Monthly Archives: July 2013

Time and Customs and Cultures

It’s full-on summer now – no escaping it. Outdoor concerts abound, including the famous Aix Festival. Before setting off for England, we treated ourselves to a quintessential French dinner in the courtyard of “La Salle à Manger” in Salon de Provence.

La Salle å Manger
La Salle å Manger

After dinner we enjoyed an evening of world music by the group Lo’Jo in the courtyard of the 9th century Château de l’Empéri in Salon. The ubiquitous swallows of summer evenings were there to enjoy the music also. At the very first note one flew just above the performers’ heads to enter its nest in a small hole in the ancient column just by the stage, its privileged place to enjoy the concert.

Lo'Jo at the Château
Lo’Jo at the Château

I first heard Lo’Jo perform at Unity Church in San Luis Obispo ten years ago or more, introduced by some folks who had spent a year in France, like we are, and were captivated by their eclectic style of french- african- arab- and spanish-language, rhythms, culture and poetry. They didn’t disappoint – even though we’re all older now.

 

The next day we found ourselves on the Aix-TGV, in what’s known as a “quiet car”, making our way north to Lille. What a pleasure to watch the countryside and towns of France roll by. Everyone spoke in whispers; even the baby a few rows back cooed quietly. A very large boxer-bulldog rested his head on his owner’s knee: “sage chien.” Here and there the muffled murmurs in italian, french, spanish and british accents all mixed together.

 

Passing through the French farmland, made familiar by previous trips on the TGV, allowed me to mark our place in time in our year in France. In our early days in France, the grape vines were turning their sweetness to autumn flame. Now they are just setting their green fruit. Brilliant yellow fields of mustard that marked our spring trips to Paris have been transformed by mid-summer sun to tournesols/ sunflowers. Dazzling lavender is just ripe for cutting; and the first harvest of grain lies perfectly reposed in tidy rounds across the fields.

 

Changing trains to the Eurostar in Lille, we passed under the English Channel to London. (I find it a little unnerving to travel all that way under water.) There we hopped a cab to the next station to take another fast train across the mid-section of England to Liverpool, where we picked up a car and drove about 40 miles up the west coast to the little town of Southport, the scene of the British Senior Open Golf Championship for which Ken hoped to qualify. All of this took us about 10 hours of travel, door-to-door.

The Senior Open Happens Here
The Senior Open Happens Here

Southport is an old town that has seen better days. Its economy subsists on “the care industry.” One of the largest old buildings was a former hospital and convalescent center, now turned into condos, while the “patients” are in smaller “homes” throughout town.

The old Hospital
The old Hospital

The Southport pier hosts attractions for young and old, and is a gathering place for motorcyclists.

Motorcycles and carousels
Motorcycles and carousels

 

 

Beautiful Bike
Beautiful Bike

We settled into our home-away-from home, Edendale House, and were well looked after by our host, John.

Edendale House
Edendale House

And despite the warnings about proper dress code, and men-only clubhouses that we had seen in the information about the golf clubs where Ken was to play, we were both greeted cordially and with interest by everyone we encountered, both at the courses and in the towns.

 

To get a good feel for the links course at Southport & Ainsdale, Ken reserved a local caddy for his practice and qualifying rounds. Tim, the caddy, and Ken spent many hours together on the S&A course. Tim’s main tips for success were: “Just hit the ball where I tell you to” and “Just don’t go into the bunkers.” Tim was pleased to see that Ken could follow his advice most of the time.

Tim guiding the way over the bunker
Tim guiding the way over the bunker

While they were on the course practicing, I explored the town of Ainsdale and the local cemetery.

the littlest angel
the littlest angel
Hannah
Hannah

On qualifying day, the “Starter” was still trying to figure out how to say Ken’s last name as he teed up his ball for his first shot.

And they're off
And they’re off

Later, in the shade overlooking the 18th green, I was able to give him some help on pronunciation, and hear his stories of playing this course for 35 years, as we watched Ken and his group finish up their round.

Can you spell Smokoska?
Can you spell Smokoska?
Up the home stretch
Up the home stretch

Having walked the course with Ken and Tim the first day of practice, I can tell you it was very difficult, and the heat wave didn’t help course conditions. Links courses don’t leave much room for error, testing golfers’ precision, accuracy and patience.  About 126 golfers entered the Qualifying round. After a play-off among several golfers that lasted almost until dark, the 13 lowest-score golfers finally made it into the tournament that would begin four days later. Ken was happy that he had played well, that his score was about in the middle of the pack of mostly professional golfers, and that he had enjoyed the experience immensely.

In this part of the English coast the tides run out some five miles, leaving behind dangerous quicksand, and unfortunately, polluted sand and waters. Near Liverpool, at Crosby beach, there is an extraordinary installation of sculptures by Antony Gormly called “Another Place.” Ken and I were captivated. It was almost sunset and the tide was coming in quickly when we were there. We were able to see the water begin to cover the “men” standing, gazing into the distance.

Antony Gormley
Antony Gormley
Another Place
Another Place
a gormley figure
a gormley figure
The tide coming in
The tide coming in

With time on our hands and an aversion to continuing to face the nightmare of English driving – on the left, with manual shift with the left hand – I put out the suggestion: Let’s go to Paris! And so we did.For three days we had a total change of pace, ‘though the weather continued to be extremely hot. We strolled through the Jardin des Plantes, lunched in the shade at Luxembourg Gardens, and attended a “spectacle” created, directed and performed by William Kentridge called “Refuse the Hour.” It was in a small theater attached to the Comédie Française at the Palais Royale. It was magical, philosophical, a chamber opera with south African origins. I loved it.

Lunch at the Luxembourg Gardens
Lunch at the Luxembourg Gardens
Jardin du Palais Royale
Jardin du Palais Royale
Metro at the Palais Royale
Metro at the Palais Royale

We were almost the first in the door at the Centre Pompidou one morning where we were captivated by the vistas of Paris across sculpture ponds. I was happy to see two more works of Chagall there.

Sacre Coeur in the distance
Sacre Coeur in the distance
Reflections
Reflections

But the highlight of our time in Paris, aside from the charming garden of the Hotel des Grandes Ecoles where we stayed, was the Musée de Quai Branly. It seems impossible to describe the experience of this museum. The outside is a “living wall.”

Musée Quai Branly Living Wall
Musée Quai Branly Living Wall

For a brief rest stop we had ice cream on the terrasse with the Eiffel tower looking directly down on us. Inside the museum we were led by design of the pathways within the museum on a journey through time and worlds of culture and art of the peoples of Oceania, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. The half-light and earth tones of walls and floors led us deep into centuries of statues, totems, textiles, paintings, and 10,000 musical instruments preserved for their unique contributions. We were lost in time and other worlds.

 

   The “modern” art that we witnessed in the morning at the Pompidou, seemed redundant and unimaginative when experienced next to the “living art” of the Quai Branly. It seemed to both of us that the “masters” represented in the Pompidou were yearning and striving for what was already present, to be witnessed at the Branly www.quaibranly.fr.

 

The heat wave that we found in England and Paris was gripping Aix with full force when we returned. But within a few days the region was struck by violent thunderstorms that cleared and freshened the air. Welcome news from our friend Jan that she was able to book her flight and receive her passport to arrive in Paris August 5. Hurray! A great excuse to run up to Paris again to meet her, then jump over by train to the heart of the French Alps to meet Ken for a few days tromping in the mountains.  What a life!

 

 We’re never too busy or too far away to receive and enjoy your emails. As usual, a reminder that you can see these photos best on the main webpage (www.karenmerriam.com) and by clicking twice to enlarge them.

 

 Bisous to all.

 

Karen and Ken

Of Swallows, Marmots and Alpine Splendor

 A summer afternoon thunderstorm is building in the view outside my window. Sainte-Victoire is conducting a swelling chorus of clouds;  the percussion section prepares to take its turn; the air freshens.

 

 But the swallows, les hirondelles, take no notice of the approaching storm. They are busy catching dinner for their babies perched in the eaves just inches above my window. Fewer mosquitoes for me, more food for them, bravo. Two, three, eight-at-a-time: they swoop and dive within centimeters of entering my living room. Keeping the windows wide open is a calculated risk: a refreshing breeze for me, a dive-through dinner for the kids.

 

 Just ten days ago, after Ken and his Set Club team won a regional golf tournament at Digne-les-Bains, we set off for Grenoble to claim a prize that Ken had won in a fall tournament. Taking the “back roads” we found ourselves in intriguing terrain.

Les Demoiselles Coiffées
Les Demoiselles Coiffées

 

 This is a protected park site of naturally-occuring capped earth pillars that are called “Les Demoiselles Coiffés” du Sauze du Lac.

 

 After winding through hairpin turns along the sides of cliffs, beside azure lakes, we turned west at Briançon into the magnificent mountains of the High Alps, climbing through the Col de Lauteret. We were thrilled to find a botanical garden in full spring bloom at the very top of the pass.

Botanical Garden Col de Lauteret
Botanical Garden Col de Lauteret
birds of the botanical garden
And did I mention sheep? This area is their summer grazing ground.
Our strolling friends
Our strolling friends

The prize we were after on this trip across the mountains was a many-course Sunday “market lunch” at Le Grand Hotel Restaurant Les Terrasses in the spa town of Uriage-les-Bains, just east of Grenoble.

Hotel & gardens at Uriage les Bains
Hotel & gardens at Uriage les Bains

The hotel is on the left, peeking through the willow tree. While we nibbled our “amuse bouche” on the terrasse, summer scenes in the garden below entertained us.

a boy and his horse
a boy and his horse

 

The etiquette of the luncheon meal was orchestrated by a maitre d’hotel, several sous-maitre-d’hotel, des serveurs et serveuses, and other functionaries who slipped in and out of view like ghosts. On command we were moved silently from the terrasse to the dining room where other Sunday patrons dined and murmured in hushed voices.  Happily, a very young french honeymooning couple was seated at the table next to us, and occasionally we would glance at each other and get the giggles. It seems they were as clueless as we were as to what these delicacies were that huddled on our plates before us, and exactly which course were we on now?

 

Three hours later we were released to take coffee in the garden and stroll, à la Seurat. Oh dear, I forgot my parasol.

coffee in the garden
coffee in the garden

 

Having been revived by the coffee and tea, we followed our strong urge to flee back to the mountains and retrace our steps among the high peaks to make our way home the next day. Before nightfall, we found a modern little chalet perched on a hillside in the town of La Grave where we could enjoy an unobstructed view of La Meije, elev. 13,071ft. at sunset and sunrise.

Room with a view
Room with a view

A little stroll in the town of La Grave before an evening snack took us to the church and its cemetery.

La Grave
La Grave
The church at La Grave
The church at La Grave
A lovely place to rest
A lovely place to rest

I loved this sign in town announcing upcoming summer games.

Alpine summer games
Alpine summer games

The next day, we found a winding road that took us deep into a long valley and brought us to exquisite alpine meadows and several refuges, some of which were a walk of several km. We strolled the meadow, had lunch at one refuge, and enjoyed a marmot at play beside us.

meadows, streams and flowers
meadows, streams and flowers
view from lunch at the refuge
view from lunch at the refuge
une marmotte
une marmotte

I suppose our trip from Aix to Digne to Grenoble and back again is a little bit like going from semi-arid SLO (similar climate to Aix en Provence) to Yosemite Valley to Tuolumne meadows, and the Lodge beyond for lunch (a different sort of lunch for sure), and back again in two days. The distances aren’t all that different; however the density and magnitude of the Alps feel quite different from the Yosemite area.

 

Next week we will be traveling in very different terrain to Southport,  on the northwest coast of England, just up from Liverpool, where the British Senior Open Golf Championship takes place July 22-28. This time we’re taking the train from Aix to Liverpool (nine hours in all) to be sure Ken’s clubs arrive on time with us (a repeated nightmare on the Scotland trip), and to allow a leisurely transition before the pressures of tournament practice and play.  

We’ll keep you posted!

Bisous to all,

Karen and Ken

Of Sheep and Turtledoves

Standing outside our front gate today, Ken pointed high into the chestnut tree and asked how many doves I could see. At first I saw only one, balanced on a limb in the cool shade of the broad leaves. And then I saw another and another, at least five, all standing perfectly still in the deep green shadows. They didn’t make a sound, quite unusual for these vocal birds. But it’s no wonder they were perched so silently by our gate in the full shade – the temperature was just about 40 degrees C. or 104 F.

Hurray for summer. Break out the sundresses and hats, settle around the table in the garden for an impromptu picnic supper, search out a swimming hole or beach, and by all means get many scoops of artisanale ice cream down the street just past the city hall. If you are lucky enough to have tickets, you might see Rigoletto tonight in the Place Archivèche, or you can come with us to Les Écuries (stables) de l’Aube for a dinner outside on their terrace. Everywhere there are musical and theatrical events, the outdoor cafés are filled, and even the man who sells me newspapers started up a chat today about the weather. It’s the first time he’s talked with me. He prefers snow, he said, and he’s read about the fires in California; and we smiled and he complimented me on my french. It’s taken 10 months for this conversation to happen. Hurray for summer and open doors.

And summer has brought Dominique and Monique out onto the golf course with us – it’s taken ten months of consulting calendars and weather to finally make this happen. Both are just learning the game, and they have good natural talent and are “sportif”. Dominique is passionate about golf, and Ken is a willing coach, so a new team has formed, with mutual respect, and absolute glee. Each enjoys encouraging the other. Monique will try to find more time to play, and like Karen will enjoy the outings.

golf with the Faillards
golf with the Faillards

While on the subject of golf, I promised a few photos from our trip to Scotland where Ken played in the Scottish Senior Men’s Amateur Championship in June. While his score was modest, about in the middle of the pack, his spirits were great and we enjoyed immensely the whole experience of being in Scotland (except for driving on the tiny roads on the left side). The links course at Elie where the tournament was held, just down the coast from Saint Andrews, provided beautiful views of the ocean and castles of this rural “kingdom of Fife,” a peninsula north of Edinburgh.

Ken at Elie
Ken at Elie

At the bed and breakfast homes in Fife I felt as if I was “at home” in Philadelphia with the same furnishings and manners. Everyone was welcoming and helpful. The Park House at Kinneswood, with its ivy walls and sheep in the pasture (yes, sheep with horns) was very special.

Our bedroom is at the top left.
Our bedroom is at the top left.
Sheep from Arran Isle
Sheep from Arran Isle

Sheep were everywhere, on every possible slope and in every country yard.

Babe and mom
Babe and mom

While it may sound a little “woo-woo” I do think I felt a strong sense of my Scottish ancestry as we traveled around, especially on the Isle of Skye, the main site of the Donald Clan. My grandfather, Robin Macdonald, is sure to have descended from these smart and testy folk. We visited the Clan Donald museum and talked with a nice lady who will try to help us trace our ancestry, but I have a bit of work to do first to find out more about my grandfather’s family.

Sleat, Isle of Skye
Sleat, Isle of Skye

The southern tip of the Isle of Skye is the Sleat Peninsula, a moody, hilly place that yields a frugal living for man and animal alike. I loved it. It’s that family feeling, I guess.  In Sleat, on Skye, it is most always cool to cold and drizzly to downpour. But what magnificent greenery. Whitewashed stone-walled farms dot the countryside.

At Eilean Larmain, Sleat
At Eilean Larmain, Sleat

Did I mention the sheep?

Standing by the road on Skye
Standing by the road on Skye
Tucked into a rock
Tucked into a rock

At the Eilean Larmain hotel with its gentle view of the sound and the lighthouse (above) we were thrilled to hear a group of young musicians, all from the Highlands, who are carrying on the traditions of Scottish music. Below is a still picture of them playing. Unfortunately I couldn’t upload the  video that I took of them playing.

Traditional music
Traditional music

All over Scotland the spring flowers were in full bloom and rhododendrons were not just the decorative garden plant I’m familiar with, but were wildly cascading up and down mountains and hills in every part we traveled. I was astonished. Like so much of Europe, Scotland experienced a prolonged and unusually cold winter and spring, allowing us to see spring at its peak in mid-June.

rhododendrons everywhere
rhododendrons everywhere

Our last night in Scotland we stayed with Mary and Tom in their B&B, South Whittlieburn Farm, outside of Largs, not far from Glasgow. Mary loves to travel, and had just returned from a trip to France, but it’s hard, she said, to take time away from their farm of 500 sheep (a small herd).

Mary in Scotland
Mary in Scotland

There’s much more to write and photos to share of our recent trips in France, but not now. This coming week I’ll try to catch up on sharing recent events on the blog before we take off to England on July 17th where Ken will be playing in a qualifying competition for the British Senior Open Championship. It’s a BIG DEAL, and we’re excited to go. If all goes well with the golf, he will play five days there. He’s in top form, and has been winning regional team amateur events.  Next week he plays in a national team tournament at a course by the Mediterranean not far from here. While Ken is golfing, I’ll be doing more painting. I’ll close with some photos of a recent lunch our painting group enjoyed at the home of one of our painting friends. It was a great day and plein-aire painting at its best, with good food and good friends.

a toast to painting with friends
a toast to painting with friends
a pot luck fit for Cezanne
a pot luck fit for Cezanne

Okay, just one last image from a recent drive. The poppies and other flowers are still in bloom in areas just a short drive north of Aix.

Wildflowers near Digne-les-Bains
Wildflowers near Digne-les-Bains

Stay tuned for coming attractions! Next installment will include photos of the french Alps. Oh, it was glorious.

Thanks for sticking with us on our journey. You can write us at  karen@karenmerriam.com    or    kensmokoska@gmail.com   We would love to hear from you.

Bisous,   Karen and Ken