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.

Travelling again Part 8

First of all I have to say ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!’ for the three identical pictures that appeared on last week’s blog. I know the donkey was cute but not so cute that three pictures of it had to appear. However, by the time I had finished fighting with the computer and the programme that puts the pictures into my blog, I just gave up. Three identical pictures was, I thought, better than three half photographs which is what I kept getting before that.
Our week has been an eventful one, for a change. As Pieter and Jessica were due to fly out again on Tuesday, we thought spending Monday at St Emillion would be a good idea. Jessica is a great wine lover, not that she drinks much of it, but she knows a lot about it, and one can’t get better than St Emillion for good wines. It took about an hour to drive there on a glorious sunny day; then we parked and walked the rest of the way into town. St Emillion is a beautifully restored medieval town and there is plenty to see there, apart from wine shops. The town is surrounded by numerous vineyards, so after a leisurely lunch in the main square, we caught the Tourist Train (which looks like a little toy train) and went for a tour around some of the vineyards in the immediate vicinity. We also stopped off at one particular vineyard for a tour of their cellars which are underground. Apparently, stone for building most of the grand houses in the area came from huge limestone deposits underground and cutting blocks out to bring to the surface left enormous caverns which are ideal for wine storage.
After driving an hour in each direction up and down the motor way on two consecutive days, we pronounced Wednesday a day of rest and recovery. This section of the motorway is very busy as it is part of the main road from Paris (and the Channel ports) to Spain, and one comes across trains of trucks one after the other – perhaps thirty at a time. They are not allowed to overtake where the road is only two lanes wide, in each direction, so they trail each other at fifty kilometres an hour which is their prescribed speed. Cars, of course, are allowed to pass the trucks, but it can be quite nerve-wracking when a lot of them are close together and one only has a little car!
On Thursday we started off by going to the village market in Montendre, where we spent about an hour looking at the stalls. I have had an absolute craving for a juicy roast chicken for simply ages, so I was delighted to find a fellow with a mobile rotisserie selling both chickens and ducks. We quickly bought one before he sold out, and my mouth watered for the rest of the day until we could get home to eat it!. Our homeward trip was a circular drive which included the villages of Bussac, in the forest; Bedenac; and Montguyon, which is where friends of ours have a house, and which is where we stayed when Neels recuperated from his operation in 2008. The next evening we actually went back there again to have dinner with these friends.
We stayed out so late that the next morning we slept until 10 o’clock! When we eventually surfaced, we found the day was chilly and grey, but later that afternoon we went for a good walk through the town to inspect an old windmill on the far side which has been well restored.
On Easter Sunday we again slept late, but we put it down to the fact that the flat is quite dark with the curtains drawn, especially if the day is rather cloudy. However, we had decided the previous day that we should really get out and about, and that we would aim for Aubeterre about 40 kilometers away. We asked ‘Jane’ to take us there by the shortest route which we know, by now, means that the device will select back roads, by-roads and farmers backyards to get us where we are going and she did not disappoint us. We stopped off in Chalais, where we once had a meal in a chateau, before arriving at our destination. The town is built on two levels, with a fairly steep difference between the two, so we had to park at the top and walk down, first to the main square where we enjoyed a very late lunch, and then on to a most extraordinary church, hewn by hand out of the limestone cliffs. The feudal lord who owned the chateau in the high part on the town decided that he would like to have his own church under the chateau, and after ten years of digging, a church was produced. It is 70 meters high and 26 meters across, with a gallery running around the top with windows in the inner walls to enable the nobles’ wives and other females to look down on the services that were taking place below. To one side of the nave is a massive reliquary which is supposedly carved from a single piece of stone, but my query is this – how does one get a relic into a solid piece of stone? Whatever………..the whole place is very impressive and was well worth the entrance fee.
On the way back, we just had to stop and take a picture of yet another road sign. We have been very aware of the numerous signs which warn of antelope jumping into, out of or across the road, without seeing any of the animals themselves, but this road sign may well explain the absence of buck on the road. Apparently in this part of the world, they fly!

Travelling again Part 7

A really busy week for a change. Starting on Monday when we had a whole round of chores to do which involved a certain amount of driving around. By the end of the day, we had found a new battery for Neels’ watch, fixed the leaky pipe at a friend’s house, cut the grass and sprayed the weeds. Then on Tuesday, we were able to go to Auch to fetch our long awaited renewed permits and since we were in the area, we went to visit Nicky and have lunch with her at the house where she was dog-sitting. It turned out to be a beautifully restored farmhouse and barn, near a small town called St Puy. We noticed that most of the houses in that area have been built with a particularly pretty pale stone, and this was no exception. It also has a magnificent garden which, we are sure, is an absolute picture in the summer. Wednesday to Friday were spent packing up both clothes and food, and cleaning the house to within an inch of its life! As most of you are well aware, house work is not my favourite occupation, so this was real hard labour for me. Meanwhile, Flo, the resident cat, was getting ever more twitchy at the sight of suitcases and boxes, but we tried to explain that her real owners would be arriving on Monday and that she would then be going to England with them – complete with international passport! I don’t really think she got the message.
By Saturday, we had enough luggage to justify a six month safari, which all had to be squeezed into poor little Goldie, but, as ever, she proved equal to the task and everything went in without problem. It was a chilly, foggy day when we set off at a rather slow pace to begin our 230 kilometer journey northwards. For the first half hour, we felt as if our eyes were out on stalks as we both strained to see through the fog which at times appeared to get thicker and then a few minutes later seemed to thin out a bit, and then quite suddenly, it was gone and we were spinning along under a completely cloudless blue sky. We had decided to travel via the toll road as it was the quickest, if not the most scenic route, mainly because we knew that there was to be more travelling later in the day. Quick it certainly was, and a little over three hours later, faithful ‘Jane’ of the Tom-Tom navigator told us that we had ‘reached our destination’. All we needed next was the actual address of the place we were going to stay, but try as we might we could not find the right piece of paper. Eventually, feeling a complete fool, I rang the house number to ask for directions. No answer. So I tried the mobile number. No answer. So we drove around town a little until we found a parking area with some trees where we stopped, had a drink of water and a biscuit, and called again. No answer. By now it was after the magic hour of midday, so all the shops had closed for lunch – or possibly for the day as it was a Saturday, but as we drove back into town we saw a florist shop still open and I dashed in there and asked if they had a telephone book. They had, of course, so could look up the address of our hosts and ask for directions to the street. As it turned out, it was right across the road from where we were standing. At least the entrance to their lane was, the house was a little further from the main road. The reason our calls had not been answered was immediately obvious as both Mr and Mrs were busy in their garden. They had been badly affected by the extreme cold at the end of January and beginning of February and almost the whole garden had succumbed. They were just about finished removing the remains of what had been a three foot high hedge. What a disaster!
Our new abode is delightful, and very convenient to town. Unfortunately it is very definitely a one-bedroomed apartment, so when we got a call from son Pieter to ask if they could visit us for a few days, there was a mad scramble to find some accommodation for the two of them. Luckily we found a B&B in the town a few minutes’ walk from us, so after a quick lunch, Neels and I walked down there to see if there was a room for two. The owner is a charming lady with two young children, and quite easily and quickly we had arranged accommodation for the next three nights. We said that we wouldn’t be back until fairly late, and she said that she would be out with the children at a school function, but that we could have the front door key in case we got back first. What a wonderful place rural France is!! Having just told us that the whole family would not be home that evening, she then gave the key to total strangers! As it turned out, our French was not really as good as we had thought it was, because when we returned later, from our repeat run down and up the motorway, and dropped off Pieter and Jessica, there was no-one there, but when they returned a few minutes later, having been shown the way to our abode, the lady of the house had returned and was quite surprised to see them as she had thought that it was the two of us who would be staying there. And then they discovered that she could speak English, anyway! Ah well……..
That night we sampled the food at a restaurant on the corner of our lane. Mmm! Delicious. We may go back there again. However, we were all very weary and although we had so much catching up to do, sleep was catching up with us and it wasn’t long before we were all in bed.
Sunday was a ‘chill out’ day, at least for half the day. In the afternoon we took a drive out to a town not too far away called Jonzac. We saw several chateaux on the way which have a quite different style of architecture to those further south. Here, the chateaux have wonderful turrets with pointed slate roofs, and are also generally built of light-coloured stone. We walked around the town for a while, but it was not very inspiring and after a time we came home again. We met a man who was out walking his dog, wearing a jacket with a South African flag on it, and so Neels asked him if he was South African. He replied that he wasn’t but had lived for some years in Pretoria working as an aerial photographer, and was married to a South African, but now that he was retired, he had returned to his native France. Phew! We only asked if he was South African!
Just as we were leaving, we saw the most amazing sight - donkeys in pyjamas! I suppose it is a new version of horse blanket but they looked so funny wandering around the field in their stripey PJ's. Just HAD to show you.