It didn't take long after entering France to notice the subtle changes in landscape. The Terra is much dryer, with thin grassy vegetation and rocky soil. The buildings are made of a lot of stone and brick, and the oldest ones have taken on a weather-beaten slate color which blends into the dry landscape.Gothic churches, miles of vineyards and cobblestone roads greeted us to France, where the bike paths are nicer than the roadways, and the people are always fishing.
I found at once that speaking french is entirely necessary, seeing that many people don't speak English, or if they do, they pretend they don't. I have gotten quite good at asking where there is camping and ordering food. However, french in France is a bit difference then French in a classroom in American.
At a cafe in Besancon (a very beautiful beautiful city) we got to talking with the Barista, who spoke nearly perfect English. Turns out, he had studied Food Science at Madison and was just beside himself to find two Wisconsin bikers in his Cafe. He pulled up a chair next to us and we talked about everything under the sun. I told him how hard it was to speak French, and how sometimes even though I think I am speaking French to someone, they don't understand me at all and don't listen to a word I say! "I should practice speaking like I have an apple in my mouth!" I teased him, and to which he quickly responded "And to speak American ,we just speak with a hot-potato in our mouths!" which he then demonstrated by moving his mouth like a Muppet on speed, accompanied by loud screech-grunting and frantic, painful gestures. I think he frightened the whole cafe!
France, with its beautiful country side and lovely towns, reminds me often of America. Strip malls and burger joints, run down communities and miles upon miles upon miles of horrible road construction. everywhere you look there is a "deviation" (detour) and you find yourself on pothole infested back roads.
We took a day off to see Orleans, a cultural mecca of France and gateway to Paris and all things fashionable, only to find the city center a bocked off and tore up, completely devastated with construction. We passed a cafe where several of the construction men were taking a break, overlooking their chaos and destruction of bulldozers and cranes. That's one thing I will never understand about France. The entire country shuts down between noon and two pm all of the shops, bakeries, pharmacies, just shut their blinds and turn away customers for a two hour lunch break. If they feel like it I suppose, the towns wake back up around two and life begins again as normal. Maybe if they worked an entire day through, the country wouldn't be crying from bankruptcy and broken roads!
Ah France. So many of the things said about you are so true. Shes a country of great pride, great food and great wine... and everybody loves the word "petite".I'd reckon it's the most important word to know in French, except for maybe toilette, or baguette. Petite ami(e) is a boyfriend/girlfriend, petit dejuene is breakfast, petit pan is a roll, petit(e)-fil(es) is grandson(daughter), faire un petit somme is a nap every restaurant tries to sneak in France tries to sneak in the word somewhere in their store front,there are probably more "petit cafes" in france than any other shop name.
Once, hungry and lost, Todd and I succumbed to eating at a subway. We try to avoid the American establishments at all costs, but sometimes, when your blinded by hunger pains, an American fast food restaurant is sometimes unavoidable.
Looking back, I should have known. I really should have. The advertisement in the store window displayed the "limited time offer" of "petite sandwiches for the petite appetite!". Pictured on the sign were seven tasty bite-sized sandwiches for only "one euro a piece!". In my mind-numbing hunger I tried to decide if ounce-for-ounce it would pay off to order all seven flavors rather than a foot-long (excuse me, thirty-centimeter) sandwich.
When I walked into the store the large, bored expression on the sandwich artistas face made me somehow realize she had much better things to do than make me fourteen mini sandwiches (seven for me, seven for Todd). And so, I hehmed and hawed over what to order, clearly I was a bit lost among all the French options at the subway. In American, man,do I have that ordering at Subway thing DOWN. I'm like a subway-ordering master. But somehow, I had no idea how to order a sub in France. This clearly annoyed the 17-year-old artista, who was more interested in going back to reading her "People FRANCE edition" and chain smoking on the terrace. Somehow, i mustered up the courage to order two 30 centimeter sandwiches, and was doing my best to convince her to put all the toppings available on the sandwich, which clearly annoyed her.Not only did did I have a hard time pronouncing "concumbre" but I quite obviously was making her do too much work. she cut me off during a pathetic attempt to get a few more than three measly tomates with some mumbled question i assumed meant "what sort of dressing?" and that's where I blanked. up until then, I was doing pretty good with the french-speaking thing in the exchange, but suddenly, the only dressing type word I could remember in French was mutard, meaning mustard, and the next question I totally didn't understand, so I just responded with the fail-safe "oui!"
I paid and sprinted out of the store, with a giant-sized ice tea and two french-style foot-longs doused in mustard. Todd and I ripped away the paper and gnawed off a huge bite. Immediately my eyes welled up, my nose started to run and the inside of my mouth screamed in anguish. Todd and I locked pain-stricken, crying eyes and threw down the offending sandwiches in horror. Apparently I had ordered us the tear-gas flavored sandwiches. It must be a terrible joke. The mustard must have been only mustard in color and consistency, because the taste was pure anguish.I dove for the ice tea and drank in huge,grateful gulps and then ripped open the offensive sandwich and used every napkin and scrap of paper possible to scrape off the yellow sauce of death. Todd, on the other hand (apparently he felt a need to prove his manliness) hurriedly ate the poisonous mess in large bites while tears streamed down his face. It was a somber meal.
Besides subway, the food in France is, as you would expect, delicious. I've never eaten so much bread in my life! I think that if I could choose what I become in my next life, I would choose to become a french baguette. Imagine! To be something so praised and valued by an entire culture!A baguette is so incredibly french, its crusty yet soft, good for dippin in sauces or soup, or making into a sandwich. Every day you see dozens of french people, old ladies with scarfs on their heads, dashing young french men, cafe owners and little kids with baguettes under their arms, sticking out of a backpack or a basket on their bikes. At campgrounds, during check-in I answer the questions: "how many people?" "Tent or caravan?" "Do you need electricity?" and "How many baguettes do you want in the morning?" To be honest, they are truly an absurd food (like a three-foot-long bread stick)... but that's part of their charm. What's not to love about a food that doubles as a baseball bat when left outside for a few days?
There are plenty of other wonderful things to eat in France. We've taken to almost daily portions of crepes,pain au chocolate, and crocq monsieurs. And the french take their food VERY seriously. The most serious meal is the evening meal, which is to be eaten exactly before the sky is completely dark (whatever time that may be). One night, around seven in the evening, Todd and I were making the serious and luxurious dinner of instant mashed potatoes and lentil soup when the clouds suddenly turned black and it began to downpour with furiosity. We quickly ran under a small overhang outside the toilet shed with our tarp full of eating utensils bread and random bits of food. A couple had made it there before us, and had carried their little folding table with their flowers, candle, wine, five-course steak dinner and folding chairs into the area as well. We waited until the rain let up a bit and then Todd ran to get our pot, which had previously been boiling water. Somehow the little stove was still cooking away, and Todd proundly brought back a pot full of steaming hot water. We stood there, eating our nursing-home-worthy no-chewing-required dinner, and watched the rain. Just happy to be dry, with warm food.
Now, I'm not saying that one way is better than another, but most of the time I think we look like hobos compaired to the frenchies. We go all out every now and again and get a bottle of wine, and make a nice dinner (tonight we had vegtable. stir-fry with creamy polenta). But even then, we couldn't do it without the help of a french person. You see, we dont have a wine bottle opener, but we love wine. fortuinately for us, most of our wine nights there has either been a french person nearby or we've been in France.
You see, you don't even need a wine bottle opener, you just need a frenchie. When we have wine, Todd just gives me the bottle and says "Go practice your french Kelly." and I trot off to find the nearest camper it doesn't take long, to find someone, and it's almost like they see me comin' with my bottle of wine. I barely have to even ask and somebody whips out an opener (always the good old fashion kinds too) and puts on a big production of opening the wine for me. They examine the bottle, comment on the year, comment on the winery, laugh because they know it was cheap, and then proceed to open the bottle like they've been opening wine since birth. It's really great. I don't think I would even take a wine bottle opener if you gave it to me, how else would I practice my french? I usually have grand conversations with my wine-opening-friends. They ask about our trip and where we are from, give me advice about roads and good food in the next cities we'll be in. They usually laugh at my accent, and all talk at once so it's super hard for me to understand them, but they really don't care. I think they just like opening wine. 
And so, we started in Mulhouse, and followed the Rhine Southeast to Besancon, and then Digoin. Here we caught up with the Loire and started traveling Northwest up to Nevers and then on to Gien and Orleans. Here we began again traveling Southwest to Blois, Tours, Saumur, Angers and finally here, to Nantes. The trip started getting really cool once we made to the Loire. There is a local route called the "Loire a Velo" and is very well marked. The Loire itself is one of the coolest rivers I've ever seen. The whole thing is really shallow, and some areas are almost completely dry, and covered in these gorgeous sandbars. The current is slow and peaceful and the communities surrounding the river are just really darn neat. Cities have been built along the Loire for countless centuries, making these beautiful towns filled with so much culture and ancient air. In Austria and Germany, it was the landscape that captivates you... here in France, its the towns. And the castles. Phew! So many castles, and fortresses and mansions built into the sandstone and looking out onto the river. We took a tour of one outside of Orleans called Chateau De Villandy. The castle was the last of the great castles built along the Loire, and it was chock full of great stories and beautiful gardens. We spent a lovely afternoon touring the labyrinths and marveling at the great halls. This is the sort of thing that really reminds you that you're in France. 
The weather is starting to get cooler, and even here there seems to be that fall switch into school mode. The schools have begun to fill with students and you can hear them laughing and playing on playgrounds as we bike past. After we crossed into September, we suddenly found ourselves fairly alone along the windy bends of vineyards and long stretches of forests and tiny towns. I'm getting nervous/anxious to start my job, but we're also trying to milk out the last beautiful days of our epic ride. More to come.
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