Shocking Profusion

When our taxi pulled up in front of our house upon our return to Vancouver, this is what we faced--

A more straight-on photo features the new sidewalk leading to our house and the vigorous volunteer poppies (seeded from last year's poppies), with our house-sitter's attempt to restrain them before they completely blocked the sidewalk.

New Terminal at Beauvais Airport

Dear Mother,

We began last week's mini trip by driving straight to the new terminal at the Beauvais airport. About an hour later, we parked the car, and started looking for my photo.  I had heard that France is thinking of Beauvais becoming the third airport for greater Paris.  There are certainly many airlines coming here, but all seemed to be minor.  We walked by a number of interesting restaurants (more promising than anything in Chicago's O'Hare, which is so much larger but a dismal place to be stuck for eating). 

We found the photo at the new Information Desk, just as it had been described to us.  They have a nice display of various products of the region and the large photos behind the desk indicate what one can do in the Oise region (golf, horse racing at Chantilly, gardens and visit the apse/choir at the Beauvais Cathedral--the highest such structure in that style in France).  I liked the display being framed by two of my favourite hobbies, golf and visiting cathedrals.

I was really pleased when they showed me that part of the photo disappears when a door is opened--just as with the walls of rooms in the Baroque castles in France, such as Versailles.  I have always admired those doors to secret hallways and the ways they are hidden to all but those in the know.

So there is it, and there it will apparently reside for a decade.  We got some good information on the region from the attendants at the desk, who very kindly pretended to like my photo and the chance to meet us, and then we were on our way to see things rather more interesting.

The day is very rainy in Paris but I just heard of a church that is apparently delightful, yet totally hidden from the street, so I will set out to see if Philippe's instructions will suffice for my gaining entry.

With love from us both,
Evan

Chantilly

Dear Mother,

My reward for one photograph was staying near Chantilly at Dolce Chantilly, a resort with a golf course attached.  It was a bit too much like being in the States, but the price was right (I had to pay 3 Euros tax).  Since Janice will not drive in Europe, I decided to forgo golfing.  I also felt that it would give me more satisfaction to see and photograph more places that it would to golf poorly, because I have not swung a club for five weeks.

This was the scene outside our room.  You can see the white tee box for No. 1, heading to the left, over two ditches filled with water (trouble).  The clouds were threatening and it was very windy.

 
We got to Chantilly too late in the day to get into the castle, but we had visited it in some detail in 1988, and the opulence of the decedent French royalty can finally get to one.  We stopped to look from the gate, 30 minutes before closing.  They were preparing for a very large event to go with horses.  Chantilly is about horses.  Our hotel room had a very large silhouette of a racing horse, hardly our style.  The castle is beautifully restored and houses the second finest art exhibit in France.  The Condé Library is exquisite, and I have lectured on a number of works in its collection, but I had seen that material earlier.

The roofs are fascinating with their decorated chimneys, steep slopes and ornamental touches.  This was one of the the king's favourite refuges away from Paris, with extensive forests for hunting grounds (an important form of exercise for royalty once they were administrators rather than soldiers.

I had to wonder what the large fish were.  There were plenty of them and they were exploring the surface in the evening light.

Now separate from the castle but once part of its lands, the enormous grass horse race track was being readied for yet another race.  France had been very dry, but the course was as well-watered as any golf course, and used far less often.  The white rail is both a visual boundary for the horses/riders and a symbolic protection for the observers who will be there by the tens of thousands, lined up all the way around and also inside the centre.

There was a peaceful road leading to the part of the track opposite the main bleacher seating.  I liked the way the trees line and shade the road . . . typical of France.

 We also walked a bit in Chantilly, which is basically a very long road leading directly to the castle.  There were few crossroads, which was unusual.  This is an Anglican Church, St Peters, with services in English.  David and Julie were married here several years ago.

There is a canal that runs parallel to the town of Chantilly, so we walked along it in the waning hours, working up an appetite for dinner.

 

In Gerberoy, we learned the hard way that you do not postpone a meal unduly (like one can do in Paris).  By the time we started looking for a place to eat lunch (1.45), nobody would serve us.  So in Chantilly we moved our schedule ahead a bit and sat down to dinner before 8:00.  At first, we despaired of finding anything interesting (and open) but then we looked through an open carriage doorway and realized that people were eating on the carriage way itself as it came off the main street and circled into the former stables.  The food was just fine, the temperature just right, and the weather held.

Back at our hotel, we were scared off breakfast by a notice which indicated that one could have breakfast brought to your room for 40 Euros ($65).  We decided to forgo breakfast in bed (yet again) and headed for a bar in town for coffee and some bread.  I have learned that you get the best coffee at bars, not restaurants.  We had great coffee but they were out of bread.  A local French lady heard us ask and be denied, so to our utter amazement, she came over to our table and insisted that we let her go to the local bakery and get us a croissant, pain au chocolate, or whatever we desired!  We had fun talking with her, but tried to assure her that we were fine, that we in fact wanted to go to the bakery to see what they had, and that we really really appreciated her kindness.  She then told us that one of her children had married someone from the UK and she assumed we too were from England, but she also took kindly to Canadians.

Anyway, we then went to this bakery to get some danish pastry with raisins, which was just perfect.

 Two blogs in a day is not my usual style, but we enjoyed our duck confit, as well as the zucchini done in duck fat, potatoes done in duck fat, and salad (Not done in duck fat).   The duck legs had been stored in salt for a day (in SW France to pull out the moisture and help preserve them) and then cooked submerged in fat for an hour before being canned.  I simply poured everything into a pan and boiled the legs in the fat for perhaps 15 minutes to get them golden brown before draining them.  Then I fried the potatoes and zukes in some fat.  It was a treat; a bit salty, but a treat!

With love from us both,
Evan

Gerberoy

Dear Mother,

One brochure on the Oise recommended visiting the very small medieval village Gerberoy.  We were sort of toying with the idea of visiting it, but then a talkative lady at the "Press" (where you get newspapers) really talked it up with me, so we decided to visit.  It was a winner.  Destroyed by war and plague, an artist finally became aware of it and led the way to giving it new life.  In part, the village became renown for all its roses.  We arrived just at the end of the rose season, partly because the extraordinarily warm spring pushed vegetation's schedules ahead noticeably.  I will do more with my photos when I get home, but here are a few for now.

We parked our car just outside the village, wrongly assuming parking would be impossible in the village, but the day was quiet, with only the occasional busload of elderly tourists hobbling about.  The walk from the grassy parking field offered a nice view of the gentle valley, and of course some roses.

One farmer had a nice vineyard with his old wine press in the uppermost corner, ready for action this fall.  Gravity will likely help the process of filtration.

A number of buildings still need work, and I can imagine that much of the village looked like this in the mid 1800s before the artists and retirees arrived.

One farm on the edge of the village is still active, reminding me that this was once a village of farmers.  We were intrigued by the variety of chickens in the courtyard, wondering what the differences might be between the various breeds.  Since Janice once had a pet chicken, I was obligated to take a photo here.

I did not get to visit the former castle site (now a rose garden) because it was closed that particular day (a recurring theme this spring).  It was usually too windy to take useful photos of individual flowers by houses, though I did manage one after several tries.

I spent some time around the old church and its grounds, just above the old village wall.  This gave a nice view of the roofs.  I had not seen other villages cover the sides of house peaks with tiles, but it seems practical, especially if one is not fond of painting.

There were quite a few half-timbered homes, which are fascinating with their patterns and climbing roses seemingly growing right out of the sidewalk.

By now, the revived village is awash with vegetation of all kinds, which softens the stone homes and walls.

 

I also briefly enjoyed the quiet village church, but it was soon overrun with tourists, so I had little opportunity to get clear shots.  The pews are quite short, wide enough for two adults to sit comfortably and it will accommodate a family if they are willing to be crowded.  Presumably one rents a pew for the year.  The doors would keep toddlers within reach, let the adults control traffic in and out, and prevent drafts from disturbing your feet.

The weather has been changing constantly today.  Janice has been taking laundry in and out, in and out, trying to get it dry.  I am finally caught up on putting labels/numbers/cards on the newly-catalogued books, and there is quite a stack.  I made some osso bucco (braised veal shanks) for Sunday evening when there will be two guests at the Centre, Yves (with whom Janice works two days a week) and Philippe (Sociology professor associated with the Centre).  It will be Fathers Day in France, so I'm cooking for myself and the other Fathers.  This evening we are serving duck confit to Neal--straight from an enormous can which has 4 fat duck legs already cooked and just about ready to go.  I will then do the sliced potatoes in the duck fat, which will be a real treat.  Add one of Janice's salads, some fresh strawberries with Hagan Daz vanilla ice cream (on sale) followed by a cheese-and-baguette course, and the evening starts to look promising.

With love from us both,
Evan

Abbey Royale de Chaalis

Dear Mother,

I remember seeing photos of abbey ruins in England in the 1960s and then actually seeing some both there and in Ireland.  But now that I am into photography, I wanted to visit some more ruins.  So on a whim, we headed for the Abbey Royale de Chaalis, which was on our way back to Paris from Senlis.

The sky was dramatic and constantly changing, sometimes pretending to offer the possibility of rain.  The former abbey grounds had just been used for an enormous musical event and were being cleaned up, and the abbey itself has of course been secularized for a very long time. 

The part that struck me most forcefully was the abbey's church, parts of which still stand, but most of which was pulled down and carted off.  Basically, as with the Coliseum in Rome, the powerful wealthy people got permission to purchase, dismantle and cart off the finished stones.  It was far cheaper to remove stones from a building than to quarry and shape them yourself.  So it was a type of recycling, one which destroyed art.  But once the purpose of the object of art is gone, why retain the work of art?  And since the church represented the combined power of the monarchy and the church, many people would prefer to see it destroyed.  After all, they were never allowed to worship in such luxury themselves. 

First, a nice gloomy shot of some of the ruins, with a peak of another building behind that was preserved, presumably because it had usefulness.

Very little of the church remains, just part of the apse (on our right) and part of the transept (center-left).  Otherwise, loose stones have been gathered and mowed grass keeps down the dust.  All of the beautiful smooth paving stones of the church floor were of course taken to be used elsewhere.

It is strange to see massive columns rising from gravel rather than smooth paving stones.  Presumably the foundation under the standing part of the edifice was left intact.  One benefit of visiting ruins is getting glimpses into the construction.

As with castle walls, masons used irregular stones and cement for 'fill' and then gave the walls a pleasing look by finishing them off with carefully cut uniform stones which were drawn from the same quarry.  I cannot tell you how many times I have been fooled into assuming that all cathedral walls were constructed entirely of chiseled stones.

Through one of the (missing) windows, you can see the restored chapel, which I also visited.  I don't know why it was preserved.  Possibly someone felt it was small enough to be a jewel in his landholdings, or to be used privately.  It was recently restored and is very nice.  I liked looking past the ruin to see something still intact.

I always enjoy looking upward in churches to study the ribbed vaulting.  Of the possibly 50 such vaults, this is the only one remaining, and swallows are now nesting in its ribs.

This was our final stop before asking Tomtom to take us back to St Maurice.  We beat the worst of rush hour traffic between the CDG airport and Paris and we made excellent time back, returning the car earlier than expected.  We then did some shopping and had supper with Neal, a great time to get caught up on the last three days.

All for now, with love from us both from a very dark and grey Paris,
Evan

Pont de Charenton

Dear Mother,

When Janice says, "I'd like you to take one of your fancy lenses and shoot something for me," I know it is time to spring into action, no questions asked.  The other day, she asked me to "take one of my fancy lenses" and shoot some photos of the Charenton bridge which is but a five minute walk from the Centre Mennonite de Paris.

This nondescript bridge has four lanes for traffic plus additional ramps and lanes for vehicles entering and leaving.  By now the banks of the River Marne (just before it flows in the River Seine 1 km later) have been well fortified with stone walls which control the water so that walkways and bike ways can run along the river for miles.  Traffic is heavy and constant, and that is the point of this blog entry.

The Charenton Bridge has been a point of crossing and entry since Roman times.  The bridge was mentioned by name in the 7th-century Life of St Merri.  Because of its strategic importance to Paris, numerous battles were fought over the bridge during the Hundred Years War.

Today's version is apparently the 19th bridge to have been built at Charenton since Roman times.  Versions of this bridge have of course been crossed by traffic communicating between the Alsace (and Montbéliard) and Paris.  Anybody immigrating from those regions to America would most likely have gone via Paris, partly because so many roads led to Paris, as they and trains still do.  So Janice's ancestors would likely have crossed the River Marne at Charenton on their trek to America.  We have not yet learned whether they then walked or took boat from Paris to Le Harvre, the French port from which they set sail for America.

When you cross today's Pont de Charenton, there are signs pointing the way to Charenton and to St Maurice.  However, these two suburbs (6.8 kms from the centre of Paris) were originally one, Charenton-Saint-Maurice.  The green sign points to Maisons Alfort, where the French Mennonites extensively renovated a beautiful residence in the late 1980s for foreign Christian students, many from Africa.  However, the local government eventually requisitioned that property, along with others, in order to build an enormous complex of apartments, so the dorm was leveled, much to our consternation.

As you leave the Pont de Charenton and head into Paris, one of the ways to go until recently was to turn left and ascend the hill via the Rue de Paris, formerly the chemin de Paris, along which shops and eating places sprang up in the 1600s.  We enjoy walking on this narrow street, especially now that it is increasingly pedestrian.  Once you reach the top of the hill, the road becomes a major '4-lane plus parking and very wide sidewalks' kind of road.

So it is interesting to think that, quite possibly, at least some ancestors crossed the River Marne on the Pont de Charenton, just minutes from the present Centre Mennonite de Paris.

Between the Centre Mennonite de Paris and the Pont de Charenton, only 168 of my strides from the Centre, is a plaque which reads, 

Here was raised, 

from 1607 to 1685, 

[what] was called the Temple of Charenton,

the sole place of worship permitted by the Edict of Nantes 

to the Protestants of Paris. 

This reminds us that at one time, Protestants were not allowed to worship within Paris itself but had to leave the city, initially going about 10 km from it, but later they were allowed to build a Temple closer, about 6.8 km from Paris in this small suburb across the Bois [Woods] de Vincennes.  Some Huguenots traveled from the city by boat on the River Seine, reportedly singing Psalms on the way.  One informative site (in English) on the Charenton Temple shows woodcuts of the church and also the old Charenton Bridge.  The first Temple was burned down during a riot in 1621.  Construction began on the second Temple in 1623.  It accommodated 4,000 worshipers and was the largest Temple in France.  This Temple was then destroyed in November of 1685 when Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes and expelled the French Calvinists (Huguenots).  The Anabaptists were expelled by Louis XIV in 1712.

Not all Protestants ("Protesters") were alike.  Neal showed me an article by Eric W. Frugé, "Mennonites and Protestantism in the Loire Valley" (The Mennonite Quarterly Review, 1991, 192ff.)  A National Synod of Reformed Churches held at the Temple de Charenton in 1644 provided a formula on what to do when non-Reformed people seek to be baptized into the Reformed Church.

Formula

of Baptism

for those who

are converted to the Christian Faith 

from among the Pagans, Jews, and Muslims,

and the Anabaptists, 

who have not been [appropriately] baptized.

So, either the Calvinists were admitting Anabaptists into their churches or were preparing to do so, just in case. 

I just made a simple lunch, which Janice ate before setting aside her book cataloging and heading to a place near the Tour Eiffel but just across the River Seine, where she hopes to see an exhibition on "La ville fertile, vers une nature urbaine" on growing all sorts of things in the city and city landscaping.  We are doing well, our recent three-day trip to the north was just great, but we are painfully aware that this year's visit will end all too soon.

With love from us both,
Evan

Pentecost in Paris

Dear Mother,

Pentecost Sunday offered Janice a chance to get downtown.  We began by attending Mass (good Mennonites that we are) at St Eustache, not more than a 10 minute stroll from the Hotel de Ville (City Hall).  St Eustache claims to have the largest pipe organ in France, one which I try to hear several times each visit.  My favourite works were the ones the organist improvised--at full lung capacity.  The choir sang well, doing several works I know.  We understood virtually nothing of the sermon because the echo made it difficult to hear.  Fortunately, the scripture readings were all printed for us.  This shot was taken about 2 seconds after the final "Amen"  You can just make out the choir standing in the center, behind the new altar.

 

 

We left church by about 12:20 and started walking in a westerly direction, hoping eventually to arrive at the Monceau Park.  But since all roads in that area of Paris lead to the Arc de Triomphe, somewhat like bicycle wheel spokes, I had to consult my compass repeatedly as we tried to angle in a different manner.

We eventually decided it was time for lunch (2:00 p.m.) and were happy to find a place where we had enjoyed having lunch two years ago.  It is obviously geared up for tourists . . . why else would menus be available in Russian and English?  We sat inside because it was a bit chilly.  The table next to ours had two older Parisian women who thoroughly enjoyed being together for brunch.

We had a perfectly poached egg wrapped in lightly smoked salmon on a bed of arugula with a light cream dressing.  Our main course was also salad-like, salmon carpaccio (truly sliced thinly) with various vegetables.
 

Refreshed, we resumed strolling and happened upon the Galerie Vivienne.  I hope to do a longer blog on it someday, for this is surely one of the most beautiful covered galeries in the city, possibly because it has recently been renovated.  All of the luncheon tables were filled, as were we, so we simply enjoyed walking through the covered hallways.

As we continued walking beyond the galerie, one window display caught our attention, a furry bicycle, complete with tail and cat whiskers.

One store had an enormous window display of old sewing machines, a stack of boxes that was two floors high and several large windows wide.  People enjoyed stopping to see the museum-like display (but my photo is more about reflections).

We eventually came across a series of streets that were blocked off, so we hung around, figuring there would soon be some sort of action.  Sure enough, thousands of people--families and groups of friends--came walking down the middle of the street.  We later learned that this was the "Fédération Française de randonnée pedestre", a 15 km walk organized by this rambling club, starting at the Bastille and wending through many of the most interesting parts of Paris.  According to the report just posted by the club, 22,000 people took part in this ramble, the 4th annual such walk in Paris.  Everybody was carrying a booklet of maps explaining the area in which they were stolling.  Folks would stop and take photos . . . they were having a great time.  At the end, people with orange jackets came along and picked up any debris, and police cars followed, ensuring that no traffic interrupted the walkers.  I must get better organized and take part next year.

One of the aspects of Parisian architecture I really admire is the 19th-c. housing.  Granted, these structures are not for the poor, but I enjoy looking at the various levels, and the ways the different levels interplay with each other as the eye goes from building to building.  Law prohibits buildings being higher than 6 storeys.

By 5:00, we finally arrived at the Monceau Park Janice wanted to revisit.  She had seen it last in 1989.  We walked through some of it, just enough to see that the grass had families enjoying holiday picnics.  But it was suddenly turning darker and we felt the rain starting, so we headed back prematurely.

Many people had the same idea, so the métro cars became quite full.  After some folks got off Line 1 at Gare de Lyon (also a train station), I had enough room (and courage) to stick my arm up with the little camera and quickly take a photo.  I was having difficulty with claustrophbia, so I was glad when we emerged from the train and could finally climb the 35 steps back to street level and (relatively) fresh air. (This is one of the trains in which all 10 cars are completely open to each other.  I figure there must have been about 70 people per car, times 10 cars, and even on the holiday--with work on this particular Line--there was a train every 5 minutes.)

Tomorrow is Pentecost Monday, a major holiday in France, but for us, I think the day will be rather like others.  Janice wants to work to get through more books because we have a three-day trip which starts on Tuesday.

Meanwhile, as usual, love from us both,
Evan