Pa & Madrid

Madrid, Spain 

After seeing the best and worst of France, we were happy to head back to Madrid to meet up with Robin's parents. We had planned an epic visit that would actually take us for a kick dip back in France before meeting Robin's sister and her girlfriend in Barcelona. Sure, France - Spain - France - Spain seems like an inefficient travel route, but when you're planning your trip while you're already on it, these things happen.

Madrid was a bit more than a hop, skip and a jump from our home in Gonfaron. It was actually a train to Marseille, overnight bus to Barcelona, and plane to Madrid. We like to keep our travel portfolio diversified.

We arrived in Madrid a few days before Robin's parents did to get things set up. We rented a delightful 2 bedroom apartment in the Delicias neighborhood of Madrid, close to the museums and Retiro Park. Having a place to ourselves again was liberating, and we stocked up on groceries and explored the neighborhood via run. 


We circled around Retiro Park, which was more lively now than when we visited in September. And we bonded with the man at the fish market, who tried to speak English with us (despite the fact that when another customer asked if he knew English, he responded "oui"). We were talked into buying a good looking fresh fish that we couldn't translate. While David cooked it that night, Robin googled the word and realized just in time for dinner that we would be eating mako shark, a Greenpeace red listed animal.

David and Bob stared at this for the better part
of 10 minutes before they realized it was a mannequin.

The next day, Robin's parents arrived in Madrid. We had planned a very tentative schedule of light sightseeing for the weekend because we figured they'd be jet lagged, but they were surprisingly energetic. The night they arrived, we managed to see the modern art museum, Reina Sofia, on its free day, and grab a late dinner and live flamenco show.

In fact, they had so much energy that we didn't ride the Metro at all. We walked through the Rastro, Madrid's famous flea market, to the stamp market in Plaza Mayor, to the Cathedral and Palacio Real, and hit our second free museum, the Prado. With our apartment, we were also able to enjoy Spanish food at home, with olives, manchego and chorizo before home cooked meals.

Our weekend in Madrid flew by, and before we knew it we were right back at the airport on our way to Bordeaux to revisit France.

Gonfaron Month

Gonfaron, France

After poetically wandering the streets of Nice in the rain mourning our losses, we hopped on a coastal train to Gonfaron, the tiny town in Provence where we would be spending our next month at another work exchange: an American couple looking for renovation and help with their twin three-year-old girls. Robin was excited to get back into working with children, and David had lots of renovation experience to put to use. 

Our hosts, John and Jill, had bought an 18th century stone farmhouse about 5 years ago, with the plans to renovate and resell it while living in the French countryside. They'd been frustrated with French contractors and not making the progress they wanted to alone, so they started taking on volunteers when the twins were two. In the time they'd had the place, they'd installed a pool, converted the pigeonaire to a tool shed, converted an open space barn into a 2 story addition to the home with living room, office and master bedroom, and almost completed three bathrooms. 

They'd warned on their profile that this wasn't a place to practice French, as English was spoken at home. After our language barrier challenges in Italy, we were excited for that change of pace. And after a robbery that made us seriously consider going home, the idea of an American household in France was comforting.

An American household in France was an understatement. It was a small American bubble resting in the middle of Provence. Yes, English was spoken exclusively. But more than that, we watched American TV, ate chili, egg salad, bagels, pancakes and sundaes, used Windex, Clorox wipes and American power tools, and listened to the only radio station in the area catering to expats. They even used Morton's salt, imported from the good ol' US of A.  With our fragile state, this twilight zone America was the perfect home away from home for us.

Apparently, other volunteers thought so too, because it was a full house with a couple of volunteers staying on later than they'd originally planned. Our arrival brought the house count to 10, with 6 volunteers, our hosts, John and Jill, and Celeste and Camille, their girls. With the exception of one British volunteer, and the twins who were technically Niçoise, everyone was American, and 2/3 of us were from California.  One of the other Californian volunteers joked that from inside the house, he could've forgotten he wasn't in Northern California with all the vineyards and mountains of Gonfaron.

Gonfaron is a quaint town, centered on one main street that happened to be under construction for the entire month of our stay. It's known mostly for its turtle sanctuary, and for the legendary flying donkey of French tall tales. While we were there, we didn't manage to see either. We did see snow. What was days of rain in Nice was nearly a foot of snow in Gonfaron when we arrived. With the unseasonably warm weather the week before, the trees had blossomed bright yellow but were now covered in snow. 

There were two wood stoves working hard to heat the first floor, and electric heaters set up in every bedroom. But after a day of travel, freezing weather, and hanging out with a sneezing twin on our first day, we both officially caught a cold. Our room was on the third floor, which was a converted attic. And apparently stonework negates the concept of heat rising. With two down comforters, two electric heaters, and a cat snuggling up on the bed, we still went to bed freezing and woke up colder - plus with a dry throat and nose from the heaters. So we got in the habit of sleeping in layers, and took Jill's advice about putting a wet towel on the heater to re-humidify the air.

A few days of snow later, we were feeling back to normal and things were warming up. David went out with the girls and tried his hand at building his first trulli, in igloo form. And Carl, it works! 

The twins were a delight to be around when you were on their good side. We'd chase them as monsters, go for walks and play princess. But they were also at that fickle age, and at one minute would "wanna be your fwend," only to moments later insist that you "don't look at me." In spite of typical sister fights, at least they had each other's backs. When one of the girls was "mad" at you, the other would explain to you that their sister didn't like that and didn't like you. They also excelled at the tantrum arts. It was interesting from a developmental point of view to watch them make the conscious decision that they would have a tantrum, not just following instincts like a two year old would. 

With so many volunteers, it felt like there were too many cooks in the kitchen - literally. Originally the plan was for Robin to handle childcare, cooking and cleaning while David worked on the renovation project, but with so many of us, we were outnumbering the kids when we were watching them and running out of sous chef spots.  So soon enough, Robin was in on the renovation work.

The renovations had slowed a bit with John being on call for his job. Which is basically the job anyone wishes they could have: helicopter pilot to the stars. Just kidding, not the stars. But a multi-billionaire with a yacht big enough for a helicopter land pad, and the need for a private pilot to drive him to and from said yacht. 

When we arrived, work had just begun on the two sets of spiral staircases connecting the kitchen to the bedrooms. The house was built in the 18th century, and the existing stairs were constructed with rocks, pieces of wood, and plaster. The first step was demolition, which involved a bit of guesswork because with the strange construction there was a fine line between removing the tile and rubble and clearing out the entire innards of the step. 


Then came the wood-taping, cement-laying, plaster-spreading, facade-smoothing, primer-coating, painting, tile-planning, tile-cutting, tile-laying, mortaring, grouting and polishing portion of the work. Sure, it sounds like a regular day's work, but it took longer than that.

The renovation was tricky because the house was also being lived in (by a lot of people), and working on the stairwell that connected the kitchen to the bedrooms meant that everyone and everything was in the way — all the time. We started with every other step to leave a pathway, which was horribly inefficient but a necessity. And we had to make everything livable again at the end of each workday, which meant a lot of set up and take down of the same things. You know, two steps forward, one step back. Har har.


But, as you can see, we did finish one flight during our stay, which we were very proud of!

After a day of working on the stairs, we'd hop down (literally) two flights for amazing dinners put together by the other volunteers. Every night was like a culinary experiment gone right by a different volunteer, from potato dumplings to homemade pizza to curried salmon to taco night (something which most of France lacks). When it was our night to cook, our experiment with risotto didn't go so well, as everyone was called to sit down for dinner well before the rice had finished cooking. In our panic, we added a bunch of liquid to speed up the process which resulted in a concoction that was both crunchy and mushy. C'est la vie.

The twins spent dinners entertaining us all with the different expressions and sounds they could make. "Everybody, look at this face!" And they stalled bedtime every night by requesting every fruit in the kitchen one at a time until they were finally whisked upstairs by their parents. 

Kids these days: some of our awesome coworkers
...'borrowed' photo courtesy of CPJ

The rest of the night was usually spent gathered together in the living room, enjoying each other's company (and the internet connection and fire). We caught up on movies and TV shows, including far too much Holmes on Homes. Which we all determined was sound directed by one of Holmes' family friends. One night after watching Harry Potter, we came to the sad realization that we are getting old. I mean, sure, we're young and traveling. But all the other volunteers were young and traveling. Harry Potter was their Back to the Future. They're younger than Harry. And don't get us started on the fact when Aladdin came out, they weren't even born! To add insult to injury, they spent an afternoon reminiscing about their middle school dance songs, which included our college hit, "Yeah," by Usher and Lil Jon. For shame. It was a strange feeling to realize you're sharing drinks and jokes with people ten years younger than you. Or even that people ten years younger than you are drinking!

For the second half of our stay, the weather turned absolutely beautiful, and we had a great time playing with the girls outside with their brand new Hello Kitty umbrellas (quickly turned parasols with the change in weather). We also got to bust out our running gear for basically the first time of our trip. And we got back to our "roots" pruning the dozen or so olive trees on the property. Thanks, Tonio and Donato.

Cami came home from school one day with a stomach bug, which stayed around for so many days that John and Jill took her to the doctor. They were worried that it might be a bigger issue, so they spent the night with her in the hospital. It was a very scary couple of days, and it meant that Celeste was stuck with us volunteers while not fully understanding where her family was. Thankfully, Jill helped us get Celeste into the bath mid-tantrum before she left, and once the bubbles hit the water she was too distracted to notice we were on bedtime duty. For a three-year-old with a handful of strangers and no family in her house, Celeste was a champ. She hammed it up in the tub and through story time. But then she said she would save the last story for when Cami got back, and we had to explain to her that Cami wasn't sleeping there that night. She walked around Cami's crib slowly, and sadly announced, "but there is nobody else in here." It was the cutest and saddest thing we'd heard.

Thankfully, after a brain scan, Cami returned home from the hospital with a clean bill of health, her usual gusto, and a giant chocolate cake. 

Chapter 2

Robin with our second group of coworkers
 and a creepy float.

About a week before we left, a new volunteer, Kaleigh, arrived. Her luggage hadn't. But she couldn't have been more positive about it, and got straight to work despite having none of her stuff. The airline and luggage delivery agency was far from helpful, and gave up after they drove the main street of Gonfaron and didn't see the house. They only spoke French, so John and Jill helped follow up when they could, but eventually they found out that the only way to get it was to go back to the Nice airport.

So, as a farewell gift, Jill and John loaned us all the car for a day trip to St. Tropez, the city David had always wanted to see and just missed on both our Cote Azur road trips, and to head to the Nice airport to finally pick up Kaleigh's bag after a week of fighting with the airline. She'd been such a good sport managing with what she had on her back for that long. We spent a few hours in Nice, touring the antique fair, eating baguettes, and checking out the carnaval decor, before heading on to St. Tropez. We arrived just before sunset and hiked up to the citadel, where we scaled a wall and saw a peacock reach the top of a tree by basically jumping from branch to branch.

Best times:

After watching a successful home haircut performed by our fellow volunteers one evening, we thought, heck, if these kids can do it, so can we! So Robin had a glass of wine and scissors and an hour later David got a much needed haircut.

Learning about British culture from our only non-American company: Like that the word "lad," which we'd always thought meant a proper English boy, basically means a playboy manwhore. There's a whole website dedicated to guys bragging (*cough* lying) about various conquests and punctuating it with "Lad." E.g.: "Just hooked up with a girl while my girlfriend was in the next room. Sly lad." 

Le Bowl Super - After a night of super bowl food (nachos, seven layer bean dip, guacamole, chili and chicken strips) we watched a morning after replay of the Super Bowl on the Armed Forces Network. John and David were pretty much the only football fans, Sarah had never heard of the Super Bowl, and Robin accidentally saw the end score on Yahoo. So slowly everyone lost interest and David watched the end by himself.

The Lovely Owl - watching Sarah get as emotional as the first time every time she watched the Lovely Owl. Then introducing her to Christian the Lion with full-on sob results.

Sparks Flies

French Riviera Road Trip

We'd been alone on the island of Europe for months, missing the familiarity of home and all of our stuff that was stolen in Marseille. Then on the horizon came a glimmer of hope. Our friend Mike Sparks told us he was headed to Europe and wanted to see us. After day(s) of elaborate planning, we'd worked out a trip itinerary along the riviera for four days of rest, relaxation and aggressive sightseeing. 

We laid out a breakneck plan to see Monaco, Roman ruins in Freges, the beaches of St. Raphael, baroque and Russian architecture in Menton and Nice, and the yachts of the super rich in Antibes. 

We left the Nice Airport and headed for dinner across the Italian border. It was Sparks' first time in Europe and we wanted to help him check off as many countries as we could. We found the charming Italian town of Dolceacqua, an authentic feeling medieval hilltop town just a half hour across the border. We got lost a few times with a cheap bottle of Italian wine in hand, and somehow managed to run into the only other strollers four or five times on our way up to the castle at the top of the town (which was closed).

We eventually found flat ground again and went in search of an autentico Italian dinner, settling on one of the two restaurants that were open (it's slim pickings in low season). We had a great meal with pizza, papardelle and the soulful bass of 90s smooth jazz. 

A few hours later, we were back in France, full of food and Italy-ed out. We set up camp in Menton, the city famous for its oranges and old people. They really take it seriously, because they were everywhere. Each sidewalk was lined with orange and lemon trees and blocked with senior couples out for their afternoon passegiata. Unbeknownst to us, we arrived the day before Menton's citrus festival…more refreshing than Nice's competing carnaval. We got to see the magic in action as workers created the Eiffel tower, a gladiator, and a giant shoe — all out of citrus. Imagine the wasted juicing opportunities. 

We drove along kilometers of beautiful coastline and rocky cliffs, which Sparks pointed out "looks like California." A lot of websites we looked on had said that the riviera was the California of France, and it turns out to be true. But unlike California's coast, the water of the Mediterranean is bright blue.

For a change of scenery, we turned inland for the windiest drive we'd ever experienced to the town of St. Agnes (1200 ft up). After almost an hour of turns and twists and climbing 100 meters every kilometer, out of nowhere the small village appeared with a WWII anti-aircraft bunker and rows of artists' shops. After we parked we hiked up to the top peak of the mountain, where a 12th century castle once stood. Now, there's just a lonely guy who charges admission to visit his "royal gardens." We looked down at the miles of t-shirt weather beaches below as a flurry of snow started falling around us atop the mountain.

We swirled back down the mountain and landed at the bottom of the hill in Monte Carlo, Monaco. The streets are bordered with the red and white stripes for the Grand Prix, and the area around the casino is congested with Aston Martins, Bentleys, Ferraris, and Rolls Royces. Gardeners are constantly primping and manicuring the city to keep it postcard perfect for its billionaire residents. The rich and famous are well protected here: security cameras dot every intersection and the entire city can be shut down in a matter of minutes. 

We'd already driven for a few hours and pulled over for lunch in Eze, yet another hilltop town overlooking the beach. We wanted to flaunt how French we'd become, so we had a picnic of baguettes, fromage and jambon, complete with a beer from the Alsace region. We felt like a couple of annoying tour guides, pointing out historical glassmaking techniques, architectural differences, and ancient stone construction. Our last stop before Cannes was yet another hilltop town, St. Paul de Vence, where we saw a beautiful sunset and an art gallery selling a giant photograph of Will Smith hugging a pillow. 

After our drab accommodations in Menton, we were treated to stay in an amazing hotel in Cannes. Our workaway hosts had arranged for us to stay at the Pullman Hotel and Casino as a kind of thank you for our work. The room was great, with a balcony, rain shower and a window between the shower and bedroom. Kinky! The beds were so comfortable, Sparks committed to redoing his bedroom at home and considering stealing the duvet on our way out.

For dinner, we found there was a La Tonnelle restaurant just a couple miles away. (For our loyal readers, you'll remember that it's a roadside restaurant with an all-you-can-eat dessert and chese budget and an all-you-can-drink bar of beer, wine and cider on tap.) We rushed to find the restaurant before they closed, but google maps directions were wrong and we ended up speeding through a speed trap to find it. We were pulled over and a very French police officer kept reiterating that this "isn't California, it's a town." David was doing 90kph on a four lane divided road where the speed drops to 50kph. In France, traffic violations are payable on the spot and apparently were cash only. Which made it seem a bit like a scam, but better to pay them off than end up in a French jail. 

With David's poor broken French arguing, we missed the restaurant and ended up eating overpriced Vietnamese food. We returned to the hotel with a mission to win back all of our losses at the casino.

We'd love to say we walkd into the casino and did a Hangover-esque card counting scheme and walked out with thousands of euros, but nothing in France is awesome. This isn't Vegas, it's a town. Cards were sloppily dealt and Sparks was shorted twice on blackjack payouts. Once, the dealer paid Sparks with his own double down bet, and the other time took his money on a push. The cocktail bar, however, did have a giant jar of chocolate chips…so, win.

The next morning we were back on the road with a stop walkable from our hotel to see the castle of the American artist, Henry Clews. He was kind of a nut and constructed a baroque/gothic style castle on the shores of Cannes in the 1920s. He lived there with his wife, whose name he changed to Marie when they married. The castle has a lot of his artwork, which ranges from classic to modern to cartoony and grotesque. It's worth a visit if you're passing through. 

Our road trip was rushed South to see Roman ruins in Frejes. We saw a 2nd century BC amphitheater and saved 2€ in admission because the French don't work winters. It was really in ruins but it was amazing to see centuries-old trees growing through the building.

We creped for lunch and hustled to reach our last stop of the Picasso museum in Antibes. It proved to be a tiring day of slow-going roundabouts along the coast, but we made it to the museum an hour before closing. The museum is housed in the castle where Picasso stayed after WWII. There was such a shortage of canvas in war torn France that Picasso painted on the walls and the backs of older portraits. Many exhibits were closed for remodeling so the trip was only good for a 15 minute loop.

Antibes is a delightful old town, and Sparks finally found the charm of France. We strolled the streets with a baguette and scarily unpasteurized brie and had a parking lot picnic in a small town square. 

After sundown we were tired and ill-prepared mentally to retrace our entire drive along the coast. We passed through cities we'd seen in the days before, including Golf Juan and Cagnes Ouest. The only time you can say you're getting into Kanye West without people judging you. We arrived at our next hostel in Nice which is renowned to be one of the best hostels in the world. After taking a half hour to get our reservation acknowledged and getting a distracted tour, we were cornered by the old owner and given a second tour and game of Nice 20 Questions even though we made it clear we were leaving in them morning. We toughed it out and decided on staying low key and ordering a pizza from the hostel. They wouldn't accept an order for a half hour. 

To say goodbye on our last night together, we visited the old town and found an Irish pub with an Australian cover band playing classic 90s American hits. Viva la France! 

Best Laughs:

Just after the Italian border, traffic came to a stop. We saw a very Italian car accident: A car ran over a motorcycle. No one was injured, the vehicles weren't damaged , but the drivers weren't at their vehicles and no one attempted to move the vehicles out of the road. Cars waited patiently for a back-up that probably took hours to clear.

Ennui There Yet

France Road Trip: Part 3

After getting our fill of châteaux, we continued south through beautiful countryside and tiny towns of grey stone buildings, running the gamut of sightseeing from somber WWII sites to cognac tours to catching up with friends. So, prepare for a very long post covering two weeks of driving nearly 700 miles across the Dordogne to the French Riviera. We've included some highlights, advice and memoirs for ourselves. So feel free to read the whole thing, or even better, just skim.

Cognac: Remy Martin Tour

For our Cognac stop, we scoured forums and trip guides to try to decide between the tour offered at the Hennessey factory or the slightly pricier but better reviewed Maison du Remy Martin. Our minds were made up when we saw the the Hennessey factory was closed for winter. We went in knowing next to nothing about cognac, and left intoxicated connoisseurs. We learned that the term "grand champagne" on cognac bottles refers not to the grapes but to the type of soil, which the region shares with the region famous for its bubbly. 

Remy Martin is renowned for its Louis XIV, which ranges from $1400 to $2500 a bottle. Each bottle is hand blown crystal, and no two are the same. The true craftsmanship of Louis XIV isn't that it's exceptionally delicious, rather that it is skillfully blended with different vintages and barrels of spirits to have a consistent flavor. The appeal is that you're enjoying the same flavor that your aristocratic great-great-great grandfather enjoyed a couple centuries ago. Each cognac house has a master taster (maître de chai) that's in charge managing the flavor, and Remy Martin prides themselves on having the first female maître de chai of all the major cognac houses.

We toured the historic cellars, where only Louis XIV production takes place.We were shocked to learn the almost 100 barrels are lost to evaporation during the 40-year aging process; which they call the "angels share" or justification of the price per bottle. They removed the bung on one of the barrels and the liquor smells strongly of Dr. Pepper.

Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to try the Louis XIV, but the guided tasting was very educational and it alone was worth the price of admission. We tried the low-end VSOP with chocolate then with shrimp, and the high end Grand Cru with foie gross mousse with a balsamic reduction. They were a delicious pair, but when trying the foie with the VSOP, it suddenly tasted like peanut butter. Our host was very handsome/charming/fancy and after guiding us through the distillery and tasting, guided us to the gift shop. Bejeweled bottles of Louis XIV were available for up to €12,000 (which included a matching carrying case that converts into a display shelf). Persuaded and loosened up by our tasting, we bought a few small bottles, including clearing out the stock of a very limited single production cognac and buying their maître de chai's new personal blend.

Oradour Sur Glane:

In our road trip research, we came across another French WWII landmark, the French martyr village of Oradour Sur Glane. We knew it would be an upsetting sight, but having forgone opportunities to see concentration camps in Germany, we thought it was a worthwhile and necessary stop to really absorb the atrocities of that time. 

In the days following the Normandy invasion, German troops descended on this small town in Southern France and systematically murdered the entire town in one afternoon. Women and children were taken to the town's church and gunned down, while the men were killed on the streets before the whole town was set on fire. It was a horrible and inexplicable act, with only theories on what brought it about. Some people think it was done by Germans who saw the end coming and wanted one last battle, and other people consider it revenge for a German commander that was killed in the area that week.

After the massacre, the town was never restored or reinhabited, and was left as a permanent memorial to the victims. Everything is still in it's place, and it's an eerie and silent ghost town. Cars are parked in driveways and bikes, beds, and radiators are still in the homes. Plaques on each building tell the name, occupation, and age of each victim. It was a sobering visit, and an interesting juxtaposition to see the new town that sprung up next to the memorial, living life in the present so close to the horrors of the past.

Petit Clos

After Oradour, we were happy to be on our way to see a friendly face. Our friend and old coworker, Cindy Petterson, had moved to a small town in Southern France with her family a couple years ago, and we were excited to see her on our trip. The Pettersons have done a fantastic job of converting an old farmhouse into a beautiful B&B with soon-to-be vacation gites next door. It was amazing to see all the work they've done on the house through "before" and "after" pictures, and how quickly they've made themselves at home in France. In fact, their daughter has become fluent in French and at the top of her class in a French school, all in the short time they've been there. 

Our only surviving non-ring photo from Southern France

Cindy suggested some stops along our drive to her house, so we got to fit in a few more chateaux and quaint towns in Domme, La Roque Gageac and Beynac. Some great smaller towns we would have never found on our own, and a pasture that we chanced upon for a half hour of animal antics. 

We were thrilled to be guinea pig guests and experience their gorgeous rooms, hospitality and delicious food including daube, a good ol' fashion taco night and our favorite, Confit De Canard. Cindy introduced to this specialty. Although it's a super gourmet (and delicious) dish, it actually comes in a can and is easy to cook up for a nice dinner. In fact, we stole her idea and made it for Robin's parents when they visited awhile later.

Unfortunately, Cindy was a bit under the weather when we stayed, but Hank was happy to show us around their expansive grounds to take a look at their forest and vineyard. Hank also provided David's highlight of the whole France trip: watching the 49ers game in the middle of the night on a big-screen TV. The game finished at 5am, but David was a diehard (and sleep-deprived) fan and watched the whole thing, even if it was a bad idea.

We had a great stay with the Pettersons. If anyone is traveling in the region, be sure to check out Petit Clos in St. Jean de Duras. You'll be glad you did!  

One ring to unite us all

As mentioned in the Paris post, we got engaged in early January. David, afraid to travel with a diamond in tow, opted to bring a simple ring as a symbol and then buy the real deal in Europe. Unfortunately, that ring didn't fit, so the hunt to find the perfect ring became a top priority. 

The capitol of the Perigord region — famous for black truffles, foie gras and other gastronomy — is the town of Perigeuex, the city from where Robin gets her last name. (More on Perigueux in a later post.) Since she'd be taking David's name when they got married, Perigeuex seemed to be the ideal place to buy the ring.

We got to Perigeuex on a balmy 38ºF morning with a list 5 jewelry stores long. We passed a window of a jewelry manufacturer and we popped in and painstakingly communicated, "We are fiancees. We are to find a [point at finger]. To buy diamond. Fiancees." We eventually got our point across and the hunt began. The jeweler was very friendly and guided us to several stores, helped us with sizing, and gave us some pointers on where to go and what to look for. And as David investigated a vintage diamond ring, our new friend told us that David has the "eye of a jeweler." Who knew?

In Perigeuex we narrowed it down to 5 different rings, but none of them were The One. Our search also took us to the town of Berjerac, of Cyrano fame. We started to embrace the idea of buying a vintage ring, something with a little history to it. Soon, we were driving through every small town looking for Brocante (antiques) or Bijoux Anciens (vintage jewelry) signs, which surprisingly there are a LOT of all over France. (We didn't see nearly as many in any other country). A store in a middle-of-nowhere town had a diamond the size of a dime laughably out of our price range (we did , however, find a great vintage alarm clock there at a much better price - didn't fit on Robin's finger, though). At another store, we accidentally almost placed an order for a custom ring because of our language barrier. And one place advertising brocante turned out to be nothing more than a very sad hoarder in a frighteningly dirty storefront/apartment. Several places would immediately get suspicious and decline us when asked if they had diamond, then they'd size us up and decide they weren't going to get robbed. One shop owner said he had nothing, then locked the door and reached for a small ziploc bag behind a velvet curtain loaded with vintage pre-WWII diamond rings. Our search for a ring gave us a lot opportunities to practice our French and after a few days, we had finally figured out what type of ring we were looking for. 

Marseille

We were ready to start our drive along the southern riviera, but hadn't found a ring yet. So, we made a stop to the West to visit Marseille. We didn't plan on seeing the city, but a google search for antique jewelry came up with tons of results. When we pulled into the city, it was jarring. We'd been driving for weeks through towns and hamlets, and it was a dramatic shift to be in the middle of the 3rd largest city in France. We found an AirBnB on the outskirts of the city center and made a determined itinerary of ring-shopping and sight seeing.  The port city is notorious for crime, and every jewelry shop is guarded with either bullet proof glass, remote controlled doors, a security guard and sometimes all three. Shopping in Marseille didn't feel quaint, but by then end of the first day we were sure we'd seen at least one The One. After two days of ring searching, and two nights of soul searching, we finally decided on a ring, which was actually the first ring in the first store we saw.

Aside from small pieces of metal, Marseille has a lot of interesting sights. Saint Mary's church is atop hill overlooking the city and the port and the decorations inside worship ships almost as much as Christ. The city was once the most significant port in Europe and you can still see how impressive it had been. The count of Monte Cristo washed up on the shores of Marseilles, but he surely saw a very different version of the city. 

We alternated between loving and hating Marseilles. On the one hand, there was some beautiful architecture and undiscovered plazas that made it seem like it was underrated by guidebooks.  But on the other, every time our views were looking up, we'd almost step in dog poop or human vomit or garbage and have to start looking down again. Of course, as our loyal and lovely readers now, we left Marseilles on a low note (more here).

Riviera 

To say that the wind was gone from our sails after our Marseilles stop would be an understatement, but we did try to carry on. We drove through Cannes and Monaco in the dark. We had to return our car in Nice, but first we overshot it and drove straight through to Italy for the closest thing to a dose of home we could find. We ordered some pasta and a panino in Santelmo before heading back to face France once again.

Rainy Days in Nice

Nice was not exactly the beach town of its postcards when we arrived in late January. It pretty much poured the entire time we were there, which was fine with us because we were still recovering and not in much of a mood to sightsee. We instead passed the time being American homebodies: shopping at their mall, reading and going to see a movie at the theater in VO (version original). Of course, reading The Lovely Bones and seeing The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo weren't exactly great choices for pick-me-up escapism, but our options were limited. The old town of Nice was quite quaint and we were glad to have another opportunity to see it (more on that later). In fact, in strolling the city center we found about a dozen vintage jewelry shops. A few days to late to avoid our Marseilles stop, but at least we aren't bitter. 

We bid adieu to Nice and headed to our next stop, our second workaway. Stay tuned!

Road Trip Best Times:

• Discovering the radio station, Nostalgi, a mixture of American and French oldies. One of our favorites was actually a medley of different American hits. "It's been a hard day's night….yeah yeah yeah….Gloria!" We definitely found a couple of new wedding song contenders, and realized that radio bumpers in France are perhaps more amusing than the songs.  Take a listen!

• Picking out our wedding palette by pointing at shutter colors and tree bark in Provence.

With France Like This, Who Needs Enemies?

Marseille

Ya, sure, it looks nice.
But it's an awful place

The unthinkable happened. After 3 weeks of a road trip, which you, our readers, know nothing about, our shiny happy fun blog has come to a shrieking hault.

So, in this blog post, we’re going to bitch and complain, air our grievances and jump ahead to modern day. Then go back and chip away at the two-month void in our travel log.

Our electronics have been stolen, along with photos from November through January. With it we lost written blog posts for five major stops on our tour, our tacky souvenir magnets we’ve pain-stakingly hand selected for awful quality and worst of all — our happiness.

Marseille It Ain’t So
We detoured our French road trip south through Marseille in search of bijoux anciens stores, which the city has many of (more on this later).

Driving into the city was an immediate nightmare. A patchwork of one way streets meeting in 5-way intersections, congested shopping boulevards bisected by a cars width lane, and direction signage that guides cars onto sidewalks without warning to pedestrians. Every parking spot in the city is paid parking, even in residential areas. It took us an hour to realize this and we drove a quarter mile on a sidewalk to get to an underground parking lot.

We set off on foot, determined to find the hidden charm of the city that was lost on us in the car. But, walking around proved not much better. We passed by homeless people on almost every corner and actual gypsies on others. With almost every step, we were either dodging dog poo or some other mystery liquid. Or, in one case, a person.

This is a photo of Marseille. 

We were crossing a street in a shopping district as a bald, thuggy looking guy in a puffy down jacket and aviators approached us. He was walking straight toward Robin, and as he got closer, he started to scratch the back of his head, sticking his elbow straight out infront of him like the bow of a ship. Robin took a couple steps aside, but he stayed locked on target and jammed his elbow right into her shoulder, just below her collar bone. We finished crossing, like two ships passing in the night, colliding, then continuing on.

It was startling and seemed like some sort of distraction a pickpocketer might use. Once we crossed the street, we both looked at the man in shock. But just as we turned to continue soaking up Marseilles, the man had somehow re-crossed the street for a confrontation. He was now gaining on us and yelling unintelligible French phrases. We walked quickly up the block with blinders on, followed by the shouting Marseillian till we ducked into a small convenience store, hoping to throw him off our track.

It worked. He was no where to be seen after we left the store, and any charm Marseille had left was gone in our eyes.

And speaking of gone...to complete our 3-day stay in Marseille, we took the advice of a desk-woman at the Tourist office to drive outside the city center along the beach, which was quite beautiful. So we set out east along the coast to begin our a 5 hour route across the whole French Riviera. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize Marseille’s local coastal roads don’t connect to any through roads to the rest of the coast.

We circled, searching our map for any kind of way out, and ended up winding around the same few surburban roundabouts. Our instincts were telling us to power through and get out of the city that had trapped us somehow, but frustration and hunger won and brought us to a quaint seaside parking lot surrounded by restaurants perfect to pop in for a quick bite to eat.

Our lunch was delicious. Eating in France has been a frustrating experience, but ironically we found a great restaurant that was affordable and had a delicious lunch. What made it ironic was at the end of the meal, David declared, “Y’know what? This is the first French meal where I’ve had nothing to complain about.” 

This is probably what it looked like when it happened. But in French.

But, at that moment we would have the most to complain about for our entire trip.

At that moment, our rental car was being expertly broken into a few meters from where we sat; targeted because of its rental license plates (we were told later by the Marseille police department).

On our last day with the car, we lost our “electronics” backpack,our beautiful new SLR, a plastic bag with our ugly magnet collection and the photos from the next 10-or-so blog entries.
We didn’t realize our “emergency” credit cards were buried deep in our document binders. It wasn’t overlooked by the thieves. They spent over $2,000 in the three hours before the fraud department got wind of what what was going on.

For insurance reasons, and being justice-loving Americans, we drove completely deflated and panicked to the Marseille police department, where we gave a report of what happened with no sympathy in return. The officer taking the report bragged to us about his 2-month visit to New York and was not even robbed once. WAY TO GO! He also told us a comforting story about have 4 pairs of shoes stolen from his car on a beach in Itlay.  He showed no interest in investigating our case, declining any information we had about where our car was or physical descriptions of the missing items.

Our beautiful sunset coastal drive turned into a dreary inland night crusade to our seaside splurge hotel to end our road trip. That night, our romantic evening turned into midnight phone calls, cancelling credit cards, changing passwords, alerting authorities and sighing painfully as we remembered other missing items and irreplaceable photos.

We visited the nearest police station the next morning, armed with a list of stores where our stolen credit card had been used, the time of purchase and the purchase amounts with hopes that one would have a surveillance camera to help catch the perp. The local police called the Marseille station and read the list of stores. They responded by asking us to call the stores on our own and ask if they had any information. So, with the help of a friendly hotel receptionist, we called all the stores the next day and 3 stores remembered the person and were prepared to describe them to the police. We called the police back with this new information — not interested.

So, we’re continuing on, like two motherbirds with a nest empty of electronics, taking each other under each other wings, spittting food into each other’s mouths. Pathetic.

In the next weeks, we’re hoping to bring our blog back up to present day, un-soured by our losses. We plan to look online for specific photos to bring the blog to life, or add a couple thousand words in their place. We’ve written a log of our favorite lost photos and might list them for our own memories.

So, moving on...

Loire in Order: Chateaux Visitors Unit

Road Trip Part 2: Châteaux Country (Blois, Blois, Blois)

After bidding adieu to Normandy and Brittany, we headed south for some castle sightseeing (quickly becoming our primary activity in Europe). We made Blois our homebase for 3 days, but started checking out chateaux out before we even checked in.

For anyone planning a chateaux visit, for each castle we visited we've listed prices and our "value" rating on a four turret scale! What fun! For quite a few, we only saw the outside, either because of time constraints, their opening hours or their pricing, with some costing more than the Louvre. 

Amboise: On our way into Blois, we saw our first chateau, infamous for hanging hundreds of Huguenot rebels from its exterior arches. It looked imposing from across the river, and that was as close as we got, opting for wine tasting in Vouvray instead. 

Chaumont: We didn't realize this chateau was closed by the time we arrived, so we drove up the hill through the city looking for the way in. Instead, David just ended up having a hilltop bathroom break.



Chambord (9.50€; ♜♜♜♜):
This was our first true stop and our favorite chateau. Even though it was never completed, it's the largest chateau in Europe and it is huge : It has 77 staircases, 282 fireplaces, and 426 rooms. But, when none of the fireplaces are going, it's freezing in January with very few visitors. The castle was originally designed as a hunting lodge in the 1500s and sits in the center of a wooded park. We passed boar crossing signs on drive in, but unfortunately didn't see any animals - except for salamanders adoring the castle. The ferocious symbol of King Francois I.


The castle is made of soft limestone, which made carving very easy. So our visit soon turned into a hunt for the oldest graffiti. It was really fun to see how nice even the aristocratic rebels' and hoodlums' handwriting was back in the 1600 and 1700s. We found one from the 1500s that was sadly followed by one from 2020, which kind of killed our buzz.
The other highlight of the tour was a double helix staircase (designed by Leonardo da Vinci) with two separate staircases spiraling around each other but never meeting. Oh, imagine the delightful photos we took of each other from across the staircase! The stairs led up to a very elaborate rooftop, which has so many towers and chimneys that people compare it to the skyline of a town. People used to watch hunts from the roof,  because the hunters forced animals out of the forest to the front of the castle to be killed. 

Cheverny (8.70€; ♜♜♜♖)
This was the only castle we saw where the owners still live (and still owned by the same family!), which meant you could only tour the first two floors and that you saw some awkward current family photos. Although many castles were damaged during the French revolution, the owners were well liked and the castle was not affected.

The architecture and decor, both from the early 1600s, are well preserved and amazing to check out. Our favorite part was 6,000 years older, though: prehistoric antlers, hung at the actual height of the animal (see below, and pretend that's Robin).

Speaking of animals, the most unique aspect of the visit is checking out the hunting dogs, since Cheverny is still a hunting chateau. The dogs are half English foxhound and half French Poitou, and - let's face it - a little scary and aggressively howly. You can watch the feeding (of raw meat) if you get there in time. First we were disappointed we missed it, but after watching and hearing them during what should have been a food coma, we were glad we didn't see the real action.

Of course, the highlight of the visit is imagining you're in a Tintin comic, since this is the inspiration for the Chateau de Moulinsart in the books. Poetically, our only surviving photo from our chateaux hopping is us tintining at the castle (see above). If you want to shell out a bit extra (we didn't) you can see a Tintin exhibit next door, but it's mostly just wooden cutouts of the characters. 

Chenonceau (11€; ♜♜♜♜ without ticket) We were really excited about seeing this chateau after reading about it, but were planning on just looking from the outside since we only had a half hour and didn't want to pay the high admission price for such a short visit. We were disappointed to find out that they charge admission before you can even get within sight of the castle, so we drove away upset. But then we had the bright idea of trying to get a glimpse from another angle (way to go, atlas!) and got the shot to the left. Ok, not that shot because we have no photos anymore, but a shot from that angle.

Best Tip: If you don't need to see the interior of the castle, cross the first bridge east of the castle entrance and make a hairpin right onto a dirt road. Park your car at the trail head and walk along the river for about 10 minutes until you see the castle. In our opinion, the view from the South side of the river seemed even better than the postcard shots we'd seen from the other side. Oh, and did we mention it was free? We like that. 

Château d'Azay-le-Rideau: 
This early Renaissance chateau is built on an island in a river. We arrived just after closing time for this one, too. But, after our good luck with Chenonceau we walked around the lake to sneak a look across a bridge at the back of the castle. The view wasn't like this photo at all — more of a glimpse of a turret through thick trees. But, in our memories it looked just like this!

Blois: Despite Blois being our "home" for a handful of days, we didn't end up with enough time to see more than a drive-by of this castle right in the center of the city. The spiral staircase in this photo is the most famous part of the castle, and our least memorable — for obvious reasons.

Saumur (♜♜♖♖):  After our stint in Blois, we spent the night in Saumur before heading down south. And wouldn't you guess, there was another chateau there! This one was much older than the period we'd been seeing (built in the 10th-12th centuries). We had a great time hiking up through the city to reach it. Since it was a less popular chateau, it was closed for the low season, but the grounds and views across the river were beautiful.

Driving South, our atlas was a blessing and a curse, because it actually had a chateau symbol pointing out every one — large or small, famous or not — that we were driving near. The result was a number of small detours to see castles that weren't originally on our list:

Montbrun ("♜♜♜♜" - Brad Pitt): One of our favorite memories from this trip and one of our saddest photo/video losses. We rounded a corner and came face to face with a gorgeous small castle on a frozen lake. David tried skipping stones on it, and when the stones hit the ice they made sounds that can only be described as cartoon laser effects. It was insane. Trust us. We also got to pick up huge pieces of frozen lake. And, we just discovered another reason this place is awesome: Brangelina. The castle is still for sale if anyone is interested!

Ussé (♜♜♖♖): This is the chateau that inspired Charles Perrault's Sleeping Beauty (not to be confused with the castle that inspired the Sleeping Beauty Castle in Disneyland). We arrived after closing again but snuck some peeks from over the wall. 

Chinon (♜♖♖♖):  We didn't really give the place a chance.  We saw it after dark on another whim of a detour.  Since it's a medieval fortress rather than a renaissance castle, we decided we'd Chinon 'nough and moved on.  If you're looking for fortresses, Carcasonne is unbeatable (but we're saving it for another post...stay tuned!)

Best Tips: Use AirBNB for this region. Hotels tend to be more expensive in the area because it's so touristy, and you have the option to eat in with most AirBNBs. Which comes in handy especially if you're touring in the off season, when many restaurants are closed.