Entries about la bazoque

We have felt a bit cut off from the world for the past few days due to lack of Internet access. The afternoon before last, there was a rainstorm of biblical proportions (think Noah) with a bit of lightening thrown in. Ever since then we have had no connectivity at all. Our landlord, a British expat, just shrugged when I asked him about it and said, "This is France, what did you expect, this is the state of things here!" I can't say I am truly qualified to comment on the veracity of his prognostication on the entire state of the nation but as to the French information highway I can corroborate that at the best of times we have found bandwidth in France to be as narrow as the country tracks they consider to be two lane roads and as reliable as their weather forecasts. As a result we have not been able to touch base with our upcoming rentals in regards to arrival times and finalizing times to visit with relatives in Holland. The whole Internet situation has exacerbated our difficulties in getting out regular blog posts over the past couple of weeks. Once we get behind on one post we quickly lose momentum and motivation to keep up. It can feel as hopeless as trying to pass by a French patisserie without going in and buying something (or more like several somethings).

Perhaps it was the need for an alternate way to communicate with the outside world that prompted Muriel and I to rush, bleary-eyed, out the door for a church service this morning. The only thing that has been later than our blog posts recently has been our morning rising times. Muriel and I were acting on a recommendation we saw written in the guest book of our gite. The guest wrote, "If you want to experience something really different and amazing...make sure you drive to visit the Abbaye Mondaye for mass." We had no idea what to expect. Perhaps it would be a service in Latin accompanied by monks in black habits and sandals singing in Gregorian chant.

What we found was quite a large cathedral attached to a monastery that was absolutely packed with locals. We would estimate by a rough count of pews that there were at least 400 people in attendance at this church in the middle of the countryside at least 35 minutes from any sizeable town. Our arrival at the very last minute was suitably punished by having to sit in a pew directly behind a massive pillar. Others who were even later than us had the additional damnation of being assigned to ancient, I would almost dare say pre-Christian, benches along the sides with several pillars to contend with. Since the church is part of a monastery the service is well staffed and the pageantry far more than you would expect to find in run-of-the-mill Catholic Church service. I was thinking that perhaps even a pope might feel at home here. There were six altar boys, seven monks in white robes (no blackrobed Jesuits here), ten priests, an abbot/bishop and enough incense to make you double check if the church was on fire.

All the reports that say no one goes to church in France are at odds with what we witnessed. The congregation was an even representation of all generations with a healthy collection of crying babies and teenagers along with the expected gray-haired set. What we found notable, was the mixing of the priests and monks with the congregation after the service. Everyone was chatting with each other with great familiarity and affection. It would seem the rural French, in this area of Normandy at least, have kept their religious traditions alive and have a real affection for their clergy. If I am not mistaken, I saw a cake the size of a small car tire being passed off to one of the priests by a parishioner. By the look of the prelate's girth this was probably not the first such gesture of appreciation he has received from a congregant.

During the service one young boy partook in his first communion. He looked to be about seven years old and was dressed in an ivory coloured suit complete with ivory coloured shirt and bowtie. Despite the large number of people watching he looked quite at ease. The warm and friendly smiles from all the priests and monks seemed a key factor in his demeanour. We left the service realizing that it is the rural communities that preserve a culture and allow the urbanites to take a sober second look at what they are at risk of losing in terms of cultural practices and community. It is not to say that those in the country have it all right, they just don't have it all wrong either. There is no doubt that institutions, beliefs and practices really do need change in the light of the knowledge of the times but this doesn't mean it is in anyway healthy or wise to indiscriminately chuck it all either. That was enough intellectual fodder for reflection for the rest of the day.

It was overcast and rainy so we decide to remain at our gite. We like this quiet place in the country even with its quirks. Besides the unreliable or non-existent Internet service, there is the gas range. We have cooked nearly exclusively with gas in Europe. We have become much more appreciative of this method and have been thinking of eventually converting to gas back home. If our experience here was our first introduction to gas cooking we would be more likely singing a different tune like I would put an open campfire in my kitchen before using gas.

Our landlord made the odd statement when showing us the gite that stove was gas but it cooked really hot. I didn't ask him to explain. The gas canister connected to the stove is not particularly unusual but the sooty flames of the burners makes a coal burning cookstove look like the epitome of cleanliness. Try as we might we can't help but getting soot all over the place. The gas oven set off the smoke detectors twice this evening. Another quirk is the incessant beeping that occurs outside when it gets dark. Some comments in the guestbook suggest it might be the sound of frogs. I have grown up in a house next to a frog pond so I have heard a lot of frogs in my time and this really didn't seem like any species except of the digital kind. The beeping occurs in a recurrent pattern of single beeps. It might be something meant to keep birds or animals away from gardens and fields at night. It is something else to ponder today.

Morning Revelation

My pondering about electronic frogs lead to questioning my hosts the next morning. The beeping was produced by frogs. I wouldn't have believed it. Now if only I could have figured out how to take their "batteries" out last night I would have had an even better slumber last night.

Our final night in England was pleasant enough despite the fact that our B&B was across from the Dover Priory Train Station. It was fortunate we were on the second floor (that would read third floor in North America) so the tremors from the trains might be considered soothing rather than grating. The B&B has been run by a couple who both are offspring of Cypriot parents who immigrated to England in the 1950s. They started the B&B when she was just 17 and he a few years older. They have been running it for the past 27 years and have three kids either in or just having completed university. They say it has been a great living and a wonderful way to always be around for their kids. When you look at them and talk to them they certainly are the picture of contentment and she still looks incredibly young for someone who has raised a family and done all the cleaning and upkeep of the business together with her husband.

The B&B is a quintessential British affair. The building is in the style of a large boarding house, some of the rooms have their own bathrooms while others share a bath down the hall. The original sitting room is the breakfast room and a classic English breakfast is served. Little if anything in the interior has been updated in the past several decades, nevertheless, it was all in great repair and spotless. Our stay here was an appropriate way to finish off our time in England.

After spending seven weeks travelling in the English speaking world (aka the British Isles) we took the ferry from Dover to Calais and dusted off our foreign language dictionaries. When we booked our tickets online, the website instructed us to be at the terminal 45 minutes prior to sailing. We dropped off our rental car after breakfast and then took a short taxi ride to the terminal and were there at precisely the requested time. While we were waiting to check in there was a final announcement for boarding the shuttle bus to the ferry. It was a piece of information that even got our kids attention. I am not sure if I was more shocked by the fact that we may be missing our ferry or that my kids were paying attention like savvy adult travellers. Apparently, the website meant to state that we should be at the terminal absolutely not later than 45 minutes before sailing. We just squeezed onto the shuttle and it zipped off towards the ferry. At least we can say we didn't waste any time waiting around.

The Dover port is huge and it is a bit a drive to the ferry. First the bus passes through a police checkpoint where an officer boards the bus and checks and stamps passports. A little further along the bus enters a secure garage where everyone gets off to go through an airport style security check and then reboards the bus for the final leg to the ferry. It was abundantly clear why they need us at the terminal well before sailing time.
We caught a glimpse of the white cliffs of Dover just after we cast off but the moment we passed the breakwater the waves of the English Channel made themselves known. It was not a crossing for being out on deck taking in the scene. It is an hour and a half trip across the channel.
In contrast to Dover, when we arrived in Calais the sun was out and the air was warm. We picked up our car lease right at the terminal. The young man who helped us had an uncle who worked as missionary for 40 years in the Canadian Arctic. You don't come across that kind of connection to Canada every day. We stayed away from the topic of residential schools just to be safe.

We have leased a Kangoo again since it worked out so well for the first two months of our trip. The vehicle only had 4 kilometers on it and the driver's seat was still wrapped in plastic. This is a bit nicer model than our first Kangoo; the back seating area is unlike anything we have seen. It is a bit like an airplane. There are small tables that fold out of the back of the front seats and there are three overhead compartments for the people in the backseat to stow their personal effects and overhead shelf up front as well. We are happy to have a built in GPS again, even though it is a quirky affair which requires that you use a remote and type in letters by moving a cursor over an onscreen keyboard. Most off all we like the audio inputs for our iPods. This is our seventh car this trip and only the Kangoos have had audio inputs. We have missed listening to music and podcasts together as we travel. Without the audio inputs the kids more often than not have been plugged into their own headphones while we travel, limiting family interaction while driving. Listening to podcasts together makes for great family discussions and mutual education regarding music both ancient (anything the parents listen to) and modern (anything our kids listen to).

Our final destination today was the tiny village of La Bazoque, which is 30 minutes from Bayeux. We are staying in a converted extension of a very old farm house. Our section used to be a garage, workshop and dog kennel. I am happy to report it neither resembles nor smells like any of these previous functions now. We are in rural paradise. Abby fully approves of the place since the owners are British expats. If Abby were to rule the world everyone would speak the Queen's English and the weather would be as warm as it is this afternoon.