FRANCE

We loved France. There are many aspects that collectively make a place enjoyable for bike touring or not; the people, the scenery, the roads, the food, the weather, just to name a few. We had fairly decent weather and only had to endure a few miserably rainy days during our 2 week tour and aside from the fact that France is also a country who loves their always inconvenient siestas in the middle of every afternoon, we had no complaints.

It's always good to see other cyclists on the roads and though we only saw a couple of other touring cyclists, there was no doubt that France in big into cycling. Every day we passed dozens of riders which generally means that drivers are more aware of our presence, and that's always comforting. It makes for pleasant riding when vehicles actually slow down, move over and don't make you feel like you have no right being on the road.

France also was an extremely environmentally friendly country. The roads were void of broken glass bottles, there were recycling bins placed next to the garbage dumpsters in nearly every village and it was impossible to find plastic bags in the supermarkets; it was bring your own or go without. It was so nice being able to enjoy the natural beauty of the land without having to try and look past the ugly litter that can be seen in so many beautiful places. Instead we got to sit back and take in the fields of wheat waving in the wind, the cherry orchards with their branches dropping with sweet, red fruits, the endless vineyards, the river gorges and the towering mountains. The landscapes in France were diverse and beautiful and took our minds off the amount of effort required of us to pedal our way through the challenging terrain.

Of course I have to mention the food. Although we didn't indulge ourselves in their extensive wine selection, we did sample a fair share of their cheeses and being two people who love cheese, we were in high heaven. There were hundreds of varieties and we didn't find one that wasn't delicious. But the thing that sticks out most in my mind in relation to food is how much the French love their baguettes! We enjoy them too, to a certain extent, but can only eat so much of that hard, crusty bread before it tears apart the roofs of our mouths. We often ate our lunch in front of a bakery and during the hour that we sat there, literally every person that walked by and every car that drove past stopped and the customer came out with a baguette, or 2, under their arm. The French walk around with baguettes like Americans walk around with newspapers; it is quite a funny sight.

Cari with her baguette under arm.

I have to admit that I wasn't expecting to feel overwhelmingly welcome in France given the stereotypes of the French as being somewhat standoffish and though many of them know English, not wanting to speak it. I am happy to say that those stereotypes couldn't be further from the truth and for the first time since we left the U.S., we were showered with incredible hospitality. There were cyclists who passed us on the roads and people outside the supermarkets who offered to let us stay at their homes, shower, do laundry or whatever we needed. It was wonderful to once again have random strangers approach us, offer their assistance and even though it didn't always work because we either weren't going through their town or weren't ready to stop for the day, they still wanted to help so would give us contact info for their friends and family somewhere up the road. But every once in a while someone came along at just the right moment and we owe incredible amounts of thanks to many people in France.

To Brigitte and Jerome for letting us camp in your back yard, a delicious dinner and helping us map our route to the Alps. To Christophe and Sonia who happened to drive around a corner just as we stopped in a tiny village to knock on doors and ask for water. Before we knew it we had water, hot showers, dinner with their adorable family, maps galore pulled out to help us plan a spectacular, yet extremely challenging, route to Chamonix and we were sent on our way with beautiful gifts of wooden pens hand made by Christophe. To the family who was sitting on their front balcony having cocktails when we pulled up to ask for water. We were frantically searching for a place camp before the charcoal-gray curtain of rain and thunder and lightening that was chasing us up the valley engulfed us. Though none of them spoke a word of English and our 5 words of French weren't enough to legitimately ask if they knew a place nearby where we could camp, some tent and sleeping charades got our point across and without even a moment's thought we were showed to their side yard and invited to sleep inside their garden shed. Less than 10 minutes later the deluge struck and there was no way our increasingly worn out tent would have kept us dry in a storm like that. And finally to Johann and Emilie who pulled over while we were stopped and taking pictures on the side of the road. They had just returned a month ago from a year-long bike journey with their young son, Swan, and though they had only moved into their tiny house a couple of days before and didn't have enough space for us to sleep inside, we were invited to camp in their front yard. Again we had hot showers, a delicious home-cooked meal and wonderful new friends to spend the evening with. We are grateful to all of the people who showed us the real France.

Camping in front of Yohann and Emilie's little house.

Dinner with Yohann, Emilie, Swan, their brother-in-law and Mike.

Our final two days in France couldn't have been more spectacular. At last we had reached the Alps and the weather actually cooperated, enabling us to see the mighty Mont Blanc. Nothing we have ever seen can compare to the views of when you're standing down in the valley with Mt. Blanc and the Chamonix Needles towering above. It's as if these perfectly jagged, snow and glacier covered mountains jet out of the ground right in front of your foot and it feels like you're standing in the middle of a fairy tale painting. They are too big and beautiful to be real. I can't count the number of times one of us turned around, caught a glimpse of the mountains in the corner of our eye and did a double-take just to make sure we weren't seeing things. The scenery truly is that surreal and there couldn't have been a more perfect ending to an already amazing ride through southern France.

The view of Mont Blanc from Chamonix.

THROUGH ANDORRA AND INTO FRANCE

There's a tiny European country nestles between Spain and France that Mike and I didn't even know existed until we bought our map of Spain. Since we had never heard of it and noticed that it contained the highest pass in the Pyrenees, we decided that through Andorra would be our chosen path for crossing into France.

We were expecting a serene countryside dotted with ski resorts and little upscale mountain towns with their exposed wood, log cabin style buildings, cozy cafes and overpriced outdoor equipment shops, but that's not quite what we found. The first town we came to was Andorra la Vella, the main city in Andorra, and as soon as we arrived we were ready to get out. There was nothing cute or cozy about the place, rather, it was screaming with consumerism. It was bustling with traffic and people and there were thousands of stores crammed with electronics, shoes, fancy clothing and duty free alcohol and cigarettes. It felt a bit like we were in Times Square, minus the really tall buildings, so we bought ourselves some groceries and continued chugging away at the 20-mile climb to the pass.

Once we got past the first several towns, which were all more-or-less continuously strung together, the chaos died down though the traffic remained and the rain set in. Andorra is so small we could have made it through in one day, but rather than hoping to be seen through rain-streaked windshields on winding mountain roads, we decided to call it an early day in hope that the next would be better.

Mike in Andorra

Our final day to see the Pyrenees didn't turn out tot be sunny and clear, but at least it wasn't raining. We got some okay views of the mountains towards the middle of the climb and aside from the main city in Andorra I have a feeling this country is utterly spectacular, and it was a bummer not to get a nice day to see it. A dense, cold fog rolled in for the final 2 miles of the climb and just as we reached the pass, at 7,898 feet, the snow began to fall. We've been chasing summer for nearly a year now and this was the first time Old Man Winter actually caught us. Luckily there was a restaurant at the top of the mountain because it was too foggy and the road too slippery for us to safely descend so we went inside to warm up with a cup of hot tea, dry our wet clothes and wait for the weather to improve. An hour later the snow had stopped, I was no longer shivering and once again I could feel my fingers and toes; it was time for the big descent. We put on as many layers as we could possibly handle and still be able to ride; neoprene booties over our shoes, winter riding pants, thermal tops, a long-sleeved shirt, a vest, a down jacket, a rain jacket, cycling gloves, wool mittens and a hat. I felt like a giant marshmallow that had been puffed up in the microwave and though I looked ridiculous with every inch of my body covered except for my nose, I was pleasantly warm for the entire 30-mile, hour-long descent into France.

Cari on the climb.

 Cari in the fog...almost to the top.

At the highest pass in the Pyrenees (7,898 ft) in the fog and snow.

 Sitting inside while the snow falls.

Mike all bundled up for the descent into France.

For the last 7 months we have been in Spanish-speaking countries and had come to the point where we had no problems communicating and no longer had to consciously think about how to say something. We were by no means even close to fluent but we were definitely comfortable. And then France hit us like a slap in the face. The first evening, we stopped at a bar to fill our water bottles for our night of camping, each of us holding 3 liter-sized jugs in our hands. We walked in and pleasantly said “bonjour” to the bartender and immediately afterward were tongue-tied. We realized at that moment as we were going “uhhhhh” with deer-in-the-headlights looks on our faces that we didn't know how to say a single word other than hello, yet and thank you in French. We should have, at the very least, learned “water” before we arrived as it's the thing we most frequently ask for.

Nearly a week has passed since we arrived in France and we've learned a few basic words but this is a difficult language. Unlike Spanish where the words sound exactly as they're written, to us, French words sound nothing like the way they look. We're having a difficult time transitioning languages and often find ourselves saying “hola” rather than “bonjour,” “si” rather than “oui” and “gracias” rather than “merci.” The Spanish words have been in our heads for so long that it feels natural to say these words any time we're in contact with people who don't speak English. We clearly have a lot of learning to do.

Fortunately, the French people have been wonderfully kind to us and in general, it has been a nice change from Spain. We've had more random strangers approach us wanting to know where we're from or what we're doing in one week in France than we had in our entire month in Spain. Even though we have no idea what they're saying and it feels like we're surrounded by a bunch of adults from the Charlie Brown cartoons, at least they're smiling, laughing at the fact that we just say “yes” to everything and if they know any words in English, usually make an attempt to talk to us. In Spain no one seemed even remotely interested in us. They just stared. Even when we acknowledged their staring with a smile, then a wave and then with a bug-eyed stare back, they didn't stop. It was the strangest, most uncomfortable, thing and we're happy that so far in France we have not been gawked at like we come from a different planet.

For now, we're just riding through the southwestern corner of France as we make our way towards the Alps, but we've seen some spectacular things already. We spent a couple of days in Carcassonne which contains Europe's largest intact remains of a medieval city. The walled city looks like a fairy-tale castle from afar and as you pass over the drawbridge your mind takes you to a magical world from long ago. Inside the walls is a fully-functioning, while extremely touristy city that was well worth the afternoon stroll.

Carcassonne

At the entrance of the city. 

The church inside the walled city.

A 2-days ride through the grueling, yet beautiful, mountains of the Haut Languedoc and Grands Causses Parks and we arrived at the tallest bridge in the world, the Millau Viaduct. Constructed between 2001 and 2004, the bridge truly is an impressive structure with its deck suspended some 885.8 feet above the Tarn river and its 7 pylons extending another 239.5 feet above that. We had high hopes that bicycles would be allowed to ride across it, but alas, that was not the case so we had to settle with viewing it from down below and watching a video at the visitor's center instead.

The Millau Viaduct.

From Millau we headed to the spectacular scenery in the Gorges du Tarn and were greeted with warm, dry weather for the first time in several weeks. After a day of riding along the narrow, twisting road looking down over the sparkling, clear river, through tiny villages built right into the rocky walls of the gorge, we found a camp right on the river where we could swim, also known as bathe, and dry in the warm breeze before the sun set behind the cliffs. It's days like this that we live for, that make all of the bad weather and torturous riding days worthwhile. It's bike touring at its finest.

 Mike riding through the Gorges du Tarn.

Gorges du Tarn 

A village along the Gorges du Tarn. 

Gorges du Tarn