Chosen Fugue

Albania Mania #2

There’s a degree of inherent awkwardness to foreign travel, and we took it up a notch in Albania. Simple conversations, grocery shopping, figuring out other countries appliances. Anything can turn strange, and everything turned strange in Albania. That’s a part of the experience we really enjoy.

Since there are virtually no trains in Albania, our only option to get to our next stop, Greece, was by bus. We truly enjoyed Tirana and were not ready to leave Albania. We had heard the coast of Albania was amazing, the beaches were being strongly promoted as the Albanian Riviera, it was January, but why not go?

We decided to work our way down towards the Greek border by first attempting the intercity bus from Tirana to the nearby coastal town of Durres. Sounded straightforward, as it was only 25 miles away. The Tourist Information Center agent gave us guidance and assurance that our plan to head south to Greece via the Albanian bus system was indeed sound and straightforward. She also awkwardly mentioned that she had heard that the LA fires (it was January 2025, the LA fires were raging) were started deliberately by homeowners so they could build new nicer homes. Conspiracy theories everywhere. This should have been our first clue that we shouldn’t trust the Tourist Information Center.

So, we headed out to Durres. We quickly learned that the bus system in Albania is arbitrary and we were clueless (but, we knew that). They do not follow any listed schedule, not online or posted at a bus depot. Actually, bus depots, were empty lots or a spot on the street, maybe identified by a food stand. We took a regular city bus to the edge of Tirana, fortunately, a local rider, an older woman with shopping bags told us where to get off – without us even needing to ask, she knew (otherwise we may have ended up in a bunker in the hills). It was a large lot with buses coming and going, white minibuses/vans, food stands, and multiple guys hustling around trying to convince us to let them take us the final 24 miles to Durres. Everything had to be in cash (in Albanian Leks which convert to about 1/100th of a dollar, so 100 L equaled 1 US dollar). We were able to bypass the hustlers find a bus, not the bus we were looking for, but still headed to Durres.

Durres in Duress.

We were dropped off in a new busy lot with vans and buses and a new group of transport hustlers inviting us to get on their bus or van, we successfully ignored them, and walked through the city, along the beach boardwalk to our hotel- The Peaky Hotel. The best part of the Peaky Hotel (unknown to us until we entered the lobby) were the multiple references to the British TV show Peaky Blinders, apparently the hotel owner was a huge fan of the show. Admirable attention to theme.

Our rate included breakfast (fancy for us) and we finally got to taste homemade Albanian mountain tea (which every Albanian kept pushing on us), not bad.

Another awkward Albanian moment occurred in the Peaky Hotel. First, we had to pay. We assumed in Leks and had gotten the exact amount ready, but it was Albania, so the receptionist preferred Euros, but didn’t want any Euro coins). Then Nick needed to count it out, again. A bit problematic since we needed the Euros for the transport to Greece and Albanian ATMS give Leks. So, the receptionist took most of our Euros. Use of credit cards, like trains are rare in Albania.

An hour later the power went out, so Nick went out to the hall to check, then a young man also came out into the hall from next door, except he was only wearing a towel. Apparently, he was in the shower when power went out. He spoke minimal English. Nick started to go to front desk via emergency stairs, and the hotel neighbor followed in his towel. We were on the second floor but, the door to the first floor was locked so the toweled guy started banging on the door. Finally, someone opened door, the receptionist Nick had just flashed all this cash while checking in. Some Albanian irritation and shrugging between toweled neighbor and front desk woman while Nick innocently looked on. Then, the lights went back on mid conversation. Towel guy started to leave back upstairs, Nick smiled at receptionist and she gave him a weird smile back. Nick confused said thank you in Albanian and followed the towel guy back up the stairs.

Durres beaches seemed fine, nothing incredible, but it was hard to judge due to the extensive construction of new hotels/resorts that was going on along most of the beach front.

No, that is not a fisherman, it is a sculpture of a fisherman. A lot of public art in this plaza.

Although, we did get to see Tina , John, Bob and Mick along the promenade.

Not sure how these famous four were chosen. We were more intrigued by all the stray dogs roaming the streets. Many European cities have numerous street cats, Albania had some, but the dogs were everywhere. And, they were extremely friendly, big, beautiful and seemed very healthy. They also seemed to understand the roads and when to cross much better than us.

Similar to other European cities, there were the requisite Roman ruins (even Albania couldn’t keep the Romans out), but Albania differed in these were just “there”. In the neighborhood.

Again, consistent with post-communist countries, a lot of graffiti and we generally like street art, but knowing how novel it must have felt to be able to actually DO street art for Albanians, made these even better.

And of course, statues honoring invasions and war

After two nights of Peaky Blinders, we continued our blind path to Greece. Our goal was Gjirokastër, Albania near the Greek border. Per the internet there was a direct 4 hour bus once a day from Durres to Gjirokaster. We walked a mile to the original pseudo bus station, they told us to go stand at the “semaphore”(whats a semaphore? A traffic light, at least in Spanish-semaforo) to catch another bus to the southern direction pseudo bus station. At the semaphore bus stop, a local bus for 40 Leks (about 40 cents US) took us to another empty lot with a snack bar on the outskirts of Durres. No physical station, just guys trying to get you on their minibus or taxi. We talked to the food stand guy, he pointed out a guy to talk to. By this time we were running low on Leks, and didn’t want to convert anymore Euros, so we began to barter for transportation. We asked about the daily bus to Gjirokastër. Guy said no bus (not sure if he was completely honest) but he would take us to Lushnje for 400 lek each ($4) in his minibus and his friend would pick us up and take us to Gjirokastër for 800 Lek. He then drove us in a very slow white van (no 4th or 5th gear), the whole time he was making phone calls. Finally, he dropped us and our backpacks off at a gas station next to a roundabout outside Lushnje(?), said wait here for 10 minutes.

Another white van eventually did come, not in the promised 10 minutes, but maybe all the white vans lacked 4th and 5th gears. The new driver asked for another 1000 leak each, but the other guy had said it would be 800 each (and that’s all we had left), so he took us. He then drove most of the way before dropping us and another woman (she was not happy) off to an older couple (we think the driver’s in-laws).

The father-in-law loaded the three of us into the backseat of the car for the final stunningly beautiful 15 mile drive (40 minutes) to Gjirokastër before unloading the 3 of us at some random corner in Gjirokastër. Once in town, we (minus the woman from the backseat), found the private bus company to buy tickets to go over the border to Kalabaka, Greece with our last 40 euro. An exact change trip. (With a lot of left over awkward.)

Taken from the window, sheep, shepherd, sheep dogs, and crazy light blue water from the calcium deposits.

Little tiny Gjirokastër has had a huge impact on Albania as the birthplace of the dictator Enver Hoxha (and author Ismail Kadare). Its history is as multi-layered as is the town. It was Greek, it was independent Epirus, it was Albanian, etc. Then about 1300 it was contested by Serbians and Italians, eventually won by Albanians, then eventually taken by the Ottomans, followed by the Albanians again in 1909-1912 The Greeks tried to reclaim it during the first Balkan wars (1912-1913). The Italians took over during WW2 and of course the Germans had a short stay. Despite the constant change, Gjirokastër seemed to stay uniquely itself.

The ugly new town was at the bottom

and the old town was just straight up beautiful and straight up the mountain.

Our tiny apartment was just as cute as Gjirokastër, but colder than being outside. It was good that we were just here for 2 nights because it was just way tooo cold to shower.

A more successful attempt to find our bus this time, first going to the bus company office where we had bought the ticket, they pointed us across the street to in front of the gas station which was apparently the bus stop du jour. Tucked in the warm bus, another strikingly beautiful drive to Northern Greece.

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Albania Mania #1

January’s (2025) plan was 6 weeks in Greece but flights to Albania were half the price, and if we had a bucket list, Albania would have been on it, so we bought the tickets. Our trips to post-communist countries; Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovenia, Bulgaria, Romania and Hungary, have been fascinating. In some ways these are new countries, less than 40 years old, but they carry long histories. Some have done better than others; Croatia (aided by tourism) has been stable, although in many ways still recovering from the Croatian-Serbian War of the early 90’s. Bosnia-Herzegovenia is still a mess. Bulgaria and Romania struggle with corruption and political and economic instability. Hungary has slid back into a dictatorship.
Albania is a completely unique entity. Under the very oppressive, very paranoid dictator, Enver Hoxha, it was the most isolated of the communist aligned countries, even breaking ties with USSR (1956) and China (1978). Hoxha died in 1985, but real changes did not begin until after 1990.

Albania felt like a mash up of Ottoman, Communist , Italian and Baltic style. Our first few hours were a perfect snapshot of the country. Driving to our lodging, through a narrow, graffitied, dilapidated alley we arrived at a very modern row of little bungalows, absolutely beautiful and perfect inside.

Despite flight delays causing us to arrive many hours after our original time, our super nice apartment host was waiting for us, speaking perfect English. After a good night sleep, we easily found our way from our alley through a little passage, and the center of Tirana was right there.

A confluence of buildings of all different eras and styles with multiple large construction sites in progress. All signs of an establishing tourist industry and a solid jump into capitalism.

We were told that drivers just ignored the single elevated lights so the entire streetlight, pole and all, light up. Smart.

People were extremely friendly, many spoke English and everyone made a point of offering help even if we didn’t need it. The new Albania is changing their narrative; a lot of the hero of the Ottoman rebellion, Gjergi Kastrioti Skënderbeau

and favorite daughter MotherTeresa but not a lot of Hoxha.

The former dictator’s house sat in the middle of town. A beautiful, baltic interpretation of midcentury modern, but completely vacant, not marked on maps or with signage. Strangely not repurposed as a museum or government building. He was so hated, that after 41 years, they don’t want to be reminded. (update: a few weeks after we left, the building was put in use for an artist in residency program in partnership with the French organization Art Explora)

How do they tell the story of those hellish, repressive years that truly affected every Albanian? Two thoughtful, low tech museums devoted to the Hoxha regime were created in two underground bunkers. Why bunkers? Hoxha’s paranoia led to the building of between 173,000 and 750,000 bunkers throughout the country https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bunkers_in_Albania. Like other memorials and museums made by the people who suffered through the events, as in Timisoara, Romania https://chosenfugue.xyz/2019/07/12/timisoara-the-revolution-will-not-be-televised/ this was heartbreaking. One was on the far edge of town, built into a mountain, the other in the middle of town with just a small entry on the street.

The bunkers traced the history of the county’s quick slide into isolation, highlighting the rise of Hoxha, the paranoia of Hoxha, the cruelty of Hoxha and life under Hoxha, while honoring and memorializing the opposition and those who were murdered by Hoxha

The approach to the hillside bunker was through a loooong tunnel, where we were greeted by a faux guard and a bunch of stray puppies

This was a secret bunker, built for Hoxha and the political elite in case of a nuclear attack. The bunker’s structure is unchanged, Hoxha’s bed and room are still waiting (he never slept in it).

It is hard to describe how massive the bunker is; multiple very long hallways, a large assembly room and 106 rooms now telling the story of the surveillance, torture, murder, propaganda, constant threat of chemical warfare and the use of concentration camps for Albanian men, women and children.

The exhibits did an amazing job of emphasizing the absolute constant day to day control exerted by the government from surveillance,

to forced haircuts (to combat foreign influences),

to the standardization of everything people owned and encountered- everyone had the same furniture and kitchen.

The bunker in town told other stories, and shared names and images of the thousands of people killed by Hoxha. While this bunker felt smaller, it actually was five stories deep.

The bunkers were filled with fake mustard gas mist and the sound tracks of screaming, sirens, singing and bombing. . Incredible. Just very powerful, evocative and overwhelming documentation of the years of horror the Albanian society endured.

Leaving these, walking in a very vibrant city, felt very significant.

We found the book Free by Lea Ypi to be a great companion through Albania. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Free_(Ypi_book)

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The Brrrritish Coast

We are predominately off-season winter travelers, so weather has a huge influence on our perception of place. Usually the effect is positive, like when we strolled through an empty, beautiful and warm (inside) Uffizi Gallery in Florence in mid January or not needing reservations to go to the Acropolis, again in January (plus all Greek archeological sites are 1/2 off in winter). Croatia for us was a moody, snowy Zagreb cemetery, warm Raki in an old stone apartment in Split rather than a beer on the beach. The primary negative effect is bad weather! We need to be outside, we like to be outside, we bus, train or walk everywhere and dogs (and Nick) need to be walked, so we are outside. Being Californians we only have bad winter clothes. Yes, we could buy warmer clothes, but generally we don’t. Patricia’s solution is to get hand-me-downs from daughters and sisters who live/have lived in cold weather. Nick’s solution is to basically empty his backpack and wear all his old bad winter clothes all at once, 6-7 layers (“it works because the holes don’t overlap”). A walking closet as opposed to a walk in closet.

Another solution is to seek out more temperate locations. As we were headed to Liverpool to spend Christmas with our daughters, we saw there was a dog sit on the southwest Somerset coast for a week before Christmas. We thought it might be warmer than Liverpool in Northern England. So, why not? Plus the description was so lovely; a seaside Victorian house right across the street from the beach with two smallish dogs. Did we say ignorantly thought? So from Paris, we rode the Eurostar train under the English Channel and headed to Burnam-on-Sea.

Burnam-on-Sea was the epitome of decay, English style. A classic seaside resort gone to seed. Faded in every way. It contained every British trope but not necessarily in a good way.

Burnam-on-Sea is just below the larger Weston-super-Mare, bizarre name apparently derived from its ancient Roman name (Super Mario?). Burnam-on-Sea sits at the mouth of the River Parrett which flows into the Bristol Channel before it reaches the Irish Sea. It boasts the second highest tidal change (49 feet) in the world, with the first being the Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia. Apparently we are tidal junkies, always searching for the highs and lows, as we actually went to the Bay of Fundy just because it had the highest tidal change in the world (52 foot change)! https://chosenfugue.xyz/2023/03/12/lohw-canada/ We also went to Gloucester, England to see the Severn River Tidal bore https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/10/12/wonders-man-made-and-natural/. Maybe we are not the best people to ask for destination advice? And our stay here might confirm that.

When the tide is low you can see the river still flowing. When the tide is high, the river runs under the water and contributes to the dangerous undertow.

These extreme tides (the bay tide can recede over 1.5 miles) are not without risk. The gigantic tidal changes coupled with a severe undertow results in extremely dangerous conditions, especially for a seaside resort. If the out going tide doesn’t pull you away, there is even greater danger if you walk out as the tide goes out and then get stuck in the mudflats, literally quicksand. People get trapped and slowly sink or get caught and even drown as the returning tide comes rushing in. Lifeguards on special hovercrafts and rescue helicopter are always on watch and ready to rush in.

On our introductory walk through town, our lovely pet owner told us to always keep the dogs on the leash when near the water and an eye on the tide and then proceeded to point out gravestones of Victorian children lost at sea as we walked through an old cemetery at the slightly creepy church.

She also pointed out the arcade on the pier. Reportedly the UK’s shortest pier, although the country’s piers peers dispute this claim acknowledging it as a pavilion, not a pier. Burnham-on-Sea is also famous for its low lighthouse built in 1832. It stands 36 feet high. It may have been higher in 1832, but maybe slowly sinking into the quicksand? (pic from Wikipedia)

After the warning walk, we went with our sit host for dinner at the local Chinese restaurant, where she called ahead to secure a table for our party of 3. We were the only people in the restaurant for the entire time. On our way there, we passed the touristy center of town, which was 2-3 blocks of the main street. A row of charity shops, a Costa coffee, a souvenir shop with beach supplies, an Army surplus store, a B&M discount store and of course, a chippy (we are in the UK). Welcome to Burnam-on-Sea.

The dogs were cute while we were at home, but turned into raging wolves whenever we passed another dog on the street. That was not the only issue with going out. It was unclear what was worse: the Hounds of the Baskervilles flying like kites in the gale-force , the risk of being blown into the sea and quicksand, even from blocks away or a wind induced mid air dogfight. In addition to the hurricanesque winds, torrential downpours added another dimension, with all 6-7 layers of clothes getting soaked through waterproof gear. The weather may have explained the need for an Army Surplus store.

Burnam-on-Sea helped us to acclimate to the UK before meeting up in London with the US contingency coming to Liverpool for Christmas. We successfully met up and were on our way to spend Christmas with the Liverpool based contingency.

Started out strong with exploration of British holiday traditions

Trying every Marks and Spencer Christmas food we could plus Christmas crackers-edible and non-edible

We tempered tradition with Beatlemania ( after the visitors left, we eventually went to each Beatle’s childhood homes) and song inspired sites.

Plus we shared our favorite Liverpool tourist destination, Crosby Beach, https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/10/21/liverpool/

which also has very low, low tides and the Antony Gormley statues https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Another_Place_(sculpture)

After Burnam-on-Sea, Liverpool felt almost temperate and we could enjoy classic English parks.

But suddenly, we were reminded this was the UK, when we woke up to a slightly atypical snowfall! That was Christmas 2024!

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Final Flâneur in France

Mainly what we do is walk.
Part of the joy of our endless fugue through Europe is walking, just walking. Cities and countryside. The pleasure is being startled by ineffable beauty. You turn a corner in Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria and see the Tsarevets Fotress on the hilltop.https://chosenfugue.xyz/2019/06/18/into-the-cyrillic-part-1-bulgaria-interior/

You leave the train station in Florence, walk a few blocks, enter the Piazza del Duomo and the Cathedral, Giotto’s Campanile and Baptistery of St. John are right in front of you. You understand the word stunning. https://chosenfugue.xyz/2023/04/11/frenzied-firenze/ It is not just the main attractions, but also the everyday beauties you pass as you walk.

New York City, San Francisco (even with the hills) are great walking cities, but Paris is better than all of them. The art of flaneur was invented in and for Paris.

The expanse, the history, the elegance just leads you to wander. We didn’t go to any museums, no fancy restaurants, no tours, no trip up the Eiffel Tower.

Walking through Paris, is following the footsteps of icons like Simone de Bouvier & Sartre, Serge Gainsbourg, Truffaut, Baudelaire, Chopin, Collette, Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde and countless others.

So we followed them to Montmartre https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montmartre_Cemetery, Montparnasse https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montparnasse_Cemetery and Père-Lachaise https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Père_Lachaise_Cemetery. We tend to almost always end up at the cemeteries. Art and history become tangible. A culture becomes known. Genoa’s cemetery is a magnificent sculpture gallery, https://chosenfugue.xyz/2023/03/12/leaning-in/ Timsaura’s full of anger https://chosenfugue.xyz/2019/07/12/timisoara-the-revolution-will-not-be-televised/and Bosnia’s was in pain. https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/11/14/croatia-2-the-war-and-mostar/ Paris’s cemeteries are a stroll through Western cultural history.

After our first fugue from 2018-2020, it seemed odd that we had not really explored the heavyweights- Italy and France. We checked off Italy in January 2024 and it just kind of felt like, oh now we should finish up France, we did not expect how great these five weeks would be with vast differences between regions, between villages, towns and cities. Time traveling from cave paintings to roman amphitheaters to Haussmannian boulevards https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges-Eugène_Haussmann to the Eurostar cross channel trains. Emotionally, spiritually and artistically, satisfying

Paris was the fitting end of our tour de France. We will be back.

A Date with Lyon

There is the assumption that as we fugue through Europe we are having these incredible meals- street fare, cafes, restaurants, Christmas market tastes, this is wrong. Partly because our of diet restrictions: vegetarian (we do eat eggs and fish), gluten free, low oxalate, or any food starting with letters from the second half of the alphabet, so finding acceptable restaurants is difficult. But the main reason is because Nick is still traveling with and living by his Fodor’s Europe on $5/day book from 45 years ago. So our incredible meals are generally based on ingredients we find at local markets, in France it is Carrefour.

Just before we escaped the hellcats in Montpellier, Nick saw a kilogram (2.2 pounds) very solid block of date paste on sale at Carrefour which seemed like a great buy since dates are on our repeat market list. However, we carry our lives on our backs, any extra weight in our backpacks can be back breaking. But, we (mainly Nick) are always up for a new Herculean task of Olympic proportion. We soon realized that date paste is extremely dense and a little goes a long ways. (context: our past obligatory food blogs: https://chosenfugue.xyz/2023/05/01/obligatory-food-blog-rehashed/ and https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/11/30/obligatory-food-blog/)

So feeling date-logged we rolled into a chilly Lyon, famous for their Lyonnaise cuisine

Despite the gloomy winter smog, Lyon, like all of our stops on our Tour de France, hit the mark. The Rhone river and its tributary, the Saône, converge in Lyon, creating very distinct time capsule neighborhoods. (map: https://www.sergeantpaper.com/)

Wandering through the different areas, it kinda felt like a time travel Disneyland. Following Roman footprints through the Fourvière hillside to the Roman amphitheater.

Moving on to the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries silk industry in Vieux Lyon and Croix-Rousse. Croix-Rousse is where the only-in-Lyon traboules are found. These are odd underground corridors running through multiple privately owned buildings (and still lived in) which allowed the silk workers direct access from the building down to the rivers.

A climb up to the extremely elaborate 18th C Basilica on Fourvière Hill, built to give thanks for saving residents from the bubonic plague. Mosaics maybe inspired by the much older ones in Ravenna? (https://chosenfugue.xyz/2023/03/16/ravenna-pieces/

Down to one of the many bridges to the 19th C peninsula, Presqu’île, constructed from draining the swamps and marshes between the two rivers (another early engineering wonder), now the center of the city.

Basilica looming over the Place Bellecour

Across another bridge and to the other side of the rivers; neighborhoods built from the 1900’s through today, with a bunch of neighborhood names we are too tired to list.

Here is where you find a typical city with Lyonnaise flavor; smog producing factories on the outskirts, wealthy neighborhoods, rundown neighborhoods, immigrant areas, shopping centers, modern trams, gentrifying post-industrial streets and a Westfield mall. Lyon is known as the city of gastronomy, with bouchons, only-in-Lyon cafes (did not eat in one) and the pride of this side of the city, the Halles de Lyon Paul Bocuse, https://www.halles-de-lyon-paulbocuse.com , chef Paul Bocuse, a native son.

This historic (what isn’t?) 1850’s French market was converted to a food wonderland in 2004; we did not eat there, either. We were on our way back to our hotel in the Perrache (yet another right bank neighborhood characterized by a Christmas market and train/bus station), tired, cold and hungry, bypassing all these great food options while desperate to eat something other than cans of mackerel from Carrefour and slices from Nick’s date paste log. Just before we crossed another bridge,

we stumbled by a burrito place. It was excellent, a rare and hidden treasure proving that Lyon truly is the city of gastronomy. We enjoy sampling European interpretation of Mexican food (Vienna, Keswick, Reykjavik, Saarbrücken, Berlin, Ghent, Antwerp, Zagreb) which does not make sense because with the exception of Berlin and Ghent, it is rarely good, https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/10/04/belgium-part-1/ and Amsterdam’s was so bad, we won’t even list or link it. It is also is difficult to make Mexican food at home because the markets do not have corn tortillas or masa and only have Old El Paso products in their “Mexican” section. Weak. Ketchup is spicier than OId El Paso salsa.

We capped off our exploration of different lands with a day trip to Geneva, Switzerland just two hours away on a Flix bus, to visit Nick’s nephew and his family. It was a great visit, but we were pressed for time to catch our Flix back to Lyon. So, our Geneva sight seeing consisted of a speed walk through the fancy downtown, the less fancy downtown on the opposite side of the lake and a huge Christmas market which led us to the Manor market.

Tired, cold and hungry again, we entered the most comprehensive market we’d ever experienced. We were overmatched. A futbol pitch sized market of gastronomy; rows and rows of gluttony. Bread bakery, pastry bakery, chocolate counter, cheese shop, sushi, seafood, an entire aisle of Old El Paso products, dim sum, soup, sausage bar, butcher, produce, etc. So incredibly overwhelming that we don’t even remember what we ate, it must have been fast food because we did speed eat it on the street before we went to wait forever in the freezing cold with intermittent freezing rain for our very delayed Flix bus. Flix bus stops are typically at odd locations (does FLIX stand for Finding Location Is eXistential ?). This one was centered in an extremely busy square with other bus services, as well. Keeping warm by busily dodging buses, cars pedestrians, bicycles and rain drops. It was like the wild, wild west, or at least Old El Paso.

Montpellier Cat-a-blog

For Hercules’s twelfth labor, he had to descend into Hades to capture the three-headed dog beast, Cerberus, who prevented the dead from leaving and the living from entering Hades. Our task in Montpellier, France wasn’t dissimilar to Hercules’s, except our Herculean task was to ascend five flights of stairs and guard three hairless cat beasts.

Our lovely host warned us, providing detailed instructions of the cats’s idiosyncrasies, previous reviews further emphasized their behavior, but our underestimation of the task was quickly apparent. Within minutes we were terrorized, as one slapped Patricia on the forehead. We had entered a different reality, the modern day underworld of these hairless cats.

The presence of any food, maybe even the thought of food, made the cats swarm.

We had made fifteen oatcakes, secured them in a cabinet, returned from a short walk to the market to discover the oatcakes completely gone and the cats relaxed and content. For 3 days we waited in fear of oatcake-obstructed cat bowels or that the cats would force us to make more for them. Cat and human meals were choreographed. To feed the cats we had to quickly dispense their individualized meals, and then separate them into different rooms of the house; bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. To feed us, we enticed the cats into the room that had a closed door, made dinner, then one of us would release the cats and the other would quickly bring the food into the only room where the door closed so we could eat dinner.

It was not all frightening, once the Hellcats were fed, they would calm down, and sit on our laps in a search of warmth. The desire for warmth and company extended to bedtime with the cats crawling under the covers with us. This was its own level of creepiness; one felt like a buzzcut, another a poorly shaved leg, and the other like a four legged scrotum; all with claws and teeth.

We made daily escapes from feline Hades, there was plenty to explore in Montpellier. The apartment was a quirky converted attic apartment, on a picturesque narrow street (duh, it’s France) lined with high end boutiques, cheese shops and cafes (again, it’s France). We were just up from the Place de la Comedie, anchored in the center by the fountain of the three Graces (beauty, charm and joy), considered an emblem of Montpeillier.

we forgot to take a picture, this is from Montpelier-France.com

Montpellier is a university town with very distinct neighborhoods, all beautiful. The old town with buildings dating back to the 1600s.

Of course, there was a Christmas Market, tucked behind their Arc de Triumph, with a great view and pleasantly a man who we thought was a Baltimore Orioles fan, but he had no idea who the Orioles were or what baseball was either. He just liked the hat.

Plus, like most French cities, there were flea markets. The Peyrou flea market is below the aqueduct (constructed in the 1750s),

and another in the most remarkable (bizarre?) part of town, Antigone. Antigone is an award-winning faux Roman planned community (housing, shopping) complete with replicas of classic Roman buildings and sculptures.

Faux Rome inspired us to voyage to Nimes, dubbed the most Roman city outside of Rome. Why? Well it has a pantheon (Maison Carrée) amphitheater (les Arènas)-still used, a roman aqueduct on the outskirts of town (Pont du Gard), the terminus of the aqueduct (Castellum Divisorium)- the only other one in existence is in Pompei, and ancient gates on the Via Domitia (main Roman road).

More roman ruins in the Jardines de la Fontaine, a French/Roman mashup park designed in 1745 around a spring and ancient temple. The Quais de la Fontaine channels the spring into fountains and then out through the city. The gardens also include “the great tower” dating from 15 BC. The ancient roman temple to Diane was probably a roman library but the garden designers thought temple to Diane sounded better.

If that was not enough, Nimes has a beautiful esplanade leading from the train station to the coliseum which of course included an Advent market and carnival.

Another short 1 euro train ride to Avignon. For us, another classically French, emotionally destabilizing moment when approaching this massive, overwhelmingly massive Palais des Papes. This was the massive, very massive home of the popes during the 14th century.

Why were the popes living in France? Italy was in turmoil so the King of France, ~~demanded~~ invited the entire Catholic infrastructure to move and expand here until a return to Rome. Construction began in 1252 with the pope and company moving there in 1309, leaving in 1377 and then the “antipopes” moved back in 1403( who were the antipopes?) then eventually the popes left but held on to the property for 350 years. This massive, truly massive complex entered years of shabby chic, until the French Revolution, followed by Napoleon, who reclaimed the massive property, turning it into army barracks and a prison. Crazy that the largest medieval gothic church, reflecting the height of 14th C artistry and construction was just left to molder. Now it sits, the Palais des Papes an anchor to two other massive, massive buildings built into the old city ramparts and a huge rock.

The rest of Avignon was a bit less intense. We walked along the river to see the Pont d’Avignon, which used to link the rest of France to the Palais des Papes, but now just stops in the middle of the river, destroyed by repeated floods.

Then a walk along the canal, on the charming Rue des Teinturiers which was the center of Avignon’s silk spinning and dyeing industry from the 1300s – 1800s and now is just “painfully cute” as per the Crazy Tourist website.

Each day we returned to our own personal Herculean labors, cleaning the 4 litter boxes, playing keep-away with the food, performing the meal dance. and going to bed with the triple threats while listening to the pounding bass of the almost all night discotheque downstairs, last call 5 am. Hades after hours. Even hell has its routines, but they were never mundane, rather an entertaining challenge. Would we attempt to do this Herculean labor, again? Hell and back? Absolutely.

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Journey to the Center of the Universe

Fast and furious first weeks time traveling through France. Disoriented from the deeply, essential humanness of the cave paintings, and Carnac megaliths compounded by the amazing engineering + slavery of Mt St Michel juxtaposed with the graves, battlefields of WW1 and WW2. That sums up France so far. Everywhere is history that we continue to forget and repeat.

We left on this trip with no set itinerary. Days were busy, evenings were consumed with “where to next” and “how do we get there”. As noted before, public transport in France in the winter was a major player in choosing where we went and at this point we just wanted to stop moving for a bit but stay entertained. So we went to Narbonne. Not sure why other than it sounded good, our train ride would parallel the Canal du Midi and we found a nice place to stay. It was a good choice.

A cat sit in Montpelier awaited us, so we went ahead and booked a week since a longer stay equals significant discounts. A beautiful apartment in the center of town, opposite our newly beloved Canal du Midi (https://chosenfugue.xyz/2025/10/30/everything-toulouse/). The apartment itself was extravagant mainly because it had a washer and DRYER. Dryers are not easy to find in Europe, and the weather was getting too cold to rely on hanging clothes to dry.

Our timing was perfect, we arrived to the grand opening of the Christmas Market, including free cup of wine (tasted and felt like bar mitzvah/wine!).

Our offseason travel has given us the gift of experiencing Christmas Markets in multiple towns and countries; from the extravagant drunken fueled ones of Germany https://chosenfugue.xyz/2020/06/02/cologne-not-alone-for-christmas/ to the neighborhoody, almost quaint drunken ones of Croatia https://chosenfugue.xyz/2018/12/04/pula-treiste-and-rijeka-the-istrian-trilogy-part-2/ The French ones have more of a carnival party feel with carnival and pony rides, ice skating, shopping huts and of course food and drink booths followed by drunken dancing lights shows nightly. After the inauguration event of the Advent season, we left our apartment everyday to the sounds of Christmas music- it actually was better than it seems (hello Felice Navidad on repeat)

Despite it’s small size, there was a lot to walk to (basically what we do) , but also, importantly, it had good access to day trips, although we ended up just doing one since we were enjoying our time truly getting to know Narbonne.

Narbonne like pretty much all European cities has a very long varied history but due to it’s location close to Spain and the sea plus on a primary Roman road (Via Domitia), influences were a bit different then other French cities. Romans, Visigoths, Arabs, Carolingians, Capets, Jews all called it home from 118 BC until the 14th C but then the main river changed course and no one wanted to call it home. Resurgence in popularity occurred in the 16th century when the Canal de la Rabine was started which eventually linked to the Canal Du Midi and it’s role as a transit hub returned. It was very cool to walk along these historical canals that are still here today.

The town itself was fairly small, and we managed to walk the length from the mall (GIANT Carrefour market dwarfing a super Target) on the outskirts to the other outskirts for a Turkish market (where we discovered walnut butter-pretty good, not great or worth repeating) next door to Lidl (GIANT bargains). In between we passed the Cathedral, the Lapidaire Museum, underground Roman ruins (Horreum Romain), Les Halles (food hall), and even Charles Trenet birth home and museum. We had never heard of him either, until we learned he wrote and sang La Mer, aka Beyond the Sea ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8OlDPqYBLw).

We almost did not go on our day trip to Perpignan because we got pretty comfortable in Narbonne walking around the canal, or to the various Carrefour markets; Giant, City and Express. But we were here and there were 1 Euro tickets available, so why not, we went. The train south toward the Spanish border traveled along the French Mediterranean past flamingo filled ponds.

The train dropped us at the Perpignan railway station defined by Salvador Dali as the “Center of the Universe” after he experienced cosmogonic ecstasy on September 19th 1963. This is documented in a painting called La Gare de Perpignan in 1965 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Gare_de_Perpignan. We had to agree, although we always thought that the Woodman + Moorpark intersection in Sherman Oaks was the center of the universe, albeit absent the cosmogonic ectasy.

Perpignan had a pretty different history then Narbonne, the influence here is Majorcan, it was the capital of the kingdom of Majorca and it’s brick buildings reflect that. It did have a different look from other French cities. It’s about 50 km from the Spain and Catalan is still a prominent language and culture. There are all the expected things, castles, palaces, cathedrals, canals, Christmas market, Galleries Lafayette department store (good place to find a bathroom).

Unexpected, we wandered to the Hôtel Pams, the home of Pierre Bardou, one of the founders of the JOB cigarette papers (aka ZigZag) and then expanded by his son in law Jules Pam (hence the name) between 1852 and 1872. Like the Toulouse City Hall, https://chosenfugue.xyz/2025/10/30/everything-toulouse/ it was spectacular. Apparently, all those guys in high school rolling joints and the weird guys rolling their own tobacco cigarettes were just celebrating this exquisite art filled house.

Unexpected, there was the Centre d’art contemporain Walter-Benjamin and yes we did go in because of the name. This tiny museum, the exhibit was good, did not have a connection to Walter Benjamin although Walter Benjamin did start his escape from the Nazis from Perpignan to Portbou, Spain. We are apparently suckers for Walter Benjamin marketing. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Benjamin

We loved our stay in far southeastern France, in fact it has never left our mind, it won’t leave yours either as you already probably have La Mer stuck in your head https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKOpxCP5TGM.

Everything Toulouse

Perhaps foolishly, we don’t always know where we are going. Onward to the Pyrenees was the original goal, but a lot of travel days and maybe snow, made it not appealing. Based on ubiquitous travel blogs, we thought Albi, (maybe Patricia thought it was Aldi?) https://www.albi-tourisme.fr/en/autour-dalbi/grand-site/visiter-albi-10-bonnes-raisons/ The city is an UNESCO site (isn’t everywhere in Europe?) and despite his name, actually where Toulouse-Lautrec was born, but to go there we had to change trains in Toulouse, so we thought why not Toulouse since we had nothing Toulouse? Despite being a 25 minute train ride away, we didn’t even day trip to Albi because Toulouse was a great surprise. After seeing a lot of European cities they can sometimes feel a bit repetitive, not Toulouse. It was striking. Off the train, out the door and we immediately fell for the city’s terracotta brick buildings- they were almost glowing (okay, it was dusk and it had just rained….).

Well known (but not by us) as the Pink City it was just very pretty. Almost every building was brick- this trend was started by the Romans in 1 AD because stone was scarce, so they used brick made from clay with a lot of iron oxide-hence the pink. In the 19th century rebellious residents toyed with yellow bricks, but the pink city remained pink.

Wide boulevards emptied into cute neighborhood plazas, narrow residential lanes radiating out; some with fancy houses (historically a rich city with money from the pastel trade- there was a pastel trade? How do you trade pastel?) others with rows of simple (well, for Europe) apartment buildings. There were pedestrian only areas, a vibrant university neighborhood plus a beautiful sycamore lined canal.

The Canal du Midi, is part of a 430 km canal system called the Canal des Deux Mers. This network of ingeniously engineered canals built between 1667-1681 connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. The Canal du Midi links to the Canal du Garonne north of Toulouse, and the south end links up to the Canal de la Robine in Narbonne then to the Mediterranean at Sete. Brilliant!

Mount. St Michel, the cave paintings and a 17th century sea to sea canal, in comparison, we were feeling rather unaccomplished in France. And, they all speak perfect French!

Even the churches offered a bit of a stunning twist. The Dominican order of the Catholic church was found in Toulouse and their Church of the Jacobins (Jacobins was the original name of the Dominicans) had a kind of brutalist look to it, made even more brutalist by the teenage boys tossing lit matches out in front. This church even had the relics of the foremost Scholastic thinker and priest Thomas Aquinas.

**Basilica of Saint-Sernin** has St Sermin’s relics and is a stop on the Camino de Santiago, another stop for us https://chosenfugue.xyz/2019/06/07/walk-this-way/

Many cities have distinctive city halls, but Toulouse’s was awe-inspiring, Another striking surprise. The outside of the Capitole building is a mix of styles going all the way back to 1100 but it’s the inside that is where you want to be.

Three galleries, two filled with huge paintings by Toulouse artists. Salle Gervais, paintings by Paul Gervais depicting love; Eros nymphs, and love at 20, 40 and 60 years. This was where weddings used to be held.

Henri Martin filled his gallery with paintings of the four seasons in Toulouse plus portraits of famous Toulousians (?) walking through the city.

Finally, the Salle des Illustres where weddings are now held. Again, art by local painters and sculptors celebrating the history and people of Toulouse and the most elaborate!

Kinda nuts thinking that you go pay your parking ticket in this building.

A bathroom break. Unlike the US public bathrooms are difficult to find in Europe. Bathrooms are uncommon in European malls, gas stations or parks. Train stations are an exception, but often at a cost, and we don’t usually have pocket change. France, again, was thoughtful in terms of access and creativity. There were open areas in the park designated to relieve oneself (mainly men) into planters. Genius! Only a wine centric country would have thought of this use of public planters. Other countries had similar, slightly more enclosed urinals (again, at train stations), but France’s were basically open. France also cleverly had self cleaning public toilets. When in use, a red light is on, after someone exits, a yellow light goes on, indicating cleaning. A green light means it’s available to use. Pleased to find a free one at a mall, Patricia went first and before she closed the door to leave, Nick eager to go, went in without waiting for the green light- not wanting to wait for the cleaning. Unfortunately, seconds after the door closed , self cleaning started, cleaning both the entire restroom and Nick. Lights went out and water jets- a cross between supermarket produce misters and a car wash power hoses- popped out from the walls, dousing the room and Nick. What idiocy.

Our couple of days of wandering through this lovely city were almost marred by our almost worse fear coming true- ruining something in our lodging . Everywhere we stay we live in fear of causing some damage, and so we usually do, accidentally. Typically, a mug, so we find a replacement. In France, stupidly, we had been traveling with a bottle of olive oil. Dumb and Dumber, we spilled most of the bottle (we thought the cap was on!) onto our studio apartment’s very worn wood floor. The positive of spilling-relieved us of the obligation of carrying the bottle, lightening Nick’s backpack. The negative, for 2 days we tried to make the stain un-noticeable. Baking soda. Hair dryer. Some relief, but it was still noticeable. Should we oil the whole floor?

Panicking we sent text pictures to the host, who couldn’t care less because it was actually hard to see our stain amongst the multiple others. The French, smarter than us and tolerant of our ignorance as dumb, and continuing to be dumber Americans. We love France.

We Caved

Inspired by Werner Herzog we added to our itinerary. Actually, we are always inspired by everything Werner Herzog does except getting shot www.youtube.com/watch?v=HrRNM9cMBDk, but specifically we were inspired by his documentary Cave of Forgotten Dreams. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cave_of_Forgotten_Dreams so we added on a visit to Grotte de Font-de-Gaume Cave to experience prehistoric paintings.

Due to damage from human exposure, most of the caves in France are no longer accessible to people, rather recreations are (including the Herzog filmed Chauvet cave). The cave-viewing tourist is directed to the big center at Lascaux and we are sure it is wonderful. https://lascaux.fr/en/ ; but we wanted to go to an actual cave so we went to the one exception; the Font-de-Gaume Cave near Les Eyzies, Drodogne department of southwest France. The only original cave with polychrome paintings dating back 17,000 years that is still open to the public. Most cave paintings only used black coloring, these had pigments of red, brown and black.

The cave is located in a sparsely populated area of southwest France. We first took a train from Bordeaux to the small town of Perigueux to spend the night. Arrived at a rather boring little train station, that opened to a pretty unattractive street, unusual for France. We continued a few blocks to our Ibis Budget, which basically is a closet sized bathroom attached to an even smaller bedroom, dropped off our backpacks and continued to walk around what we thought was an “eh” town. But no French town seems to be “eh”, and it turned out neither was Perigueux. First we stumbled on unique Roman ruins, the temple to the Gaul goddess Vesunna, (very Game of Thrones), Vesunna was the original name of Perigueux.

A whole city was built below this structure, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vesunna_Gallo-Roman_Museum

There was a requisite massive cathedral (built in 1669) and designed on the model of St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice..

this was HUGE, and being repaired so we could not go inside

Plus a central square with fountain. Each area of town felt very different from each other architecturally.

But, the highlight was finding a long-searched for Magnum Double Starchaser ice cream novelty at the tiny, nondescript train station kiosk. Our daughter and granddaughter had raved about them. We thought it was okay, table wine level, but it made up for the missed frozen Mars ice cream bars.

After a cramped Ibis Budget night (prep for the cave?) we took an early morning half hour train ride to the tiny town of Les Eyzies. A two kilometer walk through the gorge nested town, dotted with overhanging cave dwellings .

Fully committed to prehistoric commerce. It was quiet, beautiful, and very kitsch .

The museum prepped us to the geology, ecology and timeline

and we were ready for the final approach to the caves. (and gift shop), Grotte de Font-de-Gaume https://www.lascaux-dordogne.com/en/patrimoine-culturel/grotte-de-font-de-gaume/

We were very fortunate to be on the English language tour as there was only one other English speaking tourist joining us and the tour guide, 15 people were waiting for the French tour. No cameras were allowed.
A tight squeeze through the entrance (felt like we were back at the Ibis Budget), but it gradually opened up and there was plenty of room for the four of us. The tour guide’s flashlight led us through the minimally lit cave as we passed drawings of reindeers, horses, bison and mammoths and handprints (kind of startling). The guide would dramatically turn off the lights and illuminate the painting with his flashlight and laser pointer illustrating how the contours and ridges of the walls were incorporated into the paintings of the animals bodies, pointing out aspects of the paintings like the hump of the bison’s shoulders conforming to the convex out-pouching of the wall. I would have never thought to do that, it’s embarrassing to realize Cro-Magnon were smarter than me.

Walking through the narrow caves, seeing how these drawings, captured the art of living and story telling 20,000 years BC made us feel differently about ourselves, about humans, kind of about everything. Maybe the most sublime thing we’ve ever seen.

France has been taking us time traveling. From the absolutely glorious cave paintings and megaliths to the magnificent boulevards and buildings then de-evolving to the ubiquitous evidence of the destruction from WW1 and WW2. Everywhere is history that we continue to choose to forget and repeat. Our Existential French tour continues..

A sip of Bordeaux

There were a lot of other Brittany possibilities but since it was off off season visits to the islands or other beaches were not really in the cards. With rain up ahead, we chose to skip Nantes (birthplace of Jules Verne), forego the pottery of Quimper (where would we put it), and sadly did not see the competitive church closes, https://francetoday.com/travel/brittanys-spectacular-parish-closes/ , because those would take forever to reach by bus even if we could work out the timing. Despite some initial whining, we decided to go to Bordeaux.

We have seen a lot of promotions and social media encouraging visits to “second cities” to reduce the tourist concentration in major cities. We agree, not just to avoid the dense spots but because we like “second” and “third” cities, they often provide the most full-bodied taste of a country, best embodying the local terroir.

Bordeaux has all the standard European city color; the grand train station, memorable cathedral, rich riverside promenade to stretch our legs , and the longest pedestrian shopping lane in Europe (Rue Sainte-Catherine). Opulent boulevards poured onto classic city “places” (squares) which were a heady balance of complexity- vintage city gates remnants from the old city walls, subtle gardens woody with bouquets of autumn flowers, sparkling fountains, brilliant museums, massive memorials and elegant buildings (but why is there always a ferris wheel?).

Bordeaux is not just mature Europe, it is also nouveau, having a steely structured, vertical lift bridge, the tallest in Europe (Pont Jaques Chalban-Delmas) that hungover the River Garrone at the far end of town and a unique wine museum, Cité du Vin, although we abstained. There was also a bit of funk; spaceship, vibrant graffiti and bold public art.

It really felt that we were back in Europe when we passed our first stolpesteine, unfortunately a constant companion through-out Europe, here are pics of all that we have seen so far with Bordeaux’s added https://chosenfugue.xyz/2019/01/07/they-do-make-you-stumble/

We stayed between the train station and downtown in a building that was a blend of tourist and student residence, we never quite figured out what blend but despite it being a bit austere it was sweet enough that we did not mind a day inside to keep dry when the wind and rain were a bit too robust for even us, nominal Pacific Northwesterners. Our only regret with our housing was when we were leaving, and checking the cigar-box sized fridge, we noticed that we had missed that a previous resident had left a carton of frozen Mars ice cream bars in the freezer. At 6 am with a train to catch, an existential moment. We chose to punt.

Bordeaux, felt like maybe the San Diego of France, multi-layered, pleasant but not distinct, like a table wine. Perhaps, though, our review will not be on-the-nose because we are a hard pair to rate this city as we did not even have one glass of wine.