Haute Limosin / Vienne: Day 1

Back to the station for a train to Stansted via Ely. The connecting train was cancelled, but no problem, as I had factored in plenty of sleeve in case of rail issues.

The train that took me from Ely to the airport was pretty full, yet those with seats still used bags and coats to put off anyone hoping for somewhere to sit. I gave a lad his bag and sat down. “Don’t touch my s..t!” he said. I ignored that after having established there was a free seat at the table.

His group hadn’t got any flexibility in their schedule, thus missing their flight, but they seemed pretty relaxed about it and were planning to catch the next one to where ever.

I had time for fish and chips and a zero alcohol beer before heading to the gate. The flight was on time. A chap from my first train was in the airport bar too. Funnily enough he then appeared at the departure gate and I saw him again on queuing to get through passport control in Limoges.

The only other minor note to this point of the journey was the couple wedding planning in the passport line. Ten bottles of fizz they were after was going to be £3,000, apparently. They weren’t sure quite how much wine to order, agreeing a bottle a head would be right. I thought it was half a bottle, but I could be wrong.

My hopes of a municipal bus into Limoges were dashed by the woman at the airport ticket desk. I got into the first cab and asked “Combien pour Limoges Benedictins?”

When the cabby said “Trente, ou trente-deux.”

I exclaimed, “Really!”

“Yes, really!” he replied, “But maybe a little less.”

I apologised for my sharp reaction and the mood softened. I explained that I thought there would be an airport bus. He said maybe in a few weeks.

Limoges is known as a Rugby Union town, so I opened up discussion about Scotland’s 50 – 40 victory over hot favourites France, last week.

“Un catastrophe!” was his opinion, but it became clear that he had been a football player, a 10. His model was Michel Platini, one of the greatest players of all. From there, with reference to Franck Ribéry, (a ‘gaucher’), Nantes (his team) and the amazing HAC production line, our drive through the rush hour to the station, rattled along at great pace. He corrected my French a little, I encouraged him along with his English. At the end of the ride he pointed at the meter. The little red numbers had stopped at €31:95.

“I said it would be less than €32.” He joked.

I thanked him for my French class. We shook hands. It had been a real pleasure, he offered. It had been.

My flight only cost me £45. Train and taxi before and after totalled over £60. So much for cheap flights.

Limoges Benedictins station is something to behold. It is one of the most beautiful station buildings I have been through. With its spacious dome shape, carved stone and stained glass it is well worth a visit.

The dome ceiling curves down into four stone female figures who are meant to represent four regions served from the junction. Only in France is the feminine form so freely presented in its public statues.

Is this respect for natural beauty, or is it manifestation of the exploitative patriarchal society, one in which an on-going campaign to stop femicide is un-ending? I saw a new poster about the campaign from the taxi as we passed under a bridge earlier. The campaign is still needed, as is one needed in the UK.

The train I wanted was leaving as I bought my ticket, so I went to the bar for a small beer. I had an hour to wait, for a train journey that would take an hour.

Compared to the cramped train of the morning, this evening’s was luxury. The train trundled north to Le Dorat, where a lift was kindly waiting for me. Not only a lift, but a spaghetti Bolognese was ready too when we got to the remote hamlet, my destination. I was also provided with eggs, milk, tea bags, a baguette and butter to tide me over until I could go shopping after breakfast.

Such hospitality from a neighbour of my sister’s empty home was most unexpected and gratefully received. Living in the middle of nowhere generally makes one sympathetic to neighbours, I’m sure. Nothing is to be gained by being aloof when you live deep in the sticks.

That was my day done. Bed. Lights out.

~

CLP 12/03/2026