Tournon and on

Tournon sur Rhone

Tournon sur Rhone, a very old town on the Rhone faces the famous wine producing Tain-l’Hermitage’ across the river. The steep hillsides of the Tain are a patchwork of well-groomed  vines stretching up to a spotlit tiny chapel on the top, just beside telecommunications tower. We scored a riverside camping spot which had a great view of Tain-l’Hermitage, we claimed it as ours by Jane standing in the middle of the plot staring down all possible takers while Stuart returned with the truck. Fabulous view of the river, river craft and a swan family.

 Tournon swan and babies - photo credit Stuart

The castle in Tournon is founded on a megalith of rock right in the middle of town alongside the main drag, it dates back to 894. The maze of alleys behind the castle make up the old part of the town, very interesting but with an aroma of dog pee. Just off the alleys I walked along the old main street that was full of fascinating little specialist shops. I had time to check them out properly as Stuart climbed the hillside behind them in the scorching (31+ C) heat taking a ‘special shot’. 

Tournon sur Rhone

Plane trees line the main sandy square in town and under their shade petanque players battle it out. Large river tour boats moor alongside the square, just along from our pozzie.

photo credit Stuart

The last time I was here I couldn’t get enough of Tournon (and the chocolate factory) so had to return for a second time. Valrhona is one of the most highly respected producers of chocolate in the world and they have a Cite du Chocolat which is an educational experience. Throughout the educational experience are samples of the different types of chocolate, they have single origin chocolates just like coffee and whisky. The gift shop had even more samples which made me wonder about my true reason to visit this mecca of chocolate.

One whole day in Tournon was spent trying to keep as cool as possible as the thermometer just kept climbing, reaching a peak by about 5pm. Our site is under trees but even with all the windows open it was 43C inside.  

photo credit Stuart

We took a ride on a tiny steam train along a narrow gorge track, basically to have lunch at another village. One man in our uncomfortable, third class, rattling and shaking carriage seemed rabidly excited, hanging out of the window as much as he could. A showering of soot and small cinders was his reward. At peak heat time – 5pm, absolutely gasping for drinks, we collected the truck from the station carpark and made our way back to the campsite. While I popped into a supermarket, Stuart popped into Mr Bricolage – “a wonderous place, much better and cheaper than Bunnings”. So wonderous that he bought a bag of bricolage – most of it to do with plumbing. I fended off two potential takers from our vacated but ‘reservee’ spot and we had a quick dinner before joining the Fetes de Musiques which is held all over France on 21 June to mark the longest day. There was live music and dancing in front of the bars in town, which looked as if it would carry on for quite a while.

The GPS on my phone was programmed with NANTUA as the destination. The old GPS sat along alongside spitting out lies and falsehoods. It seemed a long haul to get around Lyon and quelle horreur we ended up on a pay road. Nantua is close to the Swiss border and despite the spirit-level in Stuart’s head wanting to face the block-wall we faced the bright blue lake.  The front of the truck rested on two large flat stones to appease the spirit-level. Children in optimists were struggling to manage their craft in the windy conditions, white caps whipped up crazily.

Nantua memorial

On a promontory facing the young sailors was a large white monument, a coffin with open sides containing a skeletal body. A lone tricolour flailed in the wind overhead. It was a poignant memorial to citizens of Nantua taken by Nazis in WWII, the puppet government in Vichy at the time demanded a quota of people that were on their 'undesirable' list and Nantua had to fill the number from their citizenry. 

The houses in the town were narrow and stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs to towering cliffs. Up a narrow alley was a museum dedicated to the French Resistance and the lives of the Maquis (guerrilla type fighters who took their name from the low scrub growing on the hills). There was only a smattering of English translation, but we got the story the museum had to tell. The Ain area and Nantua will remain in my memory for a long time. 

Baume-les-Messieurs

We happened upon Baume-les-Messieurs by accident – I put my finger on a red star on the map and away we went.  Down a narrow, windy road into a deep Cotswold-looking valley. The church spire (actually an abbey) poked its finger up through the cluster of houses around it. No thatched cottages but hump back stone bridges, lots of leafy trees, stone buildings and shallow stone-lined stream gave it that English look. What a contrast to dramatic Nantua. We will stay in the lovely campsite for a couple of days and plan our next sortie.

Au revoir