The Aven d’Orgnac: a very big hole in the ground
505
On one of our stays in our favorite village of
Le Poët-Laval, we found ourselves with a day to spare. We pulled out
our battered green Michelin Guide for the region and perused the handy
map in the front that rated nearby attractions. Our eyes fell on two
sights bordered in green, the guide’s way of giving them 3*: “worth a
journey,” just like 3* restaurants. The first not-to-be missed sight
was the Ardèche gorge; the second was the Aven d’Orgnac, one of
France’s most celebrated caves. The combination seemed like a good way
to spend the day. The road to
the Ardèche gorge leads across the Rhône river on the St.-Esprit
bridge, where two major roads intersect. Traffic was light at our hour
of the morning, and we zipped up the N86 on our way to one of those
interesting, twisty yellow roads shown on the Michelin map. (I should
have remembered the time my husband proudly showed me one of those when
we were in Annecy, telling me that our route through Switzerland to
Italy would be very scenec. It was, especially looking straight down a
10,000-foot mountain from a corkscrew road with nothing between us and
the edge.) We turned off onto
the corniche road that wound round and round the Ardèche gorge toward
the Belvedere de la Corniche lookout. “Spectacular” doesn’t begin to
describe the incredible view—and “numerous” falls far short of
describing the number of turns in the road. As we meandered along, we
saw below us kayakers floating slowly along the river, which glistened
far below in the bright sunlight, and tiny figures sitting on rocks
along the shore. Eventually we
reached the D579 and turned south, aiming for L’Aven d’Orgnac. After a
drive of about half an hour we found ourselves in a dirt parking lot.
Following the signs, we arrived at the ticket window of what was a
surprisingly large building in the rather desolate fields, baking in
the sun of late August. We
bought our tickets, went inside, and were happy to find elevators to
take us down. And down. And down. After a long ride we exited into a
sort of antechamber leading to an enormous, high cavern. We followed
the path that wound down toward the cave’s bottom, stopping to admire
the fantastic formations along the way and revelling in the cool, dry
air. Visiting the
cave requires good leg muscles. It took us a long time to get to the
bottom of the chamber, and our calves were aching by the time we
finally staggered off the steps onto a more level path that led to a
particularly fine group of stalagmites and stalactites. As we stood
admiring their complexity and beauty, colored lights suddenly bathed
the formations in a dramatic mix of green and red and gold, while a
rousing rendition of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” blared out at us.
Our eyes met, and we knew we were both thinking “Only in France…” A
few minutes later we realized that getting back up to the top of the
cavern was not going to be as easy as going down: we had to climb. No
elevators here. We climbed for what seemed like hours, hissing at
children who ran gleefully past us on the path and thanking the heavens
for the six months of walking we had done before the trip. It was a
very long climb to the wonderful elevators. This
cave was only discovered in 1935, and it was not until 1965 that the
immense network of upper galleries was found; it is still only
partially explored. The Aven d’Orgnac definitely merits its three
Michelin stars and whets the appetite for other, different caves. Our
trip home was again very scenic: until, that is, we again reached the
area of the Pont St.-Esprit. We had forgotten it was the 31st of
August, and tout Provence was heading back for Paris. The bridge had
only two lanes, and we sat in a traffic jam for hours, inching forward,
trying not to breathe the foul diesel fumes, and melting in the
afternoon sun. The cool cave seemed like a wonderful dream. For more information, visit their website (in French). Coming soon from Jean: the Padirac Chasm. —Jean Underhill and her husband travel to France as frequently as their family of cats will allow.
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On one of our stays in our favorite village of
Le Poët-Laval, we found ourselves with a day to spare. We pulled out
our battered green Michelin Guide for the region and perused the handy
map in the front that rated nearby attractions. Our eyes fell on two
sights bordered in green, the guide’s way of giving them 3*: “worth a
journey,” just like 3* restaurants. The first not-to-be missed sight
was the Ardèche gorge; the second was the Aven d’Orgnac, one of
France’s most celebrated caves. The combination seemed like a good way
to spend the day.
Le Poët-Laval, we found ourselves with a day to spare. We pulled out
our battered green Michelin Guide for the region and perused the handy
map in the front that rated nearby attractions. Our eyes fell on two
sights bordered in green, the guide’s way of giving them 3*: “worth a
journey,” just like 3* restaurants. The first not-to-be missed sight
was the Ardèche gorge; the second was the Aven d’Orgnac, one of
France’s most celebrated caves. The combination seemed like a good way
to spend the day.
The road to
the Ardèche gorge leads across the Rhône river on the St.-Esprit
bridge, where two major roads intersect. Traffic was light at our hour
of the morning, and we zipped up the N86 on our way to one of those
interesting, twisty yellow roads shown on the Michelin map. (I should
have remembered the time my husband proudly showed me one of those when
we were in Annecy, telling me that our route through Switzerland to
Italy would be very scenec. It was, especially looking straight down a
10,000-foot mountain from a corkscrew road with nothing between us and
the edge.)
the Ardèche gorge leads across the Rhône river on the St.-Esprit
bridge, where two major roads intersect. Traffic was light at our hour
of the morning, and we zipped up the N86 on our way to one of those
interesting, twisty yellow roads shown on the Michelin map. (I should
have remembered the time my husband proudly showed me one of those when
we were in Annecy, telling me that our route through Switzerland to
Italy would be very scenec. It was, especially looking straight down a
10,000-foot mountain from a corkscrew road with nothing between us and
the edge.)
We turned off onto
the corniche road that wound round and round the Ardèche gorge toward
the Belvedere de la Corniche lookout. “Spectacular” doesn’t begin to
describe the incredible view—and “numerous” falls far short of
describing the number of turns in the road. As we meandered along, we
saw below us kayakers floating slowly along the river, which glistened
far below in the bright sunlight, and tiny figures sitting on rocks
along the shore.
the corniche road that wound round and round the Ardèche gorge toward
the Belvedere de la Corniche lookout. “Spectacular” doesn’t begin to
describe the incredible view—and “numerous” falls far short of
describing the number of turns in the road. As we meandered along, we
saw below us kayakers floating slowly along the river, which glistened
far below in the bright sunlight, and tiny figures sitting on rocks
along the shore.
Eventually we
reached the D579 and turned south, aiming for L’Aven d’Orgnac. After a
drive of about half an hour we found ourselves in a dirt parking lot.
Following the signs, we arrived at the ticket window of what was a
surprisingly large building in the rather desolate fields, baking in
the sun of late August.
reached the D579 and turned south, aiming for L’Aven d’Orgnac. After a
drive of about half an hour we found ourselves in a dirt parking lot.
Following the signs, we arrived at the ticket window of what was a
surprisingly large building in the rather desolate fields, baking in
the sun of late August.
We
bought our tickets, went inside, and were happy to find elevators to
take us down. And down. And down. After a long ride we exited into a
sort of antechamber leading to an enormous, high cavern. We followed
the path that wound down toward the cave’s bottom, stopping to admire
the fantastic formations along the way and revelling in the cool, dry
air.
bought our tickets, went inside, and were happy to find elevators to
take us down. And down. And down. After a long ride we exited into a
sort of antechamber leading to an enormous, high cavern. We followed
the path that wound down toward the cave’s bottom, stopping to admire
the fantastic formations along the way and revelling in the cool, dry
air.
Visiting the
cave requires good leg muscles. It took us a long time to get to the
bottom of the chamber, and our calves were aching by the time we
finally staggered off the steps onto a more level path that led to a
particularly fine group of stalagmites and stalactites. As we stood
admiring their complexity and beauty, colored lights suddenly bathed
the formations in a dramatic mix of green and red and gold, while a
rousing rendition of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” blared out at us.
Our eyes met, and we knew we were both thinking “Only in France…”
cave requires good leg muscles. It took us a long time to get to the
bottom of the chamber, and our calves were aching by the time we
finally staggered off the steps onto a more level path that led to a
particularly fine group of stalagmites and stalactites. As we stood
admiring their complexity and beauty, colored lights suddenly bathed
the formations in a dramatic mix of green and red and gold, while a
rousing rendition of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” blared out at us.
Our eyes met, and we knew we were both thinking “Only in France…”
A
few minutes later we realized that getting back up to the top of the
cavern was not going to be as easy as going down: we had to climb. No
elevators here. We climbed for what seemed like hours, hissing at
children who ran gleefully past us on the path and thanking the heavens
for the six months of walking we had done before the trip. It was a
very long climb to the wonderful elevators.
few minutes later we realized that getting back up to the top of the
cavern was not going to be as easy as going down: we had to climb. No
elevators here. We climbed for what seemed like hours, hissing at
children who ran gleefully past us on the path and thanking the heavens
for the six months of walking we had done before the trip. It was a
very long climb to the wonderful elevators.
This
cave was only discovered in 1935, and it was not until 1965 that the
immense network of upper galleries was found; it is still only
partially explored. The Aven d’Orgnac definitely merits its three
Michelin stars and whets the appetite for other, different caves.
cave was only discovered in 1935, and it was not until 1965 that the
immense network of upper galleries was found; it is still only
partially explored. The Aven d’Orgnac definitely merits its three
Michelin stars and whets the appetite for other, different caves.
Our
trip home was again very scenic: until, that is, we again reached the
area of the Pont St.-Esprit. We had forgotten it was the 31st of
August, and tout Provence was heading back for Paris. The bridge had
only two lanes, and we sat in a traffic jam for hours, inching forward,
trying not to breathe the foul diesel fumes, and melting in the
afternoon sun. The cool cave seemed like a wonderful dream.
trip home was again very scenic: until, that is, we again reached the
area of the Pont St.-Esprit. We had forgotten it was the 31st of
August, and tout Provence was heading back for Paris. The bridge had
only two lanes, and we sat in a traffic jam for hours, inching forward,
trying not to breathe the foul diesel fumes, and melting in the
afternoon sun. The cool cave seemed like a wonderful dream.
Coming soon from Jean: the Padirac Chasm.
—
Jean Underhill and her husband travel to France as frequently as their family of cats will allow.
Jean Underhill and her husband travel to France as frequently as their family of cats will allow.
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