Off to Chartres on the train. My first question to the ticket seller at the train station was, "Pardumb wah, parlay Anglais?" With big grin spreading across the ticket sellers face, he replied, "Yas a leeedle." We both smiled at each other, then he rudely asked how old I was. I couldn't decide if I wanted to be older or younger, then I realized he could ask for my passport so I fessed up. "67 sort of." "Oh you can ride to Chartres cheaper and you're old enough." Bigger grin from me. "How much to ride first class?" "15 Euros." "I'll take it." He pointed to the big board and said to watch for my train number then go to that gate.
When the board spun and the gate number came up I climbed into the luxury of first class. The first class section is small with only a few seats. There is a glass partition between the unwashed and me, the washed. The noise from crying children was muted by the glass partition, first class is grand.
Arriving at Chartres, I walked up a long hill with charming little shops on either side of the street. The church is in the background.
This park is behind the cathedral. It was tree trimming day. That's why the branches are laying on the ground. They trim the trees into a square shape.
To the left of the trees lies this maze.
It's about a 20 foot drop to the maze. There were steps somewhere, but I was in search of lunch and kept moving.
I walked by fascinating doorways (actually they kept the trash there and it didn't smell all that great, but omi, doesn't it look intriguing?)
So many restaurants to choose from. I walked from one to the next looking at what people had on their plate, then I looked at the person. If they were American fat, I voted against it because usually their plate reflected their waistline filled with fries and burgers. One little fat kid had his face plunged into a huge dish of ice cream. Tsk, tsk...
I finally settled for the restaurant in the shadow of the cathedral.
To keep this short I didn't include any pictures of tortured saints. Believe me, there were many. There was a souvenir shop that sold alter boys uniforms (is that a grimace on his face?). A relief from t-shirt shops, but ~ let's get back to lunch.
Salmon with tarragon butter to smear on each bite. The plate toward the back of the table was scalloped potatoes made with a custard sauce instead of milk. I saw that on a slim European's plate and knew it would make me slim if I ate it. Makes me swoon to remember the flavor.
After lunch, a stroll through the village.
It wouldn't be a French town without the merry-go-round.
See the little boy squatting in the wet part of the picture?
He waited and waited for the water to pop on. Little kids are the same everywhere. They shrieked with joy when the water sprayed them.
I walked back toward the train station and decided to stop for a beer. The waitress didn't speak English. Finally she turned to four young guys at the next table and asked them what I wanted. They had a short conference, laughed and said, "Get granny a cheap beer." They punched each other and had a fine time with that. The waitress laughed too. I tried to smile in gratitude for their help while not letting on I knew what they said. "Get granny a cheap beer?" It sounds nicer in French.
I knocked back the first one and asked for another by pointing to my empty glass. Gothic or not, cheap or not, this granny likes her beer!
Then a stroll back to the train station. Coming soon...A bus ride to Brugges, Belgium.
