Last day…

Posted on November 21, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

Saturday morning was gloomy. Our last day and how to spend it? By now I had discovered the webcam at the top of La Rhune and it was showing thick cloud cover so this wasn’t the day to finally give in and join the crowds at the top. Mind you, looking at the webcam one evening after dark was interesting as the countryside below was sprinkled with lights with the dark mass of the Atlantic in the distance. Pity there are no night trains!

The first thing I wanted to do was go in to Sare and buy a cherry gateau basque for our neighbours who were holding the house key for us and had waxed lyrical about les gateaux.

We squeezed into a parking space just below the village and walked up past the fair on the car park and into the centre ville. Oddly, the bars and restaurants were all still closed despite having bar counters complete with beer taps and optics outside. Children were milling around being supervised so we assumed this was for later events in the day. It felt as if something big was going to happen.. but not yet.

With gateau safely bought and wrapped I paid a last visit to the church as I had read there was a plaque to one of the women killed during ‘the terror’ of the 18th century when the deportations were happening.

Back at the car we took off in the direction of Saint-Pee-sur-Nivelle, a pretty village we had passed through on our way to and from Espelette and later, Bayonne. It has a tiny museum dedicated to local game of pelote. We had seen so many pelote pitches but never a game in progress. Of course, we passed one on our way to St-Pee! Typically, comme d’hab, nowhere to park and watch. But at least we had seen evidence that all those pitches were not obsolete.

We knew that St-Pee or Senpere as it is known in Basque has a one way system that coming from the direction of Sare swings you well away from the centre ville. So I carefully parked before the junction. As we walked towards town I spotted two impressive murals celebrating two heroes of cycling.

I subsequently hunted online for anything to do with the murals but apart from a mention that the Tour de France once passed through Senpere I couldn’t find anything to explain their presence. But as a cycling fan myself I was irresistibly drawn to them although I was more the era of Indurain than Poulidor!

Along the one way street we found a small market in progress and I spotted my honey man from Thursday in Sare.

As we wandered we looked at several restaurant menus for ideas for lunch. Senpere is very well served for places to eat….and drink as evidenced by the knot of drinkers around strategically placed barrel/bars on the pavement! Here was the market morning atmosphere we had missed in Sare.

A straightforward menu de jour appealed to us offered by a cafe overlooking the market and having been shown there was a sheltered adjacent terrace we opted to eat outside. The impressively large church was just a few steps away.

Lunch was delicious and I chose to start with a soup, flavoured with Bayonne ham, of course, which gave me an idea for how to cheer up the endless quantities of squash and pumpkin soup I end up making every autumn!

This was followed by fish of the day sitting on yummy ‘mash’ and a creamy sauce scattered with pumpkin seeds…

…and then I opted for the deconstructed lemon meringue tart. The meringue was crunchy bits scattered over the lemon…delicious! This is the kind of lunch we love. Three courses, no fuss, and still possible to find at very reasonable prices. Wine and coffee is often included although cheese is sometimes extra or instead of dessert if you prefer.

Leaving himself on a handy bench I went off to explore that church.

The entrance or portico, as I assume it is called, is three stories high with a clock. The scale of the Basque churches twinned with their bulk made them seem impregnable so I assumed that was their purpose, places of sanctuary as well as places of worship.

Inside there were the beautiful wooden galleries but it was the golden altar piece that took my breath away. Above it the ceiling was in the form of an enormous scallop shell reminding the onlooker of the closeness of the Santiago de Compostela way as the various routes across France converge on the western edge of the Spanish French border.

Once again the galleries were closed to visitors….

Before rescuing Mr McGregor from his bench I took a quick turn around the gardens beyond the church and found an interesting wooden statue..

Looking again at the inscription I am reminded that I need to find the poems to illuminate the sculptor’s inspiration.

There was still the pelote museum which was housed in the tourist office where I was hoping to find about more about Senpere. Deciding on the spur of the moment to visit I hadn’t had time to Google any of its history or places of interest. Since then I have discovered that the willow ‘raquet’ used in the game was invented in Senpere and is called an xistera or chistera and there are twentyone versions of the pelote game.

Sadly the museum and tourist office were closed on Saturday afternoons, nor was there any activity on the pelote court alongside. Himself covered his relief well!

So it was back past the cyclists and the beautiful red and white houses to the car. I wondered out loud whether there were stringent planning laws surrounding new builds ss the ones we had seen all conformed to the white walls and red or green shutters at every window.

Back at the campsite there was a sign warning about noise from the fete in the evening. Apparently that’s when everything comes alive in Sare. But not for us. We had the packing and cleaning to do and an early night as we had to vacate by 9am… and bid goodbye to the chickens, bien sur, one of whom came round and prostrated herself on the porch, sorry to see us leave? Or just enjoying some sunshine?

Maybe we’ll be back as there is still so much more to explore and discover in this fascinating region that we had found quite by chance.

the website for the train and that webcam is http://www.rhune.com.fr

our campsite can be found at http://www.lapetiterhune.com

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Bayonne

Posted on November 6, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

Before we left Gagnac I had done some sleuthing about possible outings should the weather be awful; we get bored….whatever. Some years ago we had visited Biarritz but we hadn’t got as far as Bayonne although they are close to one another on the Atlantic coast. Today was to be the day.

I had tried to ascertain where suitable car parks were in relation to the old town as Mr McGregor can’t walk as far as he used to. I found three scattered across an area of parkland which I thought would be fairly easy to find. Wrong! Yes, there was a lot of green space but the roads across it were four lanes wide with several roundabouts with traffic lights. After going round and round, literally, I dived after a car that had suddenly veered into what looked like a no entry but had a sign for a car park. Result! The automated sign said three spaces left …and we got one of them.

At some point on the way to Bayonne I had suddenly remembered my phone was charging back in the chalet…disaster! No photos, or, more importantly, none of my screenshots etc. of places of interest. Relying on memory I realised we were just a short walk from Les Halles which I had thought would be a good place to start, especially as it was nearly lunchtime.

(Mr McGregor had a small camera with him so I was able to borrow that for recording the day …until I flattened the battery!)

After a wander amongst the stalls of beautifully presented goodies we stopped to taste and then buy a vacuum packed chunk of the celebrated Bayonne ham. Then the hunt for lunch. I’ve noticed that in big town centres the cafes tend to go in for poke bowls or odd salads, appealing to the young? We took a table at a place that had a few recognisable options. The day was a bit overcast but dry and warm.

We shared a planche of local charcuterie which was good but my following salad stopped short of being a Caesar by virtue of lacking everything you’d expect in a Caesar except for the crunchy chicken portions! But it was fine and sitting as we were on the edge of the huge concourse between the Halles and some beautiful colombage buildings we could people watch to our heart’s content.

After lunch we wandered over to gaze across the river Nive… at what we later found out was called Petit Bayonne, we were standing on the edge of Grand Bayonne.

I had a vague idea of which direction the cathedral lay so we climbed the pedestrianised streets towards it.

Leaving Mr McGregor recovering his breath outside I went into the cathedral but was frustrated by not finding anything that explained what I was looking at. There was a stall of craft bits and bobs that appeared to be sold in aid of a charity but even that was vague about its intentions.

There was some gorgeous painted decoration and then in a side chapel I found St Martin sharing his cloak with a beggar. St Martin has followed me since my teaching days when the nearest church was dedicated to him and I retold the story to each new class. When we bought our holiday home in Gagnac I remember visiting the church and turning towards the door saw St Martin depicted in the rose window above it.

Back with himself outside I suggested we needed to find the tourist office so as not to miss things or just to become better informed. We had to pick our way past noisy and dusty roadworks in front of the cathedral and head off in what we hoped was the right direction. Fortunately, between Google maps and street signs we eventually found the tourist office, itself marooned in the middle of road works right on the edge of town!

On the way there we had passed a museum and a fortified castle. Both of these places were explained to us by a very enthusiastic young man in the tourist office with the help of a town map. He told us to visit several places that we both knew we wouldn’t be able to manage that afternoon due to lack of time and our slow progression these days!

When he spoke about chocolate I told him we had visited a chocolate museum in Bairritz some years ago. Ah, he replied, but Bayonne is the true and original chocolate! Spanish and Portuguese Jews had brought the techniques of making chocolate to Bayonne in the 17th century when fleeing the Inquisition in those two countries. Looking again at the map of Bayonne on which he had circled several places not to be missed he clearly didn’t take account of our age or mobility but full marks for his presentation of Bayonne!

We did, however, retrace our steps to the cathedral, taking note of a huge war memorial on the way. This time I found my way round to the cloisters, a beautiful and quiet place. Barely recorded as this is where the camera battery died. Fortunately, not before I managed one shot of a fabulous exhibition of Basque clothing down the centuries set up around three sides of the cloisters.

Needing refreshment we took cold drinks on a shady terrace near a cake shop where I bought yet more cherry gateau Basques, sadly not a patch on the lady’s in Sare as we discovered later.

With ham already bought we passed on the various ham outlets our tourist chap had enthused about and didn’t have the energy to explore petit Bayonne and its chocolate on the other side of the river. Another time, we told ourselves. Now able to follow a physical map we strolled back down rue d’Espagne heading for our car parked just by the Porte d’Espagne, a huge gateway into the city. It was built as part of the city fortifications in the 18th century and for two hundred years it was the only way to exit the city towards the south. As recently as 1914 a bigger road was opened nearby to allow automobile access to the town.

The traffic leaving Bayonne was slow and heavy as we were in the middle of the Friday rush hour. It gave me time to ponder on the abundance of pampas grass that only seems to grow on the motorway embankments approaching the Spanish border. Interestingly, it has been illegal here since 2023 to have pampas grass growing in your garden, or to import it. It is considered an invasive species as well as a fire risk. But no more problems for us once we got onto the quieter roads winding towards la petit Rhune.

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marche!

Posted on October 26, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

Thursday is market day in Sare and like many people we can’t resist a marche. The sun was shining again so first I took my breakfast outside…

Arriving at the car park mid morning by the supermarket we discovered it was now completely given over to fairground rides which necessitated us backtracking and taking the main road around the village hoping to find somewhere to leave the car. More by luck than judgement we arrived at a small car park with a nearby sign pointing to centre ville. It was uphill, of course, but it was a lovely morning and suddenly we realised that from this side of town we could see the crest of la Rhune and the various masts decorating the top!

The street we were on came out by the side of the church and the tabac that seemed to be permanently shut…but was open today! So a postcard for the grandson. In the main square, that is also a pelote court at the far end, there were several stalls with local produce and handicrafts.

Having stocked up on local cheese, piment and pates in Espelette I settled for some local honey, choosing a forest one for which I was assured the bees had feasted on chestnuts and brambles. It certainly had a stronger flavour than the other honeys.

It was time to repair to a cafe for coffees but, dommage, none were open. They are preparing for the fete I was told by the gateau basque lady (I was becoming addicted to her cherry version). They must be expecting a vast number of customers we decided after discovering that every cafe in town was shut! Such a shame as we like nothing better on a sunny market day than idling over a coffee, watching the world go by, as do many other people, I imagine.

Before we left I went over to take a closer look at a rather splendid war memorial. In reality, it was two memorials, side by side. One to the Free French paratroopers and one to Victor Iturria, a local hero of World War Two who was evacuated as an injured anti tank gunner from Dunkirk to Britain. After recovering he subsequently joined the Free French and acting alongside the British SAS fought in North Africa with distinction. In 1944 he was parachuted back into France to fight with the resistance in Brittany to help with the liberation. Tragically he was killed in an ambush in the southern Loire in August of that year.

The weather was changing as we ate lunch so we decided on an indoor visit for the afternoon. There are caves near Sare but being claustrophobic they did not appeal to me. But there was a Basque museum, Ortillopitz, in the locality which we were interested to see as it was housed in an old basque labourdin farmhouse, typical of the region.

There was only one other car in the car park when we arrived so we might have the place to ourselves. We bought our entry tickets from a rather brusque chap in a small building hidden in the trees. In fact the whole place seemed to be tucked into a hollow surrounded by woods.

Initially Mr McGregor was anxious that the staircase was without a handrail but clinging to one another in Derby and Joan mode we made it up and down safely. There were excellent explanatory signs everywhere in four languages including English. The cave and stables took up the ground floor so the kitchen and living quarters were on the first floor as they would have been in our house when it was first built in the middle ages. This house dated from a similar time.

I was fascinated by the bread oven in the kitchen, in our area they are always an additional building on the ground floor but this was built out of the first floor wall!

In one corner of the attic there was a pirate and his treasure, a nod to the smuggling or ‘nightwork’, an important part of the local economy at one time. I was surprised that going to sea was an local occupation but in hard times the proximity of the coastal ports must have been useful, not to mention the closeness of the Spanish border for overland night work!

We spent a long time exploring the various displays and reading the descriptions and did, indeed, have the place to ourselves. Outside there was drizzle in the air so after a quick visit to the stables, with more reading, we retraced our steps to the entrance.

As we passed the ticket place the chap called out to ask if we’d enjoyed it. Being me I stopped to chat to him and said I had been interested to compare it to our home of a similar age. We had an interesting exchange which concluded with him showing me the cider he produces. Of course, we ended up buying a bottle and being given explicit instructions on how to open it and drink it!

Before we finally dragged ourselves away I took a photo of an explanation of the local use of lauze. In the Lot we’re used to seeing them used as roofing but here in the Basque country they are used, upended, as walls. I found them rather disquieting, reminding me of lines of tombstones.

Driving back we passed yet another field of sheep standing amongst a flock of white birds but were still unable to identify them. One day there will be somewhere to park!

A little further on there was a lavoire which did have parking space nearby. So off I went to record it.

Lavoires were built all over Europe between the 17th and early 20th century, usually by a spring or stream, as somewhere to do your washing. This one dated from around 1820. Looking into the murky water, albeit with a gently moving current, I decided that, nowadays, your washing would come out dirtier than when it went in!

NB If, like me, you noticed the name on the lavoire tablet was the same as our local hero I found out it translates as ‘source’ or spring, a common enough surname in the UK.

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a quiet day in…

Posted on October 24, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

We didn’t sleep well after our lovely day. It is always the same when we are away, however comfy the bed, we both toss and turn. Annoying but not unexpected. And then as daylight arrived so did the rain.

Thankfully the chalet was roomy and comfortable so we decided to spend the day inside. I always pack books and games for such eventualities plus our kindles so lots to keep us occupied. I decided I would read up on the history of the Pays Basque and why it has such a specific identity so important to the people who live here.

Well, that turned out to be easier said than done! The history of the area now known as the pays Basque is one of complicated alliances and a constant fight for identity. From my reading I understand that it was in the 15th century that Labourd (Lapurdi in Basque) and Soule (Zuberoa) came under the French crown. There followed a 16th century marked by the French/Spanish wars and an horrendous witch hunt in Labourd in particular. Along with Basse Navarre, the three Basque areas that fell on the then French side of the border, enjoyed considerable autonomy but was suppressed by the French revolution and followed by the war of the Pyrenees in 1793-95. The Basque language was prohibited and there were mass deportations of Basque citizens to other parts of France, including to ‘our’ department of the Lot.

Since 2017 the area including the three Basque regions in France has been known as the Pays Basque or Basque municipal community. The official language of the Pays Basque is French but the Basque language is spoken by many residents as we had discovered. In the area in which we were staying, Labourd/Lapurdi, Basque is spoken by 37% of the population according to a study in 2007. I picked up a leaflet in the supermarket thinking it might be for a site to visit but it was a guide to speaking Basque!

In Sare church I came across a leaflet advertising a course of Basque language lessons! As we travelled around the area we saw the standard two language road signs but on several the French version of town names was painted out. Apparently there is still resentment regarding the departmental name of Pyrennes Atlantique with both the Pays Basque and the neighbouring Bearn wanting more distinction between them.

Another thing that had sparked my curiosity was the origin of a tiny building we had passed the night before on our way home from the hotel restaurant. Resembling a small garage with a pitched roof with a cross on top I couldn’t see a great deal of the interior through the barred window on the door. Looking at the information on the map of the village the girl in the tourist office had giving me I discovered it was an oratoire, a small chapel, one of fourteen pictured on the reverse of the leaflet.

However the only information online in French or English is that they were erected according to the wishes of the sea fishermen of the village in the 17th century. Five are on the medieval road passing Sare but I only found three, one of which was on a nasty bit of road that didn’t permit stopping for photos. Our nearest one was dedicated to Saint Jean Baptiste and wasn’t in a very good state inside.

Driving back from the supermarket one day I stopped to take a photo of the narrowest avenue of plane trees I had ever seen in France and found myself next door to an oratoire dedicated to Notre Dame de Fatima.

This one was in a more cared for condition. And perhaps she was keeping me safe as I stood in the middle of the oncoming lane of the dual carriageway to take the photo of that avenue!

Later on during our quiet day in (sic), we popped up to the village to pick up some bread and found the car park partially closed and a huge funfair vehicle parked on one side. We had seen posters for an upcoming fete in Sare and this was clearly a forerunner. I hoped the weather would improve for their big weekend.

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To train or not to train?

Posted on September 24, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

Tuesday arrived with sunshine and blue skies, our fifty eighth wedding anniversary. Blimey, whoderthunkit way back then?

It was warm too so an al fresco breakfast sur la terrasse (spot the new mug matching the Basque colours of our chalet tablecloth. 😊)

Lovely as the blue skies were we were faced with a conundrum because of them. Mention the part of the Pays Basque we were in and people immediately mentioned the train a cremaillere (rack railway) that ran up the mountain our campsite was named after, La Rhune. I had Google earthed it and visited the website. Tickets with a guaranteed return (?) needed to be bought in advance online, return tickets not available at the bottom station…why? Tickets are non refundable so you are advised to check the weather before purchasing. But this is the Pyrenees and we know from experience how quickly the weather can change and the cloud cover come down. Plus Google earth showed one restaurant/cafe and a souvenir shop. So a full train means 200 odd people milling about on a mountain top looking at, or unable to, the views, queuing for food and/or drinks and buying Spanish souvenirs… because the station at the top straddles the Spanish/French frontier. Decisions, decisions. We’re a bit ‘far from the madding crowd’ on holiday and finally decided that spending 50+ euros on insecure public WiFi for an experience we were not convinced about…was not for us. Instead I showed Lou a col on the map I had scoped out the afternoon before, while he slept off that lunch, which looked rather lovely and would take us up to touching distance with Spain. Not having our passports with us precluded any adventures further on.

So that’s what we did. First stop the good boulangerie for filled baguettes for our lunch and then off to the Col de Lizarrieta.

The drive up was beautiful. First through farmland with occasional fields of sheep (source of the delicious brebis cheeses of the area), some with flocks of snow white birds that we struggled to identify. Then up through beautiful deciduous woods. We weren’t high enough to have purely pine forests. In fact, Lou was flabbergasted that our campsite was only at 60 metres above sea level when chez nous we are 140. We had assumed we would be much higher. The col we were climbing to was 442 metres.

As the road got narrower and the hairpins much sharper I began to sound the horn, not for warning oncoming cars but descending cyclists who, judging by our cyclist, love swooping down mountain roads.

Just as Mr McGregor wondered out loud if we were on the wrong road we came out onto the col, with a large stone stele as witness with some indecipherable Basque carved into it.

The next thing we noticed were the cyclists, skinny, tanned and all different ages, some arriving from the direction of Spain.

The sky was still blue and the day warm so after photographing the views we could glimpse between the trees we sat in the sun and enjoyed coffee, sitting between cyclists taking a breather and a lone hiker who wandered out of the forest. Checking the map later we were actually taking our coffee in Spain while our car was parked in France!

Off to one side of the car park was a board explaining the ‘circuit des palombieres de Sare’, created in 2017, enshrining an ancient method of catching wood pigeons which, although forbidden in other parts of France, is allowed here as maintaining tradition. On our map you could just make out the track following the frontier.

On the opposite side of the car park was a shelter decorated inside with pictures of the migrating birds that fly across the col and information provided by a local bird protection society. A wonderful demonstration of the contrariness of different ideas of conservation. I picked up a couple of leaflets and dropped some euros in their collection box.

Other photos on the shelter walls were of migrations of a different kind, refugees from the civil war in Spain and one of the ‘night workers’, a coy name for smugglers, a trade that is written about with a certain pride in local tourist brochures.

Sitting in the wall, facing the view, we ate our sandwiches and enjoyed the peace and wonderful fresh air.

My studying of the chalet brochures had prompted the idea of visiting the home of the celebrated red pepper, Espelette, in the afternoon. It should be possible to buy our favourite Ossau-Iraty cheese from the producer as well while we were there.

Our route took us through Saint -Pee-sur-Neevelle, a pretty village with a complicated one way system around the centre. Past more fortified churches, tiny villages of white houses with lots of red shutters, pelote courts and fields of sheep.

Espelette, when we finally got there, was heaving! Luckily, we found our way to a carpark where someone reversed out of a space just as we arrived..result.

The centre of town was pedestrianised and bore no relation to the picture I had in my head as Google earth had shown it minus pedestrians and open to cars ..must have been taken in the winter.

Fortunately I had remembered to bring the relevant brochures so looked for street names which helped us find the best pepper shop, if the paperwork was to be believed. It certainly looked the part with its traditional red peppers decorating the facade.

We had great fun deciding which pots of pepper to buy and then got lost among the pates and other related foodstuffs. There was a tress of bright red peppers bought for our neighbours who were holding our house keys for us.

Over much needed cold drinks, it being a little warmer than anticipated, I noticed the cheese shop from the brochure was just across the street. So a hefty chunk of scrumptious brebis cheese joined the peppers. Then it was back for a snooze before going out to a nearby hotel for a delicious meal celebrating putting up with each other for so long!

I was very chuffed to see my nickname spelled correctly, it is so often written as ‘Line’ here in France. Many a time I’ve resisted the urge to give a lesson on the use of ‘magic’ e. 🙂

Then a short step back to our chalet with the last of the light towards the Atlantic coast…

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Sare

Posted on September 23, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

We woke up to reasonable weather which was unexpected as the forecast that we’d been watching all week had said rain most days. Two chickens soon appeared outside and seemed keen to get better aquainted!

Over the week we began to look out for them if they weren’t there first thing!

Typically we spent our first morning visiting the nearby village and finding the local tourist office. I’d established where the parking was (no nasty surprises or no entries!), conveniently placed across from an excellent boulangerie and small supermarket. So shopping for some essential bits and pieces we hadn’t brought with us…but no mug! I do like a big mug of tea and had forgotten my ‘holiday’ one.

In the main place there was a lady selling the gateau Basque made with black cherries which our neighbour had recommended to us so an individual one to try was added to our bag.

By the way, I entitled my last post as ‘crossing the frontier’ but signed off without explaining. The pays Basque, Basque country, is exactly that when you visit. A different country with different traditions and different regional specialities and here in Sare as in all other villages and towns the Basque language is alive and well. So much so that a leaflet I picked up in the supermarket thinking it was for a local attraction turned out to be a guide to useful Basque phrases! However, the pronunciation was impossible for me to decipher and even after listening to it on Google translate my one and only attempt to use it was met with incomprehension on the face of the other person!

Across from the cake stall where the lady switched between Basque and French according to her client there was a bar with the tourist office above so coffees and information gathering…

The building was old and very beautiful inside. I bought an IGN map of the immediate area and was given a carte of the village by the helpful young woman. I have always loved French tourist offices and bemoan the ones closed in favour of online information. Chatting to an enthusiastic local is a wonderful introduction to a town and its region.

Coffees drunk and carte consulted we went off to explore, keeping an eye open for a lunch opportunity. It was becoming quite gloomy and we didn’t find many places open. It’s Monday and traditionally nothing is open, Mr McGregor decided.

We did find a pelote court with no players but the sign said it is played in dry weather and it was beginning to drizzle. But we did find a souvenir shop, empty of people and rather forlorn but I found a good sized mug to add to my collection of ‘bought because I forgot one’

Retracing our footsteps we found a cafe open and opted to sit inside.

We ate a good three course lunch and later regretted it. The helpings were ‘copieuse’ and himself wished afterwards he gone for the axoa, a local kind of casserole that didn’t look as heavy as it sounded when served to our fellow diners. I left him sitting under a pretty arch while i went to look at the huge church next door.

I had read that all Basque churches are famed for their wooden balconies along each side of the nave and I wasn’t disappointed, only by the fact they weren’t open to explore. The altar piece was magnificent and I was to learn that fortified churches, as this one was, had huge interiors with amazing decorative altars and similar dark wood galleries.

Collecting the waiting husband it was back to our chalet to sleep off lunch, chat to the chickens, absorb information from the many leaflets kindly left in the chalet and perusal of our new map compared with google earth images….a favourite holiday occupation of mine…

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crossing the frontier…

Posted on September 21, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

I didn’t really know what to expect from this holiday. We had spent a few days in Biarritz some years ago and on other holidays had driven over the western Pyrenees on our way to Spain and beyond. We’ve gone to the part of them beloved by the Tour de France organisers, the legendary cols of Tourmalet and Soulor but in the winter to do raquette walking and had thought it would be interesting to visit in warmer weather.

We took the suggested route via Bordeaux but got bored driving through Les Landes, a lovely area but flat and forested for kilometer after kilometer if driving straight through it. A decision was taken we’d go home via Toulouse!

Once we left the autoroute close to Bayonne we were straight onto narrow country roads and, true to form, the GPS got lost as soon as it encountered a new roundabout. I had been looking at the area on Google maps to get ideas for places to visit so a few village names were familiar so I just followed my nose and any familiar name on a signpost! Amazingly, we did eventually arrive at Sare, the plus beau village close to the camp site and then the site itself.

The welcome was warm from the lady in charge who set off to walk us to our chalet where she showed us around, presented us with a classic gateau basque, gave us the key and told us there was an apero within the hour by the acceuil, just make sure to bring a glass each, any paperwork could be sorted tomorrow. So we emptied the car into our home for the next week, found our glasses and went off to meet our hosts.

The apero was well attended and we were soon chatting with our fellow holidaymakers while our host and his son kept all our glasses topped up from big jugs of what suspiciously looked like the lethal ‘ponch’ beloved of French friends to help a party along!

After several glasses we took our leave and headed back to our chalet for soup and sleep!

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…’it might as well rain until September’ …

Posted on September 8, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

We have had a very hot summer with several periods of canicule where we sweltered in temperatures up to 40°c. It’s a relief that recently we have had much cooler weather and a fair bit of rain. Good for the garden we told each other. But now it’s time for our annual holiday…and the forecast? Rain every day. Hey ho!

As the designated driver these days I no longer have to contend with dramatic announcements from himself that ‘it won’t all go in!’ It does, of course. After over 50 years of holiday packing I can usually assess how much can be squeezed in. He still mutters and I still ignore him…

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A footnote ..regarding the heat

Posted on June 21, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

The forecast for Friday was that it would be ‘orribly ‘ot.. just the kind of weather for driving four or five hours, not! The diagram I pinched from la Depeche showed it wasn’t going to get much cooler as we drove east.

But it had to be done. We thanked our hosts and I gave Monsieur the bottle of Cahors, representing our department, that we’d finally tracked down in the Co-op (only local wine available in the wine shops) as a thank you for sorting my suitcase saga.

The road south towards Bordeaux was fairly empty and we went through the first peage with only a sight hesitation before our gismo beeped and the barrier went up.

I need to explain to those who don’t know that French autoroutes are mostly toll roads. Our nearest one is free for a good stretch of its overall length as it was built on the route nationale thus offering no alternative. But most are not. Many years ago we signed up to the telepeage system which saved all the hassle of stopping to get a ticket at the first peage and then the hunt for said ticket and search for change at the following one. It was better when bank cards became acceptable but, as Mr McGregor is the kind of person who huffs and puffs in supermarket queues, always convinced another till is faster, it seemed less stressful to register to pay monthly and stick the little gismo on our windscreen and sail through the guichets of the telepeage.

A few years back it got even better for himself when they introduced the 30km an hour ‘guichet’/gate. You just need to slow down, gently roll forward until you hear a beep and the barrier lifts…and you’re away. Except at our second peage of the day there was no beep and therefore no raising of the barrier. With a car behind me there was a moment of ‘what the hell?’, or my worst nightmare!

‘It’s not there’ suddenly interjected my husband from the passenger seat. And, indeed, there was no gizmo on the windscreen. He started rummaging on the floor and in the little central pocket (full of pens, mints, decheterie pass…etc) while I began tentatively reversing hoping the car behind us would to!

It was a yellow car (utterly irrelevant) but it did slowly move backwards..and thank goodness it was just the one! As I stopped sufficiently out of the way for him to use the guichet, I got out to join the hunt and to apologise. But the elderly couple in the yellow car just mouthed at me fiercely and waved their arms before smoothly carrying on. Well, I tried!

Meanwhile the passenger footwell was a tip but still no sign of the gizmo. But then I saw it, or rather its perky ‘BIP&GO’ logo caught my eye. It had lodged itself under the handbrake so invisible from above until I stopped and pulled up the brake. Clearly, or so we decided, the heat had loosened the connection with the windscreen, probably the reason for the delay at the first peage when it was probably already dangling..

Fortunately there were only a few more peages for the entirety of our journey and Mr McGregor held it up as an offering to the driving gods and the telepeage computer each time and we made it home…without upsetting any more yellow car drivers!

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Too darn hot….

Posted on June 19, 2025 by lynnefrancophile

Lots of weather warnings about the chaleur in most of France at the moment and due to get hotter (tomorrow’s journey could be sticky!) but we still went to la Rochelle as planned.

A calm start as we were going to take the train and it didn’t leave until just before 11am. Tickets bought, we sat on a shady platform bench and watched our fellow passengers slowly arrive, several with bicycles.

We had our ‘ats and bottles of icy cold water from the hotel’s free fountain so felt as ready as we could be for the day. Our friendly hotel owner had given me a map of the town and shown me the choice of two walks that started from the tourist office, only three hours or one and a half. We’d already decided we would catch the bus from the station to the Gross Horloge to save energy…which is what we did.

After coffee and a shweppes and a quick nose around the stalls on the quayside we began the shorter tour, albeit at landmark number 6 which cut out a big, and to our minds, unnecessary loop.

As is usual for us, the streets on the map didn’t seem to match those around us but we managed to orientate ourselves once we fetched up by the grandiose Hotel de Ville. There were several school groups of varying ages being shepherded around the same sights as us but we slowly left them behind.

Happily the narrow streets of the old town always had one side in the shade so we could walk comfortably most of the time.

We soon reached the part where the streets were arcaded but not in a grand way as in Bologna in Italy, rather more humble and not very high but giving excellent shelter from the sun..

It was much less crowded here with only a few dedicated map followers, usually going in the opposite direction!

Our hotel owner had teased me that he would be setting a test later in the evening so I made sure I photographed various information signs here and there on significant buildings! 😊

After a while we began to think about lunch and, more importantly, the need to sit down and draw breath. We had reached the Place de Verdun, passing a huge church on the way, the cathedral Saint Louis. We passed on a couple of eateries but then came to what we discovered after sitting down was the next landmark on our map. The sumptuous Cafe de la Paix, famous for being a favourite of George Simenon.

We sat at a small table by the open frontage and resisted being moved further inside to a bigger one. It really was a treat to behold!

We ordered salads in view of the heat and the need to keep moving afterwards but they were enormous and we struggled to do them justice.

But we gave it our best and feeling rested and refreshed we continued on our way but a heavily truncated version of the official route!

There were more arcades and pretty squares…and some tempting boutiques!

By the covered market we sidestepped fallen oranges as we dodged the stall holders stacking their vans at the end of their day.

On down the rue des Merciers where I took a photo of the information (he was joking, wasn’t he?)

Following the map we arrived back at the Hotel de Ville and I made a quick foray into the courtyard and took a photo of the sundial within it…

And then we were almost back at the quayside of the Vieux Port. With no shade the heat was fierce so we decided that the 15.33 train back had our name on it.

While looking for a bus stop we suddenly saw the imposing station in the distance so opted to walk… slowly…in that direction. We passed a few bric a brac stalls but while trying to take a photo my mobile told me that it was closing down as it was too hot! Now that’s never happened before.

Fortunately there was a modern arcade to walk under, not picturesque but practical.

Typically we were joined in the platform waiting room by an English couple who are also staying in Chatelaillon Plage so lots of chat about the weather (!) and living in France…

After a snooze with the air con running, a swim for me and then last aperos on the terrace (where another English couple struck up a conversation!) it was off for our last supper of the trip….home tomorrow.

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