France 14 - Tarascon with its castle, a bridge and a trip in the clouds

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Spent the night in the toilet. How awful it feels to be ill and away from home. However before we left we decided to risk a trip out to Tarascon which lies on the River Rhone. A mythical monster the Tarasque lived in the area according to the stories and was twarted by Martha in 48AD. The medieval castle started in 1401 is an impressive structure, big,bold and sturdy and dominates the town with its little tree lined square. There were few people there and we had the place to ourselves. My stomach didnt feel that good and the only thing I could do was to drink so before heading home we decided to have a drink in the local cafe where we joined the locals and listened to their conversation.

The next day we thought it might be a good idea to leave the south of France and head home to make an appointment with my doctor. For anyone who knows France and the French motorway system they will understand why it was easy to drive home. The roads were empty and peppered with aires every 14miles which meant I could stop regularly for a drink of water or a trip to the loo. It was a difficult journey as the temperature had turned muggy and hot. We travelled north via the Millau Bridge. This roadway in the clouds is an amazing structure towering high above the Tarn Gorge. We had always wanted to see it and despite the stomach cramps it seemed the right thing to do. As we approached we saw the bridge in the distance but covered by a mist. We travelled across the bridge in the mist before we realised at the other side that we had indeed travelled in the low clouds which obscured the valley.

Our final French stop was to Le Touret a military cemetery from the First World War near to the town of Bethune. One of Glenns grandfathers had fought in WW1 and my paternal grandfather had been a platelayer on the railway before joining the Royal Engineers to work on the railways at the front. We enjoy the history of the first World War and have taken the opportunity to visit war graves each time we come to France.

The cemetery was pristine, a white chapel and wall of rememberence inscribed with hundreds of the names of the dead. Gravestones in perfectly straight lines - some with poppy crosses but all with plants growing between them. Hydrangeas, daisies, dahlias a riot of colour in parts. A wonderfully peaceful place but a poignant reminder to the futility of war.

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