Unexcused Absences

'Sunday Enjoying' along the Loing River

Thanks to an awkwardly-worded cutting board, a gift of Japanese visitors to Kent’s family decades ago, a phrase has taken root in our lexicon. The cutting board shows a couple, done in delightful 60’s graphics, enjoying lunch at a stylish table surmounted by the words “Sunday Enjoying.”

The French do Sunday Enjoying better than any other culture on earth. In France, everything stops while people stroll, visit friends and families, enjoy the outdoors, and allow the cares of the world to recede for one, glorious afternoon per week. On Sunday afternoons, most shops close. You can’t can’t run errands and you can’t get anything fixed, all you can do is Sunday Enjoying. Only a sparse few cafés and restaurants (and the occasional ice cream shop) remain open.

The promenade of Moret-sur-Loing

Moored along a popular promenade in Moret-sur-Loing this past Sunday, we did our best Sunday Enjoying by lounging on the deck of Après Ski, alternating between reading, people watching and dozing in the sunshine. As it turns out we could do better, and our French boat neighbors offered us their sage advice.

The two captains of the boats at the end of the pier, with deep concern for our Sunday Enjoying, stopped to chat on their way back from town. “Have you tried the gelato shop in town? It’s really amazing, just as good as ice creams in Italy.” Really? As good as Italian gelato? Having lived in Italy and eaten an impressive amount of gelato, I knew we must visit this shop.

The queue at Les Mille et une Glace

We milled patiently in the half-block long line of folks awaiting the creations of Les Mille et une Glaces, Artisan Glacier (A Thousand and One Ice Creams, Craft Ice-Cream Maker) and were rewarded with superior gelato. About 10% of Moret-sur-Loing seems to be eating ice cream at any given time, and we joined other folks as they strolled along the river-front promenade eating their ice cream. Now that’s Sunday Enjoying!

There’s something delightful about a culture in which almost all consumerism stops so that everybody can enjoy an afternoon off, together. Of course there have been times I’ve wished the post office, the shops, or the grocery store stayed open on Sunday afternoons. But after I’ve taken a breath and realized I must relax, I get on with my Sunday Enjoying.

“Of all the methods of travelling I have ever tried this is the pleasantest. I walk the greater part of the way along the banks of the canal, level, and lined with a double row of trees which furnish shade. When fatigued I take seat in my carriage where, as much at ease as if in my study, I read, write, or observe.”

-Thomas Jefferson, from a letter written as he traveled in France via the Canal du Midi in 1787

Footpath along the Canal du Midi

The canal life soothingly immerses one in gently moving water. While the modern world outside the canals is markedly different since Thomas Jefferson voyaged on the waters of the Canal du Midi, this “pleasantest method of travel” remains nearly unchanged — perhaps even more appealing today than 200 years ago.

Lock mechanism

Our travel along the canal, although powered by diesel rather than by horses, proceeds at the same pace as Thomas Jefferson’s voyage. We accomplish our movements through the locks by hand, operating mechanical gears covered with decades of grease and employing huge levers. The locks use only the powers of water and gravity to move us up and down, carrying our boat as they have countless others for nearly 400 years. We proceed at a pace in tune with our DNA, much slower than modern technology permits but at a speed our bodies understand. We don’t get anywhere quickly at 5 mph.

Night in port

In order to procure supplies or visit the sights of interest, we walk or ride our bicycles. Riding in the cool evening air through the streets on the way to a concert or a restaurant reminds me of college life. When did we start driving everywhere in the evenings? When on land, we move only under our own power; life is simultaneously less and more complicated. We always find a place to park right in the center of town but can only fit so many groceries on Après Ski!

The market in Narbonne

With a refrigerator the size of a large handbag and a pantry only slightly bigger, we eat what is local, fresh and seasonal. Eating also means learning about different local specialities: prunes of Agen, delicate white lingot beans from Castelnaudary, Charolais beef of Bourgogne, fleur-de-sel salt from the Camargue. Regional distinction gives each day a sense of immediacy without creating the anxiety to accomplish which so often accompanies a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Yes, it’s sad when we can no longer find Le Castelou cheese, but a Salers or a cabicou of chèvre appears, taking its place in our routine. Not only do regions change, but during our voyage the season also wanes. Buttercups give way to poppies in the fields, and at the markets strawberries give way to melons which in turn are replaced by peaches and cherries, then grapes and apples. Day to day life changes subtly, but individual days two weeks apart are remarkably different.

Countryside near Sancerre

Carcassone

Traveling at the pace of a brisk walk, we explore French history unfolding in the landscape around us. We travel between châteaux, historical industrial sites, engineering projects, monuments and artistic endeavors at the pace of their builders. We can’t visit four major châteaux in a day because people 500 years ago couldn’t either. We piece together threads; Louis IX, Henry IV, the Capet family, the Guise family, the Dukes of Burgundy and Anjou, slowly untangling the Henrys, the multiple kings named Louis, and all the Marguerites of Bourgogne.

Each day is a distinct segment of travel, a shade different from the day before and the day after. Subtle differences in season, local flavor and history weave the rich tapestry of our voyage. The “pleasantest method of travel,” indeed.

Deep in rural France … an outhouse!

This week, the Canal de Bourgogne leads us deep into the heart of the forested countryside southwest of Dijon. I’ve been considering the fortunate turn of events this past week, specifically our delightful picnics with Dijon natives Marianne and Jean-Pierre and American ex-pats Lynn and Ron. We enjoyed touring the countryside with our new French friends who, in-spite of our grammatically terrible and slow French, patiently took us on a tour of the countryside to see several château near Dijon. And, it was a thrill to meet a pair of fellow Americans who, after nine years of living in France, have ventured deeply into the country and culture. I’m beginning to believe these and other experiences occur precisely because we travel deeply rather than broadly.

Instead of skipping from city to city in country after country, we remain committed to France. Après Ski is our tiny little piece of France, rural France more often than not. And focusing on France also means focusing on the French language. When folks speak to us in English (we’re obviously English speakers thanks to our atrocious accents), we respond in French. Conversations are like a game of chicken — who will give up and go native first? We tenaciously hold on to French as long as we can, and the more time we spend in France and the more words and phrases we learn, the more often we win that game!

France rewards us with new friends who don’t mind conversing in kindergarden-level French, journeys through the many different regions of this amazing country, and the pleasure of learning about the subtle and astonishing variety of her different regions’ food, wine and culture.

The tiny village of Baulme-la-Roche

So while you may want to see the world, consider seeing one, special part of the world very, very thoroughly instead. Take multiple trips, learn to speak the language as best you can, strive to understand the culture, learn the rules of popular sports. Having gone deep into France, we become more than tourists. We’re travelers who, undertaking a journey, can enjoy delights, sights and celebrations beyond the guidebook. Beyond the façade for tourists, we find a country of friendly, open and welcoming people, amazing gastronomy, rich history, and beautiful landscapes and monuments.

A world beyond Lonely Planet and Rick Steves awaits those who commit the time and make the effort to journey deeply.

Beaver Creek Resort. We are back, just over one year later, to the location of our original Unexcused Absence. Much like last winter, Kent works in the Race Department and teaches skiing during peak times or when clients request him.  Heather also works as a ski instructor while training for her PSIA (Professional Ski Instructors of America) Level 2 certification. On days off, we ski!

We feel fortunate to continue our rather self-centered lifestyle for at least a few more months. We constantly discuss how to navigate modern life with its costs and responsibilities while spiritually maintaining our Unexcused Absence lifestyle — unchartered territory for us!

Snowing in Avon

We’re currently ensconced in a cozy condo right in the heart of Avon which looks out directly at the slopes. With little snowfall during the month prior to our arrival, we feel we can certainly take credit for the three storms which have brought snow since our arrival.

We still have lots more to say about our trip to South Africa, and will be posting more on that during the next few weeks.

For now, we wanted to let folks know that we’re currently based out of Beaver Creek, that it’s snowing, and that we’re looking forward to seeing both our visitors and our old friends over the course of the winter.

Flag Collection at the Sardy Staircase

“J’aime votre drapeau” (I love your flag!) the eclusienne (lock keeper) effuses, looking at the US flag flying from the back of our boat. We pull Après Ski into the top lock of the Sardy Staircase, the first lock on our seven-week cruise around Burgundy. “Americans never travel here. I’ve been wanting a flag for my collection for years,” she continues as she gestures toward her lock-keeper’s cottage, where dozens of flags adorn the rear porch which overlooks the canal. I count three British flags, see a traditional New Zealand flag and an All-Blacks flag, South African flags, I even see a Swiss flag. But there is not a single American flag.

After travelling with the charming eclusienne, Angelique, for several locks, we explain we would love to give her an American flag, but that American Airlines lost the piece of our luggage (it’s been gone for five days) which contains our flags. We give her a US flag pin which she excitedly pins onto her lock keeper’s hat and we promise to return with a flag for her if our luggage ever arrives.

Angelique is not the first French person to ask us for a US flag. Last summer, as we packed our boat in preparation for her trip to Burgundy on a truck, the marina manager at La Mas d’Agenais (in the Southwest of France) asked for an American flag. We happily gave to her the flag flying from our transom so that she could finally add this flag from her collection.

The flag on Après Ski

Here in France, I notice many establishments hang the national flags of their various patrons along with the pennants of local or national sports teams. While Commonwealth and European national flags frequently fly, I rarely see Americans flags. And we can’t count the number of times that the rank-and-file of French society, maintenance workers, lockkeepers, and passers-by, see our flag and give a wave and a “hello America!” I suppose a lot of Americans believe that the French hate them and wish to appear non-American in an attempt to gain popularity with the locals. Whatever the reason, Americans seem to rarely self-identify as Americans in France (or anywhere in Europe) and hesitate to flash the flag.

Angelique may not think any Americans ever travel through her lock, but I know differently. Not two hours after we met her, we met a boat of Americans travelling toward her lock — flying a Mexican flag. We’ve also seen numerous Americans traveling in Europe with the Canadian flag sewn on their backpacks. “Where in Canada are you from?” we ask. “We’re actually Americans,” they admit quietly.

So, if you come to France, fly an American flag proudly, and bring another one and some lapel pins to share! I think you’ll find the American flag a warmly received rarity.