leaving France

It will be a long trip and it may or may not result in a return home. And this post probably wont solve that puzzle for you. Here's why: 

I set the alarm for 7, so as usual, I wake up five minutes before that. Why do I even bother with the alarm? Because the day I do not set it is the day I wont wake up. That's how it works, isn't it...

It's dark still. Or, that predawn gray. (Sunrise here today is at 8:15, a whole hour later than in Madison.) My bags were already packed in Paris, with just a few things needed for my two days in the Loire Valley. I have a relaxed hour -- breakfast here starts at 8. It gives me a chance to throw a glance outside. 

The longer I stay (granted, only 2 days), the more I like this landscape. There is a lesson here, no? Stay put, learn to love all that grows close to you.

There aren't many at the restaurant. And it's cold in the room! Is that intentional? So that you do not linger over your second cup of coffee? There is nothing unusual or especially grand about the morning meal here. I'll say this much -- the croissants are very excellent. That counts for something. My last croissant this year. I've stopped eating them in Madison. That and wine-- indulgences during travel, ignored back home. (Does that mean I opt for dull drudgery when not on vacation? Not really. I dont miss either at home. There, it's all about Millie and roses and the grandkids. And Ed.)

(more light after breakfast: the petanque sand strip)

 

 

After breakfast, the golf cart comes for my suitcases. I opt for walking to the main house.

(the little bridge is covered entirely by a climbing rose on one side and a wisteria on the other)

(one final one: maybe a "Francis Meilland?")

And then at 9, I take the cab to the Paris airport. Normally this would be prohibitively expensive (it's an 85 minute trip), but they have a special price for hotel guests so I budgeted the transfer into the whole package of staying at the Domaine.

Will I ever return? Dont ask me impossible questions. There used to be a time in my travels where I was hell bent on finding a place to return to. Again and again. Sorede comes to mind (years: 2010 - 2013). But when Ed dropped out of the picture, announcing right after that last Sorede trip that he was done with travel, my attempts at returns became half hearted. Chamonix a few of times. Brittany of course, though never to the same place. Only le Baume. Le Baume is all mine. People can come and go there with me, but it is mine. Solo trips to Paris can only be grand if I am there. Without it, I am but a lost soul drowning in the melancholy that can be very much a part of a stay in that city.

Truthfully, I probably wont return. I liked the Domaine quite a bit, but I am getting up there in years and there are other ways of linking Paris with the countryside that I have yet to try. (You'll understand come January!)

We arrive at the airport in an okay time frame. The warning here is that if you travel by cab, the entrance to the unloading for transatlantic flights these days always takes forever. I was lucky - only 15 minutes of stop and go (mostly stop) for the last 300 meters of travel to terminal 2E. 

Long lines at check in, even longer at passport control and then a quick sail through at security. Boom! Sixty minutes from stepping into the airport to stepping  before the gate, but really, full credit for that speed goes to my participation in the Air France loyalty program. The privilege of the frequent flyer in Paris is that you stand in shorter lines. Not much, but at insane airports with long lines, I am grateful.

Final foods on French soil: figs, a prune clafoutis (a fall standard here), and a partridge in a pear tree.

Eight and a half hours later I am in Chicago.

The plan had been to spend the afternoon/evening with my daughter's family, then to overnight at my usual hotel, and to return in a leisurely fashion tomorrow, by the usual bus. However, I changed my mind and everything aligned itself to put in place a new plan. Why spend money on a hotel and sit in rush hour traffic tomorrow, when I can take a night bus home? True, I will be on a European clock so in fact, I will have missed a whole night of sleep. But I save quiet a bit. And I gain some time at Steffi's House -- time that I need badly. Millie's guardian (and BFF!) is taking her to visit her mom, so the house will actually be empty tonight (I hadn't wanted to arrive in the middle of the night if they are both there). If I pick up Millie at daycare tomorrow (as planned), and if I am home in the morning, I will be able to water the garden thoroughly. It needs it. There was only one rainfall in my absence and that is pushing it for my newly planted flowers. I do not want to lose them or weaken them for the winter! Too, I have a zillion auto pay emails, telling me my card is being denied, as it well should be since I cancelled it,  I need to authorize my new card and start paying or else, for example, Millie loses her health insurance. God forbid!

The upshot? I plan on time with the grand girls, and when they go to bed, I will return to the airport and catch the night bus home. Ed will be at the bus stop if I call him loudly enough to wake him.

I'll post now, and update tomorrow on how it all worked out. The one thing that I do know is that there will not be time for me to write again until I am home, at Steffi's House.

See you then and from there!

with so much love... 

the Loire Valley

It's often called the Garden of France. Vineyards, abundant produce, artfully arranged landscapes behind manors and smaller homes. They're all here. French roses weren't developed in this region -- that's more of a Lyon thing (Meilland, the breeder of roses that I have in Steffi's garden, has ancestral roots in Lyon and he's not the only one). Nonetheless, you'll find the country's best rose nurseries in the Valley and in a different season, I would be tempted to take the Rose Route that would have me visit both gardens and gardening centers in the Loire Valley. And Lyon is a mere 20 miles (or 30 kilometers) from the Valley proper, and we know that these boundaries are artificial anyway. In late October though, none of this is really on anyone's list of Loire imperatives. Nor is visiting the numerous Loire vineyards, since the harvest is long done. I suppose if you were me even ten years ago, you'd like to poke around the wine caves and maybe sample the delicious whites. That's a thing of the past. Now I just look for peace and quiet and a nice walk in nature.

I get up late-ish. Late sleep, late morning. It's rather nice on a vacation. I love my routines back home, but some are meant to be broken when away. Getting up early seems to be one of the routines I let go of on this trip.

I'm readyfor breakfast just before 10, but I am diverted en route! The morning sunshine is just too gorgeous. Morning light is the best for contemplation, for taking in the beauty of our planet. I walk over to the little lake across dewy meadows and I exhale deeply.

(out my window: beckoning!)

(Two chairs, inviting. Behind them -- a see of winter rye and heart clover)

(The Lake House)

(The lake)

(Another pair of chairs, a boat, and yes, it's an American Red Maple)

(morning mist)

(Time for breakfast; and yes, there are donkeys here as well)

Breakfast is fine. I go eggsy this time, because the granola looks uninteresting and besides, I'm sure to skip lunch so I may as well enjoy some protein, even though this is a truly do nothing day.

After breakfast, I read a bit about the horrors of the world (meaning I catch up on news). Is this a mistake? Should I give myself just one day of blissful ignorance? I don't know... I think I've lived through so many decades of political turmoil and human loss and environmental degradation that I've accepted by now the fact that in our short lives you have to make peace with yourself and your community, wherever you may find it, despite it all. To be miserable helps no one. To find ways to live with contentment may in fact help others to do the same.

Another walk follows -- this one along the entire perimeters of the property. That takes maybe an hour. The Domaine de Primard is spread over 30 hectares/75 acres of land. That's okay for my do-nothing day, but you'd have to head out for a proper country hike. I do wonder -- where is everyone? A few are sitting on the artfully positioned chairs (see below), but the strolling paths are empty. I'm enjoying that! And before I delve into the photos, let me just say that some of my first impressions are evolving! After my walk, I'm beginning to understand that this property really is for a rosarian, but the proper time to appreciate this is... earlier in the season. There are roses everywhere and most of them are quite substantial. Jacques Wirtz is the landscaper who designed the gardens here (he also designed gardens in the Tuileries -- the sculpted, cloud-like boxwood are a giveaway) and I see that these are not young plants. Almost none of the roses scattered throughout are labeled. I had them ask the gardener if he knew some of the varieties (there was one in particular I was curious about) and he responded that he did not know any of them. This is very understandable. There are over 30 000 known rose cultivars and if you lose your tags and do not create a map of your roses, you might as well say good bye to ever knowing what you have planted. If these were put in tag-less a decade or two (or more) ago -- well, there's no way the current head gardener could say what they are.

(I pass this tall tree, maybe twice my height, and I think -- this is actually a rose bush, and not a rose tree. and it's quite old)

 

 

 

(and this is the "official" rose garden... just a few blooms now) 

 

 

 (The vegetable garden is actually quite big, but I don't see abundance right now, certainly not enough to keep all the guests happy at dinnertime)

 

 

 

 

(Chairs that I associate with Parisian cafes, by the river. I sit for a few minutes, looking at the rapid movement of the water) 

 

 

 

 

(Another 2 chairs and next to it, another old rose, climbing nearly to the top of a tree) 

 

 

 (In the roses by the main Domaine house: looks to me like a Desdemona, but what do I know...)

 

 

In the afternoon, I do something that I thought (months ago when I made a reservation at the Domaine)  I would need after many weeks of hard physical labor and the emotional strain of late summer (all these people, ill!) -- a spa time. The Domaine has a spa and I daresay, many a French person here from Paris is here exactly because it has a spa. A sort of relaxation break if you will. (There is also a pool, but it's outdoors and despite the fact that it's open until the end of this month, you'll find no one swimming in it. I wonder why...) 

Truthfully, I'd rather not do anything at the spa today. But, I booked it and it's the weekend -- their busiest time, so I am not going to unbook it. There are benefits to reserving things in advance (availability is always limited in these places), but there are drawbacks. And it's not as if I wouldn't enjoy a spa treatment, I just dont need it, and these days need trumps want for me. Money and time are at play here. 

 

In fact, I'm thinking maybe I did need a rub down. My shoulders hurt. After the therapist's kneeding, my muscle mass softened from tight to like butter left out on the counter too long. Never underestimate the value of lymphatic and immune system support! And of course I'm delightfully relaxed after it. All ready for my very long journey home tomorrow!

Another "tea time with cakes" follows. Possibly a terrible idea as it's a latte for me -- in fact, nearly dinner time (working that caffeine into my bloodstream and then wondering why I cant sleep!). But, a new routine has been established (can you call something that you do for two days a routine?) and so here I am. 

(back to the main house)

(drinking coffee)

And now it really is supper time, again at the Bistro (because... where else? We are in the middle of nowhere). No photos for you. My camera often switches shutter speed accidentally, seemingly of its own accord and it did so tonight. I got a lot of black photos from the evening. But I will note that the dinner was delicious. A lovely final one in France. 

with so much love... 

 

leaving Paris

A cloudy day in Paris, with a chance of rain. It hardly matters. I'm traveling today. A forced exit because I know that if I stayed, I would not feel like taking a train out to the country for an afternoon, or a day. I would do what I did yesterday and the day before: walk the streets, visit museums, buy chocolate. And I really want that walk in the country. In a garden that's not touched by city noise, dust, debris. So today I leave for the country. My last two nights in France wont be in Paris.

Breakfast -- late as usual. (My bedtime last night? Don't even ask.) Only one other couple in the breakfast area. Americans. Perhaps my age. Can't really tell. Being the curious sort, they as our waiter what he does after he's done taking care of breakfast for Baume guests. Oh, I read books. I love to read, he tells them. And I run. I do not read the news -- too depressing. Indeed. I had checked my email and had gotten the usual Breaking New alerts. Horrible stuff. We seem to cultivate school shootings as a hobby back home. How depraved are we anyway? So much taking of human life, deliberately. We use guns to stop those with guns. So, more guns, an endless stream of guns. At some point will they think of you as insane if you dont have at least five stored in various closets? A couple of days ago I was at the post office in Paris buying some stamps. The woman didn't want to give me "just boring" ones so she proudly took out a pack of some iconic cartoon characters. Bad guys, good guys, shooting with guns. I said I'll take the boring ones. Why? -- she asks. These are classic cartoons from the past! I don't care. I'm American. For me, guns are not funny. Boring is way underrated.  

And yet, if you think about it, most people are like our waiter here: they like to run, read books, find calm. A million, ten million of those for every one person whose brain malfunctions. I suppose there is hope in that. 

(My last breakfast. I almost want to cry. It's very special for me at home (Millie's with me!), but here, it is pure harmony of the senses.)

This hotel never fails to charm me. When you come back to a place, you start to notice the progression of time. Things fade. An older patina sets in. Not at the Baume. The other time I asked -- is that new carpet on the stairs? They said -- no no, it's been there for a few years. How do they keep things so fresh? Outside in their courtyard, there are now tiny lights forming shapes of butterflies. Everyone comments on it. -- it's so pretty! You need unusual and rare managerial skills to run a place so beautifully.

And speaking of such skills, who should I see out on the street but Madame Harrault herself, riding her bike to work (she is the highly respected general manager at Le Baume).

We pause to talk for a few minutes. She always takes the time for me. She is by nature a warm and wonderful person. And inevitably I learn something from her. She tells me how French grandparents (and aunts and uncles) do presents in France. A great idea! I'll try it back home.

I'm out for just a short stroll, to one point and back again. With one last glance at places I know and, by virtue of their familiarity, love so much.

(many photos have been taken over the years of this mirror and the image in it!)

 

 

(home)

 

 

And at 11:45 I take a cab to the Gare Saint Lazare, the same station that you would use for a trip to Giverny, or to the Normandy coast. It's a busy but well orchestrated station. One level of shops, one of take away food venues. Screens showing where your train serving your station departs from (usually you have to remember the final station; this is so much better). I'm especially impressed because Snowdrop and I had such chaos using trains in Spain. Crowded spaces where you learned of your train platform less than ten minutes before it left. Here, efficiency rules. (And the ticket was an inexpensive 10 Euro and of course there's WiFi on the train.)

So am I going to be spending my last two night in Normandy? No, not exactly. I take the train to Bueil -- a small town in southern Normandy. But my country hotel sits right at the border of Normandy and the Val Loire (the Loire river valley) and technically it belongs to the latter, though culturally, they regard themselves as Normand.

My new for me hotel is the Domaine de Primard.  French people think of it as the former home of Catherine Deneuve. I think of it as an 18the century estate on the river Eure, though I do smile at the thought of her once living here. I loved her in the Umbrellas of Cherbourg! Deneuve is 82 years old now (she has 5 grandchildren!) and lives in Paris right on the Place Saint Sulpice, which is a five minute walk from Le Baume.

For me, there were good reasons to pick this Domaine as a retreat. It had to be within a reasonably short driving distance to the airport (the Primard just manages to fit the bill on this!). It had to have a place to take a nice walk. And an informal dining room on the premises. And less expensive than the Champagne hotels, which in October are way beyond my retired person's pension. Champagne is closer to the airport, but the the Loire Valley offers more reasonable choices. That the Domaine de Primard also has a rose garden (250 varieties!) is a bonus that I only discovered after I fell in love with growing roses. True, they may be fading now, but it hardly matters. They haven't had a frost yet in central France. Something must still be blooming!

The train ride is brief -- not quite an hour. The hotel is about a mile from the station and there is a shuttle service to it. Even if you come by car, you cannot drive up to the Domaine. Walk a distance, or ask for a golf cart ride to the door.

My room? In a side building, but lovely! Nicely subdued and serene. I unpack all that I need to unpack.

I have no goals really, no plans. Take a walk. That's it. Their grounds won a gardening prize. They tell me it's the only hotel that received a "gardens of distinction" honor. It's not just the roses. They grow their vegetables. They farm animals here. There's a river and walking along its banks makes you remember what serenity feels like.

(A side stream that creates an island for the main house.)

(I hope this isn't next month's dinner here...)

(Is that an American Red Maple? I'll have to check it out tomorrow. Behind it -- a lake)

(The River Eure, not to be confused with the River Epte, which flows by Monet's house in Giverny which, by the way, is only 26 km or 16 mi away, but it takes half an hour to get there on these small rural roads. No thanks. I like the quiet here.)

(well positioned chairs)

(Dahlias, the veggie garden, and against the wall -- fruit trees.)

(... like these:)

 

(this is what being caught in a sudden cloudburst looks like!)

 

Between 4 and 5 they serve a tea (or coffee) with cakes if you want this. I do want this! True, I have a plate of gifted madelines and chocolate in my room (chocolate!), but I'm not one to pass up a free pastry and a latte.

I see it's going to be another carrot cake lunch for me. Supplemented with fruits and nuts this time. Including those French plums. Perfect.

I sit back in the large living room in their main house and think about where I am. The grounds are indeed extensive and beautiful in a nature sensitive kind of way (lawns have weeds, gardens have a pleasantly unkempt character -- it looks good that way). The rose garden is less perfect. A few blooms remain...

... but most leaves and flowers have given up the battle. Was it the weather, or is the lifecycle of French roses (or these roses) shorter? Ours, which n.b. are English and French and German varieties, bloom until frost. 

I think about the hotel as well. I hear a lot of French. Exceptions: 1. there is an American family with three daughters, but listening in, I hear that he's actually German, and they live in London, where the girls attend the American school. It's complicated! 2. There is a family with a little girl who is maybe three years old. I heard her speak English. She sees my phone. She takes it. I ask her to give it back. No! Please? No! We do a few more rounds of this. Eventually, she throws it on the floor. Thanks, kid.  

This Frenchness all around me (with these two glaring exceptions) surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. If you travel all the way to France why would you go to a place that is a retreat from cities, from the rest of French life? If you're me, that is exactly what you want to do, but not many would trade art, culture, cafe life for looking at two donkeys graze in a paddock. (They have donkeys as well.) 

The staff here is remarkable. They will do anything for you, even before you ask. Between the two buildings, there are 37 rooms, and with the large grounds here, you can feel isolated even when you do not want to feel isolated. A friendly staff undoes the feeling of abandonment. I do not need someone to carry my coffee for me, but the concern is sweet.

Supper is at the hotel's informal Bistro Martin (they also have a well regarded posh restaurant here). The food is quite good and artfully prepared and for that there is a price of course. 

 

 (a meal of duck and potatoes never looked so good!)

 

 

Still, I'm eating less expensively on this trip than I would, were I to eat out in Madison. Which of course I never do. Only for family gatherings or to celebrate a birthday with Ed. [At the bistro, I have mushrooms as a first, duck as a second, and fruit as a dessert. With all that chocolate in the room (big thick slab -- I ate the whole thing), I think I'm good with just fruit for dinner.]

(the walk back to the house with my room...)

 

And yes, I should go to sleep now. Instead, I read up on starting dahlias indoors in early spring.

with so much love...