Orleans: An Elizabethan Experience in France

We were exhausted and nearing our wits end. It was getting dark as we returned to a plaza to again study the map of Orleans. People bustled past us on their way home from work. Suddenly, we heard a voice behind us, in halting but determined English: “Excuse me, can I help you?”

The Place:

Orleans straddles the Loire River just over 100 km southwest of Paris in France. After breakfast I walked with my friends to the Gare d’Austerlitz train station on the south bank of the Seine River near the heart of Paris. Just over two hours later we were arriving in Orleans on a cold February morning. 

The People:

I travelled to Orleans with my two long-time friends and my earliest travel companions from Canada, Tom and Bill. Without a doubt the most memorable person we met in Orleans was Elizabeth. A thirty-something single mother and nurse, Elizabeth made our stop in this small French city one that is impossible to forget. 

The Plot:

The Bike Shop in Orleans

After hopping off the train in Orleans, I triumphantly pulled out a few papers I had snipped from a guidebook and directed my friends and I towards a well reviewed hostel. Off we went, backpacks adjusted comfortably over our shoulders (this story comes courtesy of my pre-briefcasing days). Reaching the indicated address, we found more spokes than beds. Climbing some stairs to a nearby cafe lounge I inquired with the hostess. About a year ago the hostel had been sold and turned into a bike shop. Well, no matter. We wandered the streets to find an alternative. Three booked and serveral unappealing hostels later we began to consider if we might make a hasty retreat back to Paris.

Elizabeth d’Orleans

Tossing my crumpled guidebook pages in a nearby trash bin, I joined my friends gathered around a map of the city in a plaza. Studying the map for several minutes yielded no fruitful insights. However, it did keep us still enough for a happy meeting. Still facing the map we heard a kind voice behind us in halting but determined English: “Excuse me, can I help you?” A stout women with short hair and a kind smile, Elizabeth was wearing her nursing scrubs and had a small backpack slung over her shoulders, gripping the straps with both hands. After introducing ourselves and our plight she quickly declared, “your home is my home!” Misplaced pronouns aside, we understood and agreed to follow. Not quite being able to believe our luck, my friend discreetly took photos of landmarks to guide us back to the plaza in the event that we were being led into some sort of trap. Our worries were entirely misplaced. We were in for an amazing experience. 

French Hospitality in Orleans

Elizabeth’s son was away on a skiing trip for the weekend and she showed the three of us into his room where we made makeshift beds on the floor.  That first night she prepared a delicious soup followed by raclette with potatoes, meat, and cheese. Over the meal we talked about films and politics.  She made sure to offer us tea as we reclined on the couch before turning in for the night. 

Bill, Tom, and I joined Elizabeth the next afternoon to shop for our second meal together. After running through the list we had made and filling our cart, we made our way to the check-out line. Three 20-something Canadian men in tow behind Elizabeth she without a hint of embarrassment pulled a diaphragm off the shelf and added it to the goods we had procured. I turned beat red as the cashier smiled at us.  That night, we feasted on cheese and wine, followed by home-made crepes and ice cream. 

Exploring the City of Orleans

Elizabeth’s hospitality was the context within which we spent several days walking and exploring Orleans. By far the most impressive of the sites was the Cathedrale Saint-Croix. Its’ towering Gothic Buttresses had us straining our necks before we brought our gaze down to the stained glass windows depicting the story of the maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc. Indeed, one day in the city is enough to give you a sense of the connection it still feels with its saviour of 1429. At the centre of the city on the North side of the Loire River is a huge statue of Joan on her horse. Further, the city has preserved the house she stayed in during the siege of Orleans and it now is a museum that tells her story. 

Eating in Orleans

The first of our restaurant experiences in Orleans featured my pointing at an interesting sounding item on a French menu. The result was a sandwich soaked in cheese with an egg served sunny side up placed on top. Our animated server made the meal endurable. Undeterred, we set off the following day for another lunch, this time armed with a recommendation from Elizabeth. We arrived at Le Petit Bouchon on la rue de la Lionne at noon.

We entered, sat down, and greeted the formidable owner who responded in a thick throaty french accent. Without removing the cigar from his mouth he, still in French, listed our choice of dejeuner. Some of the regulars soon gathered around our table and translated, telling us the black sausage “is very nice”. Elizabeth later told us that pig’s blood is used to create the pigment. I was glad that fact was not explicit until the food was thoroughly digested. In fact, the meal was delicious. 

 Au Revoir to Orleans

It may be hyperbolic to say my experience in Orleans was formative, but it did leave an impression. The type of kindness Elizabeth showed us left a legacy. It showed a timid young man from Canada what an open mind and a willing spirit have to offer. It oriented me another degree toward the growing desire for a travel-oriented life. One of ceaseless pursuits. And now of briefcasing around the world.