Luz Saint Sauveur
Vallon Pont d'Arc
The French Connection
After last year’s grand tour of Northern Italy we thought it would be good to spend this year’s “big” holiday somewhere out in the countryside, getting a close-up view of mountains, river gorges, and other notable features that I learned about in school geography lessons.
- Bored? Oh!
- Head for the Hills
- Let Luz
So, technically speaking, this post covers two days rather than one, but seeing as the majority of both days was spent sitting in the car on various motorways, it seems a bit pointless doing two separate posts. So this was what we did on Thursday and Friday. In that order.
Thursday began with Kas going out for a run (that’s kind of like saying the day began with it getting light, or with the clock passing midnight, but whatever – it began with Kas going for a run). She was back in time for us to pack up the car and get moving not long after 10am. We were heading for the Channel Tunnel, as we have done on many previous holidays, and in ritual fashion, here’s the photo of the QE2 Bridge that is traditional in my first-day-of-the-holiday posts. Also part of the ritual now is stopping at the garage at the south east corner of Milton Keynes on the way down to the motorway to buy coffee.
We had a 2pm appointment at the tunnel (2pm for checking in) but being as the drive involves bits of the M25 I don’t like to push it with the time, just in case there’s an issue with traffic.
So we arrived at the tunnel terminal at the early end of the 2 hour to 45 minutes period that they ask, hoping that we’d manage to get bumped forward onto an earlier train. We were. Our 2:50 train became a 1:50 train, which gave us enough time to grab a quick lunch in the terminal and turn our bikes around before heading through passport control and onto our train. It was the first time taking the new motor onto the continent, and one of the things I was a bit apprehensive about was getting up a ramp and round a tight corner onto a train. As it happens, we got a bottom-deck berth and the corner was fine. I did manage to park right next to the toilets though, which meant it wasn’t possible to get the door open properly on the passenger side. The girls had to scrabble across the middle to get out.
France was as French as it normally is, and what with the time change and the duration of the tunnel trip our 1:50 train from Folkstone landed us in Calais around 3:30pm local time. After a brief stop at the garage on the way out of the tunnel for a bit more bicycle rotation we were off down the auroroute in the general direction of Rouen. We hadn’t planned to stop at all during this part of the trip, and we managed a nice straight run with no breaks, and found ourselves at our chosen accomodation, the Novotel Rouen Sud, before you could say Jack Robinson. OK, maybe not that quickly, but not far off. It was about 6pm when we arrived, which included a fairly circuitous route that Elizabeth the Sat Nav took us around the outskirts of Rouen.
The hotel room was fairly spacious apart from the girls having to share a sofabed. We’d had a long enough day that we couldn’t be bothered with going out anywhere, so we just ate in the restaurant at the hotel. It was remarkably nice, which is something I’ve found normal in even fairly moderate hotels in France. We ended up with the 2-course meal deal, which meant the price added up to somewhat less than I was expecting.
Friday morning started at about 7:30 with the promise of a hotel breakfast. This was the only hotel on the trip where I’d picked a rate that included breakfast, and we all, in true style, decided to get our money’s worth while we could.
We were in the car by 9am, having rather a lot of French motorways to work our way through over the course of the day. This was the day where I also started the “how many new French departments can we find a geocache in” part of the holiday. We were scheduled to pass through seven new ones on the trip, and I’d layed out a printed sheet listing places to stop for a cache in each one. They were all in service stations or rest areas, and I’d laid it out according to the location on the motorway (which road and which junction) and also according to the sequence we’d pass them. I’d put about 4-6 different stops in each department but had no intention of stopping at all of them unless we were travelling much faster than expected. We weren’t travelling faster than expected, so I was happy just to stop once in each. A few of them were also timed to be at places where we needed a natural food, drink or toilet break.
There’s not much you can say about a shed load of French motorways other than that you have to pay for most of them, but that results in them mainly having a nice road surface and relatively little traffic. Certainly, up until the mid-afternoon we weren’t in traffic at all. To compensate for the general lack of interest, above are snapshots of the French departments we’d geocached in before and after this day. You can pretty much see the route the motorways take. The new departments in which we stopped for a geocache were, in order of appearance, Orne, Sarthe, Indre-et-Loire, Vienne, Deux-Sèvres, Charente-Maritime and Gironde. The last wasn’t strictly necessary, as we could have done it the following day instead, but we kind of drove right past one and it would have been a waste not to stop. We’d made good time anyway and I felt we had enough time free to do one more before proceeding to the night’s accommodation, and the inevitable requests to have a bit of time in the swimming pool.
The hotel in question was the really rather wonderful Château de la Grave, which nestles in the middle of a load of vineyards not far from the Gironde Estuary. They only have four or five suites. The one we had contained a massive four-poster bed and a couple of camp beds for the girls, but it wasn’t cramped, and it had a bathroom that occupied one floor of an attached turret. Wicked with a capital wick.
After all the driving, neither of us was in the mood to try to find a restaurant, so when we enquired (in somewhat broken French) our host offered to provide us with some tapas, and we agreed a time of 8:30 pm. This gave the kids more than enough time to go and get wet in the swimming pool, before getting wet again in the shower.
Our tapas turned out to be an excellent selection of charcuterie with cheeses and pickles, and they were served out on the terrace in the comfy chairs with a generous accompaniment of wine made at the vineyard whose buildings occupied all parts of the site that the hotel didn’t. Our tapas were also accompanied by Damian and Ben from Leipzig, who were in the middle of a hippy-style, drive-round-Europe-until-the-money-runs-out trip in their campervan, which they were allowed to park down in some trees near the vineyards. They’d come up to the “big house” for some snacks and wine. Initially, Damian was looking for some travel tips for Bordeaux, but we weren’t really able to offer any because we hadn’t been there (and still haven’t). So the conversation meandered in all sorts of strange directions, and I think that process was facilitated by the second bottle of wine. It wasn’t strictly necessary, and if Ben and Damian are listening, I can only apologise if we got a bit forthright in our views or if we kept interrupting.
Anyway, it was an absolutely perfect spot to watch the sun go down. It is probably the most French place I’ve ever been to, and I’ve been to a few.
The four-poster bed was good too.
A fairly normal way for us to spend a Saturday morning is by doing a parkrun. In general terms, France is a bit desolate on that front, however Bordeaux is one of the few places that has one nearby. The one in question is Les Dougnes – it’s a sparsely attended event of three laps around some open grassland beneath a bunch of powerlines. On this day they had 49 finishers, which I think they said was a new record for them. With the exception of Kas, we all found it quite hard going. Izzy hasn’t done parkrun in ages and me and Ami really aren’t fit enough to run quickly in heat like that.
The parkrun site didn’t have a cafe so we headed straight off in the direction of the nearest motorway, with the promise of some motorway cafe style pastries and coffee. We found a place just north of Bordeaux which I hadn’t planned to stop at (because there was no geocache), however we needed a stop, and it proved to be the best decision of the day. We got coffee, pastries and cold drinks and sat inside in the services in our smelly running kit. Well, Ami got changed, the rest of us didn’t.
So back in the car, we immediately discovered why the sat nav had estimated an hour for the 60 km from parkrun to my first planned caching stop. The motorways around the outskirts of Bordeaux were absolutely solid with traffic in both directions. It took flippin’ ages. So much so, that we decided to skip the planned caching stop in Gironde and head straight off for the next one.
The next stop was in the department of Landes. We reached it by driving down the most empty motorway ever. The A65 runs 150km from Langon in Gironde down to Pau. Our chosen stopping point was the services at Aire-sur-l’Adour. This was nice enough and an easy place to find a cache, however we must make a point of realising that the French always stop for lunch between 12:30 and 2pm, so if you go to a service station that has a restaurant during those times on a summer Saturday you are going to find a lot of people. On the third lap of the car park we got lucky and found a space. We didn’t want a lot of lunch, as we’d had breakfast a couple of hours previously, but it was nice to get cold drinks and some crisps and sit out on the grass.
Aire-sur-l’Adour is on the eastern edge of Landes, close to the border with Gers, so it seemed a waste not to drive 5km over the border and grab a single cache there. I chose one in Barcelonne-du-Gers that is sited at an old prison. It was a lovely spot, and we got to look a little more closely at it than we might have liked, given that I couldn’t find the cache. Kas found it eventually, in a place I’d apparently discounted 10 minutes earlier.
Moving swiftly onwards, we finished off the A65 and switched to the A64, heading east in the direction of Tarbes. We made a quick stop for a cache at a no-service rest area in Pyrénées-Atlantiques and then when we got off the motorway at Tarbes we were in Hautes-Pyrénées I’d planned another stop. That was a quick dash from a rather dodgy pull-off at the roadside.
That was enough caching for the day, having coloured in another 4 departments.
The route from Tarbes took us down through the town of Lourdes and from there we headed up into the mountains towards our final destination for the day, Luz-Saint-Sauveur. We stopped in Lourdes to fill the car up with holy water, which proved slow and painful but it was, at least, fairly cheap. That tank full should hopefully last until we come down out of the mountains again.
We’d booked an oversized apartment containing three bedrooms, which during skiing season is supposed to sleep eight people. Technically there is sleeping for eight, and there’s both a bath and a shower, however two of the sleeping berths are in the lounge, and there’s only one toilet between eight. Four feels like a better occupancy rate, even though it costs a lot more.
We wandered up into the town and grabbed a load of drinks and stuff for breakfast (and ice cream) and then we all got cleaned up and went out for dinner. We wanted pasta but could only find space at a pizza place. Fair enough.
That had been another fairly long day.
To be honest, it feels a bit early in the holiday to be writing the traditional “not a lot happened” post, but it was that kind of a day. Most of us didn’t do much, and what we did do wasn’t done with a great deal of enthusiasm.
The day began for Kas with a long run while the girls and me had a lie in. When Kas got back, she took the girls out for a swim in the hotel pool while I sat in the apartment playing with blog posts and feeling, to be honest, a bit miserable. I’m not quite sure why, but possibly because the weather had turned cloudy, I was covered in insect bites, and we all seemed too tired to be bothered spending time with each other.
By late afternoon we raised the energy to go out for a walk around the village and up to the nearby castle, the Château Sainte-Marie. From the valley the castle is deceiving. It’s covered in large, colourful banners which appear, from below, to be very inappropriate graffiti. You have to get a certain distance up the hill before realising what is actually going on.
It was quite an easy walk up along the road and then a footpath, and from the top the view back down onto the town was pretty good. The weather was kind of in-and-out of cloud and quite warm. There was supposed to be a geocache up there, but after multiple people’s failure to find it, the consensus seems to be that the site is compromised and the geocache should be archived.
Back at the plot, we walked back down again and visited the same ice-cream shop / bar that we’d visited the previous evening, and we treated ourselves to some more ice cream again.
Being a Sunday, the “big” supermarket in the village was shut, so we once again went into the smaller one and collected enough things to get some dinner – sausage and salad night. Kas and Ami walked straight back down to the apartment with the shopping while Izzy and me walked back up the hill a little to go and find the only geocache in the village,
And to be honest, that’s about all that we managed for the day. The rest of the evening was spent playing around with electronics and generally avoiding each other.
So after a day of not very much we were in the mood for a bit of doing “something” – doing more than sitting around and feeling tired.
The weather still wasn’t great, but it was tolerable in that it wasn’t rainy and it wasn’t frighteningly hot. Both of those are good.
The thing we most fancied the look of was the combination of zip wires, via ferrata and Nepalese bridges on offer at LuzAventure. We know the kids like this kind of thing. I’d never done one before but thought I should give it a go, for two main reasons. Firstly, this one was a 2km one-way trip with bus return that takes two hours, so no possibility of walking underneath and taking photos. And secondly, wimp!
Back at the plot, Kas tried to book some places through the apartment reception, which turned out to be that they phoned a reservation for us and gave us a hand-written chitty to take to the place as evidence it was us. We couldn’t get a morning slot, but were fairly happy with an afternoon one.
That left us with a few hours to kill, and I suggested we fill an hour of it by looking for a cache a little way down the valley at the so-called “New Bridge”, which is a rather neat little wooden suspension bridge used for foot traffic only. We found the cache.
After going back to the apartment for a sort of lunch, we then set off really early for the zip-line adventure, on the basis we weren’t really sure where we were going or what we needed to do. When we did find the place we were much too early, and they asked us to come back later. Time, then, to try to find another cache. There were supposedly two at the foot of the Pont Napoleon, so we drove back there, which happened to be the end-point of the zip-line adventure, to see if we could see anything. It was quite a walk down to the stream, which is where we thought the cache was, but when we got there it proved a bit too difficult to find. We eventually had to give up and go get one with our climbing, zipping and bridging experience.
The adventure proved to be excellent fun. It was quite hard work in places, but not ridiculously so. Some of the zip lines were really long (up to 250m) and some of the parts of via ferrata were definitely a bit upside-down. I was particularly fond of the Nepalese bridges, as they moved really quite a long way while I was walking on them. I’m not sure they were designed for someone of my weight.
At first we were quite slow, and it turned out that was because a couple of families had got themselves either side of us when they really wanted to be together. The front ones were waiting for the back ones (so they could take videos) and the guy with the camera was at the very front. This meant that we kept getting people-jams at the less-than-large standing platforms. If they’d said they were all together we’d have let them go together. Ho hum. Just before halfway we got to one of the rest areas, where it’s possible to change the order of people on the safety rope, so we let them bunch up together. They were a lot faster after that.
The only problem we had really was that Izzy wasn’t heavy enough to get up the speed to reach the ends of the zip-lines, where they go back upwards a little. As a result, she kept needing Ami to help her off. On one of the longer ones, the guide took Izzy down with him, and as a result she got all the necessary speed and made it to the end. Cool.
All in all, with the training section and the “catching the bus back” section, it took about three and a half hours to do, which I thought was a reasonable use of both time and money. The apartment “deal” only got us about €5 off, but it was still not bad value for France.
As we were waiting under the Napoleon Bridge for everyone to finish, I decided to have another pop at the cache we’d failed to find earlier. This time it came to hand fairly quickly, as I spotted a loose rock I hadn’t noticed before. Result.
By the time we’d caught the bus back, dropped our equipment, retrieved the car keys and driven back to the bridge again it was just after 6 pm, but the guys at the ice cream stall there decided they had time for a few more customers, and were happy to serve us.
In the evening we had decided to stay in, so we had pasta for dinner and settled back for a couple of beers. The weather for the following day looked, err, challenging.
The weather forecast for today had been looking, errm, challenging, pretty much since we arrived, so we thought it might be a good idea to plan to do something that wouldn’t really be affected by the state of the weather. At some point Kas had read a blog post entitled “10 things to do in the Pyrenees if you’re not cycling up the Col du Tourmalet (or something similar) – a post designed for consumption by the widowed men and women whose spouses had forced them to go all the way to southern France just so they could go on a bike ride.
One of the items on that list was the Grottes de Medous – a series of limestone caves just over the other side of the Col from where we were staying.
We hauled our butts out of bed at a reasonably early time and got ourselves some breakfast whilst watching some pretty awful weather out of the windows. When we got to the car it still wasn’t great, so we decided to take the long route around by going down the valley to Lourdes and then around the bottom to the Grottes, which are in Bagnères-de-Bigorre. The alternative is to drive over the Col du Tourmalet, which might be nice in good weather but wasn’t something I fancied doing in driving rain and poor visibility. More of that later, anyway.
The drive around the bottom was fairly uneventful, if rather slow, and we arrived in a very damp car park at the Grottes in the middle of the morning. We walked pretty quickly into the ticket office to pay a fairly reasonable entry fee and were then ushered into the caves. There might have been some discussion about what we were supposed to do, but if there was, it wasn’t articulated very clearly before we got inside. So we sauntered in and started making our way around the caves at a leisurely pace, unaccompanied. A little way into our walk we were disturbed by some returning members of staff, who gave us the evil eye, and eventually we figured that we were supposed to be following the official tour. There were two problems with that, from our perspective. Firstly, we were at the back of quite a large group, so had no idea which particular feature the guide was describing, and secondly, the tour was conducted only in French. Now that’s not unreasonable, given that the place is actually in France, however it put us at a disadvantage because none of us can understand spoken French when it’s going at normal speed and with a wide vocabulary. The net result was that we really had to deliberately haver around at the back, ensuring that guide was moving forwards and all our fellow visitors had started following, so that we could follow at a slower pace, which gave us the time then to actually look at the stalactites and stalagmites we were passing en route.
I think we might have been told we couldn’t take photos either, but that part got very lost in translation, and given that we saw several other people recording the entire tour on their phone or iPad we’re not feeling very guilty about having taken a few photos. The scenery in the caves is good, but the need to follow a specific tour, and then the demand at the end to tip the tour guide, was a bit much.
When we came out of the Grottes the weather had improved somewhat. Well, quite a lot. You could see the sky, and not all of it was grey. Invigorated by this massive improvement we thought it might now be appropriate to go “over the top” rather than returning the way we’d come, so off we pootled in a southerly direction. The weather continued to clear a bit as we were driving.
At the top of the Tourmalet we’d managed to get ourselves up into the weather, and it was still quite grim. It was windy, grey and cold, and there were clouds drifting around below us and around us. Quite dramatic to watch, but not great if you didn’t have a coat.
We’d parked as close as you can get to the summit of the Col, and a little way up a gravel track from there is a little restaurant that must do a pretty brisk business in the skiing season. At this particular part of the summer season it was also doing pretty brisk business – the inside was more or less full. We found out why when we were delivered our chosen meals. Kas and me both ordered a thick, pork-based soup, which was absolutely top-notch. By “pork-based” I mean that there was most of a pig in each serving. They initially bought out one quite large bowl, and Kas and me decided that was a fairly generous portion between two of us. Then they bought the other one. ‘Twas rather nice though. There was dippy-bread and everything. That made up for us feeling a bit cold and miserable.
As we’d started quite early we decided to head straight back down from the top after lunch (it was after 2 pm anyway, so not really a wimp-out) and I then sat in the reception area typing up some blog posts while the kids splashed around in the pool and Kas walked up the shops to buy some stuff for tea. We plumped for a snacky job of hot dogs, salad and fried slivers of potato with assorted flavourings.
Kas had sadly forgotten a couple of things, so Ami and me walked up into town to get them, and while we were there we bought some playing cards, which were then subsequently used during the course of the evening. A decent day overall, given the pretty poor weather at the start of it.
Well – panorama, but with llamas, and other llama related puns. “What the actual? What is he on about now ?” I hear you ask. Allow me to explain, in my usual not-entirely-direct style.
We all got up reasonably early. Kas had her grand plan of running up to the top of the Col du Tourmalet, and today was the day of the doing. The girls and me planned to do something that Kas wasn’t, rather than just hanging around until she was nearly there and then driving to meet her. I’d noticed it was possible to walk from the top of the Col in the general direction of the cirque underneath the Pic du Midi de Bigorre along a path that appeared to be fairly flat. I figured we could walk out as far as we could be bothered and then turn around and come back, fairly certain that we’d see some “not available at home” scenery on the way. Kas had her phone, so she could keep us updated on progress and we could make a call on what point to turn around and walk back to meet her. She had enough cash to get herself a coffee, plus a few spare clothes to change into.
I parked in almost exactly the same place that we had done the previous afternoon. When I parked, it was empty. When we returned, we noticed the sunshine had made it somewhat busier, mainly with everyone’s “support crew”, which I guess was a bracket that we fell into too.
Our walk out to the cirque was uphill – in fact much more uphill than I’d thought it would be. I’m not sure whether the 2000m plus starting altitude had any say in the matter, but we weren’t exactly covering the ground very quickly. It also seemed to be rather further than the map had promised. We kept plodding onwards though, around a few “just one more corner” corners. Eventually were rewarded with a herd of llamas and a pretty spectacular view of the cirque, with the observatory above us.
As we were arriving at this point, I happened to look at my phone and saw a 10-minute old text from Kas saying she’d be at the top in 40 minutes or so. That was our cue to turn around, elbow our way through the llamas again, and hot-foot it back. We really did hot-foot it too. The journey back (being slightly downhill, and avoiding any photography breaks) took about a third of the time we’d taken to get out.
We met Kas at the top of the Tourmalet at about 11:40, although it was amazing we managed to find each other. On a sunny day in summer, the top of the Tourmalet is, to be honest, absolutely heaving with cyclists. Dangerously so, if you’re trying to get over in a car. We retired briefly from the throng to grab a drink and/or ice cream in the cafe at the top. Magically a table became available outside just as we needed one, so we were able to sit and watch the utter bedlam of cyclists arriving at the top, congratulating each other and then parking their bikes up and taking some photos. Kas said she’d been congratulated quite a lot after running up, and also that she’d overtaken a few cyclists who subsequently didn’t manage to catch her up. That’s probably quite an achievement.
Having had our ice creams, the next item on the plan for the day was to drive down into La Mongie (or maybe Llamungee) and trip up in the cable car to the Pic du Midi de Bigorre. On the drive down we obviously listened to some music from our favourite 1980’s girl band, Bananallama. Whilst the top of the Tourmalet was fairly cool, despite the sunshine, the car park down in La Mongie was definitely on the hot side – pretty balmyllamy – and also quite full. As is often the case though, a space came free just as we began looking for one. The famous Gardner parking karmallama stikes again.
We bought our tickets for the cable car – one of the rare events where the “family ticket” represented a significant saving – and then made our way around to grab some cold drinks. We’d brought packed lunches with us, but didn’t have much in the way of liquid refreshment. The cable car up was a 2-stage job (which you can’t tell from down in the valley) and it was all fairly quiet and under-populated – no cause for a llama, despite a bit of a swing as we passed the one and only pylon on each stage.
The observatory at the top was a little more busy, but still fairly calmallama. We walked around in the sun for a while before decided to sit indoors to eat. It was quite windy up top and there was a high chance of losing your sandwich in the breeze. After lunch we took a stroll around the deck of the observatory, generally taking photos from all angles. It was one of only a couple of days on the holiday that Kas and Izzy carried their posh cameras out. Even then, Izzy had given up wanting to carry her own camera by the time we got to La Mongie, so I left mine in the car and took hers.
The best bit of the observatory deck is definitely the overhanging metal gantry on the north side, from which you can see the Pyrenees drop away from you towards the towns of Tarbes and Toulouse – the Pic du Midi de Bigorre is higher than any of the peaks to the north, so you get a clear view out in that direction, and at the time we were there the air was clear aside from a couple of little wispy clouds drifting by a few hundred metres below our feet. You don’t get that very often.
By this time we were starting to get a bit tired and the girls were getting itchy and twitchy about their desire to go swimming, so we jacked it in and took a somewhat busier cable car down to the bottom. On the way out you’re forced to walk through the gift shop. Izzy got a stuffed goat, Ami bought a fridge magnet (I think) despite us no longer having the ability to stick magnets to the fridge. We also bought ourselves a new bottle-opener-corkscrew-jobbamajig, partly because the one in the apartment in Luz was a positive health hazard, and partly because we seem to get one every year now, if you can count two years in a row as a collecting habit.
More drinks and a bicycle rotation stop were required, and while this was in progress I had time to pop over to the back of a church in the village to grab an easy geocache. Might as well.
From here we took a leisurely drive back over the Tourmalet and down into Luz Saint Sauveur, taking care to stop for a few photos on the way down. It’s really quite a spectacular view from the top.
Once we got back home, Kas took the girls to the pool while I attempted to do a bit of organisation for the evening. “Attempted” is the operative word.
First of all, I tried to acquire some more Euros, but seemingly tried to acquire more than I was allowed at the only one of Luz’s three cash machines that would take a UK card. The result was that the machine wouldn’t give me anything at all, and also that I was unable to use it in a cash machine at any subsequent part of the holiday. In fact, I also ended up with a problem relating to cashless payments, and I now have a new card.
Secondly, I tried to go book a table at a restaurant we’d looked at on the first night but couldn’t get into. We couldn’t get into it again, so flushed with my failure at three ATMs and one restaurant, I had a bit of a meltdown and just walked out rather than trying to book for an evening later in the week.
Finally, I had to go shopping for a few things, which went reasonably smoothly apart from having to buy them with my credit card.
Back at home, I was still stuck in the “grumpy, sweary, muttering-under-the-breath” setting, and it didn’t really settle until some beer had been included in the mix. We walked back up into town to get some dinner. Kas got some money out of the only ATM in the village that would take our cards and we sauntered up the street and around the houses a bit before deciding to sit at a streetside cafe that offered a reasonable selection of things the girls might try. It was good, even if the menu was limited. Kas had a bottle of locally brewed “Col du Tourmalet” beer. It had a bit of a top-fermented tang to it and she wasn’t over keen. To be honest, I wouldn’t ever have ordered more than one of them either. It was good for a photo though, given that she’d run up the Col earlier.
And so another busy day ended with a stroll downhill back to the apartment and a fairly early night. We wanted to get a good run at the following day’s planned activity.
PS, I think the animals in question might be alpacas not llamas, but I can’t think of any appropriate puns, so alpaca tin.
Today was planned to be one of my “key” days for the holiday – one where I’d planned to do a fairly significant walk with a good course of geocaches. Not sure it worked out that way – it was closer to being another famous near-death experience of a day, but never mind. Here’s the story.
There was a tempting looking caching series walking around the Lac de Migouélou – an artificial lake in a cirque about two valleys over to the west from Luz Saint Sauveur. It’s branded as quite a challenging series of about 80 caches over a distance of 20km. I didn’t think we’d get all the way around, but with sufficient supplies I’dd thought we might climb up to the lake and find the first 25 or so of the caches.
We got up fairly early and were out of the house well before 9 am – it was about an hour’s drive around from Luz, and involved driving all the way down the valley nearly to Lourdes and then hopping across the base of a couple of valleys through Argelès Gazost before climbing up into the Val d’Aste.
At the top end of the valley is a tourist information centre-cum-refuge that gives information about the valley and the various activities that can be done there. We stopped about a kilometre short of that at a large gravel-topped car park at the foot of a very big hill. It’s also the start point of the caching series. The first one of the caches involved crossing a small stream on a bridge and finding a cache at the base of a tree. After walking over and wasting 15 minutes searching, I was finally clever enough to examine in detail on the GPS, and discovered it’s not there. Nobody had found it for the last 10 attempts. Bum! Not a good start.
Anyway though, back at the main walk, we grabbed as much stuff as we’d bought with us – 2-3 bottles of liquids each, biscuits, sandwiches and crisps – and began our climb. The walk up the lake was supposedly a climb of 850-900m on a well-travelled pathway. We’d sort of done nearly that amount when we climbed Helvellyn earlier in the year, or so we thought, and as a result I was optimistic we’d at least be able to get up to the lake and back again in a day. The walking up proved to be pretty hard though, especially for the kids, both of whom were generally progressing at low speed. I wasn’t exactly racing, but the kids were definitely struggling to the point where they were grumpy about it. Not a lot of fun being had. There were caches on the way, but series #2 also wasn’t there, and even though they were spaced at near maximum density of 161m apart as the crow flies, I concluded it was somewhere that crows don’t actually fly.
On this initial stage, each 161m over the ground involved about 8-900m of actual walking on a narrow zig-zigged path up the side of a very steep slope. Each 161m as the crow flies involved about 90-100m of climbing too. That made for pretty tough going. After an hour or so I was starting to think we weren’t going to get anywhere near, and suggested in a less than friendly tone that we just give up and go back down. Anyway, I got told off and we kept going. After a shade under 3 hours we’d managed to climb about 600m and had got to somewhere between cache #6 and #7. We’d come out of “the worst” of the steep slope and were definitely above the tree line, but it still looked a long way up to the lake. We couldn’t even see the dam that holds the lake in place. Around this point Izzy started to have a problem with her feet – blisters, basically – and we’d been going ages. While I was walking on with Ami I suggested to her that we just take a lunch break and go back down again, given that Izzy was struggling, and I could tell from Ami’s regular stops to help Izzy that she’d had enough too. So we agreed to stop for lunch and then walk back down again. The view from our lunch stop was pretty good though.
The walk back down took us only half the time of going up – it was still slow because of the steepness and the zig-zags but at least we weren’t having to push our body weight uphill anymore. We were encouraged by the sight of the car getting gradually closer as we descended.
Once we got to the car we drove up to the head of the valley and were unable to park, so Kas took control of the car while I did some speedy caching. We did another 4 caches as drive-bys on the way back down before driving all the way down to a cafe we’d seen in the morning a few km down the valley at the Lac du Tec, a small artificial lake used as part of a complex hydroelectric scheme and having facilities both at the upstream and downstream ends of the lake. The cafe was attached to a campsite and was fairly basic, but did a few cakes, coffes and ice creams. And it had some toilets.
After ice creams it was still warm and it wasn’t late, so we took a short walk along the lakeshore here and found a beach (well, a bit where a load of rocks had been dumped on the shore to make a platform) and wasted a quarter of an hour trying to skim stones on the lake. The stones were a random mix, and it was quite easy to find broad, flat ones. Ideal then.
The drive back home was uneventful and we decided to go out for dinner again. We walked up into Luz and took a table outside at the Hotel de Londres. I can’t really remember what anyone had to eat, but it was the “usual” selection of French, Italian and American dishes. It was much welcomed and pretty good.
That more or less ended our day, as we’d been up for quite a while. As we were walking up the mountainside it became increasingly apparent we weren’t going to get as far as I’d thought, but on reflection (reflection that began during lunch on the mountain) I realised that what I’d thought we could manage was, in fact, was several steps too far. We’d had a tiring day and had seen some beautiful scenery, so I was happy with that. We just hadn’t reached a lake or done a shed load of caches.
After yesterday’s less than complete walk, I suggested today that we have a go at somewhere which, on the face of it, seemed relatively relaxed and not strenuous. I thought we might have a go at the Cirque de Gavarnie, on the basis that it’s one of the most perfect and spectacular examples of this particular geomorphological feature in Europe. The fact that it was 20 minutes away had some effect too, obviously.
The cirque is up at the top end of one of the valleys that run into Luz Saint Sauveur, and the road up there proved to be pretty well surfaced and fairly wide. It was also covered in cyclists, but that was true of everywhere we went in the Pyrenees, so we were kind of used to it.
The village of Gavarnie is a small settlement that is big on the whole “outdoor activity” theme and is also fairly well catered for as far as car parking is concerned. In fact, the car parks are massive, and I can only surmise that this is because the walk to the cirque is one of the famous “must do” things in the area, much like walking up Helvellyn would be in the English Lake District. They may be massive, but mid-morning on a sunny day in summer, they are still full. Getting full, anyway. On the way up the valley I’d got myself into the middle of what turned out to be a group of four cars that were with each other (I didn’t realise it at the time). Anyway, everyone was going to the same place and I ended up parking second spot in a run of five cars. The occupants in the four-car big group seemed oblivious to the fact that we weren’t in their group, to the extent that one of their teenage members started peering into the back of my car and seemed just about to pick out one of the sets of walking boots. Seriously dude? I think we made the point eventually without too much argy-bargy.
When I started up my GPS (of course, because there were geocaches on the way) it said that the head of the walk, or the foot of the cirque, was about 3.6km away. The first of those km was though the village, so we strolled through in the rather warm conditions and Ami and I filled the bags up with cold drinks and biscuits while the other two found a toilet.
The walk to the cirque appeared to be fairly flat on the map, especially compared to the previous day, and for the first two thirds it certainly was. All the way while you’re walking out you can see the very impressive and substantial back wall of the cirque getting gradually larger. It looks big from the village. It gets amazing as you approach.
As you can see from the photo, the walk up was along a fairly wide and well-travelled path, leading eventually into a bunch of trees which completely hid the start of some relatively steep uphill. Eventually you break out onto a flattish area at the foot of the cirque where there’s a big open paved area and a cafe, which we weren’t expecting. We stopped here and the girls waited for me for a bit while ran up the side of a cliff to find a geocache, as you do.
When I came back we had a brief discussion about what we wanted to do, and the girls opted to go plodge in the stream in the bottom of the valley while I opted for one more earthcache, that involved walking right up to the foot of the waterfall on the edge of the cirque.
The walk up was supposedly a mile or so, but what I’d neglected to account for was the underfoot conditions. It started off as a reasonable mountain path, but closer to the back wall of the cirque it was basically loose and rather unstable rock. It was like walking up a sand dune only with bigger lumps. Every step involved pushing some rocks down behind me. It took me a while to reach the point required for the earthcache, a part of which involved waiting for the GPS to figure out where it was. Close proximity to a 600m high sheer rockface isn’t conducive to getting a good GPS signal. If the way up there was rough, the way back down was positively tricky. Having your feet slip away behind you whilst climbing isn’t so bad. Having your feet slide away in front of you is quite disturbing.
Once back on terra firma I met up with the ladies back at the cafe and we retired for some ice cream, water and coffee. It was reasonably priced given the location, and we sat for a while resting our achy legs.
The walk back was done with reasonable speed but also a fair amount of moaning due to aching feet.
The car was where I’d left it (which is good), and we were soon back down to the apartment and preparing for our evening. One of the pieces of preparation was washing a few clothes, which worked all fine apart from some oik deciding to take our stuff out of the machine and just dump it on the floor.
While we were getting ready there were large amounts of cyclists turning up in the apartment block. There was an event in the village on Friday evening and it seemed most of them were stopping overnight at our place. The event meant that many of the roads were closed off to cars from about 6 pm so that the cyclists could get to it.
We didn’t actually spend any time watching them, as a result of the fact that we had a reservation at the “Chez Christine” restaurant – the place we’d failed to get into on Saturday night and where I’d suffered the grumps on Wednesday too. Kas has made a reservation for Friday night and we duly arrived for our date.
Aside from the fact that they were very busy and the waitress was really overworked, it was probably the best restaurant we used in Luz. It’s Italian in style and we split a selection of pizzas and kinds of pasta between us. I think I had a risotto with chicken and mushrooms. It was well nice. For pudding the girls gorged on their usual things while I ordered a plate of cheeses. Mmmm! Cheese. And port.
We’d done much of the packing before going out, so when we got back the girls had a bit more packing to do while Kas and I did some cleaning. The apartment was one of those places where you pay a deposit against damages and they check prior to departure whether you’re good to go. They did offer us the opportunity to pay €85 to have them clean the flat on our behalf, but that seemed a little excessive. All we really had to do was to sweep the floors and brush the khazi. It was obvious that they sent cleaners in anyway before anyone else arrived, so I guess they were really looking to make sure you hadn’t done a dirty protest or smashed all the furniture. We hadn’t.
When we set off, we’d been thinking we might toy with the idea of going to do a parkrun at Toulouse, but once we arrived in Luz Saint Sauveur it became apparent we could forget that idea. The apartment block wanted to do a formal check on the morning of our departure prior to returning our deposit, and the reception didn’t open until 8am.
We still had a long way to travel, though, so we aimed to get to the door on the stroke of 8am and get the first slot in the departure game. We got up at 6:30 and got on with loading up the car, finishing the cleaning, and dumping rubbish and laundry in the relevant place.
We’d apparently done enough to get our deposit back and the checkout was fairly efficient, so we were off at about 8:05. So far so good, then.
We took the road down the valley and through Lourdes and Tarbes and then headed east on the motorway towards Toulouse. Before we got there we stopped for some breakfast at the Aire de Comminges. We tried to do a geocache there too, to keep the “colouring in” streak going. We couldn’t find it at first, which was annoying. We retired for some breakfast, and whilst sitting there I delved more deeply into the geocache description and found some spoiler photos. D’oh! How did we miss that?
Kas took over the driving here, and managed to negotiate us successfully around Toulouse and on the way toward Narbonne before the day started to go a bit pear-shaped. We found roadworks. And then we found a crash, and a big queue, and then more roadworks. The drive from Toulouse to Narbonne took maybe 90 minutes more than it should. This kind of set us behind schedule for the rest of the day. We stopped for a geocache and changed drivers near Carcassonne, but didn’t stay long.
We’d promised the girls the possibility of having a quick plodge in the Mediterranean, so we fought our way through the minging traffic all the way to Montpellier before jumping off the motorway to head for the beach at Palavas-les-Flots. The plan was to park up, plodge on the beach for half an hour, grab an ice-cream and a geocache, and then move on. Unfortunately, plans rarely happen. We couldn’t find anywhere to park, and after half an hour we had to give up because we’d got an appointment in the evening that was time-dependent. So we didn’t stop. We stopped for a cache on the way out of town but I couldn’t find that either, so we just left. We swapped drivers again while we were musing, so Kas was in the hot seat again.
We needed to stop at the Aire d’Ambrussum to get more fuel and take a comfort break, and there was a geocache in the car park, so we stopped for a bit to sort ourselves our. It had been busy all day and we were starting to get a bit sick of it. While we were there, we grabbed some McDonalds to eat too.
From here to our endpoint the sat nav thought it was going to take half an hour more than the amount of time we’d actually got. That wasn’t good. So we took a second opinion by checking with Captain Google, who said we were OK, just, but only if we went the way he said. As we were short of time, we also decided not to stop for any more geocaches, and that left us with a bit of a gap in the “colouring-in” chart.
The route that Captain Google suggested involved driving to Nîmes and then cross-country up to Alès. We followed google to the letter, all the while watching how the changes of route were making the car’s satnav come more into line. We eventually reached our destination town of Vallon-Pont-d’Arc at just the right time (6:30 pm). We found a car park and pushed our way through some crowded streets up to a small square with a covered seating area, which was the location for the geocaching event I’d noticed some weeks earlier and promised to try to get to. The event was only open for half an hour, so timing was important. We made it to the event but it was pretty obvious the girls didn’t want to be there, so I did a quick traditional cache around the corner and we said our goodbyes to head to our chosen accommodation.
We’d originally booked in an expensive hotel along the road out towards the Ardeche Gorge, but a few days before leaving home we’d thought that spending five days in a single room (and having to go out to eat all the time) wasn’t our favoured mode of operation. We therefore changed it, and moved to a small apartment complex over in Salavas, just south of the river. It proved to be a small family-run affair that had a totally different approach to the commercial skiing place in Luz. We didn’t need to pay until we left, and they were willing to trust. We didn’t have to clean up the flat before leaving and the swimming pool stayed open until “Meh! When we switch the lights off.” They also had a bar that was open more or less all day, so as we were too tired to do anything strenuous, the girls jumped in the pool while Kas and I sat in the bar with a beer and some crisps. When the girls had done in the pool (i.e. when we told them to come out) they had an ice cream from the fridge in the bar.
The apartment was quite small but the bathroom was nice and whilst there wasn’t much room, it was pretty comfortable. Comfort was good, because we hit the beds like four proverbial sacks of potatoes.
The day started off (for me) rather slowly, as a result of having had too many beers too quickly the night before.
Kas went out to Intermarche in Vallon Pont d’Arc to get some provisions and came back wishing she’d taken someone with her. Not because of the shopping, but because the car park has a barrier to stop people parking in there without buying anything from the shop. The barrier was designed for someone with a left-hand drive car, and our cars aren’t.
By the time she came back she needed a break. I would say we had breakfast as a family, but we didn’t. Various members of the collective drifted in and out without there ever being four of us. It was a pleasant environment though – the apartment was on the first floor and had an outdoor terrace with a table big enough for us to sit and eat, and it had a big sunshade. The apartment block was rigged up so that all the apartments looked out to the back, and hence looked out over their gardens and the pool area. The weather was warm again.
After breakfast there was a general lack of enthusiasm followed by a wave of apathy, so eventually we decided that the girls were going to laze around by the pool, which meant I could go and do the handful of geocaches in the village. There were supposedly five, spread over the whole village, which meant I’d probably need an hour or more to do them.
The first one involved a walk right around the edge of the village heading East – a short walk along a country lane. At the end of the village I turned back in and found the first cache before walking into the oldest part of the village. I’m not sure whether the village is traditional, you would assume that it is, but the overall effect was really rather lovely. It’s composed of narrow streets with buildings made from limestone blocks which come right up to the edge of the street. Some have been “done up” to look quite clean but most were what you might describe as shabby chic.
The second cache was an easy find at the church and then the third proved a little more tricky. Salavas hosts an open-air market on a Sunday morning, and the next cache was right in the middle of it, next to a cheese stall. It took me a little while to interpret the hint, and once I had, I then had to haver around and wait a while until the stallholder went off to talk to someone. I was then able to make a quick smash-and-grab raid for the cache.
The next one was up next to some Roman ruins on the other side of town from our apartment. Another easy find. This was followed by a pleasant stroll along a narrow lane halfway up the side of the hill, which had some nice views back over the valley and the village. The final cache was supposedly next to a well. This one took me ages as I didn’t explore the meaning of the hint in enough depth. Two French lads walked by and asked me if I knew how to get back into the village, so I showed them my map (on the GPS) in exchange for them confirming my interpretation of the hint. I was about to give in but had one more look, whereupon I spotted the cache hanging in a place I’d been into at least four times already. D’oh!
When I got back to the apartment there was still a general lack of enthusiasm. I suggested we go for a little walk over to the market to see if we could buy anything interesting for lunch, but by the time we got there the market was just finishing packing up, so we went back home again. There was still a general lack of enthusiasm, so I took the bull by the horns and made the required drive down to Barjac, about 10 km away, to complete a cache in the Department of Gard. We’d driven straight through here on the previous evening when we were a bit tight for time. Barjac is bigger than Salavas by some way, and seems very typically middle-French. I parked in a grassy field reserved for tourists (on busy days), and walked up through the village to a terrace next to the town hall. There was a very easy find there. Once I’d completed Gard the caching map of France was starting to look nearly like a complete loop.
On the way home from Barjac I tried to stop for a couple more caches. One was successful, but the other, in Vagnas, was not so. It was supposedly a micro somewhere in an ivy-covered stone wall. I think it was probably a fake snail. I probably spend 30 minutes before giving in.
Back at the apartment, there was still a general lack of enthusiasm.
We planned to go out into Vallon Pont d’Arc for the evening, parking in the same place that we had done the previous night. When we got into town and noticed it was full of market stalls the kids’ enthusiasm increased a little bit. We wandered around for a while looking for a restaurant that everyone was happy with, and we settled for a nice table inside one which did some very nice burgers.
On the way back to the car the girls indulged in a bit of souvenir hunting, and that was about it for the day.
After a relaxing day the day before, we decided it would be a good day to go and do something a bit more active. Before we got around to doing that, we had a team breakfast. Kas was too tired for a run so didn’t bother going, so we sat around the outside table with a selection of fresh breads and pastries from the only shop in the village, and generally contemplated our state of being before heading off for the main event.
One of the reasons we’d come to this area was that the previous year, whilst watching the Tour de France, we’d seen some overhead shots of the race passing through the Ardèche Gorge and there’d been one shot of kayakers passing beneath the Pont d’Arc. We fancied having a go at that. I mean, why not…
Kas had, on a previous run, noticed the cluster of kayak places just in the village of Vallon Pont d’Arc so we decided just to head over there and see what was what. We didn’t expect to be able to get going straight away – you normally have to book stuff in the busy summer season, but the first place we went to offered reasonable rates and could accommodate us basically straight away. Fair enough. For some reason, we were asked to pick up our life jackets and “stuff buckets” before moving the car down into the customer parking area, which seemed weird, but I digress.
The weather was warm, so we weren’t quite sure what to take with us but guessed it would stay warm enough to not need jumpers or much else in the way of other clothes. We stuffed towels and a few drinks into the stuff buckets and made our way around to the area where they keep the actual kayaks. We’d bought a package involving 2 kayaks seating 2 people each. We’d notionally got 2 hours to progress our 8km down the river, which would allow us an hour and a half to chill in the river before getting their bus back home again. All of the places just here basically do packages where you paddle downstream only underneath the Pont d’Arc. Once we got onto the water, we understood why. There are two main reasons – firstly it’s really busy, and secondly, there are rapids that you’d never be able to paddle up.
To avoid repeating the mistake I made in the Lake District in June, I made sure the kayaks we got had backrests for the seats – in June I’d got one without a backrest (they didn’t offer me one) and because I’m a bit on the portly side and don’t do enough sit-ups, I found it virtually impossible to use the kayak because it’s like sitting upright on the floor with your feet in front of you. This requires stomach muscles, and mine aren’t very strong. Anyway, back at the plot, backrests were included and we buddied up with me and Ami sharing one kayak and Kas and Izzy sharing another. This fixed a further problem that we encountered in Catalonia a couple of years back (see Kayaking). On that day we’d tried to even out the total muscle power in each boat by having Ami and Kas in one and me and Izzy in the other. The problem with that line up was that the weight difference between me an Izzy meant that our kayak was sloping a bit, to the extent that Izzy could barely get her paddle down into the water. So this time we went for the most even distribution of weight in each kayak, so the two heaviest in one kayak and the two lightest in the other. That should at least mean that the kayaks were sitting flat in the water. As we are right now that means Ami and I were sharing.
I think we got the hang of the paddling quite quickly. I was at the back so to some extent I was able to counteract Ami’s unbalanced use of the paddle by just going the opposite way to her. Neither of us is great at the game and both of us are strongly right-handed, so it took a while to figure out how to go straight. It seemed to take Kas and Izzy a bit longer to figure it out though. Ami and I were also going faster most of the time.
The river level was really low, and in most places you could easily have jumped out and walked no more than knee-deep. There’s more water in the spring and late autumn, apparently. Anyway, there’s also quite a lot of rocks in the way, which make for rapids. Some of those were a bit narrow and shallow, others had a proper “log flume” moment. Before we’d got into the boats they’d advised us of just two things about the rapids. Firstly, pick a straight line and go at it with confidence and speed. Secondly, if you fall out, it’s best to let the water float you down to a calmer bit and then pick up all your stuff, rather than trying to stand up in the fast-flowing water. That’s what they told us, anyway.
We were all doing just fine and dandy until Ami and I had wha I’ll generously describe as a loss of communication when entering one of the sets of rapids. We failed to decide which gap we were going to paddle straight and fast through, and as a result of us deciding to go for a different line, we ended up side-on with a rock against the side of the kayak. There was fast flowing water around both sides of the rock, but where we ended up we were pretty much beached and couldn’t get off it again. In the process of rocking and bouncing the kayak to get it moving, we managed to unweight it an over we went. Hmmm! Riding the rapids out proved to be difficult because the water wasn’t actually deep enough to ride. My knees were immediately on the bottom, as were Ami’s, and for a brief moment, we were also underneath the kayak. We got out quickly enough but were pretty much stuck. The kayak wouldn’t move, and we could get a solid enough footing to push it or turn it back over again. Thankfully we weren’t too proud to accept extra hands from a nice woman who was wading in the river just below us. She walked up and gave the layak a good tug, which at least dislodged it enough that it moved down a bit into some actual water. This allowed us to turn it over and collect all the paddles before getting back on top again. And off we went, over the next run of rapids and into a calmer bit, where we accelerated along to catch up with Kas and Izzy, who’d shot across that set of rapids without a hitch.
So Ami and I got totally soaked, and our stuff bucket leaked a bit, so two towels and one phone got a bit of a splashing, but otherwise we were none the worse. Funnily enough, we mastered the art of running the rapids after that and we managed to put in two or three real sterling efforts that probably looked really good from a distance.
Not too long after the dunking we reached the Pont d’Arc, and they’ve supplemented the natural slip-off slopes thereby adding some beach-worthy sand on one side. On the other side is a big pebbly beach which is pretty easy to get a kayak up to, so that’s where we went. We’d been going a while, so we were probably owed a break and a drink. It allowed me to dry out my phone, and re-pack the stuff buckets so that all the wet stuff was in one, and all the dry stuff in the other.
After 15 minutes or so parked up, during which the girls both decided to swim in the river under the arch, we jumped back onto the kayaks to finish our stint. The river below the arch is much easier to paddle than above it – mainly flat, smooth flowing, and lacking in rapids, so Ami and me shot off into the distance and periodically stopped for a breather while Kas and Izzy caught up.
We landed at our destination at about 1:50, having taken 2 hours and 20 minutes to make our way down the 8km of paddling. When we got to the end there wasn’t really a beach for chilling at, and nor were there any useful facilities like toilets or a cafe, so as we were all wet and the girls fancied finishing the afternoon in the pool rather than the river, we decided just to jump on the 2pm bus home.
As we were in the period of the year where Groundspeak offers incentives to new cachers in the form of pictorial souvenirs, I was kind of obliged to go out and find a geocache to keep the required one-week run going. After doing most of the caches in the village the previous day I’d left one traditional on the river bridge just down from our village, and there was also an earthcache there. The traditional was in place and the earthcache was both easy and interesting – it was all about the flooding of the river and the geological and climatic conditions that cause it. Earthcache was placed alongside a bridge over the river, and one of the tasks was to go find the height markers on the bridge pillars that are used to measure floods. While we were there the river was maybe 1m deep under the bridge and the bridge deck was a good 16m clear of the water. In the late 1800’s there was the biggest ever recorded flood at the site. At that time there was a different bridge, and it was higher up than the current one, but the water level came all the way up to the underside of the deck, so the river has risen from 1m depth to about 20m, and because the surrounding land is a flat flood plain, the river had widened from 30m to 900m, which essentially meant that the village we were staying in would have been flooded. Madder than a sack of monkeys. The photos here illustrate just how much of a flood it was.
When I got back to the apartment it was most definitely beer o’clock, so Kas and I retired to the bar and sank a couple of cold ones whilst wondering if it was time to drag the kids out of the pool yet. We called them out at one point for a cool drink and a few crisps.
We’d sort of decided to go to the nice-looking restaurant over the road, so we weren’t hurrying. When we got there though, we discovered Monday was their night off. Having already had a beer or two that meant our options were now rather limited. We tried walking along the main road, where we’d noticed a couple of bars, but they all seemed to be attached to one or other of the camping venues – not really “restaurants” as such. We made it all the way over the river bridge before deciding that we were going to walk all the way into town, but also that we weren’t likely to find a nice restaurant any time soon – Monday seemed generally to be their day off. So we walked all the way back again and camped at pretty much the first place we’d passed. They did pizzas. It turned out that they did quite good pizzas, and they also did beer. So that’s what we had, although I had mine later than everyone else because they forgot to put it in the oven. We weren’t in a rush and it’s not like there was anywhere else we could go, especially given that it was nearly 9pm by the time we arrived there. It was a pleasant enough place to sit for an hour watching the world go by.
Today turned out to be a bit of a “couldn’t be bothered” day. It’s not that we did nothing, it’s just that the things we did didn’t add up to much.
I started (again) with a solo trip to the only boulangerie in the village while everyone else was asleep, or at least in bed. We had a bit of an in-and-out breakfast, with various members of the family coming and going at seemingly random intervals, but eventually we’d all done with it and had progressed into the “getting ready” phase.
The girls wanted a bit of beach action, especially after we’d totally failed to dip our toes in the Mediterranean on Saturday, and whilst kayaking on the previous day we’d passed a man-made beach right underneath the Pont d’Arc. It was the best we were going to get.
The beach in question was serviced by a car park that was, how can I put it, designed for parking rather than driving. Since I swapped the motor I’ve been somewhat more cautious when parking. I’ve been used to sitting high up, having high ground clearance, and having tyres that would quite literally make the Michelin Man look like he needed to go on a crash diet of bacon sandwiches. All of this meant I was quite relaxed about where I was prepared to try to drive that car. It would go over the top of most things. Not so with the new one. Having driven it several thousand miles over the course of the summer I am now thoroughly convinced it’s worth every penny when it comes to cruising, but when it comes to parking in non-urban locations it’s not really at home. It’s lower down, the ground clearance isn’t great, the tyres are like strips of liquorice and the front of the bonnet is in a different time zone to the driver’s seat. All in all, I have rediscovered my liking for long and wide parking spaces on tarmac. The place down by the Pont d’Arc wasn’t like that. From the driver’s seat it looked bumpy and the drop off the tarmac of the road onto the gravel of the car park looked like I’d be hearing the horrible sound of metal on stone. In the event, we got in and out without incident, but this was one of several occasions on the holiday where I wished we’d flown somewhere and rented a car.
Once we’d parked up, Kas took the girls down to the beach while I wandered off for the daily geocache. Well, two, to be honest. It might have been four, but one was evidently not there and for another I went to the lengths of scaling a dodgy path halfway up a cliff into a cave, only to find that I couldn’t find the cache. D’oh!
Down on the beach the girls were chillin’, so I decided to join them for a while. They went swimming, which is something I do my best to avoid, so I played the old “look after the bags” card as a way of craftily avoiding the need to get wet. Anyway, I wasn’t wearing my cozzy.
Back at the car I asked if we could walk around to do a few more geocaches on the condition that we stopped at the cafe we’d have to pass and grab an ice cream. There was a look of displeasure on the kids’ faces until we mentioned the ice cream. I correct myself. There was a look of displeasure on the kids’ faces until we’d actually bought the ice creams. It had been a while since they’d eaten or drunk anything, I guess. The cafe in question was a roadside one close to the arch and next to the entrance to the “other” car park. The other car park wasn’t surfaced any better than the one we were in, and it also included the opportunity to part with some money. Anyway, the caches on this phase were all present and correct apart from the last one, which was another job that involved clambering up a cliff towards a cave. It wasn’t obvious from the hint where the cache should be, so after 5 minutes or so I wrote it off and moved on.
For the evening we went out again into Vallon Pont d’Arc. It was busy. It was market day, and Sunday’s moderate collection of souvenir stalls had been replaced by a full-on tat-fest. Some of the normal shops put stalls outside during the evening, and those ones were generally OK, but they were interspersed with vendors of utter cack. Apparently there’s a market (ha ha) for that kind of thing, so it was busy.
We tried one of the restaurants we’d looked at on Sunday night, but after getting say down we eventually got bored of waiting to receive menus and for someone to clear and clean the table we’d been given. It got so bad that we got up and left without ordering anything. We weren’t impatient. I think the 15 minutes we waited was a reasonable amount of time in which to deliver menus. Anyway, bum to that.
So we walked about 40 yards down the road and went into another place we’d looked at on Sunday. They didn’t have seats outside, which meant going inside to what was a pretty basic looking cafe, however the menu had some things that weren’t pizza and they provided us with menus pretty much as soon as we sat down. By this time it was getting quite late, so we weren’t in the mood for another long wait.
The food proved to be pretty good – I had some grilled prawns and Kas had a salad while the girls had pasta, or pizza, or burgers. I can’t really remember, but if I risk those three I’ve got a 95% chance of being right.
While we were in the restaurant we bounced a few ideas about what to do tomorrow, and the consensus was to go for a look at Avignon because, well, why not.
Kas drove home and by the time we got there, it was well past snooze o’clock.
In the grand scheme of cheesy, touristy things to do on holiday we had yet to achieve the heady heights last year’s trip to Italy. On that trip we ate bolognese in Bologna, we climbed the Leaning Tower of Pisa, we toured central Turin paying homage to The Italian Job, we got fleeced in Venice, we got hot and sweaty in Florence and we went to Lake Como to find the villa used in the shooting of Attack of the Clones. That’s some cheesy stuff…..
The best we’d managed this year was Kas’s epic run over the Col du Tourmalet a week previously, so we needed to address that situation quite urgently.
The best-looking option from where we were staying looked like a trip down to Avignon so we could go sing the song and dance on the bridge.
We started the day, as ever, with Kas going for a run while the rest of us had breakfast. From there, we drove entirely cross-country to get down to Avignon, taking the car’s recommended route south-east through Bagnols-sur-Cèze. It was pleasant if a little slow. It took us an hour or so to get to Avignon and when we parked up it was more or less midday.
Elizabeth the Satnav had taken us to a very large car park by the side of the river. There were plenty of spaces and we seemed to be only a few hundred metres from the first target of the day, which was the old medieval bridge that’s the subject of the song and dance.
Sur le Pont d’Avignon L’on y danse, l’on y danse Sur le Pont d’Avignon L’on y danse tous en rond.
The Pont Saint Bénézet was originally planned to be a massive walkway crossing the entire Rhône, which has a couple of major branches here at Avignon. It’s really a very big river and it occupies a very large valley. One can imagine that back in the day, when river management wasn’t so great, that the entire valley floor would flood fairly regularly, thereby necessitating a bridge which spanned the whole valley. There are similar items throughout Europe, including one famous (locally where I grew up) at Swarkestone on the River Trent. The bridge at Avignon is somewhat bigger. Correction, it was somewhat bigger. It isn’t now. As a strategic crossing point on the Rhône one of its primary purposes was obviously to allow the good denizens of the town to extract a few pennies each for use of the bridge. The history seems to say, however, that as a business enterprise it was a bit of a failure. This was mainly because every time there was a flood, one or more of the bridge piers got washed away, meaning the thing was probably never completed all the way across, and was in a constant state of rebuilding.
Just to completely destroy the romantic image, the song and dance were originally performed beneath the bridge (“sous le pont”) rather than on top of it.
What remains of the bridge now is four arches on the town-side of the river, which is all very convenient because it means you can walk onto the old bridge without having to take a massive hike around to cross the river at any point. There’s a charge to get on the bridge, but it was a relatively modest one by French standards and it was possible to get a multi-buy discount that included the Palace of the Popes too. That was us all booked up for the day, then.
From the car park we walked along the side of the river, stopping for a geocache or two (new department – Vaucluse) and found our way to the bridge. We wandered around a bit before finding the way in – it involved going through the city walls and around the houses a bit. The approach from the city was quite easy, but from the riverside it took a couple of seconds of thought. The bridge itself was heavily populated but not the worst place we’d been. It was at least possible to find breaks in the people-traffic to take a few photos. You can see from the photos that we were also having a cloudy day. Still warm and humid, but cloudy.
After the bridge, we took the short walk through the town centre to the Palace of the Popes, where I wasted an uncomfortable amount of time searching for a geocache in a particularly dirty area before giving up and moving on to use the entrance tickets we’d bought at the bridge. The palace was not quite what we were looking for in terms of entertainment. It’s a very grand building but inside it is basically airless. There’s not a huge amount of enclosed courtyard space that you can get to – the “paid for” zone consists mainly of two walking tours around different floors of the building. The first was quite short but we were getting a bit drained by the heat and lack of ventilation, so decided to see if we could just walk out. You can’t. You have to walk around the whole of the second circuit to get to the exit. We proceeded to do that as fast as our legs would carry us, no doubt drawing disapproving looks from the museum-loving other visitors as we went. Bum to that! We were hot and bothered, and the Palace, impressive though it was, wasn’t helping with the hot-and-botheredness. The girls couldn’t even raise the energy for a half-hearted look around the gift shop.
Once back out in the open air, it was evidently ice cream o’clock, and we stumbled across a very fine vendor of ice creams in a square just down from the Palace. These kept us company as we walked fairly slowly through the town and back to the car. The car was where I’d left it, which is always a bonus.
The drive back home along the same route was pretty uneventful and we got back to the apartment in the late afternoon. The girls fancied a quick dip in the pool, so we let them do that while I figured out the leaving procedure and Kas went over the road to check that the nice-looking restaurant was open in the evening. It was, and she booked us a table.
The restaurant proved to be one of the best of the holiday, and it was very pleasant to sit outside in a garden restaurant surrounded by trees whilst not being bitten to death by insects. We took our time and enjoyed the evening. We were in no rush to get back because the check-out time was quite late, so no particular need to rush home and pack bags. That could all wait until the morning.
We left Vallon Point d’Arc at about 10am after a very leisurely start to the day. Kas ducked out of running as it was a “moving” day and we hadn’t packed the night before. We made one final run down to the bakery to buy fresh pastries and then had a quick breakfast before packing everything up. We’d reached the stage of the holiday where we could segregate dirty clothes into separate suitcases. Having done some washing in Luz Saint Sauveur I think we were at about 50:50 still, so we were able to pack two of the suitcases entirely with dirty stuff and then leave them in the car.
On the way out of Vallon we took the northern road, which goes past the Caverne du Pont d’Arc on its way through Bourg-Saint-Andéol and then Pierrelatte on it’s way to the A7, which runs between Marseille and Lyon. We somehow managed to get lost when we got confused about the nature of a large blue line on the map. It was the river, but it didn’t appear to be so, and this is a confusing bit where the Rhône has two channels and we were expecting only one. So we lost a few minutes driving in the wrong direction and then recovering by driving along some distinctly rural routes.
Once we made it to the motorway we headed off pretty quickly to the north and made a short stop at some services near Montélimar. This allowed me to colour in the department of Drôme by finding the “only cache in the services” as well as grabbing some cold drinks and letting the kids run around in the playground and climb on the rope frame for a while.
From here it was quite a quick drive up to Valence and then it took another hour or so from there to get into Grenoble, our destination for the following three nights. We were all parked up and into our apartment by 2 pm, which was cool. Lunch was on the agenda next, and we took a walk out to the nearby Caserne de Bonne shopping centre to see what we could see. We saw a place that did cold drinks and fries. They did other stuff too, but they weren’t required.
Grenoble might not seem like the most obvious of places to go at the end of a holiday, but a number of things influenced the decision. Firstly, we’d originally planned to go to Divonne-les-Bains, on the other side of Geneva, because there’s a parkrun there, but a few days before we set off we concluded that we were only planning to go there because of the parkrun – no other reason – and it didn’t feel like a good enough excuse to warrant three nights. Secondly, we’d been pretty much out in the countryside for a fortnight and thought it might be good to finish off with a short city break. Thirdly, we’d sort of figured this was about as far away from Calais as we dare risk whilst still be confident of getting there in a single day.
Finally, and probably most importantly for me, it’s a place I had ingrained in my memory from when I was a kid. One of the first trips I took abroad, and certainly the first I took abroad without my parents, was on a school exchange visit. Somehow the school I was at had come to an unlikely arrangement with the Lycée Stendhal whereby about 30 of our pupils visited them for a couple of weeks in the spring, and then a corresponding number of theirs would visit us in the summer term. It was back in the good old days when everybody was apparently trustworthy, so the sleeping arrangements involved each of us staying with a French family who had a child in the Stendhal for the duration. I stayed with a wonderful family who I won’t name. It turns out that the family father was really rather famous within his sphere of work, although we never really discussed it while I was there. Anyway, my adoptive friend was a little younger than me and was their youngest child. At the time I was about 12, maybe 13. I can’t really remember what year it was. Either 1977 or 1978 the first time I went. I know the second time was 1980 and the third was 1982, but can’t remember the year of the first. I might even have been 1979 the first time, but I don’t think it was that late. Past history, anyway.
I still have quite vivid and very fond memories of the three trips I made to Grenoble and also to the five or six-year period I spent exchanging letters with my new friend. A part of that gig was for both of us to practice our language skills, but to be honest I’m not sure how well I did on that front, because the mother of the family spoke pretty much perfect English. Anyway, I remember very distinctly where they lived, I remember the three tall white tower blocks that are still there, and I remember using the téléphérique to go up to the Bastille (more of that tomorrow). The main thing that lodged in my memory, although the mental images had diminished somewhat, was the mountains. Since I last went to Grenoble I’d subsequently been skiing about 20 times and have visited several other fairly mountainous locations, but in my humble opinion, Grenoble gives the starkest contrast between mountainous country and urban living. The mountains are huge, especially on the eastern side where they rise up into the “proper” Alps of the Belledonne massif. I also remembered a pretty good old town centre. Grenoble’s old centre is small but perfectly formed, and it didn’t seem to have changed all that much.
Two things that definitely weren’t there last time I visited the city were the Caserne de Bonne Shopping Centre and geocaches. Kas took the girls for a walk around the former after we’d eaten lunch, while I wandered off to find some of the latter, thereby completing the department of Isère. This proved to be the final new department for the holiday, although far from the last caches of the holiday. We didn’t really have the time to stop in Rhône or Metropolis de Lyon on the final day, or at least we thought we didn’t, but we’d done enough to join up a circle with various departments we’d cached through in 2016 (see Chamonix). That looked good enough for me as far as this holiday was concerned.
Back at the non-caching activities, I met up with the girls again back at the apartment and we decided to find some dinner by just going out for a walk and seeing what came up. We walked down a few relatively disappointingly empty streets before eventually finding the rather excellent Cafe Quai d’Orsay on Rue Condorcet. They didn’t normally do food on a Thursday evening, but they did have a snacks menu, so we thought we’d try. After a brief discussion between the staff, a guy who we assumed was the owner came forward and offered a selection of things that he could do without needing the chef to be there. OK, so I know that sounds like a really dodgy way to do anything, but the verbally-conveyed menu du jour included burgers and chips, which the kids went for, and carpaccio, which Kas and me both went for. It was really rather good, and was accompanied by a couple of equally nice beers. He managed to rustle up a couple of puddings for the girls too, which was even better. Sometimes when you go “random” like this on a holiday it can end up being rather a disappointment, and other times it can be a bit of a surprise.
It hadn’t been a particularly long day but we decided to jack it in fairly early and get to bed anyway. Kas was off running in the morning at some godforsaken hour.
We went for a lazy breakfast at a branch of “Paul” which was right next to our apartment block. We toyed with the idea of going to the place next door until it became apparent that they didn’t actually have much that would constitute breakfast. OK, so we sat down, and then got up two or three times to try to find a menu or look at what they actually sold, and failed. The girls were in various states of grump or of resignation to having to have something they didn’t want or weren’t sure about. It caused me a bit of a sense of humour crisis – we’re at the point where nobody seems happy. Let’s go somewhere else. So we walked into “Paul” next door and were treated to a grand array of sandwiches and pastries all neatly laid out behind the counter and labelled. Being able to point is much better when trying to order food in a language you don’t speak very well. We grabbed a handful of breakfastables and made our way to their outdoor tables – it was a rather warm day again.
After breakfast we headed off for our primary target for the day – a trip up to Grenoble’s Bastille. This is a prominent feature from most of the city centre, because unlike the Parisian Bastille, Grenoble’s is on top of a mountain. I guess the prison builders in Paris didn’t have the option to put theirs on a mountain, but you get the point.
The foot of the mountain was about 1.5km away from where we were staying, and involved a leisurely walk through the old town centre. This gave us the opportunity for a bit of sightseeing and a couple of geocaches before we eventually found our way to the bottom station of the Téléphérique that leads up to the Bastille. There was another geocache at the bottom station, which I was obviously duty-bound to look for.
The ride up in the bubbles was like sitting in a greenhouse on a sunny day for 10 minutes – it was a bit warm. We got our own back in some small way by completing a virtual geocache that requires you to photograph your thumbs, with a ghost drawn on them, whilst rattling over the one and only supporting pylon on the cable-car. In your face, sunshine ! You’re not going to stop us from acting like children…
At the top the view is fantastic. It was a little cloudy the day we were there, so the tops of the Belledonne massif were a bit hidden from view, but the view over the city towards the south and the view west towards the Vercors was excellent. I loved this place the first time I went up there, maybe 40 years previously, and I loved it again. The fortress has been improved somewhat by the addition of cafes, a couple of new buildings that house little museums, and some excellent information boards which mainly relate to the geological features of the mountains that you can’t really appreciate from the valley floor. Several of these information boards had earthcaches attached to them, so that kept me occupied for a little while. A little too long though, so it seemed. The heat was taking its toll, even up here and somehow Kas had managed to trip up on something and make herself bleed. We beat a tactical retreat from the tops of the buildings and retired to a made shaded bit to collect our thoughts and formulate a plan of action. Our plans generally end up being more acceptable to the majority of the family if they are formulated with the assistance of ice-cream, so that’s how we did it.
The plan involved walking down again rather than catching the bubbles. Downhill is easier than uphill, and there are multiple routes down the mountain which pass through different types of scenery on a theme of “wooded hillside with bastion walls” – we picked the route to the east side, which had a greater quantity of geocaches on the way down. It was slightly further to walk downhill, but it drops you off in a better place. The walk down was entertaining, although the kids were grumpy. It turned out that they were grumpy because the caches were all earthcaches, with nothing to actually find. As soon as we reached ones that had actual boxes to find then the mood picked up quite a lot. Ami enjoyed scrambling up a bank and through some trees to fetch one, and was then doubly pleased when she pulled out one cache that I’d been staring at for a couple of minutes without recognising it.
Once at the bottom we were about ready for a break again, so we stumbled into a nearby bar and had a beer whilst waiting for what turned out to be some beautifully hand-cooked chips. I think it was “La Renaissance” on Place aux Herbes – a pleasant little square in the old town.
From here, the ladies of the house decided they wanted to spend the rest of their afternoon snoozing and shopping, so they wandered off in the general direction of home while I went off for a few more geocaches. For this phase I stayed down in the city centre, checking off a selection of real and virtual caches. I got the routing wrong and walked backwards and forwards quite a lot, but made a pretty decent sweep, including finding one outside the famous Grenoble Helicoidal Garage that we’d failed at earlier in the day due to the presence of some geezers sitting at a nearby table. When I went back, the table was clear, but it turned out the cache wasn’t there anyway. The owner of the bar that owned the cafe table came out to direct me a little further along the street. Once I got there I found the cache immediately, so I decided to celebrate and think him by popping into his cafe to buy a drink.
Subsequent walking took me to a selection of the best bits of Grenoble, including the old Roman walls, the Lycée Stendhal and Place Verdun. It was like a bit of a throwback to 40 years previously – which was the last time I’d walked around central Grenoble. Memories now rebooted and updated to the modern era. I toyed with the idea of walking round to Parc Paul Mistral too, but eventually decided that it was time for a break rather than time for another hour and a half of caching.
We went for dinner fairly early to a pizza place in Caserne de Bonne and, because we were back fairly early, I was able to sit up for a while trying to collate notes from the new personal best I’d set for the number of earthcaches found on the same day. I didn’t finish them though.
Relatively early to bed, because Kas was going to run back to the Bastille in the morning, so she wanted to be in the snoozy zone fairly early.
We started our day out fairly late on this day. Kas decided that going up to the Bastille on the téléphérique the previous day wasn’t strenuous enough, so in the morning she decided to run up it as part of a long morning run. While she was doing that, the girls and me returned to the branch of Paul in Caserne de Bonne for some breakfast. Now we knew the form it was a better experience than the previous morning. Kas joined us as we were finishing, having done her run and been for a shower.
While we were there, I took the opportunity to go and find a geocache in the gardens outside Caserne de Bonne that I’d been unable to find previously due to it being in a very busy spot. Even this morning there was a guy sitting right on top of where I thought it was – under the end of a bridge. I tried looking from the other side of the bridge and managed to establish the location, but I couldn’t reach it from where I was. The guy seemed in no hurry to move so I decided to go ask him ( or tell him ) what I was doing so he didn’t get spooked by my presence. He didn’t respond. He didn’t seem bothered, to be honest, so I went for it and did the doings. Throughout the whole process he didn’t so much as look. After leaving the site I figured this lack of communication a symptom of a state of being that later turned him into “shouty bloke”, so I ended up thinking it wasn’t such a great idea to go so close to someone who obviously wasn’t entirely there.
By the time we were all done it was approaching midday. We hadn’t really spent much time thinking about this day beforehand, but the previous day had decided we’d go and try the castle down at Vizille. We’d thought a little about going up into the “proper” mountains but I think by the time we got here we’d done our share of long days in the car, and as a result, the enthusiasm for spending a couple of hours each way driving to the mountains was pretty much missing. Vizille promised to be no more than half an hour away. It also had the advantage of being somewhere I hadn’t visited previously on three visits to the city forty years previously, so I had no idea what to expect.
It was easy to park and there was a cache in the back of the car park that I managed to squeeze in while one of the kids was farting about with footwear. The chateau is quite impressive – the biggest in the Dauphiné, apparently, and it’s been kept (or restored) in good condition. A great dollop of irony was introduced in 1984 when a wing of the Chateau was redeveloped as a Museum to the French Revolution, after the castle became government property and was donated to the Community Council of Isère in 1973. The castle has extensive gardens and that’s where we focussed our attention. There are false canals (part of an early water-powered scheme for the town and castle), a parterre and lots of lawns. There was a kids’ playground but Ami wasn’t bothered and Izzy gave up after a few minutes because the playpark was full of children. I guess we probably spend an hour and a half walking around before deciding to retire for an ice-cream. It was a bit cloudy but still very warm and humid.
To get ice-creams we walked out of the front gate of the castle into the town. We found a place that sold granités – we developed a taste for these in Italy on last year’s holidays but it was the first time our eye had been drawn to one in France.
After sitting outside for a bit we decided we’d had enough for the day, so we drove back to the apartment and camped down for a while. I think we were starting to get the “going home” feeling.
We went out for dinner at about 6 pm and found a boutique burger joint – nicer than McDonald’s but not really a restaurant as such. The burgers were good. From here we moved next door and had a beer while the kids ran around and got wet in a fountain in the street.
We walked back home again and got most of the packing done. We had an early start in the morning and didn’t want to be late to bed and didn’t want to drink much. According to Google, we’d got 870km to drive just to get to Calais and we needed to be there by about 6 pm, so we’d planned an early start. Google reckoned we should allow 12 hours. We were in bed by 9:30pm.
Mr Google advised that we had a very long way to go. We were in the car by 6am because we supposedly had at least 9 hours of actual driving to do and needed to cover 870km just to get to Calais, so with the need to make stops we back-calculated that 12 hours would be our minimum journey time. The reality proved somewhat different, but fundamentally we spent all day travelling.
Getting out of Grenoble at 6am on a Sunday morning was very easy and there was pretty much nothing on the road. I’d planned not to make stops for caches during the day as timings looked tight and I didn’t want geocaching to be the reason for any failure. As a result we proceeded directly through Rhône and Metropolis de Lyon without stopping for a cache, and we found ourselves all the way up at the Saint Ambreuil services near Chalon-sur-Saône at 8am, having already covered 225 of the 870km. That sounded like time for breakfast, so we gave ourselves a decent break, filled the car up with fuel, and had something to eat and drink.
Kas took over the driving here and drove a massively long but very quick stint which got us all the way to Sommesous in another 2 ½ hours. It was only 11:30am and we’d already done nearly ⅔ of the distance.
We didn’t really feel like having a proper meal, so we found a cache and grabbed some thoroughly unhealthy sweet snacks in the garage, which ate mainly whilst sitting outside, and then we got back into the car for another stint. By this time we’d realised we were going to be very early, but decided we might as well get to Calais as soon as we could. There was always the option of getting an earlier train, or so we thought.
We’d got another 350km to go before Calais, which we assumed would be another 3 hours or so. Even with another impromptu toilet stop, we made it to the terminal at 3pm, so three full hours less than Google suggested.
It was at this point that the day started to go downhill at a rapid rate. We weren’t getting an earlier train. Why not ? Because the terminal was so busy that they wouldn’t even let you drive up to the check-in gate unless you were within two hours of your scheduled departure time. So we got directed off site, around the houses a bit, and onto a massive holding area where we were segregated out in approximately one-hour lots.
We sat there for 90 minutes before being allowed through, and then spent another hour getting checked in and passing through the two passport controls. At least we were on the train I’d booked (or so we thought, again).
The terminal building was heaving, as ever. We queued up to grab some pizzas for dinner and then killed a further 20 minutes not buying anything in the duty-free shop before deciding to go sit in the car. 20 minutes after getting in the car we agreed we might be able to blag our way into the holding pen (because they were calling the train two in front of us), so we trundled round and got separated off into a lane for our allotted train. And that’s where we stayed for another 90 minutes. The trains were all running late, because I think they fill them up to the gunwales rather than sending them off on time. The problem on a night like this is that there were so many people who had flexiplus tickets that cars were essentially being bounced off their allotted trains. Anyway, whatever the reason, we eventually got away about an hour after we were supposed to.
All of this put us back into the UK somewhat after 8pm, and we’d realised that we weren’t going to be getting home in time for the Co-Op still to be open. Also, I’d been in the driver’s seat since we left Sommesous, so it was time for a driver change. We stopped at the first lot of services out of the tunnel, having taken a slightly rural route to get there when I missed the mane as we entered the motorway. We grabbed a few snacks and drinks to eat at home and then set off again.
The motorways home were busy, like they always are, and we eventually made it home at around 10:30pm, having driven 1,080km (or 670 miles) over the course of the day. I thought it took a long time to get home from Aberdeen when I’d done it three weeks previously. We’d been travelling for 18 hours and had been out of bed for 19. After a quick snack, Kas and me went straight to bed because we’d both got work in the morning.