We were both completely beside ourselves and each other….
The campsite at Beaulieu was so nice; right in the village, shady, good sized pitches, the sound of the river running past, good bathrooms and free wi-fi; we were tempted to stay another day. But knowing how much further we had to travel and with only thirteen days left in Europe, we stuck with our plan and moved on.
Our route took us along the Dordogne, in fact it almost clung to the water’s edge at every bend. It was a lovely drive though the leafy green valley, past pretty, sleeping villages and the river sparkled and shimmered in the morning sunlight.
Morning tea was enjoyed at a pretty café on the Quai Lestourgie in Argentat, another pleasant French village that helps you understand why so many British people buy a home in France. So many of the houses are delightful and I do love a turret on a house. The Dordogne was flowing less swiftly in places and a layer of green growth with masses of tiny white flowers was growing across the surface, sometimes almost to the other side.
There is an old boat sitting at one end of the Quai, which looked really roughly made. It had no style, no finesse or smooth lines, yes I know it was old, but it looked like it had been thrown together very quickly. It turns out that these flat-bottomed gabarres were built to carry large amounts of wooden barrel parts and posts for grapevines, down the river to Bergerac. They never travelled back up the river, but were pulled apart and used as fuel; hence the lack of refinement and one of the jobs on board was the baler. I can imagine he was often busy with the really rough boats!
After yet more narrow lane meandering and cobble stone negotiations, it was time to get back in poor overheated Eileen and hit the hot road. We headed west towards Aubazine and found a bench beside the road with a fabulous view looking down on the village; perfect for our picnic. With this weather, you don’t have to buy hot bread, just leave it on the sofa and it’s still warm at lunch time.
Down in the village, the church was being prepped for a large wedding. An abundance of white flowers were being tied to the pews, the pillars, the altar, the doorway and outside in the trees; it was absolutely beautiful to see. Meanwhile, the village was asleep on Saturday afternoon; no cafes or shops open, only a small group of tourists standing around eating their picnic lunch under any shade they could find in the square. And that was it for the day. The campsite back by the Lac du Coiroux had good reviews and a swimming pool, so that was all we needed for the rest of the day and we spent our first night in ages, not sleeping under an oak tree, though I’m not sure what sort of tree we did sleep under.
On Sunday, after a cheery au revoir to the velvety ginger cows, we spotted a large russet coloured bird of prey sitting on a fence post next to the road. As we passed it, it didn’t fly off, it just sat there. So as we passed it, it almost looked to me, like it was sitting on Rodney’s shoulder, an incredible sight. We picked up the main road near Tulle, followed the signs almost right round Tulle and then up to Uzerche. There were no problems in finding a parking place beside the road and then we followed the historic route in our guide book to …… the Tourist Office. There were a couple of nice churches and a few ancient buildings, but the village was lifeless and somewhat underwhelming, despite its highly recommended status in all the brochures and our guide book. There was only one hotel restaurant that would be opening for lunch and it was still far too early to eat at 11:30am so we pushed on north, hoping to find an auberge on route.
For miles, every village we passed through was completely closed, shut down, morte. In St Germain les Belles we spotted a bunch of people outside what looked like a restaurant, so we settled Eileen for the second time today. That means all blinds closed, switch fridge off battery power, turn the gas on outside, turn power panel on inside for ignition, turn the fridge on to gas, pull the curtains round the front and finally lock all doors. Sadly, what we thought was a restaurant was only a tabac with people smoking outside and they weren’t serving food. So back to Eileen we trotted, set her up for driving again and continued our search. In Magnac Bourg we passed a small hotel, but before settling Eileen again, I ran over to check they were ouvert for lunch. There’s only a narrow time frame for obtaining lunch in rural France, you have to be in a restaurant between 12 and 1pm as they close pretty promptly at 2pm. The Auberge L’Etang was open and “a table for two will be set on the balcony for you, madam”. Fantastic! We settled Eileen and then settled ourselves on the balcony for a wonderful two-course lunch. Rodney’s lamb in rosemary was tender and tasty and my breast of duck in a thick ginger sauce with sweet potato was delicious, though as always, a lack of vegetables is disappointing. But the chocolate mousse was more like a chocolate butter and the orange sauce made it superb and my mint mousse in a chocolate cup was darn good too. The added bonus is that we didn’t have to turn the cooker on that evening.
After enjoying the meal and full of gratitude that they had been open, we then discovered three more restaurants open in the village. It must be the village to go to for Sunday lunches. We were both a bit sleepy after a big lunch and that’s not good for my driver, so with not much else of interest in the area we drove north past Limoges and out west to Cognac la Foret. The temperature was up in the mid-thirties again and Camping des Alouettes had a small swimming pool, so the rest of the day was spent doing what has now become quite a habit.
Monday morning arrived with a pleasant surprise. Eileen’s fever had dropped and the thermometer inside read only 20°C and the air was fresh outside. Really fresh. The fridge had become a fridge and my water bottles had frozen solid overnight in the freezer box! So imagine us, if you will, bouncing like happy bunnies and enjoying the sunshine at last. All I needed now was for the nasty horsefly sting from the previous day, to stop burning behind my knee and my itchy bites to stop itching. It’s now been nearly five weeks since whatever it was attacked me in Narbonne and there are still lumps and scabs (the ones I had to scratch) still all up my arms and one leg; I’ve never before now, met an insect that can do this to me and I never want to again.
