To celebrate our 10th anniversary we went to England and France, a basic Europe 101 trip, because it was my first. Darr, however, had been before, and had very specific itineraries in mind for me, and it was during this trip that I dubbed him the Nazi Tour Guide, shortened to NTG in my journal.
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| Stonehenge |
Part One: London, Bath, and Beyond
We stayed on points at the Kensington Forum Hotel in London, nothing remarkable, but remember, we had just gotten off Concorde. What I mostly remember in that hotel is watching news reports on what was then a mysterious illness called “Mad Cow Disease.” Fortunately, they have lots of cows in England for B-roll, and all of them were shown shaking their heads as if to say “What the hell?”
NTG 9 to 5 schedule first day. Rise at dawn, go to the Tower of London where we saw the Crown Jewels and the Instruments of Torture, take the subway to Piccadilly Circus, to get theater tickets, and walk walk walk to several other important attractions.
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| Salisbury Cathedral |
We took a side trip to Stonehenge, Salisbury and Bath and and found ourselves with the Robin Leach of tour guides. He talked constantly about himself, complained about the government, and ended every discourse with “and there you are” or “and there you go.” Stonehenge was remarkably spooky, despite it being a bright and sunny day, (every day we were there). Salisbury and Bath were sweet. Georgian houses on hilltops, narrow ancient streets, cute shops, pubs and hot water bubbling right out of the ground—which the Romans thought would be good for their ailments.
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| Bath |
We saw the Royal Shakespeare company perform Coriolanus at the Barbican Theater and The Woman in Black at the Fortune Theater. It was there that I experienced what we call a “perfect moment.” Darr and I are devotees of Spaulding Gray and in Swimming to Cambodia he perfectly describes what it is like to experience a perfect moment. We use it often. It wasn’t that the play was that good it was the fact that I was finally in London and sitting in the fourth row in a theater in the West End.
More journaling about the NTG “By the time we got to the British Museum I had only bloody stumps for feet, so it was fitting to see among The Elgin Marbles, so many severed limbs.”
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| There she is! |
One morning we had been to Winchester Cathedral and Parliament and we were headed for the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace when we spotted a gang of photographers outside of The Methodist Church House. Darr knew something newsy was up, and was told it was a Diana Watch. Telltale Bobbys next to Bentleys. The crowd started murmuring that we might see “le deux’’ or as someone explained: “She will be with Prince Charles.” A woman asked “Who?” and the man said “You know, her husband.” And when Diana appeared she looked as if there was an itty-bitty reading lamp fastened under her chin. She appeared to be surrounded by an angelic glow. Take your breath away beautiful.
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| Big Ben |
Part Two: Tour of Tours: The French Countryside
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| Lobby at Chateau D'Artigny |
We had at that time a very flamboyant travel agent (kids, ask your parents) with an appropriate name, Garbo. He was fond of saying “And then I’m going to take you to…” as if he personally were guiding the trip. In a way he was.
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| The Grounds at Chateau D'Artigny |
Garbo “took us” to two amazing places in France. Oh my God—The Chateau D’Artigny, former Coty family mansion and it was gilded and glamourous and exquisite and idyllic, and peaceful and pretty, with top drawer service to match. The estate is on 65 acres of beautiful parklands and gardens in the Loire Valley.
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| Tres heureuse |
But the very best most remarkable thing happened at the Chateau. At dinner one night we overheard a tableful of Americans talking animatedly, one kept saying “Aunt Elizabeth, what do you think? Aunt Elizabeth don’t you think this is the best place we have ever been on all of our trips?”
The voice was that of Brian Googins who was there with his brother and sister-in-law, and the indomitable Aunt Elizabeth. After dinner we started talking to Brian and his brother Mark in the parlor where they served cognac in crystal and offered fine cigars, and it turned out that we had fewer than 6 degrees of separation. Way less.
The Googins had grown up in Maine and when I told them I was a Warren they lit up, asking if I had a connection to the SD Warren Paper Mill in Westbrook, Maine where they went on field trips growing up. And then we waxed on the wonderments of Maine.
But that was just the beginning. It turned out that Brian lived a few blocks away from us in Washington, DC, and that he was in a book club with good friend of mine. We were friends for life after that. We summered at the Googins’ family cottage in Biddeford Pool, went to Brian’s 50th birthday party at the Willard, celebrated Fourth of July with the Googins in Falmouth with a trip to LL Bean. Brian died a few years ago, but was one of the treasures of the human race, a decorated war hero who served on the Swift boats in Vietnam, he was an economist teaching at Georgetown and about the time we met him switched careers and joined The Foreign Service. He had a huge intellect but also an eye for fun and a tendency toward racy gossip.
My French was pretty good then and the next day we went out to dinner at a restaurant in the countryside, and I ordered entirely in French, and spoke only French to the restaurant staff. A tableful of French people applauded me when we walked out. During our Tour of Tours, we saw Chinon, and Chateau Azey de Rideau.
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| L'Esperance Inn |
Then glory upon glories Garbo “took us” to Esperance, the site of a five star Michelin restaurant “Marc Meneau a l’Esperance.” It was a beautiful green solarium with candlelight and mirrors that made it appear that you were in an infinity garden. We had terrine of artichoke, turbot in a cream of celery, a warm chocolate tart, and after the fromage cart rolled in we broke down and started smoking again. You pretty much have to smoke in France. As I wrote in my journal “I was only sad for a little while.”
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| Petit dejeuner L'Esperance |
Part Three: Paris “In France they kiss on Main Street. Amour mama, not cheap display,” Joni Mitchell
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| On the Seine |
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| Napolean's dog |
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| Le Tour Eiffel |
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| Hall of Mirrors, Versailles |
We took a day trip to Chartres and Versailles. Mon Dieu! Someone had recommended that we go on a tour with the renowned English scholar Malcolm Miller at Chartres. I think I learned more in an hour with him than I had in four years at U of A. He made me want to enroll at Oxford and study history at once.
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| Fountains at Versailles |
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| Catacombs of Paris |
We broke out of the more traditional tourist spots, channeling John Waters with a trip to the Catacombs. Oh my God was that bizarre. The bones of 6 million people. We also went to Pere LaChaise cemetery and saw stoners smoking and drinking on Jim Morrison’s graffitied grave.
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| Morrison grave |
We happened to be there at the same time as a work colleague of Darr’s and her husband who is French. We had brunch in the freewheeling Montmartre district where things were delightfully off beat. I will never forget the sight of a dog and cat sleeping snuggled up side by side in a baby carriage.
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| Mon Dieu! |
My journal was chock full of teenage superlatives. I was in a bathtub I wanted to die in. I conceived a scenario in which we had died and gone to heaven. There were many uses of the words perfect, tres heureuse, too much, best in the world, a day for the Divinity, fabulous, magnifique, exquisite, and finally exclaimed “I have never had a better vacation in my life.”
The lesson here: When Garbo speaks…you should listen.
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