Jane

This huge and impressive cairn was built on what is now a rocky promentary and is only accessible at low tide. When we arrived we were unlucky and although the tide was going out, the channel of water about five metres wide was too deep with too strong a current for us to cross. However, we scrambled over the rocks, leaping over rockpools to get as close as we could.

It was built in the same way as Barnenez 50 miles or so further east; a massive step-pyramidal cairn of stones featuring, in Ile Carn’s case, three chambers. The central chamber has a tall corbelled roof. From where we were standing it looked a bit of a muddle and we longed to leap across the water and have a good poke around. Alas! Alas! If you visit, check out the tides.

At six and half metres tall with a rounded profile this monster stands proud on a little rise of land surrounded by huge fields, which today are inhabited by a nervous flock of partridges which exploded noisily out of the field next to it.

You can drive right up to it, the lane runs right past it.

Quoit a resurrection

WOW! It’s true, the stones are all finally up!

Me and Rupe walked the dog round the bottom end of the lake this afternoon (rather than parking up by the recycling centre) to find this:

themodernantiquarian.com/post/68766/images/devils_quoits.html
themodernantiquarian.com/post/68767/images/devils_quoits.html

As well as the stones going up, the henge had been mown and looked all ‘coifed’ and magnificent, and the hundreds of rabbits I saw last month with ocifant were gone.

We paused by the biggest of the original stones – it was thrilling to see it back up again, looking just like in the 1882 photo by Henry Taunt. I took a photo, as the shadows looked remarkably similar to that in Taunt’s picture.

themodernantiquarian.com/post/68765/devils_quoits.html

To my knowledge this complete reconstruction of a site using what is left of the original stones, plus some new ones, is unique. Interesting that it’s the painstaking excavation of Oxford Archaeology working with site owner Hanson who have made it happen.

As we were leaving, two blokes wearing florescent yellow jackets and hard hats from the portakabin at the dump approached us. They had seen us as we walked round the top of the bank. One wore a tie and had clean hands (obviously the site manager) and the other wore a sweaty T-shirt, big shit-kicking boots and had dirty hands (obviously a workman). They asked what we were doing there as there is no public access. I told them the dog gets walked up there every day (by my kids) as we only live ‘over there’ *points towards to village*.

A charm offensive was needed to diffuse any whiff of trespass, so I enthused about the stones (not difficult!) and how over the years we’d watched the work continuing and how excited we were to see the stones go up on Wednesday. This seemed to do the trick.

The man in the tie said they’d be a public opening in late August/early September. He also told me that once it was open, they planned to limit access to it with a fence “like at Stonehenge”, he said, to stop people walking all over it, wearing it down and to prevent rabbits recolonising it and denuding it. “Like hell that’s going to happen” I thought. He said that all the rabbits had been gassed last week and they were keen to keep them off – they were damaging the ditch and bank very badly.

I asked the man with the dirty hands if he was part of the team who put the stones up. He was! He said it felt pretty special to be part of it, which I thought was nice.

So there you have it.

And as we walked back to Rupe’s house he said: “your stone-hugger friends will be excited … ooh, there’s two of them now!” and at that moment Vybik John and Common Era pulled up in a car. I told them which way to walk round the lake to the stones without being spotted by the site staff.

Please remember if you visit the henge that you are technically trespassing.

This single menhir stands against a hedge at the back of Eynsham’s catholic church, once the site of a flourishing Benedictine abbey.

The stone was found by Oxford Archaeology (OA) who were excavating the site (in 1989-92) of the abbey enclosure which had been built over a much earlier Bronze Age one.

The very rich ancient archaeological landscape around Eynsham (including the Devil’s Quoits stone circle just 3 miles away; the now trashed Tarr’s Grave close to the A40 and large circular crop marks in fields around the village) means the ditch in which OA found the stone may have been part of a thriving early settlement.

The stone was re-erected in its current position thanks to the then priest John Tolkein (nephew of JRR) who offered it a safe haven in church land next to the graveyard.

It is of oolitic limestone, the same kind of stone used to build the Rollrights and many other monuments in Oxfordshire. And looks to be weathered in the same way.

There’s more information in ‘Aelfric’s Abbey: excavations at Eynsham Abbey, Oxfordshire’, 1989-92, by Alan Hardy, Anne Dodd and Graham D Keevil.

This stone is marked ‘of disputed antiquity’ because it’s not in its original position and just because it was found in a Bronze Age ditch doesn’t actually mean it was a standing stone of that period, even though its discovery, size and weathering all point to an ancient provenance.

It was our final day in Sardinia and we wanted to return to Coddhu Vecchju to enjoy the morning light on the stones.

Tombi di giganti are aligned south-south-east, towards the morning light, which I suppose is symbolic of life and rebirth. This is certainly the case in ancient Egypt. The tombs’ grave corridors point north-north-west, towards evening and sunset, perhaps symbolic of death. So to get the best modeling light on the stones (for painting and photography) you need to be there late morning, so the sun is high enough to cast shadows and reveal the carving and sculpting.

At Coddhu Vecchju the carving is not deep at all (not like those more southerly stele we’d seen) so we needed all those shadows. And I wanted to see the pink granite sparkle in the sun.

High on a hill at the back of the town of Silanus in the grounds of the chapel of San Lorenzo are five more of these short bullet shaped standing stones. One stands in front of the chapel and four clustered behind. So randomly placed are they we felt they were originally more.

None of the stones had breasts or froglet eyes, like at Tamuli, and one had been broken off half way down. But one has a huge slit carved long its top – deliberately made – and looking very phallic. We both felt that this slit carving was original. After all if you were a 16th century xtian, looking to destroy the nasty pagan stones, you’d hardly go about doing so by making it even more cock-like would you?

We wondered why the betili were here, so high above the town. Then as we returned to the car I found out why – I could hear the sound of running water. There was a spring.

There are six standing stones, conical and pointing out of the ground like bullets and all absolutely round in section. Quite phallic. And the best bit is that three of them had small breasts carved on them.

And the more I looked the sillier these (no doubt once serious) fertility totems became. At one moment they were froglets from the Clangers, the next they we giant mudskippers poking their fishy heads up. I loved them; I’d seen nothing like them before and they left me wondering about a whole bunch of questions which I’ve long given up thinking about other monuments for lack of answers. In the case of these betili, questions like: were they painted or perhaps anointed with liquid – milk, blood or something else, like the Shiva lingam are in India today. Were they dressed or decorated at ceremonial times? How were they used? And so on…

Intriguing!

It lacks flanking slabs and only has a little rubble each side and vestiges of tomb material behind it. It’s that whopping stele, standing there all alone in the field which struck me.

Like Imbertighe and Figu I could see that thickness of width in proportion to its height again, (in Bainzu’s case 3.24ms high).

I’d noticed at nearby Figu that the stele (or what was left of it) seemed chunkier than the stele at tombi further north. At Imbertighe this regional stylistic difference was confirmed to me. The stele here was chunkier too – bigger, thicker, deeper and with far deeper carving. The depth of the carving was about 9”. Up north, you’re lucky to get an inch.

Imbertighe still had its curved arms. Like Figu, these were constructed from big blocks rather than a line of slabs. Not much of the tomb remains – through the deep meadow grass we detected a few stones, but nothing grand.

The thick stele is cracked and broken vertically so that only one side of it remains up with the top arch curling over like Hokkusai’s tsunami wave or a giant F.

Most of the tomb section is gone, though there is a lot of rubble under hoof and one or two stones lurking higgledy piggledy in the grass. Some of the tomb material seems to have been assimilated into the wall beside the lane.

Like at Imbertighe the forecourt area seems to have been constructed like wall from big blocks of stone rather than a line of standing slabs

We pressed on to Mura Cuada tombi di giganti in the midday heat, which is right by a railway line. If you do follow Julian’s instructions to reach it, as Sals says, DO NOT walk on the railway line! Trains run on this line. We walked just to one side of the track out of the way of any passing rolling stock. Julian is spot on with his ‘355 paces’ though.

What a surprising place it is; less of a tomba di giganti and more of a Menorcan naveta with arms! This tomba has no stele; instead it has just an entrance hole in the front wall, which forms a very curved forecourt.

Moth squeezed inside, but I was not wearing clothing suitable to join him in there. He said he could easily stand up and it was exactly like a naveta.

There’s a small peep hole about the size of a football directly above the well at ground level through which light passes. Apparently, when the moon shines over it at one point in its 18.6 year cycle it completely fills the hole. (Sound familiar, Callanishistas?) I managed to suppress my horrible small girl urge to spit through it and listen for the splash at the bottom.

To get down to the well you pass through a trapezoid-shaped hole and decend down into the ground on a stone staircase. The steps and the corbelling is so fresh and crisp that you feel it could have been built yesterday, though Julian in TME says that this is original stonework. If he’s right, then this is truly astonishing. Likewise the beehivey conical corbelling leading up from the well to the peephole at ground level – incredible stonework. It really does look modern.

I descended down the crisp, steep staircase (suppressing further girlish urges, this time to kick out my feet and sing “New York, New York”) about 3 metres below ground level to the water. Down there it was refreshingly cool; perhaps 10degC lower in temperature, but then it was 35degC outside.

Though I’m not big into wells, this one’s a must-see.

Despite having both Julian’s and Sals’ instructions on how to find it, we drove round in circles for some time, unable to find the right road, but knowing we were close. I was on the point of giving up but Moth wanted one final push trying to find it from Loiri. Eventually, we did find the lane signposted by a hilltop castle.

It’s almost the most remarkable monument on the island but lacks its stele which was stolen in the early 20th century for a garden ornament and is now lost. With a 28’ chamber and hugely wide forecourt lined with an original low seating area directly in front of the forecourt stones it feels very theatrical – like a stage- and hints at the way people might have used the space. Perhaps participants in the forecourt ceremonies sat around within the space rather than watching from the outside.

I liked the way the airport was so close – you know, ancient and modern… I liked seeing the planes landing and taking off through the space between the stones where the enormous stele should be. And there’s no doubt that the stele would have been enormous, my guess is at least 12’ tall if it was in proportion with the rest of the site.

As we’d exited the S131 on our way to Thomes earlier, I’d seen a single forlorn sign to Lotoni tombi di giganti, but hadn’t seen any other signs. Typical. When I mentioned it to Moth, he said he’d found some information on Lotoni, but it was sketchy and in a bad comedy English translation from Google. Lotoni is pictured on page 440 of TME, but that naughty Julian Cope gives no instructions on how to find it. We only knew roughly where it was. So we headed roughly in that direction. And found it!

Someone at one time had once given a toss about this site, there was the remnant of an information board, but the toss had been taken back. It was in a very sorry state. Overgrown, horribly overgrown, and now fenced in with barbed wire, a wooden pallet and some dry thorny branches leaning up against the place which obviously used to be the way in. So I tore down this rudimentary barrier, stomped a hole big enough to squeeze through the rusty barbed wire and waded in through the tangled low bushes. And to show that someone does care and did visit, I spent a moment stomping down tall weeds in the forecourt by the stele.

Like Pascaredda, Lotoni’s stele lacks an upper arch and has a very low cat flap, too small for even a toddler to crawl through. But even lacking these features this is a good tomba – good for surviving in the face of this cruel neglect, good for its stones are still up – and big, too! Despite the feeling that Lotoni is forgotten, even trespassing on its own property, I liked it here.

So close to its show-site and glamorous neighbour just up the road, Thomes, it is very sad to think that this labour of love by its builders could be so badly neglected.

Walking through bushveldt on a sandy track from the car park we could hear the tinkle of bells from a herd of goats grazing near the tomba.

The monument is wonderful with an intact covered grave corridor running out behind and lots of nice slabs forming the forecourt. I was intrigued by the stele – cut in the classic way but with wonky asymmetry in the top arch. The cat flap is less archy than others I’d seen, and more squared off – but that wonkiness at the top was also reflected in the shape of the aperture – leaning slightly left. A New Labour construction perhaps I wondered as I sat and sketched it and a party of German tourists filed past.

It’s just by the main road north of Sassari – this surely was a beacon of a place that every traveller in this corner of the island would have known in ancient times.

Just our luck then, that when we arrived, it was closed for maintenance – mostly strimming. But there was no way we were going to go away, so we promised the foreman we’d just walk around it. Of course once he’d driven off to get his lunch, we legged it up onto the top flat stony platform perhaps 10 metres from ground level.

I was so impressed with it. I thought of some of the world’s greatest step pyramids – Tikal in Guatemala and Saqqara in Egypt, though it was smaller and less steeply sided than both. Perhaps it started at a simple sacred stone platform, like the marae of the South Pacific, and was added to over the generations. It certainly looked like a monument which has been successively improved and added to over the ages – the massive square cut stele next to the sloping approach ramp, the flatcapped dolmen in the ‘moat’ area and that crazy bonkers mad pockmarked cosmic egg... (actually more of a giant lemon) all hinted at a place in use over many, many centuries, with additions made in memory perhaps of battles, new gods, revered leaders and so on.

There is so much here to ponder and I absolutely loved it.

I do like rock cut tombs. So it was inevitable that the necropolis of Anghelu Ruju, not far from Alghero airport, would thrill me. I didn’t really know what I’d be faced with as I entered this unassuming flat field, today sizzling in the afternoon sun; but I certainly didn’t expect quite such richness, variety, ingenuity and technical rock-cutting wizardry on such a whopping and obsessive scale.

All the tombs here, and there are more than 26 of them opened up in an area no bigger than a football field, are cut directly in the rock underfoot, sculpted with slopey-down entrance passages to reach the first of (often) many small burial chambers. Further chambers morph off from each other to create a rambling honeycomb of cells and passages connected by square cut openings just wide enough for person to squeeze through. Some traces of decorative carvings remain; bull’s heads, false lintels, circles and in one particularly large tomb two supporting pillars have been carved.

I imagined the paintings that I felt sure that must once have graced the walls of these cells – images of totemic animals, zigzags, stripes, and wiggly lines perhaps symbolizing water or light, stylised bulls, round discs signifying the sun, the moon and stars perhaps, rendered in ochres and umbers. It seems inconceivable that these tombs weren’t decorated.

How many more of these subterranean rock cut tombs are yet to be discovered? My best guess is ‘lots’ and they’re almost certainly not far away.

Fitz’s detailed description (below) says more than I possibly can.

If you go to Sardinia, this is a ‘must see’. In fact go to Sardinia just to see it. Budget airlines now go to Alghero.

This naturally occurring rock stands quite alone at the roadside.

We wondered if the locals had chipped bits off through the ages to make it appear more like a pachyderm. Whether it was the locals or if it was from the hand of the Great Sculpture in the Sky, they’d made a very good job because the elephantness is startling.

Ancient people also thought so, for there is evidence of this being a place they know and revered; square holes have been deeply carved into the base of it, perhaps for offerings.

It is now inhabited entirely by lizards. Watch out for the knife and tat salesmen in the layby.

Wading through this natural rock garden, more worthy of a prize than anything at the Chelsea flower show, we found Ladas dolmen, which is actually a bit of a mess.

But today on its rock garden perch, partially shaded by cork oaks it looks fab. It has two capstones still up one if which is very large indeed. Internally, it’s partly supported by wooden pillars, unfortunately.

A little bit out of Luras, perhaps 1 km, in its own little walled enclosure protected from the verdant olive trees and cork oaks is dolmen Bilella.

Constructed on a curious split level rock platform its supporting stones are therefore of different heights – as if stepping downstairs. It has a nice capstone with a pleasing curve on the top and dead flat on the underside. But something about it didn’t quite ring true – possibly a poor or fanciful reconstruction perhaps to make the site seem more poetic? We couldn’t quite work it out.

This was something to ponder as we sat and tucked into our pizza, listening to the deafening soundtrack of songbirds and trying to catch glimpses of the singers – finches, bunting and flycatchers for sure, though exactly which species I couldn’t say.

This tiny, unobtrusive and very simple construction is hardly worth a glimpse in the context of Sardinia. But if it was in, say, an Oxfordshire field, people would come from miles. Alzoledda has its own reserved patch of ground on the edge of town and is policed by three pretty cats from the house which overlooks it.

Tucked away in the most arcadian, peaceful valley in the world (possibly) just to the east of Tempio is Pascaredda tomba di giganti. Striding through seas of grasses and flowers following a path beside a tree lined stream of bucolic perfection, we arrived at a clearing surrounded by the gnarly ancient cork oaks to find this sweetest of tombi, complete with much of its barrow.

Thirteen out of 14 of its original capstones are still in place covering its deep tomb corridor. The curved arms of its forecourt stones sweep round elegantly each side of the stele. The stele is unusual in that it only has the bottom square with catflap – it lacks the arched top section that we’d seen at Coddhu Vecchju or Li Lolghi. Not that it mattered – this place was exquisite. Moth and I both looked for signs that it once has an arched topped, but found nothing to suggest it had.

With purple orchids in flower among the more than 16 species of flowering grasses and birdsong filling the warm scented air, this place is nothing less than orgasmic.

Just outside Tempio is Nuraghe Majori, my first nuraghe. This one is run as a tourist attraction with shop, café, loos and a stuffed wild boar. Picking our way through the cork oaks (which were festooned with hairy caterpillars hung freakily from long silken threads waiting to ambush me) we finally arrived at the nuraghe.

Made of huge blocks of stone piled up carefully to create thick walls, they look like Menorcan talaiots, the difference is that nuraghes have internal chambers, perhaps used for food storage, would be my guess as they were very cool and dark inside. This one had two corbelled chambers leading off from the main corridor, an in one hung some sweet little bats right up in the apex. The corridor continued through the wall and spiralled up and out into an higher external platform giving great views all around.

Li Lolghi has the most terrific reveal. Walking up a little track past the biglietteria (ticket booth) you turn a corner and suddenly it’s there like an old friend standing on a hilltop waving ‘ciao!‘

Because it stands at the top of a little rise it looks even bigger – and it’s pretty damned big to begin with. Li Lolghi’s stele is more tapered in shape than arched and the chunk missing at the top simply adds character and charm.

Indeed it’s so spectacular that I actually shivered in delight when I pressed myself against its pink lichen covered warm flatness.The slabs that form the monument’s curved arms are equally flat and reminded me of the squary flatness of some of the stones at Callanish.

Coddhu Vecchju has, like most other tombi di giganti a forecourt area or ‘esedra’, formed by a line of stones sweeping curvaceously out from either side of the centrally placed stele.

As I stood before Coddhu Vecchju, I had the feeling that the tomb’s curved arms were embracing me. This was a feeling that I would have again and again as I visited various T di Gs.

The tomb chamber itself runs back behind the stele and like most other tombi we saw, is constructed like a French allee couverte. Coddhu Vecchju’s chamber is in good condition and retains most of its capstones.

Coddhu Vecchju is built on a slight gradient as the land rise gently out of a thickly wooded valley with a stream running along the bottom. So the curved arms of the tomb are not flat, they have been constructed so they echo the lie of the land – the west arm held up and the east arm down, like being embraced by a dancing partner.

The land rises more sharply on the other side of the stream and is now cultivated with lines of vines. This tomb was not meant to be seen in the landscape by all passers by like West Kennett, it is more hidden, private, intimate.

I was enraptured with the place. It wouldn’t be the last time we’d see it.

27 May 2008

Up in the hills is the small bronze age temple of Malchittu. Readers who know me know I’m not much of a walker; I stumble and fall a lot, so have to look at my feet ALL the time, I have a dodgy knee going downhill and am generally lazy. But despite the 2km walk up to it (UP being the operative word) I thought I’d go for it anyway. It was a nice day after all and we were in no hurry.

The sandy, easy-to-walk-on path wound gently through beautiful farmland of small grassy meadows and trees until it started to rise and climb into the rocky scrub of the granite-bouldered mountain. Curling around, the path reaches the rounded high point of the mountain where the little oval temple had been built.

And there’s still something to admire – the thick walls, including the gable end, still had its doorway and niche above. The fact that someone bothered to build a temple here up on this rocky mountain is what impressed me. I wondered if there was spring nearby – I had noticed some damp runnels on the path nearby, but couldn’t see the water source.

I think I only stumbled twice and even had time to stop and look at the amazing views!

27 May 2008
Across the road from Albucciu is the trashed tomba di giganti of Moru. With no impressive stele or forecourt slabs it felt very sad. Nevertheless, the long chamber is still long and deep and still has one capstone up. It was in desperate need of a strim!

27 May 2008

We’d driven past the Nuraghe Albucciu every day for the past seven days, so as our time in Sardinia came to an end, we thought we’d better take a look at it even though we’re not nuraghistas. This one did impress me though.

I liked the way the builders had used the natural outcrop of granite boulders to build the nuraghe around an morph into the landscape. The usual huge blocks of drystone were used to build it and it had the usual corbelled side-chambers and corridor leading up to a platform area at the top. Today it is surrounded by cork oaks and olive trees, and a curious natural overhanging rock feature stood right next to the tower structure. This impressed me more than anything.

The smooth expansive wall beneath the overhang reminded me of exactly the sort of place where I have seen Australian aboriginal rock paintings and Jordanian and San petroglyphs. I wondered if these smooth rock walls had once been painted with ochres and umbers showing animal and sacred symbols. I looked for any evidence but of course found nothing except tiny bees’ nests, cobwebs and lichen.

And beneath the rocks was a small low gap (which I probably could have squeezed through had I been being chased by a fire-breathing angry bull), through which I could see a number of chambers had been carved into – almost cave-like but absolutely (wo)man-made.

I was surprised to find I liked this nuraghe because I could ‘people’ it in my mind. It seemed like a very comfortable place to live. It even had a potential (or long forgotten) art gallery space!

23 May 2008
The drive up to Li Mizzani is up and down – and up again! – a narrow twisting lane into the mountains which was quite dramatic and good fun, but not as dramatic as the monument itself.

Set among scrubby, sandy bushveldt, alive with flowers and buzzing with insects and birds, this is a strange tomba di giganti compared to others. The stone is slightly different shape – more of a lozenge with wide feet, and with no carving. And all the big slabby stones which would have formed the arms reaching out either side of the stele are gone. All that remains is a low wall that marks the forecourt. Perhaps it never had slabs?

We climbed up onto what appeared to be a gorsedd stone just metres away from the back of the tomb to observe where the stele appeared to point at a cleft in the distant mountains. Hmmm. I wasn’t entirely convinced. Everything points to something if you look hard enough.

We met an Italian professional photographer there who, rather charmingly for these days, still shot on film. He was fascinated by our photocopied pages on Sardinia from TME. “Where did you get this?” he asked. I wrote down the name of the book, author and the URL of this website for him.

And up here, the trees seemed to be alive with goldfinches.

23 May 2008
Close to Li Lolghi is the small megalithic cemetery of Li Muri, consisting of five cairns with cists. Carefully constructed and equally carefully restored, it didn’t overwhelm me, in fact I hardly felt whelmed at all, but I was very interested to see other tombs in the region which weren’t tombi di giganti.

We’d not so far encountered any dolmen of such really hefty proportions in Sardinia.

Julian’s instructions in TME coupled with new brown road signs helped us find it easily. It’s an absolute whopper, constructed simply with four massive slabs each more than foot thick on a natural bedrock foundation. It’s lost its back end but that allowed yellow rays from the setting sun to illuminate the chamber and shine out through the catflap. Very picturesque.

The western slab, I noticed bulged out at the front portal end. Precisely the same place on the inside had been cut into a little platform or bench making a very handy seat. In fact, just right for sitting, lighting up a small cigar and considering all the miraculous places we had seen to today.

As we began our drive back, a beautiful leveret leapt out on to the road in front of us and stopped long enough for us to admire it, before leaping back into the tall grasses.

Campo Lontano proved hard to find. Very hard. Julian gives no instructions as to how to find it on page 440 and 441 of TME where he shows it. We had only Moth and Sals’s desk research to go on: a Google Earth print-out and some notes translated from Italian to English by google.

From Florinas, the sat nav took us down blind alleys and eventually impassable farm tracks and after a long frustrating detour around some mountains we finally found a road sign to it, just west of Banari and Siligo. However road signs, we had learned, can take you up more blind alleys or only point you half the way then leave you stranded, so we weren’t counting any pollo.

We drove up the steep, narrow, rutted farm track narrowly avoiding tearing off the hire car’s undercarriage or scratching the bodywork (drivers of a nervous disposition, don’t try this lane!) until we reached a junction. Which way? There was no sign. We left the car where it was and walked down the left hand fork only to be stopped by a wire fence which had been erected across the track. Not this way, obviously. So we tried the other way which took us up to a farm building. We could hear some sheep bells and there were two cars parked: “Buen Giorno!” we called out. After a while a tiny brown man in a dirty vest appeared from the barn and we pointed to the monument on the map. He pointed in a vague direction eastwards and after a conversation entirely in English on our part and Italian on his, managed to work out it was in a field (campo) 100 (cento) metres beyond the white rocks (roccia bianco) that we could see.

It was hot, there was no shade and it looked like it was about 1200ms away, but we’d come this far and couldn’t give up now, so we walked along the track which ran parallel to an enormous rocky cliff above which a couple of eagles soared.

A farm truck passed us. A younger man leaned out and indicated that it was in the meadow beyond a big tree he pointed to o the road ahead of us. As indeed it was. Shaded under a large fig tree.

This is no ordinary monument – Campo Lontano (which means ‘far field’) is amazing as it combines the skill of rock cutting with the construction of a freestanding tomba. It is entirely carved from an above-ground naturally occurring large rocky outcrop. It looked like it had been partially shaped – the same shape as the internal structure of Molafa which we had seen earlier in the day. The front of the tomb was cut to the same shape too – using all the elements seen in a tomba di giganti’s stele in fact: catflap, square base, arched top and mullion. The cat flap was too small to squeeze through, but peering through I could see the tomb has been cracked open at the back, so I whizzed round and climbed it.

Internally, it feels like a Menorcan naveta – a small room tall enough to stand up in and wide enough to stand arms outstretched. At the end with the cat flap a low bowl or shallow receptacle had been carved on the floor – for liquid offerings perhaps?

This is a remarkable monument in every way – the closest thing I’ve seen to it before is the freestanding rock cut tombs in Lycia, Turkey which (I believe) are of a later date.

Yes, it was worth the hours it took to find it and the sunburned shoulders.

From the grandness of Monte D’Accoddi, a public, community monument, we set off to find a much smaller monument, perhaps a family tomb – a tiny but perfect rock cut tomb almost certain pre-dating the tombi di giganti, called Molafa. For reasons we couldn’t fathom, Julian calls it Malafa, even though on the map and on the nearby railway station it’s clearly called Molafa. Following Julian’s instructions it is indeed ‘45 paces along a verdant gully’.

Just a few metres up the path there it is cut into the rock of a low cliff face that you can reach by scrambling up. Incredibly there is a natural platform directly in front of the opening to the tomb – granted not wide, but wide enough to act as an altar or sacred, ceremonial space, not unlike an esedra or forecourt.

The opening the to tomb is carved in a quite remarkable way for it echoes the pattern of a tomba di giganti stele – that is a square opening with arched top – complete with carved mullion, as I’ve already said pre-dating the tombi.

I would have immediately shot into the tomb had I not been diverted by a superb and friendly lime green grasshopper who needed to be admired. Insect-admiration complete, I then dived into the tomb. About 3ms long and 2ms or so wide, it’s not big. But with its barrel arched ceiling reflected in the shape of the carved arch ‘gable’ above the portal, and integral stone bench running around the side and back walls, it is about as perfect in its simplicity as a rock cut tomb can be. Over the centuries people have lit fires in here – the ceiling is black with a thick layer of soot. It strongly reminded both me and Moth of a scaled-down version of the rock cut chambers we’d seen at Little Petra in Jordan. They had had highly complicated designs (frescoes) painted on their lofty ceilings which centuries of Bedouin fires had blackened. I could see no evidence of that here, but if it has been decorated (and why wouldn’t it have been?) this ceiling was lower and more easily damaged early on in its history.

We were delighted to have found this place. It evidently gets very few visitors and it is well worth it.

After a difficult 20 to 30 minute walk (perhaps 1 km long over rough ground, uphill through woodland) we reached Le grand dolmen de la bergerie de panissiere.

It’s essentially a passage cairn with a dolmen-like structure at its heart, surrounded by about 5ms diameter of cairny rubble with intriguing standing stones pointing out of its outer edge. It’s clear it’s been restored but rather well we felt. We sat and got our breath back before pushing on.

A beautiful dolmen, recently excavated and reconstructed. Start with this one and leap like a deer up the limestone terraces toward dolmen 2 (just 20 ms away) and (dolmen 3) about 50ms away.

To have three monuments, in such good condition within site of each other in such a spectacular setting is marvellous.

Outside the village of St Alban Auriolles, if you climb up the hill at the back of the village towards an old chapel is the dolmen du Calvaire. A walk over the limestone outcrops towards it – the same limestone which the dolmen is built from – gives the impression that the dolmen spontaneously, and quite naturally, appears from the ground.

Inside the lovely chamber was a visitors book and I was quite surprised to see how many people had visited it quite recently. But then it is signposted from the village. The dolmen itself is a classic stone box: two stones each side, one at the back and one on top. Simple and perfect.

It’s a short but very steep climb up a path (follow the brown painted marks on the rocks) through grassy, low scrubby bushes to the hilltop. Even though the dolmen isn’t in perfect condition, and the climb is steep, it’s well worth the hike simply to see this monument in its commanding position. It once had two capstones, but one has fallen inwards and the other fallen back. Its sides and back are still in position. It’s been a bit carelessly restored with some ugly cement here and there, and in one side is a curious hole, probably a result of breakages over time than an original feature.

This one’s tucked away in the car park of a ‘dinosaur zoo’. The sweet little dolmen sits behind a little wooden fence, presumably to prevent kids climbing on it, as it seems quite dinkily precarious. It was great to have an ‘easy win’ and park right next to it. A charming monument, if a little bizarre to hear the roars of tyrannosaurus rex from the nearby attraction!

Next we went to find the dolmen de Pradinas, a very small, rather haphazardly restored dolmen standing near a dusty crossroads behind some trees. It’s good that someone took the trouble to cement it back together again, but it lacks any atmosphere…

Approximate coordinates only

Dolmen 6 is weird thing!

Originally it was a pretty ordinary dolmen for round here, but it’s drystone lined and slightly corbelled and curved at one end, and has two capstones – or was it one at one time?

But curiously somebody has built a tower practically on top if it, of drystone rubble in a square section, perhaps 12 feet tall with a staircase running up the middle of it to a lookout at the top. I scrambled up to get a view. We reckoned it was probably quite modern and perhaps a shepherd’s lookout.

Approximate coordinates only

Continuing up the track, which began to get steeper, we eventually found dolmen 5.

It has a very good chamber still embedded deeply into the rubble cairn and a superb really flat capstone sloping hard at 20 degrees towards the back. Very nice!

In Bruno Marc’s book ‘Dolmens and menhirs of the Ardeche’ we spotted a number of interesting monuments listed in the Bois des Geants along a single track which didn’t look to arduous for a non-walker like me!

Not recommended, but I drove up a gravel and bedrock limestone track for as far as I could before the really big rocks threatened to damage our ordinary large family saloon (a Mazda 626). We eventually had to park up and walk through the woodland and scrub which smelled of herbs and hot pine resin.

On the map we saw six monuments marked, though we only found three.

Please be aware that due to difficulties in spotting stuff on google maps, the PRECISE location of each monument maybe out by a few metres – the track that they are on is the right one, however. Please note that the track you need to go up is to the west of the bridge that crosses the combe.

Approximate coordinates only

The first dolmen you come to is not far after you pass under crackling powerlines.

This is a small dolmen, following the usual pattern from dolmens round these parts. It has lost its capstone, but the shape of the little box which remains is still worth a view and it has plenty of original rubble. A nice even pair of portal stones still stand to mark the entrance. It’s right by the side of the track so you won’t miss it.

Near Bidon, to the north of the Ardèche gorge, is the dolmen de Champ Vermeil, a vast and beautiful dolmen of just five huge slabs lurking in the woods, the capstone gently sloping at an angle of 15 degrees towards the back entrance. The capstone is massive and quite flat and a single slab makes up one side. Very impressive!

About 300ms away from Le grand dolmen de Ferrusac, again just off the D130 road, is the Petit dolmen de Ferrusac. As the name suggests it’s much smaller and not a double decker like its large sibling, but it still has a detectable passageway in front and plenty of rubble- and tell-tale black lying around.

This one is very sweet and so tiny!

Around Ferrusac there are other monuments including four good menhirs, made of white limestone.

Le grand dolmen de Ferrusac is a whopper, built with two levels of capstones, leading into one tall chamber beneath the top deck capstone. One side has been restored with an ugly concrete slab which takes a bit of the ‘wow’ away, but the original capstone and side slab are vast. Each perhaps weighing 20 tones a piece of more. A mighty place!

Driving north and east of Lodeve up a very twisty-turny mountain lane we reached the Priory St Michel de Grandmont – our main attraction here is this fabulous dolmen in its private grounds.

The entrance fee of E4.50 entitles you to look round the abbey (which has got a nice cloister and worth a peep) but you also get a guided tour to the dolmen. They don’t let you go on your own we think because of the resident herd of fallow deer roaming free and they don’t want hunters taking potshots and poaching. Despite having to drive such a long way to get here from our gite in Arles, having to pay an entrance fee and having to be escorted to the dolmen, it’s all worth it because its FAB.

A true Beauty. A capstone with exquisite flatness on its underside, such lovely stones leaning jauntily inwards are all surpassed by the charming catflap door in the portal stone. We had little time here (an elderly Belgian couple were escorted there at the same time as us) and so I immediately got to work drawing. It made me think about its picturesque loveliness of places like Poulabroune, combined with the startling wondrousness of the dolmens we’d seen on that hot Jordanian hillside two years before. This dolmen has been christianised – the monks at the abbey carved as small cross into one of the side stones.

In the middle ages the dolmen was used in a bizarre way to cure leprosy. The monks would burn the clothes of the afflicted person, who would then climb up on the dolmen and twice roll around and rub their skin on the capstone. Such hocus pocus! Is it any wonder that I put my faith in science and not witchcraft?

On our way up to Lodeve from Montpellier we stopped at the Dolmen de Pouget (also known as Gallerdet). It’s about a mile up a dirt road out of the village and is well signposted. We drove our large family saloon (4x4s not required) up a dirt road to the end of the track until our way was barred by a gate, so we parked up and got out and walked.

It was only 25 metres away around to the right if you follow the path past a couple of menhirs. The monument is built on a raised natural platform and still has lots of its own mound material too.

This dolmen is BIG and the first thing you notice apart from it’s size and commanding position is the arched porthole cut in the portal stone. This is well within the mound and reached by way of a sunken passage. The internal chamber is whopping, perhaps 6ms by 4ms, and covered by three lumpy pieces of limestone capstone. The arched portal stone has split, but been reconstructed, assisted by metal rods which you hardly even notice. The ‘n’ arch is great.

I sat on the ground and made a little sketch of the entrance.

Just down the road from the priory and Dolmen de Coste-Rouge is another lovely monument – the dolmen de la Bruyere d’Usclas. Tucked away in thick mixed woodland with lovely views of the surrounding limestone hills there’s no entrance fee here! We sat has the place to ourselves and I sketched. We liked it here – plenty of surrounding rubble material too.

It’s signposted from the road. Near to it is a stupid statue that looks like a menhir that’s meant to look like prehistoric man, just next to where you park but don’t bother with it. It’s shit. Instead walk past to the dolmen – it’s not far and it’s another double decker dolmen, but with no concrete slabs, just really nicely proportioned well cut blocks making a really pleasing monument. It has a nice little passage and plenty of mound.