Getting Married at a Castle with a Bollywood Twist

As the rumor goes, all French people live in a chateau and have an old butler with a moustache sorting out wine botles in the century-old cellar. Oops, hold your horses. Wasn't there a revolution too?

Yes, that's where the story stops. Since the 1789 Revolution and very sadly, NOT all French people live in a castle. Not to worry though. French chateaux haven't all been destroyed nor are they sitting idly surrounded by deep moats. As big chunks of real estates, castles have become a common recreational rental opportunity.

Hey, big formal rooms, ample kitchens, possibly tons of bedrooms (big on the noble second floor, small for servants under the roof) and if you're lucky, a nice view. What's not to like if you're organizing a wedding or family reunion?

The Chateau de La Gressiere where my friend Albane got married was privately owned and occupied until 1972. It still shows somehow.

The way the ballrooms have interconnected electrical wires (can't switch off ceiling chandelier in first ballroom without switching off second ballroom and bar area), the way each room is decorated with haphazard furniture, the way breakfast will be served at a big oval table family-style in the morning.

Perhaps it's what makes the charm of the place. Albane is one of my oldest friends and I would not have missed her wedding for an empire. So after shrimps and oysters, we all headed to La Bernerie en Retz, where the chateau is located. While the foundations date back to the late 1000s, the current construction dates back to 1879.

In a way, it's a French Victorian castle in Italianate style. Happy hour was served on the terrace overlooking cedar trees and green lawns, followed by dinner under a white tent, a typical mainstay of weddings nowadays since weather forecast four months in advance can't be relied upon.

Since the coast is on the windy side, everybody welcomed the shelter of the tent. As the first stars appeared and champagne still flowed in glasses, I realized I had forgotten to check the view on the ocean barely a mile away. Never mind the sea.

There was something more bubbling happening in the tent. Together with all the bridemaids and three professional dancers, I danced on Mahii Ve the title song of a super-famous Bollywood movie, the song's choregraphy being organized by Dolsy of Dansez Masala in Paris. Wow! Now, that's highly unusual for a French wedding but it's the best skit I've ever been part of.

Shrimp Netting and Oyster Plucking in Vendee

If you've read the 1913 French comic Becassine, you'll know what shrimp netting in western France means. Otherwise, it's pretty self-explanatory and a good sunny day activity out on the beach.

Grab a big net on a pole (at local markets in Vendee), find a beach at low tide and don't be afraid to wet your feet! When we got down to the beach at La Fontaine aux Bretons, there was an old man sitting on a rock, watching a plastic bucket. I peeked inside and saw pounds of fresh oysters.

"Yes I've collected them all," he said proudly, adding that they were everywhere in the tidepools. "Watch your hands though!" he said, showing me his still-bleeding forearms and hands. As we were chatting, a group of shrimp netters walked by us. "They're going to catch 'les grises'," the man said.

"Grises" are tiny curled-up inch-size shrimps that are widely available on this coast. It was too late for us to get a net but my brother Jean went out to "uproot" a few oysters for my little girls with his bare hands, while my little girls frantically set out to collect shells.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later Jean brought me back a fresh oyster sitting in a weeping carnation pool in his hands. While I politely declined eating the bloody oyster on the spot, I offered him to go take it to his girlfriend.

Which he did. And she was happy to hold the dear red treasure in a handkerchief until it was time for us to get dressed for Albane's wedding, our day's big adventure.

Pornic and La Fontaine aux Bretons

Underneath the Loire estuary lies a quiet little fishing town named Pornic. The center of town is by the port and the real stuff of life happens in yellow waterproof coveralls when the low tides leave boats stranded on the sandy bottom of the Loire.

When we visited Pornic looking for a sweater yesterday, it started raining and there were four fishermen scrubbing the keel of their boat. It was drizzling more than raining actually, drizzling being not uncommon in Bretagne regardless of seasons.

Fields are green and global warming does not translate in severe droughts.

This coast resembles the Northern Californian coast with cliffs and steep drops in the ocean but instead of deep green waters, the seas are murky and yellow. The local sea salt industry is exemplified by the city of Guerande roughly half hour up the coast above Saint Nazaire.

Here is a place of fairies and dolmens, ancient burial grounds of the people thousands of years before Europe started shaping up.

The dolmen on the picture is the dolmen of Predaire, easily accessible through a coastal trail from La Fontaine aux Bretons, a small village where we stayed at the great Auberge de la Fontaine aux Bretons.

The dolmen of Predaire is a series of limestone rocks arranged in the shape of a chamber above the sea, a beautiful site for all sorts of black and white magic. Nearby are several small creeks where we walked down to look for shells and build sand castles.