Sancerre and Bourges: The Other Side of the Loire Valley

We had been hurtling through the woods for the last half hour looking for Sancerre. Luckily, Viggo had outgrown his vomit-comet days and was able to keep his breakfast down in the car these days. Denise? I wasn't so sure. She had dozed off about ten minutes ago.

Once again, French Waze had taken us down a route that was completely stupid. Why on earth would I want to shuck and jive around beavers, downed tree trunks and huge road indentations to save one minute? Especially when the main road gave us places to stop that didn't have “Beware of Hunters” signs.

This was the second week of September. Finally, a break from normal life. Originally, we had booked this for June, when a dear friend was coming to visit. Back then, it was going to be 105 or hotter. The rental had no AC and faced east to west. With two Golden Retrievers, two Florida escapees and someone looking to enjoy a special birthday, Sancerre in those conditions seemed more like a penalty than a reward.

Sancerre is only 70 miles from the house. But the directions said it would take an hour and forty minutes. How on Earth? I had spent my entire life on the east coast never more than ten minutes from 95. And on the west coast, if I crossed the five, I assumed I needed to show my passport.

But here we were. We had left the autoroute. Thirty five minutes of sane driving on a smooth French highway at 130kmh. Save the stop at the first rest stop to make sure that I had attached the roof racks properly.

Then somewhere around Vierzon, Waze sent us into the woods. The roads got narrower, the trees got thicker and we were no longer in an area where help was readily available.

Luckily, the internet still worked. The VPN/Sirius XM setup was still working. The upside of the backroads, since I was only going 45mph, Sully and Viggo could stick their heads out the back windows. The downside, at least for D, was the terrain. I felt like I was driving a logging truck down a dirt road.

Up ahead, Waze said to take a sharp left. D woke up just before the turn. I took it. Except, there were three left turn options. Waze practically froze. I chose the middle one. About a hundred yards down, Waze started redirecting me. “that’s not the way” D said. “I know” I said as it started backing up. I hadn’t seen a car for at least 10 minutes.

Certain, but not confident that I chosen the right road, we started ahead again. About ten minutes later, we reached a town called Jars. What an odd name. I could tell Miss Thing was not cool with our route. I saw a sign up ahead and announced that “Jars has a bar. I will meet you at the Jars Bar later this weekend.” No response. Tough crowd.

The woods and the bouncing seemed to be taking a toll. Either that, or I needed some work on my material.

As we left the town, an aggro little Twingo passed me with a lot of attitude from both the driver’s and the passenger’s seats. Look, I have two goldens and a borderline carsick partner with me I will have you know.

I shook off the disdain from the four cylinder and marshalled on.

A couple minutes later, in a voice that was not hiding that she thought I was following the wrong directions, Denise said “where are the vineyards?”

Looking at the navigation on the screen, it said our destination was 5km away. “I am not sure babe.” But I don’t think Sancerre hides their vineyards. Maybe we are just on the beer side of their valley.

To be fair, we were staring at nothing but agricultural fields rising up the hillsides on either side of the road. Sure it was good to finally be out of the woods, but there were no vineyards in sight. The road ahead was heading to higher elevation. Maybe everything was on the other side of the top. Up ahead on the left near the top I saw a sign for Domaine called something and Fils. We were getting close.

We took a left at the top of the hill. About a hundred yards ahead you could see the sky opening up to the right. And there was a sign for a pull-off. I headed right for that. As I pulled in, there it was. The valley below completely opened up. About five miles straight ahead sat Sancerre. I recognized it from the photos you see online. But to see it sitting there in front of you is mighty impressive.

It reminded me of the bastide towns in the southern part of France, occupying the entire crest of the hill. You could just make out a winding road leading up to it. Between us and the town, the landscape was filled with vineyards. They came down the hillside below Sancerre, spread across the valley floor and climbed the hills all the way back to where we were standing.

Satisfied that we were almost there, we headed down toward our gîte, which was supposed to have a vineyard out back. Getting there was fun for me because the roads we took looked more like vineyard paths than actual roads. At the bottom of the hill was the house.

I got the boys out and headed straight through to the backyard for some business. I opened the sliding door, crossed the patio and climbed a few steps into the yard.

The vineyard behind the house wasn't a vineyard the way I had pictured one. It rose up and wrapped around us in a huge bowl. The farther I walked into the yard, the more of it I could see. Rows of vines climbed the hills in every direction.

It looked like the Hollywood Bowl. Except somebody had replaced all the people with grapes.

Later, I was sitting in the backyard with a glass of wine when two hot-air balloons appeared over the vineyard.

Of course they did.

I sat there watching them drift over the vines, drinking wine made from grapes grown all around me. A few hours earlier, I had been bouncing through the woods wondering where Sancerre was hiding all its vineyards. Now I couldn't look anywhere without seeing one.

Over the next few days, I realized that was pretty much how this part of the Loire worked. Wine seemed to have taken over everything.

In the central part of the Loire, where we live, wine is definitely a big deal. But so is normal agriculture. The vast majority of our food comes from within a half hour of the house. And you can't forget about the castles. They are everywhere.

Verdigny sits only a few miles from Sancerre, on high ground of its own. You don't really notice how high you are because the land behind the house feels almost flat. But drive toward Sancerre and suddenly the ground drops away. The road heads straight down into a valley covered in vines, then climbs back up toward Sancerre on the other side.

Once you get into town, the vineyards disappear and Sancerre turns into a cool ancient town.

Denise was immediately taken with the history of the place. I was still thinking about the wine and trying not to hit any buildings.

Driving through Sancerre requires some concentration. The streets were built for people who never imagined transportation would someday include an SUV built for two Golden Retrievers and luggage. Every turn seemed to present another stone wall, medieval building or tourist who appeared completely certain that I wouldn’t run into them.

D was mesmerized by the centuries old buildings.

And she had plenty to look at. People have been living on this hill for more than a thousand years. In the 12th century, the first Count of Sancerre built a fortress at the highest point and the town grew up around it. With the Loire below and views for miles in every direction, it wasn't hard to understand why somebody wanted a fortress up there. And for the next few centuries people kept trying to take it from each other.

*Siege de Sancerre, early 17th century print by Claude Chastillon.*

By 1573, Sancerre had become a Protestant stronghold during the French Wars of Religion. This did not go over particularly well with the Catholic King. He had other ideas about who should be running the place. The town was surrounded and somehow held out for seven months before finally surrendering. They must have run out of wine.

Suddenly all those narrow streets and old stone buildings D was staring at seemed a little different. I still didn't want to hit any of them.

After a few days in Sancerre, I was ready for a change of scenery. I loved the place, but there are only so many vineyards a man can stare at before he starts thinking he should own one.

D had another problem. She had pretty much exhausted the shopping in Sancerre. It is a beautiful town, but most of the shops are aimed at people who have come to Sancerre to buy something that proves they went to Sancerre.

Bourges was only about half an hour away. I knew almost nothing about it. More importantly, I couldn't imagine us ever saying, “You know where we should go this weekend? Bourges.” So we figured we'd drive down, D could get her shopping on, we'd find somewhere for lunch and see what was there.

About five minutes after we parked, I was wondering why the hell nobody had ever told me about Bourges.

We had parked next to the Cathédrale Saint-Étienne, which was one of the biggest cathedrals I had ever seen. It is almost 400 feet long and 135 feet wide, with a tower rising more than 200 feet over the city. They started building it in 1195.

We walked a few blocks down toward the shopping district. I had both critters with me, so my day was mostly going to involve keeping them out of trouble while Denise got busy. Bourges had actual big city shopping.

Then I saw La Brasserie des Beaux Arts. It was 70 degrees. They had a huge patio right in the middle of the city. I had two Golden Retrievers who were perfectly happy doing absolutely nothing as long as they were included. D went shopping. The boys and I got a beer.

About an hour later, Denise came back carrying enough bags to indicate the hunt had been successful.

“Let's grab some lunch.” I said.

We could have eaten at the brasserie, but I had found another place called Chez Jacques about a three-minute walk away. It looked pretty cool. More importantly, they had a duck confit burger with Chavignol goat cheese sauce, cherry chutney and house-made fries. I had to try that.

The restaurant sat on a little pedestrian square surrounded by old buildings. We grabbed a table in the shade. The day had started cool, but the sun was beginning to warm things up. The boys settled in underneath us, D had completed her mission and I ordered the duck burger.

This was turning into a pretty good accidental day.

By then I was curious about Bourges. Pascal had told me that it was a city in decline. It didn't feel like it to me. There were people everywhere. Real stores. Restaurants were busy. And every time we turned a corner there seemed to be another medieval building sitting there like it was no big deal.

So while we were waiting for lunch, I pulled out my phone to get the lowdown on Bourges.

Turns out it has about 64,000 people in the city and around 173,000 in the greater area. So this wasn't some little town at all. It was a real regional city that I had somehow managed to know absolutely nothing about.

Then I read about a guy named Jacques Cœur. He was born in Bourges around 1400, the son of a furrier. Apparently the family pelt business wasn't going to provide the lifestyle he had in mind. He became an international merchant, built a trading network that stretched into the Mediterranean and eventually became the money guy for King Charles VII.

Old Jackie had big dreams and swung for the fences.

In 1443, he started building himself a house in Bourges. And being one of the richest men in France wasn't enough. People needed to know about it. His place eventually had 43 rooms, eight staircases and more than 43,000 square feet.

About then, I looked up from my phone. That house was across the street. And we were sitting in a restaurant called Chez Jacques.

That is Jackie’s house on the other side of the patio

It turns out that Bourges has been selected as a European Capital of Culture for 2028. It beat Clermont-Ferrand, Montpellier and Rouen for the French designation. We weren't the only ones who thought there was something pretty special about the place. Maybe things were looking up for Bourges.

We didn't tour Jacques's house. Which means we'll have to go back. We never even made it inside the cathedral.

From our house, Bourges is only about an hour and ten minutes away. Close enough for a day trip to actually explore the place.

The Other Side of the Valley

Lyon: An Unexpected Afternoon