Tour de France (Part VII): Riviera

The Pyrénées region bordering Spain and Provence to the east of it are beautiful. I think that's the running refrain through all of these posts and I'm sure it's getting exhaustingly repetitive, but I can't help express how beyond wonderful France is. Like, I've turned into the biggest francophile around. I'm learning the language. I'm studying the history. I've decided I'm going to spend this summer living like a Parisian on the prairies indulging in art, wine and all the joie de vivre I can find here in Saskatchewan. This was a life-changing experience and I'm already planning my return.

The drive to Saint-Tropez was not only beautiful but aromatic. Lavender was not in season, so I'm not sure what was making the air so fragrant. The hills were covered with yellow flora that I couldn't identify. The further south I went, the roads were congested with bad eastern European drivers. It's not a stereotype I'm trying to encourage; I was literally making note of every bad semi driver that cut me off or nearly ran me off the road and they were all from Hungary, Croatia or (the worst) Bulgaria. I can only assume they hand out driver's licenses at birth to anyone and everyone as part of some lingering communist law. Despite the heavily heavenly perfumed air, this was the start of the most stressful period of my vacation. The highways here are INTENSE. It didn't help that I was driving a car that had less power than something on The Flintstones. It also didn't help that there were so many tolls. Like literally every 20km and they never had the damn cost posted until you got to the booth, leaving me rummaging through my purse to find change while being honked and sworn at by those impatient to get to the beach. Not very leisurely.

By some odd coincidence, every time I stopped and entered a store or turned on the radio, "Skyfall" by Adele was playing. It's a great song and what better place to hear it and envision myself meeting James Bond (Daniel Craig version please) than on the French Riviera. Sadly, I never encountered him or his twin but I did encounter something peculiar and thus begins my second installment of things that Rick Steeves and Lonely Planet won't tell you about: what is with all of the men "mistakingly" wandering into female washrooms in France? Yes, they are marked with the globally understood female symbol. If it were once or twice, I would be under the assumption that there were a few Scotsmen on holiday needing to take a wee. But it was every single day at nearly every stop, from the roadside rests to McDonalds to IKEA. Please don't question my shopping habits based on that last sentence and instead use this as a warning that there are a lot of pervs in Europe. Also, it should be noted that toilet seats do not exist outside of Paris. Since the fall of the monarchy, they've decided that no one shall comfortably sit on a throne ever again.

I didn't end up staying in Saint-Tropez proper but rather Port Cogolin, which is a 5 minute drive away. Actually the two towns just run into each other so I like to think I was staying in a suburb of the resort. It wasn't really the Brigitte Bardot land of hedonism that I envisioned - did you know that there's the French equivalent of a Wal-Mart in the middle of Saint-Tropez? They don't put that on the postcards. The weather was nice in comparison to Canada but not nice enough to fill the rocky beaches. There were a few, mostly female, tourists taking advantage of this solitude to work on erasing their tan lines. This becomes a less sexy visual when one realizes that there is also an oddly placed graveyard on the shore. Because of this, I can honestly (and proudly) say I didn't have one of the worst bodies on the beach.

After two days, I continued across the Mediterranean through Cannes, Nice and finally Monaco. This tiny sovereign city-state is just dripping in wealth. Every car is a Maseratti, Ferrari or Lamborghini. Everyone is thin, impeccably dressed and gorgeous. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my Peugeot, not being able to afford more than two hours in the pricey parkade. It was truly a whirlwind tour of the palace, bay and casino and other than stores that I can't afford to shop in, that's pretty much all there is in Monaco. I don't think I would want to be part of this world. The middle class is comfortable. I like home cooked meals. I like wearing sweatpants and jeans. My condo is the first time in my life that I've had a dishwasher and that shit makes me feel like freakin' Marie Antoinette residing at Versailles. This is all I need in life. Observing the guys at the entrance of the Monte Carlo casino posturing with their hot rides was exhausting, not impressive. You will never win when playing that game. Also, matte car paint is ugly. Why is this a trend?

After paying the exhorbitant parking fee (and getting lost in the parkade), I bid adieu to Monaco. I punched a town in the French Alps into my GPS and was on my way. I thought it would take me out on the same road I came in but little did I know it was now taking me on the "scenic" Princess Grace death route, all 90 degree turns on blind corners up a mountain with drivers much more familiar with every nuance than I speeding about. Have you ever been so stressed you wanted to cry but instead starting manically laughing? This was me. What could I do but hope for a much more glamourous obituary than the reality of what I was living at that moment. Deborah Clague 1980 - 2013. Born in Winnipeg, died in Monaco. Never had to get botox. When I finally got to the top (alive!), the highway was deserted. I didn't question this initially, but a sign that read "au revoir" gave me pause. "Goodbye from what?", I thought. A long drive through a tunnel carved into another mountain answered that question: I was no longer in France, I was now in Italy.

I toured the country in 2011. At the time, I thought it was great if a little poorly maintained. The transition from pristine France into Italy during this 2013 holiday really put it all into perspective. Italy resembles a former Soviet state in ruins in comparison to its neighbour. It was shocking at how run-down it was. I eventually came across a toll booth (naturally) wherein I hoped to turn around and get fuel. I also prayed I wouldn't be asked to show an international driver's permit as I didn't have one (you don't need one in France but you do in Italy). I paid the toll and inquired where the nearest station was. After sending me off and filling my tank, I had to return to the same exact toll booth and pay the SAME toll again just to get out of the country. I was in Italy for all of 20 minutes and it cost me 20€. I couldn't help but feel that this was just a set-up to extort money form lost, idiotic tourists like myself.

In short, I kinda hated the French Riviera.

About to drive the Millau Viaduct:

Saint-Tropez Marina:

The "perfect light" in Saint-Tropez:

Graveyard on the shores of the Mediterranean:

The crystal clear waters of Saint-Tropez:

Me in Monte Carlo, Monaco:

Port Hercule:

Monte Carlo Casino:

More fancy cars in Monaco:

Dudes comparing cars/penis size outside of the Monte Carlo Casino:

Tourists - keep your pants on in Monaco:

Tour de France (Part VI): Rocamadour

After Normandy, I continued heading west into the Brittany region traveling through scenic countryscapes and cities such as Rennes before settling for a night in Carnac. It was by pure chance that I ended up there, as I liked the name of it and simply punched it into my GPS as a final destination for the day. I did not know about the prehistoric monoliths in the area for which it is quite well-known. I suppose they aren't as heavily marketed as Stonehenge (France is too classy to work the alien invasion angle), but impressive nonetheless and I was virtually the only tourist there. This was also the first night I stayed at an IBIS Hotel, which is a very stylish chain in Europe. It was a nice, affordable alternative to staying at hostels (I'm too damn old, né anti-social, for that) or the Ritz (I'm too damn frugal, né poor, for that). 

Paul Signac* "discovered" the perfect warm sunbaked light in Saint-Tropez and turned the sleepy fishing village into an artist's haven. I will talk about that more in my next post, but just wanted to note how I much preferred the crisp, cool tones of Brittany; all blue-tinged hues filtered through epic cumulus rolling inland off the sea. Darkness and light. Labour and leisure. There is lots of contrast in this place. The northern regions of France may not be as glamorous as the Riviera, but are inspirational all the same. 

The wind carried me further south to an historic pilgramage site: Rocamadour. The small town is famous for its abbey AND its monkey forest. I didn't visit the latter, as I've met enough simians in my life, but I DID make the hike through the town and up the mountain in which the abbey is built into. This was one of the most enjoyable days of my trip. Just a leisurely afternoon soaking in unparalalled beauty and tracing the steps of history. Again, I was virtually the only tourist there and I stayed in a great hotel (not an IBIS). The friendly owner gave me the best room in the house with a huge, private rooftop patio overlooking the abbey. I rarely drink but this was the perfect time and place to relax, watch the sunset and have a Bordeaux. The next few days would not be as relaxing. 

*Signac helped develop the pointillism art style, which most intrigued me when I first started out in school and was my signature for years. I no longer have a lot of those pieces, but this trip has acted as an artistic muse for me and I hope to continue creating. One should never stop creating art in any capacity.  

Carnac: 

Rocamadour: 

The hike/pilgrimige started here: 

The balcony adjacent to my hotel room in Rocamadour: 

Tour de France (Part V): Normandy

Nine days in the City of Light wasn't nearly enough, but the remainder of my month in France would be spent exploring the countryside. I picked up a rental car a few blocks away from my hotel which, in retrospect, was a mistake. It's not that Paris is hard to drive in, it's just that...Paris is hard to drive in. If you're on one of the city's famous main boulevards, lanes exist in theory only with cars and delivery trucks fighting for space with motorcycles weaving in-and-out of traffic (the drivers of which obey no laws whatsoever). The side streets are narrow and hard to navigate. Street names are not visibly posted anywhere and then there are weird traffic lights that I've never seen before. I admit, I had no idea what was going on and nearly had a stress-induced aneurysm. Thankfully traffic only moved at a snails-pace so any fuck-ups that could have happened would have been minimal (and thankfully none did; I'm as surprised as anyone, tbh). 

My rental vehicle was a brand new Peugeot 206 or 306 (I can't recall the exact model and will just refer to it as "piece of crap" in the future). The damn thing had no power whatsoever, which was especially evident when traveling through the Alps. Its one saving grace though was that it came with a GPS system which, while in French, definitely aided me along the way. It took about an hour to get from the Eiffel Tower to the perimeter highway that surrounds the city and once off that, it was smooth sailing. The highways in France are immaculate and well serviced but you pay for the privilege of driving them: over the course of my holiday, I estimate that I spent around 150€ on tolls. This didn't bother me though, as a lot of the sights that I wanted to visit were not easily accessible via train. 

The first region I visited was Normandy and it remains one of my favourite places in the country. The villages were relatively small and placid, contradicting the more recent history of which it will forever be remembered. I laid my head to rest for two nights in Bayeux, a short drive to the D-Day Beaches, before visiting the citadel of Mont St. Michel, once a prestigeous abbey...now a prestigeous abbey and place to buy tacky souvenirs, regionally famous toffee and Nutella crepes. It was pretty awesome and better than anything at Disneyland Paris. 

I must admit that before my holiday I braced myself for the "legendary" rudeness for which the French are known. This stereotype couldn't be further from the truth though. Everyone I encountered was friendly, helpful and willing to bridge the language gap between us in whatever way they could (hand gestures, primitive cave art-esque drawings, etc.). Some of my most memorable moments were going into restaurants and meekly asking "Parlez-vous Anglais?" only to be given an initial look of horror and then genuine embarrassment as they replied "non" with a bashful smile, as though they were almost apologetic. A saying that I kept hearing over and over again was "as you wish". And so it were. France is one of the most hospitable nations I have ever visited. 

Mon Peugeot: 

Driving the streets of Paris: 

Interior of Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Bayeux: 

Medieval streets of Bayeux: 

Gold Beach: 

World War II wreckage off the coast of Normandy: 

Visiting the American War Cemetary at Omaha Beach: 

There are over 16,000 headstones at the American War Cemetary in Normandy: 

Omaha Beach, one of the landing spots of the D-Day Mission on June 6, 1944: 

Mont St. Michel: 

The narrow streets of Mont. St. Michel: 

Mont St. Michael: 

Versailles

I only took a train/the metro once while in Paris, unfortunately missing sights such as the Moulin Rouge and Sacre Couer which were too far to walk to (alas, I will be returning someday). The time I did take one was to Versailles, which ended up being the most unforgettable part of my trip. I headed out bright and early as I knew that a good portion of my day would involve standing around waiting in line (2+ hours which was less than I thought it would be). This preparation was foiled by the utter confusion I faced at the station. You would assume that standing under a giant sign that says "To Versailles" would be where one waits, but logic escapes the Parisian metro system. To make it worse, I had a number of other tourists come up to me to confirm that this was the spot to catch the train to Marie Antoinette's final abode. "Why yes", I would tell them, assured that my ability to read and comprehend a two word sentence was above average. Nope. As I watched the train approach, it whizzed past and stopped two platforms down under a sign that read "St-Martin-d'Etampes". Of course. 

Exiting the train station at Versailles is a bit weird. There's a McDonalds. There's a Starbucks. And lo-and-behold, there's the most outrageously extravagent palace in the history of the world just beyond! I wonder what Louis XIV would think? I don't really know what to say about the Palace itself other than I understand why heads rolled. It's just very...VERY. Larger than life opulance that I presume influenced the entire Liberace discography, the palace was exquisite but what really made my day were the gardens. The moment I stepped onto the back terrace of the palace and saw the Grand Canal for the first time is definitely in my top five list of things that will flash before my eyes before I croak. It is so, so unbelievably beautiful and serene. Despite it being cold, rainy and generally miserable, I didn't want to leave. 

When I eventually did, I caught the right train back to the hotel (couldn't miss it, as Versaille was the end of the line). 

Louis XIV statue at the entrance of Versaille: 

The Chapel in the Palace of Versaille (private tour groups only enter this area): 

The placement of the fire extinguisher wouldn't pass the muster on HGTV:  

An elaborate room: 

Another elaborate room: 

The Hall of Mirrors: 

The bedroom of Marie Antoinette: 

Everyday I'm shuffling: 

The Grand Canal: 

Apollo Fountain in the Grand Canal: 

Marie Antoinette's village at Versailles (built so that she can pretend to be a "commoner"): 

TOUR de France (Part IV)

Besides art, gourmet cuisine and romance, Paris is also known for fashion. The Galleries LaFayette are one of the best places to indulge in this and also observe human behaviour. I didn't take any pictures of it but imagine a North American-style mall replacing The Gap and Foot Locker with Chanel and Rodarte, and instead of being an ugly concrete monstrosity, visualize a beautiful 19th century architectural marvel with a skylight that rivals the stained-glass at the Vatican. Yeah, I couldn't afford anything in it but thankfully window-shopping is free. The only people who did appear to be buying anything were Asian tourists lined up dozens deep - behind red velvet rope no less - outside some of the boutiques.

The immediate area outside of the Galleries LaFayette has more affordable, trendy stores such as H&M and my favourite Uniqlo (and if you're not into shopping, the Opera House is smackdab right there too). A bit of a hike away is the world-renowned Champs-Elysses, which I learned has so many tourists at any given time that French isn't even the most spoken language. Vehicular traffic is also dense here (and leads to the giant roundabout that surrounds the Arc de Triomphe). Expect to see everything from 60s-era Mini Coopers to Bugattis whizing by. And if you hear cheesy Eurotrash music playing at a volume that could wake the dead, try and spot the "Discotheque Bus" a hilarious nightclub on wheels. 

There are historic locations in Paris that aren't commemorated (such as the spot outside of the Tuileries Gardens where Marie Antoinette was executed in 1793) and others where people feel the need to add their own memorial. The Pont de l'Alma, crossing the Seine in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, is one such location. I hadn't read up on this prior to my trip, but in approaching the bridge and seeing all of the flowers laid at its edge, I sensed that this was the spot where Lady Diana lost her life sixteen years ago; the handwritten eulogies covering its surface confirmed it. To this day, I remember where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news. Being the most famous, most photographed woman in the world, it was hard to escape her image or ignore her life's narrative, even in passing. One of my earliest memories is my mother watching her wedding to Prince Charles on the CBC while I tried to emulate the event with my Barbies on the living room floor. In time, I feel that people have ignored or downplayed how influential a woman she was, so it was nice to see that her memory and spirit haven't been forgotten in the City of Light.  

For my final Paris-centric post, how could I not talk about the Eiffel Tower? It is but the most iconic landmark in the world. With that type of legendary status comes, you guessed it, legendary lines. Despite booking my ticket three months in advance (and even then, not being able to get one for the date of my birthday), I still stood in line for around 30 minutes to get in and then another hour+ to take the elevator up to the top where one can wash down the world-class views with a 15€ glass of bubbly from a "Champagne Bar" (really, a small take-out window in which you half expect the server to ask "would you like fries with that?"). While some consider it overrated and a tourist trap, I felt the Eiffel Tower was perfect. 

Paris is simply perfect. 

Chanel Boutique near Champs-Elysse: 

Art Nouveu building near my hotel in the 7th arrondissemont: 

Me in front of the Arc de Triomphe: 

Blurry shot of the discotheque bus: 

Place de la Concorde, site of the guillotine during the French Revolution (the road is actually made of bricks taken down from Tuileries Palace, symbolic that the monarchy would never rule France again): 

Tunnel where Princess Diana lost her life: 

The Eiffel Tower at night (it sparkles on the hour): 

Me on the Eiffel Tower: 

The Champagne Bar at the top of the Eiffel Tower: 

View from the top (my hotel is somewhere at left): 

Tour de France (Part III)

If you're keeping a tally of the length of time I stood in lines during my trip, the Musee d'Orsay took about 35 minutes (I went on a Thursday, when it is open later) and the Catacombs, which I will discuss next, took about an hour and a half. It seems bizarre that something like this would become a tourist attraction, with its own gift shop at the exit no less, but this is yet another example of the darkness and light that Paris is famous for. 

The catacombs, for those unfamiliar, are a network of underground passages wherein the remains of over 6 million Parisians have their final resting place exposed to the camera flashes and airborne bodily functions of over 6 million tourists a year. Human bones aren't something people see every day and so it is somewhat fascinating; both a reminder of one's mortality and a great advertisement for cremation.

The walkabout starts out with a very long spiral staircase descent and then continues with long walks down endless passages. It was a great workout to work off all the flan I had been consuming. Recent storms during my trip made the pathways very slippery though and partially ruined the shoes I was wearing. Being literally SURROUNDED BY DEATH made this but a small inconvenience. There were bones everywhere! There were also tour groups everywhere. It is always very easy to pick up little factoids - in English, Mandarin, Klingon, etc. - about whatever you are visiting in Paris just by walking through. The most interesting thing I overhead while in the catacombs was word of thousands of university students using them as a party site for a rave in the 1960s. Can't imagine how this would be an enjoyable evening...not just for obvious reasons, but also with how cramped the space is. Mind you, I am a pretty boring person. Rest in peace. 

DARKNESS AND LIGHT

There is a lightness one feels when walking down the streets of Paris, an elevation of spirit that only this city can instill. But one also always senses the invisible darkness that weaves its way down every promenade and cobblestoned alley. A morbidness that belies the cerebral promise of its beauty. You can easily envision the great artists, writers, poets and hanger-ons of the 19th century chasing the green fairy (and their own demons) at a corner brasserie. And it's easy to imagine the desperation of a society starving for equity while the bourgeois eat gâteau. 

The Musee d'Orsay had a spellbinding exhibit on all things umbra: "The Angel of the Odd: Dark Romanticism from Goya to Max Ernst" . Viewing the artwork displayed upclose, all massive canvas and vibrant palette, was one of the highlights of my trip. Below are some of my favourite pieces: 

"Dante et Virgile aux Enfers", William Adolphe Bouguereau

"La Mort et la Fossoyeur", Carlos Schwabe

"Le Péché", Franz Von Stuck

"Crane aux Yeux Exorbites", Julien Duvocelle

Trocadero

The Trocadero is my favorite spot in Paris. Overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the posh 7th arrondissement, the vantage point it offers is unparalleled. Soaking in the beauty and rich history of this most famous city in the world was more than a few afternoons well spent: 

Statuary at Trocadero: 

View of the Trocadero from the top of the Eiffel Tower: 

Tour de France (Part II)

My second day in Paris, I played typical tourist and took a double decker bus tour through the city. Despite the chill in the air, I chose to sit on the top deck to ogle all the beautiful and impeccably styled Parisians. It was like a 24/7 fashion show; I have never felt so fat, ugly and poor. Until I got to Monaco, which is when I started to feel like a leper. 

The first stop I got off was the Louvre. It was absolutely massive and so was the line to get in. I took a few pictures of the exterior and famous glass pyramid, encountered a few scammers and kept moving on. Right next to the Louvre and crossing the Seine is the famous "lock" bridge. Actually, there's more than one as the original is running out of space AND these are all over Europe, but I suppose the one in the City of Light is the most romantic because hey - Paris is for lovers (although I wonder how many of the couples bound for eternity on its railing have since broken up?). With my iPod in my pocket, I kept pace under the gray skies. I may have been alone but my heart was lost to the city. 

The first line that I decided to wait in was to enter the renowned gothic Cathedral of Notre Dame. It didn't take too long (maybe an hour) and in a town full of entrance fees - including for washrooms - it was free. My favorite part of traveling through Europe is visiting the historic churches and their glorious architecture. While I'm not of a religious nature, it's hard not to be swept up in their grandiosity. I also like to observe people in their search for something more in life. We all yearn for something more whether it be tangible or spiritual, realistic or pure faith. 

My search would soon be for a washroom, which led me to my third line of the day. You never see Rick Steeves or any of the Lonely Planet authors talk about this, but it's vital information for a holiday. Trust. Patience is a virtue in Paris, as is having a pocket full of change. You will need both when using a washroom facility here. While waiting at the one near the cathedral (20 minutes), all I could hear were the staff (né grumpy hags) yelling at everyone to pay a fee. If they didn't pay enough of a fee, they got yelled at some more. WWJD? WWDD??? Well, what I did was leave to try and find a McDonalds universally known as a place with addictive salty fries and free, clean toilets. Unfortunately, the facilities in Paris are more locked down than the Pentagon. Not wanting to wait in another line (seriously, you CANNOT escape lines in Paris), I made my way to the subway expecting the worst. Instead I discovered something of a miracle - a luxury public washroom that must have been something of a tourist destination as it had its own souvenir section. Yes, this washroom not only sold "upgrades" on handsoap (seriously) but also every manner of Eiffel Tower-stamped cheese that you could ever dream up: keychains, magnets, t-shirts...it was pretty strange. Not least of which because there was no line. 

The Louvre: 

Pont de l'Archeveche (lock bridge): 

Interior of Notre Dame Cathedral: 

Interior of Notre Dame Cathedral: 

Statue of Saint Joan of Arc: 

Tour de France (Part I)

Now that I've recovered from eating myself into a new pant size, I've decided to write about my experiences in one of the most beautiful countries I've ever visited: France. I arrived in Paris on Thursday, April 4, the day before my 33rd birthday. It was a long flight and a long day, and my first hint at what the City of Light was going to be like came at Charles de Gaulle airport. The line-up to get through customs was longer than anything I've seen at Disney or the DMV. This would, of course, be the first of many. Paris is not for the impatient or those with bowel problems. I would guesstimate that collectively over the three weeks I was there, I spent the equivalent of one whole day just standing around waiting. And waiting. 

But it was worth it. 

After more than two hours, I collected my baggage and boarded a shuttle to my hotel. The perfume and cigarette aroma of the city heavily filtering through the streets reminded me of an old lady playing bingo...although the atmosphere was a tad classier than a prairie legion hall. There's just something about Paris. The people, the fashion, the food, the architecture, the art, the aura...they all combine to make a feast for the senses. It's very easy to lose one's heart, soul and mind there. I don't think there's any greater city in the world.  

On the drive in, I couldn't help but notice all of the Romani camps situated in nearly every open space, from riverbank frontage on the Seine to an open lot next to an IKEA. As we neared the Eiffel Tower, a different sight caught my eye - that of all the armed guards patrolling the area:

My hotel was right next to this most iconic of world landmarks, so I felt safe (even though the guards looked all of eighteen years old and probably shouldn't have been handling semi-automatic weapons). The only thing that concerned me were the sheer number of scammers everywhere. You couldn't escape them if you tried. If someone offers you a ring or a wallet or the opportunity to aid the "Human Fund" , just keep walking. It even made the news when workers at the Louvre walked off the job in protest over security concerns surrounding the number of pickpockets plying their trade within its walls. Boy, I would have been pissed if I stood in that line and was turned away. 

After putting my suitcases in my room, I strolled the immediate area of the 7th arrondissement. The hoardes of tourists pretty much stay along the Seine, leaving the rest of this neighborhood comparatively quiet. With everything in walking distance and plenty of traditional cafés and bakeries, I would definitely recommend it as a base. It was here that I purchased all of the desserts from my previous posts and discovered that authentic French bread is absolutely nothing like the lies and deceit that North American grocers and bakeries sell. It's heaven in dough form. In fact, everything I ate was simply the best of the best. The French not only put in the time to craft perfection, but ensure that everything is a masterpiece to look at as well. Cuisine was no exception. I have become inspired to live my own life with this joie de vivre. Even when eating macaroni and cheese. 

Next: Notre Dame, the Latin Quarter and Trocadero in Part II. 

View of the Eiffel Tower from along the Seine River: 

The Statue of Liberty on Île des Cygnes: 

Napolean's Tomb: 

Line-up outside of the Louvre: