Chartres During the Day
The Cathedral—officially named the Cathedral Notre-Dame de Chartres—was built in 1194. It was a replacement, however, for the original that had burned down. Indeed, a church devoted to the reverence of the Virgin Mary has sat in this spot since the fourth century. Part of the Cathedral floor actually remains from that period.
The place is huge. The nave is 427 feet long, 20 feet wide, and 120 feet high. Even the pipe organ makes you feel small; it is 80 feet off the ground, 30 feet wide and about 20 feet tall. Most impressive—and beautiful—is the 28,000 square feet of stained glass.
One of these glass windows is called the “Blue Virgin Window.” This mid-twelfth century stained glass depicts Mary dressed in blue on a rich red background, cradling Jesus while the dove of the Holy Spirit rests on her shoulder. For centuries the Blue Virgin has been a must see for pilgrims.
Those same pilgrims also continue to be in awe of Mary’s Veil. The veil was supposedly worn when Mary gave birth to Jesus. It is displayed behind a locked gate, in a glass window with a golden frame. Recent tests confirm that the material itself and the weaving technique date the cloth to the first century, so if this isn’t the genuine article, it’s from the same time period. No bogus Shroud of Turin here.
I think the most moving part of the day occurred in a small chapel in the Cathedral know as the Chapel of Our Lady on the Pillar. It is traditional for pilgrims to kiss the column in reverence and prayer, and I noticed a South Asian woman—dressed all in blue—doing just that. When she rose, and turned to leave the chapel, I also noticed she was pregnant.
Later, exiting the Cathedral, I saw her sitting outside, gently weeping. I don’t now how far she had travelled—the Catholic community in Mumbai, perhaps? —but I imagine the emotional and spiritual power of her experience made it worth the trip.
The great literary critic and avowed atheist Christopher Hitchens once called being in Chartres the closest to holy he has ever felt. That alone should tell you about the Cathedral’s majesty and mystical beauty.
Chartres at Night
We arrived in town tired from a day of travel, so we headed to a café in the shadow of the great Cathedral for a late dinner. We knew that they made an effort to bathe the 13th century behemoth in light, and thought we could take an after meal stroll and enjoy the decoration. We had no idea what we were in for.
First of all, they do not simply bathe the Cathedral in light. They instead project an entire light show on the building’s façade, using its architectural dimension and design as a rich palette for the colors. Part performance art, part animation, part spiritual celebration, it is unlike any light show I have ever seen.
As you watch, the building transforms and blends into a kaleidoscope of hues, then shifts to three-dimensional calligraphic excerpts from scripture, to animated dancers “building” the cathedral before your very eyes. It is also synched to a gentle yet uplifting soundtrack comprised of electronic keyboard, harp, and gorgeous soprano singing. Hundreds of us stood there transfixed as the Cathedral—already regarded as one of the most beautiful in the world—transformed into something even more miraculous.
And we haven’t even yet been inside.
Provence: Day 6
Table Vigneronne at Domaine de Marotte Vineyard
If you are wondering what happened to Day 5, it was spent mostly at poolside. It was a perfect, quiet day in the Provence sunshine, and I spent most of it breezing through Tina Fey’s “Bossypants.” Everything I just wrote is highly recommended.
Much of Day 6 was spent at the Domaine De Marotte vineyard, just outside of Carpentras. It is owned and run by a Dutch couple, Daan and Elvire Vandykman (I think spell check is about to explode) who moved here in 1998 with a dream of making great wine with love and care.
The vineyard is a former monastery—indeed, the main walkway through the vineyard is still in the sign of a cross. This seems an appropriate history, given that Daan and Elvire are intensely devoted to their pure, labor intensive, natural approach to winemaking.
Valerie was impressed by the wines she had at the tasting—all of which are named after one of the Vandykman’s four children. For myself, Daan hooked me up with his own delicious and refreshing grape juice. A singularly impressive host, he was running the tasting for three different couples, seamlessly shifting between French, Dutch, and English in explaining the different grapes and answering the guests’ questions.
After this, it was time for our Table Vigneronne—a picnic basket prepared for us that featured breads, cheeses, a bottle of one of their best wines, salami, four tapenades, and fresh melon. We found an empty table in the vineyard, and thoroughly enjoyed a delicious, peaceful meal amidst the grapevines. A perfect final day in Provence.
Provence: Day 4
Cheese at the market in Arles.
A trip to Arles, a beautiful ancient city, known for its open-air market, two great Roman theatres (the Classical and the Arena), and one of Van Gogh’s most productive (read: manic) periods.
Given its proximity to Marseilles, there is now a considerable North African and Islamic presence in Arles. As a result, many of the vendors hailed from the other side of the Mediterranean, and some of the market offerings included Halal meats and a wide array of hijab choices. In addition, there were countless samples of fresh fruit (primarily melon), delicious pistachio nougat cut from a loaf about the size of an SUV, and many scrumptious cheeses to be sampled. And sampled again. And again.
After the market, we decided to take Rick Steves’ walking tour through Van Gogh’s Arles. We visited many of the locations of some of his most famous paintings, learned about his desperate loneliness, and his explosions of rage. We lunched at the famous Café la Nuit, a famous setting for a Van Gogh painting and where he famously argued with Paul Gauguin. Van Gogh became so enraged he chased Gauguin down the streets of Arles brandishing a razor. Later that evening, Van Gogh would use the razor to cut off his ear lobe and present it to Rachel, his favorite at a local brothel, insisting she “treasure this precious object.” Our lunch was far less dramatic.
Later that afternoon, we drove down to the Camargue, a beautiful nature reserve known for wild bulls, wild boars, and…pink flamingos. I had never associated pink flamingos with France before, but there were hundreds of them. We stopped along the road at one point to climb into a hide to get a good look at the birds and to take photographs. It was wonderfully peaceful, but then another couple showed up. They quietly took photographs, and then a third couple arrived. They too were unobtrusive and respectful. A few moments later, two busses packed with tourists spilled open and attempted to squeeze themselves into the hide that was maybe 10 x 4 feet. Were they going for some sort of record? It was at that point we retreated, and decided to move on.
Day 3: Provence in Ruins
Provence takes its name from the Romans—this area was literally a “Roman Province.” It was established primarily as a retirement community for Roman soldiers. For some reason, Emperor Augustus didn’t want a large group of relatively young, well-trained idle soldiers hanging about the capital. So he sent them here. Augustus was clearly on to something—if President Obama sent me here to retire, I would gladly take him up on it.
As a result, Roman ruins are a frequent sight throughout this area, primarily in places like Arles, Orange and Nimes. Arguably the most impressive is the Pont Du Gard (photo above). A perfectly preserved Roman aqueduct built around 19 B.C., it was an important link of a 30 mile canal that, by dropping one inch every 350 feet, supplied nine million gallons of water per day to Nimes.
The fact that something like this was constructed 2000 years ago and still stands is a testament to what the Romans were able to accomplish with fine engineering, patience, and thousands of slave laborers. The bridge was put to the test in 2002 during a period of torrential rains and intense flooding. Would the bridge be able to withstand the flooding? The Roman engineers had designed buttresses at the base of the bridge to divert floodwaters away from the feet of the arches. To everyone’s astonishment, the buttresses worked and the bridge held its ground. By contrast, my oil tank lasted three decades.
When you visit the Pont Du Gard today, you can walk across it, swim beneath it, follow countless hiking trails on both the right and left bank to appreciate its beauty and majesty from a number of perspectives. No matter how you look at it, you can’t help but be awestruck at its beauty and longevity. In New England, a building that remains from the 18th century impresses us. Here, not so much.
Provence: Day Two
Lavender. Provence is so much about lavender. You hear this all the time, and then you get here and you finally understand. It grows everywhere, and is such an inherent part of the area’s economy, an entire museum is devoted to it.
The aptly named Lavender Museum in Coustellet will tell you everything you ever wanted to know about its history, growth and production. Know the difference between fine lavender and lavandine? I didn’t either, but now I do (fine grows by seeding, is cultivated carefully by hand, and used medicinally; lavandine is cloned, mass-produced, and is distilled into soaps, oils and candles). Curious about the distillation process of lavender, and how it has improved since the 17th century? Well, this museum is for you.
Of course, no museum experience would be complete without the tour steering you to the gift shop/boutique, where very attractive young people lovingly spread essential oils on your hands and wrists. Resistance is futile; we walked out with a sachet and several soaps.
As charming and fun as that was, nothing really prepares you for the lavender fields when you see them. The one we visited was at the Abbey Notre-Dame de Senanque (photo above), just outside the hill town of Gordes. As you pass through Gordes and begin descending the hillside towards the Abbey, the sight of what appears to be a massive carpet of violet immediately strikes you. As you close in on it, you can’t help but be amazed by its enormity and beauty.
The still-functioning Cistercian Abbey was built in the 12th century, and its sheer simplicity provides a breathtaking backdrop to the fields. The aroma is as intoxicating as you would imagine, but standed or seated amongst lavender in this monastic setting can’t help but quiet your mind. I found it had a sincere meditative quality that I did not expect—so much so that I didn’t mind the preponderance of bees, despite my allergies. The bees also were as uninterested in me, clearly finding the lavender just as captivating.
The photos do not do it justice, and the descriptions are not hyperbolic—you haven’t really experienced lavender until you’ve experienced it in Provence.
Provence: Day One
Awaiting our arrival in Provence!
A plane, a train and an automobile. That is not meant to be an aphorism: that is literally the path we took. Flight from Boston, train from Paris, a rental car from Avignon, and we arrived at our gite: Mas Saint Antoine in Rognonas.
As I write this, a thunderously loud chorus of cicadas echoes from every direction. Local legend has it that God sent the cicadas as a penance for the locals’ laziness, so he sent “la cigale” to disturb their afternoon siestas. I don’t how effective that was, but I do know it didn’t keep our jet lagged bodies from sleeping in this morning.
Mas Saint Antoine is as lovely, welcoming and as relaxing as you would want from a gite in Provence. It is run by two New Zealanders (who clearly tired of paradise and decided to escape it by moving to paradise) named Keryn and Kerrin. We were welcomed with a bottle of wine, lavender sachets (the grounds are covered with lavender plants and plum trees) and an inviting swimming pool is a short walk from our apartment. One of the good things about being at a pool surrounded by British tourist–I am actually one of the least white and most fit men there! That’s right, Brits—get a load of this relative lack of pastiness and my Yoga physique!
In the evening, we wandered into town. Knowing it was Bastille Day, we expected it to be quiet, but we thought that would be a good way to check out what the town was like—and to scope out the local boulangerie. It was eerily quiet, and mostly empty…until we turned down a lane and stumbled upon the locals’ celebration: a carnival, several restaurants open only for those in the know, and a massive community dinner before an open air concert. The funny thing was that there was no sign advertising it, and you couldn’t hear it until you were almost on top of it. If you lived there, you knew it was happening, and if you didn’t…well, it wasn’t for you anyway.
They kindly allowed two interlopers to stroll through, lost in wonder at the hidden energy of Rognonas.
Provence: Day Zero
Had a wi-fi problem the first couple of days, so I’m a little behind. Here is the first entry…
We were scheduled to leave for France in 24 hours, and I was in the midst of packing, cleaning the house, and sorting out the last-minute details. It was then I noticed the puddle.
We had a few days of heavy rain (including a tornado just a few miles away), so a small amount of water on the basement floor wasn’t anything new or alarming. However, all of the water had dried up except for this one little spot. Most concerning was its location: right underneath the oil tank.
I leaned over to run my finger through the puddle, hoping to find nothing but dampness. No such luck–it was oil. I reached up to the valve, and it to was covered with oil. That’s a good sign, I thought. A leaky valve is a simple, quick job, probably not too expensive. I’ll call the oil company and see if they can come out today or tomorrow morning.
About an hour later, Mike from the oil company was at our door. Mike knows us pretty well. He installed our furnace, replaced one of our registers, and changed that valve only a few months ago. Part of me believes that Mike is the only person who actually works for this company, so I wasn’t surprised when he showed up.
I of course shared with him my superb diagnosis of the problem, because he clearly needs my help to figure out what it is he does for a living. Hopefully, he took it for what it actually was—not an act of condescension, but a gesture of optimism.
Either way, he spent less than five minutes to determine the real problem: the oil is not leaking from the valve. It’s leaking from the tank on to the valve. And the floor.
Oh. Right. What can you do?
“You need a new oil tank.”
Um…I’m leaving for France at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. How are you going to install a new oil tank before then?
“Well, we can leave it for two weeks, and take care of it when you get back.”
Hmm. I’m thinking that Melissa—the young woman who will be housesitting for us—probably wants hot water for the next couple of weeks. Not an option.
A quick glance at our furnace, and its connections—all of which were installed by Mike—and he says “Take me two hours. I’ll be done before you leave.”
So while Valerie and I spent the morning before our trip finishing packing, eating any leftover perishable food (mashed potatoes with sliced cucumber and cheese? Sounds great!) , Mike and his assistant worked in our basement. A little more than two hours (and a little less than $2000 later) it was done.
As Rick Steves says: always reserve your museum tickets in advance, and be sure to engage in an expensive capital improvement the morning you fly to Europe. Keep on travelling!
Off to France!
Lavender fields in Provence.
This is not a travel writing blog. If you want to read an excellent one, I recommend Lesley Carter’s Bucket List Publications. Aside from being a relentlessly entertaining writer, you will develop an envy for the remarkable life Ms. Carter lives. Partly inspired by Lesley’s blog, I am going to dip my toe into the pond of travel writing.
Leaving on Friday, July 12, my wife Valerie and I will be spending two weeks in France–the first week in Provence, the second in Paris with a one night stopover in Chartres.
We will be bringing along our MacBook Air, so I will have the opportunity to blog about the trip. I have never done travel writing before, and I am excited to see how well I can translate my experiences into the blog.
There will be some photos to go with it, but you will be happy to know they will be taken by Valerie. Unfortunately, the Parkinson’s tremors generally create the illusion that I am taking photographs during an earthquake. However, if an earthquake does happen, I will try to take photos then, because I am curious to see how they would come out.
So that’s what you can expect from me for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully compelling details of our adventures, combined with some intriguing photographs. We will then discover how well I can get my Anthony Bourdain on–aside from snark and a love a street food. Got those already.
An Unexpected Honor
With members of the class of 2013, to whom I will always be grateful.
This was the third remarkable event, which happened just before the end of the school year…
A few weeks ago Diane, an esteemed member of our English department, stopped by my classroom after school.
“Hey,” she wondered, “were you planning on going to the Senior Banquet on Thursday?”
I wasn’t. I usually don’t. It’s a nice event in which the seniors get their yearbooks and enjoy a fun meal together, but I spend a great deal of time at my school already, so it wasn’t an event I considered a priority.
Diane was silent for a moment, and then responded in what I could only describe as a deliberate, suggestive tone. “It would be a really good thing if you were there.”
Um…okay. Thanks for that cryptic answer. Perhaps it would have been better in a coded letter?
It took me a few moments to realize what she meant. Diane, being yearbook advisor, is expected to attend, and outside of the class advisors, there is only one other staff member who is invited. And for only one reason. That had to be me.
When I finally absorbed Diane’s true meaning, I smiled and told her, “I’ll be there.”
I arrived at the banquet, and enjoyed mingling with many of the students, the class advisors, and my building principal. When it came time to distribute the yearbooks, the editors—two dear young women named Chelsea and Rebecca—read from a plaque they had prepared. Here were the words:
“Throughout these past four years, this teacher’s involvement with the members of the class of 2013 has been evident. Through his leadership of the GSA (Gay Straight Alliance) and the Connecticut Youth Forum, he has brought awareness and acceptance to the school community. Many students have the opportunity to learn under his guidance in his Civics and Philosophy classes. Prompting debates on important issues, he has inspired many students to respect differences in opinion and has opened their eyes to world issues. He has helped students self-reflect and has taught many in the class of 2013 about life in general. As a result of his investment in the betterment of the school, Mr. Kevin Brodie deserves the yearbook dedication.”
I know this is a blog, but my words cannot adequately express how moved I was by this dedication. I was district Teacher of the Year in 2008, and I was proud to be named so. To have the respect of your peers is extremely important. However, I became a teacher to make a difference in the lives of students. When they take the time to not only acknowledge what you have done, but honor it with their appreciation—that makes it all worthwhile.
I cannot imagine a better feeling as an educator. This dedication will stay will me always.
Danger Is My Business 