A Dream Opportunity
"Hey, Joe, wanna care take a castle in France for the summer?"
"Huh?" I glanced over at Karen, who was staring intently at an image on her laptop: a gleaming white chateau glowing in the morning sun.
The ad was on trustedhousesitters.com, a house-and-pet sitting site we had signed up for months earlier. Karen had been scanning the ads looking for interesting opportunities, and while most of them were short term stays involving one or two (or ten pets) to care for while the owners went on holiday, this ad was different--there was only one dog, the family stayed on the property--and, it was a CASTLE! In France!
In spite of the ad's allure, I waved Karen off with a curt, "No. Too busy. Besides, we're trying to get everything organized for our trip,"
We had been preparing the past year and a half for an around-the-world road trip, and a lot of things had to fall into place before we could go. We had a house to sell, a geriatric dog to consider, an overland rig and camping trailer to put together, and a website to build. Castle or not, I didn't need the distraction.
"Look," Karen replied, unswayed. "It comes with a car, and they give you a cottage. All they want is someone to tend the grounds, work on restoration projects, and generally help with the upkeep."
"Yeah, sure, whatever." I figured the easiest way for me to concentrate on my work was to avoid the conversation. "Go ahead and apply. What can it hurt?"
I went back to my coding. Secretly, I believed there was no way we would be accepted, and even then, I didn't see any way we could rationalize flying to France for the summer. Still...
A few days later an email landed in Karen's inbox. It was from France--an invitation for a Skype interview.
That evening the screen flashed to life, and we were greeted by a middle-aged couple not unlike ourselves, faces beaming into the camera. We were pleased to find the couple, Arnaud and Marie-Laure, to be genuinely friendly and warm, completely opposite the stereotype of stuffy arrogance which many uneducated Americans unfortunately--and incorrectly--assign to the French.
Suffice it to say we hit it off pretty well. Before long, Marie-Laure asked with a smile, "So, how soon can you come?"
Three weeks later, with our son pressed into an emergency, three month dog-and-house-sitting service of our own, we were on a plane to Paris.
We landed early in the morning, bleary-eyed, and after collecting our considerable baggage, we somehow managed to wrestle two road bikes, a paraglider, a large duffel, and our suitcases and backpacks down the escalators onto the platform for the express train to Poitiers.
I wasn't sure how were were going to get all that gear on the train, and as it turned out, we needn't have worried. Even though I had booked passage for bikes, according to the train master, it was up to her discretion as to whether or not we boarded. Her discretion was revealed with a shake of the head and a curt, "Non, monsieur."
With only minutes to argue our case before the train left, we managed to get Karen aboard but with only two of the seven bags, plus her backpack. The rest would have to go with me.
There's no disadvantage quite like showing up at a car rental counter with a cart stacked high with luggage and without a reservation in hand. I was completely at the mercy of the car rental gods, and they were not kind.
In the end I did get a car, but one which barely fit the luggage, and for an astronomical, one-way price. After thirty minutes of sweating and swearing, the car was packed. While Karen whisked south on the high-speed train in relaxed comfort, I steered the car out of Charles de Gaulle airport onto a confusing, frantic, traffic-choked web of highways leading south to Paris and beyond.
My next challenge was to navigate that network of roads and get on my way south towards Tours. Without a gps nor phone data service, it was pretty hit-and-miss to connect the various options into a route through and out of the city. Thankfully, I hit more than I missed, and with only a bit of backtracking, I emerged from the metropolitan area and then into the bucolic French countryside. Ahhh, this was more like it.
Then I discovered that U.S. credit cards don't work at the toll booths. I also discovered that after three attempts, the machine ejects the toll ticket, where it is mercilessly plucked by the stiff Atlantic wind. With the car slammed into park, I ran after the wayward ticket, past the growing lineup of cars and their impatient, honking drivers.
With the help of a friendly driver (yes, there was one!), I recovered the toll ticket and was soon back at the car. Then I pulled out my wallet to discover the only bills I had were twentys. Because these particular toll stations lacked manned booths, my only option was to shove a twenty into a narrow slot, beg into the little microphone for passage, and get back on my way.
Three unmanned tolls booths later and sixty dollars poorer, I pulled off onto a narrow road near Chatellerault, about an hour south of Tours. I found my way through the countryside to the tiny town of Thure, then turned onto a narrow lane. Suddenly, there it was, the Chateau de la Barbeliniere, shining gloriously in the afternoon sun.
We meet the chateau
Chateau de la Barbeliniere sat proudly at the end of a long driveway, with several park-like acres of sloping lawn for a front yard. I knew that grass cutting was one of our chores, and as I drove up the lane towards the castle, I began to wonder if there would be time for much else.
The chateau looked just as it had in the advertisement--a stunning, elegant, architectural beauty from the days of the French Renaissance. My jaw dropped. This was to be our home for the next three months? You've got to be kidding!
We were to find out later that the castle actually was first built in in the 15th century, with the current facade dating to the more recent era of King Louis the 14th. Among the earlier owners was a ship's captain in the French navy who provided military support to the nascent American revolution. During France's own revolution a few decades later, like many aristocratic families, the owners lost the property. Luckily, in the early 20th century they were able to repurchase it, and the chateau has remained in the family ever since.
Access to the chateau interior was from the back side courtyard, which also served as a parking area and outdoor dining space.
The elegant foyer doubled as a long hallway for the many rooms on the ground floor. Thankfully, we would not be responsible for mopping the floor!
The upper floors were gained via not one, but two dramatic, spiral staircases. I didn't envy the family, who, I imagined, didn't much value the ability to choose which flight to climb every night to reach their apartment on the second floor. On the other hand, when a man's home is truly a castle, can one really complain?
During its heyday, the staff would have used the less ornate back staircase to serve the needs of the house.
From the upper floors, a commanding view of the beautiful, rolling countryside of the department of Vienne spread to the horizon.
The numerous outbuildings included the old stables, which were being renovated to serve the property's dual use as not just a family home, but as a destination wedding venue.
The barn's two large rooms could seat a combined, three hundred and fifty guests. We would find out later that French weddings can be large--and long--affairs.
The three-story pigeonniere had nearly a thousand pigeon-pair cubbyholes inside. Pigeons were an important part of every rural Renaissance estate, serving both as a means of communication, but also as a source of eggs and meat. Property owners were granted authority by the king to own a certain number of pigeons, based on their rank and social status. The size of this pigeonniere was a testament to the owner's considerable wealth and importance.
The chateau's current owners, descendants of the original aristocratic family who lived here, planned to one day renovate the building into a special, wedding-night apartment for the celebrated couple.
At one time the estate would have employed a considerable community of support staff and agricultural and trades workers, many of whom lived on the property. The many outbuildings were vestiges of those bygone days. Today, the buildings served as storerooms, garages and shops.
Other buildings on the property were in a state of disuse and even disrepair. As part of the grand vision for the property's future, the owners planned to convert many of these to rental apartments for wedding guests. The dream was that a large, extended family could rent out the entire chateau and be able to house everyone on site.
A chateau like this takes a lot of effort and expense to not only keep time and gravity from tearing down what man has already built, but to progress toward that grander vision. As we toured the property, we could see that the owners, and by extension, short term, part-time caretakers like us, had their work cut out for them.
In addition to a sizable vegetable garden, the orchard provided organically-grown produce for the family. Among the fruit trees were apricots, plums, apples and figs. Raised beds and other planters were a source of fresh currants and berries.
Best of all, however, was the pool. After a long hot day tending the grounds or working on a project, a cool-off dip would be a welcome treat!
We were provided with our own two-story, three bedroom cottage which was spacious but cozy, and even more buildings bordered the cottage's sizable yard. Clearly this was not going to be Peace Corps-style living.
We quickly made use of our patio's barbeque for our evening meals.
The patio overlooked the orchard, and beyond, the wheat fields and woods of the surrounding countryside.
From the patio we could also see the neighboring property--a hunting lodge set on the edge of 400 acres of private forest. At one point, the lodge and forest were part of the estate, but had since been split off and sold. Does a modern-day chateau owner really need his own private hunting reserve?
We meet the family
Chateau Barbeliniere's owners (and our hosts), Arnaud and Marie-Laure, were as friendly in person as they had seemed over the internet, and they graciously welcomed us into their household.
Arnaud had been a rock concert producer and later a film producer for around-the-world sailing races. Marie-Laure had been a PR director for Grand Prix racing, and was a former manager at L'Oreal, the French cosmetics company.
In addition to getting help with the property, the owners and their teenaged children (both of whom were also fluent in English and Spanish) enjoyed the cultural exchange with foreign visitors. They had been receiving work-for-rent couples like us for several years, and we soon discovered that we were joining a growing legacy of friends-for-life.
Right from the outset, Marie-Laure had told us this was not to be an employer-employee relationship--that we would become part of an extended family. As if to prove her point, Marie-Laure threw a sumptuous welcome feast in our honor. We were as humbled by her genuine kindness as we were by her considerable skills as a hostess and chef.
Marie-Laure's mother, whom we simply referred to as "the Madame", had spent her childhood summers at the chateau. The Madame maintained an apartment on the second floor, and still came every year from Paris for a long stay. Provincial living didn't keep her from dressing smartly every day. It was as if she were still on the Champs Elysees.
Karen wasted no time making friends with the family dog, Avanne, a French Buceron. Every morning Avanne would come bounding up to the cottage as if to say "Let's go, guys! Time to play!"
We also met the other caretakers, Marc and Gena, a young couple from New Zealand.
Arnaud turned out to be a real project guy with seemingly boundless energy--it was a challenge to match his penchant for working dawn till dusk. He had every tool imaginable, and for the most part, was averse to hiring outside help. After all, that's why we were here!
Arnaud's philosophy was that we could focus on the projects that matched our skills, but he also encouraged us to develop new abilities as the projects required, or as our own interests dictated. Either way, everyone was able to make a valuable contribution to the effort.
Arnaud was also quite the tinkerer. Maintaining the numerous pieces of machinery was almost a full-time job in and of itself!
Time for Work
And what were the projects? Well, in addition to mowing lawns, trimming trees, pruning and picking fruit in the orchard, a sizable organic garden needed weeding and watering.
Restoration projects varied from minor fixes to full-scale remodeling. The chateau was turning out to be a handy-man's dream come true.
I was always eager to jump on one of the excavators. I had had the benefit of some practice back home, and enjoyed finessing the hydraulic controls to carve out a precise hole for replanting a tree or bush.
For the large job of restoring the buildings' rockwork, Arnaud employed a full-time mason. Rock work is a specialty trade, and after slinging mud with the mason for a few days in the hot sun, we envied his skill, if not the intense physical demands of his job.
Both Karen and I enjoy yard work--we had landscaped our own properties by ourselves--and although the chateau belonged to someone else, seeing the result of our labors and leaving our own mark on this magnificent, historical property was sufficient reward.
For over five hundred years, the chateau had been evolving as one generation's vision receded and another's bore fruit. Our contribution, like that of our predecessors, would not be relevant in the grand scheme of things, but it meant everything to us.
Time for Play
We balanced the hard work on the chateau grounds with relaxing get togethers with the group.
Many afternoons we would quit work early, cool off in the pool, then have a "pot luck" barbeque picnic in the yard.
Special occasions such as birthdays called for a more formal celebration, and on these evenings we all joined in to prepare the meal.
Dinner was served in the main salon. The immense table could seat more than a dozen people at once!
Dinners were simple, but elegant affairs, and we were coached on the intended purpose of the various forks, knives and glasses, all strategically arranged in layers surrounding the plates.
We learned that in French high society, a specific protocol determines the serving order: the oldest woman is served first, the youngest male child last, and women don't pour their own wine (Karen hated this rule). We also learned that when the cheese course is served, polite people don't sample from every choice, and one always takes a bit of rind, lest someone down the line be left with nothing but.
Arnaud's cousins own a number of Bordeaux area vineyards as well as a coop that represents several hundred smaller vintners. His wine cellar was stocked with too many choices to count, and many of the bottles came unlabeled, straight from the wineries. Others looked like they'd been improving their body in the cool of the cellar for years.
In spite of the protocols, the meals at Chateau Barbeliniere were not legendary Michelin-style creations.
"If French people ate like that every day, we'd be very fat!", Marie-Laure declared.
Still, the food was always fresh, tasty, and prepared (and eaten) with love for the simple life.
One morning Avanne woke us with frantic barking just outside the cottage door. Coming outside we followed her gaze upward into the treetops. A squirrel? Raccoon? No, it was a hot air balloon race passing overhead. How glorious the chateau must have looked from the vantage point of a bird overhead.
Karen and I had our own favorite sport--road biking. The surrounding landscape was flat to rolling and with many tiny lanes to follow and little local traffic, cycling was stress-free.
Each day we'd pick a route, map it out more-or-less, and head off in one direction or another.
Often we would leave before the day's heat set in, ride for three hours, then spend the afternoon laboring on the grounds. We became fit pretty quick!
In spite of the risk we had taken to jump across the ocean and commit to an untried experience, we quickly settled into our individual roles and found our rhythm.
Spend a summer caretaking a chateau in France? Yeah, we could do that!
