One day, we somewhat foolishly drive into Tours. Getting in isn’t too bad, all things considered; but I find the getting out again to be hair-raising. It’s the autoroute that causes me anxiety; it seems to be everywhere — that is, access to it — and more than once I suck in my breath very sharply when I think CS has inadvertently driven onto one of the on-ramps. Tours is … big. I believe it was greatly destroyed during the War, and rebuilt; it’s a bit odd, inasmuch as it’s like one very big suburb, rather than like a major city. It’s certainly not unpleasant, and has some pretty parks. But we walk for a long time without finding anywhere to eat in our taste and price range; it seems to be largely supplies for the office workers — takeaway, but home-made and probably delicious.

We come to Tours because we believe we might find a shop selling DVD French movies with English subtitles; we have two specific movies in mind. We find the right shop, thanks to the Tourist Information office in its fabulous modern building, and we also find the two movies in a boxed set ! — but no luck; the French do not put out any of their contemporary movies with English subtitles. Bummer. SBS is sitting on a goldmine, and doing nothing; they could negotiate with the distributors of the movies that they subtitle for telecast to package and sell them locally; I refuse to believe that CS and I are the only Australians who love French movies !

Do some tootling this-afternoon, looking for ruins or châteaux, and find some; especially fascinated by the small eponymous one at Betz-le-Château … how is it that places like this are privately owned ? It’s clearly marked on the Michelin map, although it takes us a fair bit of toing and froing to find it; and there it is, impossible to get a good photo of, dismally signposted as being private and with forbidden entry. And it looks interesting !

Memory: CS, having bought some speck at the hypermarché, comes up with The Most Wondrous Ceci Pasta Sauce Ever Made. I dream of it still. And, alas for me !, that’s all I’ll ever be able to do, for we’re unable to buy that same kind of semi-cured meat product in Sydney.

I’m wandering about the footings of Foulkes Nerra’s place one evening after dinner (barbecued sausages, VERY delicious), thinking about History with a capital H, when a car pulls up beside me and the husband of the couple therein very politely asks me (in French, of course !) about the widely locally signposted, forthcoming Festival of Pentecost. I reply that I’m unable to tell him anything more than they have already read on the posters about town, for their contents are all I know. I am Australian, I add. They burst out laughing. Oh, not at my Australianness; at the once-more-proven theory that of whomever one asks directions or information in a strange place, that person will inevitably turn out to be him/herself a stranger.   :-)   They want to know can they give me a lift “all the way back home” in their car; there are many French who would like to visit Oz’s shores.

Memory: returning (from one of our expeditions) into the ‘back’ of Montrésor, and finding its breath-taking view from this side; and CS setting up the tripod under grey skies, in the gentle rain, taking shots to create a panorama …

Later in the week we see our third Foulkes Nerra donjon (for we have long since seen the one at Loches, which is very close to Montrésor and has some very pretty parts) at Montrichard; the weather is fairly vile, but provides interesting skies. It’s difficult to picture in one’s mind the might of what this place must have been like, for it is entirely surrounded by village; but at least it’s nice village … And then we go to visit the famous Chenonceau, but don’t; the day is very cold, the prices for admission are very high, and there are very many tourists. We do take a photo there of a beautiful tamarisk in bloom (I adore these trees; I should like nothing better than to grow one, here in Sydney — but that they are labelled ‘pests’ !) and then drive away. Anyway, Chenonceau is so recent that it’s scarcely historical …

Driving around has shown us almost nothing so much as canola — la colza. A couple of weeks back, when we see our first bright yellow fields here and there, we’re enchanted by its vividness: now, we think more of what a field of canola smells like (sort of … oily !), as we pass them endlessly. Whatever happened to the sunflower fields ? — has France abandoned them as a crop ? And how can there be enough people in the world buying canola oil to actually utilise the volume of it that must emerge from all this array …? — we’ve driven over a good deal of the country, now, and la colza has been in evidence everywhere we’ve been.

Never enough ruined châteaux, never. Le Grand Pressigny — fabulous ! We’re puzzled about its ruined donjon, for it resembles nothing so much as one of the Black Falcon’s … but it isn’t. Still, as CS points out, it was the architectural style of a period, and anyone could use it.

And Foulkes Nerra’s fourth donjon at Montbazon … some bastards have put a statue of god’s mother on top, but CS will remove her in the photos. For heaven’s sake ! — these were territory-protecting frighteners, not bloody churches !!! To my horror, Montbazon is being re … what ? Refurbished ? Renovated ? Restored ? Whatever they’re doing to it, it will end up looking neat and perfect and modelled absolutely on what everyone thinks it must’ve looked like … and it will be worthless. Just as well we saw it while it still has some street-cred.

Memory: driving for what seems like hours through endlessly flat, industrial countryside to reach Montbazon, querulously complaining that France isn’t entirely beautiful … CS reminding me of some parts of Sydney …

Our week in Montrésor almost over, dunno how. Where did the time go ?! Pontaubert, next; I’m getting cold feet, because I know it’s changed hands since we found its Website, and I’m not sure if the new people are seasoned hoteliers.

But I’m looking forward to meeting Sue and Henry, owners of a gîte (more than one, actually, and totally excellent) that we negotiated on before deciding that we already had as many weeks in gîtes as CS could cope with. So we cancelled out, and they were absolutely charming about it. Been corresponding ever since, and will visit them when in the Morvan.