I am extremely talented at getting lost. Everywhere I go, no matter how small, no matter how many times I consult a map, I manage to end up lost. The upside of that is I learn my way around really quickly. I got lost when I got to Saintes this morning, and spent over an hour walking across town trying to find my bed and breakfast. Eventually, I was successful, but not until I'd managed to figure out the layout of the city and where everything was. Which made finding my historical sites easier, but it gave my back a workout carrying my bag all over town before finally setting it down in my room. When I did get to my room, it took over thirty minutes for me to pry myself away, and that was with the knowledge I'd be back before nightfall. This house was built in the 19th century, early to mid, I'd wager. It's exactly the sort of house I want for myself, except perhaps too large. If I could box up this house exactly as it is and take it with me, I would. Creaky wood floors, large drafty windows, high ceilings, elegant spiral staircase going up three floors—it's exactly where I want to spend the rest of my life. No worries, though, it's been modernized enough to suit. An extra paneling in front of the window nooks protects the rooms from the outside air and noise. Each room also has its own added bathroom, completely modern and very nice.
I chose a beautiful few days to explore. Today, while somewhat chilly if you stood still in the shadows, was sunny and clear skied. I circled the town, going from the Roman Amphitheater built in the 1st century A.D. to the remains of Roman baths across town and all the medieval churches in between. Unlike La Rochelle, the churches here weren't torn down in the Wars of Religion (parts were, but the majority of the structures survived intact), so they actually date to the VI, XI, XIII, and XV centuries. I don't think I can adequately describe why old stuff fascinates me as it does; it's like an addiction. There's never enough, and it's never old enough or complete enough. Is it so much to ask for a perfectly (more or less) preserved medieval village untouched by modern (or even Renaissance and Enlightenment) civilizations? One I can explore all on my own without crowds or other people to share space?
Obviously.
What I need is a time machine, with a pause button, so that when I get to the designated time period, I can pause everyone and everything. That way I avoid screwing with the past and creating a paradox, while at the same time I avoid having to deal with the unfortunate realities of life at the time. I'm not naive; they stank, they would not be okay with a woman in jeans, much less one who went around by herself through all aspects of society, and they'd speak a completely different language from either of the ones I know. So really I just want to look. Maybe touch.
The history isn't all that I enjoy, however. I do love the narrow, winding streets, the hills and valleys with hardwoods and palm trees, long stone walls and tiled roofs. Bakeries, butcher shops, cafés, brasseries, artisan chocolate stores, bridges and clock towers, the blend of old and new all thrown together. I won't even start on the wine and the food because everyone has heard how good they are.
I'm not a photographer. If my dad were here, he could take pictures that would capture the feel of the place, capture the way I see it and bring it home so others can see it too. I can take snapshots, but it's not the same. It will show you what some parts of it look like, but not how it feels, or how it looks as a whole, complete setting, how it smells and sounds. I want to be a writer, but I struggle to find ways to tell everyone what I see without dissolving into clichés. Especially at the end of the day when my feet are killing me, my stomach is full, and my mind is starting to glaze over with sleep. It's also hard to pinpoint differences between each small town; they simply aren't that different. They fascinate me regardless. Variations in architecture from the north to the south, east to west, coast to interior—they give a subtle personality to each collection of neat little houses and tiny, bending roads that conform to the land rather than the other way around.
Tomorrow I go to Cognac for the afternoon. My intentions there are much less ambitious. First of all, I know I'll be returning at least once more to the city, so there's no need to see it all. Second, there aren't specific historical sites I want to see; I'm going to visit houses of cognac. Specifically, house Otard. Not because it's my favorite cognac, but because it's located in a historic chateau where Francis 1, the Renaissance king of France whose symbol of the salamander can be found all over his home of Fontainbleau, was born in 1494. Cognac and old stuff? In an adorable little French village? What more could I ask for?
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