Pillars

The pillars rose bounding high
a wash of green walls stood by
And ghosts swirled about my head--
Wailing people now long dead.

The caress of day streamed through
stained glass windows with orange hue
but couldn't reach the grand heights
of stone that bore ancient fights

Would its architects now wince--
or could the city convince:
Capture between vernal walls
celebrates rises not falls

That diminished it is not
Honored are the battles fought
That waged beneath this pillar
Though such is familiar

Its not that old feats are small
But you've seen one, you've seen them all
Stride the planet and you will find
The Romans built them all the time

It's not us who hurt their brand
It's they who covered the land
with structures now a scenic view:
You expect a shrug or two!

  -- Ellen A. Wilkin

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: The Chateau d'Angers and the Apocalypse Tapestry

Wednesday, June 16, 2011

(Continued from previous blog entry, "Angers Cheer, Foreign Language Laundry, and Still Bugged.")

Once I decided to delay more research into locating an ophthalmologist until after some sightseeing, I returned to the Promenade du Bout du Monde and arrived at the Chateau late morning. Standing across the draw bridge on the other side of the dry moat from the fortress, I was struck by how imposing it was. People walked along the sidewalks as if there was nothing important here and as though they did not realize they were dwarfed by an immense structure. But the chateau was also beautiful with its pepper pot towers in dark slate and limestone and its dry moat now filled with gardens. The well-manicured shrubbery and the red and white clay paths that surrounded them were bright contrasts to the dark medieval walls. It was like nothing I had seen before.

The Tour de Moulin, or Mill Tower, facing the Maine River on the northwest corner of the Chateau d'Angers It is the only tower that remains at 140 feet. By Mith (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

The Chateau d'Angers was built in the 9th century and added onto in the 13th century by the counts of Anjou. These counts were descended from Carolingian rulers. (Under the Carolingians, Angers had became the capital of the province of Anjou.)  The chateau was both a private residence and a fortified castle. In the 16th Century, its “pepper pot” towers were cut down from 140 feet to about 65 feet. Some historical sources say the towers were shortened to make use of the newly introduced artillery piece, the cannon. I assume that means that the artillery were placed on the top of the towers at the lower height, which gave those defending the castle a better angle at which to mow down armies attacking it. Travel France Online supports this idea. According to their website, the towers were lowered during the Wars of Religion in order to provide a better view for the defendants.  Most references agree that Henry III of France used the materials from the shortened towers to build streets and buildings in Angers. The Tour du Moulin (Mill Tower) is the only tower which remains at the original elevation. It used to house a windmill, which is probably why it was left at full height.

Today the chateau houses the Apocalypse Tapestry commissioned by Louis I of Anjou in the 14th century. The tapestry was one of things that drew me to the site, but not the driving force for my visit. I was most interested in its connections to Eleanor of Aquitaine through her second husband, Henry Plantagenet, who, with Eleanor, began the Angevin Dynasty.

The French Broom (Genista monspessulana) shrub found in Oakland, California. In France, it is known as the planta genista. By Calibas (Own work) [GFDL or CC BY-SA 4.0-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Before he became Henry II of England and husband to Eleanor, Henry Plantagenet was Count of Anjou. The title of count passed to him in 1152 when his father, Geoffrey Plantagenet, died. The Plantagenets came from a long line of Anjou counts descending from the female side of the Carolingian line when the male line ended with no heir. Geoffrey Plantagenet was the fifth generation of this line, and may have obtained the nickname “plantagenet” because of his habit of wearing a sprig of the broom shrub (in France known as the planta genista) in his hat. Encyclopedia Britannica believes that the reference to the broom plant was more likely because of Geoffrey's habit of planting brooms to improve his hunting covers. (Incidentally, they also say that the "Plantagenet" tag was never a surname in the Angevin dynasty, and that none of his descendants used that name until about 250 years after his death. Even the term "Angevin" was added later. However, because the tag is so popular among history texts, for the purposes of this blog I will continue to refer to Henry II of England as Henry Plantagenet.)

Henry was born in Le Mans but probably lived with his mother Matilda of Normandy until the age of seven when he moved to Anjou for his early education. He was then sent to England to be further educated and to help boost his mother's claim to the throne of England through her father, Henry I. Henry finished his education back in Anjou, but returned to England with mercenaries when he was fourteen. Henry led two unsuccessful forays into England to try to reclaim the crown, and returned to Anjou in 1149. He was named Duke of Normandy shortly thereafter and then Count of Anjou. As Count of Anjou, Henry went on to rule England and an empire that stretched from the Pyrenees to Ireland. The seat of Henry's court and his empire was the Chateau d'Angers.

Chateau d'Angers plan. Key: A: gate to the medieval town; B: south gate; C: Mill Tower; D: royal lodgings; E: chatelet (a type of gatehouse); F: gallery of the Apocalypse Tapestry; G: great hall; H: chapel; I: governor's lodgings; J: inner court; K: gardens; L: terraced gardens. By Cyril5555 (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Although Angevin rule continued in England, the Plantagenet Angevin empire disappeared from France in the early 13th century when Philip II (son of Eleanor's first husband, Louis VII) seized Normandy and Anjou. At this point, Anjou became a dukedom and part of the Kingdom of France. It was considered the “Key to the Kingdom” because it bordered Brittany, which was still independent. For this reason, the Chateau was reinforced in 1228 by Blanche of Castile, queen regent to her son Louis IX, "the Saint." That's when those high walls and pepper pot towers appeared.

Draw bridge entrance to the Chateau d'Angers.

I took a deep breath and crossed the moat via the 14th-century drawbridge and entered the chateau. Several towers stood on either side of me along the great, thick wall of the fortress. Through the gate and into the courtyard were gardens expanding south and east along the interior walls. Most of the chateau buildings had been destroyed in WWII by US bombs and the French people's response was to plant gardens: Upper gardens, lower gardens, and an herb garden covering the earthworks along the ramparts. To my right was the museum. It contains the 15th-century chapel of John the Baptist, the royal lodge or residence (Logis Royal), and the 1954 wing of the museum, which now houses The Apocalypse Tapestries. Recently discovered under the chateau are ruins of a roman bath that were used in the time of the dukes as well. Next to those ruins is a neolithic burial mound discovered when the tapestry wing was added.

Vivid colors on the stone walls of the chapel at the Chateau d'Angers, the remains of paintings of Jesus, Mary, angels, and various other holy figures.

I explored the chapel first. I was amazed at the colors still evident along the walls and ceilings of this 700-year-old building. Most vivid were the paintings remaining where sculptures were removed when it became a prison during the Hundred Years War. The chapel is considered a sainte chapelle because it enshrined a holy relic: a splinter of the fragment of the True Cross which had been acquired by Louis IX.

The Duke's "mini" chapel inside the larger church at the Chateau d'Angers.

The dukes of Anjou had their own entrance to the church through a mini-chapel in an alcove to the side of the nave. This church and residence were built much after Henry Plantagenet was long dead. During Henry's time, the rulers of Anjou were Counts. After successive counts lost and regained land, the kingdom of France took over the region. The lords of Anjou were by then mostly related to the king. They swore allegiance to the crown and took the title of duke. In this way they retained the king's support. My impression is that the dukes were much more snooty than the counts. (Could it be that they were all directly in line to the throne of France?) They wished to make a clear delineation between themselves and the peasants with their separate chapel. No mixing with the commoners here!

The Apocalypse Tapestry is housed in the 1954 wing of the museum inside the chateau walls. The tapestry was commissioned by Duke Louis I of Anjou in the 14th c. based on Revelations. Some violent gory stuff in here...

The royal residence was being worked on, so I went on to the modern wing and to the Apocalypse Tapestry. The wing was built in 1954 on the site of the kitchen, staff quarters, Chapel of St. Laud (the first chapel), and various outbuildings--all built in the 11th through 12th centuries.

I have to give it to the town of Angers: Their presentation of the tapestry was breathtaking. I felt the same way about the Bayeux Tapestry in Normandy. The town had placed the oldest French tapestry to have survived into modern day, complete with fraying edges and pieces missing, under undulating glowing glass in a deeply dark passageway. I got the impression of waves; of an unfolding story told in ripples of lines. And the images were breathtaking. I was not familiar with the Apocalypse manuscript, but the images showed clear destruction: angels and demons breaking through into the world, and anguished leaders and common folk falling...

The tapestry was commissioned by Louis I, Duke of Anjou, and was completed in 1382 after 5-7 years of work. That is very fast for the technology of the 14th century. It is made entirely of wool, is 328 feet (100 meters) long, and is almost 15 feet (4.5 meters) high. The tapestry was lost and mistreated in the late 18th century, but was recovered and restored in the 19th century. Most of it is now hanging in this beautiful and modern hall.

The tapestry was cartooned or modeled by the artist Jean de Bruges (aka Jean Bondol) who probably was inspired by illuminated manuscripts about the Apocalypse. It was then woven by Nicholas Bataille, a successful French tapestry-weaver and dealer. Apparently, this was unusual: a tapestry was typically commissioned by a buyer without a specific design.

The tapestry depicts the story of the Apocalypse from the Book of Revelation by Saint John the Divine, a text from the 1st century CE. But the artist was heavily influenced by the politics of the day. The tapestry was produced in the middle of the Hundred Years War, a series of battles between the Catholics and Huguenots which raged from 1337 to 1453. It illustrates aspects of war: pillages, plague, and famine. Death and dying was all around. The idea originally may have been to hang the tapestry outside on wooden supports so that an audience could enjoy it while sitting in a central viewing stand as if at a jousting contest.  The Apocalypse was a popular story in the 14th century, likened to ancient Frankish heroic tales. The display of the tapestry would have helped to bolster the status of  Louis's dynasty, which was involved in the war with England. However, historians are unsure how Louis originally displayed the tapestry. His progenitor, Rene' of Anjou, gave the tapestry to the Cathedral of Anjou in 1488, and that is where it remained for a time, perhaps until the French Revolution.

(Etymology note: In researching the tapestry, I was surprised to come across the word cartoon/cartooned meaning "model/modeled." Turns out this definition of the word is pretty old and pretty common even today. Merriam Webster defines cartoon in this sense as "a preparatory design, drawing, or painting (as for a fresco)."  The word cartoon comes from the Italian cartone or "pasteboard, which modified the word carta or "card."  12th-century French folk would have not used the word cartoon or the corresponding French word carton. That language came much later. But since the 17th century, cartoons were considered temporary drawings that were used as a rough draft of a painting or sculpture or other final work to come. Now, of course, "cartoon" has taken on additional meanings such as "drawings intended as satire, caricature, or humor"; animated shows; or "a ludicrously simplistic, unrealistic, or one-dimensional portrayal or version.")

The entrance to the museum gift shop and to the remains of the Roman baths seen from the formal gardens that grace the courtyard in front of the 12th century castle wall. The southeast end of the Apocalypse Tapestry hall is at the top right.

After studying the tapestry, I walked underneath the royal residence passing the neolithic burial mound as I entered the museum gift shop. Peering down a rugged stair, I caught sight of the roman baths. You can still see the pipes that were used to heat the rooms coming up from the floor. I wondered how often medieval royalty actually made use of these roman water structures. The remains of these structures are everywhere in Europe--wherever Romans went. This leads me to believe that some medieval people were cleaner than the stereotypical medieval slob that has such hold in our modern imaginations.

Looking through the gardens atop the earthworks toward the opposite castle wall.

I walked through the gardens. There were three: First, the hanging gardens, which were full of herbs and included flowers that were represented on the Apocalypse Tapestry; next, the gardens in front of the 12th-century castle wall and surrounded by the royal residence and roman baths; and, finally, the large formal garden on the southeast side of the enclosure. I hiked along the ramparts and took several pictures.

The manicured gardens in front of the original 12th-century wall of the Chateau d'Angers. These gardens are enclosed on the opposite corner by the new Apocalypse Tapestry wing. You can just see one wall of that wing coming in to meet the old wall at the top left of the photo.

I walked through the field entrance on the south side with its portcullis on the outside wall. This was the original entrance way. Just inside this entrance are models of the chateau at various stages of its development. I did not linger here, but now wish I had.

The portcullis at the field entrance on the south side of the Chateau d'Angers. This was the original entrance way. Notice the barbed wire over the bottom of the portcullis. It certainly won't keep rabbits or weasels out!

It struck me as I walked through the chateau interior that most of what I saw had not existed in the time of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II. Now I understand that almost a century had rolled by between 1152 when Henry became Count of Anjou and resided in the old palace and 1230 when Blanche of Castile, mother of the future Louis IX (The Saint) built the fortress around the original chateau, compete with 140-foot tall towers. Another 100 years later, Count Louis of Anjou commissioned the Apocalypse Tapestry. 50 years after that, the chapel and royal apartments were added. 150 years after that, Catherine de Medici restored the fortress, then her son Henry III reduced the height of the towers and added artillery. You can see representations of two thousand years of human endeavor on this site, if you look closely enough. This is a monument to a fluid history, which is still in flux as restoration to the royal apartments continues and new exhibits are added.

A spot of lunch on the front lawn of the governor's mansion inside the walls of the Chateau d'Angers.

I was now starving, Luckily, the chateau has its own cafe! Boy the French know how to do visitor centers! It was almost empty now because it was nearly mid-afternoon. I went inside and ordered a salad and a baguette, and they brought it out to me on the lawn. It was so lovely sitting there that I didn't want to leave. But I was exhausted, and I still had yet to receive a list of eye doctors in the area in case I decided I needed one. That meant I had at least one more phone call to make. Eventually I got up and made my way back to my hotel.

Journal entry with my travel insurance claim information from Travel Guard. My way of taking out insurance on my insurance. (And, yes. On the left page, apparently I needed to use the facilities once more.)

Journal Excerpt: Entry 06/15/11 (cont'd): Wednesday, June 15, 2011. Ophthalmologists. See page with train schedule―they are emailing me the list.
(From bottom of train schedule page)
Ophthalmologists: Case UA8805158
Travel Guard ph # 715-346-0835
Referrals by email

When I got back to my hotel, I made a collect call to Travel Guard Insurance using the international operator. After a bit of fiddling I got through and gave them my insurance ID. They took all of my information and said they would send me an email list of Ophthalmologists within a twenty mile radius. They gave me a case number. Cool. I was now official. The system worked, although it was limping a bit. I thanked them and hung up. After dinner at the hotel restaurant, I went back to my room and busied myself with posting photos. I was determined to explore more museums on the morrow, so went to bed and crashed hard. But not before making a mental note to check my email for Travel Guard's ophthalmology referrals the next morning.

References

Chateau d'Angers:
Chateau d'Angers website
Wikipedia entry on the chateau
Travel France Online on the chateau

Wikipedia on Geoffrey Plantagenet
Encyclopedia Britannica on Geoffrey Plantagenet

I Was on the Radio Talking about Bus Rapid Transit in Boulder County

In case you missed it: I was on local KGNU radio this morning! I was interviewed last night at the Boulder Rapid Transit (BRT) meeting conducted by the Regional Transportation District (RTD) in Longmont. (The meeting in Boulder is tonight, Thursday, 11/16!)

I'm at about 2:28 in the audio. If you want to hear the whole program, go to KGNU.

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Angers Cheer, Foreign Language Laundry, and Still Bugged

Tuesday through Wednesday, June 14 through June 15, 2011.

Journal Excerpt: Wednesday, June 15, 2011. Writing this date makes me think how I'd stared at it many a time while I was planning this trip and it had a different feel to it then.  It was very abstract.  It was a bright jewel in the strand of days within a week in the future: close enough to be concerned about, but not close enough to be able to put myself there―to feel like a real day instead of a fairy tale fantasy day.  Now, instead of a pearl set into a necklace that comprises a future strand, it is an afternoon, an evening, where I sit in a hotel room in Angers, France and type on my netbook after a long day of sightseeing.  Halfway through my journey.

On Tuesday the 14th, the day after my tour of Fontevraud with Mr. Pierre Romanet, I left Saumur for Angers. I was glad to get away. Saumur had turned out to be quite a challenge--although I will always cherish the day spent touring the Loire Valley with Pierre and remember fondly the kind bus driver who helped the “Anglais en la chapeau blanc” get a taxi.

I took the TGV 60137 train to the Angers St. Laud station. The journey took just over an hour, and then I had a 20-minute walk to my hotel, the Hotel Mercure Angers Centre Foch. I only got turned around once in my navigation, mistrusting my sense of direction, but was back on track and at the hotel well before lunch. I walked through a beautiful and modern city center. Angers was rebuilt after destruction by U.S. Bombs in WWII. Why did the U.S. Bomb poor Angers? It was the headquarters of a portion of the German command in France, that's why. The train station and the neighborhood around it were destroyed, but the people of Angers were grateful to be freed from the Nazis. The city certainly did a beautiful job of reconstruction by creating public spaces that I wanted to linger in and establishing multiple museums by re-purposing churches and old houses.

View of the city from the ramparts of the Chateau d'Angers.

Angers is an ancient city first mentioned by Ptolemy in 150 A.D. as Juliomagus, meaning “Julius's market” (Julius from the Latin and magus from the Celtic for market). After several other villages formed and were also named Juliomagus, the name was updated to Juliomagus Andecavorum, which means "Juliomagus of the Andecavi" for the local tribe. (Julius and Caesar were popular names throughout proto-Europe. I found references to Julius Caesar everywhere I went, most surprisingly in Zaragoza, Spain. You must wait for a future post to learn more about that.)

Eventually the city name morphed into Civitas Andecavorum, or “city of the Andecavi.” After centuries of translation, modernization, and simplification through its use by writers and speakers, it became “Andegavis” in the 9th century, then “Angiers” in the 12th century. Finally simplified to Angers. (I love etymologies, don't you?)

The city sits just south of the confluence of three rivers: the Loir, the Mayenne, and the Sarthe. This confluence results in the river Maine, which crosses Angers from the northeast to the southwest and meets the Loire south of town. Like so many ancient European towns, Angers covers the site of ancient encampments and is built on the site of an old Roman fortress. And, as in other towns, history continued to be heaped onto this pre-history in increments of hundreds of years: From ancient Celtic walls and fire pits to the occupation of castles and churches by Nazi commanders in World War II, and beyond. It is all there.

To help with imagining what a hill fort looks like: The remains of a hill fort in Gwynedd, Great Britain. Round hut bases at the SE end of the Tre'r Ceiri hill fort
cc-by-sa/2.0 - © Eric Jones - geograph.org.uk/p/690634

But to back up to what historians know of the beginnings of the city: In the 5th century BCE, the Celtic Andecavi made a home north of the Loire, which eventually grew into a hill fort. Some time later, Roman culture entered, and the hill fort became a large town with villas, baths, amphitheater, and a temple devoted to Mithra.  As Germanic tribes invaded, the people of the town had to move to high ground and build a wall. This was the highest point in the city, and is in the same location as the Chateau d'Angers is today, hanging above the river Maine.

Angers received its first Bishop in 372, the same time that Saint Martin “The Reluctant Bishop” was elected Bishop of Tours. But Anger's first abbey was not constructed until the 7th century. I imagine that in the intervening time, the city was a mix of pagans and Christians. The Merovingians, from a Frankish tribe and later a powerful dynasty, arrived and built a second abbey in the 8th century. Angers grew to be an important city, weathering the conflicts between Brittany and Normandy during the 9th century and in 870 surviving the seizure by Hastein of the Vikings who ruled most of the next three years until he was kicked out by the Carolingian emperor. There is so much history! But more about Angers later.

It had to happen some time: Stuck in a laundromat in ancient Angers.

I had a delightful lunch in the Mercure Hotel restaurant where the staff were pleasant and expedient. I was in desperate need of clean clothes and asked the server if there was a laundry service. He explained that there was a laundromat a few blocks away in downtown Angers. I was tired but determined, so I pulled my laundry together and headed back out. Once I knew I was on the right street,  I asked directions from a passerby. (It's hard to remember that I carried a “dumb phone” in those days and had no access to GPS or map data.) I located the laundromat and came face-to-face with a wall of front-loading machines that had instructions in French and coin operation. With help from a lovely lady who showed me how to use the machine (it had been 25 years since I'd used a laundromat) and helped me find the right coins, I finished my laundry in a couple hours. When I finally got back to the hotel and put away my now clean clothes, the most I could accomplish was to eat dinner and hike up to the Promenade du Bout du Monde (the “End of the World Promenade,” referring to the 14th-century Apocalypse Tapestry housed at the chateau). At the visitor's center I bought a City Visit 24-hr pass, which covers all the museums in the city at a discount, and then crossed the street to the Chateau d'Angers to take a quick peek in preparation for the full tour the next day .

A room at the Hotel Mercure in Angers. Photo from ebooker.com

After traveling, doing laundry, eating two large meals, and briefly visiting the chateau, I headed to bed. I was tired, but excited about seeing the interior of the chateau the next day. I intended to sleep in because I had the entire next day to explore. I slept well until my alarm went off at 6:30 am.

The bathroom at the Hotel Mercure in Angers. Photo from ebooker.com

At first I didn't know where the sound came from. It was a distant beeping. Eventually, I roused myself and staggered in the direction of the bathroom. The beeping got louder. It was coming from my toiletry kit. Ah! My travel alarm clock. I must have turned it on while I was rummaging around in the bag getting ready for bed the night before. I shut it off and returned to bed. As I fell back into a light sleep, I vowed that I would from now on pull out the little clock and put it on my nightstand even if I didn't intend to use it.  That way I would remember to check whether the alarm was on or not. It was good that the alarm went off that morning, though, because it reminded me that I could use it on Friday. I planned to visit two museums on Thursday, but I wanted to tour the third and final museum Friday morning before catching the train to my next stop, Le Mans.

The restaurant and breakfast room at the Hotel Mercure in Angers. Photo from ebooker.com

Journal Excerpt, Wednesday, 06/15/2011 (cont'd): Today I let myself sleep in a bit and do yoga in bed, which almost always means I drift off a bit in the beginning.  I hit the shower at 8:00am but didn't make it to breakfast until after 9 am.  The staff in general is charming here.  The young man running the dining room, was quite cheerful, helping me in my sleepy confusion about where to get coffee.

“Un cafe?” I asked after looking around and not seeing a pot.  He also hadn't been there to greet me when I came in, so I had the time to get confused.  He explained, “Find yourself a seat and I will bring it to you.”

“How simple!” I said.  

He laughed.  "Yes! How simple.”  He asked if I wanted it black and took off after I said yes.  

I'm still looking for the romantic ideal of the writer on her own, exploring the world, who meets quirky people who want to help her and she is able to hire help when the locals are too quirky.  She has support from people who adore her wherever she goes... Well, sometimes it happens: This gentlemen was very accommodating.

I was the last one eating breakfast and I didn't want to overstay my welcome.  I ate less than usual. (Admittedly, it was not just to hurry myself. I've felt like I've been gaining weight with all the cream sauces―even the yogurt is more like cream than back home, and there is no “low fat” or “non-fat” here.) I then retreated to my room. Unfortunately, the cleaning staff was in the hall and it looked like they were in my room, so I went back down stairs and sat in the lounge preparing for what I would do today.

The lounge/bar at the Hotel Mercure in Angers. Photo from ebooker.com

The young man spotted me and told me he'd be happy to fetch me anything from the breakfast kitchen. I should just ask. I thanked him, figuring I was good. I went upstairs again after about 20 minutes.  The crew was still there, but my door looked clear. “Bon jour!” I said as I walked down the hall between the cleaning people. I dodged into my room and pulled together what I needed for the day, brushed my teeth, peed, etc.  But I was worried about my left eye lid.  I had an infection there that had grown from a minor bump to a second larger bump that looked nasty. I though I should be cautious. I didn't think I needed to see a doctor. I thought the infection would heal on its own naturally as long as I kept my hands clean and didn't rub.  That's what got it going after I was attacked in my hotel room in Caen by a black fly.

My left eye is obviously infected in this selfie I took at the landromat in Angers.

He bit me both nights, and I never saw the bugger.  I didn't realize he was still there the second day, or I would have hunted him down and killed him. I had made the mistake of opening my windows near the bay the first night, and that must have been when he came in. He bit me all around the hairline above my eye on the right side that first night, and nicked me good in the thigh, too. The second night he bit me near the corner of my left eye. It itched, and I rubbed it. And I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I probably got some dirt in there. So, long story short, it got infected. It feels better now, but I thought it would be wise to call the insurance company and get the name of an English-speaking doctor in Angers and in Le Mans just in case things made a turn for the worst.

I grabbed my cell phone and headed back downstairs to the lounge. I saw the same young man coming out of the breakfast room, his arms full of old mats and silverware.

“Is coffee still available?”

He assured me it was. I sat down and pulled out my paperwork and phone, and he was back with a steaming cup of freshly pressed coffee. Not the dregs from the bottom of the pot of drip coffee. Bless him! I sipped the coffee as I called the 800 number I got from Joy [Ed: from Tomato Travel back in Boulder, Colorado]. The number was supposed to get me support in France. However, I got an incorrect dial message. I had dialed 00 in front of the number as it had indicated on Joy's card. Hmm. So I decided to dial 001, the country code for the U.S. instead. Nope. That didn't work, either. A message told me it was not a toll free number and I would be charged. That sucked. I was pleased with myself that I had discovered this hole in my support network before I needed it in an emergency. I had another number I could call if I couldn't use the special in-country number, but I had to get an international operator on the line first and call collect. What a pain that would be in an emergency. I finished my coffee, vowing to try the international operator later to see if I could get through. I considered it a fire drill. Insurance. Call it what you will.

I left a couple of coins in gratitude for the young man. I assumed the coffee was part of my breakfast charge. I then headed out to the Chateau of the Dukes of Anjou.

I will always remember the excellent service I received at the Mercure Hotel in Angers. Such a contrast to that which I received at the Mercure Hotel in Saumur! I felt refreshed and ready to explore the chateau.

To be continued...

References:
DK Eyewitness Travel Loire Valley, Copyright 2010, Dorling-Kindersley Limited, London, pp 72-75
Wikipedia on Angers

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Chinon Fortress, the Reluctant Bishop, and Another Wine Cave

Journal Excerpt, Monday, June 13, 2011, Hotel Mercure (continued), [After our tour of Fontevraud] [Mr. Pierre Romanet] drove me to Chinon. I was delighted to be able to get a look at that. Huge also. Not as big as Caen. High upon a promontory – great views of the city below. Steep ascent. White stone, wider stair, but original? Dogs had a tower but it seemed it was also used for baking. Drove the dogs nuts if so. Then [Pierre and I] had a bite to eat and went to a cave – a wine cellar where he gave me a tour. He knows a good bit about wine. Then we visited a town at the confluence of the Vienne and the Loire Rivers named Candes-St. Martin where there is an important Romanesque Church. It was built on the site of an earlier church, which had history with St. Martin, a reluctant bishop. I believe he was born there. In those days, it was called Canes, or something like that, which was renamed Candes-St. Martin in his honor. We toured that church, walking through the lovely town on the way to and from. Then we headed back. A day well spent.

Continued from the previous blog entry, "Abbey at Fontevraud, Eleanor's Final Resting Place".

The plaque that identifies the Chateau at Chinon as part of the Department of the Loire Valley, an historical landmark.

Chinon Chateau has some extraordinary history. This is the fortress where Joan of Arc was interviewed AND where the Knights Templar were held captive. I was continually astounded during this tour with Pierre! Here was a fortress so intact you could easily see it populated with soldiers and civilians and their servants. The walkways over the hillside connecting the towers were fun to hike across. I could look down from a tower to a lower level where other people were walking. And most of the existing structures were built by Henry II in the 12th century, which connects it all to Eleanor of Aquitaine. Of course!

Looking down at a lower level walkway from the top of Coudray Tower at the Chinon Chateau.

There is evidence that the rock promontory on which the chateau stands has been inhabitated since prehistoric times. The site is geographically strategic, not only because of its height atop a cliff face, but also because it sits on a major trade route near the intersection of the Loire and Vienne rivers. A Greco-Roman castrum, or fortified military camp, was constructed here around the 5th century. The first castle and fortress were built here in the 10th century by Theobald I, Count of Blois, but lost to Fulk III, Count of Anjou in 1037.

 The Chinon Chateau from a view looking east across the river. I think the equipment in the foreground might be for dredging the river.

From 1044 until the early 13th century, the castle belonged to the House of Anjou and came into the control of Henry Plantagenet. This is where Eleanor of Aquitaine comes into the story: Henry Plantagenet is also Henry II of England, Eleanor's second husband. There are so many connections back to Eleanor along the western edge of the Loire valley, which I confess I knew going in. I wanted to spend some time here.

A site drawing of the entire Chinon Chateau derived from original work by Agnès Dahan and used under the Copyleft Attitude Free Art License 1.3 (FAL 1.3).

Henry II's younger brother, who probably inherited Chinon Chateau at the death of their father Geoffrey, rebelled against Henry and took possession of Chinon. Henry besieged the fortress and took it back. He then installed a treasury and maintained an arsenal there. It was one of Henry's favorite residences, and it is where he died in 1189.

Tour de Chiens. [Photo by "No machine-readable author provided. LonganimE assumed (based on copyright claims)."] Usage rights granted by Creative Commons CC BY-SA 2.5, via Wikimedia Commons

I went through the Tour de Chiens or tower of the dogs, It was used as a bake house at street level and was not too dissimilar from the abbey kitchen except it had multiple levels. And for some reason, the lower level was where the dogs were housed, hence its name. It would have been torture for the dogs if it was a place where they roasted meat. The dogs probably did not care too much about the baking. Although it is possible that the tower was used for baking in a different century from when it was used to house dogs. There is a lot of history that has passed through this place!

The Tour du Coudray. [Photo by "No machine-readable author provided. LonganimE assumed (based on copyright claims)."] Usage rights granted by Creative Commons CC BY-SA 2.5, via Wikimedia Commons

The Tour du Coudray, built by Philip II in the early 13th century, was turned into a prison to house the Knights Templar in the early 14th century when they were accused of heretical practices by Philip IV. Historians believe the true reason for their imprisonment was that he thought they had accumulated too much land in France which meant they rivaled him in power in his own kingdom. (They had also previously rejected him as a Templar.)

 A view of the Tour de Boissay from the Tour de Courdray.

As soon as you enter the dungeon, An a/v presentation begins. One of the lieutenants of the templars at the time “narrates” his story and his experience as a captive. The real knight left graffiti on the walls, which you can still see. You can see several photos of the graffiti at the Templars web site.

Another resident of the Tour de Courdray was Joan of Arc in the 15th century.

The Tour de l'Horloge or clock tower straddles the entrance to the center portion of the chateau. Inside is a small museum dedicated to Joan of Arc. Joan came to visit the Dauphin, Charles VII of France who was living at Chinon in exile. According to travelfranceonline.com, when the audience was granted, the Dauphin hid in the crowd at the Great Hall and had one of his servants pretend to be him. Joan was not fooled and picked him out of the crowd. The Dauphin then sent Joan to Poitiers to be cross-examined for 3 weeks. Afterwards, he was convinced that she was telling the truth when she said she had a message from God, and sent her and her followers with supplies to join the rest of the French army. Joan helped rally the French troops and they eventually beat back the British and restored the French crown. Unfortunately, the English captured Joan and burned her at the stake at Rouen.

Me in front of the restored Royal Residence. Photo by Mr. Pierre Romanet.

As our last stop at the Chateau, we paused at the restored Royal Residence or Logis Royal, the apartments built by Henry II. In ruins for many centuries, they were restored around 2006. I did not go inside. I understand from reading that the two-story apartments were connected to the Great Hall, now mostly in ruins, by an outdoor gallery. There were four rooms on each floor. Some rooms still have Gothic fireplaces. I guess I'll have to catch that next trip!

A half-timbered building in Chinon housing a beautiful cafe at street level and probably apartments above.

Pierre suggested I walk around the town center, which looked like it hadn't changed since the 17th century. Many half-timbered houses faced the street. They were painted in bright red and green accents. Most of the structures had businesses on the street level, Their signs hanging over the cobblestones. What was unusual about Chinon was that it appeared to be placed on a grid, rather than having main avenues that came off a main square at acute angles to each other. I wondered if the town had been planned from the ground up--like some western towns in the U.S.--rather than being slowly built up over time starting with the crossing of cow paths like so many old towns.

A side chapel at the Church of St. Martin.

When I was satisfied with my survey of the town, Pierre asked if I wanted to see an important historical church dedicated to St. Martin of Tours, the Reluctant Bishop, and residing in the middle of an ancient town. He said there was a good place to stop for lunch there. I was hungry and Pierre seemed very happy to drive me all over the place (and I had paid for his guidance for the day) so I said, “Sure!” It was nice not to have to make all the decisions on my own.

Figurines carved into an archway in the nave of the Church of St. Martin.

Candes-St. Martin is a beautiful little town on the river. The cathedral is haunting. It has the requisite arches and ancient wooden benches and stone floors of so many other churches I had seen. But this church has a brightness to it and a very special history. It is dedicated to St. Martin who was a very important figure to the people of the Loire Valley. His shrine in France became a famous stopping-point for pilgrims on the road to Santiago de Compostela in Spain for many centuries. I wish I could tell you more about the church, but the afternoon became a blur. After absorbing the details of the Abbey at Fontevraud and the Chinon Fortress Chateau, I did not have any more attention for details. But I loved hanging out with Pierre who quietly led me to some of the most interesting and beautiful sights in that part of the Loire. I will, however, tell you a bit more about St. Martin, who I learned more about after I returned home.

St. Martin was born in the early 4th century in what is now Hungary, spent much of his childhood in Italy, and lived most of his adult life in France. He was an early European figure, having lived in so many regions, and was said to have helped bridge different early European cultures together. Born a Roman citizen, he converted to Christianity against the wishes of his parents. He was conscripted into the Roman army, but he found the duty incompatible with his Christian faith and became an early conscientious objector. One story tells of how he took his sword and cut his robe in half to give to a beggar.

Saint Martin and the Beggar by Unknown Master, Hungarian (active around 1490) (Web Gallery of Art:   Image) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

After he left the army and, refusing to take payment for his service, he went to Tours to become a disciple of Hilary of Poitiers. He then roamed Europe converting folk, including his own mother. The zeal with which he approached this conversion got him kicked out of the region, and he eventually returned to Tours and set up a Hermitage near St. Hilary's church. Benedictine Ligugé Abbey, the oldest monastery known in Europe, was soon established on the same spot.

In AD 371, St. Martin was pressed to become bishop of Tours, but he was hesitant, to say the least. Knowing his shyness and piety the parishioners got him to come to Tours by a ruse: he was sent for to minister to someone who was sick. Once there (as the stories say) he hid out in a barn surrounded by honking geese which gave away his hiding place. He eventually allowed himself to be consecrated as bishop. Martin quickly set to demolishing pagan temples and the large trees near them. According to this story, the pagans weren't upset about the destruction of the temples so much as the destruction of the trees. They said he could chop down the next tree so long as he stood in the path of its fall. So he did, and the tree missed him.

St. Martin established a large abbey at Tours, the Abbey of Marmoutier, where he could hide away from public life. St. Martin is known as a patron saint of beggars, wool-weavers and tailors, soldiers, geese, vintners and innkeepers, and the entire country of France. His life and sainthood are celebrated across Europe and the World. In Ireland they believe that Saint Patrick was Martin's nephew and was trained at his monastery. Many churches have been dedicated to St. Martin including St Martin-in-the-Fields in London..

Although his seat was in Tours, St. Martin was buried at Candes St Martin, but as his posthumous popularity grew and more pilgrims came to his grave, his predecessors moved his remains to a new basilica in Tours where more pilgrims could view his tomb, which was positioned behind the high altar.

Where the Vienne spills into the Loire at the little town of Candes-St. Martin.

Pierre and I grabbed lunch at a small cafe along the river whose name I cannot remember, then headed back to the van. I paused on the river bank and looked back up the valley where a second river converged with the Loire. Pierre informed me that it was the River Vienne. So much water, and so important to the lives and welfare of individuals and communities over the centuries! This thought reminded me of social studies and geography lessons from grammar school. Such a grand place, the meeting of two rivers. It meant the flow of currents and critters like fish as well as the flow of culture and ideas. The Loire Valley was rich in all of these things.

Walking with Pierre down the narrow alleys of Candes-St. Martin on our way back from lunch.

I thought perhaps Pierre would now bring me back to the hotel and that it would be the end of my tour. au contraire! After we got back to the van, he suggested we stop by a wine cave on the way to Saumur and do a wine tasting. He knew the owners. Again, I was pleased by the suggestion. He made a quick phone call, and we headed back up the valley. After about twenty minutes Pierre pulled over under a deep outcropping. We walked up to the entrance built into the rock, and Pierre introduced me to a woman who stood next to a desk. She was one of the owners. As I stepped inside, I saw that the walls of the cave were covered with racks of wine bottles. At the end of the cave were several wine barrels.

“Come,” Pierre said and handed me a brochure. He led me down a side tunnel that I hadn't seen. After a minute we came to a wider space where several casks of wine stood. Pierre then talked with me about the grapes that were used for the sparkling white and rose wine made by this little winery. He showed me several different rooms with different vintages of wine. We returned to the front room, and in the back was a bar and a man pouring tastes of wine. I sampled a flight of rosé wines and sparkling wines. They were all delicious. The trip to the cave made an excellent final stop on the day's tour. Again, I was overwhelmed with all the new sights that day, and I do not remember the name of this wine cave. I have misplaced that brochure. The cave was a small operation, and does not appear on the brochure for wineries in the region. Although I have tried to find it on the internets and failed utterly. Bummer.

Pierre drove me back to my hotel in Saumur and I spent a quiet evening sorting through my photographs from the day and posting them to Facebook.I rested well that night feeling that I had indeed made the best of my stay in Saumur. The next day, it was on to Angers. I was happy to be leaving!

References:
Wikipedia on Chinon Chateau
Travel France on Chinon
Medieval Combat Society on the Knights Templar (toward the bottom of the page)
Wikipedia on St. Martin

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Abbey at Fontevraud, Eleanor's Final Resting Place

Monday, June 13, 2011 

Journal Excerpt, Monday, June 13, 2011, Hotel Mercure, Saumur, France: Just back from my day tour of the Abbeye de Fontevraud with Pierre. However, it turned out to be much more – we went to the Abbey first and as he drove, Pierre talked about the area and the abbey. Then we spent a goodly amount of time there, two whole hours.

A view of the Abbey at Fontevraud from the gardens west of the complex.

I had been looking forward to my tour of the Fontevraud Abbey all weekend. I was up and ready for my 9am meet-up with Pierre, my tour guide and driver. I stood in the lobby in my long pants, hiking boots, long-sleeved sweater, and back pack, waiting. Soon a wiry man with silver hair and expressive eyes walked by me without a glance. He looked around the lobby, then walked back out the door. In a few minutes he came back in and hesitated. I walked up to him. “Are you Pierre?” I asked.

My tour guide for the Abbey at Fontevraud, Mr. Pierre Romanet, who then drove me to several other sights, including a wine cave for a wine tasting.

“Yes, Yes!” he said. “Are you Mrs. Wilkin?”

I was so relieved. I could get out of this hell hole of a hotel and spend a structured day with someone who spoke English! I wondered if Pierre didn't think I was his tourist because I didn't fit some image. Maybe I wasn't old enough or perhaps I was not dressed like the wealthy female solo tourist he assumed me to be. What does the fashionable middle-aged woman abroad wear? Is it not loose khakis that convert into shorts, a money belt hidden under two tops making you look 15 pounds heavier, and a back pack? No matter. We soon were on our way and talking about the Abbey and the surrounding area sites. During the drive, I told Pierre about my problems at the hotel. He shook his head sympathetically. "Some of these hotel staff are very young and inexperienced." I felt better. Finally, a personal connection with someone. Pierre was very neat and exact and professional. And he clearly enjoyed showing me around. It's like he took a personal interest in it. He was there for me.

Entrance to the abbey refectory.

One of the things that surprised me about Pierre was that he was focused on so much more than the Abbey. He knew of Eleanor of Aquitaine, of course, but had not heard of the Eleanor Vase, the artifact I went to the Louvre in Paris to see. I loved that I could tell him something he didn't know. But Pierre was very knowledgeable about everything else.

We drove to the Abbey first. The valley unfolded before us as we traveled south and east to Fontevraud and I began to relax and really enjoy being a proper tourist. Looking out the window as Pierre drove and pointed out interesting sites, I saw sandbars and the green of scrub growth across the river. The day was partly sunny, and this lent a bright intensity to the green banks and the sandbars, which left the river a dark smolder in contrast. On the other side of the road were squares of farm land with farmhouses scattered among them, and occasional villages.

The complex in front of the administration building. Pregnant black cat in center view.

When we arrived at Fontevraud-l'Abbaye, the confusing name for the town that grew up around the Fontevraud abbey, Pierre parked the van and we strolled up a narrow paved street toward impressive pale stone buildings. Fontevraud is incredible. It is the largest surviving monastic complex from the Middle Ages. Back in those days, it was one of the only double monasteries, housing both men and women in separate buildings. Even more unusual, it was ruled by an abbess. As we entered the main courtyard, Pierre pointed out the pregnant black cat, which was part of a larger club of cats that lived at the abbey. We entered the abbey courtyard. Our first stop would be the abbey church where Eleanor was entombed.

This quaint little cottage is actually an entryway to the abbey and part of the church building. Looks like it could have been the living quarters of a caretaker or, perhaps in earlier times, the home of the abbess or church reverend.

The abbey at Fontevraud was established in 1101 by Robert of Adrissel, the founder of a community of religious men and women that needed a new home. The abbey grew in prominence until it included four monasteries. Abbesses ruled over the monastery for 400 hundred years until Napoleon broke up the order. In the meantime, the abbey kept going if not actually thriving. It survived the Hundred Years War when the community lived in extreme poverty and, later, the War of Religion when one of the monasteries was destroyed.

View into the interior of the chapter house at Fontevraud Abbey.

Journal Excerpt, Monday, June 13, 2011, Hotel Mercure, Saumur, France (continued): The abbey was huge, white stone. Quiet, reflective, gardens of wistfulness – cold dormitories with glass-less windows. Contemplative. Lay as well as religious people. Huge kitchen. Silence except for in the chapter house. Where they could talk. Had meetings of the order and judged people. Perhaps where Colin [one of my novel's secondary characters] would be judged. Why the abbey, though? Penelope, the sidekick in my story, is supposed to be silent at the abbey, but she obviously can't be [because she has a horrible tic]– so maybe that's why she doesn't go to the abbey after all. Maybe Aihne is able to convince the duke not to send her?

A close-up of Eleanor of Aquitaine's effigy by ElanorGamgee (Fontevraud) [GFDL or CC BY 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons.

The chapel houses the tomb of Eleanor of Aquitaine and her husband, Henry II. Their second son Richard the Lionheart lies near them as does the effigy of their youngest son John's wife, Isabelle. Very eerie. The carving of Eleanor on her tomb seems unlike her. Her hands hold a prayer book-- a very contemplative image for such a radical queen. However, Eleanor was a complex woman. She probably spent some time in prayer and reflection during the 12-plus years she was locked in a tower as her husband's prisoner. And just before she died at 80, Eleanor was living a contemplative life at the abbey. But that was at the end of a long and active life and was actually her second attempt to retire from public life. The first time she retired, she was 72 and ready to leave governance to Richard, but then Richard died. She then had to leave the abbey, get on a horse, and ride through the Pyrenees to negotiate alliances of marriage between her grandchildren and rulers of other European countries to ensure the stability of King John's rule. However, as Sue Morris points out in her blog about traveling with Sharon Kay Penman during her “In the Footsteps of Eleanor of Aquitaine” tour, Eleanor's effigy holds her book open rather than closed like so many devout-looking effigies do. This indicates to her that Eleanor was being honored for her understanding of the spiritual world as well as her wisdom regarding the material world. I accept that as an appropriate tribute to this wife of two kings and mother of two kings.

An empty hall at the abbey. The limestone is degrading. Repairs are constantly being made.

As we moved on through the complex I noted the emptiness and lack of furnishings in the huge rooms, Some structures were destroyed, yet others lived. The original living quarters of the nuns and the monks were still in tact, yet you could see where furniture and decoration had been completely removed, perhaps to accommodate the prison housed here beginning in Napoleon's reign and lasting until the 1960s. 

Some of the abbesses appear in Renaissance paintings depicting Christ's life. Notice the dark figure with a white whimple in the lower right.

The abbesses were well-respected, retaining a lot of power at Fontevraud. Some, such as Gabrielle de Rochechouart (the sister of Madame de Montespan who was the most famous of Louis XIV mistresses), were honored during the 16th and 17th centuries when painters included their likenesses in depictions of Christ's life. Later abbesses felt that they, too, should be part of the paintings, so they had themselves painted in much after the fact. 

Beheaded statuary everywhere at the abbey. Relic of the Wars of Religion.

By the middle of the 12th century, the Order of Fontevraud had fallen on hard times. At that point to help save the order, the nuns were allowed to keep their inheritance in contradiction with normal monastic practice. The devastation of the Hundred Years War, which ended in the mid-15th century, caused further economic problems.  In the second half of the 16th century, the abbey and its surrounding buildings were vandalized as a result of the Wars of Religion. Many statues were beheaded. Some of these still reside at the abbey looking eerily like the statuary at the Cluny Museum in Paris.

An artist's "walkway" under construction over the cloister at the Abbey at Fontrevraud.

One bizarre aspect of my visit to the abbey was that French artist Vincent Lamouroux was creating an "experience" in the cloister -- a walkway that looks like a roller coaster where people can traverse the gardens from above and look down on the pathway where monks and nuns walked in silence centuries ago. In a way, I was I glad that I missed the opening of this "attraction." It didn't seem appealing to me. See what you think: Here is a link to a short YouTube video from alternatif-art that walks you through the installation a year and a half after it was completed.

The kitchens, called The Tour Evraud, at the Fontevraud Abbey. The "pine cone" roof adds a distinct character to these 12th-century buildings, which were renovated in the early 20th century.

The Romanesque kitchens at the abbey are cool. They are the only preserved Romanesque kitchens in France. The huge octagonal building is known as Tour Evraud. Its shape and steep "pine cone" roofs are distinctively 12th century, although the building underwent heavy renovation in the 20th century. 

The ovens, probably added much after the original 12th-century kitchen building.

When you go inside you see that walls contain several ovens in a circle. There are holes in the roof to let the smoke from each oven travel out. The ovens are huge. I wondered how much bread they could bake here in a day. Lots, I figured. But in researching the subject a bit more, I found one source that says the ovens were not added until 1904! I am so disappointed.

The chimney above one of the abbey ovens.

There is controversy over whether the kitchens were EVER used to cook or bake. More likely they were a smoke house. My husband Dave suggested this is logical because being able to preserve food by smoking it would be more useful to more people over time than cooking fresh food that had to be eaten within a day or so. Smoking allowed for storage of meat for months. This idea also supports the notion that the building had no ovens--not until the 20th century, anyway. It is strange that a kitchen could be so controversial. And I was unable to find a second source to confirm that the ovens were, indeed, 20th-century additions.

The ovens in the kitchen have ornate capitals on their columns like they were entrances to a great building.

 The alcoves that held the ovens were guarded by columns with ornate capitals at the top as if these were entrances to great rooms in the abbey itself. I was continually impressed by the ornate nature of everyday objects from the middle ages, from door ironwork to the entranceway to ovens!

The small church or chapel at the abbey.

We visited the Eglise Saint Michel, a small church in the town near the abbey. It was built by Henry II and Eleanor about 1170 for the townspeople. I like the smaller churches best. This church was beautifully decorated with fresh lilies and wildflowers. Someone was tending it very closely. The stain glass windows were brilliant, and the altar gleamed with the gold altar piece and tabernacle.

We were at the end of the tour, and I thanked Pierre and sadly turned back toward his white van to return to the hell that was my hotel in Saumur. He said, "Would you like to see Chinon Chateau?"

"Why yes," I said, trying not to shout with glee. "I would!"

To Be Continued!

References:
Fontevraud Abbey:
Trip Advisor
Travel France
Travel Gumbo
Wikipedia

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Unable to Speak at Le Mans; Grumpy Gus; Kindness, Rudeness, then Irony in Saumur

Friday, June 10 through Sunday, June 12, 2011, Bayeux to Le Mans to Saumur, France

Re-reading my travel journals not only reminds me of what I learned about my novel protagonist and about time travel, but returns me to that foreign place where I tried to speak another language and was not understood, then stumbled my way through the streets. The discomfort wraps its arms around me once more.

It was tricky for me to balance the need to interact with strangers on a daily basis with constant travel and changes of venue. No one was there to compare stories with at the end of the day. I often went to bed completely drained, yet I did not always sleep well. I would toss and turn on unfamiliar mattresses, rehashing the days activities. I needed people, yet when I tried to express myself to folks who did not understand my language nor me theirs, it was exhausting—just to ask for the check, let alone to have a normal conversation. There was no easy banter, few real personal connections. I had to actively study facial expressions and body language to understand if people were neutral, happy, or upset.

View from my balcony upon arriving mid-evening at the Hotel Mecure Bords de Loire Saumur.

The result of all this was that by the time I left Bayeux,  I was becoming a Grumpy Gus. But I was only halfway through my journey. There would be more challenges ahead. I had to protect myself. I had to create a more robust barrier between myself and others. But even as I hid behind emotional armor, I was able to learn from my interaction with one person and act on that knowledge with the next, sometimes later that same day. At times I could even drop the armor when I met people who took extra care to try to make me feel comfortable. And help me forget the jerks.

To help reinforce my armor for when I did need it, I had a regular routine in every town: I ate a lot, slept in, walked miles through and around old city centers, and talked with family and friends back home through the magic of the internet, . Friends' comments on pictures I posted on social media were priceless. Facebook allowed me to have conversations with my peeps thousands of miles away. And, of course, my phone chats with husband Dave were essential to my sanity. An occasional Australian met on the road was a real treat as well. Those I met were full of good, wry humor. I began to see the humor myself in this crazy "stranger in a strange land" situation I was in. But I also began to see the irony in it.

In the United States when I meet someone who does not speak English, I assume without thinking that she is uneducated and not on "my level." I am not proud of this. I mean, I like people! But I am, like most folks, lazy. It is too much effort and time to pay close attention to get the details about a new person we meet in passing. Our brains have been evolved to make quick judgements on matters that are not immediately critical. We decide whether this person is a threat or not, and if not, move on. The quick dismissal also protects us by moving on before a stranger can get too close.

In Europe. I was the ignorant "less than" person, the potential yet rejected threat. I got the message, whether it was sent intentionally or not.

My journey from Bayeux to Saumur was stressful for all the reasons I've mentioned. I first backtracked to Le Mans by train before I could make a connection to Saumur. It was a long day. I met several kind people, two rude people, and a person who helped me but wouldn't look me in the eye.

View from my balcony as darkness descends at Saumur, France.

Journal Excerpt, Saturday, June 11, 2011, Hotel Mecure Bords de Loire Saumur, France: In Saumur. Had great difficulty pronouncing the name of this city. It is something like "Sah-uh-muhr—but get your lips out and linger on the "uhs." I usually say "Sam-UR." The man at the train station in Le Mans could not understand me at all. A gentlemen in line understood, but he did not look at me, just at the SCNF train guy. "Sahuh-muhr," he told him. I felt like I was almost beneath his notice. But because I butchered the language, he had to do something.

I thought I would never make it to Saumur. It turned out not to be a train I connected to at Le Mans, but an "autobus." I could have taken a train to Angers and then another to Saumur, but as the SCNF man said, the bus left sooner and I could just relax for the nearly two-hour ride. So, I took the bus. It seemed obvious and it worked out well, too. I had planned to walk to the hotel, but when the bus pulled up at the end of the line and I got off, I was so tired and felt so alienated from lack of communication, I asked the bus driver, a huge truck driver of a man with animated features, "Je voudrais un taxi. Oo?" He motioned that one must call, but after a few phrases in heavy French in his booming bass voice, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Oo?" he asked me. "L'otel Mecure," I said. I heard him repeat this into the phone. He chatted for a moment and I heard him say, "Anglais." Yep. That's me. Then he patted me on the head—on top of my white sun hat—and said. "En la chapeau blanc." Okay, he was making fun of me a bit, but what a funny scene. I could never interact with the natives this way if I'd been traveling with someone else. He was awfully kind to me. I got my taxi and another 5.03 euros later I was at my hotel.

(Editor's note: It was only after I re-read my journal, that I realized the bus driver had mistaken me for an English woman. I'll take it!)

Earlier that morning, when I caught the train from Caen to Le Mans, I underwent trial by fire as I attempted to speak French. Now I realize that experience helped me have a pleasant interaction with the bus driver in the afternoon. When I got on the train I headed for an empty seat next to a young woman sitting at the window. I asked if I could sit next to her, and we took several moments to come to a conclusion that I could sit there. She asked me where I was getting off the train and I was so tired, I couldn't process her repeated, "Oo? Oo?" Finally she listed the names of the stops and I heard "Luh Mahng."

Train at the Le Mans train station January 2011. Photo by jean-louis Zimmermann through Creative Commons 2.0 License CC BY 2.0

"Oui! Le Man," I said. She sighed and slumped back in her seat. She pulled out a tablet of paper, pens, a ruler, and an exercise book and began rapidly writing in earnest, slouched over on my side so that I had to shift toward the aisle to keep her off of me.

Somewhere in my brain I knew she had meant, "Where?" as in "Where are you getting off?" but I could not process it. I was too intimidated by her bossy manner. She gave up completely on my ability to speak sensibly in French. This exchange was so exhausting for her that, when she needed to get off the train (in only three or four stops) all she manage to do was poke me in the arm and gesture for me to move. If she wasn't going to be on the train for long, why did she care where I got off? How did this information affect her life in any way? If she was getting off well after me, than nothing had to change because I would be the first one to get off. Because she was getting off before me, this information should have impelled her to change seats with me so that she wouldn't disturb me when she got off the train. But she changed nothing after gaining her hard-won information. She remained at the window so that I had to get up to let her off. My only conclusion was that she was not a nice person. Which is unfortunate. Later I realized that she was very young, and I let it go. Mostly. But not before awarding her the nick-name, "Rude Girl."

Journal Excerpt, Saturday, June 11, 2011, Hotel Mecure Bords de Loire Saumur, (continued): On the train to Le Mans, I introduced myself to the English-speaking gentleman who took a seat after Rude Girl got off. He was from Nairobi, lived in Atlanta, Georgia and had been in the states for 16 years. He was touring Europe for the first time, visiting relatives and friends who lived in France and Germany. Anthony. He pronounced it, "Ant-ehlt-oni," which is prettier than how I was saying it.

When we were nearing my stop, I got up with my pack and moved to the doorway. I met a gentleman standing by the door named Paul who is from New Mexico and who had been living in France for one year. He now hails from Angers—maybe I'll run into him while I'm there. He lived in Denver for a while and knew Boulder and Longmont. He looked very native American. He teaches indigenous culture courses. I don't know if he is associated with a school or not. Who woulda thunk?

Truly makes up for Rude Girl. It even makes up for the difficult communication I had with the Hotel Mecure night clerk twice—both on the phone before I arrived and in person when I walked into lobby after traveling over 5 1/2 hours (real glad I took the taxi at the end). I just had enough energy to give my name, hand over the hotel voucher from the travel agency, get the key, wonder for a minute at the French the woman rattled at me, give up understanding it because I couldn't get her attention again (she kept avoiding my eyes), and head to the elevator. I still don't know why she pointed at the number on the back of the card the key hangs on. It couldn't be my room number because that was on the front...

(Editor's Note: I determined afterward that the number on the back of the card was was the code for the front door, which was locked after hours. Good thing I never needed it.)

You can see the shadow of me taking this photo off my balcony as the sun was setting and after I finally got to my Saumur hotel.

It was true. When I got to my hotel in Saumur, my challenges were not over. It was 8:00pm by the time I was settled into my room, and I was starving. I had not eaten since a tiny lunch in Le Mans. So I went downstairs to order room service instead of attempting to communicate over the phone. I got the young woman's attention at the front desk and pointed to items on the menu to put in my order. The woman just shook her head and muttered something I didn't understand. I tried to clarify. I was proud that I was able to piece together the phrase in French, "Is it too late?" But she shook her head. "Por qua?" I asked. She did not answer. I lost my cool a bit, flung out my arms, and marched back to my room. Too tired to go out, I went to bed hungry. Before I pulled the curtain, I could see the glowing moon hanging above the chateau across the river. The sky was midnight blue and the water shimmered with waves of moonlight. It was almost enough to make me forget the nasty concierge.

(Editor's Note: More of this story can be found in the blog entry, "My Dinners with Julia.")

A view from the top of the hill overlooking the bridge and river, Saumur France.

The main reason I came to Saumur, was not its awesome position on a hill above the river on the western edge of the Loire River Valley, but to experience a traditional European market. It also put me close to the Abbey at Fontevraud, a must see for me because it was the place where Eleanor of Aquitaine lived her final days and where she was buried.

The Saturday Market at Place St Pierre, Saumur, France

Saturday was the day of the week when the biggest, most traditional market opened in Saumur. To make sure I landed there on Saturday, my travel agent manipulated my schedule. Even though Le Mans, the Plantagenet City, was on my way to Saumur from Bayeux, she had me by-pass it. I would have to come back to it later. And I had to stay in Saumur a day or two longer than needed to make it all work. Of course, I can imagine a much worse fate than having to spend leisure days in the Loire Valley. I made the most of it, exploring wine caves and vineyards, and walking the city from top to bottom.

Enjoying the flowers at the Saturday Market Saumur, France.

Saturday morning I slept in, exhausted after my long travels and communication difficulties. I ate a good breakfast and caught up on my journaling. By late morning, I was headed to the center of town. The old city was half a mile southwest and across the river from my hotel. I was looking forward to exploring the chateau, its vineyards, and other surrounds later that day. But first, I would take in as much of the market as I could.

A young father with a toddler on his back contemplates the cheese selection.

It was a gorgeous June day. I walked across the grand bridge and noodled around until I found Place St Pierre where they were setting up tables. I was early for the market, so I hiked up toward the chateau and got a lovely view of the river valley from the old town. When I came back, the market was in full flush. Tables covered in cheeses and grains and dried beans and herbs extended up the cobble streets. Across from that stood huge bundles of flowers: lilies, yarrow, campenella, and delphiniums. I stood aside and absorbed it all. A young man with a toddler in a carrier on his back approached a table and stared at the rounds of cheese, eventually picking out several varieties. I guessed they would be heading to the ice cream cart across the way soon.

The multitude of sacks of every kind of grain and dried herb or spice at the Saturday Market, Saumur, France.

Red, orange-and-white, and green canopies protected fresh vegetables from the sun: carrots, garlic and turnip bulbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, broccoli, cabbages, artichokes, radishes, onions, leeks, peppers, and fresh parsley. There were also melons and rhubarb. It was a bit early in the season for most other fruit. This market was similar to the farmer's markets in Boulder County. What was different was the incredible variety of cheeses, some unwrapped and inviting you to just taste, and row upon row of sacks opened to reveal the vivid colors and textures of their contents: cumin, sage, basil, tandoori, anise, green and black peppercorns, parsley, cinnamon sticks, and so much more. Another table displayed many styles of olives.

The Irish pub where I spent a couple of pleasant meals with a sandwich and a Guinness in Saumur, France.

After visiting the marketplace, I stopped at the Guinness pub at the bottom of the hill and ordered a sandwich and a Guinness, then sat looking out at the Loire. I could have been in Dresden Germany sitting next to the Elbe again. But this valley was flatter and more open. No towering cliffs and ancient fortresses atop them. From reading I knew that there were such edifices further east. I would not be seeing much of that, I thought. But I would be wrong.

The theater and rehearsal for what tonight will be a "luminary" or theatrical drama with lights and horses.

Journal Excerpt, Later that night, Saturday, June 11, 2011, Saumur, France: Saumur is known for the military equestrian academy. Jury is out on it IMHO. Looks like a bunch of horse tricks to me. Do the horses enjoy that?

After eating, I wandered up to the chateau and did the tour. The original castle was built in the 10th century to defend against the Normans, destroyed in the 11th by the Normans, then transferred in the 12th to the House of Plantagenet and rebuilt by Henry Plantagenet (Henry II of England, Eleanor of Aquitaine's husband). The vineyard was lovely and the views of the valley were lush from the summit. As I stood on the ramparts I saw a collection of men on horses with colorful caraprices moving in formations in a field below. I got closer and saw that they had set up bleachers around the grounds. Apparently it was a rehearsal for a "luminary" or theatrical drama with lights, which, in this case, also included horses. Turns out, Saumur has a long equestrian tradition and is the home to a famous military equestrian academy.

After watching the maneuvers for a while, I went back to my hotel for a nap to reclaim some energy before heading out for dinner.

The chateau at Saumur and its surrounding vineyards.

Journal Excerpt, Sunday, June 12, 2011 Saumur France: I feel I'm in that restaurant I was at in Chicago, part of a chain called Ed Debevic's. Their motto is, “Eat and Get Out!” Except it is the entire country of France. I am not to ask for anything. I am to follow a set of rules that are not expressly set out. The woman who is the night clerk at my hotel seems unwilling to make allowances for the fact that I need a little extra help. And the woman in the hotel bar at breakfast who “yelled” at me—I do not know how else to describe it—as I was finishing my breakfast after a couple of trips to the bar...?  It was closing time for the buffet, but I was not asking for more food, so all I could imagine was that she thought I was going to want more food because I did not know they were about to close? Or I took too much food? I am starting to not care so much after a better night's sleep and a good tasse de cafe or tasse aux cafe? I don't know.

An empty street in the rain, Saumur France.

It's funny. I see the humor in it now although no one else here seems to. Got to find some Australians to laugh with. I sat down at this cafe along the river. I needed to get out of a steady and breezy sprinkle. But apparently I sat at the wrong table. A woman yells at me. I don't understand exactly what she says except “cafe.” I say, “oui, un cafe, sils vous plais.” She gestures generally to the other side of the cafe and says something else I can't understand. She yells at me again. Oops. So, I head to the undressed tables at the side, realizing now that the dressed tables are set for the afternoon bar/brasserie traffic and I am just odering a coffee. I feel I should have gone to the Celtic pub straightaway—they were serving cafe there. I didn't even see this woman—she was sitting outside at the entrance to the bar eating her breakfast or lunch. I don't understand the rules here. I will try to be more polite and ask before I sit down in general. At a cafe, when I just want coffee, I mean.

The irony here is that, although few people speak English and some people treat me as subhuman because I don't speak French, I hear American music everywhere. At breakfast this morning it was Scott Joplin, Gershwin, Bernstein. As I was walking through the city center, I heard Cyndi Lauper belting out “Girls just want to to have fun!” Mixed message?

Saumur Dolmen Bagneux 2007 by Manfred Heyde (Own work) [GFDL or CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

My strolls were lonely in Saumur. On Sunday, I was literally by myself on the streets, probably because of the constant drizzle. But I was not walking on a tourist track, either. After resting out of the rain at the cafe table for a while, I traveled around the city. I had time to kill. I discovered some hidden treasures, including the Dolmen de Bagneux. I had to walk a half mile or more out of town to the suburb of Bagneux to see it, but it was worth it. This stone is the only evidence left of the first settlement on the site of modern Saumur and is about 5,000 years old. It is considered a "megalith," which is defined in Merriam Websters as a very large usually rough stone used in prehistoric cultures as a monument or building block. Structures built of such stones use no mortar or concrete. The Dolmen de Bagneux is the second largest dolmen uncovered. No one knows for sure who built these dolmens throughout Britain and Europe, but they are likely remnants of burial chambers. Some of them might have been originally covered in earth and small pebbles.

Underground at the Louis de Greneville Cave (winery).

I also visited the Louis de Greneville Cave (winery) where they make great sparkling wine. The caves are underground tufa (limestone). Some of the bottles here are over 100 years old. Saumur is part of the Loire Valley wine country, and they are very proud of their wine. I entered the store front at Louis de Greneville and was greeted by a young woman who spoke English. She understood my situation and put me at the end of a tour that was just starting, telling me that, although the tour group was French, the tour guide would be happy to answer any questions in English when the formal tour was finished. She was and she did. I tasted several sparkling white wines and rose wines, and I loved them all. I enquired, and found that it was difficult to get these wines in the USA. This seems to be true of most small, local wineries in western Europe. So, I focused I enjoying them in place.

When I got back to my hotel, I crashed for a while, then grabbed a brief dinner. But soon I was back at my hotel and in bed. I wanted to be fresh for my tour of the Abbey at Fontevraud the next day with my guide, Pierre.

My experience in Saumur wasn't over, but the worst of my stress in that city was. I would encounter other difficulties in other cities before I made it back home, but my days were also peppered with pleasant and fun experiences, including meeting kind people like my bus driver. And I was touring incredibly beautiful countryside full of a rich and interesting heritage. I was still a grump at times, but I usually met challenges head on and gained much from the experience.

My feelings of alienation in this and in other cities throughout my journey has convinced me to work to change my automatic thinking about "foreigners" and non-English speakers in my own country, and to be more charitable toward them. I feel I gained only an inkling of what it might be like to be an immigrant. I hope that now, if I meet a traveler from another country or a U.S. Citizen who doesn't speak much English, I will remember my lessons from Europe and meet her with kindness instead of judgement. Even if I have to fight my usual impatience and rash conclusions.