A tale from the Loire Valley

In February, when my family booked our Easter trip to the Loire Valley, we pictured flowers blooming as we strolled through idyllic chateau estates.

“Spring.” We sighed. A hazy, perfume advert glow to our imaginations. Little did we know that Spring 2013 would turn out to be the coldest since 1987 and that tears of freezing cold would cause a hazy glow.

But we are British! And stoic against the cold (or biting winds).

So, on a Friday evening in April, we gathered at Gare d’Austerlitz. Bags packed with 48 pairs of socks, 14 jumpers, 10 gloves, and a balaclava. One hour and a half later we arrived in Blois, base camp for our arctic, sorry, antique exploration.

Having decided to avoid the stress of hiring a car for the weekend (they drive on the wrong here, you know), you may imagine that we were somewhat stumped for how to get around. And it’s true, we did consider whistling for some huskies, but fortunately, this was not necessary. For enter, the Loire Valley Navette.

Starting outside Blois Chateau, and for merely €6 all day, this comfy coach does several pick-ups and drop-offs at the nearby chateaux of Chambord, Cheverny and Beauregard.

“Gosh,” exclaimed my brother, “three chateaux in one day? By the end we’ll be truly…chateaux-d.”

“Groooooan” we replied. 

The weekend was an assault of beauty and opulence, hushed awes and delighted cries. I find it difficult to recall the individual elements of each chateau we visited. I remember a double spiral staircase, expensive wallpaper, a wedding dress, salamanders, sweeping Loire Valley views, and tales of power and murder. 

I love the history such buildings hold and their contrast with my normal life, but the details always merge, frustratingly, into one. So, I have decided that the facts aren’t important: it is the feelings and stories that count.

And with a story is how I will leave you. A story that, bizarrely, starts with Tin Tin…

The chateau of Cheverny is the inspiration for Captain Haddock’s country house in the Tin Tin stories, and in the chateau’s grounds there is a fun and interactive exhibition for visitors. My family rushed in with glee, while I decided to take a walk around the grounds.

Strolling in the kitchen garden, I tripped and cut my hand on broken glass laid out to stop slugs. A young man I took for the kitchen gardener rushed to help me, and led me inside the chateau. We chatted as he fixed my hand. He spoke such perfect English that I had to ask where he’d learnt it. “Cambridge” he replied, “I did my PHD there.”

You know what’s coming, don’t you? The gardener wasn’t a gardener at all, but a Marquis, with a chateau in the south of France. He was visiting Cheverny, where his cousins, the Marquis and Marquise de Vibraye, live. He had been due to leave the day before but the freezing weather was damaging the estate’s plants and, as a keen gardener, he had promised to help.

We exchanged numbers and have seen each other several times since. It sounds crazy, but already we’re in love and plan to marry next Spring, which we’re sure will be warmer than this one. I will become a Marquise, living in a French chateau.

Sounds unbelievable, doesn’t it? You’re probably thinking I just went to the Tin Tin exhibition. And maybe you’re right.

But who can blame a girl, exploring castles on a cold and grey spring day, for indulging in a bit of fantasy? For I’ll never remember the facts.