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I'm lying in a wrought-iron four poster bed in one of the oldest buildings in a 12th century medieval village listening to the strains of jazz musicians playing Austin Powers' theme song.
I don't know if there's any greater contrast.
We arrived in Sarlat-la-Canéda, or simply Sarlat, around four p.m. after leaving our beautiful French manor house in the Loire Valley. With our trusty navigation system to direct us, (we've named her Margaret), we drove up out of the valley through rolling hills surrounded by soft green forests and the occasional field of corn or wheat.
(Now the musicians have switched to playing "Tequila," complete with French-accented shouts of "Tequila" in-between trumpet blasts.)
an ancient cottage in Sarlat
Sarlat is a medieval village left almost completely untouched by modern life. The cobblestone streets are too narrow for cars and so the pathways are filled with people and dogs instead, wandering over worn limestone bricks, open-mouthed and staring at the ancient buildings.
The city was completely surrounded by walls for many centuries as border town between British-occupied land and French territory during the 100 Year War. The entire region of Dordogne is incredibly old and tucked away in many of the limestone-walled hills are caves filled with thousand years old paintings from the the region's original inhabitants. Brochures describe the area as the "Cradle of Mankind."
I'm exhausted from the day of driving, although to be honest, driving in France is more peaceful than driving I-5 through Seattle. The French are polite, courteous motorists who actually just use the passing lane for passing and rarely, if ever, go over the speed limit or even go the speed limit at all. Most of the time, they drive leisurely as if they're just enjoying a Sunday out. The roads are perfectly maintained and there is no trash littering the sides of roads, no billboards, nothing but blue skies filled with puffy clouds and ancient villages popping into view every so often.
Each little town we pass, I exclaim over the buildings, the gardens, the walls.
"It's so cute!" I squeal. I imagine it's getting old because my mom has begun to remark that every town is that cute. I'm beginning to wonder if there's a law in France that you must own a perfectly maintained home with a colorful, orderly garden because it seems like every home we pass is engulfed by wisteria vines, rose trees, perfect topiary and planter boxes overflowing with every known flower. I can't get enough of it and am trying to drink it all in, absorb the color, the smells, and the absolute delight that is the central regions of France.
History of Sarlat-le-Canéda on the town's Web site.
August 19, 1978
Debbie writes:
"Today we set off for the Chateaus. Beautiful country. We saw Chateau Loches (but not inside), Amboise (beautiful, on a hill, looks over a river), and Roche D'Azay, and D'Usse (but that was too expensive to go inside, but it looks like Sleeping Beauty's castle!) We had a great pig-out at a bakery at Chenonceaux (another chateau). The pastry was fantastic. Also at Amboise, we had an ice cream sundae in the cutest little ancient ice cream pastry shop..."
Chamont
Thirty-one years later, my mom is back in the Loire Valley but this time she is more focused on the chateaux than on French pastries. Don't get me wrong, French pastry is delicious, and my mom and I constantly indulge in pain au chocolat (a pastry with chocolate) and, of course, la glace (ice cream). A lot of my mom's journal entries in the Loire Valley read like a menu describing gastronomic delights: flaky pastries, nutty, chocolate sundaes, and waffles topped
with whipped cream and berries. Scattered here and there are descriptions of beautiful, Disney-like castles.
We left the chateau this morning, after the usual lovely French breakfast. (The French just know how to do food right: fresh baked croissants and baguettes with red currant jam, natural yogurt topped with fresh fruit and steaming cups of coffee. Perfect.) This time I drove.
As I crossed through fields following a winding countryside road I could not get over the fact that I was driving in France. It was just such an odd sensation. This time my mom sat and pointed things out the window, watching dancing fields of wheat, corn and sunflowers go passing by.
The Loire Valley is filled with chateaux--literally they are only a few miles apart. Little farming towns encircle the base of each chateau. I marvel at all the little stone cottages, some that share a wall with the towering castles. I can't help but wonder how long it takes to get used to living in the shadow of a 15th century landmark. Do these village residents ever marvel over the history of the gorgeous architecture in their backyard?
ChenonceauxOur first chateau was Chamont (it's right across the river from our hotel). Chamont is a "small chateau" and was given to one of the French king's mistresses after he died and the queen wanted the bigger chateau--Chenonceaux. (Keeping the lives of French royalty straight is like trying to keep up with a soap opera. The love interests constantly change.)
We then headed for Chenonceaux, the famous chateau that sits on a river (built for above mistress). The castle is built out of pure white sandstone and sits at the end of a long drive, bordered by ancient trees. The grounds are immaculate and include three gardens filled with perfect topiaries and beds of wild colored buds. It is truly amazing.
The gardens of Chenonceaux
Just as in 1978, my mom and I ordered pastry while there. It wasn't a pastry "pig-out" per se, but the dessert was still delicious: a little rounded cube with flaky, buttery layers and large chunks of dark chocolate.
After getting our fill on pastry, (and quiche), we headed to the fortified city of Amboise and its chateau. Built in the 11th century, it's one of the oldest in the Loire Valley, hosting the French court and its guests for many years. Leonardo da Vinci was the artist in residence there during the final years of his life and is buried in the small chapel beside the chateau, as was his wish.
Amboise
I think I'm getting used to France now. My mom says it feels like we've been here forever but at the same time, our first week has sped by. We're getting used to hearing French (as well as Italian and German) and now hearing English is odd--especially American-accented English. The little charms of France (or little irritations, if you will), are beginning to grow on us: the narrow, winding roads that barely fit one car, the tolls (and therefore perfectly-maintained roads), as well as the all the expenses (yes, sometimes you have to pay to use the toilets). The only thing that we miss are a few people that we've left behind in Washington.
We left Paris this morning and took the Metro to pick up our rental car in a chic neighborhood at the base of the Eiffel Tower. As we towed our luggage up the stairs, we were hushed by a woman holding a clipboard. She spoke to us in a hurried French undertone and pointed to a scene being played out before us--a man and a woman and about 100 others: cameramen, technology crews, a director, and various other "cinema-looking" people. They were filming a movie in the middle of the Metro station and our rolling bags were distracting from the take.
After a few minutes they ended the clip, and let us past. I kept looking over my shoulder, wondering if the film would ever make it the U.S.
We picked up our rental car shortly after: a small, hatchback Mercedes Benz--a version they only make in Europe. (Apparently it's too small for the U.S.) This was my first time in a Mercedes and I felt immediately richer as we pulled onto the streets of Paris. My mom and her friends drove a VW bug through Europe--but that wasn't on the list of rental choices.
One of the best things about the Mercedes is it's navigation system. Without I'm sure we would still be in Paris now, going around round-about and veering down narrow alleys. French streets are not marked well; the signage is low and unobtrusive. It's great for the appearance of streets and roads but makes it nearly impossible for drivers. Thank goodness for our navigation system which announces every turn in a cool British accent. It seems unfazed by our constant wrong-turns and simply asks us to "take a U-turn" and "continue on the motor-way."
Mom and I in front of Chartres
Once out of Paris, driving is easy. The roads are well-maintained and although the speed limit is 130 kilometers per hour, everyone drives well under at a leisurely pace. It's a nice change from Seattle freeways, I've decided.
We drove through the heartland of Paris which looks remarkably like the heartland of America. It's flat and dry with acres and acres of fields stretching out from the road. Fields of wheat, corn, and who knows what else. I couldn't even count the number of tractors we saw. Every so often a small town emerges from the fields; a nestling of stone houses encircling an old church. If I wasn't in a car, it would seem that it was the 16th or 17th century--so little has changed.
The Chartres Cathedral was our first stop. The church is incredible. Built in the 12th century, it has two separate spires of stone curlicues and design that stretch up. They look like two stacks of blocks that a small child has stacked, trying to build the highest tower. I have no idea how they have survived so many years--it looks as if any strong wind would topple them both.
Chartres
Like Nortre Dame, Chartres is gorgeous inside and out: flying buttresses, stained glass, gargoyles and a carved scene of Jesus' life that encircles the entire interior of the church. Currently the church is being restored so part of it was fenced off but even with the scaffolding, Chartres was breath-taking. The church lies on Gallo-Roman ruins built in the fourth century. Later, in the sixth century, it was the location of a small cathedral which was later destroyed. Years later, Parisian architects built Chartres on the remains.
Not quite as long ago, my mom drove up from the South of France and stopped at Chartres. She remembers driving along fields and pastures and seeing the spires emerge suddenly between trees. They spent an afternoon there exploring, and like Sacre-Coeur, the church became one of my mom's favorite spots in Europe.
After walking around the town of Chartres, my mom and I jumped back in the car for our next destination: Onzain, France, in the heart of the Loire Valley.
The Loire Valley contains some of the oldest and most beautiful examples of Renaissance architecture in all of Europe. Every few miles, or so, gorgeous mansions and palaces, chateaux, rise above each side of the Loire River.
Le chat devant notre hotelTonight we're staying in the tiny town of Onzain in a manor built in the 19th century. It is absolutely perfect, a house that fits right in a Jane Austin book. We ate quiche and a baguette outside on the front lawn in the gathering dusk, watching hot air ballons float over the valley. The manor is home to two cats and their presence makes the hotel even more picturesque.
Tomorrow we're driving to Chenonceau , one of the most famous of the Chateaux in the Loire. But first, a night in our small room of the manor, falling asleep to the sound of crickets and creaking floor boards.
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