hanl

This is a somewhat belated trip report from our holiday this summer in south western France.

Our itinerary was as follows:

Day 1 - Brussels to Bordeau
Day 2 - Bordeau to Dax
Days 3-4 - Dax
Days 5-12 - Lurbe st Christau (in the Béarn region)
Days 13-16 - Ile de Ré
Day 17 - Ile de Ré to Brussels

<b>Background</b>

This trip came about because we had been invited to a wedding in south western France, and we decided that rather than make it a flying visit, we'd build our summer holiday around it. It would also be a nice opportunity to invite my mother and her partner (who we had not been on holiday with before) to join us. What could be nicer, I thought, than to find a lovely holiday rental somewhere in the Basque country or the Pyrenees?

I had spent quite a bit of time in the South west as a youngish teenager, as my parents packed me off at age 14 and again at 16 to spend a month with my French penpal and her family in the Landes region, near Dax. I'd also lived for 6 months in Toulouse, and had visited friends in Pau, but had never spent any real holiday time in the Pyrenees.

Finding a rental property in the Basque Country or Western Pyrenees proved quite difficult. There were plenty of places on the coast, but these tended to be apartments in the beach resorts of Biarritz and St Jean de Luz - nice towns, but not what we were looking for. We wanted views of the mountains and village life, not a beach holiday.

After much googling and poring over holiday rental websites, both French and British, I eventually happened upon a charming converted watermill in the B&eacute;arn, near Oloron Ste Marie.
http://preview.tinyurl.com/yua6gv

What really sold the place for us was that the sleeping quarters were quite separate, with a double bedroom in the main mill itself, along with a &quot;guesthouse&quot; with double bedroom and ensuite, and its own separate entrance. Perfect for family who enjoy each other's company but don't need to hear each other snoring every night.

I always get nervous when booking rental properties online, so I did a bit of background &quot;detective&quot; work to make sure the place really did exist (silly things like checking whether it was registered in the phone directory). Fortunately everything looked fine, so I signed the various booking forms, paid the 200 euro deposit (by Paypal) and started to look forward to the holiday!!

<b>Heading down south, and a wedding in Dax</b>

My husband (W) and I decided we'd drive all the way down to the south of France from Belgium. It wasn't too far, and we liked the idea of filling the car up with great wine, cheese and other gastronomic souvenirs to bring home wiht us. Another bonus is that W's company pays for all his petrol, even abroad. So it was really a no-brainer. We knew that we'd be travelling during high tourist season in France, when the motorway traffic would be at its heaviest, so we decided to leave Belgium on the Thursday afternoon, drive down to Bordeaux, and then continue the 150 or so remaining kilometres to the wedding venue in Dax on the Friday morning. This turned out to be a great plan, as those who were driving down to the wedding on Friday from Paris got stuck in horrific traffic jams for hours on end.

We zipped down to Bordeaux in around 8 hours, and arrived at the Novotel that I'd booked online a week or so before.
http://preview.tinyurl.com/29vqo2

We got a cheap internet deal (87 euros per night, I think) and were really happy with the standard of the hotel. It was clean, bright, modern, and the staff were among the friendliest and most efficient that I've come across in a French hotel. We arrived at 10pm and expected not to find anything open for dinner in the area, but the hotel's restaurant was still full of diners and serving meals until 11pm. We were seated immediately but it took a long while for our table to be laid and orders taken. The waiter realised this, however, and when he took our order he apologised for the wait and offered us a drink on the house. I think I ordered a club sandwich and W had some kind of meat dish with fries. It was very tasty indeed, and we were very appreciative that our one free glass of wine each had turned into free top-ups every ten minutes!

The next morning, we ate our fill at the breakfast buffet and headed off on our way to Dax. We'd arranged to stop off with the family of my old French penpal for a quick lunch as we were in the vicinity, and enjoyed a delicious meal of gazpacho, duck confit, cheese and fruit at a table under a tree in the garden - just as I remembered it from my holidays there as a child.

WHen we got back into the car, we realised that the gigantic heart-shaped box of chocolates we'd brought down for the bride and groom had been sitting in the car, which had been in the sun for hours. Cue a frantic half hour with the air-con on full blast, trying to return the chocs to some kind of solid (and presentable) consistency.

We arrived at the &quot;hotel&quot; that our friends had recommended we book in Dax. Well, hotel would be an exaggeration, as it felt very institutional, with long, dark, tiled corridors that reminded me of hospitals. But the room was clean, if basic, and the bathroom was ensuite, so I wasn't going to complain too much.

That evening was spent meeting up with old friends arriving from near and far for the wedding, and enjoying a rowdy, tasty dinner at a restaurant in the centre of Dax, where many bottles of Madiran and Rioja were downed, and much duck was consumed.

The wedding itself, the next day, was a wonderful affair, all that you could hope for from a wedding. The bride was beautiful, the ceremony was moving, the weather perfect, and there was more champagne than we could all drink (and that's saying something!!). The only issue was that the road leading up to the reception venue (in an old country house) was winding and bordered with plane trees, and was well known as being not only dangerous, but a favourite spot for police to operate random checks on drivers. To be on the safe side, we'd bought a whole pile of breathalysers from the supermarket which we handed out to the drivers at the end of the wedding. Fortunately, W had been sensible and was well under the limit, but many of our friends who were quite convinced they were safe to drive turned out to be way over the legal limit.

We made it back to the hotel safely around dawn, and enjoyed an all too brief sleep before getting up to check out. A long barbecue lunch followed with all the wedding guests at the groom's parents' house, and after a few plates of toulouse sausages and pommes de terre salardaises, we said our goodbyes and headed off in the direction of Oloron Sainte Marie, where we had arranged to meet my mother and her partner, D, for the next leg of our holiday.


Next: <b>Lurbe St Christau, a rainy Monday and the incredible vanishing Pyrenees (surely they're around here somewhere?)</b>

hanl

Oh clever me, managed to spell Bordeaux wrong twice!! quot;&gt;

annhig

Hi hanl,

loving your first installment. keep it coming!

regards, ann

chiarachiara

I am also enjoying your report! And the old mill looks lovely! Looking forward to the rest - I want to visit this part of France some time in future.

hanl

Thanks for the feedback! Here's the next instalment:


<b>Lurbe St Christau, a rainy Monday and the incredible vanishing Pyrenees (surely they're around here somewhere?)</b>

As my mother and D had been in the Bordeaux area for a few days (they live in Scotland, so had hired a car for the duration of the holiday), we'd arranged to meet up in front of the station at Oloron Ste Marie. Fortunately for all of us, it transpired that there was indeed a station in the town, as none of us had actually bothered to check!!

It was a short, pleasant drive from Dax to Oloron, taking us around one and a half hours. The weather had turned from bright blue sky to overcast and muggy, but it was warm and we were on holiday so we weren't going to complain. As planned, we pulled up in the station car park (thank you GPS) and there were mum and D waiting as planned.

We thought it would be nice to find somewhere for a cup of tea (spot the Brits on holiday!!) before continuing on our way. Oloron turned out to be mostly closed on Sunday (not surprisingly for a small French town), but we eventually happened upon a bakery and tea shop with a couple of tables outside. Revived by the caffeine, we piled back into our cars and set off in search of Lurbe St Christau, the village where our rental property was located, approximately 6 miles from Oloron.

Once again we blessed our GPS system, as W had uploaded the GPS coordinates of the watermill before we left home, so we found our way there with nary a wrong turn. The village itself was delightful, with a babbling stream running through it, slate roofed houses huddled together and, we assumed, mountains all around (though we couldn't see them). We located the mill, which shared an entrance with another property, and were soon sitting out on the patio by the millpond toasting our good fortune with glasses of white wine (we'd made sure to pack a few bottles from our wine cellar!).

We were very pleased with the accommodation. The main watermill building had been converted into a pleasing two-level cottage with a living/dining/kitchen area downstairs, and stairs leading up to the master bedroom and bathroom. The walls were decorated with stencilling and the occasional carefully exposed stone. The kitchen area seemed well equipped with cooker, microwave/grill, fridge, coffee machine and plenty of utensils. Worn leather armchairs sat by the fireplace, and a decent sized wooden table took centre stage in the middle of the room.

The most striking thing, however, was the window set low in one wall, through which we could see (and hear) the cascading water of the mill-race which, fed by the millpond, then disappeared underneath the house. So in the living area, we were standing where the old mill wheel would have been. You'd think it would make the house feel very damp, but that wasn't the case at all.

The guest house next door was pleasantly furnished, and had its own little terrace looking out over the nearby stream and hillside beyond. Mum and D decided they'd prefer to stay here, as D is six foot four and found the low eaves in the main bedroom rather too threatening!

We perused the welcome folder and found that a local hotel - l'H&ocirc;tel des Vall&eacute;es - within walking distance, would be open for dinner.
http://preview.tinyurl.com/37dbcg
As it was Sunday, we'd find no shops open to stock up on provisions, so we agreed that we'd try the place out. It transpired that they'd only have space for us around 9pm so, after several aperitifs, we set off, just as the heavens opened. Oh well, we thought, in the mountains it often rains in the evenings. No doubt the skies will clear up tomorrow.

We arrived at the hotel and made our way to the dining room, which was large and airy, but felt rather like something out of the 1940s. Every table was occupied, so after standing around for some time the waiter suggested we wait in the bar, which was also set up for dinner. Eventually, at around 10pm, we persuaded them to serve us our dinner in the bar rather than waiting for a table to become free in the main dining room. It turned out that most of the diners were staying at the hotel on a full-board basis, and so took precedence over outside guests for dinner. We each ordered the set price &quot;menu de montagne&quot; at 17 euros each, which featured soup, something they called a &quot;b&eacute;arniflette&quot; which turned out to be a local, extremely filling variation on tartiflette, and dessert. The food was decent and tasty, and certainly good value, if not particularly memorable.

By the time we got back to the mill it was almost midnight, so we all turned in, and slept soundly until gone ten o'clock the next morning.

My first thought when I awoke was &quot;please let it be sunny&quot;, but sadly there was nothing but grey cloud and drizzle outside. Now I knew we were supposedly in the Pyrenees, but I was beginning to think it was all a big swindle, as I hadn't caught sight of them once due to the low-lying clouds.

We had a makeshift breakfast of madeleines and coffee, and decided that our first outing should be to the supermarket to stock up on provisions for the week. We keyed in the address of the nearest Leclerc supermarket to the GPS and set off. Umpteen roundabouts later, we'd skirted around the edge of Oloron and found our way to the supermarket. I always get a little thrill of pleasure when I find myself in a big French hypermarket, and start wanting to buy all manner of gardening equipment, crockery, electrical goods and stationery, even if I've only gone to get milk. I managed to tear myself away from the camping aisle (&quot;look! we could buy a collapsible laundry basket and a mini-fridge for the car&quot and soon we'd filled up the trolley with all manner of local goodies. The South-West is the land of duck, goose, rillettes, foie gras... all W's favourite things to eat (his surname originates from the region and it soon became clear that he was genetically programmed to start salivating at the sight of a confit duck leg), and soon our trolley was heaving with saucisson, foie gras, magret de canard, organic free-range chicken, jambon de Bayonne, local Basque peppers, sheep's cheese from the mountains, goat's cheese, baguettes, olives, mirabelles (beautifully sweet, tiny plums), greengages, a couple of good bottles of wine, and, at D's request, all the necessary ingredients for gin and tonics. The total bill came to 200 euros, and the food pretty much lasted us the week, with a few things left over.

We returned to the mill (still no sign of the Pyrenees!) and settled down to an enormous lunch of saucisson, goose rillettes (a kind of coarse p&acirc;t&eacute, tomato salad, bread, wine, cheese and fruit.

That afternoon, as the rain showed no signs of abating, W and I decided to drive down to Pau, around 30 miles away, as I wanted to get W's birthday present (his birthday was a couple of weeks later) and knew that I'd find what I wanted in the Fnac there. I'd been trying to decide on a camcorder for weeks, as we didn't have one, and I knew that W was keen to get one but was finding it hard to justify the expense. After checking out various options in Belgium, I decided on the model (Panasonic SDR-H250) and discovered to my surprise that the same model was 150 euros cheaper in France than it was in the Fnac store in Brussels. (I have no idea what justifies the huge price difference but all the camcorders I looked at were much more expensive in Belgium). Anyway, it made sense to get the thing in Pau. We'd actually visited friends in Pau a few years before and so didn't feel a great urge to visit the city, and instead headed straight for the Fnac (located in a pleasant, new pedestrian precinct) and found the camcorder, plus a great book on walks in the area, and another guide (le Routard) to the Basque country. W was absolutely thrilled with the camcorder and couldn't wait to get back to the mill to start playing with his new toy.

On the drive back I spotted several signs by the side of the road advertising local foie gras, or mountain cheese, or organic blueberries, and made a mental note to return in order to stock up on goodies before leaving the area.

In our absence, Mum and D had decided to go for a walk around the village and had been caught in a very violent downpour, so we were greeted on our return by their wet shirts and trousers fluttering like prayer flags on the washing line strung up in the open barn next to the house.

That evening, after G &amp; T's courtesy of D, who can't do without such little necessities, I concocted an improvised dish of chicken cooked with basque peppers, rosemary and lardons and served with garlicky green beans and crusty bread. We washed it down with a lovely Haut M&eacute;doc we'd picked up at the supermarket for about 7 euros and followed with more cheese, yoghurt and fruit.

It might not have been sunny, but our holiday was turning out pretty well so far.

Next:<b>Oloron Sainte Marie, wine tasting in Juran&ccedil;on and more rain</b>

Diz01

Enjoying your report.

We found navigating around Oloron surprisingly challenging with far too many roundabouts and disappearing roadsigns. I hope you fared better.
Diz01

hanl

Diz01, we'd never have found our way around Oloron as easily if we hadn't had the GPS!

tod

What a lovely and very interesting report hanl! Looking forward to much more soon.

Nikki

Ah yes, the mysterious disappearing Pyrenees. We found that they were much more visible if you drove over them and looked back from Spain.

Your mill looks lovely.

I now want to be invited to a wedding in the Southwest of France. Your description of the road to the wedding site reminded me of signs we saw in the area. Some places where trees were growing alongside the road there were warning signs (Arbres!). We wondered if the trees jumped out and attacked unwary drivers. Well, maybe if the drivers were over the breathalyser limit they did.

hanl

Nikki, it's a bit of a running joke in France, how dangerous the plane trees are. Many of them have been cut down because they are &quot;responsible&quot; for so many road deaths. It's a shame because they really do look lovely...

hanl

<b>Oloron Sainte Marie, wine tasting in Juran&ccedil;on and more rain</b>

By the time W and I had got up, Mum and D had driven over to the nearest bakery and returned with fresh bread, croissants and pains aux raisins. After a couple of mugs of coffee and a good dose of carbs, we were all feeling a lot better.

One of our big hopes for our stay in the Pyrenees was to do a bit of walking in the mountains. Mum and D are big walkers in Scotland and regularly go out on longish hikes. However, with the weather so uncooperative, we weren't going to see much of the scenery if we went out for a walk in the rain, so we decided instead to head over to Oloron Sainte Marie and have a wander around the town. Driving through the previous day, I hadn't been particularly enamoured of the place, but this time, after we'd parked and picked up a map from the excellent local tourist office, we ended up rather liking it. Especially as the rain seemed to be abating at last.

We walked up from the tourist office to the 13th century Eglise Saint Croix, which mum wanted to see (she's into churches). Inside I was amused by the running, taped commentary that was playing over loudspeakers, telling people about the different aspects and history of the church. We put a few euros in the donation box.

Next we strolled through some of the old streets, almost got a glimpse of the Pyrenees in the distance, and then walked down through the town centre and over the river (le Gave d'Oloron - &quot;gave&quot; being, I believe, a local word for a fast flowing mountain stream or river) to the 12th century Cathedrale Sainte Marie, which felt very rich and opulent to me, perhaps because of its role as one of the stop-off points on the Pilgrims' way to Santiago de Compostela, which meant it would receive a lot of traffic and, I suppose, regular donations.

We decided to stop for a bite to eat as there were a few restaurants around the Cathedral square. Everywhere seemed very quiet, which surprised me as we were right in the middle of the tourist season, and the first restaurant we tried had already stopped serving lunch (it was only 1.30!!). In the end we had panini and salads at a nearby bar, which were nothing special but certainly didn't break the bank. And we felt our first rays of Pyrenean sunshine, if only for about ten minutes!!

After lunch, the skies still looked a bit iffy. We felt we'd seen most of what there was to see in Oloron, so decided to head off to the Juran&ccedil;on area and see if we could taste some of the local wines.

On the way, we stopped off at the Artiga factory shop, located in the outskirts of Oloron. Artiga is one of the biggest manufacturers of the beautiful Basque linens which you see for sale all over the south west. (www.artiga.fr) The factory shop offered good discounts, or so we were reliably informed by our Routard guide, so we stopped off and bought a few souvenirs (table mats, napkins, etc.) in beautiful, bright colours. There were no napkins to match one of the sets of table mats we'd bought, but the sales assistant assured it wasn't a problem, as they could make the napkins for us to order (no extra charge), and we could pick them up in a couple of days.

I'd looked up a few of the Juran&ccedil;on vineyards in a little guide to the best good-value wines (<i>Le Guide des meilleurs vins &agrave; petits prix</i>, by Antoine Gerbelle and Philippe Maurange), that I'd bought a couple of years before in France and had thought to bring with me.

The Domaine Bordenave (http://www.domaine-bordenave.com/) got excellent ratings for its sweet and dry Juran&ccedil;on, so we decided to make that our next destination (calling ahead to make sure they'd be open when we stopped by). The drive from Oloron took us along some pretty, winding country roads, past rolling hills and lots of sheep and fields of corn. There was very little sign of any vineyards, though, which was surprising (we discovered later that the Juran&ccedil;on appellation is tiny).

We eventually found the place we were looking for (thank you GPS!) and were welcomed by the owner/winegrower. He showed us around a little exhibition in the tasting room (or rather, barn) which showed the different stages in the winemaking process, and then we tasted various Juran&ccedil;on wines, starting with a dry wine, and working up to the sweeter ones. One interesting fact we learned is that vines in the Pyrenees region are grown much higher off the ground than is traditional elsewhere in France, in order to protect them from ground frost. The Juran&ccedil;on appellation (made from the petit manseng and gros manseng grape varieties) is best known for its sweet white wines (vins mo&euml;lleux), produced by leaving the grapes on the vine much longer than for drier wines, in order to maximise their natural sugar content. W and I absolutely loved some of the wines we tasted and ended up buying 3 cases for our cave (so glad we'd brought our car!).

As we drove back to the mill, the heavens opened again, but we weren't too bothered as we'd had a productive day. Wine tasting is an excellent rainy day activity.

That evening, we'd booked a table at the local &quot;restaurant gastronomique&quot;, Au Bon Coin, which had been recommended by the owners of the mill and in a couple of our guides. We do like our food, so we were quite looking forward to our dinner there.

We arrived and the dining room, with its panoramic windows looking out across the road to the hills beyond (or so I presume, as the clouds obscured the view when we were there), looked rather deserted and, though smart, not particularly atmospheric. There didn't seem to be much choice apart from the set menu (unfortunately I can't remember how much it was - probably around 40 euros per head), so we opted for starters of foie gras terrine (mum and W), tomato tart (D) and mackerel with guacamole and rocket sorbet (me). The others seemed quite pleased with their starters, particularly D with his tomato tart, which looked delicious. My mackerel dish, however, was possibly one of the most unfortunate combinations of ingredients I've ever had the misfortune of putting in my mouth! The texture of the fish was very soft (verging on slimy), while the rocket sorbet was unpleasant tasting and the guacamole was spectacularly bad (and entirely the wrong shade of green). In fact, reading back over this, I don't know what possessed me to order that starter as the combination doesn't sound in the least bit nice.

For the mains, W and mum had beef, which they said was good, I think D had lamb which looked fabulous, and I had fresh tuna, which was on the stingy side and nothing special (they didn't ask how I liked it cooked - medium rare - and served it overdone). Dessert was soupe aux p&ecirc;ches with home-made madeleines for all except me, while I had local sheep's cheese with cherry preserve (a traditional regional accompaniment). I must admit to enjoying the cheese course best, as it was the only thing I ate that hadn't been messed around with too much! Coffee came with a lovely selection of tiny desserts - including mini pots of rich chocolate mousse which were very delicious.

We enjoyed ourselves but agreed that the food had been a bit hit and miss - we rather had the impression that the chef had been trying too hard to be too clever.

Still, the conversation was good and the wine flowed, and I always feel happy after a nice plate of cheese, so it wasn't really a disappointment.


Next: <b>The mountains are revealed, a day trip to Bayonne, an encounter with a rugby star, and mum's first attempt at cooking duck</b>

chicagolori

This is such a beautifully written report! Its also nice to hear about an area of France that doesnt get as much attention here - opens up all new possibilities!

Keep going!

hanl

Thanks!
I'm trying hard to keep it interesting. And I agree that the South-West doesn't get as much coverage on this board as some other parts of the country. It's a fabulous area though - well worth a visit!

moolyn

Lovely report, hanl! It was a treat to discover it this morning. Thanks to you and Nikki I now have a whole new area on my must see list!

Nikki

Unfortunately my must see list is more like my must see again list. I keep being called back to places I have enjoyed. And I haven't been to very many places I haven't enjoyed.

This report makes me want to go back to the area from which I just returned last month and explore it more in depth.

hopingtotravel

Your report does make the area sound lovely. It's also on a 'hopeful' future list for me.

I have a question on Day 1 Brussels to Bordeaux. Did you just drive straight down through the Loire, Perigard, Dordogne? Or roughly what route?

hanl

Hopingtotravel, coming down from Brussels, we skirted round Paris and took the A10 motorway, past Orl&eacute;ans, Tours, Poitiers and on to Bordeaux. Motorway all the way.
(We investigated other routes that might avoid Paris (we were worried about holiday traffic jams) but they all involved big detours, and in the end it was fine, and pretty fast).

hopingtotravel

Thanks, that makes sense.

annhig

hanl,

your attempts to make your report interesting are crtainly bearing fruit. I'm really enjoying it.

looking forward to more

regards, ann

hanl

Thanks for all the feedback so far! I hope I'm doing a good job &quot;advertising&quot; for the South-West...


<b>The mountains are revealed, a day trip to Bayonne, an encounter with a rugby star, and mum's first attempt at cooking duck</b>

The next day dawned and - joy of joys - the sun was shining and patches of blue sky were visible from the bedroom window. Hurrah! I opened the dormer window in the bathroom and stuck my head out. Mountains!! At last!! I was thrilled to see the Pyrenees revealed, finally, in all their glory.

By breakfast time the sky had clouded over again, but the cloud was much higher and the mountains remained visible.

We had thought we might attempt to go to San Sebastian or Hondarribia, just for the fun of driving to Spain, but the GPS estimated a drive over two and a half hours each way, which struck us as a bit much. I was keen to see a bit more of the Basque country, so in the end we decided to head to Bayonne, a city that none of us except me had visited, and I didn't remember much about it.

The drive took about 1 and a half hours, through country roads and a bit of motorway (and a short thunderstorm), and our GPS guided us to an easily accessible carpark, where we left the car at the huge cost of one euro for the entire day.

The first thing on our agenda was the Basque museum - www.musee-basque.com, which was recommended in several of our guidebooks and in Maribel's guide to the Basque country (recommended by various people on this board - http://maribelsguides.com).

The museum was fabulous, located in a beautiful old building on the banks of the river Nive, and dating back to around the 17th century. The museum itself was created in the 1920s, and houses an extensive collection of Basque artefacts, costumes, furniture, etc. The museum has recently been renovated and is very modern inside. Each room of the museum is based on a different theme, such as farming, housing, sports, culture, music, etc., and I found it quite fascinating. Indeed, one could spend much longer in there than we did, but after a couple of hours, hunger sent us off in search of a restaurant for lunch.

A quick flick through the Routard guide (we soon learned always to trust the French guidebook when it came to restaurant recommendations!) told us that there was a good place to eat just across the river. It was 1.30 and the sun had finally come out to stay, so the terraces of the row of restaurants along the quay side were all jam packed, particularly the place we hoped to eat at - Caf&eacute; Ekhi (at 9 Quai Dubourdieu). Luckily, just as we arrived and stood peering around for a table, a group got up to leave so we nabbed a great spot outside. We were keen to try some Basque food, so ordered starters of Basque green pepper omelette, squid, and goats cheese salad (admittedly not very Basque!), and as our mains, merlu koskera (hake in a broth with peas, asparagus, eggs, mussels, herbs, etc.), and salt cod with garlic and piperade,
washed down with a bottle of Basque cider, which was delicious and very different from other French ciders - really dry and refreshing.

The food was excellent and our spirits were well and truly lifted by the blue sky and sunshine, making this one of my favourite meals of the whole holiday.

In fact, Bayonne turned out, to my surprise, to be one of the places that I most enjoyed visiting. I loved the white, half-timbered houses with their coloured shutters, the green and red bunting that fluttered between the streets, left over from the Feria de Bayonne which had just come to an end. After lunch, we set off to wander around the old town and were enchanted by the lively, colourful and often impossibly picturesque streets.

We hadn't gone twenty metres before we stopped off in a shop selling Artiga linens (partly to check whether the prices were higher than in the factory shop in Oloron - and they were), but also to let Mum try on some lovely stripy espadrilles which she bought. We also ended up buying a Basque beret for W's father, who has a fondness for novelty headgear and has been known to go out for an afternoon stroll wearing a sombrero (or indeed, to do the weekly shop at the market sporting a Chinese straw coolie hat). A beret would be much appreciated, especially as his 70th birthday was fast approaching.

Another twenty metres up the street and we'd stopped again, this time at a sports shop. If everybody in South-west France is rugby mad, then Bayonne seems to be the capital of rugby-worship, and both D and W are huge rugby fans, so were in their element. D wanted to buy a souvenir for his son, and W was in search of more birthday presents for his father, who was also extremely keen on the sport. They found some Nike t-shirts with amusing definitions, in French, of the different rugby positions, and bought several (here's a picture I found online that shows one of them http://preview.tinyurl.com/2tbmkd)

We continued strolling around the streets, W and I looking for more rugby-related gifts for W's father and taking pictures (which I hope to put online soon), mum and D in search of more churches to visit. We wandered through the cathedral and the nearby cloister which seemed to be hosting some kind of craft fair, and then I set off with W to seek out a book of Basque cookery for my collection (I always bring home a local cookbook when on holiday as a souvenir), while Mum and D set off in a different direction. Though I didn't find a suitable book at first, W did find a book called &quot;Le rugby de Papa&quot;, filled with photos of great rugby players of France, memorable matches, and enough rugby-related anecdotes to keep his father, a prolific reader, out of mischief for a while.

We bumped into Mum and D shortly afterwards and Mum insisted I help her choose a handbag from a wonderful shop she'd just come across. So we left W and D browsing through rugby shirts at another sports shop, and returned to the shop where she'd seen the bag. I couldn't believe that inside the shop, as well as lots of lovely hand-made handbags, were all manner of rugby pictures and paraphenalia. Clearly, the people of Bayonne were a people obsessed!!

As Mum paid for the bag, we chatted with the owner. I mentioned something about the rugby world cup and he visibly brightened and started chattering about how he'd played in the &eacute;quipe de France, and pointed himself out in several framed photos on the wall. Not being a rugby fan myself, I didn't quite know what to say and gave a wan smile, before returning to the important subject of handbags. But then into the shop came W and D, and when W realised who we were talking to (Laurent Pardo, a well known French rugby player) he was most excited and asked for his autograph, for his father <i>bien s&ucirc;r</i>. In the end, we got him to write a little birthday message and sign the rugby book that we'd bought, for that, we knew, would make W's father's entire year, let alone his birthday! (The website for the shop is http://styledejeu.fr/concept.php)

We were pretty much shopped out by this point, and so after a cup of tea in a shady terrace by the cathedral, we made our way back to the car and headed back to Lurbe St Christau, thoroughly pleased with ourselves and our fabulous day.

That evening we decided to have dinner at the mill, and Mum volunteered to do the cooking. There were two large duck breasts in the fridge, that we'd bought earlier in the week at Leclerc, so I suggested we have those, with salad and potatoes. &quot;But I've never cooked duck!&quot; was Mum's reply, which surprised me as she's nothing if not an adventurous cook. Surely a woman who had subjected her children to jugged hare, goose, home-made junket or devilled kidneys (mercifully not all at once) would have known how to cook duck? Apparently not!

I'd only ever cooked duck once before but had to pretend I knew what I was talking about (after 6 years living in France it was expected of me), and so I reassured her it was easy as anything - just start by cooking it skin side down in a dry pan, and then, um, pretend it's steak.

W then piped up that he would very much like to have pommes de terre salardaises (cooked in goose fat with garlic and parsley), so poor mum suddenly had her work cut out for her.

Fortunately she came up trumps, and after some initial surprise at the violent spitting and rapid blackening of the duck fat in the pan, she rustled up a dinner fit for a king. We washed it all down with a bottle of Cahors that we'd brought from our wine cellar at home. Bliss!

It's days like this one that remind me why we bother with all the hassle of going on holiday. It really was quite perfect!

Next: <b>Sunshine, walking the Pilgrim's way, the Cirque de Lescun, and some mysterious swimming snakes</b>