Train to Provins

Dear Mother,

It has been a very busy week, but after devoting some of it to library work, we decided to take off on Wednesday for a day trip to Provins, a little town to the east of Paris, about 1.5 hrs by train.  I will show you my photos from Provins once I get back home.

On the way to Provins, something Mark had introduced to me a few years ago came to mind.  He showed me how to photograph from a moving car, experimenting to see how hast we had to shoot, etc., and we had a grand time.  I decided to try the same thing, but from the train.  Sadly, car windows are rather more clean and glare-free than are windows in French commuter trains, so I had to process my photos heavily in order to minimize glare and dirt.  Furthermore, since I did not want to disturb other passengers, I used my tiny shirt-pocket-sized camera, looking like an avid, if somewhat naive tourist.  I noticed some people wondering what in the world I found so interesting.

We left from Gare de l'Est, the station in the northern part of Paris that services trains going east.  Janice took my photo with her Samsung phone in Gare de l'Est.  I am standing in one of two main waiting areas.  The train will eventually enter to the right of the photo.  I'm watching to see which track will be used.  You can just make out fruit and sandwich vendors (at about my shoulder's level).  I like the use of glass ceilings for admitting natural light.  We bought our round-trip tickets from a machine, using our credit card with the chip.  The machine even offered to do business in English.  I am hoping that Neal's cane makes me look distinguished.

One of my favourite parts of every train ride begins as soon as we leave the covered area of the station.  The train tracks are often below ground level, possibly to help keep noise to a minimum and unsightly trains out of view.  The walls then provide canvases for spray painters, taggers and the like for making their mark.  I know that 99% of the world's population consider this disgusting graffiti, but I like to look at it, to see the varying styles of lettering, the energetic angles of overlapping letters, the use of colour and shading, etc.  I also like to imagine the adrenalin rush a teenaged male must get from doing this under the cover of darkness, ever watchful for patrols.  It is an art form, but like much art, not of lasting value.  I also realize that what I see this year will be gone next. 

Soon the train enters another type of space, a sprawling area in which many tracks seem to converge and diverge.  Most trains in France (likely all) are powered by electricity, which means that they are getting nearly half of their power from nuclear plants--something I try not to think about, even when using my computer to process these photos.

The economy may be quite slow in France, but one still sees considerable construction.  I suspect, but do not know for certain, that some of the population requiring new housing includes immigrants.  Since Janice's ancestors once found political and economic refuge in France, I am not about to complain about today's immigrants, even if they are not Swiss.

There are the inevitable workers, wearing brightly-coloured vests, ever watchful of approaching trains.  By this point, the train is moving more quickly.  I set my shutter speed to 1/1000th of a second, hoping to freeze the motion.  My safety relies on these gentlemen.

Bridges give interesting views of roads, roofs, chimneys, house structures, etc.  I notice that other passengers also enjoy the changes of scenery offered by bridges.

As we go deeper into the suburbs, we find taller high rises.  Paris itself no longer allows highrises to be built (after the Montparnasse was constructed, as I recall), but the suburbs have no such rule.

Some commuters have learned how to relax and pass the time with work, others catch up on email and then rest.  This young lady thoughtfully removed her shoes and placed her feet on her backpack.  I would eventually do the same.  The seats are reasonably comfortable but do not adjust or lean backward.  About 16 of the seats in a train car face each other, and the rest face either forward or backward.  Trains have engines both on the front and the back, they never need to turn around.  The engineers simply go to the other engine.

I tried to remove window glare, but removing all of it is beyond my ability.  We enjoyed seeing fields in the countryside, but we were moving so fast that it was difficult to tell what was being grown.  This field was recently plowed and disked.  The landscape, as we continue east of Paris, looks rather flat, with little woods here and there, just like the Stryker farm.

Elevators indicate that this is one of France's bread baskets.  The storage areas are really impressive.

We purposefully traveled a bit later in order to avoid rush hour and crowded trains.  This photo lets you see more of the inside of a car on a commuter train (nobody was sitting there so I felt free to shoot).  There is a storage area overhead for backpacks and briefcases, coats and the like.  There are some white handles one can use when walking; traveling at a fairly high speed, the slightest turn in the track can throw you off balance.  These commuter trains have only second class, as it were.

There are signs warning pedestrians (pietons) that walking across tracks can be dangerous.  Some trains do fly by.  There are not the 200-car long freight trains which lumber and sway along in the midwest, these are bullets which means that an entire 20-car train with multiple engines can pass by in five seconds.

This lycée student really knew how to rest.  I would guess that his mother was not on the train.

At both ends of each car, a sign above the door reminds us of the remaining destinations.  It is very helpful, especially for tourists unable to understand the garbled spoken announcements.

"[Ter]minus:  PROVINS. Gares des . . ."  (This train ends in Provins, the other stations are . . . .)

Janice is interested in views of farmsteads, like this one in the distance.

A church steeple in a village is always comforting to me, but then I remember how few people attend church any more.  Nevertheless, they treasure their church buildings and pay to keep the structures safe and sound.

After the train ride, we walked toward the Cité, the historic part of the medieval town which is now protected by a UNESCO world heritage classification.  I will process those photos at home, but here are a few taken at a restaurant Janice noticed (she has a real talent for such things, especially around 1:30).  This was away from the main drag and well below the Cité.

Viollet le Duc, well, I have a love/hate relationship with him.  He was a powerful architect of the 19th century who managed to become entrusted with restoring dozens of important French medieval buildings, including Notre Dame Cathederal, the main structures at Carcassone (which he really messed up, placing northern roofs on southern buildings), etc.  He wrote an encyclopedia on medieval buildings, including drawings.  Here is his drawing of this medieval hostel.

There were three menus on offer.  In France, the "menu" is a multi-course meal with a fixed price, not everything on offer.  We both selected the middle-priced menu, about $45 each which is more than usual for lunch, but hey, I'll be staring at quite enough raw carrots and celery, peanut butter, stale bread and chicken soup 12 days hence.  I kind of wished I had elected for the €49 lunch, but with wine, that gets into the celebration range for us Old Mennonites.

 
Janice the Healthy opted for "La tarte fine à la tomate et basilic frais..."

My entrée (first course)  was shrimp (langoustine poached in cream with crab) ravioli. I was not supplied a spoon, but the fresh bread served nicely to sop up every last drop of the sauce.

 With assistance from the ever-helpful waitress (who admitted to speaking English at the end of our meal) I managed to select a half bottle of absolutely superb Saint- Emilion, a grand cru (great growth, classification).  It is the best wine I have tasted for some years.

For my main course, I selected the a sort of sausage composed of layers of different kinds of fish.  The orange mashed sweet potatoes and purple potatoes were excellent.  The mixture of legumes were served in a delicate cup made of filo pastry.  Of course the sauce was cream based, and wonderfully flavoured with a bit of curry.  All of the seasonings were rather more delicate than we get in Vancouver, yet had real depth.  Likely I am unaccustomed to cooking with heavy cream?
 

 Janice had the plat médiéval, featuring guinea fowl with sweet spices.

I saved a glass (two actually) of the Bordeaux for my cheese course.  I forget the names of the cheeses, and I did not elect to have a slice of the other four (I occasionally demonstrate a touch of restraint).  The bottom cheese was made in Provins and was my favourite.  I would say that I had three brie-like cheeses, though cheese mongers would be appalled at such a notion.  In France, the marriage of red wine and cheese is unbeatable.  Canadian wines and cheeses have yet even to start dating.  (The French are fascinated to learn that cheese is made in British Columbia.  Must bring them some so they can feel sorry for me.)

Janice the Wise selected the fruit carpaccio plate--fruits sliced utterly thinly, served with dollops of sorbet made from some of those fruits.  It was perfect for her.

Another table had four people about our age and older (fewer are now older than we!), a dignified foursome who really enjoyed their meal and conversation.

This little room with its long solid old table is perfect for 10-12 people. 

 
I don't have anything really showing how tall the ceilings were, but we estimated 22 feet high.  The walls were at least a yard thick, including inside walls.  It was obviously an old building, nicely modernized.  What a treat!

 Last evening, the Centre treated Yves Garet (volunteer throughout the year) and us to our annual Thank You meal in Porte Dorée (the Golden Port, or gate into Paris).  It also celebrated Janie's birthday (which one was not revealed).  The meal was truly superb in every way.  Foie gras made mine somewhat more rich than Janice's, but my cholesterol is, or was, lower than hers.  The wines went beautifully with the meal, and the white wine came from where Yves grew up, which made it more special for me, a blend of savignon blanc and chardonnay finished in French oak.

Today (Friday) was spent entirely on library work by both of us.  Progress is being made.  We hope to return next spring . . . we'll see.  The roofers also finished fixing the roof.  They started on the day we arrived, four weeks ago.  Hundred-year-old roofs are not cheap to fix. 

All for now, with love from us both,

Evan