When you move to a new country there are a lot of things to get used to, a lot of things to grasp but others can slowly become apparent as you settle in and begin to understand your new situation. One of those was the curious abundance of what I considered comic books in the library where I work as a volunteer. A fellow ‘benevole’ regularly takes out several each week. I was aware of the popularity of bande dessinee as I knew our sous prefecture had a big fair each year. I assumed it was only for collectors of comics. Wrong!

It was the visiting cyclist who rushed over when ‘I’m only the chauffeur’ was first in hospital who decided to put me right. After a week of supporting his aged ‘parentals’ he needed a day off and took the train to Limoges, a city he had cycled past but never explored. While there he visited an exhibition by an author of graphic books. Now, the words ‘graphic book’ had a different connotation for me, recalling the furore around ‘Lady Chatterley’s lover’ when I was a teenager but I was clearly very out of date. I knew about ‘Tintin’ and ‘Asterix’ as a French friend when our boys were young used to bring back French copies from visits home. But I hadn’t realised how the art form had developed. Now I did, leafing through the two beautiful volumes Gav had brought back with him.

So when I was searching around for somewhere we could take a city break as a replacement for our usual late summer holiday around our wedding anniversary Angouleme seemed an obvious choice. I discovered not only was it a beautiful city but also the national centre for bande dessinee with a museum dedicated to it and an annual festival to boot.

Further sleuthing revealed that there were murals scattered about the town in hommage to various celebrated illustrators and had recently been the fictional setting for a Wes Anderson film that had used many locations within the city. A film Gav had chosen to watch with me one evening using his streaming service. This I only discovered later as, exhausted by the time he arrived, I had obviously slept through the whole thing as I had no recollection of seeing it!

The hotel receptionist was very helpful when we discussed the need for booking a wheelchair friendly room but did say that the town was quite hilly with a lots of slopes and steps. I would probably need to use the car. N’importe, I thought to myself, we’ll cope!

And we did. Just about.

We were very impressed with the hotel when we arrived. The girl on reception was warm and welcoming and nothing seemed to be too much trouble. Our ground floor room was the nearest to the breakfast cum restaurant and had a well organised bathroom. I left the poorly one to settle in while I went off to use the pool.

Surprisingly for us we slept really well and then negotiated the breakfast buffet, mainly because I did the fetching and carrying. 😊

I had done my usual research and knew that despite a lot of the murs peints being in outlying parts of the city there were still plenty to discover in the centre so off we set. Following the advice of the physio that pushing the wheelchair when possible would be good walking practice that’s how we started. Not the easiest task with uneven pavements and what proved to be a very steep street up to the centre but with several stops to recover we got there….

… and were rewarded with our first painted wall and a bust of Herge alongside a panel describing the filming by Wes Anderson. (Our hotel had a big collage in the bar area dedicated to it too). Lou sat down thankfully and I took on the pushing.

As is usual for us in a new place we sought out the tourist office, this time in the huge chateau that doubles as the Hotel de Ville and after an interminable wait I managed to buy a guide to the murals although the town maps had run out.

From there it was a short distance to Les Halles where helpful bystanders directed us to the sloping entrance as we dithered by the steps. I love these big cavernous covered markets although not self catering we didn’t need to buy anything from the few stalls that were open. High above us was a glazed ceiling with decorated iron beams.

Leaving there we felt the need for a coffee break, well, I did! Struggling with kerbs and having to look ahead for potential problems is tiring. Around the Halles were several cafes and bars with busy terraces but we managed to find a spot where the chair wasn’t a trip hazard for the busy waiters and waitresses.

Given I had gone ahead and booked this trip without consulting the meteo, so far we were blessed with fine weather.

From my sleuthing and confirmed by our guide, I realised we were near two of the more celebrated murals so off to find them. What is a simple stroll when you are both mobile becomes something of a physical marathon when manoeuvring a wheelchair and trying to be aware of fellow pedestrians and traffic although most people are sympathetic and make allowances, I was glad to note. And we did find both walls…

We realised that we were now down below Les Halles but still high enough for a wonderful view across the countryside beyond the railway station.

So the poorly one did a bit of pushing before I took over as the ground flattened out! By now we were peckish and so started to look for a suitable place. Most were offering three course ‘menu de jour’ which, despite our strenuous activity, was not what we were after.

After a promenade around the narrow streets and alleyways we came out on a pretty square where our interest was piqued by the offer of a warm fish salad. The attentive waiter made sure we were seated at a table that was a comfy height for the wheelchair and we settled back and relaxed.

St Jacques, hake and gambos… scrumptious.

After coffee it was a short detour to the bottom of the square where I abandoned the poorly one to skip across the road for another ‘Muriel’, this time Tartuf.

About now I should have given up and I fully intended to turn for ‘home’ but thought we could go back by a different route and find another celebrated ‘mur’. Um, maybe a bad move. Using the map we cut up a narrow alleyway past an Indian restaurant (noted for another trip) but then came to a junction that was marked as a crossroads on the map. Oops. So, after appealing to some young lads who clearly had no idea where it was, I wrangled the wheelchair and its reluctant occupant along yet another cobbled ‘trottoir’. We found Sainte-Marie church but wanted the street named after it. As we were there I went into its cool interior and discovered some wonderfully vibrant stained glass windows.

Back outside we had to dodge cars in the narrow street, then coming out on a corner, once more I abandoned the poor chap and walked a short distance into a square behind said church and found my quarry..

Now, finally satisfied we had some sites ticked, we could go back and leaving the cobbles, mostly, behind us it was all downhill back to the hotel, passing some more wall art we hadn’t noticed earlier in the day…

Given the efforts involved that day we decided that eating our evening meal in the hotel would be more convenient for the rest of our stay but due to staff shortages, we were told, the restaurant had reduced its number of covers and it was fully booked for the next two nights. This meant we would have to take the car or a taxi to get to any of the restaurants the hotel could recommend as they were all up in the town centre. As I discussed this with the now male receptionist he told me he would talk to the chef and see if we could be served dinner in our room despite room service not extending beyond breakfast. Yet again the staff were going out of their way to make our stay as convenient as possible.

Leaving himself to recover from the bone rattling over the cobbles, he had already told me he felt every joint had dislocated, I went off for a relaxing float in the pool.

Before dinner we had aperos in the bar and chatted to a Welsh couple touring France and taking in some of the World Cup rugby matches. After our own room service meal we watched the opening game and cheered on our adopted country’s team as they smashed the opposition!