Brief Encounter

We are now on the train travelling at high speed to our next destination which is Florence, Italy.

We have successfully disembarked and have had no issues hopping aboard the VVVFT to Torlino where we will swap trains for Florence.

We had our last sumptuous meal this morning with Mal and Chris. Mind, I was so full after eating too much these past days, I really have little appetite and eat because it is in front of me rather than because of appetite. I did order Eggs Benedict today as a last treat, but they fail to arrive. Our waiters are very busy multi skilling this morning, helping to empty rooms, remove luggage and begin the arduous preparation for stripping the rooms.

As this is the last tour for the season on board The Scenic Gem, the boat will go into dry dock once she has been emptied and undergo maintenance and any repairs in preparation for the next year tours.

Following on from our trip through Vernon and Giverney with the visit to Monet's garden we travel further again on our way back to Paris, stopping the night at Conflans. This all occurred yesterday and is our final leg of the trip before returning to a busting city yet again.

Conflans is another pretty town from what we see with a large amount of goods and services transportation occurring on the waterways as well as our aspect of tourism.

This day is the day I have been so looking forward to for it is the day we visit the beautiful village of Auvers-sur-Oise which was the final place Vincent Van Gogh lived before his death around 1890.

As was stated yesterday, we learn that Vincent, as he preferred to be called, led a troubled life, rejected by his mother when younger for no particular reason, and only having his brother who was 4 years younger as his emotional support in those years before his death.

Vincent had a significant psychiatric disorder and was admitted to an asylum following living in Paris which he did not enjoy, prior to relocating to Auvers-sur-Oise where he had hoped to regain his passion for life and health.

Deep dark depression was Vincent's burden and initially when relocating to this country town he had a burst of mania that saw him create a tremendous amount of paintings in a very short period of time.

Bear in mind that some painters of this time might take up to a year to complete one piece of artwork. Vincent in the 50 odd days he was at Auvers-sur-Oise painted hundreds of canvases with some of them being his most memorable.

All he wanted was to be at peace with himself, as he wrote, in numerous letters to his brother and to have some recognition of his artwork, but alas that was not to be whilst he was still alive. Like so many artists of great and profound reputation, his genius for his craft was not acknowledged till after his demise which occurred in mysterious happenings.

There are theories he committed suicide, there are theories he was shot intentionally and there is the theory he was out hunting and was shot accidentally. No one really knows what happened to this man other than his wounds caused him to return to his abode where he lay in agony for two days before death overtook him. His brother was with him at the time and cared for him till the end. The room in which Vincent lived and died remains untouched to this day and all there is to remind us of his presence is a symbolic chair facing the garret window. There are holes in the wall where he hung his artwork to dry and a presence of greatness once being within.

We wander through the village and look upon the fields where he gained inspiration. We visit the catholic church where he would spend time as he was a devout man, at one stage in his life wanting to become a protestant minister like his father. We wander the streets and stroll along the steps he once ambled along, with very little of the scenery changing from one century to the next in this country town with no walls and no housing estates. Just a little bit of traffic from time to time making us aware as we cross the Main Street to be careful.

We visit Vincent's grave, located up a hill out the back of the town in the local cemetary and we learn how his brother died not 6 months after Vincent from complications of syphillis which Vincent apparently had as well. They are buried together in a little plot and we have opportunity to pay our respects to this man and his brother Theo in a cemetry that also contains soldiers buried in haste during the second and first world wars also.

This is my piéce de resistance for the trip as I have for a very long time felt a spiritual connection with the story of this man and his life for reasons I will not go into at this time as I have written of them previously. 

Needless to say though, I once met a little man who was named Vincent also but who never had life to draw breath.

"This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you"

We finally say farewell to this place and return to our ship for our last sail back to Paris.

Dinner this evening is a gastonomique degustation delight (with wines to match!!!) which is delicious but as it is the last day is a 10 day gastonomique delight where I haven't had to cook or decide what's for dinner I am a bit over the richness of the food despite the individual flavours and the abundance...or should I say overabundance!

We sail into Paris around 9:30 that night and are up on deck in time for the multitudinous lights on the hour every hour. 

Tis a very beautiful way to return to the City of Love and we are truly grateful for all we have experienced these past 10 days or so.

Adieu, adieu to you and you and you!

Well, it's our last morning.

We are waiting for a summons to put our bags outside and then travel with four others to Gare du Líon.

Outside (it being Sunday morning), the river is being used for a rowing /kayaking race and we stand at our window and wave as they travel past at lightening speed.

Our last two days have been full on artist influenced.

We were docked at Vernon on the 9th. day which was a Friday?

This gave us opportunity to cycle again (and with more confidence) to Giverney, some 6 kms. from Vernon. No falling off today!

Firstly we had a trip to Monet's beautiful exquisite jardin and we, like many other like-minded souls oohed and ahhhed at the layout and were able to place some of his paintings with what we saw.

Even though we are now in autumn over here with the changing of the leaves to that glorious rusty red colour, there are still flowers blooming and there is the occasional bee doing his or her job for the honey population of the world.

We enter Monet's home and I noticed a significant colour theme for each room, such was his penchant for all things beautiful.

No dab dark rooms for this man as they are all pastel themed and the furniture remains as it was when he resided there. The kitchen is an amazing enormous room with blue and white tiles as a splash back throughout. It's a very pretty light room and I am sure many a fine meal has been created within these walls.

There are still some of his pieces of art work there as well as other impressionist painters of his time and we are not allowed to photograph them which is rightly so.

I might add, to get to Monet's garden, as we rode our trusty bikes today, this time with Pete who is the gadget man on the trip with his fine array of camera gadgets, including of of those head piece things.

Our fellow bikers are Judy (from H&A) and Bruce and so that makes up our "Team Scenic" as we strive along, all five of us, clocking upwards of 25 kms. per hour as we pedal and occasionally let the motor take over. (I have to get myself one of these I have decided)!

We stopped at a church on the way to the gardens and viewed where Monet was buried with his family and took a quick look inside to appreciate the peace and tranquility. There are so many churches we have entered whilst in France and each one is unique with its sense of serenity and beauty.

We marvel at cows in this countryside and the stone walls along this designated bike/pedestrian path.

People smile and nod as we ride past and we laugh like school kids, enjoying this sense of craziness and freedom. It's amazing how riding bikes brings out the carefree child in us all.

After learning about Monsieur Monet and his beautiful garden, we eventually have to return to our boat.

Peter, Judy and Bruce decide to try out for Le Tour de France and careen as fast as they can back along the bike pathway. 

Later we watch a video Bruce made of Judy as she is speeding along in excess of 30 kms. per hour. I might add that he was riding his bike too trying to keep up at the same time. Needless to say he nearly came a cropper a couple of times which is so funny afterwards but I dare say scary at the time. 

Rather than return to the bateu too soon Murray and I meander back stopping occasionally to gaze at the countryside and just enjoy this leisurely 6 kms. ride. The weather is cool and there are occasional spots of rain but nothing dampens our enthusiasm other than knowing we will soon leave here.

We eventually return to the boat and return our bikes after negotiating the traffic the wrong way around.

Lunch is waiting for us on our return and we catch up with our delightful new friends Mal and Chris and rehash the morning events.

The afternoon sees us sailing on to Vernon (I think) and we chill as the boat glides along socialising  as one does on the cruise.

Remember I spoke at the beginning of the trip about people groups and how our personalities expand as we get to know one another.

We have been blessed with the people on board. The majority are from various parts of Australia, New Zealand, Canada, United States, Great Britain, Wales and even one couple from The Bahamas. We all appear to get on together with no significant personality traits demonstrated. There are no apparent arguments between groups and despite there being access to alcohol 24/7, no boorish behaviour to complain about either.

The youngest in the group are two women in their thirties who appear to have a good time although I think the night life is not to their liking. The oldest are at least in their eighties and obviously have no intention of stopping their travelling at this stage of their lives either. Out of the 120 odd tourists on board, some are retired, some, like us are continuing to work and are solicitors, an orthopaedic surgeon, writer/actors, medical receptionist (married to the above surgeon), teachers, artists, all from very different walks of like when you take the time to stop and chat.

As the tour progresses and we are closer to the final destination of Paris once more, people are more friendly and email addresses are exchanged with promises of keeping in touch between groups. There is even the occasional Facebook link up as well which is good for the soul, as you can never have enough Facebook friends!

Le Chateau pour Monsieur Benedictine(not his real name)

This was the day we travelled to Caudebec-en-Caux, arriving there sometime around 3 am. Whatever the time, we do not know for we are firmly tucked up in our beds fast asleep and there is no indication we have arrived at port until we awaken.

There was a tour to be done this day but some have opted to stay on board instead of hopping on a bus yet again after two previous day's lengthy bus tours.

I thought...."Well, when in Rome....or Caudebec-en-Caux as it may be", I would jump on the bus and do the tour on offer sans husband and so I did just that.

Forgive me my profound lack of historical knowledge and I will take poetic license with this story, but the story goes that once upon a time, in a country town known as Fécamp, there was an order of Benedictine monks, going right back to the Middle Ages.

Now, they were a pretty poor order and it was cold, wet and miserable a lot of the time. One of the monks hit upon an idea to create something to warm the cockles of their collective hearts and thus began the secret herbs and spices recipe for a drink known as Bénédictine.

They used all sorts of flavours....anything they could lay their hands on it seems that grew from the ground and wasn't poisonous. There was thyme, lavender, mint, chamomile, pepper, you name it, it was added to this liquid that was then placed in barrels and allowed to ferment over time. This was created in their monastery and I dare say they shared it from time to time with the locals and eventually word got out that there was something pretty special in this place.

This boivré gave them some comfort for a long time and made them all happy until a wealthy baron came along in the 18th. Century and patented their liqueur whilst still encouraging them to continue creating the base.

I shall call him Monsieur Le Bénédictine and he was ever so wealthy that he built an enormous mansion (chateau) across the road from the new premises he built once he extracted the recipe from the now defunct order of monks.

To this day, Bénédictine is still created across the road from his chateau on a much larger scale and its shipped around to all countries of the world.

As it is so exclusive and there was lots of money floating around thanks to this now even wealthier man, he decided to tack on a museum to the factory.

This gentleman you see had a bit of an O.C.D. Disorder and wherever he went he collected stuff.

He amassed hundreds of pieces of religious art and statues.

He collected keys by the hundreds and locks for those keys by the hundreds also. He collected wooden figurines, he collected rare china pieces, you name it, he collected it. Added to all this 'stuff', he decided he would flamboyantly decorate this factory come museum internally with stained glass windows, marble staircases, parquetry floors, decorous architraves with buttresses soaring high to the ceilings added to which there were numerous chandeliers in every room also.

So, this is the Bénédictine Tour. We learnt about this enormously wealthy man who became even wealthier. We saw his collection of everything and last but not least we see where the liqueur, Bénédictine is nowadays created. Of course, at the end of our tour we are given a sample of the real, raw thing and it still has the power to warm the cockles of your heart, even with a little tipple.

It is then into the gift shop we go (yet another captured audience) and of course I purchase a bit of this and a bit of that to take home...

Personally, I am not sure I like the bite and flavour of Monsieur Le Bénédictine's liqueur, but then I am me and I am a little fussy when it comes to all things spiritual!

We return to our boat and off we sail again, this time to Vernon. Whilst floating back towards Paris though....for we did a U-Turn when leaving Le Havre.....we are given a cooking exposay on how to make proper Crêpe Suzette using just a touch of that secret herbs and spices liqueur which is magnifique I must say.

This is a kind of sad part of the tour as we are starting to talk about how we will be saying farewell in just a few short days.

Tonight though is the Captain's dinner and we have to dress up. For me, the quandary is what the hell I will wear that:

a) I haven't worn before,

b) Is clean

c) Is fancy schmantzy for the Captains Cocktail Hour and Captains dinner.

I hit upon a dress I have worn previously, but IS clean (hopefully) and is nowhere near and fancy as some of the other costumed and bejewelled womens' clothing but, hey, what the heck, I am me and what you see is certainly what you get.

It was yet another fun time as it turns out with a lot of fancy food (yet again).... Bloody raw minced meat for starters and no, I did not eat the Steak Tartare unlike others....sorbet between courses etc (which incidentally I did eat) and other foods and then it was 'Let Down Your Hair Time' with the crew we have come to know and love providing us with a funny floor show and then disco afterwards where they get everyone up to dance.

All too soon though it is time for bed yet again for we old farts and so ends yet another day on this amazing brilliant water way.

I think it's day 9.

I'm kind of running out of time here.

There's so much to do each day I'm finding it harder and harder to remember where I was the day before.

Yesterday though was easy to recall as we visited the landing sites at Omaha Beach, the American Cemetry and the D-Day Landing Museum at Arromanches Beach.

We were up early yet again, (6:30 am.) and on the buses by 8:30 to travel to the coast? Once again we travelled through beautiful country towns, typically French and I marvel at the agility of bus drivers who manage to fit through the narrow roads without incident.

We arrive eventually at Arromanches after being given an ongoing commentary by our guide who today is brilliant with her narrative telling us the stories of war and how the local people coped with invasion. Her mother was a little girl when this all happened so her story is second hNd but extremely accurate and she narrates with a sense of the time and with much animation.

We have a look through the museum which focuses on the D-Day Landing and surprisingly there are quite a large number of people there (for a mid week) and we then watch a news reel movie for 15 minutes which tells us the story of how the allies worked out a plan to make an artificial harbour off the coast of France so as to transport soldiers, artillery and tanks from Britain by the shortest possible route. There were paratroopers also with one of the first being caught in a tree and shot by the opposing forces. The first number of tanks that came over also were driven into water too deep for them and a large number of American soldiers drowned as a consequence also.

Those that made it to the beaches were shot by the enemy as they were easy targets...sounds a bit like Gallipoli doesn't it. I can only wonder why men do not learn that killing masses and masses of men is not the answer.

You may recall 'Saving Private Ryan', the movie. The reality of what happened is similar to the initial scenes as the Americans landed on the beach and the actual story line is true regarding the soldier who lost three brothers as a result of the war. The only main difference is that a priest was designated to find him, not a platoon as was demonstrated in the movie.

We leave Arromanches then travel to a beautiful country manor house where we have lunch which consists of a three course meal.

This is Normandy we are told, where food is cooked in cream Nd butter, never oil and they drink a distilled apple brandy during their lunch to aid digestion. First course was similar to fried Camembert cheese only it was sharper and to die for. Second course was for Murray, a roast pork with vegetables and for me a piece of baked cod which also was wonderful, and I eat every little bit.

We then had an apple sorbet with this liqueur I mentioned earlier and trust me, just two to three teaspoons of it and my head is swimming.

Dessert is then served and is not one, not two but three different cakes... One is Neapolitan, one is coffee and one is like an apple cake. Once again... Magnifique!

This is all followed by coffee and chocolat!

Mon died, how do they eat like this all the time I wonder.

Following lunch we are encouraged to wander around the farm house and take numerous photographs as it is absolutely out of my world at least.

It's time then to climb back on the bus and go onto The American Cemetry which once again is so moving, I cry.

There are rows upon rows of crosses, as far as the eye can see. Every so often there is a Jewish Star Of David instead for those who were not Christian but Jewish boys. I will call them boys as the youngest in the cemetery was 14 when he died. There were many others of course of various ages and the beauty of the place is not that they were buried according to rank. Soldier was buried next to soldier, regardless of where he stood and what he was so it is not unusual to see. Private buried next to a major or even a general.

There were few exceptions with regard to where people were buried here. The brothers I mentioned before from Private Ryan (not their real name of course) were buried together as were a couple of brothers from other families but generally as I said before, soldiers were buried as they died and were not even buried alphabetically. Incidentally the one brother who was found initially did not return home, choosing to stay and fight with his comrades. Approximately 12 months later he was repatriated home to rejoin his family and lived a long life.

Once we have very quickly visited the Visitors Centre at the Cemetry which is a sad but amazing place we return to our bus and travel quickly down to Omaha Beach, one of the landing places. We alight from the bus and spend a short time there. It's beautiful yet again with children playing despite the inclement weather, others riding horses on the beach and there is freedom all around. So different to those days of bloodshed, death and trauma.

I collect a pine one and a couple of beach pebbles to remind me of the day, in the future Nd it's time again to mount our trusty bus and wind our way back home yet again through different villages yet again.

I have made myself a promise that I want to return to this beautiful place....there are so many bed and breakfast places which would give us a good base to explore further so our next European foray will be an even longer one than this time.

We are back to our boat by 5:30 pm. and prepare for dinner, the inaugural seafood buffet.

That is a story in itself. We were fashionably 5 minutes late and I have never seen so many avaricious poisson eating carnivores fighting for the opportunity to access the mussels and oysters and crayfish. We eventually got our share and were once again happily replete (it's not like we've had the opportunity to starve!!!)

Le Havre/Honfleur

'Today is yet to be another big day as we are traveling by bus again, to the Normandy Beaches to view another historical component of our trip. More about that tomorrow.

Today I write about our very brief sojourn into Honfleur yesterday to gaze admiringly at the quaintness of this busy seaside village.

Following our trip to The Somme the other day, Murray and I watched Schindlers List which didn't finish until 2:30 in the morning. Consequently we were very tired yesterday morning but given my shift working hours I was able to adapt to the lack of sleep a little better than Murray.

We had free time in the morning so a sleep in was in order, then up for yet another delicious breakfast.

Mind,  the volume of food is enormous and overwhelming at times.

My breakfast appetite is getting smaller and smaller and whereas on day 1 tried many different foods, now I am happy to settle with porridge, a slice of toast and a cup of coffee to start the day.

Have I spoken about our bed on this boat? I actually want to take it home with me. So very comfortable and follows my every contour as I snuggle up at night and very conducive to a great nights sleep.  I wonder if we can fit it somehow  in our luggage and transport it home with us. Never have I slept in such comfort. Even my bed at home gives me aches and pains of a morning, but this bed has me feeling ever so refreshed on awakening.

Anyway dear reader, I digress from the day's topic.

Following this first meal of the day we went for a stroll across the road to a contemporary shopping complex conveniently situated not far from our docked boat. We purchased a new pair of jeans for Murray plus a couple of gifts for soon to be recipients. They will find out who they are when receiving them!

I might add too that prices are relatively reasonable here compared with what we would pay back home. By the time our shopping foray had ended it was a once more time to return to le bateu for more food...this time in the shape of our daily lunchtime smorgasbord.

It is going to be so difficult to return home and prepare our meals ourselves, not to mention have to make decisions on what to purchase and how to cook it again.

I can well understand why people would want to perpetuate this experience and reside on a boat such as this indefinitely.

Following lunch those who wanted were welcome to join a shuttle bus and venture through the industrial area of Le Havre, and over the enormous span bridge into Honfleur for an historical glimpse into yesteryear.

To gain a full impact of this address dear reader, I suggest you google Honfleur if only to look at the professional photography of this beautiful town. It was unfortunately dull, wet and windy when we were there (thanks Mr. Hurricane), still a photographers paradise mind, but less so than on a clear day with blue skies.

Our day as mentioned before was cold, intermittently wet and unfortunately grey which diminishes the colours that abound as you will see when I eventually get my photographs on line.

There remains though an inherent beauty here with its cobblestone laneways only wide enough for a cart, and our guide regales us with tales of people in the Middle Ages taking their lives in their hands when walking along first thing in the morning as people emptied their chamber pots into the alley ways. We look towards four storey cottages running along the edges of the Quay made of timber and paint. Such tiny little cottages individually painted to reflect their owners colour schemes may have four maybe five storeys on one side and maybe two or three storeys on the other to accomodate the steep hill incline behind the buildings. There is a harbour that houses local fishing boats with shops surrounding it on three sides and beyond there are those little cobblestone streets again winding around and up the hill with shops of all varieties scattered along them. Such a pretty place is this.

We are shown a timber church created in the 1500's that is still standing intact and sit inside briefly to savour the atmosphere of quietness. Durning the wars the churches were taken over by the invading countries and were used as stables for horses so they were often filled with straw, horses and soldiers.

Once the formal part of our tour is over we are given free time to wander at will until five o'clock. I now get to photograph quaint alleyways and steps and shop fronts as well as inspect the goods available to tourists and make a couple of purchases as I go.

I'm still flummoxed occasionally when I speak à la français as people presume my comprehension is much greater than what it is. I then have to confess "Je suis australien" and some laugh and translate what they have said, some just continue on.

It's all part of the fun though and I continue to amble along enjoying my presence here. I have stopped pinching myself but I am ever so grateful for my experiences in what I have seen so far of France.

All too soon it's time to return to the bus that will take us back to our boat and I am so tired I go to dinner n'avec pas une shower.... still in my grotty clothes from the day, but I am past caring.

Dinner is once again a 4 course affair with wines to match. We sit with our friends again, Chris and Marilyn and discuss the day's activities and all we have seen.

Following dinner there is a Dixie Jazz band playing for a bit and they sound pretty good. Murray has gone to bed by now and I sat and listened whilst I blogged for a time.

The drummer from the band decides to play some of his music on my iPad ( they probably thought I was a little rude, blogging as they played) but I laughed and he had a twinkle in his eye so all is good with the world. It is soon time enough for me to wander upstairs to our cabin and it's time for bed yet again.

The Last Post for the Somme.

Yesterday was a vey emotional day for many of the group.

Some had decided not to travel to where we were going because of their dislike of war and its consequence but, in memory of our forefathers, in memory of our ancestors and in memory of their children (our parents) this was to be a highlight of our trip on all things French.

Some two hours from Rouen is where soldiers fought 100 years ago for freedom, not only for France, but for all over the world.

Australian soldiers as well as British, Canadian, American, New Zealand and the French, let's not forget the French soldiers, fought for their right to be normal living human beings in their world as well as ours and so we knew this was where we wanted to go for the day.

We had an early start being up with the birds, so to speak, and our bus trip took as mentioned before, two hours at least.

Our initial port of call was the Australian/French War Memorial which was placed atop a hill that was so fiercely fought for all those years ago. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers died, brothers, sons, husbands, boyfriends and lovers whose lived were cut short as a consequence and are buried in cemeteries dotted all around the landscape as we drive by.

The memorial to those fallen as mentioned is placed utop a hill that is not too far from Amiens and is very close to Villers Bretonneux. The grave sites are so very moving as not all of them contain names. Many are marked as "Unknown Soldier". Some are marked with names, some have their rank and some have little epitaphs from family from home.

It is a cold windy place and the moisture from the ground wets my shoes before too long as I inspect the final resting place of many soldiers.

I feel like I am walking in water but I have the comfort of knowing that once I climb aboard the bus again my feet will dry out partially.

At the very least, I will be able to have a warm shower tonight and change my clothes which is far far much more than those who fought during that time, ever had a hope to do.

We climb up to the top of the monument and wonder at the scenery that surrounds us, all the while taking photos of the idyllic country side with the only sound a being tractors, the occasional bird and a few cars in the distance.

I look to where the patchwork farmland is carefully manicured and think how pretty it is.

How different to one hundred years ago when there were holes in the ground with broken, splintered trees and bodies lying every which way.

Eventually we are encouraged to return to our bus and so, we journey on to our next stop which is the township of Villers Bretonneux.

We alight the bus and look towards the school that was razed to the ground during that horrible dastardly war and since then has been built again, ably partially assisted by fundraising from children from Victorian schools. The children here are constantly reminded of the sacrifices made to restore their school with a plaque out the front, not to mention signs in the school yard about the Australians that supported them as well.

We are encouraged to travel upstairs to the Villers Bretagny museum which contains relics from the 'Great' war, memorabilia from soldiers who were pining for their homeland and photographs, oh so many photographs of sad lonely faces so many miles from their homeland wondering what the hell they are doing amidst all this madness and chaos.

There are uniforms to gaze at, pieces of shrapnel, defunct guns and parts of cannons and tanks that had blown up during the fighting.

It is the photos though that catch my attention and make me weep for those boys that were never to return home to their families.

Unfortunately, it is soon time to move on for we can only spend a short time here.

We return to our buses and on we go to our next spot which is a villa/hotel where we receive a delicious lunch of quiche, soup and dessert of lemon tart.

It is during this time at lunch that I am so fortunate to have the opportunity to volunteer for something that will resonate with me for a long time after this trip, but more about that later.

We soon move on from this place, this vast countryside with its farms, villages and graves.

We visit yet another grave site and pay our respects to fallen soldiers and then finally move on to where the Battle for the Somme occurred.

This place is so incongruous. The sun is shining when we arrive and the leaves are dappled in their light.

There are forests to my right and left and if I did not know the history I would delight in the innocence I find before me. This innocence though is only of my imagination for this is where thousands of soldiers lives were destroyed in one foul swoop one morning, early, to retain an advantage for the country they were fighting for. Once upon a time, there were trenches here, mud filled rat infested swaps where soldiers froze and fought and wondered if they would ever get out alive from this hell hole. Now it is a peaceful,tranquil place with nary a sound other than birds and tractors in the distance.

Whilst at lunch earlier, our tour guide came up to our table and asked if someone would like to volunteer to read a poem written some three years ago by a descendant of a soldier who fought and died in the Great War.

Me being the volunteer that I am spoke up immediately and said that if it was ok, I would love to read this poem. I was to read this at the Memorial Centre by the grave sites of the French soldiers who died in the Great War and was to be read in front of 100+ people on our tour but that did not phase me. It was the words in the poem that put a lump in my throat and made me weep softly and wonder how on earth I would manage this.

"Why do you cry"

I stood in a field in a faraway land drawn to the spot but could not understand

What made me stop right next to this grave and what was this strange sad feeling it gave

Though the all alone I really felt a presence of someone so I just knelt

It seemed I needed to sit in the cold and wait for something to me to be told

Why do you cry the young soldier said and why are you her in the field of the dead

His voice was so soft I hardly could hear and when I first looked there was nobody near

He looked like a shadow in his old uniform and it seemed to me he could never be warm

I knew in my mind he could not be real but it seemed his presence would help me to feel

What all people think when they come to see the place where their loved ones lie over the sea

He asked me again and when I replied I said it was for all of mankind that I cried

I cry for the children that were never to be when all of the soldiers came over the sea

I cry for those fathers who all had to stay as their sons went to war in a land far away

I cry for the mothers every last one who watched as the war took their dearly loved son

I cry for the girl who lost her sweetheart as she waved him goodbye when they had to part

I cry for their friend who at home had to be as their mates went to war far over the sea

I cry for the man who lies in this ground not knowing if ever his body was found

I cry for the freedom this hero gave me and I cry that his knowing this never will be

I heard a soft sigh and his voice gently said this is my grave and though I am dead

You have found me and so I know I can rest happy to know we all gave our best

I then saw his eyes fill with tears so I said why do you weep for young soldier now dead

As he faded away like I knew he would do his voice said my son my tears are for you.

Written by Ray Jackson. Rememberance Day 2013

When the time came and I was fitted with a microphone, I drew strength from those in the ground around me. I drew strength from my husband as he stood by my side and I drew strength from my children as well. I faltered a little a couple of times but got through it, pleased with my effort and walked away proud of my contribution.

Soon it was time to leave this place and return once more to our buses for a long journey home.

I slept fitfully as we travelled homeward and dreamt of trees and children. There were large silent windmills in the distance and I marvelled at how the world is accepting and changing in some places, whereas war and death continues to be perpetuated in others.

Day whatever, first stop Rouen.

We're up before dawn this morning for a 2 hour bus trip to the Somme Battlefields.

Today's writings though are about tracing the steps of Jeanne D'Arc in the city of Rouen as we did yesterday.

We had arrived here the evening before and our tour organiser had explained to us about the birthplace and death place of Joan of Arc, also known as Jeanne D'Arc.

I was a trifle disappointed yesterday as we docked at what appeared to be a very industrial part of the city with a huge fairground over the road, fully equipped with a Mighty Mouse, Ferris wheel and other amusements. I had thought we might have to contend with squeals and sideshow music thought the night but the fair is only just setting up and besides, I have come to realise that once our cabin doors are closed, no sound appears to penetrate so I am more than happy.

The morning offers us a beautiful still river with early clouds floating overhead beautifully reflected on the glassy surface.

 Despite the carnival on the opposite bank.

Following yet another substantial breakfast, we are off on a walk through the city with a local tour guide and she takes us initially to Rouen's Notre Dame Cathedral which was partially destroyed during the Second World War. Some buildings still to this day remain in disrepair which is tragic given the date of their origins but many have been restored post wars and it is obvious.

The cathedral itself has received numerous bombings from both sides of the warring countries in their attempts to destroy the town's communication facilities but like all good catholic towns the main cathedral has been repaired as quickly as it could be. There are 100+ cathedrals in this town but we are guided through the main cathedral with its light filled towers. There are areas where the stained glass has not been repaired but where it is still intact, the colours are vivid especially when the sun shines through.

I manage to sneeze in the church as we are are sitting, listening to our guide describe the politics around 1600 AD history of the area. The sound reverberated throughout the church so I am aware why people talk in hushed tones as sound carries throughout and secrets can be heard at opposite areas of this church with its vaulted ceilings, if people are not careful.

We soon leave this place and marvel at the detailed construction of the facade out the front.

We then traverse along cobblestone streets which were created hundred upon hundreds of years ago looking into closed shops (unfortunate for us women with itchy purses) but much to the relief of our partners and husbands.

The photographic opportunities are endless here also and it is halfway through this walking tour that my camera battery decides to give up yet again. What is it with me and batteries I wonder.

Murray and I make a pledge to return here this afternoon to photograph certain aspects I have missed out on this morning.

The discussion turns then to Jeanne D'Arc and we are shown 'her' church and where she was held prisoner for a time and I cannot but wonder if my shoes walked where she walked so many years ago.

There was a farmers market happening in the square in front of us so we take a look there as they are beginning to set up for the day. This Rouen Farmers Market occurs once a year for this particular weekend so once again we are blessed to be here at the right time. Many are dressed in period costume, women in long white dresses with red scarves and men in pantaloons and white shirts with blue or red cummerbunds.

There is food to be sampled and fermented cider to be drunk and some of it is free and people are encouraged to help themselves to samples. I had a delicious doughnut pastry with a sweet white sauce inside. Delicious doesn't begin to describe the flavours that greet me as I place it in my mouth.

We then decided to return back to the boat after Murray bought some macaroons in one of the specialty patisserie shops to give to our entertainment tour guide who had expressed a love for these typically French melt in mouth meringue biscuits, previously.

Another option this morning as well as our walking tour was to travel to a macaroon factory where that group were given opportunity to make their own individual macaron. Alas there are no samples when we return (me thinks they ate 'em all on the bus on the way home!).

Yet another lunch (which you think you don't have appetite for until you're confronted by all that wonderful food), not to mention my now customary glass of white wine and it's time to venture forth again into the city, this time sans tour guide.

We got back to the cathedral, retracing our steps with a photo bomb by a French gent who thought he was très amusant and returned to the farmers market which which was by now jam packed with people. There were buskers and families and farmers selling their wares. So difficult not to buy fruit and vegetables that looked like they were fresh from the earth here but we did buy some biscuits the vendor assured me were very crunchy...making funny sounds with his mouth as he did.

We decided to return home once it began to rain and walked through a flea market as we did.

I know now flea markets in France are very similar to flea markets in Australia where people sell as much trash and treasure as they can and people try to barter to get the lowest price possible.

There are clothes and shoes and hats, even wigs, makeup, jewellery, crockery and various other items that had seen better days.

We made it back to our boat in time for Murray's now traditional siesta before dinner and my hair appointment with  the onboard hair stylist who did a great job on washing cutting and straightening my hair despite lacerating his thumb with his previous client. 

Back into the lounge for a chat with some of our new found friends then our entertainment guide comes in to discuss tomorrow's events which for the majority of we tourists will be quite emotional.

We are off to the Australian-French War Museum, Villers-Bretonneux and the Somme Battlefields tomorrow and it is to be an all day experience so our guide talks about the options for travelling and what we will see on the day.

Following on from there is a discussion regarding the impressionists of the 19th. Century including Monet, Renoir, Manet and Van Gogh to name but a few for those who elect an Impressionism Exhibition and museum instead of the First World War component.

Once again, another grandiose dinner is eaten by us all, then it's off to bed for the majority as I don't know about anyone else, but by the end of each day, I am becoming more and more weary.