out of the blue

We were on the move earlier than usual on the day of autumn departure. Normally we aim to ship out of 1rFB around 0730 but this time it was 0640, so rather dark, not assisted by the last gasps of summer time. So. Shutters shuttered and barred. Water off. Trip switch off. Doors locked and shuttered… us stealing away in the night, and with our roadside breakfast requirements firmly on our minds.

But we know our way. Like last autumn we went through the Cévennes via Alès … then we fell down badly on the sustenance stakes … but this year we called time at Alès where we ensured we got the breakfast croissants although only achieved execrable coffee; yet importantly, secured rather excellent sandwiches for our lunching time. 

Like last autumn, the forest colours (once the morning light was upon us) were wondrous golds, copper and yellows… we passed by Florac,  doubled back a bit on the A75 (our only use of an autoroute on this return) to continue our westward progress past Rodez; consumed those superb filled baguettes near Dècazville — down a by-road to some river or other — then onward until we came, once more, to Sarlat-la-Canèda. I dare say you know it, or at least, have heard of it. A cameo of the town graces the head of this post.

That was day one of our return. Out of the blue? Because we left behind three and a half weeks of almost continuous cloudless days, back in Sabbers. So blue: I understand the Sablet weather deteriorated within 48 hours or so of our departure. It was mild still in Sarlat (and quite blue too, mostly) even though we clocked a low of 3° en route. Having made good time, we got in a bit of a walk-about, sampled the centre a touch. Not like 2020 when the weather was dire, precluding anything beyond a dash to and from the motor.

A bit of a honey pot, Sarlat, but rather charming in parts… a lot of folk still about, plus their children – must have been half term (as it usually is for someone somewhere in France). Very Pèrigord. Same hotel as before, garage parking. same eat-out as before, I suspect it was the same menu as before, and that we ate the same dishes as before. Good if a little more expensive than I think it was in 2020…  Creatures of habit? Steady-on, we had a different room in the hotel! And very comfortable it was too… sadly this market garden just across the road from our accommodation is now abandoned and going to waste. I thought it warranted a snap before it is cleared for luxury flats. Probably.

After Sarlat-de-Canèda our next destination was Les Sables d'Olonne, day two of our return. Blue skies mostly gone and rain, some of it as heavy as one should tolerate while proceeding down the highway, but mostly the occasional showers we associate with very late October. A good/picturesque drive, breakfast taken sitting at the same table of the same bar in Les Eyzies but not out in the rain this time as was the case 367 days previously. It held off. Note Mme Melling's smart phone, tuned to the pass sanitaire page, but not requested by the proprietor here. 

Later on en route we were followed for quite a way by a Citroën DS... After several dozen kilometres this myth-of-motoring history trailed us into Surgères and then disappeared. We proceeded, to be confronted shortly thereafter by a route barrée, sans a diversion-suggested alternative. Only by dint of strong resolve and an unerring instinct for what was right, supported by blind faith in her navigational skills from your author, was Mme Melling able to direct our progress (via some charming byroads I have to say) back to our intended direction. I am pleased to report that the language remained civil and what expletives that were employed were directed to the authorities responsible for sending us in entirely the wrong direction for several thousand metres. Mme Melling retrieved the situation with quiet grace and a minimum of choice epithets.  

The lunchtime sandwiches today were eaten within the confines of the motor (under some giant wind turbines in pouring rain) but tasted so good; I'm mildly addicted to these quality eats now… Hours later, as we waited, unfrench-like, to take our turn on a roundabout somewhere before Luçon, a Citroën DS rounding same took our route, the very same DS we last saw in Surgères, way back… how did they do that? It turned left in Talmont-St-Hilaire, seemingly lost: we did not encounter it again.

I am sorry to confirm that there were some harsh words associated with how far into Les Sables we should go to best reach La Chaume, mindful as I was that a river and port divided the suburb from the main town. Nevertheless our destination was reached and our hotel located in a street obviously not designed for motors and yet frequented by them. So we were initially and eventually grateful for a parking space in a back yard for which we paid good money, but that required skills of a superhuman complexion to negotiate, so narrow was the entrance and so tight the street from which one had to turn. It was achieved but the expenditure of expletives was exhaustive. They were all my own and strictly copyright. I can confirm that no 'polar white' paint was left with the traces of other car colours that indicated previous less successful attempts to enter the sanctity of Les Embruns parking lot. I am indebted to Mme Melling's shouted instructions (from outside the vehicle) concerning accessing our booked slot and can only apologise for the responses she got back by way of answer from the man at the wheel.

The hotel was worth it though. Charming. Lovely. Comfortable. Spotless. Even chairs! Quiet yet almost waterside. We went for a stroll. We walked the jetée St Nicolas. We breathed in the sea air. We took refreshment in front of a portside bar. As we did so, the couple who had been sitting at the next table at our restaurant of the previous night in Sarlat sauntered past, I kid you not. She (they were not a gay couple you understand) started, while he (husband, lover, brother I cannot be sure) did not break stride. How could they have got here, how did they do that?

NB, for the lighthouse aspects of this choice of our day two stopover I have to refer you to another place. My Phare Sighted blog number 53 in fact. You can get there by clicking on this here! I'll be rather upset if you don't carry this task out. Go on Go on, you know you want to. The 2021 footnote at the foot of that post covers this visit…

After Les Sables-d'Olonne (La Chaume)

overnight and having extricated the motor from the hotel back yard, again without touching the sides, we paused just round the corner from St Nicolas to savour the dawn starting to colour Phare de l'Armandèche and distant Les Barges. Saturday morning and just the run to Roscoff to achieve.  

Mme Melling had received intelligence that Brittany Ferries were all at sea with the workings of their ferry (and our mode of transport across La Manche) and that Pont Aven would not depart on the morrow at 0945 as timetabled but should sail at 1530 local time. Joy! This would give us a Sunday morning extra on the coast of Finistère. We'd already relished in advance the extra hour we were to receive as the clocks went back… now time enough to go and potter coastally. 

So the trek over the St Nazaire bridge and right round the Brittany peninsula seemed to have a bit more purpose to it… there was more to come! No sandwiches today: we were after bagging ourselves a galette! And we achieved our objective with consummate ease, down on the riverside at La Roche Bernard; the best galettes and crepes we've tasted for some time, even though it was ages since we have dined on either. We beat the Saturday rush aussi! We felt smug! Best table in the place. But had to sit inside due to threatening inclemency (it materialised while we ate). We took advice.

Thus to Roscoff and our last hotel for our last night on French soil this year. Unlike our previous stay at this Ibis hotel, when we inhabited a room with two (2) bathrooms, this time we were on floor four,  right under the roof. Perfectly adequate you understand but not quite as roomy as our 2018 chambers… 

No matter, we'd pre-booked a table at Le Surcouf, still our favourite fish restaurant in these parts of Fr; at the stroke of 1900 we were presenting our passes-sanitaire and taking up our table. We were not disappointed in the slightest by what seemed at first a more modest menu than heretofore … we dined royally. I half joked that we could take a lunch here on the morrow now the boat was delayed… Mme Melling sprang to it, booking us in as the tartare de poisson and platter of huîtres came into view. A smart move m'thought when we finally took to our beds and heavy rain began drumming on the tiles above our heads… smart move…