Bordeaux to Tours
I lucked out on the day I chose this journey for, since it meant I avoided the next round of train strikes – and, as an added bonus, it did not require going to Paris as all the others had; with that came the joy of not having to get from one busy train station to another via whichever form of public transport was deemed most suitable by various search engines.
However, it isn't that short a journey, so I'm going to kill some time by writing. That, by the way, is why I've been able to churn out a few word-heavy posts of late – because I've been spending more than a few hours on trains, criss-crossing the country. And, handily, all of the trains I've been on – save the first one, from Paris to Rouen – had me in a seat that has a fold-out tray I could put my laptop on.
Vaguely related: the class system of French trains is weird, and varies a great deal. My trip to Bordeaux was in Class 1, but had me in a seat single seat facing another person – which I found profoundly uncomfortable, both psychologically and physically; even though the women opposite me was maybe 5'3", we couldn't both fit our legs under the table set between us, and I ended up with mine stuck out in the aisle for most of a journey. This trip from Bordeaux I'm in class 2, and I'm not facing anyone – which makes it a lot better. I guess there were other aspects of the former that justify its higher rating: quietness of the carriage itself, proximity to the club car (as useless as that was, for reasons expounded in the blog post covering that trip) and so forth.
Oh, and on this trip I'm sitting next to a young Frenchwoman (well, she's reading a book *in* French, so I'm going to assume) who looks disturbingly like Benedict Cumberbatch.
Random observation: Angoulême, which I just passed through, looks pretty. I wish I'd have come here to have a proper look. I do wish driving had been a more practical option for France; being stuck with public transport has seriously limited what I've been able to do.
Huh, there's armed security on this train; I don't think I've seen that on any of the journeys so far. It may be related to the soccer (Euro 2016).
Oh, Mme Cumberbatch is colouring in. She has a pencil case with coloured pencils all sharpened to a very fine point.
And that was pretty much the train journey. Well the first part, since we don't arrive in Tours itself but St Pierre des Corps, a suburb of Tours that for some reason a few of the inter-city trains stop at. Not all of them, mind you, just some. Including the one that I'm on.
The asshats at Rail Europe Australia (with whom I booked my tickets) had allowed all of nine minutes for me to get myself and my stuff off one train and then to locate and board another – which of course meant that I missed it. Vaguely irritating, but hardly problematic since it's close by (I would have just walked if it hadn't been pissing down) and there are quite a few trains going each day.
All I had to do was buy a ticket. There were self-serve devices all over the place, so I gave one a shot. The button to translate to English didn't work, but by now I knew I didn't need that. Put in all the details and laughed when it showed the fare was 1.40€. I dug into the coin section of my wallet and extracted a 1€ coin and two 20-whatever coins and looked around for a coin slot.
There wasn't one.
The bloody machines don't have coin slots. WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO PAY A 1.40€ FARE WITH NOTES, YOU WORTHLESS SACKS OF EUROTRASH?
Ugh. I went to a card-only machine and repeated the process. And of course it still didn't work – and didn't give me a reason why.
FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
So, I had to line up to buy my ticket. Tried to speak French. The man said 'Just speak English'. I gave him my 1.40€ and he gave me a ticket. Hilariously, between the buying the ticket and the waiting for the train I was there longer than it would have taken me to walk.
But I got to Tours, where it was also (unsurprisingly) was raining. I met the somewhat eccentric apartment owner, with whom I spent far too much time getting everything sorted out and then going to get the cash out to pay her - which annoyed me more than a little, 'cause if she'd said that she'd want it up-front I'd have gotten it out before I got there.
After that I couldn't be bothered doing much other than wandering around for long enough to locate places to buy bread and cheese and ready-made soup for dinner, which I then had at home.
Loire Valley Châteaux (Part 1)
The next day I'd booked a day trip (from 9.30am) that would take me to four of the Loire valley's famous Châteaux - Amboise, Chenonceau, Cheverny and Chambord.
First up was Amboise. I'm not going to talk about any of the history of the castles; it'd take too long, and Wikipedia has a better memory than I do. Though I will, of course, make some comments along the way.
Most are from atop the castle, which from the bottom looks like this:
The rather swollen Loire river. I did wonder about it as we were driving out there; it was only later on that it was confirmed it was breaking its banks up and down the valley.
Now we went inside the apartments. Bear in mind this was at one point a royal residence.
The garden is very pretty.
This is a bust of Leonardo da Vinci. Why is the bust of a great Italian artist in a French castle? Because in his later years, the King of France invited him to come live there. So he did. FOr the last years of his life - and he's actually buried here, in the the little chapel (St. Huberts).
I wasn't kidding. His actual tomb.
Then it was on to Chenonceau. It has a lot of trees outside it, and a long walk from the front gate to the castle itself. But it's more than worth it, as you'll see.
The castle itself is very impressive.
That's a side building.
Inside was pretty spectacular too.
This was some kind of decoration. I'm fairly sure I wouldn't want to eat it, even if it were real.
This room is extremely long.
I do love vaulted ceilings.
A very well-worn butcher's block. I tweeted a picture of it in response to Gary Mehigan (of Masterchef fame) having posted one he'd come across, but I got no response. Bum.
Louis XIV again.
A Rubens.
King Henry III.
This ivy...stuff seemed to grow in beds. I didn't know it did that.
A carriage house.
I don't think I'd ever noticed how big a swan's feet were until now. Then again, I can't say I've been in a position to notice all that many times.
That reddish thing? A red squirrel. I tried to get closer but it bolted up that tree.
This rather strange, sad donkey was not able to bolt up a tree, and had no choice but to be photographed up close.
And that was that. But there'll be more in the next post!
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