A Flying Visit.
February isn't the best time of year to see the Deux-Sèvres at its finest, but that was when my brother and father flew into town. The weather was terrible, everything was shut but luckily we all love an excuse to drink and eat to excess and have a good laugh or 'craic' as my brother kept calling it (he has recently gained Irish citizenship).
Dad has a dicky knee and can't walk too far as well as bladder issues, so with these factors in mind an itinerary of events had been crafted. I informed him that France was the place to be if you had to relieve yourself at the side of the road...positively encouraged. He was like an old Tom cat piddling his way around 79.
The itinerary went something like: Monday evening - big slap-up meal on arrival, Tuesday - we head south culminating in a big slap-up meal in Niort, Wednesday - head north culminating in a big slap-up meal in Thouars, Thursday - play it by ear, maybe Saumur, maybe La Rochelle, but a big slap-up meal. Friday (departure day) – Parthenay followed by a farewell feast.
Our first port of call on Tuesday was the Orangerie at La Mothe-Saint-Héray. A beautiful building and parterre alluding to the grandeur of the château which was sadly demolished in 1843. The footprint of the château is now the ghostly car park encircled by trees and beautiful waterways.
Post luncheon in Niort, the Abbey at Celles-sur-Belles was next and after pootling round another parterre we staggered up the hill to the church. We had forgotten there were several steep steps leading into the body of the church so dad, like Gandalf the Grey sat in the entrance 'You shall not pass!' I'm not a huge connoisseur of churches, unlike my brother who can't get enough of them, but this was really something... big, vaulted ceiling, pillars, with the mother of all organs stuck to the wall above the entrance, like a giant limpet (Anna, my wife, said the church would make a nice swimming pool, which I thought was an odd comment).
After driving through Saint-Maixent-l'Ecole for the fourth time that day and, like a bad tour guide, informing the guests this was where we purchased our now deceased chickens, it was home for refreshments and an evening viewing of The Magnificent Seven. Most families have an aunt or uncle they only see at Christmas and sometimes Easter, we have a similar relationship with Yul Brynner and James Coburn.
Wednesday's stage of the tour de France took us north. A nice lady at Château Onion (as we hilariously call it) informed us Oiron was temporarily closed and could we come back later. We ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the outside of the building but knew the inside would have to wait for another day. Visiting Thouars we drove down to the river and ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the escarpment of houses, churches and historic buildings clinging to the hillside. What a panorama! After lunch at the Trompe Souris café (D938, right at the speed camera) it was home to watch the making of The Magnificent Seven.
On Thursday storm Louis swept into town. Sunbathing was cancelled as was our trip to Saumur. It was blowing a hooley so we thought we'd stay local. In Moncontour we all wound our car windows down marvelling at the donjon, then back up again as we were lashed by rain. Approaching the church at Saint-Jouin-de-Marnes more synchronised window lowering took place. At the sight of the 11th century church my brother insisted we go in.
The ten minutes free parking at the airport is a good way of reducing gushy farewells. But it was kind of my brother to organise the trip and brave of dad to travel, when he could have stayed at home watching Flog It! A week to remember.
Photo: The organ at Celles-sur-Belles Abbey with a ghostly apparition in the entrance.
Photo: The organ at Celles-sur-Belles Abbey with a ghostly apparition in the entrance.
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