2019 Bike Ride - Day 6: Fontainebleau to Montargis

This morning I decide that maybe I've been eating too many croissants and baguettes and other nice things found in French boulangeries. So I decide that I'll have fruit today and buy an apple and a banana at the local Carrefour City, conveniently close to my apartment. Then on the way back to the apartment I pass a nice looking boulangerie and buy a pain aux raisins for morning tea. I justify this because the raisins are fruit after all.

Some time later I'm sitting on a bollard. That's less unusual than it might sound given that I'm riding along the Seine River and I've stopped at the first set of locks I've come to. And at locks you need something to tie the boats on to when they're waiting for the lock to open, hence the bollard. It's quiet. In fact that's something that you notice when you ride a bike through rural France - the place is so quiet and there's almost nobody around.

This barge is "rooted"

Last night I was looking at various potential bike routes from Fontainebleau heading south when I discovered the Eurovelo 3 route. The Eurovelo routes are a whole network of bike routes throughout Europe, very well organised and covering some impressive distances. The EV3 is a pilgrim route that goes from Norway to Santiago and would be quite a ride if you did the whole thing. I discover that it passes close to Fontainebleau and then follows the river and canals south. Perfect! Bike paths along rivers are generally a nice choice: they are flat, and there's generally lots to see along the way. Easy choice.

The route makes a little detour through a small town (near the lock and the bollard). I'm riding along a narrow street and up ahead is a group (a gaggle?) of teenage schoolgirls. They are all, predictably, looking at their smartphones as they walk to school and are, of course, completely oblivious to their surroundings. I ding my little bell. No response. I ding it some more. Still no response. It's not until I am literally riding amongst them that they suddenly become aware of me. Just as well I'm a bike and not a car coming out of a side street.

Some time later, on a smooth gravel section of the path along the Canal du Loing, I hear the scrunch of tyres on gravel coming up behind and then a guy on a bike pulls up alongside. We chat; the usual stuff about where you're from and where are you heading and so on. He's not your normal French bike rider by a long shot. No Lycra to be seen, and an easygoing conversational attitude. Then he says: "I went to Santiago once, in a truck. I hated it." I'm thinking he might have been a truck driver or something (he is wearing work boots and orange work pants). "I hate them but my wife likes camping cars", he explains. His 'truck' is in fact his camping car. "This is my commute" he adds a bit later, now talking about the bike ride. "5 km along here every morning and afternoon, I love it." Sure beats sitting in traffic like other people, I add. "Yes I did that for three years, lost three hours every day and hated every minute. I'm a high school teacher", he adds by way of explanation; not that this really explains anything. "Four hours every day, that's enough", he adds with a grin.

Canal riding

I am serenely riding along the Chemin de halage - the canal tow path - I hear the 'ting' of a bicycle bell. That's odd I think - rather illogically - to myself, I didn't ring my bell. You don't normally hear bicycle bells here so the only one I am used to hearing is my own. I come to my senses and move over to the side of the path and seconds later a rather large woman zooms past on her electric bike, with no visible effort at all. No sign of recognition either, apart from the bell.

I'm staying at a couple's house just outside the centre of Montargis. I navigate to the address and find myself at what at first impression looks like a 'standard' French house of the suburbs, probably about 50 years old. Something is a bit odd, but I can't put my finger on it.

I push the doorbell on the gate and a little while later one of the windows at the front of the house opens and a woman pops her head out. Just open the gate she says, there's a little catch at the top. It's only then that I realise what it is that was odd about this house: there's no front door. In fact, as it turns out, the front door is at the back. Or perhaps more accurately, there is indeed no front door (an architectural oversight?) And the only way in and out of the house is around the back through the kitchen.

I have my own room, and they've gone to some effort to make it homely and there's some nice touches. Their house is shall we say, interesting. It's small and cluttered. The stairs to the second floor are extraordinarily steep. The shower is one of those modular units that's seen better days. They are a little alternative, in a 60's sort of way. In the back yard there's a campervan that's definitely seen better days. It's too polluting so it doesn't pass the roadworthy test anymore, the host explains. Never mind the broken headlights, the rust and the general air of being a wreck. Now it just serves us as a garden store she explains (a little redundantly).

I ask my hosts for restaurant recommendations for dinner tonight. I draw a blank: we don't go out much, I am told. Fair enough, but you'd think if you're going to have guests staying, it might be an idea to have some information for them. At least some idea of what's available in the town to see and maybe where to have a meal. There's an Asian place down the road he volunteers. We've never been there but we hear it's good. I consult the internet and find a place that's not only open on a Monday night, but also has a lot of good reviews and sounds a bit quirky. Even better, I can book it online, which as we'll see turns out to be a good strategy.

I walk into town for dinner. As is often the case, the approach to the city centre isn't a particularly nice area. It was the same when I arrived by bike earlier; the route led me though an area of HLM (social housing) and groups of idle men hanging around the local shops and halal butchery. Now, as I enter the town centre, I am greeted by Whitney Houston, or at least her voice. I will always love you, she sings. Maybe it's the Montargis theme song? Clearly this is one of those towns you find all over France that has a public address system wired throughout the town and they like playing music, presumably because it's more pleasant than announcements. Maybe they feel that they need to get value for their investment in the system. But silence would be better.

Montargis

I'm walking the streets of the city centre, checking out the shops. Lots of them are empty, for rent, for sale, sold. There's Sushi Love, Kebab chez Unit (halal), la Maison de la  Praline, the ubiquitous Tabac, la Chocoteque, Valege lingerie, Réparation Express (smartphones toutes marques), the French Coffee Shop (sic), La Coiffure a petits prix, Asia Délices (Traiteur Chinois), Système D e-cigarettes, Don Quixote bar à tapas, le Griffon (chasse, tir, armurerie, Glock self-action pistols), le Tonic (spécialités Turques) and finally Le Gambetta (Sushi). So we're back to sushi again. Really, this place has it all!

Although they have clearly made some effort to make the place pretty, Montargis is not an attractive town. They bill themselves as the 'Venice of the Gâtinais' and there is some attempt to capitalise on the several canals through the town, together with their bridges. There's a way to go however. The pole with an empty dispenser of dog poo bags, together with a sign encouraging people to pick up after their dogs, placed in a small cleared area absolutely covered in dog shit is sort of emblematic of the problem facing this town.

The restaurant I've chosen is almost empty when I arrive and at first I think that perhaps I wasted my time booking. But within a half hour of my arrival, the place is packed and throughout the next hour or so the waiter is continually turning hopeful arrivals away. There's several larger groups who have all obviously booked. This is a popular place. I did well having booked after all. The decoration is eclectic and interesting. I particularly like the box graters used as lampshades in a couple of the hanging lamps. There's a Johnny Hallyday LP on the table as a placemat. It's from 1960 and one of the tracks is 'Itsy bitsy petit bikini'. Classic. Next to my table there's a little niche with amongst other things an old recipe book 'the real cuisine of the family' - 1000 recipes, all generous, healthy, economical and simple. Wonderful.

I step out of the restaurant to find everything is wet - rain! Well, at least it isn't raining right now or my walk home will be very wet. But I've left my washing, which was virtually dry before I left, still hanging on the line. It wasn't supposed to rain until tomorrow. Perhaps the fact that it's rained now might mean no rain tomorrow for my ride, I think wishfully. I arrive back to find my washing is no longer in the line, the host has taken it in for me. She greets me in her light blue fluffy dressing gown as I let myself into the house (I have a key). I get the impression they have been waiting up for me. She asks whether I found a place to eat, and when I tell her the name of the restaurant she says: "A yes, we had an anniversary dinner there once. One of the guests told us about it. It was nice." And I'm thinking; isn't it strange that this didn't come up when I asked her for a restaurant recommendation before I left?

Coffee and dessert