Dear readers, I am turning the clock back just a few weeks, to before the beginning of the trip. I was unfortunately wearing a boot for a month because of an achilles injury. Please take note of the red sole. It was not any old boot, but one by Christian Louboutin, which is why I could only afford one.
My doctor wanted me to wear it for another 2 months but that was not going to happen. I was traveling. It just wouldn’t work. But he urged me to wear it through the airport and to take it with me. So I did. And took full advantage of it, asking for a wheel chair through JFK
I felt so guilty when a lovely woman not many years younger than me, and thin as a rail, was assigned to push me from one end of JFK to the other. But I didn’t feel guilty enough to leap out of the chair and walk.
But once out of the airport the boot went into a bag and from then on I walked slowly and carefully without it. My ankle complained from time to time, but it was fine.
Then I flew to Spain for 10 days while Gordon did his cultural whirlwind around London.
By this time I had worked out that as long as I avoided steep hills or stairs, my heel was fine. I gradually got to the stage where I was cautiously walking a minimum of 10,000 steps a day, overloading on Salvador Dali, and managing rather well without the boot.
But then Gordon arrived!
We met in Mirepoix, a delightful town south east of Toulouse in France. We stayed in a lovely old mansion converted into a hotel with just five rooms, where we had our very own private living room. The Fabulosity Meter was already going crazy.
But then there was the town itself. The Fabulosity Meter just wouldn’t stop.
A medieval town square full of restaurants, narrow streets lined with wonderful old houses, patisseries, coffee shops and lots of antique shops. And it was all flat, not a hill, or even an incline to be seen. Perfect! I invisaged a few lovely days wandering around town enjoying the neighborhoods and our hotel.
Gordon did not!
“I want to go to The Tabariane Necropolis” he announced, stamping his feet like a three year old. No mean achievement at his age!
Gordon explained that it was a burial ground where 166 graves have been discovered dating back to the 6th and 7th centuries. It is right on top of the Tabariane hills and there is a lovely walk to get there. I knew nothing about it, but a lovely walk would be nice, as long as it wasn’t up one of the hills, and the name certainly sounds impressive. Who wouldn’t want to see the Tabariane Necropolis.
Almost everybody, it seems. No one had ever heard of it. That should have been our first clue.
We drive out of Mirepoix on a nice road across beautiful countryside. We turn off onto a smaller road, and eventually see a very small sign pointing down an extremely narrow lane. That should have been our second clue. We drive down the lane for a while, until Gordon says “turn right here”.
“That’s a farm track” I say.
“Google says we turn up there” Gordon replies
“There is no sign” I tell him.
He gives me the look.
I do as I am told. I always do as I am told!
It is indeed a farm track and it gets narrower
Brambles are scraping the sides of the car. But there is no room to turn around, or park.
And then we hear a rumbling sound. It gets louder. The car is actually shaking. Suddenly, around the corner comes the most enormous piece of farm machinery, a gigantic combine harvester is my guess. It is crushing down everything on either side of it. It comes to a stop just feet in front of us.
I really don’t want to reverse all the way back down the hill.
After a few moments of staring at each other, he starts reversing. He stops and waves at me to pull in over some of the crushed bushes. I do. He then pulls over to the other side and crashes forwards flattening a large amount of the hedgerow as he squeezes past us.
Amazingly he has now created room for us to turn round.
But Gordon insists that we park and carry on, on foot.
I do as I am told. I always do as I am told!
We walk up the track until we come to a stile. The other side of the stile is a wide grassy path leading up and across the field
Gordon says we should take the narrow pathway to the left of the fence. I mention politely that the Necropolis is supposed to be on top of the hill reached by a lovely walk, and that maybe we should go across the field.
He gives me that look again
The path is well worn but overgrown. Thorny branches scratch our arms. We carry on until it gets worse
I mention politely that this is not a lovely walk. It is certainly playing havoc with my achilles.
But we are nearing the top of the hill.
We stumble up the path until suddenly spread out before us is the Necropolis.
This is what Gordon wanted to see. This is why he dragged me and my Achilles up this hill. And this dear reader is it in its entirety.
Well almost. I turn around and there is the rest of it
The Fabulosity Meter starts to cry!
There are maybe 15 graves. There is absolutely no sign of the other 150. But if they all looked like this, I am not too upset.
Gordon makes a great show of reading the sign and walking around each grave. It takes about 7 minutes.
I look for where we should have walked up
Ever so politely, I say to Gordon
“Oh look. Do you think that could be the lovely walk we were supposed to take”.
There is not a hint of irony in my voice.
It leads us back to the stile. It is a little overgrown with more of the thorny branches. Gordon very carefully climbs over it. He turns round to gallantly offer me a hand. But I say to him
“Perhaps you could just lift off the tie around the fence post for me.”
I step through. It is small moments like these that I live for!
Back in Mirepoix, I have to take the boot out of its bag and put it on.
We go out to dinner.
All that exercise has made Gordon hungry
I am in too much pain to eat much. But I am glad Gordon had a lovely day. I really am!
Perhaps I won’t do as I am told in future.
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