Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Caen and Bayeux: A Day in a Museum, an Unseen Tapestry, and the Mysterious Emergence of French Accents

The morning after our exploration of Mont Saint-Michel, we broke our fast with the Count of the Chateau.  He shared the history of the property as well as expressed his concerns regarding the amount of noise the donkeys make when in heat.  While we would have loved to stay longer, our escapade through France continued; the next stop, Normandy.

On the drive from Vergoncey to Bayeux, we planned to stop at Mémorial de Caen, a museum with exhibits focusing on the extensive history spanning from World War I to the Cold War.  Approximately halfway through our short drive we stopped for gas and coffee.  A benign sequence of events, but we learned Julie's mother spoke French.  That is to say, she spoke English phrases with an inflection resembling a French accent.  Despite our cackling over the emergence of this mysterious display of international phonetics, Julie's mother flawlessly ordered for the four of us.  We soon returned to the road and would reach the museum a shade before noon.

I am not sure of the record for amount of time spent in Mémorial de Caen, however, we unknowingly committed ourselves to the cause.  Little did we know, we would devote more time here than our combined visits to the Louvre and Musée d'Orsay (and we never made it to the Cold War wing).  Our thorough pace through the engrossing exhibits left a unanimously pleasurable and lasting impression.  Although, there was one French twist we collectively found overstated (albeit sensical, given our locale), the tide-changing importance placed on the French Resistance (Viva la Résistance).  By the time we finished the World War II section, early evening descended and we still needed to check-in to our hotel a short distance away in Bayeux.

The day's tentative itinerary had planned for a visit to see the famed Bayeux Tapestry, however, our time was limited due to our (unofficial) record setting visit to Mémoiral de Caen.  Unfortunately, we missed the opportunity to see the 70-meter historical artwork because the Bayeux Cathedral had closed for the evening.  With the sight-seeing portion of our evening over, we concerted our efforts to satiate our growing appetites.  After dinner at a "liberators welcome" restaurant, we walked down the cobble stoned street to buy desserts - coming across the largest meringues our eyes have ever seen.

Hello...? Anybody home?
We hear there is a large Tapestry here
Don't turn the lights on, let us in

We discovered a delicatessen near the hotel with pastries and meringues so delicious - we wanted to return the following morning before a full-day touring the beaches of Normandy.  Much to our dismay, our broken French wasn't enough to garner the answers we needed (What time did they open?).  Therefore, we employed the help of our new-found translator, Julie's mother.  With her previous success at the gas station, she was encouraged to continue her French inflection-fused English.

Julie's mother delved into her role as international sustenance liaison.  However, when she approached the counter with the confidence of Napoléon on the battlefield, she asked the employee, "o-PIN, TO-mar-O?" (note: capital letters signify her obscured French inflection).  Much to our surprise (well, not really), the baker tending the cafe did not understand the question.  Amid our laughter, we were disappointed to learn they were closed the following morning.  Therefore, we doubled our purchases to have enough leftover for breakfast.




Monday, June 29, 2015

Mont Saint-Michel: An Island Monastery, a Chateau, and The Count

Our Parisian adventure had concluded, but the journey out of the city provided a brief epilogue to our tale.  Everybody had their luggage ready and the car was packed as Julie's parents checked out of the hotel.  However, the directions to our next destination, Mont Saint-Michel, went missing.  Before the internet, people used maps; however, sometime between the inception of the information superhighway and present day - people used MapQuest.  Julie and I waited in the car as the other half of our party frantically looked for a printout of MapQuest directions.


Approximately, a half-hour passed before the four of us were all seated in the car and ready to depart.  Unfortunately, our directions were, 50240 Vergoncey - indeed, a destination; yet only specific enough to narrow our search to the small French commune with a population of 209.  With little desire to spend any more time waiting than we already had, a second address reconnaissance mission proved successful - we were on our way to Château de Boucéel.

Dry island surroundings
Walking around
Rare picture of us

Driving out of Paris was predominantly uneventful, although, I was pleased to have successfully navigated through the 12-spoke traffic circle that surrounds the Arc de Triomphe.  Upon our arrival to Vergoncey, we were greeted by the heir and owner of the Chateau, a real-life Count.  Unfortunately, bad news was brought to our attention, a scheduling error occurred and the reservations did not match the books.  To clarify, we told the Count that the four of us had four bags and drove four long hours from Paris.  As he pondered our dilemma, he donned his cape on and proceeded to count four bats for unknown reasons (may or may not have happened).  Regardless, the scheduling snafu was quickly amended and we were led to our rooms; each with a unique interior design.


Once settled, we returned to the car and drove to Mont Saint-Michel, a small island famous for its monastery.  This is the first attraction visited where we were required to read a tide chart before our arrival.  Depending on time of year and day, the island may or may not be accessible due to high tides that rise above the access bridge.  With the lengthy drive, we missed high tide and arrived at the "height" of low tide.  This isn't the first island monastery Julie and I have visited (see: Skellig Michael), however, it was the first island we could walk around.  Following our circumvention of the island, we started the ascent up the 350 stairs to the Abbey.

So many stairs...finally at the top
Enjoying the view after all those stairs
Entering monastery

When we reached the top, we purchased tickets and continued to start our self-guided tour.  Before entering, we took the time to enjoy the panoramic views atop the landing outside the monastery's facade.  With our casual pace, the walk though took about an hour; and given our late afternoon arrival, the shops and restaurants were dialing down for the evening.  Following a long day of travel combined with the tour of Mont Saint-Michel, the four of us welcomed the early closure.  On our way out, we stopped for dinner at La Ferme Saint Michel, where everybody enjoyed their meals; however, there was more cervical vertebrae in my lamb neck than expected.

Courtyard atop Mont Saint-Michel
Grand hall
View from inside small chapel

On the drive back to our temporary home, we stopped along the way to take pictures of the island from a distance.   At the chateau, there was enough daylight remaining for us to explore the grounds - our mission - find the donkeys.  We made our way around the pond, passed the small stone chapel to the fields opposite the chateau.  There wasn't much searching required, the donkeys came to us when we reached the perimeter of their fenced enclosure.  Later, we returned to our respective rooms as night fell.

Au revoir Mont Saint-Michel
The Chateau

During the day's waning hours, Julie and I briefly discussed the unique ubiquitous pattern within our quarters.  I suppose, each room at Château de Boucéel has its charm.   Ours had the touch of vintage interior designer's flare - when one finds a fabric they like, they use it for everything.  In that, the wall paper matched our bed comforter, which matched the pillow cases, which matched the table runners, which matched the curtains, which matched a throw rug...and so forth.  To my knowledge, the only other room in existence with so much of a single fabric could only be a room with padded walls.  Despite the almost kaleidoscopic stimuli of the room, our stay was very pleasant - we even dined with the Count the morning of our departure.

Donkey
Stone chapel on chateau property

Panoramic view from our room



Sunday, June 28, 2015

Paris: A Big Grave for a Little Man, Le Penseur, and One of us Crawls on the Metro Floor

Our final day in the City of Light started off with a humorous escapade involving us and the Metro system.  The previous night, we noticed one of our Paris Cards had a defunct operational habit when used to enter and exit each station.  Mysteriously, over the course of an evening, another Paris Card joined the ranks of defunct misfit.  Thus, every visit to the Metro turnstiles became our version of Parisian Roulette - whereby, two of us were granted easy passage while the other half faced the Gauntlet from American Gladiators.



The morning Metro escapade commenced as we exited Luxembourg station.  Julie and I managed to select the operational cards and had no trouble passing through the turnstiles.  However, we noticed the other half of our party was stuck behind the brigade of metal gatekeepers.  After repeated failures, it was abundantly clear - the defunct Paris Cards would not comply.  The time had come to consider if we should leave Julie's parents behind while they rode the Metro all day (we would come back for them).  As we debated the abandonment option, our predicament escalated to a situational comedy.  The turnstile proved a formidable adversary, there was no chance of going over, under, or around - or so it seemed.  All efforts were stymied with hilarious results, leaving no option, but to crawl under; the equivalent of a human using a doggy door.  Unfortunate for one, but appeasing to the remainder - we laughed as we watched Julie's mother struggle to make it to the other side.  Eventually, she succeeded and we were quickly joined by Julie's father who simply hopped the turnstile.  Before exiting Luxembourg station, we went to customer service in hopes of correcting the malfunctioning Paris Passes.  To avoid another lengthy diatribe, the encounter with the Metro Card service team involved interminable blank stares and inexplicable confusion.  Obviously a futile effort, there was no chance to fix the cards nor rectify the issue; thus, the younger half of our group were given the defunct misfits because we could Cirque du Soleil our way pass the turnstiles.

Entering Luxembourg Gardens
Luxembourg Palace

Finally, we managed to make it out of the Metro and proceeded across the street to Jardin du Luxembourg, a palatial garden where we could relax and restore some of our sanity lost during the morning's follies.   We left the grounds and headed east to the Panthéon, a museum Julie and I skipped on our first trip to Paris and were (initially) pleased to visit this time around.  Our ephemeral excitement was dashed upon finding out the Foucault pendulum was undergoing a three-year restoration.  Missing out on the main attraction made for an otherwise underwhelming experience, however, it was enjoyable to see the crypts of France's greatest minds below the building; including, Voltaire, Marie Curie, Rousseau, and Victor Hugo.  Feeling the need for consolation over the restoration frustration, we pitted the void with baguettes and pastries from a nearby delicatessen.

Imagine Foucault pendulum here
Pendulum character rendering

With the bulk of the afternoon ahead of us, we rode the Metro to Varenne Station, a centrally located area to visit both Dôme des Invalides (Napoléon's Tomb) and Musée Rodin.  Initial impressions of Napoléon's tomb ironically complete the self-fulfilling prophecy of the aptly named inferiority complex.  The misnomer, "Napoleon Complex," started when the British Tory press spread sizable rumors with regards to the vertical prowess of the aforementioned.  The height debate is a result of a measurement conversion discrepancy between the French pouce and British inch.  It is believed that Napoléon stood a meager 5' 6", about average for the time, yet; his sarcophagus measures 2.15 meters (~7 ft.) in length and a meter wide.  Presumably, French retaliation to the British Tory press in an age-old debate nobody cares about.  We left Dôme des Invalides and walked across the street to the Rodin Museum to ponder the majestic statue, Le Penseur.

Voltaire wondering where the pendulum could be
Marie Curie

At this point, one would think we would be tired of museums, specifically, art museums.  Despite the verisimilitude of the previous sentence, one Monet-centric attraction remained, Musée de l'Orangerie.  We devoted enough time to admire the Water Lillies series for us to recover from the excessive walking throughout the day.  Before we departed, Julie and I were informed of our second Parisian swindling in as many days.

Little guy, big tomb
Ceiling of Dome de Invalides


We received an email from our credit card company who informed us that our information had unknowingly been stolen by some Parisian ursine.  However, the amount of money involved rendered Julie's street rat swindling innocuous.  Apparently, one lucky street-rat went on an spending spree at La Salle des Ventes du Particulier, a high-end antique dealer.  Fortunately, we were protected from identity theft, but our credit card was canceled - allowing us to move on with our day (damn gypsies burned us again).

Radio Paris
Seats for the conceret

With most of our days and activities planned, a bit of spontaneity beckoned.  We returned to the 4th arrondissement and found some filers for a performance of Antonio Vivaldi's Four Seasons in a nearby church.  Following a brief search, we found the venue, Paroisse Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre.  With a bit of time before curtain call, we enjoyed the tranquility of Square-Rene Viviani, a small park between Saint-Julien and Notre-Dame.  The general consensus agreed the performance was great, the small church provided an intimate environment and enjoyable experience.  We had dinner right around the corner from Saint-Julien and concluded our trip to the City of Light with a walk along the Seine as night fell.

Notre-Dame at night

A walk along the Seine



Saturday, June 27, 2015

Paris: The Louvre, Arc de Triomphe, and Julie Gets Swindled by a Street Rat

Getting an early start to our second day in Paris, Julie walked to the nearby mall to purchase the Paris Pass for the four of us - a tourist's convenience card which doubled as our admission tickets (to almost everywhere) and metro cards.  With our new-found ability to travel freely throughout the city, we were off for a quick trip to the Louvre.

Cliché Louvre entrance picture 
Intricate details of  the "Dying Slave"
Michelangelo's "Rebellious Slave"

The exterior line looked daunting, however, we didn't have to wait for tickets and would skip the majority of the wait.  Inside was bustling, various flags and umbrellas were raised in the sky to gather the sight-seeing hordes like aimlessly wandering cattle.  Two things quickly became apparent, summer days at the Louvre are chaotically crowded and exhibits stew in the stagnant summer heat.  The four of us were fortunate enough to have visited the museum before and we agreed on a one hour pursuing of our favorite masterpieces before our departure.  At times, the Louvre resembled an ornately decorated can of sardines more than of a world-class art museum.  Feeling the desire to reconnect with personal space and fresh air, we made our way south across the Seine - en route to the Musée d'Orsay.

Walking over to Musée d'Orsay
View of the Seine and exterior of the Louvre

Lucky for us, the masses we encountered across the river were not prevalent in the famed impressionist and post-impressionist museum.  After a few hours spent in the Musée d'Orsay, our ATP was running low and the bulk of the day still remained.  A bustling cafe beckoned; to refuel, we devoured multiple quiches and delectable Parisian pastries.

Sacré-Coeur...
...and again
...and again

Feeling recharged, we boarded the closest Metro and headed north to Montmarte to visit Sacré-Coeur and observe the nearby street artists.  Julie's parents went to take a quick loop through the basilica while Julie and I remained outside to watch a street entertainer juggle a soccer ball while suspended from a lamppost.  Eventually, we proceeded to Place du Tertre to watch artist sell their works and observe yokels get swindled by caricaturists who create overpriced souvenirs that can only have limited sentimental value.  Before we made our decent down Montmarte, we stopped for some afternoon coffee and plotted our course to the the Arc de Triomphe.

Je suis Charlie
That's a lot of stairs

As we headed towards the Metro, Julie got distracted by street-rat peddlers and their three card monte games.  To briefly summarize, there are generally three scammers that never leave the area; the dealer, the street-rat that always wins, and the street-rat that repeatedly loses.  While passing one of these band of gypsies, Julie caught a glimpse of the act and got sucked into the scam.  One of the street-rats picked the wrong piece, leaving a 50/50 chance to guess correctly.  I didn't see the shuffle, but before I could say, "just walk away," the gypsy dealer started coming towards Julie because he saw her wallet in-hand.  There was an exchange between the two, an incorrect betting increment; which was then doubled before Julie decided to play.  Suffice it to say, that damn gypsy burned us, making me wish we would have spent that money on a terrible caricature of us with François Hollande.

Wait, we were just over there
Diggin' the large radio tower
Champs-Élyées

In our silent sadness, we mourned the loss of precious Euro while riding the Metro to the Charles de Gaulle stop.  Upon our exit of the Metro station, I pondered how I was going to safely drive through the 12-spoke traffic circle surrounding the Arc de Triomphe.  Soon enough, we joined the cattle call waiting to climb the 284 stairs to the top of the Arc.  After we enjoyed the panoramic views of Paris, we needed to forage along the Champs-Élysées.

Family photo time
Architecture
Au revoir tour Eiffel  

The world-renowned promenade was teeming with pedestrians, traffic, and construction in preparation for the final stage of the Tour de France.  However, none of the previously mentioned stimuli was distracting enough to assuage the growing hunger of the female half of our party.  There was some testy groveling along the way, but appetites were soon satiated.  Shortly thereafter, we rode the Metro to Trocadéro station.  The touring portion of our day wrapped up as we descended down the stairs and headed southeast towards the Eiffel Tower.  We weren't foolish enough to join the masses waiting four hours to ascend the structure, instead, we rested our tired legs and absorbed the lively ambiance.  Our second day later concluded with another late dinner and some libations as we reminisced about Julie getting swindled by the street rat gypsies.


Friday, June 26, 2015

Paris: Les Catacombes and a Warning to People of a Nervous Disposition



A year ago, Julie's parents visited Germany for a few days before they continued their vacation through the Alsace Wine Region.  This year, they couldn't get rid of us that easily and we joined them on a trek through France.  Our first stop, Paris, the perfect halfway-point between Homburg and our future destinations, not to mention, but really mention, one of the best cities in Europe.


Before we embarked, there was much deliberation about the mode of transport.  Our car was fully operational, however, the brake pad had withered to the point of audible concern.  At low speed, our car had a gentle whistle and a loud obnoxious grind when the brakes were applied.  In the end, we took the four-wheeled noisemaker; after all, there would be no fireworks or celebration for America's Independence Day in Europe.  Who knows, maybe our car would shoot sparks by the end of our Tour de France.

Get ready to see a lot of these
Be weary ye of a nervous disposition

Contrary to the pre-trip consternation, the four-hour drive went seamlessly, the Autobahn required minimal use of the brakes.  However, when we reached the city, the slower speeds demanded frequent brake application.  The half-hour from city limits to our parking garage the car alternated from a high pitched hiss to an abrupt grinding growl.  It may have been less embarrassing and noticeable had the four of us been blowing whistles into a megaphone.  Eventually, we found our parking location and we were pleased to part ways with our four-wheeled noisemaker for a few days.

Lively walkway
Bullet to the head...?
Lovely wall of death

After we settled into our hotel rooms, we made plans to explore Les Catacombs, location of the relocated remains of those buried in the Cemetery of Innocents.  After nearly a century of use, non-zombie infections spread from the dead to the living and resulted in the need to transpose the decomposed.  On our (Julie and my) first visit to Paris, we made two attempts to see the burial site, however, the extensive line was deemed a waste of time with so much else to see.

Thinking cap
Transposed decomposed

Since everybody in our party had been to Paris, we had no qualms about waiting in the nearly two-hour line; although, our estimated entry was within minutes of the final permitted entry.  Admittance was indeed a close call, but we made it inside nevertheless.  Our excitement was only matched by the humor of the Catacomb's warning, "the ossuary tour could make a strong impression on children and people of a nervous disposition."  Luckily, we made it through without our dispositions being affected, granted, our appetites grew substantially.

We returned to our hotel's district to finish our first day.   We found a fancy pants establishment for an early-bird Parisian dinner, seated a shade after 22:00.  The restaurant's culinary prowess satiated everyone's hunger and we turned-in for the evening.