Rob and Anna's travel adventure

La Havre, the landing point to France started easy, but finished a little different. As soon as we got off the ferry with our bikes, we went right into cycling paths that were plentiful in town. After England, it was refreshing. We followed directions to get on the other side of the harbor, but eventually ran out of the cycling route, and motorways were our only option. We decided to stay away from them with our bikes, and went north. We ended up going up... and up... and up... and up... the hills, through small French villages, but it took us further... and further... and further... from where we needed to be. All the signs were pointing out to the motorways, which we tried to avoid with our bicycles for safety reasons. People did not mind helping, but...they could not speak a word in English. We offered to speak Spanish, Russian, German or English, but it didn't help then. So, after five hours of cycling in circles up in the French hills, and to make up some time (to make sure we would not be late for our visit to a local French family in Versailles), we decided to put our bikes on a local train and get off in Roun - the place of Joan of Arc. We got to Roun in the early evening. The town was very pretty, but the traffic was plentiful, and it was challenging to navigate our touring bikes loaded with camping equipment among busy streets. I must say that the French drivers were very patient. Not a single time they beeped at us, and instead they were patiently waiting for us to pass, or take the bikes over the curb. Nevertheless, the long day took a toll on me, and after the 30th time of taking my bike over the curb and the 30th bruise/chain scratch on my legs, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. So, there I was bursting into tears in the middle of the street with patient French drivers parked behind me waiting for me to take my bike over the curb yet another time. That was my first time on the trip wondering what the heck I was doing thinking that I could conquer Europe on a bike? Rob rushed to comfort me and we stood there a good half an hour until I felt I was ready to move on. It was getting late, and we still had to find the camping somewhere up those French hills. We started cycling up the hill, and spotted a couple of people entering the house. We did not have a hope they would speak English, but we still decided to attempt to ask for directions to a camping. It turned out that a guy spoke great English, he told us to wait for a moment while he rushed to the house to check camping options on the internet. His wife could not converse in English as fluently, but through gestures she invited us, absolute strangers, to their home where she treated us to cold juice and local treats. We found out that they were originally from Romania and moved to France a few years ago as practicing physicians. They asked us if we could stay for a little longer - they wanted to know about our trip which they referred as "extreme sport". We ended up staying for several hours talking about our lives in the US, our dreams, goals, problems, politics, and the life of the French people. That evening healed all my pain and tears from before. And, at that moment I remembered why I decided to undertake my cycling adventure, I knew I would have to deal with more challenges, but I also knew that it was all worthwhile, and I was ready to do that. We cycled off that evening knowing that we were not alone, and that sometimes meeting an absolute stranger could turn even the most challenging French hills into pleasant memories.

The next morning we began paddling towards Versailles. We had a long way to go, several days to get there, more hills to conquer and more memories to create. I will never forget the moment when after climbing a long hill I finally made it to the other side, and all of the sudden the forest stopped and we ended up in a French village as if taken directly from a fairly tale. If you read French fairytales as a child by Jean-Jack Perrot, you know what I am describing. Cute chateaus with towers and elaborate decorations, rose gardens, and somewhere up in the hills, on the cliffs, the silhouette of a fortress - this one was the Chateau Gallard, that used to belong to the infamous cardinal de Bourbon. Remember the book Three Musketeers, and a reference to the cardinal de Bourbon? That's the one! Our camping site was in a valley, right under the fortress. Every time we would come out of the tent, it would be right in front of us. I had so many memories pouring in my head from all the French books and novels I read long time ago. I did not want to leave this beautiful spot, but we had a lot more ahead of us. We found out from an English couple who were also camping about a place called Giverney. That was a town where a great impressionist Monet lived, died, and created his art. We cycled to Giverney and visited Monet's grave, gardens and a medieval church. I lit a candle there in a memory of my mom and grandma. And then we took off...

We passed through so many villages, valleys, it is so beautiful here, and my heart feels so free... I now understand why impressionism started here in France. The colors are so vivid and so intense, sometimes they almost look surreal. There could be no other way to portrait this beauty than by using brush strokes as the impressionists did. Sometimes I feel as if I myself were a little dot on an impressionist canvas. I am developing a strong appreciation of the French country side beauty, and peace that surrounds it.