One Sunday, as we were rumbling down the road in the red Peugeot on our way back home from the Amboise open-air market, Jennifer turned around and asked: “Hey … do you guys want to stop and see the Chanteloup Pagoda?”
I knew most of the hundreds of châteaux of the Loire Valley, but I had never heard of a French pagoda. Visions suddenly filled my head of dragon-emblazoned silk banners streaming from Gothic turrets, and manicured topiaries flanked by delicate, blooming cherry trees, and I knew I had to go see it.
As it turns out, the “Pagode de Chanteloup,” or the Chanteloup Pagoda, was built upon the remains of the château de Chanteloup, which belonged to the Duc de Choiseul, minster to Louis XV. Said Duke eventually offended the king in some way, shape, or form, as was wont to happen in those days, and Dukey found himself exiled to Chanteloup from 1770 to 1774. But his friends remained loyal to him, and in 1775, he directed his architect, Le Camus, to build the pagoda in honor of them.
(I’m assuming that the king had died, which made it possible for the Duke to build the pagoda and not get his head chopped off, but my guidebook falls short at this point.)
We pulled up to the deserted parking lot, parked the Peugeot, and tumbled out of the car, ready to take a quick trip to the Far East. But, horror of horrors, we discovered that the gate surrounding the park was chained shut … and the pagoda was closed for the season.
I pressed my nose against the chain link of the fence, looking forlornly at the pagoda in the distance. It was so far away, it looked like a toothpick sticking out of a cake. The visions of cherry trees wafted away like smoke on the breeze.
“Well,” one of the girls sighed, “Guess that’s it. We can’t get in.”
I caught Jennifer’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Couldn’t get in? With that tantalizing spire of the pagoda taunting us just beyond the barred gates? And knowing the European penchant for the not-best-kept-up “security” measures? Dare we use our super-secret-spy skills to break in to the pagoda’s park?
Before you could say invisible ink, Jennifer and I grabbed our cameras, wrapped our scarves around our necks, and headed off along the fence to see if we could find a weak point.
The intrigue and excitement quickly wore off as the marshy ground squished around our trainers. The fence was in shambles, but not severely, and the yard-wide trough running alongside the fence deterred us from attempting to actually climb over it. Our first super-spy mission, it seemed, would not end with accolades and a parade in our honor.
For five minutes we walked without seeing an opening. But, just as we were about to abort the mission and turn around, we spotted our chance: a section of fence had fallen down across the muddy ditch.
Aaugh! I’m falling! Run, Jennifer! Save yourself! |
Bravely, we leaped upon the fallen fencepost. Courageously, we fought aside the prickly bushes while carefully balancing our way across the ditch. Gracefully, we leaped, secret-agent style, onto the path on the other side … that led to our goal.
We still had a ways to walk, but we eventually snuck up to the second round of gates – much more securely locked than the first had been – and were able to get some pictures of the elusive pagoda.
Of course, the sign of any good agent is to know when to gracefully make an exit. We packed up our cameras and carefully made our way back the way we had entered.
The Chanteloup Pagoda. This picture will now self-destruct in five seconds. |
Anxiety did ensue at several occasions: one, when I almost fell in to the ditch, and two, every time we saw another car pull up alongside our Peugeot at the faraway entrance. I imagined emerging victorious at the padlocked gate, only to be padlocked myself as the French gendarmes handcuffed the stupid Americans for trespassing. Fortunately, neither the former nor latter happened.
“You look cold and wet,” one of the girls quipped as we crawled into the Peugeot. “I think I’ll wait and visit the pagoda in spring.”
Yes, I thought, as the Peugeot sputtered into life and we puttered out of the deserted parking lot. That probably would be the smart thing to do.
I watched in the rearview mirror as the pagoda spire shrank to the size of a splinter, and then disappeared behind us.
But I doubt it would be as much fun.
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