Tuesday 24th September 2024

Jools and I share a lot of history, visiting the same places but at different times. One of those is St Guilham Le Desert and and the nearby caves.

Jools went in 1974 on a school trip, and I went in 1982 when I was advises on a camping trip to avoid sunshine due to prickly heat.

After watching a Rick Stein show on forgotten France, we had the plan to spend a week or two exploring France.

But the best laid plans and all that, so we went to Tuscany instead, but would take four days to come back, visiting St Guilham and the caves, as well as staying the night.

We woke at half six, traffic was already building on the motorway for the trip into Cannes. We stood at the winodw and watched cars try to get by other cars or trucks, then get stuck in lines. It was even worse on the local routes into the town, traffic solid both sides of the road.

We had a shower and got dressed, breakfast was at half eight, but that was fine as we had just a four hour drive ahead. A buffet breakfast, but with coffee, so anything beyond that would be a bonus.

We ate, washed up, packed and went down the two separate lifts to level -2 where the car was, load that up and program in our destination.

Only trouble was, we had to join local traffic for two miles before there was a small on-ramp we could use, so we inched along, and while 90% of traffic went east for Cannes and Italy, we headed west.

We would be heading west for a long time.

A digression:

Bitten to buggary.

On our last three days, various insects feasted on our flesh and blood, so that we were very red and blotchy come Monday. And the more you scratch the more they itch. We put on lotion, made no difference.

So, for the lst three days we have been itching a great deal, so not in good moods either.

Anyway. Back to the drive.

Traffic along the coast was busy, but once the road turned north, it became very pleasant for the most part. Its just the distances involved.

France is much bigger than we Brits realise, and coming back via Montpelier And Nantes would be a two day drive and then have four or more hours come Thursday.

The sat nav kept us on the right road, even if the signs did point to Barcelona for many hours The now-topped Alps had given way now to rusty red mountains, covered in scrub, looking like the wild west, but the motorway weaved its way through valleys and ever westward.

At some point we stopped for supplies, a filled roll and a drink, then back in the car for several more hours.

Finally, we reached Montpelier, and we took the road to Millau, though that visit would have to wait until the next day.

The road climbed, and travelled along roads lined with centuries old Plain Trees, but traffic means there was no time to take a shot, and anyway, we had an appointment.

Just before our destination, a wide and large load had got stuck under a bridge, the two drivers stood and scratched their heads. Someone's head will roll for that.

We came to the bottom of a gorge, this would be our home for the next 18 hours. At the end of the gorge, there is The Devil's Bridge, though in fact there are two, three if you include and old footbridge, and four as i'm pretty sure I saw the buttress of an even older bridge below the footings of the current one.

Looking up the gorge, the river was calm, there has been little rain this summer, so levels are very low, a guys was fishing from a paddle board, and we stood beside the road and looked down.

At two we went to the entrance of Grotte de Clamouse, where we were booked on the half two tour. There was time for a beer before starting.

We both have visited the caves before, Jools 50 years ago, and me 42, so I remember little.

There was about a dozen of us on the tour, with our guide speaking French and English, at first it was easy, but with a humidity of 89% and constant temperature of 16 degrees, C, it wasn't cold, but once we started climbing up through the system, I soon got warm, and the damp tiles meant I was pleased to have brought my walking pole.

I will describe later the things we saw, but I took lots of shots, and they will speak more than I can.

The final climb was up 84 steps, with formations towering over us as we climbed, and music played to add dramatic effect.

Stunning.

What was left was a climb down a long passageway with over 100 steps, back down to the entrance, and then more steps down to the terrace and more down to the road.

My knees were screaming, but I had done it.

We had another swifter of Juplier beer, then drove the 2Km to the village of Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, where we would be spending the night in a bar.

Off the main road, and up a narrow lane up the valley side, until we reached the overflow car park, and the village was spread out on the other side of a small gorge, now dry.

We found a place to park, then we walked to the hotel on the square, then dropped our bags in the room, before going out to take the air and visit the church before it closed.

Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert is like a fairy tale, made real. Buildings apparently as old as the rocks there are built on, spit by narrow cobbled streets and alleyways.

In the centre of the square are some tables, and the two restaurants use them, so we sat and a waitress brought us a menu. We had the fixed meal: salad, beef bourguignon, bread, crepes to follow and I got us a bottle of local rosé wine.

It was magical, and the food fantastic, and being in the square, we could people watch, and ignore Billy the bulldog who tried to scrounge food of us. And failed.

Time for a wander round the village, before going back to the hotel for a nightcap, and take our tired legs up the wooden hill to bed.