Friday 7th August 2026

Time to go home.

But before then, a short drive into the city to visit and photograph the cathedral, which if I remembered right has some of the oldest stained glass in all of Europe.

We woke up after a long sleep, the traffic on the bypass outside didn't keep us awake, and the cool temperatures meant it was easy to snuggle up under the duvet.

Cool?

Yes, eight degrees, though it would warm up quickly, but with the roof window open, it allowed the cool air in, and the sound of bird song.

We went down for breakfast after showers, and found the usual mix of fruit, bread, yogurts, and preserves. And lots of strong coffee.

We drove into the centre, parking at another underground car park called "Cathedral". And this time the large churchy building nearby was the cathedral.

Like most cities we drove into, it was quiet, even in the midst of what would be rush hour in Britain. And in the circular underground car park, only about 10% of spaces were taken.

Out into the cool of the morning, blue shadows fulling the streets, and over the roofs were the twin spires of the cathedral.

I got busy snapping the north, west and east triple doorways, as I knew it would open at half eight, but then mass would start at nine, and as I guessed, insides were signs asking no photography when a mass was being held.

Which gave me half an hour. How many shots could I take in 30 minutes?

Nearly 600 if you were wondering what the answer was.

Around the outside of the Sanctuary were incredible carved friezes depicting the life of Jesus, which I recorded in two batches.

Between I put on the big boy lens, and started to record the glass, starting with the rose window in the west, and the three 12th century panels below.

I had only taken a fraction of the shots I wanted, when the clock chimed nine, and the Bishop emerged, and the choir began to sing.

We could have waited for mass to be completed, but that would have been in thirty or more minutes, but we still had a four and a half hour drive to get to Calais, then get onto a shuttle.

We'd best be going, I said.

So we did.

Though the smell of fresh coffee in the row of restaurants on the main square did smell amazing.

Now.

Both Jools and I are old enough to remember, and experience, the traffic jams around the Paris ring road, so our intention was to go to Rouen, then up the coast road from there. Even if it did mean using the crazy fur lane link road that winds it way through a commercial estate, and is clogged with trucks and holiday traffic.

It was a quiet run up to Rouen, along less-known dual carriageways and motorways, but then onto that ring road. Not as bad as I remember, but with roadworks on the bridge over The Seine, but traffic on the road we merged on were allowing one car at a time to blend in, so we made progress, and once through the tunnel we were back out into the countryside and up to warp speed.

And so we ate the miles up until we crested a hill near Boulogne-sur-Mer, and the Kent coast could be seen some 30 miles away.

We paid the last toll of the trip, and dropped into Calais, where we had four stops. Well, two in fact.

The Carrefour hypermarket near the port for some beer. Proper 1664, brewed in France and different to the pish we get in Britain. Then to Calais Vin for some Belgian beer, French cidre, more French wine, and cheap pink fizz.

Next door to the fromagerie for a selection of cheeses, all stinky and runny. Before going to the patisserie for some fresh crusty bread. And we were done.

The car was loaded, and had just enough room for us. We moved off going down two junctions of the motorway to the Tunnel

Check in was easy, then was the chaos of getting through the two sets of border controls. There are now staff directing cars on which lane to join, so not the free-for-all of old, but it still took an hour, meaning we missed our booked train, and there wasn't another for an hour!

So, we sat in line for half an hour before boarding, and then the five minute wait before the train moved off.

We got off at ten to four, and once we took the A20 exit, we were in Folkestone, onto the A20, over the cliffs and down into Dover.

A ferry had dicked, so traffic was heavy up Jubilee Way, but it moved quickly, and so we were able to turn onto the Deal road, then off into the village and home.

Home.

The car was unloaded. Washing put into the machine, and clean clothes put away.

We worked well as a team, and by six so much done, I could take part in the quiz, though I jumped in early and got it wrong.

Jools went to the Chinese, so for supper we dined well and drank ice cold beer/cider, as the evening darked outside, and was dark by half eight.

But we were home, so went to bed and slept well, me after 15 hours driving over two days, and Jools having to suffer my driving for 15 hours over two days!

Thursday 6th August 2026

The decision had been made, the holiday was aborted. Our next two hotels were cancelled, though we would only get partial refunds.

It was a twelve hour trip, at least to Calais, so we would break it on the way north. Break it at Chartres, as the cathedral there has some incredible early stained glass.

If I remembered correctly.

That thought did worry me through the day on the road.

We booked at another Ibis on the outskirts of the city, and the sat nav told us we had 485 miles to go.

We rose at half five, had breakfast at six, and after loading thew car the dash said it was already 27.5 degrees, and they sun wasn't yet up.

As we walked out of the hotel, a pair of Black redstarts greeted us, chirping for food, or more likely, water. We had none. Or nothing to put it in.

Arles had not yet woken up, so we had an easy run to the motorway, the day's first light illuminating the apartment buildings as we went west.

West to Montpellier on quiet roads, then north, north along where we travelled two years ago to Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert and the Devil's Bridge.

Traffic was light, driving was fun, and the road climbed to nearly 3,000 feet, up a long twisty valley and onto the high plains beyond.

We cruised at 70mph, and made good time.

The landscape the whole way was brown and desiccated. The summer has been long and hot, and the drought carries on.

In places we saw the evidence of wildfires. Just small ones, but fields and copses of threes were just brown stains and charred skeletons.

We broke into the less than 400 miles to go barrier.

And it took and age to get to the less than 300 mile stage.

We stopped for a drink and a snack. The car needed filling. Again.

The road turned into a motorway, and soon we were approaching Viaduc de Millau, this time in bright sunshine, the support towers for the deck standing stark against the dark blue sky.

We were making for the city of Clermont-Ferrand, where we would join the main road north. It took forever to get there. The morning grew old and the sun was overhead. Traffic was thicker, but we pressed on.

We stopped at a small service station, the same one we had lunch in some two years ago. A baguette with local salami and pickles, along with a Fanta.

Onwards in the afternoon sunshine, and mild heat of the day to Moulins and then Bourges. I was struggling to stay awake. I tried music. A podcast. Jools snoozed beside me as I tried to blink myself awake.

We stopped at an Aire, and I grabbed a double espresso and a sticky cake, walked around some, and felt better.

We had less than 100 miles to go.

At Orléans the sat nav's instructions and display said different things, so I followed the display. And was wrong. A twenty mile diversion, doubling back and onwards before turning off and crossing over the fields to the point where we saw the twin spires of Chartres cathedral.

But that was for the morning.

We made it to the hotel, another Ibis Styles, this time on the edge of a commercial park.

I had booked a huge family toom. We had a double bed each, a table each, and in the bathroom, a basin each too.

I had noticed two bars on the way to the hotel. The first one was a shop and bar, so we walked the fifty yards there, and found a good selection on tap. Also they did a charcuterie board.

We feasted on cured meats, cheeses and pickles, as I made three pints disappear.

The long drive, lack of sleep soon made my eyes droop, so we went back to the hotel, where the moderate heat of the day was fading, and would fall to single digits by dawn!

We slept long. And well.

Wednesday 5th August 2026

We woke after ten hours sleep. Life felt much better, the rain had cleared overnight, so the morning light was clear and bright.

We had laid in until half seven, and it was an hour later when we went down for breakfast, where the hotel’s old dog kept us company, demanding head pats and back rubs.

Like all French hotels, the bread was excellent, as so was the local yogurt.

I show many people around the Kent orchid sites, and most say that if I down their way, let them know and they will share locations. One such was Kevin, who told me of an orchid site at 6,000 feet, that usually has several Ghosts.

He gave me a map pin location, it was on our way south, some 55 minutes away, so it seemed daft not to at least try.

It was a sad depart from the hotel, as it was by far the best on the whole trip. Great food, three choices of draught La Chouffe, good beds, and very quiet. The staff were friendly, and didn’t laugh or roll eyes at my fractured Franglais.

It was going to be a hot day in the foothills, but hotter further south, though we had no idea as to how hot, hot actually feels.

We drive back to the main road, and headed south west, along the busy roads, stopping at a service station for fuel, before driving on.

The road began to climb, huge curves took the road upwards, with meadows filling the part in the middle, then hairpins, and all the while cyclists huffing and puffing, or not, up the Col.

We turned sharp left off the main road, onto a narrow mountain road that clung to the side of a gorge, the drop on the left hand side soon dropping hundreds of metres, and only a frail meatl fence stopping anyone who made a mistake.

We arrived at the pinned location, and saw along the road, prime Ghost habitat. But a feel of the moss revealed it to be bone dry, despite being green. We searched along the roadside bank, found several species gone to seed, and even some Creeping Lady’s Tresses newly emerged and one even still in bud.

We each went up a track leading up the side of the mountain, into the woods, but the orchids died out, though the moss continued. We searched for an hour, found lots of gone-to-seed spikes, but only one Dark red helleborine still in flower.

We had ran out of time.

Back to the car, and back along the mountain track, where we encountered many cars and buses coming the other way, the narrow track only had a few passing places, and on our side of the road was the massive drop to the gorge below.

We made it back to the main road safe, turned back down the hill, and rejoined the main road leading out of the Alps.

The road meandered down valleys, some narrow and steep, but latterly les so, until we came to the motorway, then I could put the hammer down.

The car’s display had shown it to be twenty two degrees when we set out from the hotel, but as we dropped in altitude and it got towards afternoon, thirty degrees was reached, then thirty five, and finally thirty eight.

We stopped at the first services, as the mountains were now just shadows in the rear view mirror. We stepped out of the air conditioned car and into the afternoon heat, and it hit us like a slice of lemon wrapped round a gold brick.

We got drinks and a baguette, ate, and went back to the car to head further south.

The countryside was now flat, filled with crops, and low hills on which were farms and villages. Traffic got heavier, and the temperature didn’t drop.

We reached Arles, where we had several things planned, but getting out of the car showed that just walking in the heat and humidity would have been just about impossible for us.

Into the hotel, and their air conditioning wasn’t coping, we joined a queue of people waiting to check in, all had faces and bodies the colour of freshly boiled lobster.

We checked in and went to our room. It faced south, and had received at least six hours of sunshine, the air conditioning made little difference. I washed my face so to be free of sweat, and within thirty seconds as hot all over again.

We went down to the bar, and found ice cold beers just about took the edge off, but not by much. I made two pints disappear as more guests arrived, and found their rooms not ready, and their anger quickly boiled over.

At seven we had dinner, and over glasses of rose wine, we were honest about the heat and the fact we had at least eight more days of it. Should we stick with it, or not?

We both said it was too much. We couldn’t sleep, and during the day it would have been too hot for us to do anything outside, but we had days of nature watching planned, all of which was impossible.

We cancelled the next two hotels, meaning we would not see the total eclipse, but would see it 97% total from home. We booked a hotel in Chartres, and sighed with relief.

We went upstairs to pack an overnight bag, contact the cattery, and try to get some sleep.

Tuesday 4th August 2026

Time to begin the next stage of the holiday.

Pack and then try to find the car in the underground lair I left it in on Saturday.

Wheels was due at eight, and breakfast an hour before, so up at six, and I was out the hotel at half six, walking the empty streets to the car park, then down the stairs as far as I could, and there was out reliable Audi.

I drove to the hotel, where Jools had the first of the bags ready for loading, and in the minutes before breakfast, it was pretty much done.

Richard had already confirmed to me that we would be leaving up the Col, so the question remained, in feet how high it was.

And could I drive up it, and down the other side?

Driving it is different from being a passenger, though easier at eight in the morning when the early cyclists were trying to climb it.

Up and up, round and round we went, until the car said it was 9,200 feet above sea level, and then the ay down began.

Both up and down the Col, we passed the sites we had botanised, and then onto virgin territory. We stopped for five minutes to see what was left of the Globe-flowered orchid, then back in the buses and car to the bottom of the Col, then along for twenty miles before taking a minor road up, and attacked another Col.

This was taking us towards Italy, but little did I know that after crowning that Col and descending it, we entered Italy, and into a busy town the other side, by which time our brake pads were stinking after much use.

After a week in the high Alps, it was a shock to enter a busy town, and the jams it provided where two major roads met.

This is where I lost contract with Jon and Richard, only having a “pin” of the last site we were to visit, and hoping that it was correct.

Google maps took us over another minor Col, back into France, and through majestic landscapes, with views of castles and monasteries built on hills or outcrops of rocks.

By luck, our next hotel was within ten miles of the last site visit: one for Ghosts.

We arrived first. Parked and had our lunch while we waited for the two buses to arrive.

Richard briefed us, and so we went hunting, over the bridge and to the left, up the wooded slopes of the river valley.

The ground was dry. The moss was dry. And although we saw plenty of orchids gone to seed, no Ghosts were seen.

I went up exploring the wooded slope, up a track. Up and up I went, before realising that I would miss the buses departure unless I hurried.

I arrived at the bottom of the hill five minutes after they left. Jools was waiting for me, patient as ever.

Just us now.

We programmed in the hotel, some thirty minutes away. Realising that I had no idea what we would find, so approached Puy-Saint-Vincent with some worries.

I needn’t have worried It was a large chalet style place, with a well-stocked bar and a restaurant. After a few minutes waiting, the owner came to check us in, poured us a drink each, and so with full glasses we sat on the veranda and drank in the calmness of the isolated valley.

Up to our room, upgraded to one with a balcony, we settled in, and I grabbed a well-needed 90 minutes of zedding.

Down for dinner at nine, we had three courses:

Gazpacho of fresh pea.

Cassoulet of scallops.

Liqueur ice cream.

And beer.

It was fabulous.

Behind us the fay faded, clouds built behind the mountains, as always.

After going back to the room, the storm broke. Thunder roared and rattled the windows, then rain hammered down, so loud I thought it an air conditioning fan.

|It was still raining when we went to bed, and fell asleep as the rain steadily fell.

Monday 3rd August 2026

Believe it or not, the final day in the tour mini bus.

Another humid evening, turned into a cool and refreshing morning. We rose at half six, had showers and were ready for the day.

Jools would try one of the local free bus services, and we would head over the Col to further expore the site just over the crest of the pass.

But first, breakfast. As usual there is the scramble for the coffee machine, but with our caffine hit, we were ready for the day.

Val d'Isère is at about 1700m, and the top of the Col is 2,770m. It is some climb to get up there.

So into the buses, and off we go, going up and up, round hairpin bends, and between views down to the town, sometimes hundreds of metres below.

Being a weekday, it wasn’t so busy. Certainly not so many cyclists making the climb. We crested the summit, and went down about 500m, parked at the side of the road, and once out, began botanising the lower slopes of the mountain.

We were looking for the alpine orchids, but also saxifrages and other rare plants. And butterflies.

Thing is, altitude was taking its toll on us, we were easily out of breath, and ached all over. We did OK in the morning, but after lunch, we were not motivated to do much more.

I snapped two species of mountain Ringlets, and saw Small tortoiseshells and Painted Lady at the very top of the pass.

Some climbed the upper slopes, and looked like miniatures from our lower vantage points.

We had lunch at the summit, I took pictures of cyclists posing beside the summit sign, then wandered off exploring on my own. Jon had mentioned how the Brassy ringlet’s upper wing surfaces appeared burnished when light hit at a certain angle, and I was lucky enough to capture that.

The Silky ringlet is a very rare species, but common in the higer Alpine passes. I snapped one of those too.

On our way back down to the hotel, we stopped off at two more sites, but with the threat of active weather inbound.

My knee told me I had done enough, so sat in the van and listened to a pod, then just before we got back to the hotel, we stopped beside the road to look at to Gentian species, both rare, one I had not seen before.

As we crossed the road, the rain began. Big fat drops, soaking us in seconds. And then the bog soaked through our shoes. I stayed long enough to get a shot of the Willow gentian, nearly two feet high, but the bog and rain forced me back to the van and shelter.

And that was that. The tour over. Time to pack, and at seven go for the last debrief and then dinner.

We had squeezed a lot into six days, and on Tuesday they begin the journey back to Lyon, while we continue south for next week’s eclipse.

Sunday 2nd August 2026

We are in the high Alps, right in the heart of the country normally occupied by the apris ski set. But there is no snow, only above 2.500m, anyway.

We are here for three days to see the high Alpine plants and fauna, and we would be going back to the top of the pass once again.

We meet for breakfast at eight, talk about the day. And are ready for wheels at nine, where we will go back up The Col de l’Iseran.

If anything, Sunday was busier than Saturday, with cyclists, bikers and cars of all sorts climbing or descending one side or the other. So, cars have to find the short straight stretches to get past the cyclists or slow-moving vehicles, and all the while a sheer drop on one side for hundreds of metres with little or no barriers to stop you if a mistake were made.

Eek indeed.

We made it to the top, or 500 metres short of the summit, and from the small parking area we spent three hours botanising and chasing butterflies.

Thanks to Jon’s information the previous evening on the Peak White butterfly, and how rarely they settle and in 35 years he had never photographed one, when I saw a female ovipositioning, I gave chase. And did get a few shots off before she flew away, thankfully one was in focus.

Otherwise it was up and down, snapping flowers, orchids or other butterflies, ot just stopping to take in the grand landscapes that hung all around us.

We made our way back down, stopping off at one of the lower hairpins, where we walked along the road to see more orchids, and were rewarded with Dark red helleborines and the hybrid between the Chalk and Marsh fragrants.

Our final call was at a lower meadow where we went searching for more orchids, Dark reds and Musk, but the high temperatures this summer had frazzled them both at this lower altitude. But there were butterflies to chase, and get shots off. Though I did turn my ankle over whilst climbing a rick fall. As you do.

And that was that, eight hours, 800 pictures taken, and more to edit and post over the next few months.

Dinner again at half seven, which featured sausages. Sausages!

Saturday 1st August 2026

Time to move on.

Again.

As the crow, or chough flies, it was 19km to our next hotel, though that would be over Alpine peaks, our route was 80km, down the valley, then along some, then up to Val d'Isère.

On the way we would do some light orchiding. Visit another Ghost site, look for some Summer Lady’s Tresses before heading down the valley.

We had to pack of course, then load the car. And although I have only bought four bottles, our stuff now fills the boot and the back seats.

We have breakfast. Again with limited bread served to each of us in a small basket, though there is also fruit and coffee.

The first site, down a dusty track was bone dry, so there were no orchids, Ghost or otherwise.

Shame.

Then up a long and winding narrow lane to an Alpine meadow, where after parking we cross the footbridge and see the Creeping Lady’s Tresses and Broad Leaved Helleborines.

On the meadow the other side of the stream, in the hot sunshine, there were many, many butterflies, so I chased them with my camera with little success.

All back in the wagons, and down the track, steep and with hairpin bends, until we reach the main road, then it was all systems go.

And then we reached the town of Bourg-Saint-Maurice, very busy on a Saturday morning. |But it was from there that the climb, some 30km up to Val-d'Isère, from 200m to 1500m or so, or 500 feet to 6060.

Steep climbs, hairpin bends, villages perched on hillsides, and mad motorcycles overtaking us wherever they felt it right to, even when there was no space to pull in.

We stopped for lunch beside a dam, a concrete overlook, where a road crossed the dam to the town of Tignes.

Then up to Val-d'Isère where, of course, there was a festival, and the road through to our hotel was closed. There were diversions, across fields and down narrow streets, until we arrived.

Then we had to unload the car, and I find a place to park. The central car park is free in summer, and they claimed to have 113 free spaces.

I followed the diversions, past the bbq and beer stalls, bands playing oompah music, until I reached the entrance. The first two levels were full, or spaces that were there we too small because of piss-poor parking by SUV owners.

I found a space on the lowest level, then walked up, and had to walk back to the hotel, quickly, as the next tour of the day was to start at two.

I made it, and Jools had got our bags and stuff into our modern room, but it was time to leave again.

So back down to the street, into thebuses, and upwards to the orchid meadows.

The Col de l’Iseran climbs out of the town, continuing on from the one we had already travelled, until it reaches the top of the pass at 2,500m.

It is fairly narrow, lots of hairpins, and views down into the valley that get ever more alarming as you go higher and higher. And there’s no barriers, and one mistake could see you falling hundreds of metres.

At the top, it felt like we were on the roof of the world, and the car park at the top was full of bikers, mostly Belgians.

We carried on, and about two hundred metres down the other side, we pulled off and parked before the Bridge of Snow.

We had three hours to explore the meadow, and hiding in it were possibly dozens of orchids of several species, as well as other Alpine plants.

It was boggy too, and steep, but the hot weather had dried it out, and soon we got into the swing of it.

Orchids were found. So-called Vanilla ones, and Frog orchids too, but lots of other plants, some Alpine variations of stuff we know from home, or other more exotic ones.

I found a pure white variant of a Field gentian, a rare find indeed, and later would have to show jOn and the others where it was.

Also seen where Moonwort, and oh so many wonderful things, and butterflies too.

At half five we packed up and got back on the van, then began the 19km steep descent into the town.

We arrived safe and sound, then having 45 minutes before dinner on the 4th floor.