Massive catchup time
Jun. 20th, 2009 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janewilliams20It's been ages since I had much Internet access, so be warned - cut-tagged, but this is a BIG post!
Saturday - camping in St Martin de l'Ile
I woke at 6 as usual, and as usual on holiday, turned over and went back to sleep. Dave had promised me coffee, and I could still hear him snoring. Also, the camp café didn't serve breakfast till 8.
Actually, it turned out not to serve breakfast at all, just coffee. So we bought fresh bread and croissant, and went back to the tent to make our own. One of those long-life packs of potatoes and bacon, add a couple of eggs, fruit juice... Then after a bit of dithering around, took the car via reception (open!) to a supermarket for a new airbed, a water carrier that worked, and lots of interesting salads, cheese, beer, and a bottle of local wine. The plan is that I have a goat steak tonight, Dave will be having sausages, and we have some interesting "heat up the can" things that we never see at home.
Lunch. Bread, cold meat, salad. The summer weather has arrived, and neither of us can face hot food. A gentle afternoon's dossing followed - I finished reading "I, Virgil" and decided that a skirt would be cooler than trousers. Only one problem - my new skirt has no pockets, and when you need to take your own paper to the loo... But I'd planned for this. The sewing kit included enough cloth to make insert pockets. Not big pockets, but I don't want to support the weight of a PDA or a camera on an elasticated waistband. A bit of gentle sewing in the shade later, and I had a skirt fit for purpose.
By 4 it was cool enough (well, less unbearably hot) that we felt up to a stroll to the camp shop for icecream. Only it was shut (do we sense a theme here?) We could stroll into town, we now knew it wasn't far. Baking hot streets, white stone walls, sun almost directly overhead - but coming towards us was a couple eating icecream. The hunt was on! We navigated our way to the centre of St Martin de l'Ile by following the reverse trail of icecream, finally reaching a shop front perhaps ten yards wide and devoted to more flavours of icecream than I could count. That sorted, we wandered around the little port and the fortifications, cameras in hand, reading menus as we went. Stopped at the café that had wifi - and better yet, free Internet on a full PC! 7pm came rather faster than we'd anticipated, and we found a place on the waterfront that would do fish for me and red meat for Dave. A hint, should you ever be tempted to try grilled sardines. Either develop a high tolerance for bones, or don't bother. One moment of excitement - the parasol next to me got picked by the wind, flipped over, and landed upside-down on top of the other parasols - how I missed getting hit by the pole, I have no idea. Various tall gentlemen grabbed it and persuded it back into place, and this time Dave found all the right bits on the ground and clamped it into the base properly.
Sunday - l'Ile de Ré
I was right - the car was more comfortable than the airbed. Getting back to my feet from that bouncy thing was interesting, and then Orlanth decided to pay a visit. Lots of thunder, an hour or so of rain. We cooked breakfast in the tent (how many cookery books say "if the oil starts to smoke, take the pan outside to be rained on"?), made the most of the camp showers, and it cleared up around 11. Time to take the car round the rest of the island. Loix was a disappointment - tiny market, no parking - but seeing the salt marshes was interesting, as were the black swans further on and the little egrets. On to Ars en Ré, with black and white bell-tower. Parked (eventually) near the market, walked to the church, then the harbour, lunch on the quay at the Café du Commerce. Cider, grilled andouilette and salad. The diminutive ending to that sausage was not appropriate.
We went on to explore the rest of the island, in the afternoon. L'Ile de Ré is covered by a network of cycle paths, many of which run alongside or cross the normal roads, and are of similar width. There are towns where the introduction of the carriage, never mind the car, had meant shaving corners off buildings to let them pass. The donkey used to be the principle means of transport, complete with straw hat to keep off flying insects and pyjama-like trousers to keep off crawling insects, but these are now only found on one tourist beach (which we failed to find).
What we did find was a bird reserve – well, a nature reserve. We spent more time watching and photographing butterflies than we did birds, but there were some good views of Little Egrets, and various birds of prey – buzzards, black kites, and something nesting in a tree that so far we haven't quite identified. If a kestrel broadened its wings and forgot how to hover, that might have been it.
Eventually we made it back to camp, and cooked that steak & sausages, though had a few problems with the frying pan spreading its non-stick coating in places where a non-stick coating doesn't belong. That one's going back to the shop...
In so far as possible, we packed ready for an early start in the morning - and a good job, too.
Lundi – from camp to Brenda's
We had this morning planned, with just enough left out that we could make breakfast with the help of bread from the shop, but our plans changed rapidly when rain threatened. That tent had to come down, fast – we had no means of transporting a wet tent. It's surprising how fast you can pack when you get organised. We ended up using the local supermarket for bread and croissants, and having our picnic breakfast in their carpark. Then it was time to fire up the satnav and say “take us to Brenda's place”. By 11 we were at a service station having coffee, and shortly afterwards, turned off onto the more rural part of the route to Thiviers.
At this point, reality, satnav, and roadmap started to argue. The guidebook told us about Pons, and the remarkable “donjon” or keep, towering 100 feet above the town, but after that we were on our own. Minor roads don't have service stations, all towns and villages seemed to have been abandoned, and we started to think that lunch was going to be another picnic in the rain until we found a little bar that did sandwiches and coffee. For the first time, “parlez vous Anglais?” was met by “non – mais vous parlez Francais?”, and we (well, I) coped. Back to the car, running across the road and dodging raindrops, only to discover that the satnav couldn't find a satellite. Oops. We had a written description of the last part of the route to Brenda's, so had to figure out where we were on the map, and how to get to that last part. There were a few interesting moments of the “no, turn left at the junction you just passed” kind, but we made it to Corgnac sur l'Isle.
Tuesday, Mercredi, Saturday – where did the time go and what language are we in?
OK, at this point I give up. We had a wonderful time with Brenda, not having seen much of her since she moved to France three years ago. She's an artist, musician, healer, and now on the local equivalent of a village council, and has lots of interesting friends, many of whom we've now met. We've visited Brantome and been on a boat trip, looked round ancient churches, sorted out Brenda's PCs (though never did get her WIFI working), had lessons in how French meals should be served from both Brenda and her friend Paul (a sprightly Frenchman in his 70s who speaks no English at all), gone to the pre-opening party of an art exhibition in a chateau (Brenda being one of the exhibitors), discussed ley lines and cookery and farming and art and gardening and many other fascinating things, in a mixture of English and French that headed further towards French as the week went on. It's been an immersion in rural French life that we couldn't possibly have had any other way, with a welcoming group of people who happily invite complete strangers back to see their gardens on the way home, and then spend an hour or so discussing pond maintenance and offering freshly picked wild strawberries – yes, by this time, all in French. There's a lot of ex-pats out here, but most conversations were still in French. I have no idea where the time went, but we didn't bother going further south to look at the sites designed for mass-production tourism. When we find ourselves recognising the family who make a particular type of fois gras and mentioning to the market trader that we'd seen his brother on a different market earlier in the week, and not realising till later that Dave had missed half the conversation because I'd forgotten to use any English... yes, I think I was getting immersed.
Saturday – on the road again (eventually)
We had a plan. It involved leaving Brenda's after breakfast, and seeing how far north we could get, with the hope of getting to Gregory's place for Sunday and looking at a few things on the way. Only Dave hadn't had his healing session yet (having seen the effect on me, he was a lot less cynical than he had been). Also we'd failed to buy a new light switch for the re-wiring we were doing in Brenda's place, and her friend Judith was going to come round in the morning so I could help her sort out her lap-top, and.... OK, say mid-morning. Well, maybe after lunch. Only, somehow, it was 11 before we left to go shopping, and Thivier market is fascinating, and then we dropped into a tea shop run by another British ex-pat family, and it was about three by the time we got back and started cooking lunch. French meals are not a fast-food experience, so a light lunch actually consists of four courses, and I think we left Brenda at about 6 in the evening...
Fortunately, Dave being an organised person, he went on-line and booked us into an Etap before we left. We are now outside ChateauRoux in an Etap, where the WIFI in the room involves introducing Orange to my credit card, but that in the lobby is apparently free. In a few minutes, I will go and find out. We finally ate in one of the “Buffalo Bill” chain we've been seeing for a while, and I have tried beef, ostrich and bison steaks all on one plate. It was a good job they were labelled, because I doubt if I could have told the difference otherwise. I think this was also the first time we had a waiter who spoke absolutely no English at all, and I'm rather glad it happened at this end of the holiday. Now, I can make sure that Dave's steak is (by French standards) well done, even if he has to ask me afterwards what I just ordered him.
I will now unplug the PC from the mains, and take it to the lobby to find WIFI. Fingers crossed....
Saturday - camping in St Martin de l'Ile
I woke at 6 as usual, and as usual on holiday, turned over and went back to sleep. Dave had promised me coffee, and I could still hear him snoring. Also, the camp café didn't serve breakfast till 8.
Actually, it turned out not to serve breakfast at all, just coffee. So we bought fresh bread and croissant, and went back to the tent to make our own. One of those long-life packs of potatoes and bacon, add a couple of eggs, fruit juice... Then after a bit of dithering around, took the car via reception (open!) to a supermarket for a new airbed, a water carrier that worked, and lots of interesting salads, cheese, beer, and a bottle of local wine. The plan is that I have a goat steak tonight, Dave will be having sausages, and we have some interesting "heat up the can" things that we never see at home.
Lunch. Bread, cold meat, salad. The summer weather has arrived, and neither of us can face hot food. A gentle afternoon's dossing followed - I finished reading "I, Virgil" and decided that a skirt would be cooler than trousers. Only one problem - my new skirt has no pockets, and when you need to take your own paper to the loo... But I'd planned for this. The sewing kit included enough cloth to make insert pockets. Not big pockets, but I don't want to support the weight of a PDA or a camera on an elasticated waistband. A bit of gentle sewing in the shade later, and I had a skirt fit for purpose.
By 4 it was cool enough (well, less unbearably hot) that we felt up to a stroll to the camp shop for icecream. Only it was shut (do we sense a theme here?) We could stroll into town, we now knew it wasn't far. Baking hot streets, white stone walls, sun almost directly overhead - but coming towards us was a couple eating icecream. The hunt was on! We navigated our way to the centre of St Martin de l'Ile by following the reverse trail of icecream, finally reaching a shop front perhaps ten yards wide and devoted to more flavours of icecream than I could count. That sorted, we wandered around the little port and the fortifications, cameras in hand, reading menus as we went. Stopped at the café that had wifi - and better yet, free Internet on a full PC! 7pm came rather faster than we'd anticipated, and we found a place on the waterfront that would do fish for me and red meat for Dave. A hint, should you ever be tempted to try grilled sardines. Either develop a high tolerance for bones, or don't bother. One moment of excitement - the parasol next to me got picked by the wind, flipped over, and landed upside-down on top of the other parasols - how I missed getting hit by the pole, I have no idea. Various tall gentlemen grabbed it and persuded it back into place, and this time Dave found all the right bits on the ground and clamped it into the base properly.
Sunday - l'Ile de Ré
I was right - the car was more comfortable than the airbed. Getting back to my feet from that bouncy thing was interesting, and then Orlanth decided to pay a visit. Lots of thunder, an hour or so of rain. We cooked breakfast in the tent (how many cookery books say "if the oil starts to smoke, take the pan outside to be rained on"?), made the most of the camp showers, and it cleared up around 11. Time to take the car round the rest of the island. Loix was a disappointment - tiny market, no parking - but seeing the salt marshes was interesting, as were the black swans further on and the little egrets. On to Ars en Ré, with black and white bell-tower. Parked (eventually) near the market, walked to the church, then the harbour, lunch on the quay at the Café du Commerce. Cider, grilled andouilette and salad. The diminutive ending to that sausage was not appropriate.
We went on to explore the rest of the island, in the afternoon. L'Ile de Ré is covered by a network of cycle paths, many of which run alongside or cross the normal roads, and are of similar width. There are towns where the introduction of the carriage, never mind the car, had meant shaving corners off buildings to let them pass. The donkey used to be the principle means of transport, complete with straw hat to keep off flying insects and pyjama-like trousers to keep off crawling insects, but these are now only found on one tourist beach (which we failed to find).
What we did find was a bird reserve – well, a nature reserve. We spent more time watching and photographing butterflies than we did birds, but there were some good views of Little Egrets, and various birds of prey – buzzards, black kites, and something nesting in a tree that so far we haven't quite identified. If a kestrel broadened its wings and forgot how to hover, that might have been it.
Eventually we made it back to camp, and cooked that steak & sausages, though had a few problems with the frying pan spreading its non-stick coating in places where a non-stick coating doesn't belong. That one's going back to the shop...
In so far as possible, we packed ready for an early start in the morning - and a good job, too.
Lundi – from camp to Brenda's
We had this morning planned, with just enough left out that we could make breakfast with the help of bread from the shop, but our plans changed rapidly when rain threatened. That tent had to come down, fast – we had no means of transporting a wet tent. It's surprising how fast you can pack when you get organised. We ended up using the local supermarket for bread and croissants, and having our picnic breakfast in their carpark. Then it was time to fire up the satnav and say “take us to Brenda's place”. By 11 we were at a service station having coffee, and shortly afterwards, turned off onto the more rural part of the route to Thiviers.
At this point, reality, satnav, and roadmap started to argue. The guidebook told us about Pons, and the remarkable “donjon” or keep, towering 100 feet above the town, but after that we were on our own. Minor roads don't have service stations, all towns and villages seemed to have been abandoned, and we started to think that lunch was going to be another picnic in the rain until we found a little bar that did sandwiches and coffee. For the first time, “parlez vous Anglais?” was met by “non – mais vous parlez Francais?”, and we (well, I) coped. Back to the car, running across the road and dodging raindrops, only to discover that the satnav couldn't find a satellite. Oops. We had a written description of the last part of the route to Brenda's, so had to figure out where we were on the map, and how to get to that last part. There were a few interesting moments of the “no, turn left at the junction you just passed” kind, but we made it to Corgnac sur l'Isle.
Tuesday, Mercredi, Saturday – where did the time go and what language are we in?
OK, at this point I give up. We had a wonderful time with Brenda, not having seen much of her since she moved to France three years ago. She's an artist, musician, healer, and now on the local equivalent of a village council, and has lots of interesting friends, many of whom we've now met. We've visited Brantome and been on a boat trip, looked round ancient churches, sorted out Brenda's PCs (though never did get her WIFI working), had lessons in how French meals should be served from both Brenda and her friend Paul (a sprightly Frenchman in his 70s who speaks no English at all), gone to the pre-opening party of an art exhibition in a chateau (Brenda being one of the exhibitors), discussed ley lines and cookery and farming and art and gardening and many other fascinating things, in a mixture of English and French that headed further towards French as the week went on. It's been an immersion in rural French life that we couldn't possibly have had any other way, with a welcoming group of people who happily invite complete strangers back to see their gardens on the way home, and then spend an hour or so discussing pond maintenance and offering freshly picked wild strawberries – yes, by this time, all in French. There's a lot of ex-pats out here, but most conversations were still in French. I have no idea where the time went, but we didn't bother going further south to look at the sites designed for mass-production tourism. When we find ourselves recognising the family who make a particular type of fois gras and mentioning to the market trader that we'd seen his brother on a different market earlier in the week, and not realising till later that Dave had missed half the conversation because I'd forgotten to use any English... yes, I think I was getting immersed.
Saturday – on the road again (eventually)
We had a plan. It involved leaving Brenda's after breakfast, and seeing how far north we could get, with the hope of getting to Gregory's place for Sunday and looking at a few things on the way. Only Dave hadn't had his healing session yet (having seen the effect on me, he was a lot less cynical than he had been). Also we'd failed to buy a new light switch for the re-wiring we were doing in Brenda's place, and her friend Judith was going to come round in the morning so I could help her sort out her lap-top, and.... OK, say mid-morning. Well, maybe after lunch. Only, somehow, it was 11 before we left to go shopping, and Thivier market is fascinating, and then we dropped into a tea shop run by another British ex-pat family, and it was about three by the time we got back and started cooking lunch. French meals are not a fast-food experience, so a light lunch actually consists of four courses, and I think we left Brenda at about 6 in the evening...
Fortunately, Dave being an organised person, he went on-line and booked us into an Etap before we left. We are now outside ChateauRoux in an Etap, where the WIFI in the room involves introducing Orange to my credit card, but that in the lobby is apparently free. In a few minutes, I will go and find out. We finally ate in one of the “Buffalo Bill” chain we've been seeing for a while, and I have tried beef, ostrich and bison steaks all on one plate. It was a good job they were labelled, because I doubt if I could have told the difference otherwise. I think this was also the first time we had a waiter who spoke absolutely no English at all, and I'm rather glad it happened at this end of the holiday. Now, I can make sure that Dave's steak is (by French standards) well done, even if he has to ask me afterwards what I just ordered him.
I will now unplug the PC from the mains, and take it to the lobby to find WIFI. Fingers crossed....