Middles of Nowheres

This weekend, the last of the summer, my DB and I decided to head for the hills, to the most deserted parts of France - Lozère and Ardèche. There is a (fairly small) part of me that would quite like to live in a remote spot with a huge freezer and grow veggies rather than rely on third or fourth parties for my food supply. The rest of me however, would go nuts without my friends and easy access to all the fun of the city.

Hamlet in the middle of nowhere, but with lots of trees

We liked the look of Mende though - small (just over 12000 inhabitants), and with no air link to Paris which must keep out the snotty Parisians and other undesirables nicely. We ended up in Vals les Bains on Saturday, a spa town where you cannot get a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning before 10.30am, so if you don't want to pay €10 for a hotel breakfast, you're fucked. I'm sure they're in cahoots, the hotels and bars.

Cabin where you can take the waters behind random sculptures of horses not taking the waters

The place was packed but we found a room in the Hotel du Lyon in the centre of town. A quick look on Trip Advisor and a couple of phone calls later and we realised that the restaurants were all full. Even our hotel, and if there's one thing that pisses me off it's not being able to eat in the hotel where we're staying. But, wait a minute, perhaps a table would free up a bit later, said the lady. Not ones to sit idly wasting an opportunity for an apero, we went in search of a spot to try the local brew - Bourganel beer, which came in a number of flavours including chestnut, and nougat!

Beer aux chestnuts plus gnat's pee lager

The chestnut one was pleasant enough but lacked body, sort of beer for the squeamish, suitable for spa town visitors on a bender between cures. The nougat one had a strong sweet smell and a definite nougat taste which was too much for me and could only be sold to the ever-renewing hoards of suckers game to try it for the novelty value. Yes, like us...

After our apero, we went back to the hotel to see if the table was free. It wasn't, so we popped over the road to wait for a table at the restaurant there. We sat outside with a glass of local rosé each and exchanged merry banter with the chaotic but laid back guy in charge who would have trouble organising his way out of a paper bag. We were directly opposite the hotel. If the lady there had popped her head outside the door she'd have seen us. She told us later that 5 mins after she sent us away, three tables became free and she was searching for us high and low. In the hotel. She didn't find us cos we were over the road, 5 metres away, waiting for a table there. There's something bizarre about spa town folk...

Eventually we were invited in to the restaurant and got a table on the terrace overlooking the river. Good thing we weren't in a hurry because the restaurant service was as haphazard as the bar service. Good thing it was worth waiting for too - lovely fresh food, not vacuum packed or frozen. There was no choice - they were chaotic but bossy - rillettes de poisson followed by duck breast in a creamy sauce with cracked wheat, courgettes and carrots in tidy piles. We got a bottle of a different rosé and were not charged for the first two glasses, not sure if they just forgot (probably), or were making a peace-offering.

Next morning, my DB wanted to go down to move his motorbike, but couldn't open the door at the bottom of our stairs - the handle had fallen off on the other side. He returned to our room to call reception, and they came up to rescue us without being too bothered by the fact that we could have all been burnt in our beds. I suppose we could have nipped out onto the roof and fallen through the tiles or lost our footing and gone rolling off to land with a splat onto the pavement below as alternative to a fiery demise. They charged us only €70 for the room instead of €76, giving us the €6 off for danger money I expect.

We left, thankful to be alive, hungry, and amused at the parallel universe nature of those spa town folks.

Plein les Yeux

The back of a motorbike is such an interesting place to be for one who gets high on an absence of responsibility. All I have to do is hang on and make myself felt as little as possible and I am free to enjoy views and smells and the sweetness of the Spring air. While my dearly beloved is negotiating corners, bumps, holes, traffic and other demands on his attention, I can dream and observe without a care in the world.

This Easter weekend I was thoroughly spoilt with views pleins les yeux. We went up to the Cevennes and over into Lozere. From Montpellier, we drove up to St Hippolyte du Fort and on to St Jean du Gard which is linked to Florac by the Corniche des Cevennes. At this time of year, the chataigners are newly in leaf and the contrast of their fresh green compared to the darker pines is stunning.

The hills and vales go on and on, the views interspersed with the odd habitation and village. There were loads of bikers out in the fine weather, many in groups taking in the fantastic riding conditions at their leisure. From Florac, where we found yet more bikers (British and Swiss) enjoying lunch at a hostelry, we decided to continue on our way along the Gorges du Tarn.

At some point we decided to stop for lunch and I brought out some goodies I'd prepared earlier - sandwiches made with Beaufort from the market, fresh peas in the pod picked that morning and so sweet they were like heaven, and some tasty tomatoes, both bought from the pricey greengrocer's in the village. Well, it was Easter! We found a secluded spot off the road, with fabulous views and a picnic table and enjoyed every last crumb.

We met yet more bikers along the narrow, windy roads of the gorge, and my dearly beloved even had a sort of speedy session with the leaders of one group. I was thankful when he stopped to look at the map and they passed us. Later, we saw the whole group at another pit stop and he got some respectful biker nods as we drove on.

From the Gorges du Tarn, we continued on the thème des gorges and wound our way along the Gorges de la Jonte, passing an observation post/museum for vultures! We even saw the vultures, which were nesting in some huge outcrop and kept soaring in and out, providing a fine spectacle.

Keeping to the green roads, we drove back to Florac and crossed over into the Mont Lozere National Park along the D998. By this time it was getting on, so we decided to find a hotel. I was a tad worried because there were lots of people about and, as a holiday weekend, I feared space might be a tad scarce. After 3 goes, however, we found the Auberge du Beausejour near Génolhac at Concoules, a basic hostelry situated on the side of the road, but with a promising barbecue and fantastic views. It proved to be basic and cheap, €81 demi pension for two, but the owners were a cheery bunch and told us they had previously owned a huge hotel in La Grande Motte and had moved up to Lozere for a quieter way of life. I enjoyed my grilled lamb cutlets (for Easter) cooked to perfection on the barbecue and my dearly beloved enjoyed the cheese plateau which, for some unwise reason, they left at our table. I had to remove it in the end before he demolished the lot!

Yesterday, we continued north to Villefort which is a lovely little town and right next to a stunning reservoir. You get the best view of the lake if you climb up on the D906 to La Garde-Guerin. Half way up there's a viewpoint which has to be my favourite point in the whole trip. What with the mountains, the lake, the viaduct, other bridges and the escarpment of the Gorges du Chassezac, it is one of the most stunning visual scenes in the region. I was completely bowled over by it.

La Garde-Guerin

Up onto the plateau, and we had a brief stop at La Garde-Guerin which is on the Route du Régordane, a major medieval trade route that linked the Massif Central to the Mediterranean. You can still walk it or bike it as it's been rehabilitated and maintained as a GR (Grande Randonnée).

We turned back and meandered our way along more green roads over Mont Lozere to Mont Aigoual where it was, naturally, raining. It was fascinating to see it without snow as I'm usually there to go skiing. The ski lifts looked pretty forlorn in the brown grass and wet. It continued raining as far as Le Vigan and threw it down at Laroque where we enjoyed a late lunch of warming poulet frites. We were pretty pleased to be under cover and merely watching the torrential streams from inside.

We made it home safely, exhausted by the ride, the sensory overload and the exercise required to ride. A fantastic weekend, and still so much to explore