A Reunion with Friends, and A Dream Tractor Ride, Charroux

Zagan the motorhome’s in full shade, a blissful state of affairs resulting in a cool, content, and snoring pooch. In turn this leads to harmony between the human population inside, making a minor contribution to the goal of World Peace. The village of Charroux, one of the most beautiful in France (and that’s saying something), has provided us with a free, tree-planted, grassy parking area a couple of minute’s walk from the medieval centre (N46.18287, E3.16365).

Free and very pleasant motorhome parking at Charroux in the Bourbonnais, central France

Before dropping down here, we spent a couple of blissful days at our friends Jamie and Rosie’s five acre homestead near Saint Hilaire, about 20km from Moulins. Ju and I have had more than our fair share of good fortune in our lives, and meeting these guys five years ago was surely a continuation of Lady Luck smiling on us. Towards the end of our first looooooong tour, the two of us were about to embark on the challenge of coming home after two years, finding somewhere to live, getting jobs and acting normal again. The support they gave to us just prior to embarking on his endeavour, earnestly telling us we could achieve anything if we set out minds to it, helped the already-planted seeds of freedom to germinate, grow and finally blossom. We’ll be forever grateful for that: when you think about it, how often does someone invite you to their home, feed you, water you, and tell you just how wonderful a human being you are? Not often enough? But these two are experts at it, and generous ones at that.

Zagan at Jamie and Rosie’s Homestead in Central France

Jamie and Rosie are world travellers, who’ve lived in motorhomes and boats in the past before splitting their time between the UK and France more recently. In their latest exploits they’ve left their 200 year-old farmhouse to travel around the world using a combination of flights and public transport, crossing Russia and various lengthy forays across the USA. Their next journey, when they’ve finished cutting the grass grown from the last trip away, is looking like an epic train-based navigation of the Med, from Algeria across Tunisia to Sicily, up Italy and back to France. They’ve a lot of experience of travel, and make the point, as they did the first time we met, that travel for them is about meeting people.

A cool place under the oak tree to sup tea and watch the world go by

Fascinating tales followed. Slugging vodka with Russian airforce officers crossing Siberia, understanding the innocence of a young Amish couple on a train in the US, being taken aback by the resilience of a New Orleans lady whose house was destroyed by Katrina, being awed by the 24-hours-a-day work ethic of Taiwanese workers, meeting a rocket scientist who turned into a life-long friend. The both of us get this. Different modes of travel offer different opportunities for engagement with other people. Motorhome travel can be done with nothing but the most superficial contact with folks around you. This might be something you choose to do, or it could be imposed upon you by a language barrier. Long distance travel on public transport, especially in English-speaking countries, makes it far more likely you’ll get chatting with folks, and more in-depth contact will come as a result. It’s certainly something we’ll consider doing in the future.

Charlie’s not impressed though. He looks like he’s had about 10 pints here?

In among the travel talk, and being fed and watered like royalty, I got to enjoy a small dream come true in the form of a tractor. You see, I’ve long had the oddball desire to cut grass on a sit-on lawnmower, and having 5 acres of grass to cut, they had not one, but three! The biggest of which was mounted on the back of a tractor, which Jamie foolishly invited me to have a go on, and then, once I’d finally gotten the courage, couldn’t get me off. A spring located at the edge of their land, which had been carefully corralled with stone in the dim and distant past, was now somewhat overgrown, so we all piled down there armed with the tractor, gloves and rakes to clear it. Several hours and several tea and cake breaks later, my face has hardened into a manic grin after having cut grass, mangled brambles, flattened molehills, pulled up trees (that had to the highlight, ooooh, yeah) and generally trundled about like a kid. Fantastic!

Uggggg! I rip up tree!!! UUUUGGGGGGG!!!

Grass!! Feel my wrath!!! Yes, I did imagine myself as Forrest Gump.

Being able to talk to people who’ve spent a long time living in the country you’re travelling through is also priceless. All of our curiosities were poured out: why the towns seemed so quiet (people tend to live in the rooms away from the road), why the fantastic aires network exists and where it came from (no-one quite seems to know for sure), why there are so many different versions of ham (because there are?), just how do you manage the moles (the ex-mayor who lives next door demonstrated a small explosive device!). The questions were fired off and fascinating insights came flowing back. An idea of just how much work is needed to keep five acres of land in good condition was also gained: a lot, and you need a barn-full of expensive tractors and stuff to do it.

More tractor! MORE!!!! TRACTOR!!!!

This morning, loaded down with a Fiat motorhome jack (they just happened to have one spare!), trifle, slices of home-made coffee and walnut cake, an old copy of the Rough Guide to Turkey and a bowl of blancmange for Charlie, we waved au revoir. Just before we squeezed past their Hymer and off the driveway, Jamie repeated what he’d told us all those years ago: we’d created a unique opportunity for ourselves, and quite rightly he told us not to waste it and to continue to chase down our dreams. We will Jamie, we promise, just as soon as we work out what they are! For the moment we’re very much enjoying our life here on the road, ambling in the sunshine from place to place, free to sit and listen to the hoots of owls and the frantic rasps of crickets.

The ‘source’ when we’d finished clearing it – it’s under the oak tree.

Here at Charroux we’ve been for a wee walk about the deep-cobbled streets, peering into all the various artisan shops described by the cheeseweb.eu guys here. I have to bow down to their enthusiasm for investigating and describing ’em all, as I simply can’t be bothered with anything I’m not particularly interested in, so the candle, jam and local speciality foods shops didn’t get a look-in. Mustard though, I’ll shell out for, especially if I can taste a load of different flavours and get something explosive enough to see off a mole. The winner: Pourpre, Moutarde au Jus de Raisin. Purple Raisin Mustard. Tasty and powerful, I admit to a tear in my eye after trying a tad too much of the stuff. At €5.90 for 100g, I feel like we’ve paid our way a teeny bit for the freebie parking, and I’ve some face-punching sandwiches heading my way in the coming days. Winner.

View north across the French fields from Charroux

Mustard tasting in Charroux. I liked all of ’em, a message my face doesn’t appear to convey…

The streets of Charroux

One of Charroux’s old gates

Right, enough time banging away at a keyboard! The sun shines, I ran a half marathon before breakfast and there’s cold beer in the fridge. Gotta go folks.

Cheers, Jay