THIERS IN AUVERGNE – VIEWS & VOLCANOES
DAY 6 & 7: 8th & 9th September:
Onward to the Auvergne.
BRITS OFTEN NEGLECT THIS SPECIAL REGION
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.
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.
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’.
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.
Volcanoes & Value Grub.
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.
“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.
