Old Roman Bridge, Along the Riviera, France
My husband’s Aunt Carolyn bicycled in France in the summer of 1953. The following is an excerpt from her memoir about the trip.Following my pleasant experiences bicycling in Ireland (see post for 7/29/13), I decided to try France, Italy, and Switzerland in the same way the following summer. The hostel group landed at Cherbourg, and after preliminaries at Customs, we began our journey through Normandy and quaint Brittany.
American Memorial Cemetery, Normandy, France
From the city of Avranches, we saw Mont St. Michel, perched high on a granite rock, an island at high tide. We crossed the causeway at low tide to the village at sea level. Then we began the climb up the rocky trail to the church at the top, rising 500 feet above the village. Later, back at the village, we paused for the famous omelettes at Madam Poulard’s, cooked over an open fireplace.
Two French boys in grain field
Along the beautiful Loire Valley, we saw many famous old chateaux: Amboise, Chenonceaux, and Chaumont. I lost the group in Amboise and found my college French was not adequate to communicate. I did get the attention of a gendarme directing traffic, mainly, as he pointed out, because I was riding the wrong way on a one-way street! I soon overtook my friends.
Amboise Cathedral
From Tours, we took a train to the Riviera. Riding along the beautiful coast road was very warm, so occasionally we stopped for a quick change and a dip in the sea.
Beach at Cannes
We continued on from Cannes to Nice to Monte Carlo, where again I got lost, but my French had improved by this time. Finally, together again, we crossed the French-Italian border–all downhill riding. We checked our bicycles to Venice for storage and continued by train to Rome.
Boarding the train
After touring Rome, Florence, Venice and Switzerland, we returned to Paris. Joan, my roommate, and I bought a paperback, “Paris on Foot.” That was a lucky purchase as it divided the city into areas which could be seen by foot in one day. We covered every area of the city during the week and also learned to ride the Metro.
Boulevard St. Michele, Paris
We met another hosteler one evening, and he escorted us to a bistro where we joined in the singing with the locals. We were wide-eyed at one middle-aged gentleman (probably an American) who had too much wine. Two French girls, who had been playing up to him, helped him stagger from the room. The girls came back a short time later, and we felt sure they had his bank roll.
Flower seller, Paris
Can you imagine riding a bicycle across the Place de la Concorde? Traffic was with an “I don’t care attitude,” whizzing around the great circle. The traffic gave me pause for a minute, but we were on our way to the boat train and home. We made it.Perhaps the original intrepid tourist was Carolyn Arnold, my husband’s aunt. A single school teacher in Des Moines, she began traveling abroad when she was in her forties, beginning with a bicycling trip through Ireland in 1952. She went on from there to spend a year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher in Wales, to more trips to Europe and beyond, and eventually became a tour leader, taking all her nieces and nephews (including Art) on her travels. When she retired from teaching, she wrote of her experiences in a memoir called Up and Down and Around the World with Carrie. Today, as I read of her travels, I marvel at her spirit of adventure at a time when women did not have the independence they do today.
All photos by Carolyn T. Arnold.
