Reconnaissance time is never wasted time

Quite out of the blue, I realized that I only had one more day in Le Poët-Laval, and had no idea how to return the car: I therefore suggested a quick trip to Montélimar to S, who was happy to oblige.

Montélimar is a nice enough place – it doesn’t have the wow factor of Avignon, of course, nor the geographical splendour of some of the smaller places such as Suze-la-Rousse. It reminded me of Malaga, a little bit: lived in, pleasant enough, a bit run down. I like these sort of places as they seem very authentic to me – they seem to say “take me or leave me, this is how I am”, and I like that a lot.

We found our way in via a one-way system that might have been designed by a blind man with Tourette’s: it was interrupted a lot by works, by pedestrians running across against lights and the inevitable speed bumps/sleeping policemen that make driving a Twingo such a pleasant experience. I had had colonoscopies that are more pleasurable than navigating cobbled streets in a Twingo. Having parked in the station, we had a quick wander to see if the car park was locatable: it was, but involved going the wrong way down a street with a “No Entry” sign on it, driving through a fenced railing, and then going over another series of speed bumps to eventually find the spot. A Nepalese Gurkha might feasibly lead a team of sherpas to it with comparative ease, but it filled me with dread.

So, off we went for a quick explore of the city. There is a nice park close to the station, which was very pleasant, and then we went off down a series of pedestrianized streets, through deserted squares, until we found a church called the Collégiale Sainte-Croix de Montélimar. Having walked around a few churches while I have been here, I almost didn’t go in, but in the end, I was glad I did. Part of it dated back to the 11th century, and there was an incredible organ inside, one of only three designed and built by Rudolf Von Beckerath that still exist.

Then a further wander down the old N7, which had been redeveloped to add in even more plane trees, and a coffee at Le Rallye. The setting was very nice, if you could ignore the mistral blowing branches into parked cars, and the inevitable parking chaos engendered by having a former national-category road suddenly being decommissioned. We made our way back to the station, and drove back to Le Poët-Laval, via Dieulefit to see how the car was getting on.

“Mais, madame, je vous dirais quand elle sera prête,” said the garagiste agréé (agréé my arse), “ne vous cassez pas la tête, là-dessus.” Indeed.

Home, dinner of cod avec son Aligot, black garlic raviolis, green beans, and some local white wine. Watched Manon des Sources, the second part of Jean de Florette, in the evening. I was glad to see that Papet got his comeuppance.