We’ve crossed all roads emanating from Segur-le-Chateau bar one, to nearby Lubersac.
For a small village it packs a rather large punch boasting both a chateau and a church featuring particularly vibrant 12th century frescos.
The chateau is privately owned, not open to the public but we’re free to tour the church and crypt.
The crypt holds the remains of an entombed knight, very reminiscent of an Egyptian sarcophagus.
Lubersac also has an excellent Boulanger/ Patissier – it takes two visits over a few days to do him justice. Only in the interests of supporting local produce, I’m sure you’ll understand.
There’s also an excellent example of a Renaissance house, now in use as the local tourism office.
The following day we take a lengthy drive into Brive, only to find it shut. It’s a nice walk though, through the historical centre. The shopping would have been lovely, had it been open. There’s a Sephora “sob* tantalisingly out of reach.
Back home, in Segur-le-Chateau, we find a hitherto unexplored wild path. In an as yet to be explained phenomenon, we walk along it in a straight path but loop the river’s bend and the village. It’s a bit like a magic trick, ending up in the same place you started despite not making a turn.
Along the way we have great views of the chateau and meet flora and fauna on a micro and macro scale including this sweet lady bird, very fancy chickens and impressively imposing guard dog.
Day 31 brings our last day in Segur-le-Chateau. Our luck with local accommodation has finally run out – our gite has prior commitments which see us pack and move to Larche, near the garage where the motorhome is now held.
We arrive in time to receive news. Finally. They have pulled out the gearbox and determined our problem is the clutch which has to to replaced. Parts are on order, hopefully to be delivered the following day. It’s firm progress and whilst inevitably expensive, it could have been much, much worse.
Armed with a quote and solution extraordinarly close to hand, it still seems an age away. Across two short weeks we have become somewhat institutionalised to the bonds that hold us.
We spend the following day pottering around Larche and chatting with the locals in the bar. They’re endlessly fascinated by two Aussies in a motorhome making their way around Europe. Some perform a fine impression of a kangaroo. They’ve heard of dreadful fires in Australia and some have donated money to help save our native animals. It’s humbling that our troubles have made it so far away from home.
The following day we hear the news we’ve been waiting for seemingly forever. The motorhome will be ready tomorrow afternoon. Almost unbelievable. It’s all we can do to return to the bar and raise a glass in its honour. The locals join in our good cheer and we meet a security/roadie for a Viking heavy metal band who makes a valiant effort at conversation. There’s a contact you don’t make every day.
I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tomorrow night. It’s been so long, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There’s been a price to pay for being off the road for four years and only some of it has been monetary.
Miss Baci Travels 