Reflexia Meets Eiffel
page 3 of 4
by Peter Gumbrell, 18 September 2005, updated 19 October 2009 and 9 April 2010
continued from part 2 - click here to go to the start of the article
The second weekend of my trip, and I decide to spend the Saturday heading south through the Auvergne. I'd yet to see the more dramatic surroundings of this region, aside from a brief trip down to the peculiar hillside town of Thiers during the week. Pictured above is Reflexia, parked outside the halls of residence in Vichy. I studied my map and tried to figure out where the most interesting spots of countryside might lie. The road beyond Thiers would take me onwards to le Puy-en-Velay, a town I'd heard of but knew nothing about. Would it be worth investigating? For sure, it was a long way for my little car to drive again after everything else I'd already put it through, but I was determined to make it to the mountains and not miss what might be my only opportunity to ever see this part of the world.
After scanning my map a while longer, I happened to spot yet another viaduct, located further west from le Puy-en-Velay, just south of the town of St-Flour. Having been so impressed with the Viaduc des Fades the previous week, I thought it was as good a point as any to aim for, and I set off southwards, passing once more through the winding roads in and out of Thiers, and emerging through dramatic forests and valleys on a road which proved as wiggly in real life as it did in my atlas.
I spotted an unusual signpost en route, which promised something a little odd for a passing tourist on a Saturday afternoon. Further investigation proved that this offering was in fact the name of a town, one which can be seen in the photos below. Its semi-amusing title commanded me to take some pictures.
My Renault 4 must have felt either relief or disappointment upon leaving this place, and probably hoped to pick up either a cheque or a P45 on the way out. I continued south on a road which, contrary to the previous twisty turns, ran absolutely straight for 15 kilometres. In the town of Ambert, I was greeted by somebody throwing water out of their window over my car, and more maimed people than I had ever seen in my life. I don't know why it should have been that so many people with missing limbs were crammed into such a small town. I had witnessed a similar thing in Hyde, Greater Manchester in England, some years ago when I used to live in the region. Once again, whenever I visited that place, I would encounter legless, armless or something-else-less people every time. I decided to leave straight away but at moderate speed, so as to minimize my chances of minimizing myself.
Further on, I reached a junction at the small town of la Chaise-Dieu, where I was required to turn off the main road. I passed through a square opposite an impressively large church, winding around café tables and darting around tiny cobbled streets in the evening sunshine. This was an image of timeless, rural France which matched all the stereotypes. I imagined being papa from those old Renault ads, with Nicole sat in the front seat as I nipped around the French countryside. I even spotted an old man in a béret!
Travelling south-west I became lost, and branched onto small roads which dived into dense forests, winding around empty, uninhabited valleys with no turn-off for several miles. Only the odd mountain-biker was to be found in these parts a long way from any civilization. I then ascended hills and reached a summit with fine views across dozens of miles. The photo below was taken at one such peak. This was not the most mountainous territory of the Auvergne, but it was a long drive to the top, and quite demanding for the little quatrelle.
As with the previous week, I was speeding along the country roads in the hope of reaching the viaduct before sunset. Light seemed to be fading too fast, and each glance at the map left me anxious that the hours I had spent getting this far might all be wasted. Finally, I saw signposts pointing to the viaduct, and whilst other signs showing the remaining distance in kilometres seemed to be both wildly over-optimistic and never-decreasing, I eventually emerged around a bend on a winding hillside road, and was confronted with Eiffel's Viaduc de Garabit in all its sunlit splendour (below). It was another very impressive sight, but unlike the generally abandoned surroundings of the Viaduc des Fades, this place was milking the tourists, with hotels and restaurants nearby, and many visitors drawing up to take a look. It clearly benefited from having a central arch span, and also from being located just off a major autoroute linking the north and south of France, making it both visually stunning and more appealing to the average modern day sightseer in a rush. But I still felt that, wonderful as it was, it couldn't quite match the sheer straight lines and brute force of the Viaduc des Fades.
I returned to Vichy by nightfall, having already made my slightly botched attempt earlier in the week to redirect the headlights. After spending five hours trotting down to the viaduct on minor roads, I made it back the couple of hundred or so kilometres to Vichy in just two hours, with half of the journey being covered on the autoroute. Once again, the trusty little car had been thrust up mountains and around sharply twisting roads with some force, but had come through unscathed.
<< previous article | next article >>