On my recent tour of the Loire Valley I visited a number of Chateaux: my favourite was Chenonceau. Not, please note, Chenonceaux with an x which is the name of the village. Chenonceau had kitchens that would be worthy of Renaissance Masterchef.
Its ancient history - the rivalry between the Queen Catherine de Medici and the King's mistress Diane de Poitiers was fascinating. Diane seduced the King when he was 19 and she was 39. She became his lover, confidante, political advisor, emissary, and muse. When he was dying of wounds inflicted during a jousting tournament, it was her colours that were tied to his lance, and her name that he called out in his dying moments, although the Court (and specifically, the Queen) refused to allow her near him. She was exiled to the country after Henri II's death, and died aged 66. Her remains were unceremoniously chucked in the communal burial pit by the revolutionaries in 1789 but were disinterred later. Scientists found traces of gold in her hair, which she had consumed in liquid form to preserve her beauty, and which may have ultimately killed her.
Chenonceau also has magnificent nurseries where they grow masses of flowers which are used by their own floristry team to fashion the extravagant flower arrangements in every room. These are fresh every week, and often themed: they were all on an Easter theme when I visited.
Its more recent history is also fascinating. The Cher river, on which the castle stands, formed the dividing line between occupied "Vichy" France and free France. During the second world war, partisans smuggled resistance fighters into free France through the lower section of the part built across the river, under the great hall.
I attempted to stalk Sir Mick Jagger, but he seems to have camouflaged his chateau so well that I couldn't find it, despite having been driven past it some 20 years ago. The French radio teased me all day, playing Maroon 5's "Moves like Jagger" and various Stones numbers. Still, even that was better than Adele's "Someone like you" which they played every half hour. Having played all my Bai Kamara CD's several times, I tuned into Radio Nostalgie which at least didn't bang on about the French elections all the time.
Il Maestro
Amboise is a lovely town with a fascinating castle sitting high over the Loire. It is the last resting place of Leonardo da Vinci who spent the last three years of his life there as a guest of the King. It also served as a prison for Abd el Kader, the Algerian rebel leader, who was under house arrest there from 1848 to 1852, allbeit in luxury conditions. He came with a retinue of 80 people, 25 of whom died in the four years they were resident in the cold, damp castle. They are buried in a small Moslem cemetery specially made for them, and their names are inscribed on marble slabs in French and Arabic.
Chateau d'Azay-le-Rideau
Azay-le-Rideau is one of the fairytale castles of the Loire region, not on the Loire itself, but sitting in its own lake. The roof space has been opened to the public to show off the masterful French timberframe roofing which has been given special UNESCO "intangible cultural heritage" status. The Loire Valley area itself is recognized by UNESCO as having cultural intangibility, and French cuisine also bears the coveted label; one wonders why UNESCO doesn't just name the whole country culturally intangible and be done with it. It is perhaps no coincidence that UNESCO is situated in Paris ....
After cruising down alternate banks of the Loire from Orléans to Saumur via Bourgueil and Vouvray (purely in search of chateaux, you understand) I cut across country back eastwards to the Berry, and Bourges, which is where the "Printemps" store chain originated. Le Printemps de Bourges. I made the mistake of arriving there on Easter weekend. Bourges is not the most throbbing of towns at the best of times, outside of its annual spring music festival, but on Easter Sunday it was as dead as a dodo. There was a market (for all their Sunday closing laws, French Sunday markets are open even on the holiest Sunday in the church calendar) , but after a quick sniff around the cheese stalls at Les Halles, there was nothing else to do until lunch, and it was only 11 o'clock. The only free show in town was in the Cathedral, so I decided to go to Easter Mass.
Perhaps just as well the shops were shut in Bourges, I might have been tempted .....
Now my religious upbringing was somewhat patchy. Christened R.C. in homage to Grandpa Harridan who came from Ireland, I was brought up in a vague mixture of Anglican, Baptist and Spiritualist, with flashes of Hindu or Moslem depending on who our lodger was at any particular moment. I respect all religions, although subscribe to none, and do not go around taking flash photographs during a service. I took a place about halfway back, on the end of the front row of a block of seats, from where I could make a discreet escape should this prove necessary.
I love a nice flying buttress. Bourges Cathedral has got a lovely arse end.The altar boys rushed past giggling and kicking each other, then reappeared 10 minutes later in the procession looking pious and holy, carrying huge candles, their eyes upturned to heaven. A stupid tourist woman tried to stand right in front of the procession to take a photograph and was swept aside unceremoniously by the verger. One does not pap God on the march. The Bishop of Bourges led the procession - at least, I'm guessing it was the Bishop, he had a pointy hat on - which went right in front of me. My large handbag was on the floor, obstructing the processional glide every so slightly, and the Bish gave me a dirty look and swung his incense in my face. If he could have exclaimed "A HANDbag????" à la Lady Bracknell, he would have. The audience - sorry, congregation - knew all the actions, and were standing up, sitting down, standing up again, shouting things out, and waving their arms about (making the sign of the cross, surely? Ed.) I was not au fait with the audience participation bit, and the singing wasn't all that, so after half an hour I slipped away discreetly. Still, I like to think that my presence, allbeit brief, will have been registered somewhere.
After a short spin out to St Florent sur Cher with lunch in mind, and finding a very pretty village on the river with a lovely castle used as a town hall, but nothing resembling a restaurant, and nowhere to even buy a sandwich, I returned to Bourges too late to get a seat in a decent restaurant (one must be seated by 12.30 sharp in France or starve) and had an overpriced and very late lunch in the Taverne de Maitre Kanter by the Cathedral. The waiter was Colombian and the service appallingly slow, since anyone who does intangible French cuisine the disservice of sitting down to eat after 1 o'clock is considered an ignorant peasant and does not deserve to be served promptly.
By mid afternoon I was sitting in the Cathedral gardens wondering what to do for the rest of the day. On the map I saw what looked like a large park just outside the old town, so decided to mosey on down. It was the best surprise of my whole trip - Les Marais is in fact a vast watermeadow which has been parcelled off into 1,500 or so allotments, where the good people of Bourges grow fruit, vegetables, flowers, or just laze around in deckchairs. The patchwork of gardens is divided up by a couple of rivers and a network of canals, and you can walk along the river banks for a couple of miles. It is idyllic, the peace broken only by the loud squawking of mating ducks. I realized why Bourges town centre was empty - everyone was here, walking their dogs and children, riding their bikes, fishing, rowing a boat or cultivating their gardens. Bourges was redeemed.
Easter-themed arrangement to beat even Chenonceau, spotted on Easter SundayI stopped in Sancerre on Easter Monday to buy some wine, as you do, but by now the long-threatened bad weather front had materialized, and a small French hill town on a cold and damp Easter Monday is no place for older women, so I moved on to visit some friends living nearby who fed me royally for two days and helped me sample the small collection of local specialities I had collected from Chinon, Saumur and Sancerre.
One of McChé's French relatives, Mademoiselle Lucie