I think it was John Lennon who said “life is what happens when you’re busy making plans.” He might have added that travel is what occurs when your train times, flight departures and hotel bookings don’t make sense.
As we continue our “grand tour” of Europe, did I mention that the whole point of traveling through France on this extended trip was so that I could show Sue around Avignon?
Just about two years ago my good friend Kieran Prendiville and I did our annual hike; on that occasion it was in Northern Provence and Avignon was our base. I remember at the time thinking, perfect travel companion though Kieran is, I would rather be there with Sue.
So, I said to her, when we do your research tour for your Wellington book, let’s travel via Paris and slip down to Avignon. The hypothetical itinerary was Sydney, Saigon, Paris, Avignon, Paris, London, Southampton, Glasgow, Berlin, Paris and back to Sydney via Saigon.
And, to hammer home how hypothetical this was, apart from Glasgow to Berlin, every leg onwards, from passing through Paris the first time, would be on a train. How sustainably responsible! How pie-in-the-sky fanciful!
As we were travelling in mid-October, we then revised the plan, thinking it might be more climate-smart to go north first, and work our way through the UK to the South of France as the nights drew in and the temperatures dropped.
And so the itinerary became Paris, Berlin, London, Southampton, Glasgow, London, Paris, Avignon, Paris. Meanwhile, the train elements had been slashed like an Elon Musk “efficiency” drive, and reduced to London to Southampton, then London to Paris and Avignon.
Chance would be a fine thing. There was another mouche in the onguent awaiting us.
Bonjour, Croque Monsieur
Sue has an old friend from her university days who now lives in France (and has done for 40 years). Come and join us in Avignon, we said. I had already identified the perfect two-bedroom apartment from my last visit.
Non, she replied. “Come and visit me in Limoges. I want to show you my home, like you showed me yours.”
Small town in the central west of France versus Sydney city and its myriad attractions? That’s the very definition of false equivalence, but hey-ho, Avignon can wait.
Now, at this juncture I have to point out that Limoges – pronounced lee-mawzh, it turns out – has a significant place in the Thomson family history. About 40 years ago, my son Jamie, his mother, a friend and I rented a gite, which nowadays would be called an Airbnb cottage, in the village of Chateau-Chervix
To get there, we had to travel through Limoges, and that’s where, forty years ago, I encountered my first croque monsieur and croque madame. For those of you who don’t know, a croque monsieur is basically a toasted cheese and ham sandwich covered in melted cheese or preferably bechamel sauce. It is not a health food.
Apparently croque monsieur means Mister Crunch, an essential part of its appeal. A croque madame is the same with a fried egg on top. I can feel my arteries clogging just from typing that.
My point is, when I told Jamie we’d be staying in Limoges, his first response was, “Limoges. Croque Monsieur!” Forty years on, that cheesiest of toasted cheese and ham sandwiches is not only not forgotten, it’s the first thing we think of when we hear the city’s name. You can see a picture in the slide show and find a recipe HERE.
Limoges leaves its mark
Otherwise, Limoges is a tough sell but well worth a detour. Sue has written a travel piece about the city in the SMH and Melbourne Age called “Why I stayed in the city that France forgot… and loved it.”
Even the official French tourist guide is far from effusive. It says that while “it does not usually feature high on the tourist trail, there are various sights of interest here and a visit is well worth the time if you are staying in the vicinity.”
In other words, worth a look but don’t put yourself out. Apparently, Napoleon thought so little of Limoges that he sent his out-of-favour generals there.
More recently the French national rail network, having toyed with including Limoges, routed its fast north-south TGV lines farther to the west to Bordeaux and over to the east through Lyon. Napoleon would have approved.
That said, its splendid railway station was recently voted the most beautiful in France.
Now, my other abiding, 40-year memory of Limoges and Chateau-Chervix was Lac Vassiviere, an artificial lake about 20-minutes drive from Limoges. Back in the day, in the early 1980s, this was where I saw my first ever topless sunbather. Between the croque monsieur and the cool mademoiselle, Limoges left its mark.
We drove to Lac Vassiviere this time around but everyone was fully clothed, it being October. Seriously, it is beautiful, peaceful and a million miles from the hubbub of Paris and the jostling throngs in the alleyways of Avignon.
There is a weird lighthouse-like building there – even weirder because you are 100 kms from the sea – which turns out to house a booming, soundscape echoey experience, all leading, via a long spiral staircase, to a viewing platform. The spendid vista is only slightly ruined by the intrusion of a long art gallery below.
No crowds, no queues
To be fair, Limoges is a lovely little town and feels like real France. Not too touristy but plenty of old French buildings shuffling down the valley to a beatiful river – plus a stunning cathedral – to remind you that Australia is a very young country.
This city will come into its own when travellers get sick of the crowds and queues in the major tourist traps that are getting more overcrowded every year,
Did I mention the plan to travel there by train – the Channel Tunnel from London then south from Paris – was kiboshed when we discovered we could fly from Stansted for about $130 each – less money in about one-fifth of the time?
I should point out that I had almost screwed up spectacularly by failing to take and hour off the train arrival and departure times between London and Paris. Bullet dodged.
In any case, it was a lot cheaper and faster and, hey, we paid the dubious carbon offset tax and the climate’s going to Hell in a handcart anyway. But seriously, I fear our carbon footprint from this trip has evolved from an organic bamboo thong to a giant plastic clown shoe. Ah well, ca va as they might say in Limoges.
By the way, if you want to sample croque monsieurs and their variations in Australia, look at this guide from SBS and vegetarians can sample a croque forestier, with mushrooms instead of ham, at Manon in the QVB in Sydney. Bon appetit.
Meanwhile, it’s off to Limoges’ spectacular station – yes, we catch a train at last – where we see another Australian writer, Kate Morton, or an ad for her latest book, got there before us. Then it’s Paris, here we come.
