Sept. 11. Orleans, at last. A must write-about experience: after over 3 weeks of travel together, we four were so much looking forward to toasting our time together tonight at a nice restaurant. Not to be! We headed out to Orleans' main Place de Martroi and every single restaurant - every one! - could not serve us. A couple of cafes only serve drinks outside, and were full inside. Other places were jammed and, without a reservation, we were politely but definitely sent on our way. This beautiful, balmy evening and nowhere to eat! We finally settled on, of all places, a small sushi restaurant! I hate raw fish, but we found they had two little skewers of marinated chicken breast, so I ate that (as slowly as possible) while the others enjoyed The Rawness. We laughed about it - what else can you do but chalk it up to Travel - the things that happen on the road that you must be prepared to accept. So the plan for tomorrow is that the Ks will come in from their airport hotel to join us for dinner in Paris, hopefully at a restaurant favorite that we all know. You will have to ask us, once home, if this actually happens. As they say: Whatever...
We made it back to Orleans after two exhausting days of packing, driving and winding our way through medieval cities en route. Friday was a serious day of sitting in a car, with one significant stop in the city of Albi, which has a deservedly famous cathedral. We drove to Limoges (yes, the city of that porcelain ware). Only the second half of the drive was on divided highway; most of the drive was the "usual" single lane-traffic circle-up and down around around-through cities driving. Beautiful countryside, but tiring. After the now familiar circling and missing signs, we found a hotel, dragged ourselves off to a brasserie for a later than usual dinner, and finally collapsed in bed close to 11.
Up this morning and at it again, though the driving was virtually all expressway. It is worth noting that even most of the "N roads", or National roads, in this country are two lane, as are the "D roads" or Departement roads, and the white roads - well, those are just the country lanes that we have been cyclng on. I think we have done remarkably well driving these three weeks given all the challenges of navigating in unknown territory, on small roads with lots of traffic circles, trying to please four people at once, and maneuvering a giant toaster that barely fits in a medieval street. I credit Robb above all for his driving ability, great sense of direction, map-reading skills, and CALM under stress. What ticks him off is the wait in restaurants for service, but when it comes to driving, he is pretty unflappable and really knows how to wheel that van around!
While the guys took the van to Avis to retrieve the boxes and repack the bikes, Jane and I went to the Gare to buy tickets to Paris (they will go to the airport overnight and fly back Monday). After walking to the cathedral and back, I can attest to the fact that it is still summer, and wedding season, in Orleans. In their enormous Gothic cathedral we witnessed one smallish wedding party (bells pealing above); and just across the way at the Hotel de Ville, a Muslim wedding party! At just after six, the guys returned with bikes packed, the car returned, and we are ready for the train and two days of seeing friends in Paris before flying home.
We have gotten between 27-29 mpg (some heavy math by Jane went into this figuring) despite all of the slow driving and altitude gain and loss. This is amazing, we think. I guess it's a tribute to the efficiency of diesel fuel and the van's 6 gears. Even fully loaded with us, our gear, and bikes, we got over 27 mpg driving yesterday. How much does diesel cost?, you ask. We've paid about $1.10E/liter; there are 3.78 liters (I think that's it...) to a gallon, so you can figure it out. It's expensive, and that's why there are so many small cars and so many diesel cars in France! Robb says: Why aren't there more diesels, and manual transmissions, in the U.S. !?
This will be our last upload to the blog. I hope readers have enjoyed it, and that a little bit of the flavor of France, biking, and adventure has filtered through. It's been fun to share our experiences and it will be fun to read back home as we relive, as best we can, this unique experience!
Finally, some random things I like about France. I like the fact that none of the windows in our hotels have had a single screen, and that we have been completely free to open them. I hate American hotels that are shut up like mausoleums, smell like Lysol and air conditioning and are about 50 degrees on a summer day. And I really like being able to walk around towns or cities here at night without fear. People are out on the street, riding bicycles, walking with friends, eating and drinking at cafes until late, and in bigger cities, like Orleans tonight, historic buildings and sometimes fountains are lit artfully at night. People are active but they are not rushing everywhere, and they are not loud either. So nice...
Robb here. A word about the French Bread Year: Many years ago Bruce and I noticed how many French were taking home a baguette every day, in their cars, on their bicycles, or just walking with it sticking out of their grocery bags. I devised the idea of the French Bread Year, that is the length of French baguette that the people in France eat in a year. This trip, I have finally calculated this, based on conversations from a Parisian hotelier about his family's consumption of bread. Assuming the average Frenchman eats a half meter of baguette every day, and that France has a population of 65,000,000 we get following lengths for a French Bread year, day, hour, minute, and second:
French Bread Year: FBY=11,862,500 km (7,354,130 miles)
French Bread Day: FBD=32,500 km
French Bread Hour: FBH=1354 km
French Bread Minute: FBM=22.6 km
French Bread Second: FBS=376 meters
To give all a better feel for the new units, here are a few conversions:
1 FBY = 1.25e-6 light year, or 39.57 light seconds
1 FBY = 0.08 AU (astronomical units--the distance from the sun to the earth).
1 FBY = 30.8 LD (lunar distance--the average distance between the earth and its moon)
Circumference of Earth = 1.23 FBD
Mean radius of Earth = 4.70 FBH
At dinner tonight we estimated that we have been eating about 60cm of French bread per person per day on this trip. That ends up being a total of 72 meters of French bread for our trip, or about 0.2 FBS. BTW, the climb up Mount Ventoux (from the south) is 1612 meters in elevation and 21 km long, or just equal to one French Bread Minute. Our total distance that we cycled on this trip ends up being 408 miles for Jane, 411 miles for Bruce, and 418 miles each for Robb and Barbara; that is a total of 1655 miles, or about 2.25e-4 FBY.
Sept. 9, last day in Quillan. Weather this morning was wet but at 11 we all set out, in different directions, in hopes that rain was mostly over. R and I ended up riding 28 miles along the Aude river, through and along some beautiful gorges. But weather drove us back shortly after our picnic lunch. We no sooner set out on a climb out of the gorge to a tiny village than it began to rain. So we turned around and hot-footed it back, a fast trip since it was down! As we approached Qjuillan it began to rain again, and I looked over to the mountains in the distance and it was raining hard. We ran for the hotel garage, got the bike inside, went up to the room, and then the sun came out!! It was that kind of day, with intermittent rain, wind and sun. But: we have now broken 400 miles in France (418 exactly), so we feel good about that. And I am looking forward to our planned Tuesday ride next week to Versailles with the Fat Tire folks. That will be our last day in the country. As for the Ks, they took the van and went further afield, but had a rotten time with hills and lousy weather. We all agreed: so glad that yesterday was so glorious!
Tonight will be packing and tomorrow we will head back to Orleans with an intermittent stop tomorrow night at a place yet to be determined.
Sept 8. What a great day! We had a beautiful ride today by ourselves while Ks killed themselves on hills (actually they had a great ride too!). Some of the highlights of the day: little girls waving at us from the back of a school bus; an early Gothic cathedral with an enormous undivided nave, stained glass and stenciling throughout (some gone/deteriorated); 12-15th century town square in Mirepoix, looking more Germanic than French; a friendly country dog that came wagging out, an Australian couple at a cafe enjoying wine while we drank coffee and a Coke - they were very intrigued by our bicycle adventures -, and last but not least, a "rolling Home Depot" - a semi trailer parked near our van which is in essence a hardware store on wheels, pulled up and displaying various wares like ladders, brooms, even work shoes (on sale).. Inside I glimpsed cubbyholes and shelves full of wares, and by the door in the middle was a small catalog and a machine that takes credit cards. One guy manned the operation and four people came up to buy stuff while Robb was disassembling our bike.
That was our ride. But after that, we hotfooted it to Montsegur, one of the most famous Cathar castles because it is on one of the most radical sites, a rock outcropping that affords a breaktaking 360 degree view far into the distance. BUT the hike up is a killer on the knees! Robb says it is 150 meters up from the parking lot (about 500 feet) and it's pretty steep and rocky. The castle itself is just a shell, although they have repaired enough of the former chapel to tell what it is. It's the view, holy mackeral! Coming down was not knee friendly and I leaned on Robb a lot because the steps are so high and some of the rocks so slippery. Luckily we made it down without incident, the whole climb just took a long time and we were pretty sweaty.
To end the day, we drove with the Ks to the tiny village of Borriege we had cycled through a few days before to have dinner at a tiny restaurant where delicious lunch smells made our mouths water. What a wondeful experience!! We will write about it on Tripadvisor.com so they can get more business. That little town has just a handful of residents, but this couple bought their place and opened up just last April. Husband is the cook, the wife makes the desserts and is the waitress. She was absolutely delightful! Funny, a little playful, and I hope she enjoyed us as much as we did her. The setting was fabulous: a small area behind the building enclosed by high rock walls on two sides! She has just a few tables and chairs, with large white umbrellas. We had an absolutely wonderful set-price meal for our 19.5E. Most notable were a scrumptious gazpacho with something resembling meatballs but oh so much more delicious; large potatoes cut in half and roasted with herbs; and a tarte tatin (apple tart) to die for! The potatoes were a funny story. We all just raved about them, including Robb, who is lukewarm about potatoes but ate all of his and some of mine. So we asked Madame: how are they cooked? The secret . roasted in DUCK FAT! We had a good laugh over that one. Anyway, we all agreed that this was a meal to remember and this couple deserves as much business as they can get!
Sept. 7. Today: was rainy. So what else - we went to Spain! Out of curiosity, we four headed to a town near but not over the Spanish border which is part of Girona, a Catalan city in Spain. Llivia is in the middle of the high Pryrnees, and is essentially Catalan, although I am sure that everyone there speaks Spanish and French as well, at least to some degree. It is essentially a ski town with an old church and a few piles of stones which were once a castle. Because it was officially named a Villa (capital V) centuries ago in some political accord, when the existing border between France and Spain was established, Llivia was allowed to retain its alliance with Girona, Spain. Other plain old towns and villages were assimilated into France. Or so we gathered from the information available. Expecting some sort of at least rudimentary "border control"', we had brought our passports, but fuggedaboudit - we sailed down the main street into town just as what few shops were open, closed for the lunchtime break. We ambled around and found only a simple cafe, and I had a fairly hilarious time with the waiter/owner trying to switch my brain off and on between Spanish (which I kinow well), French, Catalan and English. He also seemed to enjoy the translation process, and things were made easier since two of us wanted omelettes, another, a hamburger, and the fourth, a standard menu listed. Lunch went fine, we ambled around some more trying to figure out just what made this empty town tick, and finally left for home with the notion that Llivia survives on the ski trade and thus at this time of year, is "resting."
As for the drive, all six hours of it (round trip): how can words possibly do justice to a mountain landscape like this? Despite being glued to our car seats for so long, and enduring scarily narrow, bumpy roads and never-ending switchbacks, we were bowled over by the majesty of the high Pyrenees and the beauty of their green valleys, only enhanced by the interplay of clouds and sun. Our roads took us over, around, down, over, around and down for hours, thousands of feet up to the passes between mountains, then thousands of feet down to the valleys, only to head up again, usually at speeds of 15-25 mph. Americans apparently don't visit the Pyrenees. But the Europeans sure do, to camp, hike, and ski, or just plain to see this glorious terrain. I opted out of being a driver for this trip, figuring that three drivers would do the job plenty well, and this allows me the pure luxury of rubbernecking, and this I have done to my heart's content, no more welcome than today.
We've had record-breakingly fast dinner tonight at a pizza place. Most often, our dinners two hours plus. It is a SIN in France to hurry the dining process; there are long pauses between courses and a long wait to catch the waiter's eye to ask for the check. It is considered supremely rude for a patron to receive the bill without asking and in some places, we have found disappearing waiters (observed smoking a cigarette "off campus" or just plain gone somewhere). Only once have we been aguche (and desperate) enough to get up to collar the waiter - at a restaurant where dinner took almost 3 hours. Most of the time we complete our 2-3 courses at 9:30 or later and roll off to bed with full stomachs.
Finally, another mandatory pleasantry in France is that you MUST bid farewell upon leaving a shop, whether you buy something or not. It's very uiseful to learn how to say "Merci au revoir" (thank you good bye) as a single sentence because you will be saying it a lot. Those salutations are just second nature and make the French world go round. This, along with the mandatory "Bon jour" throughout the day to anyone you pass anywhere. Sometimes I hear it as just a whispered "...jour" as I pass, but it's always there!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
The foothills of the Pyrenees
Sept. 6, Monday. We'll be in Quillan now until Friday when we head back toward Paris. Staying in one place is much easier than packing up and moving every two or three days.
Today we all drove to a road up on the plateau above Quillan (a road that we could never attempt to ride with the tandem, and which is so long and steep that Bruce and Jane, once at the top, are too exhausted to ride on the plateau). We rode first beside a mountain meadow, and then through a plateau where fields were dotted with rolls of hay. We rode past a cheese farm, and the Ks bought fresh goat cheese for our lunch. These mountains are covered with forest, and little mountains rise up with granite outcroppings from the plateau, and in the distance stretch those blue ridges of Pyrennes. Up on the plateau--some 800 to 1000 meters of elevation--autumn is just starting to show in the trees and the gardens, and harvest is in full swing.
It was a little up and a little down for about 17K, where we had our cheese and bread in the little park of the town of Belcaire, along with five workers of some sort who, in addition to their food and conversation, put away two bottles of wine for lunch. (Robb can't help thinking about productivity and how the Chinese are kicking France's butt along with the U.S.) We then rode up several kilometers to a pass--Bruce thought it was a grade of 6%--up to 1,253M (a climb of some 800 feet from the village). Tiring but rewarding, and we were able to make it without stopping. From there, a view of the valley on the other side. Clouds blew in this morning, and while we only experienced a few drops of rain, the clouds dimmed the sun and cast a shadow over the view. We can't complain, though. Now that we are back in Quillan, and sitting at the pizzeria down the street with some burly Germans drinking beer, some Brits, and various other local folks: it's cloudy but still so nicely warm. Long may it last!
Robb is planning tomorrow's route. I think we will split off from the Ks to ride around a lake and then hike up to another of the castles. BTW some of the signs we see here are in Catalan and French, both. Like the Alsace-Lorraine, this area has been pulled in different directions at different times in history, between Spain and France.
September 5. R and I took a sightseeing day to visit one of the spectacular Cathar castles for which this region is famous. These castles are all perched on huge rock outcroppings way up high; they date from the 12th century. The Cathars, a Christian sect, were targets of crusades by the Catholic church after Pope Innocent III declared them heretics in 1208. Apparently they had beliefs that were not conservative enough for Rome, like the one about men and women being equal in their ability to deliver sacraments. These castles were their strongholds. We visited one with the impossible name of Peyrepertuse (most of their names have clearly Latin origins), and it really has to be seen to be believed. After driving up and up, we paid our 5E and then had to hike a trail hewn out of the rock up further and around to the other side of the mountain to the entrance. Once in, the stone steps and trail continued throughout. This is not a site for people who are unfit or have problems walking. The "steps", such as they are, are rough, sometimes steep, and worn shiny through the centuries. If there were even one drop of rain, one would be an idiot to even think about it. But we enjoyed the challenge and even took the supposedly 100 steps up to the highest area containing a keep, a dungeon, and a chapel. The views from there were eye-popping, ankd included the sight of another castle (Queribus; neat name, eh?) in the distance perched high up over another valley. Far, far off, several ridges of the Pyrennes, blue. Wowie! (Having stumbled up and down all over this castle, I really wonder how many people could have lived there at one time, and where in the world did they get their water, not to mention food. It seems unlikely they could have withstood any lengthy seige, and maybe they didn't, because they were eventually defeated.)
On the way over, we took a little road through a Gorge de Galamus which gave us some real white knuckle moments. The road for part of the way narrows to one lane, with an overhanging rock cliff on the right and a low rock wall on the other, chasm below. At one point Robb had to jockey the van around backwards and forwards to let oncoming cars pass through. Thankfully this was a somewhat short section of the road but it was certainly nervewracking.
We came back at 4 tired and ready for a lie-down, as the Brits say. Robb is reading, I am writing, and we are listening to Rachmaninoff's Preludes for piano, musically every bit as spectacular as the views of today. It's hot! Thermometer in the van showed 32C as we parked it, over 90. But the mornings are wonderfully fresh, the sun is beautiful tho hot later in the day, and it is dry dry dry.
Later: We headed to a chateau where Bruce and Jane have stayed before for a special dinner in beautiful surroundings. The Ks told us about a nearby pizzeria where every pizza is named for an American Indian tribe: "(I'll have a Comanche, please. No wait, make that a Crow...) It's that kind of stuff that keeps me travelling!
September 4. We're celebrating the completion of a 35 miler with the Ks into the countryside in this mountainous terrain. The Ks have been here several times over past years, and they chose this route as one of the more "tandem-friendly" in the area. It's not only the climbs - their grade and length - that matter, but the descents. We just build up too much momentum on steep descents to be safe. This ride took us through beautiful farm and wine country (is there any part of this country that isn't beautiful?), and we ate our picnic lunch at a pretty old bridge in a tiny town. Then came our climb: it took us 55 steady minutes of climbing in granny gear (6 mph) to reach the high point; it took the Ks about 20 minutes more. I would call this part of the ride The Torture of the Switchbacks, which seemed to never end. However: The views from the top as we began our descent were just stunning, the Pyrenees off to our south and west. The descent was, relatively, gentle and very long, probably between 7-8 miles without pedalling at all, and applying the brakes steadily to control speed. Even so, I'm sure we reached over 30 mph, perhaps as much as 35 mph, on some legs. The views were beautiful going down into the valley.
The large fields have been harvested and are very neatly plowed; sunflowers have been harvest or are awaiting harvest, and the vines are bursting with grapes. Gardens, as everywhere in France, are beautifully tended, neat and clean, and still bursting with produce, especially tomatoes. One special sight we saw today was tractors and small trucks carrying stacks of large red metal bins (think dumpster-type) in preparation for the grape harvest. The tractors in this part of France (and anywhere the principle crops is grapes) are made narrow, to span one row of grapevines, and to negotiate the narrow roads in the rural towns.
We have a pretty good bike map now from the tourist office, which marks routes in terms of difficulty. This will make it possible for R and me to cycle separately from the Ks, who can do, and like to do, the long high climbs. We will pick more tandem-friendly routes, and we will also take the van and do some sightseeing.
Had fun at the pizzeria down the block after our ride, sucking down Cokes and watching a local crowd. A group of four guys who Robb thought look like rugby types, and they were speaking "Eliza Doolittle" English. Two of them look like brothers if not twins. They're past their prime for playing the game, but they sure look like they could be tough if they needed to! The other group was a scruffy bunch of folks in their 20s or young 30s, I would say, long hair, tattoos, messy clothes, chain smokers enjoying beers and conversation with each other. I would love to know what they do for a living! I will say that I was impressed by one of the women, the mother of a (guessing) 6 year old boy. He was bored, of course, and he kept hanging on her and playing with her face, giving dinosaur kisses, asking to see the stud in her tongue (eeeww), and so forth. Once in awhile she would say stop, and he would, but it was clear there was a lot of affection between them, and that was very nice to see!
Sept. 3, Friday, in Quillan. A long but beautiful drive today for a great distance along the Mediterranean. We wanted to drive through the Camargue, the marshy area south and west of Arles along the Mediterranean. I was surprised to see that even here, grapes are being grown everywhere. Even though the area is flat, with marshy areas, canals, and other watery inlets, grapes are being grown.I saw a sign by the road for "Vin du Sable" or Wine of Sand. That lacks appeal, somehow...
We stopped at one of several fruit and vegetable stands, and there were many signs advertising melons, cherries, peaches, and other "summer fruits." We drove by a beautiful area of lagoons where we saw hundreds and hundreds of beautiful pink flamingos. We stopped at a beach to dabble our feet in the Mediterranean, something Robb had never done. He was slightly distracted by the buxom mademoiselle walking the beach topless. Somehow he didn't manage to notice the much older woman sunning next to her husband, in the same state. We stopped for lunch in Aigues Mortes (Dead Waters--??), which turned out to be a surprise, since it's a medieval town with surrounding wall intact and we managed to get fabulous salades nicoises (and lasagna for the guys) for lunch. Then it was on to a faster highway and we finally arrived in this mountainous but much less touristy area around 6:30. I will say this: I have never gone through as many roundabouts as we did today. It seemed like every quarter mile we were going through another one and peering as fast as possible at all the signs to find the right road to take. This was especially because there are so many cutoffs along the sea. It was around and around and around again, everybody venturing their opinion about which route to take. Hard on Bruce, the driver!
The only clothes I haven't worn at all yet: bathing suit; pair of light shorts for cycling in really hot weather; 2 biking jerseys, ditto. We have only gone to a laundromat once. I wash things out in the sink every night; at the laundry I only washed two pairs of socks and my "good" or "dinner" pants.
From Robb:
Boulangerie, oui!
Patisserie, oui!
We say "Oui!" to French pastry!
Our tandem generates interest. People who see us flying along sometimes actually do a double-take, and when it's parked we notice people coming up to look at it. The only tandem we have seen was on the back of a car with other bikes, at the top of Mont Ventour. .
Sept. 2, last night in Provence. A good last day of biking and sightseeing in Arles. We rode in again, and today climbed the mountain behind St. Remy to the north (it's a short chain of small mountains called Les Alpilles) both going and coming back. Today was a 40 miler. We took almost all back roads again, beautiful. The museum in Arles provides a very good introduction to the history of Arles in Roman days. It was good preparation for walking the city to see the coliseum, renovated and still used today; the theater, ditto; Roman baths (not in use). Now that the Mistral has bid adieu to this area, the mornings are warm-chilly, the days are warm-hot, and the evenings fresh and cool. The air remains cool, and the flowers continue beautiful. Today several people called out "Bon courage!" to us on the road as we were climbing over the mountains, including one woman in a red car who also clapped her hands for us out the window. That, plus the cheery "Bon jour" that we exchange with other cyclists on the road makes up for the occasional jerk who is impatient or speeds way too fast around us. What I find funny is that when we pass people, we don't know their nationality and vice versa. Yet we're all saluting each other with cheery "bon jour."
People don't wear as much clothing with writing on it as in the U.S. However, what there is, is invariably English. Vacation spots, rock bands, events, pop figures and stars, and enigmatic words or sentences are all subjects, and one I spied in .Arles the other day, the ever-uplifting Bull Shit. Finally, today "Queen Victoria" tried to help Robb figure out how to pay for gas; the rhinestone crown on the t-shirt was a nice touch....
We often heard and saw gushing water on our rides, and rode past countless irrigation canals ditches. sluice gates and springs. That's what makes it possible for such a dry area to be so productive. I'm sure some of these canals have been in place since Roman times. As far as planting goes, vegetables are usually planted in raised rows, sometimes in plastic or sometimes covered with row cover. There are also many, many hoop-style shelters covered with some sort of plastic, vented every few feet, where vegetables are grown. They clearly have it down to a science in Provence. As far back as the first centuries AD, Arles was the center of fruit, vegetable and grain distribution for that part of the Roman empire.
We passed the Mas Carpe Diem near Arle. (Mas=farm...)
Bulls and bullfighting, are popular in Provence. There will be some huge spectacle in a few days in Arles, and the area we cycled through these days is famous for raising bulls. They hold bullfights Spanish-style, but there is another type of competition where "toreros" compete to yank some sort of decoration off the horns of bulls without getting gored. They wear special gloves with razors on them for the purpose (!). The bull lives in that one...
A bee flew under Robb's helmet yesterday! We had to stop very suddenly so I could get off and he could get the helmet off fast. Luckily he was not badly stung, but he sure could have been,
A final word on matters hygienic: i will be clear but not graphic. A public WC in Arles was the "squat type" we've seen here before. Upon completing my mission, I reached for the TP and as I did, the wall in front of me suddenly erupted in water, which fell along the wall and into the hole in a great rush. Startled, I threw the paper into the pit and as I turned unlock the door, the floor erupted in water as well, flooding the bottom of my shoes on the way to the pit. This startling method of "cleaning" a public WC was completely unexpected and quite unnerving. It barely gives you time to get the job done! AND on the subject of bidets: most of our hotels have not had them, which is somewhat surprising to me. This hotel, however, has one and has decided to place it immediately opposite, and facing, the toilet, both of which are completely exposed on a raised platform in the bathroom. I will leave you to decide how this arrangement would make you feel about using either one in the presence of another person, beloved or not...
At dinner, we agreed we're all tired! But tomorrow it's up, out,, and on to our last destination: Quillan, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. (French pronunciation: holding your nose, say: "Kee-yaw.")
Today we all drove to a road up on the plateau above Quillan (a road that we could never attempt to ride with the tandem, and which is so long and steep that Bruce and Jane, once at the top, are too exhausted to ride on the plateau). We rode first beside a mountain meadow, and then through a plateau where fields were dotted with rolls of hay. We rode past a cheese farm, and the Ks bought fresh goat cheese for our lunch. These mountains are covered with forest, and little mountains rise up with granite outcroppings from the plateau, and in the distance stretch those blue ridges of Pyrennes. Up on the plateau--some 800 to 1000 meters of elevation--autumn is just starting to show in the trees and the gardens, and harvest is in full swing.
It was a little up and a little down for about 17K, where we had our cheese and bread in the little park of the town of Belcaire, along with five workers of some sort who, in addition to their food and conversation, put away two bottles of wine for lunch. (Robb can't help thinking about productivity and how the Chinese are kicking France's butt along with the U.S.) We then rode up several kilometers to a pass--Bruce thought it was a grade of 6%--up to 1,253M (a climb of some 800 feet from the village). Tiring but rewarding, and we were able to make it without stopping. From there, a view of the valley on the other side. Clouds blew in this morning, and while we only experienced a few drops of rain, the clouds dimmed the sun and cast a shadow over the view. We can't complain, though. Now that we are back in Quillan, and sitting at the pizzeria down the street with some burly Germans drinking beer, some Brits, and various other local folks: it's cloudy but still so nicely warm. Long may it last!
Robb is planning tomorrow's route. I think we will split off from the Ks to ride around a lake and then hike up to another of the castles. BTW some of the signs we see here are in Catalan and French, both. Like the Alsace-Lorraine, this area has been pulled in different directions at different times in history, between Spain and France.
September 5. R and I took a sightseeing day to visit one of the spectacular Cathar castles for which this region is famous. These castles are all perched on huge rock outcroppings way up high; they date from the 12th century. The Cathars, a Christian sect, were targets of crusades by the Catholic church after Pope Innocent III declared them heretics in 1208. Apparently they had beliefs that were not conservative enough for Rome, like the one about men and women being equal in their ability to deliver sacraments. These castles were their strongholds. We visited one with the impossible name of Peyrepertuse (most of their names have clearly Latin origins), and it really has to be seen to be believed. After driving up and up, we paid our 5E and then had to hike a trail hewn out of the rock up further and around to the other side of the mountain to the entrance. Once in, the stone steps and trail continued throughout. This is not a site for people who are unfit or have problems walking. The "steps", such as they are, are rough, sometimes steep, and worn shiny through the centuries. If there were even one drop of rain, one would be an idiot to even think about it. But we enjoyed the challenge and even took the supposedly 100 steps up to the highest area containing a keep, a dungeon, and a chapel. The views from there were eye-popping, ankd included the sight of another castle (Queribus; neat name, eh?) in the distance perched high up over another valley. Far, far off, several ridges of the Pyrennes, blue. Wowie! (Having stumbled up and down all over this castle, I really wonder how many people could have lived there at one time, and where in the world did they get their water, not to mention food. It seems unlikely they could have withstood any lengthy seige, and maybe they didn't, because they were eventually defeated.)
On the way over, we took a little road through a Gorge de Galamus which gave us some real white knuckle moments. The road for part of the way narrows to one lane, with an overhanging rock cliff on the right and a low rock wall on the other, chasm below. At one point Robb had to jockey the van around backwards and forwards to let oncoming cars pass through. Thankfully this was a somewhat short section of the road but it was certainly nervewracking.
We came back at 4 tired and ready for a lie-down, as the Brits say. Robb is reading, I am writing, and we are listening to Rachmaninoff's Preludes for piano, musically every bit as spectacular as the views of today. It's hot! Thermometer in the van showed 32C as we parked it, over 90. But the mornings are wonderfully fresh, the sun is beautiful tho hot later in the day, and it is dry dry dry.
Later: We headed to a chateau where Bruce and Jane have stayed before for a special dinner in beautiful surroundings. The Ks told us about a nearby pizzeria where every pizza is named for an American Indian tribe: "(I'll have a Comanche, please. No wait, make that a Crow...) It's that kind of stuff that keeps me travelling!
September 4. We're celebrating the completion of a 35 miler with the Ks into the countryside in this mountainous terrain. The Ks have been here several times over past years, and they chose this route as one of the more "tandem-friendly" in the area. It's not only the climbs - their grade and length - that matter, but the descents. We just build up too much momentum on steep descents to be safe. This ride took us through beautiful farm and wine country (is there any part of this country that isn't beautiful?), and we ate our picnic lunch at a pretty old bridge in a tiny town. Then came our climb: it took us 55 steady minutes of climbing in granny gear (6 mph) to reach the high point; it took the Ks about 20 minutes more. I would call this part of the ride The Torture of the Switchbacks, which seemed to never end. However: The views from the top as we began our descent were just stunning, the Pyrenees off to our south and west. The descent was, relatively, gentle and very long, probably between 7-8 miles without pedalling at all, and applying the brakes steadily to control speed. Even so, I'm sure we reached over 30 mph, perhaps as much as 35 mph, on some legs. The views were beautiful going down into the valley.
The large fields have been harvested and are very neatly plowed; sunflowers have been harvest or are awaiting harvest, and the vines are bursting with grapes. Gardens, as everywhere in France, are beautifully tended, neat and clean, and still bursting with produce, especially tomatoes. One special sight we saw today was tractors and small trucks carrying stacks of large red metal bins (think dumpster-type) in preparation for the grape harvest. The tractors in this part of France (and anywhere the principle crops is grapes) are made narrow, to span one row of grapevines, and to negotiate the narrow roads in the rural towns.
We have a pretty good bike map now from the tourist office, which marks routes in terms of difficulty. This will make it possible for R and me to cycle separately from the Ks, who can do, and like to do, the long high climbs. We will pick more tandem-friendly routes, and we will also take the van and do some sightseeing.
Had fun at the pizzeria down the block after our ride, sucking down Cokes and watching a local crowd. A group of four guys who Robb thought look like rugby types, and they were speaking "Eliza Doolittle" English. Two of them look like brothers if not twins. They're past their prime for playing the game, but they sure look like they could be tough if they needed to! The other group was a scruffy bunch of folks in their 20s or young 30s, I would say, long hair, tattoos, messy clothes, chain smokers enjoying beers and conversation with each other. I would love to know what they do for a living! I will say that I was impressed by one of the women, the mother of a (guessing) 6 year old boy. He was bored, of course, and he kept hanging on her and playing with her face, giving dinosaur kisses, asking to see the stud in her tongue (eeeww), and so forth. Once in awhile she would say stop, and he would, but it was clear there was a lot of affection between them, and that was very nice to see!
Sept. 3, Friday, in Quillan. A long but beautiful drive today for a great distance along the Mediterranean. We wanted to drive through the Camargue, the marshy area south and west of Arles along the Mediterranean. I was surprised to see that even here, grapes are being grown everywhere. Even though the area is flat, with marshy areas, canals, and other watery inlets, grapes are being grown.I saw a sign by the road for "Vin du Sable" or Wine of Sand. That lacks appeal, somehow...
We stopped at one of several fruit and vegetable stands, and there were many signs advertising melons, cherries, peaches, and other "summer fruits." We drove by a beautiful area of lagoons where we saw hundreds and hundreds of beautiful pink flamingos. We stopped at a beach to dabble our feet in the Mediterranean, something Robb had never done. He was slightly distracted by the buxom mademoiselle walking the beach topless. Somehow he didn't manage to notice the much older woman sunning next to her husband, in the same state. We stopped for lunch in Aigues Mortes (Dead Waters--??), which turned out to be a surprise, since it's a medieval town with surrounding wall intact and we managed to get fabulous salades nicoises (and lasagna for the guys) for lunch. Then it was on to a faster highway and we finally arrived in this mountainous but much less touristy area around 6:30. I will say this: I have never gone through as many roundabouts as we did today. It seemed like every quarter mile we were going through another one and peering as fast as possible at all the signs to find the right road to take. This was especially because there are so many cutoffs along the sea. It was around and around and around again, everybody venturing their opinion about which route to take. Hard on Bruce, the driver!
The only clothes I haven't worn at all yet: bathing suit; pair of light shorts for cycling in really hot weather; 2 biking jerseys, ditto. We have only gone to a laundromat once. I wash things out in the sink every night; at the laundry I only washed two pairs of socks and my "good" or "dinner" pants.
From Robb:
Boulangerie, oui!
Patisserie, oui!
We say "Oui!" to French pastry!
Our tandem generates interest. People who see us flying along sometimes actually do a double-take, and when it's parked we notice people coming up to look at it. The only tandem we have seen was on the back of a car with other bikes, at the top of Mont Ventour. .
Sept. 2, last night in Provence. A good last day of biking and sightseeing in Arles. We rode in again, and today climbed the mountain behind St. Remy to the north (it's a short chain of small mountains called Les Alpilles) both going and coming back. Today was a 40 miler. We took almost all back roads again, beautiful. The museum in Arles provides a very good introduction to the history of Arles in Roman days. It was good preparation for walking the city to see the coliseum, renovated and still used today; the theater, ditto; Roman baths (not in use). Now that the Mistral has bid adieu to this area, the mornings are warm-chilly, the days are warm-hot, and the evenings fresh and cool. The air remains cool, and the flowers continue beautiful. Today several people called out "Bon courage!" to us on the road as we were climbing over the mountains, including one woman in a red car who also clapped her hands for us out the window. That, plus the cheery "Bon jour" that we exchange with other cyclists on the road makes up for the occasional jerk who is impatient or speeds way too fast around us. What I find funny is that when we pass people, we don't know their nationality and vice versa. Yet we're all saluting each other with cheery "bon jour."
People don't wear as much clothing with writing on it as in the U.S. However, what there is, is invariably English. Vacation spots, rock bands, events, pop figures and stars, and enigmatic words or sentences are all subjects, and one I spied in .Arles the other day, the ever-uplifting Bull Shit. Finally, today "Queen Victoria" tried to help Robb figure out how to pay for gas; the rhinestone crown on the t-shirt was a nice touch....
We often heard and saw gushing water on our rides, and rode past countless irrigation canals ditches. sluice gates and springs. That's what makes it possible for such a dry area to be so productive. I'm sure some of these canals have been in place since Roman times. As far as planting goes, vegetables are usually planted in raised rows, sometimes in plastic or sometimes covered with row cover. There are also many, many hoop-style shelters covered with some sort of plastic, vented every few feet, where vegetables are grown. They clearly have it down to a science in Provence. As far back as the first centuries AD, Arles was the center of fruit, vegetable and grain distribution for that part of the Roman empire.
We passed the Mas Carpe Diem near Arle. (Mas=farm...)
Bulls and bullfighting, are popular in Provence. There will be some huge spectacle in a few days in Arles, and the area we cycled through these days is famous for raising bulls. They hold bullfights Spanish-style, but there is another type of competition where "toreros" compete to yank some sort of decoration off the horns of bulls without getting gored. They wear special gloves with razors on them for the purpose (!). The bull lives in that one...
A bee flew under Robb's helmet yesterday! We had to stop very suddenly so I could get off and he could get the helmet off fast. Luckily he was not badly stung, but he sure could have been,
A final word on matters hygienic: i will be clear but not graphic. A public WC in Arles was the "squat type" we've seen here before. Upon completing my mission, I reached for the TP and as I did, the wall in front of me suddenly erupted in water, which fell along the wall and into the hole in a great rush. Startled, I threw the paper into the pit and as I turned unlock the door, the floor erupted in water as well, flooding the bottom of my shoes on the way to the pit. This startling method of "cleaning" a public WC was completely unexpected and quite unnerving. It barely gives you time to get the job done! AND on the subject of bidets: most of our hotels have not had them, which is somewhat surprising to me. This hotel, however, has one and has decided to place it immediately opposite, and facing, the toilet, both of which are completely exposed on a raised platform in the bathroom. I will leave you to decide how this arrangement would make you feel about using either one in the presence of another person, beloved or not...
At dinner, we agreed we're all tired! But tomorrow it's up, out,, and on to our last destination: Quillan, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. (French pronunciation: holding your nose, say: "Kee-yaw.")
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Sept. 1 And the newspaper announced that: le mistral a cesse! Gone, and the day was clear, crisp and windless. R and I took a most wonderful 50 miler, on backroads wherever possible. First over the (small) mountain and down through lovely countryside first to Arles, where we had something to eat, then on to towns north, staying as close to the Rhone as possible, and then a circle back to St. Remy. On the way to Arles we saw the remnants of a Roman aqueduct. One of my favorite views: in the midst of tomato fields, several large yellow metal tanks (similar to huge dumpsters) piled HIGH with tomatoes. An hour later, we saw two trucks with two similar (the same ones?) containers hauling tomatoes in different directions. At the end of the ride, a very small road along vineyards, orchards and farms. A field of bright begonias in front of an olive oil place, and a field of thyme plants. I had to get off the bike and walk over to actually see what they were. Herbes de Provence!
Last day of August, writing this as Bruce and Jane attempt a relentless, torturous climb of 21K up Mont Ventoux, one of the famous climbs on the Tour de France, which the Kenamores watch every year. R and I wouldn't even try it on the tandem. On the Michelin map, it is a "two arrow" climb, meaning grades between 9 and 13%. We have just finished a picnic lunch and are parked at the side of the road, sagging both of them. BTW Bruce's bike was fixed in 10 minutes today at the bike shop in town; all it needed was a bolt to replace one that loosened and fell off.
At 5K Bruce went by, and offloaded half of what he was carrying. The grade at this point is 10%. Some time later, Jane also came by - impressive - and kept on going also. But we have parked a few K ahead wondering if she will want to continue. It's brutal. There are lots of people climbing, but most are young guys with thighs and buns of steel. Except for one old guy pedaling along at a leisurely pace, no helmet, no special clothes, and a big green Pelligreno bottle for water. He looked like he was out for an evening stroll!
While we're waiting: (Sing Along Now): These are a few of our favorite things. We were discussing the other day what were the most useful things we have brought on this trip. We are going to line them all up on a table and take a picture. But at the top of the list is Robb's Michelin map for France. The damn thing weighs about 10 lbs. but he insisted on bringing it. He carries it in his backpack, along with the camera, our Rough Guide (which weighs about 5 pounds), our little notebook computer (my favorite thing), cords, adapters and other electronic junk, IPod Touch and teensy speaker (OUR favorite thing because we play music every night getting ready for bed), hard cover books. Hefting it out of the back seat the other day, Bruce asked why Robb had brought a couple of bowling balls. Crazy man! But hey, he not only carries that, but both of our suitcases at the same time. This leaves me carrying only my small, light day pack and tiny purse, which my back definitely appreciates. Other favorite things include a pack of lense wipes for glasses and camera lens, and small envelope packs of sunscreen.
We have returned in a sense of victory. Bruce accomplished that incredible climb, all 21K and 5,288 feet of it; Jane did 15K, and two-thirds that distance, a fabulous accomplishment. 360 degree views from the completely naked 6000' top of Mont Ventour are jaw-dropping, including a vista in the far distance of Mont Blanc and the rest of the Alps. The sky was crystal clear and the distant views a hazy blue. The area below the mountain itself is full of vineyards and signs everywhere for wine tastings, vegetable and fruit markets, country gites and other hotels d'hote. A tourist's dream! Bruce will probably hurt tonight from leg cramps, but he's got to be revelling in the fact that not many 72 year olds would be able to even attempt this climb; same goes for Jane. Hooray for them! And hooray for Robb for doing all the driving! Robb's haiku for Bruce's accomplishment:
The most miserable climb:
Mont Ventoux at 72!
Hurray for Bruce!
August 30 (I think) San Remy de Provence. (If you've ever travelled, you know how you lose track of dates, days...)
We arrived here two nights ago after a beautiful drive, with the exception of the traffic jams in and around Montpellier on our way to Provence. We took national highways - fast roads - by choice and enjoyed expansive vistas capped by a sky of gray and white puffy clouds. Weather was slowly clearing as we moved south and then east, and as we moved into Provence, it cleared and a big wind picked up, the famous Mistral. Hordes of cars and campers, presumably returning to Paris from vacation, passed us the other way.
Near St. Fleur we took a short detour to admire a beautiful railroad bridge (Viaduc de Garabit) designed by the famous Gustave Eiffel. Built in 1884 it has been in continuous use, and in recent years was repainted dark red. A beautiful structure comprised of several supporting "towers" and one graceful arched support, it spans the gorge of the Truyere river. We took way too many photos! At lunchtime we took another detour to admire the notable bridge at Millau (Grand Viaduc de Millau) built in 2004, 2.5K in length spanning the Gorges du Tarn, a white bridge with seven enormous pillars that make the brdge taller than the Eiffel Tower. Our guidebook notes that one of the construction companies involved links back to Mons. Eiffel.
After an exasperating (and only partially satisfying) search for a picnic spot in Millau, we headed for San Remy, where we hoped to find bike maps, and since it was Saturday night, had to settle for a dreary two-star hotel. We all agreed that it was not up to standards; Robb had to contend with a broken showerhead that could spray his side and raised arm simultaneously. Once settled, the Ks immediately headed up the street to find a better place for the next few nights, and we are now installed in a beautiful hotel with fine rooms (and bathrooms!) and a beautiful patio as well.
Yesterday, we headed out on a 42K bike route labeled "hard" on our rudimentary map. The Mistral is blowing hard! It's a beautiful wind, and it appears to have brought the beginnings of Fall. The air is super clear, and it's crisp in the mornings. It was warm last night, but there is none of the heat for which Provence is famous in summer. The Mistral really blows hard. I noticed right away that farmers have planted serious windbreaks of cedars and other substantial shrubs and trees around fields and gardens. This commonly includes a very tall sort of plant that resembles sugar cane, but with much thinner, woody stems. The mistral is a very dry wind: it brings clear weather, and clear air, down from the north. But it will make short work of tender plants and young trees, I am sure! It is very dry here (feels definitely Mediterranean) and there are fire warnings in the forests. As we ate our picnic at the abbey (continue below), several fire engines drove through and as we rode through the forest on our way out, we saw them all gathered there, perhaps strategizing fire control methods or perhaps simply stationed there in case of fire.
We cycled past orchards loaded with pears and apples, olive groves, fields of sunflowers, sorghum, pumpkins, lavender, vegetables, and unknown crops. Old abandoned orchards make me wince; trees with more fruit than leaves seem to be calling out ":Pick me!" We eventually came upon the "difficult" part: of our route, a climb up to a 19th century abbey - short and a little steep through very dry, stony forest. The abbey was impressive but better yet, there was a special mass going on, so we got to see the church lit up and in use. I loved the interior: heavy and colorful stenciling on the walls and columns and gold stars on a dark blue background up high. After a picnic lunch, it was a nice long glide downhill, and then we circled back into a little town where a local festival of some sort was going on. Women wore beautiful long dresses with lace detailing, and their hair was arranged with a knot on the top wrapped in fabric matching their dresses - very elegant! Then we noticed a huge old ruin of a castle far above! We climbed up to the entrance, but it was barred by a wrought iron fence and dire notices about safety, etc. A woman in town told us it was 12th century! On our way through town, we came upon a square filled with people sitting at tables eating lunch, and a local band in traditional dress playing traditional music. Great! I would have stayed longer but the others wanted to move on..
Next: biking adventure! Cycling with the wind (nice) into Tarascon, Bruce's bike broke down! The ring nut (gizmo on the back wheel that holds all the sprockets on) came loose. This is a very serious problem. We thought perhaps a spacer between two of the rings had somehow fallen off. Nice young guy pulled his little red car over and came to see what was wrong. He immediately grasped the situation (without any translation) and went running off around a corner, coming back with a handful of those tough plastic fasteners that make it impossible to open things - and a small roll of electrical tape. Where in the world he got these, I have no idea! This town was DEAD in the extreme (Sunday afternoon, you know)! We thanked him profusely and he drove off. The guys then attached two fasteners together (a single one was too short), threaded it between the two chain rings, pulled it tight and cut it off with a pocket knife. It seemed to be the correct width, but it just didn't work. The bike was just unrideable. The bike shop in town was, of course, closed, so there was nothing for it but to leave Bruce in a park while we, with Jane, rode back to get the car. An hour-plus later, Robb drove back and retrieved Bruce and the bike.
Next day: No luck finding an open bike shop; it's Monday, after all! While Bruce stayed in town, Jane, Robb and I took off in a strong wind toward Avignon, a short ride as the crow flies, but no self-respecting crow would have tried to fly in this wind! Avignon proved to be just as my Rough Guide described: a traffic hell! A little travelled road through orchards, farms, gardens and vineyards sadly ended at a main road into Avignon, a hellishly noisy, crowded road over a bridge and into, eventually, the old walled city. It was a hugely unpleasant ride, which luckily we accomplished well enough. At the city wall, we walked our bikes up into old Avignon, landing in a main square for a drink and a treat. It was good people watching, for sure, but soon enough we decided we had to start back. In an attempt to bypass that lousy main road for at least a little while, we got out of the old city and took an alternate road. But we soon found ourselves lost in what was clearly a housing complex, and none too savory looking either. At a small intersection, a couple of hostile young drivers zoomed around us, and the mirror of one of their cars grazed Jane! Luckily she remained calm, but we all realized that our search for an alternate was futile so made our way back to the traffic clogged Road from Hell, over the bridge, and at last back on to our former route. Or so we thought! Here again we got plenty lost (albeit in that pleasant agricultural area) and finally came out on, to our disgust, a busy road. We had no choice but to take it. Here, Robb's good map sense took us in the right direction (I was sure we were going the wrong way!), and finally, we ended up on the right road back to St. Remy.
All of us are pretty good map readers. But Robb has a particlularly good ability to pick the correct of several paths. Maybe it's his engineering sense. He's often right when things become confusing. French roads are well signed, except when they're not, which is especially true in the center of cities. We sometimes end up going around and around traffic circles (which are legion!) trying to spot the sign we're looking for, one or more of us yelling: "Go around again!". We sometimes take the wrong route, swooping down into unknown territory and trying to find a place to turn The Beast around. But most of the time, we somehow make it to our destination without horrible mix-ups.
To end this interesting day, we splurged on a recommended restaurant (Le Grain du Sel: Grain of Salt) where we all ordered a very special and unique menu comprised of a large, very elegant assortment of some 10 different dishes, in very small but not miniscule portions. Bruce thought the food was too fancy and rich for his taste, but the rest of us enjoyed it greatly. It was very well prepared, beautiful, and extremely tasty; Robb called it gournet. And Jane and I shared a half bottle of red wine from a vineyard around the corner, and that, we all agreed, was superb! We are not foodies, but I think a lot of tourists in Provence are, and this place was full last night!
It's cooler tonight and the wind is still fierce. Big gusts hit us on our walk back to the hotel.
Last day of August, writing this as Bruce and Jane attempt a relentless, torturous climb of 21K up Mont Ventoux, one of the famous climbs on the Tour de France, which the Kenamores watch every year. R and I wouldn't even try it on the tandem. On the Michelin map, it is a "two arrow" climb, meaning grades between 9 and 13%. We have just finished a picnic lunch and are parked at the side of the road, sagging both of them. BTW Bruce's bike was fixed in 10 minutes today at the bike shop in town; all it needed was a bolt to replace one that loosened and fell off.
At 5K Bruce went by, and offloaded half of what he was carrying. The grade at this point is 10%. Some time later, Jane also came by - impressive - and kept on going also. But we have parked a few K ahead wondering if she will want to continue. It's brutal. There are lots of people climbing, but most are young guys with thighs and buns of steel. Except for one old guy pedaling along at a leisurely pace, no helmet, no special clothes, and a big green Pelligreno bottle for water. He looked like he was out for an evening stroll!
While we're waiting: (Sing Along Now): These are a few of our favorite things. We were discussing the other day what were the most useful things we have brought on this trip. We are going to line them all up on a table and take a picture. But at the top of the list is Robb's Michelin map for France. The damn thing weighs about 10 lbs. but he insisted on bringing it. He carries it in his backpack, along with the camera, our Rough Guide (which weighs about 5 pounds), our little notebook computer (my favorite thing), cords, adapters and other electronic junk, IPod Touch and teensy speaker (OUR favorite thing because we play music every night getting ready for bed), hard cover books. Hefting it out of the back seat the other day, Bruce asked why Robb had brought a couple of bowling balls. Crazy man! But hey, he not only carries that, but both of our suitcases at the same time. This leaves me carrying only my small, light day pack and tiny purse, which my back definitely appreciates. Other favorite things include a pack of lense wipes for glasses and camera lens, and small envelope packs of sunscreen.
We have returned in a sense of victory. Bruce accomplished that incredible climb, all 21K and 5,288 feet of it; Jane did 15K, and two-thirds that distance, a fabulous accomplishment. 360 degree views from the completely naked 6000' top of Mont Ventour are jaw-dropping, including a vista in the far distance of Mont Blanc and the rest of the Alps. The sky was crystal clear and the distant views a hazy blue. The area below the mountain itself is full of vineyards and signs everywhere for wine tastings, vegetable and fruit markets, country gites and other hotels d'hote. A tourist's dream! Bruce will probably hurt tonight from leg cramps, but he's got to be revelling in the fact that not many 72 year olds would be able to even attempt this climb; same goes for Jane. Hooray for them! And hooray for Robb for doing all the driving! Robb's haiku for Bruce's accomplishment:
The most miserable climb:
Mont Ventoux at 72!
Hurray for Bruce!
August 30 (I think) San Remy de Provence. (If you've ever travelled, you know how you lose track of dates, days...)
We arrived here two nights ago after a beautiful drive, with the exception of the traffic jams in and around Montpellier on our way to Provence. We took national highways - fast roads - by choice and enjoyed expansive vistas capped by a sky of gray and white puffy clouds. Weather was slowly clearing as we moved south and then east, and as we moved into Provence, it cleared and a big wind picked up, the famous Mistral. Hordes of cars and campers, presumably returning to Paris from vacation, passed us the other way.
Near St. Fleur we took a short detour to admire a beautiful railroad bridge (Viaduc de Garabit) designed by the famous Gustave Eiffel. Built in 1884 it has been in continuous use, and in recent years was repainted dark red. A beautiful structure comprised of several supporting "towers" and one graceful arched support, it spans the gorge of the Truyere river. We took way too many photos! At lunchtime we took another detour to admire the notable bridge at Millau (Grand Viaduc de Millau) built in 2004, 2.5K in length spanning the Gorges du Tarn, a white bridge with seven enormous pillars that make the brdge taller than the Eiffel Tower. Our guidebook notes that one of the construction companies involved links back to Mons. Eiffel.
After an exasperating (and only partially satisfying) search for a picnic spot in Millau, we headed for San Remy, where we hoped to find bike maps, and since it was Saturday night, had to settle for a dreary two-star hotel. We all agreed that it was not up to standards; Robb had to contend with a broken showerhead that could spray his side and raised arm simultaneously. Once settled, the Ks immediately headed up the street to find a better place for the next few nights, and we are now installed in a beautiful hotel with fine rooms (and bathrooms!) and a beautiful patio as well.
Yesterday, we headed out on a 42K bike route labeled "hard" on our rudimentary map. The Mistral is blowing hard! It's a beautiful wind, and it appears to have brought the beginnings of Fall. The air is super clear, and it's crisp in the mornings. It was warm last night, but there is none of the heat for which Provence is famous in summer. The Mistral really blows hard. I noticed right away that farmers have planted serious windbreaks of cedars and other substantial shrubs and trees around fields and gardens. This commonly includes a very tall sort of plant that resembles sugar cane, but with much thinner, woody stems. The mistral is a very dry wind: it brings clear weather, and clear air, down from the north. But it will make short work of tender plants and young trees, I am sure! It is very dry here (feels definitely Mediterranean) and there are fire warnings in the forests. As we ate our picnic at the abbey (continue below), several fire engines drove through and as we rode through the forest on our way out, we saw them all gathered there, perhaps strategizing fire control methods or perhaps simply stationed there in case of fire.
We cycled past orchards loaded with pears and apples, olive groves, fields of sunflowers, sorghum, pumpkins, lavender, vegetables, and unknown crops. Old abandoned orchards make me wince; trees with more fruit than leaves seem to be calling out ":Pick me!" We eventually came upon the "difficult" part: of our route, a climb up to a 19th century abbey - short and a little steep through very dry, stony forest. The abbey was impressive but better yet, there was a special mass going on, so we got to see the church lit up and in use. I loved the interior: heavy and colorful stenciling on the walls and columns and gold stars on a dark blue background up high. After a picnic lunch, it was a nice long glide downhill, and then we circled back into a little town where a local festival of some sort was going on. Women wore beautiful long dresses with lace detailing, and their hair was arranged with a knot on the top wrapped in fabric matching their dresses - very elegant! Then we noticed a huge old ruin of a castle far above! We climbed up to the entrance, but it was barred by a wrought iron fence and dire notices about safety, etc. A woman in town told us it was 12th century! On our way through town, we came upon a square filled with people sitting at tables eating lunch, and a local band in traditional dress playing traditional music. Great! I would have stayed longer but the others wanted to move on..
Next: biking adventure! Cycling with the wind (nice) into Tarascon, Bruce's bike broke down! The ring nut (gizmo on the back wheel that holds all the sprockets on) came loose. This is a very serious problem. We thought perhaps a spacer between two of the rings had somehow fallen off. Nice young guy pulled his little red car over and came to see what was wrong. He immediately grasped the situation (without any translation) and went running off around a corner, coming back with a handful of those tough plastic fasteners that make it impossible to open things - and a small roll of electrical tape. Where in the world he got these, I have no idea! This town was DEAD in the extreme (Sunday afternoon, you know)! We thanked him profusely and he drove off. The guys then attached two fasteners together (a single one was too short), threaded it between the two chain rings, pulled it tight and cut it off with a pocket knife. It seemed to be the correct width, but it just didn't work. The bike was just unrideable. The bike shop in town was, of course, closed, so there was nothing for it but to leave Bruce in a park while we, with Jane, rode back to get the car. An hour-plus later, Robb drove back and retrieved Bruce and the bike.
Next day: No luck finding an open bike shop; it's Monday, after all! While Bruce stayed in town, Jane, Robb and I took off in a strong wind toward Avignon, a short ride as the crow flies, but no self-respecting crow would have tried to fly in this wind! Avignon proved to be just as my Rough Guide described: a traffic hell! A little travelled road through orchards, farms, gardens and vineyards sadly ended at a main road into Avignon, a hellishly noisy, crowded road over a bridge and into, eventually, the old walled city. It was a hugely unpleasant ride, which luckily we accomplished well enough. At the city wall, we walked our bikes up into old Avignon, landing in a main square for a drink and a treat. It was good people watching, for sure, but soon enough we decided we had to start back. In an attempt to bypass that lousy main road for at least a little while, we got out of the old city and took an alternate road. But we soon found ourselves lost in what was clearly a housing complex, and none too savory looking either. At a small intersection, a couple of hostile young drivers zoomed around us, and the mirror of one of their cars grazed Jane! Luckily she remained calm, but we all realized that our search for an alternate was futile so made our way back to the traffic clogged Road from Hell, over the bridge, and at last back on to our former route. Or so we thought! Here again we got plenty lost (albeit in that pleasant agricultural area) and finally came out on, to our disgust, a busy road. We had no choice but to take it. Here, Robb's good map sense took us in the right direction (I was sure we were going the wrong way!), and finally, we ended up on the right road back to St. Remy.
All of us are pretty good map readers. But Robb has a particlularly good ability to pick the correct of several paths. Maybe it's his engineering sense. He's often right when things become confusing. French roads are well signed, except when they're not, which is especially true in the center of cities. We sometimes end up going around and around traffic circles (which are legion!) trying to spot the sign we're looking for, one or more of us yelling: "Go around again!". We sometimes take the wrong route, swooping down into unknown territory and trying to find a place to turn The Beast around. But most of the time, we somehow make it to our destination without horrible mix-ups.
To end this interesting day, we splurged on a recommended restaurant (Le Grain du Sel: Grain of Salt) where we all ordered a very special and unique menu comprised of a large, very elegant assortment of some 10 different dishes, in very small but not miniscule portions. Bruce thought the food was too fancy and rich for his taste, but the rest of us enjoyed it greatly. It was very well prepared, beautiful, and extremely tasty; Robb called it gournet. And Jane and I shared a half bottle of red wine from a vineyard around the corner, and that, we all agreed, was superb! We are not foodies, but I think a lot of tourists in Provence are, and this place was full last night!
It's cooler tonight and the wind is still fierce. Big gusts hit us on our walk back to the hotel.
Friday, August 27, 2010
In the Massif Central
August 27 St. Flour, southern part of the Massif Central. This is a temporary stop on our way, most likely, to Provence. After much discussion, some of it fairly heated, we have decided to head that direction and try to find an area where the biking suits all of us. R and I have learned important things from cycling in this mountainous area. Here is Robb's haiku on the subject:
Going up thighs burn,
Going down brakes burn:
Cycling in Massif Central!
The bike is heavy, the grades are intense, probably from 7 to 10% in some places. We labor going up; our granny gear is not as low as the granny on the Ks' bikes, undoubtedly because of the sheer weight of the tandem. They can sit and spin at as little as 3 mph and get up those grades. We labor at perhaps 5 mph, but going down, build up frightening momentum. That in itself is certainly no surprise to us after riding a tandem for 23 years. What is very upsetting is that our rear brakes do not seem to be engaging, despite a change of brake pads. I have been forced to pull with might and main on the rear drum brake which I control while Robb pulls the regular brakes. Yesterday at our lunch stop, the drum brake was scalding hot from the friction, and our front brake pads have worn down alarmingly. The rear brakes? Cool. It is nervewracking to face these long steep downhills, through hamlets or towns, with twists and turns, and having to coordinate the brakes to give us the minimum of control we have got to have.Therefore! We have decided, and so announced, that we want to ride on more gentle ups and downs, where the reward going down is something of a brief rest for the work of the up. Jane, however, like the long, steady and even steep climbs. The challenge now is to find a place where we can all find places to cycle, although not necessarily together at all times, as well as do some sightseeing.
Today enroute we stopped at a large sports emporium called Decathalon, a chain here in France, and bought new tires and tubes for Jane and Bruce's bikes, and two new sets of brakepads for the tandem. All were installed on the spot, and as a crazy treat, we walked across the parking lot to the McDonald's. For more than twice American prices we chomped down Big Macs, chicken sandwiches, hamburgers, and because there was a patisserie counter, two big chocolate chip cookies. Besides the patisserie counter, we found that the most notable differences were the better quality of the buns, and much larger "quarter pounders." The place was crammed with every sort of consumer. Saturday at the mall in France!
Backing up a little further, we began the morning with the teleferique ride up to the Puy de Sancy above Le Mont Dore, which peak is the highest place in the Massif Central (some 1,886 meters) and the origin of the Dordogne River. We climbed very high tho only Robb made it to the very top. It was windy, chilly, and the only other people there were German and they were all hiking. And monly 23 Eost of them with gray hair! On the way down in the tram, the attendant showed us a little building part way down where the Dore and the Dogne rivers join. That was fun!
At 9:45 pm: Oh boy! Probably our best dinner ever! What a surprise. This is a smallish three star (but not elegant) hotel in the newer district of the town below the historic center, and we just stayed in, so to speak, for dinner. But it was just wonderful. Everything so beautifully prepared, so delicious, and the service, wonderful. Robb raved over his boeuf borgonogne (sp?), me over my vegetable soup, Bruce over his fish, and everyone had a little bit of my cheese selection (4 kinds, collectively selected). The guys had sorbet and ice cream. Jane and I shared a half bottle of an St. Emilion 2005 wine, and our dinners were only $23E apiece. This was a treat. We have had an occasional dish that was really good, but no meal as outstanding as this.
August 26 Le Mont Dore; northern part of the Massif Central.
From the little balcony off of our room at the aptly named Panorama Hotel, I am resting ater two strenous days of mountain biking. Little Le Mont Dore is a resort town: spa (mineral baths are big), hiking, skiing. Only about 5 streets wide, it sits in a deep canyon underneath towering cliffs. A small stream runs through town, and it turns out to be the great Dordogne River, one of several great French rivers (including the Loire) that are born in the Massif Central. Just above us at a site we hope to visit tomorrow by tramway, the Dore and the Dogne rivers join and cascade down into the town on their way west. Our first ever bike trip, in 1997, was in the Perigord region, home to the Dordogne. So we have in a way come full circle.
This area is just beautiful. Old volcanic cones worn down by time are covered at the higher levels with pastureland and dotted with cattle. Lower down are forests, streams and rivers. The vistas are huge, so big that from the side of one mountain, the cows on the other side look like tiny dots. There are no highways here! The roads are two lane and wind and twist their way through. Americans don't come here, but the French sure do, and so, I think, do the Germans. There are hikers everywhere these days, and even the littlest kids have their own hiking sticks. Camping spots and picnic pulloffs abound. In this town, the lame and the halt take advantage of the waters. The French are enjoying their national heritage. Good for them!
The biking here is a challenge! We found a bike map when we arrived hee two nights ago, and after much cogitation - and without really knowing much about the area - we chose a "medium difficulty" route slightly northwest of here. We never expected to be able to do the entire 70K route (42 ml; 1K=.6ml) although by the end of a very looong day, we had done 58K (about 34 miles!). But the altitude gains were tremendous and the route was all up or all down. I estimate that about 75% of our time was spent climbing, 20% on screaming downhills, and the other 5% on something resembling flat. The ride began with a 10K climb out of a little town up to a gorgeous pass; this took an hour. After that a very fast and long downhill to another town. From then on, up-down-up-down and so on. These little villages, or settlements, are often situated on streams or rivers - thus, the "down", but once you pass through, it's all up to the pastures above. The views could not be more gorgeous, and once we got used to it, we accepted the terrain in an "it is what it is" frame of mind. One pleasant interlude came in a little farm town, at the central fountain. A large black dog came up to make friends and be scratched. Then a jovial young farm-type came out with watering can to fill up at the fountain. He, with my help, got the dog into the fountain (the dog was eager but timid) and that was fun. The monsieur poured water over Robb's head to help him cool off. I love these kinds of friendly exchanges. This one made me remember on that trip to Perigord, how I was cycling by myself back from a town where we had gone to see the Tour de France peleton ride through. It was incredibly HOT, and I stopped along the road for a cold Coke. The owner was watering his flowers with the hose. He held it up before me with a "Want some?" gesture, and I gratefully accepted being hosed down! With a Merci Monsieur, I headed back to the hotel, where I dove immediately, clothes and all, into the pool.
Well, we felt quite victorious when we got back to the car yesterday. It had taken us about 6 hours to ride 58K, and we were tired, but it felt wonderful to have done it. We celebrated with a nicer than usual dinner at a local restaurant.
Today, another story. The route we chose was labeled "Facile" (easy) and only 36 K. Beautiful territory, again, but Jane left her waistpack at our picnic spot along the way, and Bruce got a flat tire - and then, a second one on the same wheel. Jane didn't notice the missing waistpack until after the first flat. To make a long story very short, she had to cycle back on a very tough "up" to look for it, while Robb and I took off on a shortcut back to retrieve the car. Bruce was left waiting for all of us. The good thing is that Jane found the waistpack. Someone had put it on top of the picnic table (she had left it on the bench) and absolutely nothing was missing. How wonderful! The bad news? R and I had to ride a continuous climb for some 6 miles before the short "down" to the car. The relentless "up", while not particularly steep, was hot and very tiring. R was pushing because he didn't want the Ks to have to wait too long. We managed to get to the car in an hour, completely exhausted. Threw the tandem in the car and drove back down to retrieve the Ks. It is now clear that the tire that blew is defective and needs to be replaced and that we must find a bike shop. And a good one. That ... will be our next priority.
It's not easy for us to know exactly how much elevation gain we have done on these rides. However, by carefully scrutinizing a number of maps, R thinks that in yesterday's ride, the gain was as much as 4,500 feet. In other words, all of the "up" distance together probably amounted to that much. Just the first climb up the the pass could have been, he thinks, 1,200'. The bike map itself listed a gain of 1,800 meters for the whole 70K ride, which we did 58K of. Today, certainly less, but that final ride that R and I did: whew! I'm a lucky kid that he is so strong!
We are discussing where to go next. It may be Provence, where none of us have been. Or it may be an area close to the Pyrennes, where the Ks have cycled before. That would be mountains, but they assure us that it is long, more gradual climbs rather than the short, steep ones we've done these last two days. Whichever it is, we welcome a day off the bike! We will hunt for a bike shop on the way, and bike again once we land at our next destination
We have made a running joke out of a quotation in my Rough Guide, which noted the particular charms of the natural waters in a nearby spa town: Apparently the tourist brochure for the town states: "You will be able to put your vital node to rest in Bourboule." As to what exactly might be my vital node, I can't be sure. But you can bet we are working on a haiku on the subject! Meanwhile here is one which captures my view on the difference between French and American approaches to food:
Le pain francais:
le baguette, le boule, le croissant.
Ya want fries with that?
Going up thighs burn,
Going down brakes burn:
Cycling in Massif Central!
The bike is heavy, the grades are intense, probably from 7 to 10% in some places. We labor going up; our granny gear is not as low as the granny on the Ks' bikes, undoubtedly because of the sheer weight of the tandem. They can sit and spin at as little as 3 mph and get up those grades. We labor at perhaps 5 mph, but going down, build up frightening momentum. That in itself is certainly no surprise to us after riding a tandem for 23 years. What is very upsetting is that our rear brakes do not seem to be engaging, despite a change of brake pads. I have been forced to pull with might and main on the rear drum brake which I control while Robb pulls the regular brakes. Yesterday at our lunch stop, the drum brake was scalding hot from the friction, and our front brake pads have worn down alarmingly. The rear brakes? Cool. It is nervewracking to face these long steep downhills, through hamlets or towns, with twists and turns, and having to coordinate the brakes to give us the minimum of control we have got to have.Therefore! We have decided, and so announced, that we want to ride on more gentle ups and downs, where the reward going down is something of a brief rest for the work of the up. Jane, however, like the long, steady and even steep climbs. The challenge now is to find a place where we can all find places to cycle, although not necessarily together at all times, as well as do some sightseeing.
Today enroute we stopped at a large sports emporium called Decathalon, a chain here in France, and bought new tires and tubes for Jane and Bruce's bikes, and two new sets of brakepads for the tandem. All were installed on the spot, and as a crazy treat, we walked across the parking lot to the McDonald's. For more than twice American prices we chomped down Big Macs, chicken sandwiches, hamburgers, and because there was a patisserie counter, two big chocolate chip cookies. Besides the patisserie counter, we found that the most notable differences were the better quality of the buns, and much larger "quarter pounders." The place was crammed with every sort of consumer. Saturday at the mall in France!
Backing up a little further, we began the morning with the teleferique ride up to the Puy de Sancy above Le Mont Dore, which peak is the highest place in the Massif Central (some 1,886 meters) and the origin of the Dordogne River. We climbed very high tho only Robb made it to the very top. It was windy, chilly, and the only other people there were German and they were all hiking. And monly 23 Eost of them with gray hair! On the way down in the tram, the attendant showed us a little building part way down where the Dore and the Dogne rivers join. That was fun!
At 9:45 pm: Oh boy! Probably our best dinner ever! What a surprise. This is a smallish three star (but not elegant) hotel in the newer district of the town below the historic center, and we just stayed in, so to speak, for dinner. But it was just wonderful. Everything so beautifully prepared, so delicious, and the service, wonderful. Robb raved over his boeuf borgonogne (sp?), me over my vegetable soup, Bruce over his fish, and everyone had a little bit of my cheese selection (4 kinds, collectively selected). The guys had sorbet and ice cream. Jane and I shared a half bottle of an St. Emilion 2005 wine, and our dinners were only $23E apiece. This was a treat. We have had an occasional dish that was really good, but no meal as outstanding as this.
August 26 Le Mont Dore; northern part of the Massif Central.
From the little balcony off of our room at the aptly named Panorama Hotel, I am resting ater two strenous days of mountain biking. Little Le Mont Dore is a resort town: spa (mineral baths are big), hiking, skiing. Only about 5 streets wide, it sits in a deep canyon underneath towering cliffs. A small stream runs through town, and it turns out to be the great Dordogne River, one of several great French rivers (including the Loire) that are born in the Massif Central. Just above us at a site we hope to visit tomorrow by tramway, the Dore and the Dogne rivers join and cascade down into the town on their way west. Our first ever bike trip, in 1997, was in the Perigord region, home to the Dordogne. So we have in a way come full circle.
This area is just beautiful. Old volcanic cones worn down by time are covered at the higher levels with pastureland and dotted with cattle. Lower down are forests, streams and rivers. The vistas are huge, so big that from the side of one mountain, the cows on the other side look like tiny dots. There are no highways here! The roads are two lane and wind and twist their way through. Americans don't come here, but the French sure do, and so, I think, do the Germans. There are hikers everywhere these days, and even the littlest kids have their own hiking sticks. Camping spots and picnic pulloffs abound. In this town, the lame and the halt take advantage of the waters. The French are enjoying their national heritage. Good for them!
The biking here is a challenge! We found a bike map when we arrived hee two nights ago, and after much cogitation - and without really knowing much about the area - we chose a "medium difficulty" route slightly northwest of here. We never expected to be able to do the entire 70K route (42 ml; 1K=.6ml) although by the end of a very looong day, we had done 58K (about 34 miles!). But the altitude gains were tremendous and the route was all up or all down. I estimate that about 75% of our time was spent climbing, 20% on screaming downhills, and the other 5% on something resembling flat. The ride began with a 10K climb out of a little town up to a gorgeous pass; this took an hour. After that a very fast and long downhill to another town. From then on, up-down-up-down and so on. These little villages, or settlements, are often situated on streams or rivers - thus, the "down", but once you pass through, it's all up to the pastures above. The views could not be more gorgeous, and once we got used to it, we accepted the terrain in an "it is what it is" frame of mind. One pleasant interlude came in a little farm town, at the central fountain. A large black dog came up to make friends and be scratched. Then a jovial young farm-type came out with watering can to fill up at the fountain. He, with my help, got the dog into the fountain (the dog was eager but timid) and that was fun. The monsieur poured water over Robb's head to help him cool off. I love these kinds of friendly exchanges. This one made me remember on that trip to Perigord, how I was cycling by myself back from a town where we had gone to see the Tour de France peleton ride through. It was incredibly HOT, and I stopped along the road for a cold Coke. The owner was watering his flowers with the hose. He held it up before me with a "Want some?" gesture, and I gratefully accepted being hosed down! With a Merci Monsieur, I headed back to the hotel, where I dove immediately, clothes and all, into the pool.
Well, we felt quite victorious when we got back to the car yesterday. It had taken us about 6 hours to ride 58K, and we were tired, but it felt wonderful to have done it. We celebrated with a nicer than usual dinner at a local restaurant.
Today, another story. The route we chose was labeled "Facile" (easy) and only 36 K. Beautiful territory, again, but Jane left her waistpack at our picnic spot along the way, and Bruce got a flat tire - and then, a second one on the same wheel. Jane didn't notice the missing waistpack until after the first flat. To make a long story very short, she had to cycle back on a very tough "up" to look for it, while Robb and I took off on a shortcut back to retrieve the car. Bruce was left waiting for all of us. The good thing is that Jane found the waistpack. Someone had put it on top of the picnic table (she had left it on the bench) and absolutely nothing was missing. How wonderful! The bad news? R and I had to ride a continuous climb for some 6 miles before the short "down" to the car. The relentless "up", while not particularly steep, was hot and very tiring. R was pushing because he didn't want the Ks to have to wait too long. We managed to get to the car in an hour, completely exhausted. Threw the tandem in the car and drove back down to retrieve the Ks. It is now clear that the tire that blew is defective and needs to be replaced and that we must find a bike shop. And a good one. That ... will be our next priority.
It's not easy for us to know exactly how much elevation gain we have done on these rides. However, by carefully scrutinizing a number of maps, R thinks that in yesterday's ride, the gain was as much as 4,500 feet. In other words, all of the "up" distance together probably amounted to that much. Just the first climb up the the pass could have been, he thinks, 1,200'. The bike map itself listed a gain of 1,800 meters for the whole 70K ride, which we did 58K of. Today, certainly less, but that final ride that R and I did: whew! I'm a lucky kid that he is so strong!
We are discussing where to go next. It may be Provence, where none of us have been. Or it may be an area close to the Pyrennes, where the Ks have cycled before. That would be mountains, but they assure us that it is long, more gradual climbs rather than the short, steep ones we've done these last two days. Whichever it is, we welcome a day off the bike! We will hunt for a bike shop on the way, and bike again once we land at our next destination
We have made a running joke out of a quotation in my Rough Guide, which noted the particular charms of the natural waters in a nearby spa town: Apparently the tourist brochure for the town states: "You will be able to put your vital node to rest in Bourboule." As to what exactly might be my vital node, I can't be sure. But you can bet we are working on a haiku on the subject! Meanwhile here is one which captures my view on the difference between French and American approaches to food:
Le pain francais:
le baguette, le boule, le croissant.
Ya want fries with that?
Monday, August 23, 2010
And the cycling begins
Aug 19 A short summary of a strenuous travel day: Paris-Blois, or Cabs, Trains and Automobiles
Good: cabs arrive promptly at hotel, loaded efficiently, take off for train station
Bad: Kenamores get dropped by sartorially elegant (suit/tie) cab driver in bowels of station opposite where B/Gs are dropped, in FRONT
Worse: Jane becomes hopelessly lost in search for B/Gs; Bruce and B wait biting lips by mounds of luggage until R's roaming encounters Jane going figuratively up the down staircase, leads her out of bowels of station and all are joyously reunited.
So-so: brief encounter with ticket machine finally results in stamped ticket. Off to train:
Good: Train upholds French reputation for superb service by leaving exactly on time.
Better: We have not just entire compartment, but entire railcar, to ourselves! Train arrives in Orleans - exactly on time. See prior comment.
Mediocre: Stoop to Subway sandwiches in view of time and ease of comsumption.
Good: Avis station in RR station, helpful attendant pulls up chariot, we load up and drive to main Avis terminal for processing. Chariot is largest van Avis rents: think of a sawed off.Sprinter.
Also good: We have half a parking lot to unload crates and assemble bikes. Takes 2+ hours. Weather most cooperative.
Excellent: Bikes fit in van, front wheels removed on K's bikes; front/rear tires plus front 1/3 removed from The Beast, luggage stowed in 3rd seat. Off we go.
Nice: drive through small towns to Blois.
Bad bad: Jane yells Stop Stop Stop at driver Robb trying to find hotel on roadside signs in Blois. This is in the middle of a medieval city with narrow lanes, turn lanes, whizzing traffic. R gets mad. Go around again - ah - there it is: Anne de Bretagne. Pull up to old-style three story hotel with plenty of parking. Relief. Leave bikes in car. Check in. Walk to dinner.
Good: simple dinner at cafe,
Very good: Cafe upholds French reputation for good wine by providing a delicious demi-pichet of merlot for 6 euros. We suck it down.
Bad and good: We are exhausted. It is late. We collapse in bed.
FIN
Aug. 20 After two days of "adventure cycling."
Repeat after me: "It's not about distance, it's not about distance, it's not about distance..." We have cycled through such beautiful country, starting out on a bikepath along the wide, shallow, slow-moving and beautiful Loire. But as Robb noted last night: "I think we're going to get lost a lot on this trip." This is definitely biking country. It's also a UNESCO World Heritage site. The French advertise it and it's full of all kinds of people from all kinds of places on all kinds of bikes, many of them touring and fully loaded. But the maps and reality do not always match, and you are unexpectedly at an unmarked crossroad with nothing but your sense of direction and intuition to lead you. Hence it takes a lot longer to actually get to a destination than you imagined. With four of us, not always agreeing on the right direction, this can be somewhat tense. And yesterday, we split off on our way to the mother of all chateaus (Chambord), each couple convinced they knew the way. All ended well awhile later since we all eventually got to the correct path and arrived at the chateau within minutes of each other. So we have agreed that when in doubt - evidence is to rule! Each shall present his/her evidence and the majority shall decide whicyh way!
I can attest that Chambord is one hell of a structure, an enormous pile of stone built for Louis XIV centuries ago as a "hunting lodge" and used but rarely actually inhabited by many royals in following year. (It's got more turrets, chimneys, and generally pointy features than I've ever seen on one structure, and the keep, or central part, has an immense spiral staircase of stone--in a double helix). One royal owner, to impress, would escort a huge entourage to the chateau for a few days of hunting, and upon departure, break down and remove all the furniture until visiting again. The only guy who actually lived at Chambord for any time was exiled there. The grounds are fabulous, of course, but mais oui, what a prison!
Today we took the other way down the river to Amboise, location of the house where Leonardo da Vinci spent his last days (who knew? In France?). Unfortunately, it took us so long to get underway, and to get there (rest stop and lunch stop on the way), that upon arrival R and I decided to hop the train back to Blois in order to find an open bike shop (keep reading). So the K's went on to the chateau and took a later train back.
Train adventure: Managed to find the train station (very well signed in this country) and buy a ticket, told them we had a bike but not ... um ... the size. Train arrived spot on time (of course), but, where to get on. Long train headed to Paris. We saw a guy with a bike and ran with him to a second class car. He pointed to a door, we heaved the bike on just in time. He spoke good English, said we would be fine. Only one extra stop, 20 minutes, OK. Well, maybe, but we happened to be completely blocking the passage between cars.Totally. For each of the 3 ladies who wanted access to the Toilettes, Robb reared the bike up like a steed and they good naturedly passed under. The three gendarmes kindly stepped over the rear bar. Tout bien, apparently. The intermediate stop occurred without incident, but mon Dieu! No sooner were we on our way than The Boss showed up, a fat slightly officious Conductor who clearly did not like our position! But Monsieur, we don't speak French! Here is our ticket! We are getting off at Blois! After some muttering and teeth gnashing, he left us alone (and silently smirking to ourselves - if he had not been so officious we might have felt a little guillty, but there wasn't time because we were soon in Blois). To be fair, now, I must mention that as we walked down the platform, we did see that the last car of the train was for Velos. Next time, if there is one, we shall be informed!
The countryside is so beautiful, large fields of sunflowers hanging their heads of heavy seeds, corn, sorghum, rows of airy asparagas hedges, vineyards, vegetables, and flowers flowers flowers! We see tidy vegetable gardens with bright orange pumpkins and ripe tomatoes hanging off the vine. Huge planters in the towns are exploding with flowers, carefully tended arrangements at the height of form and color. Here they enjoy mixing flowers of many colors and habits. In some places we see fields or roadsides with cosmos and other wildflowers mixed in. The towns often have very old churches, narrow winding lanes, old stone buildings with wooden shutters, and very few people actually in evidence. We have also seen surprisingly few farm animals. The French adore their dogs, of course, even taking them into restaurants, but for a country that lives on cheese, it is surprising we have not seen cows or goats. In general, though, all is in order in the Val de Loire!
We are still in the shakedown phase in terms of cycling, trying to get organized and on the road before lunch! Part of it is just getting the bikes together. This morning Jane's rear tire was flat. Before that Jane and I took off walking lookiing for a market "just five minutes walk" from the hotel. Perhaps, if someone also mentions that you have to go over a bridge to get to it. Finally found it and bought stuff for lunch because the day before, we couldn't find any open market on the road, only a restaurant where we finally settled for lunch. It's not the cost since you can get a three course lunch for 12 E or so, but the delay. The French do love their food and covet a leisurely meal, but if you want to get anywhere and see anything, you need to do it yourself. Add to that the summer vacation, where many shops are closed for weeks, and you can see our challenge. So this is something we are still getting a grip on. Add to that the need to replenish water on the road - just another small challenge...
Speaking of vacation, the French are just as out here as everyone else, and we have seen hundreds and hundreds of RVs - they are everywhere. Much smaller than in the US, big enough for a family of four, and a few look like they can handle six. But none of the ersatz buses that we see, which never in a million years could navigate these towns! All the RVs are about the size of a small class B (Robb thinks that is just right), and we have yet to see a slideout......
Bike: R has been concerned about one of the cables on the bike and so today we set out to find the bike shop in town. Ferme until next week! Now what? What do you do when you don't know the town or the language? Well, you sit down and have a cold drink and people-watch and think about it. (Noticed a coin-operated dispenser of condoms hanging off the pharmacie. As R noted, in France in August, you may be dying of a life threatening emergency, but the pharmacie will remain closed for vacation. Sex, however, never takes a vacation... ) Anyway, you review the options, all bad. You are relieved that the bike is working for now but you worry about the future. Cycling back to the hotel, however, we found a tiny place with a lot of rental bikes in front. Voila! The nice young man produced a cable, a cable cutter, worked with Robb to make the repair, and sold us two new brake pads as well. What great relief!
As for how we ourselves are functioning on the bike, I would say well. Not many real hills here, though a few climbs out of the valley here and there, with eventual swoops back down through tiny towns with narrow streets to the river. Feels good to be out in the sun and fresh air, getting some exercise and loving the scenery. A haiku:
Cycliing by the Loire,
Each village is a postcard
We get lost again.
The wine: does not disappoint! For a few euros, a demi-pichet worth several glasses of local wine can be yours. My wine last night was a deep red verging on purple, and the taste: Mon Dieu!
The language is beginning to stick to my ears. I 'm getting the sound and the rhythm, and I enjoy the mandatory politesse of the salutations, pleases and thank yous that make this world go round.
Aug. 21 Sancerre
A small but dramatic hilltop town more like those in Tuscany, settled since Roman times. Known for wine. We drove through Amboise on the way and stopped for R and me to go through the chateau where Da Vinci lived. Knowing Robb's interest in things mechanical, the Ks really encouraged us to stop. It was nice because the chateau/museum has loads of Da Vinci's drawings and a whole floor of models, made by IBM (yes) from his drawings with materials that would have been at hand in his time. In addition the large garden of the chateau has life-size models of many of these machines that people can get on, in, or operate themselves. Our drive to Sancerre was beautiful, much of it along the Cher River. Close to Sancerre the view widened out and we could see miles of rolling farmland, most of it fallow fields which appeared to be wheat or hay. I had just asked: Where were the vineyards that Sancerre is so famous for, when we dropped over a rise and there they were spread out in front of us as far as the eye could see! And in the middle, this medieval Hershey's kiss of a town! We had some very tense moments driving up into the town in search of our hotel. The Centre Ville is a tangle of very narrow, winding streets - a wrong turn and you will be backing up, not turning around. We took one corner so tight, to get our long and wide van around, that Robb had to get out to direct and even so, we ran up on a curb. We made the turn with a couple inches to spare. Eventually and with great relief we found our hotel (good one!) and gratefully settled in. To cap off the day, a concert in the Notre Dame church this evening: an organ recital followed by a Belgian group playng and singing medieval music. Their encore was a piece that R and I have sung many times: Alle Sallite. Hard not to sing along! Medieval music in a stone church in a medieval town. What's that the ad says? Priceless!
R has just discovered an ad in an Atlantic he brought along, shows a luggage tag with the name: Barbara B. Geiger! Ad for Flexjet (?).
Aug. 23 (I think) This is Monday. We have just had a very nice ride along the Loire. The bike path was mostly crushed gravel, which means a leisurely pace, and there was no one on it. On the way to the path we happened upon a German couple (from Trier: I went to New Trier high school) going the other way, toward Orleans and had a very nice chat. These European bikers have it made - they virtually fall out their front doors into wonderful biking territory, and they certainly take advantage of it. The clouds were low, gray and threatening, and a wind was blowing, but we never got more than a brief sprinkle. We ate our cheese and bread at the side of the Loire, contemplating the river, the clouds, the wind, and a small white heron hunched over on a sand bar. A few people were out paddling yellow canoes. On the way back we decided to take a road and it turned out to be a nice one - pretty, not much traffic, with just enough ups and downs to make it interesting. The climb up to Sancerre was tough but rewarding: a 3-4 K steady climb with the view of medieval Sancerre above and a broad panorama of beautiful vineyards slowly retreating below. Now, at 4:30, it's raining.
My father would approve: I have just washed my entire outfit of the day, top to bottom, inside and out, in the sink.
Yesterday, Sunday, we were wakened at 7 by claps of thunder, flashes of lightning through the curtains and rain. R and I took off driving back to Blois with two goals: retrieve a skirt I left at the hotel there (oops) and see a chateau called Cheverny. I was very interested in seeing it because the guidebook said it was not only beautiful, but has been inhabited, and owned, by the same family since it was built in 1624-1640. It was a wonderful visit! It's a beautiful white stone building surrounded by vast lawns and shade trees, and the public rooms are beautifully decorated and clearly explained to visitors. Furthermore, the family still owns some 100 hunting dogs - hounds - and we saw these in their kennels sleeping together in big piles or leisurely stretching and walking around. Apparently they are fed at 5 pm daily, a spectacle. which the public can witness. Unfortunately we decided we had to get back to Sancerre, a considerable drive because there is no direct route. As it turned out, thousands of French tourists were on their way home. In one small city we went through, we passed by the tollroad back to Paris and it was a parking lot! The line of cars going the other way to get on the tollroad was astonishing. Fortunately, we got through ourselves without incident and came back to Sancerre in time for dinner and the K's stories of cycling on some very scary white roads outside of Sancerre. They made it up some murderous grades and lived to tell about it, but Jane was so exhausted she barely made it through dinner!
Robb's haiku about the standard French breakfast:
Petit dejuener-
Bread, croissant, coffee, juice, jam.
Careful with Jane's cheese!
I (B) have a haiku forming about food. It's not exactly right yet. Stay tuned...
Good: cabs arrive promptly at hotel, loaded efficiently, take off for train station
Bad: Kenamores get dropped by sartorially elegant (suit/tie) cab driver in bowels of station opposite where B/Gs are dropped, in FRONT
Worse: Jane becomes hopelessly lost in search for B/Gs; Bruce and B wait biting lips by mounds of luggage until R's roaming encounters Jane going figuratively up the down staircase, leads her out of bowels of station and all are joyously reunited.
So-so: brief encounter with ticket machine finally results in stamped ticket. Off to train:
Good: Train upholds French reputation for superb service by leaving exactly on time.
Better: We have not just entire compartment, but entire railcar, to ourselves! Train arrives in Orleans - exactly on time. See prior comment.
Mediocre: Stoop to Subway sandwiches in view of time and ease of comsumption.
Good: Avis station in RR station, helpful attendant pulls up chariot, we load up and drive to main Avis terminal for processing. Chariot is largest van Avis rents: think of a sawed off.Sprinter.
Also good: We have half a parking lot to unload crates and assemble bikes. Takes 2+ hours. Weather most cooperative.
Excellent: Bikes fit in van, front wheels removed on K's bikes; front/rear tires plus front 1/3 removed from The Beast, luggage stowed in 3rd seat. Off we go.
Nice: drive through small towns to Blois.
Bad bad: Jane yells Stop Stop Stop at driver Robb trying to find hotel on roadside signs in Blois. This is in the middle of a medieval city with narrow lanes, turn lanes, whizzing traffic. R gets mad. Go around again - ah - there it is: Anne de Bretagne. Pull up to old-style three story hotel with plenty of parking. Relief. Leave bikes in car. Check in. Walk to dinner.
Good: simple dinner at cafe,
Very good: Cafe upholds French reputation for good wine by providing a delicious demi-pichet of merlot for 6 euros. We suck it down.
Bad and good: We are exhausted. It is late. We collapse in bed.
FIN
Aug. 20 After two days of "adventure cycling."
Repeat after me: "It's not about distance, it's not about distance, it's not about distance..." We have cycled through such beautiful country, starting out on a bikepath along the wide, shallow, slow-moving and beautiful Loire. But as Robb noted last night: "I think we're going to get lost a lot on this trip." This is definitely biking country. It's also a UNESCO World Heritage site. The French advertise it and it's full of all kinds of people from all kinds of places on all kinds of bikes, many of them touring and fully loaded. But the maps and reality do not always match, and you are unexpectedly at an unmarked crossroad with nothing but your sense of direction and intuition to lead you. Hence it takes a lot longer to actually get to a destination than you imagined. With four of us, not always agreeing on the right direction, this can be somewhat tense. And yesterday, we split off on our way to the mother of all chateaus (Chambord), each couple convinced they knew the way. All ended well awhile later since we all eventually got to the correct path and arrived at the chateau within minutes of each other. So we have agreed that when in doubt - evidence is to rule! Each shall present his/her evidence and the majority shall decide whicyh way!
I can attest that Chambord is one hell of a structure, an enormous pile of stone built for Louis XIV centuries ago as a "hunting lodge" and used but rarely actually inhabited by many royals in following year. (It's got more turrets, chimneys, and generally pointy features than I've ever seen on one structure, and the keep, or central part, has an immense spiral staircase of stone--in a double helix). One royal owner, to impress, would escort a huge entourage to the chateau for a few days of hunting, and upon departure, break down and remove all the furniture until visiting again. The only guy who actually lived at Chambord for any time was exiled there. The grounds are fabulous, of course, but mais oui, what a prison!
Today we took the other way down the river to Amboise, location of the house where Leonardo da Vinci spent his last days (who knew? In France?). Unfortunately, it took us so long to get underway, and to get there (rest stop and lunch stop on the way), that upon arrival R and I decided to hop the train back to Blois in order to find an open bike shop (keep reading). So the K's went on to the chateau and took a later train back.
Train adventure: Managed to find the train station (very well signed in this country) and buy a ticket, told them we had a bike but not ... um ... the size. Train arrived spot on time (of course), but, where to get on. Long train headed to Paris. We saw a guy with a bike and ran with him to a second class car. He pointed to a door, we heaved the bike on just in time. He spoke good English, said we would be fine. Only one extra stop, 20 minutes, OK. Well, maybe, but we happened to be completely blocking the passage between cars.Totally. For each of the 3 ladies who wanted access to the Toilettes, Robb reared the bike up like a steed and they good naturedly passed under. The three gendarmes kindly stepped over the rear bar. Tout bien, apparently. The intermediate stop occurred without incident, but mon Dieu! No sooner were we on our way than The Boss showed up, a fat slightly officious Conductor who clearly did not like our position! But Monsieur, we don't speak French! Here is our ticket! We are getting off at Blois! After some muttering and teeth gnashing, he left us alone (and silently smirking to ourselves - if he had not been so officious we might have felt a little guillty, but there wasn't time because we were soon in Blois). To be fair, now, I must mention that as we walked down the platform, we did see that the last car of the train was for Velos. Next time, if there is one, we shall be informed!
The countryside is so beautiful, large fields of sunflowers hanging their heads of heavy seeds, corn, sorghum, rows of airy asparagas hedges, vineyards, vegetables, and flowers flowers flowers! We see tidy vegetable gardens with bright orange pumpkins and ripe tomatoes hanging off the vine. Huge planters in the towns are exploding with flowers, carefully tended arrangements at the height of form and color. Here they enjoy mixing flowers of many colors and habits. In some places we see fields or roadsides with cosmos and other wildflowers mixed in. The towns often have very old churches, narrow winding lanes, old stone buildings with wooden shutters, and very few people actually in evidence. We have also seen surprisingly few farm animals. The French adore their dogs, of course, even taking them into restaurants, but for a country that lives on cheese, it is surprising we have not seen cows or goats. In general, though, all is in order in the Val de Loire!
We are still in the shakedown phase in terms of cycling, trying to get organized and on the road before lunch! Part of it is just getting the bikes together. This morning Jane's rear tire was flat. Before that Jane and I took off walking lookiing for a market "just five minutes walk" from the hotel. Perhaps, if someone also mentions that you have to go over a bridge to get to it. Finally found it and bought stuff for lunch because the day before, we couldn't find any open market on the road, only a restaurant where we finally settled for lunch. It's not the cost since you can get a three course lunch for 12 E or so, but the delay. The French do love their food and covet a leisurely meal, but if you want to get anywhere and see anything, you need to do it yourself. Add to that the summer vacation, where many shops are closed for weeks, and you can see our challenge. So this is something we are still getting a grip on. Add to that the need to replenish water on the road - just another small challenge...
Speaking of vacation, the French are just as out here as everyone else, and we have seen hundreds and hundreds of RVs - they are everywhere. Much smaller than in the US, big enough for a family of four, and a few look like they can handle six. But none of the ersatz buses that we see, which never in a million years could navigate these towns! All the RVs are about the size of a small class B (Robb thinks that is just right), and we have yet to see a slideout......
Bike: R has been concerned about one of the cables on the bike and so today we set out to find the bike shop in town. Ferme until next week! Now what? What do you do when you don't know the town or the language? Well, you sit down and have a cold drink and people-watch and think about it. (Noticed a coin-operated dispenser of condoms hanging off the pharmacie. As R noted, in France in August, you may be dying of a life threatening emergency, but the pharmacie will remain closed for vacation. Sex, however, never takes a vacation... ) Anyway, you review the options, all bad. You are relieved that the bike is working for now but you worry about the future. Cycling back to the hotel, however, we found a tiny place with a lot of rental bikes in front. Voila! The nice young man produced a cable, a cable cutter, worked with Robb to make the repair, and sold us two new brake pads as well. What great relief!
As for how we ourselves are functioning on the bike, I would say well. Not many real hills here, though a few climbs out of the valley here and there, with eventual swoops back down through tiny towns with narrow streets to the river. Feels good to be out in the sun and fresh air, getting some exercise and loving the scenery. A haiku:
Cycliing by the Loire,
Each village is a postcard
We get lost again.
The wine: does not disappoint! For a few euros, a demi-pichet worth several glasses of local wine can be yours. My wine last night was a deep red verging on purple, and the taste: Mon Dieu!
The language is beginning to stick to my ears. I 'm getting the sound and the rhythm, and I enjoy the mandatory politesse of the salutations, pleases and thank yous that make this world go round.
Aug. 21 Sancerre
A small but dramatic hilltop town more like those in Tuscany, settled since Roman times. Known for wine. We drove through Amboise on the way and stopped for R and me to go through the chateau where Da Vinci lived. Knowing Robb's interest in things mechanical, the Ks really encouraged us to stop. It was nice because the chateau/museum has loads of Da Vinci's drawings and a whole floor of models, made by IBM (yes) from his drawings with materials that would have been at hand in his time. In addition the large garden of the chateau has life-size models of many of these machines that people can get on, in, or operate themselves. Our drive to Sancerre was beautiful, much of it along the Cher River. Close to Sancerre the view widened out and we could see miles of rolling farmland, most of it fallow fields which appeared to be wheat or hay. I had just asked: Where were the vineyards that Sancerre is so famous for, when we dropped over a rise and there they were spread out in front of us as far as the eye could see! And in the middle, this medieval Hershey's kiss of a town! We had some very tense moments driving up into the town in search of our hotel. The Centre Ville is a tangle of very narrow, winding streets - a wrong turn and you will be backing up, not turning around. We took one corner so tight, to get our long and wide van around, that Robb had to get out to direct and even so, we ran up on a curb. We made the turn with a couple inches to spare. Eventually and with great relief we found our hotel (good one!) and gratefully settled in. To cap off the day, a concert in the Notre Dame church this evening: an organ recital followed by a Belgian group playng and singing medieval music. Their encore was a piece that R and I have sung many times: Alle Sallite. Hard not to sing along! Medieval music in a stone church in a medieval town. What's that the ad says? Priceless!
R has just discovered an ad in an Atlantic he brought along, shows a luggage tag with the name: Barbara B. Geiger! Ad for Flexjet (?).
Aug. 23 (I think) This is Monday. We have just had a very nice ride along the Loire. The bike path was mostly crushed gravel, which means a leisurely pace, and there was no one on it. On the way to the path we happened upon a German couple (from Trier: I went to New Trier high school) going the other way, toward Orleans and had a very nice chat. These European bikers have it made - they virtually fall out their front doors into wonderful biking territory, and they certainly take advantage of it. The clouds were low, gray and threatening, and a wind was blowing, but we never got more than a brief sprinkle. We ate our cheese and bread at the side of the Loire, contemplating the river, the clouds, the wind, and a small white heron hunched over on a sand bar. A few people were out paddling yellow canoes. On the way back we decided to take a road and it turned out to be a nice one - pretty, not much traffic, with just enough ups and downs to make it interesting. The climb up to Sancerre was tough but rewarding: a 3-4 K steady climb with the view of medieval Sancerre above and a broad panorama of beautiful vineyards slowly retreating below. Now, at 4:30, it's raining.
My father would approve: I have just washed my entire outfit of the day, top to bottom, inside and out, in the sink.
Yesterday, Sunday, we were wakened at 7 by claps of thunder, flashes of lightning through the curtains and rain. R and I took off driving back to Blois with two goals: retrieve a skirt I left at the hotel there (oops) and see a chateau called Cheverny. I was very interested in seeing it because the guidebook said it was not only beautiful, but has been inhabited, and owned, by the same family since it was built in 1624-1640. It was a wonderful visit! It's a beautiful white stone building surrounded by vast lawns and shade trees, and the public rooms are beautifully decorated and clearly explained to visitors. Furthermore, the family still owns some 100 hunting dogs - hounds - and we saw these in their kennels sleeping together in big piles or leisurely stretching and walking around. Apparently they are fed at 5 pm daily, a spectacle. which the public can witness. Unfortunately we decided we had to get back to Sancerre, a considerable drive because there is no direct route. As it turned out, thousands of French tourists were on their way home. In one small city we went through, we passed by the tollroad back to Paris and it was a parking lot! The line of cars going the other way to get on the tollroad was astonishing. Fortunately, we got through ourselves without incident and came back to Sancerre in time for dinner and the K's stories of cycling on some very scary white roads outside of Sancerre. They made it up some murderous grades and lived to tell about it, but Jane was so exhausted she barely made it through dinner!
Robb's haiku about the standard French breakfast:
Petit dejuener-
Bread, croissant, coffee, juice, jam.
Careful with Jane's cheese!
I (B) have a haiku forming about food. It's not exactly right yet. Stay tuned...
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Paris
Aug. 15 We made it, and best of all, so did the bike. One person at O'Hare asked what was in those boxes, and especially, were there any liquids. Robb thought it was a ridiculous question, most of all because they don't ask that question of people who check regular luggage. Anyway - they heaved them onto the belt and sent them through. On the other end, we spent an anxious time waiting for them to appear. Finally they were wheeled out in solitary splendor on a separate trolley, safe and sound with the exception of one small "pimple" poked slightly out from inside by an axle. Everything appears safe and sound, so now we can anticipate the next stage of our private Tour de France.
Paris skies seep.
We walk through sodden streets
To closed museums.
It is seriously raining in Paris, which is a sea of umbrellas capping an eclectic assortment of clothing and languages--it made me think of that impressionist painting of Paris in the rain (whose was it, again?). The Parisians may not be here, but plenty of other people are. This afternoon we hiked under our own umbrellas through the Ile St. Louis to the Right Bank, only to find that, today being the Feast of the Assumption - and this being a largely Catholic country - our target museum was shut up tight. Back to Notre Dame for another surprise. Not the normal Sunday afternoon free organ concert but a huge mass piped through earthshaking speakers to the square in front, masses of people under umbrellas waiting in lines (for what?) or just milling around. It was that kind of day, a milling around day with everyone trying to find something to do in a sodden city with almost everything closed. Eventually, back near our Left Bank hotel, we were rewarded with the sight and sound of a procession of pilgrims (ordinary citizens, really, under ... well, you know ...). We ended the day in a tiny cafe feasting on a HUGE salad, HUGE sandwich, and a lip.smacking onion soup. Much more food than we expected, but so, so good after a tiring day!
Aug. 17 We succesfully reunited with the Kenamores. Their hard sided bike cases arrived intact although TSA opened them at O'Hare and failed to close one correctly. So this morning Bruce, with the aid of The Horse (his nickname for Robb), managed to wrestle it closed; all is well. Until tomorrow anyway when we take on our next leg, train to Orleans, cab to rental van (will it really be big enough - R worries...), van to bike shop (will they store our bike cases for 3 weeks?), and on to destination Blois.
Great walking tour of Montmartre yesterday! Young John Paul, guide, was from St. Louis, specifically from where Jane and Bruce grew up, so much comparing of notes about that. Really enjoyed the many anecdotes about famous artists who lived, drank, smoked, ingested various other mind-altering substances, and slept their way through short but super-creative lives. Few seem to have survived through their 30s, a notable exception being Picasso, who lived in a closet of a place in Montmarte for 8 impoverished years. His obsession with art must have outweighed the potential for addiction. Although he certainly indulged the id along with the ego!
Today we did the one thing that Jane wanted to do: go to the map store. This is an amazing place! The ground floor is full of guidebooks for every country you could name; the basement is nothing but maps, including one whole room of nothing but maps of France. Every square meter of France is in a map in that room, at a scale of 1:25,000, all topographic from the French Academy of Geography. I wish we had stores like that in the U.S.
A note about bicycles: the much touted Velib program is much in evidence. Stands of as many as 20 bikes, perhaps more, each attached to its own post, are conveniently located here on the Left Bank, home of the Sorbonne. The bikes are sturdy, with front wire baskets and fenders front and back, all one speed. They have to be sturdy! We just witnessed a young man kicking the seat handle repeatedly to loosen it when he couldn't manage to twist it by hand. Just needed to adjust it to his height. There are marked bike lanes along the river, and elsewhere. Curiously, lanes in very narrow streets in Montmarte had bikes going OPPOSITE the traffic. Strange!
No one can arrange a scarf like a Parisian woman......
The weather teases with a taste of sun before retreating to gray. Although the rain is mostly gone. John Paul said: August 15, Feast of the Assumption, is something of a French groundhog day. That is to say: the weather that day predicts with considerable accuracy the weather for the rest of summer. Not good news! That would mean cool, gray or even rainy weather ahead! Cool for biking: OK. Gray for biking: tolerable. Rain for biking: Non!
Paris skies seep.
We walk through sodden streets
To closed museums.
It is seriously raining in Paris, which is a sea of umbrellas capping an eclectic assortment of clothing and languages--it made me think of that impressionist painting of Paris in the rain (whose was it, again?). The Parisians may not be here, but plenty of other people are. This afternoon we hiked under our own umbrellas through the Ile St. Louis to the Right Bank, only to find that, today being the Feast of the Assumption - and this being a largely Catholic country - our target museum was shut up tight. Back to Notre Dame for another surprise. Not the normal Sunday afternoon free organ concert but a huge mass piped through earthshaking speakers to the square in front, masses of people under umbrellas waiting in lines (for what?) or just milling around. It was that kind of day, a milling around day with everyone trying to find something to do in a sodden city with almost everything closed. Eventually, back near our Left Bank hotel, we were rewarded with the sight and sound of a procession of pilgrims (ordinary citizens, really, under ... well, you know ...). We ended the day in a tiny cafe feasting on a HUGE salad, HUGE sandwich, and a lip.smacking onion soup. Much more food than we expected, but so, so good after a tiring day!
Aug. 17 We succesfully reunited with the Kenamores. Their hard sided bike cases arrived intact although TSA opened them at O'Hare and failed to close one correctly. So this morning Bruce, with the aid of The Horse (his nickname for Robb), managed to wrestle it closed; all is well. Until tomorrow anyway when we take on our next leg, train to Orleans, cab to rental van (will it really be big enough - R worries...), van to bike shop (will they store our bike cases for 3 weeks?), and on to destination Blois.
Great walking tour of Montmartre yesterday! Young John Paul, guide, was from St. Louis, specifically from where Jane and Bruce grew up, so much comparing of notes about that. Really enjoyed the many anecdotes about famous artists who lived, drank, smoked, ingested various other mind-altering substances, and slept their way through short but super-creative lives. Few seem to have survived through their 30s, a notable exception being Picasso, who lived in a closet of a place in Montmarte for 8 impoverished years. His obsession with art must have outweighed the potential for addiction. Although he certainly indulged the id along with the ego!
Today we did the one thing that Jane wanted to do: go to the map store. This is an amazing place! The ground floor is full of guidebooks for every country you could name; the basement is nothing but maps, including one whole room of nothing but maps of France. Every square meter of France is in a map in that room, at a scale of 1:25,000, all topographic from the French Academy of Geography. I wish we had stores like that in the U.S.
A note about bicycles: the much touted Velib program is much in evidence. Stands of as many as 20 bikes, perhaps more, each attached to its own post, are conveniently located here on the Left Bank, home of the Sorbonne. The bikes are sturdy, with front wire baskets and fenders front and back, all one speed. They have to be sturdy! We just witnessed a young man kicking the seat handle repeatedly to loosen it when he couldn't manage to twist it by hand. Just needed to adjust it to his height. There are marked bike lanes along the river, and elsewhere. Curiously, lanes in very narrow streets in Montmarte had bikes going OPPOSITE the traffic. Strange!
No one can arrange a scarf like a Parisian woman......
The weather teases with a taste of sun before retreating to gray. Although the rain is mostly gone. John Paul said: August 15, Feast of the Assumption, is something of a French groundhog day. That is to say: the weather that day predicts with considerable accuracy the weather for the rest of summer. Not good news! That would mean cool, gray or even rainy weather ahead! Cool for biking: OK. Gray for biking: tolerable. Rain for biking: Non!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Packing & Anticipating
Aug. 13, 24-plus hours to liftoff. We are 95% packed, and the crates containing our bike are screwed shut, wheels attached, ready to go. Robb built them, regulation airline size (26x26x8"), out of plywood, attached handles from two mail order boxes, wrapped strapping around... He disassembled the bike and carefully, strategically arranged the pieces in each box. He took a photo of each box, packed, and taped each inside the appropriate crate to remind him how to repack. Observe attached photos - he deserves much admiration!
As for me, Barbara, I am channeling father Herb, who died three years ago this month. Thanks to being unable to walk well or far in his later years, he became a master packer and always took the absolute minimum. He would crow that everything he took could be washed out in the sink and with the addition of a clip-on tie, looked positively natty! His suitcase resembled a simple overnighter, from which he would whip out the latest find with a triumphant sense of glee. He was awfully fun to travel with, and most especially, in France, which he adored. For my part, I will think of him in Paris, sailing toy sailboats in the Tuilleries as a boy with his brother Bill. I will think of him at Luxembourg Gardens, where we spent time just enjoying the passing scene, and at the Pompidou where we laughed at the performance artists. I will raise a glass of vin rouge in his honor. Ah, Paree!
Also note photo of Oliver, who will be guarding our house for the next month. Owner Rebecca will share the space, albeit in her own bed...
As for me, Barbara, I am channeling father Herb, who died three years ago this month. Thanks to being unable to walk well or far in his later years, he became a master packer and always took the absolute minimum. He would crow that everything he took could be washed out in the sink and with the addition of a clip-on tie, looked positively natty! His suitcase resembled a simple overnighter, from which he would whip out the latest find with a triumphant sense of glee. He was awfully fun to travel with, and most especially, in France, which he adored. For my part, I will think of him in Paris, sailing toy sailboats in the Tuilleries as a boy with his brother Bill. I will think of him at Luxembourg Gardens, where we spent time just enjoying the passing scene, and at the Pompidou where we laughed at the performance artists. I will raise a glass of vin rouge in his honor. Ah, Paree!
Also note photo of Oliver, who will be guarding our house for the next month. Owner Rebecca will share the space, albeit in her own bed...
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