First, let me say a word about the loos here. Oh dear. There is one of those, you know, not very nice foreign arrangements, involving a hole in the floor and not much else. Most unsuitable. Men and women together. Well, my dears, I don't think so. Rosie May's splendid English facilities will be used to the full during these few days here.
The rest day consisted of not taking the van out. We strolled around the town
for a while, particularly enjoying the most striking hanging baskets in vibrant, brilliant colours and blossomy, leafy profusion. Then we took a short walk starting a little way from town, up the Gorge de Ceyrat. A thickly wooded footpath with not a soul about. Lovely to be among such lush green vegetation after the strong yellows, reds and browns of the Camargue. What a contrast.
The path led upwards and we just kept going, meaning only to see what was round the next corner, since there was limited visibility beyond the trees and we didn't know where we were going. The notice at the start of the walk had said follow the blue marks for a six point five km easy walk. Not if it was a circular walk or not. We came across a stone Dolmen, a small notice told us that this was what it was, though Chris had his doubts, a prehistoric rock fall landing one massive rock lid upon some other massive rocky debris seemed more likely to him. The walk eventually opened out onto a hilltop from which we could see for miles and miles over the landscape to mountains beyond. Cows with bells on their collars provided the soundtrack. Chris asked a friendly native, with impressive gestures and non specific vocalisations, can we carry on or do we have to go back, if we wish to return to Ceyrat? Continue, he said, with a laugh, and went back to collecting blackberries. We began to feel it might be a circular walk, and so it was. So, down again to the town, through a village, Verzet, where some of the houses had truly magnificent views but in many cases large specimen trees planted squarely between the views and the windows. What I especially liked about the footpath was the way marking, in that, every time you wondered, were you on the right path, a small blue oblong marker on a tree or stone came into view. And best of all, if there was ever any possible doubt in your mind, there was a blue X, so you knew, Non! This is Not the Way you Want, Madame, Look for the Small Oblong Bleu, and you will be Fine.
About five miles in total, but a lot of up, and glad to get back to the kettle and bottle, respectively.
Caption competition: things are not going to plan, he has seized a twig, what is he saying?
Alleged Dolmen...
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