Four Years in a Map

This map of Europe, a gift from my sister, hung on the wall of our apartment almost from the moment we moved in and very quickly became a living document of our travels.  It was virtually impossible to capture in a photograph and I'm afraid that my husband's visit to Svalbard in the Artic Circle and our family kayaking trip along the south coast of Crete didn't quite get into the frame.  Nor have we had the chance yet to mark the spots we'll visit on our upcoming vacation in Turkey (although Istanbul, the site of one of my husband's business trips, did make the cut.)

Looking at this map brings up memories of natural wonders and man-made treasures, great meals and mishaps in navigation, lovely hotels and quirky apartments, taxi rides gone bad and bracing boat rides, and lots of family time spent together.  The funny thing about travel, though, is the more places you visit, the more places there are to see.  Croatia, Ireland, Morocco, Slovenia, and Russia all beckon.  Berlin and Bologna, San Sebastien and the fjords of Norway, we'll get to you some day. 

Forgive Me But

One quandary for expats lucky enough to snag a Paris assignment is how best to communicate with the folks back home. When things are going great, you're not sure whether you should report on this. Doing so makes you feel like a show off. And if things are going badly, well that's not any easier. So you had a bad day. You're in Paris. And that kind of makes you feel like a spoiled brat.

So having said all that, I hope you'll forgive me for the following. I'm not trying to show off. I'm just trying to revel in the memory of where I had lunch yesterday. To be honest, the food was only average. But the company was great and the setting in the picture postcard village of Saint Jean aux Bois, some 80 kilometers north of Paris, was magical.

Two Days in Burgundy

As I am in the mode of taking advantage of every remaining bit of the time left in France, when the opportunity came up to take a two-day trip to Beaune, center of the wine trade in Burgundy, I jumped at the chance.  It's a region of France that I had not yet explored and frankly one that's pretty low on my kids' list of sightseeing priorities.  But it was a great little get away, allowing me to speak French and drink wine almost continuously for 40 hours straight. (I'm not kidding. When I hit the sack after the first very long day -- which started at Gare de Lyon at 6:30 am -- I counted up the wines we had tasted  and came to the shocking realization that the number was 14.)

But it wasn't all oenological excess.  The group also visited one of the remaining artisanal mustard operations in the area, several chateaux, and took a tour of the Hospices de Beaune, best known today for its annual charity wine auction but once a thriving poor house and hospital.  And we were quite sober when we visited the caves of Bouchard Pere et Fils where some 2 million bottles, none too few dating back to the 19th century, line the walls in dusty stacks.  Spending an hour in the cellars of Anne Parent, who along with her sister, runs a family wine business in Pommard that goes back 12 generations was a special treat.  (You can read about her ancestors' interesting connection with Thomas Jefferson in Paris-based writer Ann Mah's piece in the New York Times travel section.)

I figured I'd be on detox once I got back to Paris but to be honest, that's a hard act to pull off anywhere in France.  And yet, one thing the trip reinforced for me is that while I certainly enjoy a nice glass of wine, it's simply not in me to keep all the jargon straight or spend 80 euros on a bottle.  Pass me a nice bottle in the 7 to 15 euros range and I'll be just fine.  In fact, go ahead and pour me another glass.

The magnificent tiled and half timbered Hospices de Beaune



I don't think there's any chance that these wines from Bouchard Pere et Fils will be served before their time.



The caves at the Domaine Parent.

The recent spate of dry warm weather is making the region's vintners nervous but it sure has been great for the irises, roses, and peonies.

Of Biking and Beaches

Even if it had rained all of last week, I'd still count myself as a lucky person. Happily that was not the case during the trip we had planned awhile back for the kids' spring vacation -- a week of bike riding along France's Atlantic Coast. The fleece and long sleeved shirts never left my duffle; even the windbreaker I was usually wearing as we set out each morning pretty quickly made its way into my saddle bag. Truly it was nothing but blue skies, fields of yellow rapeseed, canals and cows, wide expanses of sandy beach, miles of little travelled country roads and bike paths, the occasional 17th century fort, lots of ice cream for the younger set, and a good honest feeling of being physically tired when my head hit the pillow each night.

Among the several guidebooks to France that are on my shelf, this region gets relatively little play.  But a trip to the American Library yielded a Michelin green guide to Poitou Charentes which answered our questions about local history and lore.  We will remember La Rochelle for its three towers and amazing artisanal ice cream, Île de Ré for its picture postcard towns (although I can well imagine the crowds and traffic jams in July and August), and Rochefort for its funny Pont Transbordeur, a late 19th century cross between suspension bridge and ferry.  Most memorable was the lovely day we spent with a childhood friend and his family on the  Île d'Oleron, including a picnic in the forest, sipping the local aperitif, pineau des Charentes, on the dunes of Les Sables Vignier, and walking among the rocks and sealife in the ecluses they maintain, a centuries old technique for trapping fish at low tide.

My only regret is that my camera gave up the ghost our third day out, apparently a victim of the volcanic dust to which it was exposed a couple of weeks ago. So unfortunately, I have but a few snapshots to share.

When the tide goes out in this region, it goes way out, leaving behind boats resting on their keels and plenty of work for clammers and oystermen.

Île de Ré is cute as a button and well equipped for cyclists.   But I'm glad we were there in April, not during the summer when it becomes the 21st arrondissement.

Gien

Over the weekend, I packed my kids off to camp for a week and my husband is away on business for a few days so it's just me kicking around the house. I love them all but let me tell you. I'm kind of loving it. At least for the moment. I've got 72 hours on my own to do or not as I please, and I'm trying to find the right balance between getting things done and just enjoying myself.

So yesterday, with the company of a wonderful friend whose busy schedule has kept us from spending time together lately, I hit the road for a two hour drive to Gien, the town in the Loire Valley known primarily for its beautiful porcelain. These dishes are gorgeous but they're not cheap, and I've been wanting to check out the deals on seconds at the factory outlet for quite awhile.


Gien produces over 40 patterns so there was a lot to look at, although I quickly ruled out anything that wouldn't marry well with my blue and white Dansk. (A completely new set of china? Out of the question!) And then I just couldn't bring myself to pay 17 euros a piece for the dessert plates I'd been dreaming about. Still I didn't come away empty handed and there were definitely some bargains to be had. All seconds were priced at 35 percent below the regular retail price (and for the most part, the defects were not obvious to my eye) and there were additional markdowns of up to 50 percent on certain lines.

With lunch and a lot of time for girl talk coming and going, it was well worth the trip. If you're in Paris without a car, Point a la Ligne just off Place Victor Hugo in the 16th arrondissement is also offering second choice Gien at 30 percent off throughout this month (albeit with a much smaller selection). Gien also has boutiques at 18 rue de l'Arcade in the 8th and 13 rue Jacob in the 6th but I haven't been by to see whether they're offering any discounts right now.

Gien Earthenware Factory
Open Monday through Saturday (with the exception of holidays)
About 150 kilometers southeast of Paris

It's Nice to Have Friends With Houses in the Country Part 2

A beautiful morning in Brittany, perfect for a hike, especially with a wonderful group of friends. (Click on the picture to get a larger view.)

Languedoc

What makes for a great vacation? There are as many answers as there are fish in the sea. For me, last week's journey to the Languedoc combined many of the elements on my list -- cycling on virtually traffic free byways, delicious food, great weather, happy kids, and no stress. Add to that, the company of my husband who had been gone the 10 days before our departure on an extended business trip in the U.S. Tired as he was, after that trip and a pretty solid month of travel even before he headed across the pond, he got off a plane at Charles de Gaulle at 6:30 Sunday morning and stepped onto a train at Gare de Lyon at 2:00 that afternoon without missing a beat. Everything went seamlessly, a harbinger of a wonderful week ahead.

We started out in Montpellier and over five days, cycled an easy 200 kilometers in a loop that took us north and then back to the start. Part of the journey was on rails-to-trails paths (relatively infrequent in Europe where train travel is still de rigeur) and canal towpaths. So with the exception of a somewhat hairy entrance into the city of Nîmes, we had no cars or trucks to worry about, and just the sounds of chirping birds and sights of vineyards and orchards. It was the right mix of physical activity, relaxation, and sightseeing with highlights being the Roman amphitheater in Nîmes and the walled city of Aigues-Mortes, built by King Louis IX (later named St. Louis)in the 13th century as the jumping off point for his crusades to the Holy Land. And what a pleasure it was to visit before the heat of summer and the onslaught of throngs of tourists. For me, there was the extra thrill of accomplishment of making myself understood in French; not one hotelier, restauranteur, shopkeeper, or local to whom I asked directions broke out in English in response to my questions.

If you're thinking about a biking trip in France (or for that matter other places in Europe), consider using the services of France-Bike. They made the hotel and dinner reservations, provided the bikes and the maps, and carted our luggage from one place to another so all we had to carry was our picnic lunch.


The beginning of the Voie Verte in Sommieres where we stayed in a hotel that used to be the train station.


The Constance Tower in Aigues-Mortes. We could see it from the canal towpath for quite a few kilometers in advance of our arrival.


I always get a big kick out of errors in spelling and translation.

Getting Out of Dodge

They say that all roads lead to Rome. Unfortunately, those roads seem to come at a pretty high price at this season. Thus Rome, theoretically a lovely destination for our kids' Toussaint school break, was not to be. We'll get there eventually (actually I've been there once before) but for this school vacation, we instead stayed in France, spending five days and four nights in the Languedoc and Midi Pyrenees regions. We lucked out with some sensational weather and took it slow, travelling by train and car alongside fields that were both recently harvested and newly planted. The medieval city of Carcassonne was a big hit, especially lit up at night, as was the Toulouse-Lautrec museum in Albi, the artist's home town. We took a long day trip to see the Viaduct de Millau, an incredible feat of engineering spanning the Tarn valley, courtesy of British architect Sir Norman Foster and Gustav Eiffel's construction firm, now known as Eiffage. And we even made a stop to visit the caves of the cheese giant, Société, in Roquefort. At the suggestion of my neighbor, I checked Kate Mosse's Labryinth out of the library just before we left, and enjoyed reading about the region's most challenging era, the Albigensian Crusades of the 13th century, at the same time as we visited many of the places described in the novel. (Reader beware: my husband described Mosse's prose as "overwrought.")

If you're thinking about heading that way, I can heartily recommend La Maison Vielle in Carcassone (where leaning out the window I caught the image above)and Le Phenix in Rabastens (between Toulouse and Albi) as lovely spots to stay.

Road Trip

Yesterday, I spent a lot of hours in the car with a friend who had family business to attend to in Brittany and desperately needed company for the four hour drive each way. Being footloose and fancy free this week with the kids away at camp, I was happy to make the trip, the reward being the time spent with her and a glance at holiday life in the seaside town of Dinard.

It was a grey day with alternately periods of drizzle and dry, but that didn't seem to deter the vacationgoers who seemed to be living by the motto that there's no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate gear. Dinard swells in size over the summer months from 10,000 to 100,000 inhabitants and there's plenty to keep the holiday crowd busy: sailing, windsurfing, swimming, playing on the wide beaches, fishing, crabbing, plus a casino, horseback riding, playgrounds, and, of course, lots of places to get ice cream, coffee, and waffles piled high with whipped cream. A walking path, built for Third Empire era promenaders and now part of the GR (grande randonnée) system that covers France, skirts the coast for miles in either direction. Grand, 19th century mansions perch on rocky cliffs above the beaches with views to nearby St. Malo and perhaps as far as the Channel Islands Jersey and Guernsey.

The changes in the tides in Dinard are dramatic. When the tide is out, there's plenty of space for everyone to do their thing, including boule for the grownups and mucking about for the kids.

Ski Break

After weeks of mostly gray skies, it was an incredible treat to head south last week to the French Pyrenees for the kids' ski break. I made the plans with some trepidation; my last experience downhill skiing was a dreary day almost 30 years ago when I went with some college friends to Hunter Mountain, New York. Experienced skiiers all except me, they left me on the bunny slope where I spent a lonely day, falling down, getting cold and wet, and generally having no fun. My kids wanted to give it a go though, and just the thought of them ending up like me, a pathetic nonskiier in a world full of skiiers, was enough to get me into planning mode.

As it turned out, we really couldn't have done better. We booked 5 nights at Chez Passet, a bed and breakfast outside Lourdes, where our hosts, transplanted Brits Vicky and Andrew, carted us to and from the slopes, recommending the best spots for beginners, plying us with delicious food and drink, and sharing with us the beautiful valley where they live.


The tiny village of Lezignan, west of Lourdes, where we stayed.

The weather was spectacular, sunny skies and warm temperatures even at high altitude. My husband was a patient teacher and the kids enjoyed the triumph of making it down the mountain without a tumble. We never got off the green runs (except for the time when we made a serious wrong turn and there was no way down but on the blue trail) but it was still great fun.

On the last day, our train back to Paris left midafternoon so we took some time to visit the sights of Lourdes, the second most visited spot in France after Paris. This town of 15,000 is host to some 6 million visitors annually, mostly pilgrims seeking solace at the site where a young French girl, Bernadette Soubirous, saw the Virgin Mary 18 times in 1858. Although quite a bit of the town was shuttered with the main onslaught of visitors not expected until Easter, we still managed to take in the cathedral, the grotto, and the vast number of souvenir shops. If you're in the area, it's worth a stop even if you're not a believer.



If you forget to bring your own bottle to draw the healing waters, not to worry. Bottles of varying sizes and forms are available for purchase.


Nothing more need be said.

South by Southwest

You gotta hand it to the French. They really know how to take time off. This week (and some of next week), the French schools are all closed to celebrate Toussaint. You're supposed to go out and spruce up your ancestors' graves on November 1. And judging from the chrysanthemum plants for sale everywhere, some people do take this seriously. But for everyone else, it's just another excuse to get out of town.

Although my kids go to an international school, they get similar breaks so we headed southwest to the regions of Dordogne, Limousin, and Lot. The weather didn't exactly cooperate (it actually snowed on Thursday morning), but we still managed to make the best of it. The Dordogne region is quite beautiful, lots of small farms, manors with turrets in tawny colored stone, and rivers cutting curves into sheer rock cliffs. The regional specialty is foie gras and everyone and their brother seems to be selling it.

We visited the caves of Lascaux to see the famous wall paintings made by cavemen some 35,000 years ago. (Did you know that the name "Cro Magnon" comes from the French village of the same name?) Actually, you have to visit a faux cave because too many visitors were wreaking havoc on the real thing. But I have to say they did an amazing job of recreating the feeling of a cavern and the artist who reproduced the drawings apparently did so using the same techniques as the original artists. I expected a few drawings on the wall; instead you find hundreds of vividly colored animals painted on the walls and ceilings in various poses and the renderings are remarkable.

The other highlight of our trip was a visit to Oradour sur Glane, a small village close to Limoges that was wiped out by the Nazis on a June day in 1944. There was no particular reason to do so but the SS was determined to demonstrate what they would do to anyone helping the resistance. Over 600 residents, about half of them women and children, were rounded up and massacred, and the village torched. After the war, a decision was made not to rebuild and to leave the shell of the town standing as a reminder to future generations. It was a sobering sight.

Val de Loire

It was a bit of shock coming back to Paris last evening after a couple of days in the Loire Valley. Not only did we trade clear skies for gray, but we also left behind well tended fields and gardens for trash strewn streets. I don't know if there was a garbage strike while we were gone or what but things were certainly a mess. The trash trucks came down our street last night at midnight to take care of the overflowing bins and this morning the street sweepers were at work to clean up the rest of it.

But back to our trip. Twenty one years ago, my husband and I took a weeklong bicycling trip in the Loire Valley, making our way east from Angers to Orléans, followed by several days in Paris. It was a wonderful experience. This time around, our plans were more modest but no less satisfying. We rented a car and headed out on Wednesday morning. It's just two and a half hours to Chambord, where we picnicked in the forest where France's Renaissance king, François I, used to hunt. In 1987, we'd ridden by it in the driving rain. This time, the storms clouds gathered but the sun won out.

Over the next few days, we also visited Clos Lucé, the manor house in Amboise, where Leonardo da Vinci spent the last three years of his life, the chateaus at Chenonceaux and Cheverny, and an evening spectacle on the grounds of the chateau at Amboise. The kids liked watching the feeding of the hounds at Cheverny, testing out models of Leonardo's inventions, and the maze and the gardens at Chenonceaux. Top marks went to the dinners we enjoyed at our hotel in Fleuray and the pool there.

A Week in Provence

In case you noticed a break in my blogging pattern, we've been out of town and just returned from eight days in Provence. We left a cool gray Paris, hopped on the TGV (the high-speed train) and emerged to sun and bright blue skies in Marseille. Just what the doctor ordered.

Thanks to our friends in Marseille whom we met in Washington when our first borns were babies, we had an all around great vacation. Although their apartment building, designed by Le Corbusier in 1952, is impressive, they had no room for visitors, instead putting us up at their parents' villa in Cassis, a seaside village just 25 minutes away. What's not to love about an apartment overlooking the Mediterranean with charming hosts anxious for you to sample their Provençal favorites? We drank the white from Cassis and Tavel, the rosé from Avignon; ate pisaladiere, the pizza made with onion confit, anchovies, and olives, as well as lamb and merguez sausage off the grill; and walked through the vineyards and gardens.

I think what really worked was striking the right balance between exploring and simply relaxing. We saw Cezanne's studio and his view of Mt. Sainte Victoire in Aix-en-Provence (not to mention eating some of the best strawberries ever); hiked and picnicked in the Calanques, fantastic chalky cliffs between Cassis and Marseille; and followed Van Gogh's footsteps in Arles. One day we went back in time to the 14th century to see where the popes lived during the time of unrest in Rome and the subsequent schism of the Catholic church, only to be thrust further back to the Greek and Roman eras when we visited the ruins of the town of Glanum. But I also had time to read A Year in Provence and the seventh Harry Potter book.


"Sur le pont d'Avignon" The bridge from the song you probably played on the recorder at some point. Here's one of the things that I love about France. This bridge has been out of commission since something like 1630, unable to withstand the strong currents of the Rhône. I mean, it goes out into the middle of the river and just stops. And yet, it's still standing in there. In the U.S., they would have torn it down after 10 years and put up a Starbucks.


The view of the Mediterranean from our host's villa in Cassis.


Yes, we even tried our hand at a little game of boule.

Mont St. Michel

The kids had some time off from school last week so we headed out to Normandy for a few days. Tops on my list was Mont St. Michel and it met all expectations, arising out of the marshy plain a little bit like Oz. You enter the town through a huge portcullis and then walk up a steep cobblestoned street lined with souvenir shops and places to eat. Apparently, this is not a new development. Mont St. Michel has always been a tourist site, only now the tourists are buying magnets and spoons when those of the 12th century were buying relics. The kids said it reminded them of Diagon Alley, only there weren't any wand shops or joke shops.

The sun didn't shine much during our four day trip. When it does come out, I think the photographers must come out in droves.