Thursday 24th May. Aigrefeuille-d’Aunis (6) to Royan
(7)
49.5 miles. 4hrs 37m riding time. Average speed: 10.7mph. Tota: 318miles
Today has been a difficult day,( although the cycling has been easy), because my bum is getting sore. It’s very hot and I was sweltering in a long-sleeved top that I had to wear over my cycling shirt to protect my burnt arms from the sun. I continued south on the D112 as far as Ardillieres then entered the marais (marshland) on a road that soon deteriorated from potholed tarmac to a rough dirt road; my mountain bike came into its own as I think a pure road bike would have been battered, buckled and shaken to bits here.
By late morning I had found the beginning of the veloroute that runs from St Hippolyte crossing the wide, slow-flowing river Charente on an old steel railway bridge. It joined up with a dirt trail running alongside the Canal de la Seudre on which I made excellent progress. My pace slowed again though on a broken tarmac road following the Canal de Broue until I arrived at the tiny village of St Sornin. I stopped in its café/bar and immediately stepped back in time. The floor was made of bare wooden boards with cast iron table legs bolted to them, the table tops worn away by years of use. The bar had no pumps, all drinks were served from a massive antique fridge that looked like a wardrobe with polished wooden sides and doors; even the table-football machine was plastic-free being cabinet-built in wood. This bar had never been altered or even decorated – ever! I told the patron, who was a charming old chap, what a fantastically authentic place he had. He smiled sheepishly and looked around him as if to say it had remained unchanged through economic necessity rather than choice. Given his age and the size of the village I suppose it’s only a matter of time before it follows most of France’s small village cafés and closes for good. I wish I’d taken some photos but at the time I feared monsieur might have thought me patronising.
Royan was bombed and shelled to oblivion during the Second World War then
re-built in the 1950s using mostly concrete with the grim architecture typical
of the period.
However, the colourful and impeccably kept gardens running along the promenade
help to soften the harsh impact of the buildings somewhat.
My hotel for tonight is the hotel Crystal. I was summoned to the first floor
reception by Madame who probably carbon-dates from well before the First
World War.
Her reception area was styled like a boudoir and Madame looked like the
old Queen Mother dressed up ready for a night at the opera. She relieved
me of a not unreasonable 27 euros before showing me to my room. It had a
shower but no toilet or TV. There was a toilet just across the landing and
those familiar with French TV will appreciate that not having a TV was probably
a blessing.
I checked out the location of the port and double-checked the sailing time
for tomorrow morning’s bac crossing of the Gironde estuary, then found
a restaurant for my evening meal. ‘Fumer ou non fumer?’ asked
the waitress, ‘Non’ said I - then she sat me next to a table
full of furiously smoking natives. Well I suppose she’s right –
I’m not smoking.
My bum is really sore, I checked it in the mirror tonight (as you do!) and
I looked like one of those monkeys you see at the zoo that insist upon wearing
their rectum and lower bowels inside out.
http://www.bernezac.com/passages_eau_royan_verdon.htm