We have visited the Tonnellerie on three occasions during the last two years, using it as a stopover on our way further South & this year on our return as well.

The Hotel really is a haven of excellence, centering around a lovely courtyard garden, which is tranquil & shady, with a swimming pool which is always inviting after a journey.

The Restaurant offers a varied menu, with outdoor dining if the weather is fine

The owner & staff are both attentive & charming, we always regret that we cannot stay longer.

Do try the Tonnellerie, we will be going back!

I had planned on our recent vacation in the Dordogne, to have the last night in the Loire Valley, so as to have a short commute to Paris before our flight out. I booked at the Tonnellerie ahead of time, because it looked like it would be strategically located both to the freeway to Paris and also to some of the great chateaux in the Loire Valley.

This hotel was really a lovely way to spend the last night of our vacation too, as it happened.

The hostess, Marie-Christine, is an absolute delight. It is worth staying here just to meet and chat with her. She could not do enough for us. Her staff were equally solicitous and helpful, both directing my wife and I on our last bit of tourism prior to leaving France, and ensuring that our dinner was delightful too. (The Tonnellerie has a very good chef and a tremendous wine list).

The room was small, but clean, and comfortable. Good bathroom.
Definitely a place to revisit, given the opportunity.

Fortunately, I have never suffered the traumas of wandering around a desert in the blistering heat and wondering if I would ever again have water to drink. Similarly, therefore, I have also never experienced the contrasting relief of finding an oasis that offers shade and succour to heat weary travellers. That is until this weekend. I admit the desert was not a vast empty space devoid of any recognisable signs of life neither was the oasis a small sweet water lake where the great camel trading caravans converge to take refreshment. The fact that the desert was the culmination of a long, hot drive of 750 km through a country determined to be on holiday for four days and the oasis a hotel in the lush country of the Loire valley makes the contrast no less noticeable.What brought me to the desert is easy to answer. I took a wrong turning in reason and logic somewhere in the previous week which found me travelling on a French Bank holiday without a clue where I was going to spend the night. What brought me to the oasis was a simple intervention from a power greater than we poor mortals possess. Luckily, diatribes into my own fate are erroneous here but comment on the Tonnellerie Hotel in Tavers is not.If we, of the more British cultural persuasion, are honest we have always had a secret hankering to adopt the Joie de vivre attitude more commonly attributed to our French cousins across the channel. Although we are aware of it as we sit in their cafes and restaurants we never seem to truly appreciate it. That is, until you enter the portals of this amazing little hotel nestled quietly and unobtrusively in the little town of Tavers. Those of us, and we are many, who are familiar with the custom of booking into Hotels often see ourselves as guests of the establishment. Too often this is just a euphemism for just another faceless punter that assists in the ever-turning wheels of commerce. Here, however, the word "guest" seems, somehow, inappropriate and the phrase Unknown friend seems to sit more cn heard of, Marie-Christine Pouey and yet somehow between the delicate serving of fresh young Asparagus and the rich and entirely appetising lob-ster I suddenly had the feeling that I had known her all my life. The employees are her proteges and she schools them in the art that she clearly loves so much. Their smiles are genuine and that delicate balance between service and conviviality is constantly maintained. Arriving at la Tonnellerie you leave behind you the world of stress, long drives and all the other woes of the world. The street outside is hot and sticky in the mid-afternoon sun and subtly the first glimpse of the frontage of the hotel does little to evaporate the sensation. Resigned to yet another hotel that will simply act as a springboard for your daily activities you ring the bell that grants you access to the interior. Suddenly, its cool and the heat of the afternoon has been denied access. A young and charming receptionist greets you and waits patiently for the confirmation that youve made a reservation. Suddenly there is a feeling that they have been waiting patiently for you all day and now that patience has been rewarded. The formalities of booking in, which are so often tedious and a little vulgar, are dispensed with a minimum of fuss. There is almost a tangible excitement in their voices as they ask if you would like to see your room. The desert of the outside is fast fading into the abyss of a distant memory as you are led quietly away to view your accommodation. I couldnt resist a real sense of excitement as we started that short walk. It was no surprise, therefore, that this was exactly the right time for my new unknown friend to leave her other pressing matters and come to introduce herself and to welcome us to her home. (Already the word Hotel seems out of place)It would be possible to discuss the virtues of the rooms in terms of the appointment; decor and cleanliness but such discussion would be to deprive you of the joy of discovering it for yourself. It is important only to know that frld and entered a world where your enjoyment and comfort seems to be the only priority. I am certain that behind it all is a well-oiled machine that pulls all the strings that keep the momentum maintained and I am equally certain that the drive wheel for that machine has the name Mme Poey; but the whirring of that machine is never heard nor seen.Walk with me a moment through this oasis. Ive arrived and its late afternoon. The sun outside is still hot; the room, though, is cool, even without air conditioning. My daughter of twelve has already discovered the pool and so I join her and for the first time, in too many years, regret that I forgot my swimming shorts. No real worry for, as with many parents, it is my joy to watch my child playing, especially in a pool. There are sun chairs in the shade by the pool and I commandeer a couple and settle down to indulge my hobbies of reading and watching my daughter. A waiter appears from where Im not sure. I ask him for a glass of wine, he smiles and disappears only to return minutes later with my order. He asks my room number. Nothing different there, except this. It never happened again. No, Please sign here. No, Sorry, what was your room number again. No, That will be so many Euro, sir. The talk of money is banished to the time you must enter your desert again, how civilised. Evening is coming now and soon it will be time to change for dinner. The time around the pool has relaxed me and heightened my anticipation for the adventure and I know I will not be disappointed. The tables are set outside, under the umbrellas, and the stone floor has been watered to take away some of the days heat. We sit and study the menus, delicious; will it be the lobster or the Tournedos or any of the other delicacies, which already tempt your taste buds? Not so much choice that decision is impossible, but enough to satisfy any taste. At that moment between uncertainty and want she is there again, she smiles and Im infected by it. Ordering is easy now. Did she recommend something? I dont reme dispensed with. The food and the wine, all excellent, come at a well timed pace. The intervals between courses unnoticed. I know only that a few short hours later I am savouring the after-taste of fine cheese and good port and reluctantly considering swapping the cool peace of the evening air for the call of my bed. My day is done now, but she is still there and I suspect she will be long after Im in the land of my dreams. There will be tables to lay for morning, better now than wake her friends in the morning. Sleep comes quickly, but the morning slowly. As I wake I experience a sensation which has become an unfamiliar companion over the years. It takes a moment to realise that I am relaxed and that the birds chirping outside are the only intrusion into that peace. Breakfast calls, are we late? Of course not, you can only be late when time has measure. It is a simple French breakfast of coffee, juice, eggs, croissants, bread, toast, jams, cheese and fun. The children that were there last night, unheard, are equally unheard this morning. Marie-Christine and her people, awake long before me, are there too. She looks immaculate (I suspect that C&A sees little of her trade)I ask what time I must leave; she says when Im ready. I sit by the pool a while and gather the courage to face my world again. I leave it as long as I am able and when I can stall no longer I make my preparations. The bill paid, I find myself wanting to thank them all for giving me this small gift of peace. I settle, though, only for the girl on reception and the wonderful Marie-Christine. I gather up my small brood and walk again into the heat of the street and wonder how and when I can get back here again.It was so good to be lost in France.