One week left until we return to Angleterra-Firma. We should start heading north. Though we can’t quite turn our backs on the heat just yet. So we make a short leap east. Pretending we have longer left than we do. Watching the weather forecasts more than ever. Trying to make sure we make the most of our remaining time. Expecting storms later today. We get fooled. They get blown away.
This Perigord region is full of prehistory. World famous for its tiny villages. Elevated runs, high up within the massive rock structures that just seem to spring up out of nowhere. We take a lunch stop and an audio tour at one of the sites. The imposing rock formations still able to accommodate family life 15,000 years on.
It’s 4pm. We’re now pitched up on this very hilly terraced site just a ten minute walk from Sarlat’s Medieval “centre ville”. Our secluded pitch is in the Royal Circle. Didn’t fancy the long walk up to the cheaper seats, so we paid a small two night premium.
A little earlier I succumbed to a bizarre panic attack.
A couple of weeks or so ago a Dutch caravanner told me of his living nightmare. Dutifully, he mind-numbingly followed his sat nav instructions to the tee. Ended up blocking a narrow street in the Medieval centre of Carcassonne. It took 90 minutes of local assistance to free him.
Pat Nav didn’t quite fulfil her duty today. Not entirely her fault. It seemed the same street had two names. Just depended which end of the street you were. We were at the end with a high brick wall to the left and a house and garden to the right. When her dulcet tones cheerfully announced “you have reached your destination”, I’ll leave you to imagine the type of verbal response that issued forth. (It’s quite scary how we relate to this on board computer, just because it uses human speak – but oh so liberating!)
Having completed her task Pat Nav relinquishes all responsibility. We’re on our own. Leaving us to navigate a strange new landscape. We do a couple of laps of the hospital high up on another hill. Becoming more familiar with the local landmarks. Mary-Ann using her mobile Maps app to assist. Should be a sinch. We start a third lap. Decide to make a slight deviation from our usual circuit. It must be down here – surely? No way! Literally. Well, so I thought. With the Dutch man’s story fresh in my mind I go into mental melt down as the street narrows and narrows some more as it bends to the left. We’re unwittingly going to drive right into the middle of town. Images of French onlookers pouring out from every nook and cranny; gloating over the Englishman’s plight as he wedges his Beast against the ancient walls skewer my brain. I hit the brakes. Check the mirrors. (I know, it should have been the other way around). “Quick, get out. I’m going to turn around”. “What?” Mary-Ann cries, she can’t believe it. She jumps out though nonetheless. The road is not as wide as Beastie is long. However, I have noticed a recess a few metres behind. Frantically engage reverse. There are now cars behind and a few approaching. A woman has popped out of her adjacent house. Obviously this is more interesting than daytime TV. A walking couple come to a standstill. Frozen by the predicament they see emerging. In a state of confusion, Mary-Ann does her best to placate the drivers. They probably feel sorry for her. I think it might be a twenty point turn. It will be worth it. I don’t want to become another Dutch Dummkopf. At the very last second I realise I’m going to create another day one scenario. I don’t have my club hammer and chisel with me. My brain is about to explode. I chicken out at the last minute. Mary-Ann jumps aboard and we head down into next day’s headlines. Miraculously on entering the bend it widens. As do our smiles.
The more accurate forecast for today gives us a window to pop into town. It’s a mix of shopping, seeing, photoing. Apart from the beautifully constructed ancient buildings it’s like any other. Shops, restaurants, shops, restaurants and more restaurants. Every tiny alley crammed with tables and chairs. The menus overflow with Muscovy Duck choices. A white quackless version the French breed. We turn another corner. A surprise visit. Eight squadies.
What do they know that we don’t? Out of shot – their sub-machine weapons . . .
As a member of the Charles Close Society [study of OS maps], I read with much interest your escapades at navigating without a map.
Teacher says: More prep needed, even if that is using Google Maps.
It’s raining today – I’d stay away if I were you.
Help, we’re currently parked up in a wood. In the middle of nowhere. No map. No nice Mr Google. Any suggestions?