Just a Typical Weekend

This weekend, Verity got the idea in her head that she wished to visit Chartres, a town that I only know of because of its cathedral.  After more researching . . . yup, still really only the cathedral that is noteworthy.  It has a stained glass museum, as the cathedral itself has more medieval stained glass windows than any other French cathedral; a history museum that specializes in military uniforms; and an agricultural museum.  When we separately told two people our plans to visit Chartres, each person independently asked, “Why?”  The second asked if we were staying the weekend, and when Verity assured her we were only going for half a day, I guess she sighed in relief.  So cathedral and walking around it was!

We arrived via the holy-crap-this-is-slow-are-we-still-moving TER and had no trouble finding the cathedral from the train station: you can see the spires as soon as you step out, and even navigating old, twisted medieval streets is easy when you have a landmark slapping you in the face every time you look up.  Since the cathedral was really the only thing on our list, I wasn’t too worried about finding an office of tourism, but low and behold, one was nestled snuggly right in front of it.  If only all offices of tourism were that accessible!  After snatching up a map for my travel wall, we headed over.

View of the cathedral from a nearby square.

Yup, it's cold.

It was not the largest cathedral I had ever seen, but each cathedral is still unique.  The promenade leading up to the one in Chartres is, for me, what makes it not just another cathedral.  In true regimented French style, small fenced shrubbery form rows in the gravel square in front of the west transept, shrubbery which I’m sure is more alluring and atmospheric in summer when vines creep up the wooden fencing and the foliage is, well, there.  The façade is surprisingly clean, and what with the recent restoration work, it’s no wonder; only the southern façade was a little on the dingy side, and really, when the thing was constructed between 1193 and 1250, I can forgive a little dust.

South door.

Spires!

Technical difficulties, so this is as clear of a shot as you'll get of the front.

The inside, however, left much to be desired.  The aforementioned restoration work was still on-going inside, and wouldn’t finish for another year or so.  We couldn’t walk around behind the altar; in fact, the altar itself was under restoration, and the church had set up a temporary one in the transept’s intersection.  The nave (the walled-off bit) and the portion closest to the western rose window sparkled bright, shiny, and new in the afternoon sun, and I thought it was too bad.  Buildings nearly a millennium old should be a bit rough around the edges, but these edges seemed so literally glaringly out of place that it threw the cathedral’s vibe off-kilter.  I hope the rest of the cathedral will not be as de-soiled as those two parts, no matter how much restoring it actually needs.

The nave. Guess it looks pretty.

Inside the cathedral!

Hey that part looks pre-- oh, can't go there.

One of these things is not like the other . . .

Cathedral gardens are awesome.

Though I guess as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it does have a certain standing to uphold.  It is one of the best-preserved gothic cathedrals around: most of the stained glass windows are 11^th century originals because it somehow escaped not only much of the Revolution but also both world wars.  Of course, different things have been added to the outside, and the inside unfortunately was a little friendlier with the destructive forces of the Revolution, but the only super noticeable change is the taller spire, which dates to the 16^th century instead: still pretty freaking old, according to this American.

After a total of maybe twenty minutes, we exited again into the bitterly cold town, taking a spin around the back and giggling at a group of knobby-kneed French boy scouts before nixing a trip to the Musée des Beaux Arts (Me: “I think that’s the musée.”  Verity: “No, I don’t think so.  It looks like a house.”  Me: “Well Chartres isn’t exactly Paris.”  Upon seeing the ‘Musée des Beaux Arts’ sign, both: “Well then”) and making plans to tour the crypt.

The crypt was pretty damn cool, mostly because I’m a giant nerd.  Since Chartres was originally settled by the Romans, and some form of cathedral has stood on that spot pretty much since then, there are about three different types of foundations, and you can see each one: the plinths of Roman pillars, the old Merovingian walls, and finally what stands today.  See, the French don’t do the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition thing; they incorporate existing structures into their future designs.  In the United States, sentimentally clinging to such a seemingly useless chunk of stone would be asinine. But to the French, it just makes sense. Besides just leaving the buildings of value to sit and marinate in their own history, gathering dust in an abandoned corner of an equally abandoned museum, the French literally build upon the foundations of the past, thereby including them in the present. Whether the architects or even their monarch commissioners thought of preservation, one can only speculate. But the inadvertent result is a happy one.  (Sometimes.  Other times, the French sink their teeth into tradition and do not let go, even if it ends up that they’re biting their own leg.  But that’s another story.)

Bottom: Roman. Middle: Merovingian. Top: Modern...ish.

The only evidence of the Revolution is in the vault.  According to the (awesomely slow-speaking) guide, the villagers stormed the cathedral in all their antireligious glory but only managed to make off with the reliquaries and a pagan-esque statue of Mary before they were calmed by the cries of, “WTF are you doing to our fan-freaking-tastic future tourist attraction?!”  The reliquaries were returned, but the statue was lost, so they made a replacement; it’s special because since the statue is based off a similar pagan god, Mary’s eyes are closed — an extreme rarity.

Replica!Mary

After touring the rest of the crypt, which was really just a succession of vaults/chapels dating from the Romans, we exited to bone-chilling cold, walked around the old town, and then high-tailed it to warmer climes, i.e. the train station and then home.

While Sunday was warmer, it was also a bit . . . whiter.

Snow!  Again!  My first thought: “are the kids’ buses cancelled again for tomorrow?”  (Answer: yes.)

Verity and I declined going to the market, deciding to “work” or “get stuff done” instead.  I had just settled down to watch a borrowed movie when I heard the Spanish assistant’s tinged French in the hallway, and I hoped that he had just come to do some laundry, but no such luck: he knocked on my door.  I answered, completely unashamed to be in my pajamas at 4 PM, and he was all bundled up.

“Want to build a snow man?”

“Uh, yeah!”  Is there any other answer to that question?

I got dressed in record time, and the three of us spent two hours outside, building snowmen (des bonhommes de neige; adorable, right?!), making snow angels, log-rolling down hills, writing our names in the snow, and generally tromping around on virgin snow.  There’s a path on the other side of the fence right behind our buildings, and people kept walking past and staring at us, probably wondering why the hell we were swearing at the not-quite-packing-quality snow, but then we laughed at the teenagers trying to “ski” down the side of a ditch, so really, it all evened out.

"Snow Angel" by Yours Truly

My bonhomme de neige.

Sergio's (the Spanish assistant) snowman, Jules Caesar.

Verity's "Failed Attempt/Replica of Her Hat."

My second snow-woman: "Princess."

My hair doing a pretty impressive job of defying gravity.

Snow!

Sergio, being from Spain, had never seen so much snow at once before.

Verity got snow down her pants after log rolling. Ha.

Sergio got in on the log rolling, too, only after I assured him he wouldn't get too wet or too flu-y.

After we parted, I learned of the transport cancellation, and Verity discovered an article about the locals using the hill by the Lac de la Monnerie as a snow hill — yay and boo respectively.  So here’s hoping for another ‘icy road day’ tomorrow, because all of that “work” I did today means I have actual work to do tomorrow.  And the real work I did today will be for nothing, but I invoke the Fourth Rule of Being in France: I’ll Deal.

(Side note: do you like the bigger pictures? I can't decide.)