Miguel. We finally got to Miguel! It’s only been 4 months since we’ve seen him last, but it felt much longer.

To get to see him in Stuttgart Luis and I figured out how to hail a cab in Paris (not hard), then how avoid questionable people in the train station (notice people) and how to get on the right wagon to make it to Stuttgart (read your ticket carefully and give an educated guess because it’s written in German).

We rode the high speed train from the Gare du l’Est to Stuttgart, passing through Strasbourg.

Suddenly, the signs we saw were in German. I felt closer to Mig, but not nearly close enough.

Finally, we arrived around 5PM and went to his apartment just three blocks from the train station. We enjoyed visiting Miguel and were thoroughly impressed with his apartment. Nice thing about this work assignment with Mercedes is that they pick up the bill on the housing. Hmm, I don’t think public educators will ever get that kind of perk. Just saying.

It’s so good to talk with Miguel. What a joy to see him in his work and living environment. He says hello to everyone. We wandered the old city center, which has all be rebuilt after being bombed to ashes in WWII. Still, it’s gorgeous.

The markets here reflect a serious affinity for meat and cheese.

We spent the last two days riding the Seine River’s batobus up and down the river. It saved our feet and avoided the overheated Metro.

We saw the Louvre. I’m overwhelmed with it’s size and grandeur. Nobody’s description could really prepare me.

We hung out for hours at the Tulleries. I never knew what the Tulleries were until now. What a space! It was awfully dusty but we managed by having a cool drink at a restaurant on the park grounds before walking to obelisk that Napoleon stole from Egypt and brought to Paris. Pretty, all the same.

The statues on the grounds are fantastic. I sat under the shade of the groomed trees to sketch while Luis wandered taking photos. What you see in this humble blog doesn’t include the well-thought out photos that Luis took.

We returned to a phenomenal bistrot, Le “Boisson d’Argent” to have a second meal there after a great one yesterday. They outdid themselves today with delicious seared steak and chicken in a sauce that was unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Um, mm-mm. (Thank God for Lactaid!)

And guess what . . . it is the eve of our 33rd anniversary. Since we’ll be traveling to German tomorrow, we celebrated by picnicking in our little apartment with a bottle of wine and tapas. Just our style. We’re planning our trip for tomorrow.

But just for fun, as we left the apartment on Rue de l’Union and walked two short blocks to Rue Cler, we spotted another mode of transportation which is prevalent.

It’s a rental bike. I had to try it out.

Time to call it a night.

~Rosana

Taking in the view of the Eiffel Tower at 7AM has many advantages. The first is that on an August morning, there are very few people are on the Champ du Mars. A sprinkling of tourists, spaced far apart enjoyed the quiet of the morning. Secondly, the traffic swirling around the base of the Tower seemed to respect the quiet of the morning. And most importantly, Luis is happy to get unobstructed views of the famous tower in the diffused light. He took photos galore.

This little snapshot is from far away with my funky cell phone. Luis’ photos are sure to impress.

On the Champs du Mars, four buses suddenly disgorged hundred of Asian tourists and our focus changed to the other side of the park. It was then that we saw two city workers meticulously peering into each tree that lined the Champs, and open every water valve box. We first thought they were checking the rat traps. (There are signs everywhere saying to put your trash in the bin to reduce the rats. Ee-ew.) But as Luis went to snap pictures of the workers, they indicated not to. Apparently they were not looking for rats, but for bombs. We have seen serious military, national police and city police everywhere. They don’t like their picture taken.

We walked from the 7th arrondossiment (?) to the Notre Dame, taking in the exterior of beautiful buildings. It is the eve of the Feast of the Assumption and Notre Dame had special Masses. We attended one but it was hours long and had no less than 100 clergy in the procession including the bishop. Before the Mass I happened to be where they were taking photos of the organist and some clergy. I don’t know exactly what their roles were but the security, once again, was everywhere. For unknown reasons they let me stay swatted next to the official photographer and they cleared all others from the front of Notre Dame for a photo session.

Eventually we headed back to our apartment for a nap of epic proportions and then back to the Eiffel Tower at 8PM to see the sunset and for our timed tickets to the top. Thank goodness we had purchased skip the line tickets months ago because the lines to buy tickets were blocks long. The views are breathtaking and they made our long day worthwhile. (Tomorrow, a relatively relaxing hop on/hop off boat ride… but I don’t know how much hopping these tired feet can do).

First time in Paris. Woohoo.

There are kind people in the world. We have met these friends along the way, some whose names we learned and others whose names are not know to us.

First, there was Julia. She reminds us of our niece Sara. Friendly, honest, and with a style of her own. Julia was the receptionist at the Hostal Goya in Barcelona. She was refreshing in her helpfulness and so darling in warning us about which metro tunnels to avoid because, well, “older tourists” could be mugged there. I wish we had a picture of her for this post but it is in our memories.

Next came an Algerian taxi driver who picked us up at the Marseilles train station. We were DESPERATE to get out of there because our apartment was cancelled. There was literally no available bed in any hotel, hostel, apartment, residence. We had spent 2 focused hours burning up the phone batteries and data plan looking for a room. Turns out the pilots’ strike stranded thousands of people in Marseille. Lucky for us Miguel helped us locate a place . . . the Chateau Fonscolombe 50km from Marseille. In the dead of night this taxi driver, whose name we will never know agreed to take us there. We put ourselves in his hands. (It was that, or we would’ve been on the streets of Marseille with our luggage and a lot of sketchy people.) The driver kept going and going and going. Luis and I held hands thinking it could be the end of us if he were an axe murderer. We got to this renovated castle in the middle of the country to find out he only charged us what he quoted us back in Marseilles, not the exorbitant fare on the meter. Turns out he was probably just as scared of us as we were of the situation! He drove away only after finding out that we really did have a room at this secluded place. We tipped him well.

Then there was today’s taxi driver, Frederic, who picked us up at the chateau. He took us to the address in Aix en Provence we gave him. But it sure didn’t look like any bus or transit station. He took us to the downtown for the afternoon while he researched Flixbus. We trusted him with our luggage while we ate and walked around the open air stalls. Sure enough, Frederic met us at the appointed time and place with our luggage safe and sound, and made sure we got on the bus. Another good tip for another conscientious driver.

Most recently, a 20-something year old guy helped us buy tickets to get from the bus station to Nîmes, and walked us almost to the front door of the hotel in the center of Nîmes. He was delightful company and told us about his mom and dad and his studies at the university. His patience with us proved, once again, that not all people are like the guy in Marseille who would not wait half hour to check us in. These other people understood our Spanish and our English and were willing to model for us key words in French.

Given our time of need, there was no time for pictures. Too bad.

Breakfast in Nîmes…

On the right of the picture is the symbol of Nîmes: a crocodile chained to palm trees. There must be a back story there.

The cathedral of Nîmes, Romanesce on bottom and Gothic on top.

Some of the gardens at the Jardin Secrets

The owner, chef, porter and decorator of the Jardin Secrets. He made sure everything was to our liking…

Luis in the market in Aix-en-Provence. Lots of lavender soap, textiles, and jewelry as well as antiques. Maybe this is where the owner of Jardin Secrets shops. Probably.

We ate lunch in Aix-en-Provence (veal and steamed mussels…YUMMY), strolled through the stalls the road the bus to Nîmes. There we had a private dinner on the terrace at the hotel. Our electronics just don’t capture the beauty — or the humidity.

We smoothly made our way from the chateau to Aix-en-Provence and on to Nîmes. (Another post will have to be about the generous people we’ve met.)

For now we’re in a sumptuous hotel (thank you, dear hearts for the treat…you know who you are). The secret garden is near the best preserved Roman colusseum anywhere. Impressive. We’ll need to look up the documentary about its testoration. Meanwhile, it’s time for bed. Luis is loosing his voice and we want to be fresh for our trip to Paris.

*Rosana

Little did I know that not having a washing machine would be the least of our concerns. We were stuck in a sketchy town known for pickpockets or worse, it was the middle of the night, we had no place to stay and every room for miles around was booked.

Our airplane was a little late getting in from Barcelona to Marseilles, then we sat on the tarmac, waited in the border control line for about an hour and finally got ready to board the shuttle from the airport to the train station in center of town (45 minutes away). Then we got an email from the guy who manages the small apartment we rented saying we were too late to check in. Closed. Shut. No go. You’re on your own.

My brain went into a momentary freeze. What? As it began to thaw, I thought, “But this apartment has a washing machine which we need in the middle of our 3 week trip.” I didn’t know that we were really stuck. Not then, anyway.

We knew we needed to do some damage control. At that time I thought, “Piece of cake, we’ll just get a hotel room.” I do best with a full charge on my telephone and when I’m not “hangry.” So I told Luis I have to eat something as it was nearing 9PM and I hadn’t eaten since early morning. The only thing we could get was a salate au jambon. But even the little snack bar in the train station was closing so we scooted out of there.

Finally, we sat in relatively clean seats with an outlet nearby. Both Luis and I started tearing up the browser and went to every website to book a room. But I don’t find a thing available. Luis was getting the same results.

NOTHING. NOPE. NADA.

Two hours into a focused search of AirBnB, Booking.com, Trivago, Hotels.com, etc. The realization dawns on us. The regional airline, RyanAir, had a pilot strike and that stranded thousands of people in towns like Marseilles.

In desperation, I called the only person in our time zone, not my sisters or friends who were in the wee hours of the morning their time. I call Miguel in Germany. “Can you help us, mijo?” Maybe he assumed our browsers weren’t functioning right or we’re just too old to scramble and find a room. Luis and I are old, but not incapable. Miguel also finds that there is no available room at any price in Marseille, in Aux in Provence, in Avignon, anywhere… Except way out in the countryside at a steep price. Renting a car wasn’t an option because there weren’t any open rental businesses. Luis suggested we just catch a train to somewhere, anywhere and hope we can get a room in that location. But the last train to Avignon had already left. Not to mention, Miguel had found out all the rooms there were booked up.

So, after finding out the train station was going to close at 1AM, dodging a rat, and witnessing loud interaction between the police and people hanging out at the train station, we found a taxi driver who will take us the 50 or so miles to a — wait for it — a castle converted into a 5-star hotel and restaurant. We ended up at the Château Fonscolombe in the dead of night. In the inky darkness of a country road, the uplighting of the grounds only hinted at the stately grandeur.

Upon checking in, they apologized that their restaurant had just closed. Remember, it’s 1AM at this point. But maybe they could bring us something if we were hungry. I said, “Yes, please, bread and water.” Rather, “Oui, pain et eau.” Room service brought a splendid little feast of fruit and cheese and salad.

Daylight came and we realized the spooky isolation we feared the night before was simply the most beautiful place I have ever stayed, fountains, forested pathways, and vineyards upon the rolling hills for miles.

Instead of checking out by 9AM, we decide to stay another night. This unexpected splurge turned into my birthday present and we thoroughly enjoyed the stay.