We Walked Right Off The Map!

Okay. My apologies to the Dutch. If you read my blog about bicycling in the Netherlands with their confounded phonetically incorrect road signs and about being a perfect four-for-four on bike expeditions (four trips, four times lost), then you'll have some background for this apology. I sneered at the Dutch and their bewildering signs that led us around in circles. Then I went on to describe how we cycle the French countryside as if we lived a full life here in a different incarnation. Well, yesterday we were brought up short. Does this photo look familiar?

The signs are a different language, but my companion is the same, and her expression is the same as the one she gave the camera in the Netherlands.

If you double click on the photo, you'll see that the café is called Le Bistrot Des Randonneurs - The Hikers' Café. "Randonneur" also resembles "random," doesn't it? Well, local maps indicate numerous walks through the lovely countryside. So, the five of us decided to take one of these jaunts. We found the town of Siorac and parked near the town center, the start of the circular walk we chose, according to the map. Nothing was obvious, so I marched into the Office de Tourisme. I parlayed Français, got directions, returned to the group and said, "Follow me." We were off and hiking.

The hike was the Randonnée de la Dordogne. The map told us it was eleven kilometers and three hours long. It was lovely.

Every country house seems to be bedecked with beautiful flowers.

Every crossroads seems to have some icon reminding all who pass of the ages old traditions of Christianity.

There were stunning views.

We made new friends.

We had a delightful picnic.

And then we got lost, really lost. How lost? Well, we were so lost that we didn't even know we were lost. A couple of us had suspicions, but we didn't speak up because, well, we didn't have an alternative to offer. You see, the French mark their randonnées with sturdy metal posts with yellow caps. If you see the yellow cap, then you're on the trail. Sometimes the posts with yellow caps have yellow arrows indicating a turn, so you turn. Easy. What we didn't quite understand was that the same yellow-capped posts seem to be used for the multiplicity of randonnées in the region. Randonée? Randomy?

Our suspicions grew stronger as we reached the three-hour mark, the time we should have been walking back to the town center of Siorac to find a café and a glass of wine to celebrate our adventure. Instead, we found ourselves in a dense forest with only occasional signs of human habitation. Also, we had started in the river valley, and we were still in the hills, high high above the river.

We crossed a paved road that wound downward. Pavement! Downward! My body at this point knew that it had marched much farther than eleven kilometers, and I suggested that we take the road. We checked the map. Someone pointed to where we must be if we were crossing the road. Just a few hundred meters and we'll be right here. See? We wanted so badly to believe the map, so we did. On we walked, back into the woods.

Soon we came upon two gray-haired British ladies who were staying at a chateau nearby and were out for a short walk. They were delighted, positively delighted, to encounter fellow-English speakers. We told them we were doing a circular walk from Siorac. Their response was something like this - "Siorac? Oh dear! Siorac!" We showed them our map, with the route neatly highlighted in yellow. They looked puzzled. We had to open up the folded map to reveal areas not on our route. They looked some more and then said, "Ah. Here we are." One of the ladies pointed to a spot that was not remotely near the highlighted yellow path. In fact, we were about two kilometers from the nearest tiny village, which on the map looked discouragingly distant from Siorac. We had walked right off our map! At this point, I can't speak for the mental state of Ellen, Ben or Carol. (Wesley, snuggled next to his dad's chest, was one contented randonneur.) For myself, I thought words that are best not printed. I just wanted to sit down and weep, not so much for how far we had gone out of our way, but for how far we still had to go.

Well, we all smiled bravely for the ladies and headed off for the sleepy town of Urval. Not much was happening in Urval. The bistro in the photo above was closed. So much for a cold lemonade or a cold beer. The mairie (town hall) was open. I wandered in and explained that we were lost and was there water? The gentleman in the office pointed me to the bathroom which had potable water. He then told me we were five kilometers from Siorac.

The city hall in Urval, where we benefited from the kindness of strangers.

I was willing to make the trek to get the car and return for the others, but Ben volunteered. We gave him a liter of water, and he left. He RAN, God bless him, and was back with our air conditioned car in a half hour!

While Ben was gone, we sat in the shade on the front steps of the mairie. The man came outside and talked with us and brought us bottled water. The ladies came out to admire Wes and admonish Ellen not to let him get cold. (The Europeans have a thing about protecting babies from the cold. The afternoon was very warm. Wes was safe from any chills.) The man came back out and asked if we wanted coffee! The last thing any of us wanted was coffee, but we were so grateful for his kindness that we accepted his offer. I followed him into the tiny office, where the man and two women and I chatted in French while the water for instant coffee heated up. Imagine that!

Things improved dramatically from there. Ben returned, and soon we were speeding back to our gite. In no time, we were at the pool with snacks and chilled white wine and beer. In retrospect, it was a great outing. The day was lovely. The walk was delightful, even if we did go a little astray. You know - a bad day in the French countryside is better than a good day at the dentist, or at work.

P.S. If you fall off a horse, you're supposed to get right back on. So today we went right back out on a new randonnée. It was a delightful as yesterday's misadventure, and much shorter. There not only were no wrong turns, but also there were...


Blackberries! Lots of them!

And more natural beauty all around us!

Ellen, Ben and Wes return to the Netherlands tomorrow. It's been an exciting week, a week full of activity, good food and wine, and love. We'll miss them. Tonight after dinner, I sang and cuddled Wes to sleep while his parents had some down time free of the demands of raising a seven-week old baby. I looked at my grandson's face as he slept in my arms, and I thought, not for the first time, that I am a fortunate man.

Blessings abound. Good night, everyone.