Castle Villandry, Caves, and Intestines

The funniest thing about hanging out with a group of people who are all from different countries is that everyone seems to live up to their stereotype. For my first weekend in the land of wine and castles, me and a group of friends decided to do just that. The best part was that I didn't have to do any planning for the trip. The Scottish guy rallied the troops to get everyone to agree on which castle to go to, and then the German guy and the Swiss girl made all the logistical plans such as locating the bicycle shop, confirming how to get to the bike path, and determining how long it would take to get there. And all I had to do, as the American, was show up when and where they told me to.



We met at 9:30 in the morning, got our bikes, and started off. The chateau was about 20km away, so we had a solid 12 miles to bike before we got there. Luckily it was a beautiful sunny day and the path was wide enough to allow us to bike two across and talk to each other. The countryside was corn fields and cows, and I could easily have been in Kansas if I didn't know I was in France. It felt very Wizard of Oz and I expected at any moment to see a wobbly scarecrow stepping out of the fields.

We stopped for lunch at a small cafe in the town of Villandry, just a short distance from the castle, where I got the "formule" special, which was a premade sandwich, a dessert, and a drink for 5.90 euros. The sandwich was ham and butter on baguette. And it tasted fabulous.

Volker, the German, living up to his stereotype.

The castle was beautiful, but the grounds and gardens even more so. I was blown away by the size and intricacy of the hedges, and the variety of plants and colors used. They even had one whole side of the castle reserved for a vegetable garden (from which I stole two apples, but they had already fallen off and lying on the ground so I don't think I was actually stealing, more like putting to good use). My favorite part was the labyrinth, although it was a bit smaller than I would have liked. At least since I'm short I couldn't see over the top of the hedge.

After the castle we biked another 4km to the closest winery, a "cave", which lo and behold, really was a cave. It's by far the coolest winery I've ever been to, tucked away in a little curve in the road and almost hidden from site. When we arrived the owner told us (in French of course) to go have a look at the caves first before coming back to taste the wine. I expected a quick little poke around in the next room. Man was I mistaken. The cave extended back for hundreds of meters, and got progressively darker and colder the farther back we went. Outside the temperature was around 95, but inside the cave it couldn't have been more than 60. Around every corner was a new room that was more dramatic and sinister than the last, and the Count of Monte Cristo was probably entombed behind one of the walls I walked past. After a good 30 minutes exploring and taking pictures we somehow found our way back to the front to actually taste some wine. To me the wine itself tasted a bit acidic for my personal liking, but it was still good stuff, and I bought a bottle of red to have another day.

Biking back was one of the hardest things I've done lately. About halfway home I was ready to give up and walk the bike the rest of the way, and the 2 bottles of wine we had consumed shortly after the winery didn't help matters. It was especially comical because we had to rush to get back to make it home on time for dinner. At our ages of 27, 32, 38, and 45, we were concerned of making our "moms" upset if we were late.

In the US Saturday night dinner for my family is the most important meal of the week and we spend the most time preparing for it. Based on the grand meals I've been having at my host family's house I expected Saturday night to be even bigger. FOr the first time since I've been here I was disappointed in the food. Dinner consisted of the leftovers from the previous four days, accompanied by a new dish - a specialty in Tours - sausage made from cow instestines. It tasted just as disgusting as it sounds and I only managed to swallow 4 bites to be polite until I thought I might be sick. Later on at the bar my friends said that their dinners were also much simpler than any other meal of the week, so it must be a cultural difference.