Our transit to Roscoff was essentially very wet at times: not all the time you understand, but a lot of the time. Compatriots will be aware of my fondness for the jolly old precipitation, so our party was in good hands… but it did get a bit… er, persistent.
Now, as you may already appreciate, I am not one to complain, but FGS, why could we not have had a bit more rain fall on 1rueFB while in residence thereat, and a litre or so less on Octavia as she effortlessly transported us back North, with self at the tiller?
…… and Sarlat-la-Canéda was our first overnight stop, so that was it, the first day of our return voyage. Succinct, what?
Don't get me started on Routes Barrées, though – just don't. About the time the novelty of being on the road for god knows how long had worn quite away, and with Sarlat showing on the roadside signage, we get the jolly old RB: Sarlat blanked out with black tape. The same RB we had last time we came this way (and before that, I'm not sure, nothing surprises me about RBs, damn them all and each). Massive diversion required. The ever resourceful Mme Melling applied all her road craft, guile and local knowledge (enlisting the Michelin Atlas 2023 edition) to ameliorate the situation via back roads through the woods, but the extra kilometres were not a welcome addition to conclude our first day going back.
Luckily the resto that the aforementioned tour-organiser had booked in advance is a peach (we'd been there before when they could only take cash, you'll recall that saga, I'm sure). She and me had some damned fine pasta (S&H chose pizza, its a generational thing) and we all drank walnut wine, limoncello, vin rouge, and had startlingly good sweets to follow… and after paying up, the rain abated long enough for us to stagger back to the Ibis without drowning. But a long day indeed, and not shortened any by the incessant swoosh of the windscreen wipers…
to be continued]
