A Springtime Ramble in Paris

As is our habit every first morning in Paris, my husband and I awoke bursting with big plans for the day. This year we decided that topping our agenda in the City of Lights was a revisit to the beloved Impressionist paintings at our favorite French museum, the Musée D’Orsay.

After a petit déjeuner of baguettes slathered with butter and jam, crispy croissants, freshly pressed orange juice and strong coffee we descended to the Metro at Grands Boulevards. The Paris Metro app on my iPhone directed, “Ligne 8, direction Balard, transfer at Concorde to Ligne 1.” Alighting at Tuileries station we walked through the gates of the Jardins des Tuileries. We knew a stroll through the gardens on our way to the pedestrian bridge over the River Seine would ease our transition into la vie parisienne.

Spring was mature when we left our home in northern California on March 30^th. Many trees bloomed early this year; in our neighborhood the plums were in full flower in late January. In Paris, spring was newborn. Rows of trees in the Jardin des Tuilleries were just budding out, creating a pale green haze above our heads. Lipstick red tulips nodded at their reflections in the limpid ponds. Winter-weary citizens lounged in slant-backed chairs lining the paths, their faces turned towards the yet pale rays of sun.

We wandered the groomed avenues of the garden, reveling in the light breeze and fair sky. Soon, we were feeling peckish. It was early for a full lunch, so we stopped at one of the open-air cafes in the park for take-away food. A perfect late morning snack…baguettes with jambon and beurre. That salty-fatty combination of country ham and butter layered in a crusty baguette called for ice-cold cokes. Luckily for us icy drinks are readily available in Paris these days.

Within a few yards was an unoccupied bench where we spread out our picnic lunch. Midway through my sandwich, I asked Bill, “Do you really want to spend the day inside?” He swallowed and considered the question. “Let’s go over to the museum and see how long the line is.”

While he finished his sandwich and mine, I sketched a gentleman sitting near us. Like many older men in this city he was dressed nattily, in a sport coat and slacks. Engrossed in his book, he was oblivious to my observation.

We gathered our things and strolled away. As always, when we came near the steps to the bridge, our question was “Over or under?” The pedestrian bridge from Jardin des Tuileries to the left bank is relatively new and features two approaches. One involves walking down a shallow flight of steps in a tunnel under the peripheral road, the other up a steep flight of steps from within the park. We opted for the shallow steps and were joined by a dog-walker with a pair of boisterous pups.

Emerging in the sunlight we were swept into a small group of people hurrying across the river to the museum. We slowed and stopped to savor the view from the bridge. The foamy wakes of tour boats traced long arcs on the gray-green water of the Seine. The Louvre stretched for blocks on the right bank, while on the left the mansard roofs of the Musée D’Orsay gleamed.

A dark-haired woman approached Bill and held out a gold ring. We laughed and shook our heads. She looked crestfallen, but even addled by a long flight and jet lag we were on to the gold ring scam. Plus she hadn’t performed it well. To pull it off, she needed to pretend to pick it up from the pavement at his feet before handing it to him. We were not off the bridge where another woman thrust a ring at Bill. This time, I scanned my husband’s attire. “Something about you is screaming tourist!”

At the Musée D’Orsay, the line of art lovers queuing for tickets filled the plaza. We looked at each other and shook our heads. “Today is for walking!” I suggested. Bill grabbed my hand and we turned our back on the Impressionists.

We walked down the narrow street behind the museum and then turned left on a side street towards the Seine. Crossing the boulevard we found ourselves at the line of stalls where for years, booksellers have offered used and new volumes in French and other languages. We ambled along, stopping when a bright cover or words in English caught our eyes.

“Shakespeare and Company!” I remembered that on the list of things we really wanted to do in Paris this visit was a stop at the iconic bookstore. It was somewhere on the left bank, in the direction we were headed. We walked on, crossing the street again to try to find some shade.

At Place Saint-Michel, I shivered a little despite the bright sun. Nearby walls bear plaques with the names of resistance fighters who died on that spot in August 1944. I could feel the bloodied courage of these men and women as if their shades lingered even now.

Traffic in the area was a bit daunting. When a glimpse of bright color caught Bill’s eye, we sidled down a side street to find one of those vest-pocket parks that dot Paris. Cherry trees crowned with blossoms shaded the grass. Four young women giggled as they postured for photos in front of masses of pink blooms. The sounds and smells of the cars on the boulevard seemed far away. We were delighted to relax in this green haven in a bustling neighborhood.

And then we walked on…arriving at Shakespeare and Company where we edged our way through the warren of narrow shelves, jostling other readers to find the poetry section. Bill chose e.e.cummings while I picked a slim book by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, poet and owner of City Lights bookstore in San Francisco. Somehow that felt just right.

Travel Planning Part 1—The Itinerary

When friends learn about the ambitious itineraries for our vacations, they often raise their eyebrows and ask, “Are you going on a tour? Do you use a travel agent? How do you plan such a complicated trip?”

My answer is something like, “No, we’re independent travelers most of the time and we haven’t used a travel agent in years except for a cruise to Alaska. We do our own research and planning and make reservations either directly or through a website like Booking.com.”

Every year that we’ve travelled to Europe, we plan to stay for at least a month. Now that we are retired, it is easy to stretch that month to an even longer vacation. In 2012 we spent seven weeks in Europe including a romantic week in a cottage in the Dordogne region of France, ten days in a chic flat in Paris and a seven-day Christmas Market cruise on the Rhine River. This year we are headed to France and England for another seven weeks.

We pack in a lot of sightseeing in many locales regardless of what country we visit. Over the years we developed a travel planning system that has worked well and that is holding up with the lengthier trips we now take. Once my husband and I have agreed upon a destination, we check out guidebooks from our local library and begin scanning for inspiration. Our favorite travel guides are anything by Rick Steves or Lonely Planet.

For logistics, we consult Rick’s books. He and his team are unsurpassed at identifying the best ways to get from here to there, pointing out when public transportation works well and when a car is needed. He has practical suggestions about hotels and restaurants and how to avoid long queues at major attractions. As an example, Rick explains how to use the Paris City Pass to get in the door quickly at popular places like the Louvre and Musee D’Orsay.

Lonely Planet leads us to adventure off the track trod by hordes of other tourists. This year the “Lonely Planet Pocket London Guide” has been very useful for planning our daily activities in that city. We are also using the “Lonely Planet Lake District Guide” to survey hiking opportunities in that region of England. For example, in the guide we have found descriptions of several easy hikes that start in our base town of Keswick. The book provides an overview map and an indication of difficulty for each hike. And they recommend buying local maps for more details!

We make lists of cities or areas we want to see and the main attractions in each. About this time, I open up a spreadsheet and start recording our itinerary.

Most years we have hard start and hard stop dates based on school or family events. We lay out the itinerary like a calendar, noting where we want to spend a week, where a few days will suffice and where we can manage just an overnight.

Once we have a draft itinerary, our next step is checking on-line for anything that might impact either the availability of hotel rooms or the schedule for public transport. This year, for example, we adjusted our stay in the Cotswolds to include Easter Sunday and Monday so that we could avoid a hassle with the limited holiday bus schedule from Moreton-in-Marsh to Stratford-upon-Avon. A longer time in Moreton will allow for more rambles through the Cotswolds countryside and more local brew in area pubs. On Tuesday when the bus schedule is back to normal and all the Shakespeare sites are less crowded we’ll go on to Stratford.

When our itinerary is more or less firm, it is time to get serious about airline tickets. We do subscribe to a number of different services, like Kayak, Travelocity and Budget Travel to track the ups and downs of airfares. In the end, however, it isn’t price that determines when we book; it is the availability of seats on the day we want to fly! I suspect we could get better prices on our airline tickets, but it seems like tracking airfares to get the cheapest price is like riding the stock market or playing poker…we just take our chances. If the final number fits in our travel budget we go for it!

Note: Opinions expressed in this post are solely my own and I receive no remuneration or consideration from any business mentioned. I copyright all of my original material on this site, including stories, photographs and artwork.

A Pilgrim’s Refuge Near Bordeaux

Several of my friends planned to walk in the spring of 2013 along the Camino Santiago pilgrimage trail from Saint Jean-de-Luz in France to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Bill and I decided to honor that endeavor by visiting the UNESCO World Heritage site at the Abbaye de la Sauve-Majeure, an important religious center built in the 12^th century.

Located near the original Camino Santiago route, the abbey was a twenty-minute drive from our lodging at the Château de Crécy in Romagne. The day promised to be bright and sunny with just a chance of scattered showers. Perfect for a ramble in the countryside!

Situated at the entrance to the abbey we found a Maison des Vins, or tasting room for wines of the Entre-Deux-Mers appellation. The name of this appellation comes from the region between the Dordogne and Garonne rivers in the beautiful countryside of Aquitaine.

During a previous trip to Bordeaux, we enjoyed these very fine wines with several meals. We found the white wines to be sublime when paired with salmon and other seafood dishes. Unfortunately, wines from this region seem to be elusive at our local wine stores, so we were ecstatic to have the opportunity to taste and buy a few bottles. The manager of the tasting room explained that she was just closing for lunch, so we pledged to return after our visit to the abbey and church.

For the next couple of hours, we toured the grounds. Built as a Benedictine abbey, the site served as a welcome place of rest for pilgrims walking from northern France to Spain. Within the property are the crumbling remains of the church, scriptorium and refectory. The outlines of the chapter house and cloister are visible although the buildings are long gone.

Throughout the ruins of the Romanesque style church one can still find stone carvings that depict scenes from the bible such as “Daniel in the Lion’s Den” and “The Life of Samson.” At a time when only the clergy and some nobles were literate, the graphic sculptures provided a way to instruct the faithful about the mysteries and traditions of their religion.

I was struck by the clarity of the messages created by those craftsmen of long ago. During visits to other churches throughout Europe, we have noted the similarities in the way that the stories of the bible are shown. One can see that during the age of faith, there was a coherent set of beliefs throughout Western Europe. What a contrast to the modern world where globalization has exposed us all to a tremendous diversity of thought! We now have the freedom to sculpt our own beliefs from the rich heritage of many cultures.

The beauty and relative isolation of the abbey created such an atmosphere of calm that we immediately slowed our pace. One could almost sense the sacred aromas of incense and candle wax in the now open to the sky nave. Faint chants of liturgical music played in my imagination. Wandering the grass-covered paths among the half-destroyed walls and arcades, we could picture the brown-robed monks and travel-stained pilgrims who thronged the site in medieval times. A bustling place then, today it is an evocative oasis of peace and tranquility.

After a short walk through the museum to view the artifacts excavated from the ruins, we returned to the Maison des Vins. We purchased just enough bottles of Entre-deux-Mers white wine for the next phase of our journey through southern France. In the morning, we’d be leaving for the Dordogne region and a week at a rental cottage in the tiny village of Le Mustier. But for now, we were eager to return to Château de Crécy as we anticipated another delicious dinner.

Maison des Vins de l’Entre-deux-Mers 4, Rue de l’Abbaye BP 6-33670 La Sauve-Majeure. Tel. +33 (0) 5 57 34 32 12.

Abbaye de La Sauve-Majeure, 33670 La Sauve-Majeure. Tel. +33 (0) 5 56 23 01 55.

Dinner in French

St. Emilion was a pleasant place to visit for a couple of days. Wandering the cobbled streets, sketching the view from the high parts of town, tasting wine at one of the more reasonably priced wineries made for a relaxing respite before the next stage of our road trip. We ate and drank well, but were eager to travel on to the Château de Crécy in Romagne, in the Entre-deux-Mers region south of Bordeaux.

Our GPS unit, which had been so cranky on the drive to St. Emilion, got over it and proved to be exactly the tool needed to find our way deep in the French countryside. After the petite village of Romagne the roads grew progressively more obscure. Reinvigorated, the GPS led us straight to the château…well, with one u-turn since we initially sped past the modest drive to the property.

Approaching the entrance, we tried to guess the age of the long, rambling building. Pots of geraniums were clustered along the stonewalled footprint. Shutters and doors were painted in that shade of blue reminiscent of the Mediterranean Sea. Wine barrels striped in white and bright pink delineated the parking area.

As we walked towards what appeared to be the front door of the chambres d’hôtes, a tall, blond woman stepped out to greet us. It was Martine, the owner of the bed and breakfast and the person with whom I had corresponded in the weeks before our arrival. Speaking in French, I introduced Bill and myself. She nodded with a perky smile and responded in that rapid French that leaves me bewildered. “Oh, Madame” I said, “Je parle un peu de français. Répétez moi lentement, s’il vous plait.” The look in her bright eyes expressed understanding and some disappointment as I explained that I spoke little French and needed her to speak more slowly.

Martine nodded and repeated her words, first in French, then in hesitant, careful English. She explained that when she decided to become an innkeeper she started studying English. Almost with one voice we said, “C’est très difficile!” Yes, it is very difficult for adults to learn a foreign language.

The door opened right into the front room or lounge as they referred to it. We felt at ease the moment we walked into the space. Pale gold limestone walls supported the low-beamed ceiling. Bookcases stuffed with well-worn books and intriguing small pieces of art flanked a huge limestone fireplace that anchored the wall to our right. Comfortable looking chairs cozied up to a coffee table.

Against the back wall stood an ancient cabinet that appeared to house stereo equipment. Next to it an open doorway led into what I suspected by the fragrances wafting into the lounge was the kitchen. A long plank table that appeared to be much older than the house took up most of the left side of the room.

Registration was simple and then Martine ushered us through her office into a hallway and up a very narrow, steep staircase. Our room must be in the attic!

What a surprise when she pushed open the door! The space was light and airy and decorated in cool blues, beiges and whites. There was a definite sense of the Mediterranean in the little collections of shells and sand dollars scattered on the tables and the seascape paintings on the walls.

The reservation included dinner for the two nights of our stay and Martine told us it was served at 6 pm. She added, “Please join us before for a little wine.” After unpacking the few items needed for our short visit to Romagne, we plopped on the soft bed for a nap.

Refreshed, it was time to head downstairs. As it was a cool evening, a fire had been lit in the large fireplace. The coffee table held baskets of crackers and nuts. From the corner by the dining table, a tall multi-branch standing lamp cast an amber light over the room. We felt at home in one of the warmest and most welcoming places we had ever stayed.

We met Bruno, Martine’s husband, partner in running the bed and breakfast and vintner of the Château de Crécy. He spoke less English than Martine, but the lack of a mutual language did not prevent him from being hospitable and friendly. After he poured us each a glass of white wine, he pointed to the label on the bottle and indicated that this was his own product, made from grapes grown on the estate.

Bill spied an assortment of CDs piled on the cabinet that held the stereo system. He gestured to Bruno, “Jazz?” Bruno grinned and shook his head yes. Soon the two were happily sorting through the disc collection to come up with some pre-dinner music. Their love of music connected the two despite the fact that neither of them understood a word the other was saying.

As we relaxed before the warmth of the fire, thumbing through a couple of books of French photography, other guests arrived. An SUV pulling a trailer with a very large sailboat pulled into the drive. The woman driver and two middle-aged men hopped out and entered the building. They were all apparently former guests as Martine and Bruno greeted them with kisses on both cheeks.

The three nodded to us and accepted wine from Bruno. I tried to introduce Bill and myself, but my accent may have flummoxed the newcomers. Finally, the woman peered at me with a raised eyebrow and asked, “British?”

“No, Madame, we are American.” To my embarrassment only English words could escape my lips. Madame lifted her shoulders in a little shrug and turned away. Hmm…this could be an awkward dinner.

We climbed back upstairs to change from our traveling clothes to something dressier for dinner. I dug out my French-English phrase book and stuck it in one pocket of my jacket. In the other pocket went my tiny Larousse French dictionary.

At the table, Martine directed each of us to a specific seat. We sat nearest the kitchen and across from a young couple. The three older people we had met earlier were seated a bit down the table. We greeted the young man and woman and were relieved to find they both spoke excellent English. She was from Paris and he from Ireland, but they lived and worked in Brussels. As they introduced themselves in French to the other three who responded with enthusiasm, I sighed. Oh, to be able to converse in this beautiful language!

Dinner began with the freshest foie gras one could imagine. Both flavor and texture were impeccable…buttery, savory, meaty. Bruno told us with hand gestures that the liver came from one of his home-raised geese.

Our hosts served us a main course of succulent pork roast with roasted vegetables. Throughout the meal we drank the wine Bruno made from grapes grown on the chateau property. Each wine, white, rose or red, complemented the food perfectly.

As appetites became sated, conversation picked up. I put down my fork and listened to the banter. Here and there words were discernable, then phrases. It seemed the topic was the entrance of countries from Eastern Europe into the EU. The young woman across from me noticed my attempt to follow the conversation and pointed that out to the others. Soon everyone was speaking a bit slower and watching to see if I understood what they were saying. At moments of comprehension, I nodded and they smiled and continued to direct the conversation towards me.

After a while, I grasped much of what was being said with the exception of the words spoken by the Irishman. Between his rapid French and his strong Irish brogue, he left me in the lurch whenever he opened his mouth. Fortunately his female companion was gracious about translating.

The lively conversation continued through dessert, a tart, juicy apple cake accompanied by more wine. By now, I was braving a few comments of my own. As we have noted throughout our travels in France, the citizens of that country are very pleased when one attempts to speak their language. They will not hesitate to correct grammar errors, but in the end they are generous with compliments. As we got up from the table the older woman said to me with a warm smile, “Madame, vous parlez français très bien!” How kind of her to say I spoke French very well, when my abilities were sadly deficient!

Smiling back, I replied, “Merci beaucoup, madame, un peu!”

Château de Crécy, Lieu-Dit Jeanmot, 33760 Romagne. +33 (0)5 56 23 68 71

Relaxing Retreat in St. Emilion, France

Lodging in St. Emilion is expensive, but we found a not too badly priced small hotel for our two-night stay in 2012. Maison de la Commanderie is ideally situated on a narrow street overlooking the central part of town. We were immediately taken with the area around the hotel including the vineyard across the road.

Parking was available in the free public lot next door. Two potted plants and a steep step mark the entrance to this boutique hotel. Once inside we found that the lobby felt like a welcoming yet chic living room. The owner, Laurent, greeted us and immediately took charge of our bags, which was a good thing, as our room was located up two flights of a narrow and tall-stepped stairway.

On-line photos often don’t do justice to hotel rooms and this was definitely the case at the Maison de la Commanderie. Our room, Chambre des Ecuyers, was on two levels with a small sitting room and a large modern bath on the lower floor. The sleeping level was up a short flight of stairs to the loft. The décor was sexy, with touches of purple and lavender, light fixtures dripping crystals and an interesting mix of antique and ultra-sylish furnishings.

The bed was super-comfortable with luxury linens and ample lighting for reading. It was nice to have a spacious bathroom with an up-to-date standing shower and all the amenities one could want…shampoo, conditioner and fancy soap.

Breakfast was a delight, out of this world pastries baked by the owner served with jams and jellies lovingly prepared by his mother. We enjoyed sitting at the long table in front of the ancient limestone hearth. Laurent charmed us with his friendly and easy-going manner. He was very helpful with suggestions about restaurants and not to be missed sights in the town.

Free Wi-Fi with a good signal was available in our room and in the lobby.

All in all, a relaxing and restful place to stay and if we return to St. Emilion we would book here again.

Maison de la Commanderie, 3 bis rue Porte Brunet 33330 Saint Emilion, France.

Dreaming of the Perfect French Meal

I am planning a dinner party and part of the process involves scanning cookbooks, magazine and on-line resources for recipes. But, none of the written lists of ingredients and detailed instructions capture for me the essence of my favorite meals.

Thinking about some of the meals we ate during our last trip to France in 2012, one aspect that they had in common was the use of fresh, local ingredients, prepared simply, but served with style. We’d come away from a meal in St. Emilion or Bordeaux or Paris feeling that the chefs had done their very best to make us feel cherished as diners. Eating French food one really feels the love that went into the preparation. That realization gives me an inkling of what I need to do to create a menu that I hope will make our guests feel the same way.

In St. Emilion one of our very best meals was at Le Giron’ Dines. We arrived just about half an hour before closing, but no matter. The delightful hostess assured us, “Pas de probleme!” It would not a problem for them to serve us a three-course lunch late in the day.

Our meal began with a salad of very young baby greens, just plucked from the garden at the back of the café. Accompanying the salad was a gently roasted red pepper, not really a surprise, as one tastes many of the flavors of Spain in southern France.

Our main course was duck breast, cooked to crispy-skin, succulent-meat, pink-in-the-middle perfection. The duck breast nestled on a bed of quickly sautéed vegetables that included one of my favorites, sliced fennel. The fried potatoes that finished off the course were amazing, delicately crunchy on the outside and feather light inside.

For dessert we ordered a dense dark chocolate cake accompanied by a spoonful of salted caramel gelato. Heavenly combination!

We decided to splurge on an after lunch drink and ordered glasses of liquor wine, listed on the menu as a favorite of Thomas Jefferson. Whether or not this is true, the flavor was extraordinary, full of fruit and just sweet enough. We are not usually fans of dessert wine, but we would drink this again and again. And, of course, they served us a complimentary cheese course!

The menu for our next dinner party may not be as elaborate as the food served by the charming ladies of Le Giron’ Dines, but it will include fresh ingredients prepared with love.

GPS or Bust

In 2012, we were eager to explore the region of France east and south of the city of Bordeaux. Checking our favorite on-line travel sites, we discovered a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the village of Romagne. It was situated in a vineyard in a rural area far from major towns. In their confirmation email, the owner stressed, “You will require GPS navigation to find us!”

Taking the admonition to heart, just before we left for Europe we purchased an inexpensive Garmin GPS unit. Neither of us had used GPS before, relying instead on auto club maps in the states and Michelin maps in Europe. We decided to test out the device on the drive from Bordeaux to St. Emilion, our first stop before Romagne. We had a map of the area, but this seemed like a good place to get some practice before heading south later in the week.

Before leaving the parking lot of the rental car agency in Bordeaux, I plugged the Garmin into the power outlet and turned it on. It took a while for it to download maps of France, but no matter. The rental car attendant was educating Bill about the operation of our car. This trip we rented a Citroen Picasso that must have been designed by someone in the spacecraft industry as the controls looked nothing like any car we had ever driven. As Bill speaks just a little French and the attendant spoke no English, it was a lengthy training session.

Just as Bill decided he was ready to say au revoir to his trainer, the GPS revealed a screen where I could type in the address for the Maison de la Commanderie, the boutique hotel where we would be staying in St. Emilion. A map of our immediate area popped up on the screen. A female voice with an English accent mispronounced the street we were to turn onto, but no matter. We could see the first street sign from the rental car lot.

We trundled across the bridge over the Garonne River and merged onto the highway towards St. Emilion. Traffic was swift, but light. At the beginning of November, the vineyards were green-gold. Hues of scarlet and orange crowned the trees. We drove with windows down catching whiffs of acrid smoke from burning leaves. It was a perfect day for a road trip.

For many miles, our GPS unit was silent as we sped along towards the wine country. Two hours or so into our trip, the Garmin began issuing frequent commands. “Take the first exit on this roundabout! Rue St. Germaine!” “Take the third exit on that roundabout! Boulevard St. Pierre!”

Sometimes it took the GPS device so long to spit out the road name that we had to whiz around the roundabout more than once. After years of driving in France we were used to that. Roundabouts are a bit like a car-driven merry-go-round. Round and round and round we went! The GPS wasn’t so sanguine. At every missed turn that British voice snarled, “Recalculating!”

The road narrowed as we wound through countryside of sunlit hills and shade-dappled valleys. Neat rows of grapevines disappeared into the horizon. We slowed through tiny villages where stone houses clustered around barrel filled warehouses. Farm vehicles lumbered onto the highway forcing us to drop speed.

Finally, the GPS instructed us to turn onto a road that was bounded by high limestone walls on either side. In the distance we could see a church tower, but otherwise our view was limited to asphalt and stone. After a half-mile or so we emerged from the walls and found ourselves at yet another roundabout. “Take the second exit!” directed the Garmin. We could see that it led straight into the parking area of a commercial building.

“That can’t be right!” we both muttered and kept driving around the roundabout. On our next circuit, Bill took the first exit. This road led us away from town and back to the countryside and to a dirt track that looked like someone’s driveway. We ignored the Garmin’s cries of “Recalculating! Recalculating!” and found our way back to the start of the limestone walled road.

There was no spot to pull over to peruse our map, so at the roundabout Bill took the first exit again to give me time to figure out the route. I hurriedly studied the Michelin map. “Take the third exit this time! It looks like that road leads to the far side of town. We can park somewhere there and walk to our hotel.”

Back down the limestone road, to the roundabout and out the third exit we went. Garmin shrieked, “Recalculating, recalculating, recalculating!” I ripped out the power plug.

Our new road did lead us to the other side of St. Emilion. We clattered to a stop in a rock-strewn parking lot on the outskirts of the town. Nearby, I glimpsed what looked like a gate, very narrow and overhung with creepers at the nearest side of the lot. An ironwork door sagged from one side. A rusty-brown arrow-shaped sign with white lettering stated: “Centre-Ville.” Bill combed his beard with his fingers and grimaced, “There’s no way we’re going to make it through that gate!”

I had to agree. We were driving a full-size Citroen and even though it was slim for an American car it was a behemoth by French standards. At the far end of the parking lot was a wide alley that also appeared to lead in the general direction of the Centre Ville or center of town. We saw no other entrance into the town proper. Bill shifted back into drive and crept towards the alley.

A middle-aged couple jumped in front of the Citroen, waving their arms. “Non, non monsieur!” We gaped at them. The gentleman rushed to the driver-side window. With hand gestures, he indicated that what we took to be an alley was actually a broad, but steep stairway!

I held up the map showing the circled location of our hotel. The man thrust a finger in the direction of the gate, “La, c’est la!” We were dubious, but the man nodded vigorously and his wife joined in.

We murmured, “Merci beaucoup, madame, monsieur!” Cheeks ablaze, we slid down a bit in our seats. I crammed the GPS device into its carrying case and shoved it into the glove box. Bill backed up and crawled through the gate. It was a tight fit, but our car squeezed through without scraping. We noticed that the gate while very narrow was quite tall.

Parking in the first lot we came to, we sat for a moment, catching our breaths. Then we both began laughing so hard the car shook. On foot, using our map and seat of the pants rather than GPS navigation we found the four-room hotel where we would spend the next few days.

In chatting with the strapping blond owner, we discovered that one wall of the ancient building dated to the 14^th century. In that era our hotel had been the home of the knight of the town. Now the tall, narrow gate made sense. A perfect entry for a knight on a charger!

Ancient St. Emilion is a town made for walking, not driving. We left the car parked for several days and explored the winding, cobblestoned streets on foot. Our GPS device remained in the car…resting up for the trip to Romagne.

Maison de la Commanderie 3 bis rue Porte Brunet, 33500 Saint-Emilion, France. Tel. +33 5 57 24 26 59.