route barrée to stop- 3

WE SLIP AWAY FROM SARLAT, AT, OR JUST BEFORE THE BREAK OF DAY under lowering skies and sudden sluicings from the troubled heavens. There are the usual frantic overtakings of jobsworths – feed salesmen and the like, dashing from their habitations to their various far flung offices, but we just potter along within the speed limits (for tourists) and already in quiet expectation of our petit déj. We know from recent experiences that it is a fool's errand to seek such a thing as an early morning refreshment stop en route from Sarlat-le-Canéda to Bergerac because there aren't any before Lalinde. Honestly.

So we waste no time in such fruitless enquiry and should have arrived in Lalinde well before the shops open.  Half way or more towards that interim stopping point, travelling there by the official route, we come up against the first of a whole series of Route Barrée notices, this one complete with diversions. The thing is, where are we being diverted to? This alternative is pretty enough albeit on rather lumpy narrow roads but it doesn't take Mme Melling long to realise that we are being given the very essence of a long way round indeed. It is noticeable that the locals are almost entirely absent from the deviation. I can't recall whether the RB had a set of further RBs associated with it, as was to be the case later on in the day, but when we eventually dock in the market square of Lalinde we certainly feel as though we'd been taken for a ride round the woods (which we have) and it has lasted hours and added on many kilometres to our passage from hotel to sustenance. It eats up our essence somewhat as well. Tsch!

It is raining. Hard. The shops are still shut. Boulangie aussi. MM stoops to buying Casino croissants, a situation considerably beyond and below our usual exacting requirements. They are alright I suppose. The rugby café's coffee is pretty good though: Adam and self have an encore. Couldn't tell you what the early morning topic is herein, (I blame my school) but they all get their coffee without asking as the group swells from three (upon our entry) to twelve (as we depart). And the dog, I think it is a dog.

Mme Melling is clearly a little ruffled by the Route Barrée inconvenience and insists we cross the Dordogne by the substantial structure at Lalinde. I know this to be the wrong direction, but comply to keep things sweet. So it is that we do the first of many about-turns most of the rest of which being as a result of false deviations, routes barrées and misdirections that hamper our journey this day.

I'm not going to trouble you with an account of it except to say that our carefully devised itinerary was obstructed at least five times, possibly more, we lost count, and on two or more occasions no deviations were offered – or they just petered out, so we had to improvise. Furthermore we encountered yet more routes barrées on these deviations. It is scandulous. 

Finding the fuselage of a Caravelle in a field next to a barn does little to sooth our seething route resentment rages although it gives the son-and-heir something to divert his attention from the increasingly colourful language being used on the Škoda's flight deck. The weather has at least improved. MM obtains giant stuffed baguettes at Lussac after the latest deviation (they make splendid wine in this village but we care not, give us your sandwiches tout-de-suite) and we subsequently eat them in someone's vineyard.  Our spirits are lifted and shortly thereafter we slide down to the Gironde estuary on very familiar roads. This is better!

Leaving Royan, the Highways authorities make another attempt to bugger up our travel plans by first an horrific deviation through a conurbation of chalets on the outskirts of town, then a complete closure of the main road to Rochefort, re routing us (or attempting to) to Saintes FGS! Mary snaps. Sod that for a lark she says… We set off into the marshes by by-ways various and to come at the problem from a different angle…. It works!  The Michelin Atlas is tattered but still giving it out. Suddenly we are back on the dual carriageway Rochefort bound, we zoom up and over the Charente bridge, get onto the race strip north, and finally make it to Les Minimes, La Rochelle, and the promise of our Kyriad Hotel. 

Phew. A great room has been allocated to us, with spiffing views of the roundabout below, I could watch it for hours. We eat well just up the road at Del Arte (our usual table isn't available but I don't make a fuss) and then we get a very good and much needed kip in comfy beds, ready for the cut and thrust of the morrow. Thank goodness Adam doesn't expect us to tramp into La Rochelle on this occasion, we are bushed. Tomorrow we are showing the boy Les Sables d'Olonne – he's not had the pleasure. We are going to put right this state of affairs once and for all, and before we get to our fourth stopover … read on, read on ( you know you want to…)