Normalcy

I was hoping to find regular people as I got further south of Paris.

And yes, it exceeded my expectations. The town, Sancerre, has not been a tourist hotspot, and is just now beginning to aspire to being one. The wine region to which it gives its name is not an appellation controlée, if I understood my tour guide right, but it has been given a designation that gives their wines a bit of notice. And the hotel I chose was also not a chain, and was as old-school as you can get. It reminded me very much of my first visit to France in 1989. They had taken out the bidet, why, I don’t know, but you could still see the mark where it was on the floor in the bathroom. All the bidets seem to have disappeared in France since then, as well as all the ubiquitous cafés au lait for breakfast each morning. Now the French exist on these minuscule cups of lukewarm espresso, which is a problem. I have to order three or four. But, about this place: all the people I saw, patrons and proprietors and workers, were just so easy to identify as ‘regular working folk.’ Any American could, though they were not overweight, for the most part. The owner had a very rugged face and was hacking up a lung every few minutes, from the two-pack-a-day habit he has evidently had. The girl who made my coffee this morning was so sweet, she did her best to make me a coffee like back home, and when I was so grateful to her, she said “But no, you’re the customer!”

Unfortunately I chose to eat dinner there, and all the smokers sitting outside filled the dining room with smoke, and eventually I got a sore throat. The meal which I had sprung for, the fixed price menu, five courses for 33 bucks, was not good. Just bad quality food, and very slow service. I decided to cut my losses and abandoned my meal after the main course. I have never done that before, but I said I wasn’t feeling well and had to go. I left half a glass of terrible wine behind too. But why, oh why can’t regular people exist who also eat well, and care about it? Why??? That’s my open window on the second floor, by the way.

On the drive there, I also got a backroad dose of reality. France doesn’t have coal or hydro, and it does have a lot of people who have modern expectations. This nuclear plant is right on the bank of the Loire, well away from any famous chateaus. I drove slowly by, because it was fascinating to see one in action, since we rid our state of them quite a while ago. That’s Skoda, my car, which is actually the brand, because since I have no idea where it’s built I couldn’t think of an appropriate name for her.

Eventually I arrived at the big hill upon which the original count chose to build his castle, around which the surrounding town grew up. Grapevines cover all the hills, and their tiny leaves are just starting to open, which is why the hills in our featured photo look brown. It’s all vines, not desert.

I took a stroll and found an overlook near the chateau, from which you could see the Loire and surrounding country. This is the traditional region of Berry, which is fun since Les Très Riches Heures du Duc du Berry was a favorite of mine in art history class. It is rich countryside, and the bright yellow is mustard in flower, which I also saw a great deal of today on my drive further south.

This morning, I was looking for a spot from which to get a photo of the hill of Sancerre, and kept passing an older woman out for a stroll. When I finally got out to take a picture, she seemed curious about me, and walked toward me. I told her I wasn’t lost, just trying to get a good view of the hill and vines. She suggested a place down the road, at an intersection, and when I said I was American she just plunged right in with “What do you think of Trump?” I loved it. We then talked for at least a half hour about all kinds of stuff going on in the world, from our different perspectives. She told me she was Catholic, and that France has become very non-religious, which I knew. She then quoted me some large number of adults who have decided to get themselves baptized in the last year or so, since their parents did not choose to do it when they were babies. She seemed pretty conservative, and was a local, and was dressed very unfashionably, as seems normal here. But she was very kind, very happy to chat, and wished me good travels about four times as we parted. She said “I don’t know where France is going.” I said I had just thought the same thing. But then she said “You can only live in today, and enjoy yourself the best you can.” We never did exchange names, and used the formal ‘vous’ with one another the whole time.

This morning, I laughed out loud, because somehow Google has figured out that I want back roads, and is so eager to please, this is where it sent me just as I left my hotel. I almost missed the turnoff, it was so tiny. I was delighted.