Postcards From Susan

Remembering Mary

2010-09-25T12:53:00.006-10:00

On August 24 my dear Aunt Mary passed away. In her honor, we started lighting candles at the altars for Mary at each of the churches we visited, which we thought would be a fitting remembrance.

Eglise d'Ile d'Ouessant

Lucon

The memorial chapel in Le Lucs sur Burlougne

Cathedral in St. Michel-en-herm

Sacre Coeur

And of course, Notre Dame

Basilica Notre-Dame-Des-Victoires

St. Severin

A bientot, Paris

2010-09-24T07:25:00.004-10:00

You may have heard about the evacuation of the Eiffel Tower on September 14 due to a bomb threat. Possibly triggered by the Senate's vote to ban full-face headscarves in public places, or perhaps by the indifference of the government to the recent general strike over raised retirement ages.

I got an email from a friend who had heard about it, saying "The odds you were there are so remote."

And yet, we were.

So here is the Tour Eiffel in all of her glory, as rarely seen with only two people on it looking for bombs, and from what we read later, a couple of sniffing dogs.

The searchlights were working.

The twinkle lights were working.

The street lamps were working.
But this is as close as we could get.

Until next year....

Palais Royale, Paris Passages, St. Eustache

2010-09-22T08:29:00.009-10:00

On Monday we decided to get an early start and visit the Opera Garnier-- it used to be called just the Opera, but now there are two, so it has become the Opera Garnier. However, when we arrived, we discovered that the auditorium, home of the famous Chagall ceiling, was closed for a rehearsal. So we decided to try another time.

First we walked through the museum in the Fragonard perfume shop (no photos, naturally).

Then we backtracked to Gallerie Lafayette for some shopping and to buy a takeout sandwich (advertised as the best sandwich in the world -- Italian bread, a Parmesan-type cheese, and a ham similar to prosciutto -- pretty darned good, but more research will be required before we agree with the ad). We walked to the park of the Palais Royale.

We checked out the shops around the edges of the park, which range from dusty coin shops to fashion designers. This one is Stella McCartney.

The inner courtyard of the Palais. The building is a closed government building, but the courtyard is open. These columns partially conceal a fountain underneath the courtyard visible through the grate.

After walking through the Palais Royale, we decided to search out a nearby covered passage. In various parts of Paris one can still find covered passages, which were built as areas for the wealthy to do their shopping, eating out and even theater-going. Until even the late 19th century, the streets were filthy and dangerous. Passages between buildings were covered over, and shops rented out for all kinds of goods, and restaurants, tea shops and theaters established. The passages were a way for people to mingle and shop safely without getting themselves dirty. Passage Vivienne was nearby, so we took a look, and then found our way to Galerie Vero-Dodat. The latter houses, among other interesting shops, the scarf boutique we had seen a couple of years ago with Anne, where the the scarves start at about $1500.

Outside the passage Galerie Vero-Dodat we saw this remarkable building. We don't know what it is, but is appears to be a modern building built to resemble the shape of the traditional Paris architecture, but wrapped in a metal filigree. Interesting. I wonder if it was so ugly they were forced to cover it up!

On our way back home, we decided to walk through the restaurant supply neighborhood, but were not unduly tempted by any of the copper pots, porcelain or other goodies.

St. Eustache, an interesting church was between us and the metro, so we stopped in for a look.

Every visit we have made to St. Eustache has provided an interesting twist. I think it is pretty cool just because of the giant head outside one entrance. But inside is pretty cool too -- once there was a wedding about to start; another time there was to be some sort of government presentation for which arrangements were being made. One time there was a choral rehearsal for a radio program. This time there were aerialists rehearsing for who knows what. So we took the opportunity for a break and watched them practice.

e

In Paris, you just never know....

Notre Dame, St. Severin

2010-09-20T09:13:00.005-10:00

The next day was again gloriously sunny and warm, and we duly headed out in the late morning for Notre Dame. It was the first time either of us could recall that the church was clean, and not engulfed in scaffolding inside or out for some kind of renovation or repair. It was beautiful.

Approaching Notre Dame...

the famous Left Bank bookinists

After touring the inside of the cathedral, and lighting a candle (more on that in a later post), we headed back to the left bank. Once there we spotted St. Severin, a very old church that we have tried to visit on many occasions, and it has always been locked. This time -- open!

It was lovely, completely different in feeling from Notre Dame. Notre Dame is meant to overwhelm with its size and grandeur; St. Severein is smaller and more intimate. Notre Dame has maintained its iconic rose windows, while St. Severin has replaced its original windows with modern designs.

Montmartre

2010-09-14T04:47:00.005-10:00

Our second day we had been invited to lunch with Victoire and her mother Berengere in the 9th; Victoire had visited us in California right before our departure. It had been part of her summer US tour with her cousin Pauline. We had a delicious lunch of broccoli quiche, bread and salad, with a cheese course and figs, green plums, and grapes for dessert. We were delighted to have the opportunity to see them, since Berengere was headed off that evening for vacation, and Victoire was going away for the weekend -- and they expected a new exchange student to arrive that evening! So we appreciated the effort Berengere and Victoire made to make such a lovely lunch for us.

After lunch we decided to head off to Montmartre, since we were going to Anne's apartment before dinner. We walked up the hill toward Sacre Coeur, visited the church, then made our way through the Place de Teatre, the lively artists' square very near the church. Then it was down the hill to Anne's. Pauline joined us just as we sat down to dinner at the Cafe de La Butte.

Note the violin player on the left.

One of the two or three remaining windmills of Montmartre.

This sculpture depicts the heron in a famous French short story. He discovers one day that he can walk through walls, that leads to a career as a burglar, and to many other adventures. he eventually tires of his predicament and takes a pill before bedtime to end his special power. But he is awakened suddenly after he takes the pill and it takes effect just as his is passing through a wall. I'm sure there is much more detail to the story, but here he is at the denouement.

Off to dinner!

Paris Redux, Day One

2010-09-12T21:09:00.004-10:00

Driving into Paris is not to be taken lightly. every time we do it I (the navigator) swear to Tom (the driver) that we will never do it again. And then we do.

Last time I swore never again. But then we did. Even with GPS, it was scary. I figured with GPS if we made a mistake the GPS could undo it easily enough. We might have to go completely around the city on the peripherique, but we could do it. But still...I have a few more white hairs.

But Tom drove us unerringly to our apartment, where we dropped our bags, then left for the life-threatening drive across town to deliver the car to the rental office. (More white hairs.)
Then a quick walk to the metro in the rain, and back to shop for groceries before collapsing in a heap.

Are there pictures of our car trip? No. That would require at least a third person.

The next day, our first full day in Paris, we do what any self-respecting tourist should do, and spent an hour considering our options for lunch, before settling on a bistro near the Marmottan Museum. A quick photo of the Tour Eiffel as we walked to the bistro. No photos in the museum, and I'm at the point where I don't like taking the camera out in restaurants: except for the time in Provincetown where they took me for a food critic, it sort of marks you as a tourist, and a gauche one at that.

So the only photos of day one are of La Fontaine in the park next to the Marmottan. How do you know it is La Fontaine? The fox and other critters with him.

Puy du Fou!

2010-09-11T10:32:00.015-10:00

Puy du Fou is a theme park about an hour from our home-away-from home in the Vendee. we took two cars, and went along with Ann, Claire and Jeanne for the day, with a plan for Tom and me to stay for the late night spectacular, the Ciniescenie.

There were 6 major productions of about 40 minutes each, and another 10 or so lesser programs of various lengths. It is impossible to see in one day, but we did our best.

Puy du Fou tells the history of France, and particularly of the Vendee, for perhaps 2000 years. Altogether, there are some 3200 actors and too many animals to count. They present the programs during the day, then all of them combine for the evening spectacular. There is no other word -- it is a spectacular.

We started with the Vikings. Our plucky Christian Gauls were minding their own business when set upon by the evil Vikings (who became the Normans, who became the French). The Vikings were particularly evil since their small ship came by rail down a hillside, landing in the lake, and their big ship actually rose out of the water, complete with soldiers aboard, from being fully submerged in the lake. After a pitched battle (although many bodies were on the ground, only one seemed to have expired), the evil Vikings notice that the relics of St. Philbert have taken on human form, and they suddenly convert, and go off to save souls.

The ship emerging from the water.

After the Vikings, we tried to get our bearings -- there's a lot of walking in Puy du Fou.

It was time for lunch so we made our want to one of the four villages, this one of the 18th Century. We'd brought our sandwiches -- perfectly acceptable in Puy du Fou -- and tlook over a picnic table.

The village featured a variety of workshops where crafts were practiced, such as illuminating parchment, leather works, wood works, pottery, and the one, scents and spices.

Our next stop was the Gladiators, another of the major productions. The coliseum is the sort that would have been found in the Vendee when it was governed by Rome, and our story had a familiar ring -- the evil Roman governor was bringing some Christians into the arena to be hacked at by gladiators and eaten by lions, which may be slightly higher level entertainment than Jersey Shore. A gladiator confessed he was also Christian and in love with a Christian woman, so the governor said all would be spared if the gladiator fought and won. So he did, but the governor brought our the lions anyway. And there were four big lions. Real ones. But since the governor was evil, they refused to eat the Christians and all promptly took naps. The much livelier tiger did the same. Ultimately, the Roman soldiers mutinied, and threw out the governor, and all was well.

We started with a parade, including a batch of ostriches,

geese,
and camels.

Part of the gladiators' fight was a chariot race, and they meant business -- the chariots careened around the arena with the horses at a full run -- no fakey stuff here.

Napping lion.
Goodness triumphs.

Tom and I went off to the Secret of the Lance, with a plot too silly to recount. Suffice to say that a shepherdess with a magic lance from Joan of Arc saved her Christian town from the evil English, all mostly an excuse to show off some very impressive jousting and rodeo moves by the horses and riders, and the moving castle and castle walls.

Next, off to the Phantom of the Birds. A plot too weird to comprehend, but mostly because we were awed by the birds flying all around us, swooping down within inches of our heads. But it had alot to do with Christians and preserving the faith through the dark ages. And magic. I think. But there were owls, falcons, bald eagles (yes, bald eagles), giant buzzards, storks, and a bunch of other things that we never could figure out. This little guy planted himself on Tom's hat!

The finale was an ultralight that started at the far reaches of the park, and swooped overhead at the end of the show. Cool.

We took a breather for the Giant Waters, which was a musical production with fountains spouting.

By this time Ann, Clare and Jeanne had had enough and were ready to head home. Tom and I had a whopping four hours to kill before the Ciniescenie, so we took the little train to the far end of the park to see the Medieval Village.

Even in medieval times, the girls hang around the boys.

It even had a fake church, with fake frescoes.

Like the 18th century village, the shops were filled with various craftsmen and women performing the crafts of the day.

We walked through the really lovely gardens on the way to the car for jackets and sweaters.

On the way we stopped at the Bourg 1900 and checked out the gift shops.

And then it was time for the Ciniescenie, where 14000 people filled an arena facing a full sized lake ringed with buildings and walls, with a chateau on the other side. The story was pretty much incomprehensible, even with our English translation, but it covered 700 years of Vendienne history. From the show, it featured lots of dancing, the war of 1793 (when the people of the Vendee revolted against the republican central government and were slaughtered by the tens of thousands), WWI and WWII.

But the story made almost no difference. The show was simply spectacular -- a cast of 3200, dozens of horses running, jumping, dancing and falling over dead. Pigs and piglets dashing across the "stage." Ditto geese, cows with calves, oxen and donkeys. Dancers and actors on every part of the stage including on the lake, lights and activity as far away as the nearby village at windmills. the chateau lit up as a chateau, transformed into a flaming hulk, made into other buildings with lights and smoke. Fountains and light creating a church on the water. Then, toward the end, lighting effects that overpowered all the rest of the staging area, followed by fireworks that went on for 20 minutes. Unbelievable. We will go back every year, even considering the hour to get from our seats to the parking lot, and the traffic on the way out of town, and the deadly fog that took twice as long to get home as expected. Just spectacular!

La Vendee Redux

2010-09-11T10:16:00.014-10:00

Our second visit to the Vendee included a few high spots other than Puy du Fou. we made a trek to Lucon, a nearby small city, in part to visit a favorite depot-vente (consignment store) which was unfortunately closed for vacation, and in part to visit the cathedral for the first time. It was a lovely cathedral, as it should have been given that it was cardinal Richelieu's first posting -- and he made the best of it, beginning his rise to power in the church as well as in politics. The attached cloister is under repair, but we were able to get inside for a brief visit.

We got ourselves up a little early one morning to say goodbye to Paul, who was leaving for New York. He had been up for hours doing chores, and was at a full run when it came time to drive off. and a good thing -- we heard later he had to run to catch the train to Paris and the airport!

So a little out of focus --
We made dinner for the ladies one evening, and had a grand time under the trees until almost 11 PM -- Italian sausage soup, salad, cheese, and the remains of the last kouign amann cake from Brittany. Of course, before making your Italian sausage soup, you should check to see that you can actually find Italian sausage -- turns out it is unknown. So a little fennel to spiced sausage and you are good to go!

Another day Ann joined us for a visit to Le Lucs sur Burlougne, a fitting counterpoint to the Puy du Fou history of the Vendee. In 1794, republican forces continued their genocide of the Vendee people, who had revolted at the central government's demand for soldiers and taxes. What occurred throughout the countryside was no less than genocide, as men, women and children were all killed, farm animals slaughtered, and fields salted. In Les Lucs sur Boulougne, many people were lined up against a wall and shot. Others took refuge in a church. They were all killed. One of the priests of the parish was away, and when he returned a few days later all he found were bodies. He made a written list of some 564 names, that survives. Because of that list, Les Lucs sur Boulougne was chosen as a memorial to all of the murdered Vendee peoples, perhaps as many as a million. It is now home to a new museum of the Vendee, and a moving memorial to the dead, and all victims of political genocide.

Our last day we went off to see another part of the countryside, where flooding last winter made international headlines. We drove into the town, and saw many modern, well-painted and maintained houses, perhaps hundreds, but all of them closed up. We then noticed barriers at the ends of the drives, and eventually we figured out that these hundreds of houses were condemned. So this explained why no one was making any repairs, and why the shutters were all closed. As we drove through I then noticed a few with second stories where windows were missing -- the flood waters were so high and came on so quickly that people had to break their second story windows to get onto their roofs -- if they were luck enough to have a second story. Some 60 people died from flooding in this village. The houses will not be rebuilt.

That sent us off in an unexpected direction. The land near the Atlantic is below sea level, and protected by levees. We had learned a few years ago that the entire area had been a marsh and underwater; mere islands emerged from the sea. Several of the islands were given to religious orders of monks who set us a system of locks to keep rising salt water out, and drain fresh water from rivers. eventually -- over about 200 years, the entire area was drained and became productive farm land. Of course, the monks were entitled to rent, and became among the most prosperous in France.

So as we looked across the flat land, we saw one of the old islands emerging, and so we went to take a look.

Pretty darned flat!
From there we went to St. Michel-en-herm, the location of the abbey that took on the marsh draining project. The village was on a small hill (naturally) nearby. We visited the village church first, then bought tickets at the Tourist Office (mere moments before it closed) for a tour of the abbey, which is now in private hands.

While much of the structure is an 18th century mansion in which the owners still live, three areas were open for our tour.

The house was closed,

but we walked through the remains of the chapel,

to the crypt,
and saw pieces of carvings not yet restored.

On the other side of the building is the refectory,

behind the blue door

an enormous room that once housed as many as 75 monks.

The fountain from across the room.

And while leaving, we saw the canon and ammo -- don't let the canon hit you on your way out the gate!

Jeanne prepared a magnificent meal of cold melon soup, roast pork with mushrooms, salad and vegetables, cheese and fruit.

A last night at the petite gite....

And the next morning it was time to say goodbye to the trois belles de Bordeaux.

A bientot....

Ile aux Moines

2010-09-09T23:36:00.010-10:00

We had been invited to visit with Loni and Bob at their charming home in Ile aux Moines, situated in the Golfe du Moribihan between chez Greenside and our destination in the Vendee. The nearest city is Vannes, so we stopped for a picnic lunch on a bench along the river, and a quick tour of the old city.

Vannes is known for its old walled city, and for the timbered houses that remain. Here is the lavoir outside the walls on the river, where washing was done in cubicles, with drains under the covered eaves to take the dirty water away.

The other side of this porte to the city was a formal garden; presumably in the day it carried the dirty washwater to the canal and to the harbor.

Timbered houses were made illegal since they are particularly susceptible to fire, but many examples in the old town remain.

The guidebooks say that if you get the feeling that the timbered houses are leaning, don't panic -- they are. This one caught our eye.

As in many old cities, it is hard to see the church since it is surrounded by other buildings.

Ile aux Moines (island of the monks) is a 5 minute ferry ride from the "continent" as it is referred to. In case you were wondering as I was, the GPS voice gave clear driving instructions, closing with "Turn to the right and take the ferry." So we did.

Loni and Bob and dog Zola were waiting at the dock, and took us by cab to their charming waterfront home. We settled in, and took a walk through their portion of the island. One stop was one of the churches, featuring a ship hanging from the ceiling, which Bob told us we would find in every church in Brittany. Tom and Bob bought oysters along the way, and we returned home for oysters and a delicious meal prepared by our hostess. Friend Sandy joined us for dinner and conversation, and we made plans to meet the next morning for coffee in the village.

The long walk from the street to the house...
our first glimpse of the house...

the charming garden on one side....

and the dramatic sun porch on the other.

A charming dining room,

sejour,

and kitchen.

The oyster beds at low tide.

Tom and Bob preparing the oysters.

The next morning we had a lovely breakfast of melon, berries and an excellent kouign amann, followed by a walk to the tiny village for coffee. After a relaxing chat, it was time to walk back to the house (stopping at the chapel on the way), pack and wait for the taxi to take us to the ferry and the mainland, and the car, for our return to the Vendee.

The village

We saw the postman making his rounds.

Coffee in the village

The chapel, complete with suspended ship.

Loni and Bob were delightful hosts, and made us very welcome. They have a delightful home in an expected part of Brittany, and we enjoyed meeting them.

Pointe du Raz

2010-09-09T20:35:00.008-10:00

As our Brittany adventure drew to a close, we made one last --and successful attempt to visit Pointe du Raz, at the end of the peninsula. We started with lunch in Duoarnenez by the harbor -- featuring coquilles St. Jacques en brochette -- then started on our trip to the park. We stopped at a small inlet featuring a tiny house and lighthouse, and walked into the woods to see a restored mill. Tom had seen it on our last visit, when it had been a run down ruin with signs telling of the new owner's renovation plans. Now it was beautifully restored, and working away making all manner of flour.

The water enters from a stream uphill.

The outdoor paddle wheel turns an indoor wheel,

which turns a heavy wheel underneath the works,

that moves the grinding wheel against the grain fed in the funnel,
and carried the flour up to the third level by a belt,

where the flour was sfted onto a drum, and brushed,

and fell to the bottom floor and collected in sacks,

which were collected by the young woman and the counter and weighed into bags for sale.

From there we drove to Pointe du Raz, the end of the peninsula, with jagged cliffs and picturesque views, the photos of which have temporarily gone missing.

The next day we collected ourselves and our stuff, tidied the house, and left for Ile aux Moines, the the delightful and warm hospitality of Loni and Bob.

Adieux to chez Greenside.

Ile d'Ouessant

2010-09-04T06:05:00.011-10:00

The farthest northeast point of France is the island of d'Ouessant. We set the clock for an early departure and managed to actually leave the house by 6:45 for the hour plus drive to the ferry. And in northwestern France, it is way dark at 6:45. Sometimes at 7:45 or 8:45!
Taken from juts inside the boat -- watch your step, literally.

Ile d'Ouessant

We arrived at our ferry in Camaret-sur-mer in plenty of time, in fact enough to watch the sunrise. Soon enough we were scrambling aboart the boat which was tied up next to ancient steps. Forget OSHA and all those safety regs as we boarded -- just two burly guys who each took an arm and hoisted us in. Then it was an hour os so, and we arrived at a fairly windswept island with not alot going on except magnificent scenery. Not to worry about seeing the town -- it was all in the central square. We took a few minutes to walk to an "ecomuseum" which was really two small stone houses, one showing a traditional d'Ouessant home, the other a small collection of clothes and tools. Our first glimpse was of the haystack outside -- which was oblong, and covered with a braided net of hay.

The little house was a revelation. There were no interior walls. Instead, on entering, one is confronted with narrow hallways created by elevated boxes. The boxes are actually the bedrooms, just large enough to sleep in. Some had cupboards and small closets built in. Inside the sleeping boxes one would hang one's clothes and store personal items. Outside were benches and tables at one end for cooking, and the same repeated on the other end for a salon. A big selling point was that madame could rock the cradle without ever leaving the comfort of her bed. (Perhaps adding on was also easy -- just slap together another box!) And elevated in case of storms that might flood the island. Who knew that all these ruins of houses we had been seeing consisting of simple exterior walls were actually the entire house -- all the rest being wooden bedrooms. Outside the museum was a small paddock containing two rare d'Ouessant sheep, black and about the size of beagles with furry coats.

braided hay
interior boxes in the house

bedbox and cradle

salon
The kitchen; behind the blue doors is a fireplace for cooking.
tiny sheep

We headed back to town, had a forgettable lunch (must have been, since I forgot it), we slipped in side the church for a few moments, took in the extensive cemetery, famous for the many people killed in shipwrecks near the island, and found our tour bus for a three hour tour of the sights.

The first was one of the many lighthouses we were to see, but the impressive sights were actually two structures on the rocks. Both were access to foghorns, allowing people to access the foghorns even in treacherous weather. The first had a walkway in stone leading to a stone box. the second had a long bridge leading to a rock outcropping, which from the sea side had an access ladder.

Care to climb up there in bad weather? Any weather?

Our next stop was yet another lighthouse, this one having had in olden days a telepherique leading to it for supplies. The lighthouse is on the left; the other two columns made up part of the telepherique. Seeing the rocky waters even our very calm and warm day, it was easy to see how so many ships had come to grief.

Our next stop was a small cove with an impressive sea wall that was used by ships until relatively recently. Looking at the depths, and the variation of the tides, it would have been a nightmare. But perhaps you use what you have. Today there were sunbathers on the shore, children in the water (our guide said the water on a good day was about 60 degrees), and people riding bikes and picnicking here and there.

A refreshing drink...

our ferry arrived...
a little help aboard...

and our day in Ile d'Ouessant was over.

(Rainy) Reading Part 3

2010-08-26T23:21:00.003-10:00

Seven Ages of Paris by Alistair Horne (lovely, so glad I read it!)
I Saw A Man Hit His Wife by Mark Greenside (another by our host -- nicely written -- good going, mark)
The Yellow House by Martin Gayford (fascinating account of the months spent in Arles by Van Gogh and Gauguin, plus all the context you can throw a stick at)
Eiffel's Tower by Jill Jonnes (also fascinating -- a full account of the Paris fair of 1896, featuring Edison, Buffalo Bill and Annie Oakley, as well as the Tour)
Imperfect Birds by Annie Lamotte (nicely done, but perhaps a little too Marin County privileged for me)
Murder in the Palais Royale by Cara Black (love the Paris setting, but the characters and lingering wartime themes are getting a little tired)
How to Talk to a Widower by Jonathan Tropper (funny, sad and true)

Thank heavens for kindle -- and for the droid app allowing me to read on my phone as Tom, who did not bring enough books, uses the kindle!)

Parish Closes

2010-08-26T04:40:00.021-10:00

Before starting out, we stopped at the tourist office for some information , and reservations for a boat trip later in the week. While there we saw announcements of a visit from a typical Breton ship open for visiting -- right then. So we grabbed some sandwiches and a tart from the patisserie across the street and headed for the ship.

We had actually seen it on our way into town -- Tom keeps track of the comings and goings of the various vessels ties up along the river. Typically French, she was beautifully restored and outfitted with posters explaining her history. Her three crew members were on hand to show off various aspects of the ship. They even included wine, cider, dried sausage and potato chips!

We stopped in a little village a few minutes away across the street from the church to eat our lunch. it featured a small tart topped with famous local strawberries -- more about them later!

Our first parish close of the day was in Daoulas, a small, picturesque village a few minutes north. The church, cemetery and a chapel were open for visitors. Apparently there was another chapel in an abbey adjacent to the church, and another up the hill 100 meters, but we decided we had too much to see to try to see everything here. But four churches within sight of one another? In a small village?

The chapel across the street

Our next stop was in Plougastel-Daoulas. The calvaire there is one of the most ornate in Brittany, and looked very old. It was built in about 1598 after an outbreak of plague. It had been heavily damaged in WWII, with artillery fire and in ground combat. One of the American soldiers involved in the fighting came back soon after the war, having raised money in the US, and helped in the rebuilding of the calvaire. He was made an honorary citizen of the city.

Inside the church were carved, unpainted wood side altar pieces and decorations, a contrast to the colored beams across the ceiling, and the modern alter in the center of the church.

The village war memorial in the parish grounds

We then sped away about an hour to St.-Thegonnec, impressive for its calvaire and its pulpit of almost 200 figures. While the guidebooks say the calvaire dates from 1581-8, the figures seemed much more modern. They follow the life of Christ from birth to resurrection, quite a feat in such a small structure. The calvaire had steps going inside, and although it is not clear how, apparently the priest is able to climb to the top and give sermons, using the figures as visual aids.

This is the downhill view of the church, which includes and entrance through the wall with steps up to the close level; the entrance is a war memorial, listing names on both sides of those from the village lost in WWI.

The uphill side of the church featuring the calvaire.

Inside the church

The church was heavily damaged by fire in 1998, so I think this baptistry is new, and so much less ornate than the older ones.

A new organ.
They did manage to save the pulpit in the fire, with the magnificent, painted carvings.

Tom thinks there must be a lot of sinning in St.-Thegonnec, since there were five of these lovely confessionals for the very tiny village.

This is a "simple" statue near the side entrance to the church.

Our next village was Guimiliau, a village of linen producers. The close of this tiny village was impressive even from some distance away.

The clavaire is the structure with the cross at the top. It also featured figures from the life of Christ, and also allowed the priest to climb inside and preach from the top platform.

The birth of Christ

The Adoration
Palm Sunday
The Last Supper

I was delighted to see a young woman at the door of the church giving information, wearing the coiffe of the region. I suspect this was just part of her official dress for the day, but none of the guides at the other churches were wearing them. It looked like a handy thing to pop on for a bad hair day.

She was pointing out the carvings on the "porch" of the church, which also depict or symbolize various bible stories, and were also used to teach the congregation.

It seemed as though we were far from the only folks bagging parish closes that day. we saw many of the same people arriving and leaving as we did, with the same cameras. Some were Italian, but most were French. Who knew parish closes could be such a draw?

Inside the church we were treated to an organ practice. The music was not terribly inspiring, but it was nice to know it really worked. There was also an elaborate baptistry, this one carved, unpainted wood, and even more elaborate carved, painted altar decorations. The pulpit in this church was also elaborately carved wood.

The last parish close on our list was Lampaul-Guimiliau, about 5 minutes from Guimiliau. As we crossed the few fields from one village to another, each with a magnificent church, I had to wonder why they went to so much trouble. An informational plaque at the church explained why -- although a much smaller village that Guimiliau, Lampaul-Guimiliau was a tannery town, with many wealthy residents. It simply would not do to have a less ostentatious church. They note that while their calvaire is smaller, they are a smaller village, and their church is prettier. The calvaire is a relatively small structure with a single set of figures near the crucifix.

St. Michael and his demon.

The main alter was flanked by two alters in this style. The center panel depicts stories from the passion, featuring the three crucifixes at the top of the panel.

eThe baptristry

Another organ, in the same elevated style.

Our very last stop was the village of Le Faou, juts a few minutes from home. We had bought a set of hand-sewn and embroidered square pillowcases at an antique shop the first morning in the area; we returned to see (and of course, buy) lovely linen pillowcases in long rectangles. In the parking lot was a typical Breton character (with a typical breton hanger-on who had already started cocktail hour), selling the famous Plougastel-Daoulas strawberries from our lunchtime tart. So we brought a box home for dessert. They are very light in texture and flavor, making the typical California strawberry a much more muscular experience. The flavor is a more pure strawberry flavor, at the same time thin and light. Every one was at the peak of ripeness and perfect.

A strawberry postscript: We ate half the berries last night after dinner, and planned to have the other half this evening. About half of the berries had simply disintegrated -- they looked perfect, but when touched, they collapsed into mush. So when the man said "These are for tomorrow", he meant it!

Pont-Aven

2010-08-25T03:05:00.006-10:00

Tom's birthday was gray and drizzly in Brittany, although the temperature was mild. Friend Pat could not join us as planned -- who knew you needed a passport to take a ferry from England to France?

But it was probably just as well, since Tom succumbed to a bad cold Friday morning, and did not shake it enough for even an easy outing until Monday. Monday's outing was planned to be an easy one, so as not to overdo. We went to Pont-Aven, one of the most famous artist colonies in history, favored by all the biggies -- Cezanne, Gauguin, Pisarro -- you name it, they were either all there, or passed through.

All except Van Gogh, from what I have been reading in The Yellow House by Martin Gayford, about the handful of months spent a house in Arles by Van Gogh and Gauguin. He points out that at this time trains were operating all over France, so artists would write each other almost every day from different parts of the country, describing canvasses, and generally carrying on the philosophical and practical discussions they had in Paris coffee houses. Not only that -- they even sent canvasses back and forth, to share their work! So there is much correspondence about what each was doing and where -- and much of the work and many of the artists favored Pont-Aven.

It is a very attractive little village, cut by a river. Apparently part of its charm were the 9 mills along the river, providing a lot of subject matter for artists. As we walked through -- another gray and drizzly day -- we could see artists on the opposite side of the river working on this and that. There are tours to take artists to the exact spots of various masterpieces.

now the town is given over to tourists, so we wonder whether the tourists came because the village is charming and pretty, or is the village charming and pretty to attract the tourists? Either way, we enjoyed the visit.

We started, of course, with lunch, which for Tom was oysters and a small steak. For me it was coquillages cruistiant -- crusty shells, which turned out to be a variety of shellfish seasoned and covered with a breadcrumb topping. several kinds of clams, a few limpets, mussels and a scallop. Lovely.

We then walked through the Musee de Beaux Arts, just the right size for a museum, and bristling with no photo signs. There were a few lowest quality Gauguins, and some local artists, but everything of any value or artistic importance has long since been whisked away to Paris or some rich guy's living room. But there was a series of studies of the town which showed it in earlier days -- still charming and pretty.

Things don;t change here much -- the billboard for local businesses is made of tiles.

Following our walk back to the car we took a drive around the countryside looking at a couple of other small ports, noticing the thatched houses here and there, then made our way back home for a restful evening.

A cloudy day....

2010-08-20T00:45:00.006-10:00

...in Brittany. With a little rain. Tom is sleeping, trying to shake a cold before we head north to Roscoff to gather up friend pat who is making the trip from Cornwall for the weekend. I had a quiet cup of tea and a piece of kouign (pronounced "queen") amann cake for breakfast -- decadent in the extreme. Recipes call for a dough of flour and butter rolled out, slathered with butter and sprinkled with sugar, folded, then rolled out, slathered and sprinkled again a few times, then baked. It tastes like one of those cinnamon breakfast rolls with so much butter you could squeeze some out, but without the cinnamon; just butter and sugar. It is served warm, so when it is placed in the microwave for even a few moments, some of the butter melts out and forms a puddle on the plate. It doesn't photograph well, but the taste more than makes up for it.

In and Around

2010-08-19T06:16:00.017-10:00

Tuesday was a small circuit around the area just east of us. We started out in the neighboring village of Pleyben, which has an impressive church and calvaire. A calvaire is a structure in the church close, or grounds, that depicts Calvary and the three crosses. They feature a variety of figures beneath the cross. At a time when almost everyone was a violation of church law for anyone other than a priest to possess a bible, the calvaires were used by the priests to explain various bible stories. It turns out that there are a variety of tourist trails to follow around here -- in California you might have the missions, here you could either collect all the calvaires, or perhaps all the church closes. In one guide book there is a list of about 15 church closes with a longer list for "advanced" fanciers.

(I should have initially pointed out that the road signs at the top of the post are in French first, then Breton, the Celtic language of the region, still spoken by some people.)

After Pleyben, we went around in a circle, stopping at the charming church of St.-Herbot, the patron saint of horned cattle (where do they get these saints?). On the way, we were stopped by, well, cattle.
St.-Herbot is in a little wink of a village, with a stone entry on the side. The interior is unusual, with the alter area completely enclosed with a wooden structure. On several are wisps of hair from cattle.

At this point we picked up the trail of the mountains, and climbed from the road to the peaks of the two tallest mountains in Brittany. They are about the altitude of our house in Berkeley.

The view of the peak of the second-highest mountain in Brittany from the road;
the actual peak;
the view from the top.

The chapel atop Mont St. Michel, the highest peak in Brittany. We walked up the stairs from the parking lot, since the road to the top was blocked off.

Wednesday we started exploring the region south of us, with a ride through the country side to find the oldest church in Brittany with the oldest (and we think) largest calvaire, with a rumored 100 figures (we didn't count them).

On the way we noticed the famous Breton black sheep grazing peacefully (at least until we stopped the car to look at them), and a dolmen (rock structure remaining from a burial tumulus or cairn).

We found a recommended restaurant in the middle of the countryside which claimed to be authentically Breton. I had a crepe with champignon (mushrooms), lardons (fried bits of ham) and creme fraiche. Tom had a traditional scallop stew with lots of apple. We enjoyed not only the food by the decorations of photos of folks in traditional dress, and samples of embroidery framed on the walls.

We had had discouraging information about a museum in Pont L'Abbe -- lifeless, but with a display of coiffes (I now find out the correct spelling). We found the town, found the parking, bypassed the temptations at the brocante (antique store or second-hand store, depending on the prices) and ultimately found the museum, depsite the town's best efforts to hide it. The first room was filled with coiffes, and a very nice guy who gave jus a demonstration. He told us that his mother had worn a coiffe and his aunt, and from them he learned how to do it. While the coiffe is rapidly dying out with the oldest generation, he told us that there are still many women in the surrounding villages who wear the coiffe in their daily lives. The museum displays quoted a few women saying that they did not feel comfortable going out without it, as a matter of identity and proper dress.

The Almost Impossible-to-find Museum
The demonstration begins with dividing the hair and covering the back of the head with a little cap, twisting the ends into a bun, encasing the bun with a round comb (the English translation of the museum guide called this the "louse"), wrapping the comb in black velvet ribbon, pinning the back piece of the coiffe to the back of the comb, then placing the front piece and long ties of the coiffe on the comb, pinning all in place and typing a bow in the long ribbons. On a good day, 1/2 hour. Making one coiffe takes only about 10 hours for an experienced maker. Our demonstrator told us that the ironing of the collar we saw at the fete took 4 hours, using four or five hundred pieces of grass or twigs to mold the shape of the fabric.

The back attached to the comb covered with ribbon.

The finished product.

Samples throughout the years, starting with the smallest in about 1830, growing taller and taller each year until about 1970. Then shorter hair and women working at jobs made the coiffe impractical -- although the museum has video and photos of women in their coiffes helping in farm work, collecting seaweed like hay bales, cooking and canning fish.

There was also a nice exhibit of traditional costumes; this was my favorite.

detail of the embroidery
A church we visited in Pont L'Abbe at the end of the day.

Today we headed off to Concarneau, another harbor town, but so much more. We arrived at noon, so found a restaurant listed in two guides and settled in for langoustines (for Tom, in honor of the area, which produces the majority of langoustines in France) and a salmon and salad entre (appetizer) and veal (entre) for me, with a fondant du chocolat for shared dessert. The food was fine, good even, but the service was so slow we could have spent a whole three hours just being served, had we not ditched protocol and asked for the dessert at the same time as Tom's coffee, and the bill as soon as we received those. The parking policies in France are highly civilized -- paid parking is free at lunch, in this city from 12:30 to 2; but even so, it was not enough for this restaurant. As it was we watched three tables up and leave before ordering.

One of Tom's langoustines was coated with peppery roe.

Across the street from the restaurant was the Ville Close, actually a walled city covering an entire island in the harbor. Inside the walls was a bustling (dare we say crammed) town with wall to wall shops emphasizing ice cream, candy and pastries, and striped sailor T shirts. However, it also housed a Musee de la Peche (museum of fishing) which one of us found fascinating, the other one only mildly amusing. The museum did include a visit aboard an old fishing vessel tied up outside the wall, which both were interested to see.

A sewing machine for making sails in the museum; it was about 5 feet across.

A brief walk through the town, a brief climb onto the ramparts, and we were headed back for rest and recreation.

You knew this was a loop hole didn't you?

Reading on the Road, Part 2

2010-08-19T06:05:00.004-10:00

Continuing the traveling reading program:

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot (an excellent read on many levels -- just read it!)

Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Bard (also an excellent read on many levels, continued in he blog elizabethbard.com)

France, A Love Story, stories edited by Camille Cusamano (a few clunkers, but mostly really nice)

We'll Always Have Paris by John Baxter (turns out I had already read this one but found it again in Mark's library -- such a nice book, why not read it again!?)

Fete Folklorique in Plomodiern

2010-08-16T08:27:00.019-10:00

So, there we were , bright and early in Plomodiern on Sunday, August 15 for the Fete Folklorique. Since we had driven through the town the night before on our way to the pardon, we were wondering how the village would charge the 4e advertised for the parade. Not to worry -- they simply put up barricades at every possible entrance, then had ticket sellers posted.

The first order of the day was the "Defile" (dayfeelay), which was a parade of 13 groups from nearby villages, each in the traditional dress of their villages. Each was accompanied by a "bagad" or band. The bands (plural "bagadou") had bagpipes, the soner or chanter, a piped instrument that looks like a flute but makes a sound like the bagpipes, very piercing, and drums. The groups gathered around the block from the church. They went by once in one direction, then another time the opposite direction, then made a final pass on their way to the beer garden down the street, where it appeared anyone in the parade was entitled to at least one beer.

It was the best parade we have ever seen. The costumes were interesting and what's more, genuine. The dancing was just a suggestion of what was to come, and the music was spectacular. There were babies in decorated carriages, infants, adults and kids of every age, several horse-drawn carts, and even two men dressed as peasants with a wheelbarrow -- following along the horses, the wheelbarrow was not a decorative item. There was also a man in contemporary dress pulling a basket of umbrellas -- even though the day was clear and warm, it would have been a disaster if the costumes had been damaged by rain.

Everything about the parade was fascinating: the music, the costumes, the dances. After the parade it was time for lunch, and after a walk around the town we decided to join the vast multitudes enjoying a ham lunch in a grassy field. For our 11e (about 14 dollars) we got an ample lunch of ham, couscous and ratatouille, melon, bread and a slice of the local custard cake, far breton. We chatted with our neighbors for a bit, then made our way to the next stop, the afternoon spectacular, when each of the groups would perform dances and music.

Parading is very tiring.

And how about some tea?

As we waited for the festivities to begin, we wandered around the edge of the audience area, looking at the benches of the ancien artisans -- artisans, who were doing various kinds of traditional work. We were especially impressed by the lacemakers, the rope maker, basketmaker, bee keeper, and the wooden shoe maker. There was even a man making wooden spoons.

lacemaking
rope making

wooden shoes, tools

An old fashioned bee hive. Basketmaking

Spoon making
We saw one of these in a museum, where a pulley was used to swing the spoon holder across the room.

One of the best parts of the day was walking around the village and having a chance to see the costumes up close. for a long time I wanted to see the lace coifs -- well this was my chance. We saw more coifs than you can shake a stick at.

The girls have their own styles; we saw this black one in a museum in a neighboring village the following day, along with others for even younger girls.

The embroidery was also spectacular.

Of all the coifs we saw, this was our favorite. The lady wearing it was constantly photographed, even when talking on her cell phone.

Now, ladies, let's think about cleaning and preparing the collar alone in this costume.

The dancing was also great fun, as the bands and dancers were showing off various categories of dancing. We have no idea what the categories were, or even if there was a competition going on. But the dancing and music was great -- even if we felt we had had enough after two of the five hours, especially since the day was warm and sunny, and the entire presentation was in the sun. That night there was to be a dance of the mille -- thousands. We have no idea what it was, and we will have to wait for another fete to find out.

so we made our way out of the village, and back to the car, catching a glimpse of a group practicing next to the tour buses.

Tomorrow -- when perhaps the internet is behaving a little bit better -- I'll try to load a couple of short videos of the bands and their music.

Pardon?

2010-08-15T07:25:00.010-10:00

Oh, my, where to begin....how about yesterday?

Yesterday we set out for a drive, a circuit intended to take us about 3 hours, since we wanted to go to a nearby village in the evening. So first off, we elected to take the scenic route to the first village on our circuit, which added four minutes to the highway. So. First village: not far. We stopped at an estuary, at very low tide. In fact. you might say, no tide. Note the mud. And note the sailboat, resting on its keel.

After parking the car for a look, we noticed a antique shop nearby, and decided to pop in. We found many lovely items, well priced and beautifully presented. We walked out a few minutes later with three square pillow cases with lovely embroidery. And Madame also gave us some touring advice -- to take a small detour in the opposite direction from our planned route to see a new suspension bridge being built. So of course, we set off, stopping once to visit a bee and honey museum. I left the camera in the car, and in truth, there was not all that much to photograph inside (a 20 minutes film in French about bees?). But the tasting was an experience.

Not one for honey as a rule, it usually just tastes sweet to me. I've tasted different kinds before, and some I like, and some I don't, but mostly, they are sweet. So I tasted each of the four samples provided. The first was acacia honey, which had a deep smokey flavor like some teas I have tasted, but unlike any honey I recall. I never have tasted all the flavors that people talk about with wine -- a start, a finish, that sort of thing. But this one started out dark and complicated, almost salty, and then became smokey. The second was spring flowers, starting out light and floral, ending citrusy. The third was the best -- summer flowers, tasting very strongly of butterscotch, real butterscotch. The last was chestnut honey -- an acquired taste said Madame, and she was right. Strong, bitter, woody. Who knew? Honey in distinctly, strong flavors.

Next we headed for the bridge, which was not quite finished (another two years we had been told). No good photos, since they were blocked by construction, and I expected a return visit on the way back. But then we noticed we were near Argol, a village that has a living museum of artisans showing off ancient trades, so we thought to check it out. Sadly, the museum was closed, but we happened on a wedding just taking off for the reception. The bride and groom was already tucked in their car, a jeep started off the procession to make sure everyone got on the right road, and all the participants were tying colored ribbons to their car antennas, we suppose to show that they were all together. We headed off with them until our turn, and made out way home another route. Our original itinerary would have to wait for another day.

But then. A very early dinner and off to a pardon, a religious observance, in this case of the Assumption of Mary, a very big day around here. We saw that one was happening from a great distance four years ago on our last trip, but it was late in the day, we didn't know exactly where we were, and the parking was a zoo. So passed it up and felt like we had missed something special. So this time we meant to make up for it if we could.

The parishioners start a distance away from the church in procession with the priests and assorted clergy, and walk together to the church. After that, we had no idea. The big deal is that the people wear their traditional dress, and in Brittany that means the lace headdresses of the ladies, a very special an d rare sight. We went to the town where the pardon was to be held, and mass was indeed going on, b ut no crowds and nothing special. We walked around a bit, and found two ladies who told us, with a very French flick of the wrist and wave of the hand, that the pardon was off thataway about 3 kilometers, and we were a few minutes late, but it would be lovely. When we didn't bolt, the older lady told us to get a move on. So we did.

Without any real directions (we pondered the nuance of the wrist and the flick), Tom found a church in the distance, with many cars jockeying for position, and parking guards. So we figured we (he) had found it. By the time the car was parked and the camera grabbed, the procession was almost at the church. We followed along, and merged with the crowd as it filed into the church for what turned out to be a mass, mostly in French, with many songs. The Gloria was familiar to me. We were both taken aback to recognize "Amazing Grace" sung not in English or French, so it must have been Breton, the ancient Celtic language that is still spoken a bit. It also gave us a chance to study the traditional dress -- for the men, black pants, some with embroidery on the sides, and ribbons and/or buttons sewn on near the bottom of the leg, and a jacket with a distinctive blue design on the back. For the ladies, either a black velvet jacket and skirt ensemble with black and gold embroidery (some embroidery with glass beads), and a smallish white lace coif, or the same type of ensemble but in cream satin with white embroidery and beads with the same lace coiffe. many had white lacy aprons on as well.

Mission pardon accomplished.

And today? Suffice to say that today I have about 500 more photos than I did yesterday, and we have seen dozens of different traditional costumes, have seen dozens of coiffes, and close up, saw the best parade we have ever seen, and heard as many bagpipes in one place as we saw and heard at the Robert Burns competition in SF. So stay tuned...it will take me a while to get through 500 photos.

Reading on the Road

2010-08-13T09:13:00.003-10:00

So far:

Oprah: A Biography by Kitty Kelley (fascinating; the bloom is somewhat off the rose)
Passages by Justin Cronin (by far the best thing I've read for a very long time)
Warning Signs by Stephen White (another in the series, a little light on the law, however)

I also reread I'll Never Be French by Mark Greenside, in anticipation of our stay at his house. A keeper. And while here, I am taking advantage of his extensive library, and have already read French Toast by Harriet Welty Rochefort (cute, a lightweight Polly Platt), and At Home In France by Ann Barry, a real classic well written, about the Lot, a place we visited many times. Also a keeper. A Place in Normandy by Nicolas Kilmer was beautifully written, bur frustrating -- a week's rainy visit to the family's manoir in Normandy, ostensibly to decide whether to take it on as a life's project, or let it sink into ruin; hint: no decisions made. Only for the devoted.

There were a couple of others not worth reading, the worst of which was Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, where I could have cheerfully dispatched our protagonist after the first three chapters, kept on for about six, and gave up.

Arriving in Brittany

2010-08-13T07:25:00.015-10:00

On August 9 we left the Vendee for Brittany, the land of cheese, butter and King Arthur. We are staying in the charming home of Mark Greenside, who wrote "I'll Never Be French." We are cozy and comfortable in our village of 500. The weather is a bit disconcerting -- heavy clouds and overcast, but fairly warm temperatures; an unusual combination.

The house itself is delightful -- larger than we had expected, two bedrooms and two baths, with a library/parlor and a large back room, with six fireplaces. This room was once a cafe, when the river across the street was a going commercial concern. Outside is a large lawn on either side, with a potager (kitchen garden) on one side.

The potager features leeks, onions, squash, beets, potatoes, several kinds of lettuce, and a few things I can't identify.

So far we have only gotten settled -- we've been to an antique marche and the weekly food and household marche that features all manner of local foods from vegetables to fruits, cheeses to sausages, meats to fish, ladies unmentionables to shoes and handbags. There was even a mobile nursery, complete with seeds, tools, flowers and full grown trees.

We found a rotisserie chicken and roast potatoes at one stand, and two fragrant melons at another (one for tonight, the other for tomorrow night, said the man). And of course, bread and cake from the boulangerie. I tried one of the local specialties, "far breton", a kind of pudding cake, with cherries. It is quite popular around here, and people swoon over it, but I found it a little bland and uninteresting. No doubt more research is required.

rYes, this is where to buy our undies!

Shoes
Hats and bags
A nursery in the foreground, a tablecloth store in the background

The market across the river

A small "far breton" with cherries

Last night we went off to Locronan, a medieval village, which we had been told would have an artisan's crafts fair. The local literature said it would begin at 8 PM. we arrived a bit after, the sun still well up in the sky, and the parkinglots all but full. The town was awash in people; at some points it was easier to drift along with the throng rather than try to make for a specific destination. There were some artisans around, but mostly it was the art of retailing. We came away with a large meringue ("nature" meaning with no flavoring) and a packet of colored meringues -- I've never seen any like them before. Each one appears to have a bit of food coloring swirled in it, and a drop of one essence or another. As a certified meringue fan, I will sacrifice myself in the name of research.
The church above (closed); a type of hurdy-gurdy machine below; the box of books actually contains the music for the hurdy-gurdy, which plays the stiff pages like a player piano plays a tape.

A very busy lady making crepes; not shown: the hoard awaiting service.

Below, a harp student playing a borrowed Irish harp, for contributions towards her own.

An interesting accordion instrument. Some of the crowd were moved to start a folk dance around the musicians.

Every kind of sausage imaginable, including curly ones.

The colored and "nature" meringues

The prize: a kouign amann cake. Made with butter, flour (twice as much butter as flour) and sugar. Yum.

Today it was off to Quimper. Our real reason for the trip was to get a printer so that we can print out some business papers requiring signature, and then scan and email them back to the US. One might have thought that faxing would be the way to go, or even faxing and then overnight mail. But one would be wrong. Incoming faxes cost about $6 a page; outgoing about $13. An overnight envelope from here to there -- $100. For about the same we got the printer/scanner/copier, paper and accessories. France, ya gotta love it.

So Quimper, the closest small city. We went first to the printer store, Darty, and pondered our purchase. As we were getting the last few items together, the salesmen came up to remind us that it was time to close the store for lunch. Now. At least this meant that speed records would be set in ringing us up and sending us out the door.

The off to Quimper proper, which we have visited before. This time our objective was lunch, a trip through the church which had been undergoing renovations when we visited last, and then the faience museum. Lunch turned out to be good but unremarkable steak frites in the center square of old town, positively crawling with tourists. The church was open, but preparing for a concert. The museum, requiring a drive down the river, was inexplicably closed. But we browsed the neighboring faience stores anyway, where a simple mug with a breton figure on it would cost 29 euros, about $40. We did find the lovely Locamarie church next door however, which was worth the trip.

a

The church preparing for a concert.

Locamarie church, a bit of a contrast

The stations of the cross in painted porcelain, like the faience sold across the street.

La Vendee

2010-08-12T02:50:00.024-10:00

From Paris to the Vendee...by train from Paris to Nantes, then getting the leased Twingo (a car of which Tom says no expense has been spared -- the most essential features only). By some freak of fate, the car leasing office was actually open on a Sunday, and Mattieu arrived exactly on time at the train station to pick us up. The trip to La Gite was the usual hour more or less, probably less, since many improvements have been made to the route, and the autoroute goes farther south than it had last year.

We arrived in time for dinner, and were immediately welcomed into the extended family and friends. Our visit of just over a week included many lovely and delicious lunches and dinners outside with the family, with many friends and family dropping by, the local march and marche de puces, dessert at Odile's with two lovely cakes (a fruit tart with lemon custard, and a St. Honore -- so good as to defy description), and a trip into La Roche sur Yon for a museum viewing and theater tour. we also put in a brief appearance at one of the Stages put on by cousin Mattieu. Mattieu is a very famous singer who gives concerts internationally. In August, when the neighborhood is filled with people on holiday, he gave lessons every morning and afternoon for a week to anyone interested. The turnout was quite good -- about 20 people. As it turns out, most of them were cousins, so perhaps that explains the good attendance. The culmination was a grand fete our last Sunday evening, when pretty much the whole town turned out for an evening party featuring a variety of songs by the group (and anyone else who knew the words), and a huge potluck. Our contribution was an apple and a plum tart from a local bakery and a couple of bottles of local rose.

The first of many fabulous meals at the Gite.

Yelen above, Pauline below.

A little snooze by visiting Sam and little dog Odie.

Our first day in the Vendee Tom and I went for lunch at our favorite restaurant at Jar sur Mer.

Aina and Marie at lunch.

Jeanne
A quick trip to La Roche sur Yon for a museum exhibit of Japanese woodcuts and French cartoons. This is the local theater which was open for viewing.

Napoleon in the square

Would you believe left-overs? The caramelized fennel I could eat all day.

Aina and Yelen

Paul the Tablecloth Man and Aina

Jacques, the eldest brother

Paul, Pauline and Jeanne on the way to a cocktail party.

Marie

Yelen
Bertrand

Solange -- her glasses reflect it all! After lunch
Each person was responsible for dinner one night. Our contribution was a plateau de fruits de mer -- actually two giant styrofoam boats filled with oysters, langoutine, small grey shrimp, clams and bulots. Oddly, I enjoyed the bulots the best. For dessert I made two apple pies, American style, served a la mode. A hit!

One of the two plateau de fruits de mer we provided for a celebratory dinner.

My favorite? The bulots -- they are the fluted shells.

Tom and Paul make a new foundation for a fallen rock "marmot" marking the entry to the drive.

Paul signs their work

The work party returns

Always a cheese course

The lovely light drifting in from the windows above the garden

Mattieu
The food frenzy begins. The hosts offered sanglier (wild boar) that had been dispatched the prior season, and potatoes. The attendees contributed everything else imaginable.

Noelle and Bernard at the potluck

Marie and Aina at the marche, buying armloads of books. When I went closer I noticed silver teaspoons....sigh. They are now in my suitcase ready to be brought home.

The Halle of Moutiers-les-Maufaits all decked out for lunch for the Marche au Puces (Flea Market). Featured: moule frites (mussels and fries) and merguez sausages.

Paul's excellent chicken, pistachio and apple terrine.

Bernard and Noelle brought TWO lovely cream cakes for lunch.

An after lunch chat under the trees.

Chere Odile

Friends Noelle above, Bernard below.

Tom and Bernard pouring over the map of Brittany as Bernard gives us invaluable advice about what to see and do.

Pauline and Paul on the roof, trying out ballet moves while looking for hornets.

Yelen takes over the kitchen for his night as chef -- pizza!

Petit dejeuner in the sunshine

Paul
Pauline
As we depart in the trusty Twingo for Brittany, a bientot to Jeanne, Pauline and Paul....

An exceptionally happy time was had by all, especially us, and we are so very grateful for being included in the family's holiday.

Paris!

2010-08-09T22:36:00.008-10:00

We arrived in Paris after an uneventful flight on Air France, which is about as much as we hoped for, not being big fans. Unusually for Air France, the expected great cuisine was absent, with a watery beef bourgonion, carrot salad and brownie (?) -- and you know it was remarkable since I remember it even now, two weeks later. Also, the movie did not work in our quadrant. But we had books, and light naps, and arrived on time.

Shortly thereafter we arrived at our wonderful apartment, lent to us by Peter, a friend of Anne's. Anne's apartment is upstairs, so we were familiar with the building. Upon arriving we walked to the nearby shops to get bread and cheese and fruit and other necessities, which was enough to keep us napping until the next day.

Our apartment -- Anne on the top, we just below.

The wonderful nymphs on the staircase on the way up from our door to Anne's. Her apartment was the atelier of the original owner, a businessman who was also a painter.

The stairs from the metro to the apartment.

Since we were to be in town for only a few days before leaving for the country, we made a list of sights to see that would not be around upon our return in September. First on my list was Paris Plage, when a section of the Seine is given over to the beach scene. So even though you are in Paris, you can walk down the beach, including sand (and sand castles), lawns (with chaise longues), a library (with books to read and trees to read them under), and of course, food stands and restaurants. There is even a pool featuring a hilarious water aerobics class.

We then Made our way to the Petit Palais, which featured a show of Yves St. Laurent. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the show was dazzling. From his first shows at the beginning of his career until retirement, the clothing and accessories were spectacular. I was particularly impressed by the beaded jackets reproducing Van Gogh paintings of the irises and sunflowers. No photos were allowed, naturally, but imagine a square inch of beading with so many beads they could not be counted, and many kinds of beads in different colors, sizes and tectures, reproducing the heavy painterly style of Van Gogh -- magnificent. The truly unsung heroes (likely heroines) were the artisans who actually made the designs. But it was all lovely.

And all exhausting. For some reason jet lag hit us like a truck, and we spent most of our four days in Paris sleeping. part of it was jet lag, I'm sure, and part of it was simply collapsing after doing so many things our last few weeks in California. But in any event, there were lots of naps -- 3, 4 and 5 hour naps.

Our next day out and about was a trip to the Louvre to see a couple of shows that would be gone by September. On the way we walked through the Fete du Tuilleries, a carnival set up along the side of the park leading to the Louvre.

A lady playing an interesting stringed instrument in the metro.

So a brief stay in Paris, highlighted by time with Anne and many naps at Peter's apartment, the Paris Plage, Yves St. Laurent and the Louvre. Then off to the country....

Let's All Sing!

2010-07-26T06:08:00.006-10:00

Turkey in the Straw! So there we were, admiring Tom's weed whacking job in the back yard when who should appear but a turkey; we thought a male. He wandered around for a while fluffing his feathers and ruffling his tail (not a Full Monty, but very pretty, anyway). Then a little while later we noticed another turkey, sitting quietly in the grass, but seemingly careful about how she (she?) arranged herself. After a few moments she got up, revealing about 10 chicks, who started wandering around the yard. The male was then quite clearly doing guard duty, with his neck fully extended, looking in all directions. We watched for quite a while. After about an hour they wandered off next door, under or through the wire fence. Pretty darned cool!

i

OK, now off to France! The shuttle will be here in a couple of hours!

July 2010

2010-07-24T15:30:00.008-10:00

So here we are in the blessedly foggy Bay Area, catching up on all manner of summer activities.

First, the 46th anniversary of our 8th grade graduation reunion. Not many can boast of attending their 46th. A great group, lots of fun, let's do it every year!

Next, a trip to the DeYoung Museum, for the Birth of Impressionist Show. No photos, naturally, but a few other items caught our eyes.

Can you believe that a few years ago I was evicting this artist? I like to think it was the nudge she needed to achieve greatness.

Next, an unexpected visit from friends from France, Victoire and Pauline. We saw all the usual sites together, then they walked the length and breadth of San Francisco -- and the hill to and from our house as well, every other day. We hope they had as much fun as we did.

The Golden Gate above, the Painted Ladies below.

The first American milkshakes to go with the bacon cheeseburgers and blueberry pie.

Muir Woods

Mt. Tamalpias

Exhaustion is achieved!
In the middle we had Margie's birthday -- a picnic at Vasona, then a lovely dinner in Saratoga.

And finally, the No Sale Garage Sale and Brunch, when Tom's cousins Amy (with Steve), Katy, Beth and Meg came to go through stuff from Tom's father's house, sister Maggi's house, and even some stuff of mine. It started slow, but in the end, two cars were packed pretty full of treasures we hope everyone will enjoy. Perhaps we can do it again next year with the items left behind!

And now -- off to France!

Boston!

2010-06-23T15:55:00.027-10:00

Taken a bit of time off, and now we have to catch up with the old trip to make way for the new trip.....

This time we had more time in Boston to see the sights we missed last fall. We had three objectives -- spend more time on the Freedom Trail, see the JFK Library, and the Aquarium. Check, check and check. And check a few more things besides.

We arrived at the end of a long day. It was warm and sultry in our 5th floor room with a rooftop view. We were pretty tired, so we decided to start off early the next day on the Freedom Trail, which most folks say takes a pretty full day. And it did.

We started with fog, that burned off pretty early, turning into another unseasonably warm day, perfect for walking through town.

We had already seen the USS Constitution, and the Bunker Hill Monument, but we could see both of them in the distance.

A crane is putting the upper masts onto the USS Constitution above, while Bunker Hill memorial -- more of Bunker mound -- is across the river below.

Our approach took us on a walk to the river, through the colorful North End, a mixture of Italian and Early American. Note the brick strip in the sidewalk, which we are sure is there to keep visitors from getting lost, or worse yet, pestering locals for directions.

Our first official stop was Copely's Burial Ground. The highlight was a gravestone that had been used by the English soldiers for target practice -- the bullet holes are still there.

Below note the holes in the gravestone from British target practice.

Next was Old North Church, of Paul Revere/One If By Land fame. A replica of one of the lanterns is lit in the front of the church. This was our second visit, and it appears to have a solid stream of visitors.

Next we followed the stream of school children going to Paul Revere's House. We meant to go in, but it looked like with the hundreds of kids already waiting we might spend the whole day there, so we pass it by, in favor of "Boston's best Italian deli", where we got a sandwich to share as a morning snack. It may have just been the best Italian deli in Boston.

Next up: Past the Haymarket, the oldest continuous outdoor market in the US, which was closed -- no trace except the curious bronze fruit baskets embedded in the street. Then to Faneuil Hall, which may be historic, but now is a series of brick buildings filled with shops and a giant food court. We fought the crowds through most of it to find lunch. I had one more serving of fried whole clams while Tom had a very over-cooked hot dog. Sigh.

After our disappointing lunch in the frenetic Fanieul Hall, we decided to take a bit of a detour. A helpful National Park guide told us about a ferry ride across the river. So we wended our way from one ferry stop to another, trying to find our ferry (included on our metro pass) and avoid paying tourist rates on other ferries. Finally we found it, and had a lovely ride across the river to the USS Constitution stop and back. Just the rest we needed.

The Old State House is in the middle of the very modern downtown, and is also the site of the Boston Massacre. The exhibit inside makes it plain that the Massacre itself was not so much a massacre, and resulted from an angry crowd armed with rocks and clubs surrounding a handful of English soldiers who fired in self-defense. But was event was repeated over and over again in speeches and pamphlets, for years until it became the rallying cry of the revolutionaries, perhaps an early example of "spin" and "talk radio."

The State House itself is beautifully restored, and contains a few treasures including the clothes and personal items of John Hancock.

The real deal -- a drum (no pipe) above, a tricorner hat below.

John Hancock may have had a big signature, but he was a tiny fellow -- but judging from the items of clothing we saw, they all were.

Then it was down the stairs to the street, and on to the next stop, the State Meeting House, where the big names of the day debated the issues of the day. While it looks small from the outside, it opened up into a large and spacious room, in this case filled with school children debating how to respond to those pesky British taxes.

After the Meeting House it was off to the Granary Burying Ground, and finally, Boston Common.

A walk down through Boston Common, and back up Beacon Hill and we're done, and done in.

So a whole day spent on the Freedom Trail. We were beat, and took the train back to our North End bird's nest.

The next day we went off to the second thing on our list, the JFK Library. It is a beautiful building designed by IM Pei of the Louvre's pyramid fame. The accessible parts of the library were interesting, larger than I expected, and more detailed.

After our visit a helpful guard suggested we go across the street to the Massachusetts Archives, to see Paul Revere's silver. It was threatening rain by then, and no phjotos were allowed inside. A helpful guard at the door cheerfully abandoned his post to give us a tour of the public displays. They included one Paul Revere bowl and some engraving plates in bronze. But what was pretty special was a display of four documents, among them one of the 17 original Declarations of Independence. The documents were found by construction workers 4 years earlier who were moving a desk out of a state office to send it to the sump. They decided on a whim to go through the drawers -- $80 million of documents -- the four now on display -- were inside. Sort of makes you wonder if those Massachusetts state workers go through their drawers very often. If you happen to drop by, give the guard our best, he really was a treat.

By now it was raining pretty hard, but when we got back to town it had slacked off just enough to allow a visit to Trinity Church, which has been renovated with untold millions. After paying our $16 -- the first time we have paid to visit a church -- we got inside only to discover that because of the rainy day, the stained glass windows for which the church is famous, were hardly remarkable. But we did notice these kneelers at every place, each one needle-pointed with a different design. Most were in memory of someone, but some were for living folk. We wondered if you can bounce someone so you can use your own kneeler.

The two above were for people who died of AIDS.

Coats of arms and remembering a wedding.

Our final day in Boston started with a quick trip to Harvard, as Tom said, the only school that ever turned him down. Yet here is is entering....

...and leaving, perhaps just a little smarter than when he walked in.

A quick tour of the aquarium, and we were off to the airport for the trip home.

The end of Tom and Susan's East Coast Adventure!

Yarmouth to Provincetown

2010-06-17T11:06:00.009-10:00

After Hyannis, we headed off to our accommodations for the night, a lovely B&B in Yarmouth, Liberty Hill. It was by far the most elegant and hospitable B&B we have encountered. Martha made her reservations after we did, and by then they were full. They recommended another charming place within walking distance, Kings Inne, also charming.

When we arrived, they greeted us with wine and cookies. if that were not enough, each of our hosts John and Kris took a turn at the piano, entertaining us with various classical pieces. They made a recommendation for dinner, the Old Yarmouth Inn, and made a reservation for us. We walked to Martha's B&B to pick her up and walked together to the Inn for dinner, which included a spectacular lobster bisque, and easily the best clam chowder I have ever eaten. The entire dinner was delicious. We were glad of the walk back.

Since Liberty Hill had been unable to accommodate Martha, they had invited her to join us for breakfast the next morning. She walked over in the morning, and we enjoyed a variety of breakfast treats, including broiled grapefruit, oatmeal pancakes and fruit. Our hosts were delightful -- we were sorry to leave.

Martha's hosts recommended a short detour through the neighborhood where we could see the bay and a thatched-roof barn.

We stopped at the Cape Cod art museum, which was a disappointment, with none of the seascapes and rustic paintings we had expected. So quickly we were off to Provincetown to deliver Martha to the ferry to take her back to Boston so she could get back to her New Hampshire home for the rest of the holiday weekend. We turned in our car, hitched a ride back into town, and checked in to our Provincetown B&B, The Cook's Street Inn.

What we had not realized when we planned our trip was that we would be traveling over Memorial Day. Nor had we any clue what happens in Provincetown over Mrmorial Day. When we passed through a few days earlier it had been quiet and sleepy. When we returned it was busy and bustling. But what we really noitced was that the whole town was full of lesbians, most of them in their early twenties. It turned out that Memorial Day is their holiday in Provincetown. So we heterosexuals were pretty well outnumbered -- in fact, Tom was the only man staying at the B&B. But we very much enjoyed the other guests who gave us good advice about where to go and what to see.

The Cook's Street Inn

By this time it was late and rainy, so we found a nearby restaurant, and took the rest of the night off -- watching TV shows on the computer via Hulu.com.

The next day, our only full day in Provincetown, we followed instructions from the other guests and took a long walk along the main street to the other end of town. We saw any number of quaint old houses, many of them labeled with a year of construction or other historical detail.

Finally we got (almost) to the end of the Cape. It turns out that it curves around for some miles further, but this was far enough for us. And it was lunch time.

Don't ask, you don't want to go there; we wish we had't.

Because it was Memorial Day weekend, we learned that most people had made their dinner reservations at least the week before. So two of the places we were urged to go were booked, an another was way too far to walk. So we found one, Devon, in our guidebook, made an early reservation and were off.

Suffice to say that the meal was remarkable, especially this lobster cake in caviar roe sauce and strawberry salsa. A standard that will not be soon met.

Our ferry did not leave until 3:00 Monday, so we had enough time for two last sights -- the Pilgrim Monument and the art museum.

The tower was built to honor the Pilgrims who first landed here before heading off to Plymouth Rock where they had not ticked off the local Indians by stealing their corn. It is an odd looking thing, in Italian Renaissance style, looking more like something in Florence or Rome than Cape Cod. But there it was, all ninety-dozen steps and ramps. After checking out the really good museum at the bottom, we dutifully trudged to the top. The weather was poor and the air was filled with smoke from a Canadian forest fire, so the normally breathtaking view wasn't. But we could see and hear the town, where a band was playing patriotic music, and we could see the extensive cemetery going back at least 2 hundred years.

Lotsandlotsandlots of stairs....

The harbor above, the cemetery below.

Then off to another clam chowder lunch and the art museum, which was small and charming.

Then off to the ferry and Boston.

Cape Cod

2010-06-06T09:48:00.009-10:00

We got up early in order to get to our ferry from Martha's Vineyard to the mainland of Cape Cod. After a conference about our itinerary, we decided to drop a couple of detours in favor of the Heritage Gardens and Museum in Sandwich. It was an excellent decision.

The Gardens were established by the founder of the Lilly pharmaceutical empire, who apparently had a lot of time and money to indulge his various passions for gardens, cars, toy soldiers, American art and crafts, and carved birds. Our first stop was the car museum, of which both the cars and the building they were in were interesting.

About this point Martha commented that perhaps the Lillys had not realized that they might do more people more good by spending some of the

We got a quick bit at the Museum cafe, and walked through the gardens to the windmill, and then to the art museum.

One stop was at the art museum, built in the style of a barn. It featured an exhibit of tombstone rubbings of early graves in the area.

The next building housed a carousel and another museum, this one containing various media, including scrimshaw, wood carving, and a wonderful flag made of discarded plastic.

The merry-go-round had it's own spare hare.

Very, very cool.

Then it was back outside for the loop back to the entrance.

A creeping cypress above, a silk tree with flowers like silk fringe below.

A tulip tree -- they really look like tulips.

One of the features of the gardens is this sculpture/waterfall. It starts near the entrance, with a long, slender pool on the walk, which juts out and away past a drop-off, and continues out in the air. The water travels from the walkway across the long basin, and falls through the air to a pool below some distance away. It has a very different effect in each area viewed.

The JFK Museum in Hyannis is quite small, and more of a video/photo album, with everything from TV shows of the day, to audio clips of speeches, to family photos.

A recent addition.

Martha skipped the JFK Museum in favor of catching a few rays in the park next door.

After the JFK Museum, we made a stop at the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory, mentioned in our guidebook. The building had no sign outside, and no photos inside, but we did get our free samples and a couple of bags to go....and then it was off to Yarmouth for the night.

Reading on the Road

2010-06-04T17:13:00.003-10:00

The Bridge by David Remnick; long but rewarding

The Irresistible Henry House by Lisa Grunwald; irresistible

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson (second time around, in celebration of the publication and forthcoming reading of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest); even better the second time around

Martha's Vineyard

2010-06-02T12:37:00.012-10:00

After a conference with our host, Eric, of Oak Bluffs Inn, we were off on a circuit of the island. The interior of the island was unexpected -- forests. And not a sign of the wealthy enclaves one reads about. Eric had shown us on a map where the Obamas had vacationed last year -- not a sign. In fact, not a sign of a golf course, even though the press had run pictures. At the western coast we saw charming coves and a fishing village;

and a charming lighthouse.

We went on to Edgartown for lunch and a short afternoon tour of the town. Edgartown was established as the port town. In addition to the obligatory lighthouse, it had many houses dating from the 1600s.

Eric had explained to us that the number of windows on the houses indicated the rank of the occupant -- no windows flanking the door meant a lowly seaman, on up to the ship's captain, with two windows on either side of the door. A promotion meant a new house with more windows. Most of the seamen's houses were off the shore front, further back in the village.

So this house would have been someone of middling rank -- two windows on one side of the door;

while this one -- or at least the original -- would have been of lesser rank, with only one.

Some had generous verandas with sun-soaked wicker chairs.

This fellow must have owned the whole fleet.

Then it was back to Oak Bluffs, and a bit of reading and resting before a pre-dinner walk. Again, directed by Eric, we walked across the street to find the Martha's Vineyard Methodist Camp Meeting Association grounds. Methodists had originally come to Martha's Vineyard to camp as they worshiped, but finally tired of the hard ground and wet tents. So they built very tiny cottages on Camp property. Today 30 acres of them are preserved in various degrees of almost hilarious detail, in a profusion of colors. They are "shotgun houses", built one-room wide, with additional rooms added to the back. None of them is very large.

It was, after all, almost Memorial Day.

In the center of the encampment is a tabernacle, a hard-roofed tent. To the question "I wonder if they still use it?" the answer is yes -- we saw posters advertising the forthcoming visit of a Methodist preacher.

The church,

and the tabernacle.

A rare double.

Lighthouses holding up the rail.

The nearby Universal Unitarian Church, of which we saw many throughout Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard.

Nearer the beach there is a grand parade of lovely Victorian type houses looking out over a lawn and the sea.

This house on the corner is owned by the founder of Norton. It is decorated with Greek, Latin and English phrases. The one in the front steps is "A Private Home".