Tarquin Embraces La Belle France
(August 21 - September 5, 2011)

We spilled off the train in Paris at the Gare du Nord and with very little effort fell into a cab scam...of which we were completely unaware until we reached the little Marriott we like in the widdle willage of Roissy en France in the shadow of the behemoth CDG airport. A nasty scene ensued when I refused to pay the outrageous fare, joined in by the hotel staff (inc security) who not surprisingly remember us from visit to visit (apparently our arrivals as well as our stays are memorable). The driver finally begged off but came back in a few minutes with Bill's camera bag, all smiles. We found this very strange until the following AM when the absence of our brand new - and not inexpensive Droid - was noticed. MERDE! So the cabbie got his money, one way or the other. I called the US and talked with the phone folks who were extremely kind. We are now phone-less.

Bill wanted to return to Compiegne to see the cars we failed to see on the last swing thru here a year or so ago - but it was closed. Another MERDE.  Instead, we went to a nearby Renaissance museum (after I bussed over to CDG and got a car for a few days) in Chateau d'Ecouen (chateau are everywhere) begun in the 1500's (and now a jet flyover).

Very fine stuff, a gorgeous chapel...

amazing detailed wood carving - even the tiniest little bits on corners...

oodles of tapestries, remarkable gold and silver work inc a wedding cup just like the one at Wilpen...

a pendant with a spring that opens an orange to its segments like those Dutch chocolates at Xmas...

the rather substantial piece that is the museum's emblem, what's her name - Daphne? - turning into tree (coral and silver)...

The next day we took off for a return visit to Chantilly to see the magnificent formal grounds of the Chateau and the equestrian performance...it is open everyday, except for the day we picked. Yet another MERDE.  However, we had fine food in a small French eaterie where we met am English woman who recommended we visit Sensil, nearby. A lovely thriving smallish place with a largely intact Roman wall from the 1st C AD, which I walked around, admiring the small old houses.

Also a fine cathedral...mais oui.  Then on to a famous Cistercian abbey (Royaumont) founded in 1228, now under the protection of a Foundation.

 

And a well manicured cloister with swifts roosting in the rafters.  Sweetly, the organist was practicing and the sacred music wafted through the grounds and the buildings...as did the peals of the bells on the hour. The gardens had an intriguing feature: a willow fence that was alive, with foliage on top.

And ponds and water features:

That evening I returned the car to Hertz, picked up first class tickets for the train trip tomorrow (the gare is in the cellar of the airport) to St Malo for three, managing to get on the wrong bus while returning to the hotel which added to my general joie de vie exceedingly. At an early hour the following day, Leslie arrived! We all showered, had breakfast, took a stroll thru Roissy and were driven over to the gare at CDG by the hotel staff (they really are kind to us). The usual excitement over getting us, the luggage, and the scooter to and on the correct train - but helped profoundly by having Leslie with us. (The soldiers in the train station with automatic weapons added to the vacation spirit...the picture is blurry because I wasn't too sure how photo taking was looked upon so snapped in haste.)

The three hour ride to St Malo on the Channel coast in Brittany went smoothly, and we then grabbed a taxi to the ferry, managed to get virtually the last seats, and took a quick backward look at the best part of St Malo.  A spectacular fortification from ages past, completely destroyed by Allied bombing (the Germans simply would NOT give it up without a battle) and then painstakingly rebuilt so that one cannot tell the real McCoy from the new.

We sailed (in one of the noisiest and most annoying journeys we have ever had) to the Channel Island of Guernsey (with a merciful stop in Jersey for the disembarkation of many of the partygoers) - where we had been last month while on the cruise...and had obviously loved. Another taxi to the Old Government House Hotel (a gem centrally positioned in St Peter Port, the main town) and then total collapse. Even Leslie - always charged - was pooped. Our rooms were splendid - with sea views, luxurious padded and fabric "papered" walls, incredibly kind staff, and lip smacking butter and cream from those Guernsey bovines.

The island is served by a transit system to model after - and all the buses are handicap friendly. Our first destination was the Little Chapel, started in 1914 by a Cistercian monk who wanted to create a tiny version of Lourdes, decorated (inside and out) with shells, pebbles and a zillion pieces of broken dishes (predominantly Wedgwood). Charming doesn't even begin to capture it.

We weren't the only ones enjoying the sight of the Little Chapel.  At the Old Government House, we were served at each meal incredible deep golden butter and truly creamy milk (even the 2% had a skim of cream on the top)...all from the Guernsey cows (even with my ltd knowledge of animal husbandry, I realize now this isn't a cow - but they were in the herd):

Then on on to the 13th C Castle Cornet which I had visited when last here and wanted Bill and Leslie to enjoy it and its marvelous views...

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In addition to the absolutely splendid maritime museum, there are 3 others inside the castle PLUS a live and rowdy mini-play daily (today's telling the history of Guernsey's separation from - during the reign of King John - and reunion with Britain...and the ills that befell one of the women for being a scold).

The next day we went thru the Guernsey Museum, showing the rich history of the island. And in front, a statue of Victor Hugo who lived here in exile from France for over a dozen years and wrote Les Mis (along with a book set in Guernsey, Toilers of the Sea, now downloaded to our kindle for 95 cents).

The flowers on Guernsey are legion...

As are right now - before the auction - fiberglass donkeys, which are all over St Peter Port.  Guernsey's inhabitants are called donkeys (they are a tough, stubborn breed)...while the rivals on Jersey are toads.  Not surprisingly, the donkey from Shrek is a hit here.

In the afternoon, Leslie and I toured the Occupation Museum. Not knowing that Guernsey had been left to its own demilitarized devices by the British (after an evacuation of many women and children to England), the Germans bombed and then invaded this strategically placed island. The situation over the following war years was pretty bleak but got far worse after D Day and the lack of a supply route from France; when the population - inc the Germans and the slave laborers - was near starvation. Thus the story of the wildly popular The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society.

We felt that one of the most impactful exhibits was the series of local newspaper editions spreading the (propaganda) war news from the other (German) side for local consumption - highlighting the victories and valour of the Germans and Japanese and the defeats and inadequacies of the Allies.  Very much a world turned upside down feeling. 

Guernsey strikes us all as a near perfect place to live (except for driving on the wrong side of the street)...England as it used to be, great weather, much civility. There is two tiered pricing for housing which makes things a tad $ - about half a million for a smallish place for the locals and imported souls with an essential service to offer (dentists, plumbers, etc.) and about 4 times that for others.  But looked like heaven to us.  After a morning shopping tour (Twiglets which we cannot buy in the US possibly due to Marmite), we ferried (but this time in much quieter, roomier first class) direct from Guernsey back to France (St Malo), worthy of exploration but we pushed on across the river inlet to Dinard, a glorious fin de siecle watering hole full of glorious houses and bountiful gardens...and a spiffy hotel (Grand Barriere, sister of one we loved in Normandy's Trouville two years ago) with dazzling sea views where we stayed.  We were much taken with this introduction to the beauty of Brittany. On one of our forays in yet another stick shift Hertz we watched a "pardon", a ceremony that occurs all over this part of France in the autumn, led by locals in traditional dress, the clergy and high ranking citizens...and bagpipes.

Our time in Dinard was mostly spent gawking at the houses...

and marvelling at the walk along the sea with well tended flower beds...

And a statue of Alfred Hitchcock for promotion of their film festivals.

One of the most beautiful houses functions as a museum and Leslie and I went to an exhibit "au Temps of the Soviets"...large and passionate pro-Bolshevik canvasses, clearly meant to sway the largely illiterate populace, with much use of the color red. We esp grinned at the irony of one with depicting a beatific Lenin surrounded by sweet faced kids - reminscent of the images of "suffer the little children" around Jesus. A new bit of info for us: in addition to the red and white armies, there was also a green group - of deserters, ruffians, etc. we were told but are unsure of the veracity of this - and a black one.

En route to the Relais Chateau at St Anne de la Palud on the Atlantic Coast, we stopped in several pretty little villages for a stretch and photo ops of churches...

and a stud farm of great beauty.

Then on to our digs. Not up to Relais Chateau standards except for the food, sublime, but way too $ given the quality of the digs. The walks along the Atlantic and the scenic dunes...

were really good, but storms or contrariness had beached some of the largest jellies (Leslie supplied her foot for comparison) we have ever seen - and wouldn't want to swim with. Double yuck!

The village nearby was having a "pardon" as we happened by, so we joined in.

We bought a local pastry (Konign Amann - this is a Breton not French phrase) devoured as dessert during a "picnique" that night in our room (local cheeses and breads and sweet, sweet little strawberries and grapes) with Leslie as we all paled at the thought of paying roughly $200-250 for another dinner the best part of which was the amuse-bouche.  The view for our picnique - the Atlantic at sunset - was priceless.

In addition to the "pardon" events, we noticed fields of hay being harvested...and some being shaped into straw men.  The purpose of these now is probably just the good fun of a bonfire in connection with the harvest and autumn's arrival but in the Middle Ages and back into antiguity a more grisly possibility lurked - burning purported evil doers (trapped inside the man). 

We toured two towns in particular, one small - Locronan (a three flower designation - top drawer!), one good sized, Quimper, home of the famous faience dishes.

Locronan is so pretty that it has been in the movies - Tess of the D'Urbervilles for one. We explored it all, eating as we went. (We met the artist of the following painting/poster.)  The entire village looks like these photos - these are random shots.  The municipality tightly controls the buildings...so there is nothing out of sync. We have never seen anything that compares to this step backwards in time.

And inside a little church:

And real Brittany cola for lunch:

And another little church:

And just delightful viewing all around - even the dovecoats:

It was here that the light (we are truly dim bulbs) dawned. The early folks of Brittany were Celtic - the same who spread thru Wales and Ireland...so Druids were part of the scene. Thus this area, just as was the case west of Compostella de Santiago in Spain, that the land was called Finsitiere...end of the world.

This accounts for the very peculiar regional language - Breton - which is somewhat reminiscent of Welsh and other Celtic tongues. Breton is not officially recognized by the French government (French is THE language and Breton has been repressed in times past; as a result, it is a more or less a dying language - something grandparents in the small villages can speak) but in this region of Brittany, road and street signs are in both French and Breton.

And in a little antique store, found a vintage Quimper faience tea set - now on its way to Goosehaven - and at a fraction of what a new set would cost.

We moved onto Quimper to stay right across from the train station for our return to Paris. Mostly we enjoyed the flowers and architecture and visited an incredible number of faience stores, until we were faienced out. 

The area takes its faience very seriously, even using the iconic artwork on the tourist train.

This was a wonderful old town to stroll around...lots of outdoor cafes, big cathedral, and flowered bridges.

We didn't realize how far we had gone to the west of Paris until we took the train back the next day - 560 km...a long but pretty ride through the countryside and then back to the bowels of the CDG airport.. Sadly, Leslie left in the AM for home...and we went back to Chantilly on a day it was actually open.  What a beautiful site - tho the original chateau was torn down during the French revolution (not surprisingly).

Lunch was in the ersatz rural cottages with canals full of fish - the premise of this "simple" life so impressed Marie Antoinette that she borrowed the idea for the Petite Trianon at Versailles (vastly larger and grander). We were joined at table by begging ducks - if we were ducks, we would keep away from restaurants that highlight foie gras.

After walking some of the paths and devouring a tasty lunch of salad with warm goat cheese and a noble bread (shared with said ducks), we did the Musee de Vivant Cheval...housed in a damned fancy stable (the noble who had it built was convinced he would be reincarnated as a horse and wanted housing appropriate for his station) adjacent to the chateau.  This really is a stable.

After a demonstration of how the horses (mostly from Spain and Portugal) are trained, a presentation of the horses" skills - dressage, kneeling and sitting down.  (Sadly, no photos of the latter allowed.)

The next day back to Compiegne after determining that the Musee de la Voiture was truly open.  Cars old enough for Bill to drool over (end of the 19th, beginning of the 20th C).  Plus the earliest of bicycles (note the duck head on a bike to the left)...and wondrous sleds and sleighs.

In addition to being an Imperial City, Compiegne has been the site for much later history: two armistices. So, off to the spot where the Treaty ending WWI (and laying the groundwork for the next one) was signed...and where Hitler insisted that the Armistice ending the hostilities between Germany and France in 1940 was also signed, with Hitler no doubt grossly enjoying the turnabout.  A beautiful train car but not the actual one - rather a dead ringer supplied by the wagon lit company.  Not surprisingly since this is France, Marshal Foch was much in evidence in terms of photos, statue and monuments.  (Photos were verboten but I could see no harm in flashless ones.)  In the old photo, we think Hitler is the one on the extreme right.

Leaving the area, we made one last stop in yet another gorgeous place - Pierrefonds, home of a 19th C chateau for Napolean III - where, at a little lakeside cafe, we demolished a hot and sugary waffle with Chantilly creme and strawberries (the scent of the place alone was full of calories), while watching folks and ducks paddle around in the water. 

We did not go thru the chateau, storybook pretty tho it was...we were fairly chateau-ed out (and given the heat), we opted for distance viewing.

For our last full day in France, we picked the gardens of Versailles (we have both done the Chateau in former years - Bill experiencing a Heinz dinner in the Hall of Mirrors, hard to top that).  We didn't realize just how VAST the grounds were...they go on forever and are impossible to take in in one go so we scratched the surface - seeing bits of the formal gardens behind the Chateau (where the fountains are cue-ed to classical music playing) and loving the topiary that made us feel just like Alice in Wonderland...

a glimpse of the Grand Canal...

Lunch al fresco by the Canal...where I was able to have a simple but reasonable conversation in French with a young couple who had just returned from India to home in Paris (and who subsequently tracked us down after considerable effort to return Bill's favorite walking stick).  My French is very zen - not being able to recall past or future verb tenses, everything is in the present! 

And the Grand Trianon (inside and out). 

And with that, we retreated back to the hotel to pack and dream of the endless gardens at Versailles and GOING HOME.  C'est fini - at least for this summer!