What We Did On the Way to London... and Back.

Flamingos at the Parc Ornithologique

 OK, we've been to London and back. Now let's catch up a little.

Alan and Sue arrived in Montpellier a good week before we all left for London. What did we do for that week? Well, before we left...

Sue had expressed a desire to visit a "typical" French town. We couldn't think of any place more typical that Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. We'd been there a number before and always found it charming. Plus it is near Les Baux and the Carrières de Lumiéres, the light and sound show held inside a gigantic former quarry. Again, we had been here before—that's how we knew they'd like it!  (The last part of this blog is about our first time at the Lumiéres, and this one tells of a more recent visit.) 

Our breakfast area at the hotel Le Mas des Tourterelles

Paula found us another great hotel that fully represented the charm of the region (Le Mas des Tourterelles). It was more of a bed-and-breakfast place, small, in a country-like setting, but only a 10 minute walk from the center of this small town. We toasted our arrival with a bottle of wine under the arbor in front of our rooms and went out to find a nice place for dinner. It was a Monday, a day when restaurants are traditionally closed, so finding something open was challenging. We walked the darkened streets, passing charming and classic and cute restaurants, all closed. We did finally succeed, though, and had a great dinner. We then wound our way through the darkened empty streets, and finally settled in our rooms.

Our rooms.

A tremendous storm descended during the night. I remember awaking to the sound of rain torrents and the flash of lightning. Intense, although we all seemed to sleep just fine. When I got up the next morning (and I'm usually the first one up) I took a quick tour. There was no damage, but I was astonished to see that the wine glasses we'd emptied the night before were now almost filled, with rain water! It must have really poured.

Are the glasses half full? No, three quarters!
(But that ashtray—really full!)

We wandered the streets the next morning, the weather now pleasant and the air scrubbed clean, enjoying the atmosphere as we explored the shops and galleries. We visited the house where Nostradamus was born, and considered taking the mile-long walk to the sanitarium where Vincent van Gogh stayed for a year (1889-90). Time was short, though, as we had tickets for the Carrières de Lumiéres in Les Baux, about 20 minutes away. 

One of the narrow shopping streets of St-Rémy.

Sue and Alan check an art gallery while a stranger looks on.

A quiet spot. Note the classic periwinkle blue of the shutters

We reluctantly left this pleasant burg and drove over steep, winding hills to the quarry at Les Baux. Although crowded, we quickly found a parking spot (we'd been here before!) and walked the short distance to the Carrières de Lumiéres entrance.

A scene from the Carrières de Lumiéres show on ancient Egypt.

The theme of this show was ancient Egypt. I didn't think it was as good as some others we'd seen (like with a lot of things, nothing will ever match the wonder and surprise of that first time!). But still, it's impossible not to be impressed by the huge bright images projected on those massive walls. At one point we felt like we actually were in an ancient Egyptian temple.

After the show we considered visiting the old town of Les Baux. Paula and I had been there before (several times!), but were happy to accompany our friends. Except, the day was beginning to feel complete. We decided that getting back to Montpellier sounded pretty good. And as it was still early we could take the long way home and cruise through the Camargue, maybe stop at a different ancient village, one closer to sea level.

On the way home we passed the city of Aigues-Mortes with its 13th century walls, pretty much unchanged since Luis IX (Saint Luis) built them. This city, on the shore of the Mediterranean when it was built, was the port from which Luis left for his last two Crusades. We admired the walls from the car as we drove past. Rather than stopping we continued on to the salt refinery a few kilometers down the road, where we saw the huge mountain of white crystals awaiting further refinement and packaging. This area has been producing salt since at least the Middle Ages, and is still at it: the salt we get at our local grocery store was once part of that huge mountain. (And I like that connection to 13th-century Aigues-Mortes!)

The 13th-century walls of Aigues-Mortes.

        The Camargue and the Parc Ornithologique

The Camargue, the delta at the mouth of the Rhone River, is a very special area. As with the land around most river mouths, the Camargue is low and swampy. It is famed for its white horses, black bulls, and pink flamingos. And the mosquitoes (which are well represented all along the low-lying coast here). Oh, let's not forget the cowboys, Les Guardians, riding the white horses and herding the black bulls with their long, trident-tipped staffs. 

There's a lot of tradition packed into this place!

The Camargue (in this view, without horses, bulls, or flamingos...)

Even today, after decades of development, the Camargue is still mostly empty. Oh, there's vineyards—this is France, after all. And a particular type of rice grows well there. The bulls and horses no longer roam free, although have certainly not disappeared.... but there's always the flamingos, coming and going (and staying!).

While it's possible, even common, to see flamingos all along the coast here, they really come into their own at the ornithological park. We have been there before, but this time around we had a bonus: Sue and Alan are avid birders; they could show us what we'd always missed!

Paula got this great shot of flamingos on the wing.

With a total area of 60 hectares (150 acres) we knew we would not run out of room. We strolled along (some of) the 17 km of trails, stopping often to watch the flamingos. It's quite stunning to see masses of them in the water, mostly just standing on one skinny leg with their heads under their wings. Along the shore there's always a few moving slowly on those long legs, with their head upside down in the water, as they stir up the mud to find whatever it is they eat. 

A kind of shrimp, apparently; the color of the shrimp is what gives color to the birds' wings. Well, that and the algae. (Actually, it's the algae that gives color to the shrimp, too!)

Paul tries--unsuccessfully--to get a video shot.
Sue looks on... and laughs?

Héron cendré—a grey heron, minding its own business.

Seeing these birds always puts me in mind of the flamingos in "Alice in Wonderland," where those heads and large beaks served as mallets to wack the ball (a hedgehog, as I recall). They do look a bit silly.

Until you see them in the air, where they are quite lovely. That bulbous head (mostly beak, really) on its long neck is balanced by the long thin legs trailing behind. And the contrasts between the white body and the dark orange wings with their black trailing edge is a wonderful thing.

Another of Paula's great aerial shots. Striking coloration!

Sue called this a blue-legged Avocet, although it has a pretty great name in French:  Avocette élégante 

After a couple of hours of such intense aviary activity we were ready for lunch, so we made our way a few km down the road to Saints-Maries-de-la Mer, a coastal town reputed for the Gypsy festival that occurs every May. Roma people from all over Europe come for a week-long celebration of music and shared meals, a sort of gathering of the tribes. 

We were there for the festival in 2016, and found we were mostly ignored—this was an event of, by and for the Romas. A return a few years ago showed that now it's become quite the tourist attraction. While the Romas still mostly ignore the tourists (although there's always someone willing to entertain the tourists for some coin), the huge crowds make getting around—and in and out of town—difficult. 

This traffic circle leading to Saints-Maries-de-la-Mer is decorated with the emblem of the Camargue, with its three powerful symbols: the heart, the anchor, and the cross.
Oh, and the trident tips, a nod to Les Guardians, the Camargue cowboys.
(From Google street view)

But this time we were there at the end of the tourist season, long after the Romas—and most of the tourists—had left. It was quiet and mostly unremarkable, but we had a nice lunch and walked on the beach before heading home.

And then we went to London.

But you probably already know that; in case you don't, you can read all about that trip here.

        Colmar, Strasbourg, and Le Grand Est

Well, so. On the way back from London Paula and I, not wishing to rush straight back to Montpellier, made a stop to visit Colmar and Strasbourg.

These two cities, about a half-hour apart, are in that region of France known as Le Grand Est (the Big East). Geographically, it is located in the, er, east, sharing borders with Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, and Switzerland.

Parts of this region have been hotly disputed, passing back and forth between France and Germany. Germany took control after the disastrous (for France) Franco-Prussian War of 1871. France got it back after WWI, Germany took it again, and it was finalized as part of France (again!) after WWII.

Needless to say, there is a very strong German accent to the place, in both the architecture and the food. Oh, and the language, too! We heard a lot of German in the streets (or maybe it was Alsatian, the local dialect, although it was very Germanic to our untrained ears).

Lovely! Typical scene in Colmar: half-timbered houses on a canal. With a bridge.

We had high hopes for this visit; I'd been wanting to come since I passed through here on my first trip to Europe in 1973. But, our trip didn't work out quite the way we'd hoped...

We arrived in Colmar—well, the Strasbourg airport, which is in the direction of Colmar—and I was feeling a bit funky. I spent the next day in bed, nursing a cold. Paula ventured out, returning in the afternoon with bright tales of a very picturesque town.

A street corner in Colmar. The half-timbered houses, while reminiscent of those in Brittany, are actually quite different.

I did get out a little bit the next day, and the town is very cute with its old half-timbered houses and canals cutting through. And flowers! Lots and lots of flowers.

Scene (seen?) from a bridge in Colmar. Inevitably, this area in the city is known as "Little Venice".

A store front in Colmar.

We moved on to Strasbourg for our last days in Le Grand Est, and it was Paula's turn to to lie abed with a cold, while I went exploring and returned to tell tales of the wonders of the city,

The spire of the cathedral in Strasbourg. It's hard to get a good view, with all the buildings packed in!

The astonishing façade of the Cathedral, Notre Dame de Strasbourg.

Neither of us found this arrangement very satisfying. The next morning we were scheduled to check out of our rental at 11, but Paula still felt pretty funky. Our host graciously extended our stay, but we still had to leave! And our flight out was not until 7 that night. So, lots of time to kill!

The cathedral at night. During the day the dark stone looks... well, dark! It's much more impressive at night.

Paula rallied as we took to the streets in the rain, suitcases in tow. We did find a pretty nice cafe where we ate lunch and hung out for a few hours. (Nice thing about French cafes: once you buy something, you're pretty much never chased off.) The afternoon wore on, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and eventually we bundled up with our things and made it to the train station for the trip to the airport.

Paula was pretty much recovered by the time we got home, but overall it was not a satisfying trip. We were glad to see these two Germanic-flavored towns we'd heard so much about, but the trip was not at all as satisfying as we'd have like.

        We'll just have to go back...

Paula's favorite from Colmar: Paul in front of the Colmar church.

Our Trip to London

       

Pink umbrellas! That means it's October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month in Montpellier.
Great fall weather. Now, let's go to London!

 London 

Well, we've had an exciting two weeks that has seemed like two months. Our American friends Sue and Alan stopped by our place on their way back from hiking in the Dolomites. We all spent a week in and around Montpellier (adventures we'll save for another post), then we flew to London. While Alan had never been to London before, we had spent a memorable month there in 2018. (Our blog about that trip is here.) This time we stayed at an apartment in the heart of downtown, a few blocks from the Thames and just around the corner from St. Paul's Cathedral. We were close enough to hear the bells, and grew quite fond of them. 

St. Paul's Cathedral seen from the Millennium Bridge on a glorious fall day.
Our apartment is just to the left somewhere...

London is big. Like, huge. I realize, after this trip, that perhaps it's best approached through its various aspects, or layers. The area has been a population center since before the Romans, and it has had a heavy influence on Western civilization: so, Historic London. Literary London, certainly, including Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dickens, many others. Museum London. Garden London. Theater London. New Architecture London (after the enforced "urban renewal" of WWII). Pub London? In retrospect, I think the best way to visit London is to choose which aspects are of interest and focus on specific places and events. While we did have some plans, we mostly stuck to the main sights. 

The ultra-modern building known as The Shard.

For transport we used those iconic big red buses, with Paula and Sue doing most of the navigating (as we walked to the bus stop; the bus drivers found their way just fine). As on our previous trip we found the best way to view the city of London is from the top deck. And the best place to sit is in the very front row. Of course that's not often possible, but we did have a couple of chances to sit there, and it was fabulous watching the city unroll below us as the driver expertly dodged through the busy streets. (Highly regarded the "tube" may be, but none of us were keen on going underground.) 

Thanks to Sue for this photo from the front seat of our big red bus.
Looks like we're heading down Fleet Street towards St. Paul's.

 Our first day, though, full of excitement at being in the big city, we found a nice pedestrian walk along the Thames and kept going until we arrived at the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge (not to be confused with the boring modern iteration of the London Bridge). The sun was low and the lighting perfect. We retraced our steps back to St. Paul's and our apartment, stopping along the way to share a bottle of Prosecco. It was a great start to our trip! 

Goofing around near the Tower Bridge.

The Tower Bridge in all its glory.

          Museums 

While there are endless museums in London, we confined ourselves to two: the Tate, and the British Museum. Months earlier we'd gotten tickets at the British Museum (and why is it not called the Brit?) for a special show on the Silk Road, the trading routes between East and West. We had high hopes for this show, but found it disappointing. While it made the point that the Silk Road was not a single route but a trading network on both land and sea that grew and shifted over the centuries, there was no overview, no maps. The displays were full of artifacts from the countries along the routes, but I never got any sense of where these routes were or how they changed. None of us were particularly satisfied with this exhibit. 

One great thing about the Silk Road exhibit: a 3-D graphic that shifted from camels in the desert to a modern container ship as you walked past it. The Silk Road, then and now...

So, we moved into the main museum and, hey, it's the British Museum! It's fantastic! We saw the Rosetta Stone, and all the Egyptian stuff on the first floor. The museum comes under fire from time to time from some country that claims the Brits stole their artifacts and wants them back. (To its credit, the museum gives serious consideration to these claims, and has returned many artifacts.) What astonished me was the amount of ancient stuff that was found—and still is being found—in England and around the UK. People have been living there for a very long time, and it seems every few years another coin hoard or incredible burial site is discovered. 

 We also enjoyed the display of historic clocks, tracing the development of the mechanical escapement and timepieces in general. A particular thrill was to see the actual clock that was used for navigation aboard the HMS Beagle, the research ship that carried Charles Darwin around the world. Overall, it was a good day at the British Museum! 

Yes, it's a mechanical galleon clock, from Augsburg, Germany; it would wheel itself around the table as music played, figurines struck bells, and the cannons fired. Around 1585.

         The Tate Modern 

The day dawned gray and rainy. We had several ideas of what to do, but they all involved going somewhere else. While we liked riding the big red buses, walking to the bus stop and waiting impatiently in the rain did not appeal. Perhaps it was a museum day. And there, right across the Millennium bridge, was the Tate Modern. No need to wait at bus stops in the rain, we could just walk. We went. (Yes, in the rain!) 

View of St. Paul's from the Tate. Through the rain...

Paula fits in at the Tate.

 The Tate Modern is one of four Tate art museums in the UK, this one dedicated to—wait for it—modern art. The building, a converted power plant, is beautiful with fantastic views. But it didn't work for us. The contents, I mean. Many of the displays seemed to be just random stuff stuck on the walls. Ah, but I guess we are Philistines when it comes to modern (aka contemporary) art! But still, we enjoyed the outing, enjoyed exploring the vast building, and particularly enjoyed complaining about the lame exhibits. 

OK, here's one of the few exhibits I did like: Tower of Babble.
Radios of all sorts and sizes all playing at once.

         Gum on the Bridge 

As we were returning from the Tate Sue called my attention to the colorful splashes on the walkway. I'd noted them without thinking of them. She had overheard a boy explain to someone that they were blobs of gum, ground into the walkway, that had been painted. She took a few photos with her phone, and sure enough, they were not just random colorings, but carefully wrought designs. Not two minutes later I overheard someone else (a guide?) explaining that in the lawsuit, the lawyer argued that the gum did not belong to the council (city government), but to whomever spit it out. The judge ruled that the council could remove bare gum, but not the painted ones. What? 

Sue's foot on the Millennium Bridge pointing to a tidy work of art. And in the upper corner, just a plain old disgusting blob of gum.

here's what Sue's pointing at in the upper photo.

Once back at our apartment Paula did some quick research and learned that indeed, someone had painted the blobs of gum, and the city had indeed wanted to clean them up, but the artist sued, and the council was not allowed to remove his art. ( https://benwilsonchewinggumman.com ) Amazing as this story is—and turning disgusting discarded gum into minuscule art works is certainly amazing!—what boggled my mind was that no more than three minutes elapsed between Sue calling my attention to them, and a passing stranger explaining what it was about. Wow.

Another colorful example of Ben Wilson's fine work.

Our historic Walk

One day we used Rick Steves' London City Walk (a free download, best used with his "Rick Steves Audio Europe" app) to explore, starting on the Strand and following down Fleet Street. We diverted early to.visit the Royal Courts of Justice (the Law Courts), magnificent buildings that were appealing in their own right. According to Mr. Steves, this is where civil cases are heard. (The criminal courts are in the Old Bailey, further down the road.) And, since Alan is a former lawyer, and Sue was a probation officer, we were drawn to go inside.

The magnificent buildings of the Royal Courts of Justice, where civil suits are adjuticated.

Photographing inside the Courts of Justice is prohibited, but this stock photo from Alamy shows the interior is as impressive as the outside. (The place was empty the day we were there.)

We noted that several cases were being heard in the courtrooms upstairs so that's where we went, wandering along the narrow corridor, peering through aged windows. The rooms were small, but there were always a few rows in back for the public.  We slipped into one hearing just as a witness was being called. Alan kept me appraised of what was happening. The witness took a drink of water. ("Ah, he's nervous! Don't ever drink water, it means your throat is dry..." whispered Alan.) 

One fellow in a suit and wearing the wig that identified him as a barrister said, "Will the witness open Book One to Page 206. Is the statement between pages 206 and 230 correct?" "Yes," affirmed the witness. 

Bracing stuff, that.

"Now for the cross!" Whispered an excited Alan. The other gentleman in a suit and wig arose and offered, in very soft and conciliatory tones, that the witness had nothing to fear and could just relax, there were only a few simple questions. In spite of the high drama of the moment, Alan slid silently toward the exit. Paula and Sue had left some time before, and we needed to be moving on.

Back out on the street we found this shop providing everything the well-dressed barrister might need: fashionable wig, crisp white tie, guilty socks...

We were continually amazed at the magnificence of the building, both inside and out, as we wound our way back to the street. We followed The Strand until we came to the Temple Bar Memorial. The Temple Bar ("bar" indicating gate or barrier) marked the boarder between Westminster, the center of government since... well, the 10th century or something, and the City of London proper. Today its location is marked by a memorial with statues of Queen Victoria and the Prince of Wales. Passing it meant we were now in the City of London. Oh, and the street name had changed from The Strand to Fleet Street.

London crosswalks are marked to help those from countries where they don't drive on the left (most of 'em) not get run over. I got confused when I looked across the street and saw the opposite suggestion, but pointing in the same direction!

The Temple Bar Memorial, marking the original site of the Temple gate ("bar"). To the left is the City of Westminster; to the right the City of London. When passing this gate Queen Victoria would ceremoniously ask permission from the Lord Mayor of London to enter. Her statue memorializes that tradition.

This building carries the names of newspapers now long gone, commemorating that Fleet Street used to be the news center of London, full of print shops and reporters, buttonholing barristers for news on the latest court cases.

Closeup of Queen Elizabeth (the first one) seen above; this 18th century statue may be the closest likeness of the queen in existence. It also marks the westernmost limit of the Great Fire of 1666.

We had a few more diversions, wandering through the narrow streets of old London. (The city burned in the Great Fire of 1666; the buildings were replaced by ones of brick and stone, but following the original winding, narrow streets.) We passed Dr Samuel Johnson's house, now a museum; the statue of Hodge, Johnson's cat; and the pub (Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese) where he spent much of his time (that is, he, Johnson; don't know about Hodge!). 

Dr. Samuel Johnson's house, now a museum (and probably well worth visiting).

Hodge, Johnson's cat, keeps on eye on the house.

The spire of St. Bride's Church, destroyed in the Great Fire and rebuilt, like so much else in London, by Christopher Wren. Legend has it that this spire was the inspiration for the original tiered wedding cake.

Looking back up The Strand towards the Courts of Justice.

Eventually we arrived at St Paul's Cathedral, having completed about half of the total walk. It began to rain, however, and we were ready for a rest, so we skipped St Paul's and walked the last few blocks to our apartment, satisfied with our day!

Looking down Fleet Street towards St. Paul's and the tall, airy towers of the financial District.

I was up quite early one morning, and feeling restless followed Rick Steves' walk from St Paul's through the London of Shakespeare's time. Except, that London had been burned out in the Great Fire, and the replaced buildings had subsequently been reduced to rubble during WWII. (Remarkably—miraculously—St Paul's was nearly untouched!) But I heard that the pub where the great Bard had quaffed his ale was down that street, and the fish markets had been down this one. Things have certainly changed, but this area has been a crowded, thriving metropolis for five hundred years or more!

The steeple of All Hallows by the Tower, where John Quincy Adams got married;
seen through the windows of a modern building

I ended my walk before entering the Financial District (the Money Layer?), where fantastic, massive yet delicate skyscrapers are quickly replacing the rubble from the war (the New Architecture Layer).

The modern building colloquial known as The Cheese Grater, with its fabulous Sky Garden on the top floor.
It's unfortunate that we were not able to get tickets there for this trip.
In the foreground is the spire of St-Dunstan's-in-the-East, rebuilt after the Great Fire. 

Food

We ate well in London. While I had long heard of the horrors of British food, I found every meal we've had in the UK to be pretty good. One long-lasting benefit of the British Empire is that London has restaurants from pretty much every country in the world. And after decades of coexistence, the many different forms and styles and traditions have spread around and been absorbed in not always obvious ways. 

Now, we live in France, which is proud of its cuisine and its world-wide reputation. I like that meals and food are held in such high regard here (in France); eating is seen as one of the true pleasures in life. And we have been pleased to eat at a number of small restaurants where the owner's goal was to provide a great dining experience. And yet, I sometimes feel that this reputation holds things back; chefs are less likely to experiment, most dishes served are variations on something traditional.

In London, though, there are no such constraints. I just get the feeling that chefs in London feel freer to try different things. Maybe that little ethnic hole-in-the-wall around the corner has provided inspiration, the desire to try a different flavoring, an unusual spice. I don't know, the food just feels freer in London (and more expensive! But then, everything is...)

Chef Ottolenghi's Baked blue cheesecake with pickled beets and honey

Photo, Jonathan Lovekin via 

https://chatelaine.com/recipe/dinner/ottolenghis-baked-blue-cheesecake-with-pickled-beets-and-honey/

Sue had made reservations at Nopi, a restaurant by noted chef Yotam Ottolenghi. I had my misgivings: the dishes were small entrees with descriptions like Valdeón cheesecake, beetroot, thyme honey, almonds - also expensive, and we were told we should order two each of the six choices offered. But, it was extraordinary! I don't have the language to describe what we ate, but every forkful was unique. Even different bites from the same dish revealed different flavors. In the end, the four of us shared six dishes plus two desserts, and nobody left hungry!

That was truly a memorable evening.

Another view of The Shard.

Theater Layer

London is well know for its theatre district. None of us know much about the theater, but how could we come to London and not see a play? (It would be, as Ted Lasso says, like going to Rome and not getting your pocket picked.) Sue and Paula had gotten us tickets to a show, a new staging of Macbeth with David Tennant. I had misgivings when we showed up: it was very crowded, the seats were terribly narrow, my ear was not attuned to iambic pentameter, I didn't really know the storyline and couldn't keep track of the characters… But I got into it, and was pleased to recognize some lines that I did remember ("…struts and frets his hour upon the stage…").

And at the end, something truly remarkable happened. As the actors came out on the stage for their curtain call, I got the overwhelming sensation that something really tremendous had occurred this evening. We were in the presence of a great artistic creation. And I got why the theater is so popular!

David Tennant as Macbeth with Cush Jumbo; Promotional photo from London Theater Co.

Our week in London, and our time with our friends, came to an end. Sunday morning found Paula and I saying a sad farewell to Sue and Alan as we headed to the train taking us to airport. Sue and Alan would leave later that day, flying back to the US. We did not go straight home, but flew to Strasbourg, a city in north-eastern France near the German border. Ah, but that is a tale told by an idiot. No, wait, I've got to get out of Macbeth mode! Let's make that a tale for another time...

Paris vs London

It's really not fair to compare cities, but since we've just left London, let's do it anyway. 

Paris is big, but by definition is limited to the area inside the Périphérique, the belt road surrounding the city, giving a total area of about 105 square km.  At 1,572 square km, London seems to go on forever! (Bigger by a factor of 14!)   However, the high population density of Paris, 3-1/2 times that of London, makes the city seem bigger. Yet it still feels more compact and more intimate than sprawling London. That certainly supports my impressions that London is huge and busy; Paris is only sort of big, and while also busy it feels somehow friendlier. (Your mileage may vary, particularly if you've spent much time in London!)

St. Paul's Cathedral with one of those iconic red buses (yes, it really is red!)