Derniers jours.

Here in the Lot valley, the occasional fighter jet flies over us at a blistering speed, headed back to base. This last week has flown seemingly just as fast. We had new guests arrive Thursday, so the preceding days were full of the usual tasks. Something remarkable was seeing William and Rosalie's trunk brimming over with food after Monday's trip to Metro, which is France's answer to CostCo. They were stocking up for several solid weeks of guests, as well as Tuesday night's cookout with some local friends of theirs, including an American and his Canadian wife and a British couple with their two college-age kids. All of them were absolutely lovely, especially the British lady who was a complete hoot. There were laughs and good food all around, including grilled chicken and sausage, hot peppers, tabouli and a fabulous corn and bean salad, the last of which you would never see on a French menu: here, corn is food for animals, not people.

Wednesday saw another day of preparation, including quite a lot of gardening in 100 degree heat. The plants were all very thirsty! So it was the usual ritual of watering every potted plant in the place (roughly 70 of them) with two 6-liter watering cans, and dead-heading all the wilted blossoms and leaves. But we saved the hard work for the evening, once it was cooler: I dug up some three dozen bolted lettuce plants. They were starting to look pretty ugly.

Our new guests, an artist's group from California, arrived Thursday, and were promptly treated to a welcoming dinner of one of Kate's specialties: a kind of stuffed chicken breast, filled with asparagus, mozzarella and local ham, with an incredible shallot cream sauce. Not to mention chocolate torte. She really is an amazing chef, able to cook and bake with equal skill, and I have been lucky to be her helper, or as she terms it with her characteristic wry British humor, her "kitchen bitch." When she said this, I told her jokingly there was "no one's bitch I'd rather be." In this role, I mostly do prep work like setting the table, lighting candles, cutting bread, plating and serving, and piles and piles of dishes. The fun part about the dishes is where they are done: in the prep room, which has no ventilation whatsoever. This means that it is at least 10 degrees hotter than outside, so steamy that condensation forms on the tile floor. At least not having had a dishwasher in my college apartment stood me in good stead for this task.

Our painting guests dug into their artwork in earnest on Friday, setting up shop overlooking one of our fields where the hay had just been baled. In the background were also another set of new arrivals: Michel's horses. Tomorrow afternoon, we have another group arriving to do a horseback riding tour with Michel, who we refer to as "the French cowboy," not only because of his job but because he dresses in big belt buckles and stetsons. Through my open window I can occasionally hear the horses doing that little lip thing they do that makes them sound slightly exasperated.

Today, Saturday was the artists' excursion to Rocamadour, the pilgrimage city an hour and a half north of here. What's special about this city is that it is built into a rock face (which is admittedly not so special here, where troglodyte dwellings abound), serving as a destination for Christian pilgrims since the 11th century. It is considered holy 1) because of the discovery of St. Amadour's uncorrupted body and 2) for the Black Madonna statue brought back from the First Crusade. It also figured into a bit of military strategy during the Hundred Years War: Charles VII, needing a diversion to build up an army to kick the English out of France, enlisted the help of his pal Pope John XXII. The pope declared that year a jubilee year, giving all the Christians who completed certain tasks a free pass into heaven. So everyone, including the English, dropped their weapons and pursued the jubilee year tasks. For France's Christians, this included a pilgrimage to Rocamadour.

The wedding car.

The city itself is very picturesque, filled with bustling shops peddling touristy items (not so different from hundreds of years ago), people of all nationalities visiting the site and, today, even a wedding. The artists painted the panorama before lunch while two of the other women, the art teacher's wife and her sister, and I walked the upper path to the chateau at the top of the rock face and back. After lunch, we drove into the town for some shopping and the official historical tour of the pilgrimage site, led by William. There, we climbed 200-some steps to the chapels of St. Michael the Archangel and Our Lady, both of which are literally incorporated into the cliff. Many interesting things were to be found there. The first was an 11th century outdoor fresco that hasn't been cleaned or restored for its entire existence and is still perfectly visible, protected from the elements by the rock. The second was the chapel of Our Lady, which houses the Black Madonna statue, rumored to have miraculous powers. Within the chapel was a bell with no clapper, said to ring of its own accord whenever the statue answered a sailor's plea to be saved at sea. Sailors who claimed to be saved by this miracle would often come back to this chapel and hang a wooden model ship from the ceiling as a gift of thanks.

Mike hard at work on that watercolor.

See it there with the chain?

The third interesting thing was a sword stuck into the rock face. This, of course, has a legend attached to it: in the 8th century, Charlemagne challenged his nephew, Roland, to rid France of the Saracens  (Muslims). He was succeeding at his task, but one day found himself in an ambush and knew that his death was imminent. He had in his possession the Durendal, the French equivalent of Excalibur, and did not want it to fall into enemy hands. As he was dying, he prayed to Michael the Archangel to come and take the sword for safekeeping. Legend has it that the angel himself descended from heaven, took the sword from Roland's dying hands, and stuck in the rock face at Rocamadour. It is still there to this day, only locked to the rock with a chain to discourage any upstarts from attempting to pull it out and declare themselves sovereign.



After we had seen all the highlights, we made our way up the path of the Stations of the Cross, which finishes one station short because they ran out of funds, and back to the van for the ride home. And now here I am, bags packed, ready to leave in the morning. It's a little surreal. I've been in this country for such a long time; the Baran feels like home and William and Rosalie like family. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay them for their generosity.

Tomorrow will consist of roughly 8 hours of train travel to arrive at the Paris airport, where I will stay overnight and catch my plane the next morning. Hard to believe I'll be back in Cincy by Monday afternoon! I'm surprised at how little homesickness I've experienced since I've been here. When I studied abroad two years ago, I missed home terribly. Now, while I can't say I don't miss it at all, I suppose I feel it less. However, I am definitely ready to come home and start a new chapter of my life. And I am definitely ready to see my family again. And I am definitely ready for good Mexican food--France has delicious cuisine, but they can't seem to figure out a chimichanga.

So, with that, I am off on the long trip home. Here's to a safe journey!

Oh the time, how she flies.

I can't believe it's been nearly a week since my last post! The time has gotten away from me, I suppose, since I've been so busy. We had two couples from Cincinnati staying with us who arrived Wednesday. That evening we hosted their welcome dinner, a more serious formal affair that required Kate the chef to prepare the meal. I got to be her sous-chef, which meant that I prepped some vegetables but mostly did dishes. Still, I did get to enjoy my own plate of her food, which was delicious.

The guests wanted to do some touring of the area, and they graciously allowed me to tag along. William, excellent tour guide that he is, really made the sites come alive. Our first day of touring, we went to the famous Cahors bridge, which I'd seen before but had not known the story behind it; St Cirq Lapopie, named one of the most beautiful villages in France, and the caves at Pech Merle, where you can see cave paintings that were done by prehistoric man.

Firstly, the Valentre bridge of Cahors: a 14th century military bridge built to control access across the Lot river. This I knew when I visited it some weeks ago. However, I did not know the legend surrounding its construction, or how it got its moniker "the bridge the devil helped build." William enlightened us. Apparently, back in the 14th century, a young, ambitious engineer wanted to built the most perfect military bridge in Europe. But as construction began, more and more problems kept arising. The young engineer tried everything to solve all the problems that were before him, but eventually he became overwhelmed, throwing up his hands and exclaiming, "I would sell my soul to the devil just to finish this bridge." And, lo and behold, the devil himself appeared, all too willing to make this transaction. The devil agreed to help the young engineer complete the bridge, in exchange for his eternal soul. Desperate, the young engineer agreed.

Many years later, the bridge was completed, and was proclaimed to be the most perfect military bridge in all of Europe. The engineer, now not-so-young but famous throughout the Western world, didn't have long to enjoy his success before the devil again appeared before him, demanding he uphold his end of the bargain. By now, the engineer had done some thinking. "This bridge, though magnificent, is of the mortal world," he had said to himself, "but my soul is eternal. What have I done in selling my soul?" So he had thought up a scheme. When the devil appeared, the engineer said, "Devil, I will be more than happy to hand over my soul to you. But first, I am very thirsty. Would you mind taking this bucket down to the Lot river, and filling it so I may have a drink?" This seemed reasonable to the devil, and he agreed. Off he went down to the river, and filled the bucket. But by the time he brought it back to the engineer, the bucket was empty! The devil was perplexed by this, and so went to fill it up again. On his way back to the engineer, he watched the bucket carefully, and noticed a stream of water trickling out from under it. That clever engineer had put a small hole in the bottom, so all the water would leak out and thus force the devil to run back and forth to fill it up for all of time. But unfortunately for the engineer, the devil was smarter than that. He said to the engineer, "You have tried to trick the devil. So now, not only will I take your soul with me down into hell, I will put a curse on this bridge--it will fall apart, little by little, until nothing remains of your great legacy!" And with that, he snatched up the engineer's soul and dragged him to hell.

That small black stone in the bridge is all that remains of the poor engineer's soul.

See the tiny devil sculpture in the top right corner?

But this is not the end of legend. After many hundreds of years, the bridge still stood. It had needed constant repair, and by the 17th century the people of Cahors had gotten fed up. They hired a young engineer to fix the bridge once and for all. He was familiar with the local legend, and he thought of a solution. "The devil's curse plagues this bridge because he is angry: nobody recognizes he helped build it," the young engineer thought to himself. "If we paid tribute to him, he would leave the bridge alone." So, as a part of his repairs, he added a small sculpture of a devil to pay homage to the one who helped build the bridge. And it has been standing without a problem ever since.




Our guests were quite amused by this story, and they were equally delighted by the charming town of St. Cirq Lapopie, our next stop. Remarkable traits of the town include its tiny wine museum, which even had a smelling station where you could sniff and try to guess all the different aromas that compose the flavors of a Cahors red; widely varied architecture from across several centuries, and a sweeping panorama of the valley below. We stopped for lunch there, and our menu included some historical facts. Fun fact: Cahors wine was declared the official communion wine of the Catholic church by Pope John the 22nd, who was a native of the region.

This doesn't do it justice, but it's kind of cool-looking.

The final stop along our journey was Pech Merle, where two teenagers playing hooky in 1922 accidentally discovered prehistoric paintings in the vast network of caves. We went on an hour-long tour down in the caves themselves, which were gorgeous even if just for their natural formations. You weren't allowed to take pictures in the caves, but I did sneak a flash-less and therefore creepily red picture of one of said formations. The cave paintings themselves all follow similar themes: animals, hunt scenes, and occasionally human figures. It is said that what distinguished prehistoric man from his Neanderthal predecessors was his capacity for art: this is what marked the beginning of our race. As such, these paintings were fascinating to see.

Our second day of touring started at Beynac Castle, the former home of Richard the Lionhearted and the on-location filming site of dozens of movies, most recently Ever After and Joan of Arc the Messenger. It was a really neat castle, very typical of the medieval period. Highlights included the panoramic view over the Dordogne river valley, the setting of the Crichton book Timeline, where you can see a handful of neighboring castles scattered in the nearby hills. Unlike the Bonaguil Castle, Beynac was attacked many times during the Hundred Years' War and the religious wars.





Next stop was Sarlat, another notably pretty town in this region. It is also the duck capital of the Perigord, which for the French is serious business. As serious as the duck confit I had for lunch that day, which was truly perfect. It was served with these garlicky pan-fried potatoes(fried in duck fat, of course; I'll have to try to recreate at home. The city is full of little architectural tidbits from various centuries, and has been an important regional capital city for many years. William gave us a solid walking tour of some important places and architectural oddities.

Sarlat's main square, with the cathedral in the background.

Our last site of the day was La Roque Gageac, where we only stopped for a moment to take a few pictures. The importance of this town, apart from being picturesquely built into the side of a cliff, is that it has been continuously inhabited by man for 30,000 years. No matter the climate conditions, great migrations, wars, you name it: there is evidence that La Roque Gageac has been a human dwelling place for that entire span of time. From prehistoric man living at the mouths of the caves down to the thriving little village that exists there today. Incredible, if you think about.


After two solid days of touring, our Cincinnati guests prepared to leave the beauty of the Baran for the next leg of their journey. As a farewell dinner, we all went to La Recreation, a restaurant about 20 minutes away that used to be a schoolhouse (hence its name, which means "recess"). William and Rosalie have known the owners for years, and so they know the menu inside out. Six courses of incredible food. Full and happy, we all toddled out of the restaurant around 11:30, heading for home and sleep. Now that our guests are gone, we have a couple days of quiet before new ones arrive. So it has been the typical routine of watering plants, cleaning, etc. Familiar tasks, now that I've learned my way around. I can't believe I'll be flying home in a week!

Touring and gardening, gardening and touring.

What an eventful few days it has been! I have hardly had any time or energy to update, but here it is, finally...

Thursday evening, our guests arrived, two ladies from Canton, Ohio. Since they got in around 8pm, Rosalie and I took them to a small restaurant nearby for dinner. We had a nice time chatting with them, and I enjoyed a very delicious lamb burger.

Bonaguil castle, seen from the town below

Friday, I came along as William took them on a tour of the area, showing them the bike routes so they could get an idea of whether or not they might want to bring bike trips here in the future. This really is a great region for biking, as there are a lot of paths to choose from, ranging from very easy to tough uphill climbs. And then there's the scenery: quaint little towns, vineyards, castles and the like. We stopped to visit one such castle, Bonaguil, which means "good needle," as it sits on a sharp peak, literally a "needle" of rock. It was so cool! William is an excellent tour guide, having done the castle many times. He explained how it was the pinnacle of medieval military engineering, so impregnable in its design that nobody ever succeeded in taking it. In fact, nobody even tried. Coolest part of the castle? The natural cave that served as an underground secret passageway. Yeah.

Yeah. How cool is that.

When we arrived back at the Baran that afternoon, Rosalie was already busy in the kitchen for the girls' welcome dinner. We started the evening with aperatifs, ranging from passionfruit and plum liqueurs to kir and wine. They made me try truffle liqueur, if you can believe it. It was odd, but not too bad. Dinner consisted of duck confit (duck legs and thighs cooked in their own fat), stewed apples, broccoli and pommes dauphinoises (essentially scalloped potatoes). Though I think the girls enjoyed seeing the sights, I'm not sure they liked the meal. Neither had ever eaten duck before, one had never traveled out of the country, and they just seemed like France didn't agree with them very well. But it isn't for everyone, I suppose

Poor St. Sernin...what a way to go.

Saturday was my big day trip to Toulouse. I got up at 6am to make an 8am train in Cahors which was an hour late (of course). I got into Toulouse around 11am and started off in the Place du Capitole, the main square. My next stop was the basilica of St. Sernin, named for a 2nd century saint who was martyred by being dragged out of the city by a bull. A very interesting building, but I was more drawn to the antique market surrounding it. I wandered through a hodge-podge of every old knick-knack you can imagine, eventually stopping to buy two beautiful colored glass bowls and a neat vase. I chatted with the vendors as well, who were very nice and most interested in talking to a young American girl like myself, for reasons unknown...


I stopped to visit many of the city's most famous landmarks, including the Cathedral St. Etienne, which was the craziest mis-matched church I've ever seen: it has parts from several different centuries, all in different styles. I've never seen anything like it. After that, I stopped for lunch at a family restaurant called A La Truffe de Quercy, run by a lovely older couple. I enjoyed a lovely, simple meal and had a great time talking with Monsieur, a very lively old fellow who told me all about the charms of his city, how his restaurant was the oldest in Toulouse, and asked me to take me back to America with him.

After lunch, I stopped at a couple more landmarks and then crossed the Garonne river to the left bank, hoping to visit Les Abattoirs, a modern art museum housed inside an old slaughterhouse, but alas, it was closed for construction. So I crossed back over the river to walk alongside the Canal du Midi, the oldest canal in Europe that is still in use. I took a moment to sit by the water, then made my way back towards the center of town. I stopped for an Orangina and to watch a street performer, and even went inside a shop that claimed to sell "American" products: their stock consisted of Chuck Taylors and cowboy boots.

My day of touring done, I hopped on a shuttle to the airport to hitch a ride home with Sharon, who was picking up a friend. But, as her friend's flight was delayed, we ended up sitting and chatting in the airport for a couple of hours. She's easy to talk to. At one point, we were approached by a very old man in traditional Moroccan dress who, after much rambling, made it clear that he wanted us to watch his bags while he went to the bathroom. On one hand, I have myself approached strangers many times with the same request. On the other hand, airport security always warns you not to accept anything from a stranger. But we couldn't refuse. So while he toddled off to "faire pipi," Sharon and I sat somewhat anxiously, dreading something sinister in the bags. Fortunately, our fears were unfounded. The old man came back and chatted with us for awhile about nothing in particular, then took himself and his baggage in search of his ride. He was really very sweet, if not a tad senile.

Yesterday was full of garden work--the kind that is monotonous and not outwardly complicated but that requires me to sit cross-legged bending over a bed cutting down iris stalks and pulling out dead leaves. For roughly four hours in 90 degree heat. I actually jumped in the pool a couple of times to cool off. I finished off the last of the irises this morning with great relief, as it was one of the least fun garden chores I have ever done. Then again, I never did have much of a green thumb.

After two solid days of yard work, all three of us were ready for a break. We were joined by Sharon and her friend for pizza in Puy L'Eveque, which was thin-crust and loaded with very French toppings (things like duck, eggplant and goat cheese). Then we went to the Prayssac cinema to see Dark Shadows in English with French subtitles. It was pretty cute, I must say.

Tomorrow afternoon we will have a couple arriving from Cincinnati, so we'll spend the day prepping everything for them. Just another day in the life here at the B&B!

Il pleut.

The predominant theme of this week has been rain. Rain and cold. Odd for a summer in Southern France, but the at least the plants don't need watering.

Sunday evening, we drove 20 minutes down the road to Sharon's house, a tiny, quaint 200-year-old fixer-upper she has been remodeling little by little for years. She's an artist specializing in mosaics, so the whole floor in her kitchen is one big mosaic, as well as many tables in her home. After she showed us some of the progress she'd made in the main room, we all went out to backyard to look at all she had planted, especially her very fruit-laden cherry tree. As soon as we were back inside, her cat, Gina, took an immediate liking to me, which she demonstrated by hopping up into my lap practically the moment I sat down. Soon enough it was time for dinner: marinated Hawaiian pork with brown rice and asparagus, a recipe I will try when I get home. She also made us strawberry shortcakes featuring her famous from-scratch biscuits. Delicious. After we had eaten, we played Tarot for a few hours, which is much harder with four people than with three, and she and I both lost miserably to the more expert William and Rosalie.

Sharon's kitchen with its mosaic floor.

Monday saw no let-up in the rain, and the day was mostly occupied by smaller chores and an absurd amount of time spent watching Fringe, as we've gone back to the beginning and are currently watching Season 1. Tuesday was also wet and chilly, so I spent a good part of the day planning my Saturday trip to Toulouse, researching train times and popular attractions. I also both started and finished reading a mystery novel. Dinner consisted of sloppy Joes (sloppy Jacques?) and cole slaw (or the French interpretation, shredded celery root and carrots). When they have guests, they only cook them French food, so when the rooms are vacant they indulge in American favorites like burgers, BLTs and pizza.

Rain clouds in the valley. Go away.

Today it rained on and off, but the sun was out for enough time to get some gardening work done. While William, Rosalie and Sharon were all engaged in various outdoor tasks, from weeding to sanding down an antique table, I went to work on some of the beds in the yard, pulling up dead daffodils to make room for new plantings. I also trimmed back some roses whose buds had rotted from too much rain. This was, of course, until it started pouring again. Then it was back to reading--"Snow Flower and the Secret Fan," a find from the library downstairs. I think my mom read it for her book club a few years ago. At any rate, it's pretty good.

The sun is supposed to stay out tomorrow, so hopefully I'll be able to get a walk or a bike ride in during the afternoon, after our morning errands are done and the rooms are completely set. They have a couple of women coming to stay for 3 nights to scope the place out for a potential biking tour, so it will be a nice change of pace to have guests after our long, lazy break.

Explorations in the valley

The past couple of days have been somewhat busier than the rest of the week, which has been nice. Thursday we went to the market in Libos, about 20 minutes away. It was your typical French village weekly market, with everything ranging from farm-fresh produce, meats, cheeses, breads and pastries, huge batches of chickens turning on rotisseries, stands for paella, crepes and waffles, new and second-hand clothing, flowers, jewelry...you name it. There were even a couple of vendors selling live animals, from cages of baby chicks to the odd kitten, pig or goat. We shopped for about an hour, buying produce, some new flowers to plant at the Baran, and a delicious roast chicken and potatoes, which we devoured as soon as we got home. We also tore into the loaf of "cornbread" we'd bought--I put quotes around it because it is completely different that what we think of as cornbread at home. It's not sweet at all, but basically like a regular loaf of French bread with a mild corn flavor and nuts inside. Still very yummy.

Yesterday we drove the 45 minutes or so to Monpazier, a "bastide," or fortified town, built by the English in the 14th century. Today, it is one of the most well-preserved bastides in the area, and the quaint village attracts many tourists. I've included a map below to give you an idea of where these places are. The blue star furthest to the right represents the Baran, lodged between Duravel and Puy-L'Eveque. The purple line right below is the Lot river, and you reach Libos by following the river west. Monpazier is the star way to the northwest.

We originally went to Monpazier to have some paintings framed. Since William and Rosalie built their artists' studio last May, they have been starting to accumulate a small gallery on the wall. Artists leave their works here with a desired price, and William and Rosalie frame them, hang them up and sell them to other guests for a fee. There are some beautiful scenes from the surrounding countryside, so guests looking for a souvenir of the region can buy paintings that would sell for quite a bit more in a US gallery. So, we had to visit the frame shop. We went through a dozen or so paintings, with Rosalie and I picking out frames for each one and Monsieur and William running the numbers. It's always interesting to watch the back and forth in situations with the locals, as Rosalie speaks very little French, leaving the task of translating to William (whose mother is French), and lately, to me. But eventually we got all the particulars figured out, so we set out to explore the village.



We got sidetracked by a clock shop full of eighteenth and nineteenth century clocks, from alarm clocks to wall clocks to grandfather clocks. We chatted for a little while with Monsieur l'horloger (watchmaker), who was in the process of repairing an antique clock. Rosalie inquired as to the prices of various pieces, since she's been looking for a large wall clock for the studio and she loves antiques. Promising to return at a later date, we left Monsieur to his repairs and picked a restaurant in the square for lunch.

After our simple meal, which included du potage (vegetable soup), roast chicken with mushrooms, and the best chocolate mousse I have ever tasted, we continued our walk around Monpazier. We stopped inside the ancient village church, where a theramin player began playing the Ave Maria. Very haunting. We also poked around inside several shops, looking at jewelry, furniture and antiques. I bought a shameful amount of dried fruit (a mix of bananas, strawberries, peaches, pears and apricots--yum) and, on the advice of William and Rosalie, some honey-scented "donkey soap," or soap made with donkey milk. William swore by it, saying "Donkey soap will get you your man." Apparently it has worked wonders for their daughter. In a shop on the main square, we also ran into the large fake life-sized sheep pictured here. Tempting buy, isn't it? However, it was a tad pricey and might have confused the dog. But later on I was seriously tempted to buy a beautiful light blue art deco alarm clock I found in the antique store; alas, it was 80 euros and needed repair to get it working. I'm still thinking about it.

Today we stayed put, as we had some work to finish up. Together, Rosalie and I finished making up the remaining rooms. As she continued with some gardening work, she put me to task "dead-heading," or snipping out any dead flowers or leaves out of all the potted plants. Peaceful work, but considering the vast amount of potted plants on the property, somewhat time-consuming. But at last, I am finished. The evening promises reading, Tarot and a home-cooked meal. Not a bad way to pass the time.

She lives!

So my few days' delay in posting seems to have caused a bit of a panic chez moi. But I can assure you that I am in fact alive and kicking. Things are just a little bit slow here, so I don't have too many adventures to share.

Enjoying the quiet valley...until the guests show up.

After my first night at the Baran, I have settled into somewhat of a routine. I get up around 9 or 10, eat a breakfast of muesli and almond milk and a banana, and see what sort of projects Rosalie wants to get done for the day. Some days it's making up guest rooms, some days it's gardening, some days it's cleaning. Since they don't have any guests due to arrive until mid-June, the pace of work is pretty slow. But since this is like a vacation for the two of them and I want them to enjoy the peace while it lasts, I also do my best to keep the kitchen clean by doing dishes often and wiping down the work spaces.

Once we've finished our projects, the rest of the afternoon is tied up by some combination of the following: reading, watching Fringe, or Tarot. I have been reading books non-stop since I arrived, and am hoping to dive into their small library downstairs very soon. We are also currently absorbed in the third season of the TV show Fringe. I have not seen the first two seasons, but they brought me up to speed as best they could. If you've never seen or heard of it, it's by the same people who did the X-Files, so there are basically bizarre crimes for the members of the special "Fringe" Division of the FBI to solve. However, to complicate matters, there are two alternate universes at play, causing drama among the characters. I was pretty lost at first, but now I'm starting to understand what's going on. It is truly an addicting show.

The third thing I mentioned, Tarot, is a card game not to be confused with Tarot cards that crackpot psychics use to read your future. It's the oldest card game known to man, dating from the 8th century. It's impossibly complicated, but I'm starting to pick it up. I'd try explaining it, but I'm not confident enough in my own knowledge of it to give a coherent explanation. However, it can only be played with a minimum of three people, so I think William and Rosalie are happy to have a willing third player at their disposal. They usually have to wait until their friend, Sharon, is here doing painting work to have another player.

As I'd hoped, I have also been learning a few recipes. Rosalie is a fabulous cook, and used to make all the meals here at the Baran until they hired a chef, named Kate. Since we have no guests at the moment, Kate and the other women who work here aren't around, so Rosalie is back in the kitchen. Whether or not we eat meals together is pretty sporadic; sometimes we do, sometimes we don't. But on Sunday, we made it an occasion by sitting down to a whole roast chicken. Rosalie showed me how to prepare it, and it is actually quite simple! I can't wait to make it when I get home. 

The painters especially love the poppy fields.

Today, our project was to clean the entire artists' studio. Here at the Baran, they host a lot of artists who come to paint the beautiful landscapes during the spring and summer. They have recently converted an old outbuilding in an artists' work space, complete with paints and easels. After their last group of relatively messy artists, the three of us had to put away all the easels, wipe down all the tables and chairs, vacuum and mop. With all of us working together, it was finished in only a couple of hours. Then William and Rosalie went off to a friends' for lunch. I stayed here and finished up, then chatted over lunch with Sharon. This afternoon will probably follow the pattern of the past week. Tomorrow, however, we will head to a nearby town to run some errands and have lunch. A little excursion to get "off the ranch," as Rosalie put it.

I almost took it. 

 Other noteworthy events: yesterday morning I walked to Duravel, the closest village. It's 5 kilometers each way, or about 3 miles (40 minutes, approximately). I took a detour on the way to see a nearby castle, which was smaller and built in a more southern style that the ones I'd seen in the Loire. I also passed a number of houses, one of which had inexplicably left their baguette on their mailbox. By the time I'd finished winding my way through the beautiful countryside, small vineyards and sparse houses in the valley, I was relieved to get into the town--which is tiny--and buy a bottle of water. 50 cents for a huge, cold bottle? I'll take it. I thought about staying there for lunch, but the only restaurant in sight was already packed. I sat in the shade for a moment, then headed home. It was a good walk, and I hope to make a routine of it. I also hope to borrow a bike to ride to nearby Puy L'Eveque, since it's a bit too far to walk.

Duravel...yup, that's about all there is to it.

On the 16th I am planning to take a day trip to Toulouse, the fourth largest city in France and the closest big city to me, to do some sight-seeing. A few days after, when guests arrive, I will ride along as William takes them on tours of the notable towns to see in the area: Rocamadour, Sarlat, and maybe a few others. I thought about taking off to see these places on my own, but it will be easier to go with them. The Baran is a little cut off from the world. Beautiful, though, and the perfect place for some R&R.

Chambre d'hotes

Train station in Montauban

Yesterday was a long day of travel, starting with the departure from Amboise, with many sad good-byes from our beloved Madame Sylvie. Then it was off to the train station. I took 3 trains to get to the small town of Cahors, finally arriving around 9pm. Tired from traveling and feeling a little homesick for the first time, I spent the evening catching up with friends online.

Quite a bridge.

Today, I got up and wandered around the city, seeing the important sights. The first was Pont Valentre, a medieval bridge with towers that spans the Lot river. I climbed up into one of the towers to get a panorama of the town below. After that, I walked into the main part of town and visited the Cathedral St. Etienne, which was built in the 12th century. While walking towards it, I heard classical piano being played from somewhere. As I turned the corner, I saw a guy playing an upright in the middle of the square! That's serious commitment from a street musician.

Look at him go!

Touristy things done, I wandered up and down the main street window-shopping. I had lunch at a cafe on the Place Leon Gambetta (named for a political figure during the Franco-Prussian War who was born in Cahors): tomato mozzarella salad and pasta carbonara. I usually wouldn't order pasta in France, but the price was right and it was tasty.

After my wanderings were through, I picked up my suitcase from the hotel and walked the short distance to the train station, where William and Rosalie came to pick me up. We ran some errands in town, drove through a few tiny villages and out into the wilderness, finally arriving at the Domaine du Haut Baran. William and Rosalie, a couple from Cincinnati, have been running this country inn for about 15 years. The property is gorgeous, with a terrace, swimming pool, pond, beautiful rooms, a full-service kitchen that turns out great food, and William's guided tours of the area's history, which goes back pretty far: this region, near the Dordogne river, was inhabited by prehistoric man.

My room is the third window over on the top floor.

As far as I'm concerned, I'll be helping out with the diverse tasks it takes to run a small inn: cooking, cleaning, watering plants, doing laundry, running errands, etc. They have some other help as well, but they seem to be pleased to have another set of hands. Since they've had a few cancellations for this month, it should be a little quieter than May, when they were slammed. But since they've been so busy, a few projects have been put on the back burner. I'm sure I'll figure into this somehow, but I won't know more until tomorrow.

Meet Bisou!

Once we arrived, I helped Rosalie water some flowers, after which she and William both took a nap since they had been up very early to drive their most recent guests to the Toulouse airport. I finished up with the plants, which certainly need water in the 90 degree heat, and got settled into my room. Since they told me that pretty much everything in their many refrigerators and extensive pantry was fair game, I went ahead and made myself some dinner: a basil omelette, sauteed garlic potatoes and a green salad. I had a little adventure with the stove, which is an industrial strength behemoth of an appliance and the kind of gas stove you have to light with a match like a Bunsen burner. I was impeded by my fear of blowing the house sky high, but I finally got my burners lit and escaped with all my fingers intact. I ate, cleaned, and put everything away, and skipped back up to my room to catch up on some emails. I'm excited to get a clearer picture of my day-to-day work tomorrow, but for now I will settle in.

Gastro-touriste.

I apologize for not updating the past few days, but wifi here is very persnickety so I've had to wait for the right moment to blog. Today is our last day here in the Loire: tomorrow my parents will head to Paris, spend one day there and then fly home. I will be taking a train in the opposite direction, south to Cahors where I will stay for one night before being picked up by our family friends, William and Rosalie, who I will work for at their bed and breakfast for the month of June. Hard to believe it's practically June already!

Multi-purpose, too.

Sunday morning began with Mass at the parish church of St. Denis, where I spent the majority of the time watching the adorable pudgy-faced toddlers in the row in front of us. After Mass, we went to the Sunday market along the river where I bought some navy blue espadrilles, a type of shoe that originated in Basque country but now can be found all over France and Spain. They're very comfy, similar in style to Tom's but a lot cheaper. Mom found herself some lavender spun honey, and Dad chomped away on some emmental cheese--needless to say, he has not been maintaining his vegan diet over here. Mom and I also bought some beautiful baskets. After our shopping, we made our way back into town to lunch on some pizza: mine had chevre, bacon and honey, a combination I'm sure I'll never find in the States. Half the fun of being in a foreign country is sampling the different dishes; it's this sort of "gastro-tourism" that is the most exciting part for me.

All of these are vegetables.

After such a low-key Sunday, we launched into a full day of touring on Monday. We were not alone, as many French were out and about enjoying their Monday off (a national holiday for Pentecost). We first stopped at Villandry, known for its beautiful classic gardens. There was a water garden, a flower garden, a vegetable garden, a maze...each one more intricate than the next. Indeed, how bold I was to walk among my pollinated enemies. Sneezing and blowing my nose constantly, I must say I still enjoyed seeing such a thorough reconstruction of how the gardens would have looked during Renaissance times.

Can you imagine living here?

Next, we went to Azay-le-Rideau, a chateau built on an island in the Indre river with its foundations right in the water. This makes for some striking pictures with its reflection in the river. Though the interiors were decorated much the same as others we'd seen, we did get the unique experience of walking in the attic and seeing how the crossbeams and such were laid out. It's amazing to think how these structures have stood the test of time.

We had lunch in the nearby village, where I enjoyed a very strange but delicious salad: lettuce, tomatoes, dressing and chevre on toasts like usual, but with the addition of rillons, or large pieces of bacon, and seasoned home fries. Really tasty, but sort of odd for a salad. I'll have to keep these unusual combinations in mind as I try new things in the kitchen.

Then we were back in the car for another jerky ride around the countryside, stopping at the royal abbey at Fontevraud. Since my dad has been reading a book about Eleanor of Aquitaine, he has been seized by a desire to see every place associated with her. Inside the abbey we found her effigy, along with those of Richard the Lionhearted and John Lackland. They were buried there at one time, but their bodies have since been moved. The abbey itself dates from the 12th century, and Eleanor spent the last few years of her long life as a nun there--she lived to be about 80, which was incredibly rare during that time.

Eleanor and Richard's effigies

After Fontevraud, we drove through some beautiful villages nearby. We stopped at Candes St. Martin, where St. Martin of Tours was buried in 397. The people of Tours stole his body back at some point, but there is still a church there with his tomb. We paid our respects, and just as we ought to have been hitting the road to make our dinner reservation, Dad decided to drag us straight up the hill for a couple of miles on some very uneven cobblestones to a rather underwhelming panorama of the nearby rivers. Classic John Adler.


Finally we were on the road again, this time taking the autoroute, or highway. Getting off the highway after a couple of hours, Dad pulled over to consult the map for our next move. What ensued was a hilarious episode of folding and unfolding the massive map in various directions, both parents squabbling away. Priceless.

"Why can't I find anything in this Godforsaken country?" "Pretty sure the  map's upside down."

But we eventually found our way through the back country roads to Les Closeaux, a very out-of-the-way restaurant with incredible food at a serious bargain: four courses for 20 euros. The meal began with an amuse-bouche (literally, "to amuse the mouth"), which is like a complementary mini-appetizer. It consisted of a cucumber whipped cream and a yummy but unidentifiable spread on a cracker. Being that the appetizer I wanted, a beet salad with chevre, had already run out, I ordered salmon mousse on a bed of chopped avocado with a small salad on top. My parents ordered the same. Everyone loved it, even me who normally avoids seafood. My entree was pork with citrus cous cous--the meat was as tender as I've ever had and I am dying to know what they did to it to make it so good! Our third course was a small salad and cheese plate, and I finished the meal with profiteroles, a classic French dessert of ice cream in a puff pastry. It was hands-down one of the best meals I've ever had. Ever.

Pretty desolate. 

Tuesday saw another long day of touring, with just as much driving, jerking around the numerous roundabouts, getting whiplash every time Dad changed gears, etc. Our first stop was the battlefield of the Battle of Poitiers of 732, where Charles Martel (the grandfather of Charlemagne) defeated an army of Spanish Muslims. This was a definitive battle in the history of France, and eventually led to the union of the various Gallic tribes under one sovereign. The battlefield monument itself consisted of large placards with descriptions of the various elements. What made it so odd was the fact that 1) it was in the middle of nowhere, 2) cannon-fire would ring out periodically, supposedly to evoke images of the battle (although I'm not entirely convinced they had cannons in the eighth century, though I could be wrong--in any case we thought we were target practice), and 3) when I pressed a button on the placard marked "English," the Carmina Burana began to play loudly, followed by an overly dramatic narration of the story of the battle.

See how the pillars are painted?

By the time we had wrapped up at the battlefield and made the drive into the city of Poitiers, it was 3:30 and all the restaurants had stopped serving lunch. Besides Dad's attempts to starve us, Mom and I managed to find some sandwiches just off the main square. Then it was time to explore the city. Poitiers, historically a university town, also contains lots of history attached to--you guessed it--Eleanor of Aquitaine. We saw the church of Notre Dame, a Romanesque church that used to be completely painted inside and out, though only the interior paint has been restored today. We visited the ancient Palais de Justice, called the Montbergeon Tower, where Eleanor would hold court. Dad was vexed by the fact that you cannot go inside the building itself, as it serves as the courthouse of Poitiers even to this day, with the old tower now full of legal offices.

Sure doesn't look like the churches we're used to.

The next landmark on the list was the Baptestere St. Jean, the oldest church in France, built in 360 AD. This was closed also, because it was Tuesday. However, we did get to go inside the nearby Cathedral of Poitiers, whose stained glass depicting the executions of Sts. Peter and Paul also includes--who else--Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henri II and their children. Not really in the correct protocol, but money talks even with the Church.

After spending roughly two hours in Poitiers, we piled back into the car to head back to Amboise. We had dinner at a restaurant called l'Amboiserie, which has a rooftop terrace right next to the castle. I thoroughly enjoyed my peach kir and salad with pears, walnuts and fourme d'ambert, a mild bleu cheese that is tricky to find at home. Mom and I also got crepes, hers with apples and caramel and mine with bananas and chocolate. I have never been known to turn down a crepe.

Today, Dad took off for some hiking on his own while Mom and I did some shopping. We found souvenirs for family but also some fantastic cooking gadgets at a kitchen store: I purchased these sweet herb scissors that have 5 blades for ultimate herb-cutting action, a citrus zester that attaches to your palm and a similar device for peeling fruits and veggies. Having never seen anything similar at home, I seized the opportunity to make my culinary undertakings a little easier. At lunch (at a place called the Lion d'Or, which was also incredible) we told Dad about the wonders we had seen and he demanded to be taken to see all the gadgets with his own eyes. He then proceeded to purchase roughly half the store.

The rest of the day will be given to packing our bags, which might prove a challenge with all our new purchases, and eating our last meal here in Amboise. Tomorrow, a new chapter begins!

Nez miserable

...In honor of my poor miserable nose. My severe seasonal allergies have somewhat hampered the beautiful scenery of the chateaux. But I journey on, armed with mountains of tissues, napkins, TP, whatever I can get my hands on to blow my nose with. No paper product is safe.

Mom and Dad posing outside the chateau

Despite the fog my allergies have put me into (I am in no way "Claritin clear"), I have been enjoying the lovely sights. Yesterday we drove a few miles to Chenonceau, the castle inhabited by Diane de Poitiers for many years, given to her because she was the mistress of King Henri II; after his death, his wife, Catherine de' Medici, forced Diane to move to another castle, Chaumont-sur-Loire. Even after Catherine vacated the premises, the castle remained an important piece of history, with several prominent women living there throughout the years. It served as a hospital in World War I and a Resistance holdout during World War II. The castle interior has been beautifully restored over the last couple of decades, with each room fully decked out in the Renaissance style. 

I wonder what sorts of dishes they made...

One of the coolest parts of the tour for me was the kitchens (not surprising) because they were refurbished so well. The wall plaques indicated what each room was for: a larder for keeping fruits and vegetables cold, a large oven and a smaller bread oven, a butchery room were game could be hung from large hooks, the room where food was actually prepared with a massive wood-fired flattop, and the servants' dining room.

Those are four--count 'em--four guys mowing one patch of lawn.

What were even more impressive were the gardens. The Loire chateaux were known for their extensive grounds and beautifully sculpted formal gardens, with flowers, shrubs and trees all planted in intricate symmetrical patterns. Chenonceau seems to be doing a fair job maintaining them as they would have looked back then, but it certainly takes a lot of upkeep. That's why many of these French gardens, large or small, are no longer decorated with brightly colored flowers as they were in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but filled with low-maintenance shrubs and the like: their maintenance is too expensive. But some Loire valley chateaux gardens are still making the effort and spending the money.

After our tour of the castle and gardens, we set off on what was supposed to be a nature hike through the surrounding forests. We were only a few minutes in before Dad decided to send Mom and I back to the chateau grounds for lunch so he could do the trail by himself. This was in part because my allergies had gotten so bad. It was also getting to be the hottest part of the day, about 90 degrees, and we hadn't eaten, and he did not in fact have any idea where he was going. So Mom and I headed gratefully towards the chateau's self-service restaurant where we were able to pick and choose what we wanted and make a light little lunch. About an hour and half later, we got a call from Dad to meet him at the car. He arrived, sweaty and sunburned, and confirmed my suspicions that none of the trail had been marked and he had been wandering around in full sun in the middle of nowhere. Nonetheless, the countryside was reportedly gorgeous. All the same, I'm glad I got to stay inside and let my nose recover for a while.

As the heat of the day wore on, my thoughts turned back to the lovely little swimming pool at our bed and breakfast. But my hopes were dashed--or at least postponed--when Dad decided we had to see La Pagode, whatever that was. We drove a few miles further to a fairly deserted looking property that had no other tourists around. I was raw-nosed and sniffly, and admittedly not in the best of moods, but I trudged on to see what there was to see. 

It's just so...out there.

What we found was an extremely curious tourist attraction. Once upon a time, there used to be a chateau and massive gardens called Chanteloup, where the owner apparently had an affinity for all things Chinese. He built Chinese gardens and a huge pagoda, a very tall tower from which you can see all the way to the river. The bizarre thing is that the chateau and gardens have been destroyed--all that remains is the pagoda surrounded by a man-made lake. We climbed up into it and learned about the history of this strange place: after the death of its owner, a man named Choiseul who was in exile from Louis XV's court, the castle was badly damaged during the French Revolution, passed from owner to owner and finally dismantled for building materials during the nineteenth century. However, nobody ever destroyed the pagoda. Maybe because it was such an oddity. Nobody really knows why. That's part of what makes it so strange and mysterious.

After our visit to this bizarre monument, we finally headed back to Amboise where we could take a dip. The water was freezing, so I could only jump in for about a second at a time before getting out to sun myself and read my book: "A Distant Mirror" by Barbara Tuchman. It's about the fourteenth century, so a little bit too early in history for all the castles we are visiting, which didn't start to crop up until the sixteenth century. But still a very interesting read.

As we sat out in the yard, we finally had a chance to meet the other couple staying at the bed and breakfast, who are from Tasmania. As such, they talk funny. The proprietors admitted to me that they can hardly understand their English with its odd, vaguely Australian accent. Nevertheless, they are very friendly and open to sharing both their wine and their stories of home. We have taken to referring to them affectionately as “The Tazzies.”

For dinner, we had reservations at L'Epicerie, a restaurant on the main square. At 23 euros apiece, we enjoyed a four-course meal. It was probably the best meal I've had since I've been here. Cream of mushroom soup with a poached egg in it, duck confit with potatoes cooked in bacon (you heard me), a cheese plate and a spiced pear and peanut crumble. I was almost too full to walk home, but it was totally worth it.

View from the inner courtyard.

Today we drove a little further to Chaumont-sur-Loire, the castle where Diane de Poitiers was forced to move. On the way there, we got a little bit lost in the countryside, as is to be expected with the Doc, but we did happen upon a restaurant he had read about called Les Closeaux, where we made reservations for Monday night. Venturing back out into the wilderness, which was indeed very calm and pretty, we managed to find the castle at last. It was gorgeous, and beautifully restored as well. It had been used not only by Diane, but by other noble families up through the nineteenth century, and some of the rooms were restored in that style. 

They've got some work to do in this one.

But there was a wing of the chateau in the process of being restored we were allowed to walk through, and that provided a more interesting picture. Rooms full of old armor, fine china, furniture…all put there for storage. Walls showing several different layers of wallpaper in various stages of removal. Musty, dim hallways giving way to rickety wooden stairs. All of this provided a much different impression of the lives these chateaux have had after their original inhabitants moved on.

The castle gardens were beautiful, but in a very different way than Chenonceau. The gardens at Chaumont have a different theme each year, and artists from all over the world design small garden exhibits according to the theme. Each one was more beautiful and more unique than the last. Some favorites are shown below.

An Alice in Wonderland themed garden with blue butterflies.

A gnome army protecting the grounds?

This one was supposed to be a big plate of green salad.

Aladdin's garden full of genie lamps.

While we all enjoyed seeing each artistic display, the heat was getting to us and the gardens seemed too vast to see in one trip. As much as I loved walking through each little garden, my nose was grateful to be indoors away from pollen when we got back to the B&B. I spent some time out by the pool, had a nap, and before I knew it the time had come for another classically French meal at an out-of-the-way restaurant called La Fourchette (“the fork”). Dad began his meal with foie gras (goose liver pate), and--if you can believe it--Mom and I had frogs’ legs. I had never tried them before, but it was that or the liver, which I cannot abide. They were surprisingly good. Chicken-like in texture, and cooked in garlic and herbs. Very yummy, but I had to try not to think about what I was eating and that they had been hopping only hours before. My mom, a great lover of frogs, felt guilty during the whole first course. For my main course, I was in more familiar territory with pork in a delicious creamy sauce. Dessert was a simple bowl of fruit, which was welcome after such a rich meal. The three of us thanked the chef, who runs the tiny restaurant with her sister, and waddled home.

Tomorrow is Sunday, when we will take a breather from all these castles and wander the local weekend market. Hopefully I can stop sneezing long enough to look around.