La Belle France

Eurostar Train

July 18, 2004 - London, Paris and Orleans I am up early and excited about meeting Pam in Paris and also riding the Eurostar for the first time.  I walk to the station in a light rain which actually reminds me I'm still in England.  The Waterloo International Station is a madhouse.  I manage to grab a coffee and a roll while waiting for the check-in lines to shorten.  This is a miscalculation.  The lines only get longer.  It's Sunday morning in the middle of the summer.  I ask myself, "What did you expect?"  I answer, "Not this much of a madhouse." 

I decide to see if I can by-pass the lines by checking in electronically.  Wrong!  I stand in a madhouse of a check-in line.  I go through the madhouse of Immigration. I wait in the madhouse of a waiting area where there are not even close to enough chairs to sit on.  I stand in the madhouse of a line waiting for the boarding call.  Wait; there are two lines depending on whether you are in the front or the back of the train.  I'm in the wrong line.  I change lines.  The boarding doors open.  Both lines merge so I'm now at the end of both lines.  I give up and take a now empty seat.  After a while I get at the end of the line(s) and finally reach my assigned car, board, deposit my luggage on top of everyone else's and find my seat.  It's a single, thanks be to the seat reservation gods.  I need a drink.  This is worse than the average airport but at least I'm on my way.

The ride is very enjoyable with good food, good beer and wine, good service, and the exciting feeling of traveling on land at 250 kilometers per hour in a relatively noiseless, relatively vibration-free atmosphere.  In retrospect, it is better than struggling to get to and from airports and while the hassle is similar, the rewards make it worthwhile.  It's impossible to see what we are passing because we are going so fast.  The only way to observe the scenery is to fix my gaze into the distance.

Gare du Nord, Paris

I notice a nearby couple having all sorts of trouble adjusting their seats and eating their food.  They are immensely overweight and I ponder on how difficult it must be to go through life with such a handicap.  It also affects their behavior in other ways as they find it hard to be civil to the attendants and are constantly drawing attention to themselves.  Obesity may be the last prejudice to fall.  I know that, even though I'm overweight myself, I tend to avoid obese people.

We arrive at Gare du Nord and I must make my way to Gare d'Austerlitz.  But first, I must run a gauntlet of dark hued, apparently dispossessed women with cards in English asking for money.  First, they ask if you speak English, then if you answer, "yes," they shove this card in your face, which I'm sure relates a sad story of fatherless children and political oppression.  I do not have to actually read the card to know the gist of its content.  I say no, three or four times each time a little bit louder.  These are the situations where being "The Voice" is a positive attribute.  I think following the Nancy Reagan advice to, "Just say no" might have worked better.

I retreat to the public toilets which are fee-based depending on what you wish to do.  Washing your hands is free.  Urinating costs €.50.  Dumping is €1.00.  Showering is €5.00.  I take the €.50 option, relieve myself and am washing my hands when one of the "card" ladies enters the toilet area and shoves her card in my face as I'm washing my hands.  I lose it, slightly, and summoning the full power of "The Voice," inform her of my total disinterest in her plight.  In return, I get the dirtiest look I've gotten since I left a small tip at an over-priced under-serviced New York City restaurant.

Now, in my agitated state I must find the entrance to the Metro and figure out how to make my way to Gare du Austerlitz.  I manage to calm down, find the Metro, read the map, make my destination known to the cashier, buy my ticket and struggle with my bags to the loading platform.  The Paris Metro is no more user-friendly than the London Tube for baggage-challenged people like me.  Getting the bags onto the train is even more challenging as the train is quite full and my baggage and I take up a lot of space.  I finally get to the Austerlitz station and struggle up the stairs to the railroad part.  Now I must find Pam.

I head for the departure area and look up at the departure board to find out which track our train is leaving from, when I hear a slightly distressed American woman trying to communicate what she wants to know with a young, female information agent who speaks almost no English.  Yes, it's Pammie.  I rescue her from the situation and after a long hug, point out that our train is posted on the departure board and we can best take care of ourselves by having some wine or beer while we wait.  She enthusiastically agrees and after only a little confusion about which part of the eating area is for those who only wish to drink, we catch up on what's been going on for the both of us.

Pam has just come from the Canary Islands where she was attending a Company meeting for those who achieved their annual goals.  So it was mostly fun and food with a minimum amount of work involved.   I fill her in on my Hadrian's Wall adventure and soon it's train time.

The train to Orleans is not air-conditioned so we ride with the windows open.  It's not terribly hot but every time a train goes by in the opposite direction, the sound of the compressed air makes us both jump about a foot in the air.  No-one ever checks for tickets and we never see a conductor.  On arrival, we head for the TI only to find it's closed on Sunday.  We know our hotel, the Terminus; is across from the train station.  We just don't know which exit.  Naturally we pick the wrong one.   When we do get to the hotel, since it's Sunday, the clerk is very inexperienced and speaks almost no English but we manage to get to our room only to find that Pam can't connect to the Internet.

Place du Matroi, Orleans

Prior to this trip, Pam had made it very clear to me that she wanted to stay in hotels with Internet access, because of her need to check for e-mail messages and I complied by reserving at only those hotels that said they had Internet connections available, either direct or via direct-dial.  What I eventually discovered was that my definition of Internet access and each hotel's definition were often at odds.  In this case the phone input for the computer is very different from the kind of hook-up we are expecting.  I wish I could describe it better but the "French Connection," as I came to call it, requires a flat piece of metal that slides into a slot in the phone.  I take our connection to the desk clerk to see what I can do to get Pam connected and am unsuccessful.  It being Sunday, finding a hardware or phone store is out of the question.  I hang in there and with liberal use of hands and props such as a phone and a computer she finally realizes that we need a connection into the "French Connection."  Being a total sweetheart she unplugs one of her computers and sure enough it's an adapter cord that will allow us to use the modem to access the server so Pam can retrieve her e-mails.  I promise to bring it back in the morning and I return to the room triumphant.  Time for a glass of wine!

While Pam satisfies her e-mail addiction, I drink a couple glasses of white wine.  We then head for dinner. We choose a nearby brasserie, L'Entracte.  We have a superb meal.  I discover on this trip that I and my companions seem to get better food when we pick a restaurant that we see and like rather than choose one recommended by either hotel staff or a guidebook.  I think that European food is generally very good and so it's hard to go wrong.  It's at the crowded popular places I am more likely to be disappointed. 

After dinner, Pam and I walk the streets of Orleans: partially to learn our way around, partially to walk off our dinner but mostly to find tomorrow night's restaurant.  We stroll across Place du Martroi and are charmed by the architecture of the buildings with their wrought iron balconies and arched windows.  Down a side street off the square, we discover what looks like a restaurant row and decide to return tomorrow night and choose one of them for dinner.  Orleans turns out to be much more interesting than I thought it would be. 

We return to our room hoping there is not too much street noise so we can leave the window open.  It's Sunday night so we are fine.  The evening breeze keeps the room cool and we sleep well.

Ste Croix Cathedral, Orleans

Monday, July 19, 2004 – Orleans

We get a late start this morning: partially because we decide to take it easy and partially because Pam hits the internet after a pedestrian breakfast in the hotel dining room.  The desk clerk is one of the most unhelpful hotel people I run into on this whole trip.  When asked for information, he refers me to the TI office, which is closed and when I point this out he gives me the well known Gallic shrug.  I decide I prefer inexperienced clerks like the young woman from last night to a surly experienced clerk like I am confronted with this morning.  I decide to take the high road and ignore his behavior. 

Pam finally shows and we head for the Ste Croix Cathedral.  It is a very beautiful church and has a memorial to the U.S. soldiers who died in France in WWII.  You can see pictures of the church in the Loire Valley Album on my photo site.    Unfortunately we discover that all the tourist offices and many of the sites are closed on Monday as well as Sunday.  We decide to see what we can and then do laundry.  Not very exciting but it fits in with our "take it easy" day.

Hotel Groslet Garden, Orleans

I find that while traveling as a tourist it’s important to take time off from being a tourist.  The temptation to try to see everything can be very powerful and it’s easy to become obsessive about seeing all that the guide books recommend.  One of the things I like about Rick Steves’ books is that he rates the sites based on what he likes and that makes it easier to pick and choose among all the opportunities.  I don’t always agree with him.  It’s kind of like movie reviews.  I have a few reviewers I trust and 90% of the time if they like a movie I like it and if they don’t like a film I usually don’t like it either but once in a while I disagree with them just as they disagree with one another.  So it is with guide books but the two I most depend on Rick Steves and Lonely Planet are usually right on and that allows me to limit my touring commitments.  It’s also good to take a half day off every once in a while and just hang out, do laundry, write postcards, read or just sit at a sidewalk café and people watch.

After the Cathedral we head for the Hotel Groslet, built in the 16th century as a palace for Francois II, it is a strange little place with much historical significance and some beautiful appointments and paintings from the 17th and 18th centuries.  It also has a delightful garden we stroll around in and take pictures, of course.  After the hotel we head for Martroi square and the statue of Jeanne d’Arc.  We also check out Place Generale de Gaulle but it turns out to be “tres ugly.”  Across from the square, we try the Joan of Arc House where she stayed for 10 days during the siege of Orleans in 1429. Pictures of Orleans can be seen in the Orleans Album.  Unfortunately it's closed so we go back to the hotel; grab a quick lunch at the Eucalyptus Brasserie, pack up our dirty clothes and head for the nearest launderette which is about a kilometer from the hotel. 
While waiting for our clothes to wash, I look for a place to enjoy a beer and do find a nearby café that is getting ready to close but whose owners are willing to allow me to have a quick beer while they clean up around me.  After moving the clothes to the drier, I convince Pam to join me at the Cambodian delicatessen down the street and we have some horrible snacks that the owner heats up in the micro-wave.  I think I’ll stick to brasseries from now on.

We return to the hotel and spend the rest of our “day off” reading and napping.  We go out for dinner and I decide to try a pint of a so-called abbey brewed beer, Gimbrel’s.  One of its attractions is that it’s 6% alcohol as opposed to the usual 4.8%.  One of its drawbacks is a very strong sour after-taste.  I think I’ll stick to pilsners and lagers from now on.  We head for the restaurant area we had uncovered the previous evening row and decide to try the Le Brin Restaurant which features mussels.  The French steam their mussels in a wine, cream and onion mixture which at first, I thought would be unappetizing but it is delicious.  I love French mussels.  Unfortunately the rest of the meal is barely average and the house white wine is below average.  We are disappointed.  This is, after all, the Loire Valley. 

We decide to have dessert at a different place preferably, a sidewalk café.  We find a likely spot on the Place du Martroi and order a Tarte Tatin, an incredibly delicious apple concoction.  The coffee and cappuccino are “tourist” quality.  I expected better but I discover the French do not take their coffee as seriously as the Italians do.

We stroll back to our hotel and I read myself to sleep while Pam voraciously attacks her e-mails.  The noise from the downstairs brasserie drifts up through our window and is annoying but doesn’t keep us from sleeping after a while.  Where is Larry’s static machine when I need it?

Chateau Blois

Tuesday, July 20, 2004 - Blois, Chambord and Cherverny

Today is the day we are to visit some of the chateaus in the valley.  We get a little later start than we had planned.  The garbage collectors wake me up at 4:00 AM and although I am able to get back to sleep an hour or so later, I oversleep.  Pam's devotion to the e-mail experience also delays us somewhat.

We take the train to Blois.  I still can't pronounce it correctly but it is anything but "blah."  We walk to the chateau which is slightly uphill from the train station.  The vistas are beautiful.  I take a number of photos which you can see on my photo album page under "Loire Valley."  The chateau is beautifully preserved and has a fascinating history.  I, of course, take more pictures. 

When we complete our tour, we walk through the center of town to the train station.  The town of Blois has configured a number of walks highlighting different aspects of its history and attractions.  Each walk has a different symbol attached to it.  These symbols are inlaid into the cement of the sidewalks so it is easy to follow the correct path.  Because of this, Pam and I make it safely back to the train station without getting lost.  This is where we are to board a municipal bus that visits both the Chambord and Cheverney chateaus.  We like the idea of being dropped off to explore on our own and then re-boarding the same bus to go to the next chateau.  It's better than using scheduled busses or even a "hop on, hop off" tourist bus. 

Chambord is overwhelming: hundreds of rooms, dozens of stair cases, many turrets and walkways and 500 years of history.  It took almost a hundred years just to finish its construction.  In the hour and a half we have, we can barely scratch the surface.  I particularly like the royal apartments of Louis XIV.  The copies of Italian paintings are the least worthwhile attraction in my opinion.  We only get lost three or four times while exploring the place.  The grounds are also beautiful but we have no time to walk them so we just appreciate them from afar as we stand on the chateau walls.

We move next to Cheverney.  If Hollywood created a Chateau, it would most likely look exactly like Cheverney.  It's near perfect.  My Loire Valley photos do a better job of illustrating this than my words can.  Cheverney is still owned by the original family and they have done a magnificent job of maintaining it.  Aside from the main house which is exquisitely furnished, the lawns and gardens are incredible.  The trophy room has hundreds of antler racks hanging from the ceiling and the walls.  The owners keep over a hundred dogs for the hunt which is done European style as opposed to the U.S. style of stalking.  They must get permission every year from the government to take a certain number of deer so that those that are left can survive on the available food.  We are sorry to go when we have to board the bus back to Blois.

The train we take to Orleans is a very local, local.  It stops many times and gives us an opportunity to see small villages and settlements.  We arrive in Orleans very hungry and immediately head for an Alsatian brasserie we had scoped out previously, La Cigogne.  The choice turns out to be a definite improvement over the previous night's venue both in terms of food and service.  I order sausage with choucroute.  Choucroute is sauerkraut that's been rinsed in white wine.  For my palate, it is far more edible than German style sauerkraut.  Pam has a salad as usual and also samples my plate of goodies.  I eat and drink so much, I can't even consider dessert but it's worth it.

I have trouble sleeping because I seem to have picked up an allergy to something in the Loire Valley air.  I think it's the wheat fields that trigger my sneezing, watery eyes and headache.  The customers at the brasserie immediately beneath our open window do not provide a soothing backdrop either.  Pam comes up with an anti-histamine so I at last drop into a drugged slumber.