Just before we were due to get out of bed for our early morning trip to Villers-Bretonneux, I twisted in bed and my back went into spasm. What seemed like five seconds later, my phone started going off signifying it was time to stop sleeping, not that I had gotten much sleep.
I managed to shave somewhat stiffly when the phone in our room started ringing, but it wasn’t working sufficiently for Rose to hear the person at the other end of the line. After three attempts, they gave up ringing, but shortly after, a knock came on the door to tell us our tour was ready to leave, about 20 minutes before we thought they would come. So much for that shower.
It was bitterly cold as an early morning in Paris met us. It would not be a long drive out to Vil-Bret, but still half asleep, I was trying to use the arch of the seat to stretch my back sufficiently as to stop it hurting so much.
We stopped in a petrol station just after we got off the motorway for a brief toilet stop, before arriving at the Australian War Memorial at Villers-Bretonneux. It was now extremely cold.
The crowd was large but respectful. A public servant asked for some room, and he escorted the Foreign Minister, Stephen Smith, through the mass of Aussies so far from home. His staffer’s assertiveness enabled Minister Smith to look more casual, asking a passerby how far she had travelled to be there.
The service was solemn, without being morose. The story of the Aussies in France is one that is often overlooked, as Aussies are beguiled by the myth that is Gallipoli. It is here, in fact, and not on the sand, rocks and shrubs of Turkey, that our great World War I victory was earned.
And so it was, on April 25, 1918, three years to the day since the ANZACs had stormed the beach on the Gallipoli Peninsula, that the Australian Imperial Force liberated the small town of Villers-Bretonneux. The residents of this town are forever grateful: the streets are named Rue Melbourne and Rue Victoria, and the school, built with contributions from Victorian schoolchildren in 1923, has the mantra looming across the quadrangle, “DO NOT FORGET AUSTRALIA”.
At this time of year, the town becomes like a mini version of Australia. Graphical representations of kangaroos, koalas and wombats line the streets, either in front of the town hall or stuck to the windows of the houses that line Rue Melbourne. For the last couple of years they’ve even played an Aussie Rules game here.
After the service and visiting the town, we are taken on a broader tour of the area and its memorials: the AIF memorial, the British Arch with its dour looking brown brick, in stark contrast to the Arc D’Triomphe in Paris and the Wellington Arch near Hyde Park in London, the Canadian Memorial with its bronze elk.
What strikes one about the commonality of these memorials are the names of the fallen AND unfound. Literally millions fell on the Western Front in World War I, a foolish folly of a war fought for little good reason on outdated military strategy, which basically wiped out a generation of able bodied, proud and brave men.
Most of these men were either never found or never identified. It wasn’t long before this war that soldiers were not afforded individual memorials, such as a tombstone or individual grave, but this had started to change. The area of France known as the Somme is littered with them.
Every French town, regardless of size, has a memorial to the fallen of World War I, and a list of names; men of the town who never returned.
At the final town, we have lunch then visit the Great War Museum there, which is heavily anti-war. After seeing the volume of names on memorial after memorial, it is difficult to argue with this sentiment.
Rose is war weary, and we steal naps along our trip, and we get back to Paris just as the afternoon is starting to inch towards evening.
It is great to share an experience like that with people like our tour group, a small collection of mostly Queenslanders, and two Mexicans on their honeymoon. Our tour guide was an extremely affable and gregarious man, who finds everything funny and has a warm demeanour that helps us all relax.
The ground of the Somme is hallowed for so many, and for Australians, where so many more died than near the Straits of the Dardenelles, this is also true.
But the sacrifice made here can be felt, and one spends any time in a place like Villers-Bretonneux, it’s hard not to be proud to be an Aussie. No matter how long we’ve been Australian, or what our thoughts on the machinations and politics of conflict, we have a place where, as a nation, we can share a common bond, brought home by the warm welcome and gratitude of a small Frence village called Villers-Bretonneux.
As I signed in the visitor’s book at the visitor’s centre of the USA Memorial at Omaha Beach, where so many French people had signed the book, echoing similar sentiments towards the Americans as the townsfolk of Villers-Bretonneux had done to us Aussies:
“They shall not grow old, as we that are left, grow old. Lest We Forget”
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Day 38-41 - Paris
Our arrival in Paris was eventful, to say the least. Not quite as significant as Charles De Galle’s or as graceful as Rudolph Nureyev.
We drove into Paris while continuing to avoid paying to use a road. Eventually we were forced onto the motorway, but at this stage we didn’t have to pay for it. The road threw us off at a place called St Cloud, leaving us a short but tricky trip to the centre of Paris, and our hotel on Rue Tronchet.
This car ride quickly became a disaster. Paris celebrates France’s love of the one way street, meaning the route Rose had carefully planned from the map in her Lonely Planet guide went out the window (metaphorically, we didn’t throw the book out the window) pretty early.
Then my initiative failed me when I decided to take the car through the roundabout around the Arc D’Triomphe. Quite simply, of Paris’ metropolitan population of roughly 11 million people, 5 million of them, at any one time, are in a car going round the Arc D’Triomphe.
Shortly after that my courteousness and gentlemanly manner while driving obviously irritated the priest behind me, who decided to honk me. A first, to be sure.
When we finally got to the hotel I couldn’t really park, so hurried the luggage out of the car and left Rose with it at the hotel while I went to find my drop off point.
To cut a long and boring story short, two car parks, 30 minutes and one more honking from a priest (he had a nun as a passenger this time), I finally managed to drop the car off. I was drained and ready for a rest.
The cafes that fill Paris are very similar in menu and decor, and it is difficult to tell them apart. We had dinner in four of them, but not on the first night when we found a cosy little restaurant.
Next morning we went off, armed with our four day museum passes and two day tourist bus passes. This is really the way to visit Paris, although it took a while to get the audio guide’s voice from the bus out of my head.
The first museum, at my insistence, was the Musee Louvre. I love all the religious paintings as they tell a story I’m somewhat familiar with. It’s a huge place that it is impossible to get around without better ankles and great motivation, but I saw the Mona Lisa (probably the creepiest painting in the world), Madonna on the Rocks, St John the Baptist, and many other paintings, along with sculptures, mosaics and frescos.
After that we got back on the bus to go to Notre Dame Cathedral, described as the world’s worst tourist trap. We firstly looked under the quadrangle in front of the Cathedral, then went in and looked around the magnificent church.
Then we decided to go up to the spire and lookout area. This is when Rose discovered my situational dislike of heights.
The ledge was narrow, about 12 inches wide in parts when walking around, and although one is always quite safe behind wire, looking down was not pleasant. I politely declined an opportunity to go further up. This would not be the first time on the trip.
After finally descending all the way to the bottom and fighting off quadriceps cramp, we partook two of the footpath crepes Paris is famous for. Rose, faithful to her sweet tooth to the last, had her crepe with Nutella and Banana, while I predictably had cheese, ham and mushroom. Both were delicious.
For our final excursion for the day, we headed to the Saint Chappelle, which has what our possibly the most beautiful stained glass windows in the world. The church is being renewed and renovated at the moment, so some of the glass was unavailable due to repair, but the view was breathtaking none the less.
After that we were back on our tourist bus, which one can hop on and hop off at their leisure. It was a long trip, going around the Eiffel Tower a couple of times, before finally getting us back close to home.
Day two’s main museum attraction would be the Musee D’Orsay, which holds the most impressive collection of impressionist paintings in the world. Continuing on from our visit to Monet’s Garden in Giverny, this was a particular treat for Rose, who loves this kind of art. I was honest in my appraisal, liking some stuff and not others, leading Rose to inform me she thought I had an “eclectic taste” in art. This may be one of the nicest things Rose has ever said to me. No kidding.
The D’Orsay, like the Louvre, is very big, housed in an old train station that had fallen into disuse. We probably spent three hours there before moving on to the Arc D’Triomphe.
The Arc is another large monument, under which lies the tomb of the Unknown French Soldier, who died in the Great War, as it is known in France (although in French). While I did know you could ascend to the top of the Arc, what I didn’t know was the top section underneath the roof contained an exhibition, one half dedicated to France’s war successes (which contrary to popular opinion are many), and the other half dedicated to the Arc itself, and other like Arcs of Triumph all over the world. Anne will be pleased to know the only one in Australia is located in her home town of Ballarat.
Standing on top of the Arc is less daunting than standing on the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral, but we had taken our time getting there, and Rose had enjoyed an ice cream break at Haagen Daas, so instead of trying to cram something else in on Day 2, we enjoyed instead a leisurely walk back to our hotel, via a cafe, before heading off later in the evening to watch Liverpool in the Europa League. Unfortunately, the English Pub we were in insisted on showing a frightfully dull Fulham game before Liverpool’s.
Day 3 started with a trip through the Place D’Concord, where Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and Robespierre, among others, were permanently separated from their heads, to the Musee D’Armee, which exhibits the military history of France, a great exhibition containing all manner of medieval armour and weapons, and also Napoleon’s tomb, which despite him being cremated, is a massive construction.
Nearby is the Musee Rodin, which is dedicated to Rodin himself, the great sculptor who made “The Thinker”. He was obviously a busy man; the private house is full of his stuff and he was quite prolific.
After a stop at a cafe for some food, we decided on a romantic night in the hotel.
We had to move to a different hotel on the Saturday before ANZAC Day, as our tour for the day required it. As a big, stupid man, I thought we could make it by availing ourselves of the Paris public transport system, specifically the underground.
Too many stairs, having to change trains, and a longing walk from the final train station finished Rose off, and she firstly suffered a nose bleed, and then duly decided to sleep for a few hours, leaving me with the laundry, which, in fact, I was happy to do.
Rose felt a little better after a sleep, and we went out for some food. Rose was captivated by a girl happily tucking into a dish of Steak Tartare, which is quite simply, raw beef. On this occasion, the beef was minced and served with an egg’s yolk.
We had an early start on ANZAC DAY, beginning at 2:30am, so we tucked in early, ready for our big day on April 25.
We drove into Paris while continuing to avoid paying to use a road. Eventually we were forced onto the motorway, but at this stage we didn’t have to pay for it. The road threw us off at a place called St Cloud, leaving us a short but tricky trip to the centre of Paris, and our hotel on Rue Tronchet.
This car ride quickly became a disaster. Paris celebrates France’s love of the one way street, meaning the route Rose had carefully planned from the map in her Lonely Planet guide went out the window (metaphorically, we didn’t throw the book out the window) pretty early.
Then my initiative failed me when I decided to take the car through the roundabout around the Arc D’Triomphe. Quite simply, of Paris’ metropolitan population of roughly 11 million people, 5 million of them, at any one time, are in a car going round the Arc D’Triomphe.
Shortly after that my courteousness and gentlemanly manner while driving obviously irritated the priest behind me, who decided to honk me. A first, to be sure.
When we finally got to the hotel I couldn’t really park, so hurried the luggage out of the car and left Rose with it at the hotel while I went to find my drop off point.
To cut a long and boring story short, two car parks, 30 minutes and one more honking from a priest (he had a nun as a passenger this time), I finally managed to drop the car off. I was drained and ready for a rest.
The cafes that fill Paris are very similar in menu and decor, and it is difficult to tell them apart. We had dinner in four of them, but not on the first night when we found a cosy little restaurant.
Next morning we went off, armed with our four day museum passes and two day tourist bus passes. This is really the way to visit Paris, although it took a while to get the audio guide’s voice from the bus out of my head.
The first museum, at my insistence, was the Musee Louvre. I love all the religious paintings as they tell a story I’m somewhat familiar with. It’s a huge place that it is impossible to get around without better ankles and great motivation, but I saw the Mona Lisa (probably the creepiest painting in the world), Madonna on the Rocks, St John the Baptist, and many other paintings, along with sculptures, mosaics and frescos.
After that we got back on the bus to go to Notre Dame Cathedral, described as the world’s worst tourist trap. We firstly looked under the quadrangle in front of the Cathedral, then went in and looked around the magnificent church.
Then we decided to go up to the spire and lookout area. This is when Rose discovered my situational dislike of heights.
The ledge was narrow, about 12 inches wide in parts when walking around, and although one is always quite safe behind wire, looking down was not pleasant. I politely declined an opportunity to go further up. This would not be the first time on the trip.
After finally descending all the way to the bottom and fighting off quadriceps cramp, we partook two of the footpath crepes Paris is famous for. Rose, faithful to her sweet tooth to the last, had her crepe with Nutella and Banana, while I predictably had cheese, ham and mushroom. Both were delicious.
For our final excursion for the day, we headed to the Saint Chappelle, which has what our possibly the most beautiful stained glass windows in the world. The church is being renewed and renovated at the moment, so some of the glass was unavailable due to repair, but the view was breathtaking none the less.
After that we were back on our tourist bus, which one can hop on and hop off at their leisure. It was a long trip, going around the Eiffel Tower a couple of times, before finally getting us back close to home.
Day two’s main museum attraction would be the Musee D’Orsay, which holds the most impressive collection of impressionist paintings in the world. Continuing on from our visit to Monet’s Garden in Giverny, this was a particular treat for Rose, who loves this kind of art. I was honest in my appraisal, liking some stuff and not others, leading Rose to inform me she thought I had an “eclectic taste” in art. This may be one of the nicest things Rose has ever said to me. No kidding.
The D’Orsay, like the Louvre, is very big, housed in an old train station that had fallen into disuse. We probably spent three hours there before moving on to the Arc D’Triomphe.
The Arc is another large monument, under which lies the tomb of the Unknown French Soldier, who died in the Great War, as it is known in France (although in French). While I did know you could ascend to the top of the Arc, what I didn’t know was the top section underneath the roof contained an exhibition, one half dedicated to France’s war successes (which contrary to popular opinion are many), and the other half dedicated to the Arc itself, and other like Arcs of Triumph all over the world. Anne will be pleased to know the only one in Australia is located in her home town of Ballarat.
Standing on top of the Arc is less daunting than standing on the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral, but we had taken our time getting there, and Rose had enjoyed an ice cream break at Haagen Daas, so instead of trying to cram something else in on Day 2, we enjoyed instead a leisurely walk back to our hotel, via a cafe, before heading off later in the evening to watch Liverpool in the Europa League. Unfortunately, the English Pub we were in insisted on showing a frightfully dull Fulham game before Liverpool’s.
Day 3 started with a trip through the Place D’Concord, where Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and Robespierre, among others, were permanently separated from their heads, to the Musee D’Armee, which exhibits the military history of France, a great exhibition containing all manner of medieval armour and weapons, and also Napoleon’s tomb, which despite him being cremated, is a massive construction.
Nearby is the Musee Rodin, which is dedicated to Rodin himself, the great sculptor who made “The Thinker”. He was obviously a busy man; the private house is full of his stuff and he was quite prolific.
After a stop at a cafe for some food, we decided on a romantic night in the hotel.
We had to move to a different hotel on the Saturday before ANZAC Day, as our tour for the day required it. As a big, stupid man, I thought we could make it by availing ourselves of the Paris public transport system, specifically the underground.
Too many stairs, having to change trains, and a longing walk from the final train station finished Rose off, and she firstly suffered a nose bleed, and then duly decided to sleep for a few hours, leaving me with the laundry, which, in fact, I was happy to do.
Rose felt a little better after a sleep, and we went out for some food. Rose was captivated by a girl happily tucking into a dish of Steak Tartare, which is quite simply, raw beef. On this occasion, the beef was minced and served with an egg’s yolk.
We had an early start on ANZAC DAY, beginning at 2:30am, so we tucked in early, ready for our big day on April 25.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Day 27-37 - Driving Through France
We spent ten days driving through France. Here are some observations from this trip:
Driving
In the cities, a propensity for one way streets can make things difficult to get around. I struggle to see the point of so many one way streets, including my favourite in Nice, when after taking nearly two hours to get my car, the street I was driving down turned from a two way street into a one way street without announcement.
The French motorways come in to forms: toll roads and free motorways when there is no free alternative to driving on the motorway. Our first day we spent 16 Euro getting from Nice to Aix-de-Provence , which is about the equivalent of driving to Ballarat from Melbourne. After this, we managed to avoid tolls for the rest of the trip.
Driving on the roads between towns can be interesting. Trucks have their own, much lower, speed limits in France and cannot leave the right hand lane. On a motorway, this usually leaves trucks and other slow coaches in the right hand lane, people roughly doing the speed limit (which is 130kmh on motorways) in the middle lane, and guys in very fast cars going very fast in the lane closest to the centre median.
The smaller roads are generally 90kmh, and while some try to go faster, this is not always possible if only one lane goes each way. Sometimes you can get stuck behind a truck doing 70kmh for quite some time before a passing lane gives one the opportunity to pass it.
The French are also strongly committed to the roundabout. While they can be exasperating, they often give the driver the opportunity to either reverse a wrong turn, or check which direction they should be going in.
Parking
Associated with driving is parking. Quite simply, large French cities don’t want you to park in their city. We went around Avignon a few times, Pau for almost an hour and drove through Bordeaux (where we had planned to stay) because we couldn’t find a spot to stop and look for accommodation. In the end, we amended our plans to avoid big cities like Nantes and Amiens and stay in smaller places instead.
Food
The best discovery of the driving excursion was a little town called Castelnaudary, which we had planned to stay in on the first Sunday evening, driving from Avignon. Castelnaudary is the self-appointed capital of a dish called Cassoulet, which is a peasant dish from South East France.
They cook white beans in pork and sausage fat , then cook the sausage and pork and duck (France’s favourite poultry, much more prevalent on menus than chicken) in the beans, then put it in the oven covered with breadcrumbs and shaved pork crackling. It is quite simply one of the better dishes I have ever had.
Overall the food in France is good, but menus don’t vary an awful lot. They like lamb, beef (cooked or uncooked), pork and duck. And contrary to some reports, the food is not too expensive.
Anyway, let’s look at each of the places we stayed:
Nice
A lovely resort town on the Mediterranean. As we went to Nice from Ventimiglia, we stopped in Monte Carlo, and suddenly the train was like a sardine tin. Nearly everyone who got on in Monaco got off in Nice. We didn’t see an awful lot of Nice, except for when I was trying to find a way out of Nice, but it seemed a very pleasant place.
Funny story – the rental car company needed a credit card. I went back to the hotel to get my one. Then they needed 200 Euro credit on it for the guarantee. I had like $110 in my non-holiday bank account. Fortunately my dear Mother had just transferred some money into my bank account, otherwise we may have been stuck in Nice for another three days without booked accommodation. All was well that ended well.
Avignon
Hope of the papacy in the 14th Century, we toured around the old Papal Palace at dusk. It has an old defensive wall around the old city and a charming main street with a carousel. It was here that I discovered the world’s worst beer – Leffe.
Funny story – on the Sunday morning we did our washing in the local coin laundry. In case a man of Algerian heritage smoking and drinking. He was friendly, and tried to continue a conversation with us for about an hour, although neither of us could speak his language, nor he ours. The only he said in French we could recognise was “Sarkozy – Merd!” As our clothes stubbornly refused to sufficiently dry, his seedy mates joined him. When our clothes finally dried, we left in about 0.0008 seconds.
Castelnaudary
Home of the Cassoulet. The town has a small lake, and the carnival was in town. We shared a goat’s cheese salad that was magnificent before I had Cassoulet and Rose had some chicken which was equally good. If we ever get a holiday house in the South of France, it’ll probably be very close to Castelnaudary.
Funny story – early next morning a local market decided to spring up, around my parked car. We barely made it out.
Lourdes
We visited Lourdes on our way to Pau. There were three churches on the spot of the apparitions, one on top of the other, and we managed to get some water in a small vial. There was a long line for people to bathe in it, and many people afflicted with some sort of disability moving around.
Funny story – all the crappers (not urinals) in the Men’s toilets at Lourdes are crouchers.
Pau
I know I’ve been criticised for being overly critical of various places, but I say this with no hesitation – Pau is a dump. Don’t go there. The only good thing about Pau is I watched the replay of St Kilda beating Collingwood there.
Bordeaux Libourne
We did stop in Bordeaux, and have some coffee. I had a B&B in mind, but when we finally found it, no one opened the door when Rose knocked. After touring around for about an hour, we finally decided to split this joint and keep driving, until we arrived at a smaller town called Libourne. We stayed at a lovely old hotel run but two older women who dressed comfortably (wink), and it was a wonderful experience. The room, which was really quite cheap, reminded us both of the rooms at the Windsor in Melbourne.
Funny story – we had dinner at an American themed diner, where we ordered massive burgers and milkshakes with more cream than shake. I think Rose is still eating her burger.
St Leonard de Noblat
A small town just through Limoges, we arrived and stayed at the only hotel in town, which was fortunately quite nice. We walked through the old cemetery; the carnival followed us here as well. I spent 15 Euro winning Rose some cups. For dinner we ate in the hotel restaurant, where we had Duck’s leg in pastry, which was delicious and perfectly cooked.
Funny story – On the way to Limgoes, we stopped in Angeloume and bought some Brie. When we got to the hotel a few hours later, it smelled funny, like it had gone bad, so we threw it out. Later in the evening for dessert we shared some cheeses. The Brie smelled exactly the same. Turns out Rose threw out 4 Euros (a lot) worth of perfectly good cheese. Brie smells that way in France.
Poitiers
A bigger town with a large cathedral and a tiny Statue of Liberty, more one way streets you can poke a stick at, and a hotel in the middle of town with a car park. We sent postcards from there, and reacquainted ourselves with Italian food for the first time since leaving Italy. A very nice place indeed.
Funny story – we decided to go bowling, and we sped off in the rough direction of the bowling alley. On what I assumed was a 90kmh road, I got pulled over by the cops. I was doing 94kmh in a 70kmh zone.
The fine was 90 Euro exactly. The policeman asked from where I was, and I informed him. He then asked for my driver’s licence, and I produced the International one I had purchased for the very purpose of driving through France (and later Ireland) before we left. The policeman told me it was no good here. At this moment I started wondering what the inside of a French lock-up cell was like.
He asked me if I had a driver’s licence in Australia, and I did. It was also in the car, in my wallet, which was in my big bag. I went to open it, but remembered that the key was back in the hotel room.
I only had 50 Euro notes on me as well, so out of the blue, he took pity on me and gave me a warning. I drove off to look for the bowling alley and settle my nerves.
We couldn’t find it, but eventually did. Looking for a car parking space, I took a wrong turn and was suddenly back on the road, about to go past the cops again. Rose thinks we should go bowling more often.
Rennes
Rennes is another bigger city, and parking was again difficult. We had a picnic style lunch planned for along the way, but the road between Poitiers and Rennes was almost all motorways, so we had to have lunch in a nice park in a truck stop.
We stayed in a nice, new hotel that punched above its weight, and went to the movies in the evening, seeing the only movie we could in English, a movie called “New York, I Love You”.
Funny story – They didn’t sell any snacks at the Cinema. No popcorn, no drinks, nothing.
Bayeux
Bayeux is in Normandy, and seems to be the centre of tourism related to D Day. It is also the home of the famous Bayeux Tapestry, which at 70 metres long, tells the story of William the Conqueror’s invasion of England and accession to the throne of the King of England.
After that, we drove down to Omaha Beach and the US War Cemetery there. The visitor’s centre is one of the better done war museums, and the cemetery itself is carefully planned and laid out. A cool wind came in from the coast, across the beaches stormed in June 1944.
Funny story – there is an Omaha Beach Golf Course, because if there wasn’t, the Nazis would win.
Dieppe
Kind of like a northern Nice, this is the resort town on the north coast of France, with its beach devoid of sand but overflowing with small stones and pebbles, and its stalls and games. Parking was again a struggle but inventive, as people just took up any space they could. We played mini-golf which Rose duly won (about time, she had lost bowling) and had dinner at the Casino.
Funny story – the Casino has two roulette tables, one blackjack table and one poker table. And some pokies.
Giverny/St Marcel
Giverny is the home of Monet’s Garden, and a gallery of impressionist paintings from his genre. It took some finding, as we drove to the wrong town to get there and had to drive back. The garden is maintained meticulously, even down to a guy dredging the lack with a net to get the algae out. We bought a Monet print in Giverny, but had very little money after that and a big lunch, so we went down market in a nearby industrial town, St Marcel.
Funny story – Monet’s Garden is basically owned by a large rooster with a sore throat.
The day after Giverney we were due in Paris, so that is where this road trip ends.
Driving
In the cities, a propensity for one way streets can make things difficult to get around. I struggle to see the point of so many one way streets, including my favourite in Nice, when after taking nearly two hours to get my car, the street I was driving down turned from a two way street into a one way street without announcement.
The French motorways come in to forms: toll roads and free motorways when there is no free alternative to driving on the motorway. Our first day we spent 16 Euro getting from Nice to Aix-de-Provence , which is about the equivalent of driving to Ballarat from Melbourne. After this, we managed to avoid tolls for the rest of the trip.
Driving on the roads between towns can be interesting. Trucks have their own, much lower, speed limits in France and cannot leave the right hand lane. On a motorway, this usually leaves trucks and other slow coaches in the right hand lane, people roughly doing the speed limit (which is 130kmh on motorways) in the middle lane, and guys in very fast cars going very fast in the lane closest to the centre median.
The smaller roads are generally 90kmh, and while some try to go faster, this is not always possible if only one lane goes each way. Sometimes you can get stuck behind a truck doing 70kmh for quite some time before a passing lane gives one the opportunity to pass it.
The French are also strongly committed to the roundabout. While they can be exasperating, they often give the driver the opportunity to either reverse a wrong turn, or check which direction they should be going in.
Parking
Associated with driving is parking. Quite simply, large French cities don’t want you to park in their city. We went around Avignon a few times, Pau for almost an hour and drove through Bordeaux (where we had planned to stay) because we couldn’t find a spot to stop and look for accommodation. In the end, we amended our plans to avoid big cities like Nantes and Amiens and stay in smaller places instead.
Food
The best discovery of the driving excursion was a little town called Castelnaudary, which we had planned to stay in on the first Sunday evening, driving from Avignon. Castelnaudary is the self-appointed capital of a dish called Cassoulet, which is a peasant dish from South East France.
They cook white beans in pork and sausage fat , then cook the sausage and pork and duck (France’s favourite poultry, much more prevalent on menus than chicken) in the beans, then put it in the oven covered with breadcrumbs and shaved pork crackling. It is quite simply one of the better dishes I have ever had.
Overall the food in France is good, but menus don’t vary an awful lot. They like lamb, beef (cooked or uncooked), pork and duck. And contrary to some reports, the food is not too expensive.
Anyway, let’s look at each of the places we stayed:
Nice
A lovely resort town on the Mediterranean. As we went to Nice from Ventimiglia, we stopped in Monte Carlo, and suddenly the train was like a sardine tin. Nearly everyone who got on in Monaco got off in Nice. We didn’t see an awful lot of Nice, except for when I was trying to find a way out of Nice, but it seemed a very pleasant place.
Funny story – the rental car company needed a credit card. I went back to the hotel to get my one. Then they needed 200 Euro credit on it for the guarantee. I had like $110 in my non-holiday bank account. Fortunately my dear Mother had just transferred some money into my bank account, otherwise we may have been stuck in Nice for another three days without booked accommodation. All was well that ended well.
Avignon
Hope of the papacy in the 14th Century, we toured around the old Papal Palace at dusk. It has an old defensive wall around the old city and a charming main street with a carousel. It was here that I discovered the world’s worst beer – Leffe.
Funny story – on the Sunday morning we did our washing in the local coin laundry. In case a man of Algerian heritage smoking and drinking. He was friendly, and tried to continue a conversation with us for about an hour, although neither of us could speak his language, nor he ours. The only he said in French we could recognise was “Sarkozy – Merd!” As our clothes stubbornly refused to sufficiently dry, his seedy mates joined him. When our clothes finally dried, we left in about 0.0008 seconds.
Castelnaudary
Home of the Cassoulet. The town has a small lake, and the carnival was in town. We shared a goat’s cheese salad that was magnificent before I had Cassoulet and Rose had some chicken which was equally good. If we ever get a holiday house in the South of France, it’ll probably be very close to Castelnaudary.
Funny story – early next morning a local market decided to spring up, around my parked car. We barely made it out.
Lourdes
We visited Lourdes on our way to Pau. There were three churches on the spot of the apparitions, one on top of the other, and we managed to get some water in a small vial. There was a long line for people to bathe in it, and many people afflicted with some sort of disability moving around.
Funny story – all the crappers (not urinals) in the Men’s toilets at Lourdes are crouchers.
Pau
I know I’ve been criticised for being overly critical of various places, but I say this with no hesitation – Pau is a dump. Don’t go there. The only good thing about Pau is I watched the replay of St Kilda beating Collingwood there.
Bordeaux Libourne
We did stop in Bordeaux, and have some coffee. I had a B&B in mind, but when we finally found it, no one opened the door when Rose knocked. After touring around for about an hour, we finally decided to split this joint and keep driving, until we arrived at a smaller town called Libourne. We stayed at a lovely old hotel run but two older women who dressed comfortably (wink), and it was a wonderful experience. The room, which was really quite cheap, reminded us both of the rooms at the Windsor in Melbourne.
Funny story – we had dinner at an American themed diner, where we ordered massive burgers and milkshakes with more cream than shake. I think Rose is still eating her burger.
St Leonard de Noblat
A small town just through Limoges, we arrived and stayed at the only hotel in town, which was fortunately quite nice. We walked through the old cemetery; the carnival followed us here as well. I spent 15 Euro winning Rose some cups. For dinner we ate in the hotel restaurant, where we had Duck’s leg in pastry, which was delicious and perfectly cooked.
Funny story – On the way to Limgoes, we stopped in Angeloume and bought some Brie. When we got to the hotel a few hours later, it smelled funny, like it had gone bad, so we threw it out. Later in the evening for dessert we shared some cheeses. The Brie smelled exactly the same. Turns out Rose threw out 4 Euros (a lot) worth of perfectly good cheese. Brie smells that way in France.
Poitiers
A bigger town with a large cathedral and a tiny Statue of Liberty, more one way streets you can poke a stick at, and a hotel in the middle of town with a car park. We sent postcards from there, and reacquainted ourselves with Italian food for the first time since leaving Italy. A very nice place indeed.
Funny story – we decided to go bowling, and we sped off in the rough direction of the bowling alley. On what I assumed was a 90kmh road, I got pulled over by the cops. I was doing 94kmh in a 70kmh zone.
The fine was 90 Euro exactly. The policeman asked from where I was, and I informed him. He then asked for my driver’s licence, and I produced the International one I had purchased for the very purpose of driving through France (and later Ireland) before we left. The policeman told me it was no good here. At this moment I started wondering what the inside of a French lock-up cell was like.
He asked me if I had a driver’s licence in Australia, and I did. It was also in the car, in my wallet, which was in my big bag. I went to open it, but remembered that the key was back in the hotel room.
I only had 50 Euro notes on me as well, so out of the blue, he took pity on me and gave me a warning. I drove off to look for the bowling alley and settle my nerves.
We couldn’t find it, but eventually did. Looking for a car parking space, I took a wrong turn and was suddenly back on the road, about to go past the cops again. Rose thinks we should go bowling more often.
Rennes
Rennes is another bigger city, and parking was again difficult. We had a picnic style lunch planned for along the way, but the road between Poitiers and Rennes was almost all motorways, so we had to have lunch in a nice park in a truck stop.
We stayed in a nice, new hotel that punched above its weight, and went to the movies in the evening, seeing the only movie we could in English, a movie called “New York, I Love You”.
Funny story – They didn’t sell any snacks at the Cinema. No popcorn, no drinks, nothing.
Bayeux
Bayeux is in Normandy, and seems to be the centre of tourism related to D Day. It is also the home of the famous Bayeux Tapestry, which at 70 metres long, tells the story of William the Conqueror’s invasion of England and accession to the throne of the King of England.
After that, we drove down to Omaha Beach and the US War Cemetery there. The visitor’s centre is one of the better done war museums, and the cemetery itself is carefully planned and laid out. A cool wind came in from the coast, across the beaches stormed in June 1944.
Funny story – there is an Omaha Beach Golf Course, because if there wasn’t, the Nazis would win.
Dieppe
Kind of like a northern Nice, this is the resort town on the north coast of France, with its beach devoid of sand but overflowing with small stones and pebbles, and its stalls and games. Parking was again a struggle but inventive, as people just took up any space they could. We played mini-golf which Rose duly won (about time, she had lost bowling) and had dinner at the Casino.
Funny story – the Casino has two roulette tables, one blackjack table and one poker table. And some pokies.
Giverny/St Marcel
Giverny is the home of Monet’s Garden, and a gallery of impressionist paintings from his genre. It took some finding, as we drove to the wrong town to get there and had to drive back. The garden is maintained meticulously, even down to a guy dredging the lack with a net to get the algae out. We bought a Monet print in Giverny, but had very little money after that and a big lunch, so we went down market in a nearby industrial town, St Marcel.
Funny story – Monet’s Garden is basically owned by a large rooster with a sore throat.
The day after Giverney we were due in Paris, so that is where this road trip ends.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
