A Rainy Day In Paris

Sound’s almost oxymoronic, doesn’t it?

The return.
Leaving a life I love for the life I live.
The rain..... seems somehow apropos to my mood at the moment.
Enough!
This is, after all, seductive Paris. She who draws me back again and again.
But... the rain... the mood. Sometimes you just have to make your own sunshine.

Yes, I’ve been here many times. Done all the cliches, the Louvre, Notre Dame, The Orsay, The Eiffel, The Champs, Montmartre, the Latin Quarter. I’ve done them all. Will do them again.
But here, on this rainy day, in Paris, what to do? I need light, levity, mindless distraction.
I love movies with Paris as the star. I love, no I’m obsessed with the movie,   Ronin.  Couldn’t tell you how many times we’ve seen it.  And the movies Before Sunrise  &  Before Sunset , we both could watch them at any time.
And Montmartre. The fabric district. Well Sandy can lose herself (quite literally) in it’s twisting winding warrens. Or, a sidewalk café in the Latin Quarter
And... I’m gettin’ a glimpse of the sunshine.

I’ve always yearned to track-down some of these icons of “our” pop culture , but always... hey ... this is Paris. Something bigger, better, faster always comes up.
This time. This time I’ll just indulge myself.
It’s a far jaunt from the seventh where we’re staying to the 18th and the environs of Montmartre. Rain and subways. As they say with food and wine, what a perfect pairing. Subways, or the Metro as it is known, make Paris manageable, almost intimate, almost.
Pop-up and out of the Art-Deco Abbesses Metro entrance near the funicular, and.... grey skies.... but no rain!
Now, I remind you that in Montmartre you will find Paris’s fabric district. Literally hundreds of shops, little and large, with fabrics and notions. Street after street winding around the base of Montmartre with the Sacre Cour atop.
Now, Sandy like’s, but maybe doesn’t share my obsession for Ronin and “scouting” the Ronin sites. Bear in mind, this is not the first time. I have also done this in old Niceville, Arles and Le Turbie.
The fabric quarter, however, now there’s an obsession for her.
Standing in front of the Sacre Cour funicular, we decide to split-up for an hour and meet back here.
Right! I’m excited..... off to find the bar, the steps. You know. The opening scene, Sam (Robert DeNiro) walks down the “endless” steps (rue Drevet) and peers into the shabby old bar. Now, I have to confess. Last year I might have tried to do this and failed. This year, however, I come armed with the resources of   http://www.imdb.com/  and  www.movie-locations.com  , so, voila! Should be a cinch.
Or..... I’m usually quite good with directions and maps... but... damn, am I ever confused. Montmartre seems to do this to me. Well, yeah it is a twisting turning maze, with Sacre Cour standing above it all, and... I have a map... but, I’m floundering. I’m sure I was quite a sight. Frantically circum-navigating Sacre Cour, looking for the elusive rue des Trois Freres and a make believe bar.
Asking in my best/worst French for directions, no-one seemed to know.
And........ There it was! The steps! The “bar”! Well the building at least.
Actually, there’s no bar, it was all staged for the movie. Now, it’s just a derelict old building, looking as if at any moment it might just fall down.
My heart pounding. Excitement or the circum-navigation?
Time? What time is it? Glasses... look at cellphone. 20 minutes! Wow, seemed like much more time had passed. I’m tired. I’m thirsty. Oh... and I better scope-out our lunch spot, don’t want more circum-navigation with Sandy in tow. Happened across this little place last year, during the previous failed search. It was perfect! Okay, no more floundering. Facing steps to church, go down stairs to my left on the corner of the plaza, and..... voila! There it is. L’Ete en Pente Douce, and just as inviting as I had remembered it.
Now, if I also remember correctly... yep, down some more stairs (always with the stairs around here) to the right of the bistro and .... yes... yes it is! Last year I came across this little neighborhood bar, it too could be from the opening scene of Ronin. But here. Here is the “real McCoy”. A vintage Montmartre bar now called, I do not make this up, “NO PROBLEMO”. I don’t remember that name from last year, but anyway, you enter through an old-timey glass storefront, and... you enter into a place of the past. The patina of nicotine surrounds. A burly oaken bar all along your right, zinc top of course, with the requisite brass beer taps looking something like a fire plug. A mirror behind the bar with an amazing “library” of booze on display. To describe this experience as a time-warp would fall far short.
Behind the bar, bonjour madame, bonjour monseiur. She would no doubt be called Flo, back in the States that is.
Stools lined the bar, little tables, eight maybe ten littered the room. Chalkboards at every turn. Plat de jour, red wine menu, white wine menu, specialties of the house. And... the floor, the patina of 100 years of use.
Myself an actor here, I play my role. Biere sil-vous-plait. Flo with upturned glass, presses it down on the wash device (I’ve never seen these outside of France). Glass freshly sanitized and filled with a cold Heineken. Yeah, no kidding. It was the house beer. Merci madame, pay and leave a small tip for Flo.
Last year... almost to the day... same time, same place... somewhat... well it’s hard to explain. I mean, I’m not a bar person, but... here I was, and it was somehow comforting. I know that makes no sense, but...
I sipped my beer, I looked about me, trying to take it all in. This too I remember from last time.
Flo smiles, I smile back. People, normal people pass by the storefront. This could be any time....
Time! Uh-Oh... Sandy.
Last sip... merci-avior madame.
Let’s see... I think this way, left. Two blocks and ... to my right, the funicular. Well then. That was too easy.
Couple of free minutes, I’ll snap a picture or two. The steps I think, not that I fancy myself Brassai or anything.

There she is, several bags on her arm.
I relay my seemingly endless hours experience, sans perhaps, the getting lost part... wouldn’t do.
It’s about 12 noon, but neither of us are in a hurry for lunch. And I do know where it is... right?
Suggest a pression with my budds at the “NOPROBLEMO”. Sure why not.
I think she just about got the Ronin connection.
Definitely got the time-warp Montmartre connection.
But I still think the “NO PROBLEMO” caught her a little off guard.
I mean we walked through the door and straight ahead, a table of local, really local ladies, sitting and talking with Flo, one openly breast-feeding her “lil-one”.
Bonjour, bonjour, nod, nod.  Flo now recognizing me, already as a regular.
Deux pressions, sil-vous-plait.
I watched Sandy. I sensed her attempting to process it all. No, not alarmed... but I mean it’s not often we “time travel”, and well, it takes a bit of gettin’ used to. I think she saw many, yes many of the same things I saw. And... more no doubt!
This could not have come from any movie set. And... the beer, it was cold and it was wonderful.
Now, sadly, I have no photos of the interior to support my mental imagery. Seemed , you know, somehow disrespectful, voyeuristic in a way.
But I can see, smell and feel it a clearly now as if I were there.

So, can you find the little bistro?
Yeah... I can. It’s just up these stairs and voila! There it was. L’Ete en Pente Douce. Just as we remembered it. Warm, cozy, perfect for the moment. Home cooking. Menu of the day. Perfect!
Normally, I, the foodie, could tell you in minute detail about the meal. I can only blame some form of bizarre euphoria for my sparse memory. I remember a French version of Shepherd’s Pie for me, Lamb shanks for Sandy and a carafe of hearty red from somewhere in the Dordogne, I believe.
I can tell you this much. It was perfect! Both of us blissful. A ray of sun peaking through the clouds. Well... metaphorically speaking that is.

Now, my “reason d’etre” (reason for being here). The stairs, the bar, well sort of. As I said it was a crumbling wreck, no bar at all.
Triumphantly I walked directly to the location of the bar, no floundering this time.
Definitely That’s it!
We both agree, but again it's a bit disappointing.
And now, for a few pictures. Some damn fool’s parked a tradesman’s van out front, no bother. It is what it is. Pictures of your’s truly on the stairs, coming down a-la DeNiro, going up a-la Jean Reno.
Sweet!
Interestingly enough, no pictures of Sandy, going up or down the stairs. As I said, my obsession.

Well then.... now what? Deferring now more to another of my girl’s milder obsessions, perhaps an homage to Before Sunset the movie with Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy. I’ve always wanted to visit the Promenade Plantee, a linear park built on an abandoned elevated rail line. It’s sorta similar to the rails to trails back in the States. It is beautifully landscaped and offers wonderful views of that area of Paris. And... it figures prominently in Before Sunset.
So... another easy metro journey and, voila! There we were!
And... it’s misting. My misting Sandy calls rain. But, no bother, I’m here so let’s do it!
It really was lovely, “mist” and all. And we weren’t the only “mist” ignoring walkers on the Plantee. It’s quite popular. Pictures snapped. I really don’t know why. There’s just something cool about it, you know, “hey, I’ve seen that in the movie”, or I know where that’s at!
Weird, I know, but fun all the same.
I don’t mind saying, by the time we were nearing the end, I was beginning to tire, what with all that frantic floundering around Montmartre this morning. What we both wanted about now was a little sidewalk café in the Latin Quarter, near the Seine, preferably, no “mist”. Yeah, that’d be great. But... it’s still misting and were still on the Plantee, and, I’m not exactly sure of the closest Metro stop. And... it’s maybe, misting harder now.

Well, with minor difficulty, stop located and in minutes, voila! We were there!
Just pop up and out of the Metro at St Michel, and... it’s misting really really hard now. Matter of fact I may say it’s raining.
So... looking around me... ah, Café Saint-Severin, that look’s good! If not a bit crowded, not a unique idea, I think. Wiggle into impossibly crowded little tables and chairs, under an awning of course.
Yes... this will do nicely.
Oui monsieur, deux pressions, sil-vous-plait. Grande!
And so was the next hour, hour and a half.
Paris, a sidewalk café. People all around. Sip a cold beer or two?
And... a ray of sunshine peaking through the clouds. Metaphorically speaking.

Actually, the rain/mist... well by this time it had tapered-off to nothing really, and, feeling a bit refurbished by the beer(s), I had one last indulgence before returning to the seventh.
Shakespeare and Company   http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/  venerable old English language bookstore, a Paris icon, and another setting for the movie Before Sunset. I am ashamed to admit that, me, a “bookworm” has not been to Shakespeare and Company. Two blocks away on rue de la Bucherie. And, another perfect antidote to a dreary, rainy day in Paris. I will not dwell on the details, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves and if you’re interested check out their website and, maybe read the book Time Was Soft There, Jeremy Mercer, it’s a great read about this unbelievable old place. I mean just look at it, you could get lost in it’s many rooms. People do, I imagine.

Back to Metro stop St Michel and on to Ecole Militaire stop. Home in Paris, on the rue Cler.
It’s about dinner time by now. Where did the day go, this morning seemed as though it would be so long, and yet where did it go?
Looking forward to what I know will be an outstanding dinner, Le Bistro du 7eme does not disappoint.
And it did not.

A fine day it was.
Sometimes you just have to make your own sunshine.

"Sam" wearily walks down to the bar 



"Vincent"  "no questions, no answers"



The  "Bar"

Abbesses Metro Stop



Channeling Brassai



Walking the Promenade Plantee

The bar NO PROBLEMO
http://www.yelp.fr/biz/no-problemo-paris

L'Ete en Pente Douce
http://www.yelp.com/biz/l-et%C3%A9-en-pente-douce-paris-2





Cafe Saint-Severin at the St Michel Stop
A bit less crowded when this picture was taken.



Typical room inside Shakespeare and Company
Vintage!



Shakespeare and Company
I look as though I'm standing guard. What's up with that?

Always above it all, Sacre Cour









The Weekly Provencal Market

                 

                                                Part 3 of a 3 Part Series                                        

Sometime around seven, maybe a little before, they arrive. Depending on the time of the year, it could still be dark. They arrive in all manner of vehicles, each prepared in their own way to open their little “storefront” in today's market.

Some arrive in elaborate mini motor-home like affairs, specially built, the sides open up to expose the wares, often spilling out onto tables placed in front. Others may have a towed trailer, from short and compact to long and skinny. They’re often rather complicated fold-out affairs, ingeniously designed for the purpose with pop-up awnings and umbrellas. Some will arrive in vans, large and small, and set-up a dizzying array of tables, rod and curtain walls, awnings and umbrellas. Some even arrive with their wares in the back of their cars, set-up a little table, an umbrella and spread out their wares.

It’s really quite amazing... the diversity, the ingenuity, the complexity, and the amount of plain old hard work involved in setting-up ones stall. And yet... sometime around 8, maybe 8:30 most of the stalls are ready and the crowds begin to trickle in. (The locals know this as the time to go to the market)

I often imagined that this was a highly corregraphed affair, you know, with a grand plan and someone from the town there to carefully administer it. Nope! Don’t think so. The whole thing really has a bit of a laissez faire approach. Yes, the spaces are numbered and marked. And yes, they’re assigned to the vendors who pay the town for the rental and for any electricity. And yes, the local police block-off or close-down certain streets and redirect the traffic flow, all of which is or rather should be known to those who live or work here. So... I guess in a sense there is something of a grand plan, just sorta ad hoc, if you know what I mean.
This incredible assemblage of over 200 vendors just happens. And... it happens with a minimum of confusion. Everybody gets to their spaces, somehow, sets-up, puts their vehicle away somewhere if necessary, puts-out an enormous amount of merchandise and all in about an hour to an hour and a half. It is one of those things that seems to work in spite of itself , controlled chaos if you will.
And for the next 4 hours or so, the market takes over the town. Like a great serpent “snaking” it’s way along the harbor and into the distance for maybe a quarter of a mile, swallowing the stalls of the daily market in it’s path.
And people, lotsa people. Thousands in fact. Cars and people come pouring into this little village from all directions. Yes, this is a big deal. As I said, for about 4 hours, this market assumes control of the village. The “serpent”, an undulating mass of people milling through the “gauntlet” of stalls.
And, about those stalls. There’s just an unimaginable variety of “stuff” out here for sale. Let me try and describe some of what I can remember:

Foods and produce:

There are many, seemingly too many, produce stalls, large and small, each often with a specialty or touting their freshness, localness or service in an effort to woo the buyers. Some are small local producers, many more are what I deem retailers, buying their produce for resale. In addition to those arriving here weekly, there is the entire daily market crowd as well.
There were some examples of great specialization such as a stall selling only fresh garlic, local figs, honey (2), local apples (2), olives (4-5), olive oil (1), spices (2), local muscat table grapes(1), local vineyards selling their wines (2), vanilla beans (1)
Cheeses- couldn’t say just how many people were selling cheeses, some were local producers, great goat cheeses, some were retailers, musta been at least a dozen.
Several butchers- probably 8 including the daily market crowd. Lotsa specialization here, fresh meats, cured meats, sausages only, Corsican style sausages, even a Bucherie Chevaline (horse meat) quite popular if you judge by his long que.
Baked goods- had to see at least 8-10 stalls selling baked goods. Local rustic style breads, some with cookies or pastries, some regional and a couple selling candies and nuts.
Prepared foods- Two, not one but two stalls selling paella, and not one big 3 foot diameter pan, but three types! One was the traditional seafood and rice, one pulpo (octopus) and one with baby squid. Two vendors were selling rotisserie chickens and roasted meats. I even saw a Chinese take-away truck.

The next biggest category of merchandise would probably be clothing:

Ladie's outerwear- dresses, blouses, swim wear etc, couldn’t say how many, lost count.
Ladie's lingerie- at least 3-4 of these. Saw one lady getting fitting recommendations from the man in the stall.
Men's outerwear- shirts, tee shirts, sports jerseys, pants & shorts, swim wear. I again lost track of how many.
Shoes- I think 2 maybe 3
Hats-1-2
Ladie's scarves 1
Hair piece extensions- yes there was one of these.
Fingernail polish and make-up (2-3)
Ladies jewelry and watches, I saw at least 3-4
Children’s wear- at least 2-3
Sunglasses or reading glasses- at least 3-4

Other “Stuff”:
Leather goods- bags, belts and handbags
Woven market bags (1)
Pet supplies- included beds and outfits (1)
Original painters and prints (4-6)
Pottery- (3) local and mass produced
Mattresses- yes, mattresses, two of them
Knives, pots & pans, kitchen supplies (3)
Toys (2)
Pruning shears (1) sold nothing else.
Home decor- tablecloths, linens (2-3)
Fabric and sewing supplies- (2-3)
Artisanal soaps (2)
Flowers (3)
And, what I call people demonstrating kitchen widgets and people demo-ing cookware, choppers, Remember it slices, it dices, etc., well it was here along with demos of cleaning products and micro fiber cloths.
Oh, and I almost forgot, a stall selling vinyl windows.

And, bring cash, most don’t take plastic.
As I’m sure you can now imagine, it’s all really a bit overwhelming. There’s just so much stuff!
In addition, there were a couple of wandering minstrels in medieval garb playing music for tips.
And... people and more people. It can get a little dizzying. Sometimes you just have to pop-out to an alley or side street to catch your breath. The locals know, come early. And to avoid the crowds and get around the congestion, use these alleys and back streets. I’m learning.
And.... around lunch time, the crowds begin to thin, and the cafes and restaurants begin to fill. You begin to notice the sellers, packing away their wares, disassembling their stalls, the morning in reverse.

About one, maybe two o’clock, they’re largely gone. The people, the cars also largely gone. The streets, the traffic returns to normal. The town’s sanitation crews have moved into clear the detritus of the market. By 3 maybe 4, normal life has returned to the village. No sign that this big unruly “serpent” was ever here.

 

The promenade

                                                

The promenade with the weekly Provencal Market 

                            

                                         
 

Ladies dresses



Paella, will that be regular, octopus or baby squid?



A rainbow of shoes

It slices, it dices, I'll even bet it makes juliene frites

I've seen this guy laying on one of these before

Get your horse meat here



These guys were great, added a certain ambiance to the market 



A honey stall

This ladies pottery was just beautiful

These are the best grapes I've ever eaten!

Let's make pomme au four, baked apples

Hey,  a French woman can't have too many scarves

And you just gotta have a market bag, now don't ya?












                                

Introducing The Provencal Market & A "Peculiar Obsession" with A Tower

                                               Part 2 of a 3 Part Series

                                       Introducing The Provencal Market


I have vicariously known of Provencal Markets long before experiencing the real thing first hand, having read numerous accounts in various travel guides, journals and photo essays about them. The uniqueness of these markets cannot be overstated. In my life I’ve never experienced anything quite like them in the “states” .
Part farmers market, flea market, “Fuller Brush man”, 19th century peddlers wagon, the butter ‘n egg man, the milk man, Gypsy peddlers, Jewish “rag-man”, all wrapped in the atmosphere of an old-fashioned county fair. Really.... this description doesn’t begin to do it justice.
It is an act of living history. Just as they have done for generations, dozens, in some cases, hundreds of nomadic merchants and artisans set-up their stalls in their assigned spaces in the market squares and streets of the towns and villages all over Southern France. On the designated day, every week, every month, every year, they appear at dawn, set-up their stalls, sell their wares, and, a little after lunch tear down their stalls and pack them into an incredible diversity of vehicles, only to move on to the next town and repeat the whole process the following day.
To be repeated over and over and.....
It’s incredible! I mean here it’s 2012 and this is all still going on. With malls, hyper marts, grocery stores, department stores, all accessible to most people with a minimum of effort, and still it continues.
Why, I can just about imagine in my mind the wagons, the carts, the sellers and buyers all in peasant costume.
Remarkable!!!
I have since experienced many such markets all over the South of France. Each one, similar of course, but unique in it’s own way. From the beautiful little ochre red hilltop village of Roussilon and it’s modest weekly market to Cote d Rhone town of Viason la Romaine and it’s huge granddaddy of all Provencal Markets.
Every time it’s exciting, my pulse actually quickens a bit upon arrival. A bit deja vu, perhaps, the memories... a young child... late summer... a visit to the county fair. It’s there!
But.......




                                             A “Peculiar Obsession” With a Tower


Central to the telling of this story is a tower, or rather La Tour (the tower). It is a ancient defensive stone structure of Roman origins, enhanced throughout the Middle Ages, that lords over the harbor to this very day. Second only to the Church tower as the most recognizable feature on the harbor landscape, it was in the late 19th century, incorporated into the body of the Hotel-restaurant La Tour, an excellent family-owned establishment, which was our home for a brief time during our first visit here back in 2006.
The tower is open to visitors daily, with interesting historical displays on each level which you ascend via a trying, if not a little claustrophobic assortment of spiral staircases and ships’ ladders. Once you craw (literally) through the final narrow “tunnel” via a steep ships’ ladder, you emerge at the top with what is unarguably 360 degrees of the finest view in the village.
Now here’s where it get’s interesting (or not, depending on your point of view). I have for years been intrigued with the thought of doing a photo-essay on the weekly Provencal Market. My efforts, however, have been repeatedly thwarted by the very qualities which make it so unique. Because of the compact nature of the location, the “snaking” nature of the layout, the congestion of the stalls and the throngs of shoppers milling among them, it is virtually impossible to photograph the market. That is to give a sense of it’s entirety, it’s character. You simply can’t see the forest for the trees!
But... the tower, or rather, La Tour. Now there’d be a wonderful opportunity to view the market, the whole affair, from above.
Brilliant!!
Except... open daily to visitors, except Wednesday (market day). It is not open until after 1:00 pm, by which time the whole thing’s packed-up and gone.
Damn!!
Surely there are exceptions. For the past several years I have checked on every market day, nope! I have even checked with the Hotel La Tour, nope! I have occasionally seen a maintenance person on site during the market, nope! (I even considered bribing one, but never got that far)
Always..... thwarted!!
Café time. For Sandy and I it is a cherished part of the “French Experience” here in this little village. Just a few days ago, during one such “cherished moment”, we found ourselves in our favorite café, ridiculously tiny tables and chairs, crowded cheek-to-jowl with the neighboring tiny table and chairs, (it is the tradition) a carafe of rose, warm sun, blue skies and that “Impressionist Masterpiece” harbor view spread out before us. It was, the quintessential “French moment”.
Now on this particular afternoon, we were blessed with the charming company of a friend of ours, a lovely French woman whom we had met a couple of years back. She is, as the French would say “tres sympa” (very nice). She has lived in this village for nearly 30 years, and, has lived in the “states” for a portion of her life as well. Fortunate for us, because her English is impeccable and her understanding of our culture is, well, remarkable. We feel quite honored to be welcomed into her company. She is for us, in addition to being truly “tres sympa”, a wonderful bridge between our culture and that which is here. She’s wonderfully adept at “translating” that “similar but different” that I have written about previously.
Today she has overheard my protestations concerning La Tour, it’s closure during the weekly market, and my almost obsessive desire to go atop it during the market so that I might be able to photograph it. She was surprised to learn that it was closed, believing that she had in fact observed people atop La Tour on market days. Huumm?
Probably thinking me a little weird, she seemed to quitely mull the thought.
Sandy and I continued to enjoy our “French Moment” with a second carafe of rose. I noticed our friend conversing with a gentleman at the table behind her, in French of course. Nothing peculiar about this, our friend seems to know nearly everybody here in the village and they her. Through my poor French I can just get the gist, the conversation involves us, or rather me and my “peculiar obsession” to go to the top of La Tour on market day. Telephone call made by her friend, in French of course, and a few minutes later.....
Next Wednesday, be at the gated entrance to the tower. A man will meet you there. He’ll let you in.
Voila!! It was done! Her friend had been an official at the Marie (city hall). She had pulled some strings
and..... what a dear!
And so.... that next Wednesday, 10 o’clock, you better believe I was there, Sandy too. The man was there, and yes, he too knew of my “peculiar obsession”. Our friend was there to meet us. I was smiling from ear-to-ear. She could tell that Kevin was happy.
How do you thank someone for a gesture such as this? Well.... Sandy did a bit of fishing... and... seems our friend was quite fond of macaroons ( little egg white cookies filled with various luscious cremes) and... we happened to know from our landlords of an excellent macaronier from Paris who had settled in the adjacent town. So... the previous day, hop on the velos (bicycles) and off to “Macaron Foliles” www.macaronfolies.fr . Little white box, macaroons inside, wrapped with a bow in true French style... thank you so much. Graciously accepted and I’m willing to bet well enjoyed.
Now... the previous Wednesday, market day, had been beautiful with blue skies, and the one before and... the one before. But, today... it was just not to be. Generally overcast, a hint of sunshine occasionally popping through, rain threatening to arrive at any moment.
Hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Gotta make the best of this and realize my “peculiar obsession”. So...
I ascend the trying if not a little claustrophobic assortment of spiral staircases and ships’ ladders, and...
Voila! I’m on top. Wow! 360 degrees of view, a bit grey perhaps, but wow. There it is. The market below, winding serpent-like through the streets for as far as I can see.
Awesome!!!
Admire, line up several well (hopefully) composed shots and leave the rest to Photoshop. Got it!!

Now... about that Provencal Market...

A view of La Tour (the tower)

Realizing my "peculiar obsession" 

One of two on the way up

This is a tight fit! Almost to the top.

Yeeesss! I knew this would work!

                                                  Special thanks to mdme. G



                                Next Part 3 of 3 The Weekly Provencal Market

The Daily Market

                                                      

                                                                The Daily Market


                                                              Part 1 of a 3 Part Series



It will come as no surprise to those who have followed my postings, I am as the Brits would say, quite potty about markets, that is, I’m absolutely crazy about them.
I see one, I get excited. I walk through one, my pulse quickens. I’m just like a kid in a candy store, I want to buy some of everything that I see.
So there. I’ve said it.

Now in this little village that we sometimes call home there is a rare and wonderful thing, a daily market. Yes, every day! For a small seaside village of say, 17 thousand people, this is unheard of. As a matter of fact, outside of some of the major towns and cities I’ve visited, I’ve yet to encounter another small village with a daily market. Weekly, of course, and I’ll be talking more about those in parts 2 & 3 of this 3 part series, but not daily.
So, just how and why did a daily market come to be here? Short answer. People around here use it. Vendor’s won’t return day after day, every month for years if they aren’t selling produce.
The slightly longer answer might go something like this. The leadership of this village has been very farsighted when it comes to those things that make this little village so livable, so people friendly. The location of the daily market, for instance, is on a lovely paved promenade just off the harbor, and lies beneath the shade of overhanging rows of Plane trees. When the market departs, the city cleans-up after it and much of this area “blooms” with café tables and chairs from the cafes across the street. It creates a wonderful, serene and inviting setting.
Also, this same stretch of promenade serves as the eastern leg of the weekly market.
The street beside this promenade becomes one-way on daily market mornings in order to make the area more pedestrian friendly. On the opposite side of the promenade area is a wonderful green space, an urban park complete with a long rectangular fountain extending almost the entire length with thoughtful seating located alongside. To the other side of this green space lies a landscaped municipal
parking lot accessed directly from the D11 main route up to the train station making it relatively easy to get to the parking. So... you park, walk through the lovely little park and, voila! You’re in the market!
Or... you walk or bicycle from the village or neighboring villages to the market, requisite market bag in hand. So you see, they’ve made it easy for the village folk as well as the neighboring villages to come to the market, every day. And... I’m willing to bet that these stall holders are somehow subsidized. It would only make sense, a modest subsidy in return for a daily market. I’m sure it greatly benefits the towns residents and tourism as well.

Now, about that market. Who, what, when, where & and how?
Well, aside from the weekly market on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday are probably the busiest with the most vendors showing up. I would say, on a typical Friday for instance, you’ll likely have two or three small local producers, who will truly have what’s local, freshest and in season. Then you’ll have probably have 6-8 retail stalls, those who purchase their produce for resale. There will be as many as three poissoniere (fish mongers) with their “catch” spread out on long counters of crushed ice. There’s often a lady who sells regional cookies and baked goods. Two butcher stalls, one selling some cheeses as well. Then there’s a stall selling cheeses only. Two stalls sell olives, olive oils and other olive products. One of these olive stalls also sells a good assortment of bulk spices, dried fruits and nuts.
There’s a fellow at the end who sells nothing but sausages and cured meats. A couple in one stall selling Italian Specialties, prosciutto, cured meats, fresh pasta and the like.. Oh, and let’s not forget the roti-chicken man.
Whew! That’s a lot to go through.
And... the composition does change throughout the week with Mondays being the lightest market day with maybe as few as eight stalls to Friday and Saturday and Sundays with as many as 15-20 stalls

With all of this bounty available, just how do I go at it?
First, it’s better to arrive early, 9 or so, the produce is freshest, your choices are better and the crowds only thicken as the morning passes. The sellers, who like to develop a familiarity with their customers and vice versa, are better able to do this when the ques aren’t 15-20 deep. Also, if it’s late June - August, it can get quite hot and that’s no fun for the produce or for me.
Second, I always go with a suggested menu for the day, or couple of days if I’m otherwise busy and won’t be able to come the following day. You often hear celebrity chefs wax poetically about wandering markets and letting what’s available and fresh inspire their menu of the day. Yeah right! Could happen that way but not likely. First... what’s available just doesn’t change that quickly. You largely expect to find what’s there for that time of season. Without a menu and shopping list, I run the risk of, like that child in the candy store, buying whatever I see that looks pretty and not have the ingredients for that evenings meal.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Serendipity is a wonderful thing. I said suggested menu. If I get to the market and something strikes my fancy, well yes of course I’ll alter my menu plans to include it. Why not?

Ok, let’s you and I do the market my way.
Suggested menu in my pocket, glasses too, need to see, and my market bag (gotta have one) in hand. I always take a preliminary stroll through the whole market just to see who’s got what, who’s looks freshest today and maybe who’s got the best prices for what I know I’m going to buy.
I know many of these sellers by face, even name, and they me. I love this familiarity. However, I still will buy my produce based on availability, freshness and to some extent price. Not necessarily all from the same vendor nor the same vendor each time. They all know and understand this. It’s the way that the market works.
Alright... I’m going to have a salad for lunch, I need a salade (lettuce) (Ollioules) (.98e/pc.). This stall’s looks the freshest, leaves are still crisp, stem on bottom, not at all brown. Grab one of the little poly bags from awning support (notice these are blue, next door’s yellow, another white) and try and stuff the thing in it. Ok... I think I saw, yep, carrottes (provence) (1.10e/pc.) I like the greens on top, and they’re unwashed, great. Oh, and there’s the radis (radishes) (provence) (.80/pc) long and tubular, bright red with the green tops on (you can put these greens in the salad). Bag these two up, and, need some tomate (tomatoes). I prefer the cour-du-beouf variety, they’re really good at the moment, but these are a little small, don’t like the color, more yellow than red. I’ll look elsewhere . Let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, some ratts (fingerling potatoes) (provence) (1.80e/kg) over here in a wicker basket. Look at that, they’ve sprinkled peat moss on them. The French are not only location obsessed, they are fresh obsessed as well. Dirt on the potatoes means fresh to them, so, washed potatoes get dusted with peat moss, crazy. Ok, about a half a kilo (app. 1 lb). I’ll boil these and just toss them with butter, salt and pepper. Perfect with the little lamb chops (Sisteron) (18e/kg) we just picked up from my butcher in the village.
Ok, got all my little bags on one arm, shopping basket on the other, que up to pay, well try to at least. The ques can sometimes be a bit free form. There. Bonjour monsieur, ca va? (How are you?), ca va bien, et vous? (Good and you?). hand him my little bags to be weighed and counted, little bags go into a bigger white bag (knows I’ve paid). 5.40e monsieur, root around in my pocket for change, there 6e, him: merci monsieur (thank you sir) me: avoir merci (bye thanks).
There, now... I still need the tomatoes... saw some great ones two stalls down and she’s really sweet. Wow! Cour-du-beouf (Carpentras) (1.80e/kg) they look great! Especially under these red awnings. The red tint accentuates the appearance of the produce. Several of the stalls have these red awnings. I pick them up, give a sniff and try not to get caught gently squeezing to check the ripeness, this will get me scolded. Let see, two of these beauties, grab one of the yellow bags, and... oh I nearly forgot, I need a little tray of fraises (strawberries) for breakfast tomorrow. Nice fraises, from Carpentras and at 2.80e, not too pricey. That’s it! Find the que, sorta, and... bonjour madame, ca va? Oui, ca va. I am caroline du nord (North Carolina) to her, she remembers not my name but where I’m from, and, always makes sure everybody in the que knows. Bags up my bounty, 4.50e, more rooting in pocket. Oh hell, just give her a 5e. .50 returned and, merci, avoir merci.
Ok... let’s see... Sandy wants some olives and I want some black olive tapenade. Let’s go over to the stall and... whoa! Big line, 6-8 people, I’ll try back. Also need some cheese for the salad. Bonjour monsieur, I’d like some Gruyere please, about 250 grams, no not Swiss, domestic, it’s from the Savoie region of France, beside Switzerland, close enough, and at 19.50e/kg it’s nearly 7e cheaper than the Swiss. Oui, that looks right. Cest-tu? (Is that all?) Oui monsieur. 6.50e, root in pocket, 2, 4, 6 + .50, there, that’s it. Merci, avoir merci.
Right... now back to the olives, oh good only a couple of people in line. Bonjour madame, ca va? Heyloo, hoow rrr yooou? I’m good, merci. I’d like some picholine olives, the ones with fennel, 100 grams please. Cest-tu? No madame... 100grams of tapenade noir sil-vous-plait. Cest-tu? Oui madame. 8.50e, no rooting, heres 20e, change returns. Merci, avoir merci. Au dumain (see you tomorrow).
Ok... shopping bag’s a bit full by now, stop by the boulanger (baker) for a baguette (.95e) on the way back to the apartment, and, time for a cocktail midi (a pre lunch cocktail) and some of that lovely tapenade with the still warm baguette.
Oh yummm!

And that’s it. That’s how it works here. Repeat daily.
Bear in mind, most of these transactions occurred largely in French, I tried to  spare you that.
They know me, I know them. We see one another day after day. I find it is just a wonderful aspect of life here. I can’t imagine it any other way, and it is a huge part of the reason why I am here.

Ok... so no everything doesn't come from the markets. We have two small groceries in the old town, two medium sized ones on the edge (one of those, a Casino about a quarter mile from the apartment being my choice) and two large grocery stores near the train station (about two miles from the apartment).
In addition, three or four of the fishing boats have stalls by the harbor with really fresh catch of the day several days a week. There are at least six traditional butcher shops in the village and I don’t know for sure, but at least ten boulangers (bread bakers) with several doing pastries as well. And, there are 3-4 traiteurs (what we might call a deli) with prepared take-away foods.
There’s an almost embarrassingly rich bounty of food here. Almost.

Check out the red tint

The roti-chicken man



I'm caroline du nord to her



Poisson anyone?

A lovely stall

          

                            Next: Part 2 of 3 An Introduction To The Weekly Provencal Market

Looking For Brave New World

When I was in college I took a science fiction literature class and read several negative futuristic books along the way as a part of my studies. Three of which have always stood out: George Orwell's 1984, Aldous Huxley's Brave New World and Ray Bradbury's The Sheep Look Up. These three novels are very powerful, but not the kind of novels that I could ever say I liked. I can only say that I found them haunting.


In the late 30's as the tensions leading to WW II were building many German writers, especially any with Jewish heritage, fled Germany and were drawn to our picturesque village in the south of France. Aldous Huxley was a British writer who had been a teacher in Great Britain for many years. His most famous student was Eric Arthur Blair, better known by his pen name George Orwell. Huxley was best known for his novel Brave New World. In the late 20's he was living in Tuscany, Italy. The Huxleys were very close to the author D.H. Lawrence, who wrote the classic novel Lady Chatterley's Lover. They actually helped type the manuscript submitted for this novel. Lawrence thought this area of France to be one of the most beautiful places he had ever been (and so do we). As the fascists were rising to power in Italy just as in Germany, Lawrence urged the Huxleys to move to the very village where we are staying. He had lived in the area for some time, but had contracted tuberculosis and was in poor health and had moved to a sanatorium in Vence. The Huxley’s visited him there on his death bed. After his death they took his advice and moved here.

I have known of Huxley's association with this old fishing village ever since we have been coming here. Since Huxley was a British author, the local French have seldom heard of him, much less know that he lived here. Kevin had read that he largely wrote Brave New World while sitting in a harbor side cafe here. Our favorite cafe, La Marine was rumored to be one of the cafes that he wrote in. While it was intriguing to think I could be sitting in the very cafe he had written in, it appears that is not the case. I did some research on Huxley and it turns out that he did all his writing at Villa Huxley and did not want any interruptions when he was working so that doesn't sound like someone who would write in a cafe. It was at Villa Huxley that he wrote Brave New World in just 4 months. After a little bit of digging I was able to find where Villa Huxley is, or I should say was. It turns out it is near a rocky point that we walk to most days. It has since been converted into a place for French naval students.

Tuesday morning for our walk, with map in hand, we went to look for the Villa Huxley and found it. Of course it has changed some since Huxley left it in 1937 and is now a naval school, but we found the very house. It did in fact, even have a small marker identifying it as Huxley's former home so I am sure we found the right house. It was evocative to stand and look at the house and know that Huxley penned his most famous novel there. Many, including me, find it surprising that he could write of such a dreary future while living in such a beautiful place. Since we have been coming here I have and still intend to re-read Brave New World. I have even thought how cool it would be to sit in a cafe in this very village and read that book, but I also don't want to think about such a dreary future while living in such a beautiful place. Needless to say it is not an uplifting read so it is difficult to ever find the right time to read it. Our walk ended up being a rather long walk, but it was very memorable one.

Sandy

Villa Huxley- Today

Huxley's View- I suspect it's changed a bit.

The Return - The new Apartment

OK, so I find that I can often experience two different emotions prior to travel.


Apprehension/anxiety at the thought of the unknown. More to the point, the fear that all will not be up to expectations. Alternatively, elation. The joy of anticipation. “Just can’t wait to be there”!

Last year was the former. This year , most definitely, the later.


The Return

First of all, the journey and the arrival.

I don’t know why, but, in all of the years that I have made this journey, I have never taken advantage of the TGV train station in Terminal 2 at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Actually , until a couple of years ago, I’m not sure I was even aware of it. Shame on me!

So...... direct nonstop flight from Charlotte to Paris CDG. Less is best. I mean, let’s face it, flying “steerage” for 8 hours in the cramped cabin of a “flying bus” is hardly my favorite aspect of travel. Oh for the travel romance of a bygonne era. Oh well, I probably couldn’t have afforded it anyway.

So....hop off the “flying bus”, breeze through customs (actually a wave and a yawn) and, hop onto the TGV at CDG-2. And... voila! At 200 mph, Marseille in 3.5 hours. “Milk-run connection to the village , and that was all so easy.

Why have I not done this before?

My Landlord who is the embodiment of “tres-sympa” was at the station to meet us. The whole journey couldn’t have been simpler.


The New Apartment

Now.... on to the really good part. This is our sixth year here in this grand old maison. We have known of this other apartment next to ours for several years, but it has not been available.

Our new landlords purchased the maison in late 2010 and renovated this apartment. Last year, the old landlords were living in this apartment while their new maison was being built.

In July of this year they moved to their new maison and, voila, we were able to move into the new apartment the 1st of September.

With very little time between the departure of the old landlords and our arrival, our new landlords sprang into action.

And, wow! What an amazing job they have done.

A new covered table on the terrace offers quite possibly the finest dining spot in the entire village.

The apartment echos much of the elegance of the 1930's vintage maison. Ten foot ceilings, terrazo floors, six foot windows in each of our grand rooms, each with an unbelievable view of the village and it’s harbor below.

The kitchen would easily satisfy any aspiring amateur (me) chef. Much attention has been given to it’s design and stock age. Madame, herself an accomplished “practitioner of the cusine”, has truly outdone herself . I mean, there’s even a little fresh herb garden by our front porch. I love it!!!

The whole place has been furnished in that “light”, elegant “IKEA” style that the Europeans do so well. I could not have done it better myself.

Well done! Well done indeed!

And.... they have even graciously agreed to allow us to store our recently acquired velos (bicycles) and a couple of boxes of personal possessions in the garage beneath our terrace.

Wow!!

This all so exceeds our expectations.

This is our home.

It.. feels.. like .. home!

Wow!!

Walks I Have Known

Walking??

We like to walk. No... we love to walk. We have always been walkers. In the past fifteen to twenty years of travel, walking has been an inseparable part of our travels. I mean, you slow the whole process down to a more intimate scale. You see, hear, smell and even feel what you would otherwise be missing. It is quite simply, a most pleasant state of existence. The outside world is just that... you loose yourself in the moment... and... isn’t that what travel should be all about?
And... it’s good for you! Wow!!

A “Walk” Down Memory Lane

The U.K., England;

There is perhaps no other place that we’ve ever been more designed for walking than the U.K.
They’re really quite “potty” about walking. Why, they’ll start out on a walk on a cold, foggy rainy morning.  And, the place is just set-up for it. I mean, paths, everywhere, running from one evocative little stone village , oozing with charm just as you’d expect, to the next. Each with B&B’s, pubs, picturesque squares, and all about 10-12 miles , or a days walk between them. And these path’s aren’t new. They’ve been here for centuries, and... English law guarantees the “right of trespass” across these largely privately owned lands.
How cool is that?



Yorkshire: 1996

After years and years of watching the “All Creatures Great and Small” series on PBS, (chronicling the life of a country vet in 1930's Yorkshire) I just had to go and experience Yorkshire for myself. To walk among James Herriot’s Dales was my dream come true. “Home” was a sheep farm B&B just outside the village of Hawes, right in the heart of “Herriot Country”.
Yorkshire was raw, even a little broody, and I must say it touched a nerve in me. I loved it!
Miles and miles of hand stacked stone walls, misty mornings, walking the rolling Dales. The ubiquitous little gray villages, unchanged since Herriot’s day, with their “spit and sawdust” pubs each with  hand pulled pints of Yorkshire’s “finest bitters”.
Warfdale, Wensleydale, they all felt so familiar to me. Don’t ask me to explain why, but, to this day I feel a peculiar sense of kinship with this “little corner” of the U.K.

Check out: “The Herriot Way, by Norman Scholes and, “James Herriot’s Yorkshire” by James Herriot.



The Cotswolds: 1996, 1999, 2003

This is storybook England. Gently rolling green hills, honey coloured limestone villages unchanged for over 300 years. Sheep, sheep everywhere, “watch your step”. Open the gate, close the gate. Walking from village to village, each seemingly more charming than the one before. This is it! Walking as good as it gets! If you don’t walk anywhere else, do it here.
The Cotswold Way, haven’t done it all yet, but I’ve done a lot, several times in fact.
Best stretch for me is from Winchcombe to Chipping Campden by way of Guiting Power, winning my vote for sweetest little village in England. And... the Hollow Bottom, my vote for the sweetest little gastropub in the whole of England. Book your rooms in advance for each village in which you'll be staying, hire a taxi to take your bags ahead and, "Bob's your uncle"!  It’s walking made easy.
Oh yeah, I' ll do this again!

Check out: “Footpath Touring, The Cotswolds”, by Ken Ward 1988, or “The Cotswold Way” by
Mark Richards and...... “the Hollow Bottom Public House” @ www.hollowbottom.com.



The Lakes District: 1996

Just sound’s romantic, doesn’t it? This is the “original” Lakes District of Wordsworth, Beatrice Potter and innumerable other literary and artistic greats who sought out the creative paradise of the lakes. Sharing much of the roughness, and some of the broodiness of the Dales ( they’re not that far apart) the lakes possess a unique magic. The wettest place in England, you’ll likely get wet, it is none-the-less another walkers paradise. The medieval town of Keswick offers a great home base from which to explore the lakes. The many walks, one even with boat ferry crossing on Derwentwater, winding  among the often dark and foreboding hills, around deep, limpid lakes with names like Windemere and Grasmere. All little changed since the time of the Poets. The 19th century is alive and well here.

Check out: Rick Steves’ “Great Britain” for great suggestions on walks and accommodations in this area as well as for the Cotswolds.



France;

The Dordogne: 1998 & 2006
The Dordogne, in South Central part of the “hexagone”. This is “France profunde” with perhaps the greatest concentration of  tres-photogenic “plus beaux villages” in all of France.
We had originally planned a 4-5 day walk from the market town of Brive-la- Gaillarde to “ uber charming” St- Cirq-Lapopie overlooking the Lot River Valley. The walk, a small segment of the old Santiago Compostela Pilgrimage route, would go through Turene, Martel, the Pilgrimage town of Rocamadour and end in up St. Cirq.
Didn’t make it! Big packs, long walks, too much!
Loved the Martel area though. Decided to return in 2006 to see if I’d still feel the same. So, so sweet. The walk, the 12 miles or so from the little market town of Martel, through countless woods and fields, panoramic vistas abound, ending up in Rocamadour. No big packs, taxi scheduled for the return trip back. Ice cold beers waiting at the outdoor café in Rocamadeur. Now this is how you do this walk. Picnic lunch for the second time, exact same spot, overlooking the “unknown” little village of Montvalent. So much deja vu.... only better!
Martel, for me, the fondest of memories of the Dordogne.
Lovely dinner, little café by the timber covered market square. A perfect duck cassoulet for me, and sumptuous little lollipop lamb chops for Sandy. A St Emmilion decanted at the table.  Life is good!     Oh yeah!!

Check out: “Long Walks in France” by Adam Nicholson and the Auberge 7 Tours @ www.auberge7tours.pageperso-orange.fr



Italy;

Liguria, “The Cinque Terre” 2000, 2001, 2004, 2006, 2010

This is unarguably where Sandy and I first got our “travel groove”. This is where it all came together. Sandy says it best, “everything was just so sensual”. The sights, the smells, even the sounds, all served to stimulate the appetites. First time perfection, a lovely appartment on little Vernazza’s town square, couldn’t have been any better.
Five impossibly charming little seaside villages, knitted together by an “ages-old pathway offering outrageous views of the Ligurian coastline from vertigious, if not a bit dangerous heights”. The little “goat path” passes thru terraced fields of vineyards, silvery olive trees and aromatic lemons, each casting their sensuous spell on you.
The walk is surprisingly liesurly, with the villages, each unique in their characters, about an hour apart. We have walked to all five in the same day, but I recommend maybe a couple. Find a little outdoor café in your destination, enjoy a lunch or an afternoon carafe of local wine, then... hop on the train back to your starting village. Now, that's walking!

Check out: www.parconazionale5terre.it . Also, Rick steves’ popularized this location. See his Italy guide for details on accomadations, etc. Be warned, it’s become a bit too popular at times. We often stay in Camogli up the coast and next to gorgeous Portofino and train down to the Cinque Terre. See my posting; slipintoazurblur, Friday 28 May 2010 for details on Camogli.



Pienza-Monticello-Montepulciano: 2004 & 2010
A moderate 18k walk thru the rolling countryside of the Val d Orcia. Kinda sounds like an advert for a walking tour brochure.
This walk has got to be the perfect way to experience my favorite corner of the Tuscan countryside. From the awesome medieval hilltop village of Pienza (worth a look) to the “way too cute” tiny hilltop village of Monticello, you traverse fields and fields of grapes, most destined to become the renown Brunello di Montalcino. I have walked many a pathway in Tuscany and Umbria, but, for me this is the essence of the Italian countryside. Poggios crowning hilltops, zig-zagging rows of cypress, quiet country lanes and pathways, criss-crossing countless vineyards.
And.... excellent food and wine opportunities at either end, although I myself am parcel to La Porta Restaurant in the guardhouse of the main porta in the Monticello wall.
We have done the walk all the way in 2004, but my opinion is that the best stretch is from Monticello to Pienza in that order. Do see worthy Montepulciano, but on it’s own .

Check it out: My blog posting: slipintoazurblue for Tuesday 25 May 2010 “53024 Montalcino”
Also stay: Affitacamera Nada, sergiomuli@libero.it for the warmest welcome and the most awesome bedroom window view of the rooftops in all of Montalcino. (She doesn’t speak english, so you may want to route your request thru the TI @ www.prolocomontalcino.it



Amalfi Coast, Atrani-Ravello: 2002

Up.... way up!!
Yes. This walk is up. Atrani, a relatively unspoiled little seaside town, the starting point, with Ravello far above overlooking almost the entire length of the Amalfi coastline.
The trail itself is well marked and, because of it’s largely zig-zagging nature, is not as strenuous as you might first expect. It is a walk that will take the better part of a morning or afternoon. Grapes, wildflowers and wild fennel “follow” you the whole way.
We hiked up from Atrani one morning to arrive in surprisingly charming Ravello just about lunchtime. In fact, the trail deposited us literally at the doorstep of the Ristorante Salvatore. Now we hadn’t expected to eat a large lunch, but with this walk behind us and this too-cute little restaurant patio, We're game. And... wow. special of the day... stuffed breast of guniea fowl, stuffed with a black olive/artichoke tapenade and served with a local well-chilled white from just over the hill. Oh, and the views from that patio, well, let’s just say to this day it’s still the image that pops into my mind when I think of Ravello.
Now, we hadn’t been too keen on our diggs back in Atrani, something about church bells just outside our window ringing at all hours, and.... upon finding out that the Salvatore had a few rooms downstairs to let, and.... after seeing the amazing views from the rooms balcony, and.... finding out that the rent was about the same as that back in Atrani.... well we had ourselves some new diggs, now didn’t we.
Tutto bene!!

Check out: www.salvatoreravello.com



Austria;

Hallstatt: 2000
The Saltzkammergut of Austria, “Sound of Music” country. Little villages where one might imagine Hanzel and Gretel might live.
We left Salzburg one morning by train, no, by the “milk-run” local train. Passing through some of the most enchanting scenery that I belive I’ve ever seen, and... 23 stops later, we find ourselves at little Hallstatt. Well, not exactly “in”, but rather across the lake from Hallstatt, at it’s tiny train station awaiting the ferry that would take us across the lake to Hallstatt. Wow, this place is quintessential Austrian lakeside village material, you know, like the pictures on a travel brochure. Amazing!
Now, we did maybe 4-5 walks while here, all with spectacular scenery and equally charming, but, perhaps our favorite was from Hallstatt, or rather from the tiny trainstation across the lake from Hallstatt, to the little nearby spa town of Bad Goisen, following the Halstatter See (lake) the whole way. Spectacular! Perhaps the best part, a little outdoor café by the geranium festooned train station (they’re all impossibly cute, all with geraniums and waiving station managers who come out and greet you upon arrival... seriously, they do)  with humongous pitchers ( 1 litre mugs) of cold Munchen Bier.
Just don’t have the “Bad Goisen burger” (bad inside joke between Sandy and I) just don’t!!
When you feel as though you’ve had enough, or, perhaps you’ve come to realize that you’ve had maybe a bit too much, the best part is you can ride the train back to Hallstatt, well, the to train station that is, then the ferry, etc.
A late afternoon siesta, the balcony doors of our room at the Gasthof Simony open to the incredible lake view, thunderstorm rumbles across the lake, smells of a nearby restaurant wafting through, hinting at tonights kase spetzel, grilled homemade sausages with red cabbage all washed down with a, way tall glass of Austrian Whitbier.
Storybook perfect!!

Check out: www.gasthofsimony.at



 Switzerland;


Berner Oberland: 1998 & 2001
I’m sure that there is no place on Earth that does travel & tourism as well as Switzerland. They’re just perfect, really, they are. And... as you might expect, it comes at a price.... well that is to say.... it’s a bit pricey. But, that notwithstanding, the whole place is drop-dead gorgeous.
None, more than the Berner-Oberland. Head straight for Interlaken, smack in the middle and not at all a bad town in it’s own right. But, for my money, hop the train and head up the valley to Lauterbrunnen. Aaaahhh... the Lauterbrunnen Valley. Unbelivable, it doesn’t look real. (pics incl) But wait.... don’t stop. Now hop the funnicular (incline train) up to Murren. And.... you're pretty much on top of the world here. Murren is a surprisingly likable resort village in the classic cutesy but non kitschy, if that makes sense, Swiss style. It’s adorable!
Now, about the walking. Dozens, yes dozens of paths up here in the middle of nowhere. Hell, they’ve got the equivalent of a street sign network for the paths pointing to here and there with approximate walking times. Geesh! How Swiss can you get.
With all these choices, just pick one. Really, you can’t go wrong. A favorite of mine, walk out of Murren, direction of Gimmelwald, there’s a sign of course. A gentle down hill walk, no problem and a bit welcome if you’ve recently done one or more of the uphill varity.
Towering vistas, incredible mountians, thundering waterfalls. It’s almost sensory overload.
Impossibly cute tiny Gimmelwald, you pass thru in less than five minutes, you can take a path on down into the Lauterbrunnen Valley, yes there’s a sign. Once on the valley floor, follow the one lane road to Lauterbrunnen or... just hop the Post Bus, yep, that’s right, the Postman takes passengers. Back in Lauterbrunnen, again hop the funnicular and back to Murren. Oh, by the way, this walk can be done by bike as well, rentals in Murren.
The next day, head another direction, hop a cable car up and walk up/down. The possibilities really are endless.

Check out: www.hoteljungfrau.ch. Oh, and pay extra for the view rooms, you really won’t belive your eyes.





                                                    




The Lauterbrunnen Valley in Switzerland

 



Hallstatt Austria



Near Pienza Italy



Vernazza on the Cinque Terre



Picnic spot overlooking Montvalent in the Dordogne, France





Approaching Fellfoot Crag near Keswick in the Lakes district



Stanton in the Cotswolds



Morning mist on Warfdale in Yorkshire



View from the balcony of Salvatore in Ravello


For similar reading, take a look at some of my other blog postings:
On   slipintoazurblue.blogspot.com
09.17.11  Beaune Ces't Beaun
09.05.11  "Smoke on the Water" Vines in the Sky

On   chasingeternalspring.blogspot.com
08.14.11  A Slice of the Perfect Day/ The Perfect Ride
01.29.11  Lost In a Dream
07.06.11  The Country Life "Bits and Bobs"