Off to the Loire Valley we go. You know when your Airbnb host starts emailing you about extra blankets and firewood, the weather’s going to turn. And turn it did, bringing a blanket of snow to most of France and 12cm in Paris alone. 

We drove through village after village with not a soul around the entire journey to the Loire. There’s something a little creepy about not seeing another living thing for 10 villages in a row, I was beginning to wonder if the Zombie apocalypse and come and gone and we didn’t know about it because we can’t speak French. We finally found one market open and to my absolute delight, they had home made pastries. I don’t know if you’ve ever come across a French delicacy called a Pépito, but if you haven’t, you should seek one out the minute you arrive in France. It’s pastry dough with little chocolatey bits in it, all sandwiched together with crème pâtissière. I have no photos I’m afraid, I was too busy stuffing my face in the car park.

The snow started a little while later and got gradually heavier every half hour or so. We passed at least half a dozen snow ploughs going in the opposite direction which didn’t bode well. By the time we got to our Airbnb in Treves, a little hamlet right on the Loire river close to the city of Saumur, everything was crisp white and beautiful. 

We booked a 17th Century cottage for our stay because we wanted a full rustic experience. And that, my friends, is exactly what we got. If you’re going to stay in a centuries old house in the dead of winter, you have to have a sense of adventure. They just did things differently back then so if you’re expecting cozy and comfortable, you gonna have to work a bit harder for it. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Our host has added some incredible antique touches and decor in the house, it’s absolutely fascinating to walk around and look at it all. There are all the comforts you need but also a lot of quirks that make your stay memorable, however sometimes a little painful. For example, the door to the loo is about 5ft 3 inches so even I have to duck and Mr T has to get on his knees. It’s a little cave so there’s no heat in there, it’s practically snowing when you go for a pee. Electrics weren’t a thing when this house was built, so they are a tad temperamental. You can’t put the heaters and the lights on and boil the kettle at the same time without getting plunged into darkness (luckily we now know where the trip switch is). The windows and doors may not be 17th Century but are at least pre World War 1, with all the fun that entails! And then there’s the fireplace.

On day one, after hearing an almighty crash, I race upstairs. Mr T is bent over muttering unmentionables.

Me: “What the hell happened?”
Him: “Bloody fireplace. Nearly knocked myself out.”

The second time he did it, I came running again and he was on his knees on the carpet, rendered speechless. Never a good sign. I gave him a pat on the shoulder and made a cup of tea. The third time he was definitely more vocal, I could hear him all the way downstairs in the loo where I was literally freezing my ass off. I didn’t dare come up for a while. Eventually, he came downstairs seemingly recovered and walked straight into one of the low hanging light fixtures. Choice words all round. 

We’d just about recovered and learned to duck and weave around the fireplace and the lights, when Mr T stepped out to take the dog for a pee and went arse over tit on the front porch. Snow and slippers do not go together. Lesson learned. Poor fella can’t get a break. 

Day two, we thought it would be nice to visit the bakery in town so we rugged up and took the WonderDog for a stroll down there. It was shut. Apparently it shuts on Wednesdays. Who knows why. Mind you, it was shut Thursday and Friday too, so who knows. Luckily though, and stand by to be utterly amazed, they have baguette vending machines in France. I’m not kidding. Vending machines on the side of the road where you can put in money and get a baguette. Is that crazy or what?! And there are baguettes EVERYWHERE. I know what you’re thinking, I’m just playing to the stereotype here, but I tell you everyone carries around baguettes. Walking down the street, going to a bar, everywhere, people are carrying baguettes. I’ll start taking pictures so you know I’m not making it up. It’s the accessory to be seen with. Mr T and I need to start rocking one each to get some street cred. And why no other country has baguette vending machines is beyond me, it’s a legendary idea!

As we had struck out on the breakfast, we thought we’d have a nice leisurely lunch in Saumur. We planned to stroll around, see the city sights and afterwards find a brasserie that looked cozy for a long lunch and a glass of wine. Turns out the wind chill was minus 8 that day, so instead we ran from the car to the first place we could find before we froze to death. Luckily every single restaurant here is fine with dogs so there was no back and forth about not letting the WonderDog in. Dogs are always welcome (I love this place!)

I wasn’t that hungry but I was totally in the mood for some soup. Nice warming soup. I saw soup of the day on the menu. Brilliant, that’s what I’ll have. The waiter comes over and I try and ask for soup. He says something in French, I say something, he shrugs, I panic, and somehow in the melee, I end up ordering rabbit. I have no idea what happened. Mr T is baffled. 

Me: “Shit, that didn’t go well.”
Him: “Ummm no. I think you’re getting rabbit.”
Me: “WHAT? Like a rabbit soup?”
Him: “No like actual rabbit.”
Me: “How, why? Oh god, what if it’s got teeth. Or eyeballs.”
Him: <toggling between the menu and his phone> “It says here that type of rabbit is, quote, a large and not handsome rabbit.”
Me: “Not handsome? Christ, I’m not just getting rabbit, I’m getting an ugly rabbit?”
Him: “‘Fraid so.”

I have to say, the rabbit was tasty, if a tad on the heavy side, and I managed to get through it as long as I didn’t really look at it too long. Bloody ugly is right. It looked like it had ears and teeth and that put me right off. The WonderDog kept reminding me that she’d be happy to take one for the team and eat it herself, but as it was cooked in red wine, it was a no go. The last thing anyone needs is a labradoodle swinging from the light fixtures singing dirty sea shanties and trying to pick a fight.

With that we headed home to warm up and take stock. We have some fun wine tastings coming up over the next couple of day with a few that Mr T is incredibly excited to try. I’ll be the designated driver and will try and stay out of trouble. Surely, my French can only get better!