The last post

You join me once more aboard the disappointingly named Guillaume de Normandie, bound for home.

Time for a quick review of our time in France then.

In the four weeks that we've been here we've seen enough UNESCO sites to last a lifetime, witnessed almost daily the general tendency to sluggishness of the average French person and eaten quite a lot of cheese.

On top of this, during our stay, the French national debt has topped 3 trillion euros, there have been demonstrations and a general strike and the former president has been jailed for 5 years.

Makes you proud to be British......

That's it for now blogmates, but don't despair. Gullible will be back in early November when I once again take on the mysteries of South East Asia.

Chartres

 Continuing our trek northwards, we set out for Chartres, a mere 487km away.

We were unable to bid adieu to the Mammoth Madonna, as she was shrouded in the freezing mist covering the town. (Rather unwisely, we were both wearing shorts.......)

Our journey took us through the  volcanic landscape of Puy de Dome. (UNESCO,  obviously), although these being French volcanoes, they were of course, sleeping.

In several blinks an eye (about 6 hours worth actually), we arrived in Chartres, the city made famous by virtue of its 12th century cathedral.

Now, I'm prepared to admit that I may at times have been slightly sceptical of the UNESCO system for dishing out awards, but credit where it's due, in 1979, those lads played a blinder when they awarded The Chartres Cathedral of Notre Dame UNESCO status.

It's staggeringly beautiful. There  are 167 stained glass windows (I took it on trust) and the carving on the choir screen is simply wonderful.

We went back again in the evening (well, actually it was beer o'clock and we were looking for a bar but still,).and the Cathedral was lit up by a sound and light show:

Well done Chartres!

Le Puy en Velay

 We started to make our way North this morning, in preparation for our return to God's Own Country.

Our route took us up and down the densely forested slopes of the mountains of the Cevennes, a region designated UNESCO in 2011. Of course it was.

In fairness, it is a stunning part of the country.

Strung out along the way are an assortment of hamlets and villages, some seeming to be thriving while others have been abandoned.

We stopped briefly at one of these less fortunate places, Portes, to give its castle a look. (Also abandoned)

It seems that the local coal miners undermined the castle (quite literally) and due to the resultant subsidence, it became uninhabitable. The rest of the town, soon followed suit, surrendering (no surprises there) to their fate, and so the village was emptied.

We spent the night in Le Puy en Velay, a town famous largely for its hyper-production of green lentils. (We've seen no sign of them on any menu so far....)

At the risk of boring you further (as if that's possible at this stage,) it's been UNESCO listed since 1987.

There is,however, another reason that we're here........

I very much doubt that you can recall the missing miraculous Madonna from a few days back, in Orgon.

No matter, (no one seriously expects you to pay attention to this drivel) the point is that Le Puy en Velay has most definitely found its Madonna......

I mean, she's hard to miss, measuring 22.70 m high and weighing 835 tons, and standing  proudly at 757m above sea level.

JB bravely accepted the challenge to climb up inside the Mighty Madonna and declared that the view from the top was " expansive"

Arles

 Welcome to Arles, blogmates!

UNESCO approved since 1981, largely due to its Roman history in the form of a theatre, amphitheatre, and baths.

It's a fairly compact city on the banks of the Rhone, and for a couple of years was home to tortured ginger artist Vincent Van Gogh. (In fact, it was here that he lopped off his lughole....)

We looked in on the Hotel de Dieu, where he'd stayed briefly after a spell in a sanatorium (with or without a working pair of ears, it wasn't clear....)

Hasn't changed much since Vince's day......

Next on our list was a visit to the 12th century cloisters of St. Triomphe (no, I've no idea who that is either. I really do think that they just make these foreign saints up. ..)

A 12th century representation of the workshy Frenchman. Need we say more?

Orgon

 Once the rain had stopped, we were keen to leave  the damp tent and risk of tenchfoot, and so we drove into the town of Orgon.

It's not a very big place, split between the old quarter ( nice town square,winding streets, parish church etc), a museum with quite a few interesting fossils (besides us), and the not so old bit ( peeling shop fronts, general grubbiness but some rather excellent tarmacking being carried out)

 The town is situated at the foot of a large hill, on top of which is the monastery and church of Notre Dame, which claims to house a statue of the Virgin Mary from the 14th century. Apparently she was cast into a chasm by some ne'er do well in the 16th century only to be miraculously recovered some 300 years later none the worse for wear.

Sniffing a bit of a tall tale, I proceeded to search the church thoroughly, and, sad to say, but not really unexpectedly, found zero evidence of the Miraculous Madonna.

This statue stands at the entrance to the church grounds. It appears to be a cack handed attempt at a wizard, possibly Merlin, possibly Gandalf. One thing is certain. It's not a representation of the lady in question. She didn't have a beard for a start........

Yet another French swizz, and a poor one at that.

Happy Valley

 

Welcome to Happy Valley.  Not the Happy Valley immortalised by the splendid BBC series, but instead a campsite in Provence, specifically in a town called Orgon.

Set in a valley between two ridges of rock,  (the clue was in the name after all.....), Happy Valley is a place to get in touch with nature.

In amongst the pine trees, the silence is only disturbed by the occasional burst of birdsong, the sound of the fierce Mistral wind blowing chilling up the valley and the soft yet persistent pitter-patter of rain on the tent.

Oh, and the disappointingly near constant yapping of the Austrian campers opposite......

I'm writing this from the campsite bar, the provocatively named Bar Titi.

Feel free to insert your own jokes here.

Foreign Pie News

 Mystery pie: Roadside bakery, Cavaillon.

I took a bit of a chance with this one, given that, although I asked what manner of pie this was, the gibbered response left me none the wiser.

Pastry: in size and shape, it resembled the legendary Hollands meat pie. (Although the pastry had every appearance and indeed texture of having been deep fried)

Filling: Essentially a cross between scrambled egg and the fondly remembered school cheese pie. But with onion and bits of tomato.

However,  the cheeky, nay daring addition of a dried black olive raised it to another level. (JB claimed to have had 2 olives in his)

Overall, pastry aside, a good effort, and in fact, our Scottish readers may well be applauding the use of the chip pan.........

Avignon

 We had hoped to outrun the advertised storm . We were wrong.  So very wrong.

No matter. By chance, we met a couple of Grimsby trawlermen on leave, who, for the price of a pint were willing to lend us their protective gear.

And so, fully kitted out, (smelling faintly of haddock) and clutching homemade (and frankly useless) lightning conductors, we headed into town.

Avignon (almost inevitably a UNESCO site) is famous for, amongst other things, a bridge that sparked a song, and more contentiously, hosting several popes at the same time. (possibly pseudo-popes, who knows?)

Here's the bridge:

The sharper eyed viewer may have noticed that the bridge ends mid- river.....

(Early evidence of French  workshy-ness, and the willingness of the UNESCO team to be hoodwinked) 

After wading through the town for a while, we arrived at the Papal Palace. 

In 1309, the then pope, Clement V refused to move to Rome and instead set up shop in Avignon, where for the next 67 years, no fewer than 7 popes (all French) and a couple of 'anti-popes' carried out the business of running the Church. (And trying to get hold of the builder to finish that bridge......)

The Papal Palace is, as you might expect, 'palatial'.

Even centuries on, and in a torrential downpour, it is an impressive space, especially when combined with the ongoing art installation.

Gorges du Tarn

 After a mostly sleepless final night in Carcassonne (courtesy of a suspect burger that exited via a relentless and fairly explosive onslaught), I lurched into the car, fortified by Imodium (other brands are available) and we set off for the Gorges du Tarn, specifically Millau.

Millau is famous for its viaduct, designed by Sir Norman Foster (Englishman, obviously) and some French geezer. 

Apologies for the poor picture. This was as close as I could get without paying an extortionate fee.

Millau is situated in the Massif Central (the middle pointy bit of France), parts of which are designated as yet another UNESCO heritage site. (These UNESCO boys need to get a grip, they seem to be handing out awards like sweets).

Restored after a full 12 hours sleep, we set out to drive through the Gorge du Tarn, keen to inspect exactly what excited the UNESCO team.

It's really rather lovely.  Quite the place for outdoor types I imagine.

In fact, JB took time out from driving to muck about on some of the rock faces, with his usual style and grace. ( The lad's a natural.....)

We could have been set to spend quite a few days here, but for,( and to quote previously mentioned cigar chomper Winston Churchill)

THE GATHERING STORM:

More tomorrow........(hopefully)

Carcassonne

 I've wanted to visit Carcassonne ever since, as a 12 year old schoolgirl, I entered the classroom of bearded tyrant and French teacher, Mr. Brookes. He'd pinned a poster of the town on the wall and I was very taken with it.

Today, a mere, well let's just say quite a few years later, I finally got to visit the place.

Regular readers will know that I'm seldom impressed by what's on offer in foreign parts (even more so in France. Obviously. )

However, the old city of Carcassonne is quite simply breathtaking.  In fact, we were so moved by it that we actually forked out for tickets in order to get up close and personal with the walls.

Unheard of......

There are 52 towers and around 3k of ramparts.  There seemed to be an awful lot of going up and down stairs involved. I wouldn't have fancied attempting it in chain mail whilst trying to keep my pike under control.

Well done those 12th century lads.

The city has lots of shops offering to cater for all your 12 Century Crusader needs, plus a few bars and restaurants and the basilica of St.Nazare, containing some lovely stained glass. 

We saw a sign for the Museum of Torture, but, as we've both had experience of being on hold to insurance companies, it seemed unlikely to impress.

I should perhaps have mentioned this sooner, but the city of Carcassonne was given UNESCO status in 1997.

Oh, and the rather marvellous Canal du Midi (240k. long and part of a network of canals linking the Mediterranean with the Atlantic, and a UNESCO site since 1996)

 

Back into France

 After yesterday's pastry-based unpleasantness, we were left with no real option other than to leave the country.

It may give you an insight into the depth of our despair in that we considered France to be the better option.

And so, once more sweeping unchallenged through the lax border controls, we were back in France.

We stopped for lunch at the small town of Mirepoix.

(Yes, I thought it was a method of cooking vegetables too.....)

It's a quite remarkable little town, with a square surrounded by multicoloured medieval buildings and arches. Rather like Chester could have been, if only they had ignored the town planners.

And had access to some paint....

There's a cathedral too, dedicated to the unlikely sounding St.Maurice.

We're now in Carcassonne, on a pre-birthday treat organised by JB.

Full report tomorrow. 

The Great Andorran Pie Swindle

****CAUTION: This post contains content that pie-lovers may find disturbing . ****

On a leisurely stroll yesterday through the old town of Sant Julia de Loria, I came upon the bakery, 'Art i Pa'.

Hoping for another foreign pie experience,  I went in and asked the lady for the best pie in the shop.

Without hesitation she reached for what she called a 'Tarta de Santiago', assuring me it was the best of all pastry goods on offer that day, filled with almond cream:

Imagine my dismay on sampling it to discover not the promised pie, but a cake. That's right, A CAKE.

Nor was there any sign of almond cream, just an assortment of crushed nuts, some of which very nearly did for one of my few remaining teeth.

An absolute disgrace, and a stain on the nation of Andorra.