The Torch Bearer and His Olympic Enforcers Pacing Past Our Gate
Surprising things happen in our little town in France. No, it wasn’t the appearance of a rude-shaped turnip in the market; not the invention of a new baguette with frosting and sprinkles; nor even the sighting of a grown man peeing with joyous abandon onto a memorial in the main square in broad daylight. [Although we did witness the last one yesterday while taking Saxon for a walk.] Even though all of those stories would easily make it onto the front page of the local edition of the newspaper here, it was something much more unusual.
Crowds Begin to Gather Down Our Street
Saturday morning. Crowds began to gather throughout Fougères. There was a murmur of excitement building in front of our gates as people hurriedly laid claim to key viewing sites on the street in front of our house. The flame of the Olympic Games was coming to town.
The Procession Begins – Can You Spot the Torch?
Joining the general hubbub filtering through our normally sedate neighborhood, Cherie and I walked down the hill to the square next to the castle. A sizable crowd had gathered to see the arrival of the olympic flame. After a surprisingly brief introduction, the first runner (more of a slow jog, really – the sort of thing you do when you see your bus pulling away, make a half-hearted show of quickening your pace for a few steps, and then stop in the acknowledgment that you never had a chance in hell of catching the damn thing in the first place) began the procession.
The Coca-Cola DJ, Bringin’ the Love (and tiny cans)
Everyone was very excited. This was the olympic flame, after all. Direct from Greece. As part of the buildup for the Summer Olympics in Paris, the flame has been making its way through several parts of France, including Bretagne. For some reason this included Fougères. And, for an hour or so, we played host to the sacred flame of Udûn, er, Olympia. Pretty cool!
Old Flames – the Passing of the Olympic Torch
While the torch relay wound its way through the center of town, the two of us climbed back up our street and grabbed some sidewalk turf in front our gate. Like seasoned paparazzi, we skulked on either side of the pavement, Cherie in an archway, and me perched atop a stepping stool – my parents forgot to check the box for a statuesque build when they ordered me, so I needed the extra height. After a cavalcade of trucks sent by corporate sponsors to blare music and fling mini-cans of sugary drinks at unsuspecting bystanders, the torch bearer came loping down towards us. She passed the holy fire to the next bearer, they posed for a few photos, and then the new bearer let gravity take hold as he ambled with solemnity down the slope.
Opening Ceremonies in Front of the Château
And that was it. For a few moments, we were swept up in the planet’s gravitational pull towards the 2024 Olympics. It was an intoxicating moment. Pretty big stuff for our small piece of France.
Our Fifteen Minutes of Flame Trundles Away Down Our Street
Our house is a bit odd. It’s tall and skinny with a round end. The entrance comes in near the top. The old town defensive wall runs through the middle. There is a long garden down at the base, with another small strip of scrubby wasteland on the other side. And, although it is a tower, there are other bits of buildings attached to it. A two-level industrial block of the former shoe factory which once surrounded La Tour Desnos still stands, clinging on to the west side of the house. Stranger still is a thin strip of two-story house which is attached to the tower and sits above our entrance. The whole property ranges over a confusion of mismatched levels and shapes, entrances and exits connected by a sprawling network of stairways which would have challenged M.C. Escher himself.
Early 18th Century Rendering of La Tour Desnos (here, Des Nöë) and its Environs
Although the tower itself was built in the first half of the 15th century, additional bits and bobs were added (and removed) as the centuries rolled on. At one point, they added an additional floor to the top of the tower. And up through to the last century there were also other houses attached next to the structure from adjoining properties. We think that the house which today remains stacked on top of the tower’s entry was added sometime in the early 18th century and then modified thereafter. But we can’t be sure about that without doing more research. When we bought the tower, the purchase included all of the remaining fiddly parts – except the separate house; that was owned by someone else. This arrangement always felt a bit awkward to us and we hoped that one day we might be able to join the two properties together. The opportunity arrived early this year. With Cherie’s sister as a partner, we acquired the apartment and finally made the property whole.
Before and After – The Improved Stairway Entrance to the Apartment (click each photo to enlarge)
It was always in our minds that this quirky little building stacked onto the back of our tower would make a perfect vacation apartment. With two bedrooms and a full bathroom upstairs, and a kitchen/lounge and toilette downstairs, this fully independent apartment would provide excellent accommodation for people visiting Fougères and the surrounding area. Besides, we already had all of the space we needed for ourselves in the tower. What better way to put this little house to good use than to share it with others who wanted to explore the many joys of this part of France?
Candy Crush – Installing the New Utility Shelf and Washer/Dryer Combo
The apartment had been thoroughly renovated by the previous owners: new electrics, new plumbing, insulation, paint, etc. But, some of the work they did was a bit shoddy. Mostly this was cosmetic. Nevertheless, we needed to address these shortcomings before we felt the apartment was ready for occupation. These repairs, restorations and improvements took us several weeks and we were able to do all of them ourselves. Mostly. Our friend Kelson helped us get a couple of electric radiators working – apparently you have to actually turn them on (there’s a power switch in the back of each unit). Right. Umnnn … yeah. That one’s on us.
View of the Chateau from the Stairwell Window
Kelson also helped us hook up the induction cooktop. For weeks we were puzzled as to why it wouldn’t turn on. The oven worked, so why not the cooktop? Finally, I dug a little deeper and discovered that whoever installed it had not actually wired it in. Go figure. That kind of wiring is above my pay grade, so Kelson very kindly offered to do it for us. It took him like five minutes to do it. Brilliant. It would have taken me all day while losing a finger in the process. Thank goodness for generous and knowledgeable friends!
Kitchen/DinerLoungeStairwayBedroom 1BathroomBedroom 2Glamour Shots – The Finished House (click on each photo for a larger version)
While I fiddled with installing various lighting fixtures and whatever else needed to be hung from the most challenging location on a ceiling or wall, Cherie took charge of the interior design. With a little consultation by Michelle, mom Valerie, and even me (only in moments of desperation – apparently I am color-challenged), she worked up a collection of furnishings and decorations that transformed an empty shell into a warm, contemporary living space that our guests will find welcoming and comfortable.
What a Trooper! – Valerie Puts Together a Planter for the Entrance
And, finally, after several weeks of work, we have created our holiday rental apartment, ready for visitors. At least we hope it’s ready. We’ve never done anything like this before, so we are leaning heavily on our instincts as well as our years of experience staying in vacation apartments. We think it will be a fun way to meet new people from all over the world, share a part of France that we are very proud to call home, and perhaps even earn a bit of extra cash – all of this renovation work costs money, ya know.
In the hope of avoiding confusion between the holiday rental property and our house, we have given the rental a separate name: Chez Desnos. As regular readers of this blog know, the tower (i.e., our home) to which it is attached is called La Tour Desnos, so the name seemed a fitting link while maintaining the distinction between the two. If you are curious (and you know you are) and want to see more, you can check out the Chez Desnos website we have set up for the apartment and/or go directly to our Airbnb listing. And if you are interested in visiting this part of the world we would love to have you stay. Cherie has put together an extensive and comprehensive guide to the town as well as a host of options for sightseeing within a two-hour drive of the house. It’s full of ideas and we’re updating the guide all of the time. There is so much to see and do here.
The Dynamic Duo – Val and Cherie in the Parc du Nançon Below la Tour Desnos/Chez Desnos
As always, thanks for checking out our blog and keeping tabs on what we have been up to. We try to stay busy, without being too busy – in an active, retired sort of way. Relaxed busy? Is that a thing? Well, it is for us. And we’re getting pretty good at it. Another forty or fifty years of practice and we’ll have considered the whole enterprise a success. Here’s hoping that all of you have already found, or are soon to discover, your own preferred brand of relaxation/peace/contentment. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of it will include a visit to our lovely corner of the world and a stay at Chez Desnos. Come see what we’ve done with the place. We think you’ll enjoy it.
With the Holiday Rental Completed, It’s Back to Repointing Stonework for Me
Darkness Begins to Cloak La Tour Desnos: View From the Parc du Nançon
Saturday. We had just returned home to La Tour Desnos after a nice meal out at a friend’s restaurant up the street. The air was clean and cool, but not cold. A lovely Spring evening. So I walked into the séjour (living room) and opened one of the doors to the little balcony which looks out over the Parc du Nançon below. As I swung open the door, I was greeted by the sound of a strong, confident female voice accompanied by a jaunty accordion. There, below me in the park, was a clutch of perhaps fifty revelers gathered in front of a pair of musicians as the glowing light of dusk was slowly giving way to the night. Traditional French music filled the air as it soared in rich waves up to the top of our tower.
What a surprise! A small, informal concert in the park, virtually at the foot of our home. And the music was, at least to my American ears, that kind of arm-swinging, head-bobbing, sing-along, smoky cafe style that is so quintessentially French. To such a degree that I felt compelled to search the crowd for Hemingway sharing a drink (or two) with Picasso and Gertrude Stein at a little bistro table while puffing away at their cigars and Gauloises. I’m almost certain they weren’t there, but it was a nice image that I had concocted in my mind’s eye.
Both the chanteuse and accordion player were top-notch, really talented. So much so that I stood there, on our little balcony, for the next hour, transfixed, swooning with pleasure at the way the music had so taken me. I listened contentedly as the tunes rolled by, clapping my appreciation along with the crowd below as each one finished. The shadows slowly crept in, darkening the scene at my feet. And our resident host of small bats began to fly about the tower, indulging in a moving feast of insects as they careened through the air. The music played on with that particularly French combination of angst and verve.
But nothing lasts forever. Except perhaps Twinkies. At length, the singer closed her last song with a crescendo and the accordionist gave a final flourish to end the evening’s entertainment. The crowd of cheerful listeners began to disperse. And I, with bittersweet reluctance, watched them all go into the night. The park was once again quiet, apart from the excited but hushed voices of a few stragglers who, like me, were unwilling to let go of the musical high. But they were soon gone as well. Eventually, I left the balcony and closed the door, content to have such a special memory of life in France. How lucky I felt to be living here where such magical serendipity seems to happen with such astonishing regularity. My hope for you, dear reader, is that you, too, may someday chance upon your own special memory of a magical moment in France. I promise you that it’s not difficult. You just need to be here.
Until next time, here’s a little taste of the evening:
Finding Our France 