Day 6 - Amboise

Day 6—Friday, May 15, 1992

After having slept in a little later than I would have liked, till 10:00, we checked out of the Altea K-motel and drove back to Mont St. Michel, which was already overrun by tourists who clogged the alleyways. Also a parking fee was required at this hour, but in exchange we were given a small decal of the abbey. Our first stop was for a cup of coffee, after which we set out to explore parts of the island and its abbey we didn’t or couldn’t see the evening before. The main thoroughfare through the lower part of the town is lined with stores selling cheap souvenirs and inexpensive postcards for 1 franc. Moving on and up we reached the abbey itself, going as far as visitors are permitted to go. We considered whether to go on the 30 franc tour of the abbey’s interior, deciding at last to forgo it. While wandering through a building exhibiting a model of the abbey, my eyesight suddenly went haywire. My vision became blurred with splotches of light darting in and out. I’d had similar disturbances before and always associated them with stress, a lack of sleep, or a combination of the two, neither of which could have been the cause now.

Not being able to see normally, my enthusiasm was diminished but still I remained in awe by what I could see. Once back among the throngs of people on the narrow streets below, the problem became particularly bothersome. We ducked into a souvenir shop to escape the crowd and bought some pastries and sodas, which we ate on the rocks outside the walls of the abbey. Then it was time to go, but not before offering Sharon one last chance to hike out in the marsh surrounding the island so that I could take the last picture of her before she disappeared. Sharon again rejected the idea and accused me of having unsavory designs. Moi?

Back on the road we headed toward our destination of Amboise with Sharon at the wheel. Along the way my vision finally returned to normal. The drive would have been forgettable had we not stopped at a café and bar called the Au Feu Rouge in the town of la Fleche for a beer and coffee. The bartender, who I assumed was also the owner, befriended us, and we talked with him for a while, he in his broken English and me in my vastly more broken French. His name was Daniel Lenglet. He asked us why we came to France, and understood my response to be “for the wine.” Well it turns out some misunderstandings can be fortuitous. He dug out his atlas and gave us a mini course on where the best wines, along with the best of other things in France, could be found. It was a highlight of our trip just to talk to the man.

After we left the bar, I took over the driving. We decided to plow through the rather large town of Tours to reach our destination by a more scenic route. Fortunately, navigation through the town was quite easy (or lucky) and brief. The last ten miles of our trek took us along the Loire River until we reached the town of Amboise at about 7:00 p.m. Once in town we stopped at the local tourist information office, but it was closed, so we picked out the Hotel La Breche from Rick Steves’ guide and drove there. Dinner and breakfast, as well as an English speaking owner, were included with the room, so we took it. Dinner was OK, consisting of perch and potatoes. The perch sauce was quite tasty, but the fish itself was rather bland. The bottle of local white wine called Sancerre was to our liking, and the ambiance, set in the hotel’s garden, was delightful. We lingered at our table amidst the splendor.

Our hotel room had no television, so we watched the sun set, me from the window ledge in the room. Shortly thereafter we drove into town, first for a short walk along the Loire and then for some beers at a local outdoor cafe called Cafe Les Sports, frequented by more than a few young natives.

We left the cafe about midnight and began the short ride back to our hotel—it turned out to be a longer and much more exciting ride than expected. As I neared the turn to cross the bridge, I accidentally cut off a car with the right away. It wasn’t a close call or anything, but it sure pissed off the maniac driver in that car. He honked, flipped me the bird, and almost immediately sped around us on the bridge. Fine. Then he stopped in front of us on the bridge, blocking our path, and hopped out of his car in a rage. Not so fine. I locked my door, Sharon did likewise, and then I proceeded to drive around him and his car. He slammed the car a few times with his fist, jumped back in his car, and sped after us. Concerned that he intended to run into the rear of our car, I slowed down. He again passed us at the end of the bridge, so I made a U-turn and drove back across it. For whatever reason, maybe he’d broken his hand or maybe his passenger told him to cool it or maybe he turned rational (fat chance), he didn’t follow us. Anyway, we stopped at a parking lot in town for a short while and then drove back to our hotel, although it took some doing to find it and further doing to get the gate unlocked. At any rate there was no sign of Le Maniac.

Back at the hotel, I drank a couple of warm beers while perched in the window, keeping an eye on our car should Le Maniac find it, as Sharon and I rehashed the whole incident.

HIGHLIGHT: Daniel at the Au Feu Rouge—meeting the locals is so often the best there is to traveling.

LOWLIGHT: Le Maniac of Amboise—just another violent hothead on the highway.

REFLECTIONS FROM 2020:

An internet search uncovered no mention of a restaurant in La Fleche called Au Feu Rouge (meaning “at the red light” in English). So I searched Google Maps for bars and restaurants along Route D306, which was our path through town. And one place I found at 11 Avenue de Verron called Le Resto de la Bertraie just may be the place. It looks familiar, it’s situated in the right spot, and it’s right by a red light. It has to be the place. But alas, per a Google notice the establishment is now permanently closed.

Sharon and I have been fortunate in our travels over the years, avoiding mishaps of any significance. And for that reason, the encounter with the motorist stands out all the more. Oh well, as it turned out, nothing came of it other than a one-day lesson in Frenchmen. Like most places, there are the good (Daniel of La Fleche) and the bad (Le Maniac of Amboise).