27th November - the saddest of anniversaries

Most people live long enough to lose someone close. Many people lose the futures they had mapped out for themselves. You will probably relate to my struggles today.

The first time 27 November made itself particularly known to me was the day I gave birth to my first daughter, Aimée in 1989. A vigorous little girl inside me who may have been a lot like me but I will never know. She died as we were waiting in a lift to go up to the operating theatre for an emergency caesarian. I knew at that moment she was gone. It seemed a tenuous psychic link just faded away. No matter how frantically nursing staff hammered on the lift buttons or worked on her aggressively and almost heroically on the table, they had acted far too late. Too much complacency and incompetence at St George's Hospital was carefully hushed up.

We know the medical fraternity closes ranks in situations such as this, to support each other, but there was no support for Aimee and I was left with a lifetime of mourning which I push to the back of my mind most days but which I will never get over. The pain doesn't diminish with time when a child dies.

I so vividly remember being doped up on morphine and having my wheelchair wheeled into the chapel and then the burial site. I went back to that site today to pay respect to that litttle girl and I regret we never got to look into each other's eyes and really see each other, even for a moment.

The wind was very blustery, but as I left Memorial
Park the jam jar of lemon, scented Teasing Georgia roses nodded and stayed put til after I had gone.

Driving home in the car I reflected on a different 27th November. This time it was 2017.

That's the day I left France to return to New Zealand. My dream and seven years of effort up in smoke. It was another mourning where the pain also never diminishes. I had to come back principally because NZ won't let you have your superannuation retirement unless you destroy your new life and relationships to come back to be resident here - just so you then have the right to apply for retirement at age 65.

Having been a tax payer in NZ since the age of 15 I find that rule immoral but there is no getting around government rules, no matter how draconian. You can't stay overseas and apply for it, as you can in more enlightened countries.

Everyday I miss France, knowing I am not where I need to be but lacking the means to do anything about it. I thought I had been given a reprieve earlier this year, when I went back for three months, but it was smoke and mirrors and only deepened the distress I feel. https://francesbigadventure.blogspot.com/2019/08/when-dreams-die-twice-man-behaving-badly.html

These key events in my life are the hardest deaths to manage because they aren't really manageable and it isn't helpful when folks say "Don't look back." The 27th of November is such an important part of my story and who I am that I will not be able to amputate it from my memories. Aimée and my sojourn in France remind me of who I am.

Royal Military College Thiron-Gardais - teaching the art of war.

At last, a historian who puts his money where his mouth is. One of the most popular (and my favourite) French history documentary presenters and authors is Stephane Bern. He has restored The Royal Military Collège at Thiron-Gardais, a commune in the Eure-et-Loir area.

This former 17th century collège had fallen into a bad state and the local municipality asked the State for help. The State approached Bern as he is well- known for promoting the saving of French heritage. He purchased this property in 2013 and set to work engaging artisans to restore  it with the intention of using the main building as his private property, and the military classrooms to be turned into a museum dedicated to the 11 royal and military collèges. It's a unique property which includes the gardens, the college, and Thiron Abbey which is 900 years old. Restoration took two years and considerable resources.

The aim of the collèges, founded by Louis XVI, was to educate the sons of poor noblemen, to prepare them for life and military service, so essentially they were preparatory schools before their graduates went to study further at Paris and later St Cyr. Napoléon Bonaparte went to one of the other military colleges after leaving Corsica but this one seems to have enjoyed success too, Located in the bucolic Perche countryside it was far enough away from civilised tempations to keep the students on site and focussed. Winter weather would have frozen any boy trying to opt out or have naughty trysts.

Parents had to supply quite a list of clothing and equipment for the boarders (see photo). The Revolution put an end to the college's activities. It was later sold to the State, saw several vicissitudes before being rescued by Bern. Happily, between him and the State and the commune, funds were enough to do a full restoration, including 600m2 of roof and 36,000 roof tiles aged to look, well, aged. The roof framing was done without nails or screws, using the old techniques,

The sequoia tree in the front of the property is older than 250 years. It lost 15 m height in the infamous tempest of 1999 but is still keeping on and is still impressive.

The residence is not open to the public but the museum has some interesting information and a reconstructed classroom.

I imagine Stéphane Bern would have created beautiful interiors in this residence, though it's probably not his principal one, He's certainly an expert on them. The extensive gardens are but a shadow of what they were in the middle ages but are still pleasant to stroll.

It's all a bit different to the usual tourist site and quite relaxed. There is an audioguide system but the batteries weren't reliable during our visit so we just amused ourselves as we explored the offerings.

The abbey next door is in a bad way and it's hard to see how enough money can be raised in order to save it. It has some rather interesting old wood mouldings and carvings but pretty much everything needs fixing/replacing.

As I walked over the entrance and through a very ancient door I could smell the centuries of decay. It was all rather sad and I was reminded that so many heritage sites are decaying and there's not enough money to save what is left. Many wonderful things were destroyed in the 17th and 18th centuries, while other were damaged or destroyed in world wars. This village is a wee bit off the beaten track but if you've got a car and love exploring things less touristy this could be an item to pop on your list. So bravo Monsieur Bern, for actually caring enough about the history you present to make a real, and hopefully lasting, difference.

Millau Viaduct - exceptional engineering

It is righly considered as an engineering marvel. To get the best out of this bridge you should pay a toll to cross and then take a guided tour of the bridge.

Before the bridge construction there was considerable traffic congestion and about a 2-hour drive to get from one side of the Tarn to the other by a rather circuitous route.

At a structural height of 343 m, Millau Viaduct is famous as the tallest bridge in the world. It is also renowned for its design, which was considered impossible to construct at its inception, and for being one of the greatest achievements in engineering.

Construction began in October of 2001 and took a little over 3 years - exceptionally efficient for such a large, complicated undertaking. The road deck was constructed on flat land on the north and south sides of the bridge in two large sections. Hydraulic jacks on the tops of the piers were then synchronized to move the entire deck out over the valley in small increments of about 600 mm. 

 Both sides met over the Tarn river. The only exception to this was for the two river spans where the masts and several of the stays were erected on land  before finally joining the completed bridge.

During the guided tour we saw the cable bundles and watched a demonstration of how the hydraulics worked to slide the spans into position. Very impressive, using cantilever principles. Aside from the fact it's a very necessary and practical solution to access to the area, especially Millau township, it's a beautiful construction which looks particularly ethereal when there is low cloud.

While waiting for the tour we watched some local folk dancers entertaining visitors. After the tour we spent one night in the town before heading south towards Carcassone.  You can access Millau from the Gorges du Tarn in the North or from Toulouse or Carcassone in the South.

http://www.highestbridges.com/wiki/index.php%3Ftitle%3DMillau_Viaduct  

Arles - worth the effort.

Arles is a city located on the Rhône River, north of the Camargue Delta in Southern France. It's not far from Avignon and Saint-Remy de Provence.

Arles was etablished by the Ligurians around 800 BC and then became an important Phoenician trading port before being taken over by the Romans in 123 BC. From then on it became an important city. Roman emperors frequently used it as their headquarters for military campaigns in the 4th and 5th centuries.

After the fall of the Roman Empire  Arles'  magnificence faded and many buildings lay in ruins. It was constantly playing second cousin to Marseilles.

Today the city is famous for the Roman vestiges which still remain. It did still survive as a port but when the railway arrived in the 19th century that was pretty much IT. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site for it's amphitheatre, Gallo-Roman theatre, and aqueduct remains.

Vincent Van Gogh arrived there 21 February 1888 and completed several important paintings there before the infamous ear-slicing incident, after which the painter was obliged to take himself off to the asylum at Saint-Remy de Provence.

I took an instant like to the city as soon as I saw it on the other bank of the Rhône. So provencal with it's stone buildings with tiled roofs. It also seemed clean, especially the arena. Although it is incomplete now (like the Coliseum in Rome) it has kept its presence. I had a light dinner in a cafe just in front of the arena, marvelling how I could be there and looking out on a monument that had been there 2000 years, it having seen so much history.

Later I strolled past the Gallo-Roman theatre remains where a multimedia outdoor theatre presentation was going on. I couldn't get in to see the show baut later found myself sharing the footpath with several 'gladiators' and Roman citizens who were making their way home after starring in the spectacle. So cool, so casual - all in a day's work in Arles.

Cities of this age usually present little details of interest if you pay attention and I was not disappointed; shop signs, doorways, markets and shutters all lent their charm. Wander the backstreets and discover some for yourself.

An international photography festival has been held at Arles since 1970.

Bullfights (fatal and non-fatal for the bulls) are still presented in the arena.

Watch out for the Mistral wind which loves to scream through this area of France making you clutch your belongings closely to your body and to hurry home. For me it was the only disagreeable thing about Arles but the wind blows all along the coast at the end of summer so there's no escaping it.