We unwittingly saved the best for almost last in our quest to bicycle the entire Mesabi Trail in northern Minnesota. After completing this latest section, Russ and I have biked all but two parts of this 165-mile paved trail. By “best,” I mean it was the smoothest, most scenic section with some fun rolling hills.
We departed Grand Rapids from the trailhead, which is off a parking lot at the Itasca County Fairgrounds. On this unseasonably warm fall day, golden leaves crunched under our tires and fell from the trees in slanting sunlight as we passed. The only downside were a few mildly painful run-ins with Asian ladybeetles that had the misfortune to meet their doom as we whizzed into them.
Round trip, this section is between 14.5-16 miles, depending on your mapping ap. We passed iron ore mine tailings ponds and crossed the Prairie River on a wooden bridge. We only ran into one patch of bumps and that was in the town of Coleraine. Most of the trail is in the woods, but it does parallel a highway for a bit.
Lots of other people were also enjoying the trail on what could be the last warm day of the year. The trailhead where we turned around in Bovey features a bench that has a design cut into the back that pays homage to Minnesota’s state photo, which was taken in 1918 or 1920 by photographer Eric Enstrom, who had a studio in that city. It shows an elderly man bowing his head in thanks over a meager meal of bread and soup.
Minnesota’s State Photo, “Grace”
Enstrom titled the image “Grace” and intended it to represent survival, thankfulness, and faith in the face of hardship. The photo graced the home of my grandparents and many other places. One interesting fact is that the model for the photo was a salesman who just happened to be passing through when Enstrom asked him to pose. The rest is history!
The two sections of the trail we have left run from Bovey to Calumet and one new stretch near Ely. Temps have dipped into the 40s and 50s, which is too cold for me to bike, so those will have to wait until spring.
Prairie River
I haven’t written about every section we biked, only the memorable ones. For more information, see my other stories about the trail:
I named this place Listening Point because only when one comes to listen, only when one is aware and still, can things be seen and heard. Everyone has a listening point somewhere. It does not have to be in the north or close to the wilderness, but some place of quiet where the universe can be contemplated with awe. — Sigurd Olson, Listening Point
Those of you who have read my blog for a while may recall a quote or two from one of my favorite nature writers and conservationists, Sigurd Olson. He lived a couple of hours north of me in Ely, Minnesota. I never met him (he died while out snowshoeing in 1982 when I was in college), but over the years I’ve read most of his books and I admire his way with words and his way of being in the wilderness.
Olson’s home and cabin have been preserved by The Listening Point Foundation. It was formed to preserve his legacy and to advance his wilderness philosophy. During summer, they offer tours of Olson’s cabin and house.
One day last month, Russ and I booked a tour and meandered up to Ely with some visiting friends. It was a drizzly fall day, but that didn’t stop our excitement at finally seeing the places that helped shape Olson’s books.
The man himself as a cutout character in his Ely home.
We met as a small group for the tour of Sig’s cabin at Listening Point just off the highway and caravaned into the cabin parking lot. Our guide was a colleague of Olson’s from when he taught at Vermillion Community College. He gave us an orientation and some background information while standing in the lot, then we hiked a short trail to the cabin, passing Sig’s handcrafted sauna along the way.
You would think the cabin would be on the rocky tip of the point that juts out into Burntside Lake. Instead, it sits sheltered behind a huge boulder dropped by the glacier eons ago, with views of the bay. Sig wrote about his decision to locate the cabin in that spot in his book, Listening Point. Essentially, he wanted the protection and stability of that site, and to preserve the end of the point for contemplation, not living.
The one-story, one-room cabin was originally two stories. It was located elsewhere and moved to the site. There’s no indoor plumbing, only an outhouse. A fieldstone fireplace graces one side of the room. There’s a table for eating and two single beds for Olson and his wife, Elizabeth.
Listening Point
I was surprised to learn that Olson did not write at the cabin. He saved that for his backyard writing shack at his Ely house. You’d think the cabin would be the perfect place for that! Instead, he used it to gain experiences that he could write about.
After we toured the cabin, which is on the National Register of Historic Places, we wandered out to the point. A breeze whispered through the white pines, and I could almost hear the spirits. A low log bench sits atop a rock that offers a good view of the lake. Below it, a bronze plaque commemorates Olson.
We spent many minutes soaking in the peace. Soon, it was time to go. Although we didn’t sign up for it, our guide invited us to visit Olson’s house since he was going there to lead another tour, anyway. We readily agreed!
Ely was about a 20-minute drive away. We parked near a modest gray house with white trim. Upon entering, we were struck by how civilized the house was compared to Sig’s cabin. No wonder he needed a second place to get away. The kitchen has been remodeled since Sig’s time, but the rest of the place is much the same.
The living room serves as an informal museum to Sig’s life and accomplishments. The dining room looks out on his writing shack.
Sigurd Olson’s writing shack in Ely, MN.
We toured the shack, which is also on the National Register of Historic Places. In addition to being a writer and conservationist, Sig was a naturalist. Besides a typewriter and books, the shack is filled with finds from his wilderness travels. Rocks and animal bones line almost every available surface.
We came away with greater understanding and appreciation for this noted author and the land where he lived. We had some time to kill, so after lunch at the Evergreen Restaurant (highly recommended!), we visited the International Wolf Center. I’d been to the center a couple of times (most notably when I was doing research my Eye of the Wolf novel), but it had been many years, so I was interested to see their new educational exhibits and the new wolves in the captive pack.
Now, wolf-lovers, don’t get all up in arms about the term captive. The wolves in this pack have plenty of room to roam, and they aren’t taken from the wild. They function as ambassadors for their species, helping people learn about and appreciate wolves.
During a naturalist program about wolves, we watched in awe as several pack members appeared like ghosts out of the woods. We could see them through the large observation windows. That was truly magical!
Rowan, a member of the wolf pack at the International Wolf Center
We returned home from Ely feeling peaceful and just a bit wilder, with a strange impulse to howl on the next full moon. 😊
Russ and I took our Scamp trailer recently to northern Wisconsin for our one-and-only camping trip of the summer. We’d tried to camp earlier in the season, but had trouble making reservations in state and provincial parks because the reservations get snapped up so fast. We even woke up once before 6 a.m. to try and make a reservation but open spots were gone in seconds!
Thankfully, sites were available at the Bois Brule Campground, which I got to know during my stint as a Road Scholar trip leader this summer. We made reservations for three nights in mid-September.
One warning, however! Non-Wisconsin residents need to be prepared for extra fees, plus you need to buy a Wisconsin State Parks vehicle pass. If my memory serves me correctly, we ended up paying more than $150 for the privilege of staying in our camper in a place without electricity or running water. (There is a hand pump, however, and artesian wells nearby.) But we were determined to go camping, dammit! So, we made the reservation.
See the heart shape in the trees over our campsite?
Campsites nestled among tall pines and carpeted with pine needles attracted us to this campground near the Brule River. Plus, it was less than an hour’s drive from Duluth, and it had reservations available.
Stoney Hill Nature Trail
Our first evening, we took a walk around the campground. Ironically, we met some other Scamp owners who lived in Duluth! It felt funny to travel someplace distant and yet meet people who lived not far from us. We enjoyed a campfire that night as we listened to barred owls hoot along the riverbanks.
The next morning, we hiked the Stoney Hill Nature Trail, which is accessible from the campground and covers 1.6 miles in a loop. Interpretive signs along the way provide information about the natural and cultural history of the Brule River State Forest.
We chose to hike the loop clockwise for a less strenuous hike. (The other direction features a steep 184-foot climb that we would rather walk down than up.) The trail culminated in a lookout over the Brule River Valley. But once we arrived, we had to laugh because we couldn’t see a thing. The lookout is overgrown with trees! But we enjoyed the exercise and learning more about the area.
After lunch, we drove to Bayfield, a town about an hour away on the shores of Lake Superior. Our first stop was the Apfelhaus Cidery. Part of the Hauser Farm, the cidery is run by a former coworker of mine and her husband. The apples come from their own orchard. I’d seen the cidery tasting room when it was under construction and was excited to see it now that it’s open.
Our cider flight
We ordered a flight of four different ciders. Two were alcoholic and two were N/A. We enjoyed the N/A offerings best because they were sweeter. Our favorite was the cherry variety. As we sipped, we enjoyed a view of Lake Superior from the cidery’s perch atop a ridge.
Sated by cider, we made our way down the ridge to town. We spent time shopping and perusing the many art galleries and gift stores there. For supper, we ate on a dock jutting out into Lake Superior at Hoops Fish and Chips Dockside. Hoops is a commercial fishing operation, and they serve lake whitefish caught that morning. They used to only offer it fried and breaded with French fries but now have added it grilled with rice. I’d eaten there before but Russ hadn’t. We ordered one of each dish. Both were excellent! They also serve Apfelhaus cider.
Our whitefish dinners at Hoops
On our way back to the campground, we stopped at the infamous Moquah Bar, which you can read all about in a separate post, “We Survived the Moquah Bar.”
After another quiet night and campfire, we awoke the next morning to a mostly empty campground. Most of the other campers are fly fishers, who leave at the crack of dawn to fish the Brule River, which is famous for its trout.
The Brule-St. Croix Portage Nature Trail
We hiked again, this time traveling about a half-hour to Upper St. Croix Lake, near Solon Springs. The picnic area there is home to the Brule-St. Croix Portage Trail, which is what the Voyageurs and fur traders of old used to travel from Lake Superior to the Brule River and Upper St. Croix Lake. This would then take them into the St. Croix River, which led to the Mississippi River and beyond.
At the trailhead, you can either choose the portage trail or a bog trail that leads to a boardwalk. I’d already been on the bog trail, so we hiked the portage trail. It begins with a steep incline up a ridge but then levels out after that. Along the way stone markers commemorated historic explorers from the fur trade era. We hiked about half the trail.
After returning to the campground for lunch, we headed out with our bikes on the car to the small town of Ino, Wisconsin. Our goal was Forest Road 236, a seldom-traveled picturesque back road good for cycling and motorcycling. We rode 30 miles and only saw a few other vehicles.
We returned to the campground to enjoy our classic camping dinner of scrambled eggs and Spam. The only thing that would have made it better was if we had remembered to pack the ketchup!
As our trip came to a close, we reflected on the joys of camping in northern Wisconsin—from peaceful hikes and friendly encounters to delicious meals shared under the pines with the gurgle of the Bois Brule in the background. Sipping crisp apple cider with a view of Lake Superior was a highlight, perfectly capturing the spirit of relaxation and adventure that defined our getaway. We left feeling grateful for the memories made. I’m not sure if we’ll have other camping adventures since we are considering selling our Scamp. If this was our last outing, it was a good one!
My shadow in front of the Moquah Bar. Proof that I really was there!
During a recent camping trip to the town of Brule in northern Wisconsin, Russ and I meandered to a place we’d noticed several times on a highway detour a few years ago. This establishment is in the tiny town of Moquah (pronounced Muck-wa, Algonquin for bear). Whenever we passed the small building, the door was always open, which looked inviting. Not so inviting was its ramshackle plywood construction. Through the open door, we could glimpse a low ceiling and bar stools. The homemade sign out front proclaimed this intriguing venue was the Moquah Bar.
At 5 p.m. on a Saturday, we girded our loins and decided to pay the bar a visit. We parked out back by the outhouse, also made of plywood. We walked past the outdoor seating area, which consisted of picnic tables on a cement slab surrounded by concrete blocks. Evidence of last night’s festivities (or maybe several nights’ worth) littered the tables. Apparently, if patrons don’t pick up after themselves, nobody else does, either.
The outhouse
We peeked inside the open doorway. Dollar bills, graffiti, can cozies, bras, and underwear festooned the ceiling and walls. Nobody else was there except for a white-haired man behind the bar. He looked up from his book but didn’t offer a greeting. I got the feeling he’d rather keep reading. And I was okay with that. I’m an author, after all!
We later learned (thanks to social media) that the barkeep/owner’s name is Bud. He’s been running the bar since 1975. When it burned in the 1980s, Bud slapped together a new place out of plywood. The Moquah Bar is known as the Plywood Palace, and also as one of Wisconsin’s diviest dive bars.
We tried to engage Bud in conversation, but he’s hard of hearing, so that didn’t last long. Russ managed to ask him what the story was with all the ceiling decorations. Bud said it was something people “just decided to do.”
Russ was impressed that the bar refrigerator had an N/A beer he could drink. I made the mistake of ordering a shot of brandy. This was a mistake not because of the taste, but because it came in a glass. Word on the street is that Bud doesn’t wash the glassware. Maybe he thinks the alcohol kills the germs? Come to think of it, I’m not sure that the bar has running water. That could be the real reason! I was blissfully ignorant of the “don’t drink from a glass” unwritten rule at the time and enjoyed my shot.
We wandered around the bar, marveling at the sights, which included a broken jukebox, a foosball table, and a two-inch gap in the roof where the back bar structure joins the front. Russ signed a dollar bill with a sharpie and added it to a post with a thumbtack. A few minutes later, the dysfunction of the place weighed too heavily on me. “We’ve got to get out of here!” I hissed to Russ. He agreed. We said our goodbyes to Bud and left.
As we passed the outhouse on the way to our car, Russ helpfully suggested I use it before our drive back to the campground. You can guess the look I gave him! Once on the road, although we were relieved to be out of the bar, we were also proud that we were brave enough to visit it. This bar was quite the opposite experience of our visit to Ravenstone Abbey pub.
Another acquaintance of mine recently visited the bar. To see his account and more photos, visit the Perfect Duluth Day blog.
So, we visited the Plywood Palace and lived to tell the tale! But wait. Is that a fever I feel coming on…?
In a small town on Minnesota’s Iron Range, a boy and his friend scooter along the sidewalk outside a restaurant. One boy mentions he needs to use the bathroom and begins to head toward a nearby park with public restrooms. The other boy, heavyset and wearing a red T-shirt, enters the restaurant’s fenced yard and approaches a large stone with a sword sticking out of it.
“You trying that again? You’ll never do it!” says the Bathroom Boy, continuing on his way.
Red T-shirt Boy crouches and tugs on the sword, pulling with all his might.
Alas, the sword does not budge. Red T-shirt Boy will not become the future King of England. But he can dream, can’t he?
As you may have guessed by now, the restaurant that features the Excalibur sword is not your normal restaurant. On the National Register of Historic Places, Ravenstone Abbey in Coleraine is the stuff of Medieval dreams. A pub/restaurant, coffee shop/bistro, and axe-throwing dungeon are housed in a painstakingly renovated 1908-era Methodist Episcopal Church/YMCA.
The building served as a church until 1976, when it was abandoned and fell into disrepair. The windows were boarded up, water leaked through holes in the roof, and animals took up residence.
Once they saw it by chance in 2021, future owners Jozsef and Sue Palavics fell in love with the derelict building and its towering stone walls (made from local stone) and stained-glass windows. By 2024, as their website says, they created “a place where history meets modernity, where the old-world charm of a medieval castle blends seamlessly with the excitement of a contemporary event venue.”
Russ and I meandered up to Coleraine one evening for supper at the abbey. As we sat at our table next to one of the original stone walls, we appreciated the oil lamp on the table, which was held by a small knight figurine in shining armor.
The Queens Salad
I ordered The Queens Salad, which featured mixed greens, mandarin oranges, red onion, feta cheese, pecans, and dried cranberries with a poppyseed dressing. Russ ordered The Kings Salad, which featured romaine lettuce topped with buffalo chicken, diced tomatoes, cheddar cheese, bacon, red onions, and croutons with a buffalo ranch dressing.
Both were reasonably priced and delicious! I also ordered a refreshing gin gimlet. The service was excellent, and our waiter helped me navigate my food intolerances (wheat/corn) to find something I could eat.
The Axehole Dungeon
Once finished, we peeked into the Axehole Dungeon. Nobody was throwing any axes at the time, but it looked like fun. We did not partake, but are keeping the experience in mind if we take guests there someday.
The Buttery Pub
As we left, Russ sat in the giant wooden “throne” in the entryway for a photo op. We walked to our car, noting some young girl urchins playing along the side of the building. I loved that the local children felt welcome there.
If you ever find yourself in northern Minnesota, indulge the imaginative child in you and check out Ravenstone Abbey! Maybe throw an axe or two while you’re there. (As per usual, I was not paid to say this.) 😊
Road Scholars view microscopic zooplankton and algae from Lake Superior on a computer screen aboard a boat.
Well, my initiation as a Road Scholar trip leader is over! As you may recall, I was hired this summer to lead two trips of people ages 50+ along the shores of Lake Superior. Each trip lasted about five days. We hiked in state parks, canoed down a wild river, heard from local experts, and plied Lake Superior’s waters on a science mission.
During the first trip, an experienced co-leader showed me the ropes. In the second trip, different people supported me each day, but leadership was up to me. Due to the excellent orientation I received during my first trip, I felt fairly confident leading the second one. But I still messed up a few times. The mistakes were minor, and I’d like to think they involved issues that the scholar tourists didn’t notice.
An ocean-going ship at anchor in Lake Superior.
The weather was wonderful and so was the clientele. Their ages ranged from mid-fifties to mid-eighties. I was impressed by their curiosity, enthusiasm, intellect, and good attitudes despite physical challenges. Even though the program was rated as moderate to hard, some scholars had recently replaced joints or used a cane to get around. We had some falls (which resulted in only minor scrapes), and some difficulty getting people out of canoes and kayaks at a tricky landing, but I’m happy to say that everyone completed the trip otherwise unscathed.
The Amnicon River, Wisconsin
On the other hand, I was exhausted! By the end, I was glad not to wake up to an alarm every morning and to return to my routine. But I immensely enjoyed showing the scholars this part of the world. Topics included geology, botany, aquatic science, Native culture, and maritime history. I’d like to think they all left with greater appreciation for Lake Superior and the communities that surround it. As I mentioned to them, they probably know more than most locals now. If I’m able, I’d be willing to do it again next year, especially now that I know what I’m doing and would have a year to recover. 😊
Between the two trips, I discovered I had Lyme disease thanks to a deer tick I picked up during my recent stay in Brule, Wisconsin, which added to my exhaustion. But the antibiotics for it soon had me feeling more like myself.
I’m including some of my favorite images from the trips with this post.
The Superior Ship Canal entry as seen from the back of a boat
Disclaimer: The views in this article are my own. They do not represent views of the official Road Scholar Program.
My friends and I were supposed to go into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in mid-July. Unfortunately, wildfires happened there and in Canada. The fire danger was so high and the air quality so poor that the Forest Service closed the entire wilderness! It seems funny that a wilderness can be closed, but there you have it.
We wanted to do something together nevertheless, so we needed to come up with a Plan B. We decided to spend a few days in a friend of a friend’s cabin in Brule, Wisconsin.
Besides enjoying meals of whitefish from Lake Superior, hiking, and chasing waterfalls, we satisfied our need for canoeing with an afternoon trip on Bark Bay Slough, near Herbster. I’d been to the canoe landing there before but never had time to venture out on the water, so I was looking forward to this trip.
The three of us piled into my Old Blue canoe with our camp chairs and books. We headed out onto the smooth water toward the bay mouth, where the slough empties into Lake Superior. Bark Bay Slough is bounded by the mainland on one side and a two-mile sandspit on the other. It’s a Scientific and Natural Area full of floating bog islands, birds, fen and bog plants that’s managed by the state of WI.
Old Blue where the slough meets Lake Superior.
As we paddled, I thought about how the Duluth-Superior Harbor back home used to look like this slough before dredging occurred for shipping and the Duluth canal was cut, which allowed the bog islands to just float away into Lake Superior. Canoeing the slough was like stepping back in time.
We passed modest cabins perched on the sandspit and amused ourselves by pointing out which ones we would like to own if we could. None of us chose the beaver house, though, that came into view. Even though it looked well-constructed and had wild roses in the “yard,” that particular house would have been too dark and damp. No windows!
A beaver house in the slough
Eventually, we reached the bay mouth, which was surrounded on both sides by sand beaches. We landed our canoe and spent the rest of the afternoon swimming in the cold waters, lying in the sun, wandering, and reading.
Finally, the lure of an ice cream store in Herbster dragged us back into the canoe for our return paddle.
Reflecting on our adventure at Bark Bay Slough, I realize how sometimes the best memories are made when plans change. The peaceful beauty of the slough, the laughter shared with friends, and the chance to experience a landscape lost elsewhere left a lasting impression. Our trip reminded me that detours can create moments we’ll cherish long after the paddle home.
Listen to me Don’t go chasing waterfalls Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to —Waterfalls, lyrics by TLC
My friends and I didn’t obey these song lyrics. Last month, we found new rivers, and best of all, new waterfalls while staying in a cabin near Brule, Wisconsin.
Lost Creek Falls
The first was Lost Creek Falls. The trailhead for the falls is near the town of Cornucopia. From there, it’s a fairly easy 1-1/2- mile hike to the falls and a small picnic area. The falls feature an eight-foot plunge with a few feet of cascades above and below it.
You can get close to the falls by walking through Lost Creek, which was shallow when we were there (we were able to rock hop across). A tree has recently fallen in front of the falls, so if you want good photos, you need to get past this visual barrier.
Behind Lost Creek Falls
Town of Bell Cemetery
My friends and I enjoyed walking behind the falls, which is not common for waterfalls around Lake Superior. The spray refreshed us, and we were heartened to see how many families were out on the trail, showing this natural wonder to their children.
When we returned to our car, we took time to explore the small Town of Bell Cemetery across the road. It’s home to 23 graves from 1902-1915. They feature simple wooden crosses, and many are for infants.
Next was Siskiwit Falls, which is also near Cornucopia. A short walk from the parking lot brings you to this series of gentle ledges. The falls are known as a good “butt slide” area, but we did not partake in that particular activity.
Siskiwit Falls
On another day, we visited Mays Ledges. I guess they aren’t technically a waterfall, more like a series of cascades, but they were part of our trip, so I’m including them!
Mays Ledges
The ledges are in a nature reserve on the Brule River. The walk to them isn’t very long. It’s downhill with a series of stairs on the way there, which means uphill on the way back. Some of the ledges feature interesting circular holes, which I assume were formed when rocks were trapped in softer stone and whirled around during high water. This time, we took a dip. Beware of poison ivy along the trail.
The Brule River, which is famous for trout fishing and past visits by U.S. presidents, empties into Lake Superior. We meandered over to that site and spent an afternoon soaking up sunshine and Vitamin D on the sand spit.
My friends at the mouth of the Brule River
One waterfall we noticed a sign for but didn’t get to was Twin Falls near Port Wing. One of my friends went there later and said it was worth a visit.
Exploring these waterfalls and ledges reminded me how much beauty is tucked away in Northern Wisconsin. Each site offered its own unique charm, from tranquil cascades to lively sprays and quiet moments of reflection. If you’re ever in that area don’t forget to chase the promise of discovery that lies beyond the familiar.
Although it may sound like a Finnish battle cry, the title of this post actually refers to a small town in northern Wisconsin (population 560). The town was named by Finnish immigrants after the fifth-largest city in Finland.
I meandered to Oulu late last month during a trip with some friends. The attraction that drew us was the Oulu Glass Gallery Studio. It’s run by Jim and Sue Vojacek, glass artists who are influenced by Lake Superior and the Bois Brule River, which runs nearby.
The teapot garden
Their studio looks something like a geodesic mushroom. In winter, visitors can watch the glass-blowing process. In summer, you can tour the teapot garden, planted in memory of Sue’s mother, who collected the teapots. In all seasons, you can purchase unique glass art.
An example of Oulu glass art, a fish.
As we entered the studio, we were greeted by one of several calico cats that roam the property. Sue emerged from a back room and chatted with us as we perused the glass art. I ended up choosing a paperweight inspired by a Lake Superior wave and a small blue-and-yellow glass vase complete with a glass flower. Sue said that she and her husband made the vase and flower separately, but they went together so well, they made a match. I loved hearing the stories behind the art!
As we left, we toured the colorful teapot garden and met another one of the cats.
If you’re ever on Highway 2 going across northern Wisconsin, turn off at the Oulu Rock, and you’re in for a treat!
The locally famous Oulu Rock. Image courtesy of the Oulu Cultural Center.
The final full day of our Road Scholar trip took us from Bayeux to the town of Honfleur, which is where the Seine empties into the sea. It’s known for its all-wooden churches (no nails!), picturesque streets, and harbor.
As we walked the streets in the morning light, I could easily see why painters like Eugene Boudin and Monet were drawn here. The ancient buildings ooze with character, and the harbor provides wonderful reflections of the ships.
A harbor scene — one of my favorites!
We visited one of the wooden churches, Sint-Catharina Kerk, and spent some time inside. Joan of Arc was also memorialized here with a statue.
Sint-Catharina Kerk(on the left)
After our walk, we visited the Musee Eugene Boudin, which is housed in a 19th-century chapel with two modern extensions, offering views over Honfleur and the Seine. Boudin was the town’s most famous painter. Besides Boudin’s works, the museum houses other impressionists such as Monet and Jongkind.
On our way to the restaurant where we would share a farewell lunch with the group, we passed some cool statues – have you ever seen the partial statues that provide optical illusions? There was a series of those.
We also passed two men who sported fedoras and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes. They were setting up their hurdy-gurdy as a tourist attraction.
Near them on a harbor wall was a plaque that memorialized Samuel de Champlain. As a Great Lakes person, I took note! Lake Champlain in Vermont is named after him, and the plaque commemorated his departure point in Honfleur and his role in establishing “New France” in Quebec, Canada. Honfleur’s location on the Seine made it a key port for launching French voyages into the St. Lawrence and beyond.
The city also seemed home to many cats, who provided me with some photo opportunities.
A chimney cat
A window cat.
Another window cat!
I would have loved to have spent more time here, but alas, the time for our departure was nearing. At our farewell lunch, our group exchanged contact information, and we said our goodbyes. We met a lot of nice people in our group and plan to keep in touch with a few.
We were very happy with our experience and would definitely consider booking another Road Scholar trip in the future, especially if it’s in a country where we don’t know the language and would be hesitant to drive.
A handsome Honfleur pigeon
Not that Road Scholar had anything to do with this, but the weather during our tour was divine: sunshine and no rain. The first rain came in the evening after we had returned to Paris, where our group would catch flights home the next day.
One thing to know if you travel to France is that there’s a lack of public restrooms, especially in Paris. You either need to go into a cafe and buy something so you can use their facilities, or just saunter in and act like you belong there and use them. Even our tour bus didn’t have a bathroom!
I feel like perhaps it was a mistake that we left France. Immediately afterward, the country experienced heat waves that left at least 40 people dead, wildfires that devastated communities in the southwest part of the country, and France’s first incidence of Ebola. Would things have been different if we had stayed? I guess I’ll never know. 😊 But I feel for the country and hope the many trials end soon.
Reflecting on this journey, I am grateful for the unforgettable experiences, the friendships made, the chance to glimpse the country of my ancestors, and the beauty discovered each day. Though France faced great challenges after our departure, the memories and connections from our trip will remain with us.
As this chapter closes, I look forward to future travels and new adventures, carrying with me the spirit of discovery and appreciation that this journey inspired.
Some macrons that we bought at the airport. Two are mysteriously missing.
