Getting a rheum in Paris, then Django Fest week in Fontainebleau
Jul 29th, 2015, 08:03 PM
#42
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The Château de Fontainebleau is well worth a visit, even as a day trip from Paris. And I'm saying that as someone who is not all that crazy about palaces in general. There's a central medieval part that dates to the early 1100's and Louis VII. Saint Louis (IX) did some of his good works here. Other kings added on in a big way, and put their initials on the walls so we'd remember them. Napoleon I preferred this château to the one at Versailles, held a Pope under house arrest here, and this was where he abdicated(-ish, fingers crossed)in 1814.
The tour starts with a Napoleon museum, including the King of Rome's cradle, a recreation of his army tent and bed, and portraits of his family. Then you walk through boiserie galleries, ballrooms, chapels, splendor of all kinds. You see Marie Antoinette's bed that she never got a chance to sleep in, but that Josephine and Marie-Louise did. Splendor fatigue sets in by the time you leave.
I think it might be gone by now, but we saw a special exhibit about the relationship between Napoleon and Pope Pius VII, the one who agreed to sit still and let the Emperor crown himself, and who later sat still for a couple of years while Bonaparte tried to bend him to his will.
The Chateau grounds are open to stroll every day until 19h00, for free, so we did that several times. It's not Versailles, garden-wise, but has massive beeches, statues, shrubberies, the Garden of Diane, long water, and a jeu de paume court where you can watch people play.
The tour starts with a Napoleon museum, including the King of Rome's cradle, a recreation of his army tent and bed, and portraits of his family. Then you walk through boiserie galleries, ballrooms, chapels, splendor of all kinds. You see Marie Antoinette's bed that she never got a chance to sleep in, but that Josephine and Marie-Louise did. Splendor fatigue sets in by the time you leave.
I think it might be gone by now, but we saw a special exhibit about the relationship between Napoleon and Pope Pius VII, the one who agreed to sit still and let the Emperor crown himself, and who later sat still for a couple of years while Bonaparte tried to bend him to his will.
The Chateau grounds are open to stroll every day until 19h00, for free, so we did that several times. It's not Versailles, garden-wise, but has massive beeches, statues, shrubberies, the Garden of Diane, long water, and a jeu de paume court where you can watch people play.
Jul 29th, 2015, 08:03 PM
#43
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The Château de Fontainebleau is well worth a visit, even as a day trip from Paris. And I'm saying that as someone who is not all that crazy about palaces in general. There's a central medieval part that dates to the early 1100's and Louis VII. Saint Louis (IX) did some of his good works here. Other kings added on in a big way, and put their initials on the walls so we'd remember them. Napoleon I preferred this château to the one at Versailles, held a Pope under house arrest here, and this was where he abdicated(-ish, fingers crossed)in 1814.
The tour starts with a Napoleon museum, including the King of Rome's cradle, a recreation of his army tent and bed, and portraits of his family. Then you walk through boiserie galleries, ballrooms, chapels, splendor of all kinds. You see Marie Antoinette's bed that she never got a chance to sleep in, but that Josephine and Marie-Louise did. Splendor fatigue sets in by the time you leave.
I think it might be gone by now, but we saw a special exhibit about the relationship between Napoleon and Pope Pius VII, the one who agreed to sit still and let the Emperor crown himself, and who later sat still for a couple of years while Bonaparte tried to bend him to his will.
The Chateau grounds are open to stroll every day until 19h00, for free, so we did that several times. It's not Versailles, garden-wise, but has massive beeches, statues, shrubberies, the Garden of Diane, long water, and a jeu de paume court where you can watch people play.
The tour starts with a Napoleon museum, including the King of Rome's cradle, a recreation of his army tent and bed, and portraits of his family. Then you walk through boiserie galleries, ballrooms, chapels, splendor of all kinds. You see Marie Antoinette's bed that she never got a chance to sleep in, but that Josephine and Marie-Louise did. Splendor fatigue sets in by the time you leave.
I think it might be gone by now, but we saw a special exhibit about the relationship between Napoleon and Pope Pius VII, the one who agreed to sit still and let the Emperor crown himself, and who later sat still for a couple of years while Bonaparte tried to bend him to his will.
The Chateau grounds are open to stroll every day until 19h00, for free, so we did that several times. It's not Versailles, garden-wise, but has massive beeches, statues, shrubberies, the Garden of Diane, long water, and a jeu de paume court where you can watch people play.
Jul 30th, 2015, 02:37 AM
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Enjoying your report. Sounds like a great trip. I love manouche and Chopes des Puces; maybe it was Ninine Garcia that your husband heard play there. He is the best! My profile picture is of me and Ninine this past March. Enjoyed the youtube with Django's grandson. Thanks for posting it.
Jul 31st, 2015, 05:34 PM
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opaldog, yes! It was Ninine. There are a few other youtube clips that Sacha posted with Simba, Dallas, and himself playing that maybe have a little better sound. I like looking at their faces. Unassuming, nice young men. Also some great names.
I like the slower songs.
Hannah's in Barcelona, been traveling with one of her friends since we left her in London. She sent a text the other day saying they'd been to hear a gypsy flamenco band on a mountain overlooking the ocean, and that the organizer tried to get her to sing an Italian song with the band. I'm guessing what they had in mind was "Tu vuo fa' l'americano."
Here's a version by Sara French and her Quintette. Another fine bunch of unassuming young folks with nice faces. We were lucky to hear them playing on a small stage Friday in Samois centre ville. She stopped by to chat, was as friendly as she could be, told us this one was filmed on her small island off Italian coast:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgIxNLJ60yQ
Here they are a few years ago at the Django fest:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihGoG6_GJmw
lateday, you are kind.
You, too, TDudette. I'm very small-time, do it for love and fun mostly. I don't have a website, keep forgetting to take photos before I send things out, then there's the digital leap to online that stumps me.
I hope to live long enough to retire, then get good, then have a website etc. (I read a short story one time where the protagonist thought that having an idea for a play or novel was as good as money in the bank. That's me with what I might paint someday.)
I did post a few on this website a few years back:
http://anyportinastorm.proboards.com...portraits-mine
I did finish H's senior portrait. That one's her sister.
I like the slower songs.
Hannah's in Barcelona, been traveling with one of her friends since we left her in London. She sent a text the other day saying they'd been to hear a gypsy flamenco band on a mountain overlooking the ocean, and that the organizer tried to get her to sing an Italian song with the band. I'm guessing what they had in mind was "Tu vuo fa' l'americano."
Here's a version by Sara French and her Quintette. Another fine bunch of unassuming young folks with nice faces. We were lucky to hear them playing on a small stage Friday in Samois centre ville. She stopped by to chat, was as friendly as she could be, told us this one was filmed on her small island off Italian coast:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgIxNLJ60yQ
Here they are a few years ago at the Django fest:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihGoG6_GJmw
lateday, you are kind.
You, too, TDudette. I'm very small-time, do it for love and fun mostly. I don't have a website, keep forgetting to take photos before I send things out, then there's the digital leap to online that stumps me.
I hope to live long enough to retire, then get good, then have a website etc. (I read a short story one time where the protagonist thought that having an idea for a play or novel was as good as money in the bank. That's me with what I might paint someday.)
I did post a few on this website a few years back:
http://anyportinastorm.proboards.com...portraits-mine
I did finish H's senior portrait. That one's her sister.
Jul 31st, 2015, 08:11 PM
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Awesome report Stokebailey. I've enjoyed everything I've read. What a fun and funny and interesting and informative read you've given us. You capture the essence of everyday Paris in unique ways like so few can (Kovsie is another), which makes it charming and nostalgic for the things we recognize, and bucket-list additions for the things we don't.
Wonderful writing style and sense of humour too (those tango averse flat shoes) - aussi tres charmante if I may say. And your details on the gypsy jazz and Django fest was appreciated by these eyes and ears. I'm a fan of his music.
Thanks again and I look forward to more.
BTW, when I was last in Paris 3 years ago, I made myself a spur-of-the-moment project of photographing and recording (tiny sound clips) Paris street musicians wherever I encountered them. Accordionists by the Seine, 4 and 5 piece jazz 'bands' on the street, subway drummers, singers of all genres everywhere, pianists and organ grinders under bridges.. it was one of my most rewarding things I've done, and still provides me with fond musical and visual memories of a Paris I'll never forget. Two photos were lucky to win me small awards in competitions, and one was purchased for a travel brochure quite by chance. Music truly reaches into our soul in many ways.
Wonderful writing style and sense of humour too (those tango averse flat shoes) - aussi tres charmante if I may say. And your details on the gypsy jazz and Django fest was appreciated by these eyes and ears. I'm a fan of his music.
Thanks again and I look forward to more.
BTW, when I was last in Paris 3 years ago, I made myself a spur-of-the-moment project of photographing and recording (tiny sound clips) Paris street musicians wherever I encountered them. Accordionists by the Seine, 4 and 5 piece jazz 'bands' on the street, subway drummers, singers of all genres everywhere, pianists and organ grinders under bridges.. it was one of my most rewarding things I've done, and still provides me with fond musical and visual memories of a Paris I'll never forget. Two photos were lucky to win me small awards in competitions, and one was purchased for a travel brochure quite by chance. Music truly reaches into our soul in many ways.
Aug 4th, 2015, 06:57 PM
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Aw, thank you, Matheiu! I'd love to see and hear your Paris project.
Hi, Ann. Thanks. My girls know who I mean when I mention annhig.
I'd thought we might rent a car for a day or two during our Fontainebleau stay, but we got along just fine without one. Parking might have been problematic near our house, though apparently it can be done. The festival provides an hourly free shuttle each evening from the chateau and the Avon railroad station, and it drops you off right by the island. There is parking in fields up the road past the Roma encampment.
Bob, and often Hannah and I, rode our bikes there every day. If you study the tourism office map, you can find a bike route sometimes marked Douce Liaison-- love that name -- to the Seine. Skirting the chateau proper, you ride through the parkland along the Long Water and onto bike paths on the other side. Resist any impulse to go uphill. You'll ride under a train viaduct that looks Ancient Roman, and on a packed dirt path through part of Fontainebleau Forest, behind the Aldi's and other businesses glimpsed through the trees. Then there you are, having missed the big traffic-filled hill.
When I had told our host that we might ride bikes to Moret-sur-Loing, she did that French thing where they puff air through their lips while widening the eyes. The nice young man at the tourism office one morning clearly thought it could not be done, and the non-bike-riding lady at the bike shop said we'd have to share the road with cars going 95 km/hr on the D606.
FMT to the rescue. He'd done it not all that long before, and helped us figure out how to take the D137 and D302. Quiet two-lane blacktops through the Forest, with the occasional respectful car. You go through Veneux-les-Sablons near the train station, then it's downhill to Moret.
We parked our bikes by the western portal and then wandered the medieval town, one of the Plus Beaux Villages de France, I seem to recall, or certainly should be. Look at the thread Kerouac posted in kovsie's current Paris thread for a lovely photo essay. We peeked into the church, admired the soaring grandeur and the organ loft, and I lit a couple of candles. Looking for a lunch spot, we crossed the eastern portal and over the incredibly picturesque bridge, then walked down along the Loing and admired the swans. Oh, I can't even say how beautiful it is there; look for Kerouac's photos.
We were lucky to eat at La Poterne, which is more than a creperie and overlooks the river next to the old porte. Our charming server gave us the last non-reserved table and good-humoredly helped us remember how to ask for a carafe d'eau. Since the roof was being repaired and opaque sheets of plastic covered the view, I'd like to go back someday when we can sit overlooking the river.
Hi, Ann. Thanks. My girls know who I mean when I mention annhig.
I'd thought we might rent a car for a day or two during our Fontainebleau stay, but we got along just fine without one. Parking might have been problematic near our house, though apparently it can be done. The festival provides an hourly free shuttle each evening from the chateau and the Avon railroad station, and it drops you off right by the island. There is parking in fields up the road past the Roma encampment.
Bob, and often Hannah and I, rode our bikes there every day. If you study the tourism office map, you can find a bike route sometimes marked Douce Liaison-- love that name -- to the Seine. Skirting the chateau proper, you ride through the parkland along the Long Water and onto bike paths on the other side. Resist any impulse to go uphill. You'll ride under a train viaduct that looks Ancient Roman, and on a packed dirt path through part of Fontainebleau Forest, behind the Aldi's and other businesses glimpsed through the trees. Then there you are, having missed the big traffic-filled hill.
When I had told our host that we might ride bikes to Moret-sur-Loing, she did that French thing where they puff air through their lips while widening the eyes. The nice young man at the tourism office one morning clearly thought it could not be done, and the non-bike-riding lady at the bike shop said we'd have to share the road with cars going 95 km/hr on the D606.
FMT to the rescue. He'd done it not all that long before, and helped us figure out how to take the D137 and D302. Quiet two-lane blacktops through the Forest, with the occasional respectful car. You go through Veneux-les-Sablons near the train station, then it's downhill to Moret.
We parked our bikes by the western portal and then wandered the medieval town, one of the Plus Beaux Villages de France, I seem to recall, or certainly should be. Look at the thread Kerouac posted in kovsie's current Paris thread for a lovely photo essay. We peeked into the church, admired the soaring grandeur and the organ loft, and I lit a couple of candles. Looking for a lunch spot, we crossed the eastern portal and over the incredibly picturesque bridge, then walked down along the Loing and admired the swans. Oh, I can't even say how beautiful it is there; look for Kerouac's photos.
We were lucky to eat at La Poterne, which is more than a creperie and overlooks the river next to the old porte. Our charming server gave us the last non-reserved table and good-humoredly helped us remember how to ask for a carafe d'eau. Since the roof was being repaired and opaque sheets of plastic covered the view, I'd like to go back someday when we can sit overlooking the river.
Aug 6th, 2015, 08:29 PM
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The morning we left, I went to unlock my bike from the passage bike rack to return it, and found that the sturdy cable was half cut through. It seems my LaPierre was someone else's dream bike also. The bike shop lady told me that was Normal! and You never leave a bike outside overnight in France! This would have been more helpful information at the beginning rather than the end of our rental period, since we could have fit all three bikes into the kitchen easily at night. I was prepared to pay for the hefty bike lock and cable, butI don't think they added that to the charge. All in all, they treated us fairly there. I don't think she'd have been receptive to my Moret route information that morning, though.
The atmosphere in Fontainebleau suited me just fine. I'm happy to report that the bike returning was the closest I came to being scolded that entire week; either I was behaving better or the ville impériale locals are less imperious than some of my Parisians.
I liked having my choice of three excellent bakeries within three or four blocks, and a chain bakery that sells gelato just around the corner. I think my favorite was the one on rd Guérin near rd Bouchers, but I also like the one behind where they're building the new parking garage and marketplace behind the church, and F Cassel on Rue Grande at rdl Cloche, where they make pain chocolat aux pistaches that will make you want to go back the next day and get another one.
The atmosphere in Fontainebleau suited me just fine. I'm happy to report that the bike returning was the closest I came to being scolded that entire week; either I was behaving better or the ville impériale locals are less imperious than some of my Parisians.
I liked having my choice of three excellent bakeries within three or four blocks, and a chain bakery that sells gelato just around the corner. I think my favorite was the one on rd Guérin near rd Bouchers, but I also like the one behind where they're building the new parking garage and marketplace behind the church, and F Cassel on Rue Grande at rdl Cloche, where they make pain chocolat aux pistaches that will make you want to go back the next day and get another one.
Aug 7th, 2015, 03:02 PM
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Thanks, kovsie!
Bear in mind that my bakery favorites are based on how the counter women treated me, not on any gourmet expertise of my own. One afternoon I walked a few steps to the Fournil de Fontainebleau bakery on Rue Grande a few steps from our front door just to grab a roll for Bob, and the staff there seemed tourist-weary. The counter woman on Rue des Pins, on the other hand, gave the impression she was tickled to be dealing with an actual foreigner.
H and I went a few times to the large open air Marché St-Louis, open Tuesday, Friday and Sunday and temporarily located near the tourism office. The selection included oriental rugs, shoes, underwear, mattresses, and all sorts of food. H found a cute sundress in the 3€ bins.
It was cherry season when we arrived in France, so the price/kilogram became my marché index from the pricey organic ones at Marché des Rouges Enfants our first day in Paris. Average price 6-7€/kg. I bought lots of them, and they were all good. One booth at Marché St-Louis had them for 3.50€/kg, so we started asking the crusty vendeuse for a various kinds of fruit, a kilo of this and a demi-kilo of that. The request for a demi-kg of bananas was her last straw. Since at home I'm used to picking out my own produce and paying by the pound, and since I'm not that crazy about bananas ever, I didn't realize that a demi-kilo would be just two of the silly things until she limped angrily to the other end of her booth and back, grumbling the whole way. Since it was probably justified grumbling due to our lack of savoir-faire, and she probably had sore feet, and since she reminded me of a long-departed café owner in my home town still renowned for her ill temper and pink lemonades, I do not include her in my list of French Persons Who Have Scolded Me. Also I watched her later being grumpy with a regular customer.
Random favorite interactions with Fontainebleau locals:
The day H and I figured out the easy bike route to Fontainebleau was very warm, so when we got past the Forest part and by the main road we stopped at a little bar, Rendez-vous des Pecheurs, for something refreshing. We sat the their little outdoor terrace and watched emergency crews deal with an auto wreck out front. The proprietor and an old guy chatted with me about the accident (driver talking on mobile phone), how it was too hot to ride bikes, and other pleasantries. As H and I started to mount up and ride away, the old guy called out, "Bon courage!" The darling.
When we told our server at the little kebab joint at the end of Ruelle St-Claude that we were from the US, he said, "Texas?" I was sorry we had to deny it. Bob went back there at least three times that week, being a sucker for plates overflowing with hot fries.
One afternoon H and I sat in a Château courtyard sketching. Not in the Cour des Adieux with its sweeping staircase, but the one past that through the archway. As we sat on a bench for 45 min or so, I observed the gelato cart man being very patient with various Anglophone customers. After his cigarette break leaning against the wall near us, I complimented him on his polite manner with the Francais-ignorant. We got into a conversation about how difficult both languages are, and he told us he'd never studied English in school, had come up from the south of France two months previously, and was dreading the winter weather already. As we talked, a man approached with his family and called out Hello! HELLO!! as he got nearer, wanting instant undivided attention by the time he bellied up. Our gelato friend remained courteous, then when I rolled my eyes afterwards he mimed cringing subserviently, saying "Please don't hit me!" He showed us photos of his dark-eyed little daughter.
Bear in mind that my bakery favorites are based on how the counter women treated me, not on any gourmet expertise of my own. One afternoon I walked a few steps to the Fournil de Fontainebleau bakery on Rue Grande a few steps from our front door just to grab a roll for Bob, and the staff there seemed tourist-weary. The counter woman on Rue des Pins, on the other hand, gave the impression she was tickled to be dealing with an actual foreigner.
H and I went a few times to the large open air Marché St-Louis, open Tuesday, Friday and Sunday and temporarily located near the tourism office. The selection included oriental rugs, shoes, underwear, mattresses, and all sorts of food. H found a cute sundress in the 3€ bins.
It was cherry season when we arrived in France, so the price/kilogram became my marché index from the pricey organic ones at Marché des Rouges Enfants our first day in Paris. Average price 6-7€/kg. I bought lots of them, and they were all good. One booth at Marché St-Louis had them for 3.50€/kg, so we started asking the crusty vendeuse for a various kinds of fruit, a kilo of this and a demi-kilo of that. The request for a demi-kg of bananas was her last straw. Since at home I'm used to picking out my own produce and paying by the pound, and since I'm not that crazy about bananas ever, I didn't realize that a demi-kilo would be just two of the silly things until she limped angrily to the other end of her booth and back, grumbling the whole way. Since it was probably justified grumbling due to our lack of savoir-faire, and she probably had sore feet, and since she reminded me of a long-departed café owner in my home town still renowned for her ill temper and pink lemonades, I do not include her in my list of French Persons Who Have Scolded Me. Also I watched her later being grumpy with a regular customer.
Random favorite interactions with Fontainebleau locals:
The day H and I figured out the easy bike route to Fontainebleau was very warm, so when we got past the Forest part and by the main road we stopped at a little bar, Rendez-vous des Pecheurs, for something refreshing. We sat the their little outdoor terrace and watched emergency crews deal with an auto wreck out front. The proprietor and an old guy chatted with me about the accident (driver talking on mobile phone), how it was too hot to ride bikes, and other pleasantries. As H and I started to mount up and ride away, the old guy called out, "Bon courage!" The darling.
When we told our server at the little kebab joint at the end of Ruelle St-Claude that we were from the US, he said, "Texas?" I was sorry we had to deny it. Bob went back there at least three times that week, being a sucker for plates overflowing with hot fries.
One afternoon H and I sat in a Château courtyard sketching. Not in the Cour des Adieux with its sweeping staircase, but the one past that through the archway. As we sat on a bench for 45 min or so, I observed the gelato cart man being very patient with various Anglophone customers. After his cigarette break leaning against the wall near us, I complimented him on his polite manner with the Francais-ignorant. We got into a conversation about how difficult both languages are, and he told us he'd never studied English in school, had come up from the south of France two months previously, and was dreading the winter weather already. As we talked, a man approached with his family and called out Hello! HELLO!! as he got nearer, wanting instant undivided attention by the time he bellied up. Our gelato friend remained courteous, then when I rolled my eyes afterwards he mimed cringing subserviently, saying "Please don't hit me!" He showed us photos of his dark-eyed little daughter.
Aug 7th, 2015, 04:16 PM
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Hi Stokebailey… Yet again, I am fascinated by your unique vision of Paris. Your report is beautifully and freshly written. I feel sympatico with so many of the places you enjoyed, the musee Branly, the quartier of Place des Vosges, Canal St.Martin, Menilmontent, marche Richard Lenoir…well…all that you mentioned.
I’m sorry about your ‘rheum’, but you handled it well.
Your music comments are great and thank you for the youtube sites. I’m not very knowledgeable about music and appreciate this. Your words give a wonderful image of Hannah dancing alongside the Seine, ' looking like a million bucks'! On one trip I saw the fabulous tango dancers on the Seine and loved it! Another place great for music for me was Aux Trois Mailletz on rue St. Jacques, the ‘after 11 pm performances’ in the stone cellar, http://www.lestroismailletz.fr/
>>>I love politesse as a concept and in action and how the French value it.<<<
Me too.
>>>Je suis desolee<<< I also love this, in sound and intent
.
Your description of Fountainbleau and Barbizon make me want to go there.
Your artwork…As I read through, every now and then you mentioned sketching (while the healthy ones did something else!) and I wanted to see your sketches. This would be an extremely personal and unique sense of Paris, far more so than digital photographs. Your work is great and thanks for posting the thread from APIAS, I’ve spent hours in the past trying to find it. Why wait until you retire to have a website with your paintings?
I love your trip thoughts and look forward to more,
Jazz
I’m sorry about your ‘rheum’, but you handled it well.
Your music comments are great and thank you for the youtube sites. I’m not very knowledgeable about music and appreciate this. Your words give a wonderful image of Hannah dancing alongside the Seine, ' looking like a million bucks'! On one trip I saw the fabulous tango dancers on the Seine and loved it! Another place great for music for me was Aux Trois Mailletz on rue St. Jacques, the ‘after 11 pm performances’ in the stone cellar, http://www.lestroismailletz.fr/
>>>I love politesse as a concept and in action and how the French value it.<<<
Me too.
>>>Je suis desolee<<< I also love this, in sound and intent
.
Your description of Fountainbleau and Barbizon make me want to go there.
Your artwork…As I read through, every now and then you mentioned sketching (while the healthy ones did something else!) and I wanted to see your sketches. This would be an extremely personal and unique sense of Paris, far more so than digital photographs. Your work is great and thanks for posting the thread from APIAS, I’ve spent hours in the past trying to find it. Why wait until you retire to have a website with your paintings?
I love your trip thoughts and look forward to more,
Jazz
Aug 7th, 2015, 07:25 PM
#56
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Hi, Jazz, and thank you dear. We'll have to meet up one of these days.
I had another chance to be impressed by French pharmacists, and I wish I'd had the nerve to ask how long their course of training is. One evening we were a little bothered by Samois mosquitoes, so I went to the pharmacy around the corner the next day, and primed by my language app asked for insectifuge. The bright young pharmacist politely continued the conversation in French asked if it was for the body? for an adult? Did I wish for advice? Well, of course I did. He fixed me up with just the thing. This would not happen at my local Walgreen's, in French or any other language.
It was fun being in Fontainebleau the day before the festival started, and then stay two days afterwards, to watch the town start buzzing with interesting looking music lovers and musicians from all around the world, many of them with guitars on their backs or instrument cases in their hands, then slowly quiet down again. First class people-watching.
There was a cute young Japanese couple who wore their black festival logo t-shirts every day. We saw them in line for the shuttle bus, around town, at the market sticking close together. Monday after the festival ended I took a city bus to the Avon train station, thinking I'd get on whichever train was next, either north- or southbound, while Bob and H rode to Barbizon. It was the Ile-de-France ticket agent's lunch break and so a long line for the ticket machine, and they were behind me starting to look anxious at the time grew near for the 1220 Paris train. I let them and a group of British students ahead of me, and was glad to see that they all -- barely -- made their train.
A couple from Holland and Bob ended up running into each other a lot, and on the first day of the festival misreading the shuttle schedule and missing the last bus back to town. They shared a cab, 16€ for all of them. Saturday evening Hannah and I sat next to a young Spanish man during the mainstage performance, struck up a conversation and then hug around with him the next two evenings. He's a geneticist living in Paris now. Living as we do in a relative backwater, Bob had a great time meeting all the fellow manouche fans from all over, spending time at the campgrounds, sitting to play in a little, and being inspired.
Speaking of Cour des Adieux:
I've finished Roberts' Napoleon bio. Really well done. I hadn't known if I wanted to commit to all 800 pages, but as a jacket blurb said, it was gripping. It makes you care, and you could tell that the author did, about one of the most fascinating people ever. I'd like to go back to Fontainebleau and cross that court where Napoleon said goodbye to his troops before Elba.
The Hotel Napoleon, across Rue Grande from the Château, seems like a comfortable 3* place. Every day they changed a sign in their foyer that told where Napoleon had been 200 years ago that date. June 27, Malmaison. Another day Vendome and a couple of others Paris. Saying goodbye. On June 18 it would have said: "Napoleon was at Waterloo."
I had another chance to be impressed by French pharmacists, and I wish I'd had the nerve to ask how long their course of training is. One evening we were a little bothered by Samois mosquitoes, so I went to the pharmacy around the corner the next day, and primed by my language app asked for insectifuge. The bright young pharmacist politely continued the conversation in French asked if it was for the body? for an adult? Did I wish for advice? Well, of course I did. He fixed me up with just the thing. This would not happen at my local Walgreen's, in French or any other language.
It was fun being in Fontainebleau the day before the festival started, and then stay two days afterwards, to watch the town start buzzing with interesting looking music lovers and musicians from all around the world, many of them with guitars on their backs or instrument cases in their hands, then slowly quiet down again. First class people-watching.
There was a cute young Japanese couple who wore their black festival logo t-shirts every day. We saw them in line for the shuttle bus, around town, at the market sticking close together. Monday after the festival ended I took a city bus to the Avon train station, thinking I'd get on whichever train was next, either north- or southbound, while Bob and H rode to Barbizon. It was the Ile-de-France ticket agent's lunch break and so a long line for the ticket machine, and they were behind me starting to look anxious at the time grew near for the 1220 Paris train. I let them and a group of British students ahead of me, and was glad to see that they all -- barely -- made their train.
A couple from Holland and Bob ended up running into each other a lot, and on the first day of the festival misreading the shuttle schedule and missing the last bus back to town. They shared a cab, 16€ for all of them. Saturday evening Hannah and I sat next to a young Spanish man during the mainstage performance, struck up a conversation and then hug around with him the next two evenings. He's a geneticist living in Paris now. Living as we do in a relative backwater, Bob had a great time meeting all the fellow manouche fans from all over, spending time at the campgrounds, sitting to play in a little, and being inspired.
Speaking of Cour des Adieux:
I've finished Roberts' Napoleon bio. Really well done. I hadn't known if I wanted to commit to all 800 pages, but as a jacket blurb said, it was gripping. It makes you care, and you could tell that the author did, about one of the most fascinating people ever. I'd like to go back to Fontainebleau and cross that court where Napoleon said goodbye to his troops before Elba.
The Hotel Napoleon, across Rue Grande from the Château, seems like a comfortable 3* place. Every day they changed a sign in their foyer that told where Napoleon had been 200 years ago that date. June 27, Malmaison. Another day Vendome and a couple of others Paris. Saying goodbye. On June 18 it would have said: "Napoleon was at Waterloo."
Aug 11th, 2015, 08:18 PM
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H and I rode our bikes to Samois Sunday morning to attend the Django memorial mass at the old church near the center of town. We parked down by the river then walked up the steep hill past Django's last house and various other charming small town homes abutting the street, hollyhocks in bloom everywhere, roses, windowboxes. To the right halfway up is an old roofed lavoir. That morning three young men sat inside playing guitar, fresh and soulful.
It's a fine old church, quite old, and was almost full. We slipped into a pew by the back side aisle where I had to peek around a column to see the priest's face. He had a lovely voice, and enunciated so well that I could understand most of what he said. (Aided by having been in France then for 12 days.) Wonderful musicians, likely augmented by the occasion, and stirring gospel type hymns.
The sermon seemed to echo the Festival's undercurrent theme of (American, mostly, I got the impression) racial injustice, mentioning incidents in the movie Django. We all have a long way to go in that regard, possibly.
We slipped out after communion and up to the central square where there was supposed to be one more concert by an American big band and their chanteuse. I snagged a couple of seats in the shade in front of the bakery while H brought espresso in a china cup from across the street then stood in line at the bakery and got us a snack. It was noon on a hot day, so we were glad for the shade. The cafes around the square were full and the centre ville bustling.
We enjoyed the big band sound for a few tunes, but I was impatient to hear the chantoosey. Halfway through her first song, though, I began to suspect that she was someone's wife or girlfriend. Singing "Over the Rainbow" in public should be attempted by only a handful of mortals. It's like the Hamlet of songs.
It's a fine old church, quite old, and was almost full. We slipped into a pew by the back side aisle where I had to peek around a column to see the priest's face. He had a lovely voice, and enunciated so well that I could understand most of what he said. (Aided by having been in France then for 12 days.) Wonderful musicians, likely augmented by the occasion, and stirring gospel type hymns.
The sermon seemed to echo the Festival's undercurrent theme of (American, mostly, I got the impression) racial injustice, mentioning incidents in the movie Django. We all have a long way to go in that regard, possibly.
We slipped out after communion and up to the central square where there was supposed to be one more concert by an American big band and their chanteuse. I snagged a couple of seats in the shade in front of the bakery while H brought espresso in a china cup from across the street then stood in line at the bakery and got us a snack. It was noon on a hot day, so we were glad for the shade. The cafes around the square were full and the centre ville bustling.
We enjoyed the big band sound for a few tunes, but I was impatient to hear the chantoosey. Halfway through her first song, though, I began to suspect that she was someone's wife or girlfriend. Singing "Over the Rainbow" in public should be attempted by only a handful of mortals. It's like the Hamlet of songs.
Aug 12th, 2015, 05:47 PM
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"...and since she reminded me of a long-departed café owner in my home town still renowned for her ill temper and pink lemonades, I do not include her in my list of French Persons Who Have Scolded Me. "
"Singing "Over the Rainbow" in public should be attempted by only a handful of mortals. It's like the Hamlet of songs."
lol ! Stokebailey, once again, I love your style and your way with words, and am loving your report more and more with every chapter.
Genial !
"Singing "Over the Rainbow" in public should be attempted by only a handful of mortals. It's like the Hamlet of songs."
lol ! Stokebailey, once again, I love your style and your way with words, and am loving your report more and more with every chapter.
Genial !
Aug 14th, 2015, 08:15 AM
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You are too kind, Mathieu.
A week in Fontainebleau might have been too sedate for H if no Django festival. There's some cultural activity, not even counting Friday's Karaoke Night at La Taverne across the passage from our apartment. It sounded like fun through the bedroom windows, or annoying if you're Bob of the sensitive ears. There's Paris, of course, just 8€ and 45 min up the RER, but the last trains run not much past midnight.
I enjoyed the slower pace in Fontainebleau. Moret-sur-Loing would be too difficult for the festival unless you had a car, probably, or could manage the bike ride, but I'd love to spend a week or so there sometime. It seems to have the right combination of commerce, quiet picturesque beauty, and nearby countryside for biking.
We used our kitchen a lot and had a few nice lunches by checking out the various plats du jour on blackboards. There is probably fine dining in Fontainebleau, but we didn't make the time for it.
If you do go to the festival and plan to use the shuttle bus, make sure to confirm the time of the last one back to town and the Avon station. It leaves while the last act is still in full swing, to get people to the last Paris train. We grew fond of the driver, but on the Saturday night he pulled away 10 minutes ahead of schedule as we watched Bob alarmedly push his way through the crowds and run alongside the bus. He said that when he knocked on the bus door that the driver gave him a helpless Gallic shrug and kept driving. I knew Bob could hitchhike, but did not trust him to have on him either taxicab money or a credit card. It turned out that the blonde running alongside him was a Swedish businesswoman who knew how to complain to the right people; while she ended up missing the last train back to Paris, Bob got a van ride back to Fontainebleau with one of the bands. I hope they paid for a taxi for her.
Shuttle bus is still the way to go. The festival does have a large parking lot downriver past the Roma trailer encampment. Yachts might be another way to go if you can swing it: there were several luxurious ones docked along the quai.
BACK TO PARIS
A couple of Paris things I forgot to mention:
One morning I decided to look for a hammam or Turkish bath while Bob and H went to a museum. Steam sounded therapeutic, but walking still didn't. I was glad to wander on my own, too, and let the others have father-daughter time. This was early in the week when we hadn't gotten our internet act together, so I decided to wing it and go by memory to the Mosquée. Somehow I mixed it with the Institut du Monde Arabe, an easy walk from our apartment. Though I knew the architecture didn't look right, I embarrassed myself by approaching the ticket counter and asking about hammams. The attractive young counter woman looked perplexed, and then comprehension dawned.
It wasn't too far to the Mosque. On the way there I stepped into the Jardin des Plantes, the corner near Rue Linné. Lush greenery felt cool and welcome on that almost-drizzling day, with a background of unfamiliar bird songs. Another time I'll explore the gardens.
I sat on a bench and drank it in, then noticed a booklet left behind on the bench. It was a student's school record that looked current and important, with signatures and official looking entries, and it was going to rain soon. The boy's father had a Paris phone number listed, and the mother's was London. I called the father and offered to drop it somewhere. He was grateful, said it was essential for his son, arranged to meet near the Place des Vosges that evening. I sat for a few more minutes, and was getting up to leave when a young teenager approached from the street and asked for the booklet. He was very polite, but I got the impression his father had called and that I had exposed the boy's carelessness. He walked away talking earnestly on his mobile phone.
The Mosque is huge, with a towering square minaret. I entered through an arched doorway on the northwest side, where past the lobby you see a garden courtyard with central fountain framed by white marble tracery arches. I am ignorant of Islam, and was not at the peak of my energy, so when I looked around and saw only men in the lobby it made me feel timid. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be there on that day, or it was a sacred men's time? There was an attendant, but he was already speaking with two men. I looked around and noticed a women's toilettes down some stairs to the right, so down I popped thinking this could maybe give me a clue to the hammam possibility. I found stalls of the usual kind, but for a first in my sheltered life the kind with places to put your feet, a hole in the floor between them. Looking for a sink then, I found only square footbaths, nothing for obvious hand washing so I supposed one does both at once. I emerged feeling I had done my cultural exploration for the morning, and got a bus back to Sully-Morland. I never did get to a hammam. Later I learned that the Mosque offers them to women twice a week, and that I had missed the days for the baths in the Marais also. Fontainebleau has a hammam a half mile up Rue Grande from our house, but I didn't do that, either. Next time.
A week in Fontainebleau might have been too sedate for H if no Django festival. There's some cultural activity, not even counting Friday's Karaoke Night at La Taverne across the passage from our apartment. It sounded like fun through the bedroom windows, or annoying if you're Bob of the sensitive ears. There's Paris, of course, just 8€ and 45 min up the RER, but the last trains run not much past midnight.
I enjoyed the slower pace in Fontainebleau. Moret-sur-Loing would be too difficult for the festival unless you had a car, probably, or could manage the bike ride, but I'd love to spend a week or so there sometime. It seems to have the right combination of commerce, quiet picturesque beauty, and nearby countryside for biking.
We used our kitchen a lot and had a few nice lunches by checking out the various plats du jour on blackboards. There is probably fine dining in Fontainebleau, but we didn't make the time for it.
If you do go to the festival and plan to use the shuttle bus, make sure to confirm the time of the last one back to town and the Avon station. It leaves while the last act is still in full swing, to get people to the last Paris train. We grew fond of the driver, but on the Saturday night he pulled away 10 minutes ahead of schedule as we watched Bob alarmedly push his way through the crowds and run alongside the bus. He said that when he knocked on the bus door that the driver gave him a helpless Gallic shrug and kept driving. I knew Bob could hitchhike, but did not trust him to have on him either taxicab money or a credit card. It turned out that the blonde running alongside him was a Swedish businesswoman who knew how to complain to the right people; while she ended up missing the last train back to Paris, Bob got a van ride back to Fontainebleau with one of the bands. I hope they paid for a taxi for her.
Shuttle bus is still the way to go. The festival does have a large parking lot downriver past the Roma trailer encampment. Yachts might be another way to go if you can swing it: there were several luxurious ones docked along the quai.
BACK TO PARIS
A couple of Paris things I forgot to mention:
One morning I decided to look for a hammam or Turkish bath while Bob and H went to a museum. Steam sounded therapeutic, but walking still didn't. I was glad to wander on my own, too, and let the others have father-daughter time. This was early in the week when we hadn't gotten our internet act together, so I decided to wing it and go by memory to the Mosquée. Somehow I mixed it with the Institut du Monde Arabe, an easy walk from our apartment. Though I knew the architecture didn't look right, I embarrassed myself by approaching the ticket counter and asking about hammams. The attractive young counter woman looked perplexed, and then comprehension dawned.
It wasn't too far to the Mosque. On the way there I stepped into the Jardin des Plantes, the corner near Rue Linné. Lush greenery felt cool and welcome on that almost-drizzling day, with a background of unfamiliar bird songs. Another time I'll explore the gardens.
I sat on a bench and drank it in, then noticed a booklet left behind on the bench. It was a student's school record that looked current and important, with signatures and official looking entries, and it was going to rain soon. The boy's father had a Paris phone number listed, and the mother's was London. I called the father and offered to drop it somewhere. He was grateful, said it was essential for his son, arranged to meet near the Place des Vosges that evening. I sat for a few more minutes, and was getting up to leave when a young teenager approached from the street and asked for the booklet. He was very polite, but I got the impression his father had called and that I had exposed the boy's carelessness. He walked away talking earnestly on his mobile phone.
The Mosque is huge, with a towering square minaret. I entered through an arched doorway on the northwest side, where past the lobby you see a garden courtyard with central fountain framed by white marble tracery arches. I am ignorant of Islam, and was not at the peak of my energy, so when I looked around and saw only men in the lobby it made me feel timid. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be there on that day, or it was a sacred men's time? There was an attendant, but he was already speaking with two men. I looked around and noticed a women's toilettes down some stairs to the right, so down I popped thinking this could maybe give me a clue to the hammam possibility. I found stalls of the usual kind, but for a first in my sheltered life the kind with places to put your feet, a hole in the floor between them. Looking for a sink then, I found only square footbaths, nothing for obvious hand washing so I supposed one does both at once. I emerged feeling I had done my cultural exploration for the morning, and got a bus back to Sully-Morland. I never did get to a hammam. Later I learned that the Mosque offers them to women twice a week, and that I had missed the days for the baths in the Marais also. Fontainebleau has a hammam a half mile up Rue Grande from our house, but I didn't do that, either. Next time.
