A canoe on the River Cher glides silently beneath the arches of the Château de Chenonceau, its stone reflection shimmering in the rippled water like a dream half-remembered. The castle stretches gracefully across the river, part bridge, part fairytale, its white façade softened by the warm afternoon light. Time slows here, too, caught between centuries of history and the stillness of the present. It feels less like travel, more like drifting through a painting.
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