Rue du Pavé de Saint-Lazare

I don't fit into the bed.

This wouldn't be an issue if the bed simply fell away at the end, but there's a board which tucks me in. I shifted as the church bells rang out a new hour. I'd heard 2am, 5am and 6am. My marker was 7am for an early-ish rise to go and explore on the bike to get bearings for the local area. But the bells rang out an extra gong to let me know I'd properly fallen asleep for the last two hours. Maybe that's why my right foot was numb.

A wee rangefinder, even if slightly curtailed, was still called for, and in just two and a half miles managed to include a steep cobbled climb, and getting chased by what ultimately proved to be a very cowardly large dog. It certainly cemented the view of Semur as a rather pretty little place, ramshackle in places, but with a topography to really show if its eccentric charms.

Pre-breakfast there was a need for a quick supermarket jaunt. Bottled water an oversight on our part; the lack of a cafetiere one on the part of the house owner. Both were procured, along with a bottle of wine for the evening meal, after a brief conversation when I asked the person mannign the self-service tills if I was allowed to buy wine before midday. This garnered a confused look, so I felt the need clarify, "It's not allowed before midday in Scotland on a Sunday." She shook her head, and with a smile confirmed that in France anything goes for wine.

* * *

We take to our feet to cement the rangefinding, taking in the town's ancient ramparts, narrow streets, Sunday market, and odd boat-shaped wash house. Despite the grey skies, the uneven architecture remains impressive in either scale (if the four main towers of the old citadel are considered) or improbability (such as the little extension in the extra).

From here we hop in the car to Flavigny-sur-Ozerain, a pretty little village which was used for some of the filming of the movie Chocolat. It matches Semur, but is quieter (in off season the population is only about 400), and is home to 'Les Anis de Flavigny', a traditional sweet, still handmade (in huge quantities) in the small village. And we left with a selection of different flavoured boxes.

The grey skies, while not hiding the beauty, were doing nothing to enhance it, however, so after a walk around its ramparts, as those few inhabitants hid from view, and with half a mind to return when the sun did, it was back to the car and a search for Vercingetorix.

He wasn't hard to find, being massive, and if truth be told, a little camp. The pose is apparently one of resignation in defeat, looking out as he does on the supposed / officially-recognised site of Alésia, where Caesar finally subdued the Gauls. Of course it looks nothing like the real life Vercingetorix, partly because no-one actually knows what he looked like, but mainly because it was commissioned by Napoleon III, with the face fashioned after his own.

Ils sont fous ces Napoléons.... (as Asterix would say)