Bourges to Sancerre

In 2024, I joined a team of contributors writing descriptions of European hiking trails for a company based in Paris called Les Others, known for its podcasts and periodicals, that was putting together a guide of 100 hikes in Europe that could all be done from France without taking a flight. The guide comes in a box and is made up of a map of Europe marked with a number for each trail, a map of train lines to get to the start of each hike, a small information brochure with lists of equipment needed, bivouac rules in each country, etc., and, most importantly, 100 cards matching the numbers on the big map with a brief introduction and a map of each trail, along with a QR code that links to a webpage containing all the information needed – the way to get there by train, a description of each trail day by day, a link to a Komoot GPX of the trail and other useful tips. I wrote five of the 100 hikes in the Recto-Verso Europe box and, in the process got to know the young and dynamic team behind it. And when the Europe guide was launched in October 2024, the company also published a revised edition of its French box, in other words, 100 hikes in every region of France. As a contributor to the Europe guide, I was given one of these boxes and was immediately impressed by the variety of hikes presented in it.

And so, when most of the hunting season finally ended in France on February 28, 2025, and it was possible to go out and hike again without having to check if we were likely to get shot by some drunken, bunk-eyed hunter, I decided it was time to test one of the Recto-Verso French hikes. Therefore, on March 11, I set off to walk from Bourges to Sancerre (hike 36), a wine-producing village one hour’s drive from home where Odile, my wife, would be able to join me for the weekend after my four-day hike.

This necessitated getting up very early to catch a train to Paris at 5:30 in the morning and then walking from the Gare de Lyon to the Gare d’Austerlitz to take the 7 o’clock train to Bourges. Paris was barely stirring at that hour and the

thick fog that I had had on the drive to my local station seem to hint that it would be a beautiful day.

The train to Bourges was a delayed for 30 minutes, which meant a long wait in the Gare d’Austerlitz, which is a real dump and seems to have been undergoing renovation for the last 15 years. But the train was very comfortable and actually had decent WiFi. Having been up so early, I spent most of the two-hour journey sleeping, despite the best efforts of a lady three seats away who talked nonstop for the whole journey to two male colleagues who couldn’t get a word in edgeways. The fog lingered in many places, but as soon as we crossed the Loire, the sky turned a beautiful, cloudless blue.

From the station in Bourges, it was a short bus ride to the starting point for the hike. And I had a pleasant surprise of discovering that public transport in Bourges is free. As a result, there were quite a few people on the bus at first at first, but when I got off some distance from the city centre I was one of the last passengers.

After the first few hundred metres thorough the suburb of Asnières, the trail veered off the road and that was where the day’s problems began. There was a trail on the map and I could just about make it out before me, but it was incredibly overgrown and clearly hadn’t been maintained for a couple of years at least. Moreover, it was very boggy, but I didn’t think this would last long, so rather than turn back and follow a number of different streets to the point I was aiming for, I decided to go for it. Bad idea! In next to no time, I was caught up in a mass of the thickest brambles I’ve ever seen and all kinds of thorny bushes that snagged on my clothes and pack, tore my hat off and left my hands bloody. I also had to keep an eye out for ivy and brambles at foot level that kept tripping me up. In the end, I only managed to advance by removing my pack and throwing it into the brambles ahead to bring them down to the ground. After taking about 30 minutes to cover 500 metres, I emerged into a field, bloody and cursing. A real nightmare section of trail. (And over a month later, I was still picking bits of thorns out of my skin!)

The hiking obviously became easier after that, but I then came across something that would plague me over the next few days. Even though it had been warm and sunny the previous week, the heavy rain of the last few months had left the ground sodden. What would have been a very pleasant trail in summer entailed, at this time of year, a permanent balancing act to avoid slipping in the mud churned up by vehicles that had used the tracks. Despite my precautions, I landed on my backside a couple of times, but without any damage done, just bruises to my dignity.

Fortunately, there were sections of road at times. I’m never too keen on walking long distances on asphalt, but they were a welcome relief from the mud every now and then.

At around midday, I arrived in the village of Saint Georges sur Moulon where the local pizzeria was open, so I stopped to eat. The pizza I was served was amazingly well garnished and great value for money. It set me up for the 9 km I had left to reach Mentou-Salon where I would be spending the night.

After sitting in the sun to digest (making the most of it as the coming days were forecast to be wet and cold), I set off again for the last stretch that consisted of a lot of walking on deserted country roads. However, at one point, the trail did leave the roads for a track across farmland (again was very muddy in places). It crossed an old railway line at one point. The tracks were no longer there, but the straight line that it cut through the woods showed where it once ran. It also explained why I would be staying on Rue de la Gare in Menetou-Salon, even though the village has no station now.

Surprisingly, even though Menetou-Salon is known for its wine, I didn’t see a single vineyard anywhere on my way. I later learned that I had approached the village from the wrong direction and that all the vineyards were on the other side of the hill from where I was.

All in all, it was a pretty uneventful first day, apart from the thorny section and the muddy tracks, and I arrived in Menetou-Salon at around 4:30, with all the usual aches of a first day’s hiking after a long period without covering any great distances.

I had booked to stay at La Loge in Menetou-Salon, a wonderful little maison d’hôtes run by a delightful couple, Jacky and Michelle, who had moved there and started to take in guests after retiring from long careers in Paris. My room was huge and beautifully appointed, with one of the best beds I’ve ever come across. We had a great evening chatting together over the delicious meal that Michelle had prepared, discovering in the process that we have the same family doctor! They used to consult him when they were living in Paris and still travel up to our neck of the woods to see him. Talk about a small world.

I set off the next morning at around 8:30, after an excellent breakfast of tasty bread, Michelle’s homemade yoghurt and amazing jams. Before leaving, I said goodbye to Jacky and Michelle and sent my best wishes to our doctor whom they would be seeing two days later. There was a long but gentle climb up to the top of the large main square of Menetou-Salon. Unlike many of the other villages I would be passing through, this one actually had a few shops and a couple of restaurants. I had set my sights on eating that midday in Morogues, at a small restaurant, so I didn’t pick up anything for the trail at the local bakery. Big mistake as it turned out.

The walking was very easy for the first part of the day, up through Menetou and then out into the surrounding countryside where I finally saw my first vines, with a few people at work pruning them. Once again, the trail was muddy and boggy in many sections, and walking was tricky at times as the soles of my boots were soon slippy from the mud stuck in the tread. There was even a little rain in the morning, but nothing to require getting into the rain gear.

As I approached the centre of the village of Parassy, I could hear a dog barking loudly near the church, right on my path. I couldn’t see it at first as it was on the other side of a slight rise, but it sounded big and nasty. However, when I got to the top of the rise, I discovered that it was a tiny dachshund that clearly had a huge inferiority complex and was trying to make as much noise as possible! Despite a strong ticking-off from its owner, it carried on barking until I was well past it, making a terrific din in the otherwise silent village.

After Parassy, the trail returned to the muddy fields again and my hiking poles were needed at all times to keep me upright. The already damp day turned damper as light rain began to fall. On coming down to the road heading into Morogues, I was so sick of the mud and slippery terrain that I decided not to follow the trail through the fields opposite along more muddy trails, but to follow the road into the village where I was aiming to have lunch at a small bar and restaurant.

However, on reaching Morogues, I found the place closed and, going by the rundown state that it was in, it had clearly shut down a while ago. There was nowhere else to eat in the village (but there were signs promising a restaurant would be opening in the coming April or May) so I ended up taking my lunch break on the steps of the church, the only relatively dry spot to sit on this cold and damp day. And all I had to eat was a bag of cashews and cranberries when I would have preferred a hot meal. After a while on the church steps, despite putting on every bit of extra clothing I could find, I began to feel really cold and so set off again after about half an hour.

There was a very pleasant and gentle climb out of Morogues past vineyards to the top of a hill with a fine view back over the village.

However, as I climbed, I began to feel a slight pain in the small of my back on the left side. Then, as the trail began to descend to a small, wooded valley, the pain gradually became more and more intense. I made different attempts to try to ease it – walking with the pack on my right shoulder, carrying the pack on my front rather on my back – but nothing worked. When I began a rather steep climb out of the valley towards what would be the highest point of the hike, the village of La Borne where I would be staying that night, the pain was getting worse and worse and I could sense that my body was curving to the left. I had texted the place where I would be staying to tell them that I would be arriving at around 4 PM, but as I went along, it was clear that I was going to take a while to get there. The terrain on this climb was particularly muddy and slippery. I was feeling worse and worse as I went along. On top of the rest, it began to rain heavily. At one point, I stopped and tried to do some stretching exercises, but they didn’t help me either. So I decided to hobble as far as the main road to La Borne and try to hitch a ride from there. By this time, I was walking like very old man, with my body totally curved in a C-shape to the left. Every step was hell, and I was virtually crying from the pain. Thinking about what could have brought this on, I realized that I had probably caught cold on the steps of the church as I was eating because the problems began shortly after.

After a while, dragging myself along at a pace of less than 2 km an hour, I reached the top of the climb. At that point, I sent another text message to the maison d’hôtes where I would be staying to tell them that I had a slight problem and that I would arrive a little later expected. They immediately texted me back, asking me to send them my position so they could come and get me. I made it down to the main road and, shortly after, a car pulled up. However, it was not the guest house owners, just a couple out for a drive who had noticed the state I was in and who had stopped to ask if I was okay. I thanked them for their kindness and told them I was waiting for someone. A second later, a white van pulled up, driven by Hugues, owner, with his wife Paule of Les Jardins de Mala in La Borne. He helped me into the van – a far from easy task -, did up my seatbelt which I couldn’t manage on my own, being unable to turn my upper body by this point, and whisked me off to what turned out to be a truly magical place.

The Jardins de Mala is one of the most amazing places that I’ve stayed at on my travels. Hugues and Paule opened the place a few years ago after moving to La Borne from the Paris area. The guesthouse is unique in that it really is a house for guests – Hugues and Paule live at the other end of the village – and as I was the only guest that night, I had the whole house to myself. Made up of a huge and beautiful kitchen, a very comfortable lounge with a fireplace, a library and the three bedrooms for guests, the place was spacious and welcoming. My room on the first floor was beautifully decorated and very, very comfortable. Moreover, as every restaurant in the village was closed that evening, Paule had told me she would prepare a dinner for me using nothing but local produce

As soon as I arrived with Hugues, Paule sat me down in front of the fire and served me a cup of delicious tea. They both stayed and chatted with me for a while, no doubt to make sure that I was ok. They left me about an hour later, after showing me where to find my evening meal and how to heat it up. I went up to my room for a hot shower and a few Munz Floor exercises (the technique learned at Montreal the previous summer that works on the fasciae via very slow movements). After that, I was beginning to move a bit more normally again, even though my body still slanted to the left in a visible C-shape when I looked in the mirror.

I had a very relaxing evening at the house, reading in front of the fire after the excellent dinner that Paule had made for me. At around 9:30, I headed up to bed for a surprisingly good night with very little pain .

While relaxing at the house in La Borne, I had contacted a local taxi company to see if they could take me to the next village along the way the following day. Unfortunately, they had no one available to do the trip. But when I went down to breakfast (another amazing meal for which even the butter was homemade), Hugues offered a solution. He was pleasantly surprised to see that I was walking almost normally again – he admitted that he didn’t think I’d be able to move after the previous afternoon – and he offered to take me part of the way so I could at least get a little walking to Crezancy and my next stop. He just asked me to wait until around midday so he and Paul could finish cleaning my room and get the house ready for the next guests. That was no problem for me and, once I had packed up, I waited in the living room while they worked. We then left at 11:45 or so to walk across the village to their house where the van was parked. La Borne was much livelier than the other villages I’d passed though, notably because of the large number of potters and ceramic artists who have settled there. As Hugues explained, the village unites all the elements needed for pottery – clay, water, and wood from the surrounding forests (for the kilns) – and has been renowned for its pottery for centuries. This activity means that there are a couple of restaurants in the village along with the pottery museum. It’s definitely a place to return to, to stay at Les Jardins de Mala again and to make the most of the two excellent restaurants. Hugues and Paule are clearly very much at home there and greeted lots of people as we made our way through the village.

At around 12:30, Hugues dropped me in the centre of Neuvy deux Clochers, meaning I would be walking just 9 km rather than the 20 or so initially planned for that day. Thankfully, by the time I started walking, the pain of the previous day was just a memory. But I shall definitely make sure never to catch cold like that again. On every hike, I learn something new, but I really could have done with that.

The 9 km turned out to be a very easy walk, with a couple of nice regular climbs, and a very little mud for once. The highlight of the walk was the Tour de Vesvres, a fortified farm and manor with plenty of interesting signs to explain its history. The rain stayed away, and the sun actually came out at times.

At 2 pm, I arrived in the village of Crezancy where I was hoping to find some lunch. Instead of food, I got an unpleasant French welcome of the type that I haven’t had for years. I arrived in the village just as the church bells were striking 2 o’clock and went straight to the restaurant on the main square. As I walked in, even though all the lights were on, the owner snapped at me, “We’re closed!” Being familiar with French restaurants’ habit of not serving anyone after 2 pm, I was nonetheless hoping that he would be able to provide me with a sandwich. But even that was too much for him and he simply repeated they were closed. So I ended up sitting outside the church again, fortunately this time in the warm sun, to finish my bag of nuts as everything else in the village, including the only bakery, was closed.

From there, it was just a short walk to the nearby village of Reigny set in the heart of the vineyards, where I would be spending the night. I was given a warm welcome on arrival by the owner’s husband and shown to a huge, rather basic room, where I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening keeping warm and relaxing. Reigny was yet another village without shops or restaurants but, thankfully, there was a kettle in my room, and I was able to use it for the dehydrated meals that I had recently ordered and wanted to try out before a forthcoming trip to Spain, where I would occasionally find myself in places where there would be nowhere to eat. The main course and dessert were both excellent and I ordered more for my Spanish hike as soon as I got home.

I had an excellent night’s sleep and woke the next morning to blue skies (with a little mist in the valleys). a ground frost, and a temperature just below zero. After another excellent breakfast during which I met Elisabeth, the charming owner who had returned from Toulouse late the previous afternoon, I set off at around at 9 am for the last 13 km to Sancerre. The pain in my back had more or less gone and I felt in good shape.

There was a fairly steep climb out of the village of Reigny through the frost-covered vineyards with great views over the valley as I went higher.

It was a fantastic morning to be out hiking and, as the trail levelled off on reaching the higher ground, the play of sunlight and mist created some eerie images at times.

The trail then headed down into Bué, another village with a few restaurants (the proximity of the renowned Sancerre vineyards brings in more custom than in the ghost-like villages I had passed through on previous days). That said, most were closed for the winter and wouldn’t open until April 1st.

The trail then headed steeply uphill out of Bué to reach a ridge between two valleys and, on the way down the other side, I took a wrong turn and, rather than staying on the higher ground, ended up going down into the village of Chavignol, known all over France for its goat’s cheese. I was glad I took the wrong turn, even if it meant a steep climb back up out of the village to the ridge, because it was a charming little place, another village to add to our list of places to return to.

After the climb out of the village, the walking was fairly level along the ridge above the vineyards. They were great views all the way and one lonely tree that we would be able to see from the breakfast room of our hotel in Sancerre the next morning.

After that, there was one final descent to the valley below Sancerre (a magnificent sight perched on its hill above me), before the last steep climb up to the village.

I arrived in the centre of the village at around 12:30 and found a terrific pizza place for lunch to celebrate the end of the hike. And after lunch, I was able to check into the hotel early and have a long nap before Odile arrived.

So that was my hike from Bourges to Sancerre, my first from the Recto-Verso France box. It was mostly enjoyable (apart from that horrific thorny section at the very beginning), but the cold weather and the mud made it tricky at times, especially on the second day with my back trouble. It’s not a hike to do too early in the year because of the mud. I think from May to October it would be absolutely perfect. The real positives were the wonderful maisons d’hôtes that I stayed at. Apart from the grumpy restaurant owner in Crezancy, the people in this area of France have a great sense of hospitality. And, being so near home, it’s definitely an area we’ll return to.