Sunday
Happy Cinco de Mayo, MDR…but keep it on the down low. After all, this day celebrates the Battle of Puebla, a Mexican military victory in 1862 over the French forces of Napoleon III. It may still be a sensitive topic on this side of the pond. Regardless, we raise our ersatz margarita glasses filled with French wine. Salud!
Today, we made a left after exiting a lock on the Seine and sailed up the Oise river to what is now the Parisian suburb of Pontoise. It also marks our departure from Normandy and our entry into the Île de France.
We joined the walking tour that touched on the town’s highlights: the old wall, the plague, the church and the favorite artist son’s museum. The town itself was pretty much empty. All stores — except the occasional tobacco & lottery shop — were closed. If there were any restaurants open mid-day, it was impossible to tell. The occasional pedestrian could just as well have been another tourist. The only evidence of life were the moving cars we were advised to avoid like we were in Paris. As our Program Director commented, “Parisians don’t drive. They aim.”
While we waited in the church for the rain to stop, I found several of the stained glass windows fascinating. One told the story of the life of Saint Joseph, the silently-suffering stepfather of you-know-who. Another had a great parade of townspeople and clergy starting from the top of the window and winding down through town as if in line for a Beatles reunion concert. In the corner, it was noted to have been created in the 1800s…and restored in 1944.
There were two images I found particularly interesting — and for opposing reasons. The first was very moving: the ghostly image of a dead young man stretched out on the ground immediately behind a kneeling cleric clothed in a fine golden chasuble. There is another young man who appears to be weeping just below.
And th’other? I was amused…greatly! Most saints don’t exactly exhibit this kind of joie de vivre in stained glass. I could not decipher the identity from the scroll beneath his coquettishly turned-out left foot. Could this be the patron saint of jazz hands?
[UPDATE: it is St. Francis of Assisi…but sans animals! I kinda liked it better when he was anonymous AND fabulous.]
Back on the ship, it’s French Night!
- Sailors in the French Navy?
- Street mimes set free of their invisible boxes?
- Cigarette-smoking Apache dancers in search of a partner?
In honor of our approaching Paris, we all became French archetypes for a night as the ship provided guests and crew alike with marinières — the long-sleeved shirt with horizontal blue and white stripes characteristically worn by seamen in the French Navy. (Berets were purchased separately.)
Fun fact: the less-than-slimming horizontal stripes were designed to help distinguish the sailors from the waves so one could be found more easily when one fell overboard.
France: Normandy to Paris 