AVANT-PROPOS
April-May 2003 -- Exchange
“The Hungarian
forint is at 0.00667 cents”, Denise says, glancing at the financial page in the
morning newspaper. “Maybe we should go to Hungary
for our vacation this summer.”
Exchange rates
play a major role in our deliberations for vacation this year. The Euro is
almost 10% more than last year, and the US dollar unbending at above $1.50,
raising the cost of many of our preferred amusements. But, somehow, our favourite
haunts beckon us back to France.
We would like to return to the little condominium apartment in St-Raphaël for a
little R&R on the Côte
d’Azur. We discover
to our dismay that the apartment was sold two months earlier, and we suddenly feel
lost, strangers in a strange land. We start looking for something else near a
beach, weekly rental, a small terrace, but, alas, the internet searches are
awkward and nothing seems right. There is Daniel’s house in Languedoc, which
is available for those two weeks, but the rocky mountainscapes and
vineyard-filled valleys of Languedoc seem oddly more attractive as an October destination than a June
one.
Perhaps there is
an alternative. The Loire valley? We see rentals in century old chateaus as low as 60 Euros a
night. The Dordogne? The air fares are still prohibitive -- and the seat sales are just
not happening. Then the US dollar starts its dive, and a Stateside vacation starts
to seem reasonable once again. We have not been to Virginia Beach in a
while, and consider going back. A cursory check of the oceanfront properties
shows accommodation starting at $180 US (“for a minus1 star room”, exclaims
Barry, “and you’ve got to eat American food”). There is Rehoboth Beach, near Washington DC, a little more village-like,
perhaps, but, still, all there is to do is walk the beach, shop, and eat
American food. Then the Europe seat sales are announced.
This is a no-brainer -- we book our tickets and car without delay.
Friday, May 29 – Reservations
Reservations -- we
have a few -- fourteen nights, 5 hotels, 1 car, 2 airline tickets. Now Air Canada has
announced they are seeking bankruptcy protection. They have called us to tell
us our return flight has been cancelled but they have re-booked us on an
earlier flight on the same day. That’s fine, as long as we can sit together.
Today the news is
different – Air Canada will shut down unless the pilots accept 20% wage cuts. We both
wonder how much these guys earn so that 20% of their wage will plug the 5
million-a-day gap! Yesterday’s headlines said that Quebecers are more stressed than
other Canadians. We do not wonder why. Barry recalls Frank Borman’s (of Gemini
7, Apollo 8 and Eastern Airlines fame) 1979 speech to Eastern Airlines workers telling
them that there was no more money, that they would not be paid. Eastern
continued to fly for several years. Air Canada
will, too, will it? We have a few reservations.
Saturday, May 30 – The Ultimatum
A court orders
that if the airline and the pilots do not come to an agreement by midnight, the airline will be grounded.
Sunday, May 31 – The Agreement
The midnight deadline has passed, but the agreement isn’t nailed down until 3:00 AM.
Air Canada will continue flying. Of course, we did not doubt it …
Wednesday, June 11 – The French disconnection
Civil servants go
on strike in France, affecting thousands of passengers as various air traffic control
and ground transportation workers walk off the job. Of course, there are always
taxis … if you can land, first …
Friday, June 13 – That eerie feeling
The Globe and Mail
web site does not talk about the French strikes. Are they over? Do we care? Air
Canada is still flying and we are supposed to leave tonight on a scheduled
flight to Paris.
Montreal is the
midst of Grand Prix fever and a major downpour. Dorval airport is
hauntingly empty, but the late flight is full and we leave without a hitch. At the Paris airport, we
land on time, we make our way to the RER train, and purchase fares for Gare
Montparnasse, a short taxi ride from our hotel. The civil service strike is not
over and the train stops partway into Paris. No problem,
though, the taxis still operate.
PARIS REVISITED: June 14 – June 18
Saturday, June 14 – on the town
We have not been
to Paris in 15 years. Colleagues tell us that the city has changed a lot
over these years; however, we find little substantial difference. To us, Paris was and is
still a lady of stature, her broad avenues lined with stately Baroque
buildings, her streets a-bustle with shops and cafés with something different to
please the eye at every turn. The ubiquitous cell phones, the take-out sushi restaurants,
and the overall absence of dog droppings on the city streets are the signs of
change.
We are staying at
the Regent’s Hotel, 2-stars, near the Palais de Luxembourg in St-Germain des Prés.
Our room is in a separate hotel annex off the courtyard garden, having all the
tranquil charm of a little cottage in the middle of the city. We normally
eschew 2-star establishments; however, this one comes highly recommended, and
surpasses our expectations of cleanliness and convenience, with an ample French
continental breakfast. In spite of the lack of air conditioning, we sleep
comfortably with the windows open.
It is Saturday
mid-day when we arrive. We stroll to Place St-Sulpice, two blocks away, and
discover a lively antiques market filling the square. A lunch tent beckons, and
we try the salade de gesiers (gizzards), with its salty-sweet and surprisingly
tender chunks, delectable with a glass of French table rosé. We continue
wandering amidst the designer shops and restaurants of St-Germain des Prés, but
jet lag catches up and we opt for a rest.
When we venture
out Saturday evening, we encounter several stag parties roaming the streets. A
young girl in a white dress festooned with balloons stops to have her balloons autographed
by every guy she meets in the street. There are a few of these girl groups. At the
Quai St-Michel, a young man strips down to his thong underwear, dons a tutu,
and climbs the fountain to the cheers of dozens of onlookers, stepping over the
engraved names of those brave members of the Résistance fallen in August 1944.
We dine on pizza and pasta at an Italian restaurant run by East Indians in the Latin Quarter; decent food and
wine for a few Euros. As we stroll back, the streets are teeming with a largely
French crowd, with substantial German, American, and British tourists. It seems
that everyone is out in Paris on this sultry Saturday night.
We pass the Place
de la Sorbonne and stop for coffee near our hotel in what soon becomes our
favourite little café, across from Eglise St-Sulpice. We are quickly reminded
how the French’ sense of space differs from our own. We bump elbows with total
strangers, yet do not overhear nor engage in their conversations. The coffee is
good, but this has been a very long day, and we return to our hotel.
Sunday, June 15 –markets and churches
We awaken Sunday
morning. The waves of jet lag fatigue are becoming a faint memory. We take an
early morning stroll through the Jardins de Luxembourg, a jogger’s paradise in
this city of limited green spaces. Chairs are set up throughout the park for
Parisians to enjoy this space. They are empty at this early hour but cigarette
butts litter the ground around the seating areas, leftover from Saturday night.
Smoking is not taboo in France.
We had noticed the
large number of cell phones in use. Even the street sweepers, dressed in
fluorescent green vests, wielding fluorescent green brooms, communicate via
cell phones and headsets as they sweep the sidewalks.
Most businesses
are closed on Sunday, but a few antique and flea markets operate. The market at
St-Ouen interests Denise. This is actually seven markets located in one great
space outside the Porte de Clignancourt at the north end of the city. First,
though, we decide to visit the much smaller market at the Porte de Vanves.
Vendors have spread out their wares the entire length of Avenue Marc Sangnier
and around the corner to the Péripherique overpass. Furniture, paintings,
linens, and bric-a-brac from many eras and of good quality stretch out for as
far as the eye can see. Barry is attracted by a Reyne watercolor, but holds
back – “until we put up what we have”. Denise is taken by up a unique wall
hanging -- a collage of hand-embroidered antique red and white linens with amusing
bird motifs. It becomes her birthday present. We enjoy chatting with the
vendors, but when we tell them that it gets cold in Canada in
the winter, we somehow think they do not comprehend exactly how cold.
When we leave the
market, it is already afternoon, and we are all antique’d out. St-Ouen will
have to wait for another trip. We stop at Montparnasse to find a little lunch and do some people-watching. Around the
corner from Gare Montparnasse is another “brocante” (antique fair) stretching
two short city blocks. We browse a bit and settle in for a steak-frites, and
watch the organ grinder at the end of the brocante. Two accordionists come by,
busking at the restaurant, playing Edith Piaf tunes.
Later that day,
after a rest stop at our hotel, we head out to the banks of the River Seine. We
pass Eglise St-Germain des Prés, people streaming in for Sunday afternoon mass.
The streets are full of people sporting “Stop la grève” (end the strike)
stickers – we must have missed a demonstration. We arrive at the river. A
scruffy-looking Frenchman is yelling to the pigeons on the railings, as if they
were people, amidst the boquinistes (used booksellers). We cross to the Ile de la Cité, and then on
to Notre Dame de Paris. We have not been here in 15 years, and go in for a
fresh look at its medieval grandeur. A service is underway – one cardinal is
retiring and another replacing him. It is the end of the service, and the
congregation sings an end-of-service song we have heard in old French movies.
The organ thunders a processional to escort everyone out. We pass by a little sushi place and bring supper
and wine back to our room, our feet too tired to continue.
Monday, June 16 – Sex and the city
It is a weekday
now, and the tranquility of our little hotel courtyard is overcome by the sound
of young children playing in the adjacent schoolyard. At breakfast, we chat with a couple from Seattle visiting
with two young teenagers. Their children are fascinated by the amount of public
kissing in Paris. Funny, we hadn’t noticed, Montreal being the
2-cheek kiss capital of North America. Parisians double up on that, though. A kiss on each cheek. Repeat
(like it says on the back of the shampoo bottle). Barry says “it’s a four cheek
kiss ... I won’t say where the other two cheeks are.”
We are at a boutique
called “Somewhere” (English names are always chic in France) and
Denise wants to try on a sweater. A man opens the changing room curtain and
asks if he can share the changing room with her. She says “no”.
We visit Sacre
Coeur, above Montmartre, and are amused once again by the “artists” and tourists traps
lining the adjacent Place du Tertre. We return down the hill to Pigalle, which
is as seedy as 42nd
Street was before Disney
bought it. A guy sidles up from behind to Barry, who was busy reading a street
map. We do not know if he is a pickpocket or not, but Denise intervenes before
he gets any closer. His hands were not going for Barry’s pockets. We leave posthaste.
We approach the Métro station and a fellow holds the door wide open for Barry
with that “where have you been all my life” look in his eyes. Frenchmen do not
hold doors for anyone. Barry takes the door and motions for Denise to go in
front of him. We make our way back to St Germain des Prés where the focus is on
food and fashion and we feel a bit safer.
We dine in the Latin Quarter – the plump
oysters, our first in France, are redolent of the salty sweet Atlantic brine. The prawns in
whisky sauce, messy but delicious, the warm goat cheese salad, and the broiled
lamb chop tend more towards the ordinary. Desserts are forgettable. The
experience is reminiscent of the Prince Arthur or Duluth Street
restaurants in Montreal. We proceed to Au Deux Magots for coffee. At a nearby table, we see
a woman talking to a woman seated with a man at a table. She is offering her a
rose: “I am single and have an apartment”. We can only wonder what was going
though the mind of the guy sitting at the table with her.
Tuesday, June 17 – the walks
Rue Mouffetard is
a-bustle with activity today as the food market fills the lower half of the
winding street. We pass wall-to-wall restaurants of every ethnic bent, and pick
up a few apricots and cherries for snacks at the open market. Many stores sell
fashions and jewellery from India – we expect to see a resurgence of these
styles, so popular in the late sixties, in North American cities in a few years.
We wander over to
the Madeleine, a Romanesque Benedictine church overlooking the fine food shops
at rue St Honoré. Barry appreciates the honest architecture of the interior,
where the columns actually serve some structural purpose rather than exist for
purely decorative reasons. Our subsequent walk around the church reveals that
the semi-circular apse is hidden inside a square exterior. So much for honest
architecture…
We wander down Rue
Bonaparte and notice the street blocked by a fire truck. We joke with onlookers
that we use fire trucks in Canada to
rescue cats. It turns out that they do in Paris to rescue people as well – a
fellow had locked himself inside his room and could not find the key … A woman yells at Denise at a street corner.
Denise nearly walked on the woman’s dog … perhaps it was a big rat?. Why is the
dog on such a long leash in the city anyway? It is a tripwire that spans the entire
width of the sidewalk … Denise’s shoe has caused a blister on her foot. Barry
asks: “Can you walk – I don’t want to ask a Frenchman to carry you, they are so
skinny and forlorn looking”. Denise replies “I’ll take two 25 year olds.”
Actually, a Dr Scholl’s Blister Treatment does the trick. Do not travel without
it.
We head out to Le
Marais, an area resurging in popularity as art galleries and shops takes over
the little houses in this formerly poor residential area behind Les Halles. A
thunderstorm looms as we exit Métro La Bastille. It does not take long for the
rain to come. We seek shelter in a little café. The rain passes quickly, and we
move on, only to be hit with another downpour. As it happens, we manage to
avoid most of the rain by hop scotching from café to café, settling on Bisto
Les Philosophes for salades artisanales for lunch.
We move on to the
Musée D’Orsay, housing a large collection of Impressionist and other art in a
converted railway station. The collection inspires – it is amusing how crowded
the Van Gogh room is, while the large collection of Pisarro, Corot, and Renoir allows
free movement. Van Gogh must be highlighted in Rick Steves’ guide. (Steves is a
prolific travel writer for Americans. We have noted in general the significant
absence of American tourists in Paris, except for this particular venue. We are not surprised, given the
events leading up to the American attack on Iraq, and
the resulting strained relations with France.)
Dinner is at Le
Petit Luxembourg, a little mom-and-pop wine shop and restaurant around the
corner from our hotel. We are the only customers at 7:30 PM however
it does not take too long for others to arrive. We are offered a glass of kir
while waiting for our order to be taken by madame. Barry begins with the
marinated herring on pommes (potatoes), a treat we discovered in Lyon, and have found rarely in Canada. We
make our own at home. Denise has the homemade terrine de lapin, each chunk of rabbit bursting with flavour. The
main courses arrive. Denise’s lamb parmentier, tender, juicy slices of lamb
nestled on a bed of pureed potatoes laced with garlic in counterpoint, are more
subtle and delicious a combination than the simple tuber concoctions of chemist
Antoine Parmentier. Barry’s magret de canard is a generous serving of sweet and
tender morsels of duck. We do not recall our desserts, but the pleasant memory
of the meal overshadows this minor oversight. A red Bourgueuil, our first taste
of this fine, robust Loire appellation, provides a delicious accompaniment. Locals stream in
and out of the little shop to buy wine to go. We are pleased to see that our
selection of Bourgueuil is one of the more popular ones. Others drop in for a
glass of wine and a chat with the owners. There is a true neighbourhood feeling
in this city centre restaurant.
Stuck into the
wainscot beside our table is an assortment of postcards from friends and
clients of the owners. Barry accidentally knocks one off the wall – it has a
photograph of a moose on it. The owner tells us about this Canadian who
frequents the restaurant and sent them this card. Barry remarks that he has
never seen a moose in Canada and resolves to send a more representative picture postcard,
perhaps a cityscape of Montreal from the mountain. Who knows, there may be a moose hiding in the
woods of Mount Royal above Sherbrooke
Street?
A young couple
from New Jersey barely manage to order couple of glasses of wine at the bar in
their less-than-high-school French. We admire their spirit to venture into such
an un-touristy spot. Barry offers them our remaining Métro tickets on our way
out as we are leaving Paris in the morning.
We will certainly
return to this charming little restaurant on a subsequent trip.(Le Petit
Luxembourg, 29, rue de Vaugirard, Paris 6e).
LES CHATEAUX
Wednesday, June 18 – to the Loire
We leave Paris this morning
and head out to the Loire Valley, with Chartres as our first destination. Once at Paris’ Periphérique,
it does not take long to leave the urban traffic jams and industrial sprawl
behind us so that we can appreciate the passing fields of wheat, asparagus, and
other crops.
We arrive in Chartres in late
morning, and enjoy the Cathedral’s impressive display of stained glass windows,
over 100 Biblical depictions preserved from as early as 1100. The surrounding
architecture is a combination of half-timber framed houses and two-storey stone
buildings that attempt to mimic the lines of the Cathedral. It is somewhat
amusing; it is also refreshing to be out of the cityscape and allow ourselves to
be awed by the grandeur of the church architecture overshadowing everything in
the surrounding area. We pause for lunch, a croque monsieur, before heading
towards the Loire valley.
We stop at Blois, dominated by
the Château de Blois, dating from the 13th century, the ancestral home of Henry II and III,
husband and son of Catherine de Medici. The beautifully restored rooms with
replica hand-made wall hangings and original wall paintings and tapestries and
furniture do not betray the castle’s reputation as the capital of skulduggery (with
Catherine’s collections of poison, and Henry III’s murder of the Duc de Guise
for starters).
We follow the Loire river road to find our home for the night, the
Château de Jallanges. A weekend retreat for one of the Louis, and lovingly
restored to its original state, this château boasts six large bed-and-breakfast
rooms, a hall for banquets and receptions, a Renaissance garden, and a modern
swimming pool. Our bedroom is exemplar of the historical glory of this château,
20 by 30 feet in size, coffered wooden ceiling, panelled walls, large
fireplace, wall tapestries, 4 poster bed, and creaky wooden floor. A modern
bathroom in the adjacent 15 by 20 foot room provides the necessary modern
comforts. Downstairs, several en-suite sitting rooms are a compendium of Renaissance
and Baroque decoration.
We head out to Tours for dinner.
This university town is quiet in the evening, but a small zone pietonne offers
a large assortment of restaurants. We enjoy a fine meal at “Au Fil de la Loire”,
a tasty terrine de brochet, followed by rouget for Denise and salmon for Barry,
all complemented by a tasty Chinon rosé. We strike up a conversation with a
couple at an adjacent table. They are British, and well travelled. He studied
in Tours, and they stop at this little restaurant every time they travel on
the continent. We do not question why, as we regale in every bite of our
dinner. We are slightly envious at how easy it is for Europeans to travel to so
many wonderful places so close to home, but are amused to hear of their plans to come to North America and
visit New Hampshire and Maine as if they were little countries. (Au Fil de la Loire, 6, rue de la
Rotisserie, Tours)
As we are in the
western end of the time zone, darkness does not fall until nearly 11:00 PM, so it is still barely daylight when we head back to our castle.
Fortunately, there is enough light to guide us – it is about a 15 minute drive
from the river; we arrive in total darkness. We regale in the utter tranquility
and darkness, a stark contrast to Paris.
Thursday, June 19 – Chateau life
We are awakened by
the sounds of birds. Denise notices little dark things on the bathroom floor and
toilet seat which she suspects might be mouse droppings. We are not surprised
that the castle might have mice. We enjoy a large continental breakfast which
includes fresh croissants and wine jam, breakfast cakes, yoghurt.
We barely make it
out in time to pick up a little lunch (and some clothes for the granddaughters)
at Le Continent in Tours; we picnic on the banks of the Cher River in
Savonnière. We proceed to Villandry, a 16th century castle famed for
its geometric gardens. This castle was purchased by Joachim Carvallo, who gave
up a scientific career and devoted himself to building this magnificent garden
evoking the Italian and French Renaissance gardens styles, which covers 7
hectares on several levels and includes an original mosaic of vegetables, a
maze, and a reflecting pool, all in harmony.
We move on
Chénonceaux, the famous women’s château, once the home of Diane de Poitiers,
Catherine de Médicis, and Louise de Lorraine, among others. The château, straddling
the River Cher, is still decorated in the style of the Rennaissance, but also
offers a picture of life in the fifteenth century with its preserved fully-equipped
kitchen and service areas.
We head into Amboise for dinner
-- a fine sampling of terrines, salmon, and confit de canard, with excellent
sorbets to finish. We meet a couple in the restaurant, he is German, she
American, and chat into the darkness before heading home. (Restaurant L'Epicerie,
46, place Michel Debré, St-Amboise)
Friday, June 20 – moving on
We leave Jallanges
and head on toward Saumur for our next home. The ride should take only an hour or so, but we stop along the way
to photograph some troglodytes – houses built into the stone. We are amazed to
see doorways leading into the mountain and chimneys poking out of the grass a
few metres away. We are in awe of entire villages built this way. We then stop
at a winery in Bourgueil, and discover the manual process still used for making
the wine. We buy two bottles. We barely reach Chinon; it is time for lunch.
We are not making
very good progress, so we decide to find our hotel – the Château de Salvert
right away. We drive on the dikes along the Loire and into Saumur, locating the hotel some 20 minutes north of the
city. It is a baronial residence with some of the most elaborate baroque
decoration we have seen yet, turrets jutting upwards at every corner and more, and
stone curlicues decorating every edge and window. This château is owned and
occupied by the same family that has run it for centuries; they rent several
B&B rooms. It is curious to see brightly-coloured children’s toys scattered
around a château. The owner has a tract of land for wild boar, and organizes
hunting expeditions there – wild boar memorabilia decorate the walls of the château
everywhere. Our room is small, but we cannot argue with the charm of the stall
shower built in the turret scarcely wide enough to accommodate one skinny person
buck-naked.
We have supper at
the château. Their table d’hote consists of salmon paté, terrine de volaille,
and a warm chèvre salad, followed by a glace. It was good, but highly
over-priced. We meet an elderly couple from Paris at dinner. It
is their fiftieth wedding anniversary -- they are proud to have met at a July
14 dance – Bastille Day – 53 years ago. Their children are treating them to a
few nights in the château’s large suite. They are humble, but well-to-do,
having an apartment in Paris, a home in Aquitaine, and another home on Ile Oléron (actually, not that humble, eh?). They have been to Canada,
and remark that Canadians have treated them well, especially when they got lost
in southern Ontario. Therefore, they offer to host us at their home in Aquitaine. They
leave the dining area early to watch “le foot” (soccer). But the next morning
at breakfast, he has written his telephone numbers on a little piece of paper
to give to us – we must call them and stay with them.
Saturday, June 21 - around Saumur
We stop by the
market in Saumur after breakfast. There are all sorts of food – bread, cheese,
olives, charcuterie, rotisserie chickens – the stuff which we seek out when we
have an apartment, but, alas, must be very selective about as we are staying in
hotels. There are live chickens, too, but we pass on most of this, and opt for some
fruits for snacking.
We continue on to
the 12th century Abbaye Royale de Fontevraud, Europe’s largest medieval
abbey. Converted into a prison by Napoleon, the abbey was restored starting at
the turn of the century, although the last prisoner was released in 1996. The
tombs of Henry II and Elinor of Aquitaine and the Roman kitchen with its
9-storey high chimneys fascinate.
Continuing, we
arrive at Angers, a pretty university town with a large pedestrian zone. The town is
abuzz with activity as musical groups are setting up all across the center of
town. One group is playing Maritime-style reels. A few spectators are dancing
in the street. One grabs Denise to dance. It is approaching 30 degrees in the
shade, but she joins for a few spins. There is much drinking as people pour
into the bistros and bars. We decide to head back to Saumur for a tamer summer
evening, closer to our hotel.
Our drive back to
Saumur is one of the loveliest we have taken yet, following the north shore of
the Loire, with castles popping into view in the hillsides every now and then
all the way along. We mentally purchase properties for our future B&B in
the pretty towns of St-Maturin and Les Rosiers.
We soon arrive in
Saumur. Musical groups have set up everywhere in Saumur as in Angers. We recall this
as the traditional first day of summer celebration, started many years ago in France,
and now fairly common throughout Europe. It promises to be busier than ever, being a Saturday night. We sup
at Restaurant Mascotte, enjoying a delicious salade nordique, moules, and pork
filet mignon. After our nougat glacé and sorbets, we head off to hear the
music.
Sounds emanate
from every corner – covers of Dire Straits, Beatles, Aznavour, Counting Crows
(“Meester Jones”) – and the streets are packed solid with people of all ages. Elvis
beckons from across a square – we go to see this cover artist. They are playing
an Elvis recording, and a tap dancing class is showing off some of their more
creative steps. So not French! But they are really taking this stuff seriously.
We meet a couple of British tourists; he is a retired engineer who used to tour
the US with the Muppet Show. The world is shrinking. Everyone is enjoying
the tap dancing.
We venture around
the corner and hear that maritime sound again – an accordion, fiddle, flute,
oboe, tambour, and Celtic bagpipes playing reels in the City Hall square.
Denise recalls hearing these instruments and songs when she was a child living in
northern Quebec. But these are French people from France dancing
reels and jigs to their folk music, some of them taking it really seriously,
and all of them having fun. We have danced similar dances (“eightsomes”) at
Scottish events back home. The music moves effortlessly from French to Irish to Breton, even
including a number by Canada’s Paul Piché. It is not possible to avoid moving to the music.
People are still
streaming into town by the hundreds. The music and dancing will go on all
night. But it is getting late for us and beginning to get dark and we have a
long drive tomorrow, so we decide to head home.
BRITTANY
Sunday, June 22 – on to Brittany
We leave the Loire behind and start our trek
north. In Chateaubriant, we stop at a local boulangerie to pick up a little
lunch. A young fellow behind the counter asks about our accents; we tell him we
are from Quebec. Another chimes in with “tabernac’”. The first asks him whether he
has ever been to Quebec. The second says no, but he has a postcard. We decide to tell
people we are from Canada if asked.
The drive into Brittany makes us
feel very much at home. Houses are typically built of rough fieldstone and are smaller
than we have seen elsewhere in France,
and the countryside is rolling and lush. It reminds us very much of Quebec’s Eastern
Townships. The regional French in Brittany is also
distinct, with vowels being clipped shorter than in the rest of France.
This is apparently an old way of speaking, and more closely resembles Quebec
French than any other we have heard in France.
Barry finds it easier to understand folks here than elsewhere in France.
We pull into Dinan
early in the afternoon. Dinan is a walled medieval city at the mouth of the Rance River, one of
the best preserved cities in the area, given the destruction wreaked in the
area during the Second World War. It is somewhat reminiscent of Old Quebec City,
with its rough-hewn stone buildings, peaked roofs, and cobblestone streets. Its
location is ideal for touring eastern Brittany –
centrally located near the coastal towns of St-Malo, and Dinard, near Rennes and the
interior. Our hotel, Le d'Avaugour , stands in a handsome stone building on the
ramparts of the old city. Many decorative and specimen plants decorate the large
outside terrace. We become quickly aware that the super-friendly owner and
staff make this little hotel one of the warmest and certainly the best value we
have had in Europe. And to think, we had even considered the Day’s Inn at Virginia Beach! (Hôtel Le d'Avaugour ***, 1, Place du Champ,
Dinan)
Dinan is not very
large, and we stroll the narrow city center streets lined with half-timber and
fieldstone houses characteristic of the area. Shops sell Breton specialties –
foodstuffs, decorative lace, and colourful pottery with Breton folk characters.
The long, winding Rue du Jerzual takes us down to the port, and we start to suffer
major heat exhaustion getting back up. Fortunately, a kind bartender at the
hotel () sells us a litre of water.
Dinner is at Fleur
de Sel, just around the corner from our hotel. This little restaurant serves
fresh fish – you choose the type of fish and then from an assortment of sauces.
We begin with oysters and cold melon soup for appetizers, followed by the filet
de sandre (perch), in the lemon sauce for Denise and the Breton cider sauce for
Barry. Everything is fresh and delicious. Pleasantly satisfied, we have
clafouti (fruit flan) and the sorbets with our coffee. The waitress, who speaks
very little English, succeeds in dealing with the primarily British tourist
clientele. At one point, though, a woman at a nearby table asks her for “white
coffee”. The waitress has a quizzical look in her face, and turns towards us to
catch our eyes. She then comes to take
our dessert order. Barry offers “café au lait” for white coffee, admitting that
he had never heard that, either. (Restaurant Fleur de Sel, 7, Rue Sainte
Claire, Dinan)
Monday, June 23 – St-Malo
You cannot visit
Europe without stumbling across remnants of turmoil - châteaux stripped of
their regal decorations by revolutionary hordes, rows upon rows of white
crosses in the military cemeteries of northern France, and, of course, the reconstructed
coastal towns along the English Channel in Brittany and Normandy. Eighty
percent of St-Malo, an important historic port, was destroyed in August 1944.
As it happens, the Allied forces bombed the city, thinking the Germans were
hiding there, but the Germans had escaped. The people of St-Malo rebuilt their
city on the ruins, using the rubble to reconstruct whatever they could. Today,
inside the ramparts, St-Malo thrives, chock-full of businesses catering to
tourism in the ground floors of the handsome 6-storey cut-stone buildings that
now fill the city. As in most parts of Brittany, there
are many creperies, and we opt for crepes for lunch (buckwheat crepes for main
course, sweet crepes for dessert, and Breton cider).
We take the little
city tourist train and walk the ramparts, but we are not here to shop, so we
move on to the Manoir Jacques Cartier, just outside of the city. Our neighbour in
Montreal is the director of this fine little museum, so there is no way we can
go to St-Malo without visiting the Manoir. After all of the châteaux, it is
refreshing to see how the common man lived, even if Jacques Cartier was slightly
more privileged than “common”.
We continue to
Cancale, famous for its oyster beds, and walk its Port La Houle end to end,
perhaps a half-dozen city blocks. Vendors offer fresh shucked oysters (a few
Euros a dozen, depending on the size), but it is getting late in the afternoon,
so we opt for sit-down dining in one of the restaurants. We share a platter – a
“bateau” – of seafood, feasting on crab, langoustine, oysters, mussels, whelks,
and other shellfish whose English names elude us. We prefer the sound of the
French names -- bulots, bigourneaux, amandes. The shellfish are nestled on a
big bed of seaweed atop ice, the platter poised on a stainless steel tripod
above little bowls of aioli and horseradish sauce. Some bread, and a bottle of
cold rosé, we immerse ourselves in the pleasure of the fresh, salty-sweet
treats.
Tuesday, June 24 – the Cote d’Armor
Today we decide to
tour some of the Brittany coast. We head up from Dinan to the old resort town of Dinard. Our first
view of the Cote d’Armor is charming, with pleasure craft dotting azure waters
behind street after street of baronial homes. Dinard was a playground for the
wealthy, and has not lost its look of elegance. We pass an exclusive
channel-side golf course – we see a mini van with an Australian golf tour group
staying at our hotel pulling in – and continue to St Cast le Guildo, a pretty
beach and boating resort. We stop at the beach and enjoy the white sands and
turquoise waters in the warm breeze – an image reminiscent of the tropics. This
is not the Channel we recall from our visit to the oil-slicked beaches of Dieppe and Calais under the
grey skies, two decades earlier (an image reinforced in countless WW2 movies).
We pick up shells, admiring the stone-encrusted oysters and pretty homes
perched on the cliffs overlooking the beach.
Further on, across
a bay, is Cap Fréhel, a nature reserve built on the red cliffs of a peninsula overlooking
the Channel. We walk the pathways through the heather to the cliff’s edge,
where we admire once again the rugged red rocks looming high above the azure
waters. We are hungry, though, and decide to move on, stopping at Erquy for a
little crepe and Breton cider lunch. This
pretty little resort town is tranquil in the hot early summer sunshine as this
is still the last week before summer vacations officially start.
We continue along
the coast through St-Brieuc. We notice neat flower gardens everywhere in marked
contrast to the other regions of France
that we have travelled. The countryside is reminiscent of home, and the handsome
stone buildings are interesting as we drive through the different towns.
We stop at a
brocante to browse the antiques and bric-a-brac before returning to Dinan for a
steak-frites at a little bistro beside our hotel. We meet a pleasant retired
couple from Jersey; they are also staying at our hotel. His line: “now you cannot say
you never met a man from Jersey”. He repeats that line every time he meets Barry over the subsequent
days. These are the first of many people that we will encounter from the nearby
islands of Jersey and Guernsey.
Wednesday, June 25 – Mont St-Michel
Today we head out
to Mont St-Michel, the famous abbey built high up on a rock in the English Channel on the border
of Brittany and Normandy. We pass first through Dol de Bretagne, admiring the old church and
pretty main street. Reminders of the history of this area include a street
named Stewart (actually, a lane to a public WC).
Arriving at Mont
St-Michel, we are impressed by the looming presence of the one of France’s
finest medieval structures, visible from miles away. As we approach, we see
that the island, linked by a small causeway to the mainland, is surrounded by
marsh, and, as we discover later courtesy of a tour guide, quicksand. The town
is tiny, consisting of a single main street that spirals around the rock and
upwards towards the church. It is also lined with wall-to-wall tourist shops,
with every imaginable type of souvenir and snack bar along the way, and hawkers
trying to bring people into their establishments. Somehow, the awe of the
mighty architecture of the abbey is almost lost, to be regained once arriving
at the structure which is the raison d’être of this little town. Waiting for
the English tour, and meet a couple whose accent we did not immediately place.
They tell us they are from a place not liked by Canadians – South Africa. We assure them that we do not judge countries by individuals.
The abbey stands
grandly atop the conical rock mass. Started in the 8th century, this
example of flamboyant architecture was mostly completed over the course of the
next 800 years. We learn that flamboyant architecture gets its name from the
flame motifs in the stonework. The lower two floors ring the mountain, and the
top floor contains the main chapel sitting on the top of the rock. The beauty
of the medieval decorations and naturally lit spaces transports us from the
banality of the town below.
We leave Mont
St-Michel, and head north to explore the Normandy coast, in
the direction of Caen. It is clouding over and the beaches are at low tide. Here the
coast seems to be covered with remnants of an oil slick, giving the more
familiar dreary look we had anticipated.
We turn back and stop to browse the shops in Dinard, where we dodge a
few raindrops.
Back in Dinan, dinner
is at Restaurant Pelican, where we feast on mussel appetizers, a duo de poissons
for Barry and a choucroute (fish on cabbage) for Denise. Coffee and calvados
tops off a delicious meal.
Thursday, June 26 – the market
Today is market
day in Dinan. The market square across the street from our hotel serves a more
mundane function as parking lot six days a week. Today, though, we can hear the
hustle and bustle as the vendors set up early outside our hotel window. We
visit the market after breakfast. The rotisserie chickens smell delicious; so
do the breads and cheeses. We are not in a position to cater for ourselves in
our little hotel room, though. We settle for some apricots and melons
(pastèques) to snack on. Clothing and household goods are in abundance at this
market as well. An accordion player and flautist entertain with Breton music.
We stop for a
light lunch at a creperie in the middle of town. The waiter brings us our cider
in little earthenware jug. Denise asks where she can get one. He replies: “at
the tourist shops”. These have the brand of cider, “Val de Rance”, written on
them, though, and the tourist shops have no-name pitchers, Denise explains. He
disappears and return shortly afterward with a little bubble-wrapped package containing
a pitcher and two cider cups. No charge. Not bad, indeed, for a lunch that
barely cost us 10 Euros. We will send him a card of thanks. Something more
urbane than a picture of a moose. (Pizzeria Créperie d’Armor, 15, Place des
Cordeliers, 22100 Dinan.)
Having walked the
length and breadth of central Dinan, we head out to Rennes, a college
city and the commercial centre of western Brittany. This
medieval city has a large city feel about it in many places, with shops from Paris lining its
main streets and large pedestrian zone. In other places, it feels like it must
have 400 years age, with the half-timbered buildings leaning over the narrow
cobblestone streets. A large Renaissance church tucked away on a little side
street is reminiscent of Italy
with its ornate columns, dome, and friezes decorated in gold– this is the only
real Renaissance church on this visit. Rennes is littered
with dog droppings, making it a challenge to wander the streets with eyes up on
the architecture. Unfortunately, this impression tends to be the first thing we
recall about Rennes.
Heading back, we
stop in Becherel, a small medieval town perched on a hilltop. Language students
recognize the Becherelle as the bible of French verb conjugation. Indeed,
Becherel is where this book was originally published. The town centre is lined
with wall-to-wall bookbinders and used bookstores, with more books than the
population of this small town can ever read.
Dinner is in Dinan
at Le Canterbury, where our fish soup and scallops feuilleté and roast lamb are
sheer delight.
Friday, June 27 – the garden
We are leaving France early
tomorrow morning, so we head east through Normandy to be
closer to the Paris airport. Our destination is Rolleboise, but we stop first in neighbouring
Giverny to visit Claude Monet’s home and reconstructed garden.
We enter Monet’s house
and garden through the souvenir boutique somewhat apprehensively, as this large
room is teeming with tourists frantically seeking out books, reproductions,
t-shirts, purses, and all sorts of other Monet paraphernalia. Once in the
garden and house, however, the spaces and colours from Monet’s palette work
their magic on us and we become less aware of the others around us. In the
large yellow kitchen, we can almost see Monet’s impressionist cronies feasting
on dinner and wine, seeking out a cool rural respite from the early summer
heat. The paths meandering through the violet and gold and pink flower beds
with glimpses of the house in the background recall many paintings we have
admired over the years. Across the road, the serpentine lily pond is much
larger than we imagined, and, in spite of the many people visiting, is
surprisingly serene.
We are staying tonight
at the Chateau de la Corniche in Rolleboise, a few kilometres away. This love
retreat for king Leopold, perched high above the river Seine, is now a part of the Best Western chain, and
does not match the quality and charm of the others places we have stayed in,
even with its little Renaissance gazebo (“temple d’amour” explained the woman
at the hotel desk) nestled below in the hillside. However, the restaurant has
an interesting menu with prices that suggest we are finally about to have the
gourmet experience we have not yet encountered on this trip.
We do not have
notes on the meal. We remember it starting out promising enough, but poor
presentation and a host of unconcerned waitstaff bring it right back to the
ordinary. We recall the stuffed squid, the hugest squid we have ever seen, a
bit gummy with an unappetizing brown stuffing. We have had much better food on
this trip. We will have to wait for another trip for that special “gourmet” meal.
We end the night
watching the barges going through the nearby locks from the hotel terrace, high
above the river. The constant traffic of commercial boats on the Seine surprises us. It is a
fascinating and romantic scene in the dark of the night, which falls earlier
for us in the Paris region.
Saturday, June 28 – the return
We are up early, and
leave our little chateau before breakfast, for we are an hour’s drive from the
airport. The Paris suburbs are a blur from the highway in the early morning sunshine,
but our minds are elsewhere. We have been in France
just two weeks, and our four first days in Paris seem so distant
in our memory. We have seen chateaux and cave dwellings; tasted sea delicacies and
duck gizzards; visited cities, basked on warm beaches. We have dreamed of
epicurean delights, but even at its most ordinary, France has
left us satisfied.
Air Canada continues
to fly. We have no more reservations.