Youngs Around the World

With the car packed up, we left Paris and set out for Normandy. My parents had recommended a stop in the historic seafaring town of Honfleur along the way and we decided that we should not miss it. The picture-perfect town was situated around a small harbor full of extravagant pleasure boats. Surrounding the harbor were outdoor cafes and boutique shops in gorgeous old buildings with flower boxes in every window.

Since I couldn’t walk far, Aaron dropped us off in the main square and parked the car. We made one slow, careful lap around the harbor, stopping for a lovely lunch of salads and mussels on the water and again for cones of gelato. The town was drenched in bright summer flowers and overtaken with impeccably dressed French and foreign tourists. I found myself longing for a sundress, pretty sandals, and an afternoon to wile away sipping French wine on the deck of my sailboat. We took some last photos, vowing to return someday with the budget of two-week vacationers, and said goodbye to beautiful Honfleur.

Hours later, we reached our destination for the night – the tiny town of Ceaux in Lower Normandy, just ten minutes from Mont Saint Michel. We could see the abbey in the distance as we searched for our hotel and, after quickly settling into our room, we went right for it.

Rising from the flat golden plains like a Gothic fairy tale castle against a backdrop of ocean meets sky, Mont Saint Michel casts an awe-inspiring silhouette. The Mont sits atop a small rock island connected to the mainland by a natural bridge. At low tide, the island is surrounded by flat white sand and is only fully surrounded by water during seasonal equinoxes. A tiny town with a population of only 42 rounds the circumference of the Mont within an old stone wall. Catering to the throngs of tourists, the lower floors of the buildings have all been converted to souvenir shops and restaurants, creating an avenue of crowded commercialism around the abbey, though Mont St Michel remains a fully functioning town complete with a post office and garbage service. My post-surgical handicap precluded me from tackling the many stairs inside the Mont so I parked myself inside a café with a Nutella crepe while Aaron and Valerie ventured further inside.

On our way out of town the next morning, we stumbled upon a beautiful field of wildflowers edging the pale blue ocean. Aaron and I hopped the low barbed wire fence and waded into the patch of red, white, violet and pink blossoms. By the time we’d finished frolicking, at least four more cars had stopped along the shoulderless two-lane highway to join in. The French traffic was not amused and conveyed as much with their annoyed honking. We didn’t care, though; the wildflowers in Normandy were simply too beautiful to miss.

2 Comments

Back in Paris, we have acquired a traveling companion for the next few weeks – Aaron’s mom. She arrived in the morning with big smiles, big hugs and lots of presents! I felt awful that she would have to endure a bit of our stressful medical issues during her vacation but, at the same time, I was glad to have her with us.

We spent four nights in Paris during which I was in and out of commission as determined by my “ailment”. Together we visited the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (one of my favorite places in the world), walked along the picturesque Seine and down the Champs-Elysees. Our pace was much slower than that of our trip to Paris during which we excitedly rushed around to see everything.

On Sunday, we arrived early at the Champs-Elysees, where we would camp out all day in the sun to mark our spot for the finish of the Tour de France. This was Aaron’s day and he was decked out in the Tour’s signature yellow for the occasion. We claimed a prime spot near the Arc de Triomphe next to a nice American family with whom we visited throughout the day. The hours passed surprisingly quickly and, as mid-afternoon approached, the crowds grew increasingly dense. When the caravan arrived, it was ten times as raucous and rowdy as it had been in Grenoble. By this time, we could no longer sit down but had to stand for the last several hours to maintain our front row spot.

The racers arrived over an hour past the printed schedule time but the crowd was immediately forgiving; it wailed in unison as the triumphant athletes performed eight laps around the Champs-Elysees. As Aaron explained, the winner of the race and le maillot jaune (the yellow jersey) had already essentially been decided in an earlier stage. The final laps around the Champs-Elysees were more like victory laps for the entire peloton.

From our prime position along the northern curb, the riders were within an arms length of us. In fact, we had to be careful when reaching our cameras over the barrier not to clothesline the outermost riders in the peloton. The scene was electrifying – a brilliant spectacle of bright colors and finely-chiseled bodies cheered by a madly roaring crowd. At the end of the day, we were utterly exhausted. We braved the crowded metro system back to Montmartre, picked up dinner on the street, and hibernated until morning.

On Monday morning, we were back at the hospital for another ultrasound followed by emergency surgery, though it was more of a scheduling emergency than a medical one, since we planned to depart from Paris on our road trip the next morning.

Having endured this surgical procedure twice now, once in Texas and now in Paris, has provided a basis for comparison between American medical and French medical care. While I would characterize my experience in the British-French hospital as adequate (and worlds above the standards in China and Nepal), I have a newfound appreciation for the American standard of service as applied to surgical care. Subtle differences in my Texas surgery, involving pre- and post-surgical service, made a big difference in the comfort and quality of my overall experience. I have heard and participated in discussions for years, usually around election time, about the need for American health care reform. While I cringe at the cost of prescription drugs and ever-increasing co-pays and the cost of medical care in general, I hope that whatever reforms are implemented in the coming years do not diminish the rigorous quality standards of American medical care.

My surgery had been completed by one p.m. but I was not discharged from the hospital until six. Aaron and Valerie had picked up the rental car that afternoon and Aaron drove us back to Montmartre. I had a box of painkillers and the reluctant blessing of my surgeon to travel the next morning if I was feeling up to it. Barring any obvious complications, I was quite certain that I would be.

1 Comment

After an overnight flight from Kathmandu, we arrived in Paris and found our hotel in the historic and eclectic neighborhood of Montmartre. We were surprised by the briskness of the air in the midst of summer and it was a welcome reprieve from the unforgiving heat of Nepal.

It was nine a.m. and we could not check into our room until 3:00 so, after dawdling around the lobby for a while, we decided to try to get in to see a doctor at one of the hospitals. We opted for a British-French semi-private hospital (France has socialized health care) and miraculously got in to see a doctor and have an ultrasound that afternoon. The outcome was sad but conclusive…finally. Surgery seemed the logical next step, given our strict travel schedule. However, we were unwilling to thwart our plans to leave for Grenoble the next morning and opted to deal with the surgery issue upon returning to Paris in a few days. Although we did spend our entire first day back in Paris at the hospital, we were thankful for the opportunity to be seen on such short notice. We returned to Montmartre just in time to check into our hotel, grab some delectable takeout, and melt into bed.

Grenoble was beautiful. The three-hour train ride from Paris took us through plots of sunflowers, golden fields with centuries-old farm houses, and the magnificent French Alpes. We had come to watch a stage of the Tour de France, which finishes atop a mountain called Alpe d’Huez. In planning this little detour, we were disappointed to discover how scarce and inadequate was the information online regarding the logistics of watching the stage on the mountain itself but we assumed that there would be plentiful info and public transport options for ushering the flood of cycling fans up the hill come race day. Our preoccupation with health issues for the past month had caused us to arrive in Grenoble completely unprepared. We realized when we disembarked from the train that we had no idea where our hostel was or how we were supposed to get there but, after that initial stressful realization, we pulled it together and found our way via public bus.

The hostel staff knew little about the Tour and, since Alpe d’Huez was the next afternoon, we dropped our bags and headed straight back to town to seek information. A few frustrating hours of pounding the pavement in Grenoble yielded the following: 1) the road to Alpe d’Huez would be closed on race day; 2) there was no public transport available since the road would be closed; and 3) no one in Grenoble gives a damn about the Tour de France. Our only option was to rent a car that day, drive up the mountain, and sleep in the car. Naturally, almost all of the rental cars in town were already rented and the few that were available were exorbitant. As fate would have it, we would instead watch Alpe d’Huez in a small corner tavern with a big screen T.V.

Determined to make the most of our visit to Grenoble, we spent our second day taking in the town. Wandering through the historic town center, we marveled at old stone churches and quintessential French architecture with its signature wrought iron detail. The narrow cobbled streets were lined with outdoor cafes, patisseries, and fruit and vegetable stalls. At la rue Chenoise and la place aux Herbes, a quaint and busy courtyard surrounded by 14th-18th century homes, the aromas of the daily fruit, vegetables and spices market filled the air.

The colors, smells, and quiet bustle of the locals buying their fresh ingredients for the day brought to mind the concept of the art of living. I thought briefly of the shopping in the States – the “big box” stores like Walmart, Target, Costco and American grocery chains. In comparison to this beautiful, artsy neighborhood with its butcher, baker and candlestick maker, the “big boxes” seemed vulgar and utterly lacking in personality. Still, in spite of its status as an unapologetic bastion of consumerism, the United States of Awesomeness (thanks, Trish, I love that!) has the best shopping in terms of variety, quality, service and convenience on the planet Earth. With the exception of Martha Stewart and her loyal disciples, we seem to have forsaken much of the art of living with our “big boxes” but while there is a beautiful simplicity to the art, I’ll take Costco any day.

After hours of aimless wandering through the historic streets, we walked along the river snaking through the northern edge of town. It was lined with some of Grenoble’s prettiest old buildings. We rode the cable car to La Bastille, an old wartime fortress on the mountainside to take in the spectacular panoramic views of the valley. After that, we picked up some cheese and a warm baguette and made a picnic in the park. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous and the parks were full of people, young and old, enjoying the abundant summer flowers and fresh air. It was a lovely sight.

On our last day in Grenoble, almost as if to atone for the impossibility of Alpe d’Huez, the Tour de France race course ran along the main street just outside our hostel. Hours before race time, we joined the locals in lining the curb, patiently awaiting our chance to steal a glimpse of the riders.

The caravan of sponsor cars preceded the racers, rallying the fans with incessant honking, blasting music and tossing trinkets into the crowd. An hour passed between the caravan and the riders. When the peloton finally whizzed by the level stretch of road in a mere few exhilarating seconds, our hearts raced at the sight – a kaleidoscope of spinning pedals and colorful spandex. And then they were gone. We had spent about four hours sitting around in the sun, waiting for those few brilliant seconds. While I do not share my husband’s passion for cycling, I looked at him in the wake of the peloton and exclaimed, “That was so worth it!”

We left on the evening train back to Paris – to meet Aaron’s mother who would fly in the following morning; to get closure on the miscarriage; and to revisit one of the most amazing cities in the world.

Comments Off on Goodbye Asia; Hello Europe!

Versailles was magical!  We began with a tour of the Chateau and its majestic salons and corridors.  The muraled ceilings, the regal red and green silk wallpapers, the gold-embroidered bed coverings, and oil portraits of generations of royal bloodlines entice the imagination into romantic fantasies of inhabiting such celestial palaces.  We dream our own faces into the marble busts atop the mantles and into the portraits of gents and demure dames in Renaissance gowns of velvet and lace, with pearly-white heaving bosoms.  The Royal Apartments seem almost fictional as one cannot reasonably fathom a life in such luxurious excess. 

The Hall of Mirrors incites pure delight with its glistening crystal chandeliers refracting colorful light from the floor-to-ceiling paned windows offering the best view of the Edenesque gardens below.  The inner wall of the hall is aligned with gold-trimmed mirrors, creating the illusion of space and light.  Also spectacular is the Hall of Battles, a long, lavish corridor lined with enormous oil paintings depicting centuries of French battle scenes.  The tourist headsets are complimentary with the price of admission and we enjoyed listening to the recorded stories of many of the battles portrayed on these great walls.

And then there were the gardens!  The sunny afternoon made for a gorgeous descent into the main garden, where the bright green lawn seems to end in the sky.  We lounged in the grass along the edge of a cross-shaped canal and soaked up the sun, pondering the rental of a rowboat.  The gardens were vast beyond the water, though, and at Aaron’s suggestion, we opted to take bikes instead.   This turned out to be a brilliant choice as we spent the next glorious hour gliding along with the gentle breeze coolly carrying us through the autumn woods.  As we merrily pedaled along, I felt a youthful freedom that I had not felt in years!  It was exhilarating to feel suddenly devoid of inhibition, devoid of uncertainty and anxiety, and to be childishly, wholeheartedly, breathlessly living in that moment!  Time stopped for us; it was a vision that will be safely tucked away among my fondest memories in that treasure chest of perfect moments.

2 Comments

Everything about Paris has been wonderful!  It’s our first stop and we’ve already discussed the possibility of never leaving.  What’s not to love?  Take your pick of the world-class museums, amazing food, the relaxed outdoor café culture, or the fact that French is one of the most beautifully spoken languages in the world, but we are enamored with Paris.  I especially love the countless patisseries that beckon to me from the street with their brightly lit display cases boldly advertising the special du jour through the windows.  Stepping inside I am overcome by the abundant decadence which takes form in croissants, chocolate éclairs, fruit tarts, cookies, and bushels of freshly-baked baguettes.

While we have enjoyed every moment thus far, we’ve been going non-stop for nearly a week.  The early excitement of the trip ahead, the novelty of unemployment, and the endless list of things to see in Paris have all created this urge within for us to pack as much as we can into each day.  We run from one Metro stop to the next and speed walk between museums and churches and cafés.  But we’ve seen all of our personal highlights- Musée du Louvre (3 times!), Musée d’Orsay, Eiffel tower, Montmartre and Sacre Coeur, Champs Elysées and the Arc de Triomphe, Place de la Concorde, Notre Dame and Ile de la Cite, Hotel des Invalides and the Dome Church, Place de la Bastille, Hotel de Ville, and too many beautiful churches to name.  After waking early and crashing early each day, we finally had our first night out in Paris.  We walked from the Marais district along the

Seine to the courtyards of the Louvre.  The tourists were gone, the ground within was completely dark and the façades of the surrounding buildings were softly lit with white lights.  A lone violin player straddled the two courtyards and the combination of his music and the greatness of this place created a mood that was both magical and romantic.  We left and caught the Metro to head across town to see the Eiffel tower after dark.  We’d seen it during the day on Saturday and it was swarming with Parisians and tourists alike, enjoying one of the nicest sunny days of the year.  We decided that we had to go to the top and see for ourselves what the city of lights has to offer.  The view from the top was awe-inspiring from every vantage point and thus far, a highlight of the trip.

Our busy days have been compounded by the necessity of switching hostels because neither of the two we have stayed in so far have had the additional availability we needed.  Our initial idea was to only reserve a night or two in a new hostel and then if we liked the place, we would request to stay longer.  When you’re lugging around 35-pound backpacks its nice being able to leave them in the room (locked to something sturdy, of course) and go exploring all day.  The first two nights at our hostel near Montmartre were fine, but certainly nothing special.  Given the option we probably would have stayed there for our entire Paris visit.  But we had to move and so we spent the past three nights at a low-budget hotel in the Parisian suburbs.  The room was bigger than the first but there was no shower curtain and it was a hike to the train station, so we’re not exactly sad to leave.  We haven’t been able to find accommodations at the last minute as easily as we would have liked so we’ve booked two more nights in Paris, and then the next five in Amsterdam but we still haven’t decided what we’re doing after the first two nights in Cairo.

And so, after spending the first five days rising early and walking until our feet could no longer carry us, we tried to slow down.   This is not a 7-day vacation from which we can return to our lives “back home” and recover during the ensuing work week.  This is our new life and we must make time to relax, learning to live, and rest, on the go.  We woke up later this morning, packed our bags and moved to our new hotel, and decided to spend a leisurely afternoon in the gardens of the Rodin Museum (where the statue of “The Thinker” is).  We peered through the hedges the other day into what looked like a beautiful spa-like courtyard and Tina insisted that we return.  Today, the sky was slightly overcast but it was warm enough to relax and read on wooden chaise lounges with the high walls of the garden keeping the wind at bay.  The setting was so tranquil with the freshly trimmed lawn embracing the tree-lined walkway and the beautifully manicured hedges framing the statues scattered throughout.  It was just what we needed today.

On a final note: I love subways!  I’ve ridden them in the U.S., in Hong Kong, and in Europe and they’re convenient, relatively cheap, and always on time.  Sure, they’re dirty, smelly and at times unbelievably complex and confusing and the Paris Metropolitan is no exception.  But once you get the hang of it, I can’t think of a better way to get around a big city.  We take the metro daily and have become very proficient at transferring from train to train while dodging busy business professionals, wide-eyed tourists and mothers with strollers.  I have a feeling we’ll miss this luxury in the Third World.

3 Comments