Home Again, Home Again

For our last night in the countryside, we had dinner at a little restaurant about 6 or 7km from our lodging. When we arrived, we could see two toqued chefs busily working in the kitchen. (When you see your chefs in starched white jackets and tall white hats, it's usually a pretty good indication of some serious culinary training.) It was such a charming place. I loved the pale stone walls and soft neutral colors and linens. It was warm and friendly, and we had one of the best meals of our whole trip. What a nice finish. They even served a nice after-dinner wine as a treat, simply because we were clients of our vineyard lodging. Nice touch. What amazed us is that this delightful little restaurant is down a hard to find dirt track and several km from the nearest (small) town. Hard to imagine how they survive, but perhaps that's explained by their friendliness, decor, and fantastic food.

The salon where we were served an aperitif and our orders were taken for dinner.




The charming dining room.




It's a tough life!








Things went fairly smoothly as we left the vineyards behind on Wednesday morning. We were wanting to drop off the car early enough that we might be able to catch an earlier train to Bordeaux, which would in turn give us more time to make our connection to Charles DeGaulle Airport. The drive from the vineyard to the Libourne train station took only about 15 minutes. This is pretty countryside with rolling hills of vines and villages and their church spires dotting the horizon. It was especially pretty in the morning light.

The car drop off couldn't have been easier, and the office is just across the street from the station. We had no knowledge of the schedule, but were aiming for earlier than our planned 9:38am. (Our TGV reservation was for a specific time, but any non-TGV leg was simply covered by our Railpass and could be any available train.) As it happened, we got there right before the 8:17am was scheduled to arrive. We didn't think it was too likely we could make that, and we had no reason to hurry, since there were two other trains to Bordeaux in the following 15 minutes. Turns out that these early trains are essentially commuter trains. There are only 4 tracks at the Libourne station, which means only two loading platforms. All the Bordeaux-bound trains were using one of the platforms. So we headed out to that platform, to be ready to jump on. Since it was running a bit late, we could have caught the 8:17, but it was very full and there were quite a few people wanting to board. We let the first train go, but took the next. It was quite full too and not a particularly comfortable ride and no pretty scenery to soften the edges. But it was an interesting "slice of life" to get to see the commuter scene--not something we usually experience when traveling.

Just to remind us of where we were, we got to see a little scene that felt quintessentially French. While in the waiting room for our train, a tall and elegantly dressed man came in carrying a posh attache case and a plastic bag. He pulled out a very ordinary packaged sandwich. Then he brought out a small screwtop bottle of red wine, opened it, and took a swig from the bottle. After the main part of his meal, he had a piece of fruit then went to the machine in the corner, put in a few coins and came back with his requisite, meal-ending cup of espresso. Such ordinary surroundings, but he wasn't giving up his expectations of a typical French midday meal.

With our earlier experience in Bordeaux, we felt we knew the drill about finding our track, etc. By taking the earlier train from Libourne, we had well over an hour before our track would be announced, rather than the 16 minutes we would have had if we'd taken the planned train. We were pretty relaxed about this next leg, and almost downright giddy when our train was announced as departing on Track 1, right outside the doors of the station. What could be easier?

Well......our train turned put to be one of two hooked-together trains. One was heading for Lille in NW France, the other heading for Strasbourg in NE France. When we'd made our TGV reservation a couple weeks earlier, the person helping us had given us the heads up that we should look for a train to Strasbourg rather than Charles DeGaulle. We had appreciated her telling us that, but it turned out that our train number was the one destined for Lille. Another little puzzle piece to work out.

When our train arrived (mercifully on Track 1), our train was the front train of the two. The display of the car locations showed our car almost at the front of the front train. And that silly train stopped clear outside the very big station! We had quite a distance to cover and not a lot of spare time. It's amazing what adrenaline can do to make a couple of bag-toting seniors approximate a sprint. I'm beginning to think I'm too old for this!




Everything went smoothly except for this speedy jaunt. The trip to the airport was about 4-1/2 hours long and was very comfortable and smooth. We went through Angouleme and Poitiers, neither of which we'd seen before, but otherwise there's nothing much to be said about the scenery on that route. The TGV station at the airport drops you off downstairs from Terminal 2, which was the terminal we needed for our departure the next morning. Our hotel was just two escalator flights up from the train station, so that couldn't have been easier.




We checked in and freshened up a bit then set off to determine where American Airlines was located (I.e., which of the four terminals within Terminal 2 we would be using). Had a couple missteps that gave us a very solid day's exercise. We haven't flown in or out of CDG for 12 years, and it has changed and grown since then. It is a very big, very peopled, and not particularly user-friendly airport.

The hotel is at the connection point between the two long, V-shaped wings containing the Terminal 2 terminals, a very convenient location. Our terminal was at the farthest point on one wing of the V, while we had walked to the farthest point of the other wing thanks to a piece of misinformation. We ended up going to the farthest points of both wings twice by the time our evening was done. Good exercise for sure.

Staying at a hotel located within the terminal was a luxury, but we had decided when planning this trip that such a convenient location would eliminate a lot of the stress of departure. It was certainly not the budget choice. Even so, we were startled at the cost of services and food. WiFi was happily provided, but at the price of 24 Euros, which seemed awfully high. Dinner at the informal restaurant would have set us back well over $100. (Hence the extra foray down the concourses in search of a decent meal at an acceptable price.) Continental breakfast in our hotel would have been 29 Euros, or about $35-40. Per person! Yikes! Right outside our hotel's doors was a branch of Paul, a bakery chain and a very good one, which we had patronized most mornings while in Paris. Do I need to give you a hint about which option we selected?

We got to our gate with plenty of time to spare yesterday morning. There was such an overwhelming number of people rushing and lined up and blocking the way that we were very glad we'd allowed extra time.

We're so sad to leave France. We think of it as "our place." We were there long enough to automatically respond to interactions or queries in French. We got into the rhythm of the days and the mealtimes. We enjoyed our little Peugeot. During this last, car trip leg of our time in France, we met a number of French people, who were friendly and rather surprised to see Americans. One hotel manager, on hearing where we were from, grabbed both my hands and said how delighted he was to have Americans visiting him. He fussed over us throughout our short stay at his hotel. A number of people took the time to inquire about where else we had visited and where we were going. They simply may have been excited to know American tourist dollars were present, but it felt warm and friendly. People were very responsive to my modest attempts at communication. I always try to say something conversational and beyond the required answers or statements. This is sometimes a bit comical because my French is pretty rusty and, at this point, seems to be only in the present tense. (Where have my conjugations gone? Somewhere other than in my head, I assure you.) Usually I was able to get my message across, though I'm sure they got some chuckles out of my attempts.

We are definitely having a mixture of sadness to leave and a happy anticipation of being home.

Adieu to La Belle France. A bientot (until later).

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Back to Wine Country

With the mountains in our rear view mirror, we headed north again. We had two nights to spend enroute to our final destination, and the plan was to drive through Gascony, taking in the Madiran wine region and the Armagnac region. It was hard to leave the beauty of the mountains behind, and it happened very quickly it seemed. If we had been heading east or west, we still would have been able to see the mountains, and we would have been in and out of valleys. But driving north takes you out of the hills and mountains rather abruptly.

Our first detour of the day was the city of Lourdes. We had had several people we'd met in France tell us to skip Lourdes, explaining that it is just a tourist destination. However, when we found our highway north skirting the city, I felt we owed it to ourselves to at least drive through to see it. If we felt a tug, we could stop. But, if we kept driving, there were no second chances.

In we drove and experienced shock and awe of the unpleasant variety at the complete tackiness and touristic nature of the place. It was block after block, street after street of hotels. Tour buses by the multiple dozens. Swarms of people moving like a river of bobbing heads--mostly eating in cafes and going into souvenir shops. It was interesting and affecting to see the number of people coming out of the grotto entrance limping or being pushed in wheelchairs or gurneys. And I am genuinely happy for those who are able to find a deep and spiritual experience in the midst of all the commercialism. Admittedly, we did not go into the grotto itself. Perhaps that would have changed our impression that the spirit of the place was very lacking.

Instead, we aimed the car at Madiran, France's smallest wine appellation at only 500 acres of grapes. Once we made our way there, we were surprised at how little it seemed like wine country. Fields of corn or wheat were everywhere, but hardly any grapes. Eventually we found those elusive vineyards. We have frequently enjoyed Madiran wines during our trip, so it was fun to visit the region, modest though it was.

At dinner Saturday night, we had a bottle of Saint Mont. We had read that there are 5 other estate wines produced in the Madiran area, and this was one of them. We really enjoyed the wine. As we were doing further exploring on Sunday, we kept bumping into Saint Mont vineyards.

We were also focused on figuring out where and what the Armagnac region is. We knew where it was generally, but specifics seemed to be elusive. Then all of a sudden, Armagnac producers seemed to be everywhere we looked. It turns out there are three regions of Armagnac production in this area of Gascony: Bas Armagnac, Armagnac Tenereze, and Haut Armagnac. We spent Saturday night in a town in Bas Armagnac. It was a pretty standard roadside logis, but they had a collection of Bas Armagnacs few others could rival. They had practically every year since 1939 of one producer. We debated tasting the Armagnac from either our birth years or the year of our marriage. This last was the least expensive, being the most recent of the three options. At 42 Euros for a taste, we decided it was more fun to look at them than to taste them. Instead, at dinner, we had a typical aperitif of the region, which is some Armagnac in a glass of the local Cotes de Gascogne red wine. Quite tasty and quite a comparative bargain at 6 Euros.

Sunday, we drove through the Armagnac Tenereze district. I had expected Gascony to be very old and rustic, with lots of evidence of its history (think the Three Musketeers). Until we got to the town of Condom (corny jokes to be set aside), we hadn't really seen the historical monuments or a different architecture. But here in Condom we started to get more a taste of that era.

The Tour d'Armagnac.




The beautiful Cathedral Saint Pierre in Condom.




And the statues of the Musketeers just outside the cathedral.





We spent the night in Fleurance, which has lots of character and just happens to be in the Haut Armagnac region. So, even though we weren't clear on the boundaries of the Armagnac territory, we managed to dip our toes in quite a bit of it.

Notre Dame de Fleurance.






On our way out of the Armagnac area Monday morning, we stopped off at Lectoure, which is a very scenic village. The rest of our drive was pretty standard. We went through Agen, which is a very pretty (but larger) city. We didn't end up spending much time there, mostly because I had a splitting headache that wasn't making me yearn to hoof it around a city in the heat of the day.

Lectoure's Cathedral Saint Gervais and Protais, 15th Century.








We're now at our last destination, the little village of Puisseguin in the Saint-Emilion appellation of Bordeaux. We visited in the area in our tour bus a couple weeks ago, but Jerry loved the idea of spending our last two nights in an actual vineyard in what is considered to be the most scenic area of Bordeaux wine country. He managed to find a little winery that has a few very nicely appointed rooms. We have to go to the neighboring town (about 5km) for dinner, but it's a cute town with a pair of very nice dining options.

Our lodging.



Vineyards in nearby Montagne.




This morning, 7 of us had breakfast in the small kitchen. Initially, we were just five Americans, the other three being a couple from the Denver area and the wife's sister from Chicago. We had a fun visit, comparing notes on where we'd been on our trips and where we were headed. We had visited some of the same places, and they were heading today to Bordeaux where the husband's brother has a house. We were then joined by a couple from Belgium, who interacted with our hostess more than us (for obvious language barrier reasons). But they joined in in humor when I described being without wee-fee for 11 days. The Belgian woman indicated that her companion would have gone crazy without his Internet for such a long time. We all had a good laugh over the image.

After breakfast, our hostess--an employee of the Chateau, both the chamber d'hôte portion and the winery portion--took us Americans on a tour of the Chateau and ended with a tasting of the two primary wines they make (a first label and a second label).







We spent the rest of the day having lunch and sightseeing in the charming town of Saint Emilion. It was raining when we started, but cleared up later. We drove to a few other nearby towns and filled up the car. It gets dropped off at the Libourne train station fairly early tomorrow morning. We then will catch a train to Bordeaux, where we have reservations on a TGV that will take us straight to Charles DeGaulle airport. We're staying at an airport hotel to make our departure Thursday morning a bit easier.







It's been a great trip, a one-of-a-kind combination of things and places and people. But we're really looking forward to coming home too. All we have to do is jump these last few transportation hurdles.


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We've Been to the Mountains

Friday morning, we aimed our car toward those distant-looking peaks. I found a series of green roads that would take us to the area we thought we were seeing. We drove down a portion of the spectacular Aspe Valley. It seemed amazing that there was a major red road (highlighted in green) running through this narrow valley with almost vertical hills on either side. The road signs were announcing that the goal of the road was Pamplone (the French version of Pamplona, Spain, the city associated with the running of the bulls), about 220km away. (We bumped into an amusing mix of identities in the valley town of Laruns: the Pamplona Pub, which offered tapas and had Guiness on tap!)

We decided we wanted to go one valley east, the Ossau Valley. Ossau is the other half of Ossau-Iraty cheese. We had been in Iraty country for days and had been seeing signs for farms that are producers of this long-favorite cheese. Ossau-Iraty is widely available at home, which is probably a strong indication that it has to have pretty big production. It has its own AOC, or appellation controlee. We had for days been on what is known as the Route des Fromages, or route of the cheeses, and had seen hundreds of identified Ossau-Iraty farms (if not more). It was very impressive to see the magnitude of farmers and herds of sheep that allows for such wide distribution.

We started east on what is known as La Route des Cols, or the route of the passes. This sounded auspicious for my pilgrimage to the mountains. Our first pass was Col de Marie-Blanque, which topped out at 1035 meters. When we got out of the car at the pass to stare up at the rocky peaks over our heads, we were surprised to be serenaded by cowbells--one of my favorite sounds in the world.







As we made our way back down toward the valley, we were stopped by the sight of a farmer about to take his flock of sheep from one pasture to another across the road. We came to a screaming halt (well not really, but a hasty stop indeed). The farmer indicated he would hold the flock for us to go by, but I jumped out of the car, staying behind my door to indicate no threat but showing my camera so he knew I wanted to photograph the crossing. He waved and went about his business. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to do a video of the crossing, but my thoughts were just focused on those sheep and the farmer and the working sheepdog with them.












When the sheep were all safely in their new pasture and the farmer had closed the gate, the sheepdog immediately turned his attention on us. He headed straight for our car and laid down in front of my open door, angled in front of the tire. We were going nowhere until he got the all clear signal. Eventually the farmer signaled to the dog and he immediately took his leave of us and headed home. We felt so lucky to get to watch that. No one else around but the farmer, his sheep, his dog, and us. Pure bliss! I had a smile on my face for many miles after that.












Not much further down the pike, we encountered some horses in the road. They didn't seem to be going anywhere and they had nothing to eat where they were standing, so their presence was a bit puzzling. Then we found a herd of cows grazing away and making music with their bells.








Once we made it down to the valley, we traveled south awhile. We had decided we wanted to take a north-south road that ended in the mountains, rather than one that was heading for points in Spain and was therefore more heavily trafficked. So off we went on the next stage of La Route des Cols, which would get us yet another valley to the east.

Our next pass was the Col d'Aubisque, the road reaching 1709 meters. This pass is quite famous on the Tour de France. This turned out to be a better (i.e., wider) road, but oh my goodness did we climb. And climb. Very twisty road to the top of the pass. Seemed innocent enough at the beginning, but soon became quite steep with no guardrails and major drop offs. (Have I mentioned that I have a pretty solid fear of heights? Especially if there are no safety nets, so to speak. So what were we doing here? This is a question I was pondering pretty seriously at this point.) The good news is that I had sweaty palms and was making odd whimpering sounds for only a few minutes of the drive. Once we reached the top and got out to look around, I was fine, much to Jerry's relief!












After we'd been making our descent awhile, I mentioned to Jerry that given the incredible climb we'd made, it didn't feel like we were going down very much. No sooner had those words left my mouth than we started climbing again. Then we saw a sign that said we were climbing to yet another pass, the Col de Soulon, which only went to 1474 meters.




We had not known of La Route des Cols before we bumped into it, and we had no idea of the extent of it. It turns out that this is the way one makes the trip from the Atlantic (starting in Bayonne) to the Mediterranean (ending in Perpignan). There are 34 passes in all. Given our excitement with the three we did this day, I think I can safely say this might not be the route of my dreams after all. Loved what we saw, but 10-12 times as many passes? I don't think so! The three were wonderful, thrilling, and beautiful--and enough.

When we got back down to the valley and headed out to the end of the road to a town called Cauterets, which is inside the Pyrenees National Park, we were reminded of the surprises one bumps into when one decides to travel completely on whim. What we thought would be a quiet town at the foot of the mountains turned out to be a major hiking and ski town. Seventeen chairlifts, hundreds of kilometers of hiking trails. Given the steepness of the slopes, it's quite hard to imagine either skiing or hiking in those hills, but obviously a lot of people think otherwise. There were many, many vacation chalets, rental apartments, and hotels. There were also thermal spa centers. Not a grand place, nor a peaceful place, but an interesting surprise for us nonetheless.

The view from our room.




Our lodging for the night, the Hotel du Lion d'Or, may not have been in the setting we had in mind, but it was very old and charming and filled with marvelous antiques. The same family has run it since 1915.









Much as we enjoyed our hotel, the fact that we ended up in a highly touristed ski town is a pretty good reminder of why I prefer to plan my trips. We had chosen to play this segment of the trip very loose--partly as an antidote to the highly scripted days of our Road Scholar tour. The planner in me, however, thinks a tad more planning might be the ticket.



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Green Roads

We started off our day driving back out the Nive Valley and then exploring St-Jean-Pied-de-Port, which is on the Nive River and only 8km from Spain. St-Jean's name means "Saint John at the foot of the mountain pass." It is a UNESCO World Heritage site. We knew we would visit this town if we ever were in the vicinity. It is a famous launching point for pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostela, some 730km away. Three pilgrimage routes from different parts of France converge in St-Jean.

Years ago now (1997 I think), we were on a trip in France, visiting the Massif Central, the Auvergne and Aveyron regions, and veering toward the area known as the Lot. One of our "guides" for the trip was a pair of articles we had read about following one of the pilgrimage routes toward Santiago de Compostela. Now, as then, our choice for the pilgrimage is to drive it, not walk it. But we loved that trip and have often said it was our time in France that impacted us the most. It wasn't a tourist route at all and was part of what is called "La France Profonde," the more profoundly French area of France. Also, coming out of that experience, we knew someday we wanted to visit St-Jean.

It is a very heavily touristed town. Knowing that, we made a point of arriving fairly early, before the heat was too much and when parking would still be easy to get (i.e., before too many tourist buses made their way to town). We wandered the streets, seeing signs for rooms or other services for pilgrims. We saw only a few pilgrims, but they are easy to spot, with scallop shells on their packs or on cords around their necks.








Note the scallop shells on the packs of these two pilgrims.




Not having a plan of where we were headed after St-Jean, but wanting to keep seeing pretty views like we had the previous days, we set off using a network of green roads. Michelin maps are quite good at marking scenic routes in green. They're usually a pretty good indicator of attractive ways to get from one place to another.

We were headed generally east and to the north. We went over the Col d'Osquich (col = pass), which was indeed scenic.




We stopped in Mauleon for lunch and found ourselves in a town with completely different history and architecture.




We continued on another green road and found ourselves in a lush and rather quiet area. Pretty as it was, I kept noticing that the really high mountains were further east and to the south of our trajectory. While we had thought it might be nice to stop for 2 nights and make day trips, I had a very strong pull to get closer to those higher peaks I could see in the distance.




So we found a nice place to hang our hats for the night and enjoyed pretty vistas from the garden, while visions of more mountains danced in my head.

The view from our garden.



A painting of our hotel for the night.




Where will the green roads take us tomorrow? Will we find a way into the mountains on the horizon?


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We're Heading for the Hills

Time to head deeper into Basque Country. We've gotten our feet wet (literally and figuratively) and gotten a taste of the justly famous Basque cuisine, but we want to see the Pyrenees.

Years ago, Jerry and I talked of a future trip that we called Sea to Sea, fantasizing a journey through the Pyrenees from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. This trip is as close to that dream as we've gotten. We'll only do about half, but we're excited to be experiencing a part of it.

What we didn't realize when concocting that scheme was that any travel from west to east in the Pyrenees is something close to impossible unless one is a mountain goat. All the valleys tend to run north-south. Moving west to east means traversing a mountain pass, if available, or driving back out of the valley one is exploring and then taking a road to the east and heading down another valley one wants to see.

As we left coastal Basque territory, we headed first for the Aldudes Valley. On the way, we stopped in Bidarray. We had to climb up to a plateau to get to the village, which had spectacular views of the steep hillsides and all the pasturing cows and sheep.




As we drove through the Aldudes Valley, we couldn't believe how beautiful the landscape was. Very steep hillsides. Lush and green. We drove through the valley until we suddenly found ourselves at the Spanish border. No fanfare. It just happened. We stopped and took some pictures and stood on the crest of the hill, eating some local ham and crackers and enjoying the utter quietness of this beautiful spot.

At the border.



Looking into the Navarre region of Spain.




Looking back into the French Aldudes Valley.




Looking for a place to stop for the night (we're now into the completely unscripted portion of our trip), we drove up another steep-sided valley along the Nive River to the end of the road. We were only a few km from the Spanish border again, just one valley to the east of the Aldudes. Fortunately, the little logis at this remote spot had a room available. Turned out to be a fishermen's paradise. It is the source of the Nive River. There were a number of very well outfitted fly fishermen staying here. It was a very simple place, but clean and comfortable. This is where we finally found WiFi again. Our first time in 11 days, and we couldn't have been in a more remote spot. What an amazing world!








After dinner, we sat in the lounge and caught up on email and made a blog posting. A couple of the women who had served dinner and were doing cleanup and prep for breakfast were intrigued with the iPad. They stopped by to see what I was doing and to look at pictures. One asked where we were from. "The United States" elicited quite a reaction of surprise. Apparently, Brits are not that uncommon, but Americans are much less frequently sighted here.

Just uphill from our inn were some grazing horses. The young horse was very frisky and a delight to watch.




An unplanned stop, but an interesting peek into a different part of the world.

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