Live blog Saumur/l'Abbaye de Fontevraud

(Note: I wrote this in my notebook at the times that are marked. Saumur is in the Loire Valley, and the Abbey of Fontevraud is a famous château/abbaye, home to the graves of Henry 11, King of England,  his wife Eleanor, and their son Richard the Lionheart. My sister is writing a historical novel about these personnages and encouraged me to check it out. As you'll see, it was a great idea.)

6:23 AM: Beginning. In Columbus Café,with cappuccino. Not the best cappuccino I've ever tasted, but it has caffeine.I didn't sleep much last night. In retrospect I probably could have chosen a later train. As it is, I will have 12 hours in Saumur/Fontevraud. Assez de temps pour entraper l'essence, l'âme? Probablement non. But I have to try anyway. I wonder how much coffee will be consumed today. I'm a little frightened to find out. In any case, the tickets are in hand after several mini snafus - I went to the wrong section, because the train I'm taking is apparently a grande ligne and now just suburban nancy-pancyness. Then the machine couldn't find my dossier, so I had to switch to English, and realized I was looking at the wrong thing. My card was rejected 3 times before I just typed in the reference number, and at last the tickets were found. I know there was a reason I woke up before my alarm-- at 5:18 exactly.

7:20 Am: le TGV. Train Grande Vitesse s'appelle ça pour une seule raison: it's fast. I can actually feel it in my ears, in my head. But so smooth - if not for the smallest rumblings, I wouldn't know we were moving. That, and the pressure in my ears. I have to transfer trains at St. Pierre des Corps. Saint Peter of the bodies? I don't want to know. Continuing my thought from earlier - it is so strange to be out before six o'clock on a saturday morning. The only people out are either traveling, like me, or stumbling home, still drunk as skunks, from the clubs, which don't close until 6 in the morning. It is certainly a lifestyle that I don't understand and never have, but quite popular apparently. I guess I just like my sleep too much...

8:20 AM: (st.pierre/TER train) This station is in the middle of nowhere. Approaching in the half dawn, milky murky gray and the dew laying itself out like a lover on the endless fields -- I thought, if there's a gare around here, it's disguising itself well. That was before we hit the endless lines of tracks and began what I thought must be the train equivalent of taxiing for what seemed like forever. The clouds began to tinge pink. I briefly wondered if the Abbaye would be open, and how pissed I'd be if not. This train is nothing like the TGV, large and silent and graceful. This is just clunky, loud, and clumsy, clattering along the tracks with no real glamour.

10:18 AM: (Château du Saumur) I am sitting in what must be the prettiest place in France. Much too early for the tourists, the panorama must be searched for: after climbing up to le château du Saumur, the crowning beauty of this quaint French town, you cross the drawbridge, descend the steps into what would be the moat. Turning right, you walk up an incredibly steep hill, and then wind your way up a small path, then leave the concrete to find this bench, overlooking la Loire on the most beautiful fall morning. I think, what if I was suddenly transported to the time when all of this was alive. They'd think me an apparition des fées. C'est bon pour moi - j'aimerais être la renne des fées - the queen of the fairy folk. I have two hours before the bus to the Abbey leaves, so after a bit I'll go check out the castle, puis chercher quelquechose à manger. But for now, I'm going to stay here, eating a clementine I bought au marché qui se déroule au centre ville du Saumur, along with 100 g of haricots verts. I couldn't resist.

11:31 AM: Petit café, centre ville. I ask for une carte, the waiter doesn't get it. I snatch a menu from another table. "I speak English if you want," he says. Insulted, I respond, "Je parle français aussi. Donne-moi une minute s'il vous plait?" He does. The sandwiches are pretty cheap here. I order un café espresso. Le deuxième, et probablement pas le dernier. If I have time, I'm thinking of taking myself out to a restaurant tonight. The waiter just interrupted to ask, "Tu fume? You smoking?" No, I'm not, and stop talking to me in English.

12:28 pm: (on the bus to the abbey) This is such beautiful country. Some crazy and louche old man decided to talk to me in the bus stop. He asked what I was doing tonight. I was deliberately vague. We talked about laughing at Americans. I don't know if he knew I am one, and I didn't enlighten him. We just passed the ruins of a castle, being eaten by the hillside. Oh my god, what a rich country, here you can see why the Kings liked it so much.

14:18PM: (cloisters, Abbey) Where is everybody? It is so quiet, but so lovely. I am determined to walk every inch of this place. If there is no sign of rope that says I can't, I will go explore. I found a half caved in spiral staircase on the grounds and the dungeons - this last was so awesome,but I left in a hurry - I was there alone and the spirits down there were not happy Casper the Friendly Ghosts, that's for darn sure. I am sitting in the cloisters for a brief "pose" avant de chercher les tombes dans l'eglise. I passed on the audio guide, but go in free because I'm under 26. I wish I could describe for you this country, here and on the drive here. Saturated in sun, the greet explodes against the white of the buildings -- and all of them are white. They are small and built from stone. The walls along the road must have been glorious in their time - now they all have hats of unruly ivy and play host to whatever creatures lives there now, a far cry from the nobility of their past. Maybe they welcome a few pigeons, cooing incessantly like those by the château de Saumur. There is a calm, a quiet serenity that never leaves this place, a kind of softening in the fabric of the world -- almost like the world grew mean and cynical but this place stayed behind and the only way you know it's the present is because the corridors are empty.

15:31 PM: In the gardens, probably my favorite place here, though it's all a toss up. The inside is bare and echoing - even in the Church, the only things left are the graves of Richard Coeur du Lion, Henry 11, and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine. They lie perfectly still, the color of their effigies (is that even the right word?) fading and chipped, their bones long since turned to dust. If you believe in an afterlife -- I don't -- they're still gallivanting around somewhere but here there is no sense of a mortal life -- not even embers, only ashes. That reminds me, though, I was going to tell Richard something from my sister. I'll have to makea stop there on my way out. Nothing seems to be open for food, and thus I will have to explore Fontevraud in search of. But I have time  - 3 hours in fact. I think I may return to the cloisters and sit for a bit -- I have logged several miles (or so it feels) already today.

15:44 PM:  My audience with Richard is being thwarted by a guided visit of old people. The only saving grace is that the guide is incredibly good looking, but will not shut up. Come on, cute guide, hurry up and move your nursing home brigade out of the way so I can talk to Richard.

16:21 PM: In the cloisters, the afternoon sun could -- I could get inebriated on it very quickly. It is so mild. The tour groups come in every so often and I find their voices startling, as thought they pull me away from some pleasant dream -- but in that dream, I am so much more real, by myself in this corner, quietly existing alongside these walls, themselves masters at existing. Together we are silent, and are friends in our disdain for the noise.

17:48 PM: Le troisième et final tasse du café - un cappuccino, with a LOT of whipped cream and a croque monsieur, in a quaint little salon du thé. Fontevraud seems to have closed down for the fall -most places aren't open or are only serving half their menu. It's too bad, but there you have it. It's almost mid October now - quiet season. after eating a truly spectacular pasty called a "Bonaparte"I took a wander through the town, which is entirely built around the abbey. Still, I wandered into two small shops -- I found an awesome art gallery and even better, a little artisan tissuerie (?!) and spent at least fifteen minutes talking with the owner about the different types of fabric, what time they're from (time period), and the work he does restoring the furniture dans les châteaux. I held my own just fine and that makes two people now who have had to ask where I'm from - so while I am not yet "française" I am not clearly American. I consider this very much a success.

Un peu plus tard: Ce matin j'ai pensé qui j'aurai six heures d'attraper l'âme de l'abbaye - 6 hours to capture the Abbey's soul. So, did I succeed? I doubt I could put it in words -- but I think I came close in those long minutes in the sunshine in the cloisters, wandering the gardens. The quiet of the train, its simplicity, the way history drags it from the, and now. Not waiting, really, but existing.

20:41 PM: I really wanted ice cream. I just wanted ice cream. Why does no one have ice cream? I went to a supermarché and bought 500 mL carton of Haagen-Daas midnight cookie ice cream, though I should have gotten vanilla. It was 5,90 E. Without a spoon, I headed out to find somewhere discreet, and ate half of it with a pen, looking out over the Loire and the lit château. Was it worth it? You'll have to ask the night, the lights, the river. I think I'll go without desserts four about a week, but I don't know. For the day? A day that held and amplified all of my various whims? It was probably worth it. But I really just wanted some ice cream. There was a couple sitting on the sidewalk outside the train station, already totally trashed. They were singing as I walked up, and the man called, loudly, "Madmoiselle, bon soir!" I suppose I should have stopped to talk just for the story, but it didn't seem like a good idea at the time. I kept walking. Paris seems a long way and a long time away.

21:44 PM: I had too much ice cream Ithink. I had a couple of my haricots verts to try and balance out the fat, but somehow I doubt that's going to work. Dommage...it's only saturday but I just caught myself thinking despairingly of Monday - mostly because I start yet another new dance class that involves waltzing into yet another new dance studio with yet another new teacher. It's good -- but so damn intimidating. Still, that's monday and I probably shouldn't be worry about it now. Not like I have much else to do. I'm suck here in St. Pierre of the bodies again until 22h22. A little over an hour on the Very Fast Train and I will have arrived in Paris -- only to take a subway and walk home. I'm guessing I'll arrive around midnight, and I don't know if I feel like going to bed right away...maybe I'll finally sleep well.

22:51 PM: En effet, le TGV is not smoother -- both trains are remarkably smooth and quiet - it's just that the TGV is better looking and faster, which the TER is the ugly, slow, but subtlety extremely graceful younger siblings. I have stopped noticing the speed in my ears, so either we are going slower or I was going crazy this morning. I'd say the latter is more likely. I tend to be more sensitive to those things in the mornings anyway. A kind of morning sickness I suppose..

A little later: This train is full of exhausted people trying desperately to find a comfortable way to sleep, like the woman across the aisle from me. It's actually kind of heartbreaking. Also, I can feel it my ears.

(To finish: I had a magnificent day.  A bit later I'll post my pictures on my photobucket - there are a LOT -- and post the link here. Hugs!)