[Scene: lights up on a French street, morning. Accordion player on one side of paved road]
Lindsey: I'm walking down a French road to the strains of an accordion. Could it get more French?
Charlotte: Living the Dream.
[End scene]
We were on our way to Charlotte's bank to exchange my US dollars for Euros. Unfortunately, the only place that would exchange the money was the post office on the other side of town. Well, we go to the post office with my two $100 bills and a $20. We wait for our number to be called, taking the opportunity to further remark on the flexibility of European fashion (more on that later). After all that walking and waiting in line, when our number is called, this is what we get: "French jumble buffet croissant oui ooh la la french words." (Apparently, speaking French is all the craze in France). Well, it ends up that my two $100 bills were both printed in 1996, and in that year, the US had a big problem with $100 bill forgeries. So, the French post office would have to send my bills away to exchange them! What are the chances that the two bills I had were from the one year of forgery hullabaloo? I sure hope they aren’t forgeries, but more I hope that I can get them exchanged in Italy. The story ends with my walking out of the post office with 15.40 in Euros and $200 USDs. Charlotte was wonderful and paid for everything …
… Everything, that is, except for milkshake frais and train tickets to the chateau! Yes, you read it right – strawberry milkshakes and a castle. After the slightly successful money exchange, we grabbed milkshakes for the train trip to Meung-sur-Loire (where the castle is!). The milkshake tasted like Nestle strawberry syrup mixed in soft-serve icecream and it was wonderful. (I ordered it myself: “Doo milkshake frez, see voo play.”) Then Charlotte and I did our traditional Lindsey-holds-out-her-Euro-coins-in-her-palm-and-Charlotte-picks-out-the-appropriate-amount.
Milkshakes in hand, we hopped a train and headed to the Chateau Meung-sur-Loire. (Pronounced Mung, it’s assuredly the most romantic-sounding city in France). It was not yet opened, so we took a quick stroll through the church [pictured at left]. The thing to know about churches in France is that the ceilings are at least 18 meters tall, roughly 3 stories (I’m assuming anything less would be an offense to God). This particular church was built approximately a-freaking-long-time-ago, and featured flying buttresses and frescoes.
We stopped in this cute little French restaurant for lunch, where we got pizza. But this was not the same pizza I served at Uno’s Chicago Grill. The crust was like Texas toast, the sauce was a cheese cream, and it was topped with slices of brie, chunks of potatoes, and sausage straight off the pig. It was in this cute little restaurant that I learned how lobsters mate. Also of note, at the table behind us was a man with a mullet. Fantastic.
After lunch, we headed off to the castle! And here, I will leave in horrible suspense – come back tomorrow for Day Deux, Part Deux.
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