Wow. It’s October already, which means only about three weeks left in France. We WILL come back, but with no firm plans to return, Father Time is clamoring for my attention.

Rather apt then that Saturday Jacky and Pascale took us to Noirmoutier (where the salt is harvested that goes in my favorite butter). This was an adventure that ended up being very much about time. They picked us up at 9:30 for a full day of fun. I had put my camera in the trunk–oops–so missed a few photo ops on the way, including . . . a random Bactrian camel sighting! Yup. Several double-hump camels hanging out in a field at the side of the road.

No worries, though. This day offered plenty more to see.

We left when we did specifically so we would get to Noirmoitier in time to take le passage du Gois, a 4.5 km road that is underwater except for a couple of hours at marée basse (low tide). Arriving on the island, we stopped to take a few photos and were just in time to see these go by:

The people you see walking out on the sea floor are out there to pêche à pied (“fish on foot”) which means to dig for mussels, scallops and the like, but they have to keep an eye on the time as well. I zoomed in to take the photo below and then cropped to enlarge further, so the people in this photo are actually WAY OUT THERE.

If you do lose track of time and/or underestimate the speed of the returning tide (faster than you think), you may need to abandon your car and scramble up one of these:

(Check out YouTube for videos of those who have taken their chances with the tide. Search Passage du Gois and you’ll find plenty.)

Noirmoutier is a good two hours from La Rochelle, but Jacky drove with his customary good humor. Pascale had done her homework, navigating through all the rondpoints  (roundabouts), which was fortunate, since the GPS was not terribly trustworthy, and actually insisted several times that we were driving through the middle of fields! Pascale had chosen le chemin des écoliers (the scenic route)–literally “the way of schoolboys,” but we did stay on the roads.

Pascale had also prepared the entire pique-nique. (Sometimes we’re allowed to contribute wine!) This was our third pique-nique with them—here are the first and second–and this time she was holding out for an actual table, preferably à l’ombre (in the shade). Again, timing was everything. After directing Jacky up and down various lanes to no avail, we finally found the last empty table in here right before several other groups came looking.

We took our time and enjoyed it thoroughly. After the usual multi-course feast, we headed out . . .

. . . for a walk sur la plage . . .

. . . and a little scrambling over the rocks . . .

Then a bit more touring around the island before heading back to the mainland, this time over the bridge, and a final scenic stop here:

The gleaming light on the sea tells us it’s time to call it a day.

There’s a story told in one of the French novels I’ve read in the last few weeks, where a game of sorts is explained.  Each day you wake up, and the bank has put into your account 86,400 dollars. There are only two rules: 1) You can spend them however you like, but anything you don’t spend by the end of the day goes away. 2) The bank can close your account at any time without warning. So, how would you spend it? The man in the story answered much as most of us likely would: he’d spend it to give pleasure and happiness to himself and those he loved, and even to those in other places that he didn’t know–he didn’t think he could spend that much day after day after day on just himself and his loved ones.  The twist in this supposedly theoretical game is that it’s real, and we all have an account with the «banque magique». We are given every day 86,400 seconds of life to spend as we choose, and aren’t seconds of life even more important than dollars?*

Many thanks, yet again, to Pascale and Jacky for spending theirs with us. How will you spend yours?

*Translated and paraphrased from Et si c’était vrai . . . by Marc Levy

 

We had a new adventure yesterday that I want to tell you about, but first thought I’d better finish and post this one. Next post — Noirmoutier!

La Rochelle, being much smaller, is easier to share with guests than Paris, of course, but there still turned out to be plenty to do. After surviving the trek up all the stairs to Sacré Coeur (Paris, of course) that we did with Chelsea . . .

. . . we were ready to take both daughters to climb the three famous towers of La Rochelle. I’ve already shared a few of Chelsea’s shots from the top of Tour de la Lanterne. Here’s one from inside a tower, maybe Tour Saint-Nicolas, since it’s the one with stairways going every which way:

All three towers have great little book and gift shops on the ground level that I’ve never had enough time to enjoy, but since David had headed back to the house after lunch, missing the last tower, Chelsea and I could browse a bit. David is NOT a fan of shopping of any sort. Once I bought him a polo shirt here in La Rochelle, and he wouldn’t even go into the shop. Le vendeur (sales guy) came with me outside to look at him, to verify I was choosing the right size. Now that’s service! But with Chelsea I had time to discover that Tracy Chevalier has written a novel inspired by my favorite tapestries . . .

. . .  AND someone has translated it into French. Woohoo! Not going to find THAT in Fort Collins, Colorado. Not in French, anyway.

David took Brittany when it was her turn to climb the towers, and I stayed home to recuperate from Paris and to work on my Versailles post. When it came to shopping, however, it was all me (see above). La Rochelle has a lot of nice shops, and I’m pretty sure I have now been into well over half of them. On the plus side, when I first got here, I was afraid to even walk in the door of a shop, not knowing what to say, but my first tutor one day patiently took me shopping to show me what to do and say, and most of all, that both the shopkeeper and I would survive the experience. Now I think of shopping as lots of little free French lessons, with the occasional bonus of finding something great, like these . . .

. . . or the fabulous leather jacket Chelsea found right away, but didn’t buy until I’d made her look at pretty much EVERY other leather jacket in La Rochelle. I learned my lesson and did not dissuade Brittany from buying the very first belt she found!

And finally, Brittany inspired us to do something we had not yet done on our own. She wanted to get out on a boat somehow, and their are a LOT of boats here:

However, none of them belong to us, and not having a lot of time, we settled for the bus de mer, a boat “bus” that runs out to Les Minimes, the larger beach of La Rochelle. David and I walk so much, we had never tried it, but it was actually pretty entertaining. Nice to be back on the water, but with NO RESPONSIBILITY. Okay, so it only lasts about ten minutes each way, but still. Pretty views:

On the way back to the vieux port I went up to the bow and asked permission to step out of the enclosed passenger area to take this photo. While I was there talking with the guy NOT driving the boat, and noting the red buoy smack in the middle of my photo, I asked him for the French word for it. “Bouée,” he replied, same word, but with a French flair. Yes, sometimes French really is that easy.          But . . .malheureusement . . . mostly not!

Here’s wishing you the joy of learning something new every day!

 

 

Last week David commented that the fatigue evident in my last two posts was beginning to make it seem like we needed to get on a plane and go home, so new rule: Sleep more. Whine less. Or as Jessica Hagy* says, “Less crankiness. More marveling.”                     *See my quotes page for more gems from her.

So I offer my apologies for the grumbling. I assure you, dear readers, we both remain deeply grateful for this journey and all it entails, and especially right now for the chance to live for a short while in beautiful La Rochelle.

Now that we’re back here after seeing Brittany off, I finally have time to write about some of the previously neglected touring, shopping, and in this post, dining that we experienced while Chelsea and later, Brittany were here. And bonus, Chelsea has sent me some of her photos, like the two above and this one, all taken in La Rochelle. Thanks, Chelsea!

Aside from being VERY photogenic, France is of course famous for dining, be it café, brasserie, bistrot or restaurant, and David and I have a few favorite spots in La Rochelle we were anxious to share with our visiting daughters, like Les 4 Sergents. So a few days into her visit, we took Chelsea there for lunch to meet Pascale and Jacky.

Lunch ended up being multilingual, rather than the usual bilingual. It worked like this:

• David: English, a few words of French (like bonjour, merci)
• Jacky: French, the occasional word of English
• Pascale: French, some German,  a few words of English
• Chelsea: English, German
• Sunny: English, increasingly solid intermediate-level French
• Waiter: French (and most likely at least some English as well)

Chelsea sat next to Pascale so they talked together a bit in German. Pascale and Jacky spoke to all of us in French, which I then translated into English for David and Chelsea, who in turn would make comments or ask questions in English that I would translate into French for Pascale and Jacky. Between talking to le serveur in French, all the translating, and trying to eat my lunch, I got so discombobulated, once Pascale said a few words in English and I turned to David and translated them into French, then quickly back into English, when I realized what I had done. He gave me one of his long-suffering looks, and said, “Yeah, got that.” Oops.

Chelsea had this beauty for desert:

Absolutely art on a plate. And I loved the silver. Even the backs of the spoons were gorgeous. The food and the company: as wonderful as ever.

When Brittany visited, instead of meeting Pascale and Jacky at a restaurant, they invited us chez eux (to their house) for another of the fun table BBQ’s we had enjoyed so much a few months ago. Here’s Jacky with the amazing wine we had after les apéritif, to accompany the foie gras du Périgord:

Note the electric grill under the silver tray. After les apéros (during which we had champagne and tiny nibbles) comes l’entrée (or first course — the foie gras and the wine above, in this case), then le plat (main, usually meat course with red wine), which is where the grill comes in. We had raved so much about how much fun it was, like a fondue party except with a grill, they were kind enough to offer a repeat. Merci beaucoup! 

Next, du fromage (cheese), and usually salad, but no one had room for that.

Then dessert (with cognac), then café, made in a fascinating glass cafetière Hellem, that looks like something from a chemistry lab. All absolutely delightful, as usual.

Chelsea’s first dining experience in Paris went very well, but her first dining experience in La Rochelle did not go quite as well. At a port-side café the waiter managed to dump a full dish of bright orange dressing into her lap, and pretty much all over her darling black and white summer dress.  He was of course very apologetic and her meal was free, but she still had to walk through the crowded town looking, as she noted, like an illustration from the children’s book The Big Orange Splot. As they say here, Hou-là-là-là-là-là-là! (Roughly, YIKES!)

Fortunately, the shops were nearby and open. Unfortunately, she was walking with David and Will, who are . . . you know, men . . . so not super patient with shopping. However, she managed to quickly find a dress so cute, I made her take me back to the store the next day so I could buy one.

Which brings me back to gratitude. Thank you, friends and family, for patience when I’m grumpy, for meals shared and memories made, and for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers. And thanks to God, for the grace of lessons taught with gentleness.

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude. ∼Denis Waitley

Even in the most peaceful surroundings, the angry heart finds quarrel. Even in the most quarrelsome surroundings, the grateful heart finds peace. ∼Doe Zantamata

Wishing you grace and peace and a heart full of gratitude.

 

Versailles was very  . . . gold . . .

. . . and big . . .

. . . and crowded . . . and therefore, a little disappointing, honestly. Granted, we were already exhausted from days of tramping around Paris fighting the hordes for elbow room at all the main tourist sights–in other words, exactly what David and I have tried to avoid until now. And I had not slept well the night before, realizing at 2:30 a.m. that I didn’t know exactly how we were supposed to get there, so I sat up in bed for an hour with my tablet on Google Maps, trying to figure it out between the metro and the RER trains. Turns out all I had to do was ask the man in the booth at the metro station right by the apartment. He sold us the correct tickets and gave me a map with the metro and train connections circled. More unnecessary hours of stressing out. I thought I was going to quit that!

When we arrived, we decided to see the palace first to “beat the crowds.” Too late. After being elbowed and shoved and coughed on and photobombed . . .

. . . for a good 40 minutes inside the palace, I said to David and Brittany, “Ugh. Let’s go outside. I’m over it.” To which Brittany dryly responded, as only Brittany can, “Over it? I’m damn near homicidal.” Yes, well. I was too, really, so out we went to admire the gardens and to try to locate Marie Antoinette’s faux peasant hamlet. We had a map of the grounds, but did I mention Versailles is BIG? BIG. We walked and walked and walked, after having turned our noses up at the lazy schmucks who were riding the goofy little train, and began to wish we’d taken it ourselves.

Nevertheless, find the hamlet we did, eventually, as well as some sandwiches for lunch, so had a bit of a breather before seeing this . . .

. . . and this . . .

. . . and this . . . .

. . . before trekking back through town to the train station, where we had a bit of drama trying to figure out the right train to Paris, along with every other tourist on the platform. As a matter of fact, they are ALL the right train to Paris, but no one seemed to understand that, even though I had been told in French, “tous les trains” and another woman I talked to had been told in English, “all the trains” go back to Paris. The problem was an announcement that the train serviced stations I didn’t recognize (but later found on the map PAST our stop, so absolutely would have taken us where we wanted to go). Whatever. After the stress-inducing announcement, we decided to bail at the last minute and I was nearly crushed in the closing door of the train. Yikes. One MORE reason to QUIT with the worrying already!!!

Now we’re back in La Rochelle, where it is maybe not quite so GOLD, but still beautiful in it’s own way . . .

. . . and very much more peaceful.

A few thoughts for you from some who HAVE figured out worrying:

. . . Do not fret — it leads only to evil. ∼Psalm 37:8

Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? ∼Matthew 6:27

“Sorrow looks back, Worry looks around, Faith looks up” ∼Ralph Waldo Emerson

Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength. ∼Corrie ten Boom

Wishing you a worry-free week!