Refuge Vallonbrun to Bonneval-sur-Arc – Winding Down
We woke reasonably refreshed, although my cold will not go away. I might sleep on the floor in the kitchen when I get home. I could put the microwave and kettle on the floor with me and a little camping stove. I could stay under my sleeping bag all day and cook meals for me and our lass. We could live in the kitchen and rent out the rest of the house as an HMO. Get young professionals in who would eat takeaways and wash their pots in the bath.
Sorted. Our route to an effluent retirement. Didn’t you mean affluent Dave? No!
We didn’t break fast as the route today dropped quite dramatically down to the valley floor, and passed through the village of Bessans, known for a brief mythical dalliance with the Devil. Well guys, Beelzebub and Asteroth are coming back to town for a bottomless brunch. Hooraaaay!!!
It was yet another beautiful day, and the cloud invader from Italy was still being held at bay.
Looking down the track we had come along last night the view was spectacular with dramatic clouds and sunlit, glacier dotted mountains.
We followed this track in the opposite direction, which was on the level for just 200 metres to the Chapel Saint-Antoine.
Here it started to descend, and we went with it. How pleasant it is. Aware that it was our penultimate parade I felt a twinge of sadness, but the fluid in my lungs and the aching in my bones would soon be exorcised when I finished this exercise. Boom boom.
When Danny was around nine months old I clearly remember walking along Weston Super Mare beach with him on my shoulders. I was singing to him “In a little Spanish town, t’was on a night like this, boom boom, boom boom boom boom.” With each boom I kicked out one of his feet. Poor little bugger must have been petrified.
The drop was long and quite steep in places, and the haze in the valley was ever present everywhere, and it’s ever present everywhere, that warm haze. Thanks Ivan.
This was a truly delightful day.
Towards the bottom of the valley we came upon a via ferrata, where climbing aids like cleats and chains were fixed into the rock face. We won’t be needing those thank you very much. Some poor climber had left his climbing shoes. Or maybe Satan had disappeared him. Ooooooh!
Or her. Could be a lady climber. I don’t like it when people say lady driver or lady this and that. What’s wrong with ‘woman’? Let’s call a spade a spade for goodness sake. I’m going to the bathroom. Why? Are you having a bath? No. You’re going for a piss and you go to the toilet for a piss, not the bathroom. Kids stop pissing in the bath when they’re four or five. Or twenty three in my case when I was still worried about the nature of infinity.
Down in the valley the trees were adopting an autumnal hue.
We were home and dry for today. We were only going to climb up 600 feet from here, at a shallow incline, walking another 16 kms or so. Easy.
Nevertheless it was still a decent schlep. Another little shrine along the route.
Walking along the valley floor was fine but we were parallel to, and not far from, the road so it was not the remote track we had walked, scrambled and climbed for the last 8 days.
Nevertheless we made it up to Bessans by 11am and found a decent place for a hot chocolate. And after relaxing outside the cafe we decided that a bottomless brunch was due to us here.
I’m only saying ‘bottomless brunch’ for cheap laughs. We had no intention of taking off our kecks and sitting on the raffia chairs at the side of a street. Firstly, there was a chilly wind and that would play havoc with our undercarriage. Secondly, the raffia would leave indelible lines on our butt-tocks. Thanks Forrest.
We had a great brunch. I can’t remember what Danny had. Some dish which was very local to Bessans and he loved it. And I had a burger with the local blue cheese sauce. Lovely.
We were concerned that we hadn’t been able to find anywhere in Bonneval, where we were sleeping tonight, that was open for evening meals. And certainly no shops. Danny mentioned this to the owner of the cafe, before we left, and he rang around his mates for us. One of them, in Bonneval, was open tonight and took a booking from us for 7.30pm.
Great service and a decent cove.
As we set off we called into the local supermarket, which closed for the day at 12.30pm, and stocked up on some stuff for tomorrow.
Then away up the valley, and we soon came upon a site of archaeological significance. Danny was just about to discover it around this corner,
They were Neolithic red ochre paintings of deer and humans on the rock face from over 6,000 years ago. Sadly they are too overgrown and hidden now for us to decipher them easily without an expert to point them out. But to know that they are there somewhere is something special.
Wandering up the valley was a breeze. I’ll just show you some photos.
And then we were there in Bonneval.
We were staying in an apartment I’d booked in the upper end of the village, so we made our meandering way up there. It was mid-afternoon and despite the b-less brunch we had arrived there in good time.
We loafed for a couple of hours and then walked down to the restaurant the lad in Bessans had booked for us. It had a fat landlord drinking Ricard with a bunch of his fat mates, whilst his wife served everyone else with a baby strapped to her, that could only have been a couple of months old. She looked brassed off whilst matey boy caroused in the corner with the fatties.
It wasn’t an impressive display. Nevertheless we ordered a Cote de Bouef for two and porker boy went behind the hob to cook it. And when it came out it was culinary magic. Fabulous beyond our expectations.
I took this photo after we had eaten half of it. And we finished it.
We waddled back to the flat and settled down for the night, after drinking a couple of cans of decent lager.
Life’s ok.
Night night.
