Thoughts at the end of Spring

You don't need to be told that it has been spring here, you just need to look around to see the new life that's surrounding you everywhere. Spring (le printemps) in France has been varied and full of surprises. From the beautiful blossoming trees and shrubs in a multitude of colours to the fields of bright yellow rapeseed, wildflowers everywhere to the new fledglings calling for their next feed of grubs and eventually taking their first flight.

Nearby our little village in Burgundy we saw numerous foals, but none as young and closely-guarded by its mother as this one.

Walking home from dinner on our first night in the Auvergne we passed a paddock of cows, literally 50 metres from our front door. To our delight and amazement a calf was being born before our eyes. It was a first and a big thrill for us both, as was seeing it the next morning on wobbly legs (see pic).

On a walk around the countryside near Najac we got within 50 metres or so of a youngish deer - taking our tally to about fourteen spotted over the past couple of months.

We've now entered a new season (l'ete).  Summer has arrived.    We've had some glimpses of what it's going to be like....hot, but more on that later.

A family day out to Carcassonne

Pierre got the day off when we two plus Debbie and Charlie headed off in their car (nicknamed Flatulence) to Carcassonne. Pierre's back seat is enough to contain a few cases of wine but unfortunately not suitable for people (you could perhaps fit a single Oompa-Loompa).

This wonderful medieval city is one of France's biggest drawcards, so we were all keen to see and judge for ourselves.

It's certainly amazingly well-preserved (though many of the businesses - such as the museum of torture and the innumerable souvenir shops - are less than authentic), and definitely has the largest crowds of sheeple that we've seen since Paris. Well worth it, and the day was perfect.

Of course we also had to find time for a game of Carcassonne (we've got a travel version) in Carcassonne. And what family day out would be complete without a rousing chorus of "I'm Henry the Eighth" in the car?.

Where to next, chaps? (a report from Andrew, 21 years in the making)

Back in the day before the collapse of the Eastern Bloc, I did my first Uni Revue. Bob Hawke was Prime Minister and no-one gave Paul Keating a chance (everyone, except Jeanette, thought that John Howard was dead and buried). The only Gulf War we'd heard of was between Iran and Iraq. You could still buy leaded petrol, and that was only about 35c per litre. A gym was found at a school.
After the closing night party I found myself in the Good Sigma with Felicity and JC, who'd offered to drive us each home. The question was asked: where to chaps? The answer: Marseille.
Clearly this was impossible given our resources (one Sigma, three hours until dawn). We pledged, however, to each visit Marseille and send one another postcards as proof that the pledge had been upheld.
Felicity tells us she did it - but her card wasn't postmarked in Marseille. Likely, yes. Proven, no. Apparently she was going to return this year, but plans fell through. JC is expected in August. (BTW - there's space to superimpose your own photo; the cafe is Cafe Samaritaine at the Vieux Port. As you'll see, your pastis has been poured and awaits you....)
We were there on Tuesday. The postcards are on their way. I look forward to recieving more.
The question, however, is begged: where to next, chaps?

French lessons: mostly unexpected

• The French have no interest in speed limits...except where there are speed cameras, for which they give you a very sporting chance by advising you with large signs in advance of its presence, reminding you of the speed limit just in case you forgot and then putting bright tape on the actual camera, just in case you miss it.

• The term "lazy cow" obviously comes about from French cows. They cows sit a lot. You frequently come across a pasture full of cows sitting down. They even continue to eat while they do so. We're not sure why some of the steak we're served is so tough: it's not is if the "steak donor" would have much muscle from all that sitting.
• We now know the sound of "When Doves Cry" and it's not pretty.
  
• The worst pillows in the world have migrated to France.
• There are a surprisingly large number of donkeys.
• They like to keep their meat produce mostly intact (whole birds, pigs heads). Fortunately, neither of us are especially squeamish...
  
• There is a lot of cheese and it's extremely cheap (as little as 2 Euro/kg for basic and even Roquefort you can get for around 11 Euro).
  
• Almost everything closes during lunch except restaurants (sometimes that's from 12-3pm, gotta love the French). Even the places that you could have bought your lunch from close, like boulangeries and epiceries. The French are very serious about their food and if you don't start planning your lunch by 11am then it's your fault. We've learned this the hard way - too many episodes of wandering around frantically around 1ish, peering in enviously at the contended diners tucking in.
  
• Not all village markets are created equal.
• The French are extremely courteous, polite and try very hard to help you out when your command of their language is (so obviously) inadequate to the task at hand. How in the world did they get a reputation for arrogance?
• There a lot of "pretties" (castles and chateaux) - and not only in the Loire Valley.
  
• Many street signs point at ambiguous angles - say 45 degrees to the road you're on. So: is it that right, or the other? Some are only visible from one direction....so hard luck if you're coming from the other. Others start off with a profusion of signs when there were no other directions available...only to suddenly vanish when the six-way intersection appears. We think it's an intelligence test to see if you're worthy of being here.
• The French make a real effort with their roundabouts. None of this stick-of-chalk stuff (think Hobart's Railway roundabout): we're talking faux-cellars, miniature vineyards, pocket pigeonniers - you name it, they'll do it as decoration. And bless 'em for it too.
• Not all D roads are created equal - they range from a good double lane each way to the tiniest, bumpiest little countryside lane-way imaginable, barely wide enough even for our small car and frightening when a local Frenchman is coming the other direction at ridiculous speeds around hidden corners.
• Wine is cheap and plentiful. Table wines can we found at the local village markets for as little as 1 Euro a litre (about $1.40): though we can't judge for its quality, we haven't stooped to that yet. However you can buy a very decent bottle for under 5 Euro as our thorough quantitative research has established...in fact we're in the middle of more research this very moment.
  
• You can park virtually anywhere, as long as there isn't a no parking sign.  Many French appear to just stop in the middle of the road and leave their car there.  Footpaths are very popular for parking.
  

Najac

We're blown away by how beautiful the village of Najac is. Additionally, our stone terrace home for all of June matches the town and is everything we could have asked for. Masses of space (5 floors, 4 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms/toilets), great kitchen, and views of the castle which dominates the village skyline.
At the foot of the hill the Averyon River snakes around, and is spanned by a gorgeous 11th-century stone bridge. Only 2.2m wide - we've witnessed a motor home scraping itself against the edges after misjudging the width.
What's not to love about a town square with medieval wooden & stone arcades under buildings - as in the main square? Or one that's empty of daytripping tourists by 5pm, leaving the streets quiet and ripe for locals (as we'd like to see ourselves, but certainly aren't seen by other locals)?
The surrounding countryside is equally beautiful, with river gorges adjacent to fertile fields, woodlands with an abundance of goodness (wild strawberries and garlic chives, for example, as you stroll along the paths) and wildlife.

The region is chock-full of gorgeous old villages, and one of our favourite pastimes is following the markets around day by day: not only do you get wonderful fresh produce, but you also get a look at a myriad of charming towns. Great markets in the area include Villefranche and Revel. where medieval squares surrounded by shaded arcades play host to a fair throng of people and produce.

A memorable Friday lunch

Tracey's twin sister Debbie and Charlie, who had gotten engaged about two weeks earlier, were staying just up the road in Sarlat. We arranged to meet halfway, at Belcastel, for lunch. Our destination: Le Pont d'Ouysse, which Andrew had read about in Stephanie Alexander's "Cooking & Travelling in South-West France".
Just before reaching it, we spied some very happy geese, obviously well fed. We're not sure how well fed but there was a Foie Gras shop across the road...coincidence, perhaps.

On the way there we also saw two badgers on the road. One was "resting" and the other was sunning itself and scurried off after we went by, the former was still "resting" there upon our return journey.

The restaurant setting is perfect: a ruined bridge by a fast-flowing stream;

a jagged outcropping above bedecked with lovely stone buildings and gardens;

a well-shaded terrace ready to welcome us for lunch.

The food was also great....we all took the Menu Belcastel - see below. (Babelfish may help translate, although some of the menu is very specialised "restaurant French)

MENU BELCASTEL
Oeuf en longue cuisson, bouillon de poule truffé
***
Escalope de foie de canard poêlée aux asperges vertes et poivre de Sarawak
sauce Porto et Mique grillée
***
Grosses crevettes royales marinées au gingembre
toutes les herbes du jardin, artichauts en barigoule et un bon jus de légumes
***
Pigeonneau rôti et mousseline de petits pois, fricassée de champignons
***
Cocotte de Rocamadour de chez Chambon, au mascarpone et truffes
***
Choix de desserts

We all did the delicious food justice, and the sun beamed down beneficently.

After lunch Tracey, Debbie & Charlie head of to the monkey park nearby, while Andrew chose to spend his time back in Rocamadour trying to get the perfect shot without any tourists, not an easy feat.

The monkey park is just that, a park full of monkeys. There are no cages, the 150 or so Barbary Macaques monkeys roam free through 50 acres of forest. There are 3 communities of the monkeys and they rarely stray near another tribe, other than a young male in search of a mate. The monkeys all seem rather content and why shouldn't they be, they're fed frequently by the keepers and the visitors are given popcorn which they happily take out of your hand.

Tracey & Andrew vs Massif Central: 1-1 draw

Being blessed with some sensational spring days (25 to 28 degrees), the time had come for our assault on the Auvergne mountains. The area is called Les Monts Dore, and is home to a plentitude of dormant volcanoes. These are up to 1885m tall and, when we arrived, still sported good patches of snow. We later discovered that the whole area had been covered in snow but ten days earlier....
We elected a 19km walk that would start in La Bourbole (890m) and take in Puy Gros (1485m), Col de Guery (1268m, and apparently France's second-most photographed spot), Col de St Laurent (1450m) and then back to La Bourboule. Graded as "easy-moderate", we figured it would make for a pleasant day.
Not far into the trek the question was heard: why do all walks start with a big climb? It was certainly something to get the heart pumping and the calves thoroughly tested. The track wended its way uphill by pastures (featuring a different sort of calf) dazzlingly verdant in the bright sunlight and through an all-but abandoned hamlet with partly-ruined buildings. Just before entering a beech forest we spotted a local serpent - about the size of a whipsnake, it looked as active as the cows we've being seeing that loll around napping in the meadows.
The beech forest could have come straight out of Tolkien (Shire-like peacefulness), with occasional streams burbling down the hill. Of course, we were still going uphill....and having occasional nervous moments as we searched for the next all-important red/white trail markers. For here's the thing about walking in France: there are many trails, and almost none of them are the right one. Thankfully, there are blazes to help you find your way. Alas, there are several different systems (red/white, yellow, orange, yellow spots) and you need to be certain which to follow at any given moment. More on that later....
After an hour of solid uphill walking we emerged from the forest into clearer pastures. An abundance of spring flowers were out - daffodils, irises, orchids, little pink & purple blooms that we don't recognise. Fences here are much flimsier, we reflected, than back home. Some look just like a single piece of string at about waist level - how do you control cows with that? Touch it and find out.....electrified fences here just aren't as obvious as ones we've seen before, but they pack an unwelcome zap....even the second time around, some of us just don't learn. A bit of dithering and another solid 40 minutes uphill got us to Puy Gros and the view was certainly worth the climb.
>From there it was a steep descent and some more cross-pasture walking. We'd been hoping to reach Lac du Guery in time to stop at the local auberge (inn) for lunch - otherwise it was dried fruit and chocolate. Spirits sank when faced with a sign saying 3km to go...and it was almost 1.30. Hope, they say, springs eternal and our stride quickened. We reached the auberge at 1.50, and were thankful to learn that "a little something" (un petit quelque-chose) would be OK as long as it wasn't too complicated. Nothing wrong with salted pork, boiled carrots and potatoes.....someone should open an auberge on the Tarn Shelf in Tasmania :-) Col de Guery wasn't far from the auberge and offered a terrific view over two volcanic pinnacles that flank the entrance to a calm valley.
At this point we changed trail blazes. That's okay, a change isn't so bad, the blazes we originally started following would have been a full week's walk. We stumped along in exposed highland pastures wondering if the Lake District in England, or some of Scotland, might look like this: flat, weather-blasted and worryingly short of shelter if the weather changed. Darker clouds had been gathering for a while and we again picked up the pace, striding past whole meadows covered with wild daffodils. In view of the changing conditions we decided to skip an ascent from Col de St Laurent and keep pushing on to lower ground. We followed our orange markers down a goodly descent to a car park, passing a trio of elderly locals on the way down.
Often when you're intent on one thing you lose sight of another. This time it was the need to change markers again and descend in the absolute opposite direction. We consulted our map, looked unhappily back at what had been a pleasant descent but now loomed as an entirely unwelcome extra climb to higher ground....when the afore-mentioned trio arrived. By this time we'd been walking for around 5 hours...mostly uphill.
We've had many occasions to be grateful for Andrew's years of French studies at school (even if it was all more than twenty years ago), but this was a really good moment. No we weren't lost, we were able to say - we knew exactly where we were and didn't like it. We'd missed a path and needed to go back. The youngest (maybe 60-70) of the trio would have none of it. Where's your car? I will take you there. And with no fuss, and a little chivalry for Tracey (make sure you put a warm top on lest you catch cold; please sit in the front), off we went. A ten minute drive of great generosity that saved us a good 90 minutes more walking. Merci beaucoup pour votre secours monsieur, vous etes tres gentil (many thanks for your assistance sir, you are very kind).

Score
Tracey & Andrew: 1 (for the ascent and walk)
Mountains: 1 (for baffling us and making us lose our way)
French courtesy: 1