Sunset on Puy L'Eveque

Our days in the small village of Puy l’Eveque are numbered. This time next week we will be in Barcelona and our 5 week independent tour will have begun. We will leave behind the luxury of having a home in France to the challenges and adventures of moving every few days and living out of a suitcase.

Last week we visited Moissac about 60km south, stopping en route at Lauzerte, a bastide town perched on the top of a hill. Adrian was not taken with Lauzerte as it did not have an authentic feel about it, as the buildings were mainly recently built or renovated, albeit with a traditional appearance. In Moissac we visited the large Abbaye St-Pierre with its extraordinary cloister - 116 marble columns supporting sculptured capitals depicting biblical figures and scenes, animals and foliage, the work of several artisans. Apparently the railway line between Bordeaux and Sete was going to be laid right through the middle of the cloister, but that was averted at the last minute by a lobby group which recognised the history and creative workmanship that would be lost to future generations.

We ate our picnic lunch by the side of a canal which ran on its own bridge about 30 metres above the Garonne River!! Amazing engineering. What would have completed the picture was for us to have seen a barge pass by, but that was not to be. Whilst there, we saw numerous cyclists, some with paniers attached to their bikes, obviously on tour, and several locals who arrived for a swim in the canal, complete with li-los and beach umbrellas. We walked across the bridge to check out the canal locks on the other side and pondered the various ways to enjoy travel in France.

We held another dinner party last week to return hospitality to our English neighbours and our landlords, once more presenting challenges for using ingredients which one takes for granted in Australia. The cornflour used to make a sauce for lemon chicken looked more like the old fashioned Clag glue than the transparent appearance of the same sauce made at home. Still, it tasted OK. Much talk was about dealing with French local government officials, how high various past floods had risen inside our house, and who was doing what amongst the local British expatriates.

Our final visitors at Puy L‘Eveque - Fran’s sister Jill and her husband Mick - arrived on Thursday evening at Cahors train station after a gruelling 48 hours travel from Ballarat in Victoria. They looked remarkably alert, but they must have been exhausted. Fran had planned an itinerary for their stay incorporating some villages we hadn’t seen as well as some of the highlights of the area.

On their first day with us they looked remarkably chipper, so off to Prayssac to give them a taste of the markets in rural France, followed by a leisurely lunch comprising many of the goodies we had just purchased. Afterwards a visit to the town of Fumel, or more specifically the clothing outlet adjacent to the huge supermarche, in search of some shorts for Mick who, after a few hours of hot sunshine in the south of France, realised that he should have packed some. After a brief stop to admire the impressive exterior of the feudal fortress of Chateau Bonaguil (featured in previous blog entries), we made our way to the night Marche Gourmand at Montcabrier where local producers were showcasing and selling their wares. We joined others at trestle tables and enjoyed some regional soupe gratuite (free) followed by a taster plate of smoked trout and dips, cabecou (a variety of goat’s cheese) on bread garnished with honey and walnuts and some frites (chips), washed down with a bottle of rose.

The next day we headed to Villeneuve-sur-Lot, a largish town with clothing shops, again on a mission to get some shorts for Mick. Success! Then on to the tiny village of Pujols, claimed to be one of the most beautiful villages in France and, indeed, it is very picturesque. They were having a pottery market and, not for the first time, Fran wished that the baggage limit for travel was greater than 20 kg!! We enjoyed a picnic lunch there overlooking an attractive view of the valley below and the town of Villeneuve-sur-Lot. Then on to Penne d’Agenais with its quite modern church (19th century) with an impressive façade, built at the top of the village, adjacent to which was a graveyard. Jill remarked “What a beautiful place to be buried” to which Adrian cheekily quipped - “Yep, great view!”

The final stop on the day’s itinerary was the little church at Cazes, only 5 km from home, to attend a free classical concert - Three Sopranos singing a repertoire of religious and lyric arias. Three talented young women with great vocal technique provided an audience of around 100 with a very entertaining hour of music. Most enjoyable. The father of one of the singers, seated beside Adrian, was as proud as Punch, often looking at him to check his approval of the performance.

Sunday’s itinerary took us to Villefranche du Perigord where a very large antique fair was being held, and then on to the town of Monpazier, described as one of the best preserved bastide towns in France. We arrived in time to witness a one man acrobatic show which had our hearts in our mouths. A man was balancing precariously on a long thin metal pole about three or four storeys high above the town square (concrete paving, not grass). He was doing handstands, and hanging by his legs, etc. That in itself would have been impressive but then, standing upright on the metal ring, using only his body to balance, he made the pole wave from side to side. It was heart stopping stuff! Afterwards he came around with his hat and people were falling over themselves to toss in a euro or two. He came and sat at the table next to us while we were having an aperitif, but we noticed he only had a Coke and nothing alcoholic. He had another show scheduled a bit later on.

On the way home we stopped off at Chateau Biron but unfortunately arrived too late to get into the chateau itself. As you can see, it is a pretty impressive place. Nevertheless, we wandered around the village that sits under the chateau which, in its own right, is also impressive with well preserved buildings that still evoke images of medieval life. Legend has it that one of the previous owners offended the King and was beheaded. On 31 July each year he wanders around the chateau with his head under his arm (as you would!). This had us checking the date!

Yesterday we made the trek to Toulouse, a town Fran had long wanted to see after seeing Rick Stein peruse the covered markets in Place Victor Hugo. It is a very beautiful city with some grand buildings. It has a Parisian feel to it, although not nearly as large nor as busy. Unfortunately we could only spend a few hours there as we had booked on a guided tour of the site where the Airbus A380 is assembled, but we did make time to appreciate the ornate opulence of the Prefecture building complete with its Salle des Illustres (Hall of the Illustrious) and a delicious lunch in the grand Place du Capitole. Here are the Wilsons in Placa Wilson in Toulouse.

Did you know that four countries (UK, Spain, Germany and, of course, France) are involved in the manufacture of the A380? The parts are so large that they cannot even fit inside a Beluga transport plane, so they travel firstly by ship to Bordeaux, then on large barges along the Garonne River, and finally by a convoy of trucks at night so as to cause as little disruption as possible on the roads. They are brought to Blagnac, near Toulouse, where they are assembled to make the complete aeroplane. Only three airlines are flying A380s at present - Singapore, Emirates and Qantas, but they currently have orders for 200 planes. There was an unpainted Qantas plane parked on the outside area, undergoing tests. The only thing identifying it as Qantas was the kangaroo motif on its engines. Whilst the assembly of the airbus is done in France, the painting and fit-out is done in Hamburg. The guide told us about the raft of tests that they do including how quickly they can evacuate passengers in an emergency. Some amazing statistics were given to us including the dimensions of the plane and the maximum passenger capacity, but the one that we remember is that 700 kg of paint goes on each plane in many thin layers. Adrian’s comment - “that’s not much”.

Well that’s it folks … until we can find the time to write the next blog entry, whenever and wherever that might be.

In the thick of it ... again

We continue to be amazed at the number and variety of things to do in this little village and the surrounding area. Fran’s French teacher had told us of a string concert that was to be held in the church at the tiny village of Montcabrier, so we decided to attend. The musicians were from Paris and the local organiser was the grandfather of one of them. The music included Schonberg (La Nuit transfiguree opus 4) and Mendelssohn (a work for 8 stringed instruments in 4 movements). It was of the highest standard and probably was one of the best chamber music concerts we have ever attended. Afterwards, drinks (wine) were provided for the musicians and audience in the square outside the church, which had been lit up with coloured lights. On a balmy evening it was an unique experience and, as Adrian remarked, was the sort of thing we hoped to experience by coming to rural France instead of a big city. After that, we were invited to the home of one of the local councillors for some further drinks. Her house is located on the town square. She also runs a chambre d’hote and, according to her brochure, she is an art and design historian as well as speaking fluent French. She was a former Brit but has recently achieved French citizenship, having lived here since she fled from Margaret Thatcher’s England in 1991.

We knew that it was scheduled. It happens every year and is considered the piece de resistance of the annual Fete de Puy l’Eveque. If we were in any doubt that it was big, those doubts were soon dispelled when we saw the quantity of explosives being unloaded from vehicles and set up on the cale right outside our house. We wondered why they would set them up the day before the event and Fran was none too easy about sleeping in a room above what looked like giant sticks of dynamite. Our fears were compounded when we witnessed the organisers wandering nonchalantly past smoking their cigarettes and we were further worried when the weather turned nasty, with thunder and lightning buzzing around the sky during the night. The “security guards” on duty were more concerned about keeping dry than preventing fireworks theft or other mischief, and when we peeked through the curtains in the early hours of the morning we saw that they had deserted their posts and were fast asleep in their cars.

Fireworks day dawned but it was very wet … and it rained almost continuously all day. The event was postponed until the next day. Great!! - another night of nervous sleep on top of a potential explosion. But we did have security guards on patrol outside! Monday was a beautiful day and the organisers were busy early getting the show on the road. We had a birds-eye view of the activity. Also on that day, we had been invited to lunch at our landlords’ home in the country about 30 minutes’ drive away. The other guests were an English couple who, a few weeks previously, had cycled up to our window and introduced themselves to us. The food, wine and company were all very pleasant and when we arrived home at 6 p.m. we had to explain to a guard that we lived there and needed to get to our house. Access was granted, but not for our car which we had to park elsewhere.

We packed a picnic tea - bread, cheese, tomatoes, sausage with the customary bottle of vin and headed across the river to watch the spectacle pyrotechnique. The fireworks started at about 10:30 p.m. and were quite impressive, having a space theme and set to music from Star Wars and including a rocket launch countdown sequence and “One small step for Man, …” There was a large crowd all enthusiastically watching and applauding when the show finished. These photos will give you an idea. Most feature our house in the thick of it.

Afterwards we ventured to the main square where a band “Sahara” entertained the crowds with some good music. The singers and musicians were accompanied by four female dancers in numerous matching skimpy costumes, akin to the “go-go girls” from the 1960’s. Adrian reckoned that Kylie Minogue also has a lot to answer for. But to their credit, they were well rehearsed and incredibly fit. After tapping her feet for some time Fran persuaded Adrian to engage in some good old rock-n-roll, although the majority of people weren’t dancing.

Tuesday was the last day of the Festival and the main event was a bike race. We called it the Tour de Puy l’Eveque, because despite the fact that it was 89 km long, the circuit was only 3.2 km which the riders completed 28 times!! They were also incredibly fit as the ride up the Grand Rue is quite steep, with cobblestones adding an extra challenge. We watched the start and the first few laps, then retired home for a cuppa and a rest before returning for the thrilling finale.

We also checked out the “beach” at Cahors - Cahors Plage, where they dump a heap of sand along the river bank, and set up Tahitian thatched umbrellas to provide some shade. They also have an enclosed area set up for swimming, but most people seemed just to enjoy lying by the side of the river. Beach sports such as volleyball and football (soccer) are also part of this annual event. According to the local paper, the Cahors Plage cost 205, 000 euros to set up this year.

That night a Shakespeare play, As You Like It, was scheduled to be performed on the cale beside our house. We decided to “like it” from the comfort of our bedroom windows. We were, in effect, in le loge royale (the royal box). It drew a few laughs and looks from the crowds below as we took our places, complete with wine glasses, five minutes before the play started. One lady, on seeing our wine, shouted, "And it’s not even half-time yet!" The performance, in English, was very well done by a young group on tour from London. One of the players was an Aussie from Torrens in the ACT whom we’d met a few days earlier when he was swimming in the river near our house.

On Friday night we hosted a dinner party for our friends - Norah and Benoit. Fran had promised to make them some traditional Aussie fare … a pavlova. This was quite a challenge as the ingredients and equipment here are very different to Australia. But Fran managed OK and served up a 4-course meal. It was a really enjoyable evening with lots of cross-cultural communication and education on French and Australian ways. They are heading to Paris for work at about the same time that we leave Puy l’Eveque, in a little over two weeks.

Yesterday morning as we were driving around we discovered a Marche aux Puces at Montcabrier. We were keen to know what a puce was! It turned out to be a “trash and treasure” market (a puce is a flea) selling an amazing array of second hand stuff - anything from wooden chests, crockery, lamps and books, lots of old utensils, tired looking dolls, old farm equipment and what looked like the complete set of keys for the Bastille on a large iron ring. Our friends, Charlie and Craig (they know who they are), would have been in heaven.

Last night we went to Cahors to see a sound, light and images display with the 700 year old Pont Valentre as the centrepiece. The Pont Valentre has featured in an earlier blog entry. Whilst not overly spectacular (it's hard to compete with our village’s fireworks), it was eerily enthralling. As you walked on to the bridge the cobblestones were illuminated with the following words (obviously, in French):

Water; Stone; Devil; Faith, War; Life. These are the key words opening the doors to your imagination. Listen, watch and reconstruct my history.

Those 6 elements provided the themes for the sound and light display.

Midnight Bangs

Adrian has continued to be in the wars with a very painful wrist which became so sore that he wanted to go to the doctor (must have been bad!) Instead, on the recommendation of our British neighbour, Ann, we ventured to the pharmacie where Fran had another opportunity to practise her French. After examining Adrian’s wrist and confirming where it hurt most (yes … a very painful exercise), the pharmacist diagnosed rheumatisme and sold us some anti-inflammatory cream. It healed after a few days, which was fortunate as there was some talk that Fran would “have to drive”!!! On Friday night, we were startled from a deep sleep just after midnight by the sound of (clandestine) fireworks going off not twenty paces from our bedroom. Someone had got hold of a commercial “pot” which sent coloured balls high into the sky while also sending up showers of sparks. It was very scary - Fran’s first thought was that the electricity in the bedroom had shorted. It only lasted for a minute or so after which could be heard the sound of cheering from the opposite bank. We wonder whether they were so focussed on the fireworks display that they failed to see the sleepy, but startled, faces of two middle aged etrangers at the window. After the various events of the Fete de L’Insolite under our window and the concert outside our hotel window in Agde several nights earlier, Adrian’s only comment was “Why can’t they leave us alone?”

We have visited several (more) interesting French towns on excursions west and south. There are just so many and we have found that some of the best are not mentioned in any guide books. Villefranche du Perigord has a restored medieval open market place in front of the church and a very interesting brocante (antiques shop). Monflanquin (challenging to pronounce) is a village perched on the top of a hill (as are so many - they were into defence in earlier centuries) which seems to rise up from the surrounding countryside. We had bought some paella at a market in a village nearby and stopped en route home. We were rueing the fact that we hadn’t any forks to eat our paella in the shade of the trees with a magnificent view, so we went looking, only to discover the tail end of another market and a wonderful village square. One little café looked appealing so we decided to stop there for lunch. That night we wondered whether we would regret that decision as the paella was out of the fridge for almost three hours. But we were lucky and didn‘t get food poisoning - next time we’ll pack forks, come straight home, or not buy paella. But it was delicious. We look forward to trying it again in Spain.

Another big trip south yesterday to Montauban to stock up on gluten free tucker and then on several villages on the banks of the Aveyron river. One of these is Bruniquel - an amazing and authentic medieval village! We think it’s more interesting than Rocamadour and St Cirq La Popie - and far, far less touristy. The streets and houses still seem to be the same as when they were used by the workers from the chateaux. It has two chateaux at the highest point - an old chateau and a new (the latter being 17th century). The first photo above is a garden in Villefranche du Perigord while the next two are streets in Bruniquel. Showing a continued interest in wines, Fran had to have a photo with the giant wine press in the chateau at Bruniquel.

If we hadn’t packed a picnic lunch, we would have again been tempted to stop for a meal as the little restaurants looked so inviting. Throughout the early part of August there are opera performances outside the chateaux - unfortunately a little too far away from Puy for us to attend. We found a very restful spot in the shade near the river for a simple picnic lunch of sausage, cheese, tomato and avocado (and a baguette for Adrian), washed down with Perrier. Afterwards on to the village of Penne with the ruins of its 13th century chateau clinging to the cliff above the village houses and then to Saint Antonin Noble Val. This is a farm scene from near the village of Penne. We loved the little dove-cote on stilts. Also here is the bridge at Saint Antonin Noble Val.

By this stage it was incredibly hot and so we didn’t do this little place justice and decided to start the trek home. After several kilometres, Fran offered to drive … and surprisingly, with no hesitation, Adrian pulled over. Well she was going along, going along, keeping on the right side of the road until … Karen announced in her Ozzie nasal twang that Fran had to make a left hand turn at the next intersection and, as anyone who has driven “on the wrong side of the road” will attest, left hand turns are the trickiest. But Fran managed it successfully with the ever-calm Adrian providing very welcome back seat guidance (he puts on a good act). Fran continued for 60 km, negotiating numerous roundabouts and turns until she handed the wheel back to Adrian at the petrol station only 5 km from home and breathed a sigh of relief. In fact, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

Today it is the annual Fete du Vin at Puy l’Eveque. When we ventured up to the square at the top of the town to have a look-see, we discovered that preparations had begun for the town’s annual festival which starts tomorrow and runs for 5 days. Near the post office they have set up the equivalent of “sideshow alley” with dodge-em cars, rides such as the Hawaii Wipeout and knick-knack stalls, etc. They have also unloaded barricades at strategic places around the streets that lead down to the cale so it seems that we are, again, to be at the centre of the action for some of the festival events.

The paparazzi (usually disguised as tourists) continue to take our photo. Almost every time we look out the window someone is on the cale, or the bridge, pointing a camera in our direction and, each night, we see camera flashes from across the river. In fact, the cite workers have set up a grandstand over there that could accommodate a few hundred people. Is it to watch the etrangers, or does it have some other purpose? Perhaps it is for Sunday when there is to be a fireworks spectacular (on the cale outside our house) with the medieval town providing a suitable, and undoubtedly stunning, backdrop. It is best viewed on the other side of the river, so that’s where we’ll be - with the hundreds of other people in the grandstand, staring at our bedroom window!

Just another perfect sunset looking across the Lot River

Get in the Boot!

We have been keen to have the gates at either end of our little street removed as some of the locals had decided to use it as a pissoire, perhaps whilst they were fishing on the cale. As mentioned earlier, they had been installed as part of the Fete de l’Insolite which was in early July. Despite a visit to the Office de Tourisme, they remained in situ. Until… One morning our doorbell rang. We were still in our PJs, upstairs in the sunroom having breakfast. It rang again and so Fran hurriedly pulled on some shorts and a jumper, and before opening our gate enquired “Who is it?” The male voice replied “ La Gendarmerie Madame“. Not wishing to get on the wrong side of the law (although there was some fear that he had heard about Fran’s exploits on the roundabout!!) Fran duly unlatched the heavy gate. A very handsome young gendarme asked whether she knew anything about the mirrors in the street being scratched. Fran could not help him with his enquiries but proceeded to explain that we would like the doors taken away and Voila! - three days later they had disappeared. Ah ... the power of a smile!

We have just returned from travelling south to the Mediterranean for a mini break by the sea. Whilst the distance doesn’t seem far - around 400 km - it is a long way travelling at speeds of up to 130 km per hour whilst dodging trucks and cars entering the autoroutes. As the autoroute on which we were travelling neared the coast, the traffic slowed dramatically, bumper to bumper for several kms and we started to wonder whether this is the norm on the French seaside routes in the height of summer. It was caused by the confluence of two major auto routes, one heading south to Spain and the Costa Brava and the other heading east to Montpellier, Marseilles and the Cote d’Azur. Fortunately (?) cars resumed their harrowing speeds after that point, hurtling onwards to their particular seaside destination.

We had decided to stay at Sete, an interesting fishing port town, located almost on an island, famous amongst other things for les joutes nautiques. Two teams of men, dressed in white pants, and shirts under which is a long sleeved blue and white striped t-shirt, row towards each other on the main canal in town. On each team there is a man standing at the highest point of the boat holding a shield and a lance. As the boats meet, the jouster readies himself to tackle his opponent, unbalance him and effectively “knock him off his perch” into the water. It was certainly an entertaining spectator sport, although we both thought that it looked fraught with danger. The men seated below the jouster are also at risk of getting toppled. At the front of each boat sit two musicians wearing boater hats, one playing a trumpet and the other a drum.

It's best to be a musician in Sete!

The whole sport is really quite amazing. Apparently in August during the Fete de St Louis which lasts for several days, les joutes nautiques are a major drawcard, IF you’re lucky enough to score accommodation and brave enough to bring a car into the town.

Fran in jousting gear

We ate and drank well there - lots of wonderful seafood, including bulots (sea snails), huitres (oysters) and moules (mussels). We had originally booked for two nights, but as the drive was relatively long and costly (tolls on the French auto routes add up!) we decided to extend our stay, but move to another interesting town nearby - Agde, close to the Canal de Midi - and stay at Hotel Le Donjon. With a name like that, it was a risk, but one that was touted in the Lonely Planet as a good choice and right in the middle of the historic old town and beside the Cathedral (another risk, knowing the noise church bells can make by day and night). In its time the hotel had been a convent and then a coaching inn.

What we hadn’t been prepared for was that a rock concert was scheduled that evening on the river, located not much more than 50 metres from the hotel. Consequently many of the roads had been blocked off. To get to the hotel required some negotiation including travelling across the bridge and then coming back before taking an alley to the right. Fran was providing some navigation tips having long since abandoned Karen who had gone into meltdown or was sulking (one of the two). Adrian did well to ignore one of Fran’s tips which, unbeknown to her, was going the wrong way up a one way street. As she took on the persona of Frantic Fran, Adrian calmly enquired “Would you like to get in the backseat?…or perhaps the boot”?

We finally made it to the hotel only to find we had a front row room for the evening’s concert. That is also when Adrian realised (or admitted) that he was feeling really sick. He had a fever, nausea and stomach ache. Add to this, a stiflingly hot room, a noisy rock band whose tunes (?) were accompanied each hour by the tolling of the church bells and … you get the picture.

As Fran was concerned that Adrian might "cark it", she ventured to the front desk to get the phone numbers of the local hospitals. The man at the desk must have wondered what sort of callous wife she was, as not more than 15 minutes later, the same previously worried madame was jauntily taking herself out for dinner (with Adrian’s blessing as he couldn’t eat and she had eaten little all day). We were both anxious about the trip home. Fran had offered to take the wheel to allow him to recuperate, but the thought of her driving at 130 kph on the wrong side of the road was enough to speed Adrian’s recovery. Well…he put on a good act anyway.

We are enjoying a quiet day today, recuperating, reading and relaxing. Fran is doing some French homework having started lessons two weeks ago with a delightful local woman in her 60's. She lives in the woods behind Duravel, the next town west along the river. The lessons are one on one and consist of conversation, interspersed with grammar and vocabulary. Slow progress is being made.

Fire and rain

Our most recent visitors arrived on Tuesday evening last week - Bob and Pam. We collected them from Cahors railway station and managed to comfortably fit their luggage into C3’s boot although they were left nursing the parcel tray in the back seat.

Here we are having lunch in our courtyard.

During their stay, Cahors was hosting the 28th Cahors Blues Festival offering a free concert on the Wednesday. We made time for a wander around Cahors, Fran and Pam forging ahead of the men, up one street and down the next, looking for a restaurant listed in the Lonely Planet. When we found it, the staff were all outside having a drink and a smoke so we guessed we might have been a bit early. After visiting the St Etienne Cathedral and Cloister , we found a little bar in the cool of one of the narrow little streets in the old town as by then, we had all worked up a thirst, enjoying a cold drink and tapas. A nice meal at Le Lamparo (the staff were now back in the kitchen and behind the bar) followed by a digestif on the house, Calvados - delicious, and then we scampered back to the concert venue arriving minutes before the second band - Le Swing Machine - was due to play. It was packed, but being optimistic (and tinny) Fran went straight for some seats she could see and although the 4 of us could not sit together we found 2x2, grabbing them tres vite.

The weather was absolutely superb, warm and still (apologies to family and friends in SE Australia). The band members, all 17 + of them were bedecked in yellow blazers with black shirts and pants and the sound was pretty impressive. Throughout each number one musician would nonchalantly wander to the front, grab a mike, play a solo for a couple of minutes, bow graciously to the applause and even more nonchalantly wander back to their place with the others - alto and tenor saxophone, trumpet and euphonium. Even the conductor had a go, playing the flute very well. The band was joined in the second half by Shanna Waterstown, a blues singer from the US with a big voice.

The next day we took off on a tour of some more of the pretty villages nearby - Goujounac, Les Arques and Lherm. Les Arques is famous for the creative works of Ossip Zadkin, on show inside and outside the Church with more on display inside the museum. However, unfortunately we arrived at the door to the museum one minute before it closed for two hours over lunch. Despite the fact that the town was very quiet - perhaps 8 tourists (and a cat) - 4 of whom were at his door and very keen, the curator shut!! Oh well, C’est la vie, or perhaps C‘est la vie francaise. What we did see of Zadkin’s sculptures were unusual and impressive (see photo of sculpture of Mary and Christ, a modern version of Michelangelo’s Pieta). We also checked out the menu for the restaurant in Les Arques called La Recreation which features prominently in the travel book called “From here you can’t see Paris” - looks good and we may venture back there one day for a long, lazy summer lunch as it’s only 30 minutes away. Afterwards, we paid a visit to Lherm (below right) hoping for a picnic spot in the shade and by a river or stream (not asking much) but no luck. So on we went to Le Lac Vert near Cazals - a popular swimming hole - where we enjoyed a picnic lunch - bread, cheese, sausage - complete with a bottle of local white wine. En route home we tried unsuccessfully to find La Plage aux Pterosaures - allegedly one of the most important paleontological sites in the world with fossilised tracks of 50 species of animals who lived in the area 140 million years ago. We know the site exists as a tourist site because Fran had spoken on the phone to someone there to find out … when they closed for lunch!

The next day was overcast and rainy and so we headed underground to another of the amazing Grottes for which this part of France is renowned, this one, La Grotte de Cougnac, close to the town of Gourdon. It is billed as having one of the most amazing cave ceilings in France, with thousands of long needle-like stalactites. Whilst there were prehistoric paintings similar to those at Pech Merle, they were neither as impressive nor as many. Afterwards a walk through the town of Gourdon which probably warrants a further look at some stage.

That evening was to be la piece de resistance - dinner, music and fireworks in a wonderful setting - at the medieval Chateau de Bonaguil, featured in an earlier blog entry. Pam and Fran were keeping a close eye on the sky and as the afternoon passed, they were convinced that the worst of the weather was over. And besides … we had visions of us dining in style in one of the grand salles in the Chateau as we had been told that the meal would be inside. Hmmm…. !

Chateau de Bonaguil between rain storms

No sooner had we been allocated our seats on long trestle tables outside at the bottom of the hill below the chateau, than it started to rain. The locals were smart - they had brought their wet weather gear and their umbrellas. It was such a pity as the setting was beautiful. Fran managed to grab one of the few large umbrellas made available by the organisers but our backs were still catching the drips and the weather wasn’t too warm. Not to worry - there were enough reasonably dry spells between courses for us to eat and enjoy a delicious meal and afterwards we retired to the warmth of the car to wait for the fireworks spectacular, the carpark offering an excellent vantage point. Set amid the ruins of the Chateau and accompanied by the uplifting strains of music by Bach, Mozart and Verdi, the fireworks offered a wonderful spectacle, accompanied by the story of the Chateau (we think) narrated over a loud speaker. It was a late night. Bob and Pam left us the next day after very little sleep, heading for a week’s walking in Corsica.

As for us, we have had a few lazy days because the heat has returned - around 38 degrees on Monday, watching the Tour de France live on TV and enjoying another swim at the waterhole near Montcuq. We are planning to go to a tango night this evening at the local community hall featuring demonstrations by dancers from Buenos Aires followed by a bal (dance). Should be fun.

And the fleas that tease in the high Pyrenees

We realised that we have not included a photo of the front of our house in this blog. 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.

We then drove to several interesting sites around Sarlat. 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!