Beaune was recently recommended to us by a French friend, who heard we were going up that way. It’s just south of Dijon. And yes, this area, along with nearby Lyon, is well-known for its food and wines. What a great tip she gave us!

Now, over the years, many of the old villages all over Europe have expanded with commerce and population. But the old towns within are easily identifiable, often with a circular wall wrapping around its original boundary, or at least a circular road. Our general pattern is to stay in the center of the old villages, or occasionally right at the edge, so that our time there can be spent on foot, especially in the evenings after many other tourists have retreated from whence they came. In Beaune, we found a beauty, an apartment in a 3 story half-timbered building from the Middle Ages. We stayed there only two nights, but had an entire day to roam the small village. Our AirBnB host was a cool and talented guy who is restoring the building mostly by himself. He let us upstairs to view his current project, an apartment amongst and under the slanting rough-sawn ancient beams of the roof, for himself, wife and daughter. The village is mainly built of stone and the half-timbered beams. Wine Cavs were everywhere. We bought a great bottle of 2002 red wine for $6. We know how to be frugal on these travels. The wine was enjoyed at home with a salad and veggies, some good bread and some great cheese. 

After that it was north-east to Colmar, on La Route des Vins. 

Our next stop was on the north-west edge of the area called Provence. Dave had met a guy on a walking trail back in St. Antonin Noble Val, who had suggested Uzes as a charming village in Provence. So hey, we took his advice, only we booked a super-cool AirBnB in a super small super old village nearby. Saint Bonnet du Gard. It’s a thousand years old. And wow was that a great find.

We stayed there 5 nights, giving us time to do some exploring of that part of Provence. One day was spent in charming Uzes. We walked the village and had lunch in a charming cobble-stoned and tree lined square. A typical lunch for us vegetarians is a salad called chèvre chard. It’s a mixed green salad with goat cheese melted on homemade bread that sits on top of the salad. Great with a cold glass of white wine. Then you eat and take in the inevitable view of wherever you are. Who needs stress? Have another glass of local vino. 

Another day we drove way up a nearby mountain road, to see what’s up there.

Found a few really cute villages and also found ourselves sharing the road with a long distance, high elevation biking event. We got well above treeline, and the views were great, although we were too far away to see the Mediterranean Sea. But it looks like Italy now, with olive trees, olive oil roadside stands, and down at the lower elevation, acres and acres of lavender fields. But not blooming…had just been harvested. Oh well! Still beautiful! 

The skies are deep blue, the air is drier, and we are obviously in another region climate wise. The wines are mostly white here. It’s beautiful here; soft, easy going. This side of France shares culture with Italy, and those borders are blurred over thousands of years.  One night, for our wedding anniversary, we made reservations, and walked over to a little restaurant for a proper 4-course meal. The owner had recommended some more sweet little towns to visit, so we took his advice and saw them all the next day.

There is so much to France. So many areas and cultures and wine regions that differ from one another. Part of our plan for this trip was to continue exploring other parts of France. So, when it was time to move on from our warm and seductively magical base, we decided it was time for another road trip. In our beautiful red rental car, with a drop- off point at Creteil, just south of Paris. I had learned through AutoEurope, a car rental agency that we often use, that one of their rental companies, EuropeCar, does not charge drop-off fees for returning your car to a different location. Cool. Just what we needed. So we packed up and headed to Provence, stopping for one night in nearby Albi. Home of much old medieval beauty, and home of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum, a favorite of ours. Also home to a fine example of Gothic Cathedrals, with a huge pipe organ, and a super ornate interior. We slept that night in the oldest part of town, in a typically small, charming, French hotel, with our own little balcony. It was so sweet, and not expensive. We had plenty of time to walk the old part of the city, getting to know it more than before, go inside the cathedral for a jaw dropping look at the interior, and eat a simple dinner. The next day we drove on, with Provence ahead of us. Here are photos of Albi.

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I have commented before about my quest to deepen my experience of the beautiful places I am visiting. How to settle into quiet meditation, and be more fully present to being alive, being here, in the moment. Art helps me with that. I brought with me, a small collection of paint brushes, oil paints, and 1 small canvas. I have now left them behind, at the French farmhouse. It turns out that a sketch pad and a single pencil has taken me to the place I was looking for. Or, shall I say, the tools have been found. I still need to sit, and surrender to the pencil and paper. Here are a few sketches I have done so far; the most recent one, from this trip, is the first upper left one. It is a neighboring house to the one I call our base. I first saw this house in ruins over 30 years ago. It was bought and lovingly restored. I have fantasized about owning it, but am content to visit it, and love seeing that it continues to be well cared for.

The Pyrenees Mountains are 2 to 3 hours from our base in the Midi-Pyrenees. They were calling to us, and we will never have enough of this mountainous region that lays across the borders of France and Spain. Greener than our base, with dramatic mountains, and it’s own unique culture. We elected to take a new route to a previous destination, and set off for a few days stay in Bagneres de Luchon. It’s a tiny old Victorian era spa town, a frequent stop on the Tour D’France as it always the comes through the Pyrenees and over the narrow twisting mountain roads. And it was a favorite of the ancient Roman’s bath culture way back when. (those Romans, they were nuts for finding hot thermal baths, all the way up to England!).  Now it’s a laidback, charming, and fairly inexpensive place to visit. And it’s got a spa with thermal heated baths and a Roman steam cave called “The Vaporarium” that goes back into the mountain. Ohhhh la la la…what an experience. The path through the steamy cave is quite hot, and the sulfur steam is divine for your skin and respiratory system. Afterwards, and showers in hot and optional ice cold water, we then soaked in the hot thermal pool with all its jets. It was quite wonderful. No photos though. Too difficult! Just use your imagination, or better yet, come on over and visit the place yourself! I do have photos of the town and the area. Here ya go, including some from the nearby small towns…

The small road we were on followed the Aveyron River as it flowed west from St.Antonin. While riding in the car a few days earlier, I had spotted a tourquoise-blue foot-bridge through the trees, and was of course curious. On this day of exploration, we parked at the roadside and used the little blue suspended bridge to cross the river, quite carefully, as some of the boards were rotten. Enticed by the sound of church bells, and the likelihood of another small village to explore, we continued walking up hill.  Sure enough…an old stone village came into view; this one sparsely populated with a few people. It was early evening, and the sounds of dinner conversations came from a few houses. Most of the buildings were shuttered, for the winter, or for the year? I gazed up at the keystones over doorways and arches, and saw dates of 1600’s, 1700’s, and 1800’s. These may have been the newer buildings. 

Now the story turns very dark…One place in particular had my attention…a 2-story building with walls and doors all crooked from time, or history. I heard a man’s voice…he was speaking to us, in French, of course, from his little front porch. We greeted him, “bonsoir”, and explained in our very limited French that we had come into the village across the bridge, were from California, and that we loved France. He smiled at us and continued talking. While pointing at the door of building next to us, he said “Boom boom… boom boom!”.  Soon his wife appeared with 2 chairs and invited us to sit down. Between our French and his animated gestures, the story came out: in the 1940’s, while his French village was under Nazi occupation, he, as a 12 year old, probably witnessed or was nearby as his parents and grand-parents were stabbed and shot in the head and had their fingers cut off by the Nazi’s. They are buried in the church cemetery across the street. Their crime? Their home was the village boulangere (bakery) and they didn’t feed the hungry Nazis. The door he had pointed to was the door of the bakery. A broken part of the boulangere sign still hangs on the wall. He allowed me to photo him and his wife, the house and the door to the bakery. I was shaken, and humbled to be hearing his story. This local part of France had been occupied by the Nazis, but was also home to a strong faction of French Resistance. The local hills, caves, barns and homes were full of Resistance fighters. Bicyclists with info in their handle bars, guides through the Pyrenees mountains, risking their lives, but doing anything they could do to help the Jewish or other Nazi targets. I had wondered what stories the old-timers could tell, as the 80 & 90 year olds are still around, but never expected to hear them. Here is his photo, with his sweet wife. He grew up right there in that house, as did his dad, and grandfather. Look closely at his face and see the 12 year old boy, who witnessed so much. What a dear man. Bless our human hearts, that we live on though such heartbreak sometimes. Bless each one of our lives, those of our ancestors, and those of our decendents. May gratitude be with us always.

We are in France again. We are in the place that feels the most like home away from home. I came here to this property for the first time nearly 35 years ago. Travel brings much discovery, and many surprises and new experiences, but sometimes it’s delicious to return to a place you’ve been before; known and loved already. Sometimes the old familiar is the place that warms the heart, and inspires. And here in this place we can rest if we want, knowing already what’s just beyond the door, and down the lovely little roads. I can relax, and let my imagination do the traveling. Stopping… can be it’s own adventure. 

Or, the journey of going within: Last night, at 2am, I awoke and could see stars beyond the window. I stepped outside to see the sky. It’s very dark here, and the dry atmosphere and moonless night reveals a staggering amount of sparkling stars. As I returned to bed, even with all those stars and good fortune, a light breeze of discomfort and angst swept through me. Inner baggage of a human on a journey through Life. But where does that come from? What am I feeling? My inner voice said, “ Remember, to just be in the place of Gratitude. Remember to be thankful for all that is. For the gift of Life”. And so I did; accepting the tides of existence and light and shadow, I drifted off into a peaceful sleep, content and grateful and humbled. And feeling so at home, here in France. Photos of “our” village and nearby surrounds.  St. Antonin Noble Val, France.

Sometimes, in the moment, I am entranced and carried away by history. I can viscerally feel the past. I am here now, in the past. I am also right here, in the present. Tonight, I’m in Hitchin, England having a beer with Dave at an interesting bar, and I realize that I am in the town’s old market hall.  The Victorian decorative metal trusses that hold the roof and glass conservatory ceiling above me are one indication of this building’s history. Now the past blends into the present, and the groovy bar is so cool. Modern music is playing, but it echos and sings to the past. Just outside this space is the market place square, cobblestoned and rimmed by shops and storefronts. Good weather allowed market-day to occur outdoors. But this indoor space, like many others in the northern regions with rain and snow, was very needed. It’s like others I’ve been in, as we traveled to other “market towns”. The architectural is obvious. I know where I am. My imagination and sensors take me time-traveling again, into both the past and the present. I can see the shimmering between the two. I can almost see the men and women who used to bring their wares here to sell. Traveling has brought me here, and I love the experience of sudden awareness and recognition. Here are a few photos of Hitchen, an old market town, where local goods were bought and sold. Today, it is still a cute old town full of small shops and cafes.

Our last night in Norway for now. The others have gone to bed, and all is quiet. I step outside into the darkness to say goodbye to the night. A full but waning moon peeks through a cloudy sky and I blow it a kiss. The only sound I hear is the gentle lapping of water from the fjord upon the shore. It must be high tide. The rest is stillness. Goodnight beautiful place. Thank you for all your gifts. See you again. I will return.