Introducing a New Category: Castle Pr0n. Which *actually* should have occured when the Adjutant visited Jolly Old and sent John a pic of something that looked like it'd been built about the time Merlin was still learning how to make zwieback disappear.
All the link pics are Hi-Rez, 'cuz you guys *deserve* Hi-Rez.
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"You're lost."
"Why do you say that? There's only one road west out of Beaune and we're on it."
"Because I haven't seen any signs for Rochepot."
"Nope. You won't, either. The French figure that if you know you're on the only road to La Rochepot, signage is superfluous."
"How many miles have we gone?"
"Kilometers. They use kilometers here. Eight or so kilometers from that last farmhouse, so about five miles."
"We should have been there already. You're lost. We're never gonna get there!"
Then, right on cue, we rolled out of the curve at the top of the hill and we got there.
Of course, I also went for the classic dorm-wall travel poster shot...
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"You are Americans, yes?" From the waitress at a café in Beaune.
"Yes." *grin* "Is my accent that bad?"
"It's the lack of accent. You don't speak like a German or an English. Where do you go next from here?"
"Lyon."
"Pffff. You won't like Lyon -- it's like Paris, but smaller. Beaune is much nicer, and you can drink the same wines you'd be drinking in Lyon, except less expensive. We make it here and send it there, so you just pay for the wine, you don't pay for the wine and the truck. And the food is much better."
She had Kate the Luddite Wife at "wine"...
And our waitress understated the food.
Later in the afternoon, during my third double espresso: "Have you seen La Rochepot? It's very famous. No? Good -- that's where you will go right after breakfast. Naturally, you will spend the night in Beaune, in the lovely hotel across the street."
"Uhhh -- your parents wouldn't be the owners of this convenient hotel, by any chance?"
"No, my cousin's parents do. But my mother runs the restaurant and my father tends the winery and is the somelier."
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Meanwhile, back at La Rochepot, I'd finished navigating the two-door skateboard through the town main drag (one oxcart wide) and up the forward slope to the castle parking lot. And, as luck would have it, the drawbridge was down. Up to the ticket clerk, plunk down twenty euros for one adult and one adult-sized Luddite and into a postage-stamp courtyard that looked like the dry run for the Versailles gardens. If you'd been teleported in, you'd realize *toot-sweet* that, showy or not, the folks who'd called this place "home" were serious about security -- the normal homeowner just isn't concerned enough about withstanding a siege to dig a well 72 meters down through solid rock.
Naturally, KtLW just *had* to see what 72 meters looked like.
Took her about a minute to realize she would *not* be able to see through the oaken cover about three inches down. The mailing tube is from her *first* visit to the souvenir shop.
Oh, yeah -- that pretty design on the roof you noticed in the long shot of the place isn't just an interesting pattern of weathering. They did some serious upgrades in the 16th Century with glazed tiles (I almost backed into the oubliette getting that shot -- fortunately, it hadn't been occupied since 1789 or so).
Oh, yeah -- another clue that this wasn't just a baronial summer home with an extreme makeover is the Fear Me portrait of one of the previous owners.
Except for the forelegs, he kinda looks like John getting set to play with a bayonet, doesn't he?
So much for the decorative stuff. Things that make a castle a *castle* on the morrow.
Firing ports. Embrasures. Murder holes.
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Just another fine service from the Castle Argghhh! staff -- traveling the hinterlands with a product of the Joisey Public School System so *you* don't have to...
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