More miscommunique, fantastic groceries, and the key inside the lockbox

the highest balcony above the blue awning is mine
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Today is Wednesday, September 13th. I decide to check out of the Marriott and leave my luggage there while I ride the shuttle back to Charles De Gaulle Airport to rent my car. I have called ahead to "peugot open europe" (autofrance) and am told to go to terminal three for pick up. As I ride I notice that the airport was obviously built in stages; the terminals are extremely far apart, and not walkable. In fact, I have jokingly thought that "wheeled" luggage was definitely invented for European airports...even at Heathrow in London I walked through underground tunnels and up and down countless ramps to get from one terminal to another. Those luggage carts we pay $3 for in the states are free here for good reason. One ramp was so steep, the bottoms of my cute black plaid flats started to slip and I feared sliding backwards down the entire lenghth, cart, luggage and all!

My bed. I feel like a princess
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Also, the newest main terminal two at Charles De Gaulle is built in an oval shape with the access road spiraling round and round until you think you may go mad. My bus went around at least five times in order to drop off and pick up from the terminal and rental car areas. I think the architect may have been high. Fearing I may be in the wrong place I sweetly ask the bus driver, "arretez- vouz a la terminal tois?" (do you stop at terminal three?). I was expecting "oui" or "non", but could only nod when a torrent of informational french spewed from his lips. I decided to sit back down and wait and see. Eventually the driver made it clear "madame" that I should get off here "voici, madame". My directions were to go opposite the departure building, cross the parking lot, and there would be "tt Car, Open Europe". Right. I walked the length and breath of the lot, no "tt Car". I seemed to be at a car wash/ cafeteria, and I approached a young girl who told me to go back to the arrival building, the desk was definitely inside. At "arrivals" I ask a traffic director who sends me inside "departures". At "departures", I am directed back to the parking lot. I have just done a spiral of my own. I call. I have been walking for at least an hour. It's lovely outside. Thank God I left my luggage behind. Finally I find it, in the furthest corner of the lot; I passed within feet of it several times....see what I mean about half the information?! Voila, I get my car!

We speak "Fr-English" while she wonders why I just don't use the key to open the door...

Wine on the balcony after a 6 hour drive from paris. I'm pooped, but happy
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It is a cute smokey grey brand new peugot 207...I had wanted a convertible but none were available. They appeased me by throwing in GPS, which I could have cared less about. Little did I know that this technology would become my new best friend in vaguely-to-no signed France! Off I go to pick up my bags at the hotel and head for Tours/Amboise.

What I  have learned about driving in France so far:

1) There are lots of roundabouts

2) The signage for the signs/routes/street names varies tremendously  according to some whim bearing no resemblance to any map (thank you GPS!)

Chocolate just ouside my door. Buy bigger pants
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3) There are lots of trucks on the non-toll roads who won't let you in when the lanes abruptly go from two lanes to one, even if you smile

It's a beautiful day, but nearing 3pm when I finally start off on my drive. I have specified no toll roads to the GPS question, for fear I will speed across France on some bullet highway and miss seeing something. None the less, I still drive straight through the heart of Paris on my way south, and survive. Woo Hoo!

It's dusk as I approach Amboise, crossing the bridge over the Loire and turning right on the Quai du Gen De Gaulle. My GPS tells me to make a "u" turn, which I do. One more quick right and I am squeezing between two buildings to Place Michael Debre, a small open square at the base of the Chateau D'Amboise. The slender cobbled lane is lined with huge planters of Oleander trees, Bouganvilla vines terraced 5-6 feet high, tall stalks of lavender and draping morning glories. Swirls of wrought iron on tall poles hold hanging lanterns, highlighting spaces between shadows on the castle side of the street, and the twinkling candles from the outdoor cafe tables dance on the other. The street is so narrow you could fill a camera viewfinder with both sides of the street at once. The rooftops are all angles and different heights, sprouting dormers and triple chimneys, stairstepping out of sight. Wrought iron balconies and shutter framed windows are softened by the hanging geraniums, coleus, and some sort of vine with orange daisies. This street is magic.

Cute shops
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I have rented an apartment on this square. The townhouse it is in, was originally a gift from Francoise I to his tailor, hence it's name, "La Draperie". Unfortunately I have arrived too late to be greeted in person by my hosts Steven and Veronica (both pursers for United Airlines), but arrangements have been made and there will be a lockbox with a key inside hanging on the door. I just need to park and find it.

A block up the street I find a space. I feel lucky, most of the spaces are taken, I assume by the many people dining outside under the still and starry night. I would be there too, but I ate my dinner in the car en route after stopping at a grocery store in vendome. By the way, the grocery store was fantastic! There were four aisles of yogurt. At least 10 varieties of chocolate mousse and pudding. In their convenience aisle they even had pre-made croque-monsieur (like a grilled cheese and ham sandwich!). Back to the street. The buzz is delicious. The clinking-of-glasses, knife-to-plate, background-laughter sounds fill the air, and I think for a moment I am on a movie set where everything is posed just so, to evoke a mood, an emotion, a reaction. Is this real?

More cute shops
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I find number 4. The lockbox is there. I have the code. I fumble for a few minutes, but it won't open. Small panic, will I have to sleep in my car? I can't figure out if the numbers should line up on the top row or the middle. Which button do I push? A light comes on from the hall inside, I think I am rescued.  A young woman who is a tenant is as surprised by me as I am of her.   We speak "Fr-english" while she wonders why I don't just use a key to open the door, while I try to explain the KEY is inside the BOX. (insert lots of miming, charades and signing). A third woman arrives by bicycle and fiddles with the box. I'm sure none of us have understood a single word of the other, but we figure it out, and , voila, I have my key. Aren't we smart?!

The castle across the street
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The lights inside the hallway are on timers, so I have to push them over and over on my way up the winding concrete stairway. (I later find myself in the dark several times when I am dragging my suitcase up the narrow stairs. Apparently the timer doesn't allow for moving that slow!).

My apartment is perfectly imperfect. The kitchen has a concrete hood and copper pots hang on the wall. A half round window opens onto the square. I have french doors and a balcony with a round metal cafe table and rusty chairs. A swirly wrought iron coat tree is mounted on the foyer wall, and I hang my sweater and purse on it. The wood floors squeak. My bedroom has a fireplace and a bed with a fabric headboard crowned by curtains that drape from the ceiling. The rooms are all furnished with comfy antiques, squishy sofas and high back wooden chairs. Whimsical flea market finds adorn the tabletops, old black and white photos of french women in high necked dresses hang on the wall along with wood and gilt framed mirrors. An old iron is a door stop, a silver grated box with the words "calor" (an old toaster) sits on a shelf, a black silk top hat hangs on the coat tree. Flea markets here are called "marche de puces" (literally "market of fleas") but even better are local vide-grenier ("vacuum the attic", our equivalent of garage sales...check out www.vide-greniers.org ) Obviously the owners are big fans of both. I love this place.

More Chateau D'Amboise
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I bring my bags up, unpack, and finish my evening with some of my grocery purchases...mousse de canard, cornichons (little pickles), moutard (mustard, the grainy french kind), cheese, bread, pears and of course, white wine. A bottle of local macon-village is only 4 euros (about $5), and it is delicious. I sit on my balcony with all the windows flung open wide and watch the bistros close down and the diners go home. The chairs are stacked, the lights turned out, a lone dog barks- it is quintessential french to me. I'm not sleepy, but I go to bed. Bonne Nuit.