Tuesday 3, Wednesday 4 and Thursday 5 May

This house, Les Couges, is just gorgeous.

  It’s casual and comfortable and perfect for our holiday.  On Tuesday morning we drive into nearby Beaumont du Perigord, where we peruse the market place.  Our purchase of the olives nearly breaks the bank.  They are lovely olives though and I am saving the stones because I am sure once I clean them I will discover gold.  We do some basic shopping, find a bouchier with an array of such enticing meats that we are seen to drool.  Eventually we buy rabbit for tonight, which Garry and Di will cook, and order four pigeons to collect tomorrow.  I have found a recipe I want to try out on the guinea pigs here (although I won’t serve guinea pig on this occasion) and it’s not that easy to find pigeon in Australia, unless you happen to be driving recklessly through Hyde Park.  After a coffee in the square, we return home to devour the remainder of last night’s slow cooked lamb, courtesy of these wonderful cooks we are sharing this holiday with.  Thanks, Di and Garry.

We then head out again, this time to the local town Monpazier, and what a lovely town it is.  One of the ‘plus beaux villages de France’, it is old.  In fact it was founded in 1284 by England’s King Edward 1 and remains pretty much unchanged since then.

 We managed to find an English speaking woman in the little library who printed out a driver licence receipt which Cherrie has downloaded from the RMA website, which we hope might allow her to drive in France.

Tonight our personal chefs create a wonderful rabbit dish with tomato and olives.  How fabulous to have such talent in house.

Wednesday 4 May

Today we decide to do some gardens.  We plan our day carefully around picking up the pigeons and decide that we will do the gardens first and then come home via Beaumont and the Boucherie.  So, we head out early and drive the one hour to Sarlat, a beautiful drive through this glorious countryside.  It’s so pretty, and varies between valleys, hills and flat, unlike the Loire and Languedoc, both of which don’t vary much.  We go drive through the medieval town of Sarlat to the gardens of Marqueyssac, which we are told are spectacular.  Such a disappointment.  They are ALL box hedges, nothing else, trimmed into topiary.  But rather in need of a trim, actually.  A little bit scruffy.  And you know what box smells like don’t you?  Garry put his nose to one hedge and sniffed, as if it were a glass of wine.  “Mmm, Persian”, “Ah, Manx”, “Tabby”, “Tom” etc.  A perfect description.  Built basically as a park designed for walking, it does provide spectacular views of the Dordogne valley and river.  But we find the plantings and the topiary unimaginative and disappointing.

We retreat to Sarlat for lunch and find a beautiful little restaurant in a garden courtyard which does us nicely.  After lunch we head to our second and final garden for the day, Eyrignac Manor Garden another 3o minutes away.  This private garden does not disappoint, and whilst it too has lots of topiary they are set within mass plantings of yew, hornbeam, and more box but it is truly beautiful.

We happily spend a couple of hours wandering around here, Cherrie snapping away on my inadequate iphone, well compared to her beautiful Sony camera which some thief is now enjoying, until we decide that we’d better make tracks in order to reach the pigeons in time.

Our trusty in-car GPS leads us on a curious scenic route towards Beaumont.  We know that it is an hours drive but the butcher doesn’t close until 7pm so we’re not in a screaming hurry.  Which is clearly evident to the cars behind us, driven by impatient Frenchmen who have no time for our hesitation at roundabouts or us pulling over on roads too narrow to bear that description when confronted with an oncoming wide truck. However, we are undeterred and drive carefully through a number of very pretty towns.  We come unstuck in one however, and it’s not even pretty.  We hit something on the road that makes a frightful noise.  We pull up, half on the pavement in order to make as little impact on traffic as possible.  This is a pretty busy road, and so we quick thinkers even turn on the hazard lights. We all alight, and yes, there is it.  A flat tyre at the back.  Then we look to the front.  Another flat tyre.  Picture this if you will.  Two flat tyres, 5.15pm, paperwork for the rental car back at the house, busy road which we have now rendered single lane and four pigeons awaiting, which will not find their way to our home.  Trust me, it’s not a good look.    Garry’s phone is at 50%, mine at 30%, Di’s doesn’t work in France and Cherrie’s is in the hands of the same thief who is currently taking photos of his bastard children with her camera.  An internet hunt on my rapidly weakening phone reveals a  number for France Hertz.  I use Garry’s phone to ring but predictably get a recorded message and Hertz France has the temerity to speak in French.  I have no idea what they are saying.  I hang up and keep dialing, in the hope that the message will miraculously translate itself into English.  Perhaps unsurprisingly it does not.  Eventually a man approaches us. Ah, at last help is here we think.  Wrong.  He speaks no English at all.  I show him my Hertz Gold card in the hope that he can listen to the recorded message on the phone and at least advise them that we are in trouble and need to speak to someone in English.  Wrong again.  He has no idea what I am saying, thinks my member number is a phone number and that Christine Dunstan is the model of the car.  Well, I can see why I might be mistaken for a tank but this was no time for self reflection.  It’s getting more evident by the minute that this man cannot help us, until his daughter, maybe 7 years old, makes a suggestion to which he responds positively and off they head.  Did she suggest a beer, or dinner?  We are not sure but watch them head across the road, now quite congested thanks to us.  I continue the battle of the telephones, ringing every number I can find for Hertz, without any success at all.  By now Garry’s phone charge has equalled mine at 30%.  A few minutes later a man approaches us, and in the voice of an angel says “I believe you might need some help” He’s an Englishman!  He uses Garry’s phone, rings the Hertz number I give him, which of course is central reservations, but in his perfect French he turns on the charm and finds the number of the Hertz assistance line.  He rings that for us, listens to the message and presses 2, which means that I will speak to someone in English. Someone who understands what I am saying and will speak back to me in English.  Of course, the wait is interminable during which time we bond with our angel, David, and establish that we are probably 45 minutes from Les Couges.  Eventually, after literally 12 minutes, I do indeed get onto someone, explain the situation and then try to tell her where we are.  David fulfils that bit expertly, Miss Hertz tells me she will dispatch help and that I should ring her back once help comes.  We are relieved but uncertain what form this help will take.  David pops home and then returns to us with a list of taxi numbers if we need them.  He has even gone to the trouble of ringing some of the taxis himself, but they have all said that as tomorrow is a public holiday they can’t possibly take a fare tonight.  Go figure.  He has also spoken to a friend of his, explained the situation, and thinks that his friend may be able to drive us later if we are prepared to wait.  Such kindness.  Our French friend rejoins the party and everyone thinks we should move the car further up the road so that it can revert to two lanes.  This doesn’t seem a good idea to me as I fear that any movement will damage the wheel rims.  Lots of animated discussion about the pros of reopening the road vs the cons of moving the car until I pull rank and say that the contract is in my name and the car stays here.  Everyone steps back!  David then heads off to do some shopping and says he will pop by later to check up on us. Realising that we are not going to be consuming pigeon any time soon Di and Cherrie head off to a supermarket for emergency supplies for tonight and all day tomorrow – nothing open on a public holiday in France. 50 minutes later a huge tow truck pulls up.  Here is our assistance.  He looks at the tyres and shakes his head in some amusement.  He indicates that I should ring Hertz back and while I do, he, seemingly without effort, lowers the tray on his truck, carefully drives our car onto it, winches it up, raises the tray.  All one within 5 minutes.

Now he waits with us until Hertz answer – another 12 minutes at least.  He talks to them, tells us that we should wait at the Tabac up the road which is much more comfortable and drives off with a jaunty wave.  Hertz will organise a replacement car for us.  Tonight.  She will ring me back, on Garry’s phone.  My phone by now is down to 18% and we turn it off.   We head up the road, with two bags of our coats etc from the car and our groceries, and have a mineral water while we wait for Hertz to ring back with car details.  And wait, and wait.  Then I notice a missed call on Garry’s phone.  He curses that the phone has been problematic for ages and he never hears it ring.  The ‘do not disturb’ is on!  Get rid of that and ring Hertz back.  This wait is for 18 minutes.  They can’t get us a car tonight.  But they will get us a cab, that’s all included in our Amex insurance.  Oh joy to Amex again.  They know the pick up address, thanks to David, but the drop off address at Les Couges is another matter.  There is no address.  “Just get us to Lolme” I say “and we will direct the driver from there”.  “There is no place called Lolme” she says.  Banter between she and me goes on for a long time.  I try very hard to remain calm.   Meanwhile the others return to our original position down the road for fear that the taxi might arrive and we not be there, whilst I negotiate my way around this issue.  Garry’s phone is down to 12%, it’s now 8.15pm and I start to become seriously concerned that we might have to find David’s friend to drive us back.  But no, we have to stick with the insurance conditions which are that Hertz provide the taxi.  “My phone is going to be without charge very soon” I say “please let us direct the taxi”.  Somehow my pleas are heard and she says that a taxi will be here in 20-30 minutes.  Phew.  A text message comes through pretty quickly with a revised pick up time – 45 minutes.  We four pace, play silly “who am I games” and generally work hard to keep our spirits up. Garry paces further than us and fortunately is in sight of the Tabac when he sees a taxi pull in at 9.15pm.  The tow truck driver has told Hertz that we will be there!  Garry waves his arms about and attracts the drivers attention and we all make a relieved run for the cab.  He has no GPS, has not heard of Lolme either, but does know Monpazier which is a relief because we have no idea where we are.  He agrees to take us to Monpazier and allow us to navigate from there.  I tremulously turn my phone on – 6% – and my TomTom guides us to Les Couges.  We pull up at 10.10pm.  I think some of us thought we would never see this place again.  Wine and pate for dinner.  We are prisoners here until we speak with Hertz tomorrow to arrange a new car.

Thursday 5 May

We all sleep in, after an exhausting day yesterday.  I ring Hertz at 10am and undertake the usual wait.  I explain the situation and the kind woman offers to investigate and ring me back, which she does about an hour later.  We can’t pick up a car today because…it’s a public holiday.  She will ring me tomorrow!  We don’t mind too much, we are happy to have a day at home to potter.  I ring David to thank him for everything he did for us yesterday.  He came to find us but when we were not at the crime scene he assumed that everything had been resolved and was relieved to find “that France sometimes works”!  I told him we were at the Tabac but that everything had worked out.  I ring Trish Hobbs and Dany Chouet (who used to own Cleopatra in Blackheath), with whom we were to have a drink tonight.  They moved back to France 16 years ago and live near here.  We will see them tomorrow night instead.  Assuming we have a car.  We are literally marooned here without one.  There are worse places to be marooned but we have very few supplies.

Di makes a lovely Spanish omelette for lunch, and we eat outside on this lovely day.  We marvel at the perfect blue sky and what a busy flight path is over this part of France, as there are so many jet streams.

Hopefully tomorrow we will be whisked away in a taxi to a Hertz office and a shiny new car, with four functioning wheels.  Then we have to go to the butcher and explain the pigeons.  On our recent history I expect it will be the guillotine for us.