Le Chateau de Dinan
Built in the 1300s as a defensive fortification for the city of Dinan, it 's the real deal. It is a little over an hour from home and provided a great tour.Sadness
I had a little incident the other day. Having just finished laying the last of the sound insulation boards on the stairs to our Master Bedroom , I had not secured them before racing down the staircase as I am prone to do. I slipped and went down the entire flight seeing my life flash before my eyes. Not because I was hurt mind you, (we double-tough types brush those little abrasions, cuts and bruises off like water on a duck's back) but because I had been carrying my laptop and it went careening like a football, flying so fast it could only hit every third step on the way down until it all but embedded itself in the cement wall at the bottom.
Surprisingly, it was still in one piece but when I tried to turn it on the screen was obviously dead. Within hours, I was on the phone to my daughter Mandy who was still in America for a few days before returning to Europe after the holidays. The plan was to have her return with a new laptop (Not only much cheaper in the US but here they have a weird French keyboard)
Meanwhile, my friend Carl had disassembled my laptop, gone online and downloaded virtually the entire service manual for my Dell. He found the one microscopic plug in the guts of the computer that had been jarred loose by the impact and TA-DA! It has been running better than ever.
My kids on the other hand were merciless. One itsy-bitsy slip and there is now talk of getting me one of those "Help" panic buttons with the ambulance on speed dial that old incontinent people wear around their necks when they have their 'I fell and can't get up' emergencies.
Lesson learned? If your hands are full just toss your laptop down ahead of you and hold on to the handrail. You will both do fine.
Surprisingly, it was still in one piece but when I tried to turn it on the screen was obviously dead. Within hours, I was on the phone to my daughter Mandy who was still in America for a few days before returning to Europe after the holidays. The plan was to have her return with a new laptop (Not only much cheaper in the US but here they have a weird French keyboard)
Meanwhile, my friend Carl had disassembled my laptop, gone online and downloaded virtually the entire service manual for my Dell. He found the one microscopic plug in the guts of the computer that had been jarred loose by the impact and TA-DA! It has been running better than ever.
My kids on the other hand were merciless. One itsy-bitsy slip and there is now talk of getting me one of those "Help" panic buttons with the ambulance on speed dial that old incontinent people wear around their necks when they have their 'I fell and can't get up' emergencies.
Lesson learned? If your hands are full just toss your laptop down ahead of you and hold on to the handrail. You will both do fine.
Old dog learns new trick!
The boy version:
Anxious to get one small step closer to knowing everything, I have begun my long trek towards becoming a no fooling around, all the way live pilot. This is my chance while I am still a young pup, before I turn into a crotchety old fart. Of course this effort is required because Janice insists that we save every spare dime we have towards the purchase of this infernal amphibious airplane that I don’t want but readily admit we desperately need. Never mind that we have to live on beans and rice, curtail our travel plans or hold off on more cool renovation projects, her airplane comes first.
To this end I have been feverishly working on completing the required ‘ground school’ online while I am hiding out here in Europe awaiting summer weather. The next step of assembling and certifying the beast upon our arrival at the Bee in June will be followed by seat time (flying lessons) thereafter. It’s what a man has to do to keep his bride happy… Hey, it’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
OK, the drama queen wants to add a few words but for the more accurate and impartial version just re-read the above.
The girl version:
That no good useless husband of mine has had his head in the clouds since we have arrived! (This being a family publication, I’d rather not say where his head has really been). He spends his days with his arms spread out like wings making dive bombing sounds. If he calls me his “wing man” one more time I think I will scream.
We can’t even drive around the corner without his referring to ‘pitch’, ‘roll’ and ‘yaw’. We don’t park, we land. He even tries to calculate our fuel consumption based on ‘tailwinds’. He has been stuck to that computer for weeks studying as if our lives depended on it. Well, maybe he has a point there… As for me, I’m going to ‘flare out’ and relax because he’s causing enough ‘turbulence’ for both of us but if he gives me anymore ‘prop wash’ I’ll put him on ‘final approach’ ! Why couldn’t he take up golf like normal men?
Taking a stroll down memory lane
This is the first in a new series of little stories about fun memories we have been reminiscing about. This Christmas, most of our kids got together at our daughter Amy’s place in Washington State. It was more or less a last minute decision as they all have busy lives and were not sure they could pull it off. We, on the other hand, had purchased our tickets to return to Europe last July and were thus already committed. By the way, thank you all for the Christmas cards. We should have gotten most of them by now. (Overseas mail at Christmas can be 4-6 weeks)
We were reminiscing about Christmases past when the kids were all so much younger. They used to love how we would decorate the house with lights all over the dome and how small aircraft would circle overhead at night during the holidays to check it out.
( To read the article, just click on the picture)This year we had a quiet uneventful Christmas with friends but New Year's was something else. We were invited to a French couple’s home for dinner to bring in the New Year and we were joined by her 90 year old father who lives with them. We had met the fellow a few times before and really liked him. He was gregarious and full of stories of his WWII exploits as a French Air Force pilot in Africa. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather as he too read constantly and could discuss any subject proving himself to be quite knowledgeable. This time, we had a great dinner and visit, he excused himself to go to bed and went up to his room and by morning had -died.
We got a frantic call from them early New Year's day, crying and saying they had just found her father and didn’t know what to do. Janice and I raced over and got there long before the doctor (who certified the death) or the mortician arrived to pick up the remains. It seemed to take them forever to arrive in part because a number of homes in the rural areas here don’t have a physical address. It would be kind of like looking for ‘Mike’s place’. It’s tough when you don’t know where Mike lives. To make matters worse, it’s on an unnamed street. Try entering that into your GPS .
I have rarely seen a dead person and then usually only in a casket. I say usually because the only other exception was when I entered a prisoner’s cell where he had just been strangled with a wire coat hanger by a jealous lover in a homosexual love triangle, but that is another story.
Attending a French wakeThis time though, I had to get up close and personal. The doctor had to move him from a much undignified position in an incredibly cramped room to the man’s bed. He was unable to move him alone and asked for my help. Great (!) Then, when the lone mortician arrived, he took one look at the narrow spiraling staircase he would have to take him down, turned to me and asked if his grandson and I would give him a hand. Sure… It was my first time putting someone in a body bag and despite trying to deal with the situation with as much respect and dignity as possible it was still effectively carrying him out willy nilly.
Yet another occupation I have found that I have no intention to pursue.
IT’s FREEEEZING here!
People here often keep an eye on the weather in North America because invariably a week later we get the remnants of it on these shores. I thought you might take comfort in that we too have suffered mightily. Sometimes it has been overcast and so unbelievably cold that for a few hours we have even had... (Horrors)...
...FROST!!!
At last, the set is complete
For the past 3 winters we have been going on and on about our fireplace. First we built the darn thing then we commissioned all the hand forged metal implements for it. Yea, yea, I know. If I’m supposed to be such a hot shot blacksmith, how come I didn’t forge them myself? (Because this job was above my pay grade...)
Again, clicking on the pic brings up a lot of detailAt the time we were promised everything would be completed within 6 months, but it took a year just to get our andirons. They were spectacular and well worth waiting for, but it took a year nevertheless. It took another year to get our fire screen and log holder. Once again the man outdid himself but it was another year and at his advancing age and health we feared his passing on before he completed the set.
Upon our arrival this time, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that he had finished forging all the tools. [The set weighs 61 pounds or 28 kilos and is not for ‘girly men’] Ironically he seemed taken aback by our surprise saying “well, I did promise to have them finished by Christmas, didn’t I?” Yes he did.
3 years ago.
Brittany
Last month I wrote a little about our neighbor, the city of Treguier. This month, I thought I would share a little more about the US version of our ‘state’, Brittany. In Brittany, as in all of France, food is a serious topic. Each town has a weekly market with live chickens, artichokes (as tiny as golf balls or big as softballs), homemade cassis jam, caramels, fresh seafood, and stunning handmade Breton lace among many other local products. The most popular merchants travel from market to market. The cheese truck for instance, offers a selection of more than 200 cheeses from all over France.
Wednesday is market day in Treguier. After a morning of shopping, you can buy lunch from a market stall, perhaps some sausage, potatoes, and apples sizzled with hard cider or a traditional ‘galette de Breton’—a thin, buckwheat crepe, the size of a large pizza, that’s cooked on a round griddle, filled with mushrooms, spinach or seafood and usually served in a paper cone. The traditional dessert is a ‘crepe’, served with jam, chocolate or other yummy stuff.
Invariably, the artichokes are picked and the oysters harvested the day you buy them. In addition to the weekly market, Treguier has several ‘crepe’ restaurants and ‘patisseries’, as well as a butcher shop, bakery, and tiny fish store, where you can order a platter of oysters and pick them up later, semi shucked and on a tray of ice.
One of our endless beachesAmong the best ways to see Brittany is on foot, bike, or horseback, with its 800 miles of coastal paths offering a variety of terrain. The rugged coastline has thousands of inlets, which made it a prime area for illegal landings and smuggled goods in the mid-1800s. Soldiers and customs officers walked these paths day and night to patrol the area. Now they are protected sites, developed for walkers and hikers, with clear markings and detailed information.
The numerous coastal islands offer plenty of opportunities for exploration. Ile de Brehat, a charming island with a picturesque lighthouse, is a short ferry ride from the mainland. We have often walked the six-mile trail before stopping for lunch in the courtyard of its tiny town. The Sept-Iles archipelago is a well-known bird sanctuary, where I am told the rare Atlantic puffin struts its plumage.
While Brittany’s beaches are great for walking, we are always mindful of the legendary tides, which are so dramatic the beaches can expand from a quarter mile to three miles wide, depending on the moon.
Brittany’s gardens are full of roses, palm trees, and thick hedges of rosemary and hortensia, an enormous multi-colored hydrangea. The region is also the birthplace of ‘thalassotherapy’, a type of spa treatment using the ocean’s brine and sand. The nearby town of Perros-Guirec has a renowned thalassotherapy center, as well as beaches surrounded by rose-hued granite rock formations where we love to hang out.
Not too far a drive from Treguier, Saint-Malo is a gorgeous sixteenth-century town of charming walls and trellises where the tides are quite significant. Throughout the year, the little towns along the coast host festivals celebrating their ‘foodies’ specialties. The city of Carnac displays some of the greatest vestiges of megalithic artifacts, offering a glimpse into ancient rituals, ceremonies, and astronomy.
The historic capital of Tregor enjoys a particular prestige in Brittany. As a centre of intellectual prowess and critical appreciation it has inspired men of letters, law and the cloth, from Saint Tugdual to Saint Yves, Ernest Renan to Anatole Le Braz and Angela Duval to Henri Polles... and me. :)
Have a great month.
