We’re continuing the wind theme.

It’s not easy to see the likely weather in all directions from our Fanjeaux campsite. Our morning dawned quite bright and we decided to visit Lac de Lenclas, which is a modestly sized dammed lake nestling into a bend in La Rigole, the engineering marvel of a narrow canal that feeds water into the high point of the Canal du Midi. With both gently flowing water over a gravelly bottom and standing water with emergent vegetation, this has proved a happy hunting ground for odonata many times in the past.

As we drew closer the sky ahead of us progressively darkened rather alarmingly. The wind had switched direction. We were no longer in the grip of easterly Marin blowing in off the Mediterranean but of the northwesterly Tramontane. Clearly life was becoming unsettled.

I parked and we wandered. There were some Violet Dropwings (Trithemis annulata) zooming along the edge of the lake, not really posing for pictures, but little else. This was not going to hold attention for any length of time.

As we finished our walk around the lake and were returning to the car, with a few spots of rain falling a French lady approached us and muttered something about a village called Les Cassés. We explained that we didn’t know it but ever resourceful Francine found our map and the village on it. It was just a handful of kilometers from the lake. It seems this French lady was out walking for the day and her destination was Les Cassés. She was evidently concerned about the rain. What she actually wanted, we finally figured out, was a lift to Les Cassés ‘cos she wasn’t dressed for inclement weather. Well, OK, we gave her a ride “avec plaisir”. I can’t figure out why anyone would set out on a cross country walk without being equipped for some weather. It does sometimes rain in France you know, madam.

Francine had wanted to head for Sorèze and lunch but given the change of weather we skipped it and bought some Teilles Sètoise from a supermarket instead. A specialty of Sète, these are little pies filled with a seafood mixture in some tomato-based sauce. They make a pleasant effort-free lunch.

We’d also purchased a pintade [guinea fowl] and planned to have the breasts this evening. I foolishly cycled uphill into Fanjeaux to the local alimentation thinking a mushroom sauce would moisten them slightly and add interest. The darn shop was shut so my puffing and panting had all been in vain. Drat! Instead I made a sauce of sautéed shallots, which I did have, with a little rose wine and some of our Polish grainy mustard, and damn good it was too. I shall repeat it.

My new recipe will henceforth be known as Pintade des Brugues (this campsite being Camping des Brugues).

[Another rock reference but a bit twisted this time: a nod to The Scorp’s Wind of Change.]

There are actually two winds that blow from the east/southeast in the Languedoc, the Autan (in either of its two forms) and the Marin. We thought we’d been enjoying the Autan but we’ve been told it’s actually the Marin. Since both blow from the same direction I’m wondering how one tells the difference.

Food shopping being a regular occurrence, scouting around in the local supermarket my eye was taken by some absolutely perfectly sized sardines which would do very nicely over some hand-imported New Forest charcoal on our portable Weber barbecue. Sadly, our trusty little Weber is on its last legs; a modest (so far) hole has rusted through the base so I covered it with a few layers of foil before lighting up. Just in case, I also covered the ground beneath the barbie with more layers of foil and, given the dry conditions, stood by with a watering can just to be on the safe side. Nothing untoward happened and the sardines were every bit as delicious as expected.

Continuing the food theme, we’d been invited up to the farm house, along with a couple of other regulars here from Belgium, for an evening meal with Luc and Nadine. Luc was serving up one of his “surplus” lambs. Lambing takes place in late November/early December. The main product eventually being the ewes milk collected to make Roquefort cheese. This, of course, means that the poor ol’ lambs can’t have the milk. Some of the female lambs are kept to refresh the herd of ewes but the males are destined for the Christmas tables. He keeps a few lambs for personal use, some of which is what was now on his large electric griddle.

Much of southern France bans open flame barbecues in the summer but they’re usually OK here. However, I’ve now learned that only electric and gas barbecues are allowed here in this exceptional year so I’ll have to adjust my cooking choices and, therefore, my purchases. There’s really no other decent way to deal with sardines.

As well as his sheep, Luc raises two or three pigs for personal consumption. These, he shares with his family. I think the “personal” bit gets him around the normal regulation to use an abattoir for slaughtering them. He likes to try his hand producing things gastronomic and supplemented his lamb with some home made chorizo for a bit of variety, and very good it was, too.

As enjoyable though the evening was, the Wind of Change blew strongly as the evening finished on a more sombre note. News had been filtering through during the day that all was far from well at Balmoral so it came as little surprise when we learned that our much loved Queen Elizabeth II had passed away. I think the French, having lopped the heads off their royal family many years ago, find (most of) our love of the monarchy a little strange. We should remember, though, that we are not alone and that there are fully six EU countries also still with royal families: Belgium, Denmark, Luxembourg, Spain, Sweden and, of course, Holland. The Dutch are particular lovers of their royalty and we’ve been over to celebrate their “Queen’s Day”. We did sample some of their basically unpleasant orange liqueur but we drew the line at dressing in orange. So maybe we aren’t so strange after all.

The Queen is dead, long live the King.

Now, If I could only do something about our blasted National Anthem which sounds as though it were written by a 9-year old schoolboy.

[Very Led Zeppelin.]

Last night we’d watched an entertaining electric storm beyond the lake towards the Pyrenees. It seemed to be approaching but it didn’t get to us. This morning life was considerably calmer.

Wednesday is market day in Bram so off we went. There seemed to be a bit more atmosphere these days in Bram, maybe because of a couple of street cafes. We bought a fine magret de canard from a duck producer together with a slab of pate to go with a baguette for lunch. I fancied some olives, too, but the queue was too long.

There’s a grassy meadow dotted with shrubs on a high point overlooking Laurac. In the past this has been a happy hunting ground for all manner of insects. After the market we went to have a peek but this desiccated year we found pas un chat [which is apparently the French equivalent of “not a sausage”]. I’m going to have to turn into a regular tourist at this rate.

Wednesday is also the night our photographic club meets. This being the first meeting of the new season, Francine, as one of the programme secretaries, was keen to show a presence so used our campsite’s relatively new wi-fi set up to Zoom in. The meetings start at 19:30 which is 20:30 French time. The technology seemed to be working until an act of sabotage occurred. The neighbouring farmer decided the time was right to begin harvesting his sunflower crop. The field in question abuts Guillaume’s end of the campsite. Zoom communication got drowned out by the noisy clatter of a combine harvester busily munching sunflowers about 30m away. The harvester was considerably louder than Francine’s voice.

Well, it made a change from thunder and lightning. It was worth a try.

A clear blue morning dawned much calmer with little in the way of any of the local winds. We decided to try the shorter of farmer Luc’s walks which he puts up markers for, though towards the end of the season they can get tough to follow. Fortunately we’ve done it several times before and know the turns. It’s about 4 miles with a dip down into the neighbouring valley then up to the village of Fenouillet-du-Razés. The operative word there is “up” and with hardly a breath of wind it was in honesty a bit hot; perhaps not the best choice of days for the walk. Francine  was making it harder by carrying her camera and managed to snag a mating pair of Lang’s Short-tailed Blues (Leptotes pirithous), which were the most interesting of a poor selection of wildlife seen. The walk loops back along a ridge to re-enter the rear of Luc’s farm. We have had trouble with grass and seeds on previous occasions but this is such a desiccated year that hardly anything is now growing. That aspect of the walk was easier.

Farmer Luc would, I suspect have had a very tough time this year with the lack of rain were it not for his dammed lake. The farm fields are main used to grow feed to support his 300 dairy ewes whose milk is used in the production of Roquefort cheese. The lake is used to irrigate the fields and is one of the main attractions that keep us returning to this campsite, as well as the friendly owners, of course.

When we first began visiting, as well as making a delightful location in which to camp, the lake supported a vast array of wildlife including water birds on the lake, frogs and snakes in the lake, birds, red squirrels and tree frogs in the trees around the lake, and all manner of insect and reptile life in the campsite beside the lake. Farming activity added to the interest. My greatest interest was the impressive collection of odonata species, dragonflies and damselflies, which bred in the lake. I counted 18 species many of which were in impressive numbers. I have seen dozens of pairs of damselflies ovipositing in the floating vegetation.

Then Luc let a Koi carp farmer use the lake. Grass Carp were introduced to eat the vegetation and literally thousands of Koi were raised. From a wildlife point of view this combination spelled disaster; Koi will eat anything and everything and all floating vegetation vanished courtesy of the Grass Carp. Odonata species dropped and numbers plummeted, water fowl disappeared and the lake changed character utterly; once a wildlife haven, it began to look dead.

Happily the fish farmer is no more and we were hopeful that the lake would recover and regain something of its former wildlife glory. Here we are for the first time in four years but it is late in the season and the jury is still out. The lake is lower than we’ve seen it because Luc has had to use much of its water. There is, though, still no vegetation to be seen in the water. The lake has many large fish in it but there are no small fry to be seen. With little or no plant life, this makes us wonder is the bigger fish have eaten all the small fish. Save for a Grey Heron hunting on the side of the lake, there are still no water birds resident, though a small flight of ducks did visit. There is nothing for dabbling ducks to dabble at, though.

There used to be thousands of frogs, the chorus of which at night used lull us to sleep but has driven some campers away. On an earlier September visit, we literally couldn’t move a foot in grass beside the lake without disturbing a froglet or two. It was teeming. Now there is almost nothing. We have seen one or two frogs plop into the water but the nights are quiet. A handful of frogs did have a singing match one lunchtime but it is the exception rather than the rule.

With little for it to prey on, I haven’t seen a snake in the water. In the past we’ve seen one take a modestly sized fish and large tadpoles.

I have seen ones and twos of 7 species of odonata but none in great numbers. The most numerous appears to be one of my personal favourites, a relatively recent immigrant to France from Africa, the delightfully gaudy pink Violet Dropwing (Trithemis annulata). There are still Willow Emeralds (Chalcolestes viridis), which oviposit in overhanging rather than floating vegetation but their numbers are not what they used to be.

This is an exceptional year. It doesn’t look wonderful but I reserve judgement; I need a June visit, really.

Monday is market day in Mirepoix 20kms away. It’s one of the more comprehensive markets around as well as being one of the more attractive towns. We popped off to look for a parking spot and found one, which looked a bit like the last one.

The market was heaving. Since the isolations of Covid-19, “heaving” comes somewhat further down the crowd scale but it was certainly crowded. Our market visits are usually more out of interest and entertainment than shopping for large amounts of supplies. Today was no exception and we picked up a couple of courgettes and a splendid large red pepper (from Spain; Spanish red peppers are SO much better than our more uniform Dutch ones) to complete our veggie collection for a ratatouille. From a lady who appeared to have had smile bypass surgery, we also picked up lunch in the form of two stuffed peppers; Dutch red peppers this time.  The smile-free stuffed peppers were vegetarian, I hasten to add. I can only hope that this vegetarian nonsense doesn’t become a habit.

Oddly, what I didn’t spot on the market was a fish stall but there surely must’ve been one. Be that as it may, we moved the short distance to the nearby Super U where fuel was more expensive than the autoroute Total offering. It does have a decent fish counter, though, which had an irresistible looking tranche of white tuna. White tuna is not something we see much in the UK, if at all, but the large slices they cut in France are good eating and generally enough for two. I bought it. Many years ago a fish vendor in France had suggested that we slather the tuna in mustard before slapping it on a BBQ. This mustard coating helps prevent the fish from drying out.

Problem: France is out of mustard. What!? It seems that all those wonderful varieties of Maille mustard are no longer made in France but in Canada where there has been a catastrophic mustard harvest failure. Mon Dieu !  The mustard shelves in France are bare. Well, here they were all but bare. We did find a mustard, supposedly forte, originating in Poland. Where is Poland getting its mustard seeds from, I wonder? Regardless, a pot of Polish mustard jumped into our basket along with the tuna it was to cover.

Most people, I suspect, have heard of the Mistral, a wind that blows down the Rhone valley in Provence, can do so for days and can reputedly drive people insane. Languedoc also comes with named winds; the names don’t make them any more pleasant but they do make them recognizable to those who know the names. Today Fanjeaux seemed to be in the grip of the Autan, a wind blowing more or less from the Mediterranean in the east. To be more accurate it was in the grip of one of the Autans. L’Autan is really two winds since it comes in two flavours, L’Autan Blanc and L’Autan Noir. What we had was L’Autan Blanc, a wind of good weather with clear skies and temperatures up in the high 20sC. The weather was great for a barbecue but the wind was potentially awkward; I didn’t want a spark setting fire to Luc’s tinder-dry farm so I stood by with watering can just in case. The weather was less than ideal for standing inside making a ratatouille but I persevered.

The Polish mustard worked well enough and we enjoyed our tranche of thon blanc accompanied by L’Autan Blanc and ratatouille.

‘T was a beautiful morning but we were on a mission to get on the road by 08:30 for the 485kms drive to Fanjeaux. Rosnay had been about half way not in terms of distance but in terms of driving time; all but about 40kms of today would be on autoroutes. Travelling on a Sunday is usually easier and less stressful because there are less trucks on the road. Taking breaks on a Sunday can be less easy for those towing caravans because the lay-byes, aires and services can be full of the trucks that aren’t on the road.

We bumbled along the minor roads for about 35kms out of La Brenne to the autoroute. “Beep”, went the toll tag in a reassuring fashion.

We cruised along the autoroute with a break for comfort followed two hours later for another break for comfort and fuel.

Something strange has happened to fuel prices in France. Years ago Total stations, one of the home team, were noticeably more expensive than others. Now Total is markedly cheaper than others and by quite a margin: there’s a differential of about 20c a litre for gazole [diesel]. Astonishingly, Total on the autoroutes now even seems cheaper than the opposition off the autoroutes.  I have no idea why but Total stations are now certainly worth seeking out whereas I’ve been used to avoiding them.

“Beep” went the toll tag at about 15:00 as we clambered off the autoroute at Bram with just 5kms left to run. To complete the picture there had been a few other beeps around a couple of towns en route where toll roads become free to act as a bypass.

Our first shock came as we turned to drive through the tiny village of Villesiscle just after the toll booths. I was faced with an oddly painted road. Given the prevalence of sometimes reasonable cycle lanes it didn’t look terribly strange until scale was taken into account. There was a single narrow car lane in the centre of the road bordered by a sizeable cycle lane on either side. A road sign as I approached clearly wanted me to drive down the centre of the road diving to the right when faced by oncoming traffic. With luck said oncoming traffic would also dive to their right. Having passed, we would both then dive back into the middle of the road again to continue towards the next potential head-on collision. It might best be described as suicide alley; It reminded me of playing chicken.

Complications apparently set in when cycles are actually present, which happily most of the time they aren’t. There were two different panels showing motorists how to behave in a couple of situations. One [left] had you slamming on the brakes to tuck in behind a cycle as you dived right. This one actually makes the lane look almost wide enough for two cars. The other [right] had you putting the pedal to the metal to get in front of the cycle, hopefully before slamming headlong into the opposing car, before diving to the right. This one is a much more accurate depiction of the lane width. Given the French motorists’ love of being in front [moi d’abord], it looked a bit optimistic.

We managed to avoid either head-on collisions or flattening cyclists in Villesiscle and continued to Fanjeaux to be met by our second shock.

Our friendly dairy sheep farm is on a hill with views of the Pyrenees to the south and of the Cathar villlage of Fanjeaux to the north. Here, looking north towards Fanjeaux, is a picture I took in 2011 of son Cedric harvesting one of the fields. On the opposite hillside is a neighbouring farm. There are cattle just about visible in the far left of the facing field. It is a pleasing sight to the eye and looks quite pastoral.

What were we faced with on our arrival today as we drove in to get reacquainted with our farming friends? Acres of unsightly solar panels where once there had been cattle and grass. I’ve approximated the angle of shot and repeated it. Note that there is another massive array of solar panels to the right of this picture. The extent of the visual disaster is clear. There’s no longer any livestock and nothing remotely pastoral.

Luc and Nadine were out, this being a Sunday, but Luc’s parents and son greeted us and sent us down to le camping to get installed. We found a lovely lakeside pitch with some level ground so broke with our tradition of pitching lengthwise – it’s much easier to adjust level front to back than side to side – and pitched Guillaume sideways across the pitch with the awning facing the lake.

The awning was an interesting puzzle. It’s a design that we are familiar with having had the same before but a size smaller; current Guillaume is a little shorter than previous Guillaume. The smaller size clearly comes with the same length poles, though, since they needed to be on their shortest adjustment to fit, which gave us fun finagling them into position. We got it done, though. Second time may prove easier, if we can remember.

Luc and Nadine arrived later to share a glass of vino and say hello. They are, of course, less than complimentary about the field of solar panels ruining their view and were particularly unhappy with the noise made by the pile driver used to install the damn things. Given the extent of the installation, I can’t imagine how long it took.

Just how many ways are there for your neighbours to screw you? [Yes, I know: countless.]

On our first visit to this Rosnay campsite some years ago we had been lucky enough to wake to a misty morning with dew-covered damselflies as yet unable to fly. The dew drops made for a great photo-opportunity and getting close with a macro lens was possible.

We arose early this morning hoping for a repeat performance but there was nothing in the way of picturesque sunrise, nor mist nor dewy damsels. All was not lost though and our early rising was rewarded by a few roosting butterflies in the golden light of morning as the sun shone sporadically. I did find a roosting White-legged Damselfly (Platycnemis pennipes) too which, whilst not dewy itself, perched on a stem with three water droplets above it. It was worth getting out of bed for.

The morning was essentially overcast so, since we’d lugged the bikes with us, we clambered aboard to cycle to the Maison du Parc, a sort of visitor centre for La Brenne. There’s a small lake on the grounds, too, and I wondered what might be flying there. The answer was absolutely  bugger all so, after scrutinizing the water and vegetation in vain, we cycled back again. At least we’d had some exercise.

We thought we’d try our luck back in Le Blanc. Francine had spotted a sign declaring it to be market day. It’s about a 15-minute drive and we arrived as midday approached. We found a parking place and walked downhill to the centre of town where we found a modestly sized market most of which was in the act of packing up. We did buy some olives from a stall holder that was still doing business.

Back to the campsite for lunch, then.

Having had a few failed morning excursions, we spent an essentially lazy afternoon relaxing before tomorrow’s longer, 485kms drive to Fanjeaux. Just to stretch the legs I wandered to the lakeside again in search of entertainment. Oddly I found no more Southern Darters (Sympetrum meridionale). I did find a pair of Blue-tailed damselflies (Ischnura elegans) who were entertaining themselves by copulating. I settled down to snag them in flagrante delicto. As I was pressing the shutter I noticed that the female was munching away on lunch whilst she was engaged in sex. Well! A meal before sex and/or after sex is one thing but during sex?

I’ve coined a new word for this multi-tasking behaviour; I shall call it copuleating.

We had another early alarm call this morning. This one was nothing to do with a pleasant recorded ditty on a ferry but was a lightening and thunder show courtesy of mother nature. The distant thunder that had rumbled on yesterday evening seemed to be directly overhead in the early hours and lasted until 07:00. Rain thrashed. Then the fan stopped and the fridge started blinking in panic. ‘T was power cut time. Tea would have to wait ‘cos we don’t have a gas kettle. At least the long life milk that we had bought at a motorway service station wouldn’t go off.

The power came back on a little while later and the fan kicked into life once again. Everybody’s fridges were happy now, too. Tea was back on the menu though not quite as you know it – it’s never the same with UHT milk.

With Guillaume safely pitched on campsite it was time to knuckle down and go in search of real food. We drove about 12kms to Le Blanc where we found a very decent Super U supermarché. We filled our trolley with essentials like alcohol, food and alcohol. Our lady at the checkout was a delight; she was the first checkout person we’d ever come across in France that volunteered English as she began talking to us, not that our accents were giveaways, at all.

The afternoon remained a little cloudy but we had no more rain. A circular wander took us back to the campsite through Rosnay where a couple of Humming-bird Hawkmoths were working some flowers in town. They’re a delight and fun, if a little flighty, to play with.

A persistent but not entirely unpleasant recorded alarm jingle woke us from our reveries at about 05:00. Overnight our ferry had made up the delay and we docked on schedule at 06:45. Excellent. I mused that there really has to be some slack in their published sailing times for just such an eventuality, otherwise they’d never catch up and would be permanently late.  We were allowed back down to the vehicles by deck number, which worked well; I’ve never seen so little crush on the stairs.

Being one of the last to board, we were one of the earlier vehicles to disembark … luckily. Enter bloody Brexit once again: we sat in one of two slow moving queues for 30 minutes to get through passport control. The queues behind us, visible in the rear view mirror, went on for ever and round a corner. It was going to take well over an hour to clear that lot. We thanked our lucky stars that we were up front.

We were on the road at 07:30 and heading for Rosnay. The journey began on N-roads but eventually we joined an autoroute. I had managed to procure a new electronic toll tag – the old ones battery was about to expire and they ain’t replaceable – which avoids the need to “prenez un billet” and saves poor ol’ Francine stretching up if the billet dispenser mistakes our roof-mounted bikes for a lorry. It’s a bit heart-in-mouth the first time hoping that it will work but all was well; I drove slowly up to the barrier, heard the friendly beep as we were logged and the barrier raised.

Autoroutes over, there’s quite a stretch of local roads at the other end of the autoroute to get into La Brenne itself. We joggled along them patiently and pitched up at Rosnay at 13:30 after 385kms. It felt a bit tiring but then one never sleeps terribly well on a ferry and we had had an early alarm call and the stress of immigration. We found Guillaume a pleasant pitch under some trees and got him settled.

One of the attractions of this camping municipal is that it is beside a charming lake. ‘T would be rude not to go and investigate so we set off for a saunter. We found a good dozen Southern Darters (Sympetrum meridionale) perching on the vegetation beside the lake. What really surprised me was that they were all females; I didn’t find a single male. Curious. There were White-legged Damselflies (Platycnemis pennipes) and Blue-tailed Damselflies (Ischnura elegans) to entertain us, too.

Back to bloody Brexit again. Because of our nation of pathetic xenophobic isolationists, we are no longer allowed to bring much in the way of foodstuffs with us into France. In the good ol’ sensible days we’d have brought two days worth of provisions, maybe a chicken, some fresh milk, cheese, to save us from immediately having to look for a supermarché. Now meat and dairy products are off. Stopping at shops with a caravan in tow is not impossible but it can’t be guaranteed. So I had resorted to making a vegetarian chilli – a tip from a friend – which we froze, to tide us over. It did, of course, thaw on the journey but I have to say it worked out very well with lentils substituting for the minced beef. We had seen a vegetarian chilli on the ferry menu which was cleverly named a Chilli Sin Carne. I shall adopt it.

Thunder began rumbling. Storms had been advertised.

It’s been 4 years since we visited La Belle France but at last, now that travel is technically possible with what we hope is the worst of Covid-19 behind us, we thought we’d try again.

Our initial plan, such as it is, is to spend the bulk of September down on our friendly dairy sheep farm at Fanjeaux to renew friendships there. We didn’t want to use that bastard P&O company following its sacking of its staff without notice, so we decided to cross the channel from Portsmouth to Caen, technically Ouistreham, on Brittany Ferries. The wetland region of La Brenne formed a handy half way point to break the journey south and spend a couple of relaxing days on a fine camping municipal at Rosnay.

I’d booked an overnight crossing on 31st August, leaving at 21:30 and landing at 06:45 local time. Expectations of longer formalities due to our idiotic Brexit decision made the Caravan Club suggest arriving 3 hours early rather than the usual 90 minutes.

Allowing some slack in a probable journey time of 3 hours to the port – you never know what you might run into on UK roads, especially the jaM25 – we left home at 15:00. As luck would have it our journey went smoothly and we arrived and checked in at 18:00. We repaired to the bar for a G&T and Tanglefoot. They went down well so we just had to have a second round.

There was an hour delay to our sailing; incoming boat not yet here. Jolly dee, now we’re effectively 4 hours early.

Our wait people and car watching was finally over and we boarded. We were actually one of the last to board and went down with the trucks as is normal with caravans.

We’d been given two keys to our 2-bunk cabin and found it fairly easily. What we didn’t find fairly easily were 2 bunks. There was a lower bunk but the upper bunk appeared to be absent. Back in the corridor we found a similarly confused lady who also seemed to be short one bunk. In tandem we found a helpful jeune homme wearing a uniform who, when challenged as to the whereabouts of bunk #2, said something along the lines of, “it’s in ze roof”. “Quoi ?”, we rejoined.

He showed us. There was indeed a closed trap door “in ze roof”, completely flush, which when opened revealed a second bunk. Sorted.

“Due to a staff shortage” the posh restaurant was sadly closed. Instead we settled for two portions of Boeuf Borguinon from the self-service resto washed down with a bottle of red. Both were actually very good.

Well fed and watered, we retired to our full set of bunks for some shuteye.