Trip to France Day 6: Lyon-Nancy II

Day 6, Part 2
When last we left our intrepid vacationers they had eaten a questionable lunch, but scored some yummy wine, in the village of Pommard. Then they continued their mission of reviving the French economy through the payment of highway tolls on their way to Nancy.

The trip (and traffic) into Nancy was mercifully uneventful. But Hubby absolutely deflated when he saw it was another city. On the approach, all you can see are high rise buildings. It isn’t terribly attractive. Once we got into the city, and the area around our hotel, the view was more attractive.

Hubby was upset because it wasn’t a charming little town or village. In fact, the only little town we managed to stay in was Pauillac. That was also the only B&B we stayed in, so I don’t know how much the fact we were staying mostly in hotels factored into us being mostly in cities.

I assured him it was going to be fine and that he did the best he could from thousands of miles away. I checked the Fodor’s. By that point in the trip I had finally realized Fodor’s puts a happy shine on almost everything.

I mean, really, do the towns pay to be included? Are the editors just afraid of offending anyone?

I started reading between the lines. If it described a place as being “vibrant with lots of energy,” I interpreted that as being a large city with bad traffic. The description of Nancy went on and on about the fabulous architecture and the mix of time periods and styles. No real warning that it was a big city. However, in a separate paragraph discussing the overall region, there is a passing mention that Nancy is the largest city in the area. Large in comparison to what? I mean, a large city in Vermont is much different than a large city in New York. Population counts would have been helpful. For instance, Wikipedia says over 100,000 people live in the city proper.

Psst, Nice Steps
We found our hotel with relative ease. They didn't have parking, so hubby had to dump me on the curb and drive a few blocks away to a public lot.

We were staying in the Hotel de Guise , which is a converted nobleman's mansion. The front foyer was all old marble, with sweeping curving staircases. There were big windows looking onto a closed courtyard.

And there was no elevator. Well, the hotels had been getting more affordable the deeper we got into the vacation, so it was bound to happen. We got some exercise dragging our luggage up to the third floor. There wasn't air conditioning either, but there was a desk fan in the room that was pretty helpful.

Psst, Nice Building
We were walking distance of the Place Stanislas, so we headed in that direction to get the gawking out of the way.

The area was set up with an elaborate building at one end, then a long, long plaza, that ended at a wee Arch de Triumphe, which was the entrance to the massive courtyard in front of the palace. A museum, an opera house, and another fancy building made up the other sides of the courtyard. Two of the corners had very large, elaborate fountains in them. The entire center was pedestrianized. There were a few restaurants and shops as well.

We went questing for an ATM, hoping for a BNP so we wouldn't have to pay fees. There was an awkward moment when a young woman with a backpack and a dog said something to me in French. I said, "Pardon?" So she repeated it. I could tell she was saying something about money and thought maybe she was trying to tell me something about a bank location. I called Hubby over and she repeated what she said for like the fourth time. Turns out she was begging. Oops. Well, we didn't have any cash, so she was wasting her breath.

Mmm, Pasta
On our way to the palace we had passed through the Rue et Place St Epvre, which had both a nice cathedral and a number of cafes. Since it was on the way back to the hotel, we headed in that direction in search of food.

Once nice thing about all the outdoor seating in France is that you can totally spy on what people are eating, which can help you make up your mind.

We ended up deciding on a place called Plazza Pasta, because it smelled good when we walked. We figured out which restaurant it was by matching the large, oddly shaped white bowls people eating had to what we could see inside. It was like a fast food, take-out Italian place. Really, you ordered a drink, pasta shape, and sauce all for one affordable price.

Yeah, I know, right? We're in France and we're eating quick cook pasta. I think we were both ready for something a little less elaborate for once.

It was really good. Sure, it wasn't the best Italian food I've ever eaten, but it hit the spot. Hubby got spaghetti with bolognase (bolognese?). I got spirals with carbonara. Little rolls rounded out the meal. Of course, coffee and chamomile tea finished it off.

I didn't sleep very well that night. We had two beds in the room. I think they must have been double/full size. They looked big enough, but I felt really crowded. Heaven forbid I switch to the other bed.

Trip to France Day 6: Lyon-Nancy I

Day 6, Part 1

Breakfast was in the piano bar. They were out of croissants, but there was a toaster, so I was able to toast my baguette. I also had yogurt. I was finally brave enough to try the yogurt the previous morning in Carcassonne.

Although it was plain, unflavored yogurt, it was so delicious I could have just eaten it out of hand. It was flavorful, but not as super tangy as American yogurt, and very creamy. I’d been watching Hubby all week, and the thing to do is mix in some jam to give it flavor. After I finally tried it, I was kicking myself for not eating any sooner.

After breakfast we headed out for some sightseeing, as was our wont.

Knock, Knock
The Fodor’s, because we had not entirely given up on that publication, informed us that Lyon has neat old passageways that were used back in the Renaissance by the silk merchants to transport their product to customers without exposing it to the elements. It highlights a number on the Rue du Boef and the Rue St-Jean that have attractive features.

As these streets were around the corner from our hotel they fit in with our need for something easy and fun to do before getting on the road. We put the river on our left, our hotel at our back, and walked for a block or two. Then we turned right into the city and away from the river. After another block or two we came to the Rue St-Jean and a little plaza lined with about a bazillion cafes.

I cannot tell you whether any of them were any good as we did not eat in them. We were very annoyed to discover all these eating establishments so very close to our hotel, considering how far we had to walk the previous night.

Now, I know that Fodor’s doesn’t have the space or resources to review every restaurant in a town, but it would have been nice to know they were there. A little shout-out in the description of the Rue du Boef or Rue St-Jean would have been enough. I guess it’s a lesson in remembering to ask for recommendations at the front desk, rather than relying exclusively on your guidebook.

Although it was around 9 am, the town was still pretty much asleep. Delivery trucks were out, and people were sweeping sidewalks, but most places were closed. People actually live in the apartments off the courtyards the passageways lead to. (to which the passageways lead?) I could tell because they had those buzzer panels listing names.

Many of the doors were closed. Some were open and we wandered down them and took pictures of the pretty or interesting courtyards. I wonder whether there is some rule that at some point in the morning those front doors have to be left open. I wonder if it is annoying for the residents to know that tourists are going to come wandering in and out.

In fact, in one we were on our way back out of the courtyard and saw a woman coming down some interior steps. She slowed down and looked at us kind of funny. But I almost think that is because she saw Hubby first. He’s cute and all, but I would slow down and prepare to retreat if I saw a big, unknown guy wandering around.

Wait, yarn?
Having satisfied our need to gawk at stuff we loaded up the car. Our sights were set on Dijon for lunch. Nancy was our goal for the evening. We were starting that vacation conversation of, “Oh, that will be our next to last night before we fly home.”

You might be wondering by now at the sever lack of fiber content in our vacation. I’m not a yarn tourist. I always plan to be, but it doesn’t usually work out for one reason or another. Before we left on this trip I spent some time online scoping out addresses for stores in the towns we’d be staying in, or passing through. Of course, I wrote down addresses based on the fact that we’d have a GPS. Without the GPS I tossed the idea aside like a broken pair of needles.

As we headed out of town, heading for the D933 it felt like we looped up and around town. We passed through a little neighborhood, so there were many traffic lights. As we pulled away from one light my brain suddenly registered that the store we were standing next to had a sign for “Plassard.” I thought, “Wait a minute.” I pulled out my little list of addresses, but couldn’t twig the street name and match it to my list. Hubby noticed me rooting around, but I denied any nefarious activity. He made the leap to yarn and how we hadn’t seen any stores, but I said not to worry about it since I didn’t know whether it was open, there was no place to turn around, and parking was (of course) uncertain. Also, I was still pretty mad at France and Lyon for the horrible traffic the previous day and wasn't much interested in giving them more money.

Route du Vin My Eye
We stuck to D933 for a while but ended up on the N74 along the way. We were in Burgundy country and thought we might see more chateaus. However, although we kept seeing signs saying we were on the Route des Grands Crus, we could clearly see the vines further to the left. Every so often we saw indications of another road over there, but we didn’t want to risk trying to get to it since it wasn’t on our map. It was hard enough to navigate when the road was on our map! We were pretty sure they put the signs on the wrong road in order to keep the tourists out of their hair.

The countryside was lovely anyway. Rolling hills, cute villages in the distance, stands of trees. It reminded us of Vermont.

After a while we realized that Dijon was still too far away for lunch. I flipped frantically through the guidebook, but everything it listed seemed to be closer to Dijon and therefore also too far.

Suddenly, we started seeing signs for "Restaurant le Pommard." It wasn’t in the guidebook, but Hubby recognized the town name because of wine production, so we took a hard left and headed in that direction.

Turns out everything in Pommard is named “[Blank] le Pommard.” This made it a little tricky to find the restaurant for which we’d seen the signs. Not that it mattered since there wasn’t any parking anyway. But then we saw a sign for parking for the Cave le Pommard.

We knew by then that Cave=Potential Wine Tasting, so we pulled in.

We were even more pleased when we saw the little enclosed courtyard parking lot had restrooms. Hubby hit the facilities, then headed into the store. I took a little longer getting out of the car. I was probably trying to disentangle myself from the four map type reference items I used for navigation (the Michelin map, the Fodor’s, the Southbey’s Wine Encyclopedia, and any pamphlets I snagged).

When I bounced out of the car I saw a lady sitting in the courtyard talking on the phone. She greeted me, so I

said, “Bonjour!” But apparently I said it at such a volume that she understood what I said without hearing how badly I mangled the pronunciation because she asked if I was French.

Ha! I was so surprised I actually did that thing where I looked around to see who she was talking to, while knowing I was alone. I said No. Then she asked if I was British. That made me laugh, because we got that a lot on the trip. I said I was American, and we continued on our way. She, however, sounded like she was British. It turned out she was French, but had learned English in Britain so had that accent.

In the meantime, Hubby was asking the young man inside if we could park there while we quested for lunch. He asked whether the kid spoke English. The kid said yes and started using slang, idioms, and such. Hubby asked if he was French. The kid said no, he was from Manhattan! He was a college sophomore and was just working in France for the summer to learn more about the wine industry. His dad is an importer in The States, so it was a logical move.

We walked around the corner to the Restaurant de Pommard. As it was by then 2 pm they were no longer serving full lunch. The waitress pointed out four lines on the menu from which we could select. Turns out they read “Ham, Ham Large, Cheese, Cheese Large.” Despite being overwhelmed with choices, we selected the large version of each, figuring it would be enough to share. Hubby also ordered two glasses of wine.

You will understand when I tell you my heart quailed when she brought out two slices of a ham terrine! The binder was a whitish material flecked with green, which might have been either broccoli or parsley. Yeah, we couldn’t quite tell by taste. The flavor was much more mild and less spicy than the rabbit terrine I had that first night in Paris. It was much more approachable. There were also a few leafy greens, a cold beet salad, and another red salad that was either more beets in a different sauce or cranberries. Also, there were these little piles of a cubes that were a clear, gelatin substance. I was brave and tasted the clear stuff, even though it reminded me of the putty, slime goop stuff I used to play with as a kid. It didn’t taste like much, just kind of salty.

There were four cheeses on the other platter. She told us to eat them from mild to strong. She told us the names, but as they meant absolutely nothing to me I was unable to retain them. The first was a soft white cheese like brie. The second was slightly orange, firmer, a little crumbly, but also with a mild flavor. The third was a soft white again, but with a crust that looked like crushed nuts. Hubby said he tasted horseradish so I stuck to the center of that one as far from the crust as I could get. The fourth cheese was orange again, kind of like Velveeta. It looked melted and had a rind with the appearance of crumbled paper.

It tasted like stinky feet.

I took one wee bite and couldn’t get bread or wine into my mouth fast enough to get rid of the taste. Hubby agreed. We had a good giggle wondering if they really eat it or just feed it to tourists to scare them away. The cheese platter also had a wee pile of greens, as well as some apple slices.

Hubby said we had to eat everything that was edible since we had to make a meal out of it. And we did clean the plates, aside from the stinky foot cheese and the cubes of clear gelatin.

We headed back to the Cave. NY Boy had four or five wines Hubby could taste from all around the region. It was very convenient that he knew about American wines as he was able to compare French label conventions—referencing if a wine is from a single vineyard or from a general region—and such to the way we do things here. This was very helpful for putting information in perspective. As we were the only two in at the moment, Hubby really put him through his paces with tons of questions. Hubby bought two bottles of wine. This earned him one of those cardboard carry cases, which was very handy for packing later on.

It was getting late by then, so we sucked it up and hopped on the A31 in order to blast the rest of the way to Nancy. We must have paid cash, as I don’t seem to have toll receipts. It's probably just as well. By then we'd already been joking for a few days that President Sarkozy should give us the Key to the City of Paris for single handedly reviving the French economy through our use of their toll roads. We were also concerned that President Obama would tell Customs and Immigrations not to let us back in as punishment for not spending all that money at home instead.

We amuse ourselves terribly.

Trip to France Day 5: Carcassonne-Lyon II

Day 5, Part 2.
(That's the view from our hotel window in Lyon.)

Lyon wasn't much kinder to us than Avignon had been.

As we approached the city we started seeing highway signs that said “bouchon.”
We said, “I wonder what that means?”
But figured it couldn’t be good.
Turns out it means “traffic jam.”
Although the first translation we found was “tavern.” Since that didn’t make sense at all Hubby used another translator, which said “stoppage.” That did make sense.

We went from cruising along saying, “Look! It’s the Rhone.” To sitting in crawling, bumper-to-bumper traffic. It was horrible, especially since we didn’t know what was causing it, or how long it was going to last.

So we bailed.

It might not have been our brightest moment, considering we didn’t have street level maps, but we were desperate.

Lost In Lyon
The situation only got worse. We drove in circles trying to figure out where we and how to get where we wanted to be. Of course, none of the road names we were seeing where on the lame little map in the Fodor’s.

Actually, just to twist the knife, I’m pretty sure the roads we were on were indicated, just not named. I’m pleased to report we did not have a fight, although it was a prime fight situation since we were stressed out and basically lost. Although I did find myself speaking in a very quite, precise, breathy voice in an attempt to counter Hubby’s snappiness.

Finally I told Hubby to head to the river, as it was the only landmark that was on the map, and go north along it until we saw something we recognized. Almost as soon as we did that we started seeing signs for the Vieux Lyon, which is the part of town our hotel was in. There was great rejoicing in the car as we followed the signs, although traffic was still pretty sucky. We crossed the Saone and stuck to the river bank again as our hotel was on the river.

Then, wonder of wonders, we saw a tourist office sign pointing the direction to our hotel! Things were looking brighter. We crept along the road, scouring the front of the buildings for a hotel sign.

Hidden Hotel
We did not see one.

We saw a building that had a French flag out front and a mysterious PH engraved on the front door.
I said it Hubby, “I think that’s it.”
He disagreed, since there wasn’t a sign.
I pointed out we were staying in the Phenix Hotel at 7 Quai Bondy and the numbers on either side of the mysterious flag building were 8 & 6. I said this in a very quite, calm voice.

Still, instead of taking the next left, he took the left after that. He had to because the street name had changed. Mind you, this was all one road running along the river, but heck it did bend, so I guess a new name was required.

So That's Why We're Ugly
I hopped out and ran back to the PH building. It was indeed out hotel.

I had the misfortune of walking in at same time as a pair of older women. There were two desk clerks. They obviously recognized the two women. So I did what any American would do, when they went to the left end of the counter I went to the right end. In my mind this indicated we were not together.

Apparently it doesn’t work that way in France because as the brunette helped the two women, the blond stood there smiling. So I squirmed around a bit. Nothing. I fidgeted some more. Still nothing.

Then I sighed in a loud and indignant manner and started to head for the door to at least tell Hubby we had found it. That got their attention. They asked if I was with the other women. I said, “Noooo.”

Yep, you read all that right. Lyon turned me into an Ugly American, but I couldn’t help myself.

So then the blond came to help me. We had reserved a parking space, which was good since there was nothing obvious on the street. She told me we had to go into the first left turn (the one Hubby passed) and they would open it up. I ran back out to Hubby with an update. Turns out they didn’t have a garage, per say. They had a two-car garage and we got to use one of the spaces. It was kind of weird, but, shoot, we were off the street and at our destination, so we didn’t care.

Hubby was all nice and polite, which hopefully made up for me being obnoxious.

What's That Smell?
The room was fine. It had a big bathtub, the bed was fine, and we had a nice view of the river.

After relaxing for a bit we went questing for dinner.

Here is something the guide books probably won’t tell you: Lyon smells bad.

I don’t know if it was the subway, the sewer, or the river, but it stunk. It was the warm, vaguely sewer smell cities get. Just to show you I’m not being xenophobic, I’ve smelled it in New York City as well.

Lyon also added to our hatred of the Fodor’s that started in Avignon. The book listed a cluster of restaurants as being across the Soane, a little north of us, and almost at the Rhone. We trooped over in that direction. We passed some nice park areas, but mostly it was ghost town empty streets, which made me nervous.

Since Lyon is one of those cities that has its foundations back in the 15th Century, perhaps earlier, the roads don’t always come together at nice right angles. This makes it hard to navigate. Well, we never did really find any of the places listed in the Fodor’s.

Mmm, Truffle Sauce
We ended up wandering into a place called Les Arcades.

We skipped appetizers as it was getting late and we were hungry. The menu struck me as Nuevo Continental cuisine. Hubby got a duck stir fry. He said it was ok.

I got a crepe stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese in a truffle cream sauce. Mine was very yummy. We could smell the truffle as soon as the plate got near the table. Hubby was very jealous as he loves truffle. He actually started dipping his duck in my sauce! It was very flavorful and rich. I did what damage I could and then Hubby finished the rest.

We shared one crème brule for dessert. The presentation was very neat. The waiter brought it to the table and then lit the sugar. This caramelized the sugar as we watched.

Really, who doesn’t appreciate an open flame for dessert?

We made it back to the hotel safely, despite having to cross through the empty streets again.

Trip to France Day 5: Carcassonne-Lyon I

Day 5, Part 1 (yes, I am amusing myself terribly by breaking each day into two parts.)

The next morning we went trotting downstairs for breakfast.

When we’d been peering out the hall window at the cathedral I could see part of a sitting garden and had wondered where it was and if we could visit it. Turns out it was the hotel’s. The breakfast buffet was set up inside a long room and then you could sit out in the garden. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage, in addition to cereal and bread products. There was also a machine that looked like a deep fryer, only it was full of water. Next to it was a bowl of eggs with a sign that said something along the lines of “These eggs are crude. We invite you to cook them to your liking.” I found it very amusing that it said “crude” instead of “raw.”

All Around the Town
After breakfast we went into the city to explore, heading for the Citadel. There was already a line building, but we were not deterred. It was E8 a head to get in, but Hubby remembered a card he was given in his program that gave him free access to national monuments or museums. It worked!

The Citadel was cool. Sure, it was just plain stone rather than all decorated like Versailles was, but it was still neat to see. You could roam around most of it. We didn’t get the guided tour, but there were plaques explaining things throughout.

We had fun peering over the walls, out the windows, and through the arrow notches. Then we figured out how to get out on the ramparts. The city has a double wall. We’d been walking along the exterior wall the previous night.

At that time a Canadian couple asked us to take their pictures. Hubby was a little behind me so I told them they should wait for him. I said I would end up cutting off their heads or something. Of course I asked them to take our picture as well.
When Hubby caught up the "Where are you from?" conversation commenced.
Hubby said we were from Connecticut.
Then the Canadian guy said, "But your wife is from Down South, right?"
That amused us enormously.
Hubby replied, "Well, actually she's from New Jersey."
But I guess everything is Down South to a Canadian.

This morning we were walking along the interior wall. It took us all the way back to the main gate that enters the city. That was good because it was getting on to noon and we knew it would take a while to double back along the wall. From the gate we were able to cut straight up to the hotel.

While we were walking along the ramparts we could see into many little gardens. Some of them seemed to be the backs of cafes, but some sure looked like private yards. I mean, we even saw someone’s laundry hanging out to dry. I thought it would be rather cool to live in a place like that, even it if it probably was close quarters. The shuttle driver who drove us out confirmed that a few people could live inside the walls, but they usually had a business inside.

Since we were cutting through town we passed many of the little shops. I’m sure they were all tourist traps, but they were intriguing anyway. We only went in two shops, well three. One had perfumes and handmade looking soaps. My mom had asked for a bottle of perfume that she wouldn’t be able to buy in The States. This place had potential. There was a name brand that Hubby said was widely available throughout France that the women in his program when ga-ga over. So I thought that wouldn’t do. Then I found a wall of bottles that said, “Souvenir of Carcassonne.” Many of the scents were available anywhere—rose, vanilla, violet—but that actual version was unique. I chose one named “My love” because it was flowery, as mom had requested. I also got myself a cube of lavender soap and one of amber.

The store next door was a cookie and candy store. Customers got one free cookie, which was nice. The center front was an oval display with many different flavor cookies. You got a bag and made your selections, which were priced by the pound. Well, gram or something I suppose. We selected just about one of each, unless we were sure it was a flavor we didn’t like.

My eye was also caught by a tea towel in another store that had a map of Carcassonne on it. But by then we had to book back to the hotel and check out. While we were waiting for the shuttle I told Hubby I really wanted the towel. I had noticed it was the same price as the wine one I bought in Pauillac, so I figured the price was reasonable. I went dashing back to the store, snagged it, and dashed back just as the shuttle arrived.

Back on the Road
We bid a fond farewell to Carcassonne. Our next stop was Lyon. We jumped on the A61 and headed along the Mediterranean. We weren’t able to go to the sea, though, because we didn’t have time and didn’t want to get lost.

We have toll tickets for Carcassonne-E to Montpellier-2 for E11.70. Then Montpellier-1 to Remoulins for E4.80

We figured we’d stop in Avignon for lunch. Hubby also wanted to see the Papal Palace where exiled popes lived in the 1300s. The Fodor’s made it sound like a charming town. We thought we would find sandwiches and eat in a park overlooking the palace.

We could not have been more wrong.

Avignon was another walled town. It was also severely lacking in parking. There were parking lots outside the walls that appeared full. This should have been a warning to us, but we plunged in anyway.

There was some kind of street fair going on, so as soon as we turned into the city we encountered a detour. As far as I could tell it was a giant flea market. There were cars and people everywhere. It was chaos! We drove in circles once or twice looking desperately for parking and trying not to run anyone over. On our second or third pass we managed to follow signs for a parking lot, but it was full. By then we were flipping out. We were hungry and had to use the bathroom, so we fled Avignon, casting some choice words over our shoulders.

We made our way to the A7 to continue to Lyon. We have a toll ticket for Orange-Sud to Vienne for E15.50. We ended up stopping at a rest area for lunch. Have I mentioned their rest areas are like little convenience stores? They have packaged sandwiches cut in half to triangles. Some packs had a sandwich and a half (three triangles), which was plenty for us to share. Earlier in the trip we had picked up a bag of chicken and thyme flavored Lay’s potato chips.

We drove along, munching our sandwiches and chocolate bars, and told each other, “We’ll always have Carcassonne.”

To Be Continued...

Trip to France Day 4: Pauillac-Carcassonne II

Day 4 Part 2.
We took the A62 out of Bordeaux to Carcassonne.

Let’s see, we’ve got toll receipts for St. Selve to Toulouse Nord for E 17.30. Then Toulouse S to Carcassonne for E 8.

Along this southern part was where we encountered the most consistent traffic on the highways. For most of the trip, we only really encountered traffic right around the cities.

Driving By
The country side was starting to get a little more hilly at this point. We were supposed to be able to see the Pyrenees in the distance, but the weather was pretty the hazy the whole time.

Carcassonne is a medieval walled city. The first part of the walls was originally built by the Romans. The wall and city were expanded on over the years. Hubby made sure we were in a hotel in the old part of the city, La Cite, which is inside the walls. This allowed us to take our car inside with us.

Approaching the city was kind of wild because the directions from the hotel said to take exit 24, which shot us beyond the city. We had to double back, but we were able to navigate by the road signs. If we didn’t have the directions, I probably would have said to get off at exit 23, judging by the road map, and who knows what would have happened then. Of course, this all meant we could see it, but then drove by it, which was a little confusing.

Popular Place
It was a mad house up by the old city section. There are three parking lots around it and people walking everywhere heading inside. We’d had Dany call head for us and they told her we should park in lot 3. To which we responded, "We hope we can find lot 3!" It took a while to find it as it was off the main road, beyond a cool old cemetery, tucked in a corner of the walls. Of course the catawampus road signs did not aid us very well in this endeavor. On the bright side we saw a good amount of the exterior walls.

Once we found it we were a little surprised to see a sign indicating it was full. Still, we identified ourselves as having hotel reservations. A guy got in another car and led the way for us. This was a very good thing as the roads were barely wide enough to fit the car! People had to squish against the walls or step into shop doors to make room for us. The lead car cleared the road and Hubby made sure to stay right on his tail.

The porter drove our car away after we unloaded our suitcases. The desk clerk explained that the car had to be out of the city by 10 am, but check out wasn’t until noon. So the next morning they drove car out and then had a little mini-van to take us to it when we were ready. There was a fee for parking, E 14 I think, but not for the shuttle, although Hubby did tip him.

We were in the Best Western Hotel Le Donjon. The lobby was all dark wood and tile. The staircases were all at multiple levels and I’m pretty sure I even saw one that when up on one side, down the other, and had another up level going off the side. Making it a tri-directional staircase. ::blink::

Our room was plain and serviceable. I think it’s one of the only rooms we had that had a little coffee pot. There was a mini-bar/fridge, which we had in several rooms. It also had air conditioning, which we totally needed because it was fairly hot and humid in this region.

Actually, the only thing I didn’t like about the room was that we had two twin beds pushed together. Separate sheets, blankets, and all. Grrr. But we could see the citadel from our room and we could see the cathedral from the window in the hall, which was pretty cool.

Wine! We tasted wine!
Carcassonne is in the Languedoc wine region. Through the hotel Hubby was able to set up a wine tasting with a Cave across the street. A woman and a man took turns pouring, and explaining the wine and producer. All the wines were yummy, but Hubby didn't end up buying any.

There were five wines, I believe, starting with a glass of champagne. Then a white and three reds. Or was it six wines, with three whites (including the champagne) and three reds? I don’t remember rightly, as it had been a while since lunch and the first two wines threw me for a loop. Wheeee! Hubby tried to help me out, but said I was going to put him under the table. He found it very amusing that I got so silly so quickly. But we didn’t have to drive anywhere else, so it was ok. Usually Hubby does tastings alone and I’m the designated driver. So it was nice to participate, but obviously I'm a light-weight.

Take that Canard!
After the tasting we went across the street diagonally and had dinner in the Le Donjon restaurant. It was kind of modern inside and the radio was playing all English music. This was amusing, at times, as the curse words weren’t edited out. snicker.

We had pre-paid for dinner through the hotel, so we selected from a price fix menu.

For starters I had salad with goat cheese and Hubby had fois gras, both of which were tasty. My entrée was duck confit with lovely little disks of fried potatoes with garlic. If I had a green, I don’t remember what it was. Hubby had a canard cassoulet, which was a little clay pot with white beans, chunks of duck, and sausage. It was all very well prepared. My duck just fell off the bone. It was also very flavorful. I took my first bite and exclaimed, “Oh, this is so good!" and started gobbeling it down. (I might have still been a little tipsy.)

(Here is a link to a random cooking blog I just found explaining what a cassoulet is. She even mentions Carcassonne!)

We ended up swapping plates halfway through. When we switched back I still had quite a pile of potatoes left and a good amount of duck. I keep a little plastic bag in my purse at all times in case I get a migraine (and the unfortunate side-effects of such). I slipped it out of my purse and loaded it up with my leftovers as subtly as possible. Hubby was my look-out and let me know when people were walking by so I could stop and look innocent. We had to take this extreme measure since doggy bags are not the norm.

For dessert Hubby had vanilla crème brulee and I had a chocolate lava cake. Are you noticing a trend with the crème brulee? Yeah, it’s one of our favorite desserts. And what better country in which to eat it? Of course, Hubby had coffee and I had chamomile tea. I couldn’t figure out how to order decaffeinated black tea, so I just started ordering chamomile.

The town had been pretty crowded with tourists when we first arrived, but by the time we were done dinner the place had cleared out. There were some people wandering around, but mostly it was quite. The walls in the hotel seemed a little thin, but it wasn’t too noise and we were able to fall asleep ok. Well, aside from that twin bed nonsense preventing snuggles!

Trip to France Day 4: Pauillac-Carcassonne I

Day 4: Pauillac-Carcassonne, Part 1. (Have I mentioned I'm long winded?)

Breakfast the next morning was the expected croissants, bread, jam, and yogurt. Later on Hubby and I discussed how it must be easier to run a B&B in France than in America since you aren’t expected to do a full, cooked breakfast.

We also grilled Dany for information. She said the fort we saw was one of three that used to protect the estuary. They were positioned so their cannon fire could cover the entire waterway.

She took the cost of the tolls in stride and said the highways were the best and fastest way to travel. She also said what we should have done was determine areas we wanted to see, then find a central location from which we could do day trips. Then move our base as needed. We were thinking, “Where were you in March when we were planning?”

It was all very interesting and informative. Then we went to pay her with our newly reactivated credit card. She said, “Oh, I kept meaning to tell you…my machine isn’t working. Do you have cash?”

I’m sure the sound of our jaws hitting the floor was audible. So Hubby turned to me and said, “I’m going to leave you here as a hostage and go find money.” I told him he could take the card and his passport into the bank and get a cash advance, which would suck since cash advances have higher APRs. But desperate times and all that. I hadn’t called the ATM card the night before, since we wanted dinner, and by morning they were closed because it was around 6 am EDT. However, when Hubby got to the bank he decided to try his ATM card, just for grins, and it worked. We were back in business.

I would have to say Wednesday was the best day of the trip. Our finances were sorted out and we had a nice relaxing day.

Not Napa
We were on the Medoc peninsula so we started out by heading north up the D2, aka Rue du Medoc, to see the wineries.

Wineries in France aren’t like the ones in Napa or Long Island. You can’t just zig-zag up the road, dropping in for a wine tasting. In France you need an appointment and get an hour long tour that includes the vineyards and cellars. We didn’t do any because we didn’t have time for all that. Also, how many in-depth discussions of vines and cellars can you hear in one day? Besides, we know a lot of that stuff already from our trips in the US.

Hubby’s theory is that in California and Long Island each vintner produces multiple wines. They’ll have a white or two along with a few reds. So there is something to taste. But in France they usually do one wine, and they do it well.However, this means there isn’t really anything to taste. "Here’s our one wine, thanks for stopping by."

This made the area seem not tourist friendly to us. Welcome to Wine Country, now go home. To add insult to injury, we frequently saw signs which translated to "Wine tastings. Open" and a directional arrow. The best we could figure out is they were pointing the way to the chateaus for people who had appointments. For us, they were just a big tease. We had to let go our preconceived notions of what a trip to wine country should entail and just enjoy the scenery.

There Is a Way
What you have to look for are Maison du Vin (which translates to House of Wine or something), or a Cave. They are both, as far as I could tell, basically wine stores. But since they carry wines from multiple vendors they have enough variety to taste. Hubby and I said to ourselves, “We’ll come to France, set up a tasting co-op and revolutionize the French wine country! We’ll be rich!”

We swung north to Saint-Estephe where we found a cathedral and a Maison du Vin. Hubby was able to taste a few wines and bought a bottle. I bought a tea towel that shows the wine appellations in France.

We headed back south, taking pictures of the grape vines and beautiful chateaus, and worked our way back to Pauillac. We found the tourist office, where we bought some cookies and a jar of flavored black tea.

Continuing south, we went through St. Julien, were we found a tasting room!

(not pictured. I don't remember which Chateau this is, but it has a British flag as well as a French one. Hubby would know.)

One family has three different labels, so they’ve consolidated their brands in one roadside room. The young woman behind the counter was a little flustered. It appeared they had cheese and crackers as well and she was serving a family in the next room when we wandered in. But once she settled down she was very nice. Hubby got to try a few wines and bought another bottle. She practiced her English. He practiced his French. It was all very cordial.

Countryside
Up north, on the way down from Paris, the country side was very open, rolling farmland. Like in the Plain States in the US. We saw lots of corn, a grain we thought was barley because it was too short to be wheat, and sunflowers. Fields of sunflowers all yellow and happy. I kept trying to get pictures of the sunflowers, but they always seemed to be facing away from me. The pictures I take never seem to convey the visual impact anyway. I suppose it would have helped if we had actually stopped the car and gotten out, but that would have been sensible.

In the south the land got a little more hilly. On the peninsula there were some gentle hills, but mostly flat, with lovely grape vines as far as the eye could see. We like grape vines since we don't get to see them much. The weather was also lovely. It was a bit warmer, but we drove around with the windows open and could smell the water. It was all very charming.

Just Feed Me
Then we made our way down to Margaux, where there was a restaurant Dany had recommended for lunch. However, as it was 2 pm, lunch was over. We were disappointed, but around the corner we found a brasserie that was still serving. Brasseries are like little bar, convenience store, cafe places and they seemed to have longer serving hours.

I decided I didn’t want anything heavy and ordered a salad with chicken, egg, and cheese. One thing that was very convenient for me was most of the restaurants had English translations, so it was easy for me to order. Hubby ordered a cheese burger and French fries, which he said was very good. Everywhere we went we ordered a bottle of Badoit, which is sparkling French mineral water. We like fizzy water.

By the time we finished eating it was around 3 pm. We were practically at Bordeaux so we went ahead and hopped on the A62 to get over to Carcassonne.

To be continued...

Trip to France Day 3: Chartres-Versailles-Pauillac II

Day 3, Part 2. Because I'm long winded. HA!

After we left Versailles we had about a 6 hour drive down to Pauillac, which is on the Medoc peninsula above Bordeaux. This was a our longest stretch in the car and we were dreading finding out what the tolls would cost.

The tolls changed from here on. On the highways in and out of Paris we passed toll booths every several kilometers. On the other highways we would get a ticket after passing through a city, then pay the toll before we got to the next city. The parts of the highway right around the city were free.

Let’s see, we passed Orleans, Tours, Poiters, and Niort. We got off south of Saintes and north of Bordeaux. The only receipt I have is on at Allainville and off at Tours and it cost E 16.50.

Our goal was a little town called Blaye, which doesn’t rate a mention in Fodor’s. On the Michelin map the road ends and there is a B in the space over the water. But the passage is narrow, so the B filled the whole space. We figured it must be a ferry, and thought we’d seen that on some other map online. We figured a bridge would just be shown.

The problem was we were running out of cash since our credit cards were locked down.

Blaye seemed to be a cute little town. Classic stone buildings with slate roofs on narrow roads. There was a really neat looking fort on the riverbank, but we didn’t know anything about it and didn’t have time to explore. We were trying to figure out were the ferry was, since the signs were severely lacking. There was actually a map of the town at the fort, which I was able to use to figure out which direction the water—and ferry landing—was.

Then we saw an ATM. It was very exciting. I ran across the street and tried to get out E100. But the machine said my institution didn’t allow it and spit my card out. I tried for E60, only to be rejected again. I went back to Hubby. We said, “OMG we’re trapped in a foreign country, running low on cash and without credit cards. We’re going to have to start washing dishes!”

I'm On a Boat!
We found our way to the ferry and were very excited to see it was still there, because that meant it was still running. It would have taken about two hours to continue on the highway down to Bordeaux and back up again. An option we really wanted to avoid, especially since we didn’t know how much the tolls would cost.

Happily, the ferry was ready to load up and depart shortly after we arrived. We figured we'd get on because they probably wouldn't kick us out mid-stream. We could sort out payment on the other shore. Also happily, the fare was E19.50, which we had, although it just about cleaned us out.

Once we were on the ferry we relaxed a little. We knew we’d make it to our B&B and we’d be able to sort out the credit cards.

We were staying at the Lou Bercail, which is a B&B run by an American woman named Dany who has lived in France since the 70s. So about the only thing American about her now is her accent!

We found the place, which was exciting, and Hubby got out and knocked on the door. And he knocked again. And again. And we were like “aaaahh! Where are they?!” I took another look at the little map she had e-mailed us and realized the little X she had made was on the other side of the block. We found our way around to the back of the house to a metal gate.

Hubby just waltzed into the back yard and then Dany appeared because she had heard the gate opening. They were in the backyard (which was quite large), so hadn’t heard us knocking. She said when we didn’t show up by 6 pm, and didn't call, she figured we had flaked on her.

And I mean it was a big back yard. She has a swimming pool as well as some open green spaces. There are lavender bushes and a massive fig tree that looked as big as my house. It was quite a nice view from our second story room. Oh, and beyond her yard was a vineyard, so we had the complete picture.

Cashflow Restored
She showed us to our room. Then dialed the number for the credit card for me. I blasted right through the security questions and didn’t mess around with the normal customer service rep. (“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am, let me transfer you.” Yeah, you’ll be sorry, alright.)

When I got to the security person I told her what was going on. She said they flagged my account because there was a charge overseas at 4 am. I was like, “Yeah! That was me! I’m in France!” She unlocked my account. Then I was like, Listen, WTF, I called you people two weeks ago? And she said she can’t see the notes from the other department. Which sounded wicked stupid, if you ask me, but the account was unlocked and that was all that mattered.

Dany sent us to a place called La Salamandre for dinner. It was down by the water. We’d been driving through town wondering were everyone was. Turns out they were all at the restaurants down by the water, too.

Seriously. When we did manage to get off the highway and into one of the little towns, they always seemed deserted. Ghost towns, everyone of them. With no people or cars in sight. It made us feel like we were in a Medal of Honor game. We wanted to start shooting Nazis. Of course, I probably would have ended up walking into a wall, or getting stuck in a corner. My avatar control skills aren't always the best.

Anyway.

It was a nice restaurant. We had a table on the terrace. There was a dock, then a parking area, then some seating, a sidewalk, and more seating against the front of the building, which is where we were. One couple had a black Lab passed out under their table. There was also a pair of scrawny black cats wandering around. Just like the cats in the French poster ads you can buy. Black cats with the one white flash at their throats.

Pizza!
We skipped appetizers. I was still full from the dinner the night before, so I just ordered a pizza margarita. In Connecticut, these pizzas have slices of tomato and mozzarella. In France, it was like a normal cheese pizza. But it had a really thin, crispy crust, and lots of cheese and a few black olives scattered over it. And it wasn’t cut, which blew my mind. It still tasted good.

Hubby must not have been thinking straight, because he ordered a duck dish. We did our best to devastate the duck population while we were in France. Take that, canard! He said it was good, but didn’t blow him away. He must have still been full too, because he ended up stealing slices of my pizza instead of focusing on his own meal. Which wasn't a problem because it's not like I'm going to eat an entire pizza by myself.

Poor Hubby tried to order a glass of wine, but they were out of each one he selected. He finally just asked for a glass of local red. It was kind of funny. For me, at least.

For dessert Hubby had a collection like mine from the previous night. There was a shot of coffee and a crème brulee and one or two other things I don’t remember.

Mine was a dollop of chocolate mousse sandwiched between two crispy lace cookies. It was all sitting in a puddle of crème anglese. Have I mentioned I think the world needs more crème anglese?

A big thunderstorm whipped through while we were eating. We could see the lightening approaching and then the rain came thundering down. People, and the two cats, ran for cover. But it didn’t last long. We were under an awning, so we didn’t get wet. Although the fringe on my Carnival Shawl got a little wet. Either it wasn't fully under the awning or it was on the ground without me realizing. No harm done, however, I just left it on the chair in our room to dry out.

Then we went back to the room and passed out.

Done: Opal Cotton Rib Socks

Ok!

Let's take a brief break from the France trip to talk about knitting. What a novel idea.

Partly because my knitting is moving along apace and I don't want to have to play catch up too much. And partly because I'm writing such detailed posts about our trip I can't keep up.

In case you're wondering, or bored, I'm writing those posts primarily so I can look back later on and remember stuff, rather than primarily for your entertainment. But hopefully you are entertained as well. I've always meant to keep a diary of our trips, but never get around to it.

Anyway. The socks.

Travel Project
I finished the first sock and started the second before I left. I went through airport security with part of a sock on my US1 5" Brittany Birch double points—and no one batted an eye.

Not in JFK heading to France. Not in CDG heading to Dublin. Not in Dublin heading home.

So HA! to all you knitting vs. airport security worry warts.

For the record: most of the storied I've heard about people's needles being confiscated have involved metal circulars. Which might be a wake up call about what you want to travel with.

Now, I did have my Knit Kit with me and in a moment of anxiety I packed the collapsible scissors in my checked luggage. The company says they are TSA approved for travel in the US, but why take chances? Especially since I knew I wouldn't need them any time soon.

Since we spent quite a bit of time in the car, looking at rolling countryside, it was easy for me to work on my mindless 2x2 sock while gazing out the window. Although I did have to wait for some quite time in a hotel room to turn the heel.

Done. Re-done.
I was very excited when I finished the second sock on the flight home.

I wasn't so excited when I put them on for a finished project picture and realized the toes didn't match.

That didn't make any sense at all, since I thought I had matched the stripes pretty well when I cast on for the second one. And I couldn't see the pattern go off anywhere in the body of the sock.

Then I held the two socks up together and realized the second one was shorter than the first in the foot. Much gnashing of teeth, measuring, and counting ensued. Hubby made the tactical error of wandering by and tickling my bare foot during this time. Of course, I growled and hissed at him. Sending him and the puppies fleeing to a different room.

Turns out the second foot was 10 rows short. Turns out when I knit the first sock I had worked to a total of 120 rows. Decided that was too short and worked to 130 rows before starting the toe shaping—but had never updated my notes.

As I finished the sock while I was squished in the center seat of an airplane, it didn't occur to me to haul out the first sock for comparison. Otherwise I might have said, "Hey, the first sock ends on blue and this second one is ending on yellow. What's that all about?"

When I apologized to Hubby and explained the tragic situation he replied, "Wow. You don't usually make such big mistakes." Which made me feel a little better, as it implied I usually knew what I was doing.

Of course, it was a simple matter to pull out the toe and rework it. But it was also terribly annoying.

I'm getting a little tired of knitting 2x2 rib cotton socks. However, when I was ready to start my next project, that was the closest to hand. But when I done these purple Second Chance Socks, I should be able to work on socks with a more interesting pattern.

Re-Cap
Yarn: Opal Cotton sock yarn
Needles: US1
Pattern: Adlibed, 2x2 rib, Cuban Heel, Princess Sole, "Heart of Blossom" toe shaping.

Trip to France Day 3: Chartres-Versailles-Pauillac

Day 3, Part 1 (I guess we did a lot this day as this post was running really long, so I decided to cut it into two part.)

We ended up sleeping in until around 8 again, which is understandable after the fire drill.

Breakfast was a buffet with scrambled eggs and sausage, in addition to the standard croissant, bread, jam, and yogurt. It was a nice change of pace.

After breakfast we wandered around the grounds a bit and took some pictures.

Then we went to check out. Yep, you know what’s coming. Our credit cards were rejected again. I thought the previous morning was a fluke, now I knew something was wrong.

Flagged?! What do you mean flagged?
The desk clerk dialed the international collect call number for me. And I had to go through all the security measures, which didn’t please me at all because it wasn’t a private place, then I had to listen to all the info about my current and available balance before I finally got to a customer service rep.

I explained that I was on a trip to France and my card was being rejected. She apologized for the inconvenience and said there was a flag on my account because of unusual activity. I was like, “Yeah, that’s me, I’m in France. I told you people two weeks ago. Lift it.” And she apologized again and said it was a different department and she would have to transfer me. But, oh, that department doesn’t open until 9 am EST.

And I flipped out. I said, “It’s 10:30 am here in France and I’m trying to check out of my hotel!” And she said there wasn’t anything she could do and I’d have to call back later.

So my questions are: Why the heck did I bother calling in advance if it didn’t work? And why the heck do they have a number for international calls if they aren’t open international hours?

Note to people who train customer service reps: Having them apologize did nothing to calm me or make me feel better while I was standing in a foreign country being embarrassed by having my credit card rejected.

So we resorted to paying with our debit card again and said, Ok, we’ll call tonight when we get to the B&B.

Just Give Me a (Road) Sign
We headed out to Versailles. Things were going well until we saw a sign for a detour because the road was closed. There was a guy sitting behind the sign, looking bored. He, of course, didn’t speak any English. But we tried to ask for directions anyway. This was an issue because we didn’t have detailed road maps, so we were basically flying blind. But we managed to stumble around and find our way to the road we needed.

The French, apparently, navigate around by city name, rather than road names or route numbers like we do in America. We were able to figure that out pretty quickly. So we looked for directional signs pointing toward our destination. Or towns on the other side of our destination knowing that as we got closer we’d start seeing signs for our destination. Still, it was a rather vague way to navigate compared to what we were accustomed to.

Also it seemed to us that while American road signs indicate what you are going to do up ahead, the French signs seemed to be indicating what you need to do here! Right here! And the French signs are tilted at an odd angle compared to American ones. American street signs are at right angels. French ones are at, I don’t know, 45 degrees or something. I suppose this sort of made them easier to read as they were facing us nicely. But for unsuspecting Americans wandering the countryside it took us a while to realize the signs were telling us to go straight, not turn left.

I admit, we did a few full rotations through a couple traffic circles. However, we didn’t do it because we couldn’t figure out how to exit them. We did it on purpose so we could take another look at all the street signs and figure out which one to follow. It was actually kind of convenient. We got a second chance and didn’t have to find a place to turn around, as we would have in a regular four-way intersection.

Despite the confusing signs, we made it to Versailles in about an hour. Of course, there was no parking. We had issues with parking almost the entire time we were in France. The country seriously needs more parking garages. Or at least better signs directing people to the parking garages, because we didn’t see many.

We managed to find street parking and Hubby fed the meter 2 Euro for an hour and a half. In the mean time, I was under a tree fighting the urge to hurl because I was so stressed out over the credit card situation. I assured Hubby I just had to get some air and get distracted so I could focus on something else, then I would calm down.

Hubby asked a man and his son parked near by how the meter worked. The guy was like “We speak English.” Hubby was like “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you.” Turns out the dude was from Long Island!

Now That's a Palace
Now, remember, Versailles is closed on Mondays. Which maybe contributed to what a mad house it was on Tuesday morning. Luckily a coworker had told me we could by our tickets in advance online. If we hadn’t, I don’t know what we would have done, because the non-ticket holder line was out of control. It doubled back on itself three times.

The ticket holder line wasn’t much better, for that matter. The entrance was at the 11 o’clock in the main courtyard. The line went across the top of the courtyard and down the side to the 4 o’clock. We were like, Holy Smokes, our meter is going to run out.

But for all that, it only took about 10 or 15 minutes to get through. I theorized that it looked like there were a lot of people in line, but really everyone was in groups and family units, so we didn’t really have to wait for every single person to get through.

So I would strongly urge you to buy your tickets in advance. I would also urge you to use the restroom somewhere before you get to the palace because the lines for the ladies room were at least as long as the line to get inside. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, but you get the idea. The men’s room, of course, had hardly any line at all. Luckily, I didn’t need to visit the facilities while we were there.

We also didn’t need the audio tour, as Hubby was able to walk around naming all the people in the portraits and why they were important. I knew enough to be dangerous because I’ve read The Three Musketeers by Dumas, although it made Hubby roll his eyes. Still, he’ll relate stuff to movies for me so he doesn’t have to explain everything.

Hubby thought it was wild to be walking the same hallways as all the historical people he has studied. We admired the garish decorations and peered out the windows at the gardens.

The program Hubby was on didn’t include a visit to Versailles, which surprised us. We don’t know why, maybe the distance, crowds or expense did it. They did go to a different chateau for a tour. Hubby said he learned that they had fancy bedrooms were they received guests, but they slept in a plain room usually located through a secret door. He said when the French Revolution started a mob of women broke into Versailles and destroyed Marie Antionette’s bedroom, but she was safe in her secret bedroom. And we could see the door, which was cool. I think they should have the door open so you could at least see inside.

When I went to France in college my friends and I went out to Versailles. I remember not being impressed with the Hall of Mirrors. I don’t know if I hadn’t heard a good description, or seen pictures, but I think I expected it to be more of a fun house hall, and it isn’t. This time around I was more impressed, which pleased me.

We ended up managing to walk through all the public areas in a little over an hour and a half. We did skip the last art gallery of French History, and the Opera House was closed for renovations. The gardens were another ticket and we decided to skip them as well. We were back to the car just before 2 and we didn’t have either a parking ticket or a boot, so the day was looking up.

Trip to France Day 2: Paris-Rouen-Chartres

We didn’t wake up until 9 am, which threw our whole schedule off as we were supposed to be on the road by 9:30 or 10.

As there was nothing to be done, we went down to breakfast. At that point Hubby realized we’d made a massive tactical error the night before. He had booked us a “greedy stay” package which included breakfast AND dinner. But we totally forgot as we’d booked it back in March.

He asked the desk clerk about getting a refund for the dinner, but the clerk on duty wasn’t the decision maker. He said we could use it in the future, so we had him reserve us a table with one of the partner restaurants for Saturday when we’d be back in town before our flight home.

Really, considering I went into a total collapse during dinner on Sunday, it was probably just as well.

Then Hubby went to get the rental car and the first disaster of the day struck.
First, it took him forever to find the Avis location in the Place de Madeline. He said he wandered all around before finally noticing a telephone booth looking structure with a sign on it, which turned out to be an elevator to the underground office.

Then they didn’t have the GPS unit we had requested when we reserved the car. The reservation was flagged with a “request”, but it didn’t specifically say a GPS, so there weren’t any units available. Then the guy was like, “Oh, we’ll wash the car for you first.” So it ended up taking Hubby like half an hour or more to get the car. They did, however, give Hubby a slightly larger car, but we’re not sure if the price was the same or more than our reservation.

In the mean time, I was at the hotel gazing out the window at the lovely scenery. Finally, around 11 am, I decided I’d given him enough time and dragged our two suitcases, my backpack, and his laptop bag downstairs to check out.

That’s when the second disaster struck.
The credit card was rejected. I was very surprised, as I had called them two weeks ago when Hubby first left and told them about our trip.

So I gave him the back up credit card, that I had also called, and it was also declined.

He tried both cards twice with the same result both time. In desperation, I gave him the debit card, which worked. It was very stressful and embarrassing.

Hubby came tumbling in, declaring he was double parked, and we flew out to the car and loaded up. The stress levels stayed high as Hubby navigated through the crazy drivers. They do drive like maniacs, and the signage is very poor compared to what we are accustomed to, and the traffic lights are short things on the side of the road (not hanging overhead) making them hard to see. It didn’t help that we were both wound up. In the end, it was around noon when we finally got going.

On a positive note, we drove right by the Arc de Triomphe.

Fortunately, traffic thinned out pretty quickly once we got outside the city.

The Best Laid Plans
The plan was to swing through Rouen and see the cathedral Monet painted repeatedly, then go to Normandy to see the beaches where the troops landed during World War II, then head down to Chartres for our second hotel.

Can I just say France is as bad as New Jersey when it comes to both traffic circles and tollbooths? Good grief, I think we single handedly revived the French economy with the amount we shelled out in tolls for the week. I sure wish someone had been there to warn us. We probably would have rethought our itinerary if we had known.

I am here to tell you: The tolls on French highways are, literally, highway robbery!

I think we passed through at least three peage barriers on the way to Rouen. They ranged from at least 2 to 5 Euros each (I don’t remember and have blocked it out because it is so traumatic).

Since we didn’t realize what we’d gotten ourselves into, we paid the first few with cash, so we don’t have receipts (later on we started paying with the credit card). Oh, here’s a receipt from Paris to Montesson Nord for 5.60 Euro (about US$7.98. Actually, I think the exchange rate is better today than is was during our trip. figures.).

So right away we were saying, “OMG, we’re going to go broke paying these tolls.”

Hit the Highway
And, it seems to me, France is either toll roads or little local roads.

By contrast, in The States you can either take an interstate (like I-95), which will possible be a toll road. Or you can take a state route (like the Merritt Parkway), which will be free, but still fast.

In France our choices were the “A” highways, which were all pay; the “N” roads, which were secondary roads that went through populated areas and had lights, like Boston Post Road in CT, Route 206 in NJ, or El Camino Real in CA; or the “D” roads, which were little, rural, local roads. Although you could still zoom along those D roads at a pretty good clip in some areas.

Scenery-wise, the A and D roads were best. And they all actually moved fairly well where traffic was concerned (aside from a few memorable exceptions).

We stopped for lunch at one of the highway rest areas. Hubby got a ham and cheese sandwich and I chose a tomato and mozzarella one, which turned out to be a Panini, so they grilled the hell out of it. We also bought a Michelin map so we would have some idea of where we were going. French maps are about as good as French road signs. Which is to say, not what I’m accustomed to and a bit lacking in the detail I needed.

When we got to Rouen we could see the cathedral, but couldn’t find parking. We circled a few times, and then finally took a spot half on the sidewalk that someone else vacated. It was probably illegal, but we were back to being wired up and felt rebellious.

Hubby really wanted a picture of the actual cathedral as he’d seen the series of paintings when he was at the Louvre. His plan is to show his students images of the paintings, then his picture of the actual place. It was pretty impressive. We looked at two of the facades, but couldn’t go inside.

Pit Stop
And let me pause again to say that I didn’t encounter any gross restrooms when I was in France. Sure, the toilets looked different from ours, but the actual restrooms were no less clean than the average public restroom you would encounter in America. I also didn’t encounter any pay toilets (which made me happy, considering the contribution I was making to the local economy through my use of toll roads).

Schedule Change
Once we got back on the road, it didn’t take us long to realize that Normandy wasn’t going to happen. It was just still too far ahead and then too far from our hotel. It was very sad, as Hubby had been looking forward to seeing Normandy—being a history teacher an all. But we just didn’t get out of Paris in time to make it happen.

So we turned south and went straight to Chartres. Still, we didn’t tumble in until 7 pm or so. Luckily, it was staying light until around 10 pm and the French don’t eat dinner until 8 or 9, so we could still see where we were going and didn’t miss dinner.

When we got to the village, we swung through town and visited their cathedral. It was very nice, with lovely stained glass windows.

Then we got trapped in the parking garage. Yeah, finally, a parking garage. We couldn't figure out where to put the ticket so we could pay. Luckily, at first, there was no one behind us. I jumped out of the car to get a better look at the machine, which let me see a door into a room with vending machine things inside. When I went it they looked like payment machines, as I'd seen similar set up occasionally here in The States.

By now someone had driven up behind us. Ooops. So I went over and asked if they spoke English. The guy had a little English, so I asked, "How do we get out?" And he confirmed my suspicions that I had to take our parking ticket inside, pay, and get a new ticket. Of course, it worked like a charm and we drove off waving and calling "Merci! Merci!" out the window.

Maybe it's just as well we didn't find any other parking garages.

That's My Castle!
This night, Monday, we stayed at the Chateau d’Esclimont. It was originally built as a lords castle in1543. Renovations were done in 1865, with some decorations that say “C’est mon plaiser” which translates to “It is my pleasure.” It was a functioning estate until 1968, and was sold and turned into a hotel in 1981.

It was beautiful! There was a moat (with koi fish and a bridge), turrets, high ceilings, rich decorations, and bathrobes for use during our stay. Turns out we had a suite, so we had a bedroom with views of the secondary buildings, a wee sitting/TV room in one of the turrets, and a lovely marble bathroom with a tub big enough for both of us. Um, hypothetically, of course. My only complaint was the bed was hard as a board. Hubby said that seemed the norm in France.

There were even dark Belgian chocolates on the pillows that had a picture of the chateau on them!

We ran around the room a bit, then changed into nice clothes for dinner at 9 pm. (See what I mean about eating late?)

Clothing Fit
Oh, and let me veer off and say I didn’t notice that the French dressed so much better than us. Maybe we were just in touristy areas, but I didn’t feel like a slouch at all. Sure the women in Paris had scarves on, but I didn’t notice anymore after we got outside the city.

Dinner Time!
Ok, back to our fabulous anniversary dinner. In the whole dining room there were two other couples and a group of four. They all finished long before we did. Our meal took about two and a half hours. I kid you not.

We started with kir royal (champagne with raspberry) for an aperitif. They also randomly brought little appetizers—a small toast with a slice of lox and cream, a ham and cheese petite fore, and a stuffed cherry tomato.

For my starter I had asparagus soup. It had a dollop of cream in it and four spears wrapped in a strong cheese on the side. Hubby had a rabbit thing that was in a little round tower—it had shredded meat at the bottom, a layer of spices, and goat cheese at the top.

(In France the appetizers are called entrees, because they are your entrance to the meal. The main course is called a plat. But dessert is still dessert!)

When we finished those, the waiters randomly brought us little shot glasses filled with radish mousse. It was yellow, light as a cloud, and very yummy.

For my main course I had lamb with polenta and figs on the side. Hubby had ordered the beef (which was filet mignon) but they brought him the veal sweetbread instead.

The presentation was great. Our main courses had the classic metal covers. Two waiters brought them out, placed them in front of us, then nodded at each other and lifted the dishes simultaneously.

And we said, “Um, that doesn’t look like beef.” And they said, “It’s the veal.” And Hubby said, “I ordered the beef.” And we could sense their panic. So they went out in the hall (our table was right next to the door) and we hear a bit of a commotion, then our main waiter came back and said “5 minutes on the beef, sir.”

In the mean time, I was chowing down on my delicious lamb, because why let it get cold? Hubby’s steak came and was very yummy as well. Of course, Hubby had also ordered a wonderful bottle of red wine.

For dessert I had “Les Bocaux d’Autrefois” which was translated on the menu as “The Jars.” It was three little mason jars slightly larger than a big shot glass. One was vanilla crème brulee, one was a plum pudding with whipped cream, and the third was strawberry salad with mint. After the waiter put the plate down I heard a crackling sound. I realized it was the strawberry salad. So I ate a spoonful and it exploded in my mouth like Pop Rocks! I was cracking up. Of course Hubby had to try some too. We were giggling our heads off, so it’s good we were alone.

Hubby ordered Le Chocolate Crème Brulee au Poivre. He had a chocolate crème brulee with a piece of gold leaf on top (!), a chocolate club sandwich, which was slices of sponge cake with mousse, and a scoop of chocolate ice cream. There was also a little plate of three random little pastries. And a bowl of creme angles. And can I say, the world needs more creme angles?

Anyone who knows me, especially anyone who has ever gone to a restaurant with me, knows I’m a pretty small eater. In fact, Hubby says he can tell when I really like a dish because I’ll eat all of it.

Well, I really like this dinner because I absolutely gorged myself. Really, I felt like a little snake. I was sure I wouldn’t have to eat for three days after that meal. And yet it was so good, I just couldn’t stop myself. Hubby felt the same way. It was like that gross scene from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life, only we didn’t actually explode.

We were pretty happy all we had to do was stumble upstairs to go to bed.

But The Day Doesn't End There
I think I had regular tea with dinner because I couldn’t fall asleep to save my life. So I snuck into the sitting room, closed the door, and watched BBC Worldnews while I knit. (We watched a lot of CNN International and BBC Worldnews on the trip because they were the only English language channels.)

I finally fell asleep around 2 am.

Then the fire alarm went off at 4:30 am.

I called the front desk. She said, “Yes, I’m not sure what is happening.” So I asked if we should evacuate. She said, “Yes, I would prefer it.” In the mean time, Hubby was stumbling around getting dressed. He peeked out in the hallway and said there were no other people in the hall. By the time I had managed to get dressed the lady came up, heading straight for Hubby, and said it was a false alarm. The whole thing kind of reminded us of The Shining. I mean, it was a big place, and we were the only ones on the floor?!

It was a little hard to fall back asleep.

Trip to France Day 1: To Paris

Before I plunge into telling you all about our driving tour of France, I’d like to point out that neither of us are overseas novices.

I spent my junior year of college in England and did a pretty good job traveling around the British Isles. During that time I was able to do a weekend in Paris.

Hubby spent a month in Japan on a Japan Fulbright Memorial Scholarship, a month in Poland finishing his second MA, and a week in Paris on a professional development program the week before I arrived.

Also, a driving trip is not unusual for us. For our honeymoon we took two and a half weeks to drive from San Francisco, Calif., up to Astoria, Ore., and back to San Fran through Lake Tahoe. Then, while we were living in New Hampshire, we took a week to drive through Maine from Portland up to Moosehead Lake.

So we’ve been around.

Off I Go
Ok, I had an 11:30 pm Air France flight out of JFK on Saturday, July 18, direct to Charles De Gaulle landing at noon Sunday, July 19.

The flight was fine. I managed to sleep a bit. We had beef burgundy with mashed potatoes for dinner, and bread and yogurt for breakfast.

Hubby was waiting for me beyond security after I came stumbling out with my luggage and we took the train into Paris proper. We were pleased we were able to hook up so easily, despite not having cell phones. Hubby saw many aggressive beggars during his week, and he met an experienced traveler who was pick-pocketed on the train to the airport, so he was insistent on coming to meet me. He was worried because I’m a small, young looking woman and the bad people might target me. I was talking all big about how I’d been to Paris before, but really it was nice to see him that much sooner. And, when we get down to it, I’m really a country mouse (or at least a suburban one) and prefer an escort anyway. Shoot, I try not to go into NYC alone, why should I act differently in a foreign country where I don't speak the language?

The first night we were in the Hotel Brighton. The room was a little stark, decoration wise, but nice. The bathroom had a nice deep soaking tub. Actually, most of the tubs in France were nice and big. Really, the room was all about the view. Our room looked out over the Tuileries Garden. We could see the Louvre on the left, the Eiffel Tower on the right, and the Arc de Triomphe in the distance. And there were carnival rides set up right inside the Tuileries gates. It was all very exciting.

Sightseeing
We spent some time relaxing in the room. Then we hit the town. We wandered through the Garden and Hubby explained the historical significance of the palace, garden, and area.

Then we walked down to the Place de Concorde where the Egyptian Obelisk is. Hubby said it is the plaza where the guillotine was during the Terror. He said originally the area wasn’t marked, but when they received the Obelisk the plaza was the best place to put it. Sadly, there was construction going on around the Obelisk, so we couldn’t walk right up to it. But Hubby managed to take a pretty good picture.

We walked across the Alexander III Bridge and waved to the people on the tour boats. There were boats docked on the side of the river that looked for all the world like houseboats. I do wonder what they were all about, but I’m not sure how to find out.

Then we went to Les Invalides, which used to be a military hospital and is connected to the chapel where Napoleon’s sarcophagus is. Hubby had gone there with his program, but he was having trouble with the camera the first few days and didn’t get any pictures inside. It was quite an impressive site. This huge, shiny, red box in a two story deep marble well. You could see it from above and also go downstairs to see it from the side. There were a number of other memorials as well.

And there was an impressive crucifix on the ground floor. We were entranced by the sunlight shining on it lighting up all the gold leaf and black marble. We thought it was the setting sun, and then I realized the windows were yellow. Still, Hubby said it didn’t look like that when he was there before.

We continued on to the Eiffel Tower. On the walk up to the Tower a couple from Virginia asked us to take their picture. We had them return the favor.

We didn’t go up. The lines were long, the pricing for the elevators is steep, and doing the steps was impractical. I said I did the steps back in college and it almost killed me, so I wasn’t interested in doing them again. Oh, and a stiff wind had kicked up, adding to the generally foreboding weather.

Hubby contented himself with a few pictures from the ground. And we bought a tower keychain from one of the hustlers wandering around. It was hard to shake him off after we bought it.

By then it was staring to get late and we were ready for dinner. We headed back the way we came and went into a random café we had seen that had an interesting menu.

I’ll Never Eat Quiche Again
Hubby ordered onion soup for his starter (we had an amusing discussion about how it was just “onion soup” and not “French onion soup,” but maybe we are easily amused). He ordered a “filet” for his main course. There was quite a discussion with the waiter about what cut of meat it was and whether or not it was filet mignon (it wasn’t). The waiter also said the French don’t do gradations of “medium” like we do. That is, there is no medium-rare, medium, medium-well. It’s all either medium or well done. Hubby thought he had managed to order it medium-rare, but it came out pretty much on the well-done side.

I ordered a rabbit terrine for my starter. I admit I had no idea what a terrine was. For no reason at all, I assumed it would involve puff pastry and a brown sauce. It did not. It was slices of a loaf that reminded me of head-cheese, without the gelatin. It was rounds of rabbit, with a spicy filling, all wrapped in a slice of bacon. Frankly, it scared me. At the same moment, my jetlag suddenly kicked in, and all I wanted to do was go back to the room.

For my entrée I had gone with Quiche Lorraine as it sounded light and approachable. After picking at my rabbit, I was able to manage a nibble of the quiche before I gave up. Poor Hubby had to wolf down his steak and fries in order to get me out of there. (For the record, he did not realize it came with fries and didn't order fries on purpose. But they were tasty and crispy.) Then we threw the poor waiter for a loop by asking if there was any way we could take my slice of quiche to go.

Apparently the French, and most of Europe for that matter, don’t do doggy bags. He was like, “Whaaa?” But came through admirably by wrapping it in tin foil for me.

After sprawling across the bed for a little while, I decided I should force myself to eat something. OMG, it was the best quiche ever. While the quiche I’ve had in the past had a texture like a soufflé or puffy omelet, this one was more like custard. It was so rich, creamy, and flavorful—I wolfed most of it down.

By then it was after 10 pm. Hubby said I should try to stay up as late as I could to reset myself and help battle jetlag. But I couldn’t take it any more and passed out.

The room had air conditioning, but we couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. Hubby had the window open to cool the room off. He said it was amazing that I was able to sleep through the racket with people screaming on the rides, motorcycles and cars zooming by, and the random police siren. He said I was dead to the world. That is, until he got online to watch the highlights from the Yankees game, then I started squirming.

Socks ::twitch::

I finished Hubby's Sox Socks last night.
He would not hold still for a proper finished objects picture. He presented me with one foot, which happened to be the first sock, which I posted a picture of when I finished it.
He was quite surprised when I threw the complete pair at him last night, prompting him to ask, "You made me new socks?"
Technically, he knew I was making him socks, as I'd corned him to check the fit at least twice.
But considering I started them back on Feb. 9, I could understand why he either forgot about them or gave up hope after I finished the first one back on March 2.

Sock Toss
I suppose saying I threw them at him has violent connotations, doesn't it?
Our living room furniture is arranged in an L. He lays on the big couch and I lay on the love seat, positioning us head-to-head at right angles.
So when I wove in the last end, I tossed them over into his lap.
He put them on straight away.
It is very cute, the way he gets all excited when I make him something.
You would think this would prompt me to make him more things, but I don't operate that way. :-)
I was a bit surprised that the toes didn't match.
You'll have to take my word on this.
Although I thought I did a pretty good job of matching up the cast on points, as you can see in this old picture, the stripes slipped out of alignment somewhere around the heel flap and turn.
So where the first sock ends with a black and white toe, the second sock ends with a green toe.
Oh well, they'll be in his shoes.

Sock Withdrawal
Having completed that pair, I don't have a pair of socks on the needles at the moment.
Hence my twitching.
Unless, of course, you count the hibernating Peacock Socks. Which I don't.
Or the fact that I still need to re-work the foot of my one Cubes & Cables Socks which I designed for the sock club.
Really, I need to focus on the two deadline scarves.
I wonder how long this will last.

Early Birthday Present
My birthday is in April.
Since my mom reads my blog, she saw the post about those socks from Sweaterscapes I've been drooling over.
And she bought me all the patterns!
Since it's an online transaction, I've already got the PDFs in my hot little hands.
We debated the virtues of getting a kit, but decided it would be better to buy the yarn separately, since I could potentially have enough leftovers to make two patterns, rather than just one.
I also have partial skeins in my stash that might work, such as the Jawool from my TipToe Socks, which would reduce the amount I have to buy.
So I'm going to price it out and then she'll send me money for the yarn.
It's all very exciting.

In Praise of Customer Service
Doug at Sweaterscapes has been very nice and helpful over e-mail during this process.
At first mom didn't understand the online ordering, so he e-mailed her the patterns and said to send him a check.
Then she figured it out and ordered a fourth pattern, but didn't realize she had to download it. So I e-mailed him the receipt and explained what happened. He said he noticed it all seemed connected somehow and resent me all the PDFs.
Which means I have a back up copy on mom's computer if something bizarre happens to mine.

Hubby recently had a good customer service experience with Verizon Wireless as well.
He wanted to call a B&B in France to book our stay. After we nailed down the international calling codes, the call didn't go through.
I remembered he had to activate international dialing on our account, which I had to do when he was in Japan in 2005.
So he called Verizon and did that. Then he called the B&B and had his heart broken since they required a two night stay.
Then the rep from Verizon called Hubby back and said if he was planning to make a lot of international calls he should get a plan for $4 a month which reduces the rate to 10 cents a minute instead of $1.50 a minute. And we could cancel it at any time.
Hubby said ok, but what about the call I just made?
So the guy made the plan retroactive to that call.
Because if you are going to be disappointed, it's better to pay 10 cents for the privilege.
Anyway, I thought it was cool the rep was proactive in calling back to point out the plan.

Speaking of our trip
Hubby's itinerary for us was trashed yesterday when he discovered Versailles is closed on Mondays.
He said he read it draws 3 million visitors a year, so why aren't they open all week?
We were pretty ticked off.
Since we were feeling snarky, Hubby pointed out Yankees Stadium draws more than that during the baseball season.
Although acting like Ugly Americans made us feel a little better, it didn't help our travel plans.
But he's got it sorted out. Now on Monday we'll go up to Normandy and visit some chateaus in the area, looping back around so we can go to Versailles Tuesday morning, then back on track to Bordeaux.
This means we'll have to skip Alsace (sp?) and Verdun, but sacrifices must be made.
We're still rather surprised the program he is attending doesn't include a trip to Versailles, but I'm sure they have their reasons.