Rocks in My Head

We recently spent a long weekend in Angers, a lovely small city in the Loire Valley that we thought might be an interesting place to live*.  While planning for the trip I took a look at the Michelin map to figure out the most interesting route. Now, you have to understand that the Michelin maps are much more than simple road maps. In addition to showing all the highways and byways of France, they point out such interesting sites as silos, (Silos? Bruce and I are still discussing the reasoning behind this.) bridges, chateaux, factories, abbeys, war memorials, spas, ruins, picnic grounds and dolmens. You’ve got to love a map that includes dolmens.

What, you might be asking, are dolmens? Simply put, they're rooms or chambers made out of huge flat rocks. They’re found in nearly every European country and as far east as China and Korea. Built during the Neolithic period, the oldest dolmens in Western Europe are about 7000 years old. Archaeologists aren’t exactly sure who built them or why. Most are oriented on an east-west axis and therefore have some connection with the rising and setting sun. Human bones and artifacts such as pottery shards have been found inside some chambers, leading one school of scholars to believe that the dolmens served a funerary purpose. Others believe that this is not the case; the bones often date to  later periods, indicating that the chambers were re-used as tombs, long after their initial construction. In the case of the Loire Valley dolmens, no bones have been found at all. It’s these mysteries surrounding the dolmens that make them interesting to so many people, myself included.

Color My World, Part 2.

I’ve become so accustomed to the dingy grey interiors of most European churches that I'm always surprised by the amount of color that was actually used in the Middle Ages. I’m not talking about the frescoes that decorate grand churches and small chapels; those fall under the heading of “ART,” a subject I don’t feel qualified to discuss. Instead, I’m talking about painted architecture: walls, columns, moldings, ceilings, vaults and statues. Any architectural element was a candidate for color.

Color My World

Before moving to France I ran my own historic preservation business. To make ends meet I took lots of different jobs: historic research, building investigations, conditions’ assessments and lighting design. To be honest, anything that got me into an old building made me happy, so I enjoyed all of these tasks. But nothing was more fun than a paint analysis project. To be part of the process in which a building casts off its ghostly white shroud to regain its original appearance is really a treat.

War and Remembrance: Oradour-sur-Glane

People often ask us why we moved to France. And for me the answer is, "Because of the history."  Here, no matter where you go, the past is always present. Every village has both a church from the Middle Ages and a monument to les enfants lost in World War I. In many areas the historic record stretches further back to include Roman ruins or even prehistoric cave dwellings that are more than 20,000 years old.

And of course the evidence of World War II is inescapable. From small roadside markers to immense submarine bases, the Second World War is tangible; here, you can literally reach out and touch it. And nowhere is the memory of the war more palpable, more graphic or more horrifying than in the small french town of Oradour-sur-Glane. 

Fortified Mills: The Final Four

To wrap up this series on fortified mills, I’d like to show you four more examples, each of which is architecturally unique or historically significant in its own way. If you have a favorite, I’d love to hear from you.

Fortified Mills, Part 2: In which we meet a Count

The watermill of La Salle is one of the least well-known, yet most impressive, of the fortified mills in the Entre-Deux-Mers region. But as spectacular as it is architecturally, La Salle holds a special place in my heart because of what happened when Bruce and I stumbled on it last summer.

In early August we were trying to track down some of the fortified mills that I had read about. Just outside of Cleyrac, as Bruce turned off the road onto a small dirt path we both saw the sign saying “Privé”. He, being a law-abiding citizen and former policeman, was all for turning around, but I nagged and hectored him into continuing “just a little bit further.” In this way we argued our way farther and farther from the main road; once we passed through an enormous stone gate it was clear, even to me, that we were on private property. As there was absolutely no place to turn around, we had no choice but to continue.

It's not just the wine that's fortified...

Happy 2014 to all of you! 

We're back in Bordeaux after visiting the States for a few weeks and I’m ready to start the second year of archi-trouve. I’ve decided to try a couple of things differently this year. To make archi-trouve more useful for those who might want to visit some of these sites I've decided to include a map with each blog post. (I'll do that just as soon as I figure out how.)  

Also, I’m hoping to write shorter posts and will try to get something out every week. And finally, over the next few weeks I’ll put together a glossary so that if there’s an unfamiliar architectural term in the text you can look it up right on the site. In the meantime, I'll define unusual words at the bottom of each post. And, as always, I'd love to hear from you. Questions? Comments? It's all welcome. 

Now, with the housekeeping out of the way, let’s get to this week’s subject: fortified mills!