Thirty-six minutes later we were back at Thouars Resistance Museum. Now well after 2pm, we stood once more outside a locked door; only this time we could see people within. And on the square a bus was disgorging schoolchildren.
We knocked on the glass, and received shakes of the head from a young lady within; but then the nice girl we’d spoken to that morning spotted us. She persuaded her boss to let us in.
WE HAVE THE EXHIBITION ENTIRELY TO OURSELVES
We had the entire exhibition to ourselves, and hand-held speakers gave us English translation regarding the photos and objects.
THE REJOICING OF THE OPRESSORS
There was such a lot to see: Some very well presented photographs and written testimony. Also videos of film taken at the time. It made us go cold to see jubilant German soldiers shooting inhabitants into the mass grave they’d been forced to dig. It brought home again how easy it seems to be to ‘turn’ a group of ordinary, decent young men into unthinking, uncaring monsters. IT CAN HAPPEN ANYWHERE.
This exhibition, and others like it, should be visited widely, and heeded as warnings against history repeating itself.
REJOICINGS AT LIBERATION –
Other photographs showed the people mad with joy when the Americans drove in. But there were also darker pictures, showing the consequent punishments served on those who had collaborated with the enemy.
-AND RETRIBUTIONS – ON PROFITEERS AND GOOD-TIME GIRLS
Not least those women who had chosen ‘a good time’ hobnobbing with the German soldiers. Also the few local profiteers, who had lined their pockets by collaborating with the enemy.
TRIBUTES TO THE LOCAL ‘MAQUIS’
There were many written and photographed histories of the little local band of Maquis – mostly very young. Though not all: some very brave older folk took tremendous risks. Many were marched off to suffer in concentration camps – or were shot on the spot. Hard to say which was the worse fate.
The Marie
THERE ARE STILL A FEW ALIVE TO TELL THEIR TALES
Very few Maquis survived the war – but there are actually still a handful of these brave people still living. Most of these must have been children when they took part in the sabotage adventures. I wish I could remember the name of one exceptionally daring woman who took a leading part in the local sabotage and even fighting. This national heroine not only survived the war, but concentration camp and a death march – she lived until 2002.
That evening we were surprised to see that the ‘tent-shop’ at the roadside was still open. We went in and bought water, ham, cheese – and a whole fruit flan, as you see them only in France. We shared it in the cool of the evening with Yvonne and Stephen, sitting out in the flowery front courtyard.
Leaving Saumur chateau we arrived at the bottom of the town, searching for a shady place by the water. It was just too hot to go up and down streets. We drove on for a couple of miles, and even crossed over a bridge, but there seemed to be no access to the water meadows. We just did not know what we were doing….
“Let’s go and look for one of those troglodyte villages,” I suggested.
“They’ll be just like Matera.”
“You don’t know that. They don’t look the same in that leaflet.”
I hurriedly searched the car for it – but in vain. Suddenly a road sign appeared with the required brown slots. We drove a couple of miles only to find two places closed.
– AND LUNCH
“If we don’t look for lunch now, we won’t get any,” said Graham. “You know what it’s like on a Sunday in France. They don’t ‘do’ Sunday Lunch.”
WE FIND A LOVELY GARDEN RESTAURANT
Fortunately, we shortly passed a large garden with gazebos sheltering dining tables. It seemed to be well patronised, so we turned round and Graham assembled my scooter, and while he looked to park our car I whizzed along and found a nice small table in the shade.
– BUT WE ARE TURNED AWAY
A formally dressed waiter approached. “We have no tables free,” he said.
“But this one – and those –“
“We are fully booked.” He was rather abrupt.
By now Graham had caught up with me. He asked if there were anywhere else nearby where we might get lunch.
“There is a place 2 kilometres that way”. His tone was dismissive. “They sell sandwiches,” he added witheringly.
By now some more people were drifting in, including a young girl elaborately dressed in white. As we turned away we guessed this must be a confirmation celebration. We appreciated that this large mass meal needed precision. But need that waiter have been so graceless? We decided that, reluctantly, we’d better find this ‘sandwich’ place.
Inside the restaurant
TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE:
We’re glad we did! As we descended a winding path and joined a small queue to enter a very narrow doorway we were met by a charming waitress who explained that this was a ‘restaurant in a troglodyte cave’ and that the food was historically accurate to the region, and sourced locally. Yes, it was served in sandwich form, because that was the tradition.
STONE AGE SANDWICHES – DELICIOUSLY DIFFERENT
WE were guided through candle-lit packed tables set into all the nooks and crannies of a winding cave complex – entirely natural. ‘Torches’, and stone-shielded lights were set into the walls seemingly randomly. It was all very cleverly contrived. We were seated close to a small coal fire; but there was an equally small window open nearby.
“It may be hot outside,” said Graham, “but I expect they need a bit of heating in here. The temperature will be constant.”
THE FOOD WAS CHARMINGLY RUSTIC
Waitresses came round with long, linen-covered baskets of hot flattish rolls. They showed us how to split them in order to make our ‘sandwiches’. The focaccia ‘cobs’ were of rough stone-ground flour. They were both light and deliciously tasty. Bowls appeared; smallish ones. There was a very smooth pork pate in one; creamed mushrooms in another. A third held ‘rillauds’, which turned out to be made from a puree of navy beans – surprisingly tasty. There was a large bowl of very fresh salad, and then, to our surprise – a small casserole each.
Breaking Bread
NO FRENCH TABLE COMPLETE WITHOUT WINE AND WATER
A bottle of local red wine was placed next to a carafe of iced water.
WE WOLFED DOWN A SURPRISING NUMBER OF ‘STONE-AGE SANDWICHES’
Washed down with the wine, and accompanied by the salad, we found we were enjoying our lunch of a surprising number of ‘sandwiches’; for the baskets of bread kept circulating.
FESTIVE CAVE – JOLLY FAMILY PARTIES
There was such a festive air in the cave; several family parties enjoying the novelty of it all. There was a dessert, but I cannot remember what it was. We thoroughly enjoyed the experience, and emerged into dazzling sunlight.
Parties dining
I MAKE A DISCOVERY
A Narrow passageway in Les Caves de la Genevraie
As usual, my first priority was to find a toilet. While Graham was eagerly photographing, I went through a small wicket gate, thinking it a likely move.
It did not lead to my Shangri La, but instead I found myself in a large, natural cave with offshoots and little stairways. It was evidently used for storage. This haven was entirely natural, and very beautiful and intriguing. I called Graham to look, but he said that first he must help me up the many steps to the facility I needed, right at the top of the grotto in which we found ourselves.
Duty done, we went down again and both more thoroughly poked around in the restaurant’s hidden storage facility – an utterly unspoilt cave that must have been in use for many centuries. I thought how I would have adored being there when I was a child. Most probably I would have driven my parents frantic, for I would surely have ‘got lost’ again in climbing that intriguing narrow stairway that disappeared round a bulging outcrop.
“I don’t think we need go searching for any more troglodyte dwellings, do you?” I asked, thinking we had stumbled upon a fair sample.
Somehow we were in ignorance that for about 9 euros we could have taken a tour of a complete Troglodyte village (about 4 houses, I have learned.) It finishes with a ‘train’ ride. This sounds as especially appealing and useful knowledge for kids.
Giverny is truly Monet’s Paradise. Both garden and house demonstrate his love of colours, and his way of putting them together. It is well worth the ticket price. You will get in cheaper – and more importantly – save yourself a long wait in line if you book in advance over the internet.
This delightful village was not that far away from Rouen, so we had booked in for a ten o’clock entrance to Monet’s famous garden in Giverny. This was a delight once we had finished the very long walk from our car park to the entrance right at the other end. (We were not clued-in as to the best car park). I ALSO advise you to Google up a ground plan before you visit Giverny.
MONET’S GARDEN – ‘PALETTE’ – AT GIVERNY
Strip Borders
We were surprised at first to see that the main garden was comprised of what looked like overlong, thin allotment strips interspersed with paths. Ah – but these strips were packed with flowers. It was when I stood at one corner and looked up across these beds to the far corner that Monet’s palette sprang startlingly into view. A row of vivid royal blue irises fronted a slash of large crimson tulips. They stood in a sea of glowing yellow daffodils (or similar flowers) interspersed with those lime-green euphorbias all French gardeners seem to love. This riot of colour was broken at intervals by fruit trees in full blossom, although there was a full orchard elsewhere – part of it taken up by the overflow from two cafes.
Monet’s Palette
Monet’s Palette –
AN UNWELCOME QUEUE:
Eating under the trees was all very pleasant. There were two snags, though: The prices of the food on offer, and the fact that there was only one very small ladies’ toilet (outside). One had to queue. I would have thought that with the prices they were asking they could have provided better relief than the one and only site to be found in this vast garden.
Eating Al Fresco
You had to pass fascinating little ‘side garden rooms’, many with attractive central gazebos, before crossing an underpass to get to the next bit over the road.
Dreaming of Monet
AH: MONET’S FAMOUS BRIDGE:
This ‘next bit’ held the famous water-lily lake and bridge. It proved to be very tranquil. In May, although much of the bridge was hidden, this was due to a beautiful, twisted Wisteria, which had obviously been planted at Monet’s behest.
Punts on Monet’s lake
Monet’s Lake
Monet’s Lake
MONET’S HOUSE – HE COLLECTED JAPANESE PRINTS
Monet’s House
We returned to the main garden and explored Monet’s house. We were counted in. Our batch was ushered first into a room hung with student copies of some of Monet’s paintings. These were very disappointing, as they did not have the master’s touch. Also, for some reason, they were nearly all in dreary greyish tones. Much more captivating was Monet’s collection of Japanese prints, which adorned the rest of the house. Sadly, it was forbidden to photograph these – so you’ll have to go and see for yourselves!
There were two charming bedrooms that I remember – one in very ‘country-style’ with all the furniture painted yellow with blue touches.
MONET MADE MONEY – WE SEE A ‘STATE OF THE ART’ KITCHEN:
The same colour scheme was carried out in the dining room downstairs – but it was the kitchen that entirely impressed me. Clearly Monet had been doing alright: This was a State of The Art Kitchen, circa 1890, if ever I saw one.
MONET’S BLUE AND WHITE TILES
The whole room was floored in red tiles and walled in blue and white tiles – the wall ones quite tiny.
MONET’S SUPPERS COOKED IN COPPER PANS
An entire wall held a shelf of size-ranged copper pans, funnels and other equipment. There was a good-sized, sturdy, scrubbable table for working on, and later sitting round.
Pots and Pans
WARMED BY A FIREPLACE AND MONSTER RANGE
We especially admired the cosy fireplace next to a very large, impressive black-leaded range. I’m sure it would have been designed for a largish restaurant kitchen. On my left was a large butler sink, and behind me a cupboard or dresser holding the table china, porcelain, etc.
State of the Art 1890’s
MONET’S KITCHEN – A PLEASANT WORKPLACE
I imagine that the staff had good walking exercise getting a meal together – but even so, for it’s time it must have been a joy to work in. Fully equipped, cheerful and airy. Warm in winter and cool in summer, with the gorgeous garden to be glimpsed through the glass-topped door.
MONET’S GIVERNY – WORTH EVERY PENNY
We left feeling that we had received good money’s worth, and were glad to get back into the car for a welcome sit down. There is a difference in memory, but I am convinced that I walked the whole thing with my stick. However, Graham insists that I used the scooter. Maybe he’s right. There was certainly a lot of ground covered.
We left the hotel at 9am, in order to reach the ferry port in Dover an hour before sailing. We had intended breakfasting at a remembered treasure:
Dawn’s Delight. 22 Cheriton High St, FolkestoneCT19 4ET
This admirable café is an ‘institution’ in Folkestone. We had counted on a good breakfast to sail on – but could not quickly locate it. It must have been at the other end of the town, so we arrived on the boat quite hungry. The breakfasts aboard were very expensive and from past experience less than thrilling, so we made do with a Café au Lait and a Pain au Chocolat each.
A SMOOTH CROSSING:
The crossing was smooth, and Graham left me lounging in a comfortable seat with my legs up, as per doctor’s orders, while he went off to take photographs of the white cliffs.
GOODBYE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ‘AU REVOIR’
Of course, I had to go out on deck to say goodbye to England. I’m never the only one to be gazing at our guardian cliffs until they disappear from view.
THE WHITE CLIFFS – MORE THAN A PRETTY FACE
On a previous trip we spent a day touring Dover Castle. One of the best – and if we hadn’t been members of CADW (Wesh Heritage) which earned us free admittance, we might have balked at the unusually high charge – which would have been a pity. It is worth every penny.
We would have missed the ‘bonus’ of delving into the miles of tunnels within those famous white cliffs. Started in the Napoleonic wars, and the centre of operations in the Dunkirk rescue in World War 2, when the hidden windows and tunnel openings enabled strategic views of the large ships and small boats (down to a rowing boat manned by a boy scout).
Not so White Cliffs of Dover
WHITE CLIFFS DISAPPOINTINGLY NOT SO WHITE –
The White Cliffs of Dover needed a clean up now. These iconic guardians of the entrance to England are presently marred by tussocks of scrub and dark streaks. Any other nation would see that they were kept gleaming white…
SEAGULLS SEEM TO STRIKE A POSE
Graham also made many studies of the harbour and shipping – not forgetting the seagulls. They seem to enjoy having their photographs taken as they so often strike perfect poses, or fly slowly past at close quarters.
Leaving Dover
CROSS-CHANNEL FERRY – PLENTY TO ENJOY
As our English cliffs disappeared from view we were fascinated by all the maritime activity on this busy waterway. Pretty soon the outside decks filled up; we were all peering for our first glimpse of the French coast. The time seemed to fly, but we had enjoyed a ‘breathing space’ before embarking down the ramp and on to French concrete…
We made sure to stop and explore Ostuni, which was on our way to join the coast road. Another remembered favourite, it is called locally The White City because from a distance its hill is crowned with sparkling white buildings. Once inside, we were enchanted by the steep and narrow, winding cobbled streets in the old town. Unsurprisingly, every house was painted a fresh, glaring white, which set off the pots of geraniums on steps and balconies, and the festoons of bougainvillea of every hue.
Ostuni-alleyway
NARROW LANES – TEMPTING LITTLE SHOPS
Ostuni-visitors-climbing-the-steep-streets
In the upper town we found many small, whitewashed shops in the narrow lanes. We were all attracted by nice souvenirs, like clothes being sold off cheaply at end-of-season. I bought some elegant scarves and pashminas for Christmas gifts on our return, and wished we could have found room in our car for some of the colourful pottery. I fell in love with some intricately pierced white china lamps, and antique terra-cotta amphora, which I would have argued to find room for could we have afforded them.
We may find many more examples of the potter’s art in this area if we are ever able to return.
VIVIEN AND I BEHAVE LIKE TEENAGERS
Vivien and I had great fun trying on hats in one shop. Hats do not suit me, but I was disappointed when she did not buy an immense floppy-brimmed job in bright mustard yellow. She looked fabulously elegant in it, and the colour suited her. There was also a treasure-trove of costume jewellery. I bought some for small gifts for friends when we returned home.
Ostuni is very close to Cisternino, where many Trulli are dotted by the road and in further fields only a couple of miles out into the country.
WE SEARCH IN VAIN FOR A REMEMBERED RISTORANTE –
I was surprised and a bit miffed not to find a wonderful ‘wine cellar’ restaurant we’d visited five years before – but later, when we stayed those two nights with Francesca after taking Vivien to her plane in Brindisi, I think we found it in Ciobica, the next little town towards Cisternino, but on the other road. Sadly, at that time of day, it was closed.
Pompei was our next stop, where we were fearful of taking our germs. We were both thankful that the journey that day took only 2hrs 22 minutes, because by now the influenza symptoms were raging within me, also. We both dreamed of taking our aching limbs straight back into bed.
POMPEI – HOW WE FIRST MET OUR ITALIAN FAMILY
We had booked four nights with Martina and her brother Salvatore in their B&B La Casa di Plinio. For some years now it has been rated in Trip Advisor as the No.1 ‘Hotel’ in Pompei. This was our fourth stay with them. We had received such a warm welcome on our very first visit in 2009 to view the ruins, when Martina’s mother, Antonella, was in charge of La Casa de Plinio (Martina being on holiday).
Antonella had insisted on ushering us into the owner’s private kitchen, where she plied us with wine and cakes (we had been out for a pizza already). When her husband, Andrea, came in from work, we settled into a convivial evening, with the help of a tablet he owned (very new, then) which translated our conversations both ways.
POMPEI – GOING BACK IN ORDER TO SEE THE REST OF ANCIENT POMPEII
So in 2011 we arranged our route to stay a night or two at La Casa di Plinio with this welcoming family on our way down to the heel of Italy.
We also booked five nights in 2014, planning to view the ‘other end’ of the vast Roman site. (We like to take our time and explore in depth).
IN 2014 CONSERVATION OF ANCIENT POMPEII LED US TO HERCULANEUM
It was a bitter disappointment then to find that all the great villas at the station end of the Pompeii site were closed for conservation – including the famous brothel, with its naughty murals.
POMPEI – A ‘DROP-EVERYTHING’ WELCOME
Vincenzo
The minute we arrived at La Casa di Plinio in 2014 Martina must have telephoned the entire family, because within ten minutes all were there, kissing and hugging us. Martina’s partner Vincenzo, and Salvatore, her brother roared up on their motorbikes. They had taken time off work just in order to show us their pleasure at our arrival!
2014 – WE ARE TOLD ‘YOU ARE OUR FAMILY’
Martina and Salvatore’s mother, Antonella, closely followed them. She is an incredibly beautiful woman with a heart as fair as her face. She was leading HER mother…
That was when we were told ‘you are our family, Jackie; Graham. You eat with us tonight. Andrea will be home from Naples.’ Thus was formed a bond which will never break. Italians really treasure ‘famiglia’. More openly apparent than in some families back in England.
HERCULANEUM
WE ‘TRY’ HERCULANEUM – AND FIND IT REWARDING
We had already thoroughly explored the two colossea in Pompeii: Also the forum, the graveyard and the numerous streets that led to the site café. We reluctantly decided that perhaps a trip to nearby Herculaneum might be the better option on that holiday. It was a fortunate decision. In some ways the smaller site is more rewarding. In Herculaneum many houses, and even blocks of Roman flats, are still quite intact. This was due to the way the holiday resort was instantly buried under hot ash. This preserved even wooden furniture (now in Naples museum) and balcony rails and still-bright roof tiles. I would love to see one house furnished with replicas of the originals.
HERCULANEUM – FOSSILISED SKELETONS OF FLEEING FAMILIES
Instead of casts of the bodies found, as in Pompeii, in Herculaneum you can still view the fossilized skeletons of the families who had fled to the ‘last haven’ – the boathouses by the old seashore. We found it intensely moving, as did Lolly and other visitors on our later trips.
POMPEI – DRIVING AROUND VESUVIUS
We also drove the winding road around Vesuvius, discovering some intriguing towns. One was full of very good wall paintings. We bought excellent ‘volcanic’ wine, and fresh cherries and other fruits from farmers selling at the roadside.
POMPEI – A FEAST WITH OUR ITALIAN ‘FAMIGLIA’
There was a memorable feast that year (2014) with our ‘famiglia’. It was the night before we first explored Bari, and hopped on the overnight ferry to Croatia. It was supposed to be our treat to our lovely host family. However, we strongly suspected that Andrea, the father, had another arrangement with the owner of the restaurant they picked.
– AND AN ASSORTMENT OF RELATIVES AND FRIENDS
We sat outside at a large table placed beneath cunningly lit vines. It was all very romantic. Andrea insisted on taking over the ordering. Food kept coming – in the Italian way. As did various relatives and friends of the family. They would turn up and plonk themselves down on a spare chair, and often partake of a course or two. This is also a common Italian custom. The lovable Italian people open their big hearts so readily. They are the experts in extending celebration and welcome to all who seek them out: An example to us all.
Since then we have been embraced as part of the Casa di Plinio family – Antonella, Andrea, and their children Salvatore and Martina; and Martina’s partner, Vincenzo.
POMPEI – BACK IN 2016 AGAIN – HUGS, KISSES AND COOKING:
As usual, the moment we turned into the courtyard, Martina was on her mobile phone, rushing down from her flat and letting us in through the large gate. Within fifteen minutes the entire family surrounded us. We were hugging and kissing (couldn’t stop them, but averted our faces when they kissed – we didn’t wish to pass on our germs).
Salvatore and Vincenzo had left their work, and had to rush back – but they still came. As usual, roaring up on their motorbikes.
Andrea’s work took him much further afield, but that evening he cooked a special welcome meal for us in the house where he and Antonella live. Graham and I struggled to do justice to the delicious food, the ‘flu having robbed us of all appetite.
POMPEI – WE RECEIVE TLC.
Our Italian family (they long ago adopted us) were great. I don’t know what we would have done without their loving help. They were in the throes of redecorating all the rooms, which they do every year. They did not close while the refurbishing went on, as they had planned.
Despite this we both stayed in bed for three days, and because I was still very poorly they agreed that we could stay out the week, which gave me two more days in bed. So Martina accepted another couple, and also an Italian family, the mother of whom became a thorn in her side. ‘I’ll never accept Italians again. They are the worst,’ she declared. (I’m sure that’s not true, really.)
MARTINA NURSES ME – AND CANCELS OUR NEXT B&B’S
Graham got up on the fourth day but I stayed in bed. Martina had the work of cancelling two nights at Cinque Terre and one at Orange, which we had both looked forward to seeing. We’d also very regretfully cancelled our original booking to stay again at the charming house of Svetlana and Lucio Bigero in the eco-park of Selva Grande. They are very charming people, who welcome you into their home. The accommodation is spacious and colourful, and full of good art. The rest of the house is also a reflection of its lively minded and artistic owners, with lots of books and musical instruments.
B&B Villa Selva Grande, 00060 Sant’Oreste, Metropolitan City of Rome, Italy. Phone: +39 329 681 7194
Whilst there, we had planned to again eat at a small restaurant where the chef is ‘passionate about food’. It is situated at the foot of a nearby mountaintop town full of artists and craftsmen. Even the little shops were artistic and colourful.
Instead, we decided on a more direct route of one-night stops in order to reach the Channel tunnel on the 29th November.
POMPEI – HOT DRINKS AND A LIGHT, NUTRITIOUS LUNCH
Meanwhile, Martina kept popping in with hot drinks and offers to make food. We declined, until on our last day, when I knew I must get up (we’d be travelling next morning).
To our surprise Antonella arrived and cooked lunch for everyone, including Martina’s delightful, hardworking assistant, Anna. We met her wedged in, crowded around the small table. She was passing bowls of a very light spaghetti dish containing Calabrese (and celery? It was a long time ago). I know the sauce was light green and so delicious that I managed to eat half of my bowlful.
Farewell Lunch at La Casa di Plinio
POMPEI – CAR REPAIRS – FAMILY FAREWELLS.
We left Pompei on Sunday the 20th. November, 2016.
I felt pretty rough, but just well enough to travel. At least the delay had given Graham time in the last day or two to use our friends’ motor mechanic to check out the Golf. (After all our challenges our eleven-year-old steed was starting to show signs of wear.)
A Good job, too! The mechanic found two valves in the water system that were almost blocked. He replaced the cheapest and cleaned the dearest, and said we should now have no trouble and safely see the white cliffs of Dover. (How we were going to do that from the tunnel begs the question…) Graham, delighted by the low bill, said he was being cheerfully Italian.
LEMON & ORANGES FROM THE TREE
Before we left Graham went into our friends’ garden and picked a lemon and some oranges. The temperature in the sun was a pleasant 21C. So with the warmth and the sun shining, not a bad place to have ‘flu, we thought. Better than England in mid-November.
POMPEI – IF THEY STILL HAVE SPACE – DO NOT MISS THIS SPECIAL B&B:
B&B La Casa Di Plinio Via Stabiana 3, 80045 Pompei, Italy.
Home: 0818598960; Martina Mobile: 00393339453170; Salvatore Mobile: 00393934008187
e mail: info@lacasadiplinio.com
Instead of exploring more of the Dordogne right then, we struck across to the East, making for The Auvergne, an area at that time virtually unexplored by Brits. I had planned a route to take in three pretty villages and the famous Mont D’Ore, but for some reason (perhaps Graham had a headache or felt tired, and it was so very hot in the car, which now lacked air conditioning) we drove straight to Thiers on the A89 (about a three-hour journey in pleasant green countryside, but with scant evidence that day of the famous ninety-six extinct volcanoes.)
We arrived early in the interestingly old, but in places, somewhat shabby town of Thiers; no doubt because it has been very, and still is, industrial to a degree; famous for its long history as Cutler Centre of all France. Indeed, the next day we admired countless shops with window displays of knives of all shapes, sizes and uses, and found the factory that produced our prized and famous Sabatier kitchen knives. Also, sitting in the ‘Place’ – a sort of square, we were intrigued to see a strange clock set into a cogwheel, and on the hour there was a grinding sound and a metal man gradually arose to stand on top, to bring down a metal rod and beat out a knife on his anvil. Apparently this animated figure was made in 2008.
This clock was a mechanical marvel – on the hour the figure of a smith rose from its top and beat out a knife
We Climb and Climb –
I had some misgivings when we tried to find our B&B. The address suggested that it was one of the very old, very tall houses climbing up a steep hill. We went up and up, and the once-elegant houses got ever dirtier and shabbier (no doubt due to centuries of smoke from the industry).
We finally found a designated parking area, and were lucky to squeeze in. We were also fortunate in that a rather smart car stopped just across from ours and a pretty woman got out. It turned out to be our hostess, Annie, who laughed when we said we were lost, and led us down across a patch of grass to a gate set in a wall with a modern roof just peeping above it.
The view from Annie’s was panoramic – this photo does not do it justice
I Become a Teacher?
Once inside, we went down several rustic stone steps into her terraced, pretty garden, which looked out over the open plain for miles and miles. She asked if we would like some tea – under the apple tree, or by the swimming pool? The apple tree looked shadier, and she joined us for real English tea and delicious cakes.
Presently the little Sealyham yapped excitedly as the garden gate opened and a young boy in school uniform bounded down the steps. Standing at attention he confronted me, bent from the hip and said ‘Good Afternoon. My name is Marc Hupel, and I am twelve years old. I am learning English at my school.’ He put out his hand. ‘How do you do?’
We shook hands solemnly, and I congratulated him on his good English, whereupon Annie insisted he fetch his textbook so that I could hear his homework, which I was glad to do. He was a charming lad, and his manners were excellent, although his mother assured me (and re-assured me) that, like every other boy his age he ‘has his moments’.
This was the lower more informal of Annie’s terraces
We stayed for two nights with this lively and welcoming family in their beautiful home. The house immediately attracted, with its attractive, restful décor; with some particularly large, striking paintings in the drawing room; they had been the work of Annie’s mother. Annie was no mean painter herself, but what really impressed me were her charming sculptures.
She insisted that we move into the room she shares with her husband – apparently something about me compelled her to feel that the very reasonably priced room we had booked was not good enough for me! (I’m sure it would have been). Standing at the window we looked out over the city and several miles of countryside.
Later, we were introduced to Charlie, her husband, returned from a sad mission in Paris. The family took us to one of their favourite eating places on our first evening; an excellent Vietnamese restaurant. The next morning we sat down in their kitchen to breakfast with them, which is an experience we always enjoy when offered by B&B hosts abroad. Chambre de Grande Lumineuse.
On this hazy day it is hard to make out the humps of extinct volcanoes
Volcanoes & Value Grub.
The route of our tour for the stop over day at Thiers
Later, we had a lovely ride through the green Auvergne plain, dotted with 96 extinct volcanoes. We missed Mont D’Ore yet again, for some reason, but even so we revelled in the scenery, and the numerous colourful hot air balloons floating above us. When we searched in villages to buy lunch, we found everywhere closed, as it was a Sunday.
We finally found a tiny auberge on the road to some chateau or other. Two German backpackers were hanging around,obviously waiting for it to open.. We decided we’d better try this place.
We sat on one of the forms drawn up to long tables set under an awning. A fierce-looking older lady, dressed in the ubiquitous black, bore down on us.
“You cannot seet zere!” We were bewildered – the table was bare and empty. “You must seet ‘ere.” We were now out of the shade I’d selected, but Madame, seeing my annoyance, pulled down a sort of wall made of rattan.
“We would like to order”-
“In meenute. These first,” indicating the pair of German hiking boys. They grinned at us.
When we tried to tell Madame that we only wanted one course each she ignored us, and brought out a bottle of iced water, a carafe of red wine and fancy little ‘tasters’ of cream cheese and pate, on a sort of crisp rusk. Next came a lovely mixed salad, with flower heads atop.
“Please,” said Graham. “I saw fish on your menu. No fish for me. I don’t eat.”
She glowered at him. “Omelette, then. Fish or omelette.” She must have done all the cooking herself. However, when Graham’s omelette arrived he was absolutely poetic about it; and my fish was superb, with potatoes and a little medley of finely chopped vegetables.
The restaurant at Isserteaux where we had a wonderful lunch
“Dessert?”
“I notice you offer cheese. Is it local?” asked Graham, the ‘awkward’ one.
“Two for cheese?”
“No – I’d like to try your dessert,” I said.
In due course a plate was put before me with about four desserts on it – a tart, a pie, a mousse and a small dish of golden baked custard – I cannot remember details. Graham had four generous chunks of differing cheese, and a selection of excellent crusty breads to work through. We shared everything, and somehow ate the lot. When we finally rolled off the long form, stuffed to our chins, the bill came to €14 each and that also covered the wine. What a place!
Restaurant – Bar – Tabac à ISSERTEAUX: www.aubergedemontjoux.com
The next day, in a specialist shop in Thiers (Fici, 7 Rue Conchette) we bought some of those famous cheeses of the region: A creamy blue – Fourment D’Embert, the orange-crusted Fournol; Rouge Poivre ‘Kululu’; Fromage Basque au Piment D’Espelette et Poivrons, Brebis and the most celebrated – the black-crusted St Nectaire. Some were hermetically sealed for sharing when we returned home. Then we were on our way to Embrun.
Text by – Jackie Usher, SWWJ. (aka author Debbie Darkin, & ‘Graham Liverpool’ on Trip Advisor.) Photographs by – Graham Usher. Thanks to Google maps – Most of the images have been taken by Graham, though in this blog Thiers clock, the Restaurant and the Auvergne village came from other sources.
After F1’s ‘Healthy breakfast’ of cornflakes, undrinkable coffee and a tiny, limp croissant (€7 each) that day’s country route to Sorges was the most scenic so far. The A20/A9 took us through the spectacular ‘Dordogneshire’ countryside. Majestic trees, gorges, cliffs, rivers – ooh, I could go on…
EARLY ENOUGH TO SEE BREAD PULLED FROM OVEN –
This was our earliest start by far. (7.30am). We found a misty back road, and soon reached a small village. School buses drew up in the square as we parked outside a tiny, old-fashioned bake house. We could see inside to where a man had just opened a small door in the wall. He then went back to where very long-poled ‘paddles’ were hanging from hooks in the high rafters. He selected one (the four-foot paddle made the whole tool measure at least sixteen feet.) He pushed it into the oven and started drawing out aromatic loaves of bread.
AND PASTRIES GRABBED BY HUNGRY SCHOOLBOYS
We stood in the entrance to a miniscule ‘shop’, hoping to buy one, but were suddenly bypassed by a large posse of schoolboys, who suddenly appeared with jam tarts and similar goodies in their hands. These were unwrapped, because they were wolfing them down as they streamed back to their buses, which promptly drove off. We gladly accepted small, very strong coffees in paper cups.
ARGENTON-SUR-CREUSE
SPECTACULAR VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE
This was the start of the spectacular scenery and romantic chateaux on this country route to Sorge. But what stood out for us was when, right on the road, we came upon the small town of Argenton-Sur-Creuse (as per my planned itinerary). Parking in a side street with houses of mixed age, we walked round for a bit, looking for the river, and Graham suggested taking the next turning. I was reluctant, feeling tired – but how wrong I was! We found ourselves by a lovely old bridge, and there were truly ancient houses rising straight out of the water on one side.
A patch work of rooftops at Argenton-sur-Creuse – another medieval town on route
The opposite bank had grander buildings and trees, and a golden statue of the La Bonne Dame winked in the sun from its perch atop a high bell tower.
GRAHAM TAKES PHOTOS – I FIND A HANDY BAR
While Graham took photos from the bridge I turned into the narrow, cobbled street and found a tiny bar. I yet again badly needed of a toilet – a tedious priority of advancing years.
AN UNUSUAL LOCAL BAR
I was intrigued by the bar, which was run by an ageing lady who by her makeup and dress must have been called Fifi. Why do I say this? Because there was something racy about the scarlet interior. The walls were smothered with photographs of bygone glories, including lots of famous jazz players. I could smell strong perfume as she ushered me through a bead curtain to a tiny but very clean loo in the back.
CAFFE-CLACKING
When I returned I was greeted in English by three mature lady shoppers enjoying their coffee. The hostess joined in whilst washing and shredding large lettuces that looked as if pulled from the ground ten minutes before.
The old mill sitting in still waters at Argenton-Sur-Creuse
Graham later joined us and we had an enjoyable morning break, drinking coffee and chatting. Two elderly gentlemen came in and gave us much local information and history.
SHADY RIVERSIDE WALK
Before getting back on the road, because we had ample time, we took a good walk along the shady, tree-lined riverbank in the opposite direction, and Graham took several photos, both looking back and over the river, but principally of two mills – one on each bank. (One is on the slider on the Home page.)
The high church tower at Thiviers that overshadowed our route
We got talking to a local lady walking her dog.
A HIGH-CLASS BOULANGERIE
This must have been the day we stopped to lunch in the dining room of a high-class boulangerie further along on the road – and very good it was. Because of the extreme heat we bought baguettes for our evening meal, feeling that possibly we could not face a large, beautiful dinner that evening. Into the cool box they went, to be eaten later with tomatoes and grapes.
The country road A9 took us through Thiviers, which had an enormous church tower, and an impressive chateau- seen from our car.
Memory then aided us in finding our special hideaway discovered two years before: Le Grain D’Art, Sorges.
After finding some breakfast we really started our tour, taking the scenic route from Nemours to Orleans – then Bourges. Some low hills appeared, and we took an ‘A’ road through a few pretty towns. One had a picturesque abbey by a river. Children were bathing in the shallows beneath the bridge. We went through some attractive villages before stopping for coffee at Orleans– a truly beautiful city.
A more ancient narrower street of Orleans
Apart from some romantic medieval lanes it was spacious, and paved almost entirely in white or cream stone tiles – even some of the roadways. The large central ‘place’ was dominated by an enormous statue of Joan of Arc in full armour; her warhorse pawing the ground. Magnificent!
Joan of Arc dominated a large central square – Orleans
BANNERS OF JOAN’S KNIGHTS LEAD YOU TO THE CATHEDRAL
The wide avenue leading to the cathedral had a large banner of one of Joan’s knights hanging from each upstairs window. So – a colourful display before we reached the large circle with the cathedral in it’s centre. Orleans boasts a very clean and pretty cathedral, with sort of open stone ‘lanterns’ flanking the central spire.
Orleans Cathedral – first stop before carrying on our routeJoan-of-Arc-Orleans-stainglass
In the Cathedral.
Orleans Cathedral contains some truly exquisite old window glass.
Inside were two new ‘Rose’ windows on each side aisle. One had wonderful, truly golden intricate designs. The other was a melange of old shards. Both cast their colours onto the flagged stone floor of the aisle.
All around the nave were large, probably late Victorian windows depicting Joan’s life. A progression from humble shepherdess to crowning the Dauphin. The last, rather shocking window depicts France’s heroine stoic amid the flames. All around her British soldiers grin like snarling dogs. This, to a Brit, is very unfair, since a French friend has told us that it was a French bishop who handed her over to the Brits, and he ordered the burning alive.
THE COFFEE SHOPS OF ORLEANS – TOO MANY CUPS?
Dame Nature sent me scurrying into various coffee shops – one extremely grand; the ‘Ladies’ was worth a trip all to itself. Graham was a bit miffed about the cost of the espresso coffee, though – his third that morning, because of my needs. We explored a bit more and admired the very old timbered houses, taller than in England, with steeper sloping roofs and their often criss-cross exposed beams painted in bright colours. Then we passed over the impressive medieval bridge on our way to Bourges.
Do visit Orleans if you can – it is very rewarding
LA FERTE ST-AUBIN
SCENIC ROUTE TO BOURGES: Charming Chateau – Blissful Bistro
As we left there was a noticeable rise in temperature. Enjoying the sight of several chateaux, some old farms, and rivers bordered by trees, we made our way leisurely along the country road towards our next night’s stop. Presently, we came to Le-Ferte-St Aubin, a very small village. Standing back from our road was its really charming chateau. It was bordered by two straight channels of water decorated with ducks and gliding swans.
This Chateau was literally yards from the main road – so we did not deviate from our RouteThe roadside Bistro where we had lunch -a mile along from the Chateau
Nearby was a small bistro with people eating and drinking on the veranda. We decided to scoot along there, as it was nearly two o’clock.
A mouth-watering aroma assailed our nostrils as we approached:
The board offered a choice of three starters, three mains and three desserts; also cheeses. One of the diners started chatting. His English was good, and after urging us to check out the chateau he insisted fervently ‘Order the chicken – it is VERY good’. And so it was – one of our ‘memorable’ meals. Au Bistro Gourmand in Le-Ferte-St-Aubin– both bistro and village were small but special.
The timber house on the bridge at Vierzon
Afterwards, Graham took numerous pictures of the grand house – also named Le-Ferte-St Aubin, before pressing on.
VIERZON – A REMARKABLE BRIDGE-TOLLHOUSE
Being on the scenic route we did, however, pause in Vierzon(very picturesque by the river, with an exceptionally tall, thin, half-timbered house at one end of the bridge.) We stopped for a drink of citron presse and a walk round the lovely old town, despite the heat (about 35C even at 5pm) Remarkably, the sun had finally shown itself.
My biggest mistake; Booking an ‘F1’ outside Bourges.
I GUESS ‘YOU GETS WHAT YOU PAYS FOR’
This ‘hotel’ was certainly cheap. €29 bought us a tiny cubicle. However, I declined to shower in a stall used by about 400 truckers (our genial fellow guests, it appeared.) There was one lav and one shower per floor of about fifty rabbit-hutches. (Sorry, Graham says there was another lav tucked around under the stairs). The plastic-covered bed was lumpy and there were comings and goings all night. It was so hot we had to prop our door open, like every other ‘guest’. Many passed, giggling, returning from their night out. In comparison, the Kyriad at Coquelles, near Calais (of which more later), was terrific value despite somewhat rude staff.
DELIGHTS IN BOURGES
Heaven & Hell.
However, a quick trip that evening into Bourges itself was rewarding, especially the main doorway to the Cathedral in the picturesque ‘townhistorique’. It had a bas-relief of heaven and hell above the ancient, heavy wooden doors. Hell looked much more fun than heaven, which had saintly figures in faintly-coloured robes just standing about, whereas the inhabitants of hell were all naked and writhing…
Heaven and Hell and many doorways – Bourges Cathedral
There was an absolutely gorgeous garden at the back (see feature image). Though small, it had many statues. It was full of very bright flowers in plantings that were definitely un-British. Instead, we appreciated a French sense of design and unusual colour combinations that worked.
I walked between the beds sniffing the roses, but my sense of smell is diminishing these days. Regrettable, but not so bad as hobbling around in pain.
BOURGES’ EXCELLENT MUNICIPAL CAFE.
We were able to admire this haven while slaking our thirsts in comfort at the outdoor Municipal café (which mercifully provided toilets). The weather was very, very hot even in the evening – about 35C as I recall (95Faranheit).
BOURGES – HUMBLE MEAL – EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD SERVICE
Not very hungry, but quite tired, we decided not to look for a nice restaurant, but instead hurry back and get a snack at one of the ‘Industrial Park’ chains close to F1. After dispiritedly studying the bills of fare we ended up in a pizza-cum-sandwich bar called Patapain. Despite winding down in order to close in 20 minutes the staff obligingly heated us a pizza and said we could eat it there. They did not hurry us. We ended up buying some very healthy-looking pastries to take out. They were stacking chairs by now but were unfailingly pleasant and polite. I gave them a good review on Trip Advisor. Good service should always be acknowledged.
After our lunch we charged on for Coquelles, to find our Kyriad – cheap, and only 10 minutes from the Channel tunnel.
We arrived in a snowstorm at minus 2 degrees Celsius. The ‘lady’ receptionist was indifferent to the point of rudeness. She said we could not have a fresh coffee from the dining room – only one from the machine in the hall. We said ‘Please – We will pay. We have driven all the way from the other side of Poitiers.’ She reluctantly poured us each a small cup from the pod machine, charging €1.25 each, which was very expensive at that time.
I wished we’d opted for the evening meal there. The starters looked temptingly good, but we had declined, sight-unseen. In the event, after travelling some further miles, we could find nowhere. Our last night in France ended in the hotel room, nibbling a stale baguette end and drinking water. Serve us right for being such snobs…
In the morning there was an equally terse young man on the front desk, who reluctantly offered us a tiny cup of coffee for €2.50 each. Gerroff!
FOLKESTONE – AND HOME!
29th November.
White Cliffs of Dover
It was minus 2°C when we scraped the ice off the windscreen of our car, and we left with totally empty bellies for the EuroShuttle entrance ten minutes away. We were lucky, and grateful, to be able to drive straight onto the train standing ready – an hour earlier than we’d booked.
THE FULL BRITISH
Emerging at the other end we turned into Folkestone High Street and discovered ‘Dawn’s Delight’. There we enjoyed enormous Full English breakfasts with steaming mugs of tea for the amazing price of (if I remember aright) of £2.95 each – such a refreshing departure from most of Rip-Off Britain!
And after that we had a ride through frosty scenery all the way back to Cousin Clive and Marion’s house in Somerset. We gave some of Claude’s precious woods to a happy Clive. We called Marion in and invited both to pick ‘first choice’ of the Christmas presents we had bought. We also unloaded some Basilicatan and French goodies for them; but all this only after a cup of tea!
They live on the Somerset Levels and as so often, kindly fed us and put us up for two nights.
We returned home late in the afternoon on December 1st. 2016.
WE HAVE OUR MEMORIES TO ENJOY – WILL WE MANAGE TO GO SO FAR AGAIN?
We experienced amazing scenery; majestic mountains and lovely lakes: warm seas, hot sands – and in both France and Italy lots and lots of history, both ancient and renaissance.
BUT WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE,
THE GREATEST REWARDS IN TRAVELLING ARE THE PEOPLE!
(Clicking on the names above will take you to some of the posts describing them)
We have made so many good friends through travelling. Since that holiday we have had invitations to stay as personal houseguests from four of our B&B hosts, and have enjoyed boundless hospitality. Others, as stated, have nursed us and been very generous. The family from Thiers (now firm friends) stayed with us in early May 2019. They were intrigued by the mirrors we judiciously placed to ‘enhance’ the space in our tiny courtyard garden.
We hope we will be visited by the other friends we made – and that their bookings will always be full.
