A few delightful days at Le Moulin Du Chemin
Last July we spent a wonderfully relaxing few days as guests of Vince and Sarah at Le Moulin du Chemin in the Vendée region of France.
Now, Vince and Sarah run a chambres d’hôtes business offering specialist all-inclusive holidays for walkers, cyclists and those seeking a peaceful retreat. Apparently, they also cater exceptionally well for a pair of moany old codgers, which is fortunate because that’s exactly what arrived on their doorstep.
As the name suggests, Le Moulin is a former 16th-century mill house tucked deep into the Deux-Sèvres countryside. It’s the sort of place where everything seems greener than it has any right to be. The area is lush, fertile and teeming with wildlife. It is also famous for growing Angelica, a herb used in local liqueurs and candied sweets. We naturally felt it was our duty to investigate the former rather more thoroughly than the latter.
As you approach Le Moulin, you immediately sense you’ve entered a different world. Life moves more slowly here. People aren’t rushing about checking watches and staring at phones. Instead, they sit, chat, eat, drink and generally behave as though stress hasn’t yet been invented. Some of us (mentioning no names) found this concept slightly unfamiliar at first.
When we arrived, Vince and Sarah were preparing their weekly barbecue, complete with homemade sausages. Within minutes we were being treated like old friends. Drinks appeared, introductions were made and a tour of the property followed.
Our room sat above the vine-covered terrace that forms the heart of the property, reached by a rather narrow concrete staircase. It was spacious and comfortable, furnished in classic rustic French style with heavy wooden furniture and exposed beams.
One beam in particular ran directly through the middle of the room at chest height. Well, chest height for Mrs Grumpy. Waist height for Mr Grumpy who, as he constantly reminds her, is “considerably taller than her.”
Actually, what he usually says is, “You’re a midget, aren’t you?” as though he has only just noticed.
Mrs Grumpy points out that whilst one does lose a little height with age, she hasn’t shrunk by more than an inch since adulthood. Certainly not enough to justify his continued astonishment.
That evening proved wonderfully convivial as we joined the other guests around the table, including a jovial English farmer and his lovely partner. Good food, flowing wine and interesting company quickly set the tone for the week.
The following day, Vince and Sarah whisked us off to the Marais Poitevin, often referred to as “The Green Venice”. This beautiful wetland landscape is a maze of tiny islands linked by picturesque canals.
We climbed aboard a traditional punt-style boat and were expertly propelled along narrow winding waterways by our guide. The moment you leave the main channel at Magné, an extraordinary stillness descends. The world seems to go quiet.
Mrs Grumpy spent much of the hour-long journey making entirely too many references to the film Deliverance. It remains unclear whether she was hoping Mr Grumpy would be picked off by a local marksman, leaving her free to run away with the handsome young guide.
After all that relaxation, refreshment was clearly required.
Fortunately, Vince and Sarah were waiting at the quayside Café de l’Escale where they treated the entire Moulin party to lunch and cold beer. Friendships were already forming amongst the guests; the sort of holiday friendships that may never survive contact with real life but feel entirely meaningful while they last.
Back at Le Moulin, each evening centred around the enormous wooden dining table beneath the vine-covered pergola.
The undisputed star of the show was Vince’s cooking.
Working miracles from a tiny kitchen, he somehow produced three and four-course dinners night after night. Usually French-inspired and always delicious. Mrs Grumpy considers herself a reasonably competent cook but happily surrendered her crown after sampling Vince’s Coquilles Saint-Jacques and poached pears.
The supporting cast was equally impressive.
Namely the wines.
Vince and Sarah’s cellar is a thing of wonder. Mrs Grumpy returned home feeling distinctly aggrieved that all she possesses is a modest wine rack in the kitchen. A proper cellar, she concluded, is now an urgent requirement.
Of course, the most important part of every evening was the guests themselves. The cast changed continually as people arrived and departed, bringing stories and experiences from all over the world. Conversations drifted between countries, careers and adventures, occasionally switching languages along the way.
Mr Grumpy was in his absolute element. Given a willing audience, he happily regaled fellow diners with tales of his African adventures. There are many. Very many.
Mrs Grumpy was quietly delighted to discover other people willing to listen to them.
Sarah and Vince, whose own fascinating lives have included African connections, effortlessly kept conversations flowing and ensured nobody ever felt left out.
The next morning began with yoga beneath the pergola.
Mr Grumpy wasn’t entirely comfortable when he realised the creaking of his joints was clearly audible to the assembled group. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only noises escaping from his direction. Mrs Grumpy was thankful he resisted his usual vocal defence of “better out than in.” He also appeared to require slightly longer than everyone else to manoeuvre into certain positions.
Nevertheless, it was a wonderful way to start the day. Mrs Grumpy was particularly pleased to discover she could still fold herself into surprisingly ambitious shapes despite years away from a yoga mat and an increase in her own girth she would rather not discuss.
Reward was clearly deserved after such exertions.
That came in the form of a visit to nearby Vouvant, reputedly the only fortified town in the Vendée. Dominating proceedings is the imposing Mélusine Tower which required a considerable amount of puffing and panting from both of us.
At the summit, whilst attempting to recover enough oxygen to speak, we jointly declared that the view was “absolutely worth the climb.”
The climb, and indeed the yoga, justified a light lunch at Les Délices de Mélusine. Sarah assured us their galettes were the best in the area. After sampling them, we were inclined to agree. The excellent iced coffee that followed only reinforced the verdict.
That evening’s performance around the dinner table was every bit as enjoyable as the previous ones.
The following day, another problem needed addressing.
As regular readers will know, Mr Grumpy requires periodic immersion in water. Pool, river, lake or sea – it makes little difference.
The lure of nearby La Rochelle proved irresistible.
Mrs Grumpy sensibly insisted on seeing the beautiful harbour and town first, although she somehow also managed to tempt him with moules and beer along the waterfront. Mr Grumpy later claimed she had twisted his arm. Mrs Grumpy maintains she didn’t even touch him.
After sightseeing duties were completed, the search for a beach commenced. Following one failed parking attempt, success was achieved at the next bay along.
As you can see Mr Grumpy launched himself into the waves with all the enthusiasm of an excited puppy, displacing rather more water than he used to.
“It’s lovely once you get in!” he shouted.
Mrs Grumpy has heard this statement hundreds of times. He has even shouted it at her from freezing January seas. She therefore regards it as highly unreliable evidence.
The drive back to Le Moulin took us through glorious French countryside, with vast fields of sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.
“Stop the car!” cried Mrs Grumpy.
After a brief moment of panic, Mr Grumpy discovered there was no emergency. She simply wanted photographs of the sunflowers, which she regarded as the very definition of rural France.
Amongst our fellow guests were Richard and Lesley. Technically fellow old fogeys, but unfortunately of the lean and athletic variety. They were staying at Le Moulin for a cycling holiday and regularly disappeared each day for what they described as “a short ride of about sixty kilometres.”
Mr Grumpy cycles regularly himself, although nowadays on an e-mountain bike rather than astreamlined road machine.
Being wonderfully kind people, Richard and Lesley invited him to join them.
Mrs Grumpy, never knowingly overexerted, remained behind at Le Moulin to hold the fort.
Several hours later Richard and Lesley returned looking fresh and cheerful. A rather red-faced and heavily panting Mr Grumpy arrived some distance behind. He declared it had been a marvellous day but admitted to feeling “a little tired.”
Fortunately, a cold beer and a dip in the pool at Le Moulin quickly resolved the problem.
The final outing of our stay took us to the market town of Coulonges-sur-l’Autize. Initially the town appeared deserted. Shuttered windows. Quiet streets. Hardly a soul in sight.
Then we found the market. Apparently, the entire population had gathered in one square.
Cheeses were being inspected. Peaches gently squeezed. Sausages sampled. Cakes admired lovingly.
We both temporarily forgot our expanding waistlines and agreed that coffee and cake were entirely necessary.
Leaving Le Moulin was genuinely sad.
It is not the most polished or glamorous place we have ever stayed at. There are one or two ramshackle corners and a few flyscreens that have seen better days.
But that is entirely beside the point.
What makes Le Moulin special are the things that really matter: the beautiful surroundings, the wonderful food, the excellent wine, the warm hospitality of Vince and Sarah, and the ever-changing cast of characters who gather around the table.
For a few days, you become part of the story.
And that is something rather special indeed.
We stayed here: www.moulinholidays.com
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