To download a printable Adobe Acrobat version click on this link E2EYr9Weeks23-29.pdf (four A4 pages)

The single tower of the cathedral still dominates the skyline of Strasbourg, and any sunny stroll along the canals ends up at the riot of Gothic sculpture round its west doors. As did both sets of our October visitors. Inside, the rich colours of the early stained glass are eye-catching. And the way in which earlier windows have been incorporated into the patchwork of larger, later windows, became a good image of how, reunited with old friends or family, our present was enriched by reminiscences, jokes, and events of the past.

We’d started our day in Strasbourg with Toby and Stella at another large Strasbourg building, sporting the distinctive yellow and blue colours of IKEA. The frequently collapsing back of one of our computer chairs testified to years of service, both with us and in John’s former office. So, while Toby and Stella looked round, we tried out the full range of IKEA’s computer chairs, each of us fancying different designs. John’s high backed choice seemed to be currently available only in scarlet, and my more padded one in a white leatherette reminiscent of a Barbara Cartland poodle and sofa. However when we located the right aisles, John’s came in a more sober blue and mine in black (so no inspiration for any historical romances). Satisfied with our purchases, we drove out to a restaurant, with huge glass windows overlooking an ex-gravel pit, which Toby and Stella liked almost as much as their favourite, the Frankenbourg. And it was after lunch that we strolled in the sunshine through the old streets and by the canals to the cathedral. In the late afternoon, a noisy cavalcade of protesters approached over the bridge, many waving scarlet CGT (Confédération générale du travail) flags. The procession seemed endless. And still it advanced. As we walked on, the tail of the procession was approaching a bridge further along the canal. All of Alsace seemed to be out protesting against raising the minimum age for taking a pension to an unthinkable 62 (but up to 67 for a full pension if insufficient contributions have been paid). A sense of injustice no doubt also remains that this still would not apply to many government employees, including teachers and SNCF workers, who get better pensions and at a much earlier age.

Two weeks later the Train-gang and partners were due to make their way, by various means, to Entre-deux-Eaux. Once an assorted group of Simon Langton school-girls, reading comics, learning French verbs, doing last minute homework and appraising the Sir Roger Manwood boys on the daily train journeys between Broadstairs and Canterbury, we have, in recent years, met up annually, though never before in France. Of course, the most appropriate way to have come would have been on Eurostar and the TGV, but Easyjet is a lot cheaper. By now, two weeks into the nation-wide pension strikes and blockades of fuel depots, French news stations were reporting dry petrol stations, airport problems, rail problems and youth violence in the usual deprived urban areas. So we all had concerns, Would the Train-gang make it?

First to arrive was Shelagh who’d travelled by camper-van with her husband and dog. They’d filled up with fuel in Luxembourg, so had no problems – until they arrived here, that is, when the van wheels got stuck parking on the field and sank into the mud. Half an hour of frenzied barking, muttered imprecations, and re-positioning of old bits of wood, brick, plastic ramps and sacking concluded successfully with a small lurch forward onto firmer terrain. Over a reviving drink, we broke the news that Jessica and Mark had also experienced a set-back. Their rucksack containing passports had somehow been left on the luggage rack of the train to Gatwick, and by the time the train had been tracked and the rucksack retrieved, they had missed their plane. The good news was that they were able to re-book on the next morning’s flight. Meanwhile Sue, the third gang member, was travelling a longer way round, with her partner and his choir, via Berlin, Dresden and Leipzig and would join us later in the week.

John had been faced with a dilemma. His birthday fell in that week. Would the gang want to celebrate at a restaurant? No problems there (and at least there would be other men). But where? Despite the national shortages, fuel seemed readily available in St Dié (being so close to the border with Germany has its advantages), so we decided to drive over to Epinal and the Ducs de Lorraine restaurant. This is in a stylish turn-of-the-century (19th-20th) villa close to the river with very French décor and atmosphere. We were ushered to a circular table next to the window at the panelled end of the dining room. It is always a great relief to find the fastidious Madame absent. She has an irritating way of tweaking the cutlery with reproachful glances at staff. So everyone is far more relaxed on her day off – including the diners! And when the laden dessert trolley arrived, the young waitress was determined we should sample the chefs’ full range, cajoling “just one more?”

While we were enjoying the Ducs‘ desserts, the German railway workers were having a day’s strike, so Sue, who was the only Train-gang member to travel in appropriate style, was worried that some of her trains from Leipzig might not be running the next day (and we also had concerns about some long-term works-on-the-line which were regularly delaying trains by 10 minutes or more). Any missed connections would mean that she’d have to spend the night in Strasbourg, so we decided to spend the day in Strasbourg and meet her whenever she arrived. So another chance to stroll by the canals, through the narrow shopping streets (Jessica found the most exotic and colourful sock shop – sadly, very pricey), and to visit the cathedral. We paused for lunch at Porcus, a small restaurant over a charcuterie. Fortified by the day’s special of lamb gigot and a glass of wine, we devoted the afternoon to the cathedral windows and the associated Notre Dame museum. We got so absorbed in the Gothic and Romanesque glass and sculpture, that we never reached the paintings at the end and even managed to lose Jessica for twenty minutes in the rambling old buildings. Half way up a magnificent staircase, my mobile rang. Sue’s first train had missed the connection by two minutes; the next train was fully booked (perhaps because of the previous day’s strike), but she was booked onto the following one, so would arrive two and a half hours late. There was nothing for it but to find a nearby winstub and eat and drink the evening away in warm, congenial surroundings!

After all this sitting around eating, a healthy walk was on the menu for the next day, and Jessica, Sue and I headed to the mountain ridge that divides Lorraine from Alsace and that at times divided France from Germany. There were some World War One remains that sounded interesting up at the Tête des Faux. Having explored some of the German intermediate camp below the Tête des Faux with the Local History Group, I was keen to walk to the summit from the French side. The plan seemed ill-fated when we reached the col de Calvaire, the starting point of a footpath. The sky had been darkening, and heavy rain began to fall, lashing against the car. No-one was keen to get out! A retreat to the lakeside café and mugs of hot chocolate seemed more attractive, After an hour of looking at maps and watching the direction in which low cloud and rain was driving, we decided to try again from this slightly lower, more sheltered point. A good decision, as the weather improved as we walked, and then the most wonderful panorama opened up in front of us in the weak sunshine. As we focussed, we could even make out the snow-capped Alps in the far distance. We paused again when we reached a dark French military cemetery in the woods. A group of horsemen added to the atmosphere as they picked their way down a steep, rocky path towards us, the riders dressed in long dark capes or coats and black brimmed hats. This track, I later read, was made by the French for their mules to supply the garrison at the top. As we scrambled up it we could see craters, zig-zagging trenches, barbed wire, jagged rails, corrugated iron and the collapsed rubble of shelters on either side. At the rocky summit were memorials to the French troops who died there in December 1914 and July 1916. Further along the ridge were more substantial defences, presumably German, some underground, some protected by the slope on the far side. We had to descend again before we could climb up to the end station of the German cableway at the Roche du Corbeau, which sounded interesting. However, by the time we’d scrambled down, slowed by patches of icy snow, the sun was getting lower in the sky, and it seemed sensible to turn back. It had been a great walk, and we found that John had been busy experimenting with a recipe from one of his birthday cookery books. We sat down that night to roast pork, chestnut and mushrooms, with asparagus and potatoes – a great finish to the day.

After that burst of energy, we spent the next day in Nancy. We’d planned to focus on the Art Nouveau museum and houses, but in fact spent most of the afternoon sitting in the sunshine at tables outside cafés in the splendid Place Stanislaus (what a contrast with yesterday’s weather!), walking round the old town, with its elegant squares, small shops and large palace, and pausing to chat with a friendly grocer. We ended up in the big indoor market with its succulent, colourful displays.

On our last day we headed towards the Alsace villages – though we only managed one village, Turckheim, as we spent so long sampling wine in the cave there and then walking round the deserted lunch-time streets. We had a late and very leisurely last lunch together at the Saint Alexis in the wooded hills above Kaysersberg. Wild boar was on the menu, there being plenty in the surrounding woods at the moment. Looking back, we seemed to have spent an awful lot of our time together on eating and drinking! Fortunately I only had a few sips of wine on that occasion, as there was a routine police check on the way home and, seeing the Turckheim wine in the boot, the policeman got out his breathalyser kit.

The next day, after breakfast, we waved off the Train-gang. The house seemed very quiet, until we heard shouts and barks getting closer. Standing on the balcony, we could see the dogs trying to pick up scents on the other bank of the stream. Then suddenly shots, and a young buck came streaking on a swerving course up the side of the orchard and across our road. Happy as we are to eat game, we almost cheered to see him escape safely. A little later we heard that Jessica had a problem at the airport, having absent-mindedly put her bottles of wine in her hand luggage. The security checkers had other ideas and confiscated them. What a sad end to the Train-gang visit.

Since then, November has been very typical. The season for bonfires, composting leaves, making pumpkin soup, stewing apples, rounding up garden furniture, planting bulbs and protecting plants before the first snows. On Armistice Day I strolled down to the war memorial for 11 o’clock, but it was deserted. The Entre-deux-Eaux commemoration had started at 9.45. according to a notice outside the mairie. I guess everyone was in the village café by the time the church bells tolled. Later in the month, the cows, which had been grazing on the north field, disconcertingly almost at eye level when we were using our loo, were taken into the big hangar for winter. We also acquired a new satellite box for our television, following the switchover to digital and removal of the small relay transmitter on the hill between us and Mandray. We can now get a bigger range of Francophone channels. It was rather fun to watch Arsenal v Braga on a Mali channel, with analysis from a Mali perspective! Small autumnal pleasures.

And now, on December 1st,  it is definitely wintery, with snow falling outside, covering yesterday’s many deer and other animal tracks across the white fields. The postman has already brought round his selection of 2011 almanacs. (I chose one with a cover featuring steam engines, hoping it is a promise of interesting journeys in 2011). It feels a good day to start on Christmas cards.

One final village update: the village cross which featured on a long-ago Christmas card has, after several missing years, been re-instated at the end of our road with a new wooden cross and its re-polished bronze figure of Christ. But our neighbour Gerard hasn’t yet left his bicycle leaning picturesquely against it, as he did on the day of the photograph.

So, swivelling in our new computer chairs (I can’t even see John behind the high back of his), looking out over the white tracery of the orchard branches, we send greetings and our recent news before the December rush.

This Google map shows an outline of our route; the place markers are accurate but the road route is just the Google maps calculation between those place markers rather than the detailed route.

You can drag the map around and zoom in for a more detailed view.

There is an additional menu item under the title image for Restaurant photos.

The image on the Home page (https://asoelie2e.fr/) is a rotating panorama (using Adobe Flash Player). On the other pages it is a static photograph. The file size is similar to the ordinary image so should not take any longer to download but the rotation will use more of your computer processor. Hopefully this will not cause any problems?

Under the image at the top of all the pages there is a grey scale with eleven gradations from black to white and ten more back to black. If your screen is adjusted correctly you should be able to see all the shades of grey.

To download a printable Adobe Acrobat version click on this link E2EYr9Weeks1-17.pdf (four A4 pages). Clicking on a photo will take you to a larger single image.

On Sunday mornings here there are always long queues at the bakeries, – not just for the daily baguettes but also for the beautiful patisseries. Usually we refrain from indulgence, but I have to admit to a soft spot for almond croissants. So one July morning when John and I had headed off to Saint Dié for routine blood tests (before any food) we decided to treat ourselves. None of the bars seemed to still be serving croissants, so we walked on to the Cassis Framboise boulangerie which has the virtue of snacking sur place. The décor is as pink as the name suggests and their almond croissants are even more enjoyable accompanied by orange juice, coffee, chocolate and newspapers. On the way, we paused. Rodin’s large statue of the Thinker seemed to have landed just opposite the town hall. Were we dreaming? The newspaper in the café confirmed that it was the beginning of an important summer exhibition in Saint Dié celebrating 20^th century sculpture.

It is a family joke that the weather is always fine whenever John’s sister Ann and her husband Derek visit (just as it always rains when Leila is here). But the tables were turned this year. So when it was pouring with rain on Ann and Derek’s last day here in mid-August, Ann suggested that we should go out to a teashop and treat ourselves. St Die on a wet day is a dreary place, so we decided against the Cassis Framboise and the wet statues. And the Museumotel (see below) don’t do cakes. Ann was sad to hear that our favourite Gilg cake shop in Munster (where the storks nest on the town hall roof-top) had stopped serving coffee and cakes and now just sells over the counter. So she suggested a garden centre. But the combination of cakes, coffee, plants and garden furniture doesn’t seem to appeal round here. We couldn’t think of anywhere picturesque enough to justify a wet drive. In the end we joined the queue at the Saulcy (next village) bakery and came home with a wonderful selection of cakes, made our own coffee and struggled with a 1,000 piece jigsaw, appropriately Renoir’s Les parapluies. We didn’t finish the puzzle before they left, but the cakes were great (and, a week or so we later found the puzzle had one missing piece).

As you may have gathered from previous newsletters, the old people’s monthly reunion in Entre-deux-Eaux is notable for its birthday cakes and champagne, which punctuate the tarot, belote, scrabble and gossip. So there was some discussion in May as to whether I should take along a shop cake or a home-made English cake. The favourite at the gathering is gateau St Honoré (named, Wikipedia informs me, after the French patron saint of bakers and pastry chefs). In the end John kindly baked me one of my favourites, a coffee cream sponge, and I hoped people would overcome their negative attitude to British cuisine. After some discussion, Madame la presidente decided that it was the same as a French gâteau génois, and so would be safe to try. The absent John (who still insists he is too young for the club) received many compliments on his gâteau génois, and then everyone had a slice of St Honoré, just to make sure.

On my birthday itself (having already celebrated early in Portugal), we decided to try out Le Royal Chinese restaurant in St Die with Leila, Roger and Dorinda They do an eat-as-much-as-you-can buffet lunch there, and whoever thinks French men (like French women) don’t get fat would soon get proof to the contrary there, watching large men gorge themselves on the buffet à volonté. We, however, chose from the menu. The surprise came at the end. No, it wasn’t more cake, but unsolicited fire-water (sake?), served in small china cups, – pink for ladies and blue for men. At the bottom of each cup was a very rude picture.

“Interesting” cups, this time more stylish, came up in conversation while Ann and David Hart were with us in June, and led to an interesting expedition. They had driven from Nottingham to Oberammergau to see the passion play, had spent several days exploring along the Alpine Strasse, and were returning via Munich and Entre-deux-Eaux. Over breakfast on the balcony (we had hot weather for them) David was telling us about the museum of modern design in Munich and the fascinating items we all remembered from the sixties and seventies (now museum pieces) like stacking cups. John produced his Thomas stacking cups from that era, and we reminisced. Then we remembered a website John had come across which showed igloo-like white “bubbles”, built in 1967 by the utopian and visionary architect Pascal Hausermann in nearby Raon l’Etape. They have recently been restored by enthusiasts with period furnishings, and are open as a small hotel and café, the Museumotel.

As we had never seen them, we decided to go and have coffee there. We set out in the Harts car, with the roof down, and Ann and I looking appropriately in-period (well, perhaps more fifties) with head-scarves, sun hats and dark glasses. It took a bit of finding, on its little island at the end of a narrow back street. But then it was stunning. We spent some time exclaiming over the exhibition of sculpture in the reception bubble (made mainly from tools and garden implements like secateurs), and then one of the enthusiasts offered to show us some bedrooms. Inside the egg-shaped Panton bubble (dedicated to designer Verner Panton) the décor was orange and purple with large spots. Remember those psychedelic days? The greens and whites (and view of the stream) of the chlorophyll bubble were considerably more restful. The Zen bubble would probably have been relaxing too, but we couldn’t see into that one. And after all that it was far too hot for coffee, so we had long cool fruit drinks (with straws, of course) and returned through cool woods via the cool abbey church at Etival Clairefontaine.

Cups also featured in our farewell meal with the Harts at the Belle Vue restaurant at Saulxures. We’d had a leisurely lunch, very filling, on the terrace. Then the traditional coffee at the end of the meal was brought to each person in two glass cups on a wooden tray, enabling comparison between arabica and robusta. An interesting and considerably more sedate finale than the Royal’s. While Leila was with us we’d also eaten at the Cote du Lac north of Strasbourg. The food is often presented in a quirky way there. Leila’s starter, for example came in a hamburger box, and our coffee (in white china handle-less cups looking like plastic beakers for machine-coffee) was accompanied by transparent straw-like things (or pipettes) surmounted by bubbles from which you could suck small quantities of alcohol.

It’s beginning to look as if we spent the whole of May, June, July and August eating cakes and drinking coffee and spirits. But we did indulge in a bit of culture while Ann and Derek were with us. One day we headed north to Baccarat, famous mainly for its crystal production. On the other side of the river Meurthe, commanding a good view from a fortified escarpment is a small village, Deneuvre (c. 600 inhabitants, known as Danubriens). The Romans of course appreciated its strategic position. In the seventies a local farmer hired a water diviner to locate sources of streams for his cattle. And that was when, all around the now submerged sources, one of the largest sanctuaries devoted to Hercules started to be uncovered. The finds are all in a modern museum, laid out in a partial reconstruction.

So we had fun looking at that, followed by a walk along the ramparts and out to the original site (which looked like unkempt pasture once more). We paused for a very filling snack – a meal really – at a kebaberie back in Baccarat, then crossed a new footbridge over the river Meurthe to the new jewellery museum (rather boring) and went on to the crystal glass museum. We’d all been there before, but it was interesting to see again the film of crystal glass making, and then we went on to the chapel for their special exhibition – the crystal forest. If you’ve ever thought of buying a 230 light crystal chandelier, there is a magnificent one in the centre of the otherwise dark chapel, shedding green light on the crystal deer, hare, woodpeckers and ferns below.

Sadly, none of our visitors, apart from Leila and Alistair were here for the Sunday flea markets. Leila rather liked a turquoise porcelain cat at one of the flea markets and predicted it would be very pricey. At 100 euro we didn’t invest. We looked more seriously at glass cake stands (alas, not Baccarat crystal), but in the end bought a pretty ring of candle holders surrounded by iron deer. We really look for bargains, so another fancied item that we didn’t buy was a 30 euro ceramic rhinoceros which could have rampaged happily in our garden. Our meagre haul this year also includes a wisteria, some fish paté dishes, a cow milk jug, a small ceramic boat for the garden wall and John’s bargain 20 cent TV aerial. This is John’s insurance measure for when the transmitter on top of the hill above Entre-deux-Eaux church is removed. Grants for the purchase of a new box are available, but one might need to produce the old aerial, which we no longer have. Some of the flea markets can be a bit lacking in atmosphere, sited on fields outside the village or on a football pitch with a handy pavilion for the firemen to cook chips and barbecue sausages and pork chunks. So we were delighted last week to come across a small village with stalls along the main winding street. The food (and you could have a whole meal here) was all being cooked in what looked like someone’s tiny front garden, and we sat at tables alongside the road, among the stalls, to eat our chips and ketchup. A loud French group behind us had a lot of empty wine bottles by their plates, and next to us were two Dutch walkers with their rucksacks. All very jolly. Today we have almost doubled this year’s haul with a Grand Marnier ashtray (labelled Grindley, England but identical to local Lunéville faience ones), an old Bakelite camera for John’s collection, and a mouli. To allow testing of the latter I picked a bucketful of plums when we got back, and John has been busy since separating quantities of stewed plums from their stones.

Alistair did very well at one of our local flea markets when he came over to help John with DIY projects last year. Sadly, this year he and John were too busy making the most of the masonry drill hired over the weekend, to have time for flea markets. The two of them worked flat out for seven days in June and the results were magnificent. We now have a new fence and gate with posts firmly cemented into a concrete base round the vegetable plot (or potager when I’m being posh), the kitchen has been re-roofed, a drain has been laid in the concrete in front of the back door, and a huge expanse of concrete now links the two terraces at the back which were different levels (paving slabs to be laid at a later date). John’s cement mixer was very busy and they managed to get through 14 bags of cement and one and a half huge bags of sand which had been winched off the delivery lorry, along with pallets of roof tiles and metal grids, the previous week. Thanks, Alistair, for all the hard work – only sorry there was no fun, not even the fireworks and bonfire at Saulcy, just solid labour, beer, exhaustion, food, Wimbledon and world cup football!

The other major project this year, to counteract the concrete expanses, was reclaiming one of our fields for John to start planting trees – referred to rather grandiosely as his arboretum, though there is little scientific study involved. Perhaps it was inspired by Brother Simeon’s garden at Autrey Abbey, – certainly the red oak saplings were found on the way home from there. So far a ginkgo, some willows and some hazels seem to have taken, whilst birches and pines which grow prolifically all around appear to have given up. An intricate network of mown paths links the planting spots (John calculates that if you walked each path, which probably involves some repetition, the distance would total a kilometre). Maybe it will need another forty years before we see it flourishing. Certainly the local wisdom (i.e. ex-farmer Duhaut) is that we won’t get to enjoy it, so it’s a bit pointless. Keep reading!