Day 17: Journey's end

In the morning I rode back to the station in Newport, partly disassembled my bike again and boarded a train to Bristol, which actually called there this time (After some lengthy explanation of why I was traveling from Newport to Bristol on a Reading to Bristol ticket).

So ends my journey, on the same day Le Tour de France finishes in Paris.


Vive Le Tour!

*Editor's Note: I've retrospectively added picture and video content for the previous blog entries as and when I've been able to get the material uploaded. If you read the older blog posts as the text was posted, you will find there have been significant additions.

Day 16: Odyssey

I don't really have a full day (or possibly two would be needed, given that my legs have already been imposed upon to carry me across France) to ride from Epsom back to Bristol, so some sort of Rail cheating was needed.
I decided the only candidate stations were London Paddington and Reading. These are the only two stations where I was sure that I could access a direct train to Bristol, without using a lift or stairs to access the relevant platform. (as I had no desire to repeat the experience of nearly being separated from my bike on Suburban rail services in Greater London).

Chris was holding a BBQ, so naturally I could not make an front to my host by declining his tasty, tasty hospitality. I hung out with the cool engineering crowd, which included a few cyclists with whom I speculated about the outcome of Le Tour de France, which concludes tomorrow in Paris. After today's individual time trial it could be a very close thing, so potentially the traditional uncontested parade into the capitol would become a hard fought race for the yellow jersey.
I left about quarter past five, and decided that although London Paddington station was substantially closer (about 35Km vs some 65Km to Reading).

I stomped through the undulating roads of Surrey and Berkshire, receiving the occasional look or toot at the epic bike. After a couple of full weeks of touring though I was really felt it; my muscles starting to grumble at me. Even so it had a good feeling of a moderately challenging home stretch and I rolled into Reading at around 20:45. I noted that Wokingham seemed a very pretty town on my way through, but didn't stop save to occasionally get my bearings and scoff a sandwich. scoff a sandwich. Shifting that loaded touring bike doesn't half burn up some calories - were told 5000kcal a day for touring in the Pyrenees, and I think that could be an underestimate for the weight on my bike.

I got to the station, disassembled by bike and joined the 21:11 service, bound for Swansea via Bristol Parkway. I had picked just the right spot to park my bike so that when the train came to rest the door to the luggage compartment was right next to it. Once aboard I slumped in my seat, pleased that everything seemed to have gone as smoothly as I could have hoped... but all was not well. The train was held at Reading due to signal problems between Reading and Swindon. This delayed us considerably which was frustrating but I could deal with being late. When we arrived at Swindon it was announced that (almost unbelievably) the train was not to call at Bristol after all, but be diverted via Lydney and Gloucester to call next at Newport. The delays meant there would be no possibility of getting a connecting service at Newport for Bristol, and no rail service was running there from Swindon. This was massively frustrating, but I decided that the only sensible avenue open to me was to remain with the train and alight at Newport and stay with my parents for the night. The lifts at Newport are nowhere near as large as at Bristol, so getting out of the station would be problematic, but preferable to trying to find my way from Swindon to Bristol in the dark.
I would leave the train some 2 hours late, and 40 miles displaced from my destination. Add to that with some proper Welsh hills to get over before I could find a bed at my parent's house.

This journey hasn't exactly gone "to plan" from day one, but this is ridiculous.

Day 15: Reunion

Today I'm bound for Britain after 2 weeks on foreign shores. I got a good continental breakfast, because somehow bread just isn't as good outside of France, and headed out into Paris again. I headed to the Moulin Rouge, which I had hoped to see lit at night, but my getting lost in Paris the previous evening had ruled that out.


Me outside the Moulin Rouge

On my way from the Moulin Rouge to Gare du Nord (the station from which Eurostar departs for London) I was stopped by a French cyclist whom I chatted to for a while. He spoke mostly in English, and I mostly in French. We had a good discussion about the value of hammocks to the touring cyclist (mine, sadly, having gone unused the entire trip due to the weather). He also asked why I was so fast, which amused me greatly. I explained that after the Tormalet Paris is easy.

I arrived at Gare du Nord a full three hours before my train was to depart. I knew from my last trip that the luggage depot (where I had to check my bike in) is on the opposite side of the station from passenger check in. Not easy to make my way with all the gear and no bike to put it on. Fortunately I had learned some lessons from the TGV experience, and was able to re-pack the gear more effectively (not having to deal with the bike it's self was also a major help. I took my time making my way across the station, but was still at the passenger departure area well before check-in for my train opened. The queuing system caused a few frustrations, but things went fairly smoothly. My cleats set off the metal detector, but the French security person seemed to appreciate the issues of cycling and the frisking was cursory.


Gare du Nord; 180 degrees, viewed from the Eurostar passenger check-in queue.

In the departure lounge I got talking with a lady from Calafornia who has lived in London for the last twenty-somthing years. We catted about our travels, and my friend from Illinois who is just over a year into living in Britain.
The rail travel did throw up another anomaly in that all my travel documentation showed two passengers (because the journey was booked for both Chris and me). I had to explain that "Mousiour Vyse will not be joining us", which made me sound like a Bond villain.


On the Eurostar home


Mmmmmmm, train food; the Eurostar light lunch.

The train was non-stop to London, so completed the journey in just over two and a half hours. Chris met me at St. Pancras station in London so we could ride down to Epsom together. I got stopped by a London cycle courier with whom I chatted about touring gear. After we got across the bridge at Waterloo to the south bank of the Thames, we just had to follow the A-roads to Epsom. We took great delight in overtaking many, many other cyclists, quite a few of whom were on road-race style bikes. At one point we saw a large bunch of cyclists a way ahead. Chris and I were stopped at traffic lights, so I turned to him and said "La peliton a' 20 seconds" and we exchanged evil grins. Chris, on his unladen bike, pulled ahead to create a slipstream, setting an aggressive attack pace. I followed along with the epic 6-panniered touring bike. We swooped by the group at considerable speed; much to our amusement, and eliciting many a google-eyed look from the defeated bunch.


Reunited; Chris is in race leader yellow, because he most certainly got back to Epsom first, and I'm in "king of the mountain" polka-dots, because I got to the top of all the mountains (first).

So ends the trip back to Epsom; now to figure out how I'm going to reach Bristol.

Day 14: Jour Rapose

The interesting thing about my day in Paris, is that I didn't really have anything particularly in mind for it. Consequently after breakfast, when I stepped out of the hotel, I was faced with a fairly simple choice; "left or right?". I took a meandering route down towards the sene' by foot.
This is in keeping with the idea that you miss things by traveling around in cars, buses and the like.

My first find of the day was one of my favorites; a covered market "Les Enfants Rouges". I wandered in and found a couple of curio vendors, but most of the stalls were restaurants and food stalls. I noted Italian, Mexican, Cajun, Japanese, French, Fast-food and a Fromagerie amongst the stalls. The olfactory impact of this was quite something, and definitely would have been missed had I taken the Metro or Bus. I settled on getting lunch from the little Japanese restaurant. It was a long kiosk, with a few wooden tables with benches in a light, bamboo-like wood. The Chef was a slightly wizened gentleman, who stood before his steaming pots in a manner which seemed to proclaim, "I am the kitchen sense". The scene could just as well have been in Tokeo, except that the menu was chalked up on the board in French, as well as in Japanese characters.


The food was beautifully presented on a segmented crockery, I was sharing a table with some Japaneese restaurant go-ers, so was pleased that my chop-stick skills did not betray me.
I was actually quite surprised at the ammount of Japanese eateries I found in Paris, as dishes like susi struck me as some how "un-French". (Later in the evening I saw a restaurant named "Susi-planet", which had a fleet of delivery bikes lined up outside; so not only can you get sushi, you can get it speedily delivered).

After a lunch I continued my stroll in a generally southerly direction and met the sene around Charenton-Le-Pont. From there I headed down stream in the direction of Muse' de louvre. On my way I crossed the river to Notre Dame cathedral, the very first way-point on my 2010 France tour.


Even the infants are getting in on the Tourd de France action


Sand Art


A really cool Egyptian themed fountain I happened upon during my wanderings


Toy sail boats float in a fountain, near the Louvre


The goal for today stated on my plan was to by crepes; so I got started with a crepe (avec sucre et citron) in the "Jardin des Tuileries", which lie between the Louve and l'obilisque. The cafe was a gorgeous open air affair, surrounded by antique statues and flower beds.


...A little bird joined me at my table






I headed up the Champs eleese, where preparations for the conclusion of Le Tour on Sunday were already underway. Tiered seating had been set up along the street for the final sprint, and crowd barriers were being put up.

Further along, towards the Arch de Triomph, I walked by many of the fashion houses of Paris. The air carried a distinct and pleasant waft of designer of perfumes.


A Paris icon


This was possibly the coolest ricksaw I've ever seen; It has disk breaks, a decent suspension fork and an aerodynamically shaped "hull" which makes it resemble the lightcycles from Tron. I want one :-).


At Nike Paris the 4 winner's maiuous (jerseys) of Le Tour were displayed proudly in the window. I was really tempted to get one, but unsurprisingly they were extremely expensive.


When I stopped for my second crepe (Jambon et Fromage; because it was specifically crepes plural in the plan) I met a very charming young lady from Switzerland. We chatted away in a gazebo near the Eiffel tower for about an hour, and exchanged stories of travel and and a few points of culture. It was very pleasant indeed.

I decided to limit my self to entering just one attraction with an entry fee. I considered Muse' de Louvre, but decided that the restrictions on photography would be too frustrating. At the eiffel tower and Arch de Triomph, I was put off by queues. I opted instead for the River cruise; it seemed fitting to use another slightly off-beat mode of transport on the trip. I departed from the base of the eiffel tower at 20:00, the cruise lasted just under an hour, and I had a great chuckle at the extremely cliched' commentary. I picked a fairly good time, as at the point where we had finished traveling up-river, and turned about to come back the lights of Paris were just beginning to come on.


A most piratical vessel


Notre Dame cathedral, viwed from the river


I wish I got on this boat; paddle wheels are definitely retro-cool.

After the cruise I wandered the area to the north West of the eiffel tower. (If I'm honest I got a little bit lost around this point, but eventually got back to the eiffel tower).


A particularly groovy sort of motor-tricycle that I had seen around in southern france.

I stopped for a snack, and when I emerged from the restaurant (which I'm sorry to say was a McDonalds, but I was trying to keep things a bit austere) night had properly fallen and I began making my way back along the Sene. Paris is, of course, full of beautiful renascence architecture and by night the grand buildings look more striking if anything. Each structure is enhanced with lighting designed to accentuate it very best aspects. I was quite annoyed with my self for not having brought my tripod (as when I set out I had it in mind to return to the hotel before nightfall), I ended up balancing my camera on my knee, bollards or fencing in an attempt to stabilize it for longer exposures but, I'm sorry to say, with limited success.


The inevitable photo of the eiffel Tower.


Street art, not as good as the sort you find in Bristol... but its only Paris after all.


Even the residential buildings are wonderfully detailed


The dome of the Grand Palais; my favorite Paris building


Triple-header; The Grand Palais, L'Obelisque and Le Tour Eiffel, in one picture.


Another inevitable photo, the pyramid of the Louvre (apparently rebuild since it was eaten by the duck on my last visit to Paris).

In my revere at the sights, I quite lost track of time and, having walked back down the sene beyond the Louvre missed the last Metro train back to my hotel. It was all the more irritating for the fact that I was stood beside the last train as it waited on the platform, but found the signage quite confusing and only realized that was the train I needed as the doors were closing (had I twigged a couple of seconds sooner, I would have been on it). After that train rolled out the board changed to "Service termine'". I wandered around looking for another train but eventually found that there were no more. So my journey on the metro ended up being just an expensive walk along the escalators and travelators of a particularly extensive Metro station.

Having wandered Paris all day, I now had to make my way back to the hotel. I had forgotten to turn my phone to "airplane mode", so it had used all its power by the early evening in a futile attempt to find my home (as opposed to a roaming) mobile network. Consequently I had to navigate my way through Paris, a city with which I have no familiarity, by night using just land-marks and periodically referring to the metro maps which are positioned at the entrances to most of the metro stations. I managed to find a fairly direct route, but was quite weary by the time I finished. My feet certainly felt that they had had their fill of Paris. I got back to my room and was just about to retire to bed, when the fire alarm went off. This resulted in much wandering around in night clothes trying to figure out what was going on, but it was eventually explained that "Its good to sleep; alarm not good, but its good to sleep.". So ended my "Jour rapose" in Paris.

Day 13: Dans le Sac

So the trip is in the bag; according to my sat nav, the shortest route from Bilbao to Montpellier is some 675Km, its report for my traveled route is 805Km. This is compared to 737Km for my planned route, accounted for mostly by the 68Km addition of the Beziers to Montpellier section, in lew of a rail journey to Millau. I'm pleased to have crossed France coast-to-coast by bike, but having lost my duck I consider the trip to be something of a failure.

The tally of damage and injury looks quite good:
I've collected only one persistent injury (if you can call it that), which is that I've done something to the nerves of my left hand from long days holding the handle bars, and I now have fairly constant "pins and needles". I had foreseen this, and was the principal reason for the addition of the aero-bars. Unfortunately the issues with my front tyre loosing pressure had prevented me making significant use of this on the days where it would have been appropriate. Early on balance was a problem (getting used to the weight of the bike, but by this point I can actually execute a reasonable track-stand, trailer 'n' all).
In terms of the bike (aside from the puncture issue, which will be easily remedied by reinstalling my anti-puncture strip), the bottom bracket is complaining quite loudly at the loads and distance it has been asked to deal with. The bike is otherwise in good shape.
In more general terms, I seem to have dropped a bit of body fat (which I didn't consider my self to be over burdened with in the first place), and possibly enlarged my thighs slightly. I also have a wonderful case of cyclists tan, with jersey, short and mitt lines. In a possibly related have at many points been thought by the French to come from Spain. I taken to the view that the tan has caused me to look just like Russel Crowe in his role as Maximus-desimus "the Spaniard" Beridius in the film Gladiator, and this is source of assumptions about my Spanish origin.

So on to day 13...
After breakfast I returned directly to the center of town, which was far easier to find than the various obscure suburbs I had been seeking the previous evening.
After yesterday's shenanigans locating accommodations in Montpellier, it was nice to have a chance to look at the place afresh. Montpellier features many grand municipal buildings, parks, a very modern tram system (if that isn't an oxymoron). It's square, bordered almost exclusively with bars, restaurants and creperies and populated by busking musicians playing accordions play into all of the French stereo-types; a fitting end to my bicycle journey.


Montpellier from a bike's eye view.

Having taken a quick ride down to Gare St-Roach, from where I would depart that afternoon (to assure my self that I knew its location), I returned to the central square and found a cafe'.


I sat, relaxed, fielded some questions about "La velo avec le troi roue" and my journey. I continued to read a few of Grimm's fairy tales from my set of classic books on my eReader, before moving on the Odyssey. I also got in a crep', as I've a weakness for Creps.


My bike in the square.


Montpellier's tram

The ride was in the bag, but the bike was another matter...


a /lot/ of gear.

I went down to the station nearly 2 hours ahead of my departure, so I expected to be quite bored waiting around. The reality was I needed every minute and could have done with a few more besides. The platform for Paris was (naturally) an island platform, accessible only by stairs or lift. This part of the trip threw up a particularly large anomaly resulting from taking a trip planned for two alone. My gear is almost exactly what we would have carried for the trip with two of us. I have with me almost exactly the gear that I would have had for both of us: a two man tent, two persons worth of cook ware etc. The only gear I dropped at Portsmouth when it became apparent that Chris would not be joining me was a mug, a spoon and a fork. Of our "shared" gear only the spare tyre, and the all-purpose soap were on Chris's bike (both of which I have missed). Further, given that I was going with someone whom generally prefers a slightly slower pace than I tend to set when touring, hence I quite deliberately packed some more eccentric items, which add weight and bulk which should (and indeed did) slow me down a bit. Consequently I have a /lot/ of gear, for one person. The lifts at the station were too small for my bike (even without the trailer) and were in high demand. Had their been two of us, it would have been a simple matter to send gear up and down the lifts in manageable chunks (one person sending whilst the other receives at the other floor). But being on my own though, the logistics (as well as the fact that there are men in camouflage, with automatic rifles who insist that one does not leave one's bags unattended) made this quite impossible.
There was also the matter that the TGV people insist that my bike be disassembled and bagged for carriage, so I couldn't use the bike to push my gear around as I would at a British rail station.
So having shoe-horned by bike into the lift (by putting it on end) to get to the upper level, I set up camp by the lift to the platform for Paris and set about disassembling my bike, and re-bagging my gear so I had fewer bags to carry (as 6 panniers, tent-bag, plus bike bag and trailer simply can't be carried by one person).
I got my 2 small and 2 medium panniers into the duffel bag which I had brought along (having removed a few key items from the medium panniers to my folding back-pack), leaving me the duffel, back-pack, and two large panniers by way of baggage. I then set about disassembling and bagging the bike and trailer. My touring bike, with its various pannier frames, is rather larger than most bikes and even with it's handlebars pedals and saddle off refused to fit into the bike bag. I attempted to remove the rear rack (the front rack being too complex to consider removing in the time available) and found that something was awry with the top pair of bolts. I was able to remove the bottom bolts and pivot the frame such that the bike bag could accommodate it. I had fortunately retained the second bike bag (intended for Chris's bike) into which I packed all three wheels, and the tent. By the time all this dismantling had been achieved I had less than 20 minutes before the train departed.
This left me with a large duffel, 2 large panniers, one small day-sack, and two bike bags to try and carry. I managed it, just about; veins bulging out in a quite disturbing manner from a combination of exertion and the pressure applied by the various straps. I queued up for the lift, and just about squeezed inside with all my gear. When I arrived at platform level, I found I had to walk the entire length of the train to my carriage. By this point I was perspiring heavily under the weight of my gear (the bike plus the gear is close to my own weight), and the shape of the bike bag containing the wheels was such that I simply couldn't keep it off the floor. So I waddled down the platform carrying 5 bags and dragging one to many stares and feeling, frankly, a right plonker. I was assisted by a member of the train crew in making the last two carriage lengths, to my very great relief. But was newly embarrassed trying to find luggage rack space for all of the bags that I had just loaded whilst dripping with sweat.

So my helpful advice to anyone considering traveling on the TGV with a bike; have fewer than 6 panniers.


The TGV, once the harrowing ordeal of boarding was dispensed with. Proved its advantage over flying quickly. The broad windows afforded great views of various fortified towns and chatauxs as we headed north, through (what in cycling terms are) the median-mountains of the Central massif.

The journey from Montpellier, on the Mediteranian sea, all the way to Paris in the north of the country (a road distance of 733Km, according to my satnav), is around three and a half hours by this high-speed rail link. If one factors in the time that would be spent in airport transfers that makes it easily quicker than flying in practical terms, and about half the time needed to drive the distance.
I made use of the on-board power point to ensure my laptop and GPS were fully charged. My parents had been good enough to book a hotel in Paris for two nights, as my power and connectivity issues had prevented me from doing so. My satnav system, fortunately has an extensive list of locations for hotels, including the Hotel Maubeuge Gare du Nord for which I was headed. (Irritatingly it has no locations whatsoever for camp sites, so I rely on tourist maps and signage to find those). As much as I consider use of the GPS as cheating (I generally use it as an electronic map only, or to confirm my position if I feel in danger of getting lost up some mountain in poor visibility) I do dislike urban navigation quite a lot, and after yesterday's debacle I was in no mood to get lost in Paris, so I set up a trip from Gare de Leon to the hotel on the sat nav.

I took about a 40 minutes at Gare de Lyon to reassemble my bike, and then made a surprisingly straightforward ride up to my hotel near Gare du Nord. Paris streets though, can be quite frightening to ride on. In general French motoring seems to be a bit more of a free-for-all than I'm used to, and Paris is as French as it gets. I also encountered the semi-amusing problem of bicycle traffic. The latter part of my ride across Paris was on a single lane cycle track, upon which I became stuck behind some slow cyclists. With my long and wide bike I couldn't sneak past so had to just ride along behind.

I got to the hotel which has WiFi, power /and/ let me put my bike inside, so is by far an away the best accommodation I've had so far on those scores

In truth I'm glad to be homeward bound, as I'm rather missing my friends etc. I've a day in Paris tomorrow, under the circumstances I would rather proceed directly back to Epsom, but the complexities of changing my (and more to the point my bike's) Eurostar booking are too great.

Day 12: La terminus

I headed for Montpellier at around 11:00, having cooked my self breakfast, and chose the northerly route via Meze, rather than over the causeway via Sete.

The wind this close to the coast has made for a very "technical" ride, which has been quite stressful. Most of my day has been spent in a howling cross wind. At times I've screamed out in a combination of frustration and terror, as the prevailing conditions seemed to conspire to suck or blow me under the wheels of a HGV.


The Welsh dragon flies over the harbour at Meze. This represents the end of my self imposed challenge to ride from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean coast of France, the journey that I had begun at Biarritz on day 4 of my Tour.

Meze was pleasant, I dipped my feet into the Med which was pleasantly warm (as one expects of the Med). Oddly enough rolling into the small harbor in Meze was my first look at the Med, as all through Beziers, Adge etc it had been just on the other side of some hills or buildings.


I celebrated the attainment of this goal by having a baguette with chicken, cheese and butter, whilst my feet remained in the pleasant Mediterranean water, just along from the beach where people were swimming.


180 degree view at the shore in Meze.


I reached Montpellier at around 16:00, the last way point on my cycle journey.

I set about trying to find some accommodations. I headed strait to the central tourist office, who provided me with a map and made some calls on my behalf, but the camp sites were full or weren't picking up the phone.

I headed for a camp site in the north eastern suburb of Clapiers, but due to the placement of the river crossings, had to go a very long way around to find my way. When I arrived they were full, so I having expended all the battery power for my computer I had to call home and ask my parents to get onto late rooms and see if they could find a hotel room for me.
All the while the unpleasant wind conditions, roadworks and heavy traffic made the riding conditions quite unpleasant. My mood at this point had become a little despondent, as I had intended to have this accommodation booked well in advance. As it was though during the early part of my trip there had been a degree of uncertainty around whether Chris would be rejoining me at any point, and during the middle and later portion Internet usage hadn't been possible because of a lack of connectivity, power or both.
I eventually got a room at the "Villa Bellagio" a hotel a reasonable ride out from the center of Montpellier (thanks mum).

Day 11: Beziers

In the afternoon, I made a fast ride out to Narbone, which took just a couple of hours in spite of my Tyre which persists in leaking (Chris had the spare, and I forgot to take it from him before we parted company). It was quite pleasant with the mountains to the South on my right, and just the occasional bluff or small peak to my left. It was largely flat, with the occasional ridge to get over.

Probably the most interesting point was entering Narbone, at which point I was overtaken by three huge Armored Personnel Carriers. They were going only slightly faster than me, and I couldn't help by feel uneasy at the burly French soldier with a heavy machine gun who was looking down at me from the top of the APC with a look that seemed to say "foreign flag = target practice".


I had a meal in the square in Narbone. Narbone is quite a pretty town with a canal in addition to the array of medevil structures sported by all the cities of the region. Even so my three-wheeled touring bike was stealing a lot of attention from the various monuments that surrounded it, whilst I watched the watchers with amusement.

I then headed on to Beziers. The region I passed through as I approached Carcassonne had been planted with fields of Sunflowers. Between Carcassonne and Narbone the countryside had been largely uncultivated and had a desolate look to it. After Narbone though, I had the classic French scene of vineyards on the hill sides. I had seen one or two in the area of Saint Gaudens, but this was the first time I had come across extensive fields of grapes. It was a pleasing to reflect on the fact that I had pedaled my way through those different environments.
Once I had turned north at Narbone though, the wind conditions were seriously unfavorable. I was once again pedaling down hills.

Having resolved not to go to Millau, as in the absence of a civil-engineer or other traveling companion I failed to see the point, I passed strait through Beziers. I was followed for a while by some young people in a convertible shouting "Allez, Allez" at me, after I sprinted by them up a hill.


The canal at Audge. I suspect I could have had a rather more pleasant ride had I simply followed it from Narbone or Beziers, but I wasn't sure where it went as it bizarrely didn't appear on the map I obtained at the tourist office.

Having been steered back in-land by dodgey signage, I ended up camping for the night at Audge.


The many days of bad weather had meant I had harnessed little solar power in the early part of my trip, so I found my self returning to my old tactic of keeping the solar panels on the rack whilst I rode along. This was effective enough for me to pop online for a few minutes in a McDonalds.

It wasn't a great camp site; my emplacement was clearly intended for caravans rather than tents. Even so I made some soup and crepes, and read "the curious case of Bengamin Button" which was all quite pleasant in the warm glow of my gas lantern.


Coffee, a chicken minestrone and some crepes; a good dinner, well earned.


This might be the most successful attempt at crepes I have ever made; it must be something about being in France.

Day 10: Carcassonne

The camp site was perfectly situated for watching Le Tour, as the route used the access road for the site. I happened to pick a corner with no less than three groups from Wales on it. I lent my large flag to one couple from Risca, as I had also brought the small flag from my bike to the road side. I instructed them they were to guard it with their lives, as I couldn't stand the ignominy of returning home, were I to loose the colours.


A Smurf-tastic Tour de France float.


Being early in the stage, the peliton came through almost fully formed (a small chase group preceded them slightly, presumably seeking some green jersey sprint points somewhere up ahead).


BMC cycling team seemed to be driving the pace of the peliton; stretched out in a long chain connected to the main bunch.

I waved my flag at the Team Sky support cars that followed, and received a toot, and a wave from the first and second respectively.

After the tour I had the day to explore Carcassonne.


My first look at "La Cite".


Quite by accident, I found my self entering the city by a little used windy stair case away from the busy main gates. Approaching Carcassonne this way was made the experience somehow more authentic, than using the "tourist trap" main gates as I did later on.


The medevil city is very pretty and it was easy to imagine my self strolling down the streets of Storm Wind in the World of Warcraft, or as a character in Assassin's creed. The awnings in this scene made me think of bouncing around like I was in a platform game.


Flours before the latticed windows of an old inn.

There were many vendors of weaponry, and I almost rose to the purchase of a sword, but was concerned about problems at customs.
In the evening I had a meal of a local, medevil dish "casoulette".

Tragedy struck though, as somewhere in the hustle and bustle of the city the duck and I were separated.

Duck at the main gates (this was the last time I saw him *sniff*)

I think that nothing might epitomize feeling silly quite so much as wandering a fortified town in search of one's duck and having the words "small pastique duck" spat back at you by the matredie of the restaurant where you ate, after inquiring if it had been found. Despite many hours of searching I was unable to reunite with the duck.
I feel quite sad about that.


Searching around for the duck, I found that the city had a pleasant feel to it at night. This is the main square, which has only restaurants and bars on it, providing pleasant aromas.


The ambiance provided by the various sorts of lights in the restaurants was quite pleasant.




By night a brook down the hill from the fortified city takes on an ethereal appearance.