Leaving the Château: From Angoulême to Paris

 Leaving the Château: From Angoulême to Paris

There is always a moment on a wonderful trip when the direction changes.

For days, we had been going out from the Château. We drove to villages, wandered through markets, explored churches and ruins, photographed fields and forests, and then returned each evening to the familiar gates of Château Marouatte.

This morning, we were going the other way.

We were leaving.

After saying goodbye to the Château, we made our way back to Angoulême and the train station. My destination was Paris Montparnasse, and from there I would begin the final chapter of my French adventure.

A Little Change of Plans

Travel, of course, likes to remind you that schedules are merely aspirations.

My phone originally showed my OUIGO train, No. 7652, departing Angoulême at 9:22 a.m. Then came the warning symbol and the update: 9:42.

Twenty minutes.

After everything involved in getting a group packed, out of the Château and to the station, twenty minutes hardly seemed like a crisis. I was where I needed to be, my ticket was on my phone, and eventually I was aboard.

Coach 1, seat 115.

I even photographed the little seat marker above the window: 113, 114, 115. There is something reassuring about finding that tiny number after navigating a train station with luggage. Yes. This is my place.

The Suitcase Gets a Seat

One of the practical realities of traveling through France by train is luggage.

My burgundy suitcase had been an excellent traveling companion, but this morning it became an especially close one.

There it was beside me, tucked into the seating area, bright pink luggage tag and green strap making it absolutely impossible to mistake for anyone else’s. My black bag occupied the neighboring seat for a while, and suddenly my little collection of belongings seemed to represent the entirety of my life on the move.

A member of the OUIGO staff came through the carriage checking passengers and tickets. Around me were the ordinary scenes of train travel: people settling into turquoise seats, phones in hand, bags at their feet, conversations beginning and ending as the train moved north.

And then France began sliding past the window.

Watching the Countryside Change

I had spent the previous week looking carefully at the countryside around the Château, so I found myself doing the same thing from the train.

The landscape opened into enormous harvested fields, their surfaces golden and straw-colored beneath an extraordinary September sky. Heavy gray clouds hung low in places, but brilliant openings of blue appeared between them. Occasionally sunlight broke through and swept across a field like a spotlight.

From a fast-moving train, the foreground becomes a blur while the horizon remains remarkably calm.

I could see hedgerows, scattered farm buildings, utility poles, communications towers and long stretches of agricultural land already showing the transition toward autumn. In the distance, wind turbines appeared along the horizon.

The landscape was changing.

The intimate, wooded, rolling countryside I had become accustomed to around the Château was giving way to broad expanses of farmland. At one point I checked my map and could see where we were: near Oinville-sous-Auneau, Roinville, Aunay-sous-Auneau, Saint-Léger-des-Aubées and Santeuil, southwest of Paris.

On the satellite view, the countryside looked almost like a quilt.

Rectangles and irregular patches of green, tan, brown and gold spread across the screen. Looking out the window, I was traveling directly through that quilt.

There was something wonderful about seeing the geography both ways at once: the abstract patchwork from above on my phone and the actual fields racing past my window.

Back to Montparnasse

And then, gradually, rural France disappeared.

The train entered the Paris region, the landscape became denser, and eventually we arrived at Paris Montparnasse.

The transition was immediate.

After the quiet of the Château and the enormous openness of the countryside, Montparnasse was movement, luggage, escalators, shops, announcements and people heading in every possible direction.

And then I heard a piano.

Right there in the station was one of SNCF’s public pianos with the wonderful invitation:

À vous de jouer.

Your turn to play.

Someone had accepted the invitation.

A traveler sat at the piano playing while people hurried around him. Some stopped. Others listened while checking their phones. Suitcases stood beside their owners. A man paused nearby. For a few moments, an ordinary railway concourse became a tiny concert hall.

I loved it.

It felt quintessentially Parisian: art appearing in the middle of everyday life without requiring an appointment.

“You Have Reached Your Destination”

Finally, my phone displayed the message:

Angoulême → Paris Montparnasse

You have reached your destination.
Thank you for traveling with OUIGO!

Such an ordinary little notification, and yet it felt much more significant than that.

Yes, I had reached Paris.

But I had also reached the end of one part of this journey.

I had arrived at the Château as a visitor. I left carrying photographs of ancient stone walls, village streets, churches, markets, meals, fields, forests, extraordinary skies and people gathered around a dinner table. I had explored rooms simply because a door was ajar. I had walked the grounds in golden light. I had photographed the Milky Way above the Château. I had listened to bells ring across old French villages and learned to notice details I might once have walked straight past.

Now all of that was behind me geographically, but certainly not gone.

The train had carried me north through the French countryside and deposited me back into the bustle of Paris.

My suitcase was still beside me.

My camera roll was considerably fuller.

And the trip wasn’t over yet.

Paris was waiting.