Travel Reference
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walking tour, not difficult and with magical views. It also went in exactly the direction we
needed. I felt good, getting to know the contours of this land that we had come to love so
much. We were becoming part of it, knowing every stream and valley. Two hours later we
metNealandagreedtocontacthimforthepickuponcewehadmadeitacrosstheBordeaux
border from Razac-de-Saussignac. Trying to avoid roads, we followed a walking path that
took us to the next valley. We reached the crest of the hill and found ourselves in a wood.
The dense forest was dark, eerie and deathly quiet. There were strange things hanging in
the trees. A complex system of pulleys and tree houses ranged through it like a weird ad-
venture park. We were in the middle of a shooting range set up specially for the release of
live pheasants and other unwitting creatures. We realised we must have wandered off the
path and backed up quickly. I was rattled. The ambience and terrain were so different to
what we had been in an hour before.
'Here's the path,' said Sean. 'If we follow this we'll reach the road that goes from Sainte-
Foy to Coutures.' I followed closely, not wanting to be alone in the deathly forest. We skir-
ted round the wood and started down a hill alongside a large pasture. Gunshots rang out
and I grabbed Sean's arm.
'Don't leave me,' I said.
'Don't worry, Carolinus. Talk loudly.
Salut, il y a des randonneurs!
' (Hello, there are walk-
ers!)
'Hello,' I yelled.
'Ssshhh, don't talk English or they might be tempted to shoot you,' said Sean wryly.
My stomach tensed with fear as another shot rang out. Maybe Sean was right.
'Salut! Il y a des randonneurs!'
A man appeared at the edge of the forest in signature hunting gear: military-style combats
and waistcoat. He was smoking a rolled cigarette and had yellow, uneven teeth and a large
beard.
'N'inquiétez pas!'
he called out.
A second later a hare shot out of the forest and sprinted across the field in our direction. A
shot rang out and a stab of terror ran a cold trail through my insides. I felt hunted. The hare
tore across the field and made it into the other forest. It had been fast enough to see another
day.Thehuntersappearedattheedgeoftheforestandwavedhappilyatus.Iscowledback.
My knees were weak. I called Neal and asked him to meet us at the next crossing with the
road. His Land Rover appeared below and I felt a wave of relief.
While Sean gave Neal a quick summary of our exciting hike, I traced where we had been
on my walking map. The area was called
'L'homme Mort'
, 'Dead Man'. I felt a shiver down
my spine. I needed to mark it 'No Go' for my vineyard walks.
