Wednesday 28th. September Palmyre – Montalivet (51kms)
I left my hotel with no regrets and having taken on supplies
from the local boulangerie, I was enjoying yet another fine day. The nearby
coastline was a marked change from the long sandy surf beaches. This coast was
a series of rocky bays and smooth sandy inlets. Sadly, the path along the prom
took a turning into the urbanisation of Royan. Along with the change of scenery
was the change in the topography of the road and it was this latter that
endorsed my previous decision to stay in Palmyre overnight. The buildings were
generally very beautiful and undoubtedly very expensive, but the roadway was a
tad hummocky. For fresh legs this was a challenge easily met but yesterday’s
tired legs might have struggled.
Away from the towns there was much evidence of the activities
of the last war. Embedded into the dunes and rocks of the coast were the
remains of ammunition stores and concrete shelters presumably protecting the
mouth of the Gironde. Running alongside the constructions was an old small
gauge railway line which would have transported the killing machines and the
soldiers. Its present rebirth as a tourist train shows a determination to
improve and, for a new generation, to forget.
Back with a sea view, I stopped to admire a memorial
constructed to commemorate the ‘Cockleshell Heroes.’ Standing and looking down
at the place where they had boarded their canoes and, taking in the vastness of
the estuary, it was hard to imagine men so brave. It was an intimidating sight
in broad day light in peacetime but to paddle a canoe in complete darkness up the
river to wreak havoc among German shipping with the ever present danger of
being seen and shot was truly inspiring. That even two survived to return to
the submarine seems incredible: that so many died is a tragedy.
My wait for the ferry was around two hours during which time
I found the ‘people watching’ quite fascinating. I have remarked during this
trip on my own that, as an elderly female, I am all but invisible. The great
advantage of this, is that no one views me as any kind of threat. Occasionally
my presence is acknowledged with a nod and a curious embarrassment but more
usually it is ignored. I find this very liberating as I am able to gaze
unhindered at the endless idiosyncrasies of the human. As the waiting continued,
I was joined by every sort of motorised transport and a handful of other
cyclists. Of the latter, one couple held my particular interest, as the only
evidence of their bikes were the wheels, which were just visible, poking out
from a multitude of panniers and rucksacks! I have seen many loaded expedition
bikes, but these were on a whole new level. Among my other fellow cyclists were
a family of two parents and two young children who were sharing a trailer. Dad
towed kids and rucksack and mum, the panniers. I cannot help but applaud this
type of undertaking.
We did eventually board the boat for a voyage which lasted
around thirty minutes. During this time, my flag attracted the attention of a
little man who beset me with the usual questions but did, in return, provide me
with a nugget of information. He assured me that the track from Pointe de la
Grave (the ferry destination) to Montalivet provided an excellent and unbumpy
surface – and he was not wrong.
By the time that I reached Montalivet, it was already 15.30.
The next town to offer suitable overnight accommodation was still some 30 kilometres
further on. Erring on the side of caution, I sought a likely bed for the night.
This was a bit of a one horse town and I chose one of the only two hotels still
open.
My evening wander took in the nearby beach on which surfers
of varying competence were enjoying the waves of the evening high tide.
Youngsters were shrieking with delight in safe and shallow waters while the
older experienced exponents were taking intrepid rides on the much larger and
longer waves further along the shore. Not quite such fun was the story told to
me by a couple I met on my return. A lady in a wheel chair and her companion
were happy to share her unfortunate story with me. She had been knocked off her
bike by a youth driving a car. The result was a broken leg and several weeks of
immobility. It served as a reminder to be ever cautious when sharing the
highway with motorised traffic.
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