The Grand Theatre

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ballet, Grand Theatre Bordeaux

Last night I took two of the girls and a friend of theirs, Julien, to Coppelia at the Grand Theatre in Bordeaux.  I have to admit that I hadn’t been particularly wild about going as the OH and I saw this production a couple of years ago and while it was OK, it definitely wasn’t the stuff that makes you wild to see it again.

Julien, an ex of one of my daughter’s, had never been to the Grand Theatre or to a ballet. I got the impression that he’d accepted the offer of a ticket going spare because he’s the type who likes to try everything once and was pretty certain that while ballet might be interesting it wasn’t really going to be his sort of thing.

The Grand Theatre in Bordeaux is one of the oldest wooden framed opera houses in Europe that hasn’t either been burnt down or needed completely rebuilding and was cleaned up and the interior completely restored in the 1990’s.  And it makes your jaw drop.

It’s almost ridiculously pretty.

This picture doesn’t do it justice at all – in fact none of the pictures of the interior do, because they don’t bring out all the wonderful colours – all blue and gold (the swags at the back of the boxes are painted) with trompe l’oeil curtains around the proscenium arch in rich crimson.

The boxes give you a terrible view of the stage but they’re wonderful to admire from the relative comfort of a better seat (it has to be admitted that the “authentic” Louis whatever type seating looks pretty but lacks something in the springs and padding department compared to the modern theatre version);

If you look upwards you see this;

That chandelier is huge and I think it’s the only time I’ve seen the underneath of a horse like that.

Each time I go to the Grand Theatre I realise that I’ve forgotten how sumptuous and gorgeous it, Julien, my daughter’s ex, on his first time was temporarily reduced to silence (rare for him) then started on a strong of ‘Magnifiques’ and ‘Wows!’

And the ballet?  It was fabulous.  Bordeaux has its own ballet company and I haven’t seen a poor production yet; when everything comes together their performances are stupendous.  It was like that last night.  It helps of course that the Grand Theatre is quite small so you’re never miles away from the stage and we were lucky enough to have excellent seats but the dancing – especially the two stars – and the music was so good that it probably wouldn’t have mattered if we’d been in one of the boxes.

Julien, the ballet virgin, was motionless and transfixed though he was slightly startled to realise the sailors were all wearing thongs under their costumes.  I don’t think he’d come across men in thongs before but agreed after a moment’s thought that it was probably necessary to avoid wobble.

He’s got a new passion and is longing to see more but added that he wouldn’t be telling his workmates about this.  He works on a building site and doesn’t think they’d understand.

 

Fingers crossed

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Journées Médiévals

Each year, my daughter who is chef de project for the restoration of the Vieux Chateau du Cros organises Les Journées Médiévals for the château.  There’s a medieval market in an oak wood next to the château, pony rides, visits around the château itself which is normally closed to the public, wine tastings, demonstrations of medieval swordfighting, archery, rides around the vineyards in a carriage.  The association for the rescue of Spanish galgos (Spanish greyhound type hunting dogs) are usually there too as galgos look very like the dogs you see in medieval manuscripts with an assortment of the most beautiful, soppiest rescue canines you have ever seen in your life.

It’s a really fun event, low key but friendly, the stallholders love it saying that they really enjoy the ambiance, the medieval swordfighters usually camp and have the time of their lives, and the people who visit say it’s so nice doing something a bit different.

Last year’s event was bidding fair to be the most successful ever.  Then in the middle of the night before the first day the heaven’s opened.  By the time the first stallholder turned up the track had become a quagmire and no one could get up it.  There was no choice but to cancel everything.

You can just imagine what it’s been like this year…  Long faces all round, anxious perusal of the weather forecast.  On Monday there was rain forecast for the weekend.  By Wednesday as it was tipping down abundantly outside it said it might stop raining this afternoon.  Yesterday as a monsoon hit the windows (and found its way under the roof tiles into my office) the forecast said, unbelievably it would stop raining in the evening.  For the first time for several days I wasn’t woken in the night by the sound of raining hitting the roof.

And this morning we saw a bit of this:

yup that really is blue sky.  There’s quite a decent wind too, so with luck, a lot of luck, it’ll dry out the ground just enough….  My daughter’s up there with her army of helpers working on the presumption that it’ll all be OK and crossing just about every digit she’s got.

Keep crossing!

 

 

The Dordogne in Winter

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Chateaux, Dordogne, Lascaux

The OH and I clocked up 30 years together this week – it honestly doesn’t seem that long but since our eldest daughter is 29 it seems we got the maths right – so we thought we’d go away for the night to celebrate.  But it’s November and the only places which are nice and warm are a long way away, and most of the places within easy reach have closed for the winter.  Now I understand why summer weddings are so popular, forget the romantic day in a flower strewn meadow or whatever, you’ve got years of a decent choice of anniversary trips lying ahead of you.

Chosing somewhere to go was further complicated by the OH’s response of ‘Been there,’ to just about everywhere I suggested.  He did spend a couple of days looking up châteaux hotels but they were either closed – of course – or didn’t bother to reply to our emails about room availability.  Obviously they were too grand to worry about filling rooms in the off season, I think we’ll stick with the more modest places in future, they’re really pleased to have your custom.  Eventually we found what looked like a fabulous little place in Souillac, near Sarlat in the Dordogne and booked it with a sigh of relief.  Despite living next to the Dordogne  for 19 years I’ve never done a proper road trip there, well it’s close isn’t it?  There’s always going to be time to go sometime in the future…  hence the reason I’ve been to more sites in Provence than Perigord.

As we half knew already the Dordogne is shut in the winter, we didn’t realise quite how much though.  Once you get past Lalinde all the little towns which must bustle in the summer are empty, restaurants and hotels closed, tourist sites boarded up, they’d even closed the whole of La Roque Gajeac – literally, the road was closed in the middle of town and there was no way through.  Any threat of looming grumpiness was allayed by the sheer beauty around us, gold and red autumnal trees all over the hills, pretty (deserted) medieval villages and seemingly a castle on the top of nearly every hill;

Chateau de Beynac, above, and below, Chateau de Castlenaud, almost directly opposite on the other side of the Dordogne:

The hotel in Souillac, the Pavillion St Martin, was a complete success.  It’s in the old part of town, had really comfortable beds, a staircase I’d give my eye teeth for:

the bannisters were oak, black with age, wonderfully tactile and we got strawberries for breakfast.  What more could you ask for?  But – if the Dordogne is a bit lifeless in winter, Souillac is completely moribund.  All the restaurants were closed – the one that does stay open has it’s night off on Tuesdays, so we had our romantic 30th anniversary dinner in a pizza restaurant.  Not the sort of pizza place where they have candles in Chianti bottle and tablecloths, the sort where you have youths in baseball caps and rucksacks lining up for their take-aways.  The pizzas made up for it – a bit anyway – they were really good.

The hotel had a handy guide to what stays open year round and much to my relief Lascaux, or rather Lascaux II does.  A friend said when I said I was planning to go there, ‘Don’t you know it’s fake?’  The original caves were closed to the public because the condensation from the breath of up to 1200 visitors a day was causing huge damage to the paintings and tourists are now allowed into a replica of two of the most famous caves.   Why not go to the current exhibition in Bordeaux about Lascaux instead?’ my friend went on.

All I can say is Bah, humbug! to the scoffers who don’t want to see a facsimile.  Lascaux II is by any standards stunning.  There’s no other word for it unless you care to search the thesaurus.  I’m sure the Bordeaux exhibition is fascinating and the pictures excellent but what makes Lascaux so breath-taking is that it’s three-dimensional.  Two of the most important caves have been reproduced exactly, down to chips in the rock, they’re surprisingly small, not a little claustrophobic, and these fabulous cave paintings are around you, flowing over the rock, the outlines of the animals shaped by the contours of the stone they’re painted on.  We weren’t allowed to take photographs, but that didn’t matter, nothing flat and two dimensional can reproduce the effect those rock paintings had.

It was exactly the right time of year to go, there were only nine of us in our group but that was quite enough, at one point the rock narrows so much two people would have difficulty getting through side by side, and the second cave was barely big enough for our little group.

The guide described the caves as the Sistine Chapel of the prehistoric world.  I’m inclined to agree with him but Lascaux had a far greater impact on me than the Sistine Chapel did.  The Sistine Chapel was wonderful, awe-inspiring, but all the pictures I’d seen before slightly blunted its effect, as I’ve said (at length) photographs of Lascaux are just a pale taster of the real thing.

 

Le Mans – more than a car race.

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Angel Musicians, Le Mans

I made a flying visit to see my daughter in Le Mans this weekend for her birthday.  All I really knew about Le Mans was the 24 hour car race – which my elder brother competed in, his car broke down both times – and that rillettes come from there.  At least I presume as they’re called Rillettes du Mans, they do.

The main part of the city is nothing exceptional, it looks quite prosperous, but when the tramway was put in the urban planners also got to work in the way they seem to be so keen on these days, clearing squares, taking out fountains and trees and making huge minimalist open spaces.  They’re OK in the summer when the restaurants have all their tables out (providing you don’t mind the lack of shade) but can be horribly lifeless in the winter.

Up on the hill though, there’s an absolute gem, it’s La Cité Plantagenet, the medieval city of Le Mans.  There are towns in the Gironde, Bazas and St Macaire for instance, which have parts that are like going back 500 years in a time warp,  but medieval Le Mans is an entire town. And one that is seemingly practically unchanged from the days when half-timbered houses was the latest in architectural fashion:

The cobbled streets didn’t suit everyone, we saw a bride gamely staggering along holding her train up and trying to keep her balance in enormously high heels.  When we met her again about 10 minutes later she was carrying her shoes.

There are little alleyways to explore with some sometimes surprising things waving at you from the windows;

Lots of the street lights have their shades painted with fantastical creatures;I think it must be something to do with a light show performed through the Cité during the summer and in December which sounds wonderful.  I’m already thinking of reasons why I need to visit my daughter then.  Some of the street lights also have projectors attached which shine images of dragons and beasties on walls and the cobbles..  It makes taking a post prandial walk after dinner great fun as you turn each corner to find something new.

For me, the highlight of Le Mans is the cathedral.  It’s enormous and has wonderful stained glass, the Ascension window which dates from the late 11th century/early 12th  is one of the oldest stained glass windows still in its original setting and is curiously modern in some ways.  It also has the Virgin’s Chapel and the musician angels which is one of the most enchanting chapels I’ve ever seen.

The vaulted roof of the chapel is decorated with a celestial concert of 47 musician angels, it’s thought they were painted by Jean de Bruges and I’d defy anyone not to be charmed by them.

I apologise for the quality of the pictures, my little compact did its best but it has problems with maximum zoom, I hope they give some idea of how wonderful the angels are.

Tours and Tourists

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Amboise, Chenonceau, photography, tourists, Tours

Last week my daughter had an interview in Le Mans.  She drives but hasn’t had much motorway experience and since a five hour motorway drive probably isn’t the best preparation for an interview I offered to drive her.  Before my halo starts to dazzle all and sundry, I fancied spending a night in Tours, which I’d only ever driven through hurrying to or from Calais, and visiting one or two of the Loire châteaux.

The old part of Tours is very pretty and deserves a much longer visit.  I had no idea there was such a thing as an official list of Les Arbres Remarquable de France, but there is, and one of them is a magnificent cedar in the garden of the Musée des Beaux Arts.  The cathedral alone justifies a visit to Tours, it’s a beautiful gothic structure with a stunning facade and beautiful stained glass windows.  How so much 13th century glass survived the revolution and various wars, heaven only knows, but what really took my breath away was the Rose window described somewhat snottily as ‘dating from 200 years later than the windows in the sanctury.”  OK, so it’s a mere 600 years old but with the setting sun coming through it, it was fabulous.  

We also lost our hearts to this  tomb for the children of Charles VIII and Anne de Bretagne:The next day was spent visiting Châteaux des Amboise and Chenonceau – both gorgeous and both crowded, especially Chenonceau which we went to in the afternoon.

I appreciate that these châteaux cost a fortune to maintain and they need lots of visitors and their entrance fees to keep them going, but, at the risk of sounding like Mrs Grumpy I’ve got to ask, Why do so many of the visitors bring young children with them?  I’ve got children, they were young once, and we went to all sorts of places.  Places I thought all of us would enjoy; the Natural History and Science museums, animal parks and gardens, ruins and woods, I don’t think any of them were dragged around to look at houses, picture galleries or historical interiors until they were at least eight or nine because they’d have been profoundly uninterested.  And an uninterested child is usually a pain in the neck – to their parents and to a lot of the people around them.

At Chenonceau there were children in pushchairs who were being carried up to the first and second floors, while their only slightly older brothers and sisters plodded behind.  They weren’t enjoying themselves, their parents looked at the end of their tethers, it was stinking hot and more than one fractious quarrel between small siblings broke out. You couldn’t help thinking that their parents would have had a much nicer time if they’d taken it in turns to entertain the children in the child-friendly grounds while the other had a look around on their own.

Fair enough, sometimes children do have to tag along with their parents; what got this Mrs Grumpy really hot under her collar were the photographers.  Every viewpoint has a crowd standing there and fiddling with a camera with an extremelylong lens for ages, you get the feeling that some people have lost the ability to see anything with their eyes, they can only view through a camera.  In the cathedral in Tours there were people walking in and up the aisle with their cameras pressed to their faces, clicking away, never stopping to gaze, to admire, to wonder, to be moved; just press, click, frame the next shot.

Chenonceau is famous for the gallery that straddles the river Cher –

and on the far side it opens onto a lovely shady walk along the river.  For the first fifty metres the path was crowded with tourists snapping away, after that there was literally no-one. No-one who felt like seeing the Château from a distance, no-one who thought the woods were part of the experience of the visit, no-one who was simply enjoying the pleasure of walking by a river on a beautiful day.  All they wanted was to take their photos; depressingly you also know that no matter how long the lens was, most of them probably weren’t that good anyway.

The final straw was coming down a narrow stone staircase from the second floor which was only just wide enough to allow two streams of people going in both directions.  A man had stopped on the second step, blocking the way completely, and was focusing his camera on the very ordinary stone ceiling.  I snarled to my daughter, not very sotto voce, ‘Why doesn’t he buy an effing postcard?’  He must have been or understood English for the camera disappeared immediately.

Result!  But not the best one.

My daughter got the job.

Medieval Day at Chateau du Cros

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Medieval Market, Medieval Swordfighting, Medival Day

Tomorrow, Sunday 10th June, my daughter is organising the third Journée Medieval at the 12th century Chateau du Cros.  For anyone who is close enough to the sud Gironde there are going to be visits around the castle, a medieval market in an oak glade, carriage rides, a buvette and displays of Medieval swordfighting.  Entry is free.

One of the swordfighters handing out leaflets. He’s very friendly, really.

Do come if you can, it’s always a great day and even if you can’t please cross everything you’ve got that it doesn’t rain!