Crypts, Boas, Trains, and Grapes

    Downtown Beaumes de Venise

October 14

According to Joanna, we’ve been bar-hopping.

You probably haven’t noticed, but I’ve been too busy to write. Also asleep part of the time.

We made the 10 o’clock service Sunday morning at Notre Dame de Paris. Well, the mass was in progress, and then there was the crazy lady who shoved me from behind, and the line we were able to cut. Lots of fun.

We left the hotel at maybe twenty to ten. It was all downhill from there. I’m not sure. We were in a hurry.

We first saw the crazy lady on the corner at the Petit Pont, the bridge that connects the Left Bank to the Île de la Cité, where Notre Dame is. She was intent on kicking broken glass on the sidewalk. A few moments later, as we were walking across the bridge, somebody came up behind me and started shoving to get past me. It was the crazy lady in a hurry. And since she was crazy, I backed off my initial intention of throwing some son of a bitch into the river.

We got to the island and queued up in a long line. Then we noticed the sign that said “messe.” No line there, so that’s where we went. It must have been on the honor system because it immediately merged with the tourist line at the door.

The congregation for the mass was fenced off, so we started to go down a side aisle to find an entrance. Then we tried the back of the nave and found a way in. Joanna, having a knack for this sort of thing, led me forward till we found two seats together about midway through the congregation.

All right. So far, so good.

The ushers handed us programs on the way in, with the liturgy in French and Latin. Also English, German, and Spanish on other pages, we found later. So some of the time, we were able to sing along.

The Roman liturgy is the basis for the Episcopal service, which I know, so I wasn’t completely lost, just mostly.

The homily ran overlong and so did the announcements. We had to press our way out against the incoming tide for the 11:30 service.

After the service, we visited the crypt, which was an excavation of medieval remains of the Île de la Cité from the Middle Ages—maybe Quasimodo’s time. 

The river in those days came closer to the middle of where the island is today. There is an animated film of the old wharf that shows a boat coming in to what are now white rocks under ground. When that’s done, a projection shows where the water used to be—under our feet. Life changes and so do cities.

There are supposed to be the burials of several titled guys who died in a fight against Vikings at the Petit Pont. But we didn’t find them.

At my urging, Joanna had packed a feather boa, a prop from her days as an exotic dancer. No, not really. It was a prop for dancing, though—for a recital when she was taking tango lessons. Feather boa in Paris. That’s got to be a natural, right?

I think it was a hit with the locals. Every once in a while Joanna drew a surreptitious glance from someone passing by. It's pale purple and I think it's fantastic.

Joanna’s idea was to wear it to Pigalle and have her photo taken in front of the Moulin Rouge. We didn’t get to Pigalle this trip, so she had her photo taken in the crypt by Notre Dame.

We had a quick breakfast (i.e. petit dejeuner) and then went back to the hotel and conked out.

When we woke up in the afternoon, we went to a Chinese restaurant next to the hotel for dinner. We had duck and choi sum (a green vegetable). Duck is often a touchstone for authenticity, especially in the States. If you go into a Chinese or a French restaurant and you see duck on the menu, you know it’s likely to be a legitimate Chinese or French restaurant.

In Paris, however, it’s confusing. It could be a French restaurant pretending to be Chinese. I wouldn’t know, but Joanna does. She was happy, so I know the place was indeed Cantonese.

We had a half bottle of Bourdeaux with dinner, and then stopped at a place around the corner for dessert and another glass of Bordeaux. Wow, it was time to call it a night, and so we did.

After about nine or ten hours’ sleep we got up and made it to the train for Avignon.

Train travel in Europe is very cool, much more so than in the U.S. The trains work, for instance. Also, unlike Amtrak, if you take a sandwich and bottle of wine onto the train, nobody gives you a hard time. The conductor, having a little joke, may make like he’s going to take your bottle for himself. No lectures, no threats, no fool telling you that you are competing with the concessions a couple of cars ahead. This is Europe, where free enterprise is respected.

Larry met us at the Avignon Tren a Grand Vitesse station and drove us to the house where we would be staying. It is the 400-year-old wing of a stone place set among an ocean of vineyards. This is where Larry stays with a family in Provence. The family invited us to stay in a wing of their house, the old wing, which is spectacular.

When we got to the house we met Claude, the householder. He grows grapes in vineyards behind the house and also grows them in other fields in the area. He is president of the local wine cooperative in Beaumes-de-Venise.

Once we were settled in, sometime late in the afternoon, after a quick lunch at the house, Larry started our wine-tasting tour of the region.

We went to Domaine la Garrigue in Vacqueyras. Vacqueyras (or Vacqueiras in Provençal) is an appellation. Let’s see if I have this right. Appellation is a government-controlled classification for the wines of a region, town, or whatever.

Vacqueyras is an appellation d’origine protegée (protected name of origin). You make a wine from grapes raised somewhere else and call it Vacqueyras, you’re cheating.

That would be like American champagne, burgundy, or chianti. No, it ain’t.

They are all great wines here. Highlights included a special cuvée called Cantarelle from 2010.

We had dinner outside the house with Claude and his wife, Sophie, who came home around 8:30 or 9 after an exercise class. Larry had put together a veal meal and reheated it, along with a mix of couscous and herbs. After that course came a selection of cheese, some of it really runny and just perfect with bread.

Lots of bread and wine were consumed. Cheese too. This is a good way to live.

I’m writing this now on Tuesday, a day and even more wine later. I’ll tell you about today’s tasting tomorrow. Or whenever I get to it.

As you can guess, I am doing well. Very well. So is Joanna.

I’m loving this, gang.

I hope everybody’s well and, even more important, happy.

Love to all.

Harry