Saints Be Praised in England: El Túnel - Part Trois

We make it back to Dolce Vita after our craptastic day and the electricity is still gone in the teeny kitchen. Our perishible foods are now tanking. But the house is heating up and we are tired. We would have called the numbers for the rental company, but still no phones. We've gotta do that tomorrow. It is cozy and sweet and there's TV! It's in French, but the boys and I are desperate for mindless entertainment so we settle down to watch a show about a guardian angel starring a woman who is a little person. We are hooked.

I took two years of French when I lived in Mexico from my beautiful French-Canadian friend, Magali. She was a great teacher even though Titi, Sophia and I did our best to bulldoze the class with endless chatting in Spanish. Magali gently said, "In French, please..." But really, how do you say "pendeja" in French??? I learned a smidge and was the worst student of the three of us. A few years ago, Mike and I took a trip to Paris and were able to have lunch with the parents of a friend Cecile, who lives in Tucson. Her mother spoke two drops of English and I spoke a drop of French. For some reason I decided to tackle the subject their son-in-law Mike had shared with me, that when he and Cecile lived in Paris, many years ago they were very happy. They have great memories of Paris, but their life took them to Tucson.

I never managed to learn the past tense, so I said to Cecile's mother, who is desperately missing her daughter..."Mike loves to live in Paris, yesterday!"

Collette almost choked, grabbed her husband's arm and stammered that I just told her that Mike and Cecile want to return to Paris!! It was awkward.

I have to tell one other story from that day before I return to 2010.

When we called Cecile's parents they invited us to their house...do you want to come over Saturday morning? Ummm, ok, could you be more specific? Do you want us there at 0800 or closer to noon? Collette answered very casually, how about 11:00? Great! We took a train to their neighborhood and found their house that used to be a store with upstairs living quarters. Very cool. They are both artists and fascinating people. We were smitten from the get go.

When we arrived Collette asked almost absent mindedly, "do you want to have lunch?" Yes please, we love eat with yous.

Collette goes into her mysterious kitchen area behind a door and comes out with a board with saucissons and cornichons and radis and beurre and sel and pain and of course, vin. Yummers! We dig in and I gather that more food is coming from my inch of French. I am not paying a lot of attention to Mike because I am straining to understand anything and then to speak with any degree of coherence. He is pigging out, because as far as he knows, this is lunch. And it is absolutely delicious! Mike ate loads of everything.

Next Collette returns to her kitchen and comes out with a gorgeous quiche. It is massive and delectable and there is a salad along side. I am lost in the French and the wine and the company and the food. At some point Mike leans over and asks if I want to share a second serving of quiche. No way! I detect a hint of desperation, but I'm busy.

Next course was Cecile's father Ouanes' special squid dish from his home country of Tunisia. What a treat! Ouanes is charming and friendly and enthusiastic. He piled a mountain of squid on our plates, loaded our glasses with more wine and brought out more bread. Mmmmmmm. Also delicious. Mike blinks and Ouanes serves him another plate.

Next course, cheese. "We know you Americans don't really like cheese, so we are only serving a small amount..." As they place the tray with four large hunks of cheese in front of us, more bread, more wine...Mike is approaching Mr. Creosote, the man from the Monty Python movie, The Meaning of Life, who explodes after devouring a huge meal. Remember, "...and don't skimp on the paté!"?

"Shall we have dessert in the garden?''

It was a beautiful blancmange, and for those of you who don't know, it is a jiggley white jello-like treat. Mike was sweating bullets when Ouanes hauled out Tunisian strawberry preserves, obviously a special addition. And he nearly heaved when Ouanes served him a bowl of blancmange, with about 4 spoonfuls of preserves on top (the proverbial, wafer thin mint). I shot poor Mike a look, as he looked at me, begging me to make this bowl of love go away. Sorry. Dessert was delicious, the coffee was perfect, the day was sunny and the garden was delightful.

Back to 2010. The boys begged me to translate the guardian angel program. I was useless and they were very annoyed. The excitement for me came later when I changed the channel and discovered that Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice was on TV!! The latest version, with Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen. It was also in French, but who cares. We saw the last 20 minutes of it, sooooo goooood. I love Jane Austen... Personally, I feel like I am Elizabeth married to Mr. Darcy, but my friend Robin Hiller, who may be a bigger JA fan insists that I am Jane and Mike is Bingley. She say's Mike is too nice, too friendly, too happy to be Mr. D...

Anyway, to make a long story longer, Mike manages to have a hot shower and the four little bears go to sleep.

In the morning we throw away our rotting food and discover there is no hot water.

But we have things to do!! I have my list and it is time to go. Off to Nantes, the home of Anne of Brittany (1477 - 1514), who was forced to marry the king of France, Charles VIII at 13 years of age after her father Francis II, Duke of Brittany died. She was widowed at 21, and was then married to the successor Louis XII, which was the agreement made at the time of her marriage to Charles. She was a patron of the arts, supporting artists and writers. She had nine children, but only two were alive at her death at the age of 37. Doesn't that blow? She ordered that her heart be returned to Brittany on her death, and it is placed in a gold reliquary in a beautiful tomb that holds the remains of her parents.

We drove two and a half hours and on our arrival to Nantes we ducked into a tiny restaurant that serves roast chicken, potatoes, roast chicken sandwiches, dessert and nothing else. Mike and I each ordered the quarter chicken and potatoes. The woman serving us poured on a bit of juicy goodness and we were in heaven. I am now obsessed with roasting chicken and if you have any fabulous chicken roasting recipes or tips please send them my way! Michael and Dominic made due with chicken sandwiches, apples, Orangina for Michael and apple juice for the little man. They are growing a bit weary of a life without mac n cheese, but I am amazed by their willingness to go with the flow. Part of my mission here is to broaden their taste buds, or at least restrict them from McDonalds, mac n cheese, etc. So far, pretty good.

The Chateau des Duc de Bretagne was great. We stuck to the walk along the walls and missed the museum, which made me a little sad. It is hard traveling with little ones having to limit our consumption of the history and culture, but I have to come to terms with the middle road, where they can get their yayas out. We experienced Brittany Lite. It makes me ache a little.

Chateau des Ducs de Bretagne
Anne of Brittany was born here and it is a possible sight for the signing in 1598 of the Edict of Nantes by Henry IV of France that granted civil rights to Protestants,
including protection for French Protestants from the Inquisition while traveling abroad.
Pope Clement VIII declared, "this crucifies me."

The Ducal Palace, Grand Gouvernement

Michael

Thick stone walls with gaps to ponder.
In this castle the infamous Gilles de Rais, Bluebeard, was imprisoned and tried for sorcery in 1440.

Can you see the two faces?

Tour du Port

Next we visited the Cathédrale de St. Pierre et St. Paul, which contains the tomb of Francis II and his wife Marguerite de Foix, and the heart of Anne. It also contains the remains of his first wife Marguerite de Bretagne...cozy... The tomb is remarkable. It is surrounded by four statues representing the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, temperance and courage. The statue of prudence has two faces, one of a young woman, and on the back of her head is an old man's face. All of the cardinal virtues are depicted as young women, and I have read that the virtue of justice is modeled after Anne.

In the Cathédral St. Pierre et St. Paul, the tomb of Francis II and Marguerite de Foix.
Carved by Michel Colombe in 1507. Contains the heart of Anne of Brittany.
The boys were disappointed that we were unable to see a red, bloody heart.

I'm enchanted by sculptures of breastfeeding mothers. I adore the tenderness and mother's love
and I also feel it shows great power and strength.
Cathédral St. Pierre et St. Paul

Cathédral St. Pierre et St. Paul

Then we walked to the medieval neighborhood close to the cathedral and chateau, to the street called Rue de la Juiverie, which is tiny and easy to miss. There is an ancient half timbered house that is gorgeous, and at the end of the street is the 17th century church St. Croix. It is described as a typical church of a shipbuilding town, naiively decorated, a church of the people. I loved it, there were quite a few older people sitting in silence and we popped in, blessed ourselves with daubs of holy water and sat for a moment. Took turns thanking God for our families and each other and then we popped out.

Rue de la Juiverie, Number 7
Ancient half timbered house
Supposedly called the Rabbi's house by local residents,
the jews were violently chased out of Nantes in 1240.

Peeking into mail slot at number 7, Rue de la Juiverie

Taking a break outside Rabbi's house.
At the end of the street is the church St. Croix

Outside church St. Croix, Michael is holding new cell phone charger and notice signs of garbage strike.
There were piles of garbage all over Nantes.

There was more I wanted to do in Nantes, but a pastry shop beckoned, and we had to get on the road after picking out a few eclaires. Two and a half hours to drive back, and we needed to get gas, which was very hit and miss. Gazole was on our minds all week.

And Dolce Vita beckoned! Not really, still no hot water, no electicity in the kitchen, no easy way to eat or keep food from rotting. Tomorrow is another day, right!?

It's tomorrow and now the upstairs toilet is catastrophically clogged. I look carefully at the guest book and can distinguish a complaint about a clogged upstairs loo...caca, pedo, pun!! And the water is officially FREEZING. I boiled as much as I could to get a reasonable rinse, and with Mike's new phone charger we called the rental company and caretaker who said someone would be over in 20 minutes to take care of everything. Nice!

Twenty minutes later I hear a pale knock on our door and peek out to see a young guy, maybe 14 years old. He was definitely older than 12, because his voice had started to change, and I thought I could detect some darker fuzz on his upper lip. But to be fair, he could have been 13.