Tody we are in the home of the Sainmont family of Orleon. They found us yesterday, hot and forlorn outside the closed gate of the city camping ground, befriended us and invited us back to their house where we put out tent up on their lawn and we had a shared meal with them on the patio of their house. Philippe and Clauda have five boys, two we met last night, one, Johan is planning a working trip to NZ later this year, so we hope to see him in Picton at our house.
The trip is fantastic, we only get sick of it when the weather is too hot and thunderstorms blow the tent down in th e middle of the night, otherwise people arejust so friendly, as you can see by the above.
Riding into Rochefort a couple of weeks ago, we were dreading having to join a very busy road going over one of those high arching, inverted D type bridges, surprised that we were getting so far on a very new cycle path when suddenly there appeared a small Asterix looking man pushing his bike towards us. Tiny with shoulder length grey hair, a canary green cycle shirt with Tour de France 2004 on the back, and very short, tight cycling pants, he approached us with hand outstretched, shook us each by the hand and commenced a conversation with Val. It appeared that the cycle way was not completed and we were the first to use it, he then offered to lead us to the bridge. On arrival at the bridge, we shook his hand and thanked him, but no, he was comin g over with us. On the other side we went through the same routine, but once again, he signalled us to follow him and he would show us the cycle path.
Well several armwaving confrontations with tooting motorists, then . sitting at the front of the traffic on roundabouts gesticulating to the cars behind as to where his entourage was headed, we went through the middle of town and out the other side. Fifteen kilometres later we were sitting in the bar of a small village pub shouting our friend Andre a beer. We had been personally introduced to everyone in th e bar and it transpired from Vals conversing in French with a "little" English, that Andre was President of the local Cycling Club and a well known identity. We were very impressed by this "big" little man.
Our direction has changed again, we leave the Loire valley today on a line drawn across the map of Europe to Cologne, on the Rhine, following all the small roads as close to that line as we can.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Window On The Boulevard
Or two star hotel in Toulousse was on a sharply angled corner, our room on the third floor was the tip of the angle and our window looked straight up the Boulevard. To the right side was the Midi canal, whose cycle track had led us to the door, while on the left, lanes and streets led to back alleys and dead ends.
Sunday afternoon, drizzling rain, the window providing a peephole to life on the street. Something was happening, I noticed people gathering on the Canal side of the street, not many, a man and a woman pointing across the street toward a lane, something out of my sight, they were joined by a third and fourth person, all absorbed, pointing and chatting voluably. Another man arrived with a dog, handshakes all round, more pointing and chatting, I could not imagine what was happening.
Soon the gathering had swelled to ten or more, three or four with dogs on leads, then people started coming out of the lane, some walking boldly into the traffic and forcing it to stop, others more cautious, hanging back waiting for the gaps, but all being greeted enthusiastically with handshakes, back slapping and camaraderie from the people, not so from the dogs, snarling posturing and barking they milled about. What was going on, Val was soaking in the bath, I was supposed to be making a cup of tea (on our camp stove, in the room), but this street theatre had me mezmerized. Then a white van appeared, I had not noticed it arrive, but it was backing down the canal path from the traffic lights on a corner two hundred metres away and now stopped, people appeared at the back door and began unloading metal frames and vinyl covers, maybe a concert of some sort?
Now a colourful character appeared, rainbow coloured knitted Beret with a pom pom, two dogs and being greeted like someone returned from a long holiday. Another man arried with two back packs, three dogs and a set of Bongo Drums, maybe the concert idea was right. Dog fights starte up in three different areas, men yelled at and kicked at dogs until order was restored, the crowd now fifty or more surged forward in reasonable order as tables appeared under the awnings large white boxes were lifted onto the table by willing helpers, Sunday Soup Kitchen was under way. Some took their lot and sat on the ground alone, others sat in circles of six to eight, dogs interspersed among them, slovering for leftovers; all the dogs looked well fed.
Suddenly a dog fight erupted on the lane side of the Boulevard, a man in camoflage coloured trousers holding four dogs on a lead,was trying to cross the road, a fifth dog on its own, was harassing the others and their chances of getting across the road unscathed did not look good. The frol the canal side stepped the man in the coloured beret, holding up one hand to the oncoming traffic he walked to the middle of the three lanes stared the drivers to a halt, and signalled the man with the dogs into the road and to the other side.
The food van was there for several hours, the party went on till well after dark; I witnessed the gathering of an unusual club, one I suspect that is easy to join but extremely hard to leave.
Sunday afternoon, drizzling rain, the window providing a peephole to life on the street. Something was happening, I noticed people gathering on the Canal side of the street, not many, a man and a woman pointing across the street toward a lane, something out of my sight, they were joined by a third and fourth person, all absorbed, pointing and chatting voluably. Another man arrived with a dog, handshakes all round, more pointing and chatting, I could not imagine what was happening.
Soon the gathering had swelled to ten or more, three or four with dogs on leads, then people started coming out of the lane, some walking boldly into the traffic and forcing it to stop, others more cautious, hanging back waiting for the gaps, but all being greeted enthusiastically with handshakes, back slapping and camaraderie from the people, not so from the dogs, snarling posturing and barking they milled about. What was going on, Val was soaking in the bath, I was supposed to be making a cup of tea (on our camp stove, in the room), but this street theatre had me mezmerized. Then a white van appeared, I had not noticed it arrive, but it was backing down the canal path from the traffic lights on a corner two hundred metres away and now stopped, people appeared at the back door and began unloading metal frames and vinyl covers, maybe a concert of some sort?
Now a colourful character appeared, rainbow coloured knitted Beret with a pom pom, two dogs and being greeted like someone returned from a long holiday. Another man arried with two back packs, three dogs and a set of Bongo Drums, maybe the concert idea was right. Dog fights starte up in three different areas, men yelled at and kicked at dogs until order was restored, the crowd now fifty or more surged forward in reasonable order as tables appeared under the awnings large white boxes were lifted onto the table by willing helpers, Sunday Soup Kitchen was under way. Some took their lot and sat on the ground alone, others sat in circles of six to eight, dogs interspersed among them, slovering for leftovers; all the dogs looked well fed.
Suddenly a dog fight erupted on the lane side of the Boulevard, a man in camoflage coloured trousers holding four dogs on a lead,was trying to cross the road, a fifth dog on its own, was harassing the others and their chances of getting across the road unscathed did not look good. The frol the canal side stepped the man in the coloured beret, holding up one hand to the oncoming traffic he walked to the middle of the three lanes stared the drivers to a halt, and signalled the man with the dogs into the road and to the other side.
The food van was there for several hours, the party went on till well after dark; I witnessed the gathering of an unusual club, one I suspect that is easy to join but extremely hard to leave.
Where The Tracks are Now
We did stick with our plan to ride the Canal bike trail to Bordaux, a really great experience. The canal does not have any commercial traffic these days, only private barges, some beautiful conversions of former work boats, and of course the many charter boats.
First night out of Toulouse we just camped on the canal bank, second night we asked one of the canal bank residents about camping on the bank outside his house and before we knew it we were in his backyard, then he waved his arms at a caravan on blocks in the yard and said we could use it if we liked. We did and for once it did not rain during the night, so we had dry tents for the next night.
The path this day took us past a Nuclear Power Plant, which seemed to be located alongside a small village and all seemed comfortable with the situation. The Garonne River was swollen with all the rain, water the colour of Tomato Soup, great tree trunks and assorted rubbish being swept along in the torrent. The canal ran adjacent to the river and we only saw it once every five or six kilometers. As the evening approached we went into a small village, had a beer at the local and enquired about camping. Mine host and several of the local lads indicated that the Sports Ground or the Canal bank would be ok, everyone would turn a blind eye apparently. On investigating the canal bank we heard people speaking in English, ¨Where are you from¨ Val asked, ¨New Zealand¨ they cried, pointing at the silver fern and NZ flag flying at the bow of their charter boat. They were from Christchurch, and one couple actually lived at Sefton!!
Next day we were approached by another Christchurch couple also on the same Canal, so we are getting some good chats in English at the moment. The bike trail brought us right into the centre of Bordeaux and we are set up in a two star hotel right in the heart of the old city, which is extraordinarily beautiful. Today we have been looking at some of the beautiful buildings, art galleries that are not closed, and eating lunch in a nice little restaurant, so this cycle touring is not all roughing it in the bush, dealing with ticks, slugs, ants and miriads of other crawlies, none as big and bad as those in Australia though.
First night out of Toulouse we just camped on the canal bank, second night we asked one of the canal bank residents about camping on the bank outside his house and before we knew it we were in his backyard, then he waved his arms at a caravan on blocks in the yard and said we could use it if we liked. We did and for once it did not rain during the night, so we had dry tents for the next night.
The path this day took us past a Nuclear Power Plant, which seemed to be located alongside a small village and all seemed comfortable with the situation. The Garonne River was swollen with all the rain, water the colour of Tomato Soup, great tree trunks and assorted rubbish being swept along in the torrent. The canal ran adjacent to the river and we only saw it once every five or six kilometers. As the evening approached we went into a small village, had a beer at the local and enquired about camping. Mine host and several of the local lads indicated that the Sports Ground or the Canal bank would be ok, everyone would turn a blind eye apparently. On investigating the canal bank we heard people speaking in English, ¨Where are you from¨ Val asked, ¨New Zealand¨ they cried, pointing at the silver fern and NZ flag flying at the bow of their charter boat. They were from Christchurch, and one couple actually lived at Sefton!!
Next day we were approached by another Christchurch couple also on the same Canal, so we are getting some good chats in English at the moment. The bike trail brought us right into the centre of Bordeaux and we are set up in a two star hotel right in the heart of the old city, which is extraordinarily beautiful. Today we have been looking at some of the beautiful buildings, art galleries that are not closed, and eating lunch in a nice little restaurant, so this cycle touring is not all roughing it in the bush, dealing with ticks, slugs, ants and miriads of other crawlies, none as big and bad as those in Australia though.
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