A Night to Remember

After a picnic in a park on Ile de la Cite, we attended a concert of mostly Vivaldi in Sainte Chapelle, a 13th Century royal chapel that miraculously has survived wars and revolutions for over six  hundred years. It is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

On previous visits, I've wandered around for half an hour or so marveling at the amazing colors--especially the vibrant blues and reds--but this time, I could lose myself for almost two hours studying the amazing stained glass windows that seem to soar above me supported only by flimsy columns. How anyone could have created anything so beautiful, I don't know. It was definitely sensuous overload.

Here are random pictures of Sainte Chappelle.

Closer Looks at the City of Lights

Although the Louvre is the western world's largest

museum, its collection of western art from the ancient Greeks through the Renaissance can not begin to match what we saw last year on our trip to Rome, Florence and Venice. Yes, there are the three masterpieces that everyone comes to see--The Winged Victory of Samothrace, Venus di Milo, and Mona Lisa--but after that, the collection is spotty at best.

I had hoped to see more works of the Italian Renaissance, but there was only one Caravaggio, and it was a copy (or vice versa) of the one at the Capitaline Museum in Rome. There was, however, a rare Michelangelo masterpiece, one of the series of slaves that he had begun sculpting for his patron's unfinished tomb. The others are in Florence.

I may be grumpy, though, because I hate crowds almost as much as I hate guided tours. We picked up our tickets for the museum yesterday, thereby avoiding the endless line waiting to buy them at the I. M. Pei pyramid in the Louvre's square. (See Bob's photo.) 

Once inside, though,

you had to fight your way through the throngs to get anywhere. I asked Bob to take a photo not of the Winged Victory, but of the flood of tourists flowing up the stairs to see her.




We left after a couple of hours and enjoyed a quiet luncheon with a glass of red wine. That helped a lot.

After, we returned to the hotel by Metro, using an entrance built to look like the gaudy crown that Louis XV used. Bob's apt comment when he saw the real thing was, "It looks like something out of Toys R Us." Maybe the French had more than one reason for their Revolution.

The City of Lights

We arrived in Paris at 3:25 and found our way by subway to our hotel (The Hotel Paris France) on the outer rim of the Marais District, which is like New York's Greenwich Village. After settling in, we walked to the Louvre to pick up tickets for tomorrow, had dinner with a full bottle of wine, and somehow managed to find our way back to the hotel. From our window, if you crane your neck, you can see the Eiffel Tower. At ten o'clock its lights sparkled like the 4th of July--or rather, the 14th. Couldn't find the camera for that shot, but this is the view from our hotel window. The little lit tower in the distance is Tour Eiffel.

May Day! May Day!

Like much of the world, France celebrates May Day. It's

like our Labor Day, only more so. It's a day off, but it's often a day of protest. So it was only fitting that our walk brought us first to a May Day march. A flyer called for the creation of a 6th Republic in France, one that is for people, not bankers. 

All those in favor were encouraged to join others on May 5th to march to the Bastille in Paris. (One slight problem is that the Bastille no longer exists.) And Bordeaux being such a clean city had a group of street cleaners (who did not have the day off) follow the marchers to pick up trash.

Our next stop was the Jardin Public (1755), which includes a small botanical section with all the plantings labeled. Then we wandered toward the river front, where we discovered a large open air antique and flea market in full swing. There we split a ham and cheese 

panini while listening to four musicians play 'La Vie en Rose,' 'Hello Dolly' and other traditional French favorites.

Rain began to fall more heavily as we continued along the waterfront where our umbrellas were less hazardous for other pedestrians. 

We passed the beautiful Place de la Bourse with its 18th century commercial buildings and discovered the Porte Cailhau  that was built to celebrate the famous Franey victory of Fornoue in 1495.

Extra Edition--A Correction

Just found out the cathedral listed in the last blog was not Notre Dame. It is call St. Andre Cathedral. Hope we didn't confuse anyone!

Bordeaux the Beautiful

First, a health report. Bob seems to be much better, and after another interesting trip to a French medical lab, today's test shows that my regimen of blood thinners has now put me in the range that my doctor wants. All good news.

As for our first day in France's fifth largest city, we walked, and we walked, and then we walked some more. For most of the time, it rained, sometimes hard, but we had five layers of clothing to keep us warm and both jackets and umbrellas to keep us dry. We wandered down to the wide walk along the river where Bob snapped a photo of Pont St. Jean and the spire of St. Michael's Church, the tallest in the city.

On our way back, we stopped at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. I asked Bob to take two photos of the outside, because they show the extraordinary difference between the sections that have been cleaned and those that have centuries of encrusted grime. One photo shows a section shrouded for the cleaners to work in, and another where the work has been finished. A second photo shows the front with part of it cleaned; another not. Similarly, the cleaning continues inside.

We also toured a modern, beautifully displayed museum tracing the history of the area from prehistoric times (closed for renovation!) to the mid-twentieth century, the Musee d'Aquitaine de Bordeaux. And it was free! Mon dieu!

Before coming here, I had read that Bordeaux is undergoing a transformation with buildings being cleaned, sections of the city restored, and a spanking new transportation system of trams that whisk you anywhere you want to go for almost nothing. The streets are filled with young people (excluding us), and we could feel the energy. Even in the rain, it's a beautiful city.

A Day of Rest & Bordeaux Barely

This is two postings in one:

SUNDAY OF REST

In France (at least in the countryside), Sunday is a day of rest. Monday is too, pretty much, and of course, from noon to 2:00 pm every day. Shops close. Even gas stations. It's a way of life that someone recently explained to us. 

"Be lazy, so you don't have to be tired."

Our day's activity was a scenic drive that our hosts recommended. We did take in a small market in the small town of Issigeac, where we contemplated buying a few snacks, but were not sure if we could lift them. Then we stopped

at Montpazier, another small town with another gate leading into it, and nearly empty of people. I had an ice cream cone, and Bob had what was billed as an espresso (not like those in Italy). We are both going hungry at lunchtime to be better prepared for the evening's dinner.








This part of France, especially in spring with its lilacs and a vine that looks like wisteria, is beautiful. 

Vistas include well kept fields (though who and when they work them, I haven't a clue) and chateaux. Apparently, there are around a thousand chateaux in this section of the country. Almost all are spectacular, though we did once spy a fixer-upper.


After this exhausting excursion, we returned to our room to train some more for the evening's dinner by taking long naps. As the motto on a box of pastries explains: 

"La gourmandise n'est pas un vilain defaut..."

MONDAY...

Later yesterday Bob came down with something--a bug, food poisoning, who knows? All I know for sure is that he's felt miserable and has taken every chance he could to sleep. Symptoms included severe chills, headache, nausea, sore intestines, fever, bloat, acid reflux and diarrhea. Somehow today he held it together enough to drive to Bergerac, drop off our rented car and take a bus and taxi to our B and B in Bordeaux. There, he promptly fell asleep for three hours while I caught up on my email and news and finished reading a novel.

The Hole Way

Today's destination was a prehistoric cave called Grotte de Rouffignac. As our neighbors, the Brucatos said, it gave us a good introduction to the amazing world of Cro-Magnon paintings.





According to the guide-book writer, Rick Steves, the term comes from a prehistoric cave that a Mr. Magnon discovered in 1870. Hence: "Mr. Magnon's hole."

The Grotte we explored, one of dozens in the area, was indeed a hole in the wall, a locked gate keeping unescorted visitors from coming in. It is truly amazing to realize that the beautiful drawings we saw of horses, rhinoceroses, and wooly mammoths were created around 13,000 years ago. That's a hefty ten thousand years before the pyramids!

Now let us tell you about dinner. Where to begin...

Our hosts made reservations at a restaurant where there is only one meal. You go; you eat what they serve. It is called La Truffiere. It is a farmhouse up in the hills. It was fab.u.lous!

We drove off the main road up a dirt road. Then left the dirt road for a small drive. Just as we chased 4 goats off the road, we entered the driveway. There was the owner of the goats waiting for them to come home. He was also our host. Welcome!

Inside, the decor is best described as 'hodge-podge.' Very eclectic bohemian.A cucko-cucko clock, a Japanese lantern, the poster of Obama with 'HOPE,' and six tables. There were two parties. Us and a party of four who were already beginning their meal. We had a table for two with a six-candle candelabra. I know...a little much for a table for two but it was cold and we needed the heat in addition to the fire in the fireplace.

The meal began with a aperitif of some white wine. Later we asked our B&B hosts what the aperitif was. They said, "We don't know. Just something he makes!"

We were thrilled when the first course turned out to be a hot soup:  chicken base turned creamy with egg whites and flavored with garlic and topped with floating islands of bread. That was followed by a delicious pate de canard served with a small glass of sweet white wine. Next came the salad. What a feast for the eyes:  lettuce, finely diced tomatos and strawberries, white aspragus, olives, chopped egg, sliced parmesan cheese, olives and violet flowers. Gorgeous.

The main course was duck. Surprise! But what a duck! A grilled breast of duck with grilled veggies and wedges of potato. We asked about the potatoes:  coated in duck fat, brushed heavily with garlic and slow roasted. This course was served with a 1/2 carafe of red wine.

The cheese course was a chevre made up the hill served with toast and small red pepper seeds.

Dessert was creme brulee and coffee. For anyone familiar with prices here, the cost was a pittance...60 euro for two!  

Two and half hours later we were back at the Inn. What a glorious evening.

On a Clear Day . . .

When we left Crayssac this morning, it was cloudy, which was good for driving.

In Sarlat, where we stopped for a walk-around, the weather may have kept the number of tourists down, though it was still crowded. It was a beautiful village, though, and we bought yet another box of local strawberries to have with lunch.

Our next stop was the garden of Marqueyssac. It has dozens of acres of sculptured boxwood edged walks on a hill overlooking the Dordogne River. In one direction, we could see the Rocque, the hillside village we visited yesterday. From another direction, we saw the castle we also visited yesterday. However, as we admired these views, the fog and rain drifted in, and by the time we left, so had the views. On a clear day, they must be spectacular. Fortunately, we had our picnic lunch with strawberries before it rained.

Our new B and B, just west of Sarlat, is run by a retired English Professor from City College in New York City, and his partner of thirty-some years, who was an antiques dealer. They have a beautiful house, and have built four rooms for guests. Ours is large and bright--or would be if it were a clear day. Only problem is a lack of WiFi in the room. Only in the host's house! Excuse us if we fail to write.

King of the Castle

Today we shopped at the open air market in Domme, a hill-

top village that overlooks the Dordogne River. We ended up  buying fresh strawberries,  a bottle of Chateau Novieres, a 2009 wine from the Cahors region, a round of Cabeacou goat cheese, a baguette, and a piece of walnut cake.

Then we stopped at La Roque-Gageac, a village built into the side of a limestone cliff that has been occupied since the 10th century. It too overlooks the Dordogne River, that flows gently by. 

Finally, we stormed the Chateau de Castelnaud, a Medieval fortress with the best views of the river.

How beautiful and peaceful the area is now, especially on such a warm, sunny day, but everywhere the buildings and grounds are pocked with reminders of wars and violent death.

Again, we dined at our country inn. The evening was warm, the patio empty. Perhaps it was the Cahors wine (which I can drink without getting headaches the way I do in the US), but I cannot remember a more delicious, delightful meal. Local cheese on a baguette, a piece of cold mushroom pizza, fresh strawberries with walnut cake, a lemon tart, and a walnut tart. A stroll down the back road to yet another vista over the Lot River and manicured farmlands helped ease us to a night of restful sleep.

Carry on Nurse

This morning at breakfast, a sumptuous farmhouse feast, I asked our hostess, Sophie, about having a blood test that my doctor in Tucson wanted me to have about now. I have blood clots in the calf of one leg, thanks to a surgery on its meniscus, and I'm on the generic version of the blood-thinner coumadin for three to six months until the clots, we hope, disappear.

Sophie said we could go to the hospital in Cahors, where we'd planned to go anyway, and she called ahead to set up the drop-in appointment.  With Jacques' help, we managed to find the hospital, only to be greeted by blank stares by the receptionists. Then, using our high school French and sign language, we managed to find someone who remembered hearing about Sophie's call, and a nurse appeared, needle in hand. This was no pin-prick of the needle and an instant readout, as I'd had in Tucson. A full vial of blood was needed and sent to the lab.

Meanwhile, the nurse began recommending restaurants near our B and B that we must try. We finally recognized the word "truffle," and learned that a place just ten minutes from where we're staying was THE place to go. For a mere 130 Euros ($170) each, we could have an entree, main plate, and dessert, all flavored with the amazing mushrooms. (I'll let you know the address, Margaret.) Oh, and come back between 3:00 pm and 5:00 pm for my test results.

So, while we awaited the lab results, we wandered over to the town's most famous site, Pont Valentre, a Medieval bridge that helped the area's residents fend off some attack from English forces. It's in amazingly

good shape and has some scary steps that Robert, our fearless neighbor up the street, would enjoy clambering up for that perfect photo.

Later, back at the hospital, we were given a bill of 20,63 Euros ($27) and told that the doctor would interpret the results for us--this way, please. We'd tried to explain that all we needed was the number, but no. We needed to see the doctor who could speak English. Not.

Finally, I think the doctor understood that I would email my own doctor back in Tucson with the results, and he looked much relieved that he had no responsibility. My INR number was 5, and it's supposed to be between 2 and 3. No doubt that all the rich food we've been having bears much of the blame.

The nurse, meanwhile, wanted us to go down an alley, round to the right, and then proceed left. Why? A bilingual lady came along just in time to tell us that the nurse wanted to be sure we saw the Medieval bridge before heading off to the truffle restaurant.

Instead of having yet another four-course dinner this evening, we bought some wine and take-home for dinner, including a large salad for me. This brought us back to the farm in time to write my doctor and for Bob to take some photos of our B and B.

BTW:  This inn says it has wired internet only so we expected not to be online for these three days. However, even through these thick stone walls we are able to pick up small signal. You are looking at the proof!

By the Grace of Jacques

Today, we left our wonderful Villa de Mazemet for Crayssac, a drive that our GPS guide, Jacques, told us would take about three and a half hours. But we were off late and opted to stop at the Medieval town of Albi on the way.

I should explain that Jacques (Jack in the US) is a GPS chip with directions for France, and he is not on top of things the way he is at home. Many places he can't locate, so our navigation combines his efforts and my navigating with detailed maps that we photocopied from a book that the Brucatos lent us.

We made it to Albi about ten to noon, having been reminded by our hosts at the Villa that everything in France except restaurants close between noon and two in the afternoon. Albi has two main attractions beside the charm of the old village: its cathedral and a museum housing most of the works of its native son, Toulouse-Lautrec.

It was ten minutes to noon when we parked the car, so we raced to the cathedral, which is the largest in the world made solely of brick. We slipped inside just at they were closing the doors, and when Bob snapped a shot, the lights suddenly went out. But we saw it! We saw the inside of the largest brick cathedral in the world.  It looks like a fortress outside, but inside . . . Well, it's another cathedral.

Then we wandered around the town, which was charming, visited the in-door market, which also was closing up, but not until 12:30 or 1:00 pm, for its two-hour luncheon break. We drooled over the array of local cheeses, the cans of pate, and the amazing selection of fresh fruits, fish and meats. Then we had a ham and cheese crepe sitting on a bench in front of the cathedral along with other cheap tourists and fat pigeons.

Getting out of Albi was not Jacques' finest hour. Bob programmed him to take us to Toulouse, since that was the direction we wanted to go. Jacques kept telling us to turn left, then right, then around a U-turn, across the bridge a couple of times, and finally, he announced that we had arrived at our destination: the Museum of Toulouse-Lautrec, which was right beside the cathedral. Needless to say, it was the Brucato maps that got us out of the city and headed toward our second three-night destination, Crayssac, which is just west of Cahors.


I'm sad to report that Jacques and even the Brucato maps failed to locate our B and B. We found it by blind luck. It's in the middle of nowhere, a 300 year old stone house with two guest rooms. It reminds me of our farm house in Huntington, Vermont, and every bit as isolated. In comparison with the Villa de Mazemet, it's--shall I say--rustic.