disassemble detour disembark disengage

images above and below by MM

WE HAD A SURPRISINGLY EASY journey back to the UK from this penultimate sojourn chez nous. It didn’t rain once. Quite unlike our retreat of autumn 2024. We didn’t stick to the route we assembled prior to departure either. And it wasn’t necessary to refer to Michelin at all on day one, Sablet to Sarlat-le-Canéda. The route is etched upon our souls even though we added a long unused stretch (at least, not by us in recent years, it is now considerably improved) through the southern Cévennes. After joining the A75 our route took us over the Viaduc de Millau so here is the obligatory image of our crossing, one of a rapid fire set taken by Mme Melling which she did rather well with…… 

Likewise, we are well versed with Sarlat to Périgueux roads, and on to la Rochelle; and Perigueux we negotiated with aplomb, whereafter we became aware that we were making just too good a time over this stage of travel that is rather too short in miles, to be honest. We continue to strive to locate more evenly spaced lodgings – but have concluded that seemingly it just can’t be done. So we diverted from the tried and tested, to get in some sea air (the original proposed itinerary being deficient in this aspect of our south–north travel). 

I’m confident Mme Melling was entirely on top of her idea, and may have casually glanced at the Michelin to confirm her plan for going forward. It included Marennes and also oysters, just in case we hadn’t the time or opportunity to consume some in Roscoff.

From the overnight in La Rochelle, we diverted again from 'the plan', not going via Nantes and Rennes but reusing an often used variation (starting after Luçon – steadfast in its presentation of a quality petit déj) that brought us to St Brévin and the least attractive weather of the return, looking across to St Nazaire. Gloomy. And not for the first time either, over the years…

Over the bridge,  then on, through Redon, and at long last, rejoining the N12 in the environs of St Brieuc, to pick up the familiar slog west. Some disorder took place at this point due to confusion regarding the direction of the road we took (which was correct but did not seem so; so requiring two about-turns – or was that three?). 

The tedium of returning through Brittany still tends to deaden our senses (strangely, this tendency doesn’t seem to tax us very much at all when fresh off the boat and heading for the Loire) – it goes on a bit. Dashed glad we were therefore, to roll into Roscoff and clock in at our billet at about 1700 hours. The accommodation was comfortable indeed (it always has been at Roscoff) and there were more oysters, for myself at least, not to mention a steaming bowl apiece of moules. We were adventurous: we didn’t go to the Surcouf resto this time but tried another. We liked it: La Moule au Pot. 

The voyage to Plymouth next day, Saturday, was smooth, prompt, and entertaining – as some of the youth of France, on organised coach trips to our island nation, paraded round the boat for the full six hours of the crossing, or played cards when smart phones were ill advised due to connection costs, generally reminding one (me at the very least) that they are the beautiful people, with boundless energy and (hopefully) an expectation of living the life for many years to come. They made a happy man feel, er, very old. Otherwise the ship was quiet and thinly populated. It is out of season, as much as it ever is these days…

And so we returned to our home in the country. This one. Not that one.

Less than a month to go before we set out for the last time to 1rueFB. 

I am 

brimming.

 

autumnal not so jolly

 

WHAT WAS PUBLICISED as our usual autumn jolly does not quite pan out that way. All because 1rueFB was being marketed, up for sale, very much á vendre. 

Unlikely as it might seem, a Parisian pair who were very much up for it, made a revised (upward) offer and signed the compromis even, suddenly got cold feet during the cooling off period and withdrew their interest at the eleventh hour. There are some suspicions as to why they did this: something to do with a parent of one of them not liking something or other . . . possibly the CEO of the bank of mum and dad? Hmmm: we’ll leave it there shall we . . . it was also complicated by these Parisians just having to be away for four months in one of the 'Stans…… as you do when house hunting. Can’t say we were all that fussed about drawing stumps with these '12 year olds’ from France’s capital. The experience lends credence to the general belief around ’84 that Parisians are a bit shit to those in the provinces and are seemingly from another planet, mostly. Sweeping I guess, but I can go with it a bit more readily in the light of the experience.

Our trusty Estate Agent (oxymoron usually I know – but in the case of Andrew we feel well supported in this endeavour and even after blanching at the fee he will charge for seeing us through this process: it costs in France, he is competitive and very much on the ball) … our trusty Est A. quickly finds us new buyers and gets a new compromis fixed for us to be present at, in person this time rather than down the line, as it were. These folk seem much more attuned to Sablet and its environs, are closer to us in age, are realistic, want to actually live in 1rueFB bless them, etc etc. The compromis or whatever they call it rolls through down at the notaire’s slick office space, the cooling off period ticks over and runs out without backword and we know it is now happening.

We begin the painful process of sorting out into five metaphorical piles:
A] stuff we simply have to keep and take back to Bullsmead Towers (limited and conditioned by the practicality of getting such clobber back there in the motor); 
B] stuff we might expect friends and neighbours would like, might buy: stuff we can ‘gift’ to such associates that is;
C] stuff no one is likely to want let alone buy, but has value of some sort. We arrange for this stuff to be collected for recycling or take it ourselves to a recycling hub adjacent to the local déchèterie.
D] stuff that has collected over the 14 years (mostly in the garage) but we have not used or found a use for. This last has to go to the déchèterie. You can add in here unwanted clothes and shoes, going off to the clothes depository located for some reason behind the Mairie.

E] The Table. Ah. The Table. Our pride and joy. No one wants a table, everybody already has one. Especially the buyers. But this is a beautiful table. Made to 1st class honours degree standards. No-one (to date) will buy it for more than €100. If you have sat at it you will know of its provenance and quality of finish. It is a crime to even try and place a value on such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

We contemplated getting this work of art in oak transported back to Bullsmead… we conclude it is not remotely economic or financially practicable. It weighs at least three Olympic swimming pools and needs two strong men without damaged backs to move it. It separates into only two pieces. It needs a vehicle with at least a load dimension of two plus metres long to get it on board. Doesn’t sound a lot I know. After all it got to 1rueFB, back when, on a trailer behind a small white van. But it did require muscle to bring the thing into the kitchen where it has rested since, where they put it down, just inside the house double doors, to this day. The clock is ticking though. Oh my, oh my . . .

This issue is not resolved. When it is I dare say I will say more. Completion after all may be only a week or four away.

Our former neighbours from up the Montée de la Grand Font, Barbara et Pascal, whose relocation to near St Etienne caused us considerable regret, showed up by chance (they live miles and miles away now) and took refreshment with us at The Table. They sympathised. They also reassured us that Minouchette the local cat of 1rueFb and Sablet, which they adopted, is fit and well and rarely gives us a moment’s thought. 

We made time to visit the Three Pines of Durban on a walk up that hill, and on another day a pilgrimage up to St Hilaire . . .

St Hilaire above Puyméras below

We found the time to go buy Bibs at both Puyméras and Bédoin. After the visit to the latter we indulged ourselves with a circuit of Le Géant, yea even unto the summit plateau of said mountain. At the former we noted the neatness of the village, its perfect position, the newly acquired and customised Mairie building, and Mary watched some paint drying.

We managed to squeeze in a saunter to Château Hers on the Rhône, now tastefully renovated and stabilised in its semi-ruinous state.

We inspected La Bori, the garden above Suzette, and drank Kir-Royals at Le Barroux.

We ventured, towards the end of our stay, over the roads of the Toulourenc near Veaux and the gorges thereat. Earlier, we visited the site of the pine on the ridge above St Maurice, now utterly gone without trace. We took away the boulders from our terrace that we borrowed from near Châteauneuf-du-Pape (to keep the doors open when the mistral blew) and repurposed them below the pylon at Rabais Sud . . . and we managed to do several bits of the Rasteau walk on several occasions, punctuated with Sunday lunchtime snifters in the square. We walked to Séguret and back, not done that in recent times. 

Violès café

And we lunched. As per. 

At Roaix, Villedieu, Violès (see right), Vaison, Séguret and Sablet, even chez nous on occasion…… We ate with friends, John, Louise, Liz*, Keith*, Jen, Dorte*, Søren*… Gerard was indisposed but we took tea with him and Jen on the Grande Rue. More than once.

* sold up in Sablet but unable to keep away

So I suppose we did get out and about a bit, but I note that in all our previous thirty three visits to Sablet, never did we stray less far from the environs of Sablet, there was so much stuff to sort. And yet we scored, don't you think? 

As the horror of what we are doing (NB selling out 1rueFB) sank deeper and deeper into our souls we decided the only way to address this distress was by planning to do some more familiarisation with the above, even after we are no longer Fr tax payers and Fr property owners. 

In short, book a holiday in 84! Not in Sablet you understand, that would be too too painful, but nearby. Mme Melling went to it  – as well as climbing our beloved P-de-D Holm Oak, like she did back in the last century  – only not quite so high.

So next year, if the booking holds up (and we have paid a deposit so it better) our autumn vacance will be based in Villedieu, hardly a stone’s throw from the square and the Café du Centre therein. We’ve taken a look at this rental (exterior only) and it looks OK. Very OK. Not quite the equivalence of our cool understated space at 1rueFB in Sabbers of course… but that has now been dispersed and its character lost as we clear it out. A base we will enjoy I am sure in Villedieu, and from whence we can revisit familiar people, places and things. Stitched with some regret though, at our loss of our own footprint, I bet. There's no pleasing some folk, is there? 

But before that comes to pass we have to follow through on 1rueFB. Another visit to round it off, in pretty short order. Completion even. Bank the proceeds. Sort The Table issue out. Watch this space (or do something worthy, the choice is yours).

1rueFB was built in 1877 or thereabouts. Since it was converted into a house, no one can have appreciated it more than we. Long may the ugly ducking, with its shortage of right angles in all and every room, give shelter and pleasure to those who choose to live there. We got loads.

Villedieu: café du centre

Don't contact me to tell me I've repeated half this guff in a previous post FGS; 

can't a fellow have a senior moment once in a while? 

But sorry if I've taxed your patience beyond the norm, I admit I may have

 'boiled my parsnips twice' on this occasion, 

in which case you'll probably not have reached this point,

 so this apology may be simply going to waste. 

Tsch!

dismal dismantle

THOSE AMONGST MY PUBLIC who have attempted tirelessly to stay with the posts that appear from this quarter in my blog Driving on the Right, will be aware that there are sweeping changes afoot. The time has come. 1ruefb is in the process of being sold and after one false start, it looks as though this time our buyers will persevere with their purchase and see us off the premises.

If we had known at the outset, what a disturbing and unsettling process this was going to be, well I doubt we’d have gone for it. I’ve explained elsewhere the rationale for drawing stumps in Sablet which you will have read, or can read now, or which you can choose to ignore, if you don’t mind dwelling in ignorance. This post is just an indicator of how we tried to combine an autumn residency in Sablet with the rather daunting compromis signing (quite easy in the event) the necessary considerations of what to keep and what to dispose of, contents wise, how what we decide to keep is to be brought back to our estates in Devon, where to have lunch, who with if anybody, and what to do about The Table.

After the Compromis is signed, (the compromis being the contract between the buyer and the seller and is binding) there is a ten day cooling off period, during which our buyers can have second thoughts and withdraw from the process without a stain on their characters. Just like our first buyers did. I applied a considerable stain on their characters, the tikes. There is no withdrawing allowable on our part, the sellers. If we both passed over even, the son & heir would still have to complete the sale. Thankfully the current buyers seem to be serious and are far from being 12 year olds. Not from Paris neither.

So, despite the risk of starting dismantling our lives in Sablet before those ten days are up, we have been working our way through the house, sorting, just about ever since we arrived. Thus far we have not troubled the déchèterie itself to scrap our detritus (next time we will) but have made two trips to the Ressourcerie. They take usable cast offs that can be sold on or employed to support those in need of help when setting up home.

We are not sure how we accrued quite so much clobber that falls into this category, but we have and its gone now. Mostly. The binoculars I lugged all the way to Everest Base camp and back: they’ve gone too. Several framed pictures posters and the like: gone for ever. I’m welling up.

Then there’s the books: we've been recycling them in various villages and towns that have book boxes. Clothes and shoes? Down to that hopper thingey behind the Marie. 

Furniture we can’t use, or want, or export, or sell on, well, the Ressourcerie folks will come and take that as well, by appointment and in their van. That will be about the last act prior to the final depart.

So why not just hire a van and take it all back to Bullsmead Court? Dear reader! You cannot be serious.

In simple terms, the accumulation we might want to reuse in blightey just isn’t worth the hire of a van. And anyway, those of our circle who have had the good fortune to see inside Château Bullsmead, well they’d no doubt confirm that it is, as it were, quite comprehensibly furnished already. Above all, nearly all the items with which we gentrified the chambers of 1ruefb were specifically chosen for that location. True, we are attached to many of these artefacts but we are being hard faced about it. They have served their purpose, for us at least. So we have largely reserved the boot space of the trusty motor for what we broadly classify as ‘personal effects’. And the pegs!

Which is why we’ve got to come back to Sablet one more time and why this post is headlined pénultième (humour me re the poles ventoux landscape employed to display this title, it seemed appropriate somehow).

And there is The Table.

The only thing that might have swayed us towards van hire is The Table. Prices start at £700 to get it back to Bullsmead. And once there, there is nowhere that immediately springs to mind, to put said table, back at base. It weighs massively. It comes apart… into just two pieces: the top, and the rest.

So instead, we’ll sell it! Get our investment back. Give it a new home in Fr where it belongs: form a queue for your chance to own this magnificent piece of hand crafted furniture…… yeah, right. 

 We’ll leave that issue, for now.

The Elephant in the room… and about the same weight…

For an itinerary of our experiences out-and-about in this thirty-fourth sojourn, I refer you without hesitation to Mme Melling’s blog; the exemplar of just how posts should give the essence without burying the reader in extraneous detail, side-issues and irrelevances. Keep them wanting more, and all that. I can only admire the economy, wit and pith she demonstrates therein. I soldier on – but readily acknowledge my shortcomings after each post I struggle to get out, when the paucity of my efforts are invariably brought once again to my reluctant attention.

Anyway, for those with an interest in these things (like having waited in all afternoon for a fellow to come to eyeball The Table with a view to purchasing same, now appearing to be a no show, we'll have to try again at the ultimate return), I am closing now with the amended road plan to get us back to the Motherland earlier than originally planned*. We raise anchor tomorrow, at dawn (or shortly thereafter).  

*NB: No I am not. I have, as a result of us changing our return route so radically, decided to omit the route originally displayed here as great chunks of it were deleted or modified, other byways being adopted instead. Flexibility, Variety!

 

where we were and how we done it

quiet morning reaches of the Loire at the Montsoreau breakfast interval

WELL THEN, in the last post but one (the roundabouts one) I gave out the bare bones of our 2025 spring return to darkest Devon, leaving 1rueFB in the hands of our trusted estate agent. Things happened in our absence from Sablet, too sensitive in nature, if not simply tedious in the extreme to air in this missive, but notwithstanding, Mme Melling and self embark on the autumn transit, wondering if it may very well be the penultimate such transfer.

It went something like this and I intend to be brief (so don’t get your hopes up for any eruditeness from this quarter just now:sighs of gratitude all round, n’est-ce-pas?).

The good ship Pont Aven conveys us to Roscoff with a capacity passenger detail. The crossing, apart from being at said capacity, is uneventful (a little choppy perhaps) if you ignore the time it takes to get off the boat and pass through the Fr customs etc. Our route (if you've assimilated our original plan) is modified to account for potential obstruction at Rennes due to a day of action (or inaction) in the République, in the manner outlined below. We do not encounter any of this anticipated disruption, so wisely have we adapted our published route – and we make good time in rather rainy weather, with the odd confusion caused by poor and even absent road signage, which Mme Melling sorts with her usual efficient use of country roads (over rain sodden metre gauge tourist lines even) and her customary vision…

We reach the Loire and cross it. You’ll have not even glanced at the modified route detail below, have you? Neither would I, if I had drawn the short paille, and embarked on this exercise of tedium, by mistake. If you had checked it out, you'd have noticed the beach side lunch stop featured even further below, opposite Ingrandes, isn't on it, it doesn't feature; because Mary modifies our route from Candé, due to lack of signage therein,  thasall. She does that sort of thing when we slip off piste.  She always brings us out right in the end, the living sat nav AI persona! – even when bleu expletives doth punctuate the cabin interior……  

Be that as it may, after lunch is taken we complete the day by generally following the river upstream at a leisurely pace to Saumur, where we locate the hotel (not the one Mary had envisioned, which was next door, but the one she has actually booked en route, once it is evident that we will make it as far as this town) — opposite the station. We are entrusted with a top floor apartment rather than a hotel room (kitchen, sitting/dining room, bedroom, bathroom, wc etc., all seemingly new and freshly appointed). We eat supper in town, disappointing in the event, given our previous regard for this bistrot, it fails to impress this time. The evening is damp-to-wet, like the rest of the day. 

Saumur to Nevers starts damp as well (much railway activity to be admired from our top floor lookout) but once we have breakfasted at our usual Loireside south bank spot at Montsoreau (even now, in season, a gem, see view up river from there that displays at the top of this post) we proceed smoothly as per the itinerary, calling in at, and walking round Montrésor (a honeypot in full swing) before a rain soaked yet brightly lit lunchtime baguette brilliance are consumed Cher-side at Sainte Thorette (Class A with honours fare but eaten under a deluge) allows us the time-latitude later on to get parked close by Bourges cathedral, an edifice we have patronised for some years and which always impresses, if, as I say, you can reach it and find a space for the wheels. It takes time but we eventually do it and are glad we stuck at it. Never pass by this cathedral without pausing,  especially if you’ve not taken the trouble before… it rates, it really does. The glass! My dears, you just have to go see that at least!

The hotel at Nevers is new to us: we like it (although the incessant fire alarm being fixed at the time of our booking in was a bit of a earful). The town proper across the Loire beckons and we get ourselves over there on foot, to take refreshment and eventually eat at an alternative style café associated with aspects of cycling, English owned, but we risk Café Vélo and come away pleased with our choice.

Step three is Nevers to Le Puy-en-Velay. It isn’t raining and holds off  today. It isn’t far either really. Petit déj is somewhat late in the securing and rather too many kilometres onward, in a town being thoroughly dug up and gentrified, namely Varennes-sur-Allier. We motor on through the Vichy environs (busy and confusingly less familiar than I would like to admit so overshoot the St Yorre water source) and get up into the outliers of the Massif Central. The baguettes obtained we save until Olliergues where we spend a happy hour in the sun, admiring the (very quiet) town where we once ate lamb (or some such other viande) hot-pot served up in hollowed out loaves of bread — possibly as long ago as 26 years past – we’ve often called that satisfying pleasure back to mind. The resto what done it was I think closed today, beyond drinks. 

We took our ease on the municipal staging avec single grey picnic facility, overlooking the river Dore – then explored some more. They are proud of their home grown but nationally renowned historical recorder-photographer, Gouttefangeas. We compare ‘then and now’ scenes. Olliergues, we like it, albeit a bit hemmed in by glowering heights. It even boasts a vannier, seemingly to this day. Reluctantly we press on…

…… and finally arrive at Le Puy-en-Velay to once more thrash about the crowded and traffic frenzied streets trying to find, not the hotel we last stayed in but another Ibis. By dint of Google Maps Mme Melling steers us there. Hmmm. Not an improvement on the previous lodgings used here, that’s for sure. As for Le Puy… hmmm. Very catholic, very very honeypot and alarmingly trafficated. We eat quite well though and despite the stunning view from our hotel window (see below) we rest, ahead of the final hack back to Vaucluse, 84. 

The last stage is a planned bit of a sampler of the Vivarais region (neglected hitherto but an ambition for the future, given its history, isolation and legendary beauty). We encounter some of the bendiest roads known to man. Sadly I realise I have made no visual record of this segment of our progress until out of it, but I can confirm it is very hilly, with gorges, deep valleys, mountain rivers – including the upper reaches of the Loire. Vivarais is heavily wooded, with moorland and treeless pastures (excepting pine plantations) at the higher altitudes. And is also a zone of milk and honey, if infrequent boulangeries and cafés. 

We get a taste of it at least, are anointed by more rain in the process, breakfast late at Désaignes  (good) before finally dropping down into the Rhône valley around Montélimar, to complete the transit to Sablet, just in time, upon arrival, (1330) to soak up a wet afternoon with a thunder topping.

We are in. All well, at least at first…… the electricity is on and the water is off (I turn it on, naturally). It is a house under offer. Oh dear, what have we instigated, 'tis so nice to watch the rain drumming on the terrace counter…whereupon pelargoniums from spring return to leaf and life after the scorching summer…

Thank you for your engagement. Now try and recoup the time you just wasted on this ramble… you'll probably resolve to steer clear of such twaddle in the future, I wouldn't blame you…[if you can't follow it at all, don't fret: neither can I…ed]

2025 autumn: the thirty-fourth

IS IT AT ALL SURPRISING that we turn our minds toward our southern estates on this August day, warm here, but sweltering there? We could of course have been in summer attendance at 1rueFB, but for better or worse we have (as you may well already be aware) decided to skip the summer roast in recent years, in light of our experiences of 30°+ turned to one of 40+ degrees centigrade. We note that since this no Fr. summer show strategy has been adopted, forty degrees has been recorded several more times in the Vaucluse. It is just too much if you don't have to brave it out as residents á la permanence. Which we aren't. 

We miss the oleander display, lavender harvests, the apricots, figs and The Book Fair just to mention a tiny random selection; oh, and we miss the fête thankfully,  not to mention the midnight parties hullabaloo. We stay cooler and quite content in the grounds of Château Bullsmead, back in the motherland: we even have a good fig crop this year… the occasional fire of an evening, as you do, in Bullsmead's cooler-than-cool interior…

No, our minds turn southwards, after enjoying a splendid and absorbing Tour-de-France on television, the race passing fairly close by Sabbers, and up Le Géant, familiar countryside thereabouts (and other places too…) We plan ahead though… anticipate. So here are the two aspirational routes, outward and return, the stopovers, the outward ones already secured, booked.

NB: The return route below has been considerably revised, as a result of 'events'. We shall now return 'another way'…… and earlier, aussi, which will no doubt feature eventually in another post, with an explanation of the why and how of it –– as if you gave (give?) a damn…… 

Some of my subscribers might like to suck up this detail: please do, if you have your A4 Michelin Road Atlas of France to hand… don't even think about it if you haven't. I suspect it will only be of very marginal interest… I mean, who cares?  

The thirty-fourth visit to Sablet then, thought at one time to be our last, but now, well, there will be at least one, or even two in 2026… watch this space.

… so looking forward to it as well, even if this is the thirty-fourth out of … how many… ?

footnote: 

On the Autumn Outward route above top,  Châtelaudren, some 50 miles from Roscoff, 

 is included as a tried-and-tested breakfast venue when proceeding fresh off the boat. 

The Autumn Return route above has been amended since first posted to include

 the Marseillan variation where a portside petit déjeuner is usually obtainable.

further footnote:

Merde.

All the above might be compromised because 

some Fr. fellows may decide not to bother providing dock-siding services to our ferry

when it shows up at Roscoff bright and early on September 10th. 

Industrial dispute apparently. 

In which case Pont Aven might not even sail FGS.

We await further intelligence from the ferry company, obvs, 

but Mme Melling has already cancelled the first hotel

to avoid us losing the booking cost if we can't transit to Saumur that day.

[the hotel can take the booking charge: they've got our credit card details y'see . . .]

So if we do make Saumur as outlined above, 

we shall need to go on line upon approach to try and secure shelter for the night…

…might even end up at the aforementioned lodging house anyway, after all, who can tell?

So, in the interim we have forfeited our pre-booked security to avoid the chance of irretrievable loss.

Who – apart from us (and other anticipating voyagers on that day) 

gives a damn?

two hundred and seventy five roundabouts

SORRY READER, there are not even crumbs this time. Or are there?  This brief account of the thirty-third return (from Sablet that is) is simply my cleaned up daily notes – or if you want to dress it up – my log. As one's brain continues to turn to mush I find it a help to note the salient points as we proceed you see . . . aide memoire sort of thing. So I don't have to go cap-in-hand for intelligence on these matters quite so much……

Adam travelled back with us again after his brief visit to Sabbers – we had plentiful humour on the road, and only a minimum of cursing and swearing (not from him, you understand – he is an angel [yeah, right] and ne'er a sneer emanates from the offside rear [get-out!] wherein he elects to ensconce himself). This time, the s&h decided to count the roundabouts we traversed between 1rueFB and the ferry. He does stuff like that, and fends off the scorn these initiatives he takes with ease. 

I thank Adam here and now for confirming the conviction I already entertained that the Fr are addicted to roundabouts – and will put one in almost anywhere when no one is looking. If you are of the same opinion, you'd better read on. I suggested to the offspring that next time he might consider counting the speed bumps we have to negotiate (another Fr obsession). He is thinking about it. 

room for some rouge?

30 april (wednesday): Sablet to Sète Before we left 1rueFB at 0750 our neighbour across the road [a charming chap called Hilarion] presented us with a case of his own Gigondas rouge production. I found room for it. We did not take the A9 autoroute but went via Rochefort-du-Gard (visited on other occasions in the past) where we had a fair breakfast. Then we gained the A9 and left it at junction 33 for Sète. Hopelessly busy: I made two attempts to get into the area Mary and Adam wanted to visit. Impossible, gave it up, and saw not one feasible parking place anywhere centrally. Last resortish, we trekked up to the viewpoint, thick with tourists but at last slid into a parking plot. Came down again to the Cap Lazeret, snapped up a vacating parking space, and reported to the hotel at 1130! Put our stuff in our room – it was ready. 

Lunch taken on the sea’s edge (a bistro) then a walk (limp) right up to the citadel (Adam went on alone to the St Louis lighthouse). It was very warm indeed, I reckon just under 30°, quite cloudless. Staggered back and had breaks(rests) en route in two bars. Room cool, a bit tight, but friendly hotel. Ate at a close by bistro in the evening (Bouzigues oysters for me). Curtain fell down in hotel and double bed rather small. Adam was well accommodated I think. Efficient motorised blind though. A bit noisy and not very much to my taste. The surrounding area very much holiday apartment block land, somewhat compromising the sea access… should have used the number six bus into Séte: instead we walked both there and back…… to my cost. 

During this first day of travel Adam recorded 36 roundabouts within the mileage covered of only 109 miles (please note that any roundabout we may have negotiated twice or more through some failure on the part of the navigation team does not get counted again).

breakfast stop at Marseillan 

1 may (thursday): Sète to Condom    Left at 0750 (a small market being set up in front of the hotel). Cool very bright day, warming up to similar heights as yesterday. Breakfast in an almost deserted Marseillan, beautiful, got baguettes too. Lovely journey, negotiated Béziers easily. 

Ate our sandwich lunch in Puydaniel churchyard where it greyed over [three or maybe even four kestrels giving an excellent flying display while a nightingale and warblers various sang]. Thereafter encountered a few drops of rain before that intense warm sunshine returned. So we took time out to visit Auch cathedral, (been before, it all came back to me) before motoring on and  turning up at our hotel in Condom around 1730. Blackbirds singing loudly. 

This hotel features a swimming pool but retains blankets on beds – I ask you, air con not working, shower screen on loan elsewhere. Hmm. We feared sustenance might be an issue that evening as it was one of the numerous Fr. May bank holidays. Mme Melling easily found a pizzeria on line. Didn’t take to it very well myself, disappointing in fact. Checked out the cathedral afterwards. Tower back into scaffolding and bubblewrap. 

Then I had to limp back to digs…Adam and M went to eyeball the river (not sure why) and then the local war memorial. I hardly made it back to base. 

I illustrate herewith Puydaniel church our sandwich interlude, and Auch cathedral, in the sun. 

During this second day of travel we encountered 79 roundabouts within the mileage covered of 222 miles. 

Don't I know it…

2 may (friday):  Condom to Rochefort     Left hotel 0740 in a cool sunny morning. Visited (again, apparently we've been before, back in the mists) the fortified mill and race at Barbaste and it looked very good indeed in the early morning light. Breakfast at Casteljaloux, very good, on a big café terrace, then a good ride on quiet roads until Langon where it was suddenly nose to tail. We got clear of that eventually and lunched (baguettes) at very quiet Port Maubert (Gironde Estuary, low tide) after passing round 'the snail' once again (plus drinks, plus ice-creams) then back on the route through to Rochefort Ibis, arriving at 1625. The sky greyed over but hot (26°). The blackbird incumbent gave forth. Our room overlooked the petit parking quad… but this time we street parked! 

Good day’s travel - almost hit by a car swerving to evade gendarme's stop (who then gave chase to the miscreant). That was in the Sauternes area. A crèperie just up from Ibis gave us a very good supper in Rochefort, best this return trip, charming couple in stylish interior, but had to wait until eight to get a table. I simply could not trail down to the corderie royale in the meantime. Bad leg pain the issue. Ibis hotel up to scratch… a good day. Despite heavy traffic spot around Langon. 

During this third day of travel we encountered 76 roundabouts within the mileage covered of 201 miles. Oh my Lord.

3 may (saturday):   Rochefort to Roscoff

 A comfortable night (blackbird singing loudly) leaving at 0740. Cloudless to start with. Maximum temp today 25°+ but only touching 16° in Roscoff. Sainte Hermine (the place where the Clémenceau memorial is situated) for excellent p’tit déj and top flight baguettes which we ate by the seaside at Les Rosaires west of St Brieuc. Oh dear, 

that's La Manche, that is.

Lovely beach edge spot for sinking sandwiches! We arrived in the usual holiday-busy (sunny for a change, if nippy) Roscoff at 1600. After reporting for duty at the Ibis we found a distant car park for the motor and M was able to bring the car closer in after the town quietened down. Total miles in France stands at 855. Room 331 as last time in the Ibis. Surcouf for supper, very nice and a treat from Mme Melling as she clocked a PB win this month! Even chillier as the sun set, and as I report above, Mary moved the car closer to the hotel… Hotel up to scratch as usual but still deficient shower-wise: can't avoid sending water across the floor on account of inadequate screening. You'd have thought they'd have sorted that out given the Roscoff Ibis is a tad more expensive than the other overnights we made this time. Lots of hot water though!

During this final full day of travel in France we encountered 82 roundabouts in 322 miles. And that's with much of the distance covered on roundabout free dual carriageway N-roads FGS! On the sunday spin down to the ship we encountered two more of them . . . modest jobs, but fulfilling the s&h's exacting criteria of what a roundabout actually is.

4 may (sunday):   Roscoff to Cheldon Up early (sunny cold morning) and into Ty Pierre (the café with the sea chart ceilings) for superb croissants [5] and 4 bumper coffees [€16]. Pont Aven came steaming in a bit late, and left about 15 minutes behind scedule on account of a technical. A brilliant crossing, quarter full boat at most, quite rough (dramatic water swooping about in the pool: I recorded it for posterity): only Adam took advantage of our gratis cabin. Time slipped easily by (self listening to music) etc. Boat only fifteen minutes late into Plymouth (more lost time was anticipated but captain powered on) and we were off and away in about, give or take, fifteen minutes. Not raining! S’mkt stop at Tavistock.

 

Sting in the tail? Diversion at Winkleigh and tyre deflation warning before that (false). Back at Bullsmead Towers, the inside fridge/freezer contents were lost owing to accidental switch off of power consumer unit upon March departure. Mea culpa most probably, when closing down the deep bore water pump. 

A very satisfactory return trip though. Enjoyed by us all, most of the time. Pity about the freezer issue and then post-travel humungous colds for self and Mme Melling in quick succession. As for your author's bloody back issue: don't even ask…… 

 I noticed you haven't  >sniff<  

The roundabout count, set against our overall mileage, indicates a density of one traffic circle every 3.11 miles. As few as that. One of them, the 'snail roundabout' we pass round frequently: it is near St. Fort on the Gironde estuary. We are fond of it. They farm escargots nearby so it is topical. Many examples of thematic traffic circles can be found in Fr. some better than others… I'd be surprised if there wasn't the basis for a PhD in it for someone, already…

Indebted to Mme Melling who took this picture of the snail roundabout some time back.