July - The Long Summer Holidays Begin

July 3

Victory! Today I achieved my goal. I made it to the top of the Col de la Core: 1,400 m high. It took a few hours, a lot of patience and all my strength, and it was a rather lonely thing to do. Cycling’s like that I guess, quite solitary, and here where I can cycle through unpeopled forests and fields and mountains, it’s also a meditation. The mountain was shrouded in mist and rain above 1000 m which made it rather dangerous and very cold, especially on the descent. I feel quietly proud of this achievement, given that 14 years ago I wondered if I’d ever be able to walk properly again.

Last day of school today. The long summer holidays start tomorrow. Eight weeks of sun (hopefully) and good times. There have been fewer and fewer of the kids’ classmates turning up at school in the last few weeks. Mahalia’s class had to hand in their text books almost two weeks before the end of school, which meant that serious lessons haven’t been happening. Consequently, of 40 odd pupils in Mahalia’s year, only three stayed on to the last day. Most left two weeks ago. That makes 10 weeks of summer holidays for the high school students. Even in the primary school half of the children had disappeared by the last week. This long holiday must be a nightmare for working parents. Many children go to holiday camps while their parents work, and the strength of the extended family in Europe is very important to surviving this period too. Grandparents step in to mind the children a lot more here than they do in Australia. The number of divorced parents also helps (paradoxically), as children will spend one month with one parent and the other month with the other one.

There were 8 days of teachers’ strikes between September last year and July this year. That’s two weeks of class time. The right to strike is enshrined in the consciousness of French society, but nevertheless, parents have lost patience. Consequently Sarkozy is introducing a law requiring teachers to give 48 hours notice, also requiring the local councils to provide alternative child care during the strike. Cheekily, he’s introducing it during the summer school holidays.

July 13: ISLE DE RE

Tidal march with thousands of migratory birds

Yesterday we returned from a week on the Isle de Re, north of Bordeaux. We slipped in just before the crowds become too big. The annual exodus from Paris starts mid-July. Ludo's sister Anne, and two of her children, Jules and Jeanne, and Francoise and Roger were also with us.

The Isle de Re is a flat island about 30 km long, just off La Rochelle. It’s a fantastic place for cycling, and that’s what we did all week. Now that Felix is six, cycling together is possible and it was a real pleasure to leave the car and ride to the beach, to the restaurant, to the lighthouse … everywhere! The stairs of the lighthouse were a real work of art. Each stair was cut out of stone to fit into its position in the spiral and to slot into the circular stone wall.

The Lighthouse; Aperitif on the Port

ATypical Street on the Isle de Re; Emile and his Cousin Jules

The island survived historically on agriculture and on the making of salt. They still make salt in the marsh basins. Today it survives on tourism, and there has been an enormous amount of development since a bridge was built connecting the island to the mainland 20 years ago. There are cycle tracks all over the island, our favourite being a long one through the marsh land where thousands of migratory birds nest over the spring and summer.

Ludo and Francoise in the Courtyard; Francoise (Alias Juliette)

In the harbour at Sainte Marie; Roger and Jeanne

Francoise, Ludo, Anne, Roger; The Cousins

We had every type of weather, but managed a few days at the beach, which unfortunately was a polluted as the result of a recent oil spill. There are too many people in Europe for the number of beaches available - they are always very crowded. For an Australian tourist, it's much better to stay inland because invariably the beaches are a disappointment. There are some beautiful spots of course, but to find one with space to lay a towell is either very expensive, or impossible!

Mahalia; Emile in his Cairn

On the way home we stopped in Toulouse to watch Kung Fu Panda in French, which was really good. We recently saw Indiana Jones too. That was, however, not so good – and it wasn’t just trying to adjust to Harrison Ford’s French, which was disturbing to say the least!

July 14

Bastille Day. It was rather quiet in the village today, but at 4pm everything came to life with a band set up in the main square providing music and dancing for all comers. When the first band finished, half the village sat down for dinner at the trestle tables set up on the main square under garlands of coloured lights. After dinner another band hit the floor and all the oldies were up waltzing and tangoing around what by day is the car park. French people really know how to celebrate and they love to dance. I noticed that Papi Germain (remember he of the fresh eggs and milk and toothless kisses) had asked the prettiest girl there to dance. It was obvious she couldn’t wait until the interminable song was over! Now that I remember, in his barn there were a lot of calendars on the walls with well-endowed, scantily-clad women. A toothless playboy!

We left at midnight, just when the music was moving forward a few decades.

Main Square at Night; Papi Germain in Full Swing

July 15

Felix asked where babies come out at the table tonight. When I told him he burst into raucous laughter ‘Ha, ha, ha, ha’. He thought it was the best joke. We have lots of questions coming thick and fast. Why does the tide go in and out? How do you breathe on the moon? Why is it rude to burp? How wide would wings have to be to support a boy (Emile wants to make some)? Why is his belly button sticking out? Why is the sea salty? The internet has been very handy…..

The year is just flying by. Once you hit the half way mark it changes the feel of the adventure, introducing a hint of nostalgia that I guess will become stronger as December approaches.

July 16

Today the Tour de France passed through the bottom of the valley, at Riverenert. Did you see the boys cheering on Cadel Evans? This photo is of the boys watching a race that occurs each year in Seix.



Sunday 20: REFUGE DES ESTAGNOUS

Refuge des Estagnous: Sunset from the Refuge

Yesterday we returned from another trek in the mountains, this time to the Refuge des Estagnous, which sits below the biggest mountain in this area, the Mont Valier, at 2,837 m. This 1,400 m climb was even more ambitious than our last effort, at 1,000 m (remember, we could barely walk the next day?) We began at a leisurely pace meandering along the river and through a beautiful beech forest, but conditions quickly became seriously challenging. We came to a spectacular waterfall tumbling down a granite cliff, and realised that we had to get to the top of it, and that was just a third of the way into the climb! Ludo and I quietly had serious doubts (unverbalised at the time) about the childrens’ ability to make it to our sleeping place, but we forged on nevertheless, hoping they wouldn’t need counselling later in life as a result of this experience.

Half-Way Up: Emile on Strike, and Agnes Cooling Off, Ostrich-Style

It was hot, almost vertical and really hard on my left sciatic nerve (piriformis syndrome – a pain in the butt), which was already suffering from my ascent of the Col de la Core 3 days prior. However, the scenery was spectacular all the way up with cascades and waterfalls shining like ribbons of mercury in the afternoon sun on the other side of the valley. At 2,000 m we came to the Etang Rond (Round Lake), a huge turquoise disc of clear snowmelt that was fed by water falling from the Etang Long, 100 metres above. We just kept climbing, bursts of activity punctuated by chocolate bribes. It was a long climb, relentlessly up and up for nearly 6 hours. I’m sure that plain mountain refuge never looked more splendid than it did to us on Friday night, with the mighty Mont Valier looming behind.

Reflection of the Mountain in a lake just below the refuge; The Round Lake

The setting of the refuge was so very beautiful that I fear I could not possibly do it justice even in my mother tongue. It was a pristine environment, open only to those who arrive on foot from a long way down. Above the refuge is a ridge of serrated crags and the Mont Valier, and immediately below it are a series of small lakes that reflect the colour of the surrounding mountains (the colour in these pictures has not been embellished). Further down are the Etangs Rond and Long that feed the river we followed up from the valley far below. Agnes, Emile and Felix spent a passionate hour skipping stones, catching tiny frogs, harassing millions of tadpoles and building dams while Mahalia, Ludo and I spied marmottes and two isards (a type of mountain deer) with their baby.

Mountain deer (Isards);The creek just below the Refuge

Dinner was delayed by a spectacular sunset, rather rare at this altitude which is usually swathed in clouds. The people that climb these mountains all share a love of the peace and the beauty and the isolation and the challenge they present, so invariably there is a strong sense of camaraderie at dinner. There are three guardians at this refuge, all jolly folk, and good cooks, and the refuge itself seemed cleaner and in better shape than the Refuge du Pinet last month. The guardians live up there for 5 months of the year over the summer, and receive one helicopter drop each month to top up supplies. We had a room to ourselves this time – fortunately because our sweat soaked clothes, in a pile on the floor, nearly asphyxiated us during the night!

Mahalia and Agnes close to the top; Jane and Ludo ("what have we started?")

As we set out on the return from the refuge the following morning, we passed an old man who was just arriving. About 70 years old, he had left at the crack of dawn and in 3 and a half hours had accomplished what had taken us 6 hours! The descent was quicker, but just as hard. The entire path from top to bottom is littered with boulders and stones of all shapes and sizes that are not easy to walk on. It was really hard on the knees (especially Ludo’s soccer injury). We collapsed in the car after 5 hours of dogged hard slog and sped in 30 plus degree heat to the nearest glacerie for two scoops of home made icecream.

Today we drove Mahalia and Agnes and their friends to an equestrian centre in Fabas, an hour north of here, for a five-day horse trek. (Coming the day after a two day mountain ascent I’m wondering if this constitutes a mild form of child abuse? I’m pretty sure Mahalia thinks so.) They’ll be sleeping in a tepee! So now we have only the boys until Thursday and the house feels almost empty. Whenever one of the kids is gone it’s like the walls have changed places, or the ceiling is a bit lower, or the pattern on the carpet has changed colour and direction – everything’s not quite as it should be. With two of them gone we’re even more disoriented. It’s so much calmer (even though the calmer of the four children are the departed) and I don’t feel in a perpetual state of chaos. I rather enjoy the (relative) serenity (for a few days anyway), and imagine it must be like this for a lot of smaller families, but I miss the party atmosphere…..

21 July

Last night I woke at 2am to the growl of thunder rolling through the valleys and over the ridges of the mountains, over and over again. Each rumble went on and on for such a long time. It was a soothing sound to someone tucked up in a cosy bed, under a roof that doesn’t leak.

Tomorrow we’re taking the boys for two nights in the Bearn region of the Pyrenees, west of here. Just the boys – how weird.

July 24

Our Hotel at Oloron; Cathedral Door at Oloron

Our hotel in the Bearn was fabulous. Not really a hotel; it was more a bed and breakfast at a family farm – the guests, the hosts and 28,000 ducks. It was a beautiful old farmhouse, well renovated, with a most welcome pool set in a hectare of parkland surrounded by corn fields. The farm produces foie gras, confit de canard and magret de canard, and that was what we ate at dinner the first night. I felt somewhat uncomfortable about our proximity to a place that force feeds ducks to fatten their livers for 15 days of their short lives. Our hosts went to some pains to tell us that the ducks don’t suffer, there being no evidence of the chemical in their blood that indicates distress. Super-sizing the French way.

We managed to visit two chateaux with the boys: the Domaine de Laas near Oloron, and the Chateau M……. This chateau was an amazing place in that its interior is in its original condition (covering several periods over the last half millennium) and it is still inhabited by the owner, a melancholy aristocrat, chronically short of breath, who conducts the tour of the chateau himself. One millennium ago it was built as a fortress on what was then the French border, then was turned into a hunting lodge for the mother of Henri IV. It subsequently underwent several other changes of ownership and use. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in such a museum. There was nothing modern about the place except perhaps a bathroom (which we didn’t see). There were books from the 15th century lying around gathering dust in the library, rooms covered in hand printed, hand-tanned leather wallpaper in its original condition, 16th century painted wooden sculptures, priceless oil paintings and porcelain – every room was crammed with priceless objects. There was even a piece of furniture given to Louis XIV and ….. when they were married in nearby St. Jean de Luz. The building and its contents are registered as a national treasure but the owner receives no support from the state, and slowly, inevitably, time seems too heavy a burden for the building and its precious contents to bear.

On our second night we ate at a restaurant in a little village not far from Oloron in Basque country. It always surprises me how the most modest establishments can reveal the most amazing dining experiences. Felix loves going to the restaurant – a chip off the old block – and this night was no exception. On the way home in the car his sleepy voice floated through from the back “I’m so happy I have tears”.

July 25

I picked up two very tired girls today who had slept very little for the last four nights. Apparently the tepee was positioned under a tree with an aerial root system. They weren’t thrilled to hear that their horse-riding exam is on tomorrow and Monday. Certainly we didn’t time things too well! (The abuse continues….) I was proud of Agnes who not only suffered a very bruised foot from a horse treading on her toes, but fell off her horse while cantering and got straight back on again.

I’m not the only one that makes gaffs in French. There’s an expression in French the equivalent of “there wasn’t a soul around”: “Il n’ya pas de chat”, which means ‘there wasn’t even a cat’. Felix made us laugh so much when he said in all seriousness “there are no dogs either”. That was not quite as funny as his query about how you surf on a Mexican wave.

July 29

The valley was serene and misted this morning as I left the village. I rode up the valley, slowly, deliberately, not pushing hard so I wouldn’t aggravate that sciatic nerve. It was so calm after the heat wave of yesterday and the compensating torrent of rain that fell last night, the summer-starved Salat seemed glad of the top-up.

It’s about 15 km to the end of the valley, to Salau, and it’s steadily uphill. The river stayed on my right side until Couflens, then flowed to the left side as I crossed the bridge there and continued to Salau. It’s a beautiful ride, but I’ve done it many times now and I marvel less at the explosive greens, the steep mountains and the absolute clarity of the water. Instead now, the monotonous motion of my legs and the constant noise of the river put me in a sort of meditative state where I think and think, and plan things, and wish I had a pen and paper with me because I know I will forget it all when I return to a house full of voices and activity.

The cloud sat in the valley nearly all the way up. I intended only to go as far as Couflens, but when I arrived there I could see blue sky and the Spanish peaks dotted with the remains of the snow, and I had to go that far, I couldn’t stop there. So I continued past Couflens, plodding steadily, drawn on by the ridges protruding through the clouds like the prows of a mountain armada.

It was the easiest ride to Salau that I’ve had – I was hardly aware that I had ridden all that way, and that’s a wonderful way to ride. It was almost effortless. There were hardly any cars, except one that tried to cut the corner coming around one of the hundreds of river bends, right in my direction. It gave me the fright of my life.

Mahalia and Agnes passed their second level horseriding exam today - Yay!

July 31

Middle of the school holidays. What long holidays. I’m suffering form holiday overload and need some structure to the days again. It’s hot, and it will get hotter. The Festival of Seix starts tomorrow and Francoise is here to celebrate with us.