Day 35: l'lsle Jourdain to Montrollet

September 30, 2023

Heart

Comment

Today started on a very off note, one that had begun to sound the night before. To review, the owners of our BnB, a place called La Maison Ribotteau, after berating us for showing up about an hour early, had announced that there could be no ebike battery charging in the house. They instead directed us to an outbuilding with very ratty electrics, and we settled down there to charge and also replace brake pads. Once charged, we disconnected the batteries and went to put them on the bikes, which had been moved to a garage that is part of the main house. But the garage had been locked, so we just hung on to the batteries, in the bag with our sleep clothes, etc.

Matters rested that way as we wrote the blog, and went to bed. It was after dark but still quite early in the evening. We were asleep, when Bang Bang Bang, someone was at our door. At first this did not register, but then BANG BANG BANG. Fortunately I have semi decent sleep clothes, meant for situations with shared bathrooms. I opened the door and here was Keith, who together with Ann owns the place (which in deference to their British origins, we have begun to refer to as Fawlty Towers).

"Where are the e-bike batteries?", he demanded. "Whaa?" I replied to this unusual initiative. "THE BATTERIES! WE WENT TO CHECK, AND THEY ARE NOT ON THE BIKES!" "Errm, the garage was locked, they are sleeping here with us". "NO, NO, this is my house, and they can not be in here." he snapped. "Lookit, see this ear bud. It's also lithium ion and it is right by my brain. Do you want to confiscate that as well?" was my retort. "Out, out, those batteries must go out!", he was adamant.

"I am in my bare feet, but I will trust you to carry these batteries to the bikes. By the way, you do realize that the giant SUV you have in that same garage is filled with flammable liquids?" With that, I slammed the door.

I was thinking that at most places, in the morning they ask "Did you sleep well?" Ha, good thing these folks were unlikely to ask that. But despite the fact that we had paid for breakfast, I went and told them that we did not feel welcome here, and if they would open their darn garage door, we were leaving.

Mrs. began to rekindle the argument and to defend their position. They were professional BnB ers and had the opinions of electricians and insurance specialists to back them up. I suggested that if they wanted to be professional and also paranoid about fire risk, they should first attend to faulty wiring in their building and get a fire extinguisher for their kitchen. It ended there, but not before we picked up their card for "How Was Your Stay?" on Trip Advisor. A silver lining was that I could then spend some hours mentally reworking what I would say on Trip Advisor while pedaling.

Our first stop, after flouncing off, was in the village. There we found the Coop store to be open, and in deference to the nearby baker being on vacation, the Coop lady had brought in a full supply of baked goods. We loaded up on stuff both for the missed breakfast and for lunch, and ate the breakfast on a nice stone wall in front of the closed bakery.

The countryside hereabouts is quiet and gentle, looking generally like the photo below.

We had been forming the opinion that this is mainly sheep country, but it seemed to be changing, back in favour of cattle.

The cattle we are seeing are brown, and we are debating if these are plain brown, or caramel. In any event, they are likely Limousin cattle, since we are just west of the Limousin region.

We continue to see lots of hunters around, all wearing orange. We hope they recognize us as, if not hunters, then at least not big game. We stopped by a group of them and Dodie asked what they were hunting. "Anything that moves", was the slightly disturbing reply. I then asked about pheasants, but they said no, mainly deer and sanglier (wild boar). That figures, because we were then passing through an oak forest. mmm, acorns!

Our roads were generally quite small. They were so small that they tended to peter out and become tracks. Dodie had to be careful to find routings other than what our track showed but that would still work. She is proud of having found the way, and paid a small fee to get that shoutout here.

We stopped for our sandwiches in the little town of Bussiere-Boffy. Dodie noticed that the church had its "hat" on crooked. That's understandable, since the church is listed as being from the 11th - 13th century. Inside, it did appear suitably medieval. But once again, the statues looked like they were randomly picked up at a church supply store.

Looks medieval. The sign outside mentioned it would be like this.

This, however, is a kind of unique and weird statue.

The sign touts this entrance as unique, with five arcs, in Limousin style. OK.

This is not necessarily the best example, but most buildings here are very attractively made, from stone. In this shot, we see three colours of shutters.

We arrived at our auberge, early again! But this time the proprietor was very apologetic that his wife had not yet finished the room. We got sat at those tables in the shade, and brought some water. For a while we had some Dutch people to sit with us. They were eating moule, frites. We talked about Belgian fries, cycle ways we had tried and they had tried. It's not that they were cycle tourists here. They were here for 1/2 year, sort of as residents. But as Dutch, they of course were qualified to talk about all kinds of cycle routes. For example, they seemed to like the Veloroute des Deux Mers. I think we may seen be on that!

The bikes wait patiently to be brought to their spot for the night.

These fries, all agreed, were a little greasy, but I like that, Dodie not so much. The proprietor was saying that they love Canadians. To help us feel at home, he referred to the fries as "patates frites", giving that the proper Quebec pronunciation.

In due course the lady of the auberge appeared to announce that our room was ready. No doubt in contrast to yesterday's snooty British, we found her manner very friendly, and unpretentious. The room was like that too, very plain, yet functional.

The front door of the bar-restaurant had been closed, in the French manner, to fend off any potential clients in mid afternoon. So we went out back with our lady, to discuss where the bikes should go. We found the boss (and his son, we guess) in the hot tub, shown in this discreet photo. Mrs. is saying what do we do with the bikes. We stuffed them in the bar, of course.

Montrollet is a very small place, with a population arond 300. It's main claim to fame is a central lake - pond really. We set out for a stroll around this. Very pretty!

We are all set for a quiet night, and we know we can expect no harassment whatever. And in the morning we will calmly sit for the breakfast the auberge lady will set out. Then we'll mount our deadly batteries on the bikes in the bar, and sail happily off toward Limoges.

Today's ride: 51 km (32 miles)
Total: 1,915 km (1,189 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	14
Comment on this entry	Comment	4

Keith KleinHi,
Sue and I have experienced similar treatment by English proprietors, both expat in Europe and in their home country. While not by any means a universal characteristic, there does seem to be a strain of the Saxon comportement that sees « service » in demanding that the client bend to the house rules and not even trying to accommodate the clients needs. I also note that there is an element of the British class system in this, and the likes of you and me will never be deemed worthy of respect. This is how we ended up spending an evening dining with a French couple in a Malaga bar New Year’s Eve because our English « hosts » would rather close their restaurant to paying clients and drink the night away with their fellow « expats » than serve the European riff raff on one of the busiest nights of the year. Even though we had all booked in advance, dinner reservations included. Maybe brexit has sent some of these snobs home, but you apparently ran into them anyway.
While it can be pleasant to speak one’s native tongue in a foreign land, it doesn’t match with the experience one has with your typical French host who, every time in my experience so far, will always find a way to accommodate your needs while maintaining decorum.
To be completely fair, I am sure there are jerks everywhere, and most Brits are lovely people, but so far our worst experiences travelling have involved natives of that fair isle. I hope your further travels are more serene and without further nocturnal visits from irrational twats.
Cheers,
Keith
Reply to this comment
1 year ago

Rich FrasierTo Keith KleinOur meager experience matches Keith's. British expats running B&Bs are by and large lovely, accommodating people. But just a couple of times, we've run into the kind of behavior you experienced. I'm far from an expert, but I think Keith is onto something with the reference to social class. I'm sorry it happened to you, and wanted to thank you for publishing the name of the B&B. That's a service to all the rest of us.
Reply to this comment
1 year ago

Keith KleinTo Rich FrasierHi Rich,
Your reply came to me, not Steve. Chances are he never saw it, even though you were addressing him and not me. Just so you know.
Cheers,
Keith
Reply to this comment
1 year ago

Steve Miller/GrampiesTo Keith KleinWe actually did see both replies, but only because we scrolled down past Keith's after reading it. Not sure who this will get to, but we agree with both of you.
Reply to this comment
1 year ago