The alumni once again depart from the Irish shores.....
France!!! My mother
bellowed,
France!! My dad
scornfully muttered,
France!... I stood
in an imaginative daze.
Being a third year,
having a ton off work to do and exams approaching I could think of no better way
to spend my Easter vacation than to head off to France.
So I booked my flights and counted down the days.
A short Ryan Air
flight and the sunny heat off France hit me with full force.
Tightly sardined into our hertz motor we headed off to Font, to have a
look at these world famous boulders I had heard so much about.
Having had no sleep for two days before we left I decided id have a wee
nap and leave the navigation in the capable hands of Martin and J.P. Waking up once to see the Eiffel tower whizzing by I became
sceptical about how our avoidance of Paris was going.
Arriving in Font I
was totally overawed, the place is amazing it resembles a film set, hundreds off
boulders asleep in sandy beds with lots of ‘tight’ international climbers
scuttling over them like ants.
Being incapable of
walking past rock shoes for sale we headed off to begin the day with twelve
pairs off shoes between the four of us. A bargain pair of pink Five tens, the friction on these would
surely get me off the ground and keep me there.
The cul de chien’s
centre piece - a large cartoon sandstone dog is a cool freak of nature and we
started getting use to the rock underfoot beginning on the blue circuit.
Having up to 60 routes we had our work cut out.
These routes tested our landing, spotting techniques and exfoliated the
skin on our arms and fingers. Making
my way to the top of a hard problem and finding that its is a little on the
featureless side got the adrenaline flowing and made every route interesting to
say the least.
We enjoyed climbing
well into the evening and then headed back for a tour of the local campsite
eventually finding our spot in the maze of mobile homes and tents to sit round a
roaring fire with a few bottles of wine (each!).
Waking up the next
morning a little the worse for wear but ready for more guidebook exploring
around Font we horsed cornflakes into us and belted into the car. Our location
for the day was a grand stone elephant - ‘No such animal you say!’
My stomach now
beginning to churn in the car with Martins purposeful erratic driving and with a
little external agitation....ba da bing badda bow.... I embarrassingly
discharged the contents of my stomach much to people’s amusement and my own
shame. That darn French milk,
there’ll be no more of that! (For milk read Alceehol).
All captured on candid camera, as so often is the case in our club!
Rain ended our day
at the zoo and we headed back to town in search of petrol and Easter Sunday
dinner. Both were found without
much hassle, in the form of good old BP and K.F.Cya later.
Hunger pangs stopped and so we decided to check into the local Irish Pub
for a few beverages. My stomach prepared itself for another assault...“MY NAME
IS S***** McG and I am a drunken scut” Part deux.
Back to the campfire
we headed where we chatted to some English and Irish folk.
The next morning was time to ‘move along get along’, stories reached
us that an angry mob had formed at the top camp and was nearing.
Apparently some such
animals had mistaken their tarpaulin for a trampoline, the fire for a toilet,
abused some English people and discovered the delicacy of left over cold pasta
and chilli sauce washed down with Fanny (No im not joking its some kind of
absinthe). At this point I have
nothing to declare but most of it prob. was due to three scuts who made the
discovery that lying back while drunk tends to make you laugh hysterically and
go a bit seal-like in Colms case.
The car was pointed
in a Southerly direction and we set of for limestone heaven.
Bourgogne was the guidebook region of choice.
At home the routes had looked amazing with wondrous photos and route
descriptions. We were actually
there; staying in Andreys campsite a little out of Auxerre we travelled each day
and in the evenings invaded a local pub. Picking
up a wandering Cork woman Ciara and her French counterpart Sandra the guy-girl
ratio evened out and talk of phallic imagery decreased considerably.
The popular Surgy
was our first port off call. In the
mid day heat it was almost impossible to climb but we did nevertheless.
Pocketed routes of varying difficulty, most living up to the guide book
description of ‘polished to buggery!’
Being
careful placing your feet in case they slipped you onto the ground, lots off
routes were successfully completed including the classic Danger Danger route
which has an overhanging section that uses a sign as a foot hold cool or what!
The next few days were spent in Rochers du Parc another fantastic limestone
region along a river and Vieux-Chateau a granite region further south.
All in all we
completed about 40/50 routes of varying length and grades some solid and some to
my surprise and terror held on by Sika (Glue basically, mummmm id like a juggy
hold there…here’s one I made earlier, Crazy French people!) We also posed
for replica photos of a classic French polished flake route that tested nerves
and arm strength.
Although the region
was lovely, we had been solely climbing directed for over a week and toward the
end of our trip everyone was pretty much exhausted and ready to go home.
One more stop off to the irresistible Font on the way back.
Thankfully the shoe
guy, SchlackenHans (I think was his name ;0) was not there or I prob. would have
ended up with another pair or smelly rock shoes.
J.P. got the route
on the roof at the cul de chien he’d been dreaming about done in good style,
and Colm and Martin and me bouldered away until our arms fell off and my toes
gave up.
Back to the car and
to the airport we headed.
In all a first class
trip. Climbing, wine and good craic. Cheers guys.
A brilliant way to spend the Easter vacation.
Oh! And I can’t
possibly finish without typing some words that sum up the trip, Bricorama,
Bricolage and Tout-Sweet.
Smashy McG