I grew up watching Le Tour de France in the summertime with my brother.
The first tour I very clearly remember: “89 when Greg LeMond dramatically won in the final stage. You know it had to have been riveting, if I’m able to recall that from my under age 10 self.
Le Puy-en-Velay was a town that le tour went through one year in the mid 90’s. Brother and I took notice. Okay, so brother more so than I (hey, I am five and a half years his youngin’). That notice came back as brother helped me plan our trip. Le Puy was one of the first suggestions he made. Parfait!
Puy is in the area of France that geographically speaking from waaaaaaay back in the day, as in before people were around, there were volcanoes. You can imagine that makes for some fascinating eye candy.
Le Puy, in the heart of the Massif Central, was our first stop after picking up TE in Lyon. It was a heart stoppingly gorgeous drive. I’ll have to post some videos from that first drive. Though I’m sure they’ll seem extremely dull and boring. How many times can you look at a French road and countryside? Look, I was caught up in the fabulousness that is France, under its hypnotic spell. Mmmm. Wouldn’t mind being under that again sometime in the near future.
Prior to le voyage, my Taurean nature of organization and planning detail manifested in full force. I was all around prepared, including much time on Google getting any and all possible directions we would need. Now I am a huge fan of Google maps and Google driving directions, so this is in no way a dig against the big G, but let’s face the facts:
We’re dealing with medieval, ancient streets and towns. How in the hell is Google going to be able to compute that? I’ll give you a hint …
It doesn’t.
Not sure if it can’t, but it surely doesn’t at the moment. Take my lost word for it.
We arrived Puy, and I was already ecstatic that I had gotten us there sans problems, not to mention safely. Though I still wonder about those speed cams they claim are along the routes, hidden.
I’d really love to know how I’m expected to abide by a speed limit when there aren’t any speed limit signs. Instead I opted for going with the flow of traffic. Afterall, that is what they tell you to do in driver’s ed. Except that as Maman had to tell me: honey how can there be a flow of traffic when you are the flow? In my defense, all I could say was how fun it was to drive without speed restrictions.
You can imagine my confidence was soaring, upon our successful arrival to Puy. I pulled into a Total gas station, to review our directions and repose myself with a Perrier. I keep saying that now, repose. A woman at one of the Bed and Breakfasts we stayed at in Albi, used that word all the time. Repose yourself. Repose yourself some more. Love it. Can’t stop using it now.
I was good to go. I was better than good to go. Or so I thought. Because very quickly, I knew I had way overshot our hotel.
How, as Maman kept asking me, I wasn’t sure, I just knew. That’s what happens when you’re blessed with an inherent sense of great direction.
I pulled over at the first possible place that seemed like we wouldn’t either: a. get hit or b. get hit some more. It was a cramped Renault car lot.
Great, all that concern about not getting hit, and here I had about 50 shiny brand new opportunities sprawled out in front of me to back into.
The first thing I did was gawk at the site rising up behind Renault. The above picture, Saint Michel d’Aiguilhe. It was a glorious distraction. The second thing I did was begin scouting.
No, this isn’t baseball. This is Travel 101. Scouting (as defined by a Total Taurus): The ability to promptly identify and locate strategic people and places of aid in times of need.
A very important skill set to master in any foreign locale.
My scouting options were immediately narrowed down to: a health club and a boulangerie (bakery).
The choice was obvious and it wasn’t just my deep love of Chocolate Croissants that swayed me. Clearly the bakery was the place to go. I’d be able to corner some poor employee, whereas I’d otherwise have to deal with Frenchies getting their workout on. Who wants to be disturbed on a treadmill? I’d totally try to avoid someone.
Melissa was her name. It struck me at the time how very … American the name was. I travel all the way to Puy and the first person I meet shares my sister in law’s name. That’s The Universe for you.
She was so sweet. Drawing me a map on a napkin, all the while, I’m telling her in French – I don’t read maps. What I meant was, it’s easier for me to get specific directions. You know, go straight then turn left in a mile and then a right.
Instead I sounded like a total idiot. Which I felt confirmation of when she actually asked me if I don’t read. All I could do was laugh.
When I did get the specific directions I was looking for, I still only had a very slight idea of where the hotel was. Armed with at least the knowing of which way to go, we were back in the flow of traffic. Horns honking and all.
And I still couldn’t find it.
I gave in and called Hotel du Parc. Spoke my best French possible, and was thrilled beyond words, that not once did the guy on the other end ask me, Repetez. Ah ha! So my French does rock.
Turns out I was two blocks from the hotel. But because of the crazy streets that changed and shifted and turned into other streets without warning … really now, how was I to know that?
After quickly dropping our bags off, Maman and I headed out to explore and have a leisurely dinner.
I was instantaneously caught by the beauty and simplicity of Le Puy.
Straight up ahead from this fountain is the famous cathedral, Notre Dame du Puy (yes, there’s a Notre Dame all over France). I stood silent for a few minutes, my heart beating rapidly. Taking in the triumphant site. Feeling very god-like. Cathedrals seem to have that effect on me.
While I’m not particularly religious, I am extremely spiritually minded. This isn’t to say I don’t believe in God, because I do. But my definition of God might not be what someone else’s is. With that said, I feel so connected and so close to God, Source, The Universe, whatever the hell (is that the third time I’ve said “hell”?) anyone wants to call it, when I am sitting in the midst of centuries old cathedrals.
I sat for a long time. I lit some candles. I closed my eyes. It was a truly remarkable site for a meditation.
When I left, I decided to go check out the famous statue, Notre Dame de France.
I didn’t realize what a trek up there it would be. It didn’t help that it was an unusually hot day. It didn’t take long for me to feel totally out of shape, huffing and puffing my way. But the view was totally worth it. Plus checking out a statue that was made from 213 (Russian) cannons. Who knew. Cannons.
There’s so many wonderful aspects and sights of Puy, yet when I think of it, the image that comes to mind will always be of this bookstore. It’s funny the things that will strike you and speak to you. Some more than others. Some seeming so insignificant by appearance, but possessing that certain je ne sais quoi.
