Another batch of pictures from Herman of the garden, living room, bedrooms and front door of his rented French village house. And a couple of other nearby views. Still not sure exactly where this is situated.
UPDATE: 10/8/2017 10:16am PT – Herman sends me this clarification:
OK, we are in the village of Cadouin. It is a village with a large Abby. We are a few miles to the east of Bergerac, just south of the river Dordogne. I will send a map, and you can go from there. It is hilly and has quite a history and well known for its food, particularly the liver paté. I was out this morning and a big wild boar ran across in front of the car. They are quick, and about a half mile down the road were hunters.
Not sure where this is; photos were delivered without comment or annotation. However, from another message, I understand that Herman is renting a house in a French village … somewhere. Will try to learn more.
As soon as the kids learned of Janet’s passing, they converged on Alaska Airlines from their respective abodes in Seattle and flew into our nearest airport at Walla Walla. With their flight touching down at 6:20pm, hints of darkness were appearing, along with the already hazy skies from the forest fires to the West.
The chosen conveyance, the ever-trusty Dodge Caravan, veteran of countless trips to Portland, Boise, Seattle, Montana, Iowa, etc., suddenly resisted forward movement as Ivi took the wheel for the return trip. A call to AAA ensued. We learned of anticipated delays for service due to not only the holiday weekend backlog, but the matter of a regulation that restricts towing across the Washington – Oregon border to only five certified tow services in the state as well. Furthermore, we found that tow trucks cannot legally carry more than two passengers — we numbered three — unless a crew cab was available. And we were told that no such towing solution would be available for at least three hours, if at all.
We only got as far as the frontage road just beyond the airport and near the freeway on-ramp. And there we sat. Nik and Ivi both worked their phones, seeking solutions ranging from connecting with a Walla Walla college friend of Ivi’s to trying to find an available motel (Labor Day Weekend — fat chance!), almost to the point of exhausting their phone batteries. Finally, repeated communication with AAA yielded the possibility of a legal tow that could come from central Washington, albeit some 90 miles away, with an ETA of no earlier than 10:30pm.
During our three hours of roadside waiting, three people stopped and offered help, ranging from local transportation to joining them for dinner. While we had to demur, our faith in humanity was heightened a bit. Then sprinklers came on (we found that we were at the edge of a golf course adjoining the airport) and caught us off guard.
Eventually our tow rig arrived from a city west of Yakima and Kennewick and we were underway just before 11pm for another 90-mile haul, homeward.
Some pluses of that leg of the trip: The truck was a new state-of-the-art model with only 3000 miles on it so far — it included luxury seating, four USB ports for charging our smartphones, two touch screens and a mildly incredible array of electronica. And the tow driver was a fascinating conversationalist — we learned that he was the president of a towing association and had just attended a conference on the future of trucking; he regaled us with information on driverless trucks, electronic roadways and all manner of industry future that I had never thought of, but which he believed would be coming sooner than we might expect. He also told us of his earlier life as a farmer and cattle-raiser, and how he got into trucking via his experience transporting cattle around the western U.S. He turned out to be familiar with La Grande (and just about every other place within a 300 – 500 mile radius) and said that he would, after he had dropped the mini-van at our local mechanic of choice and deposited us personally at our residence, drive directly back to his home base, about 180 miles distant. All in a night’s work.
Some documentation follows. First, the prelude to meeting Nik and Ivi as their plane arrived:
Terminal Tower in Smoky Skies
In the Terminal
More in the Terminal
Touchdown in the Smoky Haze
Ivi Enters the Terminal …
Followed by Nik
Then the three hours of roadside waiting:
Bad Moon Rising (CCR)
Oh, oh …
Proximity
Smoky Sunset
Smoky Sunset #2
Waiting It Out
And here’s another taste of our (mis)adventure, complete with sprinkler audio:
On Tuesday, we convey Ivi to her departing return flight to Seattle from Walla Walla Regional Airport. (The fiasco of the arriving trip, a couple of days earlier, will be documented later in an forthcoming, humiliating post.)
Preparing for TSA
No Liquids …
Ready to Board
Coming and going, the forest-fire-fueled smoke created a foglike atmosphere of varying intensity along the route over I-84, Hwy 125 and Hwy 11/12. (Don’t ask how I, as the solo occupant and driver, managed these in-motion views.)
Returning to La Grande and its only moderately smoky skies, we drop by the Tuesday Farmers Market …
As we depart on Tuesday morning, we continue to see Porsches, for at least fifty miles out.
The next stretch is simple and somewhat barren, mile after mile, with windshield photography to pass the time and settle into a special zone.
This Is A Bird Photograph
We make a stopover in Walla Walla for lunch and a drive-through of the downtown area, where within the space of two or three blocks we encounter half a dozen wine tasting storefronts plus a couple of cannabis stores.
James Dean at a Coffee Place
WaWaWA
Walla Walla Bike
Main Street
DotD
Faux DotD
This is Walla Walla
Pizza for Lunch
Paying the Bill
Walla Walla Jaguar
One of the Cannabis Stores
The final leg took us across a favorite sports car driving road, Hwy 204, just inside the Oregon border.
Looking Toward Washington
Herman, Transfixed by Oregon
Hopefully, this is the last of the Spokane series. It’s already in the past; must move ahead to the present.
Stopping for gas in the late afternoon, we encounter The Guy From Seattle (sorry, I forgot his name) who was driving a 997 Porsche cabriolet much like Herman’s own (except for color). So, of course, we spent some time discussing matters of mutual interest, learning about the best sports car roads in the Seattle area, and discovering that his friend is an NPR executive whose 944 (my model!) won his class in the concours earlier that day.
The Guy From Seattle
This Part Goes Around
Jesus Saves
Buzzing around the streets, we kept seeing — big surprise here — Porsches aplently and other sights from the shotgun position.
Through the Windshield
Through the Windshield #2
Red In Shadow
Cayman Sighting
911 Sighting
We had been advised by a couple of people that one of Spokane’s best was — unlikely as it might seem in this inland locale — a seafood restaurant overlooking the Spokane River. So we beat a track there, found it at the end of a dead-end street on a cliff overhanging the river. As we dismounted, we discovered that the parking lot was itself something of a mini-Porsche-car-show.
Anthony’s Seafood (where I had the specialty of the house: the Idaho River Trout) saddled the Spokane River, overlooking the falls and the power house. Main restaurant seating was behind tall windows that provided the view, but we chose to occupy the last remaining table on the open-air deck, inches from a straight downward plummet into the river.
Our waiter, Ted, turned out to be a sommelier-in-training who not only expanded our previous night’s wine education, but told us that the best Washington wines were probably those from Walla Walla.
Ted
Fine Wine with a View
Listening Intently
As the evening wore on, we became aware of a festive table beside us, which turned out to be occupied by four ladies from New Mexico, old classmates, one of whose number was celebrating a birthday and had transplanted to Spokane to accept employment in the telecomm industry.
Dining Deck: Herman at 2 O’Clock
Herman, At It Again
Modus A02
Eventually, we returned to our hotel, debated whether to depart the next day or stay on, and generally wound down by reading email and relaxing.
After the day’s Porsche festivities wound down, Herman and I went out on the economy so he could procure a couple of bottles of Washington cabernet sauvignon suggested by Kristoffer at Luigi’s and fuel up in anticipation of a return trip the next day. While driving about, Herman remembered reading about a park in the tourism information at the hotel, so we went on a search. By the time we found the place it was nearly ready to close, but we quickly visited the conservatory area and a couple of the park’s special gardens.
We learned that Manito Park covers 90 acres, so we barely scratched the surface. Yet it was in a way one of the finest highlights of the trip. The place was quiet, serene and cast a mood with the setting sun. Reminds me of some parts of New York City’s Central Park. Although I am greatly disappointed with most of the photographs taken there (but will still share them so you can perhaps get a sense of this wonderful place), I have vowed to return at another time with better lighting, preparation, etc.
Sorry, but I just came upon another batch. Most of these were from the end of the day when lots of entries and their owners and their spectators were gone or leaving. (A note on the 959 model: Hardly more than 300 were ever built, starting back in about 1986. Considered to be the most techno-advanced car in the world at the time. Bill Gates famously ordered one early on, only to have it stuck in customs for over a dozen years!)
Truth is, I was somewhat taken by the charms of Spokane (although I am told that neighboring Idaho “sister city”, Coeur D’Alene, is equally appealing and has a better economy). So here is a bit more of the riverfront and our hotel.
