Warmth at last

The landscape we pass through is gradually changing - small leaves are showing on the trees now - and the tiny villages we pass through have characteristics which strike us as typically French - a line of connected houses fronting the street built in a pale stone, shuttered windows - and then this, a rather grand castle straddling the main road.

We would have loved to research the history of this creation. Was it once the gateway to a private chateau, now disappeared, which was revered enough to be put to use accommodating the road out of the village? Or was it built by some villager who had a grand idea about the status of his home?

We are in Burgundy now, a move from plum to wine country in the space of only a few hours and with it some early signs that the cold air might finally be moving on. At first the weather change is unconvincing, misty and quite windy, so that topping up Martin's water tank in the early morning using our 10 litre collapsable bottle is a laborious and cold-fingered experience. (We didn't know this but Martin has an alarm that goes off when the water in his internal tank gets too low, just one of his little foibles that we are discovering as we go along.)

Continuing south we get quite excited when the temperature rises into double figures for the first time since leaving home. Not as excited as this chap, perhaps.

The predominant types of tree now seem to be chestnut and walnut and the larger towns have some truly massive specimens. Tiny leaves are appearing everywhere, even on this great bulge that brings to my mind a similar formation on a tree near my home when I was much younger. We called it the Bum Tree, for some reason.

We are now in the valley of La Seine river although it is hard to imagine the tiny waterway here is the same as what passes through Paris on its way to the sea many miles away at Le Havre. Even the bridges are on a different scale but the water is boosted by underground rivers emerging from the limestone rock, health-giving waters which are supposed to cure all ailments, or so many once believed.

In every village we pass through now there is always a line of posters, faces staring out at us, each with a name underneath together with a slogan or catchphrase - largely meaningless to us. We are witnessing the build up to the French presidential elections which begin on 10th April. Fortunately we will escape all the media politicking that is no doubt already blasting out from every TV in the land by (a) not having a TV and (b) not having a part to play here anyway.