FINITO!!

You can see a lot in Rome in one day, but you suffer for it later.

Mae and I were worn out. It didn't help that we were both sick. I wanted to go out one last time to see the Trevi Fountain, which we missed our first day, but neither of us really felt up to it.

Rome wasn't built in a day, and I suppose you can't see it all in a day either.

We left the next morning and flew to New York. Apparently there was turbulence, but if you want details about that, you'll have to ask Mae. I don't remember any of it - I slept all the way home.

Basilica of St Paul Outside the Walls

Another ancient church, founded by Constantine I. The church was built over the burial place of St. Paul, the Roman citizen who became the most prominent early convert of Christianity.

Ceilings in the Basilicas are carved wood. This one actually caught fire in 1823, so much of St. Paul's Basilica is now the reconstructed version.

It was very quiet here. This church is located outside the walls of Rome, thus its name. We were the only visitors this afternoon - a very different setting from St. Peter's.

Each church we saw had a different history, personality and purpose. For this reason, I enjoyed them in different ways, for different reasons.

In this one you could walk right up under the altar area and descend toward an opening that viewed a portion of the excavated tomb. I could kick myself for not going down there. I guess I wasn't thinking straight.

This Basilica has little paintings around its ceilings, of each Pope and his years of service. There are only 23 spots left empty. The concern is that, once all the empty spots are filled, what will happen to the church or to Rome then? Will it dissolve?

Bones to Remember

I never realized how holy bones could be.

Inside the Vatican complex stands the world's largest church. St. Peter's Basilica. It's auditorium seats about 60,000 and outside, 300,000 people can stand to listen to blessings given by the Pope.

It is also the burial place of many people. Over half the Popes are buried inside. Some are hidden beneath the floor in a crypt for such purposes. Others, like this one, are mummified and placed on display in these strange glass cases.

Then there are the bones of St. Peter. His bones are said to be beneath the Papal Altar, pictured in the far background of this photo of the sanctuary; the area is surrounded by four large wooden pillars, between which the Pope stands to deliver the message on special occasions.

There are other tombs here as well. The burial place of Alexander VII was my favorite. It is difficult to see the size from my picture, but it stands about 15 feet high and entirely carved out of marble. Beneath the folds of the 'fabric' at the entrance, a skeleton greets observers. He is holding an hour glass high for us to see.

His message: Death is inevitable. Enjoy life while you have it.

This tomb was carved by the 80 year old sculptor, Bernini, at the request of the Pope Alexander VII before his death.

Apparently each Pope decides his own final resting place and display.

Here is a detailed map outlining all the monuments, many of which we viewed.

St. Peter's Basilica Floorplan

When in Rome

Our time in Rome was limited. We managed to miss the walk through ancient ruins, due to my working schedule.

We both also caught a cold. Before we left, my son had told me that we would get sick in Venice, because everyone gets sick in Venice. He had just returned from there, and came back with pneumonia.

It was true.
By the time we got to Rome I had a fever and Mae had a cough.

We did manage to visit the Vatican Museum and St. Peter's Basilica the next day though. It was worth it. It is one of the best art museums in the world.

Outside in the inner courtyard there are dozens of sculptures that are over 2000 years old. You can see some of them in the background shots here.

Is that what I think it is?

It's funny. In art, replicas are never admired.
Except in this case.

The Vatican Museum is stock full of replicas..... Roman sculptures of Greek mythological characters. These replicas are 2000 years old.

Some of the characters I recognized from my mythological studies (way back in the day). Others aren't so common.

Like this one. This is the Goddess of Fertility. I'm not quite sure Mae found her all that impressive. Yes, those are breasts.

I thought it a bit funny that, in a religious museum there are so many statues of gods and goddesses. We were told it is because mythology is often looked at as metaphorical for the complexities of humanity.

Sort of makes sense.

One Finger, Two Finger...

"I'll take one." -- holding up my thumb.

If you want only one of something, hold up your thumb. If you want two, hold up only your forefinger. Three is the forefinger and the middle finger.

It's a little confusing.

Just like getting off the lift on the 3rd Floor. You have to go to the 2nd level. Or, to get to Ground level, you have to push ZERO on the Elevator pad.

Many expressions seem strange to us from the U.S. - each area has a different way of saying things.

Don't even get me started about the signs.

For instance: In England, the Exit sign says "Way Out."

In St. Mark's Square there is a sign that says "No lying on the concrete" and another that says "No bathing in the canals." Like anyone would want to. Yes, it is even spelled that way.... "no b a t h i n g."

Then there's this one. Going to Rialto Bridge? Not sure which way to go? Take your pick.

Aren't signs supposed to help you find your way?

Not a Chance

We were hungry. We had two hours to kill, were on foot in the streets of Venice, unable to speak a word of the language, and we needed something to eat.

All we wanted was an ice cream. We walked all through the streets and alleys exploring but were unable to find a gelato (ice cream) shop.

Until Mae saw McDonalds.

I refused to go in. I told her I didn't travel halfway around the world to eat food that is mass produced. Especially not this. I wanted Italian Gelato - the most amazing of Italian foodery.

She could go in if she liked and get something, I would wait outside.

She didn't. I think she was mad at me, but she put up with my stubborn ideas. In the end, we found our gelato shop and had a fabulous treat.

Some things are worth waiting for.

Panic in the WC

I heard her scream from behind the metal door.

“OH NO! Bonnie, quick open the door!”

I pushed forward between my two companions and reached for the handle. As I did, the door swung open, and out stumbled Mae.

“What happened?” I asked, grabbing her arms.

“I don’t know. All of a sudden the toilet lid started to move and the lights went out. Then water started flooding in all over the floor.”

Her pants were soaked all the way to her knees. We didn’t want to think about what substance had drenched them.

Public toilets in Europe are not pleasant. Often there is a fee. They are difficult to find, and when you do they are boobie-trapped.

Or so it would seem.

France is worse than Italy; in France these facilities seem almost non-existent. In Italy, finding a WC is a bit easier, but for some reason they are always “Closed for cleaning.”

The toilet that attacked Mae was in France, one of the modern-modulars, with an automatic cleaning system and push-button EXIT. They don’t warn you, however, that the cleaning system could go into cleaning mode at random moments. When they do and the lights go out, you can’t find the exit button to open the door.

Mae escaped without injury, but not without a little humiliation.

He Loves Me....or not

“He squeezed my hand! That handsome Italian, Ettore, squeezed my hand!”

Mae’s elation left her a moment later when she reminded herself that, perhaps, our driver was only being nice because it was the last day, and he hoped for a nice gratuity. I don’t think that was it, though. Ettore had been superb our entire trip, even if he hadn’t squeezed her hand until the last day.

Ettore was a good driver. He was gracious and courteous, even patient with us when some of our group fell late to the daily schedule.

That might have been us, once or twice.

Later, Mae nearly gave Ettore a heart-attack when she screamed while we drove down a narrow street, much narrower than our bus. Even after that he didn’t yell or fuss. He held his chest and gasped for air a few times, but he never yelled. Ettore seems to have been the exception to the rule of an otherwise overly-expressive society.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t as fortunate. My fondling was by a not-so-handsome Roman Gladiator just outside the Coliseum. Apparently my middle was just the place to get a nice handful of flesh. He’s lucky he didn’t get a mouthful of knuckle in return. They are gutsy, these Romans. And not all of them are as handsome as they think.

Note: When Mae read this post she squealed and insisted I take this post off, she didn't want everyone knowing she said that. Too bad. If you don't want something on a blog, you'd better not say it in the first place.

Not so different

It's funny how you can make friends in just two weeks time.

When we joined up, we were surprised to find that, in our group of 33 people, we represented seven countries.

People from the U.S. - West Virginia, Nebraska, Oklahoma and Tennessee (us), Mexico, New Zealand, Australia, Canada and South Africa. Two sets of sisters and their husbands were in the group, and three women traveling alone. One couple from Canada were originally from the Philippines; if you count that, you get eight countries. Our tour director, a native of Scotland but an emigrant to Australia, now lives in Austria (that's him talking to Mae).

We all had the same thing in mind; to see and experience a new place. For one of the Australians, it was visiting her homeland, where she had been born and where her father had lived as a young man.

Two weeks isn't long enough to know each other well, but it is enough time to discover we aren't really that different.

We started as strangers. But after two weeks and 3500 miles, we have become friends.

Colorful Coast

The island of Murano, in Venice, is known for its glass blowing. Another island, Burano, is known for its lace.

Burano is much smaller. People live in close quarters with one another. There are few canals here, mostly streets. Women hand stitch the lovely lace and embroidery sold in the many shops.

They also have great food.

We went to a seafood restaurant for lunch. Three hours later we rolled out the doors barely able to walk. Our meal consisted of seven courses - all wonderful. The Risotto was my favorite. It is a special Italian rice grown only in Italy. Since I can't eat the pasta, I was offered many versions of Risotto.

Afterward we did manage to stop in a shop and purchase some lace.

The colorful houses are unique to Burano. Each family paints their home a different color, even though many of the houses are attached.

Grey Water

If you watch Samantha Brown, you know how lovely it looks to travel the canals in a gondola.

What you can't tell from TV is the smell.

The canals are basically alleyways. If you have ever been to Detroit, you know what the alleyways there hold.

Stench.

That's pretty much what you find in the canals. As we traveled we could hear running water and see it coming from the apartments. We were told that people in Venice have septics for their toilets, and everything else runs into the canals.

YUK!

The ride is fun but it is more a novelty for people like Mae and me. The Venetians use motorized boats to get from place to place, or the walkways that connect the many islands. They do a lot of walking.

I am glad I know a little of what life is like in Venice, because TV makes it look all romantic and elegant. It isn't.

Homes are tiny and rent is high. People there work very hard and spend a lot just to live in the city. Because everything must be imported from the mainland, basic supplies are much more expensive.

So what do you put down your drain?

Not so romantic

I have always seen pictures of the gondolas floating on the canals in Venice, and going beneath the Bridge of Sighs.

If I had known what it was, it wouldn't have seemed so appealing.

The Bridge of Sighs (pictured here in the background) was a bridge over which condemned people traveled on their way to the prison. The prison is that building in the photo on the left hand side.

They named it that because it was said that, when people traveled on it, they sighed their last, knowing they were about to die.

Creepy.

Later, when these people were taken to their beheadings, they went to St. Mark's Square (Piazza San Marco). The chopping block was placed between these two pillars. This is where they died. Because of this, Italians rarely walk between them even today; they say there is too much linger death there.

They are very superstitious.

Water World

“I don’t see why we have to keep getting on these boats.” Mae’s brow furrowed as she looked across the water to the approaching water taxi.

“This IS Venice, Mae,” I reminded her. “They don’t allow vehicles on the other islands.”

We were staying on the island of Lido. It is a long, narrow island that blocks the lagoon and its islands from the Adriatic Sea. It is the only island where motorized vehicles are allowed. From the mainland, our bus drove onto a ferry and came across the lagoon with us. It was there to transport us back and forth to the docks.

In order to get to Piazza San Marco (St. Mark’s Square) we had to take another ferry to the main island, Murano. That is the most famous spot in Venice. St. Mark’s Basilica houses the bones of St. Mark, one of the twelve apostles. The Basilica was lovely, as was the clock tower. Both built in the early middle ages, they show their age from the many floods that Venice has had.

St. Mark's is where Mark (of Bible times) was buried. His bones lie beneath the Papal Altar. You can walk up behind it for 2 Euro. The floor inside the Basilica is warped from the floods. During heavy flooding gondoliers transport people into the inner regions of Murano. Also city workers erect platforms to walk on, so the city can continue its business.

It is a hectic place. Our guide managed to get us there before the crowds, but it wasn’t long before they arrived.

If you could go anywhere....?

“While You Were Sleeping” is one of my favorite movies. One thing I remember about that movie is when Bill Pullman asks Sandra Bullock, if she could go anyplace, where would it be. Her immediate answer is Florence.

She didn’t have a clue.

Sometimes I wonder if those things are put into movies to promote tourism. If they are, they should pick better destinations.

I was not impressed.

The buildings in the city are very old, and it is true that many famous people lived there, grew up there and are even buried there; like Machiavelli, Galileo Galilei and Michelangelo. The famous David statue, sculpted in 1501, resides in a gallery inside the Accademia Gallery of Florence.

It isn’t even tourist season but the city was packed. One would think a city that makes so much money on visitors could take better care of its appearance.  Yet it does not look as if Italy has that philosophy.

Florence should be a treasure. It could be something to be very proud of, and perhaps they are. But its appearance is dirty, over-run with street vendors, pick-pockets and graffiti. Its monuments are dirty. There is trash in every street.

Don’t get me wrong; one of the loveliest buildings we saw on this trip was located in Florence – the lovely Florence Cathedral, built

 in 1296. Then there was Santa Croce, the Friar's church were Michealangelo was buried. But there were more than buildings in Florence. It was heavy, rather depressing place.

If you could go anywhere – this is just a suggestion – don’t choose Florence.  If you don’t agree, just remember; everyone is entitled to their own opinion. 

Taste Buds

“Don’t tell me how to eat my candy.” I ignored Mae as she tried to get me to suck on the dark chocolate rather than chew it.

“My taste-buds are in my teeth. I am enjoying it my own way.”

People are always trying to get me to slow down when I eat – especially when I eat candy or ice-cream. It might seem like, from another person’s perspective, this is something I can choose to do.

It isn’t.

I can’t help eating my candy or ice-cream fast. It just tastes better that way. It doesn’t bother me if other people still have things left when I am already finished; I have enjoyed it my own way. It is just the way I am.

Mae says I didn’t even give her a chance to fuss at me, I argued as soon as she scolded me for eating fast.

Ok, let’s say she’s right…. Does that make me a bad person? 

Italian dark chocolate is wonderful – especially when the first two bites are chewed quickly. They coat the inside of your mouth, get stuck between your teeth and make you taste the chocolate long after it is gone.

Yum… I think I’ll go have another piece.

Turning Point

I loved the city of Geneva. Maybe it was because Geneva was the place I found an Apple store, and replaced my computer power supply (lost in London); perhaps it was because the best social gathering of the trip occurred here – our meal in the dungeon; perhaps it was because the city was clean and safe; or because the contrast between Old and New was distinct, yet tasteful. In Geneva, a person gets a sense that the Swiss take pride in their cities.

In Geneva, we ate Chinese food, walked up and down the main street in the middle of the night, shopped on the boulevard and visited the old town cathedral.  We even visited the giant chess set and Reformation Monument. If I could go back to Europe and only pick one spot, I would go to Switzerland. Geneva was nice because they speak French there – not that I do, but at least I can read the street signs. They also speak many other languages, a benefit for those of us who are lingually challenged.

The Swiss take pride in their neutrality. They are home to the United Nations (Palais des Nations). They interest themselves in the well-being of humanity, and demonstrate it in their city square. Across from the UN is a sculpture of a chair with a broken leg, symbolizing their appeal to a mine-free world. Eye-catching, to say the least.

Up until we got to Geneva I had a string of bad luck. Geneva changed that.

Maybe it wasn’t the city, maybe it was me, but I did like it there, and would go back in a minute.

Snack Attack

In Italy, if you want to eat, you have to stand it three lines.

First, there is a line for looking. You have to look at what they have to decide.

Then, there is a line to pay. You tell the cashier, in your best imitation of Italian, which items you want, then you dish out the Euro.

Don’t forget to take your receipt. This is very important.

Next, you take your receipt to the first counter, and show it to the cook. She looks at it, waves her arms around, yelling at you and asking you, who knows what, then hands over your pizza. She points at the next counter, where you take your receipt and another attendant gets you the drink you paid for.

Finally you are able to sit.

Did I mention that, if you sit, you pay another fee? Except in the gas station, they don’t mind if you sit and eat, since they don’t provide a stand-and-eat bar.

It’s a little confusing. 

Good thing our bus driver is from Italy. Too bad he doesn’t speak English.

Lean on Me

Pisa, Italy. Not much to see here but a church. Oh, and a LOT of gypsies.

Pisa is home to one of the most famous bell towers – because it began to fall over. It was build in 1178. Pretty amazing really that even part of it still stands.

Today it is supported by a new foundation. There is a large lawn that no one is allowed to walk on, and signs that say "NO FRISBEE." 

We didn't go in or up, but we did see it. That's worth writing home about.

Watering Holes

“How do the farmers water their cows? There are no watering holes like people have in Tennessee.”

Mae’s question was sincere. The tour guide stared at her, not knowing how to answer.  I don’t think anyone had ever asked him that before.

He explained that most people want to know about the small, white cattle in France, but usually ask if they are pigs. “They are Charolais,” he said. He wasn't sure about the water.

Mae said they just look lazy. Maybe they're thirsty.

The French countryside is covered with farms. Miles and miles of bright yellow canola, interspersed with Charolais cattle farms on rolling hillsides. It is a farmers dream.

Even without the watering holes.

It’s funny the different things people notice.

Say Cheese

My children complain. I know they have good reason, and they are right. They are always right.

I have never been great at taking pictures of myself in places. I like to take a lot of pictures, mostly of nothing. Just places, scenery, artistic views that catch my eye. But not of me.

So when I read an email that said I needed to have pictures of me, too, I considered.

I did bring three cameras. My really nice one, lost at the museum in London, was the easiest to use. I have my video camera, which also can take snapshots, and I plan to use for the musicians in Italy. It is more difficult. That leaves me with my iPhone camera. Slick, handy, easy to use.

Unless you are Mae.

We stopped in Beaune, a cute little mideival village in central France, to walk around, get coffee or ice cream and see the area. I decided it was time for a picture.

I found the spot, right in the square. Then I asked Mae to take a picture.

Sometimes I forget things are easy because I do them so often. I didn’t mind the many tries it took to get this photo but Mae grew frustrated. First, you can’t hold the iPhone like any other camera. With the lens just in the back on the corner, it is easy to cover it with your finger. The first picture she took, Mae said she couldn’t see anything.

I had to explain about moving her finger.

The other shots were better but not what I wanted. That was my fault. I don’t mean to be picky, but I don’t like pictures of my feet.

Founded in 1442, Beaune is known for its burgundy wines. It is just the right place for a picture.

Though, perhaps, not to learn how to take one.

Last Supper

“I’m not going down there.”

That’s what one of our companions said when the guide instructed us to enter the dungeon.  But it wasn’t just any dungeon. Over 300 years old, this one is where we were to have our last meal.

Our last meal in Switzerland, that is.

The stone stairs were steep and slightly slick. There were no rails. Stone walls swallowed us as we descended. It was eerily dark.

As we I rounded the last turn someone in front of me gasped. Ahead, candlelight illuminated the round tables set on a gravel floor.

It was a Swiss Fondue. The meal, served in three courses, came with wines from the region, each selected to enhance the items served. First we enjoyed true Swiss cheese, sliced so thin you could read through it, then a course of Fresh Mozzarella balls in tomato and lettuce with fresh basil; both with small glasses of white regional wine. Then the main course arrived. Small pieces of raw meat served on our plate. Small dishes of fondue were placed on the table; Tomato and basil with mayonnaise (and it wasn’t even disgusting!), a mustard sauce, a garlic sauce and a horseradish sauce. Then came the oil. A hot pot of oil was placed in the center of the table.

I like my meat medium rare. Some people, though, prefer it so done you can no longer identify its origins. The best thing about this is, none of us had any excuse about the way our meat was cooked at this meal. People were responsible for cooking their own.

The meat is placed on the end of a very long two-prong fork. The fork is placed in the hot oil. Medium rare only takes about 10-15 seconds. That’s how I cooked mine. Mae left hers in the oil for five minutes.

Once cooked, the meat is removed and placed on your plate to cool, while you start another piece to cook. When it is cool enough to eat you dip the meat in one of the sauces.

And of course, you sip the red wine.

Mae made friends by donating her wine to the man next to her. That made him very happy. Too happy, perhaps, for Mae, as the night progressed.

It took about four and a half hours to eat the small pile of meat we were served. 

It was amazing. 

Gothic Treasure

It all began with the Hunchback.

In 1831 Victor Hugo wrote the story of Quasimodo. A novel set in the historic Paris, it kindled new interest in the long forgotten Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris, which was a a terrible state of disrepair. That all changed when people met Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

I had no idea that Notre Dame was constructed in 1163 a.d. Besides the heads of the saints on the outer façade wall, which were repaired in the 1800s, the entire building is original.

Even the Rose Windows.

This was the most spectacular thing for me about the Cathedral. The Rose windows – circular stained glass windows, made in 1258 a.d., that tell the entire story of humanity.

There are three windows. The north facing window tells the story of the Old Testament. Within its colored glass are images of the prophets. In its center is a portrait of Saint Ann, the mother of Mary, holding her infant daughter. She is pictured to depict the bridge point in time from the Old Testament to the New Testament.

The south facing window tells the story of the New Testament; the story of Jesus and his miracles, his disciples and his glorification. In its center is the image of the virgin and the Babe.

The west window tells the story of the Last Judgment. So, within the three windows, the story of humanity is told.

Placement of the three windows within the cathedral form a triangle, representing the triune God, the Trinity.

From the outside you cannot tell these windows are stained glass. They are so dark they don’t look like windows at all. From the inside though, they look different. Light shines through each pane illuminating the stories they tell. In the 1200s stained glass was made by actually coloring each pane of glass, then putting together the colored panes to produce pictures. Nothing today comes close to it.

In 1939, during World War II, it was feared that German bombers might destroy the windows. as a result, on September 11, 1939, they were removed. They were restored at the end of the war.

Another feature of the Cathedral I noticed was the cross. It is a single, empty, white cross. No crucifix.

It was inspiring to hear the story of humanity told through the Rose Windows. It reminded me that many people with many talents express devotion in many ways. Even Victor Hugo, who wrote about the cathedral, used his talents to restore interest in a long-forgotten treasure.

Isn’t it interesting how God is in the details.

Excuse My French

“Je voudrais deux crêpes. Jambon, de fromage et de tomate.”

“Deux?”

“Qui.”

I was proud of myself. It had taken me an entire day to screw up enough nerve to use my sparse French to order a simple meal at a Crepe stand. Finally, I forced myself.

“Voulez-vous du sel et du poivre?” asked the cook?

“Qui.” (you can't have eggs without salt and pepper).

I was ordering crepes with ham, cheese and tomato. They looked amazing. Mae had never had one and Montemarte, we were told, was the best place to try them.

While the cook poured the batter, Mae stood up on a ledge to watch.

“Oh! it looks like a big pancake,” she said.

Without changing expression the woman spoke to us in English.

“You speak English?” Mae asked, surprised.

The woman explained that, to work in Montemarte, it is necessary to speak four – even five – languages.

“Well!” said Mae, grinning. “So she didn’t have to use her fake French after all.”

I was deflated.

You may as well stick me with a fork.

Iron Icon

It stands 984 feet high. It is made of iron, with three platforms from where you can view the city at varying heights. It was built to show the world how powerful, how knowledgeable, how innovative France was. It was built in 1889.

It is truly incredible.

You don’t realize its size until you are there. You don’t expect how marvelous the architecture is until you see it up close.

It looks especially tall from the bathroom.

If you don’t have a reservation you could spend the whole day standing in line. But we had an early appointment and so bypassed everyone.

The elevator goes upwards in a sideways fashion but you don’t realize it when inside. We went to platform two. The third platform is much higher. Once you go up, look down and take a snapshot, there isn’t a lot more to do. So our visit, which lasted only about an hour, was plenty long enough.


Built for the World Exhibition, France had planned to tear it down afterward. But it became such an icon of the country they decided to keep it. Its architect was a genius. You can see that by how it is put together.

We are very happy to have been there.

Case Closed

It was a case of National Holiday. For Americans it is the first Monday in September. For the French, it is May Day.

On Labor Day everything is closed. It is no different in France than in the U.S. Everyone enjoys their holiday.

Unless you’re a tourist.

I had hoped to see the Louvre. I have seen the outside but have never been through its doors. I wanted to see its collection of French art; Renoir, Monet, Manet, Cezanne.

It was not to be.

On a National Holiday the stores and museums close. Everyone leaves the city. The streets are empty.

Not such a bad thing really. If we had spent our only full day at the Louvre, we would not have seen Montemarte, a little village on the outskirts of Paris, where Renoir and many other artists studied and lived.

The city is old. In it stands the Basilica and many small artisan shops. On the streets vendors sell their wares. Not a lot has changed in Montemarte since the times of Renoir. Except the tourism.

Today, Montemarte sees more than its share of curious people. Many tourists and locals come here to enjoy the food, wines and artistry. Local artists display and sell their wares on the streets. It is open on National Holidays.

There is no entrance fee to the city, unless you count the expense of the food you purchase. This is where we had crepes.

Walking the old streets, seeing the picturesque view, looking down over the city of Paris – for Montemarte stands high on a hill outside the city – you get a sense of the simplicity of life that the Masters experienced. They worked hard to become what they did, to paint, to study their craft. They lived simply. Here they had their needs met. There they had a church, a flat, and a place to buy food. What more does a person really need?

The holiday ended up being a lovely thing. I saw a small hidden corner of Paris I would not have seen.

Plus, I had crepes. :-D

May Day

If you want to see the insides of buildings in France, don't visit on May Day - that is Labor Day here. We learned this as we were about to arrive.

Think now, what that means? What sort of things are open on Labor Day in the U.S.?

Not much.

All shops are closed on May 1. So are all museums... And of course the Louvre was among them. That made me sad. There was, however, a lot of things to see in Paris that were still open. Mainly churches.

We did find though, that because of the holiday, traffic was a lot ligher.

Every situation has its benefits.