Paris to Versailles 1996

A friend of ours found time in lockdown to go through some old photos and came up with these, from September 1996, my first ever visit to France. I went with the running club I'd joined just a few months previous to run a race between the Eiffel tower and the Palace of Versailles, a distance of about 15 km, or a little over nine miles. One of the the best weekends I've ever had cost me about £200 if I remember right.

We took a train from Newcastle to London, then got the brand new Eurostar to Paris. A lot of the trip is a blur for a number of reasons. I know we had to register for the race but I don't remember doing this. I vaguely remember the cheap hotel rooms we had. 

This was the first big race I'd ever done. The race began under the Eiffel Tower and (as they said) typical of the French, it began about an hour late. This meant a lot of people needed to pee, having intended to begin fully hydrated. I remember loads of plastic bottles filled with urine along the start. Also trees draped with discarded clothing and plastic bags, worn to keep warm at the start. I was pleased to know that race organisers would collect the debris and donate the clothes to charity.

Bill ran along side me as I wasn't experienced at races. I remember a lot of forests and him making me walk up the hills, to be sure I'd manage the distance. We arrived at the finish after who knows how long. My main recollection is of tall wrought iron fences in front of grand buildings. 

Somewhere I have more photos from the finish. Everyone was very pleased to be at Versailles. Kath was especially pleased because she had traded her club t-shirt with a guy who gave her his French Foreign Legion t-shirt. She felt she'd definitely come out ahead.

I'm guessing a bus must have returned us all to Paris. As soon as we'd showered and changed Jane, who was familiar with Paris, took us to an amazing restaurant, Le Bouillion Chartier.  The queue was long, but worth the wait in the ind. The food was great, but one thing that stuck in my mind was that the waiter scribbled your order on your paper table cloth in a very nonchalant fashion. Also, the men's loo was in a corner with only a waist-high door, a big surprise. Fortunately, the ladies room had more cover.

The next time Bill and I went to Paris, we went back to Chartier and it didn't disappoint. I remember on that trip an elegant older woman in a fur stole, heels and what looked like an alligator bag walked past with such a slow, deliberate walk one couldn't not watch her. The whole restaurant stopped to watch her. 

After our group of 10-12 runners finished eating, we hit the town. Jane was our tour guide and we walked everywhere. Nothing was open, but we went and gawked at it anyhow. I remember the Seine and the Louvre and Notre Dame. I remember being really tired after the race and full of food and red wine. I think this anaesthetic was the only reason I could continue walking until 3 am. 

Somewhere near Notre Dame cathedral there was a mime who caught our attention. He appeared to be a very short gentleman standing on a trash can. He was very engaging and pulled all sorts of stunts to amuse us. Somehow I ended up standing near him for a photo and he signalled that he wanted a kiss on his cheek. After much insistence on his part, I stretched up to peck his cheek and he turned his face at the last second, surprising all of us. That got the biggest laugh. The only Frenchman I've ever kissed.

At one point in our wanderings I was desperate for a loo and everyone told me to just squat between two parked cars; they said everyone in Paris did that. I argued that I might be in Paris but I was still an American and I just couldn't do that. Fortunately Jane knew where there was a 24-hour McDonald's and it turned out I wasn't the only one.

We travelled back the next day on the train and celebrated Jane's birthday. We had the train car to ourselves. I stayed awake long enough to have some cake and toast her birthday and then I was out for the rest of the train journey. Somewhere there are some dreadful photos of me unconscious, with my head down on the table. I don't care, I had such a great time.

Anchovy Sauce

So, this is sort of about France, but not really. The photo is a front door in Bourdeaux (Drome) France (not Bordeaux the big city in Western France). 

I always let myself buy a few magazines to while away the driving hours. I've also discovered the joys of bullet journals, though I am in no way as dedicated as some. As a compulsive note-taker this has been quite satisfying.

So, I read and took notes on (English) magazines while we were in France. I also made a notebook, but that's another post.

Wanting to eat more oily fish, which are healthy, and having survived a venture into (ick) anchovy eating via a recipe on The Frugal Scholar, I bought more anchovies, but didn't remember to bring the recipe (and didn't think to look it up). I happened across one in a magazine and scribbled it down.

Bill asked what on earth we were going to do with the anchovies and I brought forth this recipe:

Anchovy Sauce for 6

75 ml olive oil, 3 cloves garlic (minced), 150 g anchovies (drained), 1/2 tsp chilli flakes

Heat olive oil on low heat (it burns easily), add anchovies which "melt" in the heat; add minced garlic and chilli flakes. Serve over pasta.

Simple enough. Bill was cooking so he used the olive oil the anchovies came in. And he halved the ingredients more or less for just us two.

We did something (else) odd: we took our bathroom scales with us on holiday in France. We've both been losing weight slowly and I really didn't want to find it all again while we were away. Weighing faithfully each morning kept us conscious of our choices.

The weather being really warm, we had protein and a big salad most nights. The night(s) we had anchovies over 'pasta', there was a handful of bow-shaped pasta in there, but it was mostly strips of courgette (aka zucchini). 

When I was a teenager working in pizza places I really hated handling those anchovies and I never ate one until recent years. They are very 'fishy', but having met and loved smoked salmon, I don't really mind 'fishy' and in addition, anchovies are oily and very salty. Oil and salt are two of my favourite food groups, so while I wouldn't have anchovy sauce every night, it is a reasonable dish on 'fish' night.

Mountains and Matisse

Unlike our first trip to Nice we didn't see as many sights but lived more like locals, going for a run (Bill ran 90% of days, I did about 30%), fetching groceries, cooking at home.

We did do two tourist trips, one to see the mountains on a train trip between Nice and Digne. It was a little silly, really, travelling for 3 hours to have lunch and then return. 

An enviable vegetable patch.

Having lived in Salt Lake City I wasn't as taken with the scenery as Bill. 





And had I Googled before and seen all these train wreck photos I probably wouldn't have gone at all! But there are some mountain pictures in there too in case you're interested.  

The patio eating area. Only one train per day between Nice & Digne, so maybe not as strange to live on the railway as one might think.

I liked the little train stations, some of which were residential with their own vegetable plots, chicken houses and laundry lines. 

Le Var River

Another day we went to the Matisse Museum, which amazingly was free for visitors from England! 

A large, well-used park by the Matisse museum in Nice.

I'm not a huge fan of the work for which Matisse seems most famous - his Odalisque pictures. There had been an article in a Sunday magazine about his paper cut outs period where he employed young girls to place the bits he cut out on large posters. Not excited about those either.  However, some of his line drawings are stunning in their simplicity.  Some of his last work was to decorate the Rosary Chapel at Vence and there is a large sketch of a robed man that was also lovely in its simplicity.

Bill pointed out a painting of Christ's body after the crucifixion, done in the classical style. I can't find a copy of it, though there is a pale skeletal version, but that's not at all like the one I saw. This one painted Christ as a muscular, tanned man and in spite of all the wounds and that I don't much like religious art, this was beautiful, in dark rich colours. Even Picasso knew how to paint in this style, so I gather it was the starting point of most painters whatever they chose to do later.

However, my soul is moved by textiles first and always. There was a very simple blue and gold robe, featured in some painting, that Bill and I spent 20 minutes trying to figure how it was woven and then constructed. We never really worked it out. The robe looked as though a rectangular piece started at the waist in front, went over the head and ended at the waist in the back, with a hole for the neck. The side seams only allowed a space sufficient for the hands. The waist seam attached an equally rectangular skirt. What was remarkable was the print that had been woven or manipulated to decorate the shoulders, the waist and the hem. But this was just a passing interest for me.

My very favourite thing in the whole museum was an enormous piece of needlework, about 10' tall and probably about that wide or more. I remember three large arches within a rectangular frame of fabric. The same motif of flower covered the whole thing, the frame being applique and solid but the arches being shaped cut outs. Each petal shaped hole was no larger than the circle I can make with my finger and thumb - and each and every hole was bound with beige fabric. It looked to be a simple muslin fabric that had been hand dyed in blue and red but for the beige; in places the blue was more green and perhaps it was all green originally. 

It was so old - much patched in places - it was hard to tell. Whatever it once was it was still to me a glorious creation of patience and skill. I'm sad that the only picture I can find is from a book, shared on this blog. I'm definitely going to have to come back to this blog and do some browsing! In fact, I think it is this wall hanging on the cover of the book!

That's the hanging in his studio window, this sort of piece is made from jute and it's called a haiti, according to another blog.

Isn't it beautiful?

Another Tote for Nice

I had just enough time between our invitation to Nice and our flight to make the tote bag I'd long intended to make for Marie. I'd taken away a small piece of a pink striped apron, that Ben was going to use as a rag, which this project in mind. But of course come the day I couldn't find it. 




I had a list of colours in mind for Marie, but strangely this bag seemed to have a mind of its own and turned out quite a bit darker and with more tactile fabrics than I'd initially envisioned. Or perhaps I just didn't have enough of the other colours and textiles. 




In any case, we left this, a book about being environmentally friendly which had amused me - they are both very interested in environmental issues, some coasters and a Yorkshire/Tour de France hat for Ben and Marie. We didn't get to see Ben and Marie this time, EasyJet's flights made us leave the day before their return.

These coaster are great fun to make! I thought of these as 'southwest' (as in US) colours.

I'm told Ben thought his book a bit silly (the British humour no doubt) but had already learned some things from it and Marie loved her bag. Mission accomplished!

The blue bit is from some fabric I took for an applique project that didn't happen. A paper bread bag cut into a long strip and made into a 'pom pom bow' as above.

Three strips of plastic bag braided for the 'ribbon'; a longer strip made into a 'pom pom bow'. Reminds me of lettuce, but green seemed an appropriate colour for a book called Shades of Green, eh?

They also liked the wrapping. I'd used my usual brown paper to wrap all but the hat (which Bill had already packed). I'd intended to take either some ribbon or some tissue pom poms (great because you can make them up and leave flat in the suitcase until ready to fluff up and put on the package), but I'd run out of time. I could have bought something but you know that's not how I roll, so instead I raided their stash of plastic and paper bags. I thought they wouldn't mind, it being an environmentally friendly thing to do and all.

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And BTW, Happy Birthday to my friend Ruby, my cousin Clay and my lovely sister-in-law Jane! 21 Sep must be a most auspicious date!

Nice Again!

We were invited back to cat sit in Nice again this year. 

The 'grosse' ginger cat is Lily, Marie's first cat. Lily has a lovely trilling voice, is very affectionate and eats non-stop.

The weather was cooler and it rained a few times, saving us the chore of hauling buckets of water down two flights to aloe vera plants left by a deceased old lady. They are planted in flower beds leading down to the gated parking area but Marie claims responsibility for them.

Marie's role seems to be to adopt feline and vegetative orphans in their apartment building.

This lovely lady is called Scratch, the French term for Velcro. She did in fact lose two claws in the fleece cover of the couch during our stay. We're told she pushed her way into Marie's household last year, insisting on being adopted. Scratch is very affectionate but last year was fighting Lily every night; she is now definitely the Top Cat in that flat.

Perhaps this was why we were able to pick up and leave keys with kindly French ladies on other floors; Marie is no doubt known throughout in the building.

This is Fifi, the newest member of the family. She looks very like Scratch - a lot of the outdoor cats look similarly - except she has no ginger on her back. She gets different food and seemed to squawk rather than meow to let us know she was ready to be fed. Her voice made me think 'whiskey and cigarettes.'.

This time we were there for 10 days, much easier than three weeks. Unlike last year, we lived more like locals. There was only one tourist-y thing we did, to visit the Matisse museum. Oh, I lie, we did a scenic train journey as well.

Fifi is a master at hiding...

Having taken the tram for the first time I discovered a whole different shopping area, the one with the luxury brand names, the big shopping mall that is open in August, unlike the small businesses last year where I had hoped to buy shoes and fabric.

If there is another invitation next year I will enjoy window shopping in that area no doubt. Also, my small shoe size (5.5 US, 3 UK, 36 EU) is more likely to be stocked in European shops than British.


There was a third cat this time, adopted after a death. They hadn't decided on a name Fifi or Fidele, but we called her Fifi - when we finally found her. It was three days before we spotted her streaking across the living room when the other two cats were in our laps. Such a relief - I was convinced she had escaped or died in a corner or something.

We learned two new things on this trip: there is a bus stop just outside the airport that could save us 10 Euros if we could manage to find it again; and if there is another trip we will take along a clothes brush. We enjoyed the lovely warm weather but it's a relief not to be covered in cat hair!

Campaign Furniture

I've been wandering through page after page of drafted blogs, thinking I ought to either delete or publish them.  We'll see how that goes.

We run into campaign furniture here and their  there (what is this - sign of old age?) on our travels.  This was drafted because we saw it on our last trip to France, when we camped at Loches, in the Loire Valley. We visited the village one market day and were fascinated by a collection of campaign furniture for sale.  I'm not sure why I didn't take photos, unless the gruff people at the Nice flea market had made me shy. 

I think the first place I met campaign furniture will have been in the Old Government House in Parramatta, New South Wales. I remember a bed and a chest in a small bedroom and the story about a freed slave, a valet, George Jarvis. He had travelled with his employer during a military compaign in his native India. The bed folded up for ease in moving and I think the night stand had drawer locks and handles to carry it, effectively making it a trunk.

We saw it again in Napoleon's part of Fontainbleau (a different trip to Loches) or at least it was mentioned.   Of course, 'campaign' is as in going to war and following the battles, not as in running for political office. It was supposedly in relation to his office, but I don't see anything that looks remotely campaign-ish to me in the photos I took at Fontainbleau.  A better idea of his campaign furniture is shown here.

Napoleon's 'office'. I suppose that bed might come apart fairly easily...

Then one day this lady ran this incredible post explaining the term. I shared the link with Bill, knowing he'd appreciate the beauty and utility of these pieces.

And just now, in looking up images for this very post, I found this website, that also talks about this type of furniture.  Though the painted versions make me shudder, I thought it interesting that the butler's tray on the stand constituted campaign.  I know just where I could get one of those!

Bea's Gardens

Yes, there is an 's' on that word, gardens.  I came away from the Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild thinking there were seven gardens, but I can't name them all.  The website seems to list far more than seven, so perhaps it took seven years to landscape the place.  It wouldn't be hard to believe.

I do remember that there was a Rose Garden, mostly with pink roses.  I can tell you that there was an exquisite smelling rose called Rosa Fragonard, Hybride de thé Delbard.  I'm not alone in thinking it was heaven.  According to the World Rose Society, this rose was voted by the public as the most fragrant.  As Heather recently said...The Things You Learn Here...

There was also a Japanese Garden, with lines traced in the pebbles surround the rocks and a veritable forest of bamboo.

One of my favourites was the Stone Garden.  I seem to remember a bit of wrought iron there, too.  Just as the furniture inside the villa was all seemingly of historic significance, I'm sure that the stone monuments were hijacked from various priories or cathedrals.  

My hat is off to the garden landscapers, though.  Excepting the Cactus Garden, it was all completely delightful; neither of us is keen on plants that stab and rarely flower.  The layout was very much like walking from room to room, with no boring bits in between.  There were no angles that weren't camera-worthy.  It was actually a garden that lived up to the house.

The best bit was at the end, though, when we came back towards the villa to find the fountains were tied in with a selection of classical music.  It was all very restful and a much needed rest, too, after all that walking around.

That screen-like structure originally had glass panels to shield
the garden from the winds. The glass had to come out as too many birds were being
killed, flying into the wall they couldn't see.

When the symphony finished I sat looking around, thinking how lucky we were to have seen this wonderful place.