DESPITE THE HEAT, we decided, as we knocked off the Sablet sand from our open toeds, not to return too post haste back into the myre and turmoil of the ongoing brexit balls up.
Not that it was that spontaneous: a visit to RHS Rosemoor with Dr G before we dispatched to Sablet prompted us to reflect on former excursions en route home to the Chaumont Garden Festival, ten times in eleven years, no less. In those days we were wont to camp on the Cher and spend a whole day at the Chaumont. What would it be like now since our last visit in 2005? The website looked tempting and clearly the ambition of the place has grown since we last strolled round the exhibition gardens up there on the edge of the Loire.
For those who constantly interrogate the variety of our route strategies, I include our planned route left, not that we stuck to it without variation, as per… But you can see, we used four hotels and I am pleased to say they were all adequately air-conditioned.
Our experience has always been that we leave Sablet suitably attired for the weather in Sablet and arrive at whatever our destination might be looking and feeling considerably underdressed. With our plan to cross over the Puy de Dôme this time after the Issoire stop over we expected the usual shock of the cool but actually it was very pleasant.
So! After the usual ascent onto the uplands of the Massif Central (seriously underdressed for breakfast at Thueyts before the climb, but so were others) we wandered off piste as it were and passed through these jolly places (below) to reach Issoire where we found Rapunzel was letting her hair down at the town hall for some exhibition about hair! (we missed out on that – but ate aligot for supper that was of the first order). Aligot? Cheese (Tonne de Laguiole, or Cantal in extremis) and mashed potato, butter and garlic whipped and beaten together into a stretchy consistency, eaten with a large local sausage on this occasion. I am dribbling at the memory . . .
Auzances seemed to have surrendered its centre, lock stock and barrel, to the curse of the travelling fairground franchise. Houses and the church completely blocked in by some of the worst spray painted 'experiences' we have ever seen. Not surprising that the town was almost deserted. Everything else on the road after that was much fairer in my opinion. A jolly good journey: even had time to go to Oisly to lay in some Touraine for the dark months ahead (although the domaine could not find our account, it being a few years since we took on bottles at this favourite place). Amboise was throbbing with tourists: we crêped after a bit of a search. Good hotel though. Comfy. Out of town. Just up the road from Chaumont… (the next post).
