I’ve been back in France this past weekend, for a flying visit chez Papa… and the first post-Covid continental trip without the need for LFTs or PCRs. Dare I speak too soon or could this be a sign that things are on their way back to normal? Here’s hoping.

It was a swift and painless journey through Eurotunnel at Folkestone; and similarly, there were hardly any traffic hold-ups on the way down to the Corrèze. I didn’t go through Paris this time, and thus it was my quickest transit through France yet, arriving at La-Chapelle-aux-Saints by 7pm on Thursday evening. That’s a new record for the 630-mile trip!

I normally listen to podcasts on a journey of this length, but this time I was more in the mood for music, and I spent the journey scrolling through local radio stations… definitely the song of the moment (well, mine anyway) is this: Prends Ma Main by Gims & Vitaa

I only had Friday and Saturday at the moulin (as I mentioned, a flying visit!) so there wasn’t too much time for large-scale adventuring.

Friday morning, we drove to Gramat to do a recce of how to get to Papa’s new ophthalmologist in preparation for his diabetic eye screening appointment the following week. It was the opposite side of the town to where he thought it was, so a worthwhile expedition. The return journey, we came via Alvignac and the D840 to investigate an abandoned military base we’d driven past at Christmas.

The Base Aérienne 265, also known as Camp de Viroulou, is a former French Air Force base. Construction started in 1939, however, due to the war years stalling completion, operations at the site didn’t start until the end of the 1940s. The 250-hectare site was used primarily as a munitions depot. The storage facilities are connected across the base by 23km of narrow-gauge railway, which is also connected to the normal rail network on the Brive-Capdenac line, between the stations of Saint-Denis-près-Martel and Rocamadour-Padirac.

The base ceased operations in the 1980s, when it was taken over by the Délégation Générale pour l’Armament, a government department of the French military devoted to defence, who apparently use the site to study the effects of nuclear blasts and prep for terrorist actions against aircraft! In 2004, the site was transferred to the Gendermerie’s national centre for police dog handlers (based in Gramat), who still use the site for training. There have also been a number of mooted projects to convert the site for civilian use, none of which have got any further than proposal stage.

It is a fantastic place to see, if only from the outside… and will make a brilliant location for one of my short stories. [copious notes were scribbled, short story coming soon!]

The rest of my time in France was spent indulging in animated discussions over coffee, dog walking (and trying to train the schnauzer to find truffles …without success) and Saturday lunch in Malemort. I tried snails for the first time ever! I can’t say I was particularly taken by the experience – they didn’t taste unpleasant (but that’s because I like garlic, and they were absolutely smothered in it), but the rubbery texture was a tad off-putting.

Badger Update

The badgers have been super active, scooping up fallen leaves and dragging them into the sett to make things super comfy for the arrival of the little ones. The sow looks huuuuuge now, so it can’t be long before the cubs pop out. The only signs of activity are at the entrances at the top of the hill. I’m pretty sure the lower entrances are below the water table at this time of year, as the ground is very boggy. I’m hopeful to return in time to see the cubs while they are still small and cute!

Whilst on the subject of things zoological, I had an exciting sighting (ta-dah!) of a terrific bird of prey:

Papa is convinced it was a golden eagle (called royal eagles or aigles royals in these parts) but I’m not sure. The plumage is more buzzard-like, but it was way too big to be a buzzard – I estimated the wingspan to be about 2 metres. Papa thinks I should ask Chris Packham and send him my photos, but I am too scared. Chris Packham is ace and I don’t want to be crest-fallen should he scoff at my dodgy photography!

Before I knew it, it was Sunday already and time to make the journey back home. With my radio locked to France Bleu Limousin for as far as I was in range (following the story of another incident where a walker has been shot dead ‘by accident’ by a member of the chasse) I headed north… and into the path of Storm Eunice.

All was well until I was north of Paris. Three hours driving through 140km winds and lashing rain, I almost made it through unscathed until, right outside Eurotunnel… BANG! BANG! Double tyre blow-out. And when I say blow-out, I mean blow-out! Thankfully, I’ve never been one to play the stereotypical panicky girl-on-her-own-in-a-foreign-county type. A few phone calls to the RAC European breakdown service and a bit of haggling with the gap-toothed Frenchman driving the breakdown truck who had been dispatched to come to my assistance, I was installed in a motel by midnight and my car had been transported to a garage in Marck.

I was rather irked that I was obliged to buy FOUR new tyres instead of two, because of a ridiculous piece of French legislation that states that the tyres on each axle must be of the same marque (my only two good tyres were a Continental and a Goodyear – the only tyres the garage could source were two Michelins and two unheard-of French brand called Optimal or similar??) Pah! I did try and argue that an English car shouldn’t be subject to such regulation, but the garage had me over a barrel! 400+ euros… ouch!

The next day, having scavenged the breakfast buffet at the hotel to ensure I had enough comestibles to make some ham and cheese petits pains for lunch (this motel was literally in the middle of nowhere with no shops close-by), I spent the day in my room, and then after midday, in the hotel lobby (reading an okay-ish novel by Bill Clinton) waiting for a phone call from the garage. I was reunited with my little car by 4pm and back at Eurotunnel in time for the 17:10 train.

The storm was over and I was on my way home.