Blog 1.13: Days Six and Seven

27th and 28th September 2022: Blimey. A week in already? Where's it going?

Tuesday morning saw us walking into Confolens. It's not far from the Aire, so no chore. However, it soon became very obvious that Rob was absolutely correct when he told us that the town was pretty much shut down from Sunday to Tuesday inclusive. We did manage to find one shop open, and purchased some more Comtè to replenish stocks (and some very iffy chocolate about which the less said the better), and then called in for coffee at the one and only open restaurant.

As it was by now lunchtime (any time is lunchtime nest ce pa's?) the plat de jour was a temptation, but we demurred in favour of a yomp up the valley-side to Lidl, in search of pain. And it was a pain too. Not just the kilometre-long uphill tab though. Oh no. Madame de la Direction pointed us over the river to where 'we passed it' the previous day on the bikes. It's a bit of a hike to be fair, with a turn and a good few steps to the bridge, and it's a wiiide River Vienne at Confolens, trust me. So by the time we'd crossed said pont, and Madame dlD had decided that Lidl was indeed on the side that we'd started from after all, vague mutterings of mutiny were to be heard (only in my head though. I'm not that brave).

Anyway, we got there in the end, passing a very odd looking Citroën on the way, collected baguette, croissants, and other fripperies and headed back 'home' for a late lunch.

I felt I'd earned it. And my can of alcohol-free beer to boot.

Ooh, look how many steps we did according to my Fitbit, she says. Grrr.

That was the day done to be honest, apart from a shower in the facilities block, which was very welcome, and dinner, and some You Tube, it was a reasonably early night in readiness for the morning's early start and the push onwards towards Carcassonne.

Hah. Wednesday morning arrived, late, and wet. And supplied no mojo whatsoever. Dawdling through the chores is pretty normal, and today was no different as it turned out. Breakfast - those croissants - emptying of grey, and black, waste and garbage, and a quick goodbye to Gandalf.

Oh, didn't I mention Gandalf?

Gandalf is a bit of a character (and no, I couldn't catch his real name. It was long and very furrin-sounding, so Gandalf will have to do).

He'd pulled into the pitch next to us the previous afternoon, and immediately asked us if we were from Ukraine (it's that bloody daft UK sticker wot does it. What was wrong with the GB initials, precisely?). After disabusing him of his misconception, he immediately regaled me with tales of visits to Stonhenge, Glastonbury, and, er a 'big village with a beautiful church'. Turned out it was Salisbury...

Gandalf is very heavily into 'energies' and sacred sites, dolmens and so on, as it turned out.

Gandalf is actually Swiss and lives in sight of Lake Thun near Interlaken, and proudly showed me photos of the place, which looks wonderful, but spends much of his time touring Europe in his self-converted Benz van (which he bought 43 years ago with 23km on the clock, sometimes with some of his several children. I think the van has now been to the moon and back several times).

Nice guy. Really nice.

Anyway, we finally cracked on, and won an early skirmish with Kate-the-Satnav, who wanted to show us the daftest way possible to get to B from A (via Z, G, and W). I detest Satnavs, but I'm not really sure whether I detest the Google variety or the Pioneer/TomTom one the most. Both are, er, entertaining.

We headed on a generally East-veering-South tack towards the sprawl of Limoges, which, thankfully, has a fair approximation of an outer ring road, so permitting passage without too many horrors. On the way there, we passed within a short distance of Oradour-sur-Glane, and had the weather, by now very 'vertical' been more kind, I would have made that short detour to view that desecrated place, and reflect awhile on man's disregard for man. If you do not, by some chance, know what happened here on that awful day in 1944, I suggest you might wish to search the name out on the Internet and fill in that gap.

As we passed the turn for the village I offered up, not a prayer, but my thoughts and hopelessly useless wishes for peace for those terrified, tormented souls.

The rain continued relentlessly as we struck south from Limoges, and as we climbed into the Parc Naturel Regional Millevaches en Limousin the mists rose eerily from the heavily-forested hills. Beautiful in its own way as it was, I could only wish for more suitable weather for viewing this delightful region. Ah well, another time maybe.

Eventually we crossed the Dordogne river at Bort-les-Orgues, calling in for a few treats at Carrefour to reward ourselves after what couldn't really be described as the best of days for travelling.

Tomorrow's another day though, and hopefully we'll 'kick arse' early in the morning after our night at the fromagerie (yes, another France Passion aire). I have this vague notion of making it to Carcassonne by the end of the afternoon...

Mileage so far: 717