We are now in France, and it is good to be back! I really enjoyed Morocco and
Spain, but it is nice to be somewhere where enjoying life is very serious
business. Our location was obvious when we sat down at a restaurant and ordered
a flan. What came was a mouthwatering dessert made of a creamy caramel pudding
on a crumbly butter crust. What we had been used to in Spain was a little foil
cup being thrown down in front of us with the grocery store price tag still
intact. They wouldn't even go to the effort of removing the flan from its
package to pretend they had made it themselves.
The journey through Spain was a fairly quick one. From the ferry port in Spain,
Zen and I headed up to Grenada where we checked out the Alhambra - a massive and
well preserved Moorish Palace that was built almost a thousand years ago.
Besides the lush gardens and amazing tile and plaster work, the thing that
amazed me the most was the geometric designs that are so prevalent in Muslim
art. Since the Koran prohibits art that depicts living beings, the Moorish
artisans perfected designs involving geometric patterns.
We were also lucky enough to witness a bit of a festival. As we wandered around
town, a group in a plaza began singing Flamenco style. While we sat and listened
to the passionate voices, a parade came down the street. There were men
strutting on Andalusian horses while waving their wide brimmed hats, and women
decorated in frilly and brilliantly coloured dresses. We were hoping to see a
bit of spontaneous Flamenco dance, but were not that lucky.
A night train and regional connector later, we found ourself in the town of
Figueres - the birthplace of Salvador Dali. We decided stop here to see the only
museum dedicated in his honor. Most of Dali's major works are scattered in
modern art museum's around the world, but what made this museum unique is that
it was actually designed by Dali himself. The art and the museum were cleverly
woven together inside of a converted theater. The museum showed the progression
of Dali's art over the years, and what an amazingly diverse and chemically
influenced artist he was.
The stop in Figueres was only brief, and from there we made it back to Avignon
where we were reunited with our bikes. We were both anxious to start riding
again, and after reading over the guidebooks we decided that we would head to
the Loire Valley southwest of Paris. We arranged everything at the train station
to take the slow trains that allowed our bikes to ride with us, and decided to
grit our teeth for the 6am train ride the next day.
The next task was to pick up some groceries for a picnic that evening. While
trying to pay for the groceries, the cashier handed back the 100 franc bill I
gave her and told me that it was "faux". It took me a second to
realize that she was telling me that the bill was counterfeit. After looking at
it more closely, the colours were a little off and the watermark didn't look
right. Sigh - a $17 US learning experience. However, it made a welcome addition
to the collection of money hanging on the wall at the hotel we were staying at.
A counterfeit 100 franc bill to put between the Japanese Yen and the Canadian $2
bill (although it wouldn't surprise me if the bill finds its way off the wall
and into another unsuspecting tourist's hands).
Later in the afternoon, we decided to make a small modification to our train
tickets and headed back to the train station. There, I got to extend my French
vocabulary, and as is often the case, it was the hard way. When showing the
ticket to the woman at the ticket booth, she told us that we couldn't go where
our printed ticket said we were going, and kept repeating the word greve. Zen
figured out that she was telling us that the trains were on strike. After
thinking briefly about our options, we got our money back for the train tickets
and decided to make the best of the situation and cycle out of Avignon the next
day.
This turned out to be a good choice as the weather was good and we were both
happy to be back on the bikes (and not getting up at 5am). Cycling west of
Provence was something that we had been thinking about doing, and as the Lonely
Planet Guide put it, we were about to enter the most productive wine region in
France, producing 40% of France's wines, most of which are cheap table wines.
The month we were away from France left some changes on the countryside. Gone
are the fragrant lilacs and the ever present wisterias. However, it is now
considerably warmer, the budding grapes have turned into thick green vines, the
cherries are now in season, and the red poppies and wildflowers are still
abundant.
As we cycle along quiet little French roads, we wonder why we ever got off the
bike. The fresh air is exhilarating, the colours of wild flowers fill the gaps
between the vineyards and orchards, birds sing, hawks (or are those vultures)
watch over us, and we wave to the farmers as they prune their trees and tend to
their fields. The slow pace of cycle touring makes sure that we appreciate the
tiny thousand year old villages that we ride through, each with their imposing
and ancient church. As Zen calls it, this is part of an ABC tour of Europe -
"Another Bloody Church (Cathedral, Castle)". The energy that we burn
while cycling makes the fabulous pastries and cheeses that we consume for lunch
taste all that much better.
However, the drawbacks become more obvious soon afterwards when we turn off the
small country road and onto a busy and shoulder less thoroughfare where we
inhale diesel fumes, get blown off the road by large trucks, get lost, cycle
into a head wind, get sprayed by insecticides, wonder if it is going to rain,
and hope that we will be able to find food and lodging given it is a long
weekend. Nothing is perfect, and for now we feel that the advantages of cycling
far outweigh the disadvantages.
Our riding leads us next to the Pont du Gard which is a massive Roman aqueduct
built over 2000 years ago. It is around a hundred meters high, 300 meters
across, and still stands in almost perfect condition! It made a great stop for a
picnic. It would have made an even better stop if we would have remembered that
everything closes down between noon and three. Instead of fine breads, cheeses
and pastries, our picnic consisted of splitting an apple and a tube of heavily
sweetened condensed milk (which is tastier than it sounds).
The Pont du Gard seems to be some sort of Mecca for cycle tourists. After having
seen very few on the rest of our journeys, we ran into what seemed like hundreds
- all heading in the direction of the Pont du Gard.
As we continued cycling, we rode through the very scenic and surprisingly green
mountains and river gorges just north of Montpellier. The villages here still
seem very traditional, and the hills are filled with the crumbling remains of
ancient fortifications. When riding through the mountain towns (especially
around lunch time), they often seem eerily deserted. Only the smell of delicious
french food wafting from the homes gives any indication of life at all. Other
villages like the scenic Roman town of St Guilhem Le Desert are quite the
opposite, with the hordes of tourists from all over Europe and beyond that
descend upon them.
As we descended into the plains, the fortified dwellings of the mountains gave
way to more the more sprawling estates of the vineyards. Also, the towns began
to change their character. While they still have their ancient churches, the
history of the towns are cleverly disguised by the industry and modern buildings
that have sprung up around them.
After our fifth day of riding, the new scenery and the end of the train strike
indicated that it was time for a change of pace. Using very scientific methods,
I decided that the left side of my body is tanned enough, so we needed to find a
west->east cycle route to start tanning the right side of my body. I have
rather amusing tan lines right now, and they are the reverse image of Zen's (me
with short sleeves and cycling gloves, and Zen with long sleeves and bare
hands). The Loire Valley route fits the west->east criteria, so we booked our
train tickets from Narbonne to Blois. This time, we were unable to find trains
that allowed our bikes to travel with us, so we sent them on to Blois where they
will arrive in 2-3 days. Not wanting to hang out in Blois waiting for our bikes,
we hopped on a train to Paris.
