The year 2008 began and ended in San Francisco. So lets consider some old/new highlights of San Francisco in honor of the new year. Favorite old site: the fabulously eccentric late Frank Lloyd Wright Marin Civic Center. Favorite new site: the fabulously eccentric just opened Renzo Piano designed California Academy of Sciences. Favorite old restaurant: deliciously Italian Delfina in San Francisco. Favorite new restaurant: deliciously eccentric Camino in Oakland.
In February it was off to historic Savannah for a week with my sister. I hadn’t been there since the long ago publication of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I credit John Berendt’s book with turning a sleepy southern town into a major tourist attraction—and perhaps saving the city’s historic core.
From there it was a drive up to Baltimore for a visit with my brother and his family.
Then my first trip to South America for a 10 day stay in Buenos Aires. Loved the city, loved the food, and loved the fact that I could afford it! Rent an apartment through www.bytargentina.com (thanks to Marc Leonard for the tip); eat at La Cabrera, La Dorita, Social Paraiso, and the cheese room at the fabulous Park Hyatt Hotel; have a suit made, have a leather jacket made; get a massage. Enjoy the urbanity of this great world city.
We took a side trip to Iguazu Falls. The falls are truly impressive, but it had much more the air of an amusement park than I expected. Apparently the “most visited site in South America” aspect had not registered until I got there!
After Buenos Aires, travel with business colleagues took me to Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay. I probably would not have gone there on my own—there are very few tourists—but I’m very glad I had the experience.
A day long layover allowed a chance to see the Panama Canal, and a good deal of the Panamanian countryside as well. We put ourselves entirely at the mercy of a random driver at the Panama Airport and were rewarded with a comfortable, reasonably priced, and comprehensive guided tour! I’m not really a proponent of the “see it in a day” brand of tourism—yet neither do I feel the need to rush back to Panama.
Next up was a weekend trip to Denver to see the John Adams opera Nixon in China. We enjoyed the stylishly quirky Curtis hotel and appreciated the public transportation in what is essentially a car-centric city.
I got to spend much of August in my former “hometown” of Amsterdam, researching a couple of travel articles (see the articles below) and visiting old friends.
A quick trip to Paris on the super-efficient Thalys high-speed train, confirmed what everyone has always said about Paris in August—all the best places to eat are closed! But I got to use the new Velib public bicycles—I’m hooked, what a great way to get around Paris.
The rest of the year was spent in California, tending to work, with short trips to Morro Bay and Ventura, and ending up back in San Francisco for the New Year.
My journal of a 49 day, nearly 5000 kilometer, driving tour through France and Northern Italy during September and October of 2006. I was accompanied by my mother (aka Nonna) and joined by Michael Logan (twice) and other friends along the way. A long trip, and a long story…
14 September 2006 LAX
So through security (some special alert today…who knows why; fortunately we had a town car and that could bypass the roadside checkpoint…apparently terrorists aren’t smart enough to hire town cars?) and waiting in the WorldClub lounge to board the plane to Paris. Everyone thinks I left 2 days ago, when I really just went to Tustin to pack and to work until today. Air France check in very nice; security the usual annoyance. Not excessive, considering. Have decided Airport Check-in should be one event in the Modern Triathlon. One is exhausted by the time one gets to the lounge. Not to even mention boarding the plane. And it is prohibited to take water on board. Silly. Oh, and I packed too much stuff. Too many t-shirts. Next entry from Paris.
15 September 2006 Paris, France
Arrived Paris. Flight uneventful, almost pleasant, despite coach seats. Very good dinner. Slept a bit. Watched To Catch a Thief and Transamerica on video. Slow, trafficy taxi ride into Paris. Hotel Malher (across the street from the Sevigne) would be nice, except for the scaffolding and constant parade of workmen in front of our street-facing windows. It’s seven o’clock. You’d think they’d go home now? Only had time to have a coffee and quick walk around the neighborhood. Nonna broke her purse strap on the plane! So I found one very similar, just by luck, at the pricey Manderina Duck store just down the street, and bought it for her. Saw a new restaurant on the Place de Vosges that had a nice menu—but it is on the touristy Place de Vosges, so you never know. Cloudy and occasionally drizzly here but not cold, and no real rain. Hope it stays like this, more or less.
17 September 2006 Paris
A lazy Sunday. Nonna and Logan both very tired, and rested all day (following an early lunch of croques at the Palais Royale and a short walk). I’m feeling a bit melancholy, for no particular reason. Perhaps the inactivity, though I’m a bit tired myself. The weather’s good—the threatened rain has never materialized, and though the sky is gray, the temperature is mild. Except for the gray sky, it still looks like summer—the trees green and full of leaves, the tourists in shorts. This weekend was some kind of open monument days. Buildings not usually open could be toured (the Hotel de Ville, for example, though I didn’t stand in the line to walk through it) and the courtyards of some private hotels particuliers. We got into the Orangerie for free yesterday, and into the Orsay at a reduced price. I thought about popping into the Louvre today, since we were at the Palais Royale, but I didn’t. Took a long walk, this part of town very busy today, as it’s Sunday; mobs of people shopping in the Marais, a long line to get into Notre Dame, crowds on the illes. A typical Sunday. Dinner at Willi’s last night; I had crab, and then duck. Tonight we are trying the restaurant on the Place de Vosges, instead of our usual Sunday night at Balzar. I went out last night, but the nightlife at my usual haunts was rather dull.
I forgot to change the pick up date of the car! (We have a Peugeot lease/buyback through Auto Europe; much cheaper than renting a car, but slightly less flexible.) I called today, but they can’t try to fix it until tomorrow. The guy I talked to seemed to think I would be able to pick it up a day early but he wouldn’t promise until he talks to the France office tomorrow. I’m hoping it will be taken care of; I don’t quite know what I’ll do if it isn’t. Trying to remain optimistic, and calm. Was careless of me; I had simply thought I had changed the date, when in fact I never did. I’m not going to write anything else now. I’m going to get dressed for dinner.
18 September 2006 Paris
This morning we took the Metro out to St. Denis, to see the Cathedral, and the tombs of the French kings. I was really happy to have my new Leica digital camera…what a pleasure it is to have manual exposure control again! Great for shooting in cathedral interiors. After that, we took the metro back to the Galleries Lafayette. We had a mediocre lunch nearby (in hindsight, I think we should have eaten in one of the department store’s multitude of restaurants.) The store was wild—it’s huge and beautiful (enormous atrium with belle epoch glass dome, women dancing in cages, make-up artists doing make-overs, Kenyan acrobats!) Nonna was tired though, although she did make friends with one of the acrobats while Logan and I explored the food hall.
Some disappointments. Last night’s restaurant, Cocona’s, I wasn’t too impressed with. And it seems it is not new, but has been there fifty years. How could I have never noticed it? I am still trying to figure that one out. Possibly it has been closed for remodeling for a time (everything looks new inside) but I don’t really know. Nonna and Logan both really liked their dinners, while I found mine sort of mediocre. Maybe I just ordered the wrong things. I had a starter of mushrooms fricasseed with ham. It was large and salty. Then I had a wild duck served on choucroute; both seemed fine (though the duck didn’t taste that wild) but together I didn’t find them so happily paired. The atmosphere was a bit too sedate. It’s owned by the famous Tour d’ Argent. Tonight we went to Benoit, which though pricey, I have always enjoyed. It too is now owned by a conglomerate (celebrity chef Alain Ducasse) and I think it suffers for it. The food was excellent, but it just wasn’t as festive. The waiters more restrained…it seems to have lost its unique personality. There was always a sense of fun there, that balanced its seriousness. I missed that tonight. Nonna had foie gras (always reliable) and Logan had a marinated salmon that was quite good. I had a pate that was good, but perhaps the tiniest bit bland. They always had such interesting entrees there…I remember the mad ballotine they used to serve. My veal main course was excellent though, and Logan liked his veal cheeks. My mother was not that impressed by her fish (a st pierre) but that was because the fish was too intensely flavored—not the fault of the fish at all, but rather Nonna’s own aversion to fish. For dessert we shared a perhaps definitive version of the classic profiteroles—delicious little cream puffs, served with a scoop of excellent vanilla ice cream, and a separate pot of warm, bitter chocolate sauce. It was a deconstructed profiterole, and it worked beautifully—each item was delicious on it’s own, and they combined perfectly. Still, I think I miss the old, more quirky, Benoit. Benoit was one of my favorite places to take people…it was pretty, the food was good, but mostly it was fun, and the staff always made a big fuss over you…they’d show you the food, they’d discuss it, they’d bring you extra desserts. None of that happened this time, and it all seemed rather soulless. I don’t think I will go back anymore. It’s rather sad to see its character lost to another corporate entity.
Nonna cannot walk at all at night. We had to take a taxi one metro stop from Benoit to the hotel! I don’t know what she will do at Versailles tomorrow. The palace is huge with long staircases (forget it!) and the grounds are enormous. Hopefully she will be up to walking from the entrance to the tourist train that takes you around…but even that is something of a hike as I recall.
19 September 2006 Versailles
I needn’t have worried about Nonna and Versailles! After a bit of a trek (for her) from the Hotel to the chateau, I discovered that at the entrance to the gardens you could rent golf carts! I rented a golf cart for an hour (28 euros an hour and well worth it) and drove her around the chateau gardens! She loved it, and what a relief for me. We didn’t go in the house…she would have never made it up the all the stairs; besides, the palace is really pretty ugly inside, and the whole place (including the famous hall of mirrors and the front court) is under renovation. Well, you see how big it is from the outside, and its bigness is its outstanding feature. Logan didn’t come with us, he stayed at our pleasant little inn (the Hotel du Barry) to work. He’s working far too much on this trip; it’s hard to get him to delegate and to schedule, but it does no good for me to tell him so. I guess I can’t complain about the compulsiveness of others.
We ate across the street from the hotel at the Café des Arts, a cute little modestly priced restaurant. I had a tomato and feta salad, and veal liver. It was actually quite good. Nice breakfast room at the hotel.
We had no trouble picking up our Peugeot. They didn’t even ask for my driver’s license(!) and it was ready before two. The cab ride across Paris took forever. As did the driving around Versailles looking for the hotel. The actual drive from La Defense to Versailles only took about 20 minutes though.
20 September 2006 Amboise
Logan’s TomTom navigation device, was cranky and wouldn’t work yesterday. It magically started working on our drive to Orleans, and seems happy now. The car is nice; it’s a huge four door sedan, very comfortable—a little too big for easy parking or navigating tiny streets, but just big enough to hold all the luggage in the trunk! It has an easy to use five speed stick, and plenty of power. It does, however, take 70 euros to fill the gas tank! I like the way it drives better than driving a diesel, but it is more expensive.
We got up and on the road by 10. We had no trouble finding our way to Orleans—and as I said, the navigation device started working on our journey there. We met Sebastien, from the Loire tourist press office, for lunch in Orleans. He took us to the Brasserie Place Mertroi in the center of town, where we all had plates of raw beef (either tartare or carpaccio). Got the latest press kits from him and some suggestions for dinner and activities. It was nice of him to meet me again.
After lunch we walked to the Cathedral. Lots of teens skating in the place in front. No one in the Cathedral. Leisurely, scenic drive to Amboise. The Clos d’Amboise is nice…really comfortable beds, and a swimming pool, but it doesn’t come close to the luxury of the Manoir des Minimes. Fortunately, Logan and nonna don’t know what they are missing. Still the rooms here are large, and the beds comfortable. Unfortunately they put nonna on the second floor, and she can barely make it up the two flights of steps. I should have requested a ground floor room. I think all of our other hotels have elevators!
21 September 2006 Amboise
Clear blue sky and very warm in Amboise. All the trees are green and it really feels like summer here. Still light until well after 7pm as well. I guess Autumn will be upon us in a couple weeks, though we are racing away from it by heading south. Catching up…the last day we were in Paris they removed the scaffolding from the Hotel Malher. It greatly improved the ambience of our room. The owner is very nice. However, it is nearly double the cost of the Sevigne across the street, and the amenities are comparable.
Dinner last night at a place suggested by Sebastian, L’ Epicerie, right opposite the Chateau d’Amboise. It was a cute, family run sort of place, but with a rather extensive menu and wine list. It was fairly inexpensive, and the food was quite good, as were the wines. It was also very busy—we had to sit in the back room with the other English speakers, but the staff were so nice it made up for it. It was the sort of place with big set menus, so you got a cheese course included! Good cheese. I had a country duck pate and rillettes (together at last) and then this big lamb shank. Logan had smoked salmon and then a steak with foie gras on top, and my mother had the salmon and (the best dish I think) a sort of terrine made with scallops and rougets. Apple tarts and chocolate domes for dessert (after the cheese of course.) Vouvray and Chinon to drink.
Today a very nice breakfast at the hotel. A walk around town and then a short drive to Chaumont sur Loire to see the chateau. Nice chateau, totally deserted. Then across the grounds to the Festival des Jardins—an annual garden design competition, with several dozen custom created gardens. This year the theme was “playing in gardens.” An interesting idea, with some (of course) more successful than others. It was full of children and teens, school groups I suppose. You could see which designers were successful in meeting the theme simply by observing which gardens were full of children and which were empty! Some fun ideas—searching for a four leaf clover in a clover garden, a game in which you spun a wheel and searched to identify plants, an ugly but popular garden with spinning toys. Some themes were too abstract: some interestingly so and some not. There was an additional garden consisting of a sequence of mysterious rusted iron constructions, which seemed part of something else, but was quite fun.
Came back to Amboise, had a snack, a dip in the pool, and now just resting before dinner. Tonight we go to the Pavillion des Lys for dinner—the entire reason we have detoured through Amboise on our way from Paris to Italy!
Later…
Pavillion des Lys for dinner. The cute boys in the dining room had no record of my reservation…despite the endless emailing required to make it. Note: reserve by phone. They were very gracious though and seated us without a fuss. Still…
Anyway dinner was, one year since our last visit, still pretty amazing. And why Sebastian doesn’t double his prices (he well could) is still a pleasant mystery. We ate inside tonight; the dining room very pretty, but a little bit warm. It would have been a fine idea to eat outside, but it’s September, and I guess it’s just not done. (They do have actual outdoor furniture now, wicker chairs and marble tables.)
For dinner we had
A sort of green pea mouse
A pastry with mousaka and goat cheese
Artichoke puree with foie gras (surprisingly good, considering the odd combination)
Lobster and scallop risotto (Logan had tomato and mushroom risotto)
Filo with lamb and coco beans
Apple and almond tart with ice cream
Figs in orange sauce
Cactus sorbet
Then tiny strawberry smoothies and cookie
We retired to the lounge for tea and coffee and tiny pot de chocolats
Nonna said she ate too much and had too much wine. She has horrible indigestion every night now, so I may try to switch to having lunch instead of a big dinner…though I will probably be more successful with this after Logan leaves. If we have lunch, maybe she can digest better. I worry about her stamina. I hope this whole trip is not too much for her.
22 September 2006 Moulins
An old French town, really in the middle of nowhere. Quite interesting as it is totally tourist-free. We’re staying at the Hotel de Paris, a sort of faded grand hotel…a business hotel, but it’s Friday night so there is no one here. The rooms are large and have been curiously remodeled in some style I can’t place to any particular era. View of the cathedral. The cathedral is quite interesting, being built in two distinct parts, two styles of gothic, in the 15th and 16th century. Very gloomy inside. Has a rather amazing renaissance triptych, by a local, unknown painter. Very beautiful and in perfect condition with no restoration. Must have been kept out of sight for hundreds of years. Center panel is the Madonna of the Apocalypse, from a story in Revelations. Interesting bell tower (not by the church) with mechanical bell ringers; rebuilt after a 1947 fire. Big ruined chateau. Lots of interesting little buildings. A big grand tree-lined L-shaped avenue, which is unfortunately all torn up for reconstruction.
Dinner at Restaurant des Cours. Slightly fancy, but very pretty. Very good food, nicely presented. Logan and I had a special fig menu. First a crumble of figs with seared foie gras. Then a duck breast with figs; then a soft blue goat cheese with a fig compote, and finally three little fig desserts. Nonna had the regular menu, a starter of lentils and salmon and an egg, and piece of pork cooked five hours in whiskey! The food was inventive and quite good. The staff was very nice, and our waiter enjoyed practicing his English. Everyone else was French. They don’t get many American rufuses in Moulins!
When we were out walking today we passed a pharmacy with a display of walking sticks and canes. I made nonna buy a cane with a silver dog’s head.
We drove here from Amboise, via Bourges, where we stopped briefly for lunch. The navigation system was strangely useless in Bourges (sending us round in circles) but it was flawless in getting us straight to the hotel in Moulins. (Logan was desperate to go into Bourges, to eat lunch at this café where he had horse tartare on our previous trip—he says it was the best tartare he ever had, but I think he likes telling the story ten times as much as he liked the tartare—but we couldn’t find it, so we ate at a normal, quite decent brasserie.) So Moulins is halfway, more or less, between Amboise and Lyon, but not really on the route to anywhere else in France. It’s not near the autoroutes or the main train lines, so it really is rather isolated. You could buy a house here, or a farm, really cheap. As I went on yesterday about how summery it was, I have to say it started to rain in the middle of last night, and all day today was cloudy with intermittent showers. Still not cold though, and it stopped raining by the time we arrived in Moulins.
24 September 2006 Lyon
Weekend in Lyon. Warm, but intermittently showery. Hotel Globe et Cecil is elegant, but oddly deserted on the weekend. I feel a bit like we are the only ones here. A nice lady on the desk all day, but she is the only staff at the hotel. Lyon was very busy when we arrived yesterday, a Saturday. Everyone in town shopping, or demonstrating in the Place Bellecour, or handing out balloons encouraging ecological transportation. All the cafes, and streets, full of people. Today is very quiet, everything is closed, except in the tourist area of Vieux Lyon. And there was a demi-marathon this morning, it went by our hotel, but had nearly ended by the time we finished breakfast.
This afternoon we took the official tourist office walking tour of renaissance Lyon (my third time) which was still enjoyable, and a good way to pass a Sunday afternoon. That is the only lively quarter of Lyon on Sunday. Visited the gothic church with the astronomical clock, and some of the traboules and renaissance courtyards, and got the 2000 year history of Lyon. Nonna held up well, keeping up with the tour to the end. And then even managed to walk back to the hotel. I had wanted to be here on Friday/Saturday rather than the weekend, but it didn’t work out that way.
We did a bit of window shopping yesterday, after arriving at three, then went to an early dinner at Raphael Berringer, a stylish restaurant (new I think) south of the Place Bellecour. This district seems newly fashionable, with art galleries and antique shops. The restaurant was very pretty, in a contemporary way. Big windows and striped walls in two shades of green, which was much more beautiful than it sounds. Just two, not very large, rooms. And the youngest staff I have ever seen in French restaurant. No one seemed to be over 25; and our waiter, I think it was his first week on the job. He was flummoxed and nervous and sweating, but very sweet. Everyone else, though young, seemed polished and relaxed. Food was interesting and good. A plate of amuse bouches (that one had to pay 5 euros for) that had a shrimp, an eggplant puree, a potato/bacon thing, and a broccoli cream. I had a starter of stuffed rabbit back and artichoke hearts, followed by lamb sweetbreads. Logan had pumpkin soup with chestnuts and autumn mushrooms and a veal kidney. Nonna had the soup also and a steak. As usual in trendy restaurants, my mother had the least successful main course—her steak was overcooked (Logan’s fault in ordering, I think though) and her potato thing was burnt (no excuse). The innards were very good. Logan and I had cheese. And we ordered three of the four desserts: a pear and puff pastry concoction (light and good) and chocolate layered thing (very rich) and a cinnamon mousse with chestnut ice cream. We drank a bottle of white and a bottle of red St. Joseph, Logan’s wine of choice for this trip.
Wanted to note a nice looking hotel for future reference, the Hotel du College, in Vieux Lyon. Looks stylish, good location, and cheaper than the Globe et Cecil. I’d give it a try on a return visit I think. It was on Louise’s (of the French tourist office in New York) suggestion list, but I somehow had my heart set on staying at the Globe et Cecil, as I always admired it’s Agatha Christie era name and appearance. It’s nice but not that great, and a bit spooky in its emptiness. Although the woman working today could not have been nicer. And it has super bathtubs, windows that open, air-conditioning, and we are on the top floor.
One big minus—they contract the wifi internet service with a company that charges 30 euros a day; absolutely outrageous, and the highest price I have ever seen in a hotel—more than the George V, more than in London. My pet peeve—I think hotels should provide free wifi, as it costs them virtually nothing. In Paris we tapped into someone’s open network for free (pretty easy to do in Paris). In Versailles Logan paid for it. In Amboise it was a nominal 5 euros a day (which we may not even have been charged); in Moulins, it was simply non-existent. I don’t mind access only every few days…but I will miss it at the Gatto Rosso; I’m hoping I can connect occasionally somewhere in Lucca.
On our drive from Moulins to Lyon, we cut across southern Burgundy. Saw those cutouts of dead people all along the side of the road again. Creepy. Logan insisted we stop at Paray le Monial to revisit the pilgrimage church, once a Romanesque Cluniac monastery. He had said we had visited it on our trip to Burgundy some years ago, but I did not remember it until we got to Lyon and I reread my notes from that trip. The interior has been completely restored and redone. The walls are painted a light ochre with fake white mortar joints and the whole interior is very light and bright. Also some rather nice modern light fixtures (all swirling leaves) and candle holders have been designed and installed, along with some truly beautiful abstract stained glass in the upper windows. It’s no wonder I didn’t recognize it. The façade is typical Bourgundian Romanesque, and it does face a pretty canal. When last we visited, we approached from a different direction (through the town and a market) and the interior (I think) was dark and under restoration. From my notes I recall a garden and diorama of a young nun’s vision of Jesus telling her to worship his sacred heart. Sadly, I didn’t recall this while we were there—it would have been a hoot to see that again.
Tomorrow I want to shop a bit in the morning, and have a proper bouchon lunch before we set off on the two hour drive to Avignon. It seems vital to have a Bouchon meal while in Lyon.
25 September 2006 Avignon
Spent the morning in Lyon, wandering around, shopping (a few places open on Monday morning) and had a nice lunch in a tiny Bouchon. The owner, Mme. Danielle, at her self named Bouchon Chez Marie Danielle, did all the serving in the little room—dashing about with amazing efficiency. Food was excellent; and even rather light and delicate for a bouchon. Logan started with a plate of sliced sausage and lentils, nonna with foie gras on top of an artichoke heart, and I with a terrine of chicken livers. Nonna and I followed it with quenelles (a kind of fish dumpling), a specialty of the house, very light (though large) and deliciously sauced. Lemon tart and chocolate mouse were both superb, the first very lemony, the second chocolaty but very airy.
Picked up our car and our many bags at the Globe et Cecil and had no trouble driving out of town to the payage. Boring two hour drive on the expensive A-7 highway to Avignon. The navigation device took us into the old city through the wrong gate, then promptly lost its signal. The hotel is just on the main, straight road from the gate opposite the railway station! If I had only known.
Six o’clock when we got settled in our awful hotel. A short walk, and a half decent, simple supper at a tourist brasserie on the Place de Horloge. Logan unwell.
26 September 2006 Avignon
The Palais des Papes is pretty amazing, some incredible, large, starkly beautiful 14th century rooms; the view from the rooftop is amazing. The morning tour groups make visiting impossible, but it’s open late, and at 6pm we had the place to ourselves, basically. Go late.
Sunset from the Dom de Notre Dame next to the Palais was brilliant. We were too late to go into the church though.
Le Cid, on the touristy Place de Horloge is a hoot of a gay café/bar. By day, you’d never know it was gay, as like all the cafés there, it is chock-a-block with tourists; your only clue is a tiny rainbow flag inside and the staff–everyone young, pierced, tattooed and gay as can be. After dinner, when the tour groups are long gone, it has a much gayer ambience. Loads of cute boys sitting at the tables, posing. Very fun.
The Hotel Danielli is shabby and cheerless. Must remember to tell Louise to remove it from her list of suggested hotels. Eager to see what it looks like on its website again, for if there was any resemblance to the reality of the place, I would not have booked here. But internet access is just one of a number of promised amenities that doesn’t exist. The staff, what there is of her, is cheerfully indifferent. Out room is on a noisy alley; quiet enough at night, but a cacophony from 7:30 am—first a delivery truck endlessly unloading noisy metal racks, and now a circular saw, of all things. It’s in the center of town. The navigation system could not find it, though now that I know where it is, I could have found it easily. As it was, lots of driving around inside the old walled city. And the car is parked some distance away…only a problem when I have to come back tomorrow to pick up the luggage and nonna. The two star Hotel Palais du Papes with view of the Palais is cheaper! Hotel d’Angleterre, a logis with parking and an elevator, is cheaper. Hotel Le Cloitre St. Louis is more expensive, but beautiful beyond belief, built around an old monetary cloister. Well, we know for next time.
Choosing a hotel by its website bears a certain similarity to internet dating…the ever present risk of false representation is much the same: out-of-date pictures, photos of something else; false promises. And conversely a bad website can put you off a good hotel!
The Mistral, the famous cold wind, is blowing.
27 September 2006 Marseilles
Got Logan off on the TGV to CDG this morning, and then we drove to Marseilles. A big, big, traffic-filled city—far too big for an overnight stop. People seem friendly, lots of bustling around. Waiters don’t speak a lot of English, but they are very friendly. I guess not so many tourists come here, even though the old port area looks very touristy. At the café where we had lunch, it was all locals. But even in the old port it seemed mostly French. The Irish pub was hopping with French speaking patrons!
We had a good dinner down there, at a place recommended by the hotel, which is a pleasant enough Best Western. The restaurant Rudon Bleu specializes in fish and especially bouillabaisse—they are a member of an association for the preservation of proper Marseilles bouillabaisse. It has to be made and presented a certain way. It was good, but it sure was a lot of fish! I loved the roué.
A long drive tomorrow anyway, but a simple inn in a small town.
28 September 2006 Liagueglia, Italy
I love this hotel (The Splendid Mare) and especially this little resort town, right on the Mediterranean coast. It’s so cute, and it’s very unpopulated now in late September, even though the weather is perfect. Only Italians, and a few Brits, here. Not busy at all, very off season. But perfect. I wish we were staying two days. I thought there would be nothing to do, but it’s a block from the sea and they have a private bathing beach with chairs and umbrellas and changing rooms. There are lots of outdoor café/bars, really cheap, and it’s just great. I’d love to lay all day tomorrow under an umbrella, and take occasional dips in the Med. I walked along the beach at sunset, the weather was great, the water was mild, the beach was deserted, a few people promenading or sitting in a café near our hotel. We went there after dinner for coffee and grappa, an old man was playing the piano—hit songs from the 1940’s. The hotel is equally lost in time, a grand old resort. The town is a beach resort trapped well in the last century. Mostly Italians here. It’s too great.
Beautiful drive today. We took small roads from Marseilles to Bandol, where we stopped for sandwiches. Really cute town with a big yacht harbor. We should have stopped there instead of Marseilles. For the one night, it would have been much easier. Then drove the Payage to Monaco. It looked really cool (so clean and shiny) but we couldn’t really stop to admire the views because there is nowhere at all to park! Stopped on the other side, in Menton, the last French town, and had coffee and ice cream at a café on the beach. Crossed the border to Italy past the two abandoned border control stations. It gives me hope to see such things. Drove the crazy Italian Payage—now called the Autoroute of course (the highway is all high bridges and long tunnels, it must have cost a fortune to build) to Diano Marina, then along the coast to our cool hotel. Great suggestion of Jim’s friend Arthur. This town is cool. Dinner was decent in the hotel, actually pretty good, if a bit rushed. Other restaurants in town look really good. Sitting outside the bar nearby, listening to the piano player and drinking coffee and grappa on the square was great. I’d cancel Genoa and stay here if I could without paying a penalty. It’s just so relaxing…finally! I want to come back. Maybe Lake Como, so late in the season, will be this cool.
28 September 2006 Liagueglia
Morning. Waiting for nonna. My room has those great wooden shutters on the window that block out heat and light, but still allow air. The floor is tiled, the ceiling is tiled, the bed comfortable, it is all very pretty. Rates are low in the off season, and the weather is perfect. Why would anyone want to come here when it was crowded? Wish I could stay on the beach all day under an umbrella, but perhaps Genoa will be interesting.
29 September 2006 Genova
Hotel Savoia is pretty cool. Pleasant modern rooms in a very old building. Antique Otis cage elevator from the 19th century with manual opening doors.
Walked to the aquarium today for a visit. I love aquariums. It’s pretty nice. Amazingly big fish; giant sea turtles. Pretty cool. Dinner tonight at Da Dominica, across town by taxi on Piazza S. Lorenzo, a suggestion of the hotel clerk. Nice tratoria, a maze of rooms, but we sat on the back terrace, which was quite busy. No menus. The waiter recited the things on offer and attempted to translate into English, though I understood his Italian better. An aperitif of slightly sparkling wine, a bottle of local Genovese white (and a half bottle when we finished that…actually they just opened another bottle and said drink what you want and we will charge accordingly. Antipasto plate of little marinated fishy things: an anchovy, salmon, eggplant, pulpo, more. Primi piatti of branzino-filled ravioli in a tomato cream sauce with clams, mussels and shrimp. Whole, grilled branzino, filleted at the table for a secondi. Skipped dessert, had a coffee. The bill for the whole thing was 90 euros. Seems like a bargain, especially for the big city. Everyone else was Italian. Waiter was nice and cute and his younger brother (son?) assistant was really sweet, if a little earnest. “Mama” running things. Very pleasant.
The hotel is great, although I think it’s not quite the center, so there’s not much open at night—shopping and café/bars by day though—it’s just at the Principe railway station. Some grand old churches and palazzos; would be a nice place to explore someday. Not many tourists here it seems (though I did stop the car while driving in to let two American teens cross the street!). Internet here is theoretical, but they said they haven’t got it working yet. Chatty English-speaking taxi driver on the way to dinner, he seemed quite proud of Genova and thought we should see all the sights. Well, off to the Gatto Rosso tomorrow. Now I’ll get back to reading Cloud Atlas, a pretty great book.
Returned to a favorite discovery, the farm/inn-restaurant of Villa Giadello, east of Modena. The elderly owner is still here and hard at work. Our apartment was smaller and rather more modern than the one we had on our previous visit (we were in the new building), but the only disadvantage was the very narrow beds. (Randy told me, much later, that he didn’t sleep at all, for fear of falling off the bed, which was both narrow and quite high. He still refers to it as a “Nun’s bed.”)
Just a brief rundown on last night’s dinner (the reason we came, after all).
Sat down to a big stack of white plates. First offered a locally made wine—their own wine in fact, first a frizzante white Trebbianno followed by a frizzante red Lambrusco. The white is better—the red more resembling something teens would drink at a party. The food began to arrive.
1st: a platter of cold cuts, and a platter of pickled onions and pickled artichoke hearts. A bowl of puffy deep fried dough pockets (irresistible!)
2nd: A bowl of tortellini in brodo: chicken stuffed tortellini in a rich chicken broth
3rd: a cheese stuff pasta (larger tortellini) with butter and cheese
4th: roast pork in a dark balsamic gravy with roast potatoes and green salad
5th: desserts: a bowl of fruits in a liqueur; a custard and a chocolate pudding, and a plate of meringues and cookies.
6th: Coffee and a mysterious after dinner sweet liqueur.
Just finished a nice breakfast of good coffee, meat, toast, apple butter, pear juice and plum cake.
26 October 2006 Como, Italy
After dinner, our second night in Como. I’m fighting the onset of a cold…a little congested, not too bad, I’m hoping it will pass. Como is a really cute (almost too cute), really rich little city on the south edge of Lake Como, not far at all from Milano. It’s very pristine: clean, ordered, manicured…it seems almost un-Italian. Full of banks and fancy shops, and a beautiful lake front with promenade and park and marina. Our hotel, the Metropole and Suisse, is cute, if a little stuffy, but comfortable, on the Piazza Cavour with a view of the lake. We arrived yesterday, midday, and had lunch in the rather formal, and rather empty, hotel restaurant. It’s after the season here, so it’s not very crowded, which is nice, and the weather is great, but it gives this big resort hotel a bit of a forlorn feeling. The food was good, a little pricey, the service too formal.
After lunch, we discovered a funicular, which takes you up a steep hillside from the waterfront to the top of the mountain. It’s only a seven minute ride, so it’s not that far up. Great views though. It was sunset, I took some pictures; we had some really bad wine at the café up there—“all natural wine as made by the Romans before the bisth of chist.” It was fun though.
We found a neat little tiny restaurant for dinner. It’s called Nostra’damus, which must be some kind of pun in Italian. They had a very small menu, which they seem to change daily. After pressing our faces to the glass, we reserved a table for 90 minutes later, but it’s good we did, because every table in the little place was full by 8:15. All Italians except us, I believe. No translation on the menu, although the waitress did translate a few mysterious items for us. Started with a plate of artisinal salumis, and a polenta (of wheat or ?, it was dark brown) with a soft cheese melted on it. Unusual and really delicious. Had a risotto…your basic saffron, very rich though, and followed that with pork loin stuffed with sausage—really great but also just too much by then. Great place though. It’s on this cute little (tarted up, but historic) medieval street, just behind the shopping area.
This morning I went to the Duomo, a fabulous renaissance cathedral in pristine condition. Inside there are some amazing altars…a carved wooden one, a great renaissance altar, and a mad baroque concoction. Tapestries, and a beautiful vaulted ceiling painted with stars. The facade is a marvelous marble display decorated with statues of saints. (I took Randy and Nonna to see it late in the day…the facade was prettier in the fading light, but the interior was too gloomy by late afternoon.)
We left at noon to take the public ferry boat up the lake. The lake is dotted with cute little hillside villages and extravagant waterfront villas. We took an almost two hour ride to Bellagio, the halfway point, sitting on the open deck of the ferry. It was a lovely ride…cold in shadow, but very warm in the sun. We had sandwiches and cappuccini in Belagio, which was mostly closed up for the season. There’s one really extravagant hotel there, with what sounds like an amazing gourmet restaurant; but really there is not much there. Definitely just a resort spot. It made me glad we were staying in Como, where it’s pretty but also some real life going on. We came back on the hydrofoil, which took less than an hour.
Randy and I walked along the waterfront to a little early 20th century villa rotunda that turned out to be a monument and museum to Allesandro Volta, the scientist and inventor of the battery, and Como native. It was at the end of a very pretty little park, which also contained a fascist era (but rather nice looking) monument to the WWI dead; and a memorial to the resistance fighters of WWII. Italy often seems to forget what side it was on in WWII; one forgives them though because they are so good natured. I wonder that the people didn’t want to go to war anymore then than we wanted war with Iraq.
We had dinner tonight at Resturante Rino, oddly enough, a Tuscan restaurant. (It and the restaurant the night before, had been suggested to us by the owners of this cute little place we stumbled into that only served lunch; unfortunately we didn’t get to try it—they serve a different lunch every day; It’s next door to Nostra’damus.) The Tuscan place was really good as well, also quite small and full of Italians (mostly; there was a group of posh, well-heeled, elderly Brits). I had some crostini, fresh pasta with truffled duck sauce (I think they own the pasta shop next door as well) and grilled lamb chops with spinach. And some vin santo and cantuccini. The truffles were very nice, very aromatic (one of the crostini was a truffled something…all I could taste was truffle.
In the morning we are off to Strasbourg, the long drive through the Alps. Should be fun, and quite scenic. It’s the longest drive of the trip.
28 October 2006 Strasbourg, France
The Hotel Rohan is as nice as ever. Great staff, friendly and helpful. Haven’t done all that much while in Strasbourg. A little shopping. Some walking around. Visiting the beautiful red sandstone cathedral (such an unusual color)—though they are doing a lot of work on the tower and the north exterior. Took the silly boat ride around the city. Visited some gay bars—well two—with Randy. One a place of middle-aged queens who all knew each other, with comfy sofas (JJ’s) and the other a packed and happening teen hangout with really cute boys (and girls) and cheap drinks. It was very hot and we were conspicuously old.
Randy was happy to be in France (he likes the ethnic diversity and open homosexuality, which is lacking in Italy). Nonna’s becoming a little impatient with everything, (It annoys me particularly because I think it is an unpleasant trait I have inherited myself.) I think she’s ready to go home. I could use a week in Paris, alone. It all makes me want to run away to Europe—oh, I did that already!
29 October 2006 Strasbourg, France
Great dinner tonight, our best in Strasbourg, at the famous (justly so) Chez Yvonne. Fantastic foie gras and great choucroute (with liver quenelles, worsts, lard, duck confit, ham) and also excellent house wines…a very good Gewurztraminer (sweet) with the foie gras and a nice Riesling to follow. Lots of other great sounding things on the menu too, if you don’t want to be so traditionally Alsatian. The (small) staff was very nice and friendly and the place was packed with people streaming in all during our dinner (we arrived at 8). It’s the best place we ate in Strasbourg. Better than Strissel (booked by our hotel the first night); better than our return to Table d’ Alsace (the fish place), although I did enjoy my oysters. Strasbourg does seem to have a service problem though, all the restaurants seem understaffed and overworked. Not sure if it’s a chronic problem or if perhaps they have cut back to winter staff and are overtaxed by the unseasonable warm weather. Every place needs more staff though.
We decided to stay a third day in Strasbourg. For simplicity’s sake, and skip Reims in favor of two country inns on the route to CDG.
Having finished the fascinating but excessively self-conscious Cloud Atlas, I am now reading the aggressively self-conscious Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.
30 October 2006 Marre, France
Leaving Strasbourg, we drove straight through to Verdun, where we had a tiny lunch in grand hotel/restaurant, Le Bistro hostellerie du Guy Hardi, where I’d really like to have a full meal sometime. They had cloches! Verdun seemed kind of cool, its buildings still showing WWI bullet holes in the stone, and a nice Cathedral with a beautiful Gothic cloister.
Staying the night at a funny little logis in Marre, the Village Galois. Cute, simple rooms, a nice dinner, and a (closed for the season) miniature golf course—all buried under autumn leaves. Dinner was good, a salad of warm rabbit in vinegar, and a piece of suckling pig, though I ate half of Nonna’s steak, which was better. Nice breakfast of meats and a fresh baguette and pain de chocolat. The inn was really quirky though…in addition to the abandoned miniature golf course, the dining room was this circular stone building, and the inn, which appeared to have only two floors, had two staircases—each led to a similar—but not the same—corridor of rooms; which both appeared to be on the first (2nd American) floor. They seemed to occupy the same space at the same time! There was also a very odd old man, who may have been the proprietor, who was building an extension to the building…he kept coming by to talk to us: outside, at dinner, at breakfast, but each time he found we spoke English he just smiled and went on his way.
31 October 2006 (Halloween) Chateau-Thierry, France
Leaving the logis, we drove nearly to Belgium through beautiful, bright green, and completely deserted countryside, to the American Great War cemetery, which Nonna wanted to see. The whole area we drove through was devastated in WWI; they say whole villages were destroyed and never rebuilt. We drove then to Reims, and parked by the Cathedral, and because I had an overwhelming desire for steak tartare, we walked to the Brasserie Flo. The tartare was good, but big. Nonna ordered a Choucroute (it came with a ¼ duck confit and a whole tongue (!) which she didn’t eat, of course.) Then we drove out of town just as it began to rain, and onto our misadventures with the inns.
The idea was to stay in a final country inn, then in the morning to the airport. We actually found the place I was looking for, a place we stopped for lunch a year or so ago—the Auberge Le Relais, a few kilometers east of Chateau Thierry on the N3. Excited to find it (not remembering its name) and pulled up in front to find it Ferme Mardi et Mercredi! Merde! Drove on few more kilometers and saw a sign to the hotel restaurant Le Moulin…followed the sign to this really cute farmhouse type inn…with a locked gate and a note that they would be closed from 30 October to 3 November! D’oh! After that we were in the small city of Chateau-Thierry, where we could not find two hotels suggested by Ermentrude; stumbled upon the one logis in town (I parked the car to look it up in the book and noticed it was across the street!), but it was kind of forlorn and shabby. Followed signs to something that sounded promising but was a motel by the payage, turned around and saw this big Best Western Hotel La France. It’s comfortable, but not quite charming, though the Madame at the desk is quite nice. It has a restaurant (which turned out to be pretentiously elegant and rather dull). The room has a pleasant view, but the street out front is like a highway, so it’s not so charming. Ah well, it will be fine. It’s a pity the cute inns were closed. Had I known, I might just have stayed in Reims, though this will, I suppose, make getting to the airport easier.
Last night in France, funny it is Halloween. We fly on All Saints Day, a holiday in France and across Europe. Sort of just a nothing night, a rest-stop before CDG. We didn’t go back to Paris; possibly I should have stayed the night in Riems, where we stopped for lunch. We saw some kids trick-or-treating on the way—in the daylight, so as not to be run down on the roads at night, I suppose. In Reims a cinema was showing 12 horror films for one admission price! Seems this American holiday has caught on in France. I suppose they are whooping it up in West Hollywood. It’s been ages since I did anything on Halloween.
Winding up the trip now; It will be good not to have to carry suitcases anymore, though I know I will miss Europe after a week back in LA.
“It would be easier,” I remark, “To have lunch with Jacques Chirac.” We are standing outside the Pilier Sud, at the entrance to private elevator to Restaurant Jules Verne. Our way is blocked by a pleasant but stern young man, clad in all black, with a radio headset. It is a near impossibility to make a reservation at Jules Verne, the luxury restaurant on the second tier of the Tour Eiffel.
“Three months in advance” is their standard reply…and even then…I finally had a friend who works for the French Tourist Office in LA make the reservation…to her slight annoyance, as even for her it required multiple phone calls and faxes. It’s somewhat ridiculous…Le Grand Véfour, Le Cinq—great, three star restaurants—booked with a simple fax on our last trip to Paris. Anyway, even after going to such great lengths to extract a reservation, and a fax from the restaurant confirming such reservation, the Jules Verne insists that you reconfirm the reservation the day before. OK, slightly annoying, but not unheard of. Except that they never answer their telephone. Call, call, and call again, and all you get is a multi-lingual message telling you that all lines are busy and please try again in a few minutes. At the prices they charge, you’d think they could hire someone to answer the phones…or outsource it to a call center in India or something. Finally we sent them a fax. But, of course something has gone astray…our table has been canceled (and given to who I wonder, considering the difficulty of making a reservation and the impossibility of reaching them by phone. Have they a list of stand-ins at the ready?) Calls are made from the elevator desk to the restaurant upstairs; someone comes to confer with us…I wave my confirmation fax (bearing the imprint of the French Tourist Office) and Logan explains the multiple unanswered phone calls. Still the young man in black bars our entry to the private elevator lobby, snicker though he did at my comment about lunch with Jacques Chirac. Clearly this is a commonplace occurrence. Someone in authority explains that they had tried to call our hotel, unsuccessfully, that morning, and then—finally behaving in the manner one expects from such a restaurant—says, but of course we will take care of everything, please come up…
From that point on, all is pleasant. A sweet boy lifts us to the second étage in one of the tower’s uniquely slanted elevators; we can see the young and the vigorous clambering up and down the stairs as views of Paris flash in and out of sight between the steel girders. We are offered an aperitif in the bar, but already they have a table ready for us. It’s a small table…too small really for the theater of food the restaurant requires, but it is right at the window, on the best side of restaurant. All of Paris is below our table: Sacre-Coeur on its hill, the Place de la Concorde, the Arc de Triomphe, the roofs of the Madeleine and the Opera, the expanse of the Louvre, and, in the distance, the distinctive towers of Notre Dame and the brightly colored tubes of the Pompidou Center. Directly under us, on the platform below the restaurant, tourists admire the view. It is spectacular, as promised. Inside, the restaurant is all black and grey and leather—very eighties. It seems a bit, well, too eighties, though in mint condition. Logan admires the china, white with black geometric accents, eighties too, but handsome. I find the black stemmed wineglasses less successful. We have glasses of Veuve Cliquot vintage rose (€29 a glass!) Logan promptly knocks his over—25 euros spilling into my plate and lap—fortunately protected by my napkin. Fortunately our only mishap. Service is efficient, professional, but no better than most Paris restaurants. Food is fairly excellent. The à la carte menu is shockingly expensive—50 starters, €90 entrees, and up. But there is a very nice “businessman’s” lunch menu for 55 (the only thing not translated into English—Logan finds this very cunning). He and I have a starter of haddock prepared three ways: a soup that is almost entirely fish flavored air—really good; haddock tartare, and a little spinach and haddock tartlet. Abbie has a terrine of foie gras and oxtail—terrific. They have lamb for the main course—they proclaim it excellent. I have quail—deboned for the most part, and stuffed with foie gras. It is excellent. We drink two bottles of wine, a white and a Bordeaux, neither particularly expensive. Dessert is a sablé with strawberries, with custard and ice cream; and a lemon thing that Abbie had. Various little candies and cookies and truffles are brought to the table, of course. The wine waiter is cute. After lunch, we wander downstairs and out amid the milling crowds for the view of Paris from the open platform. Logan buys another cheap souvenir Tour Eiffel to add to his odd little collection. We make a waiter open the back door to the Jules Verne for us, so we can take the private elevator down. We are about the last lunch guests to leave the restaurant. The crowd was largely American; a few French people. What can I say? The view: extraordinary. The decor: fair. The service: good but not outstanding. The food: very good. The price: the prix fix lunch is a good value. Otherwise for the money, I’d go to Le Cinq, hands down.
After lunch we caught a taxi to the Louvre. I felt such a tourist, taxi-ing from monument to monument. Everyone was over-tired in the Louvre…but we saw the remounted La Gioconda—or rather the crowds around it. It is better located and better lit. They have moved the Veronese wedding feast to the other end of the room. All and all, the room looks better. They have also finished refurbishing the rooms containing the grand format paintings. These galleries look quite good. We escaped the crowds though, for the Richelieu wing and the Mesopotamian art, the French sculptures in the sunlit courts, and the medieval objects tucked away on the floor above. These galleries are essentially deserted.
***
This spring, without really planning to, I ended up spending 24 days in France—nine in Paris and the remainder touring the towns and countryside in a wide arc around Paris from Reims in the Northwest to Chinon in the southeast. I made two separate trips to France; the first a last-minute press trip organized by the French tourist office to promote the “Gay Friendly” Loire valley followed by a long-planned trip with my business partner (Mr. Logan) and my mother (Abbie), AKA Nonna, which took us to Paris, Chablis, Berry, and again the Loire valley. The press trip focused on the cities of Orleans, Tours and Amboise, so the only real overlap was Amboise, which I visited on both trips. A detailed and chronological account of the trip would be lengthy and unnecessary, therefore I will recount only some of the more entertaining anecdotes, such as the one above.
***
Our first press visit was to the Parc Floral de la Source—a large garden of a former Château that now houses offices for the university. It was chilly, and just slightly too early in the season for most of the flowers, except the tulips. The most remarkable thing a about it is that it is the source of the river Loiret—hence the name. I don’t think I’d ever actually seen the source of a river before; so somehow I always imagined something rather grand—melting glaciers or something. Here the water bubbles up out of little hole in the ground and forms a small decorative stream that runs through the rather formal garden. It looks quite artificial really. When we dined a few nights later at Les Quatre Saisons, a beautiful inn and restaurant (with very good food) which sits picturesquely on the banks of the Loiret a dozen kilometers or so outside of Orleans, the decorative little stream had become a wide and rather impressive river. I still have trouble believing all that water comes out of a little hole in the Château grounds, but I’m assured by those with a more thorough knowledge of earth sciences that this is just the way these things work.
***
Our guided tour of Orleans took us to the old city hall, and the rather nice Cathedral of Sainte-Croix, and of course numerous statues of Jeanne d’Arc—patron and liberator of the city in 1429. The city was preparing for the annual festival in her honor on the 8th of May, taking place a few days after we depart. Apparently, each year a local girl—a virgin of course—is chosen to play the role of Joan, and she rides into the city on a horse and then much feasting and drinking ensues. Orleans is a pleasant and compact city of (newly) cobble stoned streets and quaint buildings. It’s easily explored on your own. Except for one thing you won’t see—and this is what I love about these guided press tours—the secret entrance to the excavated medieval gate and drawbridge. We were assembled on the main square, in front of the large equestrian statue of Jeanne d’ Arc when our guide from the Orleans tourist office takes out her keyring and presses something that looks like the little device that unlocks the doors on a car. She presses a button and a three meter square of cobblestone(!) in the place du Martroi, slowly, silently, and electrically opens like a huge trap door, and out of the ground rises a steel spiral staircase. Descending the staircase to some depth, we explore the foundations of the city wall, and drawbridge gate, and medieval moat. Rather impressive. It seems it was unearthed while constructing an underground parking garage. When we exit, the whole thing is closed up at another push of a button and the massive cobblestone trapdoor disappears seamlessly into the surface of the square.
***
Another guided tour—this of the privately-owned Clos Lucé, the final home of Leonardo da Vinci, in Amboise. Our guide is a completely charming young man with an endearing shyness and beautiful blue eyes. I would mention his name, but he seemed so shy that I think it might embarrass him. He keeps apologizing that he only gives tours to children—perhaps afraid that a group of fully adult homosexuals may be bored with his presentation. Actually I think he was an inspired choice. They run us from place to place on these press tours, so our (or at least my) attention span often grows rather childlike; plus the Clos Lucé is the perfect place for children. It is filled with reconstructions and models of Leonardo’s inventions that you can actually play with, and has lots of interactive exhibits, all of which seem more ideally suited to children, who may become bored with the don’t touch aspects of the Châteaux and Cathedrals. Again we got an insider treat—our guide unlocked the gate in the basement of the house that provides entry into the underground tunnel that once connected the Clos Lucé with the nearby Château d’Amboise. (So that Leonardo could be visited by his patron François I without the king having to go outside.) The tunnel has mostly collapsed but a hundred meters or so of dark, damp, off-limits passageway remain. It’s rather fun to explore, in a creepy way. Fortunately, I have learned a few things while traveling, and have a flashlight in my bag!
We meet up with our guide again, unexpectedly, at the bar La P’tite Chose in Tours, at a meeting of the local gay social group. Here we have a chance to chat with him and his friends over drinks. We discover that badminton is the group’s most popular sporting activity.
***
I’ve decided I really like the quirky Hotel de L’Abeille—the group is split, and this is the hotel I’m not staying at. The staff is gay, and friendly, and a few of them rather cute. The rates are really cheap, around 50-70 euros per room. The lobby is comfortable and has free wifi. (Why is it that the most inexpensive hotels are likely to provide free internet, while a in a room that costs several hundred euros, they will add an additional, sometimes absurdly high, charge?) The whole decor may be aggressively over the top, but the place has character and charm. The clientele is mixed. Gay and straight couples as well as one really attractive young man on his own! Breakfast looked good. My hotel, across the street (Hotel d’Arc) is just comfortably bland. And none of the other lodging in town seems very special at all.
***
Andrew, one of the writers, tells us a story about the gay sauna in Orleans—the brand new Savon—which I had declined to visit on a Monday night. He said he was in the steam room with a cute French boy—apparently there was a decent crowd of two dozen or so—and he started chatting him up—fluency in French, which I definitely lack, can be an advantage. Anyway he tells us, admitting it was a totally corny pick up line—he asks the boy if he has ever had sex with an American. The boy says no. So Andrew asks “Would you like too?” To which the French boy replies, “Yes…with a young American.” A hysterical story as he told it, and that he would tell it with such relish and amusement is a good example of his personality. You should also know that besides being charming, Andrew is extremely handsome, rendering it even more amusing.
***
Amboise, a small, almost too cute town straddling the Loire, is a real discovery. Two beautiful, luxurious manor house hotels, at very reasonable rates for such unrestrained luxury—the Manoir des Minimes and Le Clos d’ Amboise, and a restaurant that is so fantastic—and such a bargain—as to be almost beyond belief.
The amazing dinner was at the recently opened Pavillon des Lys—8 courses for €38 euros. I have no idea how they do it. Each course was amazing. The chef/owner, Sébastien, a gay guy (which is why they put it on the itinerary, I suppose), does all the cooking alone. There are two waiters. It is a small restaurant, about nine tables (with four lavish bedrooms as well.) Dinner consisted of…
Champagne and little snacks in the garden
Then dinner…
1. a beet and parsley cappuccino
2. foie gras and potato tart with Coteau du Layon wine
3. smoked salmon with a local Sauvignon wine
4. roasted sea bass
5. medallion of beef with (Chinon wine, I think)
6. chariot of local cheese
7. pre-desert course of little parfait and cookies
8. a chocolate mouse thing
9. a green apple clafouti with calvados ice-cream
and a glass of poire William in the salon.
hmm…seems like more that 8 courses. It was fantastic! They serve only two multi-course set menus (one vegetarian, rather a rarity) which change daily.
I immediately made reservations for my return trip with Logan and Abbie, as we would be staying nearby. Our encore dinner was equally impressive. Logan and my mother loved it. It was a warm evening, so all the tables were set up outside in the walled gravel courtyard. The indoor tables with lamps and stuff…all as formal as if in the dining room. The weather was perfect for it. We were the first to arrive (at 7:40) and the second to last to leave (at just before midnight.) Well, we spent an hour on the upstairs terrace having our coffee (or verbena) with a tiny chocolate pot de crème and waiting for the check. From the terrace there we had a postcard view of the illuminated St. Hubertus chapel, with the Château behind, as dusk turned into night. Amazing. We were the only ones invited to have our coffee up there, so didn’t we feel special? Same waiter as before (and Sebastien said hello briefly at the end of the meal). Only nine tables, but all were full. And this time only 33 euros! So it went like this:
Aperitif: Kir Vouvray pettilant with little bites: a shrimp, a tapanade, a spoon of beet, and a little glass of melon.
Then
1: a goblet of almost pureed vegetables and herbs; a parmesan cracker
2: Foie Gras with sel gris and a tiny lettuce salad
3: Crabmeat, tomato and avocado mille fiule with a crispy pastry
4: A small filet of fish on a bed of baby peas
5: A half quail with some mushrooms and tiny root vegetables
6: Cheese from the cheese board—a long plank that it took both waiters to carry to the table (actually the cheese is a supplement to the menu, but they comped us on it.)
7: rhubarb clafouti with strawberry ice-cream
8: a glass of fresh sliced strawberries with a glass of vanilla ice cream
9: a mango parfait, a little raspberry on a cookie, a tulle cookie
Then the delicious pot de crème with coffee on the upstairs terrace
We did not drink too much, just two bottles of wine and our aperitifs. We had a light red Menetou-Salon with the first 4 courses, and a Chinon with the quail and cheese.
Oh, the Manoir Les Minimes is fabulous. It’s a grand manor house; my room is extravagant—my bathroom even has a view of the Chateau. Owned by two charming gay guys (in matching pin-striped suits!) Everything in Amboise seems to be owned by homosexuals. Even the director of the Château d’Amboise, I’m told, is gay!
***
At the first dinner at Pavillon des Lys, after everyone had made their selections from the enormous Chariot du Fromage, one of the writers remarked that he had selected an particularly pungent (I believe his descriptions was stinky) cheese. Christophe remarked casually, not really as an explanation, that the cheese in question was from Alsace. Except that in giving a correct French pronunciation to that region of Eastern France, it sounded like “It comes from Al’s ass.” That got everyone’s attention, and much merriment ensued. It took Christophe a few seconds to understand what all the laughter was about.
***
A nice tour of Tours—excuse the obvious pun. It’s one of the larger cities of the Loire, and a big university town. Lots and lots of students. A cute half-timbered medieval quarter with lots of crowded sidewalk bar/cafes. The ruins of the enormous Basilica of St. Martin of Tours—now the city streets run right through the footprint of the giant church; only a couple towers remain. A new, much smaller, 19th century basilica was built during the religious revival to house the relics. I was the only member of the group who wanted to see his relics—so our guide took me to the reliquary under the alter while the rest of the group had coffee. Two interesting stops on the tour that I would have never discovered on my own: We visited a traditional silk weaving factory where they still weave fabric by hand on 18th century looms. For historical restorations I presume, as it is a tremendously expensive process. Apparently it is the only surviving weaver from the time when Tours was the Royal silk weaving city. The fabrics are beautiful—but even the spools of thread were astonishingly beautiful—they glowed with an almost internal light. We also visited an artisanal baker, where all the bread is made by hand and baked in a traditional, pre-WWII brick oven—one of the few surviving in France. Really good bread—in a country of good bread—but a dying artform in an age of more modern, mass production techniques. Anyway the brick oven is essential to the perfect texture of the soft interior and crisp crust of the breads at Veiux Four.
***
Christophe (our host from the LA office of the Maison de France) wore his “Sophie” (The Doyle/Logan Company logo and mascot) T-shirt to dinner last night. It was sweet. I had been wearing mine occasionally during the trip—I brought both, as they are black (I travel in black, it’s just one less decision to make.) The business card, I realize from this, is very successful—everyone remembers the dog logo “Oh I have your card, I remember the dog!”
Sadly the only word that adequately describes dinner is ‘ridiculous.’ Yes, you can have a bad meal in Paris—even an expensive bad meal. It was good that we were, by then, tired of eating. Christophe was a bit sad, because it was our last dinner, and it was a disaster; but really, the place was so absurd as to be amusing. It is a “trendy” restaurant. Well just that word is enough to set off alarm bells for me, and for Andrew too. Christophe says that some “trendy” restaurants in Paris are quite good, and fun, and I have no reason to doubt him. He’d never been here before. I’m rather sure he won’t be back. It was the Cantine du Faubourg…a very big place, in the basement of a building in the fashionable eighth arrondissement. Well, already it was trying too hard to be trendy. Orange plastic T-rex’s on the stairs going down. Gauzy curtains. Cool, modern, straight edged furniture and goofy lamps. Actually it was kind of pretty, in a sort of LA, sort of just past being trendy, way. And the clientele was not trendy—pretentious, plastic surgeried, breast enhanced, yes—but trendy, no. I thought they might all be people who made a lot of money in illegal activities. Mixed with just plain rich people from the neighborhood. Anyway, all this is forgivable…but as a restaurant, the place was a disaster. We were seated….early, 8pm, there was only one, maybe two other tables occupied in this huge space. We ordered drinks. They never came. We waited and waited. Finally the waitress came and told Cristophe that they couldn’t do drinks because “the computer was down” but we could have wine instead. We said “fine”…but got a good laugh out of that. Then, mysteriously and without explanation, our drink order (just slightly wrong) arrived. We were offered a very limited menu. Some kind of shrimp starter and chicken skewers or tuna steak for a main course. The little filo wrapped shrimp things were fine—they were served for no reason on long tiles, which didn’t really fit on the table. The mains they mixed up…I got chicken instead of tuna, but both were said to be equally insipid, so I didn’t miss much. The chicken on a stick was just that…coated with some kind of spice and served with noodles that Christophe aptly described as “bland”. The tuna came over-cooked (not very trendy!) and with a pyramid of instant rice! The harried, clearly unskilled waitress had to bring all the dishes to the table, two at time, unassisted, while dozens of staff did nothing but glide elegantly around the room, looking beautifully detached. Honestly, the place had an enormous staff—all very pretty, dressed in all black or all white outfits—but they did absolutely nothing but swan around the room, looking pretty. Dessert was decent; red fruits and lemon sorbet. The PR director—a fabulously dressed black woman, came over to greet us and deliver an obviously insincere “anything you need just ask” speech. The highlights of the restaurant it seems, are that they change the interior decoration twice a year, and that they will send a car to pick you up and bring you to the restaurant! It is probably the only way they can get anyone in the door. Yet it was quite full when we left at eleven. We had a good laugh about it, and as I said, as we were still full from our very nice lunch, it hardly mattered. Perhaps it was even better at that point to have an amusing story.
(That really good lunch, by the way, was at L’Ecluse St. Honoré, one of a small chain of wine bars featuring Bordeaux wine and simple, excellent food. As it was a very hot day, we were served two cold courses, both excellent, and a dessert. All the while we were entertained with amusing stories by Patricia Deckmyn, the exceedingly charming and witty ‘Ambassadress’—public relations director—of the restaurant.)
***
We sit in a café on the Rue de Rivoli, because my mother wanted a croque monsieur. It’s an inexpensive neighborhood café and tabac—The Jean-Bart—with nothing to call attention to it and consequently devoid of tourists. I’d been here before; the food is good and it is remarkably cheap for Paris. It’s pretty busy on a Friday night, and we’ve snagged a sidewalk table at the very end. Service is slow, but the atmosphere is festive. At the table next to us, separated only by the space of the doorway, are three French boys. They are drinking a bottle of rose from coca-cola glasses, smoking, talking on their mobile phones. They are dressed in the international style of youth: baggy jeans, an expanse of boxer shorts showing, one expensive designer accessory each, casually worn. The prettiest one—though it’s a close contest, sports a Gucci belt. One is rather hyperactive, always leaping up, leaving the table, going off for extended periods. The other two are far more languid. They slouch in their wicker chairs, opposing sides of the tiny cafe table, legs entwined. They might be gay. They might not. Clearly they are no older than 17, probably younger. Clearly they are enjoying their evening on the town; the wine, the cigarettes, the casual interaction with the waiter, the calls to friends on the mobile phones. It’s a scene I can’t imagine in America, and I can’t but feel that the lack of such casual, and innocent, adult fun is somehow detrimental to developing responsible, well-rounded adult personalities. The waiter, himself about 20, faux-hawked and cute mainly because he tries so hard, is friendly and funny despite the crowd and the frantic pace it demands. A young man stops at my table and asks for a cigarette—not for him, but for his girlfriend, who laughs and remains shyly in the background, clearly embarrassed. Her boyfriend is gregarious and clearly unembarrassed, or if he is conceals it completely with bluster and good cheer. I proffer her one of my Galois and light it and he kisses me on the cheek and she, laughing, says “merci, merci.” The boys, two now, abandoned again by their manic friend, stare languidly into each others’ eyes, whisper secrets, smoke their own cigarettes.
***
Logan, always the culinary adventurer, ate a pigs foot (deep fried and admittedly tasty, if bony) at Brasserie Flo in Reims, and a plate of horse tartar (which I declined to try, but which he declared the best tartare ever) at a sidewalk bistro in Bourges. I’ll refrain from the “I’m so hungry…” jokes.
***
Open ateliers in Belleville (an artsy Paris neighborhood). Very crowded. Too many children—not really the children I mind so much as the attendant strollers, chariots, etc. which consume so much space. Followed about the same route as we did two years ago. Saw perhaps ten percent of the open studios. A few very good artists…nice etchings, a few nice painters. I had the idea that it would be great to do an annual Belleville/LA show…bring the works of the ten best artists to LA for a group show. The work is cheap…the artists almost all unknown. Much of it would be hugely popular in LA. Some of the work is really good…and we saw only a fraction. Belleville is fascinating. Deteriorating buildings opening into magical, spacious courtyards. Wonderful restorations hidden here and there. A fascinating neighborhood of terrific, ungentrified, raw spaces. Dilapidated, but not at all dangerous (at least it seems so). Is there any place like it in LA, I wonder, or even in Amsterdam. Lively too, as there are shops and cafes; Chinese and Jewish restaurants. Ugly sixties high-rise housing too, but not so much as to be overwhelming. Hilly, unusual for Paris; an ancient aqueduct; an abandoned rail line. Secret courtyards and amazing raw space.
***
Renting the car in Paris (from Avis—the best choice I think in France) was more trouble and time consuming than renting at a provincial train station. The girl that helped us was obviously new, and took forever. She wanted to see out plane tickets! Said it was an Avis requirement…I had never heard that one before—the rental agency was at a train station, and I had arrived in Paris, as often, by train, I’m not sure what I would have produced! Fortunately I had my itinerary and my e-ticket computer printout with me, as they were in my passport case. I thought they might want to see my passport…but she didn’t ask for that. Rented many Avis cars in France and it always takes like five minutes…in Dijon or Orleans…but at Paris Gare de Lyon it was a big production. The staff not even bilingual…good thing Logan was along to help me with all their questions. Really, I have always just shown them my reservation and they’ve tossed me the keys! Surprisingly, driving in Paris was the easiest part. Drove back to the hotel, then out of town, with no problem, no getting lost, no real traffic. But I’d take the train out of town just to avoid the Paris rent-a-car location.
***
The Hotel Crystal, in Reims, is unchanged, and Madame Jentet seemed younger than ever. Surprised, when I greeted her by name…but quickly recovered and didn’t let on that she didn’t have a clue who I was…but I would not expect her to remember me from our brief meeting seven years ago! We visited the Cathedral, of course. Had dinner at the Brasserie Flo. The restaurant we had planned, and had been to before, Au Petit Comptoir, was closed on Monday. After dinner Logan and I had a walk and visited the tiny Lesbigay Bar! It was predictably dead at midnight on Monday, but kind of cute. A silly boy bartender sang along with the CD’s. I had gone into the tourist office in Reims earlier as a kind of test (are regional tourist offices gay friendly even if you are not on a gay tour?) and asked the girl at the desk about gay clubs. She didn’t bat an eye, tried to find some information and marked this place on the map. Turns out it is listed in the general tourist guide as well. She said from there I could find information on everything else. I guess there is a disco, but I didn’t bother asking about that for a Monday night!
***
The Hostellerie des Clos, in tiny Chablis, hadn’t changed much either. Comfy cheap rooms combined with fancy expensive dinners. Had a walk around the town, to the church that is always closed, then dinner in the hotel restaurant. Set menu for €52 euros…white and green asperges, salmon-trout, veal liver, cheese, strawberry and chocolate dessert. Two bottles of Chablis and one bottle of Banyuls with dessert and after. Quite drunk on the Banyuls; it has a very high alcohol content; delicious with chocolate though. Ate at the hotel restaurant the second night too…a la carte, so it cost twice as much! Oyster and crayfish terrine and then a pigeon. Logan had morels stuffed with foie gras and sweetbreads. Abbie had green asparagus with truffles and then scallops. I have no idea how much money we spent there…I don’t want to know…but the set menu is a much better deal; of course it always is. We were going to eat the second night in the restaurant in the village of St. Bris that we discovered on out previous trip, but found it is both closed on Wednesdays and under a new owner—so who know if it is still good…it couldn’t be as unique and special as before, anyway. A strange note though…everything in the Yonne region seems to be closed on Wednesdays! Both restaurants we wanted to go to, the market across from the hotel—it just seems a very strange day for everything to close. Also in the Yonne, the churches are never open…where as in the rest of France they just leave the doors open all day so you can wander in and have a look about. Anyway, spent our second day in Chablis driving around on tiny roads and stopping in cute tiny towns. Visited the Abbaye church at Pontigny…I didn’t remember it until we got inside; it is really beautiful in its starkness. I remembered it then, and recalled my photos of it. Ended the day in Auxerre, visiting the Abbaye there, St. Germain, a quite beautiful church and cloister done up with very high tech lighting and museum installations. Tour of the crypt with (9th? 10th?) century frescos…anyway, supposedly the oldest in France. Also visited the Cathedral of St. Etienne; strangely more impressive on the outside than in, even though the exterior was extensively scaffolded. They do have a reliquary with some bones of St. Steven (he of the stoning) behind the altar.
The Hostelerie des Clos is very comfortable with reasonably priced rooms. No-hassle, free wifi internet. Very beautiful public areas and courtyard. The whole town of Chablis seemed to be getting a makeover—restored streets of medieval buildings and a new fancy hotel and new fancy restaurant being prepared to open. It seems it has become something of a real tourist destination since our last visit. Logan theorizes that the magazine article in “Saveur” which led us there three years ago started a trend.
***
Drove today on very tiny roads from Chablis to Briare, to see the pont-canal. It is very impressive. A beautiful piece of very elegant 19th century engineering. Very, very long too, as it crosses an extremely wide section of the Loire as well as the 16th century shipping canal that runs alongside it. It’s very strange to see this long bridge of water crossing a river. Funny too, to think that when it was built, in the late 19th century, it was already obsolete. Canal shipping, so vital for centuries, had already been replaced by the railroads. Strangely, no one was at the canal itself, except a group of Dutch students.
***
Lovely here at the Château de la Verrerie, as always. Arrived in the early afternoon and walked around the grounds—it was quite hot today. Logan and I borrowed bikes (in rather poor repair) and cycled around the grounds a bit. Visited the chapel—which is more beautiful inside than I remembered, with lovely paintings on the wooden ceiling. I love it here, because it is like staying in a private home—albeit a very, very grand private home. They have wifi here now, too…the only problem is that it doesn’t penetrate the thick stone walls…so you basically have to go down to the office to connect. Also they charge 10 euro for the password to the network (good forever we are told…although how much time does one spend at La Verrerie!) which I think is just silly. Nice dinner at the restaurant on the grounds, La Maison d’Helene. More white asparagus, as it is the season. And strawberries, which are uniformly outstanding. Logan ordered the most expensive Sancerre on the menu (57 euros) justifying it by saying it would cost three times as much in LA. We had a red Fixin (burgundy) too. The wine bill for this trip is going to be huge…I don’t even want to know about it. The Chablis was very good of course. We played several games of Cluedo in the lounge after!
***
A Saturday morning visit to the pretty village of St-Aignan. It was very busy, and it turned out that Saturday was market day. A fun market in the center of town with meat, vegetables, cheese, etc. Really cool Romanesque church with a crypt full of medieval frescoes. Impressive hilltop (private) chateau. We drove from there to Civrey, to the pleasant Hostelerie du Château de l’Isle and settled in early. We switched Abbie’s upstairs room for the one she had before in the little woodshed annex. She likes it; no stairs and a stall shower. It’s the cheapest room they have, and only used, I think, for overflow. There is a nice new glass pavilion where they serve dinner. They only have one menu per night…I can’t say I remember exactly what it was…though I do remember enjoying it. I got a kick out of Logan asking our teen waiter for advice on which of the old Vouvray wines was best. (He had a definite opinion though.) We had a Vouvray and, I think a Touraine red. We were the last diners in the dining room—a sudden rainstorm had blown in during dinner, and the rain was drumming down on the roof.
***
Discovered Loches, a pretty little town with an impressive castle-like chateau (small manor house, interesting church, donjon, intact walls with only one gate) and saw the sights. Interesting in that there were basically no tourists. Churches were busy in the morning (surprisingly so, until we realized it was mother’s day in France). But it seems no one visits Loches. What a contrast to Chenonceau! An amusing sight: two carefully marked handicapped parking spaces closest to the foot of a long staircase leading up to the Château gate! We also visited a ruined Abbeye on the opposite side of the river. Then I drove to Montresor, just because it was nearby and Logan loves it so. We sat in that same café (Café de la Ville) and had a little wine and shared a gigantic salad of meat (it was just after lunchtime). Then Logan and I went for a walk…he saw an empty house for sale, right on the little river that runs along the village, so we noted the phone number! It is all very pretty. Visited the little gothic church that was built as a funerary chapel! Talk about a nice tomb!
***
No trouble finding our hotel in tiny Chinon, and got lucky with a legal parking place just across the narrow street. The Hotel Gargantua—after the character by Rabelais; it’s not that it’s so large. In fact it’s a rather quirky, family run hotel, in an old (16th century) renaissance house. Pretty cool actually. Right in the center of town. Great view of the Château de Chinon. Nice big room and very low prices. The other nice, inexpensive hotel in town, the Diderot, seems a bit swankier and a bit more professional; it’s bigger and in a 19th century building with a cute garden. A toss up perhaps. Dinner was good, we ate in the dining room because of the variable weather, though it had stopped raining and was warming up again. (The next night they were serving dinner on their terrace, which seemed really pleasant.) That night though, we ate at Au Plaisir Gourmand, for our gourmet meal. We got the best table. Abbie had a lobster salad which was great. Logan had veal sweetbreads and kidneys. I had a menu—crab terrine, lotte in verbena, duck breast, strawberries. It was good, as always, but not as good as Pavillon des Lys—where both the food and the setting (outdoors in the courtyard, with coffee on the upstairs terrace) were magical—and cheaper!
***
We drove to Candes St-Martin to see the old, partially fortified church. It’s been fixed up a bit. We just went for a drive after that…up the Loire to Saumur, and past, to a little town that Logan remembered—where we visited another church. Took a much quicker road, on the other side of the river, back to Chinon. Good luck in finding our same parking space. We spent the afternoon shopping in Chinon (shoes, pastries—langues des femmes, pates de fruits—an extra duffel bag!) We sat in the pretty square and had some coffee and water.
***
Last night in France, back in Paris. We did a bit of last minute shopping in the Marais—somehow the thought of leaving brings out the desire to buy things. We had dinner at C’Amelot on the rue Amelot in the nearby 11th. They have the one menu per night. It was a cold pea soup with mint (delicious); monkfish; and pigeon with polenta. Abbie wouldn’t eat the pigeon, though she declared the polenta excellent. I’m sure she had enough to eat, and Logan and I split her pigeon. The one choice you have there is dessert: she had the best, a strawberry granita with strawberries and cream; Logan’s was second-best, a warm chocolate cake with vanilla ice-cream. And mine was good: warm cherries with a (fennel? very subtle) ice cream. We walked back to the hotel, the convenient and very inexpensive Sevigné, across from the St-Paul metro station. It’s actually a short walk. Logan was tired, but I wanted to visit the bar Andy Wahloo, where I had been taken once by my Parisian friend Mafoud, so I walked over there and had a glass of wine. I’m glad I saw it again. I really like it….fun atmosphere, comfortable, cute waiters. A nice end to the trip, as we won’t count the Aéroport Charles de Gaulle!—Clay Doyle
One of my many wine and food journeys through the French countryside, this time the Burgundy region, accompanied (as often) by Michael Logan. This trip produced the Bourgogne slideshow photographs and the short food and wine article for Out & About. What follows is a rather detailed account of the trip…
25 May 2002 Aboard the Thalys to Paris
Ah well, here I am once again racing towards Paris. I’m a little tired, though I went to bed early, I didn’t sleep well, waking up very early, and repeatedly. I guess I was just overly excited about the trip. So it’s nice to be underway.
We’ve reached that part of the trip where the train goes really fast —so we’ll be in Paris in no time now; this trip I think is even faster than the last time I took it; I guess they just keep trimming the travel time bit by bit.
And Paris… well, we must go to the Pompidou Centre, and the Palais de Tokyo exhibition space; There’s that funny museum in a mansion in the 3rd that is supposed to be quite nice… not sure what else Logan wants to do… the Louvre no doubt —we’ll have to go late. And we must shoot some video of Paris… and with Logan doing his turning around —perhaps at the Palais Royale. And I want to have some oysters. And some foie gras!
Natalie Merchant and her band were in my car on the train from Paris…
25 May 2002 Paris
1 am, so really, we’re back early I suppose. Watched the Eurovision song contest in a little bar/coffee shop in the Marais, with a small but enthusiastic gay crowd. Not as fun as in Amsterdam though. Latvia won… it was neck and neck with Malta. The most fun really was Slovenia —with these drag queens. Well it was fun to watch —and the interminable voting. Mad little “fairy tale” vignette films about Estonia between each song! Curious, but they grew on you and seemed rather fun by the end. Before that we had dinner at Balzar —white asparagus (good, but I agree with Nathan, slightly over cooked) and steak tartare —that could not be improved upon —and frites —the only thing they could do to make those better would be to serve more of them!! And I had a bite of Logan’s delicious chocolate eclair —the dessert of the day. We left the restaurant and it started to poor down rain —almost out of a clear blue sky; so we caught a bus over to the Marais. It cleared up quickly; walking back to the hotel there’s a big bright full moon and the city looks so beautiful.
26 May 2002 Paris
Up late today… and all day, off and on rainstorms; so we went to the Pompidou Centre. There was a big surrealist show that was actually a bit overwhelming. Magritte, Dali, Max Ernst… I like the Magrittes, but a lot of the the rest just doesn’t appeal to me. Maybe we should have gotten the audio tour… it was huge. The whole post-1960 floor of the main museum has been reinstalled —and all my favorite works are gone! That was bit disappointing. I suppose they have to rotate things, but all-in-all I did not think the current selection was nearly as impressive… the collection does have to compete with the views over Paris —and more people seemed to be looking out the windows than looking at the permanent collection. Of course the sky was beautiful —very dramatic clouds in a changing sky. At one point the Sacre Cour looked like something from a fairy tale with a backdrop of fluffy clouds… we had a coffee and tart at Georges around tea time —super expensive; and then there’s the odd and aloof fashion-model staff…
Dinner tonight at a new place —the Table d’ Aligre at the Place d’Aligre (there’s a famous covered food market there) in the 12th not far from the Bastille. A pleasantly unassuming place with really good food, and really inexpensive. Good cheap wines too. We had foie gras and this braised lamb with artichokes and olives —it was delicious, especially the fat. I had an apple thing for dessert. The waiters were really nice and then when the one found out we were Americans he wanted to know about taking the train from New York to Montreal —which oddly enough I happened to know something about; so I told Logan to tell him that it was really nice —that’s what I’ve read anyway. Dinner for three with wine and the foie gras was 108 euro’s —a great deal, and very pleasant. We had a long walk back, now it’s time for sleep.
27 May 2002 Paris
… a day of doing very little. Slept much too late, but then we walked over to the Marais for a very late breakfast around noon. I had a cup of excellent tea (Marriage Bros.) and a croissant served by the cutest teen you can imagine! Afterwards we collected Brian and went over to the sixth, around Saint Sulpice. for some shopping. We had salads for lunch at an unremarkable but decent Bistro (ubiquitously named Bistro du Metro); We stopped in Saint Sulpice to look at the Delacroix’s and the crumbling chapels. We watched some shirtless boys disassembling the market stalls. We dodged intermittent rain showers. We shopped… well Brian shopped and Logan and I looked. We walked back through the Luxembourg gardens. Logan and Brian went off together to go to a used record store (where Logan was picking up a Joni Mitchell etching he had bought on ebay!) and I walked back towards the hotel. I stopped in a church, St. Ettienne du Mont, a sort of pretty gothic/renaissance hybrid begun by Francois I. Inside they have a tiny relic of St. Geneviève; they used to have her entire corpse, but the revolutionaries burned it and threw it in the river! I came back to the hotel, and Logan came back and we were going to go to the late hours at the Louvre… but we never made it. There was a tremendous rainstorm with thunder and a deluge… when it let up a bit we just walked down the street to have a glass of wine. We had dinner at nine at the Caveau de Palais, as Brian is quite fond of it. The food was quite OK, but we were seated upstairs and it was not so festive… really so much of the fun is a lively atmosphere and getting to see what everyone else is eating. That odd woman still rules the place with authority and the little dog still runs in and out. My cod was good, and brian had a quite wonderful whole fish, and it’s not terribly expensive… just wish we had gotten a table downstairs. We strolled home after, and went to sleep…
27 May 2002 Paris
Today quite active… we managed to get up at a reasonable hour and have our breakfast downstairs at 9:30. After breakfast we got on the metro and went to visit the Catacombs. I wanted to get us there before they closed for lunch —but they’ve changed the hours again, now they don’t close for lunch but they don’t open until eleven… so we had a twenty minute walk around the neighborhood–a nice market street lined with food shops and butchers and bakers and fishmongers. Not too many people in the catacombs —one had a bit of a feeling of being all alone down there at times; It’s quite large. Well, I had just been in September, but Logan and Brian had not been in a while. It’s a pity they don’t have a nice guide to explain everything though. Afterwards, Brian was hungry so I suggested we get back on the Metro line 4 and have Lunch at Deux Palais. We had a good lunch there —it really is one of the best of these generic Bistros —good frites, a decent roast chicken, Logan had a very good steak tartare and I had a delicious fresh strawberry tart. And we had a little pot of beaujolais. And the place was all full of smartly dressed Parisians from the Palais du Justice.
After lunch, Brian went to rest and Logan and I went to check out the new exhibition space in the Palais du Tokyo. It’s a cool space —this big 30’s style Neoclassical/fascist architecture —the interior of the new space has been stripped back to the framework. But it’s all so hip… like it’s been turned over to hipster teens and they’ve run amok. A huge space with really just a few highly over-conceptualized pieces of art… Outside, in front of an arcade of impossibly tall square pillars, three French teens attempted tricks on skateboards —they seemed so much like they should have been a piece of installation art. And in the other half of the building, the more conventional old modern art museum (of the City of Paris) goes to the other extreme —way too staid and dull (they do have good temporary exhibits here —it’s where we saw Douglas Gordon several years ago —but the temporary exhibition space was closed for installation.)
Now, resting before a drink, and dinner at La Villeret. All day today it’s been gray and raining, or drizzling. No dramatic downpours but no bits of blue sky or dramatic cloudscapes either. And rather chilly for the time of year…
Later…
Had a delicious dinner at La Villeret. We set out early and stopped at that attractively modern little AOC wine bar where I had tea the day before. We had a couple glasses of wine —very economical, Chinon 3 Euro’s a glass; the same cute boy was there, and a very nice woman. We sat and chatted and drank our wine and watched the gay boys rendezvousing, while it poured down rain outside. Eventually we paid up and went to catch the (very crowded) 96 bus to dinner. At 8:20, we were among the first to arrive at La Villeret. Of course it filled up completely as we sat there and ate. For starters: Logan had a concoction of cold lentils with bits of lamb tongue and foie gras on top —it was really delicious; Brian had the white asparagus —cooked the way I like, with a bit of rigidity, and served with a delicious vinaigrette and a slab of lardons. I thought mine was least successful, a sort of a crab salad, with pastry and wild asparagus. But it did have lots of crab. My main course though, was the best I think —a big hunk of braised pork shank with the most incredibly delicious honey glazed skin and honey sauce. Mr. Logan had a beautiful hunk of fish and Brian had veal liver. For dessert I had pan fried fresh cherries with some ice cream —delicious; and Logan had rhubarb with a blanc mange. We drank a bottle of 96 Savignier from the Loire. Dinner was first rate, and really a bargain (130 for three) for such elaborate preparations; It was the fanciest meal we’ve had so far this trip, even though the room and all is quite casual and neighborhoody. After dinner we took a leisurely stroll back to the Marais —it had cleared up for the moment —and sat at the Open Cafe and had a couple of drinks and watched the boys go by. The best of the lot was our super-cute waiter, Cyril. Finally we decided to walk back to the hotel —just as it started to rain again!
29 May 2002 Paris
Today we managed to get up and down to breakfast before 10 again! After breakfast, Logan and I headed over to the Musee d’ Orsay. There was a special Mondrian exhibition —his painting before his trademark abstract style —that we wanted to see. It wasn’t crowded —no lines or delay to get in, and though there were a lot of people at the Mondrian exhibition, it wasn’t unpleasantly crowded at all. The museum is in the midst of some sort of renovation, so a number of galleries were closed, and most of the big academic paintings were off view —no loss really, except for Jesus and the Nelly Apostles. We looked at the kitchy —but fun —sculptures in the center, and of course went up to the rooms on the top to see our favorite impressionists. I hope they re-hang the whole museum once the renovations are done —there are too many fabulous little paintings stuck away in tiny, grim rooms. After, we walked along the Seine, heading for the Marais, and lunch with Brian. It was a nice day, perhaps slightly cool, but dry, with clouds that were purely decorative. We stopped at the Bouquiniste Alain Huchet —fortunately, one of the few bouquiniste open today —so Logan could look for a cookbook birthday present for June. He found something in short order —we barely spent anytime browsing; just as well I suppose, as I really didn’t need to buy anything! We met Brian back at the AOC Cafe, so we could have these delicious looking club sandwiches that we saw people eating the night before. They were good; the cute boy was there again; I think he is a member of the family that owns it. After that we went shopping —the Camper store for new shoes, the Chaise Longue just to look at silly things, and the FNAC record store at the Bastille (with a stop at the place de Vosges, just for fun). Now we’re resting up in our room and listening to a Marianne Faithfull album (her new one, released only in Europe) on the iBook cd player, before we go out to a trendy restaurant for dinner.
Later…
Dinner at Salon d’ Helene… the little downstairs place of Helene Darroze, chef-of-the-moment in Paris. Actually the bistro —well not really a bistro —is very successful; a small, elegantly modern room, spacious and comfortable, serving little tapas-like plates of things. The food’s a little bit French and a whole lot “chef”. The service is friendly and casual —the whole little room attended by one cute girl and one cute boy. (after you get through the entrance that is, shared with the upstairs restaurant, where a boy in a little cap opens the door for you and a man behind a big desk checks your name off a computerized reservation list! Anyway, the food was interesting and complicated, and fortunately also delicious. We had seven little plates to share, which they brought round in two groupings; then a round of 3 very interesting cheeses, then dessert. Let’s see, first there was a soup with asparagus and foie gras with bacon on top; fava beans with black truffle and foie gras ice-cream(!); and a piece of almost raw salmon with couscous. Then we got a little pot of sweetbreads; a big piece of pork lard with roasted potatoes and girolle mushrooms; a plate of shredded oxtail; and a big lump of roasted foie gras. Then a spanish cheese, a soft cheese and a roquefort. My dessert was ille flotant–a very tasty and light meringue floating in a soup of summer red fruits —no creme anglais —very tasty; and Logan had a really chocolatey millefiulle. Dinner was nice —lots of eating but all so small that I don’t feel at all bloated; and while you wouldn’t call it cheap, it wasn’t too expensive —considering Logan ordered a bottle of champagne as soon as he sat down, and at € 70 it was a third of our bill! There were a lot of less expensive wines to chose from, so I think you could eat there for 50-60 euros a person —a good deal for a really fancy place. I took a copy of the menu —it changes monthly with a daily special.
We were going to go to the Eiffel Tower after dinner —but of course dinner went on a bit too late. The weather was nice, so it would have been a good night. I’ve been going to go the last few times I was here… and just haven’t made it.
30 May 2002 Beaune
Our first day in the countryside and, of course, today was all about gorging ourselves! We’ve had two cheese courses today! Oh those country meals.
Getting here was pleasantly uncomplicated. We caught a bus just steps from the Agora St. Germain, which took us to the Gare de Lyon. We caught our TGV train and rode a little over an hour and a half —through incredibly picturesque countryside —to the station in Dijon. At the tiny Avis office at the train station, everything was arranged and it took about 30 seconds to get our car —a really nice VW Golf. Avis is so nice to deal with. We drove straight out of Dijon and about halfway to Beaune on the N road. I had scoped out a place for lunch the night before in the Routard Guide, in case we were hungry —and of course we were. This place was in a tiny village outside of Nuits-Saint-Georges, the Auberge du Coteau in the tiny village of Villars-Fontaine. All the meats are cooked over a wood fire in a fireplace at one end of the dining room (a bit like in the Vosges). Logan had wood-grilled lamb and I had wood-grilled beef. There was homemade terrine, and our first of many “Jambon Persille” to start. Then they left the huge groaning cheese board at our table. Very tasty, and a fine introduction to the Cotes d’Or.
It was a quick, and very scenic, drive into Beaune. We circled the town looking for the “Hotel de la Poste” and pulled up in front of this very glamourous establishment. The Logan got out his confirmation, and realized we weren’t staying at the Hotel de la Poste (rejected as part of our austerity plan) but at the Hotel de France. So we drove on, and found it —a much more basic sort of Logis across from the Beaune train station.
Beaune is still a fairly small town; the historic center enclosed by mostly surviving ramparts. We were just a block outside the center. We took a late afternoon stroll into town to check out the sights. There’s some pretty little squares (one with a miniature carrousel), a nice shopping street, the very famous Hotel Dieu —the medieval hospital —which we decided to visit later. We did stop into the Collégiale Notre-Dame, a crusty old (mostly) Romanesque church. And we scoped out various restaurants —one very beautiful place, all the tables set up in the garden of a villa. This is the Jardin de Remparts, which has an excellent reputation, and undoubtedly the prettiest location in Beaune; sadly it was already ‘complet’ during the weekend of our visit. After our exploration of the city, we stopped at a little outdoor cafe and had a kir. The kir is especially good —really good cassis made locally in Bourgonge, and proper Bourgonge Aligote wine. The weather was especially nice and summery as well.
We did find the Americans in Beaune! After being so conspicuously absent in Amsterdam, and even in Paris, Beaune was positively swarming with Americans. (On the other hand, Chablis, we would discover later, was all Brits and Australians. And in the historical sites, the Abbeys and Churches, the few visitors tended to be Germans.)
Because the weather was so pleasant in the evening, I really wanted to eat outside. All the terrace restaurants seemed rather touristy, unfortunately, but we did find one, La Grilladine, that despite being full of Americans, seemed nice. It had a nice looking menu, a good wine list, a Bottin Gourmand recommendation, and a pretty interior where some locals were eating. We got a very pleasant outdoor table, and it turned out the food was very good —and we had what turned out to be our favorite bottle of burgundy on the trip —a Fixin. I had a tasty boeuf bourguignon and the jambon persille to start; I’m afraid I don’t recall what Logan ate (probably foie gras!). It was really nice on the terrace, and entertaining as well. The Americans were typically loud and demanding, and the several waiters were young, and obviously new summer help. Well they were quite unbothered by it all, but the headwaiter was in a tizzy; he was this very ‘Basil Fawlty’ sort of character caught between the demands of the patrons and the inexperience of his staff. One thought he might at some point simply explode!
There’s not much happening in Beaune after dinner, so we returned to our room overlooking the train station. Now there’s no passenger service in Beaune after about 11pm —but apparently it sits on the main freight line between Paris and Geneva! About every 20 minutes a huge freight train would roar past the station. Strangely though, the noise didn’t really bother me.
31 May 2002 Beaune
Mr. Logan has picked out some far-flung sites for us to visit today. They don’t seem so far-flung on the map, but actually driving to them you feel the distance. We’re heading to the Southernmost part of Burgundy — almost into the Beaujolais, north of Lyon. All along the N road, (the main roadway, but still only one lane in each direction most of the route) there are the most stylishly grisly highway markers. They are life-sized black and red metal cutouts depicting a stylized, but very recognizable, dead person! There is a marker placed at every point on the road where someone has been killed! And there are, I must say, quite a lot of them. Most chilling are the little groups where 3 or 4 people have died together. Well, I told Logan. at least if we get killed driving this road, we will get little markers to commemorate the event. Perhaps they would even append a little sign: “American Rufuses”. And the way people drive it is no wonder so many die on the highway —they go so fast on these narrow, curving roads. I cannot drive fast enough for the locals, and then someone is tailgating at high speed; I frantically try to find a place to pull over so they can get past. Fortunately there is not a whole lot of traffic, and one often has the road to oneself for a while.
Our first stop is Paray-le-Monial, the most perfectly preserved of the Cluny monastic churches. It is a sober Romanesque church, said to be a smaller version of the great church at Cluny, now destroyed. The church sits facing the river and is quite impressive. There is also quite a nice garden behind. The church’s main claim to religious fame is that it is here that the cult and the doctrine of the “Sacred Heart of Jesus” originated. I don’t think I understand the Sacred Heart well enough to try to explain it… but apparently at some point in the middle ages a young nun at the convent down the street saw a vision of Jesus with a flaming heart on the outside of his chest (we also visited the little chapel where she had her vision.) This seems to have been thoroughly (and perhaps rightly) ignored until the 19th century, when in a frenzy of religious ferver it was revived, and formalized by the Vatican, and Paray-le-Monial became a pilgrimage site. Anyway, out in the garden there is this pavilion which tells the story of the visionary nun in an endless series of narrated dioramas. We started to watch, but it just went on and on, and we were shortly defeated. There was also a nice street market in town that day, and we bought a little pastry to eat.
From Paray-le Monial we had a short, but circuitous drive to Cluny —the seat of the once-powerful Cluniac Monastic Order —to see the remains of the great church. It was at one time the largest church in Christendom, but it was demolished during the Revolution, and really there is not much left. From the excavated foundations, and one remaining chapel, you can get an idea of the size… they sell you a ticket which entitles you to a tour, but we discovered that most of what is interesting to see you can see for free. The admission doesn’t get you much. The town itself is somewhat interesting; We climbed to the top of the cheese tower (no idea why it’s called that) for the panorama, and we visited the little town church, which was very cute and crusty.
From there we next stopped at the little medieval town of Tournus to see yet another Abbaye Church. The Abbaye de St. Philibert is one of the oldest romanesque churches in Burgundy. It’s a fortified structure with great thick round pillars and not many windows. There was a pretty little courtyard, and (I later read) another chapel above the gloomy narthex, which we missed. Also in the town is a preserved (or restored) medieval pharmacy, but after not finding it following a cursory stroll through the town, we gave up and headed back to Beaune. With all the driving added in it had been a long day. The scenery however —forests, vineyards, cows, canals, little stone villages —was beautiful.
Later…
We had dinner at Bénaton, a little chef-run place that is reputed to be one of Beaune’s best. It’s a small dining room, and though there is a nice garden at back, all seating was indoors. fortunately we got the table by the door, as it was quite warm. The food was good, with an amuse bouche, starter, main course, cheese and dessert. Sadly, I didn’t write down what we had, and now I can’t remember! It was on the other side of town (by the hotel de la poste) so we had a leisurely walk through the deserted town after dinner.
1 June 2002 Beaune
Today we are up for a morning visit to Autun, to see another 12th century church. We went to see the Cathedrale St. Lazare, famous for its stone carvings by Gislebertus. There’s a big last judgment over the door, and lots of smaller scenes on the capitols —Adam and Eve, things like that, all very stylishly, almost modernly, realized. We had lunch in a fancy hotel nearby —I had us seated on the terrace, as it was a very sunny day, but I roasted poor Mr. Logan. They didn’t have an umbrella for us, as this French family at the next table was hogging two. Despite the lack of umbrella, it was a nice lunch —we had just a main course and dessert —but again, I don’t really remember what we ate. Afterwards, we had a rather exhausting hike around the old ramparts —but never quite getting on the top of them, which was our intention. Then we drove to see the old Roman city gate and the remains of the Roman Amphitheater. As a Roman City in the first century, the population of Autun was four times what it is today. After that, we hurried back to Beaune, because we still had our sightseeing to do there. We took this tasting tour of the Cellars of the hotel Dieu —very touristy really, but also sort of fun —there are like 14 different wines to taste, all down in this refreshingly cold and dark cellar. And then you can buy things, but of course we couldn’t because there was no way to take them home! Then we visited the Hotel Dieu itself —The most famous sight in Burgundy, and really it is very beautiful. The courtyard is surrounded by restored medieval buildings, with those famous brightly-colored-patterned tile roofs.
Later…
It’s 11:30 pm here at the Hotel de France, across from the rail station in Beaune. It’s a funny hotel —in many way a quintessential Logis de France. Everyone is super friendly —a typical family owned hotel.
So for my food and wine of Burgundy article… aperitifs: Kir, which is really good here in its region of origin and the Cremant du Bourgonge, a cheap, but very refreshing sparkling wine. The best food of the region, I think, is the simple, basic sort of country food… the Jambon Persille; the escargot (but how on earth did they first think to eat them?!); the meats grilled over a wood fire or the classic braised dishes of boeuf bourguignon or coq au vin. Plenty of nice cheese too… and of course the red burgundies are a delight.
The scenery is wonderful… lots of forests, and rolling hillsides covered with vines… and everywhere tiny herds of white cows —the famous charolais beef (dare I say though, that I prefer the chianini beef of tuscany?). But driving along the tiny roads is really beautiful —it’s a prettier landscape even than the Loire, I think, and seems somehow more remote. That is except for Beaune —Beaune is overrun with tourists. All the American Rufuses who are not in Amsterdam and not even in Paris, seem to be here in Beaune —along with a fair number of German tourists as well. Actually, when you get out of Beaune, and visit the other towns —places more famous for history and architecture than wine —then there are no more Americans, and all the tourists are German! But really, nothing is very crowded…
… so back to our silly hotel… when Logan made the reservation, they said we had to take one dinner at the hotel, so he booked us here for Saturday night. Well fine… and we went down to dinner tonight around eight —and they had totally forgotten about us as they had booked a tour group of 45 persons into the restaurant! I thought this was very silly —so they were going to put us all alone in this sort of annex room, which seemed very depressing, but we got them to put us at one of the tables for the bar that sit out on the sidewalk facing the train station. That was perfect, the weather was quite warm, no breeze, a beautiful sunset —so really it couldn’t have worked out better. And the man running the place, and his teen son, were both really nice and really friendly. We had a very simple regional meal–snails and the jambon (delicious); a sort of flank cut of the charolais beef (inoffensive but unimpressive); a big-ass assortment of local cheese, and some cassis ice-cream. We drank a nice cote de nuits 96 burgundy; and I had a glass of marc de Bourgonge after dinner. The owner even gave me a cigarette to have with it. We watched the bus group arrive (it was dinner stop on a trip from Paris to the south of France) and we watched the people come and go from the train station. It was quite nice actually —much better than eating in the slightly stuffy, climatisee, dining room.
2 June 2002 From Beaune to Chablis
We left our hotel in Beaune and arrived in Chablis a bit after five. It’s a longer drive than one might think —although our trip today included plenty of rufusing. The first 90 minutes involved finding and visiting a ruined Abbey (Saint Margaritte) outside the town of Builland, not far really from Beaune itself. We got a bit lost finding the town, and then finding the Abbey ruins involved a bit of detective work —they are not marked by any sign, or monument marker, which is a bit unusual. We saw a picture at our hotel, and I wanted to visit. So we found them eventually (they are indicated, vaguely, on our Michelin map) up a very narrow, dead-end road above the town. It’s a nice ruin, the substantial remains of a small gothic church, and other buildings —but you can’t get too close. The ruins are privately owned and surrounded by a double fence of barbed wire. They are quite isolated, but we were not alone —there was also a family of German hikers and a bicycle tour. There was even a little parking lot, so one assumes there must have been signs to it at one time —though we were the only car to come up the tiny road. Fortunately! The drive from Beaune to there, and then on to where we picked up the bigger road to Chablis, took us through a forest, which was really pretty. Forests, fields of wildflowers, white cows in little pastures, some rugged stone cliffs, tiny villages —and all very peaceful. Very few other cars, and all quite sleepy —well it was Sunday, and everything in the villages was closed up, of course.
We made it to the bigger road, which was also quite scenic, and where we quite sped along, between the villages. We were heading to the Abbaye de Fontenay —a sight Logan picked out —halfway between Beaune and Chablis. Around 1pm though, I started to get hungry —and the towns we were passing through seemed so small as to not really have any restaurants. Logan checked the Routard and found a highly regarded place in the town nearest the Abbaye: Mirrabelles, in St. Remy next to Montbard. We located the restaurant without too much trouble —and it was complet! Well it was Sunday lunch after all, but it must be very good; it’s quite an out of the way spot —even for the town of Montbard. Well, we went into the town center and had lunch at L’Ecu, the Logis in town. It was ok, nothing special, and a little pricey. We did get to sit on a nice shaded terrace, and at least we didn’t starve. (Good thing we did not wait and try to eat at the Abbaye —it’s totally isolated and the only food there is in three vending machines!). Anyway we drove into the isolated valley and found the Abbaye. It is the oldest surviving Cistercian Abbaye. (The Cistercian order was founded by monks who found the Cluny order too luxurious. Those kooky monks.) It has all been recently restored, and is quite an intact complex from the late romanesque/early gothic period. An impressive and somber romanesque church, a beautiful cloister, gothic chapter house and scriptorium, a dormitory with a ships hull wooden roof, and a huge 13th century gothic forge —almost as big as the church. Apparently it was the first iron works with a waterwheel for power; water was also diverted for fountains on the monastery grounds. It’s all quite pretty; smaller in scale than some of the other abbayes we’ve visited, and very peaceful. A few busloads of tourists, but they were sort of easy to ignore.
A lot of the way, we drove along the canal du Burgundy —it’s long, and very tranquil —with lock houses, and with boys diving and swimming from the banks or the bridges. After Fontenay, we drove on to Chablis, a cute little town with a gothic church towering over the center. Haven’t really explored yet, just arrived at the hotel and decided to rest a bit.
Later… in Chablis
Here we are in our little room in a cute fancied-up hotel in Chablis, the Hostellerie dus Clos. The room is cute but tiny; it looks out on a nice little courtyard, where I may go to continue typing in a bit. It is supposed to have the best restaurant in Chablis, so we will see. I am a bit hot and tired from driving all day.
And Later Still…
So we had dinner at our hotel tonight —at the world’s fanciest Logis! Well actually the rooms aren’t that fancy at all, but the lobby/restaurant is totally over the top. And all kinds of waiters and waitresses in fancy dress running about —in stark contrast to the poorly dressed Brits, and even the casually attired French patrons. Anyway we had aperitifs in the courtyard, dinner in the fancy dining room and our after dinner infusion du maison in the “salon”, in big wingchairs. Dinner was delicious —fairly inexpensive ingredients, but very well —and elaborately —prepared. Only mini-pricey at 49 euros each —and with a good Chablis for 20 Euros. They have a lot of reasonably priced Chablis —and some very expensive ones for the rich foreigners, I’m sure. Anyway, we had a little amuse bouche of cold tomato soup with a bit of shrimp in it —I ate Logan’s as well; Then a salad of little white asparagus, wild asparagus, and (mostly) little mushrooms in a delicious sauce. Then I had a pike fish mouse with crayfish and crayfish sauce, and they made a delicious piece of grilled sander for Mr. Logan. Then we had veal kidneys(!) in a Chablis sauce —three little slices really, in a sauce that was just perfect for them. Then an assortment of local cheeses. We drank a 1998 La Chablissiene Vielles Vignes —the sommelier recommended it; he wouldn’t let Logan order the one he had picked out that cost twice as much —he said this one was much better. I thought it was good —but then what do I know. For dessert we had some strawberries, very fresh, very delicious, with some little syrup and a croustillant. Then our infusion de la maison —with vervienne in it and the usual plate of very tasty little sweets. We took a short walk around the deserted town after dinner, and now we are resting in our suite… there are lots of really big mosquitos out in the town… so I’m a bit apprehensive. The room is not climatisee, so we have to leave the window open —it’s quite warm tonight.
and one more thing…
Cloches! The main courses arrived covered with silver cloches, which were whipped off in unison. Lots and lots of staff actually —and we didn’t even see into the kitchen. In the morning we have the true test —the breakfast!
3 June 2002 Chablis
I will mention the excellent breakfast at the hotel. They actually set up early this morning to serve it in the courtyard —I could hear them through the window —but then it started to rain and they had to move everything inside. It was a very good country in breakfast —lots of tasty pastries; good bread for toast; jams and honey in little crocks; good yogurt in glass jars, some dried fruits, and oddly, a custard. Tasty. The inn is a bit of an odd hybrid: the rooms, and the breakfast, seem like a really good Logis; but the lobby, and the staff and restaurant are like a Leading Hotel of the World. It would almost be stuffy, except there are enough people working here who are obviously summer help —less than perfect and sort of amused by what they’re doing; it helps take the edge off. And the food is really good, and the prices not excessive for the quality of the food —and the rooms are not expensive. It could use more French people though —there is far too much English being spoken; lots of Australians and Brits. It does have a big elevator, and the whole place is wheelchair accessible —a real rarity among country inns —so there are a number of guests in wheelchairs, living it up, which is a nice touch, and probably worth mentioning in an article.
A trip to Mr. Bricolage!
We asked the woman at the desk about having our laundry done and she directed Mr. Logan to this “Pressing” in a mall outside of Auxerre —at the “Geant”. Well, I knew by the time we were halfway there that it was too far to leave our laundry —when would we get back to pick it up, next year? But we sort of followed through anyway, and found this sort of mall on the ring road around Auxerre and went into this huge K-Mart sort of store —very American, except for the French-speaking —and inquired about an electrical adapter to replace the one I left in Beaune. they didn’t have one, but the cute boy (yet another one) consulted with someone and told us to go across the road —to Mr. Bricolage. Just like in America, though we could see it across the street, it was impossible to walk to; we had to get in the car and drive there! It’s a big Home-Depot like store, and they did indeed have just what we needed; Mr. Logan loved the place, and I had to talk him out of buying pricey European light bulbs to take home! After we left Mr. Bricolage, we realized we should have just bought new t-shirts at the Geant —easier and probably cheaper than the laundry —but we didn’t drive back to do it. Instead we set off on the day’s sightseeing.
And on to the relics of Mary Magdelene…
After we left Mr. Bricolage, we drove south to Vézelay, an old monastery church and hilltop village. It was a very important pilgrimage site in the middle ages —they have a reliquary in the crypt with the bones of Mary Magdelene! We got to see them. The church is large and very handsome —rather light inside for a romanesque church, and very austere except for very nice capitols on the pillars carved with flowers, bible scenes and religious legends. On has to hike up this long, slightly steep main street —lined with galleries selling ugly paintings, and lots of restaurants —to the church. The monastery buildings were mostly pulled down, leaving the church surrounded by a large park with amazing views down on the surrounding countryside and other little villages. There were surprisingly few other visitors, and we had the place mostly to ourselves. It had been sprinkling or threatening rain on the drive down, but when we left the church the clouds had dispersed and it became a sunny, and very warm, day.
From Vézelay we drove about 15 km to the town of Avallon —an old fortified town with a funny old romanesque church —the nave descended in steps so it was on about four different levels. the town also had an old clock tower, and the old ramparts. Driving back to Auxerre to visit the Cathedral there, we stopped in a really cute little town called Cravant. We stopped because it just looked so picturesque from the side of the road —there was a stone gate leading into town. Just a little place with tiny alleys —petit rues —running behind the houses, and a pretty little gothic church with fabulous gargoyles, that was all locked up (there was a sign directing visitors to someone’s house to get the key, but we didn’t bother.) There was also this mad enclosed pool fed by a fountain from a nearby stream —no explanation as to the purpose at all —but it looked like some sort of healing waters (at least I’d like to think so); it was enclosed, so not really decorative, but didn’t really seem functional either. Logan suggested it was for watering livestock, but I pointed out that it would be rather difficult to get them in through the rather small doors! (It was and old public wash-house of course —there was one in Chablis as well, we later found.)
From there we drove on to Auxerre —it’s a rather large town or a small city. You even have to pay for parking, though it’s quite cheap. And it was lively after the other places we’d been —lots of young people, students racing around on motorbikes and having drinks in cafes. It had a big old gothic church, Cathedrale St. Etienne —quite tall, with impressive windows, and below, a romanesque crypt, leftover from the previous church, with some old frescoes still extant. The old part of town has some narrow lanes with half timbered houses; It’s built on a hill and the river runs along the edge of the old city (now the modern city sprawls across both sides of the river). There are a couple of other large churches as well, which we did not visit. And the city has a long shopping street (in addition to all the mega-stores on the outskirts), but apparently the shops in this region of France are all traditionally closed on Monday.
We didn’t have dinner at the hotel tonight, but we had aperitifs and then afters —I had their excellent infusion maison, and Logan had this mad bright green mint liqueur called Gat 27. A bit like scope on ice. We had dinner at a place down the street called Bistro de Grand Crus, a simple little place which was fine but not amazing, and not so busy on a Monday night. We probably should have driven out of town to a little country inn —there was one that sounded really good in Logan’s wine book —but I didn’t really want to drive anymore; most of the other places in Chablis were closed on Monday night. Logan did have the Jambon de Morvan —a sort of prosciutto-like ham, but served in thick slices. I had some white asparagus, and then a cuisse de canard and Logan had a nice piece of white fish. It was all fine. Pretty cheap too, except for the €30 bottle of Chablis.
Had a long walk around the totally deserted and shut-up town, our after-dinner infusion and drink at the hotel, and now to sleep. We have dinner here at the hotel tomorrow —I’m planning an easy day of looking around the town and then driving a route of nearby wine villages.
4 June 2002 Chablis
We had lunch today in this terrific little restaurant —a tiny place we just happened on. Actually it was mentioned in Logan’s wine book, but it didn’t make it sound like much. It’s one of those discoveries that one makes in the French country side that is just a very happy accident. It’s Le St. Bris, in the little village of St. Bris Le Vineux. The owner of the place is Jean Francois Pouillot, and he works mostly alone in his small restaurant. When we arrived for lunch, at about 1:45, there was just one table occupied; he emerged from the kitchen and gave us a warm welcome, seated us at a little table, and got us a half bottle of the local white burgundy from nearby Chitry. We ordered just the simple plate of the day, a grilled Andouillettes de Troyes; with an apple rhubarb tart for dessert. There were several very delicious sounding menus written on little chalkboards —but they were all four and five courses, and we really wanted a small lunch. Apparently M. Pouillot decided we had to have a starter anyway, so we brought us a little crock of 6 escargots to share. They were delicious, in garlic, butter and parsley. Then our plates with beautiful white andouilletes —usually not my favorite I must confess, though they are a specialty of this region —and it was delicious (just the slightest suggestion of that innardy smell that is sometimes so overpowering). They were flavorful and tripey but not at all gross. I hope I’m not damning with faint praise here —but it was good and nicely presented on a plate with a few little vegetables. Then we got two huge slices of the apple rhubarb tart —the rhubarb green and crisp, finely chopped and mixed with a bit of custard. After that, coffee and some special little chocolates and biscuits from the bakery in the town. All the time the owner would come out to chat (in French of course) and ask questions of us; he told Logan that he prefers to work alone; he feeds 10 to 15 people at lunch and at dinner, and he likes to be able to interact with the diners, and do everything himself. I wish we had found it earlier in the trip, as I would like to go and have his huge groaning multi-course meal. I’m sure it’s fabulous. On the menu outside it said “a true cuisine de chef still exists” —his motto for the place. I just think it is great —a real find, and a place to look forward to returning —delicious, personal, interesting and inexpensive. I get much more excited about a place like this than about the very fancy place at our hotel —even though the food is indisputably terrific, it has been featured in bunch of magazines even.
If St. Bris is full, or a large group comes by, he sends them to the Auberge des Tilleuls in Vincelottes. We actually stopped there first for lunch (this is the place I had thought about going for dinner the night before), but decided that all the set menus seemed too large for what we wanted… but it’s good, regional cooking, and a beautiful terrace, tented, on the waterfront along the tranquil river Yonne. Very pretty, and it’s a Logis as well. Still I’m glad we moved on to Le St. Bris —it’s a special place.
We explored Chablis on foot in the morning. It has a pretty little riverfront promenade, with a few little parks, a swim pool that is filled from the river in the summer months, An old riverside washing house, some mills —one of which is of course a restaurant. We tried to go in the pretty —and from a distance, imposing —little gothic church, but it is in the midst of a re-roofing, and it was all locked up. We visited the town cemetery as well —another old church, but likewise locked up. The rest of the day we spent driving around the nearby wine towns —just cute, very little towns —with interesting old churches, all of which were locked up. And we drove by the cremant caveau of Bailly, and we had our fabulous little lunch in St. Bris, and saw an old Templar church (the oldest church in the l’yonne) in Fontenay des Chablis. The highlight of the days sightseeing though was Potigny —where there is an old, very handsome Cistercian Abbey. Very little visited, compared with the more famous abbeys, but really worth it —large and imposing, beautiful light inside; we bought a little guide in the shop to tell us all about it. I think the best thing though is being able to appreciate it in complete tranquility. During most of our visit we were all alone.
Back in town we stopped at the caves of the Chablis wine growing commune, La Chablissiene. Logan bought 6 bottles of wine —which we are lugging now; I wanted to have some shipped to Amsterdam; but apparently they can’t ship outside of France. There are good things, very inexpensive, and shipping within France doesn’t amount to much —but so much for the common market I guess… at least where wine’s concerned. The only way is to bring a car so that one can drive it back —so I guess I’ll just look for some of these things in Amsterdam. After that it was back to Hostellerie du Clos, and making some notes, and then off to dinner…
Back in the hotel now, and it’s storming. A sudden rainstorm has blown up out of nowhere, and it’s dark and thundering and pouring down rain!
Later…
OK, I have to say that dinner at our fancy hotel restaurant was a bit too big. I liked the less expensive menu with the kidneys more. Everything tonight was really tasty; it was just too much, too many courses of very rich food. We had an amuse bouche of cold cantaloupe soup —delicious. then we had a salad with foie gras and girolles mushrooms. This was a replacement for the morell mushrooms stuffed with foie gras —which Logan was dying to have —but which for some reason wasn’t available. Then I had a little soup of crayfish tails and Logan had a morrel soup with green asparagus. then we had “line caught” bar, pan fried. Then we had a medallion of lamb. Then we had a cheese assortment. Then we had little fried pastries filled with rhubarb and accompanied with strawberries. Then we had our infusion maison, and the little cookie things. So you can see —it was a groaning amount of food. We drank another chablis (1998) of course, and an Irancy red Bourgonge (2000, a more robust year for this very light red) with the lamb. It stopped raining so we could have a walk after dinner, but it wasn’t enough. I feel like I’m going to have to work at losing some weight when I get back to Amsterdam.
5 June 2002 Aboard the TGV to Paris
A long, sort of exhausting day, the return to Paris. It lacks the excitement of the outbound journey, and perhaps it was a mistake to book the return in the afternoon; there’s something good about getting the travel over with early in the day. But then it took us an hour and a half to drive from Chablis back to Dijon —even using the autoroute, it’s a longer trip than I thought. Then getting the gas, and finding the train station. So around 12:30 we set off for a quick tour of the town. It’s sort of a large place —bigger than any of the other cities we’ve been to on this trip, and bigger than Tours for instance, and very grand seeming, with a huge baroque complex in the center housing government offices and a musee des Beaux Arts. This was the Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, but much and often added to over the centuries. There are also a number of Churches: the Notre Dame, with a very funny gothic facade absolutely covered with protruding gargoyles; and a big gothic church with a very odd looking renaissance facade —and inside a miraculous statue of the Virgin Mary from the twelfth century. (It is believed to have saved the city from siege by the Swedes in the 16th century and from destruction by the Germans in WWII.) And Dijon has a big shopping area, with a Galleries Lafayette and H&M, and a big old iron covered food market, which was unfortunately closed for the lunch hour when we were there. So that’s it —we skipped a big lunch, as we’ve been eating far too much, and just had a hot cheese/onion/ham sandwich which we took away from a bakery. It was very oniony. Now we’re on the TGV —this one seems to have originated in Lucerne, Switzerland —and we’re racing back through the Burgundian countryside (very pretty) towards Paris. There was a storm last night, and now remnants of it all day; lots of wind, but then some sun too; and then brief bits of rain. Apparently the weather in Chablis, especially, is very unstable, and they are prone to sudden storms rising up from nowhere.
Specialties of Chablis/ the l’Yonne:
Gougères —little cheese puffs, a snack with an aperitif
Andouilletes —tripe sausages
Pain d’ Epices —gingerbread
Jambon Morvan —prosciutto like ham served in thick slices
soft cows milk cheeses —famously Époisses, a smelly, runny cheese; and chaources, a milder creamy cheese
Cherries —in springtime; asparagus in season
Escargots —from burgundy
“Terrior de l’Yonne” organization for regional products: butchers, bakers, and restaurants.
Wines:
Chablis —very dry chardonney grown in a small appellation surrounding the town on limestone soil. On of France’s best white wines, and the best of the Burgundy whites.
Cremant de Bourgonge —the best from Bailly near Chablis; this area is quite near the champagne region, and like many champagnes it is a sparkling wine made from Chardonnay grapes —but much cheaper.
Bourgonge Aligote —a cheap white wine that, with the local creme de Cassis, is the basis for a proper kir.
5 June Later… Paris
Our train arrived right on time at the Gare de Lyon and the bus trip to the hotel was super easy —it’s practically door to door service. It was nearly six by the time we got settled, and we were pretty hungry too. Logan decided he wanted to eat at Bofinger —for a very typical last meal in Paris. He called them but they wouldn’t take a reservation, but said if we got there by seven we could likely have a table. So we walked over to the Bastille and arrived at Bofinger a bit after seven. There were only a very few tables occupied at that hour of course, so it was no problem and we got a nice table on the ground floor. All was very pleasant until they seated these two very odd women at the table next to us. One was very loud, and despite a funny sort of accent, very American. She was ugly in the extreme, with unkempt hair, warty complexion, and some kind of hideous pink sleeveless hand-knit top. Her companion was none too attractive either, but at least very quiet in a mousey sort of way. Well the loud one was just complaining about everything —they were eating there on some sort of voucher given by a tour company or something, anyway they weren’t even paying for dinner, but nothing seemed to suite —“We don’t want any wine, we want coffee and tea —this coffee’s too strong! Sausages! who would eat sausages for dinner? Can we have extra vegetables? How about broccoli? Do you have broccoli? She wants a salad too… ” The waiters were so accommodating to all this, I was absolutely amazed; where the Parisians get their reputation for rudeness, I don’t know. Anyway, at first it was impossible to ignore this woman, and Logan and I both inwardly groaned —it stopped our conversation, and her voice just reverberated in the space between us. Apparently she was here to see the Louvre —that was her mission —and if she was forced to endure the city of Paris in order to do it, she was just going grit her teeth and soldier through it. Oh how I wanted to tell her to lighten up, have some wine, enjoy her free meal! Well, fortunately, the restaurant filled up quickly, the noise level rising to drown her out more-or-less, and their food came and she shut up —occasionally —to eat. And the ironic thing is they devoured the food —every bite: the onion soups, the fish, the mashed potatoes, the artichokes, the side of greenbeans; the extra salad —Logan said she commented constantly on how delicious it was, so go figure.
I enjoyed my dinner as well, but then I expected I would! We had Lillet served with a little dish of green olives and tiny pretzels. Then I had my big platter of six oysters with a glass of Chablis, while Logan had foie gras (again!). Then Logan had a fish that was the daily special, and I had braised duck. We had a nice bottle of Burgundy (a Mercurey) with it. Then Logan had a coupe colonel and I had a chocolate tart. It was all quite good —maybe it’s a little pricey, now that with the Euro one is aware of the prices —and it was great fun to watch the waiters dashing around, in and out of the kitchen, up and down the stairs, carrying trays piled with dishes and grand plateaus de fruit de mer. We stopped afterwards at the Petit Fer a Cheval for a drink —it was full of fashion-modelly drunk rufuses inside —but we sat outside so it was ok.
6 June 2002
Logan left early in the morning —before breakfast —so I had breakfast alone in the hotel, then set off dashing all around Paris on my own. And I really did dash around. First I took the Metro out to the 16th, where I’d never really been before, a sort of a well-to-do but non-touristy area, and walked several blocks to find the Foundation Le Corbousier —housed in a double villa he built in the 1920’s. One of the Villas is open to the public, and it is quite fabulous —very cubist, very stylish, probably not so easy to live in; but it’s on four levels with lots of windows, and interior spaces looking into other rooms and cool built-in bookshelves, and picture rails and light fixtures. I left there and walked all the way to the Trocodero —just to see the neighborhood, which is very residential, very typically Parisian. At the Trocodero I stopped to take in the view of the Eiffel tower, and the view of all the tourists and school kids taking in the view. Then I walked another couple blocks to the Palais du Tokyo, where I made a second visit to the hipster contemporary art space. The Wolfgang Tilmans had just opened, and I wanted to see it. Actually it was impressive and beautifully installed —this huge curving white space with a very high, sky lit ceiling; and the pictures —huge, tiny and everything in between, tacked to the walls all over the place. And some of the pictures were very affecting, especially the snapshotty portraits. But so much of his work is so banal —I know that the banality is sort of his stock in trade —but really I think it’s too much; and actually his newer work is more abstract —big photogram things and such; they don’t have much emotional appeal, but they do show some effort.
By now I was quite hungry, so on a whim I dashed to the subway and went to the Palais Royale and to Willi’s wine bar —arriving about 2:15, just in time to have a nice lunch at the bar: Asparagus and broadbean soup with a glass of Riesling, and veal liver with a cote rotie; a refreshing dessert of fresh cherries and orange slices with a slab of hard bitter chocolate. Very tasty. After lunch I had a bit of a walk around the Palais Royale, then took the metro out to the eighth and walked around looking in shop windows. Finally got back to the hotel after six; Went to the laundromat down the street at seven so I could have some clean clothes. At ten, walked over to the Marais, and had some dim sum things at that little place by St. Paul. Then sat at a sidewalk table at the Open cafe and had a few beers. Checked out the Full-metal and the QG bar —neither very busy, then checked out the Arene —busier, but as dreadful as I remember it being (thought I’d give it a second chance); and really expensive beer too.
7 June 2002
More photography… Before lunch, the show at the photo museum at the Hotel Sully —which after I paid my 5 Euros, I realized I had already seen —last year at the Van Gogh Museum. It’s this personal collection of American photographs from 1840-1940. It was interesting enough to see again though. And then, after Lunch, I went to the other photo museum in the Marais to see the much hyped Klien+Paris exhibit. Big and garish, and many funny juxtapositions; mostly crowd shots from the street, or group shots a society events. In between I walked out to the Place de l’Aligre and had lunch at the Table l’Aligre. I had the daily menu: a crab salad, a roasted codfish, and a creme brulee; it was all very tasty and included wine, and a cafe —all for 20 euros. A good deal, especially when you consider that I had just spent that morning 10 euros for two cups of coffee and a piece of toast at the AOC cafe.
It was a bit gloomy all day in Paris, but now that I’ve come back to the hotel to rest after a day of dashing around, it’s cleared up and become quite sunny. 8 pm and it’s very sunny and bright. I’d take this computer to a cafe to make my notes, but I haven’t had it plugged in and the battery is not charged.
Later…
I had a lie down in the early evening, then went out for a walk at dusk to take some photos and have a snack. I was going to stop at the Deux Palais, but it was closing, so I went to the Panis and had a croque on country bread.
8 June 2002
Out today pretending to shop. Actually I bought a summer shirt and some boxer shorts at this cheap, stylish store from Spain called Celio. Then it was just browsing around the St. Germain des Pres and San Sulpice. Then I happened by a little movie theater where they were showing the Larry Clark film “Bully”, so I decided to go see it. It was really good, I thought. Then over to the Marais for a bit more non-shopping —I tried in vain to find this one men’s clothing store that I had seen earlier in the week. Then on my way back to the hotel, I stopped at Notre Dame and caught a bit of the Saturday evening service. Lots of singing, and very nice to experience the church in use. I hadn’t a big lunch on Saturday, so I went out to dinner at Polidor. It was fun —because of the people —but it is not as cheap as I remember it. (dinner cost me as much as lunch at Willi’s.) I had a lentil soup (rather dull) and the pintade with cabbage, which was quite good, and a huge tarte tatin with creme freche. Sat with a girl from London and her two French friends; they were nice.
Dithered about where to go for a drink that night —Keller or Docks or Transfert. Decide on Transfert, but it was a mistake —it’s the tiniest bar in Paris, and was empty as well. So after taking the metro there (it’s at the far end of the Louvre) I had to walk back to the Marais, and just went to the Full Metal, and actually didn’t stay out too late.
9 June 2002 Aboard the Thalys to Amsterdam
Very tired today —too little sleeping the last three nights —so most of the trip back I’ve just been listening to music and staring out the window at the landscape. Some really beautiful cloud formations as we sped through Northern France. Holland is predictably gray.
I had an early lunch before I left Paris —a steak tartare at the Terminus Nord. It is yet another Flo group brasserie, but anyway that does assure that the food is of a high calibre. I was torn between steak tartare and oysters —I only had time for one course. Had the tartare and a half bottle of Cotes du Rhone. Anyway it is directly across the street from the station, so it is very convenient.
Now I have my article to write, but it won’t be done on the train. I finally get out the computer, and we’re racing into Schipol already —so we’ll be in Amsterdam in 15 minutes.
France has a long history of tolerance for alternative sexuality. It’s been a refuge for homosexuals from Oscar Wilde to James Baldwin to Gertrude Stein, and a live and let live attitude regarding love and sex seems to prevail. Recently though, France has been moving beyond tolerance to a genuinely enthusiastic embrace of gay residents and visitors. The mayor of Paris is openly gay. Recent legislation extends domestic partner (essentially marriage rights) benefits to same sex couples–and this approved under a conservative national government. Gay bars, bed and breakfasts, shops, restaurants, gay organizations, saunas and discos are proliferating–not only in Paris, but in smaller cities throughout France. The national and regional tourist offices, businesses, mainstream hotels and restaurants, and individual city governments are all enthusiastically welcoming gay travelers. It’s nice to be wanted!
Pride in Gay Paree
You’ll feel especially welcome during the last weekend in June, when Paris’ puts on it’s huge annual gay pride celebration. Watch the festive, chaotic and very long parade from any point along its considerable route from Place d’ Italie to Nation (Bastille is a convenient location) or join in and march with a favorite group–every one is welcome to participate as well as watch. Afterwards, the Marais becomes a huge street party for the remainder of the evening. Naturally there are disco parties and special events the whole weekend long. And while Paris Pride is the ultimate, cities throughout France now have gay parades and events–you could spend all of June celebrating gay pride, French style.
Even on a normal day, Paris is the center of gay life in France, with a huge gay community, bars and clubs of every description, trendy gay restaurants, stores selling trendy clothes and campy doodads, and an excellent gay bookstore (Les Mots a La Bouche). Begin your exploration of Gay Paris at the Open Cafe. It seems like every gay boy in Paris eventually strolls by these sidewalk table, and you can happily linger over a coffee, beer or cocktail. Pick up free copies of the several weekly gay agendas for detailed listings of the many other bars and events. The Marais, the lively and traditionally gay quarter of Paris is so popular now that gays have begun colonizing adjacent areas as well–Rue Oberkampf, Canal St. Martin, and the slightly seedy Second Arrondissement are all worth a look. Of course you will see gay people everywhere in Paris and you should feel at home wherever you go.
Racing to embrace gays
Many visitors–and many Parisians themselves–have the impression that that gay life in France begins and ends in Paris. Now a number of regions and cities throughout the country are taking various initiatives to prove that they are just as gay friendly as the capitol. Leading the pack in the this regard is Le Mans, a Loire Valley town best known for the exciting (but not at all gay)Circuit Des 24 Heures du Mans auto race. Yet the city also boasts an organization of gay friendly businesses—Charte d’accueil et de bienvenue Lesbian and Gay Friendly—which now includes most of the hospitality industry in Le Mans. For instance, the grand old belle époqueHotel Concorde, traditional and charmingly old-fashioned, proudly displays its gay friendly charter at the front door. Restaurants are also gay friendly; try traditional cuisine of the Loire atLe Grangeraie in the center of town, or venture out to the nearby nature reserve L’ Arche de la Nature, for a simple but delicious buffet on a farm.
For something more exciting, you can practice your own racing skills on a gas powered go-cart at the very butch Circuits “Alain Prost”. The hunky staff won’t care if you are gay or even if you send your cart crashing at high-speed through the track-side barricade! Auto racing is a theme running through the town, and for aficionados there is great collection of historic vehicles in theMusée de l’Automobile. Historic Le Mans—dating back to the 13th century–is really the highlight of the city however. Vieux Le Mans, the medieval core, boasts the largest concentration of half-timbered buildings in France. And not to be missed–not that you could–is the immense Cathedral St. Julien which spans the entire range of medieval church architecture from fortress-like Romanesque to flamboyant high gothic. The gay “scene” is small town, but in addition to the gay friendly bars and cafes, you will also find a gay disco (La Limite), cabaret (Palace Cafe) and sauna (Le Nil), should you find yourself craving company.
Life in a Student Town
In Montpellier, in what is thought of as the more conservative south, perhaps it is the presence of so many students that lends a gay friendly atmosphere. Of the city’s 240,000 residents, 60,000 are students, creating an overwhelmingly youthful vibe. Add to this the relentless sunshine, and the plentiful terrace cafes that surround every square and you have one of the best cities for people watching in France! The Cafe de la Mer is the gay cafe, with tables spilling out into a popular square, and ultra-cute waiters. Grab a table and a pernod and watch the boys (and girls) go by. The nearby Rue des Teissiers is a narrow passage lined with small gay and gay friendly cafes, their sidewalk tables creating a sort of nonstop block party. For late night partying, Le Heaven and Le New THT offer boys, drinks and small dance floors once you have buzzed your way in. For sun and swimming, the Mediterranean beaches are a short drive from town and the surrounding country side is dotted with ancient villages, Languedoc wineries and ruined Templar castles.
Back in the city, the best way to see the city’s rather hidden historic sites is with the excellent three hour guided tour offered by the Office du Tourisme Montpellier. You’ll get a look into the courtyards of private renaissance houses and the 12th century Jewish ritual bath–rediscovered after seven centuries! Montpelier is home as well to some really great food; for an incredible meal don’t miss La Compagnie des Comptoirs—or their (much less expensive) sister restaurant on the beach at nearby La Grande Motte. The latter is a tent which sits directly on the beach affording incredible views of the Mediterranean and the option of a post lunch swim; the entire restaurant is dismantled in the autumn, and re-erected each spring.
Relaxing in Provence
Provence is probably the most popular holiday region in France after Paris. It’s a perfect spot for sun, scenery, wine, and lazily whiling away the days at an outdoor restaurant or a hotel swimming pool. For a real treat, L’Hotel Les Ateliers de L’Image is the sort of hotel you actually hate to leave to go sightseeing. The rooms are simple, cool and comfortable; The public areas are fashion magazine chic; but it is the large, stunningly beautiful pool and the extensive grounds that make the hotel a destination in itself. Though located in the heart of little St. Remy, the pool overlooks the open countryside–perfect for cooling off midday, or for a midnight swim. As there are only 24 rooms, it feels very exclusive, and very private. The highlight of St. Remy are the excavations of the Roman city of Glanum. You can see the foundations of the ancient buildings and the Roman street grid, yet two thirds of this sizable city remains buried. There is a short walking trail to take you there. This entire region of course was an important part of the Roman empire, and reminders of this ancient heritage are everywhere. In Arles, the Roman arena is still used for bullfights and the local variant, bull racing. In bull racing, unarmed (and apparently reckless) young men compete with bulls–the bulls are never harmed, and they, not the boys, achieve fame and status! Again, for the best look at Arles’ many Roman ruins and Medieval buildings, the Arles Office de Tourisme offers excellent guided visits in English. TheMusée de L’Arles Antique features extensive ancient artifacts from the region. Fascinating and beautifully presented, this relatively new museum should not be missed. Avignon is home to the monumental Palais du Papes, the temporary residence of the popes during the 14th century. It’s an impressive example of religious fortress architecture. The town itself is charming, retaining its old city wall and filled with sunny squares and outdoor restaurants. And with six Michelin star restaurants, Avignon offers some pretty impressive Provençal cuisine. Avignon is also the center of gay life in the region. It’s handful of gay bars (Le Cid Cafe, LMCafe), clubs (Le Esclave, The Cage) and sauna (H Club) draw gays from throughout the region. Mostly though, province is more about relaxing than a pulsing nightlife–and you may be surprised to find that there are huge number of gay and specifically gay friendly hotels, bed and breakfast properties, country houses and villas–many quite luxurious–scattered throughout the region. The organization Gay Provence is an excellent source for Provence accommodation, restaurants, and information; they are very eager to offer advice and assistance and maintain an comprehensive and informative website. Spring, early summer and Autumn are the best times to visit Provence–it is warm but not so crowded. If you want to see the world famous Avignon Arts Festival though, you will have to brave the July heat and crowds–and book everything well in advance.
A Quick Jaunt from Paris
Only an hour northwest of Paris, and easily accessible by train, the charming city of Rouen is perfectly located for a weekend trip from Paris. This medieval town, where Jeanne d’Arc was burned at the stake, has much to offer–historic architecture, an impressive cathedral, a good art museum, great Norman food, and pleasant inexpensive hotels. And Rouen also boasts a lively and friendly gay scene, including two very busy lesbian bars. Reserve a room at the the gay-owned La Vieux Carre, which also has a very pleasnt restaurant. It’s very reasonably priced, centrally located and oozing with half-timbered charm. Exploring this small city is effort free–you can easily visit all the main sites on foot. While the Cathedral Notre Dame–made even more famous by Monet’s paintings–is the most impressive building in town, other nearby monuments worth seeing are the flamboyantly Gothic Palais du Justice, The Eglise St.-Ouen, the Horloge medieval clock tower, and the streets of ancient half-timbered houses. A visit to the pleasant Musée des Beaux-Arts makes a restful change from the crowds at the Paris museums. Too much culture? Rouen offers an astonishing range of shopping for its size–from incredible chocolates and pastries to handmade luxury items, and branches of the famous Paris design houses such as Hermes. In the evening, gay life beckons. The XXL has a bar on the ground floor, a small disco below, and frequent theme parties–often a decidedly sexual theme. A casual, friendly atmosphere pervades, thanks to the efforts of gregarious owner Stephane. Just down the street, Blues offers a huge cocktail menu, and a laid-back lounge atmosphere. The lesbian scene is particularly lively (because of the link to gender bending heroine Jeanne d’ Arc?) with two busy bars. LeMiss Marple–named for the famous fictional detective–andL’Insolite are both filled with friendly and attractive women.
sidebar: A Luxury Weekend in Paris
The Marais is funky, fun, and tres gay, but perhaps you dream of that chic, ultra-luxurious, and very romantic Paris you’ve seen in so many movies. Could it get any more glamorous than a weekend at the Four Seasons George V Hotel? This historic property, with huge rooms, stunning decor, staff rushing to accommodate your every whim, and every amenity you can think of, is one of the world’s great hotels. See Robbie Williams check out as the Rolling Stones check in—the hotel routinely caters to celebrities and presidents—yet Director of Marketing Jean-Pierre Soutric is enthusiastic about welcoming and accommodating gay guests. The concierge can even direct you to the current gay hotspots. It couldn’t be more luxurious and romantic, but of course all this comes at quite a price (do inquire about the many discounts and packages on offer). Still, you’ll be the envy of your friends back home. The Hyatt Regency Paris Madeleine is smaller luxury hotel, with a cool, contemporary look, stylishly comfortable rooms, friendly staff, and a relaxed atmosphere. It will appeal to artistic types (it’s Pavarotti’s hotel of choice) and again, gay guests are enthusiastically welcomed. Now, put on your best Paris suit (or pick up a stylish yet reasonably priced new one from local menswear designer Melchior) and head out for a deluxe meal at one of Paris’ famed restaurants. Try the chic, contemporaryMaison Blanche, with its stunning city views or the George V’s own 3 star Le Cinq. However, whether you opt for luxury hotels or a pension in the Marais, Michelin star restaurants or cozy bistros, an evening stroll through Paris with a special friend is as romantic as any movie, and costs nothing at all.
XXL 25 rue de la Savonnerie, 15:00-4:00, +33/2 3588-8400
Blues 15 rue Saint Etienne des Tonneliers, +33/2 3588-8400
LeMiss Marple 35 rue de la Tour de beurre, 18:00-2:00, +33/2 3588-4732
L’Insolite 58 rue d’Amiens, 19:00-2:00, +33/2 3588-8400
RESOURCES
Maison de la France (www.franceguide.com) The French tourist offices are an invaluable resources. Before you go, make use of the website to explore options and request information. Upon arrival, local offices can provide information, maps, assistance and often excellent walking tours.
Gay Provence (www.gay-provence.org) Providing booking for gay friendly accommodation throughout Provence as well as information on bars, clubs and restaurants.
By Clay Doyle {Published in a slightly different form in Out & About, June 2004}
A week of meals (mostly) and lazy sightseeing in the City of Lights with my friend Randy.
18 June
My traditional first meal in Paris: Brasserie Balzar, with the now-traditional steak tartare and frites. I remember it very unclearly, as I was tired and jet-lagged and not even a good meal in Paris could really wake me up. Randy had lamp chops. After lunch and a long walk, we went back to the Hotel Sevigné to nap, and only rose at about 9 to head off to the Open Café for several large beers and people-watching.
19 June
In the morning, we lazed, then wandered: my favourite thing to do on a nice day in Paris. Lunch at Willi’s Wine Bar is always a treat, and we were both hungry enough at about 1.30 to set off towards the restaurant. It took awhile to get there on foot, and I was worried we were too late, but they were happy to seat us. We did end up the last lunchers by about 20 minutes, so my fears weren’t misplaced. I ordered a “giraffe” (500 ml carafe) of Touraine sauvignon blanc, which sounded refreshing, and was—very cool and nicely acidic. I had a lunch of cold meats. I started with super-tasty beef carpaccio, and followed that with vitello tonnatta, which was cooked veal, of course, but was arranged on the plate exactly like the carpaccio. I hadn’t had it in ages, and really enjoyed the sauce of puréed tuna. Randy ordered something with crab for a starter, and followed with the vitello tonatta as well. He thought it very odd, indeed, but tasty. For dessert, I felt compelled, as I often do, to order le specialité du collège de Cambridge (crème brulée—it’s an in joke at Willi’s,
where a patron once claimed that crème brulée was invented in a dining hall at Cambridge). Randy had the always-delicious chocolate terrine. I wanted to pick up the year’s Pudlo guide (my favourite French restaurant book, available in a Paris and a France edition), so we headed off towards the Louvre and visited the mall, rather than the musée. Then Randy napped and I made our dinner reservations for the week. After that, we wandered the Marais. We shopped at the excellent gay bookstore les Mots à la Bouche, and snacked on cold cuts & cheese with a nice Chinon at our favourite Marais wine bar, the AOC Café.
20 June
Our activity for the day was the Musée d’Orsay. I was expecting a crowd, but it was calm. There was a huge retrospective of some mediocre Dutch painter named Jongkind, and smaller ones of a Polish symbolist hack and a very odd glassblower. Most disappointing. The permanent collection is always good for a few hours, though, and I got to show Randy my favourite bad painting, a huge 1890s canvas entitled “The School of Plato.” I’ve always called it by the more appropriate title “Jesus and the Nelly Apostles.” It’s a hoot! After that, we walked back to the Marais via the Café Les Deux Palais, where Randy had a salade Perigourdine with paté and duck breast, and I had a croque madame on Poilâne bread. Les Deux Palais looks very unpromising, situated in prime tourist country and sporting a big sign offering “American Coffee.” But it’s the unofficial canteen of the Ministry of Justice, and they’re demanding customers. The place is really quite good. After lunch, we both had a long rest.
Few good Paris restaurants, aside from the big brasseries, are open on Sundays. Who knew Le Table d’Aligre was one of them? Apparently not many people, because it was very quiet. This was our first real dinner of the trip, and I was looking forward to it. Randy was jonesing for foie gras, so he ordered a ballotine of foie gras surrounded by a mixture of smoked duck breast and onion confit. It had all the usual accompaniments, but Randy was reluctant to use the cracked pepper and fleur de sel, because he liked it so much plain. I encouraged him to try them. Meanwhile, I was enjoying an asparagus dish and a half-bottle of lovely Cheverny. For seconds, I had a rascasse (the main fish in boulliabaise, and quite rare outside the Mediterranean) and Randy had confit of pork cheeks, which he’d never encountered before. He made an entire meal of cold meats (much as I had done the previous day at Willi’s), but he liked it fine. We shared a carafe of a rich, red St-Joseph from the upper Rhône Valley. For dessert, Randy chose a clafoutis au cerises and I a rhubarb tarte. Then we set off into the night and walked home.
21 June
Rouen
My friend and business partner, Clay Doyle, suggested that Randy and I make a day trip to Rouen, where neither of us had ever been. It was raining on and off when we arrived (one hour and five minutes by train from the Gare St-Lazare). We left the train station and made purposefully for the Cathedral, since I was convinced from long experience that the tourist office would be across the street from the cathedral. I was right, of course, and wanted to get directions for lunch. I forgot to ask, though, and went back about an hour later as our lunch window was nearing its end. In the meantime, we wandered, and visited the St-Maclou church. Clay also gave us a lunch –the restaurant Le Vieux Carrée was great! Our lunch there was our big meal of the day. We both started with an asparagus gratin, very eggy, with fennel seeds on top. The fennel was a nice touch. After that, I had a pissaladière tarte with caramelized onions, anchovies and olives. This being Normandy and not Provence, there was a custard base to the tarte as well, which I wasn’t expecting. It was very tasty anyway. Randy had a skate wing, which he liked a lot. By mid-meal, we were the only people in the place (we’d arrived for lunch just a bit before 2, and they were quite busy), so I was a bit relieved when an odd gay couple (probably drawn there by a recent article by Clay in Out and About, I imagined) stopped for coffee. They were followed by some young straight French kids in love.
For dessert we both had a very good rhubarb tarte, and I bought a couple jars of jam to take home. After lunch, we returned to the very impressive cathedral to look inside (it was closed til 2 pm), then made our way back to the train station. With a few minutes to kill before the train, we sat down at a café and had Kir Normandes, which (no surprise) involve cider. Quite odd.
We got back to Paris to find the metro unusually busy, and every third passenger seemed to be carrying a musical instrument. We both wanted to rest, but a bad band was making a racket by the Metro entrance. I discovered in my guidebook that it was the solstice tradition of the Fête de la Musique, when anybody could set up and play late into the night. We got enthusiastic, and went down to the Metro entrance to hear what was by now a much better band. Apparently the etiquette of the evening involved no one group monopolizing a good spot. I got the bright idea to go to the Trocadero, because I thought it would be a happening, young music scene. The trains were by now truly mobbed, and there were lots of policemen in the Metro keeping order. We never got to Trocadero, because I found a discarded program for the evening’s more organized events, and thought an alternative-rock bill at place Denfert-Rochereau sounded good. So we made our way there, and stood around in a big, fun crowd (I fell in love three times), but the music was uninspired. When the last act turned out to be bad, mass-market American punk à la Green Day (but worse), we split. We set off towards home. I suggested we come up from the subway at St-Michel, and walk home from there, hoping to hit on a fun scene on the way. There was an odd little band at Place St-Michel doing a sort of klezmer-ska-Camper Van Beethoven thing that was ragged but fun. When they quit, we wandered toward home, and ran into a huge throng of gays on rue des Archives. The DJ playing standard gay dance music didn’t seem at all in the spirit of the evening, so (with much pushing and shoving) we moved on. At our doorstep, and disappointed by the Fête de la Musique, we heard something fun coming from the Metro entrance. There was a band standing around, waiting for a loud horn group to finish up. They looked like teens from the neighborhood, mostly Jewish kids, with an incredibly cute, baby-faced lead guitarist who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Then they started to play–the Pink Panther theme, also in a klezmer-ska-Camper Van Beethoven vein, but much better than the kids at St-Michel, and with a big dose of Django Reinhart added. They were brilliant. They drew a fun, cute, mixed crowd, and encouraged audience participation. Gentle moshing ensued. We were very, very happy. I tried several times to photograph the angelically beautiful guitarist with my cellphone, but it was too dark, and the photos all came out crappy.
22 June
In the day, we went to Montmartre and to the Catacombs. Heights to depths. It was a concept.
Montmartre was as dull as I remembered. The basilica of Sacre-Coeur is astonishingly ugly, and historically associated with the right wing of French politics. The neighbourhood is full of t-shirt shops and pushy street vendors. The views are spectacular, though, and the funicular is fun.
After our trip to the top of the hill, we headed back to place Denfert-Rochereau, and the Catacombs. The caverns full of human bones arranged in layers like a fancy paté are very impressive, and the tour is very popular with boisterous American kids. It’s a jarring combination.
Both Randy and I were especially looking forward to our dinner at le Villaret. I’ve been there many times, and i has never disappointed—and once again, it didn’t. We were the first to arrive (always embarrassing), but a French couple followed almost immediately, which was nice. I ordered us two glasses of Banyuls for aperitifs. I still think it’s an odd aperitif (I drink it with dessert, since it’s the only wine I know that goes beautifully with chocolate), but what do I know? For wine, I ordered a positively cheap white Burgundy from Pernand Vergellesse (Clay and I drank some when we were there, and liked it a lot). It was brilliant–exactly what a white Burgundy should be, with buttery and tannic flavours above the fruit.
For the amuse-bouche, they served a little cold asparagus cream soup, ideal for the warm weather. For the first course, I had a delicious terrine of pigeon with a confit of onions and balsamic vinegar, and a rocket salad. Randy had a salad of langoustine tails. Since I couldn’t taste his (I have a potentially-fatal shellfish allergy), I forget the details. So does he. During the first course, the surrounding tables filled up. To my left was a very odd couple indeed–a Frenchman of about 50 with an American girl of about 24 (Randy says “no way, she was 35.”) He manages the Gipsy Kings (!) and she works for the record company. He was obviously trying to seduce her (in a businesslike way, just to keep his hand in, cuz he’s French) while she kept talking about her recent wedding. To my right was a party of four Americans from Boston, who were grateful that I could translate the entire menu for them. I couldn’t talk any of them into ordering lamb’s tongue, but they enjoyed themselves hugely, nonetheless.
For the main course, I ordered the dos de lieu jaune, which I remembered as being a tasty fish. It was very richly flavoured, and sat on a lovely leek purée. Randy had a dish that was mostly mushrooms, asparagus and artichokes, with a bit of mackerel. It was perfect warm-weather food. For dessert, Randy had a sort of milk-chocolate soup with a cookie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I had a sablé cookie on top of a layer of very good raspberries and whipped cream, with a spoonful of rhubarb sorbet. We walked home in a fine mood through intermittent light rain.
23 June
In the day, we went to the Louvre to see “The Raft of the Medusa,” and a few other highlights. Then we shopped—it was the season for les Soldes—the big summer sales.
Dinner was at Le C’Amelot (on the rue Amelot, on the border between the 3rd and 11th arrondissements. This is the new place we tried in Paris on this trip, based on very favorable reviews both in the New York Times (by Jacqueline Friedrich, who wrote the wonderful Wine and Food Guide to the Loire Valley) and in le Pudlo de Paris 2004. What tipped me in its favor was the fact that they serve a set meal, with choices only for dessert. I knew Randy agreed with me that lack of choice is a luxury, so I reserved a table.
We’d walked by the restaurant the night before, coming home from Le Villaret. It was super-cute, and looked tiny and rustic. They had the wine list posted in the window, and I noticed absinthe listed among the aperitifs. Of course, I had to have it, so when we arrived the next evening I ordered two. They came in proper, tall, parfait-shaped absinthe glasses, with proper, flat, antique, slotted absinthe spoons, sugar cubes, and a miniature pitcher of water. I instructed Randy in the ceremony, and we drank what tasted like slightly watered-down Ouzo. Sadly, a little crock of delicious, garlicky sausissons secs in olive oil arrived as an amuse-bouche, and clashed violently with the absinthe. They were, of course, swept off the table when our soup course arrived, so we missed out on enjoying them.
Our wine choices included my usual suspects of Loire Valley and Burgundy whites, so I asked for a recommendation and got a white St-Joseph, which was a bit pricey but really, really good. It was especially nice in contrast to the Pernand Vergellesse of the previous evening, because it was equally fruity while much less tannic, so the flavours were vastly different.
Our first course was a cold tomato soup with a curry cream quenelle. That could go either way but it was brilliant. The soup itself was just tomato-y enough, the quenelle was just curry-y enough, and the tiny croutons were just crunchy enough. Very refreshing on a warm and humid (and incredibly windy!) day. We got two bowls, each containing a quenelle, scattered croutons and a dusting of finely chopped chives. Then a big footed bowl of soup arrived—that sort of French bowl with the lions on the side–so we got a generous course of soup, both in quantity and in time.
That was followed by a couple slices of roasted monkfish on a bed of fennel remoulade with a simple sauce of some meaty jus and some mild acid (I forgot to look at the menu again as we left). It was a perfect smallish portion of beautifully melded flavours.
The main course was a Pintade de Bresse with roasted potatoes and girolle mushrooms. The entire pre-dessert menu was ideal for showing off the virtues of a really appropriate white wine, so I’m glad I asked for advice. By this time the very specific absinthe buzz had kicked in, and we were plastered–but in a good way.
For dessert, I had a mi-cuit chocolate soufflé cake thing, and Randy had peach slices with milk/mint sorbet. Mine was excellent but his was better. Our walk home revealed just how buzzed we both were.
24 Juin
A day of shopping–Randy went hog-wild at my favourite men’s clothing store in Paris, Melchior. The clothes there are beautiful, but designed for a longer, leaner silhouette than mine—so I shop there vicariously. I a bit wild at Celio (Spain’s answer to The Gap) Then, lunch in Belleville at le Baratin. Clay, Randy and I had been in Paris last May for an open artists studio weekend in Belleville, and we’d been smitten with this little bar. The place has been written up as the pick of the 20th in the new Pudlo guide! I started with one of the specials: a whole small rouget, simply prepared. It was very nice. I followed that with poitrine de porc with mashed potatoes, then charentais melon in a light vanilla syrup. Everything was simple and delicious. Randy started with especially good sautéed chicken livers on a salad, then lamb shoulder with curry and rice, and finally a clafoutis au cerise again. For wine I chose a cinsault vin gris from “the Valley of Paradise”–slightly, pleasantly sour and a tiny bit pettillante. After lunch we popped into a show of photos of the restored Giotto frescoes in Asissi ,with lots of useful explanation. The Italians seem to have done a great job. And, apart from a nice little concert at the Sainte-Chappelle, that was Paris. A good time was had by all.
I had promised to accompany my friend Randy on his first trip to Europe in late spring 2003, which I arranged for us to spend mostly in Paris, where we would meet up with several friends. I spent the winter in Los Angeles, tending to the rather grueling task of closing and packing my West Hollywood studio/gallery/living space. This task finally complete, I was suddenly hospitalized with attack of pancreatitis–surely one of the most painful ailments ever devised. The attack was the side effect of a medication I had been prescribed–with over inflated warning labels on everything from hot coffee to plastic bags, I admit I didn’t pay much attention to “caution: may be fatal” stamped on the bottle. After all, it says the same thing on a pack of cigarettes. Perhaps if it had said “caution: may lead to an immediate and exceedingly painful shut down of your digestive system causing you to spend eight days in the hospital on hallucinatory intravenous pain killers while you are allowed absolutely nothing to eat or drink, not even water” I would have requested something else. In any case, with the medication discontinued, after ten days the doctor shook my hand, pronounced me cured, and sent on my way. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but as plans had previously been made, I decided that I could just as well convalesce in Paris as Los Angeles. Thus, a bit oddly, begins yet another Clay Doyle in Paris travelogue…
18 May 2003 Paris
Late Sunday in my little room in the nicely renovated Hotel de Sevigne. New bathrooms, new paint, new furniture. Nothing fancy, but great value for the money, plus breakfast in the room! Arrived Friday after an uneventful trip from Amsterdam on the Thalys. Went out shortly after our arrival to take Randy for a walk through the Marais, across the Ille de Cite, around the exterior of Notre Dame, and finally to our dinner reservation at Balzar. A very fun dinner (even if the food is perhaps not as perfect as it once was, it’s still pretty darn good and the atmosphere of the place is just great). I had the poulet roti, with escargot to start and a fresh strawberry tart for dessert. Randy had escargot, lamb chops and the profiteroles. Lillet aperitifs and a half bottle of red wine. Two amusing Nederlanders at the next table. They had dinner, then coffee, then cognac, then another cognac and a beer and the waiter brought them the check before they asked for it and one of them read him the riot act— “We are not Americans,” he said! I thought I’d crack up. after that, our check did not come until I requested it. A nice stroll back to the hotel along the Seine.
Saturday was a very busy day. We walked to the Luxembourg garden. We went looking at a bunch of expensive galleries around the Rue de Seine in the sixth. Stopped at the usual shops around St. Sulpice. Wanted to go in the church but they were having first communion ceremonies all day. Lots of children in white robes. We did stop into St. Germain des Pres and I lit a candle to Santa Rita for my pancreas. Then took randy to Bertillion for an ice cream cone and we had some coffee in the Marais. It showered off and on all day, alternating with some sun. I bought a rain hat at Muji. We rested at the hotel and then went to the concert a bit after seven. Found it without any trouble. It was nearby, around the Bastille, but I usually seem to get lost over there. Really nice small venue—Cafe de la Danse. the concert was the Go Betweens, an Australian singer/songwriter duo/band that Randy really likes. They were fun. The opening act was Tim Keegan, a gay folky sort of singer/songwriter. He had this one really nice sad song—“Jamie’s going snowboarding”—about being abandoned by/driving away a boyfriend. After the show we had dinner at Au Gamin de Paris. Friendly, as I remember it. We shared a livery terrine to start (it was huge) and I had some lamb slices and Randy had a steak. We had a very rich super chocolatey tart for dessert. After dinner we walked around and I showed Randy where some to the gay bars were. We almost went into the Full Metal, and we would have gone into the Cox but the music was so bad, we just went to the Open Cafe. It was a bit too cold to sit outside so we crowded inside and I had a Perrier. It was after one when we got back to the hotel—my longest, most active day since the hospital. Today (Sunday) I was a bit tired, and my leg muscles were a bit sore from all the walking. None-the-less in the morning we went to the Picasso Museum and wandered all around its three floors. It wasn’t very crowded—I don’t think most tourists go in for Picasso. We had a baguette at Au Petit Fer a Cheval. It was pouring down rain. I spent most of the afternoon resting in my room. around five I went out for a walk—I went out to find the Place Aligre and the restaurant I like there (la table d’ Aligre) and I noted down the the phone number then stopped at a little Moroccan cafe nearby for a ‘the de menthe’ and a little pastry. It was raining when I left so I took the Metro back —two lines, though only one stop on each. Spent the evening resting—Randy and I had talked about going to dinner at nine, but when he hadn’t come by by 10:30 I went out on my own to get something to eat. Turns out he was in his room from eight on…not sure why he didn’t call sooner anyway I was already at Petit Fer a Cheval having a cheap entrecote and a glass of red wine, alone. Truth be told I like having the time alone, though if I knew Randy was in the hotel I would have taken him along to dinner. I thought he was out chatting up French boys!
19 May 2003 Paris
Resting in my room before dinner. It’s seven in the evening and I’m a bit tired. Took Randy on a tour of the monuments, so walking all day. We took the Metro to the Arc d’ Triumph and then walked back down the Champs d’Elysee…well you have to see it once! Stopped at the FNAC record store and listened to some French pop albums. Continued on through the parks by the Grand Palais…there was a big exposition about trains, all along the park, to look at…then to the Place d’ la Concorde. Then a short walk up to the Madeleine. There was a mass in progress, so we went to a little cafe on the square and had French Onion soup…a cliché I know but it was good…and sat there a while. It was all rainy during our walk, but not so rainy that it was really unpleasant. Went in the church, then walked through the Tuileries then got to the Louvre just at 3pm when they reduce the price. There’s a fabulous new secret entrance at the Porte de Lions, sort of at the end of the Sully wing under the Italian galleries…no crowds at all just two automatic ticket machines and no human ticket sellers…and just as we got there the ticket machines malfunctioned…so we had to go in through the shopping mall and buy our tickets under the pyramid which was much more crowded. Randy liked the Roman and Greek sculptures…I also took him to see the Caravagios and the Leonardos that are not the mona lisa. And we looked at the Davids and Delacroix and Gericaults. And the Italian renaissance sculptures. But we just did that one wing, rested in the cafe and saw that the sky had cleared and the sun was out. so we walked back…me to the hotel and Randy to the Open Cafe. I just need to rest before going to dinner at 9 at La Villeret!
***
The trip to Paris has been very good for my health—long walks to get my strength back and lots of good food to get my weight up to something more reasonable. I’m very glad that I made the trip. I was so worried about it; I felt terribly weak and unsteady even up to the day I left LA. Really, the only reason I didn’t cancel was that I felt so guilty about sending Randy on his own after I promised I’d be there to take care of everything! I just couldn’t abandon him (and Logan as well, though I don’t worry about Logan taking care of himself in Paris or anywhere)! So I crossed my fingers and hoped that my pancreas would not explode somewhere over the icy North Atlantic! And, I guess it goes to show that having some responsibility is a good thing—I feel I have recovered much more quickly in Paris than I would have in LA. And of course, I’ve been having a great time here.
***
Just a quick description of our fabulous dinner at La Villeret. Arrived at nine and left at midnight! Amuse bouche: a tiny cup of spinach soup. Starters: sweetbreads and white asparagus for me and fricassee of chicken and girolle mushrooms for Randy—both delicious. Plats: I had calf’s liver; I’d been craving it and it was perfectly cooked. Randy had a St. Pierre; he really liked it, I still can’t recall this fish’s English name. We finished dinner and still had a half bottle of Nuits St. George 2000 Burgundy (delicious) left so I ordered cheese for us—lots of runny smelly soft cheeses, and goats cheeses, please help yourself! Then we had desserts! For me a soup with strawberries and Randy had a chocolate mousse sort of thing. Then a cup of verbena. Then, fortunately, the nice walk back to the hotel. Everything was really good, and Randy was really impressed. 145 Euros, so not super cheap, but still an excellent value.
21 May 2003 Paris
Tuesday was a rather efficient day! In the morning went shopping with Randy in the Marais and bought a birthday present for a friend in the states, plus found a cute gift box to put it in. Then we took the Metro out to the Trocadero and the Tour Eiffel. Not really much of a line to go up into the Tour (Paris just doesn’t seem so full of tourists) but Randy wasn’t in the mood. We had some mediocre salads at a mediocre bistro and then went back to the hotel. I rested for an hour and then went out to mail the birthday gift. Found a big padded envelope to put it in at the stationers near the hotel, then took it to the post office at the end of the street. All very easy. Then I went wandering around hoping to find a wireless network I could use to check my email. Well, it couldn’t be more convenient! there is one in the range of the Open Cafe, so could sit there and have a tea and check email and stuff, while I check out the boys passing by! I went back this morning for coffee, and to send some replies.
Dinner at 8:30 at La Table d’ Aligre. We were the only American rufuses there of course. Randy said, after we were seated, “He knew who you were!” and I said “Of course. We are the only party of Americans.” OIC!
Dinner was pleasant, and reasonably bargainy. I had the most trouble translating the menu there for some reason. Actually felt like I rather made a fool of myself trying to communicate with the very friendly staff, but oh well. The walls were covered with some very interesting watercolors…mostly of banal american locations (airports, motels, etc) but very nicely done and interesting. They were for sale for 550 Euros, not a bad price but too much for me. The women who painted them happened to be dining in the restaurant and the waiter pointed her out. Anyway, I had the house made foie gras to start and randy had salt cod in a sabayon over rice. I had a special of fried pork medallion in a good mustard sauce with mashed potatoes and Randy had fried rabbit with some big wide hand cut pasta. For dessert there was a fantastic looking vanilla soufflé, but we neglected to notice that it had to be ordered early in the meal (naturally) so randy had this crispy pastry envelope filled with incredibly rich dark chocolate and I had this soft biscuit filled with (I’m not sure what actually) and raspberry sauce.
Today Mr. Logan arrived. We went to meet him in his hotel and Brian and his sister and his niece had arrived too. Logan suggested we all go to Polidor for lunch, so we did and I had lentil cream soup and hachis parmantier. Then we all walked over a visited Notre Dame. Brian and family went back to the hotel and Logan and Randy and I sat at the AOC cafe. I’m resting now but soon will be having another gorgy dinner at Balzar! Brian’s’ sister (Michelle) and niece (Lauren) seem very nice. The weather is still chilly and overcast, though there was not any actual rain today.
24 May 2003 Paris
Saturday late afternoon, raining, a good time to catch up my journal. Balzar Wednesday night—I had white asparagus and then the steak tartare. And one profiterole stolen from Michael Logan. It was all quite delicious. We finished dinner at ten, so everyone decided we should go to the Tour Eiffel. We took the metro over and there were hardly any people there. The Africans selling cheap souvenirs practically outnumbered the tourists. Well the weather was iffy and it was late, and it turned out that the top level was not open—perhaps because of the weather. So we went up to the second level and had a view. Then we took taxi’s back to our respective hotels. So speedy!
Thursday was a bit of a lazy day. I took Randy over to the St. Chapelle, but it was closed because of a strike. So we met Logan et al at the Samaritaine Department store because I wanted to take them up to the Panorama. It was closed too—not sure why. But we had some hot chocolate at the roof terrace cafe so we did get a view of the city after all. Then we strolled through the courtyards of the Louvre, and we sat in the garden of the Palais Royale (while michelle and Lauren and Brian went to find a sculpture) by the fountain (very pleasant, and we imagined some lounging boys to be our dates). Then the six of us went to lunch at Willi’s. It was a very fine lunch. I had slices of quail and vegetables in a rich, red “barbecue” sauce—but I think I should have had the tempura prawns—the ladies had them and they looked fantastic. I had a bit of Randy’s foie gras too, which was excellent. I had a fish—the rascasse—on Logan’s recommendation, it was quite good. Actually the table was 4 rascasse and 2 lamb chops. I can’t quite remember what I had for dessert—but I’m sure it was some kind of strawberry thing; I’ve been eating a lot of strawberries, they are really excellent. Some coffee and then we got up and strolled our separate ways. Logan and Randy and I met later at the Open Cafe and sat there during happy hour (6-8).
In the evening Randy, Logan and I decided to go to this “Spectacle” at Notre Dame (actually it was Logan’s idea in a rare lapse of judgment). It began at nine and mercifully lasted only one hour as it was torturously dull. It was basically a novena to the BVM, with a slide show and recorded music. It was sort of like being invited over to the Virgin Mary’s house to see her travel pictures! “and here we are in Egypt…”
Fleeing that, we went to the AOC cafe and had little snacks. Then back to the Open Cafe to meet Brian. Brian was complaining because while he was there alone guys tried to pick him up. Why is this a problem? Anyway there is a super sweetypie waiter there—of course all the waiters there are cute, but Kevin is the cutest of them all. He was there when we were there earlier and very sweet, but the poor thing seemed totally worn out by the time we returned at 11:30 at night.
Friday we went to Versailles on the RER. Takes about 45 minutes. Then we walked and walked. It was a very nice day for it, warm and sunny. we strolled through the huge gardens, the Grand and Petit Trianons and then out to Marie Antoinette’s little faux farm (Logan really wanted to see it). Everyone rebelled on the walk out to the little farm—they sat down and refused to go on. I managed it though—very pleased with my energy level. After that we took the “mini-train” to a cafe and had a spot of a late lunch, then back to the chateau. We sort of dashed through it lingering only to look at the chapel and the hall of mirrors. Well how much flocked wallpaper and mediocre paintings can you stand? Brian and Michelle kept losing their tickets—so there is a family resemblance. Took the train back and had a very brief rest and then dinner (again) at La Villerette. The girls didn’t come and Brian was in a frenzy because of some problems at work, but the food was good anyway. I had some langoustines, and then a pigeon. Logan had the mushrooms and a rabbit (leg, saddle and liver). Randy had langoustine soup and “assorted” lamb—a sweetbread, a fabulous liver, a chop or two. Brian had the sweetbread/white asparagus that I had before and the Lamb. No cheese course, but we all had this “brownie” with chocolate mouse and white chocolate Ice cream. Then we walked back to our hotels.
***
The city does not seem too mobbed with tourists. There is not much of a crowd or lines anywhere. There are some Americans, lots of Brits and Australians. One sees American homosexuals at the Open Cafe—quite a lot really. But it’s nice the city is not mobbed. And it seems very relaxed—especially compared to the war frenzy and the orange alerts of the US. Security here actually seems lighter than it has anytime since September 11—everything functioning normally (except for the occasional strike) and no teen soldiers with Uzi’s at the Gare du Nord!
***
Today (Saturday) rainy again. Didn’t do too much. Logan and Randy went record shopping at FNAC, I went to a cafe. We had a little lunch and toured the St. Chapelle to see the windows then had some Bertillion ice cream. We are supposed to go to a party at Peter’s friends’ place this evening.
29 May 2003 (Hemelsvaart) Aboard the Thalys to Amsterdam
As always, I tend to lose track of my journal as a trip goes on; I’ll try to recap (briefly) the past week.
Saturday night we went to the party at Peter’s friends’ apartment in the third. It was a really nice flat, very large with 3 bedrooms and two and half bathrooms! Lots of people there too; silly gay-sians, lots of indolent expat Americans, and wacky young French girls. We got restaurant tips from a girl who used to be a chef. All the guests got very drunk. We arrived at 9:30 and were the first guests to leave at nearly one. Peter says the guests stayed until five in the morning. He says there are constantly guests, and a continuous party. I had the idea of going to a bar as it was Saturday night, but was very tired once we left the party.
(Totally missed the Eurovision song contest this year…I don’t even know who won! But Martin was going to tape it so we could watch it together later)
Sunday we had a very nice lunch at Bofinger (oysters and rack of lamb for me). Then we took the Metro out to the Bellevue neighborhood in the 20th arr. to check out the open ateliers weekend. There were 122 venues scattered over quite a large area—we saw perhaps 25 of them. The art was mostly pretty cheap—20 to 300 Euros, so that was nice. Much of it was very decorative—pretty little abstract paintings and figurative sculptures which did nothing for me. There was a fun squatters collective in a big cool abandoned factory that was fun, and these really great moody little landscape paintings painted on top of photographs. These were shown in this cool little wine bar (Le Baratin, at 3 Rue Jouye Rouve). We had only a glass of wine, but they had food as well that looked fabulous. This went on until 9pm (the art things in Paris seem to run from about 3 to 9 in the evening) then we went to the Open Cafe for a Sunday evening drink. Mr. Logan returned to his hotel and Randy and I had a falafel and then we went to the Full Metal bar, which had a nice mix of people. Still managed to be back in the hotel by 1:30.
Monday had a quick walk around and a coffee with Randy, and put him in his taxi to the airport. I took another cab to transfer my things to Mr. Logan’s room at the Agora St. Germain. I really liked the Sevigne though—nice people, comfortable room (except the pillow, too pouffy) great shower and an unbeatable location. Logan, Brian and I set out in the afternoon and stopped at Balzar for a lunch of steak tartare! Good but sort of bloating, and I’m afraid it was my idea. Then we went shopping in the St. Germain des Pres and visited St. Sulpice. Then we had a long afternoon rest before dinner. Went to Benoit for dinner, the five of us. It is a very festive restaurant, the staff is so nice. I had the balontine with smoked duck and foie gras stuffed inside, and then a roast duck. Logan had a slab of foie gras and the rest of them had the crab soup with the roué and croutons. The charolais beef was fantastic (Michelle shared hers) with equally fantastic scalloped potatoes. Logan had rougets, and we had a nice bottle of Charles Jougouet Chinon. There was the usual cornucopia of desserts: a plate of complimentary profiteroles; I had a lovely custard thing covered with fresh strawberries. There was a giant chocolate mousse. Then verbena and the plates of little cookies and truffles.
There was a very amusing table of stylish, cute young Americans sitting next to us. They were having a great time, smoking, talking, offering advice to us. There was one boy who was very cute and very gay and reminded me very much of Rufus Wainwright. Anyway I have decided that it’s only the most fun-spirited Americans who have come to Paris this year—the war, and the anti-French nonsense has weeded out all the undesirables perhaps; and that can only be a good thing!
Tuesday we went shopping with Brian in the Marais. I bought a few gifts, and we had a salad at Petit Fer a Cheval. Then Logan and I took the long metro ride out to the suburb of St. Denis to see the Cathedral. It is famous for being the very first high gothic cathedral and also as the burial place of (all) the French kings. Lots of groovy tombs and funerary monuments.
We had a pleasant dinner Tuesday at Le Amoges, one of the places the girl
at the party suggested. It is between the Bastille and Nation. It was a simple place, but the food was quite good. I had excellent sardines to start and then a really tasty skate wing (raie) for my plat. I don’t think I had ever had skate before, and it was delicious! I don’t quite remember my dessert.
Wednesday we went to the Louvre in the afternoon—after three for the discount and in through the secret entrance at the Porte de Lions. That really is a great way to get in…no crowds and you can go directly up from there to the long Italian gallery. We looked at that, and a bunch of the Egyptian collection.
I met Peter at the Open cafe for a drink and then he and I met Logan, Brian, Michelle and Lauren at Bofinger for our last dinner in Paris. I had foie gras and a rare steak, and floating Island. With six of us, it was a festive end to my two weeks in Paris.
When the nineteen cars of the Venice Simplon Orient-Express pull into Verona’s Porta Nuova Station, heads turn. The gold trim glistens on the beautifully restored sixty year-old navy blue carriages. Improbably, the cars look as if they have been freshly washed en route to the station. Stewards leap from the cars to help us aboard. Unencumbered by luggage (our preposterously over packed bags have been collected at our hotel), we saunter stylishly to our cabin, just like in the movies.
Few things as fabled, and as hyped, as the Orient Express are able to live up to one’s inflated expectations. But if you can live without a murder, the experience is much as fans of Agatha Christie might hope. We settle into our cabin, its rich paneling inlaid with a tiger-lily design, as the train leaves Verona.
The train races through the Dolomite mountains, past vineyards ablaze with the deep reds and golds of late fall. Philip, our steward, cheerfully wrestles our bulging luggage into overhead racks as we watch apologetically. We are given a card with our table assignment for luncheon, seating at 2:00, allowing us an hour to explore the train. While each car is subtly different, owing to different manufacturers in Belgium, England and France, all were built in the 1920’s for the Orient Express or first class trains plying other European routes. Our car, No. 3555 was built in France in 1929, and in-between stints as a luxury carriage, was used as a hotel in Lyon during World War II. After years of neglect, the cars were rescued from various ignoble fates for this lates incarnation of the Legendary Orient-Express, begun in 1982 by James B. Sherwood, Chairman of Orient-Express hotels.
We make our way to the elegant bar car where a baby grand piano and saxophone serenade the train’s well-coifed and well-heeled passengers, who seem to be a mix of elderly Americans and moneyed Japanese tourists. We sip our Campari-sodas as the rushing scenery becomes increasingly alpine. Those brilliantly hued vineyards climb straight up the mountainsides as we plunge in and out of dark tunnels.
Attired in fashionable suits and ties we never have occasion to wear in Los Angeles (“You can never be overdressed on the Venice-Simplon Orient Express,” the English-language information booklet issued to us prior to our trip advises, emphasizing “please do not wear jeans.”), it is possible to believe that it is 1930. In travel today, speed and economy have replaced service and luxury, and the actual transit portion of any trip is now mostly something to be endured for as little time as possible. But traveling like this erases all desire for journey’s end, even when the final destination is Paris.
Luncheon is three courses, complemented by appropriately brilliant wines, and set with sterling silver fish knives and dessert spoons. The late afternoon vistas continue to dazzle as our meal finally ends in a glass of Courvoisier XO Imperial; the crystal snifter engraved, like nearly everything else aboard, with the cursive initials of the Venice Simplon Orient-Express. The cognac is wonderful.
****
We are not in the habit of drinking Cognac after luncheon, but it is after all, the cognac that has brought us here. Not an alcohol-induced delusion, but something close; an invitation from Courvoisier to participate in the launch of Inédit, a special limited edition cognac in a bottle designed by the late Art Deco master Erté. We have been chosen as liaisons to the gay community—whether it is the well-known gay enthusiasm for cocktails, for Erté’s work, or both, we can only guess. Accompanying us on this trip are a suitably mystery novel-like set of international characters, which include dashing French cognac executives, international liquor distributors, and journalists from all over the world who write for publications with names like Decanter. We meet over cocktails, the night before at the Hotel Due Torri, in Verona.
Finishing our post-lunch cognac as we whisk through Austrian mountain passes, we realize that it is nearly 4 o’clock—and we must hurry back to our cabin to await the arrival of afternoon tea at 4:30. Returning to our cabin, we hear it rumored that our hosts have a special surprise in store for us as part of the unveiling of the new cognac—but no one has any idea what it might be.
The schedule given us by Courvoisier is quite rigorous—even if it does consist almost entirely of eating and drinking. It does set aside 90 minutes for dressing for dinner after tea, a suggestion we ignore in favor of lying about our cabin resting our stuffed and besotted stomachs. This we regret when we find to our embarrassment that two people cannot get into black tie, dressing out of suitcases, in a tiny room (no matter how lovingly detailed), on a moving train in anything less than an hour!
As a final complication we seem able to get only one of our two bow ties knotted in a presentable fashion. In desperation, but also secretly eager to leave no service untested, we ring our steward for help.
“Do you have any luck tying these?” we query we he appears. Unfazed and grinning, Philip responds, “I’m afraid not. My mother always ties mine.” But all is not lost. As a testament to his preparedness, he produces a selection pre-tied clip-around bow-ties. Moments later we’re decked out and rushing down the narrow corridors to the conference car for our pre-dinner special presentation.
As we join the other guests in the leather paneled conference car that’s been added to the end of the train for this occasion, we realize that the train has stopped. Our host informs us that in order to power the generator to run the VCR for our presentation, they’ve had to stop the whole train! The video begins, and we learn more about Courvoisier, Erté, and the aging and blending of cognac. We view the previous limited-edition bottles Erté has created for Courvoisier—sleek, teardrop shaped decanters like giant perfume bottles, with Erté’s trademark deco illustrations depicting the cognac making process. But it isn’t yet time for the official unveiling of his ultimate creation. We adjourn our meeting and are treated to a pre-supper cocktail party where the champagne pours most generously. We’re all too dashing —the men handsome in their tuxedos, and the women looking like Bond girls in their sleek cocktail dresses.
Next comes dinner, served in the restaurant car (built in 1927, with black lacquer panels depicting scenes of sporting animals). Place cards reveal our dinner companions to be Roger and Diana Capstick-Dale (hyphenated—we are delighted with the perfect Britishness of it), a charming couple from London. He moves in art circles and was an associate of Erté’s; she is a theatrical set designer.
Our appetizer consists of rolled fillet of sole and scampi with spicy cuttle-fish ink. It’s gorgeous and Mrs. Capstick-Dale insists we take a photo of its brilliant orange and black swirled sauce for our magazine article. We don’t tell her that we’re shooting in black and white and it will end up looking like a biology dissection.
By the time coffee is served it’s well after midnight and there’s only one thing left—the very reason we’re here—the unveiling (and imbibing!) of the new cognac, Courvoisier Inédit.
Courvoisier’s Master Blender stands and tells a little about the cognac were are about to experience. Among the vintages of cognac combined to create this particular product, one dates back to 1892, the year Erté was born. As he speaks, we begin to notice the train’s staff, including the chefs, gather in the hallway outside the restaurant car door. Evidently our surprise is near at hand, and they too don’t want to miss the event.
The Master Blender passes the cordless microphone he’s been speaking into to Courvoisier’s director of PR, who thanks us all for coming, then gives a signal, which suddenly throws the entire room into darkness. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces, “Courvoisier presents Inédit!” With that music begins swelling through the car, and after a second we realize it’s the Dionne Warwick recording of Burt Bacharach’s “I Say a Little Prayer.” The lights come up a bit, and into the car strides a tall, lithe woman with cascading blonde hair, carrying a bottle of cognac—and completely nude. Nude, that is, except for a few strategically placed gold-leafed grapes over her more personal parts. She is the “living embodiment” of Inédit, a living, breathing version of the Erté gal on the front of the bottle. The gay waiters exchange incredulous looks. The model brings the bottle around to each table, stopping for photographs, allowing us to examine her and the cognac. There’s something just so deliriously fabulous about this all, so surreal and so European. Soon there are legions of waiters carting out more bottles of Inédit, filling our snifters.
This bottle, featuring the nude woman, was actually Erté’s first ever design for Courvoisier. Unbelievably, this restrained drawing was deemed obscene by U.S. regulators under the Reagan administration and, denied access to the American market, Courvoisier canceled production. Following Erté’s death, the company decided to revive his original, unreleased (Inedít is French for unpublished) design—and the less censorious Clinton administration cleared its importation to America. We savor several glasses of the rare and expensive blend. Only 4000 bottles of this cognac will be made; most of those will be collected, like expensive marbles, and never consumed.
We retire to the club car—it’s now about 2:00 a.m.—to find a few of our fellow travelers still eager for more festivities, and, inconceivably, for more cocktails. Leading this charge is the Inédit model, who, after being closed up in a train compartment all day (so as not to spoil our surprise), is ready to rhumba. She insists the pianist and the saxophonist (who seemingly never sleep) to play something danceable, and soon we find ourselves gyrating to “Rock Around the Clock”. This proves to be our undoing, and finally, exhausted, we retire to our cabin.
We slip into pajamas, and into our perfectly turned down berths. Giddy with exhaustion and fullness, we settle down to the rollicking motion of the train. A glance at my watch tells me it’s now almost 3 a.m. We’ve been eating and drinking for approximately 14 hours.
We sleep four hours and awaken heading into Paris—a very agreeable way to begin any day. Our 20 hours aboard the Orient Express have come to an end—save one last treat. Philip raps lightly on our door and enters briskly. “Breakfast, sirs,” he grins.
Article by John Polly and Clay Doyle. Photographs by Clay Doyle. My First Travel Article! {Published in Genre magazine, 1995}
