It seems so French – plonking down an open-air museum in the middle of a field; no board, no fee, no attendant. Somebody (perhaps a mason) had cast copies of a plethora of beautiful and often vastly amusing carvings. And perhaps not finding a museum to pay for them (just conjecture) had found a field to place them in.
We walked on raised ‘duck boards’ through two quite long avenues of intriguing bits and pieces of architectural art. Statues, incredibly intricate pillar capitals, slabs and busts – all absolutely attention-grabbing and entertaining. It is discoveries like this that are the rich rewards of DIY touring – because they are so totally unexpected. LUVit!
We have no idea where the originals come from, but some seem incredibly old. Instead of writing a long post about what we found, we felt the images speak for themselves.
Cats HeadHorseman and Child
River Spirit
Fallen Capital
Fallen CapitalRepeat Foliage PatternMadonna and Child
MELLE to ST JEAN D’ANGÈLY – A SHORT ROAD OF DISCOVERIES
8th May 2018:
We left Lusignan to rejoin the D150, which presently changed to the D950, stopping for refreshment in Melle, a very attractive town with flowerbeds, and an exuberant row of fountains in the town square. It also had a stately old church in golden stone reminiscent of our English Cotswolds. There was a very fine statue of Christ on his donkey just above the porch.
Fountain at Melle
A TOWN TO LIFT THE SPIRIT
We parked just outside one of the most architecturally pleasing covered market buildings we have seen – even in France, which excels with its ‘Halles’. This one was built entirely of metal and glass. Unfortunately, the photographs of this and the places mentioned above were among several that somehow got ‘wiped’ from Graham’s computer record.
This was a town to lift the spirit – full of colour, which seemed to put a spring in the step of its inhabitants, and even me, as I moved to bag an outside table where we could enjoy citron pressè in the shade of trees.
BRIOUX-SUR-BOUTONNE
BRIOUX-SUR-BOUTONNE: TINY VILLAGE – ONCE IMPORTANT
Our road ran through a village called Brioux-sur-Boutonne, which surely once had been much more important, since we saw a very impressive arch soaring from what must have once been the city wall.
There was also an architecturally pleasing church. As you do in this area of France, we passed many a fine, large house before we found ourselves in empty country again.
White Roses near the entrance to Chateau Dampierre
WE STUMBLE ACROSS A CHATEAU
Very soon we turned off the road to buy a sandwich from a tiny shop. It was on a small square, surrounded by charming, low houses. We passed by a row, all with identical blue shutters, and wreathed in white roses.
At the end of the row we were confronted by two tall gateposts. Beside them was a small, modest lodge. We found that by paying a small fee we could visit the chateau – Chateau Dampierre. It was not large – but attractive in that the ground floor consisted mostly of arches.
– AND ARE MET BY THE OWNERS
We were met by a studious-looking young man. He was very charming. He called ‘Maman!’ and presently Graham’s eyes were rivetted on an EXTREMELY sexy lady, wearing tight leather trousers and a leather jacket. (He remembers this brief encounter from four years ago.) She made us welcome, although this was not one of their ‘open’ days. Her manner was clearly aristocratic…
The Front of Chateau Dampierre Garden Art at Chateau Dampierre
We had to ‘cross the moat’ to reach the front of the chateau. Then we followed the moat around each side, because it still looked as deep and wide as it had ever been. When we arrived at the front ‘Maman’ was waiting to take us up the stairs into their living quarters.
Because you had to ascend steep stairs to explore the interior of the chateau, Graham declined to go in – he said for my sake.
WE ENJOY A PRIVATE TOUR OF THE CHATEAU GARDEN
Instead, after taking money from a couple of other small parties, the son of the house escorted us two around the grounds. He told us a brief history of his home, and drew our attention to many interesting and amusing statues. Some were cunningly hidden amongst a small copse of trees. We ended up at the very quiet ‘end’ of the property. He left us to sit and eat our sandwiches on a bench by the river, cunningly hidden by weeping willow trees.
WE SHARE A JUG OF LEMONADE
When we returned he was waiting with a jug of lemonade to share with us. This small adventure has stuck in our memories, though we had to hunt through our photographs for clues as to its exact location…
Track up to the Chapel
WE ‘FIND’ AN ANCIENT CHAPEL
We left on the D115 because it was an attractive country road. It presently took a 45degree dogleg, becoming the D210. Now it was much narrower, and totally empty. Would this have been one of those very rare occasions when Graham became aware of driving on ‘the wrong side of the road’? i.e. on the left, as we do in Britain.
If so, it went undetected, because presently we spotted a large signpost by the side of the road, pointing up a long, straight avenue of trees – irresistibly cool. The sign told of a very historical chapel at the top. Graham parked up and unloaded my mobility scooter. I rode in comfort while he toiled up the track, camera at the ready. Eventually, we reached a tiny, tiny chapel. (Photos lost…)
ANOTHER PRETTY, FRENCH MARTYR
Trying to make sense of the French notice board there, we divined that this was founded by Saint Radagonde, who in the early 500’s AD had been a Thuringian princess – a barbarian. She was captured by and was married to the Frankish King Clothar 1, son of Clovis 1, whose father was Charlemagne. This queen would regularly wear a hair shirt, and inflict wounds upon herself in order to become a ‘Perfect Christian’. She founded the Abbey of the Holy Cross just outside Poitiers. She is patron saint of several churches in France and England and of Jesus College.
Presently a Frenchman appeared. He told us that this chapel deep in the countryside marked the scene of her martyrdom. He was disappointed that it was closed, because he believed there to be amazing frescoes within, dating right back.
COPIES FROM ANCIENT ARCHITECTURAL FEATURES.
This was certainly a road of surprises. Just a quiet country road – but presently we saw a sort of exhibition set up in a field just off the road. Two avenues of pillars and statues, and various bits and pieces showing beautiful, intricate stone carvings. Clearly, some were from churches and cathedrals – but not all…
Copy of Ancient Stone Masonary
These were dotted around an empty field that we passed. We wondered if these attractive bits and pieces were waiting to be collected and incorporated into some civic building – or a museum or something. It was as well that they were all far too big to stow in our boot with a view to adorning our tiny courtyard back home. The temptation might have proved too much!
Above is just a taster. A short post follows with several more photos Graham took as we walked around, unattended, uncharged, on duckboards.
Meanwhile –
Surprisingly soon we found ourselves driving into the outskirts of St Jean d’Angely.
ST JEAN D’ANGÈLY – OUTSKIRTS
A sharp right turn changed our road to the D939, but we presently turned left onto the D150, which had miraculously reappeared. Soon we had reached St Jean d’Angèly, which I had read was notable historically. This was a much larger town. As soon as we parked Graham dived into the car boot for my scooter, which proved invaluable, as there was much to see even right here. This included a large, very grand convent, lauded for guarding the skull of John the Baptist.
The Convent at St Jean d’Angèly
THEY LOOK AFTER PILGRIMS HERE
We stood by the gate, reading a notice in several languages, telling pilgrims for Santiago de Compostella that it would feed them and direct them to free accommodation in the town. We were very touched by this seemingly unique gesture of goodwill.
The Gates to the Convent at St Jean d’Angèly
THE FAMOUS TWIN TOWERS OF ST JEAN D’ANGÈLY
We had gone up the rather long street in order to visit the two towers that dominate the town’s skyline; but when we got there we agreed that in our opinion, despite being the pride of the inhabitants, and however famous, they looked rather ugly.
The twin towers at St Jean d’Angèly
SCOOTER WHIZZING
Altogether, we found so much to see that Graham was walking (and sometimes almost running) as I whizzed along on my scooter. We found we had spent well over an hour in the place. It was time to get back on the road and find our new B&B in nearby Saint Savinien.
We happened upon Lusignan by accident. If I had not spotted the brown road sign, saying ‘Lusignan, medieval city, .25 klm’ we would have missed this treasure of French History.
ON THE WAY TO SAINT SAVINIEN
In the morning, saying our goodbyes to Brion Les Thouet, we were offered sandwiches to take on our journey to our next stop. We thanked Yvonne and explained that we were not going very far at all – in fact, only about two hours down the direct road. (Only of course, it would take us longer as we would instead be meandering on by-roads to have a quick look round interesting places like nearby Loudun. I’d first spotted it on Google images – a fairytale chateau sitting in a lake, still reached by its drawbridge.)
POTTERING IN POITIERS
From there it was a short ride into Poitiers, visited just for a morning once before, and remembered as ‘a place to go back to’.
We did so, but entering from a different direction we found it difficult to orientate ourselves. Also, to find suitable parking anywhere near the centre. There seemed little point in getting my scooter out. Instead, I used my stick and we took a short walk, but found little of interest in that area. It was too early for lunch, so we decided to continue our journey along the country road D611, which would pass la Fontaine de La Comte before rejoining the A10 highway to St Jean d’Angèly.
WE DEVIATE –DISCOVER MEDIEVAL LUSIGNAN
Luckily I spotted a brown sign indicating a short detour to the nearby ‘Mediaeval City of Lusignan’.
‘We have plenty of time,’ I said to Graham, ‘and it must be important for the sign to point down such a narrow road.’
He readily agreed, and we soon found ourselves in a small town full of interest. Not least the ruined castle, high on a nearby hill, and built in the 11th century. It was decided I shouldn’t attempt to reach it on my motor scooter; in any case, Graham argued that he doubted there was enough time. But I was able to read a bit about it. Its most famous resident was Guy de Lusignan, who on the second crusade became King of Jerusalem through marrying Sybilla, daughter of the leprous King Baldwyn.
Many were the adventures Guy had, and there is evidence of a film ‘Kingdom of Heaven’ about him. It is not Ridley Scott’s best – and it would appear to be not altogether historically accurate. In any case, it is worth looking Guy de Lusignan up – I suggest the very short (but accurate) account in Encyclopaedia Britannica (where it states he was born in 1129 – not 1150, as in some accounts).
This castle was the favourite of the Duc de Berry, and you can see it illustrated (as it was in his time) in his famous Book of Hours.
Chateau Lusignan from our copy of the Les Tes Riches Heures – du Duc de Berry
THE TALL TOWERS – SOLE SURVIVORS
Nowadays there is little to be seen of it in this modest small town. The most striking survivors are the considerable bases of what must have once been two very tall towers guarding the gated entrance to the once-proud and important city.
You will find them in the Duc de Berry’s illustrations. Even today they dominate the main square of the town, where we parked. See them in the Feature Photo at the beginning of this post.
ENTER THE OLD CITY OVER THE ‘DRAWBRIDGE’
They still bear two shields of the House of Lusignan, founded in the 9th century. To pass through this ‘gateway’ into the old city you have to walk ‘over the drawbridge’, although the moat is filled in.
There are considerable stretches of the old city wall still intact, and a lot of houses remain as they were in the 14th century – and people still live in them. There is a beautiful roofed Market Place in the centre of the old town, close to the church.
Exterior of MarketInterior of MarketChurch of Notre Dame & Saint Junien
THE ANCIENT CHURCH IN THE OLD CITY OF LUSIGNAN
The ancient church is quite small, and rather plain now, though the very tall pillars and the vaulted roof give it dignity. I found a few interesting plaques. Unable to read French, I struggled to find the names they referred to. Topping some lower pillars were some amusing, if rather primitive depictions of mythical animals. I particularly admired the semicircle of largely unadorned Romanesque arches and pillars that guarded the tiny stone altar. They contained tall, stained-glass windows to illuminate it.
COULD THIS BE THE TOMB OF GUY DE LUSIGNAN?
There was a crumbling effigy on a heavy stone sarcophagus lid; it intrigued me, as it stood in front of a side-chapel dominated by an arrangement of crossed swords – but there was no explanation.
Church of Notre Dame & Saint Junien Doorway – Detail
I AM ESCORTED ROUND
An organist had come in and was practising on a small instrument, so I tiptoed around. Presently he climbed down from his stool, and escorted me all over the church. This kind gentleman explained all items of interest, like the place reserved for the minister and his servants to sit – and that for the President.
FINE STATUES – AND THE ‘BESTIARY’
There were a few statues – one was of St Anthony of Padua. The finest was a wooden pieta; the expression on Mary’s face was haunting. My voluntary guide was also anxious to show me the ‘bestiary’; a collection of carvings facing the side door.
Church of Notre Dame & Saint Junien Doorway
MANIPULATING MELUSINE
Carving of Melusine at Lusignan Photo by Jacques Mossot
As well as these twisting, primitive, yet strangely sophisticated carvings of allegorical animals, he was keen for me to see their ‘Melusine’. She is traditionally a two-tailed mermaid, but in this case resembled an air sprite, sailing down from her pillar with her mouth wide open. She is said to still fly around the castle wailing whenever a lord or king is about to die – (remember the King of Jerusalem.)
MELUSINE GOT AROUND: FRANCE, ENGLANDCZECHOSLOVAKIA
This is because this well-known creature of legend – half woman, half fish – was said to have founded the two Angevin families. (The ancestors of our English Henry11 and his famously feisty queen -Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their turbulent sons. Were their daughters also turbulent?)
Melusine was also held responsible for this Lusignan dynasty – set in the lands of said Eleanor. Yes: – we were standing in Aquitaine.
LUSIGNAN’S GREAT TREASURE –WOOD TELLS IT’S STORY
My kind guide’s English was faultless. He left me just before I reached what rivetted me – a quite large panel of sculpted wood. It showed the town as it had been in mediaeval times; just before a battle. The castle in the background was intact, of course, and quite impressive. I readily recognised some of the houses that still stand just behind a section of the city wall.
The figure of a knight loomed large just above the centre of the picture – presumably Guy de Lusignan. A few smaller figures were dotted here and there. I cannot find out enough about it.
Carved wooden Plaque
STUDYING THE STORY OF LUSIGNAN IN CARVING
Now I was impatient for Graham to find me. An expert conservationist of all things wooden, I knew he would love this panel with its gleaming patina of centuries.
When he arrived he was full of excitement at having found the medieval covered market hall. The intricate roof timbers had particularly charmed him, and he had taken several photographs. Now he spent a long time admiring and studying the ancient carved wood panel; and of course, took some photographs of that.
I really hope that I can return to Lusignan when we are less hurried; it needs a little time to learn all of the rich history, and the meanings in the symbolism found all over the place there.
We left our home on the Wirral at about 10.00am on a Tuesday morning to start our holiday touring France: May Day 2018, to be precise. Woman’s Hour had just started on our car radio. We enjoyed the fresh yellowy-green of the new leaves on the trees lining our route on our comfortable local M53. Then we veered off onto our chosen ‘country’ route (the A51.)
We went through pretty villages all the way to Stone, where we changed to the M6 toll (worth the charge). The exit would join us up with the M40.
WRONG TURNING – GRAHAM OR MISS SATNAV?
Only it didn’t – because Graham took the wrong turning and we were heading for the M1… However, it took less than an hour to weave our way back, and all went well until we reluctantly entered the M25.
M25 – REALLY, TRULY – AVOID THE RUSH HOURS!
The delay had landed us into the evening rush hour. Of course, a measure of frustration, but it could have been worse, and we arrived at Folkestone around 7pm.
FOLKSTONE – FIRST STOP
I had decided to spend the first night in Folkestone in order to catch the 10.40am Dover to Calais ferry. DFDS offered the best crossing price,and in Folkestone I found a really cheap hotel for the overnight stop. Dover tends to be more expensive, and I like to save money on the first and last legs of our journeys, when we are intent on ‘getting somewhere’.
FOLKESTONE
FOLKESTONE deserves to be written of in its own right. This is a ‘special’ town in my estimation.
We entered via the ‘posh’ end; well preserved Victorian boarding houses and streets of impressive family homes. The road in was interspersed with beds of tulips – either red and yellow variety or pink. I cannot remember – only that they showed this town was not down-at-heel, as we had sadly found Hastings to be the previous autumn.
BRAVE SURVIVORS OF THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN:
We were booked in at the grandly named Carlton Hotel. We discovered it to be one of the two very early Victorian survivors standing like two sound front teeth at the front of a mouth full of stumps and gaps. The ‘stumps’ were rather ugly in-fills of the 1950’s and ‘60’s. These two old, tall white buildings had obviously once been part of a grand terrace that ran along the very top of the white cliffs. They were conveniently above the lift and the funicular railway that took the residents down to the shingle beach far below.
AN EXCELLENT MIDDLE-EASTERN MEAL.
We checked in, and immediately went in search of food. We walked down ‘into town’. Only I imagine it wasn’t, because it was empty at eight pm, and we saw no restaurants. After walking several streets we turned back up to the clifftop and our hotel.
On the corner we spotted a Middle Eastern restaurant. Okay, not the hearty steak I was visualising – but we like Arab food. The place looked cheerily colourful.
As soon as we crossed the threshold we were greeted with a wide smile and words of welcome, and shown to a pretty little inlaid table. Immediately iced water and a tray of nibbles was set before us, followed by the menus.
From first to last, this was the most delicious Middle Eastern meal we had ever eaten, we agreed. We left the girl a generous tip, and went up to thank the chefs cooking in full view. We have vowed that if we are able to return to Folkestone we will certainly book a table at this resturant:
Aspendos Turkish Restaurant, West Terrace, Folkestone. 01303 241688
Bandstand
I IMAGINE THE PAST GLORIES OF THIS ROAD
We decided to walk off our meal by exploring the cliff-top path that ran close by our hotel’s road.
In my mind’s eye I could trace that grass-fronted terrace right down to the West end. I imagined pretty Regency hostelries, because, still intact, an exquisitely delicate Regency bandstand still graced the lawn at the cliff edge. (I imagine it must have been removed to a safe place during the wars, and replaced later.)
FOLKESTONE REMEMBERS
At the other end of the terrace, we were surprised, on a late evening walk, to arrive at a quite large paved square. It contained chairs built in along its walls on one side: A very high, very thin arch of polished steel dominated it. Upon closer inspection, this was studded with jewel-like tiny lights, or reflectors – I cannot quite remember which.
Memorial Arch
THE BRAVE BOYS OF THE RAF
We discovered a plaque nearby. It told us that this was Folkestone’s tribute to all the brave boys of our RAF Fighter Squadrons, who daily and nightly fought and died – often in front of the sight of the town.
These young men (some teenagers) were not only fending off German bombers from our shores. There were also ‘planes carrying paratroopers intent on landing. The residents of Folkestone saw much of this activity at close hand. Many fell victim when surplus German bombs were released on our cliff-top towns before the enemy headed back to their airfields on the continent. Our hotel’s ‘makeshift’ road bore ample witness…
IN FOLKESTONE THEY STILL CROCHET POPPIES:
It was too dark to read the plaques on every seat. I feel I must go back to discover if they commemorate residents who died in the raids or the many RAF squadrons who sacrificed their very young lives so that we might live. In any case – Folkestone still remembers them. The proof is a hedge that is thickly strewn with hand-crocheted poppies, many faded and fading, but topped with newly wrought scarlet wool flowers. It was all very moving.
OUR HOTEL – SAD SURVIVOR OF WAR
Our hotel had seen better days. The interior as you entered was gloomy with a mainly black wallpaper, and the ground floor had been ‘filled in’ to create more small rooms. However, our bedroom was clean and cheerful, though the en-suite’ had been created from a cupboard, and our bed was lumpy. Sadly, I have to say that we did not sleep well.
Even so, I count it a privilege to have stayed in this ‘survivor’ from better Days. It would once have been one of the most prestigious places to stay, I imagine. Right now, the Eastern European manager could not have been more kind and helpful.
COURAGEOUS FOLKESTONE – A SUGGESTION:
I feel that the town should buy this building and the identical one next to it, and have the two restored and used as a museum charting the history of the town and this cliff-top road in particular.
I am old enough to remember the days when families would huddle over their breakfast table, conversing in whispers, in order not to ‘disturb’ the similar family at the next table. It still strikes me as an absurd illustration of the British in the 1930’s, ‘40’s and ‘50s – just like Father’s knotted handkerchief protecting his bald patch when paddling.
I salute Folkestone: A brave town that has survived most terrible losses and come up smiling… Smart and vigorous – and it still remembers and celebrates those who fought so hard overhead
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.
We sped along the toll road to Nemours, our next night’s destination. We stopped at Reims for Graham to take some more photos of the particularly good depiction in bronze of Joan of Arc. She looks so very young and small to be managing her rearing horse outside the cathedral.
Le-Grand-Cafe-Reims with ‘Belle Epoch’ interior – all mirrors and gilt and red velvet seats.
We also found our way back to the wonderful Le Grand Café. We had previously fallen in love with this famous landmark. It has retained its ‘Belle Epoch’ interior – all mirrors and gilt and red velvet seats. This time, because of cold, wet weather, we eschewed the so-French tables outside under the large umbrellas. In the plush interior we still had the waiters with their long black aprons scurrying to fulfil our every wish. I felt on that dismal day that their speciality, the moules, wonderful and plentiful though they always are, were just not filling enough. So I had a small, thick steak instead. It came rare, just as I like it, with a wonderful sauce.
Diners sitting out at Le Grand Cafe-Reims
Then it was back on the road. To our eyes, we had found, so far, the top half of France to be rather flat and uninteresting. (Unless you want to visit the graveyards, or deviate to some historic towns).
I’m sure there are plenty more seasoned travellers to defend Normandy and Picardy, who can and probably will show much evidence to prove us wrong.
Try and Take this Road-
We took the A4 and A5 (avoiding the Paris ring road) to a place I’d located when researching with maps and ‘images’ the various possible routes for our trip.
MORET-SUR-LOING – EXCEPTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE
Moret-sur-Loing is a very beautiful small town, with a medieval arched gatehouse astride the bridge. In the past, strangers wanting to enter would be checked (and probably charged.) Off to the left was a charming little turreted house, reached by a small wooden bridge over a mini-weir – perhaps a mill-race. (See feature picture – me crossing bridge.)
The medieval town of Moret-sur-Loing was on our routeDay 3-4 – Google map of our Route
We walked along one bank of the wide river and admired the ancient, half-timbered houses, more elaborate in their designs than most in England. Graham crossed over to the other side to take good pictures of them. Also the cob-and timber ‘offshoot’ dwelling that appeared as if hooked over the side of the bridge. It is visible in our picture above. As is usual in France, the noble old bridge was bedecked with flowers.
Extra Expense -Don’t be Caught Out-
We would love to see more of this place, but we got in our car and drove the 14km on A6 to where I’d booked a room in the Kyriad Hotel – Nemours. It was very difficult to find this hotel, even using Miss SatNav. When we did finally locate it we had to enter a toll road not on our route. In the morning those few yards cost us €6.60; so not such a good deal, after all! Though very comfortable, it was not as nice as staying in a private home, because the staff were impersonal. We declined paying €10 each for breakfast, knowing we could pick up good stuff at a boulangerie along our road.
If you are using that toll road, then it’s a clean, comfy overnight stop.
LAST DAY: WE TREASURE WONDERFUL FRENCH ‘AIRES’ – & ROUEN.
28th November:
Typical sign indicating to an Aire
We planned stopping at Rouen only for lunch. We had a long trip ahead – nearly 6 hours to reach Calais; even on the Toll road A28. Depending on good weather and no hitches, that is.
Let me mention here how all French Toll roads, (as well as a few others) have at reasonable intervals (20-30 miles usually) wonderful resting-places called ‘Aires’. Some have woodland walks; all provide picnic tables and always good clean loos. (Congratulations to the French public for respecting the needs of others.) Many Aires also provide drinking water and showers – all free. We really treasure these stops, and congratulate the French road designers for anticipating the needs of travellers.
We were still feeling a bit beaten-up after the ‘flu, and the weather had suddenly turned from 25 Centigrade in St Emilion to 10C. A big jump in two days, so all we remember of an otherwise unremarkable journey on the highway is the number of those wonderful ‘Aires’ en route. Those – and the barely-glimpsed city of Rouen.
The Great Clock on the Rue du Gros-Horloge – Rouen
ROUEN – WE WANT TO SEE MORE
We find to our chagrin that in mid-April 2017, as I came to the end of my account, that neither Graham nor I could remember any detail of Rouen, except that we liked it very much. We decided it would be an easy place to go back to for a few days or a week, as it beckoned further investigation. (See later blog of 2018 tour of France; coming soon.)
We parked somewhere near the cathedral and walked back to a promising-looking restaurant I had seen on a corner.
ROUEN – GREAT CHEAP LUNCH – GOOD FOOD – SERVICE –AMOSPHERE
Indeed it was. We were very lucky to get seats at a table by the window, because this was evidently where the local office and shop workers lunched. There was a constant stream. None of the staff spoke English, but there was a menu board with four choices for each course, and iced water and wine stood on every table. Le cap vers – 13 Rue de la République
OFFICE WORKER’S LUNCH – HAPPY TO WAIT OUR TURN
We indicated to the staff that we were happy to wait while they attended a large table of friends who had gathered to share their hurried lunch. And so, after a while we were rewarded with excellent friendly service after choosing our meals (at random) from the blackboard placed in front of us. Our food was delicious and very cheap – a lovely Last Lunch in La Belle France. If we do get back to Rouen, we will look for that café again.
So many pleasant experiences over the years have changed our previous (unfair) idea of Normandy as a flat landscape with only endless tragic war graves to draw one there!
Sorry, Normandy. We bow our heads in abject apology. Your towns and villages still have an amazing amount of lovely medieval buildings – and your museums offer such rich history.
Above all: Your people have always made us very welcome.
We discovered Les Baux quite by accident, as I’ll explain later.
23rd November:
Travelling along the Languedoc coast I said to Graham: ‘Do you realise this is my brother’s birthday?’
I hoped Trevor did not feel neglected because I had not sent a card. He had no idea I was in France. We had deliberately not mentioned our long trip anywhere on the Internet (except when booking, of course.) Just before we had left he was somewhere on the high seas on a cruise. We knew he had just moved to a new address (as then unknown to us).
MAKING FOR OUR FAVOURITE FRENCH B&B
We were happy to be on our way to Villelongue D’Cote Jardin; our top favourite French B&B. It is a very old farmhouse attached to the Abbaye deVillelongue, near St Martin le Vieil, in the AUDE region.
SET YOUR SATNAV TO NEAREST VILLAGE
We had long ago learned the hard lesson to set our SatNav to
ST MARTIN LE VIEIL, as there are many places in France called Villelongue.
WE SEARCH IN VAIN FOR THE OCHRE –
To reach Villelongue we took the toll road (A8,A7,D54,D24). The weather was changeable, and we did not feel recovered enough to do a long country journey. There were some nice autumn colours here and there, but the ground was mainly flat. I had, however, expressed a strong desire to stop for half an hour in some famous Ochre quarries I had heard of. They were close to the road off towards Orange, but not that far, according to a guidebook I’d been lent. I had scribbled some very hasty notes.
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE CAREFUL
The road sign
I now told Graham ‘They’re in a place called Les Baux’. It’s just before the turn off for Orange’.
I perused like a hawk all the road signs we passed, but no Les Baux appeared, and no brown signs to ochre quarries. Not even on the turnoff to Orange. We seemed almost at Montpellier when in small letters ‘Les Baux’ appeared on a long list of motorway directions. Sighing at my insistence, Graham turned off onto the D27. That narrowing road seemed to go on for hours.
It led through two pretty and prosperous-looking villages. One was exceptionally attractive. Was it La Cazou – or (most probably) the other, called ‘Maussane-les-Alpelles’, that helped Graham perk up? Or maybe the third one, named La Remise?
NO ORANGE AND YELLOWMOUNTAINS
The slow journey seemed endless, and mostly rather boring. At last came a small roadsign with more directions to Les Baux. We drove down a narrow, straight road, with trees and buildings on our right.
“I wonder where these damn quarries are,’ I said gloomily. ‘We ought to be seeing yellow and orange mountains by now – I saw the pictures.’
‘We’ll, it’s only 1 kilometre now, so we may as well carry on,’ he answered.
LES BAUX – NO OCHRE – BUT WE FIND MAGIC
The road to Les Baux
I feared I’d get a lecture about wasting time when suddenly, the road ended in a track. Before us, out of the flat plain, loomed an enormous high, jagged white rock face resembling an almost symmetrical cone.
‘What on earth is that?’ he said.
‘It appears to have a window cut in it – but it’s so large – and why there? But it can’t be natural; it’s too perfect a shape.’ As we got closer the escarpment looked almost castle-like.
The answer came almost immediately. A white finger post pointed us to ‘Les Baux; bastion of Les Seigneurs & le Roi.’
LES BAUX – BASTION OF KINGS
‘Roi means royal,’ I said. ‘I do know that word, at least.’
‘And ‘bastion’ means something like castle, or stronghold’, said Graham.
We got back into our car and he drove up as far as he could, winding round the escarpment until we came to a flat parking space. I was happy to see some toilets built into the rock face. Ignoring the wind plucking at my cape I hobbled toward them, praying they would be open. Fortunately, I was lucky. (Sorry how often they crop up in this narrative; but believe me, when you reach a certain age…)
A Narrow Street in Les Baux
FREE TOILETS – FREE PARKING – BRITISH ATTRACTIONS TAKE NOTE!
Meanwhile, Graham had gone up to the small sentry-box affair to pay our fee, but was told all was free, presumably because of our Blue Badge – or maybe it was some local saint’s day?
We spent a pleasant hour or so relaxing over excellent coffee in a pretty café-bar, where I discovered that the most stupendous views were from the lavatory window. I told Graham it didn’t matter if he didn’t want to ‘go’; he must take his camera with him, and make sure to look at the baronial fireplace in the next room on the way!
LES BAUX IS WELL WORTH TURNING OFF TO – IT’S UNIQUE!
Lovers in a Narrow Street in Les Baux
Les Baux is simply amazing, and extremely beautiful. You can get some idea from Googling it on ‘images’ – but you really need to visit if you can. And walking around we found the window-space we’d seen from the road. It was simply immense and surrounded on the ‘inside’ with decorated carvings.
A Pyramid of Pots
LES BAUX HAS INTRIGUING AND PRETTY LITTLE SHOPS
All the way up we passed along narrow, cobbled streets of charming stone medieval houses, and were charmed into entering many of the interesting small shops. Embroideries, handmade soaps and perfumes from local flowers – cakes and other local food specialities. All were presented with that unique ‘panache’ the French are famous for. I’m afraid we looked a lot, but did not buy much. Cash was depleted at the end of our long holiday.
SIEGE ENGINES AND BIRDS OF PREY
Graham, though very interested, did not want to climb up to the top, as his foot was hurting. So he missed seeing the birds of prey, and the siege-engines we were later told about. My breath was running out; but I somehow discovered that I’d had the location of those ochre mines right, but not the name of the place! Anyway, it was a serendipitous mistake. We would not have missed Les Baux for the world.
While in Carini we went to many places: The star for us was SEGESTA.
I discovered SEGESTA while still at home, on one of my trollings through the Internet. It is a lonely temple that appears complete – unlike most of the number that cluster in and around Valle di Templi, further down the West side of the island, where all the tourist groups go.
I did not tell Graham of my find but noted it in my little book of ‘Things To See’.
SEGESTA – MY LITTLE SECRET
Now we were staying a forty-five minute drive away. I told Graham I would like to start the day driving along the E90 towards Trapani, an attractive seaside town. (We had pretty well ignored coasts in Italy. We did once try the famous Amalfi Coast, but concluded that it is always so choked with traffic you would see more if you took a coach trip along it.)
My husband was a bit mystified that we were taking the lower road. When I told him to turn onto the E933, which took us away from Trapani, he was even more so. But I had a good idea of what would meet our eyes.
Closer up
Closer still
SEGESTA – A GLEAM OF COLOUR
Before long the narrow road climbed a fairly steep hill on our right-hand side. Clumps of trees adorned it. Suddenly there was a gleam of colour appearing from a small spinney near the top.
It almost hid the less visited, but most spectacular ancient Greek temple. (Actually, it isn’t Greek – as we learned when we visited the centre. It was built probably in the 420’s BC. The Doric style suggests it was the work of an Athenian architect living in the area, in order to impress the Athenians, when an earlier civilisation – the Alymians – sought their aid.
And maybe that explains why we never learned of a dedication – to Athena, or any other god or goddess. Even so – it was a breathtaking sight.
We saw it first from the road. Suddenly, there it was! Graham was so thunderstruck by the sight that just for a second, he stopped our car on that lonely road. (See the feature image)
How immense
SEGESTATEMPLE – GASPINGLY IMPRESSIVE STILL
It stood shining out at us in its entirety, all alone on a wooded hill. Its apricot-coloured stone gleamed in the sun. It is a totally untouched, complete survivor. It is majestic.
Later, as we walked up to it, we appreciated its vastness. What an impressive work of art from 2,500 years ago…
Time eaten Stone of Segesta
JUST ONE REGRET
Our only regret later was that we had not on the way taken in a famous 12th century cathedral or church near Palermo. A visit that could easily have been made that day:
Monreale.
This Duomo boasts of containing the heart of St Louis (patron saint of France, (King Louis 9th, born 1214). It also (we learned later) has in the apse a mosaic icon of an even earlier saint – St Thomas a Becket of England. It is said to be the earliest holy image of him.
Monreale had been on my list. The city itself is said to be very beautiful, and overlooking Palermo. Regrettably, there simply wasn’t time to go to all the ‘special’ places that Sicilia offers.
