Wednesday 23 November 2011
The world was full of wonders and our "Happy Trails Gang" - to quote Dian's mom - was experiencing as much as they could. Sometimes this felt like the top of the world and other times like the pit of Hell. What became apparent in writing the daily blog was how the "bad stuff" made the most interesting stories, and if we could let loose of some of the anxiety WHILE going through the fire we'd probably have our story and fewer creases on our foreheads. But tell that to the fight or flight instinct. Anyway, November 23rd - Dian's sister's birthday- was a mixture of highs and lows.
Awakening at our busy bus and truck rest stop near the Italian Riviera, Dian used a squirt of the "Eau de Toilette" perfume which was offered in the restroom - getting close to France - and within the hour we were in France, then Monaco, then France again- countries numbers 20 and 21. Tolls were adding up but we wanted to get to writer Ed Ward in Montpellier, France by late afternoon, so after three border crossings we stopped in Arles for an hour and saw the Roman arenas and some of Van Gogh's stomping grounds. Arles impressed us with its singular light, also sought by the Impressionists. We wandered through a Romanesque/Gothic church with all sorts of relics; Nicole wondered how they could divide up so many and Dian and Charles, who grew up Catholic, said that sometimes even a thread from a saint's robe or splinter of bone would qualify. It was interesting to note that more than a few of our acquaintances brought up the way churches in the past who might have been needing a boost in membership would find a saint's relics and put them on display.
The French seemed very friendly, despite the chiding (to each of us!) from the Best Western hotel employee who said, "You have to ASK me to use the restroom!" - followed by a glower.
Driving into Montpellier we found a Muslim woman and her family who were definitely friendly. We had come dangerously close to running out of gas - Charles had said, "the red light isn't on yet" to which Dian screamed, "what if it doesn't work in this van!?" We finally found a station, but our card wouldn't work. This woman put 20 Euro on her credit card and we paid her back in cash. Dian gave the daughter a hand painted rock with a heart on it.
We called Ed and announced that we had arrived but the next hour was spent looking for parking and figuring out how to pay for it. Just after Charles and Nicole returned with a ticket which was good till the next morning, a woman informed us that the lot was free after 6 PM. Oh well.
We found Ed, one of the early music critics at Rolling Stone, Creem, Crawdaddy and others, and a founder of the South by Southwest festival in Austin. He was among a handful of writers who were an inspiration to the young music enthusiast sitting in Albuquerque and reading this revelatory prose that treated rock and roll as an art form in a cultural and societal context. As Charles put it, this was akin to when Dian got to meet Peggy Lee. (Charles and Ed had only corresponded through Facebook, but he graciously invited us to stop by when "in the neighborhood.")
As soon as we met up with Ed, he "put in the cassette" and gave us a fascinating, informative tour of his adopted city. We came upon an art opening and saw more original people to watch than art, but on the narrow streets there was lots of good stuff. (Nicole was very impressed by the art, and felt tres bien to be amongst so many swanky French art types.) We met Ed's friend who owned an English products market who had been robbed that morning, being distracted by children while showing their mother some expensive whiskey. It was sad to think that the kids were involved in the thieving and we offered our condolences. Around 10 PM we had a fabulous French dinner at La Cheneraie (Oak Tree), and with a good bottle of wine swapped stories of his life as a writer for Rolling Stone and ours AS rolling stones.
Back at the van, we slept peacefully in the parking lot dreaming of Dian's sister Monica celebrating her 58th birthday in Texas.
Awakening at our busy bus and truck rest stop near the Italian Riviera, Dian used a squirt of the "Eau de Toilette" perfume which was offered in the restroom - getting close to France - and within the hour we were in France, then Monaco, then France again- countries numbers 20 and 21. Tolls were adding up but we wanted to get to writer Ed Ward in Montpellier, France by late afternoon, so after three border crossings we stopped in Arles for an hour and saw the Roman arenas and some of Van Gogh's stomping grounds. Arles impressed us with its singular light, also sought by the Impressionists. We wandered through a Romanesque/Gothic church with all sorts of relics; Nicole wondered how they could divide up so many and Dian and Charles, who grew up Catholic, said that sometimes even a thread from a saint's robe or splinter of bone would qualify. It was interesting to note that more than a few of our acquaintances brought up the way churches in the past who might have been needing a boost in membership would find a saint's relics and put them on display.
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| Ed Ward, Charles and Nicole |
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| 3D art exhibition |
Driving into Montpellier we found a Muslim woman and her family who were definitely friendly. We had come dangerously close to running out of gas - Charles had said, "the red light isn't on yet" to which Dian screamed, "what if it doesn't work in this van!?" We finally found a station, but our card wouldn't work. This woman put 20 Euro on her credit card and we paid her back in cash. Dian gave the daughter a hand painted rock with a heart on it.
We called Ed and announced that we had arrived but the next hour was spent looking for parking and figuring out how to pay for it. Just after Charles and Nicole returned with a ticket which was good till the next morning, a woman informed us that the lot was free after 6 PM. Oh well.
We found Ed, one of the early music critics at Rolling Stone, Creem, Crawdaddy and others, and a founder of the South by Southwest festival in Austin. He was among a handful of writers who were an inspiration to the young music enthusiast sitting in Albuquerque and reading this revelatory prose that treated rock and roll as an art form in a cultural and societal context. As Charles put it, this was akin to when Dian got to meet Peggy Lee. (Charles and Ed had only corresponded through Facebook, but he graciously invited us to stop by when "in the neighborhood.")
As soon as we met up with Ed, he "put in the cassette" and gave us a fascinating, informative tour of his adopted city. We came upon an art opening and saw more original people to watch than art, but on the narrow streets there was lots of good stuff. (Nicole was very impressed by the art, and felt tres bien to be amongst so many swanky French art types.) We met Ed's friend who owned an English products market who had been robbed that morning, being distracted by children while showing their mother some expensive whiskey. It was sad to think that the kids were involved in the thieving and we offered our condolences. Around 10 PM we had a fabulous French dinner at La Cheneraie (Oak Tree), and with a good bottle of wine swapped stories of his life as a writer for Rolling Stone and ours AS rolling stones.Back at the van, we slept peacefully in the parking lot dreaming of Dian's sister Monica celebrating her 58th birthday in Texas.
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