So, it’s Friday 15 April and we depart London early via the Eurostar from St Pancras Station.  The train travels at 294km per hour and we arrive at Gare Nord at 11.10am.  We need to transfer to Gare Austerlitz for the next part of our journey, and our friend Christopher Austen, who travels to France a lot, has advised us to get a taxi rather than the Metro.  Even he, a seasoned French traveller, has failed more than once to make the correct Metro transfer.  We happily take his advice.  We arrive at Gare Austerlitz in time for a café et jambon sandwich before boarding the train which will deliver us to our first French stop, Chateauroux.  It is from here that we commence our first two days of garden tours with Colin Elliott, our France based English garden guide who we found on the internet and with whom Cherrie has been having happy email conversations.  The usual protocol for Colin is that his guests stay with him but his wife has recently been ill and so we are asked to arrange our own accommodation, and at Colin’s specific request on the southern side of the town.  Chateauroux, from the doorway of the railway station, appears to be a medium sized town.  We have used booking.com once again to reserve a room in a B&B in an area called Le Poinconnet, on Colin’s chosen area.  We drag our cases to the taxi rank with no taxis and a taxi phone hanging off the wall.  Fortunately the taxi number is well displayed and I use my mobile phone, with Australian sim card, to ring for a taxi and manage to order one in very very poor French.  Luck was on our side because the dispatch woman did not ask where we were going.  The taxi turned up about 5 minutes later and a very spunky young driver, who spoke not much English but a good deal more than our French, delivered us 8 kms out of town to the B&B in the middle of the countryside.

Our hostess, Isabel, looked alarmed when the taxi drove away and indicated that we were going to need a car. ‘Non, non, no auto’ we said.  Ah merde, her body language said.  We had confirmed on our booking that we required dinner in but clearly that message did not get across to our non-English speaking host.  Her husband is in hospital and she was in the garden wearing gumboots with a guerney in her hand cleaning the patio tiles around the swimming pool.  She clearly does not want to give us dinner but realises that she has to.  ‘Just pain et fromage’ I say, in perfect English.  ‘oui, I make you breakfast tonight’ she says.  ‘7.30 avec vin rouge au blanc?’  ‘Rouge’ I scream ‘merci beaucoup Madame’.  She races back to the garden, we lug our suitcases upstairs to a charming bedroom with en suite and then take an hour’s walk.  We see a stable

And, then our interest piques some inside the stable

Charming rural houses

 

And an old well

 

Clearly this is canola country

We have no appetite to work up because we are starving, having only had a train breakfast and a shared jambon sandwich at lunchtime.  Still, we would benefit from a few days of starvation.  Who knows what 7.30pm will offer us.

It’s now 8.10pm.  We have consumed bread and cheese for dinner. And a most delicious bottle of 2012 Cabernet Franc from the Loire Valley.  We are in the Loire!  Who knew?  Not us. Isabel actually does speak some broken English, and we have a laboured conversation with her over our cheeses.  She does not join us for dinner, or should I say breakfast?

We are now back in our bedroom, although I am perched on one leg (the good one) on the top stair of the curved staircase, computer cradled to my ample breast as I reach for wi-fi (wee-fee) coverage.

Until tomorrow…..bon nuit.

Update:  wi-fi did not work.  Am now sitting in Isabel’s parlour downstairs, forbidden territory I fear, in the hope that this will go.

 

 

We see a stable

 

And a horse in the stable

 

Charming rural houses

 

And an old well

 

Clearly this is canola country

 

 

 

 

 

We have no appetite to work up because we are starving, having only had a train breakfast and a shared jambon sandwich at lunchtime.  Still, we would benefit from a few days of starvation.  Who knows what 7.30pm will offer us.

 

It’s now 8.10pm.  We have consumed fromage and pain. And a most delicious bottle of 2012 Cabernet Franc from the Loire Valley.  We are in the Loire!  Who knew?  Not us.

 

We are now back in our bedroom, although I am perched on one leg (the good one) on the top stair of the curved staircase, computer cradled to my ample breast as I reach for wi-fi (wee-fee) coverage.

 

Until tomorrow…..bon nuit