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On the Road
The Ducal Palace in Nevers is not a B&B. Paris Life – No 4Oby Laurel Avery |
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In France:– Saturday, 14. February 2004:– Dimitri and I left Saint–Marcel with the intention of returning to Paris slowly over the next three days, so as to enjoy a leisurely ride through the wonderful little towns that make France so enchanting. We stopped for lunch at a place advertising their plat du jour for 10€. This seemed reasonable, so we stopped in. The 'plat du jour' turned out to be four courses, including coffee. The total bill for lunch for two people, including a pitcher of wine came to all of 22,50€. "Dorothy, I don't think we're in Paris any more." I had driven along similar narrow two–lane country
roads before, but invariably would come No such problems with our 2CV! We were, with the exception of one gargantuan tractor we came across, the slowest vehicle on the road, so there was almost never a car right in front of us unless it had just passed us. Sight for Dimitri's sore eyes – a gilded boot.After a number of hours on the road we decided to stop for the night at a place that advertised 'chambres d'hôtes.' These are usually rooms in a private home, where you can have a decent bed and breakfast the next morning for a reasonable price. The one we found was on the outskirts of the town of Nérondes. Our hostess suggested a couple of places we could eat that evening – one a few kilometres to the west, and the other being in the town of Nérondes. But, she warned us, the one outside of town only served dinner until about 19:00, so we had to get there soon. Dinner no later than 19:00? In Paris you're still practically digesting lunch at that hour. So, though we quickly got in the 2CV and tried to find the place our hostess described, we found nothing but tightly–shuttered houses in the direction she indicated. Then we turned around and decided to try the place she mentioned in Nérondes. Nérondes on a Friday night is about as lively as Chernobyl after the meltdown. The restaurant our hostess mentioned was closed for renovations – of course! – and the only places open were the PMU, one bar, and a take–away pizza truck. The streets were practically deserted, and the only indication of life came from the windows of a dance studio where we could watch a dozen women clad in leotards and tights, rehearsing for a performance. It being way past our usual afternoon aperitif time, we decided to first check out the little bar and see if they had any advice as to where we could find something to eat. The bar was called the 'Jubilee,' and was not much
larger than my living room. It was dark and decorated in
70's The owners, a friendly husband and wife, could not think of any place open that evening for dinner. Luckily, with our options severely limited, we noticed that the pizza truck was still in operation, so we asked the owner if he would be willing to sell us a bottle of Côtes du Rhône, which he did, and ordered a 'Napolitana.' With our pizza hot out of the oven, we returned to our chambre d'hôte and had a lovely improvised picnic of pizza and red wine. It was truly wonderful. On Saturday morning after leaving Nérondes we stopped in the city of Nevers to pick up a few tasty items at the outdoor marché for a picnic lunch. We parked in front of the Ducal Palace, a stunning example of 15th century architecture. There was a couple having their photo taken on the steps, having just been married. Another couple appeared soon after, then behind them yet another. I thought this a bit odd, even for a Saturday when people traditionally get married. Then I remembered that it was Valentine's Day. The whole city was filled with the sound of honking horns, and I wondered how many marriages must have been taking place throughout France that day. We bought a few items for a picnic and set out of town in search of a bucolic spot along a quiet country road. There are quite a few official 'pique–nique' areas throughout France, as people often pull off to the side of the road as the noon hour approaches to enjoy a pleasant lunch. If you want to make quick driving progress through France, the best hours to do it are often between noon and two, when everyone, including truck drivers, seems to pull off the road to eat. In the midst of enjoying our roast chicken and chèvre with pears, a hunter wandered by, rifle at his side and wished us 'bon appétit.' Another couple came by a short time later and wished us the same thing. It's one of those little niceties that still exist here. The couple was carrying a large bucket, and they were going escargot–hunting. The image of anyone 'hunting' an escargot is hilarious. Do the hunters carry tiny guns? And they have to be sure to keep a keen eye on their prey or those wily escargot just might get away with their lightning–quick speed! We decided to stop for the night in the city of Auxerre. Yet another charming medieval town. I was beginning to get them all confused. This one was larger than the others we had seen on the trip, and featured many architectural beauties. The old gateway to the city is called the Tour d'Horloge due to its large 15th–century painted and gilded clock. Its narrow, twisting streets were surrounded by quite a few ancient timber–framed houses that still maintained their original wood beams, often elaborately carved with vine patterns or fantastic creatures. We found a hotel, then walked around looking for a likely place to have dinner. Unfortunately, Valentine's Day is not a good evening to look for something to eat if you intend to have anything better than McDonald's. Every restaurant we went into was fully booked. Being
tired, hungry, and sick of walking all over town in search
of a place, we decided to make a reservation for 22:00 at a
seafood restaurant Our table was waiting at the appointed hour, and though I nearly fell asleep in my plateau de fruits de mer, it was absolutely delicious, and well worth the wait. Between towns – lots of air and green stuff.The next morning we headed back to Paris, taking the small roads the whole way. We arrived in the city greeted by an uncustomary lack of traffic, and realized this was a winter holiday week in France and most of the usual traffic jams were now taking place in the Alps instead of Paris. Altogether a wonderful trip to 'la vraie France.' After it, like other Parisians, one day I hope to have a little place in the country myself. Text & photos, Laurel Avery © 2004 |
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