Promenade Plantée

Judy. On one of our last days in Paris, we got off the Metro at Bastille, walked by the Bastille Opera, and climbed the stairs to the Promenade Plantée, an elevated walkway built on an old RER (suburban train) track. From there, we had a pleasant four- or five-mile walk back to our apartment in Vincennes. The walk starts in the craziness of the city, then gradually takes you to the suburbs, then the Bois de Vincennes, where we made our way down the street to our home. It will remain one of my favorite memories.

Two Invasions

Ted. Though Judy and I have visited France many times, there are quite a few famous regions that we have never seen. Having just learned about the Vikings on our trip to Sweden, it seemed appropriate that we visit Normandy, named for the Vikings who settled down in this part of France in the 9th century and came to be called the Northmen or Normans. 

From Giverny, already described in Judy’s post, we drove to the town of Bayeux, home of the famous tapestry. This stunning work, completed in the 1070’s, is thought to have been used as a propaganda tool by the successful Normans to convince the newly conquered Anglo Saxons that William the Conqueror’s cause was just. It was about that time that his old name, William the Bastard fell from use. 

In this example of history being written by the victors, the Bayeux Tapestry is a strip of linen 224 ft long with about 50 panels depicting scenes from the Battle of Hastings and the events that led up to it. Apparently, it was hung in the Bayeux Cathedral from time to time so that illiterate folks could be reminded of what happened “back in the day.” The detail is incredible and the story intriguing.

Harold traveling from England to Normandy

 

Harold swearing loyalty to William

Norman invasion

Note use of colors to create 3D effect

Battle Royal

Harold (2nd from left) gets an arrow in the eye

Bayeux Cathedral

Our next stop was Omaha Beach to learn about another invasion. We paid our respects at the American Cemetery and tried to imagine the scene at Omaha Beach.

Omaha beach from the bluff

"Mulberrys" off the coast of Arromanches

Guess which French town was the first to be liberated? Yep, Bayeux! There is another cemetery there for soldiers of the British Commonwealth who died in Normandy during WWII. A large monument bears an inscription in Latin, which translates as “We, once conquered by William, have now set free the Conqueror’s native land.”

American Cemetery, Colleville-sur-Mer

Auvers-sur-Oise

Ted. On our drive to Giverny, we took a slight detour to Auvers-sur-Oise to pay our respects to another great painter. This sleepy little village was the final stop on the long, tortured pilgrimage of Vincent Van Gogh. We saw the house where he rented a humble room for 1 franc per month. 

We visited the wheat field where he captured the crows in flight.

Nearby this field he was shot in the stomach, swearing for three days that it was self-inflicted. And now, alongside his loyal brother, Theo, Vincent has finally found peace.

Giverny

 Judy.  The week before Ted and I took a road trip to visit the great painter Claude Monet’s home and gardens in Giverny, we visited the Musee de l’Orangerie, where his famous series of Water Lilies paintings wrap into the walls of two rooms, leaving you surrounded by water, trees, and the lilies. It was designed by Monet as a gift to the French government, who built the museum specifically for the painting, with the hopes that people would sit and meditate in peace. The building, which also houses paintings by other impressionists, was opened in 1927, when Europe was emerging from the horrors of World War I, and Monet’s idea was that it would bring peace to the hearts of those who had lived through it. Unfortunately, he died the year before it opened. 

Of course, water lilies were a favorite subject of Monet’s and this connected series of eight panels, lit with natural lighting, and completely surrounding you, truly gives a sense of peace. One room is designed as sunrise, and the next, evening. He called this series “Les Nymphéas.” 

The panel "Sunset"

I’d love to tell you that the signs requesting silence in the rooms was followed, but people are people after all. Still, as viewers moved on to the second room, or out, you can still feel the calm. The paintings are mostly dark—interestingly, Monet was almost blind when he painted them--and with one of the panels depicting sunset on the pond, it makes perfect sense. We’d heard about it for years, yet it’s listed as one of the “hidden gems” of Paris. It is well worth the visit. 

Then last week we took a road trip to Normandy, and stopped to visit the Real Thing—Giverny—Monet’s home and garden. We thought it would be a sweet one-acre plot. Oh, but no! This garden is massive, and then there’s the walk to the water garden! Taking photos there is like trying to photograph the Grand Canyon—you cannot begin to take in the depth. 

Monet spent forty years of his life creating the beds—he planned his colors years in advance, and it shows. Color is heaped on color, or maybe in another bed purple is heaped on purple, or yellow on yellow. There are dozens of trails. In full summer it must be outrageous, but even in the fall, you get a sense of the colors he used. 

The water garden consists of ponds he created from a stream that flows through the property, surrounded by trails through more greenery. His favorite seemed to be his Japanese bridge, which he painted covered in blooming wisteria. I’d love to have seen that but, alas, wisteria season was over. 

Monet spent most of the last years of his life painting the lilies and the reflection of light on his pond. He once said that he was only good for “painting and gardening.” Well, it worked, Claude. And we thank you.

Chartres

Judy. This weekend Ted flew to Germany to visit our nephew Chris and his family. As much as I adore them, I’m a bit overwhelmed with all the traveling we’ve been doing, so I sent love and begged off. Instead I took a day trip to Chartres, a place that’s had a hold on my heart for over twenty years.

Although I’d been to France many times, I had never visited Chartres or its cathedral, Notre Dame de Chartres. But in 1999, I signed up for a week-long retreat to study it and walk the labyrinth there. I’d been enamored by labyrinths for years, so when this opportunity arose, I jumped on it. Dr. Lauren Artress of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco would be leading the retreat. She had been instrumental in reintroducing the use of labyrinths for spiritual purposes, and I was fascinated. 

The week was everything I expected. We not only learned about the Cathedral itself, built starting in the twelfth century (of course on an old Roman temple), but also about the labyrinth, dating from 1200. So you really cannot separate the two—at least not in my head. One of our teachers pointed out the obvious differences in the building as new chief builders took over. The Dean of the Cathedral showed us many of the 364 representations of women, including Notre Dame de la Belle Verrière, Notre Dame du Pilar, and the Oak Madonna in the Crypt. And Lauren explained that, while we don’t know exactly WHY people walked the labyrinth, it brings about a sense of calm and peace. 

The highlight of the week was on Friday night when we started in the Crypt, meditated in front of the Oaken Black Madonna, and slowly processed up to the darkened church and the labyrinth, which was surrounded by candles. A group of musicians played softly as we walked. We had walked several times before but this was a truly powerful experience. 

About ten years ago, as we were passing through Paris, Ted and I made a mad dash back to Chartres to walk the labyrinth, only to find that it wasn’t open that day. It’s usually covered with chairs for the service, and the chairs are removed once a week for walkers. So, you see, this little spiritual retreat of mine felt pretty important in the midst of some crazy but fun travel. 

Bracelet proof I'm clear to travel!

The town is an easy train ride away, and, after showing my mask, ticket, and pass sanitaire to the station guards, I was on my way. By noon I was stepping into the sun in the Gare plaza. WOW! The place had grown up in the time I’d been gone. The sweet tree-lined pathway had given way to shops and cafes—and tour bus parking. There’s now a big “Chartres” cutout—just like in all big cities. 

The "New and Improved" welcome

And it's on the Camino!

I made my way past the tour groups into the cool of the building. There were tourists, walkers, gawkers--you name it. But I took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts, and began my walk. 

A quieter moment on the Labyrinth

It’s an interesting thing about labyrinth walking—everyone does it his own way. Some people walk quickly to the center, then, instead of following the path out, just leave. Some walk a step at a time, using it as a prayer. Others focus on the path on the floor and breath, and others dance their way in and out. There’s no right way. I saw all of these—plus tourists oblivious to the walkers, heading straight across to the altar. It was not the magic of darkness, music, and candles, but you know what? It was just fine. That’s how life is—it moves around us at its own pace, and we make our way as best we can. It was still calming. 

Twelfth century Madonna and Child

After my walk, I crossed behind the altar to see the cobalt blue of the Chartres medieval windows and my favorite window with Notre Dame de la Belle-Verrière, unlike any depiction I remember seeing of Mary and Jesus. It, too, was made in the twelfth century, somehow survived a great fire, and was repositioned in the thirteenth century. The blue glass of the oldest windows is said to have been made with a secret formula; no one has been able to replicate it. 

Chartres Blue

Turning back, I saw the rose window, which, thanks to the Sacred Geometry on which the Cathedral was built, would fit exactly on top of the labyrinth. Tourists and all, it’s a soaring yet comfortable place to be. 

East Rose Window fits right into the Labyrinth

Treated myself to another boeuf tartare at an outdoor café where a lovely waiter let me practice my French and told me I was doing fine. “Just take your time.” One more visit to the Lady in the Window, and I headed back to the train. 

Plaza outside the Cathedral

Amazing what just one day can do for you.

The Possible

Judy. "What does this make possible?" You’ve heard me say this before; it’s my favorite quote of Ted’s. He says it when things aren’t going the way we expected. Last year we had a massive trip planned for Europe. Man—we were going to hit all the Baltic States, plus Sweden and Finland, England, Spain, and possibly Poland. Problem was, when visiting our friend Mikaela in Sweden (you remember her—we’ve chased each other around the globe), we would only see her parents, Malou and Björn for one day before they left for their home in Nice, where we visited them a couple of years ago. Also, never mind that we had set an absolutely ridiculous itinerary for ourselves. Then Covid happened. 

So, what did this make possible? After the year and a half of staying on the Western side of the Pond, we re-thought our plans: arrival in London for 24 hours, get a flat near Paris for six weeks, and visit Mikaela, Malou, and Björn for a week. We had no idea what that would make possible. 

 If you are fortunate, a couple of times in your life, you will meet people briefly and find in them soulmates. It was certainly the case with Mikaela, and turned out to be the same with her whole family. You may remember that when we were in Aix-en-Provence a few years ago, Malou and Björn, on Mikaela’s recommendation, invited us for a couple of days to their home in Nice. We hit it off quite nicely, and when we arrived in Stockholm this acquaintance blossomed into a full-grown friend/family relationship. 

 To start with, Mikaela and Björn met us at the airport at a ridiculously late hour, and delivered us safely to Mikaela’s apartment where we were to stay. Bless her—Mikaela gave up her bedroom for us. Having two old folks in your house when you work from home can’t be easy, but Mikaela handled it with grace. 

 The next morning the five of us took a “Swedish walk” around the island they live on, passing harbors and forests and farms. From there they took us to the Millesgården, the home and museum of sculptor Carl Milles. The whole thing was spectacular, and, much to my shame, Malou explained that he’s also well known in the United States. I didn’t know that!  

Milles sculpture "The Hand of God"

Tasty lunch in a 17th Century farmhouse 

That was just the beginning. The week was filled with walks, museums, long conversations over good food and wine, and the discovery, not only of a country we knew nothing about, but of a wonderfully open family who embraced us and taught us. The museums were great—especially seeing the Goethenburg, the ship Mikaela had crewed on a couple of years before, and the extraordinary Viking exhibit at the History Museum. 

Part of the Viking exhibit

Ted and Mikaela aboard the Goethenburg

The Goethenburg

 

But when Malou and Björn took us to Karlfors, their country home, which had been in the family for years, and shared history of both family and the area, we felt wrapped in sweet Swedish arms. 

Morning walk

We walked the countryside and later shared meals--lunch in the garden, and dinner in the glass veranda where we enjoyed delicious home cooked meals and lovely wines. We drove to Nyköping and learned something about Swedish history in a charming city.

Lunch in the garden

Golden time

And when we returned, we met and spent time with Petra, Mikaela's sister, who is delightful and makes fabulous desserts!

Petra and Mikaela

With Malou and Björn

All over Stockholm we saw signs that read Håll Avstånd--Tak. It means "Keep distanced--thanks". Mikaela says it's as much a comment on the way Swedes feel as it is of Covid distancing. But that was sure not anything we experienced!

 Yes, I know. I’m gushing. But, dear reader, the whole week was a laignappe. And one we’ll not soon forget. 

 And that’s a beautiful thing Covid made possible.

Götheborg

Ted. Our friend, Mikaela is a sailor. And I’m not talking about putting around a pond on a Sunfish. She crews tall ships. You know - those huge old sailing ships that ply the oceans and occasionally gather for “Tall Ship” events in the great harbors of the world. For instance, she once crewed a tall ship on a voyage from Cape Town, South Africa to the island of Antigua in the Caribbean. 

We were excited to learn that her favorite ship was in Stockholm for a two-week stay and that she had arranged for a tour. The original Götheborg, named after Sweden’s second largest city, was a trading vessel that travelled between Sweden and China in the first half of the 18th century. Construction of a handcrafted replica began in 1995. The new edition, one of the largest wooden ships on the water today, was launched in 2003. It has already completed one trip to China and another will commence in 2022. 

 

CNN recently published a great article about the ship. It can be found using this link: https://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/gotheborg-ii-ship-sweden-asia-intl-hnk/index.html

Stockholm

Ted. I’m not sure that I had ever met a Swede before we welcomed a young Servas traveller to our home around 2016 (back when we still had a home). Mikaela was traveling around the world at the time and we found her to be quite adventurous and charming. It was only natural that we had a rendezvous with her when we visited New Zealand the following year and then met her parents, Björn and Malou in France in 2018. We accepted their offer to visit them in Sweden in 2020 but those plans were scrubbed by the pandemic. 

So, after passing yet another covid test, we finally boarded a half empty Scandinavian Airlines plane in Paris and soon landed at Stockholm Arlanda airport to be greeted by Mikaela and her Dad. The airport itself was the first clue that we had arrived in a different part of Europe. Absolutely spotless, the concourse was a marvel of glass and polished wood with high backed upholstered seating at the gates. 

These kind folks organized a great plan for our eight-day visit. We found time for museum visits, long walks and relaxing meals. Every public building and home has exhibited comfort, taste and an understated classiness.  The weather turned out to be great as well; one day of mist and then a run of mid 70’s and sunshine.

Judy & Mikaela exploring Stockholm

One of our first stops was the Vasa Museum. The Vasa was an ill-fated warship built by the Swedish navy in 1628. On its maiden voyage, the top heavy vessel raised its sails in the harbor, traveled less than a mile and then flipped over. It rested peacefully in the protection of cold mud for 330 years until it was carefully raised in the 1960's, virtually intact. The museum has a lot of information about Sweden and naval warfare in the 17th century but pride of place rightfully focuses on this magnificent ship that is 95% original. More information can be found on this archaeological gem at Wikipedia.

Scale model showing original colors

The real McCoy, 226 ft (69 m) long

Nearly 500 wooden sculptures

A 17th century Death Star