Côtes du Rhône, Nice, to the Italian Border

Sept. 27 – Oct. 5

As you probably know by now, I put the name of the towns we visit or pass through in bold lettering, to help follow on a map. This is for David and I when we get home, but if it interests you, you could do it too. I sometimes put other places in bold type if I think they are worth seeing.

We arrive at the hill town of Crestet. Only a few residents and visitors wander the cobbled medieval streets. We head uphill to a restaurant where we hear we can get a good glass of local wine. Up and up, narrow stone-hewn stairs lead us almost vertically up a stone wall. At the top, there is no reward. The restaurant is closed! We sleep at the foot of the village, still high above, overlooking a valley, which, in the morning, has disappeared below thick fog. We stay here for a good part of the day. David's cold has reappeared. When he feels a bit better we go on to Seguret past lush fields of grape vines orderly crammed into every inch of space. Tall thin French cypress trees dot the land contrasting with the tidy shapes of olive trees, a beautiful silver-green color.

Seguret is another hill town. Its streets are a bit more alive than Crestet's. The village is lovely, small, quiet and picturesque. We are enthusiastic about meeting Egbert, the seller of some super fabulous postcards. His photographs are those taken by a photographer with a great eye and imagination. Egbert is in his 60s I think, with long grey hippy hair and a great face and manner. He comes from what he describes as the 'Bible belt' of the Netherlands. We have a good long talk, mostly about America: Jack Kerouac, the Beat Generation, Hippies (too groupy for him) and his younger days of thumbing across America. He is a character that will easily stick in our memories, someone we would enjoy as a friend. As we turn to leave, a slender black and white cat leaps and runs in that instantly joyous way they sometimes do. Is a weather change coming? A smattering of lavender scents the air.

September 29

A storm arrives in the early morning, with thunder and lightening and hard rain that continues for hours. We reach Gigondas, our third French hill town in three days. This town is alive and cared for, with folks enjoying life in small abodes and apartments set kattywampus, all this way and that. Lots of character, those famously photographed window shutters and doors painted in French blue patina, flower boxes stuffed full. Always there is the walk uphill. For us it is to the Cultural Center, which is new and beautifully architected, a more modern simple style that fits on the street with all the old stone. Still comes an upward walk to the village church on top, so peaceful and sweet. Villagers meet and exchange a story or two or wave at someone passing. Lifelong neighbors.

On to little Suzette. You can see this hill-topper in a blink of an eye. A white-robed monk arrives at the top and heads down in another direction, his skinny legs showing above his shoes and socks as he peddles away. A hunter stands a bit down the road, orange vest, red plaid shirt, and bells on his dog? What is he hunting? Rabbits, birds?

Wine grapes are about three weeks from picking. Let's see, what town next? Venasque. Many cars are parked up the hillside. People are walking up to the town. What is going on? A medieval festival is the draw. We don't feel like being in a crowd this size so we move on. We can go to a medieval festival at home, sans castle.

Bright yellow winter crocuses cheer the road edge. Always grape vines. I think… Grapes are just more mystical than apples and pears. Then up into rocky gorges into pines and scrubby oak, Luberon National Park. Folks bring their comfy camp chairs and sit out in the woods, or sleep in padded lounge chairs. Picnic food is all around, in baskets, coolers, laid out on makeshift tables covered with gay summery cloths. Europeans are so good at this. Who needs a back yard with a fence?

Back down the road, the oaks get taller. It is a wonderful drive today. The ground is covered with sparse buff grass. Evergreens spring up on the shady side of hills. Wide views. Kinnickinnick. For most of the day the sun shines but there is a hint of a change in the weather. Have you read, 'Hill Towns of Luberon' by Peter Mayle. That is where we are. Gordes. This hill town is touted as a 'must see'. It is a busy place on a late sunny Sunday, the streets full of tourists. It is too busy for our liking this afternoon. We move on.

Cliffs of white stone, known as tuff, is prevelent in this area. Sometimes, in the hill pastures, I mistake a run of boulders for sheep. Below us is an abbey. The fields around it are planted in lavender. Homes seem tranquil parts of the surrounding land because they are built with the stone that lies around them. Roads are narrow and corners are a question mark. Is anything coming? It is all about being pleasant to other drivers on these roads. It is a must to ensure safety. Often there is an opportunity to blink our lights and tell an oncoming car that they should proceed first.

We are descending. There are more oaks and less tall pines. A great drive alone with the elements of nature. Then we are in more fields of agriculture. Cherry trees. Grape vines without irrigation. Fewer grapes to harvest but stronger flavor in the juice. A red house sits on top of a gentle hill, orchards all around, a scene from a picture book. Pointy cypresses in rows. A plowed crop field is waiting for its seeds, all so perfect to the eye.

Have you ever tried finding a baguette on a Sunday? We finally stop to ask a lone pedestrian. “Pull in your belts.” he indicates by pulling in his own! We nod and smile, somewhat disappointed.

September 30

Roussillon. A must-see. I could not stop taking photographs. Ochre red to pastel yellow painted buildings. Painted doors of yummy contrasting colors. Good shops, galleries, restaurants. We parked last night in a parking lot. When we pressed the ticket button to enter the gate, the meter spat out a roll of tickets. Hmmmm. Guess this night is free. For breakfast we have toasted sliced baguettes with raspberry jam and eggs scrambled with red peppers, onions and cheese. A treat, as usually it is muesli and soy milk. This is a very nice town to explore.

We map out our next moves. We head towards St. Paul de Vence before going to Nice. A sunny fall day, car windows open, wafting in cool breezes. We are still in the midst of vineyards, the leaves now turning red-brown. Another hill town, Bonnieux. We breeze through its columnar walls, dungeon-like interior. Again it is a heavenly ride through and over rock-treed hills, ice cream clouds above. A smile on my face awed by all the beauty. What a world! David loves this kind of driving. He reaches over and pinches my leg. “Yes, pinch me! Am I really awake and not dreaming?” We get lost in the narrow streets of Lourmarin, Cadenet, Villeaure, Pertuis, and Peyrolles. The secret of satisfying travel in a car; punch the small villages into your GPS and travel along out of the way roads. Jouques – a community of people sitting on the banks of a little river, all yelling and cheering. We cannot see the object of their attention. Perhaps it is an annual boat race? Shadows are getting long. Evening is on its way. We continue. Rians, Esparron, St. Martin de Palliares, Varages. Olive trees and taverns. Silans de Cascade. We stop here. Whew! It is 6:19.

October 1

A slow start. We follow a street cleaner, and then we follow a farm tractor. Is this a message to take things easy today? We pull over to do some emailing but are distracted by the aroma of Chinese food. ''What do you think? Shall we?'' 12.50 euro buffet! Hey it is really good! You never know.

On the road again, still in Provence. Iron filigree. Bell towers. Oak forests and horse ranges. I ask questions of David. He is so good at climate, agriculture and how mechanical things work. Groves of eucalyptus and pines, red dirt in the high hills. Tanneron. The sign says that we are “overlooking the rest of France!” Vallros. It is cold up here! We see a few sunflowers and small wild flowers as we come down the grade: prickly pear cactus. Homes scattered and hidden in the hills. We are in the Alps-Maritime now and can see the Mediterranean. Pegomas. There are lots of communal gardens. I have written a note by the town of Moujen. It says 'artists'. But we pass it by. Always we are making choices. We cannot see everything. We arrive at the coast in a well-to-do neighborhood overlooking Cannes. Oh yes, the film festival town. The name is intriguing but still we push on. Roquefort les Pins. Steep bumpy rock cliffs at our side. Narrow road. We barely miss scraping the side of the van. La Colle de Loup.

And now we are in St. Paul de Vence, our final destination for the day. This suggestion has come to us with high marks, in the 'do not miss' category. We have enough time to explore its streets, cobbled with sun burst designs and 'racing' small long red pebbles. The town itself is perfectly restored. No shabbiness. Art shops, jewelry, clothing, linens. Whoops! Linens! We got caught, spent 200euros on a fantastic silk hand-screened tablecloth. Luscious reds and yellow golds. David and I often meet on a 'yes' decision when it comes to fabrics... but 200euros worth?

The paintings in these hill towns are never very good. The artists have found a niche and do the same thing over and over, never moving into new and challenging work, never really growing. A general statement; don't buy art in a tourist town, though of course there are exceptions.

October 2

The close whining of a hedge trimmer wakes us out of a sound sleep. I guess if gardeners are up and at it, it is time for us to get up too. We walk to the pharmacy, which has everything available without prescription, and then on to a church to hand over some clothes that no longer fit, a few sizes too big I am happy to report. Today we visit the Maeght Foundation, which is just up the hill. Lunch in the parking lot at our camper table draws two women from Florida. In amazement they ask the regular questions: “Did you bring this camper from the United States? How long have you been traveling? Do you sleep in the van? Do you eat in the van? Can you cook in the van? Where is your bed? Your toilet?”  We never really tire in answering these questions. It's fun and we make new friends.

The Maeght Foundation. Marguerite and Aimé Maeght set up this wonderful private museum with the vision of presenting modern and contemporary art in all its forms, art from our era. Architect Luis Sert worked with painters and sculptors to incorporate art into the building and gardens: the Giacometti courtyard, one of the world's most famous 'in-situ' works, the Miró labyrinth filled with sculptures and ceramics, the mural mosaics by Chagall and Tal-Coat, the pool and stained glass window by Braque, etc. etc. etc. Also displayed are sculptures, drawings, paintings and graphic works of the 20^th century by: Bonnard, Braque, Calder, Chagall, Chillida, Biacometti, Leger, Miró, Ubac, Picasso and my favorite, Franz Kline...and contemporary artists Adami, Calzolari, Caro, Del Re, Dietman, Kelly, Mitchell, Monory, Oh Sufan, Takis, Tapies.

Web site: www.fondation-maeght.com

Today we see an exhibit that is built around the theme; Artists versus Philosophers, a fight between the two factions or as the title says, “Adventures of Truth. Painting and Philosophy: A Narrative.” The artists take off and leave the philosophers behind in the dust. The philosophers soon gain the lead, but in the end they find that they need each other for inspiration and meaning. This is quite a unique trip through some great stuff.

Back to our car where we find a French couple lamenting the fact that they hit a pheasant with their Alpha Romeo, its feathers stuck to the grill. “I'm sorry birdy” they say.

So there is still plenty of time in this day to find a campground near Nice. Gypsy, our GPS, takes us to a camp in the outskirts of the town of Cagnes-Sur-Mer. We take showers and wash our clothes and bedding. These items hang all around our camp spot, over the bushes and in the trees and on one line streetched from fence to fence. It is now 5:30 pm. They will never dry today. Maybe tomorrow. No clothes dryers here.

October 3

Nice today. We catch a small bus, number 41, at the RV Park, into Cagnes-Sur-Mer where we transfer. Always a challenge. We have been told that we can catch the 200, 400, 500 or 94 into Nice, about a 45-minute ride along the sea. Our angel of the day speaks up with information and help. He is also riding into Nice and speaks English, American style, as he is originally from Texas. Robert by name, he married a French girl and has not been 'home' for 30 years. A very interesting and kind man, he shows us the way to what we should see and takes us to a metro center where we can buy our return ticket. When an angel like him shows up, life becomes easy; our questions are answered so we can spend the rest of the day enjoying ourselves.

We head to the Musée National Marc Chagall, which holds the largest collection in the world of his work. What a time we have here. It is all so magical. What a guy! His art is full of personal images of happiness in deep contrasting color, happiness of his youth and Jewish heritage in the Russian folk village he grew up in. So, so dreamy in the interpretations of his life. God is everywhere: in animals, flowers, music and love. Chagall lived in the United States during the war and then returned to close-by Vence. Here are a few aspects of his art that I really enjoyed...

Self Portraits! Many. He often looked very feminine, both young and old. Some of his faces wince or grimace but they always capture him. He does not show himself as the good-looking fellow he was, with a smile like sunshine. He portrays himself in other ways, like a donkey head or other animal masks, or an angel with an important message to deliver.

His wife Bella is so important in his life. She is his beautiful partner. He dances with her in her white wedding clothes, though he has the head of a donkey! She is his dear friend and model. Their daughter is Ida and she is also well loved and revered.

There is often a message of God. He seems to have thought himself a messenger existing somewhere between God and Earth. He was so sure of God's love for the world he created, love for all of nature. He felt that Jesus was the sacrificed Jew for his own race.

In 1954 through 1967, to fill a large room in the museum, Chagall did 17 very large paintings inspired by Genesis, Exodus and Song of Songs. This is an excellent museum that I am fortunate to have experienced. His images will always remain with me.

The Matisse Museum is just a bus-ride up the hill. Musée Matisse. In front of the museum, there are groups of men and a few women playing bocce ball. I am not sure if that is the name of the game here in France, but it is played all over. We have the chance to stop and observe. It seems such a social game yet very serious for some, but always the bantering of words back and forth. Those fun game words we use to poke fun at ourselves and others.

The museum is an older building surrounded by Roman ruins, with an archeological museum on the same property. One could really spend a day here. Maybe even get invited to play ball? For us, it was Matisse we were interested in and only time enough to take in his work. Although it also contains the most work by Matisse in the world it did not feel that there was a big variety represented. Very few of the delicious colorful and patterned ones that I admire. I note that his friends Picasso and Renoir show up in the Matisse painting style. We learn from others. Try to take the good and use it in our own ways. There was much of his early work. I greatly admired the examples of his drawings, though it was quite curious why he always treated the hands lightly, a few swipes, sometimes leaving them out altogether. Did he feel they were not important or did he have trouble illustrating hands? They are difficult to most. His drawing style was definitely his own, strong and sure, a genius at line drawing. When he was 73 to 76 he designed the Chapel of the Rosary in Vence. He was 81 when the building was completed.

Another part of his art that is familiar to us all was well represented, in fact perhaps too well represented, his Cut and Paste era. At the end of his life when he was ailing, this seems to be the way he expressed himself. Shapes of color pasted on paper. Designs that are quite modern. The family gave all these pieces of paper to the museum, even the leftovers. It did start me thinking about single shapes, the importance of simplicity

Two important artists in one day, in museums devoted just to them.

Bus, bus and bus to home, always with the angst of being unsure of where to get off! Val Fleuri is our main home stop before the last leg. Here we met an Australian family who are staying at the same park as we are. Traveling fools. Sarah the daughter has been traveling alone for three years, sometimes meeting her parents. This is her time, having already worked and graduated with two degrees. Her parents are going everywhere! Japan, Canada, the U.S. and Europe. They gave us information on where to park in Venice, both central and cheap. We will look for it!

October 4

We are on the bus to Nice again. More to see and now we know our way. We watch for the dome of Le Negresco hotel, our clue to press the 'demand arrêt' button. The dome is gorgeous, a peach color with soft blue and ice green top notch. The main part of the building is white, decorated with rot iron, a bit like the New Orleans style.

We walk through the Massena Museum gates next door, once a prince's palace. Very beautiful rooms representing clearly the style the family lived in. There are murals of the family, paintings, clothing, jewelry, war paraphernalia, etc. My favorites: three paintings in a gathering room, child angels that represent the arts: painting, music and philosophy.

These buildings are on the wide promenade street next to the beach so we walk the promenade east toward the central old town. Today there are sailboat races. Flags of many countries fly. Folks are gathering to watch. This event is called the 'Extremesailseries'. Boat specs are posted: 40 ft. long, 23 ft. wide, 1,250 kg weight, mast 62 ft., mainsail 764 ft. square, jib 82 ft. square, gennaker 256 ft. square, top speed 40 knots. And the crew: bowman/agile crew deploying and retrieving sails, helmsman/steers the boat with tiller-arm, tactician/the man with the plan who finds the best strategy, headsail trimmer/controls the jib for balance and building speed, mainsail trimmer/controls the biggest sail and how much horse power the boat can manage. ALSO, a guest sailor is on the boat, usually a VIP of sorts who get 'the ride of a lifetime'! The race is not ready to begin so we continue on. David has explained much to me, being a crewmember on many big boats in the Great Lakes, boats that have participated in the American Cup. He says this race will bore us.

We have a sandwich and 'frites' in the old section of town at an outside table, watching this busy French world go by. Fortified, we catch the Hop On/Off bus to see the bigger city. It is a lovely place. Soft pastel colors of palatial homes on Cimiez Hill: aqua, pink, a few red, gold-yellow. Brilliant architecture. First founded by the Greeks, then Romans, the flavors live on. Casinos, museums, hotels, apartments, all high-end. Palm trees. A tropical beach accent.

We head back to our home on the campground.

October 5

We are now heading east toward the Italian Riviera. Always, in the towns we pass through, people have white bakery bags. They never seem to miss a day of shopping for bread and savory and sweet treats. They leave their homes for this purpose only. A walk to the bakery and enjoy a few bites on the way home.

We are high above the Mediterranean in the French Alps that come straight down to the sea. Côte d'Azur. The coastal blue, blue sea. The towns are colored yellow and orange. The hill, valley and coastline road leads us to the Italian Riviera. Menton. Ventimeglia. We are in Italy!

THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:

> From the Talmud.

   “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.

    Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.

    You are not obligated to complete the work,

    but neither are you free to abandon it.”      (Thanks to Pastor Andy)

> Older European ladies keep up with fashion. Leggings with short  

   skirts, leather jackets, very high heels, hair colored and styled. Why

   not? They are still alive!

France Again - Sept. 16, 2013

Icy rain knocks against the windshield. Then dry roads and sunshine. We play with this pattern all day on the route to Monet's Giverny. Much of our ride is through country pastures and crop fields and villages. Clouds and sunshine move across the landscape. From a shadowed hillside road, which feels like night, we look out onto the sun of day. Watercolor skies ouzel where the rainy mist spreads out and runs softly into the clearer sky blue. Strong rainbow prisms of color follow us as we move along. Captured rainwater glitters between the rows of ploughed soil. After a five-hour drive we stay overnight in the village of Les Andelys. 

A grey and gloomy sky accompanies us on another road, another day. We stop at Carrefour, a popular supermarket. Back to the French way! No English, absolutely none. Abrupt French. So, they are proud of their language but that does not call for rudeness or an unfriendly atmosphere.  It seems in the work place the attitude is such that it makes us want to run quickly in the opposite direction. Perhaps we are reading the cultural ways wrongly as we have dear French friends who would never treat us this way. The world loves the French style, the French cooking and baking and here we are, in the land of BAGUETTES, tipping the scales back to balance. No one should have the right to call his or her long thin loaf of bread a baguette except the French. Eat them while you can, they do not exist anywhere else in the world. 

Monet's house and garden and a new museum! It is not a sunny day in the town of Giverny but Monet's garden was bedecked with fall flowers, even white lilies amongst the flat yellow-green pads, by the famous blue-green bridge. The studio in his house is filled with his paintings. I did not expect it. And on the walls, along with his, are those of his friends, perhaps trades? Berthe Morisot, Renoir, Signac, Cezanne, Van Gogh and more! I loved the white furniture with flowery stuffed pillows and a faded Turkish rug. The other rooms and halls were literally filled with Japanese prints which he greatly admired. 

The Museum is small and lovely. At this time there are interesting exhibits having to do with Monet's life: the Hiramatsu exhibit, The Lily Pond, Homage to Monet, confronts Monet's canvases and the Japanese prints he loved. We walk down the village road toward our van and notice a field of haystacks, a subtle reminder of a favorite subject of the painters of Monet's time. This evening we sleep in the town of Fontainebleau. We have explored here before, Napoleon's home town and castle.

September 18

This morning, as we leave Fontainebleau, we drive once again by Napoleon's palace and parklands. Almost unreal, the palace is so large and beautiful, and the gardens vast. It is shocking in a way; too big, too beautiful. Attached to power.

Fields of spent sunflowers, brown with seeds, line our country ride as we follow the Loire River on our right, heading southeast. At 3:00 we will check in at the Taizé Community where we plan to stay for four days, a heart's desire for quite some time. This is a place of simple worship of combined Catholic and Protestant beliefs, a worldwide draw, mostly to young people. As we drive in I am so disappointed. It is ugly! Of course it is raining, which has turned the dirt roads into massive puddles. 

We dawn jackets and boots and slop our way to check in at 'Cassa'. A German boy, who is a resident here, explains the “ropes”. This is his job while here. We 'pay what we can' which is accessed by the community and depends on how rich the country is that you are a citizen of. Our commitment is 130 euros. Our orientation guide tells us that the food is minimal, not really very good, but plain and tasteless! He seems proud of the fact! We do notice a sign for EXTRA FOOD. Left overs in case you need more to eat. I am glad that our refrigerator and cupboards are stocked! 

There is no care or beauty emanating from this religious center. Tents and huts and buildings appear to be added as needed. We separate from the young people's residence and move up the hill a bit to the adult area. Eating and meeting are in a large tent, our parking place in one of the fields of caravans or car campers. 

I know very little about this place, other than I love to sing the short melodious chants that are composed here. The original leader and founder was Brother Roger. He began by welcoming Jews to a safe place of retreat. Since then it has become a Protestant and Catholic retreat, a union that in itself, is a surprise. Brother Roger was killed just a few years ago by a deranged participant; the deed done during a service, with a knife. Brother Roger had already chosen his successor, brother Alois, who is the lead Brother now. Pope Paul has visited and described it as a place that is like stopping at a refreshing spring. 

With time on our hands, David and I go exploring, first to the church. There are three sections; participants on both long sides and the center reserved for the brothers. The young people sit on the floor or use small prayer benches, which are scattered around. Benches for those who need to be off the floor are lined in three rows on one side...along with about 10 stairs that go down to the central floor, used for sitting on also. The alter area is a stage. Weird shapes of orange sail-like fabric stretch from floor to ceiling, and a table. In the back of the room there are huge partitions that can be opened to include other large rooms into the main sanctuary.

I am reminded of other spiritual venues that I have been part of. Siddha Yoga, with Swami Muktananda so many years ago. The Findhorn Community in Scotland around 1980 and two groups in Washington state, Chinook Learning Community and the Sunbow Community, the latter being a close group of folks displeased with what organized churches had to offer, formed to embrace all ways of worship; to sing, meditate, and talk with one another about our experiences, our meditations, our issues, our discoveries, our One God who created the earth and all its people, all equal. Every little word of thought is accepted or respected. Members of this community did what they could to support causes we all believed in. Now, what will I find in this spiritual gathering in France?

We visit the community shop, which has a great amount of lovely things for sale, made by the brothers themselves: pottery, collage, cards, chant CDs, baskets, calendars and books, song books, wood carving, jewelry. This is how they support themselves, deciding at the beginning that they would not take 'outside' money for their living expenses. It appears that this effort is doing well. Many people are buying. 

Okay, maybe it is time I change my attitude if I expect to get anything out of these four days, to let the Taizé energy in. Go with the flow. Don't swim against the river. I read about the goals and beliefs. “TAIZÉ – A pilgrimage of trust on earth. Towards a new solidarity… an opportunity to seek communion with God through common prayer, singing, personal reflection and sharing.” I think I can do this. “Everyone is here to discover or rediscover a meaning for their life and to find a new vitality... and also a preparation for taking on responsibilities at home with a view to being bearers of peace and trust.”

Our days are filled with the following: morning, noon and evening worship, summoned by the chiming of bells. David and I try to get there early enough to find a bench seat with the wall behind us. We might as well be comfortable. The readings and songs are lovely and the chants go on after the brothers leave, for as long as the singers keep it going. It is calming. We meditate, we receive communion if desired. It is a restful inspiring time. In the mornings after breakfast, we attend a bible study given by one of the brothers, after which we gather outside with a small group that we meet with for the four days. There is a great group of English speakers from many countries: Ken and Sheena, Bojan, Andrea, Andy and Monica and Beno and Silke. There is discussion among folks who do, or do not believe in the Bible. Also we have time to follow a woodsy trail system down a hillside into a flat lake area and waterfall. Cross or pause on a Monet style bridge. Sit on a wood round placed next to a tree trunk for comfy leaning pleasure. Study or meditate in an open wood-built chapel. Or, follow the road into the ancient town of Taizé to the original church where brother Roger is buried among other brothers who have finished their duty, along with local residents of long ago times. 

So what did I learn here? It was a worthwhile stay, calming, peaceful and holy. Inspiring! I learned that I could be more kind to others, more alert to others’ needs, more giving. I could happily live with less. I loved experiencing this time with David, talking about it together. I learned that I am still very comfortable with my very simple belief in a creative power far bigger than myself. Maybe I could be more often aware of the constant presence of this power and remember to give thanks. And I still believe that the established religions of the world that I am familiar with are valid as vehicles to honor God and each are of equal value. 

September 23 - 25

We say goodbye to our new friends and head to the town of Cluny, once the largest most powerful abbey next to St. Peter's (Pope). There are only ruins left to help us imagine the history in its prime at the end of the 11^th century. David has a cold. We are moving slowly with low energy. It could be a result of leaving the Taizé community, getting used to the outer world. We move on to Lyon.

Lyon is a wonderful place, an old city that reminds us a bit of Paris but here the city sits on the River Rhone. We spend a few hours walking its main center, clock tower, huge square and very long pedestrian street sprinkled with all the right offerings. Caught inside an H&M Clothing store with sale prices I find a black and white striped shirt chosen by David and a long sleeved dark wine blouse to wear with a brilliant striped scarf. It's always about the scarf! We stay the night in Cassien and David sleeps most of the next day. When able, we move on. A more populated area, less pretty. Spread out commercially. But then we enter a lovely route, Tour des Pin, into a gorge and now we stop for a view of the French alps and scattered farms that have taken to the new technology of black plastic covered hay rounds. Green, green ground cover rolls down from the upper mountains into a mix of pasture and trees. White cows only it seems, are allowed in this Provence. It is sunny and warm, bedding hanging out windows to grab the freshness the outdoors has to give. Leaves are drying but clinging to limbs as though they were uncertain of the fall to the buff colored grassy floor. We gaze across a wide valley to the Alps shrouded in a fall haze. Route de Crouisel, we head up into the mountains. Bicycles are being ridden straight up hill and then the legs keep spinning on the downhill stretch. Don't they know they can coast downhill? It begins to look like Switzerland here. Novalaise is a clean and gorgeous mountain town. We are choosing the roads of character and beauty, which means setting Gypsy for NO TOLL ROADS, but sometimes all the small-road roundabouts drive us crazy. Up and up we go on a road perched at the edge of the sky. Tamaracks grow on the other side. On to a less steep road, we can see paths through the forests leading to a lake at the bottom. The road is just wide enough for two cars. Nances, altitude 927 meters makes a great picnic stop. Mt. Granier, 1,993 meters is in our view and the city of Chambery spread large across the valley floor. Col de l'Epine! Mountains range up to 2,829 meters. Grand Pic de la Louziere! We wind down into the valley. Fruit growers. A woman walks ahead of us, skirt swinging over her tall rubber boots, rake over her shoulder. Folks are in the field picking big orange pumpkins. Ivy of brilliant red climbs the trees. The road leads along a big lake, which sits in a bowl formed by the surrounding mountains. Cities and towns are cleaner and more modern. Aixe la Bains; plain trees stand in a row, reaching up human-like, offering their leaves for the taking. Mountains to valleys to mountains again, then flat fertile lands, with distant peaks topped with old snow. Cross-country skiers in training, push up the mountains on their skis, heels kicking high, poles gracefully flying. From the window pots of village homes cascade red geraniums or petunias of all colors. Albens. More cars! It must be rush hour. Bonneville. Last hay harvest. The corn is as high 'as an elephant's eye'. Wild cosmos are waving and bobbing as we pass. Roundabout – roundabout – roundabout! This day basks in an 'Indian Summer'. We are 45 minutes from our destination: Chamonix and Mt. Blanc. A chunky mountain comes into my mid-ground view. I play with climbing it. What route would I take? Then at our side, a clear glacial waterfall, tall and thin, beautifully lit from behind. Lots of snow covered mountains with glaciers to our left. Mt. Buet, 3,099 meters. Pretty ski towns. Wooden chalets. Tall stone homes march up a steep mountain base. A sloughing peak has been left with quite a knife blade of pointed stone. Aberge. We are into mountain woods through village after village. Pointed grey stone pinnacles and chimney rocks against a vivid blue sky. Smaller church steeples are pointing upwards too. Para gliders are wafting side to side, now up, now down, on their slow descent.

The town of Chamonix is situated below Aiguille du Midi, a pointed pinnacle at 3,842 meters (12,600 ft.) that faces Mt. Blanc at 4,810 meters (15,771 ft.). We are taking two trams up to Aiguille! Here are some facts. I guess we can build almost anything these days, under the craziest of circumstance. 

1,500 meters of galleries and working area on top / 22 km of bearing and hauling cables / 2 cable cars / 1 gondola in summer only / journey duration: 20 minutes / 3 pylons including one over 70 meters / 2,747 meters of height difference / 45 kilometres per hour on the second stage / 66 passengers per hour / 500,000 visitors per year / from the top, an 11 mile ski run.

Wow. What a ride! That last bit seems to head straight up. A glimpse out the window makes you woozy. I see climbers making their way up an icy spine. Para gliders have their gear packed and stand alongside us, anticipating the flight down. At the top the door slides open. My legs won't work, my breath is short, and I am dizzy. Hmmm. Maybe this altitude is too high for me. A weird and scary situation! David takes my arm and steers me to a bench where I sit and send him on to enjoy the experience. When I feel a little better I walk a few yards into a film room. This was exciting stuff. Rock climbing, solo rock climbing, mountain climbing, wilderness skiing, line walking, snow boarding. It is amazing; the constantly new and refined equipment that is geared to allow our relatively small bodies to participate in seemingly big dangerous new sports, giving new, harder challenges. Equipment that allows us to dare ourselves to the extreme. I love watching these movies. These athletes must have minds of steel and focus. When David returns from investigating all angles of views, he helps me back to the tram. Still, I need more oxygen and my legs will not move to my command. No way down but the tram and its first tethered fall from the pinnacle. I am glad to reach the bottom and experience a fully functioning body again. A quote from Rick Steves: “The air is thin – people are giddy.”  I'll say!

We ride canyons and narrow gorges out of the mountains. David races down the roller coaster road, having fun with the wheel in his hands. Our overnight landscape is a huge parking lot, empty, and we exit the mountains. 

September 26 & 27

Albertville. This is a day to write on the blog. David takes off with his camera to record the city and brings back bottled water, barbecued chicken and a baguette. I keep writing as he makes us breakfast of scrambled eggs with onion, tomato and garlic mixed in, and fried baguette toast with homemade marmalade. We get on the road again at 3:00 pm. A rare beast appears coming toward us, a Kenworth truck! The mountains are shaped unusually: pointy, rounded, blocky, knife blades, stone and dirt, a variety in one place. We stop for the night at a roadside parking lot in the middle of nowhere. There seems to be a closed restaurant and another shop of some kind. Sleep.

In the morning I amble over to look in the shop window. I am curious as to what might be sold here, so far away from a concentration of people. Oh, oh. It is a yarn shop and all the yarn is wool spun from sheep, alpaca, cashmere and whatever else that makes lovely knitting yarn. Beautiful samples hang everywhere: sweaters, vests, hats, and dresses. Gorgeous stuff; it is a gallery of color that fills the imagination. I choose a white soft alpaca to make my friend Susan a hat and scarf for her birthday, December first, when we will pick her up in Istanbul. Expensive, but what a difference it makes, and Susan is a discerning woman! Bernadette, the more than helpful sales person, speaking French and sign language, draws out a pattern for a cloche hat. I think I understand it, but later I try over and over to make it work. I fail, so I go back to the hat I know how to knit without pattern. 

We keep south. Canyons backed by blue sky and puffy clouds. Layers of a variety of strata push up in the gullies, almost in stair-step shapes. Red-pink shows itself in places, the virgin stone-color under its grey exposed skin.  It is a dryer climate here: olives, lavender, fruit trees. Entering the Cotes du Rhone region.