Reclaiming Chateau Landon
A tale of failed revenge
The title of worst uncle in the world was unanimously granted to me when I failed to acknowledge my nephew’s birthday, Christmas, or other holiday celebrations for the first seven years of his life. When the curious child asked who the, to him unknown, person in the old family albums was, my honest brother and sister-in-law answered, “He’s your uncle.”
When the child asked why he never received gifts and greetings from this uncle, he was, again truthfully informed:
Wisely, my nephew showed a keen interest in learning all about the wider world. He joined the cadets. His school selected him to go to the Model UN. He was in a French immersion class.
The latter would be put to use many years later.
It almost led us to a life as European aristocrats.
My father loves genealogy.
My nephew’s father took no interest in it.
“Why do you spend time reading about a bunch of dead people?”
In December 2009, the stars aligned.
Our entire family would be together to celebrate Christmas. We’re not a large family, but this has only happened three times since 1978.
2009 was the year my father’s love of genealogy finally paid a dividend. Even my brother took an interest in it.
While studying our family history my father found a note.
The note had a picture of our great great great and several more greats grandfather. Part of the description was in French and contained the word “chateau”.
There was only one conclusion. We are European aristocrats!
We celebrated our newly discovered royal status.
Our only uncertainty were the bits in French.
Enter the nineteen-year-old nephew who went to French immersion school when he was seven.
He read the article and confirmed that our Royal forefather had been unceremoniously removed from his chateau in France and forced to retreat to England.
We immediately began planning the plot that would lead to a life of luxury when we reclaimed our castle.
The family quickly decided that my wife and I would lead the first wave of attack.
This was decided not because I had been a spy in Antarctica. It was not decided because I was a regular guest at the US State Department and had been given a framed flag that had once flown over the DC headquarters.
The decision was made because my wife and I lived in Brussels. In other words, we could reclaim our castle without emptying the gas tank in our car. The attack on Chateau Landon would be an environmentally friendly assault.
We put our thinking caps on…
Our planning was meticulous.
In May alone, I met government agents at one of the most exclusive hotels in Moscow, my mother-in-law shared wisdom with us, and we drank the most expensive glass of calvados you could get in the bar at a chateau that wasn’t ours.
OK, none of these things were about the attack. In Moscow, I met some fire engineers who certified the safety of one of our hotels. We cherished my mother-in-law’s visits to Brussels (and I look like a spy in this picture. The calvados was consumed on a weekend getaway to Château de Vault-de-Lugny. In addition to expensive Calva, it has France’s most beautiful indoor pool.
At 10:25 a.m. on May 5, 2010, a communiqué was sent from the advance team to HQ in Canada.
Hi Guys,
How are you? We are fine.
We haven't conquered the castle yet. That is the plan for next week.
I was wondering if you would be able to scan / send some of the
paperwork over that proves it is our castle so there won't be any
embarassing moments for the mayor / caretaker of Chateau - Landon
when we pull up and ask for the keys to the castle.
The coded message proves that we wanted a peaceful transition of the castle.
One week after that coded message, a final pre-attack note was sent to HQ.
The weather report still says it will be cold, but fearing that the extra weight will ruin our gas mileage, we will leave our Olympic mittens at home and brave the elements with bare hands. Fortunately the previously predicted rain seems to be holding off.
To properly prepare ourselves for the journey into what is now enemy territory but soon will be the land or our subjects, we will shortly retire to get a good night's rest before the conquering starts tomorrow. But first, there is some cultural prep to be done, so we will now enjoy a glass of wine and a bite of cheese.
Tomorrow's message will hopefully be sent from the throne but due to the smell of this cheese, I will refrain from predicting which throne the mail will be sent from...
We met fierce resistance even before we crossed the border between Belgium and France.
…a rock chip on our windscreen, an hour-long queue at the French border, and a couple of torrential downpours disrupted our drive to Chateau Landon
There was more resistance when we finally rolled into the village where our castle is the most prominent structure.
Petanque players in the town square stopped and stared when our foreign-registered vehicle rolled in.
Even worse, the tourist office was closed. There were no government officials around. We couldn't stake our rightful claim. We suspect a mole had leaked information about our pending arrival.
The planning, the assault, and the dejection of finding a “Fermé” sign on the tourist office door had taken its toll. We were tired and needed coffee.
The door to the village café creaked open. Inside, the petanque players from the square were cowering in a corner. First a Belgian car and now non-Belgian foreigners asking for coffee in a weird accent that the barista had trouble with. Fortunately, they only served café. No “au lait”, no “sucre”. We silently sipped our drinks. It was eerily quiet.
Sensing the tension and fearing a retaliatory ground assault, we slipped back out the door and headed to Montargis, the “Venice of the Gatinais”.
In Montargis, we sought refuge in the Hotel Central, perhaps because its internal corridors were decorated with murals of happy monks.
It seemed appropriate to eat Italian in “Venice”, so we had pizza and wine at “Ristorante Roma” before our final retreat to Woluwe St. Pierre in Brussels the following day.
The rest of the story…
From the pages of Fontainbleu Tourisme, comes this abridged version of the history of “our castle”.
Burned by fire, stolen by bandits, ruined during the French Revolution, during centuries the abbey has been refurbished several times. During the reign of Philippe Auguste end of the 12th century, was a main point changing the abbey giving it its aspect of fortress still remaining today. The convent building is linked to its rocky ridge its wide façade towards the valley is supported by mighty bases and buttresses, a round tower, containing a staircase, is protection towards the valley and possible invaders. Later, other centuries, 15th and 16th, left traces of architectures periods of refurbishments.
Until the French Revolution, the Augustin monks order stayed here before the abbey was sold as a national good and partially destroyed or transformed into accommodations for residents. Hundred years later the Ouvré family became owner of the abbey. One of their family members donated the building to the Seine-et-Marne Department in order to use it for elder poor people use since 1892. Today the abbey is a nursing home.
In other words, it’s in much better hands, doing much more good than if our plot had been successful…
Stay safe, Always Care
Written with the clarity of hindsight, the accuracy of a faded memory, and countless creative liberties, 87 Stories is a journal of how my gap year lasted four decades, made me an emigrant, an immigrant and gave me a life I never dreamed of.
In addition to my love for writing, I’m an educator and a consultant with a passion for hotels, hospitality, and keeping people safe during their travels.
I also write for
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Great story, Paul! I recently discovered, through dna, that I'm related to a high status Viking woman buried in Scotland. Perhaps I should consider a trip to reclaim Denmark. Could be fun.
I'm assuming the real goal was just to see the castle? Or was it really more?