THE END OF THE ROAD

Ruth coming down the mountain when she comes


This is the end of the road.

From here there are only walks up the mountains. This was Valcebollere and the Auberge des Ecureuils when we met old friends of mine from some 20 years ago. We had a great meal together and talked and talked.

One of the last times I saw them was with their daughter, then under a year old, now a married woman. We had taken the wrong route through a deserted Game Park in Zambia and kept having to dig ourselves out of the sand in dry river beds while elephants paraded nearby.

J and C love walking holidays and are very fit. We followed their advice and walked up the mountain as you can see. It was lovely and worthwhile but I am a plainswoman and can only go up hill slowly.

I also contacted another friend from the past and then remembered the first time another J and her husband B and two small daughters (same age as R and T) stayed with us at Lake Kariba.

We were woken first by a convoy of lorries in the night. New to that aspect of Africa, we were not unduly concerned but at 5 am we were woken by a loud knock on the door. I opened it to find a soldier with an AK47 pointing at me and a number of other soldiers lying in the front garden with guns aimed at me. They refused to allow me to make a cup of tea for friends and family and we were marched off to the football field in the village with every other inhabitant of the area, white and black, while they rounded up 'aliens'. Do you remember this, older kids?
When it got hot around 11.30 everyone got tired and we were all allowed to go home.

At the moment nothing like this seems likely to happen in France.

Are we 'aliens' though?

Brits are perhaps just Brits and maybe they won't send any soldiers to round us up.