travel

Time’s Up!

| Mairead

(The fishermen were out all night on the lake at Autun)

When I was walking up to the château last week the timing was set by my choice to return for French lunch at 12.30pm. I had my phone so I knew I’d know when it was time to leave. Of course when I got up there I realised I had more time so I stuck in an extra experience (coffee and… etc.) and spent the original estimate of an hour to visit the monuments. But I noticed a funny thing – without checking my phone I knew when it was time to leave and start my walk down the hill.

(Near the lake at Autun)

Denis is the best at knowing the time without looking at his phone. I think it’s because he was born on a farm and spent his childhood outdoors while I may have been doing something more interesting… like watching telly. We sometimes do this thing where I say, don’t look at your phone but tell me what time is it? (yes, there is no end to our excitement). Most of the time he will be exactly right and the odd time he might not be exact but he’ll be very close. I’m always way off so I presumed my internal clock was broken. My visit to the château and my sense of it being time to leave has given me confidence in my internal clock.

(Foggy morning on the canal near the Loire at Léré)

I might also have an internal calendar because I can feel something else in my bones – a change in the weather. The sun is only just rising now when we set off in the mornings and the temperature for the past three days has been 5 degrees or less when the clock goes off. Which is magnificent because it means there will be no clouds when the sun rises and sunrise is a beautiful thing to see. So I’ve started taking my porridge out to a bench (they are everywhere – thank you France!) and warming my hands while I sit in the presence of beauty. Of course I have warm trousers, boots, three layers of fleece and a hat but that doesn’t stop me seeing the sun and feeling the beauty. This is the same sun we humans have been counting on to rise every morning. The sun that tells us it’s a new day and we can start again.

(Léré again…)

When I’m home I rarely sit outside for breakfast so I don’t see the sunrise. I’m doing this here because I am reminded our journey will end soon and I am gathering every sunrise like I might gather shells on a beach. Anyway, yesterday when I had a feeling it was time to go home, I trusted it and now we are going home, a week earlier than planned. I absolutely knew it was the right thing to do but right after we changed the ferry tickets I began to doubt myself. It felt like there was an uncomfortably narrow funnel I had to go through to get home and I had just brought it nearer. Near enough to have a good look at it!

(We always bring out the good china for dinner… Chateau Sully on the Loire)

The problem is it was so narrow I couldn’t bring things back through it… I couldn’t possibly bring the beach with the shells, or the freezing cold sunrise, or the French benches. I have to go through on my own with nothing in my arms, no rucksack on my back. It has a sister funnel – the one I go through when we leave Ireland. In that going away funnel I can’t bring my family, I can’t bring my friends, I can’t bring all my art supplies.

(Chateau Sully)

Well, until now I thought I couldn’t bring things through the funnels… but I’ve been looking and I see there is a little space for me to hide things. Like my internal clock and calendar no one will notice I have them… except me. When my internal clock told me it was time to leave the château last week it was right. We all have a working internal clock but we’ll only use it if we trust it…

(Sunrise at motorway services on the A10…)

It’s the same for that space we have for hiding things, the things we can’t bring with us in our arms or on our backs. If we trust that space is real then maybe leaving will be easier. Because nothing really gets left behind.

We’re coming home, Mairead.

Châteauneuf-en-Auxois

| Mairead

(Can you see the hedges zigzagging up to the château? That’s the road)

On Thursday morning after breakfast I left our spot beside the river to climb to the château. It was cold, about 8 degrees but the sun was shining. We were going to do French lunch again as the cupboards were still bare so I needed to be back by 12.30pm. the walk according to google would take 37 minutes, it was now 9.24am. I thought the 37 minutes might be a little optimistic so I was allowing myself an hour to walk up, another to walk down, leaving me with a visit of an hour. In the end google was very close and in spite of my puffing and panting and my stops to take pictures the climb up took exactly 40 minutes!

(Sigh…)

It was such a beautiful walk too, I still feel it now. The slight chill in the air. The colours of the trees. The ducks floating in the canal. The cows eating the grass. After eleven minutes I reached the end of my journey along the canal and had to start on the road that I could see zigzagging towards the château. As I climbed higher the sun felt hot on my back. The gentle walk along the towpath behind me I was pulling myself up the slope. There was the sound of the birds and a distant hum of traffic and something else – my heavy breathing. Fortunately there was no one around I needed to impress.

(Isn’t this seedpod beautiful? The road in the background leads to the canal)

The first manmade structure I came to was the château wall with a wooden door, into the garden, I guessed. The door was locked and there was no indication whether I should go left or right around the wall. By now, 10.04am, the sun was beating down and there was no shade and even an extra few meters in the wrong direction seemed painful. I went right and I was climbing again. But it was a good choice as I was heading into the village of Châteauneuf. From below it’s not clear that there’s a village up here but there is and it’s incredibly pretty. I passed one of the Logis chain of hotels, a pizza restaurant, guest houses and a man charging electric bicycles for hire. I wondered if I should try to negotiate a one way trip back to the canal later.

(Oh look someone seems to have ordered coffee and cake… with cream)

There was also a cafe with tables and chairs outside, you know the ones that look French? Made of metal and circular and painted green. It was open. Having made such good timing and having used up possibly a cake full of calories I went along in and had a coffee and cake…. yes it was only just gone 10am (9am in Ireland…)

(Looking out the gate of the château into the village)

Fortified, I went along into the château and paid €5 for my ticket, well worth it especially for the story of the wife and the sugar dusted flans… So it was the Friday before St. Andrew’s Day in 1450 (or thereabouts) and Catherine of Châteauneuf put some sugar dusted flans on the window seat. (The sugar dusting seems to be important.) Her husband sits down to eat and disaster… he dies shortly after. Also dead is a young servant, Mariote. Everyone thinks Catherine put arsenic into the tarts to poison her husband, no one seems too upset about Mariote. Catherine ends up in jail and someone else gets the château. I don’t think she did it but if I’d known the story earlier I might have skipped the cake.

(I forgot to include the map last time… the red marker is where we were parked by the Canal de Bourgogne. Thanks google maps )

I spent an hour going around the rooms and buildings and then started back down, noting how much easier it is to walk down a hill than up.

I’m still wondering about Catherine and the flans, Mairead.

Like walking into a postcard…

| Mairead

(The camping car aire is to the right of the boats. Can you see the château?)

You know when you’re flipping through a magazine or a brochure and you see these pictures of some beautiful place and you think, wow, that’s just gorgeous, I’d really love to go there, then you turn the page and go on to something else. Well, for years I have a picture in my head that I saw in some brochure for the Canal de Bourgogne. It was absolutely magnificent. There wasn’t a particular location given for the picture, probably suggesting that all along the canal might be as magnificent… and it probably is. Anyway, I didn’t bother doing anything about it, either looking up the canal or asking anyone.

(The locals are very friendly)

Then on Wednesday there we were… in the picture in my head. It’s magnificent. Now I have some more pictures to keep in my head and you can have some of them too… At every turn there was something pretty, something reflecting light, something drifting along. In case you ever want to visit, here’s the location details: the village is called Vandenesse-en-Auxois, the château is called Châteauneuf-en-Auxois and the red marker on the map below (thanks to Google maps) marks the spot.

(The colours…)

It was too hot to walk up to the Château on Wednesday when we arrived and since there were no grocery shops in town and our cupboards were bare we went for a French lunch. Fortunately, there was a restaurant.) Might have mentioned before that the French are very precise when it comes to mealtimes. Lunch happens between 12.30pm and 2pm, not before and not after. It’s a four course all-included affair for anywhere from €10 to €15 or more. We arrived at 12.01pm as we were hungry and with all the cars parked outside we were concerned about getting a seat. The place was hopping when we arrived. There was a big group around the bar and a good number dotted around the tables. Monsieur took a moment as they do to welcome us and point to a table. We sat down.

(No cars… )

The table was set and there was a bottle of water. We drank the water and waited. We were wondering when the menu might come but the starter arrived at precisely 12.30 so we didn’t need to wonder anymore – there was no choice. That was actually a relief because every meal we eat in France has been delicious so whatever arrives will be ok with us.

(Can you make out the château in the mist?)

At this point the tables were full, mainly men, possibly coming from work. They looked right at home like maybe they came here everyday. And why wouldn’t they, the meal was lovely. I tried the sweet cheese – even when the Mademoiselle explained you pour sugar into it! I thought we misunderstood but no, one of the locals was doing just that. It tasted like a plain yogurt… with sugar.

Next time I’ll tell you about visiting the château, Mairead.

Boating around Besançon

| Mairead

(Can you see the assistant? She sitting waiting for us to enter the lock)

I nearly forgot to tell you about the boat ride. So let’s go back to last Thursday. A glorious day in Besançon I found the tourist office in the morning, got my hair cut, had lunch and headed back to the tourist office to pick up the boat. The walk took a bit longer than I imagined but thankfully the captain didn’t keep a strict departure time. As I was not French-speaking he gave me his notes in English to read as we went along. I nearly fell of the boat when I read that we would be going through locks! And the first one was right around the corner. His assistant was waiting to close and open the gates when we arrived.

(Not too sure what all that means but Ecluse means lock. On the wall of the mill beside the lock)

Lock successfully navigated we set off around the loop that is the river Doups and it was so relaxing. There was a warm light breeze and on every side nature. Imagine you’re sitting on the boat beside me (in one of the bright pink chairs) and let the pictures guide you on your own imaginary boat trip….

(Shade your eyes from the sun as you look up at our first glimpse of the citadel… did I mention I walked up there?)

(Can you see that gap? Under the house? Mind your head we’re going in!)

(Wave to the man walking along the tow-path. Look the captain has put on a light show overhead for us)

(And we’re out the other side of the tunnel… I know that bridge is very low but I promise we will make it underneath…)

(We’re at the automatic lock and there’s the automatic lock keeper… having the chats. Go on give him a wave, he seems very friendly…)

(See I told you – we made it under the bridge!)

(And now we out from under the citadel…. oh did I mention… I think I did)

(Take a deep breath of that beautiful greenery)

(Over there. look. look, you can just make out our aire )

(…and there’s Denis taking a picture of us taking a picture of him… give him a big wave! I rang him when I realised you’d be on the boat with me!)

Do hope you enjoyed our boat trip around Besançon, please take all your belongings as you alight and mind the gap when stepping off the boat.

Just floating along, Mairead.

Loop Le Doubs

| Mairead

NewImage

(Can you see me on the boat, on the river Doubs, that loops around Besançon)

Yesterday after finding the tourist office and using their very good wifi, I went for a boat trip. But first… I got my hair cut, in French! This is the first time I’ve had my hair cut in France and through French. You might remember I have been working up to doing this. Part of my preparation was looking in hairdressers’ windows. I was checking for two things, opening times and pictures of hairstyles I liked. I felt that they wouldn’t put a picture in the window unless it was a style they could cut. So if I liked it and they could cut it we were a match made in heaven. A couple of times I liked the pictures but the opening times didn’t line up with when we were parked nearby, until yesterday… when a third thing lined up.

(That’s my hairdresser – the light blue shopfront)

I has passed the salon a number of times before yesterday morning. We were on our way to coffee and although the opening times suggested it should be open, it was closed. We have come across this more than a few times, when a shop or restaurant will have an Ouvert (Open) sign outside but the doors are firmly Fermee (Closed.) Oh well, no hair cutting here. Anyway, I thought no more about it, have my coffee with Denis and went off in search of the tourist office.

(Markers on the ground for one of the walking tours of Besançon)

On my way back I just happen to look into the salon and the door is definitely Ouvert! I walk straight in before I forget this is a good idea. The hairdresser and I say Bonjour and my with very next sentence I check if she can speak English. From her reply I ascertain she has about as much English as my French. Ok… well that’s probably enough. So I take out my halting French, remembering that hair in French is very like horse and I don’t want her to cut my horse and I slowly tell her I would like my hair, em… but I cannot for the life of me remember what the French for cut is. No problem, she is fluent in hand signals and as I am cutting the air with my pretend scissors-fingers she says, coupe (cut). Yes! We are doing this. Then I point to the picture in the window and say, like that…

(The beautiful river Doubs from the bank)

In case you don’t know it and this is of course a generalisation again but here goes: the French are very straight talking, they don’t tell a lie to spare your feelings and although my hairdresser was not talking, her look was very truthful. I could almost hear her thinking I hope she doenn’t think she will look like the twenty-something year-old in the window display. No problem, I understood her concern and used the international hand signal for give it your best shot. And we were off. We tried a little chit chat in our mix of French/English and all in all the experience was most enjoyable.

(Can you see the flag? Did I tell you I walked up there?)

But the time I was paying we both had become very confident in finding ways to understand and be understood, but it took me three goes to understand what she said next. Eventually, she made me understand that we had met earlier. No, I don’t think so. But yes, we had.

(Hair is very important here, even the statues have good hair)

One of the things I love about walking into shops and restaurants in France is that the owner/waitress/server will always, always greet you with a Bonjour! or a Bonsoir! and maybe a little wave. I feel like they are glad to have me as a customer. Sometimes the other customers will also say hello. Just lovely. It usually takes me a few days to stop saying hello as I walk through the door of Costa in Greystones. Anyway, do you remember before I went to find the tourist office I went for a coffee with Denis? We walked in and the owner said Bonjour and the customer enjoying her coffee also said hello…and both of us said hello to each of them. Well, the customer was my hairdresser!

(Here we are enjoying a selfie moment!)

It made me realise something – I don’t really look at the people I meet in cafes or shops…  I would have recognised her if I did. I meet a lot of people when we travel so I have a bit of an excuse, but maybe I could do better. After all I like being greeted so much maybe I would enjoy taking a little more time to pay attention to the greeter.

Boat trip story tomorrow, Mairead.

The Salt Factory

| Mairead

P1070992

(Entrance to La Saline Royale at Arc-et-Senans)

Today we are at a salt factory – not like any factory I’ve ever seen and nowhere near the sea in a place called Arc-et-Senans in the Franche-Comté region. (Just to the right of Burgundy and famous for that comté cheese you love, Ashleigh!) The factory is not in production any more so in order to explain it we’ll have to go back to the 1700’s when salt was like gold. It was used to preserve food before refrigeration and it was heavily taxed to bring in revenue. In fact, it could be one of the things that led to the French Revolution… could be.

P1070998

(There was a map…)

So imagine this, we are back in the time of royal France. The king is Louis the fifteenth. He has great power and he happens to have a mistress, Mrs Barry (I don’t want to start any rumours but that’s a very Irish name…) who will come into this story later. At the time there’s a salt factory right beside a lake full of saltwater (ok I’d have to understand a lot more than nothing about geology to explain this but… I have accepted and would suggest you do the same that some earth movements pushed a bit of land, formerly in the sea, now dry with salt stuck to it into the middle of Franche-Comté) in a place called Salins-les-Bains and they wanted to extend production but couldn’t due to it’s location in a valley. Along comes Claude-Nicolas Ledoux.

P1080004

(The factory director’s house)

Claude is going to be the hero of this story. Claude came from a middle class family but had aspirations to be an architect. His mother encouraged his drawings as a child and he got money from some monks to go to college. He was very enthusiastic and eventually his enthusiasm paid off and he came to the attention of Mrs Barry (remember? the King’s “friend“) who told the king about him. He designed a very fancy music studio for her in her huge garden (not entirely sure how but she seemed to have plenty of money.) Anyway, one day the King visited her music studio and was very impressed. Between the gigs and the reels Claude ended up getting a job as Commissioner of the Saltworks (all of them) in this part of France (I now realise there must have been many salt factories… probably to do with geology again…) Now, I’m not sure how this job related to being an architect but Claude made it work and learned loads about saltworks factories.

P1080007

(Worker’s apartment buildings on left and right. In the middle, the main gate which also contained the bakery… remember we are in France)

Then with all this information he came up with a way to improve things at the hemmed-in factory in the valley – he would move it! Creating salt from salt water requires lots of heat and the way they generated heat was by burning wood but they had pretty much used up all the wood around the valley factory and were dragging wood from all over the region to supply the fires. So, Claude figured it would be cheaper to move the water than the wood and he proposed building a new factory in a forest. He was really pleased with himself and while he was proposing that he went ahead and designed some lovely factory buildings. He had to scrap the first set because the older architects on the job thought they were a bit too fancy and they were also a bit too expensive. Claude was not disheartened, he pared down his initial idea and his proposals were accepted… well mostly.

 

P1080011 1

(There was a lovely exhibition in one of the buildings and I particularly liked this one exhibit about a tree)

I nearly forgot to say, they moved the salt water to the new factory location via wooden pipes! Over distance of… 16Km! Isn’t that amazing? Probably isn’t very amazing really, because they were moving water all over the place at that time in canals and so they had a lot of expertise in this area but still, I’m impressed. Anyway, back to Claude…

(The semi-circle layout of Claude’s factory here at Arc-et-Senans)

Claude was well before his time in his appreciation of living conditions and as well as beautiful buildings for the factory he included apartments in beautiful buildings for the factory workers and their families. He also included gardens for them to get back to nature after a hard day at work. He wanted to build a town around the factory too. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen. There was no town and the workers were working such long hours that they never got to enjoy the gardens. His own life took a bit of a downturn too because along came the French Revolution and anyone with connections to royalty was in big trouble. I think he might have spent time in prison and some of his buildings were destroyed, but in spite of all that he continued to design and in the museum here there are models of lots of buildings he designed that never got built.

(Our view this morning beside the salt factory)

So here we are back in the 21st century and the factory is a museum, a Unesco World Heritage Site and a hotel. Just over the wall there’s a camping car aire where we are parked. Claude is long gone but definitely not forgotten. In fact, you can almost hear him… listen…. My passion for drawing, lead me to Mrs Barry, the king of France and even a prison cell but I’m not sorry, Claude.

Go Claude! Mairead.

Quiet town in France has deadly secret…

| Mairead

P1070974

(Quiet little town… or is it?)

We stayed in a noisy place last night so I’m tired today. We often see comments on the app about aires where noisy youths having late night parties in the car park keep the motorhome people awake. We usually give these aires a miss and go somewhere quiet. Yesterday’s aire in a small town seemed very quiet during the day. In fact everything was closed and the path I hoped might lead me on a journey around the town and into the countryside stopped around the back of the church. Nothing much going on here. Or is there?

P1070977

(There was a château, but it was closed)

Anyway, there we were, settling down to sleep when it started. Well I supposed it had been going on all day but you just don’t notice it when you’re awake or when you’re happy to be awake. As soon as you want to be asleep all the noises seems much louder. Surely it would stop soon? And it did but it started up again an hour later… and every hour until 7am. We were gone by eight.

P1070973

(The culprit… and that’s us parked behind the hedge on the right)

Have you guessed? Our noisy youths weren’t young at all, they were the church bells… I suppose parking so close to the potential risk of a huge church bell ringing all night is on us. So, today I will be extra nice to myself. I will hydrate and rest. I will ignore any comments from Denis that seem negative, because maybe I’m just a little extra sensitive. I will make myself a nice cup of tea and sit outside (with a few additional layers, it’s cold today) on the bench generously erected by the local community. And I will never, ever pick an aire beside a church again.

Zzzzzz, Mairead.

Rust and Decay

| Mairead

P1070947

(Welcome. Settle yourself. We are in the vines… can’t you just imagine?)

Yesterday we were in Beaujolais and I am completely sure of that because we stayed at a wine farm and the wine they produce is Beaujolais! We had a lovely conversation with the farmer’s wife (in french! Denis’ french comprehension is coming along in leaps and bounds.) Her husband’s father bought the farm in 1959 and now there are three generations of the family involved in the business. They are not connected to a cooperative so they grow, press, bottle and sell everything themselves. They are very busy.

P1070937

(A Renault truck, just one tyre remains…)

I didn’t get around to asking but I think the grandfather must like old machinery because the farmyard and camping field had lots of old tractors and farm machinery. Laid out really neatly, by the way. Well, they are French. They also had modern machines, one very like the funny tractor I saw trimming the vines in Prisse. Old machinery always reminds me of my childhood because from time to time my Dad would bring home old cars or motorbikes. I think they may have been in lieu of payment for services rendered at his service station.

(The man-made colours of autumn. Can you see there’s still a little piece of glass in the headlight on the right? and the one remaining tyre? and the number plate?)

One motorbike in particular was a favourite of mine and my brother’s because of it’s position between a wall and a shed we were able to climb on without fear of falling over. It provided no end of imaginary play. This french farmer’s collection reminds me I love the colours of rust and decay and the feelings they invoke.

(Can you see the opening to a tank, just above the Renault badge? Is it for petrol or water?)

As well as machinery there were hens! And a cockerel… who wakes at 7am. I was making Christmas cards (I’ll tell you next week…) in the afternoon when I first saw the farmer and his wife in the hen enclosure. He had a bucket and was on a ladder against one of the trees picking fruit. His wife was holding the ladder. The hens live in an orchard!

(Here’s Henny and Penny just being chickens)

There are also nut trees in the farmyard and thanks to Stewart (from the houseboat) who taught me, I was able to identify walnuts. Whoever discovered them first was very persistent because it takes a lot to get to the tasty bit of a walnut. It’s very well hidden.

(This is what a walnut looks like when it falls from the walnut tree. Peel off the outer layer and you’ll find the shell. Crack the shell and you have a walnut!)

From Beaujolais (or nearby) Mairead.

Where are we, now?

| Mairead

We’re in Beaujolais! Another day, another wine-producing region! But before I get into that I want to show you where we’ve been – Burgundy, on our map of France…

(This is a rough estimate of the location. You can see it is very close to Switzerland.)

There’s only so much information you can take in when you visit a country but if you keep returning you take in new things each time and you understand old things you heard previously. Now I know where Burgundy is… I think. You see, next time I visit, or maybe later today when I get into conversation with a French native, I might realise what I thought I knew was not in fact true at all! It happens to me a lot. Until I drew the circle on the map above I thought we were close to the south of France, when in fact we are closer to the north of France.

P1070651

(Higgledy-Piggledy in Auxerre)

I’m reading a book at the moment about a fictional private detective in Berlin before the second world war. It’s written in English by an English writer (do you know, I could be wrong about that too, he might be Scottish?) and the detective gets beaten up a lot so I’m not sure I’d recommend it. Actually, I’m not sure why I keep reading it because the fictional detective is also annoyingly sexist but for all his/it’s faults I’m hooked. Anyway, at some point in the narrative the detective is remembering his time as a soldier in the first world war and in particular being in the trenches in Ypres.

P1070707

(Swans landing on the river in Auxerre)

Well, we were at a really good war museum in Ypres last summer. The kind that has you fighting with your companion afterwards for no good reason other that you are so upset by what you have seen. (Yes, no, that doesn’t really seem good I’ll grant you.) Anyway, as I’m reading my fiction book I’m thinking, oh yes I know what that’s like, I saw the stuff in the museum. And then I remember…

P1070871

(This lovely man, in Saint-Gengoux-le-National, had time to say Bonjour to each person who passed, including me, while repainting every crossing in the town)

All the stuff in the museum was from the perspective of the allies. From that perspective the baddies were the Germans. We all know the baddies were the Germans… weren’t they? But this detective (yes, fictional) in my book was German, he is the baddie, but wait, no, he was having a very hard time in the trenches, he was fighting for his life, surely that’s what I’d do… It’s only a fictional book and I’m not even sure I like it but just that one line about being in the trenches scrambled my mind. Things aren’t always as straightforward as they seem.

I think I’m right about that, Mairead.