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.