Showing posts with label 2006. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2006. Show all posts

14 October 2009

2009: Final Thoughts

It's clear to me, travel is a way of life, a necessity for clear mental health, a path to learning, an opening to locating new friends and extended family.

Among the things I missed while traveling:
  • the taco bus near Hillman City
  • American friends and family
Among the things I miss about the summer of 2006:
  • Madame Simone - such a wonderful person, alive and vital in her 80s
  • Madame Bernadette - a home-body who enjoyed living vicariously through my daily adventures
  • the friendliness of almost everyone I met
  • history around every turn
  • beautiful and ever-changing countrysides
  • European friends who made the visit a marvelous adventure
  • generic chocolate that is so much better than name brands here in the states
  • meeting new friends, investing a bit of face time with old friends
  • Els and Georges of Lepelstraat, and their kind hospitality over the years
  • The Boyz, Ambrose and Les, who allowed me to indulge in this fantasy summer in their French paradise...
I don't understand why it took me so long to post this finale...  It's probably because I'd rather be there than here;  I must not be ready to believe I've returned to the states yet, even though it has been over three years now.


All I can say is Thank You all for the experience.

10 August 2009

2006: Home Again

What I Won't Miss (to get the rants out of the way quickly)
  • Tailgaters. Self-explanatory
  • Narrow, one-lane (plus, in some cases) country lanes that have highway designations, and drivers who believe that 50 feet of visibility is enough for 60mph
  • Petrol prices. I promise not to bitch about prices in the US. Remember that, and beat me upside the head if you hear me complain about petrol in the US. My treat.
  • Difficulty in finding photo shoppes that sell professional equipment and products. My fault for not having packed an adequate supply of CCD cleaning liquid, but still, one would think it could be found in large cities here. Nope.
  • Handwashing laundry because the closest laundromat is a 35+-mile roundtrip. Expensive due to petrol prices without taking into account charges for 30-minute washes and 7-minute drying
There, that wasn't so bad, now, was it? A pretty short list for such a holiday, I think.

What (and Who) I Will Miss, A Much Longer List and Much More Important
  • First and foremost, Madame Bernadette. Even though she sometimes scares the living bejesus out of me by coming unannounced into the apartment, I feel like she has taken me under her wing, has given me a French culture lesson I could not have acquired any other way. I provide her with chocolate, she provides me with a wonderful laugh (especially when I have to run back into the apartment to get my French/English dictionary), a ready smile, questions regarding my day, where I've been, and the occasional courgette (zucchini) grown by her daughter, said vegetable the size of several large and illegal Cuban cigars. We talk about the weather, her flowers, and occasionally laundry. She has forced me to learn French, something you can't get from a book. And, while I have a very long way to go before we can just sit and talk (in my opinion) about the world in general, she cannot be faulted for my inability to always keep up with her.
  • Madame Simone, who lives two doors down. Between Madame Bernadette and her, two 80-year-old women, I was well-looked after. As an aside, they've both made me promise to go back to school as soon as possible. The subject: la langue Française.
  • Bertrand and Lesley, who live the next town over. British retirees, they moved to France to live upon retirement, and are flourishing. When asked by a perfect stranger to help with a personal matter last month, they offered themselves without reservation. For their help, they have asked only that I "pay it forward," asking nothing from myself in return for their generousity. Their wish will be done.
  • the French People, in general. When they are confronted by someone who butchers their language as easily as I can (and do), they usually go out of their way to help, or find someone who knows a bit of (and sometimes MUCH more) English. I can't think of an instance where communication was just an impossibility, and it was almost always due to their wanting to help.
  • the Food. Need I say more? I never once ate in a restaurant or small takeaway stand and didn't find the offerings worth every penny. From freshly-baked croissants, crepes, and baguettes to fruits and veg to the "run-of-the-mill" strawberry preserves, chocolates, and dijon mustards, it was hard not to become jaded by what was readily available. And I must find importers for a specific young Gouda cheese and those milk chocolate bars with nuts...
  • Limoncello. My best Nederlands friends hooked me on the good stuff one incredible evening. the American equivalent isn't
  • Visit to Rye (9 mile walk, tons of birds)
  • Lunch with many old friends on Sunday
  • Chinese food at You's
the list continues, but the most important:
  • Ambrose and Les. They made this trip possible, and I can't conceive of a better birth anniversary gift than their friendship and trust.
Thank you, Boyz...

08 August 2009

2006: Heathrow to Seatac, and Beyond

08 August:

It's my birth anniversary, and I had planned on getting to the airport early to ask for all sorts of concessions, not the least of which was a seat with more leg room, and a possible upgrade. How many of us can say our birth anniversary lasted 32 hours? I was hoping they would take pity on me, and allow me to enjoy the trip in style.

Wasn't going to happen. Summer travel on British Air is nuts, even in the middle of the work week. The plane was booked from stem to stern, and I was lucky to have a window seat with a forward neighbour who didn't recline too much, and an aisle neighbour who didn't snore, drool excessively, or speak inanely for 9 hours.

Given the crowding, given the hassles of getting to the airport on time, the incredibly-crowded airport, etc, it was still a mostly enjoyable flight home. It was sad thinking the past three months had simply flown by, and I was returning to work.

Life settles in once again, with sleep easy, so let's fast forward a little more than 24 hours.

10 August:

Apparently, my flight is one of the last out of Heathrow before draconian and totally-unnecessary requirements go into effect:
  • no more than 3 ounces liquid, period
  • no carry-on luggage (this included laptops and cameras, with which i was expensively-encrusted)
  • strip searches (not mandatory, but regular enough)
  • dozens of international flights cancelled
  • lines at ticketing and security that were, in some cases, thousands of people long
  • etc
If my flight had occurred about 24 hours later, would I still be in the UK for not allowing them to check my laptop and camera :)

Here's a link to more information regarding the aftermath...

07 August 2009

2006: Sussex to Heathrow

07 August

Travel day from Sussex to Heathrow environs. Trip into central London was simple enough, but getting from Charing Cross to Heathrow took a bit more creativity.

Seems the construction of Terminal 5, intermixed with some sort of traffic issue, caused the Piccadilly Line trains to stop somewhere near Hounslow. Buses were called in to shepherd most of us the rest of the way in what really wasn't a very organized manner. Imagine a train full of laden travelers debarking from a train, walking to several bus stops, then loading their goods into those buses for the 15-minute ride to their terminal.

Once at the airport, it was necessary to trundle all my goodies from the bus egress to a place where, once called, the B&B transport van could pick me up, which wasn't simple, quick, or without pain. The plus: I was first. The negative: he had all the other terminals to visit at breakneck speed. I wasn't deposited at my flat for almost an hour; Heathrow terminals are large, and separated by quite a distance if traveling by road.

However, a quiet neighbourhood walk, a simple dinner and some time watching the telly helped me to decompress before sleep stoned me into submission.

04 August 2009

2006: Rye


One of my favourite locations in the Southeast is the town of Rye. It's an inexpensive and quick train ride from St Leonards or Hastings, and a quite easy and beautiful town to walk from top to bottom.

It's when you want to go out towards the Camber or the Nature Reserve that an easy walk becomes a lot more exercise.

The birding on the Reserve and on the Camber make the eventual exhaustion enjoyable. Common and Sandwich Terns, English Shags and Great Cormorants, Common Sandpipers, Eurasian Oystercatchers, Yellow Wagtails, even Canada Geese are frequent visitors to the area. This visit was punctuated by a Tufted Duck sighting as well. Several blinds are available, and there are at least two working web cameras watching our flying friends. [ 2009: At this very moment, the time is 2230 British Summer Time, so all I'm watching are a pair of harbour navigation lights blink on and off :) ]

01 August 2009

2006: Sussex

01 August

It rained last night and this morning. During breakfast, the sun came out brilliantly, but by the time I arrived in Calais, it was threatening rain again. Ferry is easy to find, and while EuropCar wasn't marked well, the car was finally dropped off in time for the noon sailing.

The SeaFrance ferry Berlioz is a large sucker, with a bazillion all-sized vehicles below on several decks, and above the cars are numerous bars, restaurants, duty-free shoppes, and just plain seating for watching the English Channel sail by. I was lucky enough to encounter yet another wonderful retired UK couple on their way home to Wales, their hometown just outside the Brecon Beacons. They drive their camper van to Portugal slowly, enjoy life, then drive back to Wales, just as slowly. When I suggested the husband would like Seattle and its environs, he agreed provided he didn't have to fly there. For the record, he is retired military, a paratrooper with 23 years experience jumping out of perfectly-good airplanes...

A quick bus trip through Dover to the train station, a 20-minute jaunt by train to Ashford International, then 45 minutes to Hastings/St Leonards on Sea. The taxi service outside the Warrior Square Rail Station quoted me an exorbitant eyes-glazed and lips-drooling tourist price for the ride to Sherwood Guest House, so I walked. I laughed first, but I walked. An easy 20-minute stroll down to the waterfront and along the promenade, passing storefronts and residences I remember very well, and I was at my destination. Moments later, I'm in Room #4, overlooking a lawn-bowling and putting green, the beach promenade, and the English Channel.


Life could be worse. Oh. My landlords agreed with me about the taxi price, for what that's worth. They think Mr Taxi Dude saw someone who didn't know the area and was ripe for the picking... Unless Mr Taxi Dude thought I wanted to purchase his car, he was being Bad.

Lastly. There's a new Chinese restaurant in West St Leonards, located right next to the Bo Peep pub. Over 150 dishes to choose from, priced right. Tonight's meal is Kung Pao Chicken with Cashews. Mmmmmmm...

Fans of history will appreciate the history of Hastings and St Leonards-on-Sea, Sussex, and that of the Bo Peep Pub not 100 metres from the Sherwood's front door. You should know what your children sing about when they chant the nursery rhyme. (grin)

31 July 2009

2006: Road to Calais

31 July

An uneventful drive of perhaps 400 miles from Bretagne to Calais. Points of interest:

# More charming towns in the middle of everywhere

# Driving south along the Seine west of Rouen, doing so because a wrong turn was taken, adding one hour to the trip

# Finding the towns of Le Trait and Duclair as a result, more than making up for the directional issues

# Leaving rain in Bretagne, to find more rain in Rouen, and bright sunshine in Calais

# Following a very large hay truck and humungous yacht (not a land yacht this time) for almost thirty miles because (1) narrow roads made it difficult to pass, and (2) a "diversion" (detour) in the same place as three weeks ago... For a short while, about five miles, I was also behind a propane tanker, a massive two-county-sized hay baler, and a double-length tractor-trailer rig. They peeled off one at a time within miles of Agincourt

# Numerous large wind turbine farms on ridges as you approach Calais

Le Ferme de Wolphus is where I sleep tonight, a working farm about 30 minutes drive south of Calais. It is notable for (1) being truly quiet (2) except when the TGV (the high-speed train) rolls by about 400 metres away from my room, (3) the international supporting cast (at the moment I arrived, two New Zealanders and two Swiss, and a 10-year-old French girl named Justine, visiting her grandparents who live in the gite also run by the farm), and (4) a lot of fairly-tame animals (llamas, a horned sheep (the ram was impressive), peafowl, chickens, turkeys, a tiny pony named Oslo, and a Golden Retriever named Orion. I'm sure there were others around, but if so I saw them not.

Justine was insistent that she was to be my shadow for the afternoon as I wandered the farm in search of interesting photo ops... She also made it clear my French was not good enough. (grin)

The common room downstairs became the evening entertainment spot (no TV, no phone, no internet, etc), with juices and wine, cheese and breads, and lots of conversation bouncing between French and English (with several different accents to each).

At midnight, sleep was easy.

30 July 2009

2006: La Grande Fête


30 July

While I was packing and cleaning for the move to the Sussex coastline on Tuesday, Madame Simone came by with her son, and invited me to her 80th birth anniversary party, La Grande Fête du Anniversaire (je pense). The afternoon version took several hours, included about 40 friends and family, and lots of cheek kissing on arrival and departure. Champagne, brochettes of fruits and cheeses, and appetizers were very nice, and the highlight: her son presented her with a CD PowerPoint photo retrospective of her life that also included two speeches by people who couldn't attend.

The evening edition started at 7pm, and didn't end until, well, to be honest, I have no idea when it ended. I left just before 1am, and it was still going strong at that point. It was an incredible soirée, with great food (two pates, several salads, rare roast beast, a fruit cocktail that really was divine (and almost cocktail), more than ample wine (for those with said prediliction), and fantastic company.

Dancing in Madame's large home was still quite a crowded affair, as there were table after table filled with people... Among the highlights:

# the accidental removal (and quite spectacular lightshow) when a lightbulb from the ceiling above the main dinner table was inadvertently cooled by flying champagne. Note to self: do not dance on the seat of chairs with a glass of champagne in your hand, and then wave your arms violently in the direction of anything explosive. And no, it was not me that popped the bulb

# numerous rather raucous, ribald, and basically just plain loud singing "contests" between tables that included climbing on chairs, swaying VERY too and fro, singing at the top of your lungs to guitar-playing, all at irregular intervals (including as I was leaving),

# a type of conga line that wound its way through the house several times, and

# René-Louis (Madame Simone's son) and the rest of the family made it clear that I was to consider myself part of said family from this day forward...

It was easily a night to remember.

27 July 2009

2006: Westward Ho...

27 July

Perhaps the last roadtrip of the visit, I head west into Finistère. First stop, Saint Pol de Léon.

An interesting town that, were it not for Roscoff just down the highway, might not be as touristy as it is today. As well, the circus will be in town during the weekend, so crowds are quite impressive. I won't say anything about the fact the circus will be in most Bretagne towns over the next month or so; you can't go too far without seeing a sign stating so, when, and where...

Oddly, while the Cathedral is a fairly large structure,about two blocks away is the Chapelle Notre Dame du Kreisker, a very small church on the main, but the steeple is much taller than either of the two Cathedral towers. While I'd love to tell you more about it, within is little more than an exhibition of what the church itself looked like in previous years, and thus is safe to miss.

The Cathedral, though, is difficult to miss. Yes, there is construction outside, but the construction seems exclusively outdoors.

More remarkable things within to photograph, but I won't bother you with the details unless you express an interest. It almost seems as if I've spent a vast amount of time seeking out nothing but churches. To be honest, I'm immensely more fascinated by their history and the accomplishments of the people who put them together, provided for their interior beauty, etc. It's just that there are so many in comparison to the UK, and there aren't many chateaus or castles in this part of Bretagne that are photo- or visit-worthy, so that task falls to the local l'eglise. Yes, there were many churches along the route taken today. Et fini.

In Landerneau, the river Elorn bisects the town square, flowing underneath le Pont de Rohan, the bridge itself which is inhabited by village buildings. In the river were one of my other passions, birds. In this case, one Mute Swan,


one Black Swan (which the internet tells me belongs in Australia, not France),


a few Jackdaws, and predominant: Black-headed Gulls.

Oh. I've learned the birds I thought were Bonaparte's Gulls are really Black-headed Gulls, which have brown heads, unlike the black heads on the Bonaparte's Gulls. Go figure.

Anyway. It was fun photographing birds for a change, and the Swans posed several times while they preened.

Because this isn't necessarily about the church itself, but more about beliefs and history, I'll tell this story. Above the D712 sits the town of La Roche Maurice. I've just finished walking through the church, noted its few points of interest, and was wandering back to the car when a young gentleman approached. He is one of the docents for the church and, between his English and my French, he managed to convey a fascinating story about this rather non-descript place. My favourite part detailed the story of l'Ankou, which is the Bretagne version of the Grim Reaper, or Death.

Apparently, many churches sculpted images of l'Ankou, and placed them at variable points around the consecrated ground. In La Roche Maurice, he is but a small skull and bones figurehead just above an outside holy water font. When asked why, among the reasons was that people would visit the graves of their loved ones and would bless themselves in front of death as if to say, "Yes, I will be yours eventually, but not today". How l'Ankou is depicted subtly changes from parish to parish, but not the basic storyline.

I've also noticed a great many close (consecrated ground surrounding the church) entrances have a raised concrete barricade that requires one to step over with care to enter the grounds. It was my belief this was to keep the dead inside, and because I rarely saw this effect in places where there were no graves, I held to that belief. My docent friend said the reason it was done here, and to his knowledge elsewhere, was to keep cows from entering the grounds.

Hmmm...

26 July 2009

2006: Madame Simone and St John's Finger

26 July

I just found out my southern neighbour, Madame Simone Le-Goff has turned 80 years old today. There must be something in the water around here; she looks like a young 60, runs around as if she were 25, and says she feels like a young girl. She is a retired teacher of young children in the local schools. I hope to be as physically- and mentally-active when I'm her age...

OK, let's be honest. I'd be happy to REACH 80... (grin)

Noted:

[ 2009: Simone's husband was in the diplomatic corps during the Algerian war.]

There is a town in the county of Finistère, named St Jean du Doigt, which I believe translates as "St John's Finger". The history behind the name is something I will have to investigate when I return...

[ 2009: The not-so-young town dates mostly to the mid 1500s, and bits back to at least 1380. For what it's worth, even three years later there is barely information about this place, and the only bit I can read on the name has to do with someone naming a song after the town. Hey, it's a great name.]

24 July 2009

2006: Le Vieux-Marché, Part 2

24 July

We're back: The fountain is named for Saint Erwan. Which has gotten me to thinking just how many saints there must be in the Catholic Pantheon. How it is almost impossible to visit ANY town without finding a good thirty percent of said town with things named for saints. Roads. Towns. Churches and chapels (obvious). Schools. Fountains. Restaurants. Beaches. Rocks, including menhirs (such as Uzec) that predate Christianity by thousands of years. You name it.

OK, someone else named it. If I didn't know better, I'd say the Catholic Church has gone out of its way to canonize saints so it can name things.

Before my visit, I'd never heard of Erwan. Efflam. Jacut. Barbe. Eloi. Mayeux. Gilles. Suzanne. Eutrope. Lunaire. Launeuc. Gelven. Brieuc. Or Tugdual, for whom there is a fairly-substantial cathedral named in Tréguier. Or any of another few thousand place names I've encountered along the way. And churches almost always start with "Notre-Dame" (Our Lady)... If you recall, it wasn't a month ago I photographed Our Lady of the Snows, Our Lady of the Whooping Cough, and untold others. Once you've traveled here, it's hard to associate Notre Dame with only that simple little Parisien cathedral on the banks of the river Seine.

Hmmm. I seem to have lost my way. Encore. One would think I can be turned offcourse by the unusual. Ignore the above. :)

Anyway, over the next two hours I visit the towns of Plouaret (Eglise de Notre-Dame - closed), Lanvellec (Eglise Saint-Brandan - closed), and Plouzélambre (Eglise Saint-Sylvester - closed).

This pattern held for all but two churches the rest of the day, but more on those later...

Roman baths can be found along the eastern shoreline of Plestin-les-Gréves, in a site called Le Hogolo. The original bath was constructed as part of a villa almost 2000 years ago, and added to during the next 300 years... Subsequently, the site was in turn either demolished or allowed to return to its native state under grasses and drifting sand dunes.

One of the churches open was a simple affair in Guimaëc that was supposed to be closed for lunch. Though simple, it was currently exhibiting numerous relics from surrounding parishes as they underwent complete restoration (as in Le Prajou, which was bombed into ruin status by World War II) or annual maintenance. I found this out inadvertently as the caretaker attempted to lock me into the church for lunch, then noticed this tourist enamoured with several bas relief copies of Christ's Passion. Rather than kicking me out, we spent the next 20 minutes discussing the various relics within, and she wouldn't let me go until she was satisfied I was satisfied with the visit. She was incredibly friendly and knowledgeably-passionate about the church and its contents.

Onward following the coastline (mostly) through the tiny hamlet of Trédrez, and more fun / unusual statuary appears, this time in tree branches, metal workings, and granite:

The last bit of this roadtrip ends in a town named La Yaudet, where the Léguer River meets the English Channel. As busy as other locations were today, La Yaudet was almost sleepy. The beautiful landscape, the soft breezes, and the late-afternoon sun all conspired to make this stop quite pleasureable. The village itself made for interesting viewing, as witness this home at Number 62, named Ty-Noemie:

The village church is Notre-Dame du Yaudet, dedicated to the sea and those who sail it. Inside, there are numerous sailing ships hanging from the ceiling, and pictures line the walls. On the altar is a reclining Madonna I'm told is one of very few in France.

2006: A Brief Interlude

24 July

Oops. Just lost power (sounds like a transformer blew just down the road). I will need to turn off the laptop to conserve power until it returns... À bientôt...

[ Much Later ]

Bonjour, encore. I will return to our main story in a minute. But first, a comment about the power loss. The neighbourhood was down for about four hours, so with laundry brought in quickly from the back garden, the game became "listen to the neighbours" as they came by on foot, on bike, in cars, all asking what was up, when was power coming back, etc... The grapevine was alive and kickin', and it was enjoyable. I got to use new and almost-new words in conversation: thunder (le tonnerre) and thunderstorm (l'orage), lightning (les éclairs), and candle (la bougie)... Oh, I failed to mention our thunderstorm. Remember a few blogs ago when I said it was important to do your laundry when it's warm and dry outside? Well, laundry was started when there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Two hours later, power failure occurs about the time the sky has no blue in it, and thunder is a regular sound from the south...

It was almost done when it rained.

2006: Le Vieux-Marché, Part 1

24 July

Short road-trip today, about 80 miles round-trip... Starting point - Le Vieux-Marché, the Plan d'Eau. Weather is spectacular, temperatures in the mid- to high-20s, light breeze, and only very high wisps of clouds to mar the blue from horizon to horizon...

Once again, the little booklet comes through with interesting places to visit. I'm aiming for Plouaret and find a private pond with a Black Swan in Le Vieux-Marché instead.




Some Coots (unidentified variety) and Barn Swallows diving to the water surface to purloin the insect goodies thereon are also visible. As I watch this tableau, I notice a little stone fountain of some age (hundreds of years, at a guess) that bubbles what I'm guessing is spring water. At first, I thought the older gentleman who was around the fountain was doing maintenance or cleanup, but he (and other locals while I watched) were coming by with buckets to be filled with fountain water... What they did with the water remains a mystery as I didn't ask...


21 July 2009

2006: Metal Owl

One of the things you notice when you travel this particular region of Bretagne is the love for large-scale artistic metalwork. And, among the many I've encountered, an interesting one displays on the eastern edge of the N767 highway, near Cavan.

I honestly don't know the "real" name, nor why it is where it is, but I call it the "Metal Owl".

It appears to be fairly well-known to locals, even though only visible from the highway and, given said highway is a busy place, not somewhere you'd think folks would stop. But, stop they do.

A few weeks ago, as an example, someone left a computer monitor as an offering at its feet. This week, no monitor...

[ 2009: I've looked a few times since, and have yet to find even so much as a blog entry regarding this unusual sculpture. If anybody knows why it is where it is, its name, etc, I would appreciate hearing from you. I believe it was located in this area ]

20 July 2009

2006: Set on Bake

20 July

I've only gone out a few times the past five days, partly due to poor weather, but mostly because I was actually tired of driving any appreciable distance. Go Figure; but, given my advancing years, perhaps not such a bad thing (grin). Even so, the beach called twice, and I accidentally found myself among the Germans, the Dutch, the British, and the French, each of us enjoying the "Set on Bake" temperatures, high tide, and mostly blue skies.

Tan lines on my feet are Birkenstocks in shape, and probably for life. Shoot me now. :)

Noted:

Auto-Ecoles (driving schools) are in every town, even the smallest, and any town of size will usually have several. I will make no comment beyond this regarding the quality of the graduates, though I have to admit the French stop at ALL stop signs (no California stops here), stop for red lights at ALL signals, and make more than a reasonable attempt to be "doing" the speed limit when rolling through small towns, if only because there are hefty fines and automatic radar traps with nary a gendarme in sight.

15 July 2009

2006: 34 Hours, 7 Days, 3 Weeks

15 July

Still more driving, and I'm finally back in the Pedernec neighbourhood again. I've driven over 2700 kilometres in the past week, most of it in four days of insane "gotta be there", wherever "there" was for the next moment. One-thousand six-hundred miles (give or take) during 34 hours of behind-the-wheel. Je suis TRÈS fatigué, and I will probably spend the next day or three just puttering around the apartment, doing laundry, catching up with Madame, feeding the cats, and reminding myself I don't have to BE anywhere for a few weeks.

And that is a bit sad, in and of itself. My journey here will be over in three weeks. The time has gone by far too quickly, and I'm not quite ready to let go of this dream visit just yet.

14 July 2009

2006: Bastille Day

14 July

Johan has been delivered safely and efficiently to Leuven. After a very long drive, I find myself in Chartres this morning. It has been a while since I've been awed by the size of a church. However, Chartres comes pretty darn close. When you can easily see the church (and nothing else of the town) from over 7 miles away, that's pretty impressive. And inside, so many things to see.

# Coincidentally, I've recently read two books that describe the Labyrinth
located within the nave. Nothing quite prepares you, though; it's one thing to read about, quite another to watch pilgrims walk its path. Admittedly, I was tempted.

# Numerous side chapels, some with their own individual stained glass "stories". I think someone once said stained glass was the Middle Age equivalent of the cartoon

# Numerous Rose Windows. Most churches have one. Chartres has several

# On the horseshoe-shaped outer wall of the Chapelle du Saint-Sacrement are incredible carvings detailing a storyline probably available at the gift shoppe in a variety of trinkets and books, as well as the internet itself. My fault; I failed to pick up documentation to augment the tale here. However, among the more interesting is a man on horseback,
surrounded by what appear to be peasants, and two headless religious leaders, one on either side. Headless Guy Stage Right may have lost his head due to erosion, age, accident, etc, but Headless Guy Stage Left is this way by design. It has been suggested by a friend in Buenos Aires this may be Saint Denis, beheaded for being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people, and he seems always to be portrayed quite calmly holding his mitred head in his hands as if it were a perfectly-normal "thing".

Two hours or so west of Chartres, and the landscape is sunflowers...

Another two hours on, and the town of Domfront on the N176 has been left behind. While the heat isn't horrible, the humidity has become North Carolina in August. I'm looking for a reason to stop and what I find is much humbler than Chartres, but at least as human in its way:
The lighting would have been perfect very early in the morning, but you have to admit it's not too bad now... Mortared stone out-buildings, slate roofs, timbered framing, and even though there is more than a little wear and tear, it feels like these buildings have been loved since day one.

The heat and humidity calm down a bit as the car and its inhabitant get closer to the English Channel, and the two-hour theme continues as Mont Saint-Michel appears. This is the first time I've actually encountered the prophesied summer crowd, and it's impressive. Land yachts and tourist buses everywhere, hundreds of cars parked legal and not, and people walking or rolling slowly away from the tourist trap towards the medieval town.

This is one location I'd love to spend a few days given its apparent size. I'd probably want to come on the off-season, when May or mid-September should be perfect for weather and crowds. I will try not to think about the fact I was here in May this year and didn't visit...

Oh, and today is Bastille Day. It's been interesting finding open petrol stations, markets, restaurants, and hotels while tooling around the backroads of rural France.

12 July 2009

2006: Historic Countryside

12 July

Early morning is spent finding a petrol station (they were there by the dozen until we left the beaten path), then in the grandeur of the church of St Martin-Arlon, Belgium. It's just a few miles from the border between Belgium and Luxembourg, and my visit there a few years back was one I've been wanting to share since.

While the sunshine was not as brilliant as that day in March, the church itself delivered. With highly-detailed stained glass, especially within the Rose Window over the altar, the grey-marble pulpit, and the burnished-wood confessionals along the north wall, this church is among my five favourites for overall beauty.

The Rose Window is the star of the show. In the centre is a bright red medallion naming God in Hebrew. Surrounding are angels, and on the outer edge are the 12 zodiacal signs, though I am curious why the zodiac was included. Mary, St John the Baptist, the sun and moon complete the window.

The foundation for the church itself was set in 1907, and completed just in time for World War I. It was designed and built in the style of classic Gothic for the end of the 13th century. The octagonal spire and bronze cross tower 300 feet over the neighbourhood, and total square footage pretty closely resembles an American football pitch.

On the road again, we decided that, due to road works on the main highway between Arlon and Brussels, we would try our luck with the slower path through the western edge of the Ardennes, touring past fairytale towns that each have a 20th-century tale to tell regarding humanity. Bastogne, Malmedy, Spa, Houffelize, Esch sur Sûre (displayed here), and hundreds (if not thousands) of others; each story different, yet remarkably similar. It is hard to imagine over one million combatants in this area during the winter of 1944 and the following spring, each killing for its own dogma, causing such destruction and pain, especially with a countryside 62 years later so incredibly beautiful and tranquil... The memorial in Malmedy to the civilians who died when bombed during December 1944 was especially poignant. It posts not only the names of the dead, but their age as well. From enfants barely months old to elders in their nineties, all were swept aside by events beyond ability to change their fate.


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Noted:

Most of northern France appears to be quite agricultural, which surprised me (and I'm not completely sure why). Corn, wheat, barley, sunflowers, romaine lettuce, you name it, it's grown here. Town after town surrounded by farm and dairy land as far as the eye can see. If it weren't for the signs (and the language), you could persuade yourself you were in Iowa or Nebraska quite easily. Even near Chartres, which is (I'm guessing) less than 60 miles from Paris, you are surrounded by the green of plenty.

Noted:

Condoms are regularly available in vending machines outside pharmacies (and elsewhere). A good thing, in my not-so-humble opinion. However, public urination for men is either legal or is at least condoned. I thought it was an aberration of my last visit, but no. Some at least attempt to find a tree or large bush, but others just pull over and anchor aweigh. Culture shock; France, Belgium, Holland, there must be something in the water, no pun intended.

Noted:

French television is a trip to watch. From Spongebob Squarepants ("Bob Lépange") to naked men and women in commercials, you certainly aren't in Kansas anymore. Oh, and to the best of my poor channel-surfing recollection of Bob, he sounds more macho here, too (grin).

11 July 2009

2006: Differdange

11 July

Puttering around can be fun in Differdange. We were treated to a village market all over the town centre, selling everything from rotisserie chickens to clothing, children's toys, jewelry, hot dogs,

fresh fruit, vegetables, and the like. Cats lying on narrow window ledges were tenaciously asleep amid the commotion,

even as a bell-clanging gnome toned innext to a garden clock that was probably not connected to any accurate atomic clocks. Oh, and a witch sailed by...


Luxembourg City is a favourite of mine, from the Place du Constitution to the Grand Ducal Palace, the Casino to Cathedralé Notre-Dame de Luxembourg, the Casemates north and south.

I'm already thinking of spending a few weeks here sometime in the next few years.

The main language is Luxembourgheise (an intricate combination of French, German, and other influences). Johny says most of his countryfolk learn Lux first at home, then in school are required to learn basic French, German, and English. For the younger generation, it is not uncommon to know these fluently, and to acquire others as the need arises. The US should be so bold...

10 July 2009

2006: the Road to Luxembourg

10 July

Last night, Els promised I would have wonderful weather today to make up for yesterday. She must know Someone Important because it dawned bright and warm. And, the drive started well, right on time to be in Leuven, Belgium, at noon to pick up Johan (a good friend and fellow chessplayer) for our mini-vacation to Luxembourg.

Until I found myself about 40 miles west of where I started the day, which is almost 100 miles from where I wanted to be. And I don't know how I turned off. The highway signs were sparse, and I was just beginning to wonder why Antwerpen (Antwerp) wasn't among the towns upcoming when I found myself in Zeeland, the very end of the road on the western coast.

So, one missed intersection, a decision that put a dent in an otherwise-beautiful day. What could possibly go wrong now?

Well, more "correct" decisions that encountered other problems:

# Taking the toll tunnel towards Ghent, in order to "save time by spending money" only to find this is the one furthest west and farther north than I thought

# Getting to a bridge that crosses one of the largest canals, only to be stopped by the bridge structure changing directions to allow a huge container ship to use that airspace (20 minutes worth of wait, along with everyone else)

# Public works projects left for the summer because the weather is so nice, works that require folks to sit in very long queues waiting for traffic in the other direction to stop.

# OK, enough already. Johan and I made it to Luxembourg. We didn't die. We didn't get maimed. We actually had a pretty good time.

Of course, the good time was courtesy of our host, Johny, who lives in Differdange, about 25 sometimes-confusing minutes or so driving time from Luxembourg City. His home sits adjacent the local police station, and is the size of a very large townhome. He treated us to a sumptuous BBQ feast upon arrival, and his roommate, Babe (yes, really), provided her expertise, which included the best garlic butter I've ever tasted. The vegetables were home-grown, and the dogs, cats, and friendly friends numerous.