My Paris Pilgrimage #8

Number 8 was missing; please go to #12--it's the right one for today.

It appears that I started this blog, but then started another!  I"m going to post this just so that the numbering is correct.  But, the list has it out of order.  C'est dommage!

Here are a few things for you to ponder so your visit isn't wasted:

My Paris Pilgrimage #12

La Famille Cercley (& a little techno)

It's currently Monday, 24 September, and my rendezvous with my dear friends, the Cercleys, is in the past.

As I mentioned in Friday's post, I took the train that afternoon from Gare de Lyon here in Paris (only a couple kilometers from my house) to Boussy-Saint-Antoine, the train station near the little village of Tivery, where many of the Cercleys now live. In fact, Guy and his wife, Noelle, live only around the corner from Alain and his wife, Patricia.  Guy's children, Franck and Carole (with her three daughters) live just a few blocks away--Franck in one direction; Carole in another.

Claude and Jean-Marie (JM) don't live close at all.  Claude and his wife, Danielle, live in the south of France, perhaps a day''s drive from Guy, and JM lives with his wife, Vicky, in Sacramento, CA (a day's drive from me!).

So, my train trip to Tivery was a little challenging...Gare de Lyon is HUGE, and although signage is there, somehow I didn't quite figure it all out. The RER trains are lettered, A through M or N, and each uses a separate track on different levels. I needed to take the D2 train toward Melun, but the train I found going in that direction didn't show Boussy-Saint-Antoine on the route!  Naturally, no one was around for me to ask and the people getting on and off the trains were all in a hurry (it was 3:30-4 pm on a Friday--rush hour!) and not exactly worried about the confused American walking in circles going from platform to platform and up and down stairs and escalators trying to find her way.

After about 20 minutes of trying to figure it out myself, I finally left the track area and returned to where the ticket booths are and managed to find someone who spoke enough English to help me. Seems there are short trains (locals) and long trains (express). Both are D trains that go toward Melun. But only the short train stops at Boussy-Saint-Antoine. Of course, by leaving the track area, the electronic turnstiles thought my ticket had been used and wouldn't let me back in, so I had to buy a second ticket. Luckily, the ticket was only about $2.50!

On the train for only about 30 minutes, I disembarked onto the platform in a tranquil, sleepy area of the country that was extremely rural, despite being only a 30-minute train ride from the center of Paris!  Here's a pic of the Gare de Lyon (from the day I went to Disneyland) and a pic of the station in the country where Guy picked me up.

Sleepy village station

Gare de Lyon (first level only--it has 4!)

Guy took my small wheeled cart and we drove the 10-15 minutes from the station to his home in Tivery.

Turns out I was quite near the same area that Sylviane took me last Thursday! Tivery is too small to show on the map, but I've put a purple dot in the basic location of their village.  Guy says they have 3000 now; in 1983 when they moved there, it only had 300!

General area of Tivery

The next 24 hours were filled with wine, food, conversation, hugs, bissoux (kisses), laughter, and reminiscences of the past 65 years! I am overwhelmed by the love I felt from each one of these wonderful people. Truly felt like one of the family.

NOTE: I don't know if you all know the basic history of our families--from 1953 until 1956, the small Garland family (mine) lived next door to the Cercley family (who eventually had 5 sons!) in the town of Pt. Lyautey (now Kenitra), Morocco.  My father was stationed there at a French/American air base and we lived in the village rather than on base. The relationship that started between my parents and Maurice and Hughette (Guy's parents) continues through their children to this day--across miles, time, and language!

So, my visit began with a glass of port and olives, fresh cherry tomatoes, hummus, and tapenade appetizers. Soon thereafter, Franck Cercley arrived.  Franck is a flight attendant for Air France, and is Guy & Noelle's son. His older sister, Carole, has three daughters, Elina (17), Loane (15), and Ambre (13). Carole and the girls arrived in a flurry of activity--teenage girls the world over are alike! They were giggly, beautiful, chatty, and on their phones most of the time!  Two of the three spoke English, but they were too shy to speak it with me at first--later, they tentatively asked questions in English of me, and I told them I wouldn't judge their English if they didn't laugh at my French!

A bit later, Alain arrived.  Alain is the youngest of the remaining four brothers (the 5th son, Patrick Tom [named after my father, Thomas; and my brother Robert Maurice is named after their father] died about 12 years ago--but I'm not sure how). Alain is married to Patricia, but she could not join us Friday evening since she was babysitting her grandchild.

Well, it's difficult to share all that we spoke about, and most of it was family stuff, yet it was all wonderful. My comprehension and speaking ability improved with each glass of champagne! Or so it seemed to me!  With all those people, I still managed to keep up fairly well. I'm sure spending a couple of days with Sylviane before this trip helped!

So, the hours passed and we managed to get a couple of group photos...

Noelle, Elina, Ambre, Carole, Loane, and Guy

Elina, Carole, Ambre, Noelle, Me, Guy, Loane, Alain, Franck

One by one, the family left...first Carole and the girls, then Alain, then Franck. And, yet, the evening was not over! Noelle served dinner at 2230 (10:30 pm)!  With apologies that it wasn't much, she served an incredible potato/carrot soup, salad, cheese, salami, and bread. With more wine, of course! I passed on the dessert and coffee, and managed to only eat a few bites of the food offered. I did, however, eat the whole bowl of soup. It was delicious!

I fell into bed exhausted and slept like the dead until 0900 the next morning!  That's extremely late for me--but the room had blackout drapes and I was one exhausted, but extremely happy woman!

Saturday morning Noelle had to go out for a doctor appointment and do some shopping (for our dinner it turned out). Guy and I had a light breakfast and took a walk around a lake that was practically in his backyard! Afterwards, we stopped at the house for a brief drink of water then walked into the village to buy bread. Here are some various pictures of the lake, the village, and their home.

The Tivery Lake

Wooded path into the village

A street in the village

Gates to Le Cenacle, a Chemin Neuf Community

Street sign showing Community of Tigery

Lovely cobblestone streets

Noelle's living room

Noelle's kitchen

After strolling through the town (where we ran into the mayor and I was introduced), we stopped at Alain and Patricia's house so I could chat with her since she had missed the events of the evening past:

Patricia and Guy

Upon our return to Guy's, Noelle was home and fixing our midday meal. I was ordered out of the kitchen to the living room where we once again had snacks (delicious garbanzo beans in olive oil, garlic, and cumin) and port.

We sat down to eat in the kitchen (with apologies again from Noelle that we weren't in the dining room! I was much happier that she didn't go to the trouble of setting things up in the DR.)  The meal began with a lovely beet salad, main course of barely cooked (just as I like it) beef filet mignon, fresh haricots verts (green beans), cheese, and cooked pears in chocolate sauce for dessert!  OH MY.

Eating in France has certainly been a joy! We all sat around after dinner enjoying the coma-like trances we were in, but I knew that I needed to go back to the city...so at about 1630, Noelle and Guy brought me back to the little train station near Tivery.

I had my return trip all planned out. Easy peasy.  I was tired and knew that I could disembark at Gare de Lyon and grab a cab to my doorstep and make my way upstairs.  I'd be home by 1730 or 1800 at the latest.  Or so I thought.

Train trip was uneventful. It did take me a while to find the right exit where the cab stand was, but I finally did so, only to be told by the driver that he could not take me home!  Apparently, all the streets in my neighborhood were closed for a huge TECHNO PARADE!  I had no way to get home but to walk through thousands of youthful, crazy, dancing, happy, drunk, and loud people to the beat of the clamor of TECHNO music.  

It was a bit disarming at first, but I had no choice if I wanted to get home. So, I clutched my purse close to my body and pulled my little cart behind me and wended the 1.5 miles home without mishap, but with a few visions that I didn't need to see! Seems like relieving oneself in the streets is quite acceptable in Paris--I saw men and women peeing along walls, squatting (women) over curbs, etc., to relieve themselves.  Many folks were quite inebriated, and the array of scooters, bicycles, unicycles, in-line skates, and many other forms of non-car transport were everywhere!

Here's a video I took once I got to the side street that led to my house, so it's not quite as chaotic as it was along the Boulevard L'hopital where I had walked through to get there:

Good news: It was about 1900, but I made it safely. And in retrospect, I'm kinda glad I had the experience! It was certainly nothing that I would choose to do...and it probably wasn't much different than a huge street fair in San Diego or the crazy St. Patrick Day Parades I would join when I was much younger.  But, for me, at 70, a little trepidation did creep in; yet I just kept on walking and pushing through the crowds and navigating through the throngs of people. It seemed as if everyone in Paris between the ages of 15 and 30 was on that street. And, maybe they were.

And, that, dear friends, was my weekend.  I spent Sunday "en repose" as the French would say, and now I have nine days left in my journey.  Wonder what will come next?

My Paris Pilgrimage #11

17 to 21 September:  Jardin du Luxembourg and Fountainebleu Country

It's Friday the 21st and I have a fairly quiet morning planned, but the day will get more exciting later today! I have plans to take the D2 RER train from Gare de Lyon to Boussy-Saint-Antoine where my REALLY longtime friend, Guy Cercley and his wife, Noelle, will pick me up. They have asked me to stay the night and return to Paris tomorrow, late in the day. I don't know what will transpire, but I do know that my French conversation skills will be sorely strained! I'm happy to have had a few visits with Sylviane to practice!

This week also marked a couple of days of having the apartment cleaned and some electrical work being done (kitchen and bathroom are now well lit!). By the time I leave, everything will be perfect!  (LOL)

So, now, let's backtrack: on Monday, the 17th, I walked quite a ways to the Jardin du Luxembourg. The park was incredibly beautiful and I spent quite a bit of time there, journaling and watching people. This garden is famous for the pond where children can sail rented sailboats across the pond, but none were to be found there on the day I visited. I did find a lovely blog about it and posted it to FB. My major takeaways from that day were that the excesses of the rich and their abuses of the poor created a whole lot of beauty in Paris. Today, that beauty is available to the common folk, but what of the origins? Are we, in the U.S., to bemoan the fact that we don't have huge castles and palaces and ramparts that have stood for hundreds of years that were initially built by the sweat and blood of those who were hungry? Do the plantations of our South and the grand mansions of our rich that still stand and are now museums (Vanderbilts, Carnegies, Hearsts, etc.) provide the same kinds of history to us that these parks and palaces provide to the French and others in Europe?  I really don't know the answer--but the opulence of the history I see all around me in Paris certainly make me think about the question.

One of the things I learned early in this trip and that has stayed with me is this: The city of Paris was not bombed during WW2. That fact alone has increased its grandeur. Cities in Normandy that were leveled and then rebuilt are not beautiful. They are practical, industrial, and modern, but not beautiful. I know little of the other cities around Europe, but I have been to London, and although much of it has retained its charm and beauty, much of it needed to be rebuilt after the war. How does all that affect the people, the places, the tourism, etc., of each city and how has it affected Paris in particular?

Oh my. Enough of that. I know most of you are here to see and hear about my travels--well, my mind has been traveling, too!

Tuesday and Wednesday of the week found me close to my Paris home. Tuesday I had to interact with the cleaning folks who also came to (finally!) wash all the linens that had been left dirty by the previous tenants. My landlord had been livid to find out that the cleaning service had not done all that was needed before my arrival and it took him a month to work with the service and get someone out here to reclean and do the washing. I've been told that customer service is much different here than we have in the states. And, I'm afraid that Axel (my landlord) has his tribulations trying to get the apartment well cared for from thousands of miles away (he lives in Salt Lake City).

On Wednesday, I once again left home to walk the streets of my neighborhood. I had agreed to meet Sylviane at a certain spot on Thursday morning and I wanted to scope it out. Good thing I did. It was a confused, busy, crazy traffic circle with absolutely no good spot at which she could have stopped to pick me up.  ( I was able to call her and make different plans that worked much better.) My original plann for that day of walking was to find a spot where I could get a haircut--but after a few unsuccessful attempts, I cut my own bangs and decided to wait until I get home to have Sandee do her magic!

After making a few stops to get some fruits, veggies, and cheese, I went into Cesar's Italian Restaurant just down the block for a delightful meal and a little flirting with the waiter. I noted the encounter on FB and want to say that in retrospect, despite the flattery, and the warm buzz I had from my little split of Lambrusco, I'm completely happy I decided to turn down his offer of meeting him when he got off work. No matter how innocent it might have been and however pleasant he is, I am just not that person any more. My wild youth is long gone and I'm quite content to be who I am. Still---it was pretty nice to have the experience.

Thursday was yesterday. And oh! what a day!!!  Sylviane picked me up directly across the street at the little cafe where we had met and she drove us to Fountainebleu, which is about 40 miles or so south of Paris. To spend the day with someone who speaks little English, coupled with me speaking poor French, was exhausting to my poor brain! Still, I managed to follow much of her stories about French history and learned a lot about the areas around Fountainebleu. For instance, did you know that the Forests of Fountainebleu were all PLANTED? The trees are not native. One of the kings (or many?) planted the forests to provide hunting grounds for themselves. Another example of excess that has become beauty!  Here's a photo of the map showing the city's location, the "Foret de Fountainbleu" the Loing River Canal, and other areas in and around the areas we explored:

Fountainebleu area we explored

The day was fantabulous. We began by going to Sylviane's garden. She rents a large plot in a communal area and also pays for water she uses. Because Paris has been dry, she explained she has to water several times a week. While she watered, I picked a crop of tomatoes from her many varieties of plants. She (and the others in the community) all have garden sheds that are kept locked that contain their garden tools, fertilizer, gloves, watering cans, hoses, etc. I just might have been bitten by the gardening bug as a result of the visit!

After our gardening time, we stopped in the little town of Fountainebleu for a coffee & potty break! We then walked to the palace and explored all the gardens and the exterior.  We chose to NOT go into the palace since the place was filled with school groups. After the tour of the gardens (please note the fountain to Diana and the dogs!), we walked back into the town area, and Sylviane took me to her favorite fromagerie--where the whole store is a refrigerator! None of the cheeses and meats and pates inside were in cold display cases because the store itself was freezing cold. I had never seen or imagined such a thing, yet there it was. Of course, despite having bought cheese in the neighborhood just on Wednesday, I bought more cheese!

Sylviane's garden 

Sylviane's garden #2

Sylviane in her garden

Tomato harvest

Town square of Fountainebleu

Part of gardens of Fountainebleu

My favorite fountain in Fountainebleu!

A closer look

Sylviane in front of famous steps into Fountainebleu

Historical shot of staircase (they even had an orange frame from which you could snap a pic!)

Part of the big pond at F; huge carp swimming in it!

The French garden area...dry and less beautiful than usual, but the larger, in-person view was a delight of muted pastels

The in-store refrigerated fromagerie.  And this was only one wall!

From Fountainebleu, we drove all around little villages and roads looking at the views and arriving a short while later at the side of the Loing River, where we had a picnic! Sylviane had brought cornichons Russe (Russian Style Pickles are crisp, small cucumbers pickled Russian style with garlic, mustard seeds, black pepper, allspice and dill), chevre cheese, jambon, pain (bread), peche (peaches), and cantaloupe.  

[NOTE: I now also have found a new food that I hope to be able to get once I get home: Cornichons Russe! They were delicious--not sweet, not too tart, a little reminiscent of bread & butter pickles, but without the sugar.  I hope they are available at home.]

We had an army of mallards helping us with our lunch. Sylviane began feeding two ducks a bit of bread--within seconds we had dozens all around us!  It was fun watching them, especially a couple that were definitely juveniles. Here are some photos of our picnic spot.

The bridge to our left led to the 12th C ruins of a tower whose name I can't remember!

Closeup of the ruins

Looking across the river to someone's yard and dock

A panorama of the view I had while eating those delicious cornichons!

Our lunch guests...

And the day continued...Sylviane drove through little hamlet after hamlet showing me churches, farms, spots where she or her family had lived, forests, and fields. One memorable spot was the village of Moret sur Loing, a medieval town that had once marked the demarcation between France and Borgoyne. The little village even had a small cannon ball in the wall noted by a plaque to commemorate a battle held in 1814. The town also noted a tavern where Napolean had slept and had a lovely riverside walkway as boundary between the two countries in the early 1800s.  See link for the town name above and here are my pics from yesterday:

Cannonball in wall

Map of area we were in at tourism office

These windows were special--Sylviane tried to explain, but I think they have some ancient architectural meaning...no clue what? Any architecture folks out there who might know?

A dilapidated building from long ago...the detail shows it must have been incredible

Another salamander from Francois I crest and reign

A view of part of the wall that fortified the town with a picture on it showing how it once was.

Bridge and Loing Canal

1770 plaque in Latin. I think I got the Roman numerals correct!

Flood levels of the little canal.

Tired of following us yet?  I was! But, we had one more stop to make along the way and I am so glad Sylviane did:  Le Cuvier Boulders inside the Fountainebleu Forest.  As we headed back north to Paris, a little worried about the traffic that would await us, Sylviane detoured into the woods to a spot that seems more magical than anything I'd seen that day or perhaps on this whole trip. The park is part of the forests that had been planted long ago, but the sandstone boulders were much older than the trees and anything but usual. 

My photos can't even begin to show how beautiful and alien this area was. The shade from the oak trees, the trees that were growing into and sometimes through the sandstone boulders, and the bevy of boulders of various sizes and shapes all around made the place one of beauty, power, and magic. I wished that I could go there with my journal and just sit for hours and write whatever the Universe would send. The place touched me deeply and I'm entirely grateful that Sylviane shared it with me. If you're at all interested, I suggest you google this place and see photos much better than mine...but since you're here...these are my records of the spot:

I was fascinated by how the trees and the rocks were as one in many spots

Shadows from the trees and lichen on the rocks made it beautiful

I found this dead tree a photo-worthy subject

Sylviane took this of me...

And I convinced her to sit with me for a selfie

A final look back as we left--area cordoned off was to protect climbers because great tree in center  was dead

And that was Thursday, 20 September, in LLO's Paris Pilgrimage.  I'm seeing Sylviane at least once more before returning home. She's become a friend I hope I don't lose across the miles.

Today's adventures await!

#lloparispilgrimage