Voie Verte – Rail Trail
Posted Monday 2nd December 2024
Contents
- Interlude With Nougat
- Getting To Cluny
- Voie Verte At Last
- Walking By Bus And Bicycle
- Back On Track
- Onward To Givry And Beyond
Interlude With Nougat
We had no choice but to get up early, since we had in excess of 600 km of travel ahead of us starting with the 08·16 train from Tours to Lyon. Breakfast a bit after 07·00, followed by check out and acquisition of our usual ‘portable’ lunch makings were all taken at a fairly relaxed pace yet we still had to wait for the rather tatty Lyon based diesel railcar set to arrive at the platform.
Part of the rather grand façade of Tours Station.
The early part of the journey was back along the north bank of the Cher River that we were now quite familiar with – we covered the distance back to Montrichard in 32 minutes, as compared to our three days of walking. From there it was all new territory, initially more of the same but slowly getting into undulating then rougher country with some fairly significant tunnels and bridges toward the Lyon end. There were only seven intermediate stops and virtually all had connections to other lines or to local trains.
Arrival at Lyon Part Dieu was a few minutes late which left us with an hour before our train to Montelimar. The underground concourse at Part Dieu is a busy and confusing place and it took some time to find a bar, somewhat inappropriately called McNamara’s, where we could relax and have a coffee with our lunch. It rained quite heavily during this time limiting what we could do in the short time we had there. In due course we joined our onward train, a proper one this time with real carriages and an electric locomotive which pushed us south from the back of the train. The 150 km covered by this train included four intermediate stops but still averaged 100 km/h. We arrived into a fairly hot Montelimar at 16·50, a late arrival by our standards.
Rear of our train to Montelimar – all of 9000hp to push us along.
We had looked up a hotel prior to departure from home, so we knew exactly where to find Hotel du Parc, but we hadn’t anticipated the ‘no room’ response to our arrival. However, they referred us to Le Sphinx nearby but they too were a ‘no room’ hotel. All of this was in fact very fortunate – we then found Tourisme where we were served by a relatively young man with good English who had not long before spent several months at Bondi. He fixed us up with the Hotel Pierre, a lovely place on the 1st floor of an ancient and somewhat convoluted building in the medieval part of Montelimar – a far better result than that we originally expected.
We didn’t go out looking for a dinner location until 19·00 and then struck the French curse yet again – we were referred to a nearby restaurant, which was open but because it was Wednesday it only served tapas. They however referred us to another nearby restaurant but being Wednesday it was closed. In time we found a tiny restaurant tucked into a cul-de-sac and protected by an archway whose decor was stonework that had almost certainly been in place for many centuries.
The Restaurant l’Armandier is small and buried in an ancient cul-de-sac but a delightful place to dine.
It was run by a delightful old couple, Stephanie and Boris Aviloff, who had little English but loads of charm. We chose the formula for two – two out of three courses with a limited choice for each. Sue started with a main of quail while Max went for poisson and both took the Creme Broulee for dessert. Sue managed to convey to Boris that it was my birthday, so the dessert came out with an accompaniment of two of roman candles in full fire. Sue gave forth with a stirring rendition of Happy Birthday in English, which the initially bemused other diners then joined in, but naturally in French. A very nice way to end a different, but happy, day.
Boris helps Max celebrate a birthday while the multi-lingual choir behind has no idea of what is coming.
We had a comfortable night and a slow start morning, going down to breakfast in the courtyard around 08·00 – a typical bread and jam presentation but in such a lovely setting that we rather extended the time we took to consume it.
Breakfast doesn’t get any better than this – courtyard eating.
Montelimar is the self proclaimed nougat capital of the world so we made sure we acquired our share, as well as the more mundane task of mailing yet more stuff home to ourselves. Since the day warmed up to an unaccustomed degree we also partook of beer and other drinks at frequent intervals. At the appointed time a bit after midday a local train arrived from the north and sure enough out stepped Jenny (my sister) and her partner Keith, fresh from their 24 hour flight from Australia. While we were heading into the last part of our trip, they were about to set out on the 11th of their annual long distance walking tours of France (see walkinginfrance.info for their story). We stopped off for a drink then found our way back to the hotel (we had arranged a room for them when we got our room) where they had a very welcome and overdue rest. We did much the same except that Sue later went out and did some shopping, knowing how easy it is to mail stuff home.
Rather later we all went out in search of aperitifs and dinner – the former was fairly easy, but the latter took quite a bit of indecision until we finished up again at the Restaurant l’Armandier. The menu was the same but this time we all chose an entree and main (rillettes of lapin followed by poisson for Sue and Jenny, salmon followed by quail for Max and Keith). There was a waiter this time who turned out to be fils (son) – something we had rather suspected. We didn’t get back to the hotel until well after 22·00.
Getting To Cluny
It was a warmish night and at dawn became quite gusty, rattling the shutters and creating a fair amount of disturbance. As such breakfast was indoors rather than out in the courtyard, but animated chatter between us all meant that it still occupied the best part of an hour. We all checked out by 09·30 and then went looking for an Internet Cafe, something which it turns out is a dying species. Along the way we went to the post office to mail more stuff home, the post office man rather cheekily suggesting we might like to make a daily appointment.
Picnic in the park – pre-departure lunch at Montelimar.
In time we had a picnic style lunch on the grass behind the Glacierie near the station before we went to catch the 13·10 train to Lyon. As happens, the train was announced as ‘retard’ and not much later a freight train went sweeping through at a rather high speed followed some time later by our train. In fact, its lateness simply shortened our wait at Lyon for the train onward to Macon which in turn connected with a bus (the pink bus) which conveyed us to Cluny for the princely sum of 1·50 Euros each – almost sillier than the $2·50 Sydney fare back home. Arrival at Cluny a little after 17·00 was somewhat confusing since the town bus stop was a bit out of town.
We knew that Tourisme was in the Tour Fromage (Cheese Tower) but at that stage didn’t know which of several towers that might be. When all else fails follow the finger boards and in time we found what we wanted – getting booked into the Hotel Saint-Odilon which was quite close to the Voie Verte which we intended to follow tomorrow and at the same time taking the precaution of getting a somewhat expensive (by our standards) room at the only hotel in Cormatin the following night.
The streets of Cluny, as with all villages along this walk, were charming places to explore.
We also got the Cluny walking tour guide and considerably later went out following the Dollar trail which in time brought us to the remains of the once great abbey.
Those who know their religious history will recognise Cluny as a centre of the Christian world in the 10th and 11th Centuries – not only did it have the monumental abbey that for four centuries was the biggest building in Christendom (the few remnant parts serving to highlight how big it was) but the Cistercian monks who ran it anticipated modern franchising practices by 800 years and retained control of all the monasteries which followed their beliefs, something like 1100 in all, which of course made them immensely wealthy and influential. But time moves on and the remains of the abbey – two towers that provide scale to the past, and a number of foundations – are all that remain. There is now even a road across the centre of the abbey site.
The remaining great tower is a lasting reminder of the scale of the Abbey.
For dinner that evening, in the gathering dusk, we dined in an open air restaurant that abutted the abbey site and offered a distinctly Burgundian formula – escargots, boeuf Bourgogne and crème broulee or chocolate mousse.
Voie Verte At Last
Next morning, rather unusually for walkers, we planned on a late start along the Voie Verte, in this case to allow time to look through the abbey remains and newer but smaller replacement adjacent to the great abbey site. We managed to navigate away from several large groups doing the same thing, which allowed us to be amazed by the huge interior dimensions of the remaining 11th century abbey towers and the models of and artefacts from that building which put it somewhat into perspective but equally almost raised it to mythological status.
This model of the Abbey has the remnant parts in a darker colour – most of it is light coloured.
Thus it was almost midday before we had left the abbey, stocked up with lunch supplies, collected our packs and set out for the nearby Voie Verte – former branch line railway that has been converted to a high grade Rail Trail (in our vernacular).
Departing Cluny heading for the Voie Verte (Rail Trail), about to miss the pointing finger board.
Apart from having to slide down a cutting wall to reach it, having apparently ignored a sign post that we didn’t see, the whole route was flat (relatively), sealed, well sign posted and had some former station buildings converted to very pleasant ‘servicing’ stops for walkers and wheeled travellers. The rail heritage was there for all to see – stone paved cutting walls, flag stoned drainage and stone arch overbridges all from an era when railways were built for a purpose rather than to a budget.
The Voie Verte at last. We arrived down the cutting wall – the steepest bit of the whole walk.
Initially the walking route followed near to but out of sight of the Paris – Lyon TGV (high speed) railway, although we had the aural accompaniment of the sound of frequent 300 km/h trains whizzing by. In time the Voie Verte crossed under the TGV after which we slowly parted company. Around one hour out we stopped at a suitable trackside seat for a late lunch, overlooking a typical Burgundian scene of rolling hills, a cow pasture and a small octagonal farm shed, but with the TGV line cutting across the bottom of the nearest paddock. I can report that cows do not panic at the passage of TGV trains; in fact they are supremely indifferent and remain dedicated to their obsession with grazing.
Idyllic rural France – and proof that grazing cows couldn’t care less about the proximity of TGV.
There were very few other walkers along the way, but wheels were aplenty – velos, velos with baby trailers, hand propelled bicycles, in line skates and roller skates were all out for the day, a few in excited gaggles that suggested some sort of competition.
We stood aside from what appeared to be a rollerblade race. They were not going to stop for anything.
Around half way we came to Massilly, a well preserved former station with water, toilets, undercover eating areas, outdoor picnic area and bike racks, where we were joined for a short section by a horse – not quite what we understood as walking but at least walking rather than wheeling.
Masilly station was a well set up rest stop for walkers, but possibly not so well for horses.
There were a series of interesting way points from here on – a large bridge over the Grosne, Taise station that once served the religious community of the same name up on the adjacent hill, the Papillion Hotel, backing onto the Voie Verte, which advertised ‘100 varieties of beer’ (in France, wow), Cormatin station and eventually, a couple of km later, the village itself – a long and hot afternoon. The day had warmed up to something we were not accustomed to, we think in the low 30’s, so ignoring the pub was a bad choice (driven by the wrongfully assumed proximity of the village) which had consequences the next day.
The religious community of Taise was up on a hill, so we continued on along the ‘railway’ as the easier route.
The Chateau at Cormatin is the major reason the village survives – it is a notable tourist target.
Once at the village we found we had to back track a bit to get to the hotel, Les Bles D’Or, which was next to the church and opposite the Cormatin Chateau.
In time we suitably re-hydrated before a quite adequate steak and salad dinner followed by a ‘we will have what they are having’ which turned out to be a bowl of boules de glace liberally covered in chantilly cream. We explored the village afterwards including trying to peer over the high wall of the chateau – probably the main reason the village survives.
The “We’ll have what they’re having” moment at Cormatin.
The largely afternoon walk amounted to 15 km and took 4h 00m.
Walking By Bus And Bicycle
The best laid plans … Although we were quite flexible in our travels we always strike a day where nothing quite happens as planned at all, and this was it. Sue woke up with one of her migraines – debilitating headache and nausea attacks that are not at all helpful at any time let alone on a walking trip.
Max had breakfast on his own. The plan was that if Sue was up to it by 09·00 we would walk the 9 km, to St Gengoux-le-National, otherwise get the 09·25 local bus which is civilised enough to run tous les jours (every day). In the event the latter prevailed and thus we found ourselves at St Gengoux Cemetery, the nearest stop to the town centre, at a bit after 09·30 with an urgent desire to find a hotel where Sue could sleep things off. We walked to Centre and found Tourisme but, unlike its branch office at Cormatin, it was shut on Sundays. Fortunately, we had noted an hotel at the Gare bus stop coming in so we walked back there and made the necessary arrangements.
The Hotel de la Gare was conveniently located just metres from the Voie Verte.
While Sue was slowly recovering Max explored the station site and then the old medieval village, something like a kilometre apart. Unlike in Australia, the railways in France generally came well after the villages, so by passed them rather than running through them. All the stations on the Voie Verte that we saw were out on the fringe of their namesake villages, which, as happened at Cormatin and St Gengoux, led us into making some poor decisions.
The Gare at St Gengoux le National is now home to a handy bicycle hire outfit – so I did.
The station at St Gengoux was home to a bicycle hire outfit run by a young man full of Gallic charm. The bicycles were all either electric or electric assist which was something of a novelty for me. Never-the-less, mid afternoon I hired an assist bike and set out to cover the missing section back to Cormatin. I can’t say that I was a world beater at cycling (or veloing I guess, since it was in France) but found it was relatively easy, particularly since the first section was on a long falling grade.
The section took no time at all, so I kept going, eventually reaching Massilly again some 15 km out. I turned back here, little realising until much later that if i had kept going to just past Cluny i would have found myself in a 1600 metre tunnel now devoted to walkers, cyclists and bats. I took the return run at a leisurely pace, knowing that this time I would stop at the Papillion – place of 100 beers. At that establishment there were a large number of patrons, matched by a similar number of parked bicycles, including a number identical to mine, which caused some confusion when I came to reclaim my bike. Beer was predominantly German and was chosen by colour, taste, strength and a trust in the publican. I was delivered a Fursteburg, in a suitably Germanic tall glass, which was entirely acceptable.
The garden lounge area of the pub overlooked the Voie Verte through a mass of flowers and greenery.
Not far past the turnoff to Cormatin village there was a small typical low level platform at Malay which featured a level crossing through its middle. Unlike the railway the road still operates. A bit further, at the foot of the climb up to St Gengoux, was largest and last bridge over the Grosne which, along with a few scenic locations demanded a stop to take a few pictures.
The Grosne bridge is a bit over built for a rail trail but does provide something of a diversion.
By the time I returned (around 17·00) Sue was slowly recovering. We ate in the hotel with Sue limiting herself to a couple of boules of glace and a cup of tea. Afterwards we set out to largely retrace my wander through the medieval village from earlier in the day.
One of the charming street scenes in St Gengoux – typical of many.
Along the way we met an elderly man who many years before had worked in Seymour, Melbourne and Sydney – so long ago that in fact he had no functional English so he conversed in French and we responded in a mangled combination of both with a tolerable level of understanding in both cases. We arrived back at the hotel just on dark (which is around 22·30) feeling quite virtuous after our French encounter and with Sue clearly well on the way to recovery.
The walk would have amounted to 10 km but of course that is not what transpired. Instead, Max did 30 km on his hired bike.
Back On Track
In the morning it was evident that all things were back in good order, which meant that we could pick up on the walk plan more or less where we should have been. It appeared that we were the only people in the hotel for the night which helped us to get away at 07·45, which for ‘hotel’ walkers was an early start. Since we were right at the Gare St Gengoux we were able to join the track almost from the front door.
The Voie Verte had left the Grosne valley and now sidled a range of low hills with commanding views off to the east, made more interesting by the curves and grades which broke up the long straight sections of trail of the last two days.
The fruits of the soil are plentiful in this part of France – multi cropping along the way.
Where there be vines there be people lovingly tending to their welfare.
In contrast to much of the Voie Verte there was a section of rather overgrown woodland today.
Former railway lines had level crossings and these remain as minor impediments to walkers.
The large numbers of other users on the trail were notably absent today – apart from a couple of joggers and three velos we had the place to ourselves. In time we came to St Boil (if you are in need of a patron saint, we suspect this one may be available). The station was a private residence, but in the paddock opposite were a cluster of Charolais cattle.
Sue, rather taken by their doe eyed innocent looks, made to get a close up picture, crossing a sleeper ‘bridge’ over a drainage ditch to do so. Well, nearly crossing it before she slipped on the wet timber and did an extraordinary backward dive into the ditch. Her backpack and the bed of nettles fortuitously saved her from any damage apart from a few stings. She had the presence of mind to hand up her camera to get a shot before getting back up to terra firma. I have a theory that this was the Revenge of the Charolais, dating from 2004 when Max and Keith enjoyed a couple of excellent steaks at Meursault, further north in Burgundy.
Like Medusa, these doe eyed Charolais were designed to attract people to their doom.
It worked for Sue – here she is lying in her bed of nettles, waiting for the photo to be taken before being rescued.
The day was starting to warm up rather rapidly so it was with some joy that we arrived into Buxy Gare (which, conveniently, is also Tourisme) a bit after 10·30 – a walk time of under three hours. We sorted out the hotel which is around 300 metres away on the Route de Chalon but has its restaurant in the opposite direction just behind the station. After the usual activities once we had established ourselves in the hotel, we set out to find lunch. Since it was Monday and after midday we were not optimistic, but in fact found a quite presentable place built into the old medieval village wall.
Later we explored the old part of town, noting the oddity shared with St Gengoux, of a flying bridge between the church steeple and bell tower. Buxy apparently outranked its more southerly neighbour by having a clock on both towers.
The curious arrangement of a flying bridge between steeple and clock tower.
Gallic village charm – one of the enclaves we found in Buxy.
Considerable later we walked the 400 metres or so from our room to the restaurant where we partook of an entirely adequate formula along with Meursault white and decaf coffee. However a restless humid night led us to think that the decaf may have been ordinary caf – possibly another casualty of limited language competence.
The walk amounted to 13 km and took 2h 50m to complete.
Onward To Givry And Beyond
There must have been a change come through sometime during the night so we woke to somewhat subdued weather offering spits of rain and 100% humidity. Once again, we managed to get away by 07·45, having had our first boiled egg breakfast in nearly two weeks. We had a bus to catch at Givry, 9 km away, so there was some purpose to our walking. The trail was even less populated than yesterday and was rather less interesting, having reached relatively flat and featureless country for a change.
Part way along we passed the station for St Desert, some distance from its namesake village, where somewhat fittingly the village bus stop is at the cemetery.
The St Desert station is now private property so walkers need to be fenced off. The town is some distance away.
“ … are we lost yet …”
Soon after the trail diverted from its original line to duck under a freeway and then was joined by scattered ‘industrial’ development. Around here there were numerous red currants growing by the track, but the onset of real rain, albeit gently, rather hurried us along. Somewhat untypically the town was rather spread out in this direction, so it took around 20 minutes before we arrived at the Givry station and soon after found the Givry Gare bus shelter. Our arrival coincided with a real rain storm which, in its own strange way, justified foregoing the red currant feast. In fact, we had covered the 9 km in 1h 35m – our fastest day walking. The three days of walking covered 37 km and took an elapsed time of 8h 25m.
We had a 40 minutes wait for the bus (the same service that helped us at Cormatin) which only charged us Euro 1·00 this time which was enough to get us to Gare Routiere (bus terminal) at Chalon sur Saone. In theory we had a train to Beaune in about 20 minutes. In practice it was yet another ‘retard’ train, this time to the extent of around 50 minutes. We entertained ourselves finding coffee (easy) and pastries (difficult until we tried a Chocolatier) while avoiding the rain. This marked the end of the walking but not the end of the holiday.
In the fullness we arrived at Beaune and got a room at the hotel opposite the station, a place we remembered from 2004, then filled in the remainder of the day exploring, eating, washing and resting.
Hotel Dieu at Beaune has a typical Burgundian enamel tiled roof capping a highly ornamental building.
This walk didn’t involve any navigational issues at all, but certainly engaged our ‘make it up as you go’ skills to a considerable degree.
