An uneventful flight; we’re in Brussels, and, yes, it’s raining! The Toyota Prius we’ve rented is ready in the parking garage a short walk from the front door of the airport…only later do we realize that the manual and the instruction card are only in French and we can’t find basic information. What octane fuel do we need? And at the pump we fin octane measurements in Europe and the US are not the same; the European system gives a higher figure - 91-95 for regular, for example. (Two weeks later we find that 95 will do; fortunately we only stopped to fill up three times in three weeks, thanks to the excellent fuel economy of the Prius!)
It takes a few minutes to become accustomed to the Prius, but it drives well and we set off in a drizzle towards Mons (or Bergen, as the road signs in Flanders insist on calling it). An effort to have a coffee in Mons fails when we don’t have any coins for the parking meters in the city center, which is a “blue zone.” (Attention! In blue or “payant” zones you must pay at a nearby machine and display the ticket on the dashboard, except on Sundays. Most machines will not accept any bills.) So, on to France!
Making excellent time, we arrive in Peronne shortly after noon, and check in at the (Best Western) St-Claude hotel, and then head out for our first French meal at a café across the street. After lunch, we (I) rest for a while to catch up on the time zone 9 hours out from El Paso, and then resume strolling. The Battle of the Somme engulfed this entire region in 1914-1918, and there are reminders everywhere. On the corner by city hall is a street sign reading “Roo de Kanga – We do Not Forget Australia.” (A superb wordplay!)
And Peronne does not forget. The Great War is everywhere, most particularly in the Historial – a new museum in the former castle/ramparts of the town. It treats the period of the war without taking sides. A current exhibit, for example, presents German painters who portrayed the despair of the wounded veterans, not cared for by their government (whatever the reason for that), and forced to play instruments in the streets of Berlin for alms. One of these painters, Otto Dix, was classified as Degenerate by the Nazis in the 1930s and forced to flee. The Historial is an extremely powerful experience; you exit with tears in your eyes. Ninety years out from the end of World War I.
Peronne otherwise is special for the huge Saturday market fair on October 4, a welcome surprise. It was frightfully cold and windy that morning and so I decide to buy a jacket from a jaunty Algerian, an excellent salesman. (Two weeks later I found I needed this jacket again in Antwerp when the wind came howling off the river.) We had lunch in a big tent set up by one of the restaurants, and enjoyed the camaraderie of the fair-goers. Outside they had a pig roasting on a spit.
At the end of the day we walk through the center of town to a small restaurant that offered an evening “menu du jour.” The menu of the day is the best way to dine in France, as any combination of choices from the regular menu will be far more expensive. And ask for a carafe d’eau rather than ordering a bottle of water – it’s free and the water will be excellent!