As we moved off and away from the hotel we had stayed in last night, it was windy and slightly overcast. The road was wet from overnight rain, but the sun did eventually start to break through. We had elected for long trousers and trainers today – it was not hot.
Just around the corner, we found the hotel that the receptionist in St. Flour must have mentioned. The Hotel Garabit is a fairly gothic sort of structure, something you might expect the Count of Monte Cristo to be staying in. It overlooks a vast and truly delightful lake, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since I went to Oz. It reminded me of Berowra Waters, just north of Hornsby (just north of Sydney). The road we were on, which up until now, perhaps five minutes from the hotel, had been pretty mundane, wound its way down to the lakeside and along it for several miles. There were hotels here by the score – something to remember for the future1.
The road wound through various types of kind-to-the-eye countryside until it reached the motorway again – just a couple of exits from where we had left it last night. We decided that, as our road was empty, and we were getting these visual treats, we would stay on the ‘B’ road (D road in France) for as long as we could. The map we were using suggested that there might be hold-ups on the motorway, close to a couple of towns en-route, so it would be good to miss those.
After meandering for about an hour, Betony became bored and we began to play a game that involved us getting points for things that we saw along the way. We made up the rules as we went along: 1 point for a poppy, 5 points for a sheep (until we realised that we were in sheep country), 2 points for a church, 2 points for a cyclist (but 10 points for a female cyclist – much rarer), 50 points for an elephant, and so on. Much later, we gave this game up, but as we approached St. Tropez the following week, we saw quite a few elephants!
We eventually (fairly soon) rounded bend and there in front of us was the most wonderful sight. We had come out above the Tarn Gorge. None of our maps had suggested that we were this close. Once again, this beautiful area reminded me of my time in Oz, especially, because of our elevated position, the Blue Mountains. The drop down the side of the gorge was quite frightening but when we reached the bottom it was like a fairy grotto for several miles along the riverside. All the villages were geared up for tourists and we found it hard to park. In fact, we decided to have lunch on an outcrop of rock overlooking the gorge from the bottom end. It rained slightly as we sat on our picnic rug, wrapped in waterproof coats.
The route we were now on looked like it might take us to our ultimate destination via the D roads. All we had to do was find the correct turning – with no clues2. So, we turn back to the Autoroute and ended up dropping down another yet mountain into Millau3 – where we had missed the first lot of traffic jams.
We made good progress for several miles before becoming becalmed on the motorway, for no apparent reason.
From here onwards, the countryside that the road wound through was truly magnificent. Almost all the way down to Gignac the scenery was terrific and would certainly be a lovely journey at another, quieter time of year.
TBC – we arrive
1 – How I can have written this and not mentioned the Garabit Viaduct, I cannot imagine. Much in this area has changed over the intervening years but not the viaduct. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garabit_viaduct
2 – The sign-posting at this point was abysmal and although we could see that we had to pass through ‘Vieux de Montpellier’ we were not prepared to pay. Apparently (although I can find no reference to this form of words today – 2019), this is a national park and if you want to pass though, you are charged per occupant. There was no saying that the road actually went to the town we wanted either.
3 – Millau has changed beyond all recognition in the intervening years. See https://flic.kr/p/frdkzs
My even older Holiday Weblog 