Lost In Limoges

From the sheep-dotted pastures of France's underpopulated Southwest, Limoges rises in all its grey glory. The city's claim to fame: fine porcelain. The half-timbered houses of the Medieval center are surrounded by strip malls and McDo. Land-hungry Brits descend with flailing pocketbooks (thanks, RyanAir). The weather is remarkably cool year-round. Sure, I live on rue de Nice, but this is NOT the Cote d'Azur. Welcome to Limoges, "the middle of nowhere"-- or as Pierre says "everywhere"-- France.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Hike around Lake Saint-Pardoux



My legs are killing me (still). On Sunday we decided to tackle a hike in the Limousin, and headed to a lake just 30 kilometers from Limoges. Folks descend in droves on the weekend, and hit the plage for some bronzing and rowdy fun in the sun. (I gather that the sand, like the giant parasols, was imported to the edge of the murky water.) When we arrived, the handsome park ranger was flamboyantly plastering large signs on cars that stole handicapped spots in the parking lot. He peeled off layers of thick masking tape and hung the signs on all the car windows:

If you take my parking spot, you should also take my handicap.

He led us into his office and showed us a map of the entire lake. He teased that since I'm a blond, the 28 kilometers would take longer than the normal 5h30. (What is that supposed to mean?)

And so we started out. We passed solitary (and grumpy) fishermen, who dodged Pierre's pestering questions about the fish, fields full of large, farting Limousine cattle, ancient villages with rusting tractors, streams and cascades, motorboat rentals by the shore, couples secretly kissing in the bushes, and families bbq'ing and tossing back the Kronenbourg beer. But not once did we pass another hiker.

After the three hour mark, we munched on lunch of salad (from the garden), left-over pizza (homemade) and chocolate (of course). Then continued to round another bend in the lake. It seemed to expand in all directions, and we had to hike around every curve in the perimeter. The trail was poorly marked at spots, and we ended up traveling out of our way, and adding more and more kilometers. Five hours became six, and we saw the welcoming plage up ahead. At last! We could indulge in Orangina and a Magnum ice cream! I could barely move my legs at this point. But no, when we arrived, and collapsed on the sand, we realized that the car was parked at a different plage, a good hour farther. All in all we dragged our legs and out-of-shape bodies a good 35 kilometers. A greater distance than from Limoges to the lake itself.

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