A week in the Dordogne.

This week in the Dordogne was to be our first use of our motorhome in six years. You will discover the reason for this below…

Spending a week in the Dordogne has been something of an eye-opener. There are more foreigners than you can shake a stick at! Walking around the shops and markets, you can often here the sound of foreign tongues.

And the most common of them is…French.

Yes it is true, the French are attempting another invasion of that little part of Britain that is called the Dordogne.

Several times in history the French have tried, in vain, to enlarge their meagre lands. Richard the lion-heart went to great lengths to keep the Dordogne forever British. He built towers and castles all over the place.

The Frenchies also had a go at castle building, although they tended to be a little OTT.

After checking out several chateaux, we spent some time wandering around some local townships, content that, despite the influx of foreigners, the English language still reigns supreme…

In response to their lack of progress in conquering parts of mainland Europe that are forever British, they have unleashed their greatest weapon of mass destruction.

Bureaucracy.

This beast is a mighty one, and has had a deep affect on many Brits. Being faced with reams of paperwork for the most minor of transactions, can weaken ones resolve to live. Add to this that all such paperwork is in written French, a completely different language to spoken French, then it’s power becomes overwhelming.

Two examples.

A couple of weeks ago we had to sign for an appartment for Sophie. After half an hour of signing and initialling forms which were read out to us at incredible speed, my patience was wearing thin. At my fifth ‘is that all?’ request, our torturer looked up and grinned fiendishly. “Only one more Monsieur”. This 'one more’ involved hand copying 3 sheets of tightly typed French. This took me about forty minutes. The resulting mixture of squiggles and lines was totally incomprehensible, but has now been taken and filed away for posterity. My hand is still recovering.

Ludicrous maybe, but not a fraction on the ludicrous scale compared to the adventures with our motorhome. For its first four years in France, we kept up its MOT’s in the UK, thus keeping it insured. As this was way too much hassle, we decided to get it registered in France.

Simple?

Not.

After going through the process of assessing its conformity to French regulations (in itself a long and confusing process) we were told that the list of 20 odd problems would cost us at least €20,000 and then still may not conform?!?

We ditched the idea. Our treasured camping car was left to rust in front of our house.

After two years, we were close to dumping it, but decided to give it one more try. This time the garage in Toulouse that we had previously dealt with, suggested things would be easier this time as he was a drinking buddy of the guy running the local regulatory authority. We took the van too his mate for a 'once over’. This involved walking once around the van. He said that the tyres needed changing (they did not conform because they were measured in inches instead of centimetres. They were Michelin…) but nothing else was necessary! Dream on.

With some relief, we started the process. A process that took two years!

It did not stop with the tyres. After several 'just one more thing’ changes, the van was driven to Paris for its test for conformity. It failed. The hand brake was non-functional (it had just passed the equivalent of the MOT in France).

It returned to Toulouse in disgrace. It then went through a lot of work to try to get its handbrake up to requirements (the van is an automatic, thus rarely needs a handbrake). It then went to Bordeaux for the brakes to be tested. It failed. A bribe of €1,000 was given. It passed.

Having gone through all this, we then awaited the relevant paperwork. This took a further six months!!!

And so, after finally evading the behemoth of French bureaucracy, and at not inconsiderable cost, we finally set off for the Dordogne on its inaugural drive, a week in Little Britain.

Here are all the photos taken in the Dordogne:

and of the first day spent in Oradour-sur-glane (see previous post):

Thursday, 7 August 2014

Doom and gloom

…and so, in an attempt to escape the low hovering over Montauban, we headed for the Dordogne. This cunning plan was designed to lift spirits, so in my quest for fulfilment I looked to my bucket list and saw with interest that one of the top items was a visit to a town nearby.

The town? Oradour-sur-Glane.

Those of you who know of this place may have realised that the only spirits likely to be raised there are those of the dead. On 10 June 1944 the German Waffen-SS encircled this town and killed everyone in it. 642 souls were massacred that day.

The men were herded into buildings and shot (190 died there), the women and 205 children were forced into the church where they were burned to death or shot.

A tram arrived in the town as the massacre was ending. Most on board were killed.

The town has been left exactly as it was found as a monument to those that died there that day.

Most of the nazis went onto be killed elsewhere in their retreat. Some did go to court for crimes against humanity. Many of them where French conscripted into the German army.

All were convicted. The French were later given pardons.

—

Next stop, somewhere more cheerful. Any bar will do…

Saturday, 2 August 2014

Everything is awesome!

The last few months have been somewhat difficult, thus the refreshing lack of blogs recently. To try to shake off the ‘black dog’ we had a day out in a local amusement park called Walibi, where everything is awesome!

Awesome speeding cars…