Our sentimental journey through France and Italy / A new edition with Appendix

day of misfortunes. The country was hilly; we were always working up, with only occasional short coasts down, now through villages on the hillside, and now between steep wooded banks.—Once, when, sore perplexed to know which way to go, we were pedalling slowly in indecision, the road made a sudden curve, the banks fell on either side, and there at last they were, the long blue ranges, and, away beyond, one snow-crowned peak shining in sunlight.—After that, they—the delectable mountains of our Sentimental Journey—were always hopefully before us.

—Just outside St. Jean Bournay we came upon the right road from Vienne, but twenty-two kilometres from that city, we saw on the kilometre-stone, and we had already ridden forty-four!

—At the other end of the town we passed a theatre, a large canvas tent with two or three travelling vans close by. A crowd had gathered around it, and were staring with interest at a printed notice hung in front. It was an old American poster, picked up, who knows where? with the name of the play in French above and below it.

A woman in the crowd explained that a negro was the slave of a planter.——

“Or a Prussian, perhaps?” a man suggested.

“No; to be a negro, that is not to be a Prussian,” argued the woman.[B]

After La Côte St. André the road ran between low walnut-trees.—Now and then the monotony of their endless lines was broken by a small village, where men played bowls; and now and then the road was lively with well-dressed people, who jumped as the machine wheeled past them.——

“But that it frightened me, for example!” cried one.

But later a peasant called out—“O malheur, la femme en avant!”

—By-and-by the way grew lonelier, and we had for company the cows, great white stupid creatures, going home from pasture, and their drivers stupid as they, who roused themselves but to swear by the name of God, or to call out, “Thou beast of a pig!” to a cow frightened into the fields by the tricycle.—At last we turned into a broad road, where the walnuts gave place to poplars, and the level came to an end. At the foot of a long steep straight hill was Rives, deep down in a narrow valley.

RIVES.

The dining-room was full of noisy men in blouses and big hats. No place was left for us at the long table, that stretched the entire length of the room; and we sat together in a corner.—The dinner was excellent. But the enemy in white cap was down upon us in a minute, and gave us no peace. She raised a window upon our backs, and as often as we shut it was at our side to open it again. We had the worst of it, for with the salad we seized our wine and napkins and retreated to the opposite corner, giving up our table to four men, who took off their blouses and coats—but not their hats—for their greater comfort, as they sat down and themselves opened the window. What would have been pneumonia, or colds in the heads for us, was health for them.

But there was no rest for us at Rives.—We went to bed early, but until late at night men in heavy boots tramped up and down the narrow carpetless hall outside our door, and in and out the room overhead. They began again at four o’clock in the morning.—As there was no more sleep to be had,——

“We might as well make an early start,” said J——, and we were downstairs by six.

—When we had had our coffee I returned to our room to pack the bag, and J—— went to the stable to get the tricycle. Presently he came up and joined me.—I had not expected him so soon, and was not quite ready.——

“Something has happened,” said I as soon as I looked at him, but still folding flannels.

“We cannot go on,” said he.

“Why?” cried I, jumping up and dropping the flannels.

“I’ll tell you,” said he; “because”——

APPENDIX

The above routes cover about the pleasantest and most interesting touring ground in France. But good roads exist all over the south. For instance, from Bordeaux, the road up the Garonne to Toulouse, 250 kilometres, is excellent, though quite flat; but in the summer time it is apt to be very hot, and the surface loose and sandy.

From this road excursions may be made all through the Pyrenees, which can be entered either at Luchon or at Pau. It is preferable, however, when touring through the Pyrenees, to train to St. Gaudens, from which place Bagnières de Luchon (Hotel de France) is 48 kilometres distant.

Excursions may be made all over this district, which is extremely interesting. Though very hilly, it possesses magnificent roads. From Pau to Dax the route is by

From Castets, near Dax, one strikes the main highroad from Bordeaux to Bayonne, about 200 kilometres in distance; it traverses Les Landes, and is worth taking.

From St. Gaudens to Carcassonne (Hotel Bernard), 170 kilometres, the road begins by being hilly, but you gradually leave the region of the Pyrenees, and it becomes easier riding. But long hills are to be found all about here. Long distances have to be made between towns, and, unless one has plenty of time, this trip on to Narbonne, Cette, and Montpellier, is hardly to be recommended. It is also liable frequently to great heat and much sand.

From Toulouse to Albi (Hotel du Nord), 76 kilometres, the road is good; and from Albi excursions can be made all over the marvellous country of the Tarn Gorges, and through the Cevennes. But travelling in this section requires comparatively good knowledge of French, and also of geography; though the roads are good, the towns are few, and long distances must be made each day.

The highroad from Paris to Clermont-Ferrand, 400 kilometres, turning off Route 1 at Moulins, conducts one to the heart of Auvergne and the volcanic country. Continuing from Clermont-Ferrand to Issoire, and thence to Brioude, one may turn to the left for St. Flour, and thence to Rodez and Albi, or to the right for La Chaise-Dieu and Le Puy, proceeding from this place either down the Loire and again to Moulins, or crossing over to Lyons.

Poitiers is connected by main road with Limoges, and from that town St. Flour may be reached. Following on, by Mende and Florac, one will come to Allier, and next Nîmes, for Arles.

Nearly all these roads, however, are over high mountain passes, and though the scenery is well worth seeing, and though the enormous coasts, sometimes 10 miles long, make up for the enormous hills that have to be walked, one must expect very strong winds and bad weather, even in the middle of summer.

To the north and east of Paris some good riding is to be had, and the scenery is almost always delightful, but there is a vast amount of pavé. This may be usually avoided by taking to the byroads, information about which, now that cycling has become so popular, can often be had from cycle agents, or efficient repairers, who are to be found in every town.

A most interesting tour would be Amiens, Laon, Soissons, Rheims and the champagne country, Troyes, whence return could be made to Paris, or the journey continued by way of Châlons-sur-Marne, Dijon to Geneva.

The Vosges district, too, is worth visiting, and endless tours may be made from Nancy as a centre. Provence also, the Riviera, and the Cornice Road, afford some of the most delightful wheeling to be had in the country. But tourists, with time enough to make these long excursions, will prefer doubtless to map their routes out for themselves by the aid of the C.T.C. Road Books and Baroncelli’s Guides.

There is only one portion of the country which every one who cares for the pleasures of cycling should be advised to avoid, and that is the vast and dreary plain stretching from Paris to Le Mans, and from Rouen to Orléans. In planning a tour through France by routes other than those here given or suggested, Baedeker’s or Murray’s guide-books should be used for general information, supplemented, for road information, by the Géographie Joanne for each department through which one is passing. They can be purchased for 50 centimes, or 1 franc 25 centimes, in every bookshop in France. They are quite reliable enough, and much more convenient to carry than any other maps published in the country.

The Cyclists’ Touring Club is at present engaged in bringing out a revised edition of its French Road Book. So far, however, Baroncelli’s Guides are the best cycle routes published. His address is 18 Rue Roquepine, Paris. The Sketch Routes, published by the Véloce Sport (English address, Paul Hardy, 27 Alfred Place, Russell Square), are very useful if they happen to take you in the direction you wish to go. The Cyclists’ Touring Club Road Books, only sold to members, contain a vast amount of useful information unfortunately not well arranged. Membership in this club, which only costs half-a-crown a year, is desirable for tourists on the Continent.

The Customs regulations in France are not at all stringent, and tourists are now almost invariably allowed free entry with their machines at the chief ports, provided they can prove themselves to be tourists, and possess a sufficient knowledge of the French language to explain the fact intelligibly. Otherwise, a deposit of fifty or more francs is demanded; but if a receipt be obtained, the amount, with a very trifling deduction, will be returned if the tourist leaves the country within six months. If one, however, proposes to go for a few days into Germany, Belgium, or Spain, it is well to obtain a Passavant Descriptif, a description of the machine, which costs a penny, and will permit the bearer to return without any other formalities than showing this document on again passing the Customs officers. It can be obtained at the frontier stations by which one leaves the country, and is good at any other point of entry. A passport is of very little use, but some papers of identification, if possible French, may be indispensable for any one who sketches or photographs. Sketching and photographing are prohibited within a circle of 10 kilometres of any fortifications.

French hotels are usually reasonable and excellent. When they are extortionate, they are nearly always bad.

Parcels Post is about as unreliable as in any other part of the world. Clothes forwarded in this way are subject to the same uncertainty of delivery, as regards time, as in England.

Suggestions as to distances to be ridden, clothes to be worn, and so on, are quite unnecessary, since any one who has toured at all is usually a law unto himself in these matters, and will accept no advice.

But as the roads are the best in the world, the people the most polite, unless a head wind catches him, the tourist should have a delightful time if he keeps to the right of the road, and provides himself with a lamp and a bell.

 
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