Headed South: Indians? What Indians?

Switzerland IS the New Prince Edward Island

In our last blog we discussed the odd phenomenon of encountering many, many Indian tourists in the Lauterbrunnen valley. After that, we never saw another one. Not in Geneva, not anywhere in France. What is the mysterious link between the Jungfrau, Lauterbrunnen Valley and the subcontinent of India? As we say in Mexico, "Who knows?" There will be a prize for any of our intrepid readers who can get to the bottom of this small mystery.

It is not entirely truthful to say that we never saw any other Indians. We did see two more. As we approached the draw bridge leading into Carcassonne (the truly impressive walled city that was the scene of a very grisly start to the Inquisition featuring the Cathurs) we heard strange, haunting flutes played by two guys. Closer inspection revealed they were dressed in full American Indian garb featuring elaborate feathered head dresses, loincloths the whole nine yards. Tourists flocked to hear them and toss coins into their open flute boxes. No one seemed the least confused by the presence of Navajos or Apaches or Some Tribe flutists in front of a Medieval Castle.

Our Dan Brown Roots Tour

It turns out that the Da Vinci Code is actually based on a tale about the Holy Grail and this little town called Chateau les Rennes which is located close to Carcassonne. There was a priest who allegedly found a treasure (the Grail?) and built a church and mansion that were way beyond his means. The church features a demon holding the holy water and other very strange stuff. He was apparently not a very kosher priest. The rumor is that he hid more of the treasure before he died and it has never been found. So one fine day we set off to poke around. Like every single other place we visited on this trip the village was reached by ascending thousands of feet on single lane roads with no guardrails (phobia # 1) necessitating an immediate infusion of excellent red wine upon arrival. We survived the excursion and found it mildly interesting but more interesting was the story the owner of our B&B told us when we were discussing our day.

This area is right over the border from Spain and during the Spanish civil war 600-800K Spanish fled over the border and assimilated into France. These immigrants included a number of tough guys who had fought Franco and morphed into very capable Resistance fighters during WWII. The Germans were not pleased with this and sent troops in (even though it was Vichy France). While they were busy shooting Resistance fighters and burning the peasants crops they found time to go to Chateau les Rennes to search for the treasure. As noted, this place is WAY,WAY up with only one way down. The Allies parachuted some American explosives experts in and they teamed with the Resistance to blow up the road and take out the Germans. Only the explosives didn't work as intended. The American in charge sent the others on their way and tried to hold off the Germans single handed until the charge ignited. Well, it didn't and he was killed and shipped home. His will was read stipulating he wanted to be buried where he was killed so they shipped him back. He was buried in a crypt next to the road (wondered what that was driving up) and every year the entire village gathers at the crypt to honor him. And who said the French were unappreciative and arrogant. Well, we'll get to that later.

Onward and, yes again, Upward

From Carcassonne we ambled onward to meet up with Michael's siblings and their families in a house we had rented in the Cevennes Mountains about an hour away from Avignon. The owners had supplied directions that were, to be blunt, atrocious. "Drive a few miles, see a huge stone cross, go a bit further and turn left"etc. Once again, single lane road, huge drop offs, no visibility. To my great surprise, everyone arrived with no fatalities. The house was phenomenal but I won't bore you with the details. Like all rental houses, however, it had quirks. Plug in a hairdryer and lose all electricity. Washing machine required a degree in civil engineering. Luckily, the Searles clan is a relatively easy going group and we had a great time. There was a huge dining terrace on the second floor overlooking the pool where the family gathered after each day of adventures (mostly getting to and from the house in one piece) to dine overlooking miles of mountains and valleys. Food was sent up on the dumb waiter --very fun. Perhaps the single best day was the trip to the Ardeche. We rented kayaks and rode the river for about 8km through spectacular scenery which culminated in rowing under a natural stone bridge that had to be about 100 feet tall. Just a little white water to keep you on your toes.

Ah...So French

Our house came with a "guardian" named Abby. While we struggled to greet him in his native tongue, he glared at us derisively and stated "Hello, Good Evening, whatever." So much for that legendary French charm. He informed us that if we had any problems we were to tell him immediately unlike the feckless Australians and English guests who had failed to deal with him correctly and instead complained to the owners. Well... we would be sure not to make that mistake! So, the next evening we promptly informed him of the leak under the kitchen sink. His reply: "Yes. You should put something to catch the leak." Next evening he comes to inspect. "You put a cooking pot under there! Sacre bleu! A bucket, A bucket!" So welcoming.

Now here is the difference between Mexico and France. In Mexico, you tell someone that you have a leak under your sink. They immediately come to your house, smile and tell you they are so sorry this has happened to you, look at the leak for an hour or two, tell you they need parts and will be back in one hour. Two days later they come back and fix the sink and tell you that they are extremely sorry but the part (a washer say) had to be special ordered. But they are SO nice it's pretty OK once you are used to it. In France, you say you have a leak under your sink. They intimate you have done something unspeakable to the sink to cause it, say they will come and look at it, look at it (eventually) and tell you what YOU should do about it. And please, stop whining (inferred).

A Few More Odd Things

1) French babies (of whom there are very few) don't smile. No matter what kind of ridiculous faces or noises you make. Our sons noticed this on a previous trip. It hasn't changed.

2) The British love to make fools of themselves in front of their European neighbors. On earlier trips in Amsterdam and Ireland and now in France we have noted this. It revolves around hen parties which take place prior to nuptials. In Annecy, we were dining when a parade of Brits went by. The first girl was dressed in swim fins, an old lady bathing suit, with a rubber tube around her waist and a duck hat. She was trailed by persons we assumed to be future bridesmaids (perhaps seeking revenge?). At each table she would inquire : "Are you named David?" in French. Apparently, she could only fulfill her quest by finding someone of that name. It appears there are few Davids in France. In the same town, we encountered another party with the future bride dressed as a Milk Maid and soliciting funds. All very odd. I mean you really don't have to go out of your way to have the French make fun of you.

3) Your kids really don't have to learn another language. Or how to dress. We have finally done it. American culture has triumphed (if that's your point of view). Everyone speaks English and wears tacky American clothes produced in China. Sixty year old French women sport T shirts with LA Laker logos and double knit capris. In a restaurant in the furthest outpost of the Cevennes we struggled to order dinner in French only to be asked by the elderly owner "Do you guys speak English?"

4) Manpris. Despite what I said about American clothing eclipsing any sense of fashion in Europe, the manpri continues to find favor. I have never seen an American man wearing the male version of capris. They are everywhere in Europe. I once saw a very attractive eighteen year old Italian who looked fetching in them. Otherwise no. Yet they persist.

Home? Again

As Michael and I were winging our way home from New Jersey where we had rendezvoused (could that possibly be a word in the past tense?) with our intrepid Appalachian Trail son we wondered if it would feel like going home or just an extension of our trip. We were both pleasantly surprised to realize that it did feel like home. We miss everyone in Boston and have many moments when we wish we could relax over dinner with pals who've known us for years, or go to Spanish or French class or go to a TJ Maxx but increasingly we feel at home in Ajijic. So, enough of our European jaunt. Next post we'll delve into the world of Mexico again. Take care and please let us know what is up with you.