Rooftops and ceilings

Time for another post about my June trip to the Loire Valley ...

On Thursday, the day after our fantastic blogger party, the weather unexpectedly turned grey, windy and rainy. My initial plan was to visit the Garden Festival at Chaumont in the morning, have lunch there and then to return to Vouvray, stopping over at Amboise to visit the castle and the Clos Lucé, Da Vinci's last home.

However, seeing the overcast sky and menacing clouds I suggested to switch the visits around and start with Amboise, where we could easily search for shelter if or when the rainclouds decided to open the tap. Mats and Vera agreed and off we went. To my surprise, the town was almost deserted. I've never seen Amboise so quiet and devoid of activity in the 14 years that I've visited the place. We found a nice parking spot at the foot of the castle and strolled up the stairs to the ticket office. And that is where all the people were ... The queue was manageable though and pretty soon we were walking up the steep entrance lane to the spot where the tourist guides were waiting.

The vaulted ceiling in Leonardo's chapel.

We agreed on taking a solo visit, depending on the leaflet to learn all about the château. This was my third or maybe even fourth visit of Amboise castle, and I therefore decided to explore the place at my own pace ... meaning faster than my friends. Nevertheless, I spent quite a bit of time in the chapel where Leonardo Da Vinci is buried, admiring the vaulted and beautifully sculptured ceiling and the stained-glass windows.

The sculptured door in and out of the chapel.
That's Mats on the left, coming in just when I was ready to leave.

Next I took my time to admire the rooftops of Amboise and the surrounding countryside.

Notice how quiet the town is!

By the time we had finished visiting the chapel, it had started to rain. Not much, just a few drops and not enough to flee inside. However, Vera looked very uncomfortable seeing the dark clouds overhead. "I don't want to stay up here in the open with a thunderstorm brewing." she said. I can't blame her, because one never knows what is inside those clouds. So we made our way into the 'Logis' ... where it felt like 'la rue Neuve' (Brussels' busiest shopping street - What's your equivalent?) during the week before Christmas. Groups of school children (utterly bored), pensioners, tourists from all four corners of the world (like the three of us!) ... shuffling through the great hall, stumbling up and down the stairs.

We tried to stay away from and ahead of the moving 'mob' and I'm sure my friends enjoyed the visit, reading all about the castle's history and features in the leaflet. Occasionally we looked out of the window.The rain was pouring down and we congratulated ourselves on choosing the castle as a safe 'haven' ...

What’s hot in Brussels ?

If you’re expecting a post about nightclubs, bars and other places of nightly entrainment, you’ll be disappointed. This post is all about a bi-annual event that not only blows the tourists' socks off, but also attracts a lot of Belgians. I’m talking about the unique flower carpet that is ‘rolled out’ on the world famous Brussels’ Grand’ Place. 

The carpet, which measures 77 by 24 metres, is made up of almost 1,000,000 begonia flowers. It is punt into place in 4 hours time by 120 begonia growers and volunteers.

Where to start?
Photo: www.nieuwsblad.be

Almost done!
Photo: www.morgen.be

The carpet features a different theme every two years. This time ‘Africa’ is put in the spotlights, with reproductions of authentic fabrics and symbols from the African continent.

The final result.

Photo: www.morgen.be

If you still want to see the carpet in real life – free of charge on ground level, 5 euro per person if you want to go up to the balcony of the city hall to have a general overview – you will have to hurry though, as tomorrow, Sunday, Aug. 19^th, is the last day. Moreover, our current heat wave isn’t doing the carpet any good. Overnight approx. 50,000 flowers had to be replaced to preserve the colour pattern. We’ve been having very high temperatures since Wednesday, with an over 30°C peak on Thursday and 34°-36°C expected for today and tomorrow. 

While I’m typing this the temperature in my apartment has risen to a still ‘comfortable’ 28°C. But I know that by this afternoon, 30°C will not be far away!! But I’ve taken my precautions and have invested in … 

Local celebrities

Our encounter with Vouvray’s local motorized police having no serious or costly consequences, we set out on our journey to Preuilly-sur-Claise ; but not without instructing Vera to fasten her seatbelt.

Arriving at the main road that runs along the Loire River, Mats looked in the rear-view mirror and said: “Oh, nice … we have an escort!” While waiting to turn left in the direction of Amboise we saw the policeman who had stopped us driving up the road behind us. He slowed down and stopped beside the car, but didn't even look at us. When the road to Amboise was clear of traffic he headed in the direction of Amboise at great speed. We didn’t see his companion, and supposed that he was off on an urgent call. We followed him at a leisurely pace, still discussing the incident, until we suddenly saw him roaring back in our direction in the opposite lane, peering into the car to check whether Vera was still wearing her safety belt. There is a large roundabout further down the road and we were sure that he had made the run and the U-turn on purpose trying to catch us on some other traffic offence. 

Luckily this was the last we saw of him. However ...

Vouvray - the village bar in on the right,
where you see the 'Tabac' sign.

Two days later, after spending the afternoon at the Garden Festival in Chaumont, I went to Vouvray’s local bar to have a drink and buy some stamps for my postcards. I was chatting with Valerie, the young landlady, when I noticed that one of the patrons by the bar was staring at the seams of my trousers. I looked at him, inquiringly. He smiled and said “Madame, vous allez perdre votre pantalon.” (Madam, you are going to lose your trousers). At first I felt slightly offended, because I don’t like that kind of talk. But then he added: “... car vous n’avez pas attaché votre ceinture!” (... because you haven’t fastened your belt!) 

I immediately knew that he was referring to our encounter with the local police. I quickly learned that his sister had witnessed the whole incident and had reported about it to the rest of the village. You can say that for the last 48 hours we had been the ‘talk of the town’; celebrities so to speak! 

The people in the village were very angry about the whole incident, and found it bad enough that the local population was being ‘harassed’ by the police. The fact that they even ‘bothered’ tourists’, who, beside the wine, are their main source of income, was considered as being over the top. 

I’m sure that, even days after we had left, the village was still talking about our ‘ordeal’ and the next time that they see a tourist being stopped by the police, the story of the ‘Swedish’ car will surface again ... and that they will recognize me and give me a warm welcome when I return to Vouvray.

Swans - but not the kind you think

In colloquial French, in both Belgium and France, policemen are commonly referred to as ‘flics’. In Flemish it’s ‘flikken’. In France you’ll also hear the word ‘poulets’ (chickens). And in Flemish ‘flikken’ who ride motorbikes and always come in pairs are called ‘zwaantjes’ (baby swans!). The name ‘zwaantjes’ finds its origin in the early days of the motorized police. In those days they used to ride Harley Davidson’s. They wore a white crash helmet, black-rimmed goggles and – when it was raining – a long raincoat, which used to float elegantly in the air when they were cruising at high speed. With a bit of imagination, it wasn’t too difficult to see the resemblance with a swan gliding over the water surface.

An elegant swan, photo from the internet. 
See the resemblance?!

Today the ‘zwaantjes’ ride on BMW’s, wear orange helmets and blue and black leather protective clothing. Very un-swanlike, yet the knick-name remains …

Contemporary Belgian 'zwaantjes'.
Photo: www.vab.be

Just one advice when travelling in France (or Belgium for that matter) and finding yourself face to face with a policeman never, and I mean NEVER, address him as ‘Mister Poulet’ or Mister ‘Flic’, unless that is the name showing on his badge. You could find your fine doubled or even ‘win’ a night in prison for offending an officer on duty. 

During my recent stay in the Loire Valley, we had a short and rather worrying encounter with the French equivalent of our Flemish ‘zwaantjes’. We had just left our B and B at the foot of Vouvray’s bell tower and Vera was sitting on hands and knees beside me in the back of the car, putting the two fruit tarts we had bought for Susan and Simon’s BBQ party in the cool-box. While she was doing this, I was thinking that moving around in a driving car wasn’t very safe and that the police, if they were to see it, wouldn’t be very pleased. She had just jumped back in the passenger seat in the front when we saw the two motorized policemen standing at the end of the road ahead of us.  

They couldn’t possibly have seen Vera jumping into place. And yet, they signalled to Mats to pull over and stop the car. One of the ‘flics’ strode (motorized policemen don’t ‘walk’ but ‘stride’ as if they have a broom stick stuck down their jacket and trousers) over to Mats' side of the car.

“Vous parlez français?” he asked. Mats shook his head put pointed to me sitting in the backseat of the car, adding “No, but she does.” The man looked at me and said “La personne dans le siège passager ne porte pas sa ceinture de securité. » (The person in the passenger seat isn’t wearing her safety belt.) I translated the message for Mats and Vera. In the meantime he asked to see Mats driving license. He studied it carefully, while making the mandatory tour around the car. He handed back the license and asked for the ‘papiers du vehicule’ (car papers). I translated the request and Mats and Vera looked very bewildered. “This is a company car. We don’t carry the car papers with us”. Outch!!! I tried to explain to the policeman what they said, adding that in Sweden people in company cars never carry the car papers with them.

By the look on his face, the policeman found this very unusual but had no arguments to proof the contrary. “The fine for not wearing a safety belt is 90 euros.” he said (in French, of course). Once again I translated the message. And then Vera made an almost crucial mistake – thank heavens French policemen, or at least this one, don’t understand English, because she said “I haven’t had time to fasten it yet, because I have been busy in the back and was just sitting down when you saw us.” “Keep quiet” I whispered- “You’re making it worse!” The policeman looked at me. I had to come up with a translation. “We have just left our B and B up there” – pointing at the bell tower – “And she forgot to fasten it. She didn’t do it on purpose”, I pleaded.

The man frowned and in French said “I suppose you are on vacation and don’t have that kind of money on you?” I didn’t even bother to translate it back into English and nodded “That’s right.” “D’accord, continuez.” (Okay, you can go.), he said. I noticed that he looked puzzled though. He must have recognized my Belgian accent and was probably asking himself what a Belgian middle-aged woman was doing, travelling with a Swedish couple in a Swedish car with a Stockholm license plate.

For a moment there I thought that he was going to confiscate the car and that we wouldn’t make it to the party I had been looking forward to for months. But he let us go … But wait ... this isn’t the end of the story!