We woke up late and took a long time to pack up. We are like water when we stop, filling up every nook and cranny and spreading out until we encounter an obstacle. We biked across the city, discovering that it spreads out far further south than we had realized. At home we judge the size of a city by the height of it’s skyline. The higher and more numerous the buildings, the bigger we expect the city to be. Here that system does not serve us well. Skylines tend to be low to the ground, no more than five stories, but cities sprawls across a great area.
The trip out of town was mostly pleasant and the weather was cooperative, giving us blue skies to bike under. Heather’s bike, however, was less cooperative and by the time we reached the town of Chateau Giron she had to stop and fix her panniers yet again. It was fine however, as it gave me a chance to explore the castle from which the town derived its name.
The castle was an intricate structure made up from towers and churches and residential blocks and none of it was open to the public. The towers and the chapel were sealed off completely while the central residence played host to the administration of the city. A residential bloc projecting westward off the castle provided tenement housing. Actually that’s just conjecture on my part. It may have been more administration, if stacks of mailboxes means administration and the city workers like to pee in the stairwells. There seems to be a very laissez faire attitude towards urination in France.
The castle was, however, very beautiful, towering above a tiny town that was coated in a blanket of flowers. There was an ancient mill nearby and a long park leading into the town. After a brief walk around the castle Heather had her bike back in riding fashion and off we went again.
The rest of the trip was, fortunately enough, mostly uneventful. The countryside we were passing through was interesting though, for here had passed the adventures of Asterix and his menhir delivering friend Obelix. We looked for menhirs but none immediately presented themselves.
Finally we arrived, or thought we did, at our destination. We followed the signs that said “Camping” happily. But when we hit a T intersection, the signs disapeared. I wanted to go left but Heather needed to go right, to go into town and get some groceries. Lo and behold, there in town were the signs for camping once more. Which just goes to show you, put food before path finding.
The campground was very nice but our initial moments were very frustrating. We had gone out of our way to ensure that we had an open campground in which to spend the night. But we discovered to our horror that the warden’s hut was closed and the bathrooms firmly shuttered. I was…well, the word livid comes to mind. But we soon found out that the handicapped stall of the washroom was open and we settled in for the night. It turned out later that the warden only comes around as dusk and opens the washrooms if there is anyone to use them, but how was I supposed to know?
The campground was a series of terraces going down a hillside to the edge of a lake. We had a beautiful view. The lake extended north and south beyond the limits of vision and was overhung with trees. On the far bank was an ancient stone wall with mossy stairs leading down to the water, a thoroughly enchanting setting. We sat down on the lakeshore to enjoy our dinner and to read a little of the Hobbit.
Here Heather’s unique charm worked its magic once more and an elderly gentleman crossed the grass and began to relate his life story. He and his wife were vacationing from the channel island of Guernsey and he was delighted to discover we spoke English. When he found out what we were having for dinner, sandwiches, he was horrified and insisted that we join his party for dinner. I would have demurred but Heather was excited to be included in a social atmosphere again and agreed. I think that Heather is missing social interaction more than I am and she is feeling pretty isolated with her limited command of the French language.
So, we dolled ourselves up in our best outfits, which is to say that we tried to find something not sweet stained, and we cleaned ourselves up as best as we could mange. We headed over to their small camper van and had dinner. It was almost a strange sensation to be surrounded by four unmoving walls and to be eating at a table with a roof over our heads. If the small amenities of civilization are so alien to us now, after only a few weeks, what savages will we be when we return?
Dinner was steak, a sausage and shrimp with wine and cheese and Brian and Margaret proved to be most gracious hosts. Margaret had been a yoga instructor in her prime and Brian made violins in his retirement. We both nodded appreciatively when he pulled out his latest creation and handed it to us for inspection, like we know anything about violins. Heather was very keen to discuss yoga with Margaret as we were trying to learn some on this trip. But learning from a book is never the same as from a real person and we could have used a few pointers. Brian, however, turned out to be the vocal one and if Margaret said more than twenty words the entire night I would have been surprised. Included with dinner were local mushrooms that Brian had picked himself. We aren’t dead so they must have been alright, proving that you can live off the land. Perhaps if we fall to raiding farmer’s fields and a little old fashioned cattle rustling we can stay in France indefinitely.
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