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 11th 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.
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