A Trip to Scotland Part 1 of 6 by KimB

[Editor's Note: This story is a many part story written by KimB.
The series will be published weekly]

In my late teens I had the opportunity to study in France. Adventures abounded all throughout my years living there. Some where good and some not so good, but all were wonderful in their own ways.

I had inherited a car from my brother who had returned to the USA. And while our views about this car may differ it had one constant characteristic while I owned it: it was always breaking down. This unique feature of the car lead to all sorts of adventures and unexpected turns of events.

I had been in France for some time studying at the University of Bordeaux. How I ended up at the University of Bordeaux is an entirely different set of adventures than the one I am telling now. Perhaps sometime in the future I will explain how I ended up in Bordeaux at all, since my original destination was the French Mediterranean City of Montpelier.

Never-the-less, I was in Bordeaux and decided I wanted to take a trip. Other adventures had taken me around much of central and southern France so I decided I would go to Scotland. It was February and I thought that it would be a good time to take a few weeks from school for a holiday. There is something special about being 19 – you are not working on a full deck yet and Scotland in February sounded just fine to me.

I took the car in for a check up and told the mechanic I was planning a trip. I told him I was planning to go to Scotland for a few weeks and could he please see that the car was running properly. He said: “You are going to SCOTLAND? NOW?.... I'd better add some more anti-freeze....” Like I said, being 19 you are not working with a full deck yet.

The day of departure came and I handed a bag of cat food to my neighbor who promised to look after my cat while I was away. I put my sports-bag of clothes and my guitar in the car and headed north. It was wonderful weather, cool and clear. I knew most of the roads going to Paris and I determined I would stop at any spot that took my fancy. I wanted to see all the châteaux in the Loire Valley on the way north.

One of my favorites is Château Chenonceau. By the time I made the trip I spoke very good french and was well versed in French History. I knew a great deal about the history of this château and that many great historical people had lived in it. I knew that Mary of Scotland had grown up in France and was betrothed and married to the Heir of the French Throne – Francis, Le Dauphin. When he became King of France, she became Queen but only for a short while. When he died, Mary was forced to return to Scotland and her life took a totally different turn of events. Mary's Scots Guards had carved their names into the wall of the chapel there – a sort of “Kilroy was here” graffiti. Catherine de' Medici had lived in the château while she plotted the futures of the Kings of France and Europe. Not only was it a beautiful place but the history of Europe once revolved around the corridors.

The château is not a large one and most tourists are in and out in 30 minutes or so. I spent hours walking along looking at everything. There is a grand ballroom that stretches across the river. I looked at every tile and decoration covering the floors and walls. I walked the halls over and over. In France most fireplaces are not small sedate things; they are large enough to burn whole trees in. In the main hall the large fireplace had huge trees burning in it and was the only source of heat in the castle.

After looking at everything, I decided I should make some notes in my diary. So I went to the main hall and sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace and took out my pen and notebook. Not too long a time passed before one of the guards came over to see what I was doing.

We had a wonderful chat. He was so impressed with my french and my knowledge of the château that we talked a long time about the place. After a bit, he said, “You must be uncomfortable sitting on the floor like that?” I assured him I was fine; the fire was warm and if it was not against the rules to sit there, I would be OK. “No,” he insisted, “I will make it better for you.” He then walked across the hall and picked up one of the chairs lining the wall and brought it for me to sit in! I protested it was a valuable museum piece and I couldn't possible sit in it. I can tell you one thing, you will never win an argument with a Frenchman, so don't even try. So I sat in the chair in front of the fireplace.

A bit more time passed and he came back to say the château would be closed for lunch but if I wanted he would lock me inside the castle to continue my writing during the lunch period. I readily agreed and as he left I heard the great lock click on the front doors.

So, I sat in the chair in front of the great fireplace in the Château Chenonceau, alone in the castle where great events had taken place. Where Mary of Scotland's fortunes had changed, where Catherine de' Medici had hosted great parties and fireworks that shot across the river. Where the Kings and Queens of France had once lived and wrote in my diary: the memories of a 19 year American Girl on her way to Scotland in February.