Orleans > Chatillon sur Loire > Nevers > Marmagne (85km, 86km, 114km)

July 28, 2014

Orleans > Chatillon sur Loire > Nevers > Marmagne (85km, 86km, 114km)

[Originally posted Jul 28, 2014]

Three days behind, I know. We've been trying to figure some route stuff out lately. But here it goes.

Oh man. Today was everything I ever imagined bike touring through France would be. And I have our wonderful WS hosts to thank for it. If I could do today over and over again for the rest of my life I would die a happy person.

Woke up on the pull out bed on #9 Place Guy Coquille in Nevers, France. We stayed in the home of Sandrine and Ronan and their two children. Slept great last night. One of those nights where you lay down in one position and then wake up 9 hours later having not even ruffled the sheets. Sandrine grew up part in Quebec and part on the 47 foot sailing vessel her father sailed all over the world. Ronan grew up in Bretagne (where they put salt in their butter - they are very proud of this).

They returned home from a 14 month bike tour with their two sons, Edouan (sp.) and Yanell (sp.) (Ronan pulled both kids in a trailer behind his bike and admitted it was rather difficult when the 45 kilos behind his bike would occasionally start shaking.) It’s great to see families that don’t let children get in the way of getting out and doing. Breakfast was oatmeal (very common for Canadians/Americans) but unheard of in France. After the oatmeal was some yogurt, tea, jus d’orange and about five slices of bread with honey, butter and jam. A lazy morning, chatting with Sandrine and Ronan. It’s great to hear from people who have already been out and done. The biggest thing they learned - go slow. No hurry. I am trying to adapt that mentality. The American in me says - go, do, complete, conquer. I guess every time I velcro my road shoes up and clip into my pedals I go into race mode. Maybe slower is less and less is more. I’m trying to adapt.

Got on the road at 11am - in search of a bakery. Everything shuts down around noon on Sunday. Don’t want to be caught out on the road without a baguette for lunch - that would be a real disaster. The local boulangerie is still open and so I grab a baguette for €0.95 and after a quick, bonjour, un baguette gourmand s’il vous plait, c’est tout, merci - I am out the door and on the bike. Katy and I have 115 km to go today with 980 meters of climbing. The most hills we’ve seen in France - as today we depart from the Loire river and begin to head to the Jura mountains and then the Alps. Leaving the flat Loire river valley was great. As resting as the flat river was, it was great to start climbing again. A sense of accomplishment pours over you as you crest a climb and see the beautiful landscape below you. Fields of sunflowers, long stretches of farms with cattle and sheep and so many different colors of green throughout.

Before our final climb of the day we stop on the roadside for lunch. I’ll list lunch in its entirety because Katy and I had a good laugh at the end of the day concerning our caloric consumption recently. Lunch was 2 sandwiches (baguette, brie cheese, salami, tomato), a pain au chocolat, yogurt with granola, 2 peaches a 1 liter bottle of Schweppes Agrum and then half a bar of chocolate. It was great and sent me into a deep slumber. Which I managed to shake off as Katy and I climbed the hill. So beautiful. At the top was a creperie, so of course we stop. A crepe avec Nutella for both of us. So good. Then the long winding beautiful descent to the valley.

Our WS host tonight was a bit different than prior ones. Tonight we would stay with the parents of a bike tourer, not the tourer himself. Edouard was out cycling but said we could stay with his parents - but warned that they spoke no English so we should “have fun and prepare and learn body language”. Okay, I thought, we can do this. I will make my 7th grade French teacher proud.

1.2 km north of the small village of Marmagne, and up a formidable hill, we turned right off the small road to Les Sauvageots. Edouard’s parents live in a farmhouse that dates to 1712 that overlooks the valley. We said our bonjours, exchanged the customary kisses on the cheek and then launched into all the French I could remember (which is actually quite a bit for some reason). We talked about their children, what they do for work, the recipe for dinner and etc. We took our “warmshower" - spoken in decent English and then retired to our room to think about how unique our day was. It’s great to reflect once in a while and think to ourselves - wow, this isn’t normal. We don’t usually do this everyday - just ride through the countryside of France, meet great people, eat all the food we want and then wake up the next day and just do it again. We are trying to not let what has become routine feel routine.

So, dinner. Started with a blackcurrant spread on homemade bread. Then some grilled steak, a zucchini, egg, cheese dish and some potatoes. A side of Dijon moutard - from Dijon, the French Ville just northwest of here. All great. Then came the cheeses and more bread. Then yogurt. And then she brought out a huge prune crumble pie. It looked divine. (It was also somewhat apparent that the pie was made specifically for our arrival.) I took the first bite. Wow, knocked my socks off. To explain, let me tell you about my Grandma Ann. She makes the best strawberry rhubarb pie I’ve ever had. So tart, packed full of flavor. Delicious. Well this prune crumble (prunes from the garden) was killer. Katy quickly jumped into a second serving while I pondered how I would say I love the dessert because it is so tart. I had already sputtered out, J’adore la gateau. C’est the plus bon nouritture je mange en tout de France. As I tried to get my thoughts across she responded, oui, le prune est tres acid. Can’t wait for breakfast, cause I think it will be round three.

Other thoughts on France - while I have them.

Bon appetite. Most days Katy and I find ourselves sitting on the side of the road enjoying lunch. We’ve purchased some goods from the local grocery store and then just plop down and eat. Without fail, every time someone passes us they say, bon appetite. Which Katy and I find very strange, because besides this encounter the French people are very “to themselves” when in public settings. Once inside their home, everyone has been more than wonderful, but out on the streets the only words ever spoken to us are bonjour or bon appetite. The French do recognize the importance of a good meal.

Voila. Another interesting word. In English this word is typically reserved for use by magicians. But in French its use is commonplace: looking for a town on a map and you finally find it - voila - a waitress brings out a nutella crepe - voila. And maybe that’s it. Turning chocolate, flour and eggs into a crepe with nutella just might be French magic. Voila.