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!
Monday, October 13, 2008
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
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