Travelling again Part 18

This will be the last episode of this series relating our travels, as our holiday is sadly almost at an end. Although we have had a wonderful time, had exciting adventures and met many new friends, we are looking forward to getting home and making contact with our friends and family again. Our lack of adequate internet access has proved to be quite a problem at times and a huge frustration, as we are so used to being able to contact all and sundry at any time either by email or Skype. However, we have survived it all and are only sorry that we were not able to respond more frequently to the many emails we have had.

This last week started on a quiet note as Carol and I finished putting up the hems of, and hanging, the second batch of curtains in the dining room thus finally completing the task. The men busied themselves in the garage – just out of hearing range! They deserved the rest though, because the next morning we were all up early, ready to drive to Settle to catch the train to Appleby, famous for its Gypsy Horse Fair. In the past, the fair has extended over about a week with the streets of the normally quiet town resounding to the clatter of hooves over the cobbles, while the River Eden which runs through the town has always been a favourite place for the gypsies to wash their horses before parading them for sale. This year though, no doubt a result of unruly behaviour in the past, the fair was restricted to the weekend only so we in fact missed the fair but we did get to see Appleby which is a delightful little town.

The train trip was great fun and a very pleasant way to see some of the most beautiful countryside, and out of the way villages. We were quite amused by one place where the station is four miles away from the town. Obviously they couldn’t get the line down into the valley and back up again, but four miles is quite a step if you have to walk it. When we arrived in Appleby we discovered that a similar situation existed there – the town was in the valley while the railway line was above on the contour. Luckily it wasn’t four miles away though! We spent a pleasant few hours wandering around the town and in and out of shops, and then after lunch, staggered up the hill again to catch the train back to Settle where we picked up the car and came home via a roundabout route.

On Wednesday we had to drive to Cleveleys not far from Fleetwood to keep an appointment. I had looked at the map and seen that Fleetwood was almost due west of where we are, so had thought it would only take a short while to drive there. When I looked at a different map though, I realised that between us and Fleetwood was a large estuary which could not be crossed by car and so we had to drive a fair distance south before arriving at a bridge over the river. I think it must have been Pensioner’s Day in Cleveleys as I have never seen so many elderly people at one time. I was rather amused to find a parking area that had special parking spaces for not only disabled drivers but for less able drivers too.

Thursday is market day in Garstang, so Neels and I went up to the market and ended up buying a few birthday cards (60p) and a jersey (£15), and the jersey was not made in China but in England! After lunch we went to Leighton Hall, a privately owned ‘stately home’, which is still occupied by descendants of the original owner who built the house some 400 years ago. First we were entertained by a display of falconry, the handler showing off the capabilities of a Lanner Falcon, a mixed-breed German falcon and a beautiful but ferocious-looking Steppe Eagle from Russia. The Lanner Falcon prefers to eat small birds and doesn’t catch its prey but knocks it out of the sky and then pounces on it, so while the handler was swinging a piece of meat on the end of a long rope around his head, the falcon climbed to a good height and then came swooping down at a phenomenal speed, to knock the ‘bait’ on to the ground. Of course, the handler made sure that the falcon did not connect with the bait on the first pass, so we had a good view of what it could do.

The mixed-breed bird was something of a disappointment. He had originally been bought as a stud bird, but when his mates did not produce any young, he was sold on to this handler who now has to teach him to ‘fly’. After several years of being kept in a cage he is neither fit nor able to fly any distance, so the handler has to exercise him every day to try to build up his strength. The falcon was very unco-operative and after a couple of low swooping passes and very clumsy landings on the perches at either end of the lawn, he was returned to the aviary and the enormous Steppe Eagle was brought out. Even the handler was rather wary of this fellow and his fearsome talons, but he was very beautiful when seen at close range.

We had to rush a little as we had also booked a tour of the house and were already nearly ten minutes late, but the guide had waited for us and took us on a very interesting and informative tour of that part of the house that is open to the public. When we emerged about an hour later the sky had clouded over and as it looked like more rain, we gave the beautifully manicured garden a quick look and then made a dash for it.

We had intended to go to two car shows over the weekend – one which was a grand two-day affair, and featured old-fashioned steam traction engines, barrel organs, fairground, stalls and much more, and another which was a much more refined type of show, limited to one make of car and held in a beautiful public garden. Sadly the first one was rained out completely on Saturday, and although we could have gone to it on the Sunday, the field in which it was scheduled to be held would have been a quagmire, so choosing to go to a different one was not really difficult. The steam show would have been fun but will have to wait for another time. Instead we attended a Rover Rally and we took the old 1937 Rover along, all gleaming and polished up. It didn’t win any prizes, but we had a great day and fantastic weather. The whole affair took place in Stanley Gardens in Blackpool. The garden cover an enormous area and has various different sections such as the lake, with many types of small boats on it;  a large childrens play area with climbing frames and other gymnastic equipment all made of wood; a formal garden, with each bed containing flowers of a different hue; and a large pond with an elaborate fountain in the centre as the main focus of it all. The cars were arranged all around the pond and there must have been about a hundred of them, ranging in age from the early 1900’s to about the 1970’s. It was quite a sight!

So our time in England is almost at an end. Tomorrow we go to stay with friends in Manchester and fly out home on Wednesday morning. To those who have ‘tuned in’ regularly, a big thank you for your support and we hope you have enjoyed travelling with us.

Travelling again Part 17

With the boat already down at Glasson Basin, Phase Two of the weekend operation could begin. We had spent most of Thursday packing clothes and food into the motor-home and the car, so on Friday we could set off without delay in the two vehicles. A parking place for the motor-home was found, conveniently close to the boat and in a short while we were settled in. As it was Jubilee Weekend, all the boats were dressed with flags and bunting, as was the motor-home, and it all looked very pretty and patriotic. A large marquee had been erected where we could all gather in the evenings and on Saturday evening everyone congregated there for some fun and games. The weather was a bit grey, but inside the tent it was cozy and became progressively noisy as we played Bingo; took tickets in a raffle and danced on the rough grass. A fancy dress event had been planned but not many people took part. We were asked to be the judges as we were deemed to be impartial! There were a few whistles and cat-calls when we chose the Commodore’s wife as the best female entrant – the Commodore and his wife supposedly being exempt from this honour. How were we to know? We had no idea who anybody was!

Also at the evening’s entertainment, empty margarine boxes filled with craft items were handed to each lady. These had to be converted into a recognisable model by the next evening, so most of Sunday was taken up with getting our fingers stuck to each other and to the rest of the pieces in the box. The afternoon, though, saw us all gathered in the marquee, where someone had rigged up a fair sized television set to allow us to watch the Queen’s Pageant. The weather was miserable, as it was for the Queen too, so it was a good way to spend the afternoon. Sadly our model did not win any prizes, but when it came to playing games etc. again, Neels won a large box of chocolates in the raffle.

After Sunday’s foul weather we were not expecting anything wonderful on Monday so were delighted when we awoke to glorious sun and clear skies. The local pub had arranged a small fair with some unusual displays, so we walked up there to see what was going on. In the pub, was a display of owls – four owls and a handler, which we found really interesting. Three of the owls were little South African Scops owls, only about twenty centmetres tall, sitting very still on top of the cages, blinking at us. The fourth was a very beautiful Barn Owl, which has white and fawn feathers, some of them having markings almost like the ‘eyes’ on a peacock’s feathers. They were all quite tame and could be stroked without fear of getting one’s finger bitten.

Outside, on the Green, people were setting up stalls for the fair. We spoke to a man who represented a swan conservation group, and learnt a few new facts about swans. There are a large number of these beautiful birds in the marshy areas around Glasson and we even saw one pair who were raising eleven cygnets.

We didn’t try the archery, being a bit nervous of the arrows missing the target and shooting through the hedge beyond – possibly with disastrous results – nor did we buy anything at the little produce stall that was just getting underway. We were, however, fascinated by a large collection of ferrets, an animal we had heard of but never seen before. Each one was wearing a minute harness and was on a lead, but, my goodness, they are certainly quick-moving creatures! I mentioned that they looked like furry snakes with legs which someone standing next to us thought very funny. Each ferret had a separate handler and we soon discovered why when two of the little animals got too close to each other and started to fight. One grabbed the other by the side of its face and although the owners were pulling as hard as they could, would not let go. Eventually a man came across and gave the one doing the biting a sharp rap on the snout and the two animals fell apart. Not really my idea of a pet, I don’t think.

After lunch, a course was laid in the Basin and a Boat Handling competition took place. The buoys were laid out in a rough diamond shape with an extra buoy between the top and bottom point. The top, bottom and extra buoy were ring buoys and each one had a collection of small plastic ducks floating inside. Each boat had two people in it and the idea was to round the first buoy, collecting one duck as you passed, using a child’s fishing net. Then up to the extra buoy for another duck; reverse back through the two side points of the diamond; up to the furthest point for the third duck and back home to the start. It doesn’t sound very difficult, but the person steering the boat can’t always see the waterline but had to come really close to the buoys for the ‘catcher’ to be able to fish out a duck, then to move off without creating too much wash which could upend the buoy and release all the ducks. Then precious minutes would be lost as all the ducks would have to be returned to the buoy before moving on. There was much cheering and/or groaning as each boat competed. And then the narrow boat owners decided to have a go too! It is one thing to steer a small cabin cruiser around a fairly tight course but something else when you have to steer from the back of a sixty-foot long vessel. It was very impressive display.

That evening was our final get-together, which was held out in the open, the marquee having been taken down while the weather was good and the canvas dry. Awards were handed out and, to his surprise, Steve had won the Boat Handling competition along with three other club prizes. Congratulations Steve!

At ten o’clock that night, an enormous fire was lit on the top of the hill above Glasson to form one of the chain of beacons around Britain that were lit to commemorate the Queen’s Jubilee. The flames shot up into the air at least ten metres or more and could be seen for miles around. We could also see the next beacon in the chain, further up the coast, while a few people who walked up to the beacon saw the one beyond that too. Once the fire had died down a bit we were treated to a spectacular fireworks display. I feel that although we may not be British, we certainly enjoyed celebrating the Jubilee with those that are.

After all the fun, it was back to the serious stuff and the boat had to go back up the locks to its normal mooring in the marina close to the house. This time, we did the passage with another boat of similar size and style, so there were two vessels in the lock together each time. I have a strong feeling that the skipper of the other boat, who was the experienced fellow who helped us on the downward trip, knew a thing or two when he told us to go in front.  Unknown to us, the front boat takes an enormous pounding from the water rushing into the lock as it fills up each time and we had to work hard to stop ourselves from crashing into either the side wall or the boat behind us. There were moments when I was quite sure my arms would be pulled from their sockets, but in the end, no disasters occurred and we all arrived at the top intact. What we did see though, was a territorial battle between two swans. As we moved into one of the locks, a swan came rushing in behind us, closely followed by a second one. There was a tremendous flapping and splashing and we didn’t think, at first, that it was anything more than a bit of fright at being closed into the lock with two boats with their rumbly engines. Soon though, we realised, that these two were engaged in a life and death battle. As the one tried to escape, the other attacked it again and again, grabbing it by the neck and pushing its head under the water and then trying to sit on top of it to drown it. The smaller and obviously weaker of the two was crying out in anguish and desperate to get away. We eventually managed to separate them using boathooks on the end of long poles, and to keep them apart until the lock was full and we could open the top gates. The swan which had been attacked immediately took off, half flying across the water until it was out of sight. At that, the other one lost interest and climbed out of the canal on to the bank, no doubt intending to waddle down the grass back to the canal level and so to return home. Luckily, no further incidents took place and we could finish our trip up the locks in peace. A memorable experience though. Then it was a gentle glide back to the marina.

It took us a day to get everything unpacked again and the mountain of washing through the machine and hung up, but the next day we were out again, this time to the Transport Museum at Leyland, just down the road, where all the big trucks used to be manufactured. They have a huge collection of transport vehicles, going right back to horse-drawn vans and buses, and everything shines and gleams as if it were brand new.

After a day out, a day in and while Steve and Neels wrestled with relocating the washing machine from the kitchen to the scullery, to make way for a dishwasher, Carol and I hung new curtains in the dining-room to replace others which came with the house when they bought it two years ago. As is generally the case with this type of job, it is never as simple as it appears to be and while the men struggled with problems of an electrical or plumbing nature, we discovered that the new curtains were about thirty centimetres too long and all eight drops had to be shortened, before we could even think of hanging them. As they are full-length curtains, we felt as if we were drowning in fabric at times, but by evening had got at least half of them up. Now we really have to finish them!

Not immediately though, as Sunday saw us out again for the day at a Vintage, Veteran and Classic Car Show. Carol had entered her 1980’s Mercedes Benz Sports coupe, while Steve had entered both his 30’s Rover and  an equally old Wolseley Police car. His friend, Peter, drove the police car. As Peter had his brother-in-law staying, he was also brought along and seemed happy to pose next to the car wearing an old-fashioned Bobby’s hat and waving a truncheon. They caused quite a stir, but no-one won any prizes. It was a lovely day out, that started off grey and threatening but cleared at about lunchtime to give us sunny skies.

Travelling again Part 16

This episode is going to cover only the first four days of the week as we are intending to spend the Jubilee Weekend away from the house and away from most mod cons. On Monday, I should have been busying myself with orderly packing in preparation for our departure for England, but my heart certainly wasn’t in it. I had decided to hand over my dongle and my French SIM card to our friends who intended to stay on in the house after we had left, but the dongle had breathed it’s last just after I sent off last week’s post so needed recharging. The nearest place to do this was in Nogaro a few kilometres away, so we thought a short last drive would be a good idea. However, with every day being a holiday for all four of us, we hadn’t realised that Monday was another public holiday and that all the shops were shut, but at least we showed them where to go to recharge the dongle. Then we had to face the inevitable and pack. The following morning they took us to Toulouse to catch our plane to England, while they, leaving their car in the long-stay parking area, caught a bus into Toulouse city where they spent the day. Our flight was pleasant and uneventful and it was simply wonderful to see my sister, Carol and her husband, Steve, again. No rest for the wicked, though, as they say and on Wednesday morning, we were off to the boat on the canal for the first stage of a long weekend away. Ahead of us was a fairly taxing trip through a series of locks. The reason for this is that the canal which runs quite close to their house and on which the boat is generally moored, is actually eighty feet above sea level, and the place we intended to spend the weekend, Glasson, is at sea level. As they had not ever done these locks on their own before, they had asked a friend to join us and he was invaluable. Carol, Neels and friend Eric operated the locks on land; Steve drove and I got the easy job of holding the ropes. It took several hours to negotiate the six locks but it was a glorious sunny day and everyone enjoyed themselves. We then came home and fell into bed after a quick supper – worn out! By Thursday the weather had changed but as Neels and I were both beginning to look a bit shaggy, we went off to the local hair-cutting shop for a quick trim. It was market day in Garstang, which was quite sad as there were fewer people out and about and all the stalls had had to put up their rain covers, but everyone still seemed very jolly. I suppose they are used to rainy weather! The afternoon was spent getting all our bits and pieces together necessary for our weekend away. And that is as far as the week goes. I will fill you in our weekend’s activities in the next episode.

Travelling again part 15

This week was quite a varied week as far as activities go. The first few days were relatively quiet and were spent readying ourselves for our South African visitors who arrived on Wednesday. They had flown in to Toulouse where they hired a car and found their way to us with the help of a GPS device. We were very impressed as the house is not easy to find at the best of times. Fortunately they had not had a long trip before they arrived because from the next day it was all go, go go! On Thursday, we took them out for lunch at Montesquiou and then walked around the town afterwards. They were suitably impressed with the old buildings but enjoyed, even more, the pencil sketch portraits of all the town’s permanent inhabitants, which hang in the Town Hall. Before getting to our lunch destination, we had taken a detour past Peyrusse Vieille to say goodbye to our friends there and managed to time it exactly, for them to see Ady ringing the church bells – something quite special for foreigners. Our return trip to the house was just as round-about as we tried to show them bits of everywhere, which included Bassoues and Aignan. It was unbelievably hot after all the cold weather and we were all dressed far too warmly but managed to survive. The next day we took them into Eauze to do some shopping, as they will be staying on in this house after we leave on Tuesday. Although the supermarket is not one of the biggest, they were overwhelmed with the variety of goods and we had almost to drag them away before they bought far more than they needed. That evening we entertained my cousin to dinner, to give her an opportunity to meet our friends, and to give them an opportunity to meet her in case they need help with anything after we have left. On Saturday, we repeated our trip of some time ago when we did a huge circular drive which took in Gabarret, La Bastide d’Armagnac, Estang and Manciet. We took a picnic lunch with us, which we enjoyed in La Bastide after having wandered slowly around the town admiring all the wonderful old medieval buildings. After leaving La Bastide, we called in at an unusual church dedicated to cyclists. The gates are made of bicycles and the interior is hung with jerseys belonging to champion and other well-known cyclists. There are apparently over six-hundred jerseys hanging against the walls and the stained glass windows depict cyclists. Very unusual indeed. Today we ate out again, this time in beautiful Bassoues, which was bustling with visitors. And once again we took a circuitous route to get home, giving them quick glimpses of Marciac and Plaisance, and taking different roads to the ones we have used before. Thank goodness they have a GPS to help them get around because by now their sense of direction must be totally confused. I am purposefully keeping this week’s blog really short as I have had an SMS from the service provider to tell me that our data card has almost expired and I am not sure how far the remainder will go. If no pictures accompany the text, it means that the card has run out completely!

Travelling again Part 14

Just after I had sent off the post last week, the TV crew reappeared with great bustle and activity. It seems that we were wrong in thinking they had left. Their re-appearance was to provide us with some enjoyable entertainment over the next few hours! I should just say something here about a group of locals whom we have named ‘The Bench Brigade’. There are between six and ten of them - all very good friends, quite obviously – and each day they congregate in a sunny corner outside the back of the church, a place which also has a very good view of the people coming to and going from the supermarket; coming and going in the parking places; and coming and going generally! There are two benches for them to sit on, but the two benches placed end to end really only accommodate six of them comfortably, so when there are more, they sit one forward and one back so that they can all fit in. They are all of an age, mostly toothless and/ or bald (the men and the women) but quite obviously not at all concerned about things like that. They chatter away at the tops of their voices, probably because they are deaf, too, and laugh uproariously at each other’s jokes. One old man has an enormous belly which his shirt strains over, and when he laughs, this whole mound heaves up and down. Another old lady had obviously had her hair dyed a particularly bright carroty colour which the French seem to be partial too, but it had mostly grown out so just the very ends were bright orange while the rest was almost white – it looked as if her head was on fire! One of the other men, who wore a South African rugby jersey for almost the entire time we were in Breil, was going bald in patches but had let his hair grow long elsewhere, which made him look very peculiar. Neels asked him why he wore the jersey and he replied that he was a staunch SA rugby supporter. One way and another, the whole group were just delightful, with each one of them a ‘character’ and I was longing to get a picture of them all squashed on to the bench. I am sure I could have just asked and they would have let me, but then they would have all ‘posed’ which I didn’t want, but in the end I never got the opportunity. However, on Sunday evening after the TV crew had returned, I happened to look out of the window, across the square, and there they all were, being interviewed and filmed. They had got themselves all spruced up with shiny faces and combed hair, and the lady with carroty hair had even had hers re-dyed for the occasion. They were all sitting up straight on some stone benches right across from our window, so I couldn’t resist the opportunity and quickly snapped off a couple of shots of them. To me, they represented the essence of Breil – old, but still lively, and totally unselfconscious about appearances. Just after the filming ended, a dramatic thunderstorm erupted which rattled the windowpanes, but it was soon over and we became aware of trumpets sounding and the noise of a bass drum, so we went out to see what was going on as it was not visible from our window. In the covered verandah of the building next to ours, we discovered a brass band warming up, and a long trestle table covered with a paper cloth. Then the rain started again so we hurried back to the shelter of the apartment. ‘Something to do with the village inhabitants’ we thought, and anyway the band was not particularly tuneful. We had not been home for more than a few minutes when the band began to play in earnest and in tune, and the drummer was actually beating in reasonable time too, so Neels went down again to see what had changed. By now several of the inhabitants had gathered, amongst them the local butcher, who we had come to know, and the bakery lady, whom Neels knew so well that he no longer had to ask for his daily order of croissants, baguette and pains au chocolat. Both of them asked where I was and told him to fetch me because there was to be a party given by the TV company and everybody in the town was invited. By the time we joined them, there were huge buckets of crisps, platters of sliced ham, olives and pieces of pizza laid out on the table. There was fruit juice, Coca Cola and red or white wine available to drink, and all were welcome. The band was deafening so there was no real need to talk, it could all be said with ones hands. By the time we left them to finish up, the party had become quite jolly, the band was exhausted and we didn’t need supper that night! The next day was partly sunny again so in the afternoon we walked up to a view site above the town where there is a tiny church which dates back to the 11th century. On the way up we walked past dozens of allotments with vegetables, flowers and fruit growing abundantly. Of course, none of the houses in the village have gardens at all, so these little patches are to compensate for that. Had I known beforehand that the round trip was about three kilometres, of which half was seriously uphill, I may well not have started out but I have to admit that the view from the top was spectacular and worth the effort. On Tuesday we had been invited to dine with our new South African friends and to our amazement she produced a really delicious bobotie. I say ‘amazement’ because the ingredients for a truly South African bobotie are not easily come by in the mountains of eastern France. We had a lovely evening with them and hope we will not lose touch once we all return home. The next day had been set aside for cleaning and packing and saying our goodbyes to new friends, and on Thursday we packed everything into our car and aimed her nose westwards, to Lezignan-Corbieres, not too far from Narbonne. A British friend has a house there and this year her visit and ours happened to coincide. The weather worsened the further east we drove, and shortly after we arrived at her house, it began to rain quite heavily. It didn’t really improve during our entire stay, but we had plenty of catching up to do and had seen most of the sights on a previous visit, so it really didn’t matter. All too soon, it was time to leave again and by Sunday afternoon we were back in the house we started from three weeks ago. It almost feels like coming home!

Travelling again Part 13 (Pictures only)

Travelling again Part 13

Another activity-filled week! We started off by taking the bus to Monaco which also costs only one euro. It seems that as long as one asks for the appropriate destination when you get to the bus, it will only cost one euro, and although we haven’t tried it, we believe we could get all the way to nice for the same amount. It really isn’t worth taking the car out and having to search for parking the other end. Monaco was mostly what we had expected – expensive designer shops and a harbour full of privately owned luxury yachts – but has some remarkable modern architecture which one seldom hears about. We did a lot of walking (I must surely be getting fitter!) and ended up at the Palace of Prince Albert and Princess Charlene, but didn’t see her. On the way we stopped to buy a sandwich at a small snack-bar and noticed a South African flag draped across the back of the shop. When we commented, we were told it was for Princess Charlene. We have since heard that when she goes out shopping, a cavalcade of mounted police go ahead, and will stop the pedestrians on the pavement. Then a shiny black car will pull up and she will emerge, but she never walks straight into a building, she always takes time to shake the hands of the people nearest to her and to say ‘Hello. I’m Charlene. How do you do’ It has made a huge impression on the citizens, apparently, who now definitely see her as a ‘peoples person’. The city was readying itself for a big motor racing weekend – the Classic Grand Prix – which was quite a pity as there were stands being erected and huge mesh fences going up around that part of the city which comprises the race track, so a lot of the sights had to be viewed though wire netting, but we saw plenty in spite of that. The next day was market day again, but the village was in total uproar for quite another reason. There is a TV series in France, similar to ‘Boer soek ‘n vrou’ in South Africa or ‘Blind Date’ in the UK, in which single girls volunteer to be matched with single men and are then followed around for a few days while they try to get to know each other, and it was Breil’s turn to produce the film material. We are not sure if the men or the girls were from this area, but the village did itself proud in preparing the backdrop. One of the two small squares was cleared of vehicles, and with the big church behind them, villagers dressed in medieval garb ‘sold’ local produce from tables set out before them. A pipe and drum group played suitable medieval-sounding music and the church clock was stopped so that the booming bells did not spoil a critical moment of filming. The surrounding crowd of spectators was ‘warmed up’ by cheering and clapping on demand, and then a group of flag throwers gave a spirited performance which we found quite spectacular, especially as by now there was a stiffish breeze blowing. More cheering and clapping and then the long awaited moment arrived and a huge bus painted in shades on mauve pulled into the square. After a couple of practice runs, the girls came sprinting out of the bus and were greeted by the town mayor and a TV celebrity. More cheering and clapping and then the men arrived on the back of a little three wheeler vehicle, rather like a toy truck. After this it all got quite technical with the selection of men and girls and who would be paired with whom, so we left them to it and wandered off. During the whole performance though we had come across another couple who are also South African and staying here for a while, and they invited us up to their apartment for a cup of coffee. They are fortunate enough to have a large balcony which overlooks the river and the main road, although the access to the apartment is from a really dark and narrow alley to the rear. You really cannot judge an apartment by its front door here! The following morning we watched some of the filming for the reality show for a while, but then took ourselves off to La Brigue again to see what we had missed last time due to the rain. We had been told of a marvellous church which we just had to see, a few kilometres further on, so we went to investigate. It is known as Notre Dame des Fontaines. The legend goes that a long time ago, there was a terrible drought and even the spring which had always given water, dried up. The villagers, desperate for water went to pray to the Virgin at this very ancient site and a miracle occurred – water began to flow from the spring again. In recognition of this miracle, a chapel was built. Much later, in the 12th century it was consecrated and then in the 15th century the interior was decorated by two local artists. The whole chapel is still regarded as something of a miracle as the paintings have never been restored and are now over 500 years old, and still as brilliant as the day they were completed. On Thursday we went back to Sospel, again to see what we missed the first time around. In the meantime we had managed to get hold of a tourist brochure, so knew what to look for and where to look. In the afternoon we drove on and up to the Col de Torini, a road with so many twists and turns that by the time we got there I really wasn’t sure if I was facing forwards or backwards! On the way we passed another church built in an impossible place – on a pinnacle of rock with no easy access. From below, as we approached by road, we could see that the back end of the church was literally hanging over the end of the rock it was standing on! When we finally reached the top of that particular hill, we found that a stone bridge had been built across a small depression, with a walkway and steps leading up to the church. The road had been neatly fitted through one of the arches of the bridge. Finally at the very top of the Col, at an altitude of 1607 metres, we suddenly found ourselves in amongst a Classic Car Rally with some wonderful old vehicles amongst their numbers. They were all part of the Classic Car weekend in Monaco, and obviously enjoying themselves. I was glad we didn’t have to drive any of those cars back down the mountain – it was hair-raising enough, in our tiny car and short wheel-base, to get around some of the corners. They were all sent on their way shortly after we arrived, so we gave them enough time to get well away before we started down, only to meet a stream of Mini’s thundering up the hill towards us. This road was part of the original Monte Carlo Rally and is to aspirant racers what Everest is to climbers, so anyone who fancies their driving skills just has to drive the Col de Torini. After all that excitement, we gave ourselves a day off but in the late afternoon took a bottle of wine around to our new SA friends and enjoyed a drink with them. They had a family friend staying with them, who we invited to join us the next day on an outing to Pien Haute, yet another village clinging to a hillside, miles from anywhere, with no obvious facilities. In our ambles around the village, we saw no shop of any sort, not even a bread depot; no Post Office; no mayor’s office; nothing! What on earth persuades people to continue living there? And the road to the nearest town is not for the faint-hearted either! It’s quite amazing. We made a round trip of the outing and came back via Sospel again as our guest had not yet been there. We managed a very superficial glimpse of quite a lot, but had to get her back to her hosts so couldn’t dawdle too much. Which brings us back to Sunday again. Another at home day, getting the washing done and the apartment tidied. The day started off well with blue skies and bright sun but deteriorated quite quickly and by lunchtime there were loud rumbles of thunder and the threatened rain arrived. The TV crew packed up all their cameras and other equipment and left just after lunch and a strange quiet has descended on the village. It is once again very peaceful.

travelling again Part 12 (Pictures only)

These are pictures of what we saw during Part 12

Travelling again Part 12

Aah! One of my readers has chastised me for describing how we got to our new accommodation; what a charming town it is; and how delighted we are with our situation, but completely forgot to give the name of the place which is, of course, Breil-sur-Roya, or Breil on the Roya River. We started the week with a ‘no driving’ day which was just as well as it was cold and rainy. In the afternoon though, we went to an organ concert we had seen advertised in the big church just a few steps away from us. It only lasted about three quarters of an hour but was very enjoyable as the organist had selected pleasant, lively pieces with lots of variation in pitch and tempo. I was only sorry that, being held in the church, all the seats faced forward while the organ was above and behind us, so one couldn’t see the organist, although I suppose we wouldn’t have seen much anyway as he was so high up. The rain had started falling very heavily while we were in the concert and we had to skittle across the square to get home. It continued all night, but by morning the sky had cleared for the weekly market so we went downstairs to see what was on offer. Not a big market, but there were vegetables for sale; three stalls selling cheese; a large van full of clothes with racks of shirts and skirts hanging outside it; another van of shoes and that was about it. We bought some cheese and had a look at the clothes but felt that they were really poor quality. This is a serious gap in ‘the market’ as the weekly market is the only direct access to clothes for the people in this village and we are sure that if someone offered better quality goods they could make a fortune. In the afternoon we took ourselves off for a walk to the Hermitage of St Antoine which is on the southern end of the village. Built into the walls of the town at an arched gateway known as the Port de Genes, or Gateway to Genoa, is a tiny hovel which must have been where poor old St Antoine lived. Next to it is a somewhat larger building known as the Chapel of St Antoine, and travellers leaving the town would be sure to stop off here and pray for protection from wolves and/or brigands. Every evening, the gate would be closed and locked to prevent those same villains entering the town. Dangerous times indeed. We walked a short distance along the mule track which would have been the route taken by these travellers, but it is very narrow and broken, cut into the steep hillside and with the (by now) raging river below us, and all too soon my vertigo got the better of me and we turned back again. Not a moment too soon though as the drizzle started almost at once and by the time we reached our apartment we were quite wet. We had determined to go somewhere on Wednesday, whatever the weather, so we were fortunate that the day started off beautifully sunny. We caught the 11 am bus to Menton, via Ventimiglia, which cost us all of 1€ each! It is a lovely drive, which Neels could now see while someone else watched the road and I think he thoroughly enjoyed it. The bus driver obviously knows the road really well and was hurling the bus around the twists and bends but still staying on his own side of the rather narrow road. Menton is not big as cities go, but is quite spread out which is always a problem when sight-seeing on foot – everything is so far apart and it takes so long to get to each place. We saw plenty though and even made it up to the top of the hill to the view site in the historical part of the town. Steps all the way! The view from the top made it all worthwhile and the return trip was all downhill! By the time we climbed on to the 5 pm return bus, we were suitably footsore and weary. The following day we took it easy again. A late lie-in followed by a walk around to the far side of the lake where there is a permanent tented canopy. It is used as a venue for shows and concerts and must be lovely on a summer evening to sit and watch a performance against the backdrop of the town. After a lazy day, another busy one when we drove north to Cuneo which is actually in Italy, although of course there are no border controls any more – it is just the road signs which suddenly change from French to Italian. The road climbs over the Alps with the Col de Tende being the highest point at 1800 meters give or take a few. We could see snow-capped mountains all around just before we went into a 3.2 kilometre tunnel. The tunnel is single lane traffic and is regulated with traffic lights, so there is quite a long waiting time if you happen to get there at the wrong time. As we waited, I climbed out of the car to see where we had come from and could make out six levels of road below me, with sharp hairpin bends at each end of each level. Quite spectacular, and quite some road-building. We had been advised to shop for groceries in a smaller centre – Borgo San Dalmazzo – where the supermarket is easily accessible and prices are cheaper than in France. This little place has a somewhat unfortunate and sad history, in that it was a collection point for prisoners who were on the way to Daschau or Auschwitz, but once the war was over, all traces of the camps were destroyed and now nothing remains of them. It has become, instead, a busy, industrial town, Shopping done, we carried on to Cuneo, which is laid out in a fairly strict grid pattern, so one has this long, straight main street which terminates in the enormous Place di Galimberti. This square is surrounded by large elegant buildings and arcaded pavements. The square itself is huge. I would guess that each side is about 250 metres long, with traffic lanes around the perimeter and a large mosaic-cobbled area in the centre. It marks the beginning of the more modern part of Cuneo, which we had just driven through, with the historical area forming a triangle beyond it. As usual, we had timed things just right to be too late and in Italy they enjoy a three hour break in the middle of the day so there was no chance of getting any information from the Tourist Office for quite some time. Making the best of the situation we decided to have lunch. This turned out to be more of a lucky dip than a choice as the waitress passed us a menu, told us in French that this page was sandwiches, the next was cold meals and the next hot meals and left us to it. Since our Italian doesn’t really go much beyond ‘spaghetti’ and ‘lasagne’ and we didn’t want either of those, we ordered and then sat back waiting to see what would arrive. We needn’t have worried – we each had a plate of delicious ham and salad, although as we had ordered different dishes, the salads were different. One advantage of these long lunch times can be found in the parking meters. If you put in enough money for an hour at 12 midday, your ticket will only expire at four o’clock, because from 12 to 3 pm is siesta time. The shops are all closed but the sights are still there to see so this is a real bonus to tourists. Although the day was warm, even hot at times, the mountains that we could see on all sides were snow-capped and gave a wonderful backdrop to all that we saw. We had obviously been timing our ‘lazy’ days quite well as our days out had all been warm and sunny while the days in had turned out to be cooler and wet, but on Saturday we thought we would challenge this and set off after an early lunch to La Brigue. This is a bit off the main road north and is acknowledged as a good example of a medieval town. Well…… we’ve seen quite a few of those so we weren’t expecting to find anything sensational, tucked away in the mountain gorge as it is. How wrong can a person be!! The weather had by now deteriorated as usual but we found parking and set off on foot. The old, but well maintained house are built of stone or slate, and we saw one with a whole façade of ‘lauze’ which is a green marble found in the Roya valley. The buildings which are plastered are generally painted in very bright colours in this part of France and Italy but in La Brigue they have used soft pastels which go well with the grey stone. We spent quite some time wandering up and down the narrow alleyways between houses and looking at the curious carvings over some of the door lintels, which date back to the 11th century. Of course we got rained on, again, and had to make a dash for the car when started coming down really heavily, but ventured a little further up the valley road and were rewarded by the sight of a magnificent water mill surrounded by cascades of tumbling water. Sunday really has been a stay-at-home day, but happily, today was the day that the local model boat club held their get-together in Breil and the sun was shining too! There were seventeen model boats in and out of the water and Neels was green with envy. Getting their boats into and out of the water is a bit of a problem as the lake surface is about 100 centimetres down from the surrounding shore but if you are keen, you can manage anything and with everyone helping all went well.

Travelling again Part 11 (Pictures only)

These are the pictures I wanted to include with Part 11, but felt sorry for those of you who print out the blog for others to read.

Travelling again Part 11

My goodness! What a difference! Are we still in the same country?! But I am getting ahead of myself. The week started in the same dreary fashion, weather-wise, as the past week, but we were not too concerned as we were busy packing up and cleaning the house in preparation for our change of accommodation. Packing was quite a problem as we had checked the forecast for the area we were going to – the Alpes-Maritime – and had seen that a lovely sun was going to shine and the temperatures were set to rise. But being the eternal pessimist, I put in quite a few warm clothes anyway. More about that later. We managed to leave nearly on time with our destination for the night about 350 kilometers ahead of us at Vergéze, just short of Nimes. Nimes, of course, is where denim originated. Back in the mists of time, cotton was imported from Egypt, and was spun and woven into a sturdy fabric used to make clothes for the local workers. This value-for-money fabric soon spread to the whole of Europe and the clothes were known as ‘articles de Nimes’. Quite soon the word had spread to America and a trouser factory which specialised in hard-wearing garments snapped it up and ‘denim’ was born. However, we were not stopping in Nimes, but in Vergéze which has its own claim to fame. Perrier water is bottled there and nowhere else in the world, so if you are a fan of sparkling Perrier, you can always be sure that it is the real thing. That day’s drive was uneventful although the road was rather busy. We had again opted to drive the motorway route and this time the motorway was the direct road to Italy, and to Marseilles, for part of the route, which meant a huge number of giant trucks on the road with us. Our car felt very small alongside them. The day was grey, but ideal for travelling and we made very good time. The lush rolling countryside of the Gers slowly gave way to the harsher and more arid areas of the Aude. As we approached Carcassone, it looked every bit the medieval city that it is, but we have explored it before so did not detour any closer. We have always had faith in ‘Jane’ our navigator, but we both looked at each other as she directed us down ever smaller streets, once we arrived in Vergéze, a small town of once-elegant homes and narrow cobbled streets. However, she was correct again and when she announced that we had ‘reached our destination’, our overnight stop was indeed right in front of us. What was once a farmhouse and stabling for donkeys has been turned into a delightful country inn, with its own restaurant and a charming outdoor area between the two where we could just imagine the patrons enjoying a glass or two of something nice, in the heat of summer. It was too cool for us to do that, but we did enjoy a delicious meal, served by our host. The following day we set off again, but had been persuaded by our host to make an enormous detour to visit the ‘Pont du Gard’ which is a World Heritage Site. The ‘Gard’ is the river which the bridge spans and its purpose was to bring water to Nimes from the source of the Eure River, fifty kilometres away. It is, in fact, an aqueduct and is remarkable because it was built by the Romans in about the first century AD. Built in three tiers of arches, it is 48 meters high and is 490 meters at its widest point. It is a quite remarkable piece of engineering and one wonders if anything built today will still be standing in 2000 years, in spite of the ravages of time and weather. It was definitely worth the visit and in the end, did not add too much to our total journey as we just replanned the route, which now took us through Avignon which, of course, has its own famous ‘Pont’. We were now heading toward the coast again and not just any coast but the famous ‘Côte d’Azur’. After a making a quick stop at a motorway service station, someone was thrilled to bits to find a gleaming scarlet Ferrari parked next to our beat-up little car. I wanted to take a picture of the two vehicles next to each other but hadn’t the nerve as the owners were still sitting in the Ferrari. I also thought of offering to swop cars but didn’t do that either! In any case, the car had a Russian registration and my Russian is hopeless! This was to be the first of a series of super-luxury vehicles that went swooping past us from time to time, no doubt heading for places like St-Tropez, Monte Carlo and Monaco, the playgrounds of the super-rich. There are obviously plenty of those people as the skyscraper apartment blocks and hotels are mind-boggling. Firstly, they are so high and secondly there are so many of them. From a view site high above, we could look down on all of this ‘concrete jungle’ and could only be amazed. On and on we went, on a wonderful road with numerous tunnels along the way,until the road took us right into Italy where we turned and went inland. All the while, the weather had been getting warmer and warmer and the once-grey sky was now a clear, cloudless blue. Our road got narrower and narrower and once again, we were so glad to have a tiny car. It twisted and turned; now this way, then that, until finally we rounded a bend in the road and we had arrived. A most charming, very busy little town on the edge of a lake and a river. We had luckily been shown a video of the town and the apartment, so we were quickly able to get our bearings, find a parking place and unpack ourselves and our luggage into the new accommodation. A slight hitch occurred when our key wouldn’t open the ground-floor entry door, but we had also been given the name of the lady who looks after the apartment, so we trotted off to her house which is close by. Unfortunately she was out, but we were then given the name of the local butcher, who lives in another apartment in the same building in the hope that he could let us in. He could, of course, and was so kind that he even left his shop and came with us to make sure that we were all right. We quickly brought everything in and went straight out again for a walk around the town before the sun disappeared. It was now so hot that we had discarded our jerseys and were walking around in short sleeves. The key was sorted out early the next day and caused us no problems – instead it helped us meet some new people. The next day the driver had a day off from driving and instead we walked through the town. It is a crazy jumble of tall old buildings separated by narrow passage ways which they call ‘ruelles’. The mountain sits just behind the town and looms over it and the houses climb up its side. Houses on the mountain side of the road have steep stairs leading up to a front door which is in fact on the first floor level, while houses on the lower side have stairs which drop away into seemingly dark caverns. There are no pavements, gutters run down the centre of the road and doors open straight on to the road. It has a distinctly medieval feel to it, but fortunately not the smells to match! One of the windows to ‘our’ apartment looks out over the main square, and provides plenty of entertainment. There was a definite air of busy-ness, perhaps because it was Saturday, with people all bustling about doing their shopping, chatting, children running about and the church bells chiming the hour (and sometimes in between, which we haven’t quite worked out yet), cars coming and going and the odd dog barking. After being in the solitude of the countryside for some time, it has almost re-energised us. Meanwhile, the temperature has continued to rise and by midday today the automatic sign above the chemist shop told us that it was 23 degrees – easily the warmest we’ve been since we arrived in France, with perhaps the exception of the day spent in St Emillion when we nearly got sunburnt. Unfortunately, an old man we met on our walk shook his head gloomily and promised a storm very soon. I hoped he was wrong. I should have known better though. The locals are generally correct when it comes to the weather in their area. However, the storm was a very quiet one with no dramatics but quite a lot of water which washed all the streets nicely and in the morning when we awoke, just the tips of the mountains were cloud-covered but the town was sparkling clean. Not wanting to waste a moment, we hopped into the car and set off for Saorge about 20 kilometers north of here. The road was not too narrow which was very good as it was so spectacular that the driver had to take time off concentrating on the road every now and again, to admire the mountains and gorges we were traversing. We took a turning that said Saorge East which was very narrow and winding and suddenly we rounded a corner and there in front of us was this fantastic little village clinging to the side of the mountain. It looked for all the world like a picture one would expect to find as a jigsaw puzzle, with masses of tall narrow houses crammed as close together as they could get. We drove further until threatened with a dead end, at which we turned the car and parked, walking the rest of the way into town. As is so often the case, the whole is more interesting than its separate parts and once in the town one was no longer aware of its precarious position, although the narrow houses and cobbled streets were still attractive. A restaurant in the centre of town was open and we could look right through the building and out of the front windows which had a view looking down in to the gorge we had just driven through. Later as we left the town, we stopped to identify which building it was and decided that it was the one that was one storey high in the main street of the town, but six more floors supported it against the mountain side! Leaving Saorge, we carried on north for a while and had just decide to turn back and were looking for a suitable turning place when we saw ahead of us yet another village clinging to the side of the mountain. This was Tende, but where Saorge had all the magical qualities of a jigsaw picture, Tende just looked neglected and rather sad. What a shame! So we backtracked for a short distance and then turned towards Sospel, a road which would take us over the Col de Brouis at a maximum height of 879 meters. This road was quite a different story to the one leading to Saorge – and was definitely not for the faint-hearted. We hair-pinned our way to the top and then hair-pinned our way down again to find Sospel lying at the bottom of the valley on either side of a river. It looked pleasant but very ordinary until we walked into the centre of town where we were surprised to find an enormous cathedral with a Grecian type of exterior decoration. It was so huge when compared to the houses around it, and the interior was so lavishly decorated – all in pale blue and silver – with Michaelangelo-style paintings covering the entire vaulted ceiling, that it was in actual fact a bit obscene. Apart from this, we saw nothing more of interest although we were sure that during the week, the town would be buzzing as there are a number of shops of all sorts, and even more cafes, bars and restaurants. Our road home was also of the wiggly variety with the views first on my side and then on his, and we took our time over it until we met up with the main road to Breil from Ventimiglia and found where all the traffic had been all day!

Travelling again Part 10

What a waste of a week! It has rained almost every day and has been cold and windy. Quite horrid in fact. On Monday when we went to replenish our groceries, we bought a small outdoor thermometer to hang on the verandah pillar that I can see through the study window as I sit typing at the computer. When we peered out on Wednesday morning at about 9 am, we felt quite justified in feeling cold, as the thin red line had only risen as far as 6°. However, there were things that we could do around the house, one of them being to install new lights and mirrors in two of the bathrooms, a task that seriously tested Mr Fix-it’s ingenuity as his only tools were a set of spanners (totally unnecessary and quite useless in this case), two rechargeable electric drills (neither of which held a charge for long enough to finish the job) and a multi-purpose tool known as a Leatherman. The job was soon done, though, and even if I say it myself, all looks rather good. Also during the week, the car’s oil was changed, another task to test ingenuity. Being a really little car, it has really little ground clearance but one needs to be able to get underneath it to drain the old oil. Propping it up was not the only problem, it was the constant on-and-off rain. Eventually the idea came to mind to run the car in under that part of the roof which had the widest eaves, but of course, it was then almost up against the wall and getting in underneath was almost impossible. However, as they say in the old country, ‘n Boer maak a plan, and the oil eventually was changed and a new filter fitted, and Goldie was all ready to go off for the required bi-annual road test. Happily, the work was worth the effort and the car passed its test so we are all legal again for another two years. The rest of the week was spent idly reading and watching television; enjoying a delicious meal with friends and having another friend over to share a cup of coffee with us. We have also been planning our route for later in this week when we travel to Breil-sur-Roya near the Italian border. Hopefully, by this time next week we will have far more to tell you about

Travelling again Part 9

We seem to have spent a lot of the week dodging the weather, but have managed to get around quite a bit in spite of it. Our holiday flat was well supplied with publicity brochures of all the places within about three hour’s drive of Chevanceaux, so we thought a trip to the coast would be a good idea and would be about an hour away. Our initial destination was Royan, with a stop-off at Talmont on the way but in the end, it turned out to be the other way around.
The small town of Talmont is perched on top of limestone cliffs, on a tiny peninsula not much bigger than the town. It appears to be at the sea, but is really still within the Gironde estuary. Dominating the town and built on the very edge of the cliffs is the imposing Romanesque church of Sainte Radegonde, built of the local limestone. The town itself has quaint, cobbled streets which wander between the buildings seemingly without plan, while at the seaside are fishing huts built at the end of narrow jetties jutting out over the water. From each hut extends a weird contraption of poles from which is suspended a large square fishing net. The tide recedes by at least two kilometres at low tide, and when we visited, all the little boats were lying on their sides and the fishing nets were hanging out over mud, but when the tide comes in, the nets are lowered into the water and lifted out again several hours later with, hopefully, and satisfying catch of fish.
By lunch-time, the weather man had decided that our sight-seeing was over for the day and it started to drizzle. So we retired to a handy café for a coffee and a sandwich and were rewarded by a break in the rain which gave us time to walk back to the parking area just outside the town. By then it almost looked as if it was to clear completely so we took the coastal, and scenic, route up the coast to Royan which together with Pointe de Grave directly across the estuary formed an important part of the defences during World War 2. On this day, though, no-one was thinking about wars or defences but seemed to all be out demonstrating a number of different water sports, in spite of the freezing wind that howled across the shore. We saw kite-surfers performing impossible leaps out of the water being lifted by immense parachute-like kites; wind-surfers were screaming across the water at amazing speeds; another person appeared to be on a snow-board being pulled along the soft sand, by the strong wind, also using a parachute-like kite; there were tiny sailing dinghies being blown almost flat by the force of the wind; and finally there were sand-yachts – yachts on three wheels that were making use of the vast expanse of hard-packed wet sand – racing back and forth, sometimes careering along on only two wheels. We would have loved to stand and watch for longer but the cold and wind drove us back into the warmth of the car.
The following day seemed to be a bit brighter and we had found out that a market was due to take place in Barbezieres, about ten minutes away, so off we went to see what was going on. Not a good one though as it was mostly a clothes market, although we did find a fellow selling rotisserie chickens and ought one for supper. Not wanting to go straight home again, we searched out a circular route that would finally deliver us back home, and spent a pleasant time wandering the country lanes.
After two days of rather a lot of driving, we took the next day off and were glad we had as it rained on and off for most of the day with the odd bit of hail thrown in for good measure!
Sitting at home, reading our books was rather a waste of time though, so the next day we were off again in another direction, to Brossac this time. An uninspiring village surrounded by beautiful pastures and woodlands, with the occasional beautiful, often run-down, chateau to surprise us. To get there the road had led us through a woodland holiday resort area, where we had noticed a small restaurant. We retraced our steps to enjoy a delicious lunch there, sitting looking out over a rather chilly, but sometimes sunny, lake. After lunch we took a detour on the way home to have a look at two well restored windmills standing on a crest above the road. By now the sun was really out so when we got home, I suggested going for a walk around the block. Well…………for me to suggest a walk must have shocked the weatherman even more than it shocked Neels, as, three-quarters of the way around our rather large block, it suddenly started hailing again! Just tiny chunks, but quite painful when one hasn’t got a good cushion of hair to protect one’s head!
Friday was spent preparing for our return to Espas the following day. The flat had to be thoroughly cleaned and all our clothes and remaining food had to be packed into their respective containers.
We tried to leave early on Saturday, but early doesn’t really feature in our lives so it was about 10.30 when we finally got away. We had planned a cross-country route to return home by as the trip to Chevanceaux had been mainly via the motorway and we hadn’t enjoyed it very much. The route we had chosen was an almost straight line from Chevanceaux to Espas, and as we had asked ‘Jane’ to guide along the ‘shortest route’ we found ourselves wandering along the most delightful lanes. We realised too, that in the two weeks away, the seasonal change had been going on without us really noticing and we were struck by the lush greenness of the fields and the trees, the roadside flowers and the blossom-laden fruit trees. The colza (canola/rapeseed) had not only grown green but had flowered too and great swathes of acid-yellow could be seen.
Finally, I have included yet another rather graphic sign, this time found in Talmont and needs no explaining.