Sunshine, Antlers and Vitruvian Men

Dog on the warpath at Chateau Amboise

            While a foot of snow was falling this past week in the Willamette Valley, Oregon, the Loire Valley began to show the first signs of spring. The inhabitants of Angers have been casting off their black and navy outerwear in exchange for bright colors (although they retain an inexplicable penchant for wearing scarves), and the trees have started to bloom. It was in this weather that CIDEF held its final excursion, with stops at the Chateaus Amboise (and the nearby former residence of Leonardo da Vinci), Blois, and Cheverny.

A view of the Loire from Amboise

           Rising high above the town of Amboise, the chateau Amboise has some of the best views of my travels thus far. Peering over one wall, you can join the gargoyles in watching crowds of diners and dog-walkers in the streets below; from another, you can find a panoramic view of the Loire. 

In a corner of the chateau, a chapel celebrates the patron saint of hunters. This seems like a strange idea to me, and only becomes more bizarre upon noticing the antlers growing from the steeple, and a prominent sculpture of a stag sprouting a cross between his ears.

            At Clos de Lucé, the manor where da Vinci lived part of his life, the day continues on its peculiar bent. Something about the manor house and grounds reminds me of an unfinished renaissance Disneyland, with its giant banners (albeit emblazoned with calf-muscle illustrations and the Vitruvian man), strategically placed and overpriced cafés, and numerous da Vinci exhibits (which, if you press a button, will rhapsodize about da Vinci’s notes on rabbit fat). Particularly disturbing is the pigeon loft at one end of the property, brought to life with fake bird noises from a speaker, and flashing red and purple lights from several pigeonholes.

Salle des Etats, Blois

            After a short bus ride, we arrive at chateau Blois, which has four principal sections from four eras in four different architectural styles. Inside, the walls and ceilings are a riot of color and patterns, with detailing that looks suspiciously like gold leaf.  Even the floors are multicolored, with small tiles. Someone must have had an eye for color, though, because the vibrant mess of design that is each room is somehow quite pleasing to the eye.

            At the end of the day, we return to our hunting theme with Cheverny, a chateau famous for its hunting dogs and for being featured in Tintin. The chateau sits amid wide green lawns (which we are forbidden to cross), across which one can hear the baying of the French Tricolor Hounds. Although a large sign near the kennels attests to the care of the dogs, I wouldn’t recommend this visit to animal lovers, or to anyone sensitive to the smell of disinfectant.

            All in all, it was a slightly strange trip, but nothing could really put a damper on a day of warm sunshine and the promise of spring.

Hedgehog, symbol of Louis XII, at Blois

Anjou Troglodytique

A modernized troglodyte dwelling -- complete with sink!

            Until the early 20^th Century, before there was the danger of a tractor crashing through your roof, many subsistence farmers in the Anjou region lived in caves. Today’s excursion started off with a tour of one of these underground (troglodyte) villages, where everyone, including the cows, had a subterranean living space.

            Although you might find something green (or heaven forbid, furry and grey) growing on your walls, living in caves was quite practical. You would carve your home (or church or stable) into the soft rock, and then use the excess to construct chateaus and other structures aboveground, or in the fields as an agent to counteract the acidity of the soil. If (to borrow an example from our guide) you had a child on the way and needed to expand your home, you would simply pull out your pickax and hack away at a wall. The thick rock acts as an excellent insulator, keeping you and your perishables cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and is a free and plentiful building material. In the particular village I visited, people had been quarrying the rock since the 1200s (although I’m not sure if they lived there at that point), and had constructed an underground chapel during the religious wars of the 16^th Century.

            After the troglodyte village and a wine tasting came the much-rumored underground restaurant. In a room where some of us had to duck not to hit our heads on the damp tuffeau, we ate a four-course dinner of buttery bliss.  Pork and mushrooms were a distinct theme, and the main course was fouace, a pita-like bread that you slit open and fill with some combination of butter, beans, pork, and mushrooms. After apple pie for dessert and the traditional coffee, I was ready to sleep my way home as the bus took us back along the banks of the river Loire.

"Snapshots" of Paris

I was that person who forgot to check their camera batteries before spending a weekend in Paris, so I will format this post a bit differently…

Some “Snapshots” of People in Paris

--Tourists and policemen on roller skates

--A homeless man watching passersby from a mountain of blankets and sleeping bags

--A group of singers enthusiastically chanting “Hare Krishna’s” in front of Notre Dame

--A three-piece band, two accordionists and (possibly) a zither player, jumping onto metro cars on Sunday to play for change

--A human statue dressed as a sarcophagus in front of the obelisk in Place de la Concorde (there was a panda as well, but it looked as if his choice of theme wasn’t making him much money…)

--The rich and famous, dressed in striped fur coats and neons, exiting an event for Paris Fashion Week

--A band of stilt-porting folk dancers performing under the Eiffel Tower

And my lesser-known highlight of Paris:

Shakespeare and Company (http://www.shakespeareandcompany.com/index.php), a bookstore just across the Seine from Notre Dame de Paris. Jammed full of fiction and non fiction from the old to the contemporary, my favorite part of this bookstore was the upstairs, where former proprietor (and poet) George Whitman used to house penniless writers in exchange for help around the shop. One nook houses a piano, free for the playing, and another a typewriter and a myriad of books suited to the aspiring author. Out the window, some creative soul has constructed a dramatic scene on the roof with plastic dinosaurs.