autumn 2026 en suite

 

Brevity is called for in this post and I shall supply it. My international public, followers, critics, well wishers and range of other associates all await my account of our journey to the S of F, this autumn – some, as if their lives depended on it, others more akin to reading the guff on the side of a cereal pack, in the absence of anything more gripping to distract them at the breakfast table. Or so I imagine.

We reported for embarkation at the port of Plymouth, wondering what shape the inconvenience of doing so this time would take. We fully expected to be finger printed, either here or on the other side of La Manche. But no; nothing. We are aquainted with folk who have shipped this way recently and got the latest inconvenience of the Shengen Area over and done with already but nothing doing today. 

For the first time ever, (as far as I know, that is) we found ourselves shipping out behind a blood relative, also intent on holidaying ‘over there’ but in his case (my younger brother and his wife that is) in the N&W of F, in a van and on a tandem. I recognised my sibling’s latest wheels on the back of their van immediately (through rainstreaked windows) upon joining the check-in queue. They were parked up when we arrived, making tea. Had we known.

We eventually boarded our barque apparently before sibling (after the usual interminable dockside park up) and we met up on deck seven, where self and M were just finishing our customary pre-cabin freebe victuals. We chatted a while (I suggested a drink in the bar which was declined) and as the Armorique left territorial waters, we bade farewell to one another and took to our quarters. We did not see them again, either on board, or during the scramble to get through Fr passport control, out of the Gare Maritime and en route. 

As we have done so often before, we made good speed and 60 miles progress to Châteaulaudren where we found our usual favoured café to have been thoroughly refreshed and refitted, its former character giving way to greater efficiency, an encyclopaedic display of the greatest vapes known to humankind, and away with the bumpy seating. But coffee just as good as hitherto, although the croissants from across the way - a bit chewy today. 

Through occasional drizzle and showers thereafter we pursued our conquest and reached the Loire (it's a river) after 200 miles of fairly comfortable motoring. We ate our filled baguettes, as once before last year, on the river bank south side, opposite Ingrandes-le-Fresne-sur-Loire. The river was barely flowing seemingly, the sandbanks and islands as extensive as we have ever seen them. 

As in previous transits in this direction, we now proceeded on the south bank of the river for quite a while before weaving through Angers outskirts and taking the north bank levée road all the way past Saumur, where in the past we have called it a day. Not so this time. We are bound for Chinon.

We cross the Loire one last time at Montsoreau, stop to water the horses at Le Mail café, then ho! for our hotel in Chinon. 280 miles. Book in. Crash out. Weather has cleared, now sunny. Room boasts juliette balc. Eat outside in the square (chips: why can’t the Fs make them properly, isn’t there a diploma or a university course or something in how to make edible and appetising fries in France, FGS?) Bistro food C minus, pricing inventive. Good night. Quiet. Great bed. Good shower. All there is to it. 

The next morning, Saturday, river mists. Away betimes. Apart from those mists the day was straight forward. And pleasant driving: once beyond the misty reaches. Until a Route Barrée reared its unsavoury head. You’ll know that Mme Melling eats these for breakfast usually but this one did disconcert a tad. Diversion signs petered out… we did end up in a farmyard at one point. No matter! On roads no self respecting Michelin Road Atlas would deign to feature, surfaced mostly, if not this century, barely the width of a 2CV… but we won through! 

For hours, ever present and appearing at one time and another at various points of the compass, the vast vapours from the Civaux power station (nuclear, obvs, this is Fr) was the 'pillar of cloud going before' (old testament reference, keep up)… Until triumphantly we arrived under the very cooler itself, which has so often been our marker when en route to and from Périgueux…… where we arrived having covered almost the exact mileage as we did last time (which was sans route barrée so what gives?). Our sixth stay at this lodge, and still we failed to route directly to it. Perplexing. We ate in the hotel. Indifferent as the hotel is good. 

Weirdly, while taking our repose at Ibis Central I lost the ability to get out of bed in the early hours and when overcoming this disability by crawling, I could neither stand or walk to the facility. Stenosis. Don’t ask: mustn’t crumple. Panicky talk of abandoning this venture. Turning round. Shipping out.

At normal departure time I somehow managed to shuffle to the motor having decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. Perhaps it didn’t because normal service was almost fully resumed once moving down the sunday morning roads (sun full in the eyes notwithstanding) and we set forth to reach Laguiole. Via Brive. But not via Tulle as planned. You guessed it (or might have if you you’ve read this twoddle thus far), yes Route (altogether now) Barrée. 

Terrasson Lavilledieu, the old town

Before all that we’d had a pleasant 3/4 hour potter in sunday morning Terrasson, a delightful place with lovely bridges and water (see the header picture). No croissants but you can’t have everything. And we nearly missed the old town: we returned after sucking up a coffee at a Rugby Union cafe on the outskirts, to give T-L but a fraction of the time the older bit deserved. We took to it but had to move on. 

Now, Brive is laterally extensive (east to west). Thankfully we know it (it is a fair and interesting city, once favoured by ourselves until the somewhat scrotty hotels apertaining at that time turned us against it) and have been misrouted through and about the city’s regions several times before. We have come to know something of its inner workings … we sailed right through it without a stutter. Piece of Sunday morning gâteau. Except that Le Dept Highways had decided to close entirely the main Brive to Tulle road, and offer no meaningful diversion except back the way we’d come. I mean: who would possibly want to go to Tulle on a Sunday, FGS? 

Mme Melling expunged Tulle from the record. Forget Tulle. I deleted it from the itinerary. Wrong direction anyway. We have passed through it, back in the mists… so. They make tulle there, th’knowst. 

Argentat on the Dordogne river

We continued onward, like the wise men (new test) via another way… Argentat for example, very nice, on the Dordogne (that’s a river) where we took refreshment, even hobbled along the riverside quay a bit. Thereafter the roads got really whippy over bigger and bendier hills ravines and tree filled gorges, all in cloudless sunshine. 

Laroquebrou tiffin stop on the La Cère river

We digressed for lunch, taking refreshment originating from Bullsmead and brought for such a convenience by the side of the La Cère (that’s a river) at Laroquebrou. Then we bypassed Aurillac and down sweeping roads to Entraygues… vast views over rolling grassy moorlands dotted with satisfied looking caramel cows. (30°+). High passes, sort of 1300 metres mark, and then some. We shipped into hilltop Laguiole at 1540, to our Logis Hotel in this cooler upland town. A short day. Clean air! And a good dinner before us. Oh and a most satisfactory hotel suite, top flight, separate shower room etc etc, wonderful bed. Another winner from Mme Melling’s quest for comfort in our old age. When I think back to those first budgety places, where bedrooms even (get this) had the bath and bidet next to the bed, well we certainly have come a very long way from that era have we not? Hmm. 

The hotel restaurant attached on the street frontage is Michelin Recommended. Our table, and one other were the only takers this sunday evening. Nevertheless the food and service was admirable if not quite touching Michelin star standard, just yet, which it may be in the process of seeking to secure, what do I know? We drank three different wines with our repast and decided it was worth the outlay. Or rather we accepted that it was the price we would pay without demur.

Which was odd: the following morning our bill (and we were assured it was correct) was very modest indeed. We left, took our breakfast coffee just down the road from the lodge, (we rarely have petit dej in these establishments as you’ll recall) – but this can’t be right we mused. 

Empowered by caffeine my Representative in the République gathered her skirts about her and surged back up the steps to our hotel reception. I remained outside. There was no shouting, I trust there was some gratitude, we were right, they’d left off our dinner from the reckoning, which actually cost more than our bed and board. Once again the honesty of the Englishman abroad shone through and we tried to leave Laguiole with our heads held high (except we couldn’t find the right road at first, so went round in circles once or thrice). 

More bull for your bucks in Laguiole

Now for the last leg, over the central massif high hills and thus to Villedieu. 

A lovely day for it as well.

As previously mentioned we were initially confused as to our direction but once we had grasped how to go forward we embraced the challenge of a new day. The high grassy moorlands became more rock strewn, the Aubrac cattle dotted here and there in graceful twos and threes. My patrons may wonder why at this point I do not present them with sweeping panoramas of this wonderful countryside: I’ve wondered why myself. The truth is I didn’t pull over and try it, knowing as I do the limitations of the box brownie in these environs: you’ll have to visit the area tha'sall.

We messed up though, but didn’t realise it until it was a bit too late, not that it mattered, I am not sure why I am even mentioning it. We joined our oft used route via Florac, took refreshment there, even. But the prescription had been for us to drive from Marvéjols via Barjac to Mende etc etc, whereas we actually went via Barjac south to Florac. You follow? never mind. Mme Melling had the situation by the balls: she directed me to turn off the road to Alès at La Grand-Combe and by roads of very diverse characteristics, navigated us through to St Ambroix and on to the second Barjac of the day, the place which was our base-town when we hired that gîte we so wanted to buy at Brujas. I digress because dear reader (is anybody still reading this?) so had we.

Now on familiar roads we motored on through to the valley of the Ardèche (that’s another river as well as a department) past where Max Ernst used to live, across the Rhône at Pont St Esprit, to Bollène, Souze-la-Rousse, and Tulette for the vital starters of life (supermarket shop and distillate for Octavia) before rolling up at Villedieu sometime after 1530. We opened up the rental in full anticipation and expectancy… we’d visited the exterior last november . . .

Ah. Hmmm. I see. (if I put the lights on). A rental that offers a free form interpretation of the official definition of en suite, (I’ve checked with AI). A rental where red represents white and the kitchen is on the roof. Good terrace though, if you can find somewhere to stand; while parking is nearby although not adjacent (on street level of course) . . . Within minutes we took ourselves up to the VD Café du Centre to reflect…… (greeted and acknowledged, always nice)…just what have we taken on here? 

NB On arrival I concluded that I have bronchitis again. I have no remedy and just hope it works itself out – but at time of writing it is still in charge of my throat and sinuses.