Chartres and the Labyrinth

The cathedral looms over the welcoming square.

Sculpture in the welcome square

Ever since I can remember I have always wanted to walk labyrinths, especially the one at Chartres.  Now that I live in France, there is no excuse not to make this dream a reality, but it seemed a little extravagant to go to Paris just to take the side trip to Chartres.  When my friend Jennifer contacted me and suggested we meet in Paris during her spring break, I said yes and immediately booked train tickets to Chartres.

From the cathedral grounds

This famous cathedral town is about an hour and 15 minutes southwest of Paris.  I left Gare Montparnasse a little past 8 in the morning and arrived in Chartres a little past 9.  I so enjoyed gawking at the different scenery and architecture.  The houses are narrow and long and buildings are grouped in kind of rectangles, and enclosed by what looked like shoulder-high walls. I could see this interior space being filled once upon a time with chickens and livestock and a potager--a kitchen garden.  In modern days, this enclosure would probably be parking spots.  

One entrance with high school students on the outside steps

See the "new" addition to the rear--lighter in color

There were lots of woods and the ever-present mistletoe.  Winter is still much in evidence, although little brave patches of forsythia promise that spring can't be that far away.  Browns, greys, relieved by dark green mistletoe bundles and the broad expanse of planted fields turning emerald made up the palette of the train trip.  Imagine, all of this was once the King's land!

The outside labyrinth

Chartres itself was nearly deserted.  There were some school groups, but few people in the shops or restaurants.  I asked the lady in the cathedral gift shop to recommend a place for lunch.  She did so--a creperie on Rue de la Serpent--an ominous name, but a wonderful meal.  (I ran into the lady later on the street and she asked if I had enjoyed my lunch!)

One of the rose windows

David is at the center of this window

After lunch, I poked around in some of the shops.  It felt a bit odd, because I am accustomed to things being closed for lunch.  I bought some local delicacies to send to my sister and then happened upon an antique shop that was open.  What marvelous things he had,,,I could have had a lovely Pisaro drawing for a mere 700 Euros.  I found, and settled for, a beautiful midnight blue pot for not 700 Euros.  It was going to be a pain to lug it home, but sometimes one must lug.

Th cross seems to float

Very effective placement

There's no mistaking the cathedral--it looms over the city.  I descended the train and proceeded to climb the hill.  You don't need a map to find it--you can't miss it if you look up.  There were some high schoolers obviously on a spring break trip, boisterous and preening.  I was hoping to be where ever they were not.  

not yet cleaned

cleaned and restored

The cathedral is wondrous.  It might be my favorite of all the big cathedrals I have visited.  The owner--I suppose the local diocese--is spending money to clean and refurbish it, and the difference between work completed and work not yet done is striking.  Ornate carvings all over the inside in the ambulatory tell Biblical stories.  There are 3 rose windows of beauty, (but I like the ones in Saint Nazaire here in Carcassonne a little better).  

Side by side before and after--all those centuries of candle smoke wiped away

The school groups that were inside were quiet for the most part and respectful of those who came into the sanctuary for prayer, reflection and meditation.  They took turns with their photos and tried to not be in the way of others' photo opportunities.  I have seen adults who were not as well-behaved.

Church workers were decorating the cross with greenery  and flowers for Palm Sunday and Easter.  Every branch was placed just so, in the French way.

decorating the cross with greenery

But what I went there for was the labyrinth.  It is open to pilgrims to walk only on Fridays, as Chartres is a working cathedral with multiple masses every day.  But on Friday mornings, at around 10:00, the sacristans move the chairs that cover up the twists and turns of the path and we are able to walk it. 

chairs cover the path

When I first arrived, the chairs were still in place and I busied myself with photographs of the cathedral interior.  After I had completed a turn around the ambulatory, I saw that the chairs had been moved and people were in various stages of walking the path.

walking the path in meditative silence

my feet on the path

Nobody was in a hurry....there was no "passing."  And yet, there wasn't any sense of impatience...either we were all walking at about the same pace, or people, as I was, were so lost in their own meditation that passing other people to hurry up and get to the center never crossed their (or my) mind.  Some walked barefoot.  Some had their hands clasped in prayer.  Even though the "lanes" are narrow, people pretty much stuck to the path.  People were silent.  It felt wrong to stop to take a photo, so I very surreptitiously just pointed the camera at the ground and hoped for the best.  

The center

What a metaphor for life....you go along for relatively long, smooth stretches of pavement, and then abruptly turn.  You pass people in the next lane going the other way, but yet toward the same goal.  They are just in a different place.  Sometimes you converge at a switchback with other people, you connect for a moment and then head off in different directions. Sometimes I would step in the "ditch," as my feet are much bigger than those of the pilgrims who walked it 900 years ago.  And yes, once in a while you meet someone going the wrong way.  I wonder what their lives must be like.

I fell in love with this angel sundial

Reaching the center and standing there was a powerful moment.  We are all trying to get back to the center, or at least I know I am.  The walk is an act of prayer, of meditation.  I am so happy to have done this.

TGV With Me?

Along the Canal out of Toulouse

I had planned a trip to Paris for some time and purchased the tickets in early February.  I would meet up with a friend, Jen,  from our old lives back in Brookings, where we both worked for the school district.  She is now teaching in Russia, after a stint in some schools in China.  She and a colleague were planning to spend part of their spring break in Paris and she invited me to meet up with them.  I had been wanting a little get-away to Paris, with a side trip to Chartres, so I jumped at the chance to connect and catch up with her.

Canal paralleling the river

A week or so before I was to take the TGV up the 'east' side, through Lyon, there were notices in all the media outlets that there was a big strike by the railroad workers planned for the day of my scheduled departure.  I hemmed and hawed whether or not to have an adventure and travel on strike day, or to play it a little safer (but costlier) and leave a day earlier.  In the end, cost be damned, I decided to leave before the planned action. 

Either gorse (ughh) or broom--too fast to really tell

My new ticket, however, took a different TGV route to Paris.  Instead of going up the "east" side through Lyon, I would be traveling up the west-center, from Carcassonne to Toulouse and then to Bordeaux and from there to Paris.  I was going to get to see a different part of the country, and was glad to do so.  I scurried around and got myself ready to leave a day earlier than planned and off I set.

The soil is a different color

The day for travel was sunny, but it's been cold, and snowy.  I was amazed to see snow onthe Montagnes Noires all the way down to the bottom of the slopes.  The snow-peaks of the Pyrenees gleamed in the far distant southwest.  We've had plenty of wild weather in the south here this winter.

One form of energy generation

And another

I also took advantage of the last minute senior special offer and bought first class TGV tickets for only 5 Euros more.  In reality, there's not all that much difference between first and second class, except that first class is very, very quiet.  I don't think there was a single child in any of the cars marked first class.  Call me a curmudgeon, but I like the peace and quiet and being able to look out the window and meditate. 

A little country cottage in the distance

I didn't get any photos of the Carcassonne to Toulouse leg of the journey; I have made that so many times that I practically have it memorized.  But I did take quite a few from the moving train from Toulouse to Paris.  As I said, this was new territory for me.

Beautiful prosperous looking farm country

We followed the Canal for quite a long while.  The water seems bluer there than in Carcassonne, where it is mostly green.  And sometimes the Canal paralleled a rather large river.  Near Bordeaux, I did get the feeling I was near the sea, and expected to see it at any moment.  I wish I could have had the window open to see if I could have smelled it, to see if the Atlantic smells different than the Mediterranean.  I will save that for another trip.

I was surprised at how few vineyards I could see in the Bordeaux region, especially given the fame of its wine.  Here in the Languedoc, vineyards cover nearly every square meter.  Soon the soil took on a different color and the vegetation changed.  I saw what looked like gorse growing along the railroad tracks, but couldn't get a decent photo.  The train was moving too fast. 

The ride is so smooth that you don't realize how fast you are moving until you come upon an auto-route and realize that those cars and trucks are probably traveling at 60-75 miles per hour and you are smoothly and relatively silently leaving them in the dust.  Bordeaux to Paris in just a little over 2 hours is astonishing.  

Collection of buildings surrounded by fields

There was plenty of farmland to see.  The farms in this part of France look bigger and more prosperous than the ones here in the Languedoc.  Here in the south they seem scrappier and smaller.  From the train window I saw great swathes of green and brown in every shade imaginable.

Spring seemed a little behind us here--the snow notwithstanding.  The flowering trees were putting forth blossoms and the forsythia was also making quite a showing.  Both have been out for some time here.  There was still plenty of winter browns and greys.  Mistletoe was everywhere, some of it so low-hanging that a toddler could have reached up and plucked it.  

Scads of mistletoe--sorry for the blur, but photos at 100 mph are hard for me

I am sure I appeared quite the gawker, but I am far, far past caring about what other people think. On the ride home, which brought me down the "east" side, the way I have always come from and gone to Paris, I never even glanced out the window.  It was a pleasant enough journey, at least until reaching Beziers, where I had to transfer to a regional TER train.  Both the one to Narbonne and the one from Narbonne to Carcassonne were packed to the gills and there is no assigned seating on the TER's.   I made some jackass move who had hogged 4 seats for himself....really???!!! Look around you, buddy, people are standing and he somehow thought it was okay to have 4 seats all to himself?  Unless he paid for 4 seats, and I highly doubt that, I wasn't going to let him get away with it.  I got a seat!

So, I made a big circle journey from Carcassonne.  I will try to get that trip through Bordeaux the next time I travel to Paris--it's clean, fast and comfortable. All the things train travel ought to be.

Chocolate Cake

9 and 1/2 inch French chocolate cake

The second contest for the best chocolate cake by amateur bakers happened yesterday.  Sponsored by the Club Prosper Montagne and the Lions Club, the Salon du Chocolat opened around noon and runs through this Sunday afternoon.  There are all manner of vendors selling chocolate, wine that pairs well with chocolate, and other sweets.  I don't especially like chocolate, and that dislike seems to grow with each passing year.  I know, I know, everyone, especially a woman, is supposed to adore the stuff.  But I much prefer a good vanilla custard....creme brulee for instance, or Hagen Daas vanilla ice cream.  Oh well, that's life.

first test cake--inedible.  Too bitter

But I do like to bake and once in a while I want a piece of cake.  Not a whole cake, mind you, but a slice once every two or three months really hits the spot.  When that craving comes upon me, I make a cake, have a slice and give the rest away.  My neighbors and the guys at the butcher shop seem to think it's a good arrangement.

Fruit to hide the canyon-sized crack

Last year, I made a chocolate cake with Guinness and entered it in the first chocolate cake contest.  The first words out of the judge's mouth were, "I don't like Guinness."  Doomed from the start.  

This year, I decided to actually try to make a real French chocolate cake, which bears no resemblance to the delightful old-fashioned Hershey's cocoa layer cake.  French chocolate cakes are dense, with almost no crumb,  a combinations of eggs, butter and chocolate with maybe a sneeze of flour.  

Drop-off time

To sum up--I made 4 chocolate cakes in 2 weeks; the first three were tests.  I experimented with the percentage of cocoa in the chocolate bars--85% is much too bitter.  I experimented with baking times and temperatures--my oven likes to cook everything at 400, no matter what setting I dial in.  Low and slow gave the best results.  

Judging time

I got up early on contest day--I had done the prep work (greasing the pan, chopping the chocolate and butter, measuring the dry ingredients) the night before.  The first egg I separated didn't exactly separate and I ended up with yolk in the whites and everyone knows that they won't whip....I needed 5 eggs separated and I had only 5 eggs left, so you'd best believe I was very careful with the rest. And I ate the first one, scrambled, for breakfast.

Recipe--what recipe?

The cake turned out fine, if you don't count the big crack across the end where the cooling rack wasn't big enough to support it.  I covered the canyon with fresh strawberries--they are coming into season now--and an orange slice twisted into a spiral....the sauce I made to go with the cake was fresh strawberries cooked with Grand Marnier.  I got it onto a serving plate and on a tray to carry it to the competition site. Drop-off was at noon.

Tasting my entry

The ladies there took my cake, asked if I had filled out any papers with my name and phone number--no, I hadn't as they were my first contact with contest officials.  We found a little slip of paper and I gave them the details, was told the judging would be at 3;00.

I left and returned at 3 to a typical French scene of disorganization.  You either accept and work with this loosey-goosey way of doing things or stay out of the way; there's no changing it and trying to make it different will only result in frustration.  I thought the judging was over as they were bringing out the cakes at about 3;40.  It turned out that they were just beginning.  I was dismayed and disappointed that there were only 3 entries.  Last year there were 7 and I was surprised at how few there were then.  This year's showing was really sad.  At that point I learned that you were supposed to submit the recipe along with the cake---and I was recipe-less.  I wish someone had told me and I could have returned at judging time with my recipe, which I would have had to translate.  See what I mean?

Huddle to confer

I came in second out of 3---just in the middle.  One of the ladies working there came up to me and told me that she remembered me from last year and was pleased to see that I hadn't given up.  

Winning entry

The truth is that I didn't enter to win--I entered (and will continue to enter) because the losers get to confer with the judge.  It's like having a private lesson with the chef.  This year's chef/judge was billed as Frank Putelat, a local 2 Michelin starred-chef.  

Me and my non-chocolate prize

It turned out that Frank was nowhere in sight--his pastry chef, who looked to be about 15 years old was one of the judges.  Because there was all this chaos and everything was late, there was no time for us also-rans to confer with him.  

But no matter--I had a blast, and my consolation prize was NOT chocolate---it was a lovely bag of high end bath products.  The best of all possible outcomes!

Saturday Rhythms

Bounty from Saturday's market

Yesterday's Saturday market was especially memorable.  It wasn't the biggest nor the busiest I have experienced.  The sun wasn't shining as brightly as it often does.  Maybe it was the promise of a real spring just around the corner, or being able to walk around is shirtsleeves, without all the winter bundling, but it felt so good to be there. And listening to conversation around me and observing the faces of those passing by, I know I was not the only person there feeling joy.

Sunshine on a stalk

When I entered Place Carnot, I was greeted by the fragrance of the daffodils.  There were several vendors selling them, but I always buy from the young guys who have a table at the "lower" end of the market.  They also sell greenery in the Christmas season.  2.50 a bouquet...and so many people, men and women alike were sporting bunches of jonquilles in their baskets and carts.  On the way home, Ih walked behind some tall, strapping Frenchman, loping along with a bouquet of yellow clutched in his hand.  It was as if we all wanted to bring some of that sunshine into our homes for the weekend.  I bought one bunch; the man in line right after me bought two.

New season's spears

The asparagus vendors were busy.  One of the great things about not being able to get exactly what you want exactly when you want it, because it's not in season, is that you learn to truly appreciate things in their season.  It's hard to comprehend a vendor who sells only asparagus--after having grown up with the huge Safeway and Giant supermarkets.  But these vendors sell nothing but local asparagus; it's sorted by size and priced accordingly.  I bought some from this particular vendor last week and it was so good that it brought tears to my eyes.  This week I bought an entire kilo, but I was too late (10:30) to get the medium or small--they were all gone.  So I bought the larger, more expensive spears and was happy to pay the price.  It works out to about $4.40 a pound, and it's local and freshly picked.  I don't know what asparagus is costing in the US these days, but I can pretty much guarantee that it's NOT local, nor freshly picked.   

I had to have some more carrots--I have almost recreated the pureed carrots of the little Parisian hole-in-the wall restaurant.  Good carrots are the secret ingredient and these with the green tops still attached are pretty wonderful. Fortunately all I had to do was turn around from at the asparagus stand and there were the carrots.

Fresh eggs, butter and look at the size of those grapes!

I then decided I should get some eggs, as I am in cake-baking practice.  These are free range, laid by roaming around, bug-pecking chickens.  Yes indeed, there is a big difference in taste and freshness.  And I love being able to buy only 6 at a time, or even one at a time if that's all I need....My cake takes 5, so I got a fresh half dozen.  I also came home with more butter!!

Practice cake #2--tasty, but needs less crumb

I remembered that I was down to my last clove, not head, but clove of garlic.  For a girl who was raised completely garlic-free, I have grown to eat lots of it.  Off I went to the vendor who sells nothing but onions--white, yellow, sweet, red, shallots and garlic--white, rose, violet.  I asked the question, "Which is stronger, the violet or the white?" and that provoked a lively discussion between the vendor and the customers who were standing there.  I bought 2 bulbs of violet--50 centimes.

Can you feel the health anti-oxidants jumping off the broccoli

On then to the produce stall I frequent during the week--there was some broccoli there so green as to be nearly black.  I could just feel the anti-oxidants jumping from the display table onto all of us shoppers as we passed by.  I remembered the piece of cheddar cheese in the fridge and decided one more batch of broccoli cheddar soup would be just the ticket.  The broccoli is on its way out of season.

My across the street neighbors

I bumped into several people I know and we exchanged double cheek kisses and a chat, just like the French do. (Actually one of them is French)  It felt like we were all exactly where we belonged. I feel that way, too as I sit in at my kitchen table, with the windows wide open, listening to the peal of the bells from St. Vincent and| St. Michel, watching the neighbor's cats while sipping coffee and writing.   I think of my friends and family back on both coasts of the US and so wish they could be here with me to experience these Carcassonne rhythms of life.