The House Husband

While the trip to France at the beginning of a two week holiday is always a great way to start, the trip back can be a bit of a drag.

One of the guys who pushed the boat off in St Malo

The fact that the ferry takes around nine hours to make the crossing is not much of a problem when you’re in a cabin and travelling over night, fast asleep. The return leg, however, is during the day. Still, the journey is certainly not stressful and the time goes fast enough. Particularly if you have a laptop, a book and a reclining seat.

And the trip has been made even less stressful this time because of the number of fellow travellers on board. There were very few on the outward journey and there were even less for the one home. Perhaps the ones missing didn’t get the message about the earlier sailing. Whatever…it certainly worked for us.

The ferry was almost deserted. At one stage we went for a wander (actually we went for a few wanders not just the one) and walked through the cabaret performance space and spared a little pity for the poor guy singing his heart out to an audience more interested in watching the football, reading or just chatting to each other. That makes it sound as if there was a big inattentive audience. There were about 15 people dotted around the room.

One thing it has pointed out to us (and has pointed out to us previously as well) is how much we would hate a cruise. Apart from being stuck with a whole bunch of strangers we’d not normally be stuck with out of choice, we’d also feel stuck between places. There’s stuff to do on the ferry but we rarely do them because it’s a mode of transport for us rather than a holiday extra. Or maybe I remember the horrors of our trip to Australia back when I was five.

A final farewell to St Malo

Speaking of horrors…our final night in St Malo wasn’t particularly good as I ate something that didn’t fancy moving through my body in the traditional way. Instead it waited until I was asleep and then decided it wanted an emergency evacuation. I sat up suddenly, waking Mirinda in the process, and went to the bathroom where all help was given to facilitate said evacuation.

Subsequent sleep was accordingly fitful, to say the least. It wasn’t the ideal way to spend the last night of our holiday and made me very glad we had a Sunday to get over it in our own bed.

Overall, the holiday was fantastic. Particularly the week in the pigeonnaire. Highlights would have to be Fontevraud Abbey and the Lescaux II cave but really every day was filled with either wonder, joy, idle lazing or a general combination of all three. The perfect holiday, really.

The two bald guys who tied our boat up in Portsmouth

It would be terribly remiss of me if I didn’t mention the toilet in our hotel room in Saumur. It was clearly designed by someone without legs. Imagine a cupboard and now imagine someone has plonked a toilet against the back wall of it.

When sitting down on this ridiculous thing, my knees were about 50mm (2″) from the door. It’s ridiculous. It’s not comfortable sitting on something, trousers down, feeling like you’re about to be ejected into the hotel room. It’s also difficult standing up as your head moves forward and bashes against the door. And it could so easily have been included in the bathroom and turned 180 degrees. Annoying, stupid and just not nice to sit on with a good book.

I can report, however, that the shower was fine.

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Well, we checked out of the Hotel Londres (after a lovely breakfast) and headed further north, on the final French leg of our holiday. The weather started off beautiful – all blue sky and sunshine – but quickly started turning grey. The clouds menacingly gathering ahead of us, causing consternation about whether to keep the sunglasses on or not.

When the rain came we were in a bar/tabac in Chateau Grontier, a town we didn’t stop in on our way down to the Dordogne but had intended to.

A mirror in the High Street

The bar/tabac didn’t look too appealing from the outside (apart from the fact that the two town drunks left just before we arrived) but inside it was fine. In fact, it seemed to be a bit of a family friendly establishment with the children out-numbering the adults.

There was a bit of consternation shortly after we arrived when a grandmother and her two charges (boy and girl) couldn’t decide where to sit. They looked a bit peeved that we had sat in what seemed to be their usual place. Eventually they settled into the only six seater table in the place. Eventually they were joined by grandad and the two other kids (boy and girl) which made six altogether. So, as Mirinda pointed out, they had the best table anyway. Though it has just occurred to me that perhaps grandma didn’t want to sit next to grandad.

We had a lovely coffee before heading outside into the now rain drenched streets of Chateau Grontier. We managed to make it back to the car without getting too wet with the help of Mirinda’s umbrella and a rather fruitless investigation of the only shopping mall we’ve ever seen in France (outside of Paris).

The latest in French fashion

Back in the car we drove away, leaving the rain behind us as we journeyed further north. The rest of the drive was pretty uneventful (the weather came and went) and Linda eventually deposited us at the railway station carpark in St Malo where the pregnant Europcar woman appeared to be standing there waiting for us.

This was rather odd because we’d not really given a time of arrival. I said bonjour and looked confused. She said bonjour and told me to leave the car key in the special box outside the office. She then climbed into a car and drove off. Great service.

We then hopped into a taxi and arrived at our hotel in time for the room to be ready for us at 3pm. We were to be disappointed yet again as the Chateaubriand Hotel was running behind schedule, just like on our first day. The room was eventually ready by 5pm, two hours late. I still have no idea why. Still, we left our bags with them and went in search of galettes.

St Malo was experiencing some sort of festival with crowds everywhere. It was like everyone who wasn’t in Saumur yesterday was in St Malo today. I thought it was something to do with the Ascension.

As well as the crowds, there were also various street performers wandering around adding a bit of a carnival feel to the place. These two women were wearing stilts, were sewn together and made strange noises at people. They also scared a dog or two.

Strange stilt women

We gradually walked back to the hotel to end up waiting in the sitting room for half an hour. At least bit was worth waiting for a decent toilet when finally did gain access to our room.

We went out and had a delicious final St Malo dinner at one of the many crowded restaurants that line the bottom of the ramparts. There was a lot of French people out and about, eating in groups of four and more. We think it’s the Ascension four day weekend effect. St Malo was very busy today.

During dinner I received a text from Brittany Ferries. This reiterated something they’d sent me in an email earlier and that was that the morning ferry tomorrow will be leaving earlier than scheduled because of a ‘technical fault’. I’m very glad I read my emails and had my phone switched on otherwise we might have missed the ferry home. I wonder how many other passengers will be left waving on the dock at St Malo?

We woke to rain this morning. Clearly the sun is only over the Dordogne. Still, unperturbed, we set off (after a yummy French breakfast at the hotel) for the Old Town bit of Saumur followed by the chateau at the top of the hill.

A strange air of emptiness was all around us as we walked up the Rue d’Orleans towards the Old Town. Shops which one would expect to be open and streets which one would expect to be crammed with excited and happy shoppers were all deserted. Tumbleweeds moved morosely along the footpaths.

Later, back at the hotel, we discovered that it was a holiday in France. I have since discovered it is Ascension Day (the day that Jesus ascended into heaven having been crucified) and France stops. Ascension day is, apparently, always a Thursday although it’s always wandering all over the place because of Easter. What it means for the casual tourist from another country is that virtually everything is closed. That’s a bit annoying.

What wasn’t closed was the chateau. Except that a lot of the chateau is actually closed because they’re still renovating it. It used to house the towns museum and we thought this would be nice to visit…but that’s now closed for renovations.

But you can walk around the chateau and admire the outside, the ramparts and the workmen busily trying to reproduce exquisite and intricate stone work on the walls. At least you can walk around it if you don’t mind the hurricane force winds and lashing rain which decided to inundate us. The umbrella was pointless and I was even forced to carry my hat against the onslaught.

We managed to get to small tower in a corner of the battlements where I could quickly pop out and take a photo.

The Loire from Chateau de Saumur

Eventually the wind died down to a mild tornado and the rain stopped (occasionally) so we could have a better, more visually interesting, wander around rather than just looking at the ground with our heads being buffeted.

We also went down to the subterranean section of the chateau, the only bit you can see. It was a very, very big cellar with nothing in it. It was impressive given it’s size and being situated so far down but, really, it’s hardly what you’d call satisfying given what we’ve seen at other chateaux.

Not that I’m complaining (really). It didn’t cost much and the building is very grand. It has had a turbulent past, being destroyed on numerous occasions by various religious, political and familial squabbles. I’m very glad I walked up yesterday and managed to get a photograph in the sunshine though.

Chateau in the sun...yesterday

There is also, in the chateau grounds and included in the cost of your entrance fee, a small horse riding museum. It was sort of interesting although I think a lot of the dressage type tricks they want the horses to do look a bit unnatural and uncomfortable for the horses. But what do I know? I’m no horse.

After seeing everything in this little museum (it took about ten minutes) we popped into the Salon de The for a couple of coffees before starting back down to the town when disaster struck.

We were having a jolly chat about Eleanor of Aquitaine and how she celebrated Christmas 1188 in the chateau when a raised gutter appeared out of nowhere, causing Mirinda to pitch forward. Her little friend went flying into the road, as did her umbrella, as did she. Right onto her knee.

We managed to manhandle her back to the relative safety of the footpath and a low stone wall and rescued her various hand items and discovered she’d grazed her knee quite badly. And this is where the fact that it was Ascension Day in France really hits home.

Virtually nothing is open. We staggered passed three locked and bolted chemists on our way back towards the hotel. The whole ghost town thing was in full force. The hotel bed was very pleased to welcome Mirinda back into it’s restful embrace.

After a good solid couple of hours lying down, Mirinda was ready to walk to lunch. We had our fingers crossed that one, something would be open and two that her knee would hold up. As it turned out, both things were true.

The restaurant we ate in had a very odd, very brusque waiter who wore his glasses fixed firmly to his head. I’m pretty sure they were stuck there as a result of some silly waiter prank and he’d been waiting for them to work themselves loose. I also think this may explain why he was so brusque.

He had no time for the niceties of Ascension Day pleasantries. it was all a bit of a rush to get our orders. At first we thought they were about to close and just wanted us got rid of so they could be off to their family celebrations of Jesus going home but that was not the case at all. He was just brusque.

Anyway, the food was quite nice. Though I should mention the bread rock we were given. Mirinda tried to slice it but that just snapped the teeth off her serrated knife. A light sabre may have made a bit of dent on it but we’d forgotten to bring one.

It was odd because we had three rolls (that’s odd between two people to start with) and the first two were fine…crisp but otherwise fine. The third roll took crisp to a whole new level. I’d say somewhere around granite.

And it wasn’t stale, either! Somehow we managed to get it open and the bread inside was all fluffy and fresh. Maybe they sprinkled the top with concrete rather than flour.

Still, the food was fine and, because there may be nothing open later, our main meal of the day. As we sat there, a group of what I thought were hardy Germans, decided to sit outside and drink beer and coffee. They looked like a group of approaching geriatric aged walkers.

As they sat, the sun came out and bathed everything in a happier shade of blue. They were all smiling and happy so I figured they’d been responsible for the change in weather.

It made us realise how the Germans are the heroes of Europe now. They seem to be the only nation with any stability, decent political governance and money at the moment. Everyone goes to Angela Merkel for assistance. I mentioned this to Mirinda, suggesting that they decided trying to rule Europe by declaring war hadn’t worked twice so this time they were just going to buy the defunct countries following the financial collapse. Their first target is Greece. Remember, you read it here first. And I’m not saying it would be a bad thing!

After our repast we strolled along the river (sort of) and then around the unchartered back streets of Saumur until we found this huge horse riding area. An inside, an outside and a giant car park all watched over by the beautiful buildings of the Cavalry School. It all looked gorgeous in the sunshine. I felt happy and tried to cheer Mirinda up by having my leg run over by a tank.

That's going to ruin my jeans!

We then strolled back to the hotel as Mirinda’s knee was feeling the effects a bit. And that was about it for the rest of the day. At least it was nice and restful. Back to St Malo tomorrow.

The nights at the pigeonnaire are completely silent, apart from the occasional night creature. They are also very, very black given there’s no lights anywhere. This is, of course, wonderful, except when Boy decides he’s a bit lonely and wants someone to come and play with him. Like he did last night.

His bark was amplified in the silence to ear shattering decibels. I have no idea what time it was because it was too dark to see my watch. Eventually it all became too much and Mirinda yelled at him to shut up, in French. Oddly, it worked and we all drifted back to sleep.

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Sadly we packed up, cleared up and had a finally cup of tea/coffee on the loggia and bade a fond farewell to our short term home, vowing to return in 12 months.

We were driving to Saumur and the day couldn’t have been more conducive: Sunny but not too hot. And Mirinda has discovered cruise control.

It took a while to work out how to use it (the manual is, of course, all in French) but eventually she had it conquered and was soon commanding it to take over at various speeds. She told me a story about an American who was driving along in one of those horrid Hummer things and pout it into cruise control then climbed into the back to make a cup of coffee. Nuff said.

Cruise control, according to Mirinda, makes driving long distances a breeze and has almost convinced her that we need to send poor Sidney to the knackers yard and find a new heifer for our personal transportation.

Of course Linda has made things a lot easier though she had a few problems today which turned into holiday squabbles. Still, all in all, she performed wonderfully well and delivered us to Angouleme, in the comic museum parking lot, ready for lunchtime, perfectly.

We were going to check out the old walled part of Angouleme but Mirinda quite fancied revisiting the restaurant we ate at last week so we decided this was a must. After all it was a Wednesday we went last week and it was open until 3pm. Given our lack of success with restaurants being open when we want them to be, we figured this was a good option.

And we were right! It was open (though nowhere near as crowded as last week and with different staff) and I had the Captain Biceps burger again. This week we were lucky enough (I say lucky but we there were very few diners this week) to get a table by the window. This was our lunchtime view.

The bridge over the river Charente

The odd thing about the restaurant was how last week, at the same time, the place was almost full, mostly with business types clearly enjoying a lunch out. This week, by complete contrast, there were no business types and by the time we’d finished there was only one other occupied table and the staff were having their own lunch. Not that the food was nay different…actually that’s not entirely true. The food was different but still as nice.

From Angouleme we set off for Saumur with the idea of stopping off on the way for a short break and maybe a coffee. As things turned out, we found ourselves once more in Mirebeau. But what a difference in the afternoon!

The market clearly only runs in the morning and by the afternoon the town square has returned to being a carpark and the town has gone back to sleep. No longer the strange incantations over the loudspeakers, instead the lovely dozing French country town.

Of course we visited our favourite Bar/Tabac and had a coffee served by an entirely different (though more diffident) waitress without the gender issues. I note that the coffee has increased in price by 20 cents.

The only place we drink coffee in Mirebeau

But it was only a short stop over (which included a wander around the square) before we were back in the car and onto our final leg into Saumur.

The hotel was quite easy to find but the car park not so. We have been so used to travelling in the country, stopping in small country towns and villages with little traffic and lots of parking that to suddenly be stuck in peak hour traffic in a very big town is a bit of a culture shock.

Still, we only drove by once then I jumped out of the car and went and found out on foot, where the car park was before going back and showing Mirinda in the car. It all worked out fine. We settled into the room and, while Mirinda had a rest, watching some Jane Austen adaptation on her netbook, I went exploring.

Saumur seems to have quite a few very old bits intermingled with modern and grotty bits. However, the river is gorgeous and the chateau just shines in the afternoon light. It looks like being an excellent day tomorrow, sampling the delights of Saumur.

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Just a quick note on dinner tonight. We went to Chinese restaurant which served very odd Chinese food. Not that there was anything wrong with the food (it was actually delicious and I couldn’t fault the fantastic wine) but the menu items were a sort of Chinese/Vietnamese/French fusion of the most confusing kind.

I was a bit sad we were the only ones there but the waiter was very happy and served us well. It was an…interesting meal.

At the pigeonnaire there’s a black Labrador called Boy. The owners use the same sort of electric fence as we do with the poodles in order to keep Boy away from the guest accommodation. He’s a lovely boisterous dog who takes great delight in greeting us. He does have one minor flaw, however.

The church bells here in Liorac, go off, chiming every hour (as you’d expect) from 7am and, occasionally for no reason I can ascertain, they just chime. These strange periods of bell ringing tend to go on a bit longer than just indicating the number of hours. It’s these that Boy doesn’t like.

I haven’t actually counted them but I assume he knows when there’s been more than 12 and then starts to yell for them to stop. Maybe he has inside knowledge about the counting ability of the bell ringer, I don’t know, but once they’ve been ringing for too long he starts howling after each peal.

So, try and imagine this:

BONG – HOWWWWWL – BONG – HOWWWWWL – BONG – HOWWWWWL – BONG – HOWWWWWL – BONG – HOWWWWWL and so on until the bells stop.
It’s a bit odd to say the least. He stops as soon as the bells take heed of his howls so it’s not like the countryside is left with his wolfish emanations for longer than is entirely necessary.

We have successfully rephrased the old saying to “if wishes were clothes horses, beggars would wash.” For no reason other than the lack of the Internet. It was also a good way to greet the wet morning that rained in over the valley in front of the loggia. As Mirinda remarked “It looks just like England.”

It was a slightly drizzly but decidedly damp drive we started on. Today we were headed for the most beautiful bastide (Montpazier) at least according to the lady who lives in the big house, followed by a pop into another chateau in a tiny place called Biron. Things didn’t look promising.

However, as we approached Monpazier, the rain decided to go somewhere else, leaving only grey clouds which meant we could have a jolly good wander around the beautiful town.

Actually it came back a few times giving me the opportunity to take a photo of Mirinda with an umbrella just to prove it did rain this holiday.

Umbrellas are not just good for keeping the sun off

The town was founded in 1284 by the English King Edward I and has changed little over the centuries. Even though there has been a fair amount of trouble within the town, it still retains a wonderful medieval feel with very few modern intrusions…ignoring the shop signs, of course.

Outside the bastide town of Monpazier

We manage to wander around just about the entire grid. Bastides are made up of the main central roads, secondary internal roads and the back alleys that give access to the houses. Mirinda likes to walk down as many of each of these as possible. At Monpazier, we just about managed it.

The thing about a proper bastide is the square in the centre which should be surrounded by colonnaded buildings and Monpazier has them in spades. It all looks wonderfully medieval.

Looking into the past

To complete our perfect trip around Monpazier, we decided to try the Bistrot 2 for lunch. Given we’re off north tomorrow, we figured a nice slap up meal was just what we needed. We were not wrong. I had one of the nicest entrées I’ve ever had. It’s not going to sound nice but it was delicious. It was cauliflower infused with horse radish, topped with smoked salmon and fish eggs, surrounded by asparagus spears. An amazing experience.

The rest of the meal was delicious especially the dessert which was all kinds of almonds (ice cream, marshmallow, toffee). We left feeling adequately replete. We needed a bit of a walk and then we climbed back into the car for the short trip to Chateau Biron.

What an amazing place! It sits on a hill with wonderful views over the countryside for miles around. You can wander all over it, in and out of rooms, towers and the chapel. We thoroughly enjoyed it all.

One thing that could be improved (and this has been the case with most places we’ve been to) would be an English guide book. Most places have a French one and surely it can’t cost that much to get an English one printed. If they haven’t any guide books, that’s fine but these places have a lot of English speaking tourists and I feel sure most of them would buy a cheap guide book. I know I would.

The side view of Chateau Biron

But enough of that…on to the chateau! You walk up a very long set of steps before walking through the entrance gate where you find the ticket desk. You pay your euros and you’re in. They even hand you a free typed booklet which is not very helpful. Mirinda normally has these and talks me through everywhere we walk but here she gave up after the first thing we saw which was the chapel.

Beaufitul carvings in the chapel

Inside this massive building (more a cathedral than a chapel) are two burials. They once had the figures of Pons and his brother Armand (owners of the chateau back in the 15th century) reclining on them but, sadly, the French Revolution decided to hack them up a bit. What remains are a few lovely Italianate carvings.

Similarly to the chapel, most of Chateau Biron is empty yet intriguing. Large rooms with very big fireplaces, elaborate floors which the visitor sometimes has to skate over on sliding patches of felt.

Mirinda shows off her wood skating skills

Not only do they prevent damage to the wood flooring but they also keep it well polished for free.

The view from the top is, obviously, pretty spectacular and nowhere near as frightening as yesterday. Mirinda managed to get to the top and wandered all over the top quite happily.

The view from the top of the tower

There are a few rooms that are not empty. Down, down, deep in the depths of the chateau is the dungeon and torture rooms. Strange items of furniture looking vaguely threatening, sit looking ready to receive any poor unfortunate prisoner. Cages hang from the ceiling, some with possibly human shapes within them. Everything looks creepy.

But this isn’t actually real. Film production companies use Chateau Biron as a set very often and the dungeon is just that. In fact, looking at the location of this dungeon, I’d venture to suggest that it was originally simply a cellar for storing vegetables and wine. But that’s not nearly as much fun.

Speaking of actual uses for rooms…how’s this for a reasonably sized kitchen?

Mirinda decides what kitchen units to buy

We had a lovely visit at Chateau Biron but it was soon time to go (having seen everything and wandered everywhere) so we cast one last glance back at the old place…

Last long look

…collected the car and set Linda to take us back to our little pigeonnaire in the country.

It was our last night in Liorac so, after a late dinner, we took a final wander through the village. It all looked so lovely, we may very well come back next year.

Given that today we have lost our connection to the Internet, I thought it the perfect time to describe how we have been accessing it down here on the farm. Because the pigeonnaire is so far from the main house, someone has installed an extension power line for a wifi antenna. The plug at our end is inserted into a socket that seems to disappear into a garden wall. We feel that behind this wall is the actual Internet and we have the control.

The source of the Internet is this wall

Sadly we were very, very wrong. The owners left for Bordeaux this morning, telling us they wouldn’t be back until after we’ve left (on Wednesday). What they omitted telling us was that they were taking the Internet with them. Clearly it’s far too precious to be entrusted into our hands. We returned from our day out to find we’d been cut off from the world. I felt instantly devoid of all contact with humanity…beyond Mirinda, of course. I was very gloomy.

Our day, on the other hand, was lovely. Our usual late start saw us arrive in the 33% English populated bastide town of Eymet. Back home we watched a programme on the BBC about an area of France called Little England and it featured Eymet. One of the people in the programme is the woman who runs this shop.

Dog grooming, Dordogne style

Anyway, the town was lovely to walk around and memorable because it’s the only place we’ve heard someone shouting into a mobile phone and he turned out to be English. This is clearly an English phenomenon.

Eymet is one of the bastide towns that was built for aggression. It has a castle and once was walled. It was built by the French to keep out the English. I guess it took a few centuries but eventually the English have indeed managed to get in. And they were everywhere. We had pizza surrounded by them. It felt very odd. I don’t mind the occasional tourist (after all we are tourists ourselves) but a third of a town is a bit much. Also when you pass the English on the street, they don’t say Bonjour whereas the French almost always do.

So, leaving the English town of Eymet, we set off for a very small spot called Allemans du Dropt –Dropt being the river it is on. There is a small church in the middle of the village (dedicated to St Eutrope) which has the most amazing frescoes in it. I was particularly keen to see the depictions of hell because they are always so wonderfully graphic.

And these didn’t disappoint. The frescoes were painted in the 15th century but were not rediscovered until 1935. I assume they were whitewashed over or something. They are now in the process of being restored. Sadly some have been lost completely with no record of what they were. However, the ones that are still in evidence are wonderful.

Ignoring the Jesus stuff (only because it’s all a bit predictable and, therefore, dull) we move on to a wonderful image of St Michael having a right go at the devil. With massive golden lance, surmounted by a cross, he pierces the devil at his feet while gripping his horns. Behind him is an angel and two humans who have been saved from the fires of hell.

But brave St Michael has not been that successful. For to his right is a giant demon carrying a wicker basket full of humans, destined for the fiery pits. He looks back at the blonde haired Saint as if poking his tongue out at him (except he doesn’t appear to have a tongue). The humans in the basket don’t look that unhappy but the one human held by the hair by the devil is clearly in some distress as naked he prepares to receive a rather vicious looking spear from an equally out of sorts demon.

The next panel is clearly my favourite. It is hell itself. A big cauldron, full to the brim with humans, most of whom are looking a bit sad (although one in the front just looks comfortable, so maybe the water is still only tepid). The massive teeth and open mouth of what the church calls ‘Leviathan’ is to the extreme right with big demons depositing their loads into it.

To the left, at the very gates of hell, four demons are arriving with fresh humans. One carries two pierced by a sword, a second has one by the legs, carried over his shoulders like a sack of spuds, the third has a basket on his back with many little human heads poking out and the fourth appears to be pushing a human wheelbarrow…if you look very carefully.

It is all truly fantastic and I can easily imagine the locals on a Sunday being chastised by the priest who would point to the maws of the devil and shout that this was where they were all destined to end up if they didn’t eat fish on a Friday.

Mirinda admires the frescos

Mirinda thought they looked like cartoons and couldn’t really take them seriously. I never take them seriously anyway. However, they were excellent and I thoroughly enjoyed them. We then headed off to the Chateau de Duras.

This is an amazing chateau. It was a complete and utter mess after having been ransacked and left for dead after the French Revolution. Then, in the 1960s a group of people decided to give it a bit of a makeover but, rather than make it look all National Trust, they decided to leave all the rooms bare with boards explaining the rooms and what they were for. This gives a greater sense of freedom to the visitor who doesn’t feel ill at ease. It also means the visitor can takes photographs inside and out.

The chateau does have a couple of little gimmicks though. As you descend to the patisserie, a voice is heard warning you about what may lay downstairs. I was ahead of Mirinda and went through the secret door which appeared in the wall complete with creaking effect. I waited an age for her to appear but she never did. She was worried that she’d be stuck on the other side of the secret door and not understand how to get free again.

The highest point of the chateau is the tower. At the start is a warning – the staircase is very narrow and anyone with vertigo should not go onto the top of the tower. This slightly put Mirinda off but I went first, sending back warnings about what lay ahead. When I emerged from the extremely narrow staircase I immediately yelled down for her to stop following me.

The staircase is in the side of the tower and emerges by the edge. There is a small banister around the top of the tower but the operative word there is small. It came up to my knees. I am not generally afraid of heights but I started feeling a bit wobbly as I headed for the centre of the tower. The views were spectacular and were uninterrupted through 360°.

From the top of the chateau

I tried not to look as I descended the stairs.

Before heading back we popped into a small bar for a refreshing drink (or two). It was then back to Liorac and the dead Internet.

I forgot to mention that yesterday morning I saw a hoopee. It was sitting on the grass just beyond the loggia (which is what Mirinda calls the verandah) giving me a funny look. Which is odd because they have a funny look all of their own.

We have two wooden hoopees which we bought from an antiques shop in Haslemere many years ago. They don’t look quite as odd in wood as they do in the flesh. Sadly I didn’t have my camera with me but will keep an eye out for future encounters with Monsieur Hoopee.

And, following subsequent research to find out if what I’d seen WAS in fact a hoopee, I discovered that the hoopee is the national bird of Israel. An unusual choice but one I wholeheartedly approve of. I mean you can keep your macho posing eagles, give me a crazy looking hoopee bird any day.

Anyway, that was yesterday, today started with a lovely, lazing round the house type of morning with no sight of a hoopee. The sun was bright but a good cool breeze kept the temperature down to manageable Gaz-levels.

And, as promised, here is the video of the second part of the house:

But, of course, into such a perfect holiday mood a little metaphorical rain must fall and consequently, while the day was off to a lovely, chilled and relaxed start, it eventually ended in balls of stress and abject misery. But I’m running ahead…our first destination was the beautiful medieval town of Issigeac.

We punched the location into Linda and off she went, taking us through some of the most gorgeous countryside we’ve seen. The traffic was light, the weather was crystal clear, the perfect Sunday for a drive.

Finding Issigeac was simple. It is round and surrounded by fields. Where once there was a defensive wall, now there’s a road that encircles the medieval buildings and cobbled streets.

We loved Issigeac. We loved the higgledy piggledy streets and the overhung buildings. Sadly we’d just missed the market which happens every Sunday morning but we had a jolly good wander around the entire town.

Duck when approaching

Eventually, having tried and failed at the first place, we settled down in the only restaurant open. It was lovely sitting outside, under the wisteria which was hanging from an open gazebo. It was even lovelier eating duck and chips and drinking a Leffe.

Our favourite restaurant in Issigeac

There was a wonderful moment of high French comedy when a young teenage girl managed to catch her jeans in her chair at the table just across from us. Her jeans were clearly the coolest and had these silly little chains hanging from the back pockets. The chairs had little holes in them (like most garden furniture) which were just the right shape and size to catch the chain but make it impossible to release.

She was of the age when a teenage girl does not want to draw any attention to herself, let alone her bottom, and yet everyone was transfixed as each member of her family attempted to release her. I figured she’d not want me to offer any assistance…so I didn’t.

Eventually her brother managed to cut her lose and she tried to vanish from the public gaze once more, albeit now sitting on a sweater.

After our delightfully entertaining lunch, we set off for our first chateau this trip. We’d decided to visit the closest to where we’re staying so it was off to the Chateau de Lanquais we went.

And it’s a lovely little chateau. The oldest bit dates to the 12th century but bits and pieces were added all the way up to the Renaissance when it had a bit of a wholesale overhaul. Even so, you can see where the old style ends and the newer one starts. Then there’s the few bits and pieces of 19th century addition.

13th century to the right, 15th to the left

We wandered around a lot of it although more than half is still occupied by the last remaining member of the de Gourgue family. You can also stay there if you’re feeling brave.

I say brave because the whole place is a bit scary. You know when you visit somewhere and the ghosts of its past seem to be whispering at you from the walls? When you think you see shadows of past events etching themselves across the tattering wallpaper and tapestry wallhangings? Well, that’s what this place was like.

We wandered through her ladyship’s and his lord’s bedrooms, into the dining room and games room and the grand stateroom before plunging beneath the ground to visit the dungeon and food cellar. Cold and dank it was. Though I was quite keen on the subterranean temperature, I’d rather not have to spend too long down there.

It was then time for the medieval kitchen and the guard room where soldiers would practice fencing while keeping a watch out for the enemy. We then returned to the real world of the 21st century, outside in front of the building.

Chateau de Lanquais was classified a historic monument in 1942 which means it cannot be destroyed. This is rather good except that any restoration that is required has to be allowed by the Ministry of Culture. The costs are then borne by the government (50%) and the owner (50%). Therefore, in 1954, they opened the place to visitors to try and recoup something. Mind you, they’d not have made an awful lot today. There was only about five couples and that’s including us.

Having filled ourselves with the cultural food of Lanquais, we hopped into the car and set off for home. It was then that we made the fatal error.

We had enough food for dinner except we had no fresh bread. In France that’s pretty much a capital crime so we decided to look for somewhere open. Even a supermarket would do. We asked Linda and she said there was an InterMarche in Lalinde (which I’m certain was purely a coincidence) so we set off.

There was a bit of wandering around the country before we actually found Lalinde but find it we did and we parked the car and went looking for bread. There was a market going on but, alas, only bric-a-brac (which is being generous because everything smelled like old, damp garages). We then went wandering through the town.

Lalinde is a bastide town. This means it was built during the 13th and 14th centuries. At first they were sort of frontier towns where the monarchy encouraged people to set up shop and settle down. And it wasn’t just the French monarchy, Edward I of England also created a few.

After a while, they weren’t so much frontier towns as military outposts and they started being fortified. French against English and vice versa.

It’s quite easy to tell a bastide because it is laid out in a strict grid pattern, something the Greeks did to great effect during the city states period.

Not that that has anything to do with anything other than the fact that Lalinde is a bastide town.

What was relevant is that Lalinde has a patisserie that stays open until at least 5pm on a Sunday. I almost skipped through the doors and grinned stupidly at all the lovely French bread lined up against the back wall of the shop. We also bought a cake which was another mistake.

The afternoon was so glorious that we decided to go and sit by the river in a little park perched high above the southern bank of the Dordogne. We watched this bridge as we enjoyed the fruits of our labours.

Bridge over the river Dordogne

Eventually we wandered back to the car and told Linda to direct us back to the pigeonnaire which she happily did. In about 30 minutes we pulled in through the big wrought iron gates, parked the car and jumped out, ready to drink a glass or two of wine and eat some olives. And then Mirinda asked me if I had her little friend.

Mirinda is very attached to her iPhone to the extent that she calls it her little friend. It is like an extra limb. She stops being a normal human being when it isn’t attached to her. My heart sunk as I told her I didn’t have it. The last time we remembered seeing it was in Lalinde.

With little hope, we jumped back into the car and quickly, high-tailed it back to Lalinde (with a minor deviation because Mirinda didn’t recognise the road we were on). Mirinda pulled into a car space not far from the little park and I jumped out, telling her to stay with the car.

I walked into the park and my heart sank. There were a lot more people there than I’d have expected. Just behind the bench where we’d been sitting, there was a group of teenagers doing some sort of dance-off thing. I considered throwing myself off the edge of the park and into the raging river when I reached the bench and there, all alone, as obvious as a white rose on a tuxedo, was Mirinda’s little friend. If it had been a kitten it would have been meowing frantically. I picked it up and raced back to the car, suddenly lighter and happier.

The second journey back seemed to go a lot quicker. The wine when we reached the pigeonnaire was all the sweeter.

Whenever I think of Cyrano de Bergerac, I always think of Steve Martin in the updated, American version where he says 20 nose insults at the beginning. I guess I should read the original (though translated into English) novel. Still, now whenever I think of Cyrano, I shall think of Bergerac, the town with not one but two statues of the man made famous by Edmond Rostand. Both of them have big noses.

My favourite Cyrano with a very handy sign

Today was a Bergerac day. Bergerac is the closest big town to where we’re staying. And Saturday is market day in Bergerac so where better to go?

Linda guided us (almost) seamlessly into the one way system which defeated her and left us driving around aimlessly looking for and eventually finding, a parking space.

Actually, Linda has a bit of a problem with the Dordogne. Every time we head towards Bergerac she sees roads that don’t exist and gets quite annoyed when we don’t take them. Her voice gets more insistent the closer we get and when we fail to turn she interrupts herself in order to recalculate the route.

Still, Linda aside, we parked up and headed into the square where the Tourist Information is situated and collected a map and the relevant market information from the helpful French girl on the counter. She asked if we wanted her to speak English and after Mirinda said yes did so with some fluency even though Mirinda continued speaking to her in French.

Which reminds me, Mirinda bought a hat today from a hat lady and carried out the entire transaction in French. As she was about to leave, hat on head, the lady said her French was “a marvel!” That’s my wife!

So, we found the market but not before finding a Dixieland band, playing up a storm across the road. Mirinda was so taken by their vim and verve that she purchased a CD from one of the guys wandering the crowd. We played it in the car going back to the pigeonnaire and it’s jolly good fun.

After wandering around the cathedral, admiring the strange tomatoes and other less recognisable vegetables, we settled into a little patisserie for breakfast where Mirinda admired a small dog wearing a hat.

A very fashionable French dog

The map we had been given at the TIC was a handy little self guided tour of the city so we took advantage of it and went a-wandering. Mirinda always fancies herself as a bit of a tour guide so she did the guiding while I did the touring.

Of course, by the time we reached anything to visit, it was closed because France closes between 12 and 2pm. So we walked our way around all the sights without without entering anything. Eventually we made our way back to the square where the Museum of Tobacco is located to have lunch at the Restaurant of the Enchanted Mushroom.

The museum was closed but the restaurant was deliciously open. We enjoyed a wonderful meal in wonderful surroundings.

Back streets of Old Bergerac

During our self guided tour, we spotted the spot from whence the boats leave for river tours. Naturally we had to be there for that! The next tour was at 2pm and we duly turned up about 15 minutes before launch time.

There is nothing quite like the French attitude to time. When they say 2pm, it could actually mean anything. It’s rather like the cafes that are supposed to open but are not. We eventually left at about 2:15. The tour lasts an hour and the next tour was at 3. This meant there was a huge crowd waiting for the next tour when we returned from ours. The boat only holds 50 and it looked like there was at least 10,000 waiting.

Anyway, we were happy, given there was only about 20 of us. We all sat comfortably and the Carpe Diem floated effortlessly out onto the Dordogne. Actually this was the first time we’d seen the Dordogne so it was a bit of a treat.

The Carpe Diem took us a little way up and then a longer way down, the river. Our guide spoke almost the entire way (in French, of course) giving us special bits of English every now and then. We had a folder with an English translation of her tour so we weren’t really lost although it was quite difficult to follow where we actually were on the river at the same time as the folder.

Not that it mattered. We love a good river boat tour, regardless. And this one didn’t disappoint. We saw lots of black kites swooping and turning high in the sky, looking for prey (they eat all the dead fish that would otherwise clog up the waterways…apparently).

Looking for dead fish

The river is lovely and quite wide just beyond Bergerac. The sides are lined with trees and wildlife. It’s just gorgeous.

Here is our guide caught mid-sentence.

And if you look to your left...

We still had some way to go before reaching the dock when a tiny voice behind us suddenly declared she needed to go wee-wee. This started a frantic attempt by her father to get her to think about something else – raisins. In fact, the biggest raisin in the world.

Her mother, clearly the more pragmatic, suggested she hold on “…like a big girl…”

Approaching Bergerac by river

As the Carpe Diem hit the dock, so father and little girl leapt forth and raced towards a toilet while the rest of us were ushered back into our seats while the salty old captain retied the boat to the moorings.

Actually, the salty old captain had the best job in the world and one I’d like to aspire to. He didn’t have to communicate with anyone, could wear, basically anything to work, didn’t shave and just drove the boat up and down the river with an occasional ring of his ship’s bell. Where can I get a job like that?

On the way back to the car, we stopped off for some delicious ice cream and a bit of a relaxing read in the shade. It was then into the church of St Jacques where a rather noble Joan of Arc posed obligingly for me.

Joan thinking about France

It was then just a question of Linda getting us back…which she did. Another beautiful day in the South of France.

In 1940, Robot the dog fell into a hole. Actually, according to the guide it was called Robert but I think that was his accent and the book says Robot. Anyway…Robot/Robert’s owner, 18 year old Marcel Ravidat managed to pull him out of the hole and in doing so, dislodged some rocks which he heard bouncing and echoing in the ground beneath him. He quickly raced home and returned with a knife and a torch in order to dig deeper and find out what was there.

Along with Marcel there was Georges Agniel, Simon Coencas and Jacques Marsal and they were all dazzled by what they found in the hole they’d widened.

According to the guidebook, they rushed and told their school teacher about it and he became the first curator of the caves. According to the guide, however, the boys decided to keep the cave a secret but after three days, just had to tell someone and the teacher overheard them.

Whichever is true (and I prefer the latter) the four boys certainly did the world a great service for they found the most amazing set of prehistoric cave paintings on the walls of the cave. The cave was at Lascaux and that’s where we went today.

We started off quite late, heading off to the Vezere Valley, just over an hour’s drive from the pigeonnaire. Not that it mattered. The scenery we drove through was just magnificent. Troglodite caves peek out from the massive sandstone cliff faces, small French villages nestle deep down in the valley with old, stone bridges crossing mighty rivers, deep, green woodland extends for miles on either side of the roads. Just beautiful.

We ended up at Montignac at about 12. In order to get tickets to see the Lascaux cave, you have to visit the special ticket office in Montignac where you are given a time for your tour. Ours was for 3pm and would be in English. We then went to look for somewhere nice for lunch.

It wasn’t difficult. There’s quite a few restaurants along the banks of the river with terraces nice and close to the water. This was our view.

Montignac, the Vezere River

The restaurant we chose was somewhat odd in that it seemed to be Irish themed (it had an Irish name and the menu had green four leaf clovers all over it) but served Italian food (I had tagliatelle carbonara) and the waitress was French. What was not odd was the meal. It was lovely and the view meant we had the perfect place to hang around for a bit.

After hanging around for a bit, we went for a wander around the narrow back streets of old Montignac. Lots of 14th – 16th century buildings, barely standing on cobbled streets and very narrow alleys all made our meandering very delightful.

A very narrow street in Montignac

We popped into the very newly built church, which had no name that I could find, and enjoyed the coolness. It was well above 30 today and the cold of the high ceilinged church was a delight too good to miss.

The only remarkable thing in an unremarkable church

The church wasn’t much to write home about so we didn’t spend very long admiring it and once more emerged into the blazing heat. It was time to make our way to Lascaux II – a short drive up the road and around a very steep hill.

The reason we were visiting Lascaux II is because the original cave, discovered back in 1940 by the lads and their dog Robot/Robert, has suffered from too many visitors. The cave was opened to the public not long after it was discovered but then, following the discovery of strange white growths protruding from some of the paintings, it was closed in 1967. These growths were caused by the rise in temperature created by the thousands of visitors each year.

There followed a very long period of conservation. The micro-climate of the cave was returned to its normal state and things stopped deteriorating. It was then decided to create a carbon copy of the original right next to the original. It would be called Lascaux II and would have identical paintings produced using the same methods and materials as the Cro-Magnon artists had available to them.

Lascaux II is not the entire Lascaux cave gallery but it includes some very impressive pieces. The cave it is in, has been artificially created to look exactly like the original. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a real cave in real rock, it’s just the inside has been shaped to look the same. A mammoth undertaking.

So mammoth, in fact, that it took 11 years. There is now talk of a Lascaux III but we saw no evidence of it while we were there. What we did see was simply amazing.

The images are extraordinary, particularly given the fact that they were created in near darkness (they had only small rocks with animal fat on it and a wick made from juniper) with no live models. The artists even used the shapes of the rocks to create a three dimensional feel to their work. Whoever painted these animals was a true genius.

A lot of art historians will tell you that perspective in art was discovered in the Renaissance but they’d be wrong. It was discovered around 16,000 years ago in a small cave in the Vezere Valley.

There’s no way anyone can take a photo in the cave and, besides, photos can’t really show the levels of sophistication in the creation of the paintings. However, here’s a photo of a page from the guide book just to give a glimpse of what they look like.

A bull from Lascaux

I am so glad I saw this. It is a truly incredible thing and well worth the few hours travel and few hours waiting for the 40 minute tour. Totally and completely worth it.