Storming the Castle

Yesterday, in the spirit of putting the three-day weekend to good use, we accomplished a rare and commendable goal: we got our lazy selves out of bed before 11am on a Saturday morning.

In fact, we got up at a time that experts refer to as "ass-early" to catch a pre-dawn train to the provincial town of Amboise in the Loire. Here's what Amboise looked like in the early morning light as we walked across a double bridge from the train station to the town center:

Close-up of cool river seaweed (or, as I called it, Ophelia's hair):
And here's the town itself, with a cute central marketplace and medieval, fortified Chateau on the hillside (whose cool, stony basement caves now host local winetastings):
We rented bikes and set out along a low-traffic country road, riding between fields of yellow-flowered fields rapeseed crops and endless rows of stumpy black grape plants sporting newly-sprouted vines.Although the ride was only about 15km each way, I found myself out of breath and struggling with my French-food padded tummy through the uphill portions. I definitely need to exercise more. Tom found the journey challenging for a different reason: it was one of the first serious bike rides of his life. He started out a bit shaky, but by the return journey he was switching gears and coasting to a stop like a pro.
Our destination: the Chateau de Chenonceau! Spanning a river, this Chateau was built on the foundation of a medieval castle that made use of the protection of a natural moat. François I reclaimed it as his own in the 16th century, and it was in use as recently as WWII (as a hospital for injured soldiers and as a strategic river crossing point from occupied to free territory for allied forces).
The first thing we did was park in the picnic zone for a cold roast chicken feast that Tom had prepared the night before. Mmm.
Then, with our bikes safely tangled in the anti-vole ('anti-theft', the French word for a bike lock), we set off to explore the grounds.
Gatway to Catherine de Medici's hedge maze:
A pair of sphinxes guarded the Chateau entrance. I felt like Atreyu passing through them; I kept a close watch on their eyes.
The Chateau itself had some standard, castley-fare, like gargoyles...

...and celebrations of chivalry...
..to a few more unique offerings, like this very DaVinci-looking bust of the Virgin:
Most of the original tiles inside the Chateau have been worn down and erased by centuries of scuffing feet. However, I managed to find an intact, hand-painted bunny in the corner of one of the rooms:
Here's Tom, peering out onto the river from atop the arch-supported hall you can see in the earlier picture of the Chateau. The area below this hall was a kitchen, with a door providing direct river access for easy delivery of groceries.
The Castle is covered in this symbol, the conjoined initials of King Henri II, and his wife, Catherine de Medici, which combine to not-so-subtly produce the initials of Diane de Poitiers, a court widow who was Henri's long-time lover (and who had her own room right across from his in the Chateau, while poor Catherine was on a separate floor entirely).
A royal salamander and stoat. Bonus nerd points to any history majors who can identify the kings they represent.
The castle gardens, as seen from the Chateau:
And again, from the inside:
All in all, a fantastic day trip.

Easter Resurrection

"And on Easter Sunday, the blog arose, as if from the dead..."

Hey folks. I's been a while. Since last we spoke, the gray, dreary, un-ceasing and sun-less Parisian winter has blossomed into a fragrant spring. The outdoor 'terasses' of cafés have exploded with sunglass-clad clientel, cigarettes in hand as they gesture to the waiter for another midday 'demi'. I've awoken from my drawn-out midwinter slump and realized that my hibernation dreams of living in the best city on earth are the reality of Paris in the Springtime: magnifique. And I've decided, (following a few recent 'whhhhhhhy aren't you bloooooogggging anymore?' emails) to recommence sharing my life in this magnificent city with all of you. Joyeuse Pâques! (Happy Easter!)

And now, a corny Easter franglais joke:

Q: Why do the French chasse aux oeufs de Pâques (Easter egg hunts) always end early?
A: Because for the French, one egg is un oeuf ('en-ough!')!


The flower shots are from a trip to Giverny (the garden town famous for being the home of Monet) that I chaperoned last Friday for the study abroad company I work with. It's true that the journey is getting a bit repetitive at this point, but if visiting Monet's house, getting a comped three-course lunch and having two hours to read among the flowers in the afternoon is becoming routine, I feel that I haven't got much to complain about with my job.




Easter is sort of a big deal in France. Schools have practically the entire month off to celebrate: a two-week spring break followed by a national holiday on Easter Monday. The day itself is a family affair, rich suppers and wine for the adults and chasse aux oeufs for the enfants to discover the delights delivered by the Easter Bells that fly from Rome. Yes, they actually believe that over here. True comment from one of the girls I tutor: "American children think rabbits deliver eggs? But rabbits don't even have hands!" She was incredibly smug while saying this, as if sure that the superior logic of her 8-yr old brain had defeated me. I can't say that I blame her for her incredulous attitude, though--even if the belief in inanimate belfry benefactors seems a bit silly, it must be a bit of a stretch to take an animal best known as a main course with Dijon mustard sauce and suddenly make it into a hero. No, here it is not the rabbit, but (perhaps more logically) the chicken who is ennobled and immortalized in advertising in the windows of the chocolaterie. One shop on the road I worked actually had four live chicks running around day and night under heat lamps in a window display. Another had this larger-than-life model (for an idea of scale, yes, that's an American football the hen just laid):

The hen worship makes sense, though, when you see the care and craftsmanship that goes into her eggs:
Adventurous chocolateries like the following branch out from the traditional egg and chicken chocolates and tackle a more seaside-y theme...
Love Actually fans should note that there was (apparently) more than one lobster present at the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Not to mention the fish:
For me, the fish were a little too reminiscent of a different holiday that occurred earlier this month: Poissons d'Avril. This equivalent of April Fools is the day when you attempt to stick fish-shaped "kick-moi" signs to the backs of your friends and loved ones without them noticing; you also eat chocolate fish. To end with, here's the poisson d'avril I received as a gift from my boss, back on the 1st of the month.
Little did I know as I started to munch that I had actually received the Puppy Surprise edition, and out popped a surprise (sadly, as was also the case with the classic 90s toy, mine held far fewer 'surprises than originally hoped. Seriously, did ANYONE actually get '...or 4...or 5!' out of theirs?)
Happy Holidays everyone!

Remarkable Denmark

Lonely with the boy gone and itching for a distraction, I took last Thursday and Friday off and spent a long weekend in Copenhagen, Denmark. This was my first venture into Scandanavia, and it didn't disappoint. The weather was chilly (I had to walk home in freezing rain after missing the last metro the first night, then saw my first snowfall of the year the next day) and dark (the sunset currently occurs around 4pm, and will apparently only get earlier as winter progresses). However, the city was charming and the cleanest that I've seen in Europe, and despite the climate, its people went out of their way to be friendly and welcoming (in perfect English, no less). They were, for the most part, predictably tall, blonde, and beautiful (although I couldn't take them entirely seriously given that listening to their native tongue reminded me of the Swedish Chef).

I'll stick with the Danish theme for the next few days, so stay tuned for more Copenhageries. I'll start off with a few general street shots from my wanderings to set the tone:

View towards the sea from atop the appropriately named "round tower":
Different view:
Saturday window shoppers on the street below:
Central plaza at nighttime:
The spire rising from hippie haven Christiania, and a few of Copenhagen's huge collection of bikes:
The old stock exchange (the twirls on the spire are actually the twisting tails of two dragons):
Noreport harbour and its rainbow row houses:

Promenade in the parc: adieu l'été

While looking through my photos I came across a set taken on a late summer Sunday in the middle of my blog shuffle, which were, as a result, never published. They're of Parc des Buttes Chaumont and, I'll admit, a little out of season, but looking at them from under a blanket while I struggle to return circulation to my toes on one of our coldest days yet has brought on such a strong wave of nostalgia that I figured I'd share.

The parc is far from the flat, manicured, fountain-filled Luxembourg gardens that Paris is famous for in both locale and style. Located in the 19th arrondissement, it embraces (and exaggerates) the hilly topography of the quartier and has a distinctly "wild" look--of overgrown forests, rope bridges and secret waterfalls that, while obviously carefully engineered, are nonetheless a nice escape from urban life.

Here's a shot of sunbathers and picnickers down one of the parc's many sunny slopes. I love the girl in the white dress sauntering purposefully past in the foreground:

And another. I didn't get a picture, but there was a jazz band performing at the pavillion on top of the hill, so everyone you see was being treated to a free concert.
You can just make out the spires of the Sacre Coeur in the background:
Waterfalls:
Downhill, the water from the falls slowed to a stream. Children splashed in the shallows in various degrees of nakedness, running behind trees to relieve themselves when the urge struck. Although the sight is a little surprising to Americans, I remember having similar experiences of seeing children (of all ages/genders) naked in public on the beaches of Nice. I really like how much more relaxed the French attitude towards the body is (at least as far as children are concerned):
I found a friend:
To be sung to the tune of "hole in the bottom of the sea": therrrrre's a pavilion on the cliff on the island in the lake in the valley of the center of the park!
The same, from a different angle (down by where all the gaufre and crêpe carts were...yummy!):
The Indiana Jones-esque bridge leading to the island:
The view of the shore from the bridge:
A cute gay couple kept posing for me as I snapped pictures of the pavilion. I don't know if there was some sort of gay holiday I wasn't aware of or if the queer community just congregates in Buttes Chaumont, but I have never seen so many same-sex couples outside of Pride parades and Indigo Girls concerts (don't judge! they're good!).
A better view of the distant Sacre Coeur, from the top of the island cliff:
The top of the island also afforded an excellent view of a rather odd installation art piece in the moat below, a sort of lily pad colony of red blood cells:
And finally, here's us, looking warm and happy and full of vitamin D. Aw.