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Alone and unwell,stuck in an expensive foreign hotel room. I can't say I was really 'living the boho dream' during my three nights in Blois.
I didn't fancy the 5 mile trek to the out-of-town youth hostel, and more importantly I needed to sleep. Such a goal was never going to be acomplished by being turfed out into the streets from 10 to 6, as is often the policy at Hosteling international.
In Search of the Catwater.
James Taylor2006-08-23 13:35:42
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instructed me to continue along the same road. As often happens in such situations though, I had a bit of a crisis of confidence, and so retraced my steps in an attempt to find the elusive signpost that would indicate a turning. I cycled all the way back to the last singpost I had seen, about 15 minutes away, and surprise surprise, there wasn't a turning
I had left it late in the day,and all this messing about had made me even later. Fearing the Chateau would soon be shut, I was about to give up when I spotted a map of the area on a local bus stop. On this reasonably incomprehensible bus map I thought I saw something that looked like a Chateau, though it didn't seem to be particuarly well advertised. Of course it was in a completely different direction to the one I had been pedaling, but I set off anyway with the vain hope that this might turn out to be Chambord.
By now the actual cycling aspect was becoming rather tricky. I still hadn't completely overcome my energy depleting illness and this was taking it's toll. Furthermore I was having some difficulty deciding whether to ride on the road or the path. The road was much smoother and quicker, but after being involved in some kind of triple overtaking incident that wouldn't have looked out place in a hollywood action movie I decided this wasn't a sensible option. The side path,on the other hand, was basically an elongated gravel pit. Even vigorous pedaling failed to hide the fact that I was going nowhere. With the front wheel constantly stuck in gravel my bike started to resemble one of those old-fashioned exercise bicycles.
As it turns out, the chateau I had spotted on the map was not a chateau at all,but a chateau d'eau, which is a water tower.
It took me about half an hour to realise this though, cycling back and forth in front of a water tower, wondering how the French had managed the clever trick of moving an historical castle of national fame.
See photographs from:
France Gallery
