(Continued…)
We arrive in Amboise, the final resting place of Leonardo da Vinci. Here, as everywhere else, the incredible orderliness of things is striking: not a single blade of grass out of place, not a single overgrown hedge, not a single broken sidewalk. It seems as though people gather at night to keep everything perfectly clean. The next day brings castles, wine tastings, aperitifs, municipal wine bars, dinners, and drinking sessions featuring Cabernet Franc, Chenin, Grolleau, Poineau d’Aunis, and other rarities.
Chenonceau, with its bridge-castle spanning the Cher River, remains in the heart because of the story of the romantic rivalry between Catherine de’ Medici and Diane de Poitiers.
In the Loire, even historical rivalries seem suspended in a light that magnifies every detail.
After Amboise, we visit Tours and Saumur, splendid and symmetrical, each with a towering castle and an inhabited islet in the middle of the river. But what leaves the deepest impression is the countryside: the walks toward Bourgueil, the vineyards on sandy soil, the wine tastings in Vouvray with Philippe Foreau of Clos Naudin, proud of his cellars carved into the tuffeau and his demi-sec and molleux wines, where Chenin Blanc reaches its pinnacle. The warm welcome from Agathe at Domaine des Roches Neuves, to whom we left a humble bottle of our wine, remains an unforgettable afternoon.
At this point, I’ll digress for a moment: what is Vouvray Chenin Blanc? It’s a wine that thrives on time, light, and reflection. It’s not a wine of first impressions. Vouvray is a deceiver: it doesn’t reveal itself right away. You pour it, think you’ve figured it out, and it’s already changed. For years. It’s a wine made of time, tuff, and the river. I even dreamed about it: a blind tasting where we weren’t supposed to guess the producer, but the river.
Vouvray Chenin Blanc is one of those wines that force you to slow down, because they change as you observe them.
In the end, we uncovered the wines and figured out which rivers were present in the blend. Sometimes a drinker’s imagination runs wild on vacation, but there’s always a grain of truth. When you set out for the Loire, you think you’re looking for castles, but then you realize that the rivers are the real stars: they decide where the vines grow, how much fog there will be, and what the Chenin Blanc will be like—dry, demi-sec, or molleux. It’s never up to man.
The Loire forces you to realize that wine isn’t born solely from the soil, but from the rhythm of the rivers that flow through it.
With the interlude over, the vacation is over. What I won’t forget is the experience at Vincenzino il Cuciniere di Campagna. We booked months in advance—the hype was through the roof. The place is beautiful, nestled in the countryside. In the dining room, however, the atmosphere changes: it feels like a horror movie, or a scene from *Fantozzi contro tutti* with Professor Birkermaier. Total silence, tension—even identical attire. My son asks for a Coke: he’s shot down on the spot. Wonderful food, superb wine, a cathartic experience.
It’s one of those moments when you realize that travel isn’t just about places, but about the people who live there. France’s wine country always manages to take me by surprise. It’s a magnet that sometimes attracts, other times repels. But it can never leave you indifferent.