The day starts with good intent. We take the opportunity of good timing to catch up with family. It’s just before lunch that we attempt to set off towards our next Les Plus Beaux Village.
Take off cross check completed, we buckle in and Himself roars the engine into life. Except that’s as far as he gets. The gears won’t engage – either in automatic or manual. At best we can reverse with a horrible crunching noise and eventually, a somewhat disconcerting acrid smell.
He looks at me. It won’t go into gear, says he. Nonsense, says I. Try again. Nothing. It seems we have displeased the gods of mechanics who clearly feel that we have been let off far too lightly with shenanigans thus far. We’re stuck, atop the lovely but exceedingly tiny Segur-le-Chateau. On a Sunday too and tomorrow is a public holiday, which means nothing is happening until Tuesday.
It’s a tough blow. I’m in immediate denial having recently happily celebrated the end of repairs. Himself meanwhile takes it hard. He lays his head on the steering wheel, not the best of signs. We can’t have that. But despite my solution mode pushed into overdrive, even I have to accept there’s nothing we can do in the short term. The only option available to us is making the best of it, and we do, hiking back into the village for Himself’s favourite pastime, lunch. There’s no point gnashing our teeth up on the hill, we may as well lean into the weekend and enjoy it.
An absolutely delightful restaurant awaits – Le P’Tit Bar, hosted by the charming Richard and his wife Kate. It proves to be an excellent choice. Himself plumps for scallops and a favourite, duck confit. I can’t go past my beloved goats cheese salad -never the same version twice and yet to be a disappointment. Several excellent wines take the edge off the day, and let’s face it isn’t as if we actually have to drive anywhere.
We wake the next day still somewhat in disbelief and take ourselves off for a nice long walk and given that there’s little else to do… lunch. Himself has made it a mission to work his way through the menu and today I help him. He can’t go past the scallops while I have spring asparagus with halloumi and we both have lamb shanks. A delightful bottle of red rounds the meal out. We have visitors too – the local ducks have learnt that those who lunch have treats on tap.
There’s another bonus – we strike up a conversation with our restauranteur who suggests that his local garage in the next town might be able to help. He kindly offers to call them on Tuesday to arrange a tow truck. Luckily I have a well stocked pantry and fridge, and there isn’t a shop for miles.
Over night, the rain sets in and falls steadily. Tomorrow is a business day and fingers are crossed for a way forward. There are worse places to be though. If you had to be stuck somewhere, one of France’s most beautiful villages is very nice, thank you very much.
Tuesday morning brings a shock. The river bank has burst flooding low lying areas including our newly favourite restaurant.
Good to his word though, Richard has contacted the garage and they will come, today or perhaps tomorrow. He meanwhile is wading though in gumboots, surveying the damage. There’s nothing to do but wait on the hill. We use the day to organise accommodation via Airbnb, a local gite snuggled into to an ancient square that dates back to the 15th – 17th centuries. The day passes without the tow truck. I do see a bunny at twilight, his ears on full point against any danger.
The mood is glum – we’re losing hope as reality and rain both set in. At 11am a tow truck appears, complete with Frenchman. He pokes around, disconnecting bits and pieces and reconnects them again to no avail. The truck’s too small, he says, I’ll come back at 2pm with a big one, which he doesn’t, and another night passes.
Wednesday dawns with refreshed hope. Accommodation is booked and *if* the motorhome it’s picked up, there’s the possibility of a hire car. I take the opportunity to ferry our things to the gite, giving a fine impression of a pack mule. At least, I console myself, I’m dragging stuff downhill instead of up. It’s an excellent workout, requiring several trips. On the last pass I stay at the gite while Himself waits it out on the hill. Our accommodation is a welcome change – over two levels it’s cozy but has everything we need. By the time I’ve unpacked and made it home, Himself had joined me. The motorhome has been towed at and we have a hire car. Mobile at last.
Miss Baci Travels 