DORDOGNE

Dear Editor,

Our long awaited little sojourn to The Dordogne this September was enjoyable to say the least. Partly to be able to use the motorhome as it was meant to be used and partly to see all the friends and neighbours that we have missed these past three years.

With a full fuel tank and towing our little diesel Citroen car behind. It was a nice leisurely drive on good roads down through Caen, Le-Mans and Tours onto the only toll road we chose to use.

This 60-mile stretch of toll road to Futuroscope, just north of Poitiers, should have cost us 85F. For the camper and another 50F. For the car ($20) but the driver of a car in front had lost his toll ticket and in the chaos that ensued we were only charged for the camper. ($12).

Futuroscope is a theme park of “The Moving Image” that we had visited some years before and we knew there was ample free parking for two nights. This time although there were many motorhomes parked up, there were just as many gypsies taking advantage of the facilities.

Later that evening we observed two of the travellers prowling around the parked vehicles while their owners were attending the late laser show. It was then that they found two unattended children’s cycles and promptly carried them off to some rough ground, where they left them for later collection.

We of course let the owners know of their loss upon their return and they retrieved them. Prue’s fears of parking close to the gypsies were borne out.

The second days travel was exceptionally quiet on the roads. We had not realised that the impending blockade of fuel depots was already having an effect. Any 24 hour automatic credit card fuel pump had enormous queues round the block.

We arrived at the municipal campground in Bergerac beside the river Dordogne early afternoon and noticed that 6 meters was the maximum length of camper permitted. The guardian had just awakened from his slumbers and did not bother to check on our 11.6 meter length. (38ft.).

After parking and connecting up we also went in search of some diesel for the car. Everywhere was closed and only the automated pumps were in use. After 20 minutes we managed to get to the head of the queue and tried unsuccessfully to use our Visa and MasterCard. French credit cards have a “chip” and a “pin” number on them, our UK issued cards were not recognised. We gave up and went in search of some wine.

This was an easy commodity to find as the whole area is covered in vine-

Yards. In fact our previous French house, just to the west of Bergerac,

had been surrounded by vines. We decided to visit one of the wine growing neighbours that we knew from old.

What a surprise when he opened the door. From a man that was proud and won many prises for his wine, to the dishevelled smelly wreck that stood before us. His wife and children had left, the house was a tip, and he obviously looked the worse for drink. We found out later that he was also in debt. Worst of all, the wine was not good.

We did buy a couple of dozen, unlabeled bottles for old times sake but doubt that we will patronise him again.

The next morning, a Monday, we again tried to get some fuel. After visiting most of the garages to find “Empty” signs on the pumps, we stumbled on the one and only garage with any diesel in town. We were now full and less stressed.

We then proceeded to our British friend’s property about 7 miles north of the town of Lalinde, also on the Dordogne River. This necessitated driving along some of the most twisted, winding and bumpy roads that I have ever chosen to negotiate. Here he had mown an area about twice the size of our rig and laid out power and water to us in his adjoining field.

The property is some 12 acres and has a beautifully preserved Perigordine house, barn and gite. These arranged in an L shape with a courtyard surrounded with lawns and a waterfall. We would have loved to be parked within this setting but for the tree-lined entrance creating a Transit sized opening.

Tuesday we just lazed around the house. Helping with the odd chore and maintenance jobs. Idyllic setting where they grow most of their own produce and even grind the flower to make their own special bread. A bit of an acquired taste for me but Prue loved it.

Wednesday is market day in Bergerac, so we combined this with a visit to more old friends across the river in Pomport. As they were not in we chose to have lunch locally at a restaurant. The first two were closed for the month and the third had now become a car sales lot. Eventually we came upon the only eating place open for miles.

There was no menu but an all in price for whatever came. Bread and wine complemented the table. A great tourine of soup was plonked down. Then an enormous platter of vegetables in a dressing, Followed by great chunks of pork and chips. Then as much cheese as you could eat and a sweet of ice cream or gateaux. All this for 65F. ($9.)

What was lacking in finesse was more than made up in quantity. After we had to do a couple of detours around the farmers and truckers blockade to get home.

Fuel was non-existent now and I was thinking about siphoning diesel out of the motorhome to feed the car.

The next day Thursday was market day in Lalinde. After the usual tour of beautiful fresh vegetables and fruit, we were introduced to some friends of our hosts who invited us to their home.

The couple, a French man and English woman had bought three old derelict properties in town and renovated them to perfection. Retaining all the old character and quality workmanship even down to the garden. Some photos should show the workmanship.

We did go out and about visiting the local beauty spots. Usually with an overview of the river from one vantage spot or another. Even came across another American camper that had thrown a belt and was waiting for a new one to be delivered.

Later that week we drove 50 miles through the most tortuous lanes only 8ft. wide to a county show that was almost empty because of the fuel shortages. Most people stayed at home, which made driving easy. I did come across a garage miles from anywhere that still had diesel at their own high price. But was still limited to only 50F. ($7.25) that gave me 7.5 litres that enabled us to go almost another 100 miles.

That weekend we left our British friends and drove the camper 40 miles to our French friends and parked up in their garden. This couple still have to work for a living, he as a truck driver and she as the secretary to the Mayor at the town we used to have a house in near Bergerac.

Most of the week we tried to inconvenience them as least as possible. But we did take her out to a local restaurant for her lunch hour. It was the worst meal we have ever had in The Dordogne. Jammed in between truckers and builders, we had the usual soup and salad starter but then the main part of the meal was boiled potatoes and great slices of fat. There might have been some meat in it at some time but by the time it got to us, none.

It was then to cap it all, that the workers lit up cigarettes together. The cheese and sweet courses I could not take under these conditions, so I paid and left vowing never to return.

They did give us free tickets to a “Foire” or trade show just 15 miles away in the town of Perigeux. These “free” tickets eventually cost us £1,800. ($2,700.) including delivery to Normandy for a new three-piece suite.

It might have been the lack of visitors that permitted groups of three salesmen to pounce on us, or our existing aged, second hand and sagging suite.

It was only the three-day weekend that we were able to get out and about with them. Visiting their relatives and more local beauty spots.

The town of Brantome, which has an Abbey and spans the river Drone, has been in existence since AD 769. It was market day when we visited and all the car parks were full now that the fuel blockade was over.

The towns tiny streets, just wide enough for a small car, would not permit you to open the doors. Parking was some way off as the market filled every available square and open space beside the river.

We filtered through the tourists and marvelled at the smells and colours of the produce for sale. Many British voices were heard along the cobbled streets, sitting at the café’s and bars outside tables, usually in the shade of trees.

One restaurant occupied the prime position on an island beside a water mill, an idyllic spot reflected in the price of the two menus. Either 350F. or 500F. ($50. or $72.) plus wine. We chose a restaurant with a slightly less commanding position beside the river at only 100F. ($14.50) and still had the same ducks and swans pecking at our feet for very similar food.

Before leaving we were shown the devastation that a cyclone had wreaked on the area last winter.

Our friends had told us that they had been without electricity, water and phone for two weeks immediately after Christmas day. So many trees had been blown down onto power lines that many still remain there today, nine months later. The power lines straggling along the ground.

Piles of chopped logs line the lanes but still many trees have only been cut to allow traffic to pass.

Many of the largest trees like Sequoia’s and Redwoods left great holes in the ground and overhead. A great many buildings have new roofs but I am glad to say there were few deaths in this part, unlike further north where some ninety bodies were recovered.

Eventually with a tearful farewell, promising to return, we were once again on our way. Not quite ready to head for home as we had heard that the weather in Normandy was terrible. We wanted to absorb more of the warm sunshine that produced such wonderful grapes and wine.

While at one of the markets we had been given a “flyer” offering free camping at a farm producing “Pineau des Charantes”, in the general westerly direction we were about to take.

“Pineau des Charantes” is a speciality of the Charante region. Grapes blended with brandy or Cognac to make a superb aperitif. Similar to a pale sherry or white Port of 18% alcohol content.

Many of these vineyards offered free overnight camping but this one offered considerably more facilities, water, electricity and a dump, also the Pineau was good.

We found the farm with a little difficulty and parked up beside a service building, overlooking rows of vines in every direction. A nice picturesque, quiet setting on high ground where we could just see the town on the other hill.

It was only later in the evening that the tranquillity was shattered by the French TGV train hurtling through the valley at over 200kph. (125mph.) Thankfully only once.

Ironically the next day was dull, cloudy and raining. I passed a greeting with the farmer and he beamed back. This little bit of rain was just what the new crop of grapes needed. The 2000-year will be a good one.

We ventured out in the car to find a pottery exhibition that we had passed near Liborne on our way to Bergerac. After 50 miles and winding round more country lanes we came across the empty plot it had occupied. It had packed up the week before.

That evening we saw on the TV that the south west of France had suffered a mini tornado in Montpelier and floods in Marseilles. Six people had died in the storm and flood.

We were offered some tastings of our host’s produce that evening. And after sampling a good variety we bought seven litres of The Pineau and Cognac.

Our host mentioned that he had a small market stall the next day at St. Emilion, the heart of French quality wines for over seven hundred years.

It had been ten years since our last visit and as it was only a 25-mile drive we again set off to visit the medieval city.

Saint-Emilion has been producing wines since Roman times but it was the British king Edward 1^st. who gave it a charter in 1289. Since then 1500 chateaux have had to maintain these six particular qualities called “appellations”.

Personally I prefer the wines of Bergerac, which are a fraction of the price and grow only 40 miles away. But we climbed the narrow, cobbled streets to the fortifications around the church at the top of the hill. All the way up were numerous wine tasting shops and restaurants but their prices were as high as the elevation.

Little had changed since our last visit, in fact little had changed in many hundreds of years. We did buy four baby grape vines to add to the many plants Prue always collects on holiday.

Deciding not to eat on this hallowed and expensive ground, we went in search of a better value restaurant. Only a few miles back on the main road we came across a Routier that was surrounded by trucks, always a good sign.

Sixty or seventy drivers already occupied the main salon so we were ushered into another dining hall. Choosing a table as far away from the impending smoke from the drivers, we started to enjoy the single choice menu. No sooner than we had started on the main dish, a couple of the dirtiest builders sat beside us and chain smoked throughout their meal.

I am always amazed that a country that professes to be the gastronomic capital of the world consumes so much smoke with every mouthful. And as for the simple act of washing their hands, well this seems to be of no interest.

Apart from that, we were well satisfied with the meal for 140F. ($20.) including wine and coffee, five courses for two people.

Thursday and we thought that we did not want to overstay our welcome at the free Pineau farm, although the proprietors said we could stay as long as we wanted. We moved north beginning our return home.

Our intention was to call in on some other old neighbours from The Dordogne who had moved to Brittany. Mid afternoon it started to rain so we found a municipal campsite sign and gave chase. A nice quiet site on the western outskirts of Niort was only £8.50 with electricity ($13.oo.) where I was able to use their phone line to send and receive E-mails.

A nice sunny day gave us the opportunity next morning to make haste to Vannes in Southern Brittany, the next city to our friends little village. As we followed the signs to the village we came upon a four star camping sign. This we followed for some miles down tiny lanes and into the entrance of a campsite. By now we were embedded into deep foliage that even the price of £13.00 ($20) for a night did not put us off, so we paid. It was then we found out that the site closed next day and all the facilities had been closed, the phone did not work, the fences and shrubbery were overgrown and we were the only ones there. The manager had no maps, no E-mail facilities and no interest.

We visited our friends and saw the reason the area was so expensive. The Gulf of Morbihan was like a little Gulf of St. Tropez of the north. A great big natural harbour with dozens of islands and sheltered mooring for thousands of boats.

With miles of coastline around this harbour the price of property has soared for anything with a view of water. Some beautiful homes fetching in excess of £500k. ($750,000) were commonplace. And with the weather on this coastline being warm and mild even in winter, also within easy reach of Paris, it was no wonder it oozed opulence.

We returned to our expensive camping and watched the rabbits playing while we ate.

Saturday the 23^rd. September, just three weeks into our four-week holiday, Prue suggested that as we were so close to home we should go back and water the garden!

So filling the tank up with the cheapest diesel 5.99F, since the price rises this month cost us £200. ($300.), we made it home in just two and a half hours.

It is interesting to note that the fuel embargo that resulted in cheaper fuel for commercial users, increased the prices for Jo Public 1F or 20%.

Dear Editor,

While touring the Dordogne in southern France this September, we were taken by our hosts to visit a local county agricultural show in the north of the region.

Here amongst the stalls and exhibitors of local produce, we came across a supplier of "Pineau des Charentes" giving away tastings of his product.

As I am quite partial to this delicious aperitif, I was happy to be forced to partake of a sample or three. Of course the vendor pressed a copy of his advertising publicity onto me while I was otherwise occupied.

Later while glancing over this flyer, I noticed that his "farm" offered free camping. While I do know that many vineyards do offer free parking for self contained motorhomes, this one offered all the normal facilities of a normal campground, with the added luxury of a dump.

When I asked him about this generous offer, he did say that buying some of his products was not obligatory but he would be happy to sell them.

It was some weeks later that we found ourselves in the Charente area and locating his flyer we thought we would just try him out.

Locating his "farm" was a little difficult as trees obscured the sign. But I am glad we persevered. True to his advertising, there was electricity, water, dump, shower, toilets and washing machine. All FREE.

We stayed three nights and did buy some Pineau but were under no pressure or obligation to do so.

The site would be large enough to accommodate any size RV, although electrical power was to a normal 16 amp. Outlet.

Amis Camping-Caristes can be found on the D730 leaving the small town of St. Aigulin heading west signed Royan from the D674. It's the first turning right after the town sign with a line through it. It's nicely central on the borders of The Charente and The Dordogne. Bordeaux and St. Emilion can be reached within an hour.

M. Gouzilh the proprieter can be reached on (0033) 5 46 04 84 29.

Pineau des Charentes in case you have not tried it is a blend of wine and Cognac. An aperitif similar to a pale Sherry or white Port with a strength of 18% alcohol. It's official description is:-

Pineau is the proud and only owner of two "Appellations Controlees", one for the area and one for the Cognac. It earns the right to bear the name by respecting a strict set of standards.

The cognac must come from the same vineyards as the grape juice and must have a minimum alcohol content of 60%.

At the point when the cognac is added to stop the fermentation of the grape juice (or must) the alcoholic strength of the blend must be between 16 and 22% vol., and production does not exceed 27 hectolitres per hectare. It then has to be aged for several years (1 year minimum) in oak casks.

Ray Nipper.

Trip back to the UK

Dear All, Friday, 06 August 1999

Things have been a little hectic here lately.

First just when we thought everything was going smoothly, the effluent hit the fan.

As I said before the Eagle has new top engine, turbo, windscreen, paint job on one panel, fridge electronics. Now we have a new Toshiba laptop, Office and Juno on the web.

Within 24 hours a chip appeared in the new windscreen.

Then Prues handbag was stolen with her Visa, license, cash in dollars, sterling, francs etc. Car and motorhome keys, etc. etc. We are just about getting duplicates for most of these except the Visa promised in seven days still had not come in twelve, now we find has not been sent. We hang around waiting.

It came in 14 days, such speed and efficiency. MBNA bank blamed Visa and Visa blamed MBNA.

Now we get news that the only sailing for September is the 2^nd. Bringing everything forward over a week. Now I am panicking. As we have to leave the rig at the latest 27^th. Aug. And try to book flights for 1^st. or 2^nd. Sept. The boat does not get into Southampton until Sept 20^th. This is from Brunswick.

Thoughts of packing all those little things that we don’t want the Dockers or customs to find. Protecting the seats and carpets from big greasy boots. Buying all those last minute things like engine and transmission oil. A digital camera. A view cam for the PC. Etc. remembering to fill with fuel and butane, and disconnecting the senders.

The next bombshell is the news that our brother in law has had his third heart attack and is on a life support machine and is only given 24 hours to live. The phones, E-mail, etc. are running hot. We still don’t know. But it has put everything on hold.

I feel like I am being swept over a waterfall. If it can go wrong for me it does.

Our dear brother in law passed away without regaining consciousness. Thoughts of getting to the funeral are now uppermost.

Our flights that were $588.00 for two, are now $1500 for two as the dates have been changed to a week earlier.. We await more on this. Heaven only knows what an immediate flight would be. We might be finding out.

Have now managed to get our return flights booked and paid for. $650.00 for two, leaving Atlanta September 1^st. and arriving Heathrow 2^nd. Sept. at 09.55. Sorry John, UA. 924.

Love to you all, Ray and Prue.

Subj: Dum things to do with a RV.

Dear Editor,

Apart from my claim to fame by dropping my rig into our sceptic tank, I have managed to bring two towns to a standstill in France with my RV.

The first time in a town called Cassis on the Mediterranean. I was being guided to the beach by a group of friends who joined us in the motor home. They directed me off the motorway down into the town where all of a sudden a tight bend lined with concrete bollards brought me to a standstill. My 34ft. just was not going to bend round this obstacle.

To compound my situation it was high season and hoards of French holidaymakers were also trying to get to this beach, so the traffic immediately backed up through the whole town. I tried to reason with the guy behind me to back up but he just closed the window and looked the other way. I was unable to go anywhere.

Eventually with the town at a standstill a Gendarme arrived and gave me the worst tirade of rapid unintelligible French I have ever been subjected to.

Taken aback and unable to comprehend I backed up to the door of the rig, still getting the fury of the Gendarme. Having nowhere else to go I backed further into the rig and the policeman followed still wagging finger and tongue at me.

Now finding myself completely backed into a corner with no escape I did what any self respecting Brit would do in a difficult situation, I put the kettle on and prepared to make a cup of tea.

This infuriated the official who unable to get anywhere with me, left and took his fury out on the cars behind me. Who under his gesticulations backed up sufficiently for me to reverse out of the jam?

As we reversed back out onto the main road still with the policeman preventing other traffic from blocking us again we passed a sign, which the cop pointed to with his gun. It read NO BUSSES.

I then knew what all his ranting and raving had been about. But a car driver who never drove anything larger than a Renault 5 had directed me.

I will save the other one for later.

Ray,

Dear Editor,

The other time I brought a French town to a standstill was five or six years

ago in Brittany.

Our 34ft. Winnebago towing a small Citroen car was still around 48ft. long.

We had left the southern coastline of Brittany and were intending to head for

a campsite in St. Malo, a nice fortified port and town.

On the way we passed signs to the town of St. Brieuc that I have never

visited and had been told was picturesque. So taking the "Centre Ville" or

"Down Town" turning we wound our way into a most beautiful central square.

The trouble was the three exits were either a multi story car park, an open

car park with a height barrier and a pretty cobbled windy street that was

closed to traffic and full of tables and chairs. It's quite common in high

season for restaurants and cafe bars to place the tables and chairs in the

streets for tourists.

I stopped bang in the middle or the road and got out to survey the situation.

Angry traffic hooting as they climbed the kerbside onto the footways brought

a female traffic cop and my wife hid in the bathroom.

This policewoman realised the situation immediately and beckoned me to follow

her into the cobbled street full of dining tourists. She waved the diners to

drag their food laden tables aside to allow me to squeeze by. I still have

recollections of people still chewing with food on their forks staring up at

me in astonishment as I passed.

Eventually after two more wiggly streets like this, we came out onto a normal

road again. The policewoman smiling and wishing me "Bon Voyage" waved us away.

An hour later we pulled into the campground intended and parked outside the

check in. It was then I found the car keys in my pocket.

We had dragged the car with the steering locked, luckily straight, for over

100 miles, through the tiny winding streets of St. Brieuc, around St. Malo

and into this campground. And I never noticed a thing.

Ray,