More Motor Mania

I promise this will be the final post that has anything to do with cars in general and Citroën cars in particular! BUT we did just spend the past holiday weekend (Day of Pentecost) in and around the Cathedral city of Reims, where the 40th anniversary of the Citroën SM car was celebrated in a 3-day, jam-packed series of events.


With its super-streamlined, futuristic shape, its powerful Maserati engine capable of cruising comfortably at 120 mph, and its dramatic interior styling, the SM was considered the flagship vehicle of the Citroën fleet during its five years of production - 1970-1975. Around 13,000 were produced, with maybe 2400 being exported to the US.


Production tailed off dramatically during the fuel crises of that era, and when the Peugeot car company bought out Citroën, they shut this model down.





In the States, the sight of one of these cars is a rare event (unless you live in First Valley, Inverness, that is!), so you can imagine how our jaws dropped when we stepped out of our motel room on Saturday morning and were greeted by this sight: a parking lot containing ONLY Citroën SMs.



During the course of the weekend, more and more SMs and their owners joined the gathering, arriving from all over France, as well as several from Belgium, Holland, Germany, Monaco, Switzerland, England and Italy. Then there were the SM owners from "overseas" who attended without their cars -- from as far away as New Zealand and, of course, California!


Wherever a group of these cars parked, people flocked to check them out. At one of our many stops, one fellow circled several times in his Ultralight to get a good look.

And no matter how well individual owners might know and love their own vehicle, they never tired of checking out each and every other car at the rally, looking under hoods, in the trunk, checking what kind of wheels, headlights, original paint, modified bits and bobs.

French law forbids modifying the car from its original design, but other countries don't seem to care and there were some rather extreme re-design elements on a couple of the German and Swiss cars, that had the French owners clucking with disapproval.




This doesn't count as an official modification, but owner of this car made a cute display of model cars on the rear window ledge of his vehicle.








After being surrounded by so many of these beautiful SM cars (150 by the end of the weekend), I found my eyes glazing over during the group visit to the Reims Automobile Museum, where there were vintage cars of every other make and model on display. Until, that is, I came across this amazing room full of kiddie model cars, and wanted to jump into one and try it out for myself.



The organizers of the weekend made sure that a great deal of time was spent in the cars, driving from one event to the next through the beautiful Champagne country of the River Marne and River Aisne. People went at their own pace, but there would often be at least 20 SMs rolling along a highway, one behind the other! Since we had no car of our own, this gave us the chance to ride with other SM owners, which, looking back, was really one of the highlights for us.

These were ordinary French people (or German, Dutch, Swiss, English, etc.) from all walks of life, brought together by their love for this car. Not a single Parisian among them! And no one asked or told what their daily work was. For all we knew, we were riding with captains of industry or longshoremen. Only one person, Thierry, mentioned his occupation, and then only because he rather shyly commented one morning at breakfast on how great it was to be up and about during the daytime because he worked at night. We asked him what he did, and he explained that he is a baker working from 11 pm to dawn every day, baking all the delicious breads that we so take for granted when we pop round to the local boulangerie. Ever since he was a small boy, he added proudly, he always wanted to be a baker. And he owns an SM! He and his wife had driven from eastern France near the Swiss border to be at the rally.



It's hard to go anywhere in Northern and Eastern France without coming up against memories of both World Wars. One of the destinations on Saturday's agenda was a visit to the Caverne du Dragon, located on the Chemin des Dames, a long roadway that runs across a plateau, called, ironically, Plateau de Californie.



During WWI, a fierce battle was waged, not only for the rolling landscape surrounding the museum, but also for control of a deep, enormous, underground quarry that stretches a great distance beneath the fields and the roadway.


Occupied by the French troops at one end and the German troops at the other, the battle waged long and bloody under unimaginably brutal conditions, and with unspeakable cruelty inflicted on soldiers of both sides of the conflict, very often by their own officers. We were reminded of the early Stanley Kubrick film, Paths of Glory, that so poignantly and devastatingly captured this era of warfare.

Today, the museum is dedicated to the memory of all who lost their lives. A series of tall metal black posts on the hillside commemorates the lives of the French Senegalese soldiers who fell during this particular battle.






As well as WWI monuments and memorials, this particular region of France is most famous for its fantastic champagnes: Veuve Clicquot, Pommery, and Mercier, to name just a few of the bigger brands. Vineyards rise up on the chalky hills around almost every small town in the area, with little tasting rooms (dégustation) lining the main streets.

A museum, near this vineyard is devoted to explaining the production of champagne, with its incredibly strict protocols at every step of the process, from how to prune -- 3 and only 3 choices there! -- to the cutting of the stakes, the training of the vines, the timing of the harvest, etc.



Saturday evening, we were able to taste the fruits of these precise labors at the Gala Banquet, held 30 meters below ground in the Caveau Bacchus of the Champagne House of Mercier, founded in 1858.

In this grand vaulted, candlelit cellar, surrounded on every side by several kilometers of wine storage tunnels, we feasted on the following:

Compotée de Lapin aux Fines Herbes
Foie Gras de Canard et Jeunes Légumes
En petit Pot Parfait

Quasi de Veau Poêlé
Au Beurre Demi-Sel
Fricassée de Légumes de Saison
Croustillant Dauphinois

Fromage de Troyes et
Son Fouillis de Salade

Feuillantine au Chocolat et
Son Crémeux de Mangues
Au Coulis de Fruits de la Passion

Cuvée du 150ème Anniversaire
Mercier Brut Rosé
Mercier Brut
Mercier Demi-Sec

By Sunday morning, we were all in need of some quiet leisure time! Geneviève Fraleux, the fantastic organizer of the whole weekend, did not disappoint.

The weather continued to be glorious, warm, sunny, calm. After a short visit to the charming village of Reuil and another sumptuous luncheon under a tent beside a very pretty lake, we boarded a cruiser for a gentle ride along the River Marne, passing several more villages.



The somnolent pace of the boat and the warm temperatures, along with the vast quantities of food and wine we had enjoyed, had us all nodding off, although we managed to perk up a bit for this souvenir snapshot!


Our final "tourist" stop was the glorious Château de Montmort in the small town of Montmort Lucy. Originally a fortress, it was purchased in 1074 by Rémond de Montmort, whose descendants have lived here ever since, transforming the fortress into this stunning XVIth century castle. In the late afternoon sun, against the picture perfect blue sky, it looked like something out of a fairy tale.




Our guide this time was quite extraordinary. With an encyclopedic knowledge of every stone and pillar in the place, he proceeded to share every part of it with us. Of indeterminate age and with a voice that verged on that of a castrati, he trilled and twirled his way through the rooms, skipping here and there, rolling his eyes dramatically, waving his arms like a young ballerina, swooping his head from side to side and up and down as the timbre of his voice followed suit. Or vice versa. A mesmerising theatrical performance that kept his audience captive to the last word!


At the end of the day, though, it did all come back to the SM cars. To Jerry Hathaway, proprietor of SM World in Southern California, who has devoted his entire adult life to this car, and is considered a legend in France and throughout the world for his knowledge and passion for all things SM.





He came to the rally with his wife, Sylvia, who holds the land speed record for SM cars at the Bonneville Flats -- over 200 mph! People waited eagerly in line for them to sign posters.







The final event took place at the empty, desolate Circuit de Gueux, just outside Reims. Formerly a renowned race track for cars and motorcycles, it now stands a bit forlornly on a stretch of two-lane blacktop, surrounded by farm fields.

But for one glorious hour on Monday, Day of Pentecost, under clear blue skies and hot, hot sun, over 150 Citroën SMs lined up in perfect angle formation in tribute to this high-performance, beautiful car.


And we were so glad to be there!

À bientôt!

Dates in History

Certain dates in history, just by their very mention, conjure up unforgettable images and dramatic stories. Two of these happen to collide in the town of Bayeux in Normandy, just a couple of hours by train from Paris. We spent last weekend there, immersing ourselves in the following dates, which are separated by almost a thousand years: 1066 and 1944.


Bayeux itself is a charming medieval town with excellent restaurants and hotels, and a stunning Norman-Gothic cathedral that rises, almost protectively, above the town. Dating back to 1077, its flying buttresses, bell turrets, naves, arches and stained glass windows all speak of an era when it seems such churches and cathedrals were springing up all over Europe.

Along with all this Christian grandeur, there are also delightful winding streets, several water wheels, still in operation...






...and small ateliers where this young man has come to learn how to make the beautiful lace, for which Bayeux is also well known.






The biggest attraction, though, is that jewel of Romanesque art, the Bayeux Tapestry, housed today in an 18th century building in the center of town. As every English schoolchild knows from the earliest of ages, this tapestry and its date, 1066, depicts the rise of Duke William of Normandy, and the fall of the Saxon, Harold, at the Battle of Hastings.

As you slowly move past the 58 detailed scenes, embroidered in colored wool on a piece of linen, and displayed in one long horizontal line almost like a cartoon strip, the story unfolds with such amazing clarity and detail that you find yourself gripped by the dramatic course of events:

Of how the King of England, Edward the Confessor, having no children, designated his cousin, William of Normandy, to succeed him to the throne. Of how he sent Harold, much beloved by the Saxon nobles, and with his own aspirations to the throne, to Normandy to deliver the news. Of how Harold took an oath on holy relics and a bible, and swore to William that he would not stand in his way. And then, of course, of how, when Edward died, Harold betrayed his oath and had himself crowned King of England.

William promptly assembled a huge fleet, set sail for England, defeated Harold at the Battle of Hastings, and earned for himself the name, William the Conqueror. It was the last conquest suffered by England, and as if to send a message that the Normans were there for good, William ordered all his boats to be destroyed once they landed in Sussex. There would be no going back!

Along with all the gory details of the battle -- ending when Harold took an arrow in the eye, dying on the battlefield -- the tapestry also provides a vivid picture of 11th century life: the foods people ate, the clothes they wore, their domestic animals, how they built their houses, their boats, fashioned their weapons, rode their horses. All of this can be read and experienced as you make your way past the 203 foot long, 19 inches high linen document.



Flashing forward almost a thousand years, and you find yourself face to face with the other date that resonates in Bayeux: June 6, 1944, D-Day, the beginning of the end of WWII with the landing of American, British and Commonwealth troops on the beaches of Normandy. We signed up for an all-day tour of the American beaches -- Omaha and Utah -- and towns and cemeteries associated with the American effort. This particular Operation Overlord tour began and ended in Bayeux, which, by some miracle, escaped bombardment, and was the first town to be liberated by the Allies.


No more bows and arrows or chain mail. Instead, the Allied soldiers found themselves facing Hitler's famous Atlantic Wall -- a series of concrete bunkers that stretched all the way from northern Norway to the Spanish border. Inside the bunkers, huge "long tom" guns capable of reaching targets up to 15 miles away, pointed out to sea. This surviving one stands above Omaha Beach. Despite its crumbling rusty condition, it still managed to be a chilling reminder.


Part of a small band of 8 participants, all American and every one of us shivering, we braved the unseasonably freezing temperatures to hang on to every word our guide, Stéphane, uttered. (I was very glad I had brought along my 30 year-old Grannie Slater woolly hat!)



A passionate student of military history, Stéphane knew every last detail of the planning and execution of the landings, and every anecdote about all the major and some of the minor characters, on both sides of the conflict. Over the years, he has made an effort to meet many surviving veterans, American, English, Canadian, German, etc. in order to collect their personal stories. His bulky folder held maps, charts, photos, diagrams, letters, newspaper articles. The narrative he wove kept us all spellbound the entire day.




Invasion planning had begun over a year earlier, the Allies learning much from the North African and Italian campaigns. Aerial photography, pinpointed the landing sites in Normandy, although decoy plans were leaked to the enemy, suggesting an invasion in Norway or the Pas de Calais. Military intelligence revealed that although Hitler suspected Normandy would be the site, he was persuaded by his generals that the landings would be at Calais -- a much shorter crossing from England.


Standing on these beaches today -- empty, windswept, tranquil -- it was hard to imagine the chaos and scope of an invasion of this magnitude, even having seen both The Longest Day and Saving Private Ryan. The timing had to be precise -- a full moon, and between low and high tides were vital in order to be able to pinpoint and avoid the barricades the Germans had laid along the beaches. At high tide, they would have been invisible, splintering the landing craft and spilling the troops into the English Channel.

Despite the extraordinarily detailed planning and the accompanying, continual aerial bombardments, so much went wrong that it all came close to being a disaster. At Omaha Beach, for example, the strong ocean currents caused the landing craft to veer way off their target landing spots. Troops struggled to get to their right coordinates and it was only with extra reinforcements and efforts of incredible bravery, that a foothold on the beach was established, at an appalling cost of life.


The Utah Beach landings went more smoothly, if one can use such a word for a deadly military operation. And at Pointe du Hoc, with the German defences poised to strike out on both sides of the point, I was struck by two things in particular. First, this bullet-ridden bunker, incongruously still standing in the parking lot...



...and then a quotation from Franklin Roosevelt, carved along the side of this lookout spot above the beach. It ends with "I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees."





It was below the Pointe du Hoc that Stéphane told, perhaps, his most vivid story, that of the assault of the cliffs by the Rangers. The plan was to shoot up ropes to the top of these cliffs to gain access to the top and destroy the German guns that aerial intelligence had shown to be there. However, during the landing, heavy waves spilled over the landing craft, soaking the ropes and making them too heavy to shoot up. Instead, the Rangers scrambled and clawed their way through a gap, and hand over hand, made it to the top, only to discover that the "guns" were actually telephone poles shrouded with camouflage. The real guns, set up further inland, let loose their cannons.

Meanwhile, behind enemy lines, another major part of the invasion was in full deployment -- thousands of paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions parachuted through the night skies onto French soil.


One poor fellow got his parachute caught up on the side of the church in the town of Sainte-Mère-Église. He hung there, feigning death, as the battle raged beneath him in the streets of this small town, which today hosts an amazing museum dedicated to the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. Veterans from this elite American group still maintain contact with families here. Today, a mannequin records the drama of that church ordeal!








Again, it is hard to imagine today how this seemingly unimportant, peaceful, pastoral landscape was once the center of some of the fiercest fighting for control of the narrow bridge you see here. Many of the paratroopers missed their mark, due to fog and winds, landing in the dark in the marshes near this bridge, some of them perilously trapped in their chutes, and in danger of drowning. A local farmer and his young daughter bravely went out in the dark and rescued many, allowing the troops to prevail.



A lovely stained glass window in a local church is dedicated to the members of the 82nd & 101st Airborne Divisions.







As fascinated and moved as we were by everything Stéphane told us, nothing prepared us for the impact of walking through the American Cemetery at Colville-St.-Laurent. Here, above the Omaha Beaches, lie 9386 American soldiers, four of them women, a fraction of the total number of lives lost, because American families were given the choice of repatriating their loved ones back to America for burial in military cemeteries throughout the States.

But, nevertheless, here at Colville-St.-Laurent you will find the melting pot that is America.

Row after row of white crosses, interspersed with Stars of David, stretch to the horizon. Alongside familiar American names are Italian names, Jewish names, Polish, Hispanic, Scandinavian, German names...





...and some whose name, as the tomb says, are known only to God.




Each tomb represents its own story, mostly unknown to others. A few narratives have survived: The two brothers, whose death formed the basis of Saving Private Ryan and whose real name is Niland, are buried here. Two other brothers from the 29th Infantry Division, the Hoback brothers, fell on the same day. One of the earliest groups to land on the beaches, the entire division was almost lost in the first ten minutes. Bradford Hoback died outright, his brother Raymond was severely wounded, dying within minutes of Bradford. With the chaos of the landings, and the strong currents, Raymond's body was washed away at sea. His name is recorded here on the wall of the "missing."

As we looked out over the English Channel, we couldn't help thinking that in spite of the span of the 1000 years between the Battle of Hastings and the Normandy Landings, the human tendency to wage war has not diminished one bit; rather, alas, it continues unabated.

And this was just the American Cemetery. There are Canadian and at least 16 British cemeteries in Normandy. It has always been a tradition, and considered an honor, for a British soldier to lie where he fell, giving context to Rupert Brooke's WWI poem The Soldier, written as he was deployed to the front:

If I should die

Think only this of me
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England.

À bientôt!

Neither rain...nor hail...

...nor dearth of Velibs could stay us from an outing today! The skies were threatening, but we set forth anyway. None of our local Velib stations had any bikes -- either nobody came home last night, or the company that is supposed to redistrbute the bikes evenly throughout the city was still celebrating its May Day holiday. Eventually, though, we found two, and headed east toward the Bois de Vincennes.

After 20 minutes of cycling we made our usual stop for some petit dejeuner, this time by the Bastille, before continuing on our way out over the border of the city of Paris and into the Bois de Vincennes. Like the Bois de Boulogne, the land here was once a large fenced hunting forest. Today it's a vast woodland, filled with lakes, and home to a famous zoo, beautiful flower garden and a cycling racecourse. It's also home to a mighty chateau fortress built by Charles V in 1396. And it's a popular recreation spot for all Parisians.


We biked toward the chateau, following a road that runs along the edge of the Bois. Suddenly, the skies opened, and dashing for the shelter of the broad-leafed chestnut trees, we waited it out, along with various other cyclists, joggers and walkers.

The rain cloud passed over, but shortly after we started up again, another, much more violent weather cell bombarded us. Literally. I felt what I thought for a moment was a large bird dropping on my head, only to realize that it was a hailstone! It was back under the chestnut trees again! If you can, play this video. It will illustrate the intensity of the storm better than I can describe it!


Eventually it ended, and, feeling thoroughly damp and disheveled, we picked up our route once more, finally arriving in front of the chateau. Here we found a large crowd milling around, presumably waiting to go in, we thought. However, as we circled around the chateau parking area, looking for a Velib station to return the bikes, we began to notice some interesting vehicles.

First a row of several classic Royal Enfield motorcycles caught Matthew's attention, followed by this radical Suzuki. He was as riveted by this as the little boy in the red jacket!





Then, finally, this sign popped up and we discovered we had, quite by chance, stumbled upon the once-a-month Sunday vintage car and motorcycle gathering. Nothing that's particularly organized. Just a surprisingly large group of people who show up every month in front of the Chateau Vincennes, with their vehicles, park them -- vaguely grouped by type and model -- and then hang out, visiting, and sheltering from the rain showers! Luckily, the skies did clear, so we happily strolled through the throngs of people and vehicles under, suddenly, brilliant sunshine and blue skies.





American cars were pretty well represented. One whole section of the parking area was filled with Mustangs...


...whilst we also spotted several 'Vettes, quite a few Classic Chevrolets and De Sotos with their signature huge fins...


.


..and this old Chrysler, with its beautiful white-walled tires and its enormously long hood. We wondered if it was one of the classic Pninfarina designs.






The Brits were in full force with lots of MGs and Jaguars and this very fancy gold Rolls Royce, almost overshadowing its neighbor, the equally classic Citroën Chapron.





Certainly, this group of enthusiasts spent a long time discussing the RR. We were particularly taken with Monsieur in the bow tie. With his eyebrows, moustache and walking cane, he seemed like a character out of a Jacques Tati movie.



Definitely the most unusual car in the gathering was this 1929 leather-covered car (!), driven by a nice young man, who shouted the make of the car as he was leaving, something that sounded like Rozagarra (?), but we've never heard of it...yet...




However, not surprising to those blog readers who know us well, the cars we most enjoyed were, of course, those built by the André Citroën Company, and here we were not disappointed.




Along with this beautifully restored Station Wagon...




...this gleaming 1932 model, being lovingly polished, or maybe dried after the rain...




.




...we spotted what I consider the "ultimate" Citroën, the classic model "Le Traction Avant". Low slung chassis, sleek long, gleaming body. It speaks to me of a dashing generation of 1930 "flic" thriller films. Cheerfully flying the Tricolor, this car stole the show for me!



For Matthew, of course, THE car was the Citroën Maserati, and there were several of those for him to admire.





But what made his jaw truly drop was the sight of this 1949 Harley Davidson motorbike. The same year and model that he and his friend Walter rode around Baltimore in 1962. But guess who the owner invited to actually sit on it?! Feeling far from your average "biker chick" and more of a "hardly able person", I carefully swung my leg over the seat. In fact, the owner very gently helped me by holding my leg as I swung it, because he did not want anything to touch his gleaming, pristine paint job!



Meanwhile, the owner of the 1929 vintage Citroën parked next door, thinking Matthew might be feeling a bit left out, invited him to sit in his gorgeous vehicle, happily posing alongside. You gotta love the French and their fanatic enthusiasm for cars!


With more rain clouds threatening, we turned our bicycles back toward Paris, stopped for a Croque Monsieur in a café at Place Nation, returned the Velibs somewhere along the Grands Boulevards, strolled through a flea market, and still managed to get home in time for tea!


Yesterday being May 1st -- May Day -- the whole country celebrated with a national holiday. We missed the various parades that honor workers of all stripes and political persuasions, but we did get caught up in the exquisite little sprigs of lily-of-the-valley (both potted and in cut bunches) that were on sale throughout the city. Because May Day is considered a joyous occasion, and because le muguet represents "la bonheur" (happiness and good fortune), the two have, over the years, become inextricably linked to each other.

Many many thousands of these sweet sprigs are cultivated in nurseries before reaching the flower markets and street vendors in time for May 1st. One of our dinner guests brought me this pretty one last night. I had a special reason for being extra delighted with this gift: the lily-of-the-valley was my mother's favorite flower and I always think of her when I see them. So, I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about my mother, and how another meaning of "bonheur" is the old fashioned word "felicity", and how that word so aptly described my mother!

À bientôt!