5. Around Gourdon - The Bouriane

My real desire was to do a country walk, as I'd felt inspired by what I saw of the countryside from the train when travelling from Cahors to Gourdon, and it had made an impression on me. It was hilly and wooded with occasional clearings where the grass looked smooth and clipped in between the more wilder areas - perhaps sheep or some other animals helped keep it that short and tidy. Rich emerald manicured lawns interspersed the magical forested areas, and I just wanted to transport myself there and lose myself amongst all that beauty. I wasn't sure what the countryside immediately around Gourdon was like, but that was all I could explore in the limited time I had without a car.


I picked up a walking map from the tourist office and also bought a booklet about that area, which I later found out was called the Bouriane (sometimes seen it spelt Bourian). From what estate agents have told me, you really need a car to explore that area as there is no public transport in that part of the Lot. As I wanted to at least visit and register with a certain estate agent, who is located in a small village in the Bouriane, I looked it up myself and saw that just ONE bus goes there a day, and only from Cahors (even though it was closer to Gourdon). Oh well....I didn't actually have time to view any properties on that trip in any case as my flight was due back to London.



The tourist office gave me one of the shorter walking routes (in French) and said that all the walks were marked out and signposted in yellow on the trees anyway so I didn't really even need a guide. The walk was supposed to take 3 hours, leading to one of the villages and starting from a certain church. Well, I did alright finding the church I was meant to start the walk from, but I think the rain must have washed off all the yellow markings ages ago because I hardly found any.

This is the church from where the walk to the village of St Clair was to start (the other two photos above were a very pleasant walk down country lanes en route to it).

Now comes the tricky bit in the leaflet. It said -

1. Behind the chapel I'm to take the pedestrian route to the left.

It was a bit confusing at first which wall was the back of the chapel but eventually found a route to the left and even a marking on one of the trees, so I think I started off ok.

2. Then it says, 250m further on, take the path which goes up on the right. Well, I'm hopeless with metres and metric measurements so I didn't have a clue how far 250 metres was, but I did find a path on the right that had a yellow marking AND it was going up, so I think I was still on the right path at this stage.

Interesting rocks were lying on the surface. You probably can't see too clearly from the above photo, but they happened to be milky quartz.

Anyway, no more markings were ever seen again after this so somewhere soon after I must have taken a wrong turn.

Bear in mind that I didn't have a French dictionary on me, so was not familiar with all of the words.

In fact here is the next set of directions, in French:

3. Croiser la piste et longer une belle propriete sur la droite. (ok something about turn right)

Remonter ensuite le fond de la vallee jusqu' a une route goudronnee. Tourner a gauche (turn left somewhere) puis a droite (then right) et, a 200 metres environ emprunter le premier chemin a droite (first right after 200 metres) qui remonte vers Grapal Negre (is that a village or what? it doesn't say, and can't find Grapal Negre on the really unclear map).


Well, I passed some nice countryside on the way.

And finally realising I was lost, I decided to follow my own route from now on.
Passed a house where a vicious seeming dog started barking and following me, so I ended up turning round and heading back, soon finding myself back at the very same church from where I started. I met a French woman on the way back who was walking in the same direction as me so which chatted for a while in French, until we got to the church where she had been heading. I walked back to Gourdon town, thinking that this was the fastest 3 hour walk, done in less than an hour, and what a pity I couldn't find any more markings on the trees that would have helped make the route more obvious.

Still, I intend to return to the Bouriane again some day to do more walking, or maybe even cycling, and find some of these villages that are nestled within this beautiful countryside, this area has a special place in my heart.

4. Gourdon

Gourdon is not far to walk to from the station but seems to be uphill all the way. I was feeling a bit nervous about finding everything closed on a Sunday, so intended that all my needs be taken care of. A few minutes later a French woman pulled up in her car - can she drive me into town ?

"Are you a taxi?" I asked. No, she said, she saw me heading into town and as it's uphill she thought I may like a lift.
"I have baggage" I said, pointing to my oversized suitcase, which she couldn't have failed to notice anyway.
"No problem", she put it in the back of the car. Fantastic.

We spoke mainly in French and she even started trying out some of her English on me too. A lovely lady, it never ceases to amaze me how wonderful the locals can be. I told her I was looking for a hotel, and we happened to pass one so I got out of the car there and thanked her for her help. The hotel was not only open and had a vacant room, but was serving meals outside - apparently the only restaurant open on a Sunday.

I went for a walk after lunch, and the weather was better here than how I left it in Cahors (rain), which had changed for the worst on my last day there. There's no way of predicting what the weather is going to be anywhere in France - heading further south MAY mean sunnier or warmer weather, but here I was going further north to get to Gourdon. I always seemed to leave a town in worst weather than when I found it.


The houses in Gourdon are mainly made of yellow orchre coloured stone.

All shops were closed today (Sunday) and most would remain closed even on Monday. So I never got to see how the town looks on a normal weekday.

The town of Gourdon is set high up on a hill, which means you get some great views when you climb to the top.



Not much traffic within the town itself. In fact cars would have a hard job squeezing through some of those very narrow and often steep roads. So it felt like it was all very pedestrianised. And parking is free, like it is in a lot of French towns and villages. A main road encircles the town, called the Tour de la Ville, where it often IS very busy and can be quite noisy at times, but it's quiet within the town itself. I walked around the whole town following the Tour de la Ville, where most of the shops are, and enjoyed the nice views from on high even at this lower elevation.

But walked mainly in the centre, even though it felt more like climbing than walking at times.

There were enough basic shops and facilities here, in fact my hotel was opposite a large post office and a cinema. Also here is an English bookshop, probably because there are a lot of Brits living in Gourdon. I heard English being spoken a lot more here than in the more touristy Dordogne region. In fact I soon discovered nearly every staff member in my hotel was English, so it was nice to switch off the French speaking for a while, especially as it felt too bizarre having two English people trying to speak in French to each other.

On Sunday there was not much going on, so as usual most of my time was spent wandering around , and after the church bells rang in the square I could hear the music and sounds of a service going on - so I took a peek behind the large the door. Not a soul inside, but just a tape recording playing to an empty church. I could well understand that religion, as it once was, no longer seems relevant to the masses but it seemed a pity that these beautiful buildings should go to waste and that it would be lovely if something else, more beautiful and meaningful, could take its place that would gather the community together one day a week. Perhaps Sundays everyone just gathers around their televisions. The new religion no doubt. I then went to another church which did in fact have something else going on inside - an art exhibition. I wasn't allowed to take photos of the individual exhibits but could take general photos of the interior. At least the space was being used, although I was the only one there for much of the time.

3. Cahors in Lot valley

Had a two hour wait in Souillac before my train to Cahors was due to arrive, so had lunch outside the only cafe opposite the station. They must do a roaring trade as the actual town itself seemed a very long walk from the station.

On arriving in Cahors I finally found the youth hostel, which is centrally placed in the town itself but which I still found hard to find even with a map.
The woman in the office said I'd be sharing a dormitory with 27 other people (or something like that). No, I said, the Tourist Office who made the booking said I'd be sharing at most with one other person. She squinted at the timetable or whatever it was on her wall, and silently gave me what I'd originally asked for and had booked.

The hostel itself has a more modern annexe, where all the young ones are shoved in together in large dormitories, and an older building next to it that used to be a convent. The front door was so old and rusted that I doubt anyone had managed to close it for decades. In fact in was always left open at night.
Going in to the right was an old wooden staircase that led up to a lockable door, behind which was the first bedroom.
It was very large and light, with flowery wallpaper and large window and one single bed. But as you have to walk through this room to get to the other two bedrooms it's not ideal if others are staying there. So I chose one of the smaller back bedrooms instead.

My room was very spartan, with old fashioned French floral wallpaper and one bunk bed. I was beginning to feel like a nun after staying there for two nights for it felt rather grim there even for me, but at only 10 euros a night it was helping the cashflow a bit after using hotels.



I liked Cahors straight away and it is a much bigger town than any of the others so far on this trip, with the Lot river running through it and surrounding it on three sides, plus the famous bridge which is said to be one of the oldest of its kind.

I had wanted to take a boat ride down the river but was told that all boat trips were fully booked until the end of the month.

There were also some villages that I'd planned to see both east and west of Cahors along the Lot river, which you can only reach by bus if you don't drive, but the bus timetable was bizarre at the weekend. There was no way of getting there and back. The first bus out was either too late to be useful to look around before the last bus back had to be caught, which was too early to make the journey worth attempting. Or there was a bus at dawn and none coming back. The weekdays had a better timetable but I wasn't sure how much longer I wanted to be in my youth hostel room, and really wanted to see Gourdon before going home.


I discovered this fascinating water clock while walking around the older part of town.


The estate agents I wanted to visit were a few miles from Gourdon, so I bought myself a French mobile phone while still in Cahors as I knew I'd need one for property viewing, although I'd hardly any time left to actually go look at any houses now. It was a depressing thought, but I knew I had to decide on a location first so until I had more clarity around that it was pointless viewing any houses.

For some reason I thought I'd sleep in late Sunday morning before catching the train to Gourdon, completely forgetting about the hostels rules about vacating the room by 10.00am. In hotels it's usually 11.00am. There had been a party going on all Saturday night in one of the apartments opposite my room so I'd been unable to sleep.

In the morning I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone came thumping on my door. Apparently I only had about an hour to get out. I don't know why the hostel man felt such urgency to kick me out on Sunday morning because I was the only one in that building, but I managed to pack quickly and get ready, and spent my time at the station bar drinking pastis and coffee while waiting for my train.

I just hoped that everything wasn't closed in Gourdon, as is often the case in France on a Sunday, for as usual I had neither hotel reservation nor food provisions.

2. Sarlat, Dordogne

Sarlat was bigger than I thought it would be, and I loved it straight away. Not near a river though, but the medieval buildings, narrow cobbled streets and the atmosphere makes you forget about the river. The hotel I'd aimed for was fully booked, even in September, so I had to join the queue at the Tourist Office to find lodgings. According to my guide book, there was supposed to be a youth hostel here a short walk from the centre, but apparently it closed down a while ago.




I found Sarlat impossible to photograph properly, like I couldn't get enough of it in my lens to do it justice.
It is a fairly long walk from the station, but perfectly walkable.
I got lost on the way to the town centre though, so popped into a museum/shop I passed that specialises in walnuts and truffles (the mushroom kind) for which this region is famous.

I bought some caramelised walnuts, which were heaven, and wish I'd stocked up so as to bring loads back home with me.
The truffles looked rather ugly, but contributed to the earthy smell of the shop.
I asked if I could take a photo of the inside of the shop, which I found fascinating.



I should have taken a photo of the large vats (to right of photo, not included) where they make the different kinds of coatings for the nuts, some are in sugar, some in chocolate, there were all kinds of samples on display that you could taste before buying. I wasn't that keen on the nut cake though, which is another speciality of the region. But if you ever need walnut oil, this area of France (Perigord) is the place to buy it.


Sarlat is a lovely maze of narrow streets and archways, you would turn a corner or go under an archway and be pleasantly surprised by a hidden restaurant or shop.




I don't know what this building is but I liked the red parasols against the blue sky of the hot day.

My hotel wasn't far from these gardens in the more modern part of town, where I would sometime sit and read, when I'd had enough walking.
It was also within walking distance of the main high street shops, and the old medieval part of town.
The hotel (the Lion d'Or) was only 40 euros a night for ensuite too, but had no TV and it was quiet enough as long as you didn't open the window.
As the mornings and evenings were freezing anyway, with the days scorching hot, you wouldn't really need to open the window at either end of the day when you were in the room.


And this is the restaurant where I tried foie gras for the first time.



Music in the town square (above)


You need at least a week to properly explore the Dordogne and preferably with a car. I had no car and just a week to explore both the Dordogne valley AND the Lot valley, so my visit was fleeting and incomplete. Looking back I'm surprised at how much I did manage to cram into just a week, but I shall have to come back again some time to take a proper holiday at a more relaxing and leisurely pace, as I missed out loads of places I wanted to see. Staying just one or two nights here and there with frequent train and bus journeys in between, with hardly any time in one place and usually no accommodation booked in advance, can feel taxing at times, especially when you have bronchitis and diarrhoea, which I seemed to be afflicted with on that particular trip.

Having said that, a lot of these places you can walk round in a day so there isn't always a need to stay overnight. But for now I'm finished with the Dordogne and the rest of my week takes me further south to the Lot Valley, starting with the capital of the region, Cahors.

There is no train that takes you directly to the Lot from here, so I had to take a bus from Sarlat to Souillac, which took about an hour or less, where I could catch a train on the right train line going south. At least the Tourist Office had already booked my first two nights accommodation at the youth hostel there, so that was one less thing to think about.

1. Sept 2007 - Following the Dordogne

Arrived in Bergerac early evening 17 Sept and am still amazed how small these airports are, this one like a large garage. I even walked outside the building minus my luggage because I expected another room or building for baggage reclaim. Nope, this is it and you can't get back in, said another passenger outside. Well I did, and joined in helping the passengers to manually move the luggage down the line as there wasn't even an electronic conveyor belt. Just a metal ramp with rollers that obviously wasn't steep enough for the luggage to roll down by itself. No taxis outside either. Eventually the last hut I tried was the right one to get them to phone for a taxi, and lots of passengers were also waiting for hired cars to turn up. I knew there was a hotel opposite Bergerac station so the taxi drove me there and luckily there was a vacant room - I think this may be one of the cheapest hotels in town at 30 euros a night without ensuite.

A bit of a rainy day although showers were only on and off, so I waited for someone to serve me in the local brasserie, until ages after I was finally informed that food isn't served until 7pm. So walked around town after my coffee, noting how few people there were around town. I keep forgetting that France is more sparsely populated than the uk.

The old part of town was nice but nothing out of the ordinary. Went for dinner nearby but thought I'd just stick to omelettes for now. The electricity shut off while I was there - I think these old buildings could maybe do with re-wiring, as the circuits can get overloaded if you have too much electrical equipment on at once. After dinner went for a walk by the river at nightfall, just to see what the Dordogne looked like.

I knew I'd be following the Dordogne river valley, just to see why so many Brits move out here when they retire (the French call it "Little England") but I had no idea which were the best villages to stop off at en route to Sarlat, which is the end of the train line and not actually on the river itself.

I had only intended to sleep the first night in Bergerac anyway.
I woke up at 3.00am yet it felt like 9.00am. It rained steadily throughout the night, and there was a man sleeping on the bench outside the railway station. Everywhere else was deserted.
I'm not sure if I'd want to live here, but there are plenty of shops for a French county town.

Next morning I bought a train ticket to Lalinde, which is only about 30 minutes away if that.
It's actually a very pleasant "town" but you can discover most of it in a day (or an afternoon without luggage).




I had lunch there and then went to see how the Dordogne looked from this place.
The river didn't seem as accessible here as a place to walk but the canal made up for it. It felt more provincial than Bergerac but I liked the energies here.
Lalinde has a stadium and enough shops and banks, but as it was lunchtime most were probably closed, adding to the sleepy feel of the place. Even the train station closes for two hours at lunchtime.


The canal was lovely though, and if I hadn't been dragging a large suitcase on wheels over rough ground I would have walked further along it. It looked like it lead to some forested areas, in fact the hills surrounding the town were heavily forested, so perhaps some good hiking areas worth exploring around here.



Very pleasant here and I felt I'd like to get to know this place better. But as I had only given myself a week to explore both the Dordogne and the Lot river areas, this was just an brief overview at lightening speed, and I felt no need to stay the night in Lalinde. So I sat by the canal waiting for the train station to re-open and bought a ticket to go to St.Cyprien on the next train, which was at 3.00pm.

So, breakfast in Bergerac, lunch in Lalinde and dinner in St.Cyprien, where I would book a room for the night.


St. Cyprien is quite a walk from the river Dordogne and so the river doesn't feel like a feature at all. The village itself is set up high in the hills, but is walkable from the train station.

Once there I noticed that there were more old buildings, narrow streets and interesting architecture than in either of the other two towns I'd just been through.

Next morning I woke up in St. Cyprien with fear in my belly. Haven't had that feeling in ages.
The temperature felt icy cold too, and seemed to be biting into my flesh. There was also an air-raid siren going off. Had I woken up in the wrong world ? Took a wrong turning in my dreamstate?



I also needed a coffee desperately, or any hot drink come to that. As usual in French hotels there are rarely tea or coffee-making facilities in the room itself, and I hadn't brought my travel kettle . I wasn't feeling grounded at all, and needed my morning tea and cigarette, like now rather than later.

Hadn't ordered any breakfast 24 hours in advance as I can't plan anything 24 hours in advance, plus I usually just need liquids until about 11.00am. Decided to go downstairs to buy a drink before packing, so took a quick shower beforehand. Managed to somehow totally dismantle the plastic folding door between my room and the shower room in the process.

Nobody in reception. Grrrr.....

Walked into the dining-room and the only sign of humanity was a lone couple having their breakfast. No staff anywhere.

Finally one came out and I asked for a coffee. No I hadn't ordered breakfast in advance so will just pay for a coffee, and no I can't repeat every sentence 3 times because my French isn't so good first thing in the morning when I need my first drink, and yes I will wait for another member of staff to come out and help me (but not for long or I'll just help myself).

Finally coffee sorted but no milk. I saw a jug on the side and assumed it contained milk so poured some in my coffee. It was fruit juice. Staff member goes off to fetch some milk which should have been in the dining room in the first place. French coffee is so strong I couldn't even taste the fruit juice, but didn't want to push my luck by asking for another just because I ruined it.

Combien? I put the change on the counter in reception, tried to say I'm taking it to my room, wasn't sure whether that was ok to not drink it in the dining room but gave up trying to explain in French and took it anyway. My needs count this morning, stuff etiquette, they should provide all that stuff in the room.

By the time I'd finished packing, breakfast downstairs had finished so nothing was being served, so I decided to find a cafe nearby to consume even more caffeine.
Sat outside the cafe, even though there was still a chill in the air, and continued grounding myself while writing in my journal and waiting for the first train out of St.Cyprien which wasn't until 1.00pm. I knew the day would heat up significantly as it progressed towards noon.
Thought I'd go and find the river in the meantime. Felt burnt out and fed-up already it was only day three.

Tried to buy a ticket for Sarlat but there is no ticket office at St. Cyprien station.
An elderly Frenchman tried to help me. "No you can't buy a ticket there", he said in French, "that's the fire station. You have to buy it on the train."

Sat at the platform and read my book about Madame de Pompadour. One of the firemen was cooking sausages outside, on the platform side. Checked again. Yes you have to buy the ticket on the train. I knew you could be fined heavily if caught without a ticket, but they don't exactly make it easy to purchase one.

Nobody came to sell me a ticket on the train.
I arrived at my final destination on this particular rail track, Sarlat. One of the best preserved medieval towns.

7. Day trip to St Jean d'Angely

St. Jean d'Angely is only a 20 minute train journey north of Saintes. It is a much smaller town than any I've visited so far, and has the River Boutonne running through it. The riverside looked a nice place to sit and there were some seats, but for some reason I didn't return to the river to sit there later in the day as planned. Again I did much walking in the heat of the day to see as much of the place as possible.



It rained a few brief showers, but nothing like the monsoon of yesterday when I lost a day in Saintes. The French girl I chatted to in the resturant last night, daughter of the owner, told me that it is rare for the weather to be like this (rainy and cloudy) in the Charente Maritime in summer. I guess we are having freak weather patterns all over Europe right now.

I did the walk around town after being given a walking map by the tourist office. The unfinished front of the classical church of the Abbey was begun in 1741, the immense Gothic Abbey having been destroyed by the Huguenots in 1568.



The main high street had music coming from speakers up on the wall. At first I thought it was coming from someone's home until I spotted the small speakers in public places. Strange music was playing from them including the Woody Woodpecker song and the theme tune to the Flintstones !


Managed to find a good place to have lunch, although it was packed at lunchtime and I had to come back later to find a table. Was successful the third time I tried, which by then was nearing 3pm. I think it was my best meal so far in France, and the red wine was good too. They were playing some really good laid-back music, and I ended up being the only one in there while they were clearing the tables from a hectic lunchtime. The restaurant was called Le Petit Bouchon, at the corner of rue Poissonieres and Place du Marche.

I went for a walk around the residential area and started to hear what sounded like an air-raid siren going off, which it did a few times. Strange sounds, certainly, in this village - it was starting to feel a bit surreal. I loved the way some of the houses there were built along the small stream, which I assumed must be coming off of the main river Boutonne.



After looking around an antique shop, I ran out of things to do and realised I still had about 3 hours before my train was due to depart for Saintes. I ended up being the only one in the bar near the station and so drank a pastis, even though I didn't really want or need any more alcohol. Looking back on it I would have done the day differently. I could have enquired at the tourist office about getting to Dampierre castle, which is a Renaissance chateau set in a Garden of Symbols, which also has a box hedge maze. There is an exhibition of alchemy there as the chateau was the alchemy centre during the ancient regime.


I either forgot about the castle as soon as I got to St. Jean d'Angely or assumed it was too far away, or thought there would be enough to do in this village. There were probably no tourist buses to it anyway - there never seemed to be a lot of tourist activity going on with regard to buses or boats anywhere, the tourist season felt flat or almost non-existent to me wherever I went. I'm sure that in a small town like St.Jean they would have trouble filling a whole busload with tourists to go to that castle, but maybe most people discover France by car anyway.

I'm probably just used to the energies of London which are constantly moving and has a tourist season throughout most of the year, whereas some of these places that are not main tourist destinations feel so sleepy and slow, the energies almost stagnant. When everything closes down for two hours at lunch time it is hard to see what it's like when trading is active, and the shops seem almost invisible until they open again.

I took this photo mainly for the strange energies I felt at the corner of the street - like a ghost-town. Is anyone alive in this street?



I could not imagine setting up a business in such a village, it would feel too frustrating. Even the man in the antique shop seemed accustomed to just sitting there expecting nothing, and I felt like I was probably the first person in days to walk into his shop. Maybe I just need to slow down and go back to a more simple life, which is part of the plan anyway, but that's not the same as utter boredom and having life grind to a halt. No..... perhaps quiet village life is not for me (at least not if I need an income) but neither is city life any more. Hopefully I'll know where I want to live when I see it - I just don't want to have to cover every square mile of France first before I find the right place.

6. Saintes and the Roman Amphitheatre

Arrived at the hostel at 4.30pm so only had to wait half an hour for reception to open. When I got the key to my room I saw that the numerology was still keeping to the fives, as my room number was 302. I was a bit surprised when I entered the room and realised I was sharing it with two other people. There was one single and one bunk bed, and mine was the bunk at the top. I'd become used to having the privacy of my own room...no, even my own hostel, so it took a bit of getting used to at first, but the two French women who eventually showed up were both very pleasant and were only staying one more night anyway. I kind of missed their company after they both went the next day, but was glad to be sleeping at ground level when I changed beds, and was able to resume having a sneaky cigarette with my head stuck out the window.

Saintes is walkable from the station, and there were many shops along the fairly long road to the main part of town, which was spread out on either side of the river. Not much of an old residential quarter though, but the many Roman ruins make up for that. The older part of town doesn't have the medieval half-timbered houses which is more of a feature further north in France, but I still liked the steep winding roads and old houses with shutters at the windows. On my day trip from Angouleme the Saturday food market was still going strong.

As usual, I collected all the little train timetables at the station when I arrived in Saintes because for some reason you can only pick up the local timetables when you arrive at your destination, which makes planning ahead a bit difficult. I find them much easier to read than UK train timetables, but its frustrating not being able to acquire them in advance. I was already wondering where the next side-trip from Saintes would be because I prefer to only stay 3 days in one place.
The River Charente here is the same river that flows through Angouleme, although here there were more seats and green spaces to sit by the river, which would be ideal for picnics.

I'd asked the Tourist Office about hiring a bike, but there was no bike hire shop in town. There was one in a village not that far away and they deliver to your hotel for the price of a day's bike hire, but the next day it was pouring with rain all day so I changed my mind about cycling and felt I'd lost a day in Saintes, which is why I booked the fourth night at the hostel. I was told that the countryside to the east of Saintes is very green and pretty, but that would have to wait for a dryer day, or even another trip. My main aim on this brief trip was to find the nearest large town to live within about 30 mins train journey to, and once I'd decided on the town I'd be in a better position to know which countryside to explore.

Saintes is in the centre of the Charente-Maritime region, in the south west of France. Different areas of France have their own microclimate, and the following map shows the number of sunshine hours per year in the various regions of France - the red areas being highest number. The Charente Maritime, in which the town of Saintes is located, is the little red area on the west coast.

Saintes has a population of about 27,000 and is a modern small town which still retains many reminders of its Roman origins, particularly the Arc de Germanicus standing alongside the main bridge over the Charente into the town and dating from 18AD (about the time that Saintes was originally founded), and the Roman amphitheatre built in the first century AD and able to accommodate 20,000 spectators.



The highlight of my stay here was the Roman amphitheatre. It is larger than it looks in the photos and I just sat there watching the lizards darting in and out of the rocks, wondering what it must have been like in Roman times and feeling wonderfully free that I could stand in the middle of the amphitheatre and know that I'm perfectly safe from being fed to the lions.

Having walked around most of the town, looked in the shops and sat by the river a number of times, there were only two things left to do before leaving :
1) have my hair cut as it is half the price to go to the hairdressers in France compared with London.
2) see a French movie. They have a lovely art-film cinema here, and although I knew my French was probably not up to it, I decided to go see an animation as at least I could appreciate the film visually even if I couldn't understand all of it.
I missed the earlier screening so went to the 9pm one, where only the front two rows in the balcony were occupied, the stalls downstairs being totally empty. I didn't take a photo of the cinema, but the film Persepolis was a delight to see and I got the gist of it even though I couldn't understand a lot because they were talking way too fast. Persepolis that year became the first animation film to win an award at Cannes since René Laloux’s Fantastic Planet in 1973.

My day trip to St. Jean d'Angely follows this entry, which I actually did while staying in Saintes.

The weather had changed dramatically since my arrival in Saintes, in this supposedly sunniest region of France. The youth hostel receptionist booked me into Blois hostel for the remaining 3 days of my trip. They say it is sunny in Blois right now, she told me. See 'Blois Youth Hostel' in the Loire section posted previously.