May 31 around Albi

It's raining, a steady drizzle, but that does not stop the intrepid travelers that we are.

In the region of Albi, our list includes:
Gaillac
Najac
Rabastens
Trebas
Cagnac-les-Mines

In seeking to locate Rabastens, we found Saint-Sulpice. Forward!

As we drive through the countryside, sometimes it rains, sometimes it doesn’t. Gray and low clouds create a beautiful soft landscape. The Photographer growls: when there’s nice view, there is no place to stop, and when there is a place to stop, the view is only so-so. The Photographer's life is a long series of painful tribulations.

We get to Rabastens. A church similar to Sainte-Cecile Cathedral holds the Photographer's attention for quite some time. Then, oops: I suggested we go to the Rabastens Tourist Center and set a rendezvous point. The Photographer just plain forgot and had a long wait before I realized what was going on. He had a nice chat with the owner of the pub next door, he says.

It is now colder and raining. Too bad, that kind of settles it for Rabastens.

Sandwiches and sparkling water purchased from a grocery store. A quiet park bench. It rained and it will rain but it’s not raining now. But it’s cold.

We drive to St. Sulpice, to visit the medieval underground shelter of Castela. The guide is super charming and well informed. Briefly, 800 years until the appearance of feudal lords, the campaigns were frequently attacked and plundered by companies of brigands. To protect themselves, farmers had dug underground shelter where they could flee and hide. The shelter in Castela, dug at a location determined by dowsers, was used for several generations, it was a way of life. The Saint-Sulpice shelter is one of two open to visitors in France. It is known that there are thousands of similar underground shelters, some forgotten, others partially collapsed, others opening on private land. Roger took pictures using his tripod but the iPad camera was stumped.






This visit left me wondering. Imagine that this is the way you live: three or four times a week, you must flee for your life. What if you were breastfeeding your child? What if you were having a baby? What if your mare was foaling? If you look at the map, you'll see that there were family rooms, stock rooms, a chapel, of course. Dowsers had helped find the location, so there was fresh water. What a life!

Later, we tour the ruins of the castle itself. I shudder at the arrogance of having loopholes in the shape of crosses. I also saw those in another stronghold, last week. Humans so enjoy killing other humans when they’re allowed, even encouraged to believe that this is their god’s will.






Below, a dovecote. There are many dovecotes in this area, of varied shapes and structures. Through the sale of manure as fertilizer, dovecotes owners made a lot of money.






We're back. Christine operates a mini-farm and raises, er, poultry, and goats.











The goat cheese she served the night before was made from the milk of her own goats.

We’re tired. Roger is getting irritated. In this area, the driving is crazy. Drivers tailgating you, or cutting rudely in front of you as they pass. No, it ain’t fun any more.

We go to the grocery store and buy two salads and two crèmes caramel, for a nice peaceful meal.

The sky has cleared, the Photographer again hears the call of the God of Lenses. Let’s go back to Albi.

Phew, that was tricky. But we managed to park the car close to where we wanted to go

When they say that the Cathedral was a fortress, they were not kidding. Notice the location.

Quand on dit que la basilique était une forteresse, on ne plaisante pas. Voyez-vous cette position ?





Tomorrow, we leave for Montréal. No, nothing happened and we're not going home yet. But we will be staying in Montréal, in the Aude department, near Carcassonne, our next hub.

May 30 Albi

Roger conceptually knows where he wants to go but not geographically. You can’t exactly tell the Garmin “show us the way to the old city in Albi, those old streets I saw on Panoramio”. But using the iPad’s Safari and Maps, we manage to get there.

The old town of Albi, which they call the Episcopal City, is spectacular. The Sainte-Cécile Cathedral is the largest brick cathedral in the world. (BlogPress decided not to follow the format of my landscape photos and I wonder how to change them – for the time being, I let it stand.)


















Byt then, old houses can also be ugly and poor.





That bridge is not only still in use, it's actually used by trains. A second bridge, called Pont-Vieux (Old Bridge), is used by cars. Both bridges are parallel, built not far apart.





Driving in Albi is no fun. Street design is intricate. The Sainte-Cécile Square, for instance, is a superb pedestrian initiative but it's hard to understand for drivers passing through for the first time.






The Jardin Remarquable (Remarkable Garden), near Palais de la Berbie (Berbie Palace) is not all that remarkable, methinks. It's a nice French garden, no more.






Near the garden, the Tarn waterfront. The water in the Tarn is very clear.







It takes a lot of work to keep all those sites in good condition.






That’s it for Albi, we’re off to Ambialet. We head to the Priory where the Tarn is shaped a bit like the greek letter Omega. What we see are the feet of the omega. At its core, the Omega is a high rocky ridge. You can’t go all the way around the ridge but the partial tour has spectacular views.







We have lunch in Villefranche d'Albigeois. A small hotel nearly deserted. I order the fresh-water salad and I eat, I think for the first time, crayfish. Roger has a beef stew, which I find a bit ordinary but he seems to enjoy it well enough.

In the afternoon, we walk in the country around Albi, with no particular destination in mind. The sun appears and disappears, repeat. The Photographer yields to the Driver. The area is naturally beautiful, but rather poor. The villages we cross are not “pretty”.

For dinner, we ate a croissant on a park bench in Graulhet, a city that you certainly do not need to put among your top ten places to see before you die.

We leave for an evening walk. I suggest an experiment. The algorithm of the GPS route settings, in my opinion, is not very refined. You can set it to either the shortest time or the shortest distance. It often has us taking "shortcuts" that end up being longer because they are goat trails where we have to drive way more slowly - all that to shave a hundred meters or twenty seconds from the route that would keep to the main road. Since we got here, I often observed the routing devised by Maps on the iPad, and its algorithm is more refined. Roger wants to try going to to Marssac, I suggest that we try to keep to the route proposed by the iPad. Unfortunately, the iPad is necessarily dependent on 3G, so both in the narrow confined basins or the hills, sometimes you lose connexion. And you lose your way. Actually, we didn’t get “lost”, since the GPS always knows where you are and how to get to wherever you want to go, but it sent us on small, hair-rising village roads

Tomorrow will be the first day of the second half of our trip.

May 29 driving to Albi

Packing. Making sure nothing gets left behind. I’m one adapter short. No, here it is.

We leave the Macaine property, which I did not describe. Liliane and Jacky Macaine bought a small modern house, barely twenty years old, in a place called Croix Mathieu, one kilometer from Martel. The place itself is very old and is located on one of the older roads to Saint Jacques de Compostela.

It's a very nice house and fortunately, we had it to ourselves since Liliane and Jacky had no other guests during our stay. Their peak season is during the months of July and August. They are very friendly and talkative, which means that each breakfast turns into a long, very pleasant conversation. Jacky is a wonderful storyteller and Liliane knows everything about the area, as she was born here. On the second day, I happen to mention that I like to eat lots of fruit (French breakfasts very rarely include fruit). Liliane offers me a banana. The next morning, there is a small fruit platter on the table.






From their place, we enjoy a lovely view of the valley.

Like yesterday, the weather is very nice, the sky is perfectly clear, with the temperature expected to reach 85°. We decide to make it a slow drive to Albi, stopping here and there. In fact, our next hosts have asked us not to arrive early because she’s having lunch with her mom for Mother's Day, which is today in France. We will go through Gaillac and St. Antonin-Noble-Val, two places on Roger’s list of must-sees.

Along the way, a sign, Castle Montricoux. OK, fine, let’s go.

Er.

Everyone and their mom is out today because, hey, the weather is very nice, the sky is perfectly clear, with the temperature expected to reach 85°. In all entrances to the village of Bruniquel, cars are jampacked on both sides of the small roads.

Hmmm.

What I did see.






Roger won’t give up (do I really need to write that?) He wants his picture of the castle on its rock. We park along the road a little farther along and he walks back. The God of Lenses is a very demanding god.

But hey, like yesterday, the weather is very nice, the sky is perfectly clear, with the temperature expected to reach 85°.

He got his castle picture.

Back on the road. It twists and the drops are so deep that they installed protective fences, rather low. I really mean it, fences. In France, what a concept!

Although not advertised, a ruin which makes the photographer very happy. Even happier because there’s nobody around.

Close by, a cemetery where a large stone stands side-by-side with the humble wooden cross and its small bunches of flowers. It should be noted, though, that large stones are family stones, with more than one person being memorialized.






Larroque, its back to the cliff. On the right, it,s not a ruin, it's a bell tower. And it just rang the half-hour, really loud.










We enter a small bar, Bistro du Pays, where a sign offers a €7.5 day platter.

As we come in, the maître d’ who also acts as a waiter, greets us and asks if we had booked (this should have been a warning for us about the €7.5 meal but there you go). As we say that no, we haven’t, he winces a bit, then invites us to follow him. Four people who had booked not having shown up, we get their table. A little later, we hear a group of six being turned back, sorry, we’re full. A little later, a couple gets the table next to ours.

I sit, I get my iPad out. The head waiter comes to the table to take our order.
- And what is this wonderful machine?
- It's an iPad.
- And what is this iPad?
- Well ... that's it.
- And what does it do?
- Um ... do you know the iPhone?
- No.
- Do you know the iPod?
- No. And you, Madam, do you know the call of the deer?
(There you go, it’s started, the joke is going to be on me, I just feel it) He fetches a large watering can and yells very loud in its opening. It produces a loud sound quite like the call of a moose. We laughed, we applauded. Truculent, the gentleman.

Our intention was to have a long drink of some light stuff, probably water, and eat very little, perhaps even share the day platter. Unfortunately, the restaurant has one menu for Mother's Day, and it is a festive menu $$$$. Though I agree it is very good:

Pâté
Endive with Roquefort, accompanied by mushrooms and croutons and bacon (the servings are huge and we could stop there, really)
Deer stew (I had never tasted deer and it’s good - no, it does not taste like chicken)
Cheese (we skip it, we’re dining with out hosts tonight)
Pear cake, soaked with pear brandy. I eat a third of my piece.

Adding a draft beer and a glass of Perrier, we end up with a €50 bill. Too much for what we had in mind but quite acceptable for the meal we did have.

A few kilometers further, and one hundred fifty meters above, there’s Puycelsi, a small village in the mountains. A spectacular view from the road. A little more commonplace when get to the village itself. I wanted to add a Web link, I couldn’t find the same view.

We’re staying tonight at Paradis Vert in Laboutarié. Near Graulhet, thirty kilometers from Albi, it’s a very small town, not very rich, where yesterday afternoon (Sunday), it was impossible to find any place to buy water. The Total gas station itself was closed. A young woman sees us looking bewildered, and kindly brings us a bottle of tap water from her home, with two plastic cups.

Christine's house is not old and it’s surprisingly cool even though it’s not air-conditioned. Double glazed windows, electric shutters. Don’t let in the heat. The 85° temperature forecast has been reached. We relax and rest until dinner. Pâté again, stew, couscous gratin, fresh goat cheese on toast with syrup (I thought it was the dessert, Christine laughed) and raspberry mousse with custard. Tomorrow, we swear, we will not eat.

Weather: like yesterday, the weather was very nice, the sky was perfectly clear, and the temperature did reach 85°.

May 28, Collonges-la-Rouge

As we leave the small road from the house where we’re staying, the GPS, set for the fastest route, sends us on goat paths, literally appalling. Quite often, there’s barely twenty inches of grass before a sheer drop of thirty meters or sometimes much more. I’m not driving and I'm afraid. The sun is strobing through the branches, which really, really does not help. Finally, we get to a road a little more reassuring. Make that a little less scary.

If I’d had to drive for the sake my somebody I love, I would have driven at twenty miles an hour. And if I had to pass another car, I would have just stopped. Want to drive by my car? Be my guest. You want me to move to the side? Show me the way, I won’t even try.

At Collonges-la-Rouge, even the trees are red.




No, they ain't. They are a beautiful rich green and most flowering shrubs are in their late blooming period, with branches still proud and others bowing. But when they say red, Collonges-la-Rouge, they do mean red.






The small town was still sleeping when we arrived. With tourist buses beginning to herd in their flocks, we left and went to a small nearby village, Curemonte. Curemonte is said to be among the most beautiful villages in France. On a Saturday morning, it is also one of the most deserted, which delights the Tourists-who-hates-tourists. From the church square, Curemonte offers this view.





It's a very pretty and quaint village, so lovely that I even forgot to take pictures. Fortunately, Roger let me post one of his.



Roger himself was filmed by a videographer who was shooting a short movie for a group in Curemonte. After closing his interview, the filmmaker said, you will steal the show. And Roger, of course, said with his warm friendly smile, I know.

As we’re getting ready to leave the village to see a church from the tenth century, a few miles away, I began to feel a little unhappy. And the village bar was closed. An old man was leaving his house, I asked if the bar was the only eatery in the village. Very nicely, he told us that there was a small café a little further on and explained how to get there. So we stopped to have lunch at Café Plaisance. For €12, this is what we had. Note that the waitress apologized, while describing the menu: on Saturdays, you know, our menu is a bit simpler...

Soup
Pâté
Steak frites (steak with French fries)
Cheese
Dessert
Wine (8 oz. each)
Coffee

The meal is served family style, one plate with two servings, to be divided the way you want. One tureen of soup, etc. The soup was a vegetable soup, with yellow peas, very good. The pâté was a good country pâté, really generous servings, with small pickles. The steak-frites was as expected, the meat tender and juicy, the fries light and dry. I took this picture of the cheese platter:






Cherry cobbler, caramel cream or ice cream/sherbet. Coffee ice cream for me. Impatient Himself has gone back to Curemonte while I eat my ice cream.

We ate out, by the road, where maybe ten cars drove by in one hour. It seems a known spot for motorcyclists, one group came in, a very quiet group.

Yes, I recommend the place, it's very good and unexpensive, and the waitress is remarkable nice. On the other hand, if you factor in the cost of getting there, it’s not exactly a “value” meal.

We start for Sarlat, but Roger suddenly gets very tired. Back to La Croix Mathieu, where we’re staying. I suggest stopping in Martel, the town located at about one kilometer from the room, to buy some Coke. YES! I spotted a grocery. Closed from 12:30 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. Not open in the afternoon on legal holidays. I do hope today’s not one of those. Apparently not, here comes someone. She only enters the store and of course does not invite me along. Some people like to keep you waiting, for some reason. But there we are now, two Cokes, one Perrier. Back to the room. Roger goes to sleep immediately.

May 27, Padirac

We’re having lunch, on the light side for me. A Kir (white wine and peach liqueur), a sample of the local goat cheese, “cabecou”, which was recommended to me. A bit strong for my taste. With three leaves of lettuce and a few nuts. Roger ordered skewered duck magrets, they prepared it with skewered figs and I almost have to beg to get one bite. Sure is good. Since he was nice, he is entitled to a lick. Of my ice cream, you dirty-minded reader you.

As the sun alternately sulks or taunts us, we leave Rocamadour. Now what? We visited the Padirac Maw. It's not a “pretty” place, but it's very impressive.

After Padirac, we were not yet ready to go back to our room. We went to see the Castelnau Castle, a kinf of sample of Collonge-la-Rouge.

It wasn't easy to find parking place in order to take pictures but we managed.






There's an inner village, no cars allowed. Old ? Yes, and charming.






What sights!




Mis en ligne depuis mon iPadu

May 27 Rocamadour oh my!

If you visited Percé, in Québec, you may remember arriving by Route 132 on the Baie des Chaleurs side? A rather nice little winding road along the sea, then you take this one turn just like so many others and wham! Perce Rock jumping at you? It's like that in Rocamadour. We are on a narrow winding road, we enter a very narrow tunnel carved into the rock, even darker because of being blinded by the sun. And it's winding into the tunnel. Quite scary for me, thank you, but I think Roger is enjoying himself. But at the end of this tunnel, oh my!!!! Rocamadour, unbelievable. People have built that with the means they had at the time. I’m always awed by such feats of human ingenuity.

I have taken and retaken several versions of these shots to get better results. I really can’t do it and anyway you can find on the Net probably two billion pictures infinitely better than mine. Whatever. The amazing view out of the tunnel, I'm not about to forget.










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There’s the whole aspect of the Rocamadour shrine and piety that absolutely does not speak to me, contrary to the fervor that I felt in Chartres. The Way of the Cross, I admire the structure on the cliffside, but I find the stations themselves ugly and uninteresting.

May 26, to Rocamadour - Martel, Gluges

Martel is a small city with a small medieval, twelfth-century enclosed town, very well preserved. People live in those buildings and there are shops and restaurants. It's touristy but it's very interesting.




















Your shop may be in a medieval town, that doesn't mean that you're necessarily behind the times!






This afternoon, we went to Gluges, a tiny village near Martel. Gluges is an indescribable place. A cliff, very tall, ovelooking extremely narrow streets, vehicular traffic restricted to local residents. There are ruins, and there are very old houses but equipped with contemporary facilities.















Lying literally at the foot of the cliff.

Work is underway to rehabilitate the church, tight against the cliff. Our host at La Croix Mathieu, Jacky Macaine, pointed out that many people in Rocamadour whiz by without a glance for Gluges. But Roger notes that people living in Gluges are probably not very happy during the summer.

In the evening, we went back to Martel, where a mysterious churchtower called Roger. We just happened to find it while making a U-turn caused by driver error. This one will not escape his lens. It is 20:30, everything is closed, too bad, I felt like ice cream.