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: Roundabouts and Ring Roads, 800 Years Too Early, and the Bayeux Tapestry

Wednesday June 8, 2011, Bayeux in Calvados, Normandy, France.

One of the ironies of my visit to Calvados, Normandy was that I was there during the 67th anniversary of D-Day, and I hadn't even thought about touring sites related to WWII. I was focused 800 years before that on the 12th century. For a moment I was sad that I had no time to learn more about that day in our history in the place where it happened. But I had a mission to focus on those sites that were much older. I did enjoy being able to talk to so many Americans and Canadians (and some ex-pat Brits) in Bayeux and Caen who were there visiting or working because of the D-Day tourist attractions.

Wednesday, June 8th, I took the mid-afternoon train from Caen to Bayeux without incident.  It was a 30-minute trip. Because it was one of the cheapest train tickets I would buy, my travel agent had suggested I not use my EuRail Pass and, instead, purchase the ticket directly. So I followed her advice. My, how much easier it was not having to deal with the EuRail Pass!

View of the southbound (towards Caen) platform at Gare de Bayeux, 29 October 2011, by Nick-D (Own work) CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

During this tour of Europe, whenever I arrived at a new destination and before I departed the train, I would ask myself, am I really at the right place? I had a moment like that at Bayeux. Earlier that day, I had called the Hotel Churchill for directions from the train station to the hotel. A lovely gentlemen gave me detailed instructions in an impeccable British accent, and I wrote them out on my travel itinerary. But I was disheartened when I looked out the window as the train arrived. The Bayeux train station appeared to be in the middle of an industrial area. Nothing hotel-like or town-like around. I stared at the paper that spelled out the directions, hoping it would all make sense once I started walking. (Looking back on this incident, I can't help thinking that travel would have been so much easier a couple years later, after I had upgraded to a smartphone with GPS built-in. But it would have changed the nature of the adventure. And I would not wish for that now.)

My scribbled directions to Hotel Churchill from the Bayeyx train station.

Directions Scribbled on The Travel Society Itinerary for Hotel Churchill in Bayeux, France:
Come out of Train Station. Cross street (the junction with bypass) St Rue de Cremil.
Go straight. At light go straight: On Rue aux Coqu.
In 300m on left street going down. Turn (right before parking lot) Before street curves right: This is Place de Tribunal. Court Building.
Place de Quebec. Parking. Hotel is there.

A view from one of the bridges over the Aure River, which flows through the old city center of Bayeux. Planters of flowers were everywhere.

The scribbles didn't make complete sense, But I knew I would figure it out. I was three weeks into my travels and nothing horrible had happened. Even the horsefly bite hadn't set me back.  Upon exiting Bayeux le Gare, I took the opposite direction of most other people getting off the train, crossing the street as instructed. Then I hesitated. I wasn't in a great hurry and I still didn't see what looked like a quaint French village, so I glanced again at the map in my guide book. No, I was right. I was heading in the right direction.

The front desk at the Hotel Churchill Bayeux. The hotel has since become part of a larger hotel system with the addition of the new Villa Lara Hotel.

After crossing the street I came to a roundabout, which was not mentioned in the directions at all. It passed under a highway bypass, which was. There were no street signs in front of the station so I couldn't confirm which street I was on. Where was St. Rue de Cremil? I traveled around the roundabout clockwise heading north-northwest. Ah! There it was! Rue de Cremil!  I followed it northwest and, to my relief, traveled away from industrial modern Bayeux. The town center was actually quite small and quaint. Aha! Rue de Cremil BECOMES Rue aux Coqs! That's right! Now I was cooking. I found my left turn and went down along the Place de Quebec, skirting the parking lot, and winding my way by the court building and there it was, as the street bent right. I walked into the lobby and I had entered a Hotel in the middle of Old London.

Editor's note: I later found out that the roundabout I traveled through was part of a larger “ring road,” which was the first of it's kind in Europe, having been built by British military engineers right after D-Day.

A close-up of the key cabinet on the wall across from the front desk at the Hotel Churchill.

Journal Excerpt, Wednesday June 8, 2011, Hotel Churchill:
Feeling so welcomed at Hotel Churchill. One clerk says I have brought the sun. The other clerk reminds me of a Dickens' character: Small, robust, a bit round-shouldered, balding, white hair, spectacles. He wore a brown tweed jacket over a white dress shirt and dress slacks and shoes. My guy wore a black suit—formal yet friendly.

The view from the walkway over the inner courtyard of the old Hotel Churchill that led to my quarters.

The Hotel Churchill did seem like it was lifted from an 18th-century British novel. I wouldn't have been surprised if the older clerk had a pocket watch anchored to the button hole of his waistcoat. English was everywhere!  My room was on the first floor (second floor for us US types). To get to it I had to go up a stair and cross a walkway into an adjacent building. The room was small and comfortable with lots of light. There was a lovely view on my way to and from the lobby and dining room through the elevated walkway, which looked down on a courtyard with of urns filled with flowers and small trees. There were also flowers everywhere along throughout the old city center.

My room at the Hotel Churchill with my handy-dandy HP mini running Linux, which allowed my to process and post photos as I traveled.

I would have a short stay in Bayeux--only two nights-- and I was leaving by the 2:30 train that last afternoon, Friday, the 10th. I had planned to see Mont Saint Michel, a rocky hill of an island in the middle of a tidal flat along the coast between Bayeux and St. Malo. At its peak was an 8th-century monastery. Sometimes the island was connected to the mainland, sometimes it was surrounded on all sides by water. It was an ancient site that had survived the hundred years war and the Nazi's. I was not going to miss it! Mont Saint Michel was about an hour-and-a-half journey by shuttle. Unfortunately, Thursday's shuttle had been completely full when my travel agent called to make arrangements for me, and she was forced to book me on the tour for Friday. That meant I was at great risk of missing my train if I went. So, one of the first things I did upon arriving at the Churchill was to ask to change my reservation on the shuttle to Thursday. I was in luck! They now had room, and my reservation was changed to the next morning. I had to be ready to leave at 8:20a.m., so no lounging in bed!

Picture of Bayeux tapestry behind glass at the museum in Bayeux, France. Photo by Dave of Travelin' Tigers, 2002.

There was plenty of time left before dinner, so after changing my reservation with the clerk, I headed for the Tapestry museum.  The Tapestry museum houses the famous Bayeux Tapestry which depicts the Battle of Hastings in 1066. During the battle, Duke William of Normandy, formerly Bill the Bastard, defeated King Harold of England and took the crown from him, becoming William I of England. There are many myths surrounding this tapestry, and some questions remain unanswered. But scholars believe that the tapestry was commissioned by Bishop Odo, William's half brother, and made in England by seamstresses or monks. It is not technically a tapestry because the design is not part of the woven fabric. The design was embroidered onto a woven piece of off-white linen. Some art historians now refer to it as the Bayeux Embroderie. The Bayeux tapestry is 230 feet long and 20 inches tall. It is the largest medieval tapestry of its kind to survive (panels of a Scandinavian embroidery using the same basic technique have been found dating from the 9th century and were likely the precursor of Anglo Saxon and Norman embroidery). The Bayeux Tapestry survived the Huguenot invasion of the 16th century, the French Revolution of the 18th century, and both the Nazi occupation and the Normandy Landing in the 1940s. It depicts, among other things, Haley's Comet, which helps date it to after 1066.

Detail in the Bayeux Tapestry showing the Battle of Hastings, England, 1066. By Unknown Weaver, English (active c. 1080) (Web Gallery of Art:   ImageInfo about artwork) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The museum is housed in a beautiful 19th-century building, which was a former seminary, complete with a replica of a Norman ship out front. There were three Japanese flags standing beside the longboat. I have no idea why. Inside, after paying my fee, I received an audio guide in English that described each panel of the tapestry. In the viewing room, the tapestry is laid out in full under glass and in the dark. The tapestry is back lit so the images in each panel glow. It takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the low light. Flash photography is not allowed, so I did not attempt to take a picture with my little Canon Powershot. I was amazed at the brightness of the colors in this 950-year-old work. The border was full of little figures, some naked, some dismembered (in battle, one would presume) and some farming the fields and going about their business. Controversies surround some of the panels. In the one in which King Harold gets shot in the eye by an arrow, there is a clear label above his head that says, Harold Rex. However in the next panel, a different figure who experts believe is Harold, is killed with a sword. Above this figure's head, it says interfectus est, or "he is slain." Evidence shows that the arrow was added in the 19th century, so the original meaning of the panel is still under debate.

The tapestry was so astounding to me with so many figures and scenes depicted, I went back the next day to see it again after I returned from Mont Saint Michel.

Water wheel along the Aure River in the center of Bayeux, France.

I found dinner at a local cafe, and when I returned to my room, I called my 82-year-old father back home in the States. My sister had mentioned in an email that he was worried about me traveling by myself. He hadn't heard from me since I left, other than through the post cards I had sent him and the other members of my family, as well as my friends. I knew my dad would want to hear my voice. I imagined he was thinking the worst: me being kidnapped or caught up in a terrorist bombing. He was relieved to talk with me and glad to hear that nothing bad had happened. He was doing okay, but only okay. He was having a lot of trouble adjusting to living alone since my mother died almost a year before. He was still living in the house I grew up in, in the country.  He was worried about me; I was a bit worried about him. So, we were even. But my mother's death had also affected me. I think it is one of the reasons I had to take this eight-week trip alone. Mom was a writer, teacher, and traveler. She had visited New Zealand by herself and had traveled to Europe with walking tours without my father, who didn't like to travel. I had traveled with her to Ireland twice, and in some ways, we were traveling together on this trip.

That night I slept soundly because, in the morning, I was off early to tour Mont Saint Michel. It should be something.

TO BE CONTINUED!

References:
European Traveler, "See the Bayeux Tapestry and Museum in Normandy"
Wikipedia entry on the Bayeux Tapestry
 

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Building a Castle at Guédelon

Saturday, June 4, 2011 Saint Fargeau and Guédelon Forest

Saturday dawned with partially sunny skies. Perfect for a cycling outing. I contemplated my day's plans over breakfast.

Journal Excerpt: Saturday morning breakfast, June 4, 2011 Saint Fargeau at the Hotel Les Grande Chenes

→ bike shorts

Questions for the workmen at Guédelon:
1. How long does the seal between mortar and stone last? Would it ever dry up and crack—fall away as powder?
2. What kind of stone?
3. What is the mortar made of? Typical materials of 13th century? Or were other materials used? Limestone? Were other stones quarried other places such as Poitou?
4. Solar?
5. 2nd floor? When?
6. Fire places? When? Where? In conjunction to upstairs?
7. Chimneys – what happened to smoke before they are in use?

The bike I rented at Hotel Les Grande Chenes to take me to Guédelon Forest. My water bottle and hat ride in the basket.

I was on my way to the 13th-century. The year 1242 to be exact. I had not prepared much for my visit. I assumed I would learn all I needed to by listening and asking questions once there .

The way to the Chantier Medieval de Guédelon was not direct if I was to avoid highways. It would be about a 3-mile ride along single-lane dirt and paved roads. The main route was a two-lane road and well traveled, but once I turned onto it, I would have only another half mile to ride before reaching the site. The bike had a basket over the handle bars. I stowed my water bottle and purse in it and took off.

By the time I got to the main drag leading up to the castle, I was tired, hot, and sweaty. But the roadway was lined on both sides with parked cars, so the traffic was not moving very fast. There was no bike parking, but I chose a parking lot fairly close to the museum and gift shop and locked my bike to the fence. I bought the ticket that would grant me entrance to the castle grounds themselves.

One of the Gate Towers under construction along the curtain wall. The wood construction on top forms the frame for the mortar and stone edifice that will be built around it.

I walked around the castle first, looking at it from all perspectives. It was still obviously under construction and would be for another 13 years as planned. They'd started work in 1998. I crossed the bridge over the ditch dug out for the moat. A tower stood at my right. It was stone-and-mortared about 10 feet up from the bottom of the ditch. The top 6 feet or so were wood construction and formed the frame for the stonemasons. It was cool to see the structure in progress.

Who are these fools who decided to build a 13th century castle with contemporary methods and tools? It was a decision by Michel Guyot, the owner of the Saint Fargeau chateau. After he had done an architectural analysis of his fortress, which had been burned and rebuilt in the 17th century, he discovered the original 13th century castle walls underneath the 17th century brick. He thought about rebuilding the chateau in all it's original glory, then got excited about the idea of the building of a castle from scratch and all that was entailed. How would we ever know what it took? That's when he decided that that was what he was going to do with his millions. He got together with Maryline Martin and she got the project moving. She brought in master stone mason Florian Renucci, and they made it happen. Florian drew up the master plan modeled on three castles from the Philip Ausgustus castle-building period, which included the Saint Fargeau chateau.

The overgrown quarry on site at Guédelon. The good stone has already been cut away. These slabs are probably not red enough to indicate the quality needed for construction of the castle.

First Maryline had to find a site, and the old quarry hidden in the forests of the Burgundy countryside was perfect. It was remote, there was plenty of area to set up and keep the project and all it's work areas productive, and the stone from which it would be made was right there. The only downside was that it was a sandstone quarry. Sandstone is generally harder than limestone and can be near to impossible to excavate from the ground. The darker the blue shades in the sandstone, the harder it is. Quarrymen look for dark red shaded stone. These stones are easier to quarry, and are generally of good quality.

Sandstone that has been selected for a specific purpose and dressed appropriately. Arrows mark the direction of the outside face. Each stone is signed by the stonecutter so the quality of the work can be monitored and appropriate payment can be made. Limestone sits, dressed and ready, at the top of the photo.

Florian and Maryline decided to bring limestone in from another site to fill out the softer stone supply. The limestone would be used for alternating with sandstone in arches (which was a common 13th-century practice), and for surrounding doors and windows. They gave themselves 25 years to finish the work. And they named the castle after the forest in which it would reside: Guédelon. To prevent anachronisms in the construction of the castle, they created an historical context: the month and year that the castle was started was set as May 1229. Louis IX was the boy king, and it was a relatively peaceful and prosperous time in France. The owners created a fictitious lord to own Guédelon: born in 1199, he is a younger member of the Courtenay family. A poorer lord, he married into a wealthy local family, descendants of a minor branch of the Toucy clan. The Guédelon land was part of the dowry. And, because of his military service, the lord was granted the right to "crenellate" or to build a castle. As I walked the perimeter of Guédelon, it was the year 1242. And I believed it.

The small Chapel Tower under scaffolding on the west side of the main residence.

Two towers on either side of the residence were under construction, but open to the public. I walked up the dark stairs of the larger tower and stumbled to the top, feeling my way with my hands. I am slightly claustrophobic, but I didn't think the winding stone steps of a castle tower would bring it on. By the time I arrived at the top of the platform, I was ready for fresh air and sunshine.

The joists in place for the floor of the lord's solar or private chambers.

The interior of the residence was also being worked on. The upstairs loft had joists installed where the floor would be laid for the lord's solar. My favorite part of the residence was the window seat over the front door of the castle. The seats looked out through a “two light” window, which is a window with two divisions, or lights, separated by a vertical post. It was the place with the most light. The wooden seats just needed cushions. It was the only corner obviously designed for comfort, it seemed.

The second floor "two light" window on the south side of the residence with a quatrefoil stone carving above and seats below.

My second favorite part of the castle was the kitchen because it made it look lived in. Inside was a woman baking bread and pies which made the past really come alive. And now I was hungry.

A cook baking bread and pies in the residence kitchen.

I walked the grounds taking in the work sites of the craftspeople and artisans. The laborers work on site from March to November. They also act as tour guides from April to October. In the off-season they can't actually work but still get paid. Most workers I saw that day were men. I saw three women: the cook in the kitchen and two women horse handlers. The horse handlers drove the carts that hauled stone and wood to the building site, and rubbed down and fed the horses after they finished a shift.

Female horse handler feeding the workhorse while a male horse handler and a child tourist look on.

I discovered later that there were at least two tiers of laborers on site, just as there would have been on the construction site of a medieval castle. The masons, stonecutters, and carpenters were "freemen" and received a daily wage or yearly salary (sometimes both depending on the totality and variety of the work the did, whether piecemeal or project level). The other laborers were peasants living and working on the land owned by the lord and receiving his protection in exchange for their labor.

A stonecutter dressing sandstone for use in building the castle walls.

I enjoyed watching the workhorses playing in the paddocks. One nonchalantly shared his field with a burro. The animals had plenty of exercise and fresh air. And they seemed happy. I also found pigs by the rope maker's shack. Of course they were rolling in the mud!

One of the workhorses and a burro share a pen during off-work hours.

The Dyer's cottage and garden's were beautiful. The bundles of dyed threads hanging outside in the sun were an echo of the purples, greens, yellows, and blues of the flowers and herbs in the garden. No one was inside the cottage working, but large wood barrels sat on the wooden floor with smaller buckets and canisters nearby waiting for the workers' return. Shelves were lined with undyed wool thread. I later found out that the dyer at the cottage also supplied the color used to paint the interior walls of the castle, which happened sometime after my visit.

The dyer's cottage at Guédelon. Dyed threads hang out front. The roof is hand-shingled with rough hewn strips of wood with the bark still attached.

I returned to the main thoroughfare and found the blacksmith's shop. I watched a young man in medieval dress pound a piece of hot iron into shape over a very hot fire. His skin glistened with sweat and his muscles tightened with every swing. (I later discovered his name is Martin Claudel, and he has recently retired from Guédelon to start his own business as a traditional toolmaker.) The wall behind him was hung with tools he and his fellow blacksmiths had made or repaired for the stonecutters, woodcutters, masons, and carpenters. This was the biggest responsibility of the blacksmith on a work site: making tools and keeping tools in good shape so that the other laborers could keep working. Other responsibilities included making strapwork for doors and gates to protect them from enemy blows. All the workers at Guédelon not only wore period dress, but took their roles very seriously. They, in effect, had traveled back to the 13th century to work on a castle.

The blacksmith, Martin Claudel, pounding an iron tool into shape.

I watched a man make rope. I now know his name is Yvon Herouart. He spoke only in French, but the process was very active and interesting. It took a lot of room, too. He strung the initial fibers from one end of his shack's courtyard to the other and wound them with a crank. Then he took that thin rope and wound it in the crank with another like rope he had already made. He continued this process until he had a very thick rope. I was transfixed as he walked and talked continually winding his rope.

The rope maker at Guédelon, Yvon Herouart, now retired, explaining the rope walk, Burgundy, France. From original 1600x900-pixel image copyright 2010 mediea at http://mittelzeit.blogspot.com.

I was so intrigued, I did some reading about the technique later. Turns out, the procedure he was using is called “rope walking,” Rope walking or making is a lengthy (no pun intended) process during which long strings of fibers from materials such as sisal, hemp, linen, and cotton are stretched the length of the rope walk (up to 300 yards and more) and wound together by a hand crank. Typically, they use three of these lengths at a time. The new “rope” is then restrung along the walk with other ropes that have been made the same way to be wound again. This process is continued until a rope of the thickness and strength required is completed. Rope walking was a popular technique for making stout rope from the 13th century through the 18th century. You can still find rope walks today. In England, Chatham Docks on the Medway River has a rope walk that is a quarter mile long, and workers rode bicycles to get from one end to the other. One of these days I would love to visit it.

Pigs rolling in the mud behind the rope maker's shack.

I wandered some more through the site, taking pictures. When I reviewed them later, I missed the importance of some of the shots, so they never made it to my Facebook page or my slideshow. For example, now that I have read the book on Guédelon, I understand that the pile of bricks the wagon is parked in front of in the following photo is actually the tiler's oven or kiln.

The tiler's kiln.

Soon I was exhausted. I headed to the site tavern where they served roasted meats (pork?), potatoes, bread, and vegetables. And ale.

Journal Excerpt: Saturday afternoon, June 4, 2011, at the Guédelon site tavern: Taking some notes while finishing my lunch of smoked meats, coarse bread, and root vegetables. Everyone here speaks French and I did not have an opportunity to ask a question. My, it's hot. Wonder if removing the pant legs (of my hiking trousers) will help.

Metalwork-- the holes in the beams across the ceiling, tools hang from them.

The sandstone has moss all over it even as it is in the wall. Turned to the outside.

Tower Stair-- very narrow and dark chamber in tower – very dark with just slits for light. Although the windows are a wedge with the narrow end to the outside. So the light diffuses into the chamber?

The garden behind the dyer's cottage.

My trip back to the hotel was long but uneventful. I tried a short cut across a field and along a single track that went up a hill, but it turned out the ground was too rough to ride, so I had to get out and walk my bike. Eventually, I returned to the main road. I was very tired when I got to my room. After typing up some of my notes, I crashed.

It was true that I did not get answers to all my questions, but I did see and learn a lot. Later, I studied the subject on my own, and came to understand so much more. Perhaps if I had visited Guédelon later in the season when there were more English-speaking tourists and therefore English-speaking guides, I would have been overwhelmed by too much information. Maybe I would have had to fight my way through crowds to see anything. So, all-in-all, the trip was successful.

Editor's note: The building at Guédelon has continued, and in the last six years they have made some great progress, especially on the interior of the residence. This includes finishing the lord's solar and painting the interior walls with a lovely floral design. If you want to learn more about Guédelon, you can check out their website. Also there is a really cool video which shows the same blacksmith that I saw, Martin Claudel, plus includes an updated aerial view of the castle. And, there is a sister castle being built by the same man, Michel Guyot, in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas, which I would love to visit.

Other references:
Rope making on the Medieval Blog
BBC Two's “Secrets of the Castle with Ruth, Peter, and Tom,” including interview with Martin Claudel
Guedelon: A Castle in the Making, Martin, Maryline and Renucci, Florian, QUEST-FRANCE, copyright 2010.

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Paris. Where to Pee? In Subway, at Louvre, or Directly on EurRail Pass?

Wednesday, 05/25/2011

I had a wonderful breakfast of muesli, yogurt and fruit, and a croissant with coffee—very rich dark, wonderful coffee—and armed with subway directions from the owner of the hotel, I headed to Gare d'Austerlitz, which was the closest train station. I first entered the subway just two short blocks from the hotel and bought a Paris Visite' pass at the subway window. The woman behind the counter spoke little English, but she was able to confirm that the subway train that I needed to travel to Gare d'Austerlitz was number 10.

What a bright subway compared to NYC! White walls and broad platforms. I didn't feel like I was underground. It was just five quick minutes to the Gare d'Austerlitz station, but it took me another 5 minutes to find the ticket window. “Billets!” said one sign. “Grand Journeys!” said another. The “Billets!” sign led to a ticket window that advertised local Paris and other French destinations. Dresden was not listed. Aha! I thought. Maybe “Grand Journeys” means tickets for trains to other countries. After a moment, I discovered the tickets for Grand Journeys in a separate area set back from the rest. It didn't say "billets" until you got inside. Once there, though, the woman was very helpful.

At least, that's what I thought.

Gare d'Austerlitz subway station by Vincent BABILOTTE (Own work) [GFDL, CC-BY-SA-3.0 or CC BY 2.5], via Wikimedia Commons

I asked her for a reservation to the Dresden-Neustadt station for the following day. She told me I couldn't use my EurRail pass for the first part of the journey, from Paris to Frankfurt. I was dumbfounded. But I was so eager to check off the task of making my reservation for the next day from my long list of tasks that I Rambo'd through it. It didn't occur to me until later that I was just making a reservation so that I shouldn't have been purchasing a ticket at all. My EurRail pass was the ticket. Pushing down my confusion and just making it happen, I paid for the ticket, even thanking the woman. To be fair to myself, I did guess that I might have missed some fine print, or that I did not make my reservation in time to use the EuroRail pass.

It all made sense later. Sort of.

I handed the woman my credit card. It didn't work. It had just worked earlier that day, so I was again surprised. What else could go wrong here? I put that card back in my wallet , and pulled up my shirt to get to my money belt. I hoped no one would think I was stripping. I pulled out my back-up card. The woman's eyes got big. "Wow!" she said. I made some sounds of apology and she said, “No! Is good!” I assume she was referring to how careful I was being with my money and credit cards by keeping backups underneath my clothes.

Voila! The second card worked. (I later found out it was just a setting on the first credit card and hubby fixed it for me long distance—what a guy!)

Gare d'Austerlitz Paris Train Station by ignis (Own work) [GFDL, CC-BY-SA-3.0 or CC BY-SA 2.5-2.0-1.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Several days later, I did manage to finish reading the EurRail Pass Traveler's Guide (which I should have done already). Guess what? If you don't get a reservation fairly early on, you may not get one of the seats set aside for EurRail Pass holders. If they run out of those, you have to buy another ticket or reserve a seat on another train. They recommend that you make your reservations even before you enter Europe through your travel agent! Something my travel agent did not tell me. So, when next I am at the train station, I will try to make my reservations for the remainder of the journey -- especially if I can find a EurRail office at one of the train stations, Better yet, I'll email my travel agent and have her do it!

So the lady at Gare d'Austerlitz was correct: I had to buy an additional ticket because I had waited too long to make a reservation for that specific train. All the reservations for EurRail seats on that specific train had been filled already.  My conclusion is that a EurRail pass is not worth the money unless you are really flexible. I am glad I did it this time, because it is nice to have some expense out of the way, and now I know how to make better use of it. But, you are paying a premium for train tickets with it. I have been told by two separate sources (one is a friend who lives in Europe and the other is the guy at www.seat61.com) that Americans pay more for train tickets than anyone else. Even direct purchases from the in-country train web sites. So, live and learn. Now that I know my way around a bit better, I think next time, I will just get the tickets either directly through the rail company web sites or when I get here. I also will be more flexible on when I travel. I now realize that if I had picked a later train to Dresden, I could probably have gotten on it without paying an extra fee. But I wanted to get on that specific train because I had told my friends I was coming at that specific time. If I had changed it, I would have had to communicate back to my friends about the change. It seemed like too much trouble when I was already overwhelmed with my first day in Paris.

My EurRail Pass from Spring 2011 all filled in.

Even though it was a rude awakening to discover that my EurRail Pass was not going to always work smoothly, I was happy that I had made a connection with this woman at the train station. It is the small things. And I had accomplished my goal of securing a ticket to Dresden.

The rest of the day was a blur. At this point, I really had to pee. I found the bathroom, but I needed a .50 euro coin to use it, which I did not have. I wonder how many Americans finally find the bathroom and then just pee their pants right there in front of the sign that says, “.05 euro, please!” because they don't have any change.

I found my way to the metro, wondering if I could just hold it until I got to the Louvre, but a fashion boutique caught my eye. Perhaps I could get change for the toilette there. I examined the goods and decided on a bright orange India print shawl. It would go well with the orange, red and aqua dragon print dress. After explaining to the proprietress that I needed change for the toilette, and after she conferred with a friend who was chatting with her when I walked up, she handed me several coins including a couple .50 euro pieces in change. I thanked her, then headed back to the toilette emporium. I put my coin into the machine, but the gate would not let me through to the toilettes. I could see the sinks from where I was stuck in the gate and I knew that the commodes were nearby, but I could not get to them. The woman tending the bathrooms said something like "not enough," and put another coin in. "Merci," I said and continued on through the gate. What a relief! I must have put in a .20 coin instead of a .50. They looked alike to me. They were both gold, and the .20 was the size of a U.S. quarter. The .50 was even bigger.

What a hectic morning! I returned to the platform and asked directions to the Louvre. The poor woman at the window was struggling to find the words in English and did a good job getting the essentials in there so I understood. I'd ask someone else if I didn't quite get it. I thanked her and went on my merry way catching the 1st train, number 10 again, to travel back one stop along the route I had taken to Gare d'Austerlitz, and then I switched to train 1. I thought I had to switch again at the next stop, but it turns out that I was already there at the Louvre!

Well, kind of.

Before I entered I went in search of the elusive Museum Pass. Two sources said that you purchase it under the Louvre, in the train station. I saw a couple of signs that looked like they said, "To the Louvre," but I couldn't get through. I went back the way I had come and watched the next load of people come off the train, and followed them. I found a ticket booth. I asked the man. "No, no,” he said. "Not here." I gave up at that point. I was spending so much time running around trying to make all the things happen that my travel agent said I needed to make happen, but there was a disconnect with reality. I had asked everyone about the Museum Pass, from the hotel clerk to the subway booth cashier. Everyone sent me somewhere else, and that somewhere else turned out to be NOWHERE.

When I finally got to the Louvre, I referred to the Lonely Planet country guide on my kindle. It said that if you came through a certain entrance you could buy a pass and not wait. Oh, well. I saw a line in front of me that came all around the glass pyramid entrance to the lower level, so I stood there checking with the couple in front of me that I was in the right line. They were American, but not very talkative. But they were also traveling together. I'm told, and I think it is true given my own experiences, that when you travel with other people, you only talk with them and not with strangers you meet along the way. Alone, I am constantly talking with strangers who sometimes become acquaintances, Even friends. More about that later.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Based on a blog post originally published on electricrider.net on May 31, 2011.

Dany

A version of this blog entry appeared on electricrider.net on June 12, 2011

A hotel on the Left Bank, Paris, France, 2011.

I first met Dany after I had bought a disposable French phone. It was the first step in my plan to stay connected with my friends in Dresden, Germany, as well as to contact hotels, taxis, restaurants, or my tour company and insurance company if there were problems.

I had been asking everywhere near the train stations for a disposable phone. I didn't have the right language. Was it a "mobile" as it is in the UK? Or a "telefono" as in Spain or Italy. "Disposable" seemed to be a word no one understood. But I finally found one at the trains station at a REPLAY shop and promptly bought it.

When I got it back to my hotel, I realized that the instructions were all in French. Still, I was able to understand what needed to be done. I must send my application and a copy of my identification to an address and in seven days the phone would be activated. But, then what? All the menus and the messages were in French! It was not ideal, but it was better than nothing. And what return address would I use? I asked at the concierge at my hotel. The owner was presiding. She said she didn't think I should use her address. I would be back there in 7 days if a reply was returned by post. But she suggested I try at the post office to get help. At the time, I thought it was a strange suggestion. But I had been inundated with strangeness. So, what the heck?

The post office was just across the way so no problem. I walked in and bought some stamps for the post cards from a tiny man wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He had huge blue eyes and a expressive face. I hesitated. He shooed me away. "That's all," he insisted.

"Well, I replied. "I need something else that is a little more complicated."

The man's eyes brightened and he led me over to a table. "Let's come over here so we can talk." He reminded my of a small, French version of Hugh Laurie. You know, House M.D.? This man was tiny, but he had all of Hugh's expressions. Snapping out retorts with a languor that was all House. Rolling his eyes theatrically that was reminiscent of Bertie Wooster. But the man came to about my chin (I'm five-foot-six-inches).

"You speak very good English," I said.

"I speak American!" he said. He looked indignant.

"Ah! That explains why I can understand you so well."

He shrugged dramatically and laughed. "Yes. I lived for two years in New York City. I've been to 38 states."

"That's more than I've been to!"

He laughed again, and then got down to business. I explained what I had. "Ah! You bought my rival's phone!"

I apologized.

He shook his head derisively, but then looked through the paperwork I brought with me. "It's no problem. I can help you."

I sunk with relief onto the table (well, my upper body did anyway--there were no chairs to sink into). "Thank you!" I said. As he was reading through the instructions and dialing numbers into the phone, I looked around. Mobile phones hung from the walls and signs indicated "rechargement here." This was serious business here. The French post office was way into rechargeable, disposable cell phones. How weird.

The little man wrote a number down on my paper work. "This is your number." He gestured me over to his computer. "Voice or messaging?"

Huh. It's one or the other? If I had a choice between only those two options... "Messaging" I said. I have no idea why that came out.

"Messaging," he said and continued to punch numbers into the phone.

I immediately felt a crisis. What if that was the wrong thing to do? I had to contact my friends in Dresden while on my way the next day by train, so they would know I was on it and could meet me. I s'pose messaging would work as long as I got their phone numbers and let them know that's what I would be doing.

There were more decisions to make. "How much money to you want to put on your phone?"

Huh. I had no idea. What was the rate? It was such a jumble in my brain. "25 euro?" I suggested.

He nodded and typed it in.

"OK. I will change the menu to English for you," he said.

"Wow! Fantastic!" I said, "You are amazing."

"I know," he said without blinking. "There you go." He handed me the phone.

"Thank you soooo much," I gushed. "What is your name."

"Dany. With one 'n.'"

"Thank you, Dany with one 'n.'"

I wondered if I would see him again on my return to Paris after visiting my friends in Dresden. I did. I needed to recharge my phone, so I went back looking for him upon my return to Paris. He was nowhere in sight. I asked the beautiful black woman at the counter if Dany was available to help me with my phone. "Yes," she replied and gestured with her head to the door behind her.

Dany burst out of the swinging glass door in black trousers and a blue oxford shirt with black tie all the while talking earnestly to another young man. Then he approached a couple who had been waiting patiently by the door. He seemed all growed up from the Dany I had seen before. I could see he was the experienced one in the shop. Perhaps even the manager. He was very busy with these two, so I wandered off waiting and hopeful that there would be a break in his business.

There wasn't. But the beautiful young woman who had first waited on me was quite competent herself with setting up the phone. She added 35 euro for me and changed it from just messaging to both voice and messaging.

Dany, you were special, but our meeting was fleet, and not to be repeated. I will always remember how you got me connected in Europe. Au revoir!