Traveling – Page 4 – Out My Window

Le Gers: Condom and Environs

My guidebook Insight Guides: Southwest France, that I read before coming down to Pouy, described Condom first as a name bizarre to English speakers. The name is thought to be derived from the word Condominum–land ruled by 1st-century Vascons (later Gascons). It concluded saying the town had accepted the inevitable and greets tourists every summer with an expo on contraceptives! This is no longer true. Thank goodness!

Condom is the town closest to me and where I have gone for my shopping. There is a BioCoop to satisfy my vegetarian needs and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables everywhere. Many of the farms near here open up as a store one day a week and sell their goods straight from the vine, so to speak.

The centre square fronts the Cathedrale St-Pierre, rebuilt in the 16th century on the ruins of an 11th century abbey. In front of the Cathedrale is a statue of the four musketeers. D’Artagnan was a real person born near Lupiac in 1613. His story was made famous in the adventure novel by Alexandre Dumas and, I’m told, there have been no less than 25 film versions of the book! Lupiac is southwest of Condom, west of Auch, and may be a visit when my friends come down next week. In the Centre d’Artagnan, the exciting story of the Gascon hero can be found. Something I think I’d enjoy immensely.

Condom seems to be the crossroads for many of the villages I want to see. Larressingle is about 10 km west of Condom and called “the little Carcassonne” by some. It is a fortified village with it’s 13th century walls intact. I bought a book on Larressingle and the author concluded that the walls have stayed intact because it was too small to be an important village and was often left alone when fights between the Gauls and the Romans broke out as they so often did. Along with Fourcès, Montreal and Lavardans (all short drives from Condom), Larressingle is listed as one of the most beautiful villages in France.

Bridge and tower that is the entrance into Larressingle

From the parking lot in Larressingle, I took a 5km hike that circled the fields that surround the town. Even though it was hot, much of the walk was in shade and delightful. It was on this hike that I found myself on GR65, the Chemin de Saint Jacques de Compostelle. A sign welcomed me as a pilgrim and a hiker!

Fourcès, a village 10 km north of Larressingle, is famous for its main square which is, in fact, a circle. Guidebooks say it is the only village that has all it’s establishments surrounding the centre park and benches. There is a circular covered walkway for one to keep cool. I met two store owners. One was so delightful. She clearly loves her village and when she saw my interest directed me to a book by Perry Taylor called Le Selfie Gascon. This is the third book by the British artist (watercolour) and honorary Gasconian (is that a word?). It is full of wit and a deep understanding of the Gascon personality. Of course, I had to buy a copy.

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My friends who own the home I’m in had suggested I go to a Fête on the other side of Condom in Caussens. A friend of hers, a photographer, was selling her work and she thought I’d be interested. So I made my way through Condom, which takes all of 5 minutes, and had to go through the small village of Caussens to find Au Vieux Pressoir, an auberge that had transformed itself into a local Fête for the weekend. It was not easy to find! I persevered on a long very narrow road praying the whole time that no car or truck would come in the opposite direction. I discovered a lovely restaurant and hotel on beautiful grounds. All the locals were probably there. Everyone seemed to know each other and were having a great time dancing to live music and eating Gascon food. I found Sallie Erickson at the very back of the property. She congratulated me on sticking to my guns and finding not only her but the Auberge. I think it would be safe to say that I was the only ‘visitor’ there. Wagons full of kids pulled by horses clippity clopped by me. One of the women I met there told me that the owners rescue horses that are to be killed when they are no longer useful. This is the second place of it’s kind that rescues animals from early death and lets them roam on lots of land. The first was near Giverny where I was 6 weeks ago.

Fleurance is southeast of Condom. I had heard there was a lively market there and I wanted to see for myself. I got there late for a market, around 11am, but it was still difficult to find parking. Having turned half French, I no longer mind having to walk a half-mile to get to where I’m going! The market took up four or five streets maybe more and included a covered space surrounded by arches under which we all walked. One could find pretty much anything you were looking for. Maybe not the kitchen sink but I could be wrong. Much was junk, much was the regular tourist fare which I like but have enough of and a minority of tables had fresh vegetables, fruits, honey, etc. I could tell by the dirt the food had come straight from the farm.

This area I’m sure is one of the few places left where things don’t say Bio. Everything is so fresh and grown locally that the word Bio is redundant.

Next: Chemin de Saint Jacques de Compostelle

For more information on Perry Taylor, his books and drawings: http://perrytaylor.fr/en/

For more info on the Auberge: https://www.auvieuxpressoir.com

For more information on Sallie Erichson, her Gite on the Chemin de St.Jacques and to see her photography: https://www.gite.com/chapelle-roses

A bientôt,

Sara

Le Gers: Pouy-Roquelaure

I am in the south-west of France. Once upon a time, this area was known as Gascony–famous for it’s wonderful food and fois gras. Then the area was divided into two parts: Le Gers, more inland, and Landes, the beaches, as far south as Bayonne, and the forests that border Gers. The people here are still known as Gascons, the restaurants are still famous for Gascon cooking and Le Canard Gascon is still pictured on many publications looking cute and silly. Which I’m quite positive he is not feeling as he is foie gras in the making.

After living in Paris 4.5 years, I have some confidence that my home in California will stay rented and that I can pay my rent in Paris. So for the first time, I have done two home exchanges. The first one was last winter in London and this is my second. I am staying in the lovely home of two Americans who live here permanently and they are staying in Oakland. I am now a true Parisienne who has left Paris for the summer!

Pouy-Roquelaure can be found on the map halfway between Agen and Condom. It is a very small village with a church and a Mairie (Mayor’s office) but no retail of any kind. It doesn’t even have a morning march. I am staying just outside of Pouy with a view of sunflowers everywhere and far into the distance the patchwork quilt of green, brown and yellow. It is extraordinarily beautiful. In the morning, if I eat my breakfast outside I can hear the songs of birds and am just a bit sorry that I don’t recognise their breed. As the day gets hotter, the birds are quiet, everything is quiet and only on a windy day can one hear that familiar country refrain of leaves rustling.

The first morning I was here, I walked out the front door, went down to the mailbox and turned left. From there, I followed trails/paths that took me alongside sunflower fields, a small stream then into the village of Pouy and back to Tourée–a full circle of about 8 kilometres.

I am also charged with caring for a ‘swimming’ pool. I have never had my own swimming pool. Lovely as it is to jump in when I’m hot, I don’t think I’d want one. For one thing, it’s a lot of work. But more important to someone who loves to swim as much as I do, it is agonizing. I do about five strokes of the crawl and hit the end. I almost had a smash up involving a number of fingers on my hand the first time I had the great idea of swimming laps! So I’m not thinking of it as a “swimming” pool but only a pool. It is unheated and the loveliest time of day to get in is late afternoon, early and late evening when the sun has heated the water up. I must admit that getting into my bathing suit at 10pm and swimming a couple of laps is a truly delicious experience.

The French love to walk for which I’m very grateful. They produce an endless amount of books on walks in every region of France. My hosts equipped me with two books of Les Randonnées (as walking in France is called). One covers the Gers region below the city of Agen and one covers the Lot-et-Garonne region above Agen. To my delighted surprise, a large part of the GR65 known as the Chemin de St. Jacques goes through Pouy to Condom to the walled city of Larressingle on it’s way down into Spain. Walking the Compostale is on my bucket list and I can now say I’ve walked at least 45 minutes on it!!! The symbol of GR means Grands Randonnées which are the larger trails that go through a number of regions and PR is Petites Randonnées which are the smaller trails that stay within a region.

IMG_1254 3.JPG — The red and white symbol is for the GR65 and the yellow one is for PR4. There was a about 30 minutes of this walk where the two were the same trail.

Next: the village of Condom and some surrounding towns.

A Bientôt,

Sara

Giverny

Is there anyone who hasn’t heard of the town of Giverny, 45 minutes west of Paris by train? Claude Monet, the only Impressionist painter who actually got rich in his lifetime, lived and painted in Giverny for most of his adult life, 1883 until his death in 1926. The gardens that he created are the most visited gardens in the world. It is estimated that 28,500 tourists visit his home and the famous water-lily pond every week during the seven month season that the gardens are open to the public.

I am lucky enough to be here for a week with the artist, photographer,writer and teacher Elizabeth Murray. Lizzie lives in the Bay Area. During the 1980’s, she visited the gardens, fell in love with them and furiously advocated to become a volunteer gardener. She was not only successful at that, by the time she left, she had nine gardeners working under her. After 30 years, she feels that she can now lead creative workshops here and give the gardens and the surrounding area the respect that this amazing place commands. She is able to talk and teach and transfer the love of every living thing here to her students.

The wheat fields, full of poppies, in the hills above Giverny

What is extraordinary is that she has maintained her relationship with the Gardeners and the mutual respect allows us, her students, to enter the gardens at 7am each morning and stay until the Gardens open to the public. We then leave, go back to La Reserve, where we are staying, and have classes, work on art or writing or go for a visit to a nearby town. At 6pm, we again have access to the gardens and can stay until 8pm. This, of course, means that the thirteen people that make up our group are alone in the gardens with only the gardeners. This is more than a private time, it is a sacred time. The birds chirp happily away once all the tourists are gone but other than that, it is the quiet of nature. You can hear the flowers welcoming the morning or saying good night to each other. Many of them fold their petals back into themselves as they ready for a night’s sleep.

I am not a watercolorist or oil or pastel painter. When I was young, I thought it would be so romantic to live in a Paris garret and paint. I would have starved quickly as I don’t have the requisite skills! But I did want to capture beauty that moved me and I turned to photography. It was always a hobby. I loved it and, today, am loving the ease and quality of the iPhone camera. All these photos were taken with my iPhone 8.

Rose trellis at the back of the first gardens

Looking through the arbors of the Grande Allee to Monet’s home.

Because we were present in the gardens in the early morning and again at the end of the day, we were able to appreciate the change of light, the very thing that Monet sought to understand and to paint.

My roommate painting with watercolors. Early morning.

These two boats were once use to maintain the water-lily pond. Now they sit and have become an iconic picture of the pond.

I had originally thought that I would use the inspiration of sitting in the gardens and drinking in the beauty to write. Lizzie told us that to paint would force us to really look, to really see what was in front of us. We had to bring the commitment to be present. And though, I didn’t do anything extraordinary, I sat. I looked. The time would fly by. Over the five days and ten times that we were in the gardens, my hand got better at expressing what my eyes saw.

The famous Japanese inspired bridge. On the other side, the pond opens up into hundreds of water lilies plants. They only open up their little heads when the sun is out. (Early morning)

One of our group who works only in pastels shows us an afternoon’s work.

Not many people, even those that live here in France get the opportunity to live for one week in Giverny. And much less to visit the gardens twice a day when there are no tourists present. It is an experience that I will savour for a lifetime. The lessons are only just beginning to be apparent.

I can’t close without mentioning where home was for the week. La Reserve is a beautiful large country home of five bedrooms situated in the hills above the little town of Giverny. There is also a Gite, a cottage with three more bedrooms, a living room and kitchen. Valerie and Francois Jouyet, the owners and our hosts, are some of the loveliest people I have met in France. Valerie is the cook and,oh boy, can she cook! Francois was ever present with a huge smile. There were also Flaubert, the giant dog, 2 cats-one 23 years old and one 2 years old, five rescue donkeys and a rescue pig!

http://www.giverny-lareserve.com/en/

For more information on Elizabeth Murray, her workshops and her art, please go to: https://www.elizabethmurray.com

A bientôt,

Sara

Eurostar

Once upon a time, if one had a reservation on the Eurostar to go to Paris or to London, you just had to show up a maximum of thirty (30) minutes before departure and all would be well. Three hours later you would debark in either London or Paris patting yourself on the back for saving all that time by not taking the plane.

Not anymore. Not in this era of Terrorism. The French and British may not have school shootings every week but both have suffered horrendous attacks authored by ISIS or those wanting to be connected to ISIS.

So the other day when I took the Eurostar to London, I knew to get to Gare du Nord an hour early. I immediately stood in a long line of travellers. First, we electronically checked in. Then we passed through French Border control. I handed the officer my passport. He looked at my name and photo. He went back and forth with a very serious look on his face. What was he looking for? I wanted to offer that I had a French residency card. I kept silent. It seemed the prudent thing to do. After what seemed like two or three minutes, he stamped my passport and I joined the snaking line of travellers moving slowly towards the UK Border Control. Everyone seemed calm. Some people chatted up the person in front of or in back of them. I heard some laughter but most people were like me, just wanting to get to the departures gate without bringing any attention to themselves.

Ten minutes later, having passed through Border Control without a problem, “How long are you staying?” and “Where will you go when you leave the UK?”, we had finally made it to Bag Security check. I didn’t have to take my shoes off. My titanium hip did set off the alarm bells. So I got the usual pat down.

I made it to Departures with five minutes to sit if I chose to before the snaking line formed again to descend to Quai 5 and board the train. People politely stepped on board, stored their suitcase and found their seats. Never did I hear the heavy sighs of impatience that one often hears in the US, the pacing up and down of people feeling entitled to be different. You can see the wheels in their minds churning in resentment of being made to move like cattle through all the check points. But, if something horrible should happen, they’d be the first people on the horn, complaining that the government should be doing something about those terrorists.

I’ve grown to be quite grateful for all that these officers do to try and protect their citizens, ex-Pats and many visitors. It’s not convenient that’s true but I’ll take inconvenience any day over the alternative.

So if you are coming to France, the UK, and now Brussels and Amsterdam and plan on taking the Eurostar, be forewarned. Arrive at least an hour ahead of departure and you will not feel stressed!!

A couple of days later: I have arrived at St. Pancras an hour and a half early to return to Paris. Trying to get information is not fun. The Brits working here are not nearly as polite as the French. But, as in Paris, there is a long snaking line of quiet people who, for the most part, are not stressed.

It only took me thirty minutes to get through to the departures room and so had plenty of time to eat my dinner before we left for Paris.

A bientôt,

Sara

A birthday in Nantes–Part 2

Sunday morning, the morning after setting our clocks forward. Of course, I slept too late. But as it turned out, we had the perfect day to look forward to. The sun was out, it was warm and we were headed to the water and Ile de Nantes.

Ile de Nantes is somewhat like Ile de la Cite in Paris. The Loire river divides in two and goes around a large tract of land. Much of the old shipping and slave trade took place on the island. The shipping yards closed in 1987. Slave trade doesn’t exist anymore (there is a wonderful museum recounting the years that Nantes led Europe in slave boats that left this continent. We didn’t have time to go but it’s on our list for next time). Now there is a large park, Parc des Chantiers, and the fabulous Machines de l’ile. A Parisian friend had told me to be sure to see the machines that look like animals. That is all she said. A bit of an understatement!!! Nantes is the home of Jules Verne so it probably shouldn’t come as any great surprise to see wondrous creations out of all sorts of material. As we crossed the bridge, we saw the Carrousel des Mondes Marin–“a universe of strange and disturbing marine creatures which revolve in a huge three level structure” -Tourist brochure.

I wanted to see the Grand Elephant first. I love elephants, for many reasons, and one doesn’t get to see many outside of Stomper, the mascot of the Oakland Athletics baseball team. We wandered towards the gift shop and suddenly there it was before me: A majestic animal of steel and wood, 40 feet high, 26 feet wide and 21 feet long weighing in at 48.4 metric tons. I literally gasped. It looks like a real elephant. When it goes for a walk, it is “architecture in motion”-tourist guide. The trunk can blow like a trumpet and shoots water at a great distance. It seems to use the water to get children to move out of the way of it’s movement. It would not be fun to be stomped on by one of those huge feet. I took photos and videos and smiled like a kid. The eyes looked real and seemed to be looking at me as I walked backwards trying to get the best shots. I had wanted to take a ride but there was a line and I had so much fun just watching the elephant stroll.

We did buy tickets for the Carrousel, which opened in 2012, and went to all three levels to pick the marine animal we wanted to ride. Of course, we weren’t nearly quick enough. Children were fast and found their favourites. I chose the tortoise. I had to climb up tiny little stairs and swing my aging knees on either side of a saddle. The turtle was made of steel and had four distinct parts: the body that I was sitting on, the head that I could swing back and forth with a handle and two side handles that moved the front legs. By the time I figured out how to make the tortoise look like a live being, the ride was over! In front of me were two flying fish each one built out of a bicycle. Next to me were two giant horses pulling a carriage that held a family. Barbara rode a giant snail. She was sad because she wanted the horses. They rode up and down – about the only things that moved similar to the carousels you and I are familiar with.

Even after the ride was over, it was hard to leave. The park is an extraordinary creation. It was founded by Francois Delaroziere and Pierre Orefice. they are major figures in Street theatre and urban performance in Europe. Today, Pierre Orefice is the director of Les Machines de l’Ile. Francois is the art director of the company Les Machines and dreams up live performances. The structures are built in the workshop before the public’s eyes. The Machines first opened in 2007 and have given thousands of people, old and young, a great deal of pleasure. Go see it!

Across from L’Ile de Nantes sat the Belem, originally a merchant ship and now berthed for all to see on the Quai des Fosses. Right behind the Belem was a 40 foot sailing boat that belongs to Antoine and Marion, friends of Barbara’s oldest son, Mathieu. They are getting ready to leave on afive year trip around the world. They invited us on and into the cabin of their boat for a coffee. Marion showed us where she is renovating the ceiling with wood which she will then paint. Antoine was working the outside. I asked them if all this had to be finished before they left. They said the proverbial answer: it is a work in progress!!

I applauded them their courage to do a trip like this before they start building careers and a family. I also took a couple of years off between university and Graduate School and hitchhiked around Europe. My parents thought I was crazy and it’s true that it is a luxury to be able to take off like that. Not everyone can. I have never regretted it.

We left in time to get ready for our final adventure of the day: dinner at La Cigale. Our AirBnB host had told us not to miss it. It is Art Nouveau at it’s most extreme. Barbara had made a reservation when she was told she couldn’t have her birthday dinner there. La Cigale was built by Emilie Libaudiere and opened in 1895. It quickly became the place to meet and greet for the bourgeoisie, aristocracy, dancers and actors. It is now an historical monument. In 1961, it was chosen as the film set of ‘Lola’ by Jacques Demy.

We walked in and were seated near a window looking out on the Cours Cambronne, a beautiful terraced walkway. We quickly ordered then both of us were up taking photos of everything. The waiters didn’t blink an eye. They must be terribly bored of seeing all the tourists repeating the same things over and over again day after day. But it is an eyeful. Tiles everywhere of cigales and family shields and basic blue and yellow strips. An old wooden standing clock perched on the bar and was topped with a Cigale. The Cigale is good luck in Provence but has brought it’s luck to this restaurant.

We ordered cabillaud again and bar and grilled vegetables. It was good but so was my dinner that I’d cooked the night before!! But I couldn’t top the atmosphere of fun at La Cigale. When we left, we walked to Place Royal and were able to see it without the stalls. A centre fountain was bathed in blue light and again, I thought of Rome.

The next morning, we went full circle. We walked back to the Chateau and strolled along the ramparts getting a good view of the city. It was impossible for me to imagine what the scenery would have looked like in the 15th century and what a person standing on the ramparts would look out on. As we came down into the Courtyard, Barbara realised that with all the photos we’d taken, we had none of the two of us together. So, in French, she asked a woman who was sitting next to us to do the honours. “I am English and would be happy to take your photo!”

With that, we went to get our suitcases and take the bus to Gare de Nantes. Two and a half hours later, we arrived at Gare Montparnasse. For me, I love to visit everywhere in France and I love coming home.

After you hear the elephant roar, turn the sound down, it’s a poor choice of background.

A bientôt,

Sara

A birthday in Nantes–Part 1

On the train riding home from Nantes yesterday, I asked my friend Barbara, should I title my Blog ‘Nantes’ or ‘Barbara’s Birthday’ and with that cheshire cat smile of hers, she said ‘Barbara’s birthday in Nantes’. So I compromised. For no good reason, I just like the title!!

Nantes, the sixth largest city in France, holds a unique place in French history. Originally in Bretagne, it is now the administrative seat of Loire-Atlantique department. In the mid-20th century, France changed the regions of France and made Rennes the centre of Brittany and created Pays de la Loire with Nantes as its centre. The vast majority of Nantes would prefer to be Brittany and consider themselves Bretons. Pays de la Loire says it could not exist without Nantes as it’s largest city and port.

Whatever its history, Barbara picked Nantes to spend her birthday and off we went last Friday. We stayed in an AirBnB in the heart of Nantes, walking distance to all the attractions, of which there are many. We could have easily stayed another 2 or 3 days.

One of the drawbridges and the moat surrounding the Chateau

Our first stop was to the Chateau des Ducs des Bretagne or Chateau d’Anne of Brittany. It was late in the day after the trip from Paris and rather than take the 10euros tour to the large and informative museum inside, we opted to walk over to the Tourist Office–Barbara’s favourite first stop! We stood in the courtyard and knew we’d like to walk the ramparts at some point. The chateau has been completely renovated.

At the tourist office (french tourist offices for those that don’t know are a must stop. Kind people will pull out a map and show you how to get to suggested sites. There is usually a gift shop with wonderful postcards and things from the region. I always leave with lots of little booklets that I end up tearing apart and putting the photos in my journal!), we decided we’d return in the morning and take a self-guided tour with a talking box.

We headed “home” stopping at Monoprix, which was conveniently placed on the RDC of our building, for good food that would make a quick dinner. After eating, out came the map and the booklets and we plotted when we would do what.

The next morning, Barbara’s birthday, I called on Paul McCartney to serenade her with “You say it’s your birthday” in true rock and roll style. Then I looked out the window. Everywhere I looked, every space of sidewalk, every inch of street and concrete was full of tents and floating stores. It was the once a year Braderie de Nantes/Giant Sidewalk Sale.

After a pow-wow, we thought there was no way we could do the self-guided tour. We’d be caught up in a sea of people wherever we turned. We thought we’d brave the crowds immediately and go to Passage Pommeraye.

Paris’ many passages had nothing on this three story passage. As with the Chateau, it had been completely renovated and cleaned up. In fact, what struck me during the entire day was how clean and new Nantes looks. Nantes’ city centre was destroyed by American bombs during WWII. The Allies eventually took back the city but the decades following weren’t kind to Nantes. It wasn’t until 1989, under a new Mayor, that Nantes finally experienced economic growth and developed a rich cultural life. And in the years since 2010, Nantes has been cleaning to show off it’s rich history. Between the cleaning and the 20th century building, Nantes has the feeling of a newer, contemporary city. It’s median population is the youngest in France. But Nantes puts money into small everyday things to keep the city clean. At the end of Saturday, around 10pm, I looked out the window and there wasn’t a trace left of the huge sale. Fifteen boxes were piled up at the corner to be taken away by the garbage truck and a machine with rolling brushes was covering the sidewalk, vacuuming into its insides any debris that could have possibly been missed. Very impressive.

From the Passage we went to Place Royal but there were too many stalls and too many people so we pushed through that and found our way to the Musee d’Arts de Nantes, another icon that has recently undergone a huge renovation. The museum houses art from the 13th century to the 21st century. The modern art is located in a part of the museum appropriately called the Cube and looks nothing like the rest of the museum. It is large enough for installations yet paintings and photographs don’t get lost.

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From the museum, we worked our way up to Cathedral de St. Pierre et St. Paul. We really wanted to make it to the Prefecture by 4pm at the latest. I had learned that there would be a March for our Lives in Nantes and both Barbara and I were anxious to be there and march. So we gave the Cathedral short shrift as they say. Our hearts weren’t in it.

So we wound our way to the Prefecture and spotted a small crowd of people huddled together. There were probably 20-25 of us but that is a lot when you think it’s France and not Paris where most people are paying attention to American politics.

In fact, we didn’t march at all but formed a circle while Alison, the head of DA, read moving excerpts from speeches, from the surviving HS kids and a wonderful letter from the Obamas to Parklands School. As I stood there listening, I was remembering that it was 50 years ago that I was protesting the war in Vietnam, campaigning first for Gene McCarthy and then Bobby Kennedy, that MLK was murdered in April or May of ’68 and Kennedy in June. I prayed that these High School kids could do for Gun control and murdering children what my generation did to stop the war in Vietnam.

Extraordinary statistics were cited. Since 2001, the number of school killings in each country one by one were mentioned. The largest being five, I think. Whereas in the US, we have had 217 since January 1, 2018. It’s hard to write that.

We made our way back to the apartment a bit thoughtful. Stopped at Monoprix for the birthday dinner (we wanted to go to La Cigale but it was full so you will have to wait to hear about that wondrous place till tomorrow).

Le Menu:

Cabaillaud cooked in demi-sel beurre and herbes de provence.

Roasted rutabaga cut up to look like french fries.

Green salad with dressing of oil, vinegar, and mustard.

The final present of the night was that we lost an hours sleep BUT no longer had to do mental acrobatics trying to figure out how to align with the US who changed clocks two weeks ago.

Stay tuned for Nantes–Part 1

A bientôt,

Sara

La Compagnie

On Friday, Jan. 12, I flew to New Jersey to attend a Care Conference for my Uncle. I flew a new airline. Over the past couple of years, I read about this airline that has only business class seats at slightly more than economy price seats. Since, I mostly fly Paris–San Francisco and back again, it wasn’t an option for me. La Compagnie only flies Paris–Newark and back.

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Because a friend raved about it last June, I decided this was a fine time to find out for myself. So I booked a round trip ticket that cost about 1500 euros total. Sometimes I feel held hostage by United. I have many miles, enjoy using miles to upgrade to a very luxurious Business/First seat and love all the perks that come with having Premier status. I wanted to free myself. Maybe I won’t have Premier Class anymore. Tant pis!

My friend was thrilled that I was going to give La Compagnie a try. She warned me to get to CDG early as LC check-in was tucked away. So the night before I left, I went on-line to see if I could find where LC check-in was. Terminal 1 but after that I had to wait. Some blogs popped up in my search. They turned out to be “horror” stories. They were written in 2014, I held my fears in check. Whatever wasn’t working in 2014 certainly has been ironed out now. From the time I left my apartment to the time I landed in Newark, everything went smoothly.

When I arrived at Terminal 1, the digital board told me that my flight was on time and that check-in was in Hall 3. I walked slowly looking left and right and there it was right next to United. Since there are only 84 seats, the line to check in went quickly. One can have two bags at 70 pounds/32 kilograms each. I left with a fast access through security card and could wait in the iCare Lounge. Unlike other airlines, the check-in doesn’t open until two and half hours ahead of take off. This again is because there are only 84 seats.

The Lounge was one floor down from the United Lounge, plenty large and set up for a continental breakfast.

I still had to go through security so it was suggested to leave the lounge forty-five minutes to an hour ahead of departure. Boarding the plane takes only fifteen minutes again because of so few seats.

The immediate impression upon boarding is of lots of space and very airy. There are two seats on each side of the aisle. Three attendants took care of us. There are no frills and whistles. No one asked to hang my coat. I folded it up and put it in the overhead along with everything else. Nothing is allowed on the floor during take-off. As you can see, there is no barrier between the two seats as with other Airline’s Business Class seats. I didn’t find that a problem. If privacy is high on your priority list, this isn’t the airline for you.

My “horror” story blog described the flight bags as made of tire like material with no toothbrush. He was appalled. The flight bag was perfect and there was a toothbrush. The hand creme and lip conditioner were from the French company Caudalie.

The attendant only offered champagne before take-off. But fairly soon after, a drinks trolly came rolling by. Everything was on offer. This was followed by lunch (take off was at 10:30am). I always bring my own food but my neighbour let me take a photo of his tray. This is before the hot entree was brought.

My only complaint is that the seat does not turn into a flat bed like most business class seats nowadays. It would have been ok except the foot part didn’t rise and I found that hard. Going to Newark was not a problem. I wasn’t sleepy and watched two movies, read my book and did some writing. My flight back to Paris left at 7:30pm and I was exhausted. I slept on and off the whole way but the discomfort of my feet kept me from sleeping completely. As the other blogger said, for the price I paid and having so much room, I thought everything was good.

Every seat has an iPad. They are turned on about fifteen minutes into the flight. One has a choice of about 20 movies, 3 audio books and 4 special videos. The map with the flight progress is on four screens overhead.

Everything went smoothly. Even the bumpy parts of the flight were fine. We landed early and taxied to the gate right on time, to the minute.

My return flight was very similar except that I have very little idea what happened after I closed my eyes. Did they serve a dinner? Don’t know. Don’t even remember a drinks trolly. The check-in was just as smooth except it was in English and there were four people doing the check as opposed to two in Paris. The Lounge was before security and very elegant. It had the feel of old world glamour. The food was better than anything I’ve ever seen. An entire dinner was laid out so I suspect that dinner was not served on board.

IMG_7689 2.JPG

When you go on-line to book a flight, after picking your dates, four different prices come up. Each price has conditions. The cheapest is called promotion which is what I got. Since turning 65, I always get flight insurance now. As they say in many countries, Shit happens.

If my opinion counts for anything, I recommend this airline for the price, the space and the ease of travel. You do need to be going to Newark or Paris or be willing to land there before the next lap of your flight. Happy Flying!!!

A bientôt,

Sara

Happy New Year from Paris

France is the only country that I know of that does not send Christmas cards as a rule but instead sends New Year’s cards. We have the whole month of January to get the cards out. Ergo, I feel just fine wishing you all a Happy New Year fourteen days into 2018!

I took quite a bit of time off from this blog–I spent two wonderful weeks in London. I’d heard for many years about the lights and store windows of Harrods, Fortum and Mason, Selfridges and was looking forward to a festive time. I exchanged homes with a wonderful family from Finchley, North London. They stayed in my home in Oakland, Calif and I stayed in their home 25 minutes by underground from the centre of London. For the Christmas season, it felt like the best of two worlds. London centre was alive with tourists, shoppers, lights, thousands of people swarming the sidewalks while Finchley was quiet and peaceful.

The first week was very cold. My friend, Meg, from Antibes joined me. A Brit by birth, I had the luxury of just hanging on to her coattails and following her as she led me all over the place and we never got lost! On Saturday, Dec. 23rd, we had tickets to hear the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at Westminster Abbey. It seems that a tourist must pay 22 pounds to visit Westminster. However, with this ticket, I entered for free and heard the beautiful Westminster Boys Choir.

The next evening, Christmas Eve, Meg took me to dinner at a long time friend’s home. The family couldn’t have been more welcoming. They gave me presents and thanked me so much for joining them for dinner. Hello, shouldn’t I be thanking you?? The Brits are quite a people.

Christmas Eve dinner with our paper crowns from the crackers

Meg told me that for Christmas Day, every good Brit stays in their pjs and watches TV all day long. It must be true because most of the channels had movies – of which we watched quite a few.

Meg took off on Wednesday to stay with her brother in southwest London and I prepared for my Paris friend, Barbara, to join me for the second week. One of Meg’s friends introduced me to Todaytix.com which sells tickets to West End shows for a discount. We got excellent seats for An American in Paris for 20 pounds each. Barbara struck up a conversation with the couple next to her and found out about two more sites Lovetheatre.com and Amazontickets.com, that sell discounted tickets. Through Lovetheatre.com, we bought terrific seats for a new West End production Girl from the North Country, a show based around Bob Dylan songs and Kinky Boots which I’d heard wonderful things about and Barbara was willing to go along with.

Twenty years ago, coming to London to go to the Theatre was probably the best deal in the world. Prices were extremely low and even more so if you were willing to stand in line at the HalfpriceTix stand in Leicester Square. No longer true. I saw the prices in black and white but had a hard time adjusting to the extraordinary fees for tickets. The Book of Mormon ran 200 pounds a person and were only slightly discounted on the good sites. So I was so happy with Rush prices and discounted prices.

New Year’s Eve, we had planned to go to a movie and watch the Fireworks on the Thames on the TV from the comfort of our couch. As it turned out, we picked a movie that was playing at Piccadilly Circle.: Call Me By Your Name. We both wanted to see it as it was receiving nominations already and there were (still aren’t) no signs of it coming to Paris in the near future. As far as I’m concerned, it deserves all the rave reviews it is receiving. Reviewing it will be another blog! We left the theatre at 11:15pm and were told that all the underground stations nearby were closed for the Fireworks show. So we walked to Oxford Circle. Regent Street was closed off to car traffic and we, and thousands of others, were walking in the middle of the street. There is something so freeing and lighthearted about walking on a main street in a busy large city and there is no traffic.

Regent Street close to midnight New Year’s Eve

I found myself on January 4, not wanting to leave London. That is what a good vacation is supposed to be. One leaves wanting more instead of dying to get home What was especially wonderful and surprising for me was that I hadn’t really wanted to go. I thought it was far too soon to travel when I’d just returned from California a month before. So to have the two weeks be so relaxing, so entertaining, so Holidayish if you will, was really a wonderful Xmas present.

Fifth floor tea shop at Fortum and Mason

I will close by telling those of you who don’t already know about the Charity Shops in the UK. I love them. I’ve been going to Newmarket every October for five years and discovered a Charity Shop every 100 yards or so. Whenever I am in London now, I look for the Charity shops first. I always walk away with something that I fall in love with. This time, I found a wonderful sweater, a pair of gloves (mine weren’t warm enough) and a little wallet for my Oyster card and UK money. These aren’t consignment shops that are almost too expensive for someone like me. I like a good bargain but also something I can use. I bought some Christmas tree balls just for a lark and got home to Paris to find that Bijou, the cat, had managed to bring down my little Christmas tree and I had less than half of the decorations I started with. The joys of cat ownership!!!!

I hope your New Year is starting off well. And may 2018 see some change toward the better for the world. With so many body blows on a daily basis, it is often hard to stay open to the hard work and action required to make this world a better place but if not us who?

A bientôt,

Sara

Happy New Year—-from Oakland, Ca.

In France, one has the entire month of January to send out New Year’s greetings. Sending cards for the new year is popular, sending Christmas cards is not.

So I’m wishing every one of you a wonderful 2017. What I wish for us all is an ability to navigate our world, our politics (or their politics as the case may be) and to be the best citizen of this world that we can possibly muster without bringing in more anger, more hatred and bitterness than already exists. It’s not a new concept but imagine if we did one good, kind deed a day and it spread like “The hundredth Monkey Phenomenon”. Well, I’d like to imagine it!!!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hundredth_monkey_effect

Yesterday, I got on a United flight to San Francisco to return to my California home for 4 months. I was taken by surprise in mid-December when I was told that I needed hip replacement surgery. Actually, I was given a choice. It seems that doctors today cannot actually say “you must have…..” without fear of litigation. One of my choices was surgery. I went to all my friends who have had hip or knee replacement surgery and asked them one question: “In retrospect, if you had had the surgery done when you were first told that you might need it, would you have done it?” Without exception, they all said yes. When I was talking to the orthopedist and he was telling me the pros and cons of cortisone shots, I asked him straight out “is there any reason to delay it?”

The answer, not so surprisingly, was “No”

So I’m scheduled for surgery in mid-February. The curious fact about me is that I have never been in a hospital since I was born. My father used to joke “Sara, you were born in Garfield Hospital in Washington, D.C and they immediately tore it down”. Yes, of course, I’ve been in many doctor’s offices and had two one-hour procedures (that I can remember) but to have a serious surgery and spend the night, that has been my sister’s realm. And to say I’m a bit anxious would be an understatement.

Now, the window I get to look out of is my westward-looking windows here in Oakland. I can see the San Francisco Bay, the Bay Bridge that spans from Oakland to downtown San Francisco (4 miles) and the Golden Gate bridge. Many evenings, there is a sunset that cannot be rivaled.

California has been suffering a terrible drought for going on six years. There has been rain, quite a bit of rain, in the last couple of weeks. As my Uber drove me up my street from the San Francisco airport, the landscape looked strange. It hit me that everything was Green. Really Green! And because it rained on and off yesterday evening, the green was sparkling like itty bitty diamonds jumping around on leaves, on new grass. Now sixteen hours later, it is pouring cats and dogs, as we like to say in English, or I’d go outside and inspect the gardens and see all the changes.

My cat, Bijou, stayed in Paris. She is living with a friend who has a larger apartment than I did and also has children who love cats. When I said good bye to her on Thursday evening, everyone had a bit of a hesitant smile. Bijou was moving around carefully, looking around each corner before she let herself into a room. W and E looked excited but not sure how to react to her. I taught them to clap their hands very loudly when Bijou jumps up on a counter or somewhere she shouldn’t be. As if by direction, she immediately jumped up on a kitchen counter. I clapped very loudly, she jumped down and scampered back to the laundry room which is her temporary quarters. Then I left and felt my heart thudding with sadness. It didn’t seem right to make her fly two long plane flights just because I have to have surgery.

Banya, on the other hand, who grew up in Oakland and moved to Paris with me is in kitty heaven. She was an indoor/outdoor cat, became an indoor cat in Paris and never seemed to adjust. Now she is home after a long plane ride. She must have known she was coming home because she stayed calm and hasn’t stopped purring.

I wish I had a smart closing line like Garrison Keeler and could say “and that’s the news from Oakland where all …..” If anyone can dream up a really punchy line for me to close with, there is a small Thank You coming your way. Until then,

A bientôt,

Sara

Sentier Littoral, Cap d’Antibes

My friend, Barbara, came down from Paris yesterday to join me for 4 more days in Antibes. A friend of hers said she must walk the Presque Isle. We couldn’t figure out where that was but assumed it had to be part of Cap d’Antibes. So this morning, we packed up our lunches, put on walking shoes and walked towards the Cap. After about 2 1/2hrs, we found ourselves at the crossroads of Blvd de la Garoupe and Ave Mrs.L.D. Beaumont. Barbara’s guidebook said there were some beautiful gardens to be seen. So we made a plan to find the gardens first and then walk down to the Villa Eilenroc and follow the sentier (footpath) around the tip of Cap d’Antibes heading east and then back towards Antibes.

Walking out of Antibes towards Cap d’Antibes

Another view of the ramparts with French Alps behind.

We never did find gardens, at least the kind we were looking for. In fact, the Villa looked very untended and a bit sad. It is probably looking for new owners. But there were plenty of coves that were full of people having picnics, swimming (this is December 28th, guys!), sailing and having a wonderful time.

We wound our way around the Villa and found the Sentier. Everybody and their dog were out for a walk. It was a beautiful warm day and the French love to walk. The Sentier turned out to be quite challenging. Up steep steps, down steep steps, across rocks with no path–just follow the person in front of you.

Barbara walking down rock steps of the Sentier

FullSizeRender.jpg.jpeg — Sara walking the rocky sentier

We had been walking 5 1/2 hrs when, finally finishing the sentier, we came to a road. Our choices were to beg a ride off someone, find out if a bus existed, find a taxi or walk another 2 hours back to Antibes. My Uber app kept telling me there was no good connection. I suspect there aren’t many Uber drivers down in this part of the Riviera. So we managed to find the only hotel that seemed to be open and the manager called a taxi for us. As we drove back towards Antibes, the sky turned an amazing pink, the water reflected the pink, the sand and rocky shore all looked pink–it was a bath of pink. And both of us were too tired to take a picture. You just have to take my word for it.

We arrived back in Antibes just as dark fully descended and all the lights came on in the town to greet us. It was an absolutely perfect day.

I will leave you with one of Barbara’s photos of a cove at the villa.

A bientôt,

Sara

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