Today I planned an outing for us to see a cathedral that is famous for its stained glass panels. The hours leading up to our early morning departure made me wary because, while I pictured an early bedtime and good night’s sleep, I instead found myself in the bathtub at 10pm last night – frantically washing all of my clothing and my North Face parka with shampoo. Why? Because I took a Seine river cruise to get all of you this picture of the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night and, en route back to the hotel, a bird that apparently has not gone to the bathroom in years, probably, relieved himself all over everything I was wearing. (Note: brief revisit of sewer-type theme).
Undaunted, though, we were outside the hotel bright and early, waiting for our cab to the train station. Our young Uber driver, playing some bouncy French pop, loaded us into his car, looked around at us, and switched his music to a Frank Sinatra song, based, I guess, on his assessment of our total combined age: 185.
Sam took our big train departure as the opportunity to inform us that she traveled 5000 miles for a 17 day trip and now realizes that she did not pack a single bra. Here is Sam spending some of our Chartres time shopping for an undergarment:
And while Sam might have a little too much “bounce” to her step, at least she can be trusted to walk in a safe and sane fashion. Ron, on the other hand, seems determined to get run over. He will not be limited to crossing Parisian streets on the green walk signal and will set out whenever he damn well pleases. This propensity means that touring with Ron includes calling out “Red Guy Red Guy” as a reminder that he’s about to walk in front of a bus. At first Sam was incredulous that I felt this was necessary but it didn’t take more than a kilometer or two before she was joining in the effort. Here’s the Red Guy that apparently means nothing to Ron:
In addition, to avoid the loss of another important item, I ask Ron if he has everything before we leave any site and he will, without fail, (re)inform me that he’s lost his phone.
Returning to actual travel information, the Chartres cathedral is one of the most beautiful I have seen. It’s from 1230 and has about 172 bays of glass, illustrating the Bible. Here’s the outside:
And here are a couple from the inside:
From the cathedral, I planned to take us all to see Maison Picassiette, a house made entirely of mosaic. It was built by a man named Raymond Isidore, who led a troubled and lonely life, and became obsessed with filling every inch of the little house with ceramic and porcelain debris that he scavenged.
Mansion Picassiette was a real highlight for all three of us. Sam and I let Ron wander a bit ahead of us and we rounded a corner to find that – while we were admiring some tile – Ron had become the official photographer for an unwitting group of tourists who had entrusted him to document their dream trip to France.
I really did want to intervene here and try to let them know about Ron’s (limited) photography skills, but the problem was that, when Sam and I stumbled upon the situation, we fell apart laughing and were soon collapsed down on the cement, trying to catch our breath. Here’s photographer Ron in action with his poor victims:
Chartres was a lovely walking town. Sam stumbled upon these direct-from-farm businesswomen who sell their breads inside a used clothing store:
Here are some of the main town spots:
Here’s the lovely river that meanders through:
And the city rule that prevented me from walking more than 20 kilometers an hour but apparently has no problem with Ron’s jaywalking:
And then I’ll leave you with this: Ron, bolstered by his newfound photography prowess, branching out and instructing Sam and I on how to use a public toilet:
Travels with Valerie 