The Calm One and I have resumed hiking in our departement of Charente because as autumn approaches, conditions for country walks improve to the point where we can't pretend it's OK being pallid lumps staring at pixels. Now if they were pixies, that would be fine since such a splendid sight certainly would bring roses to our cheeks. We have since bought a recently published guide for trails in our area but for this time, The Calm One chose off the Web a fairly short stroll just north of Angoulême on undemanding terrain so we can become acclimated to tougher ones as the season progresses. Since the info gleaned was not current, the directions did not take into account the recently extended LGV (high-speed railway) interfering with best laid plans along with our lovely electric car's (Renault Zoe) GPS. The Calm One needed to take off his figurative hat and don one of his many others, that is, The Pathfinder . . .
The Pathfinder was relentless as pathfinders are. Drive for a while, then pull over for a while. Where is Asnières-sur-Nouère? Why is there not a single signpost for it? he mumbled while I noted that we were parked by a cemetery where a grave's stone cross could be seen peeking over the wall under the most blue of skies.
The Pathfinder has a shining past: he has got us through a cross-country trek across America; tramping through Oregon coastal forests; meanderings in the Alps; bouncing around the Cornish peninsula; roaming the Scottish Highlands; ploughing through congested cities throughout Europe. So I let him do his thing, though I could not refrain from saying, Hey, look a path going into a forest, why don't we just go and explore? He snorted and shortly after we arrived at our destination. And a very intriguing one it turned out to be. This village's population except in the first three quarters of the 1900s where it was halved has managed to stay the same since the late 1700s (the village however dates back to medieval times) at around 1200 inhabitants. Way back then, they raised donkeys, hence the village's name is derived from the word for donkey (âne) and the villagers were called Les Garobiers because they grew la garob (carob pods) to feed the donkeys. Confusion still addled us because as we walked past a small square to an ancient lavoir (a long, communal, washing stone-basin) we understandably did not notice the tiny, faded, coloured mark placed close to the ground that the path started here so we headed in the opposite direction into the village proper where we passed a stone house, though deeply fissured along one side . . .
. . . has stood the test of time and nowadays gets to sport both an electric lantern and beginning-to-colour Virginia creeper.
We continued further into the village and spotted another beauty of a stone dwelling with a curved edge . . .
. . . and its wooden door with a slightly bent lintel . . .
. . . along with its rounded window shutter.
As we were traipsing along narrow streets, it occurred to us that the path must be by the lavoir, and it was. Soon we were out in the countryside . . .
. . . and passing by vineyards . . .
. . . and getting close to grapes, in all their delicate colouring, warm chartreuse, cool lime-green, with a touch of rose here, a tinge of violet there.
Upon returning when we passed the side of the house smothered with Virginia creeper, this time, I noticed a shuttered window partially obscured with the climber and a fine dusting of rust-coloured, fallen leaves along the gutter. The season surely is changing.
À la prochaine!
RELATED LINKS
French Wikipedia article for Asnières-sur-Nouère
Official site for Asnières-sur-Nouère
 |
| The Pathfinder stopped here to have a think, rustle through a road map whose upper limit just grazed where we wanted to go, and for me to take a photo of a harvested field & a church steeple |
The Pathfinder was relentless as pathfinders are. Drive for a while, then pull over for a while. Where is Asnières-sur-Nouère? Why is there not a single signpost for it? he mumbled while I noted that we were parked by a cemetery where a grave's stone cross could be seen peeking over the wall under the most blue of skies.
The Pathfinder has a shining past: he has got us through a cross-country trek across America; tramping through Oregon coastal forests; meanderings in the Alps; bouncing around the Cornish peninsula; roaming the Scottish Highlands; ploughing through congested cities throughout Europe. So I let him do his thing, though I could not refrain from saying, Hey, look a path going into a forest, why don't we just go and explore? He snorted and shortly after we arrived at our destination. And a very intriguing one it turned out to be. This village's population except in the first three quarters of the 1900s where it was halved has managed to stay the same since the late 1700s (the village however dates back to medieval times) at around 1200 inhabitants. Way back then, they raised donkeys, hence the village's name is derived from the word for donkey (âne) and the villagers were called Les Garobiers because they grew la garob (carob pods) to feed the donkeys. Confusion still addled us because as we walked past a small square to an ancient lavoir (a long, communal, washing stone-basin) we understandably did not notice the tiny, faded, coloured mark placed close to the ground that the path started here so we headed in the opposite direction into the village proper where we passed a stone house, though deeply fissured along one side . . .
. . . has stood the test of time and nowadays gets to sport both an electric lantern and beginning-to-colour Virginia creeper.
We continued further into the village and spotted another beauty of a stone dwelling with a curved edge . . .
. . . and its wooden door with a slightly bent lintel . . .
. . . along with its rounded window shutter.
As we were traipsing along narrow streets, it occurred to us that the path must be by the lavoir, and it was. Soon we were out in the countryside . . .
. . . and passing by vineyards . . .
. . . and getting close to grapes, in all their delicate colouring, warm chartreuse, cool lime-green, with a touch of rose here, a tinge of violet there.
Upon returning when we passed the side of the house smothered with Virginia creeper, this time, I noticed a shuttered window partially obscured with the climber and a fine dusting of rust-coloured, fallen leaves along the gutter. The season surely is changing.
À la prochaine!
RELATED LINKS
French Wikipedia article for Asnières-sur-Nouère
Official site for Asnières-sur-Nouère
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