Ah, Bonjour! Day 4

C'est magnifique

Early this morning, our ship docked in LaRoche-Guyon, a tiny, very rustic town on the Seine.  Like so many towns and villages in Europe, LaRoche-Guyon was established in the 12th century, which is simply mind boggling.  Along a more contemporary line, its castle was commandeered as a headquarters for Field Marshall Rommel during World War II.  Its cobblestone streets meander from one end of town to the other.  

View of LaRoche-Guyon along the banks of the Seine

 

The Dan-o and Mary along a wall running the width of LaRoche-Guyon perpendicular to the Seine

Dan, Mary, Lori and Barb participated in a painting class on board, offering a chance to paint like the impressionists.  Dan, Lori and Barb achieved this objective.  Mary was the remedial student, with the instructor frequently (and justifiably so) removing the paint brush from Mary's hand and correcting Mary's work with her own brushstrokes.  At the end of the class, Barb, Dan and Lori proudly displayed their work.  Mary ripped hers up and threw it away, for the good of all concerned.

An amber weather alert was issued, meaning that severe thunderstorms were predicted for our next destination, Vernon, where we were scheduled to travel to Monet's Gardens in Giverny.  Indeed, it poured buckets as the ship sailed down the Seine and it continued to look threatening as we exited the tour buses for the gardens.  The heavens smiled down upon us in a few ways.  First, it didn't rain--in fact, the skies opened to brilliant blue, housing a hot sun.  Second, due to the weather forecast, today's visitors to Giverny were limited in number.  You could have fooled me, because the gardens were crowded with folks, but if that's what a fewer number of visitors looks like, I'll take it.  As we meandered with many of our new found friends through a garden that truly defies description, it was a moment where I could scarcely believe that here I was, a Minnesota girl, standing in the gardens that Monet planted, including the water lilies pond, with an opportunity to wander through his home.

                                            

                                                                    Monet's home

Selfie in the garden.  I can't begin to describe the vibrancy of the flower colors, the density of the plantings, the brilliance of the floral arrangement.

It almost looks as if it's fake, doesn't it?  Monet painted well over 250 paintings of his water lily garden.

The famous haystacks are not hay after all.  They are comprised of wheat, harvested and waiting for the farmers to have time to mill it.

View from Monet's kitchen into his garden.  I could do dishes here.

We returned to Vernon, where the ship is docked, and most of us decided to walk the quick block or two from the river to Notre Dame Cathedral, consecrated in 1099.  That boggles the mind, doesn't it?  The cathedral was damaged by bombing during World War II, destroying much of the original stained glass.  These windows have been replaced with what is referred to as contemporary stained glass, so beautiful in its own way that is different from more traditional stained glass.

The cathedral is undergoing a massive restoration and we are again reminded how different the approach in Europe seems to be to old aka ancient structures than in the US.  In America, get out the wrecking ball.  In the EU, pull out the scaffolding and the fundraising.

Vernon is home to timber houses, which, from the street, appear as if they should have collapsed into a pile of rubble a couple centuries ago.  The town has connects going back to the late 750s.  It was bombed heavily during World War II.

This little friend was swimming near the ship when we returned.  Our observation is that the Seine is a very dirty river, especially the closer to Paris one travels.  We in the United States have the extremely dirty Mississippi, which Viking also sends longboats down.

When we walked out of the church, I said to my sister, "I smell bread."  Sure enough, turning a corner, there was a combination boulangerie/patisserie (bakery/pastry shop).  The baguettes smelled and looked like what only French baguettes can look and smell like.  We talked ourselves out of purchasing one, then ambled down the street to the local brasserie, where a number of what I'm assuming were local men bantered in end of the day conversation and one held a baguette, I'm guessing from the boulangerie, and was consuming it with a glass of red wine.  I can only tell you how tempted I was to join him.

Tomorrow we set off for Rouen, another walking tour, another cathedral, another day immersed in French culture and history.  C'est magnifique!