The Gorges of Tarn. Sounds straight out of Lord of The Rings doesn’t it? So named for the gorges gouged out though the limestone plateaus of the Sauveterre and Mejean by the Tarn River over millennia.
Mountains, those of you who’ve read along for a while will know, are a double edged sword for me. Hopelessly addicted to their glorious spectacle, prone to squeaking in terror when spotting steep plummets below. It’s clear that one false move and it’s all over *shudder*. I’ve improved though, from our first excursion into mountainous terrain whence upon I took up a steady and oh so helpful chant of “we’re all going to die”. Himself was less than impressed – twirly high up roads on a precipice don’t bother him at all. Indeed mountains are where his other nickname, Fearless, was minted. See that tiny white line two thirds of the way up the mountain below? That’s our road looking on from a hairpin turn on the other side.
And just as well he is fearless. The Gorges come as wee surprise on the way to our next Les Plus Beaux Village of Sainte-Enimie. I twig when my ears keep popping and TomTom’s screen shows one hairpin turn after the other with no end in sight. “What’s this” I ask “did you know”? “No, but we’re committed now” says he. Hmmmm. My friend Google clues me in. Gorges! UNESCO World Heritage listed no less! And further past the village we’re aiming for, the similarly listed Cevvenes. Oh! This is going to be good!
Whilst Himself concentrates on trying not to kill us, I perch on the edge of my seat and sometimes out of my window, unable to tear myself away from the views below. Much twittering away on part in equal parts of joy and terror. Joy takes the lead by a narrow margin. It’s truly a breathtaking drive. I try my best to do it justice but it’s just impossible to capture the size of the spectacle before us. A drone would be better.
We eventually arrive in Sainte-Enimie and despite being in a valley, we’re still extraordinarly high up at an altitude of 485 metres. Motorhome parking is along the Tarn but it’s packed to the gunnels. I step out to size it up and spot a tiny space. After that drive, I know exactly what Himself is capable of. Easy, says I, back it it. And he does, pulling off an extraordinarly tight reverse park. No sooner than we settle, several other motorhoming blokes come out to admire Himself’s parking – we’re all deeply impressed. Mere inches grace front and rear bumpers.
Meanwhile, I’ve taken off skipping down the Tarn. It’s every shade of green and blue with a white river stone base. Water levels are thankfully low as warnings are posted that the carpark floods in high rains. During the spring melt, the Tarn would absolutely roar through this valley.
We have great views from the bridge – a school excursion is canoeing downstream. Every so often they hit a tiny rapid and do some impressive squealing of their own. I see trout too – big ones!
A helpful sign tells us that otters live here, and beavers, vipers too. I’ll take two otties and a beaver please. You can keep the vipers, thank you. As usual, they’re nowhere to be seen. Probably attending a wildlife symposim up river on how to best avoid pesky tourists.
Having caught both our breath and our park, and marveled at our setting, we set off to explore Sainte-Enimie.
It’s a steep hike up river stone cobbled alleyways.
We climb to the Chapter House and Chapelle Saint Madeleine, all that remains of a 13th century Benedictine monastery, now a primary school. The kids are out in crocodile formation on what appears to be a treasure hunt. They’re very well behaved.
We learn that the Merovingian princess Enimie, is said to have been cured of leprosy by taking the waters of the village spring. She gave her name to the village in gratitude.
We see the ancient church Eglise Notre Dame du Gorg, built in the 13th and 14th centuries but also featuring Roman artefacts such as this 2nd century funeral pillar.
Sainte-Enimie houses are large, indicative of its past prosperity. They’re built from local limestone. Well of course they are – what fool would try to cart materials in from elsewhere on what then would have been a non existent road uphill.
We take the Path of a Thousand Monks back down where the river stone cobbles are worn from centuries of footfalls. You’d have to be fit to live here – steep climbs up and down are the order of the day. We’ve definitely earnt a drink by day’s end.
The following day, we descend on the opposite side of the bridge and follow the river through its meander, being careful to avoid vipers. The otters and beavers are clearly still at the symposium…
Himself feels that lunch is called for, clearly requiring fortification before his assault on the way out through the Cevvenes. He finds it in aligot and a country sausage. Aligot for those not familiar, is very naughty mashed potato, whipped with copious amounts of butter and sheep’s cheese until it can be stretched well out of the pan. I stick to my salad with paysanne ham. We meet a lovely Irish couple travelling in their motorhome and exchange stories.
And in the time honoured tradition of what comes up must go down, we set off to scale the way out though the Cevvenes. Thankfully it’s a bit less scary with a wider road, glued to the Tarn’s bends. The Cevvenes are much greener than our approach, less exposed rock and instead, tree lined. A different types of stone too, in layers pushed out of alignment as tectonic plates collided, then split vertically as the Ice Age effects took hold. I’ve watched a very funny French film set in the Cevvenes recently and am quite thrilled to be driving through them.
It’s a long drive out with a small blip at day’s end when the camp site we aim for is closed. Luckily, we’re easy to house – there’s an Aire further on that does nicely and best of all, we have it all to ourselves. There’s a natural spring nearby which does a brisk trade as locals drive in to fill their bottles. Enimie’s legend still holds sway it seems.
PS: Spotted a glorious field of poppies yesterday.
Miss Baci Travels 