Welcome to France
Our flight from London to Paris is everything you could ask
for in a flight. It is uneventful and completely forgettable. Did they serve us
a meal? They may have; I don't remember. If they did serve us something, it
obviously wasn't so horribly bad that it warrants a mention. That, in itself,
is a good thing.
The plane lands at Charles De Gaulle airport and we
disembark. Our “carry-on” bags are waiting for us in the carousel, still on the
international side of customs.
With our bags securely in hand, we get into the line for those
passengers with non-EU passports. We expect that this means we will be
scrutinized more than EU passengers, but there is no evidence of that as the
line is moving quickly. When our tine comes we approach the customs agent. He
is encased in a glass booth with no apparent access from our side of the wall.
He appears grim as he takes our passports and scans them. He glances down at
our passport photos, looks up at our faces, glances at our photos again and
then looks up again. With a broad smile across his face he greets us with a
"Bonjour!" He then directs us through the glass doors adjacent to his
booth.
We enter into a short sterile hallway. It is plain white
walls with aluminum handrails and black no-slip rubber flooring. There is
fluorescent lighting overhead but it is easily overwhelmed by the light coming
through the short frosted windows that border the ceiling. We pass through a
final set of swinging aluminum doors and exit down small ramp. The colors are
more natural now. There are windows and sunlight and tones that aren’t all
either white or aluminum. We are now in France.
Jeannette
Waiting for us just beyond the line separating France from
the no-man’s land of customs is a real estate agent. I do not know how long she
may have been waiting, but our flight had arrived almost exactly on time. Therefore,
I know she waited no longer than she chose to.
Her name is Jeannette. Jeannette is a Dutch real estate
agent and she has driven all the way from Amsterdam to Charles De Gaulle
airport just to meet us. By my estimate that was no less than a four-hour
drive. I'm not very good at guessing anyone’s age, but guess that Jeannette is
somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five. She is neatly dressed and ready to
hit the road.
After some unavoidable bathroom breaks Jeannette leads us to
her car, which is just a short distance away in an airport parking garage.
Jeannette’s car is a black Volvo station wagon, so, of course, I’m envious.
Jeannette opens the rear gate of the car and we place our bags inside. We then
all pile in, with Jeanette naturally, at the wheel, and we are on our way to
visit what may one day become our own little piece of France, the Chateau de la
Trousse.
Background Filler
Some background information may be appropriate at this point,
in fact may be required, in order to explain how we arrived at this point.
Obviously, a rendezvous with a real estate agent who had
just driven four hours to an airport that she had never been to before is not
some chance encounter. It actually required a lot of back and forth and some
pre-planning. Still, the undeniable truth is that it all started as a joke.
A Little Joke
At times, both Laura and I have become addicted to some not
very good television programs. One of those bad programs is a show called
"House Hunters International". Every episode of "House Hunters
International" follows the same basic format, only the people and the locations
ever change.
Bad TV
The basic formula involves some would be home-buyers, who
for one reason or another have fallen in love with some foreign location and
hope to live happily there forever. They generally enter into these deals with
nothing but their entire life savings to plunk down on either a retirement home
or a vacation home.
In the first part of the program the couple sits down with a
local real estate agent who proceeds to quiz them about their dreams and
desires. He then asks what their budget for their new home is. The unsuspecting
couple provides what they believe to be the astronomically high figure of their
entire life savings. The agent invariable scoffs at them and, usually after the
interview, ruthlessly mocks their ridiculousness for hoping to get so much for
such a minuscule amount.
Nevertheless the agent does eventually relent and agrees to
help the couple find their perfect getaway home.
The first home the agent shows the couple is generally to
both mock and punish them. He shows a home that has everything they had hoped
fpr. He then gleefully reveals a price that is well beyond their budget. The
second home is generally slightly under budget but otherwise completely
undesirable. This is all that your tiny money will buy, the agent may sneer. Finally
the third home is one that the couple can afford but is usually compromised in
several key areas.
In the end the couple usually chooses a home that betrays
the fact that their top budget was no less fictitious than the rest of the
show.
French Real Estate
The gag that led to our French real-estate adventures was
simple. It was more of a teasing than an actual funny. Laura might argue that
it was not funny at all.
I had happened upon a website advertising a condominium
inside a refurbished French castle. I forwarded this information to Laura with
what I considered a tongue-in-cheek admonition; Would you like to live in a castle?
As it turned out, Laura liked the idea if living in a French
castle, particularly one that was so near to Paris. She visited the website,
contacted the real estate information and then forwarded that information to me
for serious consideration.
I had stumbled upon the site precisely because I was looking
at real estate possibilities in that area, although I’d never seriously
considered a castle. So I, somewhat cautiously, agreed to move forward to see
what, if any, arraignments we could make to visit the castle on our trip in
February.
It turns out the people behind the web site are real. That
we also had to wire a small amount of money to a bank account in Nicaragua did
not put us off. The agent, Jeannette, was agreeable to the confines of our
schedule. I only hoped that this was not
because she was having difficulty finding legitimate (hopefully not to be
confused with gullible) buyers. Jeannette offered to pick us up at the airport,
provide a tour of the property and also promised to deliver us to the train
station in Trilport, with the guarantee that we would arrive in Paris in plenty
of time to catch our overnight train to Marseilles.
With the time between our arrival at Charles De Gaulle and
departure from Paris too short to engage in any other meaningful activity, this
actually sounded like a fun idea. Even though nothing was likely to come of it,
what was the harm? And so it all began.
Chateau de la Trousse
Jeannette has an unrefined sense of direction, or perhaps part
of her sales technique is to drive people around for hours, engaging in
pleasant conversation and probing small talk. Whatever the reason for her zig-zag
route from Charles De Gaulle to Chateau de la Trousse, it afford us an
opportunity to observe many of quaint
villages near to where we might possibly be living. Had Jeannette been driving
us around in the tight confines of a punishing Fiat we might have protested,
but Jeannette is driving us around in a very comfortable Volvo station wagon,
an S80 I believe. Any of its high, wide, and soft black leather seats would be
the chair to fight for in any living room. For now they provide a pleasant
respite after the tortuous ten or so hours spent packed into the cheap seats of
an airborne sardine can.
Much to my surprise, it turns out that this particular
"castle in France" is not a scam. It is a real stone and marble
building. Jeannette had not driven us to some dark corner of Paris to have us
bludgeoned to death by her cohorts, as I feared she might. Instead, she drove
us right up to the gates of the very definition of a 19th century castle.
Chateau de la Trousse History Lesson
Timeout for a history lesson: The Chateau de la Trousse is a
real castle. The original castle was built around 1630. It is said that King
Louis XIII slept there for a night or two. Apparently in the Rule Book of
Castles it is written that if a king or a queen honors you with a sleepover,
you are a castle. So it was with Chateau de la Trousse.
The original chateau was destroyed during the French
Revolution, probably owing in part to the aforementioned circumstance of King
Louis XIII having slept there. The current iteration was completed around 1860.
This means that although it is by all rights and definitions, and certainly
size a castle, it is unlikely to have ever poured have tar on its enemies or
seen a witch burning. The current Chateau de la Trousse was designed by the
French architect, Liberal Bruant. Bruant best known design is probably the Hotel
des Invalides in Paris.
Chateau de la Trousse Redux
Jeannette turns off the main road into a drive that leads us
to the chateau’s main gate. The drive is several hundred meters long and is
lined on both sides with two-hundred year-old oak trees.
We approach an old iron gate which at one time likely had
sentries assigned to send off the unwanted visitor. In the 21st
century is a secret code that keeps out the gawkers. Jeannette enters the
numbers on the keypad and the gates slowly swing open allowing us to enter.
We are still at least two hundred meters from the chateau.
We drive past an old wall and the remnants of what was once a moat. Continuing
towards the castle we pass the old stables, currently repurposed as residences
and common areas. We drive around a pond, featuring a large stone carp fountain
in its center, and finally we arrive at the front of the chateau.
My first impression of the Chateau de la Trousse is that it definitely
reminds me more of the opulence of King Louis XIII than the grittiness of King
Charlemagne. However, the original 17th century perimeter walls remain. They
surround the entire property, approximately forty acres. The 17th century
stables also remain, although, as mentioned, they have been re-furbished as
private residences. Nevertheless, they do manage to recall much of that 1600s
charm. 
I do not intend to sound the least but dismissive of the
Chateau de la Trousse. Still, the castle as it stands today, having been built
in the mid-19th century, is clearly more attuned to the white-powdered
aristocrats rather than any knights, wizards, dragons, dwarves, court-gestures,
or guillotines of an earlier era—with a possible exception for guillotines.
The outside walls of the chateau itself are stone, primarily
red, with white stone used as trim. The overall effect is somewhat like a
fairy-tale castle. The design is likely the inspiration for such places as the Nueschwanstein
Castle in Bavaria or even Cinderella's castle in nearby Disneyland.
Time Box
We won’t have enough time to explore the entire estate, but
we are able to visit some of the areas surrounding the main building. It is
still winter and the flowers are not yet blooming, yet we can see where the
Beauty and the Beast type roses will be blooming in the spring.
In addition to things already mentioned the chateau grounds
feature several features that are available to all residences. There is a clay tennis
court. Currently it is partially covered in leaves but is otherwise ready for
play. There is also a heated swimming pool. Unsurprisingly, it is closed for
the season. The aforementioned stables have been converted into two and three
bedroom townhouses. There is also a large greenhouse, actually used as an
orangery, on the property. It is slightly larger than your average U.S.
ranch-style home.
There are unexplored foot paths traversing the forty-plus
acres, but as our time is limited, we end our tour of the grounds and walk back
towards the main house (chateau). As we approach the front entrance, we encounter
another couple, current residents, who are returning from their daily walk.
They are Dutch and do not speak any English. Jeanette serves as our translator
and assists us in the exchange of pleasantries. Jeanette informs us, that they
are retired and spend about half the year in the castle. This is not as much of
a coincidence as it may seem. It is a Dutch company that refurbished the
chateau and who own it, so naturally many of foreigners living here are Dutch.
The Dutch couple seems pleased with their vacation home.
Even though the Dutch couple could have let us into the
building that would not really have been appropriate. Instead, we are met at
the door by the owner of the apartment that we have come to view. She is a
little old lady, not from Pasadena, but from St. Petersburg, Russia.
Before visiting the apartment we do a little exploring of some
of the common areas of the building. Adjacent to the generously sized foyer, is
a sitting room that exits to an outdoor patio area. The sitting room contains
several chairs, tables and couches for use by the residences. I don’t know for
certain, but it is possible that King Louis XIII also sat in one of these
chairs. I don’t think that qualifies them as thrones, but one never knows. In
addition to the furnishings, there is a large wood fireplace, featuring a mantel
to ceiling mirror. This becomes even more impressive if you realize that the
ceiling is around six meters high. An impressive 19th century chandelier hangs
in the center of the room.
There is a chapel on the first floor. We are informed that
as a condition of sale, the current owners are required to preserve and
maintain the chapel. It is available to occupants for private functions such as
weddings and funerals, but probably not birthday parties. (I am later informed
that the presence of a perpetual chapel is an indication that a previous owner
is, or was at one time, buried there. I wonder if this means that the apartment
we are about to look at is technically in a mausoleum.)
There are no elevators in this refurbished castle. We climb
three flights of marble stairs to get to our potential apartment. This is very
good for the heart; very bad for a fall.
The apartment itself is nicely laid out, although some areas
are small by U.S. and probably even French standards. Appointments are a mix of
19th century (think flooring and fireplaces), 20th century (think kitchen and
bathroom), and 21st century (think heating and the Internet). The tall ceilings
and complementary tall windows allow plenty of natural light to enter from
three sides. I think the best one-word description of the apartment is,
charming. That works well.
This apartment is not easily dismissed. The asking price is
good, in an average sort of way. It is not ridiculously cheap, but neither is
it over-priced. Its proximity to Paris, only thirty minutes by train is a
definite plus. Also, it is only a few kilometers from Disneyland. Since we
would hope to rent it whenever we are not there, these are definite advantages.
The chateau's homeowners association already has a contracted cleaning service.
They even go so far as to have a linen-rental service for travelers. The
combination of pre-existing services and the proximity to tourist locations
makes the possibility of recouping some, if not all, of the cost by renting the
unit to tourists feasible.
However, this was not actually the unit that had initially
caught my eye. That unit also remains available. It is one floor up and located
in the front center of the chateau, under the big clock.
I like the second apartment, maybe even better than the
first. Both the bathroom and the kitchen are better situated. However, the
bedroom is virtually non-existent. It is basically an area that you must crawl
into from the kitchen. Access is via a sliding lattice wall just beyond the
kitchen. I guess the thinking is that you can shimmy into bed.
After leaving the chateau we manage to find the time to look
at one more unit, although not exactly by design. While walking past the "stable"
area we are met by another couple, also retired, and also Dutch. They are about
to put their two-bedroom townhouse on the market. They provided us with an
early-market tour.
Other than the Dutch stairs, which are really only slightly
better than step ladders, I like the two-bedroom unit. However, it cost
significantly more and it is not in the castle. While that last fact doesn't
bother me too much I can understand how living in the former stable might not
have the same appeal to Laura as living in the castle.
It is getting late and we still have a couple of trains to
catch. First there is the train from nearby Trilport that will take us into
Paris. Once in Paris we will still be a metro ride away from our train to Marseilles.
As she had promised, Jeanette drives us to the train station in nearby
Trilport.
To my relief, the whole day had turned out to be a
legitimate undertaking. The emergency ransom money hidden that I had hidden in
my shoe had been totally unnecessary.
Trilport
The train through Trilport arrives in thirty-minute
intervals. We purchase our tickets and get some general directions from the
ticket agent. However, her lack of English and our lack of French leaves us
feeling a little uneasy about what we should do next.
There are two tracks in Trilport; one goes east, the other
goes west. We need to go west. As soon as a westbound train arrives we board.
Naturally, it is the wrong train. But luck is with us. A passenger, a young
French woman in her early twenties, overhears our conversation and informs us
that we need to get off at the next stop, and then wait for the next train.
That will be the train that would take us into Paris and the Gare du Oest.
Just as our new best friend had told us, the correct train
does take us into Paris and to the Gare du Oest. So far, so good, but we are
not finished yet. The train to Marseilles actually leaves from the Gare du
Austerlitz. This was not unanticipated. We get on the metro--as previously
planned--for the short ride to the Gare de Austerlitz.
Gare du Austerlitz
Getting off the metro and attempting to follow the signs to Gare
de Austerlitz we immediately run into a problem. The whole area is a
construction zone and signs directing us into obstructions are not of much
value. Plywood walls make navigating by sight virtually impossible, especially
in the dark.
We decide that the best course of action is to follow the
flow of the people. If this fails to get is to the right location, at least we
will end up at someplace fairly popular. We eventually end up in what looks
like it might possibly be a major train station. There are a few more detours
to work around but the lemming strategy appears to have worked and we end up in
the main station area of Gare du Austerlitz.
We actually arrived a little early. This give us, we think,
enough time to stop for a snack before our train leaves. What we didn’t realize
was that there would be even more construction going on between the deli and
the trains location on a far off track. Feeling our way along the plywood
barriers, like rats searching for their cheese, we eventually find the right
track and board our train.
Sleeper
We made reservations for a sleeper car. After being awake for almost twenty-four hours a short nap on an all-night run to Marseilles seems like a good idea. We are expecting a sleeper car with four bunks, so we are a littlt surprised when our cabin turns out to have six bunks.
In any other environment our bunks would not be worthy of the title. They are less than a meter wide, being just pieces of plywood with a thin roll of foam on top. Still, they are not as uncomfortable as they could have been. The rail company has provided us with a sleeper-car comfort package. The package consists of an unusual sheet/sleeping bag hybrid and a really tiny pillow.
Before the train pulls out of the station we are joined by three additional passengers: an older gentleman from the Netherlands who smiles a lot but speaks only Dutch, a Frenchwoman who speaks only French and some quiet guy who climbed on the top bunk and was never heard from again. (In fairness to the quiet guy, I fall asleep almost as fast as my head hit the tiny pillow. He might be some loud-mouthed party-animal for all I know.)
However, no matter how exhausted I may have been and no matter how quickly I initially fell asleep, actually staying asleep once the train starts moving proves to be a little more challenging than expected. Usually, I can sleep almost any place in any position with any amount of noise, but the sleeper car presents one challenge that I'm not used to. It feels as though every time I close my eyes, a passing train will shine its lights directly into my face. Still, what is the point of a journey without some new experiences? (OK, maybe not exactly new, I have been on sleeper cars before, but they were 4-person cabins, slightly larger and with more head room.)
Gare du Blancar
We arrive at our destination, the Gare du Blancar in
Marseilles, at approximately 5:30 AM. It is still pitch black outside. The
station is only sparsely lit. This feels like a mistake. Marseilles is a major
city, and a sleeper car from Paris is not exactly some back-county choo-choo
train stopping at Hootersville. Yet, here we are at the so-called
"terminal", standing outside in the chilly morning air. The platform,
in fact the entire station, appears to be nothing more than a slab of concrete
that is not more than two meters wide. There is single sign bearing the station
name. It is illuminates by a single light-source. It is also the most
significant source of light out here. I'm concerned that we may have gotten off
at the wrong stop. How could this be the major train stop in Marseilles for a
train coming from Paris?
However, once again, the narrative has taken us well past midnight of the day where we the where began and into the next day. I'll end here and pick up again from this spot, in the next chapter.
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