Chapter 5(of 8) Holiday 2005

The Tarn sort of crept up on us, from behind.

When we left the Auvergne we were heading towards Languedoc .As the area of the Gorges de Tarn was directly on our path, it seemed the obvious place to head to.

The only camp site in that area which satisfied the rigorous Dwyer criteria was in the tiny village of Le Truel. This seemed to be at the bottom of a Gorge, surrounded by wooded cliffs so we decided to stock up with food before we ventured into the interior.

We went to a supermarket in Millau (on the way driving frustratingly under one of the longest bridges in the world, and bridges are one of my favourite things) and filled the car with three days basic rations of food and wine.The only thing we didn’t stash was bread on the basis that no French man was going to exist further than 10 minutes from a fresh supply of bread for breakfast.
(On this point, at least, we were correct)
So taking our courage in our hands and lacking only native bearers we headed into the thickly wooded hillside banks of the Tarn.
Not to far from Le Truel we saw a picnic spot ahead and decided to stop for lunch. At this stage you must realise that we had seen nothing but the trunks of trees for the last 30 minutes or so.

We stopped and started to unpack the picnic things when I turned away from the table I frightened Sile by suddenly saying “Jesus Mary and Joseph!”
Through a break in the trees I had suddenly seen this,

This was the first stage in our seduction by the Tarn. As I said it crept up on us, from behind.

When we got down to the Campsite itself we were again seduced.

It was exactly on the bank of the river
and our emplacement was not only just a hedge away from its course, it also had its own walnut tree.

The Gardienne was very warm and welcoming, of course we could get fresh bread in the Alimentation in the village at the other side of the river (and all other grocery supplies as well) and, furthermore she was going to have a little welcoming drink up by the Sanitaire tonight and she hoped we would come along.

The only fly in the ointment soon flew away.
There was a snotty looking French woman looking over the site next to ours as we unpacked out tent. She was the first and only person I met in France who didn’t reply to my “Bon Jour”.
However, with a look that indicated that the quality of the neighbours was not “comme il faut” she departed only to be replaced very shortly after by a single male cyclist who instantly stuck his hand over the hedge and said “Hello I’m Mark, I’m from Holland and I’m married to an Irish girl and I’m really glad to meet you”.

So there we were, a lovely site Au Bord du Riviere, Fresh bread available for breakfast, a doty Gardienne and now a friend to talk to.
Le Truel on the beautiful Tarn was, as they used to say in Cork, “The Berries”

And it lived up to its initial promise extremely well.

We went on a couple of brief excursions. One to Rocquefort to go through the “Rocquefort Experience” which was about as exciting as it sounds.
If you get turned on by Caves filled with plastic models of cheeses this is a must for you. To get there we had to pass through the town of St. Affrique which was a perfect model of a sensible French working town, with absolutely no touristic pretentions, and an excellent farmers market.
Furthermore the property prices were good and it had a good bookshop.
I even took a photo of a dilapidated Hotel by the river which looked like it could be ours for a few bars of a sean nos.

On the way back we had gone this way to see a Dolmen which was marked on the map,amazingly similar to the Irish dolmens (maybe we both used the same architect?)

And from a nearby hill top I had been able to glimpse the Millau Bridge, fully 30 miles away.

Then we stumbled upon an amazing sculpture park
We had been noticing these huge sculptures in various towns in the area.
They were all made of pieces of scrap metal cleverly welded together
by a clever sculptor with some nice witty touches like spoons used for mouths etc.
Quite by accident we found ourselves at his workshop which was on top of the garrigue near St Affrique.

There, in the middle of nowhere,we suddenly found ourselves in a Zoo of huge metal animals and people.
While we were prowling around this mans work (and it grieves me that I forgot to write down his name) a little boy cycled up from a nearby house and fearlessly parked his bike, leaning against the nose of a huge Rhino.

I was also quite taken by his Asterix

Which was made of the oddest scraps

That was about the most exciting thing thar happened to us on our most pleasant few days by the Tarn.

Other than that we just lazed the days and nights about by the river

Fetched bread from the village in the morning

Drank plenty of wine

And even had time to spend Moon gazing