Why I love France: Nikki's trip to Normandy
Oct 27th, 2018, 12:20 PM
#81
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I was not alone at Giverny, although I am sure the crowds are much greater in the summer. But the gardens have been designed in such a way that the spectators are on walkways that give viewpoints over gardens that have paths closed to the public so that the views of the gardens are free of people.
Oct 27th, 2018, 12:22 PM
#82
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After touring the garden, I text Alan to see how he is doing. The answer is “Ugh.” I ask whether he is all right alone at the B&B and he says yes, but he asks if I can fill the car with gas for our trip to the airport tomorrow. I say I will come back before I do that so I can ask the host where the gas station is.
I walk through Monet’s house quickly. The ground floor houses his studio, a dining room, and a beautiful tiled kitchen lined with copper pots.
Down the street from Monet’s house is the Impressionist Museum. Outside the museum there is a series of garden “rooms” and I sit on a bench here on the way back to the B&B. The garden in which I sit is comprised of all white flowers, and a beautiful young Asian woman dressed in white is posing for photos. I admire the composition and think of making a comment. A man who appears to be part of her small group comes up to me and tells me in English that his friend wants him to take a picture of me sitting with the friend. The friend, a man in his forties or so, is smiling beside him. I am somewhat dumbfounded, and I ask why. The photographer has no answer, but I say okay and the friend sits next to me for a photo. I ask where they are from and am told Vietnam. Then a third man from the group comes over and he wants a picture with me too. He sits down and grabs my hand and pulls it toward him. I am taken a bit aback but I smile for this photo also.
After he stands up, this last guy asks me if I have ever been to Hanoi. No, I have never been to Vietnam. He tells me he hopes some day I will come to Hanoi. I thank him and say maybe some day I will.
Does this happen to other people?
Pondering the oddness of this encounter, I head back to Les Arceaux and meet the host on the lawn. I tell him Alan is ill and I need to get gas for the car but I don’t know where to go. He says the nearest station is in the town of Vernon and asks if I would like him to come along. I ask if he can also show me where I can buy some chicken bouillon for Alan, who has requested it. His wife offers to come along and run into the grocery store while we are getting gas.
I am very grateful for their assistance and when I thank them I get the marvelous response, “c’est normal”. This is what the French say when it isn’t normal at all. We drive into town and accomplish all these errands and when we return to Les Arceaux they prepare a large pot of chicken bouillon and bring it to us in a lovely carafe.
Alan meanwhile is feeling terrible. I am wondering whether we should change our flight; if he is feeling this bad tomorrow, it will not be possible for him to fly home. He calls his doctor back in Massachusetts, who makes some suggestions for medicine, and we ask our hosts whether we can get some at a local pharmacy. They make the calls for us and learn we would need a prescription, and that in order to get one, Alan would have to go to the emergency room. Alan decides not to do this and tells me not to change our flight. He will wait to see how he feels in the morning.
The good news is that in the morning Alan feels much better and believes he will be able to drive to the airport and to fly home. We are served the wonderful breakfast, although Alan does not really participate in it. I pay for our stay in cash since they do not accept credit cards here, we thank our hosts profusely for all their kindness, and we head out to the airport.
We find our way easily to the airport, return the rental car, and make our way through security and to the gate. I go to the duty free shop for chocolate and foie gras, and as I go to pay for them, I realize I do not have my wallet.
A tense hour passes as we go back to security in the hope that it is there but of course it is not. I think of our day and realize the last time I used or noticed my wallet was when I paid for our stay at Les Arceaux. I send an e-mail to them and ask if I may have left it there. Soon afterward, I receive the response: they have my wallet. So prevailing on their kindness once more, I ask if they could send it to me, using the cash inside to pay for the postage, and we board the plane with a big feeling of relief.
The flight home is uneventful, except for a 45 minute wait for luggage at the airport in Boston. C’est normal.
I have had a wonderful trip. Alan’s assessment might be a little less positive, between his knee discomfort and the stomach troubles of the final day. The knee is definitely getting better as time goes on, and other than some lingering fatigue, Alan’s illness turns out to have been a matter of a single day.
I am back to reading Proust in forty page segments for our biweekly meetings, but the experience has been enhanced immeasurably by my sojourn in Proust’s world. I think about that trip to France in 1972 when I realized that the Impressionist painters had made of the French countryside a place of heightened reality for me. This visit to the land of artists who have changed my vision of the world has left its mark on the world I inhabit and transformed it from suburban Massachusetts to something far more universal in place and in time.
I walk through Monet’s house quickly. The ground floor houses his studio, a dining room, and a beautiful tiled kitchen lined with copper pots.
Down the street from Monet’s house is the Impressionist Museum. Outside the museum there is a series of garden “rooms” and I sit on a bench here on the way back to the B&B. The garden in which I sit is comprised of all white flowers, and a beautiful young Asian woman dressed in white is posing for photos. I admire the composition and think of making a comment. A man who appears to be part of her small group comes up to me and tells me in English that his friend wants him to take a picture of me sitting with the friend. The friend, a man in his forties or so, is smiling beside him. I am somewhat dumbfounded, and I ask why. The photographer has no answer, but I say okay and the friend sits next to me for a photo. I ask where they are from and am told Vietnam. Then a third man from the group comes over and he wants a picture with me too. He sits down and grabs my hand and pulls it toward him. I am taken a bit aback but I smile for this photo also.
After he stands up, this last guy asks me if I have ever been to Hanoi. No, I have never been to Vietnam. He tells me he hopes some day I will come to Hanoi. I thank him and say maybe some day I will.
Does this happen to other people?
Pondering the oddness of this encounter, I head back to Les Arceaux and meet the host on the lawn. I tell him Alan is ill and I need to get gas for the car but I don’t know where to go. He says the nearest station is in the town of Vernon and asks if I would like him to come along. I ask if he can also show me where I can buy some chicken bouillon for Alan, who has requested it. His wife offers to come along and run into the grocery store while we are getting gas.
I am very grateful for their assistance and when I thank them I get the marvelous response, “c’est normal”. This is what the French say when it isn’t normal at all. We drive into town and accomplish all these errands and when we return to Les Arceaux they prepare a large pot of chicken bouillon and bring it to us in a lovely carafe.
Alan meanwhile is feeling terrible. I am wondering whether we should change our flight; if he is feeling this bad tomorrow, it will not be possible for him to fly home. He calls his doctor back in Massachusetts, who makes some suggestions for medicine, and we ask our hosts whether we can get some at a local pharmacy. They make the calls for us and learn we would need a prescription, and that in order to get one, Alan would have to go to the emergency room. Alan decides not to do this and tells me not to change our flight. He will wait to see how he feels in the morning.
The good news is that in the morning Alan feels much better and believes he will be able to drive to the airport and to fly home. We are served the wonderful breakfast, although Alan does not really participate in it. I pay for our stay in cash since they do not accept credit cards here, we thank our hosts profusely for all their kindness, and we head out to the airport.
We find our way easily to the airport, return the rental car, and make our way through security and to the gate. I go to the duty free shop for chocolate and foie gras, and as I go to pay for them, I realize I do not have my wallet.
A tense hour passes as we go back to security in the hope that it is there but of course it is not. I think of our day and realize the last time I used or noticed my wallet was when I paid for our stay at Les Arceaux. I send an e-mail to them and ask if I may have left it there. Soon afterward, I receive the response: they have my wallet. So prevailing on their kindness once more, I ask if they could send it to me, using the cash inside to pay for the postage, and we board the plane with a big feeling of relief.
The flight home is uneventful, except for a 45 minute wait for luggage at the airport in Boston. C’est normal.
I have had a wonderful trip. Alan’s assessment might be a little less positive, between his knee discomfort and the stomach troubles of the final day. The knee is definitely getting better as time goes on, and other than some lingering fatigue, Alan’s illness turns out to have been a matter of a single day.
I am back to reading Proust in forty page segments for our biweekly meetings, but the experience has been enhanced immeasurably by my sojourn in Proust’s world. I think about that trip to France in 1972 when I realized that the Impressionist painters had made of the French countryside a place of heightened reality for me. This visit to the land of artists who have changed my vision of the world has left its mark on the world I inhabit and transformed it from suburban Massachusetts to something far more universal in place and in time.
Last edited by Nikki; Oct 27th, 2018 at 12:26 PM.
Oct 28th, 2018, 08:11 AM
#87
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A wonderful, wonderful TR, Nikki.
It was a cold end of April when I was there--you saw even more flowers in October. A visit each season would be nice, eh? I shared your feelings about the tapestry--guess crowd control enters into it? Hope Mr. Nikki is OK now.
It was a cold end of April when I was there--you saw even more flowers in October. A visit each season would be nice, eh? I shared your feelings about the tapestry--guess crowd control enters into it? Hope Mr. Nikki is OK now.
Oct 28th, 2018, 02:54 PM
#88
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Thank you, Nikki, for another lovely trip report. Your writing is "le top".
I spent the month of September in France and reading your report made me "homesick" for France. I recently read the first volume of Proust in an OLLI course at Northwestern. Is the program you attended an annual event?
When I visited the Bayeux tapestry many years and there was a large group from England in front of us. I asked on of the women if she had mixed feelings towards William, given that he conquered their country. "Oh, no, not at all, she replied, "William is one of our kings and we love him". Not what I expected her response to be.
I spent the month of September in France and reading your report made me "homesick" for France. I recently read the first volume of Proust in an OLLI course at Northwestern. Is the program you attended an annual event?
When I visited the Bayeux tapestry many years and there was a large group from England in front of us. I asked on of the women if she had mixed feelings towards William, given that he conquered their country. "Oh, no, not at all, she replied, "William is one of our kings and we love him". Not what I expected her response to be.
Oct 29th, 2018, 03:58 AM
#89
Original Poster
I believe they run the event at Cabourg every other year.
Journées Musicales Marcel Proust
Better start that second volume now. (It is the second volume that is largely set in the Grand Hotel de Balbec, based on the hotel in Cabourg.)
Oct 29th, 2018, 10:46 AM
#91
When I visited the Bayeux tapestry many years and there was a large group from England in front of us. I asked on of the women if she had mixed feelings towards William, given that he conquered their country. "Oh, no, not at all, she replied, "William is one of our kings and we love him". Not what I expected her response to be.
It is also true that our terrible history English education fails to note the horrors of the Norman conquest and the Harrowing of the North. We even have comics books which laugh on the terrible stories. Of course we can do nothing about it now. The Stormin' Normans - Horrible Histories
Oct 29th, 2018, 01:23 PM
#93
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I would certainly go back. I don’t know whether I would recommend it to those who had no interest in Proust because of the extensive readings from Proust and the lectures which were based so much on Proust’s work. My husband would probably not want to go back but maybe more because he doesn’t speak French than because he isn’t familiar with Proust’s work.
Oct 30th, 2018, 04:09 AM
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Great report with beautiful photos, Nikki 
I love your prologue about Proust and thekaleidoscope telescope metaphor.
Hope Alan feels better now.
I love your prologue about Proust and the
Hope Alan feels better now.
Last edited by FuryFluffy; Oct 30th, 2018 at 04:20 AM.
Nov 2nd, 2018, 06:32 PM
#97
Thanks for a lovely Trip Report and equally lovely pictures.
It was a delight to follow.
nanabee I hope your knee condition is improving
It was a delight to follow.
nanabee I hope your knee condition is improving
