apathtosomewhere

We woke up just as dawn was breaking around 8am and realised it had rained overnight. It was still overcast but it was predicted to be sunny later with a high of 20 degrees.

We still had our fly friends, so we opened the back and side doors and tried to flush them out – quite a few got the message, but there were a few persistent ones or maybe their friends joined in. Flies are so stupid, all the doors were open, but they just turned around and flew back in so unfortunately, those ones got the tea towel treatment and at least a headache. The Pup, despite her talent for shredding craneflies, refused to partake in this massacre and slept on her mat, feigning sleep.

We had a slow morning, before packing away and heading off. We had decided to just do short hops from now on and didn’t plan to go far today. Yesterday’s meanderings to Rocamadour were the best so far and hoped today would be in a similar vein. We drove through the actual village of Rocamadour rather than the chateau part, which in our opinion had far nicer shops than the cite medieval. We had slipped into the Department of Lot yesterday without really noticing, but it was not disappointing. We trundled through miles and miles of woodland and forests interspersed with fields and common land – it was just perfect. We went through Espedaillac, a tiny little village of some 290 souls that was rather scattered across seemingly common land, the houses and cottages set in time. They must of been at least 300 years old, possibly even more, untouched by time and tourism, a little commune hidden from the 21st century, living simply. We just loved it – we were so agog at the gorgeous little cottages that we didn’t take any photos and didn’t see anything else matching that wonderful little village for the rest of the day.

We continued our meanderings, trees as far as you could see – this was our kind of country. The sun was starting to come out and the temperature rising. We started to drop down and ended up driving alongside the River Cele (there should be accents over ‘e’s here, but I can’t figure it out on my laptop, so please forgive me) and into a deep gorge. The gorge took us into the village of Cabreret, a quiet and seemingly devoid of human life village, but exceptionally beautiful, sheltering under the overhanging cliffs of the gorge. We did a quick recce before returning to a little campervan car park and went for a wander. A little picture shop was open, but everything was shut – we had come to the conclusion that Sundays and Mondays constituted a French weekend. We wandered down little back lanes, with deep culverts, currently empty of water and dry as a bone – we could imagine what it would be like if it rained heavily and these culverts withholding and directing the deluge into the River Cele, it would of be a sight to behold. The village wasn’t particular big so we began to walk back to the Van when we spotted a patisserie sign like you do and followed the arrow some 50 yards up the road, where we sat at an outside table and ordered our obligatory coffee and sweet confectionery. It was very pleasant apart from a group of Middle England Brits being loud and imperial on the next table. Sometimes you despair of your fellow countrymen.

Cabrerets : Guide to the village and its treasures

Fulfilled and pleased with ourselves, we walked back to the Van and began to evict our remaining and more resolute flying insects – we had spent the journey with the windows open, wafting them out with limited success. My attempts of knocking them out senseless with a cloth proved futile, so I upped my armoury with a tourist map, though my aim was wanting. So we managed to offload most these freeloaders by opening the doors and showing them the way, before we continued our journey. The scenery here was stunning, we followed the rocky walls on our right with the River Cele across green meadows until we reached the hamlet of Conduche where the Cele meets the River Lot- our jaws were on the Van floor by this point – the cliffs abutted the road with rocky overhangs threatening to drop onto the road. We passed through short rocky tunnels and drove down the middle of the road, breathing in as we passed oncoming traffic. Dotted in the rocks were openings to caves and there was the Pech Merle that had prehistoric cave drawings opened to the public. It was truly beautiful and so happy that we had stumbled across it.

We headed to Cahors as we had located a possible campervan outlet that could help us with our misbehaving step, held in place by an emergency clip. We dropped down, passing woodland scorched by local wildfires, the road acting as a natural firebreak – nearby were residential houses, so close to the devastating flames. It brought it home to you on what a nightmarish scenario it must of been for the local residents.

We followed the Satnav exactly and found ourselves on an industrial estate, but our shop was nowhere to be seen. A quick visit to nearby, but unrelated unit informed us that they had moved and were closed today anyway. Hubby then suddenly realised the time, – he was due to join an meeting online – a quick Google located a car park just up the road where we could stop. Of course, to get there was convoluted – down narrow streets just wide enough for our Van and we squeezed in, only to find the car park had been taken over by trailers and fancy RV’s. It looked like a film set where film stars have high end trailers where they rest between takes, with cables, generators and other paraphernalia – but equally it could of been a posh circus or fun fair parked up before a week of festivities. Whatever it was, it filled the car park completely, so after a couple of circuits, we headed down the road to another possible parking spot, only to find that cut off by barriers. Oh hell! Time was ticking along, so we located yet another parking area and drove along the side of the River Lot only to be confronted by the road narrowing to a single lane with high kerbs running alongside it. We stopped, trying to calculate whether we could get through it, with a line of French motorists behind us. No pressure. We had ended up at the wrong angle and needed to reverse. (You can imagine the French cursing us). In the end I jumped out and did a bit of traffic management as we were starting to get honked at, letting people pass and then standing in front of our van, lining it up through this narrow section. Drivers at the other end waited patiently as I walked our Van through and then mouthed a lot of “merci’s” and offering integrating smiles before hopping into the Van and making our escape.

With the meeting about to start, feeling flustered and the old blood pressure being slightly high, Hubby pulled into a gravelly layby just beyond the stressy bit of road and parked up. It was for disabled parking only, but we could always move on if we encountered any law enforcement. Hubby joined his online meeting, I sat in the back and googled nearby camping facilities and comfort ate half a large bag of crisps. After his meeting, I directed Hubby north east of Cahors, to the Les Graves campsite which I had telephoned in advance (feeling proud of myself) and confirmed with a man of many words (not) that we could stay at his establishment. As we weaved our way out of Cahors suburbs we spotted our campervan place and made a note of it.

Les Graves was just what we needed, rather than the dusty aires I had spotted on Google Maps when I was looking for our overnight respite. We had seen a lovely aire near Cabrerets earlier which ticked a lot of boxes apart from no toilet facilities (we have a rule in our campervans – no Number Two’s unless in an emergency) so we might of have had to christen our onboard loo – which would of worked, but we didn’t fancy traipsing all the way back there. Anyway, we parked on pitch No 13 at Les Graves, next door to a British couple and their spaniel, wafted out the last of the last of the pesky flies and sunk a beer. I went to pay the man of not so many words and checked out the facilities – basic but adequate, but essentially with loo paper, though back to bare porcelain (you just can’t win). The Pup and I went to play ball in the huge field just beyond our pitch and came back to find that Hubby had acquired a patata and coleslaw from our English neighbours due to the fact that they had no fridge. With tea sorted, we poured ourselves a medicinal glass of wine and had tea. We later discovered that though we were hooked up to electric, none was running through to our Van. Ce la vie – we were too laidback to care. Our lights worked, but our plugs didn’t. We finished off a bottle of wine and I wrote this blog.

Our vague plan tomorrow is to visit the campervan place and hope they can get our step to work, hit a supermarket for some groceries and nip into the French equivalent of Pets at Home for some Bonios and other treats for our very patient and tolerant hound.

We awoke to a very autumnal morning – a mist was creeping along the river and it was quite chilly. We got organised to head off to Rocamadour, but did a quick spring clean first – our pitch was just earth and with yesterday’s rain, we were picking it up on the soles of our shoes and treading it in the Van. Our bed was also full of grit from a certain hound after her evening chase with Esme, so that got a shake too.

It was 8 degrees on the Van as we crept out of Bergerac and into the countryside. We followed the River Dordogne along pretty wooded valleys and long thin villages. We were soon joined by a railway line to our left and the Canal de Lalinde on our right- a classic geography lesson on transport links – trundling along under a beautiful avenue of plane trees, reminding us of holidays on the Canal du Midi. It was getting foggier, enough for the Van lights to go on and any views out there were lost. We travelled along the valley bottom, in and out of fog banks, the sun valiantly trying to burn it off.

We drove along the edge of the medieval village of Beynac, nestling against a cliff face and with a chateau sitting high above – we were on its eastern fringes when we spotted a patisserie! Elevenses! There was a pay and display campervan car park so we waddled back to the patisserie to get coffee and pain au chocolate. It was really quite chilly, enough for me to don my puffa jacket and zip it up, the fog low and damp. The Pup was allowed in the warm and cosy patisserie so I went in to join Hubby, but not before a man came out first and expecting a hearty “bonjour” from him, received a very English “ooh it’s a bit parky innit?” which caught me so totally unawares that I could only splutter a “ooh yes” in response and wondered if I’d heard right.

https://www.visit-dordogne-valley.co.uk/natural-and-cultural-heritage/top-10-places-to-visit/villages-to-visit/plus-beaux-villages-de-france/beynac

We went into a small local grocery shop next door and bought enough shopping to fill one of those packaway bags- we could of dropped it back at the Van, but as we were only going for a wander around the village, I oinked it onto my shoulder and we set off. We walked up a steepish lane with houses on either side with fabulous views across the Dordogne before we came to another side road, equally steep. We decided to just nip up to see what was up there, but to cut a long story short, we kept on nipping up, climbing very steep alleys and lanes until we reached the Chateau right on top of the cliffs. I certainly got a cardio and weights workout, Hubby got additional four paw drive with the Pup pulling him and I’m sure we weren’t far off needing crampons and a rope.

The views were stunning at the top and well worth all the puffing to get up there, with a vista across the River Dordogne, meandering its way through endless woodland. It was breath-taking. We wandered the perimeter of the chateau as we couldn’t go in because of Pup, admiring the landscape and recovering from our epic hike up. We peered over a wall and saw sheep and geese just below, eating grass on probably the highest field around. We began to walk down, appreciating the beautiful sandstone houses and buildings lining the lanes. It reminded us of the Cotswold villages, but with cottages tumbling down the steep hill. We were so pleased to come across it.

We wandered back to the Van, just as the sun was winning and finally poking its nose out of the murk, the surrounding countryside revealing itself. We carried on with our journey, marvelling at the Dordogne landscape – wooded valleys interspersed with quaint and idyllic villages – you could understand why people came to live here. But sadly, this pretty corner of France was spoilt by pockets of downright ugliness – suddenly you found yourself driving past low level modern office buildings on lengthy business parks or scruffy outlets. It just so jarred against the beauty we had been enveloped in. We went through one particular town that was full of these buildings together with massive advertising hoardings (it reminded me of an American strip mall) and the only thing vaguely pretty and noteworthy was a giant mushroom carved out of wood and plonked at a jaunty angle in the middle of a roundabout. The tendrils of these business parks seem to seep out into the surrounding countryside which made us a bit sad – maybe because the landscape was so beautiful and stunning, it highlighted the ugliness of these places even more and we were glad to see the back of them.

We started to pass a lot of orchards, the trees in regimented rows and wondered what they grew here. Lying the ground around these trees, it looked like walnuts (well, at 50mph it did) so after a quick Google we discovered that in fact walnuts was one of the top crops in this area as well as apples and pears. We were back into steep valleys with the roads hugging the sides of rocky cliffs – there seemed to have been a lot of effort putting roads through here, as it was obvious that rock had been blasted away to lay these highways through the valleys – you could see the deep drill holes where they had stuffed explosives before lighting the fuse. It seemed to go on for miles and included an adjacent railway line which also went through tunnels. It was certainly a major engineering project, but probably worth while -this area was a very popular holiday destination and though it was quiet now with hardly any traffic with just locals and a large British campervan tootling around, we could imagine the area heaving with tourists in the high season.

We climbed hills and dropped down again, negotiating a couple of hairy hairpins and spotting another chateau perched on the edge of a high outcrop of rock. We were nearing Rocamadour and found our campsite sitting on the plateau above the village. It had warmed up considerably as we set up home – we discovered that our outdoor mat which has been constantly wet and damp these last few days had dribbled accumulated water onto the piece of cut off carpet that we used to protect the garage floor. We hauled all the boxes out which gave us a chance to re-assess what we had actually packed in which box. While the piece of carpet dried, we had lunch sitting outside in the hazy sunshine and soaked in the warmth. One of our neighbours pointed out hot air balloons rising behind us into the sky.

After a shower, we decided to head into medieval city of Rocamadour and have a bit of a wander. From the campsite we walked along a track between fields until we reached the edge of the town, crossed over by the roundabout and found ourselves on a wide pavement, looking down into the deep valley. To our right was the chateau, so we decided to follow the landscaped path, keeping high and level, absolutely agog at the stunning view in front of us. Once at the chateau and admiring its magnificence, we took the main path and headed downwards via a series of pedestrian switchbacks, which were reasonably steep. Finally we came up to the Sanctuaire, below the chateau, which we had to pass through and beyond that, a final 200 or so steps to descend down, we eventually found ourselves on the main street of the cite medievale (and we were still not at the bottom of the valley). It was stunning as we looked back up towards the Chateau sitting perilously atop overhanging cliffs, the various buildings making up the Sanctuaire built into the rock face and gasped. It was an incredible sight.

https://www.visit-dordogne-valley.co.uk/discover/cultural-heritage/villages-to-visit/rocamadour

We decided to walk along the main thoroughfare, thankfully flat and glanced at shops and eateries. Most were shut by now, but there was a few restaurants. We wandered the length of the street and felt a bit disappointed. The setting was beautiful, full of history, but some of the shops’ fronts and signages were garish and tacky, and really spoilt the ambience of the place. Beynac was nicer than this. Not wanting a big meal, we stopped and had a drink on the covered terrace of a hotel bar just as dusk was dropping. Another patron behind us had his phone on loud speaker which was frankly irritating. We finished our drinks and decided to head back to the campsite – we found another path that led us back to the top of the valley – it was now twilight and could just about make out the path climbing steadily up, again with a series of switchbacks, but it afforded us a splendid view of the Chateau, now all lit up against the night sky. We were glad to get back to civilisation. Using a torch, we traversed across through the dark fields and back to the Van where we had a cuppa, had a fly swatting session (there seemed to be an abundance of these critters around here) which had invited themselves into the Van and refused to leave and decided that we had experienced enough of Rocamadour and plotted the next stage of our adventure.

And allegedly the weather was suppose to be improving and getting a lot warmer!!!!

There was a distinct chilliness in the air this morning and jumpers were donned, but not as chilly as back home where they are chiselling ice off windscreens…….

We left this little quirky campsite, had a quick look at Ruffec and then headed on the N10 southwards towards Angloueme. We decided to top up with fuel and joined a little queue outside a Total Energies station – they’re still the cheapest around at 2.25 euros a litre.

Well, it was glacial. There were about six pumps but four of them were completely redundant as you needed to pay the cashier in the actual shop which was shut – shuttered actually so everyone was queuing at the two ‘pay at the pump’ pumps. The French seem to have no sense of urgency which on one level is a fantastic way of life, but when there’s a long line of cars waiting behind you, you might just think about getting a wiggle on. They leisurely filled up jerry cans, donned fancy gloves to handle the pumps or just sat in their cars doing a receipt inventory or something similar. We must of lost at least 20 minutes of our life at that station. (Could of been worse and had a Tesco Express attached where people suddenly decide that they need to do a whole week’s worth of shopping while they’re there………)

Finally we were back on the road, skirting Angloueme and heading to Brantome. When the kids were small, we met up with an old colleague of mine who had bought a house in the area and spent a week with them. We spent the rest of this journey trying to remember where it was, wracking our brains and on seeing a particular road sign, turning to each other and saying “now that rings a bell”. Nothing jumped out and even Hubby’s unique talent of spotting a roadside grit bin or telephone box and declare “I know where we are” evaded us.

Coffee was calling, so we decided to look out for a layby or an aire to pull into and have a brew in the van. We came across a sign indicating a picnic area and toilets which ticked boxes so we turned off. Imagine our delight that we not only found a picnic area and toilets under the shade of trees, but a cafe which was open too! What a bonus! We went inside and ordered a coffee and a naughty croissant – it was nearly lunchtime -and had a bit of a breather. It was also selling jams, marmalades and locally made beers amongst other things, so we had a little peruse too. What a fabulous little place and we were happy that we had tripped over it.

Suitably refreshed we headed onwards towards Brantome – the countryside undulating and wooded, dotted with fields and little hamlets and houses. It was very pretty and very interesting – our sort of scenery. We called Daughter No.1 and grilled her about our friends house, but as she was only about 7 at the time, she couldn’t bring much more to the table. We dropped into Brantome and gasped – what a beautiful little town with a river through the centre, a chateau and caves in the cliffs beyond. We found an aire with the entrance blocked off, but an exit with a large campervan trying to get out. The owner came up to us and explained that she had lost her receipt with the exit code and was waiting for a man to come and extricate her. She told us that it was 15 euros to park here.

https://www.guide-du-perigord.com/en/experiences/culture-and-heritage/article-visit-brantome-the-venice-of-perigord-vert–426.html

The man arrived in a van and helped the woman escape. I accosted him by asking if he spoke English. Non. Oh dear. I asked him in broken French that I only wanted to park for a couple of hours and he pointed to a sign at knee level and behind the pay machine by the barrier which informed me that I could park for up to 5 hours for 4 euros. Sorted. Bless him, he helped me get a ticket and we found a place to park behind a UK registered motorhome.

We trotted down to the bridge and peered down the river with the chateau at the end – it was beautiful. We then walked down the side of the river past an outside restaurant and around the corner to a wide square. We investigated a couple of little side streets with little shops and tables out front. It felt timeless. It was really lovely and the probably the best town we had visited so far. We wanted a snack, but all the restaurants seemed to be offering full blown meals – we weren’t that hungry. We came across a patisserie and secured a couple of baguettes filled with sausage and salad and sat in the little square overlooking the river to eat them, studying the church with the cliffs and caves directly behind it. Wiping our mouths, we walked along the riverbank back to our Van with the intentions of making a cuppa.

The owners of the British van were back and had a couple of foldaway electric bikes, which Hubby took an instant interest in. We’ve got electric bikes and a trailer for the Pup to sit in back home, but we need a system where the bike rack either drops or swings out so we can access the back without offloading bikes etc. Foldaway bikes were another option so Hubby fell into conversation – it ended up with us chatting to this couple who were Australian, who had come to England to buy this van and gone touring all over Europe in it for the past year. What a fabulous adventure. We must of spent an hour chatting to them and finally with time marching on, we said our goodbyes.

I packed up the kettle and cups when I heard an “oh no” from Hubby. Our retractable step wouldn’t retract and we couldn’t drive off with it stuck out as the Van emitted this high pitched warning sound. The switch wasn’t working for some reason, but you can disable the alarm, and manually push the step in and clip it into place. We headed towards Bergerac, our next resting spot for two days, the landscape becoming quite hilly – long slow climbs with exciting descents on the other side surrounded by woodlands – it was stunning scenery.

We had a discussion about French driving and decided that overall the French were more courteous than British drivers (probably because they have acres of space and there’s less of them). They let you out, they let you in and there’s no last minute mad dash to get in front of you as the road goes from two lanes to one. Except lorry and bus drivers. We were climbing a long steady hill with two lanes – the inside one for the heavy lumbering vehicle. We were doing the speed limit but were still being hassled by a lorry and then a bus which both overtook us and pulled away, overtaking other cars too. One lorry we were following, decided to overtake on a single carriageway and just managed to pull in again as an oncoming car came round the corner. Bonkers!

We called into two camping van accessory shops along the way to Bergerac to see if they could help with our truculent step, but neither of them could help us, so we arrived at Bergerac around 6.30 finding our municipal camping site on the banks of the Dordogne. We were tired and weary and found ourselves with no barrier code and the reception firmly shut. I went to have a look to see if I could find someone to help, but another motorhome had pulled in behind us and he was a fellow Brit. He leaned out of his window and shouted the code, which I punched into the keypad and we were in – to show our thanks and as he was a solo traveller, I put the code in for him too. I will go to heaven.

https://www.visit-dordogne-valley.co.uk/natural-and-cultural-heritage/top-10-places-to-visit/villages-to-visit/cities/bergerac-the-town

The campsite was completely under trees and the ground hard, dry and dusty with a covering of autumnal leaves. We found a spot overlooking the river and hoped the Pup wouldn’t make a beeline for the water. We took a deep breath, wiggled the step out and set up home. We lounged in the Van with the side door open as it was now quite cool (the sun never really came out today) and finally shut it. We’re here for two nights, so a wander into Bergerac tomorrow and then onto a place called Rocamadour that the Australians told us that we shouldn’t miss, so we booked the Van into the campsite there. The we snuggled down to watch Celebrity Traitors before heading to bed.

We never did find our friends’ house – we have no contact details, no Facebook or Instagram accounts for them (we write to each other once a year at Christmas) so we couldn’t ping them a message, but we had fun recounting our holiday with them! Happy days.

Not sure what woke us both up at 2:30am this morning – the crashing sound or the howling of the wind, but we both sat upright as a big flash of lightning lit up the interior of the Van. A storm!

We then jumped out of bed – our rear window was wide open as were the skylights, so we battened ourselves down and then remembered the table outside. Hubby opened the side door to find a bare patch of earth where the table and our big hugemungus outdoor mat were a few hours ago, but were now missing. A quick look left, found them stuck against the metal fencing, separating the campsite from the River Loire! We put them under the hedge where they were protected from the wind and jumped back into the Van. There was no rain, just this howling wind and the lightning periodically lighting up the night sky, with the odd rumble of thunder – the storm was quite a few miles away.

We settled back into bed and watched the poor couple, diagonally opposite to us, galloping around in their pyjamas, trying to get their awning in and all their tables, chairs, bikes and other paraphernalia that us campers tend to leave outside into their motorhome. Finally after about 15 minutes of dashing around with headtorches, they also retired but left their outdoor light on. It all seemed to calm down after that, the wind dropped, the storm petered out, but then it rained. I finally drifted off to sleep, despite the glare of the outdoor light and the heavy pattering of rain on the roof.

It was still very damp and soggy in the morning, but had stopped raining. Last night, in a desperate bid to prevent any more bites, I had taken an antihistamine pill, slathered my existing bites in cream and smeared insect repellent over other exposed parts of the body and hoped for the best. It seemed to have worked as my multiple bites had settled down somewhat and had stopped itching. We studied the three weather apps trying to figure out if we were going to get wet, one of which came true as the heavens opened again and we were forced to retreat into the Van. When it eased off, we decided to take our chances and investigate the town – we were just dropping off some rubbish by reception when this ghostly wail sounded across town – like an air raid siren, slow and mournful. We looked at each other with raised eyebrows – was it a flood alert or some other catastrophe and looked for panicking people. There was nobody about, so we checked in with reception who nonchalantly explained that the town’s emergency siren was always tested on the first Wednesday of the month and to stand down. Feeling relieved, we wandered down to the campsite gate to get onto the riverside path, but had forgotten the gate code. Finally we got our act together and found ourselves at the roundabout in the middle of town. We headed towards the chateau overlooking the Loire, before heading up a side road and strolling through ‘le coeur historique de Montsoreau’, a pretty little cobbled street, though the cobbles looked relatively new and the buildings seemingly sandblasted (I could be wrong). We went to the ticket office of the chateau to peer at it close up, but knowing the dog probably wouldn’t be allowed in, we just admired it before we went back to the little street. We dropped down by another little roundabout and found ourselves by a road sign declaring the end of Montsoreau and the beginning of the village of Candes St Martin, both of the towns contesting the title of the “Les plus beaux villages de France”. We wandered the length of its main street, seeing about four people if we were lucky and getting startled when we approached a little square to find the domineering frontage of yet another oversized church. It seemed so out of proportion to its surrounding neighbours.

https://www.tourainevaldeloire.com/en/discover/towns-and-villages/the-most-beautiful-villages-in-france/candes-saint-martin

We got to a point where the village was running out. There was a little brown sign marked “panoramie pietons”, basically a path up to a viewpoint. So we set off up steep stony path, through a couple of little lanes with houses and a smallholding and yet another and even steeper, stonier path which finally flattened out and opened out on a wide plateau overlooking the Loire and Vienne river confluence. Though it hadn’t rained, the clouds were low and dark, causing a heavy mist to descend across the landscape – it would of been great in better weather. It was a good viewpoint, except a row of marching electricity pylons and a road bridge marred it somewhat.

We retraced our steps back into the village, investigating another path back down to the main street. It was very humid so we took our waterproofs off and wandered through the municipal park to look at the street art installations (basically legal graffiti). We dropped back onto the banks of the Loire and strolled back to the large restaurant at the roundabout, where yesterday it was busy with afternoon drinkers, now empty with the inclement weather. We sat down and ordered wine and something to eat – struggling to choose something pescatarian (the cheese paninis were off the menu), I ordered fish and chips and felt very much the Brit abroad.

The meal was very nice as we watched the town get on with life – the sky turned dark, then brightened, then a shower whistled through. It was still reasonably warm and we had managed to dodge the rain today so far. We went to go to the little local supermarket, but it was closed on Wednesdays, so our plan to stock up with supplies was somewhat scuppered. In consolation we went to the patisserie and bought a loaf of bread and two very delicious cakes. Afterwards, we hauled ourselves up another steep hill to the troglodytes, a series of dwellings and houses built into the cliff side, high above the Loire. Some looked like they were either lived in or used as holiday homes, others looked abandoned. We walked until we came to a dead end and we could go no further, so we decided to head back to the Van. On the way back, it started to rain heavily, so we quickly donned our waterproofs and quickened our pace back to base. The skies were still leaden, so we unwound our awning so we could, at least, sit outside rather than being cooped up in the Van. After a while, the temperature dropped and we retreated inside to plan tomorrow’s adventure and to check in with family back home. Showers, some quite heavy, whipped through and it remained overcast and grey.

https://www.parc-loire-anjou-touraine.fr/en/territory/architecture/troglodytic-underworld

About 7:30pm,the winds started to pick up again, whipping the awning. So we packed everything away, rolled in the awning and held our huge outdoor mat down with tent pegs, so it wouldn’t go on any midnight excursions. It was decidedly chilly now, so we shut up shop and made ourselves beans on toast and watched some catch up tv. Tomorrow we’re heading due south and a little nearer to the Pyrenees.

I’ve been nibbled. Badly.

I awoke just before dawn with a really itchy foot and found at least three little bumps. I reached for my antihistamine cream which I had cleverly stored in the cubby hole in the back door, exactly for this purpose and promptly dropped it. Of course, it found the only gap between the back door and the mattress and fell with a clunk into the garage below.

With the sky lightening, I watched the wispy cloud surreptitiously turn into a larger darker cloud before the rising sun dispersed it back again, in a vain attempt to distract from my itchy foot. We got up and made a brew, while I counted my bites (quite a few as this foot had been quite exposed outside the duvet) – the Pup threw up for some unknown reason and then I went off to have a really nice hot shower, which was marred by the French insistence of installing those push buttons that let the water run for about 15 seconds. I’m all for saving water, but come on, a minute at least so I can have time to shampoo my hair and not constantly and blindly stabbing for the knob!

So we headed off and slipped into the Loire Department. It has been very dry here during the summer, the ground rock hard. All our grass camping pitches on this trip have been dry and dusty, with just a hint of green pushing through from recent rains. It was 26 degrees already today.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UNESCO

We passed through towns and villages with tall and dominant churches, their spires piercing the sky. France was once very much Catholic country, hence the cathedral size places of worship, but is now more secular. The churches were stunning and seemed to sit in a prominent position in the centre of town – dominating the end of a street, making you feel guilty for ignoring it. You could see why everybody in town went to church!

We stopped at the town of Oudon on the banks of the River Loire, after finding a large campervan car park – more like an aire – which was free, grassy and under trees. We walked up the road and had a wander – up to the impressive chateau (sadly closed today) by the little tributary river, the Vallee du Havre. We felt a little peckish so walked back down to a little cafe sitting on the roundabout on the sunny side of the street and found a table outside – we ordered coffees and asked if there was a menu. The woman who served us, indicated that you had to eat inside for a meal – we pointed to the Pup (et le chien?). She pulled a face of maybe, but probably not, so we just ordered coffees, trying to figure the logic which there was none. The woman gave us a Gallic shrug and went off to get our drinks.

https://www.bienvenue-pays-ancenis.com/en/discover/essential/oudon

Still hungry, we wandered back up to the Vallee du Havre where there was another little restaurant and asked for a table (in French). The waitress launched into a frenzy of French and spotting my bewildered face, asked if English was better. (Oui, we replied). So we sat on a shady wooden terrace looking over the little waterway and looked at the set menu – the main course was very carnivore heavy, but bless her, the waitress offered me the option of two veggie entrees – one as a starter and one as a main. She also imparted with a little bit of advice – instead of ordering cafe au lait and want it large, ask for a Grande crème – she then presented us with a big milky coffee. Et voila!

Afterwards, we decided to walk off our lunch by walking down to the Loire river – we crossed over the road, dropping down to the bank of the Vallee du Havre, wandered across to the railway station, ducked under a bridge and came across the shores of River Loire, wide and edged with woodland. There was a little sandy bank and we let the Pup off the leash – she dived straight into river and had a swim, she was so happy. We spent about 20 minutes, letting our hound burn off some pent up energy, spotting shoals of little fish darting around.

We retraced our steps back to the Van, stopping briefly at a patisserie to purchase a baguette and a can of apple juice (3 euros!). Once back at the Van, the Pup decided to celebrate with some high speed zoomies, circling the Van – she certainly was full of beans. We dried her off as best we could and headed to Montsoreau where we would spend the night.

It took a couple of hours as we took the country roads rather the motorway – passing through pretty towns and villages, all devoid of life. Where do French people go, there’s not a soul about. Chatgpt gave us a few answers to muse over as we crossed this little corner of France – sometimes we got a ridge, allowing long distance panoramic views and then the vineyards started making an appearance! Wine country!

We arrived in Montsoreau nestling on the banks of the River Loire and eventually found the L’Isle Verte campsite, after a brief tour of town courtesy of the satnav. We had taken a chance as we hadn’t booked this one in advance this morning and just rocked up. Again, my hesitant French gave the game away and the guy dropped into English, (though I like to persist in French). Yes, there was room and we were soon booked in (though they wanted to know a lot about us including Pup’s microchip number). We found pitch No 8 looking across the River Loire, looking low after the long hot summer. We set up shop, had a chill, made tea and took Pup on a stroll around the site where she was admired by a Dutch couple and played with a little poodle. There were about five other British campers and a few Dutch. We were going to walk into town, but decided that we would book another night here and leisurely check out the town tomorrow. Slightly paranoid about gnats and other bitey bugs, we headed indoors and chilled. It was still quite warm (it hit 28 degrees this afternnon according to the Van) and one weather app was predicting a storm. Rain was forecast over night which would lower temperatures tomorrow.

https://www.ot-saumur.fr/en/arts-and-history/towns-and-villages/montsoreau

Montsoreau is part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site in this area, has Troglodyte dwellings in the cliffs (we saw some during our campsite walk) and of course the eponymous Chateau. There was a lot to discover tomorrow!

Another stunning morning with the promise of another 26 degrees. We were on the move again, this time heading initially to the little village of Rochefort en Terre. So we packed up, sorted the Van out and headed off along tree lined countryside, passing many woodlands and forests. We also came across many roundabouts – they were seemingly endless, so we asked Chatgpt about the history of them. France probably has around 40,000 – 50,000 roundabouts, more than any other country, proliferating in the 1980’s to reduce traffic accidents and to keep traffic flowing. Their very first roundabout, at Place de l’Etoile, appeared in the 19th century, but it wasn’t until 1907, that they thought it was a good idea to get everyone to go round it in the same direction.

We also noted how many funeral parlours/directors there are, mainly located on main roads with huge plate glass windows and elaborate displays of headstones and floral tributes. I think us Brits are just a bit more discreet with such things.

We arrived in Rochefort en Terre through a craggy valley and found a generous campervan car park (7 euros for 24 hours) and went to check out the village. It’s a very pretty, traditional place with cobbled roads running through. We wandered around, went into the biscuit shop and bought some bits and went to the end of the village. As we were hungry, we sauntered back to a little place overlooking a little square, with a tiny outdoor dining area. A couple of people were already there, so we just took a table and sat down – they took a little time to come to us and we wondered if we had made a cultural faux pas for not asking for a table for two beforehand. Anyway, a waitress came up to us, hubby asked a question and she dashed off and got the main man. He was a little gruff, but he took our order and we enjoyed the sun. However, we were in the full sun and realised our seating choice wasn’t the best. Our food came as more people came in – the waitress hung a sign with “Complet” in big black letters at the entrance, but people still wandered in. A group of four young girls went inside and were soon ushered out again by the gruff owner, who crossly pointed to the sign and berated them. It was a bit brutal. We exchanged looks with the French couple opposite us and agreed between us that they had learnt a hard lesson. Oh dear.

We finished our lunch washed down with dry cider and continued our tour of the village – we strolled back towards the bottom of the road where the entrance to the chateau was, but got distracted by a side alley before we got there and wandered up there. It popped us in front of the chateau which was a bonus – it was a beautiful building, with its own chapel and shady garden. The information boards were in French, but I gathered that it was built on this high ground for protection from any passing and invading hordes. We had a nice look around and wandered down to the entrance, dropping down to another village road. It was a lovely little place.

https://www.rochefortenterre-tourisme.bzh/explorer/voyager-dans-le-temps/rochefort-en-terre-petite-cite-de-caractere/chateau-de-rochefort-en-terre

We walked back to the Van and made a cuppa under the shady tree. We then headed off to La Gacilly to see what that was like, but it didn’t float our boat so we carried onto to our campsite – it was gone 4pm.

The campsites are not particularly busy now and we were able to chose our little pitch. We backed onto a children’s playpark which would of been hell in the summer, but now it was closed for the season. Someone was shouting into a megaphone, like calling the troops and we hoped that wouldn’t last long. A walk with Pup later on around the site, revealed it be surrounded by sports facilities and a school. At the moment, it was all very peaceful. With all the campsites we’ve stayed in, every one has been a mixture of motorhomes/campers and small, stubby little static caravans, each with a little balcony/patio area covered with an awning – its almost a standard requirement. This place had a few safari style tents sitting under the trees too.

We relaxed in the evening sun and had a tea of cheese and French bread and the last of last night’s white wine. We’ve noticed that the birds are always singing especially robins, which seem to be particularly prolific – yesterday, one was happily picking up crumbs off our outdoor mat.

We checked out the washrooms, very pleasant and actually got loo paper in the cubicles (felt a right chump going over there with my loo roll in my hand), but we’re back to unisex. Not so bothered as hardly anyone is here, but there must be a ablution block out there which ticks all my boxes.

The Hubby and Pup went for a walk as the sun was setting and didn’t return til after dark – they had gone down to the river in the gloom and ended up walking through woods in the dark. They returned safely and we sat inside with the side door open, but with the flyscreen across as we didn’t fancy any nippy bugs having a party with us and having another Cranefly-gate. We’ve had a few encounters with French wasps who are huge and the meanest looking flying creatures we’ve seen for a while.

It was still very warm – it could be a sticky night.

Another lovely morning and we headed to Carnac’s Sunday morning market. It was about a 20 minute walk through the residential streets until we bobbed out into a street, with the beautiful church at one end, the bells ringing for morning service. All around it, the shops and restaurants were open and the whole place buzzed. People meandering around, cars nosing their way through and threading their way at alarming speeds, were numerous people on bikes who seemed impatient that you were in their way – we had to have our wits about us!

We found the market down a side road lined with cafes, with stalls either side, stretching down the street. We wandered down one side, looking at the wares with the intention of turning round and viewing the opposite side. However, when we got to the bottom, we discovered that it expanded even further into a large square. So we strolled up and down the aisles and eventually covered all it all. There were so many stalls selling all sorts. We decided to have a coffee up by the church, adding a slice of banana bread to our order and then across the road to the patisseries for some baguettes. We went back into the market and got some salad bits for tea – I was nearly tempted to buy some clothes, but the jumpers were all cashmere and pricey – a price I would expect to pay in a shop than a market. Saying that, they felt very good quality. Then I remembered that I had a ton of clothes back home and didn’t need any more – but travelling with just a week’s worth of clothes feels like you’re wearing the same thing every day. Basically I was envious of all the French ladies – they wore simple things like trousers, a top, a jacket with a scarf tied around the neck and a pair of loafers which was so simple, yet so stylish. It didn’t help that they all looked like a size 8 and everything hung so effortlessly. Maybe when my Van wardrobe started falling apart after being worn so much, I would treat myself.

Afterwards we discovered that dogs weren’t allowed in the market – oops. Saying that, there were plenty of other dogs wandering around with their owners and nobody said anything to us. I love the way everybody ignores all the signs – the dogs on the beach, parking on pavements, it’s so French. We presumed that dogs weren’t allowed because of their tendency to poop and their owners disinclination to pick it up (careful in grassy areas). We seemed to be the only ones carrying a poop bag around until we found a suitable receptable to bung it in.

https://www.biocoop.fr/?srsltid=AU7gw4UQA0H8-Aaygl8kO3V1o6BLjwplMwdelpcok-yTcB7fCH7COUXT

We discovered that there was an organic shop just around the corner, so wanting milk and butter, we headed to Biocoop, a fabulous little supermarket stuffed full of everything organic and bio. We got there just in time as they were just starting to shut up shop and were the last people out (apparently, they have branches all over France, so we will head to them rather than a Lidl or Super U). We had planned to walk from there to Le Geant du Manio, the tallest of the megalithes, standing over six metres tall, some 3kms away so we walked up the street before turning down a little shady footpath, signposted with a little yellow sign. Within a few minutes, we came across the Chapelle Saint-Michel de Carnac, pointed out to us on the land train tour yesterday – a local view point with a 360 degree panoramic view of the town and countryside, sitting on top of a prehistoric tumulus. On this bright sunny day, it was stunning.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint-Michel_tumulus

We realised at this point, that we had no water and a little worried about the Pup, dropped down to the hotel at the bottom of the tumulus – it was very busy with people all dressed up in their Sunday best and a bit posh for us. We went into the hotel entrance and to the empty bar to ask the staff for a bowl of water for the dog, which they kindly obliged. Apparently, they were hosting a wedding (oops). They wouldn’t sell us any bottled water for some reason, so we thanked them on the behalf of the Pup and made our merry way.

We followed the little footpaths through the woods and bobbed out in the little hamlet of Kermario, happily looking at the houses. At one house, an electricity pole had literally snapped in half and had come to a rest against a fellow pole. It had obviously been reported as the authorities had put a little barrier around the offending pole. However, its wires now draped along the ground, snagged in hedges and bushes and dangled precariously across driveways until they joined the adjacent pole with no effort to protect the passing public from it. Perhaps it was deemed perfectly safe, sheathed in thick black rubber, but we didn’t test the theory.

We walked a little further until we reached the megalithes we saw yesterday – we recognised the tomb on the corner. We walked along the road for a little way and then joined the boardwalk, heading towards a ruined circular tower. It was originally part of a farm that was built there, which the tower is the only building left. Inside, there was a metal spiral staircase and onto a viewing platform where you could view the megalithes standing in their rows, getting a much better perspective of their layout.

We dropped down from the tower and headed under the shady trees again, along a dust path for nearly a kilometre. In a clearing in the woods, was the Geant du Manio, stood upright and towering over the little clearing. Standing on its own, it was surrounded by a low level wall and some half hearted single wire fencing. A notice informed us that we couldn’t go any closer as they were preserving the site (people had apparently been chucking stones on top of the Geant and damaging it) – it was all a bit pointless as you only needed to step over the fencing and you were in!

https://www.menhirs-carnac.fr/en/discover/the-giant-of-manio

We took some photos – it was certainly impressive, surrounded by trees, and seemingly isolated, it gave it more gravitas. How prehistoric man got it upright in the first place was an amazing achievement and for it to survive for thousands of years even more so. We decided to wander back to our campsite – it was a simple walk westwards, following the boardwalks and footpaths straight back, no more than 30 minutes. The day was hot and we were glad to get back to the Van and get the kettle on. It was 2.30 and the reception was due to re-open after their extended lunch and let the new campers in (they had a little parking area where you had to park before you checked in). The kettle whistled and I bounced in to make cups of tea and let out a howl of despair – the milk we had bought must of curdled as there were lumps of cream circling in our cups. On further investigation we then realised that we had picked up fermented milk, ideal for making cheese or for baking, but clearly not for making a brew. A quick gallop to the site’s shop and we purchased a carton of proper milk and the emergency was over. We sat down under our awning and watched the newcomers coming looking for their pitches and the size of some of the units was ridiculous – they seemed to take ages to pass, they were that long. We thought we were big, but we think we were one of the smaller campers – we wondered what they did if their satnav decided to take them down some of the roads and dead ends we had visited.

We had new neighbours opposite, a French couple and a German couple. They set up their chairs and tables and faced their Vans. The Europeans don’t really acknowledge fellow campers – you might get a smile or a “bonjour”, but nobody really engages and talks to each other like on British campsites – you would expect the French to talk to other French people and likewise with the Germans, but all around us, it was very quiet. We were the only Brits on our little row of campers, though we met a lovely English lady and her spaniel this morning and got chatting, like us English do.

We spent the afternoon reading and watching passing motorhomes and campers on their way to the ablution block. It was very warm with hardly any cloud (26 degrees). We made ourselves a little entrée with some little biscuits and tuna mixed with mayo, spring onions and canapes (we ate them when we were in St Malo’s walled city, loved them and decided to replicate them) washed down with white wine. Later we made a salad from our shopping expedition this morning and after washing up and a quick tidy, we planned our next few days on the road.

We’ve decided to head inland, heading in an easterly direction before turning south – we had hugged the coast for quite a while, so wanted to delve deeper into France. As night fell, we headed indoor and relaxed until it was time for bed.

A blooming Daddy Long Legs (a crane fly) got into the Van last night and evaded all efforts to evict him. He finally flew into the bedroom area where the Pup was laying and where a reading light was on. We were up front, watching Traitors, but I noticed Pup’s ears prick up and she began to clock him. He made the fatal mistake of landing near her and she gave him a quick gnash. He must of staggered up to my pillow as Pup’s head followed him, still gnashing away. Unlike our last dog, a master fly catcher who also got rid of the evidence by eating them, our Pup left the body parts of the aforementioned and now former insect on my side of the bed. Thanks dog.

We were very slow this morning – we had a lay in, no rush to get up and then sat outside reading and taking in the morning sun. We had a brunch and then decided to walk from the campsite to Maison des Megalithes and be very touristy – catch a ride on the land train.

https://www.brittanytourism.com/destinations/the-10-destinations/southern-brittany-morbihan-gulf/carnac

https://www.lepetittraindecarnac.fr/en

Carnac is home to the world’s largest collection of prehistoric megalithic stones, with thousands of them spread over 4 kms and the easiest way to see them is by land train. We walked past a couple of fields of them, all lined up in rows as we walked the 1.2 km to the Maison des Megalithes, a concrete visitor centre with acres of parking and the pick up point for the train. We had timed it perfectly – we bought our tickets (8.50 euros each for a 55 minute tour), jumped aboard with the Pup, donned some headphones and we were off.

The train trundled its way down in Carnac’s town centre, before dropping down further on to the coast and yet another sweeping bay. Huge villas and houses overlooked the sea – it was very beautiful. We followed the coastal road to La Trinite-sur-mer, its bay and port full of yachts and sail boats. Apparently, all the world class sailors gather here as it’s a well known centre for sailing. Across the road. numerous bars and restaurants lined the street, every one busy and bustling. It was all very much upmarket and had a lovely atmosphere. The little land train turned inland and we headed towards the Alignements – they were truly fascinating, hundreds of them positioned upright and in rows by prehistoric man – an amazing sight. They were all fenced off, but sheep were allowed to graze to keep the vegetation down. It was quite incredible.

https://www.baiedequiberon.co.uk/la-trinite-sur-mer

The land train continued its journey and finally brought us back to Maison des Megalithes. The visitor centre was shut, but didn’t allow dogs in anyway. So we wandered back a different route to the campsite and decided to have a down day. We sat in the sun, reading and watching other campers wander by, for the rest of the afternoon. Then we made some tea, treated ourselves to some icecream, washed up and relaxed back into our chairs again.

Tomorrow, Carnac has a Sunday market, so we’ll waddled down into town and check that out and maybe walk out to the bigger megalithes, one being over 6 metres tall.