Of Rocks and Rivers: of Such is France Made

a rock bridge on the Ardeche river

There was a folk song in the sixties, perhaps by Pete Seeger, about the phenomenon of post war suburbia, with a chorus that went something like

“Little boxes, little boxes and they’re all made out of ticky tacky

Yes they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

There’s a green one and a yellow one and a red one and a blue one

And they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same”

Argentat on the Dordogne

Cirq-Lapopie

No ticky tacky in French villages and they certainly do not all look the same. Village houses are made out of stone and many of them have been standing and lived in since medieval times. Because the rock of France comes in all different colours from beige and cream through all the many shades of brown and grey to volcanic black, each village has its own look. The colour of the stone changes both the appearance and the atmosphere of the different villages. 

Rocamadour

The pale colours of the stone buildings of Rocamadour and Cirq-Lapopie give them a cheerful appearance as you wander through the tiny streets of the first, set into a gorge, and the second, sitting brightly at the top of one. 

Minas at the lower gate of Cirq-Lapopie

Rocamadour from across the gorge

Each area has a different roof design from pointy to rounded to slanted. There are turrets and gables and overhangs and ells. They use different materials from clay to schist to slate and all of these have different colours. The effect is both picturesque and distinguishing. 

One of my favourite villages is Coulonges La Rouge where the houses are all built of red stone and the effect is truly worthy of a fairy tale movie set.
 

the auberge in Coulonges La Rouge

 Even the road up to the village is asphalted in red.

a street in Coulonges La Rouge

The grey stones of the Knights of Malta crusader village of Salers give a somber and serious feel to the town. It is one of the few villages not built around the church.

just off the upper square in Salers

The crusaders must have felt their own buildings were more important and should be inside the walls and the church outside the fortifications.

old door of Salers

 






 

Some of the original nail-studded doors still exist and this adds a particular charm to this village which is set high in the hills with commanding views over the surrounding valleys.

the view of the valley just before reaching Salers

the cobbles of Albi

I love the villages that still have the original cobble stone streets, although these are few in number but some of the old towns have kept the oldest medieval sections as shopping areas with no cars allowed which is particularly enjoyable and they have often restored the streets to their original look. 

pebble mosaic floor in St. Julien basilica, Brioude

The 15^th century basilica, St Julien, in Brioude has a very attractive floor made of grey and beige pebbles in various mosaic patterns. It must have been a work of love for many people so long ago. 

an entry gate at Conques

Wherever you go there are stone ruins being renovated into holiday homes or bed and breakfast places. We have stayed in several of these and the message is always the same: “It takes a lot more money than you would ever think.”

renovated house in Salers

We met a Belgian couple whose son was a “detailleur de pierres” , a stone mason, and he had more work in the south of France than he could handle. Sometime after the war, it became fashionable to stucco these old stone houses but now, new owners, chip off the stucco to reveal the original stones. “Plus ca change, plus ca reste la mễme” 

But wouldn’t you just love to restore this ruin to its former glory?

For Sale - near Brioude

This rocky central area of France has a plethora of caves that have been used since prehistoric times. When we were staying overnight in Cabrerets, where the houses are built right into the rock falaise, we were only 3 kilometres from Pech Merle, a cave famous for its prehistoric paintings.

cave paintings of Pech Merle

Although Minas dislikes caves and really hates guided visits, the other two couples with whom we had dinner at our chambres d’hotes, prevailed upon him and we all went first thing in the morning: two couples on bikes and one couple hiking the shorter, steeper trail. Amazingly we all arrived at the same time for the first tour. I had especially wanted to make this visit because when I taught grade five, there was a story in the reader about the discovery of Pech Merle by two teen-age boys in 1925 when they fell into a hole while running away from the village priest. It was a story all the boys loved and provided great inspiration for art and writing.

the famous horses of Pech Merle

The underground system of caves is enormous with many chambers full of stalactites, stalagmites, columns, petrified human footprints and beautiful paintings in their original forms. This is no replica cave as they have done in Lascaux. 

Because you are not allowed to take pictures, I bought a few postcards so that I could share some of the cave paintings.

From Pech Merle we coasted back down to the river Cếnế for another lovely river ride into Figeac. There is no question that I love the river rides as there is always something to see, life to look at, farms to ride past. We have seen a lot of rivers: the Rhone, the Ardeche, the Allier, the Lot, the Cếnế, the Dordogne, and the Hereault. 

a village on the Lot

Some of them we rode along side the water; some we rode high up on the corniche road and some were only evident when we crossed and re-crossed them. It is not surprising that many of the old towns were built along a river.

Castres

 In colourful Castres, the houses were indeed all the colours of Pete Seeger’s song and had little openings on the water level for boats to enter the house.  I don’t suppose they are used much anymore but they are still very evident and I wonder if they make the house a bit damp and musty smelling.

time to leave the river

But no matter how much I enjoy the river valleys, I eventually have to get out of them by cycling uphill and into the next valley or further up and into the mountains once more.



We have done some challenging mountain roads in recent days. From Salers at 934 metres, we rode uphill, constantly battling a fierce headwind, to first the Col de Neronne at 1242 metres

and then further up until the road became between 10% and 15% grade and I could no longer cycle.

my walking road

so I pushed my bike for the last two kilometres 


past the patches of snow,

snow at the edge of the road

even though I was dripping with sweat, 


to the Col du Pas de Peyrol at 1589 metres. 


 The ride down, battling the wind, was every bit as challenging and there was yet another col  - Col d’Entremont at 1210 metres.  

 
That was quite the day! 
 

view back up when we had come down out of the severe wind

We are travelling, my dear., and see it is going down now.

And dear Minas has coined a new phrase to thwart any complaints I might have. He says we are not biking; we are travelling by bike.

 

And the meal of the week comes from Allee desVignes in Cajarc where we had a lovely lunch after a short and early ride.  We had time for a shower and a change into decent clothes before our “bistronomique”  (their term) lunch. When the chef/owner comes out and proposes his menu du jour and a wonderful Cahors wine to go with it and the storm is raging outside, well…. You just go with it and settle into a wonderful few hours of tastes and flavours.

a different lunch in Rocamadour

The wine was Domaine de Berangeraie, 2009, a malbec wine from the Cahors region. It was fruity with hints of floral violet and complimented the meal very well. We had carpaccio of foie gras and salad as an entrée. This was followed by dos de merlu (fish) with escabeche (red pepper and onion mixture) and roasted fennel as our main course. An elegant tarte au citron with coffee and a local digestif finished us off (quite literally – we went back to our room for a nap).
 It was a great way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Cheers until next time!

bikes rest while we have lunch in Cirq-Lapopie

Our Guardian Angels

For Aline, Pete, Paul and Art….

May your guardian angels waft you onward and upward and may you rest in peace

a beautiful gentle quiet up

I don’t know how anyone could cycle through the beauty of this world without believing in a higher power – Someone much stronger than we are.  Each and every day I feel looked after and protected - no matter what the weather or the terrain.

an enamel butterfly in a shop in Rocamadour

There are little signs of encouragement: the songs of the birds from cuckoo to dove, the croaks of noisy frogs, and the flutter of the butterfly accompanying me as I toil up a long hill.

And when we most need it there are people, our guardian angels, who meet us and greet us and help us out in one dilemma or another.

dry in la cabane

Near the end of the first week of cycling we had a 53 kilometre ride into Uzes.  While it was not warm, we enjoyed our morning of cycling: gentle ups and downs and very nice scenery.  Just before 12:30 I started to rain and we found a road-side grocery store where we bought bread and cheese and fruit for our lunch. We had thought we could huddle under the lady’s awning as we ate as some protection from the rain but no, she was closing the shop and going home for lunch. Where could we shelter? The trees were young and sparse and there was not another building in sight. She took pity on us and called to a man who was chatting under the awning, “Jacky, peut tu ouvrir la cabane de chasseurs?”  She went on to explain that we had bought our provisions from her. Jacky led us along the building and around the side to an old hunting cabin which he unlocked.

la cabane des chasseurs

It had electricity, chairs and tables as well as the hooks and knives and tables for butchering the wild boar and deer they hunt in the area. It was a deluxe shelter for us and we thanked him as he showed us how to lock up when we were finished.  The thunder was loud, the rain pelted down but we stayed dry for the next hour until the storm passed.  We rode into Uzes on nearly dry roads. And we had no way of thanking that guardian angel.

the rushing river at St Guilhelm le Desert

One afternoon when Minas was doing some bike maintenance, he discovered that the screw that held my bike seat in the proper position had cracked and he had no replacement. The next morning in the rain we tried to find a hardware store in the nearby town but we were unlucky. As a last resort, Minas stopped in at the gas station and lo and behold it was also a bike rental and repair shop. The gentleman was a bit of a perfectionist and while I sheltered from the cold and the rain, next to the portable heater in the shop, he found the right sized screw and fixed my seat.  All the while, Minas was contemplating calling a taxi. By the time the gentleman had finished, the rain had stopped and we were happy to think about riding. And this guardian angel would take no money for his time or material.

about to rain again

Unfortunately, the rain returned and we resigned ourselves to riding in it. When it really came down, we found first a bus shelter and then a large tree until finally, at the top of a col, another set of guardian angels awaited us in their brand new camping van. 

the sign where George and Jac welcomed us

George and Jac, a British couple, invited us to take coffee with them in their camper. That turned into lunch and lots of great conversation as the rain beat upon the roof and the camper shook from the wind.  

The camper van

George then offered to drive us and our bikes to Caunes Minervois, our next destination, even though it was definitely out of their way. I very quickly agreed. We loaded our bikes into their spacious luggage compartment and set off for the Hotel Marbrerie, an old marble polishing factory. 

Hotel Marbrerie in LaCaune Minervois

We wanted them to stay and have dinner with us, but they felt they wanted to get home so we settled for coffee and cake.  We admired the peculiar red and white marble of the area in the hotel shop and chatted as if we had been friends forever. Some guardian angels are like that. One of Jac’s famous lines when I tried to thank her for her kindness was, “I wouldn’t leave a dog out in that weather.” Later that evening I saw little marble heart necklaces in the hotel shop and I bought two: one for me to remind me of this guardian angel story and one which I sent to Jac to remind her of her kindness to two soaking wet and very cold cyclists.

polished red marble hearts

On the day that we cycled into Albi, it was raining a little so we wisely found a bicycle path along an old railway line which eliminated the traffic and most of the ups and downs. 

a piste cyclable

Of course we had to join the main road eventually which we did around noon. Our plan had been to get to the city in time to change and have lunch there. As we were cycling the busy road into the city, it started to pour with rain. I kept my head down and focused on cycling the road ahead when Minas screamed at me. He had stopped to take cover under the overhang of a newly finished building on the other side of the road. I joined him. Then I noticed that right next door was a bakery and I told him I thought buying something to eat might be a god idea. He told me to go ahead but he would wait. Two minutes later he was in the shop beside me saying lunch might be a good idea.  There was a bar table in the corner and the woman couldn’t have been more welcoming. We had expected to eat our mini quiches out of paper bags, standing by our bikes under the overhang as the rain pelted down.  She told us to get set up at the corner table and she heated the quiches, cut us some bread, poured us some water and served us in style in the corner of her boulangerie. Coffee and cake followed and we managed it all before this guardian angel closed her shop at 1pm for lunch. And miracle of miracle of miracles, the rain stopped for the rest of our short ride into the city.

flowers grow out of the bridge at Albi

If you think the French have a lot of sympathy for cyclists – you would be right. And they have even more respect for the sanctity of the noon time meal and for eating in general.

the corner window table with a view of the bridge

 And that takes us to our meal of the week, a gastronomical tour de force, enjoyed in the tiny village of Belcastel at the Auberge du Vieux Pont.

The restaurant and the hotel are run by two sisters: one, the chef, along with her husband and the other the elegantly attired madame at the front of the house. It was ridiculously expensive but the place was full on a Tuesday night so they must have a far reaching reputation and it was certainly finer fare than any we have had on this trip. We began with an amuse bouche  of  tiny crepes with a foie gras and mango mixture in a shot glass. 

asperges et rhubarbe entree

Our entree was poached rhubarb  and asparagus in a lemon verbena foam.

lamb plat

The main course was lamb with peas done three ways: pureed, in the shell and out. The garnish was a crispy stick of lamb fat. The wine was a delicious bottle of Marcillac with violet undertones and we had regional cheeses to finish it all off.  It was a heavenly meal but with no angels in sight.

And so good-night, my angels.... until next time.

Cirq-Lapopie in the Lot