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Published: March 18th 2011
Door From the Street
It looks like a lot of the other doors on the street and would be easy to miss if you didnt know right where it was. I may have missed it a couple of times in the first week. The name of my street is Clocheville. It is located very near the heart of old town Tours and there is very rarely a parking spot within three blocks. When I first arrived i had the choice between two places, neither one of which seemed at first glance to be very homey. The difference between the two was simple; the first choice was older, more rustic, and lacked conveniences like a shower or a washing machine; while the second choice was compact, sterile, and had everything to make life easy. The more rustic of the two was within walking distance to most of the interesting things in the city and it had a familiar smell that seemed to be like an old friend welcoming me in. Maybe it was the bigger kitchen or maybe just the familiar smell but I figured it was only going to be a few month so I chose the more rustic of the two Who needs to shower anyway.
I'm unsure of the history of the building but I know it is a very old place. That smell that is hard to describe but seems like stale cement is one I have only come across in
Clocheville
Can you find my door? Of course the one time i take a picture there are a million parking spaces on the street. It rarely looks like this. Europe, and only a few times. First I remember the smell most distinctly from visiting my Oma in Germany when I was in the fifth grade. Its not a bad smell or one that is even very strong its simply a very distinct odor of aging, cold cement. The second time I came across this aroma was when I first played volleyball over seas in Switzerland. There too the building was very old and very often frost bitten on the outside. So here I am again with an old acquaintance and things have been going very well.
I spend most of my time in the kitchen listening to the radio while I cook or clean. In the evenings after dinner I generally retire to the living room where I will watch a movie or catch up on some correspondence. When I'm finished there and I've lost all my coordination to tiredness I then have to carefully navigate my way up the steepest staircase in history. One more degree vertical and I think it would technically be classified as a ladder(as of today, no accidents......yet). Once upstairs my bedroom awaits with its 100 year old wood beams and slanted ceilings. I
Cool Key
After I've found parking and the correct door the biggest key I've ever been given has to be used. Also there is a cool door knocker whom I have yet to name. brush my teeth in front of a mirror that is at eye level for Napoleon and empty my bladder almost always hitting my head on the slanted ceiling. When I finally curl up under the 200 pound beam I am serenaded to sleep by the sound of running water as the heating system makes sure I dont freeze to death during the night.
My small house has slowly become my home and as comforting as the smell was when I first arrived I dont even notice it any more. More evidence that Chateau De Clocheville is now, at least temporarily, home. Thats all for now.
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jon muench
non-member comment
love the blog
Love reading about your travels. Save them and write a book someday! Ah, the city of Tours, the city of St Martin, the city where Martel stopped the onslaught of the Sarecens, the favorite resting place of French Kings...