In this photo our house is in the centre at the front with our silver C3 parked in front of it. The open space near the river is the cale (old dock). Our house was previously a warehouse used to store wine prior to shipment on the river to Bordeaux and beyond.A few days after La Fete de L’Insolite we drove north to Sarlat-le-Caneda in the Dordogne valley to spend the day with Canberra friends Pam and Bob. We navigated to within 80 metres of their cottage but even with Karen’s help we could not find it. She had Adrian running around the square and streets like a blue-arsed fly. Fran remained stationary and used a more reliable method - the mobile phone! After making contact with Pam and Bob we checked out the Sarlat market and then took a guided tour of the medieval town before enjoying a delicious lunch.
Les jardins suspendus de Marqueyssac are a stunning tribute to the art of topiary as you can see from the photo. We then travelled on to Domme, via Roque Gageac which lies along the banks of the Dordogne River below Marqueyssac and was originally a troglodyte village. Domme is a bastide town (that is, a walled or otherwise fortified town dating from around the 13th century). It was very touristy and busy so we only stayed a short while. On returning to the car we realised that Karen was no longer with us - Quel horreur… Mon Dieu!! Karen was lost! Adrian assumed that she had fallen out of his pocket at some point and was resigned to the fact that we would now have to navigate the rest of our holiday alone. We retraced our steps to Marqueyssac and on arrival Adrian checked the
boot. Voila - there she was, thoughtlessly tossed into one of our sacs. We were so glad to find her again that we promised that we would never call her names or be rude to her again … but that didn’t last long because she continued to give us dodgy directions. On the way home from Sarlat Fran took a turn at driving and astounded the locals by reversing backwards through a roundabout.Our next adventure was a trip to the Pyrenees to see a stage of the Tour de France (The
heading of this blog is from the poem Tarantella by Hilaire Belloc. Adrian studied this poem at school and since then has always wanted to go to the Pyrenees). We wanted to witness a mountain stage of Le Tour because we thought the riders would be struggling up the mountain and wouldn’t zoom past too quickly. After a reconnaissance of the area the day before we opted to drive to the small village of Arreau, located about 60 km from Tarbes where were staying. We planned to walk as far as our legs would carry us up Le col d’Aspin - a 12 km climb to the summit. We managed to get halfway - our feet got a bit sore and we knew that what goes up must come back down. We decided on a spot just above a switchback so that we could see the road below us as well as the road next to us. The atmosphere amongst the spectators was jovial and as we draped a big Aussie flag over a shrub nearby and were waving our small Aussie flags, we were a somewhat unusual element amongst them.
Looking back towards the village of Arreau
Soon after we arrived the caravan of vehicles - team cars, 
press cars, VIP cars, vans, trucks, floats and motorbikes - which precede the cyclists on each stage, started their ascent of the mountain with horns blaring. As they travelled past the throngs of spectators the passengers were throwing out freebies of all sorts - fridge magnets, crackers, lollies, mini umbrellas, hats, bags, key rings, team jerseys (the caisse d’epagne team only) and even liquid washing detergent. We scored quite a bit of stuff, all completely worthless. Look out for this stuff on eBay! An announcement was made that the riders were just 6 minutes away. After 10 minutes an eerie hush fell over the crowd as everyone strained to see the first glimpses of the lead cyclists. The first sign was a line of 5 helicopters that flew slowly past, one after the other. Then we could see a lone helicopter hovering and slowly moving up towards us. Then a series of motorbikes, mainly police bikes, roared past. Finally we could see the lead riders - about 7 - all working hard. All attention was on them as they pedalled around the switch back and up towards us. And then the peleton came into view followed by official cars, TV motorbikes and team cars. It became a hectic flurry of bikes and cars and motorbikes and shouting and cheering and 
waving. And then it was suddenly over. But what a memorable experience!
No sooner had the cyclists passed everyone started the long trek down the mountain. We had only gone about 20 metres when a car with two people in it slowly threaded its way through the people. It had its window open. Fran commented - “Gee it would be nice to have a lift” . The woman must have heard her as the car stopped and the driver, who was English offered us a ride to the bottom. He said “Are you English?” We replied “No, Aussie”. He said “Close enough - my daughter’s married to an Australian. Hop in.” What a bonus, as by this stage it was quite hot and it would have taken us 2 hours to get back to Arreau.
The next day we travelled to Lourdes, a site of religious pilgrimage for Catholics and renowned for its “holy water”. A huge, impressive Cathedral is built above a grotto where it is believed that a local girl , Bernadette, saw several apparitions of the Virgin Mary. It attracts people from all over the world seeking to be healed from their illnesses. We had a drink of the holy water from one of the taps (note the freebie King of the Mountain polka-dot hat).
We arrived home late but unfortunately did not have the energy to attend a Bastille Day village party in the town square, opting for a quiet evening enjoying our beautiful view over the river and a glass of chilled wine. C’est la belle vie!
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