Loire à Vélo - day 6

The house is quiet when I get up. I'd been warned last night by my hosts that they were late sleepers and that I might have to let myself out in the morning. I had been asked whether I wanted tea or coffee in the morning and given my experiences with hot beverages I hedged my bets: "Whatever you're having", I had answered vaguely. "We only have instant coffee", I was told, "but we have real tea." Tea it was then. Instant coffee? That said a lot. "We might not be up when you leave" they'd told me, "just help yourself, like it's your own place." I love the fact that it's still possible to find trust like this and be welcomed into someone's home.

Early morning at Chalonnes

 Today is going to a bit different; since I'm trying to avoid retracing my steps and since in this section there's really only one option for following the river, I've decided to head inland and have a little tour of the local vineyard country. I'll try to follow little tracks along a river (le Layon) with the idea of avoiding traffic and avoiding hills. It will be a navigational exercise as well, why not?

Cabernet d'Anjou in the making

It's coffee time and I arrive in Thouarcé, the biggest village in the area I've been cycling through this morning. Entering the town square, past the rather imposing church there's a welcome sight: right there on the main square is a boulangerie and right on the other side of the square is a café. The town square is bordered on each of the four sides by the church, the town hall, the café, and the boulangerie (and the coiffeur). All the essentials for daily life in country France: bread, coffee and alcohol, religion, public servants, and a place to get your hair done.

The café is obviously one of the standard French grim drinking and betting places, but it will serve coffee at least. There's some tables outside and a couple of local guys are already there with beers in hand. I enter the boulangerie, which looks like it belongs in a 1940's movie set, as do the customers. It's great. Everyone says "Bonjour" when I walk in, and "au revoir" when they leave, something I rather like about France. The back wall is covered with racks of fresh bread (of course, this is a boulangerie after all) and the display cases have small collections of various pastries: just simple country fare - apple tart, pear tart, mixed fruit tart, croissants and pains au chocolat. No fancy creamy confections here! There's another display case with an example of one of each of the canned drinks and packaged snacks they sell, neatly arranged in a row. The lady serving, and apart from me, the customers, look like they've been coming to this bakery since it opened in the 1940's.

I've been sitting at my table outside the café for half an hour (the church bells have chimed twice already) and the two guys drinking beer have gone and been replaced by three more tables of local workers. All of them have beers and I am definitely the odd man out with my coffee (apart from the fact that I'm sitting next to a bike and am wearing a bright yellow vest and cycling shorts, of course).

As I ride out of the square and around the corner onto the main street the first thing I see is another boulangerie: this one is much larger and more modern with a display case bursting will all sorts of fancy looking pastries. I'm glad I saw the old one first. The coffee, it must be said, was not all bad.

Riding through the forests near Louerre, I notice the old high stone wall along the road, marking an old wealthy property. Soon I can see the neatly maintained gardens, park-like. "Just another château" you could amongst be forgiven for thinking in France, where there seem to be regal old buildings everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places. A little further on I see a large beautifully built stone building; something you'd love to have as your house. 'Not  a very large château' I think to myself as I cycle past. But just as I'm thinking this, an enormous slate-roofed stone turreted edifice appears in the background. Of course; I'd mistaken the gatehouse for the main building! There was some serious money in the hands of a few back then. Not a lot has changed, you might justifiably say.

I decide to follow a few forest paths for the last section of my route today, planning to rejoin the Loire à Vélo route just before my final destination. As I'm speeding down a long hill to rejoin the path along the river (reversing all the climbing I've done today) I realise I may have made a tactical mistake. Sure enough, the B&B I am staying at turns out to be on a rise, forcing me to climb partly back up the hill I've just coasted down. Sigh.

The house I'm staying at overlooks a golf course and is set at the edge of a forest. Not a bad spot. I park my bike in the carport next to a large BMW motorbike. Also parked nearby are three cars, a quad bike and three lawn mowing ride-on type tractors. There's also several bicycles. Someone clearly likes their toys in this household.

For dinner I have to ride into town, which turns out to be further than I'd expected, adding another 10 km (there and back) to my ride for the day. A good excuse to have a nice meal I convince myself. Nearing the town, a group of cyclists laden with gear ask me for directions. It seems that without my bags I've been taken for a local cyclist. Luckily I can help them.

Dinner Menu

The restaurant I've chosen is right on Place Saint Pierre, the main square overlooked by the large Eglise Saint Pierre. I guess that the square was named after the church but it could always have been the other way around I suppose. I've already spotted a good table outside and I park my bike next to it. The table has a 'reserved' sign on it. I go in and ask for a table outside and explain that I want to keep an eye on my bike The waitress is lovely and she takes the reserved sign off 'my' table and puts it on another one. Although it's early, I've arrived just in time since after I sit down they begin turning people away; the restaurant is full for the evening.

Sitting here I have a wonderful position to observe the comings and goings of life in Saumur. There are so many little snapshots here it's difficult to know where to start:

Right next to restaurant I'm at there's a hole-in-the-wall kebab place, called, with impressive lack of imagination, 'Le Chawarma kebab' which loosely translates (correct me if I'm wrong) as 'the kebab kebab'. The contrast in the clientele between the two places couldn't be more obvious. It's a completely different demographic. People are standing around the kebab place waiting for their orders. A girl waiting there is wearing tight black jeans and seems oblivious of the fact that her fly is undone. Either the guy she's with hasn't noticed or he doesn't know her well enough yet and doesn't dare tell her.

An old white-haired lady is looking out over the square, taking on the goings-on from her roof level window in a building on the other side of the square; nobody seems to notice.

A dog cocks its leg on a chair at the next restaurant; nobody seems to notice.

There's a cat patiently waiting for scraps; it sits beside each table as food is served and looks up imploringly; nobody seems to notice.

A guy with an enormous beer belly hanging out below his T-shirt, wearing baggy shorts and what look like hotel or airline slippers is taking photos of the church with a large tablet. Only his improbably-dressed wife seems to notice. They walk away, both chewing their finger  nails with gusto.

An Indian woman struggles as she pushes a pram with two plump children (who look like they are much too old to be in the pram) uphill across the square; nobody seems to notice her.

A guy, who seems to mute, notices (as I do) a girl at a nearby table pat the balding head of her companion after taking his photo. With a big smile and using sign language he asks if they would like him to take a picture of the two of them, which the girl accepts.

The smell of marijuana wafts through the square; this is unexpected but nobody seems to notice.

There's a gorgeous sunset happening; the clouds are turning a gorgeous pink against the darkening blue sky. The cat takes up its position at the table next to mine. The couple on my right is reaching the end of their bottle of red and she is lighting up her post-main-course cigarette. On my left they are debating whether to have dessert. Behind me there's a loud American woman giving advice to table next to hers.

The sun sets over the Place St. Pierre, Saumur

The pink is gone from the sky and the lights come on in the square. An elderly couple walk through the square arm in arm, noticing only each other.

There's a lone diner having dinner accompanied only by his bicycle and the remains of half a bottle of red wine. He's furiously tapping away at his smartphone; every so often he looks up, seems to spot something interesting, and then he's back tapping away at his smartphone again. Nobody notices him (or so he thinks).

The girl at the next table (who has finished her cigarette) gets up to go to the toilet; her chair, weighed down by her heavy handbag, topples over and crashes to the ground. This is the second time this has happened and you can see in his look that her companion isn't impressed.

At the kebab place, a guy and a couple with two small children are sitting at a table. The guy produces a large tin and reaches into it, taking out something which he's putting into a contraption he's holding on his other hand. It looks like it might be tobacco, but... He closes the contraption, makes a few practised movements, and out pops a cigarette complete with filter. He repeats the process and this time, since I can observe the whole thing from the beginning, I notice that he seems to be starting the process with a normal cigarette. Curious. Their order of lamb burgers with chips arrives and the kids get fed chips with the occasional piece of bread. It's probably not a surprise that both little girls are already rather plump.

All three adults at the table with the two little girls are now engaged intently with their smartphones. The two little girls amuse themselves, ignoring both their parents and the smartphones.

There's a group at the bar across the square who are getting more and more boisterous. I get another waft of rather interesting side stream smoke. I sip my espresso (which, you will be reassured to note, is watery and dull). It's time to get in my bike and wobble home.

The ride home turns out to be interesting: it is pitch black, the clouds have covered the sky, there's no visible moon and the bike paths are unlit. I'm very glad I have a Dutch bike with a headlight, but the only drawback is I can't stop. Each time I stop to read a sign to help make a decision to turn left or right, the light goes out and of course I see nothing. I work from memory and good luck; there's a narrow bridge crossing the river and at the far end there's a choice between left or right: one is the continuation of the bike path, the other has steps leading down to the river. If I stop to see which is which my light will go off and I'll see nothing. If I keep pedaling and make a choice I have a 50℅ chance of unexpectedly riding down steps, but at least I'll see what I've chosen. Fortunately I choose the right one and eventually arrive back at the house.

Distance today: 68 km, 4 hours riding.