Noelene Magnusson & David Foster

From Figeac we took the train to Cordes-Vindrac, a delightful trip through the Gorges-de l'Aveyron. At Najac we had spectacular views of the ruined castle on the top of the steep hill and decided that we would have to come back this way again.

It started raining on and off as the trip progressed and as we rode into les Cabannes it started raining heavily. The woman in the boulangerie gave us misleading information on the location of the camping grounds. She told us that the only campground was the closed one we had passed a few kilometres earlier. David thought that there were at least two others near Cordes but there was a one star hotel nearby and we decided to stay there rather than camp in the rain. It was clean and reasonably comfortable and it made a nice change after a few weeks of camping.

Cordes-sur-Ciel - the village in the sky

After lunch in one of our rooms, we rode towards Cordes-sur-Ciel in pouring rain. By the time we reached the entrance to the town at the top of the steep climb, the rain had stopped and the sun was starting to shine. We walked slowly up the steep cobbled streets lined with attractive stone houses. Many of the buildings housed art galleries and craft shops but despite the relatively large crowds, it has a much nicer atmosphere than the previous medieval towns like Domme and Sarlat that we have been to. Cordes was founded in 1222 during the Albigensian Crusade when the Catholic Church launched a bloody repression and inquisition of the dissident Cathars. After the crusade ended, the cloth and leather merchants of Cordes enjoyed a period of great prosperity. They built numerous fine houses, many of which can still be seen today and are occupied by restaurants and galleries as well as more mundane things such as the post office.

We couldn't find a restaurant at the bottom of the hill for dinner and rode back up the hill to the old town. We had a pleasant meal in a restaurant near the main square. The sophisticated dining room at the back of the building was in great contrast to the rather ordinary front presented to the street by the café and bar.

On the long steep descent into Albi, Noelene had a blow out. We fixed it on the side of the road at a spot where we had spectacular views over the city and its dominating cathedral. When we arrived in the city we made our way to the tourist office but it had closed for lunch a couple of minutes before we got there. We found signs to the campground and followed these but they took us towards a major autoroute entrance. It wasn't easy negotiating the traffic on the large and very busy roundabouts but we managed it successfully.

As we rode into the campground we met up with Patrick, an Irishman in a large motor home. He seemed very friendly and anxious for a chat.

After we had lunch and set up camp, Noelene and David rode back into the city and spent some time wandering around. The huge cathedral built in the 13th and 14th century totally dominates the centre of town. Designed more like a large fortress than a church, the narrow windows like arrow slits are set high in the walls. The red bricks from which it is constructed give it a most forbidding appearance. It was built for the bishop who had directed the crusade against the Cathars and was designed to show the power of the church.

There are lots of attractive small streets lined with expensive shops in the old part of town and we enjoyed our time just wandering around. We found ourselves on the modern Place Vigan which was built to cover a large underground car park. David was waiting for the water jets on the modern fountain to come into play to take a photo when a tall cyclist in business clothes rode up. He was an Australian who has lived in Albi for 22 years and is very active in the local equivalent of a BUG (bicycle users group). After studying French at university in Australia, he had planned on working as a teacher in England. To fill in the summer holidays, he went on a trip to France. When he arrived in Albi, he decided that that was where he wanted to live and has been there since. Albi is the first city we have been in that has an extensive network of bicycle lanes painted on the roads. He said that the BUG group have been finding it hard going but feel that they have achieved some successes.

From the museum we wandered through the formal gardens before heading to see the inside of the cathedral. The interior is in complete contrast to the exterior. It is light and surprisingly bright with the walls totally covered with paintings and painted designs. The elaborately carved choir is exceptionally beautiful and considered to be one of the best in France.

Peace, tranquillity and beauty in the cloisters of the Eglise St. Salvy

In the afternoon Helen, Noelene and David rode out to Castelnau-du-Lévi where we climbed up the very steep road to the ruined castle. The immensely tall and narrow tower is almost all that remains of the castle. After the revolution, the castle was used as a quarry and most of the stone was sold to local builders. There was a great view over Albi and the River Tarn from the top.

Lyn cooked dinner and invited Patrick to join us. It was a very pleasant evening. It turns out that Patrick, who is widowed and has been travelling in a motor home for some years, is a retired Inspector of Police whose last police job in England was in training for riot and terrorist control. Earlier Lyn had inadvertently locked her bike up at the supermarket with someone else’s chain and couldn’t get it undone. Patrick managed to free it by breaking the lock with a couple of sharp blows from a heavy hammer.

After we negotiated the very busy roundabouts and cross roads at the autoroute entrance we headed along the D100 to St. Juéry and Arthes. After looking at the map, we all decided that the right bank of the river looked better to ride on than the left bank. We followed the D70 along the edge of the river for about five kilometres to a turnoff where we planned to follow the small un-numbered riverside road. When we reached the turnoff, there was a sign saying that the road was closed some kilometres further on. We continued on the D70 as it climbed very steeply (13 percent) up to the villages of Crespinet and Sérénac. The downhill to the river was steep and narrow but through rich green forest for most of the way. It was such a delightful ride that it almost made the steep climb feel worthwhile. At the bottom of the descent, we met up with the road along the river we had hoped to ride. It looked as if we may have been able to get through on bicycles but we would not have liked it if we had followed that road and had to turn around after several kilometres. After a few kilometres along the river we were in the pretty village of Ambialet for lunch. Ambialet is another pretty village built on a very tight loop of a river. So tight is the loop that it is known as the Prèsqu’Ile d’Ambialet or the "near island".

From Ambialet we followed the pretty D77 along the river to Villeneuve-sur-Tarn where we stopped in the tiny campground. The showers and toilets were open but there was no hot water. Nobody bothered us and nobody came to collect any money, so we had another free night. David rode into the nearby village of Trébas to check if there was a bakery where we could buy bread for breakfast the following morning. The boulangerie was closed for fermeture annuelle and the nearest open bakery was back in Ambialet. Normally, the village grocery store sells bread, especially when the baker is closed but in Trébas, it didn’t sell bread of any kind. He bought some mass produced pain-au-chocolat so that we would have something for breakfast. They weren’t very appetising but were better than nothing.

We experienced our first major tunnels. One of them was unlit and rather long. We turned our bicycle lights on and headed into it. David found it nerve wracking and he was nearly through it before realising that the reason he was having trouble seeing was because he still had his sunglasses on! Anyhow, it was enough to convince everyone that the steep climb up to Broquies would be preferable to the alternative of a one kilometre long unlit tunnel further on.

We stopped for morning coffee in the delightful "plus beau village" of Brousse-le-Château where the attractive stone houses by the stream were overwhelmed by the bulk of the ruined chateau on the hill above. We climbed for several kilometres from Brousse to the high plateau before dropping down to Broquies and then further down to the bridge over the Tarn.

We followed the broad valley of the Dourdou River, climbing slowly through the rich farms that dotted the valley. We stopped for lunch in St. Izaire. The village was dominated by an old monastery and seemed almost deserted. Most of the houses were shuttered tightly and almost the only living things we saw were a couple of well-fed dogs.

The road continued its slow steady climb to Vabrès-l'Abbaye. From there it was a fast four kilometres into St. Affrique on the main road. We had trouble pitching our tents at the campground because heavy gravel had been placed on all the emplacements to stop cars and campervans getting bogged in the rain.

There are probably not many reasons for anyone wanting to visit St. Affrique. We couldn’t think of many. Despite a long history going back several centuries, virtually the only thing remaining from its past is an old stone bridge. It is an unattractive town with too much traffic pouring through its narrow streets, but it is the nearest town to the village of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon offering any accommodation. We had detoured off our main route to visit a village that gave its name to a cheese; a very famous cheese but a cheese none-the-less.

Roquefort cheese is described by some as the "King of Cheeses"; the cheese by which all others are judged. It is one of the great blue cheeses and one of the most famous and most expensive of France’s several hundred different cheeses. Made from the un-processed ewe’s milk, lait de brebis, Roquefort has a distinctive, rich, creamy taste. The origins of the cheese are lost in antiquity. One story has a shepherd in ancient times leaving his half eaten bread and cheese lunch in a cave while he went off to have a post-prandial assignation with a shepherdess. When he returned to that cave some weeks later (the story doesn’t tell us whether the assignation lasted several weeks or whether he was just forgetful), the bread was covered with blue mould and the cheese delicately veined with the blue mould of Penicillin Roqueforti. Not one to waste food but someone with taste and discrimination, he discarded the bread, ate the cheese and discovered the ultimate joy of eating Roquefort cheese. It is known that Pliny enjoyed Roquefort cheese in ancient Rome and that it was eaten at the court of Charlemagne.

Over 750,000 ewes from a wide area of southern France produce the milk which goes to produce the 22,000 tonnes annual production of Roquefort. As the demand for the cheese increases, the area from which the milk is drawn has increased. The cheese is now made in a number of centres but to be called Roquefort, it must be injected with mould produced on leavened rye bread in the caves of Roquefort and matured in those caves. Production is carefully regulated under laws and charters dating back to 1411. If you do not have access to the Roquefort caves, you cannot call your cheese Roquefort. There are a number of blue sheep and goat’s milk cheeses made in this part of France and sold under various names. Some of them such as "Bleu des Causses" are extremely good and very delicious. Whether they are as good or better than Roquefort is a matter for debate, but they are not Roquefort.

One good reason to visit St. Affrique is the two star, Logis de France Hotel Moderne where we went for dinner. In many ways, the main reason we detoured off the Tarn in the first place was to have a dinner where many of the dishes featured Roquefort cheese as a main ingredient or as part of a sauce and the cheese platter included the ten different Roquefort cheeses. The menus ranged from 95FF to 290FF. Like most of the people dining there that evening, we had the 110FF menu.

Monsieur le Maitre d’ ran the restaurant with panache and style. As soon as we sat down, we were offered small squares of toast topped with grilled Roquefort. We decided to have a pastis as an aperitif. Like many Australians, we were familiar with the Pernod and Ricard brand names, but there were six different brands of pastis listed and many of the names we hadn’t heard of. We explained our difficulty to Monsieur and asked him to recommend one. Ah! In that case we should have Pastis Boyer. Water was carefully measured into four glasses of water as Monsieur explained that Pastis Boyer was made with a blend of twelve herbs and six spices and had a more refined flavour than those produced by the large companies. The pastis was gently added to the water and not the water to the pastis as is usually the case. Then one cube of ice was added to each glass and the glasses gently shaken to mix the drink. The result was everything we had been promised. It was a deliciously refreshing drink with more complex flavours than you get with Pernod or Ricard. Pâté was served with lots of fresh bread to accompany the drinks.

For entrées we had Gnocchis en pavés de Semoule au Roquefort and Rissoles au Farçun en coulis de Tomates. Our main course choices were Filet de Julienne à la Fondue de Poireaux and Hampe de Bœuf Grillée avec Crème au Roquefort. Each of the dishes was nicely cooked and well presented and the accompanying vegetables were cooked to perfection. The flavours of the Roquefort sauces were delicate and enhanced the underlying flavour of the dishes.

Next came the cheese trolley. Ten different Roquefort cheeses. Were we in heaven or were we just imagining this? Three cheeses – Abeille, Barbagnaude and Templier – represented Société Roquefort, responsible for over 82 per cent of the total Roquefort cheese production. Then there were cheeses from Papillon (about 11 per cent of the total production), Crouzat, Carles, Coulet, Cantorel, Vernières and Vieux Berger, the smallest of the producers. Each of these cheeses was different in texture, flavour and piquancy but all were rich, creamy pieces of heaven. For those poor people who didn’t like ‘blue’ cheese, there was a wide selection of hard and soft ‘white’ cheeses.

For dessert we chose a delicious Tarte aux Mirabelles and an unusual cardamom flavoured Crème Brulée. Coffee was served with a large basket of meringues.

We were not disappointed. It was an excellent meal. The service was very good and the atmosphere most pleasant. All in all, it was extremely good value at 110FF and a reminder as to how good and how reasonable in price French food can be.

Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, 14 kilometres from St. Affrique is an uninspiring place. Really, it is just a factory town dominated by the warehouses that give the cheese manufacturers access to the caves below the village. Part of the limestone cliffs of the Combalou plateau slipped on its clay base creating the caves or "fleurines" used to store and mature the cheeses. Cool and damp air flows through the "fleurines" creating the ideal conditions for the growth of the Roquefort mould and cheese maturation. The word "fleurine" is derived from the old Langue d’Oc word "flarina" meaning "to blow".

Unusually for a French town of nearly 700 people there was no café, no village square, not even a boules court. The only places to get anything to eat were a very ordinary looking créperie and a fast food outlet operated by Société Roquefort, the largest of the cheese producers. The small boulangerie was open but had virtually nothing in it. One guide book describes Roquefort as "Clinging to a hillside, its steep, narrow streets – permeated with a cheesy smell – are crammed with tourists.…." Maybe it’s like that in the cheese production season from November to April. Société Roquefort claims that their tours are the second most popular industrial tourist attraction in France. We went on a tour of the Papillon caves, the second biggest producers, but there was no cheese to be seen or smelt. There was nothing to see, just row upon row of empty shelves in the cold and damp caves. Outside, the cool wind continued to blow. It was most unpleasant. It was a relief to head back to St. Affrique.

Much of the land around here is part of the Parc Naturel Régional des Grands Causses. The countryside east of la Cavalèrie is very dry and desolate and is known locally as a great desert. It was quite barren for the several kilometres it took us to ride passed one of the French armed forces' war games grounds. On the other side of the road we passed a number of flocks of sheep that provide some of the milk for Roquefort cheese. The hunting season had started and we passed several parties of men out hunting with their dogs. Suddenly as we passed the hamlet of les Liquisses, the countryside changed and started to become more lush and green.

Near the start of the steep drop into the lush valley of the River Dourbie and the town of Nant, we came across a well-organised group of hunters. They had lookouts, perched on high rocky outcrops on the side of the cliff, who signalled the whereabouts of the wild boar to the shooters in the valley below. We saw some of them later in Nant where they proudly showed off the two boar they had shot. On the ride into Nant, we had delightful views over the town and the valley where the various colours of the cultivated fields contrasted with the dramatic landscape of the rugged limestone cliffs.

Nant is an attractive little town founded by monks in the seventh century. The monks were responsible for draining and converting the swampy land into the rich, fertile valley we see today. We stopped for coffee and pastries in the arcaded square. After some confusion, we found our way to the campground on the outskirts of the town. The guardien is a friendly old man.

The wind continued to blow strongly most of the day but fortunately, for most of the time it was a tail wind.

The ride was dramatically beautiful as we followed the narrow valley of the Dourbie River. Rugged limestone cliffs soared skywards at every vista. Columns of limestone stood like parts of ruined castles. Tiny villages clung to small outcrops of rock. At each turn of the road there was another spectacular view. The only problem was the wind, which today was blowing as a headwind.

We reached Millau in time for lunch at a small café not far from the campground where we stayed.

At about half past ten we set out on a quiet road on the left bank of the river. For the first couple of kilometres until we passed all the campgrounds, we had a separate bike path to ride on. From there to Paulhe, it was a pleasant ride with not a lot of traffic. At Paulhe we crossed over the Tarn into Aquessac and joined the horrendously busy N9 for a couple of hundred metres. The residents of this poor town will be very pleased when the new autoroute is completed as the never-ending traffic jam will largely disappear. The two boulangeries in town were closed but we managed to buy some bread in a small grocery shop. It was the only thing in town that was open. There were numerous houses on the main road for sale. Who would want to buy with the traffic noise as it is?

The D907, which followed the Tarn, was pleasantly quiet and there was very little traffic, perhaps one or two motor vehicles every quarter of an hour. It felt as though we had the road to ourselves and we could relax and enjoy the magnificent scenery. In the height of summer, this narrow two-lane road is often jammed with thousands of cars, buses and caravans. Once again we were happy to be travelling outside the main holiday season.

As we approached le Rozier, the scenery became increasingly dramatic. There were lots of campgrounds along the road but most were closed for the season. At le Rozier we entered the Tarn Gorges. The mountains soared dramatically above the narrow river valley with numerous rocky outcrops that looked rather like ruined castles. From les Vignes to la Malène the gorge narrowed considerably and there was hardly enough space for the road along the river's edge. A couple of picturesque hamlets clinging to tiny plots of land on the other side of the river could only be reached by small flying foxes.

The spectacular and narrow Gorges du Tarn between les Vignes and la Malène

As we approached la Malène, we wondered if there would be enough land available for a village but suddenly, the valley widened and the picturesque stone buildings appeared. Located at a junction of the roads crossing the Sauveterre and Méjean causses, la Malène has been an important thoroughfare since pre-historic times. For centuries, large flocks of sheep crossed the Tarn River here on their way to and from the high pastures of the causses. The 16^th century château of the Barons of Montesquieu is now an attractive hotel at the crossroads. There were lots of tourists in the village taking advantage of the canoe and boat trips through the gorges.

Once again we camped in a delightful campground by the river. After setting up camp we wandered around the village. The small grocery shop had hardly any stock. Now that the main part of the tourist season was over it had allowed its stock to run down. There was so little available that we decided to eat out that evening and had a very pleasant meal in the small pizzeria in the centre of the town.

Once the sun dropped behind the high cliffs of the gorge, the temperature dropped sharply and we had a chilly night.

A French couple staying near us at the campground in Millau, told us that they thought Ste. Enimie was the best place they had visited in the Tarn valley. When we arrived in the village and saw all the souvenir shops, we thought how touristy it all appeared. Even though it was quite early in the morning, the large car park was already had a number of tourist coaches and motor caravans parked in it. The souvenir shops were doing a roaring trade. However, once we left the main road and walked up into the medieval village, everything changed. Tiny narrow lanes lined with old stone houses some of which date back to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries cling to the side of the cliff. It’s a very pretty and attractive place.

All the noblemen at court were in love with Princess Enimie who was exceptionally beautiful. She rejected all the marriage proposals she received, as she wanted to dedicate her life to God. Her brother, King Dagobert, thought this to be rather foolish of her and betrothed her to one of his barons. Enimie immediately came down with leprosy and was abandoned by her betrothed. The King’s physicians tried every known remedy but they all failed to cure her. An angel appeared to Enimie in a vision and told her that if she washed in the waters of a certain spring on the banks of the River Tarn, her beauty would be restored. She undertook the difficult journey and finally reached the spring. She dived into the pool and her illness disappeared. Happy with her miraculous cure, she set out on her return journey. She didn’t get very far before the signs of her leprosy returned. Another swim in the pool cured her but every time she tried to leave, her illness returned. She took this to be a sign from God and set out to build a nunnery on the site. Modern dermatologists think that Enimie was suffering from some form of nervous dermatitis whose symptoms eased when she was away from the pressures to marry at the court. In the good old days of medieval Europe, any skin disease was considered to be leprosy. The present day village is built on the site of her nunnery.

After Ispagnac, our quiet road ended and we had to join the busy N106 for the last few kilometres into Florac. Our campground was to be our last on the banks of the Tarn, which at this stage, was quite a small river. It started drizzling slightly as we set up camp but we managed to get our washing virtually dry in the strong wind that was blowing.

We decided to go out to dinner again and had to choose whether to ride the busy few kilometres into the town or to walk to the nearby Hotel de Rochefort. It was another of the two star Logis de France hotels that we had seen often over the last few days, so we felt sure that we would have a reasonable meal. Compared to the superb meal that we had at the Hotel Moderne in St. Affrique and the excellent meal we had in la Malène the previous evening, this dinner was a disaster and very poor value. The confit was dry, the potatoes overcooked and tasted like frozen ones. Lyn and Noelene had the menu express and got one tiny sausage with a couple of teaspoons of lentils as their main course. Noelene had chosen the Corbeille des Fruits instead of the cheese platter and got an apple on a plate. It was hardly a basket of fresh fruit. The cheese platter had lots of tiny left over remnants of pieces of cheese and it was whisked away after a couple of minutes without a word. The service was brusque and inattentive. The CSC-World Online professional cycling team stayed here during the Tour de France and their photographs covered the walls. We wondered whether they received better food and service than we did.

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