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AUTUMN SORTIE TO EYMET via Caussade
Sometimes one has to make a trip for other reasons than pleasure or simple sightseeing. This escapade was for the treatment of a persistent hip and leg pain after a simple fall on the lawn of the Theatre of Narbonne, in May. There is a chiropractor in Eymet who had treated me once, and after having tried all manner of healing, orthodox and alternative, down in this part of France, I resolved to go up to the Dordogne and see him. I badly needed a change of air, in any case, particularly after the canicular heat of August and September.
Because of the painful condition of my leg, I decided to break the journey up into stages. I chose Caussade for the first night. I printed a list from the MINITEL which I still find a wonderful source of such information, in preference to what the Net has to offer. My choice was Hotel Dupont. It is in the centre of the town, just off the square of the Mairie, in rue des Recollets. Architecturally it is an interesting building. Traditional style pleasingly blended with the modern. An old coach house, no doubt.
Mme Corinne Escau's presence is, in itself, a great welcome! The room is splendid, with plenty of space about, and good light, furnishings are ample. Although it wasn't yet time to put the heating on, there was a convector heater in the bedroom and a clockwork wall heater in the bathroom, just in case they should be needed; extremely civilised. In the middle of Caussade, the silence is astonishing . I have been classifying in a personal sort of way, the hotels which I find pleasant, welcoming and good value for money. Although my top two still remain, La Croix Blanche in Lodève and La Renaissance in Saint-Ferréol, now I have to add the third, Hôtel Dupont, www.hotel-restaurant-dupont.com . It is an ideal spot to use as a base for exploring the Gorges de l'Aveyron, lower reaches of the Quercy and many other interesting places. The food at the hotel is very good, indeed, although I have only tasted the tourist menu, but one word of caution, do not eat the cassoulet late in the evening....
The following morning I went through the Quercy Blanc. I stopped briefly at Castelnau Montratier which I know extremely well. But the village hasn't been the same since Hôtel des Arcades closed down and Les Trois Moulins changed hands. I then meandered through the exquisite Quercy scenery, avoiding the main roads, and arrived at Montaigu de Quercy and after a soft drink I pressed on to the neighbouring Tournon d'Agenais. I lunched at Les Voyageurs which has, indeed, brought the prices down but I felt as if the quality has come down as well. More about this place later.
As I was approaching Issigeac, it began to rain. After several weeks of dry weather in the South, this was a kind of luxury. But when I arrived at Eymet and found the Chambres d'Hôtes, I realised that this rain was unpleasantly different: it was cloaked in a penetrating humidity. I was hoping to find the guest house warmed up a little, chill off, as it were, but not a bit of it. La Maison d'Amos (www.lamaisondamos.com/) has recently been converted from an XVIIIc farm house. Beautifully done and delicately furnished on the ground floor, large sitting room for guests, an equally large breakfast-cum-dining room. The couple who run the place are cultivated and it is a great pleasure talking to them. My room looked comfortable, two small beds and two chairs and enough storage space for the kitbags of a regiment! The window looked on to the courtyard, chickens running about in the dank dusk, feasting on earthworms. The bathroom was comfortably arranged, more light there than around the bed....
It was extremely difficult to walk because of my hip pain and slippery pavements, but I managed to reach the centre which is not far from the guest house. In the last thirty years La Place de la Bastide has hardly changed. A bastide town for ever and ever... The Italian resto is still there under the arcade and it was to prove to be a light house for food and warmth in the coming week when everywhere else was shut and dark. There aren't many cafés and bars in Eymet, either, just one, mainly frequented by the British expats, the other, Tortoni, more mixed and spacious, and ideal to read a tightly printed paperback thanks to its generous lighting. The other bars are on the Boulevard National. The cheerful and friendly staff add to Tortoni's charm. Someone told me that 20% of the population of Eymet is British. There are British artisans all over the place, British professionals, a bookshop and an épicerie anglaise. What is obvious is harmony between the two groups, in spite of some minor language difficulties. This can be clearer in no other place than in a mixed café.
Not wanting to eat a big supper, I chose La Daudine where I spotted potage du potiron on the menu, one of the most delicious pottages in France, particularly in the regions of Poitou and Périgord. A large crowd of people were celebrating someone's birthday, under the arcade, in spite of the misty damp air. They were all British. I asked La Patronne if it was like this every night, more Brits than French? No, not a bit of it. There is a balanced mixture and everyone is happy. She was right, and I wondered why this kind of ambiance couldn't exist at Saint-Chinian. La Daudine became my frequent eating place, for the pumpkin soup, and also the Italian resto where I had the best spaghetti pistou and salade caprèse. Light and tasty, and strangely comforting when the large square in front of you was looming , uncouth, from the bright and warm interior. Pepistril in rue du Loup must have started fairly recently. It is a fast-food bar and probably the only place in Eymet where you can have a plain ham sandwich without sauce, relish or ketchup. A friendly place.
There is no cinema. After ten, almost all the cafés and bars are blindfolded. Perhaps something more lively goes on in the only hotel of the village but I can't be sure. Good old Italian resto shines on and also the humble Pepistril. Such comfort.
Although I was allowed to watch the telly at the guest house, I was feeling restricted in my choice of programmes more out of shyness than anything else. And in fact at 10 it was all over. I had my own radio in the room but in that deep silence even a murmur would sound like commotion. After a gap of decades, I rediscovered the nighthawks world of Chandler. During my stay I went through Lady in the Lake, Smart Alec Kill and The High Window. I was constantly agape at his use of the language, the incredible vivaciousness of his dialogue, the plotting. Oh, what a literary giant! Reading Chandler was more soothing than all those pain killers. After that, I took Chandler wherever I limped....
That was more or less the pattern for seven days. I cannot say that I was bored because I had no energy left in me, the pain was draining it all. But, in good health, I would have explored the entire surroundings on foot, taken many photographs, talked to many people. My treatment produced a small relief but I became exhausted after fifty paces all the same. As the weather turned from cool to cold, I yearned for some warmth but in the end I found it in my own car with the motor turning and the car heater on, inside. In the evening I resorted to the warmth of the shower and then under a thick duvet. The bed being so very small, barely 90cm across, there was no way of finding a comfortable position for the painful bones.
It would be ungracious to criticise d'Amos, but it has to be said that it is most unusual for a hotel room not be cleaned in seven days, the wash basin and the shower gathering slime. And no heating of any kind! The bed was never made, the towels were changed the day before I left! To pay €40 for the room and the breakfast might sound reasonable, but I stay at the Beausejour in Toulouse for the same kind of accommodation for 32€; for 39€ at les Etuves, in the centre of Montpellier for a room with a satellite TV, and change of towels every day. What has Eymet over Toulouse and Montpellier? Precious nothing.... Just a touristic hype and British publicity.
The damp air had gone, it was now a mellow day with lazy sunshine trying to settle down somewhere among the leafless trees. I drove through Castillonès, Monflanquin and Fumel. I arrived at Tournon in time for lunch. Even at 11.50 eaters were flowing in. Tournon is a source of memories for me. A very dear friend who used to stay the best part of the year in Génibroux, not far from there, sent me a postcard of the clock face of the church of Tournon d'Agenais. That was in the mid eighties. By 1988 I was living in France. After several years of quiet determination, she managed to convert the hunter's lodge into a fairy abode in the dale and I began to come down from the Charente and stay there. Those escapades are some of the most memorable episodes of my life in France.
When I moved to the South, my friend moved back to England, we lost touch and I discovered that the cottage had been sold. I never tried to discover why, to whom, when. But I made a point going there every two years and leaving a yellow rose in the letter box. To do this, staying at Les Voyageurs www.les-voyageurs-47.com is perfectly logical. After all, I stayed there first time in 1989 when it was still a Logis de France in the traditional style. Over the years the place changed hands but the customary Logis welcome continued.
Some four or five years ago a young couple moved in. First time I met them I was astonished at the crude and dismissive attitude of the manager whereas the patronne tried her best to be friendly with everybody. After my last visit, I decided never to stay there again, there are other places around but this hotel has very intimate memories for me. I have to mention here that my two faxes, three emails, in order to book a room, they all remained unanswered until I telephoned and talked to the waitress who is on training there. When I arrived from Eymet, the air was considerably colder, and the biting wind made things worse. There was no welcome, no recognition that I had been there several times before. In fact, I thought that the manager had become almost aggressive. If snoot had any weight, his face would fall of his head. No bonjour, no bonsoir, no comment ça va? .... It was so upsetting that I lost my appetite. It was about 4° outside, my room had no shutters neither curtains, but the central heating wasn't on yet because, I was told, it is customarily turned on after November 1, the All Souls day! The charming waitress explained that the corridors were heated so there should be no problem! Simple logic but I argued that the legal temperature for a hotel is 18°-20°. After a brief absence she returned to assure me that there would be a convector heater in my room. And there was.
But this type of complaint from a customer should have been dealt with by the manager himself, not delegated to an overworked waitress. After dinner, this man continued to scowl and shift empty glasses from the resto to the bar for washing. There was an open woodfire which was soothing, and I stood my leg against it, for a bit of comfort, but the gruff manager began to shift the furniture around without a word and I felt that it was a sign that I should leave. There was no response to my bonsoir!
Fortunately it was la patronne on duty in the morning. The woodfire was blazing away. I had my coffee sitting in front of it. It was a lovely autumn morning, crisp, frosty. It took me five minutes to defrost my windscreen. Gloves and neck scarf came out, the car heater was full on for twenty minutes. I then rolled down on practically empty roads. I was wondering how my memory had expanded so much. I don't remember such long distances between Tournon and Montaigu, between Lauzerte and Lafrançaise. On the other hand I was at the outskirts of Montauban remarkably quickly. Thanks to the GPS, I went round it without being sucked into its maze, and then it was all clear towards Gaillac. I turned to Graulhet and then to Lautrec. To my surprise a new motorway avoids Castres altogether and before you know where you are, you are skirting Mazamet.... Blissful.
I was mightily pleased to be in my warm house although I was still hobbling about.
