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.