Embracing the French Life

The car had been totally faultless all the way down; negotiating the empty elegantly curving French roads was an absolute pleasure. The hood was down, the side screens up, the weather dry and bright. We soaked up the rolling countryside complimented perfectly by the quaint rural villages of North Western France. We still needed weather gear, particularly in the morning, but as mid afternoon approached the sun was high, the sky blue naturally we began to lose a layer or two. It may be a total coincidence but every time I have driven through France there has always appeared to be a distinct change in the climate when reaching the Loire. Our spirits were immediately lifted when we crossed the bridge to enter Amboise. On our approach the Chateau above the river valley dominates the town. Closer inspection confirmed that the banks were lined with cafes, bars, hotels plus the customary variety of retail shops. 

We booked into the nearest hotel, within minutes we began to explore tracing the banks of the river from east to west. Sweaters replaced parkas, bob caps were discarded; we wandered aimlessly, but contentedly around the town. John and Graham were gradually beginning to relax occasionally chuckling as they re-told the mishaps of the ferry crossing, the delights of brandy at 8.30 in the morning, even their first experience of eating ‘champion the wonder horse’. Jack, as was his general demeanor, always appears quietly contented but even he was expressing how delighted he was that he had joined the group. The Burlington was safely parked up, the hood returned, oil and water checked, she was proving to be a much better vehicle than I had first thought. As the evening drew on we searched for a restaurant that didn’t serve horse.

The prospects of a full night lay ahead. We had drinks in the ‘Bar de Quai’, a lot of them. Bier blond quickly pursued by several shots of Pernod, then on to Muscadet in an attempt to ‘get tuned in’ for a proper good night on the town. A safe restaurant was chosen to tuck into some real native ‘snap’: another steak meal but this time derived from cow. Everybody was more than happy by now, the night was still young we were high on an eventful day fuelled by a concoction of alcoholic beverages. We returned to the Quai bar but it was closed, then we tried ‘Le bar de Loire’, closed, ‘Le Loisir’ was also firmly shuttered, ‘Le Rive’, was locked and barred and finally, ‘Le bar des Anglais’ again, ironically, ferme. So, at 9.00pm France was completely closed, panic set in as we ran back to the hotel where, as residents we claimed that we had a right to be supplied with alcohol. The madam was just retiring to bed but Geoff with his oil slick charm persuaded her to serve us with some booze. It was 9.30pm when our glasses were empty. Five semi-intoxicated grownups was not a pretty sight. Jack phoned Elsie, back in England to inform her that at 10pm on a Saturday night he was about to go to bed, alone, an act that he had never repeated since the age of ten. As before, Geoff rescued the situation by producing a bottle of Scotch from his bedroom, the evening was saved. We swayed upstairs at midnight, kissed and hugged each other, simultaneously waking the other French ‘guest’ from a deep sleep, we all fell into bed waking up the following morning to some more delicious croissants, bread, jam and coffee. We had embraced the culture.