April 12, Entry 1:
8:21
As we slowly crept up near the counter near our departure point, our eyes still sore from a sleepless night, a small uneasiness came over our group: our fourth member had yet to arrive.
"Is Mr. Bourne here?", asked the man over the counter.
"Mr. Bourne?", I ask my American friend. I know our fourth member is yet to come, and while his resemblance to Matt Damon is quite faithful, I doubt the actor will step up on a cold Tuesday morning at Austerlitz station.
"Is Mr. Horn here?", asks the man again, and this time my suspicions are quelled. Meanwhile, our Estonian companion shows up at the doorstep, ready for action.
12:30
A few hours later and a misplaced passport later, we finally arrive at our destination. The roads through the City of Lights having bested even the sharpest of our devices, not to mention two of our companion's will to stay awake, a cool breeze sifts through an open window.
"Rise and shine, we're here", utters a voice slightly tinted with a Swiss accent.
"W-where, Portugal?", replies a waking Siim. Not quite, my friend.
The shadow of a castle towers over the large field ahead, while the sun forces us to shield our eyes.
"This looks... awesome, guys", mentions the Canadian.
 |
| Chateau Chambord |
Awesome, indeed.
16:56
One castle down, one teammate dozing off, and four screaming stomachs. Not a cloud in the sky.
"Turn up the radio, this is a good one."
As the knob slightly turns clockwise, several patches of yellow greet us on either side. Spring's blossoms have all but covered the countryside, and its effect on us could not have met us with greater enthusiasm. Nothing could make this a more perfect moment. As I lay pondering these thoughts, France always finds another ace up its sleeve.
Chopin's Waltz in minor C-Sharp gently trickles into our ears from the radio, reminding us that there is no greater pleasure than driving through quiet hamlets on a sunny day, and falling asleep to classical music.
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April 13, Entry 2:
11:37
"Yeah, so we forgot to bring knives."
"Dude, just break a plastic cup and use it as a knife. Improvise."
Too late. The Estonian decides that his hand makes a much more efficient tool and proceeds to rip the camembert directly with his bare hand. As we watch the barbarism of this scene unfold, we lay eating on a wooden platform near Chaumont-sur-Loire. In fact, we are lying on a structure that seems to have run out of budget at a certain point in its construction; perhaps it was financed by Philippe-Henri Latimier Du Clésieux... From afar, it looks like a bridge that seems to extend into pure nothingness, into the sky itself. It's as if the architect's goal was to "aim high". High indeed, since the only direction this bridge seems to be stretching towards is a kilometre above the river.
As our hunger slowly subdues, a strange sound rips through the air. Quicker than we can swallow the Boursin-filled bread, we glance towards the blue, to notice a bolting fighter jet race through the air.
"Does the United States have any military bases in France?", mutters a concerned voice.
"Not sure."
Silence.
"... but it's probably just a training exercise, nothing to worry about."
Twenty minutes later, another jet zooms through the crisp morning air, following the same pattern.
"Let's bounce, guys. I think we've overstayed here.", finishes Siim, chewing his last bite.
14:02
As we near our second castle of the day, we come across a store adorned with objects of every young boy's fantasy, ages 7 through 26. The store in question fields a plethora of medieval armaments, ranging from medieval swords to Elvish longbows and 18th century muskets.
"You know, if I had these at 2 AM near Châtelet station, I could have taught those guys a lesson." Also, you would have been considered an armed lunatic. These aren't exactly the weapons of choice to be seen carrying around one's person, even near intoxicated psychos on the Noctilien.
As we head out towards the castle's gardens, a familiar face gazes across the lawn. Leonardo Da Vinci's piercing eyes command the courtyard, and his gleaming bust illuminates the orangerie. What an honour to meet the man behind the architect, artist, engineer, and genius.
17:18
So many talk of visiting Chinon, Chambord and Chenonceaux, while tasting the Loire's fine wine. Yet so few experience it. It is both a blessing and an experience of a lifetime to enjoy such simple things in life, in the company of a such a culturally-diverse company.
Also, still no knives, and still no swords.
23:12
"Are you sure your GPS is right? I mean... this place looks like an abandoned factory." The Canadian isn't the only one to share this concern.
"What's the address of the hotel again? There's a building that says 'Manpower' on the left, a large gray fence with a sign 'Industrie Automotise' on the right, and I'm pretty sure we passed by an abandoned stable a couple of blocks ago."
"I'm not sure", but the place is called 'Premiere Classe Hotel', and it's supposed to be right around here.", replies Siim.
'Here' being an industrial zone that looks like it's been used in every action movie since the 70s. We finally manage to find the place, and enter. No reception, just a bolted door and an automatic booth requiring a reservation number.
"What the..., the lady got my name wrong", says the Estonian. "It says Slim Maivel under the reservation."
Bursts of laughter ensue, and we have our first nickname for the trip.
Sometime around 2:00
After a quiet stroll through La Rochelle and few uninteresting pubs later, we slowly head towards the car. As the four of us near the vehicle, a taunting voice calls out:
"Eh, le grand, looking for a fight?", spews out the leader of the pack.
"Yeah, you guys seem to be having a good night..." smirks a shorter chap greatly smelling of alcohol.
"Look, les gars, we're just heading home", replies Georg. Although quite buzzed ourselves, we can cut the tension with a knife. Georg's military experience, Siim's rough past, Laurent' sharp wits, and my martial arts training are tingling with excitement, but this is not the time to pick a quarrel, even when evenly matched.
"We aren't looking for trouble, les gars. Bonne nuit."
"Non mais tu veux mon pied dans ta gueule?!", yells the first man.
"Bon, on se calme." I can feel the Estonian's blood boiling. "Guys, inside. Georg, start the car. Bonne nuit, messieurs..."
Where's a medieval sword, an Elvish longbow, and an 18th century musket when you need one?
As we drive away, we stop for a bladder discharge. Our adrenaline is still pumping, and even our vehicle's audio matches our mood. Rage Against The Machine rocks the midnight air.
"Yo, blast that shit. Let's be bad...", I say with a devilish grin.
As I turn the knob clockwise, I open the doors and the decibels start pounding.
"... but not too bad, though." I slightly turn the knob backwards.
Honestly.
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April 14, Entry 3:
16:30
La Rochelle is our domain. After waking up to a bright morning in the maritime port and strolling through the tourist-filled alleys, we come across the famous seafood restaurant, André. There we feast on langoustines, prawn, mussels, oysters, white wine, and enough rice to fill even the sturdiest of our stomachs. All topped off with succulent lemon.
No lunch is complete without dessert. As we walk off our calorie-filled diet across the harbour, we head towards the town's best gelateria. The Swiss opts for cassis and strawberry, the Estonian for rhum and raisins, and the Canadian for vanilla and peach. The American's already halfway done, and divulges nothing of his tastes.
We then rent the yélo bicycles, and cross the entire town on two wheels. We ride near the park and the beach, and come across the most interesting sights. A dog playing ball with his 12-year old master, and several bare-chested women across the beach. As it turns out, you don`t need to go to Brest to find a good pair of breasts.
But I digress.
20:18
"So what do you call it?"
"A convertible car."
"What?, questions Georg. That doesn't make sense. What does it convert into?"
"I don't know, replies Tudor, but that's how we call it. How do you call it?"
"Cabriole. So for example, a Porsche Cabriole can remove its roof."
"And turn into what?"
"... A no-roofer, I don't know... it's just called a Porsche Cabriole."
As the conversation intensifies between both of us, we drive into our third city, Nantes. At the center lie ferris wheels and roller-coasters to attract visitors. It also has the amazing effect to distract us from reaching our destination.
"Woah, that's so... mystical", interjects Siim. He just wants to have fun tonight.
11:21
After a well-earned pit stop to refuel our alcohol meter, we end up near Nantes' city square, in a nearby park, with a bottle of wine and a six-pack of Leffe.
"Hmm... does anyone have a wine opener?"
"Pff, we don't need one, says the Swiss. A friend of mine told me it's possible to open a bottle with nothing but a boot and a hard surface."
How to open a bottle of wine without a corkscrew:
- You will need a pair of ostrich-skin boots made in Colorado, a bottle of wine, and a hard surface, such as a tree or a statue. Any deviation from these ingredients will yield unsuccessful results.
- Place the bottle in the boot.
- Begin by hitting the bottle-filled boot against a hard surface, preferably a statue of a famous war hero belonging to the town you happen to be in. The cork will eventually push itself out and/or attract police.
- After 15 minutes of no results, hit harder.
- After another 15 minutes, extract bottle cork with teeth. Make sure you brush your teeth beforehand.
- Ensure other teammates are ripping camembert with bare hands.
- If at any point, a teammate yells something along the lines of "Yeah, it's almost there", "It's coming", or "It's about to pop", reply appropriately with "That's what she said." This is crucial.
- Upon finishing, drink and enjoy!
1:47
"I'm not paying 15 euros for a cowboy party. I'd rather jump into the river than see a bunch of 17-year olds dance."
"That's your opinion, we're going in".
The problem is though, exactly that: going in. With no tickets and no fear, we're dedicated to enter the premises of the nightclub. But before we know it, the Canadian smoothly joins a group of five attractive girls, holding nothing but a grocery store receipt, and moves his way towards the bodyguard. Soon enough, he's gone, and is having the time of his life.
Eventually, all of us coerce our way into the club and begin grinding on the local fauna. Life rocks.
