When in Rome…

When in Rome…

It’s the end of day one (well, technically day 2.3 if you count how many days some of us have been on the road trying to get here). The point is we are, in body, mind, and especially spirit, in Rome. Italy. The kind of place where even uttering the name elicits feelings nothing short of fantasy. It actually must be uttered aloud for fear it disappears. Rome. Italy.

And there is a bit of familiarity about it, funnily enough. Some of the imagery that flies off the screen of a favourite scene in a movie, the shapes of buildings recalled from a recent trip to France, and even some of the people in our midst as a few of us are back together again, ready for a new adventure. And what would an Italian adventure be without a serenading taxi driver taking us to the hotel Santa Maria. His repertoire of operatic arias to the more familiar Italian fare gave us just the right amount of cheer, and elicited just the right amount of smug jeers from other less musically inclined drivers at the airport.

How Natascha managed to find the most quiet of oasis in the heart of a city such a Rome is beyond our normal understanding of most things. Our rooms open up to lush gardens of fragrant and hard-to-identify the species of gardens, including orange trees and lemons growing on vines. After a short rest we managed to stumble out into the streets of the surrounding jewish quarter to get not only a sense of our bearings, but also a sense of the place and its atmosphere. We have seen our first fountain and our first church. Check and check. And gotten a whiff of the Italian language as it flows as melodiously as a song. I, personally, am starting to feel like I can utter “gratis” as a thank you with a bit more poise as my confidence was shaken earlier at customs when “ola” came flying out of my mouth instead of the customary “bonjourno”. Must learn more words.

We capped off the evening with a meal, of course, at a quaint restaurant where the wine flowed and pasta was ingested. It was hard not to think of our kids back home as the restaurant owner would say “mange, mange”, even to the point of taking fork in hand and force feeding some of our ladies. I guess that’s how they do it Rome. And we’ll just have to either get used to it, or learn to sit with our backs against the walls.

Ciao for now,
Liza

Ready for (Almost) Anything!

Here we all are on the verge of a new adventure and we peek over the precipice with interest and exhiliration. I for one, can hardly believe that the time has come for the ten of us to leave the comforts of the priaires and the mountains and eleven of us to meet on the other side of the Atlantic as Natascha awaits our arrival – in Rome! I know!

Now is the to verify all connections and be sure things are in working order. Hence, a quick note to get us started and to be sure this blog will be “a go”.

Speaking of which, let’s go! (Yay!!) Next stop – Toronto Airport.

Liza

From Harris to Paris…

Altitude 36 000 feet

Ground speed 562 mph

Total km travelled by 7 a.m. ? I can’t say. I’m too exhausted to count.

Fifteen women with two weeks to spend in France. Whatever could come of it? And what have we done thus far, you may be wondering? We’ve quite expertly managed to, amongst other things, not lose anyone in the Toronto airport, something we are very proud of. Only to realize that it was but in preparation for the much more labyrinthinian maze of what would be the Frankfurt airport where we were led like cattle through gates, up stairwells, in elevators, down a trash chute (I’m exaggerating) only to come back down stairs, and back up again, and end up on a bus that would take us to the plane for the final flight into Nice. All in all, the flights went well, drinks were served, snacks ingested, books read, and everyone has landed safe and sound on the other side of the world.

But most importantly, we have properly introduced ourselves. The key to any successful group trip. From the giggles between those of us who did not sleep on the seven hour flight (I could hear you Marilyn!), I can see that this promises to be at the very least an adventure. For now, we must catch up on our sleep after a wonderful walking tour of old Nice where we dined on crepes, sorbet, and of course, wine. From Harris (and elsewhere) to Paris, our adventure awaits!

 

 

Coming home. …

Coming home.  At Paris airport.  Should be on time. See you tonight!

xox 

The girls

From Paris to Harris…

How to spend your last day in Paris.

You start with your morning croissant, marmalade, and large orange juice.  Then take the metro to the Eiffel Tower, skirt the long lineups who are crazy enough to wait two hours to get to the top, take advantage of the photo opportunity and souvenir shop to prove you have indeed been to Paris, and walk away, not forgetting to look over your shoulder to see that it is still there hovering.  Likely the most recognizable tower in the world, looking down on you telling you, “yes, you’re in Paris.”  Ahhh.

Then, since you and your friends have three hours to kill before a scheduled museum tour, you saunter, in the right direction of course, through the core of the city that includes the Assemblée Nationale (legislature) and the Ecole militaire.  Perhaps you stop at a corner café terrace for a café-creame, as we did for almost an hour, time to recharge and just be part of Parisian life for one last time.  Of course, the inner tourist in us (that we have fully embraced by the way) still has trouble chasing down waiters, counting our Euros, and ordering anything.  Then off we are, in the right direction, again, until we come across a lovely market, in which we buy fruit, nuts, quiches, sandwiches, and pastries to take to the Jardin des Tuileries across the river from the museum to have a picnic.  And just as we notice we’ve forgotten to bring along something to drink, a bottled water vendor pops out from under a bridge.  I know it sounds seedy, but it is really refreshing when that happens.

Now skip across the bridge, over the River Seine and into the Musée d’Orsay, a gallery in a former train station housing the largest collection of Impressionist paintings.  This is the culminating tour of our journey as it manages to synthesize everything we have seen and done so far, conclusively linking the inspirational landscapes in which the artists lived and studios in which they created to the actual masterpieces that came of it all: Cézanne, Monet, Renoir, and Van Gogh and all, all, all the others.  The four hours I spent in this magnificent space was a personal highlight, especially the temporary exhibit of Degas’ figure drawings.  For others, the afternoon ended with finding that perfect dress in a shop, having that perfect beer on a terrace in the warm sun, or bringing home those perfect forty pounds of chocolate.  Did I mention it was perfect?

And to top off the evening, regroup at the Grand Colbert, easily one of the best and most beautiful restaurants in the city for our farewell meal.  And as if the wine, frog’s legs, and beouf bourguignon wasn’t enough, take a boat ride on the Seine to take in landmarks of the city at night.  And one thing about Louise – if ever we lose sight of our Mama Duck (Corinne our guide), Louise is often the one who will be the teacher she is and charge ahead and figure out how to get on that boat.  We are very grateful for that.  Funnily enough, the last thing we see in the metro before reaching our hotel is an ad promoting travel in Canada.  Corinne had formed the habit of bracing us before we would see a site that may make us cry.  So we’re collectively bracing ourselves as we say goodbye to a wonderful new group of friends and France, and look forward to being with our families once again.

The Resting Place

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One day into the city and city life and we head out into the countryside!  What is compelling us is Monet’s Gardens in Giverny.  We climbed into a lovely 16 passenger bus with an even lovelier driver to take us to what was the inspiration for the large waterlily canvases the master created.  Monet is easily one of the most recognized Impressionists for his style and getting off the bus at Giverny, we quickly realized that we weren’t alone in our assessment.  As the masses got off their buses, we were told that sketching in the gardens was no longer allowed.  We would have to settle for taking a 1000 pictures of the beautiful flowers and lush greenery instead.  For Marg, this was no problem as she has experienced most of the trip through her lens anyway.  She was also the most adept at making her way through the crowds to get her shot.  I’m wondering how many pictures she has of us with a corner of one of our elbows in the frame.

Next was Auver-sur-Oise, which is not only the last place Van Gogh painted and lived, it is also where he died and was buried.  To walk through this town, to stop by the church at Auvers so often depicted by the artist, and to continue on to the cemetery where, amongst all of the ornate plots lie two simple stones on the edge and off to the side.  There is Van Gogh next to his dear brother Theo, a rather moving tribute to their relationship.

The drive through this Normandy valley was interesting, and not because of all the chuckling going on at the back of the bus.  For all of the fields of advanced crops and open air, it was hard to believe the city limits we would be entering again would be Paris.  Paris!  It is also hard to believe that we have but a day left before we come home to crops just being seeded and the families and friends we have been missing and look forward to seeing again.  From Paris to Harris, will come soon enough.

Unleashing the Child Within

The Louvre

Today was a full day and a late night where our eyes were wide and our mouths gaped.  It started early with a walk through some of the passages (roofed hallways that connect buildings and create commercial districts), a concept that is historically linked to a hundred year old tradition.  We are staying in the Artist’s Quarter so the stroll indelibly led us to none other than the Louvre.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be to go into it on this trip but standing before it was in itself impressive.  I won’t mention that I started to cry because that would be embarrassing.

Our destination for the morning was the Orangerie, a fantastic gallery housing the works of most of the impressionists and other less traditional painters like you would find in the Louvre.    The still-lives, portraits, and landscapes of Renoir, Cézanne, and Degas are laid out in contrast of one another, and Monet’s waterlillies in full bloom swallow you whole.  The six pieces of Picasso allow you to see his evolution into the painter he became.  On exhibition next to the permanent collection was a Debussy retrospective of how music and art influence each other which included work from Rousseau to Edvard Munch.  And just when you think you’ve seen enough, you turn the corner and a large, bright Kandinsky hits you like a blast of cool air.  We were all standing outside the building waiting for us to re-group next to Rodin’s “the Kiss” and we didn’t even know it.  Gak.

And it didn’t stop there.  The metro to the Arch de Triomphe, the walk on the Champs-Élysées, the sites of the Moulin Rouge and the restaurant in which “Amélie” was filmed, the hike up to Sacré Coeur and seeing the artists at work, sampling the best Quiche Lorraine ever.  And we ended the evening at an Italian restaurant where opera singers seranaded us between courses of crab tartar and duck confit.  Cheryl had unleashed her inner child at breakfast when she realized she would be hearing opera by nightfall.  I’m glad she did.  As I think we all had a moment today of wide eyes and gaping mouths, like kids in a candy store.

Next stop – Paris

Presently, we’re all settling into our new hotel accommodations in Paris (I know!) and I’m supposed to be writing to you to tell you how our day went but I’m totally distracted by what seems to be a European talent show on TV where six Russian octagenarians in traditional dress are singing about baking bread, judging by the fact that their biggest stage prop is a wood burning oven. So before Iceland starts their number, I should get going on this blog.

Today is the day we said goodbye to the Mas andthe south of France.   We are truly sad to see it fade into the distance as it has started to feel like our home. It was quiet, quaint, and quintessential – pretty much the opposite of what we are heading into as we start for the Metropole.  One of our final experiences in this part of the world was to spend the morning at the Uzes market, much like the marché at St. Remy but bigger.  How communal an existence it must be to come to the market to purchase one nectarine, one apple, and a small basket of raspberries every morning.  The 20 kilometers that separates most of us from our nectarines seems a little unfortunate.

So we have now survived the TGV – the Train à Grande Vitesse – as a means of travel.  Until now, our experience has been limited to the autoroute on which our drivers manoeuvred with skill.  The TGV is three times faster than any train taking us to the Gare de Lyon in Paris (this ain’t no STC bus terminal) in a little over two hours compared to the eight it would have taken by car, thus satisfying Isabel’s apparent need for speed.  It has come to our attention that her back seat driving consists of one phrase only – “now step on it!”  We can picture her on a motorcycle tearing throuch the French countryside, goggles lowered, grin flashing, and her Red Baron cap flapping in the wind.

Ahhh, Paris.  What can be said?  By bedtime, we had dined at a hundred year old restaurant called Chartier, whose line-up snaked around the block.  (We’ve been here two hours and we’ve already had snails!)  Then a bit of a stroll around our neighbourhood that consists of the Opera House, the Café de la Paix, and a view of the Sacré Coeur Basilica.  What more can you ask for?

On French Safari

See Sandy in the distance…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At this very moment, I am sitting in a chaise longue (lounging chair) by the pool at the Mas.  It is almost 7 p.m. here and our bunch is a scattering of  very relaxed bodies, some by the pool, some in their rooms, some roaming about the grounds.  We had a day to ourselves today.  Most opted to stick close to the Mas doing as little as possible, but a small van load decided to go on an excursion to the beach.  Since I was one of those, I’ll fill you in on what happened there.  Unless you want me to give you the play by play of reading books and napping.

We left mid-morning for the fabulous beaches of Saintes Maries sur Mer, an hour’s drive South of Avignon.  On our drive up, we noted how we felt we were on safari, as it was becoming apparent that a “spotting the animals” theme was developing.  The first was a lizard that Natascha our driver and guide believes she squished on the autoroute.  Second, and admittedly more exciting for the rest of us, was the sight of flamingos in a marsh, which we stopped to photograph.  Then there were the Camarguais horses and the black bulls.  The stork we observed who’s nest was atop a 25 foot pole and the 700 sheep, 11 goats and a shepherd by the side of the road, who’s Marseillaise accent was as thick as the grass the livestock was munching.  Oh yes, and we saw a dog in a motorcycle basket too.  And to top it all off, the Mas chickens were on the loose when we got home.

Local colour and flavour abounded as we lunched on paella, drank our perrier and grenadine, and were nourished by Spanish guitarists serenading the flocks.  But what was most refreshing was following Sandy into the Mediterranean Sea with eyes closed and tight-lipped grimaces as the cold reached our many varied parts.  (Aside but still sticking with the animal theme: Anne, usually a graceful swan-like person, heading into the cold water for the first time, looks a lot more like a duck sputtering through an oil slick).  But for all the bravado Sandy has shown during our time together, thus proving that she was indeed a buoy in a former life, you should have seen her flinch when I popped that squid from my meal in my mouth.

Although, come to think of it, I’m sure the thought of us all going topless like we said we would, would probably have yielded a stronger response.  Next time!

Frog’s Legs Anyone?

The Mas Saint-Antoine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today felt like a Roman holiday, minus the presence of Audrey Hepburn and our vans aren’t exactly convertibles.  Our morning drive took us to Arles, an ancient Roman city in the South of France (we’re inching our way closer to Paris).   Signs of Roman architecture abound: the arena, the ruins of a forum, the magnificent aquaduct, the layout of the city, the history.  We learned through our guides Corinne and Natascha (who are also our chauffeurs, our logistics handlers, our pharmacy trackers, our soul searchers, and the keepers of the itinerary, etc. etc. etc.) that much of the architecture is a result of the wars being over and there not being much to do.  The wars they survived, but its the gluttony that killed them in the end.  We’re going to have to watch for that.

Arles is by far as much about it being the land of Van Gogh.  Funnily enough, the landscape resembles a bit like home – wider streets, flatland prairie-like spaces – minus the Fortress walls and the pigeon towers.  We stood where he stood to paint Starry Night, the small yellow house that he shared with Gauguin (that unfortunately had been destroyed in the war), the gardens at Hotel Dieu – the hospital where he was sent after cutting off his ear.  He painted over 300 works of art in the span of 18 months in this area.  We managed one.  We had our lunch and painted at the restaurant that he depicted in his “Café la nuit” – a very satisfying dining and creative experience.  And we left Arles with our tummies full and our ears intact.

We capped off the day back at the Mas with a dip in the pool and a gourmet pizza night offered to us and other guests of the Mas by our hosts, Keryn and Kerrin.  Salmon, goat cheese, potato, this is what was on the pizza and it was delicious.  It was a lovely evening where we ate outside and were very reasonable as we were in bed by ten.  Well.  Almost all reasonable.  Celeste did hike out to the frog pond at some point to see if she could find her prince.  You can guess how that ended.  Yes.  A wet wristwatch.