French Wine Country

The offer to accompany American artist, Kent Lovelace http://www.kentlovelace.com/, to France for two weeks, was too good to consider turning down.  The experience was wonderful, a whole new way to travel and see the countryside.  We flew from Seattle to Paris and rented a car.  Off to the countryside, Vezelay first, then Beaune, Turenne and Bordeaux.  The day usually started with coffee and a very slow drive along the smallest of roads, sometimes along dirt roads in search of beauty - and it is certainly out there.

Ross Lake Resort

Well, it's been awhile but I did have a little adventure with four other women around the first of September.  We rented a house at Ross Lake Resort here in Washington State.  Ross Lake sits behind Ross Dam in the North Cascades and is in both Washington State and British Columbia, Canada.  To get there I drove up to Diablo in the North Cascades and took a ferry from Diablo Dam to the bottom of Ross Dam.  Then all the gear and passengers are packed onto the back of a flat bed truck and taken up a series of switchbacks to the top.  After that, each group hops onto a series of smaller boats, depending on the number of passengers arriving, and is delivered to their cabin or camp site. 

The cabin was lovely and very clean.  All the cabins at the resort float on the lake and each has plumbing and electricity just like home, all the modern conveniences, except no telephone, no internet.  We also rented an outboard motorboat to use to get around the lake.  Since the lake is sizable, one of the main diversions is tooling around the lake.  Some people fish.  We did a bit of hiking, swimming, and some fishing though the little girl next door caught more fish with her net from the deck by the cabin.

Since we were five women our experience was particularly civilized with each day having a cocktail hour followed by a gourmet dinner, games and conversation.  Mornings we each slept as late as we wished, got up and got our own coffee, tea, or whatever, read, sat in the sun, until all were up, then we had breakfast together before we went off in our little boat to explore.

More and more Paris

The most iconic of Paris symbols, the Tour Eiffel, often just pops out at you when you least expect it.  It was a lovely spring day and I was once again walking all over Paris, my favorite pastime, taking a photo now and then, here and there.

I have to say that most of the truly wonderful shots get away.  It is often just too embarassing to pull out a camera.  Sometimes that embarassment is a product of my own desire to not appear to be a tourist, and sometimes it is due to other reasons.  For instance, I am amazed at the number of drunks who are passed out on the pavement with hoards of tourists stepping over and around them when the sun is out.  I hadn't witnessed this on my previous trips to Paris.  Indeed there was one such gentleman who was not only passed out on the sidewalk on the main street in the Marais, but also had his "Tour Eiffel" fully displayed.  I'm afraid he may now have a sunburn where the sun should not shine.   Let's just say that that shot got away and who would I have shared it with anyway, dear reader?

Some of the other shots that get away are due to the best vantage point being in the middle of an intersection, train track, or river.  One must be aware of mortality and the desire to live long enough to tell the tale.  So for your enjoyment, here are a few scenes of Paris in the printemps, all taken under secure circumstances.

More Paris

Lovely spring weather has arrived in Paris coinciding with the weekend and thousands of tourists.  The rest of Europe, including much of France, has arrived.  The streets and restaurants are filled with a variety of languages and accents.  I'm never quite sure what I'm hearing as those bits of my brain which are connected to my ears adjust and readjust trying to make sense of their world.

I discovered the Palais Royal today.  I was looking for a particular restaurant and stumbled upon it, an inner sanctum in one of the busiest parts of town.  The locals and a few tourists were lounging about enjoying some peace and quite (and lunch of course) in the sunshine in this ancient courtyard.

Speaking of lunch, the French are terribly civilized about this meal.  In the States, most days I eat lunch while sitting in front of my computer,continuing to answer email, take phone calls, and conduct meetings.  In France, the world stops at noon and quite often does not resume until two or three in the afternoon.  While I was in Cotignac, the children had two hours for lunch everyday and could take their lunch at home or in the canteen at school.  If you plan to spend your time sightseeing or shopping, you may find businesses and museums closed.  This could be a great frustration.  Later, when you are starving, you may find that the restaurants are closed.  So please take this small bit of advice:  when you are in France and it is noon, stop and eat.  Trust me on this one.  When I get home from France, this might possibly be the thing I miss most of all, the two hour lunch.

Paris

The days all flow together in Paris. Now that I am no longer needing to see all the major sites and museums, I am free to wander, which is the best way to meet the real Paris.

This is a little courtyard I happened to pass (and had the guts to take out my camera...)  These are the sorts of unexpected treats available to the serious pedestrian in Paris.

Although Lyon is cleaner and more organized, it lacks the soul that you find in Paris.

Les Gorges de l'Ardeche April 4

I awoke in the morning to what appeared to be a nice day in the making, a bit of fog, but with the expectation of a clear sky after a night of thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. I packed up and went to the petit dejeuner in the dining room with the other guests. Again I was told 8:30 AM without an ending time which in my culture means that you arrive at 8:30 AM or miss the boat. In France it must mean that if you arrive before that time, you will not be served, but coming later is more the norm. I was again the first guest in the dining room.
An interesting twist at many dinners and breakfasts in hotels in France, and possibly elsewhere, is that the hosts determine where you will sit for your meals before you arrive. In this auberge, the place was marked with a lovely silver marker on which was imprinted the number of my room. I ordered my coffee (un grand café crème) and was brought the customary croissant and baguette with butter and jam and orange juice. In France, the chances of coming across sausage and eggs, pancakes, or waffles is about as low as you can imagine. Wherever you happen to be, the French serve you the same breakfast: café, orange juice, baguette, and croissant. You can get a fried egg on the side if you happen to be at a restaurant with cooking facilities and a chef on hand, but don’t get your hopes up.
I packed up the car and set off for the gorges. I was on the road before the crowds of the afternoon. It was Easter Sunday, but there was little vestige of what I would consider normal for such an important holiday in the states. In France there is no influx of adorned attendees at the cathedrals or children in their best finery complete with white gloves and decorated eggs. It is more of a spring break than anything else.
As I left the auberge I realized to my amazement that the hotel I had happened upon was the last chance at a hotel until the actual gorges where camping was the norm along with hairpin turns and steep ravines. What luck!
The gorges take about 2-3 hours to cover including a great number of stops to view the sites. It’s a lovely area. It opens one’s eyes to the wonders of France where the prevailing sense is that the country consists of rolling farmland and vineyards. Check it out if you have the chance. This is a great place for kayaks and canoes.

Pont du Gard April 3

Today I left Cotignac.  There are two sites that I decided I had to see, the Pont du Gard and Les Gorges de l'Ardeche, before heading north.  The day started a bit off considering the wonderfully summery weather we'd been having.  Today it was cloudy and threatening.  Nonetheless, I needed to head back to Lyon to return the rental car and had my "must-sees" to do.

I took the autoroute from Brignoles to Avignon, but none of the signs directed me to either Pont du Gard or any of the possible routes or towns in that direction.  This led me to rambling through Avignon, including a drive past the former home of the popes, across the Rhone and finally to some signage with some promise.

The Romans built the Pont du Gard aquaduct to move water from the spring near Uzes to a series of canals and on to Nimes.  It's a perfectly perserved section and well worth the viewing.

Unbeknownst to me, the site was utterly free due to the Easter holiday weekend.  It was not overrun with tourists, but was doing a decent business for a holiday weekend.  As an additional special attraction there was a sort of farmer's market within the Pont du Gard site which as selling meat, cheese, jam, soap, and breads.  There were also some farm animals, presumably for the children to observe and pet.

 Do you see the people on the bridge, those litttle bumps?  That is helpful in understanding the scale of this.

There were a few rain drops daring to fall, but it held off.  I headed north from Pont du Gard to Les Gorges de l'Ardeche.  The tourist stop at the south end is Pont St-Esprit.  It was a bit of a drive along small roads to get there and the weather was holding, so I kept going.  Pont St-Espirit had little to recommend it other than its location and several chain hotels.  About 6:00 PM I could tell that the weather was getting impatient to start pouring and services were getting slim.  I decided to pull over at what happened to be the last hotel in St Martin d'Ardeche to avoid driving along the edge of cliffs in the rain and dark and have half a chance of seeing the sites that I was determined not to miss.

The auberge (inn/hotel/restaurant) turned out to be a perfect spot to stop for the night.  No internet, no TV, and a room facing the cliffs, the river, and a vineyard in between.  There was a little village at the top of one of the cliffs complete with a bell tower, just too lovely for words.  The woman at the desk was friendly and helpful although our conversation had to depend on my French.  She asked if I'd be staying for dinner which sounded good to me.  I let her know that I was a vegetarian so there would be no misunderstanding about why I wasn't having the house special.  We decided that I would have a salad with egg and cheese (and bread, of course).  She told me that dinner would be at 7:30 PM so I went back to my room for a nap; the weather thenproceeded to "let the bottom out" complete with thunder and lightning.

I knew to show up a bit after the 7:30 PM time, but I was still the first of the guests to arrive.  After a bit of discussion, she expressed her concern that I was not having anything warm to eat and suggested a ratatouille with pasta.  She didn't have to bend my arm on that one.  Everything was great including more "vin rose" than I should have tried to drink on my own.  I stopped before I would regret it.  With a full stomach, I went back to my room and slept like a stone.

 

Porquorelles April 2

Well, while I'm here in the south of France, soaking up the joys of living in a small Provencal village, it occurred to me that I'd better have a look at the Mediterranean Sea before my departure for the north.  A local friend of my hosts suggested a trip to Hyeres and the islands just off the coast, so off I went. 

My first trial was getting there.  Although it is strictly south of Cotignac, just stop at the water, getting anywhere in France can be a bit of an ordeal.  There are more roads that are not on the map than are on the map and the signage is strictly ruled by opinion and who knows who's opinion at that.  At first I'm always in the mood for adventure, but the reality of sharing hairpin turns in mountanous terrain with sixteen wheelers in the on-coming lane, can turn adventure into white knuckles and shot nerves in short order.  Such was my trip south.  Unfortunately most road maps are only in two dimensions, the third dimension being something of a postscript and left to the imagination.  I have to say that I see a lot of what my compatriots who take the autoroute miss along the way and have a richer, more rewarding experience, but I may be saying that to make myself feel better for the most part while I steady my nerves with that second glass of rose.

I arrived in Hyeres and headed for La Tour Fondue where the ferry leaves for Porquorelles, the island which sounded best for my daytrip, a quick 20 minute passenger ferry trip to an island where there are pleasant beaches within reasonable walking distance, a number of services, and very few cars.  My advice to you more organized folks is to check out the ferry schedule.  Even though the ferry is only 20 minutes, it leaves only every 2-3 hours.  I was in for a two hour wait. I had already secured great street parking so decided to spend my time walking about the shoreline and then enjoy a leisurely lunch (something the French really do well) which was later interrupted by a group of Italian tourists who came to share my table about halfway through my meal. 

The day was sunny and a bit chilly, but not bitingly cold.  I had my hat, skarf, and gloves just in case.  The ferry had a lower enclosed area, but I chose the upper more open-air experience.  Arriving in Porquorelles, the name of the town and the name of the island, I acquired a map of the walks around the island and headed off for the beach.  The last ferry would be leaving at 5:30 PM, so I needed to make the most of my time to keep from being stranded until the next day.  Fortunately, once just outside the "commercial" area, the island took on a lazy tropical air that made me think of Cuba.

The walk to the beach was a perfect distance.  The rest of the way was only other walkers, bicyclists, and a few strangely hybrid golf carts, specially permitted for use on the island.  I was surprised at the number of people carrying on animated conversations on their cell phones in this island paradise; perhaps there should be a special permit for those too.

The beach was covered in a thick layer of palm tree debris which cushioned each step but left you feeling like you might just sink further at some point. However, that did not happen and the day warmed up.  A few people were brave enough to get into the amazingly clear water.

On the way back, I tried out the lavendar ice cream and tried to find a T-shirt or other souvenir, but locals could use some basic lessons in capitalism, or perhaps they like it that way.  All in all a successful trip to a Mediterranean paradise.

Arles April 1

It's April 1 in France and I learned something today.  In France, the first of April is called "Poisson d'Avril" or rather a person whom you have succeeded in fooling is called "Poisson d'Avril" or "Fish of April".  The origin of the fish part is no longer known, but the tradition goes that a person who can be fooled on April 1st gets a paper or cardboard fish taped to his/her back.  Check it out.

I would only know this since I'm staying with friends in France who have school-age children.  Both children, although attending different schools, came home with the same fish-related tales today.  For the details of the tradition, we relied on the internet since neither child was able to provide more than passing comment.

While "les enfants" were busily making paper fish at school, their mother and I took a trip to Arles just west of Avignon for a look at the Roman ruins.  It is said that the best Roman ruins are in France.  Arles has an almost perfectly intact Roman arena plus a few other less intact artifacts such as a Roman theater and a bath-house.  The arena is still being used regularly for "bull games" and other such entertainment.

Perhaps the best part of the day was lunch in Place du Forum at an outdoor cafe where goat cheese, cafe, and wine featured prominently.

Cotignac March 31

What's the definition of a good kid?  I'd say some people are pretty hard on kids and perhaps find kids irritating in general.  So they might define a good kid as one that doesn't exist or one that makes their existence inobtrusive in the extreme.  Although I'd never call my self a kid-person, I'd say a good kid is one that, while you are riding in the backseat next to them on a winding, narrow road in rural Provence, asks you where that plastic bag is in just enough time for you to find it and bring it up to the good kid's mouth before his breakfast makes a second appearance.  And, mind you, then asks for a tissue to wipe his mouth rather than indiscriminately wiping said mouth on one's good black wool coat.  A good kid saves the day and a trip to the dry cleaners.  It's worth remembering.

Cotignac March 30

Today I moved from the big house into the guest house.  I prepared for the move early in the morning before the children had gone to school, but the actual move did not occur until much later.  I've been staying in Jasper's room which means she has been sleeping in the same room as her brother.  She has been incredibly gracious about this. However, this afternoon when she returned from school, I only had to take one look at her face and I knew that her expectations had not been fulfilled.  My things were still in her room.

Mark left early this morning to take his mother to the airport in Nice.  The rest of us slept restfully until about 8:00 AM which left getting ready for school a bit of a mad dash.  Mark returned about 9:30 AM to a peaceful house and two women reading.  Quincy has been feeling puny, so Mark and I went to the weekly market in town to stock up on cheese, fruit, vegies, and bread.  The clouds were dark and it was beginning to shower a bit by the time we left.  When we returned and were preparing lunch, the  bottom fell out of the clouds and we had a full force gale to contend with.  These old stone houses are marvelous for their stability though.  It poured and thundered and lightening-ed (ok, knock it off) and poured some more.  And we women read and Mark wrote. 

Late in the afternoon, it cleared enough that I took a walk up through the cliffs to the towers and the Chapel of St Martin.  I had just returned when Jasper got home from school and made that face.  My next move was to the guest house.  Thank you, Jasper, for your hospitality.  Please enjoy having your room to yourself again - at least for a day or two.

Cotignac March 29

Is it Monday already?  Yippee! Today was my day to walk little Maddox, age 4, to L'ecole Maternelle.  How sweet is that?  I rose early just to have that privilege.  I've been walking past French schools in Paris and various other French towns, but this was my opportunity to see the inside.  At the playground entrance, the parents were greeted by one of the teachers or teacher's aides with the standard French greeting of two kisses.  Perhaps because I was unknown to the teacher or because I was with Maddox, I was not offered kisses.  However, everyone was nice enough and the whole process from playground entrance to my departure could not have taken more than a couple minutes.  I think I'm going to try it again before I leave and see if I can savor it a bit more.

The next highlight of the day was a trip to a couple of the bakeries in town for bread and an unsuccessful search for almond (or almond/chocolate) croissants.  There were only butter croissants today, but on the shelf just above them were beignets, in apple and nutella!  These were very well received by all and almond croissants were forgotten, at least for the moment.

My walk today took me up to the Notre Dame de Grace, a lovely, if basic, church on a wind-swept hilltop with a view of the surrounding countryside.  It was a relatively warm afternoon so reading as I sat on a bench in the breeze amongst the trees was divine.

Cotignac March 28

Another beautiful day in Provence!  I slept late and was treated to fresh crepes with strawberries for breakfast.  Excitement was in the air regarding the circus that was in town. 

I took off for short walk in the hills above town, a mere 3 kilometers up to the towers above the cliffs.  The walk started at the cemetery and climbed upwards from there.  I could tell fairly early in the walk that 3 kiloometers was a strong under-estimation of the actual length this walk was going to take me.  I had a tendency to meander, starting with going the wrong direction  and ending with a number of do-overs as I tried to find my way back to town.  All in all it was a great walk.  The weather was mild and sunny, I was not tired, hungry, thirsty, or needing a restroom, so all the detours were taken in stride.

My one chore, to buy chevre on the way home, was not accomplished since the stores were all closed by the time I arrived back in town.  Such is Sunday in a small Provencal village.  That they open at all is a miracle!

What might a circus be like in a small village in France?  Well, I had the pleasure of finding out today.  My hostess and I accompanied her two children to Le Cirque in Cotignac this afternoon.  We were able to secure prime seats in the front row of the single ring for a mere twelve euros a head.  The animal acts consisted of a goat, two ponies, two llamas, and a very large snake.  The acrobats were two women, one who could do back dives from up to two meters on to a platform and another who did an aerial act.  There was a juggler (who was also the ring leader and animal trainer) and a clown.  It was great family entertainment - and at the end you could have your photo taken with the ringleader or a llama for no extra charge.  Quelle chance!

Cotignac March 27

Tis spring and I'm in the south of France.  Cotignac is a fine little village just big enough to make you fear that you might get lost, but small enough to allow you to find your way back home.  The house where my friends are staying looks directly out to the cliffs which surround one side of the village.  This shot is taken from the living room window. 

The first walk of the day with Maddox, age 4, took me as far as his school and one of the three boulangeries in town, then quickly back to the house.  The second, and more satisfying walk, with Maddox and his sister Jasper, age 8, was along one side of town to a lovely waterfall where we entertained ourselves playing "save the stick", a game where you throw sticks into the stream, then attempt to retrieve them as they go rushing by in the current.  I had my eyes fixed on Maddox quite certain that he would take a tumble into the cold water, but he's sure-footed and agile.  In the meantime, his sister managed to submerge herself to the waist.  To her credit she didn't complain a bit and we continued the game until we were joined by a group of adults and children and an ill-behaved dog which I was certain would be the "drop to cause the vase to overflow" as far as Maddox was concerned.  Not wanting to return with two wet children, we made our way back home while we were still fifty-percent dry. 

The third walk of the day was to the local grocer with Mark's mother, Kay.  The local grocer is tiny but has a grand assortment of fruits, vegetables, dairy products, and much more.  There was only one large celery which I was needing for a soup I was planning.  I was a bit dismayed at the prospect of having that much celery - I was uncertain how the children felt about this particular vegetable.  When the grocer assured me that I did not need to buy the whole thing, I could simply break-off whatever portion I desired.  Will wonders never cease?

Lyon to Cotignac March 26

Life is good. After sleeping way too late, I picked up the little Fiat Panda from the car rental place and headed south on the A7. The autoroutes in France are actually very easy to use and should be embraced especially if you are interested in getting from one area to another in the most efficient way. If you are interested in the slow lane, avoid them. Entering the autoroute, you take a ticket similar to entering a parking garage. When you leave, you pay based on how far you have travelled. Unfortunately American credit cards don't work in the little machines, but you can pay by credit card by handing your ticket to an attendant.

The trip to Cotignac took about five hours, perhaps a bit less. Lyon was recovering from a thunderstorm, but the south was sunny and a bit warmer. I was able to find the village of Cotignac, and the parking area that my friends had written to me about. The street where their house is located is too narrow for cars, let alone parked cars.

Cotigac is charmingly located below a semi-circle of red clay cliffs that feature dwellings similar to Mesa Verde.

More tomorrow - I think I'm starting to fade.

Lyon March 25

Lyon is a two hour train ride from Paris, a little to the east and a ways to the south. It is known as the city of lights and is also known for the culinary rivalry amongst its restaurants. The city is a manageable size and hosts two rivers, the Rhone and the Saone, a multitude of bridges, some of France's largest open squares, and some stunning architecture. Much of the city center is pedestrian friendly. Lyon is clean, safe, and pleasant.

My hotel is just a few blocks from Lyon's Perrache train station. The train from Paris was non-stop, which seems to be the norm. (May I add that the trains are remarkably quiet.) Even though I was exhausted, I decided to take a walk around after checking into my hotel. I made my way through Presqu'ile (almost an island), then to the Saone river, across one of the bridges to the old part of town, and (why not) up a multitude of stairs and switchbacks to the Notre-Dame Basilica far up on Fourviere Hill overlooking Lyon. What goes up must come down, but making it down by another route is always better. This led me past the ruins of two Gallo-Roman theatres (A.D. 43).

After a much-needed nap, I headed out to see the city of lights at night and partake of the restaurant culture. Place des Celestins, where today's Lyon theatre resides, is also the home of La Francotte, a restaurant where the food is reknowned, the prices are reasonable, and you are made to feel like family.

Paris March 24

Not everyday on vacation has monumental events. Sometimes a simple trip out for a coffee, a baguette, or to the cash machine constitutes enough. The rest of the day is spent people-watching, sleeping, or on the Metro. Such was today.

Paris March 23

Paris doesn't have everything. But for all the things it lacks, it more than makes up for in a wide variety of interesting offerings. Today I paid one euro to use the restroom at the Louvre. Now I have used pay toilets before and I think they are a great idea especially when you have a need. This was no ordinary sterile WC where you gladly pay just to avoid a foul-smelling, sticky-underfoot (or elsewhere), and/or scary facility. This one did not resemble a restroom in any way. I followed the signs and found myself in a boutique. I exited only to find that this was indeed the destination. I returned to note that this boutique offered a wide variety of designer TP, each roll setting you back five euros, and other interesting gift items (I may have to return if I have trouble finding the perfect gift for everyone on my list). I gave my euro to a smartly dressed clerk who did her best to ignore me while directing me to the next available "stall" without making eye contact. I say "stall" because the decor was a cross between a spa and a cafe, all dark wood, scented oils, and brightly colored geometrics. For a slightly bigger pile of euros, one can receive a massage or facial. Perhaps I should consider opening a franchise in the states.

Of course, I'm off topic. I was at the Louvre, not for the art, but to visit the Apple Store. My ipod dock disappeared in transit and I desparately needed a replacement. For the price I paid, I could have replaced the whole ipod back at home. But, again, I digress.

A place that might actually make you consider committing to those airplane and hotel reservations and updating your passport is Le Cimetiere de Chiens d'Asnieres-sur-Seine, the world's oldest public pet cemetery. This is definitely a must-see for those of us who share our lives and homes with animals. My good friend, Rockell, suggested this sight and I'm glad I finally made it. The day was bright and clear but still not overly warm. In addition to the wonderful memorials to those who have dedicated themselves to our companionship, there is a group of almost-ferrel cats which have found a paradise to make themselves at home. Imagine being the living, breathing reminder of Fluffy in a place that brings out our most gentle sentiments. It's genius. This would be a welcome break for any museum-weary child. I want to also mention that it is located right between a park and the Seine, a lovely spot for a picnic on a sunny afternoon. If you've forgotten your picnic supplies, there is a Franprix on the other side of the bridge.

Paris March 22

There is something very wonderful about Paris that keeps you coming back again and again. Sure, it's full of museums and monuments, but just walking through the streets is an endless pleasure. The streets of Paris are not laid out in a grid. They are a conglomeration of "squares", known as "places" here. The streets radiate out from these centers like rays from the sun and intersect with one another like the waves produced when you drop pebbles in a pond. The rays are connected by a haphazard assortment of cross streets which tangle the whole city into an unending variety of pathways. No matter how sure you are of how to get from one place to another, you always seem to take a new way, drawn by the multitude of possibilities. And everywhere you turn there is something interesting from the endless supply of architectural features to the little one act plays produced by the everyday interactions of people on the street, in front of businesses, renovations, schools. Paris is just not boring.