Chelsea, our youngest, has come and gone, but I was too tired after our boating misadventures to drag my camera around, so no photos of her stay until she sends me some, but we did have a great time. Then Brittany, middle daughter, arrived a day after Chelsea headed home and is now here in La Rochelle with us for a few more days. David and I are recuperating from too much Paris at too frenetic a pace. Even Brittany, young and strong, says she vastly prefers the tranquility of La Rochelle.

Word to the wise: choose two, maybe three things max, to see and/or do in Paris each trip, unless you’re there for a long time. David and I know this, but time felt short and neither Chelsea nor Brittany was certain of coming back. So we walked and walked (and walked and walked) and stood in line after line and tried to do way too much.

We visited le cimetière du Père Lachaise, where we saw the tomb of Heloise and Abelard . . .

. . . and, of course, Jim Morrison’s grave (not nearly as photogenic, but mobbed, nevertheless). Oscar Wilde’s tomb was too far up the hill for our tight schedule, so we had to pass on that one. We were off to climb la Tour Eiffel . . . .

David opted out this time, instead walking in the park while Brittany and I headed up. The best part was actually the climb to the first two levels–no line for tickets, less expensive, and very few people on the stairs. Once we had to join the hordes in line for the elevator to the top, things got ugly. A fight nearly broke out over a misunderstanding about placement in line, and there was WAY too much full body contact with the odd man behind us. Brittany and I took turns trying to elbow him back.

Next day: Louvre. More hordes, but also some fabulous art when you could manage to catch a glimpse of it between all the tourists who wanted their picture taken IN FRONT OF whatever we were all trying to see. What?!? And–bonus–there’s a new tourist torture device in heavy use these days–an extension pole for your camera, to better take your annoying selfie, while taking up as much space as possible and simultaneously clocking other tourists on the head. Gha-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! Beyond maddening. We could see ceilings:

And since they’re HUGE, we also managed to see the apartments of Napoleon III (nephew of the Napoleon more famous to Americans, in case you’re not up on your French history).

Maybe I’m missing something, but those Napoleons do seem to have ignored one of the main points of the French Revolution (a bit less conspicuous consumption while people are starving, s’il vous plait).

We eventually took a break from the Louvre and went to the Catacombs, where it turns out there are whole sections that are NOT filled with bones, like this little corner:

But there are also the remains of roughly 6 million Parisiens, all very close together . . .

. . . as apparently Parisiens are used to being.

Brittany and I went back to the Louvre later in the evening when the crowds had died down a bit and enjoyed it MUCH more. Here’s one piece I loved:

Then on to l’Arc de Triomphe to admire a bit of Paris by night:

And just in case we weren’t sufficiently exhausted and sick of crowds, the next day we went to Versailles. Yup. The mother of all crowd attractors. Wasn’t that an excellent idea? But I’ll save that for another post.

So, what have I learned? Mmm.

• It is impossible to be TOO familiar with the metro system of Paris or the map of Paris streets. Before, between, and during all of the above, I had to scramble to figure out Metro connections and walking routes, not to mention which direction we were even facing when we came up from the Metro. Sheesh.
• Too much is too much, no matter how beautiful or famous or gilded. Pace yourself.

And especially:

• Tranquility is precious. Find it whenever possible and savor it.

Our life depends on the kind of thoughts we nurture. If our thoughts are peaceful, calm, meek, and kind, then that is what our life is like. If our attention is turned to the circumstances in which we live, we are drawn into a whirlpool of thoughts and can have neither peace nor tranquility.
∼Thaddeus of Vitovnica

 

I had a few more photos from the river cruise, so thought I’d give you a few final thoughts on our river-cruising adventure . . . emphasis on FINAL. David said his favorite part was giving the boat back at the end, so I think that means we’re unlikely to repeat this adventure. It was certainly WAY more stressful than I expected, although now we could probably pull it off with a bit more sang-froid, after four and a half days of experience. Not much, but it sure beats ZERO. I even managed to dock the boat at the Jarnac base–with three employees of Le Boat watching my approach–without crashing into anything or anyone. Fortunately, my heart-rate was not being monitored.

But I last left you with our failures at Saintes, so to wrap up: We did get out of there without further incident, and made it through the two locks on the way back to Cognac in a semi-pleasant mood. We’d been through them all on the way downstream, so at least knew what to expect. The first lock upstream from Saintes is automatic, tended by a charming–and completely calm–young woman, who pushes the right buttons at the right moments, which left me free to photograph this random, cool French sight:

We shared the next lock with a couple who have been cruising the Charente for fourteen years. FOURTEEN YEARS. What?

I promise my French is good enough that I understood her correctly–both times she said it. I made her tell me again after I asked her if I had heard her right over the sound of rushing water. Wow. They did seem to have it down to a science, though.  And our smiling bicycle friend, who had helped us on the way downstream, arrived just as we were exiting, and told us he’d close up and we should keep going. Okay. Back to Cognac. There are worse destinations.

We spent the last night (Friday night the 29th) back at the exact same mooring in Cognac we’d had on the way downstream, so that was easy. Then we had another walk around town, where I found this amusing sign . . .

. . . which means, roughly, “Here on the 17th of April, 1891, absolutely nothing happened.” Priceless in a town (and country, really) absolutely overrun with tourists snapping away at historical sights, like this:

The last day we had to get through three locks all by ourselves, so David drove into the first one and I was doing all the cranking and wheel-turning and power-walking around to the other side to close or open the lock doors and sluice gates, and he made the mistake of saying, “Can’t you do this any faster?” Um, no, actually. So we switched places, and David found out exactly how much work it is doing a manual lock without assistance, while I got to practice remaining calm (and driving and mooring).

. . . which eventually brought us back to Jarnac, where we . . . phew . . . GAVE BACK THE BOAT. Woohoo! Deep cleansing breath, everyone.

We then had some time before our train to see this:

Ironically, one of the reasons I wanted to go on this particular boat trip, in this particular location, was to see this crypt. And it was right there, two blocks from the starting point!

What else is under my nose that I’m missing?

. . . or more accurately, failing at minimal standards of good behavior, but more on that later. Wifi was increasingly terrible on the boat, so although we’re already back in La Rochelle, I’m just now catching up. Here’s a bit more about life on the river.

Down the Charente from Cognac is Saintes, a very pretty, small city with lots of things to see, like a Gallo-Roman amphithéâtre built between 40 and 50 A.D. Seriously impressive . . .

. . . and the crypt of Église Saint-Eutrope, a stop on one route of the Chemin de Sainte-Jacques-de-Compostelle:

Also the Arc de Germanicus, right next to the river in the middle of town . . .

. . . and the Musée Archéologique, next to it and gratuit (free), so you can just wander in if you feel like it and look at stoned carved around the time Jesus was walking around. For an American, where old things are maybe 300 years old, it was almost surreal.

Saintes also may have the most creative, comfortable public seating of ANY city ANYWHERE. The grass looked so real on these “lawn” chairs, I had to touch it to be sure it was astroturf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With all these things, you’d think I would have loved being in Saintes, but no. Because for me Saintes was all about failure. Remember my rant about the rude boater? Well, I became the rude boater. Yikes. Poor David. The first problem was we had trouble finding a decent mooring, finally settling on an ancient slanted stone wall that had a couple of bollards to tie up to and a stone stairway to access the walk above. Sounds like no problem, but remember we’re rank amateurs.

Mooring the boat turned out to involve approaching through tree branches that divested us of a chair and chair cushion (into the river), and the stairs were just far enough back that David had to jump for them and scramble up to try to catch the bow line from me, to keep us from hitting the boat moored in front of us (while I screeched panicked instructions and argued with him about what to do when). Then my throw missed him, while the current took the boat too far out to reach him at all, so I had to circle around and try to get back to David–my very FIRST mooring attempt ever, since David had done the others. I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details. Long story short, the chair and cushion were recovered. Our good mood was not. And there were a few more crises that I won’t drone on about now.

So today’s theme is failure. Yippee. Embarrassing, irritating, humiliating. These are words I tend to associate with failure. But you know what? We learned the most every time we failed. And you get to fail A LOT when someone hands you the keys to a thirty-four-foot boat after twenty minutes of cursory instruction, especially when locks, currents and other boats are involved. Here’s another way of looking at it:

I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work. ∼Thomas Edison

But the most important thing we learned through these failures is that loving another person, or even being kind to that person, should not depend on performance or how well some possession is protected (even if it’s expensive, or new, or your favorite).

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. ∼George Saunders 

I’ve had plenty of those, and I do regret them. So I wish for you–and for me–more kindness, given and received, more tolerance for falling short of perfection, and more of the grace of God, really, especially when under pressure. I hope it flows in and fills us to overflowing, so everyone we encounter is graced by it.

A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves. ∼Amelia Earhart

 

We are now on-board “Clipper 43” sur la Charente, which means on the Charente (river). I’ve slipped a few times and said dans la Charente, because you say dans rue X (in street X, literally, but it’s translated more like “on X street”). But if you say dans la Charente, you’re IN the river, when presumably you should be ON it, certainly if you’re on or in a boat. Love learning French! Here’s David within the first few minutes as captain, reasonably happy. Let’s see if I can navigate well enough for that to last.

We boarded our boat just past the weeping willow you see in the photo below, and received our mini-tutorial.

We couldn’t collect the boat until 4 p.m. so by the time we were under way the light was beautiful.

The first lock was a bit hair-raising, including an angry German man berating us for VERY lightly bumping his Le Boat rental with our Le Boat rental–like THAT’S never happened before–and then barking instructions at us–incorrect instructions, actually, that we were too flustered to refute. Whatever. It probably could have been avoided if he had pulled his boat up as far as he should have, to allow ample room for another boat, but I apologized and explained it was our first time. He said it was his, too, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and attribute his rudeness to nerves, but we definitely decided NOT to share any more locks with them if it could be avoided. Sheesh. Hope he’s nicer to his family than he was to us!

David found us a perfect rural mooring on the left bank a bit before the next lock, and we tied up to some large trees where it was beautiful and quiet. Here’s who came to visit:

And dawn on the river was spectacular:

After a leisurely breakfast, we were on our way. The next lock already had a boat in it, so we were going to hang back but they motioned us in and turned out to be the friendliest, most helpful group imaginable. A completely different experience. We went through two locks together and chatted in French and English with zero stress. What a difference cheerful people make.

We enjoyed magical sights like this:

And ended up in the small village of Cognac, where not only cognac tasting is available, but also Pineau des Charentes, our favorite aperitif. We, of course, tasted.

So, a little more than 24 hours into our five-day river adventure, we’re content, sitting here sipping 25-year-old cognac and vowing to be friendly and helpful boaters, even when we’re vastly more experienced . . . four days from now.