A New Perspective

We visited Pont du Gard again, but this time we saw it from a different perspective. 

Today we decided we would kayak under Pont du Gard, that big 2,000-year-old Roman bridge that brought water from Uzes to Nimes.

My grandma was afraid of the unknown waters.

The only other time she had kayaked was in Alaska. 

Please, if she has done that, she should not be afraid. 

But newness can be scary.

She says, "I was afraid that the rapids would be too swift --

and I didn't have a bathing suit!"

But under family pressure, she went.

Of course, we are in France, so no safety papers were needed.

The kayak dude didn't tell us where the rapids would be, or

that Frances and I couldn't go in kayaks by ourselves (without an adult).

He didn't think it was a good idea, but he didn't care.

He hucked the kayaks off the high bank onto the beach below

and let us depart by ourselves.

Frances and I were a good team.

It got tiring carrying those heavy paddles but we did it.

My mom says:

"One of my favorite parts of the day was watching the girls paddle together.

Just last night, they were really edgy with each other &

 I was thinking maybe I'd asked a weeeee-bit much of them...

They're together ALL the TIME!

They growled goodnight to each other

and I lay awake thinking I'd need to find them some alone time.  

Get them apart.

Well, practically speaking, that was a silly notion: 

we're stuck (thankfully) with each other--there's no such thing as alone-time.

Ideologically speaking, I've always wanted the four of us to get through things by coming together, having to make it work, breaking through with each other in new, good ways.

And, voila!  A new day!

A new kind of togetherness. A new perspective on each other.

Frances helped Eleanore see the 'rapids' were fun.

Eleanore helped Frances steer the boat. 

They laughed, cheered each other on and forgave splashes from wayward paddles.

Ahhhhhhhh."

We saw French NASTC...see the climbers?

I got into my dad's kayak about 3/4 of the way through the paddle.

I went so much FASTER with him!

This photo was taken when I was resting.

Guess what we saw?

An otter splashing in the shallow water near the bank.

No...a....HUGE trout!

No...ah-ha! A spawning salmon!

(My grandma is NOT the spawning salmon...she doesn't even LOOK like one!)

My Grandma said all throughout the paddle that she would put an ad in the newspaper looking for a new family that wanted a Baba that fixes tea and knits. 

Tadaaaaaa! Pont du Gard.

Frances jumped in the water and floated behind the kayaks.

Even though she swam 100 laps at swim team, she LOVES life jackets!

The water was cold and mucky. I did not like it. I like Donner Lake much more.

Frances says, "The water was soooooooooooo awesome 'cause I couldn't see the bottom!"

All these pictures were taken by my grandpa.

He made a special water-proof bag for his camera. He'll tell you about it:

"It was a ziplock freezer bag that I cut and configured and sealed with tape.  

The camera stayed at wide angle but it stayed dry!"

Going under the bridge in a kayak was fun.

It was surprising that in such a small area it echoed so loudly.

I wanted to pass under as fast as I could, afraid it would fall down any second...

'cause it is really old.

The van was waiting to take us and another family

back to the launch site and parking lot.

My mom says:

"Of course the van ride was a great opportunity to talk politics with the guy in the shorts.

He's a pharmacist. He loves Obama, health care, financial reform;

he loves America and its opportunities--

and he detests socialists who want something for nothing." 

When our arms were really tired and our bodies were really wet we went and had lunch. It wasn't just any lunch. It was a long... spread... out...dinner-lunch.

My grandma's VERY (deathly) allergic to shrimp.

My dad suggested she get a certain thing on the menu that even my dad didn't recognize, called Gambas. He was pretty sure it was a white fish. 

My grandma had said,

"Ohhh, I am so excited to see what my dish is. It will be a complete surprise." 

It was. 

My dad traded his lamb for her shrimp.

My mom says:

"Last thing. I swear.

It is so interesting to me that when you add the littlest bit of energy to something it becomes new. Sometimes the girls invent games for us to play at dinner and then even DINNER becomes new. 

Pont du Gard was special for us the first time around.

We were overcome by it.

We could have done it the same way with Dick and Mary Ann,

but Jeff has this uncanny ability of adding energy to things.

Maybe it's simply caring.

Or wanting more fun.

Who knows, but he's good at it.

And I'm hoping I can take home this idea of adding energy

to things we do in Truckee so no matter how often we do them,

each time they'll be new."

(When there was not a single ice cream stand in operation,

Jeff went to the store, got cones, a carton of ice cream

and used his Leatherman--like a "Swiss Army Knife"--

to "scoop," or rather, SLICE out our ice cream...

it made our day.)

Goodnight!

Eleanore

Ambiance is a French Word

When I think of ambiance, I think of someone on a stone wall under a full moon with her legs crossed, just being.

When I look up ambiance on an internet dictionary, it says: 

"the mood, character, quality, tone or atmosphere,

particularly of an environment or milieu."

Yesterday, was full of ambiance. 

We decided to walk to an old bridge. 

Not built in the 1700's, not built in the 1300's, not built in the 800s. The bridge was built 2,000 years ago by the Romans. People in Uzes call it the "Roman Bridge."

We've crossed the bridge before on our walk to Blauzac for the Bric-a-Brac.

I love to say that word! Bric-a-brac, bric-a-brac, bric-a-brac. 

But the bridge this time was our destination. 

When my mom, dad and I talked about it, we were pretty sure that was why it felt so special. Because it was our destination.

We sat with our feet inside the grooves worn from old wagon wheels under the cool vines and trees above us.  We heard the ripples of the creek below us. We saw the light coming through the trees.  The vineyard beyond. The tower of the Duke's castle small in the distance.  We were all alone, but we were all together, eating lunch and enjoying the ambiance.  

While we were eating, we each told a story of a person who might have walked across this bridge--any time since it was built.

I imagined the year 1737 and a woman giving birth on this bridge.
There was nothing more comfortable in sight, so she lay in the grooves.

Frances imagined the ancient Roman times and a little baby in a carriage being carried across the bridge. The baby didn't even know she was on the bridge.

My grandpa imagined the Romans building the bridge.

My grandma imagined a young man who wanted to join the French Revolution in Paris. She pictured him crossing this bridge on his way north.

My dad imagined soldiers fleeing Uzes in the religious wars of the 1600s.

My mom imagined a young woman hiding from the Nazis in World War II.

She pictured her under the bridge. 

Then we noticed the donkey...

My dad, of course, ducked under the ELECTRIC fence to pet the donkey. He says, "Donkeys love their ears scratched." Frances followed right behind him.

If my dad would have caught the little donkey, he would have put Frances on it.

We left the bridge and it was so hot we went to eat ice cream.  My ice cream was mint chocolate chip but it tasted like my spearmint toothpaste.

Then we went to Claudine and Richard's apartment for wine, juice and appetizers. 

Claudine, if you don't remember, is my mom and dad's language teacher.

Richard is her husband.

Their front door was hidden between retail shops.

We rang the bell and she buzzed us in.

When we walked in from the busy main street that circles our town

we were flooded with ambiance.

It wasn't so much the long hallway with the white sidedoors that amazed us.

It was the wisteria and the grass and the tulips and fruit trees and rose bushes of their garden beyond the hallway that made us feel like we were in park. Instantly, we felt like this was going to be an excellent evening.

As my mom says, "if they care for space so much they're going to care for us."

My dad says, "The garden is surrounded by huge walls and the space itself used to be a house.  Behind it is an old silk farm. I think they have one of the few gardens this close to the city center."

While my mom, dad and grandparents drank wine and talked on the terrace, Frances and I read books on how they built castles and how they built old Roman towns and how people built cathedrals. 

My mom says:

As we drank local wine under the vines, we dove quickly and deeply into each other's lives.  

It's clearer to me everyday that traveling brings out an urgency for intimacy.

We have one evening to say and hear it all. 

It's an unspoken contract.

   

Claudine has been teaching French here and abroad for 40 years. She is a warm, loving, interesting person whom Richard says is far too humble.

Richard is an American, retired from the Foreign Service.

His posts include Spain, Honduras, Nigeria, Turkey, Morocco.

They have no children and unlike most people in France, have decided home-ownership is simply not for them. They'd rather travel and meet people.

They leave next week for a 3-week backpacking trip through Greece.

One story Claudine told was about teaching French in Istanbul.

She was introducing the verb "avoir" ("to have"), pointing to her pen "j'ai un stylo," or her book, "j'ai un livre, " and so on. Nobody understood. Finally, she consulted a colleague. That Turkish friend told her there was no verb "avoir" in Turkish. Not a single way of verbalizing ownership. That blew me away. No To-Have? 

Richard says it's the same for Arabic.

We tried to imagine how a culture would reflect an absence of "avoir." 

Of course, I had to bring up Obama. Always do.

It is just plain fascinating how personally people respond to him.

How people respond continually reminds me that we all have our agendas; and more poignantly, it reminds me the guy will have a hard time pleasing everyone.

 Richard said he voted for him but was supremely disappointed by his habit (not unprecedented for Presidents) of appointing friends to ambassadorships in privelged countries,

like, for example, New Zealand.

When I asked each one of them what the highlight of their very accomplished careers was, Richard laughed, pointed to the wine, and referred to it as "pedagogique fluide," took a sip and came forth with generous and fabulous detail.

When I think about ambiance, it's not only the terrace, the flowers, the wine, the perfect temperature, it's the people and their stories.

I cannot, it turns out, get enough of people's stories."

(Today, Jeff caught me scratching notes in Eleanore's notebook--

if I don't write it down when they say it, I'll never remember what these people SAY!)

After Claudine and Richard's, we had a couple pizzas and salads.

And this was the view from the restaurant:

This morning, we were one big happy family (on the same sofa)

looking at my Auntie Joy's email she sent us with photos

of the new lambs and cute baby Eli. 

After dinner tonight, Frances and I read the stories we each wrote.

Frances's story is called Katie's Lists.

I don't have a name for mine yet...but I'm thinking about the name, Perspective.

New Landscapes

We spent four days in Cassis, a small town on the coast below Marseilles.

It's a town we'll always remember for

Our Grandparents

and 

the Calanques,

the two new landscapes in our trip to France.

My Grandpa and I walking along the harbor. 

Cassis Harbor

 

It's just plain fun to have company!  

Together, we went to the beach and made stone towers.

My dad is putting on his SIXTEENTH stone in this photo. World record. Daddy thinks it should be an Olympic sport.

My record was 13.

Frances wanted to take just one little teeny tiny bag of rocks home.

Mommy said no. Frances was bummed.

A little jet-lag attack for my grandpa.

But my grandma was still awake and talking!

We walked around town, ate ice cream every day. My two favorite flavors are Creme Caramel and Stracciatella. Frances loves Stracciatella too. Daddy loves coffee and Mommy loves dark dark dark chocolate.

Frances walked to the end of the harbor wall to watch some children (the oldest was about 8) be towed back in from crazy sailing. They were way out there in the waves and the wind. Frances says she loves the ocean because she likes to "see the tiny boats WAY out there." 

I like the ocean because the sea is very blue where you are and the sky is very blue where you are, but where they meet at the horizon line they both have faded into each other, both a blue-gray. 

We went out to dinner to small side street restaurants.  Really tucked away.

My dad says, "It was surprising to find all those restaurants. You see the main strip and you think that's your only option but then you start wandering the narrow streets behind and find not just a couple of restaurants but dozens of restaurants and definitely the finest restaurants in Cassis."

Every restaurant we went to, we got into a wonderful conversation with the table next to us. The conversations usually bored Frances...especially when they were around 11PM

All of our trip in Cassis, Frances wanted to go on this one little ride. Finally, the last day, she chose the open airplane.  In the race car behind her there was a 4-year-old with his pacifier in his mouth and his hands on the wheel. My dad says, "The first day, Frances was DYING to go on it. The second day she realized she was probably too old for it and SHOULDN'T go on it. The third day she knew she just had to go on it. And she went in style, waving, grinning, even popping her umbrella open for the final few laps."

My mom says, "It's special sharing our time with Mary Ann and Dick.

Of course, they're gracious and loving and game. 

But part of what I love is having two sets of eyes on us in our little orbit.

Somehow it feels good to know someone who loves us

is watching us love each other so well."

The Calanques. 

Wow.

They are amazing.

They are like a mixture of the Grand Canyon and stacks and stacks of bleached bones.

Climbers love this place. Hikers walk from Cassis to Marseilles along all the Calanques. Divers explore the water. 

Calanque means inlet or fjord. 

They were formed by old streams that cut canyons in the limestone.  When the Mediterranean Sea rose, the canyons filled up with water.

My dad says, "20,000 years ago, people loved it too. In fact there are caves submerged underwater that are covered with engravings and paintings." 

We walked to the second Calanque Port Pin. To get there, it's a rocky trail and then a steep slope down to the Calanque. At the end of the calanque was a beach.

The water felt just as cold as Donner in April.

My dad says it was warmer than that but do you see any photos of him in the water?

Even though the ocean's cool, I don't really like the salt. 

 #1 When the water is really cold, I naturally just open my mouth underwater.

So that's disgusting.  

#2  And when I'm rinsing my hands after playing in the sand, they stay sticky.

I'm more of a fresh water girl. 

I could take sand over saltwater but Frances would take saltwater over sand on her feet anyday. She hates getting her shoes on with sandy feet so she has to rinse them in the water and have my mom carry her over onto the towel.

Frances also cannot stand getting the soles of her shoes dirty. She wants to keep her FANCY shoes clean and new. She was tiptoeing everywhere and finally made Daddy go get different shoes so she could walk around more easily.  She said about her fancy shoes: "I feel like my feet are in bird cages. I want them to be free."

BACK TO THE CALANQUES

This is the first Calanque, Port Miou. This is the locals' harbor for sailboats.

 

All kinds of people--

young, old, families, climbers, hiking clubs, tourists and locals--

walk to the first few calanques.

Thousands of people a day in the high season.

I'm glad I'm here in the off-season.

My mom says,

"Jeff and I ran each morning at dawn through the Calanques for hours and hours.  

And because the French were still digesting their late night dinners,

we got a private showing.

Not a soul was walking the trails below those white, cleaving cliffs.

One of the most spectacular places I've ever been is the Calanque d'en-Vau.

It is the deepest of the Calanques, with sheer cliffs hundreds of feet high.

We accessed the inlet by hiking down a steep canyon with slippery natural ledges and loose scree.

Jeff kept saying, 'Remember, knees over your toes!'

I just held my breath the whole way down.

The depth of the canyon was, well, breath-taking.

The blue sky intensified the deeper into the canyon we went.

It is divine to feel so small.

Maybe even literally.

We ran along the trail at the bottom of the canyon until we reached the water."

Daddy says, "It was so private for such a grand scape. 

It's so rare we get to experience those types of popular stunning landscapes without people."

Mommy says, "Rocky beach, water lapping, white sheer rocks rising from the green water. 

The two of us, ALONE, sitting on the beach in awe.

And not a camera in sight.

DAMN!

I just couldn't haul that thing around on those runs! Check out this if you want to see more:

http://www.calanquesdecassis.fr/

Scroll down the page and click on PAGES to see photos of the different Calanques.

The Calanques become a National Park this year.

Hip hip hooray for France."

Goodnight!

Oh...This is a very typical french parking style...