IT IS APRIL FIRST and aficionados of Driving on the Right must clearly be in despair by now at the non appearance of any witty intelligence concerning 2022 in this epic… until now. They may have missed a brief featuring of my first post, itemising a planned excursion to and from Provence, subsequently withdrawn as it was posted only to inform myself and other members of the party, not to assuage the appetites of those whose very lives are punctuated and enriched by the singular events and vicissitudes associated with our travels to and from our southern quarters, down here in the S of F.
Here’s the route then. Get your A4 wiro-bound Michelin out and trace our journey, why don’t you? You will note we risked a transit through a section of the Gorges du Tarn (almost empty) and came up and over the Corniche Des Cévennes even though the motor did not sport the all-weather/winter/studded tyres or chains recently stipulated as de rigeur for this high level (and many others) road, up until March 31st (there was no snow on the road and only a touch either side on the highest bit).
You will see that we patronised three hotels en route, all satisfactory to good, but will not be able to detect (it is not indicated on the itinerary illustrated herewith) that we found time to give our passenger a view of the underside of the Viaduc de Millau: it’s the sort of thing we are happy to provide to those inquisitive enough to travel with us, if opportunity allows. Note the underside view offered at the foot of this report.
Yes, we were travelling for a second time with Dr G riding shotgun, and I hope she concurs, we did so with even less acrimony betwixt self and Mme M than heretofore. It all went to plan. We arrived at 1r-FB at a civilised hour of the day and set about getting the place up to an inhabitable temperature, shutters open while Fafner, the God of Central Heating was awakend from its winter slumbers and set to roaring away in our garage complex. We burnt the oil, notwithstanding the blood curdling prices anticipated to replace the stuff, now that our reservoir is almost down to less than a quarter full.
The hoopoe that is attached to the banner image above, was one of two Mme Melling not only spotted on our way to the market in St Cecile but managed to snap aussi! OK so it is out of focus slightly but what the hell. I use it with her express permission.
And it was at about this time that Dr G indicated that she wouldn’t say no to another look at Le Géant, having been taken up there on her first visit to Sabbers, and having been taken with it, as an objective. No matter to her that the summit would be most likely closed to vehicular traffic. She wanted to be up there and up there asap. So, on our first Monday back at our Provence base, that is where we went…
NB: My editorial associates have pointed out that I have misnamed the town of Corps Nuds on the 'en route' montage that I have included above. I apologise to all those offended by my error (including the citizens of the settlement concerned) but I have no intention of correcting it:technically this would (in my opinion) involve me in rather more effort that the correction warrants.
Anyway, why is a town called naked bodies? Their church, I am informed by the son-and-heir, was used in German wartime propaganda films promoting their WW11 invasions etc in the East, i.e. Russia. It does look very Russian, you have to agree…… there is more about the place on the internet of course, but I've probably lost you already on that score… go on, go on, improve your mind, why don't you? Suit yourself.
