off at the next train stop and found the little photo cubicle just like she promised. But, what a fiasco! French directions and foreign buttons perplexed us as our foreign coins poured into the slot over and over again. The machine kept printing lots of pictures, none of them tiny enough for our cards. We nearly ran out of coins before we finally saw the small images we’d hoped for. Shaking our heads at each other, we jammed the cards into our fanny packs and stashed all the extra pictures in our bags for …… we didn’t know what. Then, we started on our sightseeing! My plan was to become reacquainted with Paris. My journey of the soul began a few years before. Now at last, here I was again and I wanted to share it all with Mom. The first stop on our agenda was Notre Dame. It was magnificent against the skyline and surrounded by statues. High above, we could barely recognize the ugly gargoyles that rimmed the top protecting and steadfast. However, we didn’t climb the many cement steps for a closer look as I’d done before. Pictures would be enough. Looking quietly through the awesome cathedral and peering into little side chapels filled with marble archways, benches, and flowers lent a prayerful ambience. Glancing up at the gorgeous stained glass windows and inhaling the scent of incense stilled our breath. Candles glowed inside colored votive holders in rows on top of footed wrought iron stands. Tenderness assailed us, as we knelt on the pad in front of the stand and lit a candle in Chrissy’s memory. We dropped coins in a small receptacle beside us, said our prayers and fought our recurring sadness. Then we wove through the side aisles around the wooden pews and left quietly out the gigantic, etched wooden front doors. The large courtyard in front of the cathedral was lined with flowing green trees and inviting benches. It was also filled with doves and story-book views of the Seine River. We saw the bridges over the left bank and felt the Parisian breeze float around us. Sitting on the benches, we watched people walk or wander around us, eating tidbits of food, enjoying picnic lunches, fruit, taking pictures of each other or groups. And we watched others watching us! We were the quintessential tourist. We had fanny packs strapped to our bellies, money hidden in our underwear, cameras suspended from our necks, maps and tour books gripped in our hands. Did we look like tourists?? We wandered toward the river and stood before the stone rampart while we gazed down into the water and watched slumbering boats drift by. Some of them were large tourist boats, some small pleasure crafts and kayaks. People casually strolled alongside the water below us, as if the word ‘hurry’ was not in their vocabulary. We watched lovers hug and kiss, then walk along the river with clasped hands swinging in tandem. We were overcome with the ambience of Paris and no words could express our happiness in just being there. That day. That place. And enjoying it together. We each took a deep breath. Sighing, we turned from the river, checked our guidebook and walked toward my special place, Saint Chapelle. It was another awesome church, much smaller in size but overwhelming in its ability to lure us in. It was ancient also, and built with hundreds of stained glass windows telling all the stories of the Bible. I wandered, weaving in and out of the alcoves staring at those tiny pieces of colored glass, wondering how the artists could possibly fill in all the blanks of the Bible with a piece of glass here and another there. We were mesmerized. Pictures could never do it justice but we tried anyway. Such blissful peace and quiet! Paris was such a “walkable” city, just humming with life…. and I wanted to look upward and just spin around like a child. We walked through Jeanne Square on our way to the Louvre. Our plan was to slip through it before meeting Chloe’ at the entrance, although she told us we’d want to spend all day there. We couldn’t imagine the size but we looked forward to seeing the artwork, stonework and oil paintings. I loved Renoir and Mom had taught me for years about the classics and the wonder of art. When we saw the Louvre after gazing at huge stonework buildings along both sides of its gigantic open courtyard, we were taken aback. It looked like an accident: a huge triangular piece of glass amid all those beautiful ancient buildings over the entrance. Was that an Egyptian pyramid in the middle of such ancient beauty? We read somewhere that architecture of the past can enrich the present, but a glass pyramid? A human line extended all the way around the pyramid and after looking at our booklet, we knew the wait would eat up our allotted time. It was already 3:30 and our plan was to meet Chloe' by 5:30. Regardless of the strange entrance, we knew we wanted to spend unhurried hours inside. So we added it to another day’s list and sped on through the famous Tuileries Gardens. They were absolutely beautiful! We stopped at a sweet little cafe and ordered a sausage sandwich to share, although it resembled an American wiener, hardly sausage as we knew it. And a glass of wine, of course! The music wafting through the café was the type Chloe called, ‘sweet music.’ Our first full day in Paris found our vim and vigor waning and our feet felt like lead. After a second’s hesitation, we decided to eat our sausages inside instead of munching while walking along the sidewalk even though we had already placed our order. Surprise! We learned if you order at the sidewalk counter and decide to eat inside instead, you pay nearly double for it! But it was so good to sit down! We dug out francs, sipped our wine and added it to our learning experiences while listening to sweet music and melted into the moment. Afterward, we found ourselves walking down a long, wide boulevard called Des Champs-Elysees. The guidebook said the royal family traveled its length centuries ago in their parades. It is also where the Tour de France ends and all manner of exciting events take place. And every expensive shop one can imagine lined the boulevard on both sides! At the very end is the Arc de Triomphe, commemorating Napoleon's victories and a symbol of the French national glory so we pointed ourselves in that direction. The walk seemed endless….like eating Chinese food, the more you eat the more seems to be on your plate! Then, the sky opened up and it stormed wildly. We hid under shop awnings during two quick cloudbursts. It wasn’t cold and didn’t last long so we continued walking and finally arrived at the arch. We hoped to walk across the busy street to look inside the stone archway. However, the street surrounding it was filled with six or more lanes of chaotic traffic, without painted division lines and the cars were speeding around it in wanton abandon! We couldn’t see a cross walk and even if we had, we knew they didn’t pay attention unless you just jerked your way across. No hesitation on a pedestrian’s part or the drivers became kings of the road. We had the pleasure of watching from the corner, admittedly lily livered, but safe. We must have walked fifteen miles and were dragging ourselves along the street by the time we rode the Metro back to the Louvre to meet Chloe' and her friends, Valentine and Pierre. Valentine (pronounced Val-en-teen) is bubbly and so cute. She and her boyfriend were going to Viet Nam in December to teach in exchange for their college education tuition fees. They were quite excited about the opportunity, since it would give them experience teaching and view a different world Later, Chloe took us to the Le Bon Marche, another mile walk! She pointed to various fromage (cheese) and we had several little packages to carry home with our pain (bread) and two bottles of vin (wine). Chloe shared it with us in our lovely room (goat cheese=Ugh!) and chatted as we munched on our feast. She told us when it comes to cheese, no other country comes close to the scope of France’s majestic array. They make more than 500 cheeses! Cheese is so much a part of life in France that even the relatively inexpensive restaurants offer cheese courses before, or instead of, dessert. Cheeses are made from goat’s, sheep and cow’s milk. It is made from raw milk to provide maximum flavor even though there is governmental pressure to use pasteurized milk. She explained that raw-milk cheese cannot be imported to America unless it is more than 60 days old. When I reached over to cut the Brie for a piece of my baguette, Chloe’s intake of breath and snapping eyes caught me off guard. “What?” My knife stalled mid-air. “Patricia, you must learn to cut French cheese the correct way.” She pursed her lips softly. “Never slice the tip of the cheese, always slice gently on the side as if you are cutting a tiny wedge of pie. Like this.” She gently took the knife from my hand, sliced the cheese and gave me a chunk for my bread. Then her eyes danced. “Oh, my! We have a lot to learn, huh?” I glanced at Mom and she just shook her head. Such seriousness for cutting cheese! But, we were impressed! Our bedroom had a small table covered in white lace, just big enough to hold the wine, cheese and bread. The flower-papered walls had white wood trim and the hardwood floors were shiny and clean. But alas! It wasn’t to last. We found a note, written completely in French, under our door that evening. Thank goodness Chloe' was there to read it for us: We had to pack up and move out of our room the next morning! We were not given an explanation, but we surmised the hostess put us in the wrong room when we checked into the hotel the day before. Attempting to take it in stride, I filmed us drinking the wine and laughing over nothing. Mom called Dad and he wondered if we were at a party! He and Rick were preparing to leave for California on a little holiday themselves and she was happy Dad wasn’t going alone. Poor Mom! Her big toe was sore and bleeding from a sharp toenail so she bandaged and babied it. Our feet really needed a break, so we each took another soothing, hot bath and soaked away our aching muscles, before sagging into our beds at 11:00 p.m. Current Mood: ditzy (Comment on this)
Sunday, October 1st, 2006
1:48 pm	On our way to France! Sunday August 27th We rose just before 9 o’clock a.m., showered and drank a cup of their instant coffee. The room had a pot to warm water, and packets of chocolate. Also, 2 packages of biscuits that appeared aptly named, since they tasted like dog biscuits (not that we were prone to eat them often…..) So, we missed breakfast even though it was included with the price of our room. And we needed food! We walked down our pleasant, little brick street and found a quaint little café. We quickly ordered coffee and tasted the first of many delicious chocolate croissants and let it melt in our mouths. The light morning traffic buzzed by us and the sun grew warm and bright. A wind, gentle and sighing blew in puffs around us. The streets were clean as we left the café and walked to Chelsea Borough in Sloan Square--a very neat and pretty neighborhood. There were so many brick houses and buildings. Not a wood house anywhere! The public bathrooms in restaurants, train and bus stations were very clean and lined with ceramic tile. Some of them had murals painted on them to depict London sights. Nice good quality toilet paper, but where were the seat covers? Our morning disappeared too quickly. The taxi cab whisked us quickly to the Waterloo train station before noon to board the underground train to France. The security check points were everywhere and as we pushed our way through the glass doors, it reminded me of a science fiction movie. Various walkways were above and around us, all leading in different directions that made me think we were actually heading to Mars…… instead of France.We followed the signs, along with other travelers, to the new Channel Train, called the Eurostar. The idea of a road tunnel between England and France was first suggested to Napoleon in 1802. It was not until nearly two centuries later that the dream became reality when digging began on the Channel Tunnel or "Chunnel". The $15 billion was officially opened by President Mitterand of France and HRH Queen Elizabeth II of England, in 1994. The tunnel consisted of 3 interconnected tubes: One rail track each way, plus one service tunnel, 31 miles long, of which 23 are underwater with an average depth of 150 feet under the seabed. Mom’s excitement mounted (and I had to admit I was in that same frame of mind) as we boarded the train. We laughed when the dark ride under-the-channel only lasted thirty minutes!! However, it was nice to have assigned seats so we didn't have to scramble looking for them. The train was very roomy, comfortable with foot supports and so very quiet! FRANCE ! Upon entering France through Calais, we saw familiar American-type countryside, with trees and farm houses dotting the scenery. The train caressed the topography and made us smile. The turreted chimneys had a curious metal funnel cap on top and the houses were stone or brick. We found the train’s occupants a mosaic of nationalities: English, French, German, Italian and so many others. A snack bar was pushed through the aisle on wheels and the man accepted all types of money. We pulled out our play money, and ate meat sandwiches with hot tea, headed toward our next adventure. One Englishman in front of us ordered tea and when asked if he wanted cream and sugar, he responded, “Oh, spoil me….. two sugars please.” Mom and I smiled at his answer, but sipped ours black. It reminded me that I always used to drink my tea with sugar but every time Mom served me a cup, it was black and unless I wanted to get up and get some sugar myself, I was stuck. So, now it’s black and I don’t miss it much. She told me I wouldn’t….. just like a mother! The train sped south. Our throats thickened with emotion at our first sight of PARIS. We saw Chloe' gingerly approaching as our train pulled into the station. Hugs, kisses on each cheek, lively chatter and deep breaths filled our lungs. We were thrilled to be on French soil. “Bon Jour, Grandma and Patricia. Welcome to Paris.” She led us to the underground station with her welcoming smile glowing in our direction. Chloe has very long legs, since she is nearly 6’ tall and we found ourselves scampering to keep up with her. Once on the train for twenty minutes, she looked at her map and decided we should walk the rest of the way as our hotel was close. She didn’t want us to lug those bags up and down more Metro stairs to change trains. However, we soon realized her close and our close were miles apart. A half mile or more apart… By that time, our bags felt heavier than when we’d left Portland! But trudged after her, tugging them along the uneven sidewalks and cobbled streets until she saw the Pantheon and her eyes lit up. Again, she repeated we were close! It was extremely hard on Mom’s injured back, even though we helped her with the bags, but she remained stoic. We were thrilled to see Chloe point her arm ahead at last, pirouette and sing, “Here it is… da………da…….” Oh! The HOTEL des Grandes Ecoles was wonderful! At the rue eu Cardinal Lemoine, a large wooden gated doorway invited entrance. And I’d found it on the internet! The cobbled driveway was about 50 feet long and 24 feet wide lined with little pale colored cottages. Each had its own little porch, flower pots and shutters on the windows. The view ahead was inviting: a courtyard filled with colorful flowers and trees. The garden was beautiful and secluded. Those huge entrance gates (about 15 feet high) shut off the courtyard at night to the street for security. Our room was in the main building, where French country elegance surrounded us with two large beds and a gorgeous bathroom. We threw open the large window, hoping to invite some non-existent breezes. Chloe assured us it would cool off later, so we left the window open as it was on the 2nd floor above a cobblestoned alleyway. We were sure we would be isolated from the chaos and noise of the busy street. We dumped the bags, and changed clothes since it was so warm and put our feet up a bit before walking (again) over to Chloe's flat. We couldn’t believe that it was only a 10-minute walk from Chloe's place, since Paris has over a million people! What a coincidence. I couldn’t even pretend I planned it that way. Mom & I were dumbstruck. A dose of reality for living in Paris: Her apartment was about 10 feet wide and very long in a building that must have been built at the turn of the century. A dark narrow, winding, stairway led us to her door and once inside, we could see everything without moving our head. Tiny is not a word to describe this mini-apartment but her parents bought it for her and it was home. They found it much cheaper than renting while she attended the university. It was her castle. The windows opened out to a sort-of breezeway that let in some air, but you could see and hear the other apartment dwellers like they were in the room with us. We didn’t stay long. Chloe led us up and down the Parisian streets, showing us her city and then we stopped (nearly fell in) to have dinner at a really cute little cafe. (Chloe' said it was "typically Paris"). We had chicken, and fish crepes with a bottle of aged cider, costing about $30. We were pleasantly surprised, at the first gulp --- to find the pear cider was alcoholic. Yum! Chloe’s English was a little wobbly but still very good. She gave us a brief description of her life the past few months during the meal and told us she planned to help link us to all the wonderful places we should see in Paris each day. We loved the idea and agreed with her wholeheartedly. She left us at our hotel about 10 o’clock and we drew straws for the bathtub. Mom won. She came out, smiling and said she’d had a lovely hot bath...it felt fabulous. My turn came and I sank into the bubbles and warm water, letting out a sigh that I’m sure she heard in the bedroom. It seemed to drag out the sore muscles and screaming aches and pains. Later, we read a little and turned out the light about 11 o’clock. Then........the fun began. Cars began driving up and down the cobble-stone alley. Clunking sounds, rattling noises, click-clacking of heels on stone! People walked by talking loudly under our open window. We realized it must be a short cut! We closed the window and shut off the little breeze, hoping to alleviate the disturbances. We finally managed to sleep sporadically until daybreak; then the loud rumble of wheeling garbage cans jerked us awake again, even through the closed window! What a night! It was so loud! But...we knew we’d survive that too. Current Mood: energetic (Comment on this)
Saturday, September 9th, 2006
2:09 pm	England First! Friday, August 25th, 1995 Mom told me she was sure to be a bundle of nerves, but she was very calm ever since she finished packing a week ago! I was a little dazed by it all but she forged ahead like a world traveler and we had our itinerary all mapped out and carefully stowed away with our English pounds and French francs. It all looked like play money. We flew into Cincinnati that evening, enjoyed a glass of red wine at a little table overlooking the city at dusk, took some pictures and boarded another plane at 9:00 p.m. Our pilot introduced himself as Parker Lovelady and the laughter that dogged our trip began in wild abandon. We burrowed down to sleep in the cramped seats, hoping we would be rested when we arrived in London. Mom had her own pillow, a tiny one she folded and fit into her pink carry-on bag, so she could travel comfortably and never doubted she wouldn’t. Saturday, August 26th The wonderful aroma of freshly-brewed coffee woke us as the sun slid through the edges of the airplane window blinds. I was surprised we’d slept at all in the small confines of the plane. The seats were so small! But we did. We opened our shades to bright sunshine and accepted a fresh croissant with our coffee. We washed up and didn't feel half bad! It was approximately 1:00 a.m. our time, but 10:00 a.m. their time. And we arrived on time! After finding, gathering and pulling our luggage out of the terminal, we planned to hail a taxicab. The bright street was filled with people and amusing English accents ricocheted around us. We paused and studied the crowd around us until we heard a uniformed man repeating the words, ‘Follow the queue.’ Mom and I glanced around curiously, feeling like we were fresh from the country. Then we saw the small black boxy-looking cars lined up like licorice sticks as far as the eye could see. Ah! The QUEUE. Well, we ‘queued up’ with the other travelers until our turn came. The cab driver didn’t get out, so we bumped our luggage into the back with us. There was one seat for us and a missing seat behind the driver left room for the bags. And the man was sitting on the right side of the car! We were prepared to see it but living it was another story! When he turned the corner, we saw the wrong side of the curb… (ouch!) It was very odd. We weren’t sure what to expect but when the cab driver stopped in front of a brick two-story house, he stopped, removed our bags, collected our ten pounds and drove off, leaving us standing on the sidewalk. We were sure he’d made a mistake since it was a quiet residential street that wasn’t like any hotel we had ever seen before. We glanced at our little book and it matched the address of the Willett Hotel at 32 Sloan Gardens in Sloan Square. So, we just grinned at each other and rang the private doorbell a little after noon. Alas! A cute young English girl invited us in through a delightful wall-papered hallway, led us upstairs and told us breakfast was served from 7:00 to 9:00 a.m. She explained about ringing the doorbell to gain entrance into the house! Mom called the Willett Hotel a "darling little hotel". Our room was long and narrow with twin beds along one wall. The two headboards butted up to each other and allowed us about five feet of walkway space the length of the room beside the beds. There was a superb window, open to the scent of London and we could hardly wait to enjoy as much as we could in the short time allowed. Since we wanted to ‘see London’ before our train left the next day for France, we freshened up, changed clothes, and we were off and running. We walked up the street to explore on our own, but jointly decided to get information at the hotel for the sight seeing double-decker buses we read about so we wouldn’t waste valuable time getting lost. We had London and Underground Railway maps in our hands along with the hotel receptionist’s instructions, and we found we were only one block from the train. We put some English coins into the kiosk, grabbed our tickets, shoved them into an entry slot to lift the stile, then the ticket was stamped automatically and spit out in another slot for us to grab on our way through. We mastered the thing after some conversation and laughter, following the tunnel-like steps and rode to Victoria Station. It was like a small city, without a doubt the largest train station either of us had ever seen. Well marked signs and loud speakers helped us find out way and a hot pretzel with dripping mustard helped us gain some of our energy after the night’s travel. The bright double-decker red tour buses promised tours for 20 pounds (About $5-$6 American) and they stopped at various places every 20 minutes. Cameras, bags and tickets in hand, we jumped on. The early London sun was very warm and our sleep-deprived bodies had to continually demand our eye lids to remain open! My sleeplessness made me limp, my eyes closed and it felt so good! It nearly overwhelmed me, but Mom seemed just fine. Her head swung back and forth in awe, as she tried to catch every inch of scenery around her. She was like a little kid in a candy store. It gave me such a tender feeling to watch her as I shook off the soft tickle of sleep that tried to overpower me. The English bus-tour guide’s constant commentary made us feel like we were cramming for an ancient history lesson. She said Hyde Park did not have or need a watering system because it rained so much. Not that year though. The summer had burned it brown. She pointed across the street to a hotel she assured us ‘Elizabeth Taylor stayed in on each of her honeymoons’. As her voice droned on, I almost lost the excruciating battle to stay awake. So, when we came to Piccadilly Circus, Mom and I got off to walk and laughed when we realized it wasn’t a “circus” at all. I guess I never really listened to the Beatles song very well. It was actually a giant shopping mall. Our favorite!! We did a little shopping, got on another bus and explored another couple of hours in another section of the city. The history was mind boggling! Although our bus-tour guide spoke English, we found quickly that they speak English and we speak American. Her dialogue was fast and it was impossible to understand or digest even a tenth of all she was saying. It would have been wonderful to spend a week or two instead of a day and a half. However, we managed to see most of the frequently visited tourist attractions. Westminster Abbey! Every nook is crammed with tombs, effigies, plaques, stained glass and busts, all in an insane, exhilarating mishmash of styles. A thousand years of English history slapped us in the face as we lingered and looked all around us. We saw the Houses of Parliament along the River Seine, Big Ben near Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square. Buckingham Palace was a stone jewel with the high black grilled walls and the expanse of concrete inside interlaid with bricks. We could see the guards but missed the changes of the guards. The Seine River slid through the downtown area smoothly and we saw the Tower of London where the Queen’s jewels are kept. By that time, jumping off the bus to tour the tower was too much and watching from the bus windows was sufficient. By 4:00 we were dragging our butts and hungry, so we hailed a cab and rode to the original "Hard Rock Cafe". Standing on Old Park Lane since June 14th 1971, this is the one that started it all. The brainchild of Isaac Tigrett and Peter Morton, the cafe attracted customers from day one with first-rate but moderately priced casual American fare (available no-where else in London or the UK at the time), warm service and ubiquitous Rock 'n' Roll music and sensibility - Hard Rock Cafe London became an instant classic. Still housing the first ever piece of memorabilia donated to the Hard Rock Cafe, Eric Clapton's Lead II Fender, originally donated to reserve a space at the busy bar, the London Cafe is as charming and authentic now as it was so many years ago. Many of the original serving staff still work there today! There were flowers bursting out of moss-filled pots hanging atop a window-box fence surrounding several outdoor tables. Friendliness, music and a sweet atmosphere beckoned to us and within a few minutes, a table was ours. We had a crisp green salad in front of us, a chilled glass of White Zinfandel and lounged through our first meal in England! London at its best! The weather was a perfect 80 degrees, blue sky, friendly waiters, good food and wine. We giggled like teenagers and lied about being tired. Afterwards, we found some souvenirs in their shop and meandered toward the underground train to go "home". We must have been infused with a ‘second wind’ since we didn’t feel any jet lag (yet?). However, we went to bed about 8:15 since we had been up hours and hours! It was still dark, when I awakened about 2:00 a.m. A strange noise brought me up from sleep and I strained to listen hard, trying to identify it quietly in the night without waking Mom. I listened and heard again the sound of an almost-silent crunching noise. Then I grinned. "Mom!” I waited a moment, listening still. “Are you eating?" “UMMmmf.f…glld…..” Her mouth was full of trail mix. We started laughing and she admitted she’d been awake an hour and had been listening to her cassette. She also plugged in her little metal-coil heater for some tea but told me the water only got pee warm… So much for no jet lag, so we d chatted until nearly 4:00 a.m. until we finally fell asleep. Current Mood: bouncy (Comment on this)
Thursday, September 7th, 2006
6:32 am	Neyda and Patricia’s European Holiday ---Keeping up with Mom in Europe -- OUR PASSAGE TO VENICE September, 1995 Adapted by Patricia Steele Based on Neyda Bettencourt’s daily journal After a lifetime of pent-up dreams and a year filled with blissful conversations, the day magically arrived. We’d flipped through a gaggle of magazines and travel brochures and our airline tickets were stowed in our bags with our passports. Excitement mounted and bubbled inside us as we realized today was the day! Following endless hours of French conversation spewing from our cassette tapes and into our tired ears, our heads were awhirl with words and phrases, then Mom decided to defer all French conversation issues to me! I had mastered, ‘Ou est la toilette?’ and Jous voudrais un verre de vin. Where is the toilet? and We would like a glass of wine. What else could we possibly need? The words were indelibly etched in my head for future use and Mom was depending on me. I knew Mom was nervous about leaving Dad for three weeks, but excitement reigned. Dad’s glistening eyes belied his excitement as her dream of a holiday in Europe would soon be realized. He’d been to Europe in the military and had no desire to return. They were both choked up as they kissed good-bye, with her promises to call and the return date written on the calendar back home. Let’s back up a few months here and begin our story. I wanted to go back to France, so my suggestion began as, “Let’s go to France, Mom. I mean it! All we have to do is buy a ticket”. She’d looked at me with a quizzical, surprised smile and shook her head. “Oh, honey. I can’t leave Dad…..” I knew her dream had lain dormant for too long, so I dug in my heels. She was hoping I would…..and we started making plans to go to France and visit the Vinnier family in Provence, south of France, and our friend, Chloe, in Paris. Once Mom believed it could really come true, she mentioned the Channel Train. What??? “But Mom, that means we have to fly into London because that’s where it starts…...” What happened to flying straight to Paris, I wondered. “Yes, I guess it does, honey. You know I’ve always wanted to see London too and we could take that train to Paris… it goes under the English Channel and into Calais. And Chloe could guide us through Paris to the hotel you find for us.” She slid it all in without taking a breath. Mom had definitely done some homework, so today we were headed for London, England and that part of the trip was settled. The rest, she had fed to me in stages. “And you know I’ve always wanted to see Venice, honey. I always wanted Dad to take me but he just doesn’t want to go to Europe at all. All the books I’ve read, I’ve tried to visualize and imagine myself there.” Little crinkled lines danced around her gray eyes as they studied mine earnestly. I remember glancing at her to see if she was joking but her eyebrows rose a bit and her lips began to stretch in a smile. She was dead-on serious. “Mom! That’s in Italy!!” I couldn’t believe how our trip to France was ballooning into a European walkabout. “Yes, I know it is, dear. We can take one of those little bus tours I’ve read about so we don’t have to worry about driving and following maps like we are going to do in France. AAA magazine is filled with them and your travel agent could probably line it all up for us. Then, we can take a train from France to Rome and see the Mediterranean. I’ve always wanted to see the water stretched across the south of France. Oh, the Mediterranean. It’s a sight to see, they say, and you know we’ve only seen all of it in movies.” Yes, the woman had definitely done her homework and I knew I was sunk. I called my boss’s travel agent/friend in Albany and his assistant took notes and began preparing for our trip, making travel arrangements that included our flights and the tour in Italy. She was so helpful and I was so glad! I researched the internet for hotels in London and Paris, but left the tour arrangements to her with great relief. Mom? Well, she left ALL the arrangements to me. She told me that was one of the best parts of our trip, she didn’t have to think, just follow me, let me speak French and have fun. Well, I knew I had big shoulders, so began preparing folders and packets of information while she continued to cut out articles, save magazines and call me periodically with places we had to see! The anticipation while preparing for our trip could only be defined as more fun for us. I signed up for French classes at the local school and practiced placing my tongue on the roof of my mouth to prepare the sounds that Chloe made when she stayed with us. The teacher assured me I would pick it up quickly. I wasn’t so sure. Mom and I bought French tapes, plugged in the machine and listened there too. I’d play it in the car, listen to the Frenchman say words and phrases and drive down the freeway, mimicking him and hitting the rewind to listen and repeat again and again. I was going to talk French! We were told if we could speak and/or understand Spanish, we would not have much trouble understanding the Italians so we didn’t practice or try to learn that language too. I knew a few words and figured my smattering of the Spanish language would carry my through. We were wrong on that one. Travel always transforms us --- whether we like it or not --- in subtle ways or in permanent ones. It gives us new perspectives, new ideas about ourselves and the world we live in. But sometimes a trip is more than just a trip; sometimes it flirts with transcendence. These are the journeys we remember forever. And this was definitely one of them. Current Mood: contemplative (Comment on this)
Saturday, May 6th, 2006
7:25 am	Back in Charles City Hi everyone, I had to hit the ground running when I returned from England on the 26th, so I did not get a note off. I was going to update my journal from London, but when i went into the internet cafe, I used up my 30 minutes by trying to figure out their keyboard. It is so different from mine and I must have deleted & backspaced so often, my fingers were numb. So, here I am, back home again. The highlights of my trip were attending Easter Services at Canterbury Cathedral (and later tour a few days later) and coming around the corner the following weekend, up over a slight hill and Stonehenge greeted me from the bus window. It was awesome. The people were so friendly and helpful, even when we didn't ask. I guess standing in the middle of everything with our noses in the street map was a clue. We figured out the underground (trains) and the coins just in time to jump onto the plane to head home again. Pictures and photo parade in progress. Smiles from Charles City, PS Current Mood: content (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 12th, 2006
7:23 am	Ready to see London ~ My bags are packed (and re-packed several times). I promised myself I would take a mid-sized bag and my back pack without a purse. Well, I removed everything imaaginable from my mid-sized bag including short-sleeved items and my robe. I will just lounge around in my pajamas in the evenings and jump into bed if I get cold. The excitement continues to mount and my stomach muscles contract consistently as I become melancholy when I am flying anywhere. I have sent all my love notes to my special people just in case my future isn't as I imagine and left a love note on JD's pillow to find when he tucks himself into bed without me tonight. So many tour books on London and England countryside! So heavy. The backpack is getting a work out so I removed all but 2 books and kept the maps. I have English pound notes in 3 different spots, as the books instructed me to do and have on my super-duper zip-it socks to store my credit card and a few pounds there too. We leave at 6:30 pm out of Dulles tonight and land at 7 a.m. London time, which will be 2:00 a.m. Virginia time. With the sleep I need each night, this will be tough but Mom and I did it, fighting sleep as we trolleyed around on the little red tour double-decker buses and Caroline and I will too. And then the London Eye that night, then dropping into bed to start all over again on Friday. My hugs to all and I promise to journal every day and take lots of pictures! xoxoxoxo Current Mood: cheerful (9 Comments |Comment on this)