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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”
This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)
That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”
For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.
In the meantime:
I last posted on September 1, 2024. That post talked about our last day hiking on the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail in France, back in September 2023. (A last-day hike with “a bit of drama.”)
In the meantime I just got home from another hike, in Spain, hiking the Camino Finisterre and Camino Ingles. (From September 7 to October 7, 2024, which hikes also included some unexpected drama.) I’ll discuss those hikes in a future post, but here I’ll close out the 2023 hike with our leaving Saint-Jean-du-Gard and heading back up to Paris.
As noted, on October 3, 2023 – having finished our 150 miles – we had a quiet relaxing evening, then hit the sack, “weary but with a feeling of accomplishment.” Wednesday, October 4, we slept in and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. (Not at all like the usual hectic morning preparation for a long day’s hike.) Then visited the Cevennes museum, the Musée des vallées cévenoles.
Very impressive. “Rugged” is a good word to describe this countryside. Highly suitable for the guerrilla war waged by the Protestant Camisards, the killings, torture and pillaging [that] Stevenson described at length in his book about hiking through here with his donkey, Modestine. (“Thank God WE don’t have to worry about stuff like that!”)
Which brings up why I haven’t quoted Stevenson’s book lately. In the last part he talked mostly about that “spiritual” but violent warfare between Protestants and Catholics in the area. (An “off on a tangent” not relevant here.) One relevant thing I did learn at the museum? The locals don’t just let all those chestnuts we saw on the last days of the hike rot on the ground. Harvesting chestnuts is big business in the Cevennes. Also, the day of rest worked wonders. “My left-ankle tweak is pretty much healed up.” (The one I got falling twice on that last day of hiking.)
Thursday we took a bus to Alès. “For the first time since September 17, we traveled a good long distance – but without walking it, without hauling a 20-pound pack (too far), and without crawling around and over a bunch of (bleeping) rock-infested paths!” We waited at a cafe right near the St. Jean bus station. Sipping on a cafe creme I noticed “three antsy rug rats, waiting as mom got them some lunch. It struck me as odd: ‘Even these little guys can speak French!'”
Once we got to Ales we learned that the innkeeper was “caught up in the Paris bedbug panic. We each got a large plastic bag to put our packs in, with instructions to tie the bag up tight – when not getting stuff out of it.” (I’m not sure how effective that method was. I saw this summer that Paris had another infestation for the 2024 Olympics.)
Finally, on Friday October 6 we caught the train to Paris. On the ride up I checked Facebook and saw a friend’s quote from John Muir, on how he hated the word “hiking,” and preferred the term “sauntering.” Which brings up the fact that I too prefer to saunter.
My natural walking speed is a mile in 24 minutes, which makes it easier to string together Magic Moments, Zen Moments where you just ARE. (“I AM THAT I AM!”) Especially when you’re “sauntering” up a steep Mont in the Cevennes, having to stop every few minutes and look out at another majestic mountain view…
Finally we got to Paris and a day later I got to see that Père Lachaise Cemetery. The one I missed by 10 minutes on my second day in Paris? Back on Tuesday, September 12, 2023? I got there at 6:10 p.m. only to find that it closed at 6:00. But first, a bit about our lodging.
We ended up staying two nights at a posh apartment, supposedly on “76 rue Aristide Briand.” But type that address into Google Maps and you’ll invariably get a different place in Paris. Way down by the Seine, near the Assemblée nationale – Palais Bourbon. Meaning there are apparently two “76 rue Aristide Briands” in Paris. They’re both on rue Aristide Briand, but where we stayed was right across from “this big palace-looking place,” Mairie de Levallois-Perret, shown at the bottom of the page. And speaking of we three tired Americans being confused at the end of a long travel day, that brings the reputation of Parisians being so rude.
Remember that young French guy, back on my first day in Paris? When I got shunted onto Boulevard Richard-Lenoir instead of staying on Boulevard Voltaire? The one who said I’d just passed Rue Sedaine, but from the wrong side? It happened again on the late Friday afternoon, only two different Frenchmen helped we lost Americans find our way to the apartment.
We were in the vicinity, close, but somehow couldn’t see the apartment-building number.
We got into the apartment late Friday afternoon, and for one thing admired the great view. (Saturday afternoon we saw a bunch of big-group couples get married “en masse” at Mairie De Levallois-Perret across the way. “At least three such big-group weddings. And remarkably choreographed. All the people ‘whooping’ on cue by the cameraman. Boy those French sure know how to throw a party.”) Saturday morning Tom and I rode the Metro down to Pere Lachaise cemetery. “Where famous people like Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde are buried. I found Oscar’s tomb, sealed off against privy-part vandalism, but not Jim Morrison’s. It’s a huge place.”
That was a pleasant hour and a half, ambling around the beautiful, well-laid-out cemetery grounds, even if the place was filled with tourists and even though I couldn’t find Jim Morrison’s spot. There were plenty of people at Oscar Wilde’s tomb though, with an intriguing history of its own and a glass barrier to make the monument both “kiss-proof” and protect against vandalism. (The statue’s larger-than-life testicles were “removed in an act of vandalism in 1961.”)
A less-intriguing side note. In Paris I’ve always shied away from the Metro. But in those two days I took at least eight such trips, and fortunately had nary a problem with “les pickpockets.”
My last two rides on the Metro came on Sunday, October 8. Tom and Carol were flying out of de Gaulle Airport at 12:30, and my flight was at 3:30, so we hugged and parted ways at Gare du Nord. After that I hiked up and about a bit, then ended up at a cafe across Place Napoleon III from the station. (Right after the street-name changes from “Rue de Dunkerque.”) So there I was, “almost at the same place I was two years ago in 2021,” gathering my thoughts at a sidewalk cafe, scribbling in a pocket notebook “a la Hemingway,” sipping on one last cafe creme.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to explain why any 72-year-old in his right mind would want to hike 150 miles in a strange country where everyone talks funny, and when such “hiking” means crawling over and around a bunch of rock-strewn paths. I guess you had to be there.
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The upper image is courtesy of Père Lachaise Cemetery – Wikipedia.
Re: “From September 7 to October 7.” I flew over to Madrid on September 6, arrived the next morning, and flew back home from Lisbon on October 7.
Re: Chestnuts. I wrote of those last few days, “Hiking along the Trail we saw TONS of the tree-droppings, with their green and sharp spikes. It turns out they’re chestnuts.”
Re: Bedbugs in Paris. For 2023, The Bedbugs in Paris: Here’s What We Know So Far. Then Paris Bedbugs Infestation & 2024 Olympics: The Latest Info. We didn’t have a problem.
Re: “Sauntering.” The site saunter – Wiktionary, the free dictionary noted, “Competing theories exist” as to the origin of the meaning. As to Muir or Thoreau on sauntering versus walking, etc. The Facebook post quoted Muir as saying the word came from “a la saint terre,” or “to the Holy Land,” but Henry David Thoreau wrote about that in 1861. See The Spirit of Sauntering: Thoreau on the Art of Walking. Published in 1861, when Muir would have been 23. See also John Muir: A Parable of Sauntering – Stillness Speaks, based on a work published in 1911. For the full quote from Thoreau see last June’s post, “Acadia” – and a hike up Cadillac Mountain.
Re: “I AM THAT I AM!” A reference to Exodus 3:14.
Re: Parisians being rude. See The Myth of French Rudeness: A Parisian Perspective – MSN, on the “recurring narrative in travel guides, movies, and anecdotes.” Also Rude or Simply French? Debunking the Cultural Clichés: “several years ago, France’s Foreign Minister launched a campaign to improve the reputation of French people .They encouraged local people to be warmer to tourists in daily interactions. It was to be a ‘national priority’ with initiatives to improve communication in hotels, restaurants, and kiosks, and to provide multi-lingual directions to airports.” I certainly saw the difference…
“Remember that young French guy?” See “The last time I saw Paris?” – Just this past September. “Then I asked a young Frenchman, sitting on a bench at what turned out to be the ‘Marche Bastille…’ He was polite, and set me straight. So much for the city’s reputation for being so rude.”
Also, re: Confusion about our lodging in Paris. I wrote: “I could have sworn the address was 76 rue Aristide ‘Bruant,’ named for the guy made famous by the Toulouse-Latrec Poster. He [Bruant] was a famous French cabaret singer, comedian, and nightclub owner. Aristide BRIAND served 11 terms as French prime minister, from 1910 to 1929. And was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1926. Quite the statesman, but he never got immortalized by a colorful Toulouse-Latrec poster.”
Re: Pickpockets. See e.g. Pickpockets in Paris: How to Avoid, or Google “pickpockets paris.”
The lower image is courtesy of Mairie De Levallois-Perret Paris – Image Results.
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Re: The Israelite. Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina. Thus the “Carolina Israelite.” I on the other hand am a “classic 73-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia. Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”
Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s. He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.” (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.” But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life. As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today. He still got a kick out of life. For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.
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Here’s a note I cut out in the interest of “UCC, that Unity and Coherence Crap.” At the end of last year’s hike on the GR-70 I suggested that we hike the Canterbury Trail (Pilgrims’ Way) in England. I wrote: “That’s it for this year. Next year hiking in England, where we can understand what the locals are saying. (Mostly.) It’s been fun, but I can’t wait to get home.” But as it turned out, the prices – especially for lodging – were far too high in England. “That’s why for 2024 we’re heading back to Spain and the Camino Finisterre. But that’s a story for another time.”