TdF Files: Ghostbusters storm Le Château

For those who believe in ghosts, Anthony Tan’s accommodation last Friday night would likely have scared the bejesus out of you. Here, he recalls a night to remember. Or should that be one to forget?

It was a dark and stormy night…

Just after 9 p.m. Friday evening, myself and my travelling companion, Gregor Brown of Cycling Weekly, arrived at our hotel, Le Château De Boisrobert, located 15 kilometres north of the Tour's stage seven finish in Châteauroux.

Though the name was impressive as the 19th century castle that stood before us, we were unsure what to expect.

The online traveller's bible for rating hotels, TripAdvisor, ranked it the number-one hotel in Neuillay-les-Bois. Problem was, it was the only hotel in Neuillay-les-Bois. In fact, from our vantage point, it was the only building for miles Рwe could not see another b̢timent in sight.

For those not in the know, TripAdvisor ranks places of rest based on traveller reviews, and although the Château De Boisrobert had been running for 15 years, so far only one guest had chosen to put pen to paper, so to speak.

Posted 28 August last year by an English couple from Devon, the headline read: "Most unwelcome – don't stay here!" and included the following appraisal:

"We stayed here for one night on our return from Provence. The hotel was hard to find and very isolated. We were not made to feel welcome on arrival and were led up some dark and dusty stairs to our room."There was no information about the hotel or its facilities in the room – only a menu for the evening meal which was to be ordered in advance. Of the two choices for main course, we chose chicken. The dining room had one large table and we shared this with a Dutch family who had finished their main course when we were shown in. Our starter was OK but the main course was a very fatty unappetising looking dish which we eventually learned was veal. We said we had ordered chicken and were told that the menu in the room was wrong!"However, they did agree to cook chicken for us and took our vegetables away. The chicken arrived about 20 minutes later with the vegetables which had been kept warm. The other family were then served with their dessert!"We finished our main course and waited. When no-one arrived, we looked and found the two staff in another room, smoking. They then brought our dessert which was not very nice. This was the worst hotel we have ever stayed in all the years we have been coming to France."We arrived for breakfast at the earliest time and the croissants were already on the plates with juice, tea and coffee. Those arriving later would have cold croissants! We left as soon as we could!"

Coming from a south-western English town heavily reliant on tourism, even though visitation to British seaside resorts have been in the decline since the middle of last century, one would expect a couple from Devon to know what they're on about.

Then again, the Poms are known the world over for being habitual whingers. Cold croissants for petit déjeuner? Good heavens! Harden the f*** up, I say!

So, after being greeted by co-owner Anne-Marie and led up the stairs, I walked into Le Château De Boisrobert with an open mind.

Also staying with us was Australian photographer Mark Gunter, on his inaugural Tour de France voyage and loving every minute of it, who had checked in a few hours before (photographers almost always get their work done first).

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to sleep tonight," said a frightened Gunter, "I think this place is haunted."

'Oh, come off it, mate – there's no such thing as ghosts, you big pussycat!' I retorted.

But before we could even think about sleeping, it appeared Monsieur Fabian Schaul, the proprietor and husband of Anne-Marie, had given away one of our rooms.

When we tried to tell him we had booked three separate rooms as per our confirmation, Monsieur Schaul demurred: "I've had a long day, you've had a long day. Don't push me – otherwise I'll push back."

But we did push him, as Monsieur Schaul finally relented and granted us our third room. Though we didn't push too hard, for his wife had yet to cook us dinner…

I couldn't find a Luxembourg girl to do the work so I had to marry a French girl, but don't write that

Arriving downstairs for le dîner, Monsieur Schaul first took us to the breakfast room and sat us down, offering some aperitifs while we perused an enticing menu of regional specialities.

But 10 minutes later, when we came to order, he told us it was late and all of us had to eat the same thing.

Brown, Gunter and I did not want to push Monsieur Schaul, as he already seemed at tipping point. So we did not ask what kind of pâté he served us for entrée, or what kind of meat comprised the main (we think it was veal), or what flavour the ice-cream for dessert (which was more whipped cream than ice-cream, something I've never seen done before, and for good reason).

But as the night rolled on with the carafes of vin rouge, we discovered another side to the eccentric Monsieur Schaul, who had a great sense of humour and a laugh that made you too want to LOL.

Monsieur Schaul was a Luxembourger who used to breed horses, a special kind native to Africa known as the 'Barb', its name derived from its initial upbringing on the Barbary Coast of North Africa. Stamina and hardiness happen to be the typical traits of the Barb, as well as a fiery temperament – just like Monsieur Schaul, I thought to myself.

"I came here to retire," Monsieur Schaul told me.

"I couldn't find a Luxembourg girl to do the work so I had to marry a French girl," he added, belting out a few belly-deep guffaws. "But don't write that."

'Oh, no,' I replied, typing away, as if I was writing something else.

'When you saw the outside of the château,' I asked, 'how long did it take you to buy it?'

"I took 10 minutes to say 'yes'," replied Monsieur Schaul, grinning.

The 54-year-old then told me his four children also live in the house, which is only open for six months a year to paying guests. 'Do you like what you do now?' I asked him.

"Yes – but if someone pushes me, I push them back."

I've heard that line before, I thought to myself.

With the evening done, Gunter and I trudged up three flights of stairs that creaked with every step, to retire to our rooms shortly before the stroke of midnight.

And as we lay in our beds, we waited for the ghosts of Château De Boisrobert past to visit us. I thought they might be hungry, so I left them a few packets of madeleines I scored from the press room that day.

But alas, they never came.

Follow Anthony on Twitter: @anthony_tan