Last night, the temperature dipped below zero Celsius. To me, this is beyond cold. In Taiwan, it’s really cold if it’s below ten degrees. But then again, there I have to drive a scooter and there is no such thing as a furnace and the floors are carpet, not tile.
So where was I in my monologue? I need to write it down before I forget. It doesn’t matter if anyone reads my entries because someday I’ll be old and I won’t be able to remember clearly so I’ll be really thankful for all this writing I’ve been doing.
Friday, November 11
Armistice Day (aka for Canadians, Remembrance Day) was a rather dead day in the town of Blois. Nothing seemed to be open and not many people seemed to be out and about. We thought that the chateaux we wanted to see would be open, but the quiet Friday morning streets did not make us hopeful. But then Meridith found the tourist office and a very nice lady told us how to use the buses and confirmed that indeed, the chateaux were open for business.
The first stop was the Blois Chateau. It was built in a few stages and really looks like four buildings stuck together. For example, the Gothic wing is connected to the Classical wing. It’s interesting, but it doesn’t look quite right. One of the most interesting features of the castle was a spiral staircase on the outside of the building, full of salamander carvings for the salamander was the symbol of King Francois I. Catherine de Medici lived and died in this chateau. One of the rooms featured hidden cupboards which Dumas wrote about in one of his books. The fireplaces are so huge that a grown person can stand inside and not have their head going up the chimney.
In the afternoon, we paid way too much for a bus and I of course fell asleep on the bus, waking up as we pulled up to Chambord. This chateau’s exterior is way more impressive than Crazy Ludwig’s castle. Innumerable peaks and towers and columns protrude out of the roof. It’s even more impressive when you learn that Chambord was built simply to serve as a hunting lodge. The living quarters themselves are clustered around a cruciform hallway. Each level is connected to the others by a massive stone staircase whose design is attributed to Leonardo da Vinci, who lived in a nearby town. It’s a double helix so while one person goes up one set of stairs, another person can go down the other and they’ll never meet. It made me miss the pagodas in Zuoying in Kaohsiung. The castle had been fixed up and made a lot more touristy than what Mer remembered from her previous visit. Francois I had began the construction on this castle as well so his trusty salamander showed up in a few places.
For supper that night, we stopped at a little pub that advertised pizza. They didn’t start serving food until 7. So we waited.
Saturday, November 12
One of the most annoying things about travelling in France is that transportation networks spider out from Paris. To get almost anywhere, you have to go to Paris first. Mer lamented not having a car, but I’m pretty used to not having a car and since I sleep a lot, I don’t mind sitting on a train all day. So we took a train to Paris and then another couple to Normandy. The day did get a little long – especially when one train was full and we were obliged to stand for forty minutes in the little entry way by the bathroom. A lady with a severe nicotine addiction would try to sneak a smoke at every stop and twice, nearly got her head cut off when the door snapped shut. Another good reason not to smoke . . . Actually, I don’t think that happened on the travel day at all. My memory is already getting fuzzy. It may have been on the way to Blois.
On our last train that day, we spotted a girl with an English newspaper and a Mountain Equipment Co-op bag. Since she was obviously Canadian, we tried to make conversation with her and her companion. They were perhaps the least friendly Canadians I’ve ever met. One girl was from Winnipeg and was less than impressed to find out Mer is from Steinbach. I’m used to Canadians being extremely friendly and greeting one another like long lost friends. They definitely broke my stereotype.
We arrived in the town of Pontorson in Normandy just before supper time. The hostel was closed for the winter – yeah, the travel books didn’t tell us that. The hotel we wanted was non-existent so we grabbed a room at the Hotel de France. The room was small, but once we got the proprietor to replace the light bulbs, it was nice and bright. And this hotel was always conveniently located right beside the train station.
Since it’s not high tourist season, the tourist offices aren’t open on Sundays. And it was near closing time on Saturday so we had little hope of finding out any desperately needed info. We were lucky to catch the office before it closed. This was very important because this was the only public access internet spot in all of town. We had a half an hour in which to find out a few things. This half and hour cost us more than six dollars Canadian. There was nothing to do in that town and we had no TV in our room. So I got a pretty good sleep that night.
Mer unfortunately didn’t. I make decisions better after I sleep. She sleeps better if the decision is made. I hadn’t made up my mind about a few scheduling decisions and she wasn’t too happy about that. Sorry Mer.
Sunday, November 13
A few miles north of Pontorson stands Mont St. Michel, an ancient fortress monastery established on a chunk of rock. At high tide, especially during the solstices, the hill is an island surrounded by the sea. The cathedral is teetered on the top of the hill with impressive support to keep it balanced on top of everything. It was an old Benedictine monastery where the monks were not allowed to see out. The monks lived on the upper level, nobility visited on the middle level, and everyone else was received on the lowest level. It’s an amazing sight and it definitely caught my eye long before the bus dropped us off at the base.
It’s no longer a monastery. It’s been a national monument for over a hundred years – when the people decided the government should stop using it as a prison. So now it’s a tourist trap full of restaurants and gift shops. But the echoes of days gone by reverberate off the old stone walls and the ramparts that offer a view of the sea – or the quick sand at low tide.
A small church on one of the lower levels caught my eye so we wandered in and found that mass would be starting before too long. So we came back at the appropriate time. A group of older men was performing a concert that night, and this choir was at the mass in their good Sunday suits. Their voices were not high class, but still charming. The room wasn’t full, but it seemed like those in attendance were there for the right reasons. There seemed to be an absence of the typical French tourists who were milling around the rest of the hill. The music was done in French or Latin. I took French at school for years, but I must confess, I’m better at pronouncing Latin. The service was nice and we felt quite comfortable there.
In the afternoon, we joined an English tour of the monastery. A delightful French woman who complained about the rudeness and loudness of her countrymen toured us through the various levels of Mont St. Michel proper. I felt like I was taken away to the Middle Ages and all those old movies we’ve all seem. We had to run to make our bus back to Pontorson and then had to sit and wait for our train to Bayeux.
Bayeux is the first town liberated after D-Day. Smaller villages were liberated first, but Bayeux is the place where De Gaulle came and made his speech. Our hostel was called Family Home and after we rang the night bell a few times, a grumpy and frumpy woman emerged from the back and showed us a room where the beds were so comfortable that I could have slept in them forever. We met a couple other Canadians there as they too emerged from the dark peripheries of the building. One guy was friendly due to loneliness and a couple others were moderately friendly. It was definitely an interesting place from which to visit the D-Day beaches.
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