Saturday, March 4, 2002: Paris

Mechanical delays and fitful sleep on the plane— my first trans-Atlantic that I didn't just pop right back up from. Must be getting old. I was so tired I fell asleep on the bus into Paris.

I did see the Seine and Notre Dame out the bus window. At the hotel, we took a three-hour nap, before going out on the prowl for dinner. The air was spring-mild-- chilly but not cold, and a little bit soft, even in the city, and the sky was a dark, bruised blue as dusk came down.

We walked almost all the way down to Les Invalides, past intriguingly closed off courtyards of apartment buildings and at least one mansion. It took us several trips up and down the Blvd. du Montparnasse before we found a restaurant that was open. The Étoile de Kashmir it was, where the kindly Pakistani proprieters fed us Poulet Tikka Masala, Cheese Nan and Butter Chicken, and spoke good English. The house wine was amazing, cold and sweet and pink, and tasted the way wine should taste but rarely does; it was served as aperatif, and with ice. Unusual.

Back to the hotel after stuffing ourselves silly-- Carol slept, dutifully. I could not avoid the jetlag, however, and read half of a book. Up at 8, we prepared for a real day in Paris, having wasted the first one with grogginess, crankiness and general jet-malaise.

After morning showers and such (in the tiniest bathroom-- so small you couldn't get into the shower without shutting the bathroom door), we left our key at the front desk and headed out. Early Métro navigation was difficult, but got progressively easier as I got used to the maps. We took the line up to the Cité stop, contrary to the advice of a jeune américaine who noticed us debating the map in the Métro station. We walked in the wrong direction once we got to the isle, and headed towards the Palais de Justice, until we got turned around with the aid of passersby and "found" Notre Dame. (Do not seem to have the past-life map of Paris in my head, like Mom.)

At Notre Dame, I was much taken with the statue of Charlemagne out front; he and his men looked otherworldly and dangerous. The cathedral itself was much more impressive inside than out, I thought (though it improved upon a second look-- many more carvings and intricacies on the exterior than the cathedrals I've seen in England).

Inside was dim; the chandeliers were unlit, and the day was mostly cloudy. A few stray beams of light flickered across the heights, momentarily lessening the shadows. The stone inside was dark, almost dirty, conveying a great sense of age. It was all intensely familiar to me, and I wandered along, adoring the alcoves and the glowing windows, touching columns and just feeling the whole place.

After this, we toured the "archaeological ruins" (Crypte Archéologique) beneath the cathedral, and then went on to a café to pay outrageous prices for water (€4.50 for a tiny bottle!), crèpes and hot chocolate. We vowed to be more frugal in the future, especially because the food wasn't all that great in spite of the price. Location is all.

We walked to the other end of the Île de la Cité in order to book a room at the Henri IV hotel, but they were booked through June! And all that work to find it, too (back and forth across Pont Neuf ("paradoxically, the New Bridge is the oldest place in Paris," proclaims this link), trying to locate the little courtyard it lived in). Thwarted, we took the Métro off to the Eiffel Tower, which was super-impressive, much bigger than I had imagined, and also a pleasant chocolate brown color. I had thought it was black. I could see why it offended the French when it was first built, but also why they grew to love it.

We crossed the Seine for the 80th time, toward the Palais du Chaillot, to get a distance view of the Tower. Then, the purchasing of kitsch-- little tower souveniers, which some merchants kept on large key-chain-like devices, which I found interesting.

We had a hard time finding the Métro station from that point, being intimidated by the signs pointing to the RER station (though it's all the same thing within the city zone, I guess). In search of just plain ol' Métro, we went up and over the Seine once more, and across a street named for Kennedy, and up some outdoor escalators, in a maze so confusing it seemed like I was reading The Satyricon. Never underestimate the surreality of going up an escalator, outdoors, with plants growing on either side of you and birds flying overhead.

Once off our Métro stop at Duroc, we stopped in a little shop to buy water and yoghurts (2 liters of water, actually, and 4 yoghurts) for less than the price of 1 water at the café near Notre Dame. Lesson learned. In addition to that, we found pastries, and for another €5.13 we had a princely number of apple, apricot and raspberry pastries of varying degrees of beauty. All told, that's today's lunch, tonight's dessert and tomorrow's breakfast for the price of our food tab this morning. Aunt Carol pronounces the gouging we experienced "disgusting!" and then coughs because she is getting sick. She has downed the minimal amount of echinacea we brought.

We read and napped again this afternoon (bad habit!), and now, dinner, and another attempt at an early bedtime.

Monday, May 6, 2002: Avignon

Paris was mostly a waste. I know this because I'm so sublimely happy to be in the country again, in sweet little Avignon.

To recap the rest of Paris: dinner at Étoile de Kashmir again on Saturday (when you are accessing the absolute best food of your life, it's very hard to break away). Butter Chicken again, and Aunt Carol had a vegetarian thali. She was also getting really sick by then, and we decided on an early bedtime, which I again broke, by reading Summers at Castle Auburn by Sharon Shinn, which turned out to be a really good vacation book, and I'm sad I'll be abandoning it in France (though at least Aunt Carol is reading it now).

At 10:30 or so, I put out the light and tried to sleep. But: the room (which was very, very small, by the by) was stuffy when closed up, and far too loud from street noises when we opened the window. Our 2 single beds were crammed together, so Carol's every cough and sniffle (which she could not suppress) was right in my ear. We were awakened I think at about 11 by a strange noise-- and when I went to the window to look, dozens and dozens of rollerbladers were skating by... it was utterly surreal, and I'm uncertain as to if it even happened that night or the next.

Aunt Carol was clearly miserable, and sleep was elusive for us both. At 9 the next morning, I turned off my alarm in protest, groggy from less than 4 hours of non-consecutive sleep. And Aunt Carol was far worse off than I, with the cold to boot. We were both in need of sleep and rest, and I demanded we stay in bed for a while. Which we did. We both slept unitil noon, at which point, Carol sat up on her sickbed and demanded that we go to the Louvre. And so we did.

My Métro navigatory skills were very good by then, so the Louvre was easily found. It's free on the first Sunday of the month, and the line was incredibly long. Without compunction, Carol cut it, and we were inside the museum in less than ten minutes. She was feeling so sick by then that she chose to sit through most of the tour (she'd find a bench, I'd do the circuit of a room, and come back and pick her up).

I loved the Roman and Greek sculpture, and having just finished Cindy Sower's class on "The Art of Rome," everything was more exciting and wondrous than it would have been otherwise. I saw the Nike of Samothrace, and she was all that I dreamed of and more. The Venus de Milo was naturally less exciting, being so over-exposed, but there were some other beautiful statues near her. One enormous Mnemosyne or Melpimone (I think?)-- anyway, a muse of some sort holding a mask-- was so grand and impressive, with massive thighs and legs and a very stern expression that made me really finally respect and understand the power of the cult statue in ancient Rome. She quite took my breath away. Near her, just one statue over, was a little wood nymph type creature, 3/4 life-size, so delicate and gracile next to the mammoth majesty of the Muse. Taken altogether, it impressed me greatly.

And then, further along, an Athena posed just like the Augustus of Prima Porta, with perfect Roman deportment. And another Athena after that, hand on hip, posture casual, another hand out, in the pose of an angry housewife-gesture that seemed wrong for a goddess of Athena's calibur. Perhaps the statue has been misidentified. Perhaps we don't know the whole story on Athena.

I only wished I could have seen the statues painted, gilded and bejeweled as they actually had been by the Romans.

I had some fascination also for the Louvre itself-- we toured the medieval parts, as well as the other. I could imagine ancient kings walking about-- and some not-so-ancient ones, too. The place rather reeked of Napoleon, somehow.

Aunt Carol was tired shortly, and I honestly saw so much in just a few hours that I was more than satisfied to call it a day. We went to dinner at Étoile de Kashmir again (total addicts). Carol was unable to finish dinner because she felt so lousy, but we chatted for a while with the proprieter, about France, the French and their language, Pakistan and college degrees (where are you from? -Michigan -there is a famous university there -yes, I just graduated from there -really! it feels quite good to graduate from a top university, doesn't it? -sure!). Turns out he was attending the Sorbonne.

Then we settled in for the second night of hell-- it as a tossing and turning marathon. I should have just sat up and finished my book (Byatt's Possession now, which I have enjoyed, but it is not a vacation book). We didn't fall asleep until around 3AM, but we were up by 8:30 and not all that tired, so maybe we finally got enough sleep somehwere in there.

Oh!-- I forgot to say that Aunt Carol had an encounter with pickpockets on the Métro on the second day-- two pre-teen ghouls followed us onto a Métro car and "accidentally" blocked her path, one in front and one behind, while their hands roamed all over her. I was stunned, couldn't tell what was going on for a moment. Fortunately, she had so many layers on, they couldn't even get a used Kleenex from her outer pocket.

Up and out of Paris the next morning. There was some rigamarole at the train station, but we got a ticket reservation thingie for the TGV and were on the 11.20 for Avignon. A wealthy American couple sat across from us and we chatted about the woman's heart attack and her "dream home" on the beach in San Diego, that they were over here furnishing. Nice...

The countryside was awesome-- fields of canola (rapeseed); the Saône, the Rhône; Lyons, white cows; animals that may have been fluffy pigs or very fat sheep; chateaux; the Massif Centrale looming in the west. Then, just before we all died from being in a smoking car, we tumbled happily out in Avignon. The extremely unromantic gare TGV was put behind us for a mere €1 to a shuttle driver, and we stopped out of the bus into a different and wonderful world.

Avignon reminds me a lot of York. Perhaps it is the combination of Roman and Medieval sensibilities, the town wall that surrounds them both? There is, naturally, a greater French-ness to the whole thing here, but all the same, the wall and the twisty, cobbled streets strike me the same. Perhaps I need to visit more small ciites in Europe, to find that they are all like this. But I don't know. Maybe it's the early brushes with poer-- Constantine, the great Christian emperor was raised to the purple in York; Avignon was the home to the Popes during the Great Schism.

We found our hotel; then we found the tourist office, a museum, the grocery story (olives! cheese! chocolate!), a bakery (baguettes! pain au chocolat!), and a very cool chocolate shop wher we got little candies that look just like olives, combining two Provençal themes (chocolate and olives). We came back, ate our treasures, and washed undies in our spacious bathroom-- and retired early.

Tuesday, May 7, 2002: Avignon

I have not done Avignon justice yet.

The main drag into the old part of town, up from the non-TGV gare is an avenue of pollarded trees fronting a park, some old churches that have been turned into other things (notably, tourist office and a museum) and then the usual collection of shops, ranging from chains like Sephora to unique-to-Avignon stores. This avenue leads up to the Place of Clocks, and a right turn there on the proper narrow and twisty street will lead you to a place fronted by four or five cafés; another right turn, but only the right right turn, leads you towards our hotel.

Fortunately, it all makes sense; we are whizzes at navigating this town.

I slept all right, though I'm afraid I'm getting Aunt Carol's cold. Woke around 7:30, showered, dressed and headed out to the Pont de St. Benezet: the Pont d'Avignon, like in all the songs. It was more exciting viewed from afar than from atop it, but nevertheless, interesting. Also interesting is the fact that it hasn't been a real bridge in centuries; flood damage tore it in half, and after this happened a coupla times, les citoyens d'Avignon gave up the repairs.

We climbed up the Dog Tower into some fabulous gardens and looked down on the river with some delight, and looked toward the mountains, too, wondering if we could spy an Alp or not. We could also see "the old village" pretty well from here. After this jaunt, the Palace of Popes was open, which we went to see. This was the palace that the popes lived in during the Great Schism. It was immense, but unfurnished, and thus lost its opportunity to inspire awe. But the view from on high was unreal. The top of the palace was also the only place you could take pictures. We stood up there a long time, feeling the wind rushing up at us.

After this, lunch outdoors at a saladerie-- quite good. Except for the raw egg plopped like a giant eyeball on Aunt Carol's galette. Hm. And the Americans who sat next to us, while friendly, were obesessed with "doing the correct thing," and as such, failed over and over again in doing it. He mispronounced everything (not that my pronunciation has gotten any better being here), and tried to tip the waiter.

Afterwards, we shopped: perfumes, more water, chocolates, pastries. Afterwards we stopped in at the tourist office, had a difficult time with the internet, bought bus tix to the Pond du Gard... the guidebook never mentioned that you could go see the Pont du Gard from Avignon; they only mention Nîmes, but both cities are about equidistant from the Pont, and it was through this logic that I even thought to ask. We also stopped in a phone booth and made a reservation for Arles; there was a bit of a tussle, and I was on the phone for a while.

I'm leaving a lot out... but I feel cruddy.

Wednesday, May 8, 2002: Avignon

V. sick today. Slept late (until about 9)- showered, etc- then went looking for food. The grocery was open (good); one patisserie/boulangerie was open too (better)-- but the rest of the world (a lot of Avignon, anyway) is closed for V-E Day. V-E Day! And tomorrow is closed for the Ascension; it's a big ol' long weekend here in France, and there was no hint of it until church bells started going off like mad in town. And the signs on the front of various restaurants: closed May 8th & 9th.

We bought food and wanter (but not enough for 2 whole days, though), and had unimpressive food at the only restaurant we could find open, called Croq-o-pain-- a hideous play on words, and with a little crocodile on the sign. Tired. Rest now.

Oh-- did start and finish Elizabeth Peters' The Love Talker. Much like early, non-Arthurian Mary Stewart.

Thursday, May 9, 2002: Avignon

Yesterday, we only went out to the store and to Croq-o-pain. It rained, we were sick, and with V-E Day, nothing was open. Bells tolled madly all day long, every hour on the hour.

We lay in bed, snuffling through several packs of tissue (all we brought with us, plus some new travel packs we bought at the store), reading and savoring lemon-flavored Ricolas. Blah. Terrible time to be sick. But good time to hit a holiday, I suppose. I finished the first 2 books (yes, 2) in the Ann Marston Sword in Exile trilogy.

Last night was somewhat fitful for me, but I must have slept. We got up to breakfast in the hotel, as we were uncertain about café availability today even more than yesterday-- today is a religious holiday, after all. (As it turns out, more places are open than yesterday, but most everything is still closed).

We headed up to the Gare SNCF and took a bus to the Pont du Gard and wandered around in teh fresh air, admiring Rome's offerings to the world... not that Rome or any Roman would have admitted/believed that any of their works, artistic or practical, were for anyone other than Rome itself.

The fresh air was divine -- forest walks, green moss-- made it seem very 18th c. to be admiring Roman ruins. We made friends with an American and a Canadian for the duration. Back in Avignon, we ate and walked around for the afternoon; as rainy as the night had been and as dismal as the morning had looked, the day was warm, bright and dry.

It's 4:30.

Friday, May 10, 2002: Arles

We at last night like real people! Went to a Vietnamese/Chinese restaurante, one of the few open on the "bank holiday." We also, for the first time, ordered a menue meal, which came with embarrassing numbers of spring rolls (5 each, though they were small). If only we'd known, we'd have gotten something different from each other. The spring rolls (nems) were to be wrapped in leaves of lettuce, like Korean barbecue back home, which we did not figure out until halfway through our meal. The main courses were very good. I had poulet gingembre and Carol had some sort of beef dish with hard crunchy noodles.

We walked all around Place l'Horloges for a while, enjoying the remnants of what had been a beautiful, sunny day.

In the morning, we got up, had breakfast and packed. Check out was interesting-- I noticed we had not been charged for any of our breakfasts, and told the gentleman at the desk. It became a sad exchange of broken French and even more broken English, but he was very pleased withour honesty (though not pleased enough to comp us those breakfasts), and effusively invited us to come again-- "if ever in Avignon again, come, come!" I felt we'd done Americans some good.

The train was a debacle. I cannot read a schedule, apparently (I've had this problem with English bus schedules before). Also, the train we wanted to book fro sunday was "complet." I'm getting really tired of that word. Three hotels in a row in Arles were complet when we called. It's all because of these stupid holidays that we didn't know were coming. Anyway, I sort of learned how to read a schedule, and we got on the train for Arles. A mere 20 minute ride took us to this new town.

Things are much like Avignon, in size and twistiness of streets; but instead of the old town centering on a giant open square, it centers on the Roman arena. There is, in fact, much more Roman to see in general. We went up to the Arena today and saw a sign for bullfights-- just yesterday, in fact. We also met a man from Colorado; when I made Carol climb into the Roman seats, separate from the bleachers installed by the present-day Arlions. I said, "I want to sit up where the Romans sat." Colorado said, climbing over the bleachers, "I want to be Roman, too."

We didn't say much to him, but ran into him again later in our circumnavigation of the interior of the arena.

We left for the hotel (we'd only dropped our bags, as our room wasn't ready) and checked in. Then, errands; cashed travelers' checks, ran up to the gare to book a train for Monday when this blasted holiday weekend will be fully over (we'll have to catcha 6:30AM train if we want to go to Bordeaux... period), got water and crackers at the Monoprix (quelle horreur! It was like Walmart unclean!). Had lunch in there somehwere (before the Arena, now that I think about it), at a café facing the arena. Came back to the hotel under the first drops of rain and sheltered in our room until the sun came back out... then wandered all over, finding both of the restaurants that the very friendly proprietor recommended, as well as the one the guidebook recommended. We ate per the guidebook's rec because we were hungry, and "The Vitamin" opened sooner. It was very good; I'm hicupping Delice de Chocolat as I write.

Sometime in our wanderings we found internet access, sent some messages, and also-- ran into Colorado again. I told Carol if we ran into him yet again, we'd have to take him to dinner. But we didn't. So we didn't.

Saturday, May 11, 2002: Arles

Musée-o-rama ce matin. The Provençal Museum (where, apparently, F. Mistral used his Nobel notoreity to convince all the citoyens of Provence to donate articles and artifacts representing their "diminishing lifestyle" in the late 1800's/early 1900's)-- antiquated and strange, built on the ruins of the Roman forum-- but with really good bathrooms. Before that, we walked through the Roman theatre and the Cloister and Church of St. Trophime on Place du Forum. Cloister is cloister is cloister, but an église with 30 reliquaries and attendant relics (shinbones, skulls and pinky fingers of great saints-- and vertebra-- let's not forget the vertebra), as well as some sophisticated and artistic stained glass, is something else. The church, interestingly, was decorated with tapestries, rather than the usual paintins or frescoes.

After this, the Crypts: empty, but large and gloomy. Between cloister and crympts, I had a new respect for Diablo's seemingly endless mazes... it's not actually far off from reality at all.

We'd been trying to find the outdoor market our innkeep had told us of, but we did not realize it was outside city walls, and thus did not "find" it until... we ran into Colorado again. Well, Steve. That's his name, not Colorado. Steve invited us to take seats in his car up to the Chateau des Baux (which he called "The Box"), which turned out to be something rather unexpected and wonderful. It's a ruined chateau that was hewn out of the cliffs near the Val d'Enfer-- yes, Danté's model for the Valley of Hell. Working models of siege engines made the whole thing that much more interesting. Up on high, witht eh Mistral blowing at us, and sweet flower scents, and an endless view of vineyards and olive groves-- I'm so glad we didn't miss it.

I bought Dann a trebuchet model to put together; it didn't take much debate really, but I did have reservations about carting it all over France.

We left, and offered to buy Steve dinner for driving us around-- this turned into a minor debacle. We thought we'd go to Charcuterie, but it did not open as expected at 7:30, so we went to Café Van Gogh, which was slow and mostly terrible. Wine, water and appetizers came at reasonable intervals, but dinner and napkins took forever, and the waiters were certainly fric and frac-- one would take dessert orders and another would come and tell us that we could have this dessert or that and ask why we so stupidly thought we had already ordered dessert. Language was not so much the barrier, but French-waiter-attitude. I think.

Anyway.

Three weird/bad things today: 1) I flooded the bathroom by merely showering; 2) the service at the restaurant; 3) left our bags at the restaurant and had to run back through the dark streets to make sure we didn't lose money, cameras, etc.

Otherwise, a marvelous, busy, warm sunny day, which I am sure to remember as one of the better ones of our trip. Including the ice-cream that we ate for lunch; the flavors of which were unreal. Hyper-real, maybe.

Sunday, May 12, 2002: Arles

from the laundry:

We slept like logs last night. Carol can't use the pillows here because of her neck, so we had to find some sort of compromise to deal with the giant feather bolster. It has ended up the last few nights wrapped around me in a big L shape, since I have no other pillow-option. It's like sleeping in a giant feather arm.

We got up when we darn well felt like it, which turned out to be waking at 6:30/7 and dozing until 8:30. We headed out ot the Museum of Antiquities, where I thoroughly enjoyed the sarcophagi, cult statues of Mithra and the like. Most impressive. We had takena long walk along the quais of the Rhône to get there. Once "home" (at the Hôtel du Rhône, no less), we threw down all the bread and pastry we'd purchased on the way back, and went for a yummy lunch at our "usual" café: lasagna, believe it or not, with sangria, and profitteroles for dessert. Not precisely French, but the lasagna and sangria were like none I'd ever had in the States.

A short journey out to prove only that the grocery was closed today-- and c'est tout! We are here, and probably will do very little for the rest of the day.

Wednesday, May 15, 2002: Poitiers

I'm behind, so I'll just write out a simple schedule and fill in details later:

Monday, May 11, 2002

05:30: alarm goes off after a restless night

06:00: out the door

6:08: at the train station. We walked about 5 times as fast as we anticipated. Sky is blueing up, but the sun isn't up yet. 3 straight contrails above the station are starting to take on color.

6:34: on the train-- notice that the seats we are in are reserved from Nimes to Agen; move to unbooked seats

7:00: at Nimes: about 8jillion kids get on the train; the car we were in was largely reserved for a school grop, a loud, screaming school group with fractious children. The girls all fetishistically wanted to close the curtains on us. Watched 2 small boys consume vast quantities of food.

rest of AM: passed along the Mediterranean coast and a number of small towns

11:30: not a moment too soon, the kids depart

12:45: arrive in Bordeaux; grab food

13:55 get on TGV for Poitiers (non-smoking car=formidable!)

15:36 off train; call hosts but Elizabeth says they are already on their way to get us

15:45 find hosts. They shuttle us up to a look-out point and show us the sites, then take us to the grocery store, where the heavens rain down and we see a bird in the store, eating fruit

And so on to the hosts' house; their daughter is shuttled to dance class and they make dinner: Tartiflette, which is composed of bacon, potatoes and stinky cheese, and creme fraiche. Salad with corn and a wonderful home-made viniagrette... radishes and butter as appetizer, Burgundy wine-- and HUGE rainbows to mark the occasion.

We pooped out quite early and went to bed, while it rained through the night.

Le prochaine jour--

-up late, showers, and breakfast (yogurt and muesli)

-late start ot tour. Went to Notre-Dame-la-Grande and the tourist office

-returned hom to eat sandwiches, while Cindy and Elizabeth went to their class and Rob took us out to the Tumulus at Borgon (?)

-dinner: Beef Bouguignonne
1/4 slab of bacon, no rind
1 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
2 lbs cubed beef
1/2 cup sliced onion
2-3 cups beef stock
1 1/2 cup burgundy wine
1 tbsp tomato paste
1 clove garlic, pressed
1 bouquet garni
12 sm onions
1/2 lb mushrooms
2 tbsps butter
-saute bacon in olive oil until brown; mix flour, salt, pepper and dredge beef in it; fry with onion; put in casserole dish with bacon
-2 c beef stock and the wine, tomato paste & garlic into the fry pain; boil, then pour on beef, adding bouquet garni
-bake at 325 for 3-4 hours (covered)
-boil onions
-fry onions and mushrooms whole in butter 'til golden
-remove beef from oven, skim fat, drain off liquid & thicken sauce
-season, remove Bouquet Garni
-add altogether, heat through, and serve on rice or noodles

Dinner was Beef Burgundy with Burgundy wine and haricots verts, cheese for dessert and talk all evening

Today: Wednesday:

Up earlier, shower, breakfast

-in town: Cathedral, oldest Baptistry in France, church of Raedegunda

-lunch: corned beef sandwiches, leftover cheese

-Roman ruins, Battle of Poitiers (732)

-soon, dinner

Thursday, May 16, 2002: Tours

I forgot to mention (among other things) that we stumbled across the fairy Melusine on the way to the Tumulus; Rob wanted to stop and get some special hney to take back to the States for his father, and there she was, Melusine, carved on the side of the building, and furthermore, they sold "Melumiel" (melu-honey) inside. We walkeda round looking at the gardes planted atop the ruined chateau, before continuing on. Melusine, apparently, is a big deal in the area (Poitou).

The hosts were leaving for Paris today; after much discussion last night about how we were going to get to the train station in order to get to Tours (would we walk down the cliff? Would Elizabeth guide us, or would we need a map? Would the packs be too heavy? etc)-- they realized that they would be driving right through Tours and could drop us off. So we go tup at 5:30 to supposedly leave at 6-- it came out more like 7, but that was certainly not entirely our fault, as we were completely ready by 6:15. (No breakfast, and we would have been ready at 5:55.) Oh, well-- we didn't have a schedule to keep. We were in Tours by 8, so we dropped our bags at the hotel and walked to the tourist office, ate some pastries in the park, that sort of thing.

We did a morning visit to the Musee des Beaux Artes (a Monet and some Rodins in the mix), before taking in the very ornate cathedral. We saw about all the city-- not many attractions in Tours-- before coming back to the hotel. The room was ready, so we put our stuff in it-- the day was very hot, so we changed to lighter clothes than we had started off in, before taking off to the grocery store. We ended up picnicing in our room out of desperate hunger-- wrote postcards, did laundry in the sink (socks & undies) before succumbing ot the nap gods. It's now 6PM.

Friday, May 17, 2002: Tours

Good day. Got up early and went to the tourist office to catch one of the chateaux tours. It turned out that the only one available was the one operated by our hotel (something we didn't find out until we got back in the evening). We were, in fact, the only poeple on the bus to Clos Luce and Chenonceau. Da Vinci's last home was cute-- not altogether much like a castle, though it was a castle. I enjoyed myself very much there, and enjoyed the gift shop as well.

Chenonceau was beautiful (as advertised), and was probably my favorite chateau, though each that we saw was very different from the others. Cheverny was very alive with the presence of the current ownders (and their very cool and excitable hunting dogs); Chambord's staricase (supposedly designed by Da Vinci) was wonderful, as were the rooftops, though the sparsely furnished rooms were not very enchanting.

We lunched at the Hostel du Roy at Chenonceau at the advice of the tour bus driver, but it must be an acquired taste. Wine-tasting on the way back to Tours (if only I really liked wine, instead of merely tolerating it). We ran to the supermarket before it closed to get tapinade, cheese, bread, etc. for dinner. Our very Hispanic hostess (I cannot understand her French because of her R's) called our room to offer us plates-- to eat from-- we were very happy to recieve this thoughtful gesture.

Aunt Carol saw a car hit a pedestrian, which was probably the most strange thing we saw today, other than da Vinci's staircase, which I will probably dream about tonight.

Sunday, May 19, 2002

Yesterday was an attempt to relax, as Friday was non-stop action, capped at the end of the night (midnight) by the arrival of 23 Chinese singers (girls) who were unable to communicated with the proprietors, and so, thought they should be allowed to come into our room-- or something. In any case, they were constantly knocking on our door, jiggling the knob and sticking their keys in our lock. It was horrible. We shouted through the door a few times, bu there was no peace for over an hour: they spoke at the top of their longs, and pounded up and down the staircases, over and over and over.

We got up after a similar interludein the morning, and went out to walk the pedestrian streets of Tours; I bought some more pillowcases, found some English books... we ate at a restaurante named for da Vinci, and had wonderful Italian food. Stopped in at the Musee de Gemmail, and at an internet café, butother than an evening trip to the grocery to lay in supplies for the up-coming Sunday and Monday holiday (Saturday was Pentecost, and slipped upon us unawares), we did not do much on Saturday.

For today, we plan a trip to Saumur, and who knows where else.

later...

It is raining, the Chinese girls are loud, and I have developed an icky rash on arms and legs. But we had a good day nonetheless.

The trains to Saumur (on account of it being Sunday) left every 2 hours. We got to the station at 10:10 and would have had to hang out until 12. So, instead, we just went to Blois, which had more trains and just as much to see. We found a big church that had seen services in the morning. The vaults of the ceiling went even higher than normal, thanks to an unexpected dome in the ceiling. Incense was strong, and you could see a cloud of it hanging in the air. The vaulted ceiling above drew the eye up and up, until it was lost in incense smoke and gloom, trying to make out some sort of detail in the dome-- when a religious pigeon broke the view by flying across the dome. Then, the clattering noise of claws on glass, and another pigeon attempted to enter the church through a piece of broken blue glass at the side.

The chateau of Blois was good, tho' perhaps we've had enough of them now... hte restoration of the chateau in the 1800's was apparently very fragile, as we were not allowed to carry our daypacks on our backs, where they might "injure" a mural.

We had lunch in a great Japanese/Vietnamese restaurant-- peanut sate for Carol, and I had some kind of kebab thing. Naturally, I lost control of one of them and sent a chunk of duck flying across an empty restaurant. We laughed a while about that.

Training back to Tours was an exercise in begging prevention-- we got hit up twice for phone cards and trian tickets. Ugh. We've now dined, and observed rain tive way briefly to sun, and the time streteches before us, for it's only 6:30.

Monday, May 20, 2002: Tours

Slow day- holiday-- I guess you could say that, for us, it was the weekend (or a day off). We rose early to look for a laundry, but were foiled and instead we've done littel but read and eat and drink water-- we vastly overestimated the amount of water we'd need in Tours, and had 8 litres left this morning. Therea are now 2 left. I drank 4 of the missing ones. I think that this has only helped my rash, so...

We lunched at a Thai/Vietnamese place, since everything else was clsoed, and listened to a steady stream of children's choir groups from Place Plumereau, including our Chinese hotel neighbors. We did a lengthy internet sojourn before that, but other than sitting in the sun in the hotel courtyard, we've had few new experiences today. We did feed the sparrows our leftover rice at lunch, and the birds thanked us by pooping in Carol's waterglass.

Last night I spent an aggravating 20 minutes trying to book a hotel for us in Rouen, and it ate up much of the time on the phone card. I then got us a room in Coutances for 4 days, and finally 2 days in Rouen, leaving me all of 2 minutes to speak with Dann.

Tuesday, May 21, 2002: Rennes

Beautiful countryside seen from the train, moving from the Loire Valley to the rolling hills of the Brittany/Normandy border. Rennes is pretty big, though notas big as Tours-- enjoyable, with little medieval houses without a single right angle in sight.

Our reservations at the hôtel Angleterre were lost (HM!) -- we are now down the street at the Hôtel Marechal Joffre, with saggy stairs and hallways and beds, but an overall "ok" feel. And the most beautiful cat I've ever seen: seal-grey on his back and head, and sharply delineated white on his tummy (almost penguin-like in pattern), and huge blue eyes. He's also enormous, at least 20 lbs, and very sleek. I was not sure it was a cat for a bit, and then I was sure it was some sort of special wild breed for a bit. He bumped hard against my legs while I was trying to make a decision about staying, and that decided me.

We lunched, did laundry, mailed items home and did the grocery thing. All in all, a fine & busy day, full of errands though not sights-- but we MUST have clean clothes. It has rained all evening, but we have cable here and have watched quite a bit of Friends in French, and now the BBC world news in English.

Wednesday, May 22, 2002: Rennes

Got up early because we got to bed early-- I slept in an envelopping cocoon of doom (very soft bed)-- but it was big, and I slept very well. In the morning we took i the tourist office and spent the better part of the day in the "Jardin des Plantes", which had botanical samples of almost every type, as well as 1700 kinds of roses (supposedly. We didn't count.), a duck pond, a water lily pond, "the cave of hell" and a small dovecote containing varieties of tropical birds.

We lunched at a good placed, did the internet, then a horrible urge to pee came upon me, and I ended up in the bushes at the jardin, cursing fate and unable to walk a half mile to the bathrooms.

We shopped a bit, but it's been a reasonably slow day, though we are practically falling asleep in our cheese and crackers. We must have walked further than we thought.

Thursday, May 23, 2002: Rennes

After the shock and horror of another lost reservation (after an email confirmation was then suddenly UNconfirmed --"I'm sorry, I thought you said July, not June"), we spent some frantic time trying to find some places to stay. Admittedly, I was the only one who was frantic, but whatever. That was this morning; after exchanging some money, buying a new phone card, going to the tourist office and having a pastry and a chocolate while debating over where to stay, then calling... phew.

We took the Rennes Métro down to the gare, made reservations for our trip to Quimper and boarded a bus to Paimpont, supposedly the starting point to see the sights of the Forest of Broceliande. It didn't work out that way. The sights were all too far away to walk to (supposedly); we ended up wandering around Paimpont and the oods along the edge of the lake. I twas beautiful, but not full of the sights we were expected, so disappointing to some extent. It has simply hardened my resolve to come back some day.

Dinner at a cute Alsace-Lorraine style restaurant, run by a funny man named Yvi. We intend to go back anohter day. Wild rose jam with fromage blanc for dessert!

Friday, May 24, 2002: Rennes

Dreadful rain this orning made us give our plan to go to Mont St Michel. Instead we slept, had a leisurely toilette and didn't set foot out of doors until after 10:30, where, very quickly, it set to raining harder. We dashed to Cybernet and emailed for a while; the sun came out and we went window-shopping. We ate at the same crèperie as the last 2 days, in hopes of getting the wonderful creme brulee again; this hope was dashed. It simply wasn't as good. An unpleasant surprise was the raw egg yok atop my pepperoni pizza. I just didn't read the menu well enough, I guess.

After lunch, we picked up some pastries and sat down on a bench in the Place de marie, where an old man started talking to us. He was so old it was hard to understand him. I felt compelled to explain that I didn't much French (though at this point, I'd say I didn't know much of his French), that we were Americans... this started him down the long road of a long story, which included days and dates of his children's marriages and divorces... "en mille neuf cent soixante dix-neuf..." something something, his son, his son's American wife and her perfidious Mexican lover.... ON and ON, his merry blue eyes twinkling from under sparse, long white eyebrows. He was reminding me of my grandfather, until he started hitting on Aunt Carol. I had to explain she really didn't know what he was saying, so he started asking questions about her-- "Is she 29? She's far too young to be your aunt..." or so I think. Most of his conversation was without context and thus somewhat difficult to follow.

He gave me a piece of gum, and then tried to tuck another piece into Carol's collar, whilst trying out his English on us: "Yes? No?" Then he went back to French, asked what we did, how long we were staying-- "Oh! A month is very long for an American's vacation! Oh! She is retired! She is too young to retire, does she twiddle her thumbs all day?" I think I only understood 10% of what he said, before I said we really had to go... he may have invited us to lunch in a last-ditch effort to seduce my aunt, but my brain was shorting out and I couldn't understand French anymore.

Back at the hotel we rather ended up napping (I did, anyway; Carol read), before shopping again. We found some interesting things: little glass candle holders wrapped in colored tissue paper with shiny crystal beads glude in string around it; beautiful purple mugs; aubergine towels paired with bright green ones. We tried to buy a thank-you card for our hosts in Poitier, but thank you cards don't seem to be a big thing in France, so our pickings were slim. At the grocery store, we went down to housewares and stared down tablecloths until Carol found some napkins she wanted... then we actually bought groceries.

Home, bathroom, read, etc. before Chez Yvi once more. We ate quite late and enjoyed it. Yesterday Carol had two quiches for her meal (poor planning), though they tasted quite different, and a Gaudet for dessert. I had a comte cheese salad with sausage, lettuce and walnuts; main dish was potatoes Munster (Munster cheese isn't Irish, apparently!) and little frankfurters. The aforementioned rose jam for dessert (and I had cider today for lunch because Yvi did not have it on his menu).

Tonight, Carol had the Comteois salad and a sort of stew with 3 meats and many potatoes; I had Strasbourg salad-- potatoes, sour pickles & frankfurters tossed with a mustardy sauce. My dinner was "daube"-- a beefy stew with carrots. I had gaudet for dessert, up to the point where Carol realized her dessert had been prepared with loathsome pears-- at which point we switched.

Saturday, May 25, 2002: Rennes

The day dawned bright and sunny, and we headed out for Mont St Michel. Our rail tickets gave us a free bus ride, thus saving us €21 each, which was good news, no matter how you slice it. We got there around 11AM and started climbing stairs. Final count: somewhere over 600. I guess Aunt Carol stopped counting; the last time I heard her say it out loud, it was 600-something. She thinks it was actually over a thousand. This was all "up," by the way.

We had a great Norman tour guide who showed us everything from cloister to crypts to scriptorium. We liked him.

It was getting cloudy and windy, so we opted to go home on the 2PM bus instead of the 4PM bus. Of course, this caused us to be besieged by an obnoxious tour group of young Americans: SUPER-obnoxious. The Australians we had been chatting with in our tour group said something like, "Well, that's how they get that reputation." Maybe he thought we were Canadian. I was disgusted as well, and headed to the other side of the causeway while waiting for the bus. We beachcombed 'til the bus arrived, marveling at the sight f the barefoot people who'd trekked 10km through the muck of the drained bay to visit the Mont.

We ended up on the same bus as the obnoxious Americans. They weren't all bad, but they weren't mostly good, either. The younger ones were talking about how they'd stolen an umbrella from one of the café tables in Pontorson. Then, in classic "you can't unboil an egg" fashion, one girl piped up:
"Is mouton sheep?"
"Yeah," said knowledgable guy.
"Oh. When I was in the South (of France), some people were trying to feed me mouton." Theatrical shudder.
"Well, usually they eat lamb-- l'agneau."
"How is that relevant?"
"Lambs are baby sheep," knowledgeable guy says.
(shrieking) "What? Lambs are not sheep.
"Yes they are, they are baby sheep."
"I wouldn't eat baby anything," stupid girl insists.
Another guy pipes up: "Veal is baby cow."
And the girl says: "Yeah, but... lamb isn't..."
Both guys, in chorus: "It's BABY SHEEP."
And on.

I thought they taught this stuff in pre-school.

I'm rather glad I couldn't pinpoint the origins of these idiots. If I found out they were from U of M, I might cry.

Anyway, we made it back to Rennes, did some light laundering and found pastries and food. Tomorrow we leave for Quimper, and I hope there are no reservation problems.

Sunday, May 26, 2002: Quimper

Sundays usually being a bust and all, I'd decided back in Poitiers that we'd be better off traveling on a Sunday instead of trying to see sights-- before I knew about the inordantly shortened train schedules on Sundays. Oh, well, i tall worked out. Unwilling to schlep up and down the 79 stairs to our room to do pretty much nothing (nothing open on a Sunday morning anyway), we stayed in our room, leisurely packing and attending to our various toilettes and chatting and reading until it was time to catch the train. This we did, with little fanfare and no difficulty. I added a Newsweek and a Premiere to our loads, since I'm having such a hard time with Sir Walter Scott.

In Quimper, we were pleased to find the Hôtel de la Gare, as advertised, right across the street from the train station. We settled into a large, light, airy, clean, good and 4-square room-- most excellent! Only, with a slightly funny smell and hard bedds.

We headed into town, locating various services. Found the Museum Departmental de Bretegne, got free entry (the unexpected bonus of a Sunday, and the second of 2 unexpected freebies in a row, with the bus ride to Mont St Michel).

The museum had some interesting old clothing displays. We went back outside into a wind that was working itself up into a gale in order to dart over to the Cathedral, which was 2-steepled and well-cared-for.

Quimper looks nice, with big trees shading the central river; but by encountering no less than 2 separate drunks at the local grocery, the town earned the less savory reputation given by the guidebook.

We dined at an Indian restaurant, where a tactical error was made in ordering, but we survived. Tomorrow we attempt Carnac.

Monday, May 27, 2002: Quimper

I'm so caught up on current events right now, it's frightful. All those international editions of newsmagazines, bought out of boredom, plus a London Times. George W. was in Normandy today, of all things, and we were closer to our own president whilst on vacation than we ever are in our real lives.

Today, we went to Carnac to see the big stones. It was good, but the experience of seeing megaliths is such that you need to experience, not write about it in a journal.

Getting there was half the fun and all the work-- but on the train we ran into some Americans who had been on a walking tour of Brittany, and shared a lot of storeies.

We now watch Dirty Dancing in dubbed French.

Tuesday, May 28, 2002: on the train

Fought off a phone card mooch today -- ugh.

Got up, went out to grab pastries and water for breakfast after another night on the hard beds of heck. They didn't clean our room yesterday! No extra blankets or pillows either-- very strange, somewhat out of place in a spacious and beautifully clean room.

I think Dirty Dancing was too agitating (or something), and could not fall asleep off the bat. It was hard to wake up, too. Anyway, went to visit the Internet... and thus ended our visit in Quimper. We are still in the process of travelling to Coutances.

in Coutances

We got here at 6 and toiled up a rather awful hill to the Hôtel de Normandie. "Hospital-sterile hallways" (per guidebook) led to a bright and sunny room which was also occupied. When I took this problem to reception, much angry mumbling ensued between the proprietors. We were evacuated to a much less nice room down the hall; though very large, it was decorated 70 years before the other room.

We left to take a turn around the town-- dinner in the Italian restaurant next door led to cider and creme brulee for me. Altogether, in spite of the good things, I'm really ready to go home.

Wednesday, May 29, 2002: Coutances

Woke to downpours (periodically); the night was mostly quiet and I slept well, though Aunt Carol said she was awakened several times in the night by noises that convinced her the hotel was actually a bordello.

I got up to peeat one point, and opened a window for fresh air in the bathroom, and saw a line of twinkling lights on the hillside. Just beautiful.

Darting between rainclouds, we got torsados and water for breakfast; waited out one downpour in the tourist office; toured the "second most beautiful church in France;" visted some nice gardens (with a topiary replica of the church).

Lunch. Window-shopping. Super-market. Somehwere in there, a brief nap, during which the sun came out. Also went up and down the grueling hill to check train schedules for the next few days. It's 4:55 PM.

8PM

The church bell chimes-- I don't know if it's the Eglise de St. Pierre or the Cathedral de Notre Dame. I suspect the latter, which looms above our hotel, but I would assume that would be louder. The little eglise is visible from our room, whereas the cathedrel is not. From our room we can also see the green of surrounding hills, dotted with trees or sheep; every street in the higher part of town looks out over valleys directly onto verdant hills, saving us from the city views we've grown over-accustmomed to in Rennes & Tours (though less so in Quimper). There are only 9 or 10 thousand people in Coutances, which makes it seem both smaller and larger. Larger because that's a lot of people to cram on one hill, and smaller, because it's so easy to see into the countryside.

We did laundry after cooling off from our broiling walk back from the supermarche. This trip to the laundry was puncuated by several trips to the patisserie, buying a few small things in order to get change. Our clothes are all clean, and we are not here for much longer, so this is pretty much the last laundry.

Time pases so strangely... it was an agonizingly slow/fast blure the first few weeks (culture shock, no doubt). Life gradually seemed to become more real (and thus somewhat less exciting). The strange things didn't seem so strange. We eat chicken liver and enjoy it. We order the menu at dinner, not the a la carte. We deal with the strange types of baths and showers without really thinking too hard. Doing laundry at a laundromat where everything is paid for through a computerish machine on the wall-- barely a glance. The Euro is now the dollar in our minds. It no longer makes my brain hurt to hear so much French: it's background noise until I tune in, and then it's words. When a foreign country becomes so simple, it's time to leave.

Thursday, May 30, 2002: Coutances

After listening to the baby housed in the room above us fall out of bed and set to wailing twice, we fell asleep. Carol woke early to the sounds of a market being set up outside our window, and watched the process avidly while I did my morning grooming.

We ate yogurt with cranberries and cookies before heading out to the train station through the market, somehow managing to be very early. We sat on benches in the sun along the way, to admire the many views, and when 10:58 rolled around, we got on the train to Bayeux.

It wasn't hard to find the center of town-- just head towards the Cathedral. We ate, per the guidebook, at the Table du Terroir, which sounded great (family style seating around oak tables), which turned out to be true, but this also means you get to see French men bite avidly into sausages dark with blood, and no convenient way to look away or stare at Aunt Carol. I ended up with a giant plate of meat, and Carol got stew and rice. Rice pudding for dessert, a Normandy-special version.

After the visit to the charnel house, we went to see The Tapestry, which is of course, not a tapestry but an embroidery. We were surrounded by hordes of English schoolchildren, which was a nice change from the other kind. We walked allong the descriptive walls done in the style of the tapestry, and watched a cheesy-stirring film presented as a verbal row between Odo and Edith Swan-neck. Ah. The death of Old Engish.

The tapestry itself was wonderful, and enjoyed it far more than I would have expected. It might be one of my favorite things this trip.

We poked in some shops and went back to Coutances. We ate at the little Italian restaurant next door again.

Friday, May 31, 2002: Coutances

Today-- oh, today! The Let's Go guide said in their guidebook: there are some lovely walking tours, just ask at the tourist office. So we did. Only, they never had appeared to really hear about these tours, though they did, upon my third time standing plaintively at the counter and mustering all the vocabulary I could, deign to sell me a map of radonees for about €4. So. We started out on Tour 1, thinking, that's short, that's easy, that's close...

It started, officially, at the parking lot of the stadium, which took about 15 minutes to walk to. Only by intuitive reasoning did we spy the yellow paint splotch that meant "Petite Radonee." So. We had come down a big hill to get to the stadium, and immediately started climbing another hill. We had passed the only slightly remarkable remains of a medieval aqueduct on the way to the stadium, even though the map-guide claimed that this was one of the sights of this walk. This also happened to be one of the only recognizable sights along the way.

We toiled (it's a good word) up the hill towards a little village (6 houses, really) with old stone walls and chickens scratching in yards-- picturesque but hardly new territory in a land of stone walls and scratching chickens. Up and up we went, to look out towards the steeples of Coutances, to look out over the green dales with complacent cows posing for my camera. Up past the richer "suburban" homes (Countances' wealthy commuters?). Up and along and then under a highway. The yellow paint splotches were regularly spaced, helpful and reassuring, especially since the map was sort of opaque at points and we couldn't reliably guide ourselves by Coutances' spires.

The walk had this point been along rather normal roads, up to this point. Paved roads. The yellow splotches now led us down (really up) unpaved country lanes, bordered by berms of wildflowers (including bright pink foxglove). Unpaved country roads gave way to winding cowpaths, until we came to the bottom of a hill where the path became a stream, and a sign-post became confusing. We were brought up short; the map didn't exactly match the signs, and the direction the map wanted us to go in was a mud-pit, whereas the signs were directing us along a mud-pit that at least had an end in sight. We ended up climbing a steep embankment (as the cow paths were worn down at least 3 feet below the forest surface, in some cases 6), holding onto tree-trunks and limbs, trying to avoid deadly holly bushes, and most of all, to avoid falling into the bog below us. Climbing down the embankment was a brief adventure as well, but the sign seemed pretty clear, and we were sure that the worst was behind us.

More uphill toiling, as the path narrowed, and no sign of yellow paint. We grew doubtful, then downright concerned, as we passed through two country gates that were rigged so deviously that they did not seem meant for the average hiker to navigate. AND, no yellow paint. The path became undetectable; we simply assumed that we needed to pass between fields. I got stung by a nettle about then, and Carol demonstrated immense path-finding skills as she led us down a path of bracken so overgrown, I'm still not sure a path was really there. There was a vague sort of streamlet showing wetly beneath the bracken, about 6 inches from what Carol perceived to be our path, and she must have been correct, because eventually, the path became a road, and we came out into the tiny hamlet of Mousley, next to a farm.

The entire 5km route was supposed to take an hour and 15 minutes to traverse, and by the map, an hour later, we were only half-way through.

Fortunately at this point, the yellow paint showed back up, and the road became obvious again. We sat down on a fallen log to rest, then continued on. We avoided the next turn down another impassable path, and took the road around to meet back up with the path later. We couldn't really discern the walking trail again, and had to make our best guess, with the non-helpful aid of a woman and her two small children who were stopped in their car nearby.

We took the road that we guessed, and it ended up leading us under the highway as the map suggested. We passed "the thing in the field;" I could not decipher the French. It looks like a silo, and I took pictures of it, just in case it was really an old chateau tower.

By this time, we could see the towers of Coutances once more; the lack of yellow paint no longer made us nervous, and we trekked merrily downhill along roads, paths, dry riverbeds, and then plunged into a tunnel of green, bounded by the high terracing wall of a cemetary.

Eventually we started climbing up into Coutances again, and toil it was. The sustained steepness is almost miraculous (miraculous that it caused us as little problem as it did, I guess). Then-- back to Coutances by lunch time (1PM)-- the last half of the trip had taken us a mere half-hour. It felt much, much further than a mere 5k walk, and it seemed like we were out much longer than 2 hours. I think it was the hills.

We at lunch at the crèperie that we'd tried before-- today, asparagus, ham and creamed mushrooms galette. Poire Bell Helene for me, and raspberry glace for Carol for dessert. We walked around, ostensibly window shopping for a while after lunch-- too hot and bright to sit out in the sun and read. Window-shopping came to an end when I spied two rings, which we ended up buying...

Dinner at the Italian place next door (3rd time in 4 nights). It's 9:30, and there are only three days left.

Sunday, June 2, 2002: Rouen

Forgot to write yesterday; I was tired, and busy reading a smutty romance, which was a very nice change of pace from the Sir Walter Scott.

In the morning, back in Coutances, we got pastries and went to pay our bill. Grumpy chambermaid wanted to charge us too much, and we argued briefly, and she grumpily took off the extra charges, jerking the credit card out of Carol's hand and muttering. We left, loving Coutances, but not very pleased with the hotel keepers.

Down the big hill to the train station, once again very early. We sat in the bright sunlight and observed the countryside. A perfect end to our visit there.

We boarded the train, stopped in Caen to change trains, and went to Rouen. Somehwere along the route we encountered a VERY hot train car, and a very rude man who wouldn't let us roll down the windows. Too much snatching and interference in one day.

But we got to Rouen, found the Métro, oriented ourselves, and made it to the Hôtel Cardinal and its wonderful cathedral view. We settled in, visited the tourist office, fetched water and visited the cathedral. The west facade is being renovated, and all the saints' statues from one side are sitting around the perimeter of the cathedral itself, where you can get a ridiculously good look at them.

Back in our room, the bells began to ring at 4:30, deafening us. From our place on the 6th floor, it was about as close as we were ever going to get to the bell tower. The room was filled with the resounding thuds and booms. Truly amazing. And we hoped very much (at the same time) that it would not happen again.

We went out ot find a restaurant-- our best bet, as it so often is, was an Indian restaurant. Very good, my only mistake was in ordering a rose lassi. Too much rose.

Home and sleep (sort of). I read pretty late into the night, and the square below us was very active and noisy, and the cathedral was brightly lit, in turn lighting our room. Made the night a bit resltess.

Morning was too early, to some degree (though I'm quite sure it was actually right on time). We went down to breakfast before the bakery man had arrived. He did get there, and we had the best morning hotel spread yet.

We headed out to the train station; the train to Giverny did not leave until 10:08 (and it was 8:45), so we went to see the last surviving tower of the chateau where Joan of Arc was imprisoned (and no, I don't think I'll go see where she was burned).

Train to Vernon-- unexceptional. Bus to Giverny from Vernon-- excruciatingly hot, extremely slow and very crowded. This all applied to Giverny itself as well. We waited in a long line, saw some beautiful flowers and ponds amid the throngs, barely saw Monet's house because it was even hotter and more crowded inside, spent a wad in the shop and came back to bake at the bus stop. I'd never felt more American between lack of appreciation for what I'd seen, and amount of money spent at the gift shop.

Our new umbrellas gave us enough shade, which only made the waiting for the bus bearable instead of painful. The bus back to Vernon was exactly the same, but we did get there in time for the 3:08 train to Rouen, which was fortuitous. The strange thing here was the sudden confluence of police officers, waiting at the Vernon station and also on the train. Interesting.

As it is Sunday, and once more, everything is closed, we came home to sit and veg and read-- I finished the trashy romance while Carol showered. I'm attempting to use the last of our film by documenting the changes in light on the cathedral, in honor of Monet. After all, I can't go home with a roll of half-finished film.

We leave Rouen tomorrow around 12, get into our hotel near the airport sometime after 3ish. Then we have nothing to do for the hours between then and when we must show up at the airport.

Yes... this is the end...