The high point of the trip was the low point. We descended deep into the Pyrenees into the Grotte de Niaux, one of the some 350 caves in Western Europe with Neolithic paintings. And Niaux is one of the few that are open to the public and that actually display the originals.
You must go on a guided tour. And there is just one English tour a day. On this day only five of us showed up: a cranky, unfriendly Brit, a cheery Australian couple, and us. I'll let others describe us.
The guide was French, but his English was good enough and he was a clear and humorous speaker.
It was a long walk through sometimes narrow passageways, over uneven and often puddled ground. We had to carry lights and step carefully.
About 20 or 30 minutes of walking brought us to a large, domed chamber. As the guide illuminated sections, we saw one after another 14,000 year-old drawings of bison, horses and ibexes (ibices?). These are apparently the most dominant figures in Neolithic cave art.
We've all seen reproductions of these, but the setting and the size of the real things were astonishing. I could have stayed down there in the dark and damp for hours more.
Unfortunately, photos were not allowed, so I'll try to post some reproductions. I have a few shots of the area in front of the cave, which is high above the Pyrenean valley.
Almost worth the whole slog.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Road trip
"Like most Americans, I'm appalled to discover that after decades of progress, people in other countries still insist on speaking foreign languages."
Dave Barry
Despite facing the above insurmountable hurdle, we took the tram down to the Montpellier train station where we rented a Hertz car. I steeled myself for the fight where they insist on selling you unnecessary insurance, but it never happened. We got a very nice diesel Opel, returned to the hotel, loaded it with out bags and took off.
Once we actually located the highway -- no small feat -- I found French roads superb. Much better than ours. And with higher tolls, but no matter. One thing in which they excel is the plenitude of rest stops, here called aires.
It seems to me that when I first visited France in the mid-80s, sandwiches were puny, dry affairs. Now they're big enough for two. Can obesity be far behind. Anyway, Kim and I routinely share on lunch.
Our first planned stop was the much-esteemed town of Mirepoix, about an hour southeast of Toulouse. But we decided to make a short stop at the attraction of Carcassone, one of the most visited sites in France.
A massive set of castles and tours, walls and moats, it's exactly what you'd think a medieval fortified city was like. With dozens of restaurants, T-shirt stores and kitsch vendors. Fortunately, it was off season, although hardly deserted. For some reason, though we found it supremely boring.
Carcassone, like virtually every castle town in the Languedoc region, was the site of one or more horrendous massacre of the Cathars. These were a numerous religious sect that broke with Rome, which over the years sent armies to extirpate them. Why France wants to celebrate this part of its history is beyond me, but it does. In fact every other sign in the area reminds you this is Cathar Country.
We readily left Carcassone and headed south to Mirepoix. In France, driving secondary roads means mostly enjoying one roundabout after another. Better, perhaps, than traffic lights, but still disconcerting.
Arrived in Mirepoix, home of a town square foiled with timbered buildings and touted carved heads. It was also cold and overcast, which advanced to steady, cold rain. The historic hotel boasted free wifi which translated means either pay wifi or, as in this case, no wifi at all. Blog delayed.
Virtually all the restaurants in Mirepoix were closed. One that was open was a cheery place that featured pizza. After four nights of French cooking I chose pizza. It was smothered in Gruyere and resembled, and tasted like, a giant, slightly tomatoed, croque monsieur.
It was raining when we woke and it followed us out of town. As we approached the Pyrenees, though, it stopped and showed the mountains in dramatic light. We decided to give the Middle Ages another try in the town of Foix. The three-towered chateau there loomed atop a high hill and afforded a fantastic view (photos to follow). Twenty Euros and a lot of climbing didn't spoil things. Good show Foix.
We proceeded into the mountain s to a rustic looking inn. We were the only guests, but Pierre (his real name) was most hospitable and spoke sufficient English to ease the way.
We eventually made our way to the nearby river town of Tarascon for dinner. Nothing open. We drove 15 kilometers back to Foix, which had a slew of restaurants, all open when we stopped in the afternoon. Nothing open.
However, the McDonald's on the outskirts was humming and we embraced it. There is a McBaguette. And I had some other variation we don't have in the U.S. French McDonald's bread isn't just better than ours; it's good Plus the English-speaking clerk didn't raise an eyebrow when Kim ordered an after-dinner cappuccino. We probably wouldn't have gone there if there had been an alternative, but all told we were pleased. And spent 1/3 of previous evenings.
Tomorrow, we head for a local food market, and then the caves full of Neolithic art. We'll see if we can find an indigenous dinner.
Dave Barry
Despite facing the above insurmountable hurdle, we took the tram down to the Montpellier train station where we rented a Hertz car. I steeled myself for the fight where they insist on selling you unnecessary insurance, but it never happened. We got a very nice diesel Opel, returned to the hotel, loaded it with out bags and took off.
Once we actually located the highway -- no small feat -- I found French roads superb. Much better than ours. And with higher tolls, but no matter. One thing in which they excel is the plenitude of rest stops, here called aires.
It seems to me that when I first visited France in the mid-80s, sandwiches were puny, dry affairs. Now they're big enough for two. Can obesity be far behind. Anyway, Kim and I routinely share on lunch.
Our first planned stop was the much-esteemed town of Mirepoix, about an hour southeast of Toulouse. But we decided to make a short stop at the attraction of Carcassone, one of the most visited sites in France.
A massive set of castles and tours, walls and moats, it's exactly what you'd think a medieval fortified city was like. With dozens of restaurants, T-shirt stores and kitsch vendors. Fortunately, it was off season, although hardly deserted. For some reason, though we found it supremely boring.
Carcassone, like virtually every castle town in the Languedoc region, was the site of one or more horrendous massacre of the Cathars. These were a numerous religious sect that broke with Rome, which over the years sent armies to extirpate them. Why France wants to celebrate this part of its history is beyond me, but it does. In fact every other sign in the area reminds you this is Cathar Country.
We readily left Carcassone and headed south to Mirepoix. In France, driving secondary roads means mostly enjoying one roundabout after another. Better, perhaps, than traffic lights, but still disconcerting.
Arrived in Mirepoix, home of a town square foiled with timbered buildings and touted carved heads. It was also cold and overcast, which advanced to steady, cold rain. The historic hotel boasted free wifi which translated means either pay wifi or, as in this case, no wifi at all. Blog delayed.
Virtually all the restaurants in Mirepoix were closed. One that was open was a cheery place that featured pizza. After four nights of French cooking I chose pizza. It was smothered in Gruyere and resembled, and tasted like, a giant, slightly tomatoed, croque monsieur.
It was raining when we woke and it followed us out of town. As we approached the Pyrenees, though, it stopped and showed the mountains in dramatic light. We decided to give the Middle Ages another try in the town of Foix. The three-towered chateau there loomed atop a high hill and afforded a fantastic view (photos to follow). Twenty Euros and a lot of climbing didn't spoil things. Good show Foix.
We proceeded into the mountain s to a rustic looking inn. We were the only guests, but Pierre (his real name) was most hospitable and spoke sufficient English to ease the way.
We eventually made our way to the nearby river town of Tarascon for dinner. Nothing open. We drove 15 kilometers back to Foix, which had a slew of restaurants, all open when we stopped in the afternoon. Nothing open.
However, the McDonald's on the outskirts was humming and we embraced it. There is a McBaguette. And I had some other variation we don't have in the U.S. French McDonald's bread isn't just better than ours; it's good Plus the English-speaking clerk didn't raise an eyebrow when Kim ordered an after-dinner cappuccino. We probably wouldn't have gone there if there had been an alternative, but all told we were pleased. And spent 1/3 of previous evenings.
Tomorrow, we head for a local food market, and then the caves full of Neolithic art. We'll see if we can find an indigenous dinner.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Lyon & Montpellier
Lyon is just what I want from a French city. A major metro area with history, musees, cuisine, a subway, diversite. But unlike Paris, manageable, and not overrun with rich people. A young guy in a cafe told us there are rich people in Lyon, but they try to blend in. Much better.
Vieux Lyon where we stayed is a pretty well-preserved medieval quarter. Filled with restaurants, and most of them offering a menu for about 15 Euros. Our second dinner, at a place chosen at random, was superb. Truth be told, I'm not overwhelmed by French cuisine. Too much meat, too little spice and more so ceremonial it feels like every dinner is a Seder. In fact, I'd just been eating low-end Parisian food that was more show than cooking. I couldn't afford the good stuff. Not so in Lyon. My favorite: salad Lyonnais.
In our short stay we visited one museum: the Institut Lumiere, about the brothers who started the film industry. Wildly inventive, the Lumieres had adjoining mansions on the grounds of their studios. The museum is in the mansions, housing all sorts of early film equipment, video loops of early films, and biographical info. It was also cluttered, confusing and boring. Oh well.
I'd live in Lyon, if I could. But two days is all we had. So sad.
And then a TGV ride to Montpellier on the Mediterranean. Or rather a tram ride to the Mediterranean. A t very different city. Sand-colored stone, scruffier, no river. More Southern.
On the first afternoon, my old Rolling Stone colleague, and Montpellier resident, Ed Ward, gave us an exhausting tour around the city filled with history and architecture. It turned cold and drizzly. Ed, like so many of us in free-lance writing, is wrestling with the harsher market. He's still heard by 18 million listeners to his segments on Terry Gross' Fresh Air, though. We writers must endure so much. Don't people understand our greatness?
Of course we're suffering, too. Our hotel here is leagues below what we enjoyed in Lyon. Half the price, but definitely on the cheap, small side. Nice view of rooftops, but tiny. I demand luxury! But I fear Lyon was the high point, and it's all downhill from here. We'll see.
Today, Sunday, is election day. The first round of voting that will probably turn Sarkozy out of office... But who knows? Our hotel-keeper cautiously probed our political sympathies and when I told her that I'd vote for the Communist Melenchon, she agreed saying it was time for a change. Of course Americans voted for a change in 2010 not imagining that they'd usher in an era of fascism. People expect so much from electoral politics though, and are usually disappointed.m
Today we're wandering the old town, but without the marching. Lots of people out and about. Still cold, but getting warmer.
Tomorrow morning we pick up a car and head out int the country. Nous cherchons la France profonde. Deep France. I'm not sure I can handle it though. Less English spoken and more paysage. I may flee back to a city.
More to come.
Vieux Lyon where we stayed is a pretty well-preserved medieval quarter. Filled with restaurants, and most of them offering a menu for about 15 Euros. Our second dinner, at a place chosen at random, was superb. Truth be told, I'm not overwhelmed by French cuisine. Too much meat, too little spice and more so ceremonial it feels like every dinner is a Seder. In fact, I'd just been eating low-end Parisian food that was more show than cooking. I couldn't afford the good stuff. Not so in Lyon. My favorite: salad Lyonnais.
In our short stay we visited one museum: the Institut Lumiere, about the brothers who started the film industry. Wildly inventive, the Lumieres had adjoining mansions on the grounds of their studios. The museum is in the mansions, housing all sorts of early film equipment, video loops of early films, and biographical info. It was also cluttered, confusing and boring. Oh well.
I'd live in Lyon, if I could. But two days is all we had. So sad.
And then a TGV ride to Montpellier on the Mediterranean. Or rather a tram ride to the Mediterranean. A t very different city. Sand-colored stone, scruffier, no river. More Southern.
On the first afternoon, my old Rolling Stone colleague, and Montpellier resident, Ed Ward, gave us an exhausting tour around the city filled with history and architecture. It turned cold and drizzly. Ed, like so many of us in free-lance writing, is wrestling with the harsher market. He's still heard by 18 million listeners to his segments on Terry Gross' Fresh Air, though. We writers must endure so much. Don't people understand our greatness?
Of course we're suffering, too. Our hotel here is leagues below what we enjoyed in Lyon. Half the price, but definitely on the cheap, small side. Nice view of rooftops, but tiny. I demand luxury! But I fear Lyon was the high point, and it's all downhill from here. We'll see.
Today, Sunday, is election day. The first round of voting that will probably turn Sarkozy out of office... But who knows? Our hotel-keeper cautiously probed our political sympathies and when I told her that I'd vote for the Communist Melenchon, she agreed saying it was time for a change. Of course Americans voted for a change in 2010 not imagining that they'd usher in an era of fascism. People expect so much from electoral politics though, and are usually disappointed.m
Today we're wandering the old town, but without the marching. Lots of people out and about. Still cold, but getting warmer.
Tomorrow morning we pick up a car and head out int the country. Nous cherchons la France profonde. Deep France. I'm not sure I can handle it though. Less English spoken and more paysage. I may flee back to a city.
More to come.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
anticipation
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)