My gosh, we're getting perilously close to Spain now. I might need to start doing some vocab revision soon - and just as I was tuning back into the French language, too. Someone actually asked me earlier in the week if I was Belgian. I took it as a compliment. But I'm unsure what Belgian Spanish from an Englishman would turn out like. My guess is that it would simply confuse all concerned.
Anyway... I started later this morning, for no reason other than that I could. It was looking like another grey day, but today I had my first buffet breakfast to brighten things up a little.
The beach view from my window. The trees were no longer bending sideways, which was helpful, but as I left the rain had returned again.
Buffet breakfast, course one of 14. You may think it's impossible to eat €15 euros' worth of continental breakfast. If so, please be reassured that I did my very best to prove you wrong.
I departed the hotel in a subtle cloud of orange blossom, because that's the shower gel that my hotel had, and when you do cycling laundry on tour, you have to use whatever's available. Our first few miles were adjacent to a handful of local beaches, all of which had smooth cycle paths along the promenade. I like how the paths have their own signage: little zebra crossings for pedestrians to pop safely across your route, cyclist give way signs, and lots of information about priorities (as in the traffic flow kind, not life advice). The riding was easy, and had there been sunshine, it would have been beautiful too. Even in the drizzle, it was pretty good.
Beachside promenade at the south end of Royan. I'm sure it looks very different in August.
If memory serves, the satnav might have warned me about a climb four or five times today, but it wasn't really serious. The first section in particular was effortless, with only the occasional slight ripple in the landscape.
This view was taken at the top of an early 'climb'; I think we'd gone up about 20 metres. Just enough to afford a view of one of the bays. If the crop had been a foot or two higher, I'm not sure this picture would have been possible.
As we progressed, the landscape began to change. The first field of grapes appeared about 20 miles in, and soon after there was little else to be seen as we spun through the regions of Blaye and Bourg. I believe French wine is a little in crisis at the moment, with a global shift away from alcohol generally, and wine particularly. It certainly feels like this area would take a lot of effort to recommission for other purposes. The landscape was pretty much a monoculture, and judging by the map, most of the more famous appellations were out of sight on the far side of the river.
There were few settlements of note in evidence, again, and although I knew I'd find some later, it meant that the route was unremarkable with little to report until, with the midday shop closing point nearing, we found ourselves in the town of Saint Bonnet sur Gironde. A faded sign on the side of a building pointed towards an artisan baker, set back on an adjacent courtyard, and I pulled off to see what we could find. I was glad we'd done so. The proprietor greeted me with a beaming smile, perhaps because I was his only customer since opening, and proudly looked on as I chose from his range of about a dozen things. He charged me prices which would have seemed roughly right a decade ago, and shuffled willingly around the back to refill my water bottle for me. I felt genuinely pleased at having passed by his tiny business, and although he was a flan-free zone, I bought a pain aux raisins and a damp ham sandwich for lunch later.
Every bit as artisanal as it looked. But, lots of extra points for being traditionally french.
I spotted this as I sat on a low wall to eat my pain aux raisins. if you look carefully, you'll see that the improbably-coloured flowers are actually twists of paper, attached with green twine. These adorned the wall of the village hall.
Flat roads, and vineyards everywhere. I didn't really need the sign to inform me that we were in wine country. Also, there were roadside offers of free tastings at very regular intervals. I resisted. 😇
I think this may have been one of the more significant climbs. Honestly, I think I've only used the bottom gear a couple of times on the whole tour... and not at all, today.
Approaching Bordeaux itself, and crossing the Dordogne. If you enlarge the sign, you'll see that Eiffel made not just a tower, but also a bridge. This snapshot was taken from one end of it.
Another bridge shot, closer to the city. So this was where all the french traffic had been! We'd been averaging about 16.5 mph until this point, but queueing cars and endless traffic lights brought that down quite a bit in the final five miles.
And finally, we arrived at our lodgings, 73 miles and less than five cycling hours after departure. The room was a great find, I think... it's part of a spacious religious complex and is inexpensive, pristine, and airy. However, they were unamused to see Raven entering their reception area. The lady explained that the bike sheds were out the back. I explained that I'd confirmed secure storage, which those bike sheds certainly weren't. And after a short mexican standoff, and me pointing out that her tyres were exactly as dirty as a wheelchair's would be, I wheeled Raven to her special place at the foot of a monastic staircase, indoors, and out of harm's way.
Saint Louis de Beaulieu, or 'home' as I'm calling it for a minute.
I also managed to get out into the city for a while, because the weather was better, and you really can't stay indoors on these trips! So a good four or five mile walking, to take in a few cityscapes and significant buildings. I'd been to Bordeaux before... as a child, I'd done two school exchange visits here which brought me to France for a month at a time. I can't honestly say I remembered it, though, and it's fairly probable that there have been a few changes in the forty years since. (Forty? Jeeeezzzz....)
The 'large bell', as it's now called. This tower was once part of the city's medieval ramparts, and I think I'm right in saying it's the only part left. Unless of course the nearby Burger King was older than it seemed.
I'm hoping these ancient legs will make it through another day's cycling tomorrow. It'll be a longer ride, again, although flatter - if that's even possible. (And, if you're interested, we'll be smelling mostly of peach shower gel). We're half way through the cycling time now, and tomorrow may be my last chance for flan. After that, it'll be crema catalana or some such. I suspect there are far worse things in the world.
We're having a ball.
Today's ride: 73 miles (117 km) Total: 401 miles (645 km)
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Steve Miller/GrampiesSorry to burst your bubble but being asked if you are Belgian in France is as far from a linguistic compliment as you can get. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Mark M.To Steve Miller/GrampiesI'm aware that they're the butt of national jokes, but let's hope there are no Belgians reading this. Actually, I think in french eyes it still beats being a rosbif 😏 Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Bob KoreisJust remember, if you ask for one it's a chocolatine in Bordeaux. Call it a pain au chocolat and they will label you one of those from up north. 😆 Reply to this comment 1 month ago
