We had passed through the Lorraine region of France last fall, in a late afternoon dash from Champagne to a reserved hotel in Strasbourg (Funny side note: I was looking forward to visiting Strasbourg's castle on the hill and was crushed when we arrived and J realized I had confused Strasbourg with Salzberg, Austria). Because of poor planning on my part, the drive to Strasbourg had taken much longer than I anticipated and we ended up departing France without spending any time in Lorraine proper. After Dublin, we had a free weekend before the Ducasse de Mons, and I was determined to return to Lorraine for a slice of the famous quiche. And perhaps some sightseeing.
We booked a hotel just north of Metz, France and drove down on a dreary Saturday morning, stopping first at the Lorraine American Cemetery and Memorial (http://www.abmc.gov/cemeteries/cemeteries/lo.php), the largest American WWII cemetery in France. From there, we proceeded to the heart of Metz to visit a chapel built by the Knights Templar followed by a trip to the magnificent cathedral in the center of the city. The weekend of our visit Metz was host to a modern art exhibition and several of our stops housed works including Anthony McCall's Line Describing a Cone (http://www.anthonymccall.com/pg1.html), which I had never heard of but was glad to play in and around. We noticed at least one tourist restaurant advertising "Quiche Lorraine" but I passed, determined to search out a more authentic experience. As we were leaving Metz, we noticed a number of Johnny Halliday (who we had heard described as an "aging rocker" of whom the French just can't get enough in a library book about France) t-shirts. Later in the evening we saw a bit of French news covering what turned out to be a Johnny Halliday concert in Metz, explaining the massive backup of traffic coming into Metz as we drove north to our hotel.
The hotel was pleasant enough. It appeared to be run by a French family and though they spoke little German and less English, we were able to successfully check in and then ventured out in search of quiche. We asked one of the hotel staff and after a valiant effort by my wife, we understood the French equivalent of "Quiche Lorraine? Not around here. You have to go south to Metz, or even to Nancy (another city farther south)". A bit disappointed and tired, we decided to skip dinner and play a bit of cribbage in the hotel bar. We had been told to be sure to sample French apple cider, so we inquired of the barman and after a bit of confusion successful communication was achieved and we selected a table and sat down. We were surprised and amused when the waiter walked up with two bottles of fruit juice which we drank, happy to at least have something. After splitting a pair of games we decided on early to bed to allow an early start for Sunday's adventures.
As we left the bar, we ran into a tuxedoed-and-gowned newlywed couple just arriving for their reception, and so the music began. In our room on the third floor, the throbbing disco beats were still going at 3AM, when I woke and realized the hotel room included an additional door to the bedchamber. I closed it and the music was muted enough to allow better sleep until morning. There had been an English wedding reception in our hotel on the Saturday night we spent as part of the Medieval England tour, so we now feel we have well-rounded experience when it comes to European wedding receptions.
The morning came and we descended on a delightful French breakfast of coffee, baguettes, and plateau de fromages (cheese plate, including yoghurt). The agitation (agita for short in our house) began when I had forgotten to print off the online hotel booking receipt stating breakfast was included. No problem, just a few extra Euros. Then we got in the car and I remembered I needed to get gas. No problem, just look up gas stations on the GPS and voila, here is one less than 2km away. Except the GPS was wrong: we found no station. No problem, another lookup and here is another one right off the freeway in the direction we were planning to go.
We booked a hotel just north of Metz, France and drove down on a dreary Saturday morning, stopping first at the Lorraine American Cemetery and Memorial (http://www.abmc.gov/cemeteries/cemeteries/lo.php), the largest American WWII cemetery in France. From there, we proceeded to the heart of Metz to visit a chapel built by the Knights Templar followed by a trip to the magnificent cathedral in the center of the city. The weekend of our visit Metz was host to a modern art exhibition and several of our stops housed works including Anthony McCall's Line Describing a Cone (http://www.anthonymccall.com/pg1.html), which I had never heard of but was glad to play in and around. We noticed at least one tourist restaurant advertising "Quiche Lorraine" but I passed, determined to search out a more authentic experience. As we were leaving Metz, we noticed a number of Johnny Halliday (who we had heard described as an "aging rocker" of whom the French just can't get enough in a library book about France) t-shirts. Later in the evening we saw a bit of French news covering what turned out to be a Johnny Halliday concert in Metz, explaining the massive backup of traffic coming into Metz as we drove north to our hotel.
The hotel was pleasant enough. It appeared to be run by a French family and though they spoke little German and less English, we were able to successfully check in and then ventured out in search of quiche. We asked one of the hotel staff and after a valiant effort by my wife, we understood the French equivalent of "Quiche Lorraine? Not around here. You have to go south to Metz, or even to Nancy (another city farther south)". A bit disappointed and tired, we decided to skip dinner and play a bit of cribbage in the hotel bar. We had been told to be sure to sample French apple cider, so we inquired of the barman and after a bit of confusion successful communication was achieved and we selected a table and sat down. We were surprised and amused when the waiter walked up with two bottles of fruit juice which we drank, happy to at least have something. After splitting a pair of games we decided on early to bed to allow an early start for Sunday's adventures.
As we left the bar, we ran into a tuxedoed-and-gowned newlywed couple just arriving for their reception, and so the music began. In our room on the third floor, the throbbing disco beats were still going at 3AM, when I woke and realized the hotel room included an additional door to the bedchamber. I closed it and the music was muted enough to allow better sleep until morning. There had been an English wedding reception in our hotel on the Saturday night we spent as part of the Medieval England tour, so we now feel we have well-rounded experience when it comes to European wedding receptions.
The morning came and we descended on a delightful French breakfast of coffee, baguettes, and plateau de fromages (cheese plate, including yoghurt). The agitation (agita for short in our house) began when I had forgotten to print off the online hotel booking receipt stating breakfast was included. No problem, just a few extra Euros. Then we got in the car and I remembered I needed to get gas. No problem, just look up gas stations on the GPS and voila, here is one less than 2km away. Except the GPS was wrong: we found no station. No problem, another lookup and here is another one right off the freeway in the direction we were planning to go.
Pull off, try one debit card, then the second. Then two credit cards...hmmm the card reader only works with the Euro MasterCard or the Euro-centric "Mister Cash". At this point the gas needle is getting concerningly low and the copilot is decidedly not impressed. I begin to get a sinking feeling that is unfortunately familiar and I flashback to the ill-fated Strasbourg/Salzberg trip where we nearly ran out of gas since most local stations are closed on Sundays in France. Another motorist pulled up and I was considering an ill-fated attempt to barter my 50 Euro note for use of their bankcard but my request for a second opinion on this course of action was met by clenched teeth, then a polite reminder that a toddler spoke better French than both of us combined. Oh, I neglected to mention that the skies had opened in a torrential downpour by this time.
The GPS pointed us to a Total station less than 6km away and onward we drove, with me subtlely (and cleverly) shifting into neutral whenever possible. Praying and guided by the GPS, we entered a friendly industrial area next to a large decaying factory and with my heart beating ever more rapidly, finally came in sight of the promised station which--joy of joys--was staffed by a human attendant.
The GPS pointed us to a Total station less than 6km away and onward we drove, with me subtlely (and cleverly) shifting into neutral whenever possible. Praying and guided by the GPS, we entered a friendly industrial area next to a large decaying factory and with my heart beating ever more rapidly, finally came in sight of the promised station which--joy of joys--was staffed by a human attendant.
 A 50 Euro note and one penny later and our thirst for fossil fuels was sated. We all learned an important lesson that day, which is helpful because I had obviously not been taking good notes the last time this particular lesson was taught. With thanks to God and industrialized petrochemical distribution, we ventured southwest into the heart of Lorraine in search of quiche and a view. |
2 comments:
Very funny seeing it from your point of view! Hilarious, actually! Glad everything worked out!
Dane, loved reading the story from "the driver's side". Did you ever find the perfect quiche Lorraine?
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