French Blog 5: Paris and environs

Paris, ah the city of lights. One can’t feel the pulse of any large city with a short visit, one usually dedicated to seeing the landmarks. Still, as this was my sixth stay, the only landmark I spotted was the spike of the Eiffel Tower from a patio apartment. Instead, the visit came as a one-day stop over at Isabelle’s friends.

Those following my blog know that I met up with Isabelle this trip on September 11th in the Burgundy part of France, near where she was born. She’d been traveling the country for two weeks already, and I relaxed with her in the rural village of Pont du Vaux with her mother and brother. The last blog came after we left there and traveled to Aurignac, a small French village near the Pyrenees Mountains.

On Tuesday, the 20th, the day before we left Aurignac, we took a day trip to Lourdes. Famous for being the site of an apparition of the Virgin Mary, the grotto is known as a place with miraculous healing water, a destination for those who are afflicted with physical or mental illness. The Internet has photos of dozens of canes and wheelchairs hanging on the grotto’s walls, a scene I thought I remembered from my visit in 1983. Most likely my memory is faulty, for the area is modernized and clean, from the huge 1900-era cathedral to the sanitized and plexiglass-protected one-foot waterfall. This cathedral is a bit smaller than some we’ve seen, but still spiritual and, like the whole site, inspirational for holy and peaceful countenance. One can fill up bottles from faucets dispensing holy water, siphoned from the close-by rapidly flowing Gave du Pau River. And, of course, there’s a street with scores of souvenir shops featuring Virgin Mary trinkets. Isabelle bought several and collected some of the holy water as well. I told her I wouldn’t drink any, afraid it might undo the surgery that made me Jewish.

Wednesday at 8:15 we left Aurignac, driving the hour north to Toulouse Airport to drop off the rental, grabbing an Uber to the train station, and settling in the TGV, the high-speed train, for the four-hour ride into Paris. I described French train rides in a previous blog and will repeat here how comfortable and practical they are. We made the 420-mile trip in four-hours, with a single quick stop at Bordeaux. Tickets run as little as $15 with discounts for seniors, but we went first class at about $60. Compare that to airplanes, what with the security rigamaroles and delays and crunched up space, not to mention climate change issues, and trains win the equation. Except that even at 160 mph they’re slower than planes. About the same distance from Gulfport to Atlanta takes only an hour of flying time. Here I had time to put together one of my YouTube videos, although not realizing that the train rumble showed up on the audio until after it was published.

In our home in Mississippi I’ll often find Isabelle relaxing on the back porch with cigarette and wine, jabbering away in French with her many longtime friends. This visit has been an opportunity to meet up with several of them. In Paris we stayed at the home of a friend she’s known since childhood, their families having been friends for three generations, named Chantal and her husband Jean Charles. In his late sixties, he still works daily in finance, yielding them a lovely top-floor apartment in the heart of Paris, including the patio with the aforementioned view. After settling in, Chantel took us on a walk past ritzy boutique stores with glittering showcase windows interspersed between sidewalk cafés. At the outside tables, well dressed skin-perfect Parisian women relaxed over Spritz across from narrow-black-tie wearing businessmen, smiling at each other in their opulent happiness.

The neighborhood is awash with religion, ancient cathedrals peeking over twelve-foot stone walls and religious names assigned to each rue. We stopped in at one, a hidden chapel with glorious decorations (don’t they all?) where a choir sang lovely accompaniment to a congregation of nuns sporting black headdress. Chantel picked up a meal she called couscous, which had semolina accompanied by a collection of various meats, pork, lamb, steak, and chicken, as well as a vegetable medley of zucchini, squash, tomatoes, and onions. Served at 9 p.m. with both red and white wine, it’s a strikingly different culture to eat so late with these non-American foods.

September brought cooler weather to northern France, with overcast skies Thursday morning. Down the narrow Parisian street, just wide enough for a single car, we crossed to a huge indoor shopping building named Le Bon Marche (The good deal). Celebrating its 170th anniversary, the four-story mall featured all the chic brand names, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Givenchy, Cartier, etc. The prices hardly matched the mall’s name promise. On the top floor as part of the celebration, there was a brightly colored labyrinth with peek holes and in-jokes. We bought food for lunch at a huge international market, bringing it back home to enjoy at Chantal’s.

We took an Uber to another set of Isabelle’s longtime friends, Jacqueline and François. The nicest and generous people imaginable, Jacqueline has an exotic look from her Portuguese heritage. Her husband is a retired world-traveling auditor, in prime shape in his low sixties. They live 15 miles northwest of Paris in a suburb called Le Raincy. Up until the Napoleonic wars, the area held a castle with indentured peasants working huge farmlands. Now it’s a cute suburban city, bustling with little black French cars swirling around the narrow streets and roundabouts. Jacqueline still lives in the house where she grew up, about one block from Isabelle’s childhood home. As we walked, the two women pointed out landmarks, here is where they went to school, here is where they went to church, here is the café where they would meet with friends after school. We had aperitif for dinner, pâté, smoked salmon, sausage, French bread, spreads, and wine.

François had been eagerly awaiting our arrival, a planner, he set out a schedule for Friday, every half hour noted where we’d be. By 8 a.m. we left to drive northwest, around the northern edge of Paris, took a wrong turn, and found ourselves behind 50 minutes on his schedule. Nevertheless, just after 10 a.m. we arrived at Pierrefonds, a fairy tale castle. This is the site used in many movies, including the British TV series, Merlin. Originally built in 1400 by Louis, Duke of Orléans, it served as a defensive fortress for two hundred years. In 1617 its owner chose the wrong side against Louis XIII, so Richelieu had it stormed and destroyed. Well, partially demolished, because it was SO big some of the towers and structures remained. There was enough left that Napoleon bought it for three thousand francs in 1810 and threw a few parties in its remaining halls.

In 1861 full restoration began under the guidance of a series of architects, most notably Viollet-le-Duc. His active imagination added amazing flares, such as alligator rain spouts, gargoyles galore, and halls decorated with colorful animal symbols and light from bright stain glass windows. The structure is huge, a bargain at the 8-euro entry, still undergoing restoration, with a mile walk through magnificent hallways and decorated banquet rooms. The restored rooms have wood carvings, parquet floors, statues, and hand painted murals. I’d recommend this as a high point of anyone’s visit to France.

From Pierrefonds, we drove to the town of Amiens, having a prolonged lunch (is there any other kind?) at a cute little tavern with a brick fireplace, we welcomed its warmth. Our choices included Thai chicken, steak with fries, and whiting with saffron sauce. We had a four o’clock appointment to take a leisurely three-bench boat trip along the canals of Hortillonnages. In all my travels, I’ve never seen any place like this, miles and miles of bayous running between little islands of tiny houses and gardens right in the heart of town. The area used to be a large source of produce for Paris, now recreational where Parisian come to spend a day of so. Only accessible by small electric-motored boats, the little homesteads have neither electricity nor potable water, yet the hundred or so plots are all meticulously maintained.

Up the hill from the waterways stands the largest cathedral in France. How large? Two Notre Dames of Paris could easily fit inside with room to spare. Built in the 13th century, Cathédral Notre-Dame d’Amiens has a long history, perhaps most famous for its relic, the head of John the Baptist. Its lovely interiors include chapels with religious paintings and statues, wood carved choir lofts featuring religious and secular scenes, incredible lofty ceilings, and intricate stone carvings throughout. Yet most impressive is the outside structure, High Gothic architecture with rows of saints, flamboyant rose-stained glass window, and a spire reaching towards heaven.

After an hour rest at a corner café, with hot chocolate and snacks, we drove an hour back towards La Raincy. We stopped in the town of Compiégne, famous for its museums, restaurants, and as the site of the signing of the armistice ending WWI in 1918 and the surrender of France to Germany in 1940. Another nearly two-hour meal ensued, before we were back on the road to arrive home at midnight.