Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
It quickly involved the owners and was swiftly followed by a couple of German-
speaking guests from Switzerland who appeared from nowhere. They also started swoon-
ing over the dogs and immediately decided Sam was a
Bouvier de l'Entlebuch
and rattled
on about how faithful the breed is, but that they do need lots of exercise.
At this point Jack's international goodwill had completely expired so he left and could
be seen from the reception window shaking his head in despair as he dragged our luggage
towards the room. When he returned the genealogical debate was continuing in more or
less total linguistic disarray. Jack grimaced and immediately took over.
He apologised in various tongues, emphasising that we were only there for a very
short period of time and were very anxious to start exploring their beautiful town. Then he
steered me away in the general direction of the door.
We took the dogs for an amble around the park which turned out to be an eventful af-
fair involving a French bulldog with axe-murdering tendencies. On spotting us from the far
end of the park, the mangy mutt decided that Sam was up for a fight.
Simultaneously howling and yapping, he dragged his ancient owner towards us at a
determined pace to start things off. Jack stepped in and responded with his own special
brand of blood-curdling shout that silenced the bulldog and terrified the poor old chap who
was still hanging on to the lead for dear life.
Unfortunately Biff, whose fizzing episode was now completely forgotten, sensed the
need to join in. He executed this by issuing a hysterical bout of dreadful falsetto yapping
and ridiculous posturing. This was an unwise idea. Jack promptly picked him up and pro-
ceeded to give him a nose-to-nose lecture on the virtues of a tranquil stroll uninterrupted
by canine screeching. This was acknowledged for a second, but he started barking even
louder the moment Jack put him back on the ground. We finally extracted ourselves from
this Anglo-French canine skirmish and headed for the tiny town centre.
During its long history, Mirepoix was twice nearly destroyed by both floods and fire.
Sensitively restored, it is considered to be one of France's prettiest towns and we could see
why. We wandered into the intimate square and were immediately impressed by the medi-
eval half-timbered houses that lined it.
We dawdled along, taking our time to admire the detailed woodwork patterns on the
buildings and different shades of pastel paint on the walls. It simply oozed charm. The
overhang of the houses was supported by chunky timber arches and created shade for the
flag-stoned arcade beneath.
I had to have a look at what lay in that covered passage. It was filled with a mixture of
typically French shops offering interesting local goodies. I was particularly taken with a
pâ-
tisserie
that displayed glass tiers heavy with delicious looking pastries. Puff, choux, flaky,
this extravagant assortment made my taste buds fairly zing with hunger. But as I looked
closer, practically drooling, I could see that several were under attack from sizzling rays
coming from the late afternoon sun as it penetrated the cool depths. Sad to say, some were
