Dijon
Finding ourselves possessed of an uncancelable hotel reservation, we booked tickets on the TGV and took off for a flying visit to Dijon.
A view of the Place de la liberté
, from the Musée des Beaux-Arts
An afternoon proved adequate for a cursory exploration of the old centre of town, although we could certainly have spent much longer. There wasn't time to properly explore the wine region, and I regret missing the mustard museum; instead we walked around the old city centre, visiting the shops and a couple of museums. The first of these was the
Musée des Beaux-Arts for an hour or so. While no
Palais du Louvre, it contained more impressive works than we expected and proved a gold mine for my "Dogs in Art" collection.
We spent a similar length of time at the
Musée de la Vie Bourguignonne. A bit of a pioneer village in an old convent, with a number of interesting more contemporary exhibits, including a collection of Eiffel Tower tchotchke (Gustav Eiffel was from Dijon) and a recreation of a late 19th century shopping street, with a drug store, butcher shop, millinery, hair dresser, and several others.
We found this old poster of our hotel in the Musée de la Vie Bourguignonne
We had dinner at the baby restaurant of a recommended chef, called
Bistro des Halles, so named because the market hall was across the street. Clearly not a place that closely guards its culinary secrets since our waitress happily provided precise details to a question about a recipe.
End of the Tandem Adventure
While we were away our apartment was occupied by the intrepid tandem cyclists who we saw off at the
beginning of May. They were followed around France by grey clouds so their soggy expedition (which is documented in
their own blog) wound up returning to Paris a little early. This worked out nicely for us, since they arrived the day we left and could thus take care of Emma in our absence. And last night they kindly took us out for dinner to one of our favorite locals,
Le Vin dans les Voiles.
This morning, with their bicycle boxed up in its special crate, we helped them load their gear in a taxi and depart for home.
Canary Islands
We spent most of last week in the Canary Islands in search of good diving; but it turned out that it wasn't all that interesting underwater, and we felt like we'd seen it all after two days and four dives. There wasn't much in the way of a coral reef; however there were some dramatic rock formations, arising from the recent volcanic origins of the islands: narrow canyons and arches you can swim through. There were also manta and sting rays, unfortunately attracted by divers' habit of feeding them. We got on a bit of a soapbox about that practice, since the dive shop considered their dive to feed the rays an attraction; nonetheless, we did the dive (but no feeding) and kneeled on the bottom while two-foot sting rays circled and crowded around us like puppies.
The dive boat took us only ten minutes or so from the harbourThere were a couple of wrecks to see too, which attract a variety of fish to the abundance of ready hiding places, and we saw moray eels, sea snakes, flatfish, little puffer fish, and a variety of trumpet fish.
We spent a few days emulating moray eels, hardly stirring from our grotto in the hotel except to snatch a bite to eat. I can blame some of that on a tummy bug that sapped my energy for a couple of days. The hotel seemed to be in a between-seasons lull and felt half empty, which improved the peace poolside.
Mt. TiedeThe island of Tenerife is dominated by the 3000m Mt. Tiede. On our final full day we rented a car and drove inland and upwards. The drive took us through a sequence of dramatic changes in the geography. We drove from relatively barren lower slopes up through tall pine forests to twisted and dry landscapes in which the paths of lava flows were evident beneath colourful scrubby vegetation. We took a short hike through a region of
cañadas (gullies) around 2000m in the shadow of one of the lower peaks.
Me, looking down on the clouds on the North side of the island
Speeding Ticket
They got me: photoradar, out near Tours. I saw it flash, so it wasn't exactly a surprise to get the notice in the mail. They're very efficient though, since we were only there on Saturday and they had to get my address from the rental car company, but they still had the ticket in my mailbox today.
The ticket reads 98 in a 90 zone. Considering I was going downhill, and we were routinely moving with the speed of the traffic between 140 and 150, it seems a little un-French. But perhaps the French approach would be not to pay it.
Special Dinner Out
Some Australian rellies arrived in town this week. We had dinner with them in our neighbourhood on Tuesday night. My father-in-law will join them on the next leg of his trip, to the UK. We had one final dinner out, at a restaurant called
Les Bouquinistes down on the quai near St. Michel. It was a somewhat special place, with a "name" chef, and an appropriate cap on B's visit.
The food was modern French and marvellous. We will probably remember most the dessert for two (shared among three) that consisted of about eight little desserts. I don't have the foggiest idea how you make basil foam, but boy does it taste good.
Loire Valley Weekend
The three of us spent Saturday and Sunday driving down the Loire.
Saturday morning we got a good start on the highway East out of town. First stop was the Chateau at
Chambord, one of the most ostentatious single-family dwellings in the history of real estate. Also famous for its winding staircase designed by da Vinci. And now infamous in family lore for the hordes of little insects encountered between it and the parking lot.
Keeping the bugs off at ChambordJanet had made a couple of wine-tasting appointments in Vouvray, and the first was at 2 p.m. This gave us time for a quick lunch in a diner (in France, this means the kind of meal that you treat your mother to on Mother's Day), before our meeting at
Domaine Huet. This winery is part of the increasingly common organic farming movement, and perhaps a little towards the extreme end of the scale. According to their brochure they plant and harvest according to the positions of the sun, moon and signs of the zodiac. They use special preparations like horn dung, "made from dung placed in a cow's horn which is buried in the ground over winter where it fills up with vitalizing energy..." Flakey it may sound, but you can't argue with results. We came away with half a dozen bottles.
To kill time before our next appointment we visited a local co-op and tasted one of their wines. This wine had none of the diversity of scents and flavours we'd just experienced. It was instructive in that it helped us appreciate some of the subtleties which were conspicuous by their absence. At the next winery,
Domaine Champalou, we happily abandoned this digression into table wine and again packed half a case in the trunk of the car.
Le Vieux Manoir, in AmboiseWe'd booked a little boutique hotel in Amboise for the night. The American proprietor was an entertaining character. She was, in a not uncommon ex-pat manner, hyper-American: cynical, outspoken, an authority on any topic, eager to tell you how much everything cost, but nonetheless generous and helpful.
Amboise was itself a lovely medieval town with its own chateau and sites; however the afternoon's tastings demanded payment in the form of a nap so we saw very little of it.
The following day Janet had arranged one tasting in the morning. Whereas the wineries in Vouvray had a little tasting room set up,
Pierre-Jacques Druet in Bourgueil gave us the full tour. We saw his vinification operation, and then followed him in his car to his
caves, which were genuine caves, centuries old, burrowed into the chalk cliffs that line the river valley. There he pulled out seven or eight bottles, and surrounded by moss-covered barrels (that looked older than any of us, but were in fact only about a year and a half) we swirled and sniffed, dumping the leftovers on the dirt floor. Like the vintners we've encountered elsewhere he had a real love for his craft and it took very little encouragement to draw him out on any aspect.
Underground with Pierre-Jacques Druet in Bourgueil
We found a wonderful place for lunch, the very stereotype of a French country restaurant: it was on a hill overlooking the valley, had goats in the yard and amazing food. Called the
Moulin Bleu, it was in fact in the shadow of an antique windmill.
Chateau d'Azay-le-RideauWe stopped at one more chateau on the way home. They're really quite thick on the ground, so that there's one within a stone's throw just about whenever you feel like stopping. We were too late to tour the inside of
Chateau d'Azay-le-Rideau but were able to stroll around its park.
More pictures of the trip are
here.
Reception at the Canadian Ambassador's Residence
Janet's friend in Foreign Affairs selfishly left the embassy to have babies before she got around to inviting us to any embassy parties. Fortunately the ambassador has an annual reception for local alumni of Canadian universities, and the Queen's alumni chapter makes sure we're at the top of the list of invitees. Scoff at Queen's school spirit if you will, U of T grads, but you were under-represented on Friday evening, and two of your number wouldn't have been there if I hadn't brought them.
Janet and her father on the ambassador's back patioThe ambassador,
Claude Laverdure, made a fairly brief and charming speech, to make us feel important as representatives of Canada in France. The president of our alumni chapter also spoke; but the highlight was unquestionably the hors d'oeuvres. Perhaps it should be no surprise that an embassy in France would have the best canapés, crudités, finger food and petits fours. This isn't my first government reception or embassy affair, but I think M. Laverdure supplied the best munchies I've had anywhere, bar none. The three of us were glad we hadn't eaten beforehand, and, without looking too piggy (I hope), made a full meal from them.
Our illustrious Queen's chapter president saying a few words (which I couldn't hear because of where I had manoeuvered myself to take the picture).
New Backpack
Those of you who know my wife will not find it strange that we went out shopping for a new backpack this evening, despite the quantity that she has at home. What was unusual is that this one was to be a genuine knapsack, rather than an urban book bag or glorified purse. The niche that was not yet properly filled was for something that she could actually take hiking. Since we are planning a short trip to the Swiss Alps in a few weeks, there is more than accessories at stake this time.
The selection and fitting took some time and effort, but in the end we got a very nice 25 litre day pack with many useful pockets and well-designed features. Afterwards, I'm not sure if it was the difficulty of the task of purchasing it, the prospect of the arduous trail it's to assist with, or merely the proximity of the Boulevard St. Germain, but kir royales seemed like a good idea.
Another Local
Two blocks down our street is an elegant seafood restaurant that we've never tried. It's not the only one so close that we've skipped, but others nearby are clearly lunch-counter
tabac sorts of places, or too far up the other end of the scale. Whereas we've probably overlooked
Marius because it's hard to see. While it's on a corner on the main boulevard, it has only a small sign and is hidden behind a wall of shrubbery. This creates a psychological distance that I imagine they feel is necessary: the terrace might otherwise be washed away by
Parc des Princes crowds when there's a game on. But it's not very good advertising, if you can live by a place for a year and a half and not think to give it a whirl.
Of course, after a while it occurs to you that with such a low profile it must be excellent or it wouldn't still be in business. And B's visit has bounced us out of a rut, so last night we decided to finally give Marius a try. We found that another reason it hasn't become our local haunt is that it's a wee bit on the pricey side. But if a tad expensive, the service is efficient and food excellent. The reviews say its a nice neighbourhood restaurant; but in any other city you'd drive across town for this kind of place.
I'm Back
Entrelesmurs was on hiatus for a little while, as I crammed for the CFA level I. I wrote the exam on Saturday so that's done (don't ask, 'cuz I don't know - fingers crossed). The effort was worthwhile regardless of the outcome, since I've gained a much deeper understanding of a whole world I only knew slightly before (although I never did figure out why bond traders think there are only 360 days in a year). It may be a couple of weeks before I stop seeing equations and graphs in my sleep.
I have re-entered society just in time to welcome my father-in-law to town. Naturally I dragged him along to the market on my regular Sunday morning grocery run.
Moving chores and the like have been mounting up while I've had my head down. It's a shame to be unable to really enjoy our last weeks in Paris, especially now that the good weather is here. However, we do have a few little sojourns planned before we up sticks for New York, so stay tuned.
