A Market That Was Not, And Everything Else That Was

I’m going to the market. Not a mentionable fact except that the owner texted us saying that Place des Lices is a well-known market. People come from all over the area to it.  I am one that loves markets so, needless to say, I am not missing this one.  Dean is.  I head out alone.  It’s Sunday and the streets are deserted.   Almost seems set up for me to enjoy this town through my lens.

 Here comes the blue door deluge.  One I had not photographed the day before. 

 I reach Place des Lices in no time at all but find it as deserted as the streets.   I peek in and in fact the installation is there but no people around.   I walk back and I see a couple with produce and baguettes protruding out of their bags and I ask them if they know about Place des Lices and they tell me that the market was on Saturday.  I resign myself but also am grateful that it wasn’t on for there would have been hoards of people. This way, I got to enjoy the streets calmly.

At the turn of the corner I am reminded of my hometown.  

I roam around a bit and see that Saint-Pierre Cathedral is opened. In reality there is a sign that says it is closed between 11 and 2 today but the door is open and I go in.  Turns out it is closed for the public but open for mass. It’s only me and I’m pretty quiet so I tiptoe in.  Right after me comes a Russian tour group.  The leader seems unaware or doesn’t care about the fact that there is a mass going on and talks loudly to his group of around twenty.  I cringe.  But I am also technically ignoring the rules so I move around.

The inside of the church is being repaired.  At the very end the congregations prays.  

If a cathedral has a life of its own, this one is not trying to impress but does. It is dark and uses much wood in its decor. It almost imposes introspection and demands you to stay and pray. I don’t but walk as close to the altar as I can without disturbing the congregation.    On the side aisles (I am sure there is a proper word for the passageways on each side) there’s darkness from the paneling and I get this desire to just sit and close my eyes.    The stained glass is beautiful though it is not the main attraction in here.    

Before I leave I pass a little altar.   The name of Lourdes catches my attention.  My parents and I visited  Our Lady of Lourdes when I was around 6, footage that I recently saw. I don’t quite understand what it says but I have the urge to light four candles here to the Virgin.  2 for my mom and dad and 2 for Dean’s Nan and mum.  I am sure that they are looking down, protecting us as we go.     

As I leave, I take a last glance – as I usually do. 

I continue my exploration.  This wall is not pretty but anything that was built between the late Third Century and early Fourth Century has to have my respects even if the expensive and expansive wall that surrounded the city was soon to be found almost useless.

    

  Wall art / graffiti again reminds me of Los Angeles.

  And what would this blog be without a little more on blue doors?  

This little tabby cat comes up to me and follows me as I reach the main plaza once again.  He gives up after a block.  

I reach home and am greeted with a nice cuppa (cup of tea).  Dean leaves to get a GPS for tomorrow we are renting a car for the next portion of our trip.  First stop is Mont St. Michel.

I am left to explore our home. This place we got through airbnb (I know I am sounding like an ad but it has afforded us some incredible opportunities to stay at wonderful places and meet such interesting people) is certainly not the most luxurious  though it is quite large and has really good vibes.  The bathroom is fun.  You have to go through a saloon-type door to take a shower.  Inside a sign that says its wombat crossing. 🙂 The owner has a lot of knick-knacks from Southeast Asia  and that already makes him way cool in my book.  He also has tons of books some of the greats in Spanish literature. And how not love a place that has antiques   that remind me of my little store and one which Tutu has claimed for his perch.  He is pretty stubborn just like this collectible bull which is my astrological sign.   Outside there is a kiddie park  that is for exclusive use of the building we are in, and on the other side is the park we visited yesterday.  In the middle some city work building and I catch a worker taking a break.  

I would cover the same ground I did this morning again, for when Dean returns we go out to dinner.  We settle in an Indian restaurant  where I have a vegetarian dish of spinach.   It was delicious.  We chat at length about the town with our Nepalese waiter.  He tells us how he came to Paris first and is now in Rennes.  How there isn’t much to do but he loves it here.  I may have to agree with that!!

As Walter Conkrite would say: “And that’s the way it is.”  Good-night.

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“N’oublions jamais l’Australie”

We are on the road again…  We are off to Villers-Bretonneux a little town that experienced the first world’s battle (in World War I) between two tank forces (the British and the Germans).  The Germans took the town but the Australian Imperial Force recaptured it a few days later.  1,200 Australians died in the process.  A few miles from the town is an Australian Memorial and a cemetery where 770 are buried.  That is where we are headed.

Initially we were to take a bus to the Amiens train station but it is such a beautiful day that we end up walking.  In front of the Amiens station I spotted the cutest of buses.  I still get a kick out of how little cars are – even traditionally big ones as the Range Rover and Mercedes – in Europe.  Seems that they miniaturize buses too!

At the station  we buy our aller-rétour (round trip) ticket to Villers-Bretonneux.  We are lucky that the train departs about 15 minutes from when we arrive.   In one hour we will be there. The train is pretty comfortable and I settle in with my espresso.    To my side, a reminder that I am in France: a baguette a main part of a traveler’s luggage.  

We arrive.      

We are two of only few that exit here.  No signs guiding us to the memorial so we decide to follow the only person that is on foot.   Should we take the path unknown?    The Franco-Australian Museum  comes up (the first thing that attracts me is the tiles on the floor)  so we go in      for info on how to get to the Memorial.

They tell us that the Memorial is a couple of miles out of town and that it’s walkable.  So we continue. I am loving the stone houses.   Everything in this town has something Australian on it. 

We are leaving the boundaries of town. See the sign with a diagonal red line on it?  

I promise not to go more than 50 km per hour (31 mph) in the construction zone.  In fact I don’t think I can walk that fast.    Though I may have to because that memorial looks quite far…

The walk is long, the day is hot so I extend my right thumb in good hitch hiking mode and… nothing happens. So we continue on.  It doesn’t seem to be getting any closer yet suddenly we are there.  No one around.  We are alone. I fall silent.    

Words of the mayor in 1919: “Soldiers of Australia, whose brothers lie here in French soil, be assured that your memory will always be kept alive, and that the burial places of your dead will always be respected and cared for…”

 Many tombstones engraved with the one date they all died.  All so very young. Fighting someone else’s war. But the people of Villers Bretonneux are grateful, for, according to Wikipedia, on top of every blackboard in the school there is an inscription “N’oublions jamais l’Australie” (Let us never forget Australia.)

   

There are stairs to go to the top of the memorial and I decide to go up disregarding my fear of heights.   Going up.  The door to the outside.    A few more steps and I’m outside.  The wind assaults me. I am quite high but vertigo does not take over and I am able to enjoy the view.    The markers have some names with significance to me. Amiens, London, Berlin, Paris and Villers Bretonneux.

    We are not alone any more and as I climb down Dean remains upstairs and chatting with a fellow Aussie that thankfully gives us a ride back to Amiens where they are also staying.

We walk through town   to meet with Lydie for us to have a mini table read.  The pastry shops are going to be the death of me.  This one has the dessert that I so loved: Paris-Brest (I know there is a joke here but please refrain.)  Casa Crepes which kind of joins my culture with theirs, don’t you think?   But not all is food.  I’m taking my door photos too.     And windows.    And buildings.   Okay, back to the table read.   These are the remains of sorbets that our réalisateur (director) has devoured while we work.   Think I’m back to the food subject.  We leave.

I am now starving.  I get cranky when I am hungry.  I can’t concentrate when I’m hungry.  I need to eat now!  And when I’m this hungry even a McDonald’s will do.  And this one holds some surprises.  It is manned by smiley, cute people and it’s more in the vein of an upscale café than a McDonald’s, with comfy chairs and cool decor.   And a sauce for the fries that is more on the mayo side which I like.  A chicken wrap with a package that you can stand it up in.    Prices are also a surprise: not cheap at all.

Now that I’ve been fed I have energy and will to have a walk around town.  We find a gem of a square.  

I find the building that I would like to own.

   

The day is done.  We have mentally wept for those gone, honored them, taken a step back in time, taken a step forward to filming, fed our minds and our bodies, and fantasized a bit about what we wanted.  Pretty full day. I smile and sleep once more.

“Honey, We Must Talk”

Yesterday, as I thought it would be, turned into a day to chill.  Tutu found a spot guarding the key. 

We settled in. 

Getting so many ideas by staying in airbnb places, like this chalkboard stripes in the kitchen to write messages in.

We did walk about a bit in town and found some charming areas but I didn’t bring my camera.

Today we meet Lydie Melki and Guillaume Renoult and Buster (the dog), the actors in the short, for a cup of coffee in the morning, the segue to a walk to the theater where they will be performing tonight, to lunch and then to a siesta at the base of the cathedral.

The theater.     Buster leading the pack.  Walking to lunch.  This little guy (he’s not that little actually) in the middle of the river is made of wood.     Yesterday he did not have a t-shirt on.  Lunch.   Buster wanting some lunch.   Part of the cast and crew working off the calories from lunch.   Guillaume amusing us before the official amusement by the play Chéri Faut Qu’on Parle (Honey, We Have to Talk) which he wrote (and is in).    Not quite Venice but this town is known for its canals and they are really charming.   And it’s chill/siesta time at Parc de L’Evêché  – centered around Buster, of course. 

For me it’s photo roaming mini-safari time.   The area around the cathedral is a University campus.     They are having “Talent Day Auditions”.  I’m tempted to just walk in but don’t.  Don’t think I’m in their age range. 🙂

I go back to the siesta takers  but can’t sleep  and neither can Buster.   Time to get up, say  á tout a l’heure (see you soon) and go into the cathedral.which is impressive to say the least.

A short walk around the park to reach its main entrance.      It was built in 1220!  This diagram shows the different stages and years of its evolution.  

It is the tallest completed cathedral in France  as well as the one with the greatest interior volume of any French cathedral.  The main altar has wonderful carvings.    The organ dates for 1429   The labyrinth is quite intriguing as well and is the second largest in France.    The center of it.  

There is the weeping angel which became a popular postcard sent by soldiers in World War I.  He has one hand on an hourglass, I think to symbolize the brevity of life and rests his elbow on a skull symbolizing death.   He is part of the mausoleum of cannon Guilain Lucas (d1628) by Nicolas Blasset and he saddened me much.      And then there are the stained-glass windows, many of which were lost through the years.  

One flanked by an American flag.

The cathedral has a spot where it remembers and honors those of other countries that fought for Amiens.      

We light four candles for four relatives who are very close to our hearts and in our thoughts.  I have a feeling that they are overcoming language barriers and meeting up above.

Wherever you look there is something to admire.  Don’t think I have spent so much time inside a cathedral.

   

We go out into the light, have a last glance at the cathedral   and discover a city that has come alive.      We walk back to the apartment traversing four lanes      a train track  then the last lane.   We take a little siesta and back into town for the play Chéri Faut Qu’on Parle and then back home to get some more zzz’s.

Rudeness, Pickpocket and Scam Alert!

The dreaded day is here.  The day Soleil    and we part.  The day we leave our smurf bust.  The day Fifi stays behind.  She certainly has made herself at home.   The last day when I look out the window or off the deck and will be reminded by the Eiffel Tower that I am in Paris. 

I didn’t want the day to come but it’s here.

I very unwillingly pack.  We cross the plank with our luggage and place it in the garden.  One step further from our beloved péniche.    Fifi huddles behind it, probably because of the shade, but I am sure it is because she wants to come with us.   

I pick her up and go to our neighbor in the boat next to us and ask him if she is his and what her name is.  Fifi is now Yaya.   I think Fifi fits her better.

Up until now we have felt nothing but safe and have been on the receiving end of helpfulness and courteousness.  We walk to the station of Passy  where in one swoop all that changes.  We are carrying substantial luggage that can only pass through the gate so I show our ticket and our luggage and ask the attendant how we can go through the gate.  He says it’s not free. I continue to smile and say I understand but how can we input the ticket for the gate (it has no slot)? Not free.  I know. How? Validate through the regular entrance and he’ll open gate.  I do.  He does not.  He is rude, nasty and unhelpful.  Had it not been for a passenger on the other side who opens the gate from the inside we would still be there.

Onward to the train (metro).  Two young women enter our wagon and stand at the entrance. Plenty of room behind them, but as I go in, one moves towards me. In French I ask her what she is doing.  Arreter!  Stop. She continues forward.  I avoid her and go towards the back.  They exit at the next stop and I look down and the zipper of my bag is open.  Fortunately nothing in that compartment for her to take, but it frazzles me a bit.

Onward to the Gare du Nord where we are going to buy tickets to our destination: Amiens.  Gare du Nord is a sea of clashing currents of human flesh.  Busy at all times.  A bit overwhelming to most.  No information booths are manned and we can’t find where to buy the tickets so we go to the machines.  A tad confusing and we must look it because we are approached by a lovely young lady who tries to help.  No, thank you.  Move onto another.  She follows and when we are about to put our credit card in she says that it  doesn’t accept foreign cards and we can pay her and she’ll put hers in.  I don’t think so!  We safeguard our credit card and move far from her.  It’s a well-known scam that has been going on for years.

We finally get to a ticket booth for SNCF but can someone figure out this billboard for me please? 

The train has little stars on the floor and I am ready to go into bliss zone again.

The countryside    shows up and in no time (about 2 hours) we arrive at the  Amiens station.      Bigger than I thought it would be..

We are close to city center so after checking in we walk to town.  It’s about 8 pm.  It’s still light outside on a still mild night and no one is out.   The city seems deserted, yet it is beautiful and quaint.  Our stomachs (okay, really just mine) is clamoring for food so we sit at a pizza place  and the entertainment comes to us.  A local theater group is walking through the plaza where we are, with the audience in tow.    They stop with the police blocking the road  as the actors perform.  

My pizza arrives and yes, that is an egg in the middle.   More than one pizza is served like that.  I avoid it and eat around it.  I accompany it with my favorite drink:  Schwepps tonic which is not that commonly available in the States in restaurants but is here. 

I decide to not remind myself that it has more calories than a Coke and enjoy every drop.

 The cathedral is ahead.

We will walk there after dinner.  Through the side streets we go ’cause that is the way where many a surprise has been had and today is no different.   An Australian bar to satisfy my partner’s craving for his country though this one has Latino music blaring and a soccer match showing.  Is it crazy that I find this perfectly normal?

And then the cathedral, which is quite a beauty, intricately adorned with sculptures on the outside,  and quite huge.   

The plaza it is in is not bad either and the side streets are charming.  

   

 The carousel is closed and the streets are empty.  

It is time for us to go home.    

We will explore more tomorrow… or maybe we will just chill.  🙂