tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62157917153324571822024-02-17T20:30:07.387-08:00driving on the rightUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-38259939453326609862023-11-15T09:51:00.000-08:002024-01-11T06:28:26.962-08:00sunday constitutional<p><span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-ukbG8EOK4Fubt7lXgTjH-ow5Mo1sh0e7Ndx9Ryvb_buyAVNQShnyPtkkKyHuFrd6DwBxjQqKCEr_cJ9Dvl-eaAM3H5198qRE6MjZFbMUNQrEKwjhtsCYngKHCvOTSaWFLfly5qg8bwl3ZA_v-_E7mDExRoW0QgejA8wrUJ53CyimIobAETMT1Sl7g4/s4367/97F390F9-E98B-44B6-AD2B-59E2D8B623A7_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1653" data-original-width="4367" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-ukbG8EOK4Fubt7lXgTjH-ow5Mo1sh0e7Ndx9Ryvb_buyAVNQShnyPtkkKyHuFrd6DwBxjQqKCEr_cJ9Dvl-eaAM3H5198qRE6MjZFbMUNQrEKwjhtsCYngKHCvOTSaWFLfly5qg8bwl3ZA_v-_E7mDExRoW0QgejA8wrUJ53CyimIobAETMT1Sl7g4/w640-h242/97F390F9-E98B-44B6-AD2B-59E2D8B623A7_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">WE TOOK TO SUNDAY CONSTITUTIONALS this Autumn. At least that's how it seems in retrospect. Our constitutional proceeds from Rasteau village square, round and through the hilltop vines and returning to said square via the back road to Roaix, to take refreshment at the sleepy bar before collecting the wheels and rolling back across the Plan de Dieu for a simple lunch back at the abode. We did it every Sunday we were in residence, save one. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A very simple and untaxing little habit thus sprang up. We've been doing the Rasteau round ever since we got the keys to 1 rue FB and made our home there. You'll have heard of Rasteau if you are at all up on Fr. wine. It is <u><i>the</i></u> business. A Cru in fact – the red, and their vin doux – distinctive desert wines: syrupy, fruity and delicious. Originates from these chaps…… those are the Dentelles beyond…</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKbQ3C-OfMFtv7qzugCOgmldgbSLbna62epuQLreiwn3gvUkmvgaUjeGQL9W7xNVZEjEjz1wg4S43CEtoWe-yoyUzEhbLBV94c5WfwRXEMQUAQeZ1XbGyA_qyUetU8XtdolHzlcmz2eAdNkMrkkOb85bm0QlejIRa2d3SOxsy5bAA4yugldpP-eRuIqo/s4132/3AA30126-FB89-4681-9C18-052AD039DF42_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2037" data-original-width="4132" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKbQ3C-OfMFtv7qzugCOgmldgbSLbna62epuQLreiwn3gvUkmvgaUjeGQL9W7xNVZEjEjz1wg4S43CEtoWe-yoyUzEhbLBV94c5WfwRXEMQUAQeZ1XbGyA_qyUetU8XtdolHzlcmz2eAdNkMrkkOb85bm0QlejIRa2d3SOxsy5bAA4yugldpP-eRuIqo/w640-h316/3AA30126-FB89-4681-9C18-052AD039DF42_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCrszGCZQdSQld3euCOGqhzwS4uzbHcheGL3Ik3jJ0REOJtd_TraQV8NdMFqEngpd9-PkEiGFtVN_S4RLCC-oFNpYuMRYDg6RJ004lBAaYZV2uraAECEgeJdoXfWC0x3pX2eVSftpunZ8AwKyDunKs44datCclKoCi6UUWsOTWXbvi5wLVb7Bw53AYmU/s4032/IMG_0056.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCrszGCZQdSQld3euCOGqhzwS4uzbHcheGL3Ik3jJ0REOJtd_TraQV8NdMFqEngpd9-PkEiGFtVN_S4RLCC-oFNpYuMRYDg6RJ004lBAaYZV2uraAECEgeJdoXfWC0x3pX2eVSftpunZ8AwKyDunKs44datCclKoCi6UUWsOTWXbvi5wLVb7Bw53AYmU/s320/IMG_0056.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>From the terrace of number one we can look across the Ouvèze to Rasteau: Séguret is closer in the view from up there, arguably more scenic in aspect, but it's Rasteau that catches <i>our</i> eye. It beckons. Perhaps because we entertained an aspiration to buy our spot there, given its sweeping views across to Les Baronnies and Le Géant, not available in Sablet. Nothing came of that aspiration: there was zero on the market in Rasteau when we were looking and I doubt anything would have been in our price range anyway … up on the hill that is, with them views. We are content with the way the cards have fallen (well almost, let's not go there in this post my dears!) but still frequent Rasteau village (the original bits) and exercise in Rural Rasteau: it's a firm favourite. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHya-ROWU20AMQIDVr5x6BMl5hPHCCHe1Wh3HPlJCDxDKbET9cfQCfMJ8mklea-NGRr7dbwaWWEqL9d2qvyC0iie7ilrT6Ppks86lR84qJzJT751OMRfTdb-mCNiZdAgFgZ2ZUK0N4lOYruI8w9JvNzAnGMus3ADsOHZqTck1R8uBq8N_h08Y3wHx5Ik/s11980/IMG_0173.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3678" data-original-width="11980" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHya-ROWU20AMQIDVr5x6BMl5hPHCCHe1Wh3HPlJCDxDKbET9cfQCfMJ8mklea-NGRr7dbwaWWEqL9d2qvyC0iie7ilrT6Ppks86lR84qJzJT751OMRfTdb-mCNiZdAgFgZ2ZUK0N4lOYruI8w9JvNzAnGMus3ADsOHZqTck1R8uBq8N_h08Y3wHx5Ik/w640-h196/IMG_0173.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>We park the motor in or on the edge of Rasteau's lovely square, usually quiet of a Sunday unless some event is being staged therein: the exception rather than the rule. We plod up a steep little street and turn left behind houses, passing the clock tower and the school, to come out quickly onto a country terrace road flanking an orchard. The views are good already, across to Sablet, Gigondas and Les Dentelles.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7V-g1zEUn5Lfpo4dOcyc2L5TxS3Z9UatjP2Wmb3nMYb-E2xyA2yaM1qgUuZ46Sk7gjLe87Z7HyR_bXVbUB-hhGLDDPzLUFnwouog5GrRZ3-KoYquhlH3TSN60jWruumYhG2bjltKo_ybQso3F9ZCfPyWq_dnoSPv2GnCM5JaCBzQaePd0ugfwnlkVFE4/s4455/91C859DF-8A57-4262-8D15-549FE3EB93DC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1938" data-original-width="4455" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7V-g1zEUn5Lfpo4dOcyc2L5TxS3Z9UatjP2Wmb3nMYb-E2xyA2yaM1qgUuZ46Sk7gjLe87Z7HyR_bXVbUB-hhGLDDPzLUFnwouog5GrRZ3-KoYquhlH3TSN60jWruumYhG2bjltKo_ybQso3F9ZCfPyWq_dnoSPv2GnCM5JaCBzQaePd0ugfwnlkVFE4/w640-h278/91C859DF-8A57-4262-8D15-549FE3EB93DC_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The road we follow shrinks to a track and gives up on tarmac before skirting round then up to the top of the first hill that forms the northwest corner of the Rasteau commune. There are pines and river pebbles, and Rasteau's finest vines. An outdoor classroom for tots etc. has been put together under the trees – planks for tables and long benches. Never seen it in use</span> mind, but there is another such facility on another wooded bluff which we pass coming back into Rasteau: that one is associated with a botanical trail. </span><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fXc1MkztXBiTQyj4KOzfPL25JSd5h7UcTzAb_z2Ahgw4WjjlpYAkfJpoB1KIx8HF5IxJP3k0aDA4nnky1PCxaXziXxV7u2hS5s-LBAaFsMrhXzJgXaSBLXE6WBe0rbqjS6YiRaSLME8Q150-6Z6MXFowNViRZv76bt4fMXRkTV5tEmMq2toUHw0RVOk/s4896/B884AE67-4BC4-4D76-BB0A-455894D7CEC0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fXc1MkztXBiTQyj4KOzfPL25JSd5h7UcTzAb_z2Ahgw4WjjlpYAkfJpoB1KIx8HF5IxJP3k0aDA4nnky1PCxaXziXxV7u2hS5s-LBAaFsMrhXzJgXaSBLXE6WBe0rbqjS6YiRaSLME8Q150-6Z6MXFowNViRZv76bt4fMXRkTV5tEmMq2toUHw0RVOk/w640-h360/B884AE67-4BC4-4D76-BB0A-455894D7CEC0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">We pick our way up the pebbly track skirting the trees to the topmost hill. The views have grown more extensive – to the south and east, across to Orange, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, nearby Cairanne et Ste. Cécile, the more distant hidden Rhône and the far distant Cévennes. East and North it is the Baronnies particularly, and of course, Le Mont Ventoux plus Les Dentelles. My, it is capital.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMWC1F9XE8GsB_AcdWxkMIML7R9eyf5zW6IiI8h3O3VUHTUN0z5_6Hit-FuthZElrtrpQJvNemtWXcqhFK3nNZoYQs6W9nkc0rIWjB-GQhMlaR8sC-IYRYQ53olEI2JNFcuuFn1fqbXYQun5VY1RDuxdbktbkIgjkGw4TJ9_yTv5QmQ93TD2GGy2DYpk8/s4455/F97A3ED7-BCA7-42A5-87FF-F675B171BF85_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2513" data-original-width="4455" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMWC1F9XE8GsB_AcdWxkMIML7R9eyf5zW6IiI8h3O3VUHTUN0z5_6Hit-FuthZElrtrpQJvNemtWXcqhFK3nNZoYQs6W9nkc0rIWjB-GQhMlaR8sC-IYRYQ53olEI2JNFcuuFn1fqbXYQun5VY1RDuxdbktbkIgjkGw4TJ9_yTv5QmQ93TD2GGy2DYpk8/w640-h362/F97A3ED7-BCA7-42A5-87FF-F675B171BF85_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vHeD8nU7gZ0y60BrTUrNE3NWIs_lcockwDKIfegCCU18NLBPdTbtf_uHWY3Ch_weTLHjK6ecoko7i3gaZCkXGlUNHhS0lJoWxLkYu46vjNR3c8jMstURgfyOSQ_AxPBirlbNMcxkP-xZswtb7M0-Cdx1tJCIqJOno3YazZ4lcSlNSKPs0zOf1qIwXBc/s4896/DSC00319.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3672" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vHeD8nU7gZ0y60BrTUrNE3NWIs_lcockwDKIfegCCU18NLBPdTbtf_uHWY3Ch_weTLHjK6ecoko7i3gaZCkXGlUNHhS0lJoWxLkYu46vjNR3c8jMstURgfyOSQ_AxPBirlbNMcxkP-xZswtb7M0-Cdx1tJCIqJOno3YazZ4lcSlNSKPs0zOf1qIwXBc/s320/DSC00319.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">As we traverse the upper terraces, we encounter a 'snug' with barrel table and baulks of timber to perch on, put together beneath a clump of mediterranean pines, to rest up under shade, catch a breeze in the stifling summer heat. Take your own drinks though, it isn't manned. There are butterflies, there are grasshoppers. In Summer the hilltop copses are loud with cicadas. Wood larks are in song in every direction. And some!</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CBe7KMiasVhHhlI2u1fEswW9SffS1wOKfLh2_puBSbrArfnxptDpZkDTRiMVtK76v9bCxQ5Ss46NIgM8BMvzGeoWhK92TotCBYf0nR3UDKVhG4zP-c1Sc0FuJfd-owYRK0jNwT_C8kYT8_pa3D0BvvUy6-0L9vJzVPgyGlk0-ndrudkROlTN6QPvS4A/s4455/0E8D7527-444E-486C-87E1-1792938AB95B_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2233" data-original-width="4455" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CBe7KMiasVhHhlI2u1fEswW9SffS1wOKfLh2_puBSbrArfnxptDpZkDTRiMVtK76v9bCxQ5Ss46NIgM8BMvzGeoWhK92TotCBYf0nR3UDKVhG4zP-c1Sc0FuJfd-owYRK0jNwT_C8kYT8_pa3D0BvvUy6-0L9vJzVPgyGlk0-ndrudkROlTN6QPvS4A/w640-h320/0E8D7527-444E-486C-87E1-1792938AB95B_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSTR_bKwfs9YtHXM3SHSdek06sAnZJ7964yOSAjS_ZewpS3Vkt3BzenM8xoldy6uKdOhTMH0BAEnFchQCqKyqneZIC99ueVBvZleM6KLKGaLVTDM2RFLkHhHCBPyrztjlZYPtWhLk8JGJR8Dpb1ElOiTM8ZdSUA4c-P4f4DdDfl4m8Oo6MjKNRYiaaJk/s3148/31FF632F-EB47-4218-AD7F-F2F9DC81EAB2_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="3148" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSTR_bKwfs9YtHXM3SHSdek06sAnZJ7964yOSAjS_ZewpS3Vkt3BzenM8xoldy6uKdOhTMH0BAEnFchQCqKyqneZIC99ueVBvZleM6KLKGaLVTDM2RFLkHhHCBPyrztjlZYPtWhLk8JGJR8Dpb1ElOiTM8ZdSUA4c-P4f4DdDfl4m8Oo6MjKNRYiaaJk/w640-h194/31FF632F-EB47-4218-AD7F-F2F9DC81EAB2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">There are surprises… Mme Melling strode out on the returning road one time, when a very large hare crossed the road between us. Passed right behind Mary, without a second glance. More recently, in Spring, we encountered a skein of cranes battling their way north against a sudden mistral upsurge, only a few metres above our heads. In the same place, more or less. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioV240uKrMNB5Vk_S6i262oNN8xU8-HBl90qmucc5y1H3yspWTtNqhwcr4LeZIeopBYXskiug6v1lEbLNRqPYHzymNxZBgpWQSZAQznTYRR_bzyakvbHY5WZxVj_pid_bFeuylYuIu4RZXZUb8_GMPxXS2fQyJIAhqir5LWnb-h9slAsBTB6VLOZEIiA4/s4266/5BC75486-77C9-47E3-98BD-0A11534411C4_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4266" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioV240uKrMNB5Vk_S6i262oNN8xU8-HBl90qmucc5y1H3yspWTtNqhwcr4LeZIeopBYXskiug6v1lEbLNRqPYHzymNxZBgpWQSZAQznTYRR_bzyakvbHY5WZxVj_pid_bFeuylYuIu4RZXZUb8_GMPxXS2fQyJIAhqir5LWnb-h9slAsBTB6VLOZEIiA4/w640-h412/5BC75486-77C9-47E3-98BD-0A11534411C4_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">There may be kites, possible harriers, kestrels and serins, even the odd vulture on a day out from the higher Baronnies. And unless the harvest is in progress, there is quiet most often; they still pick the grapes by hand up here… There's a bench back on the returning road one reaches: shaded by evergreen oaks and with a nifty roadside shelter on the other side of the oaken clump, should it be coming on to rain. I love a bench, me. And a shelter to watch the rain from. Not had that privilege as yet…</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-SqX4Q-0OTmefP_KI0enDWCrViZDzkE-qtLOxWJwXGgaRCvkH8t3PbHI_hksdS-aM0k_d45Zb2b9ZBUOgX6_vEYSrxGiZhnzchQmVyHtLaA0sxgQVPCuitnqElpT-LpZXREtfOe5m6zD6ew5Dtjxh7UnCe96K6RUAqi0hSHwv1PI-UP03J468X1lKn4/s4896/39F1647E-EBF2-48BF-A72F-A2D77D029698.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3672" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-SqX4Q-0OTmefP_KI0enDWCrViZDzkE-qtLOxWJwXGgaRCvkH8t3PbHI_hksdS-aM0k_d45Zb2b9ZBUOgX6_vEYSrxGiZhnzchQmVyHtLaA0sxgQVPCuitnqElpT-LpZXREtfOe5m6zD6ew5Dtjxh7UnCe96K6RUAqi0hSHwv1PI-UP03J468X1lKn4/w150-h200/39F1647E-EBF2-48BF-A72F-A2D77D029698.jpeg" width="150" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">From here the round brings us (by unfrequented country road) to the uppermost part of the village, the cemetary, the church and its tower. Footpaths snake down to the old gateway avec horlorge (with hours chiming, and repeated as they should be – this is Provence after all). There are variations one can make, both out in the country and whilst returning through the habitations, with the aspiration (and intent) for a snifter coming to the fore.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIXpnnCIC5pOo8UfYhUkRiUNLAKTXjwzCnmHYnKp0eBc4GVWnxxPNnVG0wLU7eqvw1VOLU64qPIGSjPyHkVIXchlXAOeRT0RJYOjIPiCJjyjKEOslT2tGH_tqsSCRu_JkVC-yBzYx1g_vXqSLJxCv0AQyWRKV5brPOAO69GRGKklRKcF64QXzT-dlgS8/s4896/89D25512-A06C-43E4-9E46-CCFA1832B8BB.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="4896" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIXpnnCIC5pOo8UfYhUkRiUNLAKTXjwzCnmHYnKp0eBc4GVWnxxPNnVG0wLU7eqvw1VOLU64qPIGSjPyHkVIXchlXAOeRT0RJYOjIPiCJjyjKEOslT2tGH_tqsSCRu_JkVC-yBzYx1g_vXqSLJxCv0AQyWRKV5brPOAO69GRGKklRKcF64QXzT-dlgS8/w640-h480/89D25512-A06C-43E4-9E46-CCFA1832B8BB.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7jQ4Yg0OoFJIE8JE8nj8F4JZLK3VCaIGdFpB2QkGxghpSW_a7SRyjIwDS76ZrVPg_TLhtoxnrJodbOTR5AKIhsopXbbfCwS6N3HWqiAo_EPpLSP7PPAtaCz-Cnkxg85MpzP1vuzEiYqKus1vQ0iARKQxE9uAxwD9ocT-cd5usngExnVQHT1Hc-lSFMk/s4896/F14FBEA4-8E18-48E8-9776-D4B3BE569335_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4896" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY7jQ4Yg0OoFJIE8JE8nj8F4JZLK3VCaIGdFpB2QkGxghpSW_a7SRyjIwDS76ZrVPg_TLhtoxnrJodbOTR5AKIhsopXbbfCwS6N3HWqiAo_EPpLSP7PPAtaCz-Cnkxg85MpzP1vuzEiYqKus1vQ0iARKQxE9uAxwD9ocT-cd5usngExnVQHT1Hc-lSFMk/s320/F14FBEA4-8E18-48E8-9776-D4B3BE569335_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">So we filter back into the capacious square (…might have picked up a pastry or two from yer boulangerie, or a baguette, depending on plans for lunch) where I join Mme M at the table she has selected to her liking… and where we eventually secure liquid refreshment…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">… (it can be slightly sedate,</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht029maS4R9GeBZaOJJAn4vOISw2UaORbnGnDJWnXk_ZVH13N3Mbvy0AaajTD3-PbzgclfHX7uai1Lx-cS1zyv4LqE6hKkxy2BhJ-6ODesF9CY5Sr1JgKgvjb65IF3EU0C_MHWW-AMp09ghQvrI_0zGpS-aReDUwsViER1oACva40lc9hhVIsZ6qR9R88/s4000/P1110882.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht029maS4R9GeBZaOJJAn4vOISw2UaORbnGnDJWnXk_ZVH13N3Mbvy0AaajTD3-PbzgclfHX7uai1Lx-cS1zyv4LqE6hKkxy2BhJ-6ODesF9CY5Sr1JgKgvjb65IF3EU0C_MHWW-AMp09ghQvrI_0zGpS-aReDUwsViER1oACva40lc9hhVIsZ6qR9R88/w320-h181/P1110882.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>one might have to nip inside to secure the tipples desired) then bask in the blue of the sky over the borders of middle age planes, watch anything that might be taking place, soak up the ambience of the pre-lunch drinkers, of which there is rarely more than a handful and they can often be Spanish. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxR_MdfpIjdSUwc1k7sQoONM6qFy67a37h3yLJS5fxismJCdfMSQXwH-LUAErKBqJw2AtVwkCknrgjQFbBw0sqLDT-_CyrpC9X4SPRlk_toOEmBioOrdrSbmvHSpGtT8fpqIUCPwj8X0-6-LGRaECIdPKp0RkIJVvI0nuNlXgO1EBawpexK_WpHiZ68s/s4000/P1120122.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFxR_MdfpIjdSUwc1k7sQoONM6qFy67a37h3yLJS5fxismJCdfMSQXwH-LUAErKBqJw2AtVwkCknrgjQFbBw0sqLDT-_CyrpC9X4SPRlk_toOEmBioOrdrSbmvHSpGtT8fpqIUCPwj8X0-6-LGRaECIdPKp0RkIJVvI0nuNlXgO1EBawpexK_WpHiZ68s/w640-h360/P1120122.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPSmH0_kDFJOcWxni_YfV8nzFfOXt8N7urdlStZVuZVK4zUCbRGQUVNM6e8i62SZ0qXZBZfEvTa5RivfXdNMZoex4XKSSYKNg3C066raDZwXjwBZp1EXCyqIUk1OxhkXwcFTp2OKv1EVO1l3Hz3iDjwlNVQxLwDJd8Vi1WsXGuONSU8257CUT2ST-IhI/s4032/8DB3F0B1-2BBB-4BF7-B4BC-466A7B906684.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPSmH0_kDFJOcWxni_YfV8nzFfOXt8N7urdlStZVuZVK4zUCbRGQUVNM6e8i62SZ0qXZBZfEvTa5RivfXdNMZoex4XKSSYKNg3C066raDZwXjwBZp1EXCyqIUk1OxhkXwcFTp2OKv1EVO1l3Hz3iDjwlNVQxLwDJd8Vi1WsXGuONSU8257CUT2ST-IhI/s320/8DB3F0B1-2BBB-4BF7-B4BC-466A7B906684.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>We bond with this space. Fringed with bright and quite classy houses, sheltered and shaded by carefully managed planes, sporting a fountain with runnels, and the war memorial. The square slopes downhill and is gently terraced. Is airy. Has a play area. And it is very often canopied overall with that Rasteau blue sky. No school on sundays obvs, but on a weekday there is playground chatter across the square, if it isn't half term that is. Pleasant children's play: just far enough away to be agreeable rather than earsplitting… the place with the prison bars is the tourist office…</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The walk we've been a-doing of is augmented with explanatory information panels, </span>(as you can see in the cloudscapey panorama earlier) recently replaced, upgraded and refettled, explaining the viniculture, highlighting the views etc etc. Normally we'd be a bit sniffy about such intrusion but these seem to be alright generally. Apart from the challenges of fr. texts of course (I blame my school). But as a guide to the making of fine wines (and flogging it, no doubt) and explaining what you are looking at, then they serve. Rasteau is a Cru after all. I think I mentioned that before. </span><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">So does that mean (the adoption of this round as an official educational perambulation) that there are others traipsing round this commune approved route? Well, out there, à la campagne, one can occasionally come across such a person or persons… but generally we have the circuit to ourselves. We have variations we can utilise if we feel at all compromised by a party of walkers: they are rare enough. And now it has become a Sunday thing. I'd give my eye teeth to go round it, right now. What say you, Mme Melling? Exactly. Simple pleasures, with a glass of Rasteau Kir at the end of it (or pastis, pression, un-demi: other drinks are available…). </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">…and if you've been a visitor to the Melling–Smith enterprise in Sablet, you'll have been coaxed round this two miler – so you'll have some idea of what I am writing about here. You might have bought the drinks, although Mme M claims she does that. Rasteau… The Round… Nice, ain't it? At <i>any time</i> … although as yet we've only caught the rain up there just once. Surprising… it does rain y'know. On occasion. </span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3D8wA8-iuGLdq-tuY37UpLwpaIkvq63Tk1aNBO5rD8InXl31fx42pGUGfQu-Zi0ai3-2b52amGxTAH_MA3PeFVD-0A341NsaFfOb7fOxEghHkSWgUebBk51P7rYTL5MUi3jWBX8sPE52uqbN6ekf12jFor7A87DU8yjaydDafOTql7jIU4AW_Myco-ew/s4455/F43DEEE2-E428-491A-A6E2-9DD9AAA937F3_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2151" data-original-width="4455" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3D8wA8-iuGLdq-tuY37UpLwpaIkvq63Tk1aNBO5rD8InXl31fx42pGUGfQu-Zi0ai3-2b52amGxTAH_MA3PeFVD-0A341NsaFfOb7fOxEghHkSWgUebBk51P7rYTL5MUi3jWBX8sPE52uqbN6ekf12jFor7A87DU8yjaydDafOTql7jIU4AW_Myco-ew/w640-h310/F43DEEE2-E428-491A-A6E2-9DD9AAA937F3_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Zh1oWE3t_CYoi0rG8qc1lJRudX4JvqSc5s35Ng8O_Q3HEq33r-RMkO9Wy-BuWGOC0ee8xGYXA4VJrgOi-icpYxElaBGcCp5wV9dM6I1SqkWJ370fUZiJXLw551muEfx9UTX18wmiGUbmaKJ5371ykZWpgJaRDTewJanaIH9y89lLEDtkX3FcnXwaB_Q/s4396/085A7B19-615E-4FAF-B88E-2BCDED524E2C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1975" data-original-width="4396" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Zh1oWE3t_CYoi0rG8qc1lJRudX4JvqSc5s35Ng8O_Q3HEq33r-RMkO9Wy-BuWGOC0ee8xGYXA4VJrgOi-icpYxElaBGcCp5wV9dM6I1SqkWJ370fUZiJXLw551muEfx9UTX18wmiGUbmaKJ5371ykZWpgJaRDTewJanaIH9y89lLEDtkX3FcnXwaB_Q/w640-h288/085A7B19-615E-4FAF-B88E-2BCDED524E2C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9XCgOA3h4NnExPIoJ7UUp86ygsrxALCsnX5zv8Qq6qIZyIf25ZCOsSTOiE0v5Uug4bz5sT02BZrK7qmbE4x_r3j-SfyoO9_-ktnEeqRKwnu-cxFk_ic5eZuTGTPl5MpC-7k6aeg3Etp31OYkg6ZEAe6vLOvYKQtt1lKtIMa_3Xnyf18WqbQuT105sxo/s4513/35A04184-AFAE-4F3F-B236-EE0E736DBE12_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="4513" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9XCgOA3h4NnExPIoJ7UUp86ygsrxALCsnX5zv8Qq6qIZyIf25ZCOsSTOiE0v5Uug4bz5sT02BZrK7qmbE4x_r3j-SfyoO9_-ktnEeqRKwnu-cxFk_ic5eZuTGTPl5MpC-7k6aeg3Etp31OYkg6ZEAe6vLOvYKQtt1lKtIMa_3Xnyf18WqbQuT105sxo/w640-h426/35A04184-AFAE-4F3F-B236-EE0E736DBE12_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Footnote:</i> The pictures included in this post were obviously not all taken this autumn. Spring summer and autumn are represented here. There was snow on those distant hills on occasion.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Lots of work goes on over the winter interval amongst the vines: it is intense. Such as two major pruning cycles, replanting, weed control, terrace reconstruction – in fact starting all over again from scratch from time to time. Look it up! Hard work or what?</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Raise a glass to the workers!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA7OCMtjJdh1X-CRDER1DdRWM5bhg9JxmkBVVjA5juF6QIBz9Wysm5L4CMNbmJULqjNHV70b-9o8XR4plZWxSHDnol17D8wB_zFn-p8LtBBC55Nu66ys10P_Pj2q_gIykoIEVy6bENpsbpaMh4ivpagLxOFIr0EWz-BhEPqIj7LB-dYX9htKEnzp9nEw/s4000/P1000014.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2672" data-original-width="4000" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA7OCMtjJdh1X-CRDER1DdRWM5bhg9JxmkBVVjA5juF6QIBz9Wysm5L4CMNbmJULqjNHV70b-9o8XR4plZWxSHDnol17D8wB_zFn-p8LtBBC55Nu66ys10P_Pj2q_gIykoIEVy6bENpsbpaMh4ivpagLxOFIr0EWz-BhEPqIj7LB-dYX9htKEnzp9nEw/w400-h268/P1000014.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-43626398641761677212023-10-29T13:37:00.011-07:002023-11-16T05:27:55.907-08:00shipping out and getting back<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwulYeTL_XrrSadBJ0MFAb5-sg-XPxGXs4DQIkEUn2mw8xH56pAFNLG5pxvZm5Z7Qke3kOXtM8kdrJ2UjKQMYmgzCImOgG2C3YJK3ZG0GlBFfHsUe-gj4by_P51LaxdMQ6YcP8m6fjUgX3dMFDBJr2sUTahB38E-XONAw4aR36OfD8WIIuRGiG6LaPod8/s4896/DB1464AB-7EE5-419E-85CE-9D41C2855CA8_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4896" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwulYeTL_XrrSadBJ0MFAb5-sg-XPxGXs4DQIkEUn2mw8xH56pAFNLG5pxvZm5Z7Qke3kOXtM8kdrJ2UjKQMYmgzCImOgG2C3YJK3ZG0GlBFfHsUe-gj4by_P51LaxdMQ6YcP8m6fjUgX3dMFDBJr2sUTahB38E-XONAw4aR36OfD8WIIuRGiG6LaPod8/w640-h426/DB1464AB-7EE5-419E-85CE-9D41C2855CA8_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br />THERE IS LITTLE LEFT TO TELL concerning this latest return of the natives. As already reported, we didn't leap from the couch before daybreak at Yffiniac, preferring for a while to take in the incessant patter of rain on the double glazing from the comfort of the beds provided …and enjoy the questionable benefit of the clocks going back. There was still no hot water anyway. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>We were assured of a good breakfast at the tried-and-tested Châtelaudren – we need not look further. We were already au fait with the fact that our ferry was going an hour ahead of schedule to try and beat the incoming storm conditions. Time on board is British time of course so we'd be gaining two hours anyway by the time we landed in storm tossed Plymouth. However, my normal requirement for une douzaine de huîtres before embarkation would go unrequited: couldn't risk <i>The Surcouf</i>, if their service was as slow as last time. Never mind, we would eat on board. And anyway, we could fill up a bit at the P'tit déj stage, the boulangerie in </span><span>Châtelaudren being division one. We could buy quality bread to take back with us too! </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80bAkEvg1hXEoJeACA7v7TsfFT4fRCSYCAqQPKmv9KJCDkHDJQVwWeVGTdJR379IGyzsPvOVeSn3ER8Y4-nxmYm-X5KMvxjeUiyNPRRb82bfBwRHxvDvG7xhFNt1-cKvhxBoGqnl_Sjml9CGh_rv50wpIAnjWNtEg3pfDp6VP6MGYl5GeHMVfPkgucTw/s4032/E87F67FD-9A8D-44D2-93BE-8E096B479854.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80bAkEvg1hXEoJeACA7v7TsfFT4fRCSYCAqQPKmv9KJCDkHDJQVwWeVGTdJR379IGyzsPvOVeSn3ER8Y4-nxmYm-X5KMvxjeUiyNPRRb82bfBwRHxvDvG7xhFNt1-cKvhxBoGqnl_Sjml9CGh_rv50wpIAnjWNtEg3pfDp6VP6MGYl5GeHMVfPkgucTw/w200-h150/E87F67FD-9A8D-44D2-93BE-8E096B479854.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">stoicism in the face <br />of disappointment</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">The explanation for the lack of eau chaude in the Ibis Yffiniac was not convincing: the failure of a major component in the water system of the hotel which management could neither solve or find un heating engineer who could. We await a partial refund. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As I often am given to remark: yeah… <i>right</i>. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The </span><span>Châtelaudren </span><span>boulangerie was <u>barred and shuttered</u>. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64XNkN0fM5NJm01XeEkHsjM_MBK0E9bebtNJ7x0o5ELfj1v7XLh1fRXHHzNwIoiY6-oSOcBCFB80N80OzgZIH85axRdlkcFMM71udF67f5e1wHiXL42VL6vyiKTriKzireo2WwwctTs-q8DNLYLtuGjltB4MyDviYo8OMkC1uOfx850XQf2edeJ0nQ5A/s4032/32BC3C11-40DA-4524-91EF-763D026173B9_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64XNkN0fM5NJm01XeEkHsjM_MBK0E9bebtNJ7x0o5ELfj1v7XLh1fRXHHzNwIoiY6-oSOcBCFB80N80OzgZIH85axRdlkcFMM71udF67f5e1wHiXL42VL6vyiKTriKzireo2WwwctTs-q8DNLYLtuGjltB4MyDviYo8OMkC1uOfx850XQf2edeJ0nQ5A/s320/32BC3C11-40DA-4524-91EF-763D026173B9_1_201_a.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">We were assured all such outlets in the town, nearby towns and the départment as a whole were similar, as it was Toussaint! I mean to say! This is supposed to be a secular state!! <i>Yeah…</i> Right. We moped over our grand crèmes. No croissants. No beer mats to suck either. On our last morning, FGS! We had hard boiled eggs, but…… We passed the only Boul. open in Côte d'Armor, later, en route to Finistère… there was a queue that stretched to the horizon. Strong men wept. I nearly joined them. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOL7H6A3qleNZhyphenhyphen-gJ2NcCUHLrjzys4rEyGE0RR_Gth5mAqe_Bgha3BKkYyxNIj6DJAA8lwt0n03A_DsiREUdmVkfLp9RT_ELFS_6nOk_zke_ODwrJDV-RVy5RZeg4vADbY2y0Mlcx8oeRvYCjmRB7NSQYAuXkeeQT_jaApWFvCtJxeQdDm_CjWpy3p_I/s4032/D0E29C60-3EF4-4A0C-BA9C-5F5DE093E5F5_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOL7H6A3qleNZhyphenhyphen-gJ2NcCUHLrjzys4rEyGE0RR_Gth5mAqe_Bgha3BKkYyxNIj6DJAA8lwt0n03A_DsiREUdmVkfLp9RT_ELFS_6nOk_zke_ODwrJDV-RVy5RZeg4vADbY2y0Mlcx8oeRvYCjmRB7NSQYAuXkeeQT_jaApWFvCtJxeQdDm_CjWpy3p_I/w300-h400/D0E29C60-3EF4-4A0C-BA9C-5F5DE093E5F5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="300" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><span>But before leaving </span></span><span>Châtelaudren we inspected the former printing works and its wonderful water powered turbine-race, we read up on the bridge about where two cultures and differing languages formally met. It is historic: we liked </span><span>Châtelaudren even today when it so seriously failed to meet our needs. We left it, but we will return. We will forgive. </span></span><div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5WybxI7FI7mL3mfcVpfEKLBTZRswRFKhhQ4JsaBGHmmEmJjhIYjtHlb9BVfr1SbcRV2z0HrW_LHnhsPN5azNin-_aQfXTA9r8ot_bwisR3KzW0bFRqZFpL8ac6uYNAEsF1nFejNGjgU5YCEmv6xvzsZAPnO9j3moBWrXfjl07DfNq-5-GdyxTscfkzY/s4896/53AC376D-0E54-401B-92D3-20CA6CE1FF14_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="3264" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5WybxI7FI7mL3mfcVpfEKLBTZRswRFKhhQ4JsaBGHmmEmJjhIYjtHlb9BVfr1SbcRV2z0HrW_LHnhsPN5azNin-_aQfXTA9r8ot_bwisR3KzW0bFRqZFpL8ac6uYNAEsF1nFejNGjgU5YCEmv6xvzsZAPnO9j3moBWrXfjl07DfNq-5-GdyxTscfkzY/w266-h400/53AC376D-0E54-401B-92D3-20CA6CE1FF14_1_201_a.jpeg" width="266" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">The weather being more kindly disposed, suggested perhaps that we might get recompense at our first breakfast stop of this jolly, the one where we unselfishly let Dr G have the only croissant. We left the N12 to drop through Morlaix and turned up at Locquénolé. Not a chance. Nothing. B&S, again. Give us a break! We strolled down to the estuary as if that had been our intention all along, after all it was sunny and calm. We admired the only for-certain surviving tree of the revolution planting frenzy (1794 Le Chêne de la Liberté), but it didn't help. Mme M called us to order: let's get on…… we hi-tailed it to Roscoff; distant view of feu antérieur, Île Louët, snapped en route…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KtTX-tANZDtheWqJ9F-S_yrdy7NQ3kl1jdEa43LUnhP-QVZenmoTPrcVs-2Fyrysti7tPv94OWpBxNxXXtGivYdSMQACo5nOMxdjEOlTw1DIwf8wylhBsPIrDeQ0ih0HD9bLRgp64GJjXWOiAFw-wwlU5peRpAH7VA2uxq5dLBWzbTf1ulZG9nWTogY/s4849/5DA66811-D7E4-4458-90D1-0C3F39361D60_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="4849" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KtTX-tANZDtheWqJ9F-S_yrdy7NQ3kl1jdEa43LUnhP-QVZenmoTPrcVs-2Fyrysti7tPv94OWpBxNxXXtGivYdSMQACo5nOMxdjEOlTw1DIwf8wylhBsPIrDeQ0ih0HD9bLRgp64GJjXWOiAFw-wwlU5peRpAH7VA2uxq5dLBWzbTf1ulZG9nWTogY/w640-h98/5DA66811-D7E4-4458-90D1-0C3F39361D60_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWy3brWklfsD2YEpr7AQG-mg_pbf0tFjfgAZq88U1JorUk3HMXF0PGeopiaTE6v1608buu5pdhw75rzIlbfM-z5fDgL-3HREMoXU8R4A8eHYwmNoUCO3UF49tN_zXcgZY2lRCctkD5G5PGdfaCYDmZsPMrjPUKaAoRlI35BhDacuISjBW4E43g44hmtU/s4708/8035DF75-6DBC-4157-B1FE-854F3C63CC9C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3138" data-original-width="4708" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWy3brWklfsD2YEpr7AQG-mg_pbf0tFjfgAZq88U1JorUk3HMXF0PGeopiaTE6v1608buu5pdhw75rzIlbfM-z5fDgL-3HREMoXU8R4A8eHYwmNoUCO3UF49tN_zXcgZY2lRCctkD5G5PGdfaCYDmZsPMrjPUKaAoRlI35BhDacuISjBW4E43g44hmtU/w640-h426/8035DF75-6DBC-4157-B1FE-854F3C63CC9C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">Roscoff: parked up, bought a net of onions and a dozen of the best garlics known to man, got ourselves into the thankfully functioning boul/café. just along from the <i>Surcouf</i>. The rain thundered down as we were, aprés twelve of the hour, rewarded with breakfast. The s&h went further: he had a Croque-Monsieur. The quality of those pastries brings a tear to my eye, even at this remove. The chocolat chaud was inspirational. Less so the café latte. We went to meet our destiny on the <i>Armorique</i> with renewed hope, the rain even refrained long enough to get there sans splash! <i>(snap of lunch by M, annotated by your author)</i>.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ylqAMh13vGumxI8Vb14RtpC7yGSk3lNx6HxDRegRvTuQrQRXHGHTZ7VASeKj8t3CFSDurXcGK8wuTFO5GxyJ2tGnNqFZmKCgvUczXm6RJFQGA87REF4SwyIRZLNjnfwktT7QIgiMNvsnyc-VjLhOr2DpHJbagArNnmflh14dk8vFB7ZjpscAfmwIXls/s3861/7CB155E1-9A51-4F5F-B170-D5F522D1E163_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="3861" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ylqAMh13vGumxI8Vb14RtpC7yGSk3lNx6HxDRegRvTuQrQRXHGHTZ7VASeKj8t3CFSDurXcGK8wuTFO5GxyJ2tGnNqFZmKCgvUczXm6RJFQGA87REF4SwyIRZLNjnfwktT7QIgiMNvsnyc-VjLhOr2DpHJbagArNnmflh14dk8vFB7ZjpscAfmwIXls/w640-h456/7CB155E1-9A51-4F5F-B170-D5F522D1E163_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT375LaA5CaiKlg-ppfBuqkRuP1v2Rc06FhyphenhyphenoBLtVHLOuxcBzaut-Cw-SuMvxSxMpm4aCTOLQHXNlx3ujk_ht7Y7r1jrGBtl88VVN1Hu-Du93uv1VMcoWhiHg1JYW1uBeWpyLn8DGF6jOK8YVEjd7TQ44mmNPnAQHS9_VSgBfNQ4s3ptbBkksX9MOk238/s4588/C5A17F1B-3755-4E2E-B285-3D5A0596BCBC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3058" data-original-width="4588" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT375LaA5CaiKlg-ppfBuqkRuP1v2Rc06FhyphenhyphenoBLtVHLOuxcBzaut-Cw-SuMvxSxMpm4aCTOLQHXNlx3ujk_ht7Y7r1jrGBtl88VVN1Hu-Du93uv1VMcoWhiHg1JYW1uBeWpyLn8DGF6jOK8YVEjd7TQ44mmNPnAQHS9_VSgBfNQ4s3ptbBkksX9MOk238/w200-h133/C5A17F1B-3755-4E2E-B285-3D5A0596BCBC_1_201_a.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Armorique</i> was straining at the leash as we crept on (up to deck five, disabled the motor's burglar alarm, footed it 'up-top') got under way on the dot, exchanging toots as we went with the incoming <i>Pont Aven,</i> also running before the storm, but 'tuther way. The clouds indicated the nature of what the crossing might be like (we had a cabin). <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4i4PNt-0pojJwYPx0dilgMp4TuLogAxnnBI7DOKBBayxEg5hL1tVhfI5E7WkmkC5upk_WpPARXyyP-ZHORoIOwd3h0dU1duVb1lfhw2v3GKUKBEuXg-Da-QmoEgOYAwe8bl8mVzsI5tVq8kfXLMsBNw-6FViTLwLPtT-zmN50b3m8xWGsN6265jYD4o0/s4753/BC9CC378-97C1-4E1A-A665-398AD69A391E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3168" data-original-width="4753" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4i4PNt-0pojJwYPx0dilgMp4TuLogAxnnBI7DOKBBayxEg5hL1tVhfI5E7WkmkC5upk_WpPARXyyP-ZHORoIOwd3h0dU1duVb1lfhw2v3GKUKBEuXg-Da-QmoEgOYAwe8bl8mVzsI5tVq8kfXLMsBNw-6FViTLwLPtT-zmN50b3m8xWGsN6265jYD4o0/w640-h426/BC9CC378-97C1-4E1A-A665-398AD69A391E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />White horses of the wave-and-water type rapidly manifested themselves around us even though the sun shone on. Soon the decks were closed to the passengers and first the s&h, self, and then Mme M adjourned to cabin 8034. <i>Armorique</i> staggered pitched and rolled her way across La Manche; we've known it rougher (more rough). Quite windy. Upon arrival a tug was enlisted to bring our vessel to the quayside in the Plymouth dock: achieved without the slightest of bumps. Hearts of Oak!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All in all the return sailing was executed with the skill and care we expect from Brit Ferries, notwithstanding the deck-dumping of a fully loaded tray of glassware behind the bar. The recently refettled HM Customs and Excise at Ply. dealt with the disembarkation in its usual efficient manner: we were out of the port to dice with the nonsense of Plymouth's traffic light and bus lane mysteries within twenty minutes or so. We stopped for milk at the Shell garage and wolfed down a pack of Waitrose sausage rolls thereat. Not bad for shop bought. Mary quite forgot herself and ate two! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">You see, no one had bothered to eat on the crossing — beyond a shared bag of Piper's crisps. I bought a bottle of gin. I ate a hard boiled egg back at the homestead while Mary defrosted and heated up a pizza aussi. I ate a bit of it. Adam ate the rest of it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The car was emptied, the crew went to bed. Thank you ma famille. Until the next time… Storm Ciarán arrived on Thursday and pressure took a record breaking dip… we had got in — under the wire!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KSejJCdNPSslue1tmBrl3UOtH-KveiFHL1spcd_xISalktm4bOZHBgzTQtYIywwtpC8HXsfk6P5G9eXLM-2So-rGGNcAQP-g8fASLjABFrTXP1n69PPmRquURWTTRyVissWv5vjBRotUEik9tjjiumhuF75WIG73XAcVatVL8UuM0P7mTKXMA2_v61Q/s3673/CE1FA212-1D39-4513-8B11-D21920387A98_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3673" data-original-width="2865" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KSejJCdNPSslue1tmBrl3UOtH-KveiFHL1spcd_xISalktm4bOZHBgzTQtYIywwtpC8HXsfk6P5G9eXLM-2So-rGGNcAQP-g8fASLjABFrTXP1n69PPmRquURWTTRyVissWv5vjBRotUEik9tjjiumhuF75WIG73XAcVatVL8UuM0P7mTKXMA2_v61Q/w501-h640/CE1FA212-1D39-4513-8B11-D21920387A98_1_201_a.jpeg" width="501" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-315817028177640432023-10-28T06:44:00.110-07:002023-11-05T15:23:35.623-08:00getting on and shipping out<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu4bW0tro7JAfGxj0rL2qzyBg1sMOa6eI1mItKE831aDEmYTFQxpvfepklcXHiToSs8kG53kGlONyyjhaV4-nVMU-VlqgLeOLW4vP-dbW_NCijvOT-rRgzDgxnacfiEMGsDRW95yQXE-e3YnCwdqHWnk2pRnaXLiEy8FVrXxHPPF44NFfAg8e3z6cvX4Q/s4032/56ED1692-A4B4-4D90-9BD0-E5F3D9E6D0DC.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu4bW0tro7JAfGxj0rL2qzyBg1sMOa6eI1mItKE831aDEmYTFQxpvfepklcXHiToSs8kG53kGlONyyjhaV4-nVMU-VlqgLeOLW4vP-dbW_NCijvOT-rRgzDgxnacfiEMGsDRW95yQXE-e3YnCwdqHWnk2pRnaXLiEy8FVrXxHPPF44NFfAg8e3z6cvX4Q/s320/56ED1692-A4B4-4D90-9BD0-E5F3D9E6D0DC.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">AT AMBOISE, AND SUBSEQUENTLY AT YFFINIAC, the last two lodgings we patronised before we shook off the dust of France, the <i>early away</i> regime was suspended. In Amboise therefore we drifted out of Le Blason, (our hotel) down the street towards the river fetching up in a most welcoming and well lit boulangerie with café extension, where we sucked up rather good café crèmes and very passable croissants and pains aux raisins. A cheery place, with a number of other like minded souls seeking Saturday morning P'tit déj aussi. We secured sandwiches too: we were fit to resume.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBKMt6xPeJtN6KTAz3zahmDltbegbEqrkhky_2ub3BXFcot2357Xs8bfobR8RyocJB5v6FmypiAdT076ABFhMgtYHUDelMfJZeuFD4ZpM32WtCvM86tcUHiKcrV62V3L6FB7bWoLB7Y5nzGbJz_nweqogekNyNbJKIFSaJYMnqPq85JwuaftiC9k6_ILI/s1366/Coulomiers95%20%20%20018.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="913" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBKMt6xPeJtN6KTAz3zahmDltbegbEqrkhky_2ub3BXFcot2357Xs8bfobR8RyocJB5v6FmypiAdT076ABFhMgtYHUDelMfJZeuFD4ZpM32WtCvM86tcUHiKcrV62V3L6FB7bWoLB7Y5nzGbJz_nweqogekNyNbJKIFSaJYMnqPq85JwuaftiC9k6_ILI/w268-h400/Coulomiers95%20%20%20018.jpg" width="268" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">But before we got on the road we took time out to pay homage to a favourite installation hereat: The Max Ernst Fountain, no less. We'd taken a shine to this feature of Amboise as long ago as 1995… and I maintain, possibly <i>earlier</i> than that. After all, the infamous Okehampton College Loire Cycle Tour of 1989 had stopped off here to take in the Leonardo da Vinci Museum (he died here you know, and his last home can be toured and his inventions inspected). We were part of the support team for the aforementioned cycle tour you see, and I am pretty sure we spotted the M E fountain whilst in town, but Mme M won't confirm it; her memory is better than mine so I won't press the point. This time the daylight was just returning and we had the environs of the water feature to ourselves. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpzccPe-9ru4Ah3z-oyiYEp_kfgwyEkIAE9JHzEHG2C9hq2rBBkpADrACJhIA5DX4oVBEf7zhVuyaArBMOp3OEC_ZuIDU9PUqg03FQItYwicVBC3DbGDhjtVvnuJRCr-IeneiRR4_89d-tBNiT6-Z078Gw_pL4Qot3vbtjFzraFkV9Wj-j1RTfxQB6z4/s1309/Coulomiers95%20%20%20017.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1309" data-original-width="916" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpzccPe-9ru4Ah3z-oyiYEp_kfgwyEkIAE9JHzEHG2C9hq2rBBkpADrACJhIA5DX4oVBEf7zhVuyaArBMOp3OEC_ZuIDU9PUqg03FQItYwicVBC3DbGDhjtVvnuJRCr-IeneiRR4_89d-tBNiT6-Z078Gw_pL4Qot3vbtjFzraFkV9Wj-j1RTfxQB6z4/w140-h200/Coulomiers95%20%20%20017.jpg" width="140" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">The portrait snaps herewith were taken at Easter 1995 (note the S&H in the smaller photo) while the study below is as it is now: hardly changed, although I understand that several of the small turtle fountain spouters have had to be replaced as light fingered individuals have made off with a number of them, or broken them in the process of trying to half-inch one. The replacements are made of resin. I defy anyone other than a skilled metallurgist to spot the difference from the surviving extant bronze originals. </span><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JzNA4Kd5Gptj6Yiqaledysw87lPSpOuv4ku8xLKs8Fs_dkDbV8g2-ysTX-H7N3h6sEnLAOzmwdn5MB0_xl_YXp3b7YlN1m6spGb33eKs2v6eTXJcZ7-8fhfTNSjhORPoSAGTR7APKYesdrgveBO_2HoVj-7vx1ej1usJbUxa9tK8hgdImjRGp7LESYg/s4455/900A579B-9829-4A2B-BB75-14231DD5ED99.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3150" data-original-width="4455" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JzNA4Kd5Gptj6Yiqaledysw87lPSpOuv4ku8xLKs8Fs_dkDbV8g2-ysTX-H7N3h6sEnLAOzmwdn5MB0_xl_YXp3b7YlN1m6spGb33eKs2v6eTXJcZ7-8fhfTNSjhORPoSAGTR7APKYesdrgveBO_2HoVj-7vx1ej1usJbUxa9tK8hgdImjRGp7LESYg/w640-h452/900A579B-9829-4A2B-BB75-14231DD5ED99.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">But we must get on. Reference to the itinerary (you may not have not committed it to memory, I realise some of my public don't embrace this account quite as thoroughly as they perhaps should) will show that our route now took us along the wonderful Loire, through the riverside roads of Tours, Vouvray, Saumur and all the way to Angers. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>The morning sun shone golden light upon the wooded islands and golden sand banks of this magnificent river. </span><span>We varied our route, </span><span>first one bank and then the other, dodging the odd routes barrées here and there by using the strategically placed bridges that grace the flood</span><span>. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So why no pictures? Because I was at the helm, and have often snapped the stream, and yet never to my satisfaction, I have to own. We've done all this before of course, various stretches of the river, and today strung a lot of those previous inspections together into one. An indulgence. The levée is a pleasure to drive (on a quiet Saturday morning at least). </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Stop Press:</i> The s&h has responded to my SOS and provided this impression of the silvery Loire from the shotgun seat of the speeding motor. It gives some idea…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia41_98FpImq4T6Q5g9EuPZ47s_6NNq4q2y3lO1cpdEWiToJoSqLmqTargL0T6of0a-brBbaWE61eSPfnwu7Oqd_dBA_Iqy3rGdL-izE4mIhMmrtS-4nYBcYa14UkercSrEDPTyxn_V88SBJLrwaS9Ss6Gfe12Xq43Az7Gh0M_NfHZHwhJDVrN4pNMoTg/s1280/6B2115BB-77ED-481B-9E47-C52E19998481.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="1280" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia41_98FpImq4T6Q5g9EuPZ47s_6NNq4q2y3lO1cpdEWiToJoSqLmqTargL0T6of0a-brBbaWE61eSPfnwu7Oqd_dBA_Iqy3rGdL-izE4mIhMmrtS-4nYBcYa14UkercSrEDPTyxn_V88SBJLrwaS9Ss6Gfe12Xq43Az7Gh0M_NfHZHwhJDVrN4pNMoTg/w640-h430/6B2115BB-77ED-481B-9E47-C52E19998481.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;">Shortly after the levée Mme Melling decided that my projected route, tried and tested in the past, did not meet with her aspiration, so I was redirected by her to proceed <i>another way.</i> I have to tell you now that instead of the sedate progress I had anticipated and planned for, we found ourselves in Angers suburbs and beset by Routes Barrées of the most bewildering sort and variety. Language in the cabin was colourful and shouty. Shortly after we got onto that fast road NW, far earlier than planned, the rain recommenced. We had several other mis-routings as well (which I put down to Mme M being under the weather with the family cold, which only now was I beginning to experience… and she puts down to my inability to understand straight forward directions). </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I'll draw a veil. We lunched at Janzé in a car park with floral edges, after trying to locate an historical site as our venue – which proved entirely unsuitable to meet our needs (pay to go in and closed to all comers anyway.) We were once more confined to the motor by deluges in uninspiring Janzé. Not that I wanted to get out that much. We gritted what teeth we possess and resumed the N12 road, getting to Yffiniac at a quite reasonable hour (in daylight at least) and took ourselves up to our suite of rooms (honest, we had two connecting chambers this time) and even managed to get <i>into</i> them, eventually, after a while, and after fetching the hotel manager to demonstrate the knack of card-in-the-door – remove smoothly, and then gently, oh so gently – coaxing the door handle to release the locking device… </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Later that evening, after we had been out and supped, returned, witnessed via our wall mounted TV the final of the Rugby Union World Championships, in which the Springboks retained the cup by a single point over the All Blacks, as if you didn't know already) we discovered there was no hot water. More choice words were employed as we went to our very comfortable beds, possibly unwashed. The matter would be raised with the management on the morrow . . . wouldn't have happened at the Ibis budget across the way. We paid extra to be in the posher Ibis, damn it!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTq5mRv9DPSNvH19PYnoDanmLWXOapxGXFJow_suERMKqHDB_Tak-Y2IRde2gnlS3ZRCmg6yQUiKrHBSdws8w9e0vrvrGnG0R08vSGrFlu8BkEzlYWAOY7Ap5z84Lb1S47VHhNF8CUlcSomi4YACTat_v5VMkWQloIA_gUi9q7c012JBI3oxYVeWggrNo/s4032/238F1FB0-F131-479F-A8C8-8A0943B9C3C1.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTq5mRv9DPSNvH19PYnoDanmLWXOapxGXFJow_suERMKqHDB_Tak-Y2IRde2gnlS3ZRCmg6yQUiKrHBSdws8w9e0vrvrGnG0R08vSGrFlu8BkEzlYWAOY7Ap5z84Lb1S47VHhNF8CUlcSomi4YACTat_v5VMkWQloIA_gUi9q7c012JBI3oxYVeWggrNo/s320/238F1FB0-F131-479F-A8C8-8A0943B9C3C1.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Footnote: </i>Supper was taken at the crêperie down by the sea as in previous stopovers at Yffiniac. We'd booked, thankfully. It was empty when I snapped this interior… it was full within another twenty minutes. Not sure why the place has a ship's mast springing up right through the salon. Best not to ask. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The tide was right in and almost up to the grounds of the restaurant. Curlews etc in profusion. Adam's first time here of course, I'd not have had the burger option, personally. The cider was good as were the galettes and concluding crêpes. Top flight spot. The rain held off… until we got back to our suite, at least…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Xn8TGt7xtaZdArIcb4QQVBTLzRYTDx0enf1MzBjKxm7bPY4dOGWNGMvx9gRonWqfutdxMprNEL4ID9rYKDR7dBdt0nSgbvMxa0JSSkn06qbtB90DS0-bPfFh0XvaBYt3FP86mU-940jT7GGSwGu4Hzr1ip9pOSnjR65LA1XN6IRL5x8BXO2v_AFgd_U/s13910/C0493A34-E050-42D1-AEB8-0B66794458DF_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3778" data-original-width="13910" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Xn8TGt7xtaZdArIcb4QQVBTLzRYTDx0enf1MzBjKxm7bPY4dOGWNGMvx9gRonWqfutdxMprNEL4ID9rYKDR7dBdt0nSgbvMxa0JSSkn06qbtB90DS0-bPfFh0XvaBYt3FP86mU-940jT7GGSwGu4Hzr1ip9pOSnjR65LA1XN6IRL5x8BXO2v_AFgd_U/w640-h174/C0493A34-E050-42D1-AEB8-0B66794458DF_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyNb6yr5tiNKgy9ZA1SnFwdqS1HKSPFGvP8BS9SKlwkG_s8iwDrsSmm0hYs5cKiwd9DlGpBgdnDUfBQit3go2pMi5hWzNmD6rq5fPWPQD3UGBZXxB8z2UKoFuO8lyywHZkRa02cVq4cgxETBxt0RACZgeygoouGGdowYziD6KNOIkc0SWVUdGG_Pv0n8/s4011/93FD62DB-EFE4-4040-9845-594B16F7EA9F_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2393" data-original-width="4011" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyNb6yr5tiNKgy9ZA1SnFwdqS1HKSPFGvP8BS9SKlwkG_s8iwDrsSmm0hYs5cKiwd9DlGpBgdnDUfBQit3go2pMi5hWzNmD6rq5fPWPQD3UGBZXxB8z2UKoFuO8lyywHZkRa02cVq4cgxETBxt0RACZgeygoouGGdowYziD6KNOIkc0SWVUdGG_Pv0n8/w640-h382/93FD62DB-EFE4-4040-9845-594B16F7EA9F_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-40697703328246108652023-10-27T14:49:00.032-07:002023-11-03T02:04:40.990-07:00sustenance under the rains<p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAdXYLaqtcONLtyiy9nIonK_9Sw-wFLTXQ2-MaN9gxN945FQBafFaTYyLJvk5d9TU-nsWFW9IgRZxxbW4SKMjdw_sjERbZAVg_IqE16dFdCdYil-aI775ng6ltXJyCpkLLfY4z3RQOfBfmsdoCWgfVAf4xFoDZnJvrIliVXakCNEWTjVi1eFmF30lBBg/s4406/E27A0488-1CC8-4627-A5D4-57E1D97A1FF0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4406" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAdXYLaqtcONLtyiy9nIonK_9Sw-wFLTXQ2-MaN9gxN945FQBafFaTYyLJvk5d9TU-nsWFW9IgRZxxbW4SKMjdw_sjERbZAVg_IqE16dFdCdYil-aI775ng6ltXJyCpkLLfY4z3RQOfBfmsdoCWgfVAf4xFoDZnJvrIliVXakCNEWTjVi1eFmF30lBBg/w640-h350/E27A0488-1CC8-4627-A5D4-57E1D97A1FF0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>LEAVING SARLAT VERY MUCH TO ITS OWN DEVICES after a rain filled night, we slunk off before the break of day on my new variation of route, which bypassed Montignac. Mme Melling was having none of it and instructed the helmsman to steer a course for the centre of town. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Her instincts were proved to be correct once more. A good café was easily located where croissants of singular quality and aesthetic beauty were presented, with almost acceptable grand crémes. We deduced that these buttery delights almost certainly originated in the boulangerie across the road, so that is where we made enquiry as to what sandwiches might be obtained thereat. We were crisply introduced to the full range of options, partially in perfect English by the charming female operative, from which Adam and self selected the smoked magret-de-canard, cheese, fresh walnuts & salad option, in delicately seeded and perfectly baked baguettes. Mme Melling had something else, she was operating a bit under par due to the influence of a cold virus. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">These baguettes were simply the best in show, this trip. We ate them roadside some hours later and, dear reader, I can tell you, no sandwich is likely to surpass that culinary experience: until we can contrive to pass that way again and call in at Montignac, for another.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Oh yes, I should mention that Montignac is close by the Lascaux caves and has a museum dedicated to the findings there and the lads who found the cave paintings. Those lads were not gauchos by the way, as the contemporary snap on the public information board might suggest <i>(see topmost montage)</i>. Hence the Montignac-Lascaux pairing in the place name now commonly used (there are a few Montignacs in Fr: you wouldn't want to fetch up in the wrong one when trying to buy a duck sandwich, now would you?).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8TY032gsksrT3NbbJJAihU0n8k0ZzCLuy2MAown229uKx81s7TXg2bF2MgJow9zmr82Yv_v35UCN_OvsEm7629qRgL27rEORO0m9zYM8H3YhdcMAnbaKww0GQht6JMukshjAvfC-9vVSF1TUuvwxTZEhjfeTj-JPO_QLlASw-Rty8BmxD8uoixP2mhM/s2666/832E3E6A-BE28-4352-8917-11A9B3766550_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="2195" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8TY032gsksrT3NbbJJAihU0n8k0ZzCLuy2MAown229uKx81s7TXg2bF2MgJow9zmr82Yv_v35UCN_OvsEm7629qRgL27rEORO0m9zYM8H3YhdcMAnbaKww0GQht6JMukshjAvfC-9vVSF1TUuvwxTZEhjfeTj-JPO_QLlASw-Rty8BmxD8uoixP2mhM/s320/832E3E6A-BE28-4352-8917-11A9B3766550_1_201_a.jpeg" width="263" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Notwithstanding the excellent provender obtained, our ongoing journey was soon very much a wet one. It also entailed some highly speculative and inappropriate deviations into the walnut groves which took us nowhere really – although illuminating as to just how many hectares the locals dedicate to walnut growing in these parts. We seemingly saw most of it and at length. We also stopped off in some town or other (Le Dorat I think it was)</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span> that Adam identified as being the site of a particular WW1 memorial sculpture he wanted to visit. We parked in front of said edifice in heavy rain, so I snapped it through the windscreen: I wasn't about to go out there… impressive work though n'est ce pas? Reminds me a bit of a Soyuz rocket, if you discount the figure of Victory. Adam has the details… we could have eaten our baguettes here but no, we had to</span><span> <i>get on…</i></span></span></div><div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kfCx-kZ50aEINj5Yc7AICMo_SIBib7axGYe1a68_QC4ZPHGKKbiTco8GM6y3bfByHMaUJv4Opiwpa3d4ARdF6ZJrzTMiEmMqFN1pOq3jC_nJqZFK5YAKgVtPtyDtzzRL6URjMlFa97COe9tl5HtFfKBqN1HLyVfyXD9TqH_6BoVjTDFrLgaefv4JQms/s640/05BBE874-3F21-4453-933B-3C48FE7EF247.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kfCx-kZ50aEINj5Yc7AICMo_SIBib7axGYe1a68_QC4ZPHGKKbiTco8GM6y3bfByHMaUJv4Opiwpa3d4ARdF6ZJrzTMiEmMqFN1pOq3jC_nJqZFK5YAKgVtPtyDtzzRL6URjMlFa97COe9tl5HtFfKBqN1HLyVfyXD9TqH_6BoVjTDFrLgaefv4JQms/s320/05BBE874-3F21-4453-933B-3C48FE7EF247.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Much later, on empty main roads, the rain was teeming down, but not to the exclusion of sharp eyed and ever alert Mme Melling espying a picnic spot, signed off down a woodland track. I executed a three pointer after driving past, and brought the motor to rest in a soggy patch adjacent to a forest glade with roofed over picnic tables (trois) and a single composting loo. There was a car (a Volvo from Paris) already in said patch and three figures could be discerned eating their frugal repast at one of the aforementioned picnic benches. The point-and-shoot herewith is Mme Melling's snappy phone in action!</span><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">How that small family kept dry escapes my comprehension – it was raining sideways as well as straight down. The roof was insubstantial. We stayed in the car: the drumming of the rain on the roof and windscreen almost drowned out normal speech. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Not that I had much time for idle chat: I was principally committed to addressing my baguette. So was the S&H. I did it justice. So did he. When it was gone I followed it with a hard boiled egg. As one does. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We pondered what the rationale for this almost hidden and well appointed picnic site could be: it was kilometres away from any apparent commune responsibility… we'll never know… as if I cared … Oh! It was called <i>Fôret Communale de Tersannes,</i> I am informed —you'll want to make a note of that …</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NskfRMqFREcRAorUo3_9s6LlqKoiE6aEW62PF9mnz1p5KVZLU38xb9AePcP_KFrlO2xVKkuXYxHDqtyZ6I2CeCwb234AcZVw3FxF9CcRSAG7XFoZj2J4KGeCvCT6JKXDQ8vnfAMgmzA_o50UnJ7-yMBzWH7rDvvYntK8361EJHu1en7eSyg2WAk2BDQ/s4032/CC9FA12B-AD2E-487D-973D-626FB70BD9D3.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NskfRMqFREcRAorUo3_9s6LlqKoiE6aEW62PF9mnz1p5KVZLU38xb9AePcP_KFrlO2xVKkuXYxHDqtyZ6I2CeCwb234AcZVw3FxF9CcRSAG7XFoZj2J4KGeCvCT6JKXDQ8vnfAMgmzA_o50UnJ7-yMBzWH7rDvvYntK8361EJHu1en7eSyg2WAk2BDQ/s320/CC9FA12B-AD2E-487D-973D-626FB70BD9D3.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">We broke off the drive for liquid refreshment at Loches where it had just stopped raining but would begin again soon. The cobbles were slippery during our brief mooch, but we stayed upright. Not long now before Amboise…</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And then? Routes Barrées. Yes! Again. This time we almost got into visual contact of where we know we can slip into the town. But no way. Like many others we turned right round and (can you believe it) had to go all the way to Chenonceau (on Cher) before we could access a road that would take us in Amboise (on Loire). <i>Triple merde!!!</i> However, in gathering gloom we finally arrived right into the square in Amb. where the hotel we were patronising is situated. It even had a parking spot right outside the door!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The day ended in lurid skies. We rested up in our roof top accommodation… we beetled out to our chosen eatery. Full. We went next door. A crêperie. We ate. Drank cidre bouché. We went back to the hotel. We watched England win the bronze medal in the RU World Cup. We slept. The rain pounded on the roof above us. Sunset is one word apparently.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>end of part two]</i></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfEAueUhYGMAuPfSHffV8p2W0CFgAYRzDIkJZEkgzGwJKuQDJoRiP_S_AhfsOwsNRbvupaUFQ2ois6BdGBcysg0G5saMvhkj40XSzqvf0Ohw35uxXK7xBgj9juyqSfwcPnyJP11cdl1iVhQrG_EO15XSK31rR9mAg_S_R4KdC7uHk1lUx8inyTeadXcM/s4455/DC83936B-C1EC-4E4C-8371-0D8E39BC3BC7_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2441" data-original-width="4455" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfEAueUhYGMAuPfSHffV8p2W0CFgAYRzDIkJZEkgzGwJKuQDJoRiP_S_AhfsOwsNRbvupaUFQ2ois6BdGBcysg0G5saMvhkj40XSzqvf0Ohw35uxXK7xBgj9juyqSfwcPnyJP11cdl1iVhQrG_EO15XSK31rR9mAg_S_R4KdC7uHk1lUx8inyTeadXcM/w640-h349/DC83936B-C1EC-4E4C-8371-0D8E39BC3BC7_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-15278216243915718682023-10-26T06:52:00.010-07:002023-11-03T02:02:39.552-07:00running before the rains<p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsC4AQrOH5Ae_k9x8S0YhT2sZo9NcWTssvgiAhFGZ2xiDYby5bEH6tmBxomQHiPB7lJNHBHYQml8qDqIQalfU4OL2VU3SB8r1uMdWuqGAng5W8N001s4B5VKSJvb1yph-EzRlWu25555grjAlWDC5JTtwHA42xcTzxjF2sokDVVtX-hx2pPvWrqU9BK20/s4455/CA126E62-80E7-4304-B2C7-7669385C2C39_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2442" data-original-width="4455" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsC4AQrOH5Ae_k9x8S0YhT2sZo9NcWTssvgiAhFGZ2xiDYby5bEH6tmBxomQHiPB7lJNHBHYQml8qDqIQalfU4OL2VU3SB8r1uMdWuqGAng5W8N001s4B5VKSJvb1yph-EzRlWu25555grjAlWDC5JTtwHA42xcTzxjF2sokDVVtX-hx2pPvWrqU9BK20/w640-h350/CA126E62-80E7-4304-B2C7-7669385C2C39_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">THE SON AND HEIR had hardly time to take his coat off before we had to complete the packing of the family saloon and turn our attention to getting back to what is left of the United Kingdom after more than thirteen years of Tory misrule and fiscal abuse. And I am not prepared to risk yet again boring the chaussettes off your good selves, so this account will be brief and to the point — <i>yeah, right</i> — some day it <i>could</i> happen …</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Our transit to Roscoff was essentially very wet at times: not <i>all</i> 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. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Now, as you may already appreciate, I am not one to complain, but <i>FGS</i>, why could we not have had a bit <i>more</i> rain fall on 1rueFB while in residence thereat, and a litre or so <i>less</i> on Octavia as she effortlessly transported us back North, with self at the tiller?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Rq2-GqahNnk7Igu52WxH37VehxdMMES5x0lj6u_k4RasrupVrtYvYlNdOvSazyTN8iXh7Bf-yq7lWBwwKKWxs3ejwl9T69ZmXZhY2tN3i3Miju4cjrDq06sxahEPM1UawWN3VF59Trsi6em6QjR4syqRYeyacDuj5MKyYx8LB45I3T1nhXr-rHZ74w/s4455/F42C0169-BE65-4251-A9DA-DB3375C5A2FA_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2289" data-original-width="4455" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Rq2-GqahNnk7Igu52WxH37VehxdMMES5x0lj6u_k4RasrupVrtYvYlNdOvSazyTN8iXh7Bf-yq7lWBwwKKWxs3ejwl9T69ZmXZhY2tN3i3Miju4cjrDq06sxahEPM1UawWN3VF59Trsi6em6QjR4syqRYeyacDuj5MKyYx8LB45I3T1nhXr-rHZ74w/w640-h328/F42C0169-BE65-4251-A9DA-DB3375C5A2FA_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BePoAWKfHneanq5b2qi16MXfwSsp4pzM9bGK7BSrYNuDr2nqPvpg33v4nqNfncH9u0NOZlvPmoKbKZlBG7ELBz1CTEW2tEAboHAP4SBdwXJ43DXzP6OgrHaGZ_o0ozOd9PgA2eOGXb-B4jXU1WboXERtgcD69_LGlHbNHWTTIsySbmFz6y3MOeOc9nA/s4455/FD7EE33A-F44C-4984-9E0E-8CAE4805F59D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2082" data-original-width="4455" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BePoAWKfHneanq5b2qi16MXfwSsp4pzM9bGK7BSrYNuDr2nqPvpg33v4nqNfncH9u0NOZlvPmoKbKZlBG7ELBz1CTEW2tEAboHAP4SBdwXJ43DXzP6OgrHaGZ_o0ozOd9PgA2eOGXb-B4jXU1WboXERtgcD69_LGlHbNHWTTIsySbmFz6y3MOeOc9nA/w640-h300/FD7EE33A-F44C-4984-9E0E-8CAE4805F59D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOz5yLeXqxYRgj5lfCWzbxx3ccx07d31tJwldWds9rqPmiFl1EDtcSfMHtLqi6G6rOJOBMVln6_wQZHpWMq0TR9eLujffBJqTWwArY_3K3yttbHjOMt-ycpNCyNw7Up_WUQY5bTKbQ7QD8WeuFSb8FtupOdog02a0yE20i_GeuExEvQ37DKuREe4aONw/s4455/EF0CAD0A-5B10-4271-8334-327F3E3CD494_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2914" data-original-width="4455" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOz5yLeXqxYRgj5lfCWzbxx3ccx07d31tJwldWds9rqPmiFl1EDtcSfMHtLqi6G6rOJOBMVln6_wQZHpWMq0TR9eLujffBJqTWwArY_3K3yttbHjOMt-ycpNCyNw7Up_WUQY5bTKbQ7QD8WeuFSb8FtupOdog02a0yE20i_GeuExEvQ37DKuREe4aONw/w640-h418/EF0CAD0A-5B10-4271-8334-327F3E3CD494_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsPrE2eQdPQBblAxeOMbm_WXEV6L_YySA0LZvYlO-L1Z_6ibaHXQmPECY15W9u0dzH7ZnzdN5KnktZa0fyQDKzSqq5tuwBlRe0Y2pF9ygbviv1O4hIERzSNiwHBaHyLNHd4hNw7GpZ-fWuTDnfKvFHnUaxNAA0Z180eC5U3Vb2GzXmD0jQhxl210Y3Zw/s4440/9D7313FF-EF2A-45F1-B2B8-00D46ADAC803_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2264" data-original-width="4440" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtsPrE2eQdPQBblAxeOMbm_WXEV6L_YySA0LZvYlO-L1Z_6ibaHXQmPECY15W9u0dzH7ZnzdN5KnktZa0fyQDKzSqq5tuwBlRe0Y2pF9ygbviv1O4hIERzSNiwHBaHyLNHd4hNw7GpZ-fWuTDnfKvFHnUaxNAA0Z180eC5U3Vb2GzXmD0jQhxl210Y3Zw/w640-h326/9D7313FF-EF2A-45F1-B2B8-00D46ADAC803_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pn1HKN92LW5Zc8KVgdhNxt1QYGCPpL0-JjCNGhL1Ftjb7DW4aJffsXXGSl3mW2RzUTLPpEiv03QfDjcBMBlGPYSnPzi4R6WGcC8x_yFbUkGp5RU1pOjEZ-Vv4zJlCBA0wtMCiQiYDSKteasqvFNjCMYJ_mBRhRdWDsukZ8-lh3yKsWhSOhQA8FcRm2s/s4455/E334EC0A-7F75-40BB-869F-519F982BCD5D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2615" data-original-width="4455" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pn1HKN92LW5Zc8KVgdhNxt1QYGCPpL0-JjCNGhL1Ftjb7DW4aJffsXXGSl3mW2RzUTLPpEiv03QfDjcBMBlGPYSnPzi4R6WGcC8x_yFbUkGp5RU1pOjEZ-Vv4zJlCBA0wtMCiQiYDSKteasqvFNjCMYJ_mBRhRdWDsukZ8-lh3yKsWhSOhQA8FcRm2s/w640-h376/E334EC0A-7F75-40BB-869F-519F982BCD5D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">…… and Sarlat-la-Canéda was our first overnight stop, so that was it, the first day of our return voyage. Succinct, what? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>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</span><span>, 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 <i>Michelin Atlas</i> 2023 edition) to ameliorate the situation via back roads through the woods, but </span>the extra kilometres<span> were not a welcome addition to conclude our first day going back.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">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… </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i>to be continued] </i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21mbCbEqjvTqcxbYtBzVQKxCcaHGJokw7abBhDCtnqJ-GQURAZH1z2z00LlNflTLgG_UPQBft6kU4QJEAw5QXahTcz8MKI9NzMUtKzSR-tQaOC6f76oYAhYxwghUP4NGBKpt0IS0G5dvpXU-lxbECRWjUOQ3fM_g11Fzmnz3ek4uMygASt7DzL8MP9g0/s5940/8EB4E9FC-024A-40FE-A1C5-9FD8504C386D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5940" data-original-width="4200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21mbCbEqjvTqcxbYtBzVQKxCcaHGJokw7abBhDCtnqJ-GQURAZH1z2z00LlNflTLgG_UPQBft6kU4QJEAw5QXahTcz8MKI9NzMUtKzSR-tQaOC6f76oYAhYxwghUP4NGBKpt0IS0G5dvpXU-lxbECRWjUOQ3fM_g11Fzmnz3ek4uMygASt7DzL8MP9g0/w452-h640/8EB4E9FC-024A-40FE-A1C5-9FD8504C386D.jpeg" width="452" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-26530638042382847772023-09-19T04:17:00.000-07:002023-10-31T06:29:08.385-07:00meandering through the cevennes to sablet<p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrS8_lTSbuG2FeAfaImqMIWkWZtr4zZx-SzYDj0aZstPTSE66RLxaU1_muRx5WghLZPiZWKXhaZijc6PN02aZM9iZPbTKSqRyxRJaiJgZtnoVmvUE-fBvsANjBHU72W86RZOw_S-TiIIXQN905JuYONJEeen6BQd5PnTBto7ph6cU8yZ3t-igLzBSMMA/s4153/8A1D64FB-3918-49D1-9C9D-67FF697DB89E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1435" data-original-width="4153" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrS8_lTSbuG2FeAfaImqMIWkWZtr4zZx-SzYDj0aZstPTSE66RLxaU1_muRx5WghLZPiZWKXhaZijc6PN02aZM9iZPbTKSqRyxRJaiJgZtnoVmvUE-fBvsANjBHU72W86RZOw_S-TiIIXQN905JuYONJEeen6BQd5PnTBto7ph6cU8yZ3t-igLzBSMMA/w640-h222/8A1D64FB-3918-49D1-9C9D-67FF697DB89E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>TIME TO BRING THIS OUTGOING TO FULFILMENT I think you will agree, and to get to where we are going. But even at this fourth stage we cannot resist meandering a bit, taking in favourite bits of the Cevennes… otherwise why would we have overnighted at Millau</span><span>?</span></span><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkRZVVnW8Tul1rpyX9owrE1t7x9TcJCRfLFkyo3YeJcRCoTlilU03PiuZ0fmvbi3A5iCT7M-Wm4GLahu4kfNe7s-dIIdnCLdT4GT4B7-WNGJIazt7aiwp8hAtpU_X0DnileTiUZmCkyqtvVi9U9ACVd0ClZ2ixyjtXytq4liIf0OUMbSdtfDpCE6_IiU/s4455/080C27C9-3B77-4CA5-92B8-427FF2D8636E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1319" data-original-width="4455" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkRZVVnW8Tul1rpyX9owrE1t7x9TcJCRfLFkyo3YeJcRCoTlilU03PiuZ0fmvbi3A5iCT7M-Wm4GLahu4kfNe7s-dIIdnCLdT4GT4B7-WNGJIazt7aiwp8hAtpU_X0DnileTiUZmCkyqtvVi9U9ACVd0ClZ2ixyjtXytq4liIf0OUMbSdtfDpCE6_IiU/w640-h190/080C27C9-3B77-4CA5-92B8-427FF2D8636E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpHIuLAZx4Wsfi4LySb0BMC5DsYY-NBGI5niVfGzBkrDbq21eJLeQNjH-AO3OdwG0wWVPXryKk8pdRU6fEHhL04kvAMQa7ruGwlPUpXiaLfbYAA0Ib8__WZBaPA0mLFS0wiPBnLA-QV47_aGKFQUV-E9LERKPFRuM6Bmmm2Z_MfvTQuSvhmkIg011yv0/s3234/4CF233D5-FD21-4DE5-88E9-454E01B8CA69.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3234" data-original-width="3023" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpHIuLAZx4Wsfi4LySb0BMC5DsYY-NBGI5niVfGzBkrDbq21eJLeQNjH-AO3OdwG0wWVPXryKk8pdRU6fEHhL04kvAMQa7ruGwlPUpXiaLfbYAA0Ib8__WZBaPA0mLFS0wiPBnLA-QV47_aGKFQUV-E9LERKPFRuM6Bmmm2Z_MfvTQuSvhmkIg011yv0/w187-h200/4CF233D5-FD21-4DE5-88E9-454E01B8CA69.jpeg" width="187" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">So out of Millau we proceed, doing what I projected we would do, (back in an earlier post) to breakfast at Le Caylar. Then, by tried and tested (if not exactly familiar) byways, avoiding sheep, to Vissec, to give Dr G a taste of our fondness for the place, she wanted a stroll around. As quiet as usual, although one or two camper vans down by the riverbed (dry). Very little has altered, at least in the old bit, the centre, around the church, and that's the bit we know, have stayed in and appeciated; no idea much about the newer bit.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But the main feature of this meander was Navacelles of course and there, there were a few more visitors about given the extended summer still going on. I am informed that Navacelles has an 's' at it's end but I am in no frame of mind to bother changing it on the montage below, just now, if ever.</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTDMRnXrHCCqNhoqVwKyAHdppw8M6eDsBWbmNuIL5T8NQ5Yl9W7PZUuVY2Lh_4JF7TSfpZiqi9f76t6_TATbFytuR2MV6sMrwyK7stugGQem_B90ceQs1FsVFRvaDepdxmyXwPN22G2XwI9y2HZzX-CWiLFwzhvwzTeafLEA16n8iGbJaIEk7tEbSc8A/s4455/43F5C832-23BD-4DAC-9F44-E7198E253E01.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3150" data-original-width="4455" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTDMRnXrHCCqNhoqVwKyAHdppw8M6eDsBWbmNuIL5T8NQ5Yl9W7PZUuVY2Lh_4JF7TSfpZiqi9f76t6_TATbFytuR2MV6sMrwyK7stugGQem_B90ceQs1FsVFRvaDepdxmyXwPN22G2XwI9y2HZzX-CWiLFwzhvwzTeafLEA16n8iGbJaIEk7tEbSc8A/w640-h452/43F5C832-23BD-4DAC-9F44-E7198E253E01.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">We had a very pleasant potter about the outskirts of the hamlet, now fringed with discreet parking areas and that sort of thing… <i>>sigh<</i> … I expect you have to, but Mme M and your author could not help reflecting on our first visit here last century (and even subsequent visits, with the offspring) when we had the location to ourselves, there was no particular facilitation, and we could bathe in the river unheeded. Couldn't do that now (or at least, you'd not catch me doing it). There was even traffic going down to Navacelles and, damn it, going <i>up</i> the other side! <i>And down!!</i> It was pretty warm and all.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRIalo0n2VIRiBqZEn1zgO_BXYxiF_0P-eSB9_Tf5oTSO00tS83tdjEQiKOh46vRCp_U-loT4SNVY7iGes_NvFXrXcBRUXxXrUxlq3sYBuWLt9Q4cDdpChUjvmrZ194scrqBAzP4sVCpXm6P7Dxq2y7XjFXBn4F2jBwEkS8iYgc4z9PxW9rnk6klSk-M/s4896/A65632E6-08A3-4C3D-8EDE-F8AB293ACB63.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRIalo0n2VIRiBqZEn1zgO_BXYxiF_0P-eSB9_Tf5oTSO00tS83tdjEQiKOh46vRCp_U-loT4SNVY7iGes_NvFXrXcBRUXxXrUxlq3sYBuWLt9Q4cDdpChUjvmrZ194scrqBAzP4sVCpXm6P7Dxq2y7XjFXBn4F2jBwEkS8iYgc4z9PxW9rnk6klSk-M/s320/A65632E6-08A3-4C3D-8EDE-F8AB293ACB63.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Did we sandwich <i>[v.]</i> on this last leg? I honestly can't remember, but I think we must have done. <i>[no, we failed on this front for once I am reliably informed]</i> I know we stopped for refreshment at St Victor-de-la-Coste, just to check that the café there had got its 2023 Routard sticker (which it had) so we felt we could risk liquid refreshment there at least (lunch was over). After that it was hardly more than a moment to wind our way through the last bits, cross the Rhône into Vaucluse, <i>(see snap below looking back the way we've just come)</i> and thus to Sablet, where all was in order (if you ignore the loss of my favourite kitchen knife) and rather hotter than we expected. I shorted <i>[v.] </i>with immediate effect: I had been open toeing <i>[v.]</i> from stage 2 onwards… We fulfilled the brief…… </span><p></p><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7kcQO7w6btuZDHMDNf_0iMfdECIwLeexnLOf4ypLuExr6IsAgOC8S2wDSJbU6JWwH_S2f7YUCUnib81hkW3LrGbzO0O6wKs8t7DRyvZ_kn7gIeChZ_d4y65rKpUZouz_fUdsDqPoXE4XjDb9P-rFomLxCzhFJuhhnbLRa6z2prKFit7RMOjqXy0p1LA/s4896/CFAECC78-C82C-4C63-B0E6-02181B3915CC.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7kcQO7w6btuZDHMDNf_0iMfdECIwLeexnLOf4ypLuExr6IsAgOC8S2wDSJbU6JWwH_S2f7YUCUnib81hkW3LrGbzO0O6wKs8t7DRyvZ_kn7gIeChZ_d4y65rKpUZouz_fUdsDqPoXE4XjDb9P-rFomLxCzhFJuhhnbLRa6z2prKFit7RMOjqXy0p1LA/w640-h360/CFAECC78-C82C-4C63-B0E6-02181B3915CC.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">Nine hundred and fifty-one miles from Roscoff. Yes, I <i>do</i> note the mileage covered, want to make some point about that, do you? If you did, well at least I would know you've read this <i>to the end</i>… I am given to doubting the loyalty of my readership at times, and that's the truth… but if you have been, thanks for your esteemed attention.</span></p><p>The sheep pictures are included with the kind permission of Mme M, who snapped les moutons just after Le Caylar. </p><p style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></p><p style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></p><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-16838659536958848522023-09-18T13:02:00.000-07:002023-10-31T06:29:40.334-07:00motoring on through gers & tarn & aveyron<p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVFOa8ZnN0t5E0j0urJzSh9WYkNMNUEdCN_Ed0-XXyPYAFAyBLLmgZdbii1VD1CrcccoydweY-prf9d-0LwtMGRa7Hz5Hdax9qR5JnPvVek4F0J9-yUHWsQf1uNpZz5UtMSvrmXdkP8J41-uE6EXRlzjrR1kDdhNKoRLkTpIoBPyrShPpnbJmwgKhkZQ/s4938/E6C06B5F-D6C6-492E-A910-695D300E85B4_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2186" data-original-width="4938" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVFOa8ZnN0t5E0j0urJzSh9WYkNMNUEdCN_Ed0-XXyPYAFAyBLLmgZdbii1VD1CrcccoydweY-prf9d-0LwtMGRa7Hz5Hdax9qR5JnPvVek4F0J9-yUHWsQf1uNpZz5UtMSvrmXdkP8J41-uE6EXRlzjrR1kDdhNKoRLkTpIoBPyrShPpnbJmwgKhkZQ/w640-h284/E6C06B5F-D6C6-492E-A910-695D300E85B4_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />…SO WE BREAKFASTED IN CONDOM, not en route as is most usual, to compensate for not having been about a bit the previous evening on account of the threat of rain and general lassitude. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We took our breakfast across the road from the sandstone walls of the former cathedral of Saint Pierre, just up from the sculpture of your four musketeers which graces this space. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The church was clad overall in scaffolding as is often the case in our experience. Many have been the edifices we have sought out, only to find the object of our attentions to be deeply disfigured by temporary plank-and-rail examples of the scaffolders' art, associated with repair restoration and revitalising. </span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVwsZweAn468Qw4Ruiv5y8WKtH1zeZ2cGgCieTCBfXmRbPs4n0U1rE4h_N4cHAELFH_d_gIpYFRpZjOoNt4JLX-y2vbOZouNn_O-7m24UBfS8IjTjYn4sSvKYwMLqmAVFTfkbnvaLdMZNr2uGZtfHJ4YE8kYsV4sZeHehWHPpMUbjeXgl3sW6q_VGIhQ/s5108/28C1588C-2671-4F52-98F3-E6557191142B_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2834" data-original-width="5108" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVwsZweAn468Qw4Ruiv5y8WKtH1zeZ2cGgCieTCBfXmRbPs4n0U1rE4h_N4cHAELFH_d_gIpYFRpZjOoNt4JLX-y2vbOZouNn_O-7m24UBfS8IjTjYn4sSvKYwMLqmAVFTfkbnvaLdMZNr2uGZtfHJ4YE8kYsV4sZeHehWHPpMUbjeXgl3sW6q_VGIhQ/w640-h356/28C1588C-2671-4F52-98F3-E6557191142B_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZMH-xetQNA529tTgoaTYAJOr4Ma9gAdOkgW_3UzZjGE6SFsPBmVPE7NuJBjoTlk-oq6U4fhjU6NraX5x6opFxEoDha1hZchvL2HgjW09gKRX3VXL0LCFM8c1R6xf3HRlGzhJz_ehxCDxeoCU8WJR6CFYH0OtG6chjDz989oVIb7trhY1bPxD8RaVnkQ/s4896/C1EC168B-E984-4D10-A297-7369979E23FD_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="2752" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZMH-xetQNA529tTgoaTYAJOr4Ma9gAdOkgW_3UzZjGE6SFsPBmVPE7NuJBjoTlk-oq6U4fhjU6NraX5x6opFxEoDha1hZchvL2HgjW09gKRX3VXL0LCFM8c1R6xf3HRlGzhJz_ehxCDxeoCU8WJR6CFYH0OtG6chjDz989oVIb7trhY1bPxD8RaVnkQ/w180-h320/C1EC168B-E984-4D10-A297-7369979E23FD_1_201_a.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, we found our way in and were delighted with the space inside, the atypically complex vaulting, not common in France, the fine clerestory windows and the modern and creative extension of a useable space by application of a central awning over the cloisters. Tres bien.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The avoidance of most of the typical ecclesiastical paraphernalia was noted. Simple gracious spaces, calming and inspiring even to heathens such as ourselves. Tres bien again.</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIbB8wI37c8Rw3kf0o0_1nxYnqcT2-wXB3KHCvhf6fRNjuTMWr_g-HVb3r4Jtb9jn0_-p5LVU28uv1EropkN1RnH-FQb6w6VFocl9WOfb9GjMsG67tRr_RiAZmEea86yy7u8d9iiO13HLFIQR54pxP-ybMk8X5ITwFCcummGHmun1pd8RXPlG8zEClyo/s4904/F55545FC-CA52-4DC0-B636-5A419CA41016_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2052" data-original-width="4904" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIbB8wI37c8Rw3kf0o0_1nxYnqcT2-wXB3KHCvhf6fRNjuTMWr_g-HVb3r4Jtb9jn0_-p5LVU28uv1EropkN1RnH-FQb6w6VFocl9WOfb9GjMsG67tRr_RiAZmEea86yy7u8d9iiO13HLFIQR54pxP-ybMk8X5ITwFCcummGHmun1pd8RXPlG8zEClyo/w640-h268/F55545FC-CA52-4DC0-B636-5A419CA41016_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdAzxBRJk26y50moFMRVIqWpIHn-G-r3j9gHCJnO-Z1bjWh2js-lQNP4D9dxlc58-yCC6E1hbRxqnYIwnoQp2mW9BKqOyjDDd8hiSXuWKhATlICLIT5Bf6Ow8C5X_yQ5IIpBtXX7SKUM0o45VJTbJGUS_MMFOQwI4bBqFKkTFYCSYsMfxTrdH3ALxbXY/s4896/40DEA415-4A4C-463A-BB86-464E68CE40E9_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdAzxBRJk26y50moFMRVIqWpIHn-G-r3j9gHCJnO-Z1bjWh2js-lQNP4D9dxlc58-yCC6E1hbRxqnYIwnoQp2mW9BKqOyjDDd8hiSXuWKhATlICLIT5Bf6Ow8C5X_yQ5IIpBtXX7SKUM0o45VJTbJGUS_MMFOQwI4bBqFKkTFYCSYsMfxTrdH3ALxbXY/w400-h225/40DEA415-4A4C-463A-BB86-464E68CE40E9_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>At last we tore ourselves away – au revoir Condom, – and went off along the intended pathway, only deviating from same to locate somewhere half reasonable to take our lunchtime break. The river Tarn had been crossed, noted, and then sequested for this task: we followed a diminishing track marked <i>to the port</i> outside a nondescript townlet and found a waterside bench which served. Good tucker ensued if I recall.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;">Incidentally dear reader, may I point out once again that if you want historical background to Condom and the next place of particular interest you can look it up all by yourself. This ramble isn't up to such detail although one is tempted to try and give an outline when one stumbles across Sainte Cécile in Albi (that's Saint Cecilia in Eng.).</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmKBwWVz60UHXEOnXMqiYRLLbr2XCUD2z6jRZnPu3BL9Q-wL0tOLpp7ELcGf3V0ZV9h2mkmZgggmSIRYl0xApnF4rDDIrjfXpoahLczlhOAhEStktKH_IFaL-rLO9ih6Ws8TenD5XzbwdRkGoBRqPNMxeItddF1BCLt-VQnxPIc0O9E18se8CNhJcNwE/s5096/81AF31AB-1C64-4AA9-A39D-4271DBE38C21_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2651" data-original-width="5096" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTmKBwWVz60UHXEOnXMqiYRLLbr2XCUD2z6jRZnPu3BL9Q-wL0tOLpp7ELcGf3V0ZV9h2mkmZgggmSIRYl0xApnF4rDDIrjfXpoahLczlhOAhEStktKH_IFaL-rLO9ih6Ws8TenD5XzbwdRkGoBRqPNMxeItddF1BCLt-VQnxPIc0O9E18se8CNhJcNwE/w640-h332/81AF31AB-1C64-4AA9-A39D-4271DBE38C21_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">You'll be familiar with this edifice already no doubt: we've come this way several times before you know and we like that austere exterior with a passion. Inside? Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. It is so bad, its good! And a real tourist honeypot to boot! You could do worse than referring to Banister-Fletcher <i>(A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method) </i>which is where I learnt all about this weird concoction, as a svelte sixth-former doing his A-level Art studies. I had (and still have) my own copy of this seminal work albeit the 1954 edition. Great heavens, it is built of roman red brick, literally for God's Sake! Except it had to double as a fortress. Cathars and stuff. Read it up.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjVeSU0UeGoVuIKBYNTSAbtn-85aggWag_xqAp3fUV9yfAkH5fY4cTLeotvti2b5VmL03PKn5Tpx-hmYqlQtNmTsd2d34UHowhWBRrNBsl3_kB6kyTIZCHk4E0RQnZ4Jste0UbzMdmKFt2fqfwRUCQiQdMcW4preqW9AV77Kp2hbAyXCf48nT7lBJA30/s5049/F944CF8A-7058-4890-97A3-4D32297A6EBE_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2082" data-original-width="5049" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjVeSU0UeGoVuIKBYNTSAbtn-85aggWag_xqAp3fUV9yfAkH5fY4cTLeotvti2b5VmL03PKn5Tpx-hmYqlQtNmTsd2d34UHowhWBRrNBsl3_kB6kyTIZCHk4E0RQnZ4Jste0UbzMdmKFt2fqfwRUCQiQdMcW4preqW9AV77Kp2hbAyXCf48nT7lBJA30/w640-h264/F944CF8A-7058-4890-97A3-4D32297A6EBE_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNv38PyYdP1vZRlQHZ3HpZLzg5gjhX6cWThK7Z9uZjj4TvItgU2RBoiLaPmrsys8fqCCCWIQBpCNvkz6WbtB3M6bboPj_6Er8QnueMf9roy2T86McLwHtNwU89NxPxb9Blf1snsPH4TEHg5iTdLnHjP0qVrRay-T3lpvN4j51l7YW34moEGyhJ5IKlyxY/s4896/9B56F308-B775-4DF3-B4B8-4A6C9F1907D2_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNv38PyYdP1vZRlQHZ3HpZLzg5gjhX6cWThK7Z9uZjj4TvItgU2RBoiLaPmrsys8fqCCCWIQBpCNvkz6WbtB3M6bboPj_6Er8QnueMf9roy2T86McLwHtNwU89NxPxb9Blf1snsPH4TEHg5iTdLnHjP0qVrRay-T3lpvN4j51l7YW34moEGyhJ5IKlyxY/s320/9B56F308-B775-4DF3-B4B8-4A6C9F1907D2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Whatever you think, it is one of the most remarkable cathedrals in Fr, but one wonders just how much time was dedicated to 'decorating' its interior. Perhaps during a particularly long siege? Believe me there is no surface inside that isn't covered in paint, carving, pattern and the dreaded catholic </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>ecclesiastical paraphernalia. One feels slightly nauseous in there, rather overawed outside…</span><span> And it is always hot in Albi it seems.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">Enough already! This post, this blog, isn’t about a lot of things and amongst those things it isn’t about is the development of gothic vaulting as compared within the different periods of gothic architecture in Western Europe, as compared to the full fruition of vaulting that reached its apogee in Great Britain. We mooched back to the parking spot we had secured, after an appropriately expensive but refreshing drink at a nearby bar…… and motored on. <br /><br />We were enchanted to return to this area of country, it is most fair. We came almost unexpectedly to pass under Le Viaduc de Millau and shortly thereafter washed up at the Ibis Budget on the hill, a favourite of ours (although Dr G had not ever signed in here: she was more used to the central city address, but we’ve done staying there as parking is, or can be un cauchemar…) </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">What’s more, the beaming hotel manager recommended, without reservation, the extensive restaurant complex just above the hotel on the hill, citing its use of local produce etc etc. I was naturally dubious (Mr 10% possibly?) but happy not to have try our luck in Millau again, and as Dr G was amenable, we strolled up the slope and dined at the recommended eatery. I can confirm that it ticked nearly all the boxes. And Ibis <u><i>budget</i></u> though this stopover may be, I can confirm it also ticks all the boxes, even to the extent that it is better than many Ibis (standard) hotels we have patronised. As if you cared, — <i>what the **** is he going on about, hotels and all that, cripes, old son lay off it will you, if you’ve nothing to say further on this stage of your journey just finish it right now,</i> capiche? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">OK already, yeah, right! This post ends here.</span></div><div><div><p></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-9338070185663013072023-09-17T06:57:00.365-07:002023-10-22T23:20:48.664-07:00crossing the gironde en route to condom<p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj08Eny3FbMTGCPbfVhOq3AA8_h4BFNC-ZXtIvO6g7e2LiQAUu7u964QmN0KpRLEK0dypw7mKODz8buwJ7QFVV2uHuWxx3940xYw3Lvb-3e-W2X18NoXL_upK4nrkc0_iIElK-vTjw51m62vLd5Lpitbcfk9f0by7qlQX_Evu6MlnxU3gNwojLeQ5lrq4/s8910/8B62BAF2-6205-4E31-8A37-9AA1A5A4394C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3894" data-original-width="8910" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj08Eny3FbMTGCPbfVhOq3AA8_h4BFNC-ZXtIvO6g7e2LiQAUu7u964QmN0KpRLEK0dypw7mKODz8buwJ7QFVV2uHuWxx3940xYw3Lvb-3e-W2X18NoXL_upK4nrkc0_iIElK-vTjw51m62vLd5Lpitbcfk9f0by7qlQX_Evu6MlnxU3gNwojLeQ5lrq4/w640-h280/8B62BAF2-6205-4E31-8A37-9AA1A5A4394C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">LAST TIME WE BOARDED THIS FERRY we had to dash for it all the way from La Rochelle, (in Spring) then queue a while to board… but today it was but a few minutes from our overnight resting place to reach the embarkation point. Nevertheless we didn't think we'd make the early boat after all as it was earlier than we had anticipated (seasonal timetable change), so didn't try, just tootled along the sea fronts indicating this feature or that to Dr G, wondering if and where we might find our customary starter for the day in a rather sleepy Sunday morning Royan. Just checking the ferry times as we were in the offing of the embarkation point… oh look, there <i>is</i> the early ferry, not yet slipped its moorings… so by the skin of our dentures and with only minimal haste, we were last on… before we could collect our sou'westers and clamber out of the motor, we were gliding across to Pointe de Grave: saving ourselves an hour or two of heel-kicking in fair Royan, don't you know! Croissants on board (and better than last time) coffee piping chaud aussi albeit in paper cups.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">An odd way to proceed to Condom, you might opine. Yes, maybe so but we like to do the unusual, wanted to share a bit of forest and brine with our passenger, and had high expectations on the sandwich front. The original strategy for this day (and all the other stages of this journey south) have been revealed and no doubt assimilated by my more attentive blog-fan in an earlier pre-travel posting.</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRvzzNC9Mzu9C-HaZ3T-_oJhpbP4OM32C_rk16NgGUvPl7tPRsKvBr23R3Si1pNoB4d46fvNrjQA6p5BFt90c9ewYRyY6bmtmkJt6gncfZk0HqooFkB84jOUCe1mXYG5lMpegxz3d303hm1q3bpELcQ351UGwfKzL4NvZ4XLITVr8NknU3sK8W-L6Fuw/s8838/B484380C-4F9F-4241-B0DA-E1356CADADE0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2487" data-original-width="8838" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRvzzNC9Mzu9C-HaZ3T-_oJhpbP4OM32C_rk16NgGUvPl7tPRsKvBr23R3Si1pNoB4d46fvNrjQA6p5BFt90c9ewYRyY6bmtmkJt6gncfZk0HqooFkB84jOUCe1mXYG5lMpegxz3d303hm1q3bpELcQ351UGwfKzL4NvZ4XLITVr8NknU3sK8W-L6Fuw/w640-h180/B484380C-4F9F-4241-B0DA-E1356CADADE0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;">I noted in my log: </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;">'… Phare Richard visited. Coffee break at Marcheprime. Excellent sandwiches obtained at latter – eaten at Bazas. Then visited the round bastide village of Fources <i>(not visited before, in this life at least)</i> and an uncomfortably busy Larressingle <i>(visited many years ago when it was almost deserted and not developed to assuage the appetites of the motoring tourist). </i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_deA5F6U-rjmqnhKvAwjTzs9p4zQezKkCOGdRd6vDo_qpzq3JXnR68DBczjWRTtQ9837lIoqcZr3MCJoq1aVxVQI9YGrEmg1G-k60EU2ZXS3kIawdm_333KsLO_pPNQ-OfIj-0g_kK0NP_InTkav_zXdlG0PcMUl5R_6FfpYyOyvLlAyR3LTH24ptwQ/s6291/F6BBDAA6-6143-4400-AAF6-ECFA159F0F8D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2249" data-original-width="6291" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_deA5F6U-rjmqnhKvAwjTzs9p4zQezKkCOGdRd6vDo_qpzq3JXnR68DBczjWRTtQ9837lIoqcZr3MCJoq1aVxVQI9YGrEmg1G-k60EU2ZXS3kIawdm_333KsLO_pPNQ-OfIj-0g_kK0NP_InTkav_zXdlG0PcMUl5R_6FfpYyOyvLlAyR3LTH24ptwQ/w640-h228/F6BBDAA6-6143-4400-AAF6-ECFA159F0F8D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHO6JhdPVZS4Qrj7GeLYM0FEXR0N4f0T-NHJfoJluPDSf8XIC6zPWGBWoPXUBqlL7ru8vaH5N_0MEowVmipGejZPp1Sdopqx_Y6uNn16zlgq5_rYTWWdLuGMNlK9I8jZM_huBfRdJmxjbVmh3Xn_mqFeqysN7EVhF-rdr2IAXYQ_0BowRh52-zkOhWxoI/s8861/80A716F5-7F41-455B-A3B4-F38FA17159D4_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3068" data-original-width="8861" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHO6JhdPVZS4Qrj7GeLYM0FEXR0N4f0T-NHJfoJluPDSf8XIC6zPWGBWoPXUBqlL7ru8vaH5N_0MEowVmipGejZPp1Sdopqx_Y6uNn16zlgq5_rYTWWdLuGMNlK9I8jZM_huBfRdJmxjbVmh3Xn_mqFeqysN7EVhF-rdr2IAXYQ_0BowRh52-zkOhWxoI/w640-h222/80A716F5-7F41-455B-A3B4-F38FA17159D4_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-size: x-large; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYU40ku30iQN4I22DURap9cEjGyVZdhnIWNRoY4k_L_94JoxyzRuRNBZxlOPpaBRcCM1O4FeGosHfZnP2uzxFg20yPdvHIfaevnTOyuJI3VYLqIfUaE7ciL_HZUz_nhv_C4A_ucDl5TuWdHOl5k2XVGfKegVtpYG33rfC4p8g3QI1-qsNvPDR1XXnYgrg/s4896/2E8E5005-A2DB-4694-9B95-64961C81F23C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYU40ku30iQN4I22DURap9cEjGyVZdhnIWNRoY4k_L_94JoxyzRuRNBZxlOPpaBRcCM1O4FeGosHfZnP2uzxFg20yPdvHIfaevnTOyuJI3VYLqIfUaE7ciL_HZUz_nhv_C4A_ucDl5TuWdHOl5k2XVGfKegVtpYG33rfC4p8g3QI1-qsNvPDR1XXnYgrg/s320/2E8E5005-A2DB-4694-9B95-64961C81F23C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: small;">Larressingle, the quiet side</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: large;">'… Thundery rain after we got into Hotel Continental in Condom. Too big, too many English speakers*. But had another good supper, sadly indoors, as it came on to rain quite hard at dusk; promised night time storms did not materialise…'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;">*The hotel (<i>The Continental</i> by name, you may have heard of it) was somewhat over-patronised by a large group of rather 'loud' types, obviously on some sort of up market cultural excursion. Not riffraff you understand, but persons who I am sure ordinarily would be almost interesting people to have a conversation with (this might not have been the majority view at our table, I didn't put it to a vote) but on this occasion, they did somewhat act as though other guests, such as ourselves were simply not present. Or were in their way. Or were of no consequence. Or were in awe of their international and cosmopolitan stature. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;">They piped down a bit once the hotel staff had shepherded them to their excessively long table and laid their chosen dishes before them (all hands to the pumps for this operation, I'm not sure some of the more timorous guests weren't enlisted to carry in the seemingly endless array of variations on a theme, from the set menu ordered in advance). Prior to all that, a group of women (they were all of the fairer sex although the troupe was mixed in other parts of the dining room) of a certain age and several national origins, I shall be no more specific than that, saw fit to stand around so close to our table, swapping tales of their escapades, their household staff etc., so loudly that no detail could have been missed by anyone save the extreme hard-of-hearing. I feared I might have to urge Mme M to speak, nay protest to the manager on the subject! But luckily the matter resolved itself and we were able to finish our meal in something approaching normality. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUECaieR7rSSw0u0uy3NZAWPJ0BN9AuoRGKmdvosYAXHVD1vaJgYufTTSZ4BAlH8WcsuIZNxuUgvwQnvjGIOpgcROhWZyKe9H2ucAAsQb8kqT7UCgJA3kkJJRyNDWOuZ77-94lupqD30q9xf8J9hfyj_rP0pI0dWvZRRSvVefEDKZoRs_RQking7gsHVg/s4896/1A396413-8B3A-4337-8BBE-51CEC2CADF89_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4896" data-original-width="2752" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUECaieR7rSSw0u0uy3NZAWPJ0BN9AuoRGKmdvosYAXHVD1vaJgYufTTSZ4BAlH8WcsuIZNxuUgvwQnvjGIOpgcROhWZyKe9H2ucAAsQb8kqT7UCgJA3kkJJRyNDWOuZ77-94lupqD30q9xf8J9hfyj_rP0pI0dWvZRRSvVefEDKZoRs_RQking7gsHVg/s320/1A396413-8B3A-4337-8BBE-51CEC2CADF89_1_201_a.jpeg" width="180" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Thereafter (we skipped the liqueurs) we retired to our comfortable rooms while the rain continued to fall. We were out of <i>The Continental </i>the next morning just after the break of day (long before the hordes of the previous evening were up and doing) – but we only removed ourselves to the former cathedral area of Condom, where we elected to take our petit dej. before cracking on to Millau via Albi… a good decision, in a town we have visited before (Condom) and found to our general liking, leastways, as far as M and self are concerned. </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 4px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-14047398977699003412023-09-16T11:36:00.011-07:002023-10-18T13:30:57.754-07:00breaking off at st georges de didonnne<p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7OyNwS9GkGi2r-QF1Hf9yVwpbyZHCjsgtR0Wml8nCzwxHDBxmVqc8jleWVZliC70VhKYiQDLyA_pFPwuz6eJtTf9iIvnskPPX0Y6GrI6knLGkNrRmRcb095zaLh2cAxnMCJFt6VJhe-Bg36oIBsPsUbcb159ChonbBRXvrMOXURp1Qv0v-ujW4E6hGc/s8910/37E7B4B0-1D46-4996-BB13-E4B125F28FD5_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5063" data-original-width="8910" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7OyNwS9GkGi2r-QF1Hf9yVwpbyZHCjsgtR0Wml8nCzwxHDBxmVqc8jleWVZliC70VhKYiQDLyA_pFPwuz6eJtTf9iIvnskPPX0Y6GrI6knLGkNrRmRcb095zaLh2cAxnMCJFt6VJhe-Bg36oIBsPsUbcb159ChonbBRXvrMOXURp1Qv0v-ujW4E6hGc/w640-h364/37E7B4B0-1D46-4996-BB13-E4B125F28FD5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-size: large;">THE FOLLOWING MORNING WE HOVERED POLITELY outside the hotel until Dr G’s light went out and she joined us to entrain for St Georges de Didonne at 0730 sharp and whilst still dark. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>We found our way through the gargantuan appartment blocks and seaside frontages of La Baule, very quiet at this time of day… until we reached the skinny bit of countryside that demarcates one's arrival at St Marc when coming west to east. By now the rain was setting in whilst the light remained subdued, but no matter: here we were in modest St Marc, a place I have a fondness for, this time thankfully almost deserted. Hulot was there of course. </span>Seemed to be troubled by a bad back… I feel his pain…A pleasure to introduce Dr G to the site of <i>Les Vacances de Mr Hulot.</i> It looked particularly good in the damp conditions IMHO. Grand Charpentier was out there in the murk, I am always happy to be reacquainted with its noble profile, aussi. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_t76KD3pgKil-zmYBY_9JGqMvKqj5A8-tdowlYwFRPlHifc_w3SoOrHPY9XFHrwfN52ZNe3UNI0Z1-ko8z5QJXxFKbLyd28DsWWt3ZwCm-pvLobo_dTIs_wMiNPAlRVFcp15INfLdj9sfuz-Fnh8rJe2SzZ7qkYZz8K8KydVe_ucSazQuYGYymm-FgA4/s4877/F4C6BE2C-4787-4757-B47F-66DAB2788FE0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2096" data-original-width="4877" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_t76KD3pgKil-zmYBY_9JGqMvKqj5A8-tdowlYwFRPlHifc_w3SoOrHPY9XFHrwfN52ZNe3UNI0Z1-ko8z5QJXxFKbLyd28DsWWt3ZwCm-pvLobo_dTIs_wMiNPAlRVFcp15INfLdj9sfuz-Fnh8rJe2SzZ7qkYZz8K8KydVe_ucSazQuYGYymm-FgA4/w640-h276/F4C6BE2C-4787-4757-B47F-66DAB2788FE0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq73IGWigUiY3zlGmkwfdCHMFir-pwh6EhfjI37DZqH0Knv2pX2POnZTxv_2Kf4WSGvikW53UEHpzaBNKK5jy973c8x0zQ7Ck2aD8laVAKHJ0vWWDzE5W6g4AMCIIU9HkAPfuBHwfVukTmDOWdXyxjDwIszYW36BaJv25VRp-zBPUT7Ly62l7BQ2uYylY/s4822/010A1E78-DA10-4743-B5AE-EDC628A3C7D3_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1898" data-original-width="4822" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq73IGWigUiY3zlGmkwfdCHMFir-pwh6EhfjI37DZqH0Knv2pX2POnZTxv_2Kf4WSGvikW53UEHpzaBNKK5jy973c8x0zQ7Ck2aD8laVAKHJ0vWWDzE5W6g4AMCIIU9HkAPfuBHwfVukTmDOWdXyxjDwIszYW36BaJv25VRp-zBPUT7Ly62l7BQ2uYylY/w640-h252/010A1E78-DA10-4743-B5AE-EDC628A3C7D3_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZSIXW4CEps5-FZ0tRmLc0WfxzGaQnjA2-ZQhAIXHdHLLwRhD-SUrT3soz_gHcuMLtePow3-no6P7ZxLXSRtGFZuICQh6roODieQewAg9cYwE0IyYzh73lr0Hnt6EG1nSfRS2qao0p_C168U1xQiN5Q2Rvc1JOcyrQ43gnFyOwqeUyDOx3irhRrK6_FY/s4090/F779274A-84A2-4F18-A937-2FAA4A89D99E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4090" data-original-width="2452" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZSIXW4CEps5-FZ0tRmLc0WfxzGaQnjA2-ZQhAIXHdHLLwRhD-SUrT3soz_gHcuMLtePow3-no6P7ZxLXSRtGFZuICQh6roODieQewAg9cYwE0IyYzh73lr0Hnt6EG1nSfRS2qao0p_C168U1xQiN5Q2Rvc1JOcyrQ43gnFyOwqeUyDOx3irhRrK6_FY/s320/F779274A-84A2-4F18-A937-2FAA4A89D99E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="192" /></a></div>But there was no apparent vestige of any appropriate breakfast </span><span style="font-size: large;">sojourn and I could feel an ‘atmosphere’ developing about this shortfall onboard so concluded that locating such a venue should become uppermost in our objectives before the day got much older. We motored on and across the Pont de St Nazaire. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />The last time Dr G traversed this structure with us it was hidden in fog. This time it was almost obscured by rain. We assured her as best we could that the longest bridge in France was a worthy structure and that breakfast would be secured without fail on the southern bank thereof. And so it came to pass (the view below is looking at the bridge south to north: we were of course coming at it the other way, i.e. southbound. </span><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5c6MbjJrwjFa0pxRKjBggPbw25fM-VK21jXXWMRyVYmpwjE3vUQEAzI21GQ9A85gfR7Pmm00MGRl86DH-DJzvWXt0U9AeOGWqwsFaz1HrW_d20xJ-L5ZNRc-fzi0E1juVHKtCljvctfFNLBdSWgPJKZITlR61ObgoXPBedgb8B4GqatLSK-d544e3xLY/s2334/37BB902E-4073-40EE-BC60-0A1693589278_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="2334" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5c6MbjJrwjFa0pxRKjBggPbw25fM-VK21jXXWMRyVYmpwjE3vUQEAzI21GQ9A85gfR7Pmm00MGRl86DH-DJzvWXt0U9AeOGWqwsFaz1HrW_d20xJ-L5ZNRc-fzi0E1juVHKtCljvctfFNLBdSWgPJKZITlR61ObgoXPBedgb8B4GqatLSK-d544e3xLY/w640-h130/37BB902E-4073-40EE-BC60-0A1693589278_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I suggested St Michel Chef-Chef might provide the requisite refreshment and so we left the main road to fulfil, at the very least, an ambition of Mme M's to acquaint herself of this famous home of her favourite factory made biscuit. The manufactory had a shop so would run to a petit dej we were sure. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9cqhK7oMlcaWFy9G3R-ISpZiR0acuBR4JLhJvtx8NIxTjwt5GtUFnADA7L9ViaX3dZeVhP6QDDJk6Iu1MWnJVwqw6xKrs3pTU4vqzPi_P-0wmnQpDdpNdxB_ojfkeFPQsiF8gxmbdJFn44JEPeAMC4naWqiiDXutH4KiiRpRoFHd2ebrlhGaLv4ulg8/s4401/2604C984-62C7-46FD-A48E-4BAD1BF4B365_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4401" data-original-width="2217" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9cqhK7oMlcaWFy9G3R-ISpZiR0acuBR4JLhJvtx8NIxTjwt5GtUFnADA7L9ViaX3dZeVhP6QDDJk6Iu1MWnJVwqw6xKrs3pTU4vqzPi_P-0wmnQpDdpNdxB_ojfkeFPQsiF8gxmbdJFn44JEPeAMC4naWqiiDXutH4KiiRpRoFHd2ebrlhGaLv4ulg8/s320/2604C984-62C7-46FD-A48E-4BAD1BF4B365_1_201_a.jpeg" width="161" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">If you were to consult Mme Melling’s post concerning this passage of play, you might very well come away with the impression that matters took a bit of a turn at St Michel. Be assured, nothing very amiss occured. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />True, I missed a red light – the only one in St M, distracted as I was by counter-instructions being issued as to where we might break our fast, where I should have parked so to do and where I should now go and park instead. No collison took place and the fact that my oversight of said traffic light took place in front of a following gendarmerie vehicle suggests and confirms the error was not intended or malicious. <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I proceeded to park up, and the aforementioned police vehicle (it was a Dacia if memory serves) drew up close by, flashing blue lights etc, you know the sort of thing. A quick flick through the car docs and a sight of my driving licence was all the officers required to satisfy themselves that nothing really serious had occured on their patch, we were not wanted for other misdemeanours, consequently we were free to proceed to our breakfast without further complications or impediment. Which we did… in a café rather than the St Michel-Chef-Chef retail oulet. More to our taste. We did however visit said emporium to purchase the inevitable packages of gift wrapped biscuits, T-towels etc etc, before motoring on to Porte du Pavé where we ate the splendid filled baguettes that Mary had secured back in St Michel. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJKJhZ29kzSWnUtY2CQr6iLR9Vh6YfQWwc2p2woJKOaYGVNSgaIn6aL2U5kETJLydHdX_EtygiiLwo93YrF2UdSAUwEkd61_MABkRwjRjycvp2e3EqUMC2C6Svg1LKoJ-p_o8nYB8WkUp7zjM4x8Tr5DNAC8wUH_EtOl_RuTH92royZ3jLXkOTO2c9N0/s8579/CB661011-4A1B-4B1B-B554-638C531F4A45_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4440" data-original-width="8579" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJKJhZ29kzSWnUtY2CQr6iLR9Vh6YfQWwc2p2woJKOaYGVNSgaIn6aL2U5kETJLydHdX_EtygiiLwo93YrF2UdSAUwEkd61_MABkRwjRjycvp2e3EqUMC2C6Svg1LKoJ-p_o8nYB8WkUp7zjM4x8Tr5DNAC8wUH_EtOl_RuTH92royZ3jLXkOTO2c9N0/w640-h332/CB661011-4A1B-4B1B-B554-638C531F4A45_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It would be quite nice for this party to be spared any further revelation and dessimination of this occurence to all and sundry, or the occasions where cross referencing of the saga to other far more egregious breaches of motoring law are suggested. It is History. I wasn’t ‘done’ and no harm came from it. My licence is clean. I paid no fine. It irks to be repeatedly reminded of the incident especially when it is brought up as evidence of some sort of flaw in my character/judgement. I know I am not perfect. Not far off, but not entirely. I concede the point. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I am of course grateful for Mme Melling’s fluent handling of the twelve year olds who must have been itching to try their flashing blue lights on someone, <i>anyone</i>, in sleepy St Michel. I am not even sure that for some moments these dear local gendarmes (they were of both sexes and barely out of gendarme lycee) had failed to figure out that Mme M was not in fact the driver, as she sprang so readily to meet them from what is after all the normal driving position in continental motoring. They barely spoke to me, and what they did say was courteous if incomprehensible (I blame my school) and what I said to them was, well, sorry, my mistake, must try harder sort of stuff. <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The arm of the law cancelled ‘the bust’ by using their phones to show us where we could get breakfast (just behind them, across the road in fact – but one has to use the technology you know, the pointing finger is so <i>yesterday</i>). It was thankfully, that sort of policing: smiles and waves concluded the encounter. For a moment I thought Mme M might have invited them to take refreshment with us but no, they went their way and we went ours. So can we hear less of it – from now on? Thank You. <br /><br />As I have already alluded, we ate our lunchtime baguettes rather belatedly at the Port du Pavé in bright sunshine and in the vicinity of a variety of wading birds such as curlews, avocets, red and green shanks and a stout woman with a shrimping net. It was hard to tear ourselves away! <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfkJDUlYYh9oRr-sqqzg1RjoflQmoSQVf3AYnqpZfZZnFwRki7zApXwLikVlTbRKNOo8TDTLwtYnd2LUgEfqUFO8wKhlMJELJTPPVjjDSEb5Fx2QxhIGFh_OQtOlsrn16wP5Qti2xAFj4024sx9TsRBTiUQBdq-d5an0ViOE_AuKNDFoAPnLpmb8tC88/s4896/994BAA0D-BD9E-4BDC-B6F6-CE2B65B41F25_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfkJDUlYYh9oRr-sqqzg1RjoflQmoSQVf3AYnqpZfZZnFwRki7zApXwLikVlTbRKNOo8TDTLwtYnd2LUgEfqUFO8wKhlMJELJTPPVjjDSEb5Fx2QxhIGFh_OQtOlsrn16wP5Qti2xAFj4024sx9TsRBTiUQBdq-d5an0ViOE_AuKNDFoAPnLpmb8tC88/w320-h181/994BAA0D-BD9E-4BDC-B6F6-CE2B65B41F25_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>Thereafter we detoured to a rather sultry Brouages (it was chucking it down last time we graced its portals: today it was stewing at 27° and overburdened with tourist types, wedding guests etc) before embarking on the closing phase of our route to arrive outside our rather well placed hotel only a short (if painful) walk to the defunct phare of St Georges. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I declined the chance to climb this faded but still majestic lighthouse. It was still open – to the last visitors of the day. I could have wept! I have never <b><i>not</i></b> taken the opportunity before but the bally hip or is it the leg would not have worked on the ninety plus steps required to be ascended to reach the lantern. I could only just about hobble back to the hotel. My comrades cried off the ascent aussi. If they’d gone up, it would have been simply too too much.</span><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm52GplVYD_XqnKPfnvfgKEqpf9cWyGz7ZXnTXELBIW1VKz3k8QdHCbnRKM_wE3pX_s1FIZokiXWKw0sjtFq5Gn-pU6C03tI1rjWJNaI6iII7x7GN_QYLqt9bXj9cGZ0Q54GmxRDhYiw2lsRZ05DnL4WXfi_RuP-ehYiUGevc9S0kyVxhj5dDkSgDnWrc/s8881/7C692824-4F95-4515-9BEE-1DF8F6631CC2_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3672" data-original-width="8881" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm52GplVYD_XqnKPfnvfgKEqpf9cWyGz7ZXnTXELBIW1VKz3k8QdHCbnRKM_wE3pX_s1FIZokiXWKw0sjtFq5Gn-pU6C03tI1rjWJNaI6iII7x7GN_QYLqt9bXj9cGZ0Q54GmxRDhYiw2lsRZ05DnL4WXfi_RuP-ehYiUGevc9S0kyVxhj5dDkSgDnWrc/w640-h264/7C692824-4F95-4515-9BEE-1DF8F6631CC2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></span><div style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">We ate in the hotel. I thought it good. I drank neat Campari. I thought that good too. To deaden the pain you understand. Dr G reported the following morning that there had been a rather good thunderstorm after we had retired. I missed it entirely on account of Mme Melling demanding complete shuttering to our room against the street lighting. It would have completed the day most satisfactorily, that bit of a storm. Oh well. Mustn’t grumble. There was functioning air con after all.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpHbVt2aaY8NX0ZXG44uOHArsB8hRkpU7Hb7eDuWOWtDSl6s6M6Ej8QCdE4ZcLx2l26z8v6gHEkOQInToLnFiMJxx0doMtPeMZ2q4XTs9cxRy2Ca9ExU95In1jHAPfZYsbsp2ST4Usw-yG-sNNlNTasqxtbkIV5pD-qLDJXFefrMP9I_t-J0IcjNdHFY/s4805/EF250BD6-FE8F-4CE3-BC4C-1B1B90A69C60_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="4805" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpHbVt2aaY8NX0ZXG44uOHArsB8hRkpU7Hb7eDuWOWtDSl6s6M6Ej8QCdE4ZcLx2l26z8v6gHEkOQInToLnFiMJxx0doMtPeMZ2q4XTs9cxRy2Ca9ExU95In1jHAPfZYsbsp2ST4Usw-yG-sNNlNTasqxtbkIV5pD-qLDJXFefrMP9I_t-J0IcjNdHFY/w640-h360/EF250BD6-FE8F-4CE3-BC4C-1B1B90A69C60_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-59236001745388835742023-09-15T12:02:00.000-07:002023-11-05T15:07:49.505-08:00stopping over at batz-sur-mer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBILBIi7lZgYr0fBqnXNmtM6vGVFBmaSJA9frRQmCG0bjDvYJzcjAVPqqOA451VrsdyiNXDyRXketNUtsXuj6ITFlt0VcTlekWHdoxmVa9yKT8N5ZhOqBXejnWjBQNJWna4YcQ_E9fKPA-bEJzg21_-1JknAKyUhkk0dkvN8DroYodHDnkPiFlgk3-Ps/s7924/05C1B911-F7DA-4D3E-AF23-D55D1AAF956D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2640" data-original-width="7924" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBILBIi7lZgYr0fBqnXNmtM6vGVFBmaSJA9frRQmCG0bjDvYJzcjAVPqqOA451VrsdyiNXDyRXketNUtsXuj6ITFlt0VcTlekWHdoxmVa9yKT8N5ZhOqBXejnWjBQNJWna4YcQ_E9fKPA-bEJzg21_-1JknAKyUhkk0dkvN8DroYodHDnkPiFlgk3-Ps/w640-h214/05C1B911-F7DA-4D3E-AF23-D55D1AAF956D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />TWENTY TWENTY-THREE, AS I MAY HAVE ALREADY VOUCH-SAFED is (or was) the year we decided summers in the S of F are no longer our thing, if they ever were, so the Autumn 2023 excursion had become rather keenly anticipated by the time we weighed anchor for our appointment with that trusty barque, <i>Armorique</i>. There can be no doubt anymore that the world is warming up. Vaucluse aussi. Our tolerance of heat is going the other way, so summers at Rue FB are probably out for us from hereon.<br /><br />As predicted Dr G did manage to reach Bullsmead Villas in time to be included in the contents, rapidly adapting to the rather over-cautious hour of departure, the tempting but dubious variation at Tavistock that won’t be employed again, the usual tedious quayside interlude – not accounting for the unreadiness of our cabins, the jostle at the restaurant, bar etc. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIII6ExRV8xtZuzdnwQsUrecMpA-8CaytVF7HCNb252-iuuKuhkFOSMyBjR3zZ2U55axA40vY_hyphenhyphen46-lWaZQt62v1QXbQDKYXWCY1IVrehFVusEVDptQzQlKAo1TsMSiuu2AG0_HKegHXi_VivTRoYsi96tzyP-h-qhU1c8y7BbQuMm1aaPWRDmr4a0c/s4000/26D387D4-CD0B-4B2F-8D60-DF8FC6AE5F2F.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIII6ExRV8xtZuzdnwQsUrecMpA-8CaytVF7HCNb252-iuuKuhkFOSMyBjR3zZ2U55axA40vY_hyphenhyphen46-lWaZQt62v1QXbQDKYXWCY1IVrehFVusEVDptQzQlKAo1TsMSiuu2AG0_HKegHXi_VivTRoYsi96tzyP-h-qhU1c8y7BbQuMm1aaPWRDmr4a0c/s320/26D387D4-CD0B-4B2F-8D60-DF8FC6AE5F2F.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div>Not withstanding, we surfed La Manche in comfort and were off the boat within twenty minutes of the ramps going down and at our breakfast table twenty minutes later… greeted warmly, our unexpected arrival appended into the legend of the favoured establishment, quiet this time except for the soft murmurs of approval from ourselves as to the quality of the beverages put before us. We added the only remaining croissant and two pains chocolade to our coffee order, ensuring selflessly our guest got the former while Mme M stole herself to chomp on the latter (pains-chocolade are anathema to her good self, y’see). The picture left was created in 2022 at the same table and place (St Julien)…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3NozttRdL5vLyJmKI7XGbjYLBWbAw3RsbeFd9oKK_iqNQZvKgwGFaAt_mIAXzcIVL5BzXPsqTL-A_dzu8WYx1q5cJtjD4sk9BVPZOs7cO3XmVIDAuBCe_uHNI483Yvxv3A4hi5aG6-NZPurlTk5rbGYGf5h6hks-9dWHNV3ix-Gmcjc1MT-npSM5ktU/s7075/E181E370-F6EB-4593-9A54-743FD68828D3_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1647" data-original-width="7075" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM3NozttRdL5vLyJmKI7XGbjYLBWbAw3RsbeFd9oKK_iqNQZvKgwGFaAt_mIAXzcIVL5BzXPsqTL-A_dzu8WYx1q5cJtjD4sk9BVPZOs7cO3XmVIDAuBCe_uHNI483Yvxv3A4hi5aG6-NZPurlTk5rbGYGf5h6hks-9dWHNV3ix-Gmcjc1MT-npSM5ktU/w640-h148/E181E370-F6EB-4593-9A54-743FD68828D3_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Ever keen to widen our passenger’s experience of Finistère, we built in a short digestive excursion apres petit-dej to Pointe de Pen-al-Lann <i>(see the itinerary published previously)</i> where we gulped in views of the Rade de Morlaix, teetered round the short circuit we have walked before, and even got a bit hot under the collar on account of the early morning sun not being fully anticipated. Sandwiches were secured shortly after this stroll was achieved, at a village whose name probably defeats even your locals, acquired by our quartermaster cum campaign commander… </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK76qlHcsI6yY5LfurhdPu1d_BM5-wmCLN2xrll0K1CJPMFRsdHTiAisvCQ5Qt1XEIFRm34wr8SPceqYcIbhNjCMiIqykUHs8KRGQKa4YEzFXNEJyimITDNXvhmoRS0voAlxeBypbMQgBd-KZQ77HuD0jbCjc85CBFLqDalP-W76Fu4XThI-t5G1xUOwg/s7101/781826C4-F268-44EB-9092-B3BF4BF34866_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3944" data-original-width="7101" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK76qlHcsI6yY5LfurhdPu1d_BM5-wmCLN2xrll0K1CJPMFRsdHTiAisvCQ5Qt1XEIFRm34wr8SPceqYcIbhNjCMiIqykUHs8KRGQKa4YEzFXNEJyimITDNXvhmoRS0voAlxeBypbMQgBd-KZQ77HuD0jbCjc85CBFLqDalP-W76Fu4XThI-t5G1xUOwg/w640-h356/781826C4-F268-44EB-9092-B3BF4BF34866_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Great heavens, they were good ones too, worthy of the canal side, lock side location Mary subsequently pin pointed for us, <i>see snaps above</i>. Quite a good first morning don’t you think? Well you would have, if you’d been part of the assembly, I can assure you! I don’t think Dr G demured. </div><br />To cut a relatively long day short we eventually stopped off amongst the saltings of Guérande in somewhat unexpectedly toasty weather. Took a stroll. Arty pictures were attempted. After this it was a short step to our hotel in Batz-sur-Mer which I noted (not for the first time) was unblessed with air con. This compromised my sleep somewhat but it was nice to be back in the wee hostel. <i>Les Marais Salants</i> – even though we clearly had left no impression on the owner (or shudder of recognition) from our first visit back in 2022. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmVjoskPSQHh54vpM3b9iONAV3qW2yK2IxnS4GRysvYjzZP1SuTPKJBhUt01neoGXiRgI9jYcCIq3_JEnW7nA4P5Ip5pbms4A_4BA4O6sNwYqtypa3eXVQ2AvLJ5bnrTkYPV-Zk2WjJsC0cBJ_olXl5EtlxHh-R13oFu9Iuv3tcbjRRrS2x-2oXI7KNL0/s4785/2B40673C-0955-4D1F-9EC2-9037C8A0A426_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4785" data-original-width="3588" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmVjoskPSQHh54vpM3b9iONAV3qW2yK2IxnS4GRysvYjzZP1SuTPKJBhUt01neoGXiRgI9jYcCIq3_JEnW7nA4P5Ip5pbms4A_4BA4O6sNwYqtypa3eXVQ2AvLJ5bnrTkYPV-Zk2WjJsC0cBJ_olXl5EtlxHh-R13oFu9Iuv3tcbjRRrS2x-2oXI7KNL0/s320/2B40673C-0955-4D1F-9EC2-9037C8A0A426_1_201_a.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></span><span><div><span style="font-size: large;">Dr G took the upper salon while Mme M shared her suite downstairs with the driver. We ate good crepes in Croisic and walked them off down the jetty, in failing light, to the Tredic feu, as you do, not withstanding that self could only summon up a painful limp. Didn't quite make it fact, but been there, done that, back in twenty-two…</span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It rained hard twice in the night. The trains came and went as softly as any trains can. I slept rather badly due to the heat. And not sleeping very well these days. The trains just soothed.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvzKHfpc7lt26Y_5MwUqo0PYC3Z2d9GuUmjJ0HeJIXujtI7IdSy51pvDMB4L4MRVD5JHiOft-3_nWdHlQSHIzltALE5qZPkLrNNKnG35tjO7cyhlsGO1CJI2yjGDo_tCg6cxjzeh6kk6bA75J_6PBFRB3nJaEInPI1CjUs2EmFg45Vz6-4HxSi5aF-yo/s4896/98E5F886-0555-4F62-9AA9-0EF3BA22AA05_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2752" data-original-width="4896" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigvzKHfpc7lt26Y_5MwUqo0PYC3Z2d9GuUmjJ0HeJIXujtI7IdSy51pvDMB4L4MRVD5JHiOft-3_nWdHlQSHIzltALE5qZPkLrNNKnG35tjO7cyhlsGO1CJI2yjGDo_tCg6cxjzeh6kk6bA75J_6PBFRB3nJaEInPI1CjUs2EmFg45Vz6-4HxSi5aF-yo/w640-h360/98E5F886-0555-4F62-9AA9-0EF3BA22AA05_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-44035261875332674442023-08-05T11:11:00.018-07:002023-11-16T03:25:21.750-08:00 eyes on autumn twenty-twenty-three<p><span style="font-size: large;">I CAN ALMOST SENSE THE DESPERATION amongst those blighted souls who look to this blog for uplift: why has our dear author not covered the 2023 Summer visit to the Vaucluse this year, the anticipation is almost more than can be borne?</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkq9bM9yV6f-Wmn6k1EfaMcXJFOPdEdZdY31ViNKXSZ2SEVyr7-j6ogto3gSYCmOFvrldZg_tSXwXqqafe72CV8XyPI7BJDx3IIefiUpDSM4PSWfddhOzeuvG_3WA4Lgz8re54wfmX_A70DAIEc4z6xHRh0xP55lnZpRWex1KT__Y1GjzBsMnzORcSA0/s4112/96074977-D9D7-4D9C-A37E-695A3FF615B9_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="4112" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkq9bM9yV6f-Wmn6k1EfaMcXJFOPdEdZdY31ViNKXSZ2SEVyr7-j6ogto3gSYCmOFvrldZg_tSXwXqqafe72CV8XyPI7BJDx3IIefiUpDSM4PSWfddhOzeuvG_3WA4Lgz8re54wfmX_A70DAIEc4z6xHRh0xP55lnZpRWex1KT__Y1GjzBsMnzORcSA0/w640-h120/96074977-D9D7-4D9C-A37E-695A3FF615B9_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><p style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Well, here's the thing. Shortly after dropping anchor back in this benighted isle, returning from southern climes, back in April this was, I took myself off to see an optician chappie about the jolly old peepers. The annual review. I got them tested, to see if I needed an updated prescription, spectacle-wise. The truth of the matter was that there wasn't much to be done, just forking out for another set of Zeiss lenses, while the elephants in the room were in fact the cataracts in my eyes. Having been warned over the preceding years of this century, that cataract surgery might be quite high risk for a bloke with eyes as snookered as mine, and that as long as I was seeing well with specs, best not to push the surgical intervention option. In fact the NHS declined to intervene on three seperate occasions or at least until I reached a point where life as I know it would have become impractic</span><span style="font-size: medium;">al. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Well folks I think that is the threshold I am now arriving at. The long and short of it is that I subsequently took counsel with the foremost cataract surgeon in the country, fortunately operating in nearby Exeter, who gave me a thorough looking over, shook his head, cleared me as OK to drive for a few more months and referred me back to the NHS (his own department in fact) for bilateral (both eyes) cataract surgery. I am booked in. Risks notwithstanding and gently down played by my consultant. Most likely dates for the intervention (industrial action allowing) are in November (right eye) and six weeks later (left eye). So this fits in just nicely with our autumnal visit to Sablet which I am about to outline to you, OK? And if I am in luck, long enough ahead of 2024 aspirations to get out to PACA84, seeing things in a new light, may be… </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But why no Summer visit I hear you expostulate . . . come on, get real. What is going on in this world? Global warming is what, dear chums and that's a fact – or at least it is there, in Southern Europe. Associates of the Sablet tendency and in residency, have already confirmed heat levels bordering on the unacceptable. Our experience in the Summer '22 visit underscored a conclusion we'd come to back in 2020 (when Covid stopped us in the spring and summer time anyway). Southern Europe is getting hotter and hotter. Too hot. If it keeps the year on year temperature tendency at the current rate, the Sahara will not just be giving the Fr countryside a dusting of sand once or twice a year, it will be knocking on the door. It is the truth. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Which brings me, circuitously, to the plans we have to Sabletise in Autumn. As is my wont, I include in this post the navigational guidelines describing the route in terms that will be immediately familiar to my most enlightened and seasoned readership, based upon that pillar of navigation in France, the A4 wiro-bound <i>Michelin Atlas of France.</i> No francophile traveller should be without this worthy tome, or the larger sized variant if you prefer a greater area per spread. Not much use if your plan is to travel by rail, air, canal or foot, mind: it is for motoring purposes. Michelin Fr. is still holding up against the dreaded sat-nav, which is given to losing signal just when you need it I gather. Michelin Fr. has some minor faults: badly placed place names at times, a tendency to deliberately, even vindictively place key junctions on page edges or in the gutter, vagueness about physical features here and there, and even the omission of some very minor (but possibly pivotal) country roads. But it serves. There is no substitute that remotely matches it, take it from me. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qn8c3djUogj1LNNYf--o_1IxgpbX5cgEThvDGqOZkalxhsfb0SDKMeV2lBiRvGCm6WZYc-6V_D2IJI8MbLfFypemrZRUNV7lvV3TYXoc3uuNiiNUX5Swqz1xCDThYDIM4bhm_bjSfxoodccoIMQ4Fr65mfg0hQbq6fVV3qxEn27YLF5vQP4b_PpRvZU/s7425/FB4BE75E-BF8C-4357-A82B-415770CD54AD_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2182" data-original-width="7425" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qn8c3djUogj1LNNYf--o_1IxgpbX5cgEThvDGqOZkalxhsfb0SDKMeV2lBiRvGCm6WZYc-6V_D2IJI8MbLfFypemrZRUNV7lvV3TYXoc3uuNiiNUX5Swqz1xCDThYDIM4bhm_bjSfxoodccoIMQ4Fr65mfg0hQbq6fVV3qxEn27YLF5vQP4b_PpRvZU/w640-h188/FB4BE75E-BF8C-4357-A82B-415770CD54AD_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>But if you don't have the Michelin (we motor on Michelin tyres also, incidentally) this is what </span><span>our plan amounts to:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">• Disembarkation at Roscoff after an overnight crossing, commencing with an early diversion to promote the Rade-de-Morlaix (see above representation) to our passenger-guest, and consume a breakfast. Then southwards across Brittany etc to an hotel at Batz-sur-Mer, a little family run affair we used a few years back, and liked. There should be ample time for a walk along the breakwater before retiring (see below).</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgg8RwrXvoC25epINQgb7GfJwlVA5VxgKitM0mWhDnikZ9Ndhaeng-nCyJrF2eoqhffTwLQvzWySTY6zqZ-2l50m9u4gXcGS5GLCwht-jW781hU6rtsy_hw-RJ_zHosme0hoyLtA0LAPTogDBtyXnKCn3ogO_N_uqJt-ULiQIo4mR14-Taw0XhgOx6elI/s5593/B2755FA2-D8A4-4765-ABB8-70A6B0A97C38_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2807" data-original-width="5593" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgg8RwrXvoC25epINQgb7GfJwlVA5VxgKitM0mWhDnikZ9Ndhaeng-nCyJrF2eoqhffTwLQvzWySTY6zqZ-2l50m9u4gXcGS5GLCwht-jW781hU6rtsy_hw-RJ_zHosme0hoyLtA0LAPTogDBtyXnKCn3ogO_N_uqJt-ULiQIo4mR14-Taw0XhgOx6elI/w640-h322/B2755FA2-D8A4-4765-ABB8-70A6B0A97C38_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>•</span><span> </span><span>Day two should include St Marc on the Loire estuary for breakfast, then across that same Loire at St Nazaire and by various means a route to Royan is taken, to a second hotel at St Georges de Didonne with views across to the Pointe de Grave. </span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkKYUL9ksnOYjXR4Wq8FYjCIiIBnVVc0E8zs5JFztPkm3GZvo_SorA7b5vJLAxRiKXMtNUmU3OhBDsDzkNkGSd_5-PBjv5sLSHEIKby008f3oXkdtCkpMljumI0OKtmk76_QhEdoXjEHujf8RJAfrJ7xYRymOYZNDYgrr2iXBGqjvF1tcJ-0vaI18lIU/s7287/42CF29D1-A0B0-462A-940E-C2E4AEA83AA5_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4321" data-original-width="7287" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkKYUL9ksnOYjXR4Wq8FYjCIiIBnVVc0E8zs5JFztPkm3GZvo_SorA7b5vJLAxRiKXMtNUmU3OhBDsDzkNkGSd_5-PBjv5sLSHEIKby008f3oXkdtCkpMljumI0OKtmk76_QhEdoXjEHujf8RJAfrJ7xYRymOYZNDYgrr2iXBGqjvF1tcJ-0vaI18lIU/w640-h380/42CF29D1-A0B0-462A-940E-C2E4AEA83AA5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">•</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span> </span><span>On the third day we shall rise again and take our place, if we are able, upon the vehicular ferry to the aformentioned Pointe. Breakfast either on this craft or over there, across the Gironde somewhere. The slog south through the forests of Les Landes comes next, with a diversion or two to observe this or that feature, (tbd en route). Our next hotel, like the others is booked ahead…</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQ2DC3i0jDT3lGiM43_MrKeD0CiAsDftg9usyrZVMwXY6KKV5CtXRai5d5w0v5xUR3Uq8iGutOLfenAtPkw3TMgjXrZWnhXaGHmHqRQ99pKYzUm7HVIO1CdOVfHHrd3WFQ9ZbKpHHKnAoG_Yarrrkk7PisKatPI4BfyoNlm1LFreWtL8nkyydTmKcd_o/s7260/27E14F96-2BA4-4574-B479-93D94FD5846E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3395" data-original-width="7260" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQ2DC3i0jDT3lGiM43_MrKeD0CiAsDftg9usyrZVMwXY6KKV5CtXRai5d5w0v5xUR3Uq8iGutOLfenAtPkw3TMgjXrZWnhXaGHmHqRQ99pKYzUm7HVIO1CdOVfHHrd3WFQ9ZbKpHHKnAoG_Yarrrkk7PisKatPI4BfyoNlm1LFreWtL8nkyydTmKcd_o/w640-h300/27E14F96-2BA4-4574-B479-93D94FD5846E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span><span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">• </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">Having overnighted in the charming town of Condom (the image above dates back some years, when we had called by for lunch) we take horse to Millau, hoping to reacquaint ourselves with a bastide settlement or two, hesitate perhaps once more in Albi, then by gradual degrees, steer a course to overnight number four in oft visited, aforementioned Millau (passing under the viaduct to reach our hotel up on the other side of the city).</span></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>• </span><span>We complete our transit to Sabbers by making a startling but tested diversion through the Cévennes via Navacelles, Vissec etc, then passing east through Uzès to the Rhône valley – which we cross, also the river, even unto the Vaucluse… coming to rest at the Sablet-chez-nous mid to late aprés midi. We'll have acquired lait, beurre, and pain by then we trust, with which to sustain us until we can do a market or respond to some other victual acquisitional opportunity. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4zU3g_BSBQMQuzD5ecB65qkQBQ6cEX3Aw0ijrLP7uKEZ0fhekd3F7jn6dudvku3At3_NdPlCb0Tbe6fbic47FQ2gAW_JCnJgE6GRK6W6BZfXJDGAWpBCAvCHf8ylStS9G9XVXa2lwDj7Gdbs30JXnAFShIunvYpsozlNpnvZb5PDOTcVRdI8H2Y_w9o/s7425/3092C653-7692-45B1-AEC9-DA9D2FBABCDD_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4114" data-original-width="7425" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4zU3g_BSBQMQuzD5ecB65qkQBQ6cEX3Aw0ijrLP7uKEZ0fhekd3F7jn6dudvku3At3_NdPlCb0Tbe6fbic47FQ2gAW_JCnJgE6GRK6W6BZfXJDGAWpBCAvCHf8ylStS9G9XVXa2lwDj7Gdbs30JXnAFShIunvYpsozlNpnvZb5PDOTcVRdI8H2Y_w9o/w640-h354/3092C653-7692-45B1-AEC9-DA9D2FBABCDD_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">But of course, you'll want more detail than this precis! Indicated below are the roads we are expecting to traverse, as used by the Bullsmead navigator in conjunction with and cross referencing to the Michelin Fr. Atlas to inform proceedings. As oft reminded, the proposal is but a guide; deviations will and do occur. No mawkish adherence to pre-planned aspirations is tolerated in these circles, allow me to reassure you! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Sorry about the differing scales of these two sheets, it's a quirk of the blog app, and beyond my creative spirit to mess about with, just now. If you knew just how much of my limited time on earth I had dedicated to drawing up this post you'd temper your rebuke at least for my seeming sloppiness…… Sharper eyes than mine have already noted that the road out of St Marc is numbered D492 not D942… Always good to know that someone out there is paying attention.</span></p><div style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5omBXfLIEKal6Jqg8baOQxK99yKTDAtaD5cNy8_53SpHisqUekQX8W3cG17IkI3_Iv1uMTIt22B7wH5w3-bbhJ3ILnMfaO6qgrkJCyFJFggw5va65NklCnMcFmJkQDEzlpfR8lJHuDR324vMSuxCKytgsDIZg79vl6aLkET0jElJR4dVK6ax4WG8xdk/s3386/C559B27C-7A76-4401-A655-0E19C972F7CC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3386" data-original-width="3150" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5omBXfLIEKal6Jqg8baOQxK99yKTDAtaD5cNy8_53SpHisqUekQX8W3cG17IkI3_Iv1uMTIt22B7wH5w3-bbhJ3ILnMfaO6qgrkJCyFJFggw5va65NklCnMcFmJkQDEzlpfR8lJHuDR324vMSuxCKytgsDIZg79vl6aLkET0jElJR4dVK6ax4WG8xdk/w596-h640/C559B27C-7A76-4401-A655-0E19C972F7CC_1_201_a.jpeg" width="596" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-size: large;">NB –– if I haven't explained before, the black bulleted • roads indicated are uncoloured in the road atlas while the yellow bulleted roads • show in yellow in Michelin, the red 'D' roads therein are graced with a red bullet point • (you're getting this aren't you!) red text and bullet • indicate N roads, • blue indicates autoroutes. I'd have liked to indicate the coloured bullets in this paragraph according to the colours they equate with, but it's complicated, too complicated for my limited abilities… you've got the idea now, I'm sure…</span></p><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2Z_BK4tyGE1cTVNl3xR0Acf8bubMuKKtho7TbPpa8vPelFnGWFg5LmM1rkQzYCmm9NHEsoyKjmWXwZBXnqtFZmoNhhSo1LNHGVCy1oF5VoHVBXdi3r8mZzggzcomUlaNDjUkTybDozx05g_yjSHM9_XG3ewsjtEHUA3JSV9EW9JGqC4mFXEPpFtJLe4/s4455/BD63F3CF-4153-4069-B03A-87E6E87C2FC6.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="4455" data-original-width="3150" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2Z_BK4tyGE1cTVNl3xR0Acf8bubMuKKtho7TbPpa8vPelFnGWFg5LmM1rkQzYCmm9NHEsoyKjmWXwZBXnqtFZmoNhhSo1LNHGVCy1oF5VoHVBXdi3r8mZzggzcomUlaNDjUkTybDozx05g_yjSHM9_XG3ewsjtEHUA3JSV9EW9JGqC4mFXEPpFtJLe4/w452-h640/BD63F3CF-4153-4069-B03A-87E6E87C2FC6.jpeg" width="452" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">This colour system I employ is designed to aid navigational cross referencing to the road atlas: Fr. roads are, on the ground as it were, the same colour range as surfaced roads to be found throughout Europe. Just to avoid any confusion.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">On this transit we are once again graced with a trusted travel companion who has already proved she can cope with our eccentric manners, on multiple occasions: namely Dr G (– unfortunately not a doctor of the medical type, they never are when one needs one).</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcG9NgWHknZ-kRfnoUZ0p9YqSzgKys7DvVPxNR0FHoEcSV4INu_ArluILPiG-0M9FozIFbcT9N0Ft7zz9hyphenhyphenV0yvZdkcb-gx0TMISiIbJKkYspDKQx9MTbk5nZ6_aOzSal6oAvIS6tikRlXKhVYLqmWQvlh18oI5t7dysFhIO98ARGQJk2HUZ723g1aMvI/s4288/_DSC3802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2848" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcG9NgWHknZ-kRfnoUZ0p9YqSzgKys7DvVPxNR0FHoEcSV4INu_ArluILPiG-0M9FozIFbcT9N0Ft7zz9hyphenhyphenV0yvZdkcb-gx0TMISiIbJKkYspDKQx9MTbk5nZ6_aOzSal6oAvIS6tikRlXKhVYLqmWQvlh18oI5t7dysFhIO98ARGQJk2HUZ723g1aMvI/s320/_DSC3802.JPG" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />That's it. The plan. It remains to be seen (at time of scribing) whether it pans out like this… I might in the fullness of time reflect on how it shaped up. And I might not, it can only be a matter of time before I lose the will…</span><p></p><p></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-53482423944430640912023-06-01T04:52:00.002-07:002023-11-16T06:53:35.677-08:00chapeau!<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOjQV0mc2oZLhTAzpEqXT04gt0eaHxbi36unYFnp68nHdszxCE-O7WyAPDdfcmkevQ-j4L8p6_UnkZj0eu4auJopYbOwO7_8u22pQPjUwby_TldvqdG1OAGl5DymWcW8jHGQSYYOGb8wsutq-6WdCh1kowpiJHqBSPxecthqhFSgX-BrwYRmRpUmh/s7049/59F12E8B-1929-4137-8601-9C42FBC2F062_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2498" data-original-width="7049" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOjQV0mc2oZLhTAzpEqXT04gt0eaHxbi36unYFnp68nHdszxCE-O7WyAPDdfcmkevQ-j4L8p6_UnkZj0eu4auJopYbOwO7_8u22pQPjUwby_TldvqdG1OAGl5DymWcW8jHGQSYYOGb8wsutq-6WdCh1kowpiJHqBSPxecthqhFSgX-BrwYRmRpUmh/w640-h226/59F12E8B-1929-4137-8601-9C42FBC2F062_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWB9MFNrFxQP8bKr_GVixb-zPdb4TQopDq_ouZajToVa3YE3X-Uj4oUij3iY9qIy43KNyNyuTfU2ebwefLIoa5qNSIGBwfa4tQES5jrNr6W8aMt9CrV6Ke4t6DM21wIWSXKx90jCmX3P-qZjjmVZLqliYXKRmoG9cnWtKBHmh8UqtPMQPi9QfxYnjBuBA/s4237/097A43F8-9494-4986-BB66-D2057BFD7A83_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1973" data-original-width="4237" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWB9MFNrFxQP8bKr_GVixb-zPdb4TQopDq_ouZajToVa3YE3X-Uj4oUij3iY9qIy43KNyNyuTfU2ebwefLIoa5qNSIGBwfa4tQES5jrNr6W8aMt9CrV6Ke4t6DM21wIWSXKx90jCmX3P-qZjjmVZLqliYXKRmoG9cnWtKBHmh8UqtPMQPi9QfxYnjBuBA/w640-h298/097A43F8-9494-4986-BB66-D2057BFD7A83_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-54460391994161317782023-04-21T06:01:00.015-07:002023-09-08T06:47:50.231-07:00apéro<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGn0oegV8QcGfeop1fnEFAhOzhembpl-QyBnhfEOuC_aoHaiVhGx6v02qOs_Z-hMrsYAU1oRw9e3aZQzUnLHMQfbm1siVW9qlQcEzqoOV-g4Sot1-HFOiZms_GoHmGChWuMuT8cHBf1yXwnyHeeOlnPIz836vdkyRKulRqy6qrwdTnnxDc3C5RERo-/s6897/E24A0F19-754B-4CD2-8610-8F5D4D9E41CE_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2962" data-original-width="6897" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGn0oegV8QcGfeop1fnEFAhOzhembpl-QyBnhfEOuC_aoHaiVhGx6v02qOs_Z-hMrsYAU1oRw9e3aZQzUnLHMQfbm1siVW9qlQcEzqoOV-g4Sot1-HFOiZms_GoHmGChWuMuT8cHBf1yXwnyHeeOlnPIz836vdkyRKulRqy6qrwdTnnxDc3C5RERo-/w640-h272/E24A0F19-754B-4CD2-8610-8F5D4D9E41CE_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span>A note or two about the art of the apéro: this is a very convenient convention in these parts, whereby one can invite friends and neighbours (but not usually in droves) to come and take wine and some low key eats in the early evening (say 1800) for a chat. Apéro time. One usually expects those invited to start thinking about going back to their own abodes after a couple of hours or so but sometimes these affairs can run on a bit especially if the conversation is animated and the wine is flowing freely. </span><span><br /></span></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Mme Melling and your author have been both providers and beneficiaries of the local apéro tendency. I like them. One does not need to ‘bring a bottle’ or other equivalent although chocs, flowers, and on one occasion, tea towels have been seen to be presented and received. And bottles. Unnecessary usually if at all. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The wine one lays on needs to be reasonably plentiful but does not need to be grand cru. For ourselves we ply our guests with the bib quality stuff we like personally, possibly with a stand by bottle of white. We only ran to red on the apéro pictured above. Personally I will happily overlook Rosé… However, if one only has one colour readily to hand that will do. We’ve been offered champagne several times on occasion… (but we've not offered similar, we are not quite in that ball-park). If one’s guests are long standing friends one may feel able to bring forth something a bit more ambitious by way as a personal salute to them (like a G&T for Jen). Louise drinks nothing else these days so one must make provision!<br /><br /><b>The nibbles</b> (how I hate that term but it is in common parlance so I had better toe the line and employ the wretched word). My suggestions, lifted from the apéros we have 'hosted' <i>(ugh!)</i> or been recipients of this year include: nuts, stuffed olives, plain olives, tapanade, dates, three or four good cheeses, slices of salami and similar, anchovy rolls and filets, savoury biscuits, crisps, cheese straws even. Sometimes sausages on sticks may put in an appearance; Louise’s toffee-dipped mini tomatoes were very good. Indeed one can add in some hot cooked delicacies as well, hors-d'oeuvres style, maybe small pizza squares, quiches, or even a scallop shaped dish (per person) with hot prawns and a top dressing of cheesy potato (bought from a butcher, ready made – one does not go mad prepping!). </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Party food in fact. Finger buffet, I think might also be considered of the same ilk as 'nibbles': if one needs a knife and a fork then one is going a bit beyond the apéro </span><span>aspiration IMHO</span><span>. But naturally, I wouldn’t complain… provided the Ks & Fs were provided, sort of thing.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />There are many other strategies that could also make one’s apéro distinguished: use your imagination, we do, and similarly we benefit too from others’ original thinking. Not paper hats. There should be choice but not so much as to stretch out the evening excessively. One should never need to start tapping your watch or hovering about in your dressing gown, the guests don't outstay in my experience. Probably grateful to get the hell out, as soon as …!<br /><br />Above all one should not appear to have gone to an inordinate amount of trouble and expense while, on the other hand, demonstrating a modest generosity about the event one has instigated; and not try to go one better (but at least achieve level-pegging) than the last apéro one was invited to. But it is not a competition. We wouldn’t expect to do more than two a visit, maybe three, and we would hope to get invited to at least one or two whilst in Sablet residence. <br /><br />Apéros are not parties. Numbers should be very modest. Two guests, four maybe… risky to go any higher. And anyway 1 Rue FB has limited capacity, this is not one of your grander residences. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Conversation is the name of the game. Trouble is, if one can’t fully participate, because one’s school failed to deliver a second language to one, in a way that might be of use in later life, (and here I have to point the finger at my school for falling down so badly on this, at least in my case) one can find that one eats more than one should, and ditto on the juice. Specially those hot little sausages, on sticks. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I am not against apéros where English is not the common language you understand; it's just that Mme Melling can expect a lot of questions après apéro, something she is rather disinclined to answer, encourage or elucidate upon. Kindly associates will sometimes let me know what is being said and I can pick up some threads. Sometimes. Usually wrongly. One unfortunate aspect of apéros can be two or more conversations taking place at a time, usually with increasing volumes as the evening matures. This can be very confusing if one is trying to get the gist of both flows: not limited to apéros I grant you but I find this habit rather irritating. There, I've said it. <br /><br />We also serve a sweet on occasion (strawberries score well) but I have never been in receipt of a cup of coffee, had no takers when offering same, nor been asked for one. Strange, that . . . <i>(not strictly true - ed)</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>with apologies to Keith & Liz, Pascal & Barbara who innocently feature in one of the two apéros what we done this visit and pictured above: Gerard & Jen suffered the other, and set my train of thought on this topic accordingly. Louise & John came by for Quiches but that didn't count as apéro in the strictest sense. But who cares, we snack. </i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The doors in the scene portrayed above are no longer white but are now painted standard 1 Rue FB grey. </i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-20533414207920704712023-04-13T05:56:00.015-07:002023-04-18T08:54:35.050-07:00crestet centre d'art twenty years on<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMszhbc_-LW4ysK9sgR8gyLNPdsikFUlvocDC6HnAdm7jOcmdYjEMqrN9cBMV3a_8R3ucBgnEgS5kNam_lPCyDIhhB7ew3f45Bt1v-IcgvcI2wUj5SqiYLWGQKL9tRNyKbPvW3vezfaPVtzjwG2GLmciJDJXJ5XZreZrNezFarslhcFaH5HnAHon7/s7425/36268166-32CC-4F3B-9827-FEA53FF335BC.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5250" data-original-width="7425" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMszhbc_-LW4ysK9sgR8gyLNPdsikFUlvocDC6HnAdm7jOcmdYjEMqrN9cBMV3a_8R3ucBgnEgS5kNam_lPCyDIhhB7ew3f45Bt1v-IcgvcI2wUj5SqiYLWGQKL9tRNyKbPvW3vezfaPVtzjwG2GLmciJDJXJ5XZreZrNezFarslhcFaH5HnAHon7/w640-h450/36268166-32CC-4F3B-9827-FEA53FF335BC.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9a3YCrezZvnTz4Xvj2izfcV7SytitHABxPu_TB2l-hjHBiMaKn0Yl8z7RRuCq1wmo68EMQNZH_1OhLNjrphacbts-45_ARn2sgJb72N-mQYDEbm5iMRcVciPNR9uRY7ZhISvuq1liGJhWqt0enC3iJC_RzyikguGKR6h4F61G0mUSiTIg-WG2disC/s7425/7F6DC99B-DA51-4A2A-B344-84D19C400FC2.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5250" data-original-width="7425" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9a3YCrezZvnTz4Xvj2izfcV7SytitHABxPu_TB2l-hjHBiMaKn0Yl8z7RRuCq1wmo68EMQNZH_1OhLNjrphacbts-45_ARn2sgJb72N-mQYDEbm5iMRcVciPNR9uRY7ZhISvuq1liGJhWqt0enC3iJC_RzyikguGKR6h4F61G0mUSiTIg-WG2disC/w640-h450/7F6DC99B-DA51-4A2A-B344-84D19C400FC2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b>April thirteen. </b>Just a note here about the ongoing deterioration of the Crestet Centre d’Art. It is still going on, twenty years on. The set up closed suddenly in 2003 when all its state funding was withdrawn and one of the finest small galleries in France was lost. On the thirteenth inst. we took a favoured walk of ours into the forests above Crestet which can start conveniently close by the Centre as it still has a pull-in on which to leave the motor. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We first visited the Centre in 1996, then dropped in whenever we were holidaying or passing close by. Some singular exhibitions were staged therein: they used to have artists’ residencies in the summer with rather lovely girls (art students, you know the type) taking care of the place and wafting around the galleries to answer any eejit questions… there were sculptures to find in the forest grounds too, kinetic art, even living art, etc etc – we loved it. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJdKZ9Bo_vVoe3rpbnmiZDb4ZZaqU-3RZzY8hpzKGfRcIlT2ZkTId_iPOmrDkk2Dh5I9S2fHPpUOaU3Uo3ix24ChmsTLbQYJJXwuU9281kRX-ZaHmKP4KBsHvxYE_wvxQhTGPDNFgPehIkkLsvSw99hfLTfaU6l5_Hbyb6-JbF570_X2gjSR3Y4rB/s6879/78C59002-19A8-4541-90E1-6B94191E2212_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3523" data-original-width="6879" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJdKZ9Bo_vVoe3rpbnmiZDb4ZZaqU-3RZzY8hpzKGfRcIlT2ZkTId_iPOmrDkk2Dh5I9S2fHPpUOaU3Uo3ix24ChmsTLbQYJJXwuU9281kRX-ZaHmKP4KBsHvxYE_wvxQhTGPDNFgPehIkkLsvSw99hfLTfaU6l5_Hbyb6-JbF570_X2gjSR3Y4rB/w640-h326/78C59002-19A8-4541-90E1-6B94191E2212_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I have always been very taken by the building as a whole and in my capacity as a design educator (honest, I was once) je got myself on the centre’s circulation list, receiving invites to various private views, posters, and various mail-shots. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">In 2003 I wrote to the director to seek a permit to explore/record the upper terraces, balconies and spaces not normally open to the public —because, we were advised, the spaces lacked any safety structures like guard and handrails, so we <i>could</i> do, but at our own risk: I got the green light. We were indeed given the freedom of the place when we turned up that summer, ID in hand, but also got to hear from the admin office at the Centre the shocking news that the place was to close within weeks as funding was being cut and all personnel were being thrown out of their jobs. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgR2CALHDbF9JniL60QwdcAl2XbeixETxn4HgAVnqovxU2swZ-WOWVuHN0GI6eQV-lnTlu2upWo2Z7RqrA-QJ7Pun8PVkQokppUlHXcIMK0f-gu3NDUWPPzNk96-piVsJc_xfzJiZSxkBpF3PMtwIeqK_1HV21fay1jwz7o_ZUk6zaY8uvVEXZMzam/s5121/A39B06E8-8A02-43A1-B950-9C440A692F86_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5121" data-original-width="3260" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgR2CALHDbF9JniL60QwdcAl2XbeixETxn4HgAVnqovxU2swZ-WOWVuHN0GI6eQV-lnTlu2upWo2Z7RqrA-QJ7Pun8PVkQokppUlHXcIMK0f-gu3NDUWPPzNk96-piVsJc_xfzJiZSxkBpF3PMtwIeqK_1HV21fay1jwz7o_ZUk6zaY8uvVEXZMzam/w254-h400/A39B06E8-8A02-43A1-B950-9C440A692F86_1_201_a.jpeg" width="254" /></a></div>Nevertheless we made the most of our privileged visit to the Centre d’Art, but only just in time. How fortuitous I had had the presence of mind to make the approaches for unfettered access when I did! </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The place closed half way through an exhibition in fact just a week or two later, since when it has remained closed, albeit with a caretaker for some years, but now retired, gone, and whose tied house is empty and derelict. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">In the years thereafter, a strange ghostly sound-track emanated from within the building, seemingly of a faux conference or lecture, with speakers addressing an audience in muffled tones, laughter, applause, question-and-answer etc (plenaries, tea and coffee?), on a loop to give the impression that the place was still being used.Which it clearly wasn’t. This ran on for years and seems to have worked: we have not seen any sign of breaking and entering, vandalism, as yet… The windows stayed clean for a long time (the caretaker?) but otherwise there has been little sign of life. Sometime since our last inspection the elegant cypresses growing in the interior courtyards have been axed and removed, who knows what other plant life may have come and gone? Who has got the keys??? <a href="https://www.wowhaus.co.uk/2022/03/24/1960s-brutalist-house-and-art-studio-in-crestet-south-east-france/">Well someone has, clearly.</a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUZqRJUC8bXBPzRJMxDJHAliiBRPp4hJO9VU3SiXgTDLmLsFbbscJl0qhkzZ9M7qOSh8SqZVObPlDpxDWlg-CoJB-BKokBUCdFlQ-UzEPJ0wtcgMEtwCsLMjuqf55tQpUubuIbEjQmD9FkAIWRse-dTS_PY5MT1BdciKkxaprzeuLWQXZ0F7zn0Rz/s4000/P1030258.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2672" data-original-width="4000" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUZqRJUC8bXBPzRJMxDJHAliiBRPp4hJO9VU3SiXgTDLmLsFbbscJl0qhkzZ9M7qOSh8SqZVObPlDpxDWlg-CoJB-BKokBUCdFlQ-UzEPJ0wtcgMEtwCsLMjuqf55tQpUubuIbEjQmD9FkAIWRse-dTS_PY5MT1BdciKkxaprzeuLWQXZ0F7zn0Rz/w640-h428/P1030258.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />No sign of the centre being brought back into use either. There still is, or were, some artworks inside, (and massive stone sculptures outside, the work of the founder) when we last trotted down the hill from the pull-in on the forest road to peep through any of the few accessible windows. All the local signage has now gone. The building's facias are looking decidedly grubby, even in need of patching, as you can determine from the banner photo at the top of this piece. Exterior substantial stone brutalist sculptures still sit it out, round the back, too heavy to move economically no doubt, and/or nowhere to go.<br /><br />It is a crying shame. One of my most favourite buildings and it is fading away through shocking neglect while the département and the state bicker over it, seemingly [<i>stop press, breaking news:</i> <i>the assembly is up for sale, but just who is selling it remains obscure</i>]. Disgraceful, I pay my taxes here as well you know. I’d tell you a lot more about this situation but I don’t wish to introduce what might be considered <i>tedium</i> into this post… and anyway, the story of the place is both complicated and often in French (online). Enough to say it came into state ownership in 1985 and was abandoned and shut down in 2003 –– as I think I have already made clear. </span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3mRaMNW3r6OYKOk_onCZzdUgWa_ryYxhS4ce9BWrwhTyXYIiHWXlh6iDBJdifCsXH0WcjNcztprEoXu32nor3jf--KKuIJAaRGm7ltA32TPFzNR3whLXByglHpgF2XGsbPrCMT5wzZj_eiqFOCmVdTg2x1UPnlHOgXCs0aCP_G_omzKpIwjeBzur0/s785/CRESTET004.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="785" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3mRaMNW3r6OYKOk_onCZzdUgWa_ryYxhS4ce9BWrwhTyXYIiHWXlh6iDBJdifCsXH0WcjNcztprEoXu32nor3jf--KKuIJAaRGm7ltA32TPFzNR3whLXByglHpgF2XGsbPrCMT5wzZj_eiqFOCmVdTg2x1UPnlHOgXCs0aCP_G_omzKpIwjeBzur0/s320/CRESTET004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>An important aspect of what went on at the Crestet Centre d’Art, for me at least, was the way complex creative and experimental artistic ideas were made accessible to all. Adam growing up took to the creative output with enthusiasm. It was a joy to see. I think it is fair to say <i>it contributed.</i> To his own creative awareness that is.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Often we had the galleries to ourselves: nice for us but perhaps not for the health of the centre in the long run. There were no charges that I can recall (and I'm a strong advocate of free access to the arts as you will know) but even so the footfall perhaps was disappointing. Its isolation in the forest above Crestet may have been its principle Achilles heel. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Centre was designed and built by Bruno Stahly (architect)</span><span style="font-size: large;"> for parents <a href="https://www.culture.gouv.fr/en/Regions/Drac-Provence-Alpes-Cote-d-Azur/Politique-et-actions-culturelles/Architecture-contemporaine-remarquable-en-Paca/Le-label-Architecture-contemporaine-remarquable/Les-edifices-labellises-Architecture-contemporaine-remarquable/Label-ACR-Vaucluse/Crestet-Fondation-Stahly" target="_blank">Claude and François Stahly</a>. They must have had a franc or two. Read all about it on the link. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Fancy buying the Crestet Centre d'Art that was? <a href="https://www.wowhaus.co.uk/2022/03/24/1960s-brutalist-house-and-art-studio-in-crestet-south-east-france/" target="_blank">Here's a link!</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It's a snip. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>It <i>is</i> </span><span>listed… as it indeed should be…</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">… so I won't be touching it with a barge pole……</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="font-family: "Gill Sans"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: "Gill Sans"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-84799862188903818512023-04-11T05:33:00.211-07:002023-08-13T09:31:46.911-07:00raptor report<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BiNWAg5jAOa7a5Ja5mbfrVM2Gyz_SrD_Hx0tXWl8MLxJmAcwK-EgyFCeR2qSBsbqbZAETCix6VpCoQxLGn3UPDUi6VWFe20DbrwUzeVxnYN1nHtwoJrSqggNZfSAH6O1mqgc8_96U1WewpdPyeHSz0SPLY3Jy5Yy9Cu67m5y_vLeOh7WwIcPfQzn/s7425/9A863494-C4CA-4A07-A0AC-9AA533C0674B.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5250" data-original-width="7425" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BiNWAg5jAOa7a5Ja5mbfrVM2Gyz_SrD_Hx0tXWl8MLxJmAcwK-EgyFCeR2qSBsbqbZAETCix6VpCoQxLGn3UPDUi6VWFe20DbrwUzeVxnYN1nHtwoJrSqggNZfSAH6O1mqgc8_96U1WewpdPyeHSz0SPLY3Jy5Yy9Cu67m5y_vLeOh7WwIcPfQzn/w640-h452/9A863494-C4CA-4A07-A0AC-9AA533C0674B.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMM8PCAdgejvWoixjRX7BUUK-82phQ5BX6gHH7PLuOW81Zmn8LfHrLTI391QBd5jC9Q3KlSyKMwLifvcb1hJxivUOdgBQ_A6oAdyxxG9TOODAkbarLk2VFH_8QQl52aOw4pMxt0LRiwNe5bqdXY561aEbKGjezp-S33ujtlYH2AyFoP_nWgw_sqC3q/s4032/7C77F01E-0413-4C02-B223-7F71CC68EE59_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMM8PCAdgejvWoixjRX7BUUK-82phQ5BX6gHH7PLuOW81Zmn8LfHrLTI391QBd5jC9Q3KlSyKMwLifvcb1hJxivUOdgBQ_A6oAdyxxG9TOODAkbarLk2VFH_8QQl52aOw4pMxt0LRiwNe5bqdXY561aEbKGjezp-S33ujtlYH2AyFoP_nWgw_sqC3q/s320/7C77F01E-0413-4C02-B223-7F71CC68EE59_1_201_a.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>On April Eleven</b> Mme Melling and self decided to visit somewhere beginning with N and as we had not ventured there recently we made the destination Nyons. Nîmes had been a front runner (we’ve not been there for a considerably longer period of time) but the thought of an hour on the A9 did not appeal: Nyons via the south bank of the Eygues* (the river upon which Nyons is sited) and passing through Mirabel-les-Baronnies was a far more pleasant drive, and only 16 miles, door to lavender distillery car-park. <br /></span></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><br /></div><div>We limp round the decrepit streets of the town (I maintain that streets like this, if extant in the UK for example, would be attracting campaigns for clearance and rehousing; protests regarding the shocking living conditions that such properties suggest) even unto the bridge where plans are afoot to make the river more accessible, perhaps more attractively presented to visitors and residents alike. It could be a winner, we shall see. </div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span><div style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhygovauGgqTepvlPT8ri3vR0EiarRjfhjXQyHxSYN9GL5Fqt5nP8d270756w7k7lc3-YglSQyr4NXlGOV9HmSa5XFrL2x6EAOOyWIiTInn_xHHIY-TxwilHRXfk4A2qBZl6_cv4dK38pxiijA0ZaSvQbctn6Zp_hDhZ1v1SniwwuMb0eRzUiiXdBh/s3985/1362B005-C967-4893-AEB4-710CC7A5BC7E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2670" data-original-width="3985" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhygovauGgqTepvlPT8ri3vR0EiarRjfhjXQyHxSYN9GL5Fqt5nP8d270756w7k7lc3-YglSQyr4NXlGOV9HmSa5XFrL2x6EAOOyWIiTInn_xHHIY-TxwilHRXfk4A2qBZl6_cv4dK38pxiijA0ZaSvQbctn6Zp_hDhZ1v1SniwwuMb0eRzUiiXdBh/w640-h428/1362B005-C967-4893-AEB4-710CC7A5BC7E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">We clamber up to the Madonna and shuffle amongst the hilly lanes that grace the steeper bits of Nyons, well above the Aygues*. (*spellings of this river’s name used here are just two of at least three we have seen employed on the local signage: there may be more).</span></span><span> <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcumpKBm64Jnsi4as0HqnoR6R72xKK7CEWcFI_jNgHJH2z9oA40Hzx7UhT5Lh5IYzHQjN4c_2mxjZPAOwQY-LDKGTj3dB6H3SYE2YkRC76gCQ5scsNI00zEACiuo1bY4rfEENivV7ULPvV3A8NeKzMjZKAkNxnS3pYzhFx8zeqzwDFuFdJ9nmU9v-l/s4032/ACF57532-FAF2-4A21-8981-20608E341124_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcumpKBm64Jnsi4as0HqnoR6R72xKK7CEWcFI_jNgHJH2z9oA40Hzx7UhT5Lh5IYzHQjN4c_2mxjZPAOwQY-LDKGTj3dB6H3SYE2YkRC76gCQ5scsNI00zEACiuo1bY4rfEENivV7ULPvV3A8NeKzMjZKAkNxnS3pYzhFx8zeqzwDFuFdJ9nmU9v-l/s320/ACF57532-FAF2-4A21-8981-20608E341124_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Lunch is taken at the rather refined looking hotel in the square. As you do. Or as we had tried to do on a previous occasion, in season, when carnival was about to break forth on the town, precluding and compromising our aspirations, and bringing them to nought. This time we manage it. The food is good enough (guinea-fowl in a black olive sauce, the plat-du-jour if you want the detail, <i>not</i> with chips <i>neither</i>) but above all the ambience appeals. Crisp service, well spaced tables on a sheltered airy terrace, very nice; as usual we are almost the first in as the midday chimes ring out, repeated here as they should be, for those without benefit of pocket watches.<br /><br />I suggest a return to Sablet via the Ste. Jalle road. It takes us through some lovely countryside and over an impressive col. I’ve probably banged on about it before. This time however, just after turning off the main road to Gap, on the road to Ste. Jalle itself, Madame Melling is calling out sightings of the feature raptors of this locale, namely vultures! There, above the valley side trees and shrubs. She is gamely trying to snap them as we motor along, with a phone <i>fgs</i>, reporting extravagant numbers to boot. I conclude that Mary might be exaggerating — there is a lot of that sort of thing about, where fish, fowl and the like are concerned, so I turn left off the route, and up a track going to a hamlet called Arpavon and pull over</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-vGUUaGqoNl1xzku2hMac9CT8EF8wYD8SDrwpCJsoma0FYtNBCjm53YloCQSun-_hU1Mh-KwALjti3LMeXiVni-Z0mAaWO5YmLrY1bpetM0GV1efDxfcrvY0D3L2U1s9ycTLDjuxHYWkTxGFcbIz6hyllwTfRALrdW9LoBo9J1LizJtV4L9nYktf/s2248/5B487A0C-0D10-44B0-96CE-C5DA886E906D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="1078" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-vGUUaGqoNl1xzku2hMac9CT8EF8wYD8SDrwpCJsoma0FYtNBCjm53YloCQSun-_hU1Mh-KwALjti3LMeXiVni-Z0mAaWO5YmLrY1bpetM0GV1efDxfcrvY0D3L2U1s9ycTLDjuxHYWkTxGFcbIz6hyllwTfRALrdW9LoBo9J1LizJtV4L9nYktf/s320/5B487A0C-0D10-44B0-96CE-C5DA886E906D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="153" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">There they are. In flocks! Never seen so many. I concede the numbers suggested hitherto. I am reckoning on well above fifty individuals in sight at a time! Why, I manage to snap thirty in a single frame – with ease, point and shoot. Griffin, Egyptian and Lamagyre are identifiable even without one’s <i>Collins</i> to confirm what we are seeing, they are a glorious sight to behold. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Highlight of the day. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvf70M7q2G5gsqK2jGHUTdbPLtVaVEnlXvwnBwnYImV0IFxwYqc_WEC6t09CW0DMX8BfE3TQd1KqKoMoaApduo8UX_aauh5GnqDT9W8RtbDyW56IOV7TtlWnvJHkte_7Dp9A7_Mp2ZYBrmylDaEqdCgnkuMm57V7zgJOOEm9_Vfhy6Ya7TstXNlnF/s4000/002BEC25-D7FF-46DF-87F3-47CBEB3DCD9E.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvf70M7q2G5gsqK2jGHUTdbPLtVaVEnlXvwnBwnYImV0IFxwYqc_WEC6t09CW0DMX8BfE3TQd1KqKoMoaApduo8UX_aauh5GnqDT9W8RtbDyW56IOV7TtlWnvJHkte_7Dp9A7_Mp2ZYBrmylDaEqdCgnkuMm57V7zgJOOEm9_Vfhy6Ya7TstXNlnF/w640-h360/002BEC25-D7FF-46DF-87F3-47CBEB3DCD9E.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTVfJex7KT5ndqmkiBN0OZxqgkIPj8jKDpAg3pEhzvl0Kjor4ZZWBn97dr8OPGv06m4GtPnPb1qzbo7ir_GtAcxJOp5ReibqP493sX4e28ya9O9hmihJPfLjbQq6pyOmxYUE4z8W8DLIVYnZti8kE2A7zKhCV8Q3VggNBfWLORv7l2C41nV5ofvuk/s521/860318C1-ACDA-4954-BB89-A17976B70991_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTVfJex7KT5ndqmkiBN0OZxqgkIPj8jKDpAg3pEhzvl0Kjor4ZZWBn97dr8OPGv06m4GtPnPb1qzbo7ir_GtAcxJOp5ReibqP493sX4e28ya9O9hmihJPfLjbQq6pyOmxYUE4z8W8DLIVYnZti8kE2A7zKhCV8Q3VggNBfWLORv7l2C41nV5ofvuk/s320/860318C1-ACDA-4954-BB89-A17976B70991_1_201_a.jpeg" width="295" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Driving up and through aforementioned Arpavon, hoping for further views but these do not materialise beyond the odd stray, so we chance a slightly better maintained road, completely omitted from Michelin incidentally, that drops down a steep valley and kindly returns us back to the Ste. Jalle road almost where we left it. Somewhere along its passage my camera case falls off the roof of the motor where I have parked it in my excitement, and which I notice in its act of abandoning ship, in the rear view mirror – so am able to retrieve the kit without loss or damage or the later inconvenience of being so careless with my belongings. We have previous form in these car roof deposits, have we not, Mme M? </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br />Our circuit goes on as planned, over the Col-d'Ey and down the steep side to Buis aux Baronnies then Mollans and on to the former petit train route to Crestet, then Vaison – and finally on to Sabbers. Fifty-nine of our good English miles or eighty-four of your official continental kilometres, with a decent lunch thrown in. And a spectacle there for the asking. </span><span><span>I bet you haven’t seen that many vultures in a single showing,</span><span> <i>so there…</i></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">We picnicked roadside hereabouts, some years back, unless I am getting confused… I've walked over those two hills on the left in the past, on my own that was. This view looks back to the hills <i>(centre)</i> where the vultures circle and wheel…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwCI9A1Jm30o_9G9I0b2BrvrYCya2HY-luvzbkGUilukwp2myZrPbgc8SG533D-ngPy0K-pFf13dNCeVakE2Dn2YXsHPjht43reI1O7DAIa9bCbi9lB5r--chwBZvBbON3qkDSJmGorSK9hH8XIQbO-6A-VKeYpX3jmXmkM7IsxRVFk4vDLc2IRkm/s9560/6C701C2F-9681-47A8-8D97-4AAAF74660BF_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2734" data-original-width="9560" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwCI9A1Jm30o_9G9I0b2BrvrYCya2HY-luvzbkGUilukwp2myZrPbgc8SG533D-ngPy0K-pFf13dNCeVakE2Dn2YXsHPjht43reI1O7DAIa9bCbi9lB5r--chwBZvBbON3qkDSJmGorSK9hH8XIQbO-6A-VKeYpX3jmXmkM7IsxRVFk4vDLc2IRkm/w640-h184/6C701C2F-9681-47A8-8D97-4AAAF74660BF_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-61808774761550358332023-04-06T13:01:00.009-07:002023-04-18T08:55:57.240-07:00orientation<p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_L9z04xS3m_P6GYVFVb3ceeUj9TqjZNYaeYOe3paYrvMFCk2hN8HzH7POcqfXCZjOmr68wZqbmKhZx2JOIQp6MYmMBcaTav431n6kXE2gpyFLBY7YtX9FVtJTjprEaPaq3mHFZIc2BbKOmSHcLf_HUsRscRNW_DmT91_mXgXkRR455GzpuIfqF1i/s8019/062125F2-AE75-4FCC-851C-2DCAE36B9339_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5074" data-original-width="8019" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_L9z04xS3m_P6GYVFVb3ceeUj9TqjZNYaeYOe3paYrvMFCk2hN8HzH7POcqfXCZjOmr68wZqbmKhZx2JOIQp6MYmMBcaTav431n6kXE2gpyFLBY7YtX9FVtJTjprEaPaq3mHFZIc2BbKOmSHcLf_HUsRscRNW_DmT91_mXgXkRR455GzpuIfqF1i/w640-h404/062125F2-AE75-4FCC-851C-2DCAE36B9339_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHUXgGKfyk8XPquzC96-Lb87o5aLUGVerDdna0zVCSOJigq42TnibQ4KPrlk3R-HWfcWm-qCqzYg_kCrd_6LinWu-3p1RBosKb2dFlZArNtNn4j88uvhLtbEjn2a4FrrKlTY2xCFcpB2CU4H9vJhI4Y7LcXrDZDqVJtgeCWHuHYwM3YqrXbhwYWUc/s4000/A734C774-C49A-4715-8313-BCD56DB19A9F.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHUXgGKfyk8XPquzC96-Lb87o5aLUGVerDdna0zVCSOJigq42TnibQ4KPrlk3R-HWfcWm-qCqzYg_kCrd_6LinWu-3p1RBosKb2dFlZArNtNn4j88uvhLtbEjn2a4FrrKlTY2xCFcpB2CU4H9vJhI4Y7LcXrDZDqVJtgeCWHuHYwM3YqrXbhwYWUc/s320/A734C774-C49A-4715-8313-BCD56DB19A9F.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXALM1Vz9ju9hZYhwaCpxE-2TPhe8He9ukNJFyyBB-Z7QsEgs9jsgSeRedPbRwicIoFJMakw2cLHXJlLgg4L8DevDS0qYT0vdCMGInpzGT3AKuelSc_sujQpEjBkD3MEXEF4QyePPhxe7ZmwFgeJSgkdGkiM7apOLDxcJenSN3Cek2tNtbueiTJSdt/s4000/2EC5EA6F-4524-40B9-9E3A-28E297751DA4_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXALM1Vz9ju9hZYhwaCpxE-2TPhe8He9ukNJFyyBB-Z7QsEgs9jsgSeRedPbRwicIoFJMakw2cLHXJlLgg4L8DevDS0qYT0vdCMGInpzGT3AKuelSc_sujQpEjBkD3MEXEF4QyePPhxe7ZmwFgeJSgkdGkiM7apOLDxcJenSN3Cek2tNtbueiTJSdt/w640-h360/2EC5EA6F-4524-40B9-9E3A-28E297751DA4_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span><div style="font-size: xx-large; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Having gained the calories needed to get back home we motored on to fair Visan, <i>(see above likeness)</i> 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.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And St Maurice Coop <i>was</i> open and <i>did</i> supply the modest wine we sought (we bought both bib & bidon) but we decided against pizzas from their vending machine <i>FGS!</i> I am all for convenience but this would have been the last straw.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAK2zV7szTfMjfLUbukm4NZGlWBKO-QneJeXvldWHd-UYaJfXxRsHoOxdWCLKeot4U-zwqUCSmttM7_-yevAdsF-ZAPqSn52sGNus9Lg7B7YnXBMhmWMA_0YzjxmFPoPcKML4jsj9wzn6-5U3OGyuKkeAJaKexawA62GOLLFXZ-WAXidInaMDujQHY/s7087/423A6092-5250-45E6-842F-A85B3E7C461D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2900" data-original-width="7087" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAK2zV7szTfMjfLUbukm4NZGlWBKO-QneJeXvldWHd-UYaJfXxRsHoOxdWCLKeot4U-zwqUCSmttM7_-yevAdsF-ZAPqSn52sGNus9Lg7B7YnXBMhmWMA_0YzjxmFPoPcKML4jsj9wzn6-5U3OGyuKkeAJaKexawA62GOLLFXZ-WAXidInaMDujQHY/w640-h260/423A6092-5250-45E6-842F-A85B3E7C461D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-68850673196615647042023-04-02T11:29:00.001-07:002023-04-25T06:47:46.300-07:00travellers drop by<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElkxpCKmj58n5JstM6fqyu0cy73BFplqRe8QgNqexsgIPilZEAxd2F-cpTnfXxjbBB-MeM6PbjRaMcePyWWuHSDRO5Li52REyC92pySnpAqqoYGBNTH18rciu-O423cw0J3xyk-j2SRcm1q9h4eAWDnxQhA9Xa8h6pmjMeh5WJxSit8QWNXo7jrGi/s4000/31E074FE-733C-4BD9-857B-2F75BEB7D17E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElkxpCKmj58n5JstM6fqyu0cy73BFplqRe8QgNqexsgIPilZEAxd2F-cpTnfXxjbBB-MeM6PbjRaMcePyWWuHSDRO5Li52REyC92pySnpAqqoYGBNTH18rciu-O423cw0J3xyk-j2SRcm1q9h4eAWDnxQhA9Xa8h6pmjMeh5WJxSit8QWNXo7jrGi/s320/31E074FE-733C-4BD9-857B-2F75BEB7D17E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">We've had two visitors drop by</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> this spring: friend Anne blew in shortly after we had signed in at 1Rue FB, en route to Nice, from Nîmes this time I gather, and friend Nicola, who stopped by from Berlin, Amsterdam and Paris, en route to the Vermeer show in Amsterdam via Puglia in southern Italy; I can't explain how or why just now, its complicated. It is the truth though. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was a delight to see N here, a first for her and thus a first for us, obviously. We gave her in the short time she was ensconced ici a hopefully varied taster-menu of what makes things tick here for us: our friends here that were in residence (both here in Sablet and Gigondas) to be presented to, a sampling of a village or two, a hillside or two, a walk here and another there…and some victuals, plat-du-jours, markets and a modicum of rouge. This post just marks her visit, thanks for dropping by, both … see you sometime soon again at 1RueFB as long as the shack remains in our portfolio!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But <i>please</i> (general note to would be visitors not proceeding with independent transport means): come by train or TGV and try to get as close to Sabbers as you can. We've stopped collecting from airports; we'd quite like to give Avignon TGV a miss from hereon as well… There are now connecting services to the TGV to within a few miles of Sablet, like Orange, or better still Monteux, which Anne has tested – they work when not falling victim to strike action, obvs. To which end, both our guests played ball willingly and with enthusiasm. Thanks y'all!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsvkEfSD8-i5z624b63Sn6iz2R_qxepVvfyMZJVOU0VVDoGeIbRwImWKeY6o-CE5mTq5TGtGSdBAenKHEKfFcUImfwxawn7Kl3relL7M8tdL6xBY3ZrVMiKxahiSQVsPEWUtdFOew_FJ8POAS5pL_C8MtASz5a1uthTajcSm0eODtZc2lTw-Kp8Zc/s8019/A7D59ED8-5AB3-45F6-81E5-AF6C95FD71A7_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3471" data-original-width="8019" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsvkEfSD8-i5z624b63Sn6iz2R_qxepVvfyMZJVOU0VVDoGeIbRwImWKeY6o-CE5mTq5TGtGSdBAenKHEKfFcUImfwxawn7Kl3relL7M8tdL6xBY3ZrVMiKxahiSQVsPEWUtdFOew_FJ8POAS5pL_C8MtASz5a1uthTajcSm0eODtZc2lTw-Kp8Zc/w640-h276/A7D59ED8-5AB3-45F6-81E5-AF6C95FD71A7_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-64089268310024071912023-04-01T05:07:00.000-07:002023-04-20T01:13:39.594-07:00snake oil chip in<p></p><div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT0nzy2m3HlN8XnXPliETzXprzG0BcPwFvrzPNpw0pcKWRgLq1ol809c9gjeVnz32hwDmCF4j3FcxG15hNQ5btfv9vnsc2SWqcY6meT4pOUQ8TsDlE1L_qIzsjmE7e-JLZKwj39HkLucuhLCXtc5Ks4efeEvtdtPVVc08tZzOBHOoCSP-6NiaIxaD/s4032/CAC154F6-2330-4C5B-A157-A58B90F7813C.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT0nzy2m3HlN8XnXPliETzXprzG0BcPwFvrzPNpw0pcKWRgLq1ol809c9gjeVnz32hwDmCF4j3FcxG15hNQ5btfv9vnsc2SWqcY6meT4pOUQ8TsDlE1L_qIzsjmE7e-JLZKwj39HkLucuhLCXtc5Ks4efeEvtdtPVVc08tZzOBHOoCSP-6NiaIxaD/s320/CAC154F6-2330-4C5B-A157-A58B90F7813C.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">My plan to transfer the bare bones of my personal day-to-day log into the format of this post has hitherto not kick-started my enthusiasm this far into the spring of ’23. I realise that there may be those, a handful at best, who have been impatiently waiting to get on with their lives, fortified by the anecdotes and observations revealed in the latest<i> Driving on the Right</i> posting. They have looked in vain, up to now that is. And even now, I can’t promise anything startling or even remotely of pivotal interest. I’ve conveyed the excellence of my <a href="https://mmleblog15.blogspot.com" target="_blank">CEO’s regular offerings</a> before: she leaves barely a crumb of intrigue for your author to hang a tale upon, embellish and pontificate around. <br /><br /><b>Hot news right now</b> (at this minute: 10:25, 14 April)) is a delivery of 500 litres of domestic heating oil — the first we’ve bought here in Sabbers since 22 March 2018… but it doesn’t really grab you as a topic does it, even at the eye watering price per litre we are compelled to expend here in France, where TVA (or VAT if you prefer) is still substantially more than back in Blightey. I can’t quote you figures for comparison right now (you'll be relieved to hear) but the PPL ici is almost double that quoted by Boilerjuice (who stay in daily contact to try and get me to fill the Bullsmead tanks). Thank heavens our use of the stuff in the République is frugal. That on-end doughnut thing in the corner of our garage <i>(see illustration herewith)</i> is what we keep our oil in. The chalk marks record the extent of the 500 litres: the tank holds 1500 max. Incidentally, there is a plan in Fr to phase out all domestic oil use in less than ten years time, replacing it with lovely clean electricity. Fat chance most folk opine! <br /><br />OK, the log idea is stillborn. Instead I’ll try and do an odd feature occasioned by this stay, to endeavour to placate those who want my guts for garters for wasting even a few seconds of their precious internet time seeking the low-down, from this source at any rate, concerning <b>Spring in Sablet 2023</b>… Or whatever I can think of to give a title to the nonsense dribbling from the keyboard of your delinquent author. <br /><br />Not that much of note has occured, mind you. Small potatoes generally. I’m afraid we have camera problems, both. We sport the same models which have developed what we fear are terminal malfunctions: Mary’s screen images tremble and skip. My telephoto won’t retract without manual assistance and the images I secure tend to be somewhat OOF (out of focus) right field. I concede that our phones, pads and ipod-touch are doing a better image capturing job this time round, but they lack respectable telephoto capacity (you’ll know all this I expect, and be up to speed with the latest superior three lens smarts, but you know my views about the right tool for the job, contracts, prices of phones etc. so I won’t trundle that one out again here, just now). <br /><br />So it looks as though we might aspire to be in the market for new kit before the year is out, one of us, or both, if finance can be found… a big if with the price of oil (and everything) being what it is…… etc etc. <br /><br />Could we<b> crowd-fund</b> some of this? I believe it's all the rage! I mean, how would <u>you</u> feel about <i>‘chipping in’</i> so that we can get us vital box-brownies replacement aspiration <i>on the agenda ?</i><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Hmm… just as I thought… not even worth a try, was it?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VwFD0mQUYt8dXVMrUSXLmw2C5fEz_rdtB6k7FoJa2RleRFzdA64mQb_qJMAbGa1vu_ZAW3r8Ldfs2bOyGUe_SZKQwF-bi4yFVj5TFJDPgCBURM2GBNuEmIQBYw3w4eaU1nDGopX_JG8_sairu4ZOFwMhWlscEbuA9cfwLiWbpgi_RnSgnYwHlOMJ/s2304/52309AE4-D9CC-4550-A459-B7A624DE2E8C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="2304" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VwFD0mQUYt8dXVMrUSXLmw2C5fEz_rdtB6k7FoJa2RleRFzdA64mQb_qJMAbGa1vu_ZAW3r8Ldfs2bOyGUe_SZKQwF-bi4yFVj5TFJDPgCBURM2GBNuEmIQBYw3w4eaU1nDGopX_JG8_sairu4ZOFwMhWlscEbuA9cfwLiWbpgi_RnSgnYwHlOMJ/w640-h238/52309AE4-D9CC-4550-A459-B7A624DE2E8C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-27989877096431388722023-03-27T11:32:00.027-07:002023-04-04T10:38:27.367-07:00résurgences on vissec<p><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> This post is retrospective: </span><span style="font-size: large;">2010 in fact: not 2023……</span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6PTX6OPoGp6Z6ynlqwQPN5mSZNN6_YxIMl1eJV7lzoDg5UR2g5-QIuBFeaAbX0U-sUZ0srI12rvvChN8hBQursDWA1UseWwcidDdWkBEFk9sPF6m2Jr44W-NamDTGOjO04tuB1bDB2rcmPa2i81NVmU6Stqj8weOl2DGqyXRIBDKTSWwCMz-uVDe/s2138/BF71D9F7-86F8-42BA-97A9-7D9E0C21C0C0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1377" data-original-width="2138" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6PTX6OPoGp6Z6ynlqwQPN5mSZNN6_YxIMl1eJV7lzoDg5UR2g5-QIuBFeaAbX0U-sUZ0srI12rvvChN8hBQursDWA1UseWwcidDdWkBEFk9sPF6m2Jr44W-NamDTGOjO04tuB1bDB2rcmPa2i81NVmU6Stqj8weOl2DGqyXRIBDKTSWwCMz-uVDe/w640-h412/BF71D9F7-86F8-42BA-97A9-7D9E0C21C0C0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItPH1sodUy3DHnz1oPEfiX-1WTyQATIvGgnK8k_2ldhtpdhHC1gPNlB89HJGbSL98RlJo14BYJeeVeRUEuFxlBsQxomhwRz-hrm0OaE2T8a1y5GvGpkwBN_VMu-SGb_7uT8lj7q-swt5o1RWqIYeCppa5sKMBC570WepWo72wGj4akL3z5zFuodMv/s3008/418%20Moulins%20de%20la%20Foux.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItPH1sodUy3DHnz1oPEfiX-1WTyQATIvGgnK8k_2ldhtpdhHC1gPNlB89HJGbSL98RlJo14BYJeeVeRUEuFxlBsQxomhwRz-hrm0OaE2T8a1y5GvGpkwBN_VMu-SGb_7uT8lj7q-swt5o1RWqIYeCppa5sKMBC570WepWo72wGj4akL3z5zFuodMv/s320/418%20Moulins%20de%20la%20Foux.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>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 <i>[left] – </i>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? </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>So that's the name of the village sorted: Vis </span><i>Sec</i><span> (dry) get it? </span></span><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2qXy4MM9p8jMRO2lE8K6fYMSvY4Adt52JeAmc3JoR4uDiVqIecKncrHm0_bdc_Uy8xwR-I0MCllVda1ucajAmfkXcXd-aXdSptWTtSQUwdz0phoMlTL8YcrU7c0aEOw-1XJ-JLyd8zgizfnS9UrTnPRcsey77AYEp0Sufp7JGpLJkN_V25vzZ0nBv/s7788/DFDF2E56-D339-4923-83C9-5DBB824D3BD9_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4952" data-original-width="7788" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2qXy4MM9p8jMRO2lE8K6fYMSvY4Adt52JeAmc3JoR4uDiVqIecKncrHm0_bdc_Uy8xwR-I0MCllVda1ucajAmfkXcXd-aXdSptWTtSQUwdz0phoMlTL8YcrU7c0aEOw-1XJ-JLyd8zgizfnS9UrTnPRcsey77AYEp0Sufp7JGpLJkN_V25vzZ0nBv/w640-h406/DFDF2E56-D339-4923-83C9-5DBB824D3BD9_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div></div></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBtQfG_042MT2pbJG35G0-vXC6hkT-BkdDwqcxhaoQQF2CBGNEuBGpxDpg-ox7Lx1u95rSpbLSJkFevvRhOKCbWxjECYze6tsKOatoUvETSMI_SEFyvhqLq31BUSrKS3qPaxZvraY-piJ8r28qnIP90qGSORBFCBV0Mp_R7bYpo7ofqaW9RwtO2cC/s3008/DSC_2746.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBtQfG_042MT2pbJG35G0-vXC6hkT-BkdDwqcxhaoQQF2CBGNEuBGpxDpg-ox7Lx1u95rSpbLSJkFevvRhOKCbWxjECYze6tsKOatoUvETSMI_SEFyvhqLq31BUSrKS3qPaxZvraY-piJ8r28qnIP90qGSORBFCBV0Mp_R7bYpo7ofqaW9RwtO2cC/s320/DSC_2746.JPG" width="213" /></a></div></span><span style="font-size: large;">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…</span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxV__bP6nreaY2ARgoobddDzfiSafoSnh6ytt5LOU2sWaMIbi8XMNjvNvLESDO_ZSUEYIfPoPeN7jLq-ty1NJ71Svf7VC686WzeUEjxahbzkyWriEuphE5SrEIVvq1ha3ieJ_Tj7rHyE-sZWQcIQqZ39VtmNyJqaCYz8vB6Q_BWjP5Jl1UloqOB6GF/s8167/1C8606D1-3217-43F3-B38E-AB9E5673E9C6_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4114" data-original-width="8167" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxV__bP6nreaY2ARgoobddDzfiSafoSnh6ytt5LOU2sWaMIbi8XMNjvNvLESDO_ZSUEYIfPoPeN7jLq-ty1NJ71Svf7VC686WzeUEjxahbzkyWriEuphE5SrEIVvq1ha3ieJ_Tj7rHyE-sZWQcIQqZ39VtmNyJqaCYz8vB6Q_BWjP5Jl1UloqOB6GF/w640-h322/1C8606D1-3217-43F3-B38E-AB9E5673E9C6_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqAjOmTCKSZGImAWPiVTBz5-tNUaDgAzgNobGAOPCf64uOJnhOAPTKQY4mAJt93Z17xpfOx_tnCu3-HQOWQLow1-1Ucsuk6tSP3v_282nRZdpgCZLPhJSvu9JobuGFtPJixIXFIDmcDquEd-3N5VzKk_4wbMCFXJDQl8nguSnFcFL9RwqNfHDzCjU/s3008/DSC_2826.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqAjOmTCKSZGImAWPiVTBz5-tNUaDgAzgNobGAOPCf64uOJnhOAPTKQY4mAJt93Z17xpfOx_tnCu3-HQOWQLow1-1Ucsuk6tSP3v_282nRZdpgCZLPhJSvu9JobuGFtPJixIXFIDmcDquEd-3N5VzKk_4wbMCFXJDQl8nguSnFcFL9RwqNfHDzCjU/s320/DSC_2826.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>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!</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWoDXrZvYHTzMgpcVuQej4rF9YnfB4MnovwoXqoqWsPRzjPO4rt09EZPcDUkDQVYYqXFzFLh5BY9YnzYd_ZgQKxEXd0gMGywWJtiEzTE9igBF7MmD-LwNsx-4ICIlmTXQ94RQoM9K0vVMVwBEVRXlEjSG2zAt5itXe6HGw6nCun5qvyLjU0KyWMjs/s8167/FA748582-E113-43F8-8200-D4489D965D0C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4583" data-original-width="8167" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWoDXrZvYHTzMgpcVuQej4rF9YnfB4MnovwoXqoqWsPRzjPO4rt09EZPcDUkDQVYYqXFzFLh5BY9YnzYd_ZgQKxEXd0gMGywWJtiEzTE9igBF7MmD-LwNsx-4ICIlmTXQ94RQoM9K0vVMVwBEVRXlEjSG2zAt5itXe6HGw6nCun5qvyLjU0KyWMjs/w640-h360/FA748582-E113-43F8-8200-D4489D965D0C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNikerDpUFolN8XQnUN8QlxRjmLZOi84PRSa8TOvRvol2jTkLeKGKFfUKcAEI98A3iMNMxlHzfhJbfUUW1pvwMa2mGz0hSYDhBN8hH8Fnu28-Z4LbXFCG3jlDGF_xaQzq4-PiS1aV1lpaILDoewZh1bLmnNVwBdIhwMiOY1ZAwoR7y8qbWU_PfyJxL/s3008/429%20original%20resurgance%20cave.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNikerDpUFolN8XQnUN8QlxRjmLZOi84PRSa8TOvRvol2jTkLeKGKFfUKcAEI98A3iMNMxlHzfhJbfUUW1pvwMa2mGz0hSYDhBN8hH8Fnu28-Z4LbXFCG3jlDGF_xaQzq4-PiS1aV1lpaILDoewZh1bLmnNVwBdIhwMiOY1ZAwoR7y8qbWU_PfyJxL/s320/429%20original%20resurgance%20cave.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>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.</span></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPDIuys6UuR1hvd1LDfF2MQnyFMTLZ0HL6yPQPl388sFWVy2r45nzams_6K7_JjgZIsXfA6f9tF54j0opyvN1XgOOnrkUxWq43ltvUxUvBwtqmYp5ADb493DMhnSqAK3t6vTBxFqRLTP-XukM9MMhXm0cyD6_6xiJzqzga9SzpVLlcTeOZA-eAmco/s3008/DSC_2964.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3008" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPDIuys6UuR1hvd1LDfF2MQnyFMTLZ0HL6yPQPl388sFWVy2r45nzams_6K7_JjgZIsXfA6f9tF54j0opyvN1XgOOnrkUxWq43ltvUxUvBwtqmYp5ADb493DMhnSqAK3t6vTBxFqRLTP-XukM9MMhXm0cyD6_6xiJzqzga9SzpVLlcTeOZA-eAmco/s320/DSC_2964.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>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. </span><span style="font-size: large;">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). </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-T-P-0C6Ud0XbMWtPFkmIq7tXpgOHlqTMd4NbU8xRjmu2DLrBnskx1A-0YnMhIFnlO3AKj2AQGxy2Pz3In6bGm4QDzIfHYPU_Ieh8RGH4L63YsTUT8zdhGMIq4JRY9Rvr5V0sJSlY6zBRp2jhwZwS_Q-8IvOZAUQ2QDDC0MmVOyHHsGF-x0dthU82/s2039/443%20purple%20admiral.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1278" data-original-width="2039" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-T-P-0C6Ud0XbMWtPFkmIq7tXpgOHlqTMd4NbU8xRjmu2DLrBnskx1A-0YnMhIFnlO3AKj2AQGxy2Pz3In6bGm4QDzIfHYPU_Ieh8RGH4L63YsTUT8zdhGMIq4JRY9Rvr5V0sJSlY6zBRp2jhwZwS_Q-8IvOZAUQ2QDDC0MmVOyHHsGF-x0dthU82/s320/443%20purple%20admiral.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We returned to Vissec by the amenity of the botanique sentier: we had it to ourselves. That's a purple emperor butterfly<i> (right). </i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>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, </span><i>changeable</i><span>… we managed another walk over the high hill tops south of Vissec, also with long views over limestone uplands… that was something else…</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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?<br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5XWEUlaPoq_kD4Vpck1QqGweDohICuRuSmJJzy9YXUf6e-wDqsrm2T5neERPY2owFC7464g8uTZNJxRz2OA2zYMGudgNzgfW0rEIXaYVjKeVUYzfe4DVVf8wGmPNxary8Wm7Ax6TgEGVnC3Mke09mLtyP9m0q4b6UyZwb_BKIzr89aGwYVD_GvBK/s3008/107%20limes%20in%20Vissec%20.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3008" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5XWEUlaPoq_kD4Vpck1QqGweDohICuRuSmJJzy9YXUf6e-wDqsrm2T5neERPY2owFC7464g8uTZNJxRz2OA2zYMGudgNzgfW0rEIXaYVjKeVUYzfe4DVVf8wGmPNxary8Wm7Ax6TgEGVnC3Mke09mLtyP9m0q4b6UyZwb_BKIzr89aGwYVD_GvBK/w640-h426/107%20limes%20in%20Vissec%20.JPG" width="640" /></a></div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ES9M1_N-Q569LpwQRVIKPQCYXm9uScfSFexJTZX9CpBZC7s1pJ59OrTJjwusyycmkOf_dXswtOGIzGv7Q4HpxwppuN-3WJ_cv0gdzbgHQYQwzUdpLoT9IWfSQleSKU4jGqzfgVmvvRfAqfnrwyJL8Qr_eIIL84eBo1Zrh7P-ijznys4ANr5arJi2/s3005/408%20Honeysuckle.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="3005" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ES9M1_N-Q569LpwQRVIKPQCYXm9uScfSFexJTZX9CpBZC7s1pJ59OrTJjwusyycmkOf_dXswtOGIzGv7Q4HpxwppuN-3WJ_cv0gdzbgHQYQwzUdpLoT9IWfSQleSKU4jGqzfgVmvvRfAqfnrwyJL8Qr_eIIL84eBo1Zrh7P-ijznys4ANr5arJi2/w640-h252/408%20Honeysuckle.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtD2eW66ds2O-I2n27evYbwfsZFMGx9BMVjmfBEipdJsAWdnHnzSMF4jpBgnXiy3sjsCaIHkaxN7iPs1hzpzuSMcZ22NwxEPuXu_isUsngDDj_0FQZEz7sAuqIJcE2sM-OMac44byhXAYkJf7bljs1a27D0k7nOZ4_RPyRiF-5Czzuc-mxQnNnZ4E/s3008/114%20cherries%20in%20Vissec.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3008" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtD2eW66ds2O-I2n27evYbwfsZFMGx9BMVjmfBEipdJsAWdnHnzSMF4jpBgnXiy3sjsCaIHkaxN7iPs1hzpzuSMcZ22NwxEPuXu_isUsngDDj_0FQZEz7sAuqIJcE2sM-OMac44byhXAYkJf7bljs1a27D0k7nOZ4_RPyRiF-5Czzuc-mxQnNnZ4E/w640-h426/114%20cherries%20in%20Vissec.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-77054965895282913012023-03-16T05:15:00.062-07:002023-03-27T12:57:09.334-07:00spring 23 millau to sablet via the vis<div><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBhtb8t5gJ2-hVQsyEosEUxIBriGBsumM37EAlExBNLmhYOcrXQhsE3YLEl6FYuRjLDVGRPXMFbODpMOkQ5a1fuVoFeB-7M-vEK12zQn16yB8gU9GyxC9_hUrzBRDDqEmRke1XEWwC2RqzPQkZr8lFZQ2a1LXFnRvelwU-wSW9HwMLlmP3uBJSQlk/s2088/938E2D11-E563-4369-A352-2C418CCF6333_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: right; display: inline; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2088" data-original-width="1131" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBhtb8t5gJ2-hVQsyEosEUxIBriGBsumM37EAlExBNLmhYOcrXQhsE3YLEl6FYuRjLDVGRPXMFbODpMOkQ5a1fuVoFeB-7M-vEK12zQn16yB8gU9GyxC9_hUrzBRDDqEmRke1XEWwC2RqzPQkZr8lFZQ2a1LXFnRvelwU-wSW9HwMLlmP3uBJSQlk/w216-h400/938E2D11-E563-4369-A352-2C418CCF6333_1_201_a.jpeg" width="216" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thursday 16: </b>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. </span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzu359TH1k3zIoxP93_g3YZQpHIaKV87YWWJhufNiezprgf_Jj3q7Bpo2y4cbtWszxPFQtUBHriZxTHzDbFyX800lKPXXdhojgppHpHFliJIXSp6wrAlqaAVHIkq3kweZl2s6JDo78yn_9RVkvzA_jaNOf-BYRdSK6SFYUrHElVoiTUEJzJQjJLOb7/s4000/P1120212.JPG" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzu359TH1k3zIoxP93_g3YZQpHIaKV87YWWJhufNiezprgf_Jj3q7Bpo2y4cbtWszxPFQtUBHriZxTHzDbFyX800lKPXXdhojgppHpHFliJIXSp6wrAlqaAVHIkq3kweZl2s6JDo78yn_9RVkvzA_jaNOf-BYRdSK6SFYUrHElVoiTUEJzJQjJLOb7/w400-h225/P1120212.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> </span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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?<br /><br /></span></div><div><div style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93kuTXZP0vc5P4rarEhKwSLOk06m61a50YnyTJKumuTNoCjmvfCnsdL1N07R7nrdBekFkQrAXJsuE7J4yZ0djRRE1-fqmYp9WNIdc4R25jF-apUmZGcG0cYrf6G99y-mU0y5EnpIWZME9s24hqlcpMi4SKC5j6bnPTUggOTC5ZObHsDjUSOlG-oEl/s7176/DC5FD517-C258-418C-AC89-F945B9035D7E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2738" data-original-width="7176" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93kuTXZP0vc5P4rarEhKwSLOk06m61a50YnyTJKumuTNoCjmvfCnsdL1N07R7nrdBekFkQrAXJsuE7J4yZ0djRRE1-fqmYp9WNIdc4R25jF-apUmZGcG0cYrf6G99y-mU0y5EnpIWZME9s24hqlcpMi4SKC5j6bnPTUggOTC5ZObHsDjUSOlG-oEl/w640-h244/DC5FD517-C258-418C-AC89-F945B9035D7E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_ORQ8Tfr2xcGWa48AZw51I9Po4kGq-8ddqqi0-1Aexiy1jZ2ZxTgJbdfKuPKmRrzgJhJauGNvBe56zGQXbzeMnSLw9q6VnQz2FqiwlpvGVgKhYqDqlr_cFVGjCkLCxKXzVwCt1IngeZFY5CxtuKaJFxosfcpoDvcIUPJKfWhML822FUjASC4nN2F/s5209/5E826DC4-08A9-4D6D-81DC-101C920832CA_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2766" data-original-width="5209" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_ORQ8Tfr2xcGWa48AZw51I9Po4kGq-8ddqqi0-1Aexiy1jZ2ZxTgJbdfKuPKmRrzgJhJauGNvBe56zGQXbzeMnSLw9q6VnQz2FqiwlpvGVgKhYqDqlr_cFVGjCkLCxKXzVwCt1IngeZFY5CxtuKaJFxosfcpoDvcIUPJKfWhML822FUjASC4nN2F/w640-h340/5E826DC4-08A9-4D6D-81DC-101C920832CA_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Once more we pause at Vissec, the location of one of our last and best family stopovers, in <a href="http://ajsontherightside.blogspot.com" target="_blank">2010</a> 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, <i>Right</i>. So what do I use if I want to make a telephone call? A toaster perhaps? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Vissec! Ah yes! Nightingale City! Today just a few sand martins are to be glimpsed . . . <br /><br />Anyway, <i>anyway</i>, 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 <a href="http://ajsontherightside.blogspot.com/2022/09/for-record.html" target="_blank">course you will…</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcCftNInbp4_Yh6gr2LecZIMNa89aevmyvuq-ISu-wWWlIUq28O2xjyMjw8XTTnSw86Vu1wfHT3aO6TYHawHLMFasX8j2TXxlQ8j5BrI9L8JCF8qGx0SbKb9OMf2p6N5JNfTB7CLAgomCRRG5FAYtWBLrOZhXyLVcdyXvTtmkjxOrHKzn5JdgDkom/s7370/6F562FD1-FCE2-4C61-9610-FDD645D67B7D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5068" data-original-width="7370" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcCftNInbp4_Yh6gr2LecZIMNa89aevmyvuq-ISu-wWWlIUq28O2xjyMjw8XTTnSw86Vu1wfHT3aO6TYHawHLMFasX8j2TXxlQ8j5BrI9L8JCF8qGx0SbKb9OMf2p6N5JNfTB7CLAgomCRRG5FAYtWBLrOZhXyLVcdyXvTtmkjxOrHKzn5JdgDkom/w640-h440/6F562FD1-FCE2-4C61-9610-FDD645D67B7D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">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.<br /><br />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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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. <br /><br />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 <i>>sob<</i> ? Hem hem. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8qIhNwE00W_14Grksv_sxxAaW1lhz2XdLTOkdmB1H4nFsVm_Av1R46GIxnDw4dRgO4mCFESqndptcufPm2jFGcOancNs1wEe4tK9RNvV0sbxPYBOD0suTjZRIgUS8dz43ahluZzFWSTBXNTThEHBC9BYYRUKNBf3EFYlG4DVhrrArWuOe5CkgPvc/s7425/5E035FFC-FFE3-42E3-9695-695F57388FDD_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4870" data-original-width="7425" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS8qIhNwE00W_14Grksv_sxxAaW1lhz2XdLTOkdmB1H4nFsVm_Av1R46GIxnDw4dRgO4mCFESqndptcufPm2jFGcOancNs1wEe4tK9RNvV0sbxPYBOD0suTjZRIgUS8dz43ahluZzFWSTBXNTThEHBC9BYYRUKNBf3EFYlG4DVhrrArWuOe5CkgPvc/w640-h420/5E035FFC-FFE3-42E3-9695-695F57388FDD_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">To conclude. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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<i> Six Nations</i> 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. <i>Blue air! </i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">News of Sablet associates is that the Danes <i>(q.v.)</i> 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…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />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! </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Have a nice day. We have: it was our turn!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmWPlkWVAVSl9_9zYFnFiieLPgAgtUT7mGh-EoqJyQACxAWAeyrKdB54tq1LlOV0a4RLVe-zO1yk5FeTVsECKsFNl2AF4eyFe0rCGbcKsr4LhblEtwJwQ07obOHbsisDFHPf-8k4LJ3O6-pSVp0beGKa8fyQ0CoQOaTO6TfkddrUDC9oIocPOgSTF/s4000/3C2837B0-2DA8-4A13-95DD-5F670DCA76E6_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmWPlkWVAVSl9_9zYFnFiieLPgAgtUT7mGh-EoqJyQACxAWAeyrKdB54tq1LlOV0a4RLVe-zO1yk5FeTVsECKsFNl2AF4eyFe0rCGbcKsr4LhblEtwJwQ07obOHbsisDFHPf-8k4LJ3O6-pSVp0beGKa8fyQ0CoQOaTO6TfkddrUDC9oIocPOgSTF/w640-h480/3C2837B0-2DA8-4A13-95DD-5F670DCA76E6_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-67892754529213179642023-03-15T05:10:00.003-07:002023-03-26T04:47:56.135-07:00spring 23 périgueux to millau<p><br /></p><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmU6NprHY6DIilLlv-AePBMFelsPuCgHerQasWUQ1fZc2SlOD4wHvYsb0FOwUF8BCCyk6ol4YpErdc63HF1_bG6ypfNzAl3t4KWBc2vbBl7U0T7A2l-ZjDWkbIDj4i4PTyfF8X6RUhhvCiPXCGxrQhwoppO4dVDItp5rpDMmTRg_DMMQrmvvUvhVK/s3476/65FEB8C8-1F43-4566-8EBA-CF6CA59F4ED7_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3476" data-original-width="1896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmU6NprHY6DIilLlv-AePBMFelsPuCgHerQasWUQ1fZc2SlOD4wHvYsb0FOwUF8BCCyk6ol4YpErdc63HF1_bG6ypfNzAl3t4KWBc2vbBl7U0T7A2l-ZjDWkbIDj4i4PTyfF8X6RUhhvCiPXCGxrQhwoppO4dVDItp5rpDMmTRg_DMMQrmvvUvhVK/w175-h320/65FEB8C8-1F43-4566-8EBA-CF6CA59F4ED7_1_201_a.jpeg" width="175" /></a></div><div><b>Wednesday 15: </b> 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>hell</i> I will…</div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpVFlTlEj9WEjQ6ZrzNEHmHEKAwzsoPFf6VBUShamaZt4nmBmifupVI5WZV01FEbDbJmHyBKjreCXUXYeha5MXs3w8V5oTvOcLLn8C9rfN3plG44jvzvaIP8DCMLdD2WvFdfQ5-duNRZRKSu7GVUr0U3STf7Q5vKlBPegnXiS3e5oWlC1oPD9GyZc/s4000/E7E81B87-ECCB-4846-8485-21CF77DDC630.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpVFlTlEj9WEjQ6ZrzNEHmHEKAwzsoPFf6VBUShamaZt4nmBmifupVI5WZV01FEbDbJmHyBKjreCXUXYeha5MXs3w8V5oTvOcLLn8C9rfN3plG44jvzvaIP8DCMLdD2WvFdfQ5-duNRZRKSu7GVUr0U3STf7Q5vKlBPegnXiS3e5oWlC1oPD9GyZc/w640-h360/E7E81B87-ECCB-4846-8485-21CF77DDC630.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After Le Buge the weather perks up. The roads quieten further and the motor fair hums along. <i>France Musique</i> 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. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoYHQaaI6bBu4V1pEOwjQzHvoyYQMOxYK50p6RH-MfgLHNbc5WWE-OxAMr5YoYfnHWrO_CdryoGCh_SsxHe4dcp1JvvzzTrCxvhyc_C3_-FZA-ZzEz5vTO8SSG-Ix2KX_peI0nacB7AlPHDDjR-ShoiEh0YZdkZhfyIUoICIaruOEF-5K3bkDjhqB/s4000/1AB01988-E3A5-4B0F-A7BA-11653CC74A1B.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoYHQaaI6bBu4V1pEOwjQzHvoyYQMOxYK50p6RH-MfgLHNbc5WWE-OxAMr5YoYfnHWrO_CdryoGCh_SsxHe4dcp1JvvzzTrCxvhyc_C3_-FZA-ZzEz5vTO8SSG-Ix2KX_peI0nacB7AlPHDDjR-ShoiEh0YZdkZhfyIUoICIaruOEF-5K3bkDjhqB/w640-h360/1AB01988-E3A5-4B0F-A7BA-11653CC74A1B.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>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, <i>and</i> a quick shufty in the adjacent church, which is open on this occasion. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCr-n9CKmu59oEWQR9554mgSHrIuMiNWNPeRdLjGttjTaiTiQeC0hUEfPZUXIFH_0sHOXqleBppY-AxQ1ul6qkatF93sKv41cLRoXjRrpPQJZ2IVxZVMFd1i2ZH1l5lSbJy36jxXbKqsnaIasQm-vSgyQs4BLKQmn1vK35UrMMvskgbwj1l0Zgg40/s4000/4A333C7D-DCD4-45A5-8E44-4A1BF09A7BD3.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCr-n9CKmu59oEWQR9554mgSHrIuMiNWNPeRdLjGttjTaiTiQeC0hUEfPZUXIFH_0sHOXqleBppY-AxQ1ul6qkatF93sKv41cLRoXjRrpPQJZ2IVxZVMFd1i2ZH1l5lSbJy36jxXbKqsnaIasQm-vSgyQs4BLKQmn1vK35UrMMvskgbwj1l0Zgg40/s320/4A333C7D-DCD4-45A5-8E44-4A1BF09A7BD3.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div> </div><div>I assume the altar to be under the influence</div><div>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!) …</div><div><br /></div><div>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! </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpOxoMhY4xpCNjrCmCH7Vsld7pnpCfqfKO7HZjSHNOdL_wPib5X2ziuLTKp8xRJTcgmic_YFnfaxfRbY__j7cR6kvedvcleaXVmpNDA7-rjcZHfK3hiYiMp4M44b6Y-UKlabrsnogz8T9A5iNZk5TWcjlkViDPM1y556Ql9qO-6KP_DD3cxrzx242/s2752/725FA2FE-1722-4DBD-9F1A-E4D0A562A40A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="2752" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpOxoMhY4xpCNjrCmCH7Vsld7pnpCfqfKO7HZjSHNOdL_wPib5X2ziuLTKp8xRJTcgmic_YFnfaxfRbY__j7cR6kvedvcleaXVmpNDA7-rjcZHfK3hiYiMp4M44b6Y-UKlabrsnogz8T9A5iNZk5TWcjlkViDPM1y556Ql9qO-6KP_DD3cxrzx242/w640-h198/725FA2FE-1722-4DBD-9F1A-E4D0A562A40A_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>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 <i>(see below)</i> to rub in the salt for those of my public who read this under glowering skies, rain, snow and general inclemencies……</div><div><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMYKbHnAsD_p0fspKEFPveNmXNn6OYLFV5jW-SM3HQsVGtS9ddi0MKtXR54PY6nbuFH6rjoqCBrZDM5fRVaX3EJ2kBuAKyn-RA5NdWvhQgkEE_-pRD-DKSyQKREuYkz3Nid805DEqwyowft1QiGe1V-KvuMB0I3gEGWQTX8FESIObDoHE2nAng5cMc/s2656/47081EB7-E97D-470F-9B69-41FE3F924D75_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="2656" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMYKbHnAsD_p0fspKEFPveNmXNn6OYLFV5jW-SM3HQsVGtS9ddi0MKtXR54PY6nbuFH6rjoqCBrZDM5fRVaX3EJ2kBuAKyn-RA5NdWvhQgkEE_-pRD-DKSyQKREuYkz3Nid805DEqwyowft1QiGe1V-KvuMB0I3gEGWQTX8FESIObDoHE2nAng5cMc/w640-h206/47081EB7-E97D-470F-9B69-41FE3F924D75_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>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. </div><div><br />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. </div></div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaYVSIBYEMrkr-hIXl8GuSyml8bH3goQJ3CUDruKzeyk5FjkRlqQe6j4yiRN4i4RsBAF5_XhfXbYbLQpLQU8TnKurqoIKgqUx6XNyOJO4MuM7ErqICjkm8-7WMSyrQd1rXwc4oKI1bR2KhH22xw0BfSMTat9WshNSBz4QcNjQWdzmfug-qwS8l6vZ/s4000/0D77EB00-DC60-4FCF-A02A-B6B25D701DBD_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaYVSIBYEMrkr-hIXl8GuSyml8bH3goQJ3CUDruKzeyk5FjkRlqQe6j4yiRN4i4RsBAF5_XhfXbYbLQpLQU8TnKurqoIKgqUx6XNyOJO4MuM7ErqICjkm8-7WMSyrQd1rXwc4oKI1bR2KhH22xw0BfSMTat9WshNSBz4QcNjQWdzmfug-qwS8l6vZ/s320/0D77EB00-DC60-4FCF-A02A-B6B25D701DBD_1_201_a.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>*OK– this is it: </i>skip this unless you have your Michelin by your side…</span></div><span style="font-size: large;">Coming into Millau from the north-west, on the <i>yellow</i> 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 <i>‘Corniche du Causse Noir'</i>. We turn right onto your D110 (we visit honey-pot <i>Cité de Pierres Montpellier-le-Vieux</i> 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.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Well, a good seven out of ten! So, <i>not bad</i>. 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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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.<i> </i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">So far, seen no snow roadside or on distant slopes.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqLz9Ka-c37xVXl-BbuLI0c_yBwJsTHU4-gFEO0Qg-OyRHOOf2e1VeLyt7ug2Um--WNDyP_jGdDOlGonIEw_RbCL5QTAPgOpb_sKNrQ9_TZnBdaJQA5ltU406-SLq2DXKtw6_RIADvCMfWWJrbfJOr7m2h0WyxkwpQmma5AU3qDJKX-9vIyxM2FLT/s4000/5D52C21F-4A03-4CB6-A241-B09E7951C1F4_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzqLz9Ka-c37xVXl-BbuLI0c_yBwJsTHU4-gFEO0Qg-OyRHOOf2e1VeLyt7ug2Um--WNDyP_jGdDOlGonIEw_RbCL5QTAPgOpb_sKNrQ9_TZnBdaJQA5ltU406-SLq2DXKtw6_RIADvCMfWWJrbfJOr7m2h0WyxkwpQmma5AU3qDJKX-9vIyxM2FLT/w640-h360/5D52C21F-4A03-4CB6-A241-B09E7951C1F4_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-34571196248708572442023-03-14T05:05:00.004-07:002023-03-26T04:39:14.197-07:00spring 23 amboise to périgueux<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73Ucy2OcVODMg0BtnuPAVUYuSLSuDIESniAYZxJgU1zsIHoKF_TH6YkECcKysV3obfsYrMPgTa93Gt13nTB3sspAPdCq549EAgAAIIkz-wuqJP4qffsDMCeBzyiitfgB8tMRYcyUwTsqg5hmeW8rDJN-O7A8FdBy36VP_0FX9AvJTtJWjrGXgJ_JU/s3487/6B9239FC-0AA3-4B97-81A5-CBFA966FCE62_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3487" data-original-width="1915" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73Ucy2OcVODMg0BtnuPAVUYuSLSuDIESniAYZxJgU1zsIHoKF_TH6YkECcKysV3obfsYrMPgTa93Gt13nTB3sspAPdCq549EAgAAIIkz-wuqJP4qffsDMCeBzyiitfgB8tMRYcyUwTsqg5hmeW8rDJN-O7A8FdBy36VP_0FX9AvJTtJWjrGXgJ_JU/s320/6B9239FC-0AA3-4B97-81A5-CBFA966FCE62_1_201_a.jpeg" width="176" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tuesday 14:</b> 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 … <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1IwgtDCb3AlVVnQG2zZ3AMY35hc1V1ccUotukFDFBZVyEFDeL3clGVl9D_z0CZqvPtAXZLe7jktXYRTcKZGwk_dI-8wKg9t7FyL6Qfx8bao6ccgP1_oATed3D4vLPXvzxmRd67I45cVucL33ng_g4gmGgjfSYZS388hCQnyxR43WxcYp7Aw2oHM_/s4000/277C3235-4ABA-47FA-AC11-32C23B62D460.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1IwgtDCb3AlVVnQG2zZ3AMY35hc1V1ccUotukFDFBZVyEFDeL3clGVl9D_z0CZqvPtAXZLe7jktXYRTcKZGwk_dI-8wKg9t7FyL6Qfx8bao6ccgP1_oATed3D4vLPXvzxmRd67I45cVucL33ng_g4gmGgjfSYZS388hCQnyxR43WxcYp7Aw2oHM_/w640-h360/277C3235-4ABA-47FA-AC11-32C23B62D460.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GrZWPzy65_hCu8_pDSMg8U1n07n3EVHHYTaj_dokjyLtJ-qAHbLzk0woEBjGzUjFi5dbBLj79Zp0TokUZO9yHqBoHjSap-yWZW-gFwwurk0gLrNcBjLkCTMTWEGNkpkoeHNmO5FanmSl6XbnFf70PZW0hAe7QgipGV1lBU8XRurkBofZtNDoXC20/s4000/BAB05FF0-2A5A-4CEC-917A-E24D1DC6ADDD.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GrZWPzy65_hCu8_pDSMg8U1n07n3EVHHYTaj_dokjyLtJ-qAHbLzk0woEBjGzUjFi5dbBLj79Zp0TokUZO9yHqBoHjSap-yWZW-gFwwurk0gLrNcBjLkCTMTWEGNkpkoeHNmO5FanmSl6XbnFf70PZW0hAe7QgipGV1lBU8XRurkBofZtNDoXC20/s320/BAB05FF0-2A5A-4CEC-917A-E24D1DC6ADDD.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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…</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloHddMJ-fPvLsUzfWOHOiD3KbYuKo1eO9fEvLdYj_V7qMD6FHkdIeBS7M1xzsDpOWUXZgzUaDh_8bUuL5aW3C2uQKYSf2JhuI2WycHXJ3esNaeAE7kF2dvuhhB0THHu_pgGSXIARfkbB-cb7fZPDCwJJrDnjKpOW6pR7oKVhOic-sB1EfIvd14Q6k/s4000/C0B67A29-DC62-42DD-99A4-4A4815891D12.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloHddMJ-fPvLsUzfWOHOiD3KbYuKo1eO9fEvLdYj_V7qMD6FHkdIeBS7M1xzsDpOWUXZgzUaDh_8bUuL5aW3C2uQKYSf2JhuI2WycHXJ3esNaeAE7kF2dvuhhB0THHu_pgGSXIARfkbB-cb7fZPDCwJJrDnjKpOW6pR7oKVhOic-sB1EfIvd14Q6k/s320/C0B67A29-DC62-42DD-99A4-4A4815891D12.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdaysBYlq4qRjMkF7zZlT_xajBQpRkHB4jocFt0fzHDx6DfIobYxBN20_dNcvYv5IGBids5r8SIuoPmpYcr6FeMwLDyWbqFQmTe1Rve76WCSuKZWH9KIfPI_W3wwZnBYLbgkCjgQZJHQur9mvvxx3wW8qn65ntrMULDCAo_5f5A_5ATRufRd6Lk2j/s3937/DBF1D898-9E35-42FF-A96C-6D61AD0F2C44_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3937" data-original-width="2212" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdaysBYlq4qRjMkF7zZlT_xajBQpRkHB4jocFt0fzHDx6DfIobYxBN20_dNcvYv5IGBids5r8SIuoPmpYcr6FeMwLDyWbqFQmTe1Rve76WCSuKZWH9KIfPI_W3wwZnBYLbgkCjgQZJHQur9mvvxx3wW8qn65ntrMULDCAo_5f5A_5ATRufRd6Lk2j/w360-h640/DBF1D898-9E35-42FF-A96C-6D61AD0F2C44_1_201_a.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;">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. </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">…… <i>later</i>… 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. </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">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…</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7X-UX6meWTavkmG_lH01wYqnOTRc6ZxlKnSD9UamHN9x7ZCd0B-6gbfL1Hs3q1w1rqSgcXYY1aFK1fAAwbQ7Nz9miSy44d7Ti1eGm4i6Oj9WEwbulv4SkkSss6dJ7EtPLwCFzbpyHgVOqpmP5dJWD1a_8ZaGMlcapJfnaK79hjUtQE4CNW2XvnXB/s4000/574A82CA-A6B1-4A1E-BE85-0C76752C471F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7X-UX6meWTavkmG_lH01wYqnOTRc6ZxlKnSD9UamHN9x7ZCd0B-6gbfL1Hs3q1w1rqSgcXYY1aFK1fAAwbQ7Nz9miSy44d7Ti1eGm4i6Oj9WEwbulv4SkkSss6dJ7EtPLwCFzbpyHgVOqpmP5dJWD1a_8ZaGMlcapJfnaK79hjUtQE4CNW2XvnXB/w480-h640/574A82CA-A6B1-4A1E-BE85-0C76752C471F.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-45508978017901449532023-03-13T04:51:00.049-07:002023-03-28T00:51:35.489-07:00spring 23 depart to amboise<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>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:</i></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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…).</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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… </span><p></p></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sunday 12 March Cheldon depart.</b> 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 <i>Armorique</i>. A full ship. Quarters up on the top (deck 9) so the choppy crossing was a bit more pronounced.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFQO5aQP7zX80ApQ7z1p2OV2RhsRuNyZOJQokvekgfwThgW7OV24RCS7nAzHaORuDcBCiTJ4w5IT9jeiiPBwyD0_IQR5zy-7wUgWhmhUBFFiatZoXofR0lQVMdWN8AquBXtf3VSWJmZYgi-exaxAjhnIoji0JGeRfeTG0lbPvWhv7ftDWr8WqerRy/s7425/02D94D7F-8625-40B6-8254-726855149F1B_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3514" data-original-width="7425" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFQO5aQP7zX80ApQ7z1p2OV2RhsRuNyZOJQokvekgfwThgW7OV24RCS7nAzHaORuDcBCiTJ4w5IT9jeiiPBwyD0_IQR5zy-7wUgWhmhUBFFiatZoXofR0lQVMdWN8AquBXtf3VSWJmZYgi-exaxAjhnIoji0JGeRfeTG0lbPvWhv7ftDWr8WqerRy/w640-h302/02D94D7F-8625-40B6-8254-726855149F1B_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy_pHz8MvuIrI6nV-giSWcuOnIOfXdQuoMHld1lB0bmvexJfe8HpvN3AOXsSJUOxZOw723ddNiwIAhef5AOXWBEofUQNSA5xzexV7IfKxkjtWm1RH1utGrrc5vGnjcxwLu64NmezqYvYH6Qwcplvi9ksl_BV5PXS6-bDlQ-EHhBIVG17xaOTMlGyP/s2088/94E00AF7-C91B-4771-854F-8508A075E4A2_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2088" data-original-width="1139" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy_pHz8MvuIrI6nV-giSWcuOnIOfXdQuoMHld1lB0bmvexJfe8HpvN3AOXsSJUOxZOw723ddNiwIAhef5AOXWBEofUQNSA5xzexV7IfKxkjtWm1RH1utGrrc5vGnjcxwLu64NmezqYvYH6Qwcplvi9ksl_BV5PXS6-bDlQ-EHhBIVG17xaOTMlGyP/s320/94E00AF7-C91B-4771-854F-8508A075E4A2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="175" /></a></div></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Monday 13 March:</b> 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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">On the road today we experience sunny and cloudy weather by turns and register a 16.5° maximum (snowing back in the UK). </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87QyBfWbhrQ_gq505d4pIZ8CFKqhJukXGlJ1_BXKQQnCgwoGTNGjubw--NZRWb-RcUJ0JuVsYyXJoeLM1nS7opbpUSaGqk7iVlPD6ymep4EVwJJR_VDFonNCZuOoGVkdAoeZCdXFYl-EBVbYZ8dAfOhqngYweSlVyGJFB2YHToMKSte5I-m-d5MqX/s4000/7DD3CDEC-14B6-44F1-AA46-2B97F9092C95.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2672" data-original-width="4000" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87QyBfWbhrQ_gq505d4pIZ8CFKqhJukXGlJ1_BXKQQnCgwoGTNGjubw--NZRWb-RcUJ0JuVsYyXJoeLM1nS7opbpUSaGqk7iVlPD6ymep4EVwJJR_VDFonNCZuOoGVkdAoeZCdXFYl-EBVbYZ8dAfOhqngYweSlVyGJFB2YHToMKSte5I-m-d5MqX/s320/7DD3CDEC-14B6-44F1-AA46-2B97F9092C95.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">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'…</span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>We make a return visit seeking to obtain <i>Calvados</i> from Centaurees again <a href="http://ajsontherightside.blogspot.com/2023/03/another-springing.html" target="_blank">(see route, page 82)</a>. 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDlHn03nN2ytyC5IQBuRRZ2lXMzgse0ATzT9Rqcv6WaId0s2L9kgnpFK0jNqcnCxSEF2N3NSVxTQTGpemdrC-826sN-L9eqqRci0E_uZeHAdfi6d-4Pn-MM1vBIcvJ24kGTqV8r53hh3-Sq-Uk4G4geQRx4dVf0F_YvBEC53ZfMXVOkYrVtqG9th0/s7236/5A435D5E-F5A1-4527-B4AF-78F4ABB83AB3_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3308" data-original-width="7236" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDlHn03nN2ytyC5IQBuRRZ2lXMzgse0ATzT9Rqcv6WaId0s2L9kgnpFK0jNqcnCxSEF2N3NSVxTQTGpemdrC-826sN-L9eqqRci0E_uZeHAdfi6d-4Pn-MM1vBIcvJ24kGTqV8r53hh3-Sq-Uk4G4geQRx4dVf0F_YvBEC53ZfMXVOkYrVtqG9th0/w640-h292/5A435D5E-F5A1-4527-B4AF-78F4ABB83AB3_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Yj5dtKx4XnwapXp02rBCJI3BH15rrwcplj0VlBS2edwxZ_xwSvj5r-yjHOX_68e_ACsSSINjHkEPKEcImNvGnO4asULV7uDkAwgZa4T-DE4Ei7MISxx3RBAgzdUl106JTNalj-H_x_L-K5euaLxIUeb-BHQVwl63P-m6s6qU63_n6-qeUmBCJk3n/s2576/E3163052-33BD-4CC8-8C97-14FB55369B8C.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="2576" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Yj5dtKx4XnwapXp02rBCJI3BH15rrwcplj0VlBS2edwxZ_xwSvj5r-yjHOX_68e_ACsSSINjHkEPKEcImNvGnO4asULV7uDkAwgZa4T-DE4Ei7MISxx3RBAgzdUl106JTNalj-H_x_L-K5euaLxIUeb-BHQVwl63P-m6s6qU63_n6-qeUmBCJk3n/w640-h210/E3163052-33BD-4CC8-8C97-14FB55369B8C.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-62351689931458941902023-03-03T12:43:00.019-08:002023-03-22T03:23:54.137-07:00another springing<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZz2qOnVlkZaEQId-KiRY_Mzxy9Um1O8UdtipaSaIFczrVR6Gx7PWTiFObezZFwALfGAxECMh798qEF9YSMBpsbc0MyXEfqE3xObUuizl61H6lzH9qVdcavf5r2gh7g0ISTrpsAzJDHjLib0EOBIToS8dkzkK2EPxp8-JPzBRylG4sXlndyFTHTOcM/s7425/01B3B7B0-3881-4E8C-AB39-5CB624718EAF_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2401" data-original-width="7425" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZz2qOnVlkZaEQId-KiRY_Mzxy9Um1O8UdtipaSaIFczrVR6Gx7PWTiFObezZFwALfGAxECMh798qEF9YSMBpsbc0MyXEfqE3xObUuizl61H6lzH9qVdcavf5r2gh7g0ISTrpsAzJDHjLib0EOBIToS8dkzkK2EPxp8-JPzBRylG4sXlndyFTHTOcM/w640-h206/01B3B7B0-3881-4E8C-AB39-5CB624718EAF_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Will this be the last spring that we plan our travel to Sablet?</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It just could be. We shall see. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>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 <i>that</i></span><span> 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… </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's a plan.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbZ3Ow4cUoIhPgVElEfcq9fNpJvMAI7bqiPeaQVbToKkqwfvPN_Uai8IWIXsmpJ9EIMr06dvyPxbO1WCFleWMCFFJ6fOXU40i2uabPH1JQzkCcOY0Lx4QMlOM5UPVB_W9WSHfoLyLejllD-yhrEZ51J8IUE4lX5_DRKdU_kcXfK_vCeKtPlnNEUTR/s5940/3811E0AE-9234-4032-A124-7F0C187BD2CA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5940" data-original-width="4200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbZ3Ow4cUoIhPgVElEfcq9fNpJvMAI7bqiPeaQVbToKkqwfvPN_Uai8IWIXsmpJ9EIMr06dvyPxbO1WCFleWMCFFJ6fOXU40i2uabPH1JQzkCcOY0Lx4QMlOM5UPVB_W9WSHfoLyLejllD-yhrEZ51J8IUE4lX5_DRKdU_kcXfK_vCeKtPlnNEUTR/w452-h640/3811E0AE-9234-4032-A124-7F0C187BD2CA.jpeg" width="452" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCGPmx4OYIa1YgqFcizzPuVElWg9liui3E6xbVn9oazolnz13c1RmTDA7jdRrshTj4fHybmPFB0a9G1UdteVmS-VaEuXvI04SIDbnjNXkyZSWcwikR3aYFMENGkFBXPVes32zXy58V8Qgc4oVxy_3lM6Fqq6Jj7EpSvqXNU-SM5QsIZKeoc1MUbG0/s7425/F46B90B3-77FA-4552-8E63-B2E70CF1051B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="7425" data-original-width="5250" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCGPmx4OYIa1YgqFcizzPuVElWg9liui3E6xbVn9oazolnz13c1RmTDA7jdRrshTj4fHybmPFB0a9G1UdteVmS-VaEuXvI04SIDbnjNXkyZSWcwikR3aYFMENGkFBXPVes32zXy58V8Qgc4oVxy_3lM6Fqq6Jj7EpSvqXNU-SM5QsIZKeoc1MUbG0/w452-h640/F46B90B3-77FA-4552-8E63-B2E70CF1051B.jpeg" width="452" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6215791715332457182.post-60320698802627541602022-11-06T10:23:00.234-08:002022-11-22T07:57:08.188-08:00 to ship and dirty devon (5)<div class="separator"></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRu9ctnIl2g1uI-bhMVNVSHBNqZ5-B9mIYhg7b9nGHVLtwaYo60ck3TowCVD9nUuMED9_VfFZerCLAuH6T3klJ-FdFRyrrk1KYCx-CkqTZOGbEahtGLs6HTVhDnLguGkiAe0dtOZOV87DChNoCRt66A3vM-eoHGgmWqLW6Qlim6Wldz5apSfdG5niy/s3125/F88727BE-29F6-4915-8BEA-74214DEEE211_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="3125" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRu9ctnIl2g1uI-bhMVNVSHBNqZ5-B9mIYhg7b9nGHVLtwaYo60ck3TowCVD9nUuMED9_VfFZerCLAuH6T3klJ-FdFRyrrk1KYCx-CkqTZOGbEahtGLs6HTVhDnLguGkiAe0dtOZOV87DChNoCRt66A3vM-eoHGgmWqLW6Qlim6Wldz5apSfdG5niy/w640-h236/F88727BE-29F6-4915-8BEA-74214DEEE211_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>THE RAIN IS DRIVING HARD against the hotel windows as the first chink of grey dawn turns up at Kyriad Vannes. It transpires that Adam's bed was not supplied with an adequate amount of bedding, which makes me a little vexed on his behalf, these things should not happen. We conclude that it is no reason to trash the room, nor rule this establishment out as a stop-over in the future. You see, it proves well situated for when we are forced to catch a daytime sailing from Roscoff to Plymouth, the situation that we are addressing this very day. And answering rather well we think.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So heavy is the downpour that I volunteer to go first and bring the motor as close to reception as possible so that the rest of the party can stay near enough dry. I am like that: selfless. The roads are mercifully almost empty so we make it up to the main northern road going west (Rennes to Morlaix etc) in about an hour and a half. Raining hard most of the way it is – although it isn't when we break for p'tit déj at Châtelaudren, a lively place for the time of day. Good and final croissants/pain au chocolade/pain aux raisins, what have you. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Our arrival in Roscoff is well before the midday chimes ring out… we cower under awnings as it continues to throw it down… Mme Melling secures a sack of onions as requested by landlord Robert at The Grove which we tuck away in the boot far from from the prying eyes of HM Customs and Excise.</span></p><p></p><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1584" data-original-width="3140" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYrZaaOkvyNol4MtajRIsBICyfraxZPEyPO7GHbHo-q1aqHhk6Pkh77nUw_h43ml2X_eUyQnOfVEwLChY9Bw7h-KGn4T8pSfgMr2lwb8Zx2tQR5mDeZMimmBaDYQt0D9H5z6avWeUSh9zR1rUUphz_KEhQsnOgmLEKaXM89D37WjnurW2qsM-GaAx/w637-h327/DA6E73D7-9F33-4CE4-B074-00934EE82A4B_1_201_a.jpeg" width="637" /></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>We all have the best onion soup of the entire holiday (OK, the only onion soup of the entire holiday) followed by diverse dishes of perfectly cooked fish (I had the marmite). Le Surcouf is back on form (you will recall we failed to get our mains last time we patronised Le S).Then off to embarkation on our usual vessel, </span><i>Armorique</i><span>. The sun is out and it is lovely. Mme Melling and self are almost out of time with our 90 day 'visitors' limit and all that nonsense, but we are treated civilly by French customs, foreigners that we now are, our passports are stamped in the correct manner (I check). </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwY8udCAyLsWjCSL_-BJDdzJspfaDNbYxpkHRQ9u5vBpko6w8niIcAeO6Y4HxhO9wR26nj8OlyNh712LRgQZapcHNyB-aE-5DXe-04QkEOxg_nfLKJggu9r56CBqRQ9xX40EChTCPjvd8lUiMBgiuibbPQ7sNEllCSdVByC59Da5SkPZvr9QlQVlk3/s4000/C7C7083A-2DB2-4B99-B945-45A3B25DC841_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2248" data-original-width="4000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwY8udCAyLsWjCSL_-BJDdzJspfaDNbYxpkHRQ9u5vBpko6w8niIcAeO6Y4HxhO9wR26nj8OlyNh712LRgQZapcHNyB-aE-5DXe-04QkEOxg_nfLKJggu9r56CBqRQ9xX40EChTCPjvd8lUiMBgiuibbPQ7sNEllCSdVByC59Da5SkPZvr9QlQVlk3/s320/C7C7083A-2DB2-4B99-B945-45A3B25DC841_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>We sail into the choppy waters of La Manche; a stiff breeze is getting up so I have the flight deck to myself for quite a while… </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">But an hour into the crossing all passengers are ordered below decks as it begins to rock and roll. The family retreat to their day cabin and as our american cousins often say, we hunker down. I am perfectly at ease with the ship's motions myself, but the offspring is not quite so. No one gets sick though. By the time we go top side to see Eddystone winking the rain is gathering it's forces once again.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczCKLZqeJRhM4lQzFRW4iwQ9j38bqU-5wAeUM2hKro0EgOX7pJdlCZwzlR-xzxjxJ2A_8gHiU6WcPjg3tGtluMeb1KFhUSGwgFG4mq30xHyRQ_2ZRYmRgT4NzHeuo8AP3TmClw4ousJD3uUHj8OtKfF9BBwblvirRGWboS-JcRBxHcE4Soe9MA5oj/s4455/60E23FA4-3651-4C41-A52A-BD2F069E33FE.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3150" data-original-width="4455" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczCKLZqeJRhM4lQzFRW4iwQ9j38bqU-5wAeUM2hKro0EgOX7pJdlCZwzlR-xzxjxJ2A_8gHiU6WcPjg3tGtluMeb1KFhUSGwgFG4mq30xHyRQ_2ZRYmRgT4NzHeuo8AP3TmClw4ousJD3uUHj8OtKfF9BBwblvirRGWboS-JcRBxHcE4Soe9MA5oj/w640-h452/60E23FA4-3651-4C41-A52A-BD2F069E33FE.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzr3Ut3ypgTOakVfGr0uw8Bo9q0QvzhcKnSOlm1LKY0X76Ihl0tqPeQ1PIIsZ8eMLIIZDC3gHxZSKhSqbz9bpbK9JhZluqB9tuFG3zg8TVA-o4vc66dGbt3dOBceUiAk9rt3Mb6xA1yyLnztTC7mWJXDwG6EHDN8gzH9K5DrH_XQqt0cqFTD2aCwV/s3139/5F1E450A-2996-4E82-91C1-816408341F3C_1_201_a.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3139" data-original-width="3117" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzr3Ut3ypgTOakVfGr0uw8Bo9q0QvzhcKnSOlm1LKY0X76Ihl0tqPeQ1PIIsZ8eMLIIZDC3gHxZSKhSqbz9bpbK9JhZluqB9tuFG3zg8TVA-o4vc66dGbt3dOBceUiAk9rt3Mb6xA1yyLnztTC7mWJXDwG6EHDN8gzH9K5DrH_XQqt0cqFTD2aCwV/s320/5F1E450A-2996-4E82-91C1-816408341F3C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="318" /></a></div>Sure enough, it is raining fit to bust in Plymouth. After sitting expectantly on the car deck for an hour or so, (no explanation for this delay is forthcoming; I am beginning to think it is a seafaring tradition, along with the other tradition we seem to have been subjected to, of being amongst the last to be let off the boat… <i>mutter mutter</i>) la pluie is just another issue to put up with. Our passports are meticulously examined, as they damned well should be. No sign of anybody with the slightest interest in what we might be bringing into the motherland however. After all, it is Sunday night, not very nice, and a bit late to be out troubling any returning natives. It is pelting down. <br /><br />Before we have reached Tavistock we are almost brought to a standstill by it. By the time we are <i>through</i> Tavistock we are in moonlight. Such are the vagaries of our British weather. When we arrive at Bullsmead Towers we do a quick unpack and sink that longed for mug of tea. <br /><br />That's it. The saga is over, back safe, with the pleasure of travelling with the son-&-heir once more. We get to our beds, good beds, warmed with an introductory hot water bottle apiece. <br />If you have read the whole set, well done —but you do need to get out more y'know… I thank you for your interest. And I thank JBH for his rendition of our maritime starting and finishing post:</span><br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUruFUGNXUsRtBCMqh9nCKPK-pf__0oHIwgRcJRn02sKrDc5T0Fa9NNN8AKBQZBKZ5Mo2vEg2-d3cdK0vcMegwV8VyVvgIYY39hbm32AsHEOtkY_R3r3IV9FJ3F_TVyWFQA592WQyEMJIkqv0VZoLGNhatx7y98dcnz-ntwzpTDnwUHyhDeoPByQyl/s4455/845F61B1-D918-49DF-8446-B53D368D44FD_1_201_a.jpeg"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUruFUGNXUsRtBCMqh9nCKPK-pf__0oHIwgRcJRn02sKrDc5T0Fa9NNN8AKBQZBKZ5Mo2vEg2-d3cdK0vcMegwV8VyVvgIYY39hbm32AsHEOtkY_R3r3IV9FJ3F_TVyWFQA592WQyEMJIkqv0VZoLGNhatx7y98dcnz-ntwzpTDnwUHyhDeoPByQyl/w640-h152/845F61B1-D918-49DF-8446-B53D368D44FD_1_201_a.jpeg" /></span></a><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>footnote</b>: see below the planned route back. Some of it was compromised by navigational issues resulting in not getting to the coast before Séte, and some more of it was messed up by routes barrées as alluded to in the account above. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Don't bother going over it <i>(as if you were going to) —</i>I include it here for my own reference.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1lovLob91kuDMwkf1sstNxAmc2GP824w-_50niHdxpoq6Z77kCQ3fVnYzC_5NjvqQhFaMsWv_NGQ3DLIqxTTB1ShaRHfknrLMC_covwR8HmIik4Iqbevc2RFrp0PEqySAmQGilQBlnwcobqd-tbhER7aOGd-U-o7NDBbfSXEPI3vv9OWIcJJAGyc/s5940/5DFBC84F-E84D-4DDF-867C-F6846B376CFB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5940" data-original-width="4200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1lovLob91kuDMwkf1sstNxAmc2GP824w-_50niHdxpoq6Z77kCQ3fVnYzC_5NjvqQhFaMsWv_NGQ3DLIqxTTB1ShaRHfknrLMC_covwR8HmIik4Iqbevc2RFrp0PEqySAmQGilQBlnwcobqd-tbhER7aOGd-U-o7NDBbfSXEPI3vv9OWIcJJAGyc/w452-h640/5DFBC84F-E84D-4DDF-867C-F6846B376CFB.jpeg" width="452" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com