After just a couple of days, the boat was driving me crazy. I’d felt cooped up in Italy, but that sense of confinement was nothing compared to the river cruise. At least in Italy, we were walking most places, and if I needed to escape to be on my own, I could. That wasn’t true on the River Baroness. I was trapped on a ship full of old people.

So, on our second morning in Rouen, I rose early to join a small group for Nordic walking:

Our small group walked for about 2km, stopped to do calisthenics, and then walked 2km back to the boat. As we walked, we chatted. I got to know Mark, from Vancouver, B.C., and Roger, who is 65 but looks 45. By the end of the cruise, Roger had become a sort of role model for what I want my fitness level to be like in 25 years!

After breakfast, we took a walking tour of Rouen, a city the size of Salem, Oregon. The tour was short and slow to cater to the old folks. We saw the medieval downtown area, the shopping district, and the place where Joan of Arc is supposed to have been burned at the stake.

Kris loved this McDonald’s, which is housed in a centuries-old building

Later, Kris and I did some shopping on our own. Kris bought a (men’s) scarf, and I hunted — unsuccessfully — for Peanuts in French. Apparently Charlie Brown and Snoopy are a hit in Rome, but not in Paris. We spent a lot of time in a French supermarket, marveling at all the stuff that’s different from home. (We do this in every country we visit, by the way.) I was particularly impressed that you could buy fine Scotch whisky from a grocery store.

We spent the rest of the afternoon resting on the boat. In the evening, we watched The Da Vinci Code, so now I can finally say I know the story.

During the night, the River Baroness moved north to Rouen, a Salem-sized city in France’s Normandy region. In the morning, all of the passengers boarded buses for the two-hour ride to the D-Day Beaches.

On the morning of 06 June 1944, the combined Allied forces (including not just the United States and England, but also Canada and France — and in the weeks following the initial landing, troops from Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Greece, and the Netherlands) assaulted German positions on five Normandy beaches spread over 50 miles of coastline. For many young Americans, the most notable depiction of this landing comes from Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan.

The Allied forces suffered about 10,000 casualties (including 2,500 American deaths) during the assault, and the German defenders experienced between 4,000 and 9,000 casualties. Over the next few months, these numbers grew significantly. Now the beaches (and a few surrounding areas) are designated as war memorials.

Kris, storming the beach at Normandy

Our group spent the day visiting Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery, with a side trip to view the Bayeux Tapestry.

I loved the Bayeux Tapestry

The Bayeux Tapestry isn’t actually a tapestry, it’s an embroidered cloth — though the difference is lost on me. Though its origins are unknown, many believe it was created during the 1070s, just ten years after the events it depicts. The 225-foot (68 meter) tapestry (or embroidery) illustrates the events leading up to the Norman conquest of England, including the Battle of Hastings. The individual scenes tell the story, which is spelled out in Latin along the border. Some geeks — and I’m one of them — consider the Bayeux Tapestry to be the first comic book. Because of this (and because Professor Nolley referred to the tapestry during our History of the English Language course at Willamette University), this has been on my “must-see” list for over twenty years. It did not disappoint. Even Kris, who had never heard of it before our trip, thought it was amazing.

After visiting Omaha Beach and viewing the Bayeux Tapestry, we had about 75 minutes for lunch in the quaint village of Bayeux. No problem, right? Kris and I decided to have a proper sit-down meal. Big mistake. In France, restaurants don’t hurry their customers. In fact, much of what we take as customary in the U.S. is considered rude. As in Italy, you must ask for the bill; the server doesn’t just bring it to you. And meals all have a leisurely pace. Such was the case in the restaurant we chose. It didn’t help that the place was busy. Our simple lunch stretched on and on until we thought we might miss our bus! Fortunately, the waiter sped up the process when Kris explained the situation to him in broken French.

After lunch, we visited the American Cemetery. The place was poignant, as expected, with a sea of white marble crosses. But we felt rushed. Plus, we wished we’d started in the interpretative center (which our local guide had warned us away from), which added depth and color to the experience. Security at the cemetery was very tight — tighter than even at the Louvre or Vatican.

The American Cemetery is filled with a sea of white crosses

On the way back to the boat, the bus got stuck in traffic. Yet another French traffic accident. I know people complain that Italian drivers are wild, but we found French traffic to be much worse.

Back on the boat, we ate dinner with Sharon and Parl. Parl is a big, friendly man, a retired machinist who now owns his own limousine. “I never retired,” he told us. “I just work for less money!”

Overnight, the River Baroness docked in the commune of Les Andelys, about 100km from Paris. In the morning, the passengers came ashore for a short hike to the ruins of Château Gaillard, a medieval castle (built by Richard the Lionheart) that overlooks the River Seine.

Les Andelys, with our ship on the river

I was mostly unimpressed, although I think Kris found the view stunning. For one thing, I thought our tour guide was from the same dull, humorless school as Luca, our guide in Florence. She was like an encyclopedia, but I wanted something more personal.

Mostly, though, I marveled at the alarming physical condition of our companions. True, we had to climb 300 feet to reach the castle, but our pace for that half-mile walk was very, very slow. It was like taking an easy stroll up a bluff to get a better view of the countryside, but many folks struggled. On the return to town, I heard people complain about how tough the walk was and how after this much exercise, they could eat anything they wanted for the rest of the day.

This was alarming. It was a wake-up call. Though I’ve lost a lot of weight this year and am in good physical condition now, I can’t capitulate. I can’t return to what I was before. I need to stay healthy and active so that in twenty years, I’m not complaining about simple hikes.

Back in Les Andelys, Kris and I stopped at a convenience store — or the French equivalent, anyhow — for coffee and cigarettes. While she ordered an espresso, I bought tobacco. (Note for those who don’t know me in Real Life: I don’t smoke regularly. In fact, I smoke hardly at all. But I do like to have fun cigars and cigarettes around for the 5-6 times a year I do smoke.)

And here we had a little cultural communication breakdown. Because we were speaking English and the shop owners were speaking French, and because Kris was doing one thing and I was doing another, she thought I’d paid for her coffee when I bought my cigarettes. I hadn’t. So, as we were walking away from the store, the owner had to run outside and holler at us to come back and pay. (I’m sure that he and his other patrons were thinking, “Stupid Americans!”) It was embarrassing — but not much. Mostly, it’s a funny story to tell our friends.

Back on board, we ate lunch as the River Baroness set sail. In the afternoon, we sat on the deck, soaking in the sun and watching the beautiful French countryside float by. I smoked one of my new cigarettes. (The rest will probably last me a couple of years!)

A typical French home along the Siene.

In the evening, we ate dinner with Richard and Deana Sansing. Richard is an accounting professor at Dartmouth. He seemed unimpressed with both Custom Box Service and Get Rich Slowly! I, in turn, thought a some of his ideas were academic and theoretical and not really applicable to the Real World.

After dinner, we attended a fine violin concert:

We slept late because we didn’t have much planned for this Sunday. After breakfast, we packed our bags and boarded the metro to move to the boat for our river cruise. In the process of packing, I discovered I’d lost my wireless keyboard (which I brought for my iPad). I’d used it in Rome, and took it out on the train to Paris — which is probably where I left it.

After dropping our bags at the River Baroness, Kris and I decided to kill some time by wandering around the city. We took an impromptu stroll through the neighborhoods near Parc André Citroën. The streets were quiet on this warm Sunday afternoon in early autumn. We saw an old man biking lazily down the middle of the road, a young boy carrying home two long baguettes, and a gaggle of teenagers giggling about something. But no tourists.

Along Rue Saint-Charles, we stumbled upon a street sale. The neighborhood folks were out in force, selling their Stuff and browsing the crowded sidewalks looking for treasures. It was fun to see a Parisian rummage sale, looking at the things the French wanted to part with with.

Kris used her mad French skillz to buy a pair of chaussures for €3.

Kris posted to Facebook about her shoe-buying adventure.

On the way back to the River Baroness, we strolled through Parc André Citroën Park, which is really rather lovely.

The boat set sail at 17:30, heading up the Seine toward Normandy. During dinner, we mingled with the other passengers. Though Kris got on well with people, I felt out of my element. Of the 120 other tourists, we were certainly among the youngest. Most were in their 60s or 70s — even older than those in our Rick Steves tour of Italy.

After yesterday’s long walk, Kris and I slept late. We ate a quick breakfast of croissant and coffee (or hot chocolate, in my case) on Rue Cler, then tried to buy tickets to Versailles. Tried to buy tickets.

Before we could get to Versailles, we had to buy tickets on the RER, the commuter line that runs to the outskirts of the city. This oughtn’t to have been too tough, but we made it so.

Our ticket-buying adventure
First, we tried the self-service ticket machine. No dice. When it came time to pay, my credit card wouldn’t work. Unlike the rest of the world (including France), the U.S. hasn’t adopted the chip and PIN system, so the machine couldn’t accept my card for payment. (You can use U.S. cards at most places in Europe — but not all of them.)

Because our cards wouldn’t work, we tried to scrounge for enough cash to buy the tickets — but the machine only accepted coins. The balance due was €6.20, but we only had €5.20 in change. No problem!

There was a ticket office right next to us, so we went inside to buy tickets from a human being. (Or to get change.) But the ticket office was closed, so we were out of luck. No problem!

Nearby stood one of the ubiquitous Parisian newsstands. Kris went over to get some coins — but the vendor wouldn’t break her bills. In fact, he wouldn’t even let her buy anything to get change for the machine. He refused to sell to us!

Flummoxed, we tromped across the Seine to another newsstand (one standing almost directly above the point in the tunnel where Princess Diana lost her life). I bought a copy of the International Herald Tribune (an abridged English-language international version of the New York Times). Or three. “Troi, monsieur?” asked the puzzled vendor. “Mi dispiace,” I said, substituting Italian for French. Oops.

In any event, we got the €2 coin we needed, which gave us enough to buy tickets for the train. We tromped back across the bridge to find that the ticket office was now open! We conserved our coins (they’re very useful in Paris) and bought tickets with cash from the man in the office — which gave us even more coins in change.

That trauma over, we finally boarded the train to Versailles. For twenty minutes, we sat across from a young man who was hacking and wheezing and looked pale as death. This came back to haunt us in a few days… (Foreshadowing!)

The palace of Versailles
In the village of Versailles, we ate a small lunch before heading to the palace. We bought a fresh, warm baguette at a bakery in town, which we combined with some goat cheese Kris had brought. I also ate my new favorite: pain au raisin (or raisin bread, which I wish I could eat for every breakfast). We dined in a lovely little park, watching the locals and the birds.

After lunch, we toured the palace and gardens of Versailles. For one hundred years, this was the capital of the kingdom of France. It was also a symbol of royal decadence. When the French Revolution came, the palace was seized by the people, before eventually becoming home to Napoleon. Though large (well, enormous is a better word), beautiful, and opulent, the palace seemed somehow hollow, as if it were all glitter and no gold.

Part of the palace’s exterior

The Hall of Mirrors in the palace of Versailles

The gardens, on the other hand, were spectacular. We spent hours wandering the property. At one point, we ate yet another mediocre French meal. That was forgotten, however, as we resumed our stroll of the grounds. It was impossible to see everything — there are over 800 hectares (2000 acres or three square miles) of gardens.

Looking down the park at Versailles toward the Grand Canal

Kris strikes a classical pose

The highlight of the day came when the 300+ fountains put on their show between 1530 and 1730. We had two hours in the warm sun to watch the displays. Often, they were literally like fireworks with water. I did my best to capture them, but neither video nor photos did them justice. And two hours wasn’t enough to see all of the fountains we wanted.

It was amazing.

One of over 300 fountains in the gardens at Versailles

The mirror fountain at Versailles was just like fireworks with water

If you go to Versailles, go when the fountains are on. They’re on for festival days and summer weekends. It’s well worth checking in advance to be sure you get to see the display. I’m not kidding.

Here’s a two-minute video that features highlights from our day at Versailles:

Back in Paris, we spent our evening at the laundromat. We had to decipher the instructions, which were oblique even when translated to English. With the help of a young French man (who didn’t speak English but could tell we were lost), we finally figured out how to buy soap and get the machines started.

Clean clothes in hand, we packed for the next day’s transfer to our river cruise!

Strickly speaking, this isn’t good English. The laundry video has another funny misspelling.

I had ambitious plans for today — too ambitious, as it turns out. In retrospect, I tried to do too much, and in the end, Kris and I both paid for it!

We got an early start, stopping at a nearby patisserie to pick up a breakfast of pastries:

The little patisserie near our hotel. We ate here often!

Like Italy, France is packed with single-purpose shops. One shop specialized in poultry.

Then we hopped on the metro and zipped down to the world-famous Notre Dame cathedral. We were fortunate to arrive early; the place was uncrowded, but by the time we’d left, it was packed!

The cathedral of Notre Dame, resting serenely on Île de la Cité

Notre Dame is a gothic cathedral built on the Île de la Cité, the ancient birthplace of the city of Paris. Construction on the church began in 1160 and took nearly 200 years to complete. In 1831, Victor Hugo published his novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and the church has remained prominent in popular culture ever since.

Though Kris found Notre Dame unimpressive compared to the cathedrals we’d seen in Italy, I liked it. It’s simple but beautiful. I liked the rose windows, the vaulted ceiling, and the ambulatory. I also liked the choral music that was being piped over hidden speakers; it added an air that had been missing in other churches. Most of all, I enjoyed the climb to the bell tower!

The new hunchback of Notre Dame

Kris was more impressed with nearby Sainte-Chapelle, a gothic chapel built sometime before 1248. She especially liked the intricate tile flooring and the many stained-glass windows (most of which are original!).

The ceiling and windows in the upper chapel of Sainte-Chapelle

After our time on Île de la Cité, we crossed to the Left Bank and wandered through the Latin Quarter, which seemed all too touristy. We stopped at Shakespeare and Company, a famous English-language bookstore. Were it not located in the heart of France, the shop would be unremarkable. (Well, at least here in Portland, where there are many others just like it.)

A highlight for me, however, was finding a store that specialized in French comic books (known as bande dessinée). These comics are sold in hardbound “albums”, the best known of which are Tintin and Asterix. But there are hundreds (or thousands) of other series that have never been imported to the U.S., and this shop had tons of them. I picked up a handful of English-language translations.

We ate lunch at a little family place in the heart of the Latin Quarter, where I ate a Parisian hot dog:

In the afternoon, we used the second day of our two-day hop-on/hop-off bus pass. We boarded a bus for Montmartre, but it was a disaster. As with the previous day, traffic was terrible. Worse, the tour was completely uninteresting. This bus tour was definitely a low-light of this trip to Europe. After an hour of suffering, we bailed and took the metro back to the hotel.

In the evening, I got bold. I suggested we walk from the Hotel Muguet to the Louvre Museum. Which we did. That was about three kilometers. Then I urged Kris to walk up Paris’ grand boulevard, the Champs-Élysées. Which we did. (The Tuileries Garden had just closed, so we had to go around.) We made it another three kilometers before we stopped for dinner.

For dinner, we had lousy steaks. We had expected French food to be equal to (or better than) Italian food, but that didn’t hold true for us. Sometimes it was good, but generally it couldn’t hold a candle to the meals we ate in Venice, Florence, and Rome.

After dinner, we tromped another 1.5 kilometers to reach the Arc de Triomphe.

We climbed to the top of the arch and waited for the Eiffel Tower’s hourly light show to commence at 22:00. The view of Paris was beautiful. I recommend this to anyone who visits the city.

The Arc de Triomphe at night

The reward for all of our walking was a spectacular view of Paris at night.

I’d hoped we could finish the evening by walking the rest of the way to the Eiffel Tower (2.5 kilometers) and then back to the hotel (1.5 kilometers), but Kris had a melt-down — her worst of the trip. (My worst melt-downs all came in Italy, you’ll remember.) She was cold and tired and ready to return to the hotel. So, when my super-power (direction sense) failed, causing me to lead us away from the Eiffel Tower, she’d had enough. We found a metro station and headed home.

In fairness to Kris, my pedometer told the story at the end of the day: We’d walked more than fourteen miles (22.5 kilometers), most of it at the end of the day. Just last week, I walked from home into downtown Portland. That walk (combined with my other walking throughout the day) gave me almost exactly the same step count as we had that day in Paris — and I was exhausted. So, once again, Kris Gates was right. I pushed us too hard!

Though Kris slept soundly on the train from Rome to Paris, I did not. I woke at 21:00 in Florence, around midnight in another Italian city, at 06:00 in Lausanne, Switzerland, and again permanently at 07:30 on the outskirts of France. None of my sleep was restful.

A foggy morning outside Paris as our train stands idle on the tracks

For unknown reasons — though possibly because of strikes, which we had to contend with during our entire stay in France — our train was two hours late arriving in Paris. Today was my turn to be tense. I was tired, hungry, and disoriented, and there were too many people around.

When we left the train station at Gare de Lyon, we quickly found the nearby subway stop, but we were puzzled for a bit by the process for buying tickets. This was made worse by the crowds, our luggage, the lack of a chip-and-PIN credit card — and the drunk man trying to sell us discount metro tickets. (Turns out his tickets were legit and a good deal, but I wasn’t willing to take the risk.)

Map of the Paris train system — the Metro (subway) and RER (commuter line). Click to enlarge.

Without too much hassle, we found our way to the Hotel Muguet near Rue Cler. (Our Metro stop was École Militaire on the 8 train.) Rue Cler is a quiet, traditional Parisian street that’s been popularized by Rick Steves through his television show and guidebooks. It made a good “home base” during our stay in Paris.

Kris, next to a column of macaroons

We ate lunch at Tribeca, an Italian place on Rue Cler, then dove into France. We bought two-day tickets for the red double-decker hop-on/hop-off tour buses, which we took through the heart of the city. (Well, the heart of the tourist portions, anyhow.)

The Eiffel Tower as seen during our bus tour

These bookstalls are common on both banks of the Seine, and have been since the 1500s

While interesting, this bus ride took forever, in part because we went during rush hour, and in part because Paris has some of the worst traffic I’ve ever seen.

After the tour, it was already getting late. We took a brief walk through Rue Cler and the surrounding neighborhood before choosing to eat dinner at a small bistro. We both had the delicious boeuf bourguignon.

At breakfast, we said good-bye to the other members of the Rick Steves tour group that we’d been traveling with for the past ten days and set out on our own. We left our bags at the hotel while we headed out for a day trip — with no guide!

We took the Metro A train to the Termini Station, then made the long walk to transfer to the B train, which took us to the Piramide stop. From there, we took a 30-minute ride on the commuter train to Ostia Antica. (The Rick Steves guidebook says that it’s a sixty-minute trip from downtown Rome to Ostia Antica, but it took us ninety.)

For much of the trip, Kris was tense. After ten days having a guide directing most of our moves, suddenly we were on our own again, having to figure out train schedules and transfers. She didn’t like that we didn’t have definite answers to our questions as we made our way. But you know what? It all worked out just fine!

Ancient sign near the entrance to the city

In the graveyard at Ostia Antica

All trip, Kris and I craved cats. This cat at Ostia was very friendly.

Ostia was the harbor city of the ancient Roman empire. (Antica just means “ancient”.) For over a thousand years, Ostia was a thriving city. But in time, it fell into decay. Eventually, they city was abandoned, and slowly covered by sediment from the River Tiber. The ruins have been recovered now, and this little-known site is now considered a better example of an ancient Roman city than Pompeii.

There were few Americans at Ostia Antica, but there were tons of German tourists in the ruins. (I actually found them more annoying than Americans!) We did meet one woman from Houston, though. She told us she tries to come to Europe once every year, and has been doing so for 25 years. I got the impression she was fairly well-off, but she also talked about how she makes sacrifices in other areas of her life so that she can travel. (This was a common refrain from fellow travelers, by the way.)

Roman latrine at Ostia Antica. Note the lower hole, which is space for a “sponge on a stick”.

I could do a whole post on the hilarious English we saw in Europe, especially in museums

After touring the ruins, we took the train back to Rome, where we ate a large lunch (cheese plate, steak with salt and rosemary, and a liter of wine), then collected our bags and returned to the Termini Station. There, we spent a few hours on the platform, waiting for our train to Paris. I wandered the station, reveling in the feel of it all.

Our train trip was mostly uneventful — it grew dark soon after we left Rome, which saddened me. I wanted to watch the countryside go by.

Again, Kris was tense. She was unsettled by the unfamiliar situation, and full of uncertainty. It made her crazy! (“I think they forgot to turn our beds down!” “How will we know where to get off?” Etc.)

During the night, I woke as we passed through Florence, and then again in the early morning as we stopped at the platform in Lausanne, Switzerland. But when I woke for good, we were in France…

This morning, our group took the subway to the Ottaviano station before walking the rest of the way to the Vatican museum. I have to admit, I wasn’t looking forward to seeing more religious art, but the Vatican was actually pretty neat — the Catholic church has stolen a lot of great art in its time.

The glowing ceiling of the Vatican’s map room (photo by Kris)

Not all of the art here was confiscated from conquered peoples, though. There are also some great works commissioned from Great Masters. There are rooms upon rooms (two miles of rooms, I think our tour guide Sarah told us) filled with sculptures, paintings, frescoes, maps, tapestries, and more. Kris was especially enamored with the tile floors.

Kris was obsessed with the Vatican’s tile floors. This is my favorite of the many shots she took.

Touring the Vatican — and fighting the crowds — made me realize just how rich and powerful the Catholic church has been throughout history. Catholicism has played almost zero role in my life, so sometimes I forget how big it actually is. (I’m convinced they could eliminate world poverty if they’d just liquidate a portion of their art collection.)

At the end of our tour, we reached the Sistine Chapel, which was both more and less impressive than I expected. It’s amazing to see Michelangelo’s masterpiece in person, but it was also a bit garish (as apparently most Renaissance art was) and over-the-top.

While in the Sistine Chapel, neither photos nor talking were allowed. Everyone was doing both anyhow. The docents tried in vain to keep order. Most folks snuck a picture or two, and the whispers were like the hum of bees. That was fine. One member of our group (Wes) got kicked out, though, because he was blatantly taking photos even after being asked to stop.

After the Sistine Chapel, Kris and I joined Phil and Joy for a tour of St. Peter’s Basilica, the largest church in the world. We saw two mummified popes (not kidding!) and Michelangelo’s beautiful Pieta. The latter was difficult to photograph because of the crowds and because it lives behind bullet-proof glass. This photo was taken by holding my camera overhead and trying to stay steady:

Michelangelo’s Pieta, which lives behind bullet-proof glass

Next, we paid €7 each — and dodged a group of Japanese tourists who were trying to barge to the head of the line — to climb to the top of the dome above St. Peter’s Basilica and get snapshots of Rome. We climbed about 320 steps, and by the end, my left knee (which isn’t even my bum knee) was killing me.

Inside the dome of St. Peter’s, looking down (photo by Kris)

Joy and Phil, climbing the steps to the top of St. Peter’s

Phil and Joy, atop St. Peter’s Basilica (with Rome in the distance)

Joy and Kris attempt to keep St. Peter’s from falling over. Phil and I take photos.

The four of us then looked for a place to eat north of the Vatican. The first place we tried was gouging tourists. They wanted €14 for a half liter of the house wine (most places charged €8 to €12 for a liter of the stuff!), and their food prices were outrageous too. We got up and left, walking a few blocks until we found a pizza rustica place. The owner was a bit surly, but Kris and I managed to get two slices of pizza and a bottle of wine for just €17.

After taking the subway back to the Repubblica stop, we joined the Gussmans to visit two churches near our hotel:

• Santa Maria della Vittoria, which contains what Joy calls “church porn” — a statue called the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.
• Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri, which contains an amazing sundial/meridian devised by a guy named Francesco Bianchini in 1702. It also contains an enormous pipe organ. Though Rick Steves only gives this place one star, we liked it. It was a science-y church!

Church porn: The Ecstasy of St. Teresa at Santa Maria della Vittoria

Before dinner, we joined Phil and Joy in their room to finish their bottle of grappa, which I’d always thought was Greek but is actually Italian.

The tour group then met for a farewell dinner, eating at a place called Ristorante del Giglio. The food was okay, but the conversation was better. It was a fitting conclusion to a fine trip.

After dinner, some of us hung around at the Snack Bar (that’s the name of the place!) across the street from our hotel. Kim, Joy, Phil, Kris, and I munched on snacks (I had a final gelato) while talking with Sarah about life as a tour guide.