The African Hunter - Fat Dogs and French Estates - page 115

Luckily, as we all know, first impressions aren't everything and once the introductions
had been dispensed with we got down to business. Charles described the area, its history
and then the property again. This caused Jack his usual irritation with time being spent re-
peating all that we already knew but I thought it was useful to get confirmation on the lie
of the land.
He then reminded Charles that this was the first of two domaine visits for the day so it
was up to him to ensure that we finished promptly at midday. This would allow us ample
time to travel northeast to Cliousclat, for our next meeting point. With a sharp tap of his
wristwatch face, Jack then put the dogs and himself into the car and started the engine. It
was obviously time to go.
The short transfer from La Motte Chalancon to the domaine was a joy. Although we
were in the area known as La Drôme Provençale, which is just a 'spit' from the mountain-
ous areas of the French Alps, it did seem to be a transitional spot. The landscape was still
craggy but the overall geography had softened. Whilst there were steep roads, there were
no terrifyingly extreme gradients, no cars in trees, no howling wind, just a pleasant temper-
ature and a cloudless sky, all of which was perfectly acceptable.
The first thing that struck us as strange was the number of entrances to the domaine .
We saw at least three during our approach. Luckily we were following our host so assumed
he knew which one to aim for. Charles drew up to the first barrier, jumped out and made
several valiant attempts at opening the gate but was soundly defeated by an extremely large
padlock. This caused him some confusion until it dawned on him that we'd arrived at the
wrong one.
Fortunately help was at hand in the form of an intercom so he pressed the call button
for assistance. A couple of minutes later we heard a voice chirruping away but couldn't
make out the instruction. Charles responded and then trotted over to us with new directions.
“Right, I've spoken to the owner and apparently we're at the wrong gate. So sorry. We
need to be at gate number two.”
He turned and jogged back to his car. This caused Jack to start grumbling about estate
agents who had no knowledge of how to get into their customers' properties but I felt it was
understandable since there were so many. We followed on to the next entrance whereupon
exactly the same thing happened. A quick fiddle with a massive unrelenting padlock, a
quick button push and more chirrupings. Charles was now looking rather embarrassed.
“Oh dear , wrong one again I'm afraid. It's bound to be the next one.”
“ Gordon,” Jack shouted.
“Oh, please do call me Charles.”
“What?”
“ Charles .”
“Oh for God's sake, what the hell's the matter with the bloke?” spat Jack, staring at
me momentarily perplexed.