Why I love France: Nikki's trip to Normandy
Oct 21st, 2018, 02:14 PM
#23
Very much enjoying this report, and thank you for saving us seven volumes of A La Recherche du Temps Perdus. I've tried Swann's Way a few times but always fail -- for me, Russell Baker had it right when he suggested hiring a Sherpa Reader when attacking Proust.
Some years ago we were in Rouen and watched a light show projected onto the cathedral facade. It was a combination of Monet's effects on the same subject, and pure whimsy. Very enjoyable.
Looking forward to more!
Some years ago we were in Rouen and watched a light show projected onto the cathedral facade. It was a combination of Monet's effects on the same subject, and pure whimsy. Very enjoyable.
Looking forward to more!
Oct 21st, 2018, 04:21 PM
#25
Original Poster
Our first destination is the village of Illiers-Combray, a half hour from Chartres. Proust spent childhood vacations here with members of his father’s family, who lived here. He set the first volume of his novel in the fictional town of Combray, based on this town, which was named Illiers, but which changed its name to Illiers-Combray in a marketing move in 1971.
I read about forty pages of the first volume, Du côté de chez Swann, in my first semester of college, in the last French course I took, in 1969. I remember it was an intense experience and I appreciated the genius of the writing, but I stopped reading it in favor of the many other books and courses competing for my attention.
There followed about forty years in which I abandoned the reading of dense texts. I thought that part of my life was over. I went to law school, had children, read mysteries. The paperback volume of Proust from the college bookstore sat on a high shelf in my living room, along with a bunch of other stuff I always meant to get to. Right next to Ulysses.
About ten years ago, I started working on my French again. I discovered you could listen to French radio and lectures on the internet. I found lectures from the Collège de France and started following a course. I went to Paris with my friend Carol, who also understands French, and she agreed to go with me to one of the sessions of the course I had been following. This was my new favorite thing to do in Paris.
Carol left Paris and I checked the schedule at the Collège de France to see if there was anything else I could go to while I was there. There was a lecture about Proust. I figured I might as well go; if I didn’t understand much, at least it might inspire me to get that forty-year-old volume off the top shelf. I didn’t, but it did.
It took me forty years to read that first volume, and about another year for the second. I have now made it through the entire work three times, and some of the volumes four or five times.
So here we are, in the real town of Illiers, transformed into the fictional town of Combray, incorporated into the actual town of Illiers-Combray. A merger of art and reality.
There is a museum in a house which served as a model for the one in which Proust’s narrator sets his childhood memories, but the museum is closed until later this afternoon, and we can’t stay that long. But we do manage to go into the church, which is more beautiful than I had pictured it. While it is a simple village church, and yesterday we visited the cathedral at Chartres, the imaginative structure built on the foundation of this physical building and this little town soars like a cathedral in the literary landscape and in my own life.
I read about forty pages of the first volume, Du côté de chez Swann, in my first semester of college, in the last French course I took, in 1969. I remember it was an intense experience and I appreciated the genius of the writing, but I stopped reading it in favor of the many other books and courses competing for my attention.
There followed about forty years in which I abandoned the reading of dense texts. I thought that part of my life was over. I went to law school, had children, read mysteries. The paperback volume of Proust from the college bookstore sat on a high shelf in my living room, along with a bunch of other stuff I always meant to get to. Right next to Ulysses.
About ten years ago, I started working on my French again. I discovered you could listen to French radio and lectures on the internet. I found lectures from the Collège de France and started following a course. I went to Paris with my friend Carol, who also understands French, and she agreed to go with me to one of the sessions of the course I had been following. This was my new favorite thing to do in Paris.
Carol left Paris and I checked the schedule at the Collège de France to see if there was anything else I could go to while I was there. There was a lecture about Proust. I figured I might as well go; if I didn’t understand much, at least it might inspire me to get that forty-year-old volume off the top shelf. I didn’t, but it did.
It took me forty years to read that first volume, and about another year for the second. I have now made it through the entire work three times, and some of the volumes four or five times.
So here we are, in the real town of Illiers, transformed into the fictional town of Combray, incorporated into the actual town of Illiers-Combray. A merger of art and reality.
There is a museum in a house which served as a model for the one in which Proust’s narrator sets his childhood memories, but the museum is closed until later this afternoon, and we can’t stay that long. But we do manage to go into the church, which is more beautiful than I had pictured it. While it is a simple village church, and yesterday we visited the cathedral at Chartres, the imaginative structure built on the foundation of this physical building and this little town soars like a cathedral in the literary landscape and in my own life.
Last edited by Nikki; Oct 21st, 2018 at 04:26 PM.
Oct 22nd, 2018, 02:00 AM
#26
Thanks, Nikki! I was looking for a possible stop between Mont St Jean in Burgundy and our CDG airport hotel, and thanks to you, we may now make a little detour to Chartes, to see yet another magnificent French Cathedral. Great report!!
Oct 22nd, 2018, 02:32 AM
#27
I went to Illiers-Combray quite regularly during the summer over a two year period, because my grandmother was staying there in a vacation residence for retirees. I immediately understood why Proust spent his time pigging out on madeleines there, because there is really not much to do or see.
Oct 22nd, 2018, 02:57 AM
#28
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This is such an intelligent trip report! What else would I expect from such an intelligent lady? Count me among those who have made wonderful friends from this travel board. I was lucky to enjoy two lively jazz evenings and a nice lunch with Gomiki and D, and a fun L'Ami Jean lunch with the AMGCapeCods this month. I'm sorry you didn't make it to Paris this trip.
Oct 22nd, 2018, 03:55 AM
#29
Original Poster
Thanks to all for your encouragement and comments. I have not been responding as I have wanted to concentrate on writing the report, but they are alll much appreciated.
5alive, I have been puzzling over the comment about plot twists. Not sure there is one coming. But who knows?
Thibaut, I am on the edge of my seat waiting to learn the medical term in question.
Fra Diavolo, maybe I can hire myself out as a Sherpa reader now.
Kerouac, it is possible you were looking through the wrong end of the telescope.
5alive, I have been puzzling over the comment about plot twists. Not sure there is one coming. But who knows?
Thibaut, I am on the edge of my seat waiting to learn the medical term in question.
Fra Diavolo, maybe I can hire myself out as a Sherpa reader now.
Kerouac, it is possible you were looking through the wrong end of the telescope.
Oct 22nd, 2018, 04:27 AM
#31
Aha! A remembrance of A Remembrance of Things Past. My college French course that included Proust was a few years before yours. We read the whole first volume. My memory includes a half page footnote that summarized a 3 page Proustian sentence and writing a 500 word essay on it that had only two sentences, one of which was six words long.. The grader missed the joke. Too meta?
Oct 22nd, 2018, 04:45 AM
#33
Original Poster
We leave Illiers-Combray and set the GPS for the next stop I have planned, which is two hours away. I have no idea what little towns and countryside lie in our path; I have given up the need for control of the route and I am letting Google guide us. This is something I could never have imagined doing until my big conversion to GPS a few years ago. It required a kind of letting go that was new to me and alien to my former self. At the time I wondered whether it would carry over into other areas of my life. I think the jury is still out on that one.
There are small towns that appear almost empty of people and businesses, with lots of for sale notices in the windows of the real estate offices. There are beautiful farms with buildings in various states of repair or the lack of it. There are churches rising from the center of each town, and each town has its World War I monument. At many of the road intersections in the countryside we see large crucifixes that I start to think of as Christ on the crossroads.
We are amazed at the tiny roads that have route numbers. They sometimes feel more like driveways than through roads. I would stop for many more pictures if we didn’t have a destination in mind, but I do stop here and there.
In the town of Bretoncelles, I notice the interesting church and we stop for a few photos. When I return to the car, Alan has the radio on. I hear a snippet of someone talking about education. A phrase jumps out at me: “le meilleur buisson”, the best bush. I am startled. When I began high school, in 1966, the principal addressed the entering class by telling us, “If you can’t be a tree, be a bush.” We mocked him pitilessly for years. Evidently this theory of education is alive and well in France. Maybe we should have listened more and mocked less. Maybe I am still learning things.
There are small towns that appear almost empty of people and businesses, with lots of for sale notices in the windows of the real estate offices. There are beautiful farms with buildings in various states of repair or the lack of it. There are churches rising from the center of each town, and each town has its World War I monument. At many of the road intersections in the countryside we see large crucifixes that I start to think of as Christ on the crossroads.
We are amazed at the tiny roads that have route numbers. They sometimes feel more like driveways than through roads. I would stop for many more pictures if we didn’t have a destination in mind, but I do stop here and there.
In the town of Bretoncelles, I notice the interesting church and we stop for a few photos. When I return to the car, Alan has the radio on. I hear a snippet of someone talking about education. A phrase jumps out at me: “le meilleur buisson”, the best bush. I am startled. When I began high school, in 1966, the principal addressed the entering class by telling us, “If you can’t be a tree, be a bush.” We mocked him pitilessly for years. Evidently this theory of education is alive and well in France. Maybe we should have listened more and mocked less. Maybe I am still learning things.
Last edited by Nikki; Oct 22nd, 2018 at 04:53 AM.
Oct 22nd, 2018, 06:02 AM
#35
Nikki: I am enthralled by your descriptions, thoughts and, of course, those spectacular photos. Chartres is one of my favorite places in France---no, in any place I have been in the world. Thank you so much for this TR...
I am even tempted to get back to Proust...maybe
I am even tempted to get back to Proust...maybe
Oct 22nd, 2018, 09:29 AM
#39
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Nikki, I was thrilled to see that you went through Bretoncelles. Did you by any chance buy bread there? The village isn't much, but it has a bakery that produces excellent bread, our favorite of all the breads we've tried in France (and we eat bread everywhere we go). We came home with about a kilo of it and are doling it out slowly.
We met a family of Parisians who have a weekend home in that tiny town. They had asked their realtor in Paris to find them a weekend home within 2 hours of Paris, in a village with a train station, with the house in perfect condition and a walled garden they could develop. They found everything they wanted. Now that's a great realtor! They had opened their garden to the public for the weekend, which is how we met them.
Now I'm going to look at the map to guess which route you might have taken to Cabourg.
You write so well, and the fact that you went to places we've been to is an added fillip.
We met a family of Parisians who have a weekend home in that tiny town. They had asked their realtor in Paris to find them a weekend home within 2 hours of Paris, in a village with a train station, with the house in perfect condition and a walled garden they could develop. They found everything they wanted. Now that's a great realtor! They had opened their garden to the public for the weekend, which is how we met them.
Now I'm going to look at the map to guess which route you might have taken to Cabourg.
You write so well, and the fact that you went to places we've been to is an added fillip.
Oct 22nd, 2018, 09:53 AM
#40
Original Poster
AJP, there’s no such thing as too meta. We’re talking Proust here.
Bilbo, I’m afraid I didn’t explain myself clearly. No American joke about the tree and the bush. We were just little snots who thought our new principal was extolling the value of mediocrity. If you can’t do really well, just be less good. If you can’t be a tree, be a bush. I had to wait over fifty years to hear a talking head on French radio to see that he meant whatever you are, be the best version of it that you can. Le meilleur buisson. Although I don’t know whether the radio guy was expounding on the theory or criticizing it. We turned off the radio.
Coquelicot, it is amazing that you have a connection to Bretoncelles, where we happened to stop. If only we had known about the bread. We did, however, fantasize about buying a house in a French village so one could walk to the baker. We did notice the train station also, mainly by taking a wrong turn getting out of town.
The scope of the people you reach on this message board is a continual source of amazement to me, and as a result I am pretty careful what I say. Some years ago, I wrote a trip report about a road trip I took through New Mexico with my daughter. We almost ran out of gas because gas stations were so far apart, and then we went to lunch in a town that we perceived to be the middle of nowhere. I named the restaurant. Then someone here on Fodor’s said that restaurant belonged to her in-laws. You just never know who is going to read what you post.
Bilbo, I’m afraid I didn’t explain myself clearly. No American joke about the tree and the bush. We were just little snots who thought our new principal was extolling the value of mediocrity. If you can’t do really well, just be less good. If you can’t be a tree, be a bush. I had to wait over fifty years to hear a talking head on French radio to see that he meant whatever you are, be the best version of it that you can. Le meilleur buisson. Although I don’t know whether the radio guy was expounding on the theory or criticizing it. We turned off the radio.
Coquelicot, it is amazing that you have a connection to Bretoncelles, where we happened to stop. If only we had known about the bread. We did, however, fantasize about buying a house in a French village so one could walk to the baker. We did notice the train station also, mainly by taking a wrong turn getting out of town.
The scope of the people you reach on this message board is a continual source of amazement to me, and as a result I am pretty careful what I say. Some years ago, I wrote a trip report about a road trip I took through New Mexico with my daughter. We almost ran out of gas because gas stations were so far apart, and then we went to lunch in a town that we perceived to be the middle of nowhere. I named the restaurant. Then someone here on Fodor’s said that restaurant belonged to her in-laws. You just never know who is going to read what you post.
