getting on and shipping out

 

AT AMBOISE, AND SUBSEQUENTLY AT YFFINIAC, the last two lodgings we patronised before we shook off the dust of France, the early away regime was suspended. In Amboise therefore we drifted out of Le Blason, (our hotel) down the street towards the river fetching up in a most welcoming and well lit boulangerie with café extension, where we sucked up rather good café crèmes and very passable croissants and pains aux raisins. A cheery place, with a number of other like minded souls seeking Saturday morning P'tit déj aussi. We secured sandwiches too: we were fit to resume.

But before we got on the road we took time out to pay homage to a favourite installation hereat: The Max Ernst Fountain, no less. We'd taken a shine to this feature of Amboise as long ago as 1995… and I maintain, possibly earlier than that. After all, the infamous Okehampton College Loire Cycle Tour of 1989 had stopped off here to take in the Leonardo da Vinci Museum (he died here you know, and his last home can be toured and his inventions inspected). We were part of the support team for the aforementioned cycle tour you see, and I am pretty sure we spotted the M E fountain whilst in town, but Mme M won't confirm it; her memory is better than mine so I won't press the point. This time the daylight was just returning and we had the environs of the water feature to ourselves. 

The portrait snaps herewith were taken at Easter 1995 (note the S&H in the smaller photo) while the study below is as it is now: hardly changed, although I understand that several of the small turtle fountain spouters have had to be replaced as light fingered individuals have made off with a number of them, or broken them in the process of trying to half-inch one. The replacements are made of resin. I defy anyone other than a skilled metallurgist to spot the difference from the surviving extant bronze originals. 

But we must get on. Reference to the itinerary (you may not have not committed it to memory, I realise some of my public don't embrace this account quite as thoroughly as they perhaps should) will show that our route now took us along the wonderful Loire, through the riverside roads of Tours, Vouvray, Saumur and all the way to Angers. 

The morning sun shone golden light upon the wooded islands and golden sand banks of this magnificent river. We varied our route, first one bank and then the other, dodging the odd routes barrées here and there by using the strategically placed bridges that grace the flood. 

So why no pictures? Because I was at the helm, and have often snapped the stream, and yet never to my satisfaction, I have to own. We've done all this before of course, various stretches of the river, and today strung a lot of those previous inspections together into one. An indulgence. The levée is a pleasure to drive (on a quiet Saturday morning at least). 

Stop Press: The s&h has responded to my SOS and provided this impression of the silvery Loire from the shotgun seat of the speeding motor. It gives some idea…

Shortly after the levée Mme Melling decided that my projected route, tried and tested in the past, did not meet with her aspiration, so I was redirected by her to proceed another way. I have to tell you now that instead of the sedate progress I had anticipated and planned for, we found ourselves in Angers suburbs and beset by Routes Barrées of the most bewildering sort and variety. Language in the cabin was colourful and shouty. Shortly after we got onto that fast road NW, far earlier than planned, the rain recommenced. We had several other mis-routings as well (which I put down to Mme M being under the weather with the family cold, which only now was I beginning to experience… and she puts down to my inability to understand straight forward directions). 

I'll draw a veil. We lunched at Janzé in a car park with floral edges, after trying to locate an historical site as our venue – which proved entirely unsuitable to meet our needs (pay to go in and closed to all comers anyway.) We were once more confined to the motor by deluges  in uninspiring Janzé. Not that I wanted to get out that much. We gritted what teeth we possess and resumed the N12 road, getting to Yffiniac at a quite reasonable hour (in daylight at least) and took ourselves up to our suite of rooms (honest, we had two connecting chambers this time) and even managed to get into them, eventually, after a while, and after fetching the hotel manager to demonstrate the knack of card-in-the-door – remove smoothly, and then gently, oh so gently – coaxing the door handle to release the locking device… 

Later that evening, after we had been out and supped, returned, witnessed via our wall mounted TV the final of the Rugby Union World Championships, in which the Springboks retained the cup by a single point over the All Blacks, as if you didn't know already) we discovered there was no hot water. More choice words were employed as we went to our very comfortable beds, possibly unwashed. The matter would be raised with the management on the morrow . . . wouldn't have happened at the Ibis budget across the way. We paid extra to be in the posher Ibis, damn it!

Footnote: Supper was taken at the crêperie down by the sea as in previous stopovers at Yffiniac. We'd booked, thankfully. It was empty when I snapped this interior… it was full within another twenty minutes. Not sure why the place has a ship's mast springing up right through the salon. Best not to ask. 

The tide was right in and almost up to the grounds of the restaurant. Curlews etc in profusion. Adam's first time here of course, I'd not have had the burger option, personally. The cider was good as were the galettes and concluding crêpes. Top flight spot. The rain held off… until we got back to our suite, at least…