Sancourt du Nord

Despite going by train, getting to Sancourt by the appointed time was not a trivial task. We'd had some difficulty finding accommodation at one of these farms so were keen to assure the owners that we were indeed coming, if a little later than expected.

There was one train a day to the nearest station and it arrived 30 mins late. Not wanting to spend time getting lost P2 had gone on a mission previously to find a detailed map of the region so it was straight forward navigation to Sancourt. Despite needing to back out of an very rocky, unsealed road we made it in reasonable time with enough daylight to see by.

Now to find the place, 8 Rue du l'eglise (i.e. Church St), there's a steeple, off we went but there was no such street to be found. A few circles later we met a family returning home who, seeing us obviously lost, kindly gave us some assistance. We began to suspect something was amiss when even the locals didn't know the street or of any tourist lodgings in their small village.

Not ones to abandon two stray girls as night falls their daughter accompanied us on her own bicycle to aid our search. She spoke to the farm owner on our mobile. I only caught glimpses, town hall...car park opposite...50 metres down. We cycled around again but no luck. Mystified she rang again and the landmarks were checked and the situation explained. After a pause, "Ah! Sancourt du Sud! I see, then we have a problem."

We would never have guessed that there were two villages of the same name within 50kms of each other, close enough to confuse them but too far for us to make it to the other place by dinner time. The farm owner was somewhat exasperated and we later learned that she'd been driving around Sancourt du Sud looking for us. Fortunately the French family offered us their backyard to camp in for the night so we could rest now and sort the rest out in the morning.

After lugging our gear up through the side gate and into their spacious garden we pitched our tent and joined them inside the house for "something to eat". We hoped this meant dinner but we weren't sure as it was past 9pm and their daughter had already changed into her pyjamas. They brought out saucisson (dried sausage), bread and butter. Oh well, I thought, it's food. We tried not to look too hungry and ate at the same pace as they did.

Once they'd finished, fearing that was the end P2 asked if we could help ourselves to more.
"Of course," he said, "the pig is already dead." I didn't quite understand the expression or catch all of what he said and for a moment I thought they might have actually killed a pig for us. To my relief and disappointment P2 explained he was referring to the sausage.

Sadly, my French lessons didn't come flooding back to me and I remained mostly mute during our stay. They were extremely kind and quite interested in our travels. They had five cats, only one of which they'd intentionally acquired. The remaining four were strays brought home by their own cat and had been integrated into the household. We did pretty well to stumble across these folk.

To our great relief dinner was served consisting of spatchcock, tomato and salad. The father showed us on a map where we were and where we originally wanted to be. In the morning we joined them again for breakfast before they headed out to work or school and left us to arrange our affairs in their backyard.