In A Pandemic

July 2021 - out of confinement

It was sixteen months ago when Canadians were asked to stay at home in confinement and international and provincial borders and regions closed around us because of the Covid-19 pandemic. Much of our time during this period has been spent taking short walks around our neighbourhood, observing our neighbours’ gardens as they evolve through the seasons, and in our living room, looking at travel documentaries, mostly regions of France. The travel itch is still there.

Vaccine rollout is slow to start but the rate of inoculation picks up quickly and now Canada is a world leader in the effort to vaccinate its population against the coronavirus. In late May we anticipate that, at this rate, Canada will have met its stated government targets and the Canada-US border could be open to us again in a few months. We book a stay in upstate New York for the mid-August Madison-Bouckville antique market. The hotel allows cancellation up to 24 hours before arrival, so the risk is low should the border not re-open. The anticipation of this small getaway is a wonderful tonic to our current confinement where a drive to the suburbs qualifies as an adventure and eating a shawarma in the car as dining out. The uncertainty is a small price to pay for the time being.

In June, social activities and businesses are slowly starting up once again, and, after a long stretch of keeping our distance from every other human, including our loved ones, wearing masks in public, continual hand sanitizing, online shopping, and tele-medicine, we find that some of the basic things in life sound strange to us now, our brains rewired after a long spell of social deprivation. Hugging or shaking a hand. A backyard barbecue with a neighbour. Interacting with a waiter. It should be easy, but every new experience reminds us of what has been absent to us for so long. We call a fine restaurant two weeks in advance of the announced lifting of restrictions to be sure to have a table for Denise’s birthday, a week after re-opening. The first time we do eat out, the day after restaurants were re-opened, we regale on our grazing menu fish tacos and marinated beet salad, all the while being served by waitstaff giddy to be back at work. Then we walk away leaving the dirty dishes for someone else to wash as if this is a new experience. We have sprouted a new set of wings.

Despite all this, vague government promises to reconsider the border closure followed by monthly postponements point to a growing possibility of a disappointment for Madison-Bouckville. Uncertainty rears its ugly head.

In June, the European Union starts to ease international travel restrictions. This news triggers recollections of tantalizing images from the many hours spent over the last year on travel documentaries. Stunning mountain landscapes with medieval villages perched on inaccessible peaks defying all modern logic of construction and livability. That unique grass in one Pyrenees farm that feeds sheep whose milk is turned by hand into a prize-winning cheese. Villages of centuries-old houses, still standing, many straight and true, alongside cobblestone streets, home to thriving families. The growing use of horses in farming, whether in the narrow paths between rows of grape vines or dragging nets for low-tide shrimping on the North Sea. The centuries-old windmill that grinds the finest buckwheat flour for crêpes bretonnes. The salt farms and oyster beds of the coastal regions. Chefs étoilés hand-picking seaweed to garnish those special gourmet meals. Cathedrals and chateaux with breathtaking dimension and history alive in their art and decoration. And the open markets and brocantes making history alive at every turn … the list can go on. There is a reason that France may yet be on the short-term radar.

There are reports that airline and car rental prices are spiking, the former to recoup major losses from grounded planes and the latter due to the massive sell-off of used rental cars. A quick check on Air France has prices relatively close to what we have paid in the past. It seems that the significant price hikes may apply to flights inside the US. In a cursory check on French car rentals, our favorite Jeep Renegade is offered at the same price as we last rented it, three years earlier. That is all it takes to start the discussion -- where would we go on a fall trip should things open up? Brittany? Picardy? Auvergne? The Mediterranean? All the above? Regular monitoring of the antique market and brocante schedules indicates that these events are starting up after a year and a half of cancellations. There is a glimmer of hope.

In late June, France announces that Canada is on its green list, that fully vaccinated tourists will be allowed unrestricted entry. We qualify so we aim for an end-of-September trip. Wearing a mask here or there - it makes no difference to us. The planning starts. It does not take long to recall the parameters - twin beds (the only way to get a king-size bed in Europe), wifi, kitchen facilities and washer for a longer stay, and parking. However, there are indications of a possible fourth wave of the pandemic, so along with that comes an additional consideration - cancellation. We have never done this before, but the risk of borders closing again is too strong to ignore, and we now routinely scrutinize cancellation policies as a decision criterion. Air France advertises that all fares for flights before end of December, regardless of refund policy on the purchased ticket, can be refunded for any reason. Europcar requires payment only at pickup and allows no-fee cancellation up to 48 hours before pickup. The risk is low. We check the prices every few days and there is no escalation. But the uncertainty of everything else …

In July, the Canadian government announces that fully vaccinated Americans will be permitted entry into Canada starting August 9, a week before our trip to Madison-Bouckville. Now it is up to the US to reciprocate. However, a few days later, the US announces that they are maintaining the border closure for another month. Well, there is the Brimfield show in September. Then, news reports indicate that US Covid case rates can rise to 200,000 per day in mere weeks because of a combination of vaccination resistance and mask resistance and the contagious Delta variant, all threatening to bring the country back to where it was a year ago. Maybe we’ll wait until next year …

In the meantime, in response to a rise in infections and the flagging rate of vaccination among French citizens, President Emmanuel Macron announces that entry to restaurants (outdoor terraces as well as indoors), bars, and other venues will only be permitted to fully vaccinated people. Overnight, the vaccination rate in France soars, and, chomping at the bit to get beyond our four walls, we decide that there is no better time than now. Masks here or there. Our flights and Jeep are reserved for late September. We send our applications for the passe sanitaire to the French authorities according to their recommended email protocol.

September 2021, ready, set …

We reserve three apartments and three hotel nights for a total of 30 days.

On September 3^rd we receive the following message from the French government regarding the pass sanitaire: “We are sorry to inform you that we are currently receiving a very large number of requests and will not be able to process them all.” They suggest we try an on-line application instead. We fill in the applications and receive a note that files are generally processed within 5 days. However, we check daily, and this number increases by one every day. Nevertheless, in case of non-availability, we can obtain a 3-day temporary pass with an antigen test available at most pharmacies. Not our preferred option, but an alternative, nonetheless.

The day before we leave, Barry receives an email with his pass sanitaire, a QR code to gain entry to restaurants and museums. We expect that Denise’s, whose online request was made only minutes after Barry’s, should arrive shortly. It doesn’t. There is still the pharmacy test.

September 21, departure

It is time to go. We haven’t been in an airport in two years, but we recall that the airlines suggest that passengers check in at least four hours in advance for international flights. Imagining a plethora of security and health checks, we arrive at Montreal’s Trudeau airport promptly four hours before our flight. It is eerily quiet inside the terminal -- there are almost no other passengers and a few staffers in the main departures area. We ask for the Air France counter and are directed to a deserted concourse.

Soon, a uniformed counter agent appears and assures us that the Air France counter will open shortly and then she walks away. We are sitting alone in a big empty space. We do not know whether we should be concerned or not, whether we are really going to leave, whether the pandemic will interfere with our plans once there, whether the Canadian government will call us back home again. It is quiet with no one around us, time seems to have stalled, and talk about the trip is oddly out of place at this moment.

About a half-hour later, some uniformed airlines staff members come into the area around the check-in counters and hold a pre-shift meeting. The counter opens to us shortly afterward. We are the first passengers to check in on the flight, in fact, the only ones. The process is as we recall, checking the tickets and passports, weighing the luggage, and an additional check of our double Covid vaccinations, a pre-requisite to entering France. Another passenger arrives as we leave the counter. We feel better knowing we are not alone.

Check-in completed, we proceed to security, still puzzled by the lack of traffic, accompanied only by the echoing sounds of our footsteps and our rolling carry-ons in the wide airport corridors. We pass quickly through the security check, normally a congested area with a half-hour delay, and proceed to the international departures area, where a couple of restaurants and the newspaper store and the duty-free shop are open. The departures screen shows a dozen flights leaving this evening instead of well over a hundred that would normally be scheduled. Three hours later, we board the plane -- it is not even half full, so we settle in comfortably at a central bank of four seats for the flight to Paris. Masked, belted in, mini hand sanitizer by our side, the flight experience is unremarkable, but walking down the gangway into Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport, the sense of liberation from 18 months of confinement is exhilarating.

Arrival in Paris has occasionally come with little surprises, usually related to an ongoing strike of some essential service like the Paris Métro or the delivery of fuel to service stations. Today there are no signs of disruption except the flight crew advised us of the wrong baggage carousel. The bags are being unloaded in the next arrivals hall, a ten-minute walk away from where we were told to go. When jet-lagged, no distance is short. Or long. No big deal, we walk. We retrieve our luggage and go to pick up our car. The Europcar agent tells us that they do not have the vehicle we requested. (The rental contract is for Jeep Renegade “or equivalent”.) A lot of back and forth on model types and the agent suddenly finds a Jeep for us (fun!) with an integrated GPS (no Google maps needed) at no extra charge for the GPS (all right!). We type in our destination and easily negotiate the heavy traffic around Paris to the outskirts and are on our way.

September 22, Chartres

We have taken the practice of choosing an overnight stop not very far from the airport to counter jet lag before embarking on a long drive. A mere 90 minutes from Charles de Gaulle airport, Chartres is a convenient and charming stopover that fits the bill. We follow the GPS to the Hôtel Le Boeuf Couronné in historic central Chartres. It is too early to check in, but they store our bags and we park in their garage. A government sign posted in the hotel lobby advises that, in order to enter the restaurant, you have to show your pass sanitaire or proof of two Covid vaccinations. So, we may not have to go to the pharmacy for Denise’s test yet. Waiting for our room, we stroll through historic Chartres and stop at a little streetside Indian restaurant. After checking Barry’s pass sanitaire and Denise’s two proof documents, we are seated for lunch.

Later on, after a brief rest at the hotel, we return to the historic centre. Each evening, starting at dusk, the city of Chartres stages “Chartres en lumières”, an event in which 23 monuments, bridges and other sites are illuminated in magnificent colours and animations depicting the heritage of the city. It is still too early for the lights, so we wander the city centre, admiring shop windows, past restaurants with animated terrasses, reading menus, and generally relishing the idea of being able to do this at all after so many months of lockdown and restraint. If this sounds repetitive, it is because the sentiment repeated itself many times. We opt for some wine and a cheese and charcuterie plate at an outdoor terrasse.

We are greeted once again with “Bonjour, votre pass sanitaire, s’il vous plaÎt”. As we will discover, this is a standard greeting in restaurants and museums everywhere across France. There is no problem with Denise’s paper documents. She explains to the waiter that she has already written to the French government to accelerate issuance of her pass with no success. He confirms with a laugh that her experience with the government is normal, a sentiment that will be echoed repeatedly. The waiter is curious about how Covid has affected our lives in Canada the last 18 months. After all, both countries had imposed lockdowns, curfews and closed restaurants. Most people we will meet seem interested, perhaps to compare and justify their own confinement experience.

We finish our little meal and darkness has set in. We wander over to the Chartres cathedral, a few blocks away, and find a spot in front of the main façade. The show has already begun. Lights dance across the carved statues and Gothic architectural features, bringing to life the story of Chartres through the centuries. Waves of light radiate from the rose window outward across the façade as large statues appear on the bell towers, shrinking back into the darkness. A moving figure appears and throws a ball of light which, metre by metre, painstakingly illuminates every carved edge of the façade in colours. These are then filled in in many colours, probably as the cathedral was once in its early days when it was painted. The rose window begins to rotate, birds fly out across the surface and then human figures begin to climb up the edges, building up yet a greater cathedral. That is just in the first few minutes. The monarchy, science, the revolution, the World Wars, these are all portrayed, as well as a virtual walk down the central aisle inside the cathedral. The imagination of the designers and the scale of the production exceed all promises. After the lights have gone out, in the cool of the night and jet lagged, we skip the other light shows and return to the hotel.

September 23, to Brittany

The next morning, rested up and somewhat synched with the French time zone, we are ready to take the longer drive to Brittany. We estimate about a four-hour drive by Autoroute, but we cannot check into our apartment until late afternoon, so we are in no particular rush. We take local highways through the countryside, past farms where the feed corn harvest is in full swing and tractors take over the road, setting our pace at times to a crawl, through villages with winding streets with modest stone and cement houses and bakeries and cafés, and dominated by the towering spires of hundreds-year-old stone churches. We keep our eyes open for antique shops, and find a few open ones outside Fougères, allowing us to take a couple of short breaks from the drive.

Step by step, we rediscover the ease of travelling rural France. Despite mask and hand sanitizer rules, the new normal, we sense a newfound freedom from the pandemic, and we feel the world is our oyster. However, arriving in Cancale, we realize that the oyster is our world. With the high-quality plankton growing in the Baie de Mont-Saint-Michel, Cancale has become known as the capital of oyster farming in Brittany. Active harvesting of Cancale oysters dates back two millennia to the Roman invasion and it is recognized by UNESCO on its List of Intangible Cultural Heritage.

We haven’t been in Cancale for over a decade, and delight in the exposed oyster beds stretching along the coast as we drive into town at low tide, the line of old stone fishermen’s houses in the centre now with their ground floor restaurants, and the oyster market still in place as we remember it. We have reserved an apartment adjacent to the commercial centre in an area called La Houle. It is in an old fisherman’s stone house named Terra Nueva, referring to the Newfoundland fishing heritage in Cancale. Set a short block behind the bay and overlooking houses lining the water, the apartment is compact but, with two bedrooms (one serving as a luggage and dressing room), a fully stocked kitchen, dining and sitting areas, washer, and wifi, fills the bill for our week. The owner is welcoming and has left us some Breton cider in the fridge. Parking is easy in the waterfront public lot, where a weekly pass is 51€.

In Cancale, our internal clocks slow down to the rhythm of the tides which rise and fall 10 metres twice daily. With the shallow slope of the Baie de Cancale and depending on the time of day, boats in the harbour may be sitting on the mud flats or floating in the water. In every breath, we take in the bitter and salty sweet scent of shellfish and plankton and mud, we are part of this rich equilibrium. Oysters and mussels are harvested at low tide and the shellfish appear in the market stalls and restaurants shortly afterward. Oyster appetizers, and moules-frites, the ubiquitous mussels and fries, are on the menus everywhere. We joke that our dinner question is “what will we eat with our French fries tonight”?

We are eager to explore the area once again and seek out the vide-greniers and brocantes which can be anything from a low-end garage sale to a thriving antique market. There are also regular outdoor street markets in towns and villages which offer fresh produce, bread, cheese, charcuterie and other specialty food products and often clothing and costume jewelry as well. Most antique and flea markets are held on Saturday or Sunday and we rely on the web site “vide-greniers.org” to plan our outings.

There are not many sales this weekend - it may be the season or the pandemic, however, we find one close by and enjoy strolling by tables spread out along a couple of kilometers of street in the Saint-Servan section of Saint-Malo with a large variety of vendors selling everything from antiques to garage sale items. It is pleasant to stretch our legs and find some small items to bring home for our shows in Canada. We sample a local treat -- barbecued sausages wrapped in a crepe -- from a restaurant set up at the street side. The application of Covid rules is consistent -- we need to show our vaccine proof just to have a coffee at an outdoor table. Despite being an outdoor sale, everyone, seller and buyer, wears a mask without fuss. This is how France is waking up from the pandemic and it all feels very secure.

On Sunday, we head to Montauban, 30 km from Rennes, for another outdoor sale, and then to another one in suburban Rennes. There are a lot of household items with very little antique or vintage content at these vide-greniers, but it is refreshing to be able to be outdoors in the company of people. There are some vintage and antique shops in Rennes, but it is a big city and we have visited it in the past, so we decide to take a slow drive home through the countrywide. We stop in Combourg for a delightful terrasse lunch. Combourg is famous as home to the writer François-René de Chateaubriand and we enjoy strolling through the historic downtown before heading back to Cancale.

The next day, we decide to sightsee west along the northern part of Brittany, with no specific destination. We circle around Saint-Malo and cross the estuary of the Rance River to the west. The Rance River bridge sits atop the tidal barrage of the Rance Tidal Power Station, which has been harnessing the power of the significant English Channel tides to generate electricity since 1966.

We continue around Dinard and soon reach Cap Fréhel and the Emerald Coast. On a rocky outcrop jutting into the Channel, we visit Fort La Latte, originally built in 1350 as the Château de la Roche Goyon, early in the Hundred Years War. Over the centuries, the castle served as a strategic overlook on the Baie de Saint-Malo and the English Channel. The fort is separated from the mainland by two crevices crossed by drawbridges, the first with a defensive portcullis. Inside, we can tour the massive keep with its four carved symbols indicating the cardinal directions (angel of Saint Mathieu to the west, lion of Saint Mark to the south, eagle of Saint John to the east, ox of Saint Luke to the north), the barracks, the machicolated oval tower and walkways with their breathtaking views of the coast, and the kiln used to heat cannonballs to red-hot temperatures (rarely used because of the difficulty of handling the balls). Repeatedly damaged and repaired over the centuries, later additions to the fort include 17^th century exterior fortifications designed by Vauban, France’s renowned military engineer. The fort was sold to private owners in 1892, with major reconstruction starting in 1931 before opening to the public as a historic monument.

We head out again on our westward drive, and feeling a bit peckish, decide to look for somewhere to have lunch. A sign in front of a bar-restaurant in Pléneuf-Val-André advertises a “menu oeuvrier”. This typical workman’s lunch includes a salad bar offering, among other things, grated carrot salad, potato salad, celeriac, and marinated herring, followed by a main course, today a steak-frites, and dessert and wine, all for under 20€ each.

Heavy rains greet us as we leave the restaurant. We continue our drive and stop at a brocante outside Saint-Brieuc. We had hoped to visit the resort town of Paimpol but with the threat of continued heavy rain, we decide instead to put a short end to this tour and return to Cancale.

Another day, we go to the bi-weekly street market in Dinard, situated in the streets around Les Halles. It has been raining, but vendors are setting up under tents and offer a wide array of foodstuffs, clothing and other items. It is known as one of the larger weekly markets in Brittany and usually attracts many tourists. As it happens, tourists are primarily Canadian, Belgian, German, and Italian. The rain has stopped and we enjoy chatting with fellow Canadians, all of us sharing the pleasure of rediscovering the travel experience. The absence of tourists from major countries such as the USA and China is obvious. France does not accept non-essential travelers from these countries, still on its red list.

We pick up some fresh-cooked paella from a street stand for supper and head to Saint-Malo for the afternoon. The historic walled section of Saint-Malo was entirely rebuilt after being destroyed in World War II and smacks of theme park neatness -- is clearly geared to the tourist trade. However, it is a beautiful testament to this historic city and there are many shops and restaurants to browse. We stop for lunch at one restaurant and the waitress will not accept Denise’s vaccine proof -- the first time this has happened. The next restaurant welcomes us, but the negative experience leaves a bad taste. It is not for not trying - we have sent two messages to the French government asking to advance Denise’s pass sanitaire with no result.

The walled city has a bit of an artificial air to it with more tourists than natives everywhere around us, so we head out and stop at the casino before heading home. The hostess at the casino refuses Denise entry as well without a formal French government pass. Back home, we fire off a stern message to the government agency. The next day, Denise receives an email with her pass sanitaire. Whenever we retell the story, people tell us that is the only way to talk to a French government agency.

The week in Cancale is coming to a close. We have enjoyed strolling the thriving seafront with its many restaurants and shops and have visited the old town centre several times for its antique shops, bakeries, and many charming corners. Wednesday evening, we are dining on the terrace of our new favorite restaurant, “Crèpes et Coquillages”, watching workers as they set up a bandstand tent in one of the parking lots across the street. This coming weekend, the town will host les Bordées de Cancale (the borders of Cancale), a weekend music festival, held annually except for a pandemic cancellation in 2020. The theme this year is the music of “North America and Newfoundland” featuring songs and entertainment from the Quebec, Acadian, Cajun, Amerindian, Appalachian and Newfoundland repertoires, on the portable stages, in the bars, and on the quays. Cancale will be alive with tourists but we have other plans.

September 30, Normandy and Picardy

Thursday morning. Our arrival in France already seems a distant past and our days in Cancale have gone by in a blur. It is time to move on to our next destination. We head out to the Autoroute which takes us east past Mont-St-Michel in short order and into Normandy, where we switch gears to a more leisurely drive along English Channel. This is the Côte d'Albâtre, whose soaring white chalk cliffs stretch for over 100 km from Le Havre to Dieppe.

We stop in Étretat, a small tourist resort outside of the Le Havre metropolitan area. We stroll Channel-side, overshadowed by the chalk cliffs and solid rock arches that jut out into the water and dwarf the pebble-covered tidal beach and rows of beach cabanas, empty now that autumn rendered the channel water too cold except for the bravest of bathers.

The centre of Etretat is alive with traditional Norman architecture, distinguished here by its common and decorative use of brick on its own and in combination with exposed half-timber structures in medieval buildings. We have parked on a side street facing a typical house, probably 18^th or 19^th century, whose façade has one section gray brick with Norman crosses in brown brick, another section alternating double rows of gray and brown brick, yet another section decorated with stag and fleur-de-lys tiles, and, capping it all, courses of brick forming an upward spiral chimney. What may be interpreted otherwise as a hodge-podge of decoration, we see this as a testament to ancient brick masons’ inspiration and sense of tradition. Indeed, every house on these streets has its distinct patterns of brickwork or brick-and-timber, asserting its individual presence on the street. We will see this repeated throughout our drives through the north.

We enjoy a simple lunch in an estaminet (tavern) in a medieval building and then head out along the coast road. Anxious to reach our next destination, we bypass the resort of Fécamp and the urban area of Dieppe, now within day-tripping distance of the Baie de Somme.

We are approaching Saint-Valery-sur-Somme, our home for the next week. As we drive, we are never far from the English Channel, and at some point, we get our first glimpse of the wide bay where Saint-Valery is located. The Baie de Somme is a large estuary of the Somme River whose tidewaters twice daily fill the bay to the town of Le Crotoy, 2 kilometers across the bay, and then recede, exposing a sandy bottom and ponds and vast swaths of salt marsh and leaving the Somme to empty into the English Channel through a narrow canal. The bay is known as home to an abundance of wild birds and seals -- we do not see any seals at this time, but we stop to watch herds of sheep grazing on the prés-salés, their salty-sweet meat a local delicacy. The salt marshes are also home to the asparagus-like salicorne, which make a delicious side to any meal. Many of our day trips will take us around the bay, and, for each trip, the tide is the artist, rendering a new landscape for the 15 kilometer road route to Le Crotoy.

Our apartment is located on the edge of the medieval section of Saint-Valery, a short walk from the Somme River canal and the Baie-de-Somme. We pull into the little parking area in front, and the landlady is waiting for us at the door. She opens the door, and we are taken aback when we see a dirt floor leading into the building. It turns out, however, that this is an old garage for trash and recycling bins, and the apartment is in another section of the building, properly tiled with the requisite kitchen and dining area, two bedrooms, cable tv and wifi, and a starter kit of cider, beer, and a gâteau battu, a local spongy brioche recognized and promoted by the “Noble Confrérie du Gâteau Battu”. A block away, the Café de Jeanne offers fine quality fish and seafood including our favourite couteux (razor clams) for our supper, capping off a long and satisfying ride.

The next day, we walk into the medieval sector and visit l’Eglise Saint-Martin, dating from 1500 on a 12^thcentury foundation with a checkerboard exterior of brick and flint. Situated at the edge of the ramparts overlooking the town and the bay, the church features two equally sized naves, a replica of part of the Bayeux tapestry showing the Norman conquest of England and many models of 17^th century ships. Unfortunately, the rain picks up and further sightseeing becomes impractical - an easy case to make for returning to the apartment and having some wine.

On Sunday, central Amiens, 70 kilometres southeast of us, will be transformed into a massive antique and flea market, with over 3000 vendors expected. Heavy rain is forecast for that day. It is only Thursday, so a lot can change, even though it has rained frequently since we arrived in France. As it happens, France is marking a year since the massive rain from Storm Alex hit areas of the Alpes-Maritimes in the south, where hundreds of homes were thought to have been destroyed or damaged. Similar swaths of rain are crossing the country now. We will have to play this one by ear.

Sunday morning, there is no respite from the rain, but we drive to Amiens anyway, with a list of antique shops “in case”. About one third of the vendors have shown up with tents or tarps and there are still many shoppers. Armed with umbrellas, and despite the wet and cold, we enjoy strolling along the many streets and engaging with the dealers eager to sell their wares in the inclement weather. The sun comes out at the end of the sale when it is time for the dealers to pack and most people declare the sale a success.

There are some lingering rain showers during the week, but we enjoy many sites from the comfort of our car. We visit Le Touquet-Paris-Plage and Boulogne-sur-Mer, two seaside resorts that emerged after the construction of the railroad between Paris and Boulogne, making Boulogne a desirable late 19^th century bathing destination for wealthy Parisians and Le Touquet popular with Britons during the roaring twenties. Today, Boulogne is a large city, the largest fishing port in France, while Le Toquet retains much of its upper-crust small city look and feel in its houses, shops, hotels, and casino.

Another day, we head westward to the coast. Slightly inland, we stop in Eu, an attractive town whose Gothic Eglise Collégiale Notre-Dame et Saint-Laurent dominates the town centre in typical Norman style of red brick and horizontal stone courses. This 12th century church was dedicated to Saint Laurence O’Toole (Lorcán), archbishop of Dublin, who was key in negotiating peace after the Norman invasion of Dublin. O’Toole ultimately left Ireland and died in Eu, where he became known for miracles leading to his sainthood.

We continue to Mers-les Bains, another popular 19th seaside resort noted for the Belle Epoque villas facing the ocean and along its downtown streets. These buildings display a wide array of architectural features and shapes - balconies, bay windows, copious wood trim and interesting shaped roofs, some Norman, some Flemish, some Art Nouveau - painted in an array of bright colours. Thankfully, these buildings survived the destruction of the Second World War and there are ongoing efforts to preserve and restore them.

We stop for lunch on a delightful terrace where Barry decides to try the andouille, something that appears on virtually every bistro menu. This sausage, made from pig chitterlings, tripe, onions, wine, and seasoning, is dissimilar to the Cajun pork andouille we have had in the past and turns out to be the most disgusting item ever presented on a plate, smelling of sewer gas and tasting appropriately similar. The fries were good. We share Denise’s copious mussels and bury the uneaten andouille under the emptied mussel shells. Most French people we meet share our opinion on this humble offal.

Fortunately, Saint-Valery has many fine restaurants within walking distance of our apartment. We reserve one night at Le Mathurin, the restaurant arm of the Delaby family, who sell their fresh catch in the market at nearby Cayeux-sur-Mer as well as supplying the restaurant daily. There is no printed menu, but a full choice of fresh-caught fish and seafood is on the blackboard. Plates are beautifully presented with a complex but sublime balance of flavour and colour throughout. Another night, we dine at Le Nicol's, a traditional French style restaurant offering agneau pré-salé, the tender, salty sweet lamb that graze the salt marshes on the Somme estuary.

We take several drives through the rolling countryside of Picardie as far as Dunkirk along the coast and inland, in a constantly changing patchwork of fields of corn, potatoes, rapeseed, and sugar beet stretching out for kilometers in all directions, over hills and down across vales, sometimes in view of the Channel on one side or a church steeple in a distant village on the other. The corn is ground and sent as winter feed across France and the sugar beet is converted into bio-fuel. The absence of any forest except for in parks is noticeable. The absence of vineyards here as well in Brittany is also strange since we have been accustomed to seeing vineyards everywhere else we go.

Each village we pass though has its memorial to lost soldiers in one or both World Wars, and between the villages, many cemeteries where British, Canadian, or American troops were laid to rest. It rains most of the week, and the hills and vales are bathed in grey. One day we both remark, coincidentally, that we have had visions of teenage soldiers parachuting into fields and could not imagine how scary it must have been to land in this strange, lost place, with no notion of what was awaiting them.

Back in Saint-Valery, the skies clear. We watch the sunset reflecting off the receding tides of the prés-salés of the Baie de Somme and the waters of the English Channel nearby. It is the time of year when the flocks of sheep are moved to higher ground, a process known as “transhumance”. Once coordinated and celebrated as an event for tourists to witness, the transhumance is now done at different times by the individual farmers, so we do not get a chance to witness it. But our week in the Baie de Somme has brought us close to the land, to the tidal estuary and its products, the hills and valleys of history, at once unique but uniquely French at the same time. We have purchased a few jars of marinated salicornes at the market, one for us and one for Marie-Noëlle in Le Lavandou, and are ready to move on.

October 7, heading south

We begin the drive to the Mediterranean -- a route that will bring us past vineyards, fields of lavender, and soaring mountain ranges. Our first overnight stop will be in Troyes, the ancient capital city of Champagne. The road out of Saint-Valery takes us south through the familiar Picardy farmlands and into the Champagne region. We stop for lunch in Chateau-Thierry, a charming little city near the Champagne border, at La Crêpe Rit! -- savoury crepes always fill the bill. It is lunch hour and most shops are closed, so after a short walk we hit the road once again. Strangely, we are in Champagne but we see only the occasional vineyard -- where do they hide these grapes? To be fair, we are driving along the western border of Champagne, however, we soon approach the outskirts of Troyes and have yet to pass through wine country. We drive through industrial areas and non-descript residential districts to reach the Brit Hotel Privilège Le Royal, at the fringe of the historic district. Despite a vague map and poor instructions from the hotel clerk who clearly did not understand the street layout, we find the hotel garage after circling twice around the train station, including forcing cars to back up from a public parking toll gate we enter incorrectly.

The old town begins a short two blocks from the hotel and is known locally as the “Champagne Cork”, alluding to its unusual shape on a street map. The area contains a stunning collection of narrow streets lined with well-preserved 16^th century half-timbered houses with alternating dark-red and chalk-coloured brick and stucco infill between the brick and timber. At its extreme, the upper floors of the corbelled houses on both sides of Ruelle des Chats, 3 metres wide with a drainage gutter down the centre, almost touch, and rumor has it that cats could jump from roof to roof, hence the name Ruelle des Chats. Rue Champeaux runs down the centre of the district and has many restaurants and cafés. We enjoy some champagne and our favourite cheese and charcuterie platter on a well-placed people watching terrace.

Next morning, we cross into Bourgogne, around Dijon, and along the main highway across the Côte-d'Or region, where some of the world's finest and most expensive wines are produced. We follow the Route des Grands Crus, driving through towns whose town signs read like the labels in the locked section of the wine store -- Nuits Saint-George, Pommard, Meursault, Puligny-Montrachet. We stop in Beaune for a lunch of Salade Niçoise with a silky-smooth house wine, arguably the best Chardonnay we have ever tasted before heading back on the road again. The villages are charming but the drive is taking longer than we anticipated so we head to the Autoroute to regain some time, especially as we are approaching the Lyon metropolitan area and want to circle around the city.

Past Lyon, we are now heading south alongside the Rhône River south. We join highway N7, the legendary Route des vacances which, for decades, brought vacationing Parisians to Provence and the Mediterranean shores through picturesque villages and around breathtaking mountain landscapes. Today, this road is primarily industrial, and has lost its mid-century road-movie charm. Nevertheless, the natural scenery impresses -- to the east, the Drôme in the pre-alpine western end of the French Alps, and to the west, across the Rhône, the towering peaks of the Monts d’Ardèche. We take the expressway once again until the town of Le Péage-de-Roussillon, where we head into the mountains toward Hauterives, our home for the night. The roads are narrow, they twist and turn, and climb abruptly, not surprisingly, as we are heading into the Alps and are just a few hours’ drive from the alpine resorts of Albertville and Chamonix. Passing apple and pear orchards, we arrive in Hautrives and check into the Logis Hôtel le Relais, the only hotel in town. Rated two stars, the hotel is charming and clean and our room is relatively spacious and comfortable. The real treat, however, is the kitchen, and we enjoy, once again, a fine meal drawn from local produce of the day. Denise asks how long they have been operating this restaurant, and the waiter says 30 years, attesting to a long-standing culinary culture based on quality and taste that exemplifies one of the reasons we return so often to France.

The next morning, we visit Le Palais Idéal, a world-famous example of naïf architecture built by one man, Ferdinand Cheval, a humble Hauterives postman who, on his route one day in 1879, stumbled upon an unusual stone that became the beginning of a fairytale palace. Cheval assembled the structure painstakingly over a period of 33 years, drawing inspiration first from magazines and then from picture postcards he delivered to his customers. Incorporating elements as wide ranging as Egyptian and Hindu temples, the garden of Eden, angels and animals and all sorts of fantastical creatures, and elements of medieval and Renaissance design, le Palais Idéal stands as a unique testament to the imagination and stubborn will of a man. (Cheval’s story is told in the 2018 film L'incroyable histoire du facteur Cheval.)

But the Mediterranean beckons, and we are on back on the road, following the Rhône valley through the familiar landscapes of Provence, with the Luberon ranges to our left and Marseille to the south. Mid-day, we stop at a service area along the highway for a sandwich break. We sit at an outdoor table to admire the surrounding mountains under the clear sunny sky. Denise notices a red woman’s wallet on the bench. The wallet contains a German ID card with a photo of a silver-haired woman, two Covid vaccination certificates, and at least 1000€ cash. There is no phone number in the wallet; Barry walks around the service centre looking for the woman and calling her name, to no avail. We bring the wallet to the cashier and ask if there is a security office -- there is none. The cashier say he will keep the wallet safe at the cash and thanks us for our honesty. We must trust his. We feel badly for this couple, escaping a long confinement and hundreds of kilometres from their home, who will soon face the loss of their holiday funds and access to restaurants, and we hope that they will be able to retrace their steps and claim the wallet.

Still in the French Prealps, we continue past Aix-en-Provence and around the outskirts of Marseille, through an ever-changing landscape of vineyards sheltered by soaring mountain peaks that appear and then disappear at every turn, as more mountains coming to the forefront. We leave the Marseille area and soon pass the exit for La Ciotat, the first town along this stretch of the Mediterranean.

We know we have arrived. Separated from the sea by the massive Bec de l’Aigle, we remember the spread of the open water, le grand large, and the salty sweet smell of the beaches even though we are surrounded by massive rock faces and peaks. Soon we will be crossing Toulon, about an hour from Le Lavandou. We call Paul and Marie-Noёlle to advise them of our imminent arrival.

October 9, Mediterranean

We have travelled the road between Toulon and Le Lavandou many times, having stayed in the Le Lavandou apartment three years earlier. The familiarity of the landscapes and towns is comforting; it is a road home in a faraway place for us. Such familiarity turns out to be the ideal antidote to the last year-and-a-half of social deprivation.

Paul is waiting at the sliding gate that lets us into the little parking area. The new greeting protocol is in place -- are you vaccinated? -- yes -- then a handshake or hug is ok. The apartment needs no introduction and is set up for our arrival with coffee, wine, a brioche, and Marie-Noёlle’s homemade fig jam. We have much to say but there will be opportunities.

Before leaving us to settle in, Paul apologizes that the heat pump may possibly not be functioning. We assure him that we are from Canada and do not expect to need to heat in the early Mediterranean autumn. In fact, after bringing in our bags, we go out for a walk and enjoy the summery warmth of the late afternoon sun as we head down Avenue des Commandos d'Afrique to the centre of town and beach. There are a couple of empty storefronts where there were businesses last time we walked here. However, most businesses have survived the pandemic, and we are particularly pleased that our favourite boulangerie, patisserie, and restaurants are alive and well. A medical laboratory along the way advertises Covid PCR tests, something we will have to plan before returning to Canada. A few boutiques offer end-of-season sales and some restaurants announce October holiday closings. Overall, Le Lavandou is as we remember.

We stop for an apéritif at Le Bayou, a brasserie-cum-ice cream parlor serving tapas in the late afternoon. Facing the pedestrian zone and the sea, we are seated at an outside table where we can watch passers-by and locals playing pétanque on a sandy court -- this easily becomes a pre-dinner routine. One afternoon, on a later visit, the owner comes out to serve us. The waiter must have told him the Canadians are back. He tells us his story about moving to Toronto several years ago, where he and his wife opened an upscale hamburger restaurant where they baked their own breads as well. Having built up a thriving business with staff, they sold everything, and this allowed them to return and buy a home and restaurant business in Le Lavandou, where they are now established and raising a family. A few doors away, we dine at our favourite Italian restaurant from the previous trip, Tre Ombre, still serving up delicious Italian pastas and pizzas and appetizers. The grilled octopus on homemade hummus is delightful and the pizza is as delectable as ever. Another night, at Tre Ombre again, we meet a vintner from Cote de Ventoux in Provence on a weekend Mediterranean getaway with his wife. His story of how his 30 hectare vineyard has been passed down in his family for centuries, and now is managed by his sons intrigues us. He leaves us a business card and invites us to visit if we are ever in the region.

As the weekend is approaching, we check out the vide-grenier and brocante ads, and, sure enough, most of the regular sales that we recall in the region are up and running. We have many choices compared to the north; it appears that the resale market for antiques and vintage items is alive and well in the south. On Saturday, at Le Jas des Robert, one of the larger outdoor markets, hundreds of vendors are setting up in the chill morning. As we approach one table, a woman cries out “bonjour, la madame de Canada”. We have purchased many small items from her in the past at the antique market in Nice, and are impressed that she recognizes Denise, hidden by a mask, two years since she last saw us. But we had recognized her, too, from a distance. Masks have become a bit transparent.

Eleven days in Le Lavandou pass quickly. Our day trips are planned around markets in the different towns, brocantes on Thursday in Cogolin, Saturday in Grimaud or Hyères, Tuesday in Saint-Raphaël coupled with a visit to the casino. Specialty food and dry goods markets in Le Lavandou on Thursday, Saint-Aygulf on Tuesday. Much of the pleasure of these markets is engaging with the local vendors, who are happy to greet Canadians once again, after a year-and-a-half absence. One vendor shares our disgust of andouille. Another is impressed when Barry remarks that the numbers on the house address signs he sells are too small for our address in the 4000s in Canada (street names change in France before house numbers get far above 100). 4000!

Le Lavandou is surrounded by the Massif des Maures, a side range of the Prealps mountains, on one side and the Mediterranean on the other. Each drive out of town takes us across the Massif or along the Esterel, where the road hugs the mountainside as it drops to the Mediterranean. At every turn, each vista is ruggedly beautiful, leaving us awed as if we were seeing it for the first time.

We dine with Paul and Marie-Noёlle several times. We meet for lunch at a beachside restaurant, and then we drive to the Château Sainte Marguerite winery in the nearby town of La Londe Les Maures. Marie-Noёlle wanted to pick up a bottle of her favourite rosé, Symphonie Côte de Provence. There is none available at this time, the winery’s representative explains, continuing that the wine was renamed “Love Provence Rosé” for the American market and has sold out. We sample some of their other wines, all are delicious.

Another night, at their home, we enjoy champagne and a light dinner. Marie-Noёlle presents Denise with an art poster of Facteur Cheval. (They knew we were in Hautrives because we emailed them from there to confirm our arrival and Marie-Noёlle had previously purchased two posters there when they visited the Palais Idéal.) We give them maple syrup and maple sugar treats from Canada along with the salicornes from Saint-Valery. The line between landlord and friends is fuzzy. We tell them that we are planning to put our Florida home up for sale and discuss the possibility of coming back to France sometime in the winter, and they assure us that the weather is fair and the roads safe and their off-season price will be fair as well.

Our departure is approaching, and we must get a Covid PCR test 72 hours before boarding the plane. We visit Paul’s daughter at the local pharmacy, where antigen tests are performed. The Canadian government does not accept antigen test results, so she sends us to the lab we had seen when we arrived. That lab only does pre-operation tests and directs us to another lab who sends us to a web site. A few web searches, a few phone calls, and several redirects, we find a facility in nearby Cavalaire-sur-Mer but must reserve online. An error on the website sends us back to the phone; however, soon everything is set up. We have our tests on Monday morning in preparation to leave Wednesday morning. The results are emailed to us within 5 hours -- we both test negative. The next day, we return to Saint-Raphaël for one last visit and to say goodbye to some of the vendors before leaving.

October 20, Departure

We leave Le Lavandou bright and early for the airport in Nice. After an uneventful 90-minute drive, we check the car in and head for the Air France counter. We near the counter but there is a crowd held back by soldiers wielding assault rifles. We are instructed to leave the building and gather on the road outside the terminal building. We try to keep our Covid-distance but the uncertainty in the crowd makes that difficult. We learn that a suitcase had been identified as abandoned and that the airport officials were awaiting the bomb squad. They do not take any chances. Air France representative pass through the crowd to reassure us that the problem is being handled. Nevertheless, families who do not speak French are scared, and children particularly have petrified looks on their faces. A half-hour later, we are readmitted into the terminal building, and the airline begins to process passenger check-ins in order of flight times, enabling us to leave Nice as planned for Paris and with ample time for our connection to Montreal.

Partway across the Atlantic Ocean, the captain announces a request for a doctor. As we approach North America, he informs us that we will be stopping in St John’s Newfoundland to disembark someone in a medical emergency. Despite the advance warning, it still takes 30 minutes after landing for an ambulance to appear on the tarmac. We are delayed yet another half hour as the airport stops traffic to await another trans-Atlantic medical emergency. A chaotic greeting at Montreal’s Trudeau airport (will they ever staff up to handle the large numbers of international passengers arriving at the same time at night?), we arrive home, 23 hours after leaving our apartment in Le Lavandou, 31 days after leaving Canada, 18 months after our forced return from Florida to Montreal, and light-years away from the last time we felt confined.

End of October 2021

The US government announces that fully vaccinated Canadians will be allowed to cross the land border into the US starting next month. Can normalcy be far behind?

Postscript, January 2022

We crossed into the United States in early December and are in our Florida home for the winter. Another wave of Covid-19 is spreading furiously worldwide, fueled by the highly contagious Omicron variant, leading to a larger rate of infection than yet seen during the pandemic. Uncertainty rears its ugly head once again. We hunker down in our subtropical home and limit our excursions primarily to double-masked, socially-distanced visits to the grocery store. Foreign adventures are, once again, a matter of dreams. This is our normal.