Chateau St. Julien l'Ars near Poitiers
Serendipity: Before leaving Paris, on Saturday night in the Latin Quartier, we were looking at a church when this older couple just walks up and says, "There's a concert here at 8:30." Well it turns out they had the wrong date, but we chatted a bit anyhow, whereupon it turns out they are from Tacoma, touring with the PLU Chorale and would be singing in Notre Dame at the 11:30 mass the next morning. So we chat some more and trade names and when Trileigh says "Trileigh Tucker," the fellow comes right back with "Formerly Trileigh Stroh?" After jaws drop, it turns out that he'd participated in some of Tri's soirees some 10 years ago. So naturally then, we headed for mass at Notre Dame that Sunday morning. We were so concerned with getting there early enough to beat the crowds that we were in time for the earlier mass -- a wonderful high-Gregorian event. We moved into almost-front-row seats for the 11:30 mass, which was quite something, and the choir was excellent. Also I don't know what it is about French organists; they seem to have a license to play the most edgy, modern, really wild stuff, and nobody seems to bat an eye. You would never hear this forward a music in any service in the states.
Finally we take our leave of Paris, where Peggy had made it so very easy to stay. We noodle on down toward the Loire Valley, and end up spending the night in a cute medieval town with the unpreposessing name of Meung. And then on down through the major chateau country to Chambord, in its full Disney-esque ostentation, and finally into the chateau of St. Julien l'Ars currently run by Nash Gubelman of Pacific Crest School.
But ultimately, the scene at the chateau, while serene, is kind of a bit down in the heels (understandably after 8 centuries or so). Nash has an amazing job on his hands. So we end up deciding not to stay as long as we might have thought, complete change of "plans" really, and are going to just head east, into the Massif Central, and see what we find. The adventure becomes entirely improvisational at this point!
Paris
We're currently in Paris, staying with my friend Peggy, who's known me since before I was born since her parents and mine were best friends at the time. Peggy owns a tea room/restaurant in a Paris "gallerie" called "A priori The". We've been hiking miles around the city each day, eating wonderful bread and cheese for many meals.
One of our "academy" seminar topics had to do with opinions about the difference between the spirits of Greek versus derivative Roman sculpture. Fortunately we had the freakin' Louvre conveniently at hand in order to test the theory. We went in the evening when the crowds were down so we actually got to see the portrait of Lisa Gherardini up close and personal. That was pretty special.
But also the structure of the tension-compression system that supported the famous pyramid as fascinating, and quite a contrast to all the classical work:
Mont Martre Sacre Coeur
Our first destination yesterday was Montmartre, and we got (way) up to Sacre-Coeur. After the hordes and long lines at Notre-Dame the previous day, it felt so peaceful and serene up there, and the church itself, seemingly as huge as Notre-Dame, managed to overcome that challenge to still be graceful and inspiring. A comment of Rob's got me thinking about the question of, for an alien being from another planet, what could be learned about these mysterious human attributes called "spirituality" and "religion" *just* from examining the architecture of Notre-Dame? And what different, or overlapping, conclusions might one draw from Sacre-Coeur? We arrived at Sacre-Coeur during a Mass, and it was wonderful seeing the variety of appearances of people coming to the altar. Some of the music we've stumbled into also has been very impressive. In Sacre Coeur, as well as in Troyes, they must have been playing Messiaen -- very forward, complex, grinding huge sonorities, and shifting multi-tonalities. Gripping and breath-taking stuff.
Bruxelles jusqu'a Troyes
After a leisurely last morning in Brussels, we wound our way through Belgium via the medieval towns (aren't they all?) of Namur and Dinant. Namur was hosting the last day of its summer music festival, and we conveniently ignored a "ferme" sign to make our way into a church in which the orchestra was rehearsing a Mozart symphony for that night's grand finale concert. How lovely to hear the extended reverberation of the last note among the church's ancient stones. We spent that night camping in a regional forest, playing chess and talking under the stars, drifting off to sleep until a herd of some mysterious but unnervingly (to Trileigh) large animals came through the woods, accompanied by the sound of Bastille Day fireworks in the distance.
The next morning we drove into France without even a trace of a border crossing, simply a sign along the little road after a creek, notifying us of French speed limits: one of our first direct experiences of EU melding. Trileigh kept expecting to feel a Monet brush stroke across her cheek, driving through the French countryside with its sweeping fields of broad pastel stripes under a watercolor-clouded sky.
When the limestone ran out, we began to encounter half-timbered villages instead of stone ones -- but all of them held walls of bright red or pink flower baskets that highlighted the textures behind.
Rob found the house in Vendeuvres without any problem, and we were greeted warmly by his nephew Adrian and then beau-frere Olivier, with his sister Stephanie and nephew Alex not far behind. We then had the honor of meeting Olivier's mother, sharp witted, active and delightful at the age of 90 (what an inspiration!), who has lived here for more than 60 years. Our room is in the attic of this wonderful house, which was built in 1660. Olivier has been a magnificent chef during our stay here, with his magnum opus being Stephanie's birthday dinner on Sunday: an appetizer of mushroom quiche and salad, followed by veal and delightfully spiced mixed vegetables, with a finale of plum-and-dark-chocolate pie. And a different wonderful wine with each course. Oooh-la!! Quelle fete!
The next afternoon we left Vendeuvres for Troyes, known for its seven Gothic churches - a major "eglise" per block. One in particular caught our attention with its filigree stonework; each front pillar had a mini-cathedral carved into it. Once in front, we heard music coming from inside, and for the second time in our travels entered a magnificent church with live music filling its immense spaces. Construction of this church had begun in 1209; it was consecrated in the 1400's, and was finally finished in the 17th century. We pictured generations of craftsmen passing along the family honor of getting to be part of this great sacred project, mounting stone on stone to create a 100' vertical space. The organ itself was a historical monument, built in 1869. Rob guessed the music to be Messaien -- turgid twisting harmonies and tone clusters showing an intimate command of the enormous sonorities of the organ, and perfectly breath taking in this huge powerful space.
In Bruxelles, after London and Connecticut
The playwright James M. Barrie is having a considerable run lately, with new Hollywood productions of 'Peter Pan,' and Johnny Depp's portrayal in 'Finding Neverland.' But in Westport, CT at their little country theatre there which is directed by Joanne Woodward, we had the opportunity to see a late work of his, called 'Dear Brutus'. Part Pan grown up, part Midsummer Night's Dream, an array of grown modern characters enter into a Brigadoon-like magical wood which appears only one night a year, where they have a 'second chance' to relive what they regret. Some end up doing the same, and some learn some deep lessons, and there is an extremely poignant bit with a dissolute fellow finding redemption as the father of the dear little girl that he'd always wished he'd had. This had us in tears, naturally, when the fellow leaves the wood, and the little girl is left behind as a 'might-have-been.' After the show, Trileigh, true to form, marches right up to Joanne Woodward to tell her how marvelous we found the thing; and she (as one hears) turns out to be a very gracious lady, and chatted a bit with us, and was genuinely pleased to see we'd been so moved, since she said that a lot of folks just didn't seem to 'get' the play. Well, if you ever have a chance, do check it out; it's deep and unforgettable.
This was also Rob's first chance to meet Trileigh's parents, Helen and Gardiner, as well as brother Jim, sister-in-law Monica, and their family; a delight to learn more of the formative influences upon the beloved.
On Thursday morning, July 7th, four suicide bombs went off in the London transit system, leading to a death toll, as of this writing, of more than fifty souls. We were scheduled to arrive in London Heathrow that Saturday morning, the 9th, so it was with some trepidation that we contemplated what the situation and atmosphere might be on our arrival. Amazingly, we saw on the web that they had already largely re-opened the Tube (Underground) again on Friday and as it turned out, by Saturday morning, you might have imagined things were perfectly normal. The Brits, indomitable with their stiff upper lip and all, were set on just carrying on, rather than allowing terrorism to faze them. Pretty impressive.
We stayed in a London neighborhood west of the center and took the tube to the Waterloo Station to pick up our tickets for "The UN Inspector," which we'd reserved from home. On walking from the station across the Jubilee Bridge to the Royal National Theatre, we were delighted to come across "Watch This Space," a venue for outdoor performances right outside the theater (OK, theatre), and it turned out there that the first live music we encountered abroad was "Joyful, Joyful" done in true Ysaye Barnwell style, a nice echo of home. The play that night was adapted from a work by Russian playwright Nicolai Gogol, originally entitled "The Government Inspector" but updated into contemporary Eastern Europe. It was to these American eyes a strange integration of farce and serious drama (full of local allusions that the rest of the audience laughed appreciatively at but that went right by us).
Lost in Bussels
Our train to Brussels was met by a relieved Jane, who'd been checking the station for hours for us, as we were seriously late due to increased security measures associated with our travel through the Chunnel. As is her wont, she has been the supreme hostess, treating us to frequent meals with her fascinating friends, all of whom seem to speak at least four languages and to have led extraordinary international lives as spy, blacksmith, lobbyist, horse-rescuer, barge operator, lawyer, or combination thereof.
The Grand Place, at a festival of Flemish culture
The Grand Place was hosting a Flemish festival at which we encountered Balkan, Irish, and Greek street music along with the glorious 16th-century merchant buildings Trileigh remembered from her years here. We visited Trileigh's parents' home in Brussels, which is being well taken care of (and fiercely guarded...) by the bank that now occupies it.
Jane's friends have tried to be careful not to give offense in their comments about American politics -- but it seems clear that contemporary America is a bit of a puzzle and a lot of concern to them. Their perception of the US will be a subject of significant interest to us as we travel.
Coupla monkeys in the park. That's Jane. Me Tarzan.
First stop in Boulder, Colorado
We stopped on our way east to join in celebrating the wedding of Trileigh's cousin Felicity to Dan Lacomis. This was an fine chance for Rob to meet and get to know the Tucker clan, which is a remarkable crowd to say the least.
Then the day after the wedding a bunch of us went up for the day into Rocky Mountain National Park to hike around, and get caught in a July blizzard.
