France

Le Bleymard - The Pickup - 20 April

It was a sad morning knowing that our good friend Loustic would be returning home. Steve awoke at around 7 am to find glaciers had developed on the outside of the tent, with the frost and fog still sitting heavy in the valley. At first sight poor Loustic let out a bellowing 'eee-h-oooorr' which seemed to translate into 'Pardon me old chap but I seem to have wrapped myselmf continually around this pole and therefore am unable to continue to gorge myself on fresh grass, be a sport and take me to a greener patch'.

Sorting donkey out was one thing but finding our gas can did not have the correct fitting Steve left a smoldering mess of an attempt at a fire (saving grace - remeber all the twigs are covered in frost!). On returning without gas but with ample food supplies as an offering to Camilla it was clear girl guides had paid off! The smoldering mess now had flames roaring from within and a pot boiling water to the side.

The pickup for Monsieur Donkey was 2 pm giving us ample time to explore this tiny village in the valley. Temptation got the better of us so we chose a strawberry tartelette and apple cinnamon flan both of which were eagerly devoured under the most enormous blossom tree. The patissier was more than helpful at explaining the ingrediants pulling spice boxes out of the kitchen to help with translation.

A quick call home to the parents was met with glee. As much as the internet helps us keep in touch nothing replaces the reassurance of each others voice to confirm everything is fine. Packing up our tent has become quite systematic and within half and hour we were sitting in the grass having lunch reflecting on the last couple of days. Loustics chariot arrived and we said our final goodbyes then off to the local bar to drown our sorrows before the only bus to leave town for 3 days.

Huddling under the information hut as the sunshower began, a whole half an hour earlier than the designated bus departure seemed a little excessive. An hour and a half later the local school children turned up to go home for the weekend just as we started making plans to remain. Whether the departure time was lost in translation or not (maybe just a Sydney cityrail timetable), the wait was worthwhile as the trip down the valley in the afternoon sunshower was glorious.

Villefort - 20 to 22 April

Still buzzing with excitement from the bus ride carreering around bends overlooking the jagged gorges and winding river, Chateau Champs and precarious apple orchards clinging to the cliffs we toddled into town. There were all of two accommodation options available within a 1 km walk of the station, in a town that is 2 km long, so we had little choice but to stay at Hotal Balme.

At 35 euros a night is was surprisingly in good condition. Stepping back into the 1930s decor, floral wallpaper and 12 foot ceilings was complimented by the ruddy hotellier without an ounce of humour in the whole 200kg of him. The view out the window typified our location in the heart of Southern France with winding streets leading of the main boulevard where men played boule smoking pipes and boulangeries compete for your business.

Without gas we opted for the popular pizza restaurant and had one of the best woodfired pizzas topped with a soft yolked egg, yum. Night two in Villefort led us back to the same pizza place which indicates what we thought of the place.

The first morning in Villefort was spent lazily in the cafe boulangerie where we had our first coffee in weeks and devoured croissants, scrolls and raisin swirls. A couple of kilometre walk with dirty laundry in tow to the laundramat was in vain as it was closed yet we continued as planned to Lake Villefort.

Lake Villefort has an immense damn filling the valley to 60 metres of water and a vast drop on the other side to a trickle below. We ate under a tree on the side of the damn and soaked up some rays before heading back in to town for a later afternoon snooze. Tough life really.

We have found so far that trains are by far the best way of getting around France, even in and out of some of the most remote country towns. The system is immense with infrastructure including numerous tunnels over 1 kilometre long, incredible viaducts and bridges and smooth tracks however the trains themselves range immensely from 40 years old to fresh out of the box.

Packed and ready to leave on the 22 April we commenced the journey at the Villefort station. To our surprise the train which came to pick us and two other passengers up had only one carriage but was very modern. Winding down the mountain we changed trains in Ales before a final change in Nimes then onto Avignon.

[list]Values

[*]Two flights to Europe - $3,500

[*]Bus ride from Le Puy en Velay to Langogne - 12 euros

[*]Toilette break - 0.20 centimes

[*]Walking with a Donkey in the Cevenne - PRICELESS

Langogne to Luc

Our first encouter with the locals was a nosey horse with long toenails keen to make the aquaintance of Monsieur Loustic (aka our Donkey). Through farmland lanes we traversed the surrounding hills behind Langogne before entering thin trails between tall pine trees.

Steve came to a stop not more than an hour into the walk exclaiming in a secretive hush that 'it has been a long time since we have been somewhere undisturbed by the noise of engines'. It was truly a magical feeling to stand silent below the pine forest canapy for those few seconds before a low flying French military MIG jet fighter almost knocked us over.

Further encounters included a half dozen angry dogs, which we later concluded get adjitated simply from the sight of anything other than the quiet lives they lead. We cross a number of stone arch bridges over stony creeks before the uphill battle with gravity! At the top of our first major ascent we slumped under a tree, tied Loustic to the barbed wire and rubbed our heels. An inquisitive donkey seemed eager to join our party but Loustic would have none of us looking at other rides so he started to shuffle and set the pace.

Decending into the marshlands of Sangne Rousse we read the plaque which explained how poor Robert Louis Stevenson (RLS) got lost for hours in this section of the walk due to magnetic field interferance, fog and hunger. We luckily escaped hullicination through devouring some of Camilla's pre-packed (girl guide style) lunch with dry feet and a shady grass patch.

Under stick instruction we thought it was time for some donkey maintenance, so ignoring the old saying 'you can lead a horse to water' (primarily because Loustic is an intelligent donkey) we attempted the first drink. To no avail our donkey remained dry so disgusted at his lack of appreciation at our generosity we strode on.

Chaylard Levque (you are forgiven if you have not heard of this small town) was where Camilla became the key tourist attraction. A number of older (>26yrs) tourists relaxing in their well appointed Gite, cold drinks in hand decided to take a photo of our Loustic leading Camilla through town. We decided to approach said tourists and found them to be a retired couple doing the same walk from the south coast of NSW. We bid them bon voyage and were thinking of them only an hour later when the second of the great ascents for the day was wearing us thin. Steve's extensive topomap reading skills (insert zero experience where appropriate) concluded without argument that the next section would be downhill.

Puffing at the top of the third great ascent and Steve had another look at how the map portrayed this section. A lesson well learnt in the field (unlike the security of a girl guide hut) will never be forgotten.

Finally, Loustic decided to drink (out of a puddle) then decided to sit down in the dirt and roll around with the bags on. Out came the French English dictionary to confirm one of the words that was repeated during our donkey maintenance training 'entêté' which translates (you will never guess) into 'stubborn'. Loustic commanded only a few moments of his own throughout the day however this was not one he would be indulged as our eggs and cameras were at risk.

All of the uphill walking throughout the day meant only one thing for the final section, a very steep decent into the town of Luc via Chateau de Luc - a partially in tack castle on the hill overlooking the river. With a donkey in tow (or as the case may be two humans in tow) the locals gathered from our faces that we needed direction to the closest campsite. With almost 8.5 hours of walking and 28kms of gorgeous terrain behind us the tent went up like a flash next to the cascades of the river.

Luc to Mirandol

Waking to the sound of a fly fisherman casting his real into the early morning mist Steve with every ounce of agility he could muster produced two hot cups of tea from the warmth of his sleeping bag. What prowess!

Donkey grooming was eagerly undertaken by Camilla who produced southern France's most beutiful donkey of the day. Saddle in place and bags loaded the unlikely threesome returned to the beaten path of the GR70. The GR (Grand Radonnee - walking tracks) are a web of well signposted trails/treks and ambles through the best France has to offer. Although the topographical guide/maps and French descriptions add to the understanding of the trail it is nearly impossible to get lost with every turning point marked with red and white stripes, crosses or indications. Needless to say we made our only two detours by mistake on this day as a result of hunger and lack of midday tea.

Walking past fields upon fields of dafodils we came to our first true obstacle. A barbed wire fence relief (ladder for humans) was strategically positions adjacent to a brand new swing bridge just wide enough for the lovely Camilla, her backpack and video camera to make their way across leaving Steve, Loustic, and 50kgs of luggage standing barefooted before a raging (read trickling) freezing (read bloody freezing) river.

After coming down from his rant about the next river crossing being dedicated to those precious little toes of Camilla, we wandered off to play with frogs, admire dafodils then realise at an impassable section of river that we were the wrong side of the train line. Thankfully only 200metres back and we found our way again, another lesson learnt (take a raft next camping holiday).

La Bastide was the picture of a small town with a helpful train guard offering water before we crossed the bridge into town and let Steve loose in the Boulangerie. Three very young French children with patient grandma in tow were dazzeld by Loustic 'Le Ane est tres bien'. Camilla tried her best to answer their questions before helping them feed the lucky bugger fresh bread and even a small piece of Steve's chocolate croissant.

Now very hungry we made our way following the red and white stripes up a gruelling hill for about 20 minutes before relising on the map that La Bastide is the intersection of around 3 or 4 GR walks. Back down the hill was a time for reflection before we dove into a huge lunch by the river. Loustic up to his knees in fresh spring grass made a complete gutz of himself also and seemed to plod for the rest of the day.

Our largest climb yet was from 1016 to 1308 metres above sea which took almost an hour. At the summit we came to a full appreciation of how beautiful this part of the world really is with a panoramic view of the towns and valleys below. Our decent was soaked up by Loustic and Steve however Camilla's feet started to suffer from the climb. Steve now happily carrying Camilla's pack rolled along down the hill in front with Camilla guiding Monsieur Donkey behind. A startle came from above a ridge where 4 pregnant tan and blonde mares and foal overlooked our passage.

Passing two campsites seemed like a good idea at the time but by the time the sun was setting the L'allier gorge opened up below us. A herd of cows chased (from their side of the fence) Camilla and Loustic along the narrow winding road as we crept into Mirandol. A labirynth of roads led us of the main road (1.5 lanes) under the towering Mirandol train bridge made up of a dozen arches piercing into the canyon. Although committed to camping, the warmth of the Gite (share accommodation) beckoned and as we were the only guests for this time of year it felt like a private retreat. Tucked in among the rocks did not allow space for Loustic overnight so Steve and the owner tucked him into his paddock across the valley.

Mirandol to Le Bleymard

By this stage in the walk we have seen endless countryside, rivers and small villages of southern France however the pace of the last 50 kilometres did not allow time to soak up the surrounds. Additionally, our feet (not to mention legs, backs, shoulders etc) had started to complain and were threatening a strike. Once Loustic was consulted and agreed we set forth on a short 14 kilometres to take in the final stage of our radonnee.

The highlights for the final day started with a sleep in followed by French toast, juice and tea. Steve gathered Loustic and did some grooming (not quite as tender and lacking some finnesse but still delivered with love) to make a handsome donkey.

Following the train lines we were joined by another walker who complimented our 'jolie âne' (pretty donkey). Another big hill (350 vertical metres) warranted a long lunch under the shade of old growth forest. We plonked down next to a mountain spring oozing cool water from the rocks and ate fresh ravioli with bechamel sauce, tea, bananas and some chocolate. Self catering rocks!

Loustic became spooked as the final mouthfuls were taken, so taking head of this sign and feeling somewhat vunerable with our shoes off we packed up and headed to the final decent. Down among the stream jaggered through the paddock we were startled by a moderate sized streak of orange fur running up the other side of the hill. it's movement could only be described as cat like so with this we kept a reasonable pace and continued to the final obstacle.

A joint river crossing proved to be the source of great amusement as Camilla realised why Steve carried on only days before. The icy snowmelt and cool spring water pierces deep into the toes so you either laugh or cry. Loustic was probably wondering what all the carry on was about when accompanying Steve across. While tending to our frozen feet Loustic took his moment and wandered at a snails pace off along the path looking back every now and then seeking some sort of reaction. Like a cheeky child he hid behind a tree eating until Camilla caught up.

Our final chance encouter in the forest was a wild deer bounding down the hill like a mogul skier. Les Alpiers was a happily situated small village looking down through rollling hills on the opposite side of the crest to our destination. Rounding the final pasture and descending through loose shale rock to our campsite was both gleeful and sad.

An amazing three days of trekking with perfect sunshine, perfect company and fabulous feast of colours and sights was at an end. If you ever have an opportunity to walk alongside a donkey take it. Like Robert Louis as it certainly exceeded our expectation, and not surprisingly we shared the same sentiment as RLS almost 130 years before.

Monday - 16 April

When we say close shave catching the bus, what we mean to say is that is was one moment before chasing it down the street. In small rural towns it seems common place to only have one or two busses or trains per day and this was our only ride out of Le Puy en Velay. Both hungry and freezing cold in the morning mist at 7am is not the time to be trying to speak French.

The bus collected school children from each of the towns we passed, each collection slightly louder than the previous as the morning drew on. At Langonge we attempted to memorise a map from the train station to the camp site (good one guys, have you had tea at this point you ask). An hour later and we were covering our tracks, asking random French people for directions and finally grumbled our way into the camping.

Naussac Lake is a beautifully set amongst rolling hills and pasture land. We had tea (which likely saved our marriage) and finally finshed pitching the tent. It was now almost 11am and we knew it would be tricky on a Monday to find an open food seller at lunch time (who would have thought - crazy French). Sitting under the Pont Vieux bridge along the GR70 Chemin (way of) Robert Louise Stevenson as part of his epic stroll through this country had us bustling with excitement about the days ahead.

Drinks were a bit of a pre-gruelling walk treat purchased enjoyed in a little country bar tended to by identical twins. Back at our campsite we were sitting high on the hill eating dinner while watching a thunderstorm move across the lake in completely the opposite direction of our adventure tomorrow, whew.

The Meeting - 17 April

Our walk through the Lozere, Cevenne and Gevandaun would not be complete without a strong, obedient donkey to assist with our food and equipment.

We ate briefly next to the lake in the reception of the campsite waiting for the truck to pull up. Once those doors were flung open and his big brown eyes found ours we knew this experience was going to be worthwhile.

May we introduce Loustic, a 5-6 year old brown donkey with white underbelly, patient and kind personality, seeming disproportionate ears and an eee-h-ooore that give you goose bumps. ok, so he is a bit rough around the edges but forgiven immediately when without complaint he accepted approximately 35 kgs worth of food, water, cameras, maps, tents...

It may seem easy to some, but for two cityslikers like us to take a lesson in donkey etiquette, management and obediance in French was a little tricky. In brief the requirements are to ensure a big drink each day, planty of grass overnight, don't give in to the eyes when being stubborn, a brush each morning before getting dressed with luggage rack, let him think about water crossings before diving in and always clean his feet before marching off. Easy, just translate into waving hands, French country slang and lots of nodding and you have the general gist.

Here we go, the walk has begun and without delay our affection for this strong animal was growning. As the morning mist lifted off the green pastures it was sure to be a steady pace for the next few days and one that would be both challenging and rewarding.

Arriving - 15 April

Our train ride from the busy Lyon station was taken on a very old SNCF carriage through the most spectacular green fields, deep gorges and old bridges. Winding along the river we saw from the train small villages, Sunday markets and ruins high on the hills around us.

Le Puy en Velay will be remembered as the first location where we had to pay for the toilette (0.20 centimes - well worth it). The reason for being in Le Puy was to hunt down a donkey and decide on our starting point for a walk along the Robert Louis Stevenson trail.

Without letting you in on the secret of the next few days we shopped for supplies, had an elderly French gentlemen explain that the woman should only carry 9 kilograms on any walk (probably astonished at how big our bags have swollen to) and then proceeded to our tent site below the spectacular Rocher St Michel d'Aiguilhe church (980-1250AD). Lunch was prepared in the grass then up the mountain where the church was sitting for a view over the countryside. Throughout the travels so far this place was the most soul soothing with thick rock walls keeping out the heat of the day, hymns cascading through the arched ceilings and small stained glass windows colouring the floor. To top it off, out tent could be seen glimmering in the afternoon sun (we are convinced it could be seen from space).

A good night sleep was in order as the follow days would prove to be gruelling.

Afternoon Arrival - April 12

Trains in France are by far the best way to get around. After waking up relatively early in Montpellier we packed, which takes a variable amount of time depending on if it is pre or post tea intake, and took a quick step to the station in the rain. Approximately 3 hours on the train and by early afternoon we approached the busy station at Lyon.

Metro systems have to date been the bees knees in Europe. They make sense, are regular and reliable, fast and much (much, much, much) better than walking. Across town in Lyon to Vieux Lyon station at the bottom of the fenicular railway we exited convinced that the best way to the hostel was a quick jog up hill. 20 minutes later we were dripping with sweat and being ignored by the little French barmaid/receptionist/hotellier. Our advice to all non-European born travellers is to pay attention to lunch time and make your arrival either before 12 or after 4pm.

On being offered single sex dormitory rooms without lockers plus the necessity to buy a hostelling international card, it worked out to be $25 cheaper to find our own room in a 1 or 2 star hotel. At this point the work began! Steve asked in relatively clear French for recommendations on nearby cheap accommodation to be told clearly in English that the "information" attendant only sold fenicular rail tickets and had no idea.

A phone booth was then next step so with 4 or 5 phone calls the textbook questions where utilised. Our decision was made on two factors, how much less than the overpriced hostel and how close to this exact phone booth. Our room was on the second floor of an early 18th century apartment block with high cielings, long corridor, spiral staircase, big room, french doors and our own balcony. Catering over the next three days was an event on the balcony each evening, Camilla even carried the shopping all the way across town.

Tourist information did the big sell on us so we opted for a Lyon City Card at 15 euros a piece to explore all the attractions of this exciting city. Time for some sleep as tomorrow would be a well packed day of sightseeing.

Day 1 - Friday 13 April

With the snooze button firmly pressed Steve dove out of bed to prepare poached eggs, tomato and camembert on a fresh flute (bread) complimented (of course) with tea.

The Lyon card includes unlimited travel on the metro, bus, fenicular rail and tram system. We started at the Musee des beaux Arts for an hour of inspirational Roden sculptures, more mummies and Greek artifacts before Monet, Matisse, Picasso ... in the contemporary wing which smelt of Camilla's high school art room. The Lyon art gallery was very well laid out so the entire facility could be toured in a logical and efficient way.

Our visit to the Minitures museum had us wondering what we were in store for with the advertisement giving little away. Once inside we walked through a recreation of sets from 'The Parfume', a movie recently released with Dustin Hoffman set in the 1800s (a little spooky). The permanent exhibitions were realistic creations of everyday scenes, comedic moments in life and fantastic models of building, match stick carvings and paper cuttings done with attention to minute detail.

Back to our roots a little, we visited Lyon's hospital and the museum of medical relics from the 1600s onwards. We are so glad to not have to meet the plague doctor in thier black crow like mask and gown or be bled of bad blood. We can't believe they had beds made for 5 patients at a time, post slots for abandoned children or dental tools suitable for work on semitrailers.

Our first fully relaxing moment was on the river cruise (all included) which took us to the Ile Barbe in the Soane river upstream from Lyon. For an hour we delighted in the sights of gorgeous homesteads and giggled at the young tour guides English pronunciation.

The highlight of our day was attending the famous Guignol childrens puppet theatre. 'Le Tour de Monde' was so entertaining with 50cm tall dolls with charismatic faces play out a search for treasure around the globe. To add to the spectacle the children from 5 to 10 years old (at least we had a good view over all their heads) interacted with the characters throughout the show. It is so funny hearing them yell in French at the characters and sqweel with delight at the baddy losing out to the good guys. Our tour backstage revielled the intricate setup of puppet faces, props and sound effects as well as the puppetiers.

A quick pitstop at our balcony/restaurant/kitchen produced bread and vegetable soup before leving for the fenicular railway to the top of the hill. What an injustice to glide past the point we struggled to on the first day with no effort at all. At the top we walked around Notre Dame de Fourviere, a spectacular cathedral situated high on the hill overlooking Lyon, the rivers Rhone and Soane and the farmland beyond.

Day 2 - 14 April

Camilla took the risk and let Steve off to the Boulangerie for fresh baguette while she paid 2.50 euros for a shower (not the best either) to wash the mop. Purchased a mobile phone card and a ticket to Le Puy en Velay to start our rural adventures the following day.

A stroll through the old town took us via willow trees along the river and boats holding smart cars on their roof. A splash out included coffees and citrus tarts while listening to a ceilo and violin players outside the church. We decided to come back in the afternoon for a free jazz/rock concert outside the even bigger church and on our walk to the venue we were passed by approximately 500 motorbike riders rallying against something or other.

The final splash was a local delicacy called tuile, basically a pan fried anzac biscuit covered in almonds and curved around a big tin. It was a great couple of days and was enjoyed in style in a city well worth the visit. If it weren't for Paris, Lyon would definetly attract the world to it's winding streets, great restaurants (our balcony) and entertaining venues as a must see in France.