The grand tour of France in a motorhome 7th September - Day nine

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7th September: Day nine

New e-bike battery attached, so we cycle over to Amboise where we have coffee at a pavement café under the shadow of a great chateau which is undergoing building renovation work. People watching is such great fun isn’t it and we have prime side seats. Today’s game? Guess the nationality of the passing tourists and cyclists – so easy but so entertaining! As midday approaches, we watch the French start to drift towards outdoor restaurants for the midday meal. It is clearly a great science and a monumental decision. Much crowding around menus, discussion of contents and casting of scrutinising eyes across tables and clientele already seated. Sniffs, shrugs, shuffling and moving on to the next restaurant, literally next door and the whole scene is played out once more. It is clearly an art form of extraordinary skill and intellect; one we have failed to give serious thought to. What amuses us is that all the French seem to arrive at the same restaurant, but for the life of us, we cannot discern what singles it out to be better than the previous four. Clearly, we are insufficiently erudite on such matters.

1230 and the street side is full of dinner table discussion and clinking glasses. The actual street itself is almost empty. Americans and British wander around looking lost and bemused. We sit under a row of trees on benches thoughtfully put alongside cycle racks which are packed for this is on a cross Europe velo route. Predominantly E bikes with an assortment of panniers of many colours.

30C. Sparrows flutter down and floor hop between tables, adeptly avoiding moving feet, searching out those morsel crumbs. Latecomers scrutinize displayed menus but they are too late for all the tables were taken by 1230. Snooze and you lose! 

It is fascinating to note that the French actually talk at the table. Animatedly. Not a smartphone in sight. Hushed whispers, waving arms, smiles and laughter. An intimate caress on the neck or arm; a quick lean in for a snatched kiss. We love people watching! The French have it down to an art form. In the meantime, we are clearly slumming it, munching on baguettes out of paper bags washed down by Pepsi. Some things are just not done in France! This is one of the cardinal sins!

 

Back on route 47 to Chenonceaux, we pass vines laden with bunches of deep purple grape on gently sloping, tilled, stony soils of creamy yellow colour. The green of the trellised vine leaf is a stark but beautiful contrast to these soils. Along country lanes through thick deciduous woodlands planted hundreds of years ago; with straight rows of mighty oaks, planted for a Navy of long ago. Through little hamlets with old houses and hidden yards where you can glimpse antiquated farm machinery and old cars from the early 1950’s. The quick glimpse of an old headlight, a sloping running board fender, a cracked vertically ribbed radiator grill; all poking from beneath stiff weathered vintaged oiled tarpaulins, creased and furrowed by decades of neglect.

Back at camp, its another ice cream under the shade of the pine trees before locking the bikes onto the rack and heading off for showers. The rest of the evening we sit under the shade of the trees listening to bird song and the tranquil sounds of bubbling river water. And then dusk descends, along with the mosquito hordes, the Genghis Khans of the natural world!

Helpful information:

Route cycled – see map

Distance covered approximately 30 miles