Absolutely nothing unexpected happened during our two-hour drive to Chateau de Chambord in the Loire Valley. This in itself is worth mentioning (for obvious reasons). When we arrived we were well-rested and happy ready to “do” the Loire Valley.

We walked to the chateau from the parking lot, about a mile. We walked far away from the chateau just to get the, as Allan says, money shot of the building in the brilliant blue sky. Then we toured the chateau – all four levels going up and down the stone staircase with the exactly four hundred thousand seven hundred and fifteen TOURISTS also enjoying the beautiful weather and magnificent building. Everyone else spoke French. Apparently, most of the Americans, Italians, and Brits have gone home.

After a leisurely wandering through the huge chateau we decided on lunch before heading out again. In a little creperie on the grounds we each ordered a Croque Chevalier – ham and cheese sandwich fried with a fried egg on top. A quarter liter of vin rouge was the accompaniment. Waiting for the food over our red wine, we discussed the differences between the American and French Revolutions and how those differences created the two different national systems.

Then we moved the discussion into how the revolution in France was more of an upheaval of the downtrodden where in America it was a reluctant separation of the colony from the mother country. All we needed were black clothes, berets, a cigarette dangling from our lips in a smoky café in Paris and we would have been considered truly French.

The meal came and we became Americans again thankfully.

After that adventure, we went to our B&B that I booked and confirmed but never got the last confirmation I ask for 10 days before we left. I had no idea if we had a place to stay. We did. We are a mile from the Chateau de Chenonceau in a one-bedroom apartment called the pavillion with sitting room. Not bad. The owners are not too fluent in English but that is ok. Off we went to the second chateau of the day.

In both Chateaux we received free parking and discounted entrance fees because we were Americans and because we, as a nation, liberated the French from two major wars. Ha! No, it was some sort of special weekend we never understood but took the discounts anyhow. Chenonceau is a chateau that spans the river Cher. It is simply beautiful in the deep blue September sky. Again, there were tourists there. What’s with that?

I have a new rant. This is a good one. This is not directed at the French but to tourists in general. As we walked from room to room with the hordes of still and video camera laden people, I noticed that it seemed much more important for them to get a picture of each four walls of a room and the ceiling than to stop and take in the beauty of what they were seeing. One man walked into each room with his video camera over his head taking a video of the room I am sure he never saw until he looked at the video at home. I take pictures but rarely inside buildings and always after evaluating what I am looking at for historical or artistic significance. Everyone had a little camera and shot flash images. At some point, this has to stop for the enjoyment of those who wish to simply enjoy the environment. Rant over.

Dinner was a bottle of Touraine red (cabernet franc and cabernet sauvignon), cheese, an olive baguette and a bag of mushroom flavored potato chips. Yes, that was mushroom flavored potato chips. Interestingly they were quite good but I don’t know why. With that, we went to bed…

I awoke to a start. I remembered needing cash to pay for the two nights in the B&B since Catherine did not take credit cards. There was only one thing I neglected to do yesterday. So, I showered and set off in the car on a money run before breakfast. Going into Chisseaux and Chenonceaux produced no cash machines – heck, no banks. These are little one street towns like most in the area so things were looking bad. The Chateau was not open for tourists yet but I went to the ticket office and asked where I could get money. This was a joke as I speak NO French and could not have understood any answer even if they understood me. Fortunately, the man just stared at me after I asked about a cash machine and said, “Bleary”. I knew I was tired but then remembered a town a little ways away, Blere.

Off I went seven miles west hoping for the best. This was a HUGE town of about five square blocks. Driving through, I found a commercial street with three banks. Getting back to the B&B for breakfast with money, I needed coffee. During breakfast (we were the only ones there that morning) Catherine sat down with us and we talked. We talked about WWII, the American elections, English and French history and any number of topics. It was delightful. We paid and left not really wishing to leave.

Ann really was disappointed not seeing Chateau Villandry’s gardens because of the huge crowds yesterday. We tried it again this Monday morning. What a difference. It was like we owned the place, hardly anyone was there. The gardens recreated the gardens of Medieval abbeys. The functionality and order were apparent immediately. Not a leaf was out of place anywhere in these many acres. There were vegetable gardens, medicinal gardens, meditative ponds and highly structured formal contemplative gardens. In total, quite an amazing display with terraces to view and appreciate the horticultural effort.

We drove straight to St-Emilion arriving four hours later stopping only for diesel and a sandwich on the toll motorway. This little drive set us back $45. Living nowhere near a toll road at home makes paying for the pavement odd.

Our B&B is in the large two story stone mini-chateau with incredibly high ceilings. The house belongs to the owner of a Grand Cru St-Emilion Winery, Chateau Franc-Pourret. The family lives here. There are two rooms available to let, both professionally furnished. This was a pleasant surprise since the outside, though an award winning winery, was tired, stark and cold in appearance. The grapevines surround the house; the harvest is beginning and all are working.

Dinner was at a restaurant featured in Wine Spectator Magazine last year in the center of the tiny town of St-Emilion. The wine was excellent the meal was ok. Butchering beef here in France is apparently not an art. Beef is tough with gristle and fascia throughout. That does distract from a steak but after our fish experience in Mont St. Michel we stick to land food in France.

The time spent in St-Emilion was not as enthralling as I had anticipated. Staying at a winery in a world heritage designated site in one of the world’s premier wine areas sounded amazing. The town was small and littered with wine shops. That was to be expected. There was little else to do. The hundreds of wineries were mostly closed since it was the time of the harvest and the crush. Any winery tasting or tour needed to be booked rather than a drop-in visit. Almost all charge $10-$20 per person for a tour. Ann and I were both now totally exhausted after our 27 days on the lam without a day of rest. That colored our attitude to be sure.

The winery chateau where we stayed was nice but Catherine’s breakfasts were ordinary at best, she was not able to converse beyond minimally in English and she lacked the warmth of a true B&B host. To counter that issue, the other room was occupied by two sisters (our age) from Mississippi and Tennessee. They leased a car and were touring France having a ball. We talked with them at breakfast each morning hearing that soft serene Southern accent, laughing, relating stories and sharing experiences in the town. Without them this would have approached a dismal stay.

One example: One of the sisters told of a friend who always took a bath with a loaded gun near in case of an attacker entering. The other sister said, in that sweet Southern drawl, that if that happened to her the attacker would take one look at the sight of her naked in the bath, take the gun and shoot himself!

We bought two bottles of the Chateau-Pourret, one, the soon to be famous 2005 vintage that she told us not to open for at least 8 years. We paid and were off to the area of Bordeaux. Here another problem occurred that was not our fault – really!

Our sweet British accented lady of the GPS gave us a route to the peninsula of the Medoc, north of the town of Bordeaux. We drove 45 minutes to the Gironde estuary to cross the bridge at Blaye into the Medoc. When we arrived, there was not a bridge but a ferry. It was 11am. The next ferry was to depart 4:30pm. WHAT!

It would take almost two hours to drive down to Bordeaux where the first bridge was and then drive north up to Pauillac, the town across from Blaye. Instead, we drove to Bordeaux centre, walked the shopping area and had a late lunch. From there we drove to our airport Comfort Inn Hotel for the night. We registered, unloaded the car and relaxed for a moment. After that moment, we drove to the airport and delivered the car to EuropeCar.

Ann had gotten an employee out of the office back at CDG airport in Paris to show him a scrape on the right front bumper. This he noted on the paperwork and said he would enter it into the computer. You guessed it; the writing was undecipherable in the carbon copy. The lady checking us in gave us some serious questioning about it but gave us back our receipt for the 800 euros on Visa that they had secured for any damages when we picked up the car.

We walked back to the hotel from the airport and rearranged our luggage for the flight home. We were under our weight allowance by a little so all was well. To bed then a wake up call at 5am for the 5:45am taxi to the airport tomorrow.