A Day on the River

Last Wednesday we drove to Bergerac to pick up Ellen, Ben and Wes, who arrived for a week's visit. We went early and spent an hour or so in Vieille Bergerac, the old part of the city. After a walking tour of the cobblestone streets, we went to the tiny airport for our reunion. From the moment we picked them up, it's been a nonstop adventure that's been a lot of fun. There's been too much to put in a blog, or even two or three, but I'll give you one or two of the highlights.

On Saturday, at Carol's suggestion, Ben and I had a day on the Dordogne. Carol and Ellen drove us to the only canoe rental place still open in October. There are about a zillion canoe rentals (give or take a couple) to service vacationers in the summer. We drove down a one-lane dirt road toward the river and had to slow for an old couple on bicycles, carrying plastic bags with goods from the market. How quaint, we thought. It turns out that they were the proprieters of the canoe rental. We agreed on a meeting time later in the day, and Carol and Ellen went off for their own adventure with Wes. Ben and I paid our nineteen euros and climbed into a clunky old van that may have been used to drive downed American pilots to safety from Nazi interrogators once upon a time. The old man drove us fourteen kilometers to another single lane dirt road down to the river bank, where he gave us a funky (rhymes with clunky) fiberglass canoe, two paddles and a waterproof box for our lunch. (This canoe was not pretty, but it was serviceable. I think you could drop it off a cliff, retrieve it, and still paddle it without concern.) Then, we were off on our adventure.

I was in my element. It was like the Boundary Waters with chateaux along the way.

Ben took the bow, providing the muscle (and getting in the way of all my picturesque photos).

We worked hard, but were rewarded with wonderful sights, like the town of Beynac, with its chateau rising above the town. (Well, we didn't actually work hard; the current did most of the work. But we DID have to steer a little bit.)

Every bend in the river brought us a new wonder to behold. After a cold, foggy start, the day quickly warmed.

Somewhere around the midpoint of our journey - you don't pay attention to mile markers when you're drifting on the river, so we don't really know - we came to the stunning Castelnaud, which the five of us had toured the day before. It was time for lunch.

I was pleased to see that my son-in-law understands the finer points of French dining.

I did, however, have to point out to him that one holds the bottle in the LEFT hand.

Fortified with lunch, we set out to continue our journey. It was important that we not be late for our rendez-vous with Ellen and Carol and Wes. We stopped for directions.

The locals were very helpful. After they reassured us that if we kept drifting with the current we'd be fine, we decided to show our gratitude by boosting the local economy. I wanted to boost the economy with another beer, but Ben reminded me of our rendez-vous, so we were off.

We had agreed on a 3:30 rendez-vous. (Notice how I keep throwing in that French word. I'm getting really good.) We rounded a bend in the river and saw the canoe rental place. I looked at my watch. 3:29! We picked up our paddles; I mean we adjusted our strokes so that we would touch shore at precisely the right moment. A successful end to a successful journey.

Next blog: We walk right off the map!

Bicycling in France

There are tons of gites to choose from in this area of France. The reasons we chose Beauvert were (a) free wi-fi and (b) free bicycles. Last Sunday was our first full day here in la Dordogne. After a heavenly morning at the market in Saint Cyprien, we were on our bicycles in the afternoon, exploring the "neighborhood." We wandered here and there, ending up in the town of Les Eyzies, which sits placidly on the banks of the Vézère River. We were in territory that we had cycled in 2006, when we fell in love with the region and vowed to return. It was a lovely ride from our gite. After a cold beer (we don't always drink wine) at an outdoor café, we headed for home.

I should mention that Beauvert, where we are staying, is high above the river valley, so that almost every time we leave by bike or by car, we descend long winding roads to the river valley. So, on bike we experience a delightful downhill glide for several kilometers, with the wind in our face. The flip side is that we have to return via the same hills. We take a little longer on the return uphill, but we've learned to just downshift and travel at whatever speed works for us. We look around and see the glorious countryside,and we think how fortunate we are to be struggling up this torturous hill, building character along with leg muscles.

This is what makes the long uphill efforts worthwhile.

And this.

And this - the Vézère River near the town of Le Bugue, our destination on Monday, our second day of cycling.

We've wandered quite a bit in just a few days. Most roads are lightly traveled by cars, so the cycling is easy. My favorite roads are the tiny paved paths wide enough for just one car. We meander on these lonely paths past farmland and wooded areas, occasionally encountering small clusters of pretty stone houses. After a kilometer or two, we come to a cross road with a sign post, check our bearings, and turn in the direction that whimsy dictates.


This sign marks an intersection of one of the "larger" roads we travel, not at all busy with automobile traffic, but important enough to merit actual route numbers.

I've chosen words like "meander" and "whimsy," "wander" and "tiny path" with care. They capture the essence of the experience of cycling here. We feel completely carefree when we are on our bikes. We know pretty much where we are, even on an unmarked path that we travel for the first time. Our inner compasses just seem to jibe with the French direction signs that we finally encounter.

I'll close with a counterpoint - cycling in the Netherlands. In our time with Ben and Ellen, we got to explore by bicycle four times (four trips of significant length). I have to say that on each and every occasion in the Netherlands we managed to get lost. We were never seriously lost; we had a "sense" of where we were and what we had to do to get where we were going but sometimes took a kilometer or two to get it right.

The worst case was the day we decided to cycle from Ellen and Ben's home in Eygelshoven to Aachen, Germany, to visit the thousand-year old stomping grounds of Charlemagne. It was about a twenty-kilometer one-way trip. Well, Carol and I took a copy of Ben's excellent directions and began to follow them. Ten minutes into our trip, the choices before us looked nothing like what the directions indicated. So, adventurers that we are, we improvised. We went here. We went there, always applying our own unique brand of logic. After forty-five minutes of improvisation, we found ourselves cycling into the town adjacent to Eygelshoven and recognized where we were as being ten minutes from Ellen and Ben's home!

The Dutch road signs were no help at all. In fact, we think they flat out lied to us. (For example, the first two towns we cycled to had well-marked signs to the tourist information office. We followed these signs to the exact spot of the alleged office, but never found one.) It didn't help that the Dutch have their own idea of phonetic rules and that their letters say and mean different things than either English or, for that matter, French signs.

Don't get me wrong. We had a lot of fun on our cycling misadventures in the Netherlands. But, well, it's just that here in France we feel right at home!

Photo Tour of Our Gite

Bonjour, everyone. Before I get to the photo tour, I want you to know that the head cold that assaulted my body in the middle of our stay in the Netherlands is for the most part gone. There are varying theories regarding the cure. I took massive doses of vitamin C for several days, which I'm sure helped. Then one night, Ben, Ellen, Carol and I sat around a roaring fire in their backyard fire pit and drank a bottle of excellent Port wine that they brought back from their trip to Portugal and saved to share with us. Ben and I drank the lion's share while we answered questions from their Question Box. (Who, in your opinion, are three of the greatest Americans of all time? If you were deaf and could hear for only one hour each month, what would you like to hear? What animal would you like to be? If you could have been at any historical/cultural event ever, which would you choose? It was actually a lot of fun.) But what I meant to tell you is that the next morning I awoke with no hangover, no queasy stomach and NO COLD! Vitamin C? Maybe. High quality port wine? Hmmmm. You be the judge.

I have contracted a new malady, however. It's called in French, marché fièvre. It is translated, market fever. If you get it, you go to the farmers' market five or six days a week, traveling from town to town, following the markets. Sunday - St. Cyprien. Tuesday - Le Bugue. Wednesday - Bergerac. And on and on. You can't help yourself. The fresh produce is so beautiful you just have to buy some. And then there are the cheeses! I resisted the fresh sausages until today, when I purchased a duck sausage and a goat cheese sausage (really). There are so many more to try. Then you wander into a patisserie and fortify yourself with a fruit tarte or perhaps an eclair. Maybe it's not a fever; maybe it's love!

So anyway, I thought you'd perhaps like a little tour of our home for the next month. So, follow me. (Before I forget, you can always double click on any photo to see it full screen.)

This is Beauvert. The main part of the house is where our hosts, Jean-Pierre and Danielle, live. Our gite is the section at the right of the photo.

To the left, as you face the house, this is our view.

Jean-Pierre has several lawn mowers.

This is our terrace, which we use to dine al fresco whenever we can. The entrance to our gite is on the right, where the little floor mat it.

You enter through the kitchen.

Next to the kitchen is our first floor dining and work room. It's a comfortable place for writing and using our laptops because...

...it has a wood-burning that keeps the room quite toasty on cool Dordogne mornings and nights. The warmth rises adequately to the second floor.

On the second floor is our living room. It's very cozy. It's so cute that I thought I'd do my writing here, but I keep gravitating to the dining room downstairs. We're still settling in and finding a good "flow" in our home.

Our bedroom is tiny but it works. Instead of a photo of our bed, which looks strikingly like beds everywhere, I chose to show you what we see when we open our eyes in the morning. Well, that's a little bit of a fib. When we open our eyes around seven, give or take twenty minutes, it's still dark. The sunrise here is around 7:35! On our first morning I awoke in the dark and went back to sleep. I stayed in bed until the view looked like this photo. "Yikes!" I said when I looked at my watch and discovered it was 8:30! I felt like such a slacker.

We're gradually settling into a routine. See Carol. See the math book. See Carol work on her sabbatical project.

See the pool. See Carol. See Carol play. The pool is lovely, and for about four hours in the afternoon if the sun is bright, it's a great place to hang out. The water is very, very, very cold. We appreciate our friend, Peter's, heated pool much much more.


See Marc. See the fire in the hearth. See the fresh coffee. See the New York Times (virtual edition). See the smile on Marc's face. Vive la France!

Everyone Here Speaks French!

On Saturday morning, Ben deposited us at the train station in Maastricht in time for us to catch the 6:12 a.m. train to Liege, Belgium. Eight hours and four trains later (five, if you include the Paris metro), we stepped into the warm sunshine in Brive, got our zippy little five-speed Peugeot and headed for our home for the next month. The journey was comfortable on the speedy European trains. The only tense part was rushing from Gare du Nord to Gare d'Austerlitz in Paris in forty minutes to catch our last train. We worked up a sweat doing that, and caught a brief glimpse of the Seine, Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower from the metro - a view of what's in store for us at the end of our adventure.

We arrived at our gite (cottage) around four in the afternoon and were greeted by our very friendly hosts, Jean-Pierre and Danielle. We are in the country, four miles from the lovely town St. Cyprien. Let me tell you, it feels like forty miles! It is quiet here, and little else except for a few scattered houses.

Our first twenty-four hours have been a sensual experience - from the delicious dinner and wines that Jean-Pierre fixed for us last night, to the astounding darkness and silence when we went to bed, to the smell of farmers' wood fires as we cycled through the countryside, to the sights and smells and sounds of the morning market in Saint Cyprien. Ah! The market! I couldn't get enough of it.

The main street was packed with vendors and shoppers. We arrived early and strolled the length of it while stands were still being set up and the region just awaking. After an espresso at a café in the sun, we went to work stocking our kitchen.

There was so much to choose from! Local vegetables, fruits, meats, fish, wines, mussels, nuts, cheeses (not to mention clothing, knives, and a Frenchie kitchen wonder tool - It slices! It dices! - that was being demonstrated).

We found one of the local patisseries and scored our first of many baguettes (and some luscious treats). The line stretched almost out the door as we left, with good reason. We didn't want to leave, but you can only buy so many tomatoes (really!). Our last stop was at a stand where they prepared ready-made dinners to go. We bought our first lunch - paella - and headed for home. There are markets every day of the week in different local towns. Jean-Pierre and Danielle have clued us in on which ones are the best.

We had our paella on the patio, looking up at the swimming pool (which we've used twice). Yum! Next week, we're getting the cassoulet. So, we earned a rest by this time. For Carol, it was a brief nap. For me, it was finishing up my last blog so I could get to this one. (A writer's work is never done!) Then...

...it was time to try out the bicycles! We spent the better part of the afternoon cycling through the countryside, passing through tiny villages. We visited Les Eyzies, where we commenced our '06 bicycle tour. I had forgotten the hills of the Dordogne, but the memories returned as we glided down, wind in our face, for a couple of kilometers. Of course, other memories returned as we cycled up those same hills.

Along the way, however, scenes like this delighted us at every turn.

Ellen, Ben and Wes begin a weeklong visit this Wednesday. It will be our turn to return their wonderful hospitality during our visit to Eygelshoven. Ellen has become quite a master in the kitchen, and we'll have to work to equal the great meals she fixed for us. At least, the market has provided us with the raw materials.

Does Anyone Here Speak French?

Forget Brett Favre! On September 15, I came out of retirement. Of course, you didn't hear anything in the mainstream media; that's why I have this blog. It happened like this.

Ellen, as you may know, was in Columbus for her best friend's wedding. She was scheduled to return on Monday morning, the 15th, in time to teach her first class of Introductory French to NATO staffers and dependents in the evening. Hurricane Ike sent strong winds into Ohio, and Delta Airlines responded with all the efficiency of FEMA. At one point, Ben was on the phone with a Delta agent who asked him if he could come to pick Ellen in Cincinnati. Ben carefully explained that no he couldn't, since he lives in the Netherlands, Ellen's destination. The agent then asked again if Ben could pick her up. It went downhill from there.

Carol and I casually mentioned to Ben that if the school wanted us, we know enough French to teach the first class. I don't think Ben gave this much thought until he called the director of the adult ed program and she went into a tizzie and asked Ben if he knew anyone who could fill in for Ellen. "Welllll...", he said. Just like that,we were enlisted as French teachers.

We went over Ellen's lesson plan with her on the phone, found her printed handouts and the textbook and crammed together for the entire afternoon. After a quick dinner, Ben drove us to the NATO post in Brunnsum where he works and we presented ourselves for duty.

The scene of our adventure in teaching.

We were both a little nervous. We have over fifty (!!!) years of teaching experience between us, but not so much as five minutes of teaching French. But really, we were going no further than introductions, ordering from a menu, reciting the alphabet and counting to ten. (Carol and I figured that we know enough to teach up to lesson eight or nine in Ellen's twelve-week class.)

Our class of eleven adults wandered in one by one. There were Brits, Americans, Czechs, one Spaniard and one Turk. At seven o'clock Carol asked them to brainstorm French words that we all use in our everyday speech (croissant, deja vu, debut, etc.). We were off and running. It wasn't exciting, but we made it through two hours. No students were harmed. At the end, the class applauded. You go looking for adventure, and you find it in unlikely places.

Like Punxsutawney Phil, I looked around afterwards, saw my shadow and opted to return to my den of retirement without a glance backward.

The scene of our next, more traditional, adventure.

The Wednesday following our venture into teaching abroad, Ellen and Ben and Wesley had an appointment with the pediatrician, so Carol and I were on the early train out of Eygelshoven, bound for Bruges (Broozh, as the French-speaking Belgians say, Brookeh, if you want to impress the Flemish-speaking locals).

I was amused as our train pulled out of Brussels for the last leg to Bruges. A group of German women sat across from us, and they were in a happy mood - lots of chatter and laughter. You couldn’t help smiling. Then as we came to each stop, it seemed that one or two more women entered our car and joined them. Each time, the newcomer would kiss each woman in the group, three times on the left cheek, three times on the right. What a great math problem, I thought. Five women present, a new woman enters and kisses each woman three times on each cheek. How many kisses exchanged? At the next stop, three women enter, and kiss all present on each cheek. How many...?

We had a lovely day wandering around the tiny cobblestone streets and seeing the town from a cruise boat on the canals.

The bell tower, which you'll recognize if you saw the movie.

The view of Bruges from our canal tour boat.

Another of our favorite activities.

City Hall, Bruges

A week later, Ellen, Carol, Wes and I piled into the Civic (it was cozy) and headed for Brussels. (Poor Ben had to return to work.) It was a swift hour on the highway from tiny, quiet Eygelshoven to big, bustling Brussels. Then it was another hour slogging our way through Brussels traffic to the Centrum. We were all feeling a little grumpy (except good-natured Wes) when we finally parked the car and started to walk around. We dispelled the grumpiness with a time-honored cure.

Food and Belgian beer put us back in a good mood.

For lunch, Carol and I took Wes to a cool sidewalk café. Ellen's treat was to buy a French magazine and go to her favorite salad bar all alone - no baby, no diapers, no bottles - and enjoy her privacy. G'amma, Papá and Wes had a pretty good time, too.

Brussels Centrum was fun, but we couldn't get over how crowded the city was. All the buildings looked sad and tired, in need of a facelift or a good scrubbing. Given a chance for a do-over, we'd pick Bruges as a place to visit. Still, Brussels had its charms.

Beautiful churches.

Window shopping.

And, of course, Belgian chocolates!

Report from the Netherlands (Finally)

Hellooooooo! I had hoped to have sent my first web journal (aka 'blog') by now, but events intervened. We arrived at Schiphol Airport after the best kind of flight - i.e., without incident. We've seen some beautiful sights so far, but the loveliest by far was right there at the arrivals area of Schiphol.

Our new grandson, Wes, with his mama.

We had breakfast at Schiphol and then sent Ellen on her way to Columbus for the wedding of her best friend, Jessica. Ben, Carol, Wes and I set out on the two-hour drive to their home in Eygelshoven, where Carol and I set about being as helpful as we could be.

We walked the grandpuppies, Spud & Bella. (Guess which one is Spud.)

We attended to Wesley Raymond.

But it wasn't all hard work and no play. Actually, the work was pretty much play. I mean, a new grandson and two grandpuppies! Even diaper changing was a treat, once we learned the intricacies of the infant waste containment package (more complicated than the cloth diapers we used lo these many years ago, but pretty cool modern diapers).

When we weren't attending to a baby, dogs and household chores, Ben fed us well and kept us lubricated with good Dutch beer and wine (not Dutch). After dinner we played games and drank more Dutch beer. Carol and I discovered the countryside outside the tiny town of Eygelshoven on our dog walks. On Saturday we took in the local market, which is fabulous - as good as the farmer's market and only a five-minute walk from their home. On Sunday the four of us drove to Tongeren, Belgium, to take in the antiek markt. (Can you figure that out?)

The Steakmeister took good care of his in-laws.

Our dog walks in the countryside are lovely.

Taking a break from looking at Belgian antiques.

So, I'm about to publish this; I hope I don't inadvertantly delete it. In my next journal entry, I'll tell you about our visit to Bruges, Belgium, and about Carol's and my unexpected adventure.

Cinque Terre

Tuscany

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Brunelescchi's Il Duomo, Firenze