We were up and out early this morning, heading to the Pyrenees for my birthday present  – a tandem paragliding flight. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years, though I have to admit to feeling a bit nervous.
We left home under heavy skies, but as we got into the hills, the cloud broke and the sun came out; by the time we arrived at Val de Louron, it was perfect and we could see several paragliders flying already.
We were to be two “passengers” on this trip, myself and a guy called Daniel; we got into the minibus with our pilots and the driver, to go to the top of col d’Azet, the starting point for our flights. But as we drove up the col, the cloud came down and the wind started to blow; once on the top we all loaded up our gear and walked to the take off area. The pilots weren’t happy; the wind was too strong and in the worst possible direction. We walked to a second and then a third possible take off point, but it was no better, so in the end we had to come back down in the minibus and re-book for another day. Very disappointing, but at least I’ve still got it to look forward to in two weeks’ time.
On the way home we stopped in the pretty Pyrenean town of Arreau, to take photos, as I’d promised there would be some today!

Nick m’avait promis quelque chose formidable pour mon anniversaire et ce matin on est parti tot vers les Pyrenées pour un vol bi-place de parapente!

On est arrivé en beau soleil, mais pendant le voyage vers le haut du col d’Azet, les nuages sont déscendus et le vent a commencé souffler fort, et dans une mauvaise direction pour décoller.

Nous avons essayé trois lieux de décollage, mais toujours avec le meme problème, donc en fin on a du descendre en minibus et re-booker pour un autre jour. J’etais très deçue, mais j’ai toujours l’anticipation.

A la retour, nous nous sommes arretés prendre des photos, comme j’ai promis hier.

Sixty
SIXTY!!!!!
How did that happen??
I’m not ready!!!
Forty was bad enough; it sounded far too grown up.
Fifty was worse; far too sensible.
But sixty sounds grey, wrinkled, ancient and positively decrepit!
S’pose I’ll just have to get used to it 🤔

We started the so-called celebrations last Friday, when Nick took me out to dinner at a fabulous restaurant; on Saturday the band was playing at a sheep shearing during the day, then we went to see a friend’s band play in Nogaro in the evening and Sunday was spent at Kieran and Alice’s, a very relaxing sort of day.

Today we’d intended to head off in the camper for a few days, but waking to howling winds and lashing rain soon put paid to that, so we spent the day shopping for light fittings and stuff for the new house instead.

Nick’s got something up his sleeve for tomorrow, I’m not sure what, except that it’s dependent on the weather. No photos today, but he assures me there’ll be some tomorrow, if the weather’s ok. Watch this space.

You may remember that Nick’s bike got slightly bent last November; though not his best bike, it was the one he rode most frequently. I expected finding a replacement would be one of the first jobs he did on his return from hospital, but who knows how a man’s mind works!?
He finally decided on a new model and ordered it a couple of weeks ago, expecting it to arrive mid-June; he was like a little boy on Christmas morning when the postman brought it this morning; did he have time to get it set up for this weekend’s trip to the mountains? Work immediately stopped on the kitchen, the noise of drilling was replaced by the sound of cardboard being torn and bubble wrap being removed. The bike under repair was taken off the stand and the new frame put in its place in order to attach wheels, handlebars, pedals and saddle, to the accompaniment of sighs and grunts of approval. In the end, a lack of bottle cages decided him that he’d have to ride an old bike in the hills, but that a short trip is in order this afternoon, just to try it out.
He’s a very happy bunny today.

Peut-être vous vous souvenez que le vélo de Nick était un peu blessé novembre dernier.  Ce n’était pas son meilleur vélo, mais celui qu’il roulait le plus, donc j’attendais qu’il aurait le remplacer tout de suite à sa rentrée de l’hôpital, mais non; qui peut comprendre le cerveau d’un homme !?
En fin il a choisi un nouveau, attendu mi-juin, mais quand il est arrivé ce matin il était comme un petit garçon à Noël; pouvait il le préparer à l’heure pour l’amener en montagnes ce week-end ?
Tout travaux à la cuisine s’est arrêté; le son de la perceuse est remplacé par le son d’un carton étant déchiré. Il a mis ce nouveau sur le porte-vélo afin d’attacher les roues, la selle, les pédales et le guidon. Mais, en fin, c’est la manque d’un porte-bidons qui l’a décidé qu’il va en montagnes sur un ancien vélo, après une courte rando cette après-midi, juste pour l’essayer.
Il est vraiment content!

If there’s anyone out there who looks forward to my blogs and has missed them recently (well, I can dream!), I’m sorry. It’s not that I’ve had nothing to say, just that I haven’t had time!
While the weather was good, and mostly not too hot, we got on with the garden; I was digging, weeding, planting and sowing, while Nick cleared brambles and nettles from around the heaps of building materials, then used the digger to remove earth, and to fill in the hole he’d made with rubble, to make the foundations for our “ruin” wall.
We recycle the treated water from the septic tank to water the garden; up to now it’s been pumped across to a storage tank using a length of hosepipe, but it’s neither pretty nor practical, so he’s laid a length of pipe underground now.
The last few days have been cool, wet and windy, giving us a break from the 2 hour daily job of watering the aubergines, courgettes, tomatoes, butternut squash, broccoli, parsley, coriander, lettuce, beetroot and onions, not to mention all the flowers I’ve planted recently. Not watering means we sometimes finish work before 9pm – bliss!!!
Speaking of onions, we’d decided to plant 400 this year as last year’s 200 were eaten too quickly. I went to the market, it was the assistant who served me, not the talkative boss; he thought there were 50 in a bundle, so I bought eight bundles, but each one was 100, so I ended up with 800 onions! I found space for 700 and swapped the rest with Hervé, for some parsley and broccoli.
This week has been good weather for working indoors; Nick’s getting on with the kitchen, which is starting to look good, while I’ve filled the joints and started painting the entrance hall.
I’m sorry about the lack of photos; the computer isn’t working properly at the moment, so I can’t put them on here. I’ll add some pictures when Kieran’s fixed it.

When we moved here, Kieran decided he’d come with us for a year, to help with the building work. At the end of that year, having barely scratched the surface of the work that needed doing, he agreed to stay for a second year, during which he met Alice, now his wife.

Alice’s parents are architects, who run a family firm and Kieran was soon looking after their computers. He’s really found his niche there and is now an integral member of the team,  loves playing with the 3D printer, has installed a new software system that builds  incredibly detailed models of buildings and which is a requirement for architects designing public buildings. He is also working on introducing an ethos of good customer service across the company, a totally alien concept to the French.

Anyone who knows him will be aware that Kieran is not someone who enjoys being in the limelight, so when he was asked to do a series of presentations on the new software system to other architects, it was his worst nightmare. The presentation was about 20 minutes long and there was to be time for questions afterwards; of course, it was all in French, to be repeated three times in a day. He says it went fine; which, given Kieran-speak, probably means it was brilliant. I’m so proud of him!

At the end of the last cycle club dinner, one of the guys stood up and asked for quiet, a big ask at these boisterous events. He said he was going to read an article from l’équipe, the sports newspaper, written by an undercover journalist who’d infiltrated the club over the last few months and had written an article about the characters he’d met in the Nogaro cycle club.
Obviously a spoof, we all sat back to enjoy it and we weren’t disappointed.
He went on to describe several members who ride regularly; the good looking one who doesn’t like to put in too much effort and has a million excuses for why he’s not at peak fitness; the ex-president for whom money is what matters, who likes to offer advice on a strictly “do as I say, not as I do” basis. Then there’s the late comer to cycling, only taking up the sport after retiring; a perfect gentleman, always immaculately turned out and capable of coping with any paperwork the French system can throw at him, he seems, according to the journalist, to be cycling a little too well and should we be suspicious? He thought that the guy who often rides tandem with his wife deserved a medal for so doing. And as for the one of the few women to ride regularly, who would do anything to help anyone and likes to check that they’ve all taken their medications, had enough to eat, made the bed, locked the house, had a wee……… Or the one who always arrives too late for the formal greetings, so important in France, and passes most of every ride in discussion with the ex-president about the agricultural crisis, the price of maize, the weather, pesticides, etc, etc, but rides strongly; again, should we be suspicious? He blames it on the agricultural pesticides he inhales at work.
Then he got to Nick, aka Bradley Wiggins; this incredible rider who had already performed the amazing feat of escaping the fog of England to arrive in Nogaro, bringing a breath of fresh air to the Nogaro peloton, always attentive to the needs of others and frequently hanging back to help weaker riders. So devoted is he to the club that one day, perceiving a car heading towards them at great speed, he intercepted it, reducing the vehicle to a total wreck and himself suffering several scratches for his wife to fuss over.
We didn’t understand all of it, but enough to appreciate the gist of it; there was hardly a dry eye by the end, everyone was laughing so hard.

The best way to learn a language is to go to the country where it’s spoken. So, having worked very hard recently, feeling in need of a break and having noted that the weather forecast for northern Spain was good this week, we packed up the camper and headed off. First stop Jaca, just 20km over the border; a lovely town with a castle, a cathedral, lots of restaurants and a camper van site.

The only down side to being so close to France, from the point of view of someone who wanted to try out her Spanish, was that most people spoke French, English or both. But I kept trying. Looking around the town I noticed an old fashioned haberdashery shop, the perfect place to buy the bits I need for a textile arts project; full of enthusiasm, I went into the shop, only realising too late that I had neither my dictionary nor the necessary words. I hadn’t a clue how to say “ribbon”, could make a wild guess at “gold” and “silver”, but as for “sparkling” – no hope! Luck was on my side though, as there was a French woman serving. so I bought everything I needed without a problem.

We stayed in Jaca for a couple of days, wandered around the town and castle, ate very well at local restaurants (where the waiters were very patient with my halting attempts at their language) and soon felt very relaxed.

The next place on Nick’s itinerary was Ainsa, an ancient village about 80km away; but we missed the turning, so took a much longer route, which led us past a stunning reservoir, olive and almond groves and fields and road edges full of wild flowers. Ainsa is a little medieval village perched on a hilltop, complete with the ruins of a castle, next to which was the campervan site. The views over the mountains were lovely, especially as the sun set, turning everything golden.

We went for a short bike ride the evening we arrived, to see a monument recommended by the tourist information lady; if I needed any convincing that I don’t like mountain biking, this was it; the views were great, but I was far too busy worrying about falling off on the rutted track to appreciate them!

The following morning we set off on a proper bike ride, ie on nice, smooth, tarmacked roads. We followed a little road up into the hills; there were tiny villages dotted all around and we found ourselves in Guaso, from where you can take the road an extra 1km further up a very steep hill, to see the tower built on the summit; Nick, of course, did; I chickened out halfway, preferring to watch the good looking tree surgeon prune the olive trees on the other side of the road.

Eventually we got back to the camper and set off home, a journey that should have taken about 4-5 hours, but by the time we’d had numerous stops to take photos and called in to see some friends in the foothills of the Pyrenees, it was nearer seven, but we were on holiday after all.

Last Sunday the band was booked to play at a sheep festival; there was sheep shearing, spinning and a variety of other traditional crafts. It all depended, of course, on the weather; if it rained, it would be cancelled. We were lucky; it was quite cool, but dry as we played through the aperitifs, had lunch of hot dogs made with lamb sausages, followed by a croustade, a local dessert made with layers of filo-type pastry, apple and armagnac.

The audience came and went as they wandered between the attractions while the sheep were being sheared and apparently people were listening to us as we attempted to keep warm. I was able to jump about a bit, but poor Vera, our accordian player, just froze and had to give up playing towards the end when her fingers went numb! The organisers, however, were delighted; they’re hoping to do the same thing again next year and will we be available? We’ve never turned down a free feed yet.

Notre groupe a joué à la fête de mouton à Estang dimanche dernier. Ils ont tondu 160 brebis pendant la journée, il y avait une dame qui a filé de la laine aussi que plusieurs autres métiers traditionnelles.

Il faisait sec mais assez froid, mais nous avons joué pendant les apéros et après avoir mangé des hotdogs de saucisse d’agneau et croustade. Les organisateurs étaient contents et nous ont demandé si on peut le faire encore l’année prochaine.

We’ve worked hard on the garden this week, while the weather was warm anyway; but today it turned cold, wet and windy, so we stayed indoors.

I’ve nearly finished weeding the veg plot, unearthing three rows of onions planted last autumn in the process and Nick has done battle with the brambles that had submerged the pile of builders’ materials until, at last, we can see what we’ve got. We’ve taken one trailerful of brambles and weeds to the tip and the trailer is full again. It may not look pretty to most eyes, but these things are relative and to us it looks great! There’s still a large, lumpy patch under which is a heap of stones and rubble; probably next week’s task.

Most of the plants we put into the banking seem to have survived, the wild flower seeds are sprouting, the patches that I sowed with grass seed are growing and the general tidiness meant that when the wind dropped and the sun appeared this evening, it only took a couple of hours to mow the lot. That’s progress!

Nick had signed up to do a bike ride in the Baronies, in the foothills of the Pyrenees, this weekend, so we used it as a good excuse for a trip in the camper, the first of the year. Thursday was spent cleaning the camper, inside and out, and loading it with provisions and bikes, then on Friday we were off.

Our first stop was in Lourdes, to ride the voie verte, a cycle track built on the old railway line, which weaves its way through woodland and meadows from Lourdes to Pierrefitte Nestalas, 20km into the hills. A stop for hot chocolate in the village and back on the bikes to go back to Lourdes, then we headed for Bagnerres de Bigorre for the night.

On Saturday morning, after a leisurely breakfast, it was time to go to the start of the ride, 10km away in Bersac Dessus, on the plain that borders the Baronnies. The weather was perfect, just warm enough, with occassional sunny spells, as over 1000 riders gathered, including quite a few from the Nogaro club. There was a bandas band playing as they set off, a few km on the flat before they attacked the climbs and descents of the Baronnies. Nick did the longest of the four routes, at 89km, with about 2500m of climbing and said he went better than he’d expected.

I went for a walk through some of the local villages; rarely have I seen such a concentration of huge old houses, tucked behind massive gates, usually set in beautiful gardens.  Between the villages were fields of wild flowers, and the ditches on either side of the roads were more like streams, with the mountain melt water rushing along them.

Back at the salle des fetes in the late afternoon, the cyclists began to arrive. The tombola was drawn and huge quantities of sandwiches, cakes, dried fruit, orange juice, water and coffee appeared, very much appreciated by everyone who’d done the ride.

We made our way back to the camper and hot soup, then home, already planning our next trip away.