A Ski Club of Great Britain rep once lost her job over the above, now legendary, snow report when the host resort took exception to her honesty.

Having spent a great deal of last week couped up indoors, doing dull stuff, I mutinied and insisted that we get out and about at the weekend. After all, we live in one of France’s most scenic mountain regions, with two motorcycles and hundreds of miles of twisty roads at our disposal. So, on Sunday, we loaded up a picnic lunch and set off to the Cirque de Gavarnie, a World Heritage site and, according to ViaMichelin.com, about 2 hours away depending on your route. We took the scenic one …

[1] Our outward trip took us over the Col d’Aspin and Col de Tourmalet, through the French Pyrenees’ largest ski area: the linked resorts of La Mongie and Barèges. There is, of course, no snow there at this time of year, and the sheep graze contentedly beside cows, goats and a few lamas. If you are a keen skier, you might be forgiven for thinking that the resorts themselves would be deserted in summer. But then you would not have taken into account the French predeliction for masochistic sports. Ah non! [2] This stretch of road forms part of one of the mountain stages for the Tour de France, and is therefore a Mecca for serious cyclists from all over the country. Rather them than me. John and I both had the odd buttock-clenching moment, as we rounded a corner only to be confronted by an on-coming motorhome on the wrong side of the road. At least we have the advantage of decent brakes and ’safety clothing’. I wouldn’t fancy my chances on a 26km downhill stretch of hair-pin bends, wearing only skin-tight Lycra and a polystyrene lid on a bicycle, let alone a pair of in-line roller skates on a 4% incline!

[3] Nevertheless, the weather was perfect and we had a great ride all the way to Gavarnie. ViaMichelin had under-estimated our ETA somewhat due to numerous ‘Kodak moments’ along the way. It was getting on for 3.30pm by the time we arrived, and we were seriously in need of lunch.

Now, it seems I made a bit of an error of judgement. John and his mum have often told me about childhood holidays in nearby Lourdes, and how beautiful Gavarnie is, and how you can take a chairlift up to see the lake, etc., etc. And, if you look up the Cirque de Gavarnie on the Internet, you will almost certainly see, as I did, a spectacular natural amphitheatre in the mountains - deserted apart from a few hearty types in stout walking boots, gazing in awe at Europe’s highest waterfall. A World Heritage site on a warm Sunday afternoon, deserted? Silly me.

Parking costs 4€ whether you are in a car or motorhome, or on a bike. Though, as luck would have it, we found a space with a dozen or so other motorcycles just outside the designated parking zone, and the parking attendant turned a blind eye. John examined a map of the area that had been attractively carved into a piece of local slate. The town of Gavarnie stretches several hundred metres alongside the river, before one joins the throng of families, dog-walkers, hikers, and donkey trekkers on the footpath up to the unspoit national park area. Everyone was more suitably dressed than we were, in our leather trousers and motorcycle boots, added to which a bottle of cream had leaked and turned to cheese in the picnic bag. Things were not generally going so well. John did his best to ignore my grumbling and set off with the picnic bag and rug in search of a suitable spot to pitch camp. I plodded along behind, wrestling with two cameras, an over-stuffed handbag and a Thermos of coffee.

In spite of the unpromising circumstances, we did eventually find a shady spot beside the river with an excellent view of the Cirque and the waterfall. We unpacked our slightly sticky picnic and passed a very enjoyable hour or so watching a couple struggling to erect a large tent on the campsite on the opposite bank. At times like these, there is nothing better to cheer the soul than a bit of good old German “shardenfreud”!