Last Day in France

Writing from Lyon, which, according to Rick Steves, is France's best-kept secret. I think I agree. Not only is it the food capitol of the country which is the food capitol of the world-and we've been learning that first-hand- but it's also the real city of lights. Sometime in the past century, to celebrate Dec. 8, the whole city lit candles, and that turned into a yearly tradition which has contributed to making Lyon the authority on floodlighting technique. They actually have seminars here on floodlighting. Anyway, it serves the city to wondrous effect. The basilica of Notre Dame, which sits on a hill above the city, dazzles against the dark sky with its lit hues of blue, gold, and white, looking like the stuff of fairytales.
This is our last day in France, and as usual I'm in a hurry to say something interesting before my time on the computer runs out. I left off after Lourdes; that was the start of a rough patch in our hitherto smooth travels. Nothing too bad; we were pretty tired for a few days afterwards and Provence proved to be not as cool as I was hoping. May have had something to do with getting dropped by the bus in a huge Texan strip mall with no idea where our hotel was. It turned out to be the ugliest pink building we could spot from the parking lot. Avignon and Aix-en-Provence, where we stayed, seemed like big cities with their fair share of graffiti-ed post WWII buildings. But then again we were tired and so it was best that we didn't have a ton to run around and see.
The rough patch ended with The French Riviera. By contrast with our previous stops, perhaps, but certainly also in its own right, it was a feast for the eyes, with its rocky shoreline and pink and orange-roofed houses, flooded in golden light. Our hotel was in Nice; we dumped our stuff and wandered along the English Promenade, snapping shots like crazy. Monaco also gorgeous. We went into the Casino and played a few hands; won enough for a five hundred euro dinner on the top floor. Well, that happened in my mind. Could say more about this area, but in the interest of time, I'll close with an urgent appeal to all of you to drop what you're doing and go to it for some of the most beautiful sights you'll ever see.
Yesterday we went to Annecy from Lyon; it's a town close to the Swiss border and also the bishopric (right word?) of Francis De Sales. Took a boat tour along Luc d'Annecy, a lake sheltered by massive mountains and flanked by 11th century chateaux and montasteries converted into five star restaurants.
Tomorrow we begin our Italian adventure, starting in Milan. I'm far sorrier to leave France than I was to leave England, but stoked to see Italy. If they have any of the three-course melt-in- your-mouth meals that we've been savoring over here - and I believe they do - we can't go very wrong. Pretty sure the red wine in Lyon is worth making a special trip to France for.

A Fine Time in France

One of the interesting things I've noticed over here in Europe, particularly in France, is the amount of politeness built into society. Everywhere you go, people are friendly and mannerly, and you are always greeted with a "Bon jour" in any store or restaurant. I suppose that in the service industry, a greeting is to be expected. But one place you wouldn't necessarily expect such politeness is on the buses. We've been greeted promptly by every bus driver, and when we exit the bus, a farewell is always called out. The most interesting thing is that the people getting on and off the bus respond in like manner. Even the surliest of people are transformed by simple politeness, and everyone calls out "Cheers" or "Thank you" (in England), or "Au revoir" or "Merci" (in France). You get into the habit immediately when you're here. I tripped my way out of crowded bus the other day and was unable to call out my farewell to the bus driver; I felt terrible about it for days afterwards. . . Another custom of politeness I've seen everywhere is the kissing of both cheeks when meeting a friend. You always see this in the movies, and until now, I'd thought it was more of an exaggeration than anything. But having been in France for 3 1/2 weeks, I can safely vouch for its authenticity. Everyone does it; I've even seen groups of teenagers perform this ritual with each other. If you can get teenage boys to engage in a particular custom, you know it's one that has taken firm hold in a society.

Some of you may have noticed that there is a sad lack of pictures gracing this blog; we fully expected to find download access in Europe by now. In fact, we did have one opportunity while in Colmar, France, and we were very close to bombarding you with thousands and thousands of pictures. There was a USB port, the connection was good, and best of all, internet access was free. The problem came when it was time to actually download the pictures; all of the instructions were in French. The connection was good, but not fast enough to have a translation website running simultaneously. I'm sure the computer savvy among you would have risen to the challenge of downloading pictures in French, but the only thing I took from the situation was to remove myself immediately, with all of my pictures still intact on my memory card. I wasn't crazy about the idea of accidentally leaving all of my pictures on a small, crashed computer in France. We'll keep looking, but it might be the case that the pictures get posted at the end of our trip (I know, I emailed a lot of you and said that wouldn't be the case, sorry about that. . .). In the meantime, we'll see if we can find internet pictures of the places we've been, and put them in our posts from time to time. You can use your imagination and think about how much better these pictures will look when we're in them. . .

My last post was a hodge-podge of information, written while completely exhausted. I've since re-read it, and the only thing I can say about such bad writing is that it should serve to confirm the truth of what I said about our night train experience. You will all be happy to know that we are now in much nicer surroundings, completely refreshed from sleep on mostly comfortable beds. Things have improved over the course of this past week. We weren't sure at first, because after leaving the interesting but freezing Carcassonne, we somehow took a wrong turn despite our careful itinerary planning and ended up in Texas. Now, there's nothing wrong with Texas, of course, but when you're expecting to be in France, it's really bizarre to encounter a Buffalo Grill restaurant with signs all in English, complete with buffalo steer horns on the roof. Our hotel in Avignon ended up being out in the middle of nowhere, far from the center of town, and we were dropped off by bus in the middle of the largest parking lot I've seen in a long time with no idea where to go. The only good thing is that our hotel was next to a huge supermarket, kind of like Costco, except you didn't have to buy 20 yogurts at a time, thankfully. We spent a lot of time in it, buying food to eat in our small hotel room, because buses to and from the town center stopped running after 7:30pm. After freezing in Avignon for a couple of days (and no scenery to speak of - this is NOT like Texas, the analogy ended with the parking lot), we headed over to Nice and the French Riviera with warm, pleasant weather that reminded us of home. The coastline is gorgeous, and we spent a day going up and down the coast, visiting Monaco and a couple of smaller villages on the sea. A fine reward for enduring a night train. . . We're now in Lyon where the food is excellent, and we feel like we're in Paris again, only on a smaller scale. Apparently Lyon is the real City of Lights; they've even pioneered floodlight technology and host conferences for it that are attended by cities from around the world. I wonder if Las Vegas has ever considered attending. . . We will be heading off to Italy tomorrow, arriving in Milan late in the day. I have enjoyed France (despite how it may sound); it's a great country to explore. The food and wine are superb, and the countryside (for the most part) has been lovely, especially at this time of year.

Quick note: I started writing this blog a few days ago, so it's sort of in two installments, indicated by date.

Oct. 20: I write from an old half-timbered building built in 14-something and long since converted into a hotel. It's location is Amboise in the Loire Valley- the valley full of chateaux and rolling gold vinyards (and therefore sparkling white wine which even a red fan like me enjoys). Amboise has its own chateau made famous by Henry VII, who smacked his head on a low-lying lintel on his way to a tennis match and died. I think the locals find that funny.

We arrived here yesterday after traveling from Colmar, which was our first stop after Paris. Colmar is a quaint Alsatian village, from which we daytripped to an even quainter village - Riquewihr. About as picturesque as a town could be, with tall half-timbered buildings in bright candy colors of pink, yellow, blue, and green. If you broke a piece off a window shutter and bit it, it would be pure sugar. The Brothers Grimm must have been inspired by villages such as these; this one is only 15 kilometers from the German border. Perfect Christmas village - all it needed was snow and the crystal clear voices of a children's choir singing carols. We found a free wine tasting cave, but I wasn't actually big on any of them. I started getting scared and thinking, Do I not like good wine? but then we got to Loire and everything is fine again. The reds and whites are to be savored here.

From Colmar, we also went to neighboring Strasbourg and met up with my cousin Pat who is spending a semester there. He showed us the stunning chateau he's staying in and brought us to dinner with his group, at a little restaurant on the expansive wooded grounds. The hot food was a nice switch from the cafe sandwiches of Paris. Pat walked us back to the train station where we caught a train back to Colmar. We said something when we got there about how great it is to get into a small town where you know your way to a place after the first time getting there. Then we got lost for half an hour in an attempt to make it back to our place. I don't believe the concept of the straight line was big with medieval road-pavers.

Our hotel owner Agnes - a tiny woman with big brown eyes and a huge smile - told us last night that Clos de Luce, the home where Leonardo Da Vinci spent the last three years of his life, was to be free admission today-the one day of the year that they waive the 12 euro fee. Worth the visit - elegant well-preserved home and grounds full of full-scale models taken from Da Vinci's drawings. The best thing about it was the roaring fire in the old kitchen.

Bought some great wine today and drank it on a bench overlooking the Loire river. I thought it was a twist off cap but it turned out to be corked, so we set it on the edge of our bench in case any nice locals passing by felt like offering us a corkscrew. Sure enough, a Frenchman in a red sweatshirt and hat stopped with his group and threw an enthusiastic bunch of French at the lovely little wine bottle. I don't know if there was something special about this particular wine or what. They didn't have a corkscrew, but a few minutes after they left, they pulled up in their car and he jumped out of it brandishing a corkscrew; he uncorked the bottle for us and took a big swig with great relish before handing it back with a grin. I guess it wouldn't have been fair not to let have some.

Amboise is a slow little town with nothing much going on but a few shop-lined streets, a cheateau once inhabited by French royalty, a beautiful church called St. Denis which was at one time a stop on the Santiago De Compastella pilgrimage, and the Loire river. It's nice, though, to get into some places where we don't have a ton to do. I feel a little silly because we didn't even get to Chenonceau, the nearby chateau, but we took a long walk along the river and saw some of the countryside. A good rest-up before the craze of night-training it to Lourdes.

Oct. 23: So, two words on night-training it: never again. Actually, before long we will be doing so to get from Rome to Prague, but hopefully our recovery will be complete by then. I'll leave the details out but suffice it to say that Mary was kind enough to make this a feel like a real pilgrimage for us, complete with train delays at 1 am, seat reservations that others took comfortably for themselves so that we had to scrunch into the seats by the doors and jump up whenever anyone wanted to get off, unexpected transfers at 4 am (when everyone got off at Bordeaux and we finally had real seats, we thought it was smooth sailing. Should have been tipped off when we were the ONLY people left on the train and everyone else was standing right outside it peering back in at us with weird looks on their faces). Then the conductors came through and told us to get off. As a consolation prize, they gave us croissants while we waited in the blistering cold for our last connection to Lourdes. (Side note: Lourdes is Loo-AAA-duh in France. If anyone already knows that, thanks for not spoiling the fun for us. Then we somehow arrived in Lourdes half an hour earlier than we were supposed to: cartoon moment where our eyes popped open and we looked at each other for a split second before flying out of our seats. The last thing we wanted to do was miss getting off. I threw my shoes back on while MJ tore out of her seat to get the luggage down from overhead. I kid you not, I've never seen such quick action in my life: I took about six seconds to jam my shoes on and when I looked up, she had both our luggages - which are quite a trick to get up and down even for two people - ready to roll. We usually hoist mine up, which is the heavier one (I've got to stop buying you all such heavy gifts) with one of us on either side, and get it high enough to slide onto the overhang, but that's where it gets tricky. I guess that's where we reach our max and we just can't actually move it any more, so we usually hover in midair and try not to giggle at our silly stance until a guy feels sorry for us and helps us out. Anyway, we made it out and so there we were in the dark (it was still dark at 7:30, isn't that weird?) and - here's where Mary really got nice - there was no baggage check at the station so we lugged everything along with us to the grotto.
Lourdes is largely ruined by garish tourism. We trudged along in the gray dawn amidst neon hotel signs and shops brimming with cheap religious trinkets. The grotto itself it still a peaceful haven from the rest of the town. We caught the end of mass, walked through the basilica, and filled our water battles at the spring's fountains. We tried to see Bernadette's birthplace, but everyone closes for lunch at noon so we missed that, as we had to get back to the station and make sure we could get a train to Carcassone, which is where we are now. So glad we went to Lourdes even if was a hassle and not that aesthetically pleasing. You have the knowledge that you're in a holy place and that it means something to go out of your way to get there.
Carcassone is the oldest medieval city there is, close to the Spanish border, and we're staying within the castle walls - cold showers but so good just to take one - but more on that later as I'm running out of time.

Differences Between England and France

After visiting two major cities in relatively quick succession, it's hard not to start making rapid comparisons between the two. I've had high hopes of writing a long, eloquent post about all of the similarities and differences between London and Paris and what they might mean. However, time (and interest) not permitting, I'll settle for leaving you with some observations about the difference in attitude between the French and the English. Interestingly, the attitudes of each people plays out both positively and negatively; just depends on what you're experiencing at the moment. Stereotypically, the English are often seen as rigid and uptight, while the French are more relaxed and easy-going. You can see this with the security at the museums. At the National Gallery in London, Anna took a sip of water a bit too near one of the paintings and an English guard was immediately at her elbow, politely informing her that she'd have to stand in the middle of the room to finish her water. This is understandable, given the nature of the valuable works of art found in the gallery. But in Paris, security at the Louvre is practically non-existent. We walked into the museum with no security check for our bags (more security at the churches in Paris than at the Louvre), and headed off with hordes of visitors searching for the Mona Lisa. People were taking flash photography everywhere, there were no guard rails or roped-off areas in front of the paintings, and the Mona Lisa was swarmed by tourists, with barely a security guard to be found. It's nice that the French are so trusting, but I was surprised at how relaxed they were with such an amazing collection of art. The Mona Lisa was apparently stolen once by an angry Italian man back in the early 1900's who wanted his country's treasure returned to its rightful place, but I guess the French feel their security is good enough if there's been only one theft in all this time. . .

The flip side of this attitude is played out in safety considerations, and is most near and dear to my heart right now, as a beginning-to-be-weary traveler. Viewed from this angle, you would easily say that the English are very considerate and concerned for the safety of others, while the French might just as well care less. For example, the frustrating situation of having to cross the street 15 times to reach the other side is evidently not just an English oddity (as discussed in a previous post); we've encountered the same thing in Paris. But in London, there are guard rails all along the way, presumably to guide you to safety; while in Paris, these guard rails don't exist anywhere. The clear message from the French is that you are free to cross wherever you like. If you decide to cross where you're not supposed to and accidentally get yourself killed while doing it, it's your own fault and they won't do anything to prevent it. Nice. Another example of this difference in attitude can be seen in the reminders given on public transportation. The English are obsessed with reminders in all public places like subways and train stations to "mind the gap." This basically means "watch your step and don't fall into the tiny space between the subway car and the walkway." I'm not sure that the danger involved in getting onto subways or trains warrants so many reminders (automated voices, painted signs on the ground, even T-shirts bearing the phrase), but it is touching that the English really want to make sure you don't get hurt while traveling in their city. The French, on the other hand, are only concerned that you know where the line ends. "Terminus" is a phrase heard over and over again on buses and subways, and it basically means "the line ends when we say it does, and you'll have to get off whether it's your stop or not." While we were on a bus in Paris, the driver stopped en route to the Eiffel Tower, with no prior warning. All we heard was "terminus," and then everyone on the bus proceeded to file off to wait for the next one. Still don't know what that's all about. . .My last example (which is driving this whole post) was illustrated most clearly just yesterday. Riding the trains in England was a much different experience than it's been in France. Whenever there was a change or a delay on the trains in England, there would be profuse apologies and clear explanations for the delays ("We are very sorry this train is being delayed. This is due to a road vehicle striking a bridge."). The French evidently don't think this kind of thing is necessary. We arrived at the train station in Tours late Sunday night, trying to take an overnight train to Lourdes. When we got there, hundreds of people were in the station (odd for 10:00pm), all peering up at the monitors listing the train schedules. We discovered that all of the trains had been delayed for hours, but no one seemed to know why. We got in line at the information booth to see if our train was affected, but five minutes later, the booth closed. Everyone was turned away without explanation, left to fend for themselves. Not a great start for a night train. Turns out that our train was delayed too (found out five minutes before it was supposed to arrive that it wasn't coming for another hour), and instead of being a direct overnight train like our ticket said, we had to switch trains in Bordeaux. Only no one told us this when we got there (figured it out the hard way), and the only consolation was free croissants and cold drinks at 3:30 in the morning. Not so consoling standing on a dark platform in sub-zero weather (okay maybe not that cold, but when you're extremely tired and irritable. . .). We did finally make it to Lourdes, but when we left later that day, we ran into similar problems. Made it onto our first train just fine, but when we tried to catch our connecting train, it turned out that we had to get on a different train altogether and go to another city to catch our supposedly direct train to Carcassonne. No one bothers to mention these things - even the computerized schedule monitors don't always reflect the changes; I guess everyone here in France just knows that you need to confirm before getting on any train.

Well, all I can say is that up to this point, we haven't had any real problems to speak of, so we can't complain too much. I've heard that transportation in Italy can often be much worse, so maybe we're being well-prepared for what's to come later. At any rate, we're seeing some beautiful countryside and numerous picturesque little villages that rival what we saw in the Cotswolds and the Lake District. Colmar and Riquewihr are my favorite little picturesque towns in France so far. I love picturesque places (I know, hard to tell from this blog) and the kind you see in Europe seems so different from anything you see in the U.S. Places like Solvang come close, but there is still something so different in Europe. Amboise is a small town in the heart of French wine country, and I had the best wine I've ever tasted there. We took some walks there in really cold, brisk weather (think we're in for extremely cold weather the rest of our trip) and visited the house that Leonardo Da Vinci lived in for the last three years of his life. If I were the creative genius type, I could see living my last days on this lovely little estate situated in a beautiful valley, painting and inventing to my heart's content. All Leonardo had to do for payment was talk to his friend, King Francois I, every day for a little while. Hmmm. . .We're in Carcossonne right now, an interesting old medieval city located within the walls of an old castle fortress. Things are going well, despite how it sounds from my rant on French transportation. The people here are actually very lovely, and the food is tremendously good. Can't beat that combination. . .

Paris on Steroids

We've packed a lot into our days here. Blitzed through the Louvre on Wednesday, which really took a toll on the eyes. I get museum eyes after about two hours, and we were there for many. At one point, while trying to see the French paintings, I got stuck in the Sully wing, which winds through an endless maze of mummies and hieroglyphics. Tried to be interested in that for a while (come on, Anna, when can you see this pharoah again) but it didn't take. I am, however, developing a new appreciation for sculpture. Cupid and Psyche is magnificent. It looks beautiful before you can even make out the forms. If I could steal it I would; I can see why people become obsessive art collectors. I wound up in the Italian paintings (the Mona Lisa gets no time to herself with the swarms of people and cameras in her room) and tried to comtemplate a Leonardo Da Vinci Madonna and Child. I'm finding that trying to describe things in writing while I sit in front of them is my best bet against coming away from these art-stuffed places with a confused jumble of impressions.
Thursday we went to Versailles. Gold and more gold. How did they etch in gold like this? Paintings cover entire ceilings, arched French windows, enormous fireplaces. I now what a frieze is. They're really cool at Versailles - cherubs, full-formed, bursting from swirling gold backgrounds. We had lunch on the lush grounds (they stretch for miles around waterways) and there a terrible thing happened to me. Without warning, a vast quantity of olive oil sprang out of the hummus container in my hand and poured down my pantlegs. Looked perfectly horrible - far beyond recovery. I'll probably be leaving them behind as a gift for our wonderful hostel.
Friday we went to Notre Dame to see the inside and climb the towers, and happened upon a noon mass. Also happened upon a friend that I knew was going to be in Paris around this time - a fortuitous meeting and great to see a friendly face in a city where we know no one. We actually only know each other through our younger siblings, who are great friends, so neither of us quite recognized the other. She was thinking "That must be a Krestyn" and I was thinking "That must be a Dillon" until we approached each other gingerly after mass. She - Mary Katherine - arrived in Paris three weeks ago and is going through some hassle trying to get set up to attend the Sorbonne for her master's degree, so we were each a face from home for the other. She showed us her university area (where Thomas Aquinas taught) and graciously invited us for dinner on Sunday. I love what a small world it is.
Friday night we walked up the Champs-Elysees and climbed four hundred stairs to the Arc de Triomphe (well, it felt like four hundred) for one dope view of the city. A misty moisty evening but still a dope view. On our way back down the boulevard, we popped into Haagen-Daaz for the best ice cream of our lives after such a hot hike up the Arc, and people-watched.
Saturday we went to the Rodin Musuem. I didn't really know who he was before, but he has a cool style. Raw in a good sense. He was called "the dreamer whose dreams flowed through his hands." Humanness seeps through the pores of his figures.
And while I'm talking about pores... I could say something about the smells on the subway but actually, I want to say something on a general note about Paris' pores: they seep with beauty. Most sights are as I imagined they'd be - the glittering Champs-Elysees, loaded with perfect people and shops, the white dome of Sacre Coeur resting on Paris' only hill, Notre Dame's peaceful majesty (which has become my favorite hang-out, night or day. I sit in the square and stare at the towers, while the pidgeons swarm about, feasting on tourist crumbs at my feet, people throng around the cathedral and along the river, the famous bells sound every quarter of the hour, and I wish that I had a little memory box to assign these ones to, to pull out, dust off, and see as clearly as now). What's pleasantly surprised me has been the pervading lightheartedness of the Paris people. For a big, bustling city, it's bustle is about as leisurely as it could be. The night culture has a feel unlike any I've seen in a big city - not synonymous with craziness, but merely enjoying the evening, be it in a bar or cafe, at a concert, or just strolling down the streets (I know it has its red-light district, but it's really not that bad. just kidding, mom). In London people start clearing the streets at 1o pm, while here they're just beginning the evening. We went to a cafe at 8:30, and there were more people there at 11 (having dinner) than when we arrived. I don't think I could get sick of cafes. They're so muti-purpose - You can eat dinner or only a crossiant, read, write, converse, or just sip a drink and watch the world go by. For a people-watcher like me, it's great. I kept reading before I got here that Parisians love to see and be seen, and I kept thinking, how can they tell so much? Here's how: they actually place their cafes strategically along the streets, with prime fishbowl windows for easy gawking. And while I'm talking about cafes, I have a tidbit for Phantom of the Opera-Lovers: there's a cool Starbucks in the Opera quarter, full of chandeliers and wood floors, that will make you feel like you're on the set. The opera house itself is built over a lake, which supposedly inspired the musical.
One more tidbit for all of you, that I can't seem to gracefully work in here, but I can't leave it out, so I'll just drop it on you: Mary Jane got chased off the subway by a tall dark handsome French man in a suit. Awed by her beauty and grace, he couldn't resist.
Back to Paris' beauty-seeping pores. It's beauty that strikes you before you know you've been hit. Sights that are beautiful before you know what they signify. They got art right here. Maybe because they do prize leisure. But it seems it must also be because they're passionate, and have felt pain. From all the sin and horror that men have pulled down on their heads, such works of grace? I'm reminded of God's words: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness." Isn't that what real art speaks? That pain has been felt, and that from it, a glimpse into the beauty of God is grasped.
So these days have been great indeed. Although our time in Paris is drawing to a close, I think I'lll see it's lights again.

Sight-Seeing in Paris

As a native Southern Californian, I can definitely appreciate the wonders of public transportation found throughout most of Europe. Anna and I have become experts at navigating lengthy subway passages, confusing bus schedules, and rows of railway platforms. Although the subway systems in cities like London and Paris do add more time to your travels than you might imagine, overall, they are quite efficient and save you miles of walking. Southern California would benefit greatly by having such a system in place. Tonight, however, we experienced first-hand the not-so-wondrous aspects of mass transit. On our way to a lovely dinner at the apartment of some friends of Anna's, we took a subway line out to an area of Paris we hadn't yet visited. We boarded the subway that would take us to our destination, and when we first got on, it was a little crowded, but we found a place to stand near the front. At the next stop, 10 more people got into our car. Another stop, 10 - 15 more people squeezed in. By now, we were shoved to the back of this little area of our car, and I was convinced (understandably) that no more bodies could possibly be packed into this space. At best, about 20 people can fit rather uncomfortably into the car; presently, there were about 40. The subway train stopped again, and to my horror, 10 more people got on. I have no idea where and how they all fit in; all I know is that my face became very familiar with the feel of the glass window at the back of that car. The best part, of course, was the barrage of smells that accompanied this pleasant experience. I won't go into detail; suffice it to say that if taking regular showers is a sign of the snobbery of the American people, I will gladly remain a snob for the rest of my days. I was never so glad to get out into the fresh, cool air of night as I was this evening (and getting out of that subway car was an experience in itself). It was pointed out to me that the locals do realize there is a limit to just how many bodies can be packed into a single space, evidenced by the fact that no one else attempted to squeeze into our car at subsequent subway stops. But when arms and legs are dangling out of windows and preventing the subway train door from fully closing, I imagine that those things alone would cause anyone to think twice about plunging in . . .

Fortunately, we are not spending all of our time in Paris riding around on the subways; we do occasionally come up for air and culture. Paris has plenty of both, and we've been enjoying ourselves tremendously. For the last few days, however, we've worked hard for our enjoyment. We've been doing some hard-core sightseeing here in Paris; we bought a museum pass for 45 euros that covers the majority of the important museums and sights. It's a good deal, but the catch is that you have only four consecutive days to see them all. So you have to be prepared to really focus for those four days (not much time for lingering in little French cafés. . .). We spent our first day at the Louvre (a must if you're in Paris); day two was spent at Versailles (also a must; the grounds at Versailles are absolutely gorgeous.) Day three, however, was really the killer. We decided to see the major churches and Cathedrals of the old city area; these include Notre Dame and Saint Chappelle. Notre Dame is breathtakingly beautiful; I am a huge fan of the Gothic style of architecture. Saint Chappelle is also lovely - it was built for Saint Louis (King Louis IX - the only king to ever become a saint), and has walls made completely of stained glass. So far, so good. But a little later in the day, we decided to go up to the tower of Notre Dame, seeing as this was covered by our pass. To get there, you walk up an amazing number of stairs (not surprisingly). Fine, there is a great view of the city and you can see the belltower made famous by Victor Hugo, so it's worth the physical exertion, despite already being tired from intense museum-going the previous two days. Afterwards, we headed over to Champs-Elyseés, a rich, ritzy boulevard that ends with the Arc d' Triomphe. We decided to see the Arc first, then stroll leisurely down the boulevard. We walked quickly to the other end of the boulevard to get to the Arc, took several minutes figuring out how exactly to get to it (even though we could see it directly in front of us, things are not clearly marked here, so discovering that we had to go underground to reach the Arc instead of crossing the street in front of us took some real effort), and finally reached the entrance to . . . an amazing number of stairs that would take us to the top! We were completely exhausted at this point, and the sight of a perfectly functional elevator right next to the stairs with only a thin strip of red tape signifying its unavailability was almost more than we could take. But, we were determined to get full use out of our museum pass, so we put our heads down and charged up those stairs. It was a circular staircase that seemed to go on forever - Anna kept looking up and laughing, then kindly telling me not to look up so as not to be discouraged (and of course I wasn't at all discouraged by her disheartened laughter. . .). Somehow, some way, we did make it to the top, with me laughing rather hysterically by then from the lack of oxygen to my brain. There was again another incredible view of the city, and I guess that walking up an inordinate amount of stairs all in one day will actually save us from having to spend money to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, since we've essentially seen that same view twice now. Afterwards, we found a Haagen Daaz somewhere along the Champs Elyseés, and sat eating the best ice cream I've ever tasted and contentedly watching the world go by. We spent our final museum pass day at a less frenzied pace, visiting the Rodin museum, Napoleon's tomb and Army museum (yes, I took lots of pictures here for all you history buffs, as well as pictures of the World War II exhibit - several floors of this), and the Orsay museum (a little overrated, unless you really love Impressionism and everything that comes after that period in art history). We collapsed in a Starbucks at the end of the day (hard to justify spending at least 4 euros for a thimble-sized cup of coffee in French cafés, so we have to switch it up and get more bang for our euro at Starbucks once in awhile), and vowed not to walk up any more stairs. At least not until we got back to our room at the hostel, located on the (wait for it) fourth floor, which is really the fifth floor. All I can say is we better have really strong legs by the end of this trip. . .

First Thoughts on France

After an uneventful Chunnel Crossing on the sleek Eurostar train, we arrived in Paris on Sunday night (Oct. 7). The train ride is close to 3 hours, though crossing under the English Channel takes only 20 minutes of that time. I was expecting a big announcement of some kind to commemorate the crossing (something like "Say your final prayers now, just in case the pressure of the tunnel finally gives" might have sufficed), but there was nothing of the sort. I didn't even realize we'd crossed until we made a stop in Lille, the first city on France's side.

Relieved that my first fear had come to nothing, I gathered my belongings and prepared to face my second fear: French train thieves that hang out in train stations and terrorize unsuspecting tourists. Determined not to be one of the nàive ones, I clutched my suitcase with all my might and looked around at . . . lots of other tourists like me. Surprisingly (or not), the station wasn't what I expected: scary and unpredictable. At least, not scary. Unpredictable, yes, but in an interesting way: as soon as we stepped off the train and walked towards the station, we could sense an immediate difference in the energy level of the people around us. You could hear the excitement in people's voices, and there was a feeling of gaiety all around. Just inside the station, a group of young children were performing a choreographed dance to beautiful music. Onlookers gathered together to watch, delighted at the scene. We knew immediately that we were not in England anymore. (This incident, in fact, has been similarly replicated multiple times in the few days that we've been here. Whether we're walking along the Seine river, past a cafè, or through the subway tunnels, we've been serenaded with music. We've heard accordions, fluteophones, opera singers - even a French horn! I constantly feel as if I'm in a movie, surrounded by all this music.)

I don't know what I expected to encounter here in Paris; in fact, it's the city I read the least about before arriving. Anna was definitely the more excited of the two of us to come to Paris. But I've discovered, much to my delight, that Paris is a city that truly deserves the lovely compliments it's paid (things like "City of Lights" and "Most Romantic City"). I've been enchanted the entire time we've been here. There are grand, stately buildings everywhere, and the elegance of this city meets you in the most unexpected ways: the gracefulness of the people, the way the buildings are lit at night, and the peaceful refuges you can find even in the midst of this sprawling city. Oddly, for as large as this city is, you don't get a crazy, frantic feeling at all, the way you do in a place like New York. Tonight, Anna and I sat outside of Notre Dame, soaking up the calmness and beauty of the area. As we sat there, we could see several disparate things happening at once: a group of young people performing and dancing to rap music (but turned down so low we couldn't actually hear it), couples strolling arm in arm, and groups of others milling nearby. Somehow, despite the presence of so many different people around us, we could still sit peacefully at the foot of the Cathedral with the feeling that the night could not be more perfect.

It is wonderful to be here in Paris, in a way I wouldn't have imagined. I will have plenty more to say about this later, when I've had some to time to really take it all in. In the meantime, I'll be sipping coffee and eating things like mousse and cremè brulee late at night in charming little cafès. Life's tough these days . . .

Paris, je t'aime

Ok, I skipped out a bit on the last of England, as anyone who cares can see. Suffice it to say that were I to come back in another life as an animal, i would have no option but to be a sheep in the Lake District.
We've been in Paris for two days now and I can't say i've been disappointed yet. This is the city I have most wanted to see for ages. It started a bit rockily, getting sorted out in our youth hostel. Dive is all I can say. Tons of Asian kids running around but at least we have our own room - an austere little cell with steel bunk beds, flourescent lights, and cold faux tile floors. The one redeeming thing about it is the big window that peaks onto the backside of an apt building (like in Rear Window, i stuck my head out on the first night and got a look into the cubicled lives of the Parisians of Rue Trousseau). I dragged MJ to Notre Dame after we arrived so we could say a rosary at the church on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, but the grounds were closed all around. sure hope its the thought that counts. magnificent floodlit towers of the cathedral on the island in the Seine - we have still to go back and get inside.
Yesterday we ran around and got our travel pass for the city - cart ohRANGHZE it's called - and got our bearings without trying to see too much. Found an awesome cafe last night, where a terrible thing happened to me.I left behind my supertrusty pocket map of Paris. This was a gem of a thing, with metro stops and major attractions marked everywhere, and a metro map on the back. The real beauty was in its size. it folded neatly into a square that i could pull in and out of my windbreaker vest with the greatest of ease. so you see my pain. we've been somehow surviving without it.
so far the French are freaking great. Instant change of atmosphere from England - French boys singing in the rail station, folk groups dancing in the square. I fit in with the French women who don't seem to mind bedhead crumply hair that looks like it went through the dryer. The cafe culture is sweet sweet sweet, here all the world's a stage. running out of time - forgive this terrible blog, im soaking wet from a rainstorm that i walked in to get here and will try to mqke up for it next time...

Leaving Jolly Old England

Reading back over my previous entries, I see that I've used words like "beautiful" and "quaint" and "charming" in abundance. While I expect that trend to continue (there are only so many variations on those words after all, and what we've been seeing truly does merit these descriptions), I do have some new words to use on today's post. After we left the Cotswolds late last week, we headed over to the city of Chester, located on the west side of the country and just this side of the border with Wales. While it certainly had the fact of being an extremely old city going for it (about 2000 years old, I believe), Chester is clearly not in the running for most pleasant and picturesque city to visit. Rick Steves doesn't even mention it; what other evidence do you need? It was decent; we only stayed there so we could take a bus tour of Wales. But given everything else we'd seen in England, I was almost convinced that ugliness and dirt had been abolished in this country (almost). Chester quickly dispelled that foolish notion. So did some of the cities we saw on the train ride to and from Chester, and on to the Lake District: Birmingham, Worcester, Manchester. My apologies to anyone from these cities; I'm sure they have lovely qualities, but appealing externals are not among them. From the train, Manchester seemed to contain only great quantities of steel, dirt, and World War II-era buildings that don't appear to have had any upkeep or maintenance performed on them whatsoever. Still, our time in Chester wasn't a complete wash. We discovered that if we are lacking for Christmas plans this year, we can certainly make reservations (yes, right now!) at any of the pubs and restaurants in Chester for Christmas dinner. Prominently displayed in the fronts of most pubs, either in the windows or on large cardboard stands, colorful signs advertise a welcoming atmosphere for you and your loved ones to spend Christmas evening. I am relieved to know I have this option; not sure if I can think of a better place to spend Christmas than a pub. . .For your viewing pleasure, I have taken several pictures of these displays and they will be available to see at some future date.

After Chester, we moved on to the Lake District. Surprisingly, no one gave us much hint as to what to expect here; maybe many Englanders haven't actually been up to the Lake District. If not, they are missing one of the most beautiful places in their country. This area has truly spectacular scenery and it is one place where the pictures taken don't do it justice. I think one of the most amazing things about this countryside is the sheer extent of it; you look for miles and miles at this lush, mountainous, tree-filled land of lakes and villages and farms and deep valleys, and you expect it to disappear or change at some point; but it doesn't. As far as the eye can see, loveliness reigns. Does it get any better than this? If there is one place I've been where I thought I could live and die in complete peace, this is it. I've never seen an area like this, and I was quite taken with it. As you can imagine, York paled a bit in comparison (our next stop), but fortunately, the history of that city made up for its lack of rolling hills and lush prairie land. We took an interesting tour of York, led by a volunteer guide from the city. We did hear some blatant inaccuracies with regard to the Catholic Church and what she teaches, but in a land overwhelmed by the influence of King Henry VIII and his decision to break from the Catholic Church, I shouldn't really be surprised. It's terribly sad to see the destruction caused by Henry VIII's commands; more than 800 Catholic monasteries were destroyed in England and you can see many of their ruins. The York Minister is the largest cathedral in England and the only reason it wasn't destroyed is because it didn't have an attached seminary. When you see its grandeur, you can only imagine what other works of great beauty were destroyed at Henry's whim.

After nearly 3 1/2 weeks, our time in England has come to an end. We've made a good sweep of the country and we've really enjoyed our time here. We're getting ready to head off to France tomorrow; we'll be on the 3:00pm Eurostar train to cross the English Channel. It'll be interesting to see how we do with the language; I think we'll finally start to feel like foreigners. . .

By the way, the day after I posted about the lack of trash bins in London, we were told (without any prompting) that the reason for such a decision had to do with World War II. Apparently, trash bins were a popular place to hide bombs and a great deal of damage was done. So the decision was made to remove trash bins from all public places in London, particularly train stations and major sights. So much for my theory. . .