Thousand miles down the road

We have traveled a thousand miles since I last wrote. It feels like it. Nice on the Cote D'Azur is so different from Normandy it could have been on another planet. We have been in France for about a week now and have seen four different Frances. Paris is all glitz and crowded like a hollywood premier; Normandy was like being in a pretty country cottage; Dordogne valley where we have been for the past two days was a hunting lodge and Nice is like a nightclub in an expensive part of town.

On our last half day in Normandy we went to see a thousand year old piece of cloth called the Bayeux tapestry (the town's claim to fame). Having seen pictures of it in the brochure we were not planning on spending any of our precious time on that, until we were convinced by our friendly landlady that it was sacrilege to visit Bayeux and not see the tapestry. Being the nice people we are, we lined up, bought our ticket and were pleasantly surprised. The tapestry is a 200 foot long piece of linen cloth with vivid embroidery telling the story of a Norman king who went on to win a few battles and become the King of England in 1066 (if I remember correctly). The museum had it displayed very well with an impressive audio tour narrative. Even more impressive were the displays upstairs depicting life in those times. I am not sure I would have liked to be a King in those days. It seems like most of the time was spent figuring out how to stop people from killing you. The strategy was to keep people you liked happy by bestowing them with lots of money, land and power, hoping they will watch your back; torture and kill the people you don't before they kill you and lastly, build strong castles all over the place and move from one to another. Fun.

Thanking our landlady for showing us the light, we drove through country roads and the expensive French toll ways to Les-Eyzies (pronounced lezzie) in the Perigord Noir. Our hotel had no street address. That is right, it was so in the boonies that it did not have a street number or address. Not the website, not google nor any of the travel review sites we got the hotel from could give us a street name. Apparently the village is so small, everyone knows where everything is. Unfortunately, Jill needs a street number and name or she gets fussy. Undeterred, we forged ahead through smaller and smaller country roads as the sun sank low in the horizon. It seemed our expected time of arrival was always half an hour away. It did not help that all the villages were celebrating Bastille day and there were detors everywhere. The scenery was pretty but Rob was too busy staring at the steep incline on the side of the road into the river below to enjoy any of it.

We made it to our really nice hotel with its own little river flowing through the grounds. The village was out in full force to celebrate Bastille day. There was a band set up in the square belting out French classics like 'I will survive' with a Bavarian beer hall beat. Rob desperately wanted to join the boisterous crowd in their line dance but I was not convinced. So we called it a night.

The French are all about all thing French but love the Bee Gees, Michael Jackson and Rod Stewart. Coldplay, Rihana and the latest not so good rap songs are on the radio all the time, albeit mixed in with a quota of French music lest the government raps them on the knuckles. If we wanted to we could have watched 'Incroyable Hulk', 'La Hancock' or any other latest Hollywood blockbuster, all dubbed in proper French of course. Even Ty Penington, screaming through his annoying megaphone (in French) is on TV.

Anyway, we decided to explore the villages of Perigord Noir. This area of France is very hilly, covered with dark oak trees, hard to get to and full of medieval chateaus improbably perched on tall cliffs. It seems like the French holiday here when they want to get away from it all. With Jill navigating, we spent most of the morning getting not too far on the windiest roads I have seen. I can attest that it is not fun backing out for a quarter of kilometer on a barely paved road.

We did make it time for our scheduled, hard to get into guided tour of Grotte du Font de Gaumme. This is a cave with paintings on the wall from around 15,000 years ago. Doesn't seem like we were very smart back then, all we could do were animals (bison, horses and rein deer) in two colors (red or black). Our tour guide was talking in French half the time to the two French people in our group, though the tour was supposed to be in English. Rob is convinced that the paintings are a French government scheme to promote more tourism. I was fascinated with the gravelly voice of our guide from smoking one too many. She was the real life incarnation of one of Bart  Simpson's aunts. Never the less, fascinating stuff.

Come afternoon, we decided to try another mode of transportation. We rented a canoe. We were driven upriver and sent on our way with two paddles and a cheery aurevoir. The first hour was fun. We zigzagged down the river like a drunk driver, basked in the glorious sunshine and drank in the pretty scenery. Steering a canoe is trickier than it looks. By the end of the second hour, we were starting to think. There was no sign of our landing point. Robin was convinced my navigation was not up to par though there was only one way to go, down river. We did make it through rapids and under bridges without any major mishaps. If you ever take a canoe make sure you only go downstream, unless of course, someone else is paddling. It was a lot of fun.

I have to confess I have been dreading the inevitable since we came to France. Considering it is on every menu and screaming out of every restaurant window there was no avoiding it. Foie Gras and escargot! Rob, having tasted it all before this trip, decided she was having none of it. Ground up liver and creepy crawly snails really does not sound like my cup of tea, but I could not possibly spend a week in France without tasting them. So I ordered a six course set menu with foie gras for a starter and escargot casserole for second course. If I was going to do it, I was doing it in style. It has been two days and I am still alive. Hurrah!!! I am not quite sure what all the fuss is about but I won't be having any more of them.

We bid adieu to charming Perigord Noir this morning and set our sights on the Cote d'Azur. We pulled into Nice as the sun was setting and checked into our really spacious room just off the main strip. At the nearby restaurant where we went to have dinner, we were thrilled to hear English everywhere. Seemed like everyone was from Ireland and knew everybody else. There are even English ads on the radio. Seems like the French government is losing the language wars in this part of the country.