A Winery, an Abbey and a Castle

Chateau de Miniere Winery

Tuesday:

Usually it is Abbey who does the complaining for us, but I have found something to be grumpy about.  It wasn't easy, but I did it.

Today (actually, yesterday, because I'm writing this Wednesday night) we traveled, as noted yesterday (this morning, when I was writing about Monday but mentioned Tuesday), from Sarlat to Saumur on the bus; the trip took all day.  When we got to Saumur, we got off the bus in the middle of town, and walked from there through part of town on the way to our hotel, just to get the lay of the land.  Because:  when we got to the hotel and checked in, we were “on our own for dinner.”

So imagine that.  You're in a small city you didn't even now existed a few days ago, and you don't speak the language (and you haven't encountered a lot of evidence that suggests that the restaurant staff will speak much useful English).  You have a list of restaurants recommended by the hotel, and another list recommended by Odyssey.  They are all just a jumble of foreign words on a piece of paper.  They reference addresses which may be indicated on the poor-quality city map you have, and may not.  And so – go find dinner!

We're in Saumur three nights, and the second and third nights are group dinners – but not the first!  Why not have mercy and set one of the group dinners the first night, and then the second or third night put us out on our own?  Or something.  It was very frustrating.  Abbey had heard of a restaurant that served rabbit (rabbit!) and wanted to try it.  This is how much I love her:  I agreed to go along to the restaurant where they slaughtered little bunnies and ate them, and have anything else that was on the menu that was not rabbit.

Well, it turns out you can't get there from here.  We went to the spot indicated on the list and the map, and there was no restaurant anywhere in sight.  We were in the opposite direction from the hotel of all the other restaurants, so we had to backtrack (second time in two nights) and stopped in the first restaurant we came to, our faith in the lists and the map shattered.  I was ready to go home dinner-less, but Abbey prevailed.

Turns out that the hostess at this small restaurant spoke English, and was delighted to translate the specials and the major items on the menu.  The menu, which was very extensive and printed on the placemat, had short – but useful – English translations under most items.  After a long series of questions, Abbey had her dinner all arranged.  I ordered an omelet – and french fries!  In France!

So it worked out fine.  It may have been the best meal so far.  Abbey's standard three-course meal (entree, which in France is the starter (entry, or beginning), main dish (plat) and dessert) was very good – stuffed mushrooms first, then sliced chicken with a great sauce.  My omelet – ham, onions, cheese – was great, as were the fries.  I felt so much better that I ordered a glass of wine while Abbey had dessert.  Then a couple we knew from the tour came in, and we talked a while; they ordered what Abbey had, and, we found out later, loved it.

So it turned out well.  But we were just lucky.  I still think there must be a better alternative than setting us loose in a strange city and expecting us to figure out where to eat.

It seems to stay light longer here.  Is France not on daylight savings time?  It's 9:30 PM right now and you could still read easily outdoors.  I hope we're still on the same planet.  Or maybe...

Today – Wednesday – we went to a winery, an abbey and a castle.  Talk about a French trip!

The scheduled late start was a boon for everyone; as I mentioned, we're all 'of an age' and the pace is getting to us.  Those of us who say they're doing fine are lying.

The winery - Chateau de Miniere - was only around a half hour away.  It is an old established winery which was purchased in 2010 by a woman who wanted to move into and past "organic" and into biodynamic viniculture, which means using absolutely nothing resembling a pesticide or fertilizer.  It turns out that you can use copper and sulfur products in France as pesticides and still be organic, but biodynamic does not.  She uses very diluted oils sprayed on the vines to discourage some bugs, but also accepts that other bugs will still attack the vines and result in smaller harvests.  They are registered as a League for the Protection of Birds refuge (some of their 60-odd acres are designed as bird habitat) and the birds help with the bugs.  They will be running sheep in the vineyards in the winter; their manure will act as fertilizer.

The place is beautiful – it's also a wedding/party destination – with modern art mixed with the old vineyard buildings.  There are three enormous sequoia trees growing there, an acknowledgment of the wine growing region of northern California.  And a cat, who would do anything for a belly rub.  Only partly orange.*

We had lunch in the middle of a wine tasting – everyone loved the meal (a “box lunch” served in beautiful small circular wooden boxes), but most did not like the wines.  Oh, well.  There's no accounting for taste.  

Then back to Saumur to drop some folks off who didn't want to go to the Abbey, and then on to the Abbey.  The only reason I went on with the bus to Fontevraud Abbey is because it is the burial place of Britain's Henry II, the first Plantagenet King, his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Richard the Lionhearted.  Two English kings (father and son) and a woman who was both Queen of France and Queen of England (not at the same time).  Richard you've heard about (crusader, prisoner held for ransom; Robin Hood); his brother John was forced to sign the Magna Carta.

So – a lot of history in one room.  Abbey came along just because I was pretty enthused.  But when we got there – it was, by then, cold and rainy – it turned out that it cost 13 euro each to go into the Abbey, which we hadn't known.  I was (and still am) becoming frustrated with the amount of extra expense involved in this tour that we weren't expecting (more on that later, maybe), and so I just got to that point where it was “thus far and no farther,” and we didn't go in.  I was at least at the entrance to the Abbey where these monumentally important historic figures were buried, and that was close enough.

So we waited on the back “porch” of the Abbey church:  many massive rafters coming down into wide eaves; stone benches; a dry place to read.  I decided I wanted to bring the “porch” back home with me and put it on the house - it was deep and solid and enfolding and quiet and the perfect place to sit in a rainstorm..  The church itself contained a wide selection of nicely framed human bones, each with the name of a saint inscribed on them.  This was, after all, the Abbey church of kings and queens, so they got the best stuff.

After taking a picture of a digger working next to a unicorn, we got on the bus and wended our way home.  I'm glad I went, but would have been happy to put my hand on the sarcophagi of Henry Plantagenet and his awesome wife and son.  For those who get a little yawny when we get into the history weeds in this journal, let me recommend “The Lion in Winter,” a 1968 movie starring Peter O'Toole, Katherine Hepburn, and Anthony Hopkins, which won three Oscars.  It's about Henry, Eleanor and Richard, and the rest of their dysfunctional family**, and if you ever want to see three of the best chewing the scenery for two hours, this is the place to go.

By the way, I did find a pic of the three tombs (and a bonus) on a website that complained about their modern setting.  Here's a fantastic nexus of wild historic mojo, the best ever, and they want to talk about the railings.  Sheesh.  Here's a different picture, from a site that doesn't mention the railing.  In the picture, Richard******** and his wife Queen Isabella (not that one) are the near couple; Henry and Eleanor are in the rear.  Apparently, Eleanor retained the ability to read after death.  What a woman!

Then back to Saumar; we chose to be dropped off at the chateau/castle that overlooks – literally – the town and is visible from most places in town we've been.  It's a kind of Disney-looking castle, rather than a “stormin' the castle” castle, although it does have a dry moat and, we are told, a dungeon.  We didn't really have time to tour it before dinner, but we did see the amphitheater, facing a large flat space which was up against a huge blank stone castle wall – maybe 4 or 5 stories – which I'd love to use to put on a play.   We found the way down, not because it was clearly marked but because we asked at the gift shop, and walked down stone steps to and through the town until we came to the road that bordered the river, where our hotel was.  Our hotel is right on the river, and the castle is right above our hotel.  The steps were challenging, especially because they were wet.  Did I say it had been raining?  It's been raining on and off (and cold most of the time) since Lascaux.

Eat Your Heart Out, Wieting Theater

NOTES: 

 * - 

Proof of life

** - Including John, younger brother of Richard, who also became king, when Richard died, and is generally considered to be, with little competition, the worst/most hated King of England ever***. And he's also the King whose general incompetence and viciousness led the barons to force him to sign the Magna Carta.  That John.****

*** - It's true.  Google says so.

**** - So bad that there's never been another King John.  Which brings us to the current King of England, King Charles III, whose only two nomenclature predecessors were King Charles I (only king beheaded) and King Charles II (presided over the Bubonic Plague and the Great Fire of London).  Why Elizabeth named her firstborn son Charles is a mystery.*****

***** - No, it's apparently not a mystery.  Elizabeth had an Uncle Charles whom she really, really liked.******

****** - Isn't this fun?  No?  Sorry.*******

******* - Not sorry.  This is to make up for being grumpy at the beginning.

******** - According to Wikipedia, "Richard's heart was buried at Rouen in Normandy, his entrails in Châlus (where he died), and the rest of his body at the feet of his father at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou."  And apparently this was not an outlier:  John (yes, that John)'s body was buried in Worcester Cathedral (hello Worcester!) and his heart in an abbey seventy miles north.  No need to do that kind of thing for me.

Bonus note:

The Unicorn and the Digger