The day was mostly grey but seemed to be dry so we decided to go for a decent bike ride of about 20 miles to visit Castelnaud and for more testing of the saddle/backside combo. The route started with the more difficult uphill leg before turning right for a gentle descent down the valley of the river Céou following it until it flowed into the Dordogne at Castelnaud. Being perverse,the weather decided to spit at us just after we had left Daglan, but it didn’t come to anything and, after sheltering under a tree for 5 minutes waiting for very little, we continued down the valley before reaching the Dordogne overlooked by the château at Castelnaud. (We couldn’t resist a picture for Monsieur Blasdale of a little restaurant called "Petit Paris" in Daglan.)

Castelnaud has a pleasant square which was still pleasant even though filled with a group of French children – they were very small and very well behaved. The main attraction was a boulanger substitute (called a dépôt de pain) from which I bought a baguette, and a boucherie which provided some pâté de campagne à la maison (home made) to go with it. With lunch sorted, we cycled back along the Dordogne, looking very French with a baguette swinging from my handlebars, to Cénac before puffing and panting once more up the hill back to our campsite.

Our timing was perfect; we had been back a mere five minutes when it started raining so lunch was yet again an internal affair. Afterwards, we went into Sarlat-la-Canéda for good ol’ McDonalds, some provisions to tide us over the coming weekend, and a newspaper. McWiFi was much easier to use inside than in the car park and Carol got an ice cream into the bargain while I supped an acceptable-though-not-scintillating espresso.

Returning with our booty and newspaper, it was decision time: we’d been here almost a week, put up with three days stuck inside the van followed by three days of acceptable but not good weather and were wondering what to do next. The weather maps in Aujourd’hui showed continuing unsettled weather in the south, indeed, over most of France, but things looked better over on the west coast for the coming four to five days. So, we eventually kicked ourselves into the counter-intuitive decision to go west and slightly north tomorrow. It’s very difficult to break the instinct to travel south.

This might also give us the chance to meet friends and former colleagues, Mike and Linda Eaton, who have a house in the Marais de Poitevin at Arçais. They are apparently about to arrive for a week or so. The marais, a canal-drained marsh area inland from La Rochelle, is one of our favourite stops.

The evening brightened up and became sunny but a fresh wind was blowing and, though we had a drink outside, we still didn’t want to eat outside. We did manage to get the sun canopy down without sailing off with the hot-air balloons, though. 🙂

Fingers crossed for the move.

Being one of the fortified bastide towns, Domme stands high on a bluff overlooking the Dordogne. Our campsite is halfway up a similar hill. On a previous trip we had been very French and cycled up the long drag to Domme. (A true Frenchman really isn’t cycling unless going uphill.) Having done it once, we weren’t relishing a repeat performance but were unenthusiastic about driving the mere three miles. Enter our friendly Dutch neighbours armed with a detailed walking map of the area. It showed a back route linking our hill with the Domme hill without descending all the way into the intervening valley. Bravo!

Today was market day so off we set and a very pleasant route it turned out to be, too. Naturally, there was some up and down involved and we cycled triumphantly through the 13th century gate into Domme before dismounting for the very steep streets within the town walls. Both the town and the market exist for tourism now but it is well worth a look, nonetheless. There were yet more pyramid orchids at the belvedere overlooking the Dordogne and, today’s first ornithological spot, some sand martins whirling about nesting in the cliffs.

Had there been any asparagus on the market we would have bought some to grill for lunch but, alas, asparagus was there none. Both the market and permanent shops sell a lot of the Perigord specialities associated with raising ducks and geese for the fois gras, things like confit de canard (preserved duck legs), confit de gesiers (preserved gizzards) and bottled cassoulet au graisse d’oie (haricot beans and meat flavoured with goose fat); all delicious and all fattening. We resisted buying anything but a baguette for lunch.

Swallows were whirling around above the central square, in the middle of which stands an old wooden-framed hall which I took to be the old market hall. The swallows were flying in and out of the old hall between the supporting timbers. Sitting atop some of the beams were their mud nests with small swallow heads peering out waiting to be fed – painfully cute.

A very strange morning greeted us – blue sky. There was a very misty lining down below us in the valley but we were in sun. This unusual meteorological behaviour continued. The mist burnt off and a few clouds rolled in but we appeared to be in for a rare treat, a dry day.

In the hope that I would eventually need it, yesterday I had lashed out on a new saddle to replace the one on my bicycle, one that was intact and should not soak up rain like a sponge only to squirt it back down the inside of my thighs when I clambered aboard. After a swift shopping trip to replenish vital wine and food stocks, I fitted it, and very splendid it looked, too.

We were eager to get out having been cooped up for the last three days. However, before that, we considered a new pitch for Billy, rejected it (too small), and opted to reposition him to get a better view on the pitch he currently occupied. We started manhandling Billy, Carol gamely following my instructions. Shortly, having observed our efforts, another English couple came over to lend additional muscle. We got the van where we wanted it but no amount of muscle was going to shove it up the levelling ramp. Yet another English couple joined in but it was definitely a car job. I hooked up and finally, success; having roped half the campsite in to our crazy repositioning scheme, we were very happy with Billy’s new outlook.

We’d used up our morning (and everyone else’s) messing with Billy’s aspect but now were able to sit down to lunch en plein air, a rare treat indeed, though not so rare as dinner outside, or even barbecuing, both of which have yet to happen. Then it was off on the bikes for a badly needed excursion and to try out the compatibility of the new saddle with the old backside. We went down through Cénac, crossed the bridge over the Dordogne, turned left and cycled along the river to visit the very pleasant tourist traps of La Roque-Gageac and Beynac, both very picturesque villages on the north bank of the Dordogne. We soon discovered that the Dordogne was in such flood that all navigation had been banned. The several businesses that run river trips or hire canoes for tourists must be hurting because of the inclement weather. I, on the other hand, was not hurting because my new saddle felt much better than the old one; I should have replaced it earlier.

There’s an absolute killer of a hill up to our campsite but we both managed to cycle up it on our return. Sitting down sipping the last well-earned beer, a bird flew through the campsite and alighted on the branch of a nearby tree. I’d glimpsed what looked like pink, white and black colouration, and assumed it was a jay. Oddly, I had binoculars to hand, having just been identifying a smaller bird as a female black redstart, and was thrilled to see that it was not a jay but one of nature’s oddest avian creations, a hoopoe. It wasn’t obliging enough to hang around for a portrait so you’ll have to consult the reference books to see what this oddity looks like. Good grief, I’ve turned into a twitcher! 😉

Half way through cooking dinner, we were once again attacked by a small swarm of hot air balloons. No bizarre hot air fruit or poultry, this time, but one did have a kingfisher emblazoned upon it.

First blood to McDonalds – ours! Yesterday afternoon, we tromped up into Sarlat-la-Canéda and found the advertised McDonalds easily. (It was advertised in Cénac.) Parking as close as we could but avoiding going in to buy a tea (they can’t make tea in France), Carol fired up the lap top which soon found no fewer than four wireless networks, three protected and good ol’ McDonalds open to the world.

We connected. Signal strength didn’t seem too bad but the speed was poor and our connection was dropped repeatedly, usually half way through publishing. After reconnecting three times or so, we finally got the last three posts published (June 1st thru 3rd). We struggled valiantly against further droppings to read email and correct WLW’s screwed up photograph links from "A Hole in the Sky" – the Chambord château. The new version appeared to be correct, but don’t tell me if it isn’t – publishing is hard enough. McWiFi worked eventually but, this time, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Maybe the French tea would have been less frustrating. Still, we do appreciate McDonalds efforts, don’t we?

I may have had some support success from Microsoft, too. Before we left I told them that their Windows Live Writer product kept changing the publish date on saved off-line posts to the current date. It isn’t doing it now and I have a satisfaction survey in my email (too painful for wireless) so maybe they listened and fixed it. Just the odd broken photo links left, then? Just occasionally, it decides to stick two <img> tags within the same <a> tag. Very odd.

Carol found what appears to be a fourth orchid lurking about the campsite. Unfortunately, there’s nothing resembling this one in our book so it may be one that doesn’t occur in the UK and we haven’t been able to identify it. Just to complete the collection, it is pictured left.

We’ve also just had a couple of sightings of golden orioles, both male and female. We’d heard their wonderfully flutey whistle once or twice on the rare occasions when rain hasn’t been beating violently on the caravan roof. However, they are very secretive birds and usually stay well hidden in thick foliage. It’s a real treat to see such a spectacular bird. Once seen, never forgotten.

This evening’s thunderstorm dealt us a glancing blow and wandered off into the distance whereupon George (you-know-whose grill) came out ready for our duck breast from Cénac market. It seemed that the thunder had merely made way for the evening’s cloudburst, though, since, about 10 minutes later, the skies blackened and we were soon being deluged again.

This is the Périgord region centre of the fois gras industry. The by products, dead ducks and geese, are the best anywhere. Our duck breast was superb, especially accompanied by some Waldorf salad à la maison made using the walnuts presented to us by the friendly campsite owner at Huisseau-sur-Cosson.

A second night within occasional sight of Domme passed quietly. Consciousness returned, encouraged by a dawn chorus, at about 7:00 AM. The rain returned, drowning out the dawn chorus, at about 7:40 AM. So much for yesterday’s Aujourd’hui.

Waterproofs and umbrellas at the ready, we popped into Cénac, the local small town, to visit their market and get some breakfast. Breakfast called for something slightly indulgent to cheer us up. Unlike the weather, a couple of pain au raisin did not let us down; they were superb. From the market, we picked up some asparagus to grill for lunch and a duck breast for dinner, too.

A new Aujourd’hui showed that good ol’ Météo France had changed its mind about today’s forecast. Now, our little umbrella (black, this time, for more contrast against the light ground) was wedged firmly between a variety of bad news: couvert (solid grey yuk), bruines ou pluies (drizzle or rain) and orages (storms). Fine choice! Actually, we’d happily have taken the couvert, given the chance. Anything that didn’t involve rain. Regrettably, the reality seemed to be more a mixture of bruines ou pluies.

This is getting tiresome, now. Last year we had the most "unsettled" weather that we’d ever had in France in the 25 years that we’ve been coming. It wasn’t so bad, however, that it kept us inside for days. This year has got it capped. "Unsettled" is a strange term to apply to bad weather. This was very settled – into almost constant rain. I have never seen weather anything like this in France.

On a lighter note, Carol was wandering around the more wooded part of the campsite and discovered an absolute treasure trove of orchids. We are familiar with the pyramid orchid which grows at home on the Cotswolds. Here, we have a couple of beauties which, according to our books, do grow in England but which we have never seen. There were one or two examples of the bee orchid, a relatively small but perfectly formed individual bloom orchid. There were also many large spikes of the bizarrely shaped lizard orchid.

Our first night within occasional sight of Domme (when not obscured by murk)  passed without disturbance; no drumming on the roof. Consciousness returned gradually at about 7:30 AM. The rain returned gradually at about 7:45 AM. Good Lord, what an uncanny sense of timing. Had it been lurking around just waiting for us to wake up?

A friendly Dutch man in a pitch close by (yes, there are other idiots here besides us) was passing as I was outside during a rare and brief intermission. He said that we shouldn’t have brought the bad weather with us. Pointing at some seriously muddy puddles, I remarked that it looked as if there had been several days of rain before we arrived. "It’s been terrible," he confessed, "we’ve had little else for the 5 days that we’ve been here".

We needed supplies so eventually I gave up waiting for another intermission, stripped and donned my swimming trunks (old boy scout camping trick to keep clothing dry in adverse weather). Braving the elements and caring little for the sensibilities of any neighbours, I went to remove two sopping wet bicycles from the roof of one sopping wet car. These could then be stored in the shelter of the sopping wet sun-canopy attached to our sopping wet caravan while we visited the local shops. Should the weather ever allow me to mount my bicycle again, the rain soaked up by my in-need-of-replacement sopping wet saddle will be squeezed out, issue forth, and run down the inside of both legs. Most enjoyable – not!

Today’s copy of the Aujourd’hui newspaper, suggests that it may stop raining tomorrow, perhaps eventually giving the sun a chance to peek through the still persistent clouds. (I’ll believe it when I see it.) It may not be great but at this point we’ll take anything resembling dry that we can get. On the right is today’s weather forecast, just to help with the French education. The symbols are pretty self-explanatory. I added the white umbrella to show which humongous great cloud we are under. Oh well, this was predicted.

Another Brit couple turned up with a moderately obscene motor van (twin rear axle, but not nearly as obscene as the large Winnebago jobs). They’d come up from Carcassone, the number one "must see" place in France, in my opinion, and report that the weather there has been the same. They are "full timers"; having sold their house, they now live in the motor home. That saves a whole bunch of council tax. They’d given up trying to get onto a pitch ‘cos the weight of the vehicle was just churning up the mud.

5:15 PM update: the drumming on Billy’s roof has ceased and a strange diffuse glow has emerged.

6:00 PM update: time for a pastis!

6:15 PM update: two locals have just wandered by collecting escargots. The rain brings them out. 🙂

We had decided to tear up the vestigial roots that we were forming at our cozy little spot overlooking the cornfield in Huisseau-sur-Cosson before they became too established. We were coming to the end of our packing session ready for a 9:00 AM departure when the campsite owner turned up – he seems to like to help his guests hitch up – and presented us with a net of walnuts from his trees. What a pleasant gesture.

Our plan, such as it was, was to head for another old haunt beneath Domme near Sarlat-la-Canéda on the Dordogne for a few days before, perhaps, checking out pastures new at Figeac. The forecast for the coming couple of days was pants so it made some sort of sense to use at least one of those days travelling.

We headed south on N roads to Châteauroux before picking up the largely blissfully free A20 autoroute south to Brive. The skies were generally grey but with an occasional brighter interlude. This was going to be a journey of about 250 miles so our tank of diesel should be enough. However, just to be sure and to give a little more flexibility, this being a Sunday again with most filling stations closed, we called in to the first non-Total service area on the A20 to fill up. (Explanation: All fuel prices are, of course, utterly outrageous but the Total stations are particularly excruciating. They have the gall – or should that be Gaul 🙂 – to charge about 10 cents more than other oil companies, and their off autoroute prices exceed those on the autoroutes, completely opposite to normal practice. Why they are doing any business at all, I cannot imagine. But I digress …)

The other reason we were interested in the service areas was for good ol’ wi-fi access. We’d seen one advertising wi-fi on a previous trip. Naturally, there was no sign of any such service where we chose to fill up. Onward; at least the bank account was lighter, if not the skies. 🙂 There seemed to be a significantly brighter set of skies over to the west. "That’s La Rochelle", said Carol. It is known to have something of a microclimate and be the second sunniest part of France. "Tempting", I said, "but having made a plan, let’s stick to it."

Carol remembered a relatively new service area, the Port-de-Corrèze, a little way before we’d be climbing off to avoid a péage (toll) section. As it was newish, maybe it would also be modernish. Alas, computer in shoulder bag, we could see no sign proclaiming the existence of any wi-fi. Having lugged the lap top from the car, though, I sat down and fired it up, just out of curiosity, and lo, wireless networks found. There were two so we picked the most likely looking candidate and were in with no fuss at all.

A bustling service area wasn’t the easiest environment in which to work but, not only did we manage to publish our three outstanding posts and clean up the email, but Rosemary spotted us online for a quick instant natter, too. Wonderful stuff, this technology.

‘T was raining a tad as we returned to the car to finish our journey. We got some brighter spells en route but, as we exited the autoroute about 20 miles from our target, there appeared to be a very large, extremely dark cloud directly before us. "That looks to be about where we are heading",  quoth I, downheartedly. "Exactly", replied astronavigatrix Carol, disappointingly.

We drove into what can only be described as a deluge. It had eased as we approached our intended campsite but it had obviously been very heavy here because the ground was completely sodden and very muddy. This particular site has many very low hanging trees which would be hanging even lower under the weight of water and dripping for hours to come, even if it stopped raining. Since most pitches looked inaccessible to big Billy Bailey, and/or unusable due to the mud, we decided to look elsewhere.

Almost literally next door is another site. It was in slightly better condition (more grass) and is better kempt but was equally water-logged. The state of the ground spoke of considerably more rain than just one passing deluge. This site is also right beside the roaring river Dordogne and we didn’t really care for the lack of flood defences here. Keep looking.

The rain had eventually ceased as we finally checked out a site new to us, one with reports of pleasant views, half a kilometre south of the bastide town of Domme. This site is up a significant hill so no flood risk. We received a very warm welcome (probably glad to see anybody at all in this weather) and we were getting brassed off with looking by now, so pitch up we did. On a brighter note, Carol spotted six black kites whirling around over the campsite just behind us as I was manoeuvring the caravan.

Amazingly, we got set up in the dry and even managed a late lunch (about 4:00 PM) outside, en plein air. That pleasant interlude ended and degenerated back into rain, though, and we retreated. The rain eased enough for us to erect our sun canopy a little later, but that was essentially it for the evening; the rain was soon back with its reinforcements. (The term "sun canopy" is clearly something of a joke – it seems much more useful as a rain shelter beneath which to cook.)

Unless the views stop being obscured by rain, they’ll do us little good here. I know this was predicted but why the hell didn’t I hang a right for the brightness over La Rochelle?

Our mornings have hitherto been a somewhat casual, relaxed affair. French time being an hour ahead of where it sensibly should be, 8:00 AM feels like 7:00 AM. We have usually managed to drag ourselves into action having had the obligatory cuppa by 9:00 AM (which feels like 8:00 AM, of course).

This morning was very different as we were stirred from slumber by a fearful roaring at about 7:30 AM (a.k.a. 6:30 AM) seemingly not far outside the caravan. A suspicion developed as to the source of the roar and a glance out of the window supported the suspicion that we were being buzzed by a low-flying hot air balloon. Hurriedly slinging on some clothes so as not to upset the other campers, we rushed out to see three or four balloons in relatively close proximity. These were rapidly followed by a hot air chicken (well, rooster complete with comb) and a hot air strawberry. The balloons, poultry and fruit were launching from a field about 200 metres away. We counted 14 fans of les frères Montgolfier in all, including representatives from France, Britain, Switzerland and Belgium; quite an international collection.

Follow that, if you can. We couldn’t, really. The early morning brightness deteriorated into cloud cover, though it stayed dry. We pedalled into Mon-prés-Chambord for a newspaper to keep an eye both on the weather forecast (looks pretty grim for the next few days) and the fuel price protests (the lorry drivers are joining the farmers and fishermen). A brighter interlude occasionally drifted by, including a very obliging one for lunch.

The later afternoon was quite pleasant, too, so we pedalled off through the forest to Bracieux (where we had failed to get to yesterday because of an approaching shower) and Villesavin before returning before yet another blackening sky. Thus far, this one has not produced anything beyond a threat. (Correction: I’ve just inserted the pictures and it is again raining at us.)

We are in danger of growing roots waiting for the weather to settle so we’ve paid up and are moving off somewhere tomorrow, hoping for some quiet Sunday driving.

Another morning of early mist. The last morning like this quickly turned into one of rain which in turn became persistent. We hoped this would be different and started with a visit to the local supermarket for some badly needed supplies while we gave the morning a chance to decide what it was up to.

Fortunately the sun did its work and burned off the mist. We seemed to be in one of those areas where, as clouds approached, they dissipated – the smaller ones at least. All around us, halfway to the horizon, the cloud bank was clearly considerably thicker, if not solid, but we seemed to be in a relatively settled area. ‘T was time to leap on the bikes and return to Chambord illuminated by sun. Photographs of this sort with dull grey skies just don’t cut it. It’s about a ten mile round trip to Chambord which we could comfortably fit it in before lunch.

Having returned and after a lazy lunch in the sun without having made either of our Lafuma chairs collapse, we were still under our localized hole in the clouds and basking in sunshine. It feels so much more French in the sunshine. This area has a network of absolutely excellent cycle tracks so we encouraged our legs to spring into action again and cycled off on some of our favourite routes to do a circuit to Mont-prés-Chambord, Cheverny, Bracieux and back to Huisseau-sur-Cosson.

On the way to Cheverney we paused to admire a hen harrier working some fields. This year seems a little odd, apart from the less than settled weather. France is usually lousy with buzzards whirling around the skies but we have seen very few. We have, however, seen more hen harriers. They behave very differently from buzzards, cruising quite low and slowly over fields looking for a spot of lunch.

As we were leaving Cheverny for Bracieux, there seemed to be a very nasty, black averse (shower) approaching. Disturbingly, it was clearly approaching a little faster than we seemed to be cycling. Since we had unwisely left our washing out in the sun and it would be dry by now, a little panic set in and we chose to cut short our trip and hasten back to save it. Success, we beat the averse.

After rescuing said laundry and after a refreshing beer or two, our hole in the sky closed and we got our threatened dowsing.

Yours truly clambered onto his bike and pedalled the 6 miles or so to Mont-prés-Chambord and back in search of bread and an Aujour d’hui newspaper. The paper publishes five days’ worth of weather maps and that’s what we wanted. Naturally, the further in the future it gets the less reliable the forecasts become but it gives us an idea. Today didn’t look great.

On the return leg, I took a cross-country route and was having great fun until a dry-looking patch of sandy soil turned out to be more like wet quicksand from the recent rains and the wheels threw mud all over my bike, clean shirt and cycling trousers. Oops! Doctor Carol prescribed a swift striptease (unfortunately me, not her) and plunged my soiled clothes into a bucket of hot, soapy water.  Since the weather seemed OK so far, it was on with a new T-shirt.

As the morning progressed, things seemed to be brightening up, despite the forecast. Since walking in potential showers seems preferable, to us, to cycling in potential showers, we decided to try one of the local walking routes. As usual, from the point of view of nature, France didn’t let us down. We saw meadow fritillary and wall butterflies and, unidentified, some caterpillars which seemed to be descending from trees on silken threads, twisting and spinning in the gentle breeze. I have no idea what they were but they were intriguing to watch.

After a late lunch, a quick siesta caused yours truly to make his nice new Lafuma reclining chair collapse whilst reclined, spilling coffee all over the recently donned nice clean T-shirt. Doctor Carol prescribed a striptease (unfortunately me, not her) and plunged my now coffee-stained T-shirt into a bucket of hot, soapy water. On with another clean T-shirt. Three years ago, Lafuma had a perfectly serviceable design and were regarded as the Rolls Royce of camping chairs. Last year they started welding the seams instead of sewing them – the welds separated on us in a couple of weeks. This year they are again sewing the seams (bravo, Lafuma) but now the reclining arms appear to separate too readily. The design was perfectly good. Why feel the need to mess around with an erstwhile perfectly good design?

The weather looked reasonably settled and, fancying a little more exercise, we cycled back to the B+B hotel armed with Carol’s mot de passe to try our luck posting the various saved blog entries. Marvelous, success – this time it worked. The signal strength was up and down but it never actually dropped us.

Flush with posting success, we returned for some showers and an evening meal of grilled duck breast with John’s special peppercorn mix and some ratatouille.