Family summer holiday is now in full swing. We’ve been staying for the last few days at Samoreau, one of a cluster of small towns and villages on the Seine near Fontainebleau. It’s about 45 minutes from here to Paris by train, and we’ve had a couple of fantastic days in the capital gently mocking the Insta crowds while bouncing from landmark to landmark to take photos of our own. It’s been a busy start and I haven’t quite found holiday mode yet, but it’s been great fun nonetheless.
In between hectic trips to the city of love, we’ve done a little exploring of the countryside nearby. We spend a lovely morning in the small town of Moret-sur-Loing, with its little market, pretty waterfront and medieval city gates. The town is famous for producing delicious little barley sweets, and we dutifully handed over far too much money for a small bag that subsequently remelted and solidified into one giant lump in the hot van. Then there is Fontainebleau itself, which grew up around the great palace that dominates the town. The Palace of Fontainebleau served as a chateau and hunting lodge for French nobility for hundreds of years, and even post-Revolution Napoleon I and III both stamped their mark on it (I can’t help but think of the scene in Animal Farm where the revolutionary pigs are living it up with the humans). One lovely detail at the palace is that the gardens don’t have a formal border with the surrounding forest – apart from what is memorably described as a ‘water-filled ditch’ – no gateway to separate the palace with the woods. On the other side, of course, high walls and fences have always kept unwanted humans out!
Sadly, the great forest is closed at the moment. The impact of the fires that swept through 20 square kilometres of forest in July will be felt for many months and years to come; in the meantime, there is no access allowed to the forest trails, and there are still some road closures. We had hoped to take a walk in one of the unaffected areas but every path is taped off.
I still wanted to explore as best I could, so this morning I headed off on the bike to see how much of the forest I could experience. I knew the trails were closed but on the Michelin map I’d seen a scenic route that on closer inspection was called the ‘Route Ronde’. It didn’t really go anywhere apart from through the forest and I suspected it might have once been the kind of carriage drive that you often see in private woodlands in Britain. It was probably my best bet.
I was also looking forward to just riding. I’ve done a lot more long distance riding this year, bigger numbers, and it It can be hard to appreciate the freedom and exultation that cycling gives you when you’re ten hours into a pre-planned route. It was refreshing to not really have a plan fur a change, other than ‘be back for breakfast’.
I was up at 7am, and was quickly ready and out of the tent. The skies were cloudy for the first time since we got to France, and it would actually rain a tiny bit on my way around. I enjoyed the first little section, taking the touring bike across the forest trails south from Samoreau. The Seine was almost still and there was nobody around, and the first few kilometres were so peaceful. Too soon I rolled into Champagne-sur-Seine, crossed the river to Thomery and tackled the short climb up to the forest.
The Route Ronde starts just outside Thomery, and it’s gorgeous in an almost unphotographable way. The woodland is a beautiful mixed woodland dominated by Scots pine and oak, with birch, beech and hazel making up most of the balance. Many of the trees have been heat-stressed and are convinced autumn is already here, so there are browns, oranges and yellows already mixed in with the summer greens. The roads are wide and straight, running for a few kilometres before arriving at a roundabout and going almost straight over – gradually arcing around in the loop that gives the road its name. All of this is very wonderful, but somehow difficult to really capture on camera. Every time I stopped and tried, I realised how alive the forest was. Every noise is magnified so that you hear what you think is a deer but is probably just a blackbird. And I had the cool forest air almost to myself on this quiet Sunday morning. It was glorious, until for a few brief moments enormous raindrops fell from the sky. They seemed to fall languidly, like a thunderstorm happening in slow motion.
A few kilometres southwest of Fontainebleau, at Souvray Cross, I found the road ahead closed. This section was the worst affected by the fire, and in case I thought about passing the ‘Route Barrée’ signs – I didn’t – a blue lighted police car had stopped someone a few hundred metres into the closure. I turned right and followed the road back towards Fontainebleau.
It seemed to me that the whole area east of the Route d’Orleans had really suffered. Not much was visible from the road but I could see here and there blackened logs and saplings. The biggest clue was the smell, an acrid ashy aroma that my brain was hardwired by evolution to flee from. I don’t think I would have wanted to enter the burnt section even though I was curious: the dead trees and plants much be horrific, and the smell would probably become terrifying. I was glad to get in to Fontainebleau where at least the air felt safe.
There was just one more task; to show my appreciation for the time out, I stopped off at the local boulangerie for croissants, cherry flan and macarons. It was a pack up and move on day, and we’d need all our energy for the day ahead.
