Les tourbières de Vendoire lie in the Périgord vert region, north-west of the gastronomically famous town of Périgueux – truffle country. La tourbe is French for peat and les tourbières are peat diggings. Those near the village of Vendoire were worked until the 1950s but the old diggings are now flooded and maintained as a nature reserve. It doesn’t appear to have a very high profile but I learned of its existence from a BDS [British Dragonfly Society] publication which mentioned, I think, that it supported in excess of 40 species. Big magnet! On  our way back north from the Languedoc to visit friends in the Marais Poitevin, stopping off for a first visit seemed a good plan.

Francine found a campsite listed under Vendoire itself so we made for that. Signing wasn’t great and the country lanes were very narrow, especially towing Guillaume, but, after a couple of missed/wrong turns and pretty much going round a complete circle, we finally arrived at the campsite. Since we had no back-up site, we were pleased to see that the place looked absolutely delightful as we drove in through the entrance at about 4:00 PM. The young lady running the site was also delightful. This is well off the main tourist track; there were a few weekenders in cabins but otherwise we had the place to ourselves. Alone in the middle of nowhere – perfect!

Once Guillaume was settled, we had time for a little late afternoon orientation by going to find les tourbières themselves. Our site was at a crossroads and a sign to les tourbières pointed down the lane passed the site entrance. We climbed back in our car, turned left out of the campsite, drove about 100m/yds to a slight bend in the road and after another 100m/yds the road dead-ended in the car park for les tourbières. We felt like chumps for driving but nothing had indicated distance. Our campsite was basically right outside the entrance to the nature reserve itself. Sometimes we find areas of France that we want to/enjoy visiting but finding suitable (i.e. acceptable) campsites can be a challenge. Here with were with the perfect combination of an interesting, quiet location with a splendid little campsite on its doorstep.

We parked after our 200m/yds journey, opened the doors and immediately spotted four species of Odo (three damsels, one unidentified dragon – moved too fast) flitting around the bushes behind the car. Promising! Immediately in front of the car park was a beautiful looking modestly sized spot of habit for Odos with emergent vegetation a-plenty. To the right was another small pond with a lot of floating pond weed; just the sort of thing that Fanjeaux is now sadly lacking. We spent about 90 minutes at these two pools and came away with a total species count of 17. 17 species in an hour and a half – very impressive!

Today we returned for a morning session. At the entrance a tantalizing Emerald Dragonfly zoomed about without ever settling. I’ll keep my suspicions to myself – it remains unidentified. Inside the reserve, there are a dozen or so bodies of water bordered by two flowing streams,with sentiers [footpaths] including some boardwalks winding around them. We covered what we could in a couple of hours, then returned to Guillaume for lunch. In an afternoon session, we found our way around almost everything we hadn’t managed to get to in the morning. I was gobsmacked – in a day and a half, we had tallied 27 identified species plus one mystery guest – I’m just sure it wasn’t one of the others. These included two species completely new to me: a mating pair of Southern Skimmers (Orthetrum brunneum) and a Yellow Clubtail (Gomphus simillimus).

I couldn’t believe our luck with the weather; the weekend was perfect for Odos and me. The weather certainly showed off this place to very good advantage – I love it, it’s brilliant!

We’ve been ensconced here for three weeks now, almost long enough to take root and it’s beginning to feel like home. To be perfectly honest, because we like the place so much and are so familiar with it, it feels like home almost immediately. However, our length of time here has allowed us to study (and I use the word study loosely) the wildlife of the campsite’s lake since being stocked with enormous Grass Carp and being used as a fish farm (for raising decorative Koi Carp), and compare it to previous years.

When we first arrived, the floating mechanical fish feeding device, introduced last year, was absent and we rather hoped that a change of heart had been felt and that it would remain absent. Regrettably not, it returned a while ago. So, whatever trend last year’s crop of Koi Carp set, it will more than likely continue. Here’s a shot of the lake just to give some idea of size, since I have no idea how to estimate such a thing.

We can’t comment on an array of wildlife without commenting on this year’s weather conditions. To put it simply, they’ve been very poor. Even this far south, we’ve never experienced a long settled spell of dry, warm conditions; perhaps two days at a time but then temperatures have dropped, wind has risen and rain has fallen. Not great conditions, particularly for insect life wanting good conditions in which to emerge, feed and reproduce. These relatively appalling early summer conditions follow hot on the heels of a decidedly pathetic spring so many wildlife populations have probably been adversely affected simply by the conditions. Many species are certainly emerging later than usual. That having been said …

Water fowl. We are used to their being a varied population of water birds breeding on the lake: Mallard, Coots and Little Grebe have previously been present in decent numbers. Last year there were four Grey Herons feeding around the lake. This year the lake supported two small families of Mallard (which we hardly ever saw). A day or two ago two Grey Herons appeared but I haven’t seen them since. Mallards and Grebes are naturally herbivores and there simply isn’t any herb left. I believe Coots may have a more varied diet but concentrate on vegetation. Herons, of course, take fish and frogs.

Frogs. The lake has been inundated with frogs on previous years, the incessant chorus of which could be heard all night long (in the correct weather conditions). For us and many of our fellow regular visitors, it’s one of the charms of the place, though we must admit that some campers have left because of the noise. This made the owners keen on a frog control programme which, being French, this eating them. The frogs are still here and singing but are noticeably reduced in numbers. In addition to the water frogs, there used to be a vibrant population of tree frogs. The tree frog population has crashed almost unbelievably – we’ve heard the distinctive, rasping croak of just a handful, quite literally, and have seen none. Fanjeaux has suffered two consecutive unusually severe winters and we wonder if this is to some extent responsible for the tree frog decline. However, most notable this year and of particular concern is this: we have not seen one single tadpole nor small (young) frog of either species. I imagine that the dense population of fish may have vacuumed up all the frog spawn and that the remaining reduced population will not be getting replaced.

Dragonflies. Previously, we have seen 18 species of dragonfly here, though that includes species at both ends of the dragonfly season. The damselflies have been present in great numbers with several mixed groups of 40+ pairs each seen ovipositing on floating rafts of herb at one time. This year, though we’ve seen 12 species in total, their individual numbers appear greatly reduced. The reduction is most noticeable where damselflies are concerned, simply because they were present in much greater numbers to begin with. The dragonflies, the “big boys”, tend to be more territorial and present in smaller numbers anyway. Of greatest concern is that there now seem to be five species (four damselflies, 1 dragonfly) completely missing; species which I believe should now have emerged. The missing damsels and dragon are particular dependent on/fond of the now absent vegetation. I must admit, however, that we have not seen damselflies in great numbers anywhere yet during this year of pathetic weather conditions, and those conditions may be partly to blame here, too. I believe, though, that this population crash/eradication must surely be largely due to fish predation together with a paucity of oviposition sites.

So, our hosts and their campsite are probably still the best in France but what had developed into an excellent and varied wildlife habitat is changing dramatically. Still, Luc is a farmer and the lake is here for a reason: irrigation. It is, of course, one of the main attractions for fellow campers, though most of them are content to stare at the water as a very pleasant landscape, which it undoubtedly still is, rather than as a rich ecosystem. On a personal level, though, I really do not like the transformation into intensive fish farm. Nor do several of my fellow campers sharing my enthusiasm for nature.

What will the situation be like next year?

One section of the GR7 – Grande Randonnée 7, one of the French long distance footpaths – passes along an edge of the farm on which we are staying. This section of the path looks like a good habitat for wild flowers so, some days ago we went wandering along it in search of floral diversions for Francine. As often seems to be the case, one ends up finding a completely different item of interest. In this case, a butterfly flitted into my view which I didn’t recognize. Something about it said “hairstreak” to me, though not one with which I was familiar. Not having my own camera (we were, after all, looking for flowers), I asked Francine to snap it for me – and a very fine job she did, too. I dived into my butterfly guide and found two similar hairstreak species, the Ilex Hairstreak and False Ilex Hairstreak. Difficult, especially never having seen either! After much agonizing, I decided this was the False Ilex Hairstreak (Nordmannia esculi). Happy camper. 🙂

As is also often the case, once you pick up something new it seems to recur. One afternoon I left Francine shade-bathing for some R&R and went off to check out a nearby lake, the Lac de Balestié. Though my main quarry was dragonflies, the first item that attracted my interest and had me stumbling across the rough undergrowth, was a butterfly. Oddly, it cooperated and I managed to snap it. It looked very similar to my new friend (above). This, though, was darker and the markings were slightly different with the orange spots being outlined in stronger black. This was the (real) Ilex Hairstreak (Nordmannia ilicis). Now, with a comparison, I was more confident about my first identification. Excellent – a matched pair!

Today, we went off on another potential wild Kees (pronounced “case”) chase. He had spotted some white orchids not too far from our campsite. Armed with his description of the destination, off we set looking along a section of road for “a high bank” on which, once we stopped, we would see white flower spikes. Surprisingly, we found it with little trouble. Well done, Kees! There was even somewhere to park, though I inadvertently placed Francine’s passenger door right beside a mud pool from the recent rains. She deftly avoided it and set off in search of white orchids. These delightful flowers – just look at the glittering petals of the close-up – are the Lesser Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera bifolia). Another new orchid for Francine and another very happy camper.

As she was scrambling on the bank and snapping, I had returned to the car to move it slightly, trying to avoid the mud. Another unfamiliar butterfly was flitting about drinking from the moisture of the mud pool beside the car. The underside of the hind-wing was strikingly marked and Francine, orchid shots in the bag, managed to snap it for me. This critter, whose existence I knew nothing about until today, is a Large Chequered Skipper (Heteropteus morpheus).

Luckily, all three of these new butterflies sit with wings closed but it is the underside that is most photogenic. The new Lesser Butterfly Orchids – well, they’re just stunning.

Or, at least, it would have been had we bought a better example of the main ingredient.

After several pleasant, sunny days, this morning dawned dull and overcast. A few spits of rain fell. As a diversion, Francine decided to go and try to find a particular vantage point used by the excellent landscape photographer, David Noton, for one of his Carcassonne shots. There is a great view of Carcassonne from the autoroute running south of it, looking north towards Les Montagnes Noires [the Black Mountains]. However, Mr. Noton’s shot appears to be taken from the north looking south towards the Pyrenees. Off we set in search of his higher ground. To cut a long story short, we never found it; the eminent Mr. Noton’s secret remains safe. Personally, I prefer the tourist view looking north, anyway, not that that’s particularly significant. Regardless, today was definitely not the day for taking photos of one of France’s most impressive sights.

On our way back to Guillaume, we called into a Intermarché to see what lunch we could find. Having recently sated my craving for andouillette, I now felt a hankering for one of France’s classic warm salads (?), a salade tiède de gésiers. Gesiers are gizzards, usually either chicken or duck. Here is another delicious ingredient that we usually either throw away or, at best, use in the making of stock. Mea culpa. When we are lucky enough to buy a bird complete with a set of giblets, the gizzard is included. It’s the bird’s crop which, in life, is filled with grit and used for grinding down vegetable matter that it’s eaten. The gizzard is a very strong muscle. We eat hearts, which are just strong muscles, so let’s give gizzards a try. Why not? If you’ve ever actually tried frying and eating a gizzard, you will know just how exceptionally coarse and tough they are if treated without respect. Crunch – your teeth can barely penetrate it!

The gastronomically wise French make a confit out of gizzards by simmering them long and slow at low heat in fat. This transforms the otherwise inedible bullets into something meltingly tender and delicious. At least, they are delicious when done well. Even Francine likes them. Regrettably, the examples we bought at our Intermarché, though tender enough, lacked a little je ne sais quoi in the seasoning/flavour department. We’ve had much better. Don’t get me wrong, these weren’t bad, just not as good as they should have been.

Shortly after sitting down to our lunch, the rain began and we were forced to retreat under Guillaume’s awning.

Postscript: peels of thunder can now be heard.

We awoke to Guillaume’s roof echoing the sound of the water droplets of our morning shower. There is perversely something vaguely cosy about the sound of rain on a caravan’s roof. After stirring ourselves into lethargic action, our morning shower was followed by the very similar sound of our coffee shower. After another brief pause, our coffee shower was replaced by the sound of our breakfast shower. We scanned the four points of the compass as far as our position allows. Little but solid grey greeted our gaze. It was going to be one of those days.

While Francine tried to rig Guillaume as a drying room for her laundry which had failed to dry yesterday, I went to Villasavary for a paper, mainly for the forecast, and bread. I got the last Aujourd’hui paper but, as the rain began again, discovered that Tuesday was the day for Villasavary’s boulanger to be closed. Definitely one of those days. I forced myself to call in to our local boulanger at Fanjeaux to buy une baguette from one of the seven dwarves [private joke: she’s very grumpy].

When the Jet Stream messes up the European weather, it really does it in style. Basically, most of France looks v. unsettled for the next four days, save for an eventual ray of hope around the Mediterranean. The French forecasters in Aujourd’hui do, at least, have fun with their words; for June 21st (the first day of summer), their caption reads, “Vous avez dit été?” [Did you say summer?].

There was little point sticking around a campsite, the highlights of which were likely to be very grey moments when it wasn’t actually raining, so we packed lunch, including Grumpy’s baguette, and drove east towards the Minervois. The rain relented and eventually small breaks in the cloud appeared allowing Apollo to peek through weakly. We tried what looked like a promising site beside a lake for a pique-nique but apparently we were the only ones who’d had that thought; the area smelt faintly like une toilette and there was but a single concrete table complete with centre well filled with rain water and infested by ants – large ants. We left.

We had much better luck at Argens-Minervois. Here was a pleasing village/small town beside the Canal du Midi. Immediately opposite our parking spot and directement sur les bords du canal [directly on the banks of the canal] was an enticing little restaurant called “la guinguette” [literally, a cafe with music and dancing – mercifully not at lunch time] with a shaded terrace and – and this is the clincher – specializing in cuisses de grenouille flambée au pastis [frogs’ legs flamed in pastis]. Sold! Grumpy’s baguette remained firmly locked in the car, as did the filling intended for Grumpy’s baguette.

Now, it must be said that Francine is, on occasion, a game old stick. However, in the same way that her gameness fails to extend as far as andouillettes [chitterling sausages] and anguilles [eels], neither does it extend to cuisses de grenouille (left). I think it’s the shape of the legs that put her off – they look like a pair of crossed arms trying to give you a cuddle. However, a plateful of mussels (right), this time referred to as mouclade because of the method of preparation, did appeal. We ordered, together with a small bottle (50cl) of Corbières blanc to wash everything down. Very pleasant. Afterwards, we even found a few Odos flitting about the canal and a marina nearby, though they didn’t think much to the overcast weather, either.

Having returned to Guillaume, where the laundry was still not properly dry, my evening shower was greeted by another shower and my writing of this posting was greeted by a rather lengthier shower. Rats!

Footnote: [that’s a joke, BTW – frogs’ legs, footnote] whilst the restaurant may claim to specialize in frogs’ legs, it could certainly use a lesson in the cooking of chips/frîtes/French fries. Those sad, limp, soggy, flaccid, brown items in the photo nestling beside my perfectly fine cuisses de grenouille were, without doubt, the very worst chips/frîtes/French fries I have ever experienced. Quelle domage!

We have another wild flower lover on our campsite in the form of Kees (pronounced “case”), a regular visitor here from Holland. We’ve known Kees and family for several years as a result of our paths crossing, as they frequently do, at Fanjeaux. In the same way that Odonata fans swap dragonfly stories and share locations, Francine and Kees have been nattering about orchids and their  locations. Fortunately, since our Dutch is none existent, Kees’s English is excellent and communication is usually no problem.

A few days ago, Kees returned from a day out and, via the rear screen of his camera, began showing us photos of orchids he had found. One in particular was not in Francine’s collection and was naturally of great interest to her. Armed with a Michelin map, Kees tried to show us roughly where he had been hunting but his description, despite his excellent English, was less than precise.

A day or so later, we set off in search of his treasure trove to try to add to Francine’s orchid catalogue. We found a small cross roads with likely looking rough meadows on either side of the main track, found somewhere to park and bailed out. Francine began scanning one field while I looked in another. I found Lizard Orchids and Pyramidal Orchids but nothing new. Francine joined me and added a Bee Orchid which I’d missed but again, nothing new. Kees had mentioned “seeing them beside the road” but there was nothing matching that description here. We weren’t convinced we were looking in the right place and returned to try and explain to Kees what a Wild Goose Chase was.

After a second cross-examination in the Kees of the missing orchid, it transpired that we had been in the right location for the flower meadow but that the main target of Francine’s quest was in a different location, some way earlier along the road and beside it on the verges.

Today looking suitable, we set off once again to try and find the missing orchid. After once again reaching the meadows without spotting our quarry, we spun around and tried looking from the opposite direction.  We stopped more or less on spec. and Francine went off scouring the verges à pied [on foot]. Sure enough there were Helleborine orchids scattered all along the verge on the shady side of the road. Francine thinks these may be examples of the Broad-leaved Helleborine (Epipactis helleborine) and very attractive they are, too. [Yours truly finds them easier to remember as Haliborange Orchids.]

Francine’s third addition to her catalogue – the Kees of the missing orchid solved.

For some reason best known to a psychologist (probably), at the beginning of this trip I had a hankering for French gastronomic speciality called andouillette. Every time we went shopping, I scanned the shelves and boucheries [butchers] for this particular delicacy but found none. On market day in Bram (Wednesday), I did spot a larger cousin of andouillette, andouille, lurking on the counter but thought it was too big so decided against it. Finally, in the Bram Carrefour, I found a pack of three [insert own joke here] andouilletes on the shelves and snuck them into our chariot [shopping cart], much to Francine’s disgust.

Andouillette and andouille are sausages made of chopped up chitterlings – the small intestines of pigs. Since a proper sausage skin is actually made from pigs guts of some form, these sausages amount to pigs guts inside pigs guts. Yum! For lunch, I was intent on stuffing one of my pack of three inside my own guts, which must result in guts cubed. This picture shows my long sought after andouillette beginning to spill its guts after a darn good grilling.

Having introduced these as French delicacies, I should point out that the name andouille is actually also used in the Cajun cooking of Louisiana, USA. I have a cookbook by Paul Prudhomme, a well-known exponent of Cajun cuisine, which mentions andouille. However, I believe the American andouille is a pretty conventional pork sausage. I assume that this is because offal, or variety meats as I think offal is known Stateside, is about as popular to most Americans as a bacon sandwich would be at a bar mitzvah.

My andouillettes were similarly unappealing to Francine so she opted for a rather less gastronomically challenging galette made of lardons with some goats cheese. I don’t suppose her choice would have gone down too well at the bar mitzvah, either. 😀

A few kilometres to the west of us, between Fanjeaux and Castelnaudary, is an area called the Lauragais, named after what I’d call little more than a village, Laurac. Laurac is overlooked from the south at a height of about 400m/1200ft by an impressive escarpment. We saw it first as part of a strenuous walk some years ago when farmer Luc offered to drop us off in the middle of nowhere to walk back to Fanjeaux. It’s called the colline des vents, or some such phrase, and with good reason; life can get decidedly blustery up there.

Not only are the views impressive, though, but the wildlife can be also. Once here we watched in awe as a Short-toed Eagle (Circaetus gallicus) gracefully hovered in the up draught above the escarpment, dropped to catch a lizard or snake (we couldn’t quite tell which), then rose back up again and proceeded to devour it on the wing. In the bushes atop the escarpment is also where we spotted our first Spanish Gatekeeper butterfly (Pyronia bathseba) and where Francine has enjoyed playing David Bellamy – rummaging around in the undergrowth for flowers. It’s always worth a visit, even if a little windy.

This is one of those parking spots where a four wheel drive vehicle comes in handy. This being a nice a dry day with firm ground, we didn’t actually need four wheels driving but the ground clearance is necessary crossing the dip that you have to get over to get off the road. In our previous, rather more low-slung vehicle, I’d grounded the car’s tow bar. Ouch! This time, apart from the effrontery of a local being parked in the same spot, all went well.

Francine began her search and I started looking for butterflies. Spanish Gatekeepers were around again but didn’t pose as well, even when encouraged to find a new perch. Francine soon became excited at a new find and set about recording it for posterity. Fortunately it was posing much better, being in a rather more sheltered spot and keeping relatively low to the ground in the grass. It was an orchid, the same shape as a Bee Orchid, but with very pale, plain “wings”. Indeed, nearby was an example of the Bee Orchids (Ophrys apifera) with which Francine is already familiar. The newcomer was not in the wild flower books that form part of Guillaume’s library. However, with a nifty bit of research grâce à McWiFi, Francine thinks this beautiful new flower may be a White Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera var. clorantha).

Confirmation or otherwise will be needed back at home base.

We hear that the accursed Jet Stream, that high velocity, high altitude wind that circles the northern hemisphere is messing things up again by being misplaced. As it sweeps from west to east it also oscillates north and south, in sort of sinusoidal wave. It should be (whatever “should” means in a meteorological context) oscillating up above Scotland but is apparently zooming straight up La Manche [English Channel] delivering wave after wave of decidedly stormy weather to much of Europe. Friends of our camping neighbours have been deluged during their first week near Troyes and, with the forecast expecting much the same for their second week, have bailed out and decided to return home early. At the same site, three camper vans had to be towed off waterlogged pitches. Terrific!

The only area that is currently escaping the current spate of weather is the area around the Mediterranean. With the dawm of another grey day, we decided to try and escape the gloom by visiting Gruissan a little south of Narbonne on the Mediterranean coast. Our camping neighbours were looking similarly gloomy so we invited them to come along.

Good decision! After driving for about 20 minutes the solid grey mass above our heads began fragmenting and bits of blue sky appeared. After another 10 minutes, the sky had transformed from grey studded with blue to blue studded with grey. At Gruissan, 30 minutes later again, the great majority of the sky was clear and folks were walking about looking cheerful instead of gloomy – including us.

Gruissan is an attractive little fishing port overlooked by Redbeard’s tower. We’ve been here once before on another trip but that was on a Sunday and considerably busier. Today life was considerably calmer with a street market in full swing. I’d thought we’d been lucky to bump into the market unplanned but later we saw a sign implying that it happened on three days of the week so perhaps lucky would be overstating the case. After browsing the market and my buying some colourful casual trousers (seen on male model, right), our companions treated us to lunch in a fish restaurant to thank us for taking them on an escape to an interesting, new (for them) territory.

While walking off our lunch, we came across an preserved historic settlement, the “Pech du Moulin”. At least, until we manage to find pech in a dictionary,  I’ll assume it was the historic settlement. Here, as well as this old donkey-powered well, there was a stone shelter with yet more filming going on as in the Pyrenees earlier. This time, though, everyone was wearing clothes.

It really is quite amazing how often the Mediterranean manages to punch a whole through what elsewhere is a solid mass of grey. We refer to this as “the Mediterranean effect”. It isn’t foolproof, the Med. does get deluged sometimes resulting in catastrophic flooding, but it seems to work much more often than not. Even the French forecasters comment on “ the sun being put under a cloche in the southeast” and “the sun being cloistered away in the southeast”.

Unfortunately, when the weather is set thus, Fanjeaux is about 30 miles too far west to benefit from the Mediterranean effect. Maybe I could move Luc, Nadine and their farm east to the Corbières?

Dateline: 11th June, 2012

Guillaume had to have his heating switched on!

What’s going on? This is unprecedented; here we sit in the south of France in the middle of June and we’ve had to put the heating on. Staggering!

We seem to be in the grip of a particularly un-summery spell of weather à ce moment. The last two days have been decidedly unsettled and this evening the skies blackened, a thrashing wind began bending the poplar trees like long bows whilst rain lashed the farm, campsite and lake. We could do little but join our neighbours for a glass or three of reality correction fluid.

During a brief respite, Nadine (Mrs farmer) popped in to invite us to a soiree the following evening and told us the farm had measured 10mm of rain. She left and the rain began again.

During another brief respite we returned to Guillaume to cook our dinner and decided Guillaume was decidedly too cold. On went the heating. Thank farmer Luc for 16amp power supplies. The rain recommenced.

Fortunately, the trees and hedges between our pitches are protecting us from most of the wind which continued to batter the tops of the trees, other wise some lucky individual would be outside trying to take down the awning in as much of a controlled fashion as such weather conditions allow, which is almost no control at all.

Let’s hope conditions improve soon – this is neither Odo– nor flower-spotting weather.

Footnote: Last year I wrote about The Garden Effect  whereby, whenever someone occupied le jardin (the garden – the small triangular pitch adjacent to ours), it rained. Today, somebody pitched a tent in le jardin.