If the most hectic day of our trip had not been followed by the most peaceful I cannot vouch for what my sanity would have been or what would have become of us.  I believe our bodies would have given out and we would have collapsed in the gutter, unconscious.  Small children would have seen us and said, “Mommy, what is that?” as their parents tugged at them, “Come away dear.  Don’t touch it.”  And little dogs would have lifted their legs to pee on us and we could not have done anything to stop them.  But thankfully it was not so.  Monday was a blessedly peaceful reprieve for our bodies and minds. 

            We stopped at a Brioche Doree on our way to the station and bought an almond pastry and a yogurt for breakfast.  The train to Chenonceau was new, clean and quiet.  We watched the countryside glide by as we ate our breakfast on the 20 minute ride.  Jayné and I were the only ones to step off the train at the Chenonceau station.  The conductor blew her whistle and jumped back on as the train slowly moved out of the station and off into the distance.  The sound of the train quickly disappeared and we were left alone in the silence.  We were suddenly in another world.  All we could hear were the birds twittering in the trees overhead.  After days of city bustle, millions of people, and traffic we suddenly found ourselves utterly alone, with not another person in sight. 

            I sat down on the bench and reveled in the peace.   Behind us was a small, sleepy village of stone houses with brightly painted wooden shutters on all the windows.  Across the tracks ahead of us we could see part of a modest sized parking lot.  There was a small stone building near a massive gate and beyond was a drive lined with huge plane trees.  I knew this must lead to the château which was out of sight.  Eventually a car drove over the tracks from the village and disappeared down towards the château.  This broke the spell and now, driven by a desire to explore the grounds and discover the château, I got up off the bench and we went to purchase our tickets.

            We took our time walking down the long drive, looking up at the towering trees above us and off into the woods and past the canals which ran the length of the drive.  With each step our anticipation grew.  We exited the drive between two stone sphinx into a sweep of lawn and beyond that lay a courtyard with the château in all its glory directly ahead. 

            The sun was warm as it reflected off the stone of the courtyard but the castle was chilly when we stepped inside.  To the left of the main hall was the guard’s room where the tours began.  A woman was stoking a fire that was blazing in the massive fireplace at the far end of the room.  There was also a fire in the bedroom directly upstairs and these two fires were enough to warm the entire east half of the château.  We discovered the western half to be very cold and later returned to the guard’s room to warm up at the huge fireplace.

            We spent the day wandering the rooms, admiring its faded yet elegant glory and through audio guides learning a little about the people who lived here and how their personal dramas and agendas changed the face of the château for better or worse.  We had lunch at the Orangerie  Restaurant.  As I sat with my terrine de canard and estate bottled wine and gazed about the room I couldn’t quite believe where I was.  The room was a creamy yellow with fabric covered walls, tiled floors, elegant moldings and paintings.  The windows looked out to a sweeping lawn bordered with boxwood, laurel and yews and dotted here and there with statuary.  Garlands of wisteria vines graced the facade of the Orangerie.  I’d seen pictures of these types of rooms many times in books.  And now here I was on the grounds of a 16^th century Renaissance chateau having an incredible lunch in just such a room!

            When I left the restaurant I encountered a group of about 6 older ladies and gentlemen on the terrace.  They had been part of a large banquet in an adjoining room of the restaurant.  One older man addressed me with a few sentences and then a question.  I’m not sure exactly what he said but I thought it was pertaining to whether or not I had enjoyed my meal.  Since I wasn’t quite sure of this I decided to play it safe and let my ignorance of the French language be known.  “Je ne parle pas français.”  I told him. 

            “Ah! Vous ne parlez pas français!”  He replied with a hearty laugh.  “Êtes-vous anglais?”

            “Non.  Je suis américain.”  I replied.

            “Eh!  Américian!” with more hearty laughter.  He then repeated to his companions who were busy talking among themselves that I was American.  “De quel état êtes-vous?”

            “D’ Oregon”  I replied.  He got his companions attention again to tell them I was from Oregon.  He was having a jolly good time and spoke between bursts of hearty laughter.  He was either greatly amused at meeting an American from Oregon or else he had a hefty serving of wine with lunch.  I suspect it was mostly the wine.  In any case he apparently thought since I was able to stumble over a few practiced French sentences that I must be able to speak French after all.  He continued to talk to me and I listened closely and attentively as he rattled on but I could not understand the gist of his words.  Only when he asked me a question and paused for my answer and I could not reply but only shrug my shoulders and smile did he actually realize I really could not speak French.  More laughter and a few parting words as he wandered off down the terrace with his friends.  Then it was my turn to laugh.  “That was fun!”  I said as Jayné came out from the bathroom and I told her of my encounter.

            We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the grounds and into the gift shop for more souvenirs.  We wandered through the maze to the center and sat in the gazebo and enjoyed the quiet surrounding us.  We said goodbye to the little donkey in the field and went back to the station to catch our train back to town.  When the train pulled back into the station at Tours we were snapped out of our fairy tale dream and back to the hectic bustle of the French transit system.

            According to our itinerary we were to leave Tours tomorrow morning on a TGV for the south of France.  A quick stop in the ticket line to make our reservation and we could be on our way back to the hotel.  Only it was not that simple.  The early TGV’s were all booked and we would not be able to arrive early enough to catch a bus from Orange to Vaison la Romaine as I intended on doing.  In fact, the transit employee told us there was no bus from Orange to Vaison at all!  This was all very dismaying to me since I had researched this quaint village for us to stay the next two nights.  After what seemed like hours of deliberation and searching the schedules we decided to reverse our itinerary and head straight through Strasbourg to Colmar in Alsace.  We made our reservations and left the ticket office.

            Upon exiting, a group of young hoods was standing by the arched opening to the street and as we headed that way one of them approached us and said something to Jayné, getting right in her face.  I don’t know if he was taunting her or if he was part of a pickpocket ring and was trying to distract us while his friends picked our pockets but I didn’t care.  No French came to mind.  I just gave him my ugliest glare and yelled at him in my loudest American English.  “Leave her alone!”  He backed off a little and we kept walking past them out onto the street and on to our hotel.

            Jayné was beginning to feel really sick now and her cough had been worsening all day.  It was only about 8 o’clock when we got back to the hotel but it felt like midnight.  Despite our relaxing day we were still catching up on six days of sheer exhaustion and we still had to pack our suitcases in preparation for our travel day tomorrow.  Two hours later our suitcases were finally packed and we dropped into bed.  As exhausted as I was I still could not sleep.  Jayné was coughing and snoring all night from her cold and I could still hear it through my earplugs.  I kept waking up sweaty and damp and only realized too late that it was because of those plastic liners that some cheap hotels and hostels put under the sheets – I can only imagine for sanitary purposes to keep the mattress clean rather than using a washable mattress pad.  I was annoyed.  It’s not as if we were some two year olds who were going to wet the bed.  I tossed and turned and didn’t get much sleep.  It was actually a relief when the morning came and I could get out of that dampness and into our blazing hot shower.