Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 72 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
From Heathrow to Charles de Gaulle: it felt like cruel and unusual punishment bouncing from one of the largest, most confusing airports in the world to another. Sherrill and I survived, slept in a cheap hotel at de Gaulle, and the next morning figured out the trains through Paris to Reims—this was the easy part. We also had to work out when we could continue on trains, when we needed to switch to buses, and when we'd need a car. French trains had an irritating habit of aiming back to Paris—like a pony who knew that there was no place like home. The frequent local connections we'd loved in the Italian train system seemed to be missing here. The entire trip felt like a circus trapeze act in which we might miss the next jump.
We landed safely in the first town, Reims, a handsome little metropolis, with hotel, cathedral, and town center an easy walk from the station. So far, so good, we congratulated ourselves. Our view of the Gothic cathedral's gold towers stopped us as if we'd been socked. We knew that for hundreds of years French kings had been crowned here, but its size and beauty were beyond anything we'd expected. During the next few days, we hiked from church to palace to museum to Roman triumphal arch to the hotel de ville in which the Germans surrendered in 1945.
"We need to take a tour of a champagne cellar," Sherrill informed me.
She had discovered that Reims was a center of the champagne industry.
"Well, if we need to."
We chose Mumm (pronounced moom, apparently) and made a reservation. We were the only people who showed up, but a charming young guide still gave us an excellent private tour through the chalk caves and tunnels—despite her high heels. Of course, the visit ended in a tasting room with an opportunity to buy.
"We need to take a tour of a champagne cellar," Sherrill informed me.
She had discovered that Reims was a center of the champagne industry.
"Well, if we need to."
We chose Mumm (pronounced moom, apparently) and made a reservation. We were the only people who showed up, but a charming young guide still gave us an excellent private tour through the chalk caves and tunnels—despite her high heels. Of course, the visit ended in a tasting room with an opportunity to buy.
Amiens 13th century cathedral labyrinth No train connected Reims directly to the next two towns we wanted to visit, Amiens and Rouen, without returning to Paris first, so in Reims we picked up a rental car that eventually we'd leave in Rouen. Sherrill wasn't happy about this, but did acknowledge that the French freeways were good and the drivers superb compared to most countries where we'd traveled.
"They may go fast, but they're not insane."
We'd admired Riems' cathedral, but the one in Amiens was even more spectacular. It could hold, we were told, two cathedrals the size of Notre Dame in Paris. As a bonus, Sherrill added to her list of the body parts of saints with the reliquary of John the Baptist, which (supposedly) held the saint's head, brought from Constantinople. As a "collector" of church mazes and labyrinths, as well, she was delighted by the 13th century labyrinth stretching across the fourth and fifth bays of the nave—the second largest church labyrinth in France.
"I want to take that home," she told me, gazing down at the black and white labyrinth.
"Somebody would notice if you dug it up."
"Maybe you could distract them."
"They may go fast, but they're not insane."
We'd admired Riems' cathedral, but the one in Amiens was even more spectacular. It could hold, we were told, two cathedrals the size of Notre Dame in Paris. As a bonus, Sherrill added to her list of the body parts of saints with the reliquary of John the Baptist, which (supposedly) held the saint's head, brought from Constantinople. As a "collector" of church mazes and labyrinths, as well, she was delighted by the 13th century labyrinth stretching across the fourth and fifth bays of the nave—the second largest church labyrinth in France.
"I want to take that home," she told me, gazing down at the black and white labyrinth.
"Somebody would notice if you dug it up."
"Maybe you could distract them."
Amiens medieval houses along canal Architecture and religious artifacts were interesting, but Amien's Floating Gardens and medieval Saint-Leu area known as the "little Venice of the North," appealed to us in a different way.
"Not another little Venice," Sherrill sighed. "How many have we seen?"
"A dozen, maybe?"
"At least."
Although we'd encountered "little Venices" across the globe, we still couldn't resist them, just as we couldn't resist tromping through gardens, whatever shape and size they might be. The medieval houses and shops along Amien's canals, with their half-timbered, brick, and stucco facades and overflowing flower boxes, were obscenely picturesque. The houses lining one of the canals had been turned into restaurants and pubs, most of them specializing in mussels with French fries, just as if they knew our weakness for them, so a casual walk on the evening of our forty-sixth wedding anniversary turned into a search for the restaurant in which we'd celebrate with a feast of mussels and fries.
"Not another little Venice," Sherrill sighed. "How many have we seen?"
"A dozen, maybe?"
"At least."
Although we'd encountered "little Venices" across the globe, we still couldn't resist them, just as we couldn't resist tromping through gardens, whatever shape and size they might be. The medieval houses and shops along Amien's canals, with their half-timbered, brick, and stucco facades and overflowing flower boxes, were obscenely picturesque. The houses lining one of the canals had been turned into restaurants and pubs, most of them specializing in mussels with French fries, just as if they knew our weakness for them, so a casual walk on the evening of our forty-sixth wedding anniversary turned into a search for the restaurant in which we'd celebrate with a feast of mussels and fries.
Sherrill, 46th anniversary, Amiens "Do you mind eating outside?" Sherrill asked me.
"Of course not."
Did she think I was fussy, or something?
The weather was beautiful, although it was late September, so we ate looking down on the blue and green water of the canal. The waiter in his black suit and over-sized white apron was friendly and efficient and helped us choose a wine to go with the mussels. We had no idea, however, how huge the servings would be. We each got a large black pot of mussels in broth, a big dish of fries, and hunks of garlic bread.
"We should've shared one order!" Sherrill said, when she saw all the food in front of us.
"Happy anniversary!"I replied, raising my glass.
Amiens had turned out to be one of those unexpected delights that sometimes graced our travels -- and a surprisingly romantic place for our anniversary.
"Of course not."
Did she think I was fussy, or something?
The weather was beautiful, although it was late September, so we ate looking down on the blue and green water of the canal. The waiter in his black suit and over-sized white apron was friendly and efficient and helped us choose a wine to go with the mussels. We had no idea, however, how huge the servings would be. We each got a large black pot of mussels in broth, a big dish of fries, and hunks of garlic bread.
"We should've shared one order!" Sherrill said, when she saw all the food in front of us.
"Happy anniversary!"I replied, raising my glass.
Amiens had turned out to be one of those unexpected delights that sometimes graced our travels -- and a surprisingly romantic place for our anniversary.
Jules Verne home, Amiens The next day, before leaving town, we dropped in at Jules Verne's impressive, although strange, house—the sort of eccentric home in which we might expect the author of Around the World in Eighty Days and Journey to the Center of the Earth to live: four levels, the top one where he wrote fitted out like the cabin of a sailing ship. We skipped the tour conducted by a costumed guide pretending to be a character from one of his books, but the house was an amusing way to say goodbye to Amiens.
The challenge when we reached Rouen was to find the agency to drop off the rental car. This ancient city associated with Joan of Arc was a maze of narrow one-way streets. We knew the address, but couldn't figure out how to get there. Sherrill was ready to abandon the car on the street. When we got close, I leaped out, ran around a couple of corners and into the agency, explaining where Sherrill and the car were trapped. A fellow went back with me and drove us to the agency—in a convoluted route that we never would have figured out.
The challenge when we reached Rouen was to find the agency to drop off the rental car. This ancient city associated with Joan of Arc was a maze of narrow one-way streets. We knew the address, but couldn't figure out how to get there. Sherrill was ready to abandon the car on the street. When we got close, I leaped out, ran around a couple of corners and into the agency, explaining where Sherrill and the car were trapped. A fellow went back with me and drove us to the agency—in a convoluted route that we never would have figured out.
Plague cemetery carvings, Rouen Rouen probably had more medieval brown and white half-timbered buildings than any other place we'd visited. We got a room at a hotel in a 17th century building where the playwright Pierre Corneille once stayed. It had the quirks we'd come to associate with very old hotels: a huge fireplace in the dining room downstairs, uneven heat upstairs, wavy walls and floors, low beamed ceilings, lots of stone steps, no elevator. We loved it. Then, out for a walk, we encountered a group of students in costumes—seniors, we learned, the boys in wigs and improvised dresses because it was the first day of school. Dressing up and acting silly seemed to be a tradition in European schools.
Joan of Arc Tower, Rouen Not far away, we discovered the medieval plague cemetery, surrounded by half-timbered buildings. Huge-eyed skulls and crossed bones had been carved into their age-blackened wood beams. A few blocks farther on, we came to Joan of Arc Square—the old market square—where during the middle ages prisoners were pilloried or executed and where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake on May 30, 1431, the modern Restoration Cross and church of Joan of Arc on the site. Nearby, we came to the medieval tower where Joan was questioned and shown the implements of torture.
"I don't understand how supposedly religious people can do all this to other human beings," I muttered.
"You don't need to understand."
A sleek modern train got us to the port city of Le Havre, almost completely rebuilt after World War Two. The bold design of the new city, a vast pattern of broad spaces and grand buildings, most of it of concrete, was so impressive that UNESCO designated it a World Heritage Site. Sherrill and I, however, felt that it was as cold and inhuman as similar postwar developments we'd seen in the Soviet Union and other Eastern Bloc countries—even if it was better designed and better built.
"I don't understand how supposedly religious people can do all this to other human beings," I muttered.
"You don't need to understand."
A sleek modern train got us to the port city of Le Havre, almost completely rebuilt after World War Two. The bold design of the new city, a vast pattern of broad spaces and grand buildings, most of it of concrete, was so impressive that UNESCO designated it a World Heritage Site. Sherrill and I, however, felt that it was as cold and inhuman as similar postwar developments we'd seen in the Soviet Union and other Eastern Bloc countries—even if it was better designed and better built.
Market day, Honfleur, and St. Catherine's Church We checked into a Novotel—nice, but like a place run by robots—near the monster-sized docks on a manmade peninsula, wandered over to one of the mammoth warehouse buildings, and slipped inside. Far away, tiny people were doing something, but none of them noticed us. The acre or so of polished concrete floor was so inviting that I couldn't resist launching into a tap routine and a bit of soft shoe.
"Idiot." Sherrill rolled her eyes, but smiled.
The next morning, we were glad get on a bus to the tiny town of Honfleur down the coast.
Cozy between steep hills, a little port, and a yacht harbor, Honfleur's ancient wood buildings were more our style. We arrived during the weekend market in the little square next to Sainte-Catherine's church, an all-wood masterpiece with a vaulted ceiling like the hull of an overturned ship. It was no surprise to learn that it was the work long ago of local boat-wrights. Our room in a little half-timbered hotel may have had a wavy floor, but we liked it, just as we liked exploring the town outside our window and hiking into hills behind it, from which we could view the entire area: water, land, and new sparkling white suspension bridge.
"Idiot." Sherrill rolled her eyes, but smiled.
The next morning, we were glad get on a bus to the tiny town of Honfleur down the coast.
Cozy between steep hills, a little port, and a yacht harbor, Honfleur's ancient wood buildings were more our style. We arrived during the weekend market in the little square next to Sainte-Catherine's church, an all-wood masterpiece with a vaulted ceiling like the hull of an overturned ship. It was no surprise to learn that it was the work long ago of local boat-wrights. Our room in a little half-timbered hotel may have had a wavy floor, but we liked it, just as we liked exploring the town outside our window and hiking into hills behind it, from which we could view the entire area: water, land, and new sparkling white suspension bridge.
Sherrill, yacht harbor, Caen, France We weren't sure exactly when the bus to Caen would leave—or, for that matter, exactly where the unmarked bus stop was, but we managed to be in the right place at the right time. The driver and other passengers all reassured us and gave us advice for the rest of our journey, including how to transfer at Deauville.
We shouldn't have been shocked each time we saw how badly this corner of France had been devastated during World War Two, but we were. Caen wasn't flattened quite as badly as Le Havre, but only a few old buildings remained. On our first trip to London, from time to time we'd seen in the middle of a block a burned out hole where a German rocket had hit. In Caen, the situation was the reverse: from time to time, we'd see one or two medieval buildings standing amid blocks of much later buildings, like raisins in a cake. The great castle had survived, but not much else notable.
We shouldn't have been shocked each time we saw how badly this corner of France had been devastated during World War Two, but we were. Caen wasn't flattened quite as badly as Le Havre, but only a few old buildings remained. On our first trip to London, from time to time we'd seen in the middle of a block a burned out hole where a German rocket had hit. In Caen, the situation was the reverse: from time to time, we'd see one or two medieval buildings standing amid blocks of much later buildings, like raisins in a cake. The great castle had survived, but not much else notable.
The main reason we came to Caen was to take a train onward to Bayeux so that Sherrill could fulfill her dream of seeing the Bayeux tapestry. Here, at least, there were plenty of trains going back and forth, so we were able have a satisfying day in Bayeux refreshing our knowledge of the conquest of England by the Normans in 1066. Probably the most beautiful piece of propaganda in world history—and maybe the most accurate—it was an astonishing achievement. It also was a miracle that it survived all these centuries.
Caen, surviving
Medieval houses
Caen, surviving
Medieval houses
The city of Bayeux had its charms, too, including its little cathedral, a picturesque mill with churning waterwheel, and buildings from various centuries, but we found it hard to focus on them, knowing that we had limited time to see the tapestry. It certainly was magnificently displayed in its museum, although it was frustrating that we couldn't linger as much as we would've liked to study certain parts.
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We finished the day back in Caen, then the next morning continued to Le Mans, where we got the TGI to Charles de Gaulle airport. Sherrill and I loved traveling and discovering the world, but knew very well that there was no way to escape the boring, grungy parts of traveling—although there were plenty of times when we wanted to sit down on the filthy airport floor like a two year-old and cry. Or at least swear.
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
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