….. and so the journey was planned. We visited the Brocante Market in Beziers and then headed for our first stop: Perigeux . The Gilets Jaunes seem to have disappeared but the red flags have taken their place and thronged the streets as we tried to navigate our way to our hotel.
Having checked in, we set off to explore this city famed for the Black Truffle. As I’ve never tasted a truffle of any hue (save the chocolate kind), I was disappointed to find they were not in season, but we managed to find some preserved ones and some oil, which unselfishly we took as gifts to our daughter. So they are still unknown to me.
We checked into our hotel, set off to explore and fell upon a most agreeable hostelry for some liquid refreshment. “The Silver Owl” is run by two very hospitable and engaging fellows, Hank and Chris, with whom we spent a happy half hour before setting off to eat in a restaurant they had recommended and booked for us. A great gastronomic experience awaited us. Thank you chaps!
On the morrow we enjoyed acquainting ourselve with the city, which was “en fête” and looking very jolly.
After visiting the Cathedral and coffee and croissanting we decided to do something not beginning with “c” and jumped aboard Mistress R. to burn a few miles towards our next destination. As we were passing within a gnat’s burp of La Rochelle, Someone ( who shall be nameless but sometimes has red hair), said we should visit one of the isles off the coast. Eschewing the more popular Isle de Rey in favour of St. Pierre d’Olerons, as someone had told someone it was just like Whitstable. Hah. Think Sheppey! Admittedly the rain was falling like a million knitting needles and we had to be tied together to prevent the wind scooping us up and placing us in the Outer Hebrides, but even so…
Whilst on the subject of moisture, blogees, I have noticed that when the Whitstable Quality Controllers are around, there’s some chap following us, calling out, “Two by Two, get your seat on Noah’s Ark?”
As alcoholics to the bottle, we are drawn to the shelter of the one cafe open on the island and watch a couple walking hurriedly towards a big old boat and a bewhiskered old man.
These few people seemed to be the only inhabitants. The island was like a deserted fairground, or Brigadoon during the in-between years. However the whole visit rendered us hysterical and we drove away holding our stomachs against laughter pain.
Gazzie “floored it” to get to our next stop at Poitiers. Oh favourite town {favourite actor too, Sidney}. I don’t really know why we all particularly loved it. It was small enough to be coped with in one day and everywhere our eyes alighted, they were delighted. Our arrival had not been auspicious. Bloody Booking dot con had omitted to inform us that our card had not worked. Arriving at our hotel at 7 pm, we were told they had no room for us. Our jolly-ness quickly evaporated, as we sat wringing our hands as the very kind hotel receptionist searched for alternative accommodation. After half an hour she smiled and directed us to a matchbox in the centre of the city. Great location, slightly cramped accommodation. No problem when this is on the doorstop:
My dream job:
Chartres, famous for its cathedral, was our next stop. I thought a lot about religious architecture on this journey – there was a lot of it and of unrivalled splendour . Whatever our religious affiliation, some of these edifices stand alone as works of art. I tried not to think of the human sacrifice that raised them into glory and just admired the work of artist and artisan.
On the way to Chartres we drove through the Loire Valley, justifiably known for its natural and architectural glory. Along the way we stopped for a picnic off the motorway. I’m sure there was an idyllic setting nearby, but we didn’t find it. We had neither cutlery nor bottle opener but have found unknown uses for a credit card such as cutting cheese and spreading butter. Handy, as it’s obviously no good for booking hotels.
Hardly had we set off than we were screeching to a halt as we had seen the sign for a Vouvray Wine Domaine. We spent a very happy hour there, degusting and choosing wines. Our host was a doppelgänger for the Reverend Richard Cole and he kept us in fits of laughter with his amusing tales of his vineyard.
B.B.con struck again. Our appartotel was very far apart from any hotel. We drove for five miles to pick up the key to a tobacco-infused apartment of shabby furniture, dirty crockery and broken kettle. We made haste to get out and see the town, and enjoyed a very French Indian meal before seeking out the advertised illumined buildings, and we were not disappointed:
Even we got illuminated!
In the light of day the cathedral was still as breathtaking inside and out.
From the sublime to the not quite ridiculous, on the way out of Chartres we visited Maison Picassiette, an ordinary house in an ordinary street, except that the owner was obsessed with mosaics and had mosaicced everything; the cooking range, the sewing machine, the garden and possibly his wife also:
Can you have too much beauty? This day was destined to deliver beauty overload, for as we left this amazing house, before we too were covered in bits of broken crockery, we set out, brave voyagers, for Giverny, home of the late M. Monet, who painted water lilies for the last thirty years of his life. Fortunately he did some other stuff, some of which can be seen at the house. He managed to also do a bit of gardening and some jolly adventurous home decorating.
I could have lived in that house, but dead-heading in the garden might have defeated me. It was here, dearest bloggers, that young Marilyn, who likes a dabble herself, was told that she could not draw in a garden dedicated to and honed by one of the greatest painters of all time! Life is a paradox at times and hence the title of the blog.
With hearts and souls overflowing. we got quietly into dear old Mistress R. Soul and commanded her to transport us to Le Touquet, then realised that she needed some help in the form of a driver. We gently pressed her accelerator and she moved majestically and gently forward and delivered us safely to our hotel. We ate once again at our favourite restaurant, Cafe des Arts, and slept soundly, our dreams full of colour and sound, of places and people. We breakfasted on our last 3 Cs and prepared for the final leg to Le Shuttle and England.
After a wonderful week Gaz and I made a rather quieter journey back, staying overnight in Bourges on the way. On the journey we contemplated what we were going to do next, after we had learned that the villa, that had taken three months negotiation and constant assurance from the owner, had been withdrawn. Sometimes we feel like children still, taking our first steps into an unknown future. Not tentatively, but headlong, first one step, then another, hardly looking where we place our steps. Recent events have made us determined to try to live life to the full whilst we can,. What we do feel is, like that young child, each step will be exciting. And the next. And the next.
Wanna come?
Wrinkleys Gap Year 