Lazy Little Trip on Sunday Morning

Decided last night to continue my little trip around Nantes.  Didier had pointed me toward another Giles de Rais castle at Tiffauges, and a great medieval town nearby called Clisson.  So, up early, and at 'em.

 Had my first experience with French toll roads.  Joined the A11 at exit 22 about 6 kilometers from my apartment and rode it 55 kilometers, taking exit 19 toward Chalonnes Sur Loire (Sur Loire = "on the Loire").  Toll for 55 kilometers, 8.2 € (~$11).  A little pricey by my lights, but it's what happens when the government gets involved with private contractors.

(ARE YOU LISTENING HERE TEXAS??  We know of your plans to turn over tollways to private companies because "they are better than the government at running businesses."  What they are better at, my friends, is turning a profit...and not necessarily to the benefit of the taxpaying public.)

The A11 east of Nantes.









About 4K later, a left onto Rue Neuve Belle, then a nice little 6K ride through the countryside to a left turn onto a very small road with a very old, and long, rock wall flanking it.   Soon the rock wall yields to hedgerow and sneaking through the leaves a glimpsing view of the Chateau de Serrant.  (Click any picture to enlarge.)

Turns out this, like the others, is privately owned and, again, inaccessible.  Okay by me...I'm not much into home tours; the journey is the reward, so I wend my way around snapping a few pics.

I don't know about you folks, but poverty always depresses me.  And, just down the road there it was.

The wall mentioned above sort of defined the huge property associated with the Chateau. Through a small, fenced break in the wall you see the small "tenent's" (?) mud hut.


One doesn't have to reflect long on what prompted Balzac to write, "Behind every fortune there is a crime."

The "Wall"

Coming out of the Chateau area one finds the usual Church nearby.

 Leaving Serrant I turn south, cross the Loire and enter the beautiful town of Chalonnes Sur Loier.

It, too, has it's medieval ruins with a nice view of the stream behind the old turrent.






 The neighbor's view is equally appealing.

I, somehow, always seem to note the curious, bizarre, or aberrant (I worry quite a bit about the latter).  Leaving the little village a sign for a restaurant catches my eye.  Sure enough, the word has the same meaning in English as in French.  Now I'm not sure this is for the restaurant, but on the other said it says it's a restaurant.  (I wasn't able to stop and take a picture of that side.) 

 

Under the heading, "The Brand is everything," one wonders how successful a restaurant named The Mutant can be.  The sign says, "The True French Discount," and gives the address as on Train Station Avenue.  (I think - Help me out here my French friends.)  [See note added]

A nice little 50 kilometer ride through the country and I'm at Tiffauges.  Yet another "home" to the infamous Baron de Rais (see entry for February 14th).  It appears, irregardless, or probably because, of his madness, this old boy could fight.  Legend has it he was absolutely fearless in battle, attacking in the thick of the battle at all times.  I suspect he was as good as he was because he loved it so much.  What many considered courage may well have been the pure pleasure of doing what he enjoyed most: killing people as horribly as he could.  One suspects there were very few domestic cats or dogs around his house while growing up.

The fortress at Tiffauges has been setup to enact the epic battles of the early to mid-1400s.

 

The tall wooden structure in back is a replica of a siege tower.

Probably the best view of the ruins, showing the siege engine.









A few kilometers down the road and we're in Clisson.

 

 

As I'm walking around this old, dark and cold fortress I, too, am old, dark (mood), and cold.  The temperature is about 1° C and the wind is blowing in gusts up to at least 20 mph.  That's about 23° F, my Texas friends.  We don't allow that, do we?

Have I mentioned I don't do cold well?

I can't wait to get back when it's warm here.  These little two-lane roads and all the history is just priceless to me.  I'm like a kid in a candy store.

 

  

 The other side didn't look any more penetrable to me.  

  

Unable to take the cold any longer I head home and to the laundry (exciting, what?).  They have hot dryers there.  I wanted to get into the thing, but the thought of flopping around with my undies killed that concept in the bud.  I settled for waiting until the laundry was done and a couple of young scotches.