Two weeks into reconfinement and the prime minister will be making an announcement tonight about how it’s going. He promised at the start things would be reviewed after ‘quinze jours’ and we await his pronouncements but doubt there will be any easing just yet.
The figures are still daunting and, depending on which set I read, our department is either doing better than most in our region…or not!
But I’m doing better. Or, at least, that’s what a friend in the village just told me. ‘You’re looking better than when I last saw you’, she said. I remember that morning, the first Saturday of the last confinement. We passed each other at the village baker and I shrank away from her. ‘You’re very shifty’, she commented. I didn’t like to own up to how frightened I was of not just her but anyone!
Today, I was happily riding my bike, not hiding in the car, and had just hailed two other friends and neighbours as I swept past them. Bike riding was forbidden last confinement but I have recently discovered it is ok this time so long as I stay within the radius of a kilometre from home and only stay out for an hour. I was so frustrated last time as I enjoy a little tootle through the walnut orchards or a ride along the river.
So bike riding has been added to my almost daily walks. The weather is glorious for November and because we haven’t had any frosts the leaves are mostly still on the trees making walking under them a joy.
On the French government website I found an app which gave you a personalised map of the one kilometre radius around your address….except it wouldn’t let me print off a copy. In the end we dug out the oldest and scruffiest map of our area and, with the aid of a pair of compasses, drew a circle around our location. Armed with that it is possible to work out all manner of permutations for walks and rides. ‘I’m only the chauffeur’ has just taken a walk with that app that talks to him (remember the lac de causse walk?) and reports he has done over 4km in 56 minutes. We will stay fit after all.
It’s not just about fitness though. For me, the loss of social contact was the hardest thing to adapt to. I loved all my activities and regret the lack of opportunities to speak French in our ‘new normal’. There is still lots of contact happening on social media but it’s not the same. Out walking I have had the chance to say bonjour to fellow walkers, chat over the garden gate to various neighbours and catch up with friends as our paths cross. As we don’t live in the middle of the village anymore I didn’t bump into former neighbours that often. But now that the village is in our permitted radius it is fast becoming a regular event. Which has to be a positive.
If there are any ‘easements’ in tonight’s announcement I must make sure I carry on getting outdoors and keeping the contact going, not just with our glorious countryside but with the people who inhabit it too!
The first day of reconfinement and I have surprised myself. On the first full day last year I had to go out to the pharmacy and spent the whole time stressing about other people and whether the gendarmes would stop me. Had I filled in the attestation correctly? Should I be wearing a mask? Was my homemade gel protecting me? A bright spot was in the bakers as written about earlier on this blog thread.
Back at home we were trying to decide what we could and couldn’t go out to buy beyond food. Bigger worries, fuelled by the TV news, both French and UK, were that it was probably only a matter of time before we both succumbed to the virus and would die in hospital within days of entering with no visitors and unable to say goodbye to each other or any family member. Panicked, we tried to be sensible and posted a paper on the fridge with both boys names and addresses should the worst happen.
That is my overwhelming memory, the fear that gripped me which, amazingly, didn’t stop me sleeping or lead to the migraines I have suffered all my adult life when stressed, but which did colour all my decisions and meant we spent a lot of time sniping at each other as we tried to make sense of what we could and couldn’t do. For example, our communal bins are at the end of the drive but across the road. Do you need an attestation and passport to go to the bins? I was opting ‘yes’ as had read about an over zealous gendarme fining a girl who emptied her bins in her dressing gown outside her house and had no identification on her. Lou said it was nonsensical so insisted on strolling down to the bins as before with me nagging about 135euro fines! The first time we took a walk together I felt naked as all my rare outings had been in the car which I soon realised I was using as a comfort blanket, a metal one between me and potential infection.
Today I took a walk to post some letters and cheerfully filled in my attestation, printed off earlier, ticking the exercise box. I didn’t feel naked nor afraid. I exchanged a few words with the farmer’s son across the road and bonjoured a neighbour. I took photos and revelled in the glorious autumn colours.
Tonight I have pondered this new and very welcome relaxed attitude. Last time we had watched with growing concern as patients were moved from overcrowded hospitals onto trains that carried them to regions less afflicted, others were put on planes to travel over the border into Germany. Horror reports were coming out of northern Italy of doctors having to decide which patient received life saving treatment. And the awful death toll in care homes with tearful relatives telling of not being able to be with their loved ones at their end. Going into confinement seemed to polarise all those worries, presaged as it was by Macron’s pronouncement ‘We are at war!’
Nearer home there were stories of the shortage of gel and masks although the argument about mask wearing was still ongoing. Every outing prior to confinement was a personal tussle as to whether I should be going out to gym or rock or secours populaire. Would I be bringing the virus home?
This time I am equipped with gel and masks, mainly thanks to a talented sister who made my favourites, and have become adept at moving adroitly if anyone comes too close for comfort. As our eldest son says, amongst others, we may have to live with doom virus for a while and need to adapt.
Sadly, the volunteer work I had begun again has stopped due to the shop closure. The message came from our ‘chef’ yesterday but today another has come from the homework club asking could l help by facetiming again. Doors closing and opening.
So I am relaxed. We’ve been here before. There are still unknowns, like the bin visits, but other things have been experienced. The national and international news is still extremely worrying but that is a big concern, the piddling ones that wear you down on a daily basis have, for now, receded…
Photos have been taken over the last few days and are calming, j’espere….
Well, the Miers walk around the dolmens is kicked into touch again. First it was a wet Monday that should have been fine, then a dry Friday that was very gloomy, then a glorious Monday but the plumber was coming.. and now confinement again. Not that I’m complaining. The infection figures are terrifying and the hospitals are getting too full. Not just in France but in Spain, Italy and Germany. The UK can’t be far behind. Facebook covid groups have gone into overdrive bringing the news to English speaking expats so, of course, the questions and laments have started.
For people caught between house selling and moving before the end of December Brexit deadline it is one more enormous thing to be worried about. For others whingeing about not being able to go on holiday I am less sympathetic. For anyone who follows the news this has been on the horizon ever since the end of August, one of the reasons we took a break while we could.
Within an hour of Macron’s address to the nation a friend had messaged to say she was ready to drop off anything we needed as she will continue to work and passes the end of our road daily. Macron’s ‘Vive la France’ had been enough to make me feel emotional, her message nearly brought me to tears.
We have to wait until tomorrow to find out which shops will be allowed to stay open and I wonder about the charity one I work in. Our food distribution will have to go on so I assume I can still go in on that afternoon to sort stuff out but it may not be seen as essential work.
The schools are staying open so the streets will be fuller than last time, I imagine, at each end of the day. People were reporting that their local shops were busier than normal but my usual drive order went through for my preferred slot. I shall see tomorrow when I do my regular pick-up if the roads are thronged with shoppers scrabbling for pasta and loo rolls!
A while ago, back when the days were sunny and long…and very hot, a friend told me about the lac de Coiroux. I had told her we had walked around a lake in the Correze and she told me this one was closer while still being in that department. Of course, i googled it and discovered it was not only the lake and obligatory ‘plage; but had a campsite, a children’s activity centre and a popular golf course. Too busy for us, I decided, in the middle of the summer season but maybe later….
The days are shorter and cooler now and after the last circumnavigation of a lake ‘I’m only the chauffeur’ had commented that perhaps we should try longer walks. I remembered lac de Coiroux and set about finding a randonnee around it. The ‘parcours nature de Coiroux’ popped up, stating it was 8km and ‘facile’. I printed off the fiche which, annoyingly , was one of those vague maps which show a red line but no map details and the accompanying words waffled about the zones we would walk through but no actual directions. I should have smelled trouble!
We had to wait until the end of the week for a dry day so were keen to walk again. The drive was quite twisty once we left the main road towards Tulle but very pretty with the autumn colours deepening.
We were relying on road signs as the gps couldn’t find any of the villages situated close to the lake. i had discovered that google earth had not just travelled the roads nearby but driven into the carpark so I was able to scan around and had spotted what I believed to be the panneau for ‘our’ walk. The first mistake!
The golf course featured heavily on the signs as we drove closer so it was very easy to follow.
Chastagnol, the village in large black print on the map was a tiny hamlet with one of those tiny black name boards attached to the 50k speed limit reminder. No wonder the gps didn’t consider it a destination worthy of the name.
In the car park I realised the sign i had confidently predicted was for the parcours was, in fact for a 9.5 km walk with blue balise to Aubazine and back. The sign for us was at the entrance to the car park and gave no indication at all about where the walk started. After the usual faff of putting on boots and finding sticks we set off up the steps next to the ‘wrong’ walk hoping the yellow balise for ours would soon appear. mistake number two.
At the top of the steps we were faced with the path to the left going to Aubazine and a path in front of us leading past the children’s centre. An excited goat bleated pitifully from inside his shelter while his companion just gazed at us quietly, knowingly? The view of the lake was lovely and himself pointed out picnic tables ‘for later’.
After walking for a while across the grass we entered the trees, still not having seen any suggestion of a yellow balise anywhere. Time for a rethink. Back to the car park and a minute scrutiny of the photocopied piece of the ign map that i always take…thank goodness! According to the map there seemed to be a path marked on the far side of the car park so we set off in that direction. Sure enough there was a large sign announcing the ‘parcours nature’ but still no indication of where it may be. We walked up the road out of the car park and saw a gloomy path on our left marked very clearly with the blue balise. No yellow but a lurid green, plus a plastic sign that had PN on it and arrows in each direction. ‘PN’ must stand for parcours nature’, I suggested, let’s just go for it.’ So we did!
The path was gloomy because it was under the trees, chestnut trees, as evidenced by the ground littered with them. I should have brought a bag. I told Lou.
He was still not convinced we were on the right path but when we came to a junction with a very clear blue balise to the left and the lurid green plus plastic PN to our right, we were mollified that this was indeed the parcours.
The path was lighter now as it ran along the side of fields with cows but still with chestnuts underfoot. It rose and fell and views opened out on our left. The campsite seemed to be somewhere on our right now, hidden by the trees but with occasional signs for it pointing back the way we had come.
And so we progressed. In and out of the forest, past two enormous water towers,
winding through tiny hamlets with big vegetable patches, down tracks with warning signs about cows or sheep on the move….
but always having to hunt for the balise to decide which direction to take. From experience we knew that the paths we were following might not feature on the map. In fact, the water towers were the only thing I could positively identify.
At times we walked along the edge of the golf course, the immaculate greens contrasting wildly with the landscape we had been walking through, especially when we reached an area of logging destruction. The debris of felled trees was everywhere but the wild flowers were flourishing in the sudden light.
Further on we came down onto a wide track and, ever curious, i walked back to its start to read a large sign. It was telling us we were on land belonging to ‘international paper’ and no admittance. However, the plastic ‘PN’ was in evidence so on we walked.
Back by the golf course, walking between the greens and undisturbed woodland was most pleasant, if you ignored the posters warning of flying golf balls with the power to kill or maim. And remembered to avoid the electric fence of 6000 volts!
A little further on we came to a crossroads of tracks with a beautiful wayside cross. It was carved from wood, decorated with climbing ivy and mounted on a stone plinth.
We looked in vain for a balise of any description. The only one was a plastic PN pinned to a tree just before the crossroads. A large lurid green arrow was splashed across a tree and gave the impression we should walk straight on. To our right, the logging had taken down every tree for about a hundred yards so nothing to pin or paint on. So we continued down the track. Mistake number three!
We could see a house further down on our left and walked past its wood pile. Suddenly we found ourselves at a t junction with a tarmac road. On our right was a name sign. La Chapelle. Lou was scanning his map (I do one each!) and shouted he had found La Chapelle. Right on the edge of our photocopy. I could see the way back and it looked a long walk. We pushed on to the right and just as we were wondering if we were going into someone’s front garden a tractor came towards us. Happily, he stopped and I explained where we had come from and where we needed to go. He told me the grassy track he had just come up wasn’t ‘interdit’ and if we followed it to its end at the ‘chemin goudronee’ (tarmac) we could turn left and then right at Maisonneuve and find the lake straight ahead.
What a star! We followed his advice and ultimately made it back to the lake, walking along the main road for what seemed like ages.
At Chastagnol, a chap working in his garden, hailed us and told us we had profited from the only dry day. Indeed we had, I didn’t want to imagine that extra walk in the open along a busy road in the rain!
We made it back…three hours of walking instead of two. The picnic was very welcome!
footnote: himself had chosen Strava to record the day’s walk. 11.6km instead of 8km, that longer walk he wanted!
The weather has changed and we must adapt however reluctant to let go of the warm days and life outside. Our garden furniture has been packed away, the pool emptied and stored, wood has been cut and the stove lit. I was like a bear with a sore head for a day or two but now I’ve relaxed into it, pulling on a jumper and rummaging for socks while stowing the summer shorts away.
This week’s walk had to be adjusted too. Monday was but Tuesday was fine albiet chilly first thing. It being the fourth Tuesday of the month I wasn’t needed at secours populaire as it was closed so the day was ours.
Enjoying walking near water but facing the challenge of only an hour’s drive away I was pleased to remember the Lac du Causse near Brive. Some years ago friends in the village with a young family used to enjoy visiting this particular ‘lac’ for its beach and water sports. It sounded fun but, as himself said, probably heaving in the summer. The upshot is that we had never explored it. But we were about to.
The drive to Brive is one we regularly undertake for medical appointments or for shopping we can’t do locally. It is also the first part of the journey north to Calais to visit family and friends in blighty, not something we can contemplate in the present environment. We could go but would have to isolate for the entire visit thus rendering the exercise entirely pointless. But, these walks are intended to lift our spirits so onwards.
I knew there were several car parks around the lake and it didn’t really matter where we left the car as we would circle back to it. ‘i’m only the chauffeur’ put into the gps the village of Lissac-en-couze which turned out to be a very pretty place with an interesting chateau with the church built into one wall. Somewhere to explore? Leaving the village we turned down a road with a big welcome sign and found ourselves at the ‘base de loisirs’ where there were several buildings, a large but empty marquee and jetties leading out over the water. A girl parked nearby was unloading some sort of skiff and carried it onto a jetty. Sadly, we walked away from the jetties before she left so I have no idea exactly what it was except she had a paddle!
We were on a muddy beach with a rising grass bank with trees and decided to walk to our left. There were several signs with instructions on what was and wasn’t permissable and giving directions for the tourist office, first aid post etc. All very well organised for the summer hordes. Passing a building opposite a strange structure out in the water, (for competitions? mused himself) we came to the ‘beach’ proper. A huge curving crescent in front of a grassy bank with lots of shady trees and picnic tables. A crocodile of small children came towards us with their teachers and were instructed to say ‘bonjour’. We bonjoured but also good morning-ed and got a giggly response from a few and even a ‘how are you?’, the standard English greeting with requisite response of ‘I’m fine’, a particularly tortuous form of words for a French child to pronounce!
We were nearing the eastern end of the lake where there is the Moulin de Couze, a pretty building out in the water and named after the stream that runs into the lake at that point.
We began to walk away from the water and under the trees past a large carpark. A little further on there was a stone bridge over the Couze on our right and the path leading back around the top of the lake.
Just before the bridge had been a sign for a much longer walk that ran up and around the hills.. not until we are much fitter!
The path was still at a distance to the lake but was attractive and undulating, with meadows to our right and a slope down to the water on our left. Lots of space for children to run about and for picnics on the grass. I was beginning to understand the attraction of the place.
Out in the open and with the sun making more of an appearance we were both beginning to feel warm so stopped to strip off a layer. A couple passed us walking in the opposite direction….more of them later!
And so the walk continued in similar fashion. Gently rising and falling, sometimes near the water and sometimes further away, under the many trees or in a sunny space. It was lovely and I dawdled, taking photos of seedheads and views and enjoying being outside in a beautiful space.
There were always sounds of some sort, birds close by but sounds further away. The village of Lissac is on a hill above the lake as is the main road along that side so the sounds carried across the water. At midday it was church bells which set off some dogs barking!
Plus Lou had installed some sort of walking app on his phone which meant that intermittently a female voice told him how long he’d been walking and how far amongst other things. Actually, quite useful as I had had difficulty finding out the distance and just had a blogger’s estimate of seven kilometres.
Just about now we came across a lone disabled toilet, perfectly placed for my needs! Normally I have no compunction about watering some woodland spot but this footpath didn’t have many secret places and there was the occasional jogger or fellow walker happening by! The door was ajar so I was in and out without having to touch anything (compost loo) and always carry handgel. This place was definitely growing on me.
We came to the village des vacances where a handy noticeboard showed we were about halfway round from our starting point. There was a restaurant, closed, and a waterskiing school, also closed. Several boats were tied up by the jetties.
Now we were walking towards the western end of the lake with its dam and the path came much closer to the water. There were some beautiful plane trees with their amazing patchwork bark.
I was mesmerized by the ripples under the foliage and he carpet of fallen leaves declaring autumn is truly here.
About now a couple came towards us and we all smiled in recognition. We had passed each other at the other end of the lake. Fast walkers, we decided, or we’re just very slow!
At the dam end you walk alongside the road for a short time. Never a pretty place on a man made lake but at least the overflow system was a pretty flower shape. An inspired piece of engineering!
During my earlier Google ‘earthing’ of the lac I had decided the car park near this end was the prettiest for our lunch and so it was.
Not many picnic tables, grunted himself, as we hadn’t brought our own, judging it a bit nippy for a formal lunch ‘a table’. But it was much warmer now.
The path was more level this side and we noticed a campsite up on the hill beside us. I bet there are lovely views from up there and there are as we discovered later.
Lou’s ‘woman’ announced he’d walked seven kilometres so my blogger was a bit out. But we were soon walking up behind the buildings of the ‘ base des loisirs’ from which came the excited chatter of small children. As we sorted ourselves out back at the car, a school coach carefully reversed down the approach road to collect them.
We watched a jogger prepare herself and we set off to find ‘my’ picnic spot. The main road climbs up and offers spectacular views of the lake set amid its hills and then drops down to our chosen car park. Both tables were empty so we sat in splendid isolation in the sunshine….until a fisherman arrived and wished us bon appetit as he set himself up on the lakeside. And then our lady jogger panted past…..
A very pretty walk and one I hope we do again but maybe anticlockwise next time?
On Monday it was a grey start to the day…with rain forecast for the morning and storms for the afternoon. I had planned we would walk around a lake but clearly that would be a bit damp so onto plan B.
Through social media I knew there was an exhibition of three photographers at la gare – Robert Doisneau in the old station at Carlux. As there are only three galleries in the building and two of those devoted to Doisneau I knew it would be a small exhibition and therefore a quick visit. Remembering that last time we had problems finding a picnic spot and with that storm warning (yellow) we opted not to picnic and just do the photographs.
The drive takes about an hour and as we drove along the Puybrun bypass we could see the black and grey clouds hunkered down over the causse de Gramat, last week’s route. We were following the Dordogne to the west of Souillac. It didn’t look much better in that direction either.
We passed through Martel, the town of ‘sept tours’ and very pretty. There was an outdoor art exhibition due to close at the end of the week so I hoped we could stop on the return journey for a quick peek, weather permitting.
As we arrived at La Gare, there were spots of rain on the windscreen. Grabbing coats just in case of a deluge as we came back out, we hurried into the tourist office section. As usual our nationalities were asked for and how we knew of the place. ‘We live in 46 and we’ve been here before’, I countered, more interested in buying the booklet of walks in the area, only available from this office. I once answered ’46’ in the Toulouse Lautrec musee at Albi and the cheerful chap behind the desk made the queue laugh by commenting how the Lot accent had changed! I joined in with the joke, part of the expat’s lot, ‘scuse the pun!
As expected, the exhibition was small, just the one space with one photographer’s work hung in the corridor. All black and white which we have a preference for and all portraits from two of the exposants. I liked the third photographer’s work best. Dreamy, ethereal studies with just certain parts lit. ‘Photoshopped’ sniffed ‘I’m only the chauffeur’. We visited an annual art exhibition in Tulle several times, the results of a photographic competition. The last attendance we were irritated by the heavy use of ‘photoshopping’ which rendered most of the images into something resembling stills from florescent video games. We stopped going.
But I liked these. Of course, my sneeky photo was hindered by the reflection of the green(?) lighting.
Outside, we opted for coffees from the smart little cafe/bar that is part of La Gare. (Lunch smelled delicious). Just time to drink them before the rain started again. But I did have time to notice a huge and beautiful tree nearby.
Back in the car, before he switched on, ‘i’m only the chauffeur’ risked asking if there was anywhere else I wanted to go before we went home. It did seem a long way for just a half hour visit. Well, I ventured, could we go up to Carlux proper, please? Like some other towns in this hilly part of the world the stations are often at a distance to the town eg Turenne, Aubazine.. ‘It has a castle which is where the Carlux boucle starts from, it’s probably just a bit of wall…..’
The GPS told us it was three kilometres away so not far. We climbed away from the Dordogne up a pretty valley (is there a river? a stream?) and into the beginnings of a pretty village. The GPS told us to take a left turn in what seemed to be the centre bourg and we drove up a very steep and narrow street.
At the top we came out into a wide area that was once part of the castle precincts, I learned later.
We parked under that ‘bit of wall’
Curiousity piqued, we followed the wall around to our right and came to an entrance with a severe sign telling us that we entered at our own risk!
The weekend that had just finished had been the journees de patrimoine and something had clearly taken place. There was a huge tarpaulin roof stretched over tables and chairs and the ever present buvette and in the adjacent basse-cour there was a stage still in situ.
We spent the next fifteen to twenty minutes clambering and scrambling around the restored ruins and enjoying the 360° view and the sun which had come out just as we left the car. What a delightful and unexpected find!
When we tore ourselves away I walked on past the entrance to see how far that ‘bit of wall’ went. The path I was on dropped down but I was able to see how the chateau was dug into the rock of the hilltop.
Probably because of the heritage weekend, there were a number of brochures in a box by the exit. It was only later I realised I had picked up the English version. The chateau dates from the 12th century and has had its fair share of pillage and burning since then. As always, I am intrigued by how these places hang on despite their stones being taken away to build local houses and their lands sold off. This particular chateau was donated to the commune as recently as 1990.
There is a boucle around Carlux and with so many other buildings to explore; church, halle… plus I saw a pretty restaurant terrace with a view over the valley…..we’ll be back!
We drove back down that steep hill without meeting any vehicle coming up, thank goodness. There were more lovely buildings tucked away in side alleys. I felt very chuffed at how our day was turning out. Now we just had to make it to Martel while the weather stayed dry. And it did.
Gilles Sacksick is a local artist who always had his work hanging at the Casino in St Cere that I wrote about a while ago. There is another little gallery in the area that I visited last year to see his paintings and had the pleasure of exchanging a few words with him. Like his art he came across as a gentle and unassuming man and I was pleased to be able tell him how much I liked his work. The print I bought is still waiting for its frame, I’m ashamed to say!
As I walked around Martel peering upward at the artworks above me the cooking smells from two busy restaurants were making my tummy rumble so back to the car and home, with the sun still shining…just!
Over at Gramat, a rather grey town on the causse of the same name, there is a ‘parc animalier’. I am not a lover of zoos or captive animals but after visiting with my youngest nephew when he was only two I became a fan. The animals are predominately European and have large enclosures. There are lots of trees and places to picnic and a safe space for toddlers to run about. Later our first grandson visited at nine months old and squealed excitedly at the wildfowl and the otter who shows off in his glass fronted tank. There have been subsequent visits when he has delighted in being able to run at will or gently stroke baby goats.
I was upset by the bear pit the first time I visited but a few years ago the Parc spent several months creating a big new enclosure with a building from which you can view the bears at eye level and feed them pellets dropped down a tube. So the Parc has become a feature of family visits and we were all excited to discover bear cubs were expected last January. Three were born and the public, via Facebook, were able to vote for their favourite names (Mishka, Noisette and Cassy). The Parc management posted video clips of the cubs with their mother, Groseille, safely cocooned away from prying eyes. A promise was made that they would be out for the public to coo over at Easter.
Well, we all know what had happened by Easter 2020. We had been in confinement since the middle of march and all visitor attractions were closed for the foreseeable future. The Parc continued to keep us informed of the cubs progress along with other births amongst the animal family groups. But it was by the bear cubs that I was besotted.
So, having waited all summer, ignoring the opening of the Parc in June as probably akin to opening the floodgates, and then July and August when the tourists were thronging into the department, I was desperate to see the rapidly growing cubs. We wouldn’t bother with a picnic as it is only a half-hour drive away and the day was forecast to be hot so coming home to a cool house would be inviting after our walk. The programme suggests two to three hours to ‘do’ the whole Parc.
I bought the tickets online as the website suggested was better in these covid conscious times and got a small discount. We arrived half an hour after opening time and found a few cars in the car park. Masks weren’t required outside but we kept them handy just in case. The girl on the desk told us to take a short cut to see the bears first as they liked a nap around midday. She sold us some pellets to feed them with and any other animal that was permitted. Some of them are pretty practised at begging as soon as you show an interest!
Down to the bear enclosure we went, checking our cameras were primed and charged….but no bears. Not a single one. We scanned the far corners but not a shape or shadow to be seen. I rattled some pellets down the feeding tube, hoping it would stir someone, anyone, to amble over. But no.
Disappointed and slightly disbelieving, we trudged back to the start by the wolf pack and admired the new litter of pups. Then we walked around the park in the increasing heat. It had been about 25° when we left home but was forecast to reach 30+. Most animals were dozing the morning away or hiding under faraway trees. The various goats and sheep were most pleased to see us….or the pellets we carried.
As the ‘sense de visite’ took us back to the bears we began to quicken our pace. Surely they would be out by now?
No. We walked up and down, inside and out, but nothing. This was so sad. During our Sunday facetime call with the family we had talked about this visit. Promised to take videos of the bears. Recalled happy and silly events ‘do you remember when the pelicans tried to eat daddy?’ etc
One thing I did discover in the bear viewing building was the grotto. I had thought it was hyperbole in the brochure but there really is a grotto within the building, stalactites and all! I have always been so focussed on the bears I had never ventured into that space before.
So something to take away from the day. But no bears. I video-ed the otter. And the coypus who snuffled about, tumbling over each other in their fake stream. We bought postcards of the cubs and the girl commiserated with us and said why didn’t we stay for lunch, they may come out later? But it was really warm now and I wanted to get home and get inside into the cool so I wasn’t surprised the bears were staying put. Next time. Please.
The last day of the holiday. The day the tour de France was going to be whizzing through the department en route for Puy Mary. The day we decided not to try and see it. Been there, done that in 2012 when Wiggins won. We camped on the side of the road and after a long morning of waiting enjoyed the craziness of the ‘caravan’ and then the mad few seconds of the peloton hurtling past in a swishing of rubber on road.
We were going to have a quieter day. A morning walk, a lazy lunch, a swim and then the packing. The walk would be a shorter one and, preferably, without too much climbing.
In my file I had a walk called ‘le chapelle de Granges’ which started from Tauves and made its way up to the plateau, across the main road and then wound around a few villages before arriving back at the start. 9.2 km. Far too long a walk for Friday but the mention of a medieval chapel and the vestiges of its accompanying chateau sparked my interest. Himself grunted assent so it was back to the starting point of the plateau walk opposite the cheese factory where we could pick up the track to Granges and be able to park easily.
Conveniently, there was an ubiquitous yellow sign giving us the distance to the chapelle. An easy aller-retour of 3.2km. Perfect and an added bonus was no wind!
We set off along the track that ran between the two parts of the cheese factory and straight out into the downland. I waited to hear skylarks as it seemed the right environment but maybe that pesky wind keeps them at bay…or ‘les chasseurs’.
After a while we began to drop down between fields with the ever present sound of cow bells coming from somewhere in front of us. I dawdled, taking photos of hedgerow flowers, particularly excited to see a tiny wild pansy hidden in the grass.
Further down we crossed a small fast running stream and climbed up to a junction with more yellow signs.
We were only half a kilometre from Granges. Gosh, this felt so easy after the clambering and scrambling we’d been doing this week! The cowbells were getting noisier and a few cows with long curving horns stared dispassionately from above our heads.
As we came down into the village we were surprised by the sound of a car. There was a crossroads with a proper road. I don’t know why we were surprised. It was a village, after all!
From my Google earth snooping I knew the chapel lay behind the barn opposite and was pleased to find a notice board with lots of information about its history.
Sadly, the chapel was shut but its two side windows were open so some shifty poking of my phone through them revealed something of the interior.
From reading the board I knew that there was only the remains of a tower from the chateau and looked around for it. Hidden in the trees and up a slope it could just be seen. Ever the curious one (nosey, himself says) I scrambled up with the help of my trusty stick and investigated the ‘vestiges’.
As I scrambled nearer I could see that the tower was almost a complete circle despite the encroachment of saplings etc.
The size of the remaining stones amazed me. How tough were these chateau builders in those days, heaving these great weights up a hill before even beginning to build?
I bet the village kids love playing around this site. Imagine having a real castle to fire your imaginary games! Meanwhile, I needed to slither back down to the chapel where ‘I’m only the chauffeur’ was waiting for me.
Time for the return walk. We were at 890 metres and so it would be uphill almost all the way to 940ish but no scrambling and no wind. A doddle, in other words.
Before we left Granges I took a photo of a house with a tin roof. I assume this would have had the traditional lauze roof at one time but as these are so expensive to repair this would explain how many such roofs we saw in the area.
So back past the cows with their jangling bells, back past the little stream and back past a field which seemed to contain a bull we hadn’t noticed before!
Then it was up across the downland to the cheese factory which was quite noisy even at a distance.
And back to the car. I hoped my cheese I bought yesterday was a proper ‘fermier’ and not from this factory but who knows?
One last look at the Massif de Sancy and ‘home’ for lunch.
When exploring last Sunday we had noticed a large sign advertising their farmers market on Thursday as we drove into Tauves. Another sign by the campsite ‘acceuil’ convinced me it would be interesting to visit, masked of course!
As Wednesday had been our wedding anniversary we had ordered a campsite roast chicken and chips for supper (plus foie gras and bubbles I had brought with us) so had plenty of cold chicken to use up. Some fresh green veg to go with it would be good. Plus I love a market, who doesn’t?
When we arrived there were quite a few cars parked along the sides of the road and their number plates revealed the wide spectrum of departments they had come ftom. Puy de Dome had been a green department when we left home, during this week it had moved to red! We would need to be careful.
I love an old sign and there were several displayed around the buildings in Tauves. But first we wanted to find a boulangerie as there had been a hiccup with the campsite delivery although I wasn’t quite sure why. A fail for my french listening skills!
The boulangerie was right at the end of the market and had some yummy patisserie so we treated ourselves!
Back amongst the stalls I looked for a cheese one. Every walk had taken us past fields of cows and the day before we had stopped while a huge ‘troupeau’ crossed the road. The Auvergne is cheese country! I bought a large piece of creamy St Nectaire…yum. As I took a photo of the mairie I was curious about what appeared to be a collection of objects in the windows but not displayed so as to be seen from outside…a tiny museum?
Himself pointed out that up around the side by the church was the tourist office. Bingo! Not just the tourist office but a super craft shop filled with goodies. I wandered the displays, careful to avoid the few other customers. ‘i’m only the chauffeur’ lurked outside. A few purchases including a practical souvenir and back outside into the sunshine.
There was a bar terrace full of chattering customers. In more normal times we would have happily sat over a beer and cappuccino and watched the world go by. With doom virus upon us we decided that caution would be advisable and would have our drinks back at the campsite bar. With hardly any other campers we feel more comfy there. A stop at a veg stall to buy haricots vert from the grower and we were set.
Back at the campsite we were amused to see a collection of sunbeds drying in the sun. The end of season work was already happening around the empty mobilehomes.
Dumping our shopping we walked down to the bar for those promised drinks and a chat with one half of the campsite owning couple.
Lunch on our terrace and then a lazy afternoon. Happily I could have another swim in the heated pool after being frustrated the day before due to a sudden rainstorm that blew in, luckily, after we got back from our walk.
….followed by that patisserie from Tauves.
Before our supper of left over foie gras, followed by cold chicken and haricots, we watched our neighbours playing boule…very seriously!
That reminds me…stick ours on the list for next time!
The tour de France has been taking place this month after being yet another victim of covid-19. After much debate the decision was taken to let it happen but a month later than normal. We are keen followers of the Tour and were chuffed to discover we could watch France 2 direct on our tablet each afternoon. (No telly in the mobile home) Friday’s stage running from Chatel-Guyon to Puy Mary would be coming down the D29 from Tour d’Auvergne down to la Pradelle, the road we had driven up on our exploring drive last Sunday. This was the stage that the cyclist was hoping to witness himself from the side of the road on ‘his’ mountain, Puy Mary.
We knew the roads would be closed in that area and parking would be at a premium. So any walks near Cros and Bagnols (I had several on file) couldn’t be undertaken on that day. There was a 6km walk starting near Cros that looked interesting so we decided to do it on Wednesday when the roads wouldn’t be congested.
As usual, the departure point wasn’t the easiest place to find. I had looked on Google earth at the turning after Cros onto the D613 but as there was no blue line running down that road it was going to be hit and miss. After driving along for several twists and turns we pulled over and looked at the map more closely. There was a tiny turning for a hamlet called Gerbeix just beyond a marked track so we drove back slowly and spotted it on a bend with a useful patch of grass to park on.
There was one of the tourist board signs detailing the route and saying it was easy for mountain bikes. What about two septuagenarians celebrating their wedding anniversary? The ‘denivele positif’ was 235 metres so not as much as the day before.
Before we started we noticed three wooden crosses on the slope behind us but there was no information near them to explain their significance. Something to look up later.
The path started across the road and was a grassy track between hedgerows full of blackberries.
It was sunny and warm and good to be walking in the open after the forest walking of the day before. I had this thought too soon!
We crossed between two farm gates and I noticed blue twine lying across the track. I call this Didier’s string. We have a farmer neighbour who moves his cows occasionally across the main road, under the railway bridge and past the end of our drive. To prevent any of them paying us a visit he ties a length of blue twine from our neighbour’s fence with the other end on a metal pole stuck in the verge. When we see the twine on the ground we know the cows have been on the move.
The path narrowed and we carried on walking between fields and past some very thick oak trees. We speculated on their age.
I noticed holly bushes with a bumper crop of berries and wondered if the old saying is true and we’ll have a hard winter?
Eventually we came to a turn in the path which took us into a wood, the bois de Rochemave, I assume. To start with there was a mixture of fir and beech trees with their leaves beginning to turn and shining in the sunlight.
The fiche of the walk had a profile on it so we knew the middle part of the walk would be uphill and this was it. The first part was particularly steep and I was glad I had two sticks with me to help the poor old knees.
After that effort it was an easy amble through the pine trees following the blue balises on the trees. There must be other walks taking the same route as we saw orange signs and a flamboyant white slash with a bright red bar in its middle. The same colours as the GR trails but too messy to be one of theirs.
At one point our path crossed a deep and muddy rutted track. We had to walk back and forth a bit before spotting ‘our’ blue balise on a tree. If a path is not for you two bars painted in a cross of ‘your’ colour will be displayed so you don’t go wandering off and get lost.
Finally we came out of the pine forest and began walking along between a wood and a rough meadow. We could see what we think were sheep moving among ferns in a field beyond. A dog suddenly barked and howled which made me uneasy. Had the hunting season started? I began to whistle, tunelessly but noisily!
The path started to rise again and there were bigger and bigger slabs of rock under our feet. A tiny lizard darted back and forth startled out of his sunbathing. Down on our left the field had given way to short grassland with a shallow ‘etang’ in its centre.
The sun was hot and I was glad I had borrowed one of Lou’s hats, not a woolly one today! The rock was now evident in big stones beside the path and there were rowan trees too, full of berries, a sign of autumn.
We were reaching the point where the path met the road again and there was a faded information board that needs replacing in order to inform!
We came down behind a little cottage and into the road. On the far side there was a garden full of flowers and a lady digging. We exchanged greetings and she asked how far we had walked. Not far, I replied, guessing our starting point probably wasn’t very far away by road! I complimented her on her lovely dahlias before we moved on.
As I have said before I hate walking on tarmac and we were in for quite a distance before we could turn off. I started to walk on the verge but it was full of flowers which deterred me. All of these walks had been a joy for all the flowers and butterflies we had seen. At the start of this walk we had startled lots of grasshoppers who scattered as we passed.
There was the wonderful sound of cow bells from a field on our left before s turn in the road took us back near the trees and some log piles. While we were on this road a huge lorry and trailer loaded with enormous logs had passed and then repassed empty. We could hear machinery somewhere in the forest so logging was going on.
We joined another road and were slightly mystified by a warning sign as the road we were joining stretched in both directions in a straight line! But, to be fair to the departmental or regional tourist office who, I assume, manage the signposting of these routes, they do a brilliant job. It just makes me smile at the constant use of yellow!
The trudge along the side of the road continued accompanied by all the different colour balises we had encountered all along the walk. Finally we turned off on our left, climbing along a logging track into the forest again. A logging track as evidenced by the litter of broken branches littering our path. Suddenly himself gave a shout. A tiny frog had hopped in front of him.
I was surprised that a frog could survive in this apparently dry environment. The dreaded poisonous frog 🐸 of Puy de Dome, Lou replied!
From this point we started to descend and I really disliked the next twenty minutes or so of walking. The track was steep which was not a problem on its own but the surface was covered with loose stones of differing sizes which made placing your feet tricky as the ‘cailloux’ skidded away and threatened to twist an ankle. Once more I was glad of my two ‘batons’ as I planted them in front to help keep my balance. It was impossible to take your eyes off the path and I ended up with an aching back from feeling so tense.
Just as I was beginning to get quite stroppy we came to what seemed like the bottom of the valley where a scene of woody devastation was revealed! But the track was less stony, the rock now at the side, huge and mossy.
I was really keen to get back to the car now. My toes were complaining about being thrown against the front of my boots and I was looking forward to taking them off. The path began to rise again through softer woodland. Once more, the fauna showed itself to Lou in the shape of a red squirrel that ran across the path and burrowed itself into the undergrowth before I could get more than a tiny glimpse.
And then we were on the last rise up to the tiny road to Gerbeix and then the grassy slope. I took my boots off and walked the last bit to the car on the scratchy ‘l’herbe’. Bliss!