Chateaux and France and Patrick

Here we are: Post-England, back in Tours. End of November.

I had allowed a quick taxi ride to meet Pat in front of Notre Dame.  As I walked through the crowd (it was much bigger than it had been the Friday that I had come from Paris to London) I tried to spy his face. Trying to figure out if he was there, if he had gotten lost, if he was late. And then, underneath a beret, was this ridiculous smile. He was sitting against a gate, football in hand, wearing an amazing Christmas jumper. Lots of boyfriend girlfriend reunion kissing stuff followed, then a walk along the Seine to the train station. We spent only an hour in Paris, just drinking coffee and waiting for the train. I moved into the datcha that night and wanted to get home, would be starting school again on the Tuesday and had not even thought of planning classes.

The first weekend was a blur of supermarkets, the actual market and IKEA. There were many trips, carrying heavy bags and building the datcha into my own little house. We discovered that yams and sweet potatoes have the same name in French (leading to an interesting, but not unpleasant risotto), that I get very overwhelmed by supermarkets and that seeing each other after three months is brilliant. He spent the working week in Paris while I picked school back up. Returning to France after a few weeks in England was weird. Making my mouth speak French again was truly bizarre. It was so strange knowing Pat was that close and that I would see him again on Friday.

He had chastised me for not having been a tourist in my own town (I had literally not seen anything) and I had made excuses and then plans for a weekend of Loire Valley goodness.

The weekend, while incredible, was a never-ending farce of me misreading train timetables resulting in us missing trains, a late morning resulting in us missing a train and my preparedness resulting in us being two hours early for a train.

It began with us being late for the train on Saturday. We missed the early train to Azay-le-Rideau and ended up with three spare hours in Tours. Which is no great problem, of course. It's very nice here. We went to Les Halles, it has both an indoor and open air market on a Saturday. Bought figs and honey and other delights. The Sunday market near my house is great, but this one is all food, and spills over with little egg stands (12 for 2 euro) and locally made honey and bread. We grabbed espressos and sat in a little cafe, letting time move like the French do, slowly.

How can I explain the beauty of old French towns and ancient chateaux? Azay-le-Rideau was practically deserted, being winter and a Saturday (I'm not sure where the French disappear to on the weekends, but they are gone, just gone). Even the stores that were open ad this serene and quiet thign going. The chateaux here is one of the smaller in the region, but has easily become one of my favourites. It is infinitely gorgeous and seems like the kind of magical castle that has walked out of a fairytale, all turrets and moats and large fir trees all round. The garden is thick enough that it blocks the road on the other side, but you can still see the town, with its picturesque shuttered windows lying out to the front of the chateau

The Chateau

It was quiet there, we saw a few other people, but it did feel like we had the place to ourselves. Pat ran around touching the furniture, regardless of the signs that clearly said you weren't allowed to. We raced down spiral staircases, marvelled at the attic and admired the view from the topmost floor. The day went on like everyone was keeping a reverential silence, as if the place was so grand and empty that all noise get swallowed up by it.

Tiny old man fishing in the village

We took our lunch at a little patisserie, eating mini-pastries and enjoying almost sunshine (the sun is alarmingly rare to see in Tours- always overcast). Then walked to see some troglodyte villages wee had seen advertised. It turned out these had been turned into hotels (of course), but the walk was one of the best things about the day. The further you walk, the more beautiful houses you see. And I feel, with travelling especially, and after the speed of some of the days in England, it was nice to see things so slowly. It was a crisp day, we hiked up a little embankment to try and hunt down the caves and upon failing, walked slowly back to town. There was an hour wait at the train station and then home to bed.

We spent the next day a little closer to Tours, still in the west, but visiting Chateau de Villandry. The chateau is closed during the winter, but makes little difference, as it is the gardens everyone is there to see anyhow. We had walked from a town near the train station and seen a sign for the petrified caves, which we would later return to. The bike path here runs all the way through the Loire Valley, making it amazing cycling country (for those who like bikes). We arrived at the chateau a little cold and wet, but ready to explore. Then gardens are expansive and I will definitely return in spring to see them in bloom. The whole place, even without flowers, is just a garden paradise. And like the day before, we had it practically to ourselves. It was muddy and cold, but it was so darn pretty, with swans in the pool (moat?) and the grape vines hanging over walkways.

I think France feels nicer in the cold. Maybe I am simply used to it now, but feeling that harsh wind on my cheeks is becoming a homely feeling. Things seem brighter and more real in the cold, but things are quieter and you can imagine a several hundred years ago more easily.
We paid too much for hot chocolate and walked back to the petrified caves, making it just in time for the five o’clock tour, the last of the day. It was an experience, I tell you.

So, the petrified caves are filled with pools of dripping limestone and create an eerie but warm atmosphere. They are only slightly claustrophobic, especially as the tour guide whips you around like you are running from something. He gave his speech in each area, then whoosh, he was gone, before we could even snap a couple of photos. The place is super creepy, with little figurines being placed under the limestone to give white coatings to them. They create pictures with rubber moulds and sell them from the shop. There are tiny elephants and ducks being rotated daily to ensure they do not stick to the pools and they receive maximum coverage. See creepy images below:

The best part of the caves, in our opinion, was the second part of the tour, where you are lead into a room filled with small (but to scale) dinosaur figures. As our English translation of the tour told us, “these animals didn’t live in the grottoes. No dinosaurs lived in the Touraine area. These animals are here because it is the passion of the owner.” I kid you not, people. There were dinosaur replicas (not very good ones, either) down there because the owner of the grottoes has a thing for them. Tourism at its best.

Roman Cemetary in the grotto

"Dinosaurs"

We left the grottoes, rejuvenated after our laughing fits and made our way back through the small town to begin the walk to the train station. We had come in at a different station than the one we would leave from, requiring us to walk for forty-five minutes in the dark on a back road. Adventure, people. The town of Druye is so small that the train station does not even have a ticket machine. Meaning you get to ride the train for free. You are supposed to find a ticket officer aboard the train, but no one cares. We spent another forty minutes at the train station, in the cold, getting hypothermia and reading Peter Pan while waiting for the train.

Monday we took the train to Amboise, which is beautiful and big, unlike most towns in the area. Here, one can find the chateau of Francois I and close by, the chateau Francois I built for Leonardo da Vinci to spend his last year in. Yep, they were buds. You can see Chateau d’Amboise from the bedroom window of da Vinci at Clos de Luce. So he could wake up and see his friend’s castle from his own. We only visited Clos de Luce, with its models of some of da Vinci’s inventions. There is room after room of these and the garden contains 20 on a massive scale. The garden is also rigged up with audible talks where a pretend apprentice to da Vinci talks ad nauseum about his master. We missed the train (my fault, again). And walked around a pretty island of Amboise.

Da Vinci's Garden

Guess who thought of these?

Helicopter design

Large scale flying sketches

That night, we rewarded ourselves with noodle-box and Skyfall.

Tuesday night, after a day spent at school (for me) and exploring the scary place that is Tours-Nord (imagine a giant field of warehouses selling shoes, sports equipment, chocolate, clothes, etc), we walked across the foot bridge to find a place for dinner.

Dinner, of course, was magical. Three courses of amazingness; for me, foie gras and an incredible duck dish and then half of Pat’s amazing dessert. We all ended up agreeing that I overindulged in the foie gras. I spent the night vomiting. It is very rich, people. Small doses only. Have forever ruined it for myself. It was a less than magical way to end Pat’s stay, but an experience none the less. Slept for 15 hours straight the next afternoon. And then back to work!