Looking through the London Eye

The train trip from Dijon was remarkably quick and uneventful.  The cab ride from Gare de Lyon to Gare du Nord  cost a tiny bit more than the trip from Gare du Nord to Gare de Lyon on my trip to Digoin, but the peace of mind it gave me made it worthwhile.  Once again, I found the trip through the Chunnel to be remarkably easy.  I guess I've recovered from my Chunnel claustrophobia.

Coming off the train at St. Pancras I went in search of Kathryn, Helen and Kaitlin and by some miracle, I found them in short order.

Photo by Helen Mongan Rallis

We had a quick lunch and then headed in the direction of the London Eye.  We wandered through Southwark.  Forty years ago when my family lived in Cranfield in Bedfordshire, I had the opportunity to attend a concert with my cousin at Southwark Cathedral.  The performers were Ravi Shankar and Yehudi Menuhin who had put together an East meets West program.  We didn't see the cathedral on our walk, but I was reminded of the event as we walked and as I write, particularly in light of Shankar's passing this past week.

Our destination was a few miles away, so we decided to take the tube.  We emerged across the street from Parliament,

Big Ben,

and Westminster Abbey.

We crossed the bridge over to the London Eye.

The bridge was hopping.  I particularly appreciated the piper.

There were nut roasters and souvenir vendors along the bridge, but we managed to resist temptation and head for the ticket office (about 20 pounds for an adult ticket if memory serves).  It was the first Monday in November, so the lines were very manageable.  Helen, Kaitlin and I proceeded to the entrance

Note the bride and groom posing on the left.

and walked up the ramp and waited for our pod to arrive.  The wheel moves very leisurely, so hopping on is quite easy.

As one might expect,the views were spectacular.  The photo above shows St. Paul's Cathedral--a destination I hope to visit the next time I am in London.  While we were on the wheel the clouds played havoc with the light.

It made for some interesting photos.

Once we disembarked, we returned across the bridge to check in on Westminster Abbey


We walked around the side of Parliament  and saw the Veterans' Day display.

This image doesn't do justice to the extent of the display.  It was quite massive.

We had hoped to do a tour of the Abbey, but it was too close to Evensong.  We did learn that the cost of an adult ticket was 16 pounds.  We observed others entering the Abbey and realized we could go inside for free by attending Evensong--which was actually a really wonderful opportunity.  The female guard outside the Abbey was rather stern and admonished us not to take any photos and to stay for the entire hour of the service.  Frankly, we wouldn't have had it any other way.

This particular service featured the first half of the Megillat Esther.  It felt a bit odd not to boo the name of Hamen as we do when the megillah is read at Purim.

It would have been nice to spend more time in the Abbey, but it wasn't possible this trip.  We did see the tomb of Sir Isaac Newton, and that was worth the price of admission.

Kathryn, Kaitlin and Helen had tickets to see "Billy Elliot," but I needed to check in at my B & B in Hammersmith.  Kathryn had helped me find this place and I was very satisfied with it.  It was no frills (cereal, toast and coffee for breakfast), but comfortable, very reasonable, clean and safe.

I settled down for the evening and had a very comfortable night's sleep.  The next day was our real focus--the tour of the Harry Potter studio.  More on that tomorrow.

My last day in France

When I planned my trip to visit France, Baptiste told me that there would be a family celebration in honor of his mom's birthday.  Nadine is the youngest of 12, and her mom lives in Digoin as well.  In fact, after we visited Paray-le-Monial we stopped by to pay her a visit.  She is a beautiful lady, and I could see where Nadine got her loving personality.

The party was scheduled for the afternoon and Papi was bringing treats.  Papi and Mami arrived early bearing amazing pastries.

This beauty was the star of the show--Baba Rhum, but there were many other delicious desserts to be had.  This was actually a blast from my past.

We had these beautiful caramel topped cream puffs as part of our wedding croque en bouche.  The Rhum Baba and cream puffs disappeared in no time flat.  There were also macarons and other cookies. 

The guest list included many of Nadine's siblings, some cousins, and a few friends.  Most people brought flowers, but there were many remembrances of the day.

It was a lovely party and it was over all too soon.  As dusk descended, Baptiste and I had to depart for the train station.  We said our goodbyes with kisses all around, and then off we went.

Once at the station, Baptiste met up with friends who were also returning to the university in Dijon.  The train was pretty crowded, but we made it to Dijon without difficulty.  I said goodbye to Baptiste at the Dijon train station and headed to my hotel a mere block away, the Kyriad (it's reasonable, clean and safe--I recommend it) .

My daughter's lovely friend, Emily, had just arrived in Dijon to begin a graduate program in wine studies, and she agreed to meet with me.  She arrived in the lobby of my hotel and we had a glass of wine and a wonderful conversation.  We made an early night of it, but still managed to talk in depth.  I felt I made a friend.

I boarded the train first thing next morning, and before I knew it, I was back in London.  It was the perfect weekend and I can't wait to return.

Paray le Monial

Following the best lunch I ever had, Nadine, Baptiste and I did a little exploring.  This time, Nadine selected the destination--the beautiful town of Paray-le-Monial.  Less than eight miles from Digoin, this village boasts a spectacular Romanesque basilica, the church of the Sacre Coeur, a place of pilgrimage.  While we wandered the town we actually encountered three pilgrims headed toward the church.

The town is also the site of apparitions of Jesus before St. Marguerite Marie Alacoque.  An intensely religious nun, she devoted herself to the Sacred Heart.  The Apparitions Chapel, 

built originally in 1633 and renovated in the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries, is located close to the City Hall,

and a few blocks from the Basilica.

This magnificent building is situated on the site of a 10th century chapel.  Construction began in the 12th century and concluded in the 14th century, with additional construction in the 18th and 19th centuries.  It's beautiful, but stark.  As we entered the sanctuary, it became clear there was a wedding in progress.   The sanctuary is so massive, that one could look around quite unobtrusively.  We actually made our way up to side of the church near the altar.

People were dressed "to the nines" including women wearing fascinators.  There was a small choir and a song leader conducting the congregation in song during the service.  It was really quite lovely.  We left as unobtrusively as we could, hugging the side of the sanctuary as we departed, and made our way across the river while we watched the wedding party empty out of the church.

The town had a crsip and clean feeling to it.

As we had experienced the night before, the town was still humming along as dusk fell.

Paray le Monial is a beautiful town.  I'm so grateful to Nadine and Baptiste for sharing it with me.

12-12-12--must mean something

It dawned cold with anemic snow showers here in Worcester, but the real miracle of the day was the impact of the hard frost on the spiderwebs.

They look like someone manufactured them for Halloween, but no--that's Jack Frost's doing.

Winter has officially arrived here, the calendar be damned!  It's cold.  Not as cold as Duluth, not as snowy either, but it's that particular English cold that cuts right through to your bones.  Fortunately, there was no wind or rain to accompany it--that would be truly miserable.  Today was just a "cold winter's day".

The first decade (and change) of this century/millenium has brought us numerous number wonders, but today is probably the last of them for me and others of my generation.  We had 01/01/01, 02/02/02....11/11/11 and now today, 12/12/12.  That's got to be auspicious for some culture, right?

One of the posts (linked to the word 'auspicious' in the previous sentence) which shows up on my Facebook wall reviewed the good, the bad and the terrifying with respect to this day.   Some consider the date lucky, some consider it the beginning of the end of the world--ala the Mayan calendar (although others say the actual day of earth's demise will be on the 21st of December).  NASA and the White House have apparently taken measures to reassure U.S. citizens that the end is not nigh and the world is safe--at least from cosmological catastrophe.  According to the particular post previously referenced, "Apart from there being 12 hours of day and night, and 12 months in the year in the Roman calendar, there are12 signs of the Zodiac, 12 Apostles, 12 days of Christmas, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 gods of Olympus, 12 old testament prophets."  It's curious that there was no mention of 12's proximity to 13.


As for me, it's just a fun date.  Apparently, a few other people agree with me:

There's nothing quite so festive as a brass band to serenade holiday shoppers.

But tennis?  Those are some hardy atheletes (look for the red splotch on the right hand side of the picture--you can see his opponent directly opposite).


So lucky/auspicious, or unlucky and dread-producing--it's the fifth night of Hanukkah and I lit my candles to spite the darkness.

A visit to Digoin, aka a gastronome's delight

I had intended to write about my French weekend much closer to the event itself, but life conspired against me--i.e. grading obligations. Still, I had such a good time it's unlikely that I would forget it. 

My hosts for that weekend were so generous and kind.  When we arrived Friday night after visiting in Beaune, Nadine had a delicious meal of ham, potatoes and cheese ready for us.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, I chose not to eat or drink while traveling, so I was famished.  There is nothing like a home-cooked meal to welcome a weary soul. Baptiste, my translator and conversational link to everyone else, also gave up his bedroom on my behalf.  The family embodied the meaning of hospitality. 

After a good night's sleep, Baptiste, Nadine and I headed in to Digoin for a walk about town (Francois and Valentine had left early in the morning for a motorcycle event in another town).  We walked around the village and met neighbors of Baptiste's grandparents.  It turns out, little Digoin has its own Porcelain Museum.

It appeared to be closed, so there was no opportunity for comparison with Royal Worcester.

The real pride of Digoin seems to be the Loire River and canals--yet another point of comparison with Worcester.

The village itself is clean; it was relatively quiet that Saturday. 

The real focal point of Saturday afternoon was a visit to Baptiste's grandparents. Their home is lovely, filled with beautiful pieces of furniture...but we were there to eat. Baptiste's grandfather is a fabulous chef and I was well-acquainted with his reputation.  After a tour of the house, we sat down to this glorious plate of food.

The colors!  The flavors!  The textures!  I don't think I have ever seen a more beautiful plate, and what's more I don't think I've ever tasted anything so good:  Cherry tomatoes,  steamed cauliflower, Italian anchovy mousse, blue Peruvian potatoes, shrimp, grapefruit sections, roasted tomatoes, endive rouge, tuna steak and salad greens.  I tucked in with enthusiasm, but Papy, Baptiste's grandfather, said more than once that I shouldn't feel obliged to eat everything.  I was a bit bemused by that as I was quite happy to be eating every morsel on that plate.  And then I understood--this was just the first course.  There was more to come.

The second course was classic.

The chicken breast was in a delicious herbed cream sauce, peas and carrots, and a mushroom tart on the side.  Lest I should forget I was in Burgundy, there was also wine.

Do I have to say it?  It was lovely and the perfect complement to the meal.

We weren't done yet.  Next, was the cheese course.

Each cheese was better than the last:  Comte, Chevre, Brie, Roquefort and another creamy cheese.  It was an eater's paradise.  Ah...but there was more.

What you see here is a chocolate orange rind tart with chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream.  We also had coffee.  It's six weeks since I consumed the meal and I can still conjure in my taste memory how those flavors combined.  It was beyond delicious. 

Papy was anxious to communicate with me directly, rather than having to go through Baptiste, so he decided to speak in Spanish.  Mind you, my Spanish is rudimentary at best, but somehow or other, I managed to learn about Papy's background as a chef.  Papy had very humble beginnings, but he worked hard and became a master chef.  He worked in a pastisserie where Mami was a clerk in the shop.  Eventually, he found work as a chef in Uruguay and traveled there three to four times a year.  One of his proudest moments was preparing a meal for President Ronald Reagan and serving him the chocolate tart in the photo I've included here.  He eventually retired, but continues to cook--lucky for me.

At the end of the afternoon, we waddled out the door and drove to a nearby village--but that's the subject of tomorrow evening's blog.

Hotel Dieu-Hospices of Beaune

I have been delinquent since I haven't posted much for quite a while. I feel compelled to try and catch up a little bit.  That means I have to go back in time a bit over six weeks.

After arriving in Dijon without incident, I was so excited to spot my hosts Francois and Baptiste on the platform waiting for my train to arrive.  Francois was very keen that I should have a genuine French, better yet...Burgundian, experience, so we hopped in the car and headed off right away rather than lingering in Dijon.  As we left the train station at Dijon, we traveled down the Route des Grands Crus, the great wine highway. Unfortunately, my train arrived around 4, which did not leave much time before the dusk descended, so Francois had just enough time to point out vineyards, "caves" and chateaus along the side of the road.  Some day, perhaps, I'll make more of a visit to these "holy" sites.  If I do, I want the lovely Emily Turner to be my guide. More on that later.


The title of this post, however, refers to a glorious site in the lovely town of Beaune.  We walked the city streets, and I was shocked to see how bustlingly busy it was after 5 p.m.  I am used to the "roll up the sidewalks at 5 p.m. model" of Worcester, so it was a bit of a shock to see it.  The shops were open and doing a brisk business; people were milling about the streets and in the stores.  Our real target, however, was a gorgeous building.  The Hotel-Dieu is absolutely lovely in any light, but the early dark gave it a hauntingly beautiful quality.

The courtyard of Hotel-Dieu.  Photo by Baptiste Arnoux.

The first thing one notices is the roof.  The facility has been renovated repeatedly over six centuries with special attention to the roof. Beautifully constructed, the roof of the hospital features tiles of yellow, red, back and green in a diamond shaped pattern.


Beyond the roof, however, the entire facility evokes a sense of loving care and attention to quality.  The pamphlet we received at the entry point describes this as a "palace of the poor" established by Nicholas Rolin, chancellor to the Duke of Burgundy, in 1443.  The goal was to provide hospital care for the sick and poor.  The real mover behind the establishment of the hospital was Rolin's wife, Guigone de Salins. A pious woman, Guigone, pushed her husband to reflect on the state of  his soul.  The hospital was his effort to redeem himself in the eyes of God.

Photo by Baptiste Arnoux.

After a visit by Louis the XIV, the wards were segregated by sex, but these curtained bed units would have provided extensive privacy.  Each patient had a chair, a nightstand and a tin plate (considered a luxury).  Hot water bottles were available for warmth at night.

Photo by Baptiste Arnoux.

The halls were spacious and well appointed, but Nicolas Rolin stipulated that there could be no more than 30 beds in the hall, 15 on each side.  This is the Grand Hall of the Poor where the women received care.  The background book described the ceiling as a barrel vaulted ceiling with exposed beams and "a backdrop painted in 1878 after a medieval pattern. The attention to detail lent a sense of luxury to the facility.

Photo by Baptiste Arnoux.

The beauty of the place leads one to believe that those who came to this hospital must have received terrific care.

The book I bought on the Hospices of Beaune reported that health care services ceased at the Hotel-Dieu in 1971, although the elderly lived at the facility until 1984.  The museum welcomed visitors in 1988.

This place is definitely worth visiting and I would love to pay another visit sometime in the future.  We stayed as long as we could, but the museum was closing.  Frankly, I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to visit at all, given that it was Friday evening.

It was a great beginning to a wonderful weekend.

Chanukkah--Worcester style, aka a new twist on the gift of the Magi story

I haven't blogged in a month due to my work obligations and the fact that I have apparently run out of space for my photos.  I haven't had time to do anything other than grade (although...let's be real--I can stretch a grading task to ridiculous lengths), and I haven't felt I could devote any time to resolving the space issue.  So...I've maintained "radio silence" of a sort.  Since sunset last night, however, we are officially marking the first day of Chanukkah, so it seemed like an auspicious time to get my fingers tapping on a blog entry.

Anyone who has read this blog since the beginning of September is probably well aware of how much I have loved being here.  I've truly made the most of my time by exploring the city of Worcester as well as relatively nearby cities.  I haven't minded being alone.  While I've missed my husband, kids and friends, I have to admit I've enjoyed the opportunity to see and do things on my own idiosyncratic timetable.  I have to acknowledge, however, that I have been particularly blessed to have hosted friends, my daughter and husband (on a repeat visit just over a week ago), so loneliness hasn't really been something I've faced..until yesterday.

Chanukkah is not a major Jewish holiday.  In fact, it's not really a Holy Day at all--it's the commemoration of a military victory.  That said, it's fun and we tend to make it a bigger deal than it was probably meant to be.  It's all part of that "lighting candles to spite the darkness" thing that so many cultures embrace at this time of year.

But, as I discovered, it means more to me than I realized.  It means celebrating with friends and family through song and food and old-fashioned get-togethers.  It means latkes (potato pancakes) with sour cream and/or applesauce.  It means lighting candles and brazenly setting them up on the window sills for the world to see.  In our house, it means getting a few small gifts for each other which we don't bother to wrap, but rather put under our shirts before presenting to our loved ones.

On the subject of gifts, yesterday seemed an opportune time to send out a gift to my very generous sister.  My sister Wendy, aka the WORLD's GREATEST AUNT, has been exceedingly generous to me, my sisters, our husbands and all of our children.  She married for the first time just a few years ago, but never had any kids of her own.  Instead, she has devoted her time, energy, money and boundless love to the rest of us.  I cannot begin to express what that generosity has meant, but I can tell you I am a lucky woman to have such a sister.  I love my other sisters equally, but I think they would echo these sentiments as they too have been the beneficiaries of her largesse.

So...when Wendy asked me to buy her some porcelain, it was a no-brainer.  Wendy wanted porcelain, I would get it for her.  The factory is just a few blocks away, and I am delighted to have an excuse to pop in for a look 'round the museum shop.  The previous sentence, while true, is a bit misleading.  The factory closed down about five years ago, so there are no new pieces of Royal Worcester porcelain in production.  The Royal Worcester Porcelain "factory" stands empty; the neighborhood of the Diglis Basin is littered with empty buildings such as The Bone Mill, The Throwing House, The Parian House, etc.  The Royal Worcester Porcelain Museum features pieces dating back to the earliest days of the factory to its closure in 2007.  The Museum Shop sells pieces with the reminder that they are used and irreplaceable.  They will wrap up the porcelain, but they cannot afford to ship it due to the extraordinary cost of insuring anything they sell. 

I found a lovely plate featuring some of the techniques I've seen demonstrated at the Museum, and a beautiful demitasse coffee can and saucer.  Wendy sent me some pounds with which to make the purchase, but since her birthday was coming, I decided to add to it.  One memory my sisters and I share is receiving a phone call from our mother on our birthdays and listening as she said, "I'm sitting here looking at your birthday gifts.  I'll try to send them soon."  I shamefacedly admit I do the same thing.  The treasures I bought have sat on my dresser for a month.

Finally, in the spirit of Chanukkah gift-giving, I took the cup and saucer and plate to the local Mailboxes, Etc. and inquired about sending it the safest way possible to my sister's home in Tucson.  I knew I did not want to run the risk of breaking it myself by carrying it in my luggage or my carry-on bags.  I'll be traveling to Turkey, the Czech Republic, Poland and Germany for three weeks before returning home, so it didn't make sense to drag it with me. It made sense to send it yesterday.  Bob, the clerk, told me he used to deal in antiques, traveling to the U.S. on a regular basis.  He encouraged me to consider carrying the pieces myself, but I demurred with the above-listed excuse.  He quoted me a price--a bit more than I had paid for the pieces--and requested all of the particulars.  I gulped and handed over my credit card, knowing in my heart it was the right thing to do.  And then I returned back to my flat.

I picked up my mail which included a card from my sister, and then I settled down to listen NPR's annual "Hanukkah Lights" program.  I cruised Facebook looking at all of the Chanukkah messages and photos posted by friends, and started to feel a little blue.  Okay--let's call it what it is--HOMESICK.  I leisurely opened my mail, saving my sister's card for last, and then opened it.  It was a cute card featuring that great concluding scene from "It's a Wonderful Life" --only the family was gathered around the Menorah wearing Kippot.  The legend on the card reads, "It's a Wonderful Light".  Inside the card were photos of my son and his "lady friend" as well as my sister and nephew.  There was a little envelope taped inside the card, labeled "Wendy's Chanukah Gift to Debbie" (btw--the only people who can call me "Debbie" are from my family of origin--so don't get any smart ideas).  I opened it with curiosity, and read:

"The porcelain you bought for me...IS YOURS!!  Tell me how clever I am..."

I laughed in disbelief.  The irony was truly delicious.

Well dear sister--we've always acknowledged your cleverness.  But this time, the joke's on you.

Merry Christmas to my Christian family and friends!  Chanukkah Sameach to my Jewish family and friends!

P.S.  The varied spellings of Chanukkah are all part of the fun.