Travel Nuggets, France
French Nuggets
By Jim Humberd
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A little girl in France wanted to know where we lived, but when I mentioned America and California, she didn't understand. When I said Disneyland, her face lit up and she said (through an interpreter), “If you could be in Disneyland today, why are you in France?” (1983) (I received a Thank You note from Mike Eisner, for this Letter in the LA Times. Before Disneyland, Paris)
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A tree looks so gorgeous in Paris, so melancholy in Naples.
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As I joked, the Auto Strada toll booth man charged the laughing Italian price, we'll never know the actual price. At a toll booth in France, had I joked. they would most likely have doubled the price.
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As people tried to direct us from Langres, we would find “here” was under construction and “there” was just too narrow for us to travel, or one way the wrong direction.
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As travelers accustomed to the sights and architecture of the US, when we travel through the Seine River Valley, jaws drop, eyes glaze, and words fail.
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As we stood on Pont (bridge) Valentré in Cahors observing river barge traffic, I said to Sweetie, “There's the Locks.” Sweetie responded, “That's great, but where's the cream cheese and bagels?” (lox, cream cheese, and bagels, her favorite breakfast.)
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At the Chartres Cathedral, officials asked the guide, “Germans and the French don't laugh, why do English-speaking people laugh in a church?” We couldn't help but laugh at the humorous manner Professor Miller used to describe this beautiful Cathedral.
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At Rosheim’s campsite, nothing would work except to twist our bare electric wires with theirs.
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At Versailles Palace in France, Sweetie said, “I would like more color in the flower beds.” I suggested that if she walked through the gardens, they would be much more colorful indeed.
Brigitte, our friend in Nice, France, said, “French people don't even like each other.”
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Häagen-Dazs store and McDonald's restaurant are just across the main street from each other, near the Palace of the Popes, in Avignon.
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He said there would be no space for our RV. But when there was space, the Bonifacio, Corsica, ticket clerk was so disappointed to be proven wrong, he almost didn't sell us a ticket on the ferry to Sardinia.
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In Honfleur I bought a shoulder yoke made of wood and carved to fit over my shoulders so I (Me?) could carry two buckets of water.
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I don't ride in Disneyland, gamble in Las Vegas, eat in Paris, or swim in the South Pacific, but I try to figure why they built this and that, instead of something else.
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I pointed to the Visa Card imprinter in the antique store near Fougeres, and jokingly asked, “Antique?” The lady laughed and said, “No, practique.”
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I sang a solo, “Amazing Grace,” at Carcassonne, accompanied by the street-side flute player. My Sweetie reminded me the applause came after - because? - I had stopped singing.
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If, like my Sweetie, you have never met a Marché Aux Puces (flea market) you didn't like, Paris is for you.
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Imagine us looking out the “bedroom” window in our RV, and seeing the floodlit 800 year old walls of Aigues-Mortes, walls that protected the crusaders all those centuries ago.
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In an expensive restaurant, one lady leans to a lady at the next table and says, “Settle an argument for us. Is this the London Hilton, or the Paris Hilton.”
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In FRANCE, everything is permitted, even what is forbidden.
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It's amazing how many fantastic, amazing, fabulous, marvelous, sensational people you will meet, when you are in a GOOD mood.
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It's amazing how many ridiculous, stupid, ignorant, inefficient, obnoxious people you will meet, when you are in a BAD mood.
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Musée d'Orsay an old Paris railroad station, was changed into a wonderful museum. I said, “See if you can get them to change Pompidou Center into a railway station.” The man agreed, and laughed.
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Repairs to the church in Ste-Mére-Eglise, include a stained glass window showing an American parachute drop. A “parachute” still hangs on the steeple, as it did on the day of the Normandy Invasion. (Also as seen in the movie, “The Longest Day.”)
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Some Marseilles students excitingly told us, “In the US you have freedom, freedom!”
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Sweetie thinks Montleul is a nice town, probably because it has a flea market.
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Sweetie would like it best if she just closed her eyes while we drive around the Arc de Triomphe. I would like it best if her mouth was closed also. I hinted, she said it.
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The beautiful, wealthy French-Canadian lady, became a real good “friend” of the ship’s Captain, and continued to be a real good “friend” of the Captain, even after we got a new Captain, halfway through the cruise.
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The clock we bought in a Paris Marché Aux Puces (flea market,) had a music box as the alarm. It plays such a pretty little tune we don't care how old the clock is.
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The English are different from the Germans, who are different from the French, who are different from the Italians, who are different from the Greeks, who are different from - Viva La Difference!
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The French campground was rather new (it looked like it), Rather isolated (we thought), The desk clerk was rather crabby (of that we were sure).
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The Paris driver said, “Follow me,” and drove to the Campground. The whole family, including the dog, got out of the car and shook our hands (yes, including the dog, that was cute).
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The Marché Aux Puces lady in Montbron, held her hand open to indicate 50 Francs. I carefully folded her thumb to her palm. She smiled and agreed to 40 Francs.
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The meeting poster at the Nimes Amphitheater invited the Christians, but didn't say a word about the lions.
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The barge on the Seine River in Paris, had a couple dozen items hung out to dry. The unmentionables were the talk of the town.
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The prize in Les Baux for the best verse was a kiss and a peacock's feather. At least that's the only prize they mentioned.
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The walk up the steep street at Mont St. Michel, followed by uncounted steps, leads first to a need to sit and rest.
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The young lady at the Dordogne River, La Coquille, would have been considered exceptionally gorgeous, even if she hadn't lost most of her swim suit.
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There is no reason that I should feel so comfortable as I drive from here to there, but for me driving in Paris is a delight. Our friends in France, park in the distant suburbs, and ride the Metro. We say, “You can 't see Paris from the Subway.”
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They had just enough ribbons for this years fair. The only way we could get a blue-ribbon was to bring our own prize-winning animal to next year's fair in Tournay.
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Three US Navy men had me take their photograph in front of the painting, “Whistler's Mother,” in the Louvre. The sailors were whistling, of course.
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To coin a phrase, Sweeties eyes were almost bigger than her feet. But we did enjoy the down hill walk, the stroll along the river, and we did make it back up the hill to the center of Dinan.
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Waiters with glasses and bottles on a small tray, and customers with burgers and fries, scurried among the vehicles as they went from bars and restaurants (one with Golden Arches), to tables and chairs in the park, on the opposite side of this busy street, in downtown Béziers.
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Watch the drivers in Paris, Berlin, or Rome, and you will see how their Armies acted and reacted during WW II.
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We are little ol friendly travelers, parked right next to the ancient medieval wall of Carcassonne, that was built to keep out not so friendly travelers.
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We are not disappointed if we can't find a parking place in Paris right next to something we want to see. We just enjoy the area where we have found a place to park.
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We can't imagine that 500 or 1,000 years ago these buildings in Dinan (and in a thousand other towns and cities) were designed and built to lean and bend and hang over, but they do so, and do it elegantly.
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We have eaten lunch in our RV
on a Norwegian fjord;
beneath the Eiffel Tower;
just below the Parthenon;
within sight of the Coliseum;
within the arms of the Louvre;
across the Tiber from St. Peter's;
right next to the Brandenburg Gate;
across the street from Windsor Castle;
across the river from Le Pont D' Avignon;
with the Rock of Gibraltar out our window;
and hundreds more.
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We had been at Madam Renie’s home in Grasse, in her car, after dark, seven years earlier, and we couldn't find her street on the city map. When Renie invited us to visit again, she had more confidence in my navigational skills, than we did. Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized something, turned and found her home.
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We rented a pedal-boat for a ride on the Verdon River. I pedaled just as hard as I could when I saw all the ladies “barefoot from the waist up.” But Sweetie did the steering.
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We were worried about fire, after a car crash in the tunnel on the French/Italy border. We were trying to decide if we should abandon the RV and run to Italy, but traffic finally moved.
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When the Parisian arrives at, or causes a traffic blockage, he will not employ any initiative to solve the gridlock. He just sits there with a pained expression on his face, waiting for someone to help him out of the mess.
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With a stern look on her face, the cook at Mt. St. Michel, kept a steady rhythmic beat as if in a concert, as a drummer in a band, as she prepared an omelet in a large brass bowl.
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The sunrise and sunset glistering on Mont-St.-Michel, as seen from the RV’s dining or bedroom window, is splendiferous.
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You must demand some reasonable association between effort and excitement.
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Your adaptability can make the difference. Plans may be changed by factors outside your control.
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Your spirit of adventure will be modified by your gumption for walking.
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