The Normandy Chronicles: Day Two

In my last post, we had finished a long day and no matter how much my traveling companion Galadriel dialed while driving, she couldn't find a place for us to sleep. We had one more B&B to inspect that she had never seen before, so it was a bit risky to think that we might stay there. But it turned out to be the lovely Jardin en Douce, where we slept peacefully and awoke to a foggy view outside our window and the best breakfast we received on our entire trip.
I went downstairs first, a little nervous about having breakfast with the other guests. That's one of the decisions that everyone has to make about B&Bs. Do you absolutely adore meeting new people, trying to speak to them in their native language or hoping they'll speak to you in yours and do you want the curious B&B owners to ask you all kinds of questions about your personal life that you don't want to answer?
B&B Owner: So, Lisa, what do you do for a living?
Lisa: Rocket scientist.
B&B Owner: Oh, er, wow! How nice.
Lisa: But, I'm on sabbatical. I figured I'd caused enough deaths in the world and deserve a little break.
B&B Owner: Um. Coffee or tea?
or...
B&B Owner: So Lisa, do you have children of your own?
Lisa: Well, I could have had two, but I aborted them.
B&B Owner: Uh. Oh! Try the lemon-almond confiture. It's delicious!
I'm not big on meeting new people. You would not know that about me if you met me. Because I can pretend to like anyone. It's a well-honed survival skill I learned in corporate America when I was managing customer service. I can gaze at people wide-eyed with wonderment about everything they are saying. I nod and make the right approval noises, all the while busily plotting my escape. Admitting this means that if you ever come to France and want to meet me, you'll wonder the whole time if I hate you. But Heather over at The Wishful Writer came to Paris a few years ago with her lovely partner April and I loved them. So, just be like them and you won't have any problems.
Meanwhile, back at the jardin, I sat at the breakfast table overlooking the garden and saw the bad kitty napping on the forbidden green and white striped sofa. There was a 40ish-year-old couple sitting with me. We all nodded politely and immediately looked down. Françoise floated in, tan and refreshed, and pointed out all the wonderful things on the table. She really knows what she's doing, since she had two pots of coffee - one strong and one "less strong" - possibly a nod to me being American. But I'm not typical in that I prefer strong coffee, so the first thing I did was pour myself some coffee. Next, I spied a basket full of fresh croissants within my reach, a tiny white butter dish just for me, a tray with four types of confiture (three of which were made by Françoise) and on my placemat was an adorable, tiny heart-shaped brioche, a tiny bowl of fruit compote and another bowl of yogurt topped with prune paste. I ate everything in front of me and pondered death-by-croissant, but decided against it.
Françoise told us the night before that she thought it was "orrible" when B&B owners sit down and eat with their guests. That made me like her right away. True to her word, she stayed in the kitchen but had an innate sense of when she was needed. At one point, she stuck her head in to the silent dining room (me and the couple had not said one word to each other - awkward!) and said in french to the couple, "Please pass the bread." Françoise is a former advertising exec and she knows how to deliver a directive. The bread basket was immediately passed in my direction.
It was at this point that I felt the need to say something to the couple as they passed the bread. So I said in french, "Excuse me but my french is not very good. Sorry." They said, "Quoi?" Er. This is always something that annoys me. I know I whine about how bad my french is, but I actually have a good accent and when I deliver a sentence full of words that I actually know, there's no reason why they should be unable to understand me. I repeated myself and they suddenly, miraculously understood and said, no problem. Then we all looked down at our yogurt again. I hate B&Bs.
Galadriel wandered down to the breakfast room after convening with her elves back at the office and she made all the polite conversation so that I didn't have to. I will never go to breakfast again without her. I took my camera and went outside for one more photo shoot before departure. I can't help but share two photos, the first being huge and gorgeous poppies. They looked like they were made from expensive dress fabric, studded with jewels of dew.
Then I stood under the enormous cherry tree and picked cherries up off the ground to eat. Françoise told us that the tree is a gift for the birds. It's so tall that she can't possibly harvest all the cherries or stop the birds from eating everything.
So, after saying our goodbyes, off we drove towards I had no idea where, because I didn't care. I liked the ability to just drift along and let Galadriel set the agenda.
But sometimes, a deviation is required.
I don't remember how we stumbled upon Chateau de Miromesnil, but stumble we did. It wasn't represented by a dot on Galadriel's map, but it may end up in her guide after all.
As we drove down the tree-lined drive, we saw boy scouts walking on the grounds. There were signs that said Privé here and there, but Galadriel shrugged and drove right into the side courtyard, where the outer buildings of the chateau - probably former stables, barn and gardener's or maid's quarters - were located. There was obviously a workshop or weekend event going on.
We parked and a very friendly owner, Jean-Christophe Romatet, came out to greet us. Galadriel apologized for just showing up unannounced. She explained who she was and he told us that his wife would be happy to give us a tour of the chateau. Yessss.
It was amazing. I have too many photos to show you, so I'll try and restrain myself, but here is the left, front side of the chateau, with the wall that protects the beautiful kitchen garden. Our guide, Madame Nathalie Romatet, whose grand parents bought the chateau in 1938, told us that it was her grandmother, the Comtesse de Vogüé, who installed the kitchen garden. Her grand parents bought the chateau with the idea of having a large place to raise their family for generations, but before they could spend much time living there after they finished updating it (with electricity, heat and running water), it was occupied by Germans, then British and then Americans during WWII.
Sometime in the last few years, Jean-Christophe had a serious car accident and it was then that he and Nathalie decided to move into the chateau and make it into a hotel and event venue. But it's not an easy or inexpensive thing to do.
In the driveway, I spied a stack of black slate, all covered with different white lettering and drawings. I asked Nathalie about them and she told me that in order to renovate the roof, they are selling the chance to own a piece of the roof. So, for 5 Euros, I signed my name and dated it and now I can say that I own a piece of the roof at Chateau de Miromesnil. Guy de Maupassant was born there, so maybe his literary success will rub off on me.
There were several rooms, but this one inspired me the most. I imagined myself sitting at that desk and writing and each time I would get stuck on a word or phrase, I could look out the window on the chateau's back gardens and ponder the history of that place. Since Nathalie and her husband can't afford to restore the back gardens to their original splendor, they cut the grass in different lengths, to outline the diamond-shaped flower beds of yore.
We finally left the chateau and continued on our journey. Check in soon when I continue with tales of the unfriendliest town in France and other adventures of me, myself and Galadriel.