Road trip number . . .

No idea. I've lost count of them over the years but they take up (welcomely) a large amount of memory space in my head.

As our lad will be coming back home in a few weeks after his studies in carpentry and will cram his current belongings into a small white Clio with no room for his bike, it was the perfect excuse to go and collect said item and have a . . . holiday. A what? Yes, one of those things where you go off somewhere else and don’t carry out all the usual day to day home stuff. I love our new house but haven’t actually left it for ten months for more than about three hours at any one time.

I arrived in Périgueux and located my titchy air b and b flat at the top of an interesting 1930s/40s block and was delighted to be in the middle of a city for a change. Ezra joined me and we wandered at length savouring the unusual experience of choosing a restaurant. A restaurant! I haven’t as many people haven’t, sat outside a restaurant and glanced over a menu for maybe a year and a half? We ate and chatted and discussed what we might do the following day, which would of course involve a lot of meandering in the car and stopping at mostly overlooked and unsung villages and towns. We are still keen to one day jointly produce a book of places that would never be mentioned in any usual guide book - got a good stock of photos ready….

 hallway of my B and B building

                                                   Home is where the tea is - my fave old teapot 

 

After a good sleep, apart from a fruitless mosquito hunt in the wee small hours, I did the usual morning routine and then went to meet Ezra at his college – the Compagnons du Devoir; I’ve probably blogged about the place before but in case I haven’t . . . the C de D is an extraordinary institution which exists to provide intensive and incredibly good quality tuition in practical skills such as carpentry, roofing, plumbing, locksmithery (is that a word?) landscaping, leatherwork, shoemaking, etc. It is intensive with the apprentices working for local companies and learning in the evenings and at weekends but well worth it if you are committed to taking up a trade. 

                Indescribably complex structures being built by a student at the Compagnons du devoir

Kate n’ Ezra road trips generally consist of no planning other than a brief look at a town to head for and then see what transpires, with the proviso that all tangents and derivations are allowed even if the ‘plan’ is altered by noting a roadside sign to an abandoned mine, clump of disused factories, a lake/pond/river that could be get-in-able, etc. The weather should be preferably not bright and sunny but atmospherically misty or drizzly; good for walking and bringing out the best in any insolite (quirky/unusual/bizarre) attributes of a town or village.

                                            House martin nest with several years of poo history

 

The weather was in fact, hot sunny and better suited to straight forward tourism so we opted for a visit to Sarlat le Canéda, a ridiculously pretty Dordogne town, stopping at St Cyprian which was magnificent with its honey stone buildings and narrow back streets, and a vide grenier! (boot sale). I was restrained and only acquired a fanciful late Victorian, Stoke on Trent, two euro, cheese dish – imagine the journey in time and distance this object has made to end up in rural France . . .

Salat was bulging with camper vans, tourists and a few miles of market – mostly dream catchers, knock-off bags, racks of the same clothing, etc and very little local stuff so after a quick tour we moved on. Picnic by a river, lots of exploration of quaint villages, rolling hills and forest, then back to base via a detour to look (no photos) at a bizarre series of cave entrances and serious-looking metal doors where police ‘practice’. The signs didn’t say what they practiced but there certainly wasn’t a visitor center or gift shop.

Supper was chips and deeply suspect meat in batter things at a beer n’ chips emporium that Ezra frequents on a Sunday evening with his college mates. Enjoyable, but a one off for me . . .

The second day dawned promisingly overcast and a lot cooler, ideal for a more random driving day.

I breakfasted first in a small Périgueux square, sketched and listened to the locals as they ate seafood and drank white wine (9 am) . . .

                                                           Lovely rock paving slab in Périgueux

I met up with Ezra and after a brief map-inspection, Brantome was chosen as the start point, not a ‘plus beau village de France’ which seemed odd as it was extremely beau with its abbey (oldest bell tower in the country) wide river, old bridges and parklands. A walk around in the mizzle (mist/drizzle) revealled a gentle unkeptness to the rest of the town which obviously didn’t qualify it for the hallowed badge of PBVDF.

                                                                   Brantome, not a PBVDF

From this point the spontaneous road trip began, wandering across country via an abandoned hamlet, mill and waterway which could have featured in Andreï Tarkovski's Stalker, but a little more picturesque, then onto Riberac, a non-touristy town with two churches, one Romanesque and a larger concrete 50s (I think) small version of the Périgueux cathedral which was experiencing structural problems either due to being made of concrete or being on a hill, or both. Small delights of the unplanned trip - a ‘chemin des abeilles’ – lane of the bees, behind the older church; lovely herb and flower filled gardens, hives and a small building containing interesting info about bees and a glass hive so one could observe the insects' comings and goings.

The day's picnic was enjoyed under the open car boot lid with requested atmospheric drizzle being a little too forceful to sit out in. Roast chicken, tomatoes and strawberries from the Périgueux morning market.

The next town was a Plus Beau village Aubeterre, and was so - ancient stone houses tucked into the hillside, pretty market square, lots of busy restaurants and antique shops and impressive chateau. The rain had morphed from melancholic drizzle to medium downpour so we stopped the wanderings and returned to collect Ezra's bike from his college via villages with intriguing names such as Festalemps and many, many ending with AC (Bardenac, Rouffiac, Brossac, Douzillac, etc,  - apparently ac means water source.

                                                  Magnificent church doorway in Aubeterre

Bee comings and goings

 

        Unusual 50s/40s? concrete and mosaic pillars in the worryingly unstable-looking concrete church

The day ended with cakes eaten in my micro-flat and a hunt for an open restaurant which seemed unlikely on a rainy Sunday evening, but joy of joys, we came across a small Indian/Afghan takeaway, the patron of which warned us that the food would be piquant! Spicy Indian food in France? Nah . . . but it was piquant, and excellent, eaten in the rain overlooking the Dordogne river after a perfect road trip day.

  

 

 

 

  

A tornado's walk

 

 A few days ago we experienced, in this usually placid agricultural region of the Loire Valley, a tornado . . . well, I say experienced. I was asleep with a pillow over my head after several insomniac nights. People who were staying with us said they saw, through a top floor velux window, what they thought was a murmuration of starlings in the distance; a twirling dark mass which as it came closer was revealed to be branches, slates and bits of roofing. The noise must have been tremendous as it ripped through nearby trees but I heard none of it. On waking, I realised what had happened and that somehow our house and garden had been spared.

Over the afternoon we realised how much local destruction had happened, especially in a village a few kilometres away called St Nicholas de Bourgueil. The bell tower of their beautifully restored church had been chewed away by the whirling winds, as had many roofs of houses and shops. I took a drive around to see where the tornado had passed and it was as if the tunnel of cloud had indeed walked - down roads, through wooded pathways, passing through people's yards, via cycle routes and on to the unsuspecting village.

The saddest thing was that the beast had lingered on the land of two local organic farmer's land. It had ignored the giant greenhouses of the huge multi-corp agricultural company nearer the river who are no doubt insured to the nth degree but had decimated the small greenhouses and trees of the two small producers. I say lingered, it had probably been a few minutes but enough to pulverise ancient plum trees, chicken houses and hedges. The roof of Julian's house was actually momentarily lifted off and replaced - of course with structural consequences. 

 

                                                                  wind-torn poly-tunnels 

We have been up everyday, dividing time between our two friend's places, helping them reconstruct what they can. It was heartbreaking on the first day to see Jean-Paul staring at the floored trees with a look of utter bewilderment, but a few days on and with much help from various friends the place is beginning to look a little more organised. I've learned a fair amount about poly-tunnel re-construction, how to tie up mature tomato plants, the best way to attack bramble hedges, and spotting Colorado beetle eggs. 

                                       Colorado beetles collected from Jean-Paul's potatoes.

I usually love storms, the low rumbling precursor and following light displays, rain, wind, all of it but now . . . well, there's an added frisson which is rather less welcome; the thought of another tornado's walk. Apparently there was a smaller version about twelve years ago but no one had ever seen anything like this before in the region. The insurance companies - all the evaluators out in force - will, I assume, mark it down to an 'act of God'. Sadly, it must surely be seen as an act of Man along with all the other increasingly weird and damaging weather patterns.

After the storm

And it was an impressive one... 

I don't think I've ever seen so much continual lightning over an hour or so - almost strobe-like. I looked out of our top floor velux windows and considered, as you do when confronted with the full force of nature, how terribly small we and our daily concerns are. Yesterday afternoon I was worrying about the seething mass of mosquito larvae in our new pond, and the fact I had lost the smaller 'tic fork' for removing unwanted guests from the older dog. Seeing the trees bent over at an alarming degree as the wind lashed our home reminded me of the rather bigger picture, part of which is increasingly bizarre weather patterns, or no patterns in fact. 

My current novel has reached the point where Londonia residents are leaving the lower flooding states and re-settling on the various higher points of the city - Muswell Hill, Angel Islington, and where my hero and narrator (a fanciful French 18th century couch) currently resides, Hampstead Heath. Living with various dystopian scenarios does make one a little, not exactly gloomy . . . speculative, thoughtful, scared, sometimes. 

Anyway, the garden wasn't flooded by our little river that passes through and the only major catastrophe was that the fabulously blousey 'Rambling Rector' rose had parted company with the wall and was bent over itself like a seated someone sleeping off a hangover. Luckily it had been showing off madly over the last few weeks, brightening our days with its pink blooms, and I had taken many photographs. And it will do it all again next year as a friend pointed out. 

The thing that made me feel most sad was seeing the birds hopping about on the bowed branches looking for their nest. I found it as we cut the rose back; a beautiful construction of wound long grass, moss and feathers, and four little white/ grey eggs... I put it back in a nook of branches but I doubt very much they will return. I don't possess their delicate skills.

I think I've posted this animated film that I made with son, Ezra before, but it seems most fitting to re-air it on this post-storm morning. The Nest Apprentice. Inspired by a dream of a future time where the relationship between us and the rest of the animal world is somewhat different.

The Nest Apprentice. Story written by Kate A Hardy. Animation by Ezra Lockett.

Tea n' jazz at le Jardin Insolite

So, after many days, probably more like weeks, of preparation we opened le Jardin Insolite for tea, Mark's marvellous cakes, music, and celebration of all things floral and fauna of which there is an vast abundance within the boundaries of the garden. Having not completed a year of living here yet, each day reveals new plants which Anna, the previous owner and botanical super enthusiast had introduced over the years. 

Our new sign featuring official LPO bird and nature reserve panel  

Thanks to our local Emmaüs we had managed to find enough old chairs and tables needing a loving home to provide the seating and a random pot of blue paint from the same establishment started off a vague blue theme which was then carried on into seat cushions, table cloths, etc. I've always loved miss-matched crockery and this was a perfect excuse to spend time mooching around all the local charity shops and re-house many, many, tea time accoutrements. 

Interesting melange of Victoriana, dutch blue and German 90s china

As if requested the weather was perfect: blue sky, hot but with a breeze. Swallows and house martins swooped and dived into the outbuildings, river frogs chorused, and the odd train passed - Sunday hours so not too often. Our resident and intermittently vocal dogs next door were silent for the afternoon - our neighbours had taken my plea for tranquility seriously and not so much as a whimper was to be heard from over the hedge.

Mark excelled himself and made, starting at four in the morning (insomniacs? us?), citrus cheesecake, shortbread, chocolate cake, rich fruit cake and a mysterious gluten-free gateau which was also delicious. He hopped into piano mode and regaled us with a laid back jazz set, interspersed with me singing a few songs from our jazz duo set and the odd dog disagreement between our usually silent greyhounds.

Our friend Jean-Paul, local grower of organic veg par excellence set up a stall of his produce under the lime tree along with part of our red and gold Gamelan, (Mark was going to assemble the whole thing but the effort of doing so in the afternoon heat had suddenly seemed an effort too far . . .) If we do another similar event I'd like to invite other local producers to join in, maybe some crafts, basket makers, pottery, anyway, many ideas surfacing . . . and many other things to catch up on.

Special thanks to our lovely friends Mike and Tracey at Les Peupliers, and Béa, who helped in so many ways and dramatically reduced any lurking panic inherent with any new project.