Thuggyville, Chateau de Cheverny and the bicycle ride through the Loire Valley.

Romoratin-Lathenay is so perfectly located; forests abounding with game, rivers convenient for trade. But due to circumstances beyond its control, while other villes dotted their grounds with magnificent Chateaux and grand cities, Romoratin was left behind.
As a kid, King Francois I used to play in the nearby forest and streams of Romoratin and when he decided to build a grand chateau in the Loire Valley, he had Leonardo Da Vinci draw up the plans. But in 1518, the area was devastated by the plague. End of plan. Some years later, Francois regained the urge to build, but this time he moved the location of his Chateau to Chambord. And what a chateau it is.
Romoratin sank back into a relaxed medieval existence until a Renault factory sprung up and brought in the autoworkers and their families. What’s weird about it all is that the autoworkers of France look like thugs. Romoratin has become Thuggyville. It looks like central casting for a French gangster movie. Our morning ritual each day would start with a walk around the corner to the nearby bar and have les grand tasses de café while the thugs would drink their beers, read the racing sheets and place their bets at the PMU window (their version of OTB). They are scarred and tattooed with enormous deformed noses from bar fights and alcohol.  There was the thug Elvis impersonator, another with a walrus moustache that rivaled David Crosby at the peak of his walrusness. And then there were those who could have served on the pirate ships of the 1700’s. They had voices that sounded either like 1950’s carnival barkers or just bad French cartoon characters.  It was the best people watching we experienced in a really long time.
We’d finish our coffee at one bar and take a stroll across the town center to another and sure enough, the same thugs have made it over. They seem to cross over between 2 to 3 bars, all day long, every day, even Sunday morning. The bars would open at 9am and the thugs would be waiting.

Although we didn’t come to Romoratin for the thug watching, although it was a big plus. We came for the luxury, comfort and great cuisine of the Hotel  Lion D’or. Oh sure, we’d share our morning coffee with the locals of Thuggyville, but at night we’d introduce our epicurean curiosities to langostines cooked in special medieval spices, milk fed veal, courgettes flowers stuffed with crabmeat and duck confit.

We’d always planned to rent a couple of bicycles and tour some of the Chateaux in the area. Afterall, there were at least 5 of them within a 40 km radius. The terrain was flat, there wasn’t much traffic and after a long airplane ride, we sure could use the exercise.  Even though I haven't really been on a bicycle much for the last 20 years, for the first few kilometers, zipping around the roundpoints, swerving around the traffic, we felt like Lance Armstrong taking a few warm-ups rounds through the first stages of the Tour de France. However, that feeling didn’t last all that long. Even though the terrain was (mostly) flat, the 65 kilometer tour was definitely a bit ambitious.  The blistering +90° heat off the black tar, the strain of our heads propped up onto the back of our necks for all those hours, the pain on our butts that still hurts when I sit down too quickly, the cramps in my thighs, and if wasn’t enough, apparently all the cafes and bars along the way closed early that day, or were already closed for the August holiday. Our two small bottles of water went all too quickly and the Bounty candybars melted after the first hour in the sun.
It was a tough ride, but after 33 km, we arrived at the Chateau de Cheverny, parked the bikes and had a great walk about tour. I even felt pretty good when we got back on the saddles and proceeded west down the D933 towards the Chateau de Moulin, but about 5km later I had to stop. All the pains came back like a raw nerve ending. A stop for a few minutes and another 5km. Another stop another 7km until we arrived to the Chateau de Moulin. For some stupid reason we paid 6 euro to see the outside of the Chateau. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but sure enough, we looked at the Chateau, walked to the ticket window, paid 6 euro each, walked out and looked and the same view of the Chateau. And since we didn’t want to wait around for another 45 minutes to pay another 8 euro to see the inside of the Chateau, we got back on the bikes and headed back to Thuggyville. At this point, we were only 10 km from home.
About 4 kilometers from the hotel, Gigi's rear tire went flat. And that was that.  We pumped up the tire a few times, but the air never lasted very long. The last 4 kilometers were slow and incredibly hot, but I didn’t mind at all.

And as we climbed the streets of the old industrial neighborhoods, good fortune smiled on us with an open Bar. I can’t remember the last time I downed a cold Perrier that quickly.
As I moaned in our bed that night, I realized it was one of those experiences that was great to have done, but not so great doing it, but having done it, I can now cross it off my list.