Fourteen Hours: Texas to the Loire Valley

2 Avril 2011

Fourteen Hours: Texas to the Loire Valley

A rubbery croissant straight out of the microwave was my official welcome to France from Continental Airlines. The tired-appearing flight attendants hurriedly served up breakfast as we started to make our descent into Paris. Fortunately my massively sleep deprived body was able to get some sleep on the ride over, but I was already fantasizing about my first coffee.

After landing, going through customs, and collecting my small backpack from the luggage claim, I found my good friend, Mike, waiting for me. He had arrived an hour before me on a series of stand-by flights that luckily aligned to get him from Connecticut to Paris. I was glad he was there to lend his brain power because I felt as if I had about three brain cells left after finishing up an exhausting month working 80 hours a week on the night shift.

We squeezed into a crowded elevator with a dozen other travelers and their big suitcases to get from the terminal to the train station. The goal was to eventually end up in the Loire valley where my cousin, Coralie, and her family just happened to be visiting that weekend.

When Mike and I arrived at the train station to attempt to buy tickets to a town called Orléans, we had a few unfortunate realizations. The first was that the train station was closed. Apparently they would be doing repairs for the next few weeks on the Charles de Gaulle airport train station. The second realization was that the train ticket machines do not accept the traditional American credit cards. The only accept European credit cards with electronic “chips” in them or they accept coins only. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t often carry around $20 worth of change.

The ticket booth line was quite lengthy however we had no choice but to queue up. Twenty minutes later when we reached the front of the line, I was pleased to know that my French language skills were still proficient enough to ask for directions however the woman was not able to help us, and sent us to yet another window for help. When I approached the next woman and told her that I needed to go to Orléans. She gave me a confused look and said she did not know this town. Orléans is not some tiny village but a small French city that isn’t even all that far from France. She had to reference a map to know what I was talking about. I would’ve thought a transportation employee would be a bit better educated in geography but how wrong I was.

We finally realized that to get to Orléans we would need to take a bus from the airport station to the next closet RER train station that was open. From there we would take the RER (rapid transit train) to one of the Parisian train stations called Gare d’Austerlitz and from there we would be able to get a train to Orléans. About an hour later after the slowest bus ride known to man, we arrived at Gare d’Austerlitz. After another failed attempt at using the automated ticket system, I stood in a long line behind a group of African women in colorful robes and headdresses. While I did this, Mike somehow met a French guy who tried to help him get the proper tickets to Orléans. When Mike came to find me again, he had two Metro tickets in his hand that this man had helped buy for him. Apparently the guy thought we were trying to go to a site in Paris by that same name and not the actually city of Orléans. That was another €20 down the drain. Finally we succeeded at buying our train tickets from the ticket counter.

The train to Orléans would not be leaving for at least another hour so we set out in search of lunch. We grabbed some ham and cheese on butter-slathered baguettes from a nearby shop and headed to a park across the street from the station. It was a beautiful spring Saturday afternoon in Paris. The sun was out and it was almost 70 degrees. We ate our sandwiches on a bench of a tree-lined path. The park was in full bloom with bright poppies, fragrant flowering trees, and vivid tulips. I guess this is the reason they talk about “April in Paris.”

After an hour and a half train ride, we arrived in Orléans. We had not arranged any place to sleep so we wandered around the city in search of a hotel. The first one we found had a sign in the glass door stating that they would be away on lunch break from 12pm to 4pm; we moved along. Orléans is a small city that is famous for being the home of Jean d’Arc. The old town was made of up typical French-style buildings as well as half-timbered houses. After we had no luck in stumbling upon a hotel, we consulted the travel book which made a few recommendations. Without the help of a map, it was difficult to actually find the place and so we wandered through the narrow streets until some kind soul finally pointed us in the right direction.

It was a modest hotel right off of a square that was towered over by a cathedral. I was more than ready to ditch my heavy backpack after a few hours of toting it. We didn’t linger too long in the room, but set out to explore a bit more. Not far from the hotel we found a patisserie that had just opened. It was hard to decide which of the many delicious pastries I would order. I chose a croissant with almond, pear and chocolate as well as a strawberry custard tart. We took these treats down to the banks of the Loire river which runs through the city. It was a gorgeous sunny late afternoon. After eating the delicious pastries, my jetlagged body fell asleep in the sun.

When it was time for dinner, we found a cobblestone road lined with restaurants and bars a few blocks from our hotel. For a small city, the variety of cuisine was impressive. They had everything from standard French cuisine to pizza to Chinese, Japanese, Indian and even Cambodian and Pakistani. The outdoor café chairs along the road were filled with the locals sitting outside drinking and enjoying the weather. We decided to eat at the Cambodian restaurant since it was so unique. I don’t think I have actually ever seen a Cambodian restaurant outside of Cambodia! The food was great and we tried some Angkor beer. After my stomach was full, I was more than ready for bed. The combination of food, alcohol, jet-lag and residency sleep deprivation had rendered me all but comatose. Bon soir!