résurgences on vissec

 This post is retrospective: 2010 in fact: not 2023……

Vissec, for just a week, was selected from a limited range of possibilities in this area of the Cévennes; probably the particular draw was its proximity to Navacelles (there was nothing available to rent there so Vissec was the nearest possible). This was back in 2010 by the way. The house Mary secured was ancient, clearly loved, rambling, on many levels, rickety, dusty, stylish and faded grand, under gradual improvement, sitting in a secluded and overgrown garden that trailed down to the dry river bed (I've framed it in the hill top view of the village – no that's not it [left] – that's a moulin de la foux, a watermill, read on, read on). Vissec has no visible river you see: the Vis has disappeared underground through its fissured and permeable limestone bed. I bet it runs in its bed in the winter at times, otherwise why bother with the road bridge over? So that's the name of the village sorted: Vis Sec (dry) get it? 

We decided (as one of our ‘great-days-out’) to explore the Vis valley downstream to find the Vis resurgence, helpfully marked on our IGN map, and linked to Vissec by a sentier botanique.

It was a delightful walk. In a week of generally inclement weather we chose the sunniest of days. Late June presents the widest range of flowers. Vissec was fragrant with lime blossom, honeysuckle and spanish broom.

Disputatious nightingales abounded, butterflies cavorted, there were fat cherries to feast on. In short, we thought (well I did – and still do) the place to be quite close to heaven, at least when the sun got through. We: the three of us that is; Adam was still with us on this holiday, Vissec being part one and Bize-Minervois part the second of this, the 2010 excursion…

Our Moulins walk had it all. The valley track petered out so we took to the river bed chaos. This became too deep and fractured to follow so we scrambled over an incised meander to join the sentier botanique indicated on the IGN that takes easier ways over the river cliffs, through scrub, chestnut, oak and pine forest, scattered pasture, and across screes, round bluffs and tors of oolitic mesozoic limestone. The range of flowers, insects and birds was joyous. Limestone y’see. Then a sharp descent to the persistent roar of water, down at last to the Moulins-de-la-Foux and the Résurgence-de-la-Vis. They are but one and the same, near-enough. What a place!

The ancient mills are open for inspection. Heavy grindstones are in evidence. The Vis has been diverted from its natural point of emergence to flow out from under the mills: we were able to clamber into the former exit cave which was largely dry. The miller’s accommodation is still extant but shorn of domestic trappings, now reduced to a place for interpretation panels and temporary shelter. The mills are deep in a forested grove; one can hardly make one’s self heard above the thunder of the emerging waters. We had the location to ourselves save for two walkers who came down from the Navacelles road…which we deduced must have been the supply route for these mills. The origins for the mills go back over 900 years: they've been destroyed by flood and human hand several times, rebuilt and finally ceased working in 1907.

I loved it. Imagine how intimidating the place might be in bad weather, at night or after heavy rain. One can only wonder at the effort needed to bring grain down to the mill and to take back out the flour produced. The stones no longer grind, the waterwheel is long gone. Imagine also just what it is like down here in summer! Honey pot writ large!! Hordes of the things, damn it (or so I gather from the internet). 

We returned to Vissec by the amenity of the botanique sentier: we had it to ourselves. That's a purple emperor butterfly (right). If suitable conveyance could have been arranged to meet us, we could have carried on to Navacelles and returned to Vissec from there, but you can’t have everything on a plate can you? Anyway, it was a good job we got this fair-weather day in because quite a lot of our stay in Vissec was, shall we say, changeable… we managed another walk over the high hill tops south of Vissec, also with long views over limestone uplands… that was something else…

Here is lime blossom, here is honeysuckle, here are fat cherries to eat. You'll have to take my word on the nightingales, not to mention the passing sheep with their bells shepherds and attendant mountain dogs… ah me! Butterflies, did I mention them?

spring 23 millau to sablet via the vis

Thursday 16: So here we go with the last leg of our transit to Sablet in this year of remorse (for reasonable fuel prices, low taxes, bargain suppers and worry free exploitation of the earth’s plentiful resources etc etc.) There is a coating of frost on the glistening paintwork of Octavia when we slide our overnight tackle back into its allocated space in the boot. 

 

Sorry: I've been advised that there needs to be an artistic landscape of Le Viaduc de Millau if one passes through Millau even though we didn't cross the structure this time, or go under it either: it is expected I am told. Just how many snaps of a bridge can one chap acquire? There must be a finite number, not known to me, so to stay this side of the final reckoning, when I reach that final figure,  I have dropped in this study taken by Mme Melling from the co-pilot's seat in the motor back in October '22.  It can't count against my allowance, I didn't take it! Please?

A short last day on the road, this: cloudless skies and sharp definition are promised as we pick our way through the latest roadworks in Millau, then up the hill to our half day jolly, through the revered Cévennes the long time favourite of our clan. Mme Melling has another variation up her sleeve for today, but first the croissants and coffee are calling us into the bar at Le Caylar. We acquire the very last two buns to be had, but they are still warm from the oven and together with the excellent coffee, we are transported briefly to heavenly bliss. OK, a bit strong but really, you cannot imagine such buttery delight, you have to partake. We did and can declare the experience not half bad. 

The Melling variant then is to traverse the Cirque de Navacelles and regain our more normal onward progress when we rejoin broader thoroughfares at Ganges. The countryside is almost windless, cloudless and the temperatures reaching slowly upward. 

We achieve 19°C today and possibly higher. The landscape is bathed in gold light, I am welling up just thinking about it. And rare indeed are the vehicles encountered. A good thing too as those who have been this way will recall the narrow roads, tight hairpins, stomach clutching drops and unguarded road edges. 

Once more we pause at Vissec, the location of one of our last and best family stopovers, in 2010 that was, before the son-and-heir took to his studies in earnest… my photographs taken this time fail to have the sharpness (definition) I expect of my equipment so please make do with these glimpses, my ‘box brownie’ has issues you see and seems loathe to focus properly or advance its telephoto without grindings and clickings. Then I have to guide it all back into the closed position by hand FGS. I am told that one uses one’s phone to capture the scene these days. Yeah, Right. So what do I use if I want to make a telephone call? A toaster perhaps? 

Vissec! Ah yes! Nightingale City! Today just a few sand martins are to be glimpsed . . . 

Anyway, anyway, the long descent to Vissec is achieved, then left behind, we cannot resist pulling in several times to look back at its diminishing pattern and to review again the deep Vis valley we explored, full of swifts, nightingales and rushing water, back in the day. The flowers: my dear public, you cannot imagine the range and colours, you simply cannot…  add in, butterflies, hawks, vultures and sheep with bells, it had the blinkin’ lot! You'll recall we diverted here last year as well, of course you will…

No cliff edge view down to Navacelles this time: the council are fettling the honeypot park-and-walk facility, but we care not and pass by on the other side. The descent is still somewhat nail biting but a thrill once more: shadows, incised spurs, vast limestone crags, wild blossom here and there, sort of thing. We first came this way thirty seven years ago, I have the lantern slides to prove it.

Having gotten down, we then have to get back up – so we motor up the freshly gritted trail on the northern flanks, take one last look across the abyss, and then that’s it. Still much good country and tricky roads to navigate – long views and deep ravines, occasionally familiar hamlets, but it is indeed all downhill from here, all the way to Ganges. 

It is the luck of the draw though, this weather. We’ve seen it in other guises believe you me. The thing is, as long as you get a mix, it's all good, really. Well I think so, but my, we did really enjoy the light this day. 

The Cirque de Navacelles is a spectacular abandoned incised meander of the river Vis which in the fashion of limestone rivers disappears and reappears in its wondrous gorge. It is a national treasure, honeypot even, but the gorge is less well known than the Tarn complex (and IMHO much more delectable). We’ve traced the irrigation channels that have been engineered into the valley here and there and swum in the Vis in various deep pools and amidst tumbling cascades. Ah! My youth, wither hast thou fled >sob< ? Hem hem. 

To conclude. 

Eventually we get ourselves onto and negotiate the Nîmes ring road, pass on through Remoulins, cross the Rhône, and once more set wheel in PACA84. We roll in, unlock, unpack, open the shutters and let in the balmy air to counteract the chill interior that 1-rue-FB presents us with. 975 miles door to door. 

Better still, we beetle up to the bar for a beer or tea in the sun, warm on our backs. We spot the Danes and drain a bottle of wine with them on their terrace, chew the fat, update on latest falls, etc. etc, then take our acquired victuals back home for our supper. Who forgot to buy the  butter? 

This was the burning issue. That – and just why the bleedin'-ada do the satellite fellows keep changing the effing channel numbers? It takes the best part on an hour to ensure we can watch the concluding matches of the Six Nations this week end. I think we have managed it. There are some choice epithets employed during this trial and error session I can tell you. Blue air! 

News of Sablet associates is that the Danes (q.v.) are in, the Americans are coming next month, as are the Berkhamstedians, The Irish should be arrived today, in Gigondas that is, they've gone down market, and the Germans are packing the milk. Kenzo and Minouchette next door have become friends like only cats and dogs can, and the prices have gone up at L'As de Coeur…

Hot water bottles are required this night. The house has sustained a winter 2.8°C interior minimum since last we were here. We are getting Fafner serviced and may be in the market for some heating oil…… Is this the sort of detail I should off-load onto my readership, I ask myself. Well, there was no obligation attached herewith, so if you’ve read this far I can only sympathise: nobody made you! 

Have a nice day. We have: it was our turn!

spring 23 périgueux to millau

Wednesday 15:   The Ibis blackbird rests until 0400 hours then resumes its joyous song. The oiseau has discovered how to use the buildings around to amplify his mellifluousness: during the day he can easily outclass the traffic underneath his beaky gaze. At 0700 when the cathedral summons the populace to shift themselves, twice as is traditional in the S of F, our blackbird has gone off for his petit dej,  so when we ride out of town we are not serenaded further. 

I don't know why we can't bring ourselves to have a lie-in, when luxuriating at hotels en route: never a problem back at Chateau Bullsmead I can tell you… In no rush today, its only about 180 miles to our next hotel. Nevertheless we are away at 0730 amidst the jobsworths dashing to their various depots, repositories and retail outlets. 

By the time we stop at Le Buge the roads are quietening down. A cheery coffee et croissants are taken in a busy bar just there on the roundabout (see view below, bar is behind me so does not get in on the scene). I note that my attempts to remove the traces of chocolate sauce from my strides have not been altogether successful; I continue to try to tie my right shoe with a telescoped shoe lace, sustained at Amboise. The cut and thrust! You think I am going to skip this sort of detail? The hell I will…

After Le Buge the weather perks up. The roads quieten further and the motor fair hums along. France Musique is on strike as is normal. There is fun and games when the traffic in both directions come onto a bridge coned off for resurfacing, a cock-up on the automatic traffic light arrangements. And true, Les Gendarmes stand in for our expected daily quota of Routes Barrées further along, shutting off our direct route forward, in two places no less, so we have to drop right down into the defile that is the location of Figeac, then by various minor but pretty roads, recover our plan to pass through Decazeville. 

We do not make a single false turn as we execute this variation, and  easily have time to take another look at D's splendid town war memorial dedicated essentially to the local Miners, and a quick shufty in the adjacent church, which is open on this occasion. 

                                  

I assume the altar to be under the influence

of some malign spirit (or the deity itself) as it certainly was not showing this ultra-violet colour that my camera has detected (see above!) …

Our onward journey is familiar once again. It is almost a shock to find oneself, in relative short order,  coming down to Rodez. When we passed through R last year we did so in an intense thunderstorm which the senior sibling who was travelling with us completely slept through! 

Shockingly (this time) we are in the Millau hinterland at or around 1300. There is some wild talk of driving on, finding overnight lodging closer to our final destination (no idea where) only to be utterly dismissed when we realise that we would lose the cost of the hotel booking in Millau. 

So instead we go off on an excursion, into the Tarn gorges and over the hills on twisting and precipitous roads. Glorious weather for it! We don't stop off to snap vistas in the gorge (we are hoping for refreshment but identify no bar, open at least). Instead we take a couple or five general landscapes (see below) to rub in the salt for those of my public who read this under glowering skies, rain, snow and general inclemencies……

The trouble is we are wedded to the principle of not overdoing the hours-at-a-time spent in the motor: we could not quite do this transit comfortably in two hotel overnighters but three is one too many. 

I'll get round to dropping into this post the actual route we do up there* in the hills to the east of Millau but I am in the Campanile now, waiting to frequent their restaurant: neither party feel like dropping back down into Millau to seek sustenance this evening. Up to now, my consumption for the day has been just one croissant. 

*OK– this is it: skip this unless you have your Michelin by your side…

Coming into Millau from the north-west, on the yellow D911, we cross over A75. Then we take the D168, a very minor road, glorious views,  through St Germain to Aguessec. There we adopt the valley D907, by-passing Cresse, passing through Mostuéjouls, to La Muse. We go North a bit towards the gorges proper, but turn round  to cross the Tarn to Le Le Rozier, and climb steeply on the D29 ‘Corniche du Causse Noir'. We turn right onto your D110 (we visit honey-pot Cité de Pierres Montpellier-le-Vieux for those who want to pay for more rocky bastions: it is closed and deserted when we pass by). We follow the D110 right down into Millau, cross the Tarn bridge thereat, and extensive roadworks,  and turn up the hill to our overnight billet at the Millau Campanile.

We've not used this particular hotel before. This time it was competitive with the one up the road last used here. Sadly it is of the battery-farm style of hotels, you know – rooms that open up onto an exterior walkway, not into a building as such. Very yesterday and only supplying two tea bags to refresh… it does run to a bath tub but it is for persons who are less than four feet tall: one can either sit in it or lie in it with one's legs and feet in the air. I shall, nevertheless, avail myself of it it this evening to soothe my aching back… if I manage to choke down a campanile steak-and-it or whatever we turn our attention to culinary-wise. We've done this before… thrown ourselves on the mercy of the hotel's kitchen: will we ever learn? Hope springs eternal. I am holding out for at least an eight out of ten. Hah! Dream on…

Well, a good seven out of ten! So, not bad. I have a roast pigeon with acceptable vegetables et roux, and Mme Melling had something else – I hadn't the time to notice just what, she did say, but my mind was elsewhere. 

So quite a passable day, all in all. Now we have to decide our concluding day's route as Mary is not in favour of popping into Nîmes en route as I proposed… wants a day out there, from Sablet instead. 

So far, seen no snow roadside or on distant slopes.

spring 23 amboise to périgueux

Tuesday 14:  There is heavy rain and blustery wind overnight. Away at 0745, a bit of muddled navigation around Bléré then plain sailing but rainy at intervals with occasional cross winds. Breakfast is taken at Loches in a classy bar where croissants are sent out for. Upon departure a heavy downpour immediately forces us into a second convivial bar. Once again we are witness to the morning assembly of men of a certain age setting things straight over a glass of something, café, chocolat-chaud … 

From Loches onwards we are on quiet roads, in big country. Getting on rather well we decide to make another another bar stop (an utterly cheerless place with no other customers but able to give us liquid refreshment). I illustrate the vibrancy of the village concerned with the street scene herewith. Note the threatening inclemency, it was never far away…

Roadside quiches from Loches are consumed by some river or other and a reduced puzzlement of routage brings us through to our hotel (not quite sure how) in Périgueux by 1500 hours. 

We are forced to park down by the river at Ibis, which is ominously full looking (the river that is; the hotel seems busy but not about to burst its banks); our room is at the back this time under the steadfast gaze of the cathedral. 

I am always surprised that we are not greeted as much missed relatives when we blow into a hotel like this: we aren't, and never will be I guess. 

Meanwhile to assuage your curiosity I conclude this entry with a single image of Loches: very historic place it is, Joan of Arc and the Dauphin sort of stuff. Look it up and improve your mind – we are off to potter round Périgueux. 

…… later… a substantial number of my public (like the senior sibling and Dr G) will be familiar with Chez Fred, a restaurant in Peri-G. which we favour. We are just returned from said eatery, and yes, I went back to my rognon de veau with garlic mash and sundries. A man could be happy…  Mme Melling has tagliatelle with scallops,  prawns, mussels, baby vegetables etc, in a coconut and lime dressing.  

If you've eaten there, well you know the sort of thing.  Bed is all that I require now (after sponging off the chocolate sauce I dropped on my trousers) so please excuse this abrupt end to part deux of m'post… I leave you with the view over the bins at the back of our inn-for-the-night… not now of course as it is dark…

spring 23 depart to amboise

Dedicated fans of this blog, if there are any which is in some doubt, will have already consumed with relish (or disdain) the account of the Melling/Smith spring 2023 transfer to Sablet, published as it was as a single post. I have now decided that it was rather unwieldy in that form, unlikely to hold the attention of your modern follower, more used to short attention spannery; so I've split it up.  I wanted to add a few additional delicacies to the repast as well so you might have to read the whole sequence all over again to stay in step with the author. Or just pass on by and do something else with what little time there may be left to you: the option is yours of course… the original offering started like this:

Don't get your hopes up: this is merely a diary entry, there is nothing (or very little) to see here… Mme Melling has hitherto done posts on the road so I thought I might give it a go, aussi: keep the daily notes I have made before this development, to assist my faltering recall — but do that here instead of elsewhere. Purely for my benefit you understand; I'll keep it clean so you can peruse it if you are so inclined, are at a loose end, kicking your heels as it were. Don't expect sparkling narrative (no change there then…).

Just so as you know, this is our twenty-ninth transfer to number one, Rue FB: so almost certainly there will be a thirtieth such excursion. After that, well, that may be in the lap of the gods somewhat… 

Sunday 12 March Cheldon depart. Left 1345, arrived Portsmouth after three and a half hours, including two stops for essence as we feared industrial action in France, so boarded with full tank. Travelled via Yeovil for a change but were swathed in fog before reaching Dorchester: started dry but arrived Portsmouth under drizzle. Early on to Armorique. A full ship. Quarters up on the top (deck 9) so the choppy crossing was a bit more pronounced.

Monday 13 March: We get onto foreign roads as the clock strikes nine (if the dockside clock had been the chiming variety that is). Once off the boat (which takes three-quarters of an hour to achieve) it is quick, the stamping of one’s pp; we are in the vanguard thankfully, as the boat is full to capacity. 

On the road today we experience sunny and cloudy weather by turns and register a 16.5° maximum (snowing back in the UK). 

Breakfast plus good filled baguettes are acquired in Dol-de-Bretagne. The street was 'up'. Being recobbled and generally brought under municipal discipline: we had to leave the motor at the other end of the 'high'…

We make a return visit seeking to obtain Calvados from Centaurees again (see route, page 82). Farm Calvados, Domfrontais style, lovingly made in small batches, with pears you see, not apples, it is quite distinct. The poiré outclasses most champagnes, in my book: it has an exquisite mousse and flavour. We bought six bouteilles and can already attest to the loveliness of the stuff.  

Two routes barrées to get round during this morning as well as this micro-navigational excursion: Mme Melling sorts these matters with her usual improviser's aplomb. 

Baguettes are eaten by the side of a lake. This lake. I won't trouble you with its name, I do know it but it is rather less than distinguished despite having country pursuit 'facilities'. I doubt it would appeal as a holiday destination, but there is no accounting for taste. 

Weather less good in the afternoon: wet roads but the rain is gone before until we catch up with it just before dropping anchor in Amboise. Hotel at 16.45. Staff welcoming but no beam of recognition from reception: we didn't reconise her either. We eat in a crèperie adjacent to the château in an almost deserted Amboise. Warmer than the UK but cold wind blowing at times. Hotel redecorated! In our honour one trusts. 

another springing

Will this be the last spring that we plan our travel to Sablet?

It just could be. We shall see. 

Exhibited below is the route we expect to employ outward (disembarking in La France at St Malo, passing by Phare Le Grand Jardin in the process). Below that I have posted the route we propose to travel when we make our return; in the year (2023) that will not see us in Sablet during the hot summer months… 

It's a plan.