Dispatch #37 France

Dispatch # 37 France May 2005 “A Magical City, Inspiring Beaches and Rejuvenation” Notre temps était en France merveilleux! Our time in France was wonderful and it had two welcome, but completely unexpected results. First, the people we met and our experiences in France served to shatter all of our preconceived notions and stereotypes about the French. Second, our adventures in France, especially our week on the canal boat in Burgundy, which proved to be one of the highlights of our world trip, served to totally re-energize our travel weary troupe. After three glorious weeks in Tuscany, we loaded our van with luggage, squeezed in our family of six and Aunt Louise and headed northwest toward the Alps and on to Paris. Our time with Sabrina, Doug and Louise in Tuscany had passed too quickly, but the pain of saying goodbye to family was, in part, softened by the fact that we still had Louise’s company to enjoy for another week. We were not sure what she was thinking when she signed up to take the three day car trip with our family to Paris, but we were glad to have her along. It was especially meaningful for Elizabeth to have more time with one of her special soul mates. Our three-day road trip from Tuscany to Paris took us through the scenic beauty of northwestern Italy and southern France. Along the way we made two overnight stops, first in the French alpine ski town of Chamonix-Mont Blanc and then in the historic city of Beaune. Chamonix-Mont Blanc lies in the heart of the French Alps. The jagged peaks of Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe, stood sentinel over the quiet ski resort town of Chamonix. We arrived late in the evening and found a quaint little hotel situated along a rushing mountain stream. The icy cold mountain air, mixed with a light but persistent cold, misty rain shocked our systems. We had not been in a cold climate for several months, but to make matters worse, in an effort to lighten our load, we had shipped our entire cold weather gear home after our trip to Japan in early January. We threw on layers of clothing and a light jacket and set out to explore this quaint alpine village. Unbeknownst to us, we had arrived during a local holiday and, therefore, most of the shops and restaurants were closed. Unfortunately, the local holiday, combined with uncooperative weather meant that we quickly retreated to the cozy confines of our hotel for the evening. The next morning was cloudy, but dry and we walked into town seeking a hearty breakfast at a local restaurant before hitting the road. Our options were limited as most establishments were closed for a holiday, but we did find one that seemed interesting. It was interesting to be sure, but not because of anything unique on the menu. Our waiter and the owner of the restaurant could scarcely have shown greater disdain for us in general, and for our children in particular. In short, our hosts gave us the distinct impression that serving us breakfast was one of the single most painful and disgusting things they would ever have to do. Not knowing at the time what we know now, we chalked it up to the first in what was expected to be a long list of personal affronts during our stay in France. We had already allowed ourselves to be brain washed into expecting rude and arrogant behavior by the French. Such generalized characterizations having been repeatedly reinforced in our minds by American newsprint and television. Our first exposure in Chamonix could not have been any more stereotypical if it had been scripted in Hollywood. What we know now that we didn’t know then was that during our entire time in France, our breakfast in Chamonix was prove to be the only episode of rude and condescending behavior by our French hosts. Given this fact, it was, therefore, fitting that the episode would occur on the morning of our first full day in France. As a result, we steeled ourselves for more such incidents, we committed ourselves to learning more French with the hope that our crash language course would reduce the number of future confrontations and over the course of the next two travel days, we practiced French words and phrases in the car. Do you ever wonder about the thought process that goes into compiling an abbreviated list of key phrases to be included in a travel guidebook? For example, the book that we were using certainly contained many words and phrases that would prove useful during our time in France, but also included in this relatively short list of “key phrases” were things like “I have been stung by a jellyfish” and “I refuse the injection.” As you might expect, entries like these provided lots of laughter during our road trip as we plotted the strategic use of such nonsensical phrases during our stay in France. We agreed that if we found ourselves in a bind, unable to effectively communicate with our French hosts, we would just shout, “I have been stung by a jellyfish!” and see where things went from there. My favorite phrase, however, was offered by a travel writer in an article we had extracted from the New York Times and tucked into the pages of our guidebook. The writer suggested that if the reader learned only one phrase in French, it should be this one, which loosely translated, went something like this, “pardon me sir, I apologize not only for interrupting your day, but for the fact that I am not French, and as such should not expect you give me so much as the time of day, but I humbly request your assistance…” The silly thing about this phrase, other than the fact that it was entirely too long to commit to memory, was that the writer was stone cold serious about using it. We jokingly wondered aloud whether we shouldn’t we just learn something easier and more directly to the point like; “pardon me sir, would you mind lowering your fine French trousers so that I may kiss your French bum”? Did this writer really expect us to grovel at the feet of strangers each time we needed directions or some assistance? We are happy to report that we never had to avail ourselves of such silly, contrite phrases. With the exception of our first day in Chamonix, we would find the French to be delightful, and would we be treated graciously, with warmth and kindness throughout our month long stay in France. The people that we met completely broke all of the negative stereotypes. Even our periodic experiences with Parisians were nothing short of friendly and enjoyable. The second evening of the road trip to Paris found us in Beaune, France, the historic capital of Burgundy. Beaune was an enchanting town, with handsome stone buildings, cobblestone streets, smart shops and chic restaurants set within the fairytale architecture of the Middle Ages. The focus of the town is the region’s famous and expensive wines, and there were numerous cellars showcasing some of the most celebrated vineyards in France. We only had one evening to stroll around the town, but we were very impressed with what we saw that evening. On our way to dinner we stopped in one of the town’s charming public squares so the children could enjoy riding an antique carousel. As we waited, we noticed the string of attractive gray; stone buildings surrounding the square, many with steep, distinctive, colorful and decorative shingled roofs with mosaic patterns of greens, yellows and black. The steeply pitched rooflines were capped at each end by ornate iron spires. Unfortunately, I don’t know the difference between Romanesque, Gothic and Renaissance architecture. So don’t hold me literally to my descriptions, but one thing was for sure, Beaune was beautiful. We enjoyed our first restaurant dinner in France; an event that we would come to learn was nothing short of a gastronomic celebration. Although each portion was relatively small, the servings seemed endless, each level a delight. The big moment came when the kids tried escargot. Bella reminded her siblings that if they could eat a Mopane worm in Zimbabwe, they could eat a snail in France. Although each chew and swallow was treated like a moment of personal triumph, it certainly did not hurt that they were soaked in a rich sauce of butter, cream and garlic. The potty training efforts continue with Frankie. He is getting better each week and he has become more accustomed to wearing “big boy” underpants. Still, keeping anything on him is a challenge. Trying to put socks and shoes on him is like trying to shovel frogs. As has been the case throughout our trip, his body seems to reject all forms of foot cover. Whenever we return to our hotel room, he immediately begins stripping as he stumbles his way into the room, shoes flying, falling on his back tugging at his socks. Then, provided that he still has enough energy, the pants are promptly discarded. Each time we try to dress him is a like scene from a documentary, a poor native, stolen from some lost civilization, being forced by his captors to wear clothing for the first time. He squirms, and wrestles as he puts the room, and in some instances the entire floor of the hotel on notice that he is being violated. One instance in particular was amusing, as Elizabeth was trying to dress him, Frankie is shouting “help, someone is putting pants on me, help!” Not sure who he expected to come to his rescue, but referring to his mother as “someone,” some nameless assailant was enough to break the tension and fill the room with laughter, much to the chagrin of our trousered victim. Carmen continues to charm. The normally stoic French passersby seem to be as taken with Carmen as were our hosts in other countries. Her diminutive size, big brown eyes and dimpled cheeks seem to draw attention wherever we go. For those of you who have been following us, you should now know that Carmen is a world-class snuggler. She has an amazing ability to nuzzle up to you finding the perfect position before curling herself up like a cat. However, she seems to be growing increasingly jealous of competition from her younger brother. Case in point, while we were relaxing on our beds in the hotel in Beaune, I was giving Frankie some loving when Carmen crawled up to me, pulling her thumb from her mouth and looking very serious, she announced “okay, now that you have snuggled with the boy, come snuggle with the bunny!” As we say amongst ourselves, “that’s so Carmen.” Maddie and Bella continue to go a great job of staying engaged and interested. They have taken time to read about each of our destinations. As opposed to their younger sister, they rarely complain about our lengthy walking tours or our trips to museums and points of historical interest. In fact, in many instances they have been able to offer interesting observations and insights. Overall, they have been enjoyable and motivating travel mates for Elizabeth and me. Having the opportunity to see different parts of the world has been amazing, but I must say, that seeing it through the eyes of our children has been a uniquely wonderful experience. The next day we finished our drive to Paris. Visiting the City of Paris for the first time is exciting for anyone, but it was especially exhilarating for Isabella. Before we departed on the trip, we all wrote down the places we were most excited about visiting. There was only one entry on Bella’s list, Paris. So, as you might expect, Bella was particularly animated as we neared the city limits. Finally, as we crested a hill on the outskirts of Paris, Bella saw what she had been waiting to see, the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. She screamed with genuine enthusiasm, jumping from her seat to get a better view of the Parisian icon. “I have been waiting my whole life to see this!“ our grizzled nine year old exclaimed. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived at our hotel, much of her initial exhilaration had been sapped by two hours of stop and go Parisian traffic. Situated on the famous Champs-Elysees, our hotel was budget buster. Although we had used a significant amount of our credit card “points” to book a room on this swanky boulevard, we didn’t have enough for our entire stay, and, as you might imagine, the cost of lodging and dining in Paris ended up being very high indeed. But, it was worth every Euro. Our time in Paris was magnificent and “living” on the Champs-Elysees for five days made it all the more enchanting. We didn’t see all of Paris, but it was not for lack of trying. We walked further and longer than we had before and believe me that is saying something. This unusual amount of stamina was in part due to the condition of the City. Paris, another Olympic hopeful, was in prime condition for its eagerly anticipated visit by the IOC selection committee. It seemed as though every building façade, every bridge, and every monument had been power washed and fresh paint had been added where necessary. The City of Paris absolutely gleamed. The litter free streets and subways glistened, the parks were meticulously landscaped and manicured, and the canine feces landmines for which Paris had become infamous were nowhere to be found. Another explanation for our endurance was seemingly endless supply of neighborhood cafes and outdoor seating that provided us with ample opportunities to rest and refuel. Paris was wonderful for long walks. Each sunny day we would emerge from our hotel, hidden in the shadow of the Arc De Triomphe, the largest triumphal arch in the world, built to commemorate Napoleon’s victories in the early 19th century, and begin our explorations by enjoying a leisurely stroll along the venerable Avenue Des Champs-Elysees. After grabbing an espresso and some pastries, we would head off towards one of the many highlights that awaited us in Paris. Wonderful places and points of interest like The Eiffel Tower, the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, the Louvre, Sacre Coeur, the Musee d’Orsay to name a few. Unlike some cities where the destination is the focus, in Paris we found that the journey through the City to our destination to be every bit as interesting and visually delightful. At the end of each long, but satisfying day, we would find ourselves walking back along the wide, brick, grand avenue of the Champs-Elysees, the flicker of hundreds of splendid street lamps lining the boulevard, the Place De La Concorde and its Obelisk of Luxor at our backs, the illuminated Arc De Triomphe awaiting us in the distance. We all agreed that it was hard to imagine a more inviting and beautiful urban pathway in the entire world. One bright, sunny day we walked along the impressive George V Avenue, working our way toward the Place De Alma and the banks of the Seine River, periodically catching glimpses of our destination, the iconic creation of Gustave Eiffel. The neighborhoods were charming, as only Paris neighborhoods can be. Passing along the tree-lined street with its row and row of handsome stone buildings, we happened upon numerous outdoor cafes, white clothed tables full of patrons and tourists sipping wine and soaking up the mid-day sunshine. Having first met Elizabeth 25 years before at Alma College, we thought it was fitting to pause at the Place De Alma for some pictures. Looking at Elizabeth against the backdrop of Seine and the Eiffel Tower beyond, I could not help but think that she was every bit as beautiful as the day that I had met her. Crossing over the Seine at the Pont de L’Alma, we paused to take in the view. From the bridge we could see the sleek silhouette and elegant lines of the Eiffel Tower, or as Frankie called it, “the Evil Tower.” Below us lay the wide, slow moving waters of the River Seine spanned by stately iron and stone arched bridges in each direction. Each bridge was a work of art in itself. The riverbanks were lined on each side with colorful tugboats and barges gently rocking in the wake of a passing tourist cruiser. Finally we reached the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by long, wide green lawns dotted with people enjoying a leisurely spring day. Viewing the Eiffel Tower up close for the first time is quite inspiring. Gustave Eiffel’s incredible feat of 19th century architecture, with its sleek, yet powerful iron skeleton is impressive by modern standards, and I can only imagine the wonder it produced at the time it was constructed. The huge iron girders held together with millions of iron rivets, some the size of manhole covers. We sat in the lawn area for a while gazing in wonder before we decided that it was time to join the long line of tourists waiting to climb to one of the observation decks. There were three options, first level which looked plenty high, a second level around mid height and the observation deck at the top. When I asked the kids which level they wanted to go to, I was met with an immediate answer, “the top!” Of course they would want to go all the way to the top. What did I expect from my little band of thrill seekers? We huddled in a cramped elevator for our ascent to the top. Along the way I could not help but wonder whether the cable and pulley system being used to lift us was a stunningly accurate modern reproduction, or possibly the same system and components that had been used for the past hundred years. Up we climbed to the Tower’s vertigo producing top level where we were met with awesome, panoramic views of the entire City of Paris and beyond. A guide at the top told us that on this clear day, the view was somewhere in the range of 40 miles in every direction. Even though we spent well over an hour at the top, the kids did not want to leave. In addition to the magnificent views, they were thoroughly enjoying some quality time with their Aunt Louise. After we finally persuaded the troupe to move on, we descended to the first level in order to perform one the perfunctory tourist errands at the Eiffel Tower, a visit to the Tower’s post office where the kids picked out post cards to be sent, postmarked “Tour Eiffel.” After our visit, we retreated to a patch of lawn nearby and while the kids played on the lawn with Louise, Elizabeth and I set out to survey the array of handcart, food vendors. We gathered up baguettes, cheese and meats and returned with a picnic lunch. Other picnic parties and lots of couples sharing romantic embraces on the lawn surrounded us. This spring day in Paris seemed to have a uniquely dreamy feel to it. One of my favorite moments in Paris was lying on my back in the thick green grass of the park, Bella and Carmen resting their heads on my stomach, and gazing at the majestic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower against a background of a bright blue sky broken periodically by fluffy white clouds slowly floating past. The warm sun, the relaxing afternoon, the magic and romance of Paris seemed almost edible that afternoon. It has been said that Paris feeds the senses and nourishes the soul. On this particular day, I could not have agreed more. Our other excursions took us to some of the other famous Parisian landmarks. We spent an afternoon at Notre-Dame, admiring Victor Hugo’s “symphony of stone,” with its intricate façade, gothic ramparts, dramatic flying buttresses, imposing bell towers, kaleidoscopic, colossal, circular stain-glass windows and elaborately carved arched entrances encircled by various angels, demons, saints and martyrs. One entrance in particular featured the moment of truth, the soul of a recently deceased awaiting final judgment, a line of saints on one side and a ghoulish band of frightening, horned beasts on the other, some dragging terrified souls to hell. Scenes like these when combined with the sinewy forms and the horrifying faces of the gargoyles leaning over the sides of the cathedral scowling down upon the crowds made me wonder how any 14th century pilgrim could have helped but be paralyzed with fear as they stood before the enormous cathedral. We found Notre-Dame to be wonderful combination of alluring, majestic beauty and forbidding and intimidating detail. We entered the interior of this gothic masterpiece, greeting the imposing cathedral with the same awestruck wobble that I am sure visitors have been displaying for centuries. Mouths agape, we marveled at the stain glass windows, magnificent artwork in themselves, depicting stories of biblical significance, visual aids that were presumably once used to edify the uneducated congregations. With Aunt Louise in town with us for only a few more days, we made an effort to give Elizabeth and her sister some time alone. On a couple of evenings, Biz was able to wander the City of Lights with her sister, unimpeded by four tired children and an equally exhausted (and presumably grumpy) husband. On another evening, I took Carmen and Frankie back to the hotel so Biz, Louise, Maddie and Bella could do a “big girls” evening out. First they visited the stunning, white marble domes of the Roman-Byzantine marvel that is Sacre-Coeur. Perched on a hilltop overlooking Paris, the attractive exterior and fascinating, biblically themed, mosaic covered interior, are second to the main feature of Sacre-Coeur, the views of Paris from its marble dome. After soaking up Paris from afar, the girls headed back into the heart of the City to the Musee d’Orsay, to view some of its magnificent collection art by the likes of Monet, Manet, Cezzane, Van Gogh, Renoir and Matisse. Maddie and Bella declared that their visit to the Orsay, with its Impressionism collection, the largest in the world, was one of the main highlights of their time in Paris. One of the disadvantages of having very young children in Paris is that we were not comfortable taking them to any fancy restaurants, of which Paris has its share and more. The attention spans of three and five year olds are not conducive to fine dining. Having already endured the stares of disrupted fellow patrons at some of the less formal eateries around town, we were sure that our upper crust Parisian hosts would not appreciate a visit by our posse of Vandals. So, each evening, as we passed some of Paris’ many world famous gastronomic temples in route to some relatively unremarkable take-out joint, Biz and I would offer each other a consoling shrug and sigh. Part of the challenge of carting four young children around the world is keeping them engaged. There are only so many museums and points of historical and architectural significance that they can entertain before you need to break it up with something totally kid related. Throughout our journey we have taken time to engage in activities that had absolutely no educational value, but were a delight for the family. Places like Dreamworld and Wet-N-Wild in Australia and Tokyo Disney Sea in Japan. So, when it became apparent that our young traveler’s attention spans were waning, we loaded up the van and drove to Paris Disneyland. There is nothing quite as fun as watching your children, smiling from ear to ear, running hand-in-hand, dancing and twirling their way to the front gates of an amusement park. I will not forget the look on Frankie’s face when he saw his hero, Captain Hook, waiting for him on the other side of the turnstile. He ran up to the notorious buccaneer, hugging him around the leg, beaming with eyes of wonder and excitement. We spent an energetic day racing between rides and other attractions. Carmen proudly completing her first shriek filled “big kid” roller coaster ride and declaring it the “best day ever.” We even were able to carve out a special night for me to join Louise, Maddie and Bella for a long awaited visit to the Musee du Louvre. Everyone joined in our long walk to the Louvre; we passed block after block of handsome, cream colored, stone buildings with their long, narrow, vertical divided glass windows, terra cotta colored awnings, and stone turrets and majestic cupolas capped with steep black spires. We paused at the Place De La Concorde to admire the Mont Des Mers Fountain with its wonderful aquatic sculptures of carbon and gold, as well as, the golden tipped Obelisk of Luxor, looking so out of place from its original setting, adjacent to its sister obelisk, the one we had recently admired guarding the entrance to the Temple of Luxor in Egypt. We then pressed on through the splendid Tuileries Gardens where we decided to take a rest by the ponds adjacent to the L’Arc du Carrousel. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we enjoyed a few more people watching moments. As the children played around the gardens and ponds, the adults sat on benches and in chairs surrounding the ponds, faces turned up to the sun, enjoying a glorious spring afternoon. Nearby, a vendor in his blue beret was packing up his weather worn, wooden handcart for the day. I watched as he carefully piled the miniature wooden sailboats into the cart, carefully stacking each vessel so as to make room for their colorful, but faded cloth sails. After our rest, it was time for the main event, a tour of Louvre. The plan was for Elizabeth to take Carmen and Frankie back to the hotel while the rest of us explored the great museum. Carmen protested her exclusion. “I want to go to the luge!” she declared. Once we explained to her that it was museum and not an adventure sport, she reconsidered. “Oh, it’s another place with lots of pictures on the wall?” “Never mind.” The Louvre is lodged in the largest palace in Europe, constructed over centuries by a series of French rulers and is home to over 400,000 works of art. The size of the structures and its enormous collection of art simply defy my description. We could have spent several weeks inside the Louvre and not seen its entire collection, but since we only had a day, we had to come up with a realistic short list of famous works. We engaged in our own game of “Masterpiece,” each of kids armed with our short list of treasures and a map of the museum. I am slightly embarrassed to admit that we quickly serpentined past countless, priceless objects d’Art and antiquity, offering little more than glazed, casual glances as we sought our personal highlights, da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, The Winged Victory of Samothrance, Venus de Milo, Donatello’s Madonna and Child, Michelangelo’s Slaves and the Rembrandt collection. Although we had only scratched the surface, we saw what we could until closing. We are glad that we took the opportunity to orchestrate “big girl” date nights in order to expose Maddie and Bella to some of the wonders of the world of art like the Prado in Madrid, the Picasso Museum in Barcelona, the Egyptian National Museum in Cairo, the Vatican Museum in Rome and the Musees du Louvre and Orsay in Paris. Given their ages, we have been heartened by their apparent enjoyment and appreciation of art. Our relatively brief time at the Louvre having come to an end, we departed through the distinctive glass pyramid of I.M.Pei, walking out into the night and being immediately struck by the sight of an illuminated Paris shimmering before us. As we past along the Champs-Elysees we could not help but be smitten by the grandeur and beauty of the “City of Light.” After eight months on the road, everyone seemed to be showing signs of travel weariness. Astonishments and wonders aside, I was growing tired of the constant movement, and with less than two months left in our trip, my thoughts had, for the first time, began to consider all of the things that we would need to address upon our return. There was a part of me that was seriously considering cutting our trip short, but I could not help but wonder what we would be missing if we did. In the end, I was so thankful that I did not act upon this impulse, because unbeknownst to me at the time, some of the best was yet to come. We bid our last tearful goodbyes to Louise before she headed to the airport for her journey back to the United States. The time with Louise had been special for all of us and especially so for Elizabeth. From Paris we traveled to Normandy. We found the region of Normandy to be delightfully pastoral with green landscapes of rolling hills, forested valleys, orchards and fields full of fine looking dairy cows. We stayed in a delightfully situated self-catering apartment in a tiny Norman village of Connelles. The drive from the main highway to our accommodations took us through a series of quaint little French villages with their attractive two story stone buildings intermixed among half-timber cottages and shops. Places like Val de Reuil, St. Pierre de Vauvray, Herqueville and St. Etienne de Vauvray. We stayed on the grounds of the Le Manoir des Deux Amants (the Manor of Two Lovers). Our home in Normandy was in a beautiful, pastoral setting. From our half-timbered, stucco sided Norman style building, nestled along the banks of the Seine, we could relax in the sunshine and watch groups of geese and swans pass down the river amidst a Spring flurry of white, fluffy, cotton-like spores that were falling from the nearby trees. We enjoyed a relaxing week, took walks, played along the river’s edge, took out rowboats and tried to catch some of loudest croaking frogs we had ever heard. Our cottage served as a perfect home base for several side trips around the Normandy region. One of our day trips was particularly special for me. I am an avid history buff, history channel junky, have read many books about World War II in general, and D-Day in particular, been captivated by all documentaries on the subject, and absorbed in films like Saving Private Ryan and The Band of Brothers. The trip to the beaches of Normandy was a great thrill for me. In an effort to make the excursion interesting to the kids, Biz came up with a great idea. We woke the girls up early in military fashion and hustled them out of the bedroom for an early morning briefing on our objective. We used maps of the D-Day invasion and assigned them units. Maddie was to lead the Rangers in their assault on Pointe du Hoc, Bella was the 101st Airborne Division whose assignment was to parachute behind enemy lines and link up with the invasion forces of Utah Beach and Carmen was in charge of the amphibious assault on Omaha Beach. The sudden excitement, our refusal to break from military character and the newness of the approach helped to hold their interest at least for a while. I briefed them on the assault as best that I could and then offered a short history lecture on the undertakings of that Day in June 1944. During our “briefing” we tried to explain some of the history of D-Day. On June 6, 1944, the Allied Expeditionary Force launched Operation Overlord, the largest military operation in the history of the world. As the dawn broke on that cloudy, stormy day, more than 5,000 ships and landing crafts, holding 50,000 vehicles and over 150,000 men floated on the horizon just off the beaches of Normandy. Overhead, over 11,000 planes had roared, dropping hundreds of tons of bombs and thousands of parachuting members of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. We tried to have them imagine what a sight it must have been, especially for the German defenders, as they gazed in awe at the spectacle surrounding them that morning in June over 60 years ago. Maddie and Bella seemed interested in not only the details, but in my apparent enthusiasm on the subject. They reminded me that I have often said that war, and the pain and suffering that comes along with it, is a horrible thing. Something to be avoided at all cost. I tried as best I could to suggest to them that although this was certainly true, that our involvement in World War II came as close as we would ever get to a “good war,” fought for the right reasons. Our first stop along the D-Day history trail was at the American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer situated on the cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and the English Channel. One of the many cemeteries granted by France to the United States in perpetuity, without taxation, this cemetery site covers over 170 acres of meticulously landscaped grounds and contains the graves of 9,387 of our military dead, most of whom gave their lives on the first dreadful day of the landings, or in operations that followed in the first few days after the initial assault. At one end of the poignant memorial is a semicircular colonnade, at its center, a bronze statute “Spirit of American Youth.” Along the walls of the semicircular garden on the east side of the memorial were inscribed the names of over 1,500 soldiers still listed as missing in action on the peninsula. At each end of the colonnade were large maps and narratives detailing the military operations of that historic period. Although the maps and murals engraved in stone offered a wealth of historical information, the real lesson was embodied in the white marble markers situated in perfect perpendicular and diagonal lines, stretching out almost endlessly in each direction on the smooth green lawn. Both Elizabeth and I found this sight to be a surprisingly moving experience. We had no relatives buried here, had not lived through the tragedy, and yet, we both found ourselves welling up with tears and emotion. Our children, clearly confused by our reaction, walked up to each of us, giving us a hug, presumably waiting for an explanation. As we stood in the colonnade facing the cemetery, there was a beautiful reflecting pool in the foreground; beyond were the massive burial plots, surrounding a circular chapel in their center and at the far end of the graveyard, two large granite statutes representing the fellowship of France and the United States. The bright white marble grave markers of Christian crosses and Jewish Stars of David, set against the graceful contours of the emerald green grass of this peaceful resting site, radiated in the bright afternoon sunlight. Walking through the middle of one of the plots, we passed markers of two brothers killed in action in Normandy, and another pair of crosses marking the resting place of a father and son killed within days of each other. Perhaps the most poignant markers, however, were those bearing the simple inscription “Here rests in honored glory, a comrade in arms known but to God.” We paused among the rows of grave markers perfectly aligned in every direction and gazed past the bluffs overlooking Omaha beach to the azure blue waters of the English Channel beyond, and found ourselves deeply moved by the setting. Having been deeply impressed by the peacefulness and reverence of the setting, I could not help but feel that it was a fitting memorial to the extraordinary services and ultimate sacrifice of the men and women who had been laid to rest in the honored ground. Elizabeth and the kids having gone ahead, I lingered at the edge of the gravesite. While I stood there, I observed a large group of school children each holding a bouquet of flowers filing up to the steps of the nearby memorial. I was intrigued by the sight and moved closer. It was a group of French school children; my guess would be that they were eleven to thirteen years old. They were standing and intently listening to their teacher who was giving them a historical lesson about the events of D-Day and the Armee de Americain. Their level of attention impressed me. No one was snickering or fooling around. No one seemed to be daydreaming, they all appeared to be very interested in what they were being told and they all displayed a surprising appearance of solemnity. After he concluded his lesson, the children walked slowly to the nearby graves, pausing in front of them before laying their bouquets at the front of the markers. It was a very touching and enlightening moment for me. No matter what we choose to believe at home, the French have not forgotten the deeds of our forefathers, nor does it appear that they intend to anytime soon. Standing on the viewing platform at the edge of the cliff overlooking the beaches, we could begin to get a sense of the obstacles that the American landing forces faced in the early morning of June 6th, 1944. The beaches are wide at low tide, a long expanse from the water’s edge to a formidable natural barrier of grassy bluffs, some reaching over 100 feet from sea level, riddled with hollows and trenches. Further down the shore we could see the sheer cliffs that met the beach’s edge, which, as a result of confusion and mistaken landings, confronted the first waves of infantry that stormed onto “bloody Omaha.” We left the cemetery and drove down to the beach that still is known by its code name, Omaha. We walked along the now peaceful dunes. From the beach we could see a few remnants of the German defenses. Some of the German cement gun pillboxes and gun encasements still haunt the otherwise picturesque shoreline. The tide was out which exposed a deep expanse of sandy beach. A group of French children were frolicking in the sand nearby. I stood at the water’s edge and tried unsuccessfully to imagine the terror and fury that had once consumed this killing field. As we walked along the beach, it was eerie to think that 60 years ago, thousands of young men lost their lives attempting to cross this same bit of sand. With the exception of the sounds of breaking waves and the occasional excited laughter of the nearby children, the beach was now quiet, offering little hint of the terrifying combat that once took place there. Historical accounts tell a harrowing tale of what it was like to be on that same beach in 1944. As a result of the well placed mines and obstacles, many of the Allied landing crafts were destroyed before ever reaching the beaches, others had to pull back and move further down the beaches away from their planned delivery points, and still others mistakenly dropped their gates in water too deep for the soldiers to stand and as a consequence hundreds of men drowned moments after disembarking their landing craft. In the first waves of the attack, the boats that did make it through the labyrinth of mines and barricades dropped their gates amidst unrelenting machine gun and artillery fire, many of the soldiers being mowed down as soon as the gates dropped. If they were able to make it out of the water, the soldiers were forced to cross an expanse of beach under a barrage of heavy artillery triangulated on the beach and mortars pre-ranged for maximum destructive effect. Catastrophically short on their own supporting tanks (many of which hit mines or were swamped in route to the beaches) and any heavy artillery, the Americans were pinned down on the Omaha beaches. Those who had survived the run from the boats to the sand were paralyzed with indecision and fear (many of the front line officers had been killed in the first moments after disembarking). The command from Colonel Taylor designed to rally his surviving troops gives a sense of the conditions of the moment: “There are two kinds of people on this beach, the dead, and those who are going to die--now let’s get the hell out of here!“ If it were not for thinking of the commanders of a nearby destroyer flotilla, the landing at Omaha could have been a total disaster. The flotilla moved dangerously close to shallow waters and opened up a deafening barrage of close range heavy gunfire on the German gun emplacements and forces occupying the grassy ridges and cliff tops. By D-Day plus four hours, one of the main stongpoints had been knocked out by the naval fire and the battered and disoriented infantry stormed up the Colleville gap. Casualties were extremely heavy and the fighting remained murderous throughout the day. Later we drove along the narrow coastal highway past Norman brick walls, hedgerows and quaint stone villages, ancient slate-fronted houses, many of which appear today as they did when the first Allied soldiers broke through the German front lines seeking shelter and muster points to regroup for the expected counter-offensive. The trauma and sacrifice of D-Day has seeped into the fabric of the coastal Norman’s life. The drive along the coastline is peppered with museums and memorials. We stopped at several of the many monuments that dot the route. At one stop, while the kids played in the sand, I climbed up to look through the window of an old German gun emplacement, now converted into an Allied monument. I peered through the rectangular opening facing the beach, getting a sense of the wide field of fire that it provided the defenders and how vulnerable the invasion infantry must have been, trying to imagine the terror and fury of that morning. Another stop was on a high bluff overlooking the town of Arrowmanches. It was here that the Allied Expeditionary Force constructed its first real supply harbor. The story of the construction of the harbor is extraordinary. In short, the Allies had constructed artificial anchorages in England, towed them across the English Channel, sunk over sixty ships as a foundation and then secured the piers with massive concrete supports that were literally poured into the bay at Arrowmanches. Vestiges of the amazing prefabricated port could still be seen in the harbor. The great structures once used to supply the Allied forces with reinforcements and supplies in the days and months following the invasion now serve as a manmade reef. The kids were great throughout the day. Maddie and Bella could tell that this was a special excursion for me, and feigned or not, the Maddie and Bella did a wonderful job of showing interest in the activities of the day as we took them from cemeteries to monuments, to the beaches and bunkers of Normandy. Returning home we followed the River Seine as it meandered it way through the region, passing through charming Norman villages with shops filled with creamy cheeses, for which this region is well known, sausage emporiums, and alluring bakeries. This was BYOL territory. Bring your own Lipitor, because if you spend much time in this region specifically, and France in general, you better be prepared for some heavy creamed, rich, buttery, sausage-filled, triple by-pass specialties. Now, speaking as a Chicagoan of the Saturday Night Live “Superfan” genre, there are no finer words in the English language than “encased meats,” so this was dangerous territory for me. I had throughout our trip been trying to lose weight. Up until we arrived in Italy, I had successfully dropped twenty pounds and was feeling better about my shape. Unfortunately, I hit a bit of a snag in Tuscany and by the time we left France my fate had been sealed. In my defense, I would challenge anyone to spend two months in Italy and France and not put on a few “stones.” Although my weight gain relapse was most unfortunate, the food was so very good, and I spent little time regretting my setback. Another of our side trips was to Giverny, the home of Claude Monet during the last 40 years of his life. Maddie and Bella were especially excited to see the setting that was Monet’s inspiration for many of the beautiful paintings that they have recently seen in the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. We arrived at the famous green trimmed pink house with its distinctive green shutters. The home and gardens have been restored and are now lovingly maintained by the Claude Monet Foundation. The interior of the home has been restored using the original vibrant, single colors that he favored. The walls of the home were covered with his extraordinary collection of Japanese wood block prints and copies of many of his most famous works, the originals of which are scattered among the renowned art museums of the world. The real attraction, however, was the magnificent gardens. We followed a gravel path through rows of brilliant blooming flowerbeds and vine covered trellis to the famous lily pond. Bella, whose middle name, Linnea, was taken from a story we had read about these gardens years ago, seemed to feel a kindred spirit with this splendid setting. The beauty of the blossoming gardens, the peacefulness of the pond and the fragrance of the blossoms made for a magical setting. The lilies seemed to drift serenely on the tranquil pond under the shadows of large willow trees. At one end of the pond was an old green wooden rowboat tied off to a pier as though the old master himself had just returned from a leisurely float. At the other end of the pond was Monet’s famous arching, wooden, Japanese footbridge, the object of so many of his works. We tried to imagine Monet sitting for hours tracing the changing light during the summers in the French countryside, having 30 canvases working at the same time. It was not difficult to imagine how Monet had found his inspiration here. Resting on an antique, green painted bench, shaded under the span of a flowering tree, Elizabeth and I gazed across the sun speckled lily covered pond toward the arched Japanese bridge, covered and entangled with a myriad of flowering vines, and felt a soul soothing peacefulness passing over us. It was a wonderful moment of meditation that was broken by the squeals of Frankie and Carmen wrestling over something really important, like a stick. On our return we stopped in the village of Vernon. Spreading out our blanket in a grassy area near the banks of the Seine, an area shaded by the long shadow cast from the remains of a nearby 12th century castle we enjoyed a picture perfect, Kodak moment, picnic lunch. After lunch we laid in the sun soaking up the ambiance. That is, until our post prandial lull was abruptly interrupted when a crazy teenage French moped rider decided that the quickest route between the street and her friends was right through the middle of our picnic. “C’est la vie.” One of the more edifying parts of our trip has been to watch young children, without the benefit of a shared language, interact and communicate on a refreshingly basic and innocent level. Completely devoid of any preconceived prejudices or ideas about each other, children can provide a wonderful lesson to all of us. We had seen this illustrated time after time throughout our trip, usually it involved Carmen and another little girl whom she had never met. This time it was the turn for a little French boy and Frankie to offer us with a message about the best of human nature. We were visiting a play space in St. Lo when a young French boy approached Frankie. As he spoke to Frankie in French, he gestured excitedly to Frankie about the nearby covered slide and play fort. They paused there together looking at each other, Frankie turned to us and said “he is my friend,” we nodded, and away they went up into the labyrinth of chutes and ladders. Although neither spoke the other’s language, we heard an endless series of excited, bilingual shouts, roars and laughter coming from the play tubes. Sometimes we forget how much we can learn from our young children. Our final day trip from our wooded setting in Connelles was to Mont-St-Michel. In route we passed through the “bocage” landscape of hedgerows lining the Norman fields, the same hedgerows that had proved murderous for the Allied advance in the early days and weeks after the D-Day invasion. Along the way we stopped in a relatively non-descript French town, one not highlighted on any of our maps as a place of historical significance. I mention this because what we found in the center of town was inspirational. At town center was a statute to an American officer that had lead the forces that liberated the village in 1944. This was not a designated stop along the “D-Day Le Choc” historical route, there were no souvenir shops catering to potential Operation Overlord tour groups, just a small French village, one of many that still honors the memory of one of its liberators. We continued south and east until we had neared our destination. There far in the distance, across a sheep covered pasture and green expanse of low-lying farmland loomed the isolated, granite fortress city of Mont St-Michel. The astonishing abbey and fortress rise from the surrounding landscape like a volcano. It had been described as one of the most spectacular sights in Normandy, and it did not disappoint. According to medieval cannons, the Archangel Michael appeared one night in 708 AD to Aubert, Bishop of Avranches, instructing him to build a church in Michael’s honor on the islet known as Mont Tombe. Apparently the Bishop had some difficulty understanding the message, perhaps mistaking the apparition for a dream, because the Archangel had to return three more times to repeat the command before finally deciding to burn a hole into the Bishop’s head for good measure. Shortly thereafter, the charred cleric founded a church, the site was consecrated and the building of the cathedral began. Over the centuries, pilgrims from across Europe visited the site, and a terraced, fortress city slowly took shape around the base of the small island. For centuries, the townsfolk, pilgrims and clergy passed from the island to the mainland each day during low tide when the water surrounding the island receded a distance of 10 miles off shore, revealing the hard packed mud and sandy bottom of the bay. In the late 19th century, a pedestrian causeway was constructed from the mainland to the islet. We arrived during low tide and it was amazing to see the entire bay empty. After we had spent a considerable amount of time frolicking in the sand and tide pools, we crossed the bridge and entered the imposing fortress village through a small gap in the medieval ramparts (an entrance that is covered by water at high tide) and followed a steep incline along narrow, stone streets, passing under a number of grand stone archways carved in the rings of inner walls. Along the steep alleyways, we passed cafes, shops, restaurants and a number of 14th and 15th century half-timber homes and clusters of stone monastic buildings, the path narrowing and becoming more steep the closer we drew to the abbey. We spent the rest of the day exploring this intriguing wonder before retreating back along the causeway as the bay began to slowly refill. Reflecting back on our time in Normandy, we would whole-heartedly recommend the region to anyone looking for a region in France to camp themselves for a week or two. We found this home to artists of both the canvas and the kitchen to be full of charm, spirit and history. As I had mentioned earlier in this dispatch, by the time we were leaving Paris, both Elizabeth and I were growing weary of constant travel. We had seriously discussed the pros and cons of ending our trip early in order to tackle the logistics of our planned move from Chicago to Ann Arbor. But, the realities of handling our affairs back home were really just an excuse. For the prior eight months, we had been moving from place to place, maintaining an extraordinarily active schedule, exploring day after day with little down time. We had tired of living out of suitcases, in generally cramped quarters, and sleeping in unfamiliar and uncomfortable beds. With this in mind, the rejuvenation we experienced during our weeklong canal boat trip in Burgundy was nothing short of miraculous. The boat trip was extraordinary and it served to completely revive our weakening spirit and gave us new energy and enthusiasm to continue the journey. A canal boat trip was a multi-generational success. Elizabeth and I reveled in its leisurely pace, the camaraderie it engendered and the marvelous beauty of the countryside we encountered. The children had an absolute ball living on the boat for a week and seemed to draw surprising enjoyment out of assisting with the relatively mundane tasks involved in effecting our passage. For example, they thoroughly enjoyed, even argued over, the opportunity to assist the lock keepers in opening and closing the numerous locks we passed through each day. They loved jumping on their bikes and riding along the towpaths that bordered the canals and rivers, and through the quaint little villages that we passed along the way. They were always energized to make our daily trips into the nearby villages to get provisions like bread, cheese, meat and dry goods. For that time of year, May, the weather could hardly have been more remarkable. A series of warm, bright sunny days lifted our moods and provided plenty of occasions for outdoor activities. Most evenings, we would moor within view of some quaint French village, enjoy our sunset dinner on the rooftop deck and then retire below for a rousing game of cards. At night, the cool evening air would fill the cabin and we would be serenaded to sleep by the chirping and croaking sounds of the local insects and amphibians. One evening we drove mooring stakes into the riverbank and spent the night in a heavily wooded area in complete exclusion. We built a campfire at the river’s edge and spent the evening telling stories in the flickering light of the blaze. We began in the town of Mingennes and ended in Chatel Censoir. Our first day, we were all very excited to get underway. While the rest went shopping for provisions, I got the “quick” course on piloting a 13 X 4 meter vessel. The first lock, a 10-foot drop, was stressful. As we were waiting for the lock to open we began to drift with the current and we soon found ourselves lodged diagonally in the canal. With the help of a wonderful couple from Belgium, we were finally able to free our boat and pass into our first lock. Once we passed through the first lock, we seemed to find our comfort zone. Maddie and Bella did a great job of tying us off in the next two locks and just like that, “Voila” we were a seasoned canal boat crew. We loved the boat. It had lots of space in the cabin below and plenty of area on the open deck above. The boat had dual controls, a set down below and another on the sun deck, which is where we spent most of our time. The kids all took turns steering the boat, much to their enjoyment. We motored down the Yonne River, and with the approaching sunset shimmering on the surface of the calm river and casting its honey glow on the white poplar trees lining the riverbanks, we pulled alongside a floating pontoon mooring, nestled alongside a pleasant campground, and watched the sunset over the river. On day two we motored from Bonnard to Auxerre. Wow, what a difference a day can make. We passed through eight locks with little or no trouble or stress. The girls performed like well-trained, well-disciplined naval personnel, tying us off, holding us steady as the locks filled, and untying us, all with relative ease. Along the way, we took the opportunity to make use of the bikes that we rented. At one of the locks, we unloaded the bikes and the children rode along the dirt towpath that borders the river, disappearing for stretches of a time, but always rejoining us at the next lock. We arrived at one of the locks to discover that it was French Mother’s Day and the European Union national referendum day, so we had to wait for a few hours for the lockkeeper to return from lunch and voting. We made use of the time by having a leisurely lunch on deck and then exploring the nearby village of Gurgy in search of a shop well known for its escargot. Unfortunately, the “Escargot to Go” shop was closed, but we had a fun time riding around this charming, stone village. Just before sunset we arrived in Auxerre, the largest French town that we would encounter during our trip. Appearing to be right out of the Middle Ages, Auxerre was an attractive town with plenty of architectural appeal. Towering on a hilltop overlooking the river were the stonewalls and spires of the ancient, Gothic Saint Etienne Cathedral. Arching stone bridges could be seen in each direction spanning the river, which at this point had widened considerably. We squeezed in along the banks near town and spent the evening “mooring and exploring.” We enjoyed a nice sunset dinner on deck as the bells of the cathedral tolled in the background. The kids loved feeding the ducks that surrounded our boat looking for bread and other handouts. Frankie continues to abhor clothing. He is most comfortable when he is naked. The only condition we placed on his nudity was that he had to wear a life jacket when he was roaring around up on deck. I am sure this made for quite a sight for passing boaters, our naked Captain Winky (as he is affectionately referred to by the crew) climbing up and down the ladders between decks and racing from bow to stern. We soon discovered that canal boating is a very social endeavor. Each evening, after we had moored, strangers from nearby boats would approach, extra beers in hand, say hello and introduce themselves. Because most of the boats covered the same distance each day, these new friends would stay with us for the entire week. We met so many nice folks from many parts of Europe and the world, including kind strangers from Belgium, England, Ireland, Italy, South Africa and Australia. On our third day we passed from the Yonne River into the Canal du Nivernais. The scenery remained stunning, green rolling pasture lands and hilly banks. The canal was more narrow, but still sufficiently wide to allow two boats to pass from each direction. Once again, we passed through many locks. We adopted a routine at the locks where we would take the bikes off while we wait for the lock to fill and Biz and three of the kids would ride along the tow path to the next lock. Meanwhile, one of the children and I captained the boat, actually soaked up sun, occasionally looking up to make sure that we were somewhere near the middle of the canal. When we arrived at the next lock, the bikers would rally, grab our ropes and tie us off. Then we shuffle up the bike team and I would repeat the exercise with a new first mate. We moored early that day along side the entrance to a famous winery, carved into abandoned quarries situated on a hillside near the river. The winery was deep within an old granite mine, the granite once towed by animals along the canal to Paris to build its many stone masterpieces. Now, the quarry is a winery where over five million bottles of the local vintage are stored. Later, we rode our bikes into the nearby towns of Vincelottes and Vincelles where we explored the picturesque, rustic stone villages, bought our daily supply of fresh bread, quiches, meats and cheeses and wine from local shops and then enjoyed a brilliant ride back along the green, tree canopied canal road. The day was full of blue skies, warm sun, and tasty ice cream breaks. We ventured into the sleepy little town of Bailly in search of the studio of a local artist of some renown, Georges Hosette, but his gallery was closed that day. Returning to the boat, the scene from the tops of the hills lining the canal was breathtaking. Drawn by the allure of the nearby winery and already somewhat intoxicated by the surrounding beauty and a wonderful day, Biz and I took a chance. We asked Maddie and Bella to watch Carmen and Frankie while we walked up the hill to visit the winery. Leaving our children for even a short time required extensive planning. Before we left, we conducted a man overboard drill, showing Maddie and Bella the proper way to throw the life ring, made everyone put life jackets on, locked all the hatches, except for the one leading to shore and said a prayer. Our visit to the winery was brief, and we had lingering doubts about our decision throughout, but we managed to take a quick tour through the chilly granite cave and taste a couple of wines before we headed back to the boat. Since we really have had very little time together alone during our trip, even a half-hour was fun and exhilarating. Of course, we could not stop worrying that something terrible would befall our children while we were gone, but lingering concerns notwithstanding, we had a perfectly wonderful, albeit brief, date at the Bailly winery. After spending nearly two days at Bailly, we decided to move up the canal a few miles for the evening. We passed through a couple more locks and then moored alongside a park near the town of Vincelles. It was a pleasant little town that seemed to spread out in each direction from the village chapel. We played games in a nearby park, kicked a soccer ball around, and tried a little fishing off the dock before retiring to our deck for some delicious steaks and (for the adults) some wonderful home grown red wine as we watched the sun set behind the stone village. We played cards by candlelight and then retired to our bunks, the sound of a nearby waterfall providing a perfect background for sleep. The next day we traveled from Vincelles to Mailly Le Chateau. A full-time lockkeeper tended each of the locks along the canal. The keepers live in state-owned, small brick and stone homes built alongside the locks. Each keeper puts their own personal touches to their houses and the locks. Many were elaborately landscaped. Most of the keepers had something to sell to the passing boaters. Items like syrup, bread, wine, home-canned vegetables and fruits to name a few. Madeline and Bella love to assist with the locks and the keepers were great, letting them turn the cranks to open and close the lock doors. Often the keepers would engage the children in casual conversation while they waited for the locks to fill or empty. This simple, relatively menial task became a highlight of each day as we passed through lock after lock. Before we departed, we ventured into Vincelles to shop for our daily fresh provisions. We happened upon a farmer’s market in the village square and loaded up on more baguettes, fresh vegetables and a couple of garlic roasted chickens. Another gorgeous day ensued filled with leisurely bike rides, card games with the Captain and plenty of nice scenery to absorb. When Carmen and I were alone on the boat, we enjoyed long conversations mixed with card games, puzzle assembly, and sporadic boat steering. Carmen was the perfect travel companion and a darn good first mate as well. Frankie and Carmen had invented a game to pass the time. The “fisherman” game was basic, but provided hours of entertainment for Frankie. Standing on the deck above, Frankie would toss a rope down the hatch to the girls who would tie something like a stuffed animal or a spoon. Then they would shout “fish on” and Frankie would excitedly yank it his catch and put it in a bucket. Along the way we passed more beautiful stone villages, charming chateaus, and rustic manor homes with thick thatched roofs, colorful shutters, and flower boxes full of all sorts of vibrant visual delights. Between the towns we passed through pastoral settings, fat brown and white cows grazing along the river banks, and verdant rolling hills broken periodically by patches of thickly wooded areas and splashes of bright red wild poppy fields. Near dusk we arrived at the seemingly deserted village of Mailly le Chateau. A picturesque parish set high on the banks of the river. From the river we followed sets of steep stone steps leading up a hill to an impressive castle overlooking the countryside. We encountered no one along the way. The shops were closed and there was no traffic. At the summit, we rested and soaked in the breathtaking view of the river below and the surrounding valley. We had chosen to moor outside of the village, along the river, using mooring stakes so that we would be completely alone for the evening. We camped close to a 16th century stone arched bridge and near a small shrine dedicated to St. Nichols, the patron saint of barges. We gathered up firewood and, after enjoying a sumptuous dinner of garlic roasted chicken and curried potatoes, enjoyed had an enchanting evening around the campfire under a canopy of brilliant stars. Our final leg took us to Chatel Censoir. Along the way we made an impromptu stop, pulling along the banks of the river in a secluded area near a beautiful stone arch bridge. We moored under the shade of an enormous oak tree, took our table off the deck and set it on the shore, and enjoyed a glorious picnic lunch in the pastoral setting, sipping wine while the kids rode their bikes. It was just this type of moment that epitomizes the relaxing nature of our canal boat experience. We had arrived a day early so we spent the day moored and did a day trip to the enchanting hilltop town of Vezelay. Vezelay was one of the charming, picturesque and history rich French towns that we visited. This striking medieval village sits high on a hilltop. As we headed towards our primary destination in Vezelay, the famous Basilica of St. Mary Magdalene, we followed the steep, narrow, winding, cobblestone streets. Passing through thick 12th century stonewalls, we encountered intriguing retail shops and restaurants along the way. It was here that we happened upon the gallery that represents the artist, Georges Hosette, exclusively. This was the artist that we had heard of during our boat trip, and we had seen some of his works in the little village of Bailly earlier in the week. We fell in love with an oil painting he had done of a stretch of the river that we had just traveled and had it shipped back home. The dramatic Basilica of St. Mary Magdalene crowns the top of “eternal hill” as we came to name the long winding stretch leading upwards from the base of the village to the cathedral. The basilica is one of Europe's largest and best-preserved Romanesque churches. Erected in the 12th century in Mary Magdalene’s honor, the cathedral purports to guard the bones and relics of Mary Magdalene. The church is an important stop along France’s pilgrimage trail and is one of the holiest places in French Christendom. Its Romanesque stone exterior was ornately sculpted with biblical scenes and an inspiring, intricately carved scene called “Christ in Glory.” Entering the cathedral, we were greeted by the hushed tones of a mass in progress. The white robed clergy, dwarfed under the towering, sixty foot high vaulted arches, passed back and forth across the altar, chanting, and swinging incense cauldrons as a large choir filled the cavernous cathedral with wonderful religious songs. We sat in the back and watched the ceremony steeped in tradition and mystery unfold. It seemed a fitting end to a magical week in France. As I suggested earlier, our canal boat experience seemed to get better and better each day. At week’s end we found ourselves more relaxed and energized than we had been for quite some time. Just when we were growing weary of the travel and beginning to look forward to returning home, we had one of best weeks of the trip, which served to completely rejuvenate us. We are now looking forward to the remainder of our trip with renewed enthusiasm. When we planned our trip, we wondered whether allocating a month to France was too much. In retrospect, we harbored no misgivings, judging our time in France to be perfect, not only in duration, but in experience. The only misgiving or regret that I have was that I was never able to find an opportunity to shout in French, “Help, I have been stung by a jellyfish!” NEXT DISPATCH. THE NETHERLANDS We look forward to keeping in touch with you. If you have a moment, please email us at ourworldtrip@aol.com.

Comments

[guile]

nice, cozy place you got here :)..