Back to Paris the unexpected happens

We took the milk train out of Agen for Bordeaux at a little before 10am Wednesday morning. Richard and Pauline took us right back to where they had found us on Monday, although they left us on a different platform that's true. We said goodbye, au revoir -- but not for long. We'll be seeing them in Providence in early June when they come to spend a couple of nights with us before heading off on a long tour through the American South.

These two remind us of several other people we know who are, simply put. just nice people with an incredible sense of hospitality and truly generous with their time and their attention. We will miss them.

In Bordeaux we easily made our connection to the high-speed TGV headed north to Paris. The train left on time and quickly sliced through the countryside, About two hours after we left Bordeaux, the train appeared to have struck something on the tracks and we could see a cloud of debris come streaming back at least 8 or so cars (where we were). Right away the train slowed as quickly as possible and stopped in the middle of an empty, flat sun-drenched stretch of farmland.

Several minutes passed before they announced that the train had indeed struck something. More minutes passed. The announcement came that the train had in fact hit a motorcyclist and we would have to wait for the police to arrive, examine the accident scene and then the train.

Two hours later were were off but slowly at first. The train was rerouted to Tours and, in the wake of confused directions from train staff and general uncertainty among the passengers we were put onto another TGV for Paris. As we understood it there was concern over whether any damage had been done to the train. In fact, as we walked around the front of the train we could see why: the nose of the locomotive had not only lost a large chunk of the center cover-plate but there was blood everywhere. Grisly and disturbing. Equally disturbing were the number of people taking photos with their phones or digital cameras.

Susie and I arrived back at Gare Montparnasse about four hours late. Of course, there was at least one person who would never arrive at his destination. Or perhaps I should say that his destination had been changed unexpectedly.

That evening we finished packing up -- OK Susie finished packing up and we prepared the apartment for our departure early Thursday morning. The two of us shared a quiet evening at home, finishing the food and wine remaining in the house. a day that left us feeling happy to have been with Richard and Pauline, sad to be leaving Paris, eager to get home and back into a groove, disturbed over being somehow connected with the death of another human being.

And odd way to leave but there you have it.

Condom, Auch and the Pilgrim Trail to the Pyrenees

Tuesday morning found us back to our leisurely morning routine -- even more so it seemed, now that we were nearly within sight of the Pyrenees Mountains. But we eventually roused ourselves from the warm bed, cleaned up, dressed up and joined Richard and Pauline for breakfast. (photo: memorial to the soldiers from Condom who died in service of their country.)

After fueling ourselves for a day of exploring the "Gers" we grabbed our coats and headed outside to see if Richard's Citroen DS would start. I remember years ago, in my Car & Driver subscription days, reading that the DS was the most comfortable vehicle ever built.

After sitting in the driver's seat I can assure you that it is the most comfortable chair I have ever sat in.This is the kind of car one could easily drive across the US in non-stop. It's not just a sense of luxuriousness but truly a comfortable seat designed by someone who intended to sit and cruise for hours on end. Sadly the battery failed to provide the necessary juice and we couldn't cruise anywhere.

So it was back in the other Citroen, newer to be sure but somehow lacking in the character of the DS. Anyway we were off to . . . Condom!

We strolled through the city, famous for a number of things besides what you're thinking right now, one of the most important of which is being a major stop on the Way of St. James, the pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Campostela. (Indeed, the next stop after Condom is Larressingle, the tiny fortified hamlet we visited on Monday.)



The sun peeked out once or twice on our stroll through this wonderful little town. After a swing through the cathedral and a walk around the city center we couldn't help but feel that this was a place one could easily consider spending quality time in, as in living in, if you get my drift. While this may be rural France it's not "provincial" in the usual sense of the word. There are numerous festivals and events throughout the year here, indeed throughout the Gers in general. All are tied to a pilgrimage of one sort or another: to follow the Way of St. James, the way of Armagnac, the way of the Mountains, whatever.

We returned to the car park, climbed into the Citroen and headed toward our next stop for the day: Auch (pronounced like "osh" as in "Osh-Kosh").

Our first stop was the cathedral. Now we're not pilgrims in the strict sense of word, at least as it's understood along this route in southern France, but we have always felt our travels are a pilgrimage along the road to experience and understanding -- of what though, I'm less clear on, however.

It is true that a great many churches, in Europe and elsewhere, can begin to look alike. On the face of it they are, after all, huge piles of stone and marble shaped in a variety of ways all toward the same purpose: to explain and promote a particular way of seeing the world. 

That said, one has to marvel at the beauty and the incredible work and imagination that went into such "glories to God."

The cathedral in Auch was just one of those marvels.

Two things in particular stand out: the fantastic hand-carved choir seats (the photo does not do justice to the intricate artwork and variety of figures used):

And then there are the stunning 15th century stained glass panels. Each panel represented a biblical setting but each also contained at least one "sibyl," a prophetess with pagan overtones. 

That aside, the colors in each panel are as vivid as the day they were first created and literally seem to pop off the glass.

The four of us had a delicious lunch at the wonderful Le Daroles in the heart of beautiful Auch, just a stone's throw from the cathedral. We each had the formule Midi and enjoyed an early afternoon chatting and just swapping travel stories.

(The formule idea is catching on in Providence as well -- more and more upscale restaurants are going with a three-course fixed price menu these days it seems.)

After leaving the restaurant we strolled around the town, paying a visit to Dartagnan's statue (his character was reportedly based on the real life story of a musketeer from Auch it seems).

Walking down from the cathedral hilltop toward the river we also passed a unique bit of sculpture right beneath our feet: the first few chapters of the Book of Genesis, in Latin, with raised letters laid out ever so carefully in the walkway.

After an eye-opening, incredibly fascinating day exploring the Gers with Richard and Pauline, being shown the sights of places never imagined and poorly understood (by me at any rate), we headed home to relax before dinner.

That evening the four of us again piled into the Citroen and headed off to La Florida restaurant in, I believe, Castera Verduzan.

The food was delicious, wine perfect (local of course) and the conversation warm. In keeping with our standing record, it was nice that we had the restaurant to ourselves. (That made three times in a row for Susie and I.)



A grand way to finish a too-short stay in the Midi Pyrenees!

Wish you had been there,


Steve

Off to Gascony to see Richard and Pauline

We had no idea what to expect when we boarded the TGV at Gare Montparnasse early Monday morning and headed south for Bordeaux. The day had begun by me actually setting an alarm -- shocking I know. After caffe, showering and getting dressed we grabbed our small bag, and headed out the door with Navigo in hand. After changing to the no. 6 line at Place d'Italie we got off at Montparnasse and wended our way up the several levels of escalators to the train.

Susie and I found our car and our reserved seats and settled in for the 3-hour or so trip south to the wine country of Bordeaux. But we didn't stay and sip; we no sooner arrived int he station than we switched trains almost at once, this time to a regional line headed for Marseilles. One hour later and we got off at the first stop, Agen, in Gascony, gateway to the Pyrenees. And waiting for us on the train platform were Richard and Pauline, all smiles and warm greetings. We loaded our bag into their car and zipped out of town, heading even further south into the heartland of an incredible world called, simply, "The Gers."

Pronounced something akin to "Jazz but slurring into "Jerzz," our first reaction as the Citroen carried us through the rolling hillsides traversing from one huge vineyard after another, was how much like Tuscany this was: the rolling hills, the vineyards (mostly Armagnac and Floc), the hilltops dotted with villages, some fortified (more of that later). But it wasn't exotic like Tuscany, rather more like Virginia. In any case, we felt right at home and soaked up the views.

(And speaking of driving, I learned on this trip that in France A numbers stand for autoroutes, or superhighways, D numbers are Department roads and N numbers refer to National roads. Cool, eh?)

After a short drive of 40 minutes or so we pulled into the quiet, small, sleepy village of Mouchan and in the driveway of their home. Richard and Pauline have spent more than two-and-a-half of the past three years turning a fairly run down piece of stone and dirt into a gorgeous French cottage, full of coziness and comfort, waiting to pull the unsuspecting traveler into a world of peace and quiet.


After dropping our bags off the four of us walked outside under overcast skies -- I think sun here might be too overwhelming for city folks on such short notice -- and as we strolled our hosts showed us the town. Right next door to their house is a church whose stones have seen some enormous history pass their way. Dating from the 11th or 12th Century or so, the church is smack along the very old and very well traveled pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Campostella in northwestern Spain.

After a brief stroll around and through the village we loaded ourselves into the car and off we went for a cruise around some of the gorgeous countryside. Specifically Richard and Pauline wanted to show us several examples of bastides, or fortified hill villages. More than just simple fortified hill towns, these urban spaces were constructed along very distinct guidelines: wall enclosing the village of course but often laid out in a sort of grid pattern with a distinct center square surrounded by porticos on all sides. Very useful then and now, and certainly very appealing aesthetically. We stopped at three very nice examples of the bastide concept: Montreal, Fources (with a round rather than a square square) and lastly Larressingle.

This last and very tiny fortified village was rather different as it was surrounded by a dry moat and fully enclosed by the walls, rather than homes developing out into the wall system as is typical in the other villages.


Anyway, we learned that around the turn of the 20th century the village was in such a state of ruins that a local nobleman went to Boston to drum up money to rebuild and maintain the village heritage. Today there is a plaque on the side of the one of the larger structures inside bearing the names of the Boston benefactors:

As we cruised through these tiny hamlets in the on again off again drizzle, we generally found ourselves alone. It was early in the season and there was little tourist activity in any of the villages. Which actually made it rather nice since we appeared to be the only visitors out and about. But the day was raw and overcast, and as we left the tiny village of Larressingle the promise of rain became reality.

We were soon back in Mouchan, tucked into their warm home, sipping an aperitif. Pauline made us a wonderful dinner, accompanied by one of the local reds, a Madiran I believe, and Susie had brought dessert: a scrumptious tart. She had made it the night before and carried it all the way from Paris.

Even with cloudy skies and a chilly, light drizzle it had been a wonderful day, and it was so good to be back with friends again.

Wish you had been there,

Steve

Susie, Misato, Loie Fuller and Champagne with Valerie

After a lazy Sunday morning Susie headed off about 10:20 to meet up with her friend Misato. The plan was to meet at the Patisserie Carette, a Salon de The in the 16th arr., near the Trocadero Metro stop for the no. 6 line. After a bit of a hitch in finding one another there (it is a huge Place) the two of them and Mistato's mother had a superb lunch followed by delicious pastries.

According to Misato this place has been ranked one of the best pastry shops in the city. One can certainly see they don't lack for quality:

As for me I left the apartment shortly after Susie but walked in the opposite direction: east. I walked to Pere Lachaise in search of the final resting place of Loie Fuller.

Now for those of you who aren't from the Providence area, Loie Fuller happens to be the name of one of the city's best restaurants. Not only is it decorated in one of the most sumptuous, indeed lavish art nouveau styles in honor of this once-famous American dancer turned Parisian, but it also happens to be right across the street from our condo. We can attest to the fantastic interior decor as well as the tasty food.

Marie Louise Fuller, who as a young child always known as "Louie," was born in Illinois in 1862. She moved to Paris as a young girl and really never looked back. (And she eventually began spelling her name "Loie.") She became one of the most well-known dancers in the city, much of her sensational style due to her innovative use of great bollowing clouds of fabric juxtaposed against imaginative lighting effects.

She died in 1928 in Paris and reportedly was buried in niche no. 5382 in the Columbarium at Pere Lachaise cemetery. However, as one can see from a recent photograph there is no plaque on her niche. Stolen perhaps? Or maybe her ashes were removed somewhere else. Who knows?

Susie and I eventually reconnected and about 5pm headed for the Metro and the 15th arrondissement to visit our friend Valerie. She had asked us to drop by for champagne and antipasti (hors d'oeuvre in French). It was nice seeing here again -- she is so full of life and energy and I think marvels at our continual excitement about her home city.

We left her about 8pm and headed back home to tidy the evening up, have a late dinner and prepare ourselves for the trip south, into new adventures amidst the wilds of the Dordogne.

Wish you were here,

Steve

Liberation Day in Italy, in Paris and in Decatur

The 25th of April has great significance for the Italians. They celebrate the victory over the Germans in 1945 and in particular honor the members of the resistance who fought against the Nazis and the Fascists. Personally, it gives me a chance to celebrate my own liberation – from my mother’s womb in Decatur, something which I’m sure she greatly appreciated at that time but probably had cause to regret later.

But it was my father who gave me the opportunity at real liberation. he instilled in me the sense of right and wrong, gave me a moral compass and taught me the importance of being considerate of others. I have occasionally failed him but I like to think he has always been proud of my efforts. If it weren't for him. . .

Anyway, Susie and I weren’t in Italy for the celebration (this time)nor were we in Decatur but we were in Paris. Here we enjoyed a raw, chilly and windy Saturday with sun off and off, but mostly off. We spent a leisurely morning over caffe, catching up on home chores after our flying visit to Italy and just generally relaxed.

Late morning we strolled in the direction of Pere Lachaise but stopped short at the Square de la Roquette so I could show Susie the wonderful flowers that are out in that particular green space right now.

(Named after an enormous prison complex for women, now long gone and replaced by apartment buildings at the center of which is this very nice park, it’s nice to see such a place of suffering and human misery turned into something so patently pleasurable and uplifting.)

We then strolled down rue de la Roquette and picked up a bottle of wine, some roast beef from a local boucherie and fresh green beans (from Kenya), all for the meal later on. After dropping the groceries off at home we then headed off for the Metro line 5 at Richard Lenoir. We got off at the Gare d’Austerlitz and went to the ticket office to pick up our train tickets for Monday morning – thus eliminating having to stand in line at the Gare Montparnasse early in the morning.

After leaving the train station we walked across the street and into the Jardin des Plantes. The season is just getting underway for plantings, and the garden here should be full of color in the next several weeks we thought. Anyway we strolled on through the garden, past the Paris Mosque and over to rue Monge and Pascal Pineaud’s pastry shop. Susie wanted to confirm with Misato their plans to get together for lunch before and they decided to meet up for a late morning brunch Sunday morning near the Trocadero.

From rue Monge we walked over to another favorite haunt, the rue Mouffetard, walking past row upon row of restaurants serving everything from crepes to Lebanese to Greek to French regional specialties like Savoyard. This is a great place to see, in just one short straight line, the food choices available in Paris – and this is just one tiny slice of the city!

Ambling up to the Place de Contrescarpe, we stopped and watched a older man, probably in his 50s playing really good music on a small, homemade honky-tonk piano.


After a few minutes savoring the experience we walked toward the Pantheon, down rue Soufflot and into the Jardin du Luxembourg. The huge urns at the center of the garden had not yet been planted and the tulips were fast becoming history. The wind was raw, the drizzle was starting to fall, we were starting to feel the pangs of Parisian hunger come over us and so we sought a nearby café, Le Cercle, to get warm and get a bite to eat.

We both ordered the croque monsieur, Paris’ version of the grill cheese sandwich and enjoyed a glass of chilled white wine – an Aligoté from Burgundy. We just generally chatted about one thing or another (mostly one thing), and savored being in Paris. We eventually paid the bill, and strolled outside into the cold of the afternoon and headed down Boulevard St. Michel toward the Seine. Our objective was the Metro line 10 at Cluny-Sorbonne.

But just short of our objective we spied the huge Gibert-Joseph bookstore and, always on the lookout for bookstores that might carry guides to Paris cemeteries we walked inside.

Almost right away Susie found the book I was looking for, Bertrand Beyern’s new edition of his Guide to the Famous Tombs in France. We both then browsed for the next half hour or so in this incredibly huge store – and ended up walking out with nearly a half dozen books, since Susie found a couple of dessert books to add to her repertoire.

Crossing the street we popped down into the Metro, hopped on the line 10 and switched at line 5 at Bastille and got off at Richard Lenoir and walked home.

I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday.

Wish you had been there,

Steve