One month in. There was a lot of wonder and awe the first 3 weeks but this week, humanity – their enemy, has finally crept in. On one level it’s hard to believe because we’re in The Cinque Terre, the place where, “it’s impossible to take a bad picture.” Yet, here we are, getting all human. It’s an inevitable shame. Travel anywhere with anyone for this long and all the scenery and gelato in the world won’t prevent it. So, adjustments are made, pace is slowed and tours are cancelled for the sake of the kids. But mostly, understanding is deepened recognizing castles and cathedrals do not interest all, especially the cave explorers and swimmers. Learning to forsake history's past for the the present has been a good lesson for me this trip. Anyways, that’s my part in the humanity.
Tomorrow we’re head for Rome. Over the next 2 weeks, we’ll spend 4 days there as part of a Mediterranean Cruise (we are shamefully longing for). Our friend Becky Hammond will be joining us too which will be great. The cruise couldn’t have come at a better time. We’re not cruisey people but after 5 weeks with 7 backpacks, 4 outfits and 0 hotels, an all you can sit, eat, enjoy, floating pleasure island will be fantastic. Back to Rome though. I’ve wanted to go ever since, as a fourteen year old, I realized I loved ancient history. I have spent hundreds of hours leisurely reading about Julius and the Caesars of Ancient Rome. I say leisurely because Angie is always bugging me because I read “textbooks???, why would you want to read textbooks, and for fun?” So, to think that over the next few weeks I’m going to actually walk where the Caesars walked (and murdered), behold the Forum, Pantheon and Colloseum, see the actual chains that held the Apostle Peter and the prison that held Paul, wander through the catacombs, tour the Vatican and other ancient museums and oh yeah gaze upon the glory of the Sistine Chapel, David, Moses and everything else Michelangelo, I can barely contain my excitement. Plus I hear there's more pizza and gelato here.
Angie has graciously given me the green light to plan everything Rome (while at the same time reminding me that I will have a family which includes some pretty young kids tagging along, ha) so over the next 24 hours I have to painfully pick and choose, what to see and WHAT NOT TO SEE?? ARRGGH. The truth is, we’ll probably only have enough time to see everything listed above quickly which means I’ll be flipping my coin in the Trevi Fountain. (The legend goes if you throw a coin in the fountain it will insure your return trip to Rome) Anyways, we’ve all had parts of the trip we’re especially looking forward to and Rome is definitely mine. That being said, Florence, Greece, Turkey, Spain, Naples and Pompeii (Maddie’s favorite) will be ok to. I guess.
John
P.S. I wrote this last night so here's a quick update. We finally arrived in Rome at 3:30pm today, met up with Becky at our hotel which is maybe a stone's throw away from the entrance to the Vatican Museum. We showered up, not me and Becky, and then headed out for an evening Roman stroll beginning at The Forno (famous pizza place, the charge by the gram.) We were all starving so I bypassed the grams and bought pounds instead having no idea the cost. It was 7 euros, I nearly fell to my knees in worship. As we walked we chewed our slices of heaven while beholding such things as the Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps and oh a little place called The Pantheon. We hadn't planned to tour the Pantheon today but rounding the corner, there was the Pantheon. It was the most remarkable building these eyes have ever seen. We will tour it for real at the end of our cruise. Anways, before the Pantheon we stopped at Tre Scapilino and ate their world famous death by chocolate thing. Haha, I'm exhausted and can't remember the title but it was 5 euros per piece and the best 5 I've ever spent. TS boasts its chocolate thing is the best in the world and it is. I can't even describe to you how delicious it was, but its just behind the Pantheon so we're going back. Oh yes, we are. We ended our stroll, one block from the Spanish steps at one of the world's most lavish and largest McDonalds devouring hamburgers and fries for the first time in 5 weeks. After we finished Alexa looked up and said "this was my favourite part of Rome." I smiled at her, called her a blasphemer then spanked her right then and there.
Anyways, our mile long stroll through Rome was incredible and my eyes got misty more than once as I beheld this magnificent city I have only seen in my dreams. This time tomorrow we will be on a gigantic floating island scoping out the Meditteranean for 12 days. Italy, Greece, Turkey then ending with 3 days in Rome where I'll wander in awe once more. I've said to the kids that these will be some if not the best days of their life. I hope they are. John's in Rome. AHHHHHHH!!!
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Bella Familia
Wow. Italy. What made Italy especially striking to us was the contrast. Coming from France, beautiful, tidy, quiet, where you eat dinner slowly and people dress elegantly but conservatively (we would play spot the colour on any given France street- most people wore black, grey, brown and cream. All cashmere, of course). Then to get off a train where people are calling out to each other from their balconies, patting our kids heads and remarking “Bella familia!” boisterously, clothes hanging from every window, sixty year old women in leopard print (and some in head to toe black with kerchief, so I guess it’s all accepted here), people sitting outside cafes laughing so loud you feel like you’re at a carnival. From France’s grey stone houses to Italy’s pink, yellow, tangerine sorbet paradise. And even more eye opening is to go from England’s reserve, to France’s decorum to being hit on the head with Italy’s open armed joy. It’s quite the experience.
We walk down the street (there’s only one, and many, many twisty narrow alley’s) and see old ladies arm in arm who always stop to say something in Italian, patting me on the arm, patting the kids heads or just smiling. The old men are always sitting on benches smoking- and I think they’re the most happy go lucky old men in the world. They chat and laugh and call you over so you can chat and laugh too. They all love kids here- the older people, the young couples, the guys on motorcycles. They always stop to smile at them and then at us, like they’re congratulating us for… what? Having a family? Which I’m assuming is tied into the whole emphasis on family here. People that live here can trace their family history back hundreds of years to this same town and often same houses. Families live together, cook together and run businesses together. And in a sense, this little town of 500 is like a big family itself.
When we arrived without a key yesterday someone yelled down from their window, “You want in Martina’s place? I’ll give her a call for you!” When we needed a kettle for our can’t do without coffee, Martina’s parents and brother called us into their place, come come, buzzing around us like bees trying to round up what we were looking for. We ended up with some fifty year old bunson burner type deal and a bunch of plastic spoons, but mostly we just ended up feeling like the people here are the most laid back happy people we’ve met. The next day we asked if they had a cork screw and they gave us a bottle of their home made wine to go with it. So nice!
Of course, this is not to reflect poorly on England and France, which we loved, only differently. And not that these little Italian towns would remain pure bliss if you were here for longer than five days. I could imagine a few potential problems. Namely privacy, a thing we value a lot in our big spacious country. Our bedroom and bathroom windows open about a foot away from the windows across from us and we can hear the people preparing breakfast in the morning, talking, arguing, walking. There are other windows, jutting out beside ours and across from ours at all imaginable angles, all five stories down. And that’s just how it is for everybody. People lean out their windows, staring down at the street, sometimes calling down or waving, sometimes just watching you completely without embarrassment. I just don’t think that would fly in Canada. I mean, we all want to stare at our neighbors and see what’s going on, but we’re much more discreet about it. Little peeks here and there. The odd how are you. None of this openly gaping stuff.
It’s also less groomed here than France (although to me this is an upside all the way). Gardens and lemon trees and flowers grow wildly, and in any nook or cranny they can find. Cats are everywhere, happy and fat, living off the leftovers that restaurants leave out for them, sleeping on the mats outside shop windows. On our hike yesterday we passed a picnic table with a cat sleeping on it and a make shift cat tent. Beside him was a bucket with a sign asking for food for these “homeless and unloved cats”. People leave pieces of pizza or baguette and the cats pick through what looks good to them. The kids have decided that Italian cats are happy cats, just like the people.
I want to talk about our crazy cliff hanging hikes and the impossible views and the scrumptious food and the twin Sicilian pastry makers that we go “visit” every morning and, how did we miss this- St. Emillion, the most beautiful (and the oldest) wine town in France that we spent the day in before our train to Vernazza. Whew! Don’t worry, I won’t get into it. Not now, but I can’t promise it won’t come up later.
On a deeply disturbing note… we’ve somehow lost our camera cord. Yes, it’s true. So, no pictures until we track down another one, unless… unless… someone sends one via Becky this week! Hm. Just a thought. We have a Canon G8 so. . .its the cord that goes from the camera to the computer)
Angie
We walk down the street (there’s only one, and many, many twisty narrow alley’s) and see old ladies arm in arm who always stop to say something in Italian, patting me on the arm, patting the kids heads or just smiling. The old men are always sitting on benches smoking- and I think they’re the most happy go lucky old men in the world. They chat and laugh and call you over so you can chat and laugh too. They all love kids here- the older people, the young couples, the guys on motorcycles. They always stop to smile at them and then at us, like they’re congratulating us for… what? Having a family? Which I’m assuming is tied into the whole emphasis on family here. People that live here can trace their family history back hundreds of years to this same town and often same houses. Families live together, cook together and run businesses together. And in a sense, this little town of 500 is like a big family itself.
When we arrived without a key yesterday someone yelled down from their window, “You want in Martina’s place? I’ll give her a call for you!” When we needed a kettle for our can’t do without coffee, Martina’s parents and brother called us into their place, come come, buzzing around us like bees trying to round up what we were looking for. We ended up with some fifty year old bunson burner type deal and a bunch of plastic spoons, but mostly we just ended up feeling like the people here are the most laid back happy people we’ve met. The next day we asked if they had a cork screw and they gave us a bottle of their home made wine to go with it. So nice!
Of course, this is not to reflect poorly on England and France, which we loved, only differently. And not that these little Italian towns would remain pure bliss if you were here for longer than five days. I could imagine a few potential problems. Namely privacy, a thing we value a lot in our big spacious country. Our bedroom and bathroom windows open about a foot away from the windows across from us and we can hear the people preparing breakfast in the morning, talking, arguing, walking. There are other windows, jutting out beside ours and across from ours at all imaginable angles, all five stories down. And that’s just how it is for everybody. People lean out their windows, staring down at the street, sometimes calling down or waving, sometimes just watching you completely without embarrassment. I just don’t think that would fly in Canada. I mean, we all want to stare at our neighbors and see what’s going on, but we’re much more discreet about it. Little peeks here and there. The odd how are you. None of this openly gaping stuff.
It’s also less groomed here than France (although to me this is an upside all the way). Gardens and lemon trees and flowers grow wildly, and in any nook or cranny they can find. Cats are everywhere, happy and fat, living off the leftovers that restaurants leave out for them, sleeping on the mats outside shop windows. On our hike yesterday we passed a picnic table with a cat sleeping on it and a make shift cat tent. Beside him was a bucket with a sign asking for food for these “homeless and unloved cats”. People leave pieces of pizza or baguette and the cats pick through what looks good to them. The kids have decided that Italian cats are happy cats, just like the people.
I want to talk about our crazy cliff hanging hikes and the impossible views and the scrumptious food and the twin Sicilian pastry makers that we go “visit” every morning and, how did we miss this- St. Emillion, the most beautiful (and the oldest) wine town in France that we spent the day in before our train to Vernazza. Whew! Don’t worry, I won’t get into it. Not now, but I can’t promise it won’t come up later.
On a deeply disturbing note… we’ve somehow lost our camera cord. Yes, it’s true. So, no pictures until we track down another one, unless… unless… someone sends one via Becky this week! Hm. Just a thought. We have a Canon G8 so. . .its the cord that goes from the camera to the computer)
Angie
Italians love
Right now, I’m sitting in the jolly kid’s playground in the fantastic town of Vernazza one of the five (cinque) terre towns we’ll be visiting over the next five (cinque) days. While it would have been “neater” to hike between towns staying in a different one each night, we’ve somehow gained more luggage(no souvenirs, mostly books) and Ethan’s backpack has zipper issues and Angie has backpack issues which means I carry 2-3 packs at a time including the mammoth one on my back, so. . . I say forget what’s neat. Capisce? Vernazza is the crown jewel of the 5 so we have an apartment here and are hiking to the other 4 towns this week. (2 hour hike each way). We could take the 3-4 minute train but the amount of pizza and gelato we’ve been pounding back, gotta hike.
We arrived the other night after way too much train. We started off on an overnight train from Bordeaux, leaving at 1030pm. We reserved a sleeper (thank God and Angie) and I don’t know why but I had visions of something bigger. At the very least, fun. It was neither. No more than 8ft high and 6ft wide, it had 6 bunk beds and nothing else expect some poor old French guy who was the odd Close out. We arrived at the very dirty, crowded and not Nice (pronounced niece) station at 9am the next morning. None of us slept great (strangely the French guy slept amazingly) plus we were all starving so you can imagine how that went. Our next train left 90 minutes later – arriving in Genoa 3 hrs after - just 7 minutes before our third train pulled out.
We rode train #3 for an hour before getting off and boarding our final train, thankfully the shortest of them all. 14 hours, 4 trains, no sleep and ALL our luggage was enough to make us insane. We were grouchy zombies as we walked through beautiful Vernazza but somehow we found our apartment right away (a first) only to discover it was on the top floor which meant carrying all 8 bags up each and every one of the 70 steps to our apartment. Normally a walk like that up stairs that many would have been it, but after the kind of day we had I’m surprised we actually made it without someone losing their mind. As bad as all this sounds, it was probably worse. But. . . there’s nothing like personal space in the form of nudity and hot water and after all of us enjoyed both (privately in the form of a shower) we felt much better, said our sorries, had a group hug before proceeding downstairs (finally bag free).
We told Maddie she could choose the restaurant and she struck gold picking the best pizzeria in town. We devoured 3 “mamma mia oh how my heart pumps slower because of your greatness pizzas”, 2 helpings of Gelato each and my favorite – the local culture. I’ll let Angie and her gifted words paint the picture for you but let me just say this: While the French love what is beautiful, Italians love what is. . . Whether it’s the kind grandpa on the train helping our kids get off while patting them on the head and speaking passionate Italian, or the waiter laughing after asking the kids if they wanted wine too or the 75 year old who smiles from ear to ear every time we buy Gelato from him. Italians, especially Italians here, love what is. . .life.
The best though is Martina’s father, Guceppe. Martina is the woman we are renting our apartment from. When we arrived he must have seen us because he was right there and eager to help. He’s the town chatter, apparently, because every day on our stroll he’s sitting in the centre of town laughing and talking with everyone, including us, multiple times a day, showering us with gifts of grapes and homemade wine. Guceppe has grown up here you see, and this is his town which means all who come are his to care for. I have been humbled by his generous spirit and hope to learn from him this week. He, along with the other residents, love their life and this small town of 500 on the Italian coast has become a magnet for tourists everywhere (mostly the US and Germany). Here’s why. In general, people want a better life so they come to The Cinque Terre for its breath taking views, legendary hiking trails, mouth watering pesto, and party in your mouth gelato. They get it all but they end up getting something more, something they didn’t expect. A way of life. The challenge of course, is taking it home.
John
We arrived the other night after way too much train. We started off on an overnight train from Bordeaux, leaving at 1030pm. We reserved a sleeper (thank God and Angie) and I don’t know why but I had visions of something bigger. At the very least, fun. It was neither. No more than 8ft high and 6ft wide, it had 6 bunk beds and nothing else expect some poor old French guy who was the odd Close out. We arrived at the very dirty, crowded and not Nice (pronounced niece) station at 9am the next morning. None of us slept great (strangely the French guy slept amazingly) plus we were all starving so you can imagine how that went. Our next train left 90 minutes later – arriving in Genoa 3 hrs after - just 7 minutes before our third train pulled out.
We rode train #3 for an hour before getting off and boarding our final train, thankfully the shortest of them all. 14 hours, 4 trains, no sleep and ALL our luggage was enough to make us insane. We were grouchy zombies as we walked through beautiful Vernazza but somehow we found our apartment right away (a first) only to discover it was on the top floor which meant carrying all 8 bags up each and every one of the 70 steps to our apartment. Normally a walk like that up stairs that many would have been it, but after the kind of day we had I’m surprised we actually made it without someone losing their mind. As bad as all this sounds, it was probably worse. But. . . there’s nothing like personal space in the form of nudity and hot water and after all of us enjoyed both (privately in the form of a shower) we felt much better, said our sorries, had a group hug before proceeding downstairs (finally bag free).
We told Maddie she could choose the restaurant and she struck gold picking the best pizzeria in town. We devoured 3 “mamma mia oh how my heart pumps slower because of your greatness pizzas”, 2 helpings of Gelato each and my favorite – the local culture. I’ll let Angie and her gifted words paint the picture for you but let me just say this: While the French love what is beautiful, Italians love what is. . . Whether it’s the kind grandpa on the train helping our kids get off while patting them on the head and speaking passionate Italian, or the waiter laughing after asking the kids if they wanted wine too or the 75 year old who smiles from ear to ear every time we buy Gelato from him. Italians, especially Italians here, love what is. . .life.
The best though is Martina’s father, Guceppe. Martina is the woman we are renting our apartment from. When we arrived he must have seen us because he was right there and eager to help. He’s the town chatter, apparently, because every day on our stroll he’s sitting in the centre of town laughing and talking with everyone, including us, multiple times a day, showering us with gifts of grapes and homemade wine. Guceppe has grown up here you see, and this is his town which means all who come are his to care for. I have been humbled by his generous spirit and hope to learn from him this week. He, along with the other residents, love their life and this small town of 500 on the Italian coast has become a magnet for tourists everywhere (mostly the US and Germany). Here’s why. In general, people want a better life so they come to The Cinque Terre for its breath taking views, legendary hiking trails, mouth watering pesto, and party in your mouth gelato. They get it all but they end up getting something more, something they didn’t expect. A way of life. The challenge of course, is taking it home.
John
Friday, October 17, 2008
Au revoir France
Goodbye France, hello Italy! France has been good to us, so here’s a few things we learned:
Rent a car. For sure. The public transportation, which was quick and easy and everywhere in England, seems to be almost non-existent in this area. Plus, with a car you can explore all the beautiful country side and listen to NRJ, the hilariously bad radio station that plays the same four ear popping, monotonous, pseudo dance songs all day long. It’s just so terrible we can’t turn it off.
Limit the restaurants. We love, love, love the food- eaten simply. We basically lived off bread and cheese and fresh fruits and veggies, but the few times we tried a restaurant we ended up with things like ham wrapped around lettuce and cooked in milk or a plate of… meat. Just meat in all it’s gristly, sausagey glory. Oh- and steak is generally partially cooked hamburger. Just a few things you might want to know.
At least try to speak French. This one’s cliché, I know, but the French will come right out and say, "You must try Francais. Come. Try." And then you feel like you’ve been scolded by your strict but nice teacher that you secretly want to impress. If they don’t encourage you to speak it, they can get plain old unfriendly. Maybe that’s worse, I’m not sure, but it’s best to just go in there and fumble through a few poorly spoken bonjour, trois croissant, sil’ vous plait. Merci- type words.Which brings me to my next tip- eat lots of croissants. Just stuff yourself. It’s the best advice on this page.
Get lost. John’s talked about this one, but I sort of want to drill it into your head. Some of our best discoveries have been unplanned: an abandoned tower where John’s leg fell through the third floor, an old roofless house covered in vines, caves and castles (I know, enough about that already), great little towns with chatty potters and bakeries on every corner, old monasteries and churches (which have always been very welcoming and friendly to us, in England as well). It’s nice to do the research and plan a few things, but save some days for just driving or walking.
Rent cottages. I can’t believe we ever considered anything else. So much cheaper, for starters, but they also become your little home where you cook and do laundry and each have your own space (including a yard where the kids can play- in this case a two acre yard with a pool!) Cottages here are often hundreds of years old and full of character and story, giving us a good excuse to not do anything for the day but light a fire and read a book. Say it with me: hotel shmotel.
It is possible to live out of a back pack. We each have maybe four outfits, (they can be layered or mixed up, but still- three cheers for us) Books have been the hardest thing to minimize, and we’ve slowly been accumulating more and sneakily stuffing them into our already bursting packs. But, for the most part, we’ve done without a lot of "needs". Mostly the needs that make you pretty. Or conveniences like extra socks and umbrellas.
TV? Don’t need it. We’ve discovered that our evenings go pretty smoothly without it. We do have a copy of Nancy Drew, that crazy sleuthing teenager, which we may possibly have memorized by now, but for the most part we are a TV free zone. We light a fire (sorry- John lights the fire after a half hour wrestling match inside the wood stove), make some coffee or open a bottle of wine, and read, chat it up, write our fancy blog, etc. I understand that for many this is a less than thrilling itinerary, but it’s right up our bookish alley and now all I can think is how many evenings I spent watching stuff that was, at best, mildly amusing (of course I’m not referring to time spent watching the best shows ever, like Arrested Development or Flight of the Conchords, which I miss in a really pathetic way. I say if it gives you a good hearty belly laugh or really makes you think, it’s worth it. But how many shows do that?)
Don’t worry about the kids. This is a multi layered one, because that’s what we do naturally- worry about our kids. A few things that stood out in my mind were: school work, friends, sickness, kidnapping. School’s been great, if unconventional. Lots of hands on stuff, even some workbook stuff on those stay at home days. They’ve met friends, but they’ve also become so much closer to each other. They play together all the time and when Alexa got money from the tooth fairy (the pretty French fairy who leaves Euros and forgets to take the tooth- oops) she decided to buy cake for her brother and sister. Aw. No sickness. No kidnapping. See? These things usually all work out. Which, coincidentally, is John’s motto.
Tomorrow it’s an overnight train to Italy. We’re in a sleeper with six beds and I can’t help but feel bad in advance for that poor sixth soul that will be occupying bed #6. In an enclosed space with our rambunctious kiddos. And John. (I don’t mention myself because, hey, I’m the quiet one!) Hopefully it’s someone who shares John’s motto. Or a Buddhist monk.
Angie
Rent a car. For sure. The public transportation, which was quick and easy and everywhere in England, seems to be almost non-existent in this area. Plus, with a car you can explore all the beautiful country side and listen to NRJ, the hilariously bad radio station that plays the same four ear popping, monotonous, pseudo dance songs all day long. It’s just so terrible we can’t turn it off.
Limit the restaurants. We love, love, love the food- eaten simply. We basically lived off bread and cheese and fresh fruits and veggies, but the few times we tried a restaurant we ended up with things like ham wrapped around lettuce and cooked in milk or a plate of… meat. Just meat in all it’s gristly, sausagey glory. Oh- and steak is generally partially cooked hamburger. Just a few things you might want to know.
At least try to speak French. This one’s cliché, I know, but the French will come right out and say, "You must try Francais. Come. Try." And then you feel like you’ve been scolded by your strict but nice teacher that you secretly want to impress. If they don’t encourage you to speak it, they can get plain old unfriendly. Maybe that’s worse, I’m not sure, but it’s best to just go in there and fumble through a few poorly spoken bonjour, trois croissant, sil’ vous plait. Merci- type words.Which brings me to my next tip- eat lots of croissants. Just stuff yourself. It’s the best advice on this page.
Get lost. John’s talked about this one, but I sort of want to drill it into your head. Some of our best discoveries have been unplanned: an abandoned tower where John’s leg fell through the third floor, an old roofless house covered in vines, caves and castles (I know, enough about that already), great little towns with chatty potters and bakeries on every corner, old monasteries and churches (which have always been very welcoming and friendly to us, in England as well). It’s nice to do the research and plan a few things, but save some days for just driving or walking.
Rent cottages. I can’t believe we ever considered anything else. So much cheaper, for starters, but they also become your little home where you cook and do laundry and each have your own space (including a yard where the kids can play- in this case a two acre yard with a pool!) Cottages here are often hundreds of years old and full of character and story, giving us a good excuse to not do anything for the day but light a fire and read a book. Say it with me: hotel shmotel.
It is possible to live out of a back pack. We each have maybe four outfits, (they can be layered or mixed up, but still- three cheers for us) Books have been the hardest thing to minimize, and we’ve slowly been accumulating more and sneakily stuffing them into our already bursting packs. But, for the most part, we’ve done without a lot of "needs". Mostly the needs that make you pretty. Or conveniences like extra socks and umbrellas.
TV? Don’t need it. We’ve discovered that our evenings go pretty smoothly without it. We do have a copy of Nancy Drew, that crazy sleuthing teenager, which we may possibly have memorized by now, but for the most part we are a TV free zone. We light a fire (sorry- John lights the fire after a half hour wrestling match inside the wood stove), make some coffee or open a bottle of wine, and read, chat it up, write our fancy blog, etc. I understand that for many this is a less than thrilling itinerary, but it’s right up our bookish alley and now all I can think is how many evenings I spent watching stuff that was, at best, mildly amusing (of course I’m not referring to time spent watching the best shows ever, like Arrested Development or Flight of the Conchords, which I miss in a really pathetic way. I say if it gives you a good hearty belly laugh or really makes you think, it’s worth it. But how many shows do that?)
Don’t worry about the kids. This is a multi layered one, because that’s what we do naturally- worry about our kids. A few things that stood out in my mind were: school work, friends, sickness, kidnapping. School’s been great, if unconventional. Lots of hands on stuff, even some workbook stuff on those stay at home days. They’ve met friends, but they’ve also become so much closer to each other. They play together all the time and when Alexa got money from the tooth fairy (the pretty French fairy who leaves Euros and forgets to take the tooth- oops) she decided to buy cake for her brother and sister. Aw. No sickness. No kidnapping. See? These things usually all work out. Which, coincidentally, is John’s motto.
Tomorrow it’s an overnight train to Italy. We’re in a sleeper with six beds and I can’t help but feel bad in advance for that poor sixth soul that will be occupying bed #6. In an enclosed space with our rambunctious kiddos. And John. (I don’t mention myself because, hey, I’m the quiet one!) Hopefully it’s someone who shares John’s motto. Or a Buddhist monk.
Angie
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Angie is the man
Angie’s the man. Yesterday she convinced us that the Indian Forest Perigord would be so much fun. The title didn’t exactly scream “loads of so much fun” so I was skeptical. After our daily swim, and another beauty detour (getting lost) we finally arrived. As we pulled in I noticed some other cars. Good sign. We piled out of the car and wow! High ropes, low ropes, nets, ladders, zip lines and best of all - Risk. After talking with the energetic host we determined that there were 4 levels or colors and our kids could go on the first two, jaune and blanc. Angie and I signed up for the same kiddie colors and after getting strapped we headed for the trees. I silently cursed for wearing my pants, not only did the straps ride wayyy up they created unsightly pant bulges in places you don’t really want bulges (or do you? Nope you don’t, says Ang.)
After a quick Frenglish safety course on how to fasten your safety clasps clips metal thingies and an even shorter course on how to fasten your pulley as you zip line 10 metres in the air - we were on our way. Seriously, NOT ONE LIABILITY FORM not even for the kids. All the dude said was “I’d recommend you keep your eye on her, maybe one parent in front the other behind.” Ha Ha?? For the next 2.5 hours the kids did all their own clasps, clips, pulleys and zip lining (we helped Lex in the beginning but by the end she was calling for her mother to hurry up). When they weren’t zip lining they were walking across swinging bridges and logs (think Indiana Jones) and even climbing upside down as the line carried them into the trees. The day went amazing well and I’m proud to say Angie was right, loads of fun was had by all. The last course was too intense for Lex and since we were all 20ft above her when we realized it we told her to, uh, hmm, take pictures with mom’s expensive camera? Check them out below.
Today we let mom rest again (as great as our cottage is, its bed hasn’t been kind to Angie) so we took off in no particular direction (hmm, in no particular direction, great book title). We ended up on the road to Lascaux, the site of more cave paintings. Instead of going we decided to find our own cave. After an hour of thistles, scratched legs and steep cliffs we headed back for the car. We ended up stopping off in St.Genies, a typical France village. We walked through their beautiful medieval church and then headed for the boulangerie (not the silky sleep wear, its French for “bakery”). A few swallows later we were back on the road headed home, excited to have fresh boulangerie bread for lunch.
As I write this the kids are outside checking out some bulls that have made their way up to our property. Lex just burst in all excited because one bull was climbing on another in some sort of game. I suggested it might be piggy back and she looked at me nodding like “how do you know?
Three days left in France. We leave for the Cinque Terre (Italy) Saturday night. Our first overnight train experience.
John
After a quick Frenglish safety course on how to fasten your safety clasps clips metal thingies and an even shorter course on how to fasten your pulley as you zip line 10 metres in the air - we were on our way. Seriously, NOT ONE LIABILITY FORM not even for the kids. All the dude said was “I’d recommend you keep your eye on her, maybe one parent in front the other behind.” Ha Ha?? For the next 2.5 hours the kids did all their own clasps, clips, pulleys and zip lining (we helped Lex in the beginning but by the end she was calling for her mother to hurry up). When they weren’t zip lining they were walking across swinging bridges and logs (think Indiana Jones) and even climbing upside down as the line carried them into the trees. The day went amazing well and I’m proud to say Angie was right, loads of fun was had by all. The last course was too intense for Lex and since we were all 20ft above her when we realized it we told her to, uh, hmm, take pictures with mom’s expensive camera? Check them out below.
Today we let mom rest again (as great as our cottage is, its bed hasn’t been kind to Angie) so we took off in no particular direction (hmm, in no particular direction, great book title). We ended up on the road to Lascaux, the site of more cave paintings. Instead of going we decided to find our own cave. After an hour of thistles, scratched legs and steep cliffs we headed back for the car. We ended up stopping off in St.Genies, a typical France village. We walked through their beautiful medieval church and then headed for the boulangerie (not the silky sleep wear, its French for “bakery”). A few swallows later we were back on the road headed home, excited to have fresh boulangerie bread for lunch.
As I write this the kids are outside checking out some bulls that have made their way up to our property. Lex just burst in all excited because one bull was climbing on another in some sort of game. I suggested it might be piggy back and she looked at me nodding like “how do you know?
Three days left in France. We leave for the Cinque Terre (Italy) Saturday night. Our first overnight train experience.
John
Forest Perigord Pics
The view out our bedroom window most mornings.
Ethan on the low ropes. Mr. Brave graduated quickly to the high ropes, tarzaning through the trees.
Maddie was very confident leading the way.
Dont look down.
Ha Ha, little Lex all suited up.
The kids Swiss friends from next door leaf jumping.
Sensational cake from the local award winning chocolate shop.
The big frog I spoke about.
Lex and her smiley friend poolside. Lex is smiling like that because she wasnt sure her friend understood when Angie said SMILE.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Happy Thanksgiving
Happy Thankgiving Everyone! We are thankful for all our wonderful friends and family back home. We read and treasure every comment and would love to respond to each of you individually but time and the fact that we do not have internet prevents that from happening. Please know we love hearing from you, and are thankful on this, thanksgiving.
We are celebrating by going out for a fancy French meal tonight. Poor french restaurant, they are about to be Closed, pun intended.
The Closes
P.S. I am particularly thankful that the Oilers won their first game!
We are celebrating by going out for a fancy French meal tonight. Poor french restaurant, they are about to be Closed, pun intended.
The Closes
P.S. I am particularly thankful that the Oilers won their first game!
Rocamadour
Yesterday we spent the day doing a few random surprise things, which means we didn’t tell the kids where we were going, we just showed up. Our first stop was a mechanical toy museum with a huge selection of one hundred year old dancing, laughing, spanking and sometimes racially offensive dolls. It was actually quite interesting, although I can’t get those weird knitting Victorian dolls with the giant moving eyes out of my head. Shiver. So there was that.
Next was another water mill which has been making flour for the last 700 years. It was probably in the most beautiful spot we’ve seen yet, I’ll try to post a picture. One thing we love about Europe is the lack of safety regulations- if you see a cave, explore it, if the road is as wide as your car and jutting out the side of a cliff, be careful. The mill had all this creaky noisy machinery going on all over the place, water rushing through open places in the floor, one and a half ton stone wheels spinning 80 times a minute right there in the open, everyone touching the flour and throwing it back in the bin. It’s the real deal, giving us more freedom (and a little more credit, come on Canada…liability forms for laser tag?)
Our last stop was Rocamadour, a beautiful cliff side town and final resting place of the Black Madonna (and apparently Zacheaus, that wee little man.) It’s pedestrianized, so we parked in a neighboring village and walked- a lot. John was excited to do the 280 pilgrims stairs, but not on his hands and knees which I think is cheating for such an eager beaver. Speaking of safety regulations, they could really do with a few warning signs at the bottom of that stairway- phew! I may have had a mild heart attack or two.
The whole town is sadly quite the tourist attraction now, little shops selling plastic Marys and glowing Jesus postcards, nestled in between the ancient cave churches, frescoes and thatched roofs. It’s just the way things go, I guess, and it’s what keeps these little places alive, so we did our part and bought ice cream. But only to support the crumbling economy of Rocamadour, OK?
We had a yummy supper of crepes (more selfless support from the Closes) before coming home to one of our last France fires. Five more days…
Angie
Next was another water mill which has been making flour for the last 700 years. It was probably in the most beautiful spot we’ve seen yet, I’ll try to post a picture. One thing we love about Europe is the lack of safety regulations- if you see a cave, explore it, if the road is as wide as your car and jutting out the side of a cliff, be careful. The mill had all this creaky noisy machinery going on all over the place, water rushing through open places in the floor, one and a half ton stone wheels spinning 80 times a minute right there in the open, everyone touching the flour and throwing it back in the bin. It’s the real deal, giving us more freedom (and a little more credit, come on Canada…liability forms for laser tag?)
Our last stop was Rocamadour, a beautiful cliff side town and final resting place of the Black Madonna (and apparently Zacheaus, that wee little man.) It’s pedestrianized, so we parked in a neighboring village and walked- a lot. John was excited to do the 280 pilgrims stairs, but not on his hands and knees which I think is cheating for such an eager beaver. Speaking of safety regulations, they could really do with a few warning signs at the bottom of that stairway- phew! I may have had a mild heart attack or two.
The whole town is sadly quite the tourist attraction now, little shops selling plastic Marys and glowing Jesus postcards, nestled in between the ancient cave churches, frescoes and thatched roofs. It’s just the way things go, I guess, and it’s what keeps these little places alive, so we did our part and bought ice cream. But only to support the crumbling economy of Rocamadour, OK?
We had a yummy supper of crepes (more selfless support from the Closes) before coming home to one of our last France fires. Five more days…
Angie
Language
What amazes me is how quickly kids make friends with other kids regardless. Regardless of age, language, gender. Of course it’s when they have choices that it all gets complicated and they start to get choosy, but right now the only little people our kids have contact with in the world are three French speaking Swiss kids who love to wrestle and stand outside our window every morning yelling “Eet-en! Matt-ee! Aaa-leksa!” And, apparently, it’s all going swimmingly. Right now they’re raking up a huge pile of leaves, jumping in, burying each other, throwing the leaves up in the air and knocking the whole pile down. Somehow they’ve organized this without a common language (I saw Ethan demonstrating and doing a lot of pointing, but that’s as sophisticated as it gets.) They play huge hide and seek matches and tag, Ethan goes fishing with the boys in the pond while Maddie happily watches, Lex plays Barbies with the little girl (although I’m not sure how exactly that works, it seems to me Barbie has a lot to say) and they do a lot of basic running around screaming type stuff.
When they want to call on each other they just knock on the doors and smile and when they get mad at each other they all know the most powerful word, no. Our kids always say bonjour and they always say hello, so they are trying, but it really doesn’t seem to matter that much to them, this language barrier thing. It’s quite refreshing to watch.
John and I want to invite their parents over for cake. We found the tastiest most beautiful little tiny cakes in Sarlat which apparently have won awards all over the world (this makes me picture some kind of Cake Idol, which I think would be the best show ever) and they’re only around $3, so this is very bad news for me. Anyway, I’m slightly nervous that it won’t run as smoothly as it does with the kids. Even with the cake/bribe/ice breaker. I’m sure I can’t just point at them and grunt or yell NO when they don’t understand. I can’t grab their arm and guide it to the cake to communicate a friendly help yourself. Pointing and laughing and gently shoving each other wouldn’t be appropriate, but somehow kids let themselves get away with these things. It may be a little awkward, but they do seem nice so we’ll give it a shot.
Angie
When they want to call on each other they just knock on the doors and smile and when they get mad at each other they all know the most powerful word, no. Our kids always say bonjour and they always say hello, so they are trying, but it really doesn’t seem to matter that much to them, this language barrier thing. It’s quite refreshing to watch.
John and I want to invite their parents over for cake. We found the tastiest most beautiful little tiny cakes in Sarlat which apparently have won awards all over the world (this makes me picture some kind of Cake Idol, which I think would be the best show ever) and they’re only around $3, so this is very bad news for me. Anyway, I’m slightly nervous that it won’t run as smoothly as it does with the kids. Even with the cake/bribe/ice breaker. I’m sure I can’t just point at them and grunt or yell NO when they don’t understand. I can’t grab their arm and guide it to the cake to communicate a friendly help yourself. Pointing and laughing and gently shoving each other wouldn’t be appropriate, but somehow kids let themselves get away with these things. It may be a little awkward, but they do seem nice so we’ll give it a shot.
Angie
Caving
As I type this, our 11th day in France is nearing its end. Scheduled for our last week is a trip out St. Emillion (largest underground church in Europe as well as 90+ wine vineyards), Rocamadour, more canoeing, a France style Heritage Park, castles and caves and of course more relaxing in our beautiful home. One popular at home activity has been dipping in our pool. I say dipping because swimming implies the person in the water stays in the water longer than 4.2 seconds. The water is colder than Javert so we jump in, make a scene, and then jump out (narrowly escaping hypothermia). 37 seconds later we do this again giggling like school girls the whole time. We convinced mamma school girl to join us today (we told her the water was warmer than usual) and to her credit she jumped in not once, not three times but TWICE. Her reaction was worth the cost of this cottage. The downside is its possible she no longer trusts the man she married. The truth is, I’ve been nice to Ang “don’t call me Angela unless you’re the government” ie (I just made this nickname up now) - just ask her colorful new half llama’s wool half cotton all comfort sweater I bought her from the market.
Speaking of taking care of my lady, we let Angela sleep in the other day while the kids and I had daddy-kids time. I told them it was a surprise (mainly because I had no plan) but we ended up weaving down the D47 towards Commarque Castle. When we arrived the parking lot was empty so we scoffed at no one in particular - happy we were the first ones there. The castle is a 600m walk from the lot. When we arrived at the castle we were greeted by a bunch of no one. Everything was boarded up and there was a yellow signed nailed to the door saying something important in French. We guessed it included the words “closed and moron tourist.” My first thought which I somehow said out loud was “you know, this castle would be easy to breach, we could just scale that wall and then. . .” Maddie, the adult on this trip, talked me out of it, so I got down off the wall, then helped Lex and Ethan off too. We walked around the outside for a bit, admiring its castlenicity and then got bored and started to head back. Or did we?
INSERT SUSPENSE
Across the moat (there wasn’t actually a moat but it sounds better) we noticed a hill in the trees with some serious cave potential. Knowing France’s reputation for caves I recommended the others follow. Arriving at the hill we began to walk around it, through the trees and eventually swampy marsh wetness. Maddie was done at this point – never been a fan of the swamp. I thought about aborting but something deep inside and in front of me urged me forward. With Maddie on my back we continued through the marsh until I saw the reason for my urging. About 13 feet up on the hill was the opening of a cave hidden from common men.
I ran towards, and when we arrived I quickly saw the remnants of a medieval staircase (jagged rocks inserted sporadically into side of hill). I encouraged the kids to- climb kids climb- ignoring Maddie’s caution for the greater good. Reaching the mouth of the cave I looked inside then turned and said “I’ll go in and check it out, if I’m not back in 5 minutes, call the police.” My clever joke set me back 5 minutes as I had to convince Ethan I was kidding, of course I’m kidding son, daddy would never . . . die in a cave.” We headed in with the light from my Eddie Bauer watch as our guide. It was the most unbelievable experience. This cave was the real deal. The poor kids were extremely nervous but had followed me in anyways because the thought of being eaten by a bear outside the cave was worse than the thought of being eaten by a bear with dad, inside it. (No bears in these parts grandparents).
We walked for a few minutes (yes I actually could stand up) winding around, crouching, crawling on our bellies at some points until I killed the experience by accidently saying out loud AGAIN “hey look, bones.” (There was a tiny pile of bones, remnants of a small animal) The crying began and I, the light bearer, was forced to abort -escorting the whimpering kids back outside. I tried to go back in again as things had just gotten interesting but the kids were too freaked calling out “dad, DAD, DAD, every 3 seconds. I aborted again, forgoing my dream of a great archaeological discovery. As we walked back to the car the kids acted like they weren’t really scared, saying things like “we should have gone farther, the cave wasn’t that scary.” Ha ha, kids are great and so was the day even if some other dad gets to discover the cave paintings.
Speaking of taking care of my lady, we let Angela sleep in the other day while the kids and I had daddy-kids time. I told them it was a surprise (mainly because I had no plan) but we ended up weaving down the D47 towards Commarque Castle. When we arrived the parking lot was empty so we scoffed at no one in particular - happy we were the first ones there. The castle is a 600m walk from the lot. When we arrived at the castle we were greeted by a bunch of no one. Everything was boarded up and there was a yellow signed nailed to the door saying something important in French. We guessed it included the words “closed and moron tourist.” My first thought which I somehow said out loud was “you know, this castle would be easy to breach, we could just scale that wall and then. . .” Maddie, the adult on this trip, talked me out of it, so I got down off the wall, then helped Lex and Ethan off too. We walked around the outside for a bit, admiring its castlenicity and then got bored and started to head back. Or did we?
INSERT SUSPENSE
Across the moat (there wasn’t actually a moat but it sounds better) we noticed a hill in the trees with some serious cave potential. Knowing France’s reputation for caves I recommended the others follow. Arriving at the hill we began to walk around it, through the trees and eventually swampy marsh wetness. Maddie was done at this point – never been a fan of the swamp. I thought about aborting but something deep inside and in front of me urged me forward. With Maddie on my back we continued through the marsh until I saw the reason for my urging. About 13 feet up on the hill was the opening of a cave hidden from common men.
I ran towards, and when we arrived I quickly saw the remnants of a medieval staircase (jagged rocks inserted sporadically into side of hill). I encouraged the kids to- climb kids climb- ignoring Maddie’s caution for the greater good. Reaching the mouth of the cave I looked inside then turned and said “I’ll go in and check it out, if I’m not back in 5 minutes, call the police.” My clever joke set me back 5 minutes as I had to convince Ethan I was kidding, of course I’m kidding son, daddy would never . . . die in a cave.” We headed in with the light from my Eddie Bauer watch as our guide. It was the most unbelievable experience. This cave was the real deal. The poor kids were extremely nervous but had followed me in anyways because the thought of being eaten by a bear outside the cave was worse than the thought of being eaten by a bear with dad, inside it. (No bears in these parts grandparents).
We walked for a few minutes (yes I actually could stand up) winding around, crouching, crawling on our bellies at some points until I killed the experience by accidently saying out loud AGAIN “hey look, bones.” (There was a tiny pile of bones, remnants of a small animal) The crying began and I, the light bearer, was forced to abort -escorting the whimpering kids back outside. I tried to go back in again as things had just gotten interesting but the kids were too freaked calling out “dad, DAD, DAD, every 3 seconds. I aborted again, forgoing my dream of a great archaeological discovery. As we walked back to the car the kids acted like they weren’t really scared, saying things like “we should have gone farther, the cave wasn’t that scary.” Ha ha, kids are great and so was the day even if some other dad gets to discover the cave paintings.
Rocamadour Pics
Fresquoes worn down with age.
12 century Roman fresquoes.
Rocamadour at its most glorious.
Strolling with the kiddoes.
Pilgrims staircase led to this at the top.
We parked here and walked into Rocamadour. Long but worth it.
Eating lunch outside a cave after exploring the mill.
700 year old flour mill that just ceased operating commercially in 1959. Very neat.
Back of mill.
Back of mill.
Glad you love the pics everyone! Angie loves taking them.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Just another day canoeing to castle. . .
Yesterday we canoed down the Dordogne. You should know that between John and I we have a combined canoe experience of about half a day. The kids- zero. That’s OK because it turns out that the canoe is a patient and gentle transport, always steady when the kids get restless, easy for last minute maneuvering away from bridges, not getting holes when scraped along shallow rocky bottoms too close to the shore. We now know that we love the canoe!
We also love the Dordogne. I think we passed at least half a dozen castles, but it’s hard to say. Some are kind of hidden, or set back in the trees, some may not technically be a castle, just a really old fancy house with turrets. The trip takes about two hours without stops, but we got out at two little villages, both climbing up the side of a cliff and topped with an imposing castle. I think the best part was exploring these little towns with their twisting, narrow cobbled streets and their funny medieval houses, all kind of layered and tucked in behind each other. All of this on an impossibly steep climb. People live here, just like they have for a thousand years (minus the Nestle ice cream signs and the motorcycles), and I feel kind of bad walking around with my camera. But not too bad, I’ll post some pictures.
When we reached the top of the first village (Castlenaud) we decided to forego the castle for the next one, mostly because we were excited to burrow our way back through the old alleys and see what else we could find. What we found, besides more amazing old stuff, was that Ethan, Lex and John love to sprint down knobby cliff-like walk ways , while Maddie and I try to figure out how old the abandoned clay oven is (this is more fun than it sounds, OK?)
The second stop was very similar town wise but this time we explored the castle. Which was amazing. The last castle we checked out was Warwick in England, pretty cool, but full of reproductions, wax figures and people in matching vests with their hands folded behind their backs saying, ”Please don’t touch. Please don’t. No, we can’t have people going around touching that. Please. Thank you.” This is how I thought castles were done, and I promptly promised never to write about them again. Didn’t I? Sorry.
This castle was Beynac and, first of all, we were the only people there. Our voices echoing off the huge dining halls and our feet clomping through the endless passageways. We had total free reign, not a single vested person in sight, I couldn’t believe it. This meant Ethan could run ahead looking for doors that opened and “secret passageways”, Maddie could take her time absorbing it all and Lex could sing the whole time (yes, she does that.) All while John tried to read out loud from the guide book that the door to the left leads to a latrine and the tiny chapel has 700 year old frescoes and the heart shaped locks were put in as a tribute when Richard the Lionheart died from his gangrenous wound (a little less rough housing, perhaps, Richie)… it was pretty amazing having all that freedom.
There were actual tapestries, flags and paintings left on the walls, fading and peeling and not behind glass (which deeply disturbed Maddie.) The rooms were mostly empty except for the odd beaten chest or table and a kitchen full of 800 year old kitchen things, and because of all that it was so much more real. No gimmicks or theatrics, just the five of us exploring a massive cliff top castle. Some of the doors and stairwells were locked (which deeply disturbed Ethan), but we still spent almost two hours going from room to room before heading back down through the village and to our canoe. And, eventually, to our little mill house, exhausted.
What a day!
Angie
We also love the Dordogne. I think we passed at least half a dozen castles, but it’s hard to say. Some are kind of hidden, or set back in the trees, some may not technically be a castle, just a really old fancy house with turrets. The trip takes about two hours without stops, but we got out at two little villages, both climbing up the side of a cliff and topped with an imposing castle. I think the best part was exploring these little towns with their twisting, narrow cobbled streets and their funny medieval houses, all kind of layered and tucked in behind each other. All of this on an impossibly steep climb. People live here, just like they have for a thousand years (minus the Nestle ice cream signs and the motorcycles), and I feel kind of bad walking around with my camera. But not too bad, I’ll post some pictures.
When we reached the top of the first village (Castlenaud) we decided to forego the castle for the next one, mostly because we were excited to burrow our way back through the old alleys and see what else we could find. What we found, besides more amazing old stuff, was that Ethan, Lex and John love to sprint down knobby cliff-like walk ways , while Maddie and I try to figure out how old the abandoned clay oven is (this is more fun than it sounds, OK?)
The second stop was very similar town wise but this time we explored the castle. Which was amazing. The last castle we checked out was Warwick in England, pretty cool, but full of reproductions, wax figures and people in matching vests with their hands folded behind their backs saying, ”Please don’t touch. Please don’t. No, we can’t have people going around touching that. Please. Thank you.” This is how I thought castles were done, and I promptly promised never to write about them again. Didn’t I? Sorry.
This castle was Beynac and, first of all, we were the only people there. Our voices echoing off the huge dining halls and our feet clomping through the endless passageways. We had total free reign, not a single vested person in sight, I couldn’t believe it. This meant Ethan could run ahead looking for doors that opened and “secret passageways”, Maddie could take her time absorbing it all and Lex could sing the whole time (yes, she does that.) All while John tried to read out loud from the guide book that the door to the left leads to a latrine and the tiny chapel has 700 year old frescoes and the heart shaped locks were put in as a tribute when Richard the Lionheart died from his gangrenous wound (a little less rough housing, perhaps, Richie)… it was pretty amazing having all that freedom.
There were actual tapestries, flags and paintings left on the walls, fading and peeling and not behind glass (which deeply disturbed Maddie.) The rooms were mostly empty except for the odd beaten chest or table and a kitchen full of 800 year old kitchen things, and because of all that it was so much more real. No gimmicks or theatrics, just the five of us exploring a massive cliff top castle. Some of the doors and stairwells were locked (which deeply disturbed Ethan), but we still spent almost two hours going from room to room before heading back down through the village and to our canoe. And, eventually, to our little mill house, exhausted.
What a day!
Angie
Lessons learned
The French enjoy life, slowly, (the only way actually) and it’s seen most dramatically in how long it takes the waiter to return between courses. Our North American stomachs are used to FAST FOOD, so we gulp down our Msg before bolting out the door. Last night, we were eating on the terrace of a restaurant set in the cliffs of La Roque-Gageac, frequent winner of France’s prettiest village contest. We inhaled our food so fast (we had been canoeing all day) that Angie actually had time to leave and phone her parents before the desserts came. While embarrassing on our part, it was yet another lesson that the ultimate purpose of food may not be biological, but relational. Experts have shown families who share a meal together double their chances of remaining healthy and functional. The Close Family is slowly improving; France has been a good teacher indeed.
Speaking of teaching, here are some lessons I’ve learned these first few weeks:
1. While the French take their time, they drive fast. Many times I’ll look up and think I’m towing something. Although they tail, they never flash the bird, shake the noggin, or curse. They just pull out, pass, and away they go. Also, pedestrians don’t have the right of way here, expect it and you’re liable to get a leg full of fender.
2. As far as lizards and spiders go, we’re living in their house.
3. Next to God and the ones you love, beauty is the easiest thing in the world to take for granted. One week in France and we’ve already found ourselves speeding past beauty on our way into town. Beauty’s a multi layered creature, one I will write more on later.
4. As much as we love our evening TV, we’ve barely missed it. Although my Oilers start up again next week. . .
5. The richer the day - the fuller the life - the slower it will go by. England feels like a lifetime ago.
6. I’m learning not to hurry and experiencing more.
7. Washing machines take 2.5 hours and dryers are nowhere to be found. Dishwashers really are a God send (we’ve never had one before)
8. Ancient seldom means inferior.
9. In the end, the only investments that matter are love given and time spent.
10. Nancy Drew is a surprisingly good film (although it’s the first movie we’ve watched so that could have had something to do with it)
11. Finding a toad the size of a small dog in the wood shed late at night is enough to make Ethan, my and Lexa’s life, and Angie and Maddie fear for theirs.
12. Starting a fire is strangely similar to coddling a child. Patience is key.
And finally, always makes sure you bring cash when visiting Beynac Castle. It’s a 450 foot steep climb to the top, a long way down and an even longer 450 foot climb back up again. Sure Angie was wooed by my manly cardio but it hurt all over.
John
Speaking of teaching, here are some lessons I’ve learned these first few weeks:
1. While the French take their time, they drive fast. Many times I’ll look up and think I’m towing something. Although they tail, they never flash the bird, shake the noggin, or curse. They just pull out, pass, and away they go. Also, pedestrians don’t have the right of way here, expect it and you’re liable to get a leg full of fender.
2. As far as lizards and spiders go, we’re living in their house.
3. Next to God and the ones you love, beauty is the easiest thing in the world to take for granted. One week in France and we’ve already found ourselves speeding past beauty on our way into town. Beauty’s a multi layered creature, one I will write more on later.
4. As much as we love our evening TV, we’ve barely missed it. Although my Oilers start up again next week. . .
5. The richer the day - the fuller the life - the slower it will go by. England feels like a lifetime ago.
6. I’m learning not to hurry and experiencing more.
7. Washing machines take 2.5 hours and dryers are nowhere to be found. Dishwashers really are a God send (we’ve never had one before)
8. Ancient seldom means inferior.
9. In the end, the only investments that matter are love given and time spent.
10. Nancy Drew is a surprisingly good film (although it’s the first movie we’ve watched so that could have had something to do with it)
11. Finding a toad the size of a small dog in the wood shed late at night is enough to make Ethan, my and Lexa’s life, and Angie and Maddie fear for theirs.
12. Starting a fire is strangely similar to coddling a child. Patience is key.
And finally, always makes sure you bring cash when visiting Beynac Castle. It’s a 450 foot steep climb to the top, a long way down and an even longer 450 foot climb back up again. Sure Angie was wooed by my manly cardio but it hurt all over.
John
Picturesque Sarlat
These first pics are of beautiful Sarlat, the village closest to us.
John took this one through a hole in the door. These are the remains of a 13th century hotel, not open to the public.
La Roque Gageac; prettiest Village in France.
Canoeing pic.
Maddie looking over the walls of Beynac Castle.
Meeting room of Beynac Castle.
More canoeing scenery.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Food
If you can come to France just for the food, you should. If you need to quit your job and remortgage your house so you can try this food, do it. I think that’s sound advice. Who knew that a sliver of cheese could be packed with so much flavor? That when paired with a simple $4 bottle of wine your taste buds would suddenly be overwhelmed with different flavours- mushroomy, buttery, nutty and delicious.
We bought our cheese at the market in Sarlat where the lady told us it came from summer cow’s milk (always the best), is true gruyere because it has no holes, was one and a half years old, and never, ever put it in the fridge(she mentioned this 3 times, sensing our stubborn North American ways. Did you know they don’t refrigerate eggs here either?) She talked about cheese like it was a new born baby, swaddling it gently in brown paper and charging us $25 euros (yes, friends, that would be $35). Incidentally, cheese at the local Hyper Champion is about one tenth the price and super scrumptious. It also takes up both sides of an entire aisle. So if you come here I would recommend limiting your market cheese purchase to one time (but do it once, you’ll have a new found respect for aged milk products).
We bought some sausage that was so powerful it could knock a bland food eater out cold. A couple pieces with that wine and cheese, a fresh baguette that would put Safeway’s to shame (think crusty, chewy, peasanty- each with it’s own shape and personality), throw in some fresh vegetables and you have the world’s most delicious meal. The family we bought our veggies from insisted we buy some garlic, parsley and a gigantic mushroom to go with our potatoes that evening. They told us how to cook them up and we had that for supper. De-lish. Really, so good. We bought the freshest, reddest tomatoes and the strawberries were small, sweet, round little fruits. Just like the ones we grew in our backyard.
So we like the market. And we like the food here. And when we think of how we ate at home we feel embarrassed. The gigantic portions, eaten quickly, not giving us energy but zapping it away. With two main flavors: salty and sweet. There are thousands of flavors here and people see food as a ritual. They take time to prepare it and then to eat it. They know where it came from, they can tell the difference between the seasons of milk their cheese was made in and whether their duck was properly fattened. Here’s something- the super market doesn’t have a potato chip aisle. It has a tiny corner of the shelf with a few small bags of chips, kind of like how Safeway has a few pairs of pantyhose in their personal hygiene aisle- just in case. Just in case. Potato chips. It blows my mind.
One last quick thing. People here are beautiful. They can’t even help it. The men with their high cheek bones and their turtlenecks, the women with their effortless beauty. The women aren’t beautiful because you know they spent two hours straightening their hair and carefully applying their make-up. They are beautiful in that I just rolled out of bed looking like this and yes,I always dress in high leather boots sort of way. It lacks trying to hard, but it exudes pride. I passed myself in a window, wearing pig tails and my coat that turns into a pillow and I thought, hm. Perhaps a little too practical. And maybe that’s what I want to learn from the French. Economy packs of cheese from Costco and wearing converse shoes on a date night out with John might be missing some of the little pleasures in life. The small and beautiful things that really make each day jump, like buying a pretty bowl from a potter or eating lunch in a park. The things that don’t belong in a Superstore. France has been a good teacher!
Angie
We bought our cheese at the market in Sarlat where the lady told us it came from summer cow’s milk (always the best), is true gruyere because it has no holes, was one and a half years old, and never, ever put it in the fridge(she mentioned this 3 times, sensing our stubborn North American ways. Did you know they don’t refrigerate eggs here either?) She talked about cheese like it was a new born baby, swaddling it gently in brown paper and charging us $25 euros (yes, friends, that would be $35). Incidentally, cheese at the local Hyper Champion is about one tenth the price and super scrumptious. It also takes up both sides of an entire aisle. So if you come here I would recommend limiting your market cheese purchase to one time (but do it once, you’ll have a new found respect for aged milk products).
We bought some sausage that was so powerful it could knock a bland food eater out cold. A couple pieces with that wine and cheese, a fresh baguette that would put Safeway’s to shame (think crusty, chewy, peasanty- each with it’s own shape and personality), throw in some fresh vegetables and you have the world’s most delicious meal. The family we bought our veggies from insisted we buy some garlic, parsley and a gigantic mushroom to go with our potatoes that evening. They told us how to cook them up and we had that for supper. De-lish. Really, so good. We bought the freshest, reddest tomatoes and the strawberries were small, sweet, round little fruits. Just like the ones we grew in our backyard.
So we like the market. And we like the food here. And when we think of how we ate at home we feel embarrassed. The gigantic portions, eaten quickly, not giving us energy but zapping it away. With two main flavors: salty and sweet. There are thousands of flavors here and people see food as a ritual. They take time to prepare it and then to eat it. They know where it came from, they can tell the difference between the seasons of milk their cheese was made in and whether their duck was properly fattened. Here’s something- the super market doesn’t have a potato chip aisle. It has a tiny corner of the shelf with a few small bags of chips, kind of like how Safeway has a few pairs of pantyhose in their personal hygiene aisle- just in case. Just in case. Potato chips. It blows my mind.
One last quick thing. People here are beautiful. They can’t even help it. The men with their high cheek bones and their turtlenecks, the women with their effortless beauty. The women aren’t beautiful because you know they spent two hours straightening their hair and carefully applying their make-up. They are beautiful in that I just rolled out of bed looking like this and yes,I always dress in high leather boots sort of way. It lacks trying to hard, but it exudes pride. I passed myself in a window, wearing pig tails and my coat that turns into a pillow and I thought, hm. Perhaps a little too practical. And maybe that’s what I want to learn from the French. Economy packs of cheese from Costco and wearing converse shoes on a date night out with John might be missing some of the little pleasures in life. The small and beautiful things that really make each day jump, like buying a pretty bowl from a potter or eating lunch in a park. The things that don’t belong in a Superstore. France has been a good teacher!
Angie
Making Fire
Today marks 2 weeks since we left Canada. We’ve experienced so much in that time that it’s hard to believe it’s only been that long. We still have 12 weeks left which is honestly amazing because we could come home tomorrow and feel satisfied. (That being said, we’re not gonna so we’ll still see you in January).
I know I’ve said it before but for those of you reading, which I guess is all of you, the best thing you could ever do for yourself or your kids is to board a plane and fly somewhere, anywhere and “resort or vacation spot” doesn’t even have to be in the title. We chose to stay at out of the way places on purpose and it has ABSOLUTELY been the best the decision we’ve made. Touristy places are fine to visit, but to stay or live there longer than 3 days, not worth it. Not only are they 2-3 times more busy and expensive, (London, Paris and Madrid versus Bidford, Proissans and Granada) – they’ve been systematically drained of their local culture to attract Westerners with big checklists and only 2 weeks’ vacation. That being said, we are very excited about our Mediterranean cruise so I guess there’s a time and place for all kinds of travel, especially if that time and place is yummy and includes Greece, Turkey and Italy. Still, don’t restrict yourself by just travelling the tried and true, go off the beaten track. Thats where the jewels are.
So here’s something cool. We share our acre with another cottage that was just recently inhabited by a young family with 3 kids. We assumed they were from France (dumb us) and so I made my way over excited to use some French phrases I had just memorized a few seconds earlier. Half way through my god awful French they smiled and in broken English said “we are from Switzerland.” Kinda embarrassing actually but they seem like a cool family and acted excited when I invited them over for wine one night this week.
Here’s something not so cool. Because I am “the man” as Angie calls me (strangely only when she needs me to do something not fun) I have taken responsibility for keeping our wood burning stove blazing at all hours of the day. The cottage has a heater but we figured it would be cheaper and cozier to go ‘all fire all the time.’ Once the fire gets going, I have to admit, it’s great. But, to get the thing going is about a simple as teaching my youngens ping pong, which I’ve also been trying to do all week. (Truth be told, the ping pong has been a blast and they’ve picked it up quickly).
Anyways, our cottage is OLD, meaning stone, so each morning when I wake up – wait a minute there’s 4 people in my bed - imploring me to get the fire going. Brilliant me didn’t pack pajama pants so I throw on my swimming trunks, pulling them down to resemble PJ’s, then make a B line outside to get wood then back inside to the stove. The temperature inside the stove is frolier and the first day it took Boy Scout John a full 53 minutes to get the fire going which ironically displeased the 4 warm people, snuggled up on the couch in wool blankets. Ethan tries to encourage me in my fire starting by saying helpful things like “just throw on more paper” or “just throw on more matches (ha), or the very sweet “poor dad, working so hard on the fire, you don’t have to do this dad.” It’s gradually gotten better though as I‘ve learned to baby the fire- giving it lots of affection, but still, unless I have 25 minutes to spare, I point the freezing 4 towards the wool.
The plan for this week involves canoeing down the Dordogne, past the region’s great castles, lots of cave exploring seeing 15,000 year old paintings and natural lime formations, the markets of Sarlat, touristy Rocamadour and of course, making fire. Oh yeah, and continuing to slog through Les Miserables, my 1200+ page Frenchy book. A remarkable story.
John
P.S. I ordered the plat du jour today at a restaurant and later I found out one of the things was salad with duck hearts. Nice.
I know I’ve said it before but for those of you reading, which I guess is all of you, the best thing you could ever do for yourself or your kids is to board a plane and fly somewhere, anywhere and “resort or vacation spot” doesn’t even have to be in the title. We chose to stay at out of the way places on purpose and it has ABSOLUTELY been the best the decision we’ve made. Touristy places are fine to visit, but to stay or live there longer than 3 days, not worth it. Not only are they 2-3 times more busy and expensive, (London, Paris and Madrid versus Bidford, Proissans and Granada) – they’ve been systematically drained of their local culture to attract Westerners with big checklists and only 2 weeks’ vacation. That being said, we are very excited about our Mediterranean cruise so I guess there’s a time and place for all kinds of travel, especially if that time and place is yummy and includes Greece, Turkey and Italy. Still, don’t restrict yourself by just travelling the tried and true, go off the beaten track. Thats where the jewels are.
So here’s something cool. We share our acre with another cottage that was just recently inhabited by a young family with 3 kids. We assumed they were from France (dumb us) and so I made my way over excited to use some French phrases I had just memorized a few seconds earlier. Half way through my god awful French they smiled and in broken English said “we are from Switzerland.” Kinda embarrassing actually but they seem like a cool family and acted excited when I invited them over for wine one night this week.
Here’s something not so cool. Because I am “the man” as Angie calls me (strangely only when she needs me to do something not fun) I have taken responsibility for keeping our wood burning stove blazing at all hours of the day. The cottage has a heater but we figured it would be cheaper and cozier to go ‘all fire all the time.’ Once the fire gets going, I have to admit, it’s great. But, to get the thing going is about a simple as teaching my youngens ping pong, which I’ve also been trying to do all week. (Truth be told, the ping pong has been a blast and they’ve picked it up quickly).
Anyways, our cottage is OLD, meaning stone, so each morning when I wake up – wait a minute there’s 4 people in my bed - imploring me to get the fire going. Brilliant me didn’t pack pajama pants so I throw on my swimming trunks, pulling them down to resemble PJ’s, then make a B line outside to get wood then back inside to the stove. The temperature inside the stove is frolier and the first day it took Boy Scout John a full 53 minutes to get the fire going which ironically displeased the 4 warm people, snuggled up on the couch in wool blankets. Ethan tries to encourage me in my fire starting by saying helpful things like “just throw on more paper” or “just throw on more matches (ha), or the very sweet “poor dad, working so hard on the fire, you don’t have to do this dad.” It’s gradually gotten better though as I‘ve learned to baby the fire- giving it lots of affection, but still, unless I have 25 minutes to spare, I point the freezing 4 towards the wool.
The plan for this week involves canoeing down the Dordogne, past the region’s great castles, lots of cave exploring seeing 15,000 year old paintings and natural lime formations, the markets of Sarlat, touristy Rocamadour and of course, making fire. Oh yeah, and continuing to slog through Les Miserables, my 1200+ page Frenchy book. A remarkable story.
John
P.S. I ordered the plat du jour today at a restaurant and later I found out one of the things was salad with duck hearts. Nice.
Hallowed Ground
How awkward would it be if my name were Lance? I’d be Lance from France. Phew, dodged a bullet there. Trying to describe France is like trying to explain kissing but I’ll do my best. Cocking your head to the right while floating in towards your partner slowly close your eyes. .
Seriously though, France, especially its Dordogne region (pronounced Door doan) is breathtaking in its topography. That’s right, I said topography. All we’ve done for the first few days is get lost, even on purpose. Getting lost isn’t the chore it is everywhere else. Here, its almost a cause for celebration. Oh no, we left beauty, turned right instead of left and came to more beauty. FRICK!!
It’s a good thing we rented a car, that’s for sure (despite my $500 lost in translation insurance debacle, I’m still fighting it but mostly I’m just trying to keep my wife from murdering me). That being said Angie just told me she bought 4 boxes, or 48 weeks worth, of anti-lime salt for the dishwasher instead of 1 box of DETERGENT so – hey Angie is that an omelette on your face or what- hmm? Yeah I know, my thing was still worse. Much.
Friday was amazing. We woke up and drove to Moulin de la Tour, a 16th century walnut mill still in operation. It’s been in the family for over 300 years and the equipment and operation t hasn’t changed. It’s all still powered by water from the river. I’ll let Ethan take it from here (this is from his journal, permission was granted)
“Today we went to the Walnut Mill. We saw a big stone rolling on walnuts. The walnuts turned into pace (paste). Then they heated the pace. They pace was put in a bag. Then they put blocks of wood on the pace. The wood is pushed down by a machine powered by the water. Then since the wood gets pushed down the bag gets squished so all the oil comes out. I got to taste it, tastes really good.”
Actually Ethan’s description is spot on. The oil drips out the bottom of the bag into a container and then 2 weeks later after the sediment is removed it’s ready for use. The whole thing was quite remarkable really and even though the tour was in French the kids followed along pretty well. We bought some almond paste or pace, walnut oil and cookies and by the time we pulled out of the parking lot we just had pace and oil. We took a short video so I’ll try to post it.
After, we drove down the D47 pulling over every 5 minutes to curb our gosh faces (and take pictures). We ended up at Saint Christophe, the highlight of the day for me. Trying to describe this is impossible so I’ll post lots of pics. The gist of it, though, was tens of thousands of years ago; ancient man lived in caves in the cliff face, making use of them in remarkable ways. The most stunning part of the cave system was completed 500 years ago when a city, A CITY was carved into the cliffs, with enough room for a thousand people to live, work and play in. As we walked through their ancient home, remnants of entire rooms and even a church could clearly be seen.
The church was powerful for me (go figure) as crosses were clearly visible, carved in the walls, as well as ancient tombs in the cliff base and even a church bell hanging one story above. There was a rope hanging down so I started to tug on it but quickly stopped when French tourists got all animated and started pointing. Did I mention this carved cliff city we walked in was 10-12 stories high? As I walked through this ancient city I felt like I was on hallowed ground and stopped many times to pay my respects. History is sacred to me. It’s done my soul good, this trip.
John
Seriously though, France, especially its Dordogne region (pronounced Door doan) is breathtaking in its topography. That’s right, I said topography. All we’ve done for the first few days is get lost, even on purpose. Getting lost isn’t the chore it is everywhere else. Here, its almost a cause for celebration. Oh no, we left beauty, turned right instead of left and came to more beauty. FRICK!!
It’s a good thing we rented a car, that’s for sure (despite my $500 lost in translation insurance debacle, I’m still fighting it but mostly I’m just trying to keep my wife from murdering me). That being said Angie just told me she bought 4 boxes, or 48 weeks worth, of anti-lime salt for the dishwasher instead of 1 box of DETERGENT so – hey Angie is that an omelette on your face or what- hmm? Yeah I know, my thing was still worse. Much.
Friday was amazing. We woke up and drove to Moulin de la Tour, a 16th century walnut mill still in operation. It’s been in the family for over 300 years and the equipment and operation t hasn’t changed. It’s all still powered by water from the river. I’ll let Ethan take it from here (this is from his journal, permission was granted)
“Today we went to the Walnut Mill. We saw a big stone rolling on walnuts. The walnuts turned into pace (paste). Then they heated the pace. They pace was put in a bag. Then they put blocks of wood on the pace. The wood is pushed down by a machine powered by the water. Then since the wood gets pushed down the bag gets squished so all the oil comes out. I got to taste it, tastes really good.”
Actually Ethan’s description is spot on. The oil drips out the bottom of the bag into a container and then 2 weeks later after the sediment is removed it’s ready for use. The whole thing was quite remarkable really and even though the tour was in French the kids followed along pretty well. We bought some almond paste or pace, walnut oil and cookies and by the time we pulled out of the parking lot we just had pace and oil. We took a short video so I’ll try to post it.
After, we drove down the D47 pulling over every 5 minutes to curb our gosh faces (and take pictures). We ended up at Saint Christophe, the highlight of the day for me. Trying to describe this is impossible so I’ll post lots of pics. The gist of it, though, was tens of thousands of years ago; ancient man lived in caves in the cliff face, making use of them in remarkable ways. The most stunning part of the cave system was completed 500 years ago when a city, A CITY was carved into the cliffs, with enough room for a thousand people to live, work and play in. As we walked through their ancient home, remnants of entire rooms and even a church could clearly be seen.
The church was powerful for me (go figure) as crosses were clearly visible, carved in the walls, as well as ancient tombs in the cliff base and even a church bell hanging one story above. There was a rope hanging down so I started to tug on it but quickly stopped when French tourists got all animated and started pointing. Did I mention this carved cliff city we walked in was 10-12 stories high? As I walked through this ancient city I felt like I was on hallowed ground and stopped many times to pay my respects. History is sacred to me. It’s done my soul good, this trip.
John
Saint Christophe Pics
Its wierd passing castles each day on the drive into town.
Saint Christophe; amazing.
Couldnt find the delete button on this french computer.
Alexa bought that baby at Hamleys and takes it everywhere, even to this ancient Neanderthal home.
More Saint Christophe
My bell ringing.
The crosses at SC.
The crosses at SC.
More SC.
Squat sil vous plait.
The French eat a TON of these guys.
The French eat a TON of these guys.
Ancient dwellings.
More France. More beauty here then we know what to do with.
More France. More beauty here then we know what to do with.
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