Day 6: St Michel to Rochefort

Leaving the one horse town of St Michel behind, with no plans to return anytime this century, we set off on an overcast morning through the marshlands of the Vendeé region, headed south for the much larger town of Rochefort, just below La Rochelle. Assured of how searingly hot France would be at this time of year, we had not packed any clothes in anticipation of cold, let alone wet, weather. It was disappointing then when after 30 minutes in the saddle, the heavens began to open, and the wind took on what felt like gale force strength. With driving rain coming head on, progress was slowed to snail pace. Taking brief shelter for a coffee, the weather showed no sign of letting up, and thus we were left with no alternative but to continue head on into the appaling conditions. Around 2 hours later, soaked to the core and increasingly unamused by the deteriorating conditions, we found an open restaurant that after a brief towel down, would allow us to dine. Shivering throughout, we enjoyed a wholesome lunch, and made sure to make it last until the weather relented somewhat, which it did. A further 15 miles was completed relatively quickly and led us into the port town of Rochefort.

Attempting to dry out our saturated shoes 

Finding the hotel with ease, we then set out to locate somewhere to eat/drink/update this blog. Again, we were bewildered to find landlords shutting bars, cafes closing and people leaving the city centre in droves, on a Saturday night! Needless to say, an internet cafe was never going to be found open, and we managed to stumble upon what seemed like one of the few restaurants open in town. A stroke of good fortune then led to us wandering past the open door of a bar, and even though it cuold hardly be described as lively, we decided that beggars could not be choosers, and entered for a couple of beers. Well, what happened next can only be described as totally bewildering. Within 20 minutes of entering, couple after couple of what seemed like the drunkest people in the world continued to stumble through the door. The dukebox was put into action, and an impromptu over 50s disco began to take place in front of us, with a certain lady called Gladys a star attraction (the pictures that will follow will explain everything). To say we were surprised is a gross understatement. Never in our wildest dreams when struggling to find somewhere to eat 2 hours previously, did we envisage finding somewhere to have a few beers, let alone the complete chaos that we ended up in the middle of. Phillipe and Gladys soon became our new best friends, and began partaking in our round of drinks. However, with Gladys in a drunken stupor, and Phillipe preferring to talk with his hands rather than his mouth, it wasnt long before first I was showered in Stella, and then a second was thrown over Dad. Zu Zu the landlady (the woman with the scarlet hair in the photographs) swiftly mopped up so that the obscene show of dancing could continue safely, and replaced our beers. Having had a hilarious night, we called it quits at about 1.30am, and left in complete disbelief at how our night had unfolded.



Dad and I, still dry at this point...



...10 minutes later, Phillipe and I, complete with spilt Stella



Phillipe, Zuzu (the landlady) and mop, first used for cleaning up beer, and then as a dancing aid



Gladys, looking as graceful as she had all night, and another straggler who took the opportunity to get in the photo

Distance: 52 miles