Le Cheval Blanc by Chloe
This is a guest blog by Chloe. I will start with an abbreviated version of the drive from Collonges-La-Rouge to the town of Blere. While a GPS is a fine and useful technological advance, it is fraught with peril, particularly on the French backroads. Simply putting in the next stop in our itinerary, Le Cheval Blanc, in the town of Blere, gave a set of directions at first glance completely reasonable. However, the GPS seeks to find only the shortest distance between points and does not distinguish between a departmental or a national road. National roads in France are generally good, sometimes even multi lanes, and always paved. Departmental roads, however, suffer no such restrictions. While the route to Blere could be described as scenic, after 3 hours of scenic french country side the driver's (Max) patience was wearing rather thin. The quaint custom in small french towns of blocking all egress in favor of a brocante day (flea market fair type festival) did not make matters any better. Often there would be one road into and out of a town, and usually the one we needed to take. After I rerouted us back to the same blockaded town twice, Max threatened to stop driving, forcing me to drive and Gail to navigate. While Gail and I were successful in navigating and driving the last leg of the trip from the Chateau de Chenenceau to Blere, Gail became car sick from looking at the GPS. Needless to say, we were all quite grateful to arrive in Blere and the hotel, Le Cheval Blanc. (I should mention that the hotel was listed in Karen Brown's guide and as this was how we discovered Chateau de la Caze, we were confident of at least a pleasant night.) Upon arrival we learned that the highly recommended restaurant at the hotel was closed and furthermore that the doors would be locked soon, so under no circumstances were we to forget the digicode allowing us to enter and exit the building. (While many smaller hotels and gites give guests digicodes to the door, it is usually because the owner or staff person is sleeping in another room or having dinner, not because the hotel will be completely deserted from 7 in the evening until sometime the next morning. )
The seemingly friendly if harried propriataire led use up a narrow flight of stairs to our rooms on the second floor. The rooms were small, but clean and both had a shower and toilet so we were all quite content with that. After washing up we headed out into the town in search of food. As it was a Sunday, the square was preternaturally quiet in the way small french towns become on sundays and jour feries (bank holidays). All stores are closed as well as most restaurants, leaving a select few bars and cafes to cater to the tourists. We found a crowded pizza place down the road from the hotel. The restaurant was literally a mom and pop place, the woman doing all the serving and the man doing all the cooking for an unexpected crowd. The food was surprisingly good considering the mad crush of customers, although Gail made the mistake of sampling the house wine. Sometimes ordering a "pot" of wine (350ml of wine served in a recycled bottle) just isn't a good idea. And then it was back to the hotel for a hot shower and early bedtime...
Max and I stretched out debating who would take the first shower when there was a knock at the door. Gail wanted to know if our water was working. It was fine before we left, but upon our return, not a drop. So no cold water,no hot water, no functioning toilet, nothing. I naively called the front desk expecting a response only to discover it was deserted. After going down stairs and exploring the lobby and the kitchen (all equally deserted), we were at a loss. The only pleasure I had, since a nice hot shower was out of the question, was listening to the panicked pitter patter of feet on the stairs as the other hotel guests arrived back from dinner only to discover they had no water. Gail and Kenji checked throughout the night for water but to no avail. Max and I, more accustomed to not showering for extended periods of time, went to sleep. The next morning we woke to the wonder of restored running water and luxuriated in a long hot shower. We ate at the hotel, too tired from the ordeal of the previous evening to bother searching for an open cafe. Gail and I had the same idea that breakfast would probably be free due to our inconveniences of the night before, so we didn't balk at the 10 euro per person bread and tea. After packing up we were ready to check out and start our trek to Paris. Gail and I decided to handle the check out as the boys weren't as accustomed or invigorated by haggling over the check out bills. Haggling and bartering is best left to the tough girls from NYC (Gail) and just generally cranky women (me). The smiling propritaire asked us if we had a pleasant stay and did we have breakfast there. This surprised me a bit as I thought he would mention the lack of water and perhaps apologize for the inconvenience or at least acknowledge the issue. Well I told him that we had some problems, "oh you mean the water" he asked somewhat ingenuously. "Yes," I replied, "there was no running water, no toilet all night last night. We couldn't get a drink or shower." His response looking at my wet hair was "well you showered today, so it's ok then." I was momentarily at a loss and to buy time I translated for Gail. I remained calm and explained that I didn't think we should pay full price for the rooms because there was no water and one expects running water and a functioning toilet. I figured clarity with what we expected (i.e. a free breakfast at least, 10% off the rooms, something of that nature) would suffice. He then explained that the pump broke so it wasn't his fault. I (somewhat less calmly) explained that there was no one at the reception, the hotel had been deserted by staff all night, and the phones were disabled. After translating for Gail she took over and explained about the guest and hotel having a contract, and in that contract the guest expects certain things (i.e. working toilet) in exchange the hotel receives payment, etc etc etc. As she said this all in english he happily ignored her. I was about to give up under the weight of french logic (there is no "the customer is always right", only "the customer is usually wrong but is a necessary evil if one is running a hotel") when another guest arrived. He was calmly canceling his reservations for the next night and explaining how a non flushing toilet was disgusting and how they had to go to a bar down the road to use the facilities. He was controlled, cool, and articulate (ok french was his native language so sarcasm worked better for him than for me). This for some reason sent the propritaire over the edge and he told Gail and me to get out. This was fine with us as it meant getting out without paying (or at least we hoped it did). We both fled to the car and recounted our adventures in french customer service to the boys, vowing to write to Karen Brown and to scrutinize our credit card bills for the next few months.
