November 25th Figeac

November 25^th Figeac

It was really cold this morning with a light fog in patches which trapped the cold and dampness down where we were, but after breakfast we layered up, gloved our hands, and applied scarves to our necks, and ventured out to follow the city walking map we had.

Our first stop was the Cathedral which we dutifully entered, nothing really to comment on, nice enough but nothing special. There were nice views from outside the church though  over the village to the countryside in the near distance. 

Not graffiti but reflections/lights cast by the sun through the stained glass windows

Pretty stained glass window

 We continued our walk finding interesting building after interesting building, the guide we had explained a bit about the highlighted ones, like the open lofts on the top of some of them which had been used by tanners or others for drying skins or fruit or vegetables for preserving for the winter.

We had to stop for a coffee quite soon and chose a little bar with outside seating in a large square (only for the incredibly hardy or the smokers) and a lovely cosy atmosphere inside. The coffee was great, two large cups with half black coffee and a large jug of steaming hot milk on the side for refills or in our case diluting, the caffeine. We enjoyed it so much and it was so fairly priced (4.20 for the lot) that this place became our “local” while we were in town.

Once we had thawed sufficiently and our bellies satisfied we returned to our walk, picking up some fresh bread and sweet treats on our way, before heading back to the truck for lunch. I had made up a large pot of vegetable  soup in anticipation of hunger and coldness, so we sat down to that once it was hot, and ate it with cheese and bread, licking our lips with pleasure as we went.

After lunch we headed back into the town to visit the museum about script, which was inspired by this being Champillion’s birthplace. Unfortunately for me, the highlight was the building really, and you could see that from the outside. Though we had audioguides in English, the vast majority of other information including the videos, were in French. I’m sure some of you would have loved it here, all about Egyptians and pieces of artefacts with hieroglyphics and early writing on them, but I was quite quickly replete as was Hilary, and even Diana (the museum queen) said she was disappointed. So we headed back to our favourite coffee shop and recaffeinated and defrosted again.

Hilary standing on a giant replica Rosetta Stone

In the Museum

The outside of the museum. The house Champillion was born in

These long evenings (it gets pretty dusky by five) means we have issues with power in the truck if we aren’t plugged in to the mains. We have a reserve battery, but it is solar powered so if it is grey during the day, or we are parked in the shade, it doesn’t recharge very well. Also, though we are careful with lights and things, it just doesn’t have the energy to last for 5 hours in the evening. This park didn’t have electricity but it did have a facility for charging batteries so we ran our cord out to that to replenish our supplies this evening, but it still means we head to bed a bit earlier (usually) and don’t tend to read at night so much, or if we do we negotiate the use of our one still functioning head torch, and the others settle in for the night.

November 24th Gourdon to Figeac, via Rocamadour

November 24^th, Gourdon to Figeac via Rocamadour.

It was only about 40 kms from Gourdon to Rocamadour a village that is a “must see” according to all the publications about this area, so after breakfast (I had my first porridge for a long while), and having tried to remove some of the condensation from the truck, and warm up a bit, we headed off. It was only seven degrees as we drove through the next town, and where we had been parked for the night, an “almost frost” of the heavy dew, far removed from the 30 degree mornings of not that long ago on the Med coast.

The drive over was another feast for the eyes, of autumn colour and pretty villages, with narrow but easily negotiated roads.

 We stopped once for photos and once a bit further on for a foie gras seller, where we bought some duck ….. which is like a pate. We had first noticed the farm because of the paddocks full of ducks, wandering happily (and I suppose unsuspectingly) amongst the walnut trees, and pecking at grain cannisters, as we drove by. Then we saw big signs advertising the farm and its products and offering free tastings. Unfortunately the main tourist season is over so there aren’t tours or tastings, but we had a friendly chat with the woman there and as I said, purchased on spec, some of their wares.

Rocamadour in the lifting mist

A pretty house in the village

The hostel in the rocks

The zig-zag path up through the woods past the 12 stations of the cross.

We sat in the sunshine in the back of the truck eating a very late lunch (2.30 or so) of bread and leek and potato soup plus lovely bits to go on our bread, like pate and cheeses, olives, gherkins, salady things …. Once replete (or more than, if truth be told) we continued our journey to Themines our next intended stop as it had power and all other facilities we needed and was half way to Figeac our next town of interest.

We pulled into Themines which was, I’m not sure if it was a one horse town, but it didn’t have much more than one building. The stopping place was a no-go after about ten seconds consideration. It was beside a wall, next to the church, nearly in the middle of the one lane road, and on a 30 angle, not conducive to sleeping or even feeling relaxed, so we hauled out of there and decided to go the extra 30kms to Figeac.

On our way, in addition to more of the beautiful country-side we were treated to some delightful donkeys in a paddock beside the road. We hung a u turn as soon as possible and stopped just down the road from them. Hilary and I walked back and fed them a sugar lump each, and a boiled sweet.  They were really cute, and soft, and some very tame, whilst others a wee bit more wary.

We reached Figeac, and found our parking place at about 4.30, it isn’t a fantastic spot, a car park beside the main road through the town (or around the town as the town centre is pedestrianized or so narrow that traffic is discouraged). Hilary and I went in to town for a quick look and to get oriented, we found a few post-cards, an information centre, complete with very helpful English speaking woman who gave us all sorts of useful information and brochures. We then ventured back to the truck, we could have kept exploring for hours, but thought we’d wait until tomorrow when Diana could join us.

The reason we came to Figeac was that when I was reading brochures the other day, about the Lot area I read about this town and a museum here. It was all about the man who translated the Rosetta Stone from hieroglyphics, whose name escapes me, Champillion (I'm pretty sure)... something French anyway. I thought this sounds familiar and then remembered Hilary was reading an archaeological book (or more correctly a book about archaeology) and had told us about the man who translated the Rosetta Stone, and that he spoke 8 languages and a few other details. I thought, this is too much of a coincidence, and when I told her about this town and its connection to what she had been reading, she expressed a desire to come here. The bonus of course is, not only does she get to do her thing, but this is a stunning little town (population 9,606 so the book says, hopefully there haven’t been an unequal number of births and deaths since then) that we can enjoy too.

November 23rd bike ride from Gourdon

November 23^rd

We woke up to another beautiful autumn day, one of those crisp ones that start with a zing, but you know a nice sunny day will follow. We had decided if it were fine that we would do our bike ride, and so after breakfast, we anchored everything down in the truck and drove the 3 kms or so to where the bike track began. It was just out of the town of Gourdon, but certainly worth taking the truck as it was down quite a long and steep hill, and while the going down would have been OK (though it was a busy highway and probably not the most sensible thing to do with a sometimes absent Hilary) the going back up after our bike ride, would have been a bit of a drag.

We parked at a pretty parking lot beside a still lake/pond, surrounded by oaks and other pretty, large trees, and got ready for our ride. The fog was hovering over some patches, but the sun getting warmer as it rose in the sky. In the shade it was still pretty frosty, so we donned gloves, and a few layers, until we warmed and the heat of the sun penetrated.

The bike track is actually nearly a road, in places it was, but one reserved pretty much for agricultural traffic, and so for the entire trip, apart from when we ventured into a village, or at one point had to cross a highway, we only saw one vehicle, which made the biking very relaxing.

The first part  of only a few hundred metres was through a grassy park with a large lake/pond in it, which also has a swimming pool (not in use at this time of year) and play-ground and I guess picnic spots and probably sports fields,

coffee shop/bar where we had our stop.

beautifully stacked firewood

our lunch spot in the sun

but then the track headed off beside farm land, with pretty green fields, sometimes occupied by large and healthy looking dairy cattle (but only a handful in each paddock), but more often than not, empty fields. Alongside both edges of the river valley (not a deep one) was French forest, which as I have explained before, is not like a New Zealand forest, but quite open, especially at this time of year with all the deciduous trees shedding their leaves. The majority of the trees were oaks and chestnuts, but there were also walnuts and I think poplars of different sorts, and they make a very pretty sight, with their golds, browns, rusts and reds contrasted against the green of the fields and the blue sky. So most of our journey was through this forest, mostly flat or a very slight incline or decline apart from a couple of relatively steep hills up through farms. The main sights were cows, birds of prey, a very small river which has five water mills on it (no longer in use – in fact I didn’t see them, but Hilary and Di saw one) a large mansion with beautiful out-buildings, and the forest.

After about 4 kms I guess we detoured to a quaint little village in search of a coffee, we found a small pub/café where all the workers were sitting eating delicious looking food and reading newspapers, looking so relaxed it seemed a pity to disturb them, but by then my need for caffeine outweighed my need to be polite, so we disturbed them for long enough to get two delicious cups of coffee. Though delicious, they were French style so gone in about two sips, but by then the young woman had returned to her mega brunch and I didn’t feel able to disturb her again, so we bid them au revoir and headed out to our bikes to continue our journey.

The rest of the ride was as described above, the track terminating after 10kms at a small village called St Cirq Madelon, where we pushed our bikes up the hill and sat on a “park bench” in the brilliant sunshine, outside the church (which apparently has brilliant frescos, but was of course closed (as I think the whole village was), and ate our picnic rolls and fruit. We had thought we might be able to get another coffee or something from a café here but apart from some smoke wafting up from a pile in a vegetable patch, and the occasional car passing through, there was no sign of life, and certainly no shops or cafes that we could see.

So with nothing more to occupy ourselves other than a couple of lizards scrabbling up the stone walls of the church, we donned our helmets and headed back the way we had come, to the truck.

We were back at the truck by about 2pm, so decided we could fit in a few chores before retiring for the day. We drove around the old part of Gourdon, which is perched on a hill, to the newer part, where we found (as the lady at the information centre the day before had told us we would, both a supermarket and a Laundromat). Well actually, the Laundromat was actually three washing machines and a dryer out in the carpark, outside the supermarket, so everyone can stand around and watch your undies and bras spinning through the glass fronted machines, should the desire take them. Thankfully our washing was things we hadn’t managed to hand wash, so it was more the sheets, towels, pillow cases variety than the personal “smalls” so it wasn’t a problem, but excuse me!!! I know the village ladies used to go down to the lavoires here in France and do public washing and gossiping, but we NZers a a far more discreet and circumspect lot.

While our washing was spinning we did our supermarket shopping, and then I popped in to a pharmacy to try my luck at getting some multi-vitamins (Di and I need them after our surgery or else we risk all sorts of dreadful and frightful things happening, like blindness……) and we had run out of what we had brought as we hadn’t managed to get a script filled properly due to the earthquake. For the same reason I was fast running out of my happy pills, and though I didn’t see that as such a worry Diana and Hilary did, so I thought I would check out my options for that with the pharmacist while I was there.  We have tried numerous times for the multi-vitamins, but whether it is a language issue, whether there are different rules or what I’m not sure, but we have only been offered expensive supplements rather than the plain hospital type we get for about a penny in NZ. This pharmacist was slightly better, and seemed to understand me when I tried to explain it was because of surgery, not as a pick me up, and I bought 100 pills for 10 euro. She also gave me the name of a doctor I could try my luck with for getting a prescription for my happy pills.

I hoped we wouldn’t be able to find the doctor, so I didn’t have to be bothered trying to sort the problem out, but then we found another pharmacy up near where I thought the doctor was situated, and decided to gird my loins, that it was probably easier to get directions, talk to a doctor I didn’t know, who didn’t know me, and get a script filled at a pharmacy in a country where I barely speak the language and certainly don’t know the rules, than to face Diana without any pills!!!!

The pharmacist told me (I think) that the doctor was down the road about 200 metres on the right. I must have understood  alright because when I walked down the road, there, 200 metres onmy right, was the doctor’s surgery. I walked in, expecting to find a receptionist or nurse, or at least a counter, but there were two ladies obviously waiting, sitting in chairs reading magazines, and two closed doors with plates with doctors’ names on. I sat down on another chair, not really sure what the procedure was. After about five minutes the door with the name of the doctor  the pharmacist had given me opened an a man who looked very like Winston ….. what’s his name, the one who does
“Child of our Time” stuck his head out, looked around the waiting room (no patient came out), grunted, (or perhaps he muttered something in French to be fair), then he went back into his room leaving the door slightly ajar, and a few seconds later electronic noises like a printer started up. I sat there for a few moments thinking, “What now?” but then thought of Diana’s reaction if I came back empty handed, and got up and knocked on the door. (I would never have been able to do that if I weren’t a nurse, who didn’t have the same awe for doctors that many people have). I poked my head into his room, and he looked up with a quizzical expression on his face. I quickly tried my school girl French, “excuse  em moir monsieur”  “Parlez vous Englais?” To which he replied, thankfully, “Yes”.

He was happy to write me a script, I had the label off my last box from my own GP, so he knew the dose etc, and he did look at my passport, but that was for the spelling of my name, but I have never had an easier or quicker consultation. I was out of there within a further two minutes with a script which looked just like one you’d see in NZ, and despite my offer of payment to him, he just waved his hand in a dismissive of money manner, held his hand out to shake mine, before wishing me adieu, and seeing me out. I walked back to the pharmacy, handed over my script and 25 euro (where is Pharmac when you need them eh?) got two boxes of pills already made up in return, and was back in the truck, all transactions completed within about 20 minutes I guess, very efficient service, I must say.

We had toyed with the idea of driving on to our next destination that afternoon/ evening but it was beginning to get dusky and we were all a bit tired, so instead we went back to the same campsite and settled in amongst the hooting owls, and scurrying red squirrels for the night.

  

Gourdon 22nd November

22^nd November- Gourdon

We had a domesticated morning, a leisurely breakfast, followed by cleaning, and the washing of many articles of clothing and tea-towels etc. We have been looking for a Laundromat for days, and though the hand-washing of small articles is OK the weather has been so grotty for weeks now, that getting bigger/more bulky items dry is a problem. Today though the sun was shining, and now we are back in France we don’t need to be so frugal with the gas (it can only be refilled here in France as the fittings and bottles are all different here) so we have been being very careful all the way through Spain, and one bottle has lasted us the whole time, and is still going). But anyway, today I turned the hot-water back on so the cylinder is a good place for giving things that final little warm burst to air and completely dry them.  So we put out rows and rows of clothes, t-shirts, jeans, singlets, socks, undies……… all happily flapping in the breeze, (until it clouded over and the rain came, about three quarters of an hour later!!!!!!!) but then it cleared again and they flapped or for wafted in the light breeze, and watery sunshine.

We had lunch and then Di and I went for a walk down the road a bit, through beautiful French forest, chestnuts, walnuts, oaks and other autumn touched deciduous trees, while Hilary watched a video on the computer in the truck. She was locked in, with strict instructions not to leave the truck, or let anyone in, unless the truck was on fire. I think back to when our generation was young, we had such freedom and were left to our own devices a lot, and didn’t get in to too much trouble, so though I was a little apprehensive about leaving her alone, she is sensible and we weren’t gone for more than an hour. Anyway, she was fine, nothing untoward happened, and Di and I managed some alone time, pretty much our first for nearly 8 months, in fact it may have been. 

When we got back we gathered Hilary up and set off for a browse around Gourdon old town, stopped for a coffee at a lovely little tea salon which did have very nice, but highly overpriced coffee, and then continued on through the town to the information centre. Once there we got lots of useful information about the town, and wider environs, including a pamphlet which contained two walks around the town which we completed later on, and another which has a bike-ride through a couple of villages and along beside the river past watermills, leaving from this town and heading northwest.

A series of views from our walking trail around town. Including views over the surrounding countryside from above the cathedral

We have prepared a picnic, expecting a nice day tomorrow, and if the weather is fine in the morning will spend the day out on our bikes, touring through the area. It is only a twenty km ride, but with coffee stops, lunch, viewing sites and photo stops along the way, I think we could stretch it to fill most of a day.

After our walk around the town here, I came back to get the washing in before the dew got to it (I was back before five but already it was beginning to turn from drying air to dampening) the others stayed to look around a Christmassy looking shop, then we all had some quiet time before preparing and eating dinner.

It’s 10.30 already, another day well and truly gone, we seem to fill them quite easily, and unfortunately I need to stop now or I’ll be a grumpy person tomorrow when we go out for the day. So I’ll have to catch up on our last day in Narbonne tomorrow.

Carcassonne to Gourdon

22.11.11 Gourdon

I’m lying in bed, snuggled under the duvet, drinking a cup of tea and nibbling on a tostada biscuit (a bit like a milk arrowroot but not quite), outside is a pretty, but unfortunately red tinged sunrise, silhouetting a beautiful large mansion of the French style. All is silent, it is 8 o’clock in the morning. We are parked at an aire about 200 metres from the village centre, we have power, water, emptying facilities and stunning surroundings, we overlook turreted stone buildings in the village across a valley, and have a curtain of large deciduous trees, half naked now, but with remnants of  their golden cloaks, and a trail of gold and brown leaves at their feet. The only sounds we heard all night was the occasional very distant train, the hooting of owls, and in the evening, and then again now, the ringing of the church bell heralding a new hour.

We drove here, about 250 kms I think, from Carcassone yesterday. The drive over was easy, and the scenery magnificent. It was very cold and wet in Carcassone still, it took a while for the truck and us to warm up and dry out as I had got a little damp sorting out parking coupons and things, but as we headed west towards Toulouse the sky brightened until we were bathed in autumn sunlight. The sun being weaker and more golden adds to the colour of course, doesn’t wash out the scenery, so we were treated to magnificent views of grape vines with green, red, golden and brown mosaic coats, and reddish brown trees, different coloured soils on newly ploughed paddocks, from clay grey through beige, ochre, terracotta sometimes patchworked, and sometimes contrasting against a newly risen field of almost lime-green grass. It really is beautiful countryside.

We didn’t stop in Toulouse, but circumnavigated it on the perifique road and then headed out north up towards a small town called Montauban which we also skirted around, headed further north through a pretty little town called Cahors which I think bounders the area called the Dordogne. Our village is about 40 kms north of Cahors in the Dordogne, we stopped here for its aire, not for any other reason, it doesn’t get a mention in either of our books about France so obviously isn’t seen as a worthy tourist area, but it seems lovely to us, and I’ll put up a few photos I took last night when we went for a walk before dinner, as the sun was setting and you can judge for yourselves, whether it rates.