Our next port of call is in a villa on a farm ( Quinquet) just outside the small village of Mazeres in southern France, only 100km or so from the Spanish border.
The online Michelin Man says the trip from Chauzanaud to Quinquet will take 4 hours (3.75 hours on motorway) and toll will be 21.50 Euro. The city of Cahors is conveniently halfway and has a Saturday market. This is ideal.
In the early morning light the River Lot at Cahors is a picture.
There is only one fisherman casting his luck in the river. We can't understand why we don't see more fishermen when everywhere we go we see big, juicy trout just lolling around in the rivers and streams
The old part of Cahors is typically charming. We never seem to get tried of sightseeing around the old city lanes and streets.
Again in Cahors the Pride of India are in full bloom making a spectacular show. The range of vibrant colours is amazing.
We have learned to follow the shopping bags to the markets. By late morning the market has reached a crescendo. The French shop and talk and shop and talk. Kissey kiss here, kissey kiss there. These markets are such a social occasion.
We taste the wares of the lady with the huge slabs of cakes ( and buy some of course)....
We love walking past the spice stalls just for the smell.
We take the scenic route from Cahors to Montauban. It is 8.00pm in Australia and we are desperate to know how the election result is unfolding. We find a McDonald's and log on with baited breath. So far so good. Check our emails and resume our journey.
Back on the motorway and passed Toulouse where we encounter our first traffic jam of the entire French trip. We have seen a few going the other way, but now it is our turn. We inch forward for 8km until we exit towards Spain. The congestion is due to merging of two major motorways full of holiday makers. A bit like the road to the Gold Coast on the afternoon before a long weekend.
As we hurtle south still on a motorway but almost alone, we come over a ridge line and there before us is a wide open plain and beyond that the Pyrenees Mountains jump up into the sky. It is about 40 degrees outside, and the sky is cloudless.
We roll into the rural Bastide village of Mazeres at the end of a wedding convoy. In France the guests decorate their cars with tuile and drive around in a convoy blowing their car horns as they go. They also “decorate” the bride and grooms car.
A quick walk around town mainly to see if we can see the bride but she disappears into the town hall just as we turn the corner. In France all weddings are conducted in the town hall by the Mayor. The wedding party then moves on to the church for a blessing and then moves into party mode (or series of parties) that last all night and all the next day.
Now to find Quinquet, which is supposedly just a few km out of town.
We check it out on Google earth (with street view) and Google maps. We have this one pegged out.
We turn up a narrow road between two fields of fully grown corn.
The conversation in the car goes something like this;
“Oh look honey they have a ruin on their property, as well as a holiday villas”
“Oh that's soooo derelict”
We go by the “ruins” and a kilometre of so later we arrive at a farm house complete with ramshackle sheds and chooks having a dust bath.
We do a Uey and by then the lady of the house is at the farm house door. With a big smile she directed us back up the road in her friendly sign language.
“Oh silly us, must have missed the turn-off in the cornfield.”
We retraced our route passed the ruin.
“Oh there are people living in the ruin babe”. “What a dump, look at all the rusting bits and pieces, the place is a disaster”. “Must be pretty rough”. As we passed by a man not unlike Santa Claus in his undies gave us a wave. How friendly, maybe he can give us better directions.
“Hi, I'm Tom” he said in a broad English accent. “Oh, G'day Tom, we were looking for your holiday villa”. “You're here” he says with a big smile; “welcome”. Oh My God!! we think in unison.
The view from the road
Reception...literally
There is a pool in there...they assure us!
Inside...
Downstairs...Our photos are not dissimilar to those on the website. What you can't see is the dust, grime, mildew, dog hair and lack of maintenance. Jenelle's fingers are itching.
BedroomWe were looking for the authentic French farmstead experience, but this is a little too “authentic”.
We move in trying not to touch anything and wonder what we have got ourselves into. We have a quiet beer and consider our options. With no internet, no washing machine and a seemingly hung parliament, we are a bit depressed.
