Jodie and
I arrived in Paris on the afternoon of May 12th after an all night flight.
We immediately found a room by Gare du Nord (the North Station) and went
out for a light dinner after a brief nap. In the morning we hopped on the
TGV to meet up with the parents of our friend Valerie in Rospordan, just
outside of Quimper in Brittany. After the typical snafu of coordination
compounded with jet lag, a language barrier and unfamiliarity with the
standard machinations of another country we were picked up by Valerie's
mother, Bernadette. Upon arriving at their lovely house we met Valerie's
father, Henri, who immediately popped open a bottle of port for a welcoming
toast. Thus began the cycle of the first week of our trip, every morning
we would wake up in a freezing cold room, I would look out the window and
see Henri leading their two Shetland ponies down the lane to the tiny chapel
across the street to turn them loose in the pasture behind the gray stone
building. The sky was always steely gray, it seemed that the sun was not
even up until almost 11:00. Bernadette thought we would enjoy the American
Bread she put out for us, not until the last morning did we convey that
the fresh baguettes she had every day would have been our first choice.
We had the use of her car so on several of the days we explored Brittany,
visiting such towns as Concarneau, Fouesnant, Pont Aven, Douarnenez and
countless others. In the evenings we would return to amazing feasts, Henri
would introduce a new bottle of wine, armed with the French and English
dictionary he gave us a thorough education of the local wineries. Bernadette's
cooking was phenomenal, each dish was more amazing than the last, the meals
lasted between 2 and 3 hours each night. When we would finally finish the
feast at 11 or so, Jodie and I would exit for a prominir "to walk" and
take in the brilliant night sky. The town of Rospordan was silent at 10:00,
the streetlights were turned off at midnight. Every single person there
stayed home and went to bed. Strangely, the sky stayed light until almost
11:00, I just found out that Brittany is as far north as Brunswick. I should
get out more often.
Right before
we had arrived Henri had gone to Spain to buy two lovely silvery gray horses
(one of which Jodie immediately fell in love with), while we were visiting
he found a buyer for them. We went along when he delivered them to their
new home. He led the horses part of the way around the huge pasture and
then let go. It was thrilling to see them running together and rolling
like dogs on their backs in the grass. Later that same day we visited an
ancient Briton cathedral and drove through the vast forested hills to a
horse show. It was interesting to see the look of the lineage of Bretagne
in everybody's faces. The lush forests had a peculiar pattern to the treetops,
when we drove by I could see that the trees had been planted in a perfect
grid, hill after hill, for miles after miles. At one point in the afternoon
when the sun dropped to a certain angle everything seemed to light up with
a powerful silver sheen, the contrast of the sky and the sun and the clouds
was so pronounced that it looked almost unreal. I had no chance to
paint, however, as it rained on and off every single day that we were there.
Jodie and I
felt a unique weight in our hearts when the week drew to a close. We both
felt as though we now had a second set of parents, the scope of our care
and familiarity with Henri and Bernadette had grown to encompass an addition
to our families that straddled an ocean. The world at once became both
larger and smaller at the same time, and our acquaintance with them had
become precious.
Second Week
Henri dropped
us off at the Budget Car Rental office (or as they pronounce it, "boo-JAY")
in Quimper to start our journey south. After a quick "au revoir" and a
half hour of paperwork, we headed toward the town of Quiberon, on the tip
of a long peninsula that jutted out into the Atlantic. We stopped for a
seafood feast at a little cafe perched on a rock jetty. After lunch we
explored the tidal pools in the vast tumble of granite mountains. I played
with my polarizing filter to take pictures of the giant starfish and jellyfish
in the still water. We found a quiet spot and I passed out flat on my back
on the granite cliffs that dropped down to the pounding surf. Lovely place.
We attempted to stop in the city of Nantes where we spent all of our time
trying to figure out the spiraling pattern of one-way streets, at one point
we actually saw the hotel for which we were searching, the chances of finding
a parking place were about as likely as finding a section of sidewalk not
covered with dog shit and human vomit. From there we started heading inland
and stopped for the night at the town of Saumer (which was featured in
one of our wine-of-the-evening lessons from Henri). We drove around the
little winding streets of the town center and gawked at the myriad of cafes
and the huge cathedral. When we emerged from the tunnel-like maze we saw
our first chateau looming over the city from its perch, lit up like a fairytale
with lights from the ground. We felt as though we had finally arrived in
the France we had expected to find. In the morning we stopped by the cathedral
to hear the pipe organ being played and then walked up to the chateau and
explored the gardens, courtyard and dungeon. We then headed up the Loire
River, taking short detours into the dense little villages in the hills,
and then spent some time (enough time for me to enjoy a cigar) on a scenic
overlook high in the hills above the river valley. We continued upriver
to the city of Tours, where we quickly found a hotel and then went for
a walk.
We stayed in
the city of Tours for two nights (in hindsight it was probably one night
too many). We learned some interesting things about the inner workings
of legal issues when we attempted to pay a parking ticket at the local
precinct. We were informed that parking tickets were to be paid at the
registered bar/cafes that displayed a red "Tabac" sign, showing that they
were registered tobacco dealers, as well as lottery ticket vendors and
the place to pay one's parking violation fines. After paying the fine at
the bar, we then returned to the precinct to deliver the stamped citation.
In the middle of the transaction at the police station, the officer attending
to us was interrupted by a fellow officer, at which point they both ignored
us while engaging in casual conversation despite the fact that there was
a line behind us and they apparently were only shooting the breeze as it
were. The looks of indignant tolerance by the people around us told an
interesting story of their relationship with these supposed vehicles of
authority. Little did I know that this was only a primer for Jodie and
I as to exactly how far this lack of concern for the general public could
go.
Upon leaving
Tours we then visited the Chateaux of Chinenceau and Chambord, two especially
spectacular sites of interest. The spiraling double helix staircase of
Chambord opened into vast chambers that spread in all directions, encompassing
over 400 rooms. One wing of Chinenceau actually straddled a river on a
series of pylons. Just amazing. We spent a night in the port town of La
Rochelle, spent a few hours exploring the city in the morning before heading
further down the coast to Bordeaux. As always, we would spiral into the
center of the city, always following signs for "centre ville", usually
at about the same place we would also find a tourist bureau office. We
obtained a list of hotels and were then educated that we had entered into
the first day of a three day holiday weekend with no banks being open.
After spending the afternoon strolling around some of the winding streets,
we decided to get serious about finding a place to stay. When every hotel
had a sign saying "complet" in the window, we started realizing that our
luck with finding lodging might be wearing out. We decided to go back to
the car and go to other sections of the city to search out other options.
Of course as it got dark it also started raining. Trying to make sense
of the winding one-way streets wore thin as it rained harder and harder.
Then it occurred to us that everywhere we went cars were parked up on sidewalks,
straddling crosswalks, sometimes even up against each other. As we sat
at a red light I watched a car pull up on the middle of a sidewalk, turn
off, and out hopped a care-free gentleman who waltzed off without another
thought. Could I be so brazen? Would I risk another ticket, or worse yet
damage to the car for which I had assumed all liability? I don't think
so. With an utter sense of defeat we then drove on into the dark downpour.
On the upside, the night spent in the rental car put us well ahead of our
daily budget. In the morning we had breakfast in the city of Bayonne and
then immediately found a room in the town of Pau. We slept well the following
night.
In the morning
we then started heading inland into the Pyrenees. We made our way to the
town of Lourdes, the religious mecca where the Virgin Mary was seen and
has since been immortalized in thousands of plastic shampoo dispensers.
From there we made our way to the charming little village of Cauterets,
where we enjoyed lunch with a carafe of wine in front of a breathtaking
spread of snow-capped mountains. We found directions to a hiking trail
on a mountain called Pont de Espagne, just outside of the little village.
As we started ascending the winding hairpin turns into the mountains, Jodie
started having second thoughts about the suggestion to pursue such recreation.
With no way to turn around on the dizzying turns, we continued upward.
As I could not take in the fabulous vista I implored Jodie to indulge herself
in the view. She was only able to stare at the road as though the power
of her vision would aid in the guidance and grip of the wheels. When we
finally reached the end of the road, we set out on foot yet higher and
higher, on trails that wound through cascading waterfalls, across the rushing
torrents on wooden footbridges. The exhilaration was dizzying (or it could
have easily been the altitude). It was like walking on the edge of heaven,
the clouds were enveloping the mountain tops on all sides of us. We eventually
made our way to a placid lake nestled between the mountains before starting
back down. The refreshing return to nature was a great relief for both
of us. The thrill of such spectacular scenery was quite a treat.
We drove into
the evening to the city of Montpellier. Once again we were mired in a cesspool
of humanity. The custom of French men pissing anywhere that proved convenient
was only too apparent as we watched a gentleman peering into our car while
he was still zipping his fly after emerging from between two parked cars.
My attitude for the town plummeted steadily. We were stopped at a checkpoint
for alcohol impaired drivers. I blew up a balloon while altogether too
many officers laughed at us for not finding entertainment in their untimely
and disorderly process. When I did finally find a room in a dilapidated
old hotel that smelled of old men and room deodorizer we were told that
we would not find a place to park. We spent almost an hour proving the
clerk right, at one point I did find an underground garage where all of
the cars had their windows smashed out. Where were the police during all
of this? Oh, that's right. Never mind. Once again we drove off into the
dark night. When all hope was almost lost, we found a roadside hotel, actually
saw a light on (typically the clerk at a hotel goes to bed at 11 and will
not wake up to answer the door for a prospective guest), and found an available
room for a reasonable price. The clerk led us through the reception area,
past a large swimming pool, across an open courtyard with a fountain in
a garden, into another building, past another courtyard, down a flight
of stairs, down a long hallway to a nice clean room. We slept well.
Third Week
We woke up
in a daze. Outside the room I saw palm trees swaying in the breeze, lizards
scampered across the stones in the brilliant tropical sun. We made our
way to the dining hall for petit dejuener, found a pool side table and
were immediately greeted by the cast of Baywatch. Tanned and beautiful
women and men greeted us with smiles, they spoke broken English in their
cute and charming way, their teeth sparkling brightly. Everybody looked
perfect while we felt crusty and pale. There was a huge spread of wonderful
food on a giant buffet table. I was given a second carafe of coffee. Things
felt good.
We then set
off for the city of Nimes. After only 30 minutes we were driving by ancient
Greek and Roman ruins in the center of the city. We were finally able to
get cash from the banks (when they finally opened. All businesses, including
banks, close for no less than a 2 to 2 and 1/2 hour lunch break. This was
an obstacle for us on more than a few occasions). I enjoyed a great wedge
of flan in celebration of having cash in our pockets for the first time
in 4 days. We explored the little city into the afternoon before deciding
to go to nearby Arles. Arles is where Vincent Van Gogh spent his last year
painting before his committal to the asylum. Arles is also known for its
extensive ancient Roman structures including 2 different coliseums. Seeking
a quiet place to stay we drove a few minutes up the road to the little
town of Raphael. The road was lined and overshadowed by perfectly spaced
trees, the fields had been freshly cut, the setting sun had everything
glowing like gold. We stumbled upon a "rural country lodging" known
as a gite, where you would rent a room above a family's private residence.
After driving down a long overgrown lane we came upon an electronic gate.
I pushed the buzzer and with a click the gate swung slowly open. We then
drove down a long driveway and finally out of the trees to a perfectly
manicured little garden surrounding a swimming pool. The woman that greeted
us spoke no English. She showed us a lovely little room overlooking the
pool, the reasonable price included breakfast, I planned to paint in the
nearby field the next day. We told her we would be going back to Arles
for a bottle of wine. When we got back to the busy little city I surprised
Jodie by driving across the sidewalk and parking just like a true French
person. She was impressed. We decided to stop for coffee and crepes at
a little cafe in front of the giant coliseum which was lit up like a prop
for a movie. The flaming evening sky provided a lovely backdrop to the
charming little town. Once again, we slept well.
In the morning
I met a German fellow who was staying in another part of the property with
his wife. It turns out that he was a funeral director and mortician, a
fact not evident in his warm and jovial demeanor, gold chain and earring.
Supposedly Germany had only started doing embalming in the past 3 or 4
years, he is one of the first morticians to employ the process. It makes
one wonder "what the hell did they do before that?" He suggested we go
to the nearby beach and see the gypsies that gather there. I spent the
afternoon discovering the joy of landscape painting for the very first
time in my life in the sunny field adjacent to the property. What a blast,
using my new French easel, discovering a whole new range of brightness
and color while I enjoyed a fine cigar, an Arturo Fuente Opus X. Ah yes,
very nice. Driving up the long lane I saw the German fellow with his wife
and our host with her daughter returning from town, they all waved happily
at me as I waved back. There was a simplicity and happiness there that
had never presented itself to me here in the States. Jodie and I did make
our way to Carmague, the delta of the Rhone River after having lunch in
Arles, we walked along the beach and then back into the marshes to see
the pink flamingoes and the "toros" being herded across the sprawling tundra
a great distance away. We stopped at a grocery store on the way back to
the room (we decided that morning to stay another night) and filled a bag
with groceries for a fraction of what the same food would cost here. Upon
returning we found that the shower was not draining, so I found our host
entertaining the other couple and was able to convey my need for a plunger
with the help of Michael, the German mortician. When the daughter's boyfriend
was recruited for the job, I told them "Je suis un bricoleur (I am a handyman)"
at which point the boyfriend solemnly passed the baton of duty to me. Amid
their great protest and apology I scampered off to quickly remedy the situation.
Upon returning the plunger they gushed with gratitude and invited us to
come down for coffee. I begged off as Jodie and I were preparing for dinner,
but after a half hour we heard "helloooooooo" come wafting up from the
patio below. An entourage of Michael and our host presented us a tray with
a carafe of coffee, two glass cups, milk, sugar and a plate of butter cookies
in appreciation of my handiwork. What a treat, both for the belly and the
heart. The next day I painted again for a few hours. We then quickly cleaned
up, packed and set off for Marseilles to drop off the car and prepare for
the final leg of our journey back to Paris.
Surprisingly,
we had no problem finding a room in Marseilles overlooking the Mediterranean
Sea. We found the drop-off point for the car in the worst section of the
city several minutes after they had closed for the day. Rather than face
the ridiculous traffic the following morning (assuming we could even find
the place again) we decided to drop off the car at the airport instead.
We took a bus back into town, got cleaned up and then found our way to
a nice little restaurant where we decided to try the bouillabaisse for
which Marseilles is supposedly known. It was good, not spectacular, but
good. In the morning, we left our bags at the hotel while we scaled the
precipitous accent to the the Basilica de Notre Dame which is perched on
the highest point of the city providing a panoramic view of many miles
of coastline. After a long, long descent we grabbed our bags and walked
for what seemed like hours to the metro stop. I have to admit we were a
bit spoiled having a car to transport everything up to that point. The
suitcase containing the easel was a considerable amount of weight, coupled
with my main backpack and the small pack containing a heavy old Nikon F2
made me feel like quite the pack animal. At the train station we bought
tickets for the next TGV to Paris, and having 2 hours until the train we
decided to store our bags and get some lunch.
As we walked
away from the baggage check area is where the trip turned horribly bad.
I was adjusting the strap on my small pack containing the camera when I
was forcefully grabbed from behind, someone's arms pinning my arms to my
sides while crushing the air out of my chest. I was swung down to the floor,
dimly aware that there was a gun aimed at the side of my head by another
person while they both barked commands at me in French. All I knew to say
was "I don't understand" as it was obvious that something very serious
was about to happen. I was held to the floor and handcuffed, I saw Jodie
standing in front of me horror stricken, the color draining from her face.
I was hoisted up and led to the police office in the train station while
I tried to reassure Jodie that things would be fine. The profound helplessness
and confusion was thickly enveloping us. Next thing I knew I was up against
a wall facing several green uniforms with machine guns, trying to crack
jokes to Jodie to break the stress of the situation. They quickly realized
I didn't speak French and therefore could not be the person they were looking
for. Supposedly the man with a shaved head and supposedly armed and dangerous
was last seen in Marseilles with a blonde woman with a black clip in her
hair (just like Jodie). What are the odds? They were convinced I was the
person, and the pack I was adjusting (which they kicked away and broke
my polarizing filter) contained the weapon. Obviously the French method
of containing a potentially volatile situation is through swift and brute
force applied by officers that look like linebackers carrying machine guns.
The only officer that could almost speak English only said, "It is a mistake,
OK?" I still had the handcuffs hanging from one wrist when I asked him
if he really thought it was OK. It was obvious that there was no remorse
for the assault, and Jodie and I did not feel at all safe surrounded by
such potentially loose triggers. My hands were shaking as I stuffed my
passport back into my pack, we then walked out of the office in front of
the stunned people in the station who had just witnessed me getting tackled
at gunpoint only minutes earlier.
We did have
lunch, hopped on the TGV and made it without further event to Paris, although
I went through various reactions to the trauma, from dizziness to shock
to not being able to breathe to a kaleidoscope of confusion and pain that
two weeks later is still worse than anything I've ever felt. It seems I
have several dislocated ribs, the only thing more painful than getting
out of bed in the morning is laying down in bed the night before. But hoo
boy, what a story.
Upon arriving
in Paris I learned the true meaning of hell as I then had to carry all
of my luggage with a crushed chest while looking for a room, but luckily
we found a nice hotel in the middle of what seemed to be the peepshow district.
We were surrounded by many fine restaurants, we immediately settled into
a little sidewalk cafe with a very pleasant waiter where we enjoyed an
excellent feast. After this, we took a short stroll and realized that the
roar of voices in the distance was a crowd of rollerbladers that numbered
easily in the thousands. It was 10 or 15 minutes straight of this vast
crowd skating by, police on rollerblades brought up the rear and directed
traffic when following this crowd was another huge mass of people, this
time on bicycles. All of this was at around midnight. What an amazing town.
In the morning
we set out to walk from one end of Paris to the other, stopping at cathedrals,
shops, cafe's, we went to the Rodin museum, and then a Monet exhibit at
the Louvres, took a nap on the lawn under the Eiffel Tower, ate more, drank
more, walked and walked, stopped back at the hotel room to lie down for
a minute, and then set out for another walk and then dinner. I enjoyed
a Cuban Montecristo with some fine Belgium beer at a little back alley
bar where we saw the actor Tim Roth. The next morning we had breakfast
while a solid wall of rain crushed down on the city. The sun immediately
came out when we left the hotel. Now I know why they don't have any dog
waste control, they built the entire city where the sky can blast the streets
with water every few days. How ingenious. I busily burned up the rest of
my film while we walked and explored and ate and drank and walked and ate
and drank and then had dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant. A full
moon hung low in the sky over the Seine River, we sat on the wall down
under the street by the water on our last night in France.
It was so nice
to be there with Jodie. Time stood still, so many miles from home.