Chinon

August 28, 2009







































We're on our way to the Loire Valley again, this time to Saumur, Chinon, and, we hope, to Chenonceau.

At Saumur's Tourist Information office, though, we learn that the chateau is undergoing renovation and is closed. There seem to be a lot of these projects underway at cathedrals and chateaus. The work is funded by the French government, and we wonder if this is part of a stimulus package.

Our stop here is not wasted, however. The young woman who helped us at the Tourist Information office is can't-stop-staring, put-Hollywood-to-shame beautiful. Natural jet black hair, big expressive eyes, perfect skin. Bernie counts this as a high point in his day.

We drive by the chateau for a glimpse anyway.

Now we're coming up on the Royal Abbey of Fontevraud. It's the largest in Europe. The Huguenots desecrated the Abbey in 1561 (the Catholic Church was very corrupt during that period and reform movements had begun all over Europe - Martin Luther posted his 95 theses on the church door in Wittenburg in1517). In 1804 Napoleon turned it into a prison, and it remained a prison until 1963. During World War II Germans tortured members of the French Resistance here and killed several.

Founded in 1101, the abbey had five buildings housing orders of priests and lay brothers, contemplative nuns, lepers, invalids, and lay sisters. The founder of the abbey ordained that the entire community should be directed by an Abbess, and that she should be chosen from among the widows.

The order quickly became the place for queens who'd been put on the shelf and the females of wealthy aristocratic families to take refuge. The order became wealthy due to generous gifts and endowments from those aristocrats. Many of the Abbesses over the years were from the royal family.

If I were going to a convent, I'd like this one, at least for the setting, among rolling hills planted with crops. One thing I wouldn't like - only the room in which monks copied manuscripts was heated.

Despite the corruption and laxity of religious orders of the time, we remind ourselves that it was places like this, and monks who laboriously copied manuscripts here, that kept Western civilization alive. The Dark Ages were times of illiteracy, ignorance, and a great step backward for Europe. What we think of as the wisdom of the ages, including, very importantly, the Bible, might easily have disappeared had it not been for them. (I know, I know - you got all this in Western Civ, but it seems so much more real here, more urgent.)

Libraries perform that same function today.

So do public schools. There were no public schools in the Middle Ages. Only the few, children of wealthy aristocrats, received any education.

Detractors of public schools would do well to keep in mind the reason that autocratic rulers do not want education for the masses: ignorant people are much easier to manipulate. Education's purpose is to expose students to a wide variety of points of view and to teach them to think for themselves so they can evaluate those points of view.

Education is a powerful thing. For those who hold power, it can often be a very dangerous thing.
Thank God.

Abbeys are not as grandly decorated as cathedrals, and only the church here has stained glass, but the architecture is just as impressive.

Henry II of England, his wife, Eleanor of Aquataine, and their son, Richard the Lionheart are buried here.

I can remember - again back to fifth grade - reading about Richard the Lionhearted going on Crusades to the Holy Land. Did I ever think I'd gaze on his tomb? Not a chance.

I know this is so corny but we both love being this close to history.

Driving to Chinon we see more troglodyte houses-they are endlessly fascinating.

The Tourist Information office in Chinon doesn't disappoint Bernie-there is a very cute blonde young woman here.

Before we tackle the castle, we need lunch. We always seem to arrive for lunch just as most of the restaurants have stopped serving it, and the in-between offerings are limited. In most towns, though, at least one place serves all day.

We park at the top of the hill above the entrance to the castle. There is a restaurant across the street. We take a seat and wait, and wait. Apparently we are not only not going to get lunch here, we're not even going to get a nod.

We go down the hill towards the center of town. It's a steep descent, but fortunately there is an elevator.

There are several cafes clustered around the Place de la Charles de Gaulle. We find one that's still serving. At the next table is a couple from Dublin with their two girls. I'm always glad to see families traveling with children. We have a pleasant lunch, but we have decided we're going to have to start packing lunches - these leisurely cafe breaks eat up a lot of sightseeing time.

Francois Rabelais, writer satirist (whom I've not read) was born in Chinon in the 1400s. Chinon is best known for it's red wines, and after climbing up to the chateau we see the vineyards on the side of the hill.

All the castles we've visited on our trip have been fortresses rather than the luxury palaces and Chinon is no exception.

Joan of Arc pleaded with Charles VII to take the throne back from the English here, and he gave her permission to raise an army. He'd taken refuge at Chinon during the hundred Years War.

When the English captured Joan, Charles failed to come to her aid, and she was burned at the stake.

Other inhabitants of the castle at Chinon were Richard the Lionhearted, along with his mother and father, Henry II of England and his wife Eleanor of Aquatine, and Richard's brother, John, one of England's less popular kings.

Inside the fortess signs tell us that an English-language tour will begin soon so we hang out, looking over the ramparts. It's a long way down to the town and the river and the views are grand and sweeping.

Our guide arrives, says goodbye to her last group, and we have her all to ourselves. We're very interested in how the castle was built and about Joan of Arc's stay here and she is very knowledgeable about both.

Chinon is being renovated and workmen installing sewer pipes have found chicken bones inthe walls, indicating that another worker somewhere between 1000 and 1400 ate his lunch here and dropped the remains inside the wall.

We climb the tower, where there's a Joan of Arc museum, to the top. The walkway around the outside at the top is narrow, the view commanding and it's windy. I wouldn't have wanted this watch on a winter night.

Our guide tells us the land around the castle provided nearly all the castle's needs, so that the inhabitants couldn't be starved out in a siege. Food crops were grown on the castle grounds and deer and wild boar in the forests provided meat.

There are still wild boar as well as deer in the forests nearby. She says one of the big problems with traveling at dusk is the danger of hitting a wild boar! Surely enough, on the road as we drive home, we see a sign: "Wild Boar Crossing."

We want to take the interstate to get home before dark (incidentally, we're a little farther north than at home and when we first arrived it was light until after 10:00 p.m.).

The directions on the big highways are given in terms of where the highway ends rather than the next city. It's only once you've decided on a direction and are already on your way that you see a sign for the next town. If you know which direction the end city is, you're ok - it's like getting on I71 - you know it will eventually take you to Cleveland eventually, but you can also get to Columbus. If we gget on the road to Lyon, though, we don't know Frane's cities well enough to know which direction that is.

We've made a choice, however, and it's a few kilometers before we realize we're probably going the wrong way. So we find a rest stop and pull in.

In a few seconds we have maps out and are trying to figure it all out, but we're still not sure. We've pulled in beside a tractor-trailer. Bernie bets out , sees that the truck is right-hand drive and approaches the driver.

"Do you speak English?" Bernie asks.

"Quite well," comes the answer in a pleasant British accent.

The driver and Bernie talk for a couple of minutes, then come over to our car and spread a map across the hood.

I'm catching part of the conversation and it sounds as if they are lifelong friends.

We learn a lot about this very nice man in just a few minutes. He's driving this truck from Manchester to Gibralter. He's retired twice but due to the economy and lack of an adequate pension, he's had to go back to work. He's never received any money from the government. His son paid for his father's knee replacement. He's going to call his wife in just a little while.

He tells me to look out for Bernie and I promise to do that.

So many good, kind people in the world. So many lives and stories.