orientation

 

April Sixth. You know that the goings on in this neck of the bois are modest when I cough up a post about a new table d'orientation we discover on the road to St Maurice, where we were intent on filling up the bidon with their smooth but cheap-as-chips rouge. 

You see, we went off to Tulette to get some provisions, but that just wasn't enough excitement for one day – so we motored on to Bouchet, a place with a bar-restaurant we've dined at before (I include an image of the establishment herewith) when they'd had all the copper communications wire stolen that served the village thus preventing us settling up for the repast with carte bleu. That was some time ago and we ate inside then. Today we sat out, sank a snifter and decided to stay on. Whatever it was that we had this time was as good as previously (the CEO will know what that was but my grey cells can't store facts like that anymore, beyond an hour or two) and the credit card functioned like a good'un. Bloody thing is red hot with use, if truth be told.

 

Having gained the calories needed to get back home we motored on to fair Visan, (see above likeness) where we found the coop still in closed-for-lunch mode, denying us the chance to purchase the finest wines that money can buy as well as the Côtes du Rhône we'd set our hearts on (a bidon is carried at all times). So it was over the back roads for us, nothing for it, passing close by the snail farm and the starting points of some of our track walks on the hilly ridges up there… until we came down the hill that leads to St Maurice. And that is where we spotted this new orientation table and just had to frequent it for half an hour or so. The banner composite above captures this experience to the full.

The hills I've labelled are known to us. Ventoux, well, of course. But the two in the middle also: I climbed both of them, solo, when I was a callow youth of some sixty years, back in 2007 when we holidayed in Jonchiers. There you are. That's the thing. I can't ever remember those hills by name but I do by experience. They had butterflies and harebells on them. It was blistering. Mme Melling came and collected me from my traverse on Linceuil. 

And St Maurice Coop was open and did supply the modest wine we sought (we bought both bib & bidon) but we decided against pizzas from their vending machine FGS! I am all for convenience but this would have been the last straw.

By now you are probably looking around for a suitable hard surface upon which to slowly but repeatedly bash your head, but please, don't do it. I know you've wasted precious moments reading this ordure but I would hate to think it might lead you to physical injury. Pity me! I have to write this stuff! I could bore for England if called upon, I am in no doubt. So Sorry.