The Normandy Chronicles: Day Four: Domaine Saint Clair Le Donjon - Étretat
As you've been reading in the last few Normandy Chronicles, day 4 on our B&B inspection trip had been long and action-packed, with stormy skies, fabulous lunch and wine, some foxes (Mr., Mrs. & Little Mister) and one American.Well, I didn't write about the one American we met, because he was totally disinterested in the fact that I was American and instead spoke to Galadriel in French... with a New York accent. He has a B&B in the area and to be fair, he only talked to Galadriel because he wanted to be in her B&B guide (or not get kicked out of it...I'm not sure which). He was all business. But still, it was disconcerting to just follow them around the place (me and the cats) without him at least once saying, "So, where are you from in the states?" I could have fallen off a cliff and he wouldn't have noticed.
French B&B owners at least realize that I'm a friend of The Inspector General and so they smile at me (if they don't speak English) or try out a little English with me, just to be polite. So, Mr. American and his brand spanking new Hammam and strange retro 70's decor (of both he was quite proud) will be punished by the lack of mention of his B&B in this highly influential blog of mine. I didn't even take any pictures. So, there.
Meanwhile, darkness was descending and my belly was full with Mr. & Mrs. Renard's cake and tea. My head began to loll as Galadriel drove with her feet so she could simultaneously thumb through three or four guidebooks and make telephone calls.
Moi: (not-so-innocently) So, where are we staying tonight?
Galadriel: (ever-so-guiltily) Um. That's what I'm trying to figure out.
It was, like, 9pm. I admit that this is lunch time for French people but I'm usually asleep by 9pm. Even though I might be sitting in a smokey bar somewhere, late at night or in the wee hours of a polluted morning, discussing Nietzsche's philology and how the aphorism 'Mediocrity is forgiven more easily than talent' proves that we the gifted (i.e. everybody at our table but NOT everybody in the bar) suffer so, I am actually asleep. Because I can discuss Nietzsche in my sleep. As a matter of fact, I'm sleeping now.
So, just like Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus (I'm Mary and Jesus. Galadriel can be Joseph), there was no room at any inn.
Moi: How about we go stay at one of the places we inspected today? Except the American guy. I hated him.
Galadriel: We could... But I'm afraid they'll all be in bed by now.
Moi: But, French people never go to bed before dawn.
Galadriel: How would you know?
Moi: Because I wake up at dawn and I see them all stumbling home, smelling of Poire William and cigarettes.
Galadriel began to list our choices. One of them she described as an old chateau that was kind of expensive. My eyes lit up. I like kind of expensive, especially when I'm not paying. Let's go there! Well, since she visited it last time, it had been purchased by somebody new and she didn't know if it was any good anymore. Well, of course it's good! Her head agreed but her eyes didn't. This is when I know that there's something about this thing I want to do or see that's against Galadriel's religion. Like my usage of wet wipes. But, I ignored this subtlety and commenced to ooh and ahh all the way up the hill to Domaine Saint Clair - Le Donjon.
Until I got to the reception area. Oh my. I had been trying to explain the term 'clusterfuck' to Galadriel for a few days. As the very friendly woman at reception found us a room, I pulled on Galadriel's little linen shirt and said, sotto voce, "This is a clusterfuck." and swept my hand from one corner of the lobby to the other, like Vanna White showing a gasping winner their new kitchen, vintage Camaro, fully equipped gym and lion cub. The winner might have her hands clasped in front of her ecstatic face, jumping up and down and screaming with excitement, but in the dark crevasses of her mind, she's thinking, "Holy shit! Where am I going to put all this shit?"
Well, I think she put it all in the lobby of Domaine Saint Clair and Saint Clair is turning in her grave right now.
Let me walk you through the experience...
This is what you see through the doors at the main entrance and lobby. Yes. This is the main entrance. I really like the coat hanger thing. It speaks of the old chateau world, of luxury... and winter coats... in the middle of June. And what's behind the coat rack and carved oriental screen?
This.I like the pastel faux velvet armchairs kind of shoved together every which way, surrounding a plastic pool-side table. I'll call this little nook The Asian Poolside British Grandma Knitting Nook.
Let's move on through this gigantic lobby, where we now approach the two-story-high stone wall of the chateau, graced by a thousand-foot-long leather couch, more plastic pool-side tables and ultra-modern-retro chairs from Mars.I think they were going for a theme here, but I'm at a loss as to what that theme might be.
And finally, just before we reach the door leading out to the pool and meeting/wedding tent, we have this little reading alcove, with newsprint-covered chairs, a giant vase filled with empty Badoit bottles (French mineral waters known for their hangover-healing properties) and a bronze sculpture of god-knows-what on a wooden platform with peeling paint. Behind me, not seen in the picture, is a pastel-colored impressionist painting on an ornate gilded easel. I call this The News Room.As far as the rest of our lucky Wheel Of Fortune contestant's winnings, the Camaro is probably hanging from the ceiling and the kitchen was across from the News Room and the gym is in the meeting/wedding tent when they aren't holding any meetings or weddings. But the lion cub was nowhere to be found.
Oh wait. Here he is, looking rather nonplussed. I found him curled up in the center of the room on a cracked black lacquer and yellow faux velvet couch.So, as a friend once wisely told me - "They never treat you better than on the first date." - this probably was an indication that things were going to go downhill from here.
We were given a choice of two rooms. They were both hilariously full of mismatched furniture that is made to look expensive but is really thrown together in sweat shops in some distant banana republic. Galadriel's nose was so bent out of shape that the ever-so-nice receptionist's smile began to crack like all of the furniture in the joint as Galadriel asked me in English, "They're both terrible. You choose." I refused to decide. There was no way I could win. At the moment she handed the receptionist her credit card, Galadriel had broken every standard of her highly evolved religious fervor for natural surroundings, simple comfort and real people. If I chose one room over the other, she would be horrified that I could have chosen any of them at all. So, I made her do it.
We ended up with this place (the telescope was extremely useful), probably because the bath tub was giant and when Galadriel the Mermaid can't jump into the ocean daily to wet her little fins, she must immerse herself in water somehow. So, while she washed away the now-vivid meaning of clusterfuck, I headed for the back porch to smoke 42 cigarettes in anticipation of how bad our dinner in this hotel's 'Restaurant gastronomique' would be. Galadriel has a way of asking questions about the wine list and menu that send waiters into rehab for months.
That's when I found the home of the Pod People. This giant contraption took up 1/3 of our patio. It was either a covered wagon or a barbecue. I couldn't be sure. I waited for Galadriel to emerge from her water treatment so she could help me take off the cover.
It looked like this inside. A giant love seat. Or a portable harem. Or it's where I Dream Of Jeannie was filmed. That little towel was there because the bottom cushion was stained and soaking wet. Very appealing. There was something strange about this thing. It had a presence of its own. You could not be on that porch and ignore it. It's like the gaping mouth of a whale or Pacman just before they swallow you whole. Once we opened up the mouth of death (and couldn't put the cover back on), we could not go out on that porch again.In the lobby of our room's building, we encountered more decorating aberrations with the combination of large black and white-tiled marble floor, a stained-white silk whore house couch, a Chinese kneeling soldier statue, a Japanese Buddhist meditating monk picture and a merry-go-round rocking horse. OK, I have to upload those pictures too. I just want you to all be horrified with me.
Soooooo. Off to dinner we went. It was actually quite nice. The food was delicious and they had one bottle of natural wine on the list. We watched the sun set on the water and relaxed. (This picture of me watching the sun set was taken at 10:01pm. I love how long the days last in the summer here.) The female maître d' was unceasingly pleasant, as was our waiter. This is the one thing that still stands out about this place. All the people who worked there had an impeccable service attitude and friendly demeanor.Even the poor young guy that worked the breakfast room the next morning. There were so many disasters that I can't remember them all. Somebody dropped a plate and it broke all over the food table and floor and I think there were little bits of china in the food. Galadriel brought a hard-boiled egg to the table and when she broke it open it had never seen a pan of boiling water in its life. The waiter apologized and took her messy plate and brought her a new plate and egg and she proceeded to open that one and it hadn't been cooked yet either. The only indication of his exasperation was an under-the-breath Mon Dieu! as he ran back to the kitchen to try and get the real hard-boiled eggs.
Oh, and one last thing. I took a little walk the next morning down a pretty path that had a great view of the ocean below but also was the secret stash for the hotel's discarded furniture. This lamp base is simply awesome.Stay tuned for Day 5, where we visit three hotels - a beautiful chateau in Eure, currently owned by an Englishman, but also has a rich and juicy history dating back to 1606 and involving an unscrupulous step-father who discarded his new wife's children to try and steal her money and estate. The children came back to retake their fortune with the aid of Catherine, Empress of Russian, but lost it again by spending too extravagantly in expectation of the Empress's visit. We also toured a very nice hotel in Deauville with a garden where we had tea and then a very artsy and colorful hotel in Calvados. Adieu!
