Salles sur l'Hers, France

What a fantastic overnight spot last night. It was an aire we'd stayed at many years ago and didn't expect to return to. It's funny how life works out. Today we should have been heading to Carcassonne, but the Tour de France would be setting off from there at lunchtime, so we knew we'd have to change our plans. Nearby to us was the Gorge De Galumus. A deep ravine with a 7th century monastery carved into the rock face. Being so close, we felt we ought to visit, and we were glad we did. It was stunning.

For those a little more adventurous, canyoning was available.

Walking through the gorge and down the steps to the monastery was enough for us.

After a stop at the cafe we began our ascent, following a woman who had tattoos covering both arms and legs. The tattoos on her legs reached all the way to her nether regions. Not a pretty sight when you're following behind! The heat of each day challenges us. Consciously,  we were 'somewhere' in the Pyrenees we thought it best to begin our drive towards the canal du midi. Because of the cycle race roads were closed, and we were diverted all over the place. Google maps wanted us to drive through a tunnel under a railway bridge that was too small for Marge, which was a no go, and all other routes out of the town were blocked. What should we do. Well sit with the French and wait for the Tour de France cyclists along with all the paraphernalia that accompanies them to come by. Despite having to wait almost an hour, when the cyclists passed by in a flash of colour it was amazing.

The French cheered, clapped and shouted bravo. The atmosphere was brilliant, and they welcomed us and Marge with open arms. We've been visiting France for many years now, and never seen the tour. So today was right up there, as one of those special days.

Salles sur l'Hers

Yesterday evening Mr & Mrs Orange went out for a meal with some friends who arrived on the Aire in a large motorhome. Not a splash of orange on it. Mr Orange gave Marge a look of contempt as he walked by. Obviously didn't like Marge flashing him her orange wheel arches. Oh, for the record we have an en-suite inside our vehicle. Bet you have an orange porta-potti in you outhouse tent. By the way nice orange cups in the holders on your dashboard, and just hate that orange gonk, but the orange flowers strewn across the bottom of your windscreen aren't too bad. At this point we must confess. John is wearing an orange T-shirt. His cup, bowl and plate are orange. Marge has orange trim on the outside, and all her wooden interior is orange. And he bought an orange walking jacket just after buying Marge. Let's say no more about orange shall we! This morning dawned in a mizzle. Great. John contacted a Land Rover restorer, in Toulouse to see if they had a viscose fan that would suit Marge. No. But the very helpful gentleman telephoned another Land Rover mechanic just near to us to see if he could help. Yes. He'd take a look at Marge.

Upon arriving at his one man garage, where he restored classic Land Rovers and Range Rovers, we were told Marge's problem wasn't the fan. O.K. What's wrong with her then? We'd have to wait until after lunch, two o' clock here, to find out. Marge being 'hot totty', needed to cool down before he could handle her. After biding our time whilst the man took his lunch break we parked by a pretty church that sat across from the garage. It was decided that Marge's thermostat should be disabled by drilling a whole into it. Her radiator was cool when we arrived, and it should have been hot, which pointed to the coolant not accessing all areas of her coolant system. So began the dismantling of rubber hoses. Coolant ran out like a river of blood out under Marge.

Good job we had a full container to replace it with us. The man at the garage spoke very good English, which we were very grateful about. A lot of swearing in French and Marge's rubber hoses were reconnected. After a test drive we were wished 'good luck' with our onward journey. Our onward journey now meaning driving back to Toulouse, then Bordeaux and then up to Cherbourg. With the words cylinder head gasket and cylinder head ringing in our ears we set off, worried. The repair Marge needs is costly, and we just hope she will hang in there now until we return home. To think around ten days ago we'd be able to drive her over the Pyrenees. Angela felt sad. This trip had been jinxed. The thought of just seeing the flamingos in the lagoons a few hours drive away, and then a couple of nights in Avignon, where we'd stayed last year after Angela had her cycling accident was going to be enough for her to save this trip. Obviously Marge didn't agree. We still have just over three weeks of our holiday, if you can call it that left. We have the same amount of miles to cover whether we rush back to Cherbourg or not. So Angela thinks we should try and make the best of a bad deal and take it slow. Perhaps revisiting Bordeaux and the Ile de Re, La Rochelle, Nantes and other places we enjoy visiting. As for the weather, well, it is what it is. We ask one favour of you Marge. Please hang in there until we arrive home.