Two weeks of house and pet sitting in Saint-Geniès-de-Fontedit passed in a flash. We parked the campervan when we arrived and didn’t move it again until the day we left, travelling only by bike or on foot for the duration of our stay.
Saint-Geniès-de-Fontedit is in the hinterland of Beziers, between the mountains and the sea. There are only 1500 residents, a surprising number of whom are English, including the neighbours who were very welcoming and advised us of the ins and outs of village life and which wineries had the best wine – Rosé is particularly good in this region, but the reds are nice too with delicious blends of Syrah and Grenache. Village shopping consisted of a café, tobacco shop, a small general store, a famous pizzeria and a boulangerie (bakery), which was closed for renovations and only opened the day before we left. However, with another six villages all within 4 – 6kms from Saint Genies there were other options. The larger village of Murviel-les-Beziers had a sizeable supermarket and we cycled there a few times to stock up on supplies, once taking the opportunity to visit the village winery with cellar door sales.
All the villages in the region are of the same traditional style, built on a hill around a church and with narrow lanes circling outwards. The church in Saint Genies is a 13th century listed building of southern Gothic style with a green bell tower that acted as a great navigational tool when we were out walking and biking.
Bailey the golden Labrador kept us busy with his continuous energy and love of long walks. Every morning Bailey and I would head out for a walk, returning in time for lunch. We would walk for miles through the countryside. There are no fences and unless there’s a sign to say otherwise you are free to walk through the vineyards. There’s also the well-marked vineyards and heritage trail which circles the village and winds across the countryside for 14km. We used these tracks when we came across them but inevitably went “cross-country”.
The vineyards stretch as far as you can see in all directions. The scale of wine making in France is enormous, and being the country’s biggest earner it’s no wonder. They don’t have the same orderly vineyards that we have in NZ and Australia, there are no numbers on the rows or blocks, no grass underneath, just thick clay, and many vines aren’t even on wire frames so must all need to be hand-picked. I’m not sure how they keep track of their crops, but they are probably using traditions from centuries ago that work just fine.
Although the scenery got a bit repetitive, there was always plenty to see and explore while out walking: character-filled old stone farm buildings; the many historic wayside crosses, or calvaires; the beautiful Chapel Saint-Fulcran, an historic chapel set in a picnic area and no doubt popular for weddings over the summer; the historic stone water tower on the limestone ridge overlooking the village; and many rivers and drains for a lively lab to splash through. Bailey has a penchant for grapes and despite being post-harvest there were still bunches on some of the vines. His nose would start twitching and he’d look over to the vines we were passing and then look back at me with a mischievous grin, then make a dash for the grapes and start guzzling them down. Dogs aren’t supposed to eat grapes and luckily Bailey isn’t affected by them, but I was still determined to keep him away from them. He’s a good dog, call him and he comes. He knows he’s good, smiling and waggling and asking for a treat to thank him for his obedience. We got along just fine.
While we were out walking Andrew was busy cleaning the campervan inside and out, doing some gardening for our hosts, and strolling up to the general store to buy a fresh baguette for lunch. He also made one lone cycling trip to the supermarket when he realised the general store closed on Mondays. Andrew would join us for our evening walks when the light was gold and the vineyards glowed.
Andrew enjoyed having a full kitchen, especially an oven. We had two roasts and a couple of casseroles with jacket-baked potatoes. The produce available in France is amazing and so much cheaper than home. The selection of fruit and veges is extensive and in large supermarkets like Carrefour there are aisles and aisles of cheeses, and all so very cheap – I have to be very disciplined!
It seems that if you’re French and live in rural France you must own a small white panel van. There are hundreds of these vans. We joked that it wouldn’t be much use trying to tell the gendarmerie that you saw someone acting suspiciously in a white van. When out walking through the vineyards you see white vans dotted across the landscape. They were mostly out walking their dogs, but some were hunting. Hunting season runs from September to February and from the many shotgun shells scattered through the fields we gathered they were hunting birds or rabbits, probably the beautiful partridges that Bailey liked chasing. On a couple of our evening walks the gun shots were unnervingly close, we wasted no time quickly turning and heading in the opposite direction, at pace.
The sun shined for most of our stay and there was only a brief shower that passed through. However, when the wind whipped up it was unrelenting, and we had a few days like this. On one of these days we had to make a trip to the supermarket so wrapped up warmly and headed off on our bikes. On the way back a phoneline had come loose and was flapping across the road. I tried to avoid it, misjudged the edge, and ended up upside down in a ditch with hands full of prickles and the first grazed knee I’ve had since a kid. My theory is that Andrew pushed me, but he denies culpability.
After almost two weeks Bailey’s owners returned, much to his delight. We hugged him goodbye, thanked his owners for sharing their home and pets with us, and hit the road again, aiming for Toulouse.
We arrived late in Toulouse and settled in for the night. The next morning it was threatening rain as we biked the 8km along the canal into town. Perhaps it was the showery cold weather, but Toulouse didn’t impress us. It was big and busy, and didn’t have the sophistication of Lyon. We walked through the Place du Capitole, past the majestic Capitole building with its characteristic pink brick façade, through the retail precinct in the old town, down to the Garonne River and across Pont Neuf, the 17th century brick bridge. It started to rain, we took shelter in a church. The rain stopped, and we walked back across the Garonne, this time taking Pont Saint Pierre, through the streets past creperies, boulangeries and hip little cafes to the Basilica of Saint-Sernin. This imposing red brick church is the largest remaining Romanesque building in Europe, if not the world. It was getting colder when we emerged from the church and we decided to call it a day. Walking back to our bikes we found a Decathlon store, the store we bought our bikes from in the UK, and couldn’t resist buying some accessories – a basket and a mobile phone bracket so we can use Google Maps while cycling.
The next day as we drove out of the city we passed the Airbus factory with a line of shiny new planes ready to be dispatched, one of which was already in JetStar livery.
We were heading to Pau via Lourdes and took the back roads to avoid those pesky tolls. “Back- roads” is probably not the best description as they are as good as State Highway 1 in NZ, they’re just not 6 lanes like the motorways are. Before leaving Toulouse, we had intended to fill up with diesel but hadn’t seen a gas station. Assuming there would be one along the way we carried on. It was raining, we were trundling along the highway, and the petrol light came on. With farmland on both sides and no gas station in sight we started to get concerned. I forcefully suggested we get off the highway, as it would surely be better to run out of gas on a sideroad rather than pay to be rescued from a highway. The next exit went to a small village, unfortunately too small to have a gas station, but big enough to have a pharmacy. I ran into the pharmacy and asked where the nearest one was, and between her stilted English and my stilted French we managed to communicate. She told us there was one in the next village, about 10 minutes further along the highway. We took the risk and thankfully we made it, albeit with higher blood pressure and frayed nerves. This was the first and last time we’ll let that happen.
It was pouring with rain and starting to get dark when we arrived in Lourdes in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains, even though it was just 4pm. With umbrellas up and coats on we walked through the incredible, and almost deserted, Sanctuaires Notre-Dame de Lourdes. This is a significant Catholic pilgrimage site and each year millions visit the Grotto of Massabielle (Grotto of the Apparitions) where, in 1858, the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to a local woman. In the grotto, pilgrims can drink or bathe in water flowing from the spring. The few people who were there were filling bottles, we used our hands and had a good swig. Andrew had visited Lourdes before and didn’t have fond memories. He was there in summer years ago, it was crowded and hot, and hawkers were pushing plastic Jesuses. There were no plastic Jesuses when we were there, and no crowds.
It was still raining as we drove through the mountains to Pau, arriving at our campsite after dark. Pau is set along the Pyrenees mountains’ northern edge, only 85km from the Spanish border. According to the guy at the campsite, it rains there a lot.
The rain had stopped the next morning and we headed along the river into town. Oddly enough after 7km the bike path ended at a staircase up to a bridge and we had to carry our bikes up eight flights of stairs before carrying on to the town centre. Pau is an elegant town with beautiful views across the mountains from the grand Boulevard des Pyrénées. The boulevard leads up to the Château de Pau, birthplace of King Henry IV of France and Navarre. Like many European towns pedestrian-only streets make up much of the central area. There seems no issue here with being unable to park right outside a shop. Pau was getting ready for Christmas with elegant silver baubles strung across the streets and an elaborate nativity scene being erected in the square. We were both taken by this place, it was the first town in France that we could see ourselves living in. We looked in land agents’ windows and compared prices.
Biarritz was our next stop before crossing to Spain. After leaving Pau we drove through lush dairy country, not unlike New Zealand, and then, as we drove through a village, we had to look twice – there was a giant kiwifruit in the middle of a roundabout. The familiarity continued in Biarritz, where roundabouts were filled with New Zealand cabbage trees and flaxes, and surfers braved the wild surf at the sandy beach by our campsite.
Biarritz is an elegant seaside town on southwestern France’s Basque coast and has been a popular resort since European royalty began visiting in the 1800s. It’s also a major surfing destination, with long sandy beaches and surf schools. It was stormy and wet when we arrived, but we braved the elements and took a walk along the beachfront and through the seaside suburb of Milady, where our campsite was situated.
We had decided to stop in Biarritz on our way through to Spain to visit Alana, a good friend of Andrew’s daughter, her husband Tanerau, and their two boys, 5-year old Isaia and 2-year old Nikau. Tanerau plays rugby for Bayonne and they have been living in nearby Biarritz for almost two years. We met them for brunch at a funky café the morning after we arrived and quizzed them on life in France. They love Biarritz and the similarities with home aren’t lost on them. After brunch we went back to their place to see what a traditional Basque house was like. The Basque houses are white with red tiled roofs and red shutters and, as Tanerau showed us, have big basements and plenty of room. The Lattimer’s home is the perfect size for two boisterous boys, and another baby on the way. After more coffee and a chat Tanerau drove us back to our van, he was keen to have a look, thinking a campervan holiday might be something their family would like to do. I’m not sure it was big enough for Isaia, who took great delight in telling me he was going to buy a huge cruise ship that would be much bigger than our van, but we could have a ride on it if we liked.
That afternoon we said “au revoir” to France and headed to Spain. We’ve spent more time in France than anywhere else on this trip, though we never intended to. We have loved it, and are looking forward to part two as we cross northern France on our way back to the UK next year.
