We aren't strange. We are just Americans

Our last morning in Chartres. The petite dejeuner was even less petite than the morning before. A third was left uneaten.

The aromatic trees are lindens, or tilleul. There is a double row in the large plaza between the cathedral and the train station.

The bus ride to Rouen is almost two hours. There was some unusual personal grooming taking place on the bus, which I fortunately missed. I don't want to have to live with the image for the rest of my life.

We are staying at Hotel de la Cathedral on the second floor, and the walls of the cathedral grounds are right across the alley, almost within an arm's grasp of our window. From our hallway, we can look down on the courtyard; on the upper platform we can see two blue wading pools, with goldfish swimming next to rubber ducks.

Sine the only reason we have come to France is to eat, we take the recommendation of the hotel clerk and go up the street to a restaurant that is "not touristy." Darien says that is good, because we are not tourists. The food at Petite Auberge is authentic and the prices reasonable. Darien and Antonia try to share a meal, but don't manage to make themselves understood and end up each with a full meal. I have salmon pate followed by fish that the waitress apparently called "juliette," but we are not certain. Next time I travel I'm going to spend more time studying the language of food.

After our espressos, we tour the cathedral. We can't find an English guide and don't care to go with the rest of the choir. Even English language tour books are out of stock. A local journalist overhears Darien and Antonia and interviews them for a local paper. She wants to find out why foreigners visit Rouen and what they think of it. She can't think of the English word for etranger and refers to them as strange. I agree.

The cathedral -- Notre Dame de Rouen -- evokes sadness. It took seven direct hits from bombs in WWII, and this now defines it identity. Whole stained glass windows were destroyed, and clear glass sits in their place. Some windows have been reproduced post-war. There are newer stones in many of the vaults, indicating where damage has been repaired. The oldest spire was completely destroyed. The people of Rouen have tried valiantly to restore the cathedral, but in doing so they have accentuated its tragedy.

We walked around and sipped a coffee at Le St. Romain Creperie, then wandered along small streets gazing in the shops. Antonia was overcome by a fit of aquisitiveness and visited a shop filled with original hat creations -- La Boutique de Mamanat 17 Rue Saint Nicolas. Two women were working there -- one to design and create, and the other to sell. Darien and Antonia ooh'ed and ahh'ed their way through innumerable fittings, and finally agreed on a feathery affair that they called "fun," and that the clerk assured us would go well with an accordion. The hat maker had only had her shop for eight months, but had been creating hats since she was "this high."

We followed a recommendation from the hotel clerk for dinner. It was pleasant enough, but not as good as some of our other meals. Darien and Antonia learned how to properly ask to share a meal, so we hope not to have that problem again. The cheese platter -- fromage -- after dinner is excellent.