A Nice Sunday Drive

I would have liked to entitle this 'A Nice Sunday Ride,' but, Betsy's in her garage awaiting the recall repair I received a couple of months ago.  Since I wasn't riding during the cold months I saw no reason to pay for expensive insurance, so she's just been waiting patiently since our last ride in late October.  But the weather's getting better and better and I'm getting anxious to start riding again.  Of course, I dropped my recall notice off at the Kawasaki dealer and he promised to talk to the factory folks (I'm sure about being reimbursed for fixing this) and, as to be expected here in France, he's not breaking a pick trying to get it done.  I expect that's because the factory knows how long it should take to do the service and they can't "boost" the time on them.

Anyway...the weather's a little cool, 4°C ( 39°F) when I left the apartment this morning, reaching about 9°C (48°F) by the time I returned.  But, it was brilliantly sunny and clear...a great day for a ride through the woods.  So, to the woods I went.

After my morning café and email and FB catchup, I head out of Nantes toward Rennes.  My destination is Paimpont, a small village located in the center of the Forêt du Paimpont, reputed to be the famous Forêt du Brocéliande of Authurian (as in King) legend (Paimpont_Forest).  Local legend has it that this is the home of King Arthur, Merlin, and the famous Lady of the Lake.  Of course, no one knows, but the local tourism and artifact salespeople.  They have kith and kin in England selling the same things and willing to argue the point.

One of the first things you have to come to grips with when discussing ol' Arthur and his court is whether or not they really existed.  According to pro-believers, he was a great king who fought against the Anglo-Saxon invaders of England during the late 5th and early 6th century (475-550 AD?).  There is considerable mention of him in Breton and Welsh legend.  Of course, it's the Breton part which puts him in this section of France.  I don't know about the rest of my American friends, but until coming over here and studying local history in much more depth, I, somehow, missed how interconnected and "woven-together" the French and the English are.  Of course, I knew they'd fought each other for about 1,500 years; even having one war which lasted over a hundred years by itself (1337-1453).   But there is, I think, as much to draw them together as to wedge them apart.   They would deny it, both sides, of course;  that many years of strife certainly leave a desire for segregation...but they are definitely builders and molders of each others' civilizations.  Point?  Well, ol' Authur could well have existed and could easily have been a Breton.

As related on my Hail Bretagne post (September 2010) the Breton people were anti-dated by the Celts. And the Druids were a priestly, or religious, class of Celts.  They ended up populating England, Wales, and Britagne across the channel.  The earliest mentions of Arthur appear in the early 12th century.  But the sources, though written in latin, the lingua-franca of the time, are not clerical in nature.  They are reporting of legends and mythological events from previous times.  And, the absence of mention in Catholic writings, at least, from my point of view, could well be a leading indicator of his actual existence.  During the purported period of Arthurian reign, Christianity was spreading throughout Europe and, obviously, a mortal enemy to Druid or any other form of belief not associated with Catholicism.  One can easily suppose that church writings would not legitimize his, or his people's suzerainty over anything.  Especially, when faced, later, with peoples nostalgic for some of the old beliefs.  Based my experience, one can be sure some looked backwards to some of the more pagan rituals;  for cryin' out loud, we're still doing it.

Just south of Rennes I turn back west toward Paimpont.

Some roads are just better than others.  Among my favorites are these little country lanes.

Abbey of Paimpont

Did the Lady of the Lake live nearby?

If I throw a sword into the water here will a hand reach out and catch it?
Or, must it be Excalibur?

Downtown Paimpont

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Square behind the Abbey

 Memorial to Paimpont fallen in WWI.  I've never thought Americans could relate to the human losses experienced by France and England in that war, or the Russians in WWII.  We always managed to trade implements of war for their bodies.
(I know we fought and participated, and our service was honorable.  But it was July 1944 before we had more troops engaged than did Britain in WWII.  In WWI France and England lost an entire generation of young men; and Russia 20,000,000 people in WWII.  It's staggering to consider.)

A little further down the road and one starts appreciating the rocky hill country terrain.

Also known as ancient building material.

Beautiful country

And spring's a-comin'.

As Kenny Wilkins says,
"Spring has sprung,
The grass has riz,
I wonder where the birdies is?"

On the ride home some more of my "Peacock" plantings.
( See Day Four: Lost Ball Weekend )




And home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

Old and new friends - I hope

Having gotten well with the French bureaucracy (a rather innocent story...to be told in full at a later date) I decided Wednesday after work that a drink at my local watering hole was in order.  It's not really my fault, you know.  My co-expat Morgan returned to the states early leaving me to my own devices.  He spent an inordinate amount of time at John McByrne's Irish Pub in downtown Nantes, a rather special place to those who like a pint every now and then, and someone had to pick up the slack; it seemed to have devolved to me.  In any event, I'm glad I decided to go.

After the usual greetings (I sort of feel like Norm there), I settled down with my pint of Stella Artois (founded in 1633) to shoot the bull with Dave behind the bar and try to keep up with the rugby game on the tele.  Adjacent to me was this young fellow somewhere in his late thirties-early forties, and, after a greeting in English we struck up a conversation.  He was very nice, bright, well informed, and laid back in that distinctly British way of sort of observing the world.  Turns out he was a first for me; an opera performer, in town rehearsing for performances of Verdi's Falstaff in late March.  Now I gotta tell you one just doesn't meet such a one in your normal Texas bar.  I just love this place!  New horizons.  We traded contact information and I certainly hope to tip a few beers with him in the future because, even without the exotic vocation, he's a nice and interesting fellow.

I'm making plans now to attend one of the performances with some friends.  His name is Colin Judson and he's performing the role of Dr. Caius (tenor).  Neat fellow!  And, oh by the way, he went to school with  Damien Lewis who did such a great job as Lt./Capt./Major Winters in the Hanks/Spielberg production of 'Band of Brothers.' (Colin Judson - UK )  Again, this stuff just doesn't happen in my Texas bars.  (btw - Know how to tell a Texas bar?  You walk in and they frisk you...you don't have a gun, they give you one.)


Returned to McByrne's tonight (Friday) for a little break and a pint.  It was early so the crowd was a little slow, but ran into some of the usual suspects; Roger was there, he programs on the SNCF (train system) reservations system, and Adrian, Jo, and Elois my friends from the Sunday party a few weeks ago.  Eloise just loves my iPad and seems to have a knack for navigating around on it.  I got home tonight and, upon checking my emails found the following notes sent by this wonderfully precocious little 6-year-old.

 

Don't laugh.  She speaks two languages.  How many do you?

So...if some of you received a rather cryptic message from me you'll understand the source.  I'm cracking up thinking of all the stack dumps the computers at the NSA may be having trying to figure these out.

Have I mentioned I love this place?

Winter Sports in the Afternoon

Most know I'm adverse to cold weather and winter.  Millions of years ago the planet was closer to the sun, insuring a year 'round toasty environment, and all was pretty much right with the world except for those dinosaur thingys...then some silly planet or comet (the remainder of which can be seen on a clear night) came streaking through space and bumped us into winter.  It's been many millions of years, and I've never forgiven that interstellar object.

In any event, there is little for a bike-riding, bad-swinging golfer to do in winter, so some form of exercise must be developed to keep the svelte shape to which so many are accustomed.  Today, thanks to my friends Adrian and Jo I exercised heavily for quite a few hours.

Adrian and Jo are from Wales.   Among other things Adrian imports that wonderful Lager you see on the table.  A couple of those may be mine.  They are heavier than they look.  (I mentioned I was exercising, didn't I?)

Their lovely flat near the L'Erde River just off the Ile de Versailles

I was going to explain Adrian to you, but then realized that there is none.  He comes bounding into my favorite watering hole wearing two-toned wings tips with a "spats" look, a big great coat, and a huge Bowery Boys cap cocked to one side.  He is curious, quick-witted, and capable of talking on any subject...and often does...and does...and...you get the picture.   I remember, when young, the Reader's Digest always had an essay each month entitled, 'The Most Unforgettable Character I've Ever Met.'  I'm thinking Adrian may be my candidate for that honor and this afternoon I met another character who can tell me all the stories.  He is Adrian's friend Sean from New York City.  They've been friends since '83 so I'm sure much information is to be had.

We were joined by Scott and Heidi, and Adrian and Jo's lovely daughter Eloise.

Scott is from Pennsylvania and Heidi from...you got it...Texas!!

I may have mentioned Adrian being able to talk about anything and often does.  He also works diligently to ensure he doesn't miss anything either.  Here he is continuing the conversation while busy.

Adrian prepared a wonderful meal of lamb, English peas, parsnips w/honey, potatoes and great wine.
(Lifting heavy forks is a form of exercises, right?)

After dinner we were treated to a rousing rendition of  New York, New York by Sean and Adrian.
(I think Eloise's earmuffs were defensive in nature.)

A nice quiet afternoon with a bunch of shy, withdrawn people.

Jo's turn.  A Puchini aria.











A wonderful Sunday afternoon.  Good times and good fun.  Laughter is a great form of exercise.

Weekend Potpouri

I'm in the doldrums between my two favorite activities, golf and motorcycle riding, and big winter.  Not a lot to do except read and take a little trip every now and then in the area.

Last weekend I took a little ride west toward the Atlantic.  I like the ride through Machecoul (Sick and Tired, February 2010), home of Gilles de Rais, aka Bluebeard.  It's a pretty area.  I did get a different angle on his ancestral home so I took the below picture and added it to the blog entry noted.

 

Gilles de Rais Ancestral Home

This weekend was the big "Soldes" (Sales) event in downtown Nantes.  Evidently it's like clearance week in the U.S. malls after Christmas, only it's everywhere, and everyone goes...including yours truly.  I didn't find anything but it was kind of an event.  The interior of the stores were madhouses, much like those depicted in exaggerated depictions of sales events in the U.S.  The streets were absolutely packed.  But, it was all in the spirit of fun as demonstrated by this little band that was marching around playing for everyone.  (Pardon the picture quality...these were taken with my phone cam.)

Like I said, lots of fun were had by all.

Greg, a colleague from the Houston office was in town for the past two weeks, and he and I decided to ride over to one of my favorite little coastal towns, Le Croisic (A Day at the Shore, May 24th) so he could see a little of rural France.

Unfortunately, you could cut the fog with a knife.  But it was a nice drive, though a little cool walking around.

We saw these barges parked for Sunday.  I assume they are repair barges, used to go to boats needing work.  If anyone can confirm or tell their purpose let me know.

Greg at Le Croisic








 Later, on Wednesday evening, the 18th, a few of the Houston crew returned to my favorite restaurant, Monsigneur, for dinner.   This is Morroccan restaurant with gorgeous food and a magnificent decor.

Part of the gang: Didier, Kim, Anil, Phillipe, and Greg

And this is what the excitement is about.  Chicken, Beef Brochettes, Lamb, and Merguez.  I've got to find the source of their merguez.  It is a sausage generally made with lessor (than usual) cuts of meat and to find some this tasty is a dream.  The vegetable stew shown in the back is served over semouli (couscous when mixed 2:1 with durum flour).

Paris - Retour

Returned to France New Year's Eve @ 9:00 a.m.

The project is now scheduled for go-live the first week of June.  This opens up further motorcycle trip opportunities while here, both weekend and long distance.  Figuring three to four weeks of post-go-live support puts me into "free to travel" mode about the 1st of July, perfect weather for a final big trip in Europe before returning to the States.  Tentative target: St. Petersburg, Russia.

From Nantes to St. Petersburg via Germany, Poland (Warsaw), Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia is about 2100 Miles.  It will be more given some stops I'd want to make.  Returning via Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Germany to Paris would be approx. 1900 miles on a direct routes.  So...we're talking something like 4500 - 5500 miles.  Nice trip.  Assuming one can get into and through those former soviet-block countries without too many hassles.  Something to begin planning with anyway.

Dawn breaking over France 31-Dec-2010

Paris is down there somewhere

Bienvenue en France

Bubba de Tocqueville

Alexis de Tocqueville visited America between 1831-35, observing the fledgling democracy's social and political metamorphosis.  His report on this trip, Democracy in America, is often cited as the beginning of political and social science.  One hundred and seventy some-odd years later, the Texpat ventures back along that same trail, not to study the resulting democracy with all its bickering and bullying (Tocqueville is doubtlessly spinning in his grave), but to visit his Mommy for Christmas,  and see friends, and remind his taste buds that there are some really good things in the USA, and food is one of them.

Arrived in Houston 1/2 hr late on Saturday, the 11th. Not bad, given we were a full hour late leaving the gate at Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris. The airline made up for its good performance in timekeeping by losing one of my bags...the 55€ one. At least that's what I call it...having to pay that much to Air France for the short hop to Paris from Nantes.  Continental, once again, managed to give me the only seat on the aircraft with a faulty audio/video system.  I could change channels within a mode (video or audio), but could not change from one mode to another without having to have my seat "rebooted" as he called it.  Somewhat apprehensive about the seat rebooting, I managed to complete the flight without too much trouble.  At least until I got to the baggage carosel.
My friends W.T. and Becky picked me up at the airport and the feasting began.
Sample plates so far:
Dinner: BBQ Ribs & Pulled Pork
Breakfast:  three eggs, chopped steak, biscuits, home fries, grits, (wa coffee)
Lunch: Schlotzsky's Original Sub (Funny name, serious sandwich...so true)
Dinner: Enchiladas al Caron w/bean soup (to die for Tex-Mex and the best bean soup anywhere!)
Lunch: Malaysian noodles w/calamari (The Banana Leaf rocks!)
Dinner: Roast beef, mashed potatoes, turnips w/ham, cornbread and biscuits (wa coffee)
Lunch: Enchiladas w/bean soup (not nearly as good as Two Amigos)
Dinner: Double order fried chicken gizzards  (a Cardiologist's favorite I'm sure)
Lunch: Buffalo Burger
Breakfast: two eggs, hashbrown casserole, grits, hamburger patty and biscuits (wa coffee)
Lunch: Chicken and Dumplings, turnip greens w/ham, mashed potatoes, corn, cornbread and biscuits (wa coffee)

(wa coffee: "weak American coffee."  I've been spoiled by the French café.)

The culinary piéce de résistance so far, occurred on my trip to Fla. Turning south on Hwy 19 just east of Tallahassee, I made for one of my favorite little "spots" on the planet. Can't even tell you the name, but I stop there every year.  It's a little roadside citrus, pecan, touristy-trap sort of place on the north side of Hwy 19 just east of where 19 meets Hwy 27 in Capps.  What's the big deal? I'll tell you what the big deal is.   Boiled peanuts. Yep. Boiled peanuts.

I've seen peanuts everywhere I've ever been, and frequently in many cuisines I've eaten. They are a staple in Vietnamese cooking, and in bags, roasted and salted, everywhere in the world, I suspect. You can even find them raw in many places, and I'm right fond of those as well. But real boiled (or "biled" as is often said in the south) peanuts are hard to find anywhere, except Florida...especially north and central Florida. I purchased three pounds of the little wonders split between two plastic baggies placed in brown paper sacks; one for immediate consumption, the other for later...if it makes it.

It's a cathartic experience, bringing one, I think, as close to God as you can get while motoring down a U.S. highway on a bright, sunny Tuesday afternoon in December. And, as with all good things done well, there's a process involved.
Paying careful attention to the traffic, one dedicates the left hand to the steering wheel, as the right becomes the bringer of good things, the cornucopia of cacahuétes, traveling metronomically from the bag to the mouth, a perpetual motion until supply is utterly exhausted.  The hand reaches into the plastic baggy (legally, this time), gently grasping a succulent tuber and bringing it upward, toward the mouth, allowing one, with a glance, to quickly determine the correct orientation of the wonderfully warm legume. It must be turned carefully, aligned just so, in order to ensure the growth '"seam" is positioned perpendicular to the line formed by the waiting teeth that are opening slightly in anticipation as if pulled so by the lever of the approaching arm. The nut is placed precisely between the front teeth carefully and gently.   The "bite" is almost nonexistent, the merest soupçon of suggestion, for it is all that is required to initiate the slightest crack in the moist, now-softened outer shell.  The "split" is sensed, seemingly heard, followed immediately by the sensation of the warm, salty fluid that has managed, somehow, to penetrate the inner sweetness of the shell.  It is a saline ambrosia, fit for kings, to be savored as the right-hand joins the left at the top of the steering wheel to pull apart the now weakened seam exposing the shiny nude, and almost perfectly round, dark seeds within.  Two?  Three?  Four, sometimes.  One can guess but is often surprised by the count, and, almost always by the taste.  For boiled peanuts are like the people you meet in life;  most are good, some are great, and every now and then you encounter a bad one.  But the bad is to be tolerated, and, perhaps, even appreciated somewhat.  What else could make the great ones so good?
Finished, one 1 1/2 pound bag of boiled peanuts.  Awaiting: another one!
 
 

Cold Weekend - New Meat

It was colder than a mother-in-laws' kiss over the weekend.  I went out for coffee Saturday and Sunday morning, after sleeping in late both days.  That part was good.  The cold wasn't.  I was trying to get a little Christmas shopping done, and they had some sort of holiday street sale downtown at the big fountain.  There were some really nice local, handmade things, but it was so cold I just couldn't stand it very long.  After about an hour I packed it in.  (Yeah, I know...wimp.  But there's a reason I live in Texas.)

Most know I like to eat (and show it).  And, I like to try new things so earlier in the week I purchased a couple of cheval (horse) steaks and cooked them up Saturday.  They were really quite good.  A little chewy, but that was because of the way I prepared them.  Next time I'll get thicker steaks and broil them.  The meat is quite tasty and very, very lean.  I rank it right up there with Kangaroo, which is also very good.  I do draw the line at some of the "sweetmeats" available, though.  But giblets are sweetmeats, and I love them.

But...what I'm looking forward to eating soon is seafood gumbo, chicken-fried steak, Tex-Mex, biscuits and gravy, thick roast beef, and a fatback pork breakfast.  Yep, I'm heading home for Christmas in a couple of weeks.  And the bean soup at Two Amigos.  YEAH!  That's what I'm talking about.