Happy early Birthday wishes to Benjamin Lawrence and his dad, Peter on November 4!

It is the day before All Souls, and it seems appropriate today that we join friends and family as they visit the graves of their loved ones, for we will visit a couple of the many WWI cemeteries that dot this part of the world, and pay homage. It is also Hallowe’en, which is not a very celebrated holiday in Europe. The French in particular hate and shun it, and here in Belgium we see only the odd reference to it.

We start our day in the town of Ypres, or Ieper, once one of the wealthiest cities in the world. It was the scene of some of the most vicious fighting in WWI, as the British fought to maintain control of the town, sacrificing countless soldiers’ lives, and destroying the entire town in the process.

We arrive at the beautiful Cloth Hall in the centre of Ypres. It is the home of “In Flanders Fields”, an incredibly moving museum dedicated to helping the world understand the horror of WWI. We learn that the very building the museum is housed in, this Cloth Hall, was the largest non-church building built in Europe until after WWI, and was completely levelled by shelling during the war, and then painstakingly rebuilt. We are reminded of something we sort-of knew, that WWI was the first war in which the full technology of industrialization was engaged in producing the instruments of war. As recently even as the Boer War, the cavalry had had a major role. In WWI, the cavalry sat and waited, with nothing to do; in the Boer War, bayonets were the way death was inflicted. Virtually every soldier in WWI had a bayonet, and they were useless against machine guns and shells that could fly 20 kilometres through the air.


The Cloth Hall, completely destroyed in WWI, and now home to Ypres’ “In Flanders Fields” Museum

The museum was opened only in 1996, and, interactive and involving as so many newer museums are, it brings the experience home, and helps us to truly understand, if that is possible, the magnitude of WWI, and the folly of leaders who fight wars without purpose, sacrificing human lives for their vanity.

From Ypres, it is a short drive to the Canadian Memorial. Much smaller than the memorial at Vimy Ridge, it is not a cemetery or a place where the names of the fallen are recorded: it is the scene of the first mustard gas attack launched by the Germans during the war, an attack that happened to blow over the Canadian position, and one that signalled a major evolution in fighting: chemical warfare.


The Canadian Memorial near Ypres, scene of the world’s 1st chemical weapons attack

We drive through the narrow lanes and backroads of Flanders, carefully moving the passenger side off the road, but not to far, lest it fall into the very deep ditches, whenever another car approaches. There is still occasional evidence of the war – large craters, used by resourceful farmers as watering holes for their livestock. The farmers still harvest a horrible, deadly crop every spring, when they plough their fields: hundreds of tonnes of unexploded munitions rise from the earth, including many chemical weapons. These chemical weapons are carefully stockpiled: there is still no known safe method of disposing of them.

We are looking for Passchendaele, a tiny village, which was the site of a major British action against a German fortress built on the gently rising hill, taken at huge cost by the Australians. It is also home to Tyne Cot, the largest Commonwealth cemetery from WWI; far more numerous than graves at Tyne Cot, though, are the names of the soldiers whose bodies were never found. We walk the entire length of the back wall of the cemetery, over 3 metres tall, and hundreds of metres long, covered from one end to the other and top to bottom with the names of the missing dead. And this isn’t a full listing: many others are listed at Menin Gate, in Ypres, and yet others are listed on particular memorials, such as the Canadian Memorial we visited at Vimy Ridge; of the over 1 million Commonwealth soldiers who died in WWI, the bodies of more than 50% were never found.



Tyne Cot Cemetery, scene of the Battle of Passchendaele

We drive silently back to Gent, lost in our thoughts, the grey day well complementing the images and sights we have seen today.

Later, we are sitting with Yves and Marc in the comfort of their wonderful home, glass of wine in hand and describing the day, when the doorbell rings. Marc answers, and excitedly calls me out: a goblin and a witch stand before us, sacs in hand, held out expectantly. Marc is excitedly searching for some candy, in order not to disappoint. He finds some, and as he closes the door, he tells me that this is the 1st time in his life that he has ever had a trick-or-treater at the door.

Amsterdam to Gent via Brussels: 275 kilometres

Ugh, my head! We try not to wake Fred and Michiel this morning as we tip toe around the apartment and grab a coffee before we head out the door. They are awake anyway and wish us well and we say our final goodbyes and head to Brussels for the day. We hope to see them in Canada, possibly in June.

There is an incredible fog hugging Amsterdam this morning. The sun filters through the fog and makes a glowing, eerie white opaqeness that is very disconcerting. Occasionally we see a pale green field with ghostly trees silhouetted against the fog as we move onto the highway. We are amazed at the speed at which some of people are driving. We are in what Canadians refer to as ‘whiteout’ conditions, and as soon as John mentions this he slams on the brakes as someone 10 cars ahead of us rear ends the car in front of them. We spend a good hour getting out of Amsterdam and the fog remains with us until at least Antwerpen.

Brussels is a pleasant surprise. We had not been expecting very much from this largely governmental town, the head of the EU. The area we park in is like Ottawa on a Saturday: completely void of human life; the ministers and their aids and other staff are in their home countries for the weekend. It is a long weekend here, November 1st being All Souls Day. The city is, however, teaming with well-heeled tourists, smartly turned out in their weekend finest. Brown suede and pashmina predominate. We hear French, German and the occasional bit of American twang bounced around the Grand Place where we start our tour. The Grand Place is, well grand and after the appropriate oohing and ahhhing, we wander a bit and take in the side streets of the area.


Brussel’s Grand Place

The tourists in town continue their unabated wandering as the sun begins to set and the lights of the city start coming on. We walk back to where we are parked, and pick a very traditional brasserie nearby for our dinner. We arrive about 7 p.m. and are the first customers. We have a simple, wonderful meal made even better by the extraordinary service we receive from the staff. Impeccable!


From left: war memorial; Brussel’s Cathedral

Our drive home is happily uneventful, the fog completely gone at this point. As we drive into Gent, wispy clouds of low lying fog start to roll in and across the canals, welcoming us home.

N 52
E 004

Gent to Amsterdam: 235 kilometres

We are driving to Amsterdam today to visit our friends Michiel and Fred and have some fun. The drive is not hard, and is very familiar to us. We pass green pastures of late fall vistas: grass and windmills, dotted with grazing cows and sheep, horses and some donkeys.

We have easy instructions to their apartment, and park our car there; then Michiel, John, and I grab the tram and head into downtown Amsterdam to have some lunch and to meet friends Damien, Ron, and Carlos, who have promised us a canal boat trip. Some mechanical difficulties ensue and needless to say we don’t actually get on the boat until after 5, at which point we spend an early Friday evening having drinks aboard Ron and Damien’s’ very small boat, bumping and spinning our way around the inner canals of Amsterdam. We slow down to avoid the bigger tourist boats, and sometimes head the wrong way up one-way canals. It is a very fall-like Amsterdam: people wrapped in warm clothes against the damp and chill, the last yellow leaves falling onto wet cobbles and onto the dark reflective canals.


From left: Michiel and Greg; on the Canal; Capt’n Damien and first mate Carlos


From left: the canal; Ron and Greg; one of seven in a row!

After our cruise, we head to a bar called April and enjoy their happy hour before heading out to find somewhere for dinner. Our group keeps getting bigger as Fred, Ramon, and another John join us after work. Many restaurants try to fit us all in but it is Friday night; after several attempts without success, Fred says “there’s always Le Monde!” and so we head there for a raucous dinner, complete with a new kitten named Samba who is passed from table to table during the course of the evening.

Our night ends at one of Amsterdam’s oldest bars where everyone (and I mean everyone) sings songs ranging from traditional Dutch folk songs from the 1920’s to local cheesy Dutch disco hits of the 1980’s. The bartender knows the words to all of them and serenades you with a lovely bass/baritone as he pours you yet another beer. Needless to say, we don’t get home until after three and are glad that home is Fred and Michiel’s guest bed. We have to get up early tomorrow for our drive and day in Brussels.

We have our 2nd lazy day in a row, enjoying the warmth and comfort of Marc and Yves’ home. It is a wonderful place to be as we come to the end of our European adventure.


From left: at work in the breakfast room; Marc and Yves' entrance foyer, with its murals of 4 continents; the Asia mural in the entrance foyer


From left: the garden in fall; the charming Mouste

We take a day off today. We do nothing except relax in the comfortable atmosphere of our hosts’ lovely home. Mid-afternoon I leave John reading and working on the computer, and walk into town for the newspaper and some wine for dinner tonight. Yves and Marc have asked us to join them for dinner tonight and of course we have accepted. No restaurant food for us tonight!

The old city has few mid-week late season tourists in it and it is a lovely, sunlit stroll through the Vrijdagmarkt and Sint-Baafsplein. I have the Ipod on, listening to Cecilia Bartoli and blissfully wandering around the town for a few hours, retracing some of our earlier steps from June and discovering new areas of this lovely town.

It is full autumn here; the leaves of many of the trees are on the ground. We are averaging about 9° and layered for the cool dampness.

We have a conversation filled dinner followed by coffee and of course, Belgian chocolates before we climb the stairs and head for bed.

N 51
E 003

Rouen to Gent: 426 kilometres

We start our drive out of France, our longest stay in 1 country since Australia, by heading to Dieppe (pronounced, we learned last night, as “deep” in Kiwi). A city surrounded by high cliffs, it was the scene of a failed Allied invasion in August, 1942, when a force of 5,000 soldiers, 80% or so Canadian, attempted to take the heavily fortified city. Although a major failure, with a terrible cost, war historians say that the lessons learned were critical (dare I say “key success factors”) to the success of D-Day.


The beach and cliffs at Dieppe

We find again the Canadian cemetery, a few kilometres outside town. We are again overwhelmed as we walk through the graves – almost all of them have but one date on them: 19 August, 1942. It is a chilling sight.


The Canadian War Cemetery at Dieppe

We turn away from the coast, crossing the beautiful Normandy countryside as we head for our destination of Gent, Belgium. We are surprised when a sign appears announcing that we are driving alongside the site of the battle of Agincourt, which happened early in the 100 Years War, where the English, led by Henry V, won a decisive victory over the much stronger French forces.

Shortly after, signs announce that we have entered the Somme Valley, scene of some of the deadliest fighting in WWI, and, as at Gallipoli in Turkey, a word that today connotes meaningless slaughter in war: over 21,000 British soldiers were killed on the 1st day of fighting alone, and over 1.2 million lives were lost on both sides during the 4 ½ months the Somme offensive lasted, and the British had advanced only 12 kilometres, the French even less.

We make our way to Vimy Ridge, a little north of the Somme, to the Canadian WWI Memorial. Vimy was a major victory for the Canadian forces, fighting for the 1st time as Canadians and not integrated into the British forces. Unlike most of the countryside, and most of the war cemeteries, which bear few traces of the fighting, the Canadian Vimy Memorial stands on land that stands as it did at the end of the war, down to fenced off areas still full of landmines and unexploded shells.


The Canadian War Memorial at Vimy Ridge

The Memorial is powerful: its sculptures depict the losses caused by the war. Most moving to me is the inscription around the huge base: the names of over 11,000 Canadians who died in WWI, whose bodies were never located. And saddening are the words also engraved: the war to end war.


Some of the names on the base of the Memorial


Sheep grazing where death ruled 90 years ago

We arrive in Gent just after 6, coming back to Marc and Yves’ wonderful guesthouse where we stayed in June, and to Marc and Yves’ wonderful hospitality: comfortable, lavish and always pleasant, warm and inviting. Our day, an emotional and exhausting one, ends with a feeling of being safe and protected from the world outside.

We drive today to the Normandy beaches where the Allied invasion of Europe began in 1944. This means that we drive through Caen, home to William the Bastard, renamed the Conqueror after 1066 when he became King of England, without stopping to explore. Next time.

Our main focus today is the pretty town of Courseulles-sur-Mer, otherwise known as Juno Beach, the Canadian D-Day landing site, and the place where a few days later General De Gaulle landed on French soil.


From left: Juno Beach; German positions at Juno Beach

Last year, in preparation for the 60th anniversary of D-Day, the largest military operation in history, Canada opened a museum on Juno Beach, documenting both the events of the day, and in particular Canada’ role in it. We spend over 2 hours in the museum, learning things we hadn’t known. It is truly impressive, and made us proud and incredibly sad.


From left: Centre Juno Beach; the flags of the D-Day invaders

From Courseulles, it is a short drive to Bény-sur-Mer, the Canadian cemetery for the Juno Beach dead. We spend an hour walking through the graves, thinking about the horror of the day, and of all wars, and of the lives represented in this place, beautiful in the late fall sun, with the English Channel visible in the distance. So many men, 20, 21, only a few as old as 25, boys really, their lives over almost before they had begun. We are truly unprepared for the enormous sense of loss we feel at this site.


The Canadian War Cemetery at Bény-sur-Mer

We drive along the coast, through some of the other beach towns (doesn’t that imply something quite different) where D-Day made history. Then we turn inland, to visit Bayeux and its famous tapestry, which record another invasion across la Manche, this time from France to England in 1066. It tells the story of how on the 14th of October, William the Conqueror invaded England. The tapestry is over 70 metres long, embroidered shortly afterward in England on coarse linen, and hung so that the entire tapestry can be seen in one long viewing. It is laid out in the same manner as a storyboard - panel after panel depicting scenes in chronological order. My favourite is the scene showing some of the soldiers trapped in the quicksand at Mont St-Michel.

After we finish our tour of the tapestry, we head back to the coast where Jan, one of the 2 Kiwis we met on our tour of Turkey back in May, is camping with 2 friends, Shelly and her son Nick. The 3 of them have been touring around Europe since late June, and finally, after much planning, we are able to connect. We sit and talk, everybody talking at once, sharing stories and comparing notes, then head into town for some food. The stories continue through the meal, and could probably have continued long into the night if we had not had a 90 minute or so drive back to our hotel. It was fun catching up with you, Jan, and meeting Shelly and Nick!


From Left: Greg, Jan, John and Nick in front

N 49
E 001

Avranches to Rouen: 222 kilometers

The days continue grey and autumnal. It is this way as we head out onto the autoroute for our drive to Rouen, and it stays the same until we arrive in the city a couple of hours later.

We check-in to our hotel, and then head into Rouen to explore. By now, the grey has turned to an autumnal drizzle. We drive down Avenue des Canadiens to get to the centre of town. There are Canadian flags flying here and there, our first experience of how the French in this area regard the Canadians, who liberated them from the Germans, and then went home.

We begin our explorations at l’Hôtel de Ville, and walk along streets that have that clearly show that Rouen was heavily damaged during WWII; a beautiful stone door, leading into a 20 year old building. We come across the Palais de Justice, faithfully reconstructed after the war, but left with gaping battle scars.


le Palais de Justice, showing its war wounds

We find to our surprise that much of medieval Rouen still stands. There are half-timbered buildings everywhere; unlike those we have seen in England, these are painted brilliant colours, which certainly brighten the day.


Half-timbered Rouen


On the rue du Gros Horlage, the big clock that it is named after; beside the clock, in praise of Louis XV, who donated the clock

Rouen is most-famous, at least with English-speakers, as the place where Joan of Arc was held by the British and then burnt at the stake. We head to the spot, in the old market square, and find that the original church was destroyed in the war. In its place, a striking Église Sainte-Jeanne d’Arc has been built. Inside, the stark lines of the modernist belie an unexpected beauty, the beautiful, medieval, stained glass windows which were removed from another church before the war, and never reinstalled because that church was destroyed.

The spot where Jeanne d’Arc was burnt is now a garden, with but a simple marker to show the exact place.

As we are standing at the very tiny entrance to the church talking, a very helpful man fills in some of the gaps in our knowledge. Christian, as he turns out to be, is full of information (he knows, for example, that it always rains in Rouen; and that even when it is nice everywhere else in France, it is raining in Rouen). We take shelter from the rain, and go have a coffee with Christian.


From left: the spot where Jeanne d’Arc burned at the stake; l’Église Sainte-Jeanne d’Arc; la Tour Jeanne d’Arc

After our coffee, Greg and I head off to do some more exploring. We find the Tour Jeanne d’Arc, the one remaining turret of the old castle where Joan was imprisoned by the British. From there, we head to Rouen Cathedral, much painted by a certain M. Monet, some of whose paintings of it we saw in Paris at the Turner, Whistler, Monet exhibit. The Cathedral also has the highest wrought-iron spire in Europe, and is home to the heart of Richard Coeur de Lion, who stated in his will that he was to be buried near his father, and whose tomb we saw there, but that his heart was to be buried in Rouen Cathedral.


From left: Rouen Cathedral; its wrought-iron spire; the grave of Richard Coeur de Lion’s heart

At this point it is late in the afternoon, and although the rain has let up, we are cold and hungry, having skipped lunch. We walk around looking for a restaurant, but although many brasseries are open, we find not one that is serving anything but pastries and beer - it is Sunday, after all. Finally, we find a pizzeria that is open, and are happy to be able to sit down and eat.

Happy Hallowe'en to all!
Congratulations to Stacey and Mayeer on their wedding, on Hallowe'en!
And on the same day, Happy Birthday to Alex Browning!

The long history of Mont St-Michel is thought to date back to 708 when Aubert, Bishop of Avranches, built a sanctuary on Mont-Tombe in honour of the Archangel, Michael.

The site soon became a place of pilgrimage and the Benedictines founded an Abbey here in the 10th century. It’s ramparts and fortifications resisted the English assaults 3 times during the 100 Years War, but today they succumb to the thousands of tourists who assault the Mount and storm the many stairs to the Abbey; some trying their feet in the quicksand before the tide comes in.

There is a cloudy and dramatic English Channel sky today as we drive from the hotel the short 20 or so kilometres. Le Mont St-Michel is visible from practically everywhere around le Manche, poking its spire out of the mountain top.


le Mont St-Michel

We park at the lower end of the parking lot and walk to the only entrance that exists on the ramparts. We are greeted with an almost Disneyesque version of “Ye Olde Medieval Towne” complete with restaurants, tacky souvenirs and Japanese tourists. We make our way up to the top of the mount and enter the great gothic cathedral and do the tour, quickly and with purpose, and decide to beat a retreat from the oncoming wave of tourists washing up the mount, almost as if the tide had just come in.


From left: the views from the top; watch out for that quicksand!

We break through the upwash and return to the car, where we continue northwest to St-Malo, our only stop in Brittany. We will stop there for lunch: the restaurants can’t be as tourist oriented as they are in le Mont St-Michel, can they?

80% of the old town of St-Malo was destroyed in WWII, and its major monuments were restored in the 1970s. The rest of the quaint, ramparted town was restored to an 18th century standard and style of French architecture. It is an odd combination to view when you walk through.

We have a very uninspiring lunch of pizza (we are happy for the change from the roasted meats, sauces and frites that the “gastronomie française” is so famous for), with a pichet of white wine, and wander a bit amongst the Saturday shoppers on the main street.


From left: une scène typique de St-Malo; the ramparts

Our uninspiring lunch leads us to an even more uninspiring dinner at the Ibis; we don’t even consider heading across the parking lot to the line-dancing steakhouse. Their friendly staff continue to compliment our French. We have been practising; so much so that we are actually speaking to each other in French. It is really nice to be able to communicate in the language of the country you are travelling in! We wonder how we will do when we return to Belgium in a few days.

N 48
W 001

Tours to Avranches: 237 kilometres

Around the corner from our hotel is the Tours Cathedral, and we visit it this morning before we head of on our drive to Normandie. The cathedral is Gothic in style, flying buttresses and all, except for its 2 towers, which are clearly Renaissance, and appear from a distance to have been highly influenced by the Spanish Renaissance.


From left: 2 views of Tours Cathedral; the Princes’ Tomb

The Cathedral is not particularly inspiring, and would probably not be worth a visit except for 2 things: a spectacular Renaissance tomb, one of the 1st in France, of 2 French princes, and its cloister.


cloître de la Psalette at Tours Cathedral

We finish our tour of the cathedral and the cloister, check out of our hotel and hit the road. It is a beautiful day for a drive, sunny and bright, and we drive happily through the French countryside and into a different agricultural landscape than we are used to. In both the south and the Loire, most of what we have seen is vineyards; as we move north and west, we move into dairy and cattle territory.

We arrive at our destination, Avranches, which we chosen solely for its proximity to Mont St. Michel, and discover that our hotel is actually in the country. A restaurant next door, a kitchen supply store across the way. We drive into town, hoping to find that it is interesting or that at least there is a restaurant that inspires us. There is not. We head home for a nap, and decide to have dinner at the restaurant next door.

Naps finished, we walk over to the restaurant, and find that it is a “steak house”, modelled on somebody’s idea of what the Wild Wild West looked like. (At least the steaks are “steak-frites”, and not “a la steak sauce”.) Inside, we discover that the local line-dancing club has booked most of the restaurant for the night (we get to sit on the enclosed veranda, which, given what was going on inside, was not such a bad thing) and that most of the line-dancers are women of a certain age, tall and bony, big hair, badly-applied makeup, wearing U.S. flag t-shirts or vests with their cowboy boots. We eat our meal as quickly as we can, and escape back to our hotel, glad that at least a handful of people in France appreciate the U.S., despite all the France-bashing that has been going on in the U.S.

Today is our last full day in the Loire, and after 2 intense days of exploring, we have planned a much quieter day, including a morning of doing our laundry. I discover that the shop next door is owned by the same man as the laundromat, and that he is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades: he fixes shoes, makes keys, and also makes car licence plates – something that either was never done by the government in France or has been privatized. Greg has a pair of shoes that need some minor repairs, so I get them and bring them in, and also get him to make us a copy of the licence plate of our car, to bring home as a souvenir. We have avoided acquiring a lot of souvenirs, but we should have something to remind us of our time driving around Europe, and of the close to 20,000 kilometres we will have put on our car by the time we leave in just under 2 weeks.

Laundry clean, lunch eaten, we head out for our afternoon of exploring 2 châteaux, Chaumont and Chenonceau, close to each other and inextricably linked in the same manner as the interlocking C’s (for Catherine) and D’s (for Diana, but made by adding the up and down stroke to the interlocking C’s of Catherine).

We start at Chaumont, where a château has stood since the 10th century. In 1465, Louis XI had it burnt to the ground, to punish the owner, who had rebelled against the power of the king. The château was rebuilt between 1465 and 1510, and was purchased by Catherine de Médicis, widow of Henry II of France, and France’s powerful regent for the young Dauphin, in 1560. Catherine then forced Diane de Poitiers, Henry’s favourite mistress, to exchange Chaumont for Chenonceau, and so many, but not all, of the interlocking C’s of Chaumont were altered to become interlocking D’s.


Le Château de Chaumont


From left: interlocking C’s on the exterior of Chaumont; the Loire from Chaumont

Chaumont was lived in almost continuously until the Depression, and its last owner, the heiress to a French sugar fortune, spent a fortune modernizing it, ultimately to see her fortune disappear in the 1930s, when it was bequeathed to the state.

From Chaumont, it is but a short drive to Chenonceau, possible the most beautiful of all the Châteaux in the Loire, and certainly more liveable than Chambord, which we saw on our first day of touring, and which is Chenonceau’s only rival.


Chenonceau seen from land

Chenonceau, standing in the middle of the river Cher, did not originally cross the entire river. But Diane de Poitiers, who was left the home by Henry II when he died, decided to enlarge it and to connect both sides of the Cher, in order that she could have gardens on 1 side of the river, and a farm by which to earn an income, on the other. After the forced exchange of homes, Catherine de Médicis completed the construction.


Competitive in all things: at left, the gardens of Diane de Poitiers; at right, the gardens of Catherine de Médicis

During WWI, the bridge across the river served as an army hospital. During WWII, the river Cher was the border between occupied France and Vichy France, and the château was apparently a favourite crossing point for those who wanted to move from one to the other.


Chenonceau as it truly is, a bridge across the river Cher; in the photo at left, the original house is on the left and has one arch in the centre


From left: the 60 metre gallery that occupies the bridge portion of Chenonceau; the sphinx, one of a pair that guard the entrance to Chenonceau

After we get home and have our dinner in one of the charming little restaurants that fill the area near our hotel, Greg goes out and takes photos of the area around the hotel, which, in our enthusiasm for discovering the Loire, we have not yet explored. It is a shame, as Tours itself strikes us a very enjoyable city, its history and its students making the streets alive.


From left: Tours Cathedral; the Tours Château

The sun shines brilliantly as we start our second day of châteaux-hopping. We go the opposite direction (downriver) today as we head out of Tours, passing through little village after little village, all alive with life as people take advantage of the beautiful day.

Our first stop today is the beautiful Château de Langeais, which still has a working drawbridge, although the moat itself has disappeared. In this castle Anne of Brittany married Charles VIII in 1491, and thus Brittany became part of France. In its garden are the remnants of a much older castle, built and used as a dungeon, about 1,000 years ago. The Château de Langeais was never put to the test as a château-fort, a good thing because although its town side is imposing, its garden side would have been easy to breach. When stable peace arrived, it was never converted into from a château-fort to a château-plaisir, and was falling into ruin when it was bought over 100 years ago by a wealthy industrialist, who restored it to its original condition and filled it with treasures from the Middle Ages, then donated it to the people of France. It is fascinating to see the furnishing and clothes of the period.


From left: the Château de Langeais from the town, and from the garden; the ruined castle in the garden

We drive across the Loire and to Chinon, home of the wonderful Loire red wine. The smell of crushed grapes perfumes the air, and while most of the harvest is in, we see the occasional harvester at work, finishing the last of it.

The Château de Chinon, another castle that didn’t survive the transformation from wartime to peacetime, is more akin to what we think of when we say castle. Home to the English kings Henry II and Richard Coeur de Lion, it was the place where the young Joan of Arc successfully identified the disguised Dauphin, and so was to change the direction of the 100 Years War and help lead the French to victory, and force the English to relinquish their claims to Normandy and Aquitaine.


The Château de Chinon, where Joan of Arc recognized the future King Charles VII of France

In Chinon the weather turns, and from the brilliant sunlight of this morning, we now have torrential rain. We take refuge, conveniently, in the local brasserie, and have a lovely lunch, accompanied of course by a pichet of Chinon.

From Chinon we drive in the driving rain to l’abbaye royale de Fontevraud, which was once one of the most important monastic complexes in the world. Here, Eleanor of Aquitaine took refuge on numerous occasions. Two of her children were raised here, and she, Henry II and their son Richard Coeur de Lion (without his heart, as we discover later, more on this to come) are buried.


l’abbaye royale de Fontevraud


From left: the tombs of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henry II of England, Richard I of England

The rain has stopped as we drive back up the Loire. At one point, the road is closed for some construction, and our detour takes us inland. We see a tower through the mist, and think it belongs to another chateau, but one which is not marked on our map. As we get closer, we realize that it is, in fact, part of the Loire Valley Nuclear Power Station.

By the time we get to Ussé, inspiration for the story of la belle au bois dormant, or Sleeping Beauty, the sun is peaking out again. Originally a château-fort, it was successfully transformed into a château-plaisir, a process that included removing one of the walls to open the courtyard to the valley and give it spectacular views. It is still privately-owned and inhabited by its family, and the inside can only be viewed by guided tour. This tour is somewhat disappointing; its uninteresting narrative communicated by a rather bored and uninterested guide. Greg does Sleeping Beauty’s tower and is up-and-down rather quickly; miffed by the tacky costumes and wigs on the over-posed and over-wrought mannequins.


Le Chateau d’Ussé, Sleeping Beauty’s Castle

Our last stop of the day takes us to the Azay-le-Rideau. Originally constructed for François I’s Treasurer, who apparently used some of the tax revenues to help pay for construction of the château. Upon discovery, he disappeared and François seized the château, giving it to one of his generals. From then on, it was one of the most beautiful private homes in France until at the end of the 19th century it fell into disrepair, and was taken over by the state and turned into a museum.


From left: the approach to Azay-le-Rideau; front view of Azay-le-Rideau; rear view of Azay-le-Rideau

It is almost 7 p.m. by the time we get home, exhausted but invigorated from our day of exploring a different universe.

It truly is a fall day as we head out into the Loire. Wet leaves blow across the road as we drive north and east towards Blois and into a grey and threatening sky. We anticipate the rain and we are both dressed for cool weather. I love this kind of day and am happy to layer on whatever I have in the suitcase. We have re-packed my big suitcase when we left Spain, filling it with most of our summer clothes. It is Day One of Our Châteaux Hunt.

This area is not only châteaux-filled, but also crammed with the sagas concerning the tumultuous history between England and France as chronicled so well by a certain Wm. Shakespeare in his famous history plays, particularly the Henry series. Our first stop is the city of Blois, where much French and English history was shaped. We stop in the town centre and climb up to the château, but decide that we will not pay the 8 Euro each admission fee to go in. Its main drawing card is a double helix staircase; we know we will see another, better, later on this châteaux tour, at Chambord.


From left: The chateau in Blois, the main entrance, the double helix stairway (all from the front gate)

We do a little walking and sip a quick coffee. We pull the car out of the public parking garage (the company Vinci has the parking-under-a-major-monument business all sewn up in France. Everywhere we go they have developed a system that is simple, safe, convenient and above all, relatively cheap. And there is always a parking space available!), and move onto our next destination.

We continue down the A10 to the domaine at Chambord. The skies continue grey and overcast but that sets a beautiful backdrop for the white, majestic castle that is Chambord. Built in 1519 by the ambitious young King François I, he designed it as a genuine fortress mostly to make a statement about and to establish his power. It is a Renaissance marvel. The white stone used in its design is locally mined tufa and is a beautiful if somewhat fragile building material that appears to have been very popular with the Loire Valley Châteaux Builders Association. Many of the châteaux we will visit are under extensive exterior renovation because of the predominate use of tufa. Here at Chambord, the roof lines are covered with numerous chimneys, turrets and dormer windows and one of the highlights is a Da Vinci-inspired double helix (double return) stairway, slicing thorough the middle of the château from top to bottom. It was a major hunting lodge and was where Molière premiered many of his plays for Louis XIV.


From Left: Just over the bridge and…; Chambord; the roof line of the main entrance

As it seems with all these châteaux, the building process is started by one ego and completed, years later, by another. Chambord was completed in 1685 by Louis XIV, who provided both good and bad modifications to the building. Even though Chambord was primarily a residence, it was actually only inhabited for 20 years over a period of 5 centuries! There are only a very few rooms that are furnished and these are representative of the supposed daily life in the Château, and there is a cold wind blowing through most of it. I would hate to try and stay warm here in February.



The views from the roof

We have lunch on the Château’s grounds in a very small restaurant that is part of a “village” designed to service the tourists. We have soup and a sandwich and some white wine, and feel ready for the next château on our list, Cherverny.

The Château of Cherverny still belongs to the descendents of the Hurault de Vibraye family, who were well known in Blois from the 13th century. They were a family of financiers who had given distinguished service to 5 different kings of France. It is a “smaller” warmer and much more manageable château, and the current family’s photos (in fact, the count, his wife and their two little girls live in the 3rd floor apartments) attest to the family life of this château. Each successive generation has enhanced and maintained the beauty of the Château of Count Henri, guided mostly by their own tastes and those of the period. We spend about an hour in and around the Château and its grounds before starting the drive home.


The lawns and the Château of Cherverny

We wind our way back through quaint towns and backwaters that front onto the Loire and its various tributaries and babbling brooks. The parking gods reward us for a very productive day with a spot right outside our hotel and we trundle up the stairs and kick off our shoes for a nap.

N 47
E 000

Paris via Chartres to Tours: 255 kilometres

The sun finally shines today as we sadly say goodbye to the city that we love so much. We both agree on our fondness for Paris and actually talk about re-routing our trip and staying here. Alas, it is not to be. Paris is comfortable and familiar; we wear her like a much loved warm, intimate and favourite sweater.

We are up early and take our last metro ride to Stalingrad and the Quai de la Seine to pick up our car, and François greets us with a lovely breakfast of croissants, brioche, coffee and some of his mother’s homemade preserves (sorry John J, you had to go to work!). We say our sad goodbyes and take the car back to St. Germain and our favourite garret and lug the bags down those Parisian stairs and are on the road by 11 a.m.

Merci , merci, François and John for your hospitality during a very busy week for both of you. We had fun!

The beautiful drive to the Loire Valley is full of sun-drenched vistas of fall beauty. Occasionally, a chateau pokes its turreted head out of the trees as if to entice us on. At this point we have no idea of the beauty that awaits us further along the valley.

We stop at Chartres and its magnificent cathedral. The city of Chartres sits on a vast agricultural plain, freshly-ploughed and ready for the spring. You can see the two spires of the cathedral, one Gothic and the other Romanesque, rising above the plain from miles away. The odd recognizable maple is turning a familiar orange or red and it is easy to spot the poplars turning yellow and losing their small leaves. I feel somewhat nostalgic for a Canadian fall but it is just enough for me to feel a little homesick and get over it.

We arrive in Chartres just after 1 p.m. and find a typical French restaurant that (obviously) caters to tourists. Americans, Germans, Americans, two Canadians (us) and a spattering of local flavour make our lunch of soupe a l’oignon, salade verte, and le club sandwich full of conversation and gossip.

Fortified, we make our way into the cathedral and stare at the vast gothic space. We quickly decide to buy the guided audio tour and are rewarded with a wealth of wonderful information, particularly about the beautiful stained glass windows, most of which are still the originals from the 12th century. It is said the Cathderal of Chartres is an optical history of Christian chronology: the carvings and the stained glass serve as a testament and teaching narrative of the history of Christian teachings. Our audio guide is full of beautiful and specfic information concerning the life of Christ. I am particularily moved by the history and presence that the stained glass windows bring. At one point I find myself on the verge of tears, not knowing entirely why.


The approach to the Cathderal


The ornate carved front portal


Those ancient and beautiful windows

It is well after 3 p.m. before we make our way out of Chartres and we still have a 2 hour drive to Tours, our next stop. We are driving the RN or Route National today which takes us through quaint towns and back roads. Again, more chateaux coyly hide behind their walls and high hedges and trees. The landscapes and houses are different here: long stone rowhouses facing internal farm courtyards. The towns have thin brick and stone houses, many with tall, steeply pitched roofs. Many houses appear to be build around a dyke, to perhaps protect them from the flooding River Loire.

We pull into Tours just after 5 p.m. and find our hotel for the next four nights. We are staying at a quaint and old “hotel particulier” named the Hotel du Musée, on a small square call Place François Sicard. By now we are used to hauling the baggage up tight, winding staircases and here is no different. We do a little unpacking, John heads to the tourist office and by chance discovers an internet café. We find a local and very busy restaurant and have a late dinner. The two businessmen beside us engage us in a lively discussion (mostly in French) about George W. Bush and are delighted to eventually discover that we are Canadian.

Paris to Fountainbleau: 70 kilometres

Sunday’s are a favourite day for me in Paris. The streets are quiet and calm and no one seems to be in a hurry. Even the church bells are gently pealing on this their busiest day of the work week. It is nice just to laze in bed over coffee and yesterday’s Herald Tribune. But we do have a plan and it is to pick Francois and John up at their apartment and drive the 70 or so kilometers to Foutainbleau (pronounced Foun-tain-blow,as Francois continuously points out to me!) which is south east of the city and spend the afternoon there.

We arrive at John and Francois’ in the early afternoon and John easily navigates the Paris traffic and quickly we are out of the city and into the fields and farmland that surrounds Paris to the south. We arrive in Fountainbleau just as the sun starts its slow fall from the late afternoon sky.

The town of Fountainbleau is renowned for its enormous 1900-room Renaissance chateau which has played host to the who’s who of French royalty since the 12th Century. It is one of France’s largest royal residences and full of period furnishings. Comparing it to Versailles and considering the time of year, we hope for an easy visit.


Welcome to Fountainbleau

We wander in and about the enormous chateau and realize that we are only seeing a small part of the huge site. The courtyards and wings were expanded by Francois I, Henri II and Catherine de Medicis to name a few and it is difficult to discern where exactly modifications were made. There is much more natural wood carving and panelling in Fountainbleau compared to the other chateaux we have seen and it lends itself very well to Fountainbleau’s overall warmth and welcoming.



Inside Foutainbleau

We move outside and have a look at the beautiful gardens in the late afternoon sun. There are a few locals out with strollers and grandparents enjoying the park and we wander amongst them snapping photos and enjoying the vistas.



Les Jardins de Fountainbleau

It is now well after 5 and we decide to stop at a local coffee shop for some hot chocolate and Madeline’s. We walk through the remnants of the Sunday flea market, the last of its buyers and hawkers packing up in the setting sun. The music and laughter from the carousel close by contribute to the overall scene and we sip our chocolate and talk away the hour.


At the end of the day

Traffic is horrible on the way back to Paris and we stop near J & F’s for bistro food of, 3 hamburgers and steak tartare (for François, the true Frenchman!)

We will leave Paris tomorrow and I am sad to do so. Paris is one of my favourite cities and it has been an easy and comfortable fit. Easy to navigate, easy to communicate and especially easy to live in.


Bye bye!

We decide to split today. No, not what you think, but pretty close. John and I continue to work through the travel and personal issues that exist in any relationship no matter where you are, made even more complex by day-to-day living, 7/24/365. Even in the beautiful city of Paris, there are bound to be days of travel fatigue.

I decide to spend some time on my own today and head out early to use my ticket for the Louvre. I shower and head out by 10:45 and grab a Starbucks coffee and head to the Palais Royal/Louvre métro station. The day is a typical Parisian one (or at least the Paris that I have become accustomed to): big white and grey clouds undulating and rolling across ancient vistas; threatening at any moment to open up and rain down. The sun occasionally comes out and brightens the monuments but never long enough for you catch that perfect picture of reflected sun on a beautiful vista.

The Louvre is, well, the Louvre. Built as a fortress in the 13th century and then rebuilt as a palace in the 16th, it is, as we all know, a daunting structure. I figure I will get “the hits” taken care of early and walk into the Denon wing and visit La Jaconde, or as popular culture (and fans of the Da Vinci Code) knows her, the “Mona Lisa”. It frightens me to think that the management of the Louvre have succumbed to popular pressure and are presenting a “Da Vinci Code” tour of the paintings and clues that Mr. Brown has so successfully written about. I brave the Japanese tourists and it take at least 15 minutes for me to elbow my way to the front of the crowd, only to be blinded by the thousands of flash cameras that are supposedly not allowed in the Louvre. I stand my ground for some 10 minutes, trying to absorb La Jaconde’s intriguing smile but eventually not even her tempting smile is enough for the thousands of people here today.

I catch some of the Spanish painting (saw much better offerings in Madrid), tons of Italian paintings, and the 3 Da Vincis that were not so crowded and therefore splendid. The Winged Victory of Samothrace took my breath away as did the Reuben’s Gallery devoted entirely to his mythological portraits of Catherine de Medici for her house at the Luxembourg. The French master David and his Coronation of Napoleon and his other works were also an eyeful. I finish with the Napoleon III apartments as a reminder of what life is really all about. I leave three and a half hours later feeling overwhelmed, exhausted and somewhat unfulfilled. Next time, I guess.

I wind my way back in the late afternoon sun, a welcome relief from all the rain. The sun is short lived however. By the time I finish my shopping for salad and dessert for tonight’s dinner at John and François’, it is raining again. But it is a gentle and insignificant Paris rain.

We are doing le Grand Tour of Museums these days: today, our grand tour continues today with the Monet, Turner, and Whistler exhibit newly-opened at the Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, which was built for the 1900 World ’s Fair, just south of the Rond-Point of the Champs- Élysées. Ten minutes into the exhibition we notice that some of the works have been loaned by the Art Gallery of Ontario and we proudly beam to be Canadian, silently gloating over all the references to the AGO. We later see in the gallery program that this exhibition was originated at the AGO. More pride and more gloating! The exhibition originated in Toronto and is an incredibly interesting example of these three great artists of impressionist painting and how they influenced each other. One would not ordinarily see these particular canvases together, and it is a seamless and geographically-connected exhibition. I have not looked at another landscape in the same way since.

The rain has started again and as we view the last painting, I look out and see the long line of expectant gallery goers, their faces hidden by their black and multicoloured umbrellas, chilly and wet from the Paris rain.

We walk to place de la Concorde and take some very touristy pictures in the breaking sun.



Top from left: from Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe, looking up the Champs- Élysées; the Assemblée Nationale, across the Seine
Bottom from left: the obelisk in Place de la Concorde, with the Tour Eiffel in the background; next time, can we stay at the Crillon?

The wet cobbles take us to the Madeleine and we stick our heads into the church for some moments of solitude. The reflected sun on the wet rue Royale greets us as we amble down the slippery steps of the Madeleine.


From left: the Madeleine; the view down rue Nationale to Place de la Concorde and l’Assemblée Nationale from the Madeleine

Then we make our way along the Grands Boulevards to the Opéra. More tourist shots here.


l’Opéra Garnier

We head for home relatively early today - 4 p.m. - and have a quiet early evening of it. We are planning to meet John, François, and their friend Tom after a concert that they are attending. The arranged time is 11 pm so we nap, grab some local supper and take the métro to the infamous Pigalle, home of the Moulin Rouge and the old red light district of Paris, for 11 o’clock.

Today we dawdle through the Musée d’Orsay. Greg enjoyed it more than I did: the crowds on the top floor, where the impressionists hang, made me crazy; I admit that I was tired after hanging out last night with Bob and Bill on their last evening in Paris. Greg, on the other hand, is an impressionist aficionado, and could have spent another couple of hours just hanging around, if not observing the art, then observing the observers.


From left: the main hall of the Musée d’Orsay; the view of Paris from the museum, with Sacré Coeur in the background; looking at the Louvre through one of the museum’s clocks

I, on the other hand, discover that the museum is “polyvalente”, as the French say (i.e. multidisciplinary), and make my way to the 3rd floor, to the rooms and furniture exhibit, where I was more or less alone and could really enjoy them. I discover that the Gare d’Orsay had a grand hotel built onto one side of it for the 1900 World’s Fair, and some of the rooms have been preserved in their original, over-the-top state. A precursor to Skydome?

Greg and I meet up again on the main floor, and discover the opera spaces, with incredibly wonderful maquettes of the Opéra Garnier and the whole neighbourhood around it as it was in 1914. We spend an extra ½ hour studying them, both of us fascinated by the technology of the theatre, and the detail of the maquettes themselves.

The museum itself is lovely, soaring space if a somewhat complicated one to manoeuvre around. Perhaps those who wish to turn Toronto’s Union Station into a cultural beacon should begin their research at the d’Orsay.

Walking back to our place, we walk along the Seine for a bit, then turn away and walk along the rue des Saints Pères, full of wonderful little art galleries and antique stores. We see a florist’s shop we think should open a branch in Toronto.

Everyone has been commenting on my new scarf and how stylish and popular it is with Parsians. Just luck in the selection, I guess, and of course a strong sense of style. Bob needs and wants one too (a scarf that is, not a sense of style). So we set out today to do some shopping and a small museum called le Musée Jacquemart-André on the famous Boul. Haussmann.

We poke our heads into a few stores and spend some time in Printemps, followed by a quick buzz through C&A. Bob decides on the Printemps scarf and we continue our walk along the boulevard. Lunch is in a typical Parisan business-man place, and we all have salades composés amidst the smoke and the cramped quarters of the restaurant.

La Musée Jacquemart-André is housed in a beautiful hotel particulier on Boul. Haussmann and is about a 15 minute walk from our boisterous lunch. We arrive and walk up the carriageway to the front of the mansion, ingeniously placed away from the street so that there would not be a traffic jam when the Andrés entertained, and enter. As we were in the small palaces in St. Petersburg, we are greeted by opulent splendour and transported back to the house that the Parisian portraitist Nélie Jacquemart, a Catholic aristocrat who was commissioned to paint M. André’s (a Huguenot) portrait made their home and the showcase for their amazing art collection after their very unorthodox courtship and marriage. Throughout the museum we see pieces that they purchased from around the world on the advice (and request) of the Louvre curators, because the acquisition budget at the Louvre at the time was too small to allow it to purchase truly important pieces. It is an easy and lovely museum to walk. The temporary exhibit is a fascinating show, “les Trésoires de Napoleon” and traces many of his and Josephine’s personal belongings, both political and everyday.


From left: Printemps; Eglise St. Augustin, off the Boul. Haussmann; La Musée Jacquemart-André

After 2 hours we go our separate ways, only to meet again in a few hours for dinner. It is Bob and Bill’s last night in Paris and we will head out for dinner later on. But not before getting caught in a power outage at Chatelet station on the Métro. We have had constant praise for the Métro in Paris: you never have to wait more than 2-3 minutes for a train and there hasn’t been any issue with service or trains (except for the long walks at some of the transfer points). It takes us over an hour and a half and six trains to get home and we only have time to change our clothes and head out again for dinner.

Dinner is in a renowned Parisian brasserie that is listed in the Michelin guide and very close to the Place de la République. We have a very French waiter in a suit, some lovely seasonal charcuterie, and a couple of bottles of wine. We wish Bob and Bill bon voyage and head for the last métro across the Seine to the left bank.

We allow ourselves the luxury of a lazy morning, and sit in the apartment, reading the paper and drinking coffee, once we wake up. Our plan today is to visit the Musée d’Orsay, the train station on the rive gauche that was turned into a museum 15 or so years ago, and which holds the nation’s art collection dating from the 1848 revolution onwards.

We decide to walk to the museum, along Boul. St. Germain, past the chic cafés, les Deux Magots, Flore, and Lipp, past the chic designer shops, past the chic furniture shops, past the chic home accessory shops, then past the chic kitchen design shops, the last 3 types eliciting sighs of “if we only had a home”, sung to the tune of the song from The Wizard of Oz.

We turn towards the Seine. The change in atmosphere is dramatic: we walk into an area dominated by 4 and 5 star hotels and the art galleries and restaurants that serve their clientele. We round a corner and there is the museum, but there are also at least 1,000 people in the line waiting to buy tickets. (We realize that coming here on the day the Louvre is closed was not such a good idea). So we head to the advance sales window, and buy tickets for later in the week. The sun has begun to poke through the clouds, and we decide to take advantage of the sun and to spend the rest of the day walking.

We walk a few hundred metres along the Seine, and then cross over to the Tuileries and the Louvre. The Tuileries are full of people enjoying the sun. We walk through the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, the arch at the Louvre end of the Voie Triomphale, the long straight line that heads through the Place de la Concorde, up the Ave. de Champs- Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe and on to la Grande Arche de la Défense.


From left: The Louvre, across the Seine; l’Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel; les Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, across the Seine

From the Tuileries we take the Métro #1 to the far-end of the Champs- Élysées, and walk backwards, towards centre ville. We window-shop, but are not tempted. When we reach the Rond-Point, at Ave. Franklin D. Roosevelt, our feet lead us down the stairs into the Métro and to home, where we dine on pizza and have an early evening.

The weather is so incredibly changeable these days. It is hard to decide whether to make it a museum day or a day to be outside enjoying everything Parisian. We take our chances and our umbrellas today as we plan with Bill and Bob to walk some of Paris’ chic-est shopping streets, and to eventually ending up at Place Vendome.

The metro takes us to Republique (thank goodness for the 7-day Carte Orange, the very cheap weekly pass that allows unlimited use of the amazing Paris Metro and RER system, where the trains run every 2 minutes, all day long) and we have a very quick coffee with Bob and Bill before returning to Chatelet station and our stroll along the rue de Rivoli, through the grounds of the Palais Royale, along rue St. Honore and into Place Vendome. We stop frequently to window shop at the mostly exclusive clothing, jewellery and antique stores along the avenue.


From left: Some museum we saw; Le Palais Royale

We turn right into the Place Vendome and walk its perimeter, lingering again to window shop at Bulgari, Cartier, Mikimoto, and Van Cleef & Arpels. I emphasize “window shop”.


From left: the intrepid map reader; Place Vendome

We stop near the Madeleine for lunch in a busy creperie where we leave our guide book. I don’t realize this until we are several blocks away and so Bob and I scoot back to the restaurant and it is being well looked after by some already well-fed Brits who took over our table after we finished lunch.

Our next plan of attack is Sacre Coeur and we take the metro to Abesse station and walk the short walk to the funicular up the hill and the wonderful views of Paris. The interior of the church is nothing really, and it is extremely young compared to many other churches, mosques and temples we have been in this year. The views today are somewhat overcast, but it is part of the pilgrimage of Paris and the many tourists visiting today attests to its popularity.


Sacre Coeur

Bob and Bill head home for naps; we will meet later for dinner. We meet Francois for a very quick coffee and an even quicker stroll around Le Marais ensue as we are both tired from a full day of walking. We do take time to stop at a beautiful “hotel particulier” that is now part of the National Archives, although we find it hard to believe that there is such a beautiful palace right in the heart of Paris. The sun comes out just in time for these shots. For once the camera is on and ready.


In the Marais

We head for home, put our feet up for half and hour, then Bill and Bob meet us in our neighbourhood. We wander St. Germain and find a warm and inviting Italian restaurant with a very friendly host named Sam who seems to be big fan of John’s. Three bottles of wine later and probably one of the most expensive meals we’ve paid for on this trip, we wander back to our beds and some red wine dreams.

What else do you do in Paris on Sunday but sleep? But the pealing church bells gently rouse us from our bed and we join the locals for omelettes in Le Danton, our bistro on the corner, leisurely enjoying our cafés au lait and the English Sunday papers for a good hour and a half.

The drizzle continues to drizzle, turning to downright rain on occasion. Everyone is wrapped in their fall finest and we feel a little underdressed with what little we have in our followsummer suitcases. But we are warm and dry and that is really all that matters. Ha! If you ever want to feel insecure about what you are wearing, rent a flat in St. Germain! The scarf and fleece I bought in Montpellier have come in very handy but we can’t compete with the furs and leathers and pashminas being displayed in the 6eme Arr., formally known as Luxembourg, popularly known as St. Germain.

We wander our neighbourhood today, getting a sense of where things are and where to pick up our milk and baguettes. We find an internet café by chance and they are happy to let us connect our “portable” to their network. We run into Bob and Bill just outside one of the 4 recently-opened Starbucks in Paris in our arrondissement and we take them on a tour to St. Sulpice and Le Jardin de Luxembourg, which are just behind our flat. The Parisians are enjoying their Sunday in the park, the drizzle has finally stopped, and despite the yellow, falling leaves, the gardens are still beautiful and full of colour. Children are launching their sailboats in the big circular fountain in the middle of the park; older Parisians are sitting in the grey metal chairs provided, watching the world go by. It is just as we remember this place the last time that we were in Paris, when we spent a glorious All Saints’ Day reading in the garden at the Luxembourg.


Le Jardin du Luxembourg

We have dinner plans this evening with John and Francois and we walk Bill and Bob to Odeon station and pick up flowers to take with us.

The early evening turns dark and rainy again; the shimmering red, green and white lights of a Paris twilight reflected in the wet, watery streets. We make our way to John and Francois’ apartment on the Quai de la Seine for a lovely home-cooked meal and great conversation. A friend of John’s, Tom, rounds out the group and we spend a merry evening speaking English, much to Francois’ chagrin.

October 8: St. Fréchoux to Issoire: 265 kilometres
N 45
E 003
Overnight in an Ibis hotel in the middle of nowhere. Beers in the lobby before a mediocre dinner at a French “Ponderosa” style steakhouse restaurant before going back to the Ibis lobby for more beers and the company of a rollicking GB couple Glynn and Marcelle. Bed late/up early.

October 9: Issoire to Paris: 455 kilometres
N 48
E 002

Ahhhh, Paris. Wonderful, glamorous Paris. Hustling and bustling Paris. The Paris that is so far from St. Fréchoux Paris. And why is it that every time we come to this magical city it rains? There is a constant and persistent rain pelting Paris as we arrive in the early afternoon but it is the kind of rain only the wonderful city of Paris can pull off. The romantic “Paris is for lovers” kind of rain that doesn’t even get you wet. You know what I’m talking about.

We have rented a garret right in the heart of Paris: rue de l’Odeon and boulevard St. Germain, near St. Germain des Pres, and what it lacks in some amenities, it makes up in its location and is a fabulous spot from which to explore Paris. We are feeling lucky to be in such a busy and glamorous arrondissement, so close to everything Parisian. We unload the car amongst the very chic shoppers and Saturday strollers and lug our bags to the very top of the building before we drop our car at the apartment of our friends Francois and John. We met them in Croatia and they have graciously offered us their parking spot for our ten days here. They live on the Quai de la Seine near the Gare du Nord and we have a surprisingly easy drive through Paris to get to their apartment.

The car safe and secure, we quickly get caught up with John (Francois is at work) before we head back downtown to our garret to do some organizing before our dinner rendezvous with our Toronto friends Bill and Bob, who are also in Paris at the moment. We weren’t supposed to be in Paris quite yet; we were going to explore Bordeaux, but when we heard they were going to be in Paris right now, we changed our plans to spend some time in Paris with them.


From left: no 4, rue de l’Odeon; the views from our garret

The garret organized, we take the Metro to the Place de la Republique where Bob and Bill are staying. They have a great B&B overlooking the Place and it is very Parisian, a dark, winding, dangerous stairway included. They too are on the very top floor, and we huff and puff our way up the ancient stairwell to the top.

We have our traditional martini(s) before dinner in Bill and Bob’s room and we head out into the Marais for a rollicking Saturday night dinner, with lots of wine, toasts, and stories to welcome us to Paris.

Happy Thanksgiving!
And Happy Birthday to Tom Bouffard and Lina Milone!







Au revoir, St. Fréchoux!
Merci, Monika and Ditmar!
Nous nous souvenons!

We drive north today, the same route that we will drive tomorrow as we start our move to Paris. But we only go 50 or so kilometres, to Millau, at one end of the spectacular Gorges du Tarn, where the Causse Noir and the Causse de Larzac meet, these 2 large plateaux creating a huge gorge between them, hundreds of metres deep. Millau is famous for glove-making, and the village of Roquefort, which has a monopoly on cheeses of that name, is close by. Today, it is the main entry to the Parc Naturel Régional des Grands Causses, and because of the thermals that come off the causses, hang-gliding and parapente are big attractions.


The gorge

Until now, the A75 autoroute has stopped at Millau, and a 2 lane road has gone down one side of the gorge and up the other. But in January 2005, the Viaduc de Millau will open. An engineering masterpiece, it will have the highest piers in the world, and be something just under 3 kilometres in length.


Under the viaduct

The day is grey and misty. We round a corner and there is the gorge. Ahead there is a viewpoint. We stop, and all of a sudden, barely visible in the distance, we can see the almost-completed viaduct. We drive down into the valley, through Millau and along the Tarn until we are under the viaduct. It is incredibly high, and an elegant structure.


Le Viaduc de Millau

My only regret is that we cannot drive across the viaduct. We will have to return to Millau! (This is not, of course, the only reason for coming back to Languedoc Roussillon!!!!!!!)

Our wake-up call rings promptly at 4:30 am and we dress and wash our faces and pack the car for Rosemary’s drive to the airport and her trip home. After our sleepy and teary good-byes, we head back to bed (getting quite lost on the way back - John says that Montpellier is the most confusing city he’s driven in in Europe) at 5:30, and re-awake at 9. The hotel provides a wonderful continental breakfast (at a price) and we indulge in the café aux laits and pastries before heading back to our room to shower and check out.

Thank you, Rose for your friendship and your generosity. We had a lovely time with you and both St. Fréchoux and we miss you!

The day is completely overcast; a flat grey nothingness greets us. Seemingly overnight, the seasons have changed and we are in fall. As we walk into the centre-ville to run some errands, brown, dry leaves are blowing up the street, accumulating at the curbs and in the corners of buildings. While it is cooler than it was last week, I don’t think that it warrants the extra sweater or down vest that some of the locals are wearing, but we buy some cheap fleeces and a scarf for me in anticipation of the next month of coolness as we head north.

We wander a bit, consider finding an VO movie (version originale, in English), but ultimately head home about 3 pm and have a nap, a glass of wine, a light supper, some new books and bed – in that order.

I, know - the glamorous and exiting life of the international traveller.

Although Greg and I have gone through Montpellier many times since our arrival in Languedoc Roussillon, our trips into the centre have been focussed on finding a specific place, and we have not really explored it. Mid-morning, we head over to explore it before we head to our hotel for the night.

We somehow find our way to the heart of the city, many of the streets of which are tunnelled under what is now pedestrian-only zones, and park. When we walk up from the garage, we discover that we are in the middle of the Place de la Comédie, the heart of Montpellier. We stroll through the streets of the centre, a huge area without any cars; there are lots of people about. This is no longer a sleepy provincial town, and we learn that it is the fastest growing city in the fastest growing area of France.


Place de la Comédie

Rose does some shopping for souvenirs to take to family and friends, and we wend our way into the part of town that we did find on our earlier visits, the Place Royale du Peyrou, near the Arc de Triomphe, built in 1692, and France’s oldest botanic garden, founded in 1593 by Henri IV.


From left:L’Arc de Triomphe and Place Royale du Peyrou; Le Palais du Justice; Les Arceaux

After our wandering and exploring, it is late afternoon and we head to our hotel to check in. We discover that Le Jardin des Sens is a beautiful, simple hotel, despite having one of the best restaurants in the world, and we all settle in to indulge ourselves. Rose has a bath, Greg naps, and I spend a wonderful hour studying the menu, reading it cover to cover.


From left: the dining pavilion at Le Jardin des Sens; les jardins

We meet in the lobby at 7:30 for Campari and Perrier before heading across the street for dinner; although the hotel’s restaurant is not open on Mondays, there is a brasserie across the street, a proving ground for chefs, waiters and new dishes, before any are allowed to move across the street to the restaurant proper. The room is beautiful, although we wish it were warm enough to sit outside in the equally beautiful courtyard. By 9:00, the room is full of Gallic flair - we feel like the only people in the room not exhibiting it! And although it is a brasserie, cheap it is not. Despite which, jeans and t-shirts (beautiful jeans and beautiful t-shirts, without question, all beautifully worn) seem to be the preferred clothing of those who can afford to eat here.

Our meals are truly spectacular! Our mains - lamb for Rose, sushi for Greg, and taureau for me - are perfect. If this is the brasserie, we cannot imagine the quality in the restaurant itself. And yet, the service still exhibits that carefree “charm” that we have observed elsewhere.

We retire to our beds as soon as we leave the restaurant; tomorrow will start very early. I dream of living in le jardin des sens.

Our typical Sunday in St. Fréchoux: quiet, sleeping late. Today I make scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. We warm the slightly stale baguette for toast, make another pot of coffee and ease into the day. There is a hazy sun poking through but it doesn’t really show its warmth until after noon.

Our plan is a very simple one and easily executed: we will stop at the small town of Gignac on our way back to St.-Guilhem-le-Désert. Gignac has a lovely church and interesting monuments that we have seen from the highway every time we drive to Montpellier, which have piqued our interest from our first day here. Rose had not arrived when we initially went to St.-Guilhem-le-Désert and it really is a must see in the area.


But before we get to Gignac ... Rose and her new friend

Gignac is typical of the local towns: an old “centre typique” and much newer subdivisions that are full of orange and yellow stucco houses, newly but unobtrusively spread out in her surrounding fields. It seems no different than in North America where farmers, when they reach a certain level of prosperity, buy their nagging wives new houses with all the latest conveniences. And we just drool over the beautiful old stone houses that they have left to the fields, and to the self-seeding trees and bushes that have made their new homes there. We talk about how much work that house would take or how much money a new roof would cost. Beautiful dreamers.

We drive up the small hill in Gignac to Notre Dame de Grace and are greeted by an unusual edifice. A huge old church with a Spanish front to it. It is locked today and seems to be guarded by a local, very grim man (in a tie, of course - it is Sunday!) who isn’t persuaded to crack even a small smile by John’s ultra-friendly “Bonjour!” We walk down the drive to look at the monuments that line it and I quickly realize that these small buildings are all Stations of the Cross, each depicting a different scene from Christ’s tortuous trail to Calvary. We end our trail at station number 6 and enjoy the scenery across the Vallée de l’Hérault.


Notre Dame de Grace


From left: The Stations of the Cross; the view

We navigate through and around the vineyards and arrive in St.-Guilhem-le-Désert by a different route this time, via the Pont du Diable, which crosses the huge gorge that the valley drains into. It is a much different greeting today than the quiet town of last Monday. The town is full of tourists, many with dogs and noisy children. We have learned to keep constant vigil lest you should step in a big pile of steaming dog merde. The French just don’t get it when it comes to their dogs and don’t seem to care about ruining their expensive shoes. We walk, and despite the crowds, are still impressed with the beauty of the town. We see a sign posted that announces the upcoming celebrations of the Town’s 1200th anniversary of its founding by St. Guilhem in 804. There are a series of lectures, including one titled “Who Sold the Abbey’s Cloister?” (to the Cloisters Museum in New York City). Book a room now!


L’abbaye de St.-Guilhem-le-Désert


From left: St.-Guilhem-le-Désert; now these are tourists we like!

I make a very Provençal dinner tonight for Rosemary’s last evening in St. Fréchoux: a small roast of beef surrounded by roasted potatoes, artichokes and onions. We finish our store of wine, do some packing for our overnight in Montpelier tomorrow and say our good-nights.

Saturday is market day in Arles. We pull off the highway and right into a traffic jam caused by the market. Cars are zipping in and out of invisible parking places (called sidewalks), adding to the mayhem. We finally find a place to park on the top level of a multi-story parking garage.

We walk out the back entry and find that we are on the main street of Arles, totally closed to traffic because of the market. Directly across the street is the Roman theatre, we walk around it without entering, having seen a finer example in Orange. We discover a wonderful shop nearby full of Provençal potteries, including these wonderful hens.


From left: the Roman Theatre; Provençal pottery hens

From here we walk in a big circle through the city, past the Arena, and into the church of St. George, the patron saint of les gardiens, the cowboys of the Camargue, where we discover a rehearsal in progress for a recital by a soprano with a lovely voice. We sit in the back of the church and listen for a few minutes before we move on to the reconstruction of Van Gogh’s bedroom (the maison jaune was destroyed during the war), up to the Rhône, past the Thermes de Constantin, the only part of Constantine’s great palace left standing.


From left: the Arena; St. George’s; Van Gogh’s bedroom

We complete our loop, and decide to lunch at a lovely looking hotel, just off the square of the Roman theatre. The restaurant we choose, Le Calendal, serves a delicious buffet at lunch in its beautiful golden yellow sunlit garden courtyard. We enjoy the atmosphere almost as much as the food.


From left: l’Hotel de Ville d’Arles; shutters

Arles is the gateway to the Camargue, the broad delta of the Rhône, and after lunch we head out of town to explore it. As we go back to the car, we discover the market is gone, not a trace left.

The Camargue is a vast wetland, much of it now a national park, which supports a huge array of birdlife, including flocks of flamingos, as well as the famed white horses and black cattle. It has also been, for many centuries, a major source of salt, called fleur du sel, formed when seawater evaporates. Today, fleur du sel is gourmet salt, and is priced accordingly.


One of the famed white horses of the Camargue

Our drive through the Camargue is beautiful; close to Arles we head through yet more vineyards, but the farther away we get the wilder the land gets, until close to Les Stes.-Maries de la Mer, where the Petit Rhône meets the Mediterranean, and where we find - yet another beach resort!

After we walk on the beach for a few moments, we continue on our way, this time to Aigues Mortes (Dead Waters), the royal town established by Louis IX in the 1200s, in order that the French crown could have a Mediterranean port – as most of what is now southern France was not yet part of France at that time. From Aigues Mortes, whose walls still stand complete, Louis launched both the 6th and 7th Crusades, sending 1500 ships to battle in the 6th Crusdade. Today, Aigues Mortes is a long way inland, the delta having expanded seaward, and is connected to the sea only by the Canal du Rhône à Sète.


The walls and lighthouse of Aigues Mortes

We have gone in a big circle, and at Aigues Mortes we are only a few kilometres from Montpellier and home. We head home to our simple supper of cheese and wine, and to bed.

We decide to take today a little easier and do some local driving, hitting some of the neighbouring hamlets and following ancient routes and highways that traverse the windswept hills and valleys called La Route Causses et Vallées de l’Hérault. The Hérault is the major river of this area, and it gives the département its name. The signpost beckons us to “set out on a journey of discovery of the land of the great highways, following the trail of the Chevalier Pons de l’Héra”. This takes us from St. Fréchoux up into the mountains through lovely little towns with incredible vistas. Winding up and down through hairpin turns, we follow the route of the Chevalier whose young, privileged and obviously boring life lead him to steal everything he could get his hands on, mostly from his neighbours (and particularly their livestock). After years of plundering, he announced his miraculous conversion one fateful Christmas Day and sold off all his worldly belongings to repay all those to whom he had caused suffering and hardship for all those years, and committing his life to God. What a guy!

The weather is incredible – warm sunny days, in the high 20s, breaking into coolish evenings, the sun setting just after 8 pm. Today is no different, providing wonderful views from the craggy hilltops.


The village of St. Privat

We wind our way back to Lodève and a very late lunch with a very jolly host. He has a very limited lunch menu today - there is in fact only one item left, a lovely lamb kabob salad with couscous. What he lacks in food choices he certainly makes up with his quirky sense of humour. He also informs us that because we are no longer “in the season” it is hard to keep staff and to offer many food choices. All of this is in French, of course. Still, we are happy to be able to eat outside on a lovely patio on the first day of October.


Bon Appétit!

Our drive brings us back to Clermont l’Hérault and our internet café, where we update the website and finalize some bookings for our two day drive to Paris on Friday and Saturday. Rosemary answers some email, sending notes to her daughter Madeleine at school in Massachusetts, and to husband Charlie and son Foster in Michigan.

We book a very lovely hotel as a treat for Rose’s last night in Montpelier before her 6:40 a.m. flight home on Tuesday. We will be staying at a Relais & Chateaux hotel called Le Jardin des Sens, which has a restaurant as its main drawing card that is rated 3 stars in Michelin’s Le Guide Rouge. Unfortunately for us (but fortunately for our wallets!) the restaurant is closed on Mondays. Perhaps John and I will have to return before we leave, and really blow the budget.

We make a dinner reservation for 8:30 tonight at Le Tournesol, back here in Clermont l’Hérault, and head home for quick naps and a change of clothes before turning around and coming back into town for dinner. Frick and Frack are on duty again, and we watch their antics and laugh at their slapstick service. We have noticed - not only here but in other restaurants in France in which we have eaten - that there is generally a throw-the-plates-on-the-table style of service that, for us, takes away from the ambience and quality of the food that is being presented. The French, however, seem as unfazed by this style of service as they are about everything else.

We seem to be happily stretching our already overstretched eating budget, as we have certainly been eating very well during our time here in the south of France. Rosemary’s company has been a wonderful incentive to enjoy all the pleasures of both Provence and Languedoc Roussillon. Her friendship and company is also very welcome after our months of travelling together. 10 months of twenty-four/seven is, admittedly, starting to wear on us both. We predicted that there might be a time to welcome friends into our trip, and Rosemary this week and David and Kathryn last week have been appreciated companions: we have had familiar and lively discussions and lots of catching up over dinners and glasses of wine in our little chateaux in Calonge and St. Fréchoux.

© 2004 Tobeeco Corp., all rights reserved | design by Artifex Design | powered by b2