Rest days - France

All climbers need rest days. Rest days to go shopping for food and supplies. Rest days to read guidebooks to plan the next climbing days. Rest days to explore the local area. Rest days to check out the climbing shops. And I guess, rest days just to rest.

Some people climb for 2 days, then have 1 day off. Some people climb for 3 days then have one day off. And some climb for 4 days then have one day off. It depends on how long, how hard and how much you are climbing. The longer the climbs, the more often you need to rest; the more routes you climb, the more often you need to rest; and the more difficult the climbing, the more you need to rest. Anyway, in one year, we should have at least 3 months worth of “rest days”. That’s quite alot of resting.

I love our rest days. Sometimes we grab the frisbee and throw it around, or try to get better at slacklining (walking on a tightrope) or play boule or do yoga. And sometimes we just sit in a cafe or at the campsite talking about anything and everything. Some of the cafes are really nice, they don’t mind you eating your croissants and brioche and they have free wifi, which is perfect. Sure beats paying 1 euro for 10 minutes!

Of course we have to do our food shopping on rest days too, to satisfy our endless appetites. E.Leclerc has been our favourite supermarket so far. E.Leclerc is pronounced “leclair” in French – like chocolate eclair. My first attempt at saying it though sounded like “Lee Clerk” which no French person understood of course, and which Nic laughed at and corrected. Then, when we met some Aussies here, and Nic was talking about it, they had no idea what he was talking about, until I said “Lee Clerk”, and they understood, and said they had nicknamed it Electric! E. Leclerc along with Lidl seems to have the cheapest best value food in France. But when we are feeling a bit flushed up with cash, we go to the local market to select some new cheese we haven’t tried before, some local wine, some saucisson, some patissiere, some fruits and veg....

Rest days also mean more time to prepare food and cook. After a big days climbing, cooking can get a little dull because you are tired, but we managed to make a few different breakfasts on rest days... omelletes and crepes hmmm and cook a few awesome dinners like our woodfired bbqs and homemade pizzas. One rest day, to our surprise, the frisbee proved not only to be fun to throw around, but to be the perfect utensil for fruit picking. By throwing it at the blackberry tree, we made all the fruits fall onto our tarp so that we could pick them up easily, pour them into a saucepan, and then make some yummy blackberry jam. Beats picking them one by one! Miam Miam!

Listen closely - France

France is all melody and beats in summer. Music collides at the festivals as we wonder around listening to mellow reggae behind tarty pop covers, jazz solos intertwined with pumping techno, and modern French blending with African fusion.

Crag pets - France

I think I forgot to mention the most important member of Nic’s family – that is the cat, Mimine. But you can’t just say Mimine in a normal tone... you have to say Mimine in the highest pitch possible, until someone else in the family says it higher than you, and then of course you have to say it higher again and again and again, and the competition goes on until you are squeaking out the sound in the most ridiculous way that your mouth hurts, and you just have to burst out laughing. Mimine is the goddess of all cats. She is a great grandmother to Petite Mimine, a grandmother to Mimis which has gone astray, and a mother to Misty Gris. So the three cats form part of the Le Baut family, but everyone loves great grandma Mimine the best and so did I. She has an especially soft coat of 3 distinct colours and a purr that hums away, as she sleeps blissfully. Mimine spends most of her day sitting in a potplant with daffodils waiting for guests to come to the farm, so she can escort them from their car to the farm shop door. And when Nic’s brother Joss used to go to school, Mimine knew just when the bus should be pulling over, so would go and wait for him at the bus stop and walk him back home.

Mimine is certainly a beautiful and intelligent cat, but when you have been brought up in a family of dog lovers, it is hard to share the love. Cats scratch, cats stray, they are no ones best friend AND while we’ve met plenty of dogs at sports climbing crags, I’ve never seen a crag cat. Mimine could however be the exception. She is so loyal and loving, I doubt she would stray very far (from Nic in particular) at the crag, and I think she would love it there. She could do her yoga stretches together with me and then chase the butterflies while we climb. She could finish off our tuna for lunch and then sleep in the sun.

But Mimine is very attached to the farm, so perhaps if she didn’t want to join us, instead we could steal away Dennis’s fat rabbit Pin Pin for our crag pet. Pin Pin lives on Dennis’ verandah and spends his whole days eating and enjoying a spectacular view of Gap and the surrounding mountains. The exercise he would get around the crag could certainly assist with his diet. Pin Pin appeared to be on the Special K 12 week challenge when we stayed with Dennis. It was Special K and carrots for breakfast, and Special K and endives for dinner; while we ate our croissants and tarts. But the verandah which Dennis built was impressive and a perfect rabbit home, and despite the diet, I imagine Pin Pin indulged in left over croissants and tarts and even some bunny chocolate every now and again. Perhaps Pin Pin would also be reluctant to join us.

So I guess Nic and I will just have to content ourselves with our other crag friends. The giant ants that live in pockets and crawl onto your hands when you use their home as your next climbing hold, the friendly spider who lets you move him out of the way even though you destroyed his web because you need that jug; the green green grasshoppers who amble along camouflaged among the moss until you are up close and personal, the black birds that swoop down swerving justabove your head and the butterflies that flutter around joyfully, brightening up the grey rock, and any grey climbing day.

Afterword: Today at Ceuse I did see a little crag cat who seemed to be quite content sitting watching its owners. It was tied up to a tree so it didn’t go astray, and kill the native birds. Maybe this is the way of the future.

Deaf sentence - Orpierre, France

I am reading a book called Deaf Sentence at the moment. It is an autobiography by an English man I am gradually coming to despise. He whinges about having to look after his father who is developing dementia; he whinges about his diminishing sex life with his wife and having to socialise at her work parties; he whinges about being a retired professor and being on his own all day; and he whinges about an unhinged smitten postgraduate student who he stupidly gets involved with. Most of all though, he whinges about becoming deaf, the grief it causes him and the lack of dignity the disability has compared to other disabilities, like blindness. Blindness, he says is tragedy, deafness is comedy. With blindness people will go out of their way to help you, they will help you cross the road, or help you off the train or help you onto a seat and pat your guide dog. With deafness he says, people just laugh at you; ´”What did you get for christmas Lena” he asked his grandaughter “Oh, an icicle, that’s nice...” he says, rather confused.... everyone laughs.... “ She said a tricycle darling”.

But the English man would have had nothing to whinge about last night. No one would have been laughing at him, and if anything we would have been jealous of his deafness. Being hard of hearing could have its advantages...

Last night was not unusual. We finished off our meal with pieces of dark chocolate and a lovely glass of Cote du Vivarais before packing up the camp kitchen and getting ready for bed. Nic had already prepared all the climbing gear for a multipitch the next day; 8 pitches of stunning climbing at the Quiquillion in Orpierre. We planned to get up at 7 am to ensure we arrived at the crag before anyone else, it is far more enjoyable to climb a multipitch at your own pace, rather than at someone else’s. If there is a group climbing ahead of you then they will set the pace for the day and you have no choice but to follow. Its like spending all day on a one lane road with no overtaking lane behind a truck that cant go over 80... So, with slightly wine induced contentment and sleepiness we crawled into our tent and onto our mattresses, excited about our big climb the following day.

The tent has been coping very well on our trip so far, and has created a happy home for us each night. Although blessed with good weather there has been the occasional thunderstorm where its 4 season capacity has been tested, but it has stood proudly throughout and has kept us warm and dry in the wind and rain. The mattresses however, are a different story. For 2 months they worked perfectly well. They were comfy and warm to sleep on even in the snow and at altitude because they are inflatable and filled with down. But now, after pumping them up in the evening they are flat by midnight. And it wasn’t until recently that we have found out why. All our efforts at locating the punctures ended in frustration and failure, until we really managed to submerge them in some perfectly still water and found that there wasn’t just one or two punctures to be fixed, but 15 or 20 scattered micro holes to deal with... so new mats are on order, and Exped has some explaining to do. But despite their deflatedness, we usually manage to get a good nights sleep.

7 am is an early start for us at the moment, so we were in bed around 10. But our bedtime is when the parties start. Most discoteques in France are out of town; away from the villages so residents cant be disturbed, and where they have no neighbours. Most campsites are also out of town, near the discoteques.....or near houses where people throw big parties with the assumption they have no neighbours. The party that night was really something. At first I imagined a group of totally messed up French teenagers; not sure whether they were into death metal or rave music or both. But then random old pop classics started playing, interspersed with some reggae and then rmb!? It was a party for every musical taste. We might as well been trying to sleep at the party next to the speakers; the music was ontop of us, all around us and all invading. There is a song on the French radio at the moment that is attractive in its simplicity, and goes something like “ Shut up , just shut up shut up; Shut up, just shut up shut up. “ I almost wished I was the English man from the book. So although we were all prepared with our climbing gear to get up at 7 and get to the crag before anyone else, it wasn’t until 3 in the morning that we really got to sleep and it wasn’t until 9 in the morning that we got out of bed.

So that’s my whinge.

Sweaty palms and slippery feet - Ardeche, France

Ardeche consists mostly of limestone cliffs beside rivers that are perfect for cooling off in during summer. The limestone and the 30 plus degree days reminded me of my time in Tonsai, Thailand, but instead of grading the climbs easily as they do there, it was graded particularly hard. So hard in fact that our confidence went out the window for a few days, and we thought we might be better off taking up another hobby or stick to hiking perhaps. You could easily add a grade or two for the difficulty.

We set up camp at Castlejau which is a tiny town with the largest concentration of climbing in Ardeche and began to explore the region giving each of the climbs we did a star rating because the guide books didn’t. 0 stars meant crap, 1 star meant ok, 2 stars meant good and 3 stars meant something sustained, interesting and worth doing again. One day we went to a crag called Le Viel Audon which lies across a river from Balazuc, a beautfiul medieval town. Most of the climbs we did there we gave 2 stars. Then on another day we visited a crag called Salavas at Fontgarnide, a slabby cliff on a hill with good views of the area, and we rated most our climbs with 3 stars. Then we also visited Vallon Pont D’arc mostly for some swimming because of the heat!

Around Castlejau we had a play at Les Actinidias and Chaulet, but ended up at Mazet Plage most days where the sun wasn’t as intense and our hands didn’t drip with sweat after two minutes. One of the climbs at Mazet was called Pinky graded 6c (Ozzie grade 22) which Nic worked on one morning. The name says it all; there is not much to hold onto, and if you can hold onto something its, well it has to be with your.... . Another climb was called Les Strates a grade 6a (18) which we both liked. Les Strates had the craziest move in it where I had to balance on tip toes with both hands on 2 finger crimpers at chest height, then I had to put my right foot up high, rock onto it, then right hand a bit higher for balance on a slab before reaching for a jug. A very very balancy move, way above the bolt and quite scarey (especially for a 6a...) when I felt I was just getting back into climbing. The problem is that by the time you get there, your arms are totally pumped and it is difficult to relax and balance properly without having a good rest to let the pump subside, but there is no natural resting spot, so you just have to keep going. Despite being just a 6a, it is still my “project”.

The climbing routes in Ardeche tend to be cruxy, so a few times we jumped on a 6a (18) which you could climb up easily - say grade 15 style - then all of a sudden the climb would involve a 6c move (22) with no alternative! And some climbs were so polished and slippery our feet and hands slid everywhere. It was soo incredibly hot during the day, that we could really only climb in the morning before the sun hit or from 5 in the evening. Our climbing days could sometimes be frustrating...

The rivers in Ardeche could also be frustrating. They are ruled by the canoe mafia, and apparently on any given day in summer, there are 2000 canoes hired out to tourists. But Nic and I had our own ideas on how to enjoy the river, beat the mafia, and beat the 15 euro an hour canoe hire charge. We found some 3 euro lilos; money well spent. For hours we would drift down the river on our lilos, often passing over areas where the tourists in canoes would get stuck on rocks. In some parts the river was magical, as the limestone boulders which were 2 or 3 metres high created mazes and rapids which we sped down. In other parts the river would slow down and widen out and we would search for potential deep water solo opportunities on the bank. Nic would swim over and double and triple fold his lilo so that he could climb upon it and onto the rock to check it out.

After climbing and liloing in the heat, the coolness of the evenings spent having long bbqs and endless wine was the perfect respite. Ardeche has some of the best wine in France. My favourite, Cote du Vivarais; the perfect accompaniment to bbq and very drinkable. Mmmmmm.

Deja vu - the hospital, Ardeche, France

I knew the climb was run out and knew it would be tough, but still desperately wanted to climb it. We were in Castlejau, France where the limestone is pretty and polished, and the river is a welcome respite for sweaty climbing bodies. As I approached the third bolt of Strappel my mind became preoccupied and dark, it was lonely up there where the next move was beyond me, and any fall would be huge. The fear made my legs move like Elvis and my arms like a chicken. I knew I couldn’t climb any further particularly in this dismal form, so I began to down climb.

Suddenly, my deadly scream echoed throughout the valley scaring everyone in its wake, as I fell barely a metre and smashed my feet against the wall. As usual, after being lowered to the ground, I laughed off everyone’s concern and swore at myself for not going for the move and for making a scene, until a twitch told me my right foot was not so right. As it gradually started aching I looked back at the climb in disbelief. Déjà vu. It was the same foot ... the same foot that caused me 6 months of rehab ...the same foot that I had put down when falling off a Vespa..... how could I have been so stupid to injure it again!

Good old Vinnie the Vespa was the best accessory I had ever had. He was a funky dark purple colour, 120ccs and gave me all the freedom and speed I needed. Even playing it safe (unlike the sexy Parisian girls who little tops and heels) by decking out in my big puffy silver and purple bikey jacket, matching silver helmet, gloves and boots I felt free and alive. Bzzzzzz as I roamed the streets zipping down to the beach to check out the surf.... bzzzzzzzz as I popped down to the cafe to meet a friend.

But even before I had chance to get my licence, someone else fell in love with Vinnie and stole him away from me – right outside our house! Vexed but not deterred, I hired a moped to go for my P test anyway, but the writing was on the wall.

The morning of the test wasn’t so bad. We spent a lot of time doing circuits around the local streets in a line of six greasy teenage boys, with the instructor out in front, and me and my moped bringing up the rear. In the tea breaks we had a chuckle about the ugliness of the fluoro yellow RTA shirts we had to wear. The boys told me excitedly about their own shitty bikes, their future Ducatis, and the big trips they planned after they got their licenses. Then, in all sincerity they asked me about my (hired) moped, which, at only 100cc was the last accessory they ever wanted.

We all got through the day unscathed, and the last test was an obstacle course consisting of four short elements. Firstly, a left turn where you had to stop in a bay. Secondly, a weave in and out of orange witches hats. Thirdly, a few laps around a track stopping at various designated points, and lastly the emergency stop. By that stage I was tired and just wanted to go home; so when the instructor asked who wanted to do the test first I was quick to respond. All went well until some clouds which had been threatening during the day burst, and rain swept over the track. The ground quickly became wet, my boots slippery and my helmet cover fogged over. But I just had one more thing to do to pass - the emergency stop. I pressed on the accelerator to reach the required 30kmph before slamming on the breaks at the designated spot. The breaks jammed on the painted line, the tyres slid, and I fell - letting out that same deadly scream – and getting an automatic FAIL.

“Don’t worry ‘blossom’” said the instructor “you’ve just hurt your pride”, and I glared back at him with the evil eye. I hobbled off across the tar with my right foot becoming more and more painful until arriving at the RTA shed where I burst into tears when asking to use the phone. It became apparent that I wasn’t going to be doing anymore walking let alone riding that day, and so Mum and Dad came to the rescue. We decided that any trip to the doctor would have to wait till the next day as it was approaching dusk and we would be lucky to find one open.

That whole night I lay in agony, my foot burning, so Mum rushed me to the hospital the following morning. After we relayed what had happened, the doctor promptly rushed me into the surgical room, put my right arm on the hospital table and began plastering my right wrist!!? (Apparently there is a bone in the wrist is commonly broken after falling, and can cause problems if displaced further and not plastered. ) I was perplexed, but he assured me that my foot should be fine but should be xrayed just in case.

Nic took me to the hospital the day after where I had x-rays taken of the right wrist and the right foot. After reading the x-rays, a doctor gave my foot the all clear, but said I needed to keep the wrist in plaster for at least a week as only a later x-ray would truly confirm all was in order. So, not able to walk due to my foot, and not able to use crutches because of my wrist, Nic carried me out of the hospital, (much to the nurses envy;) and I lay in a position on the couch, that was to be my home for the next week.

The quicker my foot healed, the sooner I could get back into climbing. So in true rehab style I began little walks to assist with the healing process. I knew if I could just walk a bit further each day eventually I would be able to walk to the beach (about a 15 minute return walk) and maybe climb in a few weeks, I thought. It was painful, but I would work through that pain.

Then, out of the blue, a week later (when my foot wasn’t feeling much better and I still hadn’t made it to the beach) came a random phone call from the hospital and a message to come back in as the xray looked rather.... suspicious. I went back and they took a CT scan. Ah yes! Its as we expected, they said, your right foot is broken. BROKEN!! Oh, and errr... your right wrist is fine. FINE !! so no need for that plaster on the wrist, and we better put something on that foot. I was MAD. So began 3 months of no walking, 4 months of no running, and worst of all 6 months of no climbing.

So, as my right foot began to ache more and more through the night in the tent at Castlejau, France as it had done at Mum’s almost exactly a year before, we had dark visions of “something vertical” being more like “something hoppable”, of changed flights and plans, of months of no climbing ... but the next morning, the hospital at Aubenas was a (boys) wet dream. Jolie French nurses, no queue to see them, no queue for the x-ray, and an angelic doctor who told me that NOTHING WAS BROKEN.

So whilst I might be off the rock for 1 week or so; I’m content at Castlejau, and anyway, we’re staying here for 2.

Castles, flowers and frogs - Loire Valley, France

There once was a frog called Nic,
Who made lots of girls very sick.
He’d pick them all flowers,
From around castle towers,
Which were covered in bugs and ticks.

There once was a girl who loved flowers,
Who’d smell them around castles for hours.
A frog gave her his pick,
Which had hidden a tick,
But the girl was a witch with some powers.

There once was a witch called Spunky,
Who cast spells that were rather clunky.
She turned ticks into dicks,
Which gave her the kicks, and
The frog ended up as a monkey!

There once was a monkey called Nic,
Who climbed walls so incredibly quick.
He could do all the moves,
And mantle up rooves, and
Listened to her crap limerick.

Spending up - St Dier de Auvergne, France

Without trying (too much) to emulate Alanis Morisette’s song.... isn’t it ironic when there’s rain on your wedding day. Last year Nic and I went to a wedding at a winery in Tasmania that couldn’t have been more beautiful. It was full of fun and good times, and perfect ... apart from the rain. And isn’t it ironic when there’s good advice that you just don’t take. Like the advice not to play soccer on a bad knee that my brother didn’t take, only to end up with months and months of rehab after knee surgery.

And isn’t it ironic that when you go out seeking something vertical to climb, you end up stuck in the flattest part of the country for a week. And isn’t it ironic that when you are unemployed and on a tight budget thats when you suddenly need the most money... Nic and I had envisaged a road trip in France where we would avoid paying much for accommodation; in particular, so that we could spend more on wine and food, and climbing gear. Ok, so maybe you might think that seems a little idealistic, but we had our reasons... We have a 4 season tent which survives through any weather, we are self sufficient in cooking and other camping equipment, and we are used to not using camp site toilets or showers; particularly after 2 months of living in remote areas of Nepal where we had no choice! Besides, Nic’s parents had generously lent us their new van for the trip – for 3 months! and we could always sleep in the back if we really needed to, although it would be quite a squish with all our gear.

So, at the start of our journey driving towards the south of France, as the sun started to set, we headed off the main road and found a little woodland behind a paddock on a farm that suited us just fine for a nights camping. It was flat for the tent and gave us enough privacy and shade. No one bothered us at all there in Agnes and we spent a night for Free! So, the second night we did the same.... as the sun started to set, around St Dier De Auvergne we headed off the main road and onto a country road and then onto a dirt track that seemed more built for a 4WD than for the van. The track gradually became wetter until it was full of mud and we started to get worried that the van would end up bogged. With bated breath we made it through unscathed and onto a very scenic camping spot with a view across the valley and over the town. Ahhh, we sighed; it was a long day of driving, and nice to finally arrive at a destination that was perfect for the night. Nic turned the car around to park, and suddenly crunch!!! What the &*(& was that? OMG, OMG, OMFG there goes the radiator, cried Nic. And sure enough, the van had hit a rock, not hard, but hard enough to crack a section off the radiator so that it was broken and leaking.

After much swearing and self reprehension, bordering on self mutilation, we took the van back onto the road, determined to find the next proper campsite, adamant that it was karma; in our search for saving a euro we had now wasted hundreds of euros. The radiator leaked along the way and the car overheated, but ironically the next campsite was free!.... The following day, after finding the local mechanic, we waited impatiently for the radiator verdict and an estimate of the damage – a replacement radiator, 2 hours work, up to 7 days wait and 637 euros. Eeek!!! We could have paid for 6 nights of luxury accomodation with that; or up to 63 days of camping at a proper campsite at 10 euro a night!!! Furthermore, on our climbing holiday it looked like the furthest we would get would be St Dier de Auvergne , flat as a tack, in the middle of France, and where the only climbing was on the local playground. Isn’t it ironic; when you try to do things on the cheap, you end up spending big time!