Parent's Guide to Pets: Brugge - Besancon - Bois De Ban

Brugge - a Perfect Egg

Not the curates egg. The river, diverted around fine city embankments, forms a protective shell. With walls pulled down cyclists are victorious!

The perfect town sits comfortably within. Each generation ornaments the last. The present not an exception. Ever house a delight. The city gates stand aloof, helpless to the influx.

Wylwyck Hotel, Leeuwstaat

My Top Sights

1) The Market Place
2) Jerusalem Church
3) Begijnhof
4) Groeninge Museum
5) The Canals
6) Mix of old and new
7) Michelangelo
8) The Bottilier Restaurant
9) Cycling to the Coast
10) Moules Frite

1) Brugge Market Place

2) Jurusalem church

3) Gateway to the Begijnhof

4) Groeninge Museum -
Madonna with Conon Joris van der Paele
JanVan Ecke

5) The wonderful Canals

6) Comfortable with the new

7) Madonna, sold to Flemish merchant to get it away from Siena.
Stolen first by Napoleon, then Hitler.
A little piece of perfection in a Mary loving city.

8) Bottelier Resturant. Twice visited, try duchesse de Bougongne

9) Cycling to Windune, on the coast

10) M0ules Frite

We stopped at Tyne Cot Commonwealth WW1 Cemetary

Besancon, through the night.

We ascended the wide concrete steps in the evening twilight air, having finished our meal . 'Le Tram Blu' provided us with a jolly waitress, and some fine salads; chicken gizzards, trout and obligatory mayonnaise dressing. The restaurant by the tram station, was ghostly quiet. The line was yet to open. Everything was incomplete and awkwardly new. Only the steak was blu.

Our hotel, set on the edge of Besancon, in a set in an emerging university complex, with all the necessary modern architectural features.

It was a warm evening, and our room smelt of the previous occupant's stale smoke. We contemplated requesting a move of room, but at 10.00 pm, our attempts at tracking down the hotelier, though sighted, became half hearted as we saw him disappearing down a staircase as we approached.

I opened the windows and set the blinds to closed with continental slit openings.
The gentle rumble of the dual-carriageway down below the building became apparent. It's constancy, barable, as a stream, or blustery wind, became a mellow background. Occasionally the tone rose with the wine of a high sided vehicle.

Besancon was working through the night.

A car slowly pulls by someone exploring the new campus, north African music wafted up, not unpleasant, but rudely shared with us at this time of night. I drifted off. Then two men started scolding outside, (what do you think you are doing!) a car alarm went off, a muted insistent wailing, like a tired child.
In the gloom, something landed on my face. I smartly smacked it (an myself). In the morning, bleary eyed, I look in the mirror and see black, and blooded, as if I have been shot in the chin.
Next there is a loud explosion; a powerful clear crack. No breaking glass, no screams. Perhaps a tire has bust (I hope not mine!).

The sun rises. The road rumbles and moans,and rain falls, gentle pattering, refreshing and full of innocence. The air is cool at last. As the light builds, I look up from our low bed. I notice how large the window frame appears. I make out two, rather neat air conditioners fitted above the double glazed window casements and a previous experience in Poggibonsi coses to mind.

Poggibonsi
Just Briefly, A train draws in to Poggibonsi full of tourists on their way to San Giminano, and the sky light of new York. They have their guide books and know that Poggibonsi is where you catch the bus, and has no other special features. The town square is full of bus stops. Tourists also know that they must buy bus tickets before entering the bus. They have one hour to purchase tickets, so plenty of time.

Siesta hangs in the air, like 'Silence' in a library. Locals sleepily look on and gaze at tourists as they confidently pace around the town looking for a Tobacconist. They have no intention of smoking of course, but as the hour proceeds, tensions rise. All shops are closed, and all locals find comprehending the foreign's attempts at Italian bewildering. A venturesome tourist has found tickets! On the edge of the town is a bus depot, where tickets can be bought, even over lunch. The word quickly goes out across the town, and weary tourists rise to the challenge. They race to the depot in the heat of the day, and quickly step back to the town square dabbing at sweat.

At 1 pm, the bus draws up. The orderly tourists triumphantly step up onto the bus and insert their prized tickets into the stamping machine. Locals also get on. The bus pulls off. First stop, the bus depot, to buy tickets, and a ten minute break for the driver.

Bois De Ban
Janine and Michel Wilson's house, on a Juran ridge over looking Cret de la Neige and beyond, was a perfect place for football luminous slugs and jumping in the 2 meter deep swimming pool.

My Nephew Emre

WEEK

Monday	lundi (luhn-DEE)
Tuesday	mardi (mahr-DEE)
Wednesday	mercredi (mehr-kruh-DEE)
Thursday	jeudi (juh-DEE)
Friday	vendredi (vahn-druh-DEE)
Saturday	samedi (sahm-DEE)
Sunday	dimanche (dee-MAHNSH)

Dimanche - Coligny Church (only service we could fine on the website) Village to feature later in our stay and soon to host La Tour de l'Ain cycle race. Lunch in saint Amour Hotel.

Lundi - trip to Bourg en Bresse. Visit to the amazing abbey de Notre dame, 'The French Taj Mahal.'