The train was wonderful; it was very fast, comfortable and got us to le Mans in 57 minutes with no fuss, not breakdowns, no accidents. All in all, makes our British trains the 19th century things they are.
Le Mans is two towns really, the new moden one up from the station, and the old one around the cathedral. We were there to meet a woman Jools works with to get French business, and we were onvited to her place in the country for the night.
We walked up the high street, or whatever it's French variant is, up to Repulblique Square. We waited whilst Melonie came down to meet us; she and Jools chatted about work, and then at one we went to the bookshop for lunch.
Where else?
We had a wonderful, tasty meal with a glass of wine and a nice dessert all for a few Euros; and then armed with directions, Jools and I headed to the old town whilst Melonie went back to work.
As ever, the old town was narrow cobbled streets, wattle and daub half timbered houses, the occasional church, stunning views over what was fertile land, now downtown, all around a massive cathedral.
I took pictures, we wandered around; we stopped in a couple of bars, had beers, ohhed and ahhed at some pretty piece of carving. The sun came out and so I took the pictures all over again.
At six we went back to Melonie's office to then head into the country to her village and for a place to eat and chat and eat and drink wine.
There is nothing like the Frech countryside; it should look the same as the English, but isn't. Her house is just wondeful; a converted cottage and barn, full of cool wonderful spaces and outside multi-layered gardens. We sighed and said honest nice things.
We had roast chicken, roast potatoes and roast figs, followed by rhubarb tart and lots of wine.
we talked; Melonie's husband spoke no english; his English was better than my French. I knew I had had enough to drink when I laughed at his jokes.
We went to bed with the sound of many toads croaking for France in the garden and all around. We slept like logs.
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