Happy Thanksgiving! It was a warm and balmy day here on Sao Vicente Island off the west coast of Africa, 86 degrees and sunny. Cape Verde is an archipelago and island country in the central Atlantic Ocean, consisting of ten volcanic islands. Sao Vicente, where we are moored, is one of the islands. For a point of reference, it’s about 85 square miles and has a population of around 76,000 people. 92% of the island population lives in Mindelo on the Porto Grande Bay, a caldera (a large depression formed when a volcano erupts and collapses) that was filled by the ocean.

According to David, our tour director for today, Portugal originally colonized the Cape Verde Islands in 1462. For many years Cape Verde was a Portuguese colony, then an overseas province, but in 1975 the country gained its independence. The official language and much of the architecture is Portuguese, but they mostly speak Cape Verdean Creole, a combination of African languages with some European languages thrown in.

The largest problem in Sao Vicente is lack of rainfall. In Mindelo they only get about 5 inches of rain in a year, so it is extremely dry. They have to desalinize water from the ocean for drinking and household usage. It’s a beautiful country, yet so isolated. All travel is by ferry or by plane. Only about 15% of the population own cars, so they travel around the island on mini-buses and taxis.

Our tour today was a mini-bus ride to the top of Monte Verde, the highest point on the island, then to the beach and around the other side of the island. Mostly tame stuff except for the the ride up and back down the mountain, which was more than a little hairy. At the top of the mountain, David offered us a shot of Grogue, which is a strong cane juice rum made only in the Cape Verde Archipelago. I guess he was trying to calm our nerves after the mini-bus ride. I looked it up and the word grogue is derived from the English word grog.

Our fellow travelers outdid themselves today by asking David what must have been his top five stupid questions of all time: 1. Do you generate your own electricity on the island? 2. How deep is the water in the bay? 3. Do you have to import things to the island? 4. Is this road only one way? (see the steep cobblestone road in the top middle picture) 5. Is there a toilet here? (at a stop on the way down on the side of the steep mountain with no buildings in sight). And as a topper, when we got back to the ship and everyone was hot and sweaty after being on a un-air conditioned bus with tiny hard seats for 3 hours, a lady stopped David from letting us off by asking what the Cape Verde flag symbolizes. Really, lady, you haven’t met Mr. Google? Who cares? And bless David’s heart, he gave us a cursory lesson on the flag, even though no one else but the one lady was listening.

Since we are on a ship making a Transatlantic crossing, we have several days at sea. Today is one of them. We are headed to Sao Vicente Island, Cape Verde, off the western coast of Africa.

Nothing much happens on days at sea, although they try hard to provide entertainment. For instance, beginning at 8 AM today’s schedule includes the following: a corn hole tournament, a crafter’s corner (I guess people get together and knit?), a lecture titled “History of West Africa,” a Tanzanite Seminar (probably to hawk jewelry), a Ship Building Class (I am assuming a model ship), Future Cruises Presentation (assumably to hawk future cruises), Team Trivia, Social Bridge (not to be confused with antisocial bridge), a Wine Tasting (more than likely to hawk wine), an Origami Workshop (back by popular demand), Viking Jupiter Choir (where you learn a fun song), a Mini Golf Tournament, an Afternoon Tea, another lecture titled “Maiden Voyages,” yet another lecture titled, “Mars–It Does Take a Rocket Scientist,” a film of the Metropolitan Opera’s “The Magic Flute” in the theatre (sounds like a bit of a snoozefest), and finally, “Dancing Under the Stars” with a live band at 8:45, followed by live music in the ship’s night club, Torshavn until midnight. Oh, yeah, and a BBQ on the pool deck at 6:30. Good heavens.

We went to live show in the theatre last night. Tom Lowe, billed as a West End Star (England’s Broadway), was starring in his one man show, “A Song for You.” He was apparently also a runner-up on maybe season six of American Idol. Maybe we didn’t give him a chance, but his songs were a bit lounge-lizard. He probably has to tailor his repertoire for the older crowd, so that might have been part of it. I would have stayed for a few more songs, but after he butchered Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, Doug was out of there.

In the public restrooms, they have a recording of nature and outdoor sounds, like birds chirping, children playing, toads croaking, etc. One of them sounds almost like a rowing crew on a river, softly talking. It’s a little unnerving at times, particularly the frogs. Some of the sounds make you wonder who is in there with you and what the heck they are doing.

We haven’t made any friends on this ship, so I am reduced to eavesdropping. You can sit at a table for four or six with someone different every night at dinner, but I find that exhausting, so we usually ask for a two-top. Last night there was a six top next to us with three couples who had never met. One of the men pretty much dominated the conversation the entire evening. He talked loudly (probably hard of hearing), and prefaced every few sentences with, “Now that’s another interesting story.” Then he launched into a monologue where he was the main character in the “interesting” story. I guess it was of interest to him. At first his wife laughed hilariously at his stories, but by the end she looked bored and fed up.

I was trying to use a line from Casablanca in my title, and that’s all I could come up with on short notice. And we were just in Paris, so it kind of works. The movie Casablanca wasn’t even filmed in Casablanca. It was filmed in 1942 on the Warner Brothers set in Burbank, California with some scenes shot at the Van Nuys Airport. According to Husain, our tour guide for today, there is a popular restaurant here called Rick’s Casablanca, which was opened by an American on March 1, 2004. The place was designed to exactly replicate the bar made famous by the movie. Well, actually to replicate the bar made famous on the famous movie set, or something like that.

Casablanca is the largest city in Morocco with a population of about 4 million people, so it would take more than the one day we had to spend here to get a real feel for it. It’s definitely a multicultural city, with the children learning Arabic, French, Berber and English. When we lived in South Carolina we had a friend from Morocco, and he spoke Arabic, French and English. Not sure about Berber. We certainly don’t teach languages on that level in the US.

One of things we saw today was the Hassan II Mosque, which is the largest functioning mosque in Africa and is the 14th largest in the world. The minaret is 60 stories high. To give you an idea of the scale of the mosque, the prayer hall can accommodate 25,000 people, with a possibility of 85,000 being outside on the grounds. So, needless to say, it’s quite large.

We also walked through the Medina, or old town, near the port. The Medina is essentially a large bazaar, where you can buy spices, leather goods, shoes, linen, fish, seafood, vegetables, flowers and so forth.

Next up on our whirlwind tour was the Royal Palace of Casablanca, which was built in the 1920’s and is the main residence of the King of Morocco, Mohammed VI. A weird thing happened in front of the palace. There were several guards with different types of uniforms at the entrance and on the grounds, but the one who seemed to be in charge was a large, imposing man in a black uniform with red trim and a red beret. I looked it up, and I think he was a member of the Royal Guard, because a red beret is part of their uniform. (We were instructed to not take pictures of them, and believe me, I would have been scared to try it). So, Husain was rambling on about the architecture, etc. when the guard yelled at him something mean sounding in Arabic. Then he came up to Husain and Alef (Husain’s sidekick) and a loud argument ensued. Eventually, we found out that he simply wanted us to move along so other people could enter the courtyard. For a minute there, I thought someone was going to be thrown into the royal jail.

I know it sounds both strange and ironic, but our tour guide, Husain, was blind. His young assistant, Alif, led him around and told him when there was a step, a hole, etc. So, each time Alif gave Husain instructions, he would repeat them to us as in, watch out for that step, be careful of that hole, there’s a bump right here. It sounds kind of annoying, but it was really rather sweet to see the good care Alif took of Husain.

Several of our female fellow travelers asked Husain some pressing questions about how Muslim women are treated in Morocco and he seemed a little bit defensive about the subject. He mentioned that women are not allowed to sit outside at cafes and when one woman questioned that, he said they did not like to sit outside anyway. Also, he said that although polygamy in Morocco is still legal, it is very uncommon due to restrictions that were introduced by the government in 2004 that mandated financial qualifications a husband must meet in order to marry a second wife. Now a husband must have written permission from his current wife before marrying a second wife and be able to provide proper household and financial support for both wives and the children of both wives. Then Husain declared proudly that he has only one wife and three children, unlike his father. Some things run deep.

Last night when we were going through the Strait of Gibraltar, Doug was out on the deck and said, “Ann, come look! It’s the Rock of Gibraltar!” So, I raced out there to look and cracked my knee on the low wood-like table. But, don’t worry. I didn’t get too upset. I was a like the rock of Gibraltar.

So, another day, another bus ride. We are at port in Malaga, Spain, which lies in Southern Iberia on the Costa del Sol (“Coast of the Sun”) of the Mediterranean.

Our bus ride was about an hour and half northeast to Alhambra, a palace and fortress of the Moorish monarchs of Granada. The name Alhambra, signifying in Arabic “the red,” was derived from the reddish color of the tapia, a building material made of clay of which the outer walls were built. It is one of the most famous monuments of Islamic architecture and one of the best-preserved palaces of the historic Islamic world. We listened to a several hour lecture about Alhambra, Spain, the Muslims, the Catholics and so forth from our tour guide, Maria, but I will spare you the details. The history is super confusing, but the place was quite beautiful.

So Alhambra is huge–about 35 acres total. Part of the tour was the gardens and the other part was the castle. All the way up to Alhambra, Maria went over and over how we had to stick together, we must show our passports to get into the castle, blah, blah, blah. We were honestly getting pretty sick of hearing it by the time we got there. Everything went pretty well until we entered the castle grounds, and Maria discovered we were missing just one person. There were supposed to be 30, but there were only 29. When Maria counted, she freaked out and said, “Someone is missing!” A guy in an ugly long-sleeved acid green shirt (a crew neck, not even a quarter zip) said loudly, “Yes, it’s my wife!” Maria screeched, “Where is she?” He answered, “I don’t know! I thought she was right by me!” Okay, what a weird scene. The guy just lost his wife? He didn’t know what happened to her? Maria and the guy went out of the gate (remember, it was a big deal to get in there with passports) and were gone about 15 minutes. When they came back, they hadn’t found his wife and we continued the tour as if nothing had ever happened. It was kind of like, nope, didn’t find her. Oh, well. Those are the breaks. We were in the castle over an hour and she did finally turn up later on the bus. No idea where she was that entire time. Possibly kidnapped. I would have been hopping mad if Doug had left me outside the castle walls and blithely continued the tour, but maybe that’s just me.

Tonight we are headed through the Strait of Gibraltar, and we arrive in Casablanca, Morocco tomorrow morning about 10 AM. I didn’t remember my geography that well, so I had to look up Strait of Gibraltar for a refresher course. For those of you in the same boat (not literally), it is a narrow strait that connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea and separates Europe from Africa. The captain of the ship said we should get there by 10 PM, depending on the traffic. Yes, that is what he said, so I guess the traffic to the Strait of Gibraltar can be pretty brutal.

Some notes: For a mental picture of Maria, she was a large-boned tall woman with short, dark hair and a commanding voice. She said “muy bien” (very well) about 60 times today. She also went on and on gushing about Antonio Banderas, who was born in Malaga. On another vein, last night at dinner on the ship we saw a an older guy (65-ish?) and a much younger woman (29-ish?) eating dinner. On the way out they stopped by a table near us and he introduced her as his girlfriend to another couple. Okay. Then he told them that they had met at the launderette. Nope, that never happened.

So, there we were this morning on yet another bus, driving through Barcelona to reach the Montserrat Monastery just thirty miles northwest of the city. As my mother always said, some people are just gluttons for punishment. The Benedictine Monastery, which was founded in the 11th century, houses the Virgin of Montserrat, one of the most famous Madonna statues in the world. In 1844 Pope Leo XIII declared the Virgin of Montserrat the patroness of Catalonia, so that’s pretty cool. The most notable thing about the monastery is the setting on the top of a range of jagged mountains–Montserrat literally translates to serrated mountains. Our tour guide, Olga, said the word “serrated” at least 20 times before I stopped counting. Olga also said the mountains were “steepy.”

The Madonna statue sits behind a sheet of glass. However, one of her hands is holding a sphere (which symbolises the universe) and is not behind the glass. It is tradition for you to touch the Virgin’s hand when you pass by the statue so that is, of course, what we did.

Spain is made up of 17 autonomous regions known as ‘Comunidades Autónomas’. Catalonia, where Barcelona is, is one of the regions. Catalan’s have their own language and culture, and if the rest of them are anything like Olga, they can’t stand the Spanish government. In 2017, Catalonia leaders made a bid to secede from Spain. Nine of the 12 accused received prison sentences for the crimes of sedition; of them, four were also found guilty of misuse of public funds. Their sentences ranged from 9 to 13 years. So, just what we needed. More talk about contentious politics while on vacation.

When we were driving through Barcelona, Doug took this picture of the iconic Christopher Columbus statue built in 1888. Columbus is supposed to be pointing towards the New World, America, but he is actually pointing towards Algeria. The most accepted reason for this is that at the time, it was thought that it wouldn’t be appropriate, or aesthetically pleasing, to have Columbus pointing at the ground and not towards the sea.

One of the things I have noticed when cruising is that people who are trying to be friendly (or boastful) ask the same questions: Where are you from? (basic question); Have you traveled on this cruise line before? (yes). Where did you go? (trick question). This final question is the one that turns everything into a one-upmanship contest. Someone can always top you on how many times they have been to Barcelona, how many cruises they have taken, blah, blah, blah. I haven’t yet come up with a pithy-shut-it-down comeback, but I am open to all suggestions.

Yesterday we rode a high speed train from Paris to Barcelona. The train goes about 186 miles per hour, which is absolutely dizzying when you look out the windows. The distance was 643 miles, but we made several stops, so the entire trip took just a bit over six hours. The most difficult part of the trip was navigating the Paris-Gare-de-Lyon and actually finding our train. Good Lord in Heaven. People who got on the train who could actually speak French were even having problems. The good thing about the French is they are quite laissez-faire. There just doesn’t seem to be many rules. The bad thing is that they we are used to rules and keep thinking we may be doing something wrong. Like yesterday. We had three suitcases and it was not clear at all where we should stow them. The actual luggage racks were small and inadequate and already filled up, so we ended up leaving two of them in a really awkward and in the way place. No one noticed, commented or cared. In the US you would get chastised for such behavior.

Below is a picture of the train station. Full disclosure: it was too early and dark when we got there, so I did not take this.

Last night in Barcelona we stayed on Las Ramblas, the main promenade of the city that runs between the Plaza de Catalunya and the old port. The promenade is full of people all day until late at night. It is dotted with newsstands, flowers, an open air market, street actors, cafes and shops. We went to Bar Lobo’s Tapas restaurant and had their delicious delicious fried aubergine with drizzled honey. Of course, I had to embarrass myself by asking what aubergine was (it’s eggplant to us). By the way, we got up super early and it was as hot as Hades for the six hours we were on the train, so as you note, l was looking (and feeling) pretty ragged last night.

Today we boarded our ship, the Viking Jupiter, at the port. This ship has the capacity for 930 people as compared to 190 people on the river cruise, so there is more anonymity here, which is fine by me. Actually, I asked and 800 people are on this ship.

On the last night on the river cruise, our ever-cheerful cruise director, Jerome, (who should be an actor) listed the top ten dumb things he has been asked by passengers. I can’t remember all of them, but a few of the funniest were: 1. “Do you have to get off the boat to go on a shore excursion?” 2. Do these stairs go up or down?” 3. “Is the water in the toilets from the river?” And 4. “Does the crew live on board?” I love the stairs question. Who doesn’t know that the nature of stairs is to go both up and down?

Catchy headline, but we were coming back to Paris anyway. Jerome, the cruise director, met Franz, the guy who found the phone, somewhere close to where our boat moored in Paris tonight and wonder of all wonders, Doug is now in possession of his phone. What are the odds of dropping a phone in the street in a small town in France and actually coming in to possession of it again in Paris? Doug is ecstatic, but I am pretty thrilled as well. He has been annoyingly using my phone to take pictures for the past four days. I gave him the security code, but he doesn’t always want to bother so he sticks the phone right in my face for face recognition, which drives me nuts. I would have grabbed it from him and thrown it into the Seine, but that would have only made our situation worse.

Today we visited Napoleon’s Chateau Malmaison, the translation being “evil house.” The French version sounds much more poetic, doesn’t it? Malmaison was the home of Josephine and Napoleon until he divorced her in 1809 because she did not produce any heirs. Josephine continued to live in the house until she died in 1814, and she still maintained the title of Empress Josephine.

Our tour guide was a tiny, birdlike little woman named something like Coco with a funny way of using various expressions. For instance, she said that Napoleon didn’t care for Paris because it was too “crappy.” So, in 1804 when he crowned himself Emperor, he began a series of improvements to the city’s sewer and water supply. Coco obviously meant that Paris was literally crappy, because before Napoleon there was raw sewage in the street. Coco also said that Napoleon liked his women “smelly” and didn’t like Josephine to bathe. Make of that what you will.

About half of the furniture is original to the house and the other half is original to the time period, but not necessarily to the house. The red tented bed is actually Josephine’s bed, and the harp and piano are original. I kind of lost the thread after that because many of the rooms were small and stuffy and we were crammed into them, so it made it hard to focus on what Coco was on about. I was fascinated by the red velvet chairs with the white swan arms. Notice that swans are also woven into the carpet. The swan motif shows up again on Josephine’s bed and several other places, so I guess she had a thing about swans.

When Doug lost his phone and Jerome tried to help him find it in Auvres, it delayed our bus and I got a lot of dirty looks and sighs from our fellow travelers. Today, Doug failed to get on the bus at exactly the right minute it was due to leave, and I turned around and said to our fellow travelers, “So sorry, all.” Silence and more dirty looks. I have vowed to myself that I will never, ever act like a crotchety old person. I give my daughters full authority to warn me if I show any signs.

This our last night on the river cruise. Tomorrow morning, we get up bright and early to catch a cab to the train station, where we will hop on a high speed train to Barcelona. So we must say au revoir to our shipboard friends, Laurel and Kevin (Florida) and Sherrie and Fred (Texas). Oh, and new friends tonight from DC, Yasmin and Hussein. We all exchanged phone numbers, so we will see how that works out. There are also some people on board who I am glad I don’t have to see again, so I say “Bon debarras” to them.

Coming into Paris tonight:

After the long, grinding day yesterday, today has been quiet and relaxing. Les Andelys is a small town in Normandy with a population of about 7,000 people. It’s most notable sight is the Château Gaillard, a medieval castle sitting on a hill high above the city. The Château, which is in ruins, was built in 1196 by Richard I, King of England and feudal Duke of Normandy. Or so they say. I didn’t walk up the hill because it was so steep. Doug took some pictures.

The other excitement of the day was that this morning, we had a cooking class by the chef on how to make Tarte au Citron, or lemon tart. The chef declared them quite easy to make, but of course he was trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. The difficultly level was out of my wheelhouse, but I did save the recipe if anyone is interested (Mary?). I did learn a new cooking term, “blind baking,” which is simply pre-baking the crust before you fill it. He also told a funny story about a lady who complained that the microwave didn’t work in her stateroom when she tried to heat up some soup. There are no microwaves in the staterooms, so they decided she was trying to heat her soup in the in-room safe. Does not surprise me at all.

One thing I forgot to mention yesterday was Bob’s story, one of our fellow travelers. His father was on Normandy Beach on D-Day, his grandfather was in WWI and his great grandfather was in the Spanish American War. Bob was in the Navy but did not see combat. He was probably in his late seventies, and visiting Normandy Beach was on his bucket list. I thought it was pretty cool that he was able to travel all of this way to see it.

So, we now have four shipboard friends that we will probably never see again after Tuesday: Laurel and Kevin (Florida), and Sherrie and Fred (Texas). Laurel and I went browsing today in some of the little shops in town and she told me that she and Kevin would like to visit us sometime in Georgia. She rambles, so it was something like “We would love to visit you all sometime in Georgia because Kevin and I both really like you all. That is, if you want us to. Kevin is really a lot of fun.” It kind of took me off guard, so I just smiled and nodded. She is quite endearing, but she talks nonstop. And I do mean nonstop.

Extra stuff: All of the tour guides in these small towns say that most of the people who live in them commute to Paris for work. I believe it because the towns are mostly deserted during the day. There are commuter trains in most of the towns. Tomorrow is the day that Doug supposedly gets his phone back from Franz, the honest phone guy. Will keep you posted. And finally, after some serious eavesdropping on my part, we met two couples from Kansas City tonight who have a second home in Sunrise Beach. They were kind of loud, so were probably from the Kansas City, Kansas side.

What a long and sobering day. For some reason, it didn’t occur to us until a couple of days ago that we would be visiting Normandy Beach on Veteran’s Day, or Armistice Day as they refer to it here. It was about two hours by bus to get to the English Channel from Rouen. First, we visited the Overlord Museum in Colleville-sur-Mer. They had one of the original Enigma machines, which the Nazis used extensively to code their messages. It made me want to rewatch the movie “The Imitation Game,” about Alan Turing, the Englishman who played a crucial role in cracking intercepted coded messages from the Germans. There are only about 300 of these machines left, mostly in museums.

After that, we visited the American Cemetery and Memorial which contains the graves of 9,388 Americans, and nearly 1,600 names on the Walls of the Missing, most of whom lost their lives in the D-Day landings and ensuing operations. I cannot even begin to describe what visiting it was like. The cemetery sits on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach and is run by the American Battle Monuments Commission. Because it is Armistice Day, they had a ceremony for those of us visiting from America, which included a salute to the flag and singing the Star Spangled Banner accompanied by bells. Then they played taps and we had a minute of silence. I felt like sobbing. It makes me tear up just to write about it now.

After that we went to Omaha Beach and walked out on the beach. What I didn’t realize was how huge the beach is and how far the soldiers had to walk with all of their heavy equipment to reach cover. We walked down on the beach, but never even got close to the water. People who were walking out by the water looked tiny. It was low tide, but it was still just epic in scale.

Well, the jury is in and river cruises are really, really up close and personal for me. A lot of people are extremely nice, but it seems you keep seeing some of the same annoying people everywhere. For instance, L.J., who I alternately felt irritated with and sorry for all day. He and his wife, maybe Michelle? sat in front of us on the bus and he slammed his seat back in a reclining position so hard that he almost broke my left knee cap. Also, he made it completely known that his lunch at the museum was awful. But then he had a medical emergency at the cemetery and they had to call an ambulance. So I was nice to him after that and (oh, crap!) he and his wife, maybe Michelle, sat with us at dinner. Again, complaining loudly about the food and the service. Good Lord. Then, he mentioned his medical emergency and told his wife he hoped the cancer wasn’t back. Awkward moment for sure. Doug and I looked at each other and raised our eyebrows, but I think we both decided not to touch that with a ten foot pole. They are from Louisiana and he speaks with a Cajun accent. I think he may be slightly crazy. His eyes seem a bit unfocused.

Full disclosure: I brought only layers, so that is why my stupid white vest keeps showing up in pictures. It is one of my layers. L.J.’s medical emergency was that he got off the bus and was reeling around like he was about to fall down, as if his legs were not working at all. Pretty scary. I have not mentioned this to anyone here, but you all don’t even know L.J. So I think it is okay to tell you. Finally, I forgot to add a picture of Rouen yesterday of a restaurant where Julia Child was supposed to have had her first meal in France. Lovely place.

First, an update on the amazing saga of Doug’s lost phone. A guy who works in Auvers where we were yesterday (64 miles from where we are now) found Doug’s phone on the street this morning. He lives in Paris, so he took the phone back to his apartment, hoping he could find the owner and someone would contact him. Doug figured out that you can mark your phone as lost, then activate a message to have the person who finds it contact you, so he sent a message that included my phone number. Wonder of wonders, the guy just called! Of course he spoke only French, so Doug raced down to the desk. Jerome, the cruise director talked to the guy and arranged a time to get the phone when we get back into port in Paris on Monday. So, we will see if miracles can happen and we actually retrieve the missing phone.

This morning we arrived in Rouen, where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. Before we arrived, our cruise director, Jerome, performed, I mean narrated, a lecture about her tragic story. In a nutshell, Joan had some farfetched dream visions and single-handedly saved France from the English. If it had not have been for her, the entire world, including the United States, could have been under the heavy hand of British Imperialism. For her troubles she was burned at the stake for heresy and her ashes were thrown into the Seine. She was only 19 years old. She was canonized in 1920, almost 500 years after she died. There was no Q&A after the lecture, but I wanted to point out that although Joan of Arc was probably an admirable person, the United States actually fought the Revolutionary War to free our country from British rule.

After lunch we went on a walking tour of Rouen which included Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Rouen, where our tour guide, Marie Helene, pointed out where Joan of Arc was buried. Wait, I thought her remains were thrown into the Seine River? I didn’t ask at risk of sounding like a smarty pants. Richard the Lionheart had a tomb there as well, but they only buried his heart there to commemorate his love of Normandy. They buried the remainder of his body in Anjou.

In case you are wondering why there is a church called Notre Dame in Rouen, there are actually 37 churches with the name Notre Dame, or “Our Lady,” in France. Of course, we only think of the Notre Dame in Paris. So far, we have seen two churches named Notre Dame, but not the one in in Paris.

We also walked by the Gros Horloge, a Renaissance building which spans the road below by means of a lowered arch. There is a 14th century astronomical clock face on each side of the arch, where a single hand indicates the hour. Marie Helene said that under the number VI, a divinity associated with the day of the week appears on a triumphal chariot. Yeah, I didn’t understand what she was saying either, but it is pretty. See below:

Surprisingly, Laurel and Kevin are kind of growing on me. I have never met anyone quite like Laurel. She is a complete open book. Everything she is thinking just spills out of her mouth like so many colorful gum balls, and it can actually be quite entertaining. Kevin is a lovable nerd who doesn’t seem to have too many inhibitions. At lunch yesterday he showed one of the waiters how to do the Funky Chicken. Comedy gold for sure.