Our second stop in France takes us by train to Blois, in the Loire Valley. After a hearty 30 minute walk pulling our luggage through town (due to a miscommunication/technical issue) we reach our destination on a sleepy village (actually a city of 50,000) street. Nondescript from the outside but a slice of heaven inside the blue door.
Another studio but with a king bed, tasteful art all around, updated bathroom with tile shower, very cool sink and accessories and a well-situated window looking out onto the garden. Outside we have a lovely wooden table and chairs nestled up to the roses, bamboo, ivy, assorted flowers. It smells like France. Bees buzzing, doves cooing, it sounds like France too! 2-storey home with ancient sheds, covered parking for their motorcycle and subtle lighting add to the experience.
Our hosts are Benoit and Myriam, heretofore called BM (not to be confused with one of the greatest pleasures of the morning routine of middle-aged/geriatric folk) and their lovely curly-topped daughters, aged 3 and 5. Just to round out the perfect family are 2 fluffy cats that immediately require stroking and acknowledgement. Just outside the front door there is a bakery (20 feet away). This will undoubtedly be one of the highlight stops along the way.
Within an hour B&M are on their way on an overnight stay with family and leave the place to us on our own. Within another hour we are feasting on our bread, cheese, tomato, and carrots to be washed down with one of the area’s local red wines and finished off with flan chocolat. I look up expecting to hear God saying “Well done my faithful servant “,, but after a day like this I think I’ll take a pass on the pearly gates and see what tomorrow brings.
Well tomorrow has arrived and we sip our morning coffee and savour our Madeleine cakes and prepare for a tour of the local shops. 3 more bakeries (boulangeries) and pastry shops are along the way before we even reach the 300 year old Pont Jacques Gabriel which leads to town centre. Most of the people that we peg as tourists are French-speaking and even the locals are at a loss to figure out our butchered French/Spanish verbal concoctions. There’s more French speakers here than a Rene Levesque funeral.
We have been on French soil for 5 days and I’ve picked up something at 7 boulangeries, so let me do the math… add 2, carry the one… yup in 11 days I will be big enough to have Goodyear tattooed across my ass and still have space for the artist’s name and contact info. My new ‘Europe ‘ pants make me look like a Polish sausage! Carol says I froth at the mouth when I pass a cheese shop. She claims I’m always mumbling but it’s the bread that is stuck to the roof of my mouth from morning to night. It’s so bad that the sparrows have pecked holes in all my shirts as they go after the crumbs! She used to say that I eat like a bird but now I want to eat one if it’s wrapped in pastry. I’ve made so many trips to the bathroom that I carry Drano with us in our backpack.
Carol on the other hand can’t believe what kind of wine she can buy for 5€. She gurgles in her sleep and red bubbles come out her nose. She has the luxury of buying a mumu at the point of no return. Speaking of return, at this pace we’ll have to forfeit our flight home and book a spot on a barge.
Okay that’s it for today. It’s time to get some dinner… honey,don’t forget to brush the cork out of your teeth.
Blue Delivery 
I’m glad the food is so good for you. Can’t wait to see the polish sausage pants.
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