Emily and Linda’s Travel Blog

On Sunday we said goodbye to Chris and Margaret who headed back to Long Island.  We boarded the train for Aix-en-Provence.  By that time, we’d figured out how to manage the Assistance service on the train and all went smoothly.  We had decided to splurge in Aix and stay at the Aquabella Hotel and Spa which was a real treat.  A lovely spot, situated in the old town, but a very modern facility carrying on the tradition in Aix, dating back to the Celto-Ligurians and Romans who came to “take the waters”.  We passed on the outdoor swimming pool in the blistering sun, but Linda had a massage and I indulged in a muscle-smoothing treatment and a “gommage” session (a body scrub with sugar, followed by a sort of weird hose-down contraption with multiple jets that comes down from the ceiling and looked like something out of a Sci-Fi movie).  As a chiropractor, I’ve experienced a lot of body work in my life, but this was one of the odder sessions. Still it was interesting and refreshing as advertised. 

Our room had a lovely balcony, perfect for morning coffee.  Linda also had a good time playing with the light and trying out a new technique of shooting through the bistro glasses in our room (still a work in progress). 

Mid-day in Aix was very hot so we did our roaming around in the early morning or evening.  It’s quite a lovely town, constructed of pink-yellow stone and built around a series of many squares, most of which at one time had a spring-fed fountain (though all but a few are dry now).  

This one, the Place d’Albertas, is considered to be one of the most beautiful, featuring “regency decoration freely reinterpreting Baroque themes.  

At night, the squares are full of locals and tourists (and probably students - since there’s a University) all eating, chatting and visiting.  Feels like the whole village is having a big party every night.  We ate dinners in town and I have to say the cuisine was not that remarkable (a surprising tendency to over-cooking everything -  a horror in France!), but there was such a lovely feeling that we didn’t mind.  The restauranteurs greeted us with enthusiasm and made us feel welcome.  

The best meal we had in Aix was lunch at the Hotel while waiting for our train.  Linda had a pasta with red pesto, pine nuts, and mesclun and I had grilled bass with soft polenta and beautiful composed zucchini batons made with alternating strips of yellow and green squash.  I really admired the work and precision that went into it.  It as accompanied by a creamy white sauce of a kind that I don’t usually like with fish, but it was spectacular. 

The rubbing, scrubbing, and relaxing accomplished, it was off to Marseille - a 15 minute ride on the TGV rapid train. No napping on that train.  

Waitresses from the restaurant ship at the foot of the Juche Tower

“These five young women are hostesses working on a boat operating along the river that runs through Pyonyang……One interesting aspect of women at work in North Korea is that factories employ only young unmarried women.  They live on site in dormitories with access to medical facilities, saunas and other amenities, existing in a form of self-contained isolation within the factory itself.  Similarly for roles such as hostesses or directing traffic at major intersections in Pyongyang, young women aged 20 to 26 - unmarred and conforming to the society’s established standards of beauty - are selected.”

Gladieu noted that he originally wanted to take a picture of a different man of similar appearance, but was refused permission to do so.  It turned out his guide felt the man was too ugly.  When asked if ugliness wasn’t a subjective criterion, the guide said “No, no.  It isn’t subjective.  When someone is that ugly, he knows it.  If I had asked him to be photographed, I would have forced him to confront his ugliness and caused him to lose face. I cannot behave in an immoral way.”  Gladieu went on to note that he began to understand the “almost pathological relationship to perfection”.  For example, he was never allowed to photograph construction workers because they were standing by incomplete buildings - not yet perfect.  

“In this photograph, I deliberately engaged with the poster in the background - a highly conventional feature in North Korea and also common in the former Soviet Union, and imbued with the full codified language of communist propaganda.  The man, with his slighgtly vacant gaze, poses with the same characteristically proud nationalist stance”

The building of the museum is itself full of contrasting vistas, lines, angles, reflections (Linda disappeared to explore them with her camera).  

Linda took some better ones, but this was my feeble effort.  You can just make out the actual meeting of the rivers.  

There’s a small park at the tip of the peninsula with an ONLYLYON sign to great boats passing up one of the rivers. 

That evening, Chris and Marg treated us to a typical Lyonnaise dinner at Le Grand Café de Negotiants where I tried a typical Lyonnaise dish - Quenelles (a sort of fish dumpling in a broth that tastes like lobster bisque) , Linda and Marg had a sort of beef stew with carrots “2 ways”.  And somehow I didn’t capture Chris’ dish

Best meal in Lyon IMO.  We went to a “fancier” restaurant the next night, but the food was unremarkable except for the presentation of this smoked salmon appetizer:

A “rose” of salmon with  creme fraiche and a tuille of dried octopus ink.  Still the taste didn’t live up to the appearance.  Seemed like the food involved a lot of work, but then was largely over-cooked.  Didn’t live up to the reputation of Lyon as the temple of classic French cuisine.  

Marg decided to take a rest day while the rest of us went to visit the Museé des Confluences.  The Confluences is the place on the peninsula where the Rhône and the Saône rivers come together 

It’s also the location for the Confluences Museum - dedicated to the confluence/intersections of natural science, anthropology, earth sciences natural history and art.  It’s home to some quirky permanent exhibits and often interesting temporary ones.  It’s also housed in a wildly exuberant building that Linda loves for its angles and reflections 

We spent most of our time that day on an exhibit by photographer Stephan Gladieu, described this way: 

“There’s not much we know about this country, and no surprises why – North Korea is one of the most closed-off dictatorships in the world. Photographer Stephan Gladieu travelled there five times to take a series of portraits. Duly authorised to enter this nation of absolute control, accompanied everywhere he went, he recreated a framework for freedom with his mobile photography studio, playing with backgrounds and the codes of propaganda. In front of the camera, the North Koreans look at us, just as we observe them. But what do they see in us and what do we really perceive of them?’

Throughout, the photographer invites us to consider what we think we see, what we actually see, and what might be our own projections onto the images.  

The first thing that struck me was how few of the people were smiling - even the children playing. However, Gladieu notes that in North Korea, it’s considered more dignified to have a “serious” face when posing for a photo.  He was monitored closely when he took his pictures, so they were likely all posed.  

“School children at Taesongsan theme park”

“”A group of women rehearsing a collective dance in the street”

“A married couple at the Central Zoo”  

“On my first day was taken to a place that set the tone for the entire stay: a Zoo - a space where animals are carefully staged and presented.  I perceive a parallel with North Korea itself - a society engaged in a vast theatrical staging, driven by a desire toward an idealized form of perfection, where pride gradually merges with political purposes….. Ultimately the most relaxed figures in the photograph may well be the the two penguins” 

Sorry if you got an earlier blank post.  I fat-fingered it and sent without intending to.  

The view from our living room window at dawn:

Linda took some time to work on her collaging while the rest of us got organized for the day’s outing. 

Our main goal for the day was to go to the Centre d’Histoire de la Résistance et de la Déportation, located in the buildings that were once the headquarters of Klaus Barbie (the building itself has an eerie feeling to it). To be clear this is a museum of the Lyonnaise resistance and the deportation of the resistance fighters.  There is less mention of the deportation of Jews.  The official explanation is that at the time the center was developed, the main focus was on the Lyonnaise resisters and that the Shoah was not yet a “historiographic topic”.  It seemed to me that the omission could have been rectified in the years since.  An exhibit about Jews in France and Lyon during the war will open next month so perhaps there will be more balance.   Still, the collections we visited were impressive for their careful and extensive documentation of the German occupation as well as the resistance organizers and fighters.  This quote on the wall struck me as ironic, but very relevant to us in the States now.  

“Memory is the root of deliverance, just as forgetfulness is the root of exile”. - Baal Shem Tov 

Especially in light of what is happening now in our country, the video testimony by people who were young kids when the Germans marched in particularly struck me.  They talked about playing by the road when the Germans marched in.  They had believed all the talk about how the French would fight back valiantly defending their communities - and then a few months later, the Germans were in charge.  With very little fighting, suddenly many Lyonnaise were working for the German regime/Petain government - whether by choice or by force.  An example of how quickly things can shift toward fascism and how hard it is for everyday, non-political people to take in what’s happening.  

I  confess my knowledge of the “Free French” government under Petain and its consequences was pretty basic before this visit 

The similarity between the propaganda put out by the Petain government and the stuff that comes from MAGA was dramatic.  A lot about fierce nationalism, the need for “true” Frenchmen to lead, the glorification of the qualities of the so-called “real” French man and the duty of French women to tend the home and preserve the ideal family.    

And, no surprise, the usual suspects were trumped up (pun intended) as the hindrances to pure French family life and success:

The heading says, “Leave us in Peace” and the black wolves and serpents are Free Masons, Jews, deGaulle, and Lies (this from a government which, like ours was manufacturing a steady stream of lies).  There were also many first-hand accounts and detailed documentation of how the resistance formed, how it was organized, and the challenges they faced.  I won’t try to summarize it here, but there’s more info at: www.chrd.lyon.fr (tap the address bar once you get there and you can get it to translate to English) 

Wednesday we moved on to Lyon.  When we arrived at “Assistance”, the SNCF folks were a little testy - Wondering why we hadn’t booked earlier.  Didn’t seem the moment to say we’d been trying for weeks.  Not helped by a client in a wheelchair shouting at them that he was not going to be a victim!.  Let’s just say the fellows behind the desk weren’t in a very cooperative mood, but we got signed in and helped onto the train as hoped.  The train itself was great (why can’t we have such nice trains?) with plenty of room, spotless, a descending platform that took us down to the lower level of the train, and a large sparkling clean rest room, large enough for a wheelchair with built in rails for the disabled. 

We connected with Marg and Chris at our Air BnB in an old Beaux Arts era building, not far from the Beaux Arts Museum.  Pretty nice digs on the 6th floor, looking out onto a church and some lovely rooftops, with a large airy living room/dining room, a huge eat in kitchen and an upstairs with 2 bedrooms and its own bathroom so we had plenty of space.  Our host Malika explained everything to us in very rapid French with abundant use of Google translate.  We held on as tight as we could to what she was saying and mostly understood each other.  I noted that she had what at first I thought was a verbal tick - she kept saying “Op!” (Or maybe Ahp), seemingly for emphasis at the end of a statement.  As in, “You push this and then this and “Op!”. Since then, I’ve noticed this seems to be common in Lyon and later in Aix.  Maybe one of you knows more about this linguistic oddity.  If you look closely at the video, you’ll also see there was some alarming artwork on the walls (and marked for sale).  We decided the less said, the better, but odd choices for a place that will have many varied visitors.  Malika seemed relieved when we agreed there would be “no boys” in our party.  We gave no further details, but all her worries seemed resolved when she saw all 4 of us together - 2 of us with rollators.  No wild parties from this bunch.    

Getting settled in and resting a bit was all we managed before it was time to search for dinner.  We found a Thai place a few blocks away.  Not as good as some of the other ethnic restaurants we’d been to, but my dish - duck breast with red curry and coconut milk was really good.  

That  was about all we could manage for our first day in Lyon so back to the apartment to try out the beds (and fabulous shower).  

Tuesday we decided our main excursion would be a trip to the Musèe d’Orsay, one of our favorite places in Paris.  We love the building as much as the art and just hanging out there is always a pleasure.  Built in an old railway station (the Gare d’Orsay), which was decommissioned in 1939 because its tracks were too short for twentieth century trains, I sometimes wish they hadn’t put all the new walls in because you lose the scope of the original tracks, but if you use your imagination, you can still “see” the space as it once was.  

Current space:

What it once looked like

I’d never heard of the “Nabis” before.  According to the info at the exhibit, “Nabi” is a Hebrew and Arabic word meaning prophet.  The Nabis saw themselves as prophets “of a new art form based on an interpretation of Gaughin’s ideas”. Members of the group included Pierre Bonhard, Marice Denis, and Edouard Vallotton among others.  This one, by Bonnard - Crèpuscule (Twilight) caught my fancy - especially how the figures blend into each other (I couldn’t distinguish one from another in some of them close up - only after stepping back).  

I also loved this one, especially the pair touching noses in the center. Also by Bonnard, it’s called “L’Apres-midi bourgeoise” and is a portrait of the artist’s sister and her husband with their children and friends.  

We had hoped to have lunch at the cafe behind the station’s huge glass clock (somewhat reminiscent of the one at the Eagle Warehouse in Brooklyn), but it was too crowded and I needed to sit rather than be online.  It used to be possible to go out on the terrace next to the cafe which has an amazing view of Monmarte and and the Sacrè Coeur on the hill.  Sadly you can only see it through the window now - so I couldn’t get a really good shot. The sky still made it dramatic though.  

As usual, Linda often spends a fair amount of time photgraphing the building, it’s angles, it’s views etc.  In this case there was also netting over the window - for those of you who have followed her, you know she loves to shoot through screens/scrims/grids, etc.  

Afterwards we had lunch at a cafe across the street - on a VERY windy day.  A flying umbrella almost took me out.  Here I record the fact that the waiter seemed more concerned with rescuing his umbrella than ascertaining if I was OK after it smacked my noggin.  The food was very good though, once the umbrella was secured.  I had what they called a Poke bowl - not like any I’ve encountered, but tasty.  Linda had a gallette - like a crépe, but made from buckwheat flour (farine de sarassin). In this case, filled with tuna, goat cheese and vegetables.  

By then it was time for the afternoon snooze, followed by a walk in search of dinner.  We really lucked out by finding a fabulous cozy Indian restaurant right down the block from our hotel.  We had no reservation, but were able to get a table by promising we would be out before the folks with a reservation arrived.  It ended up being packed and we heard the owner turn several couples away.  Not hard to see why - the food was excellent and included an appetizer we’d never encountered before - Dahi Puri, little toasted cups filled with chickpeas, coriander chutney, tamarind sauce, pomegranate seeds, and other stuff I can’t recall.  Crispy on the outside and then sweet/tangy/aromatic inside.  Our waiter said we’d love it and we absolutely did.  Their chicken Tikka Masala and Biriyani were also delicious.  Lovely end to a beautiful day.  

Our main motive for our stay in Paris was to get to beds ASAP on arrival and spend a couple of days getting over jet lag before we met up with our friends Marg and Chris who would be finishing their Viking cruise in Lyon.  We’ve been to Paris a number of times (and Linda did a semester abroad here) so mostly we wanted some slow travel and rest, some good, but not fancy food and to enjoy the ambience of Parisian streets and spaces. Tuesday we woke up a bit late, more like  NYC time and ambled around the corner  to a cafe for breakfast.  Wonderful French coffee as expected, Linda had the “Anglaise”  - over easy eggs with white bread toast and I ordered a tomato & onion omelette that came with more interesting bread and a lovely salad.

Our next mission was to try to book Assistance for the disabled passenger for our SNCF train rides. After attempting it online several times from home and emailing the SNCF, I was told I could go to the station and arrange it.  The RER (light rail) station was near our hotel so we walked over there.  Job one - find an entrance with an elevator for the walker.  That required a bit of circular hiking and multiple conversations, only to end up very near to where we started, but there was indeed an elevator.  Further pondering of signs, conversations with passengers on the platforms, and a trip up an escalator with the walker (strictly”INTERDITE”, happily no gendarmes in sight) which led us to a place with an information booth containing a human being.  Unfortunately on the other side of a turnstile.  Since we hadn’t needed a ticket to enter, we had none to get out with.  Linda pointed out that they take a dim view of being ticketless at the end of a journey.  I looked around for a solution, and saw a green button with a flip up glass cover that said it was for assistance.  With no other alternative, I flipped and pushed at which point an ear-piercing alarm went off.  I closed the cover right away and thankfully it stopped.  Even more thankfully, it got the attention of a very nice woman whose French was slow enough for us to follow.  She patiently explained that the RER is linked with the metro system and has no connection to the SNCF train office of Assistance.  She did explain how to find it (though I was pretty sure it wasn’t as simple as she indicated).  So good thing we started early, but really had not much to show for our morning’s perambulations.  

Second objective  for the morning was to wander the neighborhood around the Saint Germain church, suggested by Linda’s reading as an area with interesting shops and art galleries.  So we cabbed over there to save my legs after the many steps earlier.  There were a few shops of interest, including one called Moustaches - a pet store with some fun items. Including this fetching number, modeled beautifully by a visiting customer. 

We decided Billy didn’t need one at the price, but enjoyed the fashion show.  A little fruit and veg shop caught my eye.  It was called Potager which my French mystery reading taught me was the word for the soup garden near a house.  They had some humongous carrots and the smallest cauliflowers I’ve ever seen. Also some teeny sweet plums thatI initially thought were individual grapes.   Not much in the way of art galleries, but a diverting stroll anyway.  Several cafes were festooned with flowers.  

By then it was time for lunch and we found  a lovely Greek place that had the best moussaka I’ve ever tasted. Linda is getting in touch with healthier eating lately and Paris is certainly a good place to explore salads.  No picture of hers because I forgot until after I had removed the objectionable olives, cucumbers and beets, but I wanted to credit her efforts.  

 Next item on our slow travel/foot saving agenda was a boat trip on the Seine.  Touristy, but a pleasant way to see Paris on a warm breezy evening. The clouds produced a spectacular sky and thankfully only a tiny sprinkle here and there.  

This woman was making some sort of video, lip synching to music and with a videographer opposite her on the other side of the staircase. We never learned more.    

By then we were hungry so, against all advice not to eat within a hundred yards of a major tourist attraction (in this case the Eiffel Tour), we went in search of dinner. The side walk hawkers were out in force, but we resisted them and were rewarded with Chez Ming - a simple pan-Asian place with Chinese, Thai, and Vietnamese food.  We learned during some trip past that eating mostly other ethnic cuisines in Paris is cheaper and lighter than traditional French fare.  Successful so far on this trip. 

We left NYC on 9/5 (otherwise known as the Saturday of Labor Day weekend - so no crowds at JFK) bound for Paris /Charles De Gaulle airport.  I’ve requested wheelchair service before, but this was my first trip traveling with a rolling walker.  So the wheelchair service got me through security and up to the gate where I switched to the rollator to take me up to the aircraft door where, as promised, they tagged my device and assured me it would be waiting for me at the door of the plane in Paris.  

Only it wasn’t.  Also MIA were another passenger’s walker and two families’ baby carriage/car seats. The plane emptied, other folks were picked up in wheelchairs while we waited for our gate checked items to arrive.  Nothing. Eventually a 2nd staff person checked the plane’s hold herself and told us they were not on the plane and might have been left behind at JFK, but would follow THE NEXT DAY (!?!) on another plane.  I was pretty aggravated, but the four parents of wee children were understandably crazed, knowing they would not even be able to take a cab into the city without a car seat /carriage.  No actual solutions offered, though they did suggest the parents could check baggage claim to see if the items ended up there.  Off they went and we hope they were successful since we didn’t see them again.  

So that left LInda, me and a Delta staff person whose English was patchy.  By then the wheelchair pushers had disappeared so I had a chair with no pusher and still no rollator. Distressing enough, but since there was no one with “permission” to push the wheelchair beyond the exit door of the ramp, I was also not allowed to leave that area. As Linda has pointed out, “the French are big on rules, but not so solution oriented”.  45 minutes later, I was begging to be allowed to at least use the rest room.  But in a classic Catch 22, I wasn’t allowed to reenter the plane to use the rest room there, nor was I allowed to go beyond the locked door to the main part of the airport without the officially designated pusher.  Not permitted, no other solution offered.  Finally, after going around in circles some more, I summoned enough of my wobbly French to ask if we were being held prisoner? 

In today’s world, this travel snafu is nothing compared to what many are going through at airports, but it came as a great relief when finally  a more senior official showed up and took us via a tiny staff elevator, onto the runway tarmac where there was a transport van with permission to get us to border control (and les toilettes) as well as a new pusher who told us he’d been waiting for us for some time. Not exactly the kind of service for disabled travelers we had been promised.  He told us (truthfully or not) that at CDG, they never have your gate checked items at the door of the plane and that they are always taken to baggage claim.  In any case, we finally located the rollator and were allowed to go.  I have to admit, every single person was perfectly pleasant; just not really helpful until we’d been round and round the same ground with no new thoughts being introduced.  

Anyway, we got into Paris and arrived at the Residence des Arts, a teeny hotel on a quiet side street just a few blocks from the Seine. It’s in a perfect neighborhood, surrounded by restaurants, near transport, with helpful staff and everything we really need. The entrance is easy to miss - almost feels like you should knock on the door and give a password. 

It’s in a very old building so the elevator had to be squeezed in wherever space could be found.  It would never meet code in the US, just barely big enough for one person and a suitcase or 2 people who don’t have issues with claustrophobia.   

The room is likewise very small (we have to signal our intentions to pass each other) , but has all the necessities - a fairly modern bathroom, air-conditioning (much appreciated during France’s current heat wave) and staff who are pleasant AND helpful.  So a winner overall.  

We napped for a while and then decided a good low-energy activity would be to visit Notre Dame for Sunday evening Vespers, it was a short walk and gave us a chance to check out the ongoing repairs.  The first thing that struck us was how clean it is is now -we had no idea the stone underneath was more golden than gray.  The inside too is much warmer now after the cleaning  

The vespers service was interesting and unexpectedly modern with a priest, an acolyte of some kind, and a female canter with a lovely voice.  I was surprised how involved the congregation was, joining in call and response singing throughout the service. Very different from any time in my experience of Catholic cathedrals.  

Afterwards we walked back along the Seine, peeked into Shakespeare and Co, which had a line out the door, and grabbed a quick dinner at a touristy looking Turkish place with unexpectedly good food  That was enough adventure for one day so we rolled into our beds by 8:30  

Still catching up on the blog.  Hopefully in time to complete it and our June trip to Chicago before we set out to California next month.  

We disembarked from the Viking ship on Tuesday 5/27 and checked into the Inntel Hotels Amsterdam Centre in the Centrum Neighborhood of the city.  Very much in the center of tourist-ville.  Convenient for transportation, but really packed at times with tourists, students on break, graduation parties, etc. with clumps of high or drunk folks from the afternoon on.  If we return to Amsterdam, I'd think about another area (the neighborhood around the Zoo looked very nice and still convenient to trams and boats).  

View or the street below from the upstairs passageway to our rooms.  

Mel and Diana had one day to spend with us before heading home so we wanted to get an overview first.  We walked over to the area around the famous Central Station - still quite grand from the outside, but cut up by construction inside at least for now.  

Nearby we got on a boat tour of the city (which could be followed by a bus tour if we still had the energy).  As we had discovered on our previous boat tour, it's a great way to see the city up close without a lot of walking, but not so great for photos. Still, we did manage to capture a few

In this one we look like we're bracing for impact in Star Trek

After the boat tour, we had a wander around the Flower Market where there was an incredible variety of bulbs and flowers for sale and a really cool building with complicated shutters. 

By then we were ready for some lunch and we happened upon a small cafe called Studio 2 that had a variety of sandwiches, salads,  and a local treat called Poffertjes (small puffy pancakes dusted with powdered sugar).  Definitely needed one for the table. 

By the time we were finished with lunch, it was starting to look a little rainy and some of us were ready for a rest.  But Mel, Diana, and Chris, ever the intrepid travelers, went off to take the bus ride - and unfortunately got stuck in really bad traffic followed by a slogging walk home in the rain.  Not the best moment of the day.  But we finally collected us all together and dry in the restaurant next to the hotel - Humphrey's which has a sort of indoor forest vibe.  By then we were more concerned with getting food and wine into us and didn't take any pictures, but I cribbed a few from someone else's trip. 

Diana and Mel had an early flight back the next morning so we called it a night.  

I realized too late that my last post got uploaded before it was complete (meant to hit Save as Draft, but must have hit Save and Publish by mistake).  I've now posted the photos and extra text that I'd intended to add so you can go back to the previous post to see them if you have the interest.  

The second installment of our Netherlands outing was a visit to a group (fleet?) of windmills.  You really got a sense of the lowlands and their flat beauty - especially since we were blessed by a sunny day with dramatic cloudscapes.   

Mel got this fabulous shot of our tour manager Rene and his trainee toting our cheese purchases back to the boat so we could be hands free for our windmills tour.

As you enter the area where the historic windmills are situated, there's an odd bit of art - a basket, "floating" in one of the canals.  In the basket is a baby and a cat - "Wiegje van Beatrijs" (Beatrice's cradle).  The sign accompanying it says "On 19 November 1421, the St. Elisabeth's Flood took place.  Inextricably linked to this disaster and the village of Kinderdijk is the legend about the child Beatrice, whose cradle washed up on the riverbank near the dyke in what is now called Kinderdijk.  The cradel also contained a cat that kept the cradle balanced by jumping back and forth.  This artwork, by the artist Roel Teeuwen, depicts the legend's story"

The video I shared in my last post talks about how the windmills aren't in use anymore, but we got a different story from our guide.  To be a windmiller, you have to go through quite extensive training on how to operate the windmill and keep it maintained.  There is evidently a long waiting list to become windmillers - who live in the windmill or just beside it.  They are no longer regularly in use to pump water since that's done by electric pumps now, but if the electricity ever fails, the windmills have to be able to take over the work so both the mill itself and the milers have to be ready.  The mills get tested periodically to make sure they're functioning.  

We visited one mill that's maintained as a tourist site to give a sense of the life of a miller and family.  The round part near the top rotates so that the blades of the windmill can face the best wind direction - it's operated by the thing that looks like a captain's wheel at the bottom right.  

Inside the mill is a very compact living quarters with a bed built into the wall  (I would have loved that little cozy space as a kid, but wonder how it worked out for the couple who likely shared it year round).  The plaque in this room said that it was the only heated room in the house.  The kids slept upstairs (I didn't even attempt the ladder to get up there so I have no photos of their quarters).

After the tour, we got to meet one of the current millers - though he's only there part time now.  He told us he'd been working that mill for 30 years.  

Before we left, we got one more group shot