Cannes, July 4th

I bruise easily and I’m not talking about feelings although some folks would argue I could do a pretty intense commentary on emotional bruises…. No, the fact is that I’ve always bruised easily and added to that I’m clumsy. Also my bruises are dark and hang around for a long time.

Most people don’t return from traveling with physical and visible reminders of the trip on their bodies, but I can look at my legs and see the vestiges of early assaults on them at the train station in Edinburgh. I’m fairly certain that the large bruise behind my left knee and several on my shins came about in Bath when I inexpertly dragged my duffle onto the train, banging it against my hapless legs while Colin Firth lookalikes politely averted their eyes. There’s a bruise of unknown origin on my left hand but that could’ve happened anywhere. Really.

My focus today, hopefully the last day of this odyssey, is on the bruise that will soon appear above my right eyebrow. This one hails from slipping while attempting to get into the shower at a Holiday Inn Express in Morgan Hill, CA. Why were we in Morgan Hill, which is about 50 miles south of SF and our car? Well, when the plane from Seoul crashed on the runway at SFO, our flight from DC was diverted to LA. (I think I just exceeded the maximum allowable abbreviations in one sentence. Sorry, but I’m tired.) The good news, obviously, is that, unlike the poor folks on the Asiana flight, we are fine if a bit travel weary.

To explain how we ended up in the Silicon Valley means thinking back to the beginning of our journey and requires you, dear reader, to remember that the trip began with major panic about my tickets being issued without my last name and high intensity angst about whether I would be able to board flights. If you recall, one of the airlines suggested I buy new tickets. No and non. Anyway, our friends in Nice called the airlines for us on July 4th to determine my status. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Joe, one of our hosts, will probably go down in Orbitz history as a “memorable” caller. Nevertheless, I left for the airport the next morning fairly confident I would be allowed to leave France. Thank you, Joe.

Checking in at Brussels Airlines at the Nice airport went well. It took awhile to check us in as the nice lady at the desk read and reread the messages from TSA about name additions. I imagine there were instructions to “please let this woman leave France so Joe doesn’t call back.” Once again, thanks, Joe. Prior to boarding Noni and I shopped one last time in France and managed to stuff a few more things into our carry ons. The flight to Brussels was brief and smooth. We landed in plenty of time to enjoy the layover, time to perhaps buy some Belgian chocolates. I assured Noni that there would be chocolate available at our gate; this turned out to be both untrue and irrelevant. We had to go through security and have our passports checked and we noticed that there was just one other passenger in front of us. A man who was moving a lot faster than we were…. About that time, a good 90 minutes before the scheduled take off, we heard an announcement that Brussels Airlines was “closing the gate” on our flight. That didn’t sound good.

The four of us increased to our maximum pace, already regretting the extra weight of the ceramics, bottled waters, and emergency pastries in our bags. Mike was in the lead, no doubt planning to hold the plane for me as I was bringing up the rear, limping from what I couldn’t tell. I was literally the last person on the plane and the longest at the gate as the attendant scrutinized my passport and boarding pass (which did not match), looked at my blameless middle-aged face several times, muttered “strange” and finally let me board. We took off 45 minutes ahead of schedule which I still don’t understand.

Once I was settled in my seat I had a conversation with Mike about what would’ve happened if I had not been allowed to board…. I think I painted a vivid picture of how I would feel to be left in Brussels while he flew off to DC…. My irritation quickly dissipated as I started to experience the unparalleled service of the Brussels Air flight attendants. On the first pass of the beverage cart, I inquired about purchasing wine and was told to put my credit card away–there was no charge. Soon I was sipping a tasty red and feeling much more forgiving. I think this company has the right idea about how to keep people happy on an 8 hour and 20 minute flight across the Atlantic. There were dozens of movies and television shows to watch on our individual screens. I don’t think the flight attendants sat down once during the flight; they served beverages, a snack (sort of like chex mix), beverages, dinner (one of the best chicken curries I’ve ever had), beverages, ice cream, and tea or coffee.

When we landed, I noticed that my difficulty with walking was increasing but I forgot about it once we got into the interminable immigration line followed by finding our bags and going through customs. We said goodbye to Noni and Dale there and they left with their daughter Karen, her husband Greg and the two boys, all of whom had come to take them home. Of course we waited for the shuttle to our hotel for 31 minutes (they come every half hour), but we were happy to reach our room and collapse. Lying on the bed I noticed that my feet appeared a bit swollen. Perhaps I should’ve used the rest room more than once on the long flight. It wasn’t until the next day at LAX, while waiting to be told that there were no more flights so good luck getting home, that I really looked at my feet. I had plenty of opportunity to gaze at my swollen, red, and ham-like feet as we drove our rental car north.

Mike, who is a really good driver and drove us all around France, took the wheel of an uncomfortable, underpowered Mitsubishi sedan and started the trek on I-5. Turns out all the little towns that would presumably have food and lodging are on Hwy 99 and Hwy 101, alternate routes north. Near Lemoore we found a Jack in the Box and ate good old American fast food. Then we drove on, figuring a motel would soon appear on the horizon. Actually we didn’t find anything until we crossed over to 101 and stayed at the aforementioned Holiday Inn Express. Unfortunately, Mike hit the wall about 20 minutes before we found the motel. The first sign of this was when he attempted to downshift an automatic engine (our car in France had been a manual). That got my attention. Previously I had been alternately dozing, moaning about my fatigue, and calling on God to find us a place to sleep. After that I sat up and began talking animatedly about our trip, media bias, partisanship in congress (both US and CA), the tea party, and how nobody appreciates public education.

This morning my feet were still swollen and no doubt contributed to the slip and fall that culminated with me banging my head on the safety bar (irony abounds).

NOTE: Since I’m literally 35 miles from home, this is the last semi-chronological post.  I will add posts and pictures about our last few days in France, my favorite parts of this country.  So…coming soon: Avignon, Gordes, Roussillon, Valbonne, St. Paul de Vence, Nice, and Cannes.

June 30, 2013

Chateau de Chenonceau on the way to Blois, which by the way is pronounced bi-lwah, not blah as Wil from Bayeux told us….

This was hands down our favorite castle on this trip. As beautiful as the castles in Scotland, England, and the rest of France were, this one with its gorgeous gardens and tapestries has been lovingly preserved since Henry II offered it to his mistress Diane de Poitiers in 1547. One of the few chateaus built on a river, the castle has had many lives: it has been the home of a royal mistress followed by his royal wife Catherine de Medici (who kicked out the mistress and immediately redecorated), the home of many queens including Mary, Queen of Scots, the property of a rich family of chocolatiers, a hospital for the wounded during WW I, And an escape path from the occupied Nazi zone to the free zone across the Loire River during WW II. The vast gardens supply flowers for every room in the castle including a chapel that has sanctimonious graffiti scratched into a wall by a crusader. One of the things that made this such a pleasant visit was that the sheer size of the castle and grounds kept the crowds smaller and it was possible to take in the environment at your own pace.

After our side trip to Chenonceau, we drove to Blois and checked into an auberge built in the 1600s with the smallest rooms of our trip so far. This town, also on the Loire River, was charming but for us a stopover on our way to Beaune the next day, we had a great Moroccan dinner, a nice change from French cuisine. Like every meal we’ve had in France, it was accompanied by a basket of cut up baguettes. No matter how many carbs in your meal (e.g., a hamburger and fries) bread will automatically be brought to the table. This made all of us wonder why the French as a nation are so slim. )Later Laurent would solve this mystery when we reached the Riviera.) I’m not exaggerating about sizes as shopping in clothing stores would soon prove when we shopped in Beaune.

July 1, 2013

We left Blois early so that we could enjoy the maximum amount of time in Beaune, which is not pronounced bone-ee, thank you again Wil. It’s pronounced bone with a emphasis on the “n” almost bone-nuh, but not quite. As soon as we arrived at 2:00, so therefore too late for lunch, we headed out to a patisserie for baguettes and pastries and then to the information center. On the way we passed Ma Cuisine, a restaurant which had been favorably reviewed. Although we weren’t able to get reservations there, we were able to get a table outside at 9:00 at Le Fleury. This was our celebration of Noni’s birthday and a fantastic meal it was.

First we roamed around the town and found out that many stores are closed on Monday so we decided to return early the next morning (early in France is 10:00) and continue our fruitless search for shoes that wouldn’t require a second mortgage. We did find out about a cooperative of vintners where we could do wine tasting of several vineyards. Beaune is pretty much all about wine, and the wineries in town required payment for an extensive tour of the cellars before tasting. Having had our own private tour at La Grande Maison, we were happy to skip all that and chat with the nice lady at the cooperative. In the Burgundy region, all red wines are Pinot Noirs and all white wines are Chardonnays. We had a great time tasting the differences in the wines where grapes were grown on a hill with lots of rain or little rain orin heavy clay or limestone soil. Just like Napa, the better the wines, the higher the price. We did get a bottle of Chardonnay, ultimately left in Valbonne as none of us wanted to pack it in our bags or carry it on. The hills and vineyards around Beaune are dotted with tiny towns, just a few ancient buildings and a tasting room; we drove through several on a scenic side trip.

Noni’s birthday dinner at Le Fleury was perfect–the food, the ambiance, the temperature, the interesting people at other tables, and the opportunity to watch passersby. Dale was the most adventurous eater, ordering escargot for an entree, followed by mike at a close second with poached eggs in wine sauce. Noni and I stuck to the aubergine (eggplant) tart. While my companions all ordered Boeuf Bournignon (okay I don’t know how to spell it but it has at least two ‘g’s’ in it, I had a fish dish (exquisite). There will be pictures illustrating the perfection of my choice. Dessert also was amazing. I had a chocolate gateau (cake) filled with hot salted caramel sauce with mango sorbet and various fruit coulis (basically smears of things that tasted great). Have I mentioned that the French seem to have dessert with every meal? Understandable when you live in the land of ultimate pastries.

The next morning Noni and I did our part to support the local economy before grabbing a few baguettes and heading to Villeneuve des Avignon and the lavender fields.

Noni and Dale at Le Fleury

June 28 – 30, 2013

La Grande Maison. My sister had booked this part of our trip months ago and it completely lived up to our hopes (we had learned to let go of expectations…). Micaela and Sue were wonderful hosts, chefs, sommeliers, and local historians. The house itself was built in the late 1600s and owned by the same family who built the chateau in Samur. The son of the family fought in the American Revolution and founded a community in West Virginia that was to have been the place where Marie Antoinette lived in exile. Apparently she tried to escape from Versailles and became lost in the streets and captured before she could escape. A carriage was waiting to take her to the west coast of France to board a ship for America. It’s hard to imagine how that would’ve changed French, and for that matter West Virginia, history.

We arrived fairly late as the trip from Bayeux into the Loire Valley was long and we stayed in Normandy until nearly 3:00 visiting the D-Day sites. From our time in Paris, we had learned to purchase lunch before 2:00 when everything shuts down for a couple of hours. The little cafes have baguettes with a variety of fillings-everything from tuna (thun) to cheese (fromage) to salade (lettuce and tomato) to chicken (poulet). In the areas if food and asking for directions is where my tiny knowledge of French increased (more on that later).

On our arrival we met the four other people staying at La Grande Maison–Allie and Linsey from Sussex, England, and Andrew and Frank from Boston. That night we all enjoyed a fantastic wine pairing dinner of five courses: a sparkling white cocktail with hors d’oeuvres (olive pastry, crudités), an entree if puff pastry with goat cheese and seared cherry tomatoes, a main course of tarragon chicken, fresh vegetables, and new potatoes, a salad and cheese plate that included a pungent bleu cheese to spread on brad and top with local honey (delicious!)’ and dessert of homemade orange and strawberry sorbets. We samples three Samur Blancs, a Cabernet Franc and an exquisite Triple Sec. The only reason I have all this detail is that I saved the placemat with the menu. We really enjoyed the other people staying at the guesthouse and spent time that night and the next two days conversing with them and getting their recommendations.

We should’ve listened to Allie and Linsey who were not enthusiastic about their meal at Le Puys a Vins in the tiny village of Le Puys Notre Dame. Le Puys is some kind of inside French joke about wells. Micaela couldn’t really explain it, maybe because she’s from Britain, maybe because it’s Gallic humor and not that funny… Anyway, What Allie didn’t like was that she and Linsey were the only people in the restaurant that night. Since Micaela highly recommended it, we went to the restaurant for dinner our second night. Very limited menu–only fish, lamb and quail for main courses. I have lots of friends who wouldn’t eat any of those. And we were the only people there besides one other couple. This was a Saturday night. Because French food is so expensive and because portions are small, and in the case of my lamb a tough, inexpensive cut, maybe the restaurant can survive selling a handful of meals each night.

Our first full day in the Loire Valley we shopped at an outdoor market and had a nice lunch in Samur and then drove to 2-3 small villages around the river (I lose track). The Loire is the longest river in France and we crossed it several times as we traveled south. We also went champagne tasting, visited an underground village, saw many churches and a few chateaus (castles) and drove through countless vineyards. Some of that was during our second day–again I lose track…