Back from France! Part 1

Entry courtyard, Le Vieux Couvent (LVC), Frayssinet.

Back home from France! Too soon, too quick, too much to write about. It was an amazing trip, even if some days seemed as if there was too much food (impossible to believe, I know), too much to see (all awe-inspiring), and far too many angsty-hours waiting for my suitcase . . . Air Canada managed to misplace my luggage (with many of the required art supplies I listed in my last post) for a whole nine days. However, thanks to the emergency wardrobe my LVC hosts had on hand because "this sort of thing happens all the time," I easily survived, and with an unexpected bonus when I returned to Albuquerque:

The "secret" path from my room to the art studio.

The easiest unpacking of my life: everything went right back into my closet. No laundry!

One of the many LVC gathering areas.

Which then gave me extra time to think and write about all the quirky, unexpected, and quite wonderful things that happened. There are so many of them that I've decided to write two posts: one on my top 12 happy memories, and a second post next week about the art side of the retreat. So here goes: 

The back road to the church and convent buildings.

1. Meeting the rest of the tour group. It was such a pleasure to meet up again with people I had known from an earlier trip to Taiwan, but equally special was meeting so many new friends. Our backgrounds were as varied as the many places we came from, and I absolutely loved listening to the different voices and accompanying accents around the dining table. So much so that I often caught myself saying odd phrases like, "Bonjour, y'alls," or thanking people with "gracias" rather than "merci" whenever we were out and about. Hopefully the French thought I was just one more crazy American and didn't give any of it a second thought.

 

2. Splash Ink Lessons. As I mentioned, next week I'll be posting about the art that came out of the retreat, but before that I want to say a huge thank-you to Ming Franz for making the trip possible. It wasn't easy organizing all of our tickets, rooms, individual requests, or bringing the vast amounts of paint and paper we needed every day. Without Ming, there wouldn't have been a trip and I can't imagine any of it without her.

 

Adventures in splash ink: Thank you, Ming!

 

3. My room. I felt incredibly fortunate (and a bit guilty) to have one of the best rooms in the house. It was so nice we called it "The Princess Room." What no-one realized though is that if you're going to live like a princess, you have to walk like one. If I fell over the ledge dividing my room from the doorway once, I fell one thousand times. I simply couldn't see where the ledge ended and the floor began. Eventually I got the hang of it: there is a drop--think before you fly, and I learned to hold onto the door frame before stepping into space. Awkward but life-saving.

 

Le Ledge of Death.

 

Le Princess Bed Extraordinaire.

4. Furniture Shopping in Collonges-les-Rouges.

One of my most unforgettable days was a morning spent helping one of my travel companions shop for patio furniture in the village of Collonges-les-Rouges--far more interesting than wandering around reading historical plaques: "built in 1564 . . ." Except halfway through sales negotiations, re: shipping details and what color chair cushions to choose, I suddenly DID notice a plaque. And not just one--an entire roomful straight from Albuquerque, NM. In the front of the store every wall was plastered with metal plaques and New Mexico license plates featuring Route 66 and the joys of riding a Harley down the highway. I was speechless until I was able to tell the shop owner that I and several other members of our group were from Albuquerque, leaving him as stunned as I was. He then led us outside to show where he was cooking lunch on one of the Mexican clay stoves he sold--the type of ubiquitous clay fireplace found in almost every backyard here at home. I still feel as if I were in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

 

Everything in this village was made from red sandstone.

Except for the clay stoves from New Mexico.

 

5. Kitty Boy (or at least that's what I called him). Although there were several cats on the premises (with strict instructions they were not allowed into our rooms), I've always been a push-over for gingers. Despite the language barrier (I'm assuming the resident cats only spoke French) this chaton was happy to sit on my lap and be smothered with affection whenever possible. On our last morning I just had to know what his real name was (Pierre? Jean-Luc?) but no one could tell me because it turned out he didn't actually live there--what a little cad! He'd only been visiting for the treats and attention.

 

What's for lunch? I hope it's not foie gras AGAIN . . .

I'm ready for my close-up, Monsieur Rousseau . . .

 

6. The "school bus." Which took me forever to understand was really, really for tiny school children. I'm sure I wasn't alone in thinking when we were first told a school bus would be picking us up from the airport that a school bus meant, well, a big yellow school bus. So when I saw the small white van that was to be our ride for the rest of the trip, I didn't understand. I became even more confused when I took my seat; it was so tight. Surely I hadn't eaten that much on the plane. All I could think was, "Gosh, the French are skinny. What's wrong with them?" Finally one afternoon after sitting in my usual sideways position receiving numerous bruises to my rib cage and kneecaps I saw the yellow triangle on the windshield warning oncoming traffic of les enfants on board. The other drivers must have been astonished to watch us full-grown adults tumble out when we reached our destinations.

Skinny little road just right for our skinny little bus.

Side street in Cahors too skinny even for us.

 

7. Les Picnics. The food was exactly as you would imagine French cuisine to be: first-class. Servings and courses were numerous. Wine in abundance. Presentation, beautiful. I ate every bite, usually while promising myself I would never eat again. And then dessert would arrive and my plans would mysteriously change. But despite all the country charm of the LVC dining room, my favorite meals were the outdoor picnics under the trees and with no mosquitos--ever. (Flies, yes, but they were a pretty gold color and didn't bite.)

 

One of my favorite picnic sites: the Water Gardens, Perigord.

 

8. Chaud Chocolat on a rainy day. Our visit to the mountain-high village of Saint-Cirq Lapopie was one of the days lunch wasn't provided by LVC. It was also a day when we were told families ate out and it might be difficult to get a seat at a restaurant. None of this meant anything to me because this was the day I planned to skip lunch. Instead, I went shopping for new clothes as by now I had given up on ever seeing my suitcase again. The streets were steeper than steep and we had been warned that "if you go down, remember you have to climb up." Things worsened as it began to rain. Yet up and down the cobblestones I went, my shopping bags becoming increasingly soggy with every step until I had nowhere to go but to a cafe. By this time I was also longing for not coffee, but my preferred chaud chocolat. To my dismay, when I entered the only restaurant I could find all the tables had "reserved" signs on them. Within seconds, however, no problem--a waiter took me to the best table overlooking the best view, removed the reserved card, sat me down and insisted I stay as long as I wanted. The chocolat was steaming hot and even came with a package of biscuits. Sitting there watching the rain fall and feeling so peaceful is something I will always remember.

 

Rainy day, Saint-Cirq Lapopie.

One shop wouldn't let me leave until they demonstrated how to style my new dress three ways. Only in France.

9. Before I bought clothes though, I bought a berry bowl.

I've always wanted a berry bowl and this one with a matching plate was obviously waiting for me. Handmade in Toulouse out of glazed terra cotta, I've been using it every day--not just for berries, but cherry tomatoes, rinsing spinach or draining a serving of pasta--it's a keeper!

10. Rocamadour and the Black Madonna. Prior to leaving Albuquerque I didn't pay very much attention to what our daily itinerary would be. Part of me wanted it to be a surprise, another was too busy collecting "12 plastic spoons" etc., etc. Visiting Rocamadour and the Black Madonna was the last thing I ever thought we would be doing, so it came as a genuine gift when we went there for the day. Black Madonnas have always been important to me, with a visit to Montserrat being one of the highlights of my life. As soon as I got home from this last trip I couldn't wait to re-read the memoir written by my friend Elaine Soto, My Journey to the Black Madonna. In her book she includes a chapter describing her own visit to Rocamadour illustrated with her artwork. Reading this section again added an entirely new, and shared, dimension to my feelings about being there.

Somehow I walked from top to bottom.

The main street at last.

11. Les Milandes. Another surprise was going to Josephine Baker's home, Les Milandes. You can't go to Europe and not visit a castle and this one was definitely worth seeing, especially as it had on display a full array of costumes (the banana skirt!), photographs, and furniture. The woman in the gift shop issuing tickets was impressed with the way we said "caaa-stle" as opposed to her British-inflected "cah-stle." "We wanna see the caaa-stle!" "Oh, I do like way you say 'caaa-stle,'" she said. "It's so much more . . ." Here she paused. As I was in a hurry to get inside the caaa-stle--no dilly-dallying for me--I suggested: "Jazzier?" "Voila! That's it! It's much more jazzier! Oh, I do like that too!" Always happy to help.

Les Milandes; Josephine Baker's home.

12. The Caves at Pech Merle. Were cold and drizzly and one of the most interesting--and moving--places I have ever been to. The wall art dates back 29,000 years and from the minute I entered all I could think about was how much I miss working in clay (temporarily on hold until I have a studio again). From early childhood when I was given a book on Neanderthal and Cro-Magnum cultures for Christmas I've been hooked on clay beads, bison and woolly mammoth figurines, and especially wall paintings made on damp earth and rock. Walking underground and seeing these creations was, without exaggeration, a dream come true.

 

No photography allowed so I "borrowed" from the website.

13. And one more: Swimming lessons. The two items I most wanted from my missing suitcase were my flip-flops and my bathing suit. Every day I would pass either one of the two pools and wish I could go swimming. On the day my case finally arrived it was late and nearly time for drinks and dinner but when I saw the sun sparkling on the water, I knew if I didn't take the opportunity to swim I would regret it for the rest of my life. Within minutes I was ready to go. What I had completely forgotten, though, was that I hadn't been in a pool for close to ten years. Worse yet, this particular pool was shaped like a soup bowl with rounded walls; no stairs or railings. Regardless, I thought I could just walk in (how hard could it be?) when of course I promptly lost my footing and fell ingloriously into the deep end. At the same time I immediately realized I had forgotten how to swim. Oh, great, I thought. I get my suitcase at last and now I drown. After a few micro-seconds of near-panic instinct suddenly kicked in and I found myself floating on my back, looking into the beautiful sky and thinking how perfect the whole trip had been. Just float, I told myself. Just float. And so I did.

Next post: It's all about the art! See you soon.