2020 — under the disinterested presence of le géant…

AS 2020 GRINDS INEXORABLY TOWARDS ITS MISERABLE END one is minded to reflect that some have had it much worse than one, some have not managed to stay safe, some have asked for trouble and a very few of those have had trouble. Most folk will put this year down as a shocker, too many folk will have tragic memories and long lasting reasons for sadness … all of us will have cause to wish the year had unfolded in a radically different way… and all that is before we consider the total f**k up of Brexit, now coming to bear on us, one and all. Words on that score utterly fail me. Sorry for the language.

But for us, Mme Melling and me, well, it has not been too bad at all. We did squeeze a month or so of absence out of the year, when we crossed over to an equally besieged France (at least Covid-wise) and took refreshment by doing so. The Driving-on-the-Right blog is not about giving out the minutiae of the what and when of our visiting, but I thought I might just reflect on a handful of moments or events that lifted my/our spirits in the few weeks we took, away from Blightey: simple moments of exhilaration and uplift that spring out of my recollection of our 2020 autumn expedition … not all of them, just the ones that particularly come to mind at the moment, as we approach the shortest day of the year … I know my public crave this intelligence and who am I to deny them what they desire of me? Just who am I kidding? 

Like the moment one gets, out on the terrace upon arrival, to catch the tail end of a rainy day, giving way to some late afternoon sun, lighting up the 'stirrup' mark on yonder northern slopes, last seen on ITV4 as stage eleven of the delayed 2020 Tour de France passed under it … (that's the header image explained).

THE ASCENT OF VENTOUX gets covered elsewhere: that always provides a pretty generous refreshment factor for us: Le Géant rarely if ever disappoints. And this year I noted it was thirty years ago (three oh!) since we first came up to the top. We hardly miss executing an ascent whenever we turn up in the Vaucluse… 

ANOTHER PLACE WITH A BIT OF HEIGHT is the hill on which the restoration of the Chapelle de St Hilaire is taking place. We have climbed up to it from Beaumes de Venise, a stiff hill footpath, but we cheat now by driving round the back and walking up from the north side. It is just very beautiful up there: lovely views toward the Dentelles and Le Géant… Such careful craftsmanship is being applied to the ancient ecclesiastical site amidst its newly established terraces of irises and olives. There is a real spiritual frisson, particularly if one can get the place to one's self. Which we often have, or near enough: a sense of place if you know what I mean. The location was chosen well by the founding fathers;  long views in all directions and with limits to accessibility taken into consideration. A place of real refreshment, wish I was there right now…

   

Rabais Sud is also uphill. Conveniently, we can readily zip up to this vantage point after sinking a good lunch under the white mulberry trees at L'As de Coeur, our nearby favoured restaurant in Roaix. We went up to Rabais Sud three times in this autumn period; there are a number of moderate walks one can take from the top spot with lots of charm, colour and interest. The views are very wide and big! The Baronnies are spread out before one … and there it is: another sense of place. The wine from up the adjacent vines is rather special too, although I suspect somewhat beyond our modest reach. Ah me. What is it like there — right now? We park by that solitary cypress tree and below a pylon, high up on the skyline we can just discern from our terrace in Sablet. The name is on a footpath post — it has been knocked over since our last visit before this one and they've propped it up against said cypress.  I think it's a cypress…

I could gaze out to the ranges of hills from up there at Rabais Sud all day. I don't tire of it … the Kaisers took to it when we introduced them to the spot this autumntide – so it must be good! But look here, these snaps don't begin to do it justice: the hills wrap around, the slope is more marked than these images suggest, and there is extra hill behind and beyond this sighting. You'll have to visit it to get the full experience. We'd take you if we could. Currently, of course, we are stuck here…

One can add into the Rabais Sud prescription the not-so-far-away Rasteau Round, a circular walk we do through the upper vineyards —the quality —and which is undertaken each and every time we are in Sablet. It sports helpful explanatory interpretation boards at intervals to enlighten the visitor as to what they are looking at (in French for some unaccountable reason). We've done the circuit at least a score of times and there is always something extra to see. 

The vistas are good, the viniculture is interesting, cyclic, attractive: Rasteau is a Cru, you'll be aware. Lots of little birds and a sleepy but friendly bar back in the village square where we sink a beer (other refreshments may also be obtained) after doing the round. 

Once a hare bounded across the road between Mme Melling (leading) and self (bringing up the rear). This autumn we drove a flock of partridge before us for quite a way … Serins, vine warblers the odd kite. Spanish pickers (that's the grape harvesters, not some exotic oiseau). Rather nice. Needless to say, the views north feature Le Géant in no small measure … as is the case in most views, like the one below, from another favoured walk… 

Yes, here I include another favourite of mine, a long undulating and mostly straight unmade track that skirts the vines above the valley of the Eygues, north side. It runs along a hill top above Saint Maurice, in the direction of Vinsobres and it serves only one domaine as far as I can tell. An agricultural routeway. 

Now, I am not generally a fan of tracks that give the impression that they go on forever, but this one is airy, under big skies and the watchful presence of Le Géant (of course,  sporting sweeping panoramas of the local Baronnies, even some of the distant Alps on a very clear day. There is a much admired tree, (see above); there are occasional small clumps of grapes of singular sweetness to be found — left after harvesting; there are fringing windbreak copses on the northern side. There is ample opportunity to stride out! Next time we go up there I think we should start from the other end of this track, where a minor road runs up to it, and walk east to west rather than our more usual west to east … possibly … 

When we are in the mood for striding out [and quite often when we are not —ed.] we are quite likely to wend our way to the banks, levées and trackways that fringe the great waterway created from and including that local stream, namely Le Rhône. Favourite bit? Chateau de l'Hers over by Châteauneuf-du-Pape and opposite Rochemaure. Completely different sort of place to the one above, this is. 

Apart from the attraction of the great river itself we can usually expect plentiful butterflies (particularly clouded yellows) herons, both great and grey, cormorants, the odd passing barge, and a dusty walk between the kilometre markers and flood gauges.

We might walk north to the crossings of the TGV, alongside the A9 autoroute, just upstream of the D970 suspension bridge; or we might walk south to the older bits of abandoned but still watery former River Rhône water courses that bring in other rivers and confuse matters. Again, it is about air and sky; we enjoy the passage of boats and trains, even the thump thump of lorries crossing the expansion joints on the A9 bridge, which have a sort of mesmeric effect. 

We've taken folk with us on occasion to C-d'l-Hers and I think they generally twig why we visit… 

I could have added in here the 'étang' with central hide and board-walk that we take a turn around, not far from Courthèzon. But I've had enough. 

So these are a few of our oft-frequented places then, there are others, clearly. And anyway, this ramble is mostly for my benefit — so if you have got to this sentence and are not me, then all I can say is well, I warned you up top that this would not be my usual more erudite style, didn't I? I meant to …  now then, less of that sneering …… 

Pictures herewith were taken during our 2020 autumn visit (except some of the Chapelle de St Hilaire montage), while my camera was suffering from particulates on its sensor and motes within its lens assembly. It reduced my appetite for snapping somewhat: some judicious editing has been required amongst the images I did obtain. I am a martyr to my craft …  I have had the camera cleaned now, in Tunbridge Wells no less, together with Mme Melling's, so we can both now expect to be painting with light as usual in 2021. If things improve that is … they need to, and that's a fact … 

2020: le géant demain

Le Départment de Vaucluse has set to this year

to sort Le Géant out. 

Why now? 

Would the fact that the Tour de France plans to come back to Le Mont Ventoux in 2021, and proposes to send the peleton up there via the route from Sault, 

and descend to Malaucène, 

and then to go round to Bédoin 

and climb Ventoux a second time

and finish back down in Malaucène……

would that be anything to do with the works being executed up there? 

I have my suspicions… apparently they have been at it all year, sorting it out, and still had a way to go when we showed up this Autumn, on a good day… would not have liked to have been up there, even wearing high vis, and a hard hat, a day or two later……

Mrs Melling and self first visited the upper reaches of Le Géant thirty years ago. We went up twice at least. From both sides. In snow. Had to walk the last bits. Since then we have oft returned, in springs, in summers, in autumns (it is closed in winter except to folk on skis and the transmitter tower crew). In that time changes have been minimal but footfall has increased in leaps and bounds. Traffic up top (and nonsense parking) has been getting something of a problem… add in the increased attentions of bikers, intent of reaching the top of this unrelenting climb… well it has made the summit a place to be avoided in season, even to visit the family seat – the only public bench on the whole mountain and a spot to which we make pilgrimage, there to park our arses on the single remaining plank (the other we found broken some years back… it had a large characterful knothole in it which weakened it).

Rather than have me try to explain what'a afoot up there, I can do no better than reproduce one of the public information boards produced and erected by Le Départment de Vaucluse; this one, slap-bang in the building site that was the top road, under the communication tower. You'll cope with the French better if you enlarge the image, and with your inevitably superior ability to my skills with the lingo (as you know, I blame my school). The family seat is not indicated. It is just below the summit bend and looks west. 

The thing is: why use so much concrete? Isn't it a bit of an insult to a hill made of limestone? Is it in the spirit of protecting the environment? Nope. The path I feature at the top of this post: concrete slab instead of the local stone. Damn it all,  there is enough of it just lying about. Concrete slab with no surface texture… How will that work with Ventoux's famous black ice? 

It seems Le Départment has decided to lay concrete where-ever folk have already forged pathways, plus some extras, steps and the like, ('Accés Direct') to compensate the motorised visitor who will no longer be able to drive over the top.  But what an eyesore. What a compromise. Can't see it blending in with the oolitic limestone anytime soon either. Cyclists will continue to have full access to the summit but motorists will no longer be able to stop en route, except at designated 'pull ins'. That's not going to work, if French parking practice elsewhere is anything to go by.

And it looks as though the parking problem up there will be 'solved' by making an even bigger eyesore, ringing the summit with a roadside parking platz all the way up to the Restaurant Le Vendran. Hmm. I hope I've got that wrong.

But the truth of the matter is, the summit will continue to attract, the adjacent slopes will probably still support the rich diversity of tenacious alpine flora, the views will continue to impress and the hill will continue to be the the most distinctive landmark in all of Vaucluse, if not Provence. Nothing stands still but Ventoux itself seems sort of timeless. Will the sheep flocks still pass along the ridge? Might we still spot chamois from the Col des Témpêtes?

The communication tower isn't exactly lovely is it? And yet it has become Ventoux's trademark. 

Ours is The Family Seat.

I conclude this musing with an image of Mrs M, some thirty years ago, standing on the hairpin you can make out on my autumn 2020 black and white rendition of what remains of The Family Seat.  There were no crash barriers then, roadside… 

Will operatives tidy away the FS this time? —our hearts will be in our mouths next time we summit. . .

2020: house in an autumn sun (usually)

All through the summer of this year we wondered and worried. 

Would we make it in Autumn? Were we lumbered with a place in La France that we would not be able to get to, and what was happening in it and on it, anyway? We mused about the wisdom of our investment, pondered afresh about putting it on the market just as soon as we could get to it, get it evaluated, get it on the market, get it sold, get out, get gone. Pandemics do that sort of thing to your reasoning.

Within hours of our eventual arrival all such thoughts and worry retreated back over the distant horizon. 

Number one is a modest little house, we know that. A bit of an ugly duckling down there on Rue Fortuné Bernard under its jacket of ageing cement render, behind its shutters of green faded Farrow & Ball… Like so many houses in Sablet the house employs right angled corners sparingly so that the plan is almost a rough diamond shape. With one straight side, constant to each floor, the back wall.

Inside though most things are just about the way we want them to be (OK the bathroom could do with conversion to a wet room configuration, and in a perfect world we might be signing up for a kitchen make-over to include a dishwasher, as the current dishwasher is deemed to be not up to scratch, an assertion I resent and reject, being that dishwasher). But the sun pours in and there are three floors to play in, a terrace to catch a chill on (as it faces North and gets only some sun except in summer when there is always shade available, thankfully) and enough space to put things and never feel cramped. Long views too. All good, well mostly. Another sofa? hmm… 

Only draw back — no garden. Thought it wouldn't matter but increasingly it does… terrace flowers and plants are fine in their way but they always end up dying of thirst or cold in our absences. 

So in 2020 we were only able to make just the one visit. Residency number twenty-three. And satisfaction and pleasure at being back abounded. No talk of agents, but a determination to hold on to this homely house for a few more years, while we can. I walked round it on a sunny morning and took most of the images herewith in just a few minutes; didn't bother to put things away and move things around (the chairs are regularly shunted and rearranged). Just recording a very modest place we like and have made our retreat in the Vaucluse. We go out from it and we come back to it. No. 1 Rue FB still suits us. Mrs Melling and self haven't missed a year with at least some time in France since we first signed on the dotted, plighted troths etc. etc. This has been HQ France since 2012. 

A close call though this 2020 year of distress, but we made it, here we came and here we will return…

the homeless of sablet

 

The first day of the new week (monday 28 sept) and ‘The Irish’ are down at the notaire’s office, handing over keys and stuff before heading off, leaving Terrace Towers in the hands of a new owner — shock horror.

You see, Louise and John have been at the centre of the Sablet Appreciation Society; Terrace Towers has oft been the centre of that circle because a) it is so extensive and accommodating with its four terraces, big views, wood burner, comfy rooms, space and all that, and b) because J&L ‘do’ or did hospitality for us all, both individually and severally. We had some right good bashes up there, and that’s-a-fact. But now they have made themselves intentionally homeless… in Sablet at least…

J&L obviously have their reasons for going at this time – but it hurts, you know – it hurts. Ask the Kaisers, they’ll confirm it. J&L popped round to the Kaiserhof after satisfying the notairial niceities, to say au revoir and G snatched these images of the dearly departing… on his phone…as you do… 

This year of all times too. J&L are not the longest standing members of ‘The Sabletizers’ (incidently, we are the most recent in that respect) but they have certainly always put down a welcome on their mat. Crumbs! Look at how they hosted us when we went over to see them in NI for my last significant birthday! Top flight! There is a post in this blog covering that: you’ll be familiar with it I am sure…

John seems to be able to fix things too. Got our TV dish back working –twice he did that after the mistral played havoc; and he finally sorted the case of the terrace door(s) that refuse to lock. We share his taste for young wines too (he has a good palette IMHO)…

Ah me! They’ve gone, Ms Surgenor and Nelson. They could be back; they say they will be…… here’s hoping. It won't be up at Terrace Towers, clearly.

Dorte and Søren are not coming from Copenhagen. The Covid thing precludes it insurance-wise I gather. Deb and Garry are precluded back in the USA too. Keith and Liz? Maybe, but they were here only a few weeks ago so might not run the gauntlet again or want to do the quarantine thing a second time (two weeks complete isolation at home upon return and fines if you don’t – editor's note: no, K&L opted out, don't blame them). Edeltraut and Frieda have been and gone… Paul and Linda are still here of course, but want to be elsewhere for family reasons. And so on… it’s sad.

Anyway anyway anyway. Life goes on (unless you cop Covid, in which case it mightn’t). But this short post is written to salute the Surgenor-Nelson Consortium. We have had some fun! Let’s hope to have some more. But it is the end of an era for sure… There is other stuff happening too but at the moment I shall conclude —— just here.

retrospective: stop gap/catch up

Under the shadow of the pandemic that is presently gripping one and all in one way or another, we shipped out to Sablet in the last week of September, throwing caution to the wind, determined to get at least one visit to our French estates in 2020, the year that we may all want to forget, but which the majority of us will recall with something of a shudder for the remaining time we each have left to be able to recall anything… 

Slog to Sablet? Surely not, I hear my public cry, in anguish… well only a slog insofar as the weather was rather unfavourable and our progress overshadowed by mask wearing, potential shortages of suitable sustenance, fear of the unknown, even…

This post is ‘aspirational’ at the time of writing. Because, you see, our internet connection in Sablet, where I now sit and tap out these words, is no more. 

Damn it, I don’t like paying month after month for internet connection when we are not in the offing to use it, but heretofore we have gritted our teeth for the convenience it affords when we are here. But when ‘lockdown’ came along in March and with no idea when we might cross this threshold again, we looked around to try and reduce expenditure; clearly paying more months of none useable internet charges was one outlay we could and did terminate.

Bad enough that we lost ferry deposits for a ship that never sailed anyway, and one of the three pre-booked hotels did not see fit to refund our prepaid bookings (two did, in full too, so these two businesses can expect our custom in future years, if we are spared…).

What I am getting round to explaining is that we have no internet here now and I doubt we will seek another service provider for this visit as there may be further constraints placed upon Sabletizing next year. Who knows? We’ll cope without, or at least, confine ourselves to the limited access afforded via Mme Melling’s smart phone (as you’ll no doubt already know, I have no such device myself, don’t hold with them and the life style they seem to impose on all those who have: you know, the constant fixation with that dashed little pixie keyboard and screen, from which all things now must flow into and out of…).

Philistine, moi?

Right then. So we drove through some very inclement weather at times to get here. We brought Anne with us, she intent on getting to Nice in due course to sort out her domestic affairs in that fine city. Not much dithering on route then this time. Pont Aven (the ship of that name) out of Plymouth to Roscoff, a delay for stuck bow doors on the jolly old boat, then the trudge down to La Rochelle and our first hotel. A sort of madness directed us to try and reach Port du Bec in time for lunch – which we did, just, our party craving the pleasure of a tried and tested moules-frites eaten outside in the pouring rain (under cover but only just when the wind blew, which it did at intervals). It cheered us up! I like that bit of muddy coastline. See the banner picture! Redolent, what?

As is often the case, La Rochelle is bathed in late afternoon sunshine upon arrival at our oft-used hotel where all is well organised, sanitised and tickety-boo. Best of all M and self get the diaabled accom. on the third floor (Anne goes next door in a more modest suite), in which one can swing cats in both bedroom and bathroom, if cats were allowed in for such activity.

A walk to the old port to try and assess just how much mask wearing is being practised by Les Rochellites. Hmmm. Not alot. The usual café has reduced its outside tables a little in number but I am not impressed with the lack of sanitizer, the waiter’s up and down face mask and his kiss-kiss greets to some female customers, the long and lingering greetings of some old maskless blokes at the open bar, including hugs, hand shakes and man-to-man kissing, while reducing social distancing down to something like those of bumper-cars on a particularly active fairground. The cursory wipe of vacated tables with a well used and grimy cloth tops off my feeling that here at least Covid-19 is perceived as a minor irritation for wimps and is almost actively being encouraged to sort the men from the boys… I was happy to leave.

But France is not all like that. I am pleased to say that our experiences on the road thereafter were somewhat better. As I have said our hotels were both on the ball and spotless. Breakfast in Royan was delivered with care and attention to ensuring safe conditions for customers and staff alike. Dashed good repast aussi! Even the sun shone warmly for a while. We stayed home in Cahors (apart for the compulsory bridge visit for our passenger’s benefit, see the tail-snap) and ate in the Campanile restaurant where blandness is the watchword. Fair-dos, it wasn’t half bad.

The final day driving is standard fare: the stop by to clock the Viaduc-du Millau at the very chilly and almost deserted services there, then down the A75. But no lunchtime jolly at Marseillan this year: too risky we decide. Just the slog round Montpelier to pick up the A9 autoroute up to Orange, a quick shop at Tulette as Mme Melling declines to use the Supermarché at Orange autoroute exit, then thither unto Sablet and no.1RdeFB, where goodly neighbours John and Louise have opened our shutters and upper windows to air the place. The house is welcoming, familiar and somewhat a sight for sore eyes. 

And thus it came to pass: we made it here. No telephone, the land line not having been restored despite pre-ordered to do so before departing Blightey (bloody orange). No internet (see above). No TV — as last autumn’s storm on our final day in 2019 Sablet had dislodged satellite dish (pulled the securing bolts out of the terrace wall, no less). In fact, no outside world!

Which, in the circumstances, might be considered as NO BAD THING.

Ha! That is easy to say — but a restriction almost too hard to bear, even for me who is dismissive of much of the modern fixation with being constantly in touch with everybody and every thing. Oh well. Let’s see how this all ‘pans out’ shall we?

Whatever, I know all this will be of intense interest to my public, but by the time you get to read this it will be very well past its read by date. Sorry if you wasted your time ploughing through the above: it will teach you to be more discerning… but there will be more to follow I expect, with which I may tempt you, perhaps………?  hmm thought not. 

Oh well… I'll plough on, as and when…

november retreat 1: gentle journey

For reasons that are all too apparent now, I need to fix this return trip, Sabbers to the UK… I am gaining comfort from it even as I try to give out the gist of it, at this remove of some six months is it?

Just two days before we started packing up to come to the motherland the weather turned ugly, the wind cranked up and we had some water through the roof. Not a lot, but enough to summon Mr Fernandes. The next day a couple of our roof tiles shifted too, one flying off down the road. We left that to Mr Fernandes too. Don't worry, I will get to it as soon as I can, he said, and we are pretty sure he did just that. We'd check it when we were out in the Spring, don't worry about it.

We were determined to try and make a memorable progress back from PACA84 even this late in the year, as we had the son-and-heir with us, taking his delayed annual leave (from Spring).
So this is what we did: [nb: if you click on it you can get it full screen so that you you can admire the wonderful detail and clarity of design to the full! Not many people know that you know…]

Day one: 15 November: As is the way of things, departure day was contrastingly clement. A bit of mist and low cloud… I remember thinking as I steered the motor along the Camaret ring road — no need to give Le Géant a last look because we'd be seeing it all again in Spring, a few short months away. Ahem.

So, on to the A9 auto route, and in a short hour and a half, off again to sink some breakfast in Sète, the clouds left behind north of Montpellier, bright blue skies for our petit dejéuner canal-side in the old town. Never imagine it was two weeks into November; croissants so good that we re-crossed the bridge over the grand canal and patronised the source of the croissants for our lunch takeaway in baguette sandwich form, made to order with some humour. 

Back on the road along the coastal strand, stopping off for a short walk along the now deserted beach. I don't think we had set foot thereupon with Adam at least, since he was in a romper suit… And of course we could not bypass Marseillan. Have we ever, without the customary stroll down the port? Everything more or less closed at this time of the year, such as La Pacheline. But come on come on, we must get on!

We were still in time to take the A75 for the climb up into the hills, slipping off near Le Caylar and making a hillside stop-by for the sandwich lunch. Fabulous sandwiches: a man could be happy and never seek to better such substantial sustenance.

Replete, we motored on without further recourse to the A75, to reach the town, or is it city of Millau, the place the Millau viaduct was built to save. Our hotel – buried deep in the centre, but found by a combination of perseverance, shouting and Mme Melling's failsafe sense of direction. The remainder of daylight hours were used to gain an idea of the town, passed through before but not previously patronised by a stop over. I found it reasonable but not a contender for world heritage consideration… the other two in the party were considerably more moved by the place.

I have to own the evening restaurant was special. Wonderful, original (see bottom right, before the pleasure of the food we consumed had manifested itself before us). It might persuade me of another Millau stopover, you know, next time, when we come this way again – say in the Spring? 

Ha – hollow laugh…

The two pictures in the bottom panel that do not feature a fountain were supplied by Mme Melling.

november retreat 2: a hint of the white

We have looked down on Le Viaduc de Millau from this spot before now but this morning we caught but a glimpse due to autumnal cloud, as you can see. The son and heir was sanguine: it was good enough for him that his parents had at least taken in the longer view at a previous passing, maybe another time, you know in 2020 perhaps? Tsch!

Day two, 16 November, early away from Millau and over the hills. I reproduce our route once more so that you can see our plan unfolding, without having to go back to day one of this progress. My comments about viewing the plan in full screen mode on day one of this account hold good here as well. I recommend it to assist you in achieving a more comprehensive understanding of our aspirations for this journey. It is, I would have thought, rather too small to read without employing the full screen enlargment feature supplied by the software manufacturer. Especially on a Smart phone pixie screen. But you know best, of course.

This route was the one that was thickly lined with cowslips the last time we passed this way. Now we stepped over patches of fresh snow to take in the view shown at the head of this post. A dashed chill in the air as well. After a suitable passage of time we reassembled in the motor and drove on. As we climbed yet higher into the Causses, the white stuff came more into view; before we pulled over to break our fast at a snow dusted Sales-Curan the precipitate had graced the windscreen in passing flurries.  And another excellent haul of croissants was obtained and another splendid round of grandes crèmes were placed before us by a native of the country of origin, running the bar and tabac for many years she confirmed,  and rumbled by Mme Melling as being of English extraction.

Our comfort restored we drove on, our next diversion, mostly for the benefit of our youngest crew member, was to divert down the lovely Gorges de l'Aveyron once more and pass by the succession of little mills which once pounded iron with water powered drop hammers; they (the mills) get bigger as one follows the twists and turns of the valley that ends up at Villefranche-de-Rouergue, until one is passing industry only recently abandoned, powered by water turbines rather than the up stream shot-over wheels.

Now, I am sorry that the route I have asked you to examine in detail does not include this excursion. It goes off the D911 to a place called La Bastide d'Evéque which you don't actually go through, and down into a tributary valley of the Aveyron first, to the La Ramonde hammer mill (14th century site and possibly building) on the Lézert stream, see picture here below. We did it first back the spring, 23 April in fact, and completely overlooked by my failure to make a post for that return. I have slipped up badly here, I hardly deserve the loyalty of Mrs Trellis of North Wales, let alone my public at large…
Do let's get on: Villefranche-de-Rouergue then, through to Cahors.

By-passing Cahors for a complete change, we stopped to eat at Prayssac (not listed on my route, sorry, just after Cahors on the road to Bergerac), just across the square from where Mme Melling and self once had an atmospheric top flight breakfast one dark and very rainswept morning. Today the resto was being patronised by a bunch of rather snotty and ostentatious Chinese (wine buyers, Mme Melling opines) who did not pay for their lunch, were being idolised by the patron, and who monopolised table service (and the wine list) to the disadvantage of other diners eating there. Food OKish but overpriced for us lesser mortals. Humph!

The rest of the day saw the weather rather turn against us. Plans to venture into Bergerac were scotched by heavy rain so we settled down to a few odds-and-sods of provender we had with us once we had booked in at the Ibis. Would not be wanting to overdo things, and maybe it would be fine in the morning for a snoop around Bergerac…

All pictures herewith by your author excepting the snow covered pines which Mme Melling secured on her phone through the windscreen of the motor. I thank her for the copyright inclusion of this image.

november retreat 3: living in the moment

Bergerac on a Sunday morning (17 November) in late autumn before and around 0800 hours is not exactly an hive d'activité. Reminded me of a town in lockdown, if you can imagine such a thing! In the early morning mists and street washed dampness we traipsed, and at last espied a purveyor of breads and cakes open for the odd soul seeking a first baguette of the day, etc. We acquired croissants and exciting looking filled baguettes but gave up on anything further, retired to the wheels and got on the road.

Fog and mists. Sainte Foy-la-Grande finally provided the necessary, rather large good coffees with which to swill down the Bergerac provender (the baguettes held in reserve for lunch). The café is just behind the market hall in the view I include here. It was busy. Sainte Foy-la-Grande was not. Did they forsee a time when this would be the norm? Sainte Foy-la-Grande is the town which yielded the fine Meissen fish plate that graces our kitchen wall these twenty-five years or more, here at Bullsmead Towers. Bought it for a fiver. I have suddenly had a thought! Could I repair that chip in the plate's rim, the reason for it being so cheap? Hmm. A bit of painted polyfilla . . . hmmmmm.

You will, once again, find no reference to our next diversion on the route exhibited on the previous two posts concerning this journey, so I shall not reproduce it again herewith. Mme Melling took us off the straight-and-narrow and via various rutted tracks and country by-ways, to visit the pile where Montaigne wrote his philosophies et thoughts down (mostly in that tower illustrated to left and to right of the ancestral home, pictured above).

I understand from the literati (my family) that this chap was an all round good egg and a bit of alright when it comes to views on life, loves, philosophy, cats, etc; in Fr of course so mostly beyond my humble comprehension (I blame my school). I have heard of him though (see book from shelf at Bullsmead Court). No tour of the place was available (thankfully) but we were permitted to wander round, for a small consideration, although not at the front of the big house as the present incumbents were in there stuffing their faces no doubt with petit dejéuner-en-crôute. The son and wife were deeply moved by the whole environment and I felt that indeed, it had character.

I am pleased to report that the weather lifted and cleared somewhat as we proceeded hereafter. We eventually arrived on the coast and our oft used route: we stopped on the sea-front once more at Saint George-de-Didonne to consume our sandwiches which we had brought from Bergerac. Excellent, excellent, why would any person on the road want more? Tasty, rapidly assimilated, moderately priced and satisfying. No long waits for service – or that illusive pudding – or terminating coffees – or long waits for l'addition, then similar wait for card reader gadget.  Open the bag, take out the napkin and get it down you. Wipe fingers, brush crumbs off paunch, motor on. Simples. St Georges is quite refined but the out-of-town beach requires chestnut palings to contain drifting sands. Mother and child (unknown to us) are on the wet sand, not walking on the waters.

Our further excursion in this phase of our retreat back to the motherland does feature on the planned route back: namely, reaching the hotel in La Rochelle by means of the coastal road through La Grande Côte, and via La Coubre, Ronce les-Bains, Rochefort etc. We did just that, stopping briefly not far up the road from our very first ever easter rental on this coast, in La Grande Côte, making abeyance to Cordouan, out there in the bay. Now under lighter skies and low light, we motored on to set foot again on the beaches of Pointe de Coubre. The snaps below give you the idea. That's Cordouan, beneath the image of the fishing pavilions at La GC. Monument Historique y'know, World Heritage Site expected, etc. etc.

Fans of my Pharesighted blog will be very aware of our fondness for La Coubre. It looked rather fine on this afternoon as at last the paint job has been renewed. It certainly needed it. Closed of course to the climber, a faint hope flickered briefly as there were quite a few folk about, it being Sunday, but no such luck. We contented ourselves with filling our shoes with the exquisite blonde sands of the shore, enjoying the sea air and uplifting late afternoon light, subconsciously social distancing as you can detect below, if we had but known it. Spiffing.

After La Coubre it was a matter of simply driving on to our overnight lodging in La Rochelle, the usual good feed at the place next door and a comfortable night in the unassuming surrounds of the rather atypically good Premiere Classe. Mind you, so sedate was our progress on this day, so untaxing the mileage undertaken, that we still had time for a stroll round the port and a drink in the old port bar before getting back to the serious business of our supper… Ah yes we thought, we will be down this way again for sure in 2020, it will be nice to eat once more in whatever-the-name-is restaurant and see how the restoration of the old port lift bridge has come along…  ah me… folly, what folly!


All pictures on this post are by your author with the exception of the strangely deserted scene in central Bergerac; that image was donated by Young Adam.