And there is a point, between Paris and the south, when there is a change in landscape. The highways become small dirt roads, the air is less damp, the trees appear older somehow, as though they have been through hundreds of years of passers-by. It is then that you realise you are in the Loire Valley. It is a destination which does not just live on a map. It resides in its vineyards, in its chateaux, in the manner of morning sunlight falling upon sunflower fields.

I had always wanted to road-trip through it, but nothing made me as alive as it would be in a few years, not shouty and touristic, but with that silent French beat where the beauty is so natural.

Perhaps that calm energy had followed me from the very start of my journey, beginning with meet and greet at Heathrow, which made the trip feel effortless and unhurried from the moment I arrived at the airport.

The Road That Slows You Down

I began my trip in Tours, which is an ideal starting point of visiting the area. My final purchase before departure was a small rental car, what I would have found on a postcard, and a basket of baguettes, cheese, and a bottle of local wine. The Loire isn't a place to rush. It causes you to take your time, to halve when some sight summons you, or when some road sign directs you to a village never heard of.

Those highways are meandering through green valleys and sleepy hamlets where time appears to flow in a different manner. A chateau is visible in the horizon every few miles, here and there, some big and towering, and here and there, others quietly crouching over walls of ivy.

One can not help to stop, to stare, to walk in their gardens and fantasize about how life was centuries ago.

Even the Tiniest Detours are the Best.

My other happiest memories were due to an accidental diversion. I had found a small village next to the town of Amboise in one of the Sunday markets where people were selling their personal honey, fresh peaches, and sachets of lavender.

I sat in a cafe, and dined on goat cheese on stale bread when an old man was playing the accordion close by. That was one of those travelling experiences, of which one can never have another, and which become ordinary to every one present then, but interesting to me.

When I was driving down the street I would stop every now and then to see the view. The Loire River shines in the sun and flows slowly and gracefully through the valley.

Art, Gardens, and the Poetry of Everyday Life.

Along with castles and wine, there is still another form of beauty, the one that is in gardens and museums and is incredibly personal. The perfect symmetry and changing of colors in the seasons make the gardens of Villandry feel like walking in the painting. Every hedge, every flower appears to have been put there deliberately, saying something of patience and art.

Smaller towns, such as Chinon and Azay-le-Rideau, on the contrary, are filled with art collections and antique boutiques and in which local craftsmen continue to hew wood or to blow glass with the old tools.

It is the heartbeat of the valley, these little places, and here the art of living is not dead, and you do not find yourself looking upon beauty, but actually feel it being created around you.

Note: Always check cheap Luton airport parking and book according to your needs.

A Taste of Simplicity

One could not discuss the Loire without referring to the food. The area is somehow rustic in its sincerity to cook, nothing too complex, just the taste of the land itself.

I still recall the food in one of the country inns: duck confit and roasted potatoes, and then a piece of tart made of apples in the garden of the inn owner. It was not dressy, but it was just right.

A different stop saw me participate in a picnic at the river bank with locals. We moved the bread and soft cheese and wine that had been poured out of unlabeled bottles around.

There was laughter, and music somewhere playing quietly in the little speaker of one, and a golden light pouring upon the water. Everything seemed to be just right, simple, natural and very French, a moment.

A Night by the River

One of the nights I had been in a bed-and-breakfast somewhere to the outskirts of Blois, where some two individuals had settled down in a rustic retreat in an old farmhouse.It was a terrace to eat in, where the vines covered it: roast duck, potatoes fried in butter, and a simple dessert of strawberries and cream.

Later that night I could appreciate her meaning. The murmur of the river, the low twittering of the crickets, the coolness of the air that passes through the window open wide, all that there is about the Loire Valley makes one wish to live softer.

Leaving, But Carrying It With You.

The following morning I drove to Angers where the sun was illuminating the vineyards like a painting. I was not ready to go away, and maybe, that was it. Loire Valley is not a place to check off on a list but rather to experience. And touching, seeing all things at their best.