Sweating it out for the Saints

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It proved tougher than expected, but we did manage to get out of Paris. Having gotten very comfortable with the Metro and RER train system, we felt all set to get out to Orly Airport to pick up the car that we have leased. We schlepped our stuff, plus an extra bag of books and a car booster seat (required for kids under 10) down the streets of Paris, up and down escalators and stairs, along corridors, through multiple sets of ticket gates, and via 2 changes of train, and got to the airport. Then, it took nearly an equal amount of travel on my part at the airport to make contact with the people who were supposed to connect us with our car. At this point, I realized that I had broken a cardinal rule of travel, which is never to wear clean clothes on a travel day, because you’re just going to get them sweaty and dirty. Finally, we met the little Peugeot 307 which is to be our home for several thousand miles. There are some kinks to be worked out, but I think it’ll work.

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First stop was Chartres Cathedral, which after 1000 years of being impressive, hasn’t lost anything recently. The English guy, Malcolm Miller, who awed me with his knowledge 25 years ago is still running tours, but wasn’t available this day, so we were on our own. Renting audio guides was a very good call, though, as it explained things in a spectacular way. The kids have missing out in their religious training in a big way, but they’re starting to get the hang of a few of the saints, and know to look for the special signs representing some of them in sculptures, paintings, and stained glass. Who would have guessed that we’d happily spend 2 hours in one cathedral? That was followed by delicious quiches and baguette sandwiches eaten on a curb – one of those scenes where you just have to say, “This is really a good way to be living right now!”

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The harsh reality of European gas prices struck when we spent about $85 to fill up our little car. Ouch! No choice but to press on to Normandy, though. Beautiful, bucolic scenery along the way, an opportunity to sing George Michael in faux-Italian (I guess you had to be there), and the chance to admire some huge latest-generation windmills (does this make the trip tax deductible for me?), made the hours and kilometers pass quickly. I’ll let Christina describe Normandy. . . . .Thanks for reading this far.