Our Trip Blog

The Events of Monday, April 25, 2011

                Remember the Aesop’s Fable about the "The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse"? That sort of describes our experience today. Today was quite a day of contrasts. We awoke in a stone farmhouse in the quiet French countryside and went to bed in a posh flat, above a busy street, in the middle of Paris. The morning was spent packing and cleaning to make sure we recover 100% of our security deposit, and this evening we paid in cash for a flat full of expensive antiques and exquisite decorations, and not a word was said about any sort of security deposit. The farmhouse, while quaint, was dirty when we moved in, and smelled of paint thinner, with dirt and leaves on the stone floor, bugs alive and dead in every corner, coarse furnishings and limited kitchen supplies. We had to go out and buy our own dish soap to handwash the dishes, and there wasn’t even a sponge or washcloth with which to do the dishes or wipe down the counters. The Paris flat is immaculate, with king-size beds, real wood floors, and “opulent silk wall coverings, luxurious chandeliers, and ornamental ceilings like they had in the Newport mansions”, says Caitlin. The kitchen is stocked with service for 24, every pot or pan imaginable, a dishwasher (with soap), dish soap AND laundry detergent for the washing machine. The farmhouse was small; two bedrooms off a main living area, the kids’ bedroom being a former stonewalled root cellar. The Paris flat is huge; four spacious bedrooms with desks in every room (Ben’s even comes with an upright piano), a spacious living room, three bathrooms - one with two sinks, and a fairly decent-sized kitchen. And best of all…..We ARE IN PARIS‼

                Life in the country wasn’t all bad. We awoke to the singing of birds, though an annoying cuckoo bird started in at 4 am and was so consistent and almost mechanical sounding that I wondered if we had left the hazards blinking in our car. Yesterday our host had shared with Jim that Rocamadour was a “must-see” and, since it was on our way to Paris, we decided to make a brief stop there. Rocamadour is a small Benedictine community that rises in stages up the side of a cliff on the right bank of the Alzou River, which runs between rocky walls 400 feet in height. A group of massive buildings juts out from the rocky walls half-way up the cliff. As we approached from the other side of the valley, the town was hidden by the twisting curves of the cliffside road. Then we turned a corner, and there it was, in all its glory. We stopped for a few photos and then proceeded into the town itself.

                There was a bit of confusion about what our plan was, and, before we knew it, we were stopped before a narrow rock tunnel that led into the town. Even though we were headed uphill, we had to stop to allow several vehicles to pass through the tunnel. I was driving, and it has been a long time since I have tried to start a stick shift from a full stop on such a steep slope. It took a bit of rolling back (accompanied by loud inhalations from the back seat) for me to recover my forward momentum. Luckily, my first car was a stick shift, and, in it, I had conquered the hills of San Francisco. Soon, we were on our way. We passed through the town and followed the winding roads that rose above it. Before long, I pulled off at a viewpoint for some more pictures. Then it was off to Paris.

                It took a bit of driving to find our way back to the interstate and civilization, and, almost immediately, we all noticed the change. For the past week, in the French Pyrenees, and, in the French countryside, we have seen nary a soul. We had the twisting, winding, narrow two-lane country roads almost to ourselves, and, at each of our destinations, saw a handful of people at most. The largest group of people was the 25 that joined us in our cave tour. Now, we were on the interstate, and it was jammed with cars, and those cars were jammed with people. Our host had explained that most schools take two weeks of holiday around Easter. Some take the two weeks before, some one week before and one week after and others, the two weeks after Easter are the holiday. It seemed like everyone was on the road, in cars full of luggage and racked with bicycles on the back. It was like driving back from Lake Tahoe after Labor Day weekend, when everyone is coming back from their last “hurrah” of the summer.

                We stopped for lunch at a rest stop and could not believe the crowd. This particular rest stop had three parking lots – one for cars, one for cars pulling trailers, and one for trucks. Each lot had its own picnic area, and they were all full of people, sitting at tables or picnicking on the grass. We had to pull into the truck parking lot just to find a place to park and an empty table in the shade. We are feeling very French, as we are eating lunch at the time the typical French family eats, and enjoying similar fare – bread, cheese, and fruit, and of course, chocolate bunnies. That is not necessarily French, but was delicious all the same.

                As we drove on to Paris, the traffic became heavier, and more congested. At first, my heart sunk, as I thought, “Oh no, everyone is going to Paris for their holiday. It is going to be SO crowded.” However, as I looked around and studied the cars and their contents, it became clear that people were probably returning to Paris from a holiday elsewhere. The highway, for the most part, was a two-lane road. In France, you drive in the right lane and use the left lane only to pass. However, as we got closer to Paris, there was no passing, just a packed freeway. We could have been anywhere in California. That is, until we came to the toll plaza. The toll plaza was immense. Jim counted 40 booths, three in the opposite direction, and 33 open ones in the direction we were going. This seemed much more efficient than a toll plaza we had passed through earlier which only had a handful of booths and traffic slowed to a crawl. It took us twenty minutes to get through there. Here, it was a different story. It seemed like in no time at all we had paid our toll and were through…..or were we? Picture this, 33 lanes converging into, wait for it…4 lanes of traffic‼ It was a mad house of creeping, nudging, nosing in, braking, stopping, starting, and coming within inches of the other cars. Actually, they were coming within inches of us! We had heard that Europeans don’t value personal space as much as we Americans, and they certainly demonstrated that today with their cars. Finally, we were through, and the four lanes went to three, and then two.

                The traffic and congestion continued all the way to Paris. But then we were in Paris! The kids spotted the Eiffel Tower almost immediately, and the excitement began to grow. We passed the Notre-Dame Cathedral as we drew near the apartment. All the tour books had warned us NOT to drive in Paris, but we had to get to our apartment. However, after driving in Naples and Rome, driving in Paris was almost tame. Yes, it was congested, but orderly, and everyone was driving calmly and obeying the traffic signals, and there was no impatience or horn honking. We found a temporary parking spot a few doors down from our apartment. Jim and Lindsey went in and connected with our landlord. Soon, they returned to the car. While the kids and I unpacked the car, Jim went looking for an ATM, as he needed cash to pay for the apartment, and ATMs had been in short supply in the country. Soon, we were standing in front of the door, waiting impatiently to get in, while Lindsey and Jim tried the door code and swiped the key, but to no avail. Finally, Jim texted the owner, who was waiting for us upstairs, to let him know that we couldn’t get in – it turns out we were at the wrong door. That settled, we brought in our bags and then entered into Parisian Paradise.