The Mountains are Calling

It's a quiet afternoon on Dijon Drive. Gatsby is asleep on his patch-work dog bed at my feet, Daisy is staring out the living room window hoping to see a bird or a squirrel. Sunlight streams through the skylight. Laundry rumbles. And I'm hear clicking away on this laptop, trying to capture moments. This is my last summer afternoon. Over the next few days, I'll be busy- preparing for school- which starts next Thursday. Saying last good-byes to those children I love, the ones who are too grown up now to be called children anymore, before they pack their bags for the four-year adventure called college. But today is for remembering and recording.

I'm usually not sad to say good-bye to summer. I love autumn. It is, as Lacy says, "my season." But, this summer has been filled with so much blessing that I am a little sad to see it close. But, oh, how it closed.

As if I hadn't already had enough fun traveling this summer- first to North Carolina to see my family and friends. I enjoyed all the summer standards- a family cookout, time lounging around with my brother, shopping trips to outlet malls with my mom, sitting outside reading with my dad, sun-bathing on the Carolina coast- as well as some special occasions- seeing two sweet baby girls Christened, visiting with Rosemary who was (at that time) glowing with pregnancy, sweating it out at the gym with Hannah. Then there was Europe. No need to write another word about that. I traveled like I was thirty and then wrote it down before it faded into the background of another busy school year. But there was still one more adventure on the horizon. This one was Robin's idea. She had a family wedding to attend in Redstone, Colorado, and since she has traveled as much if not more than I have this summer, she asked if Andy & I wanted to come along, so that we could all road-trip, have one last adventure, and cut down on cost. We were in.

So Thursday evening, after Andy got home from work, the three of us, plus the two black-and-white dogs piled into Robin's Honda, camping equipment stuffed in the trunk for us and pretty dresses and scarves fit for an August wedding draped over the backseat for Robin. We drove through the night, which is never easy, but, for me, always worth it, and got to Redstone around 1PM on Friday. We dopped Robin off at the Redstone Inn, where the wedding would take place, and then Andy and I headed out in search of a camping site.

It's good to be married to an Eagle Scout. 

Getting cozy at McClure Campsite #6

These two 31 bags, gifts from my mom, were super helpful when it came to packing up our kitchen utensils and food during the trip. Also super helpful was the Coleman mini-cooler she gave us for Christmas this past year. Had to take pics to say thanks to my Momma! 

Does it get any better than this? 

Don't let him fool you. That dog is his favorite. 

Our campsite neighbor

So this happened...

So did this. Bacon makes everything better. :) 

Early on Friday evening, we stopped into the Redwood General Store for a few supplies (See above picture) and also picked up a local newspaper about local events this summer and helpful hints about the region. One of the pages listed some must-see attractions and we were intrigued by the mention of the Crystal Mill. Apparently it is one of the most photographed locations in Colorado. This is apparently true, if you Google "Crystal Mill Colorado" right now, you'll see what I mean. Andy and I didn't have internet access, so we had to go old school and try to see it with our own two eyes. So, Saturday morning, we drove into Marble, a small town about six miles from Redstone. When we got there, we found the tiny town surprisingly bustling. We'd stumbled upon "MarbleFest" a once-a-year music festival. A smattering of tents selling food and t-shirts were set up around the perimeter, encompassing a small stage that had been decorated with containers filled with flowers. A window hung in the background, making the whole thing look like you were standing on someone's front porch. We were in it for the trip to the mill, though, so we asked some of the volunteer firemen. Eyeing Robin's Honda they said, "You'll never make it in that car." We told them we intended to hike, which they sort of shook their heads at (I now know why) but pointed us in the general direction anyway. We decided that if we were going to have a long hike, we'd better eat some lunch first, so we made our way over to the Marble Community Church's tent where bowls of green chili were being served by local church men and women. It was at the church tent that we met a man named Robert, a retired Marine, who saw Andy from thirty paces and knew there was hope for an afternoon full of adventure. Within thirty minutes, Robert had volunteered to take us up to Crystal Mill in a  borrowed Jeep Wrangler. Before I knew it, Andy and I were following the pastor and Robert up to the parsonage (the borrowed Jeep belonged to the pastor's wife) and climbing in, even though I had read in the newspaper that you should only go up the trail in a vehicle with someone you trust (seriously, it actually said that) and even though we had not known Robert for an hour. It all turned out to be great, though. Robert was an expert driver, he had spent some years doing Jeep tours in Marble for visitors just like ourselves. He told us all about the local history and even took us on a little-known hiking trail. Before the afternoon was over, he felt like someone we'd known for years. Here are some pictures from our epic adventure in Marble, Colorado. 

Andy and Robert looking out over Lizard Lake on the way from Marble to Crystal. 

Treacherous view from the passenger's side window. 

Four paws gone four wheeling. 

After a harrowing hour and half in the Jeep we finally made it to the mill. It is really picturesque.

Fireweed. Robert told us that when it stops blooming, summer is over. 

Asters. 

This car seems to have lost track of the road. It wasn't the only abandoned car we saw on the way to Crystal. Robert had some stories to tell about cars going off the road and drivers who jumped and made it and passengers who didn't jump and didn't. 

Hints of fall 

Cabins in Crystal, once a mining town, not just a smattering of summer cottages. Andy and I thought they were pretty neat- no electricity or plumbing. Simplicity. 

The home of retired school teacher and author Roger Neal. Roger's family bought this house and the four lots around it for $50 back in the late 1940's. He has been coming every summer since. He's written several books about the history and tall tales of the Crystal River region. We bought Volume 1 of Creepy Crystal tales for some campfire reading material. 

This sign is just down the road from Crystal and apparently applies to the rest of the road, not the stretch that we were on. Robert really wanted to take us, but I thought the dogs might lose their minds. Maybe another time. 

On the return trip, Lizard Lake was smooth and reflective. 

Before we got back down to Marble, Robert took us on a quick hike to see these beautiful falls. He said that if this waterfall was anywhere else, there'd be paved pathways with railings to get you there. But this is Marble, and so pavement there was not. what there was, was a slate footpath, what Robert called a goat trail. I have no idea if he meant this literally or not. You be the judge. Check out the pics below. But the view was worth the peril and that there was no pavement anywhere in sight made it all the better. 

Robert leading the way. 

Look at Gats and Daisy- no fear! 

Well, we almost made it out of Marble unscathed. Until.. we got locked in jail. 

These cells were built in the 1800's in St. Louis and transferred to Marble. Robert told us a story of an Italian who was locked up one Friday night during Prohibition for drunkenness. But his mother made him a long pasta straw, long enough for him to sip from a bottle of Chianti placed just outside the jail's window. When they came back to let him out on Sunday, he was drunker than at the beginning of the weekend! What a tale. 

The jail from the outside.

Well, we made it out of Marble in one piece. The next morning, we wanted a good hike, so we headed for Avalanche Creek Trail. 

Gatsby has now hiked three mountain ranges- the Appalachians, the Sierra Nevada and the Rockies. 

Andy showing me how to get the sweet stuff out of Indian Paintbrush. 

 After our hike, I wanted to drive over to Aspen, which is about a 40 minute drive from the Redstone area. My family went to skiing in Aspen/Snowmass a decade ago, and while I was there, I bought Gatsby a sweater at a nice pet shop. I wanted to take him back there, just for nostalgia's sake. But this time, to Gatsby's great relief, I did not buy him a sweater. Two tennis balls were purchased to help the Aspen Humane Society and a photo was snapped. Then Andy and I wandered around town, chatting with passersby and enjoying people-watching. Finally we stopped for a bite to eat and a drink at Hops before heading back to camp.

Ten years ago, I NEVER would have thought that I would get to bring my buddy to Aspen with me. God is so good! 

Andy posing with the 10th Mountain Division statue at the base of Ajax Mountain. 

I rode up this gondola ten years ago, and would have loved to have gone again, but we got there a little too late in the day. They were bringing people back down, but not letting anyone else go up. Such a shame, because the doggies could have ridden too! 

But we did get this fun family photo on this bench made out of a ski lift. How cheesy! I couldn't stop laughing! 

Well, that's a wrap. This season of adventure has come to an end. The summer afternoon when I started writing this blog faded into evening, dinner plans and chores to complete in dusty twilight took over. It's now mid-day the following day, less than 24 hours away from the start of the 2014-2015 school year, and the to-do list stretches out a mile before me. As I think back upon this summer, I am overflowing with gratitude. Ann Voskamp, in her book, One Thousand Gifts,  taught me how to practice a life-style of eucharisteo, a lifestyle of thanks. In her words, "We only enter into the full life when our faith gives thanks. Because how else do we accept his free gift of salvation if not with thanksgiving? Thanksgiving is the evidence of our acceptance of whatever he gives. Thanksgiving is the manifestation of our 'Yes!' to his grace." Following Ann's lead, I started a gratitude journal this summer, and I've been counting the gifts, paying more attention to the Giver, drinking in the freedom of receiving grace. It's getting fuller and fuller, and, sure enough, so is my heart- swelling with gratitude for his love, his goodness, his gentleness, his faithfulness- to even me. What a summer. What an adventure this life is. Thank you, God, for these moments. Thank you. 

Travel like you're 30- From one Riviera to another

We live in a neighborhood in Cedar Park called Riviera Springs.  The neighborhood does not have one of those nicely landscaped entrances- the ones with the giant yuccas and the lights that shine up at  stonework that bears the name of the housing development. But, you can infer the neighborhood name by looking at the street signs. "Riviera" is the main street that cuts through the neighborhood. Streets named "Monaco," "Monte Carlo" and "Cannes" cut across it like a grid. Our neighborhood might not be fancy, but I can assure you that its namesake- the French Riviera- most certainly is.

We left Barcelona by train, but disembarked in Montpelier, France. There, we rented a car- a sweet little four-door with manual transmission, which Robin took on like a boss! :) Our intent was to drive from Montpelier to Avignon and then on to Marseilles, where we would spend the night. Avignon is a very old city that has a castle and some picturesque sites. Apparently, they also enjoy a good summer festival in Avignon, because when we arrived there, the city was overflowing with people. We later on found out that there was a theater festival going on and it attracts people from all over the region. We weren't loving the idea of fighting our way through the crowds, so we zoomed out of there and headed North, deciding instead to stop in a small village called Chateau Neuf du Pape.

Chateau Neuf du Pape got its name from the castle you see here... well, what's left the castle. It was a summer home for the popes when the papacy was still in France. It was quarried for some years after it was no longer used as a residence, and even used as a look-out station for the Germans in WWII. Since then, it's been claimed as a historic site. The view from here was remarkable, but I didn't bring my camera with me. I took this shot with my iPad as I huffed and puffed my way to the top of this hill.

Chateau Neuf du Pape may be named after this house on a hill, but what really has brought the village fame is what lies down in the valley below- the vineyards of the Cote du Rhone. Chateau Neuf du Pape is very famous for its wines. As we meandered the streets of this little village, we came across wine shop after wine shop. We eventually settled on the free tour at the "Musee du Vin" where we learned about how wine-makers here have been taming the rugged landscape to make famous wines for centuries. Since I've been home, I've spotted Chateau Neuf du Pape wines at both HEB and Costco.

In late afternoon, we decided to head on toward Marseilles. Getting to Marseilles was easy- driving the highways in Southern France is no big thing (well, if you're Robin and you can drive a stick), but getting to where you need to go in Marseilles, that is a completely different situation. Marseilles is such an old port town, and the roads are winding and confusing. Not to mention that we had some less than clear-cut directions from our hostel. After hours, lots of prayers, buckets of sweat and asking for directions two times, we arrived at our hostel. We ate a late "We made it!" dinner of pasta and salad and then took a walk along the harbor. We ended up at the Palais du Pharo, which I really know nothing about except that it was built by Napolean III for Empress Eugenie, but I have no idea why it is named the "Pharaoh's Palace." The building itself was something out of a fairy tale. Chanlder, Robin and I couldn't help but imagine what life would be like living inside its grand walls. Apparently it's used today for receptions and events. Despite the building's grandeur, the real show-stopper was the light itself as it fell upon the harbor. I think it was the most beautiful sunset we witnessed while we were traveling.

Robin had the artist's vision to take a picture of the light in one of the windows of the palace. I copy-catted. 

One of the benefits of getting lost in Marseilles was that I had to spend hours poring over maps of the city. On one of the maps, I discovered that the Chateu d'If stood just a short distance from the coastline of Marseilles. I was determined to see it. The last time I was in France, my brother got me so tickled by joking with me that I was going to be banished to the Chateau d'If. I do not know why, but that joke made me laugh uncontrollably while we waited for our tour of Versailles. Thinking about that memory still makes me chuckle, and the possibility of seeing the real prison made famous by Alexander Dumas in The Count of Monte Cristo, was just too tempting. I woke up the next morning determined to climb high enough to see it. I set my sights on this Notre Dame church high up on a hill in Marseilles.

Robin was a good enough sport to climb up to the top with me. 

When we made it up to the church, the view did not disappoint. Here it is, the real Chateau d'If! 

After seeing the Chateau d'If, we climbed into the car for our last long journey of the trip. By early evening, we would be in Nice, our final destination. From Nice, we planned to take some day trips by bus to see some other sites, but the excitement and stress of catching trains and planes was behind us. On our way to Nice, however, we planned to stop in Aix-en-Provence, which, I think, was mainly to be nice to me. I had in mind that I was going to buy table linens in Aix-en-Provence. Years ago, I visited a booth at Fayetteville's Holly Day Fair that sold beautiful French textiles. I bought an unfinished round tablecloth, which I took to a seamstress on Yadkin Rd. who finished it beautifully for something like $3. She was probably grateful to sew something other than Army patches for once. It's my favorite tablecloth- bright orange with tiny yellow and blue flowers. I use it mostly in January and February, when the weather outside is gray- the cheerfulness of the cloth is a powerful contrast- a trick I learned from Mongolians, who paint the inside of their gers (yurts) bright reds, oranges, yellows and blues to contrast the long, hard winters. I think the rest of the girls could have skipped Aix-en-Provence, but I was thankful for their graciousness. We spent two hours there, so I only took one photo. Not nearly enough to capture the true likeness of the cheerful town. I must comment that, though I enjoyed myself a lot in Aix, it was not what I expected it to be. I thought there would be charming old shops selling olive oil and lavender candles and beautiful jacquard everywhere, but that was not the case. It was very crowded and seems to be nearly overrun by clothing boutiques. But it was still charming. We heard some amazing music from a band of young men, who stood on a street corner   playing old world music on instruments their grandfathers probably taught them to play. I regret not buying a CD- their music was fantastic! I did find a perfect textile shop, tucked neatly between two tourist stores. The selection was beautiful and the woman who ran the shop so helpful and friendly. That experience turned out to be just as I would have wanted- I got jacquard tablecloths for myself and my mom (mine is pink and silver, with poppy details and mom's is lavender with lavender bouquets detailed) , and some cream-colored placemats bordered by tiny olives. The sales lady threw in a jacquard hand towel for free. It's red and gray and says Aix-en-Provence and has details of this fountain.

After Aix, we journeyed on to Nice, said good-bye to our little car and headed to our second apartment rented through AirBnB. It turned out to be just as great as our apartment in Barcelona- and you didn't have to climb seven flights to get there- but you did have to pass by the neighbor, an older man probably in his 60's or 70's who enjoyed watching TV in nothing but his boxer shorts and did not enjoy closing the door to his flat.

In Nice, the days blended together in a seamless patchwork of sun-bathing, trips to Mono Prix (the grocery down the street) and walks along the Promenade de Anglais. We did take two bus trips. One to Grasse, a town in the hills above Nice. Robin lived in Grasse two summers ago and made friends with Marjorie and Harry. Harry is a hair-stylist who coifed both our hair one morning. And afterwards, Marjorie took Robin and I to lunch, where the conversation was pretty much entirely in French, but I kind of caught on... a little bit. She also took us to Fragonard, a well-known French perfumerie. We finished our visit by catching up with another of Robin's friends, Fatiha- who speaks three languages and bubbles with joy.

Robin looking very chic after her haircut at Salon Harry. 

Another day was devoted to traveling to Monaco. While Grasse was quaint and welcoming, Monaco was lavish and a little intimidating, but amazing, just the same. The bus ride over there was spectacular. We were the last people to board the bus, which meant that we stood at the front, near the driver for the 45 minute ride. But the openness of the front of the bus made it more than worth standing up for that period of time. As the bus snaked its way along the Cote d'Azur, each vista was breathtaking. In Monaco, we all had lunch and walked up to the famous casino in Monte Carlo.

The harbor in Monaco

Apparently this is an amphitheater. I thought it was a helicopter pad at first. There are a lot of those in Monaco, too, but I later saw it on a post card and the caption read that it was an amphitheater. 

The back of the casino in Monte Carlo. 

A side entrance to the casino. 

The front entrance mirrored. 

Fancy

Hotel de Paris, in which Selena Gomez stayed in the movie "Monte Carlo" which Chandler and Nicole insisted we watch during our time in the Cote d'Azur.

After seeing the casino (I didn't go in. You have to pay and you have to check your camera, neither of which I was willing to do) we all went our separate ways for the afternoon. On Marjorie's suggestion, I decided to visit the Jardin Exotique, a succulent garden way up in the hills. I marched my way through the sunny afternoon, pausing every now and then to enjoy the views. 

I loved this full lemon tree in someone's yard. 

Panorama taken as I neared the Jardin. 

The Cote d'Azur certainly earns its name. 

This is the peninsula that houses the royal palace. 

Some succulents up close. 

Another view from the Jardin Exotique. 

Jardin Exotique

The royal palace 

This one was for Andy. The official starting line of the Monaco Grand Prix starts near the Automobile Club Monaco. This is the entrance to the club.

After our trip to Monaco, we stayed in Nice for a few more days and just took it easy. We enjoyed the rest of our time in our apartment, but also were excited when we got to check into the Hyatt for one of our last nights. Nicole's dad secured these luxury accommodations for us and we took full advantage. Nicole and I lounged poolside for hours, soaking up the sun and doing absolutely nothing. Being able to sit back and think about the beautiful places we'd been and the interesting people we met was a perfect way to end our adventure. 

Dusk on the beach in Nice

Nice 

This waterfall used to be a water supply for the fortress that protected Nice.

Old Nice 

View from our amazing room in the swanky Hyatt Nice Palais de Mediterranee. Five star luxury accommodations to celebrate the end of an amazing trip. Big thanks to Nicole's dad for making that happen. :) 

The beach in Nice is made of rocks. Not quite as nap-friendly as Myrtle Beach, but really not as uncomfortable as it looks. 

When we got home, Naemen sent Robin a message, asking if we had the "European Blues" upon returning to the States.  I'll confess that when I got back to this Riviera (the neighborhood) and went for an early evening run, there was a part of me that missed that many-blued sea and the wind that sweeps across it. I miss hearing the voices of so many people, the languages I wish I understood.  I miss wondering what new place my feet would carry me to the next day.

A little over a week after coming home, we went over to Preston's house to watch the last stage of the Tour de France- a return to the scene that inspired this trip one year ago. We watched an interview with Jens Voigt, 42, who raced in the Tour de France this summer. It was his 17th and final Tour, tying him for the record for most Tours completed. When asked about retiring, he answered that he was going to, "not be sad because it's over but be happy because it happened." Jens Voigt's optimistic expression, his voice filled with the satisfaction of accomplishment and dignity of gratitude, was an inspiration to me. He's right. What an amazing adventure. What an amazing world we live in. What an amazing gift to be able to see it and then return home to share it with those we love. My heart is filled with gratitude for this summer's adventure. Thank you, God. All is grace. From one Riviera to the other.