http://jango.com/music/creedence+clearwater+revival+wholl+stop+the+rainWe left Le Sauvage before breakfast. We would always start early, with coffee if possible, but delay breakfast until we had walked an hour or two: our normal schedule -- sharpens the appetite and gets the day off to a good start -- but that day it didn't work so well. The morning started cool and with a light drizzle, barely enough to warrant the ponchos, but the drizzle quickly turned into rain, then heavy rain, then another deluge -- with no stops in sight for coffee, or breakfast, or refuge from the storm.
After we had walked about three hours dw said: "I need to get out of this for awhile. I don't care where -- a barn or shed or anything, but I need to sit where it's dry."
(early start *** coffee and hot chocolate -- in a farmers barn --- side line for the wife -- very welcome and very good)
But things weren't looking good for any shelter. We were approaching a small cluster of houses but there didn't seem to be any sort of bar or open barn or picnic shelter or anything similar. I went ahead looking for something, turned a corner of a building and saw what seemed to be a gite. I tried the door, it didn't budge. I tried it again, the second time putting muscle into it, and Lo! it was open, the door was just very stiff. I made sure the door was unlocked and went back to the path to reel in dw -- there was no one in the building, but it was a donativo (pay what you can) and the kitchen was modern, clean, with packages of cookies and a bowl of candy bars. A clean toilet. Table and chairs. We stayed for forty-five minutes -- When we left the rain had started to ease up (by late afternoon it had largely cleared) and we were much refreshed. We even could have made coffee, and we should have as we didn't find any until the end of the day. It was a very welcome respite, and marked the last of really terrible weather until at the end when we approached Finisterra.
After Le Sauvage, the route gained the top of the Aubrac plateau, but that didn't mean the end of hills as the trail was cutting across drainages, large and small. The first 200 miles of the route is a series of hills -- up a hill longer and steeper than you want, enjoy the view, down a hill longer and steeper than you want, cross a small stream, up a hill longer and steeper than you want --- repeat again and again. From what we read before we started we knew there would be hills, but the trail was more continuously hilly than we had expected.
But there were sections that were fairly level: Most of the day approaching the village of Aubrac is through an even, open area, with stone fences, meadows, groves and small clusters of stone farm buildings as picturesque as you could want. A mile or more of the trail passed through an open pasture with cows (the adults were blasé about us pelerines, the calves would panic when they thought they were being cut off from the herd). The trail regained a road and passed two fenced pastures with cows and a bull each. The bulls wandered over and stood nose to nose on each side of the dividing fence.
Bruno: "Gaston, my man, I gotta tell ya, I got some hot, hot, hot action last night!"
Gaston: "Oh, come off it. You know and I know it's not the season. You're full of bullshit. --- Hey! Did you hear that? I said you're full of bullshit, and you ARE full of bullshit. Heh, heh, heh.
Bruno: "You're such a dweeb, I'm outta here."
Gaston: "(Jerk)"
Or something like that (Bruno, making more bullshit)
Many of the trees in this area are ash trees. A sign explained that the ash trees were heavily planted in the past, and that the trees represent, and supposedly encourage, diligence and thrift from wives and women generally. I suggested that when we get home we should plant a couple of ashes in our yard.
dw: "Why, what do they look like?"
I said: "I don't know what they look like, I wouldn't know an ash tree from my ash or a hole in the ground. It just seems like a good idea." And with wisdom I didn't go further with explaining why an ash tree or two was such a good idea.
Aubrac (the village) is in the center of a World Heritage region with m
any unique bits of fauna and flora, and is a popular tourist town for the local area. It is very nice (small, medieval) with two excellent restaurants, and a snack type restaurant which has a view terrace overlooking a botanical garden, where we sat, had a beer,
watched cows in the distance and goats up close, and enjoyed a quiet afternoon. Our gite for the evening was a renovated old building, with unfinished wood floors (wide boards, quaintly worn) white walls, and just chock-full of old photographs of the area and valueless (but interesting) antiques. Piled on a table in the center of the large dining/lounge area was a stack of four-inch thick books --- photographs of "Cows of Aubrac" (well done, but why?) --- only 40E (?!) each.
Leaning against one corner was an inexplicable sled, about
4X6 feet, 3 inch thick heavy chestnut turned up at one end. Two inch steel wheels on each corner, and the bottom was studded every inch with sharp flakes of stone (chert, or flakes of agate). Torture device? Who knows -- it was very weird. And our room was large with two beds, a claw-foot tub screened off, a sink, wardrobe, toilet down the hall -- the price was manageable if more than we liked, but in Monterey California, for example, the room would have gone for $200+ a night. It was very atmospheric, rustic chic, quiet and comfortable.
Oddly, Aubrac wasn't one of the "Most Beautiful Villages in France", but we enjoyed it, and the region certainly could have gotten some votes for "Most Beautiful".
JOKES OF THE DAY: Rene Descartes walked into a bar and stood, looking around. The bartender asked: "Do you want a drink?" Descartes said "I think not." and disappeared. (Bada-Bing)
What's the difference between unlawful and illegal? --- One is against the law, the other is a sick bird. (Bada-Bang)
I read they found methane on Mars. I think it came from Uranus. (Bada-Boom)
WORD OF THE DAY: Aligot -- a potato/cheese dish from the Aubrac region. AKA -- aliglop -- AKA -- heart attack on a plate. It's actually very good.
POINTLESS HISTORICAL TRIVIA: Prokofiev and Stalin died on the same day. (March 5, 1953)
And so it goes. DJA
After we had walked about three hours dw said: "I need to get out of this for awhile. I don't care where -- a barn or shed or anything, but I need to sit where it's dry."(early start *** coffee and hot chocolate -- in a farmers barn --- side line for the wife -- very welcome and very good)
But things weren't looking good for any shelter. We were approaching a small cluster of houses but there didn't seem to be any sort of bar or open barn or picnic shelter or anything similar. I went ahead looking for something, turned a corner of a building and saw what seemed to be a gite. I tried the door, it didn't budge. I tried it again, the second time putting muscle into it, and Lo! it was open, the door was just very stiff. I made sure the door was unlocked and went back to the path to reel in dw -- there was no one in the building, but it was a donativo (pay what you can) and the kitchen was modern, clean, with packages of cookies and a bowl of candy bars. A clean toilet. Table and chairs. We stayed for forty-five minutes -- When we left the rain had started to ease up (by late afternoon it had largely cleared) and we were much refreshed. We even could have made coffee, and we should have as we didn't find any until the end of the day. It was a very welcome respite, and marked the last of really terrible weather until at the end when we approached Finisterra.
After Le Sauvage, the route gained the top of the Aubrac plateau, but that didn't mean the end of hills as the trail was cutting across drainages, large and small. The first 200 miles of the route is a series of hills -- up a hill longer and steeper than you want, enjoy the view, down a hill longer and steeper than you want, cross a small stream, up a hill longer and steeper than you want --- repeat again and again. From what we read before we started we knew there would be hills, but the trail was more continuously hilly than we had expected.
But there were sections that were fairly level: Most of the day approaching the village of Aubrac is through an even, open area, with stone fences, meadows, groves and small clusters of stone farm buildings as picturesque as you could want. A mile or more of the trail passed through an open pasture with cows (the adults were blasé about us pelerines, the calves would panic when they thought they were being cut off from the herd). The trail regained a road and passed two fenced pastures with cows and a bull each. The bulls wandered over and stood nose to nose on each side of the dividing fence.
Bruno: "Gaston, my man, I gotta tell ya, I got some hot, hot, hot action last night!"
Gaston: "Oh, come off it. You know and I know it's not the season. You're full of bullshit. --- Hey! Did you hear that? I said you're full of bullshit, and you ARE full of bullshit. Heh, heh, heh.
Bruno: "You're such a dweeb, I'm outta here."
Gaston: "(Jerk)"
Or something like that (Bruno, making more bullshit)
Many of the trees in this area are ash trees. A sign explained that the ash trees were heavily planted in the past, and that the trees represent, and supposedly encourage, diligence and thrift from wives and women generally. I suggested that when we get home we should plant a couple of ashes in our yard.
dw: "Why, what do they look like?"
I said: "I don't know what they look like, I wouldn't know an ash tree from my ash or a hole in the ground. It just seems like a good idea." And with wisdom I didn't go further with explaining why an ash tree or two was such a good idea.
Aubrac (the village) is in the center of a World Heritage region with m
any unique bits of fauna and flora, and is a popular tourist town for the local area. It is very nice (small, medieval) with two excellent restaurants, and a snack type restaurant which has a view terrace overlooking a botanical garden, where we sat, had a beer,watched cows in the distance and goats up close, and enjoyed a quiet afternoon. Our gite for the evening was a renovated old building, with unfinished wood floors (wide boards, quaintly worn) white walls, and just chock-full of old photographs of the area and valueless (but interesting) antiques. Piled on a table in the center of the large dining/lounge area was a stack of four-inch thick books --- photographs of "Cows of Aubrac" (well done, but why?) --- only 40E (?!) each.
Leaning against one corner was an inexplicable sled, about
4X6 feet, 3 inch thick heavy chestnut turned up at one end. Two inch steel wheels on each corner, and the bottom was studded every inch with sharp flakes of stone (chert, or flakes of agate). Torture device? Who knows -- it was very weird. And our room was large with two beds, a claw-foot tub screened off, a sink, wardrobe, toilet down the hall -- the price was manageable if more than we liked, but in Monterey California, for example, the room would have gone for $200+ a night. It was very atmospheric, rustic chic, quiet and comfortable.
Oddly, Aubrac wasn't one of the "Most Beautiful Villages in France", but we enjoyed it, and the region certainly could have gotten some votes for "Most Beautiful".
JOKES OF THE DAY: Rene Descartes walked into a bar and stood, looking around. The bartender asked: "Do you want a drink?" Descartes said "I think not." and disappeared. (Bada-Bing)
What's the difference between unlawful and illegal? --- One is against the law, the other is a sick bird. (Bada-Bang)
I read they found methane on Mars. I think it came from Uranus. (Bada-Boom)
WORD OF THE DAY: Aligot -- a potato/cheese dish from the Aubrac region. AKA -- aliglop -- AKA -- heart attack on a plate. It's actually very good.
POINTLESS HISTORICAL TRIVIA: Prokofiev and Stalin died on the same day. (March 5, 1953)
And so it goes. DJA
