Fall Comes to the Valley
This past year we focused on the outside of the house: planted flowers and bushes, yanked out weeds that thought they were grass, and hauled in so much river rock we basically built our own driveway and parking lot. All the things you can actually finish. The upstairs? That’s the big, messy project still waiting its turn.
Now that things were in place, I’d formed a new habit: sitting outside most mornings before D got up. A chance to chill before the day started. My trusty Yeti mug filled with two pods of Number 9 Forza espresso, Sully and Viggo wandering the yard, sniffing and digesting their breakfasts.
The other morning I was out there in the early quiet when it hit me: something had shifted overnight. Summer had slipped out the back door. The air had teeth. Even with a burly hooded sweatshirt zipped up to my chin, it felt downright nippy.
Fall had arrived in the Loire Valley.
We had two really long heat waves this summer, unusual for here. Each day I checked the forecast to see if I’d need to dodge another one. Truth is, I’d been praying for cooler weather. After canicules and nights where the stone walls radiated heat like a pizza oven, I figured I’d welcome a chill in the air. Instead, I’m just sitting here wondering why I ever wished for this.
Part of it is wardrobe grief. My preferred outfit, shorts and a T-shirt, is officially benched. It’s sweaters/sweatshirts and jeans, and the creeping realization that putting on socks every morning feels like surrender.
Then there’s the annual migration of my legs into scaly lizard territory. Denise spots it before I do. She always does. One morning she’ll gasp, point, and the next thing I know she’s chasing me through the house with a bottle of lotion like it’s holy water and I’m possessed. She always wins.
And this year, as I sat there in the chill, another thought hit me: this will be my first winter as someone who actually knows how to live here.
Last year was a different story. Having spent the bulk of my life in Southern California and Florida, I entered that first winter with my usual “let’s see what happens” attitude. Instead of the dust-blowers the previous owner had installed on the cheap, we relied on portable heaters, supposedly energy efficient, to heat the gîte and whatever room we occupied in the main house. The old stone walls laughed. Our kitchen sat at a toasty 58 degrees, the bedroom never crept above 63, and then the electric bill arrived: €650 for two heaters. Something had to change.
So we started upgrading our heating situation. Two new heaters for the gîte. One for the main house. All three were soft heat models that feel like a warm blanket is on you instead of dry heat cracking your skin.
Disconnecting the old units would be easy. Putting new ones back in was a different story, especially with limestone walls in the family room. When Pascal saw me unloading the Thermors, he warned me about the limestone and how persnickety it could be. “Well, maybe you should do the install,” I said, “you know, to protect the walls.” He gave me that look of his, but agreed anyway.
Those new units worked so well, we went out and bought another, bigger heater for the family room. My master plan was simple: move the newer one into the kitchen, install the brand-new one in the family room, and voilà. But I didn’t have the heart to ask Pascal to come back and do all that work again.
Not long after, Pascal and his wife Katia invited us to their place for apéritifs. When the door opened, there was Pascal in only a T-shirt and jeans, his wood stove blasting out so much heat it felt like the tropics. That was the solution for the main part of the house. Naturally, I bought the exact same stove. Then cajoled Pascal into installing it. That installation included him crawling around my roof to make sure the chimney piping didn’t kill us in our sleep.
That’s when we met Patrick, Pascal’s wood guy. He arrived in our driveway on a tractor from the ’60s, pulling a cart stacked with three-year-old wood — the good stuff — and charged us half of what I’d paid the sketchy “friend of the gravel guy” who’d dumped fresh logs in my garage that wouldn’t burn to save their lives. Patrick helped me stack it himself, grinning the whole time like this was just Tuesday in the village.
That was my crash course in surviving a French winter.
The real victory of last winter? Knowing that this year, we have a wood stove between our chairs instead of a €650 electric bill.
So that was last year, my rookie season. This year, I’m coming in with a little more knowledge, a little more wood stacked, and the vague confidence of someone who thinks he knows what he’s doing. Nice little daydream while it lasted…
Then it hit me: Pascal never installed my new heater in the kitchen.
The beautiful 1000w Thermor Quiet is currently humming away in the family room, but every time I walk into the kitchen, I hit a wall of 58-degree air. What if…
What if I could talk Pascal into moving the 1000w unit from the family room into the kitchen, where it could put that clunker out of its misery? That would clear the way for Pascal to install the brand-new 1500w Thermor Quiet in the bigger family room, where it actually belongs. A perfect cascade. Heater chess.
The problem? Pascal already suspects I dream up these schemes in my sleep. (He’s not entirely wrong.) So how exactly do you convince a Frenchman, who has already risked his neck crawling on your roof and endured your steady stream of harebrained projects — remodeling the gîte bathroom, installing new wiring and plumbing in the kitchen, prepping for the soon-to-be-renovated upstairs — to rearrange the heaters yet again?
This is where my brain goes now on a chilly September morning. Shorts are gone, my legs already plotting their annual march toward dryness, Denise is gearing up with lotion reinforcements, and I’m quietly plotting how to win Pascal over to my grand heater strategy.
It’s not exactly A Year in Provence. It’s more like A Year of Trying to Talk Pascal Into Just One More Project.
Shorts will come back in May. Pascal will never be done with me.
And that’s the chaos I savor.
A Place to Visit: Amboise
If Chambord is the show-off cousin who can’t stop flexing his towers, Amboise is the charming older sibling who knows all the stories and pours you another glass while telling them.
Amboise sits on a wide bend of the Loire, with a château looming overhead and a market that spills along the river every Friday and Sunday. The town itself is enchanting, made for tourists and shopping. It's full of charming, photo-ready corners that make you stop and pull out your phone whether you mean to or not.
There’s plenty of bustle, but it never crosses into pushy. And crossing the bridge toward the castle at sunset, the whole town looks like it’s been staged by a painter showing off.
And then there’s the history. Amboise has not one, but two castles:
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Château Royal d’Amboise, once home to French kings, now the resting place of Leonardo da Vinci.
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Clos Lucé, da Vinci’s final residence, complete with models of his wildest inventions.
You can walk through centuries in the morning, then be sitting in front of a burger at La Planque by dinner. (Yes, some of the best burgers in the Loire are in château country.) Other standouts:
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Restaurant Les Arpents — creative, modern French cooking with real depth.
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Chez Bruno — right on the gorgeous but touristy strip outside the main château. In a sea of tourist traps, this one actually delivers.
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Bigot — for chocolate, pastries, and coffee in the heart of town.
And if you’re us, every trip to Amboise requires a stop at The Treasures of Amboise, right next to the train station. D loves rummaging through the usual French bric-a-brac, and while plenty of it is just for fun, we’ve walked out of there with some genuine steals.
The first time we ever even learned about Amboise was through Naomi’s place. I mean really, a town like this and we had never heard of it? That probably says more about us than about Amboise. We stayed at her Clos Lussault property just outside of town, back when we were scouting houses, and it was there we first felt the pull of the Loire. By the way, the Michelangelo unit has coolest shower drain you will ever see. Trust me.
The next time we visited, we booked into Le Clos d’Amboise. It was elegant, close to everything, and, miracle of miracles, with its own parking. We stayed there the night before meeting the owners of what would eventually become our house.
Naomi herself is a fellow American who has been living her French dream for more than 25 years. She curates several properties in the area. Some troglodyte-style, some not, all well-appointed and full of charm. Later, we spent six magical weeks at her Songbird Sanctuary near Chenonceau while waiting for our sale to close. More than her houses, it’s Naomi herself — warm, kind, generous — that makes staying with her special.
So yes, Amboise is worth your time. Come for the castles and the market. Stay for the burgers, the wine, and if you’re lucky, Naomi.
Would I visit if I were you? For sure. But the truth is, I get to go there often. And one of the great treats for me is bringing guests to see such an amazing little town.
If You Want to Stay in Naomi’s Properties
Our friend Naomi Benamy has been living her French dream for more than 25 years, and she curates some of the most unique, well-appointed rentals in the Loire Valley (and beyond). A few highlights:
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Clos Lussault (Amboise): Four guest houses that can be rented separately or combined through “secret passages” — perfect whether you’re a couple or two dozen friends traveling together.
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Leonardo: 150m², 2 bedrooms, sleeps up to 7.
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Raphaël: 130m², 2 bedrooms + sleeping attic, sleeps up to 6.
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Donatello: 130m² troglodyte space, 2 bedrooms + mezzanine, sleeps up to 6.
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Michelangelo: 140m², 1 bedroom + living room/bedroom + attic dortoir, sleeps up to 8.
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Songbird Sanctuary (near Chenonceau): Three guest houses tucked into the limestone, which can be rented separately or together. They are magical, central, and surrounded by birdsong.
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The Swan: 165m², 3 bedrooms + a separate 30m² cave bedroom, sleeps up to 10.
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The Dove: 80m², 2 bedrooms, sleeps up to 6.
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The Skylark: 80m² cave troglodyte, 1 bedroom, sleeps up to 4.
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Other gems in Paris and the Loire: Naomi also has beautiful apartments in Paris and additional homes sprinkled across the valley.
You can easily find her places here.
Until next time.
Thanks for subscribing and thanks for reading.
Paul
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