motorhome

Village Étape

| Mairead

(Our view)

The difference a few hours makes. We drove to the town of Massiac after the fog show. The sun shone the whole way and the temperature rose… to 23 degrees! That’s 19 degrees hotter than in the morning. Massiac provides a beautiful space for camping cars (that’s motorhomes) alongside the river, so we were very comfortable.

(It’s also on the Camino de Santiago)

Actually this town knows what travellers want. It’s a Village Étape. Literal meaning is a stage village and it makes me think of a stage coach. You know in historical movies when the stage coach stops at an inn and they change the horses? Or the passengers take the opportunity to have a meal? Or stop for the night?

(Petrol pumps are very important here)

Well, these towns are all over France, near the main routes and they are designated places travellers can get a meal, stay in a hotel and buy fuel for their vehicle (oats for the horses?) There’ll be a supermarket, a boulangerie, a tourist office and public toilets. Massiac has all those things and it’s bustling and friendly.

(Can you see the rock in the distance? There’s a church on top!)

We stopped at the Library Cafe this morning before we left, it’s a book shop and cafe. That’s another thing travellers need – books! Unfortunately, none in English so I bought a copy book and a notebook.

Now we’re off to see a volcano! Mairead.

Four Degrees!

| Mairead

(Sunny evening in Coubon on the Loire)

We stayed in a town called Coubon last night. It was 4 degrees Celsius this morning when I got up. Four…. It was 12 degrees at home in Greystones! I got dressed in no time and went outside. We were surrounded by fog.

(Four degrees and fog)

When Denis got up he went to the boulangerie so we have bread – we won’t starve. Is bread enough? I was thinking about the places people choose to live. On the banks of the Loire in a cute town with a cafe, a bar, a restaurant and a boulangerie seems lovely and it is lovely but it means for this town, as they are situated in a valley, they probably get a lot of foggy days. On a sunny day they possibly get less sun than their neighbours up on the hill.

(Can you make out the top of the cloud?)

I was still thinking about this when we drove off. We were leaving anyway but the fog made it easier. Our drive was taking us uphill and in no time we we’re above the clouds and it was glorious. It was hard to believe that ten minutes away everything was so different. There was nowhere to stop on the narrow roads so I took pictures through the window as we continued up and up. Then we turned away from the river and we could no longer see the valley.

(We seem to be we going down again…)

I couldn’t stop thinking about the people in the town, still stuck in the fog. Do they go up the hill on days like today? Do they forget that the sun is up top shining to its heart’s content? Do they just put up with the fog and get on with their day?

(That little line of white behind the tree line is the fog)

And then we turned a corner. We could see the valley again, stretching for miles and miles. There was a blanket of fog laid out all along the river’s course but it was a blanket with holes, where the hills peeped through.

(It’s good to be alive)

We spotted a patch of grass just big enough to stop. I set off down the road and into a field to get photos. I was about to take the first one… and the battery died in my camera. When you find a little hill peeping through a hole in the fog you can put up with almost anything.

My feet were wet, I was freezing cold but I was on top of the world, Mairead.

Ps I had a spare battery in the van.

(There’s Coubon)

The Loire

| Mairead

(We got a good parking spot)

We drove about an hour south from Lyon and now we’re in a most beautiful place called, Saint-Victor-sur-Loire. The Loire. I was surprised by the name but the Loire has to come from somewhere… it’s doesn’t just arrive between Orleans and Nantes.

(View from the bed)

I’ve looked it up and the Loire is the longest river in France and rises 100km south of where we’re parked in a place called Mount Gerbier de Jonc.

(There was a little path through some woods. That might be a church on the other side)

It’s so peaceful here and quiet even though there a sailing school and a ferry boat close by. We went for a walk up a very steep road to get the jeton (token) for electricity this morning. It’s overcast and we aren’t making much from solar.

(The view from between the houses at the top of the hill)

At the top there was an adorable little town with a castle which we didn’t go see as it would have meant bearing slightly off course but downhill and that just wasn’t happening. There was also an old church which was closed. We were still panting when we arrived at the Mairie (the mayor’s office, where you get jetons) so I sat outside and Denis went in.

(The view of the river from outside the Mairie’s)

While I was out there I could see in the distance hundreds of feet below the path of the river meandering in gentle curves. This is a magical place, no coffee, no bread, but the natural beauty is stunning. (Be nice to look at it through a cafe window, sigh.)

(The old church)

As I was waiting a man passed me, he was very well dressed and quite good looking in a distinguished way. We exchanged bonjours. About half an hour later Denis arrived out. He’d been in a queue behind someone with queries about land.

(Look at this beauty… what is it?)

Well to be honest we have no idea what the queries were about but he did have a map out on the desk… So anyway Denis was still waiting when the mayor, or the Maire, came in and shook hands with everyone, including Denis.

(Can you see there’s a beach too?)

Turns out it was my distinguished man! If only I’d know I would have asked him about opening a cafe…

From the banks of the Loire, Mairead.

(Here we are beside the meandering Loire)

We only have a certain amount of energy

| Mairead

(The front of the Monastère Royal De Brou)

We ran out of electric power last night. The clouds were grey and the sun didn’t come out and during the day our solar panels didn’t generate much electricity. By 3pm we were using more energy than they were generating.

(Exhibition of old techniques for painting)

We use up energy when we turn on the lights, so we turned them off. We use energy when we charge our laptops, so we took turns charging. First one of us charged until their laptop was over 50% then plugged out and the other one could plug in.

(Reproduction of roof tiles)

We use energy when we charge our phones but we had an extra battery for that so we took turns charging our phones. We use energy when we turn on the heating – just to turn it on, gas heats the water. Fortunately, it wasn’t cold. We use energy when we shower – again only to turn it on. Fortunately, we don’t get too close to people who might notice. Dogs do seem friendlier, though, which might be a sign.

(Stairs to Apartments of Princess Margaret) We make energy when we drive and we have been driving for 90 minutes today. We also make energy when the sun shines and although it is much colder today (7 degrees Celsius this morning) the dark clouds are gone and the sun is shining on our solar panels.

(Ceiling over her tomb)

Each time we run low on one of our resources I am reminded of my resources. My energy. We tend to be careful of our water usage in the van because we have a finite amount. Of course we can get more. We also keep gas usage to a minimum by putting the water heater on for only ten minutes at a time. Of course we can also get more gas.

(Her motto… Both fortune and misfortune make a woman stronger)

I have a finite amount energy. Every day I generate more, through the food I eat, the exercise or rest I take and the mental health I nurture. Some days I waste some of my finite energy on worry or drama. Some days I restrict the amount of energy I can generate by eating zero energy generating foods, like processed sugar or by my sleeping habits.

Human energy conservation. Mairead.

(There we are between Dijon and Lyon in Bourg-en-Bresse)

You think you have problems…

| Mairead

(Princess Margaret of Austria)

We are in the town of Bourg-en-Bresse. We arrived at lunchtime in front of a huge abbey, called The Royal Monastery of Brou. It was commissioned by Princess Margaret of Austria who was from the Netherlands (or at least ruled the Netherlands for a time) in 1506.

(I love the cloisters)

She had a tough life. When she was little her mother died. Then her father promised her to a future king and she had to go live in Amboise to become trained for her new role. She was only 8. She was great friends with her fiancé until they were both 17 and he broke it off with her to marry a different princess. She was very hurt. But her father found her another king (can’t remember where he was from) and they got married. Unfortunately, he died.

(Can you see the fancy tile mosaic on the roof of the church?)

Margaret didn’t throw in the towel yet, no she found, or maybe it was her father who found, another suitor. Philibert the Handsome. He was very handsome. They were both very much in love. She was 24 when he died… can it get any worse?

(It started raining while I was inside)

She decided not to get married again. Then her brother died. She was given the job of ruling the Netherlands which she did very well. She was very rich and she decided to become a patron of the arts and started work on the Monastery. She had a plan for spending the rest of her life here with the tomb of her Philibert.

(Tomb of Philibert the Handsome…)

She hired master builder, Louis van Boghem from Brussels who in turn hired Flemish skilled stone masons and wood carvers. It was nearly finished when she died. Yes Princess Margaret died before she even set foot in her creation. She was fifty years of age.

(…and just a few feet away, the tomb of Princess Margaret of Austria)

She’s here now, though, in a tomb in the church with her husband (the handsome one) and her mother-in-law (who gave her the idea for building.)

Things could be worse, Mairead.

The town of Buxy

| Mairead

(An old tin sign on the former train station wall)

We arrived in Buxy this morning and went for a walk to the town to get our bearings. We’d stopped off here briefly last year but never got as far as the town. It’s very pretty and very old.

(This tower reminded me of Reginald’s tower in Waterford)

Delivery trucks were competing with buses and pedestrians on the narrow streets and the locals were buying their baguettes by the armful.

(That’s the post office clinging to the edge of the hill and that second tower belongs to the church)

We spotted the butcher delivering meat so you might need to avert your eyes for the next photo… That’s the butcher and the baker covered, I’m on the lookout for a candlestick maker. It was uphill all the way to town which meant it was a grand downhill walk back. We are parked near the old station on the Voie Verte and when we got back I headed out for a walk. The weather was cool with some sunshine, with plenty of shade on the path – optimum.

(Just in case you were wondering where meat comes from…)

I’ve been reading a book on Audible (well, listening to the author read his book on the Audible app, might be more accurate) called Effortless Success by Michael Neill, did I already tell you? Maybe I did. Anyway, he’s lovely and he tells nice little stories to make you feel like you could really do things. He’s all about flowing, not pushing. There’s a bit in the book I was thinking about this morning, on my walk along the greenway: Where there’s a way, there’s a will.

(The long road)

We all know the other version, where there’s a will there’s a way but he says that’s a bit pushy and often invokes resistance. The other one is more flowy. I got an example of it this morning, as I rounded a bend and could see a long straight path ahead of me. The thought came to me, gosh that’s long. A moment later, I shouldn’t go too far. Then, I wonder how long I’ve been walking? I checked my phone… ten minutes. No way! I thought I’d been walking for at least 35 minutes, maybe even 45… but no.

(There would have been a barrier across the road here, when the greenway was a train track)

And didn’t my friend, Michael (you know, the guy from the book? He does feel like my friend) pop into my head and his idea about where’s there a way, there’s a will. I really had no idea where I was going and that was making it feel longer. How could I make it feel doable.

(Noticed this hanging on a tree on my way back. You are the master of your life and whatever the prison you have the keys. The Dalai Lama)

I had noticed there were benches every 500 meters or so. I could use them as a way to keep myself going. I’d just go to the next bench. So I went to the next bench and the next bench. I walked for an hour and it was so much easier and the return journey felt like ten minutes!

Even more interesting, this works with projects, Mairead.

The Baker, Le Boulanger

| Mairead

(La boulangerie)

I slept really well last night after our long walk yesterday. Now we’re on the road again heading for the Voie Verte – the greenway that used to be a train line. It’s a path for walkers and cyclists, we found it last year. First though, we needed to stop off at the bakery, la boulangerie.

(Not Brennan’s but sure we’ll be grand…)

Our Brennan’s Wholemeal Chia, Pumpkin and Poppyseed bread has run out so from now on we will be eating French bread. I think we’ll manage. We spotted the bakery as we were leaving Dijon. It was open, not a given as today is Sunday and opening times are very restricted. Not this bakery, they open from early until late.

(Can you make out their opening times? 6.30am to 7.30pm every day, exceptions: closed all day Tuesday and closed thirty minutes early on Sunday)

We decided to have a coffee since we were here and that’s when I spotted the baker preparing his bread. He had a huge rectangular fabric mat, the size of a narrow single bed. It was laid out on top of a trolley and on top of the mat there was the uncooked dough. When we first walked in he was busy snipping the baguettes with a scissors. Then he rolled the trolley to one of eight ovens and raised the trolley bed (like you see paramedics do when they take a stretcher out of an ambulance?) making it level with one of the upper ovens. Then he opened the oven door and slid the fabric mat and the baguette dough into the oven. And then he went on to the next batch and I saw the way he transferred the soft baguette dough onto the fabric mat with a wooden paddle.

(Can you see the way the trolley might elevate to the height of the upper oven? And that he’s holding the wooden paddle? And that there are 8 ovens!)

I wanted to take a photo to show you but it seemed rude. I should ask, right? So I did, I went up to the lady on the counter and stumbled through the French for, can I take a picture? She understood and gave a wicked grin saying, you want a picture of the baker? Of course! The next customer joined in with something that made her laugh out loud. Probably rude…

I don’t care I got my picture. Mairead

Ten thousand meters to Dijon

| Mairead

(Place Notre Dame, Dijon. Even in this small section can you see two church towers?)

We walked to Dijon today, a ten kilometer round trip. The weather was perfect – overcast with one heavy rain shower but otherwise dry and cool. We remembered the umbrella.

(This was the huge door to the art gallery)

Our plan was to wander into the center of the city, check out a church (there were at least six to choose from) visit a museum and an art gallery, have lunch and fit in a coffee break. We didn’t go to a museum but we did visit the art gallery, a tea shop and a very pretty little park.

(These three were portraits of the artist’s mother, they are huge, he must use scaffolding)

There was a temporary exhibit at the gallery that I really liked. I think it’s because I prefer more modern art. Normally, at this point, I’d tell you who the artist was… but I asked Denis to carry the brochures and he seems to have mislaid them. I will google the gallery and it’s temporary exhibit in a minute but it just won’t be the same. So disappointing.

(The tea shop had cake…)

Ok I googled. His name was Yan Pei-Ming and he was born in Shanghai in 1960 (a contemporary of myself, as it happens…) He came to Dijon to study art in 1981 and this exhibition is called The Man Who Cried. He’d definitely understand my disappointment.

(And another church)

The art gallery stretches over three storeys and around three sides of a courtyard and after an hour I started to wane and began searching for the exit. I have a habit of ignoring signs that I can’t understand and found myself at a locked exit with a security guard asking me what I wanted. Exit, please, didn’t make sense to her. Meanwhile Denis who had not ignored the sign was mouthing Sortie at me from behind the barrier while trying to keep a straight face. The guard escorted both of us to a different door and let us out with her secret code. I said, Merci! and gave her a big smile. She didn’t smile. Denis couldn’t stop smiling.

(Don’t go in when it’s windy…)

On the way home we passed a very unusual park called Jardin de L’Arquebuse. Flowers (including wild flowers) and plants were laid out in rows and signs pointed out what soil they were growing in. If only our French was better we would have learned a lot about what plants need for healthy growth. Nonetheless it was very pleasant.

(This bee may have come from the hives they had in the park)

We are staying in the municipal campsite tonight and when we arrived back tired and footsore from the city we were thrilled to see a pizza van beside reception. Yes we had pizza, it was very nice.

I’m over my disappointment now, Mairead.

In the poet’s footsteps…

| Mairead

(The alleyway to a side entrance. Can you see the little door cut into the big door on the left?)

We are on our way to Dijon (thanks to a recommendation from Cormac) but I went to visit one of the cathedrals in Auxerre before we left, Saint-Etienne Cathedrale. Turns out there’s a slight Irish connection. I bought the little guide leaflet to get the details, short as they are.

(Yes, you, come on it!)

The cathedral nestles among houses and gardens built around it. It was definitely here first – the guide says there was a cathedral here in 400AD. Then you might expect a respectable building distance to be observed all around but maybe this is more healthy, everyone snuggled in together. As I rounded the last corner I could see I had come to a dead end but there was a door. I wasn’t sure if I should go on until I noticed a small sign.. Entree, Entrance. Come on in!

(The back of the door)

The surprise after that little door is the internal space is very impressive. It’s still in use on Sundays for mass but today there were groups of French tourists having a guided tour.

(Makes you look up)

There was a railing running around the back of the altar with posters commemorating a famous French poet who lived in Auxerre. Her name was Marie Noël (1883-1967). There was a lovely picture of her walking up the narrow alleyway outside the cathedral towards the little door. She looks like any little old lady you’d see walking up to mass but now here she was up on a poster inside the cathedral. Very surreal. I bought a booklet about her in the tiny book shop there. Google translate and I are working our way through it.

(That’s one of the Marie Noël posters in the cathedral)

It’s hard going so maybe I’ll just enjoy the pictures of her. I nearly forgot about the connection with Ireland – it’s St. Patrick! It seems he was here and was trained by Saint Germain who was bishop in Auxerre in 418 AD. Hang on, why didn’t St. Patrick bring French to Ireland?

We’d all be fluent, Mairead.

(There we are on our way to Dijon)