The Loire Valley

It had already been a busy week. I (finally) got my Louvre student pass, ate Thai food made me nostalgic for Hyde Park, sampled marron ice cream (au rhum) at the old-school Berthillion on L’Ile Saint-Louis, and our class watched Le Retour de Martin Guerre. Starring Gérard Depardieu (but when he was young, so its ok…), it’s about a trial of one of the first identity thefts that was so popular, our teacher called it the 16th century’s O.J. Simpson. C’était très bien.

Yesterday, we were up at 6, on the road by seven, heading to the Loire Valley. I got more than 2 hours of sleep, so I was in good shape. The road to Blois was something like 2 hours; one must take a bus since there’s no train stations near the town. At first site, Blois is strikingly similar to Poitiers: lots of hills, lots of cute shops for clothing, local bars, brasseries, and cafés. My friend Paul explained to me, that this was just what Europe looked like. There were some differences…


Like the Loire River.

It was shallow and you could see the fish disappearing and reappearing amidst river plants. It’s calm, mirrored surface perfectly reflected the town on either side. The illusion was capable of taking our breath away, we spent nearly a half hour there admiring the view.

We were then given a tour of Le Château Royal de Blois: a frankenstein-of-a-building, with the remnants of different kings sewn together, fusing separate histories. One king added to his predecessor, and sometimes added by knocking down, so that there are four visibly distinct styles. Reliefs of porcupines and fire breathing salamanders checker the walls, the emblems of Louis XII and François I, respectively.



The most breathtaking aspect of the château is its view. We stood there again, almost dumbstruck, gazing at the town beneath us, the church errupting from the red roofs, and the wide river. So many pictures to be taken, I photographed the same thing over and over, and still couldn’t effectively capture it. We were persuaded away only with the prospect of lunch.

At L’Orangerie, the exciting avant-garde menu was unfortunately offset by rude service. Okay, we're American students, but they took our plates away as soon as we put our fork down, even if we weren’t finished. They stole the bread out from under our noses.

The menu was really a treat, even though it left some people hungry with its tiny portions. Melon with a spicy beef jelly, ground lamb stuffed into zucchini, tomato and eggplant, and the dessert: a crumbly apple tart topped with The Most Delicious Vanilla Ice Cream. Finished off with tiny cakes, strawberry merengues and un café, the meal was near perfect. Just the service, s’il vous plait.




We were bused to Chambord, which was more isolated than Blois. It barely had a town outside of the majestic Château. Our guide there was a little more grating than the one we had at Blois, who let us wander around the building at our own pace. Here, we were given a mind-numbing and rigorously paced march around King François I’s masterpiece. The place is so big, I think we barely saw a third of it, and had no time left to explore on our own. There were more salamanders on the walls, chosen for their ability to withstand fire, and a beautiful double-spiral staircase. One could watch people starting at the top, and mysteriously disappearing, as a different group climbed up what looked like the same staircase. The twists and turns wore us all out, and we were collapsing as we reached the bus to take us home.

However, once we got back, we were surprisingly refreshed. Up for a little more updated version of France, we went to a club on the Champs Elysées called Six Seven, where everything was free for les filles until 12:30. There was a mixed crowd of young and well-dressed, young skanks, old and well-dressed, and old skanks. A triple-act strip show began with a mad scientist who inflated a long balloon from his crotch.

How times have changed...