Breakfast at 7.30 am. Then getting Tosca out of the garage, where she slept on the blanket that is familiar to her, the blanket that during the day is on the back of the horse under the saddle. Only, about every night Tosca bites at least one new hole in it, or bites a patch out of it, so gradually Leon always gets dressed shabbier. That of course also reflects on the boss. Horse Leon was picked up at a Netherlands-German couple who lived in the same Hamlet of Combres. Horse Tosca stayed all night, as usual, outside wearing a rain blanket, in a barren pasture, but with some hay and concentrates, along with two donkeys. He didn’t give a bit about the donkeys, and vice versa ditto. I knocked at the door of Leon’s host, to thank him. A perfectly Dutch speaking German opened the door. Now it was my turn to ask: where are you from? From Duren and Aachen (Germany). Na da sund v’r noabere, I say into plat-Diets. But he did not understand. Neighbours, I repeated. We also have lived in Sippenaeken he says. I: Sippenaeken? This is the village where I look upon from my living room. I think, when the landscape here is still the same as in Sippenaeken, then why emigrate then? Their children were born in France. I really would have liked to know everything, but my journey had to go on. We had to leave. I meet very many emigrants here in France.
Departure 8:45 am. After 10 min. I noticed that I had forgotten the bag with concentrates. Back downhill to the donkey meadow. Uphill again to Leon, Tosca and les dames and resuming our delayed departure at 9 am. All day uphill, downhill. I feel tired, hungry, probably had too much alcohol yesterday evening. Anyway I have suffered from my coffee addiction: today I didn’t have my caffeine shot. Fortunately, dry weather. Lovely, lovely landscape. Over the hilltops some fog and overcast, which made me think of mysterious realms of the Hobbits or Scandinavian films. Walking with Son and Bri is still infinitely more pleasant than all alone with my 2 two animals. Actually indulgence. I might get so spoilt that I can’t continue alone any more. Along the way a French lady speaks to us. Here live many Dutch people, she says.
A little later we see an old man, standing over a ditch, with his legs spread, stabbing with a kind of shovel under the barbed wire to eliminate the burrs. The same: Oh, you’re Dutch. Here in the hamlet (village) also live two Dutch families. So again. The old man said he was 91 years old. He still went cycling, sometimes 100 km. per day. Is this real, or is he having cerebral failure? It looks like we are in Sjangri-La. I always thought that that was in Cottessen in Nl where we live. Maybe it’s me who gnostic is letting down? With all these Dutch immigrants may be France is going to speak Dutch, or perhaps speak “plat”.
Arrival at the chambres d’hotes in a farm in Bazoches. Close to a castle, where lived a French general who conquered the Netherlands for Napole in the beginning of the 19th century. Leon was directed to an at least 5 ha, very wet meadow. That’ll take time again tomorrow morning to catch him and probably I’ll start the day with wet feet. Leonke got some concentrates. Tosca was allowed in the hay barn. In the evening we walked 600 m. to the pretty village, cooked food, arranged sleeping addresses for the next few nights, showered and went to bed.
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Basin Neuvy [/ caption] < img src = “http://www.ponyanddogtrip.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/image345-300×225.jpg” alt = “image” width = “300” height = “225” class = “align none size -medium wp-image-100280 “/> href=”http://www.ponyanddogtrip.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/image340.jpg”> 
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Chat with passer by in Bazoches [/ caption] 
Lunch at castle Vanban [/ caption] 
Evening stroll to Bazoches [/ caption] 
Bazoches. Nice old hamlet [/ caption] 
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Tuesday morning breakfast at Mrs. Pompone’s in Combres [/ caption] 
winter appears in the Burgundy region less cold than us, because these flat frog species was still active [/ caption] 
Where are you going? Where are you from? [/ Caption] 
Tosca takes his daily loot [/ caption] 
< / a> Again a hamlet with no bar. Always the same [/ caption] 
91 Years old guy, shuffling away blackberry bushes, straddling the ditch. [/ caption] 
He said he occasionally still cycled 100 km. in one day. The women found him sexy, with his legs apart. A killed frog next to me was still beautiful [/ caption] 
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