A Storm in a Teacup; The Ubiquitous Evil & The Wrong Kind of Wind!
8th September: The dogs were suddenly excited. Even we were aware of the delicious, briny smell of the sea as we crossed the bridge on to the Île d’Oléron. At 22 miles long, Île d’Oléron is France’s second largest island after Corsica. There is no toll on the bridge; Oléron is altogether more down-to-earth than its swanky neighbour, Île de Ré.
With salt-pans and mussel beds on each side of the road, we were overjoyed to see the gorgeous, big, blue expanse of the Atlantic laid out before us.
We mused that our trip is the longest period that we have been away from the ocean since we took up (‘became obsessed with’) windsurfing!!!!
5th September. We seemed to be oscillating backwards and forwards through time.
From the Lozère, we went from Gallo Roman, via Celtic to Prehistoric at our destination on the River Vézère, a tributary of the Dordogne.
Summer also changed to Autumn as we drove through the Parc Naturel Regional des Causses. Deciduous trees bordered the parched, golden fields with rims of blood red foliage. Neolithic Dolmens and Menhirs abounded. It was a complete change from the dark, secret forests of conifers that we had left behind.
Summer re-joined us as we crossed into the Dordogne. Temperatures soared once again into the 30s, while lush, green forest clung to cave-ridden limestone escarpments above the river.
Barjac, Lozère (South Central France) – “The corner of S.W. France that the British haven’t discovered.”
1st September. In over 50 years, I have succeeded in doing it only a handful of times.
Since I was a little girl, I have tried to make “Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit” the very first thing that I say on the first day of the month.
It was 2 minutes to midnight; “Not the 9 O’Clock News” had just finished. The final frame was a clock; which reminded me…
Mark was taunting me, trying to make me speak. I remained strong. Then I did it! “Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit” I enunciated proudly.
I was just explaining to Mark that it brings good luck as I turned and knocked over a full glass of water, which soaked the seats and all four dogs. Mark, of course, was inconsolable with mirth. I am not sure that it bodes well.
The sleepless nights were redundant. It could have been so different… but it was a no-tears exit from our pitch at Allevarde. No-one had parked next to us – so it was straight out over the two adjacent pitches and on our way!
We followed the glacial blue River Isère as we meandered down through the mountains. The steep-sided valleys widened, until they were able to cocoon Grenoble in a soaring, green amphitheatre, crowned with a halo of bright, white limestone.
We knew that we were in a city; pedestrians rushed along pavements, phones glued to their ears; impatient drivers cut in front of us or hooted impatiently when we didn’t move forward to block the intersections completely with our caravan, even though doing so would only add to the gridlock and chaos! Continue reading “A Trip Down Memory Lane”→