French Cows

So, we went on a big bike ride this morning along a VTT route and then up in to a forest. Not a soul to be seen, beautiful sunshine and big, fluffy clouds scudding across the sky.

Along farm tracks that disappear over a small rise but then can be seen appearing on the next rise, in a repeating pattern, towards a small hamlet, a little church or a farm.

The big bike ride included an unforeseen big(ish) hill which Son #1 was no big fan of. Soon after telling me that this was the, 'baddest day' he was flying down the other side, having the time of his life. This was brought to an abrupt halt by a boulder, which he hit. Boy and bike left each other briefly before the bike reappeared on his head (helmet saves the day..!). A big gash in his arm and a few tears before being quite proud of his first mountain biking wound.

Savlon and a swim with mum whilst I nipped out to the Belvedere de Chatillion which had a fantastic view.

Down off the hill along stunning, empty roads with glorious cumulus clouds above. I saw the cows on the other side of the field, so I stopped and waited while they ambled over. I attempted to converse with them in their native French, regarding the phenomenal number of flies they had managed to accumulate.

On and on through glorious countryside, still not a soul to be seen. A perfect temperature, a slight breeze, one of those afternoons I will remember all year, probably particularly in February when it's dark at 3 pm and I'm trying to think of another night time blip..!

This felt like travelling, as opposed to tourism - I really felt like I was in France. Back to the campsite and back to being a tourist. One is no better than the other but they are definitely different.