Welcome to my Medieval Digs
Adventures in Lyon, Misadventures in Chateaus, and my tours in Tours
8/22/2021
Greetings from Spain! I’m back to gear up for my Camino (but more on that next time).
It’s been a busy, busy two weeks so buckle up.
Lyon: August 4 to 7
I had three days to kill between my stay at Jouques (here’s my recap on that) and my stay with the Ursuline community in Tours, France.
I pretty much looked at a map and picked a city between the two, settling on Lyon (especially after hearing it’s the cuisine capital of the world).
After a kind family at the abbey in Jouques dropped me off at my bus stop, I took my bus to Aix-en-Provence (shoutout to the best quiche I’ve ever had) and a train to Lyon.
I jumped into my ~luxurious~ bottom bunk late at night after a day of extensive travel, feeling a little underwhelmed after walking from the train station to the hostel. It wasn’t what I would call the safest looking area and I was a bit disappointed after hearing about how beautiful the city was. The hostel was also one of the worst I’ve stayed in, with reports of theft coming from many of my bunk mates (I survived unscathed…or perhaps the thieves didn’t want my stuff).
I woke up the next day worried about how I would fill two days here. Looking at the map, I walked towards the Rhône River, resolute to see downtown. Fifteen minutes later, my jaw dropped.
Turns out the hostel is in the worst part of the city (thanks to hostelworld for the false “right in city center!” description).
Lyon is stunning: Renaissance facades, Roman ruins, charming French restaurants with red checkered tablecloths, whimsical street art, and ornate Cathedrals.
I decided to go on a free walking tour to get a feel for the city (traveler pro tip: all major cities have free walking tours and all you have to do is tip!). I love these tours because you usually meet other backpackers and young people who are traveling alone.
Our guide was hilariously adamant about the supremacy of Lyon as a French city…but he had a point. As far as cuisine, history, and atmosphere are concerned, Lyon is my favorite place in France.
While I could go on an on about Gallo-Roman ruins, original Renaissance buildings, and silk-spinner tunnels, the most important thing I learned was that the Disney clastic, Ratatouille, is actually based on a restaurant in Lyon, not Paris! This was a serious blow to my esteem for the capital city.
Speaking of food (and rats?), I had some of my best meals in the city. After meeting Slade, a South African student at my hostel who is also traveling Europe, we decided to meet up to tour and get food. We ended up trying a classic epicerie in downtown, eating the very best charcuterie board I’ve ever had. Pâté, salami, prosciutto, cured ham, fresh cheese, and warm bread. This is culture! This is France!
Side note on Slade: during my solo travels I’ve been fortunate enough to encounter really fascinating and especially kind people. Spending the day with Slade reminded me that most people are good, most people are friendly. I’m often a culprit of the northeastern mentality: get your work done, focus on the people close to you, and no time for this sharing-my-truth-with-others BS. But I’ve had some of the best conversations of my life about faith, food, travel, and friendship with people like Slade, or Alicia in Jouques, or Jose & friends in Krakow (thanks for the beers!). Be open (while also being cautious, of course) and you’ll encounter more good than bad.
The next day I resolved to try more of the local cuisine by visiting two of the city’s famous local markets, buying two regional cheeses, one tradition salami, and a freshly baked baguette. (Note on baguettes: the stereotype that French people walk around with baguettes is 100% true, maybe even understated. On the streets of every single city, I’ve seen them in backpacks, bike baskets, shopping bags, and most commonly, tenderly cradled like a baby. I even encountered the mythical baguette vending machine).
I sat down in a park and had an impeccable meal, enjoying the simplicity and utter quality of French food.
That night I met up with my brother’s exchange family, the Fachons. They took me out to dinner on the Rhône River. It was a hamburger restaurant! As a proud American I feel quite bad to admit it was the best burger I’ve ever had…in France. Oh the horror.
Nice atmosphere, good company, and GREAT eats…Lyon was a 10/10.
Tours, France: August 7-13
Ok moving on because this is not an eating fellowship (though the line is wearing thin)…
I took a train from Lyon to Paris and a bus from Paris to Tours where I would meet the Ursuline sisters, the original inspiration for my fellowship proposal. As a former student of an Ursuline school, I was always inspired by the Ursulines’ ability to exemplify servant leadership through their motto of Serviam, “I will serve.” Tours would be my first taste of this lifestyle in action.
As frivolous as it sounds, being able to navigate trains, buses, and subways is extremely empowering. I now feel like I can get anywhere I need to be. Navigation has always been difficult for me (right Mandy!?), so small victories, like getting from Lyon to Tours, always make me feel grateful for this fellowship and the chance I have to challenge myself.
I got off the bus, looking for the Ursuline sister who kindly offered to pick me up. After fifteen minutes of searching, we started emailing each other:
Me: “I’m wearing black pants, a tshirt, and a giant backpack”
Her: “I’m wearing religious clothing”
So off I went, picturing the long black habits and traditional veils worn by the Benedictine sisters at Jouques.
But when I finally found Soeur Hélène, I was surprised to see a pinned-on veil, revealing some of her hair, and a regular blue sweater and mid-length shirt. She was also wearing Birkenstocks (my shoe of choice).
Just the outfit was the first sign that my stay in Tours would be very different from that in Jouques.
The Ursuline convent in Tours is right in the middle of the city, next to the famous Cathédrale Saint-Gatien de Tours. Just a five minute walk away is Tours’ main drag, where all the best restaurants and cafes line the street. And best of all, in two minutes, you can reach the sunning Loire River.
These sisters know a little thing or two about prime real estate.
The convent itself was remarkable. Originally a cluster of medieval buildings, it’s built right on top of the ruins of a Gallo-Roman amphitheater.
The structure has been used for dozens of different purposes over the ages. My wing of the houses, particularly, was used by nuns in the medieval ages as a refuge for women.
“Oh how nice - Just like me!”
“Well it was for prostitutes,” shared Sister Françoise.
Though quite a different setting than rural Jouques, the kindness and hospitality of the sisters filled me with the same feeling of joy. I know it’s crazy to say, but every time I’ve been taken in by religious communities, I get rather emotional. Going off a random e-mail, these nuns were willing to take me in, feed me, pray with me, and give me the privilege of a private look into their daily lives. And they do it with the utmost happiness, simply content with the knowledge that I have a safe place to stay.
It’s really just little things that mean the most. From the get-go, the sisters showered me with little gestures of welcome; when Soeur Hélène showed me to my room, I found a bunch of blank postcards to send home to friends and family. Another sister had left a 2001 scrapbook from her visit to Ursuline Academy in Dedham, MA, my high school!
The sisters at Tours are mostly retired or semi-retired, another difference from the sisters at Jouques who were working to run their agricultural enterprise. Many of the Ursuline sisters spent their earlier years as teachers (as many Ursulines do) and then went into leadership in schools or in the Ursuline order itself. In retirement, they work in the community and in academic study. For the Ursulines at Tours, many spend time researching Saint Marie de l’Incarnation and running a little museum on her life (but more on her later).
Sister Françoise became my buddy throughout the trip, showing me around Tours and teaching me about Saint Marie de l’Incarnation, a 17th century Tours native and Ursuline nun.
The remarkable thing about Sister Françoise is that she is practically blind, yet knows her way throughout Tours as if there is a map emblazoned in her memory. My first day at the convent, she took me on a conventional tour, pointing out landmarks and explaining the history of the city. My favorite part was getting to see all of the original medieval houses, many of which are continually inhabited.
On one of the last days of my visit, Soeur Françoise took me on a mini-pilgrimage, visiting all the sites important to Marie de l’Incarnation’s life in Tours. We saw the house she may have lived in, the churches she prayed in, the docks she worked on, and the convent she resided in when she got her calling to go to the New World. Remarkably, Marie set out as one of the first religious women to minister in French Canada. Her utter bravery was rooted in a trust in God’s calling. I can’t even imagine how frightening her journey and subsequent life in the New World would have been. For me, Marie has become an inspiration for women traveling alone!
One of the best parts about spending time with Soeur Françoise was getting to witness her enthusiasm for historical sites and their fascinating stories. She vividly told me the story of St. Martin as we visited his crypt in Tours. Despite not being able to see most of the church, she pointed out stain glass and different architectural features, simply sensing them from memory. Aside from this being generally impressive, her ability to give tours like this is a sign of her deep selflessness; she gave up hours to show me things she herself cannot see.
Serviam is a lifestyle that calls one to dedicate each little aspect, skill, and talent to God and the service of others.
In that spirit, I wanted to help the sisters out any way I could (though I quickly found that they are quite too capable to keep me totally busy). But I did help out with a couple of small projects; clearing out a yard at their student property, breaking down boxes, washing windows, and mainly helping with convent upkeep. I also wanted to make them something “American,” settling on chocolate chip cookies (I had to use a scale to measure ingredients… ah the metric system).
These were meager attempts to embody the quiet but powerful Serviam that the sisters live each day.
What hit me the most was their everyday intentionality. Each action was done thoughtfully, with an eye to God and each other. For instance, during “offices,” their morning and evening prayers, the five or six sisters (depending on the day) did everything in their power to make their hymns special and beautiful. It’s a bit difficult to explain, but I was really touched by the fact that in their own private home, they made the effort to harmonize when they sang while Soeur Hélène played the citar (impeccably, I might add) with each hymn. The blessings before and after the meal gave me a similar feeling; the sisters sang in harmonies, praising God for their nourishment.
They put deep effort into typical tasks, completing them as beautifully as possible. I see these as little dedications to God throughout the day. That’s what Serviam is about — putting faith and love into even the most ordinary of actions.
There was also more obvious forms of Serviam. Soeur Hélène quickly became a role model in her quiet devotion to each of her sisters. As the current leader of the community, she oversees the running of the house. This includes stocking the home, making sure it stays tidy, overseeing the rental property, and other organizational tasks. She also helps out with the local parish.
Even in what can be seen as a “normal” job, Soeur Hélène gives her heart and soul to her sisters and others. It’s little gestures, like making sure everyone has something to eat before she does. Or organizing visits to see older sisters in the nursery home. She radiates generosity.
Leaving the Ursuline convent was bittersweet. I was excited to head to Paris to see Nick, my brother who’s visiting me. At the same time, I was touched by the love and care the sisters had shown me, feeling I was practically leaving a family behind.
In my last morning “offices” with the sisters, Soeur Hélène offered up an intention asking God to keep me safe and to cultivate my faith as I continue on this journey. I was choked up; I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude knowing that so many are rooting for me.
Most people I encounter on this fellowship aren’t exactly what I’m doing (sometimes I’m even a bit confused). One of the sisters’ favorite jokes I made was that I can hardly explain my fellowship in English, let alone in rusty French.
But despite the somewhat unclear path of this fellowship, both the Ursulines and the Benedictines have been enthusiastic about my attempt to think about faith and my place in the world. And the more time I spend with them, the more I think I’m uncovering the grand point of all of this: how to be happy, how to feel fulfilled in whatever you do.
Like I said earlier, the Ursulines and Benedictines at Jouques live wildly different lives: the Benedictines are cloistered farmers and the Ursulines are former teachers who friend me on Facebook. Nevertheless, both communities radiated a similar kind of joy. They are unfettered by the search for purpose that my peers and I (and even some adults I know) so often struggle with. Their actions are for others, it’s as simple as that.
When I think about what stresses me out the most, it is often related to getting something for myself. How do I get better grades? A good job? Enough money? I have a million priorities that usually end in “me.”
These sisters have two priorities: God and others.
I hope to figure out what about this mode of life creates joy and how it can be applied to my secular life (and yours). But I’m not exactly there yet…good thing there’s lots more journeying ahead of me…
P.S. You never forget how to ride a bike…sike
So I wanted to continue my little day excursions, feeling so empowered by my last one in Marseille (check out my hike here!).
What could be more ~aesthetically pleasing~ and ~romantic~ than a bike ride through the Loire Valley to see some of France’s famous Chateaus!? The beautiful sunflower fields, the bails of hay, the little crêpe shops on the side of the road. How quaint! How provincial! I was going to be the modern Princess Belle.
So there I went! I put on a cute linen outfit, wanting to dress the part for my provincial adventure and set out to the bike rental shop. First, to get the ball rolling on the aesthetics, I stopped for an outdoor cappuccino and croissant in Tours’ downtown. The day was off to a great start.
I got to the rental shop and my good fortune continues; a cute French guy just my age is helping me out, giving me tips on which castle to visit. Villandry it is! Oh la la!
I hoped on my bike, confident that biking through the city to the river trail would be a breeze. After all, as the saying goes, you never forget how to ride a bike!
Turning off the cobblestone streets onto the main road toward the river, I thought with a smile on my face, what a lovely day this is going to be.
Biking in France sucks. I hate it.
Oh and forgetting how to ride a bike? I was definitely moving, but I wouldn’t call it biking. The worst part was just making the damn thing stand up. It fell on me every. single. time. And navigating through a city? As to not startle my mother, I’ll just say it was slightly hazardous (I didn’t know how to use hand signals and thus, how to cross the street).
So I’m definitely being dramatic but it was one of those days where each little thing went wrong compounded by the fact that it was a million degrees out.
I got to the castle relatively successfully (as in I didn’t die), only dropping my bike on my shin once. Sure, I was gushing blood, but I kept telling myself “don’t sweat the small stuff!” With zero shade on this God forsaken bike path, I was going to sweat the small, big, and in between stuff.
I got to the castle and fought my way through tourists to get a spot on the bike rack. Dropped bike on my foot again. But you have! to! stay! positive!
Walking into the beautiful chateau, I took a deep breath and reminded myself it’s a privilege to see sights like this. The gardens were, after all, magnificent.
Magnificent andddddd hot.
I rushed through the elaborate hedges and vegetable patches in order to get on my bike before the temperature hit the high-90s.
On my way back the bike’s bottle holder kept catching on my pants, almost throwing me over the handlebars. After multiple attempts to adjust it, I ripped the damn thing off in a blind rage. Honestly I might have screamed but it’s all a blur.
And then I got hungry. This was really the nail in the coffin. There was only one snack shack on the 20 kilometer path. I got in line, hoping that it didn’t that long to make crepes. At minute 30, I marched off in a huff to my bike which immediately fell on my shin, again, and I biked off.
Oh, but maybe the day is saved! A famous French blackberry bush! And to top it off, it was on the side of a beautiful sunflower field. I hopped off my bike and started picking some of the sweetest blackberries I’ve ever tasted. How quaint! How French!
I went off on my way, proud of my ingenuity. I was really channeling my hunter-gatherer ancestry.
But oh no, that would be too simple.
I got an allergic reaction all over my legs from the grass around the berry bush.
I got into the city after a 40 minute detour (thanks to a Google map blunder that sent me biking down a highway). I stormed into the rental shop and handed the boy the broken water bottle holder without an explanation, dripping with sweat and sheer rage.
Beginning of the day ^ oh how naive!
End of the day ^
Au revoir for now!